Married for three years, Vance Sterling had never once touched me. Wearing a sheer lace nightgown, I faked hickeys on my skin and sent him a picture of my sleeping face, taken from a “third-party” perspective. “Bro, she smells incredible. Hurry up and divorce her so I can have her, alright?” I guessed that Vance, receiving this anonymous text, would be disgusted and furious, throwing me—his wife who was merely a stand-in for my sister—away like trash. I thought that, this time, I could finally divorce him. 1 My older sister was vacationing in Europe, celebrating her third wedding anniversary. When she asked what I wanted as a souvenir, I asked for an unregistered, prepaid foreign SIM card. Pinching the tiny SIM card between my fingers, I stood in the middle of the empty hotel room and let out an exhausted breath. Then, I slipped into the sheer, lace nightgown I had bought specifically for this plan. Standing in front of the mirror, I pinched the skin on my collarbone and neck, forging a trail of suggestive hickeys. The bruises were scattered and vivid, looking exactly as if a man, completely consumed by desire, had ruthlessly and forcefully claimed me. I even tore one of the delicate lace straps of the nightgown, making it look like it had been ripped by a “man’s” rough hands. Finally, I looked in the mirror and intentionally smudged my red lipstick. I sat on the bed and ruffled the other side of the sheets, creating the undeniable impression that someone else had been sleeping there. Then, I closed my eyes, feigning a deep slumber. I set the camera on a tripod, angled perfectly to mimic another person’s point of view, and set the timer. Three, two, one. In the photo, the woman looked as though she had just experienced an intense, passionate encounter, falling into an unguarded, exhausted sleep. I stared at the picture for a long time. My mind couldn’t help but drift to Vance Sterling’s infamous reputation in the corporate world. A smiling tiger. A ruthless capitalist who swallowed his enemies whole and spat out their bones. But the version of him I knew best was simply the man with the eternally cold, emotionless face. He was breathtakingly handsome, but all of his affection had been reserved solely for my sister. I was prepared for the worst. Even if Vance had absolutely no feelings for me, the male ego could rarely tolerate a wife’s betrayal. He would very likely retaliate against me. But ultimately, he would be overwhelmed by disgust and anger. He would discard me and sign the divorce papers. As long as I could get a divorce, that was all that mattered. I closed my eyes and hit send. On the screen, the text message carried a deliberately arrogant, taunting tone: “Bro, she smells incredible. Hurry up and divorce her so I can have her, alright?” Attached was the photo. Message Sent. 2 Less than two seconds later. I received a reply. Vance: “Who is this?” I took my time changing back into my regular clothes. With a somewhat malicious sense of satisfaction, I intentionally dragged out my response time. Was he exploding with rage right now? Was he dying to track down this anonymous guy and skin him alive? Vance Sterling, the golden boy, the man who had been utterly flawless and in complete control his entire life, was finally having his emotions hijacked by someone else. And by me, of all people—the girl he had always kept firmly under his thumb. Three years of suffocation and misery finally yielded a tiny sliver of vindication today. By the time I finished changing, Vance had sent two more messages. “Don’t try to use some cheap deepfake. State your purpose.” “I suggest you come clean on your own. If you do, I might leave you in one piece.” I let out a cold laugh and typed back. “Mr. Sterling, why don’t you just ask your wife if it’s a deepfake?” “The hickeys on my baby’s neck aren’t going to fade anytime soon (＾ｖ＾).” The reason I dared to be so brazen was that I knew Vance was currently overseas, negotiating a massive acquisition. He wouldn’t be back for at least half a month. Suddenly, my actual cell phone started ringing. I jumped in shock. The caller ID flashed aggressively on the screen. It was Vance. I pursed my lips, staring at the phone in dead silence until the call went to voicemail. But almost immediately, the screen lit up again. Vance was calling back, relentless. I realized then that this time, he was genuinely furious. My heart hammered against my ribs. I felt like I was walking on a tightrope, playing an incredibly dangerous game of Russian roulette. I switched back to the burner phone and sent: “Mr. Sterling, stop calling her. We went at it five times. Your wife is exhausted and sleeping.” The phone calls instantly stopped. My actual phone fell into a deathly silence. I sent one last message from the burner SIM: “I didn’t mean to break your marriage up, Mr. Sterling. But your wife and I are truly in love. Be the bigger man, finalize the divorce, and let me have her. Otherwise, word’s going to get out that your wife is making a cuck out of you, and your reputation will be dragged through the mud.” Vance never replied again. Feeling a lingering sense of dread, I threw the torn lace nightgown into the hotel trash can, checked out, and took a cab back to our mansion. The maids were casually vacuuming and dusting. Everything was perfectly normal. The house was so peaceful it was as if nothing had happened at all. I washed up and went to sleep. Early the next morning, as the sky was just beginning to turn a pale gray, I was jolted awake by the deafening roar of a car engine and the harsh screech of tires braking violently outside my window. Before I could even process the panic, three sharp knocks hammered against my bedroom door. “Harper, open the door.” The voice was dark and icy. The tone was restrained to the absolute limit, exposing only the faintest tremor of frantic anxiety beneath the surface. I was instantly, entirely awake. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head, freezing me to the bone. It was Vance. 3 I was in total disarray. How could he be back?! To him, I was nothing more than an insignificant, disposable stand-in! The knocking sounded again. Exactly three taps. The epitome of forced self-control. He spoke a little faster this time: “Harper, I want to see you.” I sat up in bed. Don’t panic. Don’t give yourself away. I took a deep breath, rubbed my eyes, and feigned a groggy, sleep-heavy voice. “Vance, I… I need to use the restroom, and I’m going to take a shower. Give me a minute.” I sprinted into the master bathroom, turned on the showerhead, and stared in horror at the fake hickeys on my neck. I had made them by suctioning the mouth of a glass bottle against my skin yesterday. To make them look real, I had gone hard. Forget about them fading overnight—even heavy foundation wouldn’t be able to completely hide them! But I couldn’t just leave them totally exposed. Because someone who was actually cheating would instinctively try to lie and cover them up. Vance was sharp as a tack. If I was going to put on a show, I had to play the part perfectly. I wet my hair to make it look like I had just stepped out of the shower and threw on a black, long-sleeved turtleneck dress that covered me completely. For the half-hickey that peeked out above the collar, I carefully covered it with a bandage. I looked in the mirror and practiced my expression—a flawless mix of guilty panic and forced composure. This should be disgusting enough. Vance would undoubtedly be repulsed, demand a divorce without hesitation, and tell me to get out of his sight. I unlocked the bedroom door. Vance was sitting on the sofa in the adjoining sitting room, his brows furrowed deeply, his eyes closed. He looked pale. A faint shadow of stubble dusted his jawline. He had forgotten his watch, and his tailored suit jacket was missing its cufflinks. One hand was gripping his phone like a vice, while the other rested on the armrest. Across his knuckles were four deep, bloody cuts. It looked as if he had punched a wall. More than once. But he seemed completely oblivious to it. He hadn’t even bothered to bandage them. “Vance, why are you back so soon?” Vance opened his eyes and looked at me. His pupils were so dark they looked like endless abysses. He pushed himself off the sofa. The man who had been frantically knocking just moments ago now walked toward me with agonizing slowness. I instinctively took a step back, but Vance caught my arm and pulled me right back to him. He lowered his gaze to my neck, his pupils shrinking a fraction of an inch. I forced a stiff smile. “Did something happen with the acquisition?” He didn’t answer. He simply raised his cold hand, pressing his index and middle fingers lightly against the edge of the bandage on my neck. It felt like, at any second, he was going to rip it off brutally, tearing away all my lies, before exploding in humiliated fury and shredding our hypocritical marriage contract. I began to tremble, squeezing my eyes shut, waiting for the execution. But his fingers just rested gently against the bandage. Vance asked calmly, “How did you get this?” I intentionally averted my eyes. “I… I accidentally scraped it on the edge of a book.” “A book…” Vance blinked, moving in slow motion. “What were you doing last night?” His fingertips slipped just slightly past the collar of my dress. If he pulled down just a centimeter more, he would see the trail of bruises hidden beneath the fabric. I swallowed hard. “I went out to the salon to get a hair treatment last night.” Vance’s breathing grew heavy. He stared at me expressionlessly. In that split second, I had the terrifying illusion that he was going to devour me alive. His fingers hooked into my collar. Feeling the pull, I stumbled forward, almost falling against his chest. I hastily threw my hands up, bracing them against his torso to keep my distance. His large hand wrapped around my lower back, gripping me like an iron band. He tightened his hold millimeter by millimeter, as if using the physical pressure to vent his suppressed, boiling rage. I was no match for his strength. Even my arms, bracing against him, were beginning to give out. Vance leaned in, closing the distance inch by inch. “M-Mr. Sterling, don’t.” I stammered, my voice shaking. I didn’t know what he was planning to do, but my instincts were screaming that I was in danger. My mind went completely blank. My voice quivered as I blindly begged for mercy. Three seconds passed. Incredibly, he slowly withdrew his hand from my collar, clenching it into a tight fist. His face turned rigid, his jaw set in stone. Only then did I process the words that had just tumbled out of my mouth— “I’m scared. Don’t touch me. Please.” “I’m going to assign two bodyguards to you. Whenever you leave the house, they will follow you to ensure your safety,” Vance announced flatly. Then, without hesitation, he turned on his heel and walked out. It wasn’t until I heard the familiar roar of his engine fading down the driveway that I snapped out of my daze. He wasn’t going to investigate?! How was that even possible?! 4 I was put under strict surveillance. I barely had a window of opportunity to pull out the burner phone. Whatever Vance had been doing overseas, he had somehow managed to wrap up a multi-week business trip in just five days and rushed straight back. A few days after his return, the surveillance on me finally loosened slightly. I seized the chance, grabbed the burner phone, and sent a text. “Bro, you’re a sore loser. If she cheated, just divorce her. Why lock your wife up?” Vance replied almost instantly: “She didn’t cheat. I trust her. Harper is not the kind of person who would do something like that.” I stared blankly at the screen. What did that mean? It was true that I had resorted to this stupid fake-affair plan because I couldn’t actually bring myself to cheat on him. But how did Vance know what kind of person I was? He had always, always been incredibly cold and distant toward me. Throwing caution to the wind, I typed furiously, adding fuel to the fire: “Mr. Sterling, you don’t know your wife better than I do.” “She has three little moles. One on her ribs, one by her belly button, and another on… Every time I trace a line connecting them with my finger, it drives her crazy. She shivers uncontrollably.” “But you’re her husband. You’ve been married for three years, so you must have known that already, right?” That last sentence was weaponized irony, because in three years of marriage, Vance had never once touched me. Smash! Just as the message delivered, a deafening crash echoed from upstairs. The sound came from Vance’s home office. I flinched, my heart leaping into my throat, and frantically hid the burner phone under my mattress. The smashing sounds echoed a few more times. Then, I heard Vance’s heavy footsteps descending the stairs. Sounding utterly exhausted, he instructed the butler, “Have someone clean up the office. Order a replacement for the computer.” The footsteps drew closer to my door. I was shaking with terror, half-convinced that I was the next thing he was going to smash to pieces. Like an ostrich hiding its head in the sand, I dove under my duvet and pretended to be dead asleep. My bedroom door lock had mysteriously broken the day he returned. Vance turned the handle quietly. Seeing the room pitch-black, he didn’t say a word. In the dead silence, his ragged, heavy breathing and his erratic heartbeat were incredibly loud. It made me wonder if he could hear my heart pounding out of my chest, too. He walked closer. Closer. I squeezed my eyes shut. Vance didn’t shake me awake. He didn’t fly into a murderous rage and strangle me for an explanation. He just stood by my bed. Even with my eyes closed, I could feel an intense, piercing, burning gaze practically nailing itself to my stomach, as if he was agonizing over whether to pull the blankets back and check. Don’t shake. Keep your breathing steady. Keep acting! I remained perfectly still. Suddenly, the mattress dipped beside me. Vance slowly lay down next to me on top of the covers. That freezing yet scalding gaze remained glued to my body. I gritted my teeth. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I was going to light this powder keg once and for all! Acting as if I was lost in a sweet dream, I groggily rolled over and nuzzled my head right into his chest. Vance froze. That fierce, searing gaze suddenly softened. “Hubby…” I mumbled in my sleep. Vance went completely rigid. Refusing to back down, I wrapped both my arms around his waist and used the sweetest, most sickeningly affectionate voice I could muster. “Hubby, hold me.” I fully expected him to explode. I thought he might actually slap me awake. Because I had never called him “hubby” before. He would know, without a shadow of a doubt, that the person I was calling out to in my “dream” was someone else. But instead— He glared down at me in the dark, gripping my arm so tightly he was shaking with rage. Yet the second I let out a soft whimper of pain, he forced himself to loosen his grip. Vance cupped the back of my head and pulled me even tighter against his chest. He pressed a kiss into my hair. Then, he began stroking my back, from top to bottom, with a clumsy but gentle, soothing rhythm. In a low, gravelly voice, he whispered, “Yeah. Hubby’s got you.” I completely froze. This bizarre, eerie calmness of his was absolute madness. Vance Sterling was a brilliantly strategic, calculating man. The second he received that first text, he should have deduced I was having an affair. To prevent a public scandal, he should have had his lawyers draft divorce papers immediately and kicked me out with nothing. Yet, time and time again, he denied it. He aggressively, insanely, stubbornly refused to believe I had slept with another man. And now, he was literally brainwashing himself, stealing words of affection meant for another man and hoarding them for himself. What on earth was he doing? Thinking I had drifted into a deeper sleep after my murmuring stopped, Vance soundlessly lifted the duvet. He pressed his finger against my ribcage, right where the mole was, and slowly traced a line downward. Just a light, cool touch of his fingertip. It was so sudden, and so fast, that before I could even process what was happening, my body violently recoiled, shivering out of control. I had completely made that text up! I had no idea that someone actually tracing those moles would send a jolt of electricity straight through my spine! I trembled pathetically, completely unable to keep up the “deep sleep” act. I immediately tried to roll away and escape. Vance stopped tracing. Instead, he wrapped both his arms around me, pulling me flush against his body, forcing me to face him. His grip was ironclad, unyielding, locking us together so tightly I could feel the frantic, powerful thud of his heart against my own ribs. Chaotic. Frantic. Powerful. He whispered softly into the dark, “You are mine. I am yours.” He had completely lost his mind. He had abandoned all his cold logic, all his rational risk-benefit analysis, and turned into an absolute beast. Barbaric, direct, and uncompromisingly possessive. It was as if he had dragged me back to his den, and now, I belonged nowhere else. He objectified me, and he objectified himself. We were no longer humans with fragile skin and sensitive souls. We were two lifeless padlocks. Click. Locked together. And he could stubbornly believe it: I was his, and he was mine. He really had lost his mind. I opened my eyes in the darkness, trapped between his burning chest and his arms, staring complicatedly at Vance’s sleeping face. Eventually, my eyelids grew heavy, and I fell asleep. In my dreams, I was back three years ago, crying and begging Vance to let me go. He just watched me coldly. Until I screamed, “I don’t owe you anything! You have no right to lock me up!” He had stepped back, stayed silent for a full minute, and finally looked up. “You do owe me. Your sister eloped and broke our engagement. So you will pay me back with the rest of your life. I am never letting you go.” I had collapsed on the floor, touching my face—a face so similar to my sister’s—finally realizing the truth. He refused to let me go because he was using me as a substitute for her. That was how I spent the last three years. Suffocating and miserable. When I opened my eyes the next morning, Vance was already gone. The sheets beside me were smooth and cold, as if no one had ever been there.

