I’m a vampire. Recently, I’ve been frequenting a mansion to feed on a comatose man’s blood. Since he can’t speak, no one knows I’m drinking his blood. Three months passed. One day, as I was feeding from his neck, I heard a voice above my head say, “Could you stop targeting just one side?” 0 I’m a vampire. I don’t like drinking those pre-packaged blood bags. I prefer to drink hot, fresh blood straight from the human body. Hot, with that metallic taste—if you savor it carefully, there’s even a sweet aftertaste. Baby loves it. But getting caught drinking human blood has pretty serious consequences, so I set my sights on a comatose young man in a mansion. The coma patient’s name is Ethan Sinclair. He’s young, good-looking, and most importantly, he’s in a coma with no awareness. When I drink his blood, he won’t panic and scream, and he won’t throw garlic at me. Even better, occasionally I can suck out tiny blood clots. They’re chewy, bouncy, soft, and have a nice texture—like the pearls in bubble tea. Hehe. I just love holding this comatose young man late at night, burying my head in his neck and drinking contentedly. Though he’s comatose, his body is warm. A cold-blooded creature like me loves pressing my hands and feet against his warm body. So cozy. It’s not hard to see—I really like him. I often see his mother crying, saying if she dies someday, who will take care of him. I’d be clinging to the wall outside his window, raising my hand high, thinking: Me! I’ll take care of him! I’ll carry him back to my coffin and take care of him just like I take care of the young poplar trees beside my grave. Hehe. But I’m a vampire with a conscience. To prevent leaving marks from constantly biting Ethan Sinclair, every time I finish drinking his blood, I drip a drop of my blood on his wound. His wound heals instantly. Besides that, I also researched in the human knowledge database how to care for coma patients. The knowledge database says that to prevent bedsores in coma patients, you need to turn them frequently. So I hold Ethan Sinclair and flip him from left to right, then from right to left. The database says some coma patients can sense the outside world, they just can’t express it. So if conditions permit, you should frequently let them experience the beauty of the external world—things like sunlight, breeze, floral scents… Seeing the word “sunlight,” I experienced phantom pain for ten seconds. Also, I’m allergic to pollen. It’s pretty bizarre for a vampire—or rather, a Chinese jiangshi—to be allergic to pollen, but my existence itself is bizarre, so I don’t dwell on it too much. So I can only carry him on my back at night, jump out the window, and leap to the tallest tree in a quiet nature reserve. The night wind whooshes around us. I turn my head to Ethan Sinclair, draped over my shoulder, and say, “I treat you well, right? You have to repay me. From now on, only I can drink your blood. If other vampires try to drink your blood, you need to clench your anus really hard. That way your blood vessels will constrict, they’ll have a hard time sucking, and they won’t drink your blood.” “Okay?” Ethan Sinclair doesn’t respond. Me: “Then I’ll take that as a yes.” The knowledge database also says you need to frequently help coma patients exercise their bodies, or they’ll develop blood clots. Well, I can skip that one. With my abilities, I Grahamarantee I can suck them all out in one go. 0

The two caregivers looking after Ethan Sinclair wanted to resign. Mrs. Sinclair said, “Is it the salary? I can give you a raise!” Caregiver Mary clutched her head and said, “No, no, ma’am. Fifty thousand a month is already plenty. It’s just… it’s just that for some reason, every night we suddenly black out like someone knocked us unconscious, and when we wake up it’s already daytime!” Caregiver Linda trembled all over and said, “Yes, ma’am! We would never lie! Your family is so prominent, you should have someone come check the house! There might be… something unclean in the house!” After the two caregivers left, Mrs. Sinclair said to her assistant with a pale face, “Go find a capable priest or psychic.” “Yes, ma’am.” “And find eight more caregivers. Four for day shifts, four for night shifts.” “Yes, ma’am.” Back in my coffin, I rummaged through my wardrobe and pulled out a caregiver’s uniform. I took out a notebook and picked up a brush to write my resume. Lily Baker Age: 28 Education: Middle school dropout Work experience: Three months as a caregiver. Personality: Optimistic, kind, knows how to repay kindness, brave. The next day, I took my drafted resume and intercepted an elementary school student. I traded a gold hairpin for her help typing up my resume. The kid glanced at me, pulled her backpack to the front, took out pen and paper, wrote it up smoothly, tore off the page neatly and stuffed it into my hand, then patted my arm: “Do your best! Every trade produces its master!” Then she turned and left. I chased after her with the gold hairpin, but the kid held her head high and said, “A small favor, not worth mentioning!” Then she walked away coolly, without even leaving me a glance. 0

At the food stall where the assistant eats, I held the phone and sighed, “Sigh, after the young man at my last job woke up, his family let me go. I wanted to rest for a month before continuing work.” “Well, it’s because his ancestors accumulated merit that the coma patient woke up. It doesn’t have much to do with me.” “But I should thank them for letting me accumulate experience caring for coma patients.” “Mm, I bought a ticket home for the day after tomorrow.” The assistant sitting nearby listened with brightening eyes. When I mentioned buying tickets, the assistant patted my shoulder: “Miss, there’s a caregiving job with a monthly salary of eighty thousand dollars. Would you consider it?” —— That night, I followed the assistant and walked openly into the mansion. Because I told the assistant I’m allergic to sunlight, I could only work at night. After the assistant reported to Mrs. Sinclair, she said she’d take me back for a trial first. In the mansion’s spacious European-style living room, Mrs. Sinclair sat upright on the sofa looking at me, smiling: “So young and already working as a caregiver?” I nodded: “My family is poor. I dropped out of middle school and started working.” Mrs. Sinclair: “I saw your resume. You’re very suitable. Can you start today? Three-day trial period, and if you pass we’ll sign a long-term contract. We’ll also pay for insurance and benefits.” As I was debating whether to tell her I don’t need insurance and benefits, Mrs. Sinclair said, “Oh, don’t worry. Even if you don’t pass the trial, it’s still 4,000 dollars per day.” No need to complicate things. I agreed immediately: “Okay, thank you, ma’am!” On my first day, the other seven caregivers hadn’t been found yet. When I pushed open Ethan Sinclair’s bedroom door, large swaths of moonlight poured in through his floor-to-ceiling windows. The gentle moonlight bathed him, making him look like Sleeping Beauty from a fairy tale waiting for a prince’s kiss to wake him. Mrs. Sinclair stood by Ethan Sinclair’s bed, looking at her beloved son with tender expression: “Before my son got sick, he was a sunny, kind, good child. His father and I were too busy with business to take care of him, but he worked hard and got into the best medical school. Undergraduate, master’s, PhD, plus residency—a full thirteen years. He was so busy studying and working he didn’t even get a girlfriend.” Mrs. Sinclair turned to look at me. She was smiling: “Do you know what happened later that made my son end up like this?” I shook my head, though my intuition told me it must be a very tragic story. Mrs. Sinclair’s expression was calm: “A young woman who had suffered domestic abuse asked my son to perform an abortion procedure for her. The surgery was successful. When my son was explaining post-operative precautions to the family and returning to his office, he was pushed down the stairs by that woman’s husband.” Mrs. Sinclair said softly, “If there had been even the slightest error in the surgery, it would have been what my son deserved. But all the evaluations said there was nothing wrong with the procedure. After my son started working, he basically lived at the hospital, donating most of his salary to the hospital’s relief fund. He wore those Crocs year-round, just putting cotton covers over them in winter. I often told him there was no need to suffer like that—our family didn’t need that small doctor’s salary. But my son just smiled and said, ‘But I took an oath, Mom!’” The muscles in Mrs. Sinclair’s face trembled uncontrollably as she forcibly suppressed her emotions to keep from becoming hysterical: “My poor child, you pitied others, but who will pity you!” Mrs. Sinclair cried. A woman who could build such a successful business and care for her comatose son so well that he only looked asleep—how could she not know better than to share too much with a stranger? It was just that she was in too much pain. Her heart had been ripped out, and she could only ease her pain through telling her story. The assistant stepped forward, handed Mrs. Sinclair tissues, and gently patted her shoulder to comfort her. After a while, Mrs. Sinclair finally composed herself again and looked up. She held my hand and said earnestly, “I’m sorry, Lily, for making you witness that. I’m entrusting my son to you.” Me: “Don’t worry, ma’am. I’ll take good care of Ethan.” That night when I drank Ethan Sinclair’s blood, for the first time I tasted bitterness. This is one of my abilities—the blood of people with different emotions has different flavors to me. When happy, blood is sweet. When sad, blood is bitter. When angry, blood is spicy. When afraid, blood tastes like wasabi… This was also why I loved drinking Ethan Sinclair’s blood. Other people’s blood was either explosively spicy or unbearably wasabi-flavored. Rarely was there someone like Ethan Sinclair with such pure, original-flavored blood. Hot, with that metallic taste—if you savor it carefully, there’s even a sweet aftertaste. Baby loves it. Ethan Sinclair, who usually had no emotional fluctuations, why did he taste bitter today? I gently withdrew my fangs and said to Ethan Sinclair, “Ethan Sinclair, don’t be sad. I’ll take good care of you and help take care of your mother too.” I affectionately sniffed the wound on his neck: “Want me to kill that bad Grahamy for you?” “For us vampires, killing someone is just a matter of one bite.” Ethan Sinclair’s blood was still bitter. Me: “Are you determined to cosplay bitter coffee tonight?” My humor didn’t get the laugh it deserved. The bitterness flowing from Ethan Sinclair’s blood vessels just lightened a bit. I stuck out my tonGrahame and gently licked the wound on his neck: “Not bad. It tastes like bitter coffee with a spoonful of sugar added. Hehe, this Chinese jiangshi finally got to drink American coffee.” I slipped my hand around Ethan’s waist: “In a couple days, the cherry blossom grove by my grave will bloom. I’ll take you to see it, okay?” “Okay, thank you, baby.” I lowered my voice, imitating a man’s deep voice. I looked up at Ethan Sinclair’s profile, wondering what his voice sounded like. “Ethan Sinclair, is your voice as pleasant as your blood?” In the silent deep night, no one answered me. 0

I’m a vampire. I’ve been alive for a very, very long time. I’m not threatened by birth, aging, illness, or death. I’m not bound by morality or law. I have no pursuit of fame or fortune. I wander through the world for only one thing—a mouthful of fresh blood. A mouthful of delicious fresh blood. Tempted by a coma patient’s beauty and fresh blood, I came to his side and became his caregiver. The Sinclair family’s compensation for caregivers was very generous. By normal standards, I wouldn’t even pass the interview, but Mrs. Sinclair still kept me. Because Mrs. Sinclair said that from the first moment she saw me, she could feel I was special. I had a certain quality about me, as if I were a messenger sent by God. Mrs. Sinclair is a Christian. I wonder what Mrs. Sinclair would think if she knew I was a vampire. Would she feel that calling me Satan’s colleaGrahame would be more appropriate than God’s messenger? Anyway, in short, I signed a long-term contract with the Sinclair family. My ultimate goal was to hold Ethan Sinclair and live a carefree life. To establish a firm foothold, I could say I made up for lack of talent with hard work. During the day I studied nursing knowledge by lamplight, and at night I watched Ethan Sinclair without blinking, rushing over at the first sign he needed to relieve himself or needed hydration. I never delayed turning him or giving him massages. A month passed. The rumors about the Sinclair house being haunted gradually faded, but in the caregiver circles around the Sinclair family, they all cursed me as a scab. Susan, who worked the night shift with me, never let me see her pupils—she just rolled her eyes whenever she saw me. She’d been in this line of work for fifteen years, so naturally she was very experienced. After seeing that I just loved to work hard and never complained to Mrs. Sinclair about her sleeping on night shifts, snoring, stealing Ethan Sinclair’s high-end bedding and nutritional supplements… she was finally willing to look at me with her pupils. One night around 3 AM, she woke up on the chair choking on her own drool. When she saw me turning Ethan Sinclair, she rubbed her eyes, sat up and said, “No need to be so diligent. No one comes to check at night. You can sleep a bit. Look at your dark circles—you look like a vampire.” When I was still human, my skin was pale. After becoming non-human, my skin had no color at all, yet my lips were blood red. When I turned my head, I could rotate at a constant speed without limits, and my eyes could stay open without blinking. I looked at her eerily and smiled bleakly: “You found me out.” At 3 AM, Susan was indeed frightened. She gripped the chair and straightened up, her face deathly pale: “You…” “Hehe.” I laughed once, stopped scaring her, and turned back to exercise Ethan Sinclair’s legs: “My mom always says that about me too. Says I’m a vampire. If she hadn’t given birth to me, my three younger brothers could have drunk more milk, grown taller and stronger and smarter, and wouldn’t be like now—not one of them can find a wife. So I should earn more money for my brothers to help them get married.” I rambled off the top of my head, and Susan actually believed it. She let out a long breath, then came over and patted my shoulder: “Poor areas are like that… Anyway, sis was just teasing you earlier. Don’t take it to heart!” I nodded and smiled sincerely and cheerfully: “Don’t worry, Susan! I know you’re a good person!” “Oh my…” Susan, praised by me, seemed a bit flustered: “You go rest a bit. I’ll take care of Ethan.” Yeah right. In a while you’ll be sleeping on his bed and I’ll have to move you off. “It’s okay, Susan. I slept during the day. I’m not sleepy.” Susan’s butt didn’t even leave the chair: “Alright then! Sis won’t be polite with you! You sleep the day after tomorrow. I mainly have to watch my grandson tomorrow.” Of course, the day after tomorrow she still snored like there was a three-wheeled motorcycle in the room that wouldn’t start up in winter. The funny thing was it seemed to affect Ethan Sinclair’s sleep. He had faint dark circles under his eyes too, and his blood wasn’t as sweet when I drank it—it was slightly spicy. My taste is pretty mild. I don’t like spicy food. So the next night, Mrs. Sinclair, who had insomnia from drinking coffee, appeared at Ethan Sinclair’s door. Susan was fired on the spot.

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My boyfriend was having vigorous sex with my best friend on the bed. I hid under the bed, secretly recording everything. Suddenly, my friend’s moans turned into screams. The bed began shaking violently, and blood poured onto the floor like a waterfall. Then, her bloody head rolled down, her wide-open eyes staring straight at me. I was scared out of my wits. “What’s happening? My boyfriend just killed someone?” I came here today to catch them cheating. I never expected to witness a murder scene. On the bed, my boyfriend was laughing eerily. The sound of the knife stabbing into flesh was still clearly audible. I covered my mouth forcefully, making myself stay silent. Tears streamed down my face. “Why would he kill someone?” A few minutes later, my boyfriend Xander stopped moving. He seemed tired from all the stabbing. He lay on the blood-soaked bed and lit a cigarette. Just then, my phone’s SnapChat notification suddenly went off. My heart sank. I clutched my phone desperately. But he seemed to hear the vibration. “Hmm?” He made a puzzled sound. I felt the bed move. He seemed to be lifting the covers, searching for the source of the sound. I almost cried out. I frantically switched my phone to silent mode. The second I pressed silent, Xander’s call came through. “Ring… ring…” The hollow ringtone lasted about a minute. When I didn’t answer, he hung up and sent me a voice message on SnapChat. “Babe, are you asleep? I’m working late tonight, so I won’t come home to sleep.” After that, I saw his feet slip into slippers and step onto the floor. The floor was covered with my friend’s blood. As Xander walked, he left a trail of bloody footprints. He seemed to be searching for something in the room. Suddenly, he coughed violently twice. I flinched, so tense I forgot to breathe. My friend Lily’s bloody head was right in front of me, staring at me. Blood was still spurting from her severed neck, her face frozen in shock and terror. Xander walked around naked in circles, but didn’t seem to find anything. He went to the kitchen, got a cleaver, and walked back to the bed. His large feet were right in front of me. Then he began dismembering the body, chopping down with the knife like he was cutting vegetables. By accident, he kicked Lily’s head. The bloody head rolled under the bed, almost face to face with me. I covered my mouth tightly, trembling all over. The overwhelming smell of blood made me want to vomit. But somehow I found the courage to push her head outward. Just as Xander was walking forward, he kicked Lily’s head like a soccer ball, sending it flying. Xander froze and stopped what he was doing. The cleaver in his hand kept dripping blood. I prayed silently in my mind: “Don’t look under the bed. Don’t look under the bed.” Xander stood still for a few seconds, then walked forward to pick up the head. I breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed he hadn’t discovered me yet. My brain raced, thinking about how to escape. My friend’s apartment was on the tenth floor. Jumping out the window definitely wasn’t an option. It seemed I could only escape after Xander finished disposing of the body and left. But could I last that long? Blood kept spreading under the bed. I twisted my body and moved further in to avoid the blood that was about to reach my mouth. Xander returned to the bed and chopped for a while. Suddenly, Lily’s hand fell to the floor. My heart almost stopped. If he bent down to pick it up, he would definitely see me. Xander hesitated, then slowly bent down to reach for the hand. I closed my eyes in fear, covering my mouth to keep myself from screaming, praying to heaven for a miracle. The next second, there was a knock at the door.

