When Jason’s mentee tripped and fell, he rushed to take her to the hospital. I stood in his office doorway, holding a file: “Here’s the budget for next quarter. Just sign it if everything looks good.” His mind was already miles away. Without even glancing at it, he scribbled his name. Watching his hasty retreat, I couldn’t tell if I felt disappointment or relief. But what he didn’t know was that what he’d just signed wasn’t a budget sheet at all. It was the divorce papers for him and me. 1 I pushed open his office door, immediately hit by a rich, unfamiliar scent. I turned, spotting an elegant aroma diffuser on the cabinet by the entrance, and a bouquet of white roses on his desk. This was definitely not Jason’s doing. He used to scoff at such things. Just then, his assistant, Tina, walked in. Seeing me eyeing the diffuser, her expression grew complicated. She stammered, “Ms. Graham, that’s Ms. Lee’s.” I looked up at her: “Ms. Lee? Jason’s mentee, Alice Lee?” “Yes.” She bit her lip, deliberating for a long moment before finally speaking: “Ms. Graham, you’ve been busy traveling for work lately and haven’t been in the office much, but Ms. Lee has been a frequent presence in Mr. Trachtenberg’s office.” “A few days ago, someone even saw them in the parking lot, being very… intimate. Now… now, everyone’s whispering about an inappropriate relationship.” I nodded, saying softly, “I understand.” After Tina left, I pulled open Jason’s desk drawer. A torn condom wrapper was carelessly tossed inside. Just then, my phone rang. Jason’s name pulsed on the screen. I answered. Silence on the other end. After two seconds, a suppressed moan suddenly broke through. A woman’s sultry voice purred: “She just got back today, and you’re already here with me. Aren’t you afraid she’ll be upset?” “Afraid of what? She stuck by me when I had nothing. Now that I’m so successful, how could she ever leave?” Alice Lee giggled. Her voice was laced with a hint of a pout: “Then don’t go home tonight. Stay and keep me company, okay?” “That depends on how well you behave tonight.” A crackle of static came through the receiver, and then the call abruptly ended. Three days prior, while I was on a business trip in Rhode Island, a photo suddenly appeared on my phone—Jason and Alice kissing in a car. In that moment, I felt as if I were frozen, my mind ceasing to function. Soon after, my brother called. He said only one sentence: “Iris, come home.” That night, I booked a flight home. It was my first time returning home in seven years. Seven years ago, Jason and I fell in love, but my father and brother vehemently opposed it. They said Jason was ambitious, overly proud, cold-hearted, and fickle. But I was head over heels, convinced they simply looked down on him. Every discussion about Jason ended in a bitter argument. Later, I helped him start his company. Several times, when we were at a dead end, I had no choice but to ask my family for help. My father agreed but made one condition. I had to conceal my identity from Jason for ten years. Jason was inherently sensitive, and to be with him peacefully, I had never mentioned my family’s background. By then, there was even less need to. So, to this day, he still believed I was a struggling individual with a difficult upbringing, just like him. 2 My father and brother handed me all the evidence of Jason’s infidelity. Looking at the dense array of videos and photos, my chest ached, making it hard to breathe. My brother sighed, patting my shoulder consolingly: “It’s not too late to find out now, Iris. Think about it carefully.” I looked down at the signed divorce papers in my hand and dialed my brother’s number. He picked up quickly. “Bro, give me three days. I’ll sort things out here, then I’ll join Reliance Capital.” His voice on the other end was noticeably brighter: “Good. I’m glad you’ve come to your senses. Call me if you need anything.” Hanging up, I stared blankly at our wedding photo on his desk. The picture was from our wedding. Back then, Jason’s eyes were full of me. He swore he’d always treat me well, never let me suffer, never let me be sad. Those words, he’d long forgotten, flung to the bottom of the ocean. I picked up the photo frame and tossed it into the trash can, then stood up and left the office. I returned home and started packing. Opening the closet, a black lace nightgown, clearly not mine, hung conspicuously inside. It seemed to be mocking me, reminding me how ridiculous my seven years of devotion had been. I opened the smart lock’s surveillance app. Sure enough, on the very night I left for my business trip, Jason had brought Alice Lee home, acting as if they owned the place. They were recorded clearly, kissing by the door, embracing by the elevator. On the last day of the surveillance footage, Alice Lee’s dress captured all my attention. It was the one Jason had bought for me. One year for my birthday, he wanted to take me shopping for a gift. It was early in his startup, he didn’t have much money, and I felt for him, only picking out a two-hundred-dollar dress. But a few days later, Jason bought that two-thousand-dollar dress instead. He smiled, telling me he knew I liked that dress when I walked past the store. That day, I was moved beyond words. I treasured that dress, wore it once, then washed it and hung it in the closet, never daring to wear it again. Jason knew how precious it was to me. Alice Lee twirled in that dress in front of Jason, asking him with a smile, “Does this dress look better on me, or on her?” Jason didn’t answer her. Instead, he leaned in and kissed her lips. In an instant, my stomach churned. I clapped a hand over my mouth, rushed to the bathroom, and knelt before the toilet, throwing up. It took a long time before I finally recovered. Looking up, I saw the face wash, makeup remover, and various skincare products haphazardly strewn across the vanity. I reached out and found a women’s underwear, one I’d never seen before, pressed beneath the face wash. My heart sank to the bottom, everything before me feeling absurd and sickening. I forced myself to remain calm, then tossed everything in the bathroom into the trash can. Back in the bedroom, looking at the closet and dressing table, I wanted none of it. I couldn’t accept anything that had been touched by someone else. Not objects, not men. I found all my identification documents, put them in my bag, and walked out the door. The moment I closed the door, it felt like I was sealing away my past seven years behind me. 3 Before leaving, I had one last thing to do. Visit Mrs. Walker, an old neighbor, in the hospital. She was the landlady of the rented house Jason and I used to have in the city outskirts. She had no children, and her husband had passed away years ago. Back then, Jason didn’t have much money, and she treated us like her own kids, looking after us a great deal. Later, our company grew better and better, and we earned more and more money. We moved out of the rental house and into our own place. But I never forgot Mrs. Walker’s kindness to us. Whenever work wasn’t too busy, I visited her almost twice a month. Six months ago, she suffered a sudden brain hemorrhage and was hospitalized. For her safety, she had been hospitalized for observation for the past half-year. I bought her favorite osmanthus cakes and flowers, then went to the hospital. She seemed much better than the last time I saw her, overjoyed to see me. She kept asking if Jason and I were doing well. I didn’t want to worry her, so I held back my discomfort and gently reassured her with a smile. “Don’t worry, he treats me very well.” Only after receiving a positive answer did she nod contentedly. “That’s good, that’s good. You went through so much with him to get to where you are now. He absolutely must treat you well.” We chatted for a long time, and I reluctantly left only when it was almost time to go to the airport. I stood in front of the hospital room, lost in thought for a moment, until a familiar voice behind me snapped me back to reality. Jason asked with some concern: “What did the doctor say?” I turned around and saw him with his arm around Alice Lee’s waist. Alice Lee blinked, then stood on her tiptoes to kiss his lips. Then she handed him a paper: “Jason, you’re going to be a daddy!” My mind went blank. A scene from four years ago suddenly flashed in my mind—my miscarriage. Back then, it was our busiest time. I was swamped, helping him find resources, pull in investments, pulling all-nighters to revise proposals, going on endless business trips and networking dinners. After one dinner engagement after another, a sharp pain shot through my abdomen, and I fainted. When I woke up, I learned I had been over two months pregnant. The stress from work during that period had caused me to lose the baby. The doctor said that, given my physical condition, natural conception would be difficult in the future. Jason saw my sadness and comforted me, saying it was okay if we didn’t have children, that he didn’t like kids anyway. But now, Jason’s joyful voice reached my ears. He held her in his arms, repeating over and over: “I’m going to be a dad! I’m going to be a dad!” Watching this scene, it just felt so laughable that I had actually believed his lies back then. As his words faded, our eyes suddenly met. Jason’s body stiffened, frozen in place for a moment. However, it wasn’t long before he regained his usual composure, a careless smile playing on his lips as he approached me. We went to a coffee shop near the hospital. Alice Lee sat opposite me, leaning delicately into Jason’s embrace. One hand caressing her stomach, her voice tinged with provocation: “Iris, I’m pregnant and not feeling well. I can only feel better leaning on Jason. You wouldn’t mind, would you?” Jason looked at her, his eyes filled with even more doting affection. He teased: “Do you think my wife is as petty as you are?” Hearing this, Alice Lee pouted, feigning a tantrum: “Well, that’s just because I care about you.” After she spoke, he glanced at me. His expression was playful: “Alice, you should learn from Iris. To love a man, you not only have to care about him, but you also have to be understanding.” I watched it all with cold eyes, taking a sip of coffee. 4 He handed her the car keys, commanding: “Go wait for me in the car.” Alice Lee didn’t want to, but she had no choice. She grudgingly walked out, looking back three times. After she left, Jason pushed the cake in front of me. “Cranberry, your favorite flavor.” I glanced at it, not touching it. I replied: “That was just a past preference. It doesn’t mean I still like it now. Nothing stays the same forever.” He paused for a moment. He chuckled: “Jealous?” I forced a smile, finding it oddly amusing. He spoke again: “Iris, as long as you behave, the position of Mrs. Trachtenberg will always be yours. There will be no one else.” I looked up at him: “Do you think I care?” He chuckled softly: “Don’t you? You spent seven years with me to get to this point, finally living a life of comfort and abundance. Would you really give it all away?” “Don’t blame me. With the company doing so well, I can’t not have a child, can I? Otherwise, who would inherit the company later?” “Iris, you understand, right?” I smiled. I looked up at him. I asked seriously: “Jason Trachtenberg, do you remember what you said when we got married?” He paused. I smiled: “You said you wouldn’t let me suffer even a little bit.” I took off my wedding ring and placed it on the table. His face changed. I spoke slowly: “I can’t walk this path with you anymore.” With that, I picked up my bag and turned to leave. He swiftly blocked my path, frowning as he questioned me: “Iris, what do you mean?” “Exactly what it sounds like. I can’t be generous enough to share my man with other women. These past seven years, consider it my punishment for being lovestruck.” “From now on, whether it’s Alice or anyone else, it has nothing to do with me.” His face went cold. “You’re divorcing me?” He then let out a cold laugh: “You wish. Divorce? You can forget about that for the rest of your life!”

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During the years when our love was at its most pure, Oliver spent an entire night kneeling in the freezing rain beside my mother’s grave. He was terrified I was going to break up with him. He prayed to her spirit, begging her to visit my dreams and convince me to stay. My heart softened. I took him back and uprooted my entire life to move to his city. Five years after that grand gesture, he cheated on me with a beautiful, much younger girl. For her, he was ready to quit his job, pack up his apartment, and move across the country. It was snowing heavily the day he officially asked for a break. I had walked block after block in the freezing wind just to buy a bag of hot roasted chestnuts from his favorite street vendor. My hands were numb as I asked him, “Can we just fix this? What am I supposed to do if you leave?” He stared at his phone, his face twisted with impatience. “Lily, are you seriously this obsessed? Can you really not survive without me?” I stopped begging. I wiped my tears, walked away, and erased every trace of him from my existence. Six months later, he crawled back. He was completely broke, looking like a ghost of the man I knew. He dropped to his knees, sobbing into his hands. “Can we just fix this? I can’t survive without you.” I looked down at him and spoke with perfect calm. “Then go die.” 1 Discovering Oliver’s infidelity happened on an utterly unremarkable Tuesday. I was in the kitchen prepping dinner. He had been out in his car taking a phone call for three hours. By the time he walked back through the front door, the food was ice cold. I was sitting quietly at the dining table, typing away on my laptop to finish an urgent marketing deck for my boss. I didn’t even look up. “Just microwave your plate,” I said, my voice tight with work anxiety. He gave a faint grunt of acknowledgment and headed straight for the bathroom. Maybe it was just a woman’s intuition. Something felt incredibly wrong. The old Oliver never hid in his car to take phone calls. Suddenly, the marketing deck didn’t matter. My mind was racing, searching for clues. It wasn’t until he stepped out of the steaming bathroom that I spotted it. Wrapped around his left wrist was a thin, red woven thread. It was cheap. Basic. Not a single bead or charm on it. Oliver worked in high-end fashion merchandising. He was borderline obsessive about his image and aesthetic. He coordinated his luxury watches and tailored cuffs with surgical precision. If he wore something out of place, his colleagues in Manhattan would eat him alive. There was absolutely no logical reason for him to be wearing a dollar-store friendship bracelet. He noticed me staring at his wrist. Smoothly, almost casually, he slid his hand behind his back. “I’m cutting carbs this week. Think I’ll skip dinner.” “Make sure you heat up your food when you’re done working,” he added. “Don’t eat it cold.” Then he vanished into the bedroom. I watched his back disappear as the door clicked shut. It felt like someone had just swung a baseball bat into my chest. I sat frozen at the dining table, staring at that closed white door. A horrific, prickling numbness washed over my skin. A voice echoed in the back of my skull, screaming a truth I didn’t want to hear. He is cheating on you. I don’t know how long I sat there. It was December in New York, and my entire body felt turning to ice. Fighting through the nausea, I forced myself to walk over to the bedroom. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. Oliver jumped. He clearly hadn’t expected me to come in. His reflexes took over. He slammed his phone face-down onto the duvet. As I walked closer, he ripped out his AirPods and shoved the phone under his pillow. “You’re done already?” he asked. “That was fast.” “You should eat and hit the shower. Need me to warm up your plate?” If this were the old days, Oliver wouldn’t be asking. Whenever I had late-night projects, he would bring his iPad to the living room and sit beside me until I finished. He always knew exactly when I was about to get hungry. He would have the food hot and waiting, with a bowl of freshly washed berries on the side. I used to tease him about it. “You’re making a great housewife. You’re making me look bad.” He would pull me into his lap and say, “Then let me quit my job. You can be my sugar mama.” But whenever I agreed, he would shake his head. “Nah. I need to save up for a brownstone. I have to give you a real home.” When exactly did that boy disappear? I had no idea. Oliver’s eyes darted everywhere but my face. The guilt was suffocating the room. A wave of sheer desperation washed over me. Acting on pure impulse, I stripped off my clothes right there in front of him. I crawled onto the bed, straddled his lap, and started kissing him like my life depended on it. I needed his physical touch to prove he still loved me. I needed to know that, at the very least, we still belonged to each other in this way. But Oliver shoved me hard in the chest. He grabbed a random sweater off the floor and threw it over my naked shoulders. “Lily, what the hell are you doing?” That single question shattered whatever was left of my bleeding heart. “What am I doing? Is it that hard to figure out? I want my boyfriend.” His eyes were still dodging mine. He grabbed his phone from under the pillow, stood up, and backed away from the bed. “Let’s just not tonight. I’m exhausted.” “Go to sleep. I have to head to the office and pull an all-nighter.” It felt like an invisible hand had just slapped me across the face. Is there anything more humiliating than throwing yourself naked at the person you love, only to be looked at with disgust? Actually, yes. There is. 2 Oliver changed into fresh clothes and bolted from the apartment like it was on fire. I followed him into the hallway, wanting to scream, wanting to demand answers. But as I stood behind the heavy front door, I heard his voice echoing near the elevator bank. “Babe, why would I touch her?” “Stop overthinking. I’m going to sleep in the car.” “I know, I know. I’ll stay on the phone with you. I won’t hang up.” The elevator dinged. The doors slid shut, cutting off his voice. My hand hovered over the doorknob. I didn’t dare turn it until the hallway was dead silent. The space outside my door felt like a freezing, desolate wasteland. On his way out, he had even taken the trash I left by the door. So domestic. So cruel. The dam broke. I sank to the hardwood floor and sobbed until I was gasping for air. Why? Why was he doing this? My brain felt starved of oxygen. I stumbled over to the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room and looked down at the street. His car was parked under a streetlight. He was sitting in the driver’s seat, phone pressed to his ear, laughing at something the girl on the other end said. He looked so relaxed. So happy. He spent the entire night in that car. I spent the entire night sitting on the cold floor by the window. At six-thirty in the morning, the car door finally opened. I scrambled back into the bedroom, threw myself under the covers, and pretended to be dead asleep. I had left the bedroom door cracked open. I heard him walk in, brush his teeth in the guest bathroom, and head back toward the front door. I heard every single footstep. Every second, I prayed he would walk into the bedroom. Just to hug me. Just to press his lips to my forehead like he had done a thousand times before. To whisper, “Going to work, baby. Love you.” If he did that, I could lie to myself. I could pretend last night was a nightmare. We could go back to the way we were. He never stepped foot in the bedroom. The front door slammed shut. I lay there for hours. I lay there until my swollen, burning eyes produced fresh tears, soaking my pillow completely through. I must have passed out from exhaustion. In my dreams, I was pulled back to the very beginning. Oliver and I were childhood friends. We grew up in the same small town in upstate New York. But it wasn’t some golden, sun-kissed coming-of-age movie. When he was eight, his parents had a messy divorce. His dad remarried a woman who didn’t want a stepson. His mom, eager to start a new life in Europe, dumped him at his grandmother’s house with ten grand in a checking account and never looked back. His grandmother lived in the apartment right above mine. I was eight years old, too. I didn’t have a dad. It was just me and my mom, scraping by. Oliver and I were like two stray dogs licking each other’s wounds. We kept each other standing. From elementary school through senior year, we didn’t spend a single day apart. He became the absolute center of my universe. When teenage hormones kicked in, the transition from best friends to first loves was seamless. We promised to go to the same college in the city. We swore we would never be separated. But when acceptance letters rolled in, I secretly changed my plans. I didn’t go to the prestigious university in Manhattan with him. I enrolled at the local state college back home. He didn’t find out until the final paperwork arrived in the mail. He stormed into my house, furious. “Why the hell would you change your major without telling me?” “Was everything we talked about just a lie?” I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the truth. My mother had just been diagnosed with a severe illness. I couldn’t leave her. Instead, I played the villain. “I just don’t have the same ambition you do. I want a quiet, boring life.” “Oliver, we just don’t make sense anymore.” We didn’t speak for the entire summer. The night before he left for the city, I found a stuffed envelope jammed under my front door. Inside was a wad of cash, maybe five hundred dollars, and a note written on lined paper. [This is the money I made flipping burgers all summer. It’s mine, not my dad’s. Use it. We’re going to figure out your mom’s medical bills together.] It broke me. I ran out into the damp evening air, crying, intending to run all the way to the bus station. But as soon as I opened the downstairs lobby door, I saw him. He was leaning against the brick wall, hands shoved in his pockets, grinning at me. I avoided his burning gaze, awkwardly wiping my face. “Why aren’t you on the bus?” He walked up and pressed a warm brown paper bag into my hands. The rich, sweet smell of roasted chestnuts filled the air. “I was worried a certain someone was too stubborn to realize she still needs me.” Whenever we fought as kids, a bag of hot roasted chestnuts was our silent truce. I took the bag and walked him to the station. Right before he boarded, he crushed me in a hug. “Lily, please don’t leave me behind. You’re all I have.” “Let’s make this official. Please?” 3 I said yes. Back then, I truly believed young love could conquer any tragedy. We dated long-distance for four years. Whenever he had a free weekend, he took the bus upstate. His Instagram and Snapchat were flooded with pictures of me. He constantly told me he wanted to make me feel secure, to prove I could always trust him. But I refused to let my baggage drag him down. Shortly after graduation, my mother passed away. I was completely alone. I handled the hospital bills, the morgue paperwork, the cremation, and the funeral plot all by myself. Oliver called me a few times. He said he had final-round interviews at top-tier firms on Wall Street. He couldn’t leave the city, but promised he’d rush back the second he secured an offer. I texted back a single word: [Okay.] The people who came to the funeral were mostly older neighbors. They all knew about me and Oliver. They stood near the buffet table, whispering about how successful he was becoming. Full academic scholarships. Bidding wars between corporate giants. He was going to put roots down in New York City and make a fortune. I listened to them, and I realized they were right. He had a massive, glittering future ahead of him. He shouldn’t be chained to a grieving orphan in a dead-end town. The day after my mother went into the ground, I sent him a text ending the relationship. Then I blocked his number, deleted my social media, and disappeared into a cheap motel where no one could find me. I spent a week existing in a numb blur. It wasn’t until his grandmother managed to get a hold of me that I found out he had come back. He had gone completely insane trying to find me. When he couldn’t, he drove to the cemetery and collapsed by my mother’s grave. He stayed on his knees in the freezing mud, begging her spirit to make me stay. Hearing that destroyed my resolve. I caved and went to the cemetery. I found him curled into a ball against her headstone. I couldn’t tell if his eyelashes were coated in morning dew or frozen tears. When he saw me, he scrambled to his feet and practically tackled me, burying his face in my neck, shaking violently. His eyes were bloodshot and wild. His voice was entirely gone. “Lily, please. Please don’t leave me.” “I’m begging you…” Looking at the boy who loved me that much, I had no defense left. We got back together. I packed up my life and moved to a tiny apartment in Queens with him. He worked insane corporate hours, so I took an easy admin job just so I could manage the apartment, cook his meals, and do his laundry. As he climbed the corporate ladder, setting his sights higher and higher, I started taking night classes, desperately trying to upgrade myself so I wouldn’t be left behind. I was still fighting for our future. How did he lose his way? My phone blaring aggressively on the kitchen counter jolted me awake. It was my boss, absolutely screaming into the receiver. She wanted to know where the marketing deck was and asked if I was trying to get fired. I squinted at the clock. It was 4:00 PM. My bones ached, and my brain felt like it was stuffed with cotton. I dragged myself out of bed and dug a thermometer out of the nightstand. I was running a massive fever. After apologizing to my boss, I threw a heavy cardigan over my pajamas and walked out to the dining table to finish the deck. Last night’s dinner was still sitting there, completely untouched. But there was a sticky note pressed to the wood. Oliver’s handwriting: [Flying out for a business trip for a few days. Throw the food out.] A hot tear splashed onto the yellow paper. Business trip. Right. He was with her. I knew it in my gut. Like a complete maniac, I started calling him. Back to back to back. He didn’t pick up once. Finally, my phone buzzed with a text. [Let’s just take some space and calm down.] Calm down? Space? What did that even mean? Total panic set in. I booted up the iPad and logged into the car’s GPS tracking app. The little blue dot was parked outside a boutique hotel downtown. Before I took an Uber there, I walked for twenty minutes through the biting wind until I found a street vendor selling hot roasted chestnuts. Clutching the warm paper bag to my chest, I found his luxury sedan in the hotel lot. I used the digital key on my phone to unlock the doors and climbed into the passenger seat. I assumed the app notification would alert him, and he would come down to see me. Instead, another text popped up. [Go home. I want to be alone right now.] I wanted to scream through the phone. Alone? Are you really alone, or is she in the bed next to you? But I was too terrified to ask. My chest felt like it was being crushed in a vice. My fingers trembled as I typed: [I have a high fever.] Ten minutes later, the elevator doors in the lobby slid open. Oliver walked out, pulled open the driver’s side door, and let out a long, heavy sigh. “Lily, if you’re sick, go to an urgent care. I’m not a doctor.” Tears blurred my vision. I reached out, desperately wanting to wrap my arms around his waist. He stiffened and leaned away from my touch. “Lily. I’m seeing someone else. You already figured that out, didn’t you?”

