I am the tenth in a line of martyrs, each of my foremothers born with a burden and a gift, each dying for a cause greater than herself. So it was that from the moment I drew my first breath, a voice, ancient and genderless, whispered in the back of my mind: “You will have three wishes, granted without question. All they will cost is a small piece of yourself.” For my first wish, I prayed for Ethan, whose body had been frail since birth. I asked that he be granted perfect health. The price was my right eye. For my second wish, I asked for a happy marriage with him, a life of love and partnership. The price was the feeling in the left half of my body. For my third wish, I prayed for Ethan’s success, for his ambitions to be realized. The price was a constant, searing pain, as if a thousand needles were embedded in my skin, every second of every day. And then, on the second day after his name appeared at the top of the Forbes list, I was dragged onto an auction block. Ethan sat in the front row, his arm draped around his “work wife,” Veronica. They were here to sell the rights to me. I closed my eyes and said nothing. Veronica’s sharp laugh cut through the murmuring crowd. “Look at her. Has the blind girl completely given up? She won’t even scream.” But I wasn’t listening. I was focused on a new sensation. A flicker of warmth, a ghost of a pulse in the hollowed-out socket of my right eye. A forgotten strength, coiling in my veins, returning to me at long last. If you want my life so badly, I thought, the words a silent prayer to the forces I’d bargained with, then you’d better be ready for the blowback when your wishes expire. 1 When I opened my eye again, the needle-prick agony was already washing over me. In a strange way, I was grateful for the price of my second wish—the paralysis that had claimed my left side. That half of my body was a silent continent, immune to the pain, a blessed void. I looked down. Sometime, in the darkness, they had changed me into a flimsy silk slip. It did little to hide me, and the chill on my skin seemed to amplify the jeering voices beyond the bars of my cage. “Seriously, Ethan, is your wife brain-dead?” a familiar voice drawled. “She’s not giving us any reaction at all. How boring.” I lifted my head. Through the haze of my single eye, I could make out the sharp silhouette of Veronica, the COO of Ethan’s empire. His work wife. “Hey, look at that,” she said, her voice sharp with surprise. “The little blind thing is glaring at me.” She rose and sauntered to the cage, her fingers slipping through the bars to stroke my cheek. Her touch was cold. “Tell me, Ethan. A woman this beautiful, and she did all that for you. Don’t you feel even a flicker of regret?” The man who had once whispered promises of forever into my ear just chuckled. He pulled Veronica onto his lap and kissed her, a hard, possessive kiss. “If I felt regret, would you like that? Weren’t you the one who couldn’t stand the thought of her in my bed? Hmm?” Ethan’s hand slid down to squeeze Veronica’s hip, but his eyes, cold and flat as river stones, were locked on me. “She’s served her purpose. Better to sell her for a good price than to keep her around and listen to you complain.” I remained silent, watching them. From the moment the masked men threw the sack over my head, I knew. I knew it was Ethan. I had tried, of course. I had screamed for him. I told my kidnappers, “I’m Ethan Carter’s wife!” They had just roared with laughter. “We know! That’s why we’re here! Mr. Carter himself is paying us to do this. He offered us…” One of them flashed a number with his fingers, a blur I couldn’t decipher. I didn’t need to. I understood it was a fortune. I knew people changed. I just didn’t realize how fast. He’d been on the cover of Forbes for a single day before he decided the pretense was over. All that pain. All that sacrifice. For nothing. A bitter smile twisted my lips. I met his gaze through the iron bars. “I have to ask something stupid,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Did you ever love me?” For a second, just a second, something flickered in his eyes. A ghost of emotion. Then it was gone, his expression hardening into a mask of disgust. He shook his head. “How could I love a monster like you?” he said, his voice laced with contempt. “Loving you would be like making a deal with the devil.” 2 A deal with the devil. Funny, he didn’t seem to think I was a monster when he was begging me to make those deals for him. I never told Ethan about the prices I paid. I didn’t want him to know. The sacrifices were mine to make, a private testament to my love. I loved him, so I bore the pain gladly. Now, with a few cruel words, Ethan had shattered that illusion. Before I could even process the wreckage of it all, Veronica signaled to a guard, who unlocked the cage. She stepped inside, a smirk playing on her lips. “Honestly, darling,” she said, circling me like a shark. “You’re about to be sold like cattle, and all you care about is whether he loved you? Ethan was right. You’re pathetic.” She paused, running a perfectly manicured hand down his tailored suit jacket. “Then again, he does cut a fine figure. If it weren’t for me dragging him to the gym every day, he wouldn’t have this body, would he?” The pieces clicked into place. The two hours every night, religiously spent in his private gym. The way he always refused when I asked if I could join him. He had company all along. A cold sensation on my cheek snapped me back to the present. Veronica was holding a small, gleaming knife, tracing its edge along my face. “I’ve always hated this perfect little face of yours,” she purred. “The way you’d look at him, all wide-eyed and innocent. Like a goddamn siren.” Just as the blade was about to break the skin, Ethan’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. “Veronica. Don’t ruin the merchandise.” “Are you defending her?” she spat, her eyes flashing. Ethan simply smiled, a cold, empty thing. “Of course not. But if you scar her face, how will we get top dollar? And how will I buy you that diamond you wanted?” He snapped his fingers. An assistant scurried forward with a long, velvet-lined box. When he opened it, my breath caught. It was filled with hundreds of long, slender silver needles. “They say for a creature like her,” Ethan said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as he leaned close to my ear, “it takes nine hundred and ninety-nine silver needles to seal away her power.” He pulled back, his voice now a soft, intimate murmur that made my skin crawl. “Don’t blame me, baby,” he whispered. “Your gift… it’s terrifying. It scares me. I lie awake at night, terrified that one day you’ll just… take it all away.” His eyes met mine, devoid of any warmth. “Don’t worry. I’ve already found the perfect buyer. When this is all over, you’ll still be mine.” His words were a demonic promise. He was insane. He stepped back and gave a sharp nod. Veronica grinned, a predatory flash of white teeth, and plucked a needle from the box. She drove the first one into my arm. The pain was sharp, electric, a violation that seemed to pierce straight through to my soul. She was heavy-handed, brutal. One after another, she plunged the needles into my flesh, expertly avoiding any vital organs but choosing spots designed to inflict the most agonizing, debilitating pain. “Monsters like you, who make deals with demons,” she hissed, her face close to mine, “you don’t deserve to exist in this world.” She drove another needle in, this one into my thigh. “You should be grateful you’re still worth something. Otherwise, I’d make you regret the day you were ever born.” She worked with a feverish intensity, pausing only to admire her handiwork, to watch my face for the agony she expected to see. But she was disappointed. From the moment I made the third wish, my body had become a landscape of phantom needles. This? This was just a Tuesday. A familiar torment I had learned to breathe through. As the nine hundred and ninety-ninth needle found its home, a laugh bubbled up from my chest. Oh, Ethan. You accepted the gifts so freely. You let me bear the cost without a second thought. You have no idea how this works, do you? Everything has a price. Every action has a consequence. The moment I am harmed by the one I wished for, the pacts begin to unravel. Everything you were given will be taken back, piece by painful piece. My laughter grew louder, echoing in the cavernous room, a wild, unhinged sound. Ethan, I can’t wait to watch it all burn. The laughter stopped abruptly as the world tilted and went black. I had finally passed out from blood loss. 3 Cold. So cold. I curled in on myself, a desperate, futile attempt to find a scrap of warmth. When I came to, I was in a walk-in freezer. My wounds had been bandaged, the bleeding stopped, but a fine layer of frost on my eyelashes told me I’d been in here for a long, long time. As if sensing I was awake, the heavy door creaked open. “Damn, she’s tough. Still not dead?” one of the guards muttered. “Told you there was something freaky about her…” the other whispered back. They grabbed me, one by the shoulders and one by the feet, and hauled me out of the freezer. Their handling was rough, but I closed my eye and almost enjoyed the sensation of being moved. It was a strange comfort. From the day I was born, I knew. I was not meant to die easily. I’d asked the voice about it once, long ago. It had answered with something like a sigh. “In this life, you are meant only to experience. The joy, the sorrow, the sweetness, the bitterness. Live it all. The rest is not your concern.” This life was for me to simply feel. As for Ethan… he still didn’t understand. He wasn’t chosen by fate. He was chosen by me. Without me, he was less than the beggars on the street. Blinding lights assaulted my vision. I threw a hand up to shield my face. “Well, look what the cat dragged in. Not quite dead yet,” Veronica’s venomous voice dripped into my ear. She huffed in annoyance. “I told you she was resilient! We wasted all that good medicine on her. Hmph!” I saw Ethan then. His eyes met mine, and for a fleeting moment, I saw a flash of anxiety before he masked it. He gently steered Veronica away from me. “Careful, honey. The baby. Don’t get worked up.” My blood ran cold. My hand instinctively went to my own flat stomach. There was a baby there once. But Ethan said he wasn’t ready to be a father. He held my hand all the way to the clinic. Veronica noticed my gesture. A smug, triumphant look crossed her face as she snuggled deeper into Ethan’s embrace. “The auction doesn’t start for a little while, and my feet are already killing me.” He guided her to a plush velvet chaise lounge. She settled into it, then pointed a stiletto-heeled foot at me. “I want a footstool.” Ethan waved his hand. Two guards seized me, dragging me across the floor and forcing me to my knees in front of her. “Kneel,” he commanded. I held my spine rigid, refusing. Ethan strode over and kicked the back of my knees, hard. “Are you deaf? Do what you’re told.” I crumpled, collapsing at Veronica’s feet. She slowly lifted her leg, the red sole of her designer heel pressing against my head, grinding my face into the floor. “Do you know what they’re auctioning off in a little while?” she cooed. Her heel scraped against my cheek, leaving angry red marks. “It’s not you, silly. Your body isn’t worth that much.” She leaned in closer, her voice a triumphant whisper. “It’s your wishes.” The four words hit me like a physical blow. Ethan knew. He knew I only had three. They were all used. They were all for him. My gaze shot to his, a silent, desperate question. He simply turned away, offering no explanation. “Hey! Who told you to look at him?” Veronica’s red-lacquered nails dug into my chin, forcing my head back towards her. Her lipsticked mouth twisted as she spoke, but the words were a distant buzz. Noticing my detachment, she slapped me hard across the face. “Pay attention when I’m talking to you! You’re about to die and you’re still spacing out?” Her eyes glittered with malice. “Do you want to know why we’re auctioning your wishes?” 4 She enunciated every word, savoring my dawning horror. “Ethan and I both know you’re all used up. Worthless.” She smiled. “But they don’t know that, do they? Imagine it. Some billionaire pays a fortune, takes you home, and discovers he bought a broken toy. What do you think he’ll do to you then?” It was a fate worse than death. A slow, agonizing execution of the soul. I stared at them, at the two people I had given everything for, and felt a hatred so pure it was almost blinding. Suddenly, Veronica recoiled, scrambling away from me as if I were venomous. “Ethan! I told you there was something wrong with her!” she shrieked. “She’s crying blood!” I lifted a hand to my face. My fingers came away wet and crimson. A blood tear. A slow, cold smile spread across my face. It was starting. The blowback was coming for him. It took me years to realize I had loved the wrong man. And now that heartless man wouldn’t even grant me the mercy of a quick death. I had built my entire world around him, this hollow, faithless creature. How ridiculous. How utterly, pathetically ridiculous. As I was lost in my grief, I heard Ethan sigh beside me. His hand gently brushed the bloody tear from my cheek, his touch eerily reminiscent of how he’d wipe away my tears of pleasure after we made love. “Baby, I know this is hard for you,” he murmured, his voice a low, seductive croon. “Just hold on. As soon as Veronica has the baby, I’ll come and get you. We can be a family again. Just be good, and wait for me.” Heh. I tried to laugh, but the pain in my heart was so vast it choked the sound in my throat. Veronica watched his pathetic attempt to soothe me, then let out a peal of shrill laughter. “Oh, Ethan, you haven’t told her about the pills, have you?” she giggled, clapping her hands. “Well, let me! Listen up, little wifey. After your… procedure… Ethan came to me, asking my permission. Could he risk getting you pregnant again? And I said, absolutely not! I forbid it!” “And you know what? He listened to me! The very next day, he started grinding birth control pills into your morning coffee. He was so scared I’d kick him out of my bed!” She doubled over, howling with laughter. “Oh, you should have seen his face! So pathetic!” I didn’t react. My gaze was fixed on a point in the distance, my mind a hollow chamber. Then, something shifted. A flicker. In the dead, useless orb of my right eye, a blurry shape began to resolve. A distant chandelier, a hazy outline. I was stunned. My good eye darted toward Ethan. He was still watching Veronica, his face a perfect mask of adoration, one hand hovering protectively over her swollen belly. Had he ever looked at me with such tenderness? I couldn’t remember. It was as if someone had taken an eraser to my memories of him, scrubbing away all the sweet moments, leaving only the stark, ugly truth. All that remained was a deep, abiding hatred. As if sensing my stare, he looked down at me. He opened his mouth to say something, but just then, a deep, resonant bell chimed through the hall. “The auction is beginning!” Veronica declared, beaming. She pointed at me. “Drag her out. She’s the grand finale.” I was pulled across the floor like a sack of meat, limp and silent. The whispers and stares of the wealthy patrons followed me, their eyes filled with a greedy curiosity about my “secret.” I found I had the strength to offer them a strange, unsettling smile. Why wouldn’t I be happy? I could feel it now, a current of power thrumming back into my limbs, filling the empty spaces inside me. The gavel fell, and the show began. The blowback I had waited for, the price of Ethan’s betrayal, was finally here.