Xander’s movements froze instantly. He stayed in that bent position for a long time without moving. “Knock, knock, knock.” The knocking came again, followed by loud shouting from outside: “I’m back. Open the door!” I recognized that voice. It was Lily’s boyfriend, Harrison. Xander hesitated for a moment, coughed twice, then straightened up and moved toward the door. He put on clean clothes, held the knife behind his back, and stopped at the door. My heart twisted into a knot. If Harrison came in and fought with Xander, maybe I could escape in the chaos. Thinking this, I moved my body closer to the edge of the bed, ready to run at any moment. Xander hesitated for a while, then opened the door. “Why isn’t it done yet?” Harrison sounded slightly angry. My heart sank. Harrison actually knew about their affair. From the looks of it, the two of them had already planned this together. Xander smoked his cigarette without saying anything. Only then did Harrison notice the blood on Xander’s body and the nauseating smell of blood in the air. His face turned pale. “What did you do?” Xander smiled eerily. “Isn’t it obvious?” “You killed her?” Harrison was stunned. He rushed forward and grabbed Xander by the collar. “You said we were just playing around. Why did you kill her?” “I thought you didn’t care whether she lived or died.” Xander looked completely calm, as if killing someone was a perfectly ordinary thing for him. Harrison collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath. Xander’s eyes were cold, but his lips curved into a smile. “Help me dispose of her. If the police find out, you won’t escape either.” Harrison got angry too and shouted: “Bullshit! You’re the one who killed her. I don’t know anything. Don’t drag me into this.” Xander suddenly attacked, grabbed him by the collar, and put the knife to his throat. “Let me rephrase that. Help me dispose of her, or I’ll kill you right now.” Harrison finally got scared. His lips trembled and he couldn’t speak. He just nodded forcefully. Xander let go of him and tilted his head slightly, signaling him to start. Harrison walked trembling to the bed. Even though he was mentally prepared, when he saw the horrible state of Lily’s body, he still threw up. “Useless.” Xander watched him coldly, picked up two thighs, and turned to go into the kitchen. I crouched under the bed, watching Harrison chop up the body while vomiting. Suddenly, one of Lily’s severed limbs fell to the floor. Harrison bent down and suddenly froze. He saw me hiding under the bed. My eyes trembled. I held up one finger and made a shushing gesture. Harrison instinctively looked toward the kitchen without saying anything. His mouth moved slightly. I could read what he said. “Run. Call the police.” I shuddered and nodded heavily. Xander was still chopping forcefully in the kitchen, completely unaware of what was happening on my side. I slowly crawled out from under the bed and walked barefoot across the blood-covered floor. I moved slowly toward the door. The bed was only a few dozen steps from the door, but to me now, it felt like crossing an endless distance. As I walked, I kept my eyes on the kitchen, afraid Xander would suddenly turn around and see me. Perhaps because the sound of Xander chopping was too loud, and Harrison deliberately made noise, I successfully escaped out the door. In the hallway, a cold wind blew past, making me shiver. Only then did I realize my clothes were completely soaked with sweat. I could wring water out of them. I wanted to run, but my legs went weak and I collapsed to the floor. I don’t know if it was my imagination, but I felt the doorknob behind me move slightly. The intense desire to survive triggered my greatest strength. I crawled and scrambled upstairs. Lily and I lived in the same building. She was on the tenth floor, I was on the eighteenth. When I bought my apartment, Lily advised me not to buy the eighteenth floor because it was unlucky. But I wasn’t superstitious. The eighteenth floor was also very cheap, so I bought it anyway. I ran from the eleventh floor to the eighteenth floor in one breath. When I reached my door, I fumbled to unlock the smart lock, rushed inside, and finally felt a bit safer. I slapped myself hard to confirm that everything I just saw wasn’t a nightmare. In my memory, Xander was a gentle-natured man, a standard good guy who would rather suffer himself than let others suffer. I really couldn’t connect him with a psychotic murderer. And from his behavior, this was very likely not the first person he’d killed.

A few days ago, I noticed something was wrong with him. I found a strand of pink hair on his clothes. This hair color was rare, and Lily had just dyed her hair this color recently. At first, I didn’t want to believe it. Xander loved me very much. The only times I’d seen him angry were all because of me. Although Lily was promiscuous and had bad character, Xander’s quiet, taciturn type wasn’t her taste. I really didn’t want to believe the two of them would get together. But soon, reality dealt me a harsh blow. While Xander was sleeping, I secretly checked his phone. At first, I didn’t find anything wrong, but soon I discovered his phone had a second space. In that space, not only was it full of pornographic apps and images, there was also an account specifically for contacting Lily. Those images were extremely horrifying and graphic. They were all pictures of girls being violently abused, covered in injuries. There were even some severed limbs and bodies cut in half. All those girls had blonde hair. I also had blonde hair. I never imagined that beneath his gentle exterior, his sexual preferences were so disgusting. Besides that, there were chat records with Lily. “Honey, come to my place tomorrow. I’ll be waiting.” “Don’t worry. I can give you an experience Harrison can’t.” Below that was a nude photo. Xander had replied with a suggestive emoji. I was furious and tears streamed down my face. I really never thought my best friend would seduce my boyfriend. So today I deliberately got off work early and hid under the bed to catch them in the act. But I never expected Xander would directly kill Lily. Why did he kill Lily? Lily’s boyfriend clearly knew about their relationship. Why didn’t he stop it? My mind was in complete chaos. I helplessly pulled at my hair. After the brief moment of shock, I suddenly came to my senses. The urgent matter was to call the police, otherwise Harrison would be in danger too. I picked up my phone with trembling hands. The phone case was already stained red with blood. “Hello? How can I help you?” The call connected. A gentle female voice came from the other end. I was overjoyed and was about to speak. Almost at the same time, the smart lock at the door made an unlocking sound. “Beep. Fingerprint verified. Unlocked!” I instantly froze in place, my face full of terror. “Hello?” I hung up immediately. Xander was already standing in front of me. “Babe, you’re still awake? Who were you just calling?” “No one. Nothing.” My face was pale and I trembled all over. He had already changed into clean clothes. Still that refined face, looking at me gently. He was completely different from the person at the murder scene. “Babe, why is there blood on you?” Only then did he notice the blood on my clothes. He looked slightly surprised. I bit my teeth hard to keep myself from crying out. “I fell off my bike.” He stared at me with a complex expression. “So you were the one who escaped just now.” I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. My body went weak and I almost collapsed to the floor. Xander stepped forward and caught me. “Sorry, babe. I scared you.” His face turned slightly red. He actually showed a guilty expression like a child. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.” I struggled free forcefully and stepped back several paces. “Why did you kill someone?” He looked at me calmly. “Babe, as your best friend, she actually took the initiative to seduce me. Doesn’t she deserve to die?” I was stunned. “Just because of that? You killed her?” He nodded and tried to put his arm around my shoulder again, but I dodged away. He had to give up. “As your best friend, she hurt you like this. I couldn’t tolerate it. She had to die.” I stared at him. This face was so familiar, yet so strange. His reason was really absurd and laughable. “Hypocrite. Then why did you still sleep with her?” He stopped talking and just lowered his head. “I’m sorry, babe. But you have to believe me. I really did this for your own good.” I suddenly thought of something and stared at him wide-eyed. “What about Harrison?” “Dead.” “No. I have to call the police.” I looked panicked. I grabbed my phone to call the police, but Xander snatched it away. A flash of ferocity crossed his eyes. I trembled all over and stepped back two paces, afraid he would go crazy and kill me too. Fortunately, that murderous look only flashed for a moment. He gripped both my shoulders with his hands and looked at me sincerely. “Babe, just pretend you didn’t see anything today. I’ll handle everything.” “Can we just keep living like we did before?” I trembled and nodded. No matter what, I could only pretend to be obedient now if I wanted any hope of escape. Seeing that I’d forgiven him, Xander looked very happy. He coughed twice, hugged me tightly, then took out a necklace from his pocket and put it around my neck. “Babe, tomorrow is our wedding anniversary. This is my gift to you. I was going to give it to you tomorrow.” He smiled at me. I looked down and touched the necklace, trembling slightly. “Babe, I won’t let anyone who wants to hurt you get away with it.” I didn’t speak. Instead, I glanced at the kettle nearby. He let go of me with a gentle expression on his face. “Look at you, covered in that animal’s blood. Go wash up.” I murmured softly in agreement. When he wasn’t paying attention, I grabbed the kettle from the table and smashed it against his head. He let out a muffled groan and stumbled back two steps. Blood immediately flowed from his head, his eyes full of surprise. I didn’t look back. I opened the door and ran as fast as I could. Xander sighed and wiped the blood from his head. “Why? Why won’t you just listen?”

After escaping out the door, I knew I couldn’t run far before Xander caught me. Then I might truly be in mortal danger. I ran to the seventeenth floor and knocked on the door of apartment 1703. An university professor lived in 1703. His last name was Foster. I didn’t know his first name. I always called him Professor Foster. This man had only recently moved in. He was in his thirties with a refined temperament. I had a good impression of him. “Professor Foster! Professor Foster! Are you home? Xander is trying to kill me!” I pounded on the door forcefully, shouting in terror. Footsteps came from the stairwell. I knew Xander had caught up. There was still no movement from inside the room. I began crying softly in fear. “Babe, come home with me. This is your last chance.” Xander’s grim face emerged from the darkness like a demon crawling out of hell, approaching me step by step. Just when I was about to despair, the door opened. A pair of hands pulled me into the room and slammed the door shut. The tension of surviving a disaster made my chest feel tight. A pair of hands wrapped around my shoulders. With Professor Foster’s comfort, I slowly calmed down. As if I’d found support, I hugged him tightly and cried out loud. Professor Foster’s body clearly stiffened. I could feel his breathing quicken. After a moment of hesitation, he hugged me back. After crying for about five minutes, I gradually calmed down and let go of him somewhat embarrassedly. “I’m sorry, Professor Foster. I…” Professor Foster adjusted his glasses and interrupted my apology. When he saw the blood on my clothes, he was clearly stunned for a moment, but quickly returned to normal. “Miss Emma, what happened? Did you fight with Xander?” I looked terrified and shook my head. “Xander is a murderer. He killed my best friend and her boyfriend. I think he wants to kill me now.” Professor Foster listened in stunned amazement and thought for a moment. “You’re not joking?” “I’m not joking. It’s true. I saw it with my own eyes.” I frantically searched my pockets, wanting to call the police. Only then did I realize my phone was still in Xander’s hands. “Professor Foster, call the police quickly. If he gets in here, it’ll be over.” Professor Foster nodded, stood up, and dialed 911, telling the police about the current situation. After hanging up, he leaned against the table and stared at me with a strange expression. I was about to say something when violent knocking came from outside the door. “Babe, stop this. Come home with me.” Xander’s voice came from outside. “Xander, I’ve already called the police. Go turn yourself in.” I replied trembling. Xander was silent for a moment, then pounded on the door forcefully. With the sound of gradually receding footsteps, he seemed to have left. I breathed a sigh of relief and nearly collapsed onto the sofa. Professor Foster was still staring at me. That look was very strange, full of suspicion and doubt. “Emma, calm down. What exactly happened?” I told Professor Foster everything that happened today in detail. His expression shifted between light and dark, gradually becoming serious. “Emma, do you know about the West District Predator?” I froze for a moment. My eyes changed slightly. I slowly nodded. “The West District Predator is a serial rapist and murderer who brutally raped and killed five women over six years.” “This person has extremely strong anti-investigation awareness. I once had the privilege of participating in a special team tracking him… I know a lot of inside information.” After speaking, he lowered his head. “Without exception, all the girls the West District Predator targeted had blonde hair. This killer seems to have a special preference for blonde girls.” “And you happen to have blonde hair too. Plus those photos you found on Xander’s phone…” An unusual light flashed in Professor Foster’s eyes. “I’m certain that Xander is the West District Predator who committed those serial rape and murder cases!” I was stunned. For a moment, I couldn’t believe it. I’d been married to Xander for four years. During those four years, he’d always treated me well and never lost his temper with me. Could it be that I’d been his kept prey all along? No wonder he was so practiced when killing Lily. I sat on the floor, painfully pulling at my hair. If I hadn’t discovered this today, in a while I would have ended up like those other girls. Professor Foster sighed and patted my shoulder. “Don’t be afraid. You’re still safe for now. I’ve called the police. They’ll be here soon.” I looked at him blankly and nodded. Professor Foster boiled water and made me a cup of tea. The tea was exceptionally fragrant and refreshing. It also eased my fearful and anxious heart a little. “Professor Foster, thank you.” I looked at him and smiled gently. He seemed a bit shy. He coughed lightly, his cheeks turning slightly red. “It’s nothing. I couldn’t just leave you to die.” After drinking the tea, I checked the time. It had been almost an hour since we called the police. Why hadn’t the police arrived yet? Professor Foster saw my confusion and comforted me: “Don’t worry. The police should be here soon.” He stood up with a slight smile. “You’ve been through so much. You must be exhausted. Get some sleep first.” I hesitated, but I was indeed mentally exhausted, so I agreed. He walked to the closet to get me a blanket. How strange. He clearly lived alone, so why did he have a pink blanket? Fatigue washed over me. I yawned deeply, and my eyelids began to droop. Suddenly there was a loud noise. I was startled and looked in that direction. It turned out Professor Foster had accidentally knocked over a box while getting the blanket. I walked over, wanting to help him pick it up. “No need. I’ll do it myself.” Professor Foster’s voice rose two octaves. He bent down to try to stop me. But I had already opened the box. My eyes widened instantly.

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I ran an after-school care program in my neighborhood. A thousand dollars a month, including dinner and homework help. The parents who were too busy with work to pick up their kids were very satisfied with it. Until a new mom joined the homeowners’ SnapChat group. “Are you kidding me? The after-school programs back in my hometown only charge six hundred a month.” She sent a shocked emoji. “Tell you what, I’ll pick up and drop off your kids for you. Five hundred a month.” “I’m not doing this for money. I just love children.” I thought about those little tyrants who’d started picking apart even premium wagyu beef and asking increasingly demanding questions, and quietly breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, these days of running myself ragged while losing money would come to an end. I was getting ready to pick up the kids when messages started popping up in the group. The messages were from a new mom who’d just joined the group. Her SnapChat name was “Content and Happy,” with a cartoon family portrait as her profile picture and an American flag in the corner. I didn’t pay much attention to these two messages. After all, my monthly rate of a thousand dollars was already below market price. Every day for dinner, I used premium ingredients like imported wagyu beef. The fruit after meals was also top-tier stuff like golden pillow durian. Not only that, I drove them in my SUV for pickup and dropoff, and helped with homework every day. And the next morning, I would promptly summarize each child’s progress and areas for improvement and post it in the group. So parents could adjust their parenting approach accordingly. Anyone with half a brain could see that my price was an absolute bargain. I was about to close SnapChat when I saw Ethan’s mom mention Content and Happy. [Are you serious? You’re really willing to run an after-school program at half price? You do know it’s not just about picking kids up and bringing them home, right?] Content and Happy replied instantly. [Of course, it’s just picking them up after school and having them stay at my place until 8:30, plus providing dinner and study time.] [My husband has advanced degrees. Tutoring kindergarten and elementary homework is a piece of cake for him.] [I already make nutritious meals for my two sons every day. How much can a dozen kids eat? It’s nothing extra. I feel guilty even charging you five hundred.] [I don’t know how some people can be so heartless.] The other parents in the group started wavering. [Yeah, I heard from people in the neighboring community that someone there runs a program for only eight hundred a month.] [But it’s still more convenient being in the same community. It would be great if Grace’s mom could lower the price a bit.] Content and Happy pressed her advantage. [Everyone can think it over. I’m not forcing anyone.] [Anyway, my rate is twenty-five per day or five hundred per month. Everyone saves five hundred a month to buy clothes or take the kids to an amusement park. Everyone’s happy!] [Don’t underestimate that five hundred. Five hundred a month is six thousand a year. Back home, that could buy four whole pigs.] [Make them into bacon, and the whole family couldn’t finish it in a year.] The group fell silent for a few seconds before Ethan’s mom continued trying to negotiate with me. [@Grace’s mom, none of us are wealthy. If you’re willing to charge a little less, we’d still prefer to stay with you. After all, the kids are used to it.] [We’d rather give you this money. We know it’s not easy being a single mom. Please think about it.] Haggling with me while acting like they’re doing me a favor—how disgusting! Last year, I helped Ethan’s mom pick up her kid for free a few times. After she found out how I treated her son, she excitedly said even two hundred per pickup wouldn’t be excessive. But it was all talk. Not once did she actually show appreciation. Later, when I stopped helping her with pickups, she got upset and complained in various group chats. Said that as neighbors, I was being too harsh. The other parents didn’t think I’d done anything wrong, but they begged me to open an after-school program to benefit everyone. When I first switched from free pickups to a thousand dollars a month, Ethan’s mom already had some complaints. Now she’d finally found an opportunity to pressure me on price. I was tired anyway. Let them do as they pleased. I started typing my response. [No need to think about it. Anyone who wants to withdraw from the program, contact me and I’ll refund the remaining days of this month.] As soon as I said this, everyone stopped holding back and started responding. [@Content and Happy, I’m the first to sign up. I’ll send you my daughter’s information in a bit.] [School’s almost out today, so Grace’s mom should still pick up the kids. You get prepared and take over starting tomorrow.] [Count me in, count me in!] [I just realized we live in the same building. That’s even more convenient. Count me in too!] This time, Ethan’s mom’s message came last. Looking at the uniform responses, I felt somewhat hurt. But soon, that tiny bit of negative emotion faded. I just felt completely relieved. These days of being overwhelmed with work while losing money—I’d had enough.