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My twin sister and I were getting married on the exact same day. But on the morning of the wedding, someone shredded her gown to pieces. When my husband found out, he took my wedding dress and gave it to her. The wedding coordinator was frantically calling for the bride and groom to line up. I was spinning in circles, tearing the bridal suite apart looking for my dress. That was when my husband finally looked at me, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “It’s Hailey’s first time getting married. She deserves to have a flawless day. You two are exactly the same size, so I let her borrow your gown.” I stared at him, entirely unable to process his words. “What about me? This is my first wedding, too.” Carter furrowed his brow, completely exasperated. “Hailey is your twin sister. Can’t you just be the bigger person for once? Besides, we already signed the marriage license at the courthouse last month. Today is just for show. I already talked to Hailey. She’s going to walk down the aisle a second time pretending to be you. You guys are identical anyway. As long as you keep your mouth shut, no one will ever know.” 1 Half an hour ago, when Carter told me he gave my dress to Hailey, I thought I was having a stroke. I stood frozen in the hallway for a full thirty seconds. When my brain finally rebooted, I shoved past him and marched straight for the ballroom doors. Hailey and I had booked our receptions at the same luxury hotel. My reception was in the Sapphire Room. Hers was right next door in the Emerald Room. I stepped into the dim ballroom. Up on the altar, Hailey was exchanging rings with her groom. A brilliant spotlight shone down on her lace bodice and flowing train. Pure, radiant, and absolutely breathtaking. It was my dress. The tips of my fingers went completely numb. I planted my foot, ready to storm that stage. But Carter grabbed me from behind. His grip was brutal. His fingers dug into my bare upper arm like steel claws. He practically dragged me backward, shoving me all the way into the secluded bridal suite. “Jules, stop acting crazy! This is the most important moment of Hailey’s entire life!” He slammed the door shut and yanked at his bowtie, looking thoroughly annoyed. My eyes began to burn. A pathetic, choked sob clawed its way up my throat. “Is today not the most important moment of my life, too?” I stared at him without blinking. I wanted to look right through this man. We had known each other since childhood. We had been dating for two years. Carter avoided my eyes. A fleeting shadow of guilt passed over his face before it vanished. He reached out to hold my hands, speaking to me like a disappointed parent. “Jules, Hailey isn’t built like you. She’s highly sensitive, and you know she has a weak heart. If her wedding day was ruined, she would spiral into a depression she might never recover from.” “We all grew up together. You know Hailey has always needed extra protection. Whatever she wanted, if you didn’t have it, you helped her get it. If you did have it, you gave it to her.” “Why are you throwing a temper tantrum over something so trivial?” I slapped his hands away and let out a dry, hollow laugh. “You think I’m throwing a temper tantrum?” “What else would you call it?” Carter ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, his voice rising with frustration. “It’s just a piece of fabric! I’ll buy you ten new designer dresses tomorrow if you want. Do you really have to be this relentless?” I looked at his self-righteous face. Every compromise I had ever made, every boundary I had ever let them cross, suddenly felt like jagged glass lodged in my throat. I couldn’t breathe. Since I was a little girl, I was conditioned to yield to Hailey. If she wanted my favorite doll, I handed it over. If she wanted the trophy I won at the science fair, I let her put her name on it. When she developed a crush on Carter and actively tried to steal him, I quietly stepped back. But then Carter came to me. He asked me out. He looked me in the eyes and said he finally realized I was the one he loved, not Hailey. That was the only reason we were standing here today. I had swallowed all the unfairness because my mother drilled it into my skull every single day. She always told me Hailey was fragile. Hailey was sickly. I had to yield. But did I really have to yield my wedding? My dress? My own husband? When I didn’t say anything, Carter assumed I had surrendered. His tone softened. He reached out to stroke my cheek. “Be a good girl. I promise I’ll make it up to you tonight, okay? Let’s go out there. We have to do our vows. You can just wear one of the bridesmaid dresses. It’s just family and friends out there anyway, nobody is going to judge you.” I leaned back, dodging his touch. I reached onto the vanity, picked up my diamond engagement ring, and dropped it onto the glass table. The sharp clink echoed in the quiet room. It sounded like a gunshot. Carter’s face went completely pale. “Jules, are you seriously doing this?” “Did you think I was joking?” I looked at him. My voice was so dead and calm it even scared me. “Carter, I’m done yielding. You can have the dress. You can have the wedding.” “I want a divorce.” “Absolutely not!” 2 The heavy wooden door flew open. My mother stormed into the suite, her face dark with fury. Hailey was right behind her, still wearing my wedding dress. “Do you think marriage is a game?” my mother hissed, glaring at me. “You’re refusing to walk down the aisle over a minor inconvenience? What are all those guests going to think of you? What are they going to think of this family?” I stared at her. “So you think it’s perfectly fine for me to walk down the aisle in a plain bridesmaid dress on my own wedding day?” “A dress is a dress! It’s just a little less flashy. When I married your father, I didn’t even have a real gown!” She rattled off her excuses rapidly. Her tone was practiced. It was entirely rehearsed. My legs suddenly felt like lead. “Mom, you knew about this. Didn’t you?” My mother paused. Her eyes darted away from mine. “Jules, my hands were tied. I’ll explain everything once the reception is over.” My voice shattered the quiet room. “So you all knew! You all conspired behind my back to strip me of my dress and give it to her!” Total silence fell over the room. The only sound was the hum of the air conditioning vent overhead. The cold air hit my face, freezing me to my very core. “Mom, am I actually your daughter?” Memories flooded my brain. Every single year on our birthday, Hailey was the one who blew out the candles. I used to beg for a second cake so I could have a turn. My mother always said buying two cakes for twins was a waste of money. She promised we would alternate years. But every year, without fail, she pulled Hailey up to the table. When we were in middle school, the neighbor’s house caught fire. The flames spread to our siding. I was trapped in bed with a broken ankle. They completely forgot about me. They grabbed Hailey and ran out into the street. Thank God the fire department arrived in time. After high school, Hailey completely bombed her SATs and didn’t get into a single good college. My scores got me into Cornell. My mother secretly called my guidance counselor and tried to force me to take a gap year. When I refused, she dropped to her knees in the kitchen and begged me. She said if I went to an Ivy League school while Hailey stayed home, the humiliation would kill Hailey. Hailey locked herself in her room and cried for two straight weeks. But what about me? What did I ever do wrong? Hailey stole everything I ever earned, and I was just supposed to swallow the pain. Was I cursed to be treated like garbage for the rest of my life? 3 My mother looked away, her voice sharp and defensive. “You are the older sister. It is your duty to accommodate her. Hailey can’t handle failure. You are tough. You can take the hits. What is the big deal?” Standing behind her, Hailey peeked out. Her eyes were red and swimming with tears. She looked like a terrified little deer. “Please don’t fight. It’s all my fault.” She sniffled, her voice trembling. “Jules, please don’t be mad at Mom. Someone maliciously ruined my dress. I didn’t want to steal yours, but Carter swore you wouldn’t mind because we’re sisters.” “If you really hate me for it, I’ll take it off right now.” I looked at her with pure disgust. “Great. Take it off.” All the blood drained from Hailey’s face. She stood frozen, awkwardly clutching the expensive lace skirt, biting her bottom lip as huge tears rolled down her cheeks. I let out a bitter laugh. “What are you waiting for? Take it off.” My mother lunged forward, putting herself between me and her precious favorite child. She raised her hand and slapped me hard across the face. “Have you lost your damn mind?! Are you trying to humiliate your sister on purpose?!” The left side of my face went completely numb. I didn’t cry. I actually smiled. For twenty-five years, no matter who was at fault, my mother always protected Hailey. I looked my mother dead in the eyes, speaking with absolute clarity. “I am walking down that aisle in my wedding dress, or I am walking out that door and filing for divorce. And I will never come back to this family again.” Carter panicked. He grabbed my wrist, his voice shaking. “Jules, stop acting like a psycho! There are two hundred guests sitting out there waiting for us! If you walk out now, my family will be a laughingstock!” Hailey spoke up again, her voice tiny and sweet. “Actually, I have an idea. If Jules is really this upset, we shouldn’t force her. We look identical anyway. Even Mom gets us confused sometimes. I can just put the veil over my face, go out there with Carter, and do the vows for her.” Carter’s eyes lit up. “That’s brilliant. We’re in completely different ballrooms. Nobody will ever notice.” My mother nodded in aggressive agreement. They stood there plotting, treating me like I was completely invisible. It was so absurd I wanted to vomit. I violently wrenched my wrist out of Carter’s grip. I didn’t know I had that much strength in me. “Do whatever the hell you want.” I grabbed my clutch off the vanity and headed for the door. Carter stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “You can’t leave. If Hailey is on stage pretending to be you, what happens if someone sees you walking through the lobby?” My mother bit her lip. She grabbed a thick spool of silk ribbon from a floral arrangement on the table and shoved it into Carter’s hands. Tie her up. “I am not letting you ruin Hailey’s perfect day,” my mother said coldly. “You’re just going to have to wait in here.” “Are you people insane?!” I swung my fists, hitting Carter in the chest and the face. I kicked at his shins, fighting like a wild animal. But I was just one woman against two people. Carter clamped a hand over my mouth, binding my wrists tight with the thick ribbon. Together, they shoved me into the massive, heavy oak wardrobe in the corner of the room. Carter looked at me through the narrowing crack of the door, his face twisting with pity. “I promise I’ll let you out the second the reception is over, Jules. Just sit tight.” The very last thing I saw before the door shut was Hailey. She was standing behind Carter. She looked right at me, and the corners of her mouth twitched up into a sickening, victorious smirk. 4 Click. The lock turned from the outside. The wardrobe plunged into pitch black. The only light came from the tiny gap under the door. Muffled through the heavy wood, I could hear the DJ in the Emerald Room hyping up the crowd. I heard the bass of the music. I heard the distant cheering of the guests. Those cheers were meant for me. Now, every single clap felt like a needle driving directly into my eardrums. My chest ached so badly I couldn’t breathe. Thump. Thump. Thump. I threw my entire body weight against the heavy doors. The wood barely rattled. Nobody outside responded. The only result was a blinding pain shooting through my shoulder. The silk ribbon cutting into my wrists felt like razor wire. Every time I struggled, the friction burned my skin raw. I don’t know how many hours passed. The music outside eventually faded into nothing. I slumped against the back of the wardrobe, gasping for air, completely exhausted. Warm blood trickled down my hands, soaking the ribbon and turning it sticky against my skin. By the time the hotel fell completely silent, it was late into the night. Suddenly, I heard heavy footsteps entering the suite. I let out a desperate, muffled scream through the gag and threw my good shoulder against the door with everything I had left. Click. The wardrobe doors were violently yanked open. A terrified housekeeper and the hotel’s night manager stared down at me. “Oh my god! What happened to you?! Who locked you in here?!” the manager yelled. The harsh overhead lights blinded me. I squeezed my eyes shut as silent tears streamed down my bruised face. “Call the police.”