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I’m a transfer student. I worked so hard for so long just to get into my childhood crush’s Honors class. But when I finally transferred over, I realized he already had a very pretty desk mate. She smiled at me gently and said, “Ethan still needs to tutor me. I can’t give up this seat for you, sweetie.” Ethan’s eyes landed on her, a look of unmistakable joy on his face. I froze in place, my face burning. I had no choice but to find an empty seat somewhere else, not daring to speak to him again. But later, Ethan cornered me, looking completely lost and panicked: “Tutoring? Why didn’t you come to me…?” 1 Everyone’s eyes in the classroom focused on me. Her tone was so soft and sweet. “Sweetie, cutting in line isn’t nice. Ethan still needs to tutor me.” In an instant, whispers erupted across the room. “She just transferred and already wants to steal someone’s seat? This new girl is so arrogant.” “Isn’t that Ethan’s childhood friend? I used to see her waiting for him at the door every day.” “That still doesn’t mean she can just barge in and demand a seat!” “She was top of the Regular class, so she thinks she owns the place now.” It wasn’t like that… I wanted to explain, but my throat felt completely blocked. I didn’t even know where to start telling them that Ethan and I had agreed on this a long time ago. I worked so hard to test into the Honors class just so we could sit together. He told me he had already arranged our seats. My palms began to sweat as I gripped my backpack straps. I looked at Ethan, pleading for help. Hoping he would speak up and explain that I wasn’t acting like this… But he turned his face away and looked at that girl. His eyes were smiling. “Yeah, I’m tutoring you.” The classroom fell silent for a split second. I don’t know who started it, but someone let out a scoff. Then, the entire room erupted into laughter and mocking giggles. I blushed, completely at a loss. My mind went entirely blank. I didn’t understand. Didn’t he say… once I tested into the Honors class, we would work hard together…? 2 The bell rang. All the students obediently took their seats. Ethan looked at me and casually pointed to the back. “Just find a spot back there for now.” I took a deep breath. Enduring the burning sensation on my face, I walked to the back. Behind me, I heard that girl’s lowered voice, “Ethan, your childhood friend looks a little upset.” “It’s fine. Class is starting, just focus on the lecture.” “Oh.” Her voice was tiny. I couldn’t see her. But I could imagine her adorably innocent expression. I don’t remember how I walked the rest of the way, just that I stiffly sat down in the only empty seat in the last row. There was someone next to me. He seemed to hear the noise. He lifted his eyelids, gave me a single glance, and then buried his head back into his arms. For the entire class period… I was in a daze. I couldn’t absorb a single word the Honors teacher was saying. Until class ended. Ethan stood up from his seat at the front and walked over, placing a notebook on my desk. “Honors class notes. “I didn’t expect you to actually pass the exam. Look over these first and try to teach yourself.” The cover of the notebook was pink. It was the same one I had given him at the start of the school year, filled with pages of meticulous writing. For some reason, a wave of grievance surged in my chest, and my eyes grew red. Ethan paused, startled. “What, are you that touched?” The girl sitting behind him suddenly stood up, clutching her forehead looking frustrated. “Ethan, I still didn’t catch what you were explaining earlier!” He looked back at her. The notebook I had just accepted was immediately snatched back from my hands. “Wait a bit. Let Chloe copy them first.” He took the notes and walked away. I couldn’t hold back my tears anymore; they fell on their own. The next moment. A pack of tissues was tossed onto my lap from out of nowhere. My new desk mate, who had been sleeping all class, suddenly looked up, his cold eyes laced with annoyance. “Don’t cry next to me.” He startled me. I frantically grabbed a tissue and wiped my tears away. But my eyes uncontrollably locked onto the boy and girl sitting in the front, heads bent together as they went over a math problem. My eyes stung fiercely. The unfamiliarity of a new environment. The crushing of my expectations and the coldness of my new classmates. All of it rushed into my brain at once, fighting for space. I tried to push it down. But the harder I pushed, the more I felt like I couldn’t breathe. My new desk mate looked visibly irritated. He simply pulled his hoodie off, draped it over his head, and went back to sleep on his desk. 3 The bell rang again. The teacher walked in with his lesson plans. Class began. I don’t know if the Honors class paced itself too fast, but I struggled to keep up this period, finding everything obscure and incredibly difficult. My desk mate woke up. He looked at me with an indifferent gaze. Then he suddenly spoke, “You copied that wrong.” My heart skipped a beat, and I looked at him blankly. He forcefully grabbed my pen and quickly jotted down the calculation steps for the major problem on the board. My eyes understood it. But my brain didn’t. I just stared, bewildered. He frowned. “Is the Honors class really this easy to get into?” He lowered his voice again, resting his head back down. “The standard is seriously dropping.” It wasn’t until I went to the restroom that I learned his name. Caleb Wright. The girls from the Honors class were whispering in the bathroom. “The transfer student ended up sitting with Caleb Wright.” “Isn’t that perfect? The one who bought his way in and the one who barely scraped by. They’re a match made in heaven.” Followed by snickering. I don’t know where my courage came from. I burst out of the bathroom stall. I couldn’t catch them; I only saw the backs of two girls turning the corner. 4 The academic pressure in the Honors class was intense. Every student was grinding to get into a top-tier college. When the evening study hall for the Honors class finally ended… My old class had already been dismissed for hours. I packed my backpack, intending to wait and walk out with Ethan. After a brief moment of hesitation, most of the class had already emptied out. Ethan stood up and finally walked toward me. But Chloe called out to him. Her pale cheeks were slightly flushed, looking almost embarrassed. “Ethan, I still don’t get how to apply the formula for this problem…” Ethan stopped in his tracks. He looked at her, then looked at me, torn. “It’s getting really late…” I couldn’t help but remind him. Chloe bit her lip. “Yeah, it’s so late. No one is coming to pick me up today…” Ethan immediately frowned. He shot me an apologetic look. “You should head back first. I’m going to help Chloe study.” He turned back to her. Chloe gave me a look—whether intentional or not, I couldn’t tell. Then, she asked tentatively, “Could you maybe walk me home after…?” In that moment. My heart felt like it leaped into my throat. Then I heard him say, “Sure.” My heart instantly went dead silent. My blank gaze met Chloe’s eyes. The corners of her lips curled up. And she gave me a small smile. 5 I had never left the school campus after nine o’clock. It was completely pitch black out. Only the lights from the Honors building were still on. But the further I walked, the further away the light source became. I quickened my pace. But in the shadows, I thought I saw a figure moving ahead. My heart hammered in my chest. I stopped, but the figure kept getting closer. Instinctively, I pulled out my phone and dialed my speed dial. The screen emitted a faint glow in the dark night. Ring… It connected! But the very next second, the call was hung up. I froze. Dumbfounded, I forgot my fear. Until the figure walked right up to me, and I let out a yelp. Before I could even scream. The person spoke. “With a coward’s guts like that, why even transfer to the Honors class?” I looked up, stunned, meeting Caleb’s eyes. He said he hated weaklings. He told me that if I couldn’t even handle the late hours of the Honors class, I should have quit while I was ahead. He said, in this world, nobody is born obligated to help you. With that, he turned and walked away. Leaving me behind in the dark. I don’t know how much time passed. Faintly, from the direction of the school building, I heard a girl’s silvery laughter. I heard Ethan’s promise. He said, “Chloe, I’ve got your studying covered from now on.” She sounded so delicate and fragile. “But what about your childhood friend? She worked so hard to get into the Honors class. Are you just going to ignore her?” Ethan’s voice paused. “I honestly didn’t expect her to actually pass the test…” The night breeze carried their conversation further and further away. Behind me, not a single trace of light remained. I gripped my phone tightly and sprinted forward. No one is going to help me. Then I’ll walk by myself! 6 I don’t remember how I ran home. I only remember bawling my eyes out once I got there. I couldn’t even articulate why I was crying. When I woke up, my eyes were swollen like peaches. When I went downstairs, I unexpectedly saw Ethan waiting there. He had his hands in his pockets. “What happened to your eyes? “Did transferring classes make you cry?” Just like always, he reached out to pat my head. “I was busy last night when you called. Did you need something?” I dodged his hand. “Nothing. Pocket dial.” Ethan froze. He looked at his hand, then studied me for a moment. “What’s wrong, Mia?” “Nothing.” He suddenly grabbed my arm, looking at me with a complex expression. “What is it? Are you mad?” I turned back, feigning confusion. “No? I just need to get to school.” Ethan followed me. He watched me the whole way, looking like he wanted to say something but swallowing it back. I knew why he was surprised. Ethan and I were the textbook definition of childhood best friends. His dad passed away when he was very young. Back in elementary school, when Mrs. Carter had to work overtime and couldn’t make it home, he was left alone, starving. He would just stare eagerly at my house across the hall. I noticed him and brought over a huge bowl of ribs my mom had cooked. He ate with such relish. He scarfed down two huge bowls. So I brought him two more. After he finished, his eyes sparkled as he looked at me. “Mia, you’re the best. “I want to stay with you forever!” In middle school, some pubescent boys bullied me. They snipped off the braids I had grown out for years. He went absolutely feral and fought the kid single-handedly. Even though he was losing the fight, he viciously yelled at the guy, “Mia is mine! If you bully her, I’ll kill you!” That’s why he loved patting my hair when greeting me. He was terrified someone would cut it again. And I… I had never once dodged his hand before.

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The year I was the hungriest, I worked for Carter Hayes. I copied his notes for a day in exchange for a single meal. Years later, after I graduated from college, Carter came looking for me. “Two million bucks. Come here and be my fiancée.” 1 Back in high school, my mom cut me off. She refused to give me a single cent. She said if I was so stubborn about staying in school instead of dropping out to work, then I shouldn’t be afraid of starving. But I went to school anyway, clutching the twenty-dollar bill I’d secretly saved up. Twenty dollars lasted me half a month of extreme penny-pinching. When the money ran out, I drank water from the bathroom sink. It was late autumn and freezing; the cold water sloshing in my empty stomach felt like solid ice. I could hear the water sloshing around every time I walked. I starved for three days straight like that. At fourteen years old, starving for three days makes you want to bite the next person you see. I was so hungry I seriously considered chewing on the grass outside the school. Just as I was about to pass out, Carter Hayes sat down next to me with his lunch. I stared at him. He turned his head and met my gaze. I didn’t move; I just stared dead at his food. Carter got thoroughly creeped out and quietly asked if I wanted to share his lunch. My eyes instantly lit up. “Can I?” He let out a breath of relief and nodded. “Yeah, eat. My mom packed way too much anyway…” Later, Carter told me that the look in my eyes didn’t say I want to eat your food; it said I want to eat YOU. He felt like giving me his lunch was the only way to save his own life. For a long time, I worked for Carter. In class, I copied his notes; between classes, I wiped his desk. The compensation wasn’t much: a meal or two. He started bringing an extra portion for me every day. I’d split it into breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but it still wasn’t enough to fill me up. So Carter would slip me whatever snacks he brought. “Here’s some beef jerky my mom brought back from a road trip. It’s probably still good.” I took it and chewed. Too tough. Kept chewing. “Here’s some fruitcake from last Christmas.” I took it. Crunch, crunch, chew. “Here are some fruit-flavored antacid Tums my mom bought.” I hesitated for a second, then swiftly ripped the package open and popped them in. Chew, chew, chew… Carter would sneak me these things during class, and I’d secretly eat them. Once the bell rang, he stared at me, eyes wide. “You ate two whole rolls of Tums?!” “Yeah…” He looked utterly defeated. “Sadie, I’m not going to accidentally kill you by feeding you this crap, am I?” I didn’t know if he would kill me, but I knew I was already starving to death. 2 For a long time, I survived on the food Carter brought. Until Fall Break. Initially, I wanted to go home. But the moment I got there, my mom grabbed me by the collar and dragged me out the door. She wouldn’t let me in. She said that for every day I stayed in school, she wouldn’t recognize me as her daughter. Other girls my age were already working full-time in out-of-state factories, but I was too delicate for that. Since I thought I was so capable and refused to listen, I shouldn’t rely on the family. Better yet, I shouldn’t come home at all. I sniffled, standing awkwardly on the porch clutching my backpack. The smell of roast chicken drifted from inside the open door. My mom brought the chicken out, and my younger siblings scrambled for it. My little sister Lily grabbed a piece and glanced at me, but my mom slapped her hand. “Eat your food! Don’t look at her!” Lily froze, sitting obediently. I lowered my head. The dim light from the house stretched my shadow, making it look as defeated as I felt. Eventually, my mom slammed the door shut. The light vanished. I hugged my backpack and walked away. That night, I slept at the Greyhound bus station. The next morning, I woke up and saw Carter. He was supposed to go on a trip with his parents. When he looked up near the ticketing gate and saw me, he jumped. “What are you doing here?” “My mom won’t let me stay at the house. It’s warm inside the bus station.” “Holy shit. Is she your biological mom?” “Yeah.” “…” Carter didn’t get on his bus that day. I don’t know what he told his parents, but he saw them off and stayed behind. He turned around, looked at me, and sighed. “Come on. Let’s go to my place.” He walked ahead, and I hurried to put on my backpack to follow him. Carter was two years older than me, tall with long legs. For every step he took, I had to take three. After a few steps, he turned back and snatched my heavy backpack. I looked up at him, and when he met my gaze, he laughed. “Sadie Harper, I’m just an unlucky bastard. How did I end up running into you? My parents were supposed to take me to the beach! And now here I am, carrying your backpack.” “I’m sorry.” “Whatever, forget it. Are you hungry?” “Starving…” “Alright then. While your boy’s still got some cash, let’s go get some real food.” 3 I stayed at Carter’s house for seven days. His house was nothing like mine. I had three siblings; the older ones cried, the younger ones threw tantrums. All four of us crammed into one room, always a chaotic mess. He was an only child. His entire house was spotless, organized, and beautiful. The neighborhood was landscaped, the building had an elevator, they had a guest room, the balcony was full of plants. The only downside was the lack of food. I woke up starving in the middle of the night but couldn’t find a single bite to eat—not even a roll of Tums. Eventually, my eyes locked onto a small, decorative potted orange tree on the balcony. I stared at the oranges for half an hour until Carter walked past the balcony, saw me, and let out a shriek. “!!! Holy shit, it’s a ghost!” I froze and looked back at him. That’s when he realized it was me. “Dude, Sadie, what are you doing squatting on the balcony? Oh… the oranges… if you want to eat them, just pick them!” Carter was so scared he actually shed a tear. I cried too, hugging my oranges, deeply moved. These oranges were delicious! So sweet. The next day, Carter took me out to buy groceries and snacks, warning me repeatedly, “Sadie, you are forbidden from squatting on the dark balcony in the middle of the night with your hair down looking like a creepy ghost girl.” I nodded vigorously, looking at him with immense gratitude. He paused when he met my eyes, and after a long moment, let out a laugh. “Come on. Let’s go home.” When we got back, I cooked. After cooking, I did my homework. After finishing my homework, I tutored Carter. He didn’t really care, casually flipping through his notebook, only half-listening. Later, he suddenly remembered something, holding my student ID. “Sadie, you’re in high school, why are you only 14?” I thought about it before explaining seriously. “I skipped grades in elementary school. I didn’t go to preschool, just started first grade at six, and then skipped straight to third grade. That’s why I’m two years younger than everyone else.” “Tsk, what was the rush?” “My parents always said I’d have to start working full-time when I turned 16. When I was little, I figured if I could test into college before turning 16, I wouldn’t have to go work in a factory. But high school requires tuition fees, so my parents still wanted me to drop out. They said labor laws are looser out of state, and if I went there, I could start earning money at 14.” “…” Carter was silent for a long time. Eventually, he was so mad he laughed. “Fourteen… your parents are real pieces of work.” I had originally planned to find a part-time job during Fall Break, but since I was under 16, no one would hire me. I finally found a gig taping up promotional flyers on telephone poles for 80 bucks a day. Carter had nothing better to do, so he found a gig too: getting paid to tear down illegally taped promotional flyers. I worked for half a day, got caught by Carter, and received a lengthy lecture from him. At the end of the shift, I made 80 dollars, and Carter made 120. I looked at my 80, then at his 120. He smirked and shoved the 120 into his pocket. I gripped my 80 bucks, hesitating for a moment before handing it to him. “Carter, let me buy you dinner.” He was stunned. After a long pause, he took the cash. We went to a greasy spoon diner near his neighborhood. Two bowls of chili, an order of fries, and some sliders—it cost 40 dollars. I don’t remember the rest, but I remember leaving completely stuffed that day. 4 Between the holiday and the weekend, I worked six days total. Minus the dinner, I had 440 dollars. The first day back to school was the happiest day of my life because my financial aid check finally cleared. I scraped together two thousand dollars, counting the cash over and over again. Then I went to borrow Carter’s phone. He asked what I needed it for. “I borrowed money from the older girl next door to pay for my high school fees. I need to pay her back.” He looked confused. “How much do you owe?” “Fifteen hundred.” After paying her back, I had five hundred left. That was enough to survive for a month, and I could find odd jobs on the weekends. I could finally breathe. I even bought myself a new backpack. My old one was practically shredded and tied together with knots. The new one was 20 bucks online—big and roomy. Carter sighed when he saw me that day. As my desk-mate, he continued to bring me food. He claimed his mom always cooked too much, so bringing a little extra was no big deal. Carter was a good person, and his mom was a wonderful person too. Because after that break, every portion of food Carter brought me had a perfectly fried egg on top. The kind sprinkled with freshly chopped scallions. One weekend, Carter asked, “Are you going home this week?” I shook my head. “My mom won’t let me.” “Perfect. Pack your stuff this afternoon, you’re coming to my place.” “…” Our prep school had a brutal schedule: classes from 7 AM to 8 PM, six days a week. Weekends didn’t officially start until Saturday evening. At 5 PM, I packed my bag and left with him. When I got there, I found out his older cousin was getting married, and they were prepping the house the night before the wedding. I helped Carter out all evening, ate the huge family-style dinner, and slept in the same room as his younger cousin. I woke up in the middle of the night and found Carter sitting in the living room playing video games. I walked over. He saw me, turned off his phone, and asked, “What’s up?” “Why aren’t you sleeping?” “Can’t sleep…” “Why?” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “My mom’s been trying to send me to a boarding school overseas. She says with my grades, I won’t amount to anything staying here.” He lowered his head and stared at his phone. I knew better than to press him, but when I went back to my room, I stared at the ceiling and couldn’t help but think: If Carter leaves, who will I find to eat with when I’m starving? The next morning started early with the wedding prep. I rode in the same car as his younger cousin. It was a beautiful, elegant wedding. The bride looked stunning in her white gown. I stared in awe until the bride’s mother handed me a tip envelope with a warm smile. In that moment, I understood why Carter wanted me to come. The girls helping the bridal party got a 200-dollar tip and plenty of amazing food. Carter was one of the groomsmen—tall, long-legged, sharp in a tailored suit, every hair perfectly in place. I chewed on some candy, watching him standing at the altar. Later, he stepped down and waved at me. I ran over, and he shoved a handful of expensive chocolates into my hands. “Come on, grab your backpack, I’ll take you to the back to grab some more snacks…” He trailed off, looking at me and grinning. “Who did your hair and makeup? That little puffy dress, the double buns… you look like a cosplay of Princess Peach.” “Who is Princess Peach?” “A video game character. Gotta admit, it’s a good look.” I didn’t understand, so I just opened a chocolate and chewed. Chew, chew, chew. 5 Carter had phases where he studied hard, but he always gave up eventually. He was just too lazy. I kept copying his notes for him. I took my own notes during class, and copied them for him during breaks. Whenever I had a spare moment, I’d gnaw on a plain bagel and read my textbooks. I had several bagels stuffed in my desk. I’d eat whenever I got hungry. In high school, I wasn’t the only one starving; teenagers are always hungry. We had breakfast at 7 AM, and lunch wasn’t until noon. Growing kids get hungry around 10 AM. The cafeteria didn’t make enough bagels. Sometimes when I pulled one out, Carter would ask for a piece. Then the guy in front of me wanted a piece. Then the girl behind me. Eventually, it became a routine. I’d tear off a piece, pass the rest forward, and it would circle the classroom. By the time it got back to me, it had magically transformed into a few bags of chips or half a pack of cookies. High school was a blur of endless assignments, test prep, and workbooks that never seemed to end. Time flew. Shortly after New Year’s, my first semester of freshman year ended. Even though Christmas break was approaching, I still couldn’t go home. I didn’t want to fight with my mom, but I still desperately wanted an education. I was young but stubborn; I genuinely believed that going to school meant my life wouldn’t be limited to factory work. I didn’t go home for the holidays. Instead, I found a warehouse packing job that desperately needed seasonal workers. Twelve-hour shifts, a hundred bucks a day. I worked for 20 days and made two grand. On Christmas Eve, the warehouse closed. Carter came to pick me up on his electric scooter. The little scooter wound its way across half the city. The river on the outskirts was frozen solid. People were ice skating and setting off fireworks. The daytime fireworks weren’t as bright, but they were still beautiful. We hung out for hours until the sky grew dark and all the shops closed. Carter took me to his family’s main estate for Christmas Eve. His extended family was massive—seventy or eighty people all celebrating together. The holiday dinner spanned six massive tables. I blended into the crowd; no one bothered me, and no one really noticed me. Later, when it was time for gifts, all the kids gathered around. Carter pulled me along to join them. The adults handed out Christmas cards stuffed with cash, and they gave me one too. In the dim lighting of the courtyard, someone hesitated when looking at me but handed over an envelope anyway. Later, I overheard someone asking, “I don’t recognize that girl. Whose kid is she?” “Oh! Carter brought her. Probably a cousin from his mom’s side!” I was no one’s cousin. My face flushed bright red. I clutched the stack of cash, ran over to Carter, and tried to shove it into his hands. He had been trying to figure out how to light a roman candle and jumped when I grabbed him. “Sadie, why are you giving me money?” “This is your family’s Christmas money. I can’t take it.” Carter shoved the cash right back into my coat pocket. “If they gave it to you, keep it. Now back up, I’m lighting this thing.” First came the loud pops of firecrackers, followed by a brilliant spray of colorful fireworks. All the kids gathered around to watch. Carter grabbed the collar of my jacket and pulled me back a step. “Sadie, make a wish. It’s the start of a new year.” “I want to be ranked number one in the school.” “Idiot, you can’t say the wish out loud.” “Oh, really? Let me make a new one.” For the new year, I want… I want to be as happy as I was last year… and I want Carter to stay.