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My husband and I adopted a girl from the slums. I taught her how to shoot, how to fight, how to read people. I molded her into one of the most capable operators in our organization. Cole said she had my fire, the same untamed spirit I’d had when we first met. He spoiled her rotten. But at the victory dinner tonight, Maya, our adopted daughter, knew I had a severe shellfish allergy. Still, she placed a grilled shrimp in my bowl, her smile all sugar. “Cassie, you know, if you just eat it a few times, the allergy might go away,” she said, her voice light. “Besides, my dog loves to copy people.” She gestured to the massive Cane Corso lying at her feet. “If you don’t eat it, he’ll learn not to eat it. And I can’t stand picky eaters.” The table, filled with our top lieutenants, erupted in sycophantic laughter. Cole just reached over and tweaked her nose playfully. “You’re just as bossy as your mother was,” he said, turning to me. “Come on, Cassie. Eat the shrimp. Set a good example for the dog.” A cold smile touched my lips. I’d been too soft for too long if he thought he could say something like that to me. 1 This wasn’t the first time Maya had tested my boundaries. The girl’s wings had grown strong. It was time they were clipped. I took a slow, deliberate sip of my iced tea. “Bring me the young lady’s dog,” I said to my guard, my voice quiet but carrying across the suddenly silent room. My men dragged the Cane Corso, a beast larger than a full-grown man, to the center of the floor. It took four of them to hold him down. At an auction last year, Maya had merely glanced at the dog. Cole, in a grand gesture to delight his “darling daughter,” dropped three million dollars on it without a second thought. The animal snarled at me, baring a row of yellowed teeth. One of my men kicked it squarely in the jaw, and a tooth went flying across the polished marble. Cole extinguished his cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. He walked over and cupped my face, his tone laced with a condescending playfulness. “Cassandra. Are you angry? We were just teasing you.” I brushed his hand away, my eyes like chips of ice. I nodded to my men. “Beat it,” I ordered. “If you kill it, it’s on my tab.” I turned to watch the color drain from Maya’s face. “Someone filed a complaint with me yesterday,” I said conversationally. “They said your dog snatched a steak right out of their bowl. Then, it ran over to the neighbor’s kennel and screwed the dog next door’s husband.” I paused, letting the words hang in the air. “Maya, darling. It seems your dog really does love to copy people. The only question is… who is it learning from?” Her face went from white to a blotchy, furious red. She dropped to her knees in front of me. “Mom, I’m sorry. I was wrong. I’ll train General better, I promise.” Her voice was a desperate plea. “They’re going to kill him. Please, Mom, make them stop.” Cole, who had been listening to my thinly veiled insults, remained silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and dangerous. “Cassie. Tell your men to stop. Don’t make this ugly.” I’ve never responded well to threats. I pulled the sleek pistol from the holster at my back, aimed it at the dog, and pulled the trigger. “No!” Maya screamed, lunging forward. The bullet grazed her cheek, leaving a thin red line. A second later, a neat, dark hole appeared in the center of the Cane Corso’s skull. It collapsed without another sound. That dog had bitten me on more than one occasion, always tearing a piece of flesh from my arm or leg. It always happened when I got too close to Cole, a low growl serving as its only warning. And every time, Maya would cover her mouth with her hand to hide a small smile, nestle into Cole’s arms, and then reward the beast with a piece of expensive jerky. It had gotten to the point where the dog would lunge for my throat on sight. If she wouldn’t discipline it, I would handle it for her. Maya cradled the dog’s lifeless head, her body shaking with sobs. Cole grabbed my wrist, his eyes blazing with a fury I hadn’t seen in years. His grip was crushing; I felt the delicate bones grind together. “She’s our daughter, Cassie! Why did you have to make such a scene?” he hissed. “She’s young, she makes mistakes! What is wrong with you, picking a fight with your own child?” When we brought Maya back from that forgotten corner of the city, she was so small and thin we thought she was thirteen, maybe fourteen. We showered her with affection. We only found out later that she was just two years younger than me, far from the innocent child we’d imagined. I extricated my wrist from his grip, my voice dangerously calm. “She’s young? You know better than anyone that isn’t true.” I leaned in closer. “To those who know, it looks like you’re raising a daughter. To everyone else, it looks like you’re keeping a mistress. What do you think, Cole?” His handsome features tightened into a knot, his eyes darkening to pools of ink. “Cassie, if it weren’t for me, you’d still be selling yourself on a street corner.” A familiar, cold spike of pain shot through my chest, but I forced a laugh. I met his gaze, my voice light and dismissive. “And Cole, if it weren’t for me, you’d still be a helpless wreck, unable to even control your own bladder.” 2 Cole’s pupils contracted. My words seemed to sober him up instantly. His gaze fell to the angry red marks on my wrist, and a flicker of regret crossed his face. When he spoke again, his voice was a raw, hoarse whisper. “Take the dog’s body outside. Feed it to the strays,” he commanded his men. “From now on, anything that upsets my wife is to be disposed of.” The harshness of his tone startled Maya. She flinched, pulling her hands back as my men unceremoniously dragged the massive corpse away. She fought to hold back her tears, and I saw Cole’s own eyes redden with sympathy for her. I was tired of watching them. I picked up my cane and turned to leave. This leg… this was from the ambush years ago. Cole had been cornered. I crashed the enemy’s compound, found him, and carried him on my back for seven days and seven nights while we fled. A bullet shattered my kneecap. I’d walked with a limp ever since. That night, after we’d finally made it to safety, he’d whispered in my ear, “Cassie, you’re the bravest woman I’ve ever known.” Usually, if I walked off like this, Cole would rush to my side, offering his arm for support. This time, he stayed right where he was, standing guard over Maya. By the time I reached the villa, a thin layer of sweat coated my skin. That evening, Maria, our housekeeper, stormed into my study, her face flushed with anger. “Ma’am, Mr. Harrison just signed over all your Bayview properties to Miss Maya.” She wrung her hands. “He knows your mother left those to you…” I said nothing. I was looking at my phone, at a video Maya had sent me. They were having dinner at the main Bayview villa. In the video, one of Cole’s business partners was suggesting a marriage alliance with Maya. Even as an adopted daughter, we treated her as our own and had already given her control of several business arms. And since I couldn’t have children, there would be no biological heir to challenge her inheritance. Maya refused the offer with a smile. “No, a matter like that can’t be taken lightly.” She looked at Cole, her eyes full of a disturbing adoration. The next moment, she leaned over and pressed a firm kiss to his cheek. “The only one I’m interested in is my father,” she announced to the table. “I’m officially going to start pursuing him.” Amid the ensuing laughter, Maya leaned in closer, aiming for Cole’s lips. I counted silently in my head. Three, two, one. He didn’t pull away. I closed the phone, fighting the bile rising in my throat. I turned to Maria. “Arrange a car for me to Bayview,” I said. “And a small team from the Ravens.” The weather outside was turning, a heavy gloom settling over the estate. My knee began to throb with a dull, familiar ache. I had my men position themselves out of sight, with orders to move only on my command. The dinner party was still in full swing when I arrived. Through a window, I watched as Maya carelessly popped a piece of piping hot baked cheese into her mouth. She yelped, tears instantly springing to her eyes. Without a word, Cole held his hand out in front of her, palm up. “Spit it out,” he said simply. Maya’s eyes went wide as she stared at him, stunned. Cole sighed, then used two fingers to pry open her mouth, retrieving the scalding food himself. I watched the entire exchange, and the block of ice in my chest grew heavier. There was probably only one woman in the world he would do that for, and it was Maya. I pushed the door open and stared them down, my face a cold mask. Cole’s face went pale. His voice was unsteady. “Cassie… what are you doing here? Didn’t I schedule a physical therapist to work on your leg tonight?” Maya, however, met my gaze without flinching, a defiant challenge in her eyes. It was the same look I used to have, back in the day. A predator’s glare. No wonder Cole was so fond of her. “You should have just given him to me a long time ago, Mom,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt. Before the last word left her mouth, a flash of silver cut through the air. 3 A sharp, piercing pain erupted in my shoulder. The short blade was buried deep in my flesh. It was a beautiful, jade-handled dagger I had given her for her eighteenth birthday. Who knew I was raising a viper? Blood began to soak through the fabric of my blouse. Cole’s eyes widened in horror, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Cassie, why didn’t you move? Your leg is bad, but you could have dodged that. You know you could have!” he stammered. “Everyone in the organization knows the legend of ‘Nightshade.’ Maya was just sparring with you. How have you gotten so slow?” He was right. How had I gotten so slow? The year I turned twenty-five, I was pregnant with Cole’s child. I was nearly full-term when I was kidnapped. Cole nearly lost his mind. He threw away all caution, storming the enemy compound alone to rescue me. They’d captured me only to lure him in. They injected him with a cocktail of neurotoxins and threw us both in a damp basement to die. He was curled up behind a pile of crates, his eyes vacant, drool trickling from the corner of his mouth as he mumbled, “scared… so scared…” My heart seized in my chest; I could barely breathe. Ignoring the sharp, contracting pains in my abdomen, I gritted my teeth and knelt beside him, taking his trembling hand in mine. “Cole, we’re leaving.” I shielded my stomach with one arm and turned, letting my back take the brunt of the bullets as his captors found us. The searing pain dropped me to my knees. The last thing I remember was shoving him into a service elevator and hitting the button for the roof, where I knew our evac team was waiting. When I woke up, he had no memory of the event. He couldn’t even control his own body, no better than a broken invalid. And I… I was no longer pregnant. My body was weak from the blood loss and the miscarriage. But he remembered nothing, didn’t even know we had lost a child. There was a time we would have died for each other. I never imagined a love like that could be so fleeting. I suppressed my rage. “The Bayview properties are my line in the sand,” I said, my voice tight. “And Maya is old enough now. It’s not appropriate for her to live with us anymore. She has her own assets. It’s time to send her away.” He rubbed his temples, a look of weary frustration on his face. Ignoring my demands, he waved his hand. “Someone take my wife downstairs, have a doctor look at that wound, and then send her home to rest.” I frowned, staring at him as if he were a complete stranger. Cole, I don’t even recognize you anymore. The men who escorted me out had been bought by Maya. They had no intention of taking me home. They sealed my mouth with duct tape, bound my hands, and threw me into a small storage closet. Maya appeared in the doorway, a triumphant smile on her face as she looked down at me. “You once taught me, Mom, that the strong don’t rely on weapons. They rely on being ruthless and knowing the right moment to strike.” She pressed the jade-handled dagger to my neck. “How am I doing so far?” “You also taught me to go after what I want,” she purred. “So I slipped Dad a little something in his drink. You just stay in here and have a good listen.” The sharp edge of the blade broke my skin. The scent of my own blood seemed to excite her. My Ravens, my personal guards, were ready to move in, but I held them back with a look. Cole, I want to see just how far you’ve fallen. 4 A few minutes later, I heard the main door open. Cole strode in, looking confused when he saw Maya in his room. “Maya, what are you doing here? Go back to your own room.” Maya wrapped her arms around his neck. “Dad, I miss General so much. He always sleeps with me. Don’t make me leave tonight, please?” She kissed the hollow of his throat. “Dad, your skin is so hot.” Her hands slid under his shirt, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest. Cole’s eyes clouded over with a haze of lust. His voice was like sandpaper, rough and strained. “Maya, what am I going to do with you? You shouldn’t be tempting me like this.” He lifted her chin, his mouth crashing down on hers. I listened to the sounds from the closet, and my heart turned to stone. I raised a hand to my cheek and felt the cold dampness of tears I hadn’t even realized I’d shed. Maya grew bolder, her hands fumbling with his belt. The moment the buckle sprang open, a deafening crack of thunder shook the villa. Cole froze. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving. “It’s storming,” he gasped. “Cassie’s terrified of storms. And you stabbed her today… I have to go check on her.” He bent down, scooping up his clothes and wrapping them around Maya. “You should get some sleep.” Then, without another glance, he turned and left. Maya’s hands clenched into fists, her knuckles white with fury. She wrenched open the closet door. “Happy now? He still cares about you.” I had already worked my hands free. I was calmly massaging the red welts the ropes had left on my wrists, a cold, mocking smile on my face. “Why would I be happy? Because I realized I picked a venomous snake for a daughter? Or because Cole didn’t go all the way with you? He had his pants off, Maya. Does the final step really matter at that point?” The scales of his heart had already tipped. They would never be balanced in my favor again. What I wanted was his unwavering choice, his absolute devotion, not the guilt and sense of responsibility he tossed my way after weighing his options. I stared at her, my eyes frigid. “Maya, do you remember what I told you when I first took you in? Betrayal has a price. And the price is death.” My men had already surrounded the entire estate. The main doors burst open with explosive force, and dozens of my Ravens, clad in black tactical gear, flooded the villa like a dark tide. They had Maya restrained in seconds. Her face was ashen, her eyes wide with disbelief. “How… how are you connected to the Ravens?” I ignored her, giving a single command to my captain. “Take the young lady back to the main house.” I had a score to settle with both of them. And I was going to do it together. We hadn’t even reached the house when I heard shouting from inside. It was Cole, roaring with a rage I had rarely witnessed. “Get out! Who the hell let you in here?” Then, a clear, lazily arrogant voice replied, “But Cassie promised she’d make me her boy-toy.”