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For three years, my husband Derek enforced a strict 50/50 split—mortgage, bills, even groceries, which he’d calculate to the cent. I told myself he was just frugal. Then one day, my period came early. Out of supplies, I asked him to grab overnight pads on his way home. That night, a Venmo request arrived: Always Ultra Thin Overnights – $7.99. Personal item.It hit me like a needle to the heart. Derek emerged from the bathroom, towel around his waist, smirking. “Too expensive?” he said. “Stock up next time. Or buy Walmart’s generic brand—I’m not subsidizing your choices.” I looked at him—really looked—for the first time in three years. Rising, I pulled a manila folder from beneath the table and dropped it before him. “Derek, we’re getting a divorce.” My voice was steady. He laughed. “Over eight dollars? We split everything. Remember the prenup protects my assets. Your salary can’t even cover a studio here.” He leaned in, sneering. “You leave me, you can’t afford rent.” I stayed silent, meeting his gaze. “You’ll soon see exactly how much of your money I’ll touch.” In front of him, I texted my lawyer: Initiate asset freeze. File evidence. We’re going to trial. His laughter stopped. For the first time, panic flickered across his face. 1 The next afternoon, while Derek was sitting in a board meeting at his consulting firm, a process server handed him a court summons. He absolutely lost his mind. He called my cell phone back to back, the screen lighting up again and again. I hit decline, then permanently blocked his number. Unable to reach me, he ran straight to his mother, Brenda, to complain. Through the audio feed on my laptop, I heard Brenda shrieking in the background. “That ungrateful little bitch! She ate our food and lived in our house for three years, and now she thinks she can just fly the coop?!” “Don’t you worry, sweetheart. We kept the books completely clean. She won’t get a single red cent from us!” “Let her throw her little fit. Let’s see what she can actually do!” I closed the remote access app synced to the hidden microphone in his home office and looked out the window at the busy Manhattan traffic. For an entire year, I had lived like a rat in the shadows, quietly and methodically collecting every shred of evidence proving this mother-son duo was laundering marital assets. Now, the curtain was finally going up. 2 My marriage to Derek was a meticulously calculated scam from day one. When we got engaged, he pitched the 50/50 split as a modern, progressive way to live. He said it would prevent financial resentment and give us both total independence. He said good business partners keep clean books, and a marriage is the most important partnership of all. God, I actually thought he was a visionary back then. I never imagined his 50/50 rule would become a psychological torture device. The down payment on our condo was split exactly down the middle. The mortgage, the HOA fees, the electric bill all perfectly halved. It sounded fair on paper. Except the master bedroom he occupied was a hundred and fifty square feet larger than the guest room I used as an office. So, he spent an hour on Excel calculating the square footage and demanded I pay 0.5% more of the utility and maintenance costs. He called it equity. I cooked dinner every night. He came home to hot meals. After eating, he would literally pull out a digital kitchen scale. He would estimate how many grams of salt and how many ounces of olive oil I used in the recipe. Then, he would cross-reference the grocery receipt and Venmo me exactly half the cost of the ingredients. His justification was maddening. “We only split joint expenses. You bought the groceries, but we both consumed the seasoning.” He called it respecting my labor. The most absurd moment happened when I was hospitalized for severe food poisoning. He came to visit me in the ER, bringing a small bouquet of bodega flowers. I was lying in the hospital bed, pale and violently dehydrated. He sat in the visitor’s chair, perfectly calm, and pulled out his phone calculator. “The ER copay, we split down the middle.” “The IV fluids are for your personal bodily needs, so you cover that 100%.” “My Uber ride here to see you was $38, so you owe me $19.” He pointed to the cheap carnations. “The flowers are a gift from me. No need to split those.” Lying in that sterile bed, watching him aggressively punch numbers into his phone, the very last shred of love I had for him evaporated into thin air. That was when the suspicion started. How could a man who obsessed over pennies to this psychotic degree suddenly become so “successful” in his freelance consulting side-hustle, yet our joint standard of living never improved? Where exactly was all that lucrative consulting money going? I used to be a senior financial analyst. I have an instinct for numbers and cash flow. After I was discharged, I told him I wanted to streamline our household budgeting software. I tricked him into granting me viewing access to his primary checking account. Then, using my professional background, I began secretly tracing every single dollar that entered and exited his name. It didn’t take long to uncover a horrifying secret. Every single month, a massive wire transfer was sent directly into Brenda’s personal bank account, labeled as a “Caregiving Stipend.” I remembered a conversation from a few months prior. Derek had proudly bragged to his friends that he bought his mother a gorgeous retirement property in the Hamptons in straight cash. When I asked him about it, he brushed it off. “It was money I made from an old investment before we met. It has nothing to do with our household.” Before we met? His pre-marital savings were a joke. He had to beg his uncle for a loan just to cover his half of our condo’s down payment. I knew right then he was lying through his teeth. I tapped into my old industry contacts and ran a deep background search on his shell LLCs and off-shore routing numbers. The results made my blood run cold. When my divorce attorney, Arthur, reviewed the preliminary forensic audit I put together, he actually gasped. “Vivian, every single penny your husband made from his private consulting contracts over the last three years bypassed your joint accounts entirely.” “He funneled all of it directly into his mother’s checking account under the guise of living expenses and elder care support.” The day of our pre-trial mediation, Derek’s lawyer strutted into the conference room looking like he already won the lottery. He slammed a binder as thick as a phonebook onto the mahogany table. “Your Honor, opposing counsel. Please direct your attention to this ledger. This is a comprehensive, line-by-line accounting of every joint expense shared by Mr. Davis and my client over their three-year marriage.” “Every single transaction is documented and acknowledged.” “This proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that both parties operated under a strict, agreed-upon separation of finances.” Derek sat across from me, a winner’s smirk plastered across his face. During the recess, Derek’s lawyer walked over to me, dripping with arrogance. “Vivian, you can’t even keep track of your own grocery bills. Do you really think you can unravel a multi-million dollar asset portfolio?” “I suggest you take the high road and drop this. Stop embarrassing yourself.” I looked at that massive binder of receipts and smiled. For three years, I swallowed my pride and endured your financial abuse just to make you feel invincible. I lulled you into a false sense of absolute security. The cleaner you kept these petty little books, the harder you are going to bleed. 3 When the mediation session went on recess, Derek cornered me in the courthouse lobby. He stood with his chest puffed out, looking incredibly pleased with himself. “I am giving you one last chance, Vivian. Drop the lawsuit right now, and we can walk away clean.” “Don’t even dream about squeezing a single dime out of my pockets. You don’t have the brains for it.” His voice was kept low, but it was laced with deliberate cruelty. I didn’t waste my breath arguing. I simply reached into my designer tote, pulled out a separate legal document, and shoved it into his chest. It was a formal notice drafted by Arthur that morning. The bold black header read: Notice of Intent to Litigate: Fraudulent Dissipation of Marital Assets. Derek snatched it, scanned the first few lines, and let out a loud, mocking scoff. “What a joke! You think paying some ambulance chaser to write a scary letter is going to intimidate me?” “Every dollar I spent went to my own personal expenses. Our financial boundaries are legally documented in that binder. You could take this to the Supreme Court and you’d still lose!” He crumpled the notice into a tight ball, threw it onto the marble floor, and ground it under the heel of his Italian loafer. “You are so naive, Vivian.” I stared at the crushed paper on the floor, feeling absolutely nothing. The mediation resumed. Derek’s lawyer was putting on a masterclass in theatrics, endlessly praising the modern brilliance of their 50/50 financial arrangement. He painted me as a hysterical, greedy housewife trying to steal her brilliant husband’s hard-earned pre-marital wealth over a petty argument. Right in the middle of his grand speech, Arthur stood up. “Your Honor, my client is submitting an emergency motion for a preliminary injunction.” “We request the immediate freezing of the defendant’s primary bank account ending in 8848.” The entire room fell dead silent. Arthur handed the motion directly to the mediator and the judge. “My client has uncovered evidence that Mr. Davis is currently bleeding massive amounts of capital out of his personal accounts to undisclosed offshore entities.” “To prevent the total liquidation of marital assets, we require an immediate freeze.” Derek’s face completely dropped. He snapped his head toward me, genuine panic flashing in his eyes for the very first time. But he quickly forced his features into a calm mask. He probably assumed I had only found a few hidden thousands. A minor inconvenience. His lawyer immediately jumped in. “Objection!” “The transfers in question are routine, documented financial gifts to my client’s elderly mother. It is a standard display of familial duty.” “This has absolutely nothing to do with asset concealment! We demand opposing counsel produce hard evidence of fraud!” “Hard evidence?” I finally spoke up. My voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the heavy silence of the room like a knife. I looked dead into Derek’s eyes. “Don’t panic, Derek. This is just the appetizer.” “Every single penny you swallowed in the dark, I am going to rip out of your throat with interest.” My words completely broke him. He slammed his hands on the table, surging out of his chair, pointing a shaking finger at my face. “Who the hell do you think you are, Vivian?!” “If you can actually prove anything, I’ll legally change my name!” The room erupted into chaos. I watched him hyperventilate, a cold smile touching my lips. The higher you climb on your pedestal of arrogance, the more bones you will break when you hit the pavement. Derek finally realized I wasn’t just playing games. The second the hearing adjourned, he ambushed me in the parking garage. He slapped his hands against the driver’s side window of my car. His face had undergone a terrifying transformation. The smug superiority from the courtroom was entirely gone, replaced by a sickeningly sweet, desperate warmth. “Viv, roll the window down. Let’s just talk.” I lowered the glass a few inches, staring at him blankly. He instantly put on a face of deep, wounded heartbreak. He was playing the emotional manipulation card. “Vivian, I know the last few years have been hard on you.” “But our financial setup… I only did it so we could build a stronger foundation for our future. Why can’t you see that?” His voice was buttery soft, acting like we were still a pair of star-crossed lovers. “Are you really going to destroy three years of a beautiful marriage over an eight-dollar Venmo request?” 4 The sheer hypocrisy of his performance made my stomach turn. “Three years of a beautiful marriage?” I let out a dry, venomous laugh. “Were you thinking about our beautiful marriage when you were calculating the exact retail tax on a box of tampons?” “Were you thinking about our love when you sat by my hospital bed punching numbers into a calculator to split an Uber fare?” My questions shattered his fragile mask of affection. Seeing that the soft approach was completely useless, his eyes darkened. The vicious, cornered animal finally came out. “Don’t push your luck, you ungrateful bitch!” He snarled, leaning close to the glass. “You think I don’t know you’ve been digging through my trash?” “I’m telling you right now, whatever garbage you think you found won’t hold up in court!” “If you actually try to take this to trial, I will drag your name through the mud. I will make sure you are totally blacklisted in your industry. You will never work in finance again!” He whipped out his phone and shoved the screen against my window. They were highly edited, out-of-context screenshots of our old text messages. He had spliced them together to make it look like the strict 50/50 rule was entirely my idea, and that I was financially abusing him. “You see this?” Derek gloated, his voice dripping with malice. “You don’t have a single shred of concrete proof that I hid millions of dollars!” “Everything you say in front of that judge is going to be thrown out as malicious slander!” “You are going to lose everything, Vivian!” I looked at his face, twisted and deformed by his own terrifying ego. The very last ripple of anger in my chest finally went completely still. I gave him one final answer. “I will see you in court tomorrow, Derek.” “That ‘garbage’ evidence you are so confident about is going to cost you a price you cannot even begin to comprehend.” I rolled the window up, shifted into drive, and left him standing in a cloud of exhaust. When I got back to my apartment, I unlocked my heavy steel safe and pulled out the masterpiece I had spent a year building. A fifty-page dossier titled: Forensic Analysis of Concealed Marital Funds. I smoothed my hand over the cover and flipped to a page near the middle. It was a printed screenshot of a WhatsApp conversation between Derek and Brenda. Brenda: Honey, the wire transfer cleared. I put it in the offshore high-yield account. We’re almost at two million. Is that enough for the Hamptons property? Derek: Don’t worry Mom, it’s more than enough. Just remember, do not leave a single paper trail with your signature on it. We declare it strictly as your retirement savings. That way, even if things go south with Vivian, that leech won’t be able to touch a single dime. I took a slow, deep breath and dialed my lawyer. “Arthur, tell the judge we are submitting our core evidence exhibit on the floor tomorrow.” “I want him to stand in front of a crowded courtroom and watch the lies he built burn to the ground.” The morning of the official trial was gray and overcast. The courtroom was packed. Brenda was sitting in the front row of the gallery. She glared daggers at me, her lips moving rapidly as she quietly cursed my name. Derek sat at the defense table in a sharp tailored suit, his hair slicked back, looking every bit the untouchable corporate elite. The trial commenced. Derek’s attorney took the floor first. He elevated our toxic financial dynamic, preaching about how our marriage was a shining beacon of modern, progressive financial independence. Then, he signaled his paralegal to lug that massive, brick-like binder of receipts over to the judge’s bench. “Your Honor, I direct your attention to Exhibit A.” “This ledger, spanning over three hundred pages, meticulously documents every single shared expense incurred by my client and the plaintiff over the course of their marriage.” “From mortgage payments and utility bills, to a single box of salt, a roll of paper towels, and even… personal feminine hygiene products.” He emphasized the last few words, drawing a smattering of muffled laughter from the gallery. “Both parties have physically signed off on this ledger.” “This explicitly proves that a strict, undeniable separation of assets was established and maintained throughout the marriage.” “There is absolutely no comingling of funds.” “Therefore, the plaintiff’s demand for equitable distribution of my client’s personal assets is entirely baseless in both fact and law!” As his lawyer finished, Derek shot me a wildly arrogant smirk. He looked right at me and silently mouthed the words. This is the price you pay for eight dollars.

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1 After I married Dr. Hayes, every morning at seven, I’d hear the progress of my ‘conquest’ of him in my mind. He was unfailingly responsive to my every whim, impeccably perfect. Yet, the progress bar stubbornly stalled at 95%. I loved him with all my heart, and naturally, I wanted him to love me just as completely. So, I shed my sharp edges, embraced his preferences, and transformed myself into the gentle, virtuous Mrs. Hayes. This morning’s progress report finally hit a hundred percent! He came home early, changed into an off-white linen pajama set, and the cold aloofness that usually surrounded him softened. We snuggled together, watching an indie romance film. He got up to wash fruit, and I leaned back on the still-warm sofa, my heart full of sweetness. Suddenly, my tablet chimed twice. Curiously, I tapped it open and froze. “Your wife is so ugly, ugh.” “At 4 minutes 13 seconds, her tummy rolls are practically popping out. You must be suffering, pretending to be in love with her watching this movie.” … I stared at the two lines of text on the screen. Shock, fury, disgust. All emotions intertwined, but I didn’t explode. How could the man I had completely ‘conquered’ be live-streaming our time together to someone else? I knew Robert’s character. He was aloof and proud; he would never do something so despicable. It must be a misunderstanding! Before he explained, I shouldn’t blindly lose my temper and accuse him. Robert walked out, drying his hair, and saw me sitting on the bed, pale, holding the tablet. “Amy, what’s wrong? Feeling unwell?” I turned the tablet and pushed it toward him. Robert’s gaze fell on the screen. I didn’t miss a single change in his expression. No panic, no guilt. He simply visibly darkened, then tiredly pinched the bridge of his nose: “She’s at it again.” “Who is ‘she’?” Robert sat beside me, his voice full of helplessness: “A new colleague who joined our department, her name’s Bethany White. She… has some issues up here.” He pointed to his head. “Probably severe delusional disorder.” He candidly pulled out his phone, unlocked it, opened his messenger, and handed it to me. “See for yourself.” The chat history was filled with Bethany’s one-sided barrages. “Dr. Hayes, you look so handsome in your lab coat today!” “Your spoiled, old-fashioned wife is no good. Only I can help you.” There were also various self-orchestrated fantasies. Robert’s replies were few and far between, and entirely about stiff work matters. I tapped into Bethany’s social media, no photos, just blurred silhouettes and travel check-ins. “She’s harassing you like this, why haven’t you blocked her?” My voice was still tight. Robert smiled bitterly, pulling me into his arms. “Amy, do you think I don’t want to? She was placed by the hospital board, and she has deep connections. The board insisted we work together on several major projects recently. If I blocked her, how would I move forward with my work? To avoid delays, I can only keep her on my contacts and pretend she’s dead, just ignore her.” His voice held deep exhaustion. “I thought if I just ignored her, she’d get bored and stop. I never expected her to send such disgusting things to you!” “I’m sorry, Amy. I didn’t handle it well; I let you down.” Just then, that voice in my head suddenly spoke. [Warning: Trust crisis detected with your target. Current approval rating 100%. Please stop baseless speculation and avoid damaging the perfect marital relationship!] The bloodshot eyes and candid look in Robert’s eyes filled me with guilt. I had misunderstood him. He worked so hard outside, dealing with harassment from a crazy person, and yet I doubted him over two messages. “I’m sorry, Robert…” I hugged him back, my voice choked, “I shouldn’t have doubted you.” He kissed my forehead: “Silly girl, we don’t need apologies between us.” The next day. I personally cooked several of his favorite dishes, carefully packed them, and took them to the hospital. Pushing open his office door, he was sitting at his desk, rubbing his temples. Seeing me, a flicker of surprise crossed his eyes. “Why didn’t you call ahead? Aren’t you tired?” He smiled, taking the insulated box. “Wanted to make sure you’re well fed.” Just as he picked up his chopsticks to eat, his phone screen lit up. Robert glanced at it, his face instantly changing, and he decisively stood up: “Amy, emergency in the ER. Major car accident. I have to go save them immediately!” He grabbed his lab coat and rushed out of the office. I stood there, stunned, looking at the steaming food, a hollow feeling in my heart. But there was nothing to do. Lives were on the line. I could only quietly pack up the insulated box and take a cab home. As soon as I walked through the door, I received a text message from an unknown number. “The food you cook, just the smell of it is sickening. Not as delicious as my body, though. Dr. Hayes is starving for it~” 2 If last night’s message was her one-sided fantasy, what about today? I had barely delivered the food to the hospital when Robert made an excuse about an emergency surgery and rushed off. I went straight back to the hospital. Not to find Robert, but to the HR department. “I want to file a formal complaint against Bethany White, a doctor in your cardiac surgery department!” I slammed both hands on the desk. “She has an unprofessional conduct and is severely harassing a colleague’s family!” The person across from me was startled. He frowned and opened the system: “Bethany White? Cardiac surgery? Please wait.” A minute later, he looked up, puzzled: “Are you mistaken? We have no doctor named Bethany White in our hospital system, nor any nurse.” “Impossible!” I raised my voice. “She’s new! She’s in the same department as Robert Hayes, how could you not find her!” “Truly, no one.” The clerk turned the monitor towards me. “The entire staff list is here. No one by that name.” I stared at the “No matching results” message on the screen, my mind a blank. Medical staff gradually gathered outside, curious. “Isn’t that Dr. Hayes’s wife?” “Why is she causing a scene here?” “I heard her mental state isn’t very good, always suspicious…” “Poor thing, Dr. Hayes is so brilliant, how did he end up with a crazy wife.” … The fragmented whispers pierced my ears. I looked around, experiencing panic for the first time. Just as I was on the verge of collapsing, Robert rushed in, drenched in sweat, pulling me into his arms. He didn’t get angry at me; instead, he bowed repeatedly, apologizing to everyone around us. “I’m so sorry, truly! My wife has been under a lot of stress lately, and hasn’t been sleeping well. She might have misunderstood something. I apologize for disturbing everyone, please don’t mind her!” I was half-hugged, half-dragged by him into the car. As soon as the car door closed, Robert’s eyes reddened. “Amy, I’m sorry… I lied to you.” I looked at him blankly. “Bethany White isn’t a colleague from our hospital.” He confessed, choked up, “She’s an external pharmaceutical rep. Last night, seeing how upset you were, how much you minded this person, all my energy was spent on calming you down. I didn’t want to mention irrelevant people and upset you further, so I just casually made up a lie, saying she was a colleague, hoping to gloss over the matter…” I remained silent, showing him the text message. “I really did go for an emergency surgery just now!” Robert looked up, his eyes full of sincerity and urgency. “That car accident patient is still in the ICU! I don’t know what’s going on with the text message, she must have bribed someone, or she was staking out the hospital and saw you! Amy, I really only lied because I was afraid you’d overthink things. I swear, she and I have absolutely nothing going on!” The warning in my mind sounded again. [Please trust your target! Stop self-sabotage!] I didn’t know who to believe, or even if I should trust my own judgment. I pushed open the car door, frantically hailed a cab, and returned to my parents’ home. This was my safe haven. Seeing me return distraught, my sister was terrified. After listening to my tearful account, she angrily smashed the decorative item beside her. “That bastard Robert Hayes!” She hugged me tightly, gnashing her teeth. “I knew that opportunistic guy couldn’t be trusted! The whole family disagreed when you insisted on marrying down! Have you forgotten how I used to argue with him? I feared he’d show his true colors once he found success!” I leaned in her arms, my thoughts a tangled mess. “What should I do? I feel like I’m going crazy.” My sister gently patted my back, her voice chilling. “Don’t worry. Mom and Dad and I will back you up! I’ll find out right now who that vixen really is!” 3 My sister moved quickly. “Got it.” “She’s the daughter of a high-ranking executive at Starcorp Group! A notorious party girl in the social circles.” The day I received the documents from my sister happened to be my birthday. Robert had specifically taken time off, booked out a restaurant, and even gifted me an expensive diamond necklace. Candlelight flickered, and a violin played a melodious tune. “Amy, happy birthday!” The atmosphere was warm, and he was about to clink glasses with me. His phone suddenly vibrated urgently. He glanced at the screen, his face instantly grave. After taking the call and listening for a few moments, he quickly stood up, looking apologetically at me: “Amy, I’m so sorry. There’s an emergency in the department, and I have to be the lead surgeon.” “But today…” “Come on, lives are at stake. I’ll come right back to you after I’m done!” He left the restaurant without a backward glance. I stared at the untouched glass of red wine opposite me, feeling a deep sadness. A few minutes later, my sister sent a message. [I just finished with a client and saw Robert Hayes at the Cloudhaven Club! He went into a VIP room, and Bethany White is in there too! I’ve sent you the location!] That voice in my head screamed again. [Warning: Target detected meeting with another woman. Maintain composure and defend your marriage!] The stress reaction made me lose my ability to think. I rushed towards the Cloudhaven Club following the location. “Bang!” After kicking open the private room door, Robert and Bethany were sitting very close on the sofa. I shrieked, grabbed the ice water from the table, and splashed it onto Bethany’s face. “You home-wrecker, are you that desperate for a man?!” She recoiled in surprise, shot a glance at a bodyguard, then pulled out her phone and started filming. “So, you’re Dr. Hayes’s pampered wife?” Bethany’s eyes were contemptuous, her words deeply insulting. “Truly, seeing is believing! It’s bad enough you ruin your husband at home, but you come out here pretending to be the wronged wife and hitting people! What? He can’t have a normal social life?” I continued to scream and struggle, accusing her of coveting a married man. Robert looked bewildered, simultaneously blocking the camera and shouting at me: “Amy! What are you doing! Why are you suddenly bursting in and making a scene like this?!” “You lied to me! You said you were going for emergency surgery!” I cried hysterically. But the bodyguard’s strength was too great; I couldn’t break free. Two hours later. Bethany posted the video online. #RenownedDoctorCaughtWithMistressByCrazyWife# #WifeThrowsFitLikeMadDog# … The hashtags quickly soared to the top of trending topics in our city. The entire internet was mocking me. Saying I had paranoid delusions and wasn’t good enough for Robert. He looked at me, sitting blank-eyed on the sofa, then suddenly slapped himself twice. “Amy, I’m sorry… I ruined you.” He knelt before me, sobbing uncontrollably, revealing the whole truth. It turned out he had long grown tired of the stagnant salary at the public hospital and wanted to strike out on his own, opening his private clinic. But he lacked startup capital. He disliked the nickname “Sterling family’s kept man” and didn’t want to ask me for money, so he had to find other ways. Bethany was the daughter of a Starcorp executive; she had resources and was willing to provide funding. Tonight, he was meeting her at the club to discuss the collaboration plan in detail, which was why he had no choice but to go. “If I had known you would misunderstand, thinking we were having a secret rendezvous, I would have told you the whole truth right then!” “I’m sorry, I was just too concerned about your feelings! I knew you minded her, and I was afraid you’d be upset if you knew I was meeting her, that it would ruin your birthday, so I found another excuse to leave…” “I messed up, I was too clever for my own good… Amy, hit me! Just don’t look at those comments, please!” I understood his pride, and I knew he hadn’t intentionally meant to hurt me. The pain, finding no outlet, left me only with silence. Later, Robert took extended leave from the hospital. Ignoring the public criticism, he stayed by my side at home, caring for me constantly. He cooked for me, coaxed me to sleep, and endured my occasional emotional breakdowns. I gradually improved, and we became even closer. I wondered if it was a blessing in disguise. 