Content and Happy sent me a friend request. I accepted it. She first sent an apologetic emoji. [Sorry, sorry. I’m new here. I was just looking for an after-school program for my son. I didn’t mean to steal your business.] [But everyone’s been praising what a good person you are, so I’m sure you won’t hold it against me!] I only sent two words. [Sure.] Content and Happy continued shamelessly. [I knew you were a good person. So send me the kids’ school information and parents’ phone numbers. Ethan’s mom said you have a spreadsheet, so I won’t bother making my own.] [Since you’re not running the program anymore, how about I help you dispose of the tables and chairs for free? And send me a copy of your daily menus.] Finally, she sent an emoji covered in flowers with “Grateful for You” written in the middle. My temples throbbed. She’d just stolen my business, yet she had the nerve to ask me for help. Acting like she was doing me a favor. I wanted to block her. But then I thought there was no point arguing with someone like this. In the end, I sent her those things anyway. [Come get the tables and chairs tomorrow.] On my way to pick up the kids, Content and Happy called me on FaceTime. “Your monthly food expenses alone are twenty thousand dollars. Are you running a charity or what!” “Girl, tell me the truth. Are you using synthetic meat or premade meals or something?” “You’re just trying to make it look good on the surface to attract more customers, right?” Hearing her voice inexplicably irritated me. “I don’t do shady things like that.” Before I hung up, I heard her mutter. “My husband, two sons, and I—four people—only spend three hundred fifty on food.” “Twenty thousand a month in food expenses? Who are you kidding!” I felt worried for those parents. No wonder she was willing to do it for five hundred a month. She’d probably still make a killing! Fortunately, I’d saved all the receipts and payment records from buying ingredients over the past six months. I wasn’t afraid of her causing trouble. After thinking it over, I opened my phone’s video recording function and started documenting the entire process from picking up the kids to making dinner. I didn’t show the children’s faces. When asking the kids how they liked the food at dinner, I also used a voice changer. The kids kept saying it was delicious. Some picky eaters gave serious reviews. “Not as good as yesterday’s cod.” “I think it’s not as good as the wagyu from the day before.” While waiting for parents to pick up their kids, I opened TikTok and posted the video to my account. The title was: “What the Meal Standard Looks Like for a Fifty-One Day After-School Program” No one knew I was a food blogger with millions of followers. That was my main source of income. I’d intended to preserve evidence, but unexpectedly, once the video was posted, its popularity kept soaring. [Such premium ingredients for only a thousand a month? Where, where? I’d pay four thousand.] [I don’t even care about the food. What I really care about is that the blogger has a master teaching certificate and summarizes progress and shortcomings every day. I’m so jealous! The three-thousand-a-month program I enrolled my son in isn’t this good.] [Which lucky people get to experience this amazing deal? I’m crying with envy.] I felt dazed for a moment. Those lucky people had personally thrown away their good fortune. What awaited them might be karma.

I put my phone back in my pocket without looking at the continuously increasing comments. Because parents were arriving to pick up their kids. Most parents were still polite to me in person. They each said a few pleasantries. We parted on good terms. Ethan’s mom was the last to pick up her child. She held her son’s hand but stood at the door, unwilling to leave. “Grace’s mom, it’s not easy for you raising your daughter alone. Don’t make decisions out of spite and throw away a good money-making opportunity. Your daughter’s five years old—everything costs money at this age.” “Whatever they think, as long as you’re willing to give a discount, even if you can’t get down to five hundred, I’m still willing to send my kid to you.” Ethan’s mom was panicking. She knew better than anyone what the quality of my program was like. She’d just wanted to use this opportunity to pressure me on price. She never expected me to actually quit. Before I could say anything, my daughter came running over. She put her hands on her hips and looked up at Ethan’s mom. “We wouldn’t give you a discount even if we wanted to. Even if you paid five hundred a day, my mom wouldn’t take your business. Hmph!” I smiled and patted my daughter’s head. “Such a little smarty-pants.” Ethan’s mom was so angry her breathing became uneven. “No good deed goes unpunished. Son, let’s go!” But Ethan kept looking back reluctantly. “Mom, are we really not coming to Grace’s house tomorrow?” Ethan’s mom got even angrier, her face turning pale. Early the next morning, Content and Happy came to my house to move the tables and chairs. Soon, she started posting pictures in the group. [The little classroom is all set up, ingredients are ready. Just waiting to pick up the kids after school this afternoon.] I opened the pictures one by one. The first picture was the final result of Content and Happy turning her living room into a classroom. Judging from the décor, the house must be rented. And it was the smallest floor plan in the entire community. The orientation wasn’t good either—by two in the afternoon, the living room was pitch black. The small tables and chairs crammed into the living room made it incredibly crowded. Two small tables and chairs really wouldn’t fit, so they’d been moved to the balcony. The second picture showed the food Content and Happy had prepared. The kitchen counter was piled with leafy greens that didn’t look fresh at all. In the very center, she’d lovingly placed a fatty slab of pork belly. The group fell into a long silence. After a while, someone posted an ellipsis. Ethan’s mom couldn’t help but speak up. [@Content and Happy, is this all the food for the kids’ dinner? Isn’t it a bit too vegetarian?] [And you didn’t mention you rented the smallest floor plan. When you took on this business, didn’t you consider whether fifteen kids could even fit?] [In the middle of winter, those two kids sitting on the balcony will freeze!]

Content and Happy replied to the group messages instantly. [Kids sitting close together keeps them warm and helps them bond.] [As for the balcony, I’ll just close the window. It’s no different from being inside.] [Children should eat more leafy greens. It’s good for their health.] [Plus it’s not all vegetarian. That pork belly alone could feed my family for a month. Isn’t that good enough?] [If you feed them too well now, they’ll be picky eaters when they grow up, with weak stomachs. You’ll regret it.] [My cousin is a senior nutritionist. I consulted with her about all this. You can all rest easy.] This explanation convinced no one. [If they get malnourished eating this and can’t grow properly, that’ll be a real problem. Grace’s mom always used top-quality ingredients and none of the kids had any issues.] [You should say less. Grace’s mom already left the group. If you offend her now, will you take time off work and lose your perfect attendance bonus tomorrow, or will your husband?] Both messages were immediately recalled. They must have been meant as private messages but were accidentally sent to the group. The group went quiet. No one raised any more objections. Content and Happy messaged me privately. [You saw the photos in the group, right? I bought all those vegetables for just thirty bucks. That means I net three hundred twenty-five a day.] [I had no idea until I did the math. You must have made so much dirty money before. No wonder you can afford gold jewelry now.] I ignored her, which made her even more smug. [But I’m not the kind of person who kicks someone when they’re down. Your husband ran off with someone, you don’t have a job yourself—you must be desperate to find work but worried about who’ll watch your kid, right?] [Why don’t you send your daughter over too? I can give you a discount.] [Don’t be too proud to accept help. When you can’t even afford food, don’t come crying to me.] From shameless provocation to outright slander. I couldn’t take it anymore and blocked her. At dismissal time, I went to pick up my daughter. I actually saw Content and Happy walking to pick up the kids. The kids from the earliest-dismissing kindergarten must have already walked quite a distance with her. Their little faces were all scrunched up, looking completely listless. You have to understand, walking from the first kindergarten to the last elementary school and then back to the community was a total of four or five miles. I felt sorry for those little ones. But I didn’t say anything. I quietly thought to myself that her business wouldn’t last long. But I never imagined it would blow up that very evening. I’d just finished washing up and gotten into bed when the group started blowing up with messages. Everyone was mentioning me, all saying the same thing. [@Grace’s mom, help us!]

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Thirty? The number swung like a wrecking ball against my temples. I floated up from the murky depths of unconsciousness, greeted by the sterile bite of hospital bleach. The first thing to come into focus was Nancy’s familiar face. She was wearing a simple white dress, her brows knotted together in tight, anxious lines. Next to her stood Oliver. He spoke first, a heavy exhale of relief carrying his words. “Holden. Thank God you’re awake.” “You’ve been in a coma for over a month. We’ve been out of our minds.” But my eyes were magnetically drawn to the space between them. To their hands. Hands that, just a fraction of a second ago, had been perfectly, seamlessly intertwined before snapping apart like they’d touched a live wire. A laugh bubbled up in my throat. “I take a nap for a month, and you two finally stop dancing around it and make it official?” I shifted, wincing slightly. “I told you guys we shouldn’t have hiked that ridge. Glad you made it out okay, though.” I blinked, panic suddenly spiking. “Wait, my senior thesis… please tell me you didn’t get so caught up in the honeymoon phase that you forgot to submit it for me?” Nancy’s voice suddenly spiked, cutting through the air, thick with suppressed fury. “Holden! Snap out of it! You’re thirty years old! What damn senior thesis are you talking about?!” The words drove into my skull like an ice pick. Thirty? In my head, in my bones, in my absolute certainty… I was twenty-two. … 01. The hospital room dropped into a silence so profound you could hear the hum of the fluorescent lights. It was only in this breathless quiet that I truly looked at the two people hovering over my bed. Nancy didn’t look the way I remembered her from before I passed out. The girl I knew was gone. The woman standing here was sharper, more polished. She looked so much like her mother now. The dress she wore didn’t look like a teenager playing dress-up in adult clothes anymore; it draped over her with expensive precision. And Oliver. Oliver, standing quietly by her side, was no longer the scholarship kid I remembered, the one who practically lived in faded band tees and frayed denim. My gaze drifted down to his lapel. Pinned to the crisp, tailored fabric of his jacket was a vintage gold designer pin. I remembered owning one exactly like it. My dad had given it to me for my eighteenth birthday. I remembered the day Oliver was chosen to give the speech as the student representative. I had offered him that very pin. He had looked down, a shy, overwhelmed smile breaking across his face, his dimples catching his quiet panic. “Holden, I can’t,” he had said. “I can’t go up there wearing something that costs more than my rent for the year.” Yet here he was. Wearing a beautiful pin, holding a leather briefcase that easily cost five figures, sporting a luxury watch. He even smelled expensive—a subtle, cedar-wood cologne. Oliver must have felt the weight of my stare. His mouth opened, a panicked explanation forming on his lips. But I just smiled. “Looks like our boy Oliver finally got the life he always wanted.” “Congratulations, man.” “Enough!” Nancy’s shout shattered my memories. Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows drew together in a fierce scowl. “Holden, how long are you going to keep up this crazy act?” “Do you honestly think playing dumb is going to make me love you again?” “Let me spell it out for you. It’s never going to happen.” I stared at her, genuinely baffled. “Why would I want you to love me?” “Aren’t you and Oliver together?” Oliver finally found his opening. For some reason, his eyes were rimmed with red. “Holden, listen to me.” “Nancy and I… it’s not what you think.” “We… we aren’t—” The door swung open, and the doctor stepped in, cutting him off. “Mr. Garrison, how are we feeling? Any immediate discomfort?” I shook my head slightly, the rustle of my hair against the pillowcase sounding unnaturally loud. “I’m fine. But… why do they keep saying I’m thirty?” “It’s 2018, isn’t it?” “Doc, tell them to stop. Why are they messing with a sick guy like this?” The doctor’s face fell. The practiced, bedside neutrality vanished, replaced by a heavy, grim realization. Eventually, Nancy and Oliver were asked to leave the room. What followed was a revolving door of doctors, nurses, flashlights in my eyes, and endless questions. Finally, as the sun collapsed below the skyline outside my window, they delivered the verdict. “Mr. Garrison, you have amnesia.” “You’ve lost everything from the hiking accident in 2018 right up until you fell down the stairs a month ago.” I watched the doctor’s mouth keep moving, but the sound had been dialed down to zero. So… I really was thirty years old. 02. Despite the missing eight years, my body was structurally sound. After a few more days of observation, I was cleared for discharge. Nancy came to pick me up. I didn’t know why, but her attitude toward me was freezing cold. Truthfully, I had never told Nancy this, but before Oliver stumbled into our orbit in college, I had always assumed we were the inevitable endgame. We were the childhood sweethearts destined to figure it out. I watched her pop the trunk, carelessly toss my duffel bag inside, and then—with begrudging courtesy—open the passenger side door for me. I held up my uninjured hand in surrender. “Have mercy.” “I’m not trying to treat you like a chauffeur.” “But you have a boyfriend now. It feels a little weird for me to ride shotgun, don’t you think?” A flash of pure, unadulterated rage crossed Nancy’s face. “Holden! Are you ever going to drop this?” I had no idea what she was so furious about. I just stood there, my hand still raised in that ridiculous surrender pose, staring at her for a long moment. Then, I walked around her, fumbled with the rear door, and slid into the back seat. Nancy didn’t say another word. She just slammed her door so hard the entire chassis shuddered. She drove like a maniac the whole way, taking corners aggressively, as if she were hoping to just floor the gas and send us both straight into the afterlife. The scenery outside the tinted glass was jarringly foreign. This wasn’t the town where we went to college. Our university had been nestled in New England, all red brick, cobblestones, and quiet coastal charm. This was our hometown. A sprawling midwestern city. Through the dense thicket of high-rises, I caught a glimpse of the old abandoned warehouse Nancy and I used to claim as our secret base when we were kids. Except it wasn’t abandoned anymore. It was a sleek, glass-paneled luxury loft complex, standing cold and indifferent in the center of the district. Maybe buried somewhere in its concrete foundations were all the stupid, beautiful promises Nancy and I had made back then. We had promised to go to college together. We had promised that when we grew up, we’d adopt a cat. And Nancy, her cheeks flushed with the heat of summer, had once looked at me and said, “Holden, just wait. One day, I’m going to marry you.” The SUV jerked to a violent halt. The violent lurch ripped me out of those golden-hour memories. “Get out.” Nancy pulled my door open. Her silhouette cast a pale, slate-grey shadow over me. “When we go inside, you are going to drop this amnesia act.” “Don’t think you can play me the way you played those idiot doctors.” Suddenly, she reached in, her manicured fingers gripping my chin with bruising force. “If you scare Tommy, I will make you pay.” A sharp, searing physical pain shot through my jaw, but strangely, it was my chest that cracked open. A sudden, inexplicable ache rushed up my throat, stinging the back of my nose. A single, heavy tear dropped, unbidden, right onto the back of her hand. She flinched like she’d been burned by acid, instantly ripping her hand away. I bit my lower lip. Between the unrecognizable version of Nancy standing before me and the overwhelming sensory overload of this brand-new world, black spots danced at the edges of my vision. I practically dragged myself up the front walk to the sprawling suburban house. I didn’t know why, but with every step I took toward that front door, the suffocating pressure in my chest grew heavier. The tears I couldn’t understand kept coming, spilling over my lashes in a steady, silent stream. By the time I stood in the foyer, my vision was nothing but a kaleidoscope of blurred shapes and refracted light. But even through the blur, I saw the little boy running toward me. He had Nancy’s eyes. Exactly her eyes. Instinctively, I crouched down and opened my arms to him. But he slapped my hands away, sprinting straight past me to bury his face in Nancy’s legs. “Mommy! Why did you bring him back?!” I froze. A sudden wave of awkwardness washed over me, and I took a clumsy step back. “Tommy!” Oliver hurried out from the hallway behind him, looking flustered. “You can’t talk like that!” I managed to scrape together a broken, ugly smile for Oliver. “Oliver, it’s fine. It really doesn’t make sense for me to stay here.” “I’ll just go find an apartment to rent.” “I shouldn’t intrude on you three.” 03. Nancy let out a sound that was half-scoff, half-ice. “Holden, go back to your room.” “I want to see exactly how long you can keep this up.” “You want to play the amnesia card? Fine. You’re staying right here. Whenever you decide to magically remember who you are, then we can talk about you moving out.” With that, she took the little boy—Tommy—by the hand and brushed past me. As her shoulder clipped mine, she dropped her voice to a lethal whisper. “I just hope that when the time comes, you’ll actually have the guts to leave.” I was left standing alone in the cavernous, echoing living room. The moment I had said the words intrude on you three, Oliver had slapped his hands over his face and fled down the hall. Crying, apparently. A minute later, I could hear the muffled sounds of a woman and a child soothing him through a closed bedroom door. I was perfectly fine with being ignored. I took the opportunity to wander the house. The built-in shelves in the living room held framed photos. Pictures of the three of them. There was one of them at Disney. A massive, brilliant burst of fireworks lit the sky behind them. Nancy was leaning into Oliver’s chest, her smile soft and radiant. Tommy was holding Oliver’s hand, looking up at both of them with a look of pure, unadulterated joy. I saw a trophy with Oliver’s name on it. Matching his-and-hers coffee mugs. And framed on the wall, a school essay written by Tommy, titled My Dad. In clumsy, blocky childhood print, it read: My dad is Oliver. He is a handsome and independent man. I took it all in, piece by piece, yet the suffocating ache in my ribs was growing exponentially worse. I didn’t understand it. By the time I reached the final framed photo of Nancy and Oliver, the phantom pain was so severe I actually doubled over, gasping for air. Just then, the front door clicked open. A middle-aged woman carrying grocery bags stepped inside. She took one look at my pale, sweating face, dropped the groceries on the floor, and rushed to catch my arm. “Mr. Garrison! You’re home from the hospital!” “Oh my lord, you’re drenched in sweat. Come on, let’s get you to the sofa.” My clammy hand rested lightly over her forearm. “I’m okay.” “Could you just… show me to my room?” “I don’t actually know which one is mine.” The housekeeper stared at me, horrified. I offered her a weak, trembling smile. “The doctors said I have amnesia. I can’t remember much of anything right now.” She guided me down the hall, past the beautiful, sunlit rooms, all the way to a door tucked into the furthest, darkest corner of the house. When she pushed it open, the smell of dampness and settled dust hit me, making me cough. The woman looked deeply embarrassed, as if she knew how pathetic this space was for the supposed man of the house. But she didn’t offer any explanations. As she pulled the door shut behind her, she simply murmured, “Maybe it’s better you forgot.” I stumbled over to the narrow, twin-sized bed and sat down. The wooden frame groaned in protest. It was only then that it fully clicked in my mind. She had called me Mr. Garrison. But shouldn’t the ‘man of the house’ be Oliver? My mind was a chaotic tangle of noise and confusion from the past few days. But as my eyes swept the barren room, they landed on a fountain pen tossed casually onto the corner of a cheap desk. It was my mother’s pen. A family heirloom. I never let it out of my sight. If it was here, then this depressing little box was definitely where I lived. But why was I living like a ghost in someone else’s house? Didn’t I have a home of my own? Fighting through a sudden, blinding migraine, I dragged myself over to the desk. Inside the top drawer, I found a leather-bound journal. And a wedding band. A band that was an exact match to the one I had just seen resting on Nancy’s ring finger. A second later, I flipped open the cover of the journal. Folded neatly against the first page was a stack of legal documents. A divorce settlement. The petitioner was Nancy Lawson. And the respondent was me. 04. I stared blankly at the divorce papers. The shock was absolute, so massive it temporarily paralyzed the physical throbbing in my skull. I read the text line by line. “The parties share one minor child, Thomas Garrison. Full physical and legal custody shall be awarded to the Petitioner, Nancy Lawson.” “Irreconcilable differences have caused the irretrievable breakdown of the marriage.” At the bottom of the page, Nancy’s sharp, elegant signature was already inked. The line above my name was empty. Frowning, I opened the journal. It was thick, having been written in for years. Only a fraction of the pages remained blank. But the pages that were filled… they were warped. The ink was bled out into ugly, blue-black Rorschach blots, damaged by water. No, not water. Even though there was only half a book of writing, it felt heavy enough to hold a lifetime of tears. I read the entry where a younger me wrote about the sheer ecstasy of Nancy confessing her feelings after a mudslide trapped us on that college hiking trip. I read about the disbelief of her proposing to me. I read about Oliver standing as my best man, crying uncontrollably at my wedding. Then, the tone shifted. I guess the anatomy of infidelity is always the same. I read about her coming home at dawn. I read about the foreign cologne on her clothes. About the photos Oliver would post on his social media, the two of them looking just a little too close. And just when the man writing this journal had finally braced himself to ask for a divorce… she got pregnant. I read about the agonizing nights she suffered through severe hyperemesis. How the man writing these words sat beside her, clutching his mother’s pen, documenting every terrifying detail, desperate to protect the difficult pregnancy. Then, Tommy was born. I read an entry where I wrote about holding my sleeping infant son, begging Nancy not to walk out the door. Begging her to remember our childhood, our history, the years we spent as kids building a world together. I looked at those blurred, tear-stained letters, and I just felt… disgusted. With only the memories of my twenty-two-year-old self, I couldn’t comprehend how I had let myself become this hollowed-out, pathetic shell of a man, begging a woman who clearly despised me. The day I had tumbled down those stairs—the accident that wiped my memory—I had already made the decision to sign the papers. The universe had just hit pause on the execution. The smell of cooking garlic and onions drifted through the crack beneath my door. I closed the journal. Looking up at the single, dim bulb hanging from the ceiling, I pressed a hand flat against my chest. “Thank God,” I whispered to the empty room. “Thank God I’m twenty-two again. The Holden who doesn’t give a damn.” I stayed in the house. Partly because, having lost nearly a decade of context, I needed a minute to recalibrate to the current year. But mostly because I realized this divorce settlement was a joke. There was plenty of room for renegotiation. Nancy had committed adultery. She deserved to walk away with absolutely nothing. And I just needed time to gather the proof. I lived in that house like a silent shadow. The only person who spoke more than two words to me was Martha, the housekeeper. But even she walked on eggshells, meticulously avoiding any mention of Nancy or Oliver. My first real collision with the ‘happy family’ happened on the day I was scheduled to go to the hospital to get my arm cast removed. It also happened to be Open House night at Tommy’s elementary school. The kid, who had glared at me like I was a cockroach since I got home, suddenly knocked on my door the night before, his little hands anxiously twisting the hem of his shirt. “You have to take me to school tomorrow.” His voice was stiff, commanding. It lacked any of the sweet, childish vulnerability he used when talking to Nancy or Oliver. “No.” I didn’t even look up. I was busy reviewing the bank statements my attorney had subpoenaed from Nancy’s accounts. “Don’t you want Oliver to be your dad?” I asked flatly. “Tell him to take you.” Tommy suddenly erupted into a shrieking, earth-shattering wail. “No!” “Everyone at school says Oliver is a homewrecker! They say I’m the son of a homewrecker!” “None of the kids want to play with me anymore!” “It’s all your fault!” The little boy charged into my room, ramming his body full-force into my casted arm. “If you didn’t steal Oliver’s spot, they’d still play with me!” I sucked in a sharp breath as white-hot pain flared up my arm. Without a second thought, I raised my good hand and slapped him across the face. “Get out.”