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My dad got me a stepmom. The very first day she moved in, she took me straight to the hospital. “Doctor, how do we treat a child’s bad stomach?” But I could hear her inner voice talking to a “System.” [Host, the female lead having cute little baby burps is part of her ‘delicate wifey’ setting. Isn’t it adorable?!] [I only know it’s a medical condition. It needs to be treated.] I didn’t understand what a “delicate wifey” meant. Until later. I met the destined male lead. He tossed a black card at me, arrogant and domineering. “Be my woman.” I scoffed. “Count the zeros on that card before you talk so big.” 1 “Minnie, from now on, she is your new mom. She’ll be taking care of you.” Dad squatted in front of me, pointing to the woman behind him. She was gentle and beautiful, just like a fairy from the TV shows. She smiled and waved at me. “Hi there, Minnie.” [System, is she the little female lead?] [Yes, Host. The female leads in ‘delicate wifey’ novels are always starved for affection. Please raise this delicate flower with lots of love until she gets together with the male lead.] I didn’t know why I could hear these strange voices. I timidly greeted my stepmom, uncontrollably letting out a burp. Dad affectionately tapped my nose. “Minnie’s got the little baby burps again. So cute.” I crossed my hands shyly. But I saw a complicated look cross my stepmom’s face. [This smell… it’s sour and gross. How on earth did her dad manage to compliment that?] I secretly took a sniff. It seemed she was right. It did smell a bit awful. 2 Dad had to go on a business trip. He left my stepmom a black credit card and left the house. My stepmom immediately took me to the best children’s hospital in the city. “Doctor, my daughter is six. Her burps smell foul, which probably means a bad digestive system. What’s the treatment plan?” System: [The female lead having baby burps is her delicate wifey setting! Combined with her fragile, petite body that’s easily dominated, it’s so cute!] My stepmom was furious: [Cute my ass!] [It’s a sickness, and it needs to be cured!] Dazed, I ended up with a massive pile of nasty prescription syrups. Before I could even get used to the daily routine of drinking bitter medicine, my stepmom enrolled me in Taekwondo. On the very first day, the coach trained me so hard I couldn’t even lift my legs, and I went home with several bruises. That night at home. I looked at my stepmom with grievances in my eyes, habitually keeping my mouth shut to let the other person guess what was wrong. She glanced at me sideways. “If you have something to say, say it. Don’t act like a mute.” I gathered my courage. “Mom, Taekwondo is so tiring and hard. Can I stop going?” “No, you may not.” “…” I shouldn’t have said anything at all. I ran into my bedroom angrily and called my dad to complain that my stepmom was bullying me. As a result, she walked in, snatched my kids’ phone right out of my hand, and reverted to the gentle woman I first met. “Don’t worry, honey. Minnie is having a wonderful time with me.” “However, today someone made fun of her name. They said her parents didn’t love her, which is why they gave her such a small, insignificant name.” “I plan to change her name. Let’s call her Aurora.” I heard that mechanical voice roaring in her head. [Host, why are you changing the female lead’s name?! Minnie sounds so sweet and obedient!] Stepmom: [Bullshit!] [Aurora represents the dawn, a brilliant, fierce beginning where she rises above everything. That is a proper name for a girl!] I didn’t understand the full meaning of that sentence. I only knew my biological mother passed away giving birth to me. My dad was always busy with work and had no time for me, so he just hired nannies. “Minnie” was just a random nickname he settled on. I silently mouthed “Aurora” in my head, covering my mouth as I giggled secretly. My new name sounded so beautiful! However, my stepmom hung up the phone and confiscated it. She curled her red lips at me, giving a sinister smile. “Aurora, from now on, without my permission, you are not allowed to contact your dad privately. Otherwise, I eat little kids.” I hid under the covers in terror. The TV shows didn’t lie to me. Stepmoms really were terrifying. 3 My stepmom fired most of the nannies in the house, leaving only one for cleaning and one for cooking. I completely lost my lifestyle of being spoon-fed and dressed by others. I was forced to learn how to dress myself and brush my own teeth. Every day, I bitterly drank my medicinal syrups and practiced Taekwondo… Gradually, I stopped having those stinky burps. My body grew strong enough that I could carry my own chairs. I also welcomed my first day of elementary school. My stepmom specifically bought me a new dress and dropped me off at school. “If you can study, study. If you can’t, just eat more at lunch. Mom will come pick you up tonight~” I nodded obediently and walked into the classroom with the other kids. Suddenly, a little boy bumped into me. Cola spilled all over my outfit. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it.” He was apologizing, but he had a mischievous grin on his face. I felt incredibly wronged. “It’s okay…” After wiping the cola off my new dress, I sat gloomily in my chair. The boy sat right behind me, occasionally kicking my chair with his foot. The constant thump-thump was incredibly annoying. Unable to take it anymore, I turned around to stop him, only to find my ponytail had gotten stuck in a wad of chewing gum. He made a cocky face at me. “The little princess got her hair dirty.” Furious, I went to the teacher to complain. The teacher didn’t care. “Mason Wright is just joking around with you. Don’t make a big deal out of nothing.” “Besides, why would he prank you and not anyone else? Did you do something to upset him?” I was left speechless by her logic. The teacher shooed me back to my seat. Mason kept kicking my chair. Not knowing who to talk to, I held back my tears and suffered until school ended. Afraid my stepmom would see my ruined dress and hair and scold me, I hugged my backpack against my chest to hide the stain. I clumsily twisted my hair up into a bun. As soon as I got in the car, I was met with my stepmom’s piercing stare. I felt incredibly uncomfortable under her gaze. Yet, she asked gently. “Tell Mom, how did your clothes and hair get like this?” I couldn’t help but speak up: “It was Mason Wright…” The System screamed: [It’s the third male lead! The female lead’s childhood-sweetheart-turned-rival! I totally ship them!] My stepmom was unexpectedly quiet. She took me home, changed my dirty dress first, and then meticulously cleaned the gum out of my hair. She looked at me and said, word by word: “Tomorrow at school, if he bullies you again, use the Taekwondo you learned to hit him back.” I twisted my fingers hesitantly. “But fighting is wrong.” “Then do you want your new dresses to keep getting ruined? Do you want gum in your hair again? Do you want your chair kicked all day long?” No, I didn’t want that at all. 4 Early the next morning, my stepmom dropped me off at school. As soon as I sat down in class, Mason started kicking my chair again, saying in a sleazy tone: “The little princess got a new dress.” I turned around and looked at him seriously, just like my stepmom had taught me. “My name is Aurora, not little princess.” “Please stop kicking my chair, or I won’t hold back.” He exaggeratedly grabbed his stomach, laughing out loud. “Hey everyone, look! The little princess is mad! She’s gonna hit me with her tiny little fists!” I stood straight up, grabbed him by the collar, and flipped him over my shoulder, slamming him to the ground. I ruthlessly pummeled that mouth that never knew when to shut up. I don’t know how much time passed before the teacher’s shrill scream echoed through the room. “Aurora! What do you think you are doing?!!!” 5 I was taken to the principal’s office, and they called our parents. Mason sat in a chair, bawling his eyes out. I stood in the corner, obediently looking down. Before long. My stepmom and Mason’s mom arrived at the same time. First, I heard the System’s absolute breakdown. [How did my fragile, delicate female lead knock out the third male lead’s teeth?!] [Host, look at what you’ve done! The delicate little vine has turned into a man-eating Venus flytrap!] [They’re both plants. What’s the difference?] After shutting down the System, my stepmom walked over and rubbed my head. “Good job.” I instantly lifted my chin with pride. The teacher said, displeased: “Aurora’s mom, you can’t teach your child like this. It will ruin her life.” “It’s normal for kids to roughhouse, but Aurora is too sensitive. Mason played a few jokes on her, and she beat him black and blue.” Mason nodded pitifully: “I just thought she was cute and wanted to play with her! How was I supposed to know she was so violent?” Mason’s mom angrily pointed a finger at us. “If your daughter can’t handle other kids playing with her, then don’t send her to school.” “My precious boy was beaten like this by your daughter. You must apologize and pay for his medical bills!” My stepmom sneered. “Why is your son allowed to bully my daughter, but my daughter isn’t allowed to fight back?” “There are security cameras in the classrooms. How about we call the police and let the officers decide who is at fault?” After saying that, she looked at the teacher. “My daughter told you she was being bullied yesterday, and as a teacher, not only did you refuse to solve the problem, you interrogated my daughter and showed blatant favoritism toward Mason.” “I require your school to give me a reasonable explanation.” 5 My stepmom didn’t even give Mason’s mom or the teacher a chance to speak. She called the police on the spot and contacted our family lawyer. The security footage proved Mason had been bullying me first. Citing emotional trauma, my stepmom demanded a massive, multi-zero settlement from Mason’s mom. After losing a fortune, Mason’s mom was so furious she beat Mason herself and transferred him to another school. And the teacher, deemed unfit for the profession, was fired. Perhaps afraid of becoming the next Mason, the other kids stopped playing with me. But my stepmom bought a bunch of gifts for them, and soon, I had more friends than I could count. I looked at my stepmom with absolute admiration. Only to hear her on the phone with my dad. “Honey, Aurora needs to pay her tuition for next semester. Please transfer me a million dollars.” My tuition was nowhere near that expensive. She was lying. A term popped into my head: “Gold digger.” But my stepmom never wore heavy gold or silver jewelry. The designer bags my dad brought her from his business trips were just left in the closet to gather dust. I didn’t understand what she needed all that money for. Regardless, my after-school extracurriculars multiplied. Equestrian, swimming, painting, piano… My stepmom claimed it was for my “comprehensive development.” Mason Wright completely vanished from my life. My days were incredibly fulfilling. My originally porcelain-white skin tanned into a healthy, athletic bronze. In a flash, I was in high school. I was in the AP class, where the academic competition was fierce. To ensure our class maintained a high average score on the next exam, our homeroom teacher paired us up. Good students mentoring the struggling ones. It was a fair random draw. I drew Ryder Brooks. He was dead last in the entire grade, the resident school delinquent who only knew how to get into fights. I immediately got a headache. Reluctantly, I walked over to his desk. He was still sleeping with his head on the desk. “Ryder Brooks, you got every single question wrong on this test. Get up. I’m going over the exam with you.” Ryder lazily lifted his head, revealing a strikingly handsome face. He looked me up and down, flashing a wicked grin. “Class Prez, you care about me this much? Do you have a crush on me?”