4 I still couldn’t help it. I threw up the noodles I’d just eaten, along with the multicolored pills, all into the toilet. The pills hadn’t had time to digest, their edges covered in murky white foam. For the past two weeks, Robert had been seeking out doctors and medicines everywhere, prescribing me a large quantity of psychiatric drugs. I took them on time every day, always feeling drowsy and muddled. My memory began to decline, and I couldn’t even walk steadily. The voice in my head came in snatches, like a fog. [Please maintain… emotional stability…] With the pills completely expelled, my mind cleared. I propped myself up by the sink: Was this still the spirited second daughter of the Sterling family from before? I splashed cold water on my face, forcing myself awake. One in the morning. The fingerprint lock clicked, and Robert returned. It wasn’t the sound of one set of footsteps, but two. Like a cat lurking in the dark, I slipped silently out of bed and pressed myself against the master bedroom door. The motion-sensor light in the hallway flickered on. I saw two intertwined figures, stumbling into the room next door. A few seconds later. Nauseating gasps and the tearing of clothes penetrated the wall, stabbing into my eardrums. “Robert… don’t be so rough!” The woman’s voice was seductively soft. Even though it differed from her usual style, I easily recognized it. It was the voice I had heard since childhood. It was my closest, most trusted sister! My own sister, and my beloved husband, were fervently entwined in the guest room less than three meters from me. “I’ve waited so long, how can I slow down?” Robert gasped, his voice already trembling with passion, completely devoid of any cold aloofness. “Gentle! Amy’s right next door, aren’t you afraid of waking her?” My sister laughed playfully. “Afraid of what?” Robert’s voice was incredibly certain. “She took double her dose tonight; she’s probably sleeping like a log. Even if we dragged her out and sold her, she wouldn’t know.” After a creaking sound, my sister chuckled softly. “I just said it casually back then, and you made it happen for me? Amy still thinks she’s the chosen one, tied to some novel’s system, right?” I pressed against the wall, my breathing stopped. “It was just a medical experiment, darling. Heaven blessed you and let it succeed,” Robert responded proudly. “She’s such a fool, doing tasks according to your demands for some illusory ‘conquest progress’!” What did that mean?! All those times I suppressed my true self, trying to conform to his every whim, were actually my sister’s demands? “Why does she always have such good luck? Why does she get all the good things? I’m going to make her go insane! Only then will Mom and Dad give up on her, and the Sterling family… oh my!” My sister’s complaints were silenced by his kiss, initiating a new round of passion. I stumbled backward in shock, unable to listen anymore. Compared to the pain of being betrayed by my closest kin, I cared more about something else. So… No conquest system. No mistress named Bethany. It was all fake?!

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It had been eight years since I last saw my ex-girlfriend, Sloane Kensington. The bleached blonde hair was dyed back to a sleek raven black. The rebellious tattoos had been lasered off. She had morphed into a ruthless, untouchable corporate queen. Meanwhile, my already frail body had withered into something much worse. “Rowan, I am so sorry. The cancer has metastasized significantly. At this point, aggressive treatment would only bring you unnecessary suffering.” The oncologist was a kind man. Even handing out a death sentence, he tried to soften the blow. Clutching the medical paperwork that essentially stamped an expiration date on my life, I walked past the orthopedics ward. That was when I literally collided with Sloane. Eight years apart, and she was taller, more breathtaking, and far more… “If you don’t know how to use your eyes, donate them to someone who does.” Right. Far more vicious. 1 After throwing that icy insult at me, Sloane’s entire demeanor flipped like a switch. She turned to the man beside her, a guy with his leg wrapped in a heavy cast, and asked if he was okay with a voice full of soft, genuine concern. I hadn’t bumped into them on purpose, but since the guy was already on crutches, I figured I should rack up some good karma before I died. “My apologies. I wasn’t watching where I was going. Are you alright?” The man offered a warm, reassuring smile and shook his head. He glanced at Sloane, gently nudging her arm. “He didn’t mean it. Why are you being so harsh?” I raised an eyebrow in surprise and nodded in total agreement. Ever since she became a billionaire CEO, her personality had definitely taken a nosedive. “Sorry about that, man,” the guy said to me. “She just gets a little overprotective. She didn’t mean to offend you.” Despite leaning awkwardly on his crutches, the guy had perfect posture. He radiated quiet wealth and elegance. Standing next to Sloane, they looked like the perfect power couple. It seemed he had no idea about my history with Sloane. And judging by her rigid posture, she was pretending she didn’t know me either. Suddenly, the air in the hallway felt suffocating. I didn’t want to be there a second longer. “It’s fine. As long as you’re not hurt. I’ll be going now.” I stepped around them and walked away, my shoulder brushing past Sloane’s. The sterile hospital air was instantly cut by the faint, familiar scent of camellia perfume. By the time I got back to my tiny apartment, my body was running on fumes. I collapsed onto the mattress, and almost immediately, my stomach began to cramp in violent spasms. Cold sweat slid down my forehead, mixing with the tears I couldn’t stop from leaking out of the corners of my eyes. I lay there agonizing until my phone started ringing like a fire alarm. “Rowan! Great news! The investors love the pitch. We just need you to finish writing the script, and we can submit it for final approval.” It was Declan, a television producer. We met working on a small indie project years ago and had been close friends ever since. I looked over at the full-length mirror leaning against my bedroom wall. My face was a ghostly white, stained with dried tears, my hair plastered to my damp cheeks in messy clumps. “Declan, I still haven’t figured out the ending for this one. Can we push the deadline back a bit?” “Oh man, we absolutely cannot. The money behind this project is massive. If we ghost them now, we’ll both be blacklisted in this industry forever.” The excuses died in my throat. I didn’t care about my own consequences anymore, but Declan had a long, bright career ahead of him. “Alright. I understand. I’ll get it done as fast as I can.” After hanging up, I pulled out the bottle of painkillers the doctor had prescribed. One month’s supply. Exactly thirty pills. The instructions clearly said one pill a day. But since I was going to be dead in a few weeks anyway, I saw no point in enduring the torture. I shook three pills into my palm and swallowed them dry. Dragging myself to the computer desk, I opened the document and began typing the final chapter of my very last story. The sky outside my window turned from pitch black to pale morning light, and eventually back to dusk. The End. Typing those two words, I stretched my aching arms and let out a long, heavy exhale. This story had been sitting in my vault of ideas for years, but I never managed to flesh it out until now. I stared at the black text on the glowing screen and let out a bitter laugh. “Maybe everything really is just fate.” Not even an hour after I emailed the draft to Declan, my phone started vibrating off the desk. “Rowan, I am completely obsessed with this script. I honestly think it’s your best work ever!” The investors hadn’t even given the green light yet, but Declan was already itching to pop champagne. By the time I found myself sitting in a crowded booth at a downtown lounge, I still hadn’t figured out how he talked me into leaving my apartment. To meet the deadline, I had survived entirely on cheap granola bars for two days. Now, with a few sips of alcohol in my system, my stomach was screaming in protest. I couldn’t take my painkillers with alcohol. Fighting through the sharp cramps, I grabbed an empty glass and stood up, intending to find a bartender for some hot water. The second I turned around, a warm, soft body slammed directly into my chest. That crisp, elegant camellia scent flooded my senses. My mind went completely blank. 2 A split second later, I was shoved away with aggressive force. Sloane was glaring at me, her face twisted in pure disgust as she brushed off the front of her designer blazer where I had touched her. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking,” I offered a genuine apology. “Two days, and you’ve run into me twice. If it’s not intentional, then the part of your brain that controls motor function must be rotting.” Maybe it was because my stomach was tearing itself apart. Or maybe I was just exhausted to my bones. At that moment, my nerves were completely frayed. I was simply too fragile to handle Sloane’s venomous words. “Heh.” She let out a cold scoff, her eyes raking over me like I was trash. “What are you acting so pathetic for? I state an obvious fact, and your eyes start watering?” She was right. Eight years ago, when Sloane was kneeling in a blizzard, begging me not to leave her, I didn’t shed a single tear. Looking at this sharp, calculated, ruthlessly cold woman standing in front of me, I couldn’t find a single trace of the girl I used to know. I knew she remembered me. The disgust and pure hatred burning in her eyes were impossible to ignore. It was obvious she wanted nothing to do with me. I figured I would do her a favor and step out of her orbit for good. “My apologies. From now on, whenever I see you, I will walk the other way.” I side-stepped her and walked toward the bar. When I finally got back to the booth with a mug of hot water, Declan had returned from the restroom. “Where did you go? I came back and thought you ditched me.” “Just getting some water.” Bumping into Sloane was a statistical anomaly. There was no need to bring it up. I thought submitting the script meant my job was officially done. I was wrong. The very next morning, Declan called me in an absolute panic. “Rowan, it’s a disaster. The investors rejected the script! You need to get to the production office right now!” By the time I rushed into the conference room, Declan was already sweating bullets. He was talking to the lead investor, who was sitting in a high-backed leather chair facing the window. “Excuse me, but could you specify which part of the script you found unsatisfactory?” I knew this person was the big boss holding the checkbook, so I asked the question directly. Silence stretched through the room. Finally, a voice I knew all too well echoed off the walls. “The ending.” The chair swiveled around. Sloane’s beautiful, apathetic face came into view. So she was the massive corporate backer. She locked eyes with me. There was zero surprise on her face. Before I could say a word, Declan jumped in, desperately trying to salvage the deal. “Ms. Kensington, modern audiences want a happy ending. It aligns perfectly with current market trends and guarantees higher viewership.” Sloane nodded slowly, making Declan think she was actually listening. But before he could exhale, she spoke again. “But I don’t like this ending. Rewrite it.” Billionaires really lived in a different reality. “If you want the ending changed, you’ll need to hire another writer. I can’t do it.” I had sold my soul for a paycheck plenty of times in the past. But this specific story was different. I refused to compromise on it. Sloane looked at me, a cruel, mocking smile playing on her lips. “Fine. If you refuse to write it, you can just pay the breach of contract penalty.” Declan’s face went completely ghostly. I looked at him, and he subtly scribbled a number on his notepad. Ten million dollars. Forget selling my organs. Even if we sold Declan’s entire production company, we couldn’t scrape together ten million dollars. I let out a quiet sigh and smiled bitterly at myself. Whatever. I was going to be dead in a month anyway. Artistic integrity meant absolutely nothing in the grave. “Fine. I’ll change it.” The meeting ended. The corporate sharks got exactly what they wanted, leaving me as the miserable workhorse. But apparently, the universe wasn’t done messing with me. As I walked toward the elevator, Sloane’s assistant, Blake, jogged over and blocked my path. “Mr. Rowan. To ensure seamless communication regarding the rewrites, you are required to clock in and work directly from our corporate headquarters until the draft is approved.” I frowned, looking past him to where Sloane stood chatting idly with some executives. Didn’t she hate my guts? Why on earth did she want me sitting right under her nose? My empty stomach gave a violent lurch, protesting the lack of breakfast. I didn’t have the energy to fight it. I muttered a quick agreement and left. Once I was alone in the breakroom downstairs, I pulled out my pill bottle. “What are you doing?” Sloane’s voice cut through the quiet room, startling me so badly I dropped the bottle. The white pills scattered across the tile floor. 3 Without answering her, I dropped to my knees, frantically scrambling to gather the pills. These weren’t just standard painkillers anymore. They were my lifeline. Sloane stood there in absolute silence, watching me crawl on the floor, picking up the medication piece by piece. When I found the last three pills, I was about to pop them straight into my mouth, but she suddenly grabbed my wrist. “They were literally just on the dirty floor, and you’re going to swallow them?” I pulled my arm away, completely annoyed. Eight years had transformed her into a titan of industry, but she still had that annoying, obsessive germaphobia. “It’s none of your business.” I swallowed the pills dry. Sloane’s frown deepened. I turned to leave, but she spoke again. “What kind of medication is that?” I stopped walking and looked at her in confusion. Noticing my suspicious gaze, Sloane let out a sarcastic laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just curious. I wanted to know if you finally got what was coming to you after doing so many horrible things.” I smiled bitterly on the inside. I really did get exactly what was coming to me. I was the monster who shattered the pure, innocent heart of an eighteen-year-old girl. I took her virginity and dumped her the very next morning like garbage. Now I was dying of terminal stomach cancer. Karma never missed. But I refused to let her see me as a pathetic joke. I forced a bright, arrogant smirk onto my face. “Sorry to disappoint you. I just haven’t been eating enough fruit lately. It’s just Vitamin C.” I left the corporate building and took a bus out to a foster home in the suburbs. “Martha, what did the specialist say about Lucy’s eyes?” The director of the foster home shook her head, her face lined with grief. “We still haven’t found a viable donor. The doctors can’t do anything without a transplant.” For some reason, my mind flashed back to the day I bumped into Sloane at the hospital. I took Martha’s weathered hands and patted them gently. “Don’t worry, Martha. Lucy is such a sweet, good kid. She will see the light again. I promise.” Before leaving, I transferred a large sum of money into the foster home’s account. “Rowan, you aren’t getting any younger. You need to start saving some money for yourself. If you meet a nice girl, you’ll want to settle down and start a family. You’ve done more than enough for us. Your presence is all we need.” I grew up in this foster home. Martha practically raised me. She was the only mother figure I had ever known. “Martha, I make really good money now. You don’t have to worry about me.” I hadn’t told a single soul about my diagnosis. Not even Martha. She had a hundred other children to worry about. I was a grown man. I couldn’t bear to be another burden on her shoulders. When I got back to my apartment, I booted up my laptop and officially registered as an organ donor. Sloane’s harsh words actually made a lot of sense. I wouldn’t need my organs when I was dead. Someone else might as well use them. The next morning, I arrived at Sloane’s corporate headquarters right on time. Blake was waiting for me in the lobby. “Mr. Rowan, this will be your desk. The CEO’s office is right next door.” I stared at the pristine, floor-to-ceiling glass wall separating my desk from Sloane’s massive executive suite. “Could I get a different desk? Being this close to the boss gives me anxiety. I won’t be able to write.” “I apologize, Mr. Rowan. The CEO explicitly chose this desk for you.” Fine. No room for negotiation. Fortunately, Sloane was incredibly busy. By lunchtime, she hadn’t even stepped foot into her office. But Carter did. Carter hobbled over on his crutches, carrying a stack of high-end takeout containers. When he saw me sitting outside the glass, his eyes went wide with shock. I quickly explained the situation. “I’m the screenwriter for Ms. Kensington’s new investment project. I’m working on-site until the script is approved.” “Wow. It seems you and Sloane really cross paths a lot.” His eyes crinkled into a warm, friendly smile, making me feel bizarrely guilty. Footsteps clicked down the hallway. Sloane was back. She walked straight past me, walking up to Carter and taking the food containers from his hands. “Why did you bring this yourself? You could have just had the driver drop it off.” “It’s fine. I was bored sitting at home anyway.” They walked into her office together. I was completely ignored, treated like a piece of invisible furniture. I knew I had absolutely no right to be jealous, but my chest physically ached. 4 The week blurred by. I submitted three completely different endings. Sloane rejected every single one of them. My stomach pains returned with a vengeance. I hadn’t eaten a solid meal in seven days. Watching Carter bring Sloane gourmet food every afternoon made the cheap delivery food sitting on my desk look even more repulsive. The pressure was mounting. Sloane kept stonewalling the script. The worse I felt, the less I ate, and the more the cancer tore at my insides. In just one week, I lost another five pounds. It felt like someone had shoved a red-hot iron rod into my gut and was twisting it endlessly. The pain sent waves of freezing sweat pouring down my back. My fingers were trembling so violently I couldn’t even press the keys on my keyboard. I curled into a tight ball in my office chair, shivering uncontrollably. I was just reaching into my pocket for my pills when my chair was violently spun around. Sloane crouched in front of me. She grabbed my face with both hands, forcing my head up. “Rowan, what is wrong with you?” I wanted to tell her it was none of her business. I wanted to slap her hands away. But the second I opened my mouth, my teeth started chattering from the sheer agony. I couldn’t even lift my arms. A moment later, Sloane pulled out her phone and started shouting commands. When I finally regained a shred of awareness, I was lying on a stretcher in the back of an ambulance. At the hospital, the ER doctor ran a preliminary physical exam. His face fell. He urged me to consent to a full-body scan to confirm his suspicions. I shook my head weakly. “Doctor, you don’t need to run the tests. I already know. It’s late-stage stomach cancer.” The kind doctor looked heartbroken. He stood there awkwardly, struggling to find a single word of comfort. “Doctor, this is strictly confidential. Please do not tell anyone. Especially not the woman waiting outside.” He agreed. When Sloane cornered him in the hallway, he followed my instructions and told her I simply had severe gastric ulcers. “Can ulcers really cause someone to collapse in that much pain?” Sloane looked highly suspicious. I leaned against the doorframe, forcing a cocky, obnoxious grin. “What’s the matter? Are you worried about me?” Just as I predicted, the comment instantly disgusted her. Her face turned to ice, and she turned on her heel and walked away. I slowly shuffled out of the hospital entrance. A sleek, black luxury town car idled by the curb. “Mrs. Kensington. It’s been a long time.” The woman sitting in the back seat was Sloane’s mother. My former employer. “When you took my money and left, you made a promise. Have you forgotten?” “I haven’t forgotten. I promised I would never appear in Sloane’s life again.” She looked me up and down, her eyes dripping with aristocratic disdain. “Running into her was purely a professional accident. Don’t worry. She despises the sight of me now. What you’re afraid of is never going to happen.” I hated being evaluated like a piece of garbage, but she was the woman who had given me the money to save Lucy’s life. “Good. Finish your little writing assignment quickly, and get away from my daughter.” When I returned to the office the next day, I heard Sloane had flown out of the city on a business trip. She was going to be gone for two weeks. With the boss out of the building, the entire executive floor relaxed. “Why is the boss staying in Boston for so long?” a secretary whispered near the coffee machine. “You didn’t hear? She’s not just there for corporate meetings. She went to track down the top orthopedic surgeon in the country for Mr. Carter.” “Wow. Boston has the best bone specialists in the world. She really cares about him!” I didn’t stick around to hear the rest. I grabbed my coat and walked right out of the building. Back at my apartment, I opened my laptop and created a brand new, blank document. It wasn’t that I didn’t know what kind of ending Sloane wanted. I was just being greedy. I had been gambling, desperately hoping she would show me one last ounce of mercy and accept a happy conclusion. Now, it was time to let the delusion die. When the snow melts and spring arrives, we will sever all ties. In this life and the next, let us never meet again. That ending was approved instantly. Looking at the word Approved on my phone screen, a violent cough ripped through my chest. Thick, dark blood sprayed from my mouth, splattering across the keyboard. Total darkness swallowed the room. As I collapsed, a bitter smile touched my lips. It seemed my own story was ending right here, too.