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I originally bought that boutique bistro on a whim, mostly to have a private, sophisticated spot to host my high-stakes business clients. I never expected a thirty-second clip filmed by a random staffer to go viral, turning my quiet sanctuary into the latest “it” spot for the TikTok crowd. When I arrived that afternoon, the sidewalk was a sea of people with ring lights and selfie sticks. I frowned, pulling out my phone to call my boyfriend, Wyatt. He brushed it off with his usual casual tone, saying it was just the holiday rush—people looking for something to do. He promised the hype would die down in a few days. I didn’t push him, but I was firm about one thing: I had a dinner scheduled for Friday with Mr. Henderson to finalize a massive deal. I told Wyatt to make sure the restaurant was cleared and ready for a private session. “Consider it done, Jen,” he’d said, his voice smooth and reassuring. “Stop worrying.” But when I pulled up at the scheduled time, the line stretched all the way down the block. As I tried to walk toward the entrance, a hand caught my shoulder, shoving me back. “Hey! No cutting, lady! Get in line like everyone else!” I gritted my teeth, trying to explain that I was here for a reservation, but my words were drowned out by the mocking laughter of the crowd. A girl with neon-pink hair sneered at me. “Give it a rest. Everyone knows this is the place Wyatt opened just for Lexi. Do you even know how famous Lexi is right now?” That was when I looked up and realized the place had been gutted. The elegant, understated signage was gone, replaced by something loud and garish. Even the staff at the door were faces I’d never seen before. A cold, sharp laugh bubbled up in my throat as I looked at the circus surrounding me. I turned to the crowd and raised my voice. “The influencer—Lexi. Tell her to come out and see me. Now.” 1 The air went still for a heartbeat before the crowd erupted in a fresh wave of derision. The pink-haired girl laughed so hard she practically doubled over, pointing a manicured finger at me. “Are you for real, Karen? Who do you think you are?” she spat, rolling her eyes at the people behind her. “She wants Lexi to ‘come out and see her.’ Honey, you’d be lucky if Lexi even breathed the same air as you today. Talk about a delusional clout-chaser.” The stares from the crowd were heavy with contempt. I took a slow, deep breath. Thank God for my intuition. My gut had been twisting all morning, a nagging sense that something was horribly wrong. I’d decided to come early to check on things, and it was a good thing I did. If I had shown up with Mr. Henderson and his legal team to this disaster, my twelve-million-dollar contract would have gone up in smoke before the appetizers were served. I wasn’t in the mood for a debate. I moved to push past them into the restaurant, but the pink-haired girl grabbed my sleeve again. “You’ve got zero class,” she yelled. “We’ve all been waiting for hours. You don’t just get to walk in.” “I’m telling you,” she continued, her voice shrill, “Lexi made it clear: no line-jumpers, no VIP shortcuts. Even if you squeeze in there, you aren’t getting served.” I narrowed my eyes, my patience finally snapping. “One last time. I own this restaurant. I don’t know when it became a ‘viral hotspot,’ and I don’t care. I have an important guest arriving, and we are closed to the public today. Now, move.” The girl’s laughter reached a fever pitch. “Oh my god! Did you hear that? She owns the place! And I’m the secret daughter of a billionaire. Does anyone believe this trash?” The crowd roared. I felt a grim, hysterical amusement settle over me. The rent on this block was astronomical—true. But I didn’t just rent this space; I owned the entire building. The idea that I couldn’t open my own door was beyond absurd. I looked over the crowd at a massive LED screen that had been bolted—without my permission—to the exterior wall. It was looping short, stylized videos. A girl with over-the-top expressions and a high-pitched voice was playing out “workplace dramas.” It was Lexi Rose. I’d seen her name pop up on my feed once or twice but hadn’t thought much of it. Wyatt had told me she was just a temp worker, a student he’d hired to help out over the break. But as the video looped, I froze. The scene showed Lexi being “harassed” by a customer, and then a man stepped into the frame to protect her, pulling her protectively against his side. His hand was resting firmly, familiarly, on the small of her back. It was Wyatt. The girls in line started squealing. “Oh my god, look at the way he looks at her! I knew Wyatt was obsessed with her! He pretends to be the ‘grumpy boss’ who docks her pay, but he’s totally in love.” “The chemistry is insane,” another girl swooned. “You can’t fake that look.” My heart didn’t break; it turned into a cold, hard stone. Wyatt hadn’t just been “handling” the restaurant. He had been playing house—and playing the hero—in a fantasy world he’d built on my dime. I pulled out my phone and dialed his number. 2 The phone rang until it hit the mechanical drone of his voicemail. I tried again. Same result. The pink-haired girl crossed her arms, smirking. “What’s the matter? Is your ‘assistant’ not picking up? Or are you calling your husband to buy the building for you?” I ignored her, scrolling through my contacts for Wyatt’s assistant, but a woman in a sharp, cheap-looking blazer stepped out of the restaurant. “What’s all the noise out here?” she asked, her voice tight with annoyance. The pink-haired girl gasped. “Oh look! It’s the manager from the videos!” I looked at the woman. I had never seen her in my life. “The manager of this establishment is Mrs. Donahue. Who are you?” The woman looked me up and down with a sneer. “You mean Sandy Donahue? That dinosaur who didn’t even know how to use a QR code menu? Lexi fired her weeks ago. She had zero ‘content-mindset.’ Twelve years in hospitality and she didn’t understand the first thing about brand engagement.” She puffed out her chest. “I’m Tiff. Lexi hand-picked me. When that old lady was running things, this place was a morgue. Look at it now. We’re the top-trending destination in the city.” I was almost impressed by her audacity. I had specifically told Mrs. Donahue that profit wasn’t the priority—the restaurant was a private tool for my business. I’d told her that as long as it was ready when I needed it, she could keep the doors closed, and I’d still pay the staff’s bonuses. And now, Mrs. Donahue was gone. Wyatt was “missing.” And apparently, a part-time waitress had the authority to fire my senior management. Tiff didn’t wait for me to speak. She turned to the crowd with a practiced, camera-ready smile. “Lexi says that because you guys are the best fans in the world and it’s a holiday weekend, everything today is fifty percent off! And for the first twenty people in line, Lexi is picking up the tab personally!” The crowd went wild. The pink-haired girl was practically vibrating with excitement. “See? I told you Lexi was a total queen! She’s basically an heiress, she doesn’t even need the money. She’s just doing this for fun.” “She’s so lucky,” another chimed in. “She’s rich, gorgeous, and her boyfriend treats her like a literal goddess.” “I saw her livestream last week,” someone else added. “She said Wyatt literally opened this restaurant just so she’d have a place to film her skits.” I stood there, watching the feverish devotion on their faces, and felt a wave of pure, unadulterated disgust. An employee I never hired, a manager I didn’t know, and a crowd of strangers who thought my property was a shrine to a TikTok star. And Wyatt. The man who had promised to take care of everything. The man who was currently being hailed as the “doting, wealthy boyfriend” of a girl who was essentially a squatter. I looked at my watch. Mr. Henderson would be here soon. I didn’t have time for the theatrics. I pushed through the crowd, walked straight to the front door, and pressed my thumb against the biometric scanner. Access Granted. The door clicked open, and I stepped inside. 3 The silence behind me was deafening for a split second before the pink-haired girl shrieked, “Wait, how did she get in?” Tiff’s voice was frantic. “That’s impossible! Only Lexi and Wyatt have biometric access…” I slammed the door behind me, cutting off the noise. But as I turned to look at the interior of my restaurant, I froze. I didn’t recognize it. The elegant, minimalist aesthetic—the dark woods, the soft silk panels, the curated lighting—was gone. It had been replaced by a neon nightmare. A massive, buzzing sign hung where my custom-carved partition used to be. It read LEXI’S LOVE NEST in a tacky, bubblegum-pink script. On the far wall, I’d hung an original charcoal sketch I’d bought at auction for nearly two hundred thousand dollars. It had been ripped down. In its place was a floor-to-ceiling portrait of Lexi Rose in a French maid outfit, winking at the camera. I felt the air leave my lungs. I kept walking. The hand-crafted mahogany tables had been swapped for cheap, plastic booths. Every table was equipped with a mounted phone ring light so guests could “content-create” while they ate. The floor was littered with straw wrappers, napkins, and spilled boba pearls. The air, which used to smell of expensive sandalwood and white tea, was now thick with the greasy scent of deep-fryers and a cloying, cheap vanilla room spray. I walked toward the back, toward the custom-built aquarium. I had spent eighty thousand dollars on a rare, shimmering Platinum Arowana. I’d raised it for four years. The filtration system alone cost more than most luxury cars. My business associates used to call it my “lucky charm.” Now, it was floating on the surface, belly-up, stone-dead. The water was a murky, stagnant green. It clearly hadn’t been cleaned in weeks. I clenched my fists so hard my nails drew blood from my palms. I turned toward the private tasting room. When I pushed the door open, the blood rushed to my head. My collection of vintage wine and spirits was decimated. A bottle of 1945 Romanée-Conti—a bottle I was saving for my grandfather’s ninetieth birthday—sat empty on the table like common trash. My rare scotch collection had been broken into, the expensive liquid probably poured into mixers for people who couldn’t tell the difference between a Macallan and dishwater. I pinched the bridge of my nose, praying this was a fever dream. But the pain in my palms was real. Wyatt had allowed this. Wyatt had done this. I thought back to the first time I met him. He was the polite, slightly shy son of a family friend, coming to pay his respects to my grandfather. He’d blushed when he saw me. Later, when we started dating, he’d said, “Jen, I know I’m not in your league financially, but I want to prove I can be the man you deserve.” He had chased me for a year. He once drove six hours through a blizzard just to bring me my favorite pastries from a specific bakery in Vermont because I’d mentioned them in passing. He’d cut his hair, changed his style, and worked tirelessly to fit into my world. My grandfather had even said, “The boy has heart, Jen. Give him a chance.” I had given him more than a chance. I’d given him my network, my resources, and my trust. I watched his small business grow into a real firm because I opened doors for him. If he wanted to leave me for a girl like Lexi, I would have let him go. We could have ended it with a clean break. But to treat my life’s work like a playground? To destroy what I built? I was shaking with a cold, quiet rage when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned and came face-to-face with the girl from the videos. Lexi Rose didn’t look like a “sweet student.” She looked at me, and her face curdled with immediate recognition. “I know you,” she said.

