The ceremony had reached the moment of the groom kissing the bride. But just as my husband Ethan Blackwood leaned in, he suddenly stopped. He turned away and kissed his secretary instead. He said, “Ava, I’m sorry. Forgive me for not being able to marry you in this lifetime. But if there’s a next life, I’ll propose to you in front of everyone. Will you marry me then?” Ava Miller’s eyes brimmed with tears as she nodded. I stood there on the stage, feeling like the biggest joke in the room. Around me, the crowd erupted into laughter and mocking whispers. “Clara Hudson spent five years chasing him just to get this wedding. And now? He humiliates her in front of everyone.” “She’s a simp. Does she even have any dignity?” Everyone was waiting for me to break down. But I simply removed my veil and smiled, I said, “Well, you’ve already kissed her. It wouldn’t make sense not to finish the ceremony, would it?” The moment the words left my mouth, the noisy banquet hall fell deathly silent. Every pair of eyes widened, fixed on me. Even Ethan and Ava, who had been locked in their shameless display moments earlier, stopped and turned toward me. “Clara, have you lost your mind?” Ethan snapped. In his arms, Ava looked startled. She said pitifully, “Miss Hudson, Mr. Blackwood kissed me only to make up for the past. You already have him. What more could you want? “If you insist on humiliating me like this, then I might as well die.” As if rehearsed a thousand times, Ava burst into sobs and ran out of the hall. Ethan glared at me and chased after her. He spat, “If anything happens to Ava, I’ll make you pay.” I watched them leave as if I were a mere spectator in someone else’s drama. When I turned back to the crowd, I saw mockery or confusion on their faces. I smiled bitterly. I’d spent five years with Ethan. I loved him wholeheartedly. Even this wedding was only happening because of the child I was carrying. I knew my place. I knew we weren’t equals. And so, during those five years, I’d bent over backward to play the role of a perfect wife. The glamorous life everyone envied was built on the tears and humiliation I swallowed in silence. “Such a disgrace,” Ethan’s mother sneered. Her disgust was written all over her face. Ethan’s father frowned and walked out as fast as he could. Only my mother stayed, desperately trying to smooth things over. I stood there, my chest aching with a pain that refused to subside. My fingers tightened around the bouquet I’d so carefully chosen, the thorns of the roses piercing into my palms. Yet I barely noticed the pain. I said, “That’s enough, Mom. You don’t have to do this. Ethan loves Ava. My marriage to him means nothing.” My voice was hoarse as I tried to salvage a shred of dignity. But instead of comforting me, she grabbed my arm and twisted it sharply. “Nothing? Men are all like this. Once you have the baby, he’ll come around. You’d better win him back, or you’re no daughter of mine,” she hissed. Ignoring my protests, she forced herself to go around the room, apologizing to everyone. I slipped into a quiet corner, my white wedding dress feeling like the cruelest joke of all. At some point, my vision blurred with tears. I had a mother and a husband. But I still felt all alone.

My mom hurriedly finished dealing with everyone and rushed to the hospital to take care of my brother. Left alone, I wandered down the street, still wearing the ill-fitting wedding dress. The sky seemed to hear my silent plea, gradually darkening with thick clouds before unleashing a torrential downpour. My phone buzzed incessantly. Mechanically, I pressed the answer button and held it to my ear. It was Ethan. His voice was cold and accusatory. “Clara, Ava was so upset by you and got into a car accident. Are you happy now? “I don’t care where you are, but you need to come home right now and cook something for Ava. “You need to apologize to her for what you’ve done.” I listened to his reprimand, feeling a surge of resentment. I shot back, “Why should I apologize since you humiliated me at my wedding?” There was a moment of silence on the other end, then I heard his cold voice again. He snapped, “I’ll make it up to you with another wedding. Right now, Ava’s health is the priority.” I gripped the phone, feeling a chill spread through me. My hands trembled as I hung up the call. I remembered the last time I was on a business trip and got into a car accident, breaking my leg. I begged Ethan to stay by my side, even if it was just for a little while. But he merely sent his assistant with some gifts. Yet now, with Ava in a similar situation, he couldn’t bear to leave her side. Ethan ignored me but cared so much for Ava. Looking at my bloodied palm, I suddenly realized that my five years of devotion had been a cruel joke. Just then, my phone rang again. Ethan, perhaps feeling guilty, sent a message trying to explain. Ethan: [Clara, I really do see Ava as my sister. Don’t overthink it.] [We’ll have the wedding again, and besides, you’re carrying my child. Where else can you go?] The text on my screen only made it all seem more ridiculous. He thought having a child meant he could control me. But he didn’t understand that all of this was because I loved him. Now, seeing things clearly, I wouldn’t be the same as before. As I was about to exit the chat, Ava sent a video. In the video, she appeared to have only minor scratches, so minor they were barely visible. Her hair was damp, and she was wrapped in a bathrobe, as if she had just stepped out of the shower. Ethan was by her side, carefully tending to her. He was even holding a black lace bra in his hand. I couldn’t bear to watch their disgusting display any longer. I blocked them both. The rain pelted down, cold and biting. I tried to move my numb legs, but a sudden, unbearable pain gripped my lower abdomen. Looking down, I saw blood mixing with the rainwater at my feet, a sight both oppressive and despairing.

When I woke up in the hospital, my belly, which had barely begun to swell, was now flat. I stared blankly at the ceiling above me, feeling a silence in my heart so deep it was almost suffocating. I had never intended to harm this child. But now, before it had even had the chance to fully form, it was gone. Maybe the baby was just too considerate, sparing me from the inevitable pain. I stayed in the hospital for a week, during which not a single person came to visit me. My mom spent all her time by my brother’s side. Ethan was undoubtedly busy comforting Ava, probably so caught up in his happiness that he’d forgotten all about me. When I was discharged, I returned to the apartment Ethan and I had shared as a married couple. I began packing my things. The irony didn’t escape me. I lived there for five years, but my belongings didn’t even fill a single suitcase. I had given so much of myself to them, foolishly expecting something in return. But deep down, I should have known better. Just as I was about to leave, Ethan came home. He looked worn out, with dark circles under his eyes. Of course, he was tired. Balancing his care for Ava and running his company must have been exhausting. When he saw me packing, he immediately snatched the suitcase out of my hands. He barked, “Clara, what kind of tantrum are you throwing now? “I’ve only been away for a week, and you’re already running off?” His tone was dripping with annoyance. I looked at him and suddenly found him unrecognizable. He knew what I cared about, yet he kept pushing his luck. I was tired of playing his games. I didn’t argue or yell as usual. Instead, I spoke calmly. “Ethan, let’s get a divorce. I mean it.” “Impossible.” His response was instant, his brows furrowed in disbelief. He frowned. “Clara, are you out of your mind?” “So what if there was a little hiccup at the wedding? Didn’t you already humiliate Ava in front of everyone? What more do you want?” My chest tightened at his words. Yes, I had caused a scene before. The first time I found out about Ava, I cried and screamed. But Ethan’s solution was to disappear, leaving me to face his family’s wrath. Everyone told me he was just playing around and that he would come back to me once we had a child. I had believed their lies, compromising time and again for a total jerk. But this time, I wasn’t going to back down. I said, “Ethan, I’ll have the divorce papers drawn up. You won’t have to deal with me again after this.” I ignored his protests, speaking only the truth that weighed heavy on my heart. Then I moved to leave with my suitcase, thinking he would not object. After all, he had never acknowledged my identity. But he grabbed my wrist. I looked up and saw his sullen face. “Playing hard to get won’t work on me,” he said. “You worked so hard to marry me. Don’t think I’ll believe you’re giving up so easily. Otherwise, why would you have spent years simping me? “And don’t forget your brother. If you dare hurt Ava again, I’ll cut off his medication.” Even now, he held himself above me. I was disgusted. I had once loved Ethan, even agreeing to have a child because he said he wanted one. But in the end, all of it became tools for him to control me. And now, he was even using my brother against me. Seeing my silence, he must have thought I was reconsidering. He warned, “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear what you said earlier. You’re still carrying my child, so I won’t stoop to your level.” I watched him leave and laughed bitterly. The child he spoke of was already gone.   I lugged my old suitcase and set out to find a place to live. Once settled, I returned to the office, punching in as usual, as if nothing had happened. I guess that made sense. It wasn’t exactly a proud moment for the Blackwood family, and they would do everything to keep it quiet. As long as they didn’t bother me, it was fine. I found a lawyer and drafted a divorce agreement, having it delivered straight to Ethan’s desk. From start to finish, Ethan sent me just one message. Ethan: [You will regret this.] I didn’t pay it any mind. I knew I would never regret my decision. But the very next day, as I was reporting to my manager, my phone started ringing incessantly. It was my mom, saying there was a problem at the hospital and I needed to come right away. I was puzzled because I had just transferred money to the hospital account the day before, so there shouldn’t have been any issues. But my mom was insistent, crying and even threatening me. Left with no choice, I rushed to the hospital. As soon as I pushed open the door to the ward, my mom slapped me hard across the face. I held my cheek, stunned. A trickle of blood seeped from the corner of my mouth. Suddenly, reporters swarmed in from who knows where, their camera flashes blinding me. My mom shouted, “Clara, you heartless girl. Ethan has done so much for our family, and you want to divorce him? “I can’t stand by and watch you make this mistake. You’re carrying his child, and you’re rushing to divorce him. Is it because you have someone else on the side? “If you’ve made a mistake, go apologize. Ethan will forgive you.” I stared at her in disbelief. She was slandering me and accusing me of cheating when it was Ethan who had been unfaithful. Rage boiled within me, and I struggled to catch my breath. From the crowd, Ava stepped forward. She smirked, “That’s right, Miss Hudson. Admit your mistake. Mr. Blackwood is such a good man; seeing the divorce papers you sent broke his heart.” I looked over and saw Ethan sitting on the sofa. He made no move to stop any of this. It dawned on me this was what he meant by “regret”. He was trying to force me into submission. He wanted me to know that defying him would only lead to my ruin. Ethan finally spoke up, his voice magnanimous. “Ava is right. Just apologize, and I’ll forgive you.” I glared at him with growing hatred. I only wanted a peaceful divorce, considering all he had done for me. But now, he was pushing me to the brink. I forced myself to stay calm. “I’ve done nothing wrong. It’s you who are in the wrong.” I pulled out my phone and brought up something interesting. I continued, “Why don’t we all take a look at this? See how Mr. Blackwood rolled in the hay with his secretary, Quite the thrill, isn’t it?” My voice was clear and loud, leaving everyone in the room speechless.

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On our 25th wedding anniversary, I posted a photo of my husband and me dancing. Who would’ve thought that such an innocent picture would spark a nightmare? My husband’s goddaughter mistook me for some kind of homewrecker. She brought along a mob of her girlfriends and cornered me in my own home, screaming phrases like “beat the mistress” and “teach the gold digger a lesson.” “It’s this old hag who’s seducing my godfather at her age! Disgusting! “Today, I’m going to make sure you never try to climb into another man’s bed again!” They weren’t just words. These girls were vicious, hurling insults and smashing precious antiques worth millions of dollars. My husband’s goddaughter slapped me so hard that I felt my front teeth crack. The pain was unbearable, but that wasn’t the worst of it. She started a live stream, broadcasting my humiliation to the world. “Hit her harder! Smash everything! My godmother is a top lawyer worth hundreds of millions of dollars. Even if I kill this old woman today, she’ll get me off scot-free!” By the time my husband returned from work, armful of gifts in hand, I was lying on the floor, broken and barely alive. Through cracked lips, I whispered, “I’m afraid I won’t be recognizing her as my goddaughter anymore.” ***** Earlier that day, my husband, Richard Duncan, mentioned that he was bringing his goddaughter over for dinner and that I’d love her. To make a good impression, I went out of my way to retrieve a precious bracelet from my childhood home to gift her. As I was about to leave, the doorbell rang. Years had drifted by since my father’s passing, leaving this place steeped in solitude. So, who on earth would venture out to this forgotten corner to seek me out? Confused, I checked the surveillance camera, only to see Rachel Moore, Richard’s goddaughter, standing at the door. Richard had shown me her picture before, so I recognized her immediately. “Did Richard send her?” I wondered, but still, I opened the door with a warm smile. The moment I opened the door, a slap hit me so hard that my head reeled. Rachel’s sweet facade was gone, replaced by a venomous glare. She grabbed my hair, yanking me toward the camera she’d set up outside. “Everyone, take a look at this old hag! She’s old enough to know better but still acts like a gold digger! Today, I’m going to give this shameless bitch a lesson she won’t forget, and I’m doing it live for all to see!” A group of girls, holding filming equipment and phones, emerged behind her, ready to broadcast the entire ordeal. I was stunned. A gold digger? Me? I was fifty years old, swamped with work, and hadn’t had a single inappropriate conversation with another man besides Richard and our son, Jeremy Duncan. And as for money? I had more than enough; there was no reason for me to be some “gold digger.” I was old, weak from two surgeries in the past six months, and had no strength to fight back against this violent mob. I curled into a ball, protecting my head, trying to reason with them. “Rachel, please. This is a misunderstanding! I’m not a mistress or anything you think I am!” Rachel let go of my hair but not before pulling out her phone, waving a screenshot in my face. “Did you post this on Facebook?” From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of her phone screen, and there was the very photo I had sent just a few days ago, now captured in a screenshot. This photo was snapped by my son when Richard and I ventured out to join the lively swirl of dancing. I thought the photo captured the moment beautifully, especially with the backdrop of a stunning sunset. So, I shared it on Facebook with the simple caption, [The sunset is so beautiful.] “Yes, I posted that photo, but…” Before I could finish, Rachel cut me off rudely. “Everyone, did you hear that? This bitch admits it! “She knew my godmother has neurasthenia and deliberately sent these photos to irritate her! She’s trying to curse her to death! “I trailed her all the way to her doorstep today, determined to get justice for my godmother!” I finally realized what was happening. My own husband’s goddaughter thought I was some homewrecker! It was absurd. Why would I post a photo cursing myself? The irony was almost sickening. But Rachel wasn’t interested in the truth. She wanted a villain, and I was the unfortunate woman who had been cast in that role. I felt a deep sense of betrayal and disgust. All my previous kindness toward her seemed wasted. I had always yearned for a daughter, but fate didn’t bless me with one; I only ever had my son. Richard had spoken of Rachel with such high praise. “She’s beautiful, kind-hearted, and well-educated,” he had said. “She’s the whole package, intelligent, polite, and respectful.” He thumped his chest with confidence, assuring me that I would absolutely adore her. But the girl standing in front of me, broadcasting my humiliation to the world, was none of those things. She was a rude, violent stranger, a far cry from the gracious young woman Richard had led me to believe she was.

Her pretty face looked trivial and fake under the harsh lighting of the live broadcast. My cheeks throbbed from the swelling, and my makeup was long gone. All I wanted was some ice. But they were standing between me and the refrigerator, blocking my only escape to some relief. I took a couple of steps back, trying to create some distance. But Rachel, seeing my embarrassment, only turned up the heat. “How dare she seduce my godfather! “My godmother’s this high-caliber, top-tier lawyer, but this woman? She wouldn’t even spare a glance at her own reflection if she had any sense!” She was aware of my standing and that I possessed both position and influence. Yet, she was blind, ensnared by her own fanciful illusions. I didn’t want to explain anymore. I was done trying to argue with someone who couldn’t or wouldn’t see reason. But Rachel was on a roll. She stood there, acting all righteous and dignified, getting more and more worked up as she spoke. “My godmother worked so hard to build her fortune, and now this woman thinks she can waltz in and take a slice of it! “I even saw her bring her son to see my godfather, hoping to use that relationship to get my advisor to guarantee her son a spot in graduate school. It’s a violation of academic fairness!” I thought, “A guaranteed place for postgraduate study? Was she under the impression that Richard and I were trying to use our connection to secure our son’s future in graduate school? Was this whole attack just some twisted excuse because she thought we were competing for admission?” I felt a deep pang of sorrow for Richard. How could he have trusted such a ridiculous, vile person? Our son was studying in their department, but we had always told him to keep a low profile. Not many people know about their father-son relationship. And what’s more crucial, I had already clinched admission offers for him from the most prestigious Ivy League institutions. He was in no need of any guaranteed graduate program spot! I didn’t care who Richard wanted to give the admission quota to. My son’s future was already set. The live cameras clicked and whirred, their lenses pointed at my face, zooming in on my every expression. But instead of cowering, I felt a cold sense of satisfaction. As a leading attorney, I had witnessed spectacles far grander than this pitiful charade. A handful of inexpensive live cameras didn’t intimidate me in the slightest. Now, their sole concern seemed to be drawing in viewers and grabbing attention, nothing more. In fact, every second they kept this up was another second closer to a defamation charge. Once the viewership hit 500,000, they’d sealed their fate. The higher the view count, the heavier the sentence. Defamation on this scale was no joke; it carried serious legal consequences. And when the time came, whether it was Rachel or her little gang of sycophants, they’d all be kneeling in court, begging for my forgiveness. Rachel could sense I wasn’t shaken, and that only seemed to infuriate her more. Her eyes darted around the room, landing on the silk-covered wooden jewelry box resting on the sofa. “What’s this? Packaged quite fancy. Could it be a gift from my godfather?” she asked, her voice dripping with mockery. Before I could stop her, she lunged forward, ripping the box open in seconds. Her fingers grasped the bracelet inside, pulling it out with a sneer. That bracelet wasn’t just any piece of jewelry. It was one of the few keepsakes my mother left me. It carried deep heritage significance, passed down through generations. I hadn’t worn it because, given my profession, flashy jewelry wasn’t practical. But I had kept it safe and treasured it. Richard had once mentioned that Rachel came from a poor family and that she was frugal in her daily life. Out of pity, I’d chosen an expensive gift, hoping to show her how much we cared. But now, she has forfeited any right to my genuine regard. In a cold voice, I warned her, “Rachel, you’d better put that down. That bracelet is an antique, worth at least three million dollars. If you break it, you won’t be able to pay for it even if you sell everything you own.” The words “you won’t be able to pay for it” seemed to strike a nerve. Her already fragile ego bristled at the implication. She held her chin even higher, her expression dripping with sarcasm. “What kind of junk is this supposed to be? Looks like glass to me. Millions, you say? Give me a break. In your world, does everything just magically turn into hundreds of millions? Do you guys print your own money or what?” Before I could react, she raised the bracelet high above her head. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she slammed the bracelet down onto the hardwood floor.