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1 The second I slid into the back of the Rolls-Royce Phantom, my hands moved with practiced lightning speed. I snatched three empty Evian bottles wedged in the crevices of the leather seats and stuffed them into my bag. My biological parents recoiled, pressing manicured fingers to their noses. My newfound brother sneered, muttering something about a waste of oxygen. Meanwhile, the elegant fake daughter sitting across from me hid a delicate smirk behind her hand, laughing at the beggar they had just dragged out of the slums. But as the heavy gates of The Heights—the city’s most exclusive gated community—swung open and we glided past the neighborhood’s private waste disposal center, my blood started pumping. A barely used, mid-century modern leather armchair. A massive, flawless mahogany serving tray. Even designer bags and seasonal couture, still wrapped in plastic, tossed aside like dirty tissues. To these people, it was a festering pile of garbage. To me, a veteran scavenger, it was a glittering, unmined mountain of pure gold. From that day on, I only had one mission in life. Trash. A crushed Tom Ford packaging box? Mine. Empty bottles of Macallan 1926? Snatched. A wobbly vintage credenza? I’ll take it. Fried computer hard drives? Bring them to mama. While this so-called high-society family plotted and schemed over their inheritance, I was quietly turning their trash into the kind of wealth that would soon slap the taste right out of their mouths. … I crouched by the estate’s recycling bins, cradling a waterlogged computer motherboard against my chest. Connor, my biological brother, stopped in front of me, hands on his hips. “What the hell are you digging for?” “Connor, you guys don’t want this motherboard anymore, right?” “It’s garbage. Been in the shed for six months.” He kicked a nearby cardboard box, sending two more motherboards clattering against my knees. “Take it. Take it all.” He took two steps back, his face twisting in disgust. “Just don’t let me catch you squatting out here again. You’re a goddamn embarrassment.” I gave him a wide, goofy grin and shoved the tech into my heavy-duty woven sack. The sharp click of stilettos echoed behind him. Paloma, the fake daughter who had lived my life for twenty-odd years, sauntered over in her Jimmy Choos. She was dangling three empty haute couture boxes and two empty Macallan bottles from her fingertips. “Roxy, I really don’t have any use for these anymore,” she said, her voice dripping with sugary pity. “If you like them so much, why don’t you keep them to play with?” “Thanks, Paloma!” I snatched them out of her hands so fast she actually flinched, before covering her mouth to muffle a giggle. What the little princess didn’t know was that those three empty boxes went for four grand a pop on the luxury resale black market. And those two empty Macallan bottles? I already had a buyer lined up for twelve grand each. I just provided the authentic glass. What the buyer filled them with was none of my business. At dinner, Richard Whitmore watched me shovel food into my mouth, his brow furrowed so deep it looked carved in stone. “Roxy, your mother has hired an etiquette coach for you,” he declared. “Lessons start tomorrow.” Eleanor dabbed her perfectly dry eyes with a napkin. “You are a Whitmore now, darling. You simply cannot act like… well, like you used to.” I nodded obediently, swallowed my last bite of steak, and bolted upstairs to my room. I locked the door, yanked the curtains shut, and pulled the motherboards from my sack. They had been submerged in water, sure. But if the chips were intact, the data was still there. I reached into the false bottom of my duffel bag and pulled out the portable data-reader I’d built from scratch in college. An hour and a half later, I stared at the encrypted wallet address glowing on my screen. I stopped breathing. Three years ago, Connor blew a fortune trading crypto and smashed his rig in a rage. What the idiot didn’t know was that his cold wallet private keys were still buried in the hard drive’s encrypted partition. The alt-coins he thought had tanked to zero? They had multiplied by forty over the last three years. It took me forty minutes to crack the encryption, and another twenty to tumble the funds and wash them through a dozen offshore accounts. My phone vibrated with a banking alert. Then another. Seventeen chimes in total. Two and a half million dollars. The garbage he literally kicked at my feet was worth two and a half million dollars. I clicked my phone dark, flopped back onto the ten-thousand-dollar mattress, and laughed until my ribs ached. The next morning, wearing the same faded tee from yesterday, I was back to squatting by the bins, flattening cardboard. From the second-floor balcony, the fake daughter looked down at me, leaning in to whisper into Connor’s ear. I couldn’t hear what she said, but I saw Connor roll his eyes. I could read his lips perfectly. Cheap trash. 2 The etiquette coach lasted exactly three days before storming out. I purposely launched a cherry tomato across the room with my fork, rolled my ankles in heels, and couldn’t even master a basic debutante smile. Eleanor clutched her pearls, sighing heavily at least eight times an hour. Richard slammed his hand on the mahogany dining table. “Enough. Cancel the lessons.” He glared at me. “If you can’t learn a single damn thing, then stop being an eyesore up here.” Connor didn’t miss a beat. “There’s a storage room on Sub-Level 3. It’s been piled high with junk for decades. You love trash so much? Move down there. Clean the place out while you’re at it.” Paloma took a delicate sip of her tea, blowing softly across the rim. “Connor, is that really appropriate? Roxy is our sister, after all…” “Shut up, Paloma. The adults are talking,” Connor snapped. I didn’t miss the triumphant little twitch at the corner of Paloma’s mouth when she lowered her head. “Sounds good to me,” I chirped. I grabbed my woven sack and headed straight for the basement stairs. Eleanor looked like she wanted to say something, but ultimately just let out another heavy sigh. Sub-Level 3 was freezing, damp, and choked with decades of dust. When I pushed open the heavy iron door, my knees practically buckled. The room was absolutely stuffed with treasure. The Whitmores had tossed all this out because their high-priced “appraisers” had labeled it worthless junk. But those guys weren’t in my league. During my four years of college, I went to class by day and apprenticed under the grittiest, sharpest antique restorers in the underground night markets. After graduation, I ran a scrapyard for three years. The amount of priceless relics I had pulled from the mud would make a museum curator weep. The next day, I locked the iron door from the inside and pulled a heavily stained, rolled-up canvas from a rotting wooden crate. The surface was speckled with coffee, the paint was peeling, and the frame was shattered. But when I smoothed the canvas out, my fingertips caught a slight edge. There was a false backing. I spent three days carefully applying chemical solvents to strip away the camouflage layer. At three in the morning on the fourth day, I slumped against the cold concrete floor, staring at the masterpiece in my hands. A lost Renaissance sketch. The only one of its kind in existence. Market value? Eight figures, easy. I used a burner phone to contact the most discreet underground auction house in the city. After verifying the piece via a secure video link, the broker on the other end sat in dead silence for thirty seconds. “Ghost Hand,” he finally whispered, using my street moniker. “We will list this anonymously at our highest tier. Our deepest respects.” A week later, the balance on my offshore account swelled by tens of millions. Right around the same time, the Whitmore Group’s supply chain took a massive hit. I heard rumors that Richard had smashed three crystal glasses in his study. He desperately needed to secure a lifeline from Mr. Carlisle, the most terrifying and powerful tycoon in the city’s elite circle. The Whitmores were practically turning the city upside down, hunting for a rare treasure to present to Carlisle at the upcoming high-society gala. Meanwhile, Whitmore Real Estate had just bulldozed a massive low-income housing project on the Southside. The evicted residents’ belongings were tossed into dump trucks as construction waste and dumped right into the estate’s private disposal yard. That night, I crawled out of the basement, covered head to toe in gray dust, and ran straight into Eleanor in the foyer. She was busy berating a maid but stopped to cover her nose when she saw me. “Roxy, sweetheart… I know you like to… tidy things up. But could you at least wash your face before coming upstairs?” “Sure thing,” I muttered, but my eyes were already looking past the floor-to-ceiling windows, locking onto the fresh pile of “garbage” out back. 3 The date for the gala was set, and the whole estate was buzzing like a disturbed hive. On my third night surfacing to take out the trash, I caught Paloma and Connor whispering in the garden pavilion. “Connor, just locking her in the basement isn’t enough. We need her completely ruined at the gala. Mom and Dad need to give up on her for good.” “And then?” “We commit her to a psychiatric facility.” “She digs through trash all day, right? We just give her a little surprise. Go find the most disgusting, cursed-looking thing in that Southside rubble and shove it into her stupid sack. When it spills out at the gala, we tell everyone she’s not just a kleptomaniac, but a freak who hoards dead people’s belongings. Dad will blow a gasket. I’ve already paid off a doctor to sign the committal papers.” I stood perfectly still in the shadows, letting their words wash over me. You want to hand-deliver me ammunition? I’ll gladly take the shot. Early the next morning, I was knee-deep in the Southside rubble. Down at the very bottom of my sack, I felt a heavy lump wrapped in a greasy, rotting rag. I pulled it out. A brass pocket watch. It was caked in hardened mud, the casing corroded green, the chain snapped in half. I held it up to the pale morning light, turning it over. The serial numbering on the casing was ancient, easily fifty years old, but the brass purity was incredibly high. I didn’t make a sound. I just slipped the watch into my pocket and went back to flattening cardboard. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the twitch of a curtain on the second floor. Paloma’s phone camera was pointed right at me. Back in the basement, I bolted the door. I pulled out my rust-remover and a pack of cotton swabs, slowly eating away the decades of grime. As the corrosion faded, the dull gleam of polished brass emerged. The hinge on the cover was slightly loose. I worked on the back plate first. Under the harsh glare of my desk lamp, a line of deeply engraved script revealed itself. To my boy, Arthur. Mom will always wait for you to come home. I pulled out my phone, typed a name and a thirty-year-old cold case into the search bar. When the results popped up, my pupils contracted. The owner of this watch was directly tied to Arthur Carlisle. At the gala, this little piece of trash was going to be worth a thousand times more than the twenty-million-dollar jade sculpture the Whitmores had bought. On the third day, Richard called me into his study. Eleanor sat on the velvet sofa, her eyes predictably red. Two documents sat on the polished oak desk. One was a legal waiver, relinquishing all rights to the Whitmore family inheritance. The other was a consent form for an involuntary psychiatric hold. “Roxy, your mother and I aren’t kicking you out to the streets,” Richard said, his tone thick with forced paternal grief. “But look at yourself. You simply cannot represent the Whitmore name in public.” “Sign these. I’ll ensure a generous monthly allowance is deposited into your account. You can pick up all the… junk you want, and no one will bother you.” Eleanor reached out, her fingers icy cold against my wrist. “It breaks my heart, darling. But this family has rules.” I looked down at the psychiatric hold papers. “If I sign this, you’re locking me up, aren’t you?” “No, no, it’s just a formality,” Richard lied without blinking. A formality. Just like tossing me into an orphanage twenty-odd years ago was probably a formality. I picked up the heavy Montblanc pen. I signed them. Both of them. Richard and Eleanor exchanged a quick glance. I saw the massive wave of relief wash over their eyes. I stood up and walked out. As I crossed the living room, I saw Connor and Paloma lounging on the sofa. Connor was scrolling on his phone, not even bothering to look up. Paloma held a porcelain teacup, flashing me a brilliant, venomous smile. “It’s been so tough on you, Roxy.” I smiled right back. “Not as tough as it’s been on you, playing pretend all these years.” Back in the basement, I took out the gleaming brass watch. I pressed my thumb against the stiff latch and pushed. With a sharp click, the cover sprang open. There were no diamonds or rubies inside. Just a yellowed, water-damaged black-and-white photograph. A young woman, smiling warmly, holding an infant in her arms. On the back of the photo, a date and a tiny inscription were written in faded fountain pen ink. And tucked right beneath the picture was a microscopic, brass music box mechanism. I took a needle and gently coaxed the rusted gears. A fragile, broken melody bled from the damaged metal teeth. It was an old folk lullaby, something so obscure you couldn’t even find it on the internet. But I had found something else online. Thirty years ago, a brutal kidnapping shook the city. A rising businessman’s mother was taken for ransom and murdered. When they found her body, all her personal effects were gone. That businessman had kept a bounty open for three decades, just to find a single keepsake. He told the press it was a custom brass pocket watch, containing a recording of the lullaby his mother sang the day he was born. That businessman was Arthur Carlisle. And the name engraved on the back—Arthur—was his given name. I snapped the watch shut and wrapped it carefully in a piece of black velvet. The Whitmores had bled their accounts dry to buy a twenty-million-dollar trinket, hoping Carlisle would toss them a bone. He wouldn’t even look at it. But this piece of garbage I dug out of the slums? It was going to bring the most powerful man in the city to his knees. 4 The night of the gala, the Whitmore estate was blindingly bright, crawling with the city’s absolute elite. I stood behind the iron door on Sub-Level 3, listening to the muffled thumping of bass and clinking glasses above. At my feet was my woven tarp sack. Inside: three empty bottles, a stack of flattened cardboard, two crushed boxes, and a lump of black velvet. My phone buzzed. A text from Connor. Get up here. Dad wants you to show your face. Don’t look like a complete tramp. I looked down at my washed-out gray sweatpants and my scuffed Converse. Perfect. I grabbed my sack, pushed open the door, and slipped into the grand ballroom through the side entrance. Two society wives draped in diamonds noticed me first. Their polite smiles froze, morphing into expressions of pure horror as they physically recoiled, covering their noses. “Is that… the biological daughter they found?” “Oh my god. Is she carrying a trash bag? Did she crawl out of a dumpster?” The crowd parted for me like the Red Sea. Richard stood in the center of the room, the blood draining from his face until he looked like a corpse. Eleanor spun around, her eyes instantly brimming with dramatic tears. “Roxy… why on earth are you dressed like that?” Richard hissed, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. I blinked innocently and hoisted the tarp sack higher on my shoulder. “Dad, you told me to come up.” I took a step back, hugging the bag to my chest. “Hold on, Connor, these are my personal belongings.” “You—” “Enough.” A voice cut through the room like a heavy steel blade. The entire ballroom fell dead silent. Sitting at the head table was Arthur Carlisle. He was in his early fifties, lean, dressed in an immaculate dark bespoke suit. He hadn’t spoken a word all night. The tea in front of him had gone completely cold. Connor and Paloma exchanged a thrilling look. The main event was starting. Connor adjusted his tie, bowing deeply as he presented a polished mahogany box. “Mr. Carlisle, the Whitmore family spent the better part of a year tracking down this flawless, imperial green jade sculpture. It once belonged to royalty. It is the only one of its kind in the world.” He flipped the box open. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd at the sheer brilliance of the stone. Carlisle’s eyes flicked over it for a fraction of a second. His expression didn’t change. “Put it away.” Connor’s confident smile shattered. The last drop of color vanished from Richard’s face. Paloma seized her moment. She let out a piercing, tragic gasp. “My emerald brooch!” She clutched her chest, her eyes wide with panic. “I had it on right before the gala started! Where is it?!” Her gaze snapped perfectly, flawlessly, right to me. “Roxy, did you… did you take it?” “Paloma, please, don’t make accusations,” Eleanor interjected, playing the peacekeeper, though her eyes immediately darted to my woven sack. Paloma let out a choked sob. “If Roxy didn’t take it, I’ll get on my knees and apologize. But we have to look!” “Open the bag!” Connor roared. Before I could even pretend to resist, he lunged forward, grabbed the bottom of my sack, and violently upended it over the pristine marble floor. Crash. Three empty Evian bottles bounced across the tiles. Dirty cardboard scattered everywhere. Two crushed luxury boxes hit the ground. And then, the black velvet unspooled. A heavy, mud-stained, corroded brass pocket watch hit the marble with a dull thud. The room was paralyzed for exactly one second before erupting into vicious laughter. “Is she actually collecting garbage?!” “What the hell is that? A pawn shop wouldn’t even take that trash.” “This is humiliating. This is the Whitmore bloodline?” Connor kicked one of the water bottles aside, turning to Carlisle with a painfully apologetic bow. “Mr. Carlisle, please forgive this pathetic display.” He spun around, pointing a shaking finger at me, his voice booming for the whole room to hear. “Look at her! She’s a thief, and worse, she’s completely unhinged! She hoards disgusting trash from the slums!” “She is clinically insane!” He snapped his fingers. Two massive security guards rushed forward, twisting my arms behind my back and forcing me to my knees. “Dad, she already signed the consent forms!” Connor yelled, pulling the folded documents from his jacket pocket and waving them like a trophy. “Ship her to the psych ward. Tonight!” Paloma stood nearby, dabbing at her crocodile tears. “Roxy, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want it to come to this, but you need serious medical help…” Eleanor looked away, playing the devastated mother. Richard closed his eyes and let out a long, tragic sigh, washing his hands of me. The guards started dragging me backward. My knees scraped against the marble, leaving dull white streaks. Not a single person in the room spoke up for me. But then— The brass watch that had hit the floor. The impact had loosened the corroded latch. Click. The cover popped open. The jolt forced the rusted gears of the microscopic music box to catch. A jagged, metallic melody bled from the wreckage on the floor. The folk lullaby was so badly damaged it was barely recognizable. But there was one person in the room who recognized it. The second the first note played, Carlisle violently surged to his feet. He flipped the heavy table out of his way, the china shattering everywhere. He stumbled down the stairs, his knee crashing directly into the broken porcelain. Blood instantly soaked through his tailored trousers, but he didn’t even blink. He crawled through the scattered garbage, his hands trembling violently as he scooped up the corroded brass watch. Inside the cover, the faded photo of the young woman smiling with her baby stared back at him. Carlisle’s eyes flooded with blood-red grief. Massive tears broke loose, hitting the brass casing. Kneeling in a pile of literal trash, the most terrifying man in the city threw his head back and unleashed a raw, tearing scream. “Mom!!!!!”