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01 It was pouring rain tonight. I stood on the curb, holding my soundly sleeping son in my arms, waiting for the Uber I had booked. Soon, a car pulled up right in front of me. I didn’t know why, but the car looked vaguely familiar. But… it was black, and the license plate ended in 88. This had to be it! I dashed through the heavy rain, opening the door and sliding into the backseat in one fluid motion. Except… the moment I got inside, something felt off. The interior was absurdly luxurious. You absolutely couldn’t get a car like this for anything less than a couple hundred grand! Could it be… some bored rich guy driving an Uber just to experience the struggles of the working class? As the thought crossed my mind, I said, “Alright, sir, we’re good to go.” The car didn’t move. Confused, I asked, “Sir? Why aren’t we moving?” That’s when a cold, clear voice drifted from the driver’s seat. “Long time no see, Harper.” That deep, magnetic voice. Who else could it be but my ex-boyfriend from five years ago—the biological father of the child currently sleeping in my arms? What was he doing here?! I must have opened the car door in a parallel universe. But my survival instincts quickly kicked in, and I figured out the crux of the problem. “I—I got in the wrong car. I’ll get out right now.” It wasn’t that I was a genius; it was just plain logic. Unless the earth exploded, there was zero chance Carter Sterling would ever be poor enough to drive an Uber! Just as I reached for the handle to escape this pirate ship—I mean, car—I heard a sharp click. The doors locked. My heart hammered in my chest, a wave of intense anxiety washing over me. “Where are you going? I’ll drop you off.” His tone was completely flat, and he didn’t even glance in the rearview mirror. But my gut screamed that this was a disaster. I clutched my son tighter, feeling incredibly guilty. I absolutely could not let him see my son’s face. After all, the two of them looked like they were printed from the exact same mold! “No need, really. I just got the wrong car. My husband drives this exact same model.” I was dead set on saving face, especially in front of my ex. “Do you usually call your husband ‘sir’?” “Y-yes! It’s a pet name. Got a problem with that?” “Hmm. It’s just that there are only two of these cars in the entire city. One is mine, and the other belongs to the CEO of Apex Real Estate. And as far as I know, he’s over fifty, balding, and has a massive beer belly.” Me: “……” “Your tastes have gotten a bit extreme, haven’t they?” I gritted my teeth. “I don’t know anything about cars. They all look the same to me. I guess I remembered wrong.” “Harper, didn’t I tell you? Whenever you lie and feel incredibly nervous, you touch your nose, and then the back of your neck.” I immediately dropped the hand I was currently using to rub the back of my neck. How was it that five years had passed, and Carter still had me completely figured out? 02 Before I could figure out a way to sneak out, my phone rang. It was my actual Uber driver. “Hello? Hey, miss, I’m so sorry, but my car broke down! Could you go ahead and cancel the ride on your end?” His booming voice echoed out of my phone’s earpiece, giving the entire luxury car a surround-sound experience. And me? I was so embarrassed I wanted to dig a hole through the floorboards. To make it worse, Carter let out a deliberate, soft chuckle. “Guess your husband isn’t coming?” I took a deep breath. “…Maplewood Heights, please. Thank you.” Even though we broke up five years ago, I still trusted his character. I don’t know if it was because the car was too quiet, or if he was just bored. He finally asked the question I had been dreading. “How old is your son?” “…Three.” I deliberately shaved a year off Leo’s actual age. “He doesn’t look three.” “He’s special. He’s been bigger than other kids since the day he was born.” I glanced down at my sleeping son, sweating bullets. The topic ended there, and a terrifying silence fell over the car once again. 03 The car pulled to a smooth stop at the entrance of my apartment complex. The heart that had been in my throat the entire ride finally settled. “I’m here. Thanks for the ride.” Just as I was about to make a run for it, he handed me a business card. I stared at his hand. Pale, long-fingered, strong. Exactly as I remembered. Right as my thoughts were starting to wander… “If you ever need any help in the future, you can contact me.” “Since when did you become so helpful?” I asked sarcastically. Carter? Helpful? Incredibly kind? Loves helping others? That was absolutely the funniest joke I had heard all year. I let out a cold laugh. “No thanks!” I snapped out of my brief wave of nostalgia. I wanted nothing more than to throw the business card right in his face! He raised an eyebrow. “What, Harper? You dumped me, but you still aren’t over me?” He was using reverse psychology! It was the tactic I hated most in the world. Because it worked on me every single time! My hand moved faster than my brain. I snatched the card, clutching it tight, and said my goodbyes to Carter. “Carter Sterling, I forgot about you a long, long time ago!” The card in my palm was crumpled into a ball and tossed into its ultimate resting place—the nearest trash can. As for what was written on it, I didn’t even look. Help from an ex? I didn’t care. The greatest help that jerk could ever give me was to stay far away from me and my child for the rest of his life! 04 Despite my best efforts to prevent it, my son caught a fever. It happened right in the middle of flu season, and the pediatric ward was absolutely packed. Holding my lethargic son, I waited from the crack of dawn until high noon. And of course, right at that moment, my editor’s calls started blowing up my phone. Yes, I’m a journalist. As a reporter, missing a trending story is basically chronic unemployment. And if I lost my job, my son and I would have to survive on air. With no other choice, I carried my son and went to find a friend who worked in orthopedics. “Liam, I’m so sorry to bother you with the baby again.” “Don’t be so polite with me. I’m a doctor. Even if a regular patient needed help, I’d step in.” He spoke with gentle consideration. I thanked him endlessly and carefully handed my son, who was still hooked up to an IV drip, over to Liam to look after. A few hours later, my interview wrapped up, and I rushed back, burning with anxiety. Thank God, my son’s fever had broken. After a quick goodbye to Liam, I gathered my son and prepared to leave the hospital. But just as I stepped out of Liam’s office with the baby in my arms… Someone walked right toward us. Very familiar. It was Carter, whom I had just seen yesterday. I wanted to pretend I didn’t know him, but he spoke first. “Your son has a fever?” My heart skipped a beat, and I immediately lowered my head. Thankfully, the way I was holding my son meant only his forehead—covered by a cooling patch—was visible. I knew Carter was just asking out of politeness, but after a second of thought, I couldn’t resist dropping a reminder. “Yes, my son has a fever.” I put a heavy emphasis on the word my. He just gave a simple “Hmm.” Terrified he might say something else, I quickly changed the subject. “You got hurt?” Hahaha, what kind soul did society a favor and put him in the orthopedics ward? I really wanted to send that person a bouquet of flowers. Before I could laugh out loud, I heard him say, “Noah got into a little fender bender.” Noah Brooks. I knew him too. He was an old college classmate, and Carter’s best friend. He was also the primary witness to the entire crash-and-burn of my relationship with Carter. I didn’t care much for Noah, mostly because after the breakup, he had made several sarcastic, passive-aggressive remarks to me. Just last night, he somehow got my number and called to yell at me. —”Carter told me you have a son now? Heh, Harper, you sure moved on right away, didn’t you?” —”Harper, stay the hell away from Carter. You’ve already caused him enough damage.” I had literally laughed out loud at that. Carter was the one who moved to my city, and I was supposed to stay away from him? Besides, during everything that happened back then, I was the one who got hurt. Why was everyone acting like Carter was the victim? I fired right back at him: “All I can say is, Carter has done a phenomenal job playing the heartbroken martyr.” And then I hung up. I didn’t expect to run into both of them today. What awful luck. Seeing Noah limping his way over, I turned around, fully intending to leave. “I’ll give you a ride back,” Carter suddenly offered. “He’s done with his appointment. We’re going the same way.” “No thanks. I can’t afford to play along with your ‘deeply devoted ex’ persona,” I replied without hesitation, looking back. I watched Carter frown, but before he could speak, a voice rang out from behind me. “Harper, let’s go home!” It was Liam. 05 Carter’s face darkened instantly. Liam walked straight toward me, his eyes filled with total warmth. “Harper, I swapped shifts with a coworker. I’ll drive you and Leo back.” “You don’t have to do that! Please, get back to your patients. Your work is important.” I felt incredibly guilty. I already bothered Liam enough as it was. I was racking up an impossible debt of favors. Liam smiled shyly. “My work isn’t nearly as important as you and the baby.” Hearing those words coming out of Liam’s mouth… I laughed awkwardly, not knowing how to respond. Just then, Carter’s voice cut through, freezing cold. “Are you Harper’s husband?” I don’t know why, but amidst the panic, I actually felt a tiny bit touched. I never thought I’d live to see the day Carter Sterling asked a question so politely. Because the old Carter would have definitely said: “What kind of stray dog are you? Get the hell out of my face!” It seemed five years really could change a playboy. “Hello, I’m Dr. Liam Hayes. Judging by your age, you must be Harper’s old classmates?” I was surprised. Liam didn’t deny it, but he didn’t confirm it either. I wanted to clarify, but looking at Carter and Noah—who had just hobbled over—I suddenly changed my mind. Why not… just let them keep misunderstanding? Since I didn’t say anything, Carter and Noah just stood there, staring dead at Liam. None of the four of us spoke… The tension was agonizingly awkward. I tugged on Liam’s sleeve, and he smoothly stepped in to rescue me. “Well, gentlemen, we’ll be going now.” Then he actively reached over and took Leo from my arms, looking every bit the perfect man, the perfect husband, and the perfect father. Carter: “Alright. Drive safe.” It was the most normal, polite farewell possible, yet it sent a chilling shiver straight down my spine. He was being way too polite. I comforted myself by thinking that as I got older, I was just overthinking things. But that very night, I woke up in a cold sweat from a nightmare. In the dream, Carter had his hands wrapped around my throat, demanding to know why I had done this to him. Thinking back to Carter’s polite, boundaried behavior at the hospital, I felt ridiculous. Everything was deep in the past, and everyone had moved on with their lives. I was the only idiot still obsessing over what happened back then. 06 My son needed IV drips for three consecutive days for his fever. And for three consecutive days, I bumped into Carter and Noah at the hospital. I couldn’t help but wonder—since when did a minor fracture require daily check-ups? Shouldn’t he just be resting in bed for a couple of months? The first day was an accident. The second day was a coincidence. By the third day, it was just bizarre. I asked sympathetically, “Noah, is your leg going to need to be amputated or something?” Noah muttered under his breath, “I’m just a massive third wheel.” “What was that?” “Nothing. It’s just a sprain. Carter is just worried about me, so he brings me in for check-ups every day.” My mouth twitched. What was wrong with these two? Were they having some sort of intense bromance? Just then, Liam appeared, walking past a group of nurses with a coffee in hand. The nurses all turned to look at him, then covered their mouths, giggling. They whispered admiringly, “Dr. Hayes really is the hospital’s most eligible bachelor. Look at those proportions! Look at that face! He’s too perfect.” My heart dropped. If the nurses were calling him a bachelor… didn’t that completely ruin the illusion I had been trying to maintain all week? But to my utter shock… Carter acted like he didn’t hear a single word. He just shot Noah a subtle glance. And then, right before my eyes, Noah began dramatically wailing. “Ohhh, Doctor! My leg is in agonizing pain!” I couldn’t stop my mouth from twitching. That acting deserved a Golden Raspberry Award for Worst Actor of the Decade. He put on the performance of a lifetime in the morning, and I lost my job in the afternoon. Well, not exactly. But Liam clearly thought Noah’s acting was absurdly fake and hesitated to intervene. But as a doctor, he couldn’t exactly ignore a patient in “pain.” Once Noah aggressively dragged Liam away, the atmosphere instantly dropped below freezing. “Your son is cute. Doesn’t look much like you, though.” Me: “…If you don’t have anything nice to say, you are allowed to shut up.” No kidding he doesn’t look like me! He looks like you! But I never expected this man to be partially blind. He noticed the kid didn’t look like me, but somehow failed to realize the kid looked exactly like him. Even though it was the truth, I still hated hearing it. Before I could lose my temper… Carter casually added, “I have freedom of speech.” Then he crouched down to greet my son. “Hey there, buddy. I’m your mom’s friend.” “I’m Leo! Hi, Uncle.” This was the first time Carter had interacted with a fully awake, energized Leo. Seeing the two of them side-by-side, their eyes and brows were strikingly identical. The longer I looked, the more panicked I felt. And… maybe it was the blood connection, but the two of them hit it off instantly, chatting away like old pals. I was paralyzed. Just as I was about to tactfully interrupt and stop the conversation… My phone started ringing off the hook. It was my editor again. It was that damn job again. So annoying! But when it came down to choosing between getting my pay docked or answering the phone, I knew what I had to do. “Leo, Mommy has to take a call. Let me carry you to the orthopedic office to wait for a bit, okay?” Before Leo could answer, Carter stepped in. “I’ll watch him for you.” Leave these two alone in the same room? No. Absolutely not. “No—” I started to refuse. “Your phone is about to go to voicemail,” Carter pointed out helpfully. Seeing the words “Chief Editor” flashing on the screen, I hesitated for a split second. “Just two minutes. Thank you.” Two minutes. What kind of disaster could happen in two minutes? 07 Never leave things to chance!!! Help me… When I finished the call and rushed back to the IV room, I overheard a conversation that nearly gave me a heart attack. “Dr. Hayes is just Mommy’s friend, not my daddy! You misunderstood, Uncle~” What a fantastic son I had. Using his sweet, innocent little voice to completely sell me out. Carter paused, then asked, “Then who is your daddy?” I wanted to sprint over and stop it, but my son’s mouth was too fast. He said, “Mommy said my dad is a super bad guy, so I’ve never met him.” I didn’t know why, but I actually wanted to laugh. Kid, did it ever cross your mind that the man standing right in front of you… is your biological father? Biting back a laugh, I quickly interrupted them before Carter could ask his next question. And then I saw the look Carter was giving me… It went from total confusion, to intense urgency, and finally, to a look of profound pity—clearly suspecting I had been knocked up and abandoned by an irresponsible deadbeat. I couldn’t be bothered to correct him. I just took my son home that night and gave him a very strict lecture about stranger danger. The next day, Carter probed again. My son looked deeply conflicted and said, “Mommy said I’m not allowed to talk too much to Uncle Carter.” I could physically feel Carter choking on the rejection. I couldn’t help it. My wonderful son was perfect in every way, except he was a little too honest. “Harper, you really do overthink things.” What was that supposed to mean? Was he calling me a narcissist? I doubled down. “You misunderstood. I just want my son to have a strong sense of stranger danger.” Carter looked at me meaningfully and replied, “I hope that’s all it is.” I coughed guiltily. “Of course that’s all it is.” “So, who is this irresponsible deadbeat who hurt you?” “No comment.” Carter’s brow furrowed, his face turning cold. “Are you still not over him?” “What does it matter if I tell you? Are you going to go get revenge on him for me?” Taking revenge on himself? That would be a fresh twist. Though, as the CEO of a publicly traded corporate empire, he certainly had the money, power, and capability to do it. “What makes you think I wouldn’t?” I shot back instantly: “I’m not worth Mr. Sterling’s trouble.” I was terrified of what else he might say, and even more terrified that if this kept going, I’d expose the truth. I grabbed my kid and practically ran, swearing to myself I would never step foot in this hospital again. But to my utter shock, even after going to such extreme lengths to hide… I still bumped into him again. 08 That evening, my balding Chief Editor dragged me out to a networking dinner. I knew the rules of the corporate dinner table. Whether you knew the people or not, you just drank. But this time, we hit a brick wall. The client had the alcohol tolerance of a blue whale. An hour in, I finally raised my white flag. “I can’t do it, Mr. Henderson. I seriously can’t drink another drop.” “Harper, come on, that won’t do! We haven’t even made it through the appetizers yet!” I had clearly expressed my refusal. But a glass filled to the brim with red wine was still forcefully shoved into my hand. I had been in this exact situation countless times, and the only way out was usually to just swallow it down. But this time, someone intervened. “She said she’s done drinking. Are you deaf?” I didn’t know where Carter materialized from, but he snatched the wine glass out of my hand and slammed it heavily onto the table. His face was so dark and menacing it sent a chill through the room. My head was spinning from the alcohol, but I wasn’t so drunk I couldn’t recognize the man standing in front of me. I stared blankly at him. God, that face really was gorgeous. Setting aside the fact that he cheated on me… Carter truly fulfilled every single fantasy I had about a man with a great voice, great hands, and an incredible face. My editor snapped out of his shock and quickly stood up to smooth things over. “Mr… Mr. Sterling! You’re here! Please, take a seat. You misunderstood, nobody is forcing Harper to drink! We’re just warming up the room!” Carter didn’t give him an ounce of grace. “Warming up the room by harassing a woman?” Seeing my editor’s pathetic, fawning behavior, it suddenly clicked. The “corporate titan” my editor said might make an appearance tonight… Was Carter? My editor had even warned me to be on my best behavior tonight so we could secure an exclusive interview with him tomorrow. I don’t know why, but I instantly relaxed. If the VIP was him, then there was absolutely no need for me to suffer through this miserable networking dinner. Carter was a jerk, but I knew him well enough to know he wasn’t despicable enough to sabotage my career over a personal grudge. “I’m not feeling well. I’m going to head out,” I forced myself to say. Perhaps sensing that my relationship with Carter was anything but ordinary, no one dared to stop me. I stood up unsteadily, my legs like jelly, looking quite pathetic as I swayed. With a sweep of his long arm, Carter pulled me firmly into his chest, holding me in a deeply intimate embrace.