The bracelet shattered into a dozen tiny pieces, scattering fragments across the floor. But Rachel wasn’t done. With a vicious sneer, she stepped forward and stomped twice more on the remnants with the sharp tip of her high heels. Her destruction didn’t stop there. She marched over to my wall, yanked down my baseball bat, and raised it high above her head, aiming it straight at the delicate vase sitting on my desk. I sneered. “That vase hails from the Renaissance,” I stated. “It’s valued at over two million dollars. You might want to think twice before you shatter it. But if you’re set on doing so, go head.” Rachel didn’t even flinch. As if she hadn’t heard a word I said, she swung the bat with full force. The vase exploded against the wall, shards flying everywhere. But even that wasn’t enough for her. She turned her fury on the priceless porcelains that had been carefully displayed on my antique shelf. “Do you really think I don’t know what you’re doing? You pretend to be cultured, displaying all this fake garbage, but it’s just a trick, isn’t it? A way to lure men in!” With the fragments of her actions scattered on the ground, she scrambled to muster a defense for herself. “Even if some of these things were worth a little money, it’s all my godparents’ money, not yours. So what do I have to fear? Guys, isn’t that right?” The friends she had brought with her, a gang of vicious, eager followers, searched the room for anything they could get their hands on. They picked up fragile objects, laughing as they smashed them to bits. They were smashing items and yelling simultaneously, a chaotic symphony of destruction and rage. “She’s not just seeing your godfather; who knows how many old men she’s been with! “Haven’t we already snapped countless photos of her sneaking into hotels? That’s hard evidence right there. A picture’s worth a thousand words! We’re doling out her punishment, and honestly, it’s like we’re delivering justice!” My father, a well-known entrepreneur in this city, had passed away ten years ago, leaving me with a considerable inheritance, including several hotels. I had never had the time or energy to manage them personally, so I hired professionals to take care of them while I checked in occasionally. Once it passed through their lips, everything just got twisted into something so vile! Was this the face of a girl about to enter graduate school? I glanced at the live camera pointed directly at me and spoke through gritted teeth, “Let me make one thing clear. Richard and I were originally…” But before I could even say the word “married,” a short-haired girl lunged at me. She shoved me so hard that I stumbled backward, crashing into the corner of the table. Pain exploded in my mouth, and a metallic, sweet taste filled my senses. Suddenly, I sensed something off in my mouth, so I spat into my hand, only to find two of my front teeth mixed with blood. Upon seeing my teeth knocked out and my mouth brimming with blood, Rachel and her clique erupted into triumphant laughter. “Well done! That’s how you deal with that old bitch! “Let’s see if she can still seduce men without her teeth!” Blood filled my mouth, and I pressed my hand to the wound, feeling the sticky warmth. My anger was boiling over, and I yelled, “We live in a society ruled by law! You broke into my house, smashed my things, and assaulted me. Don’t you realize you’re going to jail?” But Rachel was completely unfazed. She simply smiled and gave a nonchalant shrug to the live camera. “The law? Don’t even start with me about the law. My mentor’s wife is this top-tier lawyer, her net worth in the hundreds of millions of dollars. She’s my godmother, by the way. “My godmother has dedicated her entire life to the law. She loathes those mistresses who tear families apart. I’ll present you to her as a testament to my loyalty. And when I do, she’ll surely reward me handsomely! “Then we’ll see who ends up behind bars! I’m here on behalf of my godmother to take down the mistress. Even if I have to beat you to a pulp, she’ll back me up. My godmother never lost a case in her entire career!” I stood there, stunned into silence by her sheer blind confidence in the face of such blatant criminal behavior. I could never have imagined that this band of lawless thugs would storm into my home, yelling and threatening violence, all while claiming I was their patron! “Rachel,” I said through clenched teeth, “you’d better call your godfather, the professor, right now. Because if you don’t, there will be consequences.” Rachel’s smile only widened, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she watched my face turn red with anger. “Oh my, you still think Richard’s going to back you up? Let me tell you, it’s pointless!” She threw a provocative glance my way and then deliberately winked at the live camera, taunting me. Discreetly, I slid my hand into my pocket, fumbling to dial Richard for help. Rachel was completely oblivious. She swung the baseball bat with a swagger and kicked my bedroom door open with an air of cool defiance. Inside, on my bedside table, was a photo of my father and me. We were smiling, with my arms wrapped around his neck. The moment Rachel caught sight of it, she thrust the camera towards the photo. Her face contorted with contempt and disgust, as though she’d laid eyes on something utterly repulsive and filthy. “Look at this! This old hag is so shameless, so intimate with him. Disgusting!” Before I could move, she raised the baseball bat high above her head and brought it crashing down on the crystal frame. “No!” I screamed.   I was trembling, every inch of my body shaking with rage and grief, as I let out a desperate cry. That photo was the only picture I had of my father! My father had been a busy man his whole life, but he had never neglected me. After my mother passed away, he chose not to remarry because of me. We shared a deep, unbreakable bond. That crystal frame, encasing the last memory of him, wasn’t just any frame. It was a piece of pure, natural flawless crystal, one I had spent a fortune to have airlifted all the way from Madagascar. It was worth millions of dollars. Ignoring the humiliation and the excruciating pain from my missing teeth, I dragged myself toward the bedroom, screaming out in desperation. “Put it down! Please, just put it down! As long as you leave the photo alone, I won’t pursue any of this! I won’t press charges for the vase, for the porcelain, or even for what you did to me! Just don’t touch the photo!” Rachel turned to look at me, her eyes widening for a second as she took in my disheveled appearance: blood smeared across my face, and my hair was a tangled mess. For a brief moment, she seemed startled. But then, a viewer in the live broadcast must have recognized my father in the photo. [This old man looks familiar. Isn’t he the late famous entrepreneur, Sam Anderson?] At the word “late,” Rachel’s fear evaporated, replaced by a reckless boldness. “Oh, it’s your dearly deceased ex; no wonder you’re so sentimental!” Someone commented: [Ex? More like her sugar daddy. Look at her, living in this grand villa. The place is decked out so lavishly. She must’ve raked in quite the fortune!] And Someone else chimed in, mocking: [I remember reading a report about Sam Anderson. They said he was a devoted husband, and he never remarried even after his wife died. Guess he was living a double life, huh? What a lying bastard!] Rachel seized the moment, rallying her online army. “Sisters! Are we going to let this homewrecker live comfortably while she ruins families? Smash it! Smash it hard!” With a deafening crash, the crystal frame shattered into pieces, glass flying everywhere. The photo of my father and I fluttered to the ground. I lunged for it, but I was too weak. Rachel shoved me to the ground, her foot landing squarely on my hand, crushing it beneath her heel. The sharp crystal cut into my skin, and I felt the sickening crack of bone. But the pain didn’t register. All I cared about was reaching that photo. Rachel picked it up before I could. Right before my anguished gaze, she tore it to shreds with a cruel smile and cast the pieces into the debris before she spat on them! Grinning like a devil, she stuck out her tongue and made a V sign to the camera. “Sisters, take note: it’s not that the old have turned wicked, but rather, the wicked have simply aged! “This is what happens to a homewrecker! Sisters, are you enjoying this today? If so, smash that like button and follow! One click, triple the love!” I lay on the ground, gasping for breath, my body wracked with pain. But through the haze of agony, I forced out the words. “Sam Anderson is my father. Richard Duncan is my husband!” Rachel burst into laughter, a high-pitched sound that filled the room like shards of glass grinding together. “Husband? Why don’t you say they’re both your sugar daddies while you’re at it? “Do you really think I was scared? Mr. Duncan is my godfather. Do you think I wouldn’t know where he lives? He’s not even here; he lives in the neighborhood next door!” My heart sank. She was right; we did have a villa in the neighborhood next door, close to the school for Richard’s convenience. That’s where we usually stayed. But this was my home, too. She flashed a sweet smile right at the camera. “My godmother is making dinner for me right now. I bet she’s in the kitchen, cooking up something delicious as we speak.” I could feel my rage bubbling up, threatening to consume me. My voice cracked as I tried to speak, trembling with a mix of anger and grief. “You all deserve to die.” She paid no heed to my words. Instead, with an air of arrogance, she delivered two sharp kicks to my face. “You are the one who deserves to die, you old bitch! Look what I’ve done to the mistress! My godmother will reward me handsomely for this!” She struck a victorious pose, her hand waving in the air like she’d just won a trophy. “All of you deserve a share of the credit for tearing her down. When the time comes, everyone who helped will get something. My godmother is generous; a few expensive bags are nothing to her!” The live audience erupted in a flurry of envious comments, their words filling the screen with hate and jealousy. Just as I was teetering on the brink of death, I heard the sound of footsteps approaching from outside. Richard rushed in with his briefcase still tucked under his arm. The door was ajar. As he stepped inside, he was taken aback by the chaos strewn across the floor. “What is going on?” he demanded. Rachel, for the first time since she’d stormed into my house, seemed taken aback. She quickly switched gears, sticking out her tongue and adopting an innocent, obedient expression. She craned her neck to look past him. “Richard!” she chirped, trying to sound as sweet and harmless as possible. “Why are you here? Where’s your wife? Isn’t she with you?”

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After six years of dating, I turned down the opportunity to study abroad, eagerly awaiting my wedding day. But on the eve of our wedding, I discovered that my long-time boyfriend had meticulously saved over ten thousand unflattering photos of me. He even labeled each set of photos: [Ugly, Uglier, Unbearably Ugly.] And he used these photos to amuse his crush, Bonnie Lewis. He even edited our wedding photos, replacing my face with Bonnie’s, and said to her. “If you’re willing to marry me, I can call off the wedding at any time.” I thought, “Since you want it this way, I’ll help you out. I won’t complete our wedding anymore.” But after I ran away from the wedding, he searched for me worldwide, nearly collapsing. ***** [See this photo of her when her parents passed away? She’s so ugly without makeup!] I was looking at the sample wedding photos on my boyfriend Stephen Lloyd’s computer when I stumbled upon his WhatsApp chat by accident, and it was still logged in on the computer. He was sending out photos of me, unflattering ones from when my parents died in a car accident, showing me in a state of collapse at the hospital. I was in there with disheveled hair, tears streaming down my face, and my veins bulging as I held onto their bodies in despair. There were even pictures of me kneeling on the ground, bowing in front of their caskets, saying my final goodbyes. [She looks so ugly without makeup!] [This one is even uglier. She looks so scary.] [Do you think it’s bad that we’re laughing at her? I feel so awful.] She sent this with a pitiful emoji, using her own selfie as the emoji. It didn’t take long for me to realize that the chat contact pinned at the top of his list wasn’t the client he had told me about. It was his childhood crush, Bonnie Lewis. I remember when we first got together, he deleted Bonnie from his contacts right in front of me. But now, I scrolled up through the chat history, and it was even longer than the one we had. Stephen, who never responded quickly to messages, always replied to Bonnie instantly. In no time, he replied: [She’s ugly to begin with. It’s only right to make fun of her.] [If you want to see, I have over ten thousand more photos of her on my computer, all kinds of unflattering photos of her… as long as it makes you happy.] Over ten thousand… When I saw this message, my hand couldn’t even hold the mouse steady. It was shaking. After six years together, we didn’t have more than ten photos of us in our phone albums. But he had over ten thousand unflattering photos of me. And these photos were used to entertain his crush, Bonnie. My heart was filled with disgust, but Stephen didn’t stop there. He sent over a set of our wedding photos. At first, I thought something seemed off, but I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Until he said to Bonnie: [Do you see anything wrong with these?] Bonnie replied after a while: [How come it’s my face? Isn’t this your wedding photo with Kathryn?] That was when I looked closely and realized that in every photo he sent, my face had been replaced with Bonnie’s. And it didn’t look out of place at all. It was clear that this wasn’t something Stephen could have done on his own. [I had the wedding shop do it for me. In the same dress, you look so much better than her.] Stephen seemed to see nothing wrong with what he was doing. He even sat there, legs crossed, waiting for her reply with a sense of pride. I thought, “No wonder the photo studio charged me extra for editing.” I thought it was due to the complexity of the process. I thought, “Turns out, Stephen had added another set…” Looking at my own wedding photos, the ones I had carefully chosen after two full days of shooting, only to have my face swapped with Bonnie’s, I felt a deep sense of revulsion. No wonder he was so particular about the selection. It was for this. At that moment, I checked my email and accepted the foreign job transfer I had previously turned down because of the wedding. Thankfully, my boss was still expecting me, and he immediately agreed when I changed my mind. Then, I booked a flight for the day of the wedding and contacted the wedding planner to discuss some matters. Just then, Bonnie’s message came through again…

[But the one marrying you is still her! That’s something I can never compete with.] Stephen’s eyes visibly reddened when he read that sentence, completely ignoring the fact that I was right there. He quickly replied: [But if you’re willing, I can call off the wedding at any time.] The moment I saw that message on the screen, it shattered everything we’d built over the past six years into nothing. If she agreed, the wedding I’d waited six years for would be hers in an instant. I thought, “Stephen, how could you even say something like that? Using my breakdown after my parents’ car accident to comfort your dream girl. How could you?” My hands were trembling as I closed the chat window and walked past Stephen without answering his question. Instead, I locked eyes with him and said coldly, “Stephen, you forgot to log out of WhatsApp on your computer.” For a split second, he was panicked. But he quickly regained his composure. “You saw everything?” There was no trace of guilt in his eyes. There was a kind of indifference as if to say, “You saw it, so what?” He even gave me a disdainful look before saying, “You’re not going to tell me you’re angry, are you?” Seeing my cold expression, he let out a mocking laugh. “I knew you were petty. Bonnie has severe depression; don’t you know that? Using your unflattering photos to cheer her up is practically a good deed. What are you even angry about?” I thought, “Was this about depression? Or was it about Bonnie being the one with depression? Funny how Stephen never used his own embarrassing photos to help anyone else with depression.” It was just an excuse. Yet he seemed to believe it himself. He grabbed me and dragged me to the computer, pointing at the wedding photos that had been edited to feature Bonnie’s face. “Doesn’t she look better than you? You know Bonnie was the campus queen in college. And you? Just an ordinary girl. “I hate women like you who are so competitive. Bonnie even worried you’d get upset if you found out. Honestly, people like you are exhausting.” At that moment, I suddenly saw Stephen for who he really was. Gone was the aloof and superior facade from our college days. This was the real him. He was greedy, selfish, and good at making excuses. All those sweet nothings he said when he pursued me were just his way of covering up his true self. While he was hurling accusations at me, he took my car keys from the table. “I’m going to take Bonnie to see a doctor. I told you already. Don’t call me later and go hysterical.” I asked him to put my car keys back, and he slammed the door, telling me not to pull this stunt, that he wouldn’t fall for it. The next day was our wedding, but he drove my car across town with Bonnie to buy a seafood soup. When I checked the car’s surveillance, Stephen and Bonnie were making love, and it seemed like Stephen’s lifelong wish had come true. He was overjoyed. He even fed Bonnie the seafood soup spoonful by spoonful. Then Bonnie had a sudden idea. “Let’s go watch the sunrise! We never got to fulfill that wish from college. Let’s do it today!” Stephen hesitated. “I’m getting married tomorrow. Watching the sunrise isn’t appropriate.” Bonnie’s tears and the physical symptoms of her severe depression suddenly intensified. “I’m giving you everything before your wedding. I thought you understood what I meant, but it seems I was overthinking.” When he saw Bonnie trembling as she spoke, Stephen’s heart ached. He turned and sent me a message saying the wedding procession would be late in the morning, and then he turned off his phone. Looking at that message, I felt like the six years of obsession were gone, and all I felt was ridiculousness.

He would even delay the wedding procession to watch the sunrise with her. At this point, what was the point of even going through with the wedding? I thought, “Stephen, do you really think I, Kathryn Taylor, am meant to be with you?” I made a copy of all the in-car surveillance footage I’d seen and sent it to the wedding planner. I also replaced the wedding photos with behind-the-scenes footage for tomorrow’s shoot. Then, I notified my relatives and friends that the wedding was canceled. Since my parents passed away, I wasn’t particularly close with any of these relatives. They were happy to hear they didn’t need to bring gifts and quickly agreed. However, I didn’t notify Stephen’s family. I even sent a wedding invitation to Bonnie’s mother. Originally, Stephen had planned to send it to her family, but his mother didn’t approve. So, he only sent it to Bonnie. I found that e-invite while browsing through their chat history yesterday. After canceling my wedding dress order, I lay on the couch. The moment I opened my phone, I saw an alert from the car’s surveillance footage. I opened it without thinking. Stephen was taking pictures of Bonnie. Bonnie was laughing, taking pictures of my car, saying, “Kathryn is really such a spendthrift. Her parents are gone, but she still doesn’t know how to save money, buying such an expensive car.” Stephen laughed and said, “But her temperament doesn’t match the car. You’re the one who’s a better fit.” Then, he patiently took picture after picture of Bonnie. But during our six years together, every time I asked him to take a picture of me, he’d complain. He would just casually snap a few shots with his phone and toss them to me. When I shared a video about a boyfriend’s photography skills with him, he just replied, “Well, you look like this! “You’re ugly. How am I supposed to make you look good? You can always edit the photos yourself!” But now, he was tirelessly finding the perfect angles, adjusting her poses, his face filled with a satisfaction I had never seen before. They even spray-painted my car, turning it into a chaotic mess. In the end, they snuggled together, watching the sunrise. The next morning, the wedding planner received my notice and promptly replaced all the wedding photos with the ones I sent. Stephen called me, but I didn’t pick up. Instead, I sent a text. [Just go straight to the banquet hall. No need to pick me up.] [Good girl. By the way, Bonnie’s coming too, so just let her be your bridesmaid. She can handle her own dress.] [Do whatever you want!] By the time I sent that message, I was already sitting at the airport, waiting to board with the notification from the company in hand. When Stephen and Bonnie arrived at the wedding venue, the wedding planner followed my instructions and started filming everything in real-time. Bonnie, dressed in white, even wore a veil and linked arms with Stephen as they entered, as if she were the bride. The moment Stephen stepped in and looked around, he completely lost it. “What is this?! Who arranged for all my unflattering photos to be posted everywhere?! Was it Kathryn!” He pointed angrily at the wedding planner, storming backstage to find me. “Where’s Kathryn?” The wedding planner quickly responded, “Ms. Taylor said she’s not attending the wedding and has already been on a flight…” “What do you mean she’s not attending? She’s the bride! If she doesn’t show up, then who will?!” Watching Stephen lose it was so amusing. I didn’t feel bored during my wait at the airport. “And who told you to put up all my unflattering photos? You covered the whole hall with them! “Take them down! Now!” Bonnie quickly chimed in, “So, you mean Kathryn ran away on her wedding day? How could she do this? What about the guests who came? She’s being too unreasonable.” At that moment, the wedding planner relayed my message. “Ms. Lewis, aren’t you wearing a wedding dress? Why don’t you help with the ceremony to entertain the guests?” Bonnie looked at Stephen shyly, as if embarrassed, but kept murmuring about how it wasn’t right. However, it was clear she was willing. Seeing this, Stephen quickly said, “Kathryn can come or not. Who cares about her? Bonnie, will you help me out?” As I expected, Bonnie refused a few times before reluctantly agreeing and walking through the ceremony with Stephen. The show was just getting started when they walked hand in hand toward the stage… Just as Stephen took out the custom-made wedding ring I had chosen and lovingly put it on Bonnie’s finger, the doors to the banquet hall suddenly burst open. A group of police officers rushed in. “Mr. Lloyd, Ms. Lewis, you have been reported for malicious criminal behavior. Please come with us for investigation!”

