After three years of a completely loveless marriage of convenience. The day I finally handed him the divorce papers. He simply nodded and said, “Okay.” But right above his head, a glowing text box—like a Twitch chat—suddenly appeared: [You psychotic yandere. You already had the custom-sized chains and toys installed in the basement for her, why are you pretending to be a gentleman?!] [Oh, girl… the second you sign those papers, you’re going to wake up in a soundproof room negative-distance away from the guy you hate most.] [Yesss! The captivity arc is finally happening! This is gonna be so hot! His true demon form literally has barbed spikes! She did so much evil shit, she totally deserves to have her eyes roll into the back of her head…] [Ugh, if she had just given him an ounce of affection over the last three years, this crazy obsessive bastard would have happily been her loyal dog. Now his love has mutated into toxic hatred, and she’s screwed…] My hand holding the pen violently shook. I slowly looked up at the completely expressionless man sitting across from me: “Um… actually, let’s hold off on the divorce for a bit.” 01 “What?” Liam Sterling’s thin eyelids lifted slightly, his tone completely indifferent. His utter lack of emotion made me seriously doubt if I was hallucinating those floating chat comments. I took a deep breath, set down the pen I was using to sign the papers, and scrambled to find an excuse: “I suddenly don’t want to get divorced anymore. You know what they say, even one day as husband and wife creates a lifelong bond! We’ve been together for three years, we’re totally used to each other, and honestly… I think I’m a little dependent on you…” By the end of my sentence, his expression had shifted to pure confusion. My confidence evaporated, and my voice trailed off into a squeak. My marriage to Liam was a complete accident. Five years ago, ever since a broke, naive intern named Chloe showed up at our company, my perfectly smooth, privileged life spiraled into an absolute disaster. My childhood sweetheart, whom I had been promised to since birth, fell madly in love with her. He publicly broke off our engagement, humiliating me in front of our entire social circle. Even my parents—who had always spoiled me rotten—inexplicably took Chloe’s side. I was consumed by a blinding, psychotic jealousy. Desperate to prove I wasn’t just “unwanted garbage,” I threw a massive tantrum and impulsively married Liam Sterling. Liam was the ruthless, terrifying, and universally feared billionaire CEO of the city. He was also rumored to be a literal demon. For the three years of our marriage, I made it my personal mission to destroy Chloe’s life. But every single time, I failed miserably. Either Liam would intervene and stop me at the very last second. Or my plans would miraculously backfire and blow up in my own face. Recently, my plot to frame Chloe had been completely exposed. My reputation was in ashes, and almost all my friends had blocked my number. I knew Liam despised my toxic, malicious behavior, and that he secretly favored Chloe. I figured, before he could kick me to the curb like everyone else, I’d beat him to the punch. At least if I dumped him, I’d salvage a tiny shred of dignity. When I texted him asking for a divorce, I knew he was in the middle of a massive board meeting. But he called me back almost instantly. “Give me one reason.” His voice echoed through the phone. I gave a malicious, petty laugh: “Last time you didn’t close the bathroom door all the way, and I accidentally saw your tail. It looked slimy and absolutely disgusting.” So now… when I claimed I was “dependent” on him? Forget Liam, even I didn’t believe my own bullshit. “Are you absolutely certain you don’t want to divorce?” Not receiving the cold sneer I was expecting, his deep, magnetic voice pulled me back to reality. “I don’t want to divorce right now.” I watched Liam’s face intently. There wasn’t a single trace of joy in his expression. “Whatever you want.” After a few seconds of silence, he picked up the half-signed divorce papers from the desk… and fed them directly into the paper shredder. The glowing comments popped up again: [Wait, what is happening to the evil villainess? Did she suddenly grow a brain?] [Is Blair finally figuring it out? Is she trying to cling to the second male lead for survival? Too late for that, sweetie. His hatred for you has already festered into something terrifying.] [Who said it’s too late?! The timing is absolutely flawless! Did you guys not see the psychopathic, euphoric smirk on his face when he shredded those papers?! Also, the paper shredder is sending me. This man was absolutely terrified she was going to change her mind and sign them again.] [Keep going, villainess! Do not stop! Gas the pedal! The second male lead is an obsessive, yandere demon with zero morals, and you’re a toxic villainess. You two are a match made in hell! Seduce him, and then you can easily team up and destroy the female lead!] 02 I spent the entire afternoon processing my reality. I finally understood. I was living inside a fluffy, billionaire romance novel. Chloe was the sweet, innocent female lead. And I was the toxic, malicious villainess who was destined to be locked in a basement by the second male lead until I died. No wonder everyone who even got close to Chloe became instantly, inexplicably obsessed with her, as if the entire universe revolved around her. My brain was completely fried from the information overload. After showering that night, I picked up my phone to relax, only to find an apocalyptic tsunami of hate comments. Almost every single one of my social media accounts had been nuked by the internet. Everyone was screaming for justice for Chloe. My ex-fiancé, Noah, sent me a text: [Blair, don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You’re just using these disgusting tactics to force me to leave Chloe and get back together with you.] [Heh. You went through all this trouble just to see me, right? Fine. You win. Friday afternoon. Our usual spot.] I didn’t reply. I blocked his number and locked my phone. The comments in the air updated: [I’m not trying to defend her, but the villainess going crazy actually makes total sense. Imagine being a proud, pampered billionaire heiress, and literally overnight, your parents, your fiancé, and all your friends get brainwashed into ignoring you and obsessing over some random girl. I’d go psychotic too.] [She has the looks and the money! Why did she have to lose to a brain-dead female lead who probably doesn’t even know how to use Microsoft Word?! This novel has zero logic…] [If I were the author, I’d slap the delusional female lead, double-slap the arrogant male lead, and lock the villainess and the yandere second male lead in a room together. Make them have eight kids before they’re allowed to leave. Thoughts?] “…” Absolutely terrible thoughts. After calming down, I got ready for bed. I had just taken off my robe when… The bedroom door suddenly swung open. Liam’s gaze traveled slowly from the top of my head, stopping dead on a specific spot. I frantically grabbed my robe and threw it back on. “My apologies. The door wasn’t locked.” Liam’s eyes burned with a scorching intensity. His Adam’s apple bobbed heavily, and beneath his crisp dress shirt, patches of obsidian-black scales faintly materialized on his skin. When a demon is aroused… their true form involuntarily reveals itself… The words “Get out” were literally on the tip of my tongue. Then I saw the comments: [I can already predict the villainess is going to give him a disgusted, superior glare and tell him to get out. Such a gorgeous girl, so aggressively determined to get herself killed. This is exactly how the second male lead’s love was slowly ground into dust.] [Blair, baby, please be nice to your husband. If you slap him now, your lips are going to suffer the consequences in the basement later. Tearing the corners of your mouth is really gonna hurt.] Thanks to the helpful warning from the interdimensional peanut gallery, I swallowed my pride, did a violent 180, and offered Liam a faint, sweet smile: “It’s okay, Hub—” Liam, who had already taken a step back to leave the room, froze completely. His eyes darkened dangerously, waiting for me to finish the sentence. Hiss. I blame the chat for constantly spamming the word “Husband.” It totally influenced my brain… [I AM DYING OF ANXIETY! SAY IT! JUST SAY IT! If you call him ‘Husband,’ he will literally give you his life! The female lead means absolutely nothing compared to you!] [Can we please stop pretending the second male lead is just some pathetic simp? After three years of emotional abuse, he definitely hates the villainess way more than he loves her. Besides, have you all forgotten?! He’s the one who locked her in the basement until she died, specifically to protect the female lead!] The comments split into a violent, two-sided war. I raised an eyebrow. I really wanted to test the validity of these spoilers. Leaning into the tension of the moment, I purred: “Liam, do I have a good body?” “Average.” He lowered his eyes, his expression completely unreadable. [What a fake, arrogant prick. If you keep denying it, you’re never going to get a wife. No wonder she’s been married to you for three years and still preferred the male lead. You kind of deserve it, bro.] [Wait, am I hallucinating? Did the villainess actually not look disgusted by him today?! ARE MY TOXIC VILLAINS FINALLY GETTING THE ROMANCE THEY DESERVE???] Refusing to back down, I took a step forward, teasing him: “You didn’t even look. How do you know it’s average?” “I don’t need to look.” Liam’s voice was freezing cold, but his long fingers involuntarily curled into tight fists. His knuckles were turning a faint, flushed pink. He was literally gripping the seams of his pants so hard they looked ready to tear. I never noticed this before, but when this terrifying man gets flustered, it’s actually incredibly cute. I noticed his collar was slightly crooked. I reached out to adjust it for him. “Don’t touch me.” A low, icy warning rumbled from above my head. Very aggressive. I froze. I suddenly remembered the argument playing out in the chat. Right. For the past three years, I had never given Liam a single shred of affection. Meanwhile, Chloe acted like a warm little ray of sunshine, constantly encouraging him to step out of the shadows. It was only logical that Liam would despise me. I let out a self-deprecating laugh and pulled my hand back mid-air. “Make sure you close the door on your way out. I’m going to sleep.” He shut the door. But he didn’t leave. Instead, he took a slow, deliberate step toward me. His breathing grew heavy and scorching hot. The rims of his eyes were a terrifying, bloodshot red from sheer restraint. I finally realized something was seriously wrong. “Liam… what’s wrong with you? Do you have a fever?” The chat: [More accurately, he’s in heat… Bro, you are way too down bad. The villainess literally just flirted with you out of boredom, and it felt so good it triggered your rut early.] [Rut?] I muttered to myself in shock. We had been married for three years. How did I absolutely never know he had a rutting season?! The chat: [The villainess is so dumb, she actually thought he was just naturally celibate and cold. Hello?! He’s a literal incubus! Plus, your body is a 10/10, and your face is canon-verified as the most beautiful in the novel. He just loved you too much to force you.] [Whenever his rut started in the past, he would steal a piece of your underwear and hide in another house so you wouldn’t see him in that state.] [The comment above just reminded me of those poor, innocent panties. They were definitely shredded to pieces by his ‘unique demon anatomy’…] I stared blankly at the scrolling text, feeling like my eyes needed to be pixelated. So the reason he told me not to touch him… was because he was in rut? Liam let out a strained, agonizing groan, burying his face into the crook of my neck, aggressively nuzzling my skin. His pale, aristocratic skin was flushed with a deep, feverish crimson, entirely consumed by lust. It completely shattered the cold, untouchable aura he usually projected. In the past, I had been so blindingly obsessed with destroying Chloe and trying to win back Noah, that I had never actually looked at Liam properly. I didn’t even realize… this man was breathtakingly, devastatingly gorgeous. His features were sharper and more perfect than any Hollywood A-lister. 03 “The drawer… in the study… there’s medicine and syringes. Go… get them…” Liam’s voice was broken and ragged. He was desperately, frantically trying to hide the dark, intricate demon tattoos and obsidian scales that were rapidly spreading across his skin. I watched him enduring the absolute limits of his self-control. He had bitten his own lip until it bled. His dress shirt was soaked with sweat, clinging to his skin, perfectly tracing the heart-stopping ridges of his abs… I suddenly changed my mind. I had slept in an empty bed for three years. Sure, my cravings weren’t as intense as a literal incubus. But I was still a normal, healthy human being. Even though the very first rule in our marriage contract—the one I personally drafted—was: No catching feelings. Strictly financial. Absolutely no taking advantage of each other. But whatever, I’m the morally bankrupt villainess! Since when do I care about keeping promises?! Having made my decision, I gently patted his cheek and whispered, “Liam. Try to be gentle, okay?” “Don’t touch me. I’m… dirty…” Liam trembled violently from my touch, still desperately clinging to the very last shred of his morality. “But I want you…” I let my robe fall to the floor. I used my thumb to wipe the blood off his lips, went up on my tiptoes, and kissed him. The chat: [HOLY SHIT! The villainess initiated?!] [THE CHEEK PAT! AHHHHHH! THAT WAS SO DOMINANT! I AM DECEASED! MA’AM, DO YOU NEED A DOG?!] [Love mixed with hatred is toxic garbage. But love born entirely out of pure, unadulterated hatred? THAT IS CINEMA!] [MY HEART IS POUNDING! MY HANDS ARE SHAKING! ARE MY TOXIC VILLAINS FINALLY DOING IT?!] The exact millisecond our lips touched, Liam instantly seized total control. His massive, burning-hot hand gripped the back of my head like a vice. The oxygen in my lungs was forcefully plundered. My legs instantly turned to jelly. Without me even noticing, a thick, powerful, obsidian “rope” wrapped securely around my waist. It was wrapped so incredibly tight that it actually hurt. I let out a muffled whimper against his mouth, trying to bat it away. “I’m sorry. Don’t… please don’t look…” Liam snapped out of his haze like he had been struck by lightning. His pupils contracted violently in sheer panic, desperately trying to hide the demonic tail that had slipped out due to his arousal. Before I could even process what was happening, the man panicked, scrambled backward, and sprinted out the bedroom door like his life depended on it. A few seconds later, I heard the frantic, chaotic sound of drawers being ripped open and slammed shut in the study next door. The sharp, bitter scent of clinical medication rapidly filled the air. I leaned heavily against the wardrobe, gasping for fresh air, reading the scrolling chat: [LIAM STERLING, YOU ABSOLUTE COWARD! GET YOUR ASS BACK IN THERE! I LITERALLY TOOK MY PANTS OFF FOR THIS, WHY ARE YOU RUNNING?!] [Enough! Am I the only one who actually feels horrible for him? He’s been bullied, alienated, and humiliated his entire life for being a demon. He was so happy when he finally married the love of his life, only for her to tell him his true form made her physically sick. Of course he’s traumatized and insecure!] [Blair, my precious queen. Why did you have to show disgust at his true form at that exact moment?! You literally broke his heart!] Wait, no! I swear I’m innocent! I literally just wanted him to loosen the grip a little bit… 04 The next morning, when I woke up, Liam was completely gone. I sat at the kitchen island eating a breakfast sandwich. I took a deep breath, counted to three, and turned on my phone. To my absolute shock, every single piece of internet hate targeting me seemed to have evaporated overnight. The media outlets that had been attacking me the hardest? Their accounts had been completely suspended. A friend in the media industry—one of the few I had left—sent me a photo of my parents walking into their corporate headquarters. The caption read: [Everything is handled!] A massive smile spread across my face. I knew my parents wouldn’t just abandon me. After all, every single massive PR disaster I caused in the past had ultimately been cleaned up by them. [LMAO, I can’t. Every single time the second male lead secretly cleans up the female lead’s messes, he just lets her cheap, fake parents take all the credit…] [Liam Sterling: The absolute pioneer of the ‘Cold-Faced Wife-Guy’ genre. If his wife is in a good mood, he happily serves his wife. If his wife treats him like garbage, he coldly serves his wife.] [It’s a shame the villainess is completely oblivious. Even though she somehow avoided the divorce flag last night, she’s definitely still destined for the non-consensual captivity arc.] I stared at the screen, absolutely horrified, my eyes darting between the chat and my phone. I zoomed in and scrutinized the photo of my parents for ten solid minutes. Holy shit… I can actually see the Photoshop artifacts… I frantically opened iMessage, scrolled to the absolute bottom of my contact list, and found Liam: [Are you free today? I really need to talk to you.] He replied instantly: [Wrong number.] “…” [No it’s not, Hubby~] This time, the reply took much longer: [I am deeply sorry for what happened last night. You shouldn’t have been forced to see those disgusting things. I am completely booked today. If you want to proceed with the divorce, please contact my legal team.] [No no no,] I frantically typed back. [Absolutely not a divorce.] Liam: [Okay. See you this afternoon.] The chat: [I am dying of laughter. Divorce? Too busy. No divorce? See you this afternoon.] [That was way too close! The villainess just narrowly dodged the dark-room captivity route again. It feels like she’s starting to realize something is wrong and is actively trying to save herself.] [Why do I feel like there’s a massive, terrible plot point coming up right about now? I can’t exactly remember what it was.] 05 That afternoon, I spent extra time getting ready and arrived at the coffee shop near Liam’s corporate headquarters thirty minutes early. I ordered a pastry and slowly, casually ate it. I heard the sound of someone pulling out the chair across from me. I beamed with a bright smile: “Hubby, you have to try this…” When I looked up, I realized the man sitting across from me was definitely not Liam. Noah stared at my stunning, strapless red dress and flawless makeup, letting out a dark chuckle: “Blair, do you really love me that much? You actually had the nerve to call me ‘Hubby’ out loud.” I had absolutely zero patience for his bullshit. I stood up and prepared to leave. He grabbed my wrist. “Let go of me. My actual husband is in the area.” “Stop pretending. If it weren’t to make me jealous, a proud, arrogant girl like you would never have married a freakish half-breed monster like Liam Sterling. Don’t think I don’t know the truth. For the past three years, you haven’t let him touch you once.” Noah’s gaze dropped to my bold, red lipstick. His eyes darkened, his tone turning sleazy: “If I give you one kiss, is that enough for you to stop torturing Chloe for a while?” Looking at the man in front of me, he felt completely, utterly alien. The cool, slightly rebellious boy-next-door from my childhood… when exactly did he turn into this disgusting creep? It seems that every single person who comes into contact with Chloe eventually mutates into someone I don’t recognize. Noah grabbed my chin, slowly leaning in: “Blair, you got all dressed up looking this gorgeous just to see me, didn’t you, hm?” As I struggled against his grip, I looked through the glass window of the cafe. Liam was standing right outside on the sidewalk, watching us. The chat: [Stop hoping for a miracle, villainess. Liam has been standing there since the exact second you called Noah ‘Hubby.’ Demons have incredibly enhanced hearing. He heard every single word.] [Oh my god! The love triangle! The drama! I am living for this!] [Incredible. Every single time I think Blair has finally secured her survival, she miraculously invents the 361st way to get herself killed.] Using every single ounce of strength in my body, I violently shoved Noah away and sprinted out of the coffee shop. A microsecond before Liam turned to leave, I grabbed his sleeve. His pupils were pitch black, an endless, terrifying abyss: “Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?” “No! I have absolutely no idea why Noah is here…” Halfway through my sentence, I suddenly remembered the text message Noah sent me right before I blocked him. Today was Friday afternoon. But I literally never agreed to meet him! I was trying so hard to avoid the male and female leads to save my own life. Is the power of the plot armor truly this terrifying and absolute?! 06 “He tried to force a kiss on me just now. I refused and shoved him away immediately.” Liam’s facial features were incredibly sharp and angular. When he wasn’t smiling, he looked as dangerous as a drawn sword. Combined with the fact that he was nearly six foot three, his sheer, intimidating aura was enough to make anyone’s scalp go numb. Normally, I was incredibly articulate, but right now I was stammering nervously: “I asked you to meet me this afternoon because I wanted to tell you that last night, I was 100% willing. That was my first kiss! I didn’t know how to breathe properly, and I was clawing at you because you were holding me way too tight and I couldn’t get any oxygen. I was not disgusted by you!” After pouring all of that out in one breath, I gathered my courage and looked directly into Liam’s eyes. The terrifying, pitch-black abyss in his pupils slowly receded back to a normal color. The chat: [YES! The direct approach! We are saved!] [Wait, is the villainess telling the truth, or is she just saying this to make the male lead jealous?] [Is the commenter above a comedian? Does that psychotic male lead even deserve her? The author thought they were writing a charming, irresistible playboy, but in reality, he’s just a greasy, creepy stalker. He’s a perfect match for that braindead, pick-me female lead. As long as the villainess isn’t legally blind, she’s obviously going to choose the second male lead (even if she was technically blind for the last three years).] “Blair.” Noah walked out of the coffee shop, staring at me and Liam standing shoulder-to-shoulder: “You’re in your twenties. Why are you still playing these childish, pathetic games? Did you really think this was going to make me jealous?” I slid my fingers down Liam’s sleeve and intertwined them perfectly with his, interlocking our hands: “Noah, I don’t love you anymore. I am married. I have a husband. Please never, ever harass me again.” “And what if I told you Chloe and I broke up, and I’m currently single?” Noah looked at me casually, acting like he held all the winning cards in the universe. I tried to take a step forward, but felt a strong resistance. I realized Liam was standing frozen in place. He was squeezing my hand so tightly his fingertips were trembling. He was deeply insecure. “I don’t give a shit if you two broke up,” I snapped, thoroughly annoyed. “Even if you were single, and even if you liked men, it has absolutely nothing to do with me. Get out of my way. Piss off.” When I was a teenager experiencing my first crush, I genuinely did have feelings for my childhood friend, Noah. But over the years, he repeatedly took Chloe’s side, constantly kicked me when I was down, and watched me suffer with cold indifference. Whatever tiny sliver of affection I had left for him had completely evaporated, leaving nothing but pure, unadulterated annoyance. Noah’s arrogant smile completely froze on his face. I checked my phone. I had dozens of missed calls. The reservation for the romantic, candlelit dinner I had booked was already thirty minutes late. It was probably completely ruined. “Liam. Let’s go home.” “Okay.” Liam’s limited-edition Rolls-Royce was parked directly across the street. From the moment I got into the passenger seat until we drove away, I didn’t look back at Noah once. The chat: [The villainess is so gorgeous and ruthless, I am obsessed. I officially believe she genuinely does not give a single shit about the male lead anymore.] [The male lead’s character design is so repulsive. He’s constantly breaking up and getting back together with the female lead, while simultaneously obsessing over the villainess’s flawless beauty and trying to grope her. Our Queen Blair’s princess temper isn’t going to tolerate his garbage.]