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After blazing through three power-fantasy stories, the hardest thing I’d ever faced was an overly bitter iced Americano. So when I woke up reborn as the tragic heroine of an angst-filled novel, my first instinct was to find the nearest wall and ram my head into it for a reset. But just as I was about to, memories from the original character flooded in. A mafia Don father. A billionaire CEO mother. A handsome, rich, devoted childhood sweetheart. With a setup this overpowered, how did the original girl waste her life chasing a scumbag? She let him and his mistress destroy her—right up to her bones being fed to wild dogs. It was an insult to badass heroines everywhere. I pulled back from the wall. Just then, my phone buzzed. A text from the other woman, Seraphina, with a photo of her and my fiancé, Jerry, tangled in bedsheets. [Sera Reed]: Jerry had too much to drink. Staying at my place tonight. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of him.] Time, place, culprits—all served on a silver platter. I forwarded the message and photo to every major gossip outlet I knew. My caption: “BREAKING: C-list actress and billionaire heir caught ‘rehearsing a script’ late at night. Wait for slide #2!” 1 While the paparazzi swarmed Seraphina’s apartment complex, I was soaking in a ridiculously large bathtub, scrolling through a sitcom on my tablet. The hashtag #JerrydSera was dominating the trending charts. I lazily reposted the provocative photo Seraphina had so thoughtfully sent me, adding a simple, questioning emoji. Meanwhile, Jerry Vance was trying to hunt me down, blowing up my phone with a string of furious calls. I ignored them, happily nursing a cocktail in a neon-lit nightclub, shamelessly checking out the DJ. Of course, a billionaire heir has his resources. It only took an hour for his bodyguards to find me and unceremoniously drag me back to his villa. Jerry’s eyes were blazing with a fury so intense it felt like he wanted to devour me whole. “Aurora Blackwood! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he roared. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to Sera? Is this your pathetic attempt to get my attention? By ruining her?” I shook my head, sinking languidly into the plush sofa. “Get your attention? Please. Your ego is taking up all the air in the room. I’m not trying to get your attention. I’m just trying to ruin you and that cheap knock-off you’re sleeping with.” As a heroine from a power-fantasy world, I had a particular set of skills. Pissing people off was my specialty. It worked. Jerry stared at me, his brow furrowed in confusion, clearly thrown off by my departure from the usual script of tearful accusations. But his confusion quickly morphed back into rage. “Sera is just a friend from high school, Aurora! Stop projecting your own filthy thoughts onto us!” he snarled. “If you want to stay with me, if you want your father’s little company to stay afloat with my support, you will get online right now and issue a public apology to Sera. You will tell everyone that you faked that photo and the texts.” Hold on. My father’s company needs his support? I’d almost forgotten. The original Aurora, terrified that her background would scare Jerry off, had told a little white lie. Her father, the feared Don Marcus Blackwood, and her mother, the ruthless billionaire CEO Isabella Lin, were painted as simple small-business owners struggling to make ends meet. Little did Jerry know, the ‘Vance empire’ he was so proud of was only standing because my parents had been propping it up for years, a little charity project for their daughter’s fiancé. And he had the audacity to posture like this. I crossed my legs, leaning back into the sofa with a smirk. “And if I don’t? What are you gonna do about it?” He trembled with rage, his hand raising as if to strike me. Before his palm could connect, I whipped out my phone and hit ‘record.’ “Go on, do it,” I taunted, holding the camera up to my face. “Hit me right here. I guarantee if you lay a single finger on me, I’ll sue you for everything you have, right down to your last pair of boxer shorts.” His hand froze mid-air, caught in an awkward limbo between striking me and losing face by backing down. Just then, the frantic click-clack of high heels echoed from the foyer. A second later, a figure flew into the room and threw herself into Jerry’s arms. “Jerry, darling, please don’t fight with Aurora because of me,” Seraphina sobbed. “It’s all my fault. I just wanted to let her know you were safe. I never thought she would misunderstand so badly and cause such a scene.” She heaved with dramatic, breathless sobs—all the sound, none of the tears. Jerry clutched her as if she were a precious, fragile doll, practically trying to absorb her into his own body. My phone was still recording. Perfect. The B-roll was delivering itself. I moved around them, getting all the angles. A full 360-degree, high-definition shot of their touching reunion. “Yes, just like that!” I encouraged them. “A little louder on the crying, Sera. You can do better. And you, Jerry, hold her tighter! Did you skip lunch? Put some feeling into it! Don’t you think this moment calls for a passionate kiss to seal the deal?” Jerry finally remembered I was there. He hastily let go of Seraphina’s waist. “Aurora, are you insane?” he seethed. “Delete that video. Now!” I scoffed, tucking the phone safely into my pocket. “Not a chance. I think I’ll let the internet be the judge. We’ll see who’s really the one with the filthy mind, and who’s just rotten to the core.” He opened his mouth, but the only threat he could muster was a weak, “You’ll regret this, Aurora.” Please. I’ve stared down intergalactic warlords. A flimsy threat from a cheating fiancé was hardly going to make me lose sleep. This was just the beginning. Now that I was here, this story was no longer a tragedy. It was a revenge fantasy. And I was writing the script. 2 I had assumed the cheating duo would lay low for a while. I was wrong. At three in the morning, my phone erupted with a storm of notifications, shattering my peaceful sleep. I groggily unlocked it, and a flood of pop-up links funneled me directly into Seraphina’s livestream. There she was, perched precariously on a rooftop ledge, tears streaming down her face as she told the world how I was driving her to her death. “Jerry and I are innocent,” she cried. “Why won’t anyone believe me? Why do you have to slander me… why are you trying to ruin my life, to take everything from me! What’s the point of me even being alive anymore…” Her performance sent the comment section into a frenzy of vitriol directed at me. [Sera is too pure for this world. She doesn’t understand how evil people can be. Not like that gold-digging witch trying to marry into a rich family.] [Sera and the CEO are the perfect couple. Why won’t that other bitch just die already?] [Sera shouldn’t have to jump for someone like that! SHE should be the one on that ledge!] [Exactly! And that Jerry guy is blind. How could he be engaged to such a monster?] I rolled my eyes. Keyboard warriors. Predictably brainless. Just then, another figure burst onto the screen. It was Jerry, his face a mask of panic, his voice choked with emotion. “Sera, get down from there! It’s my fault! I didn’t protect you!” he pleaded. “I swear, I will never let anyone hurt you again…” The drama was thick enough to cut with a knife. I could already see how this would play out: the scumbag CEO and the damsel in distress would have a tearful confession of love, a passionate embrace, and the world would celebrate their twisted romance. The original Aurora would be the only casualty. Too bad for them, I wasn’t the original Aurora. And my favorite pastime was pouring gasoline on a fire. Without a second thought, I started typing in the chat. [I suggest Jerry jump with her to prove their innocence. Lock it down, you two!] [If you don’t jump, you’re both my children.] Satisfied, I exited the stream, turned off my phone, and went back to sleep. The next morning, the gifts from my new internet fans started arriving. Funeral wreaths, buckets of red paint, bricks through the windows. To top it all off, Jerry had successfully bankrupted the “small business” the original Aurora had claimed her family owned. I checked my phone. My name was still the number one trending topic, with hundreds of thousands of comments demanding my head. This was perfect. The bigger the spectacle, the harder the fall. Eager to gloat, Jerry arrived at my door with Seraphina on his arm, a smug, triumphant look on his face. “Have you learned your lesson yet, Aurora?” he asked. “Apologize to Sera online, and I might be willing to forget this ever happened. You can even continue to be my pathetic little lapdog.” I lounged on the sofa, my eyes rolling so hard I was surprised they didn’t get stuck. “Did you forget to take a piss this morning? If you don’t have any urine to look in, maybe try a mirror? But don’t do it in my house. It would probably smell as foul as you do.” Seeing his threats had no effect, Seraphina tugged on Jerry’s sleeve, her face transforming in an instant. Her eyes reddened, her lip trembled. “Jerry, darling… does this mean Aurora will never forgive me? I’ll get on my knees if it will make her feel better. Please, don’t fight because of me.” She made a show of starting to kneel. Jerry immediately hauled her up, shielding her behind him like a mother hen. He glared at me with a look so venomous it could kill. I just started humming a little tune. “Oh, what a poor, innocent little flower, so full of… bullshit and cheap tricks…” Jerry, deprived of the groveling apology he expected and seeing his precious Sera “bullied” again, finally snapped. “You will regret this, Aurora,” he seethed. “Mark my words.” I waved them off. “Bye-bye now.” 3 I’ll give Jerry this: he was a man of his word, especially when it came to avenging his little damsel. If I didn’t have the backing of an insanely powerful family, his scorched-earth tactics might have actually been intimidating. But as a power-fantasy heroine, his petty games were laughable. Seraphina’s rabid fans camped outside my door, screaming obscenities? I called the police and had the pests removed. Jerry bought hashtags to smear my name online, with an army of trolls spreading rumors? I hired a team of lawyers to sue every last one of them for defamation. My mother was a billionaire. I could afford to be reckless. My father was the Don. I had an army of bodyguards. I wasn’t afraid of anything. The day before Jerry was set to make a grand appearance at the city’s most exclusive high-society gala with Seraphina, my mother called. She told me she had organized a little party and that I was required to attend. It was time, she said, for me to find a husband worthy of our family. My parents weren’t living under a rock. They’d seen the online drama and had called immediately, asking how I wanted to handle it. But this was my fight. A satisfying victory is one you win yourself. All I asked was for my dad to run a background check on Jerry. Otherwise, I wouldn’t even need my father’s influence; a few of my bodyguards could have turned him into a human pretzel. So when I walked into the very gala Jerry was so proud to have been invited to, wearing a couture gown designed by a living legend, the look on his face was priceless. “Aurora? How did you get in here?” he stammered. What, I’m not allowed to attend the party my own mother threw for me? He was about to call security to have me thrown out when I cut him off with a dismissive shrug. “If they’re letting trash like you in, this party can’t be all that exclusive.” He obviously had no authority to command the event’s security, so he lowered his voice to a hiss. “This is not a place for lowlifes like you. You’d better not cause a scene, or I swear, you’ll pay for it.” At least he had enough sense to know he was out of his league here. He had probably begged, borrowed, and stolen to get an invitation, hoping to network his way to the top. A noble goal, if he hadn’t brought a liability. Suddenly, Seraphina dropped to her knees in front of me, one hand clutching her chest dramatically, the other grabbing the hem of my gown. “Aurora, I’m begging you, please stop fighting with Jerry because of me,” she wailed. “I’ll leave him. I’ll disappear from your lives forever. Just please, don’t embarrass him in front of all these important people.” The little fool didn’t realize that her pathetic act was the most embarrassing thing of all. As intended, her performance drew the eyes of everyone in the ballroom. People started pointing and whispering. Jerry, who had just warned me not to cause a scene, immediately switched into protective mode. He rushed to Seraphina’s side, scooping her into his arms and roaring at me. “Look what you’ve done, Aurora! I told you not to make trouble, and now you’ve forced Sera to her knees! Did you think you could bully her into leaving me? Let me tell you something: in my eyes, you’re not even worthy of polishing her shoes!” He was so loud I was almost certain his earlier warning had just been a fart in the wind. I nodded slowly and began to applaud. A truly moving performance. “A show this spectacular deserves a bigger audience than just me,” I said, pulling out my phone and starting a livestream. “Let’s share this with the world.” I aimed the camera at them. “Okay, I wasn’t ready before. Let’s take it from the top. Run the scene again. Let the whole world bear witness to your beautiful, tragic love story.” 4 The moment the livestream went live, the chat exploded. Seraphina immediately buried her face in Jerry’s chest, turning just enough to give the camera a perfect, tear-streaked profile. Her voice, choked with manufactured sobs, was a masterpiece of victimhood. “Please, everyone, don’t misunderstand,” she whimpered. “Aurora is just… confused right now. I’m sure she doesn’t mean to be so cruel…” Jerry stroked her back, his eyes spitting fire at me. “Confused? She’s malicious! She knows you have a kind heart, and she preys on it, framing you again and again! Now she’s pulling this livestream stunt at a high-society gala to destroy your reputation!” One played the victim, the other spun the lies.

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The argument with my childhood sweetheart ended with the sharp crack of his hand against my face, in front of everyone. That day, I deleted him from my life. Every contact, every connection, gone. No one could believe it. Aiden and I had grown up together. I’d been in love with him, trailing after him like a shadow for nine years straight. “Why, Zoe? Was it really just because of that one slap?” he asked, his voice hollow with confusion. “Yes,” I said, my own voice heavy with a certainty that felt like stone. “Because of that one slap.” 1. When Aiden’s palm connected with my cheek, for a split second, my brain refused to process what had happened. A dull smack echoed in the sudden silence of the classroom. I stumbled back a step, my head swimming, a sharp ringing in my ears. The spot on my left cheek bloomed with a hot flush, then began to burn like fire. I cupped my face, staring at him in a daze. My Aiden. My childhood sweetheart had just, in the middle of an argument I was having with the new transfer student, publicly slapped me. He seemed to freeze for a moment, the realization of his own action flickering across his face. But the shock was quickly swallowed by a wave of anger and impatience. “Can you just stop causing a scene, Zoe? Go back to your seat!” A few snickers broke the tension in the classroom. Most people just watched silently, eyes wide, taking in the free drama. Vanessa, the transfer student, stood beside Aiden, casually twirling a lock of her perfect chestnut hair. She clicked her tongue. “Oh, Aiden, what did you do that for? Can’t you see your little princess is about to cry?” Her words only fueled his anger. His voice dropped, turning icy. “If you’re going to cry, Zoe, do it at home. This is a school, not a stage for your little princess act.” A toxic cocktail of humiliation, grief, and rage churned inside me. Fat, hot tears finally broke free, spilling down my face. As the laughter of the boys in the class rose around me, I turned and bolted from the room. I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew I couldn’t stay for the next class, couldn’t bear to face any of them for another second. Aiden had always been impatient with me, that was nothing new. But for him to hit me… that was a first. More than that. In all my life, no one had ever laid a hand on me like that. 2. Aiden and I were the textbook definition of childhood sweethearts. We’d known each other since we were three. Our parents were best friends, our apartments right across the hall from each other. And I had loved him for as long as I could remember. In elementary school, I was an easy target for the boys. One was particularly relentless—he’d pull my hair from the seat behind me, stick gum on my chair, and once even set off a tiny firecracker in my desk. I cried to the teacher, and she’d give him a talking-to, but then she’d turn to me with a smile and say, “Oh, he only does that because he likes you.” I didn’t believe it. The boy never stopped, so I went home and told my parents. They were furious, ready to march down to the school and have a word with that teacher. Aiden’s dad, who happened to be visiting, overheard. He called Aiden over and told him it was his job to protect me at school from then on. We were the same age but in different classes. The very next day, during recess, Aiden stormed into my classroom, dragged the boy out into the hall, and laid into him. He’d always been tall for his age, with a fierce streak, and he left that kid and his friends whimpering. Before he left, he shot a warning glare at the other boys. “Anyone messes with Zoe again, you’ll answer to me!” That was the moment. That was when my crush solidified into something unshakable. From then on, I became his little shadow, sticking to his side wherever he went. Aiden hated it at first. He had this whole macho complex and thought hanging out with a “girly-girl” like me wasn’t cool. But I was persistent, trailing behind him, calling his name. After a few years, he softened. The annoyance melted away. I started to notice things—the way his eyes would linger on me a little too long, the way he’d get flustered if our gazes met, his cheeks flushing as he’d stammer and change the subject. One evening, his dad joked, “Since the kids are so close, why don’t we just promise them to each other?” Aiden didn’t say a word, but his hand found mine and squeezed tight. I saw his ears turn bright red. A sweet warmth spread through my chest, and I declared loudly, “Yes! I’m going to marry Aiden!” But when high school started, everything changed. At the end of our first semester of freshman year, we got a new transfer student. Her name was Vanessa. The rumor was her parents’ work had brought her here. She had great grades and a face that was more than pretty—it was stunning. On her first day, she walked in with a cascade of chestnut curls and told the teacher with a cheeky grin, “It’s natural, I swear. The color and the curls.” Then she scanned the room. Her eyes landed on me, paused, and she let out a loud, incredulous laugh. “Oh my God… seriously… are we looking at a real-life Barbie Princess? Ha! Everything’s pink! We’re in high school, honey, are you trying to be cute? It’s a little… cringe.” Every head in the class swiveled to look at me. My face burned. I loved pink. It was my color. Pink backpack, pink tumbler, pink hair clips, pink sweaters, pink phone case. Even my keychains were pink. It wasn’t the first time I’d been teased for it. In grade school, boys called me cutesy or prissy; some girls said I was trying too hard. But most people were kind. More often, girls would tell me I looked adorable, that pink suited me perfectly. But I had never been mocked so openly, so cruelly, in front of everyone. I felt an overwhelming urge to disappear, to sink right through the floor. “Oops, sorry,” Vanessa said, winking playfully when she saw my expression. “I’m just a little blunt. Don’t get upset, Princess.” “That’s enough. It’s your first day, keep it down,” Aiden’s sharp voice cut in. I turned to see him scowling at Vanessa, his face clouded with annoyance. Vanessa just raised an eyebrow, her gaze locking onto him. “Oh? Has the Princess’s knight in shining armor arrived?” “What are you talking about? Are you crazy?” Aiden shot back, slamming his hand on his desk as he stood up. The teacher quickly reprimanded him and found Vanessa a seat. As if by some cruel twist of fate, the only empty desk in the entire classroom was the one directly in front of Aiden. And just like that, they were neighbors. 