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1 After marrying Alan Naughton, every morning at seven, I would hear the progress of my “conquest” of him in my mind. He was unfailingly responsive to my every whim, impeccably perfect. Yet, the progress bar stubbornly stalled at 95%. I loved him with all my heart, and naturally, I wanted him to love me just as completely. So, I shed my sharp edges, embraced his preferences, and transformed myself into the gentle, virtuous Mrs. Naughton. This morning’s progress report finally hit a hundred percent! He came home early, changed into an off-white linen pajama set, and the cold aloofness that usually surrounded him softened. We snuggled together, watching an indie romance film. He got up to wash fruit, and I leaned back on the still-warm sofa, my heart full of sweetness. Suddenly, my tablet chimed twice. Curiously, I tapped it open and froze. “Your wife is so ugly, ugh.” “At 4 minutes 13 seconds, her tummy rolls are practically popping out. You must be suffering, pretending to be in love with her watching this movie.” … I stared at the two lines of text on the screen. Shock, fury, disgust. All emotions intertwined, but I didn’t explode. How could the man I had completely “conquered” be live-streaming our time together to someone else? I knew Alan’s character. He was aloof and proud; he would never do something so despicable. It must be a misunderstanding! Before he explained, I shouldn’t blindly lose my temper and accuse him. Alan walked out, drying his hair, and saw me sitting on the bed, pale, holding the tablet. “Mia, what’s wrong? Feeling unwell?” I turned the tablet and pushed it toward him. Alan’s gaze fell on the screen. I didn’t miss a single change in his expression. No panic, no guilt. He simply visibly darkened, then tiredly pinched the bridge of his nose: “She’s at it again.” “Who is ‘she’?” Alan sat beside me, his voice full of helplessness: “A new colleague who joined our department, her name’s Clara.” He pointed to his head. “Probably severe delusional disorder.” He candidly pulled out his phone, unlocked it, opened his messenger, and handed it to me. “See for yourself.” The chat history was filled with Clara’s one-sided barrages. “Dr. Naughton, you look so handsome in your lab coat today!” “Your spoiled, old-fashioned wife is no good. Only I can help you.” There were also various self-orchestrated fantasies. Alan’s replies were few and far between, and entirely about stiff work matters. I tapped into Clara’s social media, no photos, just blurred silhouettes and travel check-ins. “She’s harassing you like this, why haven’t you blocked her?” My voice was still tight. Alan smiled bitterly, pulling me into his arms. “Mia, do you think I don’t want to? She was placed by the hospital board, and she has deep connections. The board insisted we work together on several major projects recently. If I blocked her, how would I move forward with my work? To avoid delays, I can only keep her on my contacts and pretend she’s dead, just ignore her.” His voice held deep exhaustion. “I thought if I just ignored her, she’d get bored and stop. I never expected her to send such disgusting things to you!” “I’m sorry, Mia. I didn’t handle it well; I let you down.” Just then, that voice in my head suddenly spoke. [Warning: Trust crisis detected with your target. Current approval rating 100%. Please stop baseless speculation and avoid damaging the perfect marital relationship!] The bloodshot eyes and candid look in Alan’s eyes filled me with guilt. I had misunderstood him. He worked so hard outside, dealing with harassment from a crazy person, and yet I doubted him over two messages. “I’m sorry, Alan…” I hugged him back, my voice choked, “I shouldn’t have doubted you.” He kissed my forehead: “Silly girl, we don’t need apologies between us.” The next day. I personally cooked several of his favorite dishes, carefully packed them, and took them to the hospital. Pushing open his office door, he was sitting at his desk, rubbing his temples. Seeing me, a flicker of surprise crossed his eyes. “Why didn’t you call ahead? Aren’t you tired?” He smiled, taking the insulated box. “Wanted to make sure you’re well fed.” Just as he picked up his chopsticks to eat, his phone screen lit up. Alan glanced at it, his face instantly changing, and he decisively stood up: “Mia, emergency in the ER. Major car accident. I have to go save them immediately!” He grabbed his lab coat and rushed out of the office. I stood there, stunned, looking at the steaming food, a hollow feeling in my heart. But there was nothing to do. Lives were on the line. I could only quietly pack up the insulated box and take a cab home. As soon as I walked through the door, I received a text message from an unknown number. “The food you cook, just the smell of it is sickening. Not as delicious as my body, though. Dr. Naughton is starving for it~” 2 If last night’s message was her one-sided fantasy, what about today? I had barely delivered the food to the hospital when Alan made an excuse about an emergency surgery and rushed off. I went straight back to the hospital. Not to find Alan, but to the HR department. “I want to file a formal complaint against Clara, a doctor in your cardiac surgery department!” I slammed both hands on the desk. “She has an unprofessional conduct and is severely harassing a colleague’s family!” The person across from me was startled. He frowned and opened the system: “Clara? Cardiac surgery? Please wait.” A minute later, he looked up, puzzled: “Are you mistaken? We have no doctor named Clara in our hospital system, nor any nurse.” “Impossible!” I raised my voice. “She’s new! She’s in the same department as Alan Naughton, how could you not find her!” “Truly, no one.” The clerk turned the monitor towards me. “The entire staff list is here. No one by that name.” I stared at the “No matching results” message on the screen, my mind a blank. Medical staff gradually gathered outside, curious. “Isn’t that Dr. Naughton’s wife?” “Why is she causing a scene here?” “I heard her mental state isn’t very good, always suspicious…” “Poor thing, Dr. Naughton is so brilliant, how did he end up with a crazy wife.” … The fragmented whispers pierced my ears. I looked around, experiencing panic for the first time. Just as I was on the verge of collapsing, Alan rushed in, drenched in sweat, pulling me into his arms. He didn’t get angry at me; instead, he bowed repeatedly, apologizing to everyone around us. “I’m so sorry, truly! My wife has been under a lot of stress lately, and hasn’t been sleeping well. She might have misunderstood something. I apologize for disturbing everyone, please don’t mind her!” I was half-hugged, half-dragged by him into the car. As soon as the car door closed, Alan’s eyes reddened. “Mia, I’m sorry… I lied to you.” I looked at him blankly. “Clara isn’t a colleague from our hospital.” He confessed, choked up, “She’s an external pharmaceutical rep. Last night, seeing how upset you were, how much you minded this person, all my energy was spent on calming you down. I didn’t want to mention irrelevant people and upset you further, so I just casually made up a lie, saying she was a colleague, hoping to gloss over the matter…” I remained silent, showing him the text message. “I really did go for an emergency surgery just now!” Alan looked up, his eyes full of sincerity and urgency. “That car accident patient is still in the ICU! I don’t know what’s going on with the text message, she must have bribed someone, or she was staking out the hospital and saw you! Mia, I really only lied because I was afraid you’d overthink things. I swear, she and I have absolutely nothing going on!” The warning in my mind sounded again. [Please trust your target! Stop self-sabotage!] I didn’t know who to believe, or even if I should trust my own judgment. I pushed open the car door, frantically hailed a cab, and returned to my parents’ home. This was my safe haven. Seeing me return distraught, my sister was terrified. After listening to my tearful account, she angrily smashed the decorative item beside her. “That bastard Alan Naughton!” She hugged me tightly, gnashing her teeth. “I knew that opportunistic guy couldn’t be trusted! The whole family disagreed when you insisted on marrying down! Have you forgotten how I used to argue with him? I feared he’d show his true colors once he found success!” I leaned in her arms, my thoughts a tangled mess. “What should I do? I feel like I’m going crazy.” My sister gently patted my back, her voice chilling. “Don’t worry. Mom and Dad and I will back you up! I’ll find out right now who that vixen really is!” 3 My sister moved quickly. “Got it.” “She’s the daughter of a high-ranking executive at Thorne Group! A notorious party girl in the social circles.” The day I received the documents from my sister happened to be my birthday. Alan had specifically taken time off, booked out a restaurant, and even gifted me an expensive diamond necklace. Candlelight flickered, and a violin played a melodious tune. “Mia, happy birthday!” The atmosphere was warm, and he was about to clink glasses with me. His phone suddenly vibrated urgently. He glanced at the screen, his face instantly grave. After taking the call and listening for a few moments, he quickly stood up, looking apologetically at me: “Mia, I’m so sorry. There’s an emergency in the department, and I have to be the lead surgeon.” “But today…” “Come on, lives are at stake. I’ll come right back to you after I’m done!” He left the restaurant without a backward glance. I stared at the untouched glass of red wine opposite me, feeling a deep sadness. A few minutes later, my sister sent a message. [I just finished with a client and saw Alan Naughton at the Crystal Club! He went into a VIP room, and Clara is in there too! I’ve sent you the location!] That voice in my head screamed again. [Warning: Target detected meeting with another woman. Maintain composure and defend your marriage!] The stress reaction made me lose my ability to think. I rushed towards the Crystal Club following the location. “Bang!” After kicking open the private room door, Alan and Clara were sitting very close on the sofa. I shrieked, grabbed the ice water from the table, and splashed it onto Clara’s face. “You home-wrecker, are you that desperate for a man?!” She recoiled in surprise, shot a glance at a bodyguard, then pulled out her phone and started filming. “So, you’re Dr. Naughton’s pampered wife?” Clara’s eyes were contemptuous, her words deeply insulting. “Truly, seeing is believing! It’s bad enough you ruin your husband at home, but you come out here pretending to be the wronged wife and hitting people! What? He can’t have a normal social life?” I continued to scream and struggle, accusing her of coveting a married man. Alan looked bewildered, simultaneously blocking the camera and shouting at me: “Mia! What are you doing! Why are you suddenly bursting in and making a scene like this?!” “You lied to me! You said you were going for emergency surgery!” I cried hysterically. But the bodyguard’s strength was too great; I couldn’t break free. Two hours later. Clara posted the video online. #RenownedDoctorCaughtWithMistressByCrazyWife# #WifeThrowsFitLikeMadDog# … The hashtags quickly soared to the top of trending topics in our city. The entire internet was mocking me. Saying I had paranoid delusions and wasn’t good enough for Alan. He looked at me, sitting blank-eyed on the sofa, then suddenly slapped himself twice. “Mia, I’m sorry… I ruined you.” He knelt before me, sobbing uncontrollably, revealing the whole truth. It turned out he had long grown tired of the stagnant salary at the public hospital and wanted to strike out on his own, opening his private clinic. But he lacked startup capital. He disliked the nickname “Sterling family’s kept man” and didn’t want to ask me for money, so he had to find other ways. Clara was the daughter of a Thorne Group executive; she had resources and was willing to provide funding. Tonight, he was meeting her at the club to discuss the collaboration plan in detail, which was why he had no choice but to go. “If I had known you would misunderstand, thinking we were having a secret rendezvous, I would have told you the whole truth right then!” “I’m sorry, I was just too concerned about your feelings! I knew you minded her, and I was afraid you’d be upset if you knew I was meeting her, that it would ruin your birthday, so I found another excuse to leave…” “I messed up, I was too clever for my own good… Mia, hit me! Just don’t look at those comments, please!” I understood his pride, and I knew he hadn’t intentionally meant to hurt me. The pain, finding no outlet, left me only with silence. Later, Alan took extended leave from the hospital. Ignoring the public criticism, he stayed by my side at home, caring for me constantly. He cooked for me, coaxed me to sleep, and endured my occasional emotional breakdowns. I gradually improved, and we became even closer. I wondered if it was a blessing in disguise. 4 I still couldn’t help it. I threw up the noodles I’d just eaten, along with the multicolored pills, all into the toilet. The pills hadn’t had time to digest, their edges covered in murky white foam. For the past two weeks, Alan had been seeking out doctors and medicines everywhere, prescribing me a large quantity of psychiatric drugs. I took them on time every day, always feeling drowsy and muddled. My memory began to decline, and I couldn’t even walk steadily. The voice in my head came in snatches, like a fog. [Please maintain… emotional stability…] With the pills completely expelled, my mind cleared. I propped myself up by the sink: Was this still the spirited second daughter of the Sterling family from before? I splashed cold water on my face, forcing myself awake. One in the morning. The fingerprint lock clicked, and Alan returned. It wasn’t the sound of one set of footsteps, but two. I like a cat lurking in the dark, slipped silently out of bed and pressed myself against the master bedroom door. The motion-sensor light in the hallway flickered on. I saw two intertwined figures, stumbling into the room next door. A few seconds later. Nauseating gasps and the tearing of clothes penetrated the wall, stabbing into my eardrums. “Alan… don’t be so rough!” The woman’s voice was seductively soft. Even though it differed from her usual style, I easily recognized it. It was the voice I had heard since childhood. It was my closest, most trusted sister! My own sister, and my beloved husband, were fervently entwined in the guest room less than three meters from me. “I’ve waited so long, how can I slow down?” Alan gasped, his voice already trembling with passion, completely devoid of any cold aloofness. “Gentle! Mia’s right next door, aren’t you afraid of waking her?” My sister laughed playfully. “Afraid of what?” Alan’s voice was incredibly certain. “She took double her dose tonight; she’s probably sleeping like a log. Even if we dragged her out and sold her, she wouldn’t know.” After a creaking sound, my sister chuckled softly. “I just said it casually back then, and you made it happen for me? Mia still thinks she’s the chosen one, tied to some novel’s system, right?” I pressed against the wall, my breathing stopped. “It was just a medical experiment, darling. Heaven blessed you and let it succeed,” Alan responded proudly. “She’s such a fool, doing tasks according to your demands for some illusory ‘conquest progress’!” What did that mean?! All those times I suppressed my true self, trying to conform to his every whim, were actually my sister’s demands? “Why does she always have such good luck? Why does she get all the good things? I’m going to make her go insane! Only then will Mom and Dad give up on her, and the Sterling family… oh my!” My sister’s complaints were silenced by his kiss, initiating a new round of passion. I stumbled backward in shock, unable to listen anymore. Compared to the pain of being betrayed by my closest kin, I cared more about something else. So… No conquest system. No mistress named Clara. It was all fake?!