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My boyfriend, Randy, cried as he pleaded with me to wait for him before leaving for his studies abroad. I hated waiting more than anything. Yet for six long years, that was all I did. I waited for him to finish his work. I waited for him to read my messages. And I waited for him to say how much he missed me. Finally, I waited until the day I didn’t have to wait anymore. He fell in love with someone else and invited me to his wedding. I was late, but he kept calling me. What he didn’t know was that I had died on the flight to his wedding.

I had dated Edwin for seven years. Just before we were about to get married, his first love returned. On the day I was trying on my wedding dress, I caught a glimpse of Edwin’s phone lighting up with a message. [Edwin, you loved me for six years. Now that I’m back, will you give up everything and start over with me?] His response was swift. [I will.] For a moment, it felt as if the world around me froze, the chill seeping into my bones. Did my seven years of companionship really pale in comparison to that woman’s presence?

My name was Vivian Collins. I was killed in an accident while pregnant with Logan Perez’s child. At the same time, Logan was wrapped up in a passionate embrace with his beloved, Megan Robinson. He ignored call after call from those trying to reach him, assuming it was just me bothering him. Logan didn’t believe I was dead—he thought I was putting on a show. But when he finally saw my lifeless body, he completely lost it.

My name was Nancy Robinson. When my brother Tom Robinson’s wife, Megan, was pregnant and about to give birth, a new nursing intern named Rebecca Amore volunteered to take my place in the exhausting neonatal ward. I was grateful for her timely help and pulled some strings to secure her a permanent position at the hospital. That very night, Megan delivered a set of twin boys. Tragically, one was born with severe health issues, while the other had a genetic condition that made him extraordinarily aggressive. In just a few short years, Tom and Megan were financially ruined due to the medical expenses for their ailing son. They ended up selling their organs to cover costs and died on the operating table. My parents, too, met a grim fate after a confrontation with someone due to my aggressive nephew, Mark Robinson. They suffered a cerebral hemorrhage and passed away, filled with resentment. As for me, I was fired for my misconduct in helping Rebecca get that position, and I had to settle for washing dishes at a restaurant to make ends meet. Meanwhile, Rebecca quickly climbed the ranks and became the head of the nursing department. One day, in a cruel twist of fate, I found myself in the hospital after my aggressive nephew had severed my arm. As I lay there, teetering on the edge of death, Rebecca coldly revealed that on the night of the shift change, she had switched my brother Tom and Megan’s children with her own. When I regained consciousness, I was back in the hospital, right at the moment Rebecca had suggested swapping shifts with me. ***** Dragging my severed arm, I stumbled into the hospital and humbly begged Rebecca to save my life. She looked down at me from her lofty position, my aggressive nephew Mark lurking behind her. “Ha, just because your family has a little money? That’ll be perfect for raising my kid! “You don’t know, do you? The day Megan gave birth, I switched her baby with mine!” That devilish nephew of mine stood behind her, his hairless face twisted into an evil grin. “Auntie, I’ve grown up without ever tasting a woman. I know you love me the most. Since you’re going to die anyway, why not let me have some fun first?” Despair washed over me, and I shut my eyes, succumbing to the darkness in that cramped little room. But when I opened my eyes again, I found myself back at the hospital right before Megan was due to give birth! Rebecca was in front of the mirror, adjusting her hair and trying to cover her tracks. “I don’t even have a boyfriend, so how could I be pregnant? I’ve just gained some weight these past few days! By the way, Nancy, you’ve helped me so much. I’ll cover your shift in a couple of days!” I quickly gathered my thoughts. Rebecca was young, and her nutrition during pregnancy had been poor. Even though she was about to give birth, her belly wasn’t very pronounced. In my past life, I had been deceived by her sweet demeanor. I often covered her shifts and even shared my family’s nutritional supplements with her. When she offered to cover my shift, it coincided with Megan going into labor, and my parents and brother were out of town, leaving me as the only one to care for her. To show my gratitude to Rebecca for her timely help, I not only gave her a 20 thousand dollars thank you but also used my connections to get her a permanent position. Now, I smiled and replied, “Sure, but I’ll need your help not just on the due date, but for the next few days as well.” Rebecca didn’t expect me to agree so readily, and her forced smile faltered. I stripped off my nurse’s uniform, asked the head nurse for some time off, and rushed straight to Megan’s room. Megan was carrying twins, and her belly was enormous, making it difficult for her to roll over. “I wonder who they’ll look like. Hopefully, they’ll take after me; I’m the prettier one!” Megan’s face radiated happiness. She was such a gentle soul, yet in my previous life, she had tragically passed away in a dark hospital room, trying to raise money for that sickly child who had taken her son’s place. When I went to collect her body, I found maggots crawling over her hollowed-out corpse. This time around, I would make sure that nothing like that happened again!

I said, “It doesn’t matter who the kids look like, as long as they’re healthy.” Megan smiled brightly and replied, “You’re right! Auntie knows best, and we’ll listen to her!” She spoke to the babies in her belly with such warmth that it made my eyes sting with unshed tears. In my past life, Rebecca had switched her two premature infants with Megan’s, and I had never heard of her raising any children. My two nephews were either sold off or, worse, discarded like trash. The night shift in the neonatal unit was no walk in the park. After one long night, Rebecca looked like a ghost. She approached me, her voice sweet and coaxing, trying to persuade me to take back the shift. “Nancy, I’m just wiped out from the night shift! You’re taking care of Megan, and it’s not too tired, so why not come back to the night shift? It’ll be easier for you!” Rebecca had just graduated from nursing school and was only eighteen. In the past, I felt sorry for her youth; whenever she played the damsel in distress, I’d do anything to help her out. Rebecca probably thought I’d do the same this time. To her surprise, I shot her down. “The night shift is your responsibility. If you can’t handle it, then maybe you should rethink your career choice!” Her eyes widened in shock, a flash of malice flickering across her face. But she quickly masked it with a weak smile. “It’s fine! I can manage; I just need to push through this discomfort!” “Is that so? You’re really tough. By the way, didn’t you promise Amanda you’d help her with the paperwork? You should get on that tonight since you have some downtime.” With that, I turned and walked away. In the reflection of the door’s glass, I caught a glimpse of Rebecca’s eyes, filled with venom. As I stepped out of the room, I noticed a man lurking near the women’s restroom, peeking in. I recognized him as a relative of a patient downstairs, someone who often tried to sneak peeks into the women’s restroom. I thought for a moment and pretended to be on a phone call as I passed by him. “You won’t believe it! Lately, there have been couples sneaking into the women’s restroom at all hours!” That night, after settling Megan in for the night, I made my way to the restroom to wait. Rebecca was already struggling; her body was undernourished, and with her due date approaching, the grueling night shifts and paperwork were taking their toll. During the day, I passed by the nurses’ station and saw her, drenched in sweat, clutching her belly. I knew she was in labor; the contractions were starting, and she wouldn’t be able to hide it for long. In my previous life, I had no idea when Rebecca gave birth, but I was certain it wasn’t in a hospital. Back then, I covered all her night shifts, and she hadn’t worked a single one for nearly a month until she finally switched with me for Megan’s delivery. But this time, I had agreed to the shift change early on, and after three consecutive nights, Rebecca was cornered. The hospital was her only option, and the restroom at midnight would be the perfect place. Sure enough, the peeping tom had taken my words to heart and stealthily crept into the women’s restroom that night. When he came out, his phone was nowhere to be found.

Before long, Rebecca rushed into the restroom, clutching her belly. I stood guard outside, listening to her muffled cries of pain—she was going into labor. I had to admit that youth was on her side. Less than thirty minutes later, Rebecca emerged, her face pale and reeking of blood, cradling two tiny bundles in her arms. I didn’t rush in right away; instead, I waited patiently for a moment. Just then, the peeping tom couldn’t hold back any longer and approached the restroom to retrieve his phone. As he stepped out, I grabbed him by the collar. “Caught you, you creep! Let’s go see the police!” The man froze, terror etched on his face as he collapsed onto the floor, pleading for mercy. “I swear, I’ll never do it again! Please, just let me go!” I hadn’t actually planned on taking him to the police; it wasn’t the right time for that. Instead, I handed him over to the hospital security. They confiscated his phone in front of me, placing it in an evidence bag, intending to file a report in the morning. I didn’t object; I just wanted to get back to the newborn ward and check on things. When I arrived, Rebecca was nowhere to be found. I approached the head nurse, casually inquiring, “Is the newborn ward empty? Why isn’t anyone on duty?” The head nurse’s eyes widened in alarm. “That lazy girl Rebecca must be slacking off again!” Not long after, I heard the head nurse’s stern reprimands mixed with Rebecca’s sobs. Through the crack in the door, I saw her limping back to the ward, tears streaming down her face as she clutched her belly. Typically, there were four nurses rotating in the newborn ward, so Rebecca’s absence shouldn’t have caused any issues. But I relished the thought of her discomfort. Megan’s due date was the same as in my previous life—4 AM. She had initially hoped for a natural birth, but I shot that down immediately. In my past life, Megan struggled for five exhausting hours in the delivery room, ultimately needing help from the nurses in the newborn ward. In the chaos, Rebecca had effortlessly swapped Megan’s babies. To avoid any unnecessary complications this time, I insisted on a C-section for Megan. Rebecca had no right to step into the operating room or pull any tricks! Before long, Megan delivered two healthy boys. As they were placed in my arms, I felt tears of joy welling up. These were our children! In my previous life, Rebecca had swapped them out early, and one of the babies had been so tiny and frail, even lacking hair and eyebrows—he looked like a little monster! But the real challenge began after the babies arrived. My parents showed up at the hospital that morning, and as soon as they walked in, they handed Megan three gifts and a box overflowing with gold jewelry. Just then, Rebecca, who had just finished her night shift, walked in and caught sight of the scene. Her eyes glimmered with envy and jealousy. A nurse entered the room, ready to take the babies for a bath. Rebecca’s eyes lit up. “I’ll do it!” Before I could respond, she eagerly stepped forward. “I’m Nancy’s colleague; she’s always been so kind to me. I’d love to repay her kindness. Let me handle this little task!” My parents, seeing her eagerness, handed her two more gifts. “Oh, you’re Nancy’s colleague? Come, share in the joy!” Rebecca’s face brightened as she touched the gifts, her earlier jealousy momentarily forgotten. My parents owned two factories and were quite generous; the gifts easily totaled over three thousand dollars. “Alright, I’ll take the babies for their bath now. Don’t worry, Nancy; I’ll be gentle and careful!” I stayed silent, quietly trailing behind Rebecca as she whisked the babies away.

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My name was Keira Knightley. After dropping out of school, my parents didn’t pressure me at all. But then my boyfriend, Logan Ridley’s so-called high-IQ childhood friend, Megan Robinson, called me out of the blue. I was too busy working in the fields, planting vegetables, and splashing around in the water to even think about writing code. In my past life, Megan had submitted an identical program design just a day before I did. Everyone accused me of being shameless, of plagiarism, and of deceit. I tried to set the record straight, but no one believed me. To make matters worse, Megan went live on social media, slandering me for bullying her in school. The online mob turned against my entire family, and my parents died in a car accident while trying to escape the extreme harassment from internet trolls. I couldn’t bear the weight of it all. I jumped from a tall building, unable to find peace in death. Even in those final moments, I couldn’t understand how everything had gone so wrong. After all my hard work, why had someone stolen my success? When I opened my eyes again, I realized I hadn’t died at all. ***** I had been reborn. I fumbled for my phone, checking the date—August 28th, the day before I was supposed to submit my most important competition entry. My teammates gathered around me, their faces lit up with admiration. “Keira, you’re amazing! You cracked such a tough problem! Once you finish the program, we can submit it, right?” My advisor patted me on the shoulder, looking pleased. “Keira, you’ve really put in the effort. Thanks to your core program design, I’m confident we’ll take first place in the competition. Your graduate school application will be a breeze.” A wave of bitterness washed over me. In my previous life, when I was accused of plagiarism, it was the same teachers and classmates who stood up for me. But their voices had been drowned out by the torrent of online abuse. Some even had their information leaked online, caught in the crossfire of my scandal. I glanced back at the unfinished code on my computer, a chill running down my spine as horrific memories flooded my mind. If I remembered correctly, I had stayed up all night on the 28th, excited to finally submit the program. But the next day, I received a notice of disqualification. The competition organizers had issued a public statement accusing me of plagiarism, and I was suddenly the target of a relentless online attack. “Does she think she can cheat her way through this competition? What a disgrace!” “Plagiarists are the scum of the earth. They should just disappear!” “It’s disgusting that she would take someone else’s hard work and pass it off as her own.” Even walking around campus became unbearable; I was bombarded with disdainful glares and insults. “Isn’t she the one who plagiarized? What a shame for Arona University to have her here.” “Someone so shameless wouldn’t care about the consequences of her actions.” “I heard she was just trying to use this to apply for grad school. What a joke.” The malice in their eyes was palpable, as if they wished for my immediate demise. Suddenly, a cold shiver jolted me back to reality. I couldn’t help but reach for my phone and open WhatsApp, searching for Megan. She was the one I had “plagiarized” in my past life, and she was also my boyfriend Logan’s childhood friend. With her beautiful complexion and cute features, Megan was the picture of innocence that attracted countless suitors. Both of her parents were professors. Her name often graced the campus confession board, a testament to her popularity. My boyfriend, Logan, would go to great lengths every day to shower Megan with gifts and flowers. When I discovered his actions, he explained that he only saw her as a little sister and accused me of being overly jealous. Later, I stumbled upon chat logs where Logan complained to his roommate about me, labeling me as plain and boring compared to the adorable and cute Megan, even expressing disgust at being with me. I’d considered breaking up multiple times, but each time, Logan would transform into a different person, begging for reconciliation. However, now I see through his act. Scrolling through Megan’s status, I found one of her taking a selfie surrounded by a group of teammates, all huddled around a computer. The caption read: [Pulling an all-nighter with the team to finish our code. Hoping for a great ranking in this competition!] Curiously, I zoomed in on the photo, only to find several segments of my original code seamlessly integrated into her program, down to the very last character, including an extra parenthesis I had mistakenly typed in. I was stunned, staring at my screen. “Could it be that we share the same thoughts? Her post was set a day before mine, meaning her code was written ahead of mine. Yet, I had created my code and logic design entirely independently, never borrowing from anyone else’s source code. Why does Megan’s match mine perfectly, including that careless parenthesis? This is strange!” I buried my face in my hands, my mind racing with confusion and disbelief. I couldn’t fathom how this could be happening. Yet, I couldn’t abandon the upcoming contest. It wasn’t just about me; it was the collective effort of the entire team. Withdrawing would only bring harm to them, and I couldn’t bear to let them down. As night fell, I finally made up my mind. No matter what, having a second chance meant I had to protect everyone around me and fight for justice. I looked at my screen filled with lines of code, then clicked delete and shut down my computer.

I was the top student at Arona University, guaranteed a spot in the graduate program, and I had chosen to major in Computer Science. In my field, everything had been going smoothly; I dominated my department, racking up accolades and participating in countless competitions. As graduation approached, I finally mustered the courage to approach my long-time idol, Vincent Stewart, about pursuing further studies. His only condition was that I had to secure first place in an upcoming international competition. Determined to meet his expectations, I decided to tackle the most challenging project I could find. I spent countless hours in the computer lab, pouring over research and coding late into the night. But just when I thought I was on the brink of success, Megan swooped in and easily claimed the fruits of my labor. As I strolled through the quiet campus, a nagging feeling crept in that I might be overlooking something crucial. Just as I was lost in thought, a flash of inspiration struck me. If my current project wasn’t working out, why not try a different programming language and structure? Once back in my dorm, I pulled out my laptop and began typing out a brand-new code. With intense focus, I suddenly had a fresh perspective on the logical framework, and I set to work on building it up from scratch. This way, my program wouldn’t be accused of plagiarism, and I could enhance its efficiency! The excitement surged within me as I coded faster and faster, translating my ideas into reality. That was when I heard my roommate’s worried voice from behind me. “Keira, you’re pushing yourself too hard. Staying up all night isn’t good for you. You should take a break!” I glanced at my phone, only to realize it was already 4:30 AM. My roommate sighed and rubbed her temples, trying to reason with me. “Keira, you’ve got a whole week until the competition. There’s no rush. What if you burn out before the big day? That would be such a waste.” Her words hit me like a wake-up call. Of course, I had a whole week left! I didn’t need to rush to submit anything just yet; I could wait for news from Megan. If there were still similarities or oddities in our projects, I’d have time to tweak and refine mine. This way, I could avoid the plagiarism debacle that had haunted my previous life and finally present my own hard-earned work at the competition. With that thought, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. I thanked my roommate and dove back into coding, determined to finish the second version of my program. After a trial run, it worked flawlessly! I took a deep breath, staring at the completed program. Finally, my creation was born. But then, memories of my past life flooded back. Megan hadn’t just accused me of plagiarism; she had gone live on social media, spreading lies about me bullying her on campus. With tears streaming down her face, she played the innocent victim, and her sweet, pure image captured the hearts of many. The online backlash against me was relentless. [I can’t believe there’s bullying happening in college. This girl is so arrogant; we need to make sure she pays for her actions!] [Poor Megan! Not only was she bullied, but she was also plagiarized. Keira is just evil!] [Megan is too kind-hearted. It’s up to us to stand up for her! Does anyone have Keira’s number?] I couldn’t understand why she was lying. I tried desperately to clear my name, but it only fueled the fire of online harassment. Someone maliciously leaked my family’s private information online, leading to my parents being harassed to the point where they had to move. Tragically, while on the road, they were involved in a serious accident caused by aggressive internet trolls, and they died on the spot. As I thought about it now, my fists clenched in anger, my nails digging into my palms. If I didn’t uncover the root of all this chaos, I couldn’t ensure my family’s safety. Just as I was racking my brain on how to investigate, I heard a classmate exclaim nearby. “Did you guys see Megan’s status? Someone stole her competition entry!” “Seriously? With only a few days left until the contest? What’s she going to do now? There’s no way she can rewrite it in time!” “Plagiarists are the worst! It’s disgusting!” I felt as if I had been struck by lightning. I immediately pulled out my phone and opened Megan’s status, my heart racing.