3. I don’t know when, exactly, they got close. It was subtle at first. One day, the strawberry milk Aiden’s dad always had him bring me in the morning was replaced with plain milk. “I hate plain milk, you know that,” I said, frowning at the carton in my hand. “Come on, you only like the other one because the box is pink,” he said, ruffling my hair. “You’re too old for strawberry milk anyway. Plain is healthier.” Vanessa, holding an identical carton of plain milk, turned around and gave me a half-apologetic smile. “Sorry about that, Little Miss Pink. I prefer plain, so I asked Aiden to grab this kind.” She took a sip. “Besides, strawberry milk is so sweet, it’s sickening. Do all you girly-girls actually like that stuff?” I set my carton down, my eyes narrowing. “Do you enjoy giving everyone nicknames?” She blinked, feigning surprise and a little hurt. “Wow, don’t take it so seriously. It was just a joke. You’re so sensitive…” “Is it me being sensitive, or is it your guilty conscience talking?” “Alright, Zoe,” Aiden cut in, looking exhausted. “Vanessa… doesn’t always think before she speaks. Don’t take it to heart.” That was it. I was so angry my eyes started to sting. I shoved Aiden, hard, and shot a glare at Vanessa. “If you don’t know how to talk, then don’t talk at all!” Aiden stumbled, surprised, but his arms shot out to steady me. “Okay, okay, my fault,” he said instantly. “Don’t be mad. I’ll bring you strawberry milk tomorrow, alright?” I glanced over his shoulder and saw Vanessa’s face. Her smile was gone, replaced by a cold, hard stare fixed directly on me. 4. After that, it was like a switch had been flipped. Vanessa started targeting me. I’d pull out a pack of pink tissues, and she’d exclaim, “Wow! Even your tissues are pink! Are you trying to turn yourself into a life-sized Barbie doll?” During classroom cleaning, I used a wet wipe to clean the handle of my broom. She’d catch the eye of a few boys and smirk. “Here comes the princess act.” When we had to rearrange desks every two weeks, I paused for a moment to catch my breath. Vanessa’s voice would ring out across the room: “The princess is tired! We need some knights over here to help the princess!” And every single time, the group of boys she hung out with would roar with laughter, egging her on as if it were the funniest show on earth. At first, Aiden would try to intervene. “Hey, cut it out,” he’d mutter. But Vanessa would just wave a dismissive hand. “It’s just a joke! Zoe’s always so uptight. I’m just helping her loosen up and get along with everyone.” Aiden would nod thoughtfully. “Yeah, she can be a bit of a princess. Are all girls like that these days?” Vanessa would playfully punch his shoulder. “Hey! Don’t lump me in with them. I’m not like that at all.” Aiden would just smile. A bitter pang went through me. I’d always known Aiden thought I was a little delicate, a little spoiled. Maybe to most guys, liking pink, having a thing for cleanliness, and not being very strong just screamed “princess syndrome.” Finally, one day, I snapped. Over the summer, my family went on a beach vacation, and I came back with a serious tan. It had happened before; my skin would usually return to its normal shade after a couple of weeks indoors, so I didn’t think much of it. A few days after school started, I wore a pink button-up under my school uniform blazer. Vanessa saw me and her voice shot up, dripping with mock horror. “Oh my God! Zoe, you’re wearing that pink with your skin tone? Don’t you think you look ridiculous?” She doubled over, howling with laughter. “I’m sorry, I can’t—you can’t be a princess anymore! Where are there any tan princesses? You look more like… a stray puppy trying to play dress-up! Hahahahaha!” She and a few boys collapsed into a fit of giggles. I saw Aiden crack a smile, clearly amused. In that moment, a tidal wave of shame and helplessness washed over me. Blood rushed to my head, and my hands clenched into fists. Through the sound of their laughter, I grabbed my water bottle, twisted off the cap, and flung its contents directly into her face. Vanessa gasped, sputtering as she frantically wiped at her drenched face. Her makeup—the eyeliner, the foundation—began to streak. “Cough—what the hell is wrong with you? Are you insane?!” “Oh, dear,” I said, mimicking her tone. “Coming to school with a full face of makeup? No wonder you’re not a princess. You’re more like a clown, here to put on a show.” A couple of boys moved to step between us, but Aiden was faster. He snatched the bottle from my hand. “Zoe. Apologize.” He looked down at me, his brow furrowed, his voice cold and hard. My eyes burned. I stared right back at him. “Did you not hear what she called me? She said I looked like a stray puppy.” “That’s a separate issue. You already insulted her back. Now you need to apologize for throwing water on her.” He said it so matter-of-factly. “Admit when you’re wrong. Be good. Stop throwing a tantrum.” “Just apologize,” he pressed on. “Vanessa won’t hold it against you.” A cold laugh escaped my lips. “Go to hell.” Aiden’s eyes widened in shock. Then, his arm swung back, and he slapped me across the face. 5. I didn’t go back to class that day. I went straight home. I tore through my room like a hurricane, pulling books off shelves, yanking clothes from my closet, ransacking storage bins. I found a large cardboard box and started filling it, throwing in every single thing Aiden had ever given me, from childhood trinkets to recent gifts. When the box was overflowing, I made one last sweep to ensure I hadn’t missed anything. Then I hauled it downstairs and dumped the entire collection of our shared history into the communal dumpster. My parents weren’t home yet, so I called my mom. “Hey, sweetie. What’s up?” “Mom,” I said, my voice flat. “When you get home, I need you to go tell Aiden’s parents that he and I are done. And one more thing.” My voice was ice. “From this day forward, Aiden is never, ever to set foot in our house again. Tell him to get lost and stay lost.” When my mom got home, her eyes went wide with a mixture of shock and fury as she saw the red handprint blooming on my cheek. I told her everything that had been happening for the past few months. Listening, I could see a vein throbbing in her temple. Without a word, she spun around and marched across the hall, banging on Aiden’s door. His mom was confused at first, but my mother laid it all out, sparing no detail: how hard Aiden had slapped me, how he’d stood by while the new girl relentlessly bullied me, and how, in the end, he had chosen to stand in front of that girl and defend her. Aiden’s mom’s face cycled through shades of white and green. The friendship our two families had cherished for over a decade was fracturing right before her eyes, because of me. But my own mother didn’t blame me for a second. She just wrapped her arms around me, her voice soft but firm. “No one gets to hurt my Zoe. Whatever you decide to do, your father and I are behind you one hundred percent.” The dam of suppressed hurt and grief finally broke. My nose stung, and I buried my face in her shoulder and sobbed. 6. When Aiden got home that night, he must have seen the discarded contents of the box in the dumpster. He came to our door, his knocking sharp and angry. “Zoe! Come out here! We need to talk.” I opened the door. He stood there, his face a mask of cold fury. “Why did you throw away everything I ever gave you?” “What’s it to you?” I asked, my gaze as cold as his. The mark from the morning’s slap was still vivid on my face. He hadn’t held back. My cheek was swollen and purplish, the outline of his fingers darker now than it had been hours ago. His expression shifted, the anger dissolving as he stared at the bruise. “I… I didn’t realize it was that bad,” he stammered. He reached out to touch my face, but I flinched back, my expression unchanging. I was rarely injured, but in the past, even the smallest scrape would have me running to him with teary eyes, demanding he kiss it better. I was never really afraid of pain; I just liked the excuse to be coddled by the boy I loved. And Aiden, for all his talk about me being delicate and prissy, secretly loved being needed by me. Not anymore. I was done playing that part. He’d never seen me this cold, this distant. He looked at me with disbelief. “I didn’t mean to, Zoe. It’s just… you swore at me, and I got angry…” I cut him off. “Since you’re here, let’s get this straight. From today on, we’re strangers.” “I want you to call me by my full name. If you see me at school, don’t talk to me. And don’t you ever come knocking on my door again.” I started to close the door. He shot his hand out, grabbing my wrist. His eyes bored into mine, his expression morphing from guilt to confused rage. “Is it really that serious, Zoe? If you’re mad about the slap, I’ll apologize. But don’t you think you’re being a little extreme?” He tightened his grip. “Have you thought about what you’ll do when you regret this?” “I won’t regret it.” “Why?” he demanded, his voice strained. “Just because I accidentally slapped you?”

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1 At a company dinner, in front of the entire team, my fiancée’s assistant nonchalantly dropped a piece of eggplant he’d just bitten into right into her bowl. Without a second thought, Ava picked it up with her chopsticks and ate it. The moment we got home, I told her I was calling off our engagement. She pinched the bridge of her nose, annoyed. “Because I ate the eggplant he gave me?” “It was the eggplant he’d already taken a bite of,” I corrected her. “Jeffrey, honestly, calling you insecure isn’t an exaggeration. You blow every little thing out of proportion.” She scoffed. “Fine. You want to break up? Go ahead. Just don’t come crawling back to me when you regret it.” She was so sure that I loved her, that I could never leave her. But she didn’t understand that even the deepest love can be eroded by a thousand cuts. This time, I was really leaving. … I told my parents I wanted to change our families’ arrangement that very night. They were surprised, but they respected my decision. After that, Ava and I fell into our usual cold war. She blocked my number, unfriended me on all social platforms, and removed me from her gaming friends list—her standard operating procedure after every fight. She was confident I couldn’t bear to lose her, that I would eventually swallow my pride and come back to her, begging. But this time, as my cursor hovered over the ‘Send Friend Request’ button, I didn’t click it. A week later, a notification popped up in the company group chat. “Today is Ms. Willow’s birthday. She’s treating everyone to dinner tonight. Attendance is mandatory, no exceptions.” Not wanting to make things awkward for everyone else, I went. When I entered the private room, the first thing I saw was Ava in the seat of honor, with Liam pressed up right beside her. His lips were practically touching her ear as he whispered something to her. They were in their own bubble, a world no one else could enter. A moment later, they both burst out laughing, their faces so close they nearly kissed. I couldn’t watch anymore and found a seat in a quiet corner. People started presenting their gifts to Ava. I ignored it all, pouring myself drink after drink. But soon, a shadow fell over me. I looked up into Ava’s beautiful, impatient face. “Jeffrey, where’s my present?” In the past, I would have started planning for her birthday months in advance. The most memorable one, I spent over six months building her a perfect, to-scale replica of the house from her favorite movie, Up. When the balloons lifted it into the air, she’d said we would be just like the main characters, together until the very end. I believed her then. I never imagined her promise wouldn’t even last three years. Faced with her demanding question, I just said flatly, “I forgot.” My indifference clearly infuriated her. She lost all patience. “Jeffrey, are you done with this tantrum?” “Is this little incident really worth a week of sulking?” I looked at the smudge of her lipstick near Liam’s ear and felt a wave of nausea, like I’d swallowed a fly. “I’m not throwing a tantrum. And I was serious about calling off the engagement.” Her expression froze for a second, but she regained her composure when Liam took her hand. “Jeffrey, please don’t misunderstand,” Liam said, his voice dripping with false sincerity. “I only gave the food to Ava because I didn’t want to waste it. If you hate me that much, I… I just won’t eat at the table next time. I can eat leftovers when everyone’s done.” His words immediately sent Ava into a protective frenzy. “Liam, don’t say things like that! You deserve the best in the world. The one who shouldn’t be here is Jeffrey. Who does he think he is? Does everyone have to cater to his whims?” “Ava, don’t say that,” Liam cooed. “Jeffrey might be a little sensitive, but he’s still your fiancé. You have to be patient with him. I really don’t want you two to fight because of me.” “Patient with him? Who does he think he is? If my parents hadn’t begged me to go through with this engagement, I would never have gotten involved with him. He’s always getting upset over nothing. He’s not a real man at all.” Liam walked over to me and patted my shoulder, his tone patronizing. “Jeffrey, man to man, you’re being a bit dramatic this time. Ava’s been so upset she can’t even sleep. I know you two aren’t the most compatible, but you have a family arrangement to think of. You should both just take a step back.” I slapped his hand away. “You know what I admire most about you, Liam?” I sneered. “Your ability to play the victim. The way you can steal someone’s girlfriend with your two-faced act and not even blink.” Liam’s smug expression faltered. Ava exploded. “Jeffrey, who gave you the right to slander Liam?” “Slander? Then tell me, why does he have a matching version of everything you buy for me, which he then flaunts at the office? Why is it that every time we fight, he’s the one spreading a twisted version of the story in the breakroom? And how does he know about the mole on your—” “Enough!” A sharp crack echoed through the room. Ava had slapped me, hard, in front of everyone. The world went muffled for a moment, but my vision was crystal clear. I could see the pity, the scorn, the contempt on the faces of my colleagues. As the ringing in my ears subsided, I heard Ava’s loud declaration. “From now on, everyone is welcome to like the photos of me and Liam together. When we hit one thousand likes, I’m dumping Jeffrey and marrying Liam.” With that, she grabbed Liam’s hand and stormed out. Just before the door closed, he shot me a triumphant, mocking smirk. After they left, the room started to empty. Someone snickered. “He pushed his luck without having the capital to back it up. I bet he regrets it now.” A kinder colleague offered some advice. “Pride is worthless, man. Just apologize. Otherwise, she’s really going to marry that guy.” I knew this was just her way of forcing me to apologize. But this time, I couldn’t bow my head. Not even if it killed me. Soon, the once-boisterous room was empty except for me. I picked up a bottle of hard liquor and downed it. The alcohol burned its way down to my stomach, and the sting brought tears to my eyes. A decades-long relationship was ending, just like that. Maybe an engagement a thousand miles away in Crestwood would finally get her off my back. I didn’t know why, but my face was wet with tears again. Back home, I started packing. Ava and I were childhood sweethearts. We’d spent more than half our lives together. The ties were so deep, there was too much to sort through. This little red flower—the first prize she ever won in kindergarten. She’d run over to me on her chubby little legs and given it to me. I vaguely remembered her saying, “I want to give my Jeffrey all the best things.” This photo—a secret shot I took of her blushing face when she got her first period. She hadn’t paid attention in health class and thought she had a terminal illness. She’d run to me, telling me to take care of myself for the rest of my life, that I could get a new girlfriend, but not one prettier than her. I was completely bewildered until I realized what was happening. I ran to the store to buy her pads and we looked up how to use them online together. I teased her for not listening in class, and she bit my arm in embarrassment. It didn’t hurt. It just made my heart itch. Later, we got together. Different universities forced us into a long-distance relationship. Our memories from that time were a stack of train tickets. Four years. One hundred and twenty thousand miles we traveled to be with each other. Back then, her world revolved around me. She never once complained about the long journeys. My fingers brushed against a small, hard box. Inside were the rings we had made together. For her, I came back to this northern city right after graduation. The day I got back, she dragged me to a workshop to forge these rings. I still remember her words as she slipped mine onto my finger: “Jeffrey, with this ring, I’ve got you for life. You can never, ever leave me.” Neither of us ever thought she would be the one to let go. Liam’s interview for the company had been a disaster. Ava had found him completely unimpressive, and I hadn’t given the underqualified candidate a second thought. But somehow, he was hired. He went from being an invisible nobody to Ava’s executive assistant. The first real red flag was when the matching ring, the one that was supposed to be ours, appeared on Liam’s hand. At first, Ava would patiently explain and comfort me when I questioned it. But soon, her patience wore thin and was replaced by annoyance. My repeated willingness to forgive, to compromise, to please her, only made her more brazen in her favoritism toward him. Company dinners now featured only Liam’s favorite dishes. He worked half a day a week, spending the rest of his time with Ava, while I was saddled with his assistant duties. She talked about him more and more, first with unconscious praise, then by comparing me to him, complaining that I wasn’t as romantic or as sweet-talking as he was. It came to a head during an afternoon tea break. Ava mentioned how much she liked her milk tea. Liam said he wanted to try it, and without a word, she handed it to him. He drank from her straw, his lips touching the mark of her lipstick. Then she took it back and continued drinking as if nothing had happened. In that instant, a vise gripped my heart, sharp and painful. After that, his transgressions became more frequent. He’d go with her for facials and help apply her lotion. When she sprained her ankle, he swept her into his arms and ran to the nurse’s office, even though I, her actual boyfriend, was standing right there. She even canceled the birthday celebration she’d promised me because Liam came down with a cold. Every time I expressed my unhappiness, she would snap, “Jeffrey, you have such a dirty mind. Liam and I have a purely platonic friendship. Stop projecting your filthy thoughts onto him.” But as time went on, even she said it with less and less conviction. The final straw came during a major industry event. The invitation specified bringing a partner. Ava never even told me about it. She took Liam instead. I only found out after several people asked me if we had broken up. When I confronted her, she was angrier than I was. “I was just helping Liam network! It’s for the good of the company! Why are you being so petty?” We didn’t speak for a long time after that. So long that I thought we were really over. Until she sent a late-night text: “Babe, my stomach hurts.” All my carefully constructed defenses crumbled in an instant. And so the toxic cycle began again: I would confront her, she would get angry, I would appease her, and she would forgive me. I closed the ring box and threw it in the trash. In the back of a drawer was a handwritten apology note from when we were eighteen. She’d written it because she’d missed one of my texts. She cared so much back then. Now, the only person she cared about was Liam. I took out the letter, tore it into tiny pieces, and let them fall into the trash. With decades of memories cleared out, the house felt empty. My heart felt empty, too. The company chat was still buzzing with photos of Liam celebrating Ava’s birthday, making her laugh. Knowing where her favoritism lay, my colleagues were all too happy to validate them. “OMG, Ava and Liam are so perfect together.” “Find a guy like Liam, not a petty, moody one like Jeffrey.” “Jeffrey only has his family to lean on. Liam got to where he is all by himself. There’s no comparison.” I couldn’t look anymore. I called my lawyer and told him to pull all of my investments from Willow Corp. The next day, I went to the office to clear out my things. I found Liam in my private lounge, wearing shorts with his feet propped up on my desk. His belongings were scattered everywhere, and all of my things had been thrown outside the door. This was the lounge Ava had designed specifically for me. Everyone in the company knew it was my sanctuary. No one else dared to set foot inside. This was him, shamelessly taking a dump on my head. I didn’t bother arguing. I just called the police. At the station, Liam started to panic. “I was just getting some documents for Ava. Do you really need to call the cops over this?” “That is my private space. Did I give you permission to enter?” I said coldly. “Entering without permission is called trespassing. Taking things is called stealing.” He didn’t argue. Instead, his eyes filled with tears. I had a bad feeling. Sure enough, I turned around and saw Ava standing there, her face a thundercloud. “Ava,” Liam whimpered, throwing himself into her arms. “I was just trying to get your files, but Jeffrey seems to hate me. He’s accusing me of being a thief. The villa you gave me is already overflowing with your gifts. Why would I want any of his shabby things?” This little room was Ava’s gift to me, a private haven. It was a reciprocal gift for the wooden cabin I had built for her. We had so many sweet memories here. I thought this, at least, would be our last untouched piece of sacred ground, the final shred of dignity for our love. But Ava was determined to shatter even that last illusion. She comforted Liam while explaining to the officer, “It’s all a misunderstanding. We all know each other. Sorry for the trouble.” Then she turned to me, her voice dripping with disgust. “What have you become, Jeffrey? A jealous shrew? Does it make you feel powerful to abuse your authority and hurt an innocent subordinate like Liam? You’ve disappointed me so much.” The accusations rained down on me. Before I could even respond, Liam started his performance again. “Ava, don’t blame Jeffrey. It was my fault for being careless. I can spend a few days in jail, I don’t mind being laughed at. Just don’t let me come between you two.” Ava squeezed his hand, her face full of adoration. “Liam, you’re just too gentle. That’s why people always take advantage of you.” She glared at me. “Jeffrey, I’m telling you, this isn’t over. Apologize to Liam. Now.” “He entered my private space without permission, and you want me to apologize to him? You think he’s the victim here?” At my words, Liam started sobbing again. Ava sneered. “Your private space? That lounge is Willow Corp’s property. And in case you forgot, the entire company is in my name. You just have temporary access. And if you keep this up, I don’t mind filing a complaint against you for false accusation.” With that, she took Liam and sorted out the issue with the police. Her words were like daggers to my heart. A heart I thought was already dead began to ache again. All these years, I had poured everything into building up her company, thinking I was working for our future together. In the end, all I got was: you just have temporary access. Before leaving, Ava shot me a warning. “Just so you know, the like count is at 990. If you don’t change your attitude, I’m really going to marry Liam.” I looked at Liam’s contemptuous smirk from behind her and suddenly saw how pathetic I’d been. His schemes were always clumsy. A smart woman like Ava couldn’t have missed them. She had simply chosen to ignore them. The scales of her affection had tipped long ago. This was all just an elaborate way to get rid of me, the clingy boyfriend she was tired of. And I had been the fool, begging for reconciliation time and time again. With that realization, the last embers of my love for Ava died out completely.