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1 I worked online as an anonymous relationship coach, untangling other people’s messy love lives. Yet I was the one trapped in a suffocating marriage. Vaughn came home on time every single day. He ate dinner across the table from me, and he kissed my forehead before bed. He bought extravagant bouquets for holidays, wired generous amounts of money to my account, and even remembered my parents’ birthdays. On paper, he was the flawless husband. But when I told him I was hurting, he turned a deaf ear. When I said I was exhausted, he simply told me that everyone gets tired. When I asked if he loved me. He gave a detached reply, “Don’t make life so exhausting.” But the most exhausting part of my life was trying so desperately to get close to him, only to realize that even humoring me felt like a chore to him. So I stopped asking. And he seemed perfectly content with the silence. Tonight, a new consultation popped up on my screen. A young woman asked, “I messed up a long time ago, and he married some fat girl just to spite me. Now he still says he loves me. Should I steal him back?” I was just about to type a professional reply when she sent a photo. A man was looking down, gently wrapping a cashmere scarf around her neck. Resting on his wrist was the luxury watch I had painstakingly hunted down for his birthday last year. The man she wanted to steal back was my husband. … I stared at that photo for a very long time. His cuff was pulled back just enough to reveal the dial. Last year, I visited three different boutiques and called over a dozen friends just to track that exact model down. [Hey, do you think he still has feelings for me?] My fingers hovered over the keyboard. They felt stiff, frozen in place, before I finally managed to type a response. [What was your relationship with him?] Her reply came almost instantly. [We dated in college!] [But he’s way too proud. I made him mad back then, so he just grabbed the resident campus whale who had a crush on him and married her as payback. I regret it so much!] It felt like someone had driven a fist straight through my chest. The girl kept typing. [I know he doesn’t actually love her. He was just throwing a tantrum and found a cheap substitute who could never compare to me.] [You’re a relationship expert. You get how guys like that work, right?] I was used to analyzing other people’s heartbreaks. I never expected the arrow to strike my own chest. In a daze, my mind drifted back to a time many years ago. When I first started college, I had to take heavy steroid medications for an illness. The side effect was massive weight gain. I had worked hard to get into a top-tier university, but the only thing I heard in the lecture halls was mocking laughter. Someone snapped a picture of my lunch tray and posted it in the class group chat. [Porky’s got a hollow leg! Incredible!] Someone else taped a sticky note to my chair. [Weight limit warning. No whales allowed.] Another guy even walked up to me with a smirk and asked, “Hey Jill, do you walk on all fours in private? Can you really put away half a barrel of slop in one sitting?” They knocked my pill bottles onto the floor just for a laugh. I didn’t dare to cry. Crying would only make me look uglier. Vaughn wasn’t the typical heroic, sunshine-filled boy who stood up for the weak. He was always cold, aloof, separated from the rest of the world by an invisible layer of frost. But that day, he bent down, picked up my medicine bottle, and handed it to me. Then he looked at the crowd. “If I see this again, every single one of you will be facing the disciplinary board.” “Come on, Vaughn. Why do you even care about her?” He raised his eyes, his gaze freezing the room. “Verbal harassment goes straight on your academic record. Want to test that theory?” No one dared to bully me in the open after that. I carried the memory of that day with me for years. So when Vaughn called me late one night, long after graduation, I listened to his heavy silence before he finally spoke. “If you’re still single… would you marry me?” There was no diamond ring. There was no romantic proposal. I didn’t even ask him why. “I will.” At ten o’clock that night, Vaughn walked through the front door. He took off his overcoat and asked the same question he always did. “Why are you still awake?” He walked into the kitchen and poured me a glass of warm water. “Remember your follow-up appointment at the hospital tomorrow. Don’t skip your meds. Your health comes first.” He was always like this. Perfectly decent. Perfectly thorough. Even his affection felt meticulously calculated. I looked at him and suddenly asked, “Why did you marry me?” He turned his back to me, flipping through a stack of documents on the counter. “The past doesn’t matter.” A thin wire of tension pulled tight across my heart. “Does it have anything to do with Serena?” This time, he didn’t answer immediately. After a long pause, he simply said, “It’s late. Go to sleep.” Silence can be deafening. A moment later, my phone buzzed on the table. [He skipped work today and spent the whole day shopping with me. It feels exactly like when we were dating in college!] I thought about the text I had sent Vaughn earlier that afternoon. I had taken a picture of the new bakery downstairs, asking if he wanted to try it together tonight. He didn’t reply until he was off the clock. Just one word. “Busy.” I put my phone face down and headed toward the bathroom to wash up. As I passed the balcony, I heard Vaughn’s hushed voice. “Don’t cry. I’ll be right there.” He hung up the phone. When he turned around and saw me standing there, his expression stiffened for a fraction of a second. “Emergency at the company.” I stared at him. For some reason, I desperately wanted to fight for him just this once. I wanted to know if, just for a single moment, he would choose me over Serena. I gripped the edge of the sofa, letting my voice soften. “I really don’t feel well.” “My heart is racing, and my head is pounding. Can you please stay?” He walked straight to the cabinet, pulled out the medical kit, and placed it on the coffee table in front of me. “Check and see what you need to take.” “Get some rest after you take your pills. Don’t let your imagination run wild.” With that, he picked up his coat. The sound of the front door clicking shut was incredibly soft, yet it felt like a brick wall collapsing on top of me. I sat on the couch, the medical kit resting by my knees. The pill bottles inside were arranged in perfect, sterile compartments. Just like the marriage he gave me. I had quietly challenged her to a match, and I had lost completely. 2 I started suffering from severe insomnia after that night. My head was crammed with alternating voices. I had studied psychology in college. I knew exactly what happens to a person when their mind is repeatedly punctured by severe emotional trauma. I just didn’t want to admit it. Admitting a relapse meant admitting that this marriage was dragging me back into the abyss. Early the next morning, I booked an appointment with my psychiatrist. Vaughn stepped out of his study. “Where are you going?” “Follow-up appointment.” He checked the schedule on his phone. “I’ll go with you.” The withered leaves in my heart felt a sudden, desperate drop of rain. But right as we reached the door, his phone rang. He spoke a few words, and his posture immediately grew tense. “Don’t go outside. Send me your room number.” He hung up and looked at me. “Serena got cornered by a stalker at her hotel. She’s terrified to leave the room.” My throat tightened. “Can you not…” “It’s just a routine checkup. I’ll have my assistant drive you.” “But if I don’t go to her, something terrible might actually happen.” Those words cut deeper than any insult. He casually placed me in second place. Again. In the end, his assistant was the one who accompanied me to the hospital. Sitting in the backseat, watching the city streets blur past the window, I suddenly felt like a piece of mishandled luggage being shipped to temporary storage. I waited in line alone. I filled out the diagnostic scales alone. By the end of it, all I felt was a bitter sense of irony. I was an expert at telling other women when to cut their losses, yet I had allowed myself to be drained dry. “You are showing clear signs of a severe Bipolar relapse. You cannot afford any more emotional triggers right now. We need to adjust your medication. I strongly suggest your family keep a closer eye on you.” The moment the doctor handed me the new prescription, a message from Serena popped up on my screen. [He canceled his plans with his wife today just for me.] [Tell me, is this what true love looks like?] I walked out of the hospital and crouched by the curb, trying to swallow down the suffocating wave of panic. The sun was beating down on my head, but I was shivering uncontrollably. I took one step onto the street, and an electric bike swerved past me, the handlebars clipping my shoulder. “Do you have a death wish?!” The rider slammed on his brakes and turned back to scream at me. “Watch where you’re walking, you crazy bitch!” I fell onto the concrete. My first instinct wasn’t to cry, but to scramble for my scattered prescription papers, as if they were the last shred of dignity I possessed. When the nurse cleaned my scraped arm back inside the clinic, the stinging pain made my fingers curl inward. My mind drifted back to the first year of my marriage. My mother came to visit our new house, dragging bags full of fresh groceries, insisting that takeout was toxic. Vaughn stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching her roll out homemade pasta dough. “Do you need any help?” He had no idea what he was doing. The ravioli he folded were misshapen and lumpy. My mother laughed until she couldn’t breathe, picking out the best-looking one and putting it on his plate. “For your first try, Vaughn, that’s practically a masterpiece.” He looked down, ate the ravioli, and the tips of his ears turned slightly red. The night my father drank too much, Vaughn practically carried the older man to the guest room, leaving a glass of warm water and antacids right on the nightstand. My mother had pulled me aside later, whispering. “Jill, I know Vaughn seems cold on the outside, but he pays attention to the details. Give him time. You’ll build a good life together.” I used to believe that, too. I thought he wasn’t heartless, just slow to warm up. I believed that if I just waited a little longer, he would eventually turn around and look at me. But now, my hands were covered in blood, strangers were screaming at me on the street, and the man I married was playing the knight in shining armor for someone else. That evening, Vaughn came home on time as usual. He walked through the door just as I was changing my bandages. I hadn’t wrapped the gauze tight enough, and a fresh bead of blood seeped through the white fabric. He frowned, walking quickly toward me. “What happened?” “I tripped.” He didn’t press for details. He sat down right in front of me, took the tweezers, and used a cotton ball to carefully clean the dried blood from my skin. To an outsider, he looked like the absolute perfect husband. He didn’t yell. He didn’t throw tantrums. He never used the silent treatment as a weapon. But looking at him, my eyes welled up with tears from a completely different kind of pain. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. “When you married me… was it because of Serena?” His hand stopped moving. The cotton ball pressed firmly against my raw wound, and I sucked in a sharp breath. It was as if my flinch brought him back to reality. He loosened his grip. “Don’t overthink things.” The same empty phrase. I looked down at his familiar, lowered eyelashes. He was so close, yet lightyears away. “Just say no. Just say the word, and I’ll believe you.” But what hurt far worse than my scraped arm was his absolute, suffocating silence. In that quiet span of seconds, I already had my answer. 3 Some old college classmates organized a reunion dinner. I originally had no intention of going. When the invitation popped up in the group chat, I glanced at it once and closed the app. I hadn’t seen most of those names in years. Some people didn’t need to be seen again. Just thinking about them made old scars itch. But Vaughn actually pushed back. “You shouldn’t lock yourself in the house all day. Go out. Get some fresh air.” I desperately wanted to ask him. Are you trying to get me to see old friends, or are you just looking for an excuse to see Serena? But I swallowed the question. Asking too many questions would only make me look pathetic. I arrived late. The heavy door to the private dining room was slightly ajar. “Honestly, Vaughn and Serena were the ultimate power couple back then.” “The untouchable campus prince and the golden girl.” “Who wasn’t obsessed with them?” Someone else chimed in. “Who would’ve guessed he’d end up marrying Jill?” A brief silence hung in the air, followed by a wave of muffled laughter. “Wasn’t she built like a literal tank back then?” “Oh yeah, the resident hippo who always sat in the back corner.” “It’s like a bad rom-com script. Except the male lead still loves his golden girl, and the trope of the cheap substitute just became real life.” Someone in the room let out a soft, mocking click of their tongue. Serena was sitting in the very center of the crowd. She didn’t deny a single word. She just lowered her head and offered a bashful smile. Vaughn heard it all too. “Stop joking around,” he said. It sounded like a feather dropping onto the surface of a frozen lake. Not even a ripple. The Vaughn who had stood in a college hallway and threatened to end their academic careers with a single glare was gone. Or maybe he hadn’t changed at all. Maybe my naive, younger self just assigned far too much meaning to a passing moment of pity. One of the classmates noticed me standing in the doorway, and the color drained from their face. “Jill?” I walked in. “Sorry. Traffic.” Vaughn stood up, reaching out to pull out a chair for me. Before I could even sit down, Serena suddenly set her wine glass on the table and pressed a hand against her stomach. “I think I drank that too fast. My stomach is killing me.” Instantly, the entire room’s attention pivoted to her. Someone teased, half-joking and half-testing the waters. “Hey Vaughn, Serena’s in pain. You’re not gonna do something?” Vaughn hated those kinds of jokes. But his eyes darted straight to her anyway. The raw, instinctive panic in his gaze was unmistakable. A deep, bone-aching exhaustion washed over me. “I’m going to the restroom.” He took a step toward me, opening his mouth to say something, but Serena grabbed the cuff of his shirt. “Vaughn, do you think my ulcer is acting up again? It hurts so much.” Vaughn stopped dead in his tracks. Those few seconds of hesitation were all the time I needed to make my pathetic escape. I turned on the faucet in the restroom, scrubbing my hands for a long time, but I couldn’t wash off the sticky residue of pure humiliation. When I slipped out the back door of the restaurant, it was raining. The cold drizzle hit my face like dozens of icy fingertips. I didn’t call a cab. My thoughts were a chaotic, swirling mess. I knew these were the warning signs of a severe manic episode, but I couldn’t ground myself. As I walked past the parking lot, an SUV suddenly reversed out of a blind spot. I threw myself out of the way, twisting my ankle hard and scraping my arm against a pile of rusted metal debris. Blood dripped steadily from my fingertips. The pain in my ankle was blinding. The driver rolled down his window, cursed at me for being in the way, and sped off into the night when he realized I wasn’t fighting back. I sat alone on the wet asphalt. Suddenly, I really wanted to call Vaughn. Not because I expected him to save me. I just wanted to hear his voice. I wanted to see if my pain would make him panic the way hers did. The phone rang for a very long time before he finally picked up. “What is it?” The background noise was deafening. Serena, who had been in agonizing pain just minutes ago, was laughing brightly. “Vaughn, look at this! This is hilarious.” He spoke into the receiver again. “Jill? What’s wrong?” I opened my mouth, but the massive knot of grief lodged in my throat choked off my words. All that came out was a quiet whisper. “Nothing. Have fun.” I hung up the phone. The screen faded to black. But the torrential rain pouring inside my chest showed no signs of stopping. At three in the morning, the harsh fluorescent lights of the emergency room glared down at me. The doctor finished bandaging my arm and reviewed my X-rays. “Severely sprained ankle. Make sure to keep the stitches on your arm dry.” She looked up from her clipboard. “Is your family here?” I gripped the edge of my medical file, staring into space for a long time. Who was I supposed to list? My husband? He was busy entertaining his college sweetheart. My parents? I couldn’t bear to make them worry. I stared at the blank line for the emergency contact, and a sharp sting hit the back of my nose. I honestly didn’t know whose name I was allowed to write anymore. 4 I didn’t tell my mother about the accident. She had a weak heart and dangerously unstable blood pressure. When I was young, she and my father ruined their health running a tiny diner just to pay for my tuition. I couldn’t let her know that the daughter she cherished more than life itself had ended up in the ER at 3 AM with absolutely no one by her side. So when she called to ask why I hadn’t been home for Sunday dinner, I just told her I was slammed at work. “Jill, don’t lie to your mother.” I gripped the phone, forcing a cheerful tone. “I’m perfectly fine, Mom. I promise.” But my mother wasn’t stupid. That very afternoon, she brewed a thermos of herbal soup and took the bus to the city to find me. Before she even reached my apartment building, she spotted Vaughn. He was walking out of a high-end luxury jewelry boutique, carrying a glossy shopping bag. Serena was walking right beside him. She said something to him, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him squarely on the lips. He didn’t push her away. Standing in the middle of the crowded sidewalk, my mother understood everything. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how cruel the world could be. She just never wanted to assume the worst about the man I loved. I had lost an alarming amount of weight recently. The light in my eyes had completely burned out. Now she knew why. I was being bled dry by a dull blade. She tried to chase after them, desperate to demand an explanation. But Vaughn had already wrapped his arm around Serena’s shoulder and guided her into the passenger seat of his car. By the time I rushed into the hospital lobby, my mother had already been wheeled into the resuscitation room. My father was trembling so violently he couldn’t even hold a pen to sign the critical condition notice. “Suspected cerebral hemorrhage. The situation is extremely volatile. We need to operate immediately, or else…” A deafening ring echoed in my ears. I pulled out my phone and dialed Vaughn’s number. “My mom is in the ER. Can you get here? No, wait! Have your private surgical specialist come first! It’s an absolute emergency!” A few seconds later, a voice came through the speaker. It wasn’t Vaughn’s. It was Serena. Her tone was sickeningly sweet, laced with feigned surprise. “Oh, Jill? Is that you?” The blood in my veins turned to ice. “Where is Vaughn?!” “He’s accompanying me at the OBGYN clinic. He’s consulting with the chief specialist right now, so he left his phone with me.” OBGYN? The red light above the resuscitation doors was still glaring brightly. I didn’t have the luxury of dissecting her words. “Put him on the phone! My mother is dying. I am begging you, put him on the damn phone right now!” Serena paused for a second, then immediately reassured me. “Jill, don’t panic. I’ll tell him right away.” I gripped my phone, pacing the sterile hallway. Ten minutes passed. No call back. The nurses rushed out, their voices frantic. “Did you get a hold of the specialist? The patient doesn’t have much time.” I dialed Vaughn’s number over and over again. It rang out every single time. My father stood in the corner, his eyes bloodshot. “What did Vaughn say?” Just then, a notification from my consulting app pinged. Serena had sent a new photo. Vaughn was lying on a plush sofa beside her, his eyes closed, fast asleep. [Just wanted to brag a little bit. Isn’t he so handsome when he sleeps? I really hit the jackpot.] The doors to the ER swung open and shut. Nurses sprinted past me. My father was begging the doctors to try anything, everything. But all I could see was the image of my husband resting peacefully by her side. The woman who gave me life was bleeding out on an operating table. The son-in-law she treated like her own flesh and blood never showed up. Later, a doctor walked out and pulled down his surgical mask. I watched his lips move in slow motion. “I am so sorry. We did everything we could.” My mother didn’t make it. The golden window for surgery had been stalled away minute by minute. I collapsed to my knees outside the surgical doors. I couldn’t even force a sob out of my throat. It felt like a crucial wire inside my body had snapped, leaving me suspended in a terrifying void. Someone tried to help me up. They let me inside the room. My mother was lying there, completely still. Suddenly, a blinding, tearing pain ripped through my abdomen. Hot blood rushed down my legs, soaking my pants. Someone screamed. Hands grabbed me. My vision went entirely black. When I finally opened my eyes again, I was staring at a white hospital ceiling. “You were pregnant. But… the trauma was too severe. You lost the baby.” It took a very long time for those words to process. Pregnant. Baby. Lost. The three concepts crashed into each other, forming a language I couldn’t comprehend. I didn’t even know this child had existed. I had no idea a tiny life had briefly made its home inside of me. And just like that, it vanished, leaving this world at the exact same time as my mother. My phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was Serena again. [Great news! I’m pregnant!] [He is totally freaking out about being a dad. It’s actually kind of adorable.] [I’m starving. Here’s a sneak peek of him looking at the ultrasound.] In the picture, Vaughn was holding a medical report. His profile was remarkably soft, genuinely preparing to welcome their child into the world. I didn’t even have the strength left to cry. Vaughn didn’t come home for the next several days. Serena had pouted and said, “I don’t want to spend Valentine’s Day alone.” So he stayed with her. The day after Valentine’s Day, he finally walked through our front door, looking tired but accomplished. Sitting right in the center of the dining table was a beautifully wrapped gift box. He stared at it for a moment before guilt washed over his features. He remembered that I prepared a lavish gift for him every single year. Driven by remorse, he reached out and untied the silk ribbon. When he finally saw what was resting inside, every drop of color vanished from his face.