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SOS! This is So Creepy! My Cat Keeps Bringing Home Men’s Underwear!Various colors, various fabrics, various styles… but they are all the exact same size. Even the scent of the laundry detergent is identical! I strongly suspect they all belong to the same guy. But what am I supposed to do with them? Please help! 1 My cat is a wanted fugitive. His mugshot is plastered right on our apartment complex’s community bulletin board. I was walking back from the corner store this afternoon when I accidentally caught a glimpse of this “Wanted Poster.” In the photo, my cat, Bruce, was being pinned to the floor by a very long, attractive masculine hand, forced to take a head-on mugshot. Above it was a line of small text: “Excuse me, which neighbor does this little kitty belong to? He keeps breaking into my apartment to steal things. I’d appreciate it if you could keep an eye on him and stop him from running around. Much obliged~” Wait, is there writing bleeding through from the back of the paper? I flipped it over. Sure enough, there was a warning with a completely different tone: “If this idiot cat comes back to steal my boxers again, I’m going to chop off his balls! Then I’ll throw him into a pack of feral alley cats! I’ll show him what living hell looks like!” So terrifying! So vicious! I shivered, and while no one was looking, I quickly ripped the wanted poster down, shoved it into my jacket, and sprinted home. 2 When I walked through the door, Bruce was lying on the couch grooming himself. Hearing me come in, he spared me a single glance before burying his face back into his fur. Looks like he just got back too. I picked up his latest loot for the day, spreading the tiny piece of fabric between my hands to inspect the front and back. This was the seventh pair. Today’s pair was as obnoxious as ever, covered in a banana print. The bright, neon yellow was incredibly blinding. Just thinking about that wanted poster made my face flush red. It’s not that I don’t try to keep an eye on him. My cat just isn’t something an ordinary person can handle. Actually, ever since he brought back the first pair of underwear half a month ago, I sealed all the doors and windows to stop him from going out. But Bruce used to be a stray. I’ve always let him roam a bit, and he’s insanely smart and resourceful. So I literally can’t keep him contained. The second I let my guard down, he slips out. But this time, I finally put my foot down. I locked him inside his heavy-duty pet crate. 3 I was extra careful this time, and Bruce never got the chance to go out and commit his crimes again. The next day, my 6:30 PM alarm went off right on time. I practically did a backflip out of bed, happily changing my clothes and blow-drying my hair. Right before leaving, I made sure to check on Bruce. He was lying listlessly in his crate, his tail giving an occasional, lazy flick. His little eyes even shot me a sneaky glare. I looked at the heavy-duty latch securely bolted on the cage, nodded in satisfaction, and shut the front door behind me. 4 At 6:30 PM on a weekday, people were getting off work or out of school. The early summer sun was softening, and the strip of shops outside the apartment complex was much livelier than during the day. With the familiar electronic “Ding-dong—Welcome!” chime, I stepped into the corner store right on schedule. The cashier girl and I were already on familiar terms. She smiled at me. “What’s on the menu today?” I always felt like she could see right through my little secret. I just gave her a sheepish smile and quickly made my way toward the microwavable meals section in the back. I dawdled, eventually picking out a three-cheese chicken mac and cheese. When I came out to the register, I immediately spotted that tall figure in the dark gray hoodie. My heart leaped into my throat and just stayed there. He hadn’t noticed me yet. The guy with him spotted me first, rested a hand on his shoulder, and nodded in my direction. And then, he turned his head and looked right at me. Oh, God, save me… How could a guy have such gorgeous eyes? The shape was perfect, they were naturally alluring, and his eyelashes were so thick and long! I ducked my head slightly, internally panicking. This was the seventh time I’d run into him. But my heart still felt so, so sweet! But the next second, I saw what he was putting on the counter, and I froze. Why is he buying underwear again? 5 He glanced at me, casually looked away, and pulled up Apple Pay on his phone. Suddenly, he let out a soft “Ah,” and said to the cashier, “Sorry, my phone’s not getting any service in here.” His friend, instead of helping him out, just patted him on the back and walked outside to wait for him. Was that a smirk on his face as he left? Perfect! My moment had arrived! I stepped up and said in a tiny voice, “Um… I can cover it for you.” Without waiting for an answer, I put my microwave dinner on the counter to ring up together and tapped my phone to the reader. He didn’t act overly polite or awkward; he just courteously thanked me. The cashier girl smiled, her eyes crinkling, and quickly bagged our stuff. 6 Walking out of the store, my face was still burning. We had crossed paths a few times before. But this time, we were standing so close! He was incredibly handsome. Not just his eyes—his skin was clear, almost poreless. His friend had actually ditched him. Since we lived in the same apartment complex, it was only natural that we walked back together. “I’ll Venmo you when I get up to my place,” he said. I reflexively waved my hands. “It’s okay, it wasn’t much. Don’t worry about it.” The moment the words left my mouth, I wanted to bite my tongue off. What a perfect excuse to get his number! Why did I have to say something so stupid? He paused for a second, then said, “What’s your number? Let me shoot you a text so I can add you and send the money.” “Oh! Yeah, sure!” I hurriedly dug my phone out of my purse. On the outside, I was cool as a cucumber. On the inside, fireworks were going off. I’d had a crush on him from afar for so long, and my patience was finally paying off. We were making progress. I was so happy I could cry. 7 I need to check my horoscope when I get home. My luck with romance is off the charts today! This is amazing. We kept talking the whole way! Him: “Which building are you in?” I pointed ahead. “Building 12.” Then I quickly asked: “What about you?” He smiled slightly. “Building 10.” Oh my God, there was only one building between us. But the harsh reality I should have picked up on was that our paths were about to split. I felt a little wave of disappointment. “Watch out!” I looked up at him blankly, not registering what was happening. Before I knew it, his palm was cupping the back of my head, his other hand gripping my shoulder, and he spun me around. At the exact same time, a baseball whizzed past us at top speed and crashed into the bushes. A thirteen-year-old kid ran over, apologizing profusely. I told the kid it was fine, then looked back at the guy beside me. My eyes involuntarily dropped to the neckline of his hoodie. Just a second ago, my eyes were less than an inch away from there. I hadn’t even paid attention to the near-miss with the baseball, because my entire focus had been hijacked by that sexy little red mole on his collarbone. I almost had a nosebleed. Incredible! How does every single thing about him hit all my weak spots? 8 After we parted ways, every step I took felt like I was walking on clouds. The second I stepped out of the elevator, my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. I saved the contact instantly. His text considerately included his name: “Ethan Hayes.” I clutched my phone to my chest. Ethan Hayes. Ethan Hayes. Ethan Hayes. The more I said it, the better it sounded! Once I was done fangirling, I quickly texted my name back so he could save it: “Chloe Bennett.” Then, he Venmoed me the $28 for the boxers. Probably afraid I’d reject the payment, he even added a note: “Make sure you accept it.” So gentle. And so considerate. I’m doomed. I think I like him even more now. 9 I was completely lost in my own pink, bubbly fantasy when a black shadow suddenly flashed across the windowsill. Bruce, with a clump of socks in his mouth, had returned from the outside world. Caught red-handed, he froze on the windowsill, too scared to jump down. He looked absolutely ridiculous with socks dangling from his jaws. And the pet crate I had locked so securely before I left? The door was wide open. “Where have you been running wild now?!” I snatched the socks out of his mouth. He was a pro. He even knew to steal a matching pair. Wait, what’s this? White tube socks? I wrinkled my nose in disgust. Who even wears these basic white tube socks anymore? And that guy, he liked those flashy, obnoxious boxers. Wild animal prints, tropical jungles, Fruit Ninja vibes—you name it. He clearly wasn’t a serious guy. Right now, my heart was completely occupied by the name “Ethan Hayes.” Compared to him, every other guy on earth was literal garbage. 10 Since we just officially met, I didn’t want to come off too strong, or I might scare him off. Because of that, Ethan and I didn’t text much after that. Two days later, I went to the complex’s front gate to pick up a fruit delivery. Walking past the spot where he saved me from the baseball, I looked at the massive boxes of fruit in my arms and decided to use it as an excuse to bring him some. Okay, I admit it. I really just wanted to see him. I sent him a text testing the waters. He replied quickly: “I’m at home, but I’m in the middle of something and can’t step away.” I instantly deflated. But then he sent another text: “If you have time, could you come to my door? I’m on the 3rd floor, Apt 302.” Oh man, the emotional roller coaster! I literally jumped for joy on the spot! 11 As soon as I stepped out of the elevator, I saw a front door wide open, the apartment bustling with people. I checked the number above the door. Apt 302. Who were all these people inside? Some had microphones, others were carrying big camera rigs on their shoulders. Were they a TV crew? Curious, I peeked my head in. The moment I showed my face at the door, Ethan saw me. He was in the middle of being interviewed by a reporter. Seeing me, he paused, offered a subtle smile that only I would notice, and then went back to speaking seriously. I had terrible timing. Just as I was about to slip away, the guy who was with him at the convenience store that day walked out and said warmly, “Hey, just wait for him a sec, okay? They’re almost done.” I quickly nodded. “Oh, sure, sure.” Then I realized something was off and asked him, “Wait, how did you know I was looking for him?” The guy smiled meaningfully and dodged the question. “Hi, I’m Ethan’s roommate, Carter.”

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Everyone knew Caleb was the perfect boyfriend. But on our anniversary, he suddenly hard-launched his ex on Instagram. When I asked him why, he just laughed carelessly. “Because her waist… is thinner than yours, I guess.” 1 My boyfriend got a new girlfriend. Just one minute before he made it Instagram official, he sent me a breakup text. Before I could even process it, I saw his new post: “Three years. My feelings for you only grew.” The photo attached was of him and a girl. She was looking away from the camera, leaving only her side profile visible. He was looking at her, his lips pressed slightly together. That was his micro-expression when he was nervous. The top comment was pinned by him. It was incredibly cliché: “You’re always welcome to dock at my harbor.” Caleb’s post blew up with comments, but he didn’t reply to a single one. My chest felt tight. A wave of nausea hit me. I took a deep breath and called him. Honestly, I had always thought I didn’t care that much about this relationship. But… The moment the call went through, I realized my hands were shaking violently. The phone rang once before he quickly hung up. Soon after, Caleb’s text popped up. His tone was so cold it felt like a stranger: “Not a good time. Text me if you need something.” I typed out a massive paragraph, then deleted it word by word. Finally, I just sent one sentence: “We can break up, but you’re going to say it to my face.” Silence stretched on the other end. Then, as if bestowing a grand favor, he sent one word: “Fine.” After agreeing on a time and place, I felt a bit dazed. In this relationship, Caleb had always been the initiator. He chased me relentlessly, and his confession was so grand the entire campus knew about it. When I rejected him, he stood outside my dorm all night in the freezing winter, smoking a whole pack of cigarettes. Anyone’s heart would soften at that. Once, I casually mentioned missing a specific dish from my hometown. He drove through the night just to buy it for me. Even though the food was cold by the time it reached my hands. When someone was vaguely trashing me online, he scoured the internet, tracked the guy down, and put him in his place. Piece by piece, action by action, he chipped away at my walls until we finally got together. Whenever people on campus talked about us, they joked that Caleb was hopelessly whipped for me. But I never imagined our breakup would be so… effortless. 2 The coffee shop near the campus back gates. I sat by the window. I waited so long the coffee on the table went from hot to cold before Caleb finally showed up. He was dressed really strangely today. Usually, he loved a casual, preppy style. Always in light-colored crewnecks, always with classic black hair, always looking like the boy next door. But today… He was dressed entirely in black. A black hoodie, black cargo pants, and his hair was dyed. He even had a silver hoop earring in his left ear—this from a guy who was notoriously terrified of pain. I stared, stunned. We hadn’t seen each other for exactly two days, and he looked like a completely different person. Seeing my shock, he just smirked. “She likes it.” Three simple words, and I realized just how completely I had lost this past year. Caleb was a very egocentric person. While we dated, he treated me incredibly well, but he rarely listened to what I wanted. Once, I suggested he try a new haircut. He just smiled, ruffled my hair, and said, “Chloe, I don’t like it.” And that was the end of that. I sat frozen for a long time, then cut straight to the chase. “Give me a reason for the breakup.” My reflection was faintly visible in the window glass. The face looking back was calm and cold. But underneath, I was desperately trying to keep my emotions in check. I thought Caleb would make some excuses, or at least look a little guilty. He didn’t. He leaned back in his chair, a careless smile on his lips. “Because her waist… is thinner than yours, I guess.” I froze. Across the table, the corner of his mouth curled up. “Anything else? If not, I’m heading out. If I’m gone too long, she’ll get upset.” The moment those words left his mouth, I raised my hand and threw my coffee right in his face. In that split second, only one thought crossed my mind: What a shame. The coffee is completely cold. 3 Caleb left. After getting splashed with coffee, he only froze for two seconds. Then, he calmly wiped his face and dropped two words: “I’m out.” But after taking two steps, he looked back at me. “Chloe, I was really good to you this past year, wasn’t I? Let’s just part on good terms. We don’t even have to say hi if we bump into each other.” He didn’t give me time to react. He just walked out. I sat in silence for a few seconds. Then, I stood up, grabbed a steaming hot cup of coffee from the guy at the next table, muttered a quick “Sorry,” and chased after him. I dumped it right over Caleb’s head. It was hot, but not boiling enough to burn him. It did, however, make him look incredibly pathetic. But Caleb just stopped in his tracks. He kept his back perfectly straight and didn’t even turn around to look at me. I stared at his coffee-soaked clothes. “Caleb. Now we’re parted on good terms.” With that, I turned around, carrying the empty cup. I returned the cup to the couple inside and ordered them two fresh coffees to make up for it. The girl didn’t blame me at all. Instead, she gave me a thumbs-up. “Girl, that was badass.” I forced a smile, but didn’t say anything. Honestly, I’ve always been a really dull person. Introverted, sensitive, quiet, and boring. I happened to have a pretty face, so I had my fair share of guys pursuing me, but they were always the type casting a wide net. I’d reject a guy one second, and the next second he’d be whispering sweet nothings to someone else. Because of that, I never thought I’d be loved with such burning intensity. But then, a year ago, Caleb showed up. His loud, unapologetic affection, his dramatic pursuit, his meticulous care—it was so easy for me to fall into his gentle trap. In the year we were together, I never did a single thing to betray him. I was finally learning how to love someone, how to treat him right. But the second I finally figured it out, he turned around and became his ex’s safe harbor. I walked out of the coffee shop and headed toward campus. I told myself it was over, but I still felt like a zombie. So much so that the moment I reached the campus gates, I crashed right into someone. As I stumbled, a pair of hands grabbed my waist to steady me, then let go instantly like I was burning hot. I hit the ground. Hard. The person immediately crouched down to help me. “Chloe, are you… okay?” The voice sounded vaguely familiar. I let him help me up and looked at him. It was a senior. Ethan. He was in the same major as Caleb. “I’m fine.” I was going to thank him for helping me up, but considering how hard I just hit the pavement, I swallowed the words. He frowned. “Caleb’s Instagram post?” I laughed bitterly. “He made it official. With his ex from three years ago.” Since he brought it up, I couldn’t help but vent a little. “And the funny thing? As his current girlfriend, I only got the breakup text one minute before he posted it. Hilarious, right?” Ethan didn’t say a word. He just turned and walked away. I stood there, stunned, silently cursing myself for oversharing. Right. We were barely acquaintances. Why was I dumping my pathetic drama on him? He was probably just annoyed. I looked away and hurried back to my dorm. My silence only deepened on the walk back. Whenever I passed someone I knew, I’d deliberately look away and speed up. I was terrified they’d ask: “Chloe, when did you and Caleb break up? I just saw you guys grabbing lunch a few days ago. Why does he have a new girlfriend?” I wouldn’t know how to answer. Being publicly dumped for the whole world to see was humiliating. I practically sprinted back to my dorm, changed my clothes, crawled into bed, and wrapped myself in my blanket. I wanted to cry, but mostly, I just wanted to scream. I wanted to drag Caleb back here and beat the crap out of him. I kind of regretted not throwing a third cup of coffee. A little while later, my phone rang. It was my roommate, Becca. “Chlo, where are you?” I pulled down the blanket, my voice weak. “Dorm. Why?” “Caleb got beat up!” I sat bolt upright. The suffocating knot in my chest instantly loosened. It took me a second to find my voice. “Who did he piss off?” Becca sounded like she was right at the scene. It was noisy in the background, and it took a few seconds for her reply to come through. “It was Ethan.” “Omg, I’m dying. He looked SO hot doing it!” 4 Ethan? Why him… Becca’s voice was getting staticky, like she had bad reception, and the call dropped. I sat on my bed, staring blankly at the wall. I thought back to how Ethan had turned and walked away at the front gates. I thought he was just annoyed by my venting. I never imagined he was walking off to get justice for me. I debated whether I should go to the scene to see what was happening, but before I could decide, the dorm door swung open and Becca walked in. She was humming a little tune, clearly in a great mood. Before I could even ask, she dragged me out of bed and spilled the whole story. Ethan had tracked Caleb down and fought him. To be accurate, they beat the living hell out of each other. Both took some hits; neither had a clear advantage. Becca grabbed my hands, her eyes shining. “Chloe, you have no idea. Ethan demanded to know how he dared to two-time you, and the way he threw that first punch? Absolute cinematic perfection!” I felt my heart skip a beat. My fingers gripped the edge of my shirt, but I kept my face totally neutral. “What about… Caleb?” At the mention of Caleb, Becca went quiet. She looked up at me, hesitating. “He fought back. And…” “He told Ethan he knew Ethan had been eyeing you for a long time.” 5 I sat there in stunned silence for a long time before letting out a scoff. “That’s impossible. Ethan and I barely even talk.” Becca obviously didn’t buy it. “If you barely talk, why would he throw down with Caleb for you?” “He’s just a decent guy standing up for someone.” I gave a faint smile. “It wouldn’t be the first time he helped someone out.” Becca pursed her lips but didn’t argue. Ethan really was like the perfect golden boy straight out of a movie—smart, decent, kind. The school had even given him an award once for stepping in to stop a mugging. Honestly, I wanted to text Ethan and say thank you. We’d been connected on social media for over a year, but we rarely spoke. We just occasionally “liked” each other’s posts. I stared at his contact for a long time, totally unsure of what to say. Eventually, I gave up and locked my phone. … That afternoon. Out of habit, I headed to the dining hall alone for dinner, never expecting to run into— Caleb. And his ex-girlfriend. I have a quiet personality, and when I walk, I usually keep my eyes down or look straight ahead. I rarely look around. So, it wasn’t until I had gotten my food and sat down in my usual corner that I noticed Caleb and a girl sitting diagonally across from me. From my angle, I had a clear view of her side profile. It was the exact same girl from his Instagram photo. They were eating. I don’t know if he was trying to cater to her tastes, but Caleb had ordered a massive bowl of insanely spicy ramen—something he never ate. The broth was bright red. Even though he was sweating bullets, he kept looking up at her with a smile. The truth is, Caleb couldn’t handle spice. He had bad acid reflux. Eating spicy food always tore his stomach up. I stared blankly, my fingers subconsciously tapping the edge of my tray. And then… Caleb suddenly looked my way. Caught completely off guard, our eyes met. Honestly, I was a little nervous and instinctively wanted to look away out of guilt. But surprisingly, he beat me to it. Our eyes only locked for a fraction of a second before he casually turned his head away and placed a piece of meat into his girlfriend’s bowl. I sat frozen for a few seconds, then let out a quiet laugh. I guess it’s true what they say: the person who gets left behind has the hardest time moving on. He was the one who cheated. Why was I the one feeling guilty and nervous? I was just about to look away when the girl suddenly stood up, looking like she was going to buy a drink. And because of that, I finally saw her face clearly. In that instant, my mind went completely blank, leaving only one phrase echoing in my head: The understudy. Yes. Just like one of those cliché TV tropes. The guy can’t get over his ultimate “white moonlight”—his unattainable first love—so he finds a girl who looks just like her to keep by his side. And I… looked about eighty percent identical to his first love. 6 In that moment, everything finally made sense. That bullshit about her waist being thinner than mine? All a lie. The truth was, he never needed a reason to break up with me, because the only reason he ever dated me in the first place was that my face looked like his first love’s. How pathetic. I forced myself to look down and eat, mechanically shoving food into my mouth. But even my favorite pot roast tasted like ash. The food felt heavy in my throat today. I patted my chest, debating whether I should go buy a bottle of water, when a bottle suddenly appeared in my line of sight. Aquafina. I looked up and saw a smiling face. “Are you sitting alone? Mind if I join you?” It was Ethan. I smiled and waved my hand to say I didn’t mind, but the food was stuck in my throat, making me choke. Ethan was always observant. Without missing a beat, he unscrewed the cap and handed the water to me. I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed it and took two massive gulps. The food went down, but then I choked on the water. As I buried my head and coughed violently, Ethan gently patted my back. “Take it easy.” His voice was so gentle. I coughed for a solid minute before finally catching my breath. I took the napkin Ethan handed me, wiped my mouth, and looked up—only to accidentally make eye contact with Caleb. He was staring right at me. His eyes were dark and unreadable. 