I saw her new pinned post, and my heart sank. It read: [Can someone really plagiarize code and still enter a competition?] A chill ran down my spine as a troubling thought crossed my mind. “Perhaps this status was the spark that ignited the wave of abuse I’ve faced in my previous life.” Megan was popular on campus, backed by her parents, who were professors, while I was just an average-looking student with no connections. In a world that often valued appearances, she always seemed to have the upper hand. Before long, her ambiguous status was bombarded with comments. [What’s up, Megan? Did someone steal your code?] [You should tell your parents and have the school investigate. We need to get that plagiarist out of here!] [Plagiarists are a disgrace to Arona University! With the competition coming up, this is a serious issue.] Reading those words made my blood boil, pulling me back into the shadows of my past harassment. Back then, I received thousands of hateful messages daily, and someone even posted my information on a “meat market” site, leading to countless calls from creepy men. “Stop pretending to be pure; you’ll just end up serving some old professor after graduation. Want to play with me? I know your address. If you don’t let me sleep with you, I’ll come find you myself.” My parents had chosen to move because of this, only to die in a tragic car accident shortly after. The painful memories washed over me, and I instinctively wanted to escape. But just before I could shut off my phone, I caught sight of my name in the comments. [Is Megan talking about Keira? I saw her program with the teacher a few days ago, and it looked just like Megan’s!] As soon as that comment was posted, the floodgates opened, and people began to argue. [Keira? The one who aced in the competition to get to the college? You really saw her program, and it was identical?] [No way! She’s always been at the top of our department. Why would she need to copy? You better have proof!] [Ha! How do you know her top scores weren’t due to cheating? Besides, Megan didn’t specifically name her; don’t be a fool!] Before long, the comments devolved into chaos, with many classmates even posting their own statuses to rally behind Megan. My boyfriend Logan was among the most vocal, posting three times in a row, each with a different selfie of Megan. [Megan’s hard work is evident. She often stays up late to prepare for the team competition. I hope whoever is involved in this plagiarism scandal steps up and admits it. If not, I’ll report them to the authorities to get justice for Megan!] Almost every guy in our department liked his posts, and Megan chimed in below. [Thanks, Logan! You’re the best!] A wave of jealousy and bitterness surged within me, but I also felt a sense of relief. Thank goodness I hadn’t submitted my program yesterday; otherwise, I would be facing another round of online bullying right now. Once I composed myself, I decided to leave the classroom and discuss my newly written program with my team. Just then, I noticed Megan’s latest status. [Thanks for all the support, everyone! Even though someone stole my code, I can still redesign the program in no time. That’s a talent no plagiarist can take away! Here’s my new program; come check it out!] With a mix of anxiety and curiosity, I clicked on the link she posted, and my heart dropped—her new program was identical to my second version!

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MyFiction” app 🔍 search for “397504”, and watch the full series ✨! #MyFiction #school

As the tour approached, the company abruptly revoked my lead dancer status. Desperate to get answers, I rushed to confront them. Distracted and flustered, I missed a step and tumbled down the stairs. While wincing in pain and about to dial 911, a notification popped up on my screen. [Crimson Ballet Company: The new lead dancer @Amber Vaughn and the amazing sponsor @Ethan Ward.] Two smiling faces stared back at me from the photo—my husband of seven secret years and his pampered mistress. Ethan’s arm was wrapped around Amber’s waist as he kissed her cheek. Amber clung to Ethan’s neck, her face glowing with bashful pride. Wiping the blood from the corner of my mouth, I posted a photo of our marriage certificate in the comment section. Clara: [Is your new ballet production about shameless mistresses?] Ethan’s call came through within minutes. “Clara Bennett, what the hell are you doing? How many times do I have to tell you—Amber and I are just putting on a show.” I sniffled, trying to keep my voice steady. “What gives you the right to take my lead role and hand it to her?” He hesitated. “Wait… Are you at Crimson Ballet Company?” There was a brief pause before he continued, his tone turning casual, almost dismissive. “Amber wanted the lead in this tour as a birthday gift. I didn’t know the role was yours. Just go online and say the marriage certificate is fake.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. He didn’t even know where I worked but somehow remembered Amber’s birthday wish. “And why should I fake a marriage certificate?” Ethan’s voice was calm, as if explaining something obvious. “You could say you’re a fan of mine.” “A fan? That’s how you see me?” He let out a long sigh. “Clara, we’ve been married for seven years. We’re practically an old married couple. Amber’s young—there’s no need to start drama with her.” Old? Did he forget that I married him before I even graduated college? That despite our seven years together, I was only a year older than Amber? “Ethan, I fell down the stairs. My leg hurts.” “All I’m asking is for you to apologize and clarify things. It’s not that hard.” His tone carried disappointment. “When did you turn into such a liar?” Tears, warm and thick, mixed with the blood dripping onto my hand. I covered my mouth and ended the call. When his number flashed on my screen again, I immediately set it to silent. I called 911 myself. When the paramedics arrived, they asked if I had any family to accompany me. “No,” I replied, staring blankly at the ceiling. “They’re all gone.” Halfway to the hospital, Ethan texted me. Ethan: [Amber fainted because of you. Get to the hospital, apologize to her in person, and bring a suitable gift. There’ll be reporters there.] Ethan: [It may be embarrassing, but you started this mess.] “With trembling fingers, I typed back. Clara: [In your dreams.]” I shut off my phone and retreated into the silence of my thoughts. While waiting for my X-ray results in the hospital corridor, a familiar voice caught my attention. “Dr. Lee, I’m Amber’s boyfriend. Let me know if there’s anything she needs.” I looked up and met Ethan’s gaze. His steps faltered for a moment, but he quickly composed himself. Acting as if I were a stranger, he continued chatting with Michael Lee, walking right past me. The faint citrus scent of his cologne hit me, and my stomach churned. I wanted to escape, but Ethan turned back. He seemed rushed, his face filled with irritation when he saw I hadn’t left. “Have you come to your senses?” “Like I said, in your dreams.” I pushed past him, limping in the opposite direction. I could feel his eyes on my injured leg, his gaze growing colder. “Are you seriously playing the pity card to avoid apologizing?” I didn’t respond, desperate to escape the corridor filled with Amber’s cloying perfume. But a strong hand grabbed my shoulder, yanking me back. I stumbled, nearly losing my balance, as sharp pain shot through my leg. “Ah!” I cried out, unable to hold back. Ethan’s brow furrowed as his expression darkened. “You’re really disappointing me.” With practiced ease, he reached into my pocket and took my phone. “Give it back!” I lunged for it, but Ethan shoved me away impatiently. “Marcus, hold her.” The bodyguard Marcus Shaw pinned me effortlessly, his grip leaving me powerless. “Ethan Ward!”

A face mask was tossed my way. “Cover her mouth. Stop her screaming.” With my wrists pinned, my leg throbbing, and my mouth tightly covered, all I could do was cry. I watched helplessly as Ethan took my phone, logged into my account, and posted an apology in my name. “I’ve changed your password. Only I can access it now. Behave yourself, and stop causing trouble.” When he finally glanced up, he froze, clearly startled by my tear-streaked face. He waved off the bodyguard, scolding him, “Did you have to be so rough?” Then he stepped closer, gently rubbing my wrist. “Does it hurt? If you’d just listened earlier, none of this would’ve happened.” I snatched my phone back, my hands trembling as I opened Space X. Clara: [I apologize for my comments on Crimson Ballet Company’s page. I am not married to Mr. Ethan Ward. As a fan, I let my admiration for him get the better of me. I also apologize to Ms. Amber Vaughn and Mr. Ethan Ward for the trouble I caused.] My fingers hovered over the comments, too afraid to click. [@Clara, have you no shame?] [@Clara, oh my God, your thirst to be a mistress is spilling off the screen.] [@Clara, people like you are a disgrace to dancers. Get out of the industry already!] Ethan grabbed the phone from my hands again. “Stop reading the comments.” “Is this the outcome you wanted?” I asked quietly, my voice barely audible. He turned away. “People online forget things quickly. I’ll have someone redirect the narrative later. Just stay off your phone for a while.” I shook my head slowly, my vision blurring. “You’ve ruined me.” I couldn’t see his face clearly, but his tone grew irritable. “I already said I’d fix it. Why are you making such a big deal out of this? If you hadn’t started all this drama, would we even be here?” He continued, “You should be grateful I’m even cleaning up your mess. If I’ve put you in the spotlight, it’s only because you brought this on yourself!” My ears buzzed, drowning out his voice as bitter laughter escaped my lips. “Let’s get a divorce.” He let out a low chuckle, his tone indulgent and dismissive. “You’re just venting. It’s fine—I’ll let you.” He was so sure I’d never leave him, framing his condescension as magnanimity. As Ethan’s laughter echoed, I found a strange calm washing over me. Just then, the doctor called my name from down the hall. “Clara Bennett? Come get your test results.” Ethan froze and then hurried after me. “What test results?” “Ethan,” a soft voice interrupted from behind. “Why are you taking so long?” Ethan turned, his expression instantly softening as he walked toward Amber, who stood at the hospital room door. “Why did you get out of bed? Go back and rest.” Dragging my numb, aching leg, I walked in the opposite direction. Every step felt like walking on shattered glass, each one cutting deeper. The doctor informed me I’d need a month of complete rest—or I’d never dance again. I took a cab back to my cold, empty apartment. Because our marriage was a secret, Ethan and I maintained separate residences. He had deliberately chosen the apartment above mine. On the first night we moved in, he’d pinned me against the wall and kissed me. “This way, I can sneak into your bed every night,” he’d said. I once thought it was just a playful quirk of his serious demeanor. But now I knew—the thrill of sneaking around wasn’t a game. Cheating was his true nature. He’d grown bored of me and fallen for Amber instead.

