The day I helped my best friend pick out her wedding dress was the day the world stopped making sense. It started with a whisper—a cold, jagged sentence she pressed against my ear that turned my blood to slush. At first, I didn’t process it. I watched her in the mirror, a vision in ivory lace and silk. Then, she shifted her collar, pointing to a dark, blooming bruise on her collarbone. She told me, with the casual tone one uses to describe the weather, that my husband had left it there the night before. In the backseat of his car. My hands began to shake so violently I had to grip the back of a velvet chair. I asked her how she could be so soulless, so utterly beneath contempt. She didn’t flinch. She just smiled, took my hand, and pressed it firmly against her flat stomach. In a voice as calm as a Sunday morning, she announced she was carrying my husband’s child. “He loves you, Tess,” she said, her eyes reflecting a pity that felt like a blade. “But he’s disgusted by you. He can’t help it.” The words hit me like ice picks. She went on, boasting about how she was “clean,” how she hadn’t “given herself away” to anyone else, how she hadn’t spent her youth in clinics or carrying the weight of a messy past. That was why Gavin had promised her a wedding. That was why she was the one in the white dress. The room spun. I staggered back, my heels catching on the plush carpet. Suddenly, a pair of warm, familiar hands caught me by the waist. I didn’t think. I turned and slapped him with every ounce of strength I had left. Gavin took the hit without blinking. He just looked at me, his face a mask of cool indifference, and asked, “So, I guess you know everything now?” … I was shaking, a deep, bone-marrow chill settling over me. Gavin watched me, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek where my ring had probably cut him. “You and Jennifer have been friends for a decade, Tess. How haven’t you learned a single thing about her grace? Her softness?” His voice was exactly the same as it had always been—smooth, steady, the voice that used to tell me everything would be okay. Now, every syllable was a scalpel. “Don’t you feel pathetic?” I rasped, my voice cracking. “Don’t you feel sick?” He blinked, then let out a short, hollow laugh. “Me? You’re the one who’s tainted, Tess. Every time I look at you, every time I touch you, I can’t stop picturing it. I see you under other men. I see the ghosts of everyone you were with before me.” Disgust flickered in his eyes, raw and unfiltered. “I was never going to let my child be born out of a body as used as yours.” I froze. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears, drowning out the ambient jazz playing in the boutique. I looked at him, searching for a trace of the man who, just yesterday, had held me against his chest and whispered that I was his entire world. The man who had sworn that my past didn’t matter, that he would protect me from the shadows of my history. “Do you even hear yourself?” My voice was a jagged mess. Tears finally broke, hot and blurring. He reached out, his thumb catching a tear on my cheek. He sighed, a sound of genuine weary disappointment. “I do. And I don’t hate you, Tess. I really don’t. But I wanted to know what it felt like to have something… untouched. You lied to me about who you were at the start. You set the tone for this.” He reached for Jennifer’s hand, lacing his fingers through hers. “Jennifer is your best friend. She isn’t trying to take your place. She’s even agreed that the baby can call you ‘Mom’ too. We can be a family.” He looked at me as if he were offering me a gift. “You should be thanking her.” I watched their joined hands, the room dimming at the edges. Only yesterday, I had stared at a positive pregnancy test in my bathroom. I had planned a dinner for the two most important people in my life to tell them the news. But at that dinner, they had barely looked at me. They spent the whole night bickering. Jennifer had snapped at Gavin for not spending enough time with me. Gavin had told her to mind her own business. I was so used to their friction that I didn’t see the fire beneath it. I stayed silent about my own pregnancy, waiting for the “right moment” that never came. And now, here they were. Standing together. Telling me they were the ones starting a life. I started to hyperventilate, the pain in my chest so sharp I thought I was having a heart attack. Gavin stepped forward, reaching for my arm with a look of feigned concern. “Just don’t make a scene, Tess, and things can stay the way they were. Yesterday, after Jennifer and I argued? I told you I had to go back to the office for an emergency. I didn’t. I was with her in the car. She was wearing this red lace thing… I just couldn’t help myself.” The world felt hollowed out, a frozen wind howling through the center of my ribcage. My teeth were chattering. “Jennifer is my sister. My best friend.” I turned my gaze to her. “Why?” Jennifer took a step closer, her silk skirts rustling. She reached for my hand with a gentle, terrifying familiarity. “Tess, honey. It’s because we’re friends that I’m not a threat. Gavin and I… it’s just a spark. An itch we had to scratch. In our hearts, you’re still the foundation. You’re the most important person to both of us.” My stomach turned. Gavin leaned in and kissed my