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The knock came at 3 AM. A frantic, desperate sound that sliced through the dead of night. It was Liam, the widower next door. He said his kid was burning up and asked if we had any fever medicine. My wife, Jennifer, a doctor whose shifts blurred day into night, had just fallen asleep after a marathon day at the hospital. Without a second thought, she was up and out the door. Half an hour later, she slipped back in. “Poor Liam,” she murmured, shrugging off her coat. “It’s so hard for him, raising a kid alone. The fever’s finally breaking, thank God.” When I didn’t respond, she sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion. “I know you get tense when I’m around other men, but this was life or death. It’s my duty as a doctor.” Normally, I would have nodded, played the understanding husband. But not tonight. My voice was calm, dangerously so. “I want a divorce.” 1 Jennifer’s hands froze mid-motion, her face a mask of fatigue. But she recovered quickly, closing the distance between us and melting into my arms. “A little jealous, are we?” she cooed, her voice a practiced balm. “My mind is completely full with my work and with you. There’s no room for anyone else.” Her tone was sincere, laced with a familiar, weary patience. “You can be mad at me, Noah, but you can’t say things that hurt like that. You know that, right?” She sounded like she was calming a difficult child. There was a time I found that captivating. Tonight, a wave of revulsion washed over me. I pushed her away. “I’m not being difficult.” My voice was flat. “I’m serious. I want a divorce.” Her eyes locked on mine, a retort forming on her lips before dissolving into another sigh. The silence in the living room was suffocating, broken only by the sound of our breathing. Finally, she broke the stillness, taking my hand in hers, her thumb tracing circles on my skin. “Noah, I admit I’ve been distant lately, but it’s just work. I’ve been so busy. And I didn’t forget your birthday, I swear. The gift is already on its way.” She squeezed my hand. “Once this crazy period is over, I’ll take you on that trip we talked about, just the two of us. Okay? You know I was on my feet for almost twenty hours today. Come on, honey. Don’t do this…” Her eyes were bloodshot—partly from exhaustion, partly, I was sure, from the sting of my words. She was making perfect sense. Pushing this any further would make me look like an ungrateful monster. But I pulled my hand away, a bitter sneer twisting my lips. “Jennifer, I said I want a divorce. Are you deaf?” My words hung in the air, sharp and ugly. “Monday morning. Be ready. I’ve already contacted a lawyer.” Before I could finish, a flush of crimson crept up her neck. With a frustrated cry, she threw her coat to the floor. It knocked over a crystal vase on the entryway table, sending it crashing to the tile in a shower of glittering shards. Just like our marriage. The violent sound seemed to jolt her back to reality. Her anger receded, replaced by a flicker of despair. Still, she persisted, her voice softening. “Noah, this isn’t you. Even if you meant it, you’d at least have a reason, wouldn’t you?” Her voice cracked. “It can’t be because I gave Liam the Tylenol, can it? A child’s fever can be fatal. I’m a doctor. I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.” Her words struck a nerve, a raw, exposed thing inside me. My body tensed, and my hands clenched into fists at my sides. “You’re right. That’s exactly why.” My voice was laced with a venom I didn’t know I possessed. “A man and a woman, alone in a room in the middle of the night. The thought of it makes me sick.” I spat the words out, my eyes narrowed with a hatred so potent it was as if I’d seen them in bed together with my own eyes. The shouting had roused the neighbors. And Liam, of course, was among them. He appeared at our open door, looking utterly lost, before dropping to his knees in front of me. “Noah, man, please don’t misunderstand. Did my asking for medicine cause this?” he pleaded, his voice trembling. “There’s nothing going on between me and Jennifer. It was just so late, I couldn’t get a cab, and I knew she was a doctor… I figured you’d have something to bring the fever down…” Two other neighbors crowded around, piecing together the drama. Their judgment was swift and merciless, all of it aimed at me. “Look at him. So handsome on the outside, but what an ugly soul.” “She’s a doctor, for God’s sake! It’s her job to help people. What kind of petty, insecure man gets jealous over that?” “Dr. Anderson married him? What terrible luck. She must have been cursed.” The chorus of condemnation washed over me. I hung my head, a cold, bitter laugh echoing in the silent chambers of my heart. 2 The crowd grew, the noise escalating until someone called building security. People began to disperse. Jennifer grabbed my wrist, her grip like steel, and dragged me back inside. She wasn’t giving up. “Noah, you were just saying that to get a rise out of me, right? It was a joke?” she pressed, her eyes searching mine for a flicker of the man she knew. “I’ve given medicine to neighbors before. You never cared. I don’t believe you’d—” Her voice was becoming a grating buzz in my ears. I cut her off. Not with words, but with my hand. The sharp crack of my palm against her cheek echoed in the sudden silence. “If your brain isn’t working, go get it checked,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “But stop your damn whining in my house.” I turned away. “Monday. Be ready. Don’t make this uglier than it has to be.” Without another glance, I slammed the bedroom door shut. It was the first time I had ever been so completely, utterly cold to her. Even her legendary patience had its limits. I heard a vicious thud as her foot connected with the door. “Noah, this is insane! You have to stop this!” she screamed through the wood. “I am not agreeing to a divorce. Not now, not ever. So don’t even think about it!” The front door slammed shut, the sound rattling the apartment. But inside me, there was only a profound calm. An unprecedented sense of release. Is it finally ending? I didn’t waste any time. I packed a bag with my essentials and got on my laptop, finding a lawyer and initiating the divorce proceedings online. Sleep never came. As dawn broke, the apartment was empty. Jennifer was gone, but on the coffee table sat a bouquet of roses. It was her peace offering. For years, whenever we fought, she’d buy me flowers. That night, she’d cook my favorite meal, and we’d fall back into our rhythm, the argument forgotten. It was our unspoken ritual of reconciliation. But not this time. This time, there was no going back. I picked up the exquisitely wrapped bouquet. There were supposed to be nine roses, but I counted only eight. I knew exactly where the ninth one had gone. After tossing them in the trash, I headed for the door, only to trip on something lumpy under the rug. I bent down and picked it up. It was a new, unreleased Rolex. A buddy of mine who worked at a high-end boutique had told me about this model just last week. I hadn’t worn a watch in years. My job didn’t allow for it. But I remembered something. Liam loved watches. … My phone buzzed, shattering the quiet. It was one of Jennifer’s colleagues from the hospital. “Noah, you need to get down to the hospital, now,” she said, her voice strained with panic. “Jennifer… she’s had a severe allergic reaction to something. We need a family member to sign off on the procedure.” Her parents lived hours away. There was no time. I drove, my hands steady on the wheel. When I arrived, the scene was chaotic. Her friends and colleagues surrounded me, their faces a mixture of fear and anger. In front of them all, I laid out my terms. “I’ll sign,” I said, my voice clear and steady. “As soon as she signs the divorce papers.” The room erupted. A close friend of ours lunged at me, his face contorted with rage. “You son of a bitch! Have you lost your mind?” “She was only testing that new drug so she could get a few extra days off to spend with you!” another colleague yelled. “And this is how you repay her? Demanding a divorce while she’s lying in a hospital bed? Are you even human?” “We heard what happened last night,” someone else added, her voice dripping with contempt. “She did the right thing. That child could have died. How could you be so cruel?” From the hospital bed, Jennifer looked at me, her eyes wide with a despair that should have broken my heart. “Noah… please,” she whispered, her voice raspy. “I don’t want a divorce. I’ll be better. I’ll pay more attention to you. Please, just… stop this.” She reached a trembling hand toward me, tears tracing paths down her pale cheeks. It was a picture of pure, heart-wrenching devotion. Anyone else would have melted. I remained perfectly still, my expression unreadable. “Sign the divorce papers and the asset division agreement,” I repeated, my voice like ice, “and I’ll sign the surgical consent form.” The room exploded in a fresh wave of fury. “You’re a monster! All you care about is the money!” “I can’t believe this. They should be saving you, you bastard!” Through the storm of insults, another sound reached my ears. A small, almost imperceptible noise from the other side of the room. Ignoring the chaos around me, I strode forward, every eye in the room following my path. With one swift, decisive motion, I ripped back the privacy curtain separating the beds. 3 Liam froze, caught completely off guard. He fumbled with a cup of water, sending it spilling across the bedside table. He scrambled for an excuse, his eyes darting between me and the crowd. “Noah, don’t get the wrong idea,” he stammered. “After the fever broke last night, I was still worried, so I brought him back to the hospital for a check-up.” He gestured vaguely around the room. “The ER is swamped, you know? They’re doubling up patients, just putting dividers between the beds. I had no idea we’d be in the same room as Jennifer.” He looked at me, his face a mask of earnest concern. “I know you don’t like me. I’ll have a nurse move us as soon as he wakes up. I don’t want to cause any more trouble for you two.” He was playing his part perfectly. On the other bed, his young son was sleeping, cheeks flushed. Liam looked like a terrified, devoted father, trying to placate a madman. Before I could say a word, Jennifer spoke up, her voice ringing with false magnanimity. “Liam, don’t be ridiculous. The boy is sick. You don’t need to move. If your conscience is clear, there’s nothing to fear. We have nothing to hide.” Suddenly, the whole charade felt pathetic. The torrent of words I had prepared died in my throat. A cold, mirthless smile touched my lips. “You’re right,” I said, my voice dripping with scorn. “There’s nothing to hide.” I turned my gaze back to her, letting the full weight of my disgust show. “I just find you filthy. And I want a divorce.” The color drained from Jennifer’s face. She stared at me, her expression crumbling from disbelief to horror. “Noah, how long are you going to keep this up over one stupid incident?” she pleaded, her voice rising. “All I did was give a sick child a box of Tylenol!” She was truly furious now, her control snapping. “Just because you can’t have children of your own, does that mean you have to hate everyone else’s?” The words hit the air like a physical blow. A collective gasp went through the room. One of her friends, who knew our history, grabbed her arm. “Jennifer, that’s too far! What are you saying?” She finally seemed to realize what she’d done. Her eyes widened, and she looked at my hands, which were now trembling uncontrollably. Regret flooded her face. “Noah… I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring that up…” Five years ago, a simple mistake during surgery cost Jennifer a premature infant’s life. The grieving father, mad with pain, stormed the hospital with a knife. I was there, bringing her lunch. In the chaos, as he lunged, she yanked me in front of her. A shield. The fifty-centimeter blade tore through my abdomen. It severed more than just flesh and muscle. It took from me the possibility of ever having a child of my own. After that, Jennifer had knelt by my hospital bed for days, slapping her own face until it was bruised, her voice raw from screaming apologies. “It’s all my fault, Noah, I’m a monster, how could I…” she’d wept. “I swear, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. We don’t need children. I only need you.” Looking at her now, it was all a bitter joke. My silence terrified her. Ripping the IV from her arm, she stumbled out of bed and collapsed at my feet, her body shaking. “Noah… I was just angry, I didn’t mean it…” she sobbed, grabbing at my pants. “Please, don’t divorce me. I can’t imagine my life without you. There would be no point.” For a fleeting second, the scene felt identical to the one five years ago. The only thing that had changed was me. My face was a mask of ice. I kicked her, hard, in the chest. “Get off me.” My voice was low and menacing. “And don’t you ever call me that again. It makes my skin crawl.” “Sign the papers, or don’t. I don’t care. There are a thousand ways I can ruin your life. Go on. Test me.” With that, I turned and walked out of the room, leaving a stunned silence in my wake. Halfway down the hall, I stripped off the jacket she had touched and threw it in a biohazard bin. As I exited the hospital, a voice called my name. “Noah!” I turned. It was Leo, a new friend from my building.