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After the “innocent” girl stole my boyfriend, I furiously went to confront her. She was in full makeup and begged me not to hit her in the face. I clapped my hands together in a prayer pose: “Sister, please tell me your secret. How did you get that cheapskate to buy you designer bags and clothes, when I couldn’t even get him to buy me a coffee?” She let out a long breath and proceeded to teach me how to hook a sucker. Later, I brought a man to show her my progress. She stuttered, “B-b-brother? You… you’re the sucker?!” 01 Lately, my best friend and dating coach has been exhibiting signs of a split personality. She has two completely different attitudes toward the exact same behavior. This all started when she and I both entered the dating scene at the same time. My boyfriend’s name is Lucas Hayes. He’s a shy, introverted, gentle, and rational guy. As for my best friend Chloe’s brother, I had never met him. But based on her descriptions, he sounded like a petty, hot-tempered, and stupid guy. Chloe was incredibly frustrated. Her stupid—but undeniably wealthy—brother had been entangled by a high-level gold digger. “Can you believe it? This girl literally sends my brother links to gifts she wants him to buy her.” When I saw that message, my eyes widened. After all, my birthday was just two days ago. I had asked Chloe for advice, and she specifically told me to just send my boyfriend links to the gifts I wanted. Me: “Um, Chloe, but I did the exact same thing.” Chloe replied instantly: “Girl, how can you even compare yourself to that bitch?” I stared at my phone screen, seriously questioning where Chloe’s loyalties lay. When Valentine’s Day arrived, I went out on a date with Lucas, and Chloe started blowing up my phone. “You’ve only been dating for three months! DO NOT go back to his place! “I’m begging you, you’re going to ruin everything, ahhhh!” My phone kept buzzing non-stop. Lucas looked down, holding his knife and fork. Suddenly, the sound of him cutting his steak seemed deafeningly loud. On a Valentine’s Day date, having your phone blow up with messages makes it look suspiciously like you’re juggling multiple guys. I hastily explained, “It’s a girlfriend of mine. She might have an emergency and needs me to go back and help.” Under Lucas’s scrutinizing gaze, I awkwardly grabbed my phone and fled the rooftop restaurant. As I walked away, I sent a voice memo to Chloe: “Babe, I promise, I’m sleeping in my dorm tonight. I’ll FaceTime you later, okay?” Just as Lucas drove his car past me, he happened to hear that exact sentence. His hands paused on the steering wheel. His expression wasn’t great, but he kept his composure. “I’ll drive you back.” A few days later, Chloe was gossiping with me again. “Oh my god, my brother is so pathetic. He spent so much money on that girl, and she actually cheated on him on Valentine’s Day. “This girl is playing 4D chess. She takes his money and his heart, but she won’t sleep with him.” I was staring at my phone, sighing heavily. I had zero interest in Chloe’s unlucky brother; I was far more concerned about my own situation. “Chloe, ever since you made me leave on Valentine’s Day, my guy has been ignoring me.” Chloe sent a shocked emoji sticker. “Tsk, what a tasteless man.” She tried to comfort me in every way possible, claiming that men who expect girls to just throw themselves at them and then throw a fit when it doesn’t happen are completely typical. “Just dump him. The next one will be better.” Huh? Just dump him? We hadn’t even been dating that long. 02 The only reason I even knew Chloe was thanks to my ex-boyfriend, Ryan. When Ryan and I were dating, he insisted on splitting the bill down to the last penny, even for two cups of boba. My friends all mocked me for being blindly in love. Right when I was planning to break up with him, he actually dumped me first. He had found “true love,” and it was Chloe. I heard he bought her designer bags, clothes, and even maxed out his credit cards to buy a Van Cleef & Arpels bracelet for his “goddess.” Ryan broke up with me because Chloe said she wouldn’t accept advances from a man who had a girlfriend. Good news stays home, but bad news travels fast. I became the biggest joke on campus. This little homewrecker Chloe had absolutely destroyed my reputation. Fuming with anger, I stormed into a nightclub to find her. She was leaning toward the bathroom mirror, touching up her makeup. She was wearing a Chanel suit, smelling of camellia perfume. Even a single strand of her hair looked exquisitely maintained. She looked incredibly expensive. “Sister, I’m Ryan’s ex-girlfriend.” Chloe frowned slightly, took a moment to remember, and parted her lips: “Ah, you mean that grad student from the university?” She turned off the faucet, stared straight ahead at the mirror, and lazily asked what I wanted. I didn’t say a word and slowly walked toward her. Chloe was petite and delicate. In a fight, she definitely wouldn’t be a match for me. She backed into the corner, covered her face with her hands, and slowly slid down the wall. “Sister, I swear I didn’t lead him on! If you’re gonna hit me, please don’t hit my face.” Uh, why was she so easily scared? I grabbed her arm and pulled her up. She leaned against the wall, stunned. I clapped my hands together in a prayer pose, looking at her with desperate eyes. “Sister, please tell me your secret. How did you get that cheapskate to buy you designer bags and clothes, when I couldn’t even get him to buy me a coffee?” Chloe bent over and let out a huge sigh of relief. “Girl, why didn’t you say so? That’s it?” “Wuuuu, I seriously want to know so badly!” 03 Chloe and I hit it off immediately, like we had known each other our whole lives. She taught me everything she knew. She said this kind of thing could only be understood, not easily explained. But since I was her very first apprentice, she would personally supervise and guide me through the whole process. She told me to go find an experimental subject first. “Sister, is there any specific requirement for the subject?” A confident smile appeared on Chloe’s face. She shook her head mysteriously: “As long as he’s handsome. The more handsome, the better.” A task this good actually existed? I added Chloe on social media and headed back to find my test subject. I had barely walked out the door when I saw the perfect candidate. He stepped out of a car—tall, with perfect posture, a detached gaze, and an impatient expression. Seeing him from afar, the words “the more handsome, the better” instantly echoed in my mind. This was a match made in heaven. I rushed over and blocked his path. “Hey, can I get your number?” Hearing me call out to him, he was already frowning. He said he didn’t give out his number, then tried to walk away. I quickly grabbed his arm. I couldn’t let him escape. “Then since you have a mouth, can I kiss you?” I tried my best to squeeze out a harmless, innocent smile. His eyes widened, looking like he doubted his own hearing. “Uh, actually, you can have my number.” He seemed to be in a rush. While repeatedly apologizing, I obediently scanned his QR code to add him. He actually laughed at me. “It’s fine. Take your time.” He was surprisingly gentle. I couldn’t help but blush, feeling a bit dizzy. Getting the handsome guy’s number was step one. That evening, I started texting him. “Hi! Did you have fun tonight?” A long time passed before he replied. “I wasn’t out having fun. I was looking for my sister.” My silence was deafening. This guy sounded like a total creep. Although maybe it was true, it’s generally not recommended to be so blatantly direct. But I replied instantly anyway. “Did you find her?” “Of course I found her. I took her home.” I hesitated for three seconds, then blocked him. This one wouldn’t work. Good-looking on the outside, totally messed up on the inside. 04 The next morning, I saw this creepy handsome guy at my campus gate. He stood there in a tailored suit, sticking out like a sore thumb among the college students passing by. Girls walking past kept sneaking glances at him, but he was completely oblivious, just muttering to himself repeatedly. “Remember, looking for my sister, not a sister.” When he spotted me in the crowd, I turned to run, but he dashed in front of me and blocked my path. “I’m so sorry. I misspoke yesterday. I was looking for my sister. My biological, same-parents sister.” He tapped his phone screen, pulling up our chat history. “You blocked me. I thought about it for a long time and asked my sister. She said you probably misunderstood. Now, could you please unblock me?” I blankly pulled out my phone and removed him from the blocked list. His eyes lit up. He told me to keep in touch, then turned to leave. I was speechless. He came all the way to my campus early in the morning just to tell me to “keep in touch”? I called out to him: “Um, it’s almost lunchtime. Do you want to grab food?” I suddenly realized I didn’t even know his name. “My name is Olivia. What’s yours?” “Lucas Hayes.” Lucas had seen the background of my social media profile, which happened to be the iconic clock tower of my university. He offered to take me to lunch and asked if I preferred sushi, Korean BBQ, Thai, or American. I took him to a hotpot place. Chloe taught me this: Take rich guys to eat cheap food, and take broke guys to eat expensive food. It’s all about creating a contrasting experience. Judging by his suit, Lucas was definitely not broke. I ordered the spiciest beef tallow broth and looked at Lucas expectantly. He pursed his lips and looked back at me. Under my eager gaze, he carefully picked up a slice of beef with his chopsticks, rinsed it in his glass of water three times, took a bite, and immediately started coughing uncontrollably. I hadn’t realized he couldn’t handle spicy food at all. I watched helplessly as he coughed so hard his stomach issues flared up, and I ended up taking him to the hospital. While paying his medical bill at the nurse’s station, I unexpectedly ran into Chloe. Her brother was also admitted here. Chloe asked me secretively, “Wasn’t that guy from last time a creep? My brother is still single. Should I introduce you so you can practice on him?” What kind of sister throws her brother under the bus like that? And why practice on him? Chloe sighed helplessly: “My brother has more money than brains, just a bit older. But he’s a great catch. Better to let you have him than some stranger.” I rejected Chloe’s offer: “Never mind. That handsome guy from last time wasn’t a creep. It was a misunderstanding.” Chloe looked extremely puzzled: “A creep can be a misunderstanding? Did your brain break again?” “Sister, I really think this guy is different.” After all, when Lucas was clutching his stomach in agonizing pain, he still insisted on paying the restaurant bill before we left. Chloe sternly criticized me, then demanded I take her to see this “creep.” “Olivia, you’re a lost cause. I need to see what kind of handsome guy has you this bewitched.” I was exasperated. “Shouldn’t you go check on your brother first?” Chloe smiled and gestured for me to lead the way: “He has chronic issues, he’s not dying. I’m much more worried about your situation. Lead the way.” Unable to argue with her, I led her to see Lucas. “Just look from a distance. Please don’t scare him, he’s very introverted.” “Olivia, feeling sorry for a man is the quickest way to ruin your life.” I brought Chloe to the door of his room, and she peeked inside. Suddenly, she gasped: “Holy crap, that’s my brother!” 05 Chloe instantly shrank back in terror and hid to the side. I was curious what her brother looked like too, but there were four people in the shared hospital room. Which one was her brother? Lucas was sitting on his bed, holding a thermos, quietly drinking water. Ah, he’s so cute. Meanwhile, Chloe was crouching on the floor, muttering, “What’s wrong with him? Why is he in a shared room?” Hearing that, I looked toward the patient in the farthest corner. He looked much older and was loudly complaining about something. He was so loud he even startled Lucas, who began to look uncomfortable. I glanced at Chloe. “Aren’t you going in to calm your brother down? He looks really irritable.” “You think he’s irritable too, right? If I go in there, I’m just asking to get yelled at. Just pretend I was never here.” Chloe was about to bolt, but I had no intention of leaving. I rolled up my sleeves, ready to teach her brother a lesson. What an uncultured jerk. Chloe whispered frantically to stop me: “No, don’t! My brother absolutely hates it when people make noise in public places.” Are you kidding me? There are people like that? What a hypocrite! I raised my foot, kicked the door open, and marched in. Chloe looked horrified. She let out a small shriek and bolted down the hallway. I pointed straight at the older man: “You! Yeah, you! If you don’t like shared rooms, pay for a private one! What are you yelling about? Everyone else is fine, why can’t you handle it?” Dead silence. After a long pause, the older man said weakly: “I wasn’t yelling. My IV infiltrated, I was trying to call the nurse.” Lucas was also staring at me, stunned. To be precise, the entire room was stunned. Well, this is awkward. Blame the soundproof doors. I pursed my lips, squeezed out an awkward smile, and marched over to the man’s bed. He looked so scared he shrank back. I reached out and pressed the call button. “It’s fine, sir. Just press this button.” The man swallowed hard, hid under his blankets, and mumbled, “Thank you.” I turned around. SWISH! Every single patient violently pulled their privacy curtains shut. Except Lucas. I looked at him. He held up his thermos, hesitating: “You must be thirsty. Do you want some water?” I wanted to cry. I took a few deep breaths: “I’m so sorry, I misunderstood. I thought he was complaining about the shared room…” Lucas looked uneasy, avoiding my gaze: “I think right now, no one would dare to complain.” I sighed, took the thermos, and took a sip. The hand Lucas used to hold the paper cup froze in mid-air. I started coughing violently. 06 Ever since the hospital incident, my relationship with Lucas became even more awkward. There was zero romantic tension. But he definitely had some interest in me. The food street near campus was noisy. Lucas sat across from me, eating his noodles with extreme elegance. This was the third time this week he had come to eat with me. And today was only Wednesday. He came every day, but he barely spoke. Even when he did, our conversations never clicked, and our food tastes were completely different. But he was wealthy and handsome, making us a perfect match. I sighed. He was just too hard to make progress with. Right then, someone pushed open the restaurant door, walked straight up to our table, and slammed two cups of boba tea down. I looked up from my noodle bowl in shock. It was my recently-dumped ex, Ryan. I started coughing violently again. Who understands this fatal level of secondhand embarrassment? Ryan was the kind of ex-boyfriend whose very existence made me feel deeply ashamed. Before Ryan could say a word, I grabbed him by the arm and sprinted for the door. Lucas froze, his brow furrowing slightly. As I peeked back to observe Lucas’s reaction, Ryan said from beside me, “Olivia, let’s get back together.” I waved my hands frantically: “Absolutely not. Do me a favor and never show up in front of me again. You don’t have to feel guilty, it was a mutual breakup. If you don’t have anything else to say, please leave.” Ryan followed my gaze and saw Lucas, dressed in a sharp suit, paying the bill. He sneered: “Olivia, you dumped me and immediately found a rich guy, didn’t you? You never loved me. You hated that I didn’t have money to buy you gifts. It must have been so hard for you to pretend.” Obviously, Ryan had failed in his pursuit of Chloe and wanted to come crawling back. I normally wouldn’t bother wasting my breath on him, but his sarcastic tone and victim-blaming instantly set me off. “Ryan, I’m giving you an out and you won’t take it? What the hell are you pretending for? You liked Chloe—was it not because she was rich? Stop playing the victim. I don’t like you because you’re a hypocrite. When we dated, you made us split the cost of boba, and we took turns paying for meals. Did you really think I was an idiot?” “So what? You agreed to it. I didn’t force you. At the end of the day, being broke is my original sin, right? You’re only having dinner with him every day because he has money!” Ryan started spiraling into impotent rage. I immediately fired back: “Tsk tsk, triggered? I do like rich guys. Do you think I give a damn about what a barking dog like you thinks?” When Lucas walked out, he happened to catch that last sentence. His footsteps halted, and he looked deeply thoughtful. Ryan looked triumphant: “Well, now you have to explain yourself to your ATM machine.” Crap. My relationship with Lucas had barely begun, and now his impression of me was plunging. We walked down the tree-lined path in silence. Lucas kept glancing at me, looking like he wanted to say something. I accepted my fate: “Mr. Hayes, just say whatever is on your mind.” “Do you really like wealthy men? Roughly what net worth? Do you have specific requirements? Could you tell me what you’re looking for in a partner?” I thought I was hallucinating. I stared at him blankly. What did he mean? Lucas avoided my gaze, looking completely out of his element: “I’m not incredibly wealthy, but I have a bit. I don’t know if that falls within your acceptable range?” This time I understood. He was doing some bizarre form of confessing his feelings. Or more accurately, an awkward mating dance. I had never seen anything like it. If I said I didn’t like rich men now, he would be heartbroken. “Uh, I think your net worth is perfectly fine.” God knows what his net worth actually was. I was entirely focused on his face anyway. Lucas’s eyes lit up: “So we’re officially together now?” I held my cheeks, nodding furiously, my face burning red. He’s so cute, ahhh—I’m dead.