cheek, as if he were comforting a child. “Cheer up. You’ve been dying to see your best friend in her wedding dress, haven’t you? Go on. Pick out a bridesmaid gown for yourself while you’re at it.” The diamonds on her dress caught the light, shattering it into thousands of blinding needles. I couldn’t breathe. I swung my hand again, catching him across the other cheek. “You’re both disgusting. You’re monsters.” The words had barely left my lips when a hand shoved me hard. I stumbled, my hip catching the sharp corner of a glass display table. Pain flared through my side. Jennifer’s voice rose in a sob. “We’re disgusting? Tess, you spent months trying to sleep with my step-brother back in high school. You were the girl who couldn’t say no to anyone. Don’t you dare talk to me about being clean.” Gavin looked down at me, his expression hardening into stone. “Go home and get a grip on yourself, Tess.” Then, he led Jennifer out of the store, leaving me collapsed on the floor. I fell into the dark well of my own memory. Jennifer and I had been inseparable since we were kids. When her father died and her mother remarried into a wealthy family, I was the only person she trusted. She would cry to me about how much she hated her new life, how her step-brother, Damon, was a nightmare. I felt so much for her. I spent every weekend at her house, trying to be her shield. On her seventeenth birthday, I used all my savings to buy her the designer dress she’d been eyeing for months. I went to her house to surprise her. She handed me a glass of juice. I drank it. The next thing I remember was the blinding pain. The coldness. And Jennifer, screaming and crying as she “found” me, hurling insults at Damon while I lay broken on her bedroom floor. Fate was never kind to me. When I wanted to end it all, I found out I was pregnant. My parents, desperate to save me, moved me to a new city and helped me through the procedure. I tried to leave the trauma behind, but the shadows followed. When I met Gavin, I was still a shell of a person. He looked at me with such warmth. He would tilt my chin up and smile. “Why is my girl always so sad?” I was terrified of him at first. But he stayed. He held my hand through the nightmares. He told me, “It’s okay, Tess. That wasn’t your fault. Your past doesn’t change who you are to me.” He was my light. He was the person who finally allowed me to lower my guard. On the night he proposed, he promised to protect me for the rest of my life. From our first date to our wedding day, he treated me like something precious. And now… The tears wouldn’t stop. I thought I had restarted my life. I thought I was safe. But the two people I loved most had just reached back into my past, ripped open the scars, and poured salt into the wounds. The agony was so intense it made me lucid. I cried until I couldn’t breathe, until my face was a swollen mask of grief. My phone buzzed in the silence of my car. Messages from Gavin and Jennifer. [Tess, go to the pharmacy and get some prenatal vitamins for Jennifer. We got a little carried away after you left and she’s stressed. I don’t want anything happening to the baby.] And from Jennifer, just a photo: her and Gavin, flushed and tangled together in the back of his SUV. I stared at the image, my lungs seizing. The phone rang, shattering the quiet. Gavin’s voice, sounding sated and relaxed, filtered through the speakers. “Tess? Did you get the message?” I forced the words out, each one trembling with a lethal edge. “Gavin, how are you this pathetic? Aren’t you afraid I’ll just kill you both?” There was a beat of silence. Then, Jennifer’s voice came through, light and airy. “Tess, you’re a mouse. A loud noise makes you cry. You don’t have the stomach for violence. Besides, you’ve already ‘killed’ one baby—my brother’s. I don’t think you’d have the heart to touch your husband’s child.” She told me to hurry up with the medicine and hung up. I started to laugh. It was a jagged, ugly sound. I was afraid of loud noises because of the laughter I heard the night Damon took everything from me. It was a trigger, a trauma response. But I wasn’t afraid of dying. And I certainly wasn’t afraid of them anymore. I drove to the apartment where I knew they were staying. I pushed the door open. The living room was a graveyard of discarded clothes. They were on the sofa, locked in a messy, desperate embrace. The sound of them—the wet, rhythmic noise of their betrayal—hit me like a physical blow. I gripped my phone, moving closer. Jennifer saw me. Instead of pulling away, she arched her back, letting out a sharp, performative moan. Maybe it was the thrill of being caught, or maybe she just wanted to twist the knife one last time. “Gavin,” she whispered, her eyes locked on mine. “When I found Tess with my brother… they were on my bed. Just like this. Kissing just like this.” The lie was so effortless, so cruel, that my last shred of sanity snapped. I didn’t cry. I smiled. I held up my phone, the camera lens pointed directly at their flushed, startled faces. “Going live,” I said, my voice eerily steady. “A special broadcast for our friends, family, and your coworkers, Gavin. Don’t stop. Give them a show.” Gavin froze, instinctively shoving Jennifer’s face into his chest to hide her. He lunged forward, knocking the phone out of my hand with a violent