At nine that night, Ethan showed up at my door carrying a bag of fruit. “I bought you some strawberries. Want some now?” I tossed my phone onto the table in front of him, the screen displaying Amber’s latest post. Amber: [I told him I wanted something sweet and tangy like cherries, but he bought strawberries instead. LOL.] “So, whatever Amber doesn’t want gets handed down to me?” Ethan frowned. “You don’t have to be like this…” He walked over and slipped an arm around my waist, his tone softening. “Is this because it’s been too long since we’ve been… close? Are you upset about that?” I shoved him away hard and gagged dramatically right in front of him. A storm darkened Ethan’s face. “That’s enough. Don’t act like this just because you think you can.” “What respect have you ever given me?” I clutched my chest, tears falling uncontrollably. “Do you even know how many hateful calls I’ve gotten? How have I been blacklisted by every major ballet company? My entire career is ruined! Ethan, what did I ever do to deserve this?” I’ve always been mild-mannered—easily pushed around, really. Ethan used to tease me, tugging on my earlobe with a smile. “You’re so easy to bully. What would you do without me?” I never imagined Ethan would truly leave me one day. When my parents died under a cloud of shame, accused of crimes they didn’t commit, the world turned its back on me. It was Ethan who pulled me out of the pit. He defied his family for me. I still remember him kneeling in the rain for hours, begging his father. He took me away from the place that had broken me and helped me start fresh in a new city. Even when I was at my lowest, Ethan never let go of me. Now, after surviving those brutal days, I was faced with his betrayal. “Let’s get a divorce,” I said, closing my eyes. “At least let me leave with some dignity.” “Clara,” Ethan sighed, rubbing his temples as if exhausted. “You’ve been through worse before. Why are you being so dramatic now?” My eyes flew open wide as I stared at him in disbelief. “What did you just say?” Ethan pressed his lips into a tight line, his expression turning cold. “When your parents killed themselves, the whole country was calling them murderers…” “Get out!” I screamed, grabbing a throw pillow from the couch and hurling it at him. “Get out!” Ethan looked genuinely shocked by my outburst. He hesitated for a moment and then stomped off in anger. On his way out, he grabbed the bag of strawberries. “You don’t want my charity? Fine. Let’s see how far your stubbornness takes you.” Barely ten minutes later, Amber posted again on Instagram. Amber: [First night staying at his place. The décor is so tacky—typical clueless guy taste.] The attached photo showed Ethan’s apartment upstairs. The “tacky” décor was something I had painstakingly designed myself. Ethan commented under her post. Ethan: [You’re right. It is tacky. Let’s remodel.] I rubbed my tired, aching eyes, my tears long since dried. Houses could be redecorated. People could be replaced. To Ethan, I was nothing more than a toy he’d grown bored of. When another harassing call came through, I yanked out my SIM card and replaced it with the one I’d used during an overseas tour. There was a time when a world-famous ballet company had offered me a position. I turned it down because I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Ethan. With shaky hands, I dialed the number they’d given me. “Hello, is this Mr. Jason Sterling?” The line was silent. If not for the faint sound of breathing, I would’ve thought the call had been disconnected. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Had he seen the trending news? I tightened my grip on the phone, my palm damp with sweat. “Mr. Sterling, please hear me out. I didn’t do the things they’re accusing me of. I tried to post a clarification, but my accounts are all controlled. Every time I create a new one, the posts are deleted within seconds. I—” “Wait for me.” A deep, unfamiliar male voice interrupted me. It sounded vaguely familiar but nothing like the Jason Sterling I remembered. I froze. “You’re not Jason Sterling?” “Wait for me.” He repeated the words and then hung up abruptly. Confused, I stared at the phone. Moments later, a text came through. Unknown Number: [Taking off now. Gotta turn off my phone.] Seconds later, another message buzzed in. Unknown Number: [Wait for me to return. You’ll be alright.]   Though his words were cryptic, they at least carried a promise. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Over the next few days, I started packing and getting my paperwork in order. I didn’t have much—just a single suitcase. Anything Ethan had bought me, I left behind. Not because I was proud or still holding onto hope. He cheated on me and left me shattered. But back when my family was ruined, when I was hated by the public, when people demanded I pay for my parents’ alleged sins, it was Ethan who saved me. I don’t know how he convinced his father, but after that night of kneeling in the rain, Ethan was disowned. At the same time, the public’s hatred for me disappeared. He gave me a new life. He caught me when I was at my lowest and stayed by my side through the darkest days. For that, I couldn’t bring myself to hate him. I just wanted to part ways peacefully. After three days of silence, Ethan returned. “Have you calmed down and come to your senses?” I nodded, my tone calm. “I have.” He misunderstood my response, a smug smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Good. Clara, you need to remember your place. Be good, and I’ll keep taking care of you. But if you push your luck, I’ll make sure you have nothing.” After his tirade, he seemed confused by my lack of reaction. “Are you done?” I placed the divorce papers on the table. “If you are, sign this.” Ethan’s eyes darkened as he stared at the papers. “You’ve known about Amber and me for a while. Why not just pretend nothing happened, like you used to? Stay as my wife. Isn’t that better? She gets what she wants, and so do you. Clara, you shouldn’t be so ungrateful.” I gaped at him, stunned that those words had come out of his mouth. I still remembered back in high school, when Ethan’s father cheated on his mother, and the house erupted into chaos. His father had sneered, “Every man in my position has a mistress. I’m not divorcing you, so stop making a fuss.” Furious, Ethan had grabbed a baseball bat and smashed a vase near his father. Amid the shards of glass, he had said coldly, “A man with no sense of responsibility doesn’t deserve to be my father.” Back then, I thought Ethan was the most incredible person I’d ever met. In what felt like the blink of an eye, the disdainful boy from years ago had morphed into a reflection of his father. At thirty, Ethan wasn’t just his father’s mirror—he was everything his fifteen-year-old self had vowed never to become. I felt nothing but disgust. “No way,” I said, sliding the divorce papers closer to him. “After the divorce, you can take care of as many people as you want.” Ethan stared at me for a long moment before finally picking up the papers between two fingers. “You want a divorce? Fine. But don’t you think it’s time to settle the debts you owe me?” I nodded and pulled out a bank card. “There’s five million dollars on this. It’s enough to cover everything you’ve spent on me.” Ethan’s brows furrowed as he stared at the card. “Five million dollars? You think that’s enough?” “It is,” I replied, meeting his gaze. “I’ve kept records of every expense. The ledger is in the study if you want to check. I also kept every luxury item and piece of jewelry you bought me—they’ve either been returned or factored into the total. I owe you nothing.” Ethan was silent for so long I almost thought he wouldn’t agree. Then he laughed softly. “I was planning to take you to a charity gala tomorrow night, but since you don’t need me, forget it.” His gaze lingered on my face, likely searching for some hint of regret. But he found none. My expression didn’t waver. “Since our marriage is a secret, feel free to bring whoever you want.” Ethan pressed his lips into a thin line and tossed an invitation onto the table. “Your name’s on it. Come with me tomorrow night, and I’ll agree to the divorce.”   I had no idea what Ethan’s real intentions were. But I had no choice but to agree. When I finally slipped into the dress Ethan had sent me and arrived at the gala, chauffeured by his driver, I realized I had underestimated just how cruel he could be. This wasn’t some private event. The red carpet was lined with reporters from every major media outlet. Fans clutching flowers and banners screamed their favorite celebrities’ names from the sidelines. Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t notice someone pointing at me until I heard the shout. “Look! Isn’t that Bitch Clara?” Ever since Ethan had forced me to apologize using my own account, I’d been branded with that humiliating title. I’d seen the countless hateful comments online, but no amount of vitriol on a screen compared to hearing it whispered, sneered, and jeered right next to me. “How does she even have the nerve to show her face here?” “Look at her dress—Amber’s in white, so she wore white too? Shameless.” “Don’t even compare her to Amber. She doesn’t measure up, not even close!” “Exactly! Amber’s dress is next-season couture. Hers? Probably last year’s leftovers.” The relentless mockery drilled into my ears. I turned on my heel, ready to leave, but someone grabbed my arm. I looked up to see Ethan’s bodyguard, Marcus. He smirked, his eyes glinting with malice. “Ma’am, Mr. Ward insists you attend the event.” He was Amber’s relative, and during that incident at the hospital, he had deliberately yanked my arm so hard it left bruises. Ethan had seen it but only offered a perfunctory reprimand. And now, he’d sent Marcus to deal with me again. The man who once cherished me had vanished completely. Bitterness surged in my chest, but resistance was futile. I was half-dragged, half-pulled along by Marcus. “Look at Clara’s limp—doesn’t she walk like a crippled donkey?” “Think she’s trying to crash the red carpet and got busted by security?” “Absolute trash!” Before I could react, a sharp voice yelled, and suddenly a bottle of juice came flying at me. I tried to dodge, but Marcus deliberately shifted, blocking my escape and even shoving me closer to the trajectory. “Ah!” The bottle burst open, drenching me in sticky purple grape juice. My white dress was instantly stained and blotched. “Ha! Doesn’t she look like she’s on her period?” “Don’t you have any shame? Get lost already!” “If I were you, I’d jump off a building. God, people this shameless are just indestructible.” Amid the jeers and laughter, I struggled against Marcus’ grip. “Let me go! I need to change!” Marcus looked down at me with mock concern. “Sorry, but even if you were on your last breath, Mr. Ward said you’re going inside tonight. Mr. Ward also said if you want a divorce, you’ll have to make it through this evening first. Otherwise, don’t bother.” I froze. Of course. I should’ve remembered. Ethan was the rising star of Oceanhaven now. What could someone like me—a woman whose very identity had to remain hidden—possibly do to stand against him? I forced a smile, hollow and resigned. “Let go. I’ll walk on my own.” But Marcus wasn’t done humiliating me. Instead of letting go, he quickened his pace, dragging me along awkwardly. I stumbled forward, drawing even more ridicule from the crowd. By the time we reached Ethan, Marcus had returned to his usual obedient, unassuming demeanor. Ethan’s cold gaze swept over me, lingering on my stained dress. “What happened?” I glared at him, my voice shaking with anger. “What happened? Isn’t this exactly what you wanted?” Ethan frowned slightly, about to speak, but a delicate arm looped around his from behind. “Clara, I’m so sorry,” Amber cooed. “It must’ve been one of my fans who threw the juice at you.” Draped in a pristine white couture gown, Amber pressed herself closer to Ethan, looking perfectly innocent. “She probably got upset seeing you in a dress similar to mine. Clara, you don’t mind, do you?” Once, her provocations would’ve infuriated me. But now, all I wanted was to leave. “Ethan, you wanted me here. I showed up. You wanted to humiliate me, and I took it. You’ve gotten what you wanted. Can I go now?” Though I phrased it as a question, I wasn’t waiting for his answer. I turned and started walking away. “Don’t leave yet.” Someone blocked my path.   “Well, well, if it isn’t Clara Bennett, the famous dancer. Since you’re here, why not give us a performance before you go?” I didn’t recognize the man, but it was obvious he was someone Ethan had arranged to mock me further. “Move,” I said, my voice cold and firm. “Aw, such a temper,” the man drawled, looking me up and down like I was an object for sale. “Still think you’re the rising star of the ballet world? Haven’t you heard? You’ve been blacklisted.” The words hit me like ice water. My breath caught as a chill ran through me. “Is that true?” Ethan swirled the wine in his glass, his gaze detached and indifferent. “It’s the price you pay for your mistakes.” I couldn’t stop myself from demanding, “What did I do? What was so unforgivable that you had to destroy my career? Tell me!” Ethan’s lips pressed into a thin line, his expression souring. “You know exactly what you did.” Amber let out a soft laugh. “Clara, I’m performing tonight. With all the bad press you’ve been getting lately, why not dance too? There are a lot of influential people here. Maybe someone will take an interest.” I stared at Amber until her smile faltered. “Ethan,” she said, shrinking behind him, “Clara’s scaring me.” Ethan patted her hand reassuringly, his eyes never leaving mine. “Clara, isn’t this what you wanted? A chance to network? There are several entertainment executives here tonight. Take advantage of it.” I drew in a sharp breath, horrified by how unrecognizable Ethan had become. In his early days, when he was struggling to start his business, he’d been so desperate for funds that he almost missed out on a golden opportunity. I’d secretly taken a job dancing at a nightclub to earn money quickly. When Ethan found out, he was furious. He’d rather sell his blood than let me perform in a place like that. “You know how jealous I get,” he’d said, his voice low and possessive. “I’d lose my mind if other men looked at you like that.” He had loved me so much back then. We’d spent nights in our tiny, damp apartment, sharing everything down to a single plum, savoring it together. But now? Now he seemed perfectly fine with pushing me toward other men. My voice came out hoarse and broken. “Fine. If that’s what you want.” I pushed past the man blocking my path and made my way toward a director I’d once worked with. “Wow, Clara’s still limping. You think she’s actually hurt?” “Please. She’s faking it.” Ethan’s disdainful voice blended seamlessly with the laughter and jeers around me, creating a suffocating web of humiliation. I reached the director, but before I could even greet him, he quickly excused himself and walked away. I froze, realizing there was no point in trying anymore. But I couldn’t accept it. I had always been known for my dedication, my low-key professionalism, and my spotless reputation in the dance world. So many people had once begged to work with me. How could Ethan’s words alone erase all of that? I limped around the room, lowering myself further with each person I approached. But they all avoided me like the plague—or worse, joined Amber in mocking me. It wasn’t until I was left utterly alone, standing in the center of the room, that the truth hit me like a slap in the face. I was nothing more than a clown under the spotlight, a joke for everyone to laugh at. And leading the charge was the man I once believed I could trust with my life. “Clara,” Ethan said, his face dark with displeasure. “Haven’t you embarrassed yourself enough?” Amber’s voice was soft and falsely sweet. “Ethan, Clara was my mentor. Maybe we should just let this go?” He didn’t reply, but his tightly furrowed brow relaxed slightly. “Absolutely not!” someone shouted. “A dancer acting like this? She’s ruining Mr. Ward’s reputation!” “Exactly. Even if Mr. Ward lets it slide, she needs to be taught a lesson so she knows what lines not to cross.” One of Ethan’s lackeys handed me a glass filled to the brim with strong liquor. “Drink this, and we’ll consider giving you another chance. What do you say, everyone?” A chorus of agreement rose around me. I turned to Ethan. “Is this your idea?”   Ethan stood three steps away, unmoving. I had no intention of closing the distance. I knew he was waiting for me to cave. Every argument we’d ever had ended with me surrendering first. Not because he was right. But because I couldn’t forget how he had pulled me out of the darkest time of my life. In his presence, I always felt like I owed him something—like I was permanently indebted to him. I tolerated his misdirected anger because of that. Even when he flirted openly with Amber or bought her an apartment to keep her close, I turned a blind eye for a while. But not today. “Tell me again,” I said, my voice steady. “Was making me drink your idea?” Ethan’s expression hardened at my defiance. “Yes. It was.” I shook my head with a bitter smile, staring into the liquor swirling in the glass. He knew I was allergic to alcohol, yet here he was, forcing me to drink to protect Amber. The boy who once couldn’t bear to see me hurt was gone, lost to time. Something inside me shattered. Ten years. All of it. Over. A single word came to mind, “irreversible.” “Fine.” I raised the glass and drank it in one go, catching the flicker of hesitation in Ethan’s eyes before he schooled his features. The fiery burn of the alcohol scorched my throat, making me cough so hard my face turned red. “Good job! Let’s pour her another one!” Someone reached for the bottle, but Ethan snapped, “That’s enough,” and they backed off. He took a step toward me, but Amber looped her arm through his, holding him back. “Ethan, I think Clara’s shown enough sincerity,” she said, her tone saccharine. “How about this? When I perform later, let her join me on stage.” Amber’s lips curved into a mockingly innocent smile. “Of course, it might mean Clara would have to be my backup dancer. What do you think?” “That won’t be necessary,” I said coldly. The alcohol churned in my stomach, the heat spreading across my skin. “This performance is live-streamed, isn’t it? Is humiliating me in front of the entire world what you really want? Or is it that you’re so insecure about your own abilities that you need to pull these cheap tricks to make yourself feel superior?” For the first time in years, I let myself speak without restraint, letting the venom I’d bottled up pour out. Amber tightened her grip on Ethan’s arm, her voice trembling with faux innocence. “Ethan, explain to Clara. She’s misunderstanding me.” Ethan’s expression darkened further, his tone dripping with disappointment. “If you still want to dance, you’ll get on that stage tonight. Being Amber’s backup dancer is a privilege for someone like you.” His words cut through the last thread holding me together, ripping apart whatever feelings I still had for him. “Ethan Ward,” I said, my voice steady but laced with contempt, “what exactly am I to you? A toy? A source of entertainment? Or just a prop to help you and Amber flaunt your relationship? Whatever this is, I’m done playing.” I pulled off my wedding ring and hurled it at him. Then, with everyone watching, I took the divorce papers from my bag and scattered them at his feet. “If you’re so eager to distance yourself from me, fine—let’s make it official. Sign the damn papers, and we’ll be done. I wish you and Amber all the best. Just don’t ever show your faces in front of me again!”   The papers fluttered to the floor. Someone nearby picked one up, scrutinizing it. “Wow, these look pretty convincing. Mr. Ward, could these be real?” Ethan’s tone was indifferent. “Just a childish stunt.” He genuinely thought I was bluffing. He was so certain I wouldn’t leave him. To him, every act of defiance, every tear I shed, was nothing more than a petty tantrum. Even now, his gaze carried a faint glimmer of mockery. “I suggest you stop making a scene before it gets any worse,” he said coolly. Exhaustion washed over me—deep, bone-deep fatigue. “A withered flower can never bloom again,” I thought. “People are no different.” I turned to leave. The sound of Ethan’s wine glass shattering against the floor echoed through the room. “Think carefully,” he said, his voice sharp and cutting. “Once you walk out that door, who will want you? Who would even dare?” I didn’t know what my expression looked like, but the jeers around me died down. My vision blurred, and Ethan’s figure warped into a grotesque shadow. I felt my soul sinking again. The last time, Ethan had caught me. This time, he was the one pushing me into the abyss. I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood. “Oh, Ethan,” Amber cooed, picking up my glass. “This was Clara’s drink, wasn’t it? Doesn’t smell like alcohol at all.” The liquor had been poured right in front of Ethan. Amber’s lie was as flimsy as it was malicious. But Ethan believed her anyway. He stepped forward, his grip like iron as he seized my wrist. “You’ve disappointed me again. Apologize to Amber.” His voice was cold and impatient, as if I were a child in need of discipline. The alcohol was already wreaking havoc on my body, my vision doubling as my immune system collapsed under the strain. “Leave here,” I thought, the word pounding through my head like a drumbeat. But Ethan didn’t let go. Pain shot up my arm as his grip tightened. I cried out, but he didn’t loosen his hold. “You think I’ll fall for your tricks again?” His voice was low and biting. “You’re getting on that stage tonight, no matter what.” Amber giggled. “How about I take Clara to change into something more suitable?” “That won’t be necessary,” Ethan said, his words stabbing into me like needles. “Let her dance in that dress. It’ll remind her of her place. Once something is dirty, it can never be clean again.” His voice was calm, almost casual, but every word was a deliberate jab. A reminder of my parents’ disgrace. A reminder that everything I had come from him. “If I leave him, I’ll have nothing,” I thought. “But what’s the point of staying with someone who uses my past as a weapon?” “Let go!” I shouted, wrenching free of his grasp, only to stumble and crash to the ground. The allergic reaction hit me like a freight train. My body felt heavy, my throat constricted, and I couldn’t breathe. Amber’s voice drifted in, distant and faint. “Ethan, my routine involves a lot of movement. Clara’s dress is too long—it’ll get in the way. If she won’t change, maybe we should just tear it.” Ethan hesitated for only a second. “Fine.” “Hold her down,” he ordered. Hands grabbed at me from every direction. I panicked, thrashing as hard as I could, but it was no use. I was like a fish out of water—flailing helplessly, powerless against them. “No,” I screamed in my mind, the word echoing in a void of despair.   “Ah!” The person closest to me let out a sudden, sharp cry. “What the hell? Who’s there?” “Are you out of your mind?” One curse followed another until they abruptly turned into gasps of shock. The weight on my body lifted, and I was swept into a pair of arms that smelled faintly of sandalwood. Struggling to lift my eyelids, I caught the glint of diamond cufflinks on the edge of a sleeve through my blurry vision. “Who’s the idiot who thinks they can—” The abuser, now yanked back, turned angrily to confront the newcomer, but their words died the moment they locked eyes with a pair of icy irises. The man holding me stood tall—easily over six feet—with a frame that radiated raw power. His features were striking and sharp, with arched brows cutting assertively into his temples. His thick lashes cast a brooding shadow over his cold, piercing eyes, and his lips were set in a tight line. Although his face was undeniably handsome, the chilling aura surrounding him made it impossible to approach lightly. Ethan, however, noticed something else first, the man’s entourage. Behind him stood a group of imposing men dressed in black, each exuding a commanding presence that was far beyond the typical bodyguard. Standing to the man’s right was a familiar face—Robert Hayes. Ethan’s breath hitched. Robert Hayes was a powerhouse in Seaview Isle, a man with considerable sway, someone even Ethan had tried and failed to approach multiple times. Yet here he was, standing hunched over with his cane, his demeanor unusually humble. Ethan had never seen Robert this deferential. An unease crept into Ethan’s chest as he cautiously addressed the man, his tone probing. “May I ask for your name, sir?” The man, towering over Ethan, looked down with thinly veiled contempt. “A group of people ganging up on a woman. Don’t you feel ashamed?” Ethan maintained a polite smile. “You misunderstand. She volunteered to stay and perform. After all, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to make a name for herself.” The man’s lips curved into a mocking smirk. “A lie so transparent it only fools the one telling it.” He turned slightly toward Robert. “This is the promising talent you spoke of from Seaview Isle?” Robert’s expression tightened, his tone fawning as he rushed to explain. “This—this is an exception, of course.” Robert’s forced smile vanished as he turned to Ethan, his face dark with anger. “Young man, broaden your horizons. You were invited to this gala, not to engage in mob tactics.” Ethan clenched his fists, a burning frustration simmering in his chest, but his attention remained fixed on the man as he carefully calculated his next move. Robert took the opportunity to speak up, raising his voice, “Allow me to introduce Mr. Julian Reid, of Ardent Industries.” Ethan froze, his entire body stiffening. Ardent Industries. That was a name Ethan couldn’t afford to offend. The newly appointed head of Ardent Industries was a legend. Julian Reid had led a mercenary team and fought his way out of the jungle, seizing control of the Reid family’s business empire despite his illegitimate status. In record time, he consolidated power and became the undisputed leader of Ardent Industries. Even across the ocean, Ethan had heard of his reputation. This man was no less than a living nightmare. Ethan’s eyes flickered with jealousy before fear quickly subdued it. Amber, who had been clinging to Ethan’s arm, suddenly stepped forward, releasing her grip. “Mr. Reid, do you follow entertainment news?” Amber asked, her tone sweet and polished. “You must be far too busy, or you wouldn’t have misunderstood us like this.” She smiled coyly. “I’m Amber Vaughn, a dancer. The woman you’re holding, Clara, is my colleague. She’s faked marriage certificates and even drawn up phony contracts. She’s—” “You’re Amber Vaughn?” Julian interrupted her coldly. Amber’s eyes lit up with barely contained excitement. “You’ve heard of me?” The onlookers exchanged whispers. “Wow, Mr. Reid knows Amber? I guess her charm is impossible to resist.” “No surprise. Amber’s basically a national sweetheart in the dance world.” “First Ethan Ward, and now Julian Reid? Some girls have all the luck.” Amber tilted her head modestly, her smile poised. “Have you seen me dance before? I don’t usually take photos with men, but I’d make an exception for you.” She smoothed her hair and pulled out her phone, angling it for a selfie with Julian. Before she could even smile for the camera, her phone was slapped out of her hand, landing far away with a loud clatter.

“Ow!” Amber cried, clutching her reddened hand. She opened her mouth to protest but froze when she saw Julian gently brush aside Clara’s curls to inspect her face. “She’s having an allergic reaction to alcohol,” he said, his voice low and trembling slightly. His demeanor shifted. No longer restrained, he scooped Clara into his arms, holding her securely against his chest. Without hesitation, he turned to leave. “Mr. Reid!” Ethan stepped forward to block his path. “Where are you taking her?” Julian’s gaze was glacial as he looked at Ethan. “She’s going into anaphylactic shock. Can’t you see that?” Ethan glanced at Clara in Julian’s arms and sneered. “Mr. Reid, you don’t understand. This woman is a master manipulator. She drank plain water earlier—how could she possibly have an allergic reaction to alcohol?” Julian’s chest rose and fell sharply, as if suppressing something primal. Ethan continued, his tone accusatory. “Stop pretending, Clara. If you don’t want to dance, no one’s forcing you. Don’t play the victim and mislead Mr. Reid. Stop this charade.” As Ethan pressed on, one of Julian’s men leaned in to whisper something into his ear. A wave of cold fury emanated from Julian. “You’re saying she drank water?” “Exactly,” Ethan said confidently. “Amber saw it herself.” At a single glance from Julian, the nearest burly man in black strode over to the trust fund kid who had poured Clara’s drink. “Which bottle was it?” The trust fund kid stammered, visibly shaken. “Th-that one…” The bottle remained untouched, save for the one glass already poured for Clara. Julian’s sharp gaze shifted to Amber, who instinctively shrank back. “If you believe it was water, why don’t you drink the rest of the bottle?” Amber faltered, her eyes darting nervously. “I… I didn’t get a clear look…” Julian didn’t give her a chance to continue. “Drink it.” At his signal, one of his men grabbed Amber and effortlessly restrained her. Another uncorked the bottle and forced it toward her lips. “Help… help!” Amber’s tearful eyes sought Ethan desperately. Ethan hesitated, taking half a step forward before Robert’s cold glare froze him in place. “Young man,” Robert said warningly, “don’t drag me into your mess.” If Ethan couldn’t read between the lines, he had no business being where he was now. He clenched his fists, his face red with frustration, but he stayed put, glaring helplessly as Amber was forced to drink. Amber choked and sputtered, some of the liquid going down while the rest spilled out in a humiliating mess. The lively buzz of the venue had vanished, replaced by an uneasy stillness, broken only by the sound of her desperate retching. Seaview Isle’s elite collectively decided to stay rooted in place—no one dared to test their luck with Julian now. Julian’s gaze swept over the crowd, his voice cutting like a blade. “So, you all believe it was water?” Those he singled out quaked under his stare, stammering, “No, no! It was definitely alcohol!” “Amber said it was water, but we didn’t know anything!” “I can vouch—Amber said she wanted to ruin Clara tonight, and that Ethan always listens to her.” Ethan’s head snapped toward Amber, disbelief etched into his face. “You really said that?” Amber shook her head violently, tears streaming down her face. Julian’s fists tightened, veins bulging against his skin. Before his rage could boil over, a faint, pained sound escaped Clara’s lips. Julian’s expression immediately softened. “You’ll be fine. We’re heading to the hospital now.” As he carried her away, Julian’s eyes flicked toward the table of untouched drinks. “For those who can’t tell the difference between water and alcohol, let me help you learn. Each of you, one bottle. Drink until you finish. Robert, ensure they comply.”