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He dumped me, then immediately fell for a poor, “innocent” girl who was even better at acting like an angel than I was. In my past life, to prove him wrong, I decided to rebel. I started hanging out with a bad crowd, got mixed up with some dangerous street thugs, and when I was cornered with nowhere to run, I begged him to save me. He completely ignored me. He covered his new girlfriend’s eyes with his hand and whispered softly: “Don’t look, it might scare you.” He abandoned me in that pitch-black alleyway, where I was brutally tortured to death. When I opened my eyes, I had traveled back in time—to the exact day he rejected me. 01 It was time to cut the birthday cake. Our friends were cheering, egging me on to confess my feelings. I gathered every ounce of courage I had and said: “Lucas, my birthday wish… is you.” The hand Lucas was using to hold his cigarette trembled slightly. The corner of his mouth curled up. He gave a wicked, lazy smirk: “Sorry. You’re way too ‘good girl’ for me.” “You’re just not my type.” In my past life, that single sentence drove me completely insane. Thinking about the horrific, agonizing way I died… A freezing chill shot down my spine. In that moment, I genuinely wanted to grab the cake knife and murder him. “Summer, are you okay?” “Lucas, what the hell is wrong with you?! Can’t you just say something nice to make the birthday girl happy?!” Lucas maintained that arrogant, lazy posture he always had. He blew a ring of smoke. And drawled lazily: “Sorry. Lying just isn’t my style.” His careless, raspy voice used to sound so attractive to me. But hearing it now, I only felt pure, visceral disgust. In front of everyone, my expression turned ice-cold. I looked at the cake and made a new birthday wish. “Lucas, my wish is that in this life, and every life after, you and I never cross paths again.” I blew out the candles. My friends tried to stop me, but they couldn’t. The smirk on Lucas’s face instantly froze. “Summer, are you serious right now?” “I’ll give you one more chance. Make a new wish, and I’ll pretend I didn’t hear what you just said.” No need. I completely ignored him. I picked up the knife to cut the cake. Lucas lunged forward and grabbed the blade of the knife with his bare right hand. “Summer, I am talking to you.” The sharp blade sliced into his fingers. Blood started dripping onto the table. Someone screamed: “Blood! Lucas, you’re bleeding!” I knew exactly what this was. He was having another one of his “episodes.” Lucas suffered from severe psychological issues. In my past life, I was the only person who could calm him down when he spiraled. Well. To be more accurate. Before the poor, innocent scholarship girl showed up… I was the only one. Because of that, I always delusionally believed I was special to him. Until the day I overheard him comforting her, using that same lazy, raspy tone. “She’s completely different from you.” “At best, she was just a temporary placebo. But you… you are my only cure.” “If I lose you, I will literally die.” I let go of the knife handle and stepped back. “If you like it that much, keep it.” I turned around to leave. Lucas threw the knife aside and grabbed my arm. His bloody fingers stained the sleeve of my pristine white button-down shirt. “Summer, who exactly are you throwing this tantrum for?” The sight of the blood triggered a violent wave of panic. I couldn’t control it. The horrific, agonizing memories of my past life flooded my brain. The world started spinning, my vision went black, and unable to bear the psychological weight, I fainted. When I woke up, Lucas was sitting by my bed. “You’re awake?” “You were the one who threw a tantrum, but I had to carry you all the way home. So, Summer, how are you planning to make this up to me?” Lucas was a classic bad boy. He loved saying ambiguous, flirtatious things like this. Things that always planted pathetic, delusional hopes in my heart. But I was no longer the stupid girl I used to be. I knew the truth perfectly well. When Lucas is actually in love, he can’t utter a single smooth, flirtatious line. When he confessed to her, his voice was literally shaking with nerves. I let out a heavy sigh and looked at him. “I’m exhausted.” “Lucas. After today, let’s stop seeing each other.” 02 The next day, I walked to school alone. Lucas didn’t wait for me at our usual spot. I knew exactly what he was doing. This was his version of a “punishment.” He was waiting for me to apologize to him. But I completely ignored his existence for the entire day. That afternoon, I was napping at my desk when my lab partner shook me awake. “Summer! Wake up! Lucas is in a massive fistfight on the basketball court!” I was still half-asleep. But she practically dragged me all the way to the courts. “Hurry up! Lucas is going absolutely psycho! You’re the only one who can stop him!” No. She was wrong. I didn’t need to go anywhere near him. Because his leading lady had already made her grand entrance. I guessed perfectly. By the time we pushed through the crowd, the fight was already over. Lucas was sitting on the sidelines, drenched in sweat, breathing heavily. And sitting right beside him… was a girl. She had her hair tied in a simple, low ponytail. Her face was pale and delicate. She was holding his hand, her voice trembling with the faintest hint of a sob. She whispered softly: “Lucas, you’re hurt.” Lucas violently hated when strangers touched him. He instinctively went to yank his hand away. But the exact second his eyes locked onto me standing in the crowd, he froze. His eyes darkened, and he deliberately let Chloe—the scholarship girl—keep holding his hand. The senior he had just beaten to a bloody pulp was being helped up by a few of his friends, preparing to leave. “Wait.” Lucas called out, stopping them in their tracks. He pointed to Chloe sitting next to him. “Apologize.” The senior’s face was bruised and swollen beyond recognition. A student nearby tried to intervene: “Lucas, come on. Let him go to the nurse first.” Lucas refused. His voice dropped to a terrifying, lethal pitch, repeating himself: “I said… apologize to her.” Chloe grabbed Lucas’s arm tightly and shook her head pitifully. “It’s fine, Lucas. Really, I’m okay.” The senior, despite being beaten half to death, was forced to bow deeply and apologize. Someone in the crowd whispered, asking why the fight started. My lab partner answered: “That guy called Chloe a ‘broke charity case,’ and Lucas overheard him.” “He deserved it! That’s what he gets for running his mouth!” “Lucas is so hot! Literally stepping up to defend her honor!” “Are we literally watching a Wattpad romance happen in real life?!” But I was the only one who knew the truth. In my past life, Lucas relentlessly bullied and terrorized that senior until he was forced to transfer to a different school. The day before he left, he pulled me aside. He warned me to be very, very careful around Chloe. He refused to say anything else. He was probably too terrified of Lucas to speak the truth. The senior needed to go to the hospital, but the ambulance was going to take a while to arrive. I walked over and tossed him my keys. “Take my car. Drive yourself to the ER.” The senior froze in shock. “Thank you… but I couldn’t…” Lucas stormed over and grabbed me hard by the arm. “Summer, are you purposely trying to piss me off?!” I glanced past him, looking at Chloe, whose eyes were still perfectly red and teary. “Focus on your own drama.” “If you walk away right now, don’t ever come looking for me again,” he threatened. I didn’t even look back. I helped the other students support the senior and walked away. CRASH! The crowd behind me gasped. It was the sound of Lucas punching the metal pole of the basketball hoop full force. Tsk. Have fun breaking your knuckles. 03 Lucas and I didn’t interact at all for the next few weeks. I heard that because of Chloe, he completely stopped getting into fights. He even claimed he was turning his life around and started actually studying. Lucas’s friends tried to get him to go to the PC cafe to play games. Chloe whispered softly to him: “You haven’t finished your SAT vocabulary flashcards yet.” Lucas let out a heavy, dramatic sigh and slumped back into his chair. “My ‘mom’ is too strict. I can’t go.” I had to listen to my lab partner narrate these cheesy, romantic little anecdotes every single day. But whenever I walked close, they would immediately stop whispering and turn away. “I feel so bad for her.” “I know, right? She chased Lucas for years, and then some poor scholarship girl just swooped in and stole him.” Did I look pitiful? I certainly didn’t think so. My college application process was already finalized. As soon as I passed my final AP exams, I was moving to New York to attend Columbia University. I was going to major in Journalism—my absolute dream. My bright, beautiful, and completely new life was about to begin. One afternoon, as I was walking home, Lucas’s mother stopped me on the sidewalk. “Summer, Lucas forgot his medication again. Could you please take it to him for me, honey?” I really, really wanted to say no. But when I saw the dark, purple bruises peeking out from under the cuffs of his mother’s blouse… I sighed heavily. “Okay.” I texted Lucas: “Where are you?” It took him a long time to reply. He finally sent me a location pin. A local billiards hall. In my past life, I had spent way too much time in that exact spot. When I arrived, I navigated the dark, basement staircase perfectly. The suffocating smell of cheap cigarette smoke instantly made me nauseous. I spotted Lucas immediately. He was standing at the center table, actively hustling a game of pool. There was a massive stack of hundred-dollar bills sitting on the edge of the table. I walked straight up to him and tossed the pill bottle onto the green felt. “Your mom asked me to bring this to you.” Seeing me, Lucas furrowed his brow. “Who told you to come here?” I didn’t even bother answering him. I dropped the pills and turned to leave. But one of his friends blocked my path. “Yo, Lucas. Is this the girlfriend?” Lucas let out a cold sneer, accepting a lit cigarette from the guy and tucking it behind his ear. “Do you honestly think that’s possible?” Right at that moment, Chloe walked into the billiards hall, wearing her school backpack. The second she walked in, she started violently coughing from the smoke. Lucas immediately stood up and moved to block her from the haze. “Put out all the cigarettes right now.” The guy with the yellow teeth who had just blocked me grinned widely. “Ah. So this is the real sister-in-law.” Chloe’s face flushed beet red. “Lucas, stop them from saying that! The teachers said we aren’t allowed to…” “I know.” Lucas playfully tapped the tip of her nose. “Be a good girl, call me ‘Daddy,’ and I’ll let you go home.” Chloe let out a tiny gasp, pointing at the cigarette tucked behind his ear. “Lucas! Didn’t you promise me you were going to quit smoking?!” I felt Lucas’s gaze land directly on me. I suddenly remembered… I had also demanded he quit smoking once. Because I’ve had severe asthma since childhood, and cigarette smoke triggers my attacks. Back then, he didn’t even bother to give me a fake promise. He deliberately blew a ring of smoke directly into my face and smirked: “Can’t do it.” A cold, mocking smile curled the corners of my lips. I tried to maneuver around the crowd to leave. But I was grabbed again. “Don’t leave yet, baby!” “Lucas, hurry up! It’s a two-on-two match. Since my girlfriend is playing for my team… who are you gonna use for yours?” 04 I didn’t hesitate. I just kept walking. But Chloe reached out and grabbed my sleeve. “I… I don’t know how to play pool.” I frowned, looking at her. “What does that have to do with me?” “I…” After my sharp response, Chloe’s eyes instantly welled up with tears. Lucas rushed over, pulling her behind his back protectively, glaring at me. “Can’t you speak to her like a normal human being?!” “You’re a psychopath.” I tried to walk away, but he blocked my path again. My patience completely snapped. I decided to push his buttons. “What’s the matter, Lucas? Playing hard to get? Are you desperately trying to make me your girlfriend?” “Keep dreaming.” “Then get the fuck out of my way.” I walked out. This time, no one tried to stop me. Behind me, I heard Chloe panic. “What do we do, Lucas? I really don’t know how to play.” Lucas replied, his voice dripping with patience and affection. “Don’t worry, idiot. As long as I’m here, we won’t lose.” I literally could not care less who won a stupid game of pool. But that night, during dinner… My mom wouldn’t stop sighing. “I saw Sarah (Lucas’s mom) again today. She was covered in bruises… Richard went way too far this time…” “Oh, by the way, Summer. I haven’t seen Lucas come over for dinner in days. Did you two get into a fight?” “No.” “That’s good. You should invite him over more often…” I looked up, cutting my mom off mid-sentence. “I cut him off. We aren’t friends anymore.” “What? Why?!” I took a bite of my perfectly cooked sea bass. “No reason. I just despise people who are legally blind.” My mom asked cautiously, “Did Lucas get a girlfriend?” I picked up a piece of fish and placed it into my mom’s bowl. “Yep. The ‘I’d die for you’ trope just walked straight out of a novel into real life. It’s incredibly sweet.” They were busy acting out their little teen romance drama, and for some reason, they absolutely insisted on casting me as the bitter, jealous villainess. Fine. The next morning, as soon as I walked into the classroom, I heard Chloe crying. “What am I going to do, Lucas? The envelope was in my backpack this morning… how could it just disappear?!” My lab partner whispered to me: “Chloe lost the class funds she was in charge of collecting. Everyone’s helping her look for it right now.” I casually threw out a logical suggestion: “Why don’t you just check the security cameras?” But my comment made Chloe violently defensive. She marched right up to my desk and said: “Summer, I know I grew up poor, but I am absolutely not desperate enough to steal the class funds!” I never even said she stole it. Why was she panicking? Lucas walked over, his voice cold and commanding. “Apologize to her.” I completely ignored him. I placed my backpack on my desk and sat down. He grabbed my backpack and hurled it across the room. Then, he violently flipped my entire desk over. Lucas was having another episode. “Apologize to her. Are you deaf?” The entire classroom went dead silent. No one dared to breathe. And absolutely no one dared to step in and stop him. I bent down, trying to pick my desk back up. Suddenly, a hand clamped brutally around my throat. His eyes were bloodshot. “I. Said. Apologize.” I couldn’t breathe. Tears stung my eyes. The pressure around my neck instantly began to form a dark, angry red bruise. Chloe finally stepped in, grabbing his arm. “Lucas! Lucas, stop!” But he refused to listen to anyone. He just kept glaring at me with those terrifying, bloodshot eyes. I have no idea who he was projecting onto me in that moment. It took three male teachers sprinting into the classroom to finally pry him off me. Chloe rushed forward and threw her arms around a thrashing, frantic Lucas. “It’s okay! It’s okay, Lucas! I don’t care what anyone else thinks! As long as you believe me, that’s all that matters!” He buried his face into the crook of her neck, but his eyes… his eyes stayed locked directly on me. The teachers escorted me to the nurse’s office. His dark, erratic gaze followed my back until I completely disappeared from sight.