7 I’ll be honest—in that split second, my imagination ran wild. Like the most classic cliché: the scumbag ex sees his former girlfriend with a new, better guy, gets consumed by jealousy, and suddenly realizes the error of his ways. But reality proved that stuff only happens in fiction. After that accidental eye contact, Caleb quickly looked away. We weren’t sitting that far apart. I could almost see the cold indifference in his eyes. I looked away too, almost wanting to laugh at myself. What kind of teen romance movie did I think I was living in? Snapping back to reality, I looked at Ethan and smiled. “Thank you.” “No problem.” He set the water and the fresh pack of napkins in front of me, then sat down in the seat across the table. “Do you prefer eating alone?” After a moment of silence, he suddenly asked. I blinked. “Not really, just… maybe it’s my personality, but I’m used to it. My roommate hates the dining hall food, so she rarely comes here.” Ethan nodded. While we were talking, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Caleb and his girlfriend had finished eating and stood up to leave. They were leaning in close to each other, looking incredibly intimate as they walked out. I didn’t look up. I just took another bite of my food. 8 They say time heals everything. In the blink of an eye, Caleb and I had been broken up for a month. One month. Thirty days. Over seven hundred hours. Over forty thousand minutes. Without Caleb around, my life didn’t really seem to change much. It really is true: the world keeps spinning no matter who leaves your life. For that whole month, I felt mostly numb. I didn’t experience any soul-crushing heartbreak, nor did I toss and turn in the middle of the night. But… My heart always felt a little hollow, like something was missing. The campus wasn’t that big, but Caleb and I rarely ran into each other anymore. The few times we did cross paths, I usually saw him holding hands with his girlfriend, taking a walk. They looked really in love. I heard through the grapevine that his new girlfriend was his first love from five years ago. She had just moved back from studying abroad, came from a wealthy family, had nothing but free time, and was constantly on campus looking for him. However, I did start running into Ethan a lot. Ethan was an incredibly gentle guy. Clean-cut features, a warm smile. Being around him felt like a soft spring breeze. We became good friends. Every night, we’d text back and forth for a bit. Becca seemed extremely approving of Ethan. In private, she was constantly trying to set us up. I politely shut her down every time. Ethan was great, but… I just wasn’t ready to start a new relationship yet. 9 Memorial Day weekend was coming up, and I wanted to take a short trip to clear my head. I mentioned it casually, and Becca got super excited. She insisted our whole dorm and Ethan should go together. Ethan agreed. I couldn’t really argue with it. I figured with a big group, it would be fine, so I said yes. Becca took charge of booking the bus tickets. But on the morning we were supposed to leave, I woke up to an empty dorm. I called Becca, and she cheerfully said, “We headed to the bus station early! You and Ethan can come together. Be good, bye!” Then she hung up. I knew she was trying to play matchmaker. I originally planned to just take an Uber to the station by myself, but leaving Ethan behind felt rude, so I gave him a call. However. When we both arrived at the station and went to the platform, we realized— We’d been played. Becca and the others never showed up. From the very beginning, she had only booked two tickets. Mine and Ethan’s. Standing in the waiting area, Ethan and I looked at each other, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. This aggressive matchmaking was going to be the death of me. With no other option, Ethan and I had to bite the bullet and embark on our three-day, two-person getaway. The main reason I wanted to take this trip was to see the ocean. I grew up landlocked and had never seen the sea. During my relationship, we never made it out there. Now that I was single, I had to see it at least once. On the ride over, Ethan booked a two-bedroom Airbnb. I tried to Venmo him my half, but he declined it. Seeing my confusion, he smiled. “We’re on vacation, no need to keep a strict ledger. Just buy me dinner when we get there.” I thought about it. The trip was three days long; I had plenty of time to even the score. After leaving the station, we took an Uber to the Airbnb. Because I hadn’t done enough research, we only realized upon arriving that while the place was beautiful, it was in the middle of nowhere. Thankfully, the scenery was stunning, the interior was modern, and it was spotless. It was just a hassle to get around. We dropped our bags in our respective rooms, rested for a bit, and headed out. We hit up two small tourist spots and eventually made our way to a famous local boardwalk night market. I have to say, the mini crab cakes there were out of this world.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “446531”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The familiar voice drifted through the speakers of my quiet floral studio, cutting through the late-night relationship podcast I had playing in the background. It was Corinne. The woman I had loved for eight years. The woman who hadn’t spoken to me in ten days. “My boyfriend and I have been together since high school,” her voice crackled over the airwaves, heavy with an exhaustion that felt performative. “Back then, he saved me from a terrible situation. His right hand was shattered by a baseball bat. He could never paint again.” My breath caught in my throat. “I swore I would take care of him for the rest of my life,” she continued, her voice trembling just enough to sound sympathetic. “But I’m drowning. I can’t hold on anymore.” “He’s become so volatile, so sensitive,” she paused, letting the silence stretch. “Then, a new intern started at my firm. He’s an artist, too. And looking at his hands—his perfectly whole, unblemished hands—it was like taking my first real breath in years.” She let out a ragged sigh. “I don’t want to look at that ruined hand anymore. I can’t stomach the guilt.” The podcast host offered a gentle, practiced murmur of sympathy. “Guilt is not romance, sweetie. Letting go is the kindest thing you can do for both of you.” “If his presence has become a tax on your happiness, buy out the debt. Settle the score of what he did for you financially, and walk away.” The host had barely finished her sentence when my phone lit up on the counter. An email notification from my bank. A wire transfer from Corinne. Five hundred thousand dollars. The attached memo read: Wesley, this is enough to cover your medical bills and a fresh start somewhere else. Let’s stop torturing each other. Let me go. 1 I accepted the money. I typed out a single word in response: Done. Tossing the phone aside, I looked down at my right hand. A thick, angry scar snaked from the base of my wrist up to my knuckles, a jagged fault line that ached with a needle-like intensity whenever the Seattle air turned damp and cold. This hand had been useless for eight years. And for eight years, it had been Corinne’s prison. Now, she had purchased her parole for half a million dollars. The next morning, I took the train downtown to her firm to return the keys to her penthouse. When I pushed open the heavy glass door to her corner office, she wasn’t there. Tristan was. The intern. The one who made her feel alive. He was sitting in Corinne’s leather executive chair, casually flipping through a stack of contracts. At the sound of the door, he glanced up, a slow, easy smile spreading across his face. “Hey, Wesley. Looking for Corinne? She’s in a board meeting.” I didn’t look at him. I walked straight to the mahogany desk and dropped the keyring squarely in the center. I turned on my heel to leave, but Tristan’s voice stopped me. “Wesley, wait. Corinne was in a terrible mood last night. Her stress ulcers are acting up again. Could you maybe—” “I’m not her father,” I cut him off, my voice flat. Tristan’s smile slipped for a fraction of a second before he recovered, his expression smoothing into a mask of polite concern. He picked up a ceramic mug from the desk. “My apologies. It’s not my place. Hey, don’t leave mad. Have some coffee. I just ground the beans myself.” He took a step toward me. Then, suddenly, the toe of his expensive loafer caught on the edge of the plush rug. He pitched forward. The entire mug of scalding, freshly brewed coffee splashed directly onto my ruined right hand. The pain was instantaneous and absolute. I sucked in a sharp, hissing breath, instinctively jerking my arm back as the heat seared into my nerve-damaged skin. But before I could make a sound, Tristan screamed. He screamed as if he were the one who had just been doused in boiling water. A few stray drops had landed on his wrist, leaving a faint pink bloom on his pristine skin. The office door flew open. Corinne rushed in, her heels clicking frantically against the hardwood. She didn’t even glance in my direction. She made a beeline straight for Tristan, her manicured hands hovering anxiously over his arm. “Where did it hit you? Let me see. Is it bad?” Tristan’s eyes welled with perfectly timed tears. He shook his head bravely. “I’m fine, Corinne. Really. It was my fault. I tripped and spilled it all over Wesley.” Only then did Corinne turn to look at me. Her eyes dropped to my right hand, which was already turning a furious, blistering red. But her brow furrowed not with worry, but with a deep, weary irritation. “Wesley, what has gotten into you?” she demanded, her tone dropping in temperature. “Tristan is just an intern. Whatever anger you have toward me, take it out on me. Why do you have to bully a kid?” The words hit me harder than the boiling water. I stood there, watching her physically shield Tristan with her body. Behind her shoulder, I caught Tristan staring at me, a microscopic smirk playing on his lips. I couldn’t speak. The air had been sucked out of the room. I reached past them, picked up the keys I had just dropped, and shoved them into my coat pocket. Corinne’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing now? Are you seriously trying to threaten me with the keys?” “No,” I finally rasped, my throat feeling like it was lined with sandpaper. “I just realized there’s no point in leaving them here.” “You’ve obviously already changed the locks.” I turned and walked out. From down the hall, I heard her voice, tight with repressed fury: “Wesley! Are you ever going to stop making a scene?!” I didn’t look back. I just kept walking, putting one foot in front of the other until I was out of that suffocating glass tower. Outside, the midday sun was blinding. My hand was on fire, a throbbing, blistering reminder of what a colossal fool I was. Eight years ago, when this hand took the brunt of a metal bat meant for her skull, she had held my bleeding fingers to her chest and sobbed, swearing she would spend the rest of her life protecting me. Eight years later, my hand was scalded in front of her, and she demanded to know why I was so narrow-minded. I made it back to my floral studio. The heavy scent of eucalyptus, damp earth, and crushed petals wrapped around me. This was how I survived. This was my sanctuary. I pulled an ice pack from the floral cooler and pressed it against my blistering skin. The physical sting dulled slightly, but the burning in my chest only grew more suffocating. My phone vibrated against the counter. It was Corinne’s younger sister. “Hey, Wesley. Did my sister do something stupid again? You know she’s emotionally stunted. Don’t take it to heart.” 2 Bridget’s voice was, as always, a burst of bright, chaotic energy. Throughout this entire agonizing decline of our relationship, she was the only one who had remained fiercely in my corner. “It’s nothing,” I lied softly. “Don’t give me that. She just called me, demanding I talk you off the ledge. She said… she said that guy Tristan burned his wrist and his skin is peeling, and that you were way out of line.” My stomach plummeted. Peeling? I looked down at the massive, fluid-filled blisters rising on my own scarred knuckles, and a bitter laugh clawed its way up my throat. “Wesley, who exactly is this Tristan guy?” Bridget asked, her tone shifting to suspicion. “She’s been bringing him up constantly.” “Just an intern at her firm.” “Just an intern? Bullshit. You know my sister. She is practically allergic to people, especially men. Since when does she care this much about anyone who isn’t you?” Since when, indeed. In high school, Corinne had been the brilliant, socially awkward girl the entire school treated like a pariah. I was the golden-boy artist, the only one who didn’t care what people thought. I pulled her out of the dark, vicious currents of high school bullying and anchored her. She had relied on me with a desperation that bordered on the pathological. When did it change? Probably right around the time she built her empire, while I remained the crippled guy tending to wilting flowers in a dusty shop. “Bridget,” I said quietly, the words tasting like ash. “Corinne and I are done.” Dead silence on the other end of the line. When Bridget finally spoke, her voice cracked. “Wesley, don’t say that. Don’t scare me. It’s been eight years. You guys don’t just end.” “She ended it.” “No! That’s impossible! She loves you. She would never throw you away!” Bridget was crying now, the sound high and panicked. I didn’t have the strength to comfort her. “I’m exhausted, Bridge. I need to go.” I hung up. I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor in the back corner of the shop, utterly still. Beyond the glass windows, the city moved in a blur of headlights and rushing pedestrians. It was a massive city, but there was no room in it for me anymore. Back then, I had turned down a full ride to RISD to follow her here. My art teacher had wept, furious, telling me I was throwing away a generational talent for a teenage romance. I hadn’t regretted it. Because Corinne had gotten into Columbia, her dream school, and she had looked at me with those wide, desperate eyes and promised we would build a life together. I believed her. I used the hand that could no longer hold a paintbrush to learn how to arrange stems, prune thorns, and keep things alive. I built this shop. I thought we were going to walk quietly side-by-side into old age. I thought. That was my fatal mistake. Around dusk, the brass bell above the door chimed. Assuming it was a late customer, I didn’t look up from the counter. “Wesley.” Corinne’s voice. Every muscle in my back locked, but I didn’t turn around. She walked around the counter and crouched down, forcing her way into my line of sight. “Does your hand still hurt?” she asked, a trace of exhaustion threading through her words. I said nothing. She reached out, intending to touch my injured hand. I flinched, jerking it back so violently I knocked over a spool of ribbon. Her hand hovered in the empty air between us, painfully awkward. “I had security pull the footage this afternoon,” she murmured, looking down. “I was wrong. Tristan tripped on his own.” “The camera outside your office has been broken for three years,” I said, my voice eerily calm. Corinne froze. She had insisted on disabling that camera years ago for her own privacy. She hadn’t checked any footage. She was fishing. If I had played along—if I had vented my grievances and complained about how unfair it was—she would have offered a hollow apology. And just like the hundreds of fights before, the incident would have been swept under the rug of our shared history. But this time, I didn’t play the game. Corinne’s expression hardened. “Do you have to be like this, Wesley?” “Like what?” “So uncompromising. So obsessed with being right!” A hollow, broken laugh escaped my lips. “Corinne, who exactly is being uncompromising here?” I stared dead into her eyes. “After eight years, is this really how little you think of me?” 3 She went entirely silent. It was a suffocating, heavy silence—one that cut deeper than any insult she could have hurled at me. Slowly, she stood up. She reached into her designer trench coat, pulled out a small silver tube, and placed it on the counter next to me. “It’s a prescription burn cream from Switzerland. Make sure you apply it twice a day.” Just like that, the mask was back on. The untouchable, pragmatic CEO. She was the benevolent benefactor bestowing grace upon the pathetic, needy dependent. “Also,” she paused, not meeting my eyes. “That money is yours. You earned it. Go… build a good life for yourself.” She turned and walked toward the door. No hesitation. No backward glance. I stared at her retreating silhouette. That back had once been the only thing I needed to feel safe in the world. Now, she was just the knife twisting in my ribs. I grabbed the tube of expensive ointment and threw it at her with every ounce of strength I had left. It hit her squarely between the shoulder blades and clattered loudly onto the hardwood floor. She stopped walking. But she didn’t turn around. The door opened, the bell chimed, and she was gone. I was left completely alone in a room full of dying flowers. For the next few days, Corinne didn’t reappear. The rhythm of my life resumed its hollow ticking. I opened the shop, arranged bouquets for strangers, and locked up. But the throbbing burns on my right hand were a constant, pulsing reminder that the ground beneath me had vanished. Then, the envelope arrived. Heavy, matte black cardstock. Inside was an invitation to a gallery opening. Tristan Matthew. Solo Exhibition. The venue was the most prestigious contemporary arts center in the city. The sponsor listed at the bottom? Corinne CorWes Media. It felt as though a giant, invisible hand had reached into my chest and squeezed my heart until it bruised. Tristan was an artist. Corinne had said that seeing his perfectly intact hands made her feel alive. What was she doing? Was this a victory lap? Was she rubbing my nose in the fact that she had found a flawless replacement? A man who could be everything I was supposed to be, but without the baggage and the trauma? I crumpled the thick cardstock and pitched it into the trash. But on the night of the exhibition, like a man walking to his own execution, I went anyway. Without an RSVP, the security guards barred me at the door. I stood outside in the freezing rain, peering through the massive floor-to-ceiling glass walls. Inside, Tristan was bathed in warm, golden light, wearing a custom-tailored suit, laughing as the city’s elite fawned over him. And standing right by his side, draped in a stunning silk gown, was Corinne. She looked at him with a gentle, glowing pride I hadn’t seen directed at me in half a decade. Standing there in my damp coat, I felt like an absolute clown. A voyeur pressing his nose against the glass of someone else’s perfect life. I turned up my collar and prepared to walk away. That was when I saw it. Hung in the dead center of the main gallery space was the exhibition’s centerpiece. The placard read: Shattered. It was a painting of a young boy curled into a tight, defensive ball in a dark corner, surrounded by a galaxy of jagged, broken stars raining down on him. The composition. The linework. The raw, bleeding emotion of it. I stopped breathing. The world tilted violently on its axis. That was my painting. It was the final piece I had ever drawn. Eight years ago, right after the doctors told me I would never regain fine motor control, I had locked myself in a room and drawn it in a fugue state of pure, unadulterated agony. Because my hand shook so violently, I had only managed to finish the sketch before my muscles gave out. That sketchbook was locked inside a safe in my old studio apartment. Only one person beside me knew the combination. Corinne. She had stolen my grief. She had taken the most agonizing, humiliating moment of my existence, gift-wrapped it, and handed it to her new lover to build his career on. Blood roared in my ears. I couldn’t see straight. I shoved past the velvet ropes, tearing my arm away from the security guard, and burst through the heavy glass doors. “Corinne!” My voice ripped through the elegant hum of the room. The string quartet stumbled to a halt. Dozens of faces turned toward me in shock. Corinne and Tristan spun around. The moment Corinne saw me, her face contorted into a mask of pure fury. She marched toward me, her heels striking the marble floor like gunfire. “Wesley, what the hell is wrong with you?” 4 She kept her voice in a vicious whisper, the disgust in her eyes entirely unfiltered. I pointed a shaking finger toward the center canvas. “That painting. Why is it here?” Corinne glanced over her shoulder at it, her expression entirely blank. “That is Tristan’s work.” “His work?” A hysterical, jagged laugh tore out of my throat. “Are you going to look me in the eye and tell me you’ve never seen that sketch?” Corinne’s pupils contracted sharply. “You’re a monster, Corinne!” I screamed, the sound raw and tearing. “Wesley, stop it!” She grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my jacket. “We are in public. Stop acting insane!” “I’m acting insane?!” I stared at her, hot tears finally spilling over my lashes. “You stole my work! You stole my grief and handed it to the man you’re sleeping with, and you have the audacity to call me insane?” The crowd had formed a tight, whispering circle around us. Tristan hurried over, wrapping a protective arm around Corinne’s waist. He looked at me with wide, Bambi-like innocence. “Wesley, man, I think you’re confused,” he said softly, playing to the audience. “This is a completely original piece. Corinne just… provided me with some conceptual inspiration.” “Inspiration?” I sneered. “You colored in my linework like a toddler with a coloring book and you call it inspiration?” “I don’t know anything about any linework,” Tristan whispered, shrinking slightly behind Corinne. “Corinne, he’s scaring me…” Corinne moved instinctively, shielding him behind her back, glaring at me as if I were a rabid dog that needed to be put down. “That is enough. If you don’t leave right now, Wesley, I will have you physically removed.” Security guards. Always security. In her world, I was just a mess that needed to be cleaned up and thrown out. “Okay,” I nodded slowly, wiping the tears from my face with the back of my ruined hand. “Okay. Remember this night, Corinne.” I looked at her—really looked at her—one last time. Then I turned and dragged myself toward the exit. The murmurs followed me out like a swarm of hornets. “Who was that guy? He looked deranged.” “I heard it’s her ex. He’s crippled, apparently. Has serious mental issues.” “God, no wonder she left him for Tristan. Who could deal with that kind of psycho?” Every word was a blade slipping neatly between my ribs. So that was the narrative. I was the unhinged, disabled burden. And Corinne was the tragic heroine who had finally escaped my toxicity. I made it back to the floral shop and locked myself in the storage closet. It was dark and smelled heavily of dust and dried lavender. I dug through a cardboard box at the very bottom of a stack, pulling out an old, weathered Moleskine sketchbook. Inside was the ghost of who I used to be. Charcoal portraits of Corinne studying. Pen-and-ink landscapes of places we promised we’d visit. And on the very last page, the original, trembling graphite sketch of Shattered. It was rough, the lines jagged from my shaking hand, but it pulsed with a desperate, screaming life. Now, it was just a stepping stone for someone else’s vanity. I pulled my knees to my chest, curling up on the dusty floor in the exact same posture as the boy in the drawing. Only this time, I knew no one was coming to pull me out of the dark. For the next few days, my body simply gave out. A brutal fever took hold, leaving me drifting in and out of a delirious haze. The fresh coffee burns on my hand became aggressively infected, aggravating the old nerve damage until the pain was a blinding, white-hot static in my brain. To manage the chronic nerve pain, I required a highly restricted synthetic opioid. Sweating and shaking, I crawled across the floor to my medical drawer. The amber bottle was empty. I distinctly remembered filling a new bottle just a few days ago. I tore the shop apart with my one good hand, knocking over vases and scattering dirt across the floor, but it was nowhere. A cold panic seized my chest. Without the medication, the withdrawal and the nerve pain combined would quite literally send my body into shock. It felt like someone was taking a sledgehammer to the bones in my arm, over and over again. Trembling so violently I could barely hold the phone, I dialed Corinne’s number. She was the only one who knew about my condition. She was the one who pulled strings with private doctors to get me the prescription in the first place. The phone rang endlessly. Finally, a sharp click. “What?” Corinne’s voice was clipped, intensely annoyed. “Corinne, I…” I gasped, my teeth chattering from the pain. “I’m out of my medication. Can you… please, can you bring me some?” “Out again?” she scoffed, the suspicion dripping from every syllable. “Wesley, are you seriously trying to play this game right now?” “I’m not… Corinne, please, I’m dying…” I curled into a tight ball on the floor, my clothes soaked in a cold sweat. The agony in my right arm was escalating, threatening to pull me entirely under. “The boy who cried wolf. Are you ever going to get tired of this act?” Her voice was devoid of an ounce of humanity. “I am incredibly busy. Tristan’s national tour is launching, and I do not have the time to entertain your pathetic tantrums.” Click. The line went dead. Listening to the dial tone, a strange, hollow peace washed over me. I let out a weak, rattling laugh. Maybe dying wasn’t so bad. Corinne. In the next life, I hope to God I never meet you.