sweep. “Tess! What the hell is wrong with you?” I didn’t move. My eyes were fixed on his wrist. Right there, on the pulse point where the skin was still red and irritated, was a fresh tattoo. A string of obscure, gothic letters. The room tilted. My vision blurred, and suddenly I wasn’t in a luxury apartment—I was back in that dark bedroom seventeen years ago. I saw the man with the sneer. He had the exact same tattoo. That same wrist had pinned my throat. Those same marks had been the last thing I saw before I drifted into the black. I choked on my own breath, my voice a frantic whisper. “Gavin… what is that?” Gavin glanced at his wrist and smirked. “Jennifer said you had a thing for guys with tattoos on their wrists. A little ‘bad boy’ edge to keep things spicy.” I looked at Jennifer. She was watching me, her eyes dancing with a sick, triumphant light. The dam broke. I grabbed the paring knife from the fruit bowl on the coffee table and lunged, pinning Jennifer against the cushions, the blade pressed against the soft skin of her throat. My hands were shaking, my voice a guttural sob. “You did this on purpose. You made him get it.” She’d branded him with the mark of my rapist just to see me break. Jennifer’s face paled for a split second, but then she tilted her chin up. “It’s just ink, Tess. Get over yourself.” I lost it. I pressed harder. A thin line of crimson appeared on her neck. Jennifer’s eyes widened, but then, she smiled. A massive force slammed into me, throwing me across the room. My head hit the floor, and a sharp sting erupted across my cheek as Gavin backhanded me. “Are you insane? You almost killed her!” I looked up through the haze of tears, seeing the fury in his eyes. “Yes! I’m insane!” I scrambled to my feet, laughing through the sobs. “Do you even know why she told you to get that tattoo, Gavin? Do you have any idea—” “Gavin, my stomach!” Jennifer suddenly screamed, clutching her midsection. Blood began to bloom across the fabric of her skirt. Gavin’s face went white. He didn’t hear a word I said. He scooped her up, his elbow slamming into my chest as he shoved me out of his way to get to the door. “If anything happens to this baby, Tess, I will ruin you,” he hissed. He ran out without a second glance. I collapsed onto the floor, my heart feeling as though it had been physically shredded. But the tears were gone. I was empty. I wandered out of the apartment in a daze. I didn’t get far before the world went black. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. A nurse with a kind, tired face told me I’d had a miscarriage. She asked for my emergency contact. No one had picked up. “You have no one to take you home?” she asked softly. I stared at the ceiling, the salt from my tears dampening the pillow. My parents were hundreds of miles away. In this city, I had only Gavin and Jennifer. My phone buzzed. A photo from Jennifer. It was a picture of her and Gavin in her hospital room, huddled together, looking like the picture of a grieving, devoted couple. I stared at it until the image burned into my retinas. How could they be happy? How could they build a life on the wreckage of mine? Driven by a sudden, jagged need for acknowledgement, I messaged Gavin the photo of my own positive pregnancy test from two days ago. He didn’t reply. It wasn’t until dusk that he finally walked into my room. He looked tired. He stood at the foot of my bed, his gaze lingering on my stomach. “When did you find out?” I curled my lip into a bitter smile. “The day Jennifer tried on her wedding dress. I was going to tell you.” He didn’t say anything. He just stood there, lighting one cigarette after another, the smoke clouding his features. I couldn’t tell if he was remorseful or just annoyed. Finally, he spoke. His voice was cold. “Get rid of it.” My heart stopped. “My child is only going to be born from a clean body,” he said, stepping closer. “Jennifer and I talked. We’ve decided that our baby… it’ll call you ‘Mom.’ You can help us raise it.” I felt the blood in my veins turn to slush. I looked at him, truly looked at him, and saw a stranger. He reached out and squeezed my hand. “Isn’t that better? We both still love you, Tess.” My stomach lurched. I shoved him away and leaned over the side of the bed, vomiting until there was nothing left but bile. He frowned, his voice dropping an octave into a threat. “I’ve already scheduled the procedure for you. Tomorrow morning.” The door opened, and two orderlies entered. They moved toward me, their faces impassive. I realized then that I had no power here. I looked at Gavin, my eyes burning. “Gavin, I’m asking you one last time. Do you really not want this child? Our child?” He looked away, his jaw set in a hard line. “Tess, stop being dramatic.” I started to laugh. It was a wild, manic sound. I threw off the covers and bolted. Before they could grab me, I scrambled onto the windowsill. In the split second before I let go, I saw the look of pure horror on Gavin’s face. I smiled. I imagined what I would look like on the pavement. Would he regret it then? Would he and Jennifer ever be able to sleep again, or would they see my broken body every time they closed their eyes? But the third floor isn’t high enough to kill you. I woke up with several broken ribs and a punctured lung. The physical pain was excruciating, but