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Lydia’s call came through almost instantly. Her voice was a jagged mess of disbelief and sharp, hysterical demands. She asked if I had completely lost my mind. We had the house, the ceremony, the registry, and the honeymoon all lined up. We had fought so hard to get to this finish line, she screamed. I just told her, calmly, that it didn’t matter. She already had a replacement ready to step into my shoes. After all, that man had been a part of every step of our planning. He probably knew the choreography of our wedding better than I did. It only took the length of a single cigarette for me to decide on the divorce. From the moment the flame licked the paper to the second the ember burned close enough to sting my fingers, a total of nine minutes and forty-seven seconds passed. When the butt hit the pavement, I hit “send” on the digital divorce papers. … The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. In that moment, her silence was a confession. She tried to maintain her composure, but when she finally spoke, the tremor in her breath gave it all away. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about, Adrian. You’re being paranoid.” If life had a playback feature, she would have hated hearing how much her voice shook. “Don’t play dumb with me, Lydia. I don’t make moves unless I’m holding all the cards.” That was the killing blow. Her voice dropped, small and defeated. “Can we talk? In person?” She arrived faster than I expected. We met at the rooftop lounge of a downtown coffee shop, in the designated smoking area. She was chain-smoking, her movements frantic. I walked up and pulled the last cigarette from her pack, gesturing for her to give me a light. She leaned in, her eyes rimmed with red, and whispered as she sparked the flame, “I thought we agreed to quit? For the baby we were trying for?” I wasn’t the one who broke the rules first. She saw the look in my eyes and quickly added, “I just bought these downstairs. I swear. I always try to keep my promises to you, Adrian.” “When did you find out?” she asked, her voice hollow. “Last night.” It was a fluke, really. I was about to turn in when I remembered I hadn’t booked the hotel rooms for my parents’ flight in for the wedding. I grabbed Lydia’s phone to check the map for nearby boutique hotels. That’s when I saw it. An endless, incriminating scroll of search history for hotels. They weren’t five-star resorts for a honeymoon. They were scattered across every corner of the city—cheap motels, boutique stays, places with “discreet” written all over them. I didn’t find confirmation emails, but when I accidentally clicked into a recent search for a place called The Velvet Suite, I saw her user review. “Thanks to the staff for the complimentary gift. The atmosphere was incredibly sensual. My boyfriend says we’re definitely coming back.” I stared at those words—”My boyfriend”—for what felt like hours. I didn’t know what to do next. I turned my head to look at Lydia, sleeping peacefully beside me, and I felt… nothing. Just a vast, cold emptiness. What made it worse was the digging. It didn’t take long to find him. I expected a stranger. I didn’t expect Toby. Toby, the junior associate I’d been mentoring since last January. For eighteen months, I had been his champion. I gave him my resources, my client list, my shortcuts to success. And for twelve of those months, he had been sleeping with my wife. I remembered the first time I introduced him to Lydia. She’d acted like she couldn’t stand him. She’d come home and complained that he seemed “slimy” and “too ambitious,” warning me not to trust him. He was sharp at work, though. A fast learner, a hard worker. When I looked at him, I saw a younger version of myself, and I couldn’t help but reach out a hand to pull him up. I didn’t realize that by pulling him up, I was letting him kick me into the abyss. Lydia crushed her cigarette with a trembling hand and tried to snatch mine away because I had started coughing. It was as if she only just remembered that since my bout with pneumonia last year, I couldn’t handle smoke. She pulled me out of the smoking section and turned to me, desperation in her eyes. “I want to explain. Please?” “You can, but I won’t be listening,” I said. “I only trust what I see and hear for myself now.” Every affair story is boring in its predictability. It starts with small grievances that turn into a shared resentment against me. Lydia thought I wasn’t “present” enough or “nurturing” enough. Toby thought I was too “authoritarian” and didn’t understand “modern leadership.” There’s a saying: having common interests makes you friends, but having a common enemy makes you soulmates. Lydia and Toby had built a bridge out of their petty complaints about me, crossed it, and ended up in the same bed. Lydia went on and on, a stream of consciousness I barely processed. Whether it was a sordid fling or “true love” didn’t matter. The result was the same. I interrupted her frantic monologue. “The ceremony hasn’t happened yet. We can still call it off without a public spectacle. I sent the papers to your email. Print them, sign them, and let’s be done.” We had eloped at City Hall months ago for the mortgage paperwork. I thought it was the beginning of our forever. I didn’t know I was signing my own death warrant. The word “divorce” hit her like a physical blow. She frowned, her voice rising. “Are you even listening to me, Adrian?” I let out a sharp, dry laugh. “Will listening change the fact that you’ve been opening your legs for my protégé?” She flinched. “Do you have to be so… aggressive? Every single second?” “Oh, I see. What’s the next line in the script? That if I weren’t so ‘aggressive,’ you wouldn’t have been driven into his arms?” I leaned in, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Are you going to tell me it takes two to tango? That I must have done something to make you decide to spend your nights texting him and your days in hourly hotels?” Lydia went pale. Then red. Then a sickly shade of grey. “I don’t want a divorce!” she finally exploded, her voice echoing across the rooftop. “And you think I wanted a cheating wife?” I snapped back. “You think I wanted a traitor for a student? If I could control the world, I wouldn’t be standing in this pathetic scene right now. You couldn’t even control your own impulses, and now you want to negotiate? It’s pathetic, Lydia.” “I’m not negotiating,” she sobbed. “I’m telling you. I won’t sign.” My cigarette had burned out. I had wasted another ten minutes on this person. I felt a sudden, crushing exhaustion. “Marriage takes two people, Lydia. But divorce? That only takes one. This is over.” I turned to walk away. She grabbed my sleeve, her face twisted in a mask of agony. “Do you really think,” she hissed, “that we got here and you’re 100% innocent? You don’t have a single flaw?” I ripped my arm away. “I am certain I didn’t deserve this. I work hard, I take care of our families, I trust my partner. My ‘strength’ and ‘independence’ are who I am. You knew that on day one. You had a thousand days and nights to decide you didn’t like my personality—you didn’t have to use that time to cheat.” I looked her dead in the eye. “Don’t try to gaslight me. I’m not one of your assistants. I’m your husband. Or I was. Marriage can fail, Lydia, but don’t be a woman I despise. Own your choices. You are the only one responsible for this.” That finally silenced her. As I walked toward the exit, I could feel her gaze burning into my back. I didn’t look back. Partly because I refused to give her another ounce of my energy, and partly because I didn’t want her to see the tears finally blurring my vision. I thought I had cried myself dry the night before. But as I stepped into the elevator, the memories flooded back. How we had spent years moving closer, inch by inch, only to tear it all down in a second. The skyscraper of our life together collapsed just before dawn. The wedding was a month away. The down payment on the house was gone. The photographer, the caterer, the venue—the deposits were all paid. Suddenly, it hit me. Marriage isn’t the light at the end of the tunnel. With someone as unfaithful as her, marriage would have been the beginning of a true, permanent darkness. I didn’t let myself wallow. I had a checklist. Fixing the Lydia situation was just step one. Dealing with the fallout she created was the real work. A minute after I hung up with the real estate office, my phone rang. It was Lydia’s father, Richard. Richard was a veteran in my industry. He was the one who introduced us. Before Lydia and I started dating, he was my mentor, a man I respected immensely. But the moment things got serious between us, he transformed into a hyper-critical father-in-law. “You’re withdrawing the down payment?” he boomed without a greeting. “Why wasn’t I consulted? We spent months finding that place! I pulled a dozen favors to get you that discount, Adrian. You’re thirty years old—stop acting like a child.” “I can’t get a hold of Lydia. What the hell is going on?” My patience was non-existent. “I don’t want the house anymore, Richard.” He sputtered. “What do you mean you don’t want it? You loved that place!” “It’s funny how things change,” I said, my voice cold. “I spent months looking at that house and decided I didn’t like it. Just like I spent three years looking at your daughter and realized I don’t like her either. Take the house back. Take your daughter back. It’s a win-win.” I hung up before he could scream. I had an appointment at the office. I needed to see my favorite student. But before I even reached the building, Toby decided to give me one last “surprise.”

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As the cornerstone of a team where I personally generated ninety percent of the revenue, my world was defined by data points, closing ratios, and the relentless pursuit of the next big contract. That was until the afternoon a new intern offered me a five-dollar latte, and I politely declined. I never imagined that such a trivial moment would become the catalyst for my professional execution. My boss publicly lambasted me for a “lack of team spirit,” but the true frost came afterward, when my colleagues began weaving a web of malicious, fabricated rumors to tear me down. I didn’t scream. I didn’t plead. Instead, I quietly spent my nights organizing every lead, every contact, and every ounce of leverage I had built over the years. Then, I took my entire empire across the street to our fiercest competitor. In just three days, my former company’s infrastructure didn’t just stumble—it paralyzed. Their stock price cratered. And in the end, the man who once looked down his nose at me was reduced to a shell of himself, desperate and broken, begging me to come back and save the house he had set on fire. 01 It all started with a lukewarm latte. It was the final day of September, and the office was a ghost town of glowing monitors and humming air conditioning. I had been there since dawn, hammering out the Q4 strategy, and by eleven p.m., I finally clicked “save” and closed my laptop. My eyes ached with that specific kind of exhaustion that feels like sand behind the lids. On my way out, I passed the breakroom. Lexi, the new intern, was fluttering around like a nervous moth, handing out coffee and pastries to the few souls still grinding away. “Janice! I got one for you too,” she said, her voice bright and hopeful as she held out a cup with a local logo on it. I gave her a tired, appreciative smile but didn’t take it. “That’s so sweet of you, Lexi, but I really don’t do caffeine this late. I’d never sleep. Give it to someone who needs the boost.” Lexi’s face fell, a flicker of genuine embarrassment crossing her features. Around the room, the typing stopped. Three of my colleagues exchanged a look—sharp, knowing, and heavy with a sudden, inexplicable tension. I was too drained to decode the subtext. I just waved goodnight and walked out into the cool city air. The next morning, I was summoned to the corner office. Philip Crawford, the CEO, was reclined in his leather chair, cradling a mug like it was a scepter. “Janice, how long has it been? Three years?” “Three years and two months, Philip,” I replied, taking the seat across from him. “Three years of being the top producer. Your numbers are undeniable.” He paused, his gaze hardening. “But I’m getting feedback that you’re becoming… unreachable. Isolated. Lexi tried to do something nice for the team yesterday, and you wouldn’t even give her the time of day? She’s a kid, Janice. You humiliated her.” I stared at him, wondering if this was some kind of elaborate prank. “Philip, I was here until eleven last night finishing the proposal you demanded by Monday. I didn’t have time for a coffee break, and quite frankly, I don’t drink sugar-laden lattes. That’s a personal preference, not a character flaw.” Philip waved his hand dismissively, his expression one of weary disappointment. “Ability is only half the battle in this business. Look at Lexi. She’s been here two months and everyone loves her. You? Aside from the revenue, what exactly do you bring to the culture of this firm?” I felt the air leave my lungs. What did I bring? I brought ninety percent of his annual earnings. I brought a third of the regional client base. I took a crumbling boutique agency and turned it into a top-ten industry player. And I wasn’t allowed to say ‘no’ to a five-dollar drink? “If you feel my personality is a liability to the company’s growth,” I said, my voice terrifyingly calm as I stood up, “then perhaps you should find someone else to carry the quota.” Philip’s face darkened. “Don’t play the resignation card every time your ego gets bruised, Janice. I’m telling you this for your own good. If you don’t fix your attitude, you’ll be miserable wherever you go.” I didn’t argue. I just turned and walked out. 02 The shift was instantaneous. The atmosphere in the office turned from professional to predatory within forty-eight hours. The gossip in the breakroom used to be about commissions or industry news. Now, it was a choreographed assault on my reputation. “You heard how Janice landed the Sterling account, right?” I heard Chad, the lead for Team B, whispering as I approached the door. “Word is, she doesn’t just ‘pitch’ in the boardroom. There are certain… after-hours services involved.” “No way,” a junior analyst giggled. “Total way. How else does a woman her age dominate the charts like that? It’s not just ‘hard work,’ honey.” Chad had been at the firm for five years, and for five years, he had lived in my shadow. Last year, his bonus was a fraction of mine. He wasn’t just talking; he was praying for my downfall. I pushed the door open. The silence was deafening. Chad’s face went pale for a split second before settling into a smug, greasy grin. “Hey, Janice. Just joking around. Don’t take it personally.” I looked him dead in the eye. “Chad, do you want me to remind everyone exactly how you ‘closed’ that mid-west lead last month? Or should we keep our professional histories private?” The color drained from his face entirely. I grabbed my water and left, but the poison had already spread. Anonymous messages started appearing on the internal Slack channels. Slurs. Accusations of embezzlement. Someone even mocked up a fake thread suggesting I was having an affair with a married client. I didn’t delete them. I took screenshots. I saved logs. I organized them into a folder marked Evidence. When I brought it to Philip, his response was a shrug. “If you’re innocent, people will eventually see that. Defending yourself just makes you look guilty, Janice. Just ignore the noise and keep hitting your targets.” Keep hitting my targets. My labor paid the rent for thirty people who spent their lunch hours calling me a whore. The irony was a bitter pill to swallow, especially since I was in the middle of negotiating a twenty-million-dollar deal with a tech giant—a contract that would triple our firm’s valuation. I spent my days being the ultimate professional, charming CEOs and refining deliverables. Then I’d go home, sit on the edge of my bed in the dark, and read the latest insults posted about me until my hands shook. My mother called one night to check in. I told her I was fine, that I’d just won a quarterly award. “Take care of yourself, honey,” she whispered. “Don’t let them work you to death.” “I won’t,” I promised. Then I hung up, buried my face in the pillow, and wept until I couldn’t breathe. 03 The breaking point arrived in mid-October. I was in the office at 1:00 a.m. polishing the final draft of the twenty-million-dollar contract. The client, a man named Mr. Henderson, had already given me a verbal “yes.” All that remained was the formal signing. I headed down to the lobby to grab a coffee from the vending machine and ran into Felix from IT. Felix was one of the few people who didn’t participate in the office politics. He was a quiet, brilliant misfit, much like me. “Janice,” he said, looking around the empty lobby nervously. “I shouldn’t tell you this.” “Tell me what, Felix?” “Last Friday, while you were at the Henderson site, Philip called us into a meeting. He’s fast-tracking a new CRM—a ‘Client Management System.’ He ordered us to scrape every single one of your personal contacts, your communication logs, and your lead histories and input them into a shared database.” My heart skipped a beat. “What’s the official reason?” “He said ‘risk management.’ That the company shouldn’t have all its eggs in one basket. He told the sales team that once the system is live, all your clients will be ‘rotational assets’ that anyone can access.” I had spent three years building those relationships. Every dinner, every late-night troubleshooting call, every secret preference of every decision-maker—I had earned that trust through blood and sweat. It wasn’t just data. it was my life’s work. And Philip wanted to strip it from me so he could hand it to people like Chad. “Is the system live?” “It’s ready. But Philip said to wait until after you sign the Henderson deal. He doesn’t want to spook the client before the ink is dry.” A cold, sharp laugh escaped my throat. It was brilliant, really. Let me do the heavy lifting, let me secure the firm’s future, and the moment the commission was locked, they’d discard me like a used tissue, keeping the “assets” I’d brought to the table. I walked out of the building and stood on the sidewalk, the biting wind whipping my hair across my face. I remembered three years ago, when this firm was five people in a cramped office with a leaking ceiling. Philip had looked me in the eye and said, “Janice, if you help me build this, I’ll make sure you’re set for life.” I had believed the lie. Suddenly, I thought of Sawyer. He was the CEO of Vanguard Solutions, our primary rival. He’d been trying to headhunt me for a year, offering me a package that seemed almost too good to be true: double the base, double the commission, and my own independent department. I had always said no because I felt a sense of loyalty to Philip. What a pathetic, expensive mistake. 04 I spent the next seventy-two hours in a fever of cold calculation. I re-organized everything. Every client file, every recording of every meeting, every scanned contract—I backed them up into an encrypted drive that never touched the office server. These weren’t just files; they were my leverage. Then, I sent a simple text to Sawyer: Is that offer still on the table?