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Twice in my life, I have been thrown out of my own home before the age of thirty. The second time was Kellan. He was my childhood best friend, the boy who spent ten years chasing me with a devotion that felt like a religion. After we married, he was the picture of the perfect husband—patient, attentive, and seemingly unbothered by the fact that my ex, Gideon, sent “tokens of regret” every anniversary. Even when three years passed without a positive pregnancy test, Kellan never whispered a word of blame. I remember the way he would press his lips against my ear in our most intimate moments, his voice a warm, honeyed lullaby: “If you don’t want kids, we won’t have them. As long as I have you, it’s enough.” But on the night of our third anniversary, the lullaby ended. He walked through the front door with a woman I didn’t recognize, and I watched from the hallway as the housekeeper dragged my suitcases out of the master suite like they were bags of trash. My fingers were white-knuckled around the pregnancy test I hadn’t yet found the courage to show him. My voice shook, brittle as glass. “Kellan, what is this?” He lit a cigarette, his eyes flashing with a mockery so sharp it felt like a physical blow. He looked at me as if I were the punchline to a joke only he understood. “Nina, stop. The ‘innocent wife’ act is getting old.” He exhaled a plume of smoke. “When Gideon Vane threw you out on the street, did you really learn nothing at all?” The first time I was evicted, it was from a penthouse overlooking Central Park. It was a marriage of convenience to Gideon, a titan of industry. I had gone to the clinic for a checkup, only to return early and find him in our bed with a college student. He didn’t offer an apology. Instead, he blamed my “lack of spirit” and had his security detail escort me to the curb. When I told my father, he didn’t offer a shoulder to cry on. He just sighed and said, “Men with that kind of money don’t settle for one flavor, Nina. Grow up.” Maybe it was spite. Maybe it was a desperate need to feel wanted. That was why I finally said yes to Kellan. I thought I was marrying safety. … 1 The pregnancy test in my palm felt like a live coal, burning through my skin. I looked at him, but I didn’t beg for an explanation. I didn’t have to. The woman’s smug expression and the slight, unmistakable swell of her stomach told the entire story. I reached for my purse, ready to vanish. Kellan crushed his cigarette into a crystal tray and stepped into my path, his face twisted with a dark, vengeful satisfaction. “You’ve been pining for Gideon for years, and I never said a word. You refused to give me a child because of him, and I took the hit,” he said, his voice rising with a terrifying sort of righteousness. “Now that I’ve found someone who can give me a family, you’re going to play the victim?” His lips curled into a smirk. “Look, we’ve known each other forever. You know how this world works. Keep your title, keep your status. You can be the Mrs. Mercer people see at the galas, and she’ll be the one who keeps my bed warm. It doesn’t have to change your position.” A familiar, dull ache throbbed in my chest. He wasn’t wrong about one thing—I’d been here before. I had experience. I didn’t waste words. I simply leaned forward and slapped him. Hard. “You disgust me, Kellan.” The room went silent, the staff frozen in the periphery. Kellan’s smile vanished, his features hardening into something unrecognizable. He grabbed my wrist, his grip bruising. “You think I’m disgusting? You’re a twice-married woman, Nina. What made you think I was going to stay celibate for a woman who gave her best years to another man?” My grip tightened on the plastic stick until it snapped. The jagged edge sliced into my palm. I didn’t feel the pain, but the tears escaped anyway. Kellan’s eyes flickered, a momentary lapse of resolve crossing his face. He softened his voice, a conditioned reflex. “Fine. I’ll make you a deal. Once the baby is born, I’ll send her away. Just… don’t walk out.” I looked at the face I had known since I was five years old. He was a stranger. He noticed the blood on my hand and frowned, reaching for my palm. “What is that?” I wrenched my hand away and tossed the broken pieces of the test into the trash can by the door. “It’s nothing,” I whispered, my voice sounding like it was coming from a great distance. “Just a piece of garbage that wasn’t wanted.” I was talking about the baby. And I was talking about myself. Kellan opened his mouth to speak, but a sharp cry from the woman behind him drew him away. She was clutching her stomach, slowly pulling off her silk face mask. My heart stopped. I knew that face. She was the girl from the penthouse. The “scholarship student” I had personally sponsored for years out of a sense of misplaced charity. Three years had passed, but Talia was still as fresh and radiant as a dewy morning. Gideon had once described her skin as “shaming the silk sheets.” He told me he couldn’t stop thinking about her, even when he was lying next to me. My grand gesture of walking away from Gideon to “set them free” had led her straight to my second husband. And she had managed to get pregnant first. Judging by her bump, this hadn’t started yesterday. I bit my lip until I tasted copper, stepping toward her. “Nina,” Talia said, her voice a sickly-sweet chirp. She grabbed my hand before I could react, her eyes wide with mock surprise. “I had no idea you’d come back to Chicago after the New York disaster. What a small world. We really do have the exact same taste in men, don’t we?” I didn’t answer with words. I swung my hand again. Crack. But the blow didn’t land on Talia. Kellan had stepped in front of her, taking the hit across his cheek. His expression went cold, a dangerous edge bleeding into his voice. “That’s enough, Nina! Two hits are all you get.” He shielded her with his body. “She’s fragile, and she’s carrying my heir. Don’t take your bitterness out on her. You remember how you ended up three years ago? Don’t make me do that to you.” A violent shudder went through me. Suddenly, I was back in that freezing New York alleyway. After I’d caught Gideon, he stopped pretending to be the gentleman. He had looked at me with pure indifference and asked, “A woman’s expiration date is three months in my world. You got a year. Why are you complaining?” To force me into submission, he had used every corporate weapon in his arsenal. He froze my accounts, seized my car, and had me dumped on the street like a stray dog in the middle of a blizzard. I remember the cold, the way the snow turned grey in the slush, and the terrifying weight of the men who had pinned me down in that alley. Then, Kellan had appeared like a miracle. He had fought them off, gathered me into his arms, and wept into my hair. “I’ve got you, Nina… I’ll protect you with my life.” How pathetic. Back then, Talia had knelt at my feet, promising to spend her life repaying my kindness. She chose to repay me in my husband’s bed. And Kellan, the man who promised to be my shield, was now the one holding the sword. The snow outside was light, but I felt colder than I ever had in New York. I wiped my eyes, grabbed my phone, and didn’t look back. I headed for the guest wing, just needing a bed to collapse into for one night before I disappeared. “Wait,” Talia called out. I turned to see her winding her arms around Kellan’s neck. “Didn’t you promise me we’d stay in the south-facing suite? You said the view from the window makes everything… more exciting.” She looked at me, a predatory glint in her eyes. Kellan gave a soft, dark chuckle. Holding my gaze, he scooped her up and carried her into our bedroom. My bedroom. The room with the skylight he’d installed because he wanted us to “sleep under the stars.” The room he’d later planned to convert into a nursery so our baby could be “woken by the sun.” Now, before my baby could even take its first breath, that sanctuary was becoming their nest. I closed my eyes, but I could already hear the echoes of what was to come—the same sounds I’d heard through Gideon’s door. The heavy breathing, the gasps, the betrayal. The sound of the bedroom door slamming shut was the final twist of the knife. I leaned against the hallway wall, my legs giving way. The silence of the house was deafening, broken only by the vibration of my phone. An unknown number. A text message: Nina, don’t you want to know the real reason Kellan ended up with Talia? Meet me at The Magnolia Lounge. 9:00 AM. I didn’t need to check the contact. It was Gideon Vane. The Magnolia Lounge was where we first met. It was where he’d approached me after I lost the bidding on my mother’s last estate painting, my eyes red from crying. The next day, he’d shown up at my father’s house with the painting in hand. For the next six months, the gifts never stopped. My father, seeing a golden goose, practically gift-wrapped me for him. I grew up in a world of artifice; I expected nothing from a tactical marriage. But Gideon had used letters—clumsy, handwritten notes—to crack my shell. When I fell overboard during a yacht gala, he had dived into the dark water without a second thought. I came out unscathed; his legs had been shredded by the reef. I thought I had found my soulmate. I was so certain of it that I brought Talia, my charity case, into our home to give her a better life. And they turned me into a pariah. Thinking about it didn’t hurt anymore. Even seeing Gideon again didn’t stir the old grief. He looked the same—sharp, handsome, perhaps a bit thinner. “There’s something you need to see,” he said as I sat down. He pushed his phone across the marble table. “What?” He hesitated, then swiped the screen. My blood turned to ice. The video was grainy, but unmistakable. It was Kellan, three years ago. He was leaning against his car in a New York alley, lighting a cigarette and handing a thick envelope of cash to a group of vagrants. My breath hitched. Gideon adjusted his glasses, his voice low and grim. “I’m a bastard, Nina. I know that. But Kellan? He’s a different kind of monster. I threw you out, yes. But the men who attacked you that night? The ones who ‘traumatized’ you so he could play the hero? He hired them.” The world tilted. “He wanted you broken,” Gideon continued. “He knew you’d never choose him while you were whole. So he destroyed you to make sure he was the only one left to pick up the pieces.” Flashes of that night surged back. The twisted faces. The laughter. The tearing pain in my abdomen—the loss of the pregnancy I hadn’t even known about yet. “Stop it!” I gasped, clutching the table. The air in the lounge felt too thin. I stared at Gideon, my teeth chattering. “And you? Why tell me this now? Just to prove you’re the ‘lesser’ of two evils? To show me that the man I ran to was worse than the man I ran from?” Tears blurred my vision. “You want to prove that I’ll never be happy without you. But you’re just like him. You all use me like a pawn.” Gideon was silent for a long moment. “I’m a prick, Nina. I cheated. I failed you. But I never planned to replace you. Not legally.” He leaned in, his eyes piercing. “Kellan has been taking Talia to the Mercer family estate. He’s introducing her as his future. And Nina…” He paused. “He filed for a quiet annulment weeks ago. He didn’t just throw you out of the house; he’s erased you from the marriage entirely. Come back to New York with me. Let me fix this.” The shock was so total I felt nothing. It was the white-out of peak agony. I opened my mouth to tell him to go to hell, but a hand suddenly clamped onto my shoulder, yanking me backward. “Gideon! You’ve got a hell of a nerve!” Kellan’s voice exploded in my ear. He was shaking with rage, his grip on my neck nearly choking me. “Is this how it is, Nina? You get your feelings hurt and run straight back to your old flame?” I didn’t fight him. I just stared at him with empty eyes. Gideon stood up, his face darkening. “Let her go, Kellan.” In an instant, a circle of security guards surrounded the table. Kellan laughed, a jagged, ugly sound. “You have no standing here, Vane. She’s my wife. You spent years sending her gifts, playing the pining ex. If you loved her so much, maybe you shouldn’t have been so busy screwing the help.” Gideon flinched, his fists curling. “Don’t get cocky. You’re making the same mistakes I did.” He turned to me. “Nina, when you’re ready, call me.” He walked away, his guards clearing a path. The air between me and Kellan was thick with unspoken venom. I walked to the car without a word, and he trailed behind me, his voice a low, frantic growl. “You aren’t going with him. You aren’t calling him. You’re done with him!” When I didn’t respond, he snapped. He grabbed my shoulders and began to shake me. “Answer me! Do you hear me?” “You’ve been through one divorce. You really want to be a two-time loser? Your father won’t take you back. No one wants a used-up socialite. I’m the only one who loves you, Nina. Just stay in your lane. Be my wife.” Love me? Is that what this was? Betrayal, manipulation, and hired violence? I started to laugh. A low, ragged sound that bubbled up from my chest. Kellan forced my head up, his eyes wide with frantic desperation. “What’s so funny?” I didn’t look at him. I just whispered, “Besides Talia… is there anything else you’re hiding?” Kellan went rigid. He turned his face toward the window, unable to meet my eyes. He didn’t confess, but his silence was a signed confession. My laughter grew louder, more hysterical. It tore through the cramped space of the car like a serrated blade. “Enough! Shut up!” Kellan lunged, trying to cover my mouth. The rage in my chest finally broke. I grabbed his hand and bit down, hard, until the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. “You’re a goddamn animal, Kellan!” I spat. “You want to know who I love? I love Gideon. I regret every second I spent with you. At least he was an honest bastard. At least he didn’t kill my soul just to own it!” Kellan’s breath came in ragged hitches. His eyes turned a violent, bruised red. He pinned me against the seat, his hand tightening around my throat. “You think I don’t regret it?” he hissed. “I could have had any woman in this city, and I chose a broken, discarded toy. Gideon had the right idea—Talia is ten times the woman you are. She’s actually fun. She actually knows how to please a man.” The words felt like a physical weight on my lungs. I tried to speak, but he squeezed harder. “What? You like biting? Let’s see how much you like this.” The world began to dim. The last thing I saw was Kellan’s distorted, angry face before everything went black. … When I opened my eyes, I was back in the house. But I wasn’t in the guest room. I was in bed, and my wrist was shackled to the headboard by a heavy iron chain. Talia was sitting in a chair by the bed, smiling as she stirred a steaming cup of liquid. “Kellan said you’re a bit… hysterical. He wants you to take your medicine.” With Kellan gone, she dropped the act. She grabbed a handful of my hair and forced my head back. “I was good to you,” I rasped, my voice a broken thread. “Why would you do this?” Talia laughed, a sharp, jarring sound. “Why? Because you’re pathetic! You’re so desperate to be ‘good’ that you practically handed me your life on a silver platter. I hate people like you. Always looking down from your mountain of gold, offering ‘charity’ like we’re stray dogs. I didn’t want your help, Nina. I wanted your chair. And now I have it.” She forced the liquid into my mouth. It was bitter, stinging my throat. A few minutes later, a sharp, cramping pain bloomed in my lower abdomen. I curled into a ball, my fingers digging into the mattress. “What… what did you give me?” She smiled, a sweet, angelic expression. “Medicine.” “It’s an abortifacient. In ten minutes, your second chance at a family will be nothing but a mess on the sheets. You really aren’t meant to be a mother, are you?” Her laughter filled the room. I reached out, my eyes landing on a paring knife on the fruit plate nearby. With a burst of adrenaline, I lunged, the chain clattering as I pressed the blade against her throat. “Stop it!” Kellan burst into the room, his face pale. He didn’t look worried; he looked furious that I was still fighting. “You’re going to kill someone over Gideon? Is he really worth it?” “Kellan, help me! She’s crazy! She’s trying to kill the baby!” Talia wailed, clutching her stomach. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ve got you,” Kellan said, his voice dripping with a tenderness he’d never shown me. I wanted to scream. Their baby would be fine. But mine? I looked down. The white duvet was already blooming with a dark, horrific red. The knife felt heavy in my hand. Everything became a blur. Kellan disarmed me, throwing the knife aside. He looked at me, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “Nina, where are you hurt?” “It’s just… her period,” Talia lied quickly. He hesitated, a flash of disappointment in his eyes. I watched him. I watched the man who had been my “protector” since I was thirteen years old. When I was thirteen, I fell off a swing. He had dove under me to break my fall, breaking three of his own ribs. I had cried, asking why he didn’t just move. He’d smiled through the pain and said, “If I moved, you would have gotten hurt. I never want you to feel a second of pain, Nina.” The boy who couldn’t bear to see me stub a toe was now the man watching me bleed out from his own betrayal. I dragged myself toward the edge of the bed, reaching for him one last time. Talia let out a staged scream. Kellan reacted instinctively. He grabbed the knife from the floor and turned. Pain is supposed to make you weak, but in that moment, it made me clear. I didn’t move. I let the blade sink into my shoulder. The world turned crimson. I saw Kellan’s pupils dilate, his face turning a ghostly white as he realized what he’d done. I reached up with my good hand, touching his cheek. My voice was a whisper. “Why the New York alley, Kellan?” “Why… why did you kill both of them?” Then, the darkness claimed me again.