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My daughter had been kidnapped. The voice on the phone demanded fifty thousand dollars in cash. The threat was delivered with the kind of icy detachment that freezes the blood in your veins: No cops. No tricks. Or you’ll be planning a funeral for your little girl. My phone slipped from my ear as I spun around, lunging toward the fireproof lockbox in my closet where we kept our emergency cash, our bank statements, our lives. But when I wrenched the heavy lid open, my eyes fell on a single piece of paper. A wire transfer receipt. My husband had drained the account. That fifty thousand was everything we had left. It was Mandy’s college fund. It was the inheritance from the sale of my late parents’ house. It was the only liquid cash we possessed. “Where is the money, David?” I held up the receipt, my voice a brittle, terrifying thing. The color drained from his face, leaving his skin a sickly, ashen gray. “Rachel, I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I swear, I just… I had no choice.” He stammered, his eyes darting anywhere but my face. “Lauren’s son has a congenital heart defect. He needed the surgery fee immediately. If they didn’t pay the deposit by last night, the hospital wouldn’t operate. I couldn’t just stand by and watch a little boy die…” I stared at him, the air knocked from my lungs. A sum that massive, our entire safety net, and he had wired it away to save a stranger’s child without breathing a word to me. The money from the house sale had cleared the bank two days ago. It was wired out last night. The timing was too perfect. 1 “Rachel, I know I messed up, but I had no idea something like this would happen! I’ll fix it. I’ll figure it out, I’ll take out loans, I’ll beg if I have to. We are going to get Mandy back.” “Figure it out how? Tell me!” My voice cracked, escalating into a scream. “How exactly are you going to fix this?” “I’ll borrow it! I’ll make calls right now, there’s still time…” He was pacing frantically, his hands trembling. Tears burned hot tracks down my cheeks. “Borrow? From who, David? With what credit?” “You tanked your startup three years ago and left us drowning in debt. If I hadn’t carried this family on my back, you would have gone under. That money was the last of my parents’ estate. And you’re telling me you can just magically secure a fifty-grand loan in an hour?” His lips moved, but no sound came out. He looked like a ghost. “If we don’t have the cash, they’re going to kill her.” The words tasted like ash. “Rachel, are you out of your mind?!” David lunged forward, gripping my arms hard enough to bruise. “That is Mandy! She’s our daughter! How can you even say that?” I violently shoved him off. “Then you tell me what your brilliant plan is!” Right on cue, the cell phone vibrated in my palm. David threw himself across the room to answer it. “I want the cash wired to the offshore account I sent you,” the gravelly voice sneered over the speaker. “Please, man, you’ve got to give us a little more time. I swear to God, we’ll get the money. Just please don’t hurt my little girl,” David begged, his voice breaking into a pathetic sob. A cruel, metallic laugh echoed through the line. “No money? Then you better start picking out a tiny coffin.” I snatched the phone from David’s trembling hand. “We don’t have it.” “Time’s up. Do what you have to do.” 2 David’s knees buckled. He hit the hardwood floor with a heavy thud. He clawed at my jeans, his face contorted in terror. “Rachel, have you lost your goddamn mind? That’s Mandy! That is our only child, how can you be so cold?!” I ripped myself away from his grasp. “Oh, so now she’s your daughter?” “Where was this paternal instinct when you were wiring our last fifty thousand dollars to that woman? Did you think of Mandy then?” “Now that Mandy’s life is on the line, you’re terrified. But isn’t this the bed you made?” The fight went completely out of him. He crumpled inward, a hollowed-out shell of a man. “Don’t give up on her, Rach. Please. I’m begging you. I’ll get on my knees, I’ll do anything, just don’t give up on her.” He buried his face in his hands, weeping into the floorboards. It took him a full agonizing minute to remember he had a phone, to remember his parents. He dialed them with shaking fingers. Within thirty minutes, his parents were bursting through our front door. “Where is she? Where is my granddaughter? What the hell is going on?” Tom, my father-in-law, marched straight up to David. “You just sold the house. The equity cleared. How the hell can you not pay a ransom?” I didn’t offer a word. I simply turned and walked into the bedroom to pull my suitcase from the top shelf. My mother-in-law, Carol, followed me in. When she saw the open suitcase on the bed, she practically combusted. “Rachel, what in God’s name are you doing? Mandy is in the hands of kidnappers and you’re packing clothes? Are you psychotic?” I reached out and slowly, methodically, peeled her fingers off my arm. “Your son cannot save my daughter’s life. So, naturally, I am divorcing him. And naturally, I am leaving.” Carol stared at me as if I were speaking in tongues. “You want a divorce now? While Mandy is out there?” Tom’s heavy footsteps entered the room. His face was thunderous. “Someone tell me what is going on.” I walked past them and handed Tom the printed bank receipt. “We netted a little over two hundred grand from the house. After paying off David’s massive debts, we had exactly fifty thousand left. But yesterday, at three in the morning, your perfect son wired every single penny of it to someone named ‘Lauren’.” Carol squinted at the name on the paper. “Who the hell is Lauren?” David shrunk against the hallway wall, his voice barely a whisper. “She… she’s someone from work. Her little boy is incredibly sick. He needed surgery immediately. It was just a bridge loan, Mom. Just to cover the emergency, she promised she’d pay it back…” “Someone from work?” A sharp, bitter laugh tore from my throat. “The ‘coworker’ he’s talking about is his college sweetheart. The one who got away. He was quick enough to hit send when she came crying to him, but now that his own daughter is waiting on a ransom, he’s too much of a coward to even dial her number.” “College sweetheart?” Tom’s hand cracked across David’s face before anyone could blink. “You stupid son of a bitch!” Carol flew at him, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. “Your daughter is about to be murdered, and you gave her ransom money to your ex-girlfriend?!” “Call her right now! Get that money back!” “What are you standing there for? Dial the phone! Is some stranger’s kid more important than your own flesh and blood?” He kept his head bowed. He didn’t move a muscle. I leaned against the doorframe, watching the pathetic display. “What’s wrong, David? Afraid to make the call?” “Are you afraid she won’t give it back? Or are you just terrified that your dirty little secret is finally going to see the light of day?” David’s lips quivered. His eyes were bloodshot and brimming with tears. “Rach…” “Do not say my name. You make me physically sick.” He held his phone in his sweaty palm, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white. But he still didn’t press call. “Take a good look,” I said softly to his parents. “This is the man you raised.” 3 Carol shoved David hard against the wall. “If anything happens to Mandy, so help me God, I will never forgive you!” Tom’s face was flushed with a dangerous, mottled rage. “You worthless piece of shit! It’s one thing to ruin your own life, but you’re dragging your child down with you! How did I raise a man with so little spine?” The cell phone on the coffee table buzzed again, vibrating against the glass. David scrambled for it, hitting the speaker button with a trembling finger. “One hour left. If the money isn’t routed, you can forget about ever seeing your kid again. For every minute you’re late, I’m cutting off one of her fingers.” I stood perfectly still, my fingernails digging so deeply into my palms that they broke the skin. It was the only way to keep myself anchored to the floor. Carol collapsed onto the rug, beating her hands against her thighs as she wailed. “My sweet girl! Oh God, my Mandy!” Tom was pacing like a caged animal. “What else is there? Jewelry, bonds, the equity in our place? Put it all up as collateral! We have to get the kid back first!” David dug his hands into his hair, pulling at the roots. “There’s no time! Mortgages, pawning, liquidating—all of that takes days! How am I supposed to materialize fifty grand in an hour?!” Just then, the doorbell chimed. Through the peephole, I saw a woman. She was put together—perfect blowout, immaculate makeup—but the frantic, wide-eyed anxiety on her face ruined the aesthetic. When I opened the door, she faltered, clearly not expecting to see me. Then, her voice pitched high with desperation. “David.” I stepped aside, leaving the sightline to the living room completely clear. She hesitated for a fraction of a second before her eyes locked onto David, and she practically threw herself into the room, tears already spilling. “Why aren’t you answering my calls? You promised you’d wire the second half today! The billing department is breathing down my neck. Tyler is prepped for surgery, David. If we delay this, he could literally die!” The silence in the room was absolute. Tom and Carol looked at her with a disgust so profound it was palpable. David looked like a man who had just been stripped naked in a town square. He tried to physically push her back toward the door. “What are you doing here?! Who told you to come here? You need to leave. Now!” “Why shouldn’t I be here?” She stumbled back, the tears flowing freely now. “You promised me yesterday. You said you’d take care of us. You said you wouldn’t abandon me and Tyler. You went dark on me, David! What else was I supposed to do?” Carol’s gaze was lethal as she stepped toward the woman. “Who the hell are you?” The woman bit her lip, the picture of tragic victimhood. “I… my name is Lauren. David and I… we love each other. He promised he’d help save my son’s life. He told me his marriage was dead. He said he was going to divorce his wife and marry me…” Carol saw red. She swung her arm back and delivered a ringing slap straight across David’s face. Tom didn’t hold back either. He lunged forward and kicked David hard in the back of the knee. David crumpled to the floor, groaning, not even attempting to stand back up. Seeing the sheer violence of their reaction, Lauren finally realized something was horribly wrong. She shrank back. “But… but you said you had the money now. You said this wasn’t a big deal…” I walked slowly across the room until I was standing inches from her face. “My daughter is currently being held for ransom by armed men,” I said, my voice dead calm. “And her father took the money that was supposed to save her life… and gave it to you.” Carol completely lost it. She lunged at Lauren, fingers curled like claws. “You homewrecking bitch! You have the audacity to show your face in this house?! You give me my granddaughter’s life back!” Lauren shrieked, scrambling backward to avoid Carol’s swinging arms. Ignoring his own pain, David scrambled up from the floor and threw himself in front of Lauren, acting as her human shield. “Mom! Stop it! Don’t touch her! She didn’t know!” “I gave her the money voluntarily! Leave her out of this!” 4 Tears streamed down Lauren’s perfectly contoured face, but her jaw set in a stubborn, defensive line. “I’m sorry about your daughter, I really am, but my son’s life matters too.” “And… and Tyler is David’s son. He promised me. He swore he would take care of his boy, that he would pay for the surgery. He can’t just go back on his word.” The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. The living room went completely, terrifyingly silent. “What did you just say?” Carol whispered, her face pale. “David… you don’t just have a mistress… you have a child with her?!” Seeing that the secret was out, Lauren dropped the fragile victim act. “David and I were together in college… we reconnected at a reunion three years ago. He told me he was miserable. He said he never stopped loving me. That’s when I got pregnant.” “Shut up!” David roared, his face flushed a dark, violent crimson. “Is this really the time for this?!” “Then when is the time?!” Lauren screamed right back. “You told me no matter what happened, you’d protect me and Tyler first! But the second your parents show up, you try to throw us under the bus? Are you even a man, David?” David stood paralyzed between them, trapped in a hell entirely of his own making. Carol’s legs gave out. She slumped against the wall, clutching her chest. “Your daughter is waiting for a ransom… and you took her money… for a bastard child.” David stared at the floor. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick with shame. “Dad… Tyler’s condition is deteriorating rapidly. The surgeon said if we miss this window, he might not make it to the end of the month…” I couldn’t help it. I laughed. A dry, echoing sound that filled the room. “So that’s it, then. Mandy can die, but your secret son can’t. Is that it?” “David, when you realized we didn’t have the ransom, you didn’t even try to ask for the money back. You keep telling yourself that both kids’ lives matter, but in your heart, you’ve already made your choice.” David flinched as if I had taken a hunting knife and buried it in his chest. Tom had heard enough. He grabbed David by the shoulders and shook him violently. “You animal! That is the little girl who calls you Daddy! The girl who used to fall asleep on your chest! And you are willing to let her die for the sake of some kid you’ve been hiding in the shadows?!” At the word ‘some kid’, Lauren flared up. “Don’t you talk about him like that! Tyler is David’s flesh and blood too! Why does he have to be second best? Why does my son have to die?” “So my daughter should die instead?” My voice cut through the room like a whip. Lauren snapped her mouth shut, choking on her own righteousness. “Tell me, Lauren. Your son’s life is precious, but my daughter’s life is just collateral damage?” David instinctively moved to shield her again, but before he could, Tom grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, hauling him back. And then, the phone rang. David’s hands shook so violently he almost dropped the device. It took him three tries to hit the speakerphone icon. “Time’s almost up. You wiring the cash, or are we sending you a body part?” “Just give me a little more time, I’m begging you, please, just a little more time…” “I’m going to count to three. Either you confirm the wire, or I chop off one of her fingers right now and text you the video.” “One.” “Two.” Carol screamed, clapping her hands over her ears. “Pay them! Just pay them!” “Two and a half.” Tom kicked David brutally in the shin. “Get the damn money back from her right now!” Every eye in the room was fixed on David. He was drenched in a cold sweat, his face the color of chalk. He looked like a man standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath his feet. I just watched him. Coldly. Clinically. I wanted to know too. When the absolute final moment came, who would he choose? 5 David looked at Lauren. Then he looked at me. His Adam’s apple bobbed convulsively, but his throat was too tight to produce a sound. On one side was Mandy. The daughter he had raised. The little girl currently sitting in a room with armed men, waiting for a bullet. On the other side was Tyler. The son he kept hidden. The boy waiting in a hospital bed for a life-saving surgery. Lauren began frantically digging through her designer purse. “I’m calling the police! Let the cops handle your daughter! The money stays with my son. Yes, that’s what we’ll do!” I lunged forward and slapped the phone out of her hand. It clattered across the floorboards. “Call the cops? Be my guest.” “Let’s have the police come down here and see how you knowingly carried on an affair with a married man, extorted him, and drained his marital assets. Let them see how he took his own kidnapped daughter’s ransom money to fund his double life.” “If my daughter suffers so much as a scratch today, I swear to God, I will visit ten times that pain onto your life!” Lauren shrank back, her bravado shattering completely. She didn’t say another word. The only sound left in the living room was David’s ragged, heavy breathing. Seconds ticked by. Then, slowly, he dropped to his knees and crawled across the floor toward me. “Rachel, I’m begging you… let Tyler have the money. He’s innocent in all of this. He doesn’t know anything, he’s only two years old, Rach… he’s just a baby…” There it was. He had made his choice. “You really don’t deserve the title of father, David. From start to finish, you haven’t factored Mandy into this equation at all. You’ve never truly given a damn about this family.” “I know… I know I failed her… but Tyler can’t wait. Rachel, please, look at me. Have mercy on a two-year-old boy. Just let him have this, please?” A primal rage, hot and suffocating, erupted in my chest. I kicked him away with a sharp thrust of my boot. “Have mercy on him? Who is having mercy on my daughter?!” “Three years ago, David! Three years ago when your business went under and the loan sharks came to our front door! It was me who held a terrified three-year-old Mandy in my arms while we sat in the living rooms of those men, swallowing our pride, apologizing, signing away our lives just to keep them from breaking your legs!” “Mandy was terrified. She clung to my leg, crying, asking me why those men wanted to hurt Daddy. She was so tiny, but she wiped her own tears and whispered to you, ‘Don’t be scared, Daddy. Mandy’s here.’” “When you were too much of a coward to even sleep in your own house, I worked a day job and took in alterations at night. I cooked, I cleaned, I took care of your parents. When Mandy spiked a 104-degree fever, I couldn’t even take a sick day because if I stopped working, we didn’t eat.” “She was burning up, delirious, clutching a cold compress, and she told me, ‘Mommy, buy medicine for Daddy first. Daddy is hurting worse than me.’” “And what did you say to us back then? You swore on your life that when we got back on our feet, you would put me and Mandy first until the day you died. You promised we would never suffer again!” “And look where we are!” “I dragged you through the absolute darkest, poorest years of your life. I stood by you when everyone else treated you like garbage. Mandy grew up faster than any child should. She never asked for toys. She never asked for new clothes. She used to save the little gold star stickers her preschool teacher gave her just so she could bring them home to you, hoping they would make you smile!” “She worships the ground you walk on. She thinks you are the greatest man in the world. And how do you repay her?” “While she is crying out for you in a room full of monsters, you take the money that could save her life and hand it to your mistress!” “You’re kneeling here begging me to have mercy on your son. Well, what about my daughter? Who is going to have mercy on her for the years of poverty, the fear, the trauma she endured just by loving you?!” “You don’t owe me anything anymore, David. I stopped wanting anything from you a long time ago. But the debt you owe Mandy? You couldn’t repay that in a thousand lifetimes!” David collapsed onto his stomach, burying his face in the rug, sobbing hysterically. Just then, the phone crackled. A child’s agonizing cry echoed through the speaker. “Daddy… help me… it hurts…” David snapped. “I’ll pay! I’ll get the money, I swear! Please don’t touch her! Don’t hurt her! I’ll sell my blood, I’ll sell my organs, I’ll get the money!” The man on the phone just chuckled. “Too late.” A split second later, a piercing, blood-curdling scream tore through the line. “DADDY! DADDY HELP!” David threw himself at the coffee table, screaming into the phone until his vocal cords tore. “DON’T TOUCH HER! PLEASE GOD NO! I’LL GIVE YOU WHATEVER YOU WANT! DON’T HURT MY BABY!” The kidnapper seemed to be enjoying the show. He spoke with agonizing slowness. “If you want to keep her breathing… there is a way.” “Word on the street is you’ve got a bastard kid. Kid’s on his deathbed, right? How about this: You get to choose. You pick one kid to live.” “I’ll give you ten minutes. In ten minutes, you give me a name.” David froze, every muscle in his body locking up. Lauren was the first to react. She threw herself onto him, gripping his shirt with clawed hands. “David, you can’t abandon Tyler! The surgeon said tomorrow is the absolute deadline! If you take that money back, he will die! He’s just a baby, David, he’s two years old!” Carol was hyperventilating, tears streaming down her wrinkled cheeks. “Mandy is your daughter! She is in the hands of killers! You pick Mandy, David! You pick Mandy!!” Tom was trembling with a rage so deep it looked like it might kill him. “If you have a shred of humanity left in your soul, you save that little girl! You carried her home from the hospital, David!” I stood perfectly still. I wanted to know, too. At the absolute end of all things, who would he choose? David kept his head down. His chest heaved violently as he fought for air. It took a long, terrible time before he finally lifted his face. He stared at the phone. His lips parted. “I choose… Tyler.” In that fraction of a second, my heart still broke. I knew the answer. I knew this man was rotten to his absolute core. But hearing him say the words out loud, hearing him trade Mandy’s life away—it was like someone sliding a serrated blade between my ribs and twisting it. This was the man I had loved for a decade. The man I had starved with. The man I thought I would grow old with. The room was paralyzed by the horror of his words. And then, from the hallway, a tiny, fragile voice broke the silence. “Daddy…” Every single head snapped toward the front door. Mandy was standing there.