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The first time I stayed over at Mishka’s place, I found his stepsister wearing his t-shirt as a nightgown. I told him then and there: that was a line I wouldn’t let anyone cross. To keep the peace, he sent her to study abroad. Five years later, on the eve of our wedding, a drunk Mishka posted a cryptic message to his social media. The tragedy is, all your regrets are tied to me. It was there for only a few seconds before it vanished. I stared at the empty space on my screen for a long moment, then opened the county clerk’s website and canceled our marriage license appointment. If his heart wasn’t in it, then I didn’t want the man, either. … 1 At 3 AM, Mishka sobered up. Babe, love you. I was wide awake when his text came through. Someone once said the difference between “I love you” and “love you” isn’t the “I.” It’s the difference between a sincere confession and a hollow habit. Maybe, for Mishka, being with me was just that. A habit. I tossed my phone aside and acted as if nothing had happened. I went through with the wedding the next day. Not because I had any hope left, but because I wanted to see, with my own eyes, what was really going on in his head. He was on one knee before me, the three-carat diamond on the ring he held out so brilliant it made the world go hazy. Then, a sharp, commanding voice cut through the air. “Mishka Thorne, you are not allowed to get married!” He didn’t seem surprised. Just… tired. He let out a weary sigh. Isabelle Vance stood at the edge of the manicured lawn, a vision in a scarlet dress, the hem billowing in the breeze. All eyes were on her. “Isabelle, don’t make a scene,” Mishka said, his brow furrowed. As he spoke, his hand, which had been holding mine, slipped away. “This is the most important day of my life. This isn’t one of our childhood games.” “The necklace you gave me for my 18th birthday,” she declared, her voice ringing with drama. “You said if I ever brought it to you, you’d grant me any request, no matter what.” “My request is this: leave her. And come with me.” She ripped the necklace from her throat and threw it onto the grass at his feet. Mishka scrambled to pick it up. As his fingers closed around the pendant, his face darkened. “Do you really have to do this?” From the crowd of guests, Mishka’s father shot to his feet, his face purple with rage. “This is absurd! Mishka, Isabelle, whatever this is, you can settle it at home! Officiant, continue the ceremony!” But Mishka just stood there, clutching the necklace, before pocketing it. He looked at his father and mumbled a quiet, “I’m sorry.” A wave of shocked murmurs swept through the guests. “What is happening? Is he actually leaving?” “Ugh, blended families are always a mess. Those two have been at each other’s throats since they were kids. But Isabelle is being completely out of line, deliberately ruining her brother’s wedding.” “That poor bride. How humiliating. I can’t even imagine.” Mishka turned to me, his eyes swimming with guilt. “Laila, forgive me. I swear, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll give you an even grander wedding.” “Mishka.” My voice was quiet, but it carried, and the entire venue fell silent. “I don’t want ‘later.’ I want today. If you walk away now, we’re over.” He stared at me, a flicker of desperation in his eyes. He squeezed them shut, a pained expression on his face. When he opened them, all he could offer were two gut-wrenching words. “I’m sorry.” Isabelle let out a short, triumphant laugh. “Don’t be too sad, Laila. I was just doing you a favor, helping you see the kind of man you were about to marry.” Her voice dripped with mock pity. “See? You don’t mean that much to him after all. So easy to cast aside.” “Shut up!” Mishka roared, spinning on her. “I agreed to go with you. Stop hurting her.” Isabelle just sniffed, turned on her heel, and stalked away. Mishka followed her without a single glance back. “You ungrateful son!” His father’s furious shout was followed by the sound of a champagne bottle shattering against the stone path. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I stood on that stage, a brittle smile plastered on my face, and addressed our guests. “Well, you’re all here. Please, eat, drink, and enjoy yourselves.” I played the gracious host, as if I weren’t the one who had just been publicly abandoned at the altar. But inside, my heart was a ruin. 2 Once the guests were seated, I finally escaped to the dressing room. I pulled off my veil, then reached for my earrings, but my hands were shaking too violently. “Here, sweetie. Let me.” My mother had followed me in without me noticing. She gently unfastened the diamond studs and then began to remove my makeup with a soft cloth. “Oh, my child,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “You’ve been through so much.” I noticed new streaks of silver in her hair. They blurred before my eyes, the white strands bleeding into an encroaching darkness until my world went completely black. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. A doctor was speaking, his mouth moving, but it took a long moment for the sound to register. “She’s fine. Just exhaustion and extreme stress. But you’ll need to focus on her nutrition from now on. After all, she’s eating for two now.” A cold dread washed over me. My hand instinctively clenched the bedsheet. The child Mishka had wanted for so long… had decided to arrive now. Of all times. I met my mother’s gaze. Her eyes were filled with a profound, aching pity. “Laila, don’t overthink things. Just rest. You need to take care of yourself.” I pushed myself up into a sitting position. “Where’s Mishka?” My mom hesitated. “His phone’s going straight to voicemail. His family is out looking for him.” My father stood by the window, his face a mask of cold fury, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white. A titan of the business world, a man respected throughout the city, he had never suffered such a public humiliation. My heart ached for him. Suddenly, my phone rang, Mishka’s name lighting up the screen. My mother shot me a look, then gently pulled my father out of the room. I answered. “Laila, what happened today was all my fault,” he began, his voice earnest. “Blame me, hate me, do whatever you need to do. But please, don’t take it out on Isabelle, okay?” His voice was a knife in my chest, stealing my breath. He wasn’t worried about how I was, how much pain I was in. He didn’t care about the catastrophic mess he’d left me to clean up. His first thought, his first concern, was protecting Isabelle. My lips moved, but all I could manage was a weak, hollow, “Okay.” “She’s had a hard time abroad,” he continued, oblivious. “She’s angry with me, and she has every right to be. I owe her so much.” He sounded anxious now. “Laila, just give me some time. I’ll sort this out, I swear. And then, I’ll give you the wedding you deserve. A real one. Okay?” It wasn’t the wedding I couldn’t wait for. It was the way he’d left, so decisively, as if I meant nothing at all. A single hot tear slid down my cheek. “Mishka,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Are you… are you hiding something from me?” Silence. A sob caught in my throat. “Have your feelings for me changed?” “What? No, of course not!” he said, a little too quickly. “Laila, don’t think like that. Please, just trust me.” His hesitation had already told me everything. I ended the call without another word. A few days ago, I’d overheard one of Mishka’s friends ask him, “Did you know Isabelle is coming back? You don’t think she’s going to try and crash the wedding, do you?” Mishka had been so sure of himself then. “I would never let Laila get hurt.” I had trusted him. I believed he would handle it. I had never imagined I could lose so completely. A few minutes later, a message came through from Mishka’s assistant. Ms. Reed, Mr. Thorne would like to transfer ownership of his art gallery in Florence to your name. Please let me know when you would be available to sign the contract. A wave of desolation washed over me. Was this it? Was he trying to buy his way out of his guilt? That night, a video arrived from Isabelle. My curiosity got the better of me. I opened it. In the murky light of a dive bar, Mishka was slumped over a table, completely wasted. Isabelle pushed a bottle of red wine in front of him. “If you want my forgiveness,” her voice purred, “get on your knees and drink this whole bottle.” Mishka staggered to his feet and then collapsed onto his knees before her, slurring, “My fault… Forgive me, Izzy…” He fumbled for the bottle, his hands grasping at empty air. Isabelle snatched the bottle, grabbed his chin with one hand, and brutally forced the neck of the bottle into his mouth, pouring the wine down his throat. Dark red liquid streamed from the corners of his mouth, staining his shirt, his neck. He choked, sputtering, and fell to the floor in a fit of violent coughing. I closed the video, my hand trembling. A new message popped up. See? He’s like a pathetic little dog on a leash for me. The phone slipped from my grasp and hit the floor. The screen spiderwebbed with cracks. To earn her forgiveness, he would sacrifice his last shred of dignity. I didn’t sleep all night. Five years of memories played on a loop in my mind. Embracing under a shower of cherry blossoms, him whispering he wished that moment could last forever. The first snow of the year, him changing his flight to come home early, a steaming pot of hot pot waiting for me the moment I walked in the door. All those beautiful moments, now just shattered fragments of a life that was no longer mine. The next morning, the wedding planner called. “Ms. Reed? Just confirming the details. Mr. Thorne booked our videographer and makeup artist for your marriage license appointment next Wednesday morning. Is that correct?” I stared out the window, my voice flat. “I’m sorry. That won’t be necessary.” “Oh,” she said, confused. “But Mr. Thorne just made the booking yesterday…” “It’s been canceled.” I couldn’t understand him. He was groveling at Isabelle’s feet, yet he was still planning to marry me. What did he think I was? A convenient cover? A bandage for his reputation? I was just leaving the hospital wing when I ran straight into him in the emergency room lobby. His clothes were disheveled, and a dark, dried patch of blood stained his cuff. A thick gauze bandage was wrapped around his forearm. His eyes, when they met mine, were hard. “What are you, a bloodhound? How did you track me here so fast? This has nothing to do with you. Stay out of it.” I took a deep breath. “I’m not here for you.” A flicker of panic crossed his face, and he moved to block my path. “Don’t you dare go near Isabelle. Me getting hurt has nothing to do with her.” Isabelle, who was standing behind him without a scratch on her, folded her arms with a smirk. “That’s right. It has nothing to do with me. He’s the one who started it.” Two police officers motioned for them to follow, and Mishka trudged after them, his head down. As Isabelle passed me, she leaned in, her voice a triumphant whisper. “He’d die for me. Would he do that for you?” My body went rigid, as if I’d been nailed to the floor. Isabelle’s smirk widened into a grin. They hadn’t gone far when my phone shrieked. It was someone from Mishka’s company PR department, her voice an octave higher with panic. “Ms. Reed, there’s a video of Mr. Thorne beating up Ethan Cole going viral, and I can’t reach him…” “Ethan Cole?” “Yes. Isabelle’s ex-boyfriend. The one she dated for years while she was abroad.” The ground seemed to tilt beneath my feet. Mishka was always so calm, so controlled. Now he was getting into brawls over her, like a jealous teenager. So, he could be reckless. He could throw everything away. Just not for me. “Ms. Reed? What should we do? We’re in the middle of a critical negotiation. Any bad press right now could be disastrous…” A roaring filled my ears. “If you can’t reach Mishka, call his father. Someone from the Thorne family needs to handle this.” I hung up, the buzzing in my head threatening to swallow me whole. I turned around, walked back into the hospital, and went straight to the obstetrics and gynecology department to schedule a medical abortion.