Robert respectfully watched Julian and his entourage leave. When he turned back to the stunned crowd, the faint smile on his face vanished. “Alright, everyone. Start drinking,” he said curtly. The long table was lined with at least a dozen bottles of liquor. To finish them all, it was clear—each person would have to down an entire bottle. Amber, already pale from being forced to drink half a bottle earlier, clung desperately to Ethan’s arm, trembling as she hid behind him. The others immediately turned on her. “This is your fault! Why did you say it was water?” “Clara’s allergic to alcohol! How could you force her to drink?” “She tried to leave earlier. Why couldn’t you just let her go? What was the point of making her stay?” Amber clutched Ethan’s sleeve, tears brimming in her eyes. “Ethan, you have to believe me. I swear, I saw Clara switch glasses.” “She’s smart,” Amber added, her voice shaky. “She wouldn’t do anything to hurt herself.” Ethan frowned slightly, considering her words. “You’re right. She must have done it to make me feel guilty.” Robert watched their back-and-forth with waning patience before finally cutting in. “Young man, how you figure this out is your problem. Right now, we have other matters to deal with.” Ethan hesitated. “Mr. Hayes, the gala is about to begin. If we’re all drunk, it would be disrespectful to the hosts.” Robert’s cane struck the floor twice, hard enough to echo. “Do you really think you can insult Mr. Reid and still waltz into the gala as if nothing happened?” The room collectively froze, the gravity of the situation finally sinking in. Ethan licked his dry lips nervously. “Does Mr. Reid know Clara Bennett personally?” Robert’s expression was unreadable. “All I know is that this is Mr. Reid’s first time in Oceanhaven.” “Exactly,” Ethan said, visibly relaxing. “There’s no way Clara knows someone of his stature.” Amber sniffled pitifully. “Clara really messed up this time. Now Mr. Reid has the wrong impression of us.” “She’s so thoughtless,” Amber continued, her tone aggrieved. “How could she not think about how this would affect you?” Ethan’s face darkened. “She’s being ridiculous.” Robert rapped his cane again, his tone sharp. “This is the last time I’ll ask. Will you drink willingly, or shall I make you?” ***** The first thing I noticed when I regained consciousness was that I was lying on a hospital bed. The vibration of my phone on the nightstand pulled me from my thoughts. I reached for it instinctively and saw a string of missed calls from Ethan. At the top were his messages. Ethan: [Clara, you’ve really disappointed me.] Ethan: [I didn’t expect you to care about me like Amber, but at least don’t stab me in the back.] Ethan: [Keeping our marriage a secret was the best decision I’ve ever made.] Ethan: [Are you trying to seduce Julian Reid to spite me? Don’t kid yourself. A man like him would never go for someone like you.] Ethan: [Explain everything to Mr. Reid, or don’t bother coming back to me.] The memories of the gala, the calculated humiliation, came flooding back. Rage swelled in my chest, choking me. I clutched at my heart, coughing violently. A warm hand rested gently on my back, soothing me. “Lara, how are you feeling?” I froze, eyes wide in shock. “What… what did you call me?” It had been so long since anyone had called me “Lara” that I almost forgot it was my name before Clara. Before I became Clara, I was the heiress to Aetherion Biosciences—a name that used to mean something. A name that now brought back memories too painful to bear. My breath hitched as I recoiled, pulling away and curling into myself. “I’m sorry,” the man said, his voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Look at me, Lara. Do you recognize me?” Something in his gentle tone calmed my spiraling thoughts. Slowly, I rubbed my eyes and focused on his face. His features sharpened, and the familiar boy from my memories emerged. “Jules?”

When I was five, my parents took me to a remote village for a charity project. A line of children, dressed in tattered clothes, stood before us, each recounting their hardships. But my gaze landed on a quiet boy at the back of the group. He was thin and unremarkable compared to the others, yet the moment our eyes met, something about him pulled me in. “Dad, I want that boy!” I tugged on my father’s sleeve insistently. My father, a notorious pushover when it came to me, didn’t hesitate to indulge me. That was how Jules came to live with us in Oceanhaven. I never knew his full name. I just followed him around, calling him Jules. Seven years older than me, Jules was mature beyond his years, a stark contrast to my chatty, boisterous nature. He was quiet and withdrawn, not particularly skilled at socializing. But he wove me colorful flower crowns and carried my least favorite backpack without complaint. To me, he was like an older brother, someone I cherished almost as much as my parents. But Jules stayed with us for less than six months. That winter, I was kidnapped—again—and broke my leg while escaping. Jules stayed by my side, his eyes red with unshed tears, keeping vigil all night. The next day, he told my father he wanted to enroll in a military academy. He left shortly after and never came back. Looking at him now, I marveled at how much he’d changed. “Jules, you’re so tall now.” “Are you really the Julian of Ardent Industries?” I asked, piecing things together from Ethan’s messages. A mix of pride and inevitability swelled in my chest. He smiled, just as he used to, and gently ruffled my hair. “I’m sorry I took so long to find you.” I shook my head. “It’s a good thing you weren’t around. Otherwise, you’d have been dragged down with me.” After my parents’ downfall, Aetherion Biosciences changed hands overnight. I went from being the envied heiress to a punching bag for anyone with a grudge. No one spoke up for me. They all said, “The sins of her parents must be repaid by her.” Hurting me became the “right” thing to do. The weight of those memories made me genuinely believe that Jules staying away had spared him from the same fate. Julian’s gaze darkened, guilt flickering in his eyes. “I should have been there. If I’d acted sooner, they wouldn’t have…” “Stop blaming yourself,” I interrupted. “What happened was inevitable. Even if you’d been there, you couldn’t have changed it.” Julian pressed his lips into a thin line. “Lara, there’s something you need to know—” The sound of the door opening cut him off. My attention shifted to the man who entered. “Mr. Reid, Ms. Bennett,” he began, nodding at me before handing Julian a tablet. “Someone’s spreading false narratives about the gala online and using bots to target Ms. Bennett. It’s already trending.” I frowned, reaching for my phone, but Julian pulled me closer, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Let’s check out together.” My back pressed against his chest, the scent of sandalwood enveloping me. I glanced up at him uneasily. Julian’s expression was focused and composed as he studied the screen. I silently berated myself for my discomfort. This was Jules. No matter how many years had passed or what title he now carried, he was still the boy who once made me flower crowns. I forced myself to focus on the tablet in his hands, brushing away any stray thoughts.

The media latched onto a heavily edited video of me being dragged across the red carpet by Marcus due to my injured leg. In the distorted version, it appeared as though I was desperately trying to crash the event for attention. Internet users, ever ready to pounce, created GIFs of the footage, pairing them with degrading captions like, “Desperate diva wants the spotlight!” Alongside the video were photos of me holding a wine glass, seemingly approaching former collaborators, and they were twisted into an entirely new narrative. Comments flooded in. [Clara Bennett isn’t just a slandering bitch. She’s also hunting for shady deals. What a perfect match for the bitch title!] [This is hilarious! Every exec she approached bolted like she had the plague. What a disaster.] [Look at her pathetic face. Honestly, if she’s that desperate, I’d pay for one night.] [I’m serious—Clara Bennett should just sell herself at this point.] The vitriol escalated after footage surfaced of Amber being rushed to the hospital for a stomach pump. What started as casual trolling turned into outright malice. Amber fueled the fire, posting two new photos on Space X. The first was her hospital record. The second was a picture of two intertwined hands, the couple’s rings on full display. The ring on her finger stopped me cold. It was the very ring I had picked out as a gift for our seventh wedding anniversary. Ethan had dismissed it, claiming the overseas flagship store appointment was unnecessary. Now, there it was—on Amber’s hand. Amber: [Being harassed by a lunatic landed me in the ER. Thankfully, I have someone who’ll always protect me. @Ethan.] Almost immediately, Ethan shared her post with a comment. Ethan: [Don’t let a crazy person ruin your mood, sweetheart. Remember, you’re destined to shine, while some people are only fit to rot in the gutter.] The comment section erupted, with tags directed at me. Among the insults were responses from verified accounts—former colleagues, no less—detailing alleged instances of my workplace bullying. These weren’t random strangers. They included people I had been close to, people I had helped financially when they were struggling, even a woman I once shared meals with. My fingers trembled as I hovered over the flood of hateful comments, unable to look away. “Don’t,” Julian said, taking my hand firmly in his. “They’re not worth it.” I tightened my grip on his hand, my resolve hardening. “I need to remember the faces they’re showing me now.” It reminded me of when my family fell. Those who once held me in high regard had been the first to shatter me, eagerly casting themselves as victims while I became their scapegoat. I thought I had learned my lesson, but I still gave my trust to the wrong people. “Am I an idiot?” I asked bitterly. Julian gently wiped the tears from my cheeks. “A flower that blooms in the dirt will always attract pests, jealous of its beauty and bent on destroying it. The flower isn’t at fault—it’s the vile insects that are to blame.” He held my gaze, his tone firm. “From now on, I’ll be the wall that shields you. You just focus on growing and flourishing.” “Thank you, Jules,” I said, removing my SIM card and tossing it into the trash without hesitation. “You’re right. It’s time to leave the past behind.” Neither the joy of my youth nor the solace I once found in Ethan could justify the pain he had inflicted on me. We had gone from supporting each other to being strangers. By sparing him the exposure of his infidelity, I had already shown him mercy.

Julian wasn’t one to waste time. One phone call later, the gala organizers released the full footage from the evening. The unedited video captured Amber’s fans attacking me on the red carpet and Ethan and his group coercing me to drink inside. It didn’t take long for the colleagues who had falsely accused me of workplace bullying to receive lawsuits and termination letters. They didn’t even get to enjoy their moment of infamy before losing their jobs. As for Ethan, the fallout hit him even harder. Word spread that his entire production line had ground to a halt. Julian later informed me that Ethan was frantically trying to find out where I was. “If he apologizes and admits he was wrong, what will you do?” Julian asked. He was rubbing his temples lightly—a telltale sign of his tension. I placed a freshly baked cake in front of him. “Ethan Ward would never admit he was wrong.” A smudge of frosting clung to Julian’s lips, an endearing contrast to his usual sharp demeanor. “Why do you think that?” I gave him a wry smile. “The signs were there all along. I just got used to ignoring them.” The first time Ethan and Amber were caught kissing by the media, I cried and confronted him. He dismissed me, calling me immature, and whisked Amber off to see the northern lights. That was when I realized some changes were beyond my control. What I didn’t expect was Ethan’s way of retaliating, a grand fireworks display and a public proposal to Amber. The water army didn’t miss a beat, redirecting their attacks toward me once again. [Sure, Mr. Ward was a bit harsh at the gala, but anyone would be annoyed being hounded by a lunatic.] [Clara brought this on herself.] Julian, always quick to sense trouble, was ready to step in, but I stopped him. “I’ll handle it,” I said calmly. “He and I need closure.” He had drained every last ounce of gratitude I had left. This time, I wouldn’t waver. I compiled a slideshow of our years together—moments I had originally planned to gift him for his birthday—and uploaded it online. Now, it served as a very different kind of gift, one he couldn’t ignore. Amid the firestorm that followed, I reposted my wedding photo. This time, the comment section pinned a response from a city hall official. [Yes, they’re legally married. I officiated the ceremony myself. Mr. Ward’s secret marriage was understandable for his career, but proposing to another woman while still married is a criminal act.] Julian didn’t stop there. He dug up footage of Ethan meeting with Crimson Ballet’s director, brazenly offering investment money to replace me as the lead dancer. The narrative flipped in an instant. Ethan, once a romantic hero, was now a reviled scumbag. Amber, once the sweet ingenue, became the ultimate homewrecker. It all unraveled so fast. Letting go wasn’t as hard as I’d imagined. On Ethan’s Space X post of his proposal to Amber, I left a comment. Clara: [Congratulations. But divorce me first.] Not long after, Ethan deleted the post. Moments later, I received a private message from him. Ethan: [Let’s meet and talk.]

I replied with a single word. Clara: [Fine.] Ethan and I needed closure, one way or another. He chose our old meeting spot—the chapel on the mountaintop. Back when we first settled in Oceanhaven, Ethan often brought me there on dates. Money was tight, so he’d pick wildflowers to make me necklaces and crowns. As things improved, he’d make annual donations to the chapel for my birthday. I still remembered him standing before the cross, hands clasped in earnest prayer. “God bless my Lara with peace and joy.” Those words still echoed in my mind, though the man who spoke to them felt like a stranger now. When I arrived, Ethan’s gaze immediately fell to my leg. “Your injury hasn’t healed properly. Why didn’t you let me pick you up?” I couldn’t help but scoff. “Wasn’t it you who forced me to dance for your precious Amber even when my leg was worse?” Ethan froze, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. “You’re right. That was wrong of me, and I’m sorry. But did you really have to blow everything up online? Do you have any idea how much damage you’ve caused my company? Years of hard work—gone in an instant!” As he spoke, his initial remorse evaporated, replaced by anger and frustration. I watched him calmly, curious to see what else he could say to justify himself. “Let’s just put the past behind us,” he continued, exhaling sharply. “It’s just my luck to have married someone like you.” The confidence in his tone was maddening. “Money can be regained,” he added, “but Amber’s reputation—you almost ruined her!” He studied my expression, mistaking my silence for hesitation, and his lips curved into a smirk. “You’ll post a statement online saying our marriage has been dead for years and that we’d already agreed to divorce. Make it clear that Amber isn’t a homewrecker.” I stared at him, incredulous. This had to be the most absurd thing I’d heard all year. “You think the public is stupid? If we had agreed to divorce, why would I have shared our marriage certificate?” Ethan frowned in irritation. “Say you were acting out of lingering feelings—hurt and resentment. People will believe it.” My disdain must have been obvious because he turned his head uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze. “Listen,” he said, his voice softening. “I promise I won’t say anything rash to the media again. And if you still want to visit Roselle, I’ll take you after all this is settled.” “No, thank you,” I replied coldly. “I wouldn’t want to impose on you. Save your grand gestures for Amber.” Ethan sighed in exasperation. “You’re still jealous, Clara. Don’t you realize how exhausting this childish behavior is? Go to Roselle if you want, but when you come down the mountain, you’d better hold a press conference and clear everything up.” He paused before adding, “And make sure you explain things to Julian, too.” His shamelessness was staggering. I took a deep breath to steady myself. “Why should I sacrifice my dignity to protect a cheating husband and his mistress?” Ethan’s expression darkened. “Was it necessary to say something so cruel?” “I’m just stating facts,” I said, pulling a prepared divorce agreement from my bag. “If you don’t want this to get uglier, then sign it.” He stared at the papers, his initial surprise giving way to a sneering smirk. “Do you think threatening me with divorce will scare me? Without me, you’re just a pariah, hated by everyone.” As he spat out those final words, I felt something in my chest shatter. Ethan looked at me with cold contempt. “And don’t tell me Julian Reid actually cares about you. Do you think someone like him would be interested in damaged goods?” He let out a malicious laugh. “You’re not young anymore, Clara. And men like Julian don’t go for women I’ve already used and discarded.”

I slapped him hard across the face. “You’re disgusting.” My hand trembled, the sensation of touching Ethan making my skin crawl. I rubbed my palm vigorously, as if trying to erase the contact. Ethan’s eyes blazed with fury. “Disgusting? You didn’t seem to think so when you were begging me like a slut in bed!” He grabbed me roughly. “If you want to get laid, just say it. Stop playing hard to get. Let’s go to the car—I’ll give you what you need.” I struggled against him, and when he leaned in to kiss me, I kneed him hard in the groin. “Ugh—you bitch!” Ethan groaned, doubling over. “Fine, let’s see how you get down this mountain on your own!” With that, he stormed off and drove away. The chapel was on the outskirts of town, accessible by a winding road that stretched up the mountain. I’d taken a cab to get here. Unfortunately, the weather turned against me. Rain began pouring down, heavy and relentless. I opened my rideshare app, but no drivers were willing to pick up. Resigned, I started toward the chapel for shelter, but headlights pierced through the downpour as a black SUV pulled up in front of me. Julian stepped out, umbrella in hand, tilting it to shield me from the rain. “Jules?” I asked, startled. “What are you doing here?” “I’ve been following you since you left,” he admitted, draping his jacket over my shoulders. It was warm, carrying his faint scent. “I figured you were meeting Ethan. I couldn’t leave you alone.” It had been so long since anyone showed me such care. For a moment, my heart felt… soft. “It’s fine. I can handle him. Did you run into Ethan just now?” Julian’s expression soured. “I did. He even tried to block my car.” I tensed. “Are you okay?” “With that flashy little sports car of his? Please,” Julian said, a hint of pride in his tone. “He wouldn’t stand a chance against my custom SUV.” His uncharacteristic smugness made his strong, stoic features seem almost boyish. For a fleeting moment, it felt like I was looking at the teenager who used to buy me candy. Julian picked up the rain-soaked divorce papers. “He refused to sign?” “Yeah.” I sighed, frustration creeping into my voice. “I don’t get him. We can’t stand each other anymore, so why won’t he let go?” “Because he’s a selfish bastard,” Julian said bluntly, watching me carefully for a reaction. When he saw I wasn’t upset, a faint smile tugged at his lips. “Meeting you all the way out here was probably part of his plan. He wanted to make things difficult for you.” “Not really,” I said with a small laugh. “We used to come here on dates.” Julian’s face darkened. “What did you do here?” “Nothing much—walked around, prayed at the chapel.” “Let’s go pray,” Julian said suddenly, taking my hand. The chapel’s priest recognized me immediately, despite my two-year absence. “You look radiant, as if your spirit has found clarity and purpose. Truly, it’s something to celebrate.” Julian bowed slightly. “Father, how much has Ethan Ward donated here? I’ll give you a hundred times that.” His generosity earned him two bracelets in addition to the recognition of being the chapel’s top benefactor. Julian slipped one onto my wrist, his voice steady and certain. “Lara, as long as I’m here, nothing in this world will ever hurt you again.” As I touched the bracelet, a sense of peace washed over me. But when I glanced up, I froze. Ethan was back.