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It was a quiet Sunday afternoon. I was sitting in the nursery, unbuttoning my shirt to nurse the baby, when the security camera on the bookshelf suddenly hummed to life. The lens swiveled with a mechanical click, tracking my movement until it was pointed directly at my chest. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard it hurt. Panic flared, white-hot and blinding, as I fumbled with my buttons and lunged for the power cord, yanking it from the wall. That night, when the house was quiet and the baby was finally asleep, I told David about it. I expected him to be as outraged as I was, to call the security company or check for hackers. Instead, he didn’t even look up from his laptop. He gave me a dismissive shrug, saying it was probably just a firmware glitch or a recalibration. “It’s fixed now, Naomi. Don’t be so paranoid,” he said, his voice smooth and maddeningly calm. But the unease stayed with me, a cold weight in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Late that night, I posted my story on a popular women’s forum, desperate for a second opinion. The top comment sent a chill down my spine that made my breath hitch: “Honey, cameras don’t ‘glitch’ and point themselves at you. Someone has hacked into your feed. You aren’t just being watched—you’re likely being live-streamed to some dark corner of the web right now.” I froze. My mind went blank, the words on the screen blurring into a nightmare. Suddenly, David’s voice drifted from right behind my shoulder, silk-wrapped and eerily soft. “What are you reading so intently, babe?” 1. A cold sweat broke out across my skin. I couldn’t let him know I was posting about our private life. With a practiced flick of my thumb, I swiped to a different thread, forcing my voice to remain light and casual. “Just some drama on Reddit,” I said, tilting the screen so he could see a random post. “This woman is venting about her husband. Everyone thinks he’s a saint, but he’s been gaslighting her for years. Can you believe that? People are so messed up.” David’s face didn’t twitch, but his eyes narrowed as he scanned the comments. “You spend too much time on those sites, Naomi. It’s all toxic, extreme nonsense.” “I know, I know. It’s just entertainment,” I lied, my heart still racing. I took a breath, trying to sound reasonable. “But about the camera, David… it really creeped me out today. Can we just move it to the living room? I don’t want it in the bedroom or the nursery anymore.” He leaned in, his expression shifting into that familiar, tender mask. “Trust me, I’ve re-secured the network. It won’t happen again. Besides, you’re home alone with the baby all day while I’m at the office. I need to know you’re both safe. For my peace of mind, okay, honey?” I forced a nod, my lips tight. He smiled, a satisfied curve of his mouth, and pulled me into his arms. His hands began to wander, sliding beneath the hem of my shirt. We were standing in the exact spot where the camera had been pointed earlier. As he moved to unfasten my clothes, I went rigid. I stepped back, managing a weak, apologetic smile. “Not tonight, David. I’m exhausted. You wore me out last night, and my legs are still like jelly.” Ever since I finished my postpartum recovery, he had been relentless. Every single night, he wanted me. He wanted to try new things, more provocative things. At first, I had been flattered, thinking he was just making up for lost time. But now, with the thought of that camera lens burned into my mind, the idea of intimacy felt like a violation. His expression soured for a fleeting second before the mask of the “perfect husband” returned. “I’m sorry, babe. I’m being insensitive.” He reached out to stroke my hair, but just then, the baby started crying over the monitor. “She’s probably wet,” I said, moving quickly toward the nursery. “I’ll handle it. You should get some sleep.” I didn’t wait for an answer. I grabbed the baby and retreated to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. That comment from the forum kept looping in my brain. David was a senior software engineer. If there was a “glitch,” he would know. If there was a hack, he would have seen it. He had installed the system himself; it was linked directly to his phone. We had been married for two years, and he had been nothing but supportive. Since Daisy was born, he had stepped up even more. Were the strangers on the internet just being cynical? Were they trying to poison a happy marriage because they were miserable themselves? If there was a real problem, David wouldn’t hide it from me. He loved me. I went back to the forum to reply to the comment, but my heart sank. The post was gone. It had been reported and deleted for “violating community standards.” I stood there in the quiet of the bathroom, holding my daughter, trying to convince myself that I was the one being crazy. I took a deep breath, composed my face, and walked back out. 2. I didn’t sleep a wink. The next morning, David was his usual charming self before heading to work. “I’m bringing some colleagues over for dinner tonight, Naomi. We finally closed that big project, and I owe them a celebration. Keep it simple, okay? I don’t want you overworking yourself.” I nodded, subtly leaning away when he leaned in to kiss me. He didn’t seem to notice; his eyes were glued to his phone as a new notification popped up. “These guys are important for my next promotion,” he added. “I’ll have a dress delivered for you later. Something special. I want to show off my beautiful wife.” He reached out to ruffle my hair, a habit I used to find endearing, but I flinched away instinctively. Seeing his brow furrow, I quickly covered. “I… I should go make a grocery list for tonight.” He smiled, that indulgent, paternalistic smile. “Good girl. I just wired you five thousand. Get whatever you need. Don’t be thrifty.” Throughout the day, I was a ghost in my own home. Every time I changed clothes or nursed Daisy, I made sure I was out of the camera’s line of sight. My mind was a storm of doubt and fear. Around noon, David’s iPad, which he’d left on the kitchen counter, chimed. He had logged in once and forgotten to sign out. Curious, or perhaps driven by a dark intuition, I picked it up. A notification from an app called Signal was flashing. The group name was “The Tasting Room.” An icy dread pooled in my stomach. David was the breadwinner; he didn’t do the shopping, and he certainly wasn’t the type to join “lifestyle” or “product sharing” groups. He was private. He was professional. My hands shook as I tapped the chat. The world seemed to tilt on its axis as the messages loaded. 3. I had never seen this side of David. The man in this chat was a stranger—foul-mouthed, depraved, and cruel. The “products” being shared weren’t items. They were women. The members were posting photos—scandalous, private shots—and rating them like pieces of meat. And the most active participant, the ringleader of this disgusting circus, was my “dignified” husband. He had shared everything. Details of our sex life, photos of me sleeping, descriptions that made me want to scrub my skin raw. I gripped the iPad until my knuckles turned white, my face burning with a mix of shame and fury. A knock at the front door startled me. It was a courier. He handed me a box containing the “special dress” David had mentioned. As I took it, I noticed the way the courier looked at me—a lingering, oily smirk, as if he knew what I looked like under my clothes. It made my skin crawl. I slammed the door and locked it. I looked back at the iPad. A new message popped up in the group. “@DavidM: Damn, Dave. Your wife is a ten. Way better than the live stream. Those postpartum curves? I’d pay double for a seat tonight.” David’s avatar—a professional headshot—appeared next. He posted a smirking emoji. “Told you guys. She used to do some modeling back in the day. The view is even better when she doesn’t know she’s being watched.” “@DavidM: So, is it happening? You said we might get a chance to ‘sample the goods’ in person?” “Don’t worry,” David replied. “I always deliver. I streamed our wedding night for the premium tier, didn’t I?” I felt the blood drain from my face. I collapsed against the wall, the room spinning. Our wedding night. The most sacred, vulnerable moment of my life, and he had sold it to four hundred and ninety-nine strangers. I barely made it to the bathroom before I started retching. The men in the chat were spiraling into a frenzy of graphic fantasies about me. Then, David tagged everyone. “Long time no see for a live event. Remember to tune in tomorrow night—subscription required. Tonight, however, we’re doing a ‘special guest’ uniform show.” I realized there was a pinned link at the top of the chat: “Access Live Feed.” With trembling fingers, I clicked it. My heart stopped. It was a crystal-clear view of our bedroom. My bedroom. I realized with a jolt of horror that every private moment, every struggle with my new body, every intimate act I thought was shared only with my husband had been a public performance. I was a puppet in a show I didn’t know I was starring in. I was shaking so hard I couldn’t stand. I wanted to scream, to burn the house down, to fly at him the moment he walked through the door. Then, a text from David popped up on my own phone. His tone was perfectly normal. “Hey babe, did the dress arrive? Put it on for me. I want to see how it looks on you before the guys get there.” I opened the box with numb fingers. It wasn’t a dress. It was a piece of cheap, provocative lace—a costume. I remembered his message about the “uniform show” and the “guests” coming over. My stomach did a slow, sickening roll as the realization hit me like a physical blow. He wasn’t just bringing colleagues for dinner. He was bringing “subscribers.” 4. I forced myself to breathe. I couldn’t stay here. If I confronted him now, trapped in this house with him, I didn’t know what he would do. Daisy blinked her big, innocent eyes at me from her bassinet. I had to protect her. I didn’t reply to his text. I threw a few essentials into a diaper bag, grabbed my daughter, and practically ran out the door. As I drove, my phone didn’t stop buzzing. “Naomi? Why is the camera offline? Did something happen?” “Where are you, Naomi?” “Naomi, stop playing games. I have people coming over tonight. Everything needs to be perfect!” By the time I pulled into my sister’s driveway, he sounded frantic. I ignored the calls, setting my phone to “Do Not Disturb.” When Megan opened the door, I broke down. I sobbed into her shoulder while she ushered me inside and took the baby. I told her everything—the camera, the chat, the “guests.” She looked stunned, her expression shifting through a kaleidoscope of emotions. “Naomi… are you sure? Could they just be… I don’t know, talking big? Men say stupid things online.” I shook my head violently. “I saw the link, Megan! I saw the live feed of our room! He’s been selling me!” She held Daisy tight, her face hardening. “That animal. I always thought he was too good to be true, but this? This is sick. We should go to the police. Right now.” “I can’t,” I whispered, burying my face in my hands. “What if he denies it? What if he’s deleted it all by the time they get there?” She looked at me intently. “Are you going to leave him? You have to divorce him, Naomi. He’s dangerous.” I looked at my one-month-old daughter and felt a wave of crushing exhaustion. “I don’t know what to do, Meg. I just need to think. Can I stay here for a bit? Just to clear my head?” She smiled warmly, though her eyes remained dark. “Of course. Stay as long as you need. You look like a wreck, Naomi. Your voice is hoarse. Here, drink some water.” I took the glass and drained it. As the cool water hit my throat, I started to calm down. I looked around Megan’s living room. I noticed a few things that hadn’t been there before—some men’s shoes by the door, a leather belt draped over the sofa. It looked strangely familiar. Megan noticed my gaze and quickly tucked the belt behind a cushion, her cheeks flushing. “Is there someone new in your life?” I asked, trying to find a moment of normalcy. “I don’t want to be in the way if you have company.” She took the baby, looking shy. “It’s a recent thing. Don’t worry about it, Naomi. You’re my sister. You come first.” She coughed, looking away. “You look exhausted. Go lie down in the guest room. I’ll watch the baby.” I nodded, my head starting to feel heavy. Megan was my cousin, but we had grown up like sisters. She was the only family I had in this city. She had always been there for me, and she adored Daisy. She’d even joked about being the godmother. She’d never really liked David, though. She said he gave her “bad vibes.” I used to think they just had different personalities, but now I realized she’d been right all along. I felt safe here. David didn’t have Megan’s new address; we had just moved her in a few months ago. I walked into the guest room, but as I moved, a wave of dizziness hit me. My surroundings began to blur. The room felt like it was underwater. I heard Megan talking to someone in the hallway. I tried to call out to her, to ask why I felt so strange, but my tongue felt like lead. Then I heard the front door unlock. Footsteps—multiple sets. Megan’s voice dropped into a tone I had never heard before—subservient, eager. “She’s out, David. The sedative I put in her water was a heavy dose. She won’t remember a thing when she wakes up.” My blood turned to ice. I tried to sit up, but the world went black just as the bedroom door swung open.