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1 My ex-boyfriend, whom I had desperately loved for years, was throwing a highly publicized engagement party with an avant-garde female director. But playing on the massive screens at their engagement was a five-year-old video of me, crying and begging outside a police station, pleading with him not to abandon me. “Schwartz! I’ll be your secret lover, I don’t care! Just please don’t leave me!” “If you leave me, I’ll die!” The short film was Samantha’s breakout masterpiece. It was a raw, humiliating documentary of my entire pathetic existence as Schwartz’s devoted lapdog. Amidst the disgusting, mocking laughter echoing through the ballroom, a spotlight suddenly snapped onto Samantha’s feet. I was wearing a catering uniform, kneeling on the floor, adjusting the hem of her designer gown. Samantha took the microphone from the host and pointed it right at my face. “Five years later, Stephanie, do you regret being such a shameless, desperate stalker?” I looked at the handsome man standing beside her—Schwartz. I looked right into his eyes and gave my completely honest answer. “I regret it.” Hearing those words, Schwartz, who had always looked at me with pure disgust, suddenly panicked. But I truly didn’t care anymore. Back then, to heal my own broken heart, I had used him as a substitute. Now, my heart was anchored to something much better. He didn’t matter to me anymore. … “Stephanie! Today is my engagement party!” “You sneaked in here just to ruin everything, didn’t you?!” Schwartz violently shoved me backward. “And now you’re trying to act tough?!” “As long as I’m here, you will not ruin Samantha’s special day!” I stumbled backward, the old injury in my knee flaring with sharp pain. My cheap heels flew off my feet, sliding across the marble floor into the crowd. I scrambled barefoot to retrieve them, only for a smirking guest to kick them further away in disgust. “They’re literally getting engaged, and she’s still stalking him! Have some shame!” “Does this bitch have a life outside of chasing men?” “She’s just gold-digging! Schwartz is young, rich, and successful. She’s just too stupid to secure the bag!” Many of Schwartz’s friends at the party had personally witnessed my shameless obsession with him years ago. Back then, Schwartz was the long-lost heir of the prestigious Sterling family, having just been brought back into the fold. As his personal assistant, I pursued him with a manic, suffocating desperation. I drank for him at business dinners until I was hospitalized for stomach bleeding. The very next morning, I ripped out my IV to cook him porridge and deliver it to his office, only for him to hand it directly to the water delivery guy. And I still smiled. He called me at 1 AM saying he hated my long hair. I immediately got out of bed, chopped off the hair I had been growing since childhood, and sent him a video. His response? “Stephanie, are you actually stupid?” “It was a truth-or-dare joke. Did you seriously believe me?” The tipping point was a party with a bunch of trust fund kids. They made a bet on who could eat the most ghost peppers to win a limited-edition necklace. Schwartz casually mentioned he wanted it. I was deathly allergic to peppers, but I ate enough to land myself in the ICU. That day in the ambulance, his voice was gentle for the very first time. “You really like me that much? Enough to throw your life away?” The way his eyes curved when he smiled made me break down in tears under my oxygen mask. “Yes. I can’t live without you. As long as you let me stay by your side, you can have my life.” I finally got my wish. For a year, we dated, and I obeyed him like a loyal dog. Until Samantha released her documentary: The Subservience of a Gold-Digger. It was a year-long compilation of my most pathetic, degrading attempts to beg for his love. The moment the film dropped, Schwartz poured massive funds into marketing it. As the internet ripped me to shreds, Samantha swept every major international documentary award that year. And my reward? A breakup text from Schwartz. “If it wasn’t for Sam, I would have never tolerated your disgusting presence for a whole year.” Samantha was his unattainable high-school sweetheart, the girl he chased before he became a Sterling. The necklace I had almost died to win for him was resting proudly on her collarbone. “Women like you throw yourselves at me because of my bank account,” he told me. “Only Sam is different.” Even then, I refused to let go. I stalked him, crying, begging him not to chase me away. “You can be with someone else! Just let me stay near you, I’ll do anything!” “Please! I’ll die without you!” My hysterical, tear-streaked face from five years ago was currently playing on the massive LED screens, broadcasting my absolute degradation. But today, I simply picked up my shoes, slipped them on, and stood up calmly. “Mr. Sterling, I am a temporary worker hired by the catering company.” “I had no idea this was your engagement party. If I had known, I wouldn’t have taken the shift.” I turned to leave, but Schwartz lunged forward, gripping my arm like a vice. “Five years ago, why did you disappear without a trace?!” “Is that really all you have to say?!” Standing behind him in her haute couture gown, Samantha looked much wealthier than she did five years ago. She tilted her chin at me haughtily. “You vanish for five years, only to conveniently show up on the day Schwartz and I get engaged.” “Stephanie, you used to be a pathetic stalker, but now you’ve learned how to play mind games?” “But since you’re using this ‘coincidence’ to save face, I won’t embarrass you further by calling out your lie in public.” I ignored her completely and looked at Schwartz. “Actually, I do have one thing to say.” “You shoved me and caused me to injure my knee. Mr. Sterling, you need to pay for my medical bills.” 2 Schwartz couldn’t hide the absolute shock on his face. Back in the day, I would have willingly died for him without ever asking for a single dime. The catering manager rushed over, sweating profusely. He threw two hundred-dollar bills directly at my face. “You always act so quiet and innocent! I didn’t know you were this kind of trash!” “You dare ruin Mr. Sterling’s engagement?! Take the cash and get the hell out! You’re fired!” Schwartz’s friends used to love making me the butt of the joke, asking me how much money it would take for me to leave him. Every time, I would panic and swear I didn’t want a single cent, just the privilege of staying by his side. But today, I bent down, picked up the two crumpled bills, and turned to walk away without a second of hesitation. The crowd erupted in fresh mockery, but Schwartz frowned deeply. His grip on my arm tightened. “Stephanie! If you push this act too far, you won’t have a way back!” “Are you seriously telling me you came here just for a couple of bucks?!” Five years later, I could finally look him dead in the eye without flinching. “What else? Why else would I work a minimum-wage job if not for money?” He scoffed, his tone dripping with arrogance. “You’re not still delusional enough to think I have ‘lingering feelings’ for you, are you?” “Pathetic.” I yanked my arm out of his grasp. Kindergarten was letting out soon. I needed to pick up my son. My son, Leo, was four years old. He was a sturdy, bright-eyed little boy. The second he saw me at the gate, he peeled a gold star sticker off his shirt and pressed it onto my forehead. “Mommy works so hard! Here is your reward!” Even though he was only four, the gentle cadence of his voice and the way his eyes curved when he smiled were identical to his father’s. I breathed in the scent of his hair, and all the dark clouds from the afternoon instantly evaporated. I kissed his chubby cheek. “Leo and Mommy both worked very hard today!” I pulled the two hundred-dollar bills out of my pocket. “Let’s go buy a little cake, okay?” “Does Leo remember what special day it is today?” His little hands shot straight up into the air. “It’s Daddy’s birthday!” … I had graduated with a finance degree from a top-tier university, but the documentary scandal completely destroyed my career. When I left Schwartz, I was treated like a diseased rat. I had to bounce between cash-in-hand odd jobs just to raise my son. I had pre-ordered a small, four-inch cake that morning. The design was simple, with the words Miss You written in icing. Leo was proudly carrying the little cake box as we walked out of the bakery. Suddenly, someone violently bumped into him. The cake hit the pavement, smashing into a ruined mess. Ignoring my son entirely, Schwartz grabbed my arm again. “You think you can just disgust everyone and walk away?!” “You are coming with me to apologize to Sam right now!” “Stephanie, you want to play hard to get with me? Do you even have the right?!” In the past, whenever I got “jealous” and forgot my place, I would try to give Schwartz the silent treatment. But it never lasted more than an hour before I came crawling back, begging him not to ignore me. Because I used to be so unconditionally submissive, Schwartz simply couldn’t comprehend that my “tantrum” today ended with me actually walking away. That’s why he tracked me down. “Mr. Sterling! Today is your engagement party. You abandoned your fiancée to chase after me? If you need a psychiatric evaluation, go to a hospital, don’t come here to disgust me!” Seeing me being bullied, Leo lowered his head and headbutted Schwartz’s leg. “Let go of my Mommy! You big bully!” My tiny, four-year-old son spread his arms wide, standing between me and the towering billionaire. “You broke my Daddy’s cake! And you’re being mean to Mommy!” “Apologize to my Mommy right now!” Seeing my son’s brave little face made my heart skip a beat. For a split second, I saw him again. But reality snapped me back. I didn’t want Leo dragged into this mess. I scooped him into my arms and turned to walk away quickly. “Stephanie! You actually got married and had a kid?!” Schwartz’s voice actually held a tremor of panic. “How could you?! How dare you?!” His possessive outrage left me completely baffled. In the past, he used to scream at me in disgust: “There are billions of men on this planet! If you want to get married and breed so badly, go drag a homeless guy off the street! Why the hell are you stalking me?!” Now that I had finally stopped stalking him, he was losing his mind. “Yes, Mr. Sterling. The law doesn’t forbid me from getting married and having a child.” “And it certainly doesn’t require me to stay celibate for you!” I barely took two steps before I collided head-on with Samantha, who had just rushed over. She was breathing heavily, a thin layer of sweat ruining her perfect makeup. “Stephanie! You ruined my engagement party! Are you happy now?!” The sudden shouting match in the middle of the street quickly drew a massive crowd. Videos of the chaos at the engagement party were already trending online. People in the crowd started recognizing me. “Isn’t that the crazy stalker from five years ago? She crashed the engagement and she’s still stalking him?!” “Why is she holding a kid? She has a kid and she’s still acting like a psycho?! Let me guess, it’s a bastard child!” When Samantha’s eyes locked onto the boy in my arms, her brow furrowed fiercely. Alarm bells practically rang in her eyes as she muttered under her breath. “That’s impossible…” Leo was still upset about the cake for his dad. He squirmed out of my arms and reached toward the ground. “Don’t step on my Daddy’s cake!” As he tried to salvage the crushed box from near Samantha’s feet, his little hand accidentally brushed against the hem of her dress. Samantha shrieked dramatically. “Why are you grabbing my dress?!” The massive bodyguard standing behind her surged forward and delivered a brutal, open-handed slap right across Leo’s face. “You little bastard! Getting handsy at your age?!” The force of the blow knocked Leo flat onto the pavement. Half of his soft, delicate face instantly swelled into an angry red welt. 3 My maternal instincts kicked in violently. I lunged forward to tear that man apart, but another bodyguard instantly pinned my arms behind my back. The crowd’s toxic whispering buzzed in my ears. “What kind of child did you expect a mother like that to raise?” “The mom is a gold-digging whore, and the kid is already a little pervert! He’s gonna grow up to be human garbage!” “That little brat needs to be taught a lesson! Pull his pants down! Let him learn what public humiliation feels like!” Eager to impress Samantha, the bodyguard actually reached down, fully intending to strip my four-year-old son in the middle of the street. He was only a baby. Faced with a giant, violent man, Leo broke down into terrified, hysterical sobs. Every single cry felt like a jagged knife carving into my heart. “Let go of my son!” “I didn’t try to ruin your engagement! You two are the ones chasing me down the street like maniacs!” “Schwartz! What the hell is wrong with you?!” Schwartz ignored my screaming. He walked over to Leo. When he finally got a clear look at the boy’s face, he froze dead in his tracks. It was a face that shared a sixty percent resemblance to his own. Suddenly, Schwartz started laughing. It was a laugh dripping with absolute, triumphant arrogance. “I was wondering why you suddenly vanished five years ago. Turns out, you snuck off to secretly have my baby.” The crowd immediately started murmuring, craning their necks to get a better look. My son, whom I had protected so fiercely for four years, was being gawked at like an animal in a zoo. “He really does look like Mr. Sterling!” “She couldn’t trap the man, so she stole his sperm and had a baby in secret! This bitch is actually psychotic!” “She’s probably trying to extort him! Crashing his engagement on purpose so he ‘discovers’ his bastard son! What a shameless homewrecker!” But Samantha denied it almost instantly, her voice bordering on frantic. “Impossible!” She glared at me with pure venom. “How could you possibly give birth to Schwartz’s child?!” It was true that I had gotten pregnant with Schwartz’s child once. But Samantha had personally ensured that pregnancy didn’t survive. I bit down savagely on the bodyguard’s hand, using every ounce of my adrenaline to break free. I threw myself over Leo, pulling him tight against my chest. I glared at Schwartz, my voice made of ice. “He is my son!” “Schwartz! I don’t care what kind of mental breakdown you’re having right now! If you touch my son, I will kill you myself!” Seeing my fury, Schwartz’s smile only grew wider. He looked like a man who held all the winning cards. He tapped the crushed cake box with the toe of his expensive leather shoe. He read the smeared Miss You written in the frosting. “If I remember correctly, today’s date is the exact anniversary of the day we first met.” “Stephanie, who else could you possibly be missing besides me?” He crouched down, using a sickeningly gentle voice to speak to Leo. “Where is your Daddy?” Before I could stop him, Schwartz threatened that if Leo didn’t answer, he would have me arrested. My brave little boy’s eyes welled with tears, but he answered. “My Daddy is dead…” “But I’m a big boy now! I’m here! You can’t bully my Mommy!” I wasn’t going to give them another second to traumatize my child. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. “Let us leave!” “Schwartz! You really want to spend the night of your engagement in a police precinct?!” Remembering a news broadcast I had seen a few days ago, I raised the stakes. “You’re currently in the middle of a critical transition to take over the Sterling Group, aren’t you? If a scandal like this breaks, aren’t you afraid your stock will tank? Aren’t you afraid the board of directors will hold you accountable?!” The crowd hurled insults at me. “She’s the mistress and she’s acting like the victim!” “Threatening him with his own company?! She’s insane!” But Schwartz looked at me like he had completely figured me out. He actually looked pleased. “Must have been hard, constantly tracking my corporate news.” “Fine! Let’s see how long you can keep this stubborn act up!” He signaled the bodyguards to step aside, flashing me a calculated, gentle smile. “You can walk away. But think very carefully. If you walk away now, you will never get the chance to see me again.” In the past, I would have paid any price just to see him smile like that. But today, I didn’t need it. I carried my son in my arms and walked away without looking back once. Behind me, I heard Schwartz’s voice crack with genuine shock. “Stephanie! Where are you going?!” “If you walk away today, don’t ever expect me to acknowledge the child you gave birth to!” His stare burned into my back, trying to read my mind. He saw my footsteps pause. But before his lips could even curl into a triumphant smirk, he saw me break into a full sprint away from him. Watching my silhouette disappear down the street, Schwartz instinctively took a step forward to chase me, but Samantha grabbed his arm tight. “Everyone is watching. She’s doing this on purpose.” “Relax. Today proves that she went through all this effort just to stop you from getting engaged to me.” “As long as you hold your ground, she’ll definitely find another excuse to come crawling back to you.” When I got back to my tiny apartment, I immediately started packing our bags. I had specifically chosen this quiet southern town because it was a safe, healthy environment to raise a child. I never imagined Schwartz would choose to host his destination engagement party here. I owed Schwartz absolutely nothing. It was true that I had used him as a substitute to cope with my own devastating heartbreak. But while we were together, I had given him every ounce of my devotion. I never hurt him. Not once. He, on the other hand, only used me as a stepping stone to build Samantha’s fame. My initial intentions may have been “impure,” but considering the horrific trauma I endured because of him, Schwartz and I were completely even. 4 Leo was poking at his little smartwatch, his mouth turned down in a miserable pout. “Mommy, the kids at school are calling me a bastard. They said they’re never going to play with me again…” In just a few hours, the internet had exploded. Samantha, whose career had completely stalled over the last two years, was suddenly dominating the trending charts again. Millions of people were romanticizing the “turbulent journey” of her and Schwartz’s love story, while viciously attacking my lack of shame. The manager at my catering job had officially fired me in the staff group chat. My phone was vibrating endlessly with messages from former coworkers, gossip bloggers, and even Leo’s preschool teachers. The peaceful life I had spent five gruelling years building was incinerated in an afternoon. Schwartz was forcing me to bow my head. I knew perfectly well that a “peasant” like me couldn’t fight the Sterling Group. To avoid any more nightmares, I bought two bus tickets out of the state for that very evening. But the moment Leo went to the station restroom, he vanished. The security footage showed me waiting outside the door. A man in a black suit had walked in carrying a massive, empty hard-shell suitcase. When he walked out, the suitcase was visibly heavier. I was just dialing 911 when my phone buzzed. It was a photo of Leo, fast asleep in the backseat of a luxury car. [I brought our son back to the Sterling estate. If you want to see him, come yourself.] [If you call the cops, I guarantee you will never see your son again for the rest of your life.] The next photo was a forged DNA test, showing a 99.9% probability of paternity between Schwartz and Leo. The Sterling family’s roots ran deep and corrupt. Even if I called the cops, with that fake DNA test in his hand, I probably wouldn’t get my son back. Standing in front of Schwartz’s sprawling mansion felt like returning to a past life. Through the massive floor-to-ceiling bulletproof windows, I saw Leo sitting alone on the living room floor, his eyes swollen shut from crying. He saw me, jumped up, and ran toward the glass, only to be effortlessly scooped up by a bodyguard and carried back to the center of the room. He tried over and over again. Even through the thick glass, I could hear him screaming for his mommy. A heavy, matte-black camera lens was suddenly shoved into my face. A bodyguard stared at me with dead eyes. “You gave birth to the Sterling heir in secret. Your intentions are malicious.” “Mr. Sterling said that if you want to see the child, you must publicly confess to your disgusting schemes.” “Be a good girl and provide the footage Miss Samantha needs for her new documentary.” He was actually using this despicable extortion tactic to force me to be the stepping stone for Samantha’s career again! I ground my teeth together so hard my jaw ached. “Tell Schwartz to get out here!” The bodyguard ignored me completely. I picked up the heavy metal tripod sitting next to the camera and smashed it directly into the mansion’s front doors. Schwartz thought he had me backed into a corner. But he vastly underestimated what Leo meant to me. If anyone dared to touch that boy, I would burn this entire city to the ground, even if it cost me my life. The camera equipment shattered into pieces. As the bodyguards surged forward to subdue me, I reached into my coat and pulled out a heavy pair of fabric shears. “Who wants to go first?!” A mother pushed to the brink of insanity is more terrifying than a wild animal. For a moment, the wall of muscle hesitated. I used that split second to sprint through the doors and scoop up Leo, who had cried himself into a state of semi-consciousness. Just then, a group of trust fund kids sauntered down from the second floor, flanking Schwartz. “Schwartz, your charm is seriously lethal. This crazy bitch couldn’t have you, so she actually risked her life just to secure your bloodline.” “Did we get enough footage of her mental breakdown?” Schwartz was holding a compact camcorder. He had recorded my entire desperate display from the indoor balcony. He snapped the screen shut, looking incredibly satisfied. “Stephanie, when I found out you had a kid, I thought you had finally grown a spine.” “I didn’t expect your obsession with me to transfer to the kid. You really bet your entire life on a child just because he has my blood.” His tone was dripping with arrogant charity, as if he were a god granting a peasant a pardon. “I never believed anyone could actually be as pathetically devoted as you.” “But your absolute stupidity and your sheer stubbornness… it actually moved me.” “As long as you cooperate with Sam and film the sequel to The Subservience of a Gold-Digger, I will allow you and the child to stay by my side forever.” “I obviously can’t give you a title or marry you, but I’ll set you up in a nice house. I’ll give you the life you’ve spent years dreaming about. I am finally giving you permission to love me.” The sycophants surrounding him erupted in cheers and catcalls. “Is she crying from happiness?!” “She’s probably too shocked to speak!” I covered Leo’s ears with my hands. In front of the entire crowd of elites, I gathered the saliva in my mouth and spat directly into Schwartz’s face. “Schwartz! Wake the hell up from your delusion!” “Stop acting like a narcissistic psychopath! It’s sickening!” It was the first time I had ever spoken to him with such pure, unadulterated venom. Schwartz’s face froze in absolute shock. He didn’t even have time to wipe the spit off his cheek before I delivered the final blow. “Open your ears and listen to me very carefully! This child is not yours!” “And I have never, ever loved you!” Schwartz looked like he had been struck by lightning. His voice cracked with disbelief. “Impossible! Leo is a carbon copy of me! How could he not be my son?!” “Stephanie! If you’re claiming I’m not the father, then tell me! Who the hell is?!” Watching his chest heave with panicked breaths, I opened my mouth and revealed the secret of my five-year disappearance.

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