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Martin Lewis, Manhattan’s crown prince, got rejected by Seraphina Vance for the ninety-ninth time. He turned and shoved a bouquet of blood-red roses—and his unlimited black card—into my hands. I was digging through a dumpster for food. Helicopters swarmed overhead, showering petals. He pinned me against the wall, his breath hot on my cheek. “Hey, little stray,” he growled. “Care to be my princess?” I saw Seraphina’s icy smirk. Broke and near dropout, I took the deal. My life became a whirlwind of champagne, tutors, and reckless spending. I burned his money like there was no tomorrow. On my eighteenth birthday, his fingers traced my collarbone. “Let’s make a video,” he whispered, “to commemorate our first time.” I knew then: this was the endgame. Seraphina’s mother was my father’s discarded mistress. Her revenge was to see me ruined. But I just smiled and waved my plane ticket and Harvard acceptance letter. “Your bed is soft, Martin, and your card’s limit is high.” My smile widened. “Too bad they can’t contain my future. Bye!” 1 “Miss Monroe, your visa application was successful. You can pick it up in seven days.” I hung up the phone just as Seraphina’s cloying, high-pitched laughter floated in from the living room. Inside the sprawling villa, the party was in full swing. Seraphina, hooking her strawberry-print panties with two fingers, spun around and playfully tucked them into Martin’s hand. “A little reward for you, baby.” She leaned in, her breath hot against his ear. “And if you get that video of Mia, the next reward… will be me.” A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. He tilted her chin up, his voice a gravelly, decadent purr. “Don’t worry, babe. I throw a little cash her way, and the little stray actually thinks I love her. She’s already agreed to give herself to me on her eighteenth birthday.” “Her eighteenth? That’s tomorrow!” Seraphina’s eyes lit up. She wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a loud, wet kiss on his lips. “Just make sure you don’t get your hands dirty for real. I don’t want you after she’s touched you.” He let out a low chuckle, his hand roaming wickedly over the small of her back. His grin was lazy, dangerous. “By the time I’m done with her, she won’t just make a video. I could tell her to strip naked and crawl down Fifth Avenue, and she’d do it without a second thought.” The room erupted in jeers and laughter. “I thought she was the type to dig through trash rather than sell out? Guess everyone has a price!” “The pure, innocent Mia Monroe turning into a slut? Now that’s gonna be some explosive content!” I stood just outside the door, a faint, placid smile on my face. What would a bunch of trust-fund kids, who’d never known a day of hunger, understand about true desperation? I knew what it was like to scavenge for food in dumpsters, to sleep under bridges, to drink filthy water from park sprinklers. I’d licked the last crumbs from the paper bags of stale bread the bakeries threw out. I was twelve when I did those things. Now, I was eighteen. And I swiped Martin’s no-limit black card without batting an eye. Dignity? What’s the market price on that? The laughter inside continued. Someone’s voice cut through the noise, teasing Seraphina. “Sera, you sure about pushing Martin onto Mia like this? What if he actually falls for her?” Martin grabbed a silk pillow and tossed it at the speaker, a smirk on his face. “My eyes are only on Sera. Got it?” Honestly, I couldn’t care less who Martin loved. I only cared about his money. The funny thing is, my family was rich. Very rich. My mother was a high-stakes lawyer with a crippling gambling addiction. My father was a renowned tycoon with a wandering eye. And trapped between them was me, a girl who sometimes couldn’t even afford a box of tampons. Neither of them cared about me. I was just a bargaining chip in their miserable marriage. If it weren’t for Martin, I would have already rotted away in that swamp of a home. And I had Seraphina to thank for all of it. Her hatred for me was so potent, so all-consuming, that she couldn’t wait to shove Martin into my life, just so she could be the one to orchestrate my destruction. 2 When I was twelve, my mother lost two million dollars at a poker table. She smashed the piggy bank where I’d saved up my school fees and threatened me not to tell my father. Her only form of apology was using my own money to buy me some greasy fried chicken from a street cart. As we stood there, surrounded by the stench of old oil, we saw him. My father, his arm wrapped around his mistress as they walked out of a designer boutique. Trailing behind them, clutching a shopping bag, was their illegitimate daughter: Seraphina. That night, my mother forced a bottle of drain cleaner down my throat, screaming at my father over the phone that if he didn’t break it off with that woman, she’d kill me. The chemical burn was a bitter agony. The glare of the surgical lights made me wish for death. It took three full-body blood transfusions to save my life. And that’s what it took to get my father to promise to come home, to patch together the hollow shell of our family. Seraphina hated me. She hated that I hadn’t died. Hated that my survival had led to her mother being abandoned. Hated the stain of being an illegitimate child. She wanted to destroy me with her own two hands. The truth is, I was there for every one of Martin’s over-the-top, school-wide declarations of love for her. He was handsome, magnetic, and obscenely rich. Money was just a game to him. Seraphina basked in his attention, reveling in the feeling of finally having something over me. And so, she always kept him at arm’s length, never saying yes. There was a time when I was sick with jealousy. I hated that I wasn’t the one being showered with roses and money. I hated being trapped in poverty, struggling to escape a swamp that only pulled me deeper. So one day, I posted a cryptic message online: “Being abandoned is the original sin. There’s no washing it away.” That was all it took. Seraphina couldn’t stand it. When Martin landed a helicopter on the academy’s football field, unleashing a rain of petals, I knew the show was about to begin. “Hey, little stray,” he’d said with that devilish grin, holding out his hand. “Care to be my princess?” He was offering to pull me straight to hell. That same night, Seraphina posted on the school’s forum: “So-called ‘pure and innocent girl.’ Turns out her price was just a little high.” She was right. I wanted money. Lots and lots of it. Enough to weave into a pair of wings that could carry me out of this godforsaken life. My parents always told me it was my fault they couldn’t get a divorce. But they were the sinners, and I was the one with the life sentence. My father would come home drunk, a storm of rage, beating me until my head was bleeding before he’d finally pass out in his room. My mother, after her gambling binges, would tear the house apart looking for money. She once spent an hour on her hands and knees, digging a single quarter out from under my bed. Leftovers, garbage, and endless beatings. I was done. Every time I got my report card back, I’d stare at the perfect red ‘A’ and imagine it turning into a pair of wings, flying me far away from my twisted, suffocating family. On my desk was a tattered romance novel I’d read a hundred times, where a prince lavished a broken girl with untold riches. I used to fantasize about that. That a prince would appear for me, too, throwing money at my problems and lifting me out of the dirt. I never would have crossed paths with someone like Martin Lewis on my own. But then Seraphina used herself as bait, sharpening Martin into the perfect weapon to use against me. He stepped right out of the pages of my book: from a powerful family, worth billions, handsome as a fallen angel, with a crowd of admirers wherever he went. Most importantly, he threw money around like it was nothing. That was enough. I just needed another two hundred thousand dollars. Enough to get out of the country and start over. 3 Choosing my moment, I pushed the door open, feigning ignorance as I held up a bottle of tequila. “Got the booze.” Seraphina slowly, deliberately, slid off Martin’s lap, giving him a look freighted with meaning. The man lazily crossed his long legs and patted the empty space beside him. “Come here.” I had just settled obediently beside him when Seraphina lunged, snatching the diamond bracelet from my wrist. “This is pretty. Must have been expensive.” “It was. A gift from Martin.” Someone in the room snorted. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s the freebie that came with the necklace Sera’s wearing.” The room filled with mocking laughter. They’d been building up to this moment all night, waiting for me to finally crack. But I didn’t. I met their gazes coolly. “Freebie or not, it’s from Martin. So I’ll treasure it.” I saw Martin’s hand, the one holding his cigarette, freeze for a fraction of a second. A flicker of something dark and unreadable crossed his eyes. That was exactly the reaction I wanted. I knew where his soft spots were. I knew which buttons to push. The truth was, I’d already found a buyer for the bracelet. It would fetch six thousand dollars—enough to cover two months of living expenses once I was gone. Humiliation like this? I hoped they’d give me more. Someone was about to pile on with another jab, but Martin cut them off, his voice cold. “The drinks are here. Let’s play a game.” Truth or Dare. I lost the first round. Seraphina held up her phone, ready to document my every humiliation. “Truth: Have you and Martin slept together?” I picked up my shot glass and downed it in one go. I chose dare. Second round. I lost again. Seraphina smirked. “Truth: Do you love Martin, or his money?” I drank again. With everyone ganging up on me, I lost the third round, too. I can hold my liquor, but after the third shot, it was time for my performance. I had to be drunk, and I had to end up in Martin’s arms. Like I said, I knew exactly how to play him. So when I swayed, mumbling, and collapsed against him, I felt his arm tighten around me, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Fourth round. Seraphina was relentless, her phone still pointed at me. “Mia. Truth: Do you think you’re a vain, gold-digging bitch?” I reached for another shot, but a hand clamped down on my wrist. Martin’s. His lips were pressed into a thin, hard line. “That’s enough for tonight.” Later, in the bathroom. Martin pinned me against the tiled wall, his body a furnace against mine, his breath scorching my skin. “Why didn’t you answer her questions?” I lifted my eyes, making them wide and wet, and stared into the bottomless depths of his. Perfect. When a player starts asking why, it means he’s already caught feelings. He just doesn’t know it yet. I bit my lip and said nothing, my silence a weapon. Finally, he dipped his head, his lips brushing against my collarbone. “Sera was out of line tonight,” he rasped. “I’ll make it up to you.” A notification pinged on my phone. A wire transfer. One hundred thousand dollars. Before I left the bathroom, I deliberately messed up my clothes, pulling my collar askew. Seraphina was waiting right outside the door, her face a mask of fury. She mouthed a silent message to Martin. Don’t you forget our deal. As the party wound down and the clock struck midnight, Martin’s patience finally snapped. He pushed me back onto the sofa, his mouth crashing down on my neck in a feverish kiss that sent shivers down my spine. “Darling,” he whispered against my skin. “Time to hold up your end of the bargain.” He swept me into his arms and carried me toward the bedroom. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne, a hazy, intimate fog. His shirt was half-open, revealing a hard, muscular chest that radiated an almost dangerous heat. As if to punish me for my earlier silence, his kiss was bruising, savage, not letting up until the coppery taste of blood bloomed in my mouth. I glanced at the headboard and saw his phone, propped up and already recording. I allowed his hand to slip under the hem of my dress. I knew it was time for my next move. 4 Just as his fingers brushed against the last button of my blouse, I timed it perfectly, pushing him away. I reached into my bag and pulled out a small, hand-carved wooden sculpture. It depicted a mother and child, clinging to one another. The craftsmanship was amateurish. But it was a perfect replica of the one raw nerve he had left. Just as I’d predicted, lust gave way to a cold, terrifying rage. His eyes locked onto the sculpture, his face turning into a dark, thunderous mask. “When I was… helping you tidy up once, I saw a broken sculpture you’d wrapped up so carefully. I thought it must be important to you, so I tried to carve a new one…” Before I could finish, his hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around my throat in a vice grip. “Who told you you could touch my things?” As the world began to blur and my lungs burned for air, a strange sense of relief washed over me. A guy like him had a thousand ways to destroy me. I could escape this time, but not the next. But what if I could become the very thing he couldn’t bear to break? The original sculpture had been a birthday gift from his mother. The last gift she ever gave him before she clutched it to her chest and jumped from the roof of their penthouse. It shattered when she hit the ground. She must have been in so much pain. And so was he. I didn’t struggle. I just looked at him, forcing the words from my constricted throat. “I’m… sorry… I couldn’t make you happy.” His eyes widened, a flicker of shock in their depths. The pressure on my neck instantly loosened. As air rushed back into my lungs, I knew the fish had taken the bait. I watched him. He held the sculpture aloft, his hand trembling as if he were about to smash it to pieces, but in the end, he couldn’t. I had won. I let my hand fall to my side, casually revealing the patchwork of faint scars and fresh cuts on my skin. All deliberately inflicted while I carved his gift. When his gaze fell upon my hand, his whole body went rigid. His lips started to tremble. With a roar of frustration, he kicked over a nearby table, sending his phone clattering to the floor. “Are we… still doing this?” I asked softly. His face was a storm cloud. He grabbed his jacket, wrapped it tightly around me, and snatched his phone off the floor. He thumbed the screen for a moment. Another bank alert. Another hundred thousand dollars. “That’s for your trouble,” he bit out, his voice raw. “I don’t owe anyone anything.” When he left, he took the sculpture with him. I knew then. His heart was in chaos. After graduation, I sold off all the jewelry and designer bags he’d ever given me. I had more than enough money for my escape. I had played my part. He had fallen for it. It was time to end the game. And this time, I was the one holding the controller. 5 The next day, Martin threw a massive birthday party for me, inviting our entire graduating class. His original plan had been simple: to project my sex tape onto a giant screen for everyone to see, a final, brutal act of revenge on Seraphina’s behalf. The atmosphere should have been cold, humiliating. But today, the venue was filled with my favorite flowers—Ecuadorian roses—and a cake he’d baked himself. Seraphina stared at these small, thoughtful details, her face twisting with suspicion. She pulled him aside. “Did you do it with her?” “No,” Martin said, his gaze fixed on the floor. Seraphina visibly relaxed, a cruel smile returning to her lips. “Then you have the video? Well, what are you waiting for? Play it! You’re killing me with the suspense!” Silence. A heavy, dead silence. The afternoon sun sliced across his aristocratic features, casting half of him in light, the other in shadow. I stood a few feet away, dipping my finger into the cake’s frosting. Mm. Sweet. Ignoring the escalating argument nearby, I poured myself a glass of champagne. And downed it in one go. In my peripheral vision, I saw Seraphina shove Martin in a fit of rage. But I was the one who fell. A strange, numbing tingle shot up from the pit of my stomach. That’s when I realized. Oh, hell. The champagne was drugged. The floor rushed up to meet me, and I collapsed onto the cold, hard marble. “You bitch,” Seraphina’s voice was a triumphant hiss as she stalked toward me. She gestured to a group of leering guys. “I have plenty of ways to deal with you.” “Have your fun,” she sneered. “Just make sure you film it.” Through a thick, disorienting haze, I heard Martin’s furious roar. “This wasn’t the plan!” “The plan?” Seraphina laughed, a shrill, ugly sound. “Martin Lewis, don’t tell me you’ve actually fallen for her.” “I… no.” “Good. Then tell me right now. Her or me? Who do you choose?”

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I grew up showered with endless affection. My parents deliberately adopted three girls to raise alongside me, intending for me to choose one of them to marry when I came of age. But they treated me with cold indifference, while showering our family driver’s son, Marcus Greene, with warmth and enthusiasm. Until one incident changed everything. Marcus and I were both kidnapped. Fiona Carter led the charge in abandoning me to save Marcus instead. She said, “You were born with a silver spoon. Someone will avenge you. You don’t need us.” Her words cut through me like a knife, and I suddenly realized just how wrong I’d been all these years. After I recovered from my injuries, I went to my father with a decision. “Dad, I’ve decided to marry Vivian White.” “But her face was damaged in the accident. Are you sure you’re not joking?” Hearing Dad’s question, I simply smiled calmly. “I’m not joking.” “I just suddenly realized that I care for her.” “And she’s the one I should marry.” Seeing my determination, Dad let out a gentle sigh. “As long as you’re happy, we support you.” “I thought you were so attached to Fiona and the others that you’d choose one of them.” When Dad mentioned Fiona and the others, a dull pain struck my chest. I couldn’t help but recall the kidnapping from a few days ago—how coldly they abandoned me without a second thought, then blamed me for wandering off with Marcus. Perhaps I should have realized it earlier. Fiona and the others had always favored Marcus. From the moment they first arrived at our home, they always had. Thinking of this, I swallowed the bitterness and nodded. After Dad and Vivian’s family expressed their support for my decision, I left my parents’ house and drove back to my suburban villa. But as soon as I pulled up to the front door, deafening music from inside made me frown. I pushed open the door to find my tasteful decor transformed into a tacky party scene. And the culprits were obviously Fiona, Rachel, and Claire, all surrounding Marcus in the center. “Damien, you’re back.” The sudden voice made Fiona turn her gaze toward me, her eyes full of disgust. “You dare show your face here.” I opened my mouth to speak, but Rachel, standing beside her, cut me off with a cold snort. “Why wouldn’t he dare? Damien’s rich. How could we compare?” “Who knows what he’s been telling Mr. White about how we abandoned him!” Even Claire, who usually stayed quiet, nodded in agreement. The three of them united against me made me bristle with anger. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “This is my house. Why wouldn’t I come back?” “Besides, I don’t have the time to complain to my father.” Of course, I was also afraid that Dad would get angry enough to damage his health. But my explanation only made them think I was hiding my guilt. “Who knows if you’re telling the truth!” “But now that you’re back, hurry up and apologize to Marcus.” “I didn’t have time to deal with you that day! If you hadn’t dragged Marcus out, how would he have gotten kidnapped?” Rachel spoke first, with the other two nodding in agreement. But Marcus had been the one who asked me to go out that day. How did it become my idea? I tried to defend myself. “That day, Marcus was the one who—” Before I could finish, Marcus, who’d been playing invisible until now, dropped to his knees with a thud, tears flowing instantly. “Damien! Please don’t blame Fiona and the others. They’re just worried about me.” “It’s all my fault. I was the one who asked you to go out that day. It’s all my fault, boo hoo…” His words immediately filled their eyes with sympathy, while their gazes toward me grew colder. “Damien, if you have a problem, take it up with me. Stop targeting Marcus behind everyone’s back!” “I’m ordering you to apologize right now! Otherwise, none of us will forgive you!” Fiona glared at me coldly as she issued her ultimatum. I felt my breath catch, my mind flashing back to the humiliation they’d put me through on my coming-of-age ceremony. The banquet had been filled with important guests. Marcus was supposed to help me get dressed, but just before the event started, he came crying that he’d ruined my outfit. I lost my temper and yelled at him. Then he suddenly collapsed on the floor, tearing at his clothes frantically. “Damien, I’m sorry! Don’t do this to me!” Then Fiona and the others walked in. Without asking a single question, they forced me to apologize. They even brought me an ill-fitting outfit to wear, making me look like a complete fool. When Dad asked about it later, I said I’d suddenly wanted to wear it, afraid they’d get in trouble. Looking back now, I’d been such an idiot! But now? I wasn’t going to indulge them anymore. I raised my head, my eyes fierce as I looked at the three of them and refused loudly, “I won’t apologize!”

“You won’t apologize?” “That’s not your choice to make!” “Someone grab Damien!” Seeing my refusal, Fiona sneered and ordered the security guards nearby, “Hold him down!” The guards stepped forward and forcibly restrained me. I’d almost forgotten—these past few years, I’d shown such dependence on the three of them that everyone secretly believed the White family fortune would belong to them. They’d long since stopped respecting me. A chill ran through my heart as I looked at the three of them with increasingly cold eyes. “What’s with that look? Apologize!” “Listen, Damien, don’t think we won’t do anything just because you’re a White.” “You’re going to need the three of us in the future!” Rachel shot me a glance and spoke mockingly. She looked absolutely disgusting. Who the hell made them think this way? I couldn’t understand it. I tried to struggle free, but the grip on me only tightened. They didn’t release me until I was forced to bow my head to Marcus in apology. “Today’s just a little punishment.” “Behave yourself, or you’ll regret it!” After issuing their threat, Fiona and the others left with Marcus, surrounding him like he was royalty. I collapsed on the floor, watching clearly as Marcus shot me a provocative look. I clenched my fists in rage. Just then, my phone rang. It was Vivian calling. I answered, forcing myself to calm down. “What is it?” “Nothing much. Just reminding you not to forget to select the wedding venue and pick out your suit.” Her low voice sounded in my ear, making me momentarily dazed. By the time I snapped back to reality, she’d already hung up. That woman was quick! I had no choice but to pick myself up, quickly clean up, and head out. I went to redesign the wedding venue I’d originally prepared for the three of them. I just didn’t expect them to be shameless enough to rush over after being notified.