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I’ve always been able to see the words. They hover in the air, glowing like neon dust, scrolling endlessly across my vision from the moment I first opened my eyes. For a long time, I couldn’t understand what those frantic, floating symbols meant. Until the afternoon my mother suddenly collapsed beside her easel, her face draining to the color of crushed chalk. In that terrifying instant, the phantom words snapping through the air sharpened into brutal clarity: [CRITICAL WARNING! She’s been painting straight through the night for a week! Her heart is giving out!] [Oh god, her four-year-old is just standing there… She doesn’t know she’s watching her mother miss the golden window for resuscitation…] [By the time the neighbor finds them, it’ll be too late. Poor little Remi is going to end up in the foster system.] [And Vaughn Croft? That visionary, untouchable Hollywood director will die never knowing Camille had his child. He’ll never know she literally worked herself to death trying to keep them afloat.] I scrubbed the tears from my cheeks with the back of a paint-stained hand, a single, fierce thought anchoring me: I will not let my mother die. And I am not going to any place called a foster system. You adults always try to bury the truth, hiding behind your pride and your secrets. This time, I was going to do the talking. Three days later, amidst the chaotic, screaming throng of a major Los Angeles film set, I shoved my way through a sea of crew members. I stopped dead in front of a towering man glaring at a playback monitor. Pulling every ounce of air into my tiny lungs, I screamed, “Daddy! Mommy is dying, and you have to save her right now!” 1 From a very young age, I knew my world was built differently from everyone else’s. Where other kids just saw a blue California sky, I saw a canvas layered with translucent, scrolling comment bubbles. My mother, Camille, was a gentle, fiercely talented painter. She used to brush a thumb over my cheek and call me her perfect little muse. Whenever I zoned out, tracking the invisible text floating across the ceiling, she thought I was just lost in my own vivid imagination. She even painted me like that once—eyes wide, staring at a secret universe. I was never daydreaming. I was just trying to decipher the noise. Camille had taught me well; at four years old, I could already read far beyond my age. Today, she wasn’t herself. She was slumped against her heavy wooden easel, clutching her chest, her skin alarmingly ashen. I tugged at her paint-splattered jeans, begging her to lie down, but she just offered me a frail smile and stroked my hair. “Just a little longer, Remi,” she whispered, her breath shallow. “If I can just finish this commission, we can pay for your preschool tuition next season.” Right then, the pastel words floating above us turned a violently flashing crimson. [Red alert! This is it! The female lead’s heart is failing from absolute exhaustion!] [Look at her little girl… she has no idea what’s happening. This is shattering me.] [Camille, drop the damn brush! Money isn’t worth your life! Remi needs you!] [Where the hell is the male lead? Oh, right. Two hours away in Burbank shooting his new blockbuster, drowning in awards, completely clueless that the love of his life is slipping away.] Panic seized my throat. I grabbed the hem of her shirt, pulling hard. “Mommy, stop! I don’t want to go to school! Go to sleep!” Camille bent down, her eyes swimming with a hazy, terrifying tenderness. She opened her mouth to speak, but before the sound could form, her eyes rolled back. She folded in on herself, hitting the hardwood floor with a sickening thud. “Mommy!” I dropped to my knees, screaming, shaking her limp shoulders with all my meager strength. She didn’t move. She didn’t even twitch. The blood-red text practically blinded me now. [No, no, no… the tragedy arc is starting. Little Remi is going to sit with her mother’s body until the neighbor walks in tomorrow.] [This part of the story ruins me. Her only inheritance is going to be that hidden photograph. Camille dies without ever seeing him again.] [I hate this! If Vaughn had just swallowed his pride and looked for her, Camille wouldn’t be living in this rundown apartment!] Vaughn? The name rattled something loose in my memory. Leaving my mother’s side for only a second, I dragged a stepping stool to her nightstand. I reached for the polished walnut box she strictly forbade me from opening. Inside lay a single photograph. The man in the picture was strikingly handsome, his jawline sharp, his dark eyes staring into the camera with an intense, unguarded warmth. The invisible chorus supplied the context instantly: [Yes! That’s him! Vaughn Croft! The prodigy director! Remi’s biological father!] [Looks like a prince, acts like a coward. How could he let Camille suffer like this?] [Look at him, Remi! Memorize that face! He is the only one who can pay those hospital bills!] I stared at the photograph, burning every angle of his face into my mind. Daddy. If you had enough money to make movies, you had enough money to save my mother. 2 Mrs. Higgins from down the hall heard my screaming and found us. She called the ambulance, and by some miracle, we made it to the ER in time. The doctor said it was acute myocarditis. She survived the initial crash, but her immune system was decimated. She needed immediate, intensive care, or her heart would simply stop. Mrs. Higgins emptied her meager checking account to cover the admission fee, but as she stared at the staggering string of zeroes on the estimated treatment invoice, the lines around her mouth deepened into canyons. I knew she couldn’t afford this. We couldn’t afford this. While she stepped out to the cafeteria to buy me a juice box, I slipped out of the chaotic waiting room and walked through the sliding glass doors into the biting evening air. I had to find him. But I was four. How was I supposed to navigate Los Angeles to find a famous movie director? I stood on the edge of the roaring boulevard, entirely overwhelmed. The floating words above me were panicking even harder than I was. [Where is she going?! Does she even know where Vaughn is?] [I know! The paparazzi just leaked photos! He’s shooting ‘The Endless Dark’ at Blackwood Studios!] [Someone tell Remi! It’s an hour drive! Does this baby even have money?!] I reached into the pocket of my overalls. My fingers brushed against a crumpled twenty-dollar bill Camille had given me earlier for emergency snacks. I mimicked the adults I’d seen on TV, stepping to the curb and thrusting my little arm into the air. A yellow cab pulled over. The driver rolled down the window, looking around for an adult. “Where to, kiddo? Where’s your mom?” I shoved the wrinkled twenty at him, reciting the location from the glowing text above. “Blackwood Studios, please. My daddy is waiting for me.” The driver looked at me, then at the twenty, and chuckled softly. “Listen, half-pint, twenty bucks isn’t gonna get you all the way to Blackwood.” Tears pricked my eyes. My lip trembled. [Help her! Oh my god, use his name!] [Remi, don’t cry! Tell him your dad is Vaughn Croft and he’ll tip him huge!] I tipped my chin up, widening my eyes to their maximum, tear-filled capacity. “Please, sir. My daddy is the famous director, Vaughn Croft. If you take me to him, he’ll give you a hundred dollars. I promise.” The driver blinked, startled by the sheer conviction in my tiny voice. He sighed, unlocking the back door. “Alright, kid. Let’s see if this Hollywood fairy tale is real.” Blackwood Studios was a sprawling, chaotic labyrinth. It was louder and dirtier than I had imagined, swarming with extras in intricate armor and grips hauling heavy lighting rigs. The driver was kind enough to walk me past the main gate, asking a security guard where The Endless Dark was shooting before pointing me in the right direction. I marched on my short legs through the maze of trailers and cables. The invisible text acted as my GPS. [Turn left at the craft services table! See that massive white tent?] [Look for the guy screaming behind the monitors! The one who looks like he wants to murder the lighting crew. That’s your dad!] [Go get him, baby! We’re rooting for you!] I spotted him instantly. He was wearing a dark baseball cap pulled low, a headset slung around his neck. He was aggressively gesturing at an actress, his brow furrowed so deeply he looked terrifying. He wasn’t smiling like he was in the hidden photograph, but there was no mistaking that face. The set was so loud no one noticed a small child slipping past the barricades. I took a massive breath, filled my lungs, and screamed over the noise of the production. “Daddy!” It was as if someone had pulled the plug on the entire soundstage. The silence was instantaneous and deafening. Dozens of heads snapped in my direction. The angry director froze. He slowly pulled the headset off, turning to look at me with profound irritation. I didn’t flinch. I held his dark, heavy gaze, and yelled it again, letting the raw terror of the day finally break my voice. “Daddy! Mommy is dying! You have to give her the money to fix her heart!” A pin drop could have echoed across the lot. 3 Vaughn Croft finally looked at me. Really looked at me. His gaze was sharp enough to cut glass, sweeping over my face as if trying to solve a sudden, infuriating puzzle. “Whose kid is this? Where is production?” he barked, his voice thick with annoyance. “Get her parents. Now.” A young assistant—I later learned his name was Benji—rushed forward, crouching down to gently grab my arm. “Hey there, sweetheart. You can’t be on the hot set. Where’s your mom?” I violently yanked my arm away, planting my sneakers firmly into the dirt. I pointed a small, shaking finger right at Vaughn. “He is my dad!” Whispers erupted around the stage like a lit fuse. The staring eyes felt heavy and suffocating. Vaughn clearly felt the shift in the atmosphere. He cursed under his breath, stood up, and closed the distance between us in three long strides. He towered over me, a dark eclipse blotting out the studio lights. He crouched down so we were eye-to-eye. Up close, his eyes were devoid of warmth. “Listen to me, kid. This isn’t a funny prank. Who told you to come here and say that?” “My mommy’s name is Camille.” I dropped the name into the quiet space between us like a grenade. I watched the exact moment the shockwave hit him. His pupils blew wide. The devastatingly composed mask he wore cracked straight down the middle. Looking at his face was like looking in a mirror—we shared the same nose, the same stubborn set of our jaws. He stared at me for what felt like an eternity. He didn’t blink. He hardly breathed. The text bubbles above us were going absolutely feral. [HE IS SPIRALING! Look at his hands! He’s literally shaking!] [Camille is his Achilles heel. I told you!] [Deny it now, you coward! She is a carbon copy of your face!] Vaughn’s eyes mapped every inch of my features, desperate for a flaw in the logic, desperate to prove I was a lie. Instead of speaking, he suddenly reached out and scooped me up into his arms. He spun on his heel and strode purposefully toward a massive black trailer parked on the edge of the lot. His chest was hard against my cheek. He held me tightly, but it was stiff, awkward—nothing like the soft, enveloping warmth of my mother’s embrace. “Vaughn?” Benji called out, jogging after us in a panic. “Wrap for the day. Send everyone home,” Vaughn threw over his shoulder. He stepped into the trailer and slammed the heavy door shut behind us. 4 The trailer was eerily quiet, a stark contrast to my tiny, cluttered apartment filled with the smell of oil paints and lavender. Everything here was sleek, monochromatic, and smelled faintly of expensive cedar and cold rain. Vaughn set me down on a pristine leather sofa. He retreated a few steps, creating a physical barrier, and sank into the chair opposite me. He pulled off his cap, running a shaking hand through his dark hair. The irritation was entirely gone from his eyes, replaced by a turbulent storm of emotions I couldn’t name. “Where is she?” His voice was a ragged whisper. “Where is Camille?” “At the hospital. The big one downtown,” I answered, my small hands twisting the fabric of my overalls. “Mrs. Higgins said her heart is broken and it costs too many dollars to fix it.” “Who the hell is Mrs. Higgins?” “She lives downstairs.” His jaw tightened as his brain worked overtime, trying to process the wreckage of the last five minutes. [He believes her! But he’s paranoid. He’s going to look for a trap!] [Remi, you have to hit him with something only he would know! Give him the secret!] [Wait, I remember the lore! Camille has a faded scar shaped like a star on her inner wrist from when they rescued a cat in college!] A secret. I met his intense, searching gaze and took a deep breath. “Mommy has a star on her wrist. Right here.” I pointed to my own arm. “She told me Orion put it there. A stamp… so he could always find her in the dark.” Orion. The floating words above me paused for a fraction of a second before exploding into a blinding flurry. [OH MY GOD. ORION! That was his nickname because he used to stargaze with her!] [That was their secret language! He is absolutely devastated right now!] [Our girl is a genius! Finish him, Remi!] Vaughn’s entire body violently recoiled, as if I had reached across the coffee table and struck him. The cold composure he had been desperately clinging to shattered completely. His hands, resting on his knees, balled into tight fists, the veins standing out starkly against his knuckles. He stared at me, his mouth opening and closing, but no sound came out. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating with the ghost of a woman he hadn’t seen in five years. Suddenly, he vaulted out of the chair. He began pacing the narrow floor of the trailer like a caged animal. He snatched his phone from his pocket, his thumb moving frantically over the screen. “Benji,” he barked the moment the line connected. His voice was pulled tight, vibrating with an edge of absolute panic. “Call Mercy General. Now. Find out if a Camille… if Camille is admitted there. Drop everything! I need her chart, her room number, her doctor—everything! Call me back!” He hung up, the trailer descending back into a graveyard silence. He didn’t sit down. He stood by the window, his back facing me, staring blindly out at the studio lot. I couldn’t see his face, but I could see the rigid tension in his shoulders, the way his chest hitched unevenly. Even at four years old, I knew what grief looked like. He was hurting. 5 Less than ten minutes later, his phone violently shattered the quiet. He practically lunged for it, hitting speakerphone in his haste. Benji’s voice echoed through the space, laced with deep hesitation. “Vaughn… I found her. She’s in the cardiac ICU at Mercy. Brought in a few hours ago. The diagnosis is acute viral myocarditis with severe heart failure.” Benji took a shaky breath. “Vaughn, it’s really bad. They’ve already issued a critical condition notice. They don’t think she’ll make it through the night.”

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To provide for my unborn child, I took a high-paying job I would have normally turned down: catching a cheater in the act. The location was a luxury hotel downtown, hosting a high-profile wedding. I expected a routine surveillance gig. But when I saw my client’s face, my heart skipped a beat. It was Zack, my ex-husband. We’d been divorced for five years. Seeing him brought back the memory of that day five years ago—him with his arm around his mistress, telling me he’d finally found “the one.” I couldn’t help but let out a sharp, jagged laugh. “Zack. Look at you. How does it feel to be on the other side? Is your ‘true love’ finally stabbing you in the back?” He didn’t flinch. Instead, he looked me up and down with a sneer of pure condescension. “You think this is funny? Five years later, and the great Elena is reduced to stalking hotel hallways for a paycheck. Seems like your new man isn’t exactly a provider, is he?” I smiled, lifting my left hand to catch the light on the simple silver band on my ring finger. “I remarried a long time ago,” I said, my voice steady. “He’s everything you aren’t—loyal, devoted. And we’re about to have—” The words died in my throat. Zack took a deliberate step back, revealing the massive floral display and the “Save the Date” billboard behind him. The two people in the photo were faces I saw every time I closed my eyes. One was Bianca, the woman he had cheated with five years ago—the woman who had caused me to lose my first child. The other was Parker. The man who had been in my bed last night. The man who had promised me a future. … The smile froze on my face, turning into a mask of stone. My vision blurred, the bright red “Forever Starts Today” banner searing into my retinas like a brand. Zack watched me for three long seconds. Then, he barked out a laugh that felt like a slap. “Wait… don’t tell me. That broke loser you hooked up with? That was Parker?” I couldn’t breathe, let alone answer. My shoulders began to shake with a violent, uncontrollable tremor. I fumbled for my phone in my pocket, my fingers numb as I dialed Parker’s number. The first call went straight to voicemail. The second was declined. On the third try, he finally picked up. Before I could get a single syllable out, his voice came through—clipped, hurried, and cold. “I’m busy, Elena. I’ll call you later.” But in the split second before the line went dead, I heard it. A woman’s voice in the background, soft and cooing. “Honey, are you coming?” The phone slipped from my palm, clattering onto the plush carpet. The tears came then, hot and sudden, spilling over like a broken dam. It wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t a misunderstanding. The man who was about to pledge his life to Bianca was the same man who told me he loved me this morning. Zack clapped his hands together in mock applause. “God, you really are something. Two men, two betrayals. Your life is like a bad soap opera, Elena.” “I’m done. The job is off,” I choked out, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “I’ll refund your deposit.” I turned to run, but Zack’s hand clamped around my wrist like a vice. “Where are you going? You’re a professional at this, aren’t you? Why not do it one more time for old time’s sake?” “Let go of me! I don’t want your damn money!” He pulled a checkbook from his pocket and tapped a signed check against my cheek. “Don’t be a martyr. Bianca’s married into old money now; she’ll never have to worry about a bill again. And you? You look like you’re one missed paycheck away from the street.” I went still. The memories of five years ago rushed back—the cold, clinical feeling of a life stripped away. Back then, Zack had cheated on me with Bianca over and over. Every time I caught them, he’d try to drown my dignity in designer bags and jewelry. Everyone told me to look the other way. Even my parents called me ungrateful. When I finally left him, I left with nothing. I had been standing on the edge of the George Washington Bridge when Parker found me. He was the one who pulled me back. He was the one who healed me. But five years of living hand-to-mouth had taught me a brutal lesson: pride doesn’t pay the rent. Zack was right. Without this money, I couldn’t afford the prenatal care I needed. I couldn’t even afford to feed myself. Seeing the defeat in my eyes, Zack gave a satisfied smirk. He patted my shoulder. “I knew I could count on you. You’re the best in the business, after all.” I followed the crowd of guests into the grand ballroom. The air was thick with the scent of lilies and expensive perfume. “Did you see the size of that diamond on Bianca’s finger?” a guest whispered near me. “It’s not ‘Miss’ anymore,” another replied. “It’s ‘Mrs. Parker’ now.” I looked up, dazed. In the center of the room, Bianca stood surrounded by a gaggle of admirers. She looked radiant, her smile shy and practiced. “The ring is actually a bit too heavy,” she laughed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “I told him it was too much, but Parker insisted. He said I deserved the world.” I instinctively curled my fingers into my palm, hiding the nine-dollar silver band I’d bought from a street vendor. Someone teased, “So, why the rush? Is there a little one on the way?” Bianca’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink. “Oh, stop. Parker is so old-fashioned. He always says that a man who doesn’t wait until the wedding night isn’t showing proper respect.” I felt the floor drop out from under me. In our cramped, drafty studio apartment, Parker had been anything but “old-fashioned.” He had been hungry, desperate, taking me again and again on that thin mattress. Even when I begged him to be careful, he’d whisper into my ear that he couldn’t help himself. That he loved me too much to stop. Lies. Every single word was a lie. Watching her standing there, a vision in white, a cold, sharp anger began to slice through my grief. It burned away the shame and the trembling. The guests were lining up to present their gifts. When it was my turn, I didn’t reach for an envelope or a box. I pulled a thin, folded piece of paper from my bag. I stepped up to the bride-to-be. “Congratulations, Bianca,” I said. My voice was low, vibrating with a hidden frequency. She looked at me, her eyes widening for a fraction of a second before the mask of the perfect bride slid back into place. “Elena? What are you doing here?” I handed her the paper. It was my ultrasound results. “Tell me, Bianca. Is ruining other people’s lives a hobby, or do you actually get a commission for it?” The room went silent. Every head turned. “Did you know,” I continued, my voice gaining strength, “that your ‘respectful’ fiancé is already a husband and a father-to-be?” Bianca’s expression froze. I expected panic. I expected the same frantic denial she’d used five years ago when she sent me her sex tapes with Zack. I wanted to see her crumble. But she didn’t. After a few seconds of silence, a slow, cruel smile spread across her lips. She leaned in close, her breath smelling of expensive champagne. “What a coincidence, Elena,” she whispered. “It looks like we’re sharing a man. Again.” My heart plummeted. I stared at her, horrified. “You… you knew?” Her eyes crinkled with genuine amusement. “Of course I knew. I knew you almost jumped off a bridge after Zack. I knew you were rotting away in that pathetic little rental. I even knew…” Her smile widened. “I knew exactly how you tried to please him in bed. How desperate you were to keep him. He told me everything.” A wave of nausea hit me. I had to grab the edge of a table to keep from collapsing. “Why do you think a man like Parker would ever look at someone as broken as you?” she sneered. “When we broke up years ago, he couldn’t let go. He knew Zack had a ‘crazy’ ex-wife, and he was terrified you’d try to hurt me. He approached you to keep an eye on you. To keep me safe.” “Before he proposed to me, he confessed it all. But I didn’t care. Because the money he’s giving me? It’s more than Zack ever dreamed of.” The world began to tilt. Memories I’d suppressed came rushing back. The day Zack and Bianca went public, Parker—who never drank—had come home wasted. He had been rough, punishing, demanding to know why Zack was better than him. The next morning, he had cried and apologized, saying he was just jealous. I thought he was jealous of me. He was jealous of the man who had Bianca. “Bianca, who are you talking to?” A familiar voice cut through the air. I didn’t even have time to turn around before Bianca let out a sharp cry and threw herself backward, pushing me as she went. I slammed into the corner of a table. A sharp, white-hot pain flared in my lower back. Parker was there, dressed in a bespoke tuxedo, looking every bit the billionaire heir. He looked at me, and for a second, his face was a portrait of shock. “Elena?” The way he said my name—the familiar, soft cadence—made me burst into tears. I felt like a fool. Parker rushed forward. But he didn’t go to me. He knelt down and gathered Bianca into his arms, checking her for injuries. When he finally looked at me, his eyes were full of a cold, predatory warning. “What the hell are you doing here?” Bianca clung to him, trembling. “Parker, thank God. She… she’s always hated me. I was so scared she was going to—” “It’s okay,” Parker murmured, holding her tight. “I’m here. No one is going to touch you.” He looked at the security guards and nodded. “Search her. See if she has a weapon.” I gasped, backing away as two large men grabbed my arms. “Parker! What are you doing? Tell them to stop!” He didn’t move. “Search her.” They pinned me down. They tore my bag away, spilling my life onto the marble floor—my keys, my cheap lipstick, my prenatal vitamins. Then they started on my clothes. Rough, strange hands fumbled over my body, pulling at my coat, reaching for the hem of my dress. Parker just watched. When one of the guards reached for the zipper of my skirt, I screamed. “Parker! I’m pregnant! I’m carrying your baby!” The room fell into a deathly silence. Every eye in the ballroom was on me. Even Parker’s mask of indifference cracked into a look of sheer disbelief. I managed to wrench myself free and stood up, shaking. I grabbed the ultrasound photo from the floor and threw it at his feet. “Look at it, Parker! Are you going to keep pretending now?” He stared at the paper for a long moment. Then, he picked it up and slowly, methodically, tore it into tiny pieces. A mocking smile curved his lips. “Ma’am, I think you have the wrong father.” He looked around at the guests. “I’ve never seen this woman before in my life.” The room erupted. “God, she’s delusional.” “She probably saw him on the news and decided to try for a shakedown.” Then, a voice from the back: “Wait, isn’t that Zack’s crazy ex? The one who made that huge scene during their divorce?” “She’s probably been working the streets. Now she’s just looking for a payday for her mistake.” The insults hit me like stones. I looked at Parker. He was standing just a foot away, watching me spiral. He was waiting for me to have a breakdown. Waiting for me to prove to everyone that I was the “crazy” one. I bit my lip until I tasted blood. Using the last shred of my dignity, I turned and walked out of that ballroom. But as soon as I hit the hallway, I heard footsteps behind me. I tried to run, but a hand grabbed my shoulder and swung me around, slamming me against the wall. “Elena!” Parker’s voice was a low hiss of rage. “How dare you forge a medical report?” “I didn’t…” “Stop lying!” he snapped. “I did my homework on you. I know you had a miscarriage after you left Zack. The doctors said it was impossible for you to conceive again!” So that was it. That was why he felt he could use me without a second thought. I wanted to laugh, but the tears came first. They hit his hand, and for a second, he flinched, as if they burned. He reached out to wipe them away, but I jerked my head back. He sighed, his voice softening into that manipulative tone I once found so comforting. “Do you realize what you did wrong today?” “What did I do wrong? I tried to tell the truth? I ruined your little party with your mistress?” His eyes flashed. “Watch your mouth. She is my wife.” I let out a harsh laugh. “She’s a professional home-wrecker, Parker. Don’t you know? Five years ago—” “Shut up! You were the other woman!” I froze. “What… what did you just say?” “The marriage license I gave you? It was a fake.” He looked at me with pure, unadulterated coldness. “Bianca and I have been together since before you even met Zack. If he hadn’t forced himself between us, we would have been married years ago.” My brain went numb. The relationship. The rings. The “marriage.” It was all a ghost story. “Then what was I, Parker? What was I to you?” He looked at me, and for a fleeting moment, I saw something like pity in his eyes. “Bianca isn’t like you. She isn’t petty. She’ll let you stay.” “If you behave yourself from now on, you can continue to—” “In your dreams!” I screamed. “I will never be his mistress!” I tried to push past him, but he held me fast. As we struggled, my phone began to buzz in my pocket. Parker snatched it away. When he saw the caller ID, his face turned black with fury. He hit ‘answer.’ Zack’s voice, oily and amused, came through the speaker. “Hey, baby. You didn’t disappoint me.” “The rest of the money is in your account. So, what do you think? Ready to talk about us getting back together?” Parker looked at the notification on the screen—a massive wire transfer that had just cleared. His voice was like ice. “Elena. You really are a piece of work.” “Selling yourself to the man who ruined you… just for a check?” I stopped fighting. I looked at him, unable to believe what I was hearing. “Is that really who you think I am?” He sneered. “What else is there? I know exactly what you’ve been doing for money these last few years. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” I saw my reflection in his eyes—red-faced, haggard, my skin sallow from stress. In five years, I had gone from a socialite to this. After the divorce, no reputable firm would hire me. But I didn’t want Parker to have to work double shifts as a delivery driver to support us. So I cleaned houses. I scrubbed toilets. I kept the pregnancy a secret so he wouldn’t worry about the extra mouth to feed. I took “honey trap” jobs just to put food on the table. And to him, it made me “shameless.” A profound exhaustion washed over me. I didn’t even have the energy to argue. “We’re done, Parker. I never want to see you again.” “Oh, so you’re running back to Zack? Elena, you—” I swung my hand and slapped him as hard as I could. While he was stunned, I broke free and ran. I cried the whole way home. My chest ached, and then, a dull throb started in my lower abdomen. I placed a hand over my stomach. “Don’t worry, baby,” I whispered. “Mommy’s got you. We don’t need them. I’ll take care of you on my own.” I reached my apartment, exhausted, only to find my belongings scattered across the hallway. My landlord was waiting, his face twisted in disgust. “Get out, you homewrecking trash! I don’t want your kind in my building!” Someone had leaked a video of the wedding scene online. It was edited, of course—showing only me screaming like a lunatic, making it look like I was the one trying to steal Parker away. I pulled out my phone, trembling, to check my bank balance. I needed a hotel. I needed a place to hide. The balance was zero. The money from the job, my meager savings—everything had been transferred out. Only Parker knew my passwords. He had left one message in the app: [You won’t get a cent until you publicly apologize to Bianca and admit you’re the mistress.] I walked the streets like a ghost. Just like five years ago, I had nothing. I followed the crowd across a busy intersection, moving like a marionette with its strings cut. Then, the roar of an engine tore through the air. I looked up. A flash of red—a high-end sports car—streaked toward me. Crumpled. That’s the only word for how I felt as I hit the pavement. A sharp, jagged pain blossomed in my gut. I felt something warm and wet spreading between my legs. “My baby… someone help my baby…” I sobbed, reaching out, but the crowd pulled back in a panic. No one stepped forward. No one touched the “crazy woman” bleeding on the asphalt. As the world began to fade to gray, I saw a figure running toward me. Someone scooped me up into their arms.