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For five years, I’ve lived in the shadow of a title that tasted like ash: The Cursed Heir. It started because my best friend, Derek, died on my birthday—exactly one year to the day after my fiancée, Cora, was killed in a tragic accident. They used to call me “The Golden Boy” with a wink and a smile, but after they were gone, that nickname became a leaden weight around my neck. A curse. I spent every waking moment wondering if they’d still be here if I hadn’t insisted on celebrating another year of my life. I was at a private academy helping my nephew with his transfer paperwork when I saw her. A profile I would recognize in a crowded stadium. I froze, the air leaving my lungs in a sharp whistle. The woman looked exactly like Cora. I couldn’t help myself; I followed her out to the parking lot. She was crouched down, her face set in a stern line as she lectured a small boy. “Zoey, you got into another fight today? If this keeps up, you can forget about dessert for a month.” The boy pouted, crossing his arms. “Cora, you’re such a mean mom! She started it! You always take their side!” Mom? Cora? The world tilted on its axis. My heart didn’t just break; it shattered. They weren’t dead. They were alive, and they had a life together. They had a child. “Uncle Adrian? What are you looking at?” My nephew’s voice pulled me back to the brutal reality. Cora turned at the sound of my name. For a heartbeat, our eyes locked, and the expression on her face froze into a mask of pure, icy shock. … I stood there, paralyzed. My mind was a chaotic storm of emotions I couldn’t categorize. Should I be happy? Happy that I wasn’t the “jinx” who had killed them? Or should I be devastated that they had staged the most gruesome betrayal imaginable just to get away from me? Why? Cora and I had grown up together. On her twentieth birthday, she had legally changed her middle name to match a poem I loved. She told me, “Our hearts are two threads woven into a single tapestry, Adrian. We’ll understand each other’s souls forever.” The day before my birthday five years ago, she had whispered a promise: “Adrian, we’re going to celebrate every year together. I’ll be the umbrella that keeps the rain off you.” But she was the one who brought the storm. I searched for the exact moment she stopped loving me, but the memories were too painful to sift through. The school bell rang, and the children scrambled back toward the building. Cora walked toward me. There was no shame in her stride, no stutter in her step. She looked at me with a terrifyingly familiar warmth. “Golden Boy,” she said softly. “You found us sooner than I expected.” A sharp, stabbing pain flared in my chest. To her, this was just a game of hide-and-seek. I took a ragged breath and looked her in the eye. “When did it start?” She tilted her head, looking genuinely thoughtful, as if we were discussing the weather. “Maybe it was that day you got into a fight for him. I realized then that a man who wasn’t so… dominant… had his own kind of charm. Or maybe it was graduation, seeing him in that frayed, cheap shirt. It moved me.” She sighed, a mature, casual shrug of the shoulders. “Adrian, you can’t predict what you’ll love from one second to the next. Just like I used to hate the billionaire-heir type, but I still fell for you once.” Cora was always an expert at being both cruel and direct. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” I choked out. “Why fake your deaths? Why the secret marriage?” “Because I knew you too well,” she said, her voice devoid of regret. “Back then, you hadn’t learned how to weigh love against interest. You were too impulsive. A public breakup would have ruined both our families and destroyed Derek’s reputation.” She looked at my expensive suit, then back at my face. “But you’ve learned now. Otherwise, you’d be calling the tabloids instead of standing here quietly.” She had calculated everything. Even my silence. I wouldn’t make a scene—not because I had learned “restraint,” but because I was dying. I had six months left, and I didn’t want to spend them screaming at ghosts. I spent the rest of the afternoon in a quiet coffee shop, staring at the steam rising from a cup I didn’t drink, wondering how to tell my parents about the diagnosis. When I reached the front door of the family estate at dusk, I heard a child’s laughter echoing from the drawing room. Confused, I paused by the door. “Derek, take the child and leave through the side gate in five minutes,” I heard my mother say. “Adrian said he’d be home soon.” A heavy silence followed, then my father’s weary sigh. “What you did five years ago was too much. Adrian hasn’t been happy for a single day since. Even if he isn’t my biological son, it breaks my heart to see him like this.” “We’ll make it up to him later,” my father added, though he sounded unconvinced. Derek’s voice—soft, gentle, the voice of the brother I thought I’d lost—replied, “I know, Dad. It’s my fault. I’ll tell him everything soon.” The world went cold. Pieces of a puzzle I never wanted to solve clicked into place. Why my mother was always insisting I bring Derek home for dinner. Why she looked like she was about to cry every time she saw him. Why she was always slipping him money under the table. The Barbie dolls I’d occasionally find in the guest wing. He was the biological son. I was the one who had been switched at birth. And they had known about the “dead” lovers and the secret grandchild all along. They had watched me rot in guilt for five years while they played house with the “real” son behind my back. A chilling numbness settled over me. At least I didn’t have to worry about them being sad when I died. They didn’t need me. They never did. I pulled out my phone and sent a text to my oncologist: I’m opting out of the chemo. Please cancel my next appointment. Suddenly, the door handle turned. I couldn’t face them. I turned and ran into the darkness, not stopping until I reached a deserted park. I sat on a bench and finally, mercifully, let the tears come. There was no one left in this world who loved me. Eventually, my legs went numb. I dragged myself back to the house that was no longer mine. My parents looked at me with varying degrees of guilt until my father finally cracked. “Adrian… Derek… he didn’t actually die.” They watched me, gauging my reaction. “He and Cora are married. They have a daughter.” When I didn’t scream, my mother’s voice sharpened, turning defensive. “Don’t you dare blame him. You were the ones switched. He suffered through a life of poverty that should have been yours. Even if he ‘stole’ Cora, you’re still the one with the trust fund and the title. You should be grateful.” Grateful. The word felt like a slap. I had no right to be angry. Anger is a luxury for those who are loved. I simply nodded. They seemed taken aback by my composure. “The school is a bit far from their place,” my father said, though it wasn’t a suggestion. “They’re going to stay here with us for a while.” That night, Cora and Derek moved in. The house was suddenly loud, filled with their belongings and their laughter. My mother was in the kitchen, a tender smile on her face I had never seen before. “Slow down, Derek,” she cooed. “Let me finish the dishes. You’ve worked hard your whole life. It’s time you were taken care of.” Cora sat on the velvet sofa, her eyes tracking me as I stood in the foyer. “Don’t just stand there, Adrian. Come sit.” I didn’t move. In the house I had lived in for twenty-six years, I felt like a trespasser. Dinner was a spread of everything Derek loved. My mother kept piling food onto his plate, then ruffled Zoey’s hair. “Eat up, sweetie. Your daddy didn’t get to eat like this when he was your age.” Every word was a barb aimed at me. Zoey looked up from his plate, staring at me with wide eyes. “Uncle, why aren’t you eating? Do you hate us?” The table went silent. Derek put down his fork and offered a soft, rehearsed smile. “Don’t be silly, Zoey. Uncle Adrian just has a small appetite.” I opened my mouth to speak, but my mother beat me to it. “Adrian, I thought you were being mature about this. If you’re just going to sit there with that long face and try to make us feel guilty, then leave. I’m begging you, stop being so dramatic for once.” My grip on my fork tightened until my knuckles turned white. A dull, throbbing pain bloomed in my chest. I shook my head, but a sudden, violent cough seized me. My father sighed, a look of disappointment on his face. “Adrian, if the food isn’t to your taste, your mother can make you something else.” I forced a smile and swallowed a mouthful of sandwich. It tasted like cardboard. “It’s fine. Everything is fine.” Cora watched me, a flicker of something—maybe pity—crossing her eyes. I retreated to my room as soon as I could. I locked the door and sank to the floor, the mask of “Golden Boy” finally crumbling. My phone buzzed. Dr. Aris: Are you sure about this, Adrian? Without treatment, your timeline is very short. Chemo could give you at least another six months. I stared at the screen for a long time before typing back: Thank you, Doctor. But I’m ready to leave. A knock at the door. I wiped my eyes and opened it. It was Cora. She was holding a plate of dumplings. “You didn’t eat much. These are the wild mushroom ones you used to love.” “I don’t love them anymore,” I said flatly. As I moved to close the door, she reached out, knocking the phone from my hand. The screen was still glowing. She saw the message. Her eyes darkened. “You’re leaving?” I scrambled to pick up the phone. She had only seen the last part. She looked at me, her voice dropping. “Because of me?” I stepped back. “No. I just want to see other cities.” She wanted to say more, but I shut the door in her face. The next day, I began clearing out my life. I found an old box filled with photos of Cora and me, and the necklace she gave me when she “confessed” her love. The pendant was a tiny gold heart. Back then, her world revolved around me. Back then, my parents loved me. I put it all in a trash bag. In the hallway, I ran into Zoey. He was playing with blocks on the floor. “Uncle, what are you throwing away?” I knelt down and ruffled his hair. His warmth felt alien against my cold skin. “Just some old things that don’t work anymore.” He blinked at me. “Do you hate me and Mommy?” I looked at his face—he had Cora’s eyes. My heart softened. “No, Zoey. You’re a good kid.” “Then why are you always sad?” He took my hand. “Daddy said you were a prince, and princes are always happy. Grandma said you were the luckiest person in the world because you had everything.” Prince. The word was a joke now. Everyone believed Adrian Ellington was the happiest man alive. No one wanted to see the truth. My eyes blurred. I turned away so he wouldn’t see. Cora and Derek walked up. Seeing me with Zoey, Derek rushed over, his face tight with a panic I didn’t understand. He scooped the boy up. “Zoey, don’t bother your uncle. He’s… not well. He needs his rest.” He emphasized “not well” as if he were telling Cora I was faking it for attention. Zoey looked at Cora. “Mommy, Uncle is crying. His hands are so cold.” Cora’s gaze landed on my face. She saw the redness in my eyes and froze. She lunged for the trash bag in my hand, and the necklace spilled out. “You’re throwing this away?” her voice was raspy. “Yes,” I said. “It serves no purpose.” She gripped the bag, her knuckles white. She looked angry—or maybe she was grieving. “Adrian, how can you just let go?” I let out a hollow laugh. “Cora, the past is dead. I’m moving on. Why wouldn’t I?” “Moving on?” She scoffed. “You call this moving on? Looking like a ghost? Do you have any idea how much you’re worrying everyone?” I’m the one who ruined everything? I didn’t answer. I just watched the light in her eyes flicker and die. Derek pulled on her arm. “Cora, leave him. Adrian has been spoiled his whole life. It’s natural he can’t handle sharing the spotlight. I’m fine with it. As long as I have you and a home, I can handle his moods.” I didn’t bother explaining. I walked out of the house. Cora chased me into the driveway, grabbing my wrist and pinning me against the brick wall. Her eyes were swimming with guilt. “Adrian, why are you acting like you’re already dead?” I pushed her away. I was so weak it barely moved her. “It doesn’t matter, Cora.” As the words left my lips, blood began to pour from my nose. It wouldn’t stop. Cora panicked, her hands fluttering toward my face. “Are you sick? Adrian, what is this?” I shook my head, wiping the blood with my sleeve. “I’ve just been taking too many supplements. My blood is thin.” Before she could press further, Derek yelled from the porch. “Cora! Zoey is having a reaction! He’s asking for you!” Cora looked at me, torn, then turned and ran back inside. Once she was gone, I leaned against the wall and coughed into my hand. It came up crimson. I went to the hospital and picked up a fresh bottle of painkillers. The doctor tried to argue for the hospital bed again. I just smiled. “Chemo gives me six months of agony. This way, I get to leave quietly. These last few years have been hard enough. I’d like the end to be easy.” I stayed in a hotel that night. When I returned home the next morning, the entire family was waiting in the living room. “Adrian, how could you?” my mother screamed, her eyes red. For a second, I thought they knew. I thought they cared. “What… what happened?” Cora looked at me with pure loathing. “Zoey nearly died yesterday. A severe peanut allergy.” “You knew Derek was allergic, too,” my father added, his voice cold. “But you put peanut butter in the kids’ snacks.” I looked at Derek. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. I realized then that he was willing to risk his own daughter’s life just to ensure I was exiled forever. “I didn’t do it,” I said. My voice was hollow. My mother stood up and delivered a blow that sent me reeling. The slap echoed through the room. I hit the floor, my head spinning, fighting the urge to vomit blood right there on the rug. My father moved to help me, but my mother stopped him. “No! He’s been spoiled into a monster. He tried to kill a child and he won’t even admit it.” Tears dripped onto the hardwood. My mother spoke one last time. “I wish I had never raised you. I wish the hospital had never made that mistake.” She slammed the door as she left. My father followed. After a long silence, Derek knelt beside me. His voice was dripping with fake sympathy. “Adrian, Zoey is going to be okay. It’s fine. I know you didn’t mean it.” Cora put a hand on his shoulder. “Go get some sleep, Derek. You were up all night at the ER.” When they left, I struggled to my feet and swallowed three painkillers. “What are you taking?” Cora was standing in the doorway. I didn’t answer. She grabbed my arm, her eyes widening as she felt how thin I’d become. “Adrian, you’re skin and bones.” But her concern was quickly replaced by anger. “Zoey is an innocent child. If you hate me, take it out on me.” I am innocent, too, I thought. Why can’t anyone see me? “I don’t hate you,” I said. “And I didn’t hurt him.” I went upstairs and packed a small bag. When I opened the front door to leave, my mother was standing there. She saw the suitcase and hesitated. “Where are you going?” Then, as if remembering she was supposed to be angry, she snapped, “Fine! Go! Don’t come back until you’re ready to apologize!” I checked into the hospital under a different name. I had enough money left for one month. Day by day, my hair began to fall out. I spent my afternoons walking through the city parks until I was too weak to stand. Finally, Cora called. “Adrian, are you okay? Mom and Dad are worried. Just come home. Tomorrow is your birthday. Let’s just move past this.” I looked at my reflection in the hospital glass—a skeleton draped in pale skin. “Tell them to take care of themselves. I’m not coming back.” That night, as the clock ticked toward midnight, the pain became a living thing, clawing at my bones. I reached for the pills on the nightstand, but my fingers were useless. The bottle shattered on the floor, white pills scattering like snow. Sweet, metallic heat surged up my throat. I covered my mouth, but the blood soaked through my fingers and stained the white sheets. At least I don’t have to have another birthday, I thought. The world blurred. The light faded. And finally, the silence was absolute.

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