To be exact, it was Ethan and Amber. It seemed that when Ethan climbed the mountain to “apologize” to me, Amber had been waiting conveniently at the foot of it. What was this? Some twisted power play between the wife and the mistress? The thought made my stomach churn. I clung to Julian’s arm and said, “Let’s get out of here.” Ethan quickly closed the distance between us. “Mr. Reid, could I trouble you for just a few minutes?” “No,” Julian replied, his voice curt and firm. “Mr. Reid…” Amber’s voice was saccharine sweet, dripping with a syrupy charm. “Please, just one chance.” “Not happening.” Julian’s tone was even colder this time. Amber froze, clearly taken aback. Ethan turned to me instead. “Clara, don’t you think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding between us?” He gave me a soft, familiar smile, the kind I hadn’t seen in ages. His eyes reflected my image, as if I was still his whole world. For a brief second, I faltered. My body, guided by muscle memory, nearly nodded in response. Julian pinched the back of my neck sharply. I jolted back to my senses, nearly slapping myself for the lapse. Ethan’s smile faltered, but he quickly composed himself. “Don’t forget the promise you made me.” I laughed coldly. “What promise?” I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow. “If you really want to hear it again, fine. Let me spell it out for you.” I announced, “You broke your vows, cheated on me during our marriage, and Amber knowingly stepped into all of this. You even hired trolls to slander me. And the way you both behaved at the banquet? I will never forgive you.” Ethan’s face darkened, Amber’s smile froze in place, but Julian looked rather amused. He slid his arm around my waist and, without missing a beat, brushed past Ethan. “I wish you and Amber Vaughn all the best. May the two of you live shamelessly ever after.” Ethan’s jaw clenched as he turned to me, anger flickering in his eyes. “Clara, are you really going to debase yourself like this?” I felt Julian’s arm muscles tense, his restrained anger palpable. I quickly grabbed his wrist and whispered, “Ignore him.” The ultimate insult is indifference. Against someone like Ethan, that was all it takes. For the next few days, I committed to ignoring him completely. Ethan didn’t have my new number, and I’d already blocked him on every social platform. If he wanted to contact me, he wouldn’t even know where to begin. Meanwhile, I spent my time at Julian’s hillside villa, tending to flowers and feeding the birds. It was as if time itself had slowed down. The next time I heard about Ethan was while watching a dance competition show I loved. After a group of contestants finished their performance, the host announced a surprise guest. Amber stepped onto the stage. Her appearance didn’t exactly shock me, but it did pique my curiosity. Amber had always been good at self-promotion. That whole “dream girl of the dance world” title? Self-appointed. The recent public backlash had forced her to lay low for a bit, but I knew her. She’d never stay quiet for long. And here she was, clawing her way back into the spotlight. Dressed in a simple white spaghetti-strap dress, her makeup perfectly natural yet impossibly meticulous, Amber smiled into the camera with an air of brave defiance. “I know I’ve made mistakes,” she began, her voice steady and earnest. “I’ve hurt people who didn’t deserve it. And no matter how much I try to explain, those mistakes are unforgivable. But even with everything I’m facing now, I don’t regret the choices I’ve made. True love is never wrong. Suppressing your feelings for someone is cruel—to yourself and to them. I’ll do my best to make amends to those I’ve unintentionally hurt, but I won’t give up on Ethan. Love is never a sin.” Her words, soaked in faux sincerity, were typical Amber. She announced that she’d perform a solo dance titled Love. At first, I barely paid attention, my gaze lazily flicking to the screen now and then. But the moment the music started and Amber began moving, I shot up from my seat. That dance—it was mine.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MyFiction” app 🔍 search for “397503”, and watch the full series ✨! #MyFiction #Divorce

Prelude Shay I was seven when I fell in love with Easton Connor. He was four years older than me and best friends with my brother Carter, but that didn’t matter to me. I never thought of him as too old back then. Never thought of him as off-limits. When I fell off my bike while racing down the street after my brothers, it was Easton who circled back to help me. Easton who took me inside, helped me clean the bits of gravel out of my knee, and then dabbed it with hydrogen peroxide. Easton who turned my tears into laughter by telling me about Carter’s inability to speak every time he saw his crush in class. I decided right then that I was going to marry Easton. Because I was seven and didn’t understand the realities of romantic love. Because Easton hadn’t yet become the Easton Connor. Because I hadn’t hit puberty and become chubby Shay. Because I still believed in fairytales, I believed I would marry this boy with the light brown hair and blue-green eyes. It was my secret. One I vowed to keep to myself until the time was right. Easton didn’t know my plans. And I had no idea he’d break my heart. *** Shay April 27th, draft night, thirteen years ago “Shay!” Easton hoists a shot glass in the air and wriggles it in offering. “Tequila? What do you say?” Carter spins on him and frowns. “What the fuck, man? Don’t give my little sister alcohol.” “Shit, sorry,” Easton says, but his mischievous eyes are on me as he says, “I always forget she’s so young.” The tequila must be going to his head, because there’s no other explanation for the way he’s looking at me. His eyes drop to my mouth, and warmth spreads through me. If I didn’t know better, I might think that . . . No. That doesn’t make sense. This is Easton. My friend now, sure, but East is everything. Girls everywhere are crazy about him—a football star on the brink of NFL fame, he could have any woman he wanted. Carter grabs a beer and leaves the kitchen and pushes out the back door to join the party. And then it’s just me and Easton. Alone with a bottle of tequila and the full shot glass that’s still in his hand. He flashes a glance over his shoulder toward the back door. “Does Carter have any idea that you’re not a little girl anymore?” he asks, closing the distance between us. I bite my bottom lip. My skin flushes hot when he’s this close, and I swear he’s looking at my lips again. Do I have something on my face? Spaghetti sauce from dinner or something? I discreetly wipe my mouth with the cuff of my sweatshirt—or as discreetly as I can when he’s so close. Easton grins, as if he knows he’s making me uncomfortable and likes it. “Have you ever done this before?” A thousand possibilities fly through my mind at that question—most of them involving the hands and mouth of the man asking. “Done what?” He lifts the shot glass and sniffs the tequila. “A snakebite. Salt, tequila, lime.” I shrug. I’ve had alcohol before. My family isn’t exactly puritanical when it comes to alcohol. But I’ve never done a shot, and certainly never a snakebite. Whatever that is. “How do you do it?” Grinning, he hands me the shot glass then grabs the salt shaker from the counter. He lifts my free hand to his mouth and licks the inside of my wrist. My breath whooshes out of me at the sensation of his hot tongue on my skin. I want to close my eyes, but he’s watching me, and I’m afraid he’ll laugh if he has any idea what affect he has on me. Grinning, he sprinkles salt on the wet patch of skin before putting the shaker down and grabbing a wedge of lime from the counter behind me. “Lick the salt. Take the shot. Suck on the lime.” “Lick, shoot, suck.” I nod. “I can do that.” His nostrils flare and his pupils dilate, turning those blue-green eyes dark. “I think I’d like to see you try.” I swallow hard. Is Easton Connor coming on to me? I don’t want to be the idiot who believes that could be true. I don’t want to be the dumb fat girl who fell for the practical joke because she believed a guy like Easton could be attracted to her. I don’t know how long I stand there trying to decide, but my skin tingles where he licked, and my mouth has gone dry. “Want me to go first?” he asks, his voice a little husky. I nod. He takes my wrist and brings it to his mouth, licking off the salt. Shocks of pleasure roll down my spine and settle into a riot of butterflies in my stomach. He doesn’t even take the shot glass from me, just wraps his hand around mine and leads the glass to his mouth so he can shoot it back. Then he pops the lime in his mouth and makes a goofy face at me as he sucks the juice. “Got it?” he asks, still squinting from the sourness. “I think I can do that.” He refills the tequila then looks over his shoulder again. “Why are you so worried about Carter seeing?” I ask. “He knows I’ve had alcohol before. He’s just being a prude about the shot.” “I don’t want him pissed at me,” he says, shrugging. “God knows he did worse than take a couple of shots when he was sixteen, but—” “I’m seventeen. Eighteen in a few months.” He slowly turns his attention away from the back door and back to me. “My timing is shit.” “Timing for what?” His eyes are so intense on mine, but it’s a good kind of intensity. Like he sees me. Has anyone ever looked at me before? Really looked? “Nothing.” He lets out a puff of air and shakes his head. “Then Carter really would kill me.” I laugh. “You’re ridiculous.” “What? Why do you say that?” “You just got drafted into the NFL, and you’re acting like you’re attracted to me.” His gaze skims over me, from my hair all the way down to my bare feet and the bright pink polish on my toes. “What does one have to do with the other?” I don’t understand what’s happening here. Am I dreaming? Has he had more to drink than I realized? I throw the shot back before I can lose my nerve, totally forgetting the salt. I shudder. “That’s awful!” He laughs. “You did it wrong. Are you always this terrible with directions?” Only when you’re here. Only when you’re looking at me like this and making me think I can have things I can’t. But as awful as the taste was, warmth blooms in my chest. It’s more intense than the effects of the glass of wine I drank with Easter dinner, and I do like that. “Now I risk getting you drunk if I make you do it the right way.” “I’m not drunk.” I shake my head. “I don’t feel anything.” He grunts. “Give it a minute.” He steps around me and stands at the counter, pouring himself another shot. I guess he’s not going to drink it from my glass this time. It’s dumb to be disappointed. He doesn’t bother with the salt or lime, just throws it back. Doesn’t even grimace. Then he braces his arms on the counter and hangs his head. I’d have to be emotionally stunted not to feel the change in his mood. He just went from playful flirt to morose jock in the span of a blink. “What’s wrong?” He shrugs. “Nothing.” “Liar.” He drags a hand through his hair and finally turns to me. He leans back against the counter. “Can you keep a secret?” “Of course.” He hesitates a beat, and I see the emotions playing across his face—he’s trying to decide if he can trust me with this, or if he even wants to own up to whatever it is. “I never told anyone when I caught you with that dirty magazine when you were thirteen.” His eyes widen and he grins. “Oh, fuck. I’d completely forgotten about that. Jesus.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay, fair enough. That kind of discretion so young is definitely meaningful.” “Meaningful? Are you kidding me? That’s preteen blackmail gold, and I never used it. Not even when you wouldn’t dump that girl you took to senior prom.” His forehead wrinkles, and I can tell he’s trying to remember his date. “Hilary,” I remind him. “I didn’t know you wanted me to dump her.” “I didn’t realize I needed to spell it out for you. I told you she was a bitch and you deserved better.” “Honestly, I was eighteen, and she was hot and willing. I probably didn’t care that she was a bitch.” “She called me a fat tagalong.” “What?” The tops of his ears turn pink—a tell I learned long ago means he’s angry. “You never told me that.” I shrug. When Easton was with Hilary, I was fourteen. I’d foolishly believed that he wouldn’t notice I was fat if no one ever told him. Not the dumbest thing I’ve let myself believe in the name of loving him, but not a delusion I’m particularly proud of either. “You’re not fat,” he says. I fold my arms and arch a brow. “Come on, Easton. I might be naive and shamefully inexperienced for a girl my age, but my eyes work just fine.” He holds up a finger. “One, so do mine, and you’re not fat. You’re not skinny. You have a nice body.” A nice body. The words are both the balm and the blade. On the one hand, I’m intelligent and rational enough to know I should be glad he thinks of my body in better terms than I do. Intellectually, I know nice is as good as it’s going to get for a girl like me. On the other hand, part of me wanted to believe I saw heat in his eyes earlier. As irrational as it is, I want to believe he might think I’m beautiful, even while I know I’d never believe it if he used those words. Emotions are dumb. He holds up another finger. “And two, I’m going to need you to tell me what you mean by shamefully inexperienced.” “Absolutely not.” “Please?” My face is on fire. Why did I say that? I would be fine if no one ever knew the extent of my innocence, but Easton is the last person I want to admit it to. “Forget I said anything.” He steps closer. “I’ll tell you my secret if you tell me yours.” “You go first,” I blurt. Because who am I kidding? Anyone who had to guess would know I’ve never kissed anyone. It’s not like I’ve ever had a boyfriend. His eyes soften and something like pain flashes over his features for a beat. “I wish the Demons hadn’t drafted me.” I don’t know what I expected him to say, but that came out of left field. Easton’s dreamed of the NFL his whole life, and tonight we’re celebrating him being selected in the first freaking round of the draft. Now he’s telling me that achieving this lifelong dream is what has him down. “Why’d you enter the draft if you didn’t want to be picked up? Carter said you could’ve waited until next year and finished school.” “I wanted to be drafted. I suck at school and I . . .” He chews on the inside of his cheek. “I wanted to be drafted, but I was hoping Chicago or Detroit would draft me. I’m scared to move so far from home. Which I realize is dumb, but . . .” “It’s not dumb.” Easton had his pick of colleges, and he went to Starling College in Grand Rapids. They have a good football team, but he could have gone to Florida or LSU—teams whose football programs are practically NFL breeding grounds. I figured it was because he wanted to stay close to home, but it never occurred to me that those preferences would hold true three years later. Only, this time the choice is out of his hands. “You can visit, though, right? A contract that big means you can fly home as often as you want.” His gaze locks on his feet. “Right. Of course. It’s stupid, I know.” “It’s really not.” “Don’t tell anyone. I don’t want to come across like the ungrateful rookie or like I’m too immature to handle the move.” “I promise.” I squeeze his wrist, but I’m suddenly all too aware of the fact that I’m touching him. His skin is warm under my fingertips. I can feel his strength and the power of his big hands. How many times have I imagined those hands on me? I jerk away, but he grabs my hand before I can get far. “It’s your turn,” he says, threading his fingers through mine. What is he doing? “Why do you think you’re shamefully inexperienced, Shayleigh? Your friends aren’t pressuring you to have sex, are they?” Sex. Oh my God. He thought I meant sex. Now my dumb secret feels even more mortifying, but he’s still holding my hand, and even as embarrassment warms my cheeks, I don’t want him to let go. “No one’s pressuring me.” The back door clangs closed as Carter pushes into the kitchen. Easton jumps back and drops my hand. “What are you two talking about in here?” my brother asks. He crosses the kitchen between us and opens the fridge. “Don’t you know the party’s outside?” Easton’s throat bobs and he tucks his hands in his pockets. “We’re just catching up.” Carter pulls out another beer and uses the opener on the wall to pull off the cap. “Well, I hope you’re finished, because people are starting to wonder if you already moved to L.A. or something.” “Relax, Carter,” I tell him. “The night is young.” He frowns as he looks back and forth between me and Easton. “I don’t like you two being alone in here together.” I snort and for the millionth time in my life wonder what it would be like to not have five overly protective brothers. “Why not?” Carter stares at Easton for a long beat. Easton gives a subtle shake of his head and Carter sighs. “Because you’re my little sister, and this punk breaks hearts in his sleep.” “My heart is fine.” Liar, liar. Does Carter know how I feel about Easton? I’ve never told anyone. “We’re just talking.” Carter taps Easton’s arm with the neck of his beer. “You. Outside. We’re celebrating your news, after all. And anyway, that redhead Tri-Delt showed up and is looking for you.” Easton heads toward the back with my brother. “Why didn’t you say so sooner?” He opens the door and turns back to wink at me before heading toward the lakeside bonfire with my brother. I guess Easton doesn’t want to know my secret after all. I dodged a bullet. So why do I feel so disappointed?