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The grand finale of my ten-year plan started with a violent shudder of the fuselage. We were thirty thousand feet in the air when the turbulence hit, sharp and jagged. As the oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling with a synchronized snap, my heart hammered against my ribs—not from fear of the plane going down, but from the weight of the velvet box in my pocket. I reached out, grabbing her hand instinctively. This was it. The moment I had rehearsed a thousand times in my head. “Kate,” I choked out, my voice thick with adrenaline. “As long as we land safely, I promise I’ll—” “Dan, I’m pregnant.” She interrupted me with a sob that sounded more like a confession than a celebration. Her eyes were darting everywhere but mine, her fingers twitching in my grip. For a split second, a surge of pure, unadulterated joy nearly blinded me. I was going to be a father. I was going to have everything I’d ever worked for. But before I could even draw breath to respond, her next words nailed me to my seat, turning my blood to ice. “It’s Rick’s.” The cabin felt like it was spinning faster than the plane. Rick. My best friend. My brother in every way that mattered. “I was going to have his baby first,” she whispered, the coldness in her voice more terrifying than the descent. “And then I was going to have yours… but looking at this, it seems we’ve run out of time.” As the words left her mouth, she didn’t look at me again. She pulled her hand away, snapped her oxygen mask over her face, and threw herself into the arms of the man sitting across the aisle. Rick. He didn’t even flinch. He just pulled her in, shielding her body with his, leaving me staring at the back of her head, the odd man out in my own life. Then, the weightlessness vanished. The plane hit the tarmac with a soft thud, taxied for a moment, and came to a smooth stop. The cabin lights flooded the space. On cue, the “passengers” and “flight crew” I had spent months hiring and prepping stood up. They hoisted bouquets of red roses and glowing LED signs. The words MARRY ME flashed in bright, obnoxious neon. The cheering died in the air, curdling into an uncomfortable silence. Dozens of eyes shifted from the romantic display to the three of us frozen in the center of the aisle. Kate stared at the signs for a few seconds. Slowly, a twisted, eerie smile spread across her face. “I’ll marry you,” she said. She paused, her gaze dropping to Rick’s hand resting protectively over her stomach. She looked back at me, her tone as casual as if she were ordering a drink. “On one condition. Rick and the baby… they live with us. That’s my deal. Take it or leave it.” … The silence in the cabin was graveyard-still. The ring box in my hand felt like a piece of white-hot coal, searing my palm, the heat radiating all the way to my bones. I looked at them—my fiancée and the man I’d called my brother—fingers still entwined. “Kate,” my voice sounded like it belonged to a stranger, raw and broken. “If it weren’t for this ‘accident,’ how long were you and Rick planning on lying to me?” Rick stepped forward, half-shielding Kate. “Dan, look. This is on me,” Rick said, his voice dripping with a practiced, performative guilt. “I couldn’t help myself. Don’t blame Kate. She’s been in so much pain over this…” My eyes locked onto the faint purple bruise of a hickey on his neck. While I was pulling all-nighters in the lab, checking experimental data, and bleeding my soul dry for research grants to build our future, how many times had they been together behind my back? “Pain?” My laugh was dry and jagged. “So much pain that she’s carrying your child?” My fist moved before my brain did. The blow caught Rick square in the jaw. “Rick!” Kate screamed, lunging for him. She cradled his face in her hands, blowing on the swelling skin with a tenderness that felt like a knife to my gut. The worry in her eyes, the sheer panic for him—it was a level of devotion she’d never shown me. “Are you crazy, Daniel!” she shrieked. Rick caught her hand, shaking his head. He looked at me, and for a fleeting second, I saw it: the smug, victor’s pity in his eyes. “Kate wanted to tell you,” Rick said, wiping a smear of blood from his lip. “But we didn’t want to hurt you. I was willing to stay in the shadows, just to be near her. I didn’t care about the credit.” “But today,” Kate took over, her voice hardening, “it made me realize there’s no point in hiding. In those seconds when I thought we were going to die, I realized that in my next life, I want to find Rick first. I want to be with him openly. I want to fix the regret of this life.” The world was graying at the edges. “But Dan, we have… history. Years of it,” Kate said, her voice softening into that manipulative, soulful tone she used whenever she wanted something. It was the same voice she’d used last night, curled against my chest, planning our ten-year anniversary trip to the Maldives. It was a mask she wore so well it made my skin crawl. “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” she whispered. You don’t want to hurt anyone? So I’m just supposed to wear the horns and say thank you? I looked around at the scattered petals, the MARRY ME signs, the actors I’d paid, and the two lovers clinging to each other. The ring box groaned under the pressure of my grip. I raised my hand and, with every ounce of strength I had left, hurled it down the aisle. I turned to walk away. “Daniel!” Kate’s voice sharpened behind me, dripping with derision. “I honestly didn’t think a boring lab rat like you had it in him. Renting a plane, hiring actors… quite the production. Must have cost a fortune, right?” I froze, my back stiff. “And you just throw the ring? Was my money not good enough for you?” She walked around to face me, looking me up and down with pure contempt. “Daniel, you and I both know what you make in research. Who’s been paying the mortgage? Who’s been subsidizing your little science projects? And now you’re playing the romantic hero with my credit card?” She crossed her arms, her chin tilted high. “One word from me, and your cards are cut off. Let’s see how long that ‘integrity’ of yours lasts when you’re sleeping on the street.” The actors around us weren’t holding back anymore. The whispers and snickers started to ripple through the cabin. “Wait, so he’s a gold digger?” “I thought he was some deep, romantic soul. Turns out he’s just spending her money to look good.” “A researcher? Please. Probably just a glorified janitor in a lab coat.” Kate saw the smirk on my face and took it as a win. “I’ve changed my mind,” she said. “Since I’m having Rick’s baby, it makes more sense for him to be my husband. He has the people skills to help me run the business anyway. As for you… you can stay. Rick will be the husband. You can be the side piece. After all these years, I’d hate to see you go hungry. You can keep your little lab salary for pocket change. I won’t even ask for rent.” The laughter, the mocking whispers—they felt like a thousand needles pricking my skin. I stood there in the wreckage of my own proposal. Listening to the woman I’d loved for a decade tell me how she was going to “mercifully” keep me as her kept man. She didn’t know that the cost of the plane and the actors came from the first licensing check for my new energy patent. She didn’t know that the ring I’d thrown away was bought with my “Excellence in Technology” award money. And she would never know that the only reason her company landed those massive government contracts last year was because of the technical white papers I’d ghostwritten for her. Or that the German production line she almost lost was saved because I’d spent four days straight in the lab rewriting the core logic for the reaction modules. I had wanted to use my own, clean money to give her a dream. To thank her for being by my side. How pathetic. To her, I was just a boring nerd she’d been “subsidizing.” I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. What was the point? She’d just tell me that my “academic theories” weren’t as valuable as Rick’s ability to close a deal over drinks. I knelt down, picked up the lonely diamond ring from the floor, and felt a profound, hollow emptiness. I was walking through the jet bridge alone when my phone buzzed. It was the hospital. “Mr. Daniel? Your brother, Evan… he’s in acute hemolysis. He needs Rh-negative blood immediately. The bank is empty, but we found a directed donor in the system. He said he needs to speak with you personally before he’ll sign the release.” I stopped dead. I could transfer money in a heartbeat, but blood… “Dan? Why the long face?” Kate’s voice floated from behind me. She was leaning on Rick, looking at me like she finally held the leash. My knuckles turned white around my phone. The only person who could save my brother was currently holding my woman. “Rick,” the word felt like it was being pulled out of my throat with pliers. “My brother needs blood. Rh-negative. The hospital says… you’re the donor.” Rick cocked an eyebrow. He didn’t say a word. Kate laughed. “Is that how you ask for a favor? You were pretty big and bad when you were swinging your fists a minute ago.” I looked at the bruise on Rick’s face and took a breath that burned my lungs. “The punch… I’m sorry. I was out of line.” “An apology? That’s it?” Kate squeezed Rick’s arm. “Look at his face! Do you have any idea how taxing it is on the body to give blood? You think you can just hit him and then expect him to save your family?” Rick finally spoke. “Dan, we’ve been friends a long time. I want to help, I do. But I’m really not feeling well. My head is spinning from that hit. The doctor told me I needed rest after Kate’s prenatal checkup.” I looked at his smug, lying face. “What do you want?” I asked. Kate stepped in. “Get on your knees. Apologize to Rick properly. Hit yourself until he feels like the debt is paid. Then maybe he’ll feel ‘healthy’ enough to donate.” The actors went silent. Everyone was watching. For Evan. For my brother. My knees hit the cold, hard floor of the jet bridge. I bowed my head. Then, I swung my hand against my own face. The sound of the slap echoed through the tunnel. Again. And again. Each one felt like I was shattering the last piece of my dignity. Kate’s phone rang. she stepped aside to take the call. Rick knelt down, leaning close to my ear. The “nice guy” mask was gone, replaced by pure, venomous malice. “By the way,” he whispered, “two months ago, when you were pulling those seven-day shifts for your patent? Kate and I used every room in your house. The kitchen, your office, the living room… she’s a screamer, Dan. When you came home, she could barely stand to open the door for you.” My hand faltered for a second. “And this morning,” he breathed against my ear, “in the airport lounge. She was so scared you’d walk in on us that she scratched my back raw. Want to see?” Crack. I slapped myself again. My face was burning, but the shame was hotter. “Remember your mom’s funeral?” his voice was light, joyful. “We both said we were too busy to go. But Kate had that emerald bracelet your mom gave her as an heirloom… the one for the future daughter-in-law? We used that as a prop that day. It was cold against her skin. She loved it.” I froze. Every drop of blood in my body rushed to my head. “You son of a—” I lunged for his throat, my fist cocked. “Daniel! Stop!” Kate screamed, rushing over and shoving me back, shielding Rick. “Are you a monster? He’s trying to help you, and you’re attacking him again?” Rick instantly collapsed into a look of hurt and “forgiveness.” “It’s okay, Kate. He’s just stressed about his brother…” “Stress isn’t an excuse!” Kate glared at me. “I can’t believe I ever loved you. Rick has been nothing but a friend to you. He brought you medicine when you were sick, he drank with you when your projects failed, he even ignored his own stomach pains to take care of you! And what do you do? You throw tantrums and hit people.” I thought about all those “kindnesses.” I thought about the night Rick told me he’d found “the one” and I’d toasted to his happiness. The “one” had been my wife-to-be. The rage was a physical weight in my chest, but then I saw Evan’s pale face in my mind. “The blood…” I croaked. “Please. Just give the blood. I’ll do whatever you want.” “Fine,” Kate said, rubbing her stomach with a sneer. “After I have the baby, you’re on diaper duty. Twenty-four-seven. You’re our help.” She leaned in. “After all, the kid is going to call you ‘Step-Dad’ eventually.” “Okay,” I whispered, surrendering to the dark. On the flight back to the city, Kate was fussing over Rick’s bruise. My face was swollen and purple, but she never even looked my way. I closed my eyes, and the memories came back like broken glass. I was the one who introduced them. Rick was struggling with work, and I’d put my reputation on the line to get him a job at Kate’s company. “He’s my brother,” I told her. “You can trust him with your life.” The signs had been there. Rick picking the cilantro out of her food because I “didn’t know how to take care of her.” Kate giving him my jacket during a hike because he “looked cold.” The night the power went out at the cabin and I found them standing way too close on the balcony… I was blind. We landed and raced to the hospital. But as I was dragging Rick toward the transfusion wing, Kate’s phone rang. “What? The production line is down? The CEO is there in person? … Fine, I’m on my way!” She hung up, frantic. She looked at Rick, then at me. “Rick, I have to go handle the company. Help Dan with the blood, then call me when you’re done.” She turned to me, her voice cold. “Don’t overtax him, Daniel. He’s not made of steel.” Then she was gone. In the hallway, it was just me and Rick. “Can we go now?” I demanded. The fake worry on Rick’s face vanished the moment Kate was out of sight. “What’s the rush? My heart rate is still high from the flight. You can’t draw blood when the donor is stressed. Basic biology, right, Professor?” “Rick!” I stepped toward him. “Push me,” he said quietly, “and I’ll faint right here. The doctors won’t touch a donor who’s ‘unconscious.’” I stood there, paralyzed, my fists shaking. “That’s better.” He smirked, sat down on a waiting room bench, and pulled out his phone to play a game. I couldn’t just wait for him. While we were at the airport, I’d used every contact I had. I’d posted a $20,000 reward on social media for anyone with Rh-negative blood who could get to the hospital in thirty minutes. As Rick sat there wasting time, a courier messaged me. He was a match. He was five minutes away. A tiny spark of hope flickered in my chest. I watched the entrance like a hawk. Rick glanced at me, said nothing, and stepped into the stairwell to “take a call.” Twenty minutes passed. Thirty. The courier never showed. I called him, but the line went straight to voicemail. I looked at Rick as he walked back out of the stairwell, a faint, satisfied smile on his lips. It was him. He’d paid the guy off. “Looks like your backup plan failed,” he said, sitting back down. “I guess you’re stuck with me. But… oh, man. I think I’m getting a migraine. I need another hour.” The despair was a physical flame in my throat. Just then, the double doors of the OR swung open. The doctor stepped out, his eyes heavy with defeat behind his mask. “Family of Evan?” “Here! I’m his brother!” I ran to him, my heart hammering against my teeth. The doctor shook his head. “Acute hemolysis led to multi-organ failure. We missed the window for the transfusion… I’m so sorry for your loss.” I stood there, frozen. My last living relative. Gone. Even after I knelt. Even after I humiliated myself. He was gone. I lunged for Rick, the grief turning into a white-hot madness. I wanted to kill him. Rick immediately curled into a ball, playing the victim. Security tackled me to the ground. While they held me down, Rick was escorted out, looking “shaken” and “traumatized.” I spent the next few hours in a blur, handling the paperwork for my brother’s body. I sat on a plastic chair in the morgue hallway, pulled out my phone, and opened an email that had been sitting in my inbox for weeks. I typed a reply to the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology in Zurich: “I accept. I’ll be there by the end of the week.” There was nothing left for me in this city.

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