“Damien, you’re really shameless! That desperate to get married? We just punished you and you’re already here setting up the venue!” Rachel looked at me with disgust. The others wore matching expressions. I tried to be patient and explain, but before I could open my mouth, Fiona ordered the security guards who’d followed them to tear everything down. “Throw out all these disgusting flowers!” “Replace everything with white roses—Marcus’s favorite.” “Damien, even if you get married, the wedding has to be what Marcus likes. You owe him this.” As her words fell, the flower arch I’d just had set up was kicked over. I couldn’t react in time, still trying to figure out what I supposedly owed Marcus. “Fiona! I’m not marrying any of you three. You have no right to destroy my venue!” “Not us three? That’s hilarious. Everyone in our circle knows how obsessed you are with us!” “Obviously it’s—” Before I could finish, a loud crash came from behind me. I turned to see the guards had already smashed the area where I planned to display our wedding photos. Others followed suit, destroying other parts of the venue. In the blink of an eye, half the wedding venue was ruined. “Stop! What right do you have to destroy my wedding venue? Who gave you permission!” “Stop right now!” But they ignored me, their actions not slowing at all. I shouted until my voice was hoarse, but couldn’t stop them. I watched helplessly as my carefully arranged venue turned into a complete mess. And the perpetrators stood before me, nodding with satisfaction. “Much better! Good riddance to all that eyesore.” “Let’s go! We still need to take Marcus to the bakery!” Rachel smirked and left with the group. Leaving me standing there alone. It took me a while to collect myself and stand up. I didn’t have time to settle scores with them. Right now, the most important thing was to redesign the wedding venue and select the suits. Nothing else mattered. As for those three, I’d already made a mental note of everything. Once the dust settled, I’d make them pay. By the time I finished redesigning the wedding venue, two days had passed. My wedding with Vivian was drawing closer. I couldn’t control my excitement, and even wore a smile I hadn’t had in days when I went out to try on suits. But when I arrived, I found Fiona, Rachel, Claire, and Marcus already there. The four of them acted as if I didn’t exist, intimately clinging to each other. And Marcus was wearing my carefully selected custom suit—the one my father had given me as a coming-of-age gift. Italian handmade, priceless. Fiona, standing at the edge, noticed me first and scolded impatiently. “What are you doing here? Did you have someone tip you off again?” “You really can’t live without us, can you? And you say you’re not trying to marry us—this suit is the one we all picked out together back then!” “Marcus wants to take photos with us and doesn’t have a proper suit, so we’re letting him borrow yours.” “Consider it a chance to make amends.” She stopped paying attention to me and joined Rachel and Claire in complimenting Marcus. Every word implicitly belittling me. “Our Marcus looks so good in it. So much better than certain people with evil hearts!” “Such a shame. If we didn’t have to have someone get married, I’d want the four of us to stay together forever.” Rachel couldn’t help but sigh, prompting Marcus to comfort them. “It’s okay, Rachel. No matter who marries whom, the four of us will always be family.” I trembled with rage and said through gritted teeth, “You like Marcus so much that you’ll steal people’s clothes for him to wear?” “Fine! I’ll make sure people see just how shameless you are!” I raised my phone to photograph them. Seeing this, Fiona furiously ordered people to drag me away. “She’s crazy, the crazy woman! Get her out of here!” Then I was thrown outside, forced to watch helplessly as my precious suit stayed on Marcus’s body. And I was powerless to stop it.

I stood outside the boutique for a full hour, watching them take group photos with Marcus in formal wear. Then they did a painting-themed photoshoot, getting paint all over the suit. With each stain, I regretted my past blindness more and more. After they finished, they threw the ruined suit at me. “Pick another one yourself. Oh, and the photos will feature the four of us.” Rachel said provocatively in my ear. But I couldn’t hear anything. My mind kept repeating one sentence. The suit was ruined. I returned to my parents’ house in a daze and lay down, unable to hold back my tears. Knock knock. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. I opened it to find Mom holding a box, looking mysteriously pleased as she handed it to me. “What’s this?” “Open it and see.” Following Mom’s suggestion, I opened the box to find a suit. Mom smiled beside me. “You don’t know—Vivian had someone deliver this. She’s so thoughtful.” “And she designed it herself!” Hearing this, my heart started pounding. I suddenly felt that my decision to marry her was the right one. I took out the suit and tried it on. It fit perfectly. I could even imagine what Vivian and I would look like standing together. This woman… she was pretty good. I smiled and sent her a selfie. Soon I received her reply. After that, to avoid running into Fiona and the others, I stayed home until right before the wedding. Soon, the wedding day arrived. On the wedding day, the White family arranged a grand motorcade parade, and multiple city landmarks displayed live broadcasts of the ceremony. It showed how much Vivian valued me. At ten in the morning, I slowly walked up to the ceremony platform, nervously waiting for Vivian’s arrival. Meanwhile, Fiona and the others were drinking at a private club with Marcus, watching the broadcast with cold smiles. “I want to see where he finds a bride to marry without us three.” “Exactly. He needs to be taught a lesson. When we say we were busy, he’ll still protect us. No need to worry about Mr. White getting angry.” Rachel clinked glasses with her companions after speaking. And on the big screen, I had already slowly walked onto the wedding platform. My heart was full of anticipation as I waited for Vivian’s arrival. “Fiona, is this really okay?” Marcus held his wine glass, blinking as he spoke, secretly delighting inside. The others felt a bit uneasy but still pretended nothing was wrong. When the time came, Fiona stood up first, only to find Rachel, usually the loudest, frozen in place. “What’s wrong, Rachel?” Fiona asked. “Fiona, I think Damien was telling the truth. The bride isn’t one of us…” Fiona looked up at the big screen. When she saw the figure walking toward me, she froze. “Vivian White!”

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My boyfriend was a once-in-a-century artistic genius, while I couldn’t even distinguish the most basic color schemes. For seven years, he defended me in front of everyone—until that talented female artist named Quinn Snow appeared. When I injured my leg and needed care, he spent the entire night helping Quinn revise her drafts. When a thug followed me and I called him for help, he had to take Quinn’s dog to the hospital first because it was having birth complications. That day, when friends once again joked that he and Quinn were the perfect match, Adrian no longer defended me like he used to. Instead, he smiled with regret in his eyes. That evening, he even asked me at the dinner table: “Why don’t I ask Quinn to check with her doctor relatives to see if they can cure your color vision disorder?” My hand froze while serving soup. On the surface, Adrian was trying to save our relationship from an impending crisis. But in reality, he had already fallen for another woman. That’s why he was starting to notice and resent my mediocrity. I didn’t answer Adrian’s question. Instead, I smiled bitterly and asked him: “Why do you always bring up Quinn Snow in front of me?” Adrian froze for a moment, guilt flickering across his face. He explained: “You know, right now she’s the only one who can compete with me…” Proud as Adrian was, he never would have explained himself like that before. He used to say: “Cece, my world only has paintbrushes and you. I don’t have energy for anyone else.” But now, Adrian hadn’t even realized it. Quinn Snow’s place in his heart had actually moved ahead of mine. When I injured my leg and needed care, he spent the whole night helping Quinn revise her drafts. When a thug followed me and I called him for help, he had to take Quinn’s dog to the hospital first. When I confronted him, he coldly retorted. He said he didn’t care about Quinn—he cared about art and life. But Adrian, I told you long ago. I can’t tolerate even a grain of sand in my eyes. Adrian’s bluster completely ended when I showed him photos of him and Quinn embracing. His expression changed, as if I had deeply betrayed his trust: “You followed me?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized his reaction was excessive and hastily tried to cover it up: “Quinn was drunk that time. I was just supporting her…” Watching Adrian’s clumsy performance, I forced down the ache in my chest and decided to fight for him one last time: “If you still want to be with me, delete all of Quinn Snow’s contact information and never see her again.” After hearing my words, Adrian first stared at me darkly for a while. Then he stood up and, without warning, overturned the dishes onto the floor: “All you do every day is cook and clean! You have zero connection to my art and can’t understand the mutual appreciation between geniuses at all!” “I’ve tolerated your mediocrity and incompetence, yet you want to interfere with my life ideals and social life!” I said nothing, quietly looking at the shattered dishes on the floor. Just like looking at the end of my relationship with Adrian. His crazed expression was too ugly, too unfamiliar. In those seven years of dating, Adrian had always been cold and indifferent. Aside from painting and me, he didn’t care about anyone or anything else. He had never been like this—jumping up in rage, face contorted—as if I were taking away his most treasured possession. I crouched down, touching a ceramic shard, my tone as calm as if discussing the weather: “Adrian, let’s break up.”

My thoughts drifted back eight years. The day I met Adrian, I was on the edge between life and death. Severe depression made it hard to distinguish reality from illusion. I walked onto a bridge in a daze, looking down at the surging river that seemed to beckon me. Adrian, who happened to pass by, noticed my state and pulled me back from the brink. At that time, he was also at a low point in his life. We encouraged each other, healed each other’s wounds, and gradually became the most important people to each other. Later, Adrian stood at the pinnacle of the art world, while I became a stay-at-home girlfriend who only revolved around him. Even so, he always stood up for me when others mocked or belittled me. He took action to defend our love. He told me firmly: “Cece, don’t worry about what others say. You’ll always be one of a kind in my heart!” I thought true love could overcome everything. Turns out the expiration date on our love was only seven years. Sharp pain brought me back to reality. Adrian vented his anger by kicking the broken bowl at his feet. The shards hit the wall not far from me, then bounced back onto my arm. Blood immediately started flowing. Adrian panicked. He rushed over to check my injury, tears even welling in his eyes: “I’m sorry, Cece. I shouldn’t have treated you like that… I’ve hit a bottleneck recently, the pressure is just too much…” While explaining, he frantically rushed me to the hospital. In his urgency, the usually composed Adrian even lost his shoes three times. He still seemed like the Adrian who would lose his composure for me. But only I knew— We could never go back. After watching the doctor treat my wound, Adrian went downstairs to buy me soup. I held my phone and started clearing out the seven years of memories with Adrian stored inside. That’s when Quinn Snow appeared. Come to think of it, this was our first direct confrontation. She herself was like her paintings—breathtakingly beautiful. Quinn looked at me like I was an ant, getting straight to the point: “A fool like you doesn’t deserve Adrian. Break up with him now.” I laughed out loud, with no desire to argue with her, keeping my head down as I continued clearing my phone. Seeing my indifference, Quinn shoved her chat window with Adrian in my face. [Cece has changed. She never used to argue with me. Tonight she even deliberately didn’t dodge the shards. It feels like she’s playing the victim for sympathy.] My heart clenched with pain. Before, if I just accidentally bumped into something, Adrian would lose sleep all night from worry. Now I had such a long gash, yet he thought I was playing the victim for sympathy. Indeed— When a man stops loving you, even if you hang yourself, he’ll just think you’re on a swing! I blinked my eyes, desperately forcing back the tears. Quinn continued scrolling up the screen. I stayed motionless, masochistically viewing their chat history. That Adrian who was always quiet and cold to everyone except me was actually interacting with Quinn every single day. They shared paintings they loved, interesting things in life, even a weirdly shaped crooked tree. I suddenly felt it was all quite meaningless. I moved my gaze from the screen to Quinn’s triumphant face, enunciating almost word by word: “You shameless homewrecker.” The smile on Quinn’s face briefly disappeared. A moment later, she raised an even more provocative smile: “Want to make a bet to see who Adrian trusts and cares about more?” With that, she suddenly grabbed my hair and dragged me to the wall, forcefully slamming my head against it. My right hand was injured and I was completely unprepared, so I couldn’t break free from her grip at all. Once, twice, three times. Quinn only stopped after drawing blood. Then she put on a panicked, frightened expression and stumbled toward the door: “Doctor! Nurse! Where are you! Someone’s self-harming here!”

Adrian, having received the message, rushed back. I hadn’t said anything yet when Quinn tearfully grabbed Adrian’s sleeve: “Adrian, you have to believe me. I didn’t touch a single hair on Cece’s head!” After a long silence, Adrian comforted Quinn a few times before walking toward me with a complicated expression. He glanced at the bandage wrapped around my head, as if asking a question he already knew the answer to: “Cece, tell me the truth. Are you jealous that Quinn and I are kindred spirits in art, so you…” “Slap!” I interrupted Adrian’s nonsense with a slap. My left palm went numb from the impact, but aside from heartache, I couldn’t seem to feel pain anywhere else in my body. Was this the man I’d loved for seven years? Quinn immediately rushed over and pulled the dazed Adrian away from me. “Framing me is one thing, but Adrian just wanted to ask what happened. How could you hit him!” She accused me while crying heartbroken tears: “Adrian, sit here and don’t move. I’ll go find a nurse to get an ice pack…” I gave them both a cold look and took out my phone to call 911: “Don’t rush to leave. Since you say I’m trying to frame you, let the police clear your name.” Quinn instinctively glanced at the ceiling. I knew she was well aware there were no surveillance cameras in the hospital room. But unfortunately, I’d suffered this kind of loss once before long ago. So the moment Quinn approached me, I had already turned on my phone’s recording function. At the same time, I understood Adrian very well. He was someone extremely protective. The person occupying his thoughts was no longer me. If I didn’t wait for the police to arrive before presenting evidence, I wouldn’t even have the chance to show it. Quinn quietly waited for me to finish the call. She bit her lip pitifully, forcing a smile: “It’s okay, Adrian. As long as you believe me, that’s enough.” “An honest person fears no crooked shadows. I believe the police will clear my name!” Adrian looked at her with eyes full of sympathy for a good while, then turned to scold me: “How did you become so vicious? Filing false police reports wastes public resources. When the police come, you explain it to them yourself!” I laughed out loud: “But Adrian, from the moment you came in until now, have I said a single bad word about Quinn Snow?” Adrian froze, his face instantly showing traces of embarrassment and hesitation. An indescribable exhaustion swept through my entire body. I closed my eyes, no longer bothering with his excuses, quietly waiting for the police to arrive. Quinn was someone who liked to seize the initiative. As soon as the police arrived, she immediately stepped forward and pointed at me accusingly: “I just came to visit her out of kindness, and she suddenly ran and hit the wall herself, then blamed it on me!” Adrian wore an apologetic expression: “Sorry, officers. My girlfriend’s been emotionally unstable lately. It might be related to the depression she had before…” My heart jumped violently. During the worst year of my illness, Adrian was most afraid of anyone mentioning those words in front of me. When I was self-harming, he held me tightly. Even when cut by the sharp blade in my hand, he would tirelessly coax me again and again: “Cece, you’re not sick. You’re just not very happy. I’ll find a way to make you better, and you can’t give up on yourself either!” But now, to clear Quinn of suspicion, he actually used my past trauma to attack and deal with me as if it meant nothing. The police didn’t immediately believe their story. He looked at me: “Miss West, do you have anything to say?” I smiled slightly and played the recording on the spot.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “366884”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #重生Reborn #现实主义Realistic #浪漫Romance #擦边Steamy #狼人Werewolf