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It seemed the only reason I existed was to serve as a cautionary tale for my brother’s upbringing. I remember when Tyler first started middle school and developed a junk food habit. My mother decided to fill an old Gatorade bottle with concentrated weedkiller and left it sitting right on my nightstand where it couldn’t be missed. I drank it. The agony that followed was a white-hot serrated knife twisting in my gut, sending me heaving and thrashing across the floor. My dad threw me into the car, racing through the night toward the ER, only to be pulled over at a sobriety checkpoint. Even though the breathalyzer came back clean, my mother sat in the passenger seat and laughed. She screamed at the officer that the machine was a piece of junk, insisting my father had a six-pack of beer. She stared at Tyler in the backseat, pointing at my seizing body as if I were a prop. “See that?” she told him. “That’s what happens when you’re reckless with what you put in your body.” She didn’t even notice that my breathing was becoming a series of shallow, broken stutters. When Tyler blew fifty dollars on a gaming app, she stripped me of my clothes and tried to force me to go on a live stream to “earn it back,” claiming she was teaching him the value of money. When Tyler got caught shoplifting a candy bar, she dragged me to the store manager, forced me to my knees in the middle of the aisle, and made me slap my own face until my cheeks were bruised, just so Tyler could witness the weight of “shame.” Well, Mom… this time, I’m using my life to give you your final lesson. Are you satisfied yet? … 1 “Your equipment is a joke. My husband just polished off a bottle of whiskey, and you can’t even pick it up?” When I heard my mother say those words, my body was already wracked with tremors. A spray of dark blood hit the back of the driver’s seat. I looked at her, my vision blurring, unable to grasp the cruelty of it. The officer’s face hardened instantly. “Sir, step out of the vehicle! We’re going to need a blood draw!” My father’s eyes were bloodshot, bordering on hysterical. “Are you insane, Lydia? You know I’m allergic to alcohol! Stop playing games—our daughter is dying!” Tyler lunged forward from the backseat, grabbing my mother’s arm and shaking her. His voice was a panicked vibrato. “Mom! Please, stop! Daisy drank poison! If we don’t get her there now, she isn’t coming back!” But my mother wouldn’t budge. She insisted he was drunk. Even with a clean breathalyzer, the protocol for a “refusal” or a suspected malfunction meant the officers had to take my father in for a blood test. Dad was the only one who could drive. Tyler didn’t have a license. Every second we sat idling under the harsh blue and red lights was a second I didn’t have. As the officer reached for the door handle to pull my father out, I forced myself upright. My throat felt like it had been scrubbed with glass. “Officer… please,” I wheezed, my voice a ghostly rasp. “My dad is sober… my mom, she’s just… she’s making it up. Please, I’m poisoned. I can’t… I can’t breathe…” The words were cut short by a violent, wet cough. Thick, copper-tasting blood spilled over my lips. The officer’s expression shifted from professional sternness to pure alarm. He knew what weedkiller did to a person’s internal organs. But it was the height of rush hour. The intersection was a gridlocked nightmare, and the small task force at the checkpoint was already stretched thin. There wasn’t a spare cruiser to rush me to the hospital. He glanced at his body cam, then barked at my mother, “Did he drink or not? If he’s sober, you leave now! If you’re lying about him being drunk and he actually is, the consequences are on you. Decide right now!” I looked at her, tears streaming down my face. “Mom, please tell the truth… I’m slipping. Just tell them the truth, let me live, and I’ll let you punish me however you want later. I’ll do anything.” People in the cars nearby were starting to roll down their windows, shouting. “Lady, look at your kid! Just get her to the hospital!” “What kind of sick joke is this?” Stung by the public judgment, my mother finally waved a dismissive hand at the officer. “Fine, fine. Good lord, everyone is so dramatic. I was just having a little fun!” The tension in my chest eased for a fraction of a second. My body went limp against the upholstery. But just as the officer backed away and my father went to shift the car into drive, my mother let out a sharp, mocking chirp of a laugh. “See? You people are so easy to fool. My husband was at a party all afternoon—he’s hammered. If you let him drive, he’ll probably plow into a minivan and kill a whole family.” The officer’s face went livid. He lunged into the car, physically dragging my father out of the driver’s seat, shouting for his partner to get the handcuffs. I felt my heart stutter. The pain in my stomach and the suffocating pressure in my chest collided. The world began to tilt into blackness. Tyler, watching my body begin to convulse, finally broke. He screamed at her, a raw, guttural sound of pure hatred. “Mom! Are you crazy?! Look at her! Daisy is dying right in front of you!” My mother remained eerily calm. “Why are you screaming? Look at her closely, Tyler.” “This is a lesson. I am using her pain to teach you something you clearly haven’t learned.” “You need to remember: never touch a bottle if you don’t know what’s in it. And stop reaching for soda every five minutes like an addict!” I stared at her, my eyes wide and stinging. In a moment of life and death, she was holding a seminar. My father was shaking so hard he could barely stand. “Daisy is… she’s… how could you…” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. My mother just rolled her eyes. “I diluted that stuff with plenty of water. It’s not that strong. Daisy is young and healthy; she’s tougher than she looks. Stop overreacting.” She turned back to Tyler, her tone sharpening. “I’m sick of seeing you with a Coke in your hand every day. Maybe seeing this will finally make it stick.” I lay there, the chemical fire climbing from my stomach to my throat. The sounds around me—the sirens, the shouting, the radio chatter—all began to bleed into a dull, underwater hum. Suddenly, a black SUV pulled onto the shoulder. A middle-aged man jumped out and ran toward us. It was Mike, my dad’s best friend since grade school. He shouted at the police, “Hey! I know these people! That’s my best friend! I’m sober—I haven’t touched a drop today. Check my dashcam if you want.” “I’ll take the girl! You guys do your protocol with Tom, but don’t let this kid die on the side of the road!” Tyler, cradling my cooling body, began to sob. He bowed his head toward Mike, incoherent with gratitude, and started to lift me to carry me to the SUV. My father looked at Mike, his voice breaking as he whispered a promise to repay him for the rest of his life. I curled into Tyler’s arms. Even as the pain tore me apart, a tiny spark of hope flickered. Uncle Mike was like family. He would get me to the hospital. They’d pump my stomach. I’d have a chance. But just as Tyler reached the door of Mike’s car, my mother lunged forward. She grabbed the door handle and slammed it shut, blocking our path. 2 The world seemed to stop. The frantic noise of the highway faded into a chilling silence. Tyler was shaking so violently I thought he might drop me. His grip on me tightened. My mother glared at Mike, her voice rising to a shrill, hysterical pitch. “Who the hell are you?! I don’t know you! Why would I let my daughter get into a stranger’s car? For all I know, you’re a predator!” Everyone froze. Even Mike looked like he’d been slapped. “Lydia? What are you talking about? It’s Mike! Mike Miller! Tom and I grew up together. We literally had dinner at your house three weeks ago. Have you lost your mind?” My father stepped forward, grabbing her shoulders, his face a mask of shock and fury. “Lydia! Stop it! You know Mike. He was at the hospital when Daisy was born, when Tyler was born. We spend every holiday together. You’ve known him for twenty years!” “I don’t know him!” she shrieked, shaking his hands off and planting her feet. She wouldn’t budge from the door. “The world is full of look-alikes! Why should I trust him? What if he’s a liar? If anything happens to my daughter, are you going to take responsibility?” Tyler collapsed to his knees right there on the asphalt, still holding me. He began to beg, his voice thick with tears. “Mom! Please! She’s stopping… she’s barely breathing! Mike is Mike! He wouldn’t hurt us! Please let us go!” She didn’t even look down at him. My father’s hand went to his chest, his voice dropping to a dangerous, ragged growl. “Lydia, what is this? That is your daughter. She is dying. What do you actually want?” “What do I want?” Her voice suddenly peaked, dripping with a strange, poisoned combination of self-pity and spite. “This is your fault, Tom!” My father looked bewildered. What did Mike trying to save me have to do with him? Under the confused stares of the paramedics and police who were finally closing in, my mother finally spat out the truth. “Last Thursday was the twentieth anniversary of the day we first met! I told you two weeks in advance I wanted to go to that French place downtown. And you forgot! You didn’t even say ‘Happy Anniversary’!” “Tom Miller! You claim you have a bad memory? You claim you can’t keep track of the things that matter to me? Well, now you can see exactly what happens when you’re ‘careless.’ This is the consequence of your negligence!” My father looked like he was watching his entire world crumble. “Lydia… are you serious? Do you know how many anniversaries you make me keep track of?” “The wedding, the first date, the first kiss—hell, the anniversary of the first time we held hands! I try, Lydia. I really do. But I just started that new project at the firm. I’ve been sleeping two hours a night. I was exhausted! I gave you my credit card and told you to buy whatever you wanted to make up for it. Why are you bringing this up now?” Seeing him push back only fueled her fire. “Don’t you dare raise your voice at me!” “If you make a mistake, you pay for it! Accepting a ‘gift’ doesn’t mean I forgave you. And don’t act like I’m the problem now—you used to call me ‘romantic’ when we were dating. Now I’m just ‘too much’?” My father realized there was no reasoning with her. He looked down at me—my eyes were rolling back, my consciousness flickering like a dying candle. In a desperate move, he turned and dropped to his knees before the police officers. “Officers, please. Arrest me. Do whatever you have to do. But please, take my daughter. She drank weedkiller. She’s fading. Please don’t let her die because of this.” The two officers hurried to help him up. They looked at my limp form in Tyler’s arms, signaled to their backup, and lifted me into the back of a squad car. With the sirens screaming a deafening, mournful wail, we tore through the traffic toward the emergency room. I thought that once I passed those sliding glass doors, I would be safe. I thought the nightmare was over. But my mother wasn’t finished. 3 I had just been moved onto a gurney when the trauma room doors burst open. My mother flew at the nurses, reaching for the IV line they were trying to start in my arm. “You people are nothing but thieves! This is a scam!” she screamed. “Ten thousand dollars for an admission deposit? For what? She drank a little diluted poison. You’re price-gouging because we’re in a panic!” Tyler’s face was beet red, his eyes streaming. He was just a student; he didn’t have a dime to his name. He grabbed her hands, trying to pin them down, sobbing for her to just stop, to let them save me. She shoved him back with surprising strength. “I gave birth to her! I wouldn’t hurt her! It was a tiny amount—she’s not going to die. This hospital is just trying to take advantage of us. We’re leaving! We’ll find a clinic that isn’t a rip-off!” She actually tried to drag me off the bed. It took three nurses to physically restrain her. In the middle of the chaos, my father arrived, having finished his blood draw. When he saw the scene, something in him snapped. His eyes were a terrifying, dark red. “Lydia! If you interfere one more time, I am filing for divorce tonight. I will take the kids, and you will never see them again as long as you live!” The word “divorce” seemed to hit her harder than the reality of my dying. She froze, then frantically fumbled in her purse for her wallet. My father and Tyler let out a breath they’d been holding for a lifetime. They thought she was finally surrendering. But no one expected what she did next. She clutched her bank card and bolted out of the room. My father and Tyler chased after her like madmen. Their shouting grew faint, then disappeared entirely down the hallway. In the trauma room, it was just me and a team of helpless doctors and nurses. The chemicals had already done their work, searing through my vitals. My eyelids felt like lead. The rhythmic beep of the monitor became a frantic, high-pitched scream. The doctors grabbed the paddles, the “clear!” ringing out, but my spirit was already drifting, untethered, toward the ceiling. When I opened my eyes again, I was hovering above them all. I saw my own body—pale, still, and utterly broken—on the table. That’s when my mother burst back in, waving a stack of cash. My father was shaking, his voice a ghost of itself. “Lydia… she’s almost gone. Why did you run to an ATM? Why did you waste twenty minutes getting cash when you could have just swiped the card? Do you realize those minutes cost her her life?” My mother just rolled her eyes, breathless. “Last month, Tyler clicked a bad link on his phone and someone hacked fifty dollars out of his account.” “I needed to show you both the risks of digital payments. I wanted to make sure you never, ever use your cards online again. I had to make a point about security!” She stepped forward, shoving the door to my room open.

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The conversation at the reunion dinner drifted, as it always did, back to the “golden days.” Someone laughed, leaning across the white linen tablecloth, and remarked how everyone back in prep school thought Gordon and Natalia were a match made in heaven. Then, another voice chimed in, a bit more pointedly, saying no one expected me to be the one to finally pin down a man as unattainable as Gordon Ashford. A wave of polite, well-bred laughter rippled through the circle. “And what are you doing these days, Natalia?” a woman asked, her eyes glittering with curiosity. Natalia waved a hand dismissively, the diamonds on her wrist catching the light. “Oh, nothing much. I was just promoted to Executive VP at a tech firm in the city.” The table erupted in murmurs of genuine impressed surprise. Being an EVP at twenty-four wasn’t just success; it was a conquest. They showered her with praise, calling her a powerhouse. Then, the spotlight shifted back to Gordon. Everyone knew his path was already paved—the Ashford Group was his to inherit, a crown waiting for its king. Finally, the eyes turned to me. “And you, Cora? What’s your career path looking like?” I opened my mouth to answer. I wanted to tell them about the quiet, heavy dignity of my work. But Gordon’s hand settled on my shoulder, his grip firm and possessive. He cut me off before I could speak. “She’s actually retired from the workforce. She’s at home, preparing to be the full-time Mrs. Ashford.” Natalia smiled, a thin, sharp thing. “That’s quite a sacrifice,” she said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “You must really love him, Cora.” Gordon raised his glass to her in a mock salute. “She’s not like you, Nat. She’s too soft for the corporate world. If I don’t keep her close, she’s liable to wander off and get herself into trouble again.” The table erupted in “Awws” and teasing remarks about how Gordon was a “doting husband-to-be.” I looked down at my plate, forcing a smile to match theirs. But inside, something cold was settling in my marrow. I wondered when my trauma—the nightmare of being abducted and held captive years ago—had become nothing more than a half-baked punchline he used to keep me small. 1 I sat in the passenger seat of his Obsidian Black SUV, the silence between us heavy. Gordon had one hand resting casually on the steering wheel. He didn’t start the engine immediately. Instead, he turned his head to look at me, his gaze wearing that familiar, patronizing warmth. He reached out, his thumb and forefinger gently pinching my earlobe. “You’re quiet. Still upset?” I turned my head away, watching the neon lights of the city blur against the rain-streaked window. “Gordon… do I really make you that ashamed?” He didn’t rush to answer. He started the car first, pulling smoothly out of the parking lot. Only when we were merged into the late-night traffic did he speak, his tone measured and calm. “Do you honestly think I’m ashamed of you?” I said nothing. He let out a soft, indulgent chuckle, as if my question were merely a child’s tantrum. “Cora, I’m trying to protect you. You graduated from a top-tier university, and yet you chose that job. People won’t understand your ‘calling.’ They’ll just see it as morbid. They’ll pity you, or worse, they’ll look down on you.” “I don’t want you to be the subject of dinner party gossip,” he continued, his voice dropping to that tone of unshakable certainty. “We don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Being my wife is more than enough for you. It’s the best thing for everyone.” He spoke with such terrifying logic, as if he were simply arranging the furniture of my life for my own comfort. I looked out the window. The night was thick, suffocating. Gordon, sensing my silence as submission, reached into the back seat and pulled out a designer gift bag. “Stop brooding. I got you something.” I took it, unwrapping the tissue paper to find a heavy glass bottle. Perfume. Clear liquid, gold-flecked, with a black silk ribbon tied around the neck. It smelled like wealth and old money. “Another one,” I whispered. “Gordon, you’ve bought me nearly a hundred bottles of perfume by now.” He smiled, his posture relaxing. “It’s got a heavy rose base. It’s beautiful. You should wear it next time we go out.” Rose. I froze. Suddenly, a surge of bitterness, sharper than anything I’d felt before, rose up in my throat. “Why? Do I smell that bad today?” I turned to look at him, my expression flat, a ghost of a smile haunting my lips. Gordon’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered. He reached over and ruffled the back of my hair, the way one might soothe a nervous golden retriever. “Don’t be ridiculous. I just wanted to give you a gift.” His composure was a suit of armor, soft but impenetrable. My sharp edges simply bounced off him. Every single time. I looked down, put the perfume back in the box, and tightened the cap. “I get it,” I said, my voice slipping back into the submissive tone he preferred. “Why aren’t we moving?” He checked his phone. “Waiting for Natalia. She mentioned it was hard to get an Uber this late. Since we’re heading the same way, I told her we’d drop her off.” A moment later, Natalia climbed into the back seat, bringing a gust of the cool night air with her. “Sorry to keep you guys! You’re lifesavers.” “It’s no trouble,” Gordon said. “Actually, I wanted to pick your brain about the new acquisition. Cora doesn’t really follow the nuances of the M&A world.” The rest of the drive was a symphony of their shared world. They talked about hostile takeovers, modern art galas, and industry trends. They were intellectual equals, two titans of the same industry. I couldn’t contribute, and more importantly, I didn’t want to. When the car pulled up to our apartment building, Gordon kept the engine running. “Go on up,” he said. “I’ll be back as soon as I drop her off.” I pushed the door open but didn’t go inside immediately. I stood in the shadows of the lobby entrance and looked back. Natalia had already climbed into the front seat. She was leaning over, seemingly struggling with her seatbelt. She said something, her voice carry a hint of practiced helplessness. Gordon laughed—a genuine, warm sound. Then, he leaned over quite naturally to click the belt into place for her. The amber glow of the streetlamp washed over them, framing them in a warm, cinematic light. In that moment, I had to admit the truth: they were the perfect pair. And I? I was just a ghost from a messy past, someone he was trying to scrub clean with expensive perfume, hoping to drown out the scent of the life I’d actually lived. I let out a long, slow breath. The tension that had been holding me together for years finally snapped, silent and absolute. I pulled out my phone and sent a text to Mallory. I’m in. Let’s do it. See you tomorrow. 