Easton “You have to fucking stop.” Carter stomps away from the house and toward the bonfire blazing on the beach. “Stop what?” “I already told you she’s off-limits.” The Jackson brothers have been telling me for years that their sister is off-limits. It just didn’t matter until last summer. I’d been busy with school and hadn’t seen Shayleigh in months when I came out to the Jackson family cabin with Carter. Shay was here and suddenly she was . . . more. It’s not like I didn’t know she was pretty before. She’s always been pretty. She’s also always been really fucking special to me. Something about Shay brings me peace when I need it the most. She’s the only person I’ve ever met who can chill my anxiety just by sitting next to me. But sometime between when I’d seen her at Christmas and when I came out here last summer, she went from the pretty-but-quiet little sister of my best friend to the kind of beautiful it’s hard to look away from. Or maybe it happened long before last summer, and the swimsuit brought it to my attention. Because Shayleigh Jackson in a swimsuit, with her long legs, soft thighs, and full breasts—no idea when that happened. She wasn’t simply the Jackson sister anymore. She was a fucking siren, and I was going to drown trying to resist her. With her dark hair falling around her shoulders and that wide smile and easy laugh, how could I not notice? And I noticed a few too many times, because Carter caught me staring and tore into me. Carter looks to the house then to me, and I can practically see him calculating the pros and cons of locking his sister away to protect her virtue. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt her,” I say. Carter grunts. “Somehow, that’s not comforting.” He sighs. “She’s seventeen.” “I know.” “And you’re moving to California next month.” “I know.” “She’s so smart, East. She’s only a junior, and she’s already got colleges chasing her. Did you know she’s fluent in French?” Did you know she’s incredibly fucking insecure and has no idea what her value is? I don’t ask. I know I shouldn’t be the man to show her just how beautiful she is, but I want to be anyway. “Does she . . . does she have a boyfriend?” I ask. Carter’s glare would melt a lesser man, but I turn up my palms. “I’m not asking your permission to take her virginity. I’m asking if she has a boyfriend. This is normal conversation.” “I can’t believe you just said that,” he growls. “What?” “I don’t even want you thinking about my sister’s virginity.” “Again, I’m asking about a boyfriend.” “No. She doesn’t. She’s too focused on school to date, I think.” Or she’s too convinced that she’s . . . What did Hilary call her? A fat tagalong? Jesus. If I’d known, I never would have let that fly. Carter studies me. “Why?” One word, hundreds of warnings. I shrug. “Just curious how much she tells you.” Carter frowns. “Wait. What’s that supposed to mean? Do you know something? Does she have a boyfriend?” “You really are the protective big brother cliché.” I press my palm between his shoulder blades and give him a good shove toward the beach. “The party is waiting.” As I suspected, it’s less than fifteen minutes until Carter is completely distracted and I can head back to the house without him noticing. I used the time to circulate and listen to everyone’s congrats. Carter’s right. I should be out there. This is my celebration. Lifelong dream accomplished. But there’s only one person I want to celebrate with. One person with killer soft curves and a beautiful smile who owes me a secret. Shay’s not in the kitchen where we left her. Did she go down to the bonfire and I missed her? I check the basement. Nothing. I head back to the kitchen and grab a beer from the fridge, ready to give up. Then I hear the screech of old pipes and realize a shower is shutting off. Grinning, I stride toward the stairs and climb to the second floor. By the time Shay pushes out of the bathroom in a puff of steam, I’m leaning against the opposite wall, arms folded. She jumps. “Jesus, Easton. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” I don’t answer. My own heart is having some issues. Mainly, it’s racing like it’s trying to force me forward with its momentum—toward her. I did not think this through. She’s in a fluffy light blue robe. It’s tied at the waist but gapes open at her chest, giving me a view of the swell of her cleavage. Her wet hair is combed out of her face and falls in light waves down her back. It would be so easy to tug on the waistband of her robe, to pull her to me and slide my hands inside, to cup her breasts and lower my mouth to hers. Easy, but a fucking death sentence. “Easton!” She tugs the top of her robe tighter. “Ohmygod. Were you just looking at my breasts?” I take a deep breath and drag my gaze back up to meet hers. “I love that you call them breasts.” “What else am I supposed to call them?” I shrug. “Most girls your age would dodge calling them anything at all. Or maybe vaguely refer to their chest.” “I think you’re wrong. I’m not twelve anymore.” I hope my arched brow conveys the obviously I’m not allowed to say. She swallows. “And, well . . . I guess I’m not afraid of words.” What are you afraid of? It’s a question I won’t ask. Not when it would invite her to turn it back on me. I don’t want to talk about my fears any further than I did in the kitchen. Not tonight. Not when she’s so close and soon she’ll be so damn far away. I didn’t anticipate it would bother me so much, but the realization eats away at my gut. “That’s good,” I say. “Because you owe me a few.” She blinks. “What do I owe you?” “Words.” “Must you speak in riddles?” “Your secret. I told you mine, so now it’s your turn.” Her face pales, and I wonder just how innocent she is that she doesn’t want to talk about it. “You already guessed it. I’m gonna go get dressed.” She turns toward her room, and I grab her wrist to stop her. “We can do this one of two ways,” I say, and she slowly turns back to face me. “You can just tell me, which would be fair, since that was our deal. Or”—I lift the beer I grabbed from the fridge—“we can play a game.” She studies the bottle. “What kind of game?” “Never Have I Ever.” She snorts and folds her arms. “Seriously? As I mentioned a minute ago, I’m not twelve anymore.” I turn up the palm of my free hand, moving it up and down opposite the beer in the other hand, as if I’m weighing them against each other. “Your choice.” “Fine, the game, but I’m getting dressed first.” “If you must,” I say. I can’t stop grinning. Damn it. She does that to me. I wait in the hall while she disappears into her bedroom, my eyes fixed on the door the whole time. Carter would definitely kick my ass if he knew I was about to play a drinking game with his little sister. But it’s not like we’re playing with tequila. One beer split between the two of us can’t get me in too much trouble. That said, if she’s as innocent as she claims, I’ll be the one doing most of the drinking. A minute later, and the door swings open. Shay’s gotten dressed, but she’s not in her normal clothes. She’s wearing pajamas. These aren’t the kind of pajamas that are meant to seduce—they’re gray cotton. A long-sleeved T-shirt with a lace cutout down each arm, and matching shorts that show just enough leg to remind me there’s more that I want to see. She catches me looking and scowls. “My clothes smelled like smoke from the bonfire, and the only other outfit I have with me is my work uniform for tomorrow.” “I wasn’t complaining.” “I know.” She frowns. “You’re weird tonight.” “Nah, I’m weird every night. You’ve just forgotten because you barely ever see me anymore.” “True.” She motions me to follow her, and when I freeze, she says, “I’m not going to jump you if you come into my room, weirdo.” Damn shame. I swallow hard and step inside “her” bedroom. This isn’t the Jacksons’ full-time home, but their vacation place. They rent out this cabin to tourists—a ten-year plan to get it paid off sooner, Carter told me—so it’s definitely not as personal as her room at home, but it is hers. As the only girl, she’s the one Jackson sibling to get a room of her own, and there are little decorative touches in here that show this room is truly Shay’s. The bookshelf overflowing with well-loved paperbacks, the map of Paris that hangs over the queen-sized bed, and the glasses that sit on the bedside table—no doubt for reading after she takes her contacts out. I remember when she got glasses for the first time. She was so excited. But then some jerk at school teased her about them, and she came home with them tucked into her backpack and told her mom she wouldn’t wear them anymore. She lost that fight, of course, and wore glasses until her mom relented and let her get contacts when she started middle school. “I can’t keep much here,” she says as I look around. “We still rent it out sometimes. Less now, though.” “Carter used to be jealous that you got your own room.” She shrugs. “Well, I used to be jealous that my brothers had each other and I didn’t have a single sister.” “And now?” She sweeps her hair over one shoulder and starts braiding the wet locks. “Now I’m grateful to be the only girl. I get along better with boys than I do with girls anyway.” Her fingers work efficiently, and she ties off the braid at the end. “Maybe that would be different if you had sisters.” “Maybe, but I think my family is perfect just the way it is.” She makes a face and seems to rethink her words. “No, not perfect at all. Just perfect for me, I guess.” A pang slices through my chest. Jealousy. Their family is incredible, and somehow they all know it. I don’t have any siblings—none that I know of, at least, though there’s no telling how many kids my father has brought into this world and walked away from. I don’t even have a dad who gives a shit. Just Mom, and I’m grateful for her every day. Mom and I are partners; the Jacksons are a team. When life feels like a constant blitz from the defense, it’s hard not to be jealous of the people who are making plays with a solid O-line—even when your partner is the best in the game. “What are you thinking about?” Shay asks. I shake my head. “Just how lucky you all are.” I let out a breath. “And how much I hate my father.” Shay’s expression turns sad. “Have you talked to him?” “Oh, yeah. He was watching the draft and called right away.” Anger flashes in her eyes. “Of course he did.” “‘Congratulations, son,’” I say in my mocking impression of my father’s voice. “‘I knew you could do it. Aren’t you glad you got my athleticism and not your mother’s? Now let me talk out my ass about NFL contracts like I know anything at all.’” “Fucker.” Shay’s uncharacteristic curse makes me smile. “Exactly.” “Did he ask for money?” “Not yet. I’m sure he will. But I’ve trained my whole life to tell him no, just like he told Mom no when she asked for help.” Her fingers brush mine, and I look down to see her taking the beer from my hand. She takes a long drink from it, her throat bobbing as she swallows, then hands the bottle to me. “To knowing when to say no.” I take a sip and nod before holding up the bottle. It’s nearly half drained. “We don’t have much to work with here.” She shrugs. “You’d better make good use of your turns, then.” “So we’re playing that we take turns saying something and drink if we’ve done it?” She nods. “Which is why I had to drink so much to start. That beer is pretty much all yours.” “We’ll see about that.” I smile and lift it to my lips. I imagined us sitting on the floor, face to face as we took turns, but this is better. Standing, I can be closer to her. “Never have I ever celebrated Father’s Day with my dad.” She snags the beer from my hand. “That’s cheap.” She takes a sip then studies me for a long beat before saying, “Never have I ever had sex.” Cutting right to the chase. “There’s no rush, Shay. Seriously. Don’t let anyone make you feel like—” She clears her throat and presses the cold bottle into my hand. “Drink.” “Right.” I take a sip, mindful of keeping it small so we can keep this going. “Never have I ever had a crush on a brother’s friend.” “You don’t have any brothers!” I shrug. “I don’t make the rules.” She takes a drink. She has five brothers, four of them older than her. The possibilities are endless, but there’s only one possibility I’m interested in hearing her confess to. “Who?” She laughs. “That is not how this game is played, cheater.” She taps a finger to her lips. “Never have I ever gone skinny-dipping.” “Seriously? Your family owns a house on a lake, and you haven’t even once?” She makes a face. “With my brothers? Hard pass.” She hands the beer back to me. “Fine.” I watch her over the bottle as I tilt it to my lips and swallow. “Never have I ever gotten Shay off with my hand.” She folds her arms, all smugness, until the logic of my statement sinks in and red blossoms in her cheeks. “Are you seriously asking me if I have masturbated?” My cock has been half hard since she stepped out of the shower, but at that, it goes the rest of the way. “Again with the precise word choice.” I shrug. “And in all fairness, you could turn around and do the same to me.” She rolls her eyes and takes the beer. “I’m not wasting a turn like that.” She drinks. I thought I knew what I was doing when I said it, but the image of her in bed flashes through my mind as clear as a photo—her hand between her legs, pleasure on her face, all that dark hair splayed across the pillow as she arches into her own touch. So fucking hot. My cock strains against the fly of my jeans. I’m playing with fire right now, but I can’t muster any motivation to back down. “Not all girls do, you know,” I say. “Some are afraid to touch themselves.” “Yeah, well, I was raised around five boys who talk about masturbation as if it’s a sport half the time and as if it’s as essential as water the other half. I didn’t exactly have to go up against some massive stigma the first time I tried it.” “And how was it?” I swallow. “When you . . .” She snorts. “You are twenty-one years old, and you can’t say the word masturbated?” “Why would I when it sounds so much hotter when you say it?” I grin at her immediate and vivid blush, then nod to the bottle. “It’s your turn.” She lifts her chin and holds my gaze as she says, “Never have I ever had someone other than myself get me off.” “Why not?” She shoves the bottle into my hand. “Quit cheating with your unsanctioned questions and drink.” Just how innocent is she? I look at the bottle. There’s hardly a full drink left. Mindful of this, I take a sip and then push all my chips in. “Never have I ever kissed anyone.” “You filthy liar.” Grinning, I tilt the beer to my lips, taking the drink I owe for speaking a never that I have done. I arch a brow. Waiting. Because surely this beautiful, smart, funny girl has been kissed before. Surely, some guy saw her for what she was and won her over so he could taste those pink lips. But when I offer her the beer, she shakes her head. “Never,” she whispers. “Pretty lame, huh?” “It’s not lame. Just . . . surprising.” She scoffs. “What’s so surprising about it?” I open my mouth, but before I can find the words, I’m interrupted by the sound of doors closing, footsteps, and laughter booming from downstairs. The party’s moved inside. That means Shay’s five brothers are downstairs while I’m standing here so close to her, thinking about what it would be like to be the first man to kiss those lips. “Do you . . .” I swallow. Her lips part, and I swear there’s some invisible cord between us that goes taut, draws me forward. “Do you want to?” Her brow wrinkles as she cranes her neck to look into my eyes. “Want to what?” I dip my head, lean my forehead against hers. “Be kissed.” She presses her hand to my chest, and my breath catches as I wait for her to close the distance—those final inches between our lips. Instead, she shoves me hard. “Out!” I stumble before catching my balance. “What the hell?” “I don’t want your pity kiss, East.” She’s avoiding my eyes, but I don’t miss the hurt that flashes across her face. “It wouldn’t be—” She squeezes her eyes shut. “Just go.” “Easton? You up here?” Jake’s voice. Fuuuuuck. Not now. Shay steps around me and opens the door. “What’s he doing up there?” Carter calls from the stairs. “Shay? That rich asshole with you?” Jake pokes his head around the doorframe. “You two decent?” Shay rolls her eyes. “Come in, Jake.” Jake’s all smiles with a side of drunken stumble as he comes into the room. “There’s the guest of honor. What are you two doing up here?” “Telling secrets and braiding each other’s hair.” Shay’s smile is tight. “What else?” Jake chuckles. Unlike Carter, he’s completely clueless about my attraction to Shay. He grabs the empty beer from my hand. “You need more!” Carter rushes into the room. “What’s going on in here?” “I found him,” Jake says, slinging his arm around my shoulders and leading me out of the room. I look back at Shay, but she’s busy scanning the books on her bookshelf. Could she truly not feel this thing between us? Pity kiss? The fuck? How could she even think that was what I was offering? “You okay?” Carter asks her. “What were you two doing?” Jake and I are already at the stairs when I hear her say, “We were fucking, Carter. Doing the dirty with the door open and my brothers downstairs. Can’t you tell? I’m going to turn up pregnant with Easton’s love child any day now.” “You’re not funny,” Carter says, but I can hear the tension leave his voice. The typical Shay smartass response was possibly the only one that would put his mind at ease. When I turn back to them, she’s pushed Carter out of her room and is closing the door after him. Never been kissed. I can hardly wrap my brain around it.

Shay I can’t focus on my book, but I can’t sleep either. Who could with the party roaring downstairs? I roll over and bury my face in a pillow, muffling my frustrated scream. I can’t believe I told Easton I’ve never been kissed. I could’ve lied. He never would’ve known. But the worst part is that I also admitted to having a crush on one of my brothers’ friends. I won’t make the same mistake if he asks about that again. Sometimes we have to lie to protect ourselves, and I know better than to leave my heart unguarded against Easton Connor. I clutch a second pillow to my chest, my skin all tingly with memories of him in my room—standing so close and passing the beer to me while we traded secrets. His body so close as he touched his forehead to mine and asked if I wanted him to kiss me. Could it hurt to close my eyes and let myself imagine what it would’ve been like? I’m totally unworthy, and he’s a fucking football star—now a first-round NFL draft pick—but it would hardly be the first time I’ve indulged such a fantasy. In an alternate reality, I could have accepted that kiss. I imagine myself as the tall, thin beauty my mom was at my age, and I imagine him as just Easton—the boy who patched up my knee when I fell off my bike and who told me jokes when I was sad. In that alternate reality, it wouldn’t have been a pity kiss at all but something he wanted as much as I did. He wouldn’t have asked with words. He would’ve asked with the slow descent of his mouth to mine, and I wouldn’t have pulled away. He would’ve tasted like beer and been gentle, and I would’ve been a naturally good kisser. So good, he would’ve groaned into my mouth like the heroes in romance novels do. I flip over in bed again, whimpering in frustration. My bedroom door clicks, and I stare at it in the darkness. Is Carter checking on me? I don’t know why he’s suddenly so worried about me and Easton being alone together. Probably because I got boobs. Finally. “Shay? You awake?” The husky whisper is a tripwire in my stomach, causing all my internal organs to detonate before clumsily righting themselves. I roll to my side, watching the door as I hold the pillow to my chest. “Yeah. Everything okay?” The sliver of hallway light grows as East steps into the room. “Could I sit in here with you?” Oh, shit. I know that tone in his voice—the subtle tremor of anxiety that sometimes hits East so hard he can’t function. I would do anything to make it better, but luckily, it doesn’t take much. I scoot to the opposite side of the mattress and pat the bed beside me. Easton releases a long breath, and the light shrinks again to nothing as he shuts the door behind him. He lies down on his back on top of the covers. “Sorry,” he whispers. I put my hand on his chest, right on top of his racing heart. “I’m here. It’s fine.” He places a hand on top of mine. “Thank you.” Gone are the days of self-deprecation for these spells of anxiety. The first time I witnessed one of his attacks, he was a junior in high school and it was the night before he was supposed to take the SATs. I found him in the corner of our basement, shivering and sweating. It freaked me out to see him so panicked. He couldn’t catch his breath and his skin was so hot that I thought he had a fever. I had no idea what to do, so I just sat down beside him and held his hand. Eventually, he calmed enough to tell me it was an anxiety attack, and not his first. School was always a trigger for him—especially anything that made him feel like he might lose a chance to play football. After that night, it wasn’t uncommon for him to seek me out during the tough moments. For whatever reason, I’ve always been able to calm him. He told me he was comforted to have me beside him whenever he had to suffer through a full-blown attack. “Just breathe.” I scoot closer, keeping my hand on his chest under his. I hear him fighting to control his breathing, and his heartbeat slows incrementally. “Thank you.” “Try to sleep, East. Everything seems worse in the middle of the night.” I stay close, willing my calm to seep into him until the steady, even beat under my hand lulls me to sleep. I fade in and out of consciousness, dreaming of our drinking game, of our conversation from earlier, my brain replaying and rewriting the words as his grip on my hand loosens. And when the words I needed earlier tonight register in my brain, I don’t know if they’re from this Easton or from my dream. “It wouldn’t have been a pity kiss.” ***Easton: Thank you for last night. You are the literal chill to my crazy. I clutch my phone in my hand as I read and reread the text. I fell asleep next to Easton, but when I woke, the morning sun slanting through the curtains, he was gone. I thought I’d find him downstairs with the rest of the hungover crew, but apparently he had to drive back to Jackson Harbor before anyone was up. I didn’t expect to hear anything from him until the next time he came home but . . . he texted. I try not to let it mean more than it does. Me: You’re not crazy. You have a lot on your shoulders. It’s understandable that your anxiety would flare up. Easton: It’s easier to manage it when you’re there. I squeeze my eyes shut. Does he have any idea what words like this do to me? The hope they give? Easton: Do you think your parents would let you finish high school in L.A.? I’d give you room and board in exchange for your chilling effect in my life. Me: Oh, absolutely. Let me just go tell Dad. He’ll be totally cool with his only daughter moving to L.A. to live with and serve a pro football player. Easton: Serve? Please don’t say it that way to your dad. I like my face as it is. Me: Say it like what? Easton: Like I’m buying sexual favors. Me: I think we’ve established I’m not the girl for THAT job. Easton: I’m saying I wouldn’t want to pay you. Me: If you did, you’d demand a refund. Because, if you recall our conversation, I’m CLUELESS. Easton: No. I don’t want to pay for your sexual favors for the same reason you don’t want a pity kiss. My cheeks are on fire. Luckily, I’m alone in my bedroom and no one can see my awkward nerves at having this conversation with Easton. Is this a conversation, or is it . . . flirting? I stare at the screen while trying to decide how to reply. His next text comes through before I can. Easton: Will you come see my new place when I get settled? Yes! Yes! Yes! I don’t trust myself to reply. I’m trying to be cool, but my insides have zero chill when Easton is pouring on the attention like this. Easton: I’m not sure how I’m supposed to start this new life without my rock to ground me when my crazy comes out. Me: Talking to your doctor about a prescription might be a start. And you know I’m not joking. Easton: I know. I just don’t want to need it. Me: There’s no shame in it. Easton: Thank you. For that. For everything. I reread those words over and over, my heart swelling so big there’s no room for me to draw breath into my lungs. Maybe I’ll never have Easton the way I wish I could, but at least I have this. Whatever it is. My brothers are lounging in the family room, barely awake and worshipping their coffee mugs, and the kitchen is clean, the counters sparkling. There’s no sign of the dirty cups and beer bottles I expected to find littering the main floor. Instead, the only evidence of last night’s celebration is the three black trash bags piled by the garage door. “You all got to work early,” I say to the boys. Jake rubs his eyes. “Not us. East felt bad about leaving us with the mess, so he cleaned before he left.” “Nice.” “Is it just me, or has he been acting weird since the draft?” Jake asks. Carter squeezes his eyes shut. “He’s acting like he doesn’t want to go. Which is ridiculous.” “It’s just a lot. I think he’s still processing,” I say. Carter frowns at me. “Since when are you two besties?” “We’re not besties. I’m just a good listener.” Carter grunts and mumbles something about how I’d better be “listening and nothing more,” and my cheeks heat. I don’t want to pay for your sexual favors for the same reason you don’t want a pity kiss. Maybe that just means he doesn’t want to pay for sex. Maybe I’m being a naive girl with a crush to think it means he wants me.

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