2 Back in the apartment, I started to pack. I opened the vanity drawer. It was a graveyard of perfume bottles, row after row of them. Gordon seemed to believe that if he piled enough fragrance high enough, he could mask the “stench” of the world I had come from. I sighed, turning toward the closet. I pulled out a few simple, practical outfits. Hidden at the very bottom of the wardrobe, I found an old tin box. Inside was a yellowed notebook. On the first page, in the shaky but determined handwriting of a teenage boy, were the words: On our 25th birthday, I’m going to make you my wife. Next week was my twenty-fifth birthday. I thought I was numb to it all, but the ink suddenly blurred. Tears fell, one by one, staining the aged paper. Gordon, in his high-rise office and his world of mergers, had surely buried that promise under a mountain of ambition. Just like he’d forgotten I was allergic to roses. Just like he’d forgotten my one unbreakable rule—the “sickness” I carried from my childhood. I cannot forgive a broken promise. That pathology started on my fifth birthday. My parents had taken me to a park, promising me the biggest cake in the bakery if I waited on a specific bench. I sat there as the sun dipped below the horizon, watching the streetlamps flicker to life. I waited all day. I waited until the park was empty, until a security guard called the police. They never came back. From that day on, I learned one thing: a promise is the cheapest currency on earth, and waiting is the cruelest form of torture. I spent two years in the foster system after that. I survived bullying, hunger, and the kind of violations that still make my skin crawl. They are the recurring cast of my nightmares. When I was seven, my grandmother—my father’s mother, though she had disowned him long ago—found me. She was a stooped woman with a bag of warm roasted peanuts and a heart made of iron. She took my hand and said, “Come home, little bird.” She wasn’t rich. She was poor. She spent her sixties selling sewing kits on street corners just to keep me in school. But she was different from my parents. When she said she wouldn’t leave, she didn’t. When she promised to get me to college, she worked until her hands were raw and cracked in the winter cold to save every penny for my tuition. I studied like my life depended on it. I got into a prestigious high school. And that’s where I met Gordon. Our young love was pure, simple. No grand gestures, just notes passed under desks and silent, shy walks home. We promised to go to the same university. We promised to watch the snow fall by the lake. Just when it felt like the world was finally being kind, fate decided I hadn’t suffered enough. The summer after graduation, trying to help my grandmother with the bills, I fell for a fake job listing. I was kidnapped and taken deep into the mountains, sold to a labor ring. That was the beginning of my second nightmare. 3 When an eighteen-year-old girl vanishes into the dark corners of the country, everyone knows what happens. My grandmother went to the police, but they told her to wait. She waited seven days at the precinct, only to be told they had found my biological parents. She dragged her sick body to beg them for help. My father sat on his leather sofa, smoking, saying he had a “new family” and didn’t want the scandal. My mother wouldn’t even see her; she sent a message saying she only had one child now—her son. My grandmother collapsed from the stress. Gordon, realizing I hadn’t shown up for two weeks, went on a rampage. When he found out I’d been taken, that proud, sheltered boy fell to his knees and begged his parents to use their connections to find me. His parents, horrified that he was involved with a girl like me, refused at first. But he went on a hunger strike. He broke windows. He forced their hand. They tracked me to a place called Blackwood Ridge—a notorious dead zone for lawlessness and trafficking. They warned him: It’s a black hole. If you go there, you might not come back. And Gordon, when the whole world had written me off, went anyway. He went alone, defying everyone. For thirty-seven days, I lived in hell. I was ready to die until I saw him—bloodied, bruised, but standing in front of me. For years, I replayed that scene in my head. I told myself that the universe didn’t owe me anything because it had given me him. I thought we were finally safe. We weren’t. The police called my grandmother to tell her I’d been rescued. She was so overcome with joy that she ran out of the house toward the station. Crossing the street, a truck running a red light hit her. By the time I got to the hospital, her face was unrecognizable. The swelling had stretched her wrinkles flat. Her jaw was displaced, her lips torn. I knelt by her bed, trying to wipe the blood from her face, but the grit and the red wouldn’t come away. A nurse cried as she told me to stop, that she was already gone. But I couldn’t stop. I was desperate to piece her back together, to find the kind, smiling woman underneath the wreckage. I couldn’t give her back her face. I couldn’t even see her one last time. Gordon arrived as I was retching from grief. He held me tight. “I’m your family now,” he whispered. “I’m never leaving. Wait for me. By the time we’re twenty-five, I’ll give you a real home.” After college, I chose to become a restorative artist—a mortician specializing in reconstruction. I wanted to make sure that everyone who left this world left it clean. I wanted their families to see them as they were meant to be seen. I thought Gordon would understand. But perhaps time is a thief. Perhaps only I stayed in that hospital room while he moved on to skyscrapers… I dried my eyes and put the notebook back in the tin. The bedroom door opened. I was so lost in the past I hadn’t heard him come home. He saw my red eyes and frowned. “What is it now?” I held the box to my chest and looked up at him. His face blurred into the face of the boy who had saved me in the mountains. I couldn’t help it; I had to ask one last time. “Gordon.” “Yeah?” “Next week is my birthday. Twenty-five.” I paused, my heart hammered against my ribs. “Do you still want to marry me?” 4 Gordon’s usual composure flickered. Just for a second, there was hesitation—even a touch of bewilderment. But he smoothed it over quickly. He knelt down, his fingers brushing the corner of my eye. “Don’t be silly,” he sighed, his voice a mix of exasperation and practiced affection. “We basically are married. Is a piece of paper really that important to you?” I stared at him, saying nothing. He took my silence as agreement. He smiled and patted my hair. “Stop overthinking. I’ll take you to get a bag for your birthday. That limited edition one you liked? I’ve already had them put it on hold for you.” I lowered my head. “Okay.” Satisfied, Gordon got up to shower. “But Gordon,” I said softly, “when did I ever look at a bag?” He paused, his back to me. Then he turned with a charming smile. “I must have misremembered. Must have been a different one.” I nodded. The sound of the shower filled the room. A little while later, his rhythmic breathing told me he was asleep. He always slept deeply, unlike me. I stood in the dark, watching him for a long time. I watched until my eyes ached. I watched until the sliver of moonlight moved from his brow to his jaw. I watched until I had said every silent goodbye I had in me. Then, I picked up my backpack. The lock clicked—a sound as soft as a sigh. I didn’t look back. Downstairs, a dark SUV was idling under a streetlamp. I opened the door and slid in. Mallory didn’t ask questions. She just reached over and pulled me into a fierce, bone-crushing hug. Mallory had been taken with me all those years ago. She was the only person who truly knew how much blood Gordon had spilled to get us out. Like me, she could never say a bad word about him, no matter what he had become. “It’s okay,” she whispered, her voice husky. “Don’t cry.” She shifted the car into drive and pulled away from the curb. “When I saw how he was with you back then, I really thought…” She trailed off. “Forget it. Be strong. Maybe this is the universe doing you a favor. You have no idea how happy Luke was when I told him today.” Luke. Just hearing his name brought a flicker of warmth to my chest. He had been a rookie cop back then, helping the seniors rescue us. He’d been so nervous his hands shook while he wrapped me in a blanket. When the traffickers tried to rush us with clubs, he’d stepped in front of me, taking a hit to the shoulder meant for my head. Now, he was Mallory’s boss at the precinct and one of our only true friends. And soon… he would be more than that. We reached Mallory’s place, and I could hear someone in the kitchen. She winked at me. A tall, broad-shouldered figure emerged from the kitchen holding two steaming bowls of noodles. “Sutton—I mean, Cora. Dinner’s ready.” Luke looked at me, looking uncharacteristically shy. Mallory started eating, glancing between us with a smirk. I put my chopsticks down. “Alright, you need to go home, Mallory. We have a busy few days.” “Oh, right!” she squeaked. “Dress fitting tomorrow! Let’s get some sleep!” Before he left, Luke looked at me. “Don’t worry about the hotel or the vendors. I’ve got it. Just… pick the dress you love.” He turned red, then added, “You won’t regret this, Cora. I promise.” I smiled and nodded. I pulled out my phone. Gordon’s chat window was still open. I hesitated, then tapped his profile. Block. Contact list. Block. I opened our shared family tracking app. Leave Family Circle. Delete Device. Grandmother, I thought. In five days, I’m getting married. I hope you’re happy for me.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “443838”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

This is my final chance to rewrite the stars for Donna. I’ve traveled back across a decade, carrying the weight of a single mission: save her. If I fail, she ceases to exist in both timelines. Total erasure. So, I cannot afford to lose. Everyone thinks I’m pathetic for crawling back to an ex-girlfriend who’s now confined to a wheelchair, but I don’t care. I’m relentless. She hates me for what happened ten years ago—for the way I seemingly abandoned her when she needed me most. She spends her days finding new, inventive ways to humiliate me, but I don’t flinch. Until tonight. Until this twisted game of “Truth or Dare” got us locked in a high-tech escape room together. The rules are simple: the door only unlocks if you whisper the name of the person you truly love while a sensor confirms your heart rate has hit the “arousal” threshold. I waited, breathless. And then I heard it. She didn’t say my name. She said “Parker.” Parker—the “Golden Boy,” the perpetual optimist who hovers around her like a loyal golden retriever. The man she usually treats with cold indifference. I stood there, paralyzed by the shock. Donna just let out a sharp, jagged laugh. “It’s just a game, Cade,” she whispered, her voice like broken glass. “Don’t go catching feelings now. It’s pathetic.” Then, her eyes darkened with a predatory glint. She leaned in, her voice a low, seductive lure. She told me that if I stayed in this dark room all night as “punishment,” she’d grant me a single minute of being “back together” as a reward. I looked at her—at the woman I’ve died for twice before—and slowly shook my head. “It’s okay,” I said softly. “I don’t need it anymore.” She has no idea that my only goal is to restore the girl she used to be. To undo the accident that took her legs. To save a version of her that doesn’t yet know how to hate me. 1 “Think about it, Cade. This might be the only chance you ever get…” Donna’s voice trailed off. A flicker of genuine shock crossed her face, cracking her icy mask. “What did you just say? You’re… turning me down?” She narrowed her eyes, searching my face for the catch. “What’s the play here? Playing hard to get? Trying to reverse the psychology?” I met her gaze. My throat felt like it was full of acid, but I kept my voice steady. “I’ll take the punishment. I’ll stay the night.” “But as for getting back together?” I took a breath. “There’s no point.” The smirk on Donna’s face froze. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the armrests of her wheelchair. I saw a flash of something dark and turbulent in her eyes—resentment, maybe, or a bruised ego. “Fine,” she spat. “What’s the price, then? What are you going to demand this time? Do you want me to go back to that shithole fishing village with you? Or do you want me to sit through another one of your hollow, miserable explanations?” She leaned forward, her voice rising. “I don’t get it, Cade! You were the one who dumped me. You were the one who walked away. Why do you always act like you’re the goddamn martyr?” I bit my lip, forcing myself to look up so the tears wouldn’t fall. This is the third time. The third life. And she still loathes me. In the first life, I tried to prove my love by literally jumping off a cliff for her. When she stood over my body, all she said was, “Serves him right.” In the second life, I brought her to my old mentor, the man who gave me the scholarship. I tried to prove I didn’t leave her for a career abroad. She hated me even more for it. She ended up framing that mentor for bribery, just to strip away everything I cared about. In this life, I tried total honesty. I told her the truth: that being with me was the only way to save her life. She laughed in my face. She threw a bottle of experimental meds—developed by Parker, her “Golden Boy”—at my feet. “I’m not the eighteen-year-old idiot I used to be, Cade,” she had said. “Being with you is a ‘cure’? Listen to yourself. That’s the most pathetic pickup line in history.” Looking at the sheer disgust in her eyes now, I felt a bone-deep weariness for the first time. But then I looked at her legs. I remembered the night ten years ago—the night she was jumped by my father’s creditors because she was working three jobs to pay for my tuition. I remembered the sound of the impact. I looked at the heart rate monitor on the wall. The jagged green line was still settling. She claimed to hate Parker, but her heart skipped when she said his name. I forced a bitter smile. “I don’t want anything from you this time, Donna.” “I’ll say it one last time. I never abandoned you. I never tried to climb over you to get to the top. I am literally here to save your life.” I turned my head away, quickly wiping my eyes with my sleeve. Donna hesitated. For a split second, the air between us shifted. Then, the door to the escape room was thrown open. A silhouette burst through the light, rushing straight to her. “Donna! Are you okay?” Parker. He was breathless, his eyes brimming with performative concern. He knelt by her chair, ignoring me entirely. “You’ve always been terrified of the dark. Why did you let him drag you into this game?” “Come on. Let’s go home.” He threw a sharp, protective glare in my direction. It was a mirror image of the way I used to stand in front of Donna when we were kids. When he realized the wheelchair was locked, he paused. He followed Donna’s gaze up to the heart rate monitor on the wall. His expression shifted instantly to one of smug, sugary triumph. “He’ll be fine,” Parker said, his voice softening as he looked at Donna. “He’s not the scared little boy who used to hide behind you anymore, Don. Let him stay.” Donna’s cold aura seemed to thaw slightly under his touch. She looked at me, almost as if she were trying to convince herself of something. “One night, Cade,” she murmured. “After tonight, I’ll give you one last chance to explain yourself.” I watched them leave. Parker pushed her chair into the light, and then the door slammed shut. Darkness rushed in. The old, familiar terror began to crawl up my spine. She’d forgotten. She’d forgotten that ten years ago, I nearly died in a place just like this. I pulled my knees to my chest, burying my face in my arms. The tears came fast then. All I could think about was the eighteen-year-old version of Donna—the girl who was waiting for me to “win” this game so we could both go home. Then, a cold, mechanical voice flickered in my mind. [Warning: Host’s will to continue has dropped below the threshold. Automatic failure sequence initiated.] 2 [Confirmation required: Do you wish to forfeit the mission?] I bit my lip until I tasted copper. I was a second away from saying yes. Suddenly, the last faint light in the room died. The darkness was absolute. My mind spiraled back to the cellar, to the smell of damp earth and my father’s drunken rants. My head throbbed. I tried to scream for the System, to tell it to take me back. Thump! The door was kicked open. A figure silhouetted against the hall light ran toward me. In my disoriented state, the shape looked just like the girl from my memories. I felt a surge of hope. She came back. She actually cares. The System’s question vanished from my mind. I must have passed out, because I started to dream. I was back in Portside, the foggy coastal town where we grew up. Donna was an orphan, the girl everyone liked to kick around. Our first real conversation happened after a group of neighborhood kids threw a rock at her head. I had saved up every cent I earned from paper routes. I carried her on my back three miles to the town clinic. She was so thin back then. She wouldn’t look at me. “I’ll pay you back,” she had muttered. I just blinked at her. “It’s okay. I heard you go into the city sometimes. Can you just… take me with you next time?” I wanted to study. My parents wouldn’t let me. I needed to learn the train routes so I could sneak away to take the entrance exams. We became inseparable. When I was eighteen, I got my acceptance letter to a university abroad. My father tore it into confetti. They wanted to sell me off to work the industrial docks to pay their gambling debts. I tried to run, but Portside was a trap. I spent three months locked in a literal pigpen behind our house. Donna was the one who found me. She went feral, fighting my father to get me out. She nearly died doing it. After we escaped, she worked three jobs to pay for my life. When I tried to say no, she’d just pinch my cheek and laugh. “Just wait until you graduate, Cade. Then we’ll get married.” “You’re the reason I work so hard. I want to give you the world.” The eighteen-year-old Donna loved me with every fiber of her being. That’s why, when the scholarship abroad finally came through and she was crippled by my father’s enemies on the same night, I took the deal. I signed up with the System. She had even told me back then, “Ten years from now? I’ll probably be a boss. You won’t even need to ‘win’ me over.” But as I left, she looked worried. “Cade… if the version of me ten years from now has really changed… if she’s gone cold… then just give up. I promise, I’d rather you be free than have you hurt by a version of me that forgot how to love you.” The dream started to dissolve. I reached out for her hand. “Donna!” I screamed. My eyes snapped open. I wasn’t looking at Donna. I was looking at Parker’s smug, amused face. He saw my confusion and started laughing. “You actually thought it was her, didn’t you? You thought she ran back to save you?” He pulled out his phone and hit play on a video. “It was a security guard, Cade. They didn’t want a lawsuit if you had a heart attack in there.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a hiss. “You think these pathetic guilt trips work on her? She spent ten years suffering because of your betrayal.” He paused, his eyes turning cold. “I’m the protagonist of her story now. Why did you have to come back?” “Since you won’t take the hint… don’t blame me for this.” Before I could react, he screamed. He threw himself onto the floor, knocking over the hot tray of food he’d brought in. The scalding soup splashed across his arm, turning the skin red. That was the exact moment Donna rolled into the room. Parker looked up at her, tears welling in his eyes. “Cade… I only came here to check on you. Why would you do this?” He grabbed the hem of Donna’s coat. “It’s my fault. I just mentioned that your legs were getting better… and he lost it. He kept saying that the only way you’d truly heal is if you were with him.” I looked at Parker’s “gotcha” smile and found myself laughing. It was a hollow, jagged sound. I looked Donna straight in the eye. “You were standing right outside the door, weren’t you?” “You saw exactly what happened. Didn’t you?” 3 Parker’s eyes went wide. “Donna, no, it’s not—” For a heartbeat, I held onto a sliver of hope. I waited for her to defend me, the way she used to when we were kids. Then she spoke, and the words were like ice water in my lungs. “I could call the police and have you charged with assault for this, Cade.” Her face was a mask of indifference. I was a stranger to her. A nuisance. Parker let out a breath of relief, leaning closer to her chair. “Can’t handle it?” Donna mocked, seeing me look down. “This is nothing. I spent ten years in this kind of pain. When my business in the city finally started to take off, your father’s old associates burned my warehouse to the ground. And you? You were gone without a word.” “Now I’m successful again. Now I’m back on top. And suddenly, you’re back, sniffing around like a stray dog.” Her eyes were rimmed with red, her voice trembling with a decade of suppressed rage. “What makes you think I’d ever wait for you? What makes you think I’d ever forgive you?” The room went silent. The weight of everything—the three lives, the sacrifices, the silence—finally broke me. “I didn’t!” I screamed. “Donna, the reason I left was because—” I felt a physical pressure on my throat. The System was blocking the words. I started shaking. “Because why? Say it!” she yelled. There was a tiny, desperate flicker of hope in her expression. I closed my eyes and let out a long, ragged sigh. “I can’t tell you the ‘why.’ But I never left you because I wanted to. I came back to save you.” To make you walk again. Before I could finish, I saw the look of “here we go again” wash over her. She turned her chair around and pulled out her phone to dial 911. Just as the call connected, the door pushed open again. “Nate? Oh my god, Nate! It is you!” A young woman with a round, cheerful face walked in. She looked at the mess on the floor and winced. “What happened here?” She looked at me with genuine excitement. “Where have you been for ten years? When you suddenly gave up your spot for the London program, our professor was devastated. You just… vanished. Everyone thought you were dead.” Boom. Donna’s head snapped toward the girl. She shoved her chair forward, grabbing the girl’s arm. “What did you just say? He didn’t go abroad?” The girl frowned, pulling her arm back. “Who are you? Yeah, Nate stayed. He never even picked up his transcripts. He left everything in his dorm. It was like he was erased from the planet.” Sensing the toxic atmosphere, the girl made a quick excuse and bolted. Parker tried to recover. “Cade, nice touch. Hiring an actress? Really?” I ignored him. I pulled my hand away from Donna’s grip and looked down. My fingers were beginning to turn translucent. The “erasure” was starting. I looked for Donna, but she was already turning away, her mind a whirlwind. “I’ll look into this,” she muttered. “You better not be lying to me, Cade.” She turned to Parker, her voice sharp. “You overstepped. Get out.” Parker started to protest, but she leaned in and whispered something in his ear. He turned pale and left without another word. I leaned back against the hospital bed. I was so tired. I looked at my fading hand and whispered to the empty room, “It doesn’t matter anymore.” Three days later, Donna appeared at my door. She looked at me with a complexity I couldn’t decipher. She rolled her chair to my bedside and pulled out a faded, cheap silver ring. “I bought this ten years ago,” she whispered, her voice husky. “I was going to ask you to stay.” “Is it too late now?” I looked at her, my heart a flat line. “What about Parker?” She didn’t answer. She just slid the ring onto my finger. 4 After that, we didn’t mention Parker. It was as if he had been a fever dream. The “proposal” wasn’t mentioned again either. We just… existed. She would kiss my forehead. She would wipe a stray crumb from my lip. I asked her once, “Are we back together?” She didn’t answer. She just told me to focus on getting better. One afternoon, she brought me a vanilla cone—my favorite from the old days. I reached out to take it, but my fingers passed right through the cardboard sleeve. The cone hit the floor with a splat. Donna didn’t get angry. She just silently leaned down from her chair and wiped the mess with a wet wipe. “It’s okay,” she said quietly. Looking at her like that, I almost believed we were okay. If I hadn’t seen the text Parker sent me an hour earlier—a photo of Donna at a bridal boutique, fitting a wedding dress. “It’s normal for tastes to change after ten years,” Donna said suddenly. That was it. The fuse lit. “Enough!” I grabbed my phone and shoved the photo of her in the wedding dress in front of her face. “What is this, Donna? What is the point of this sick game?” “You ‘propose’ to me, you refuse to talk to me, you act like we’re back together—and all the while, you’re planning a wedding with Parker? What am I to you? A pet? A trophy?” She stared at the photo, and then she started to laugh. Cold, melodic, and terrifying. “It took you this long to realize I was playing you?” She braced herself against the arms of her wheelchair and, to my absolute horror, stood up. She looked down at me, her height making her seem like a stranger. “Cade, the ‘actress’ you hired was good, but not good enough. You said being with you would save me? Look at me. I’m standing.” “I’m fine. I’m better than fine. And you? You have nothing left to hold over me.” I sat there, stunned. “I did it on purpose,” she smirked. “Parker’s meds worked. He made me walk again. So I’m marrying him. What does it matter who I marry, anyway?” Her phone buzzed. Parker. She waved it at me. “If you want to object at the wedding, Cade, maybe I’ll give you a check for the entertainment value. You can finally have the money you wanted.” She looked at her legs, pride glowing in her eyes. “I’m going to the ceremony now. To my new life.” As she turned to leave, I called out, one last time. “Donna! If you marry him, you’ll die! The mission will fail, and you’ll be erased!” She didn’t even pause. She didn’t hear the last part. The System flickered to life. [Mission Failed. Initiating return sequence to T-minus 10 years.] [Return will commence once host’s body reaches 100% transparency.] At the engagement gala, Donna stood tall under the flashing lights. She held Parker’s arm, her eyes scanning the crowd. She was looking for me. She wanted to see me break. But as the officiant began to speak, a sudden, violent wave of vertigo hit her. Her legs buckled. There was a scream, a chaotic rush of bodies. Parker was shouting. As she collapsed on the floor, she felt a terrifying sensation—not pain, but absence. Like her very soul was being pulled out through a straw. In the fading light of her vision, a crimson warning flashed in the air: [WARNING: TARGET ERASURE IN PROGRESS. HOST HAS ABANDONED MISSION. COUNTDOWN INITIATED.]

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Standing outside the courthouse, I slipped the debit card into my pocket and, quite unexpectedly, burst into laughter. Just moments ago, Quentin had practically hurled the divorce decree at my face. “Evelyn, don’t even dream about the twenty million in premarital assets,” he’d said, his voice dripping with a casual, practiced disdain. “I’ve kept you like a pet for six years. You should know when to take the win and walk away.” Behind him stood his ‘ghost of the past’—the girl he’d never quite gotten over. Felicity. Her four-month baby bump was just starting to show beneath her designer silk, and she wore a smile that was as elegant as it was poisonous. That was when the first line of text flickered across my vision—a shimmering, digital scroll of “bullet comments,” like a live feed from a movie I didn’t know I was starring in. You are currently in a tragic melodrama. The text continued, mercilessly: You are the disposable character slated to exit in Chapter Three. Your label: The gold-digging ex-wife who married into the elite only to be tossed out like trash. It got worse. A notification pinged in the corner of my eye: Warning: Your grandmother will pass away in three days. According to the “script,” her will contained a final arrangement for me. A marriage to a man named Grady. He was a forty-year-old widower, a long-haul trucker with a teenage daughter and a measly eighty thousand a year to his name. But then, the scroll took a sharp turn. Note: Grady owns a series of defunct logistics routes and abandoned warehouses. In three months, the federal government will designate this specific corridor as a National Economic Zone. The eminent domain compensation? Twelve hundred million dollars. 1 “Sign it.” Quentin’s attorney pushed the three-page document toward me. Every clause was a clinical reminder that I was nothing. The twenty-million-dollar estate? Quentin’s. The penthouse, the cars, the summer house? All registered under the family trust. Quentin’s. The final line: Evelyn Vance voluntarily waives all claims to asset division. Quentin sat across from me, legs crossed, his wedding ring already gone from his left hand. Beside him, Felicity smoothed her yellow sundress over her stomach. I’d been married to him for six years, and I hadn’t heard her name once until she’d shown up on our doorstep three months ago. “Just sign, Evelyn,” Quentin’s mother sighed from the corner, barely looking up from her phone. “Dragging this out is pathetic. You have nothing to your name. Do you really want to humiliate yourself in open court?” A line of text floated by: [Sign it. This agreement is your only shield. Leaving with nothing means you owe the family nothing—not even your silence.] I picked up the pen. “Wait,” Felicity interrupted, her voice a soft, melodic trill. “Quentin, Evelyn has been with the family for so long. It feels… cruel to leave her with nothing. Maybe we could set up a small trust? Just for her basic needs?” Quentin waved her off. “She doesn’t need it.” Felicity lowered her head, the picture of “I tried my best,” while her hand traced a protective circle over her womb. Everyone in the room was watching me. They were waiting for the breakdown. They wanted the sobbing, the pleading, the sight of me on my knees begging Quentin to stay. In the original “book,” that’s exactly what Evelyn did. She’d clung to his legs until security dragged her out. The footage would go viral under the headline: Gold-digger crashes and burns after being evicted from high society. I signed. My hand was perfectly steady. The ink was dark and final. Quentin’s mother looked up, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. “Done.” I pushed the papers back and stood up. “Evelyn,” Quentin called out. I turned. He pulled a card from his pocket and slid it across the mahogany table. “There’s five thousand dollars on this. Consider it… a final gesture of goodwill.” Felicity chimed in instantly. “See? Quentin still has a heart.” Five thousand dollars. For six years of my life. I picked up the card, held it to the light, and tucked it into my jeans. “Thanks.” As I walked out, I heard his mother mutter behind me, “Finally. We never should’ve let your father agree to that match. A girl from the middle of nowhere… six years of free-loading is enough.” The text scrolled: [Don’t look back. Your grandmother has three days. You need to go now.] I didn’t look back. The sun was brutal as I stepped onto the sidewalk, the heat rising from the asphalt in shimmering waves. My phone buzzed three times in my pocket. My mother. “Evie… your grandmother was admitted this morning. The doctors… they say you should come home. Fast.” 2 The train ride back to my hometown took seven hours. I spent it staring at the scrolling text in the air, scrolling back through the “plot.” [Your name is Evelyn. Thirty-two. Character archetype: Vain, materialistic, failed trophy wife. In the original ending, you commit suicide on the day of Quentin’s wedding. The ‘Ghost’ steps over your grave to take her throne. No one mourns you.] Failed trophy wife. I stared at those words for a long time. The text flickered: [You didn’t fail. You were pregnant twice. The first at three months, the second at two. Both times, Quentin’s mother laced your tea with ‘herbal tonics.’ The second loss scarred your uterus. You are permanently infertile. The records are at the University Women’s Hospital, Case File #HY-2019-03742.] The train plunged into a tunnel. For a few seconds, the world was black. The digital glow of the text reflected in the window, bone-white and ghostly. My two children. The first time it happened, Quentin was away on business. His mother had brought me soup in the hospital, telling me, “You’re young, you’ll have another.” The second time, as I lay on the surgical table signing the consent forms, the doctor told me my uterine lining was paper-thin. That the odds of a third pregnancy were… non-existent. Quentin had taken a call outside the OR. When he came back, he just said, “It’s fine. Let’s not force it.” His tone then was exactly the same as it was today. She doesn’t need it. The text scrolled again: [The hospital keeps records for fifteen years. You have time for justice. But for now—see your grandmother.] The train screeched to a halt at a small, dusty station at 2:00 AM. My mother was dozing in the hospital hallway. When she saw me, her first words were, “She’s been waiting for you all day.” The room smelled of antiseptic and ozone. My grandmother lay there, a tangle of tubes connected to her frail, bird-like frame. “Evie,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering open. I knelt by the bed and took her hand. It felt like dry parchment. “Is it over?” she asked. “It’s over. I’m out.” “Good.” She squeezed my hand with the last of her strength. “The Sterling family… they weren’t for you. Evie, I’ve left someone for you.” “Who?” “Grady. He’s the grandson of your grandfather’s old army buddy. He’s forty. Lost his wife two years back. He’s a trucker, raises a girl on his own. He’s rough around the edges, but he’s a good man. A real man.” She coughed, and my mother rushed over with water. “Evie, marry him. Trust an old woman’s eyes.” Three days later, she was gone. At the wake, the small-town gossip was a low hum in the background. “I heard she got kicked out of the city.” “Not a dime to her name.” “Six years wasted. Who’s going to want her now?” I knelt before her casket and bowed my head. The text scrolled: [Grady’s number is in the red silk pouch under your grandmother’s pillow.] I found it. A folded scrap of paper with a number written in bold, utilitarian strokes. I dialed. It rang six times before a deep, gravelly voice answered over the roar of an engine. “Yeah?” “My name is Evelyn. I’m the granddaughter of—” “I know who you are,” he interrupted. He paused, the engine noise fading slightly. “Did she pass?” “Yes.” There was a silence for a few beats. “I’m hauling a load to the coast. I’ll be there the day after tomorrow. Wait for me.” The line went dead. The text scrolled: [He’s coming. And so is your billion dollars.] 3 Grady arrived in a beat-up, sapphire-blue Peterbilt. It was covered in road grime, with a crack spiderwebbing across the windshield. When he jumped down from the cab, I took him in—six-foot-two, tanned dark by the sun, with deep-set eyes and a jaw that looked like it was carved from granite. He wore a faded grey t-shirt and work boots that had seen better decades. Forty years old. He looked forty-five, in a way that felt sturdy rather than old. “Evelyn?” “Yes.” He looked at my suitcase—a designer LV trunk—and then at his truck. “Get in. Put the bag in the sleeper. Don’t worry, it won’t break.” He took the heavy suitcase from me with one hand and tossed it into the back like it was a bag of feathers. It landed amidst a pile of rachet straps and oily tarps. “Climb up. Handle’s on the right.” The cab was high. I was wearing a skirt and struggled with the step. Grady didn’t say a word; he just stepped behind me, put a hand firmly on my waist, and hoisted me up. “Hold on. The road’s rough.” He climbed in the other side and cranked the engine. The whole world started to vibrate. This was a far cry from the silenced interior of Quentin’s Mercedes. From up here, I could see the roofs of every car on the road. We drove for thirty minutes in silence. The text was working overtime: [Grady. Forty years old. In the original book, he had less than two hundred words of dialogue. He was the ‘rough guy’ the fallen socialite married out of desperation. Readers called him ‘the garbage collector Evelyn deserved.’] [But this man is the hidden variable of the entire world.] He pulled into a gravel lot in a decaying industrial park. Rusting warehouses stood like ghosts against the horizon. He parked in front of a small, one-story brick house. “Home,” he said. It was humble. Peeling paint, a couple of spare tires on the porch, and a yard overtaken by knee-high weeds. The front door creaked open. A girl stood there. Maybe twelve or thirteen, in a school hoodie, her expression guarded and icy. “Dad? This is her?” “Yeah.” The girl looked me up and down, her gaze landing on my stilettos. “Are you here to spend his money?” Grady frowned. “Macy, knock it off.” “He doesn’t have any,” Macy said, ignoring him and staring me down. “He clears maybe fifty grand a year after fuel and taxes. If you’re looking for a payday, keep walking.” She was sharp. A little accountant in a ponytail. I crouched down so I was eye-level with her. “I’m not here for his money.” “Then why are you here?” “To show him how to make more. Is that okay?” Macy narrowed her eyes, but she stopped talking. The text scrolled: [This kid will be your fiercest ally. Win her over first.] Dinner was simple—pot roast and potatoes. Grady pushed a mountain of food toward me. “Eat up. We’re going to the courthouse tomorrow to get the license.” I froze with my fork halfway to my mouth. “That fast?” Grady bit into a roll. “Your grandmother called me before she passed. Asked me to look after you. I don’t intend to keep her waiting.” Macy snorted into her water. The text scrolled: [Once you sign that license, you have seventy-two days. You must renew all his land leases within that window. If the federal announcement hits before you do, the price will skyrocket a hundredfold, and you’ll get nothing.] I started eating. Seventy-two days. I could work with that. 4 At the courthouse, the clerk looked at our IDs, then at us, then back at the IDs. Thirty-two and forty. I was in a simple dress; Grady was in a white button-down that looked like it hadn’t been ironed since the nineties. “Smile,” the photographer said for our license photo. Grady twitched his lips. He looked like he was passing a kidney stone. Once the papers were stamped, he tucked them into his shirt pocket. “Let’s go. I’ve got a haul this afternoon.” By the third day of our marriage, the news had reached the city. Quentin’s mother had posted in her “Inner Circle” group chat. A former friend, Sarah, sent me the screenshot. “Can you believe who Evelyn ended up with? A middle-aged trucker. Living in a shack by the docks without central heating.” A string of laughing emojis followed. “Mrs. Sterling always had an eye for quality. She knew that girl was trash.” “So sad.” “Not sad, deserved.” Ten minutes later, Felicity updated her Instagram. A photo of the Sterling estate gardens, covered in roses. Caption: “So glad I have someone to keep my hands warm this winter. It’s all I’ll ever need.” Sarah sent the screenshot with a ‘crying-laughing’ face. “You okay, Evie?” I replied with four words: “I’m good. Just busy.” And I was. The text had given me a map: The abandoned logistics routes under Grady’s name spanned six parcels of land. Three were thirty-year leases signed by his father, set to expire in seven months. Two were parking lots he’d let lapse. The last was a tract of communal industrial land he had the ‘Right of First Refusal’ on but had never used. Six pieces of the puzzle. In three months, every single one would be inside the “Red Line” of the new National Economic Zone. But if the leases expired or the rights lapsed, the government compensation would go to the landlords, not Grady. I found Grady under his truck, covered in grease. “Grady.” “Yeah?” “The leases your dad signed. Where are they?” The sound of a wrench hitting metal echoed from the undercarriage. “Kitchen cabinet. Second shelf. Blue tin box. Knock yourself out.” I found them. The paper was yellowed and smelled of old tobacco. Expiration date: Three months and eleven days from today. We were cutting it close. But I needed money to renew them. Legal fees, back taxes, and deposits would run about thirty thousand dollars. Grady’s entire savings. I waited until he crawled out from under the rig. He wiped his face with a rag, looking at the stack of documents in my hand. “What’s this?” “We’re renewing all six leases. Now.” “Why? Those routes are dead. No one uses those warehouses. It’s a waste of money.” “Do you trust me?” He looked at me, wrench in hand. He didn’t say anything for a long time. “Thirty thousand, Grady. All of it. In three months, I’ll turn that thirty thousand into three hundred million. Do we have a deal?” “Three hundred million?” He quirked an eyebrow. “Have you been drinking?” “Have I ever joked about money?” Grady stared at me. The scent of diesel and grease hung heavy in the air. The wind whistled through the weeds of the empty lot. “Money’s in the dresser. Top drawer. Password is my birthday.” I turned to go, but he caught my arm. “Evelyn.” “Yeah?” “If you lose it, you’re riding shotgun for three months to help me earn the fuel money back.” I looked back at him. His face was filthy, his expression dead serious. “Deal.” The text scrolled: [He believes you. He has no idea he just won the lottery.] The next day, I took thirty thousand in cash to the County Land Office. While waiting in line, I noticed a man in a sharp suit at the front counter. I recognized the silhouette. A red warning flashed in my vision: [That’s the Chief Legal Officer for Quentin’s firm. They’re scout-buying land in the area. Move.] I gripped the documents tighter. 5 The man was Marcus Vane. I’d seen him at the Sterling Christmas parties for years. He didn’t recognize me. In my jeans, sneakers, and no makeup, I wasn’t the polished doll he remembered. The text moved fast: [The Sterling Group got an inside tip. They’re land-banking around the zone. They have four of Grady’s parcels on their hit list. You have to file the renewal before they file an acquisition intent, or the landlord will take their higher offer.] I stood behind him, catching a glimpse of his paperwork: Portside North, Parcel 3. That was Grady’s fifth parcel. My palms were sweating. When I finally got to the window, the clerk flipped through my stack. “These three are automatic renewals, just pay the back taxes. These two need the corporate seal. This last one? You need a certificate of good standing from the Logistics Bureau.” “How long?” “Standard is two weeks.” Two weeks was too long. The text pinged: [Express Lane. Small business owners with veteran status get a 72-hour turnaround. Grady’s dad was Army. The business is still under his name. Go to the Veteran Affairs desk.] I spent the rest of the day sprinting between offices. I called Grady while he was on the road. “I’m hauling steel to the border,” he said. “I won’t be back until the day after tomorrow.” “You have to be here tomorrow. Quentin’s company is trying to buy the land out from under us.” There was a three-second silence. “Quentin? Your ex?” “My ex.” Grady didn’t ask how I knew. He didn’t ask for an explanation. He just said, “I’ll drop the load and turn around. I’ll be there by noon.” Six hundred miles. He drove through the night. At 11:00 AM the next day, the blue Peterbilt roared into the parking lot. Grady jumped out, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. “Where do I sign?” By the end of the day, we had the stamps. We beat Quentin’s firm by less than twenty-four hours. That afternoon, Marcus Vane showed up at the landlord’s office with a multi-million dollar buyout offer. The landlord just shrugged. “Sorry. The tenant just exercised his renewal option this morning.” I imagine Marcus calling Quentin. I imagine Quentin’s voice over the speaker: “What do you mean someone renewed? Who?” “A guy named Grady. Runs a mom-and-pop trucking line.” Quentin wouldn’t know who Grady was. But he was about to find out.

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The moment my husband crushed his third cigarette into the crystal ashtray and told me he wanted a divorce, the smell of bleach hit me like a physical blow. It was a phantom scent, a sensory ghost from a future that hadn’t happened yet—or rather, a past life that had already ended. It was the smell of the ten years I’d spent playing nurse to him in sterile hospital rooms. It was the smell of the air in my daughter’s lungs when she pointed a finger at me and called me a “sinner.” It was the suffocating, desperate smell trapped inside my oxygen mask as I lay dying, listening to the news that my ex-husband had just married the young girl who used to be our maid. Now, sitting across from me, Richard’s voice was strained, caught between guilt and a perverse kind of excitement. “I’ve fallen in love with her, Elena. One of Natalie’s classmates. It’s… it’s the real thing.” I stared at the unopened pack of nicotine gum on the coffee table. I’d bought it last year after the doctor warned him about his blood pressure. What a waste of money. “Okay,” I said. My voice sounded light, airy, as if I were discussing someone else’s weather. In my previous life, this was the moment I had shattered our wedding photos. I had screamed, wept, and demanded to know how he could do this to our daughter, to our twenty-five years of history. And what did that get me? The girl was sent abroad by her parents, Richard spiraled into a pit of whiskey and self-pity, and eventually, he collapsed from a stroke at a business dinner. I was the one who pushed his wheelchair through a decade of physical therapy. I wore through seven pairs of shoes walking him back to health, only for him to stand on his own two feet and immediately slap a divorce settlement in front of me. Even our daughter, Natalie, had turned on me then. “It’s your fault, Mom! If you’d just let go ten years ago, Dad wouldn’t have wasted a decade. You ruined my career, my future—everything!” The day they kicked me out of the house, I was coughing up blood at the gates of the subdivision, scrolling through their Instagram posts celebrating “the new family.” But now, the morning sun was filtering through the blinds, and Richard was waiting for my explosion. I picked up the pen and flipped to the last page of the agreement. “I want the old cottage in the valley. You can keep the rest.” Richard froze. The expression on his face was identical to the one he’d worn in my past life when I’d refused to sign. It was perfect. This time, I wasn’t saving him. I was saving myself. 1 He snapped his head up, eyes wide with disbelief. “What? Say that again.” I picked up a piece of the braised pork I’d made for lunch and chewed slowly. “I said fine. We’ll split the liquid assets fifty-fifty. You have a problem with that?” He narrowed his eyes, his mind clearly racing to find the trap. He remained silent. I scooped a large portion of rice into my bowl and started eating with an appetite I hadn’t felt in years. In my last life, I had starved myself for three days after he told me. I had withered away until the sickness took me. Not this time. This time, I was going to be well-fed. Richard let out a long, theatrical sigh, the “burdened intellectual” persona sliding back into place. “Elena, I’m being serious. I love Skye. And she loves me.” “Despite the twenty-five-year age gap, our souls are… intertwined. As my partner for the first half of my life, I expect you to respect my journey. I want your blessing.” I nodded, mouth full. “Sure. I’m pretty sick of your journey anyway.” He blinked. Then, a flicker of genuine surprise—and relief—crossed his face. “You’re… you’re not just saying that? You’re not planning to make a scene at the university?” I just kept eating. He began to rub his hands together, his excitement becoming palpable. “Good. I’m glad you’ve reached this level of maturity. You’ve spent twenty years by my side; I suppose some of my refinement was bound to rub off on you.” “Listen,” he continued, his voice dropping into that condescending ‘professor’ tone, “we’ll divide the assets into three. One for you, one for me, and one for Natalie. It’s more than fair.” “I’m staying with Dad,” Natalie said suddenly. She had been slumped on the sofa, scrolling through her phone, pretending not to listen. “He can manage my share of the money.” Richard let out a booming laugh. “See? That’s my girl! Honestly, Elena, this is a great deal for you. You’ve been a housewife for two decades. You haven’t exactly ‘contributed’ to the household income. You’ve lived off me for twenty years. You should be grateful for a third.” Natalie waved her phone at me, a cruel smirk on her face. “Mom, I just recorded you agreeing to the divorce. Don’t even think about backing out.” 2 I looked at my daughter. There was still a dull ache in my chest—a vestigial remain of maternal instinct. This was the girl I had raised. I used to think we were a team. In my first life, when Richard asked for the divorce, my first thought had been her. She was applying for grad school, and she needed her father’s connections and financial backing. I knew Richard. If I divorced him then, he would have cut her off to spend every cent on his new muse. So I endured. I stayed in a dead marriage, making myself small and pathetic just to ensure she had a bridge to her future. And how did she repay me? By leaving me to rot in a rural shack without so much as a bag of rice. By ignoring my calls when I was too sick to stand. When I finally reached her on the phone, she had said: “Just die already, Mom. People like you don’t contribute anything to society anyway. You’re just wasting oxygen.” Recalling those words, I smiled thinly at her. “Don’t worry, Natalie. I won’t fight your father for you. Even if you wanted to come with me, I wouldn’t take you.” Her face shifted, the smirk faltering for a microsecond before hardening into a sneer. “Please. As if I’d ever go with you. What could you possibly do for me?” “Skye is my best friend,” she continued, her voice rising in a defensive trill. “When she marries Dad, we’ll be closer than ever. She has a Master’s degree, she’s beautiful, she actually matches Dad’s intellect. When you stand next to him, you look like his housekeeper.” She stuck her tongue out at me, a childish gesture from a twenty-year-old woman. “I’m going to be surrounded by culture and sophistication now. I don’t need you.” She threw her fork onto the table and sauntered back to her room. I looked around the room. I looked at the half-eaten meal I’d cooked, the laundry drying on the balcony that I’d washed, the houseplants I watered because she forgot, the pet turtle she’d cried for and then never fed once. I had done everything for her. And in her eyes, it was worth nothing because it wasn’t ‘intellectual.’ Her father was a professor, so even when he did nothing, he was a giant. I was a mother, so even when I did everything, I was trash. Fine. I didn’t want this ungrateful ghost of a daughter anymore. 3 After lunch, I walked out the door. At the bottom of the stairs, I ran into Richard and Skye. They weren’t even trying to hide it anymore. They were walking up the path, fingers intertwined, looking like a sickeningly sweet couple in a jewelry commercial. I walked past them as if they were invisible. “Mrs. Miller!” Skye called out. She was beaming, that youthful, predatory glow radiating off her. “Are you heading out?” She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You might want to stay out late. I’d hate for you to come home and see something… upsetting. You know, like this.” She pressed her lips to Richard’s in a bold, wet kiss. Richard looked slightly uncomfortable, his eyes darting around to see if any neighbors were watching, but he didn’t pull away. Skye pulled back, a glint of malice in her eyes. “Oh, and Mrs. Miller? Richard said he’s buying me a villa in the hills. Do you even know what a villa looks like? You’ve probably never stepped foot in one.” She winked. “Maybe after the divorce, you can come over and be our cleaning lady. At least then you’d get to see how the other half lives.” I remembered the first day I met Skye. She had seemed so sweet, so harmless. She told me she wanted to go into academia and asked if my husband could tutor her. By the third week of “tutoring,” I had heard her moans through the office door. “I just love mature men with authority,” she had whispered. In my last life, I fought to keep them apart. This time? I was going to help them find their “happily ever after.” After all, I had what I needed. I hailed a taxi and went straight to a local labor agency. I hired six strong men and drove two hours out to the countryside, to the old farmhouse my parents had left me. It was overgrown with weeds, abandoned for over a decade. It was the place where I had died in my previous life. In that life, Natalie had shoved me into the dirt here and laughed. “Guess what, Mom? Dad had eight million dollars stashed away in a private account the whole time. Bribes, ‘consulting fees,’ cash gifts from students’ parents… all of it. He hid the cash in the floorboards of this dump because he knew you’d never look here.” Eight million dollars. He hadn’t touched a cent of it when he was paralyzed. He’d let me work three jobs to pay for his medicine while Natalie spent his pension on designer shoes. And the moment he recovered, he’d dug it up to buy Skye a new life. He wouldn’t even give me ten thousand for my surgery. Well. This time, I was the one with the shovel. 4 After securing the “inheritance,” I took a week-long solo trip to the coast. I spent money on things I’d always denied myself—expensive wine, silk sheets, a spa treatment that made my skin feel like a human’s again. Richard sent me a barrage of texts every day. [I’m sick of seeing your junk in the hallway. Get back here and move your stuff out!] [How long are you going to hide? We need to sign the final papers.] When I finally returned, the neighbors stared. I looked rested. I looked younger. “Going through a divorce suits you, Elena!” one of them joked. I laughed. “It turns out not taking care of a grown man is the best skincare routine there is.” We lived on the second floor. I looked up and saw Skye on the balcony, looking down at us with a scowl. I walked into the apartment and realized my slippers were gone. Whatever. I didn’t need them. The place was transformed. Every piece of furniture I’d picked out was gone. Even the curtains had been replaced with something tacky and over-the-top. Skye walked out of the kitchen, looking smug. “I threw your stuff out, Elena. Your taste was… depressing. I hope you don’t mind. You’re leaving anyway, right?” I remained calm. “Actually, I like it. It saves me the trouble of looking at things I’m tired of.” Her smile faltered. Young girls are so impatient; they expect you to crumble. “Listen to me, you old hag! Richard doesn’t want you! Look at these!” She pointed to the walls. Our wedding photos had been replaced by glossy shots of her and Richard. There was a “family” portrait of Richard, Skye, and Natalie. “There’s no room for you here anymore,” she hissed. I glanced at the photos. “Technically, we haven’t finalized the paperwork. Legally, I’m still his wife. And legally, this is still my home.” “So what? He doesn’t love you! You’re nothing!” she screamed, her voice echoing through the apartment building. Just then, the front door—which I’d left ajar—was pushed open. A middle-aged couple rushed in, faces flushed with rage. “Skye!” the man roared. Skye turned white. “Mom? Dad? What are you doing here?” She looked at me, realization dawning. “You! You called them!” Before she could finish, her father stepped forward and slapped her across the face. “We worked ourselves to the bone to put you through school, and you spend your time breaking up a marriage? You’re coming home right now!” Richard walked in from work at that exact moment. He tried to play the ‘distinguished professor,’ tried to “reason” with them. Skye’s father didn’t want to talk. He chased Richard around the living room, swinging his briefcase until Richard was cowering behind the sofa with a bloody nose. After they dragged a screaming Skye out of the apartment, Richard wiped his face and looked at me with pure hatred. “We’re going to the courthouse this afternoon. I am giving Skye the life she deserves, and you are not going to stop me!” I smiled. “You think you can handle her parents?” “That’s my business! Just sign the papers!” I shook my head slowly. “I’ve been thinking. I don’t think I want a divorce anymore.” 5 Richard’s face contorted. “What did you say?” I shrugged. “You were right, Richard. I’m just a housewife. Skye said I’d end up as a cleaning lady. Why would I want that? I’ll just stay here. You can do whatever you want with whoever you want, but I’m keeping the title of Mrs. Miller.” He slammed his hand on the table, his face turning a dark, dangerous purple. “You will sign!” It was the same look he’d given me in the other life. The same entitlement. “Richard,” I said quietly, “You’re a professor. You’re supposed to be good at logic. Tell me, what have I gained from this marriage?” “Have I gained wealth? Jewels? A life of ease? No. I’ve gained the labor of raising your child, the stress of managing your home on a pittance, and a daughter who treats me like dirt.” He stared at me, his bravado leaking away. He opened his mouth, then closed it. “I… I offered you a third of the money,” he muttered. I set my tea down. “You have eighteen thousand dollars in your savings account. A third is six thousand. How long is that supposed to last me? I don’t even have a place to live.” “This apartment is my pre-marital property!” he shouted. “Exactly,” I replied. “Divorce is a bad deal for me. So, I’ve decided I don’t care. Go play with your student. I’m staying.” “You’re being unreasonable! Greedy! You’re a small-minded, petty woman! Marrying you was the greatest mistake of my life!” I didn’t blink. “Get her things out of my house. If I have to do it, I’m throwing them off the balcony.” I walked into the master bedroom and started hushing Skye’s designer bags into the hallway. Natalie came home and screamed at me, calling me every name in the book. I put on my noise-canceling headphones and started a movie. At dinner, the two of them sat at the table, staring at me with thunderous expressions. “Where’s dinner?” Richard demanded. I arched an eyebrow. “Are you joking? After the way you’ve treated me, you think I’m cooking for you?” I picked up my takeout and went into my room, locking the door. This went on for three days. Finally, Natalie snapped. “I can’t take it anymore, Dad! Just give her what she wants!” “The house is old anyway, and the savings are nothing! Let her have them! I’m sick of her cooking, and I’m sick of her face!” “Skye will cook for us once we move into the villa! Just do it, Dad! Her parents are trying to marry her off to someone in another state!” Five minutes later, there was a knock on my door. “Fine,” Richard spat through the wood. “The house, the savings—you can have it all. Just sign the damn papers.”

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