it wasn’t enough to let me die, and it wasn’t enough to make me feel alive. After the surgery, Gavin sat by my bed. “Was it worth it?” he asked, his voice dripping with exhaustion and irritation. “Tess, the nurse told me the baby was already gone before you jumped. You did all that just to scare me? It’s pathetic.” I closed my eyes, the effort to speak feeling like swallowing glass. “Scaring you wouldn’t do anything, Gavin. You’re a monster. A coward who can’t even face his own blood.” His patience evaporated. “Blame yourself. No matter what happened back then, you’re the one who let it define you. You’re the one who stayed ‘broken’.” With those words, he erased everything we had ever been. “I’m done,” I whispered. “I’m letting you go. Take Jennifer. Take your ‘clean’ life.” He flinched. He sat there in silence for a long time, staring at me as if he didn’t recognize me. I didn’t care. I picked up my phone and called Jennifer. She arrived within twenty minutes. “Gavin, leave us,” she said, her voice sharp. “I need to talk to Tess.” He looked at me, hesitated, then walked out. The room fell silent. I looked at her, my voice a ghost. “Are you happy now? You destroyed me twice. Once then, and once now.” She looked at the floor, a stray tear rolling down her cheek. “I didn’t want to do it, Tess. But back then… Damon was looking at me. I had to give him someone else so I could survive.” I closed my eyes. The betrayal didn’t even hurt anymore. It was just a fact. “I always felt like I owed you,” she continued. “That’s why I won’t take Gavin away completely. I’m just playing with him. When I’m bored, I’ll give him back.” A decade of suppressed rage exploded. I didn’t hesitate. I threw myself out of the bed, dragging my broken body toward her. I reached into my bedside drawer—where I’d hidden the small fruit knife from earlier—and I drove it into her stomach. She screamed. When Gavin burst back into the room, Jennifer was slumped on the floor, unconscious. He turned white, shoving me back with enough force to send me reeling. “Tess! You’re a murderer! You’ve completely lost it!” I wiped the blood from my face, my voice terrifyingly calm. “She owed me. We’re even.” Gavin looked at me with pure hatred. He scooped up the bleeding Jennifer and hissed, “This isn’t over.” I took the signed divorce papers I had tucked under my pillow and slapped them against his chest. “It is. We’re done.” He looked at the signature, his eyes trembling. “Tess… are you serious?” Jennifer moaned in his arms. “The baby… Gavin, help the baby…” The panic returned to his eyes. He took a deep breath. “I’ll deal with you later.” He ran out. I laughed until it turned into a sob. There would be no “later.” I wiped my eyes, grabbed my bag, and prepared to leave for the airport. But as I stepped out of the room, I ran straight into someone. My heart hammered against my ribs, my legs giving way as I looked up. … Jennifer lost the baby. Gavin was a ghost of a man, his mind constantly drifting back to the divorce papers. He stayed by Jennifer’s side until she woke up, but the unease in his gut grew until he couldn’t stand it. He ran back to Tess’s room, desperate to find her. But when he pushed the door open, the scene inside shattered him completely.

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I started with nothing—a ghost of a man from the wrong side of the tracks. Yet Isla, ignoring the yawning chasm of our social standings, insisted on marrying me. She didn’t just give me financial security; she handed me a respectable seat at the table of the elite. But that debt of gratitude only served to nourish the weeds of inferiority growing in my heart. Even now, as I occupy a corner office with a view of the skyline, I feel like a subordinate in her presence. To reclaim some twisted sense of dignity, I began an affair. I chose a girl named Amber. She barely finished high school and spent her days detailing cars at a grime-streaked shop. In her eyes, I finally found what I craved: the look of someone gazing up at a god. I guarded this secret with the precision of a clockmaker. I made sure to be home every evening, simmering gourmet soups for Isla and kneading the tension from her shoulders, masking my betrayal with layers of increasingly soulful lies. I used Isla’s money to buy Amber a condo, indulging in the sick thrill of playing a billionaire’s daughter for a fool. I thought I was the one in control. I thought I had rigged the game. But fate has a cruel sense of humor. The day I took my mistress to the clinic for her prenatal check-up, I ran straight into Isla. … The sound of hot oil popping hissed from the kitchen, followed by Isla’s sharply stifled cry of pain. I rushed in and killed the flame. She was standing there, looking helpless. Those hands—hands that glided over Steinway keys and signed multi-billion dollar mergers—were already blooming with a row of angry blisters. Beside her sat a messy, half-finished attempt at a Boeuf Bourguignon. “I realized today was our third anniversary,” she said, looking up at me like a child caught in a lie. “You always used to mention this dish—how no restaurant ever got the seasoning quite like your mother’s. I tried to learn it from the chef at the club.” She let out a frustrated breath. “I didn’t realize the heat was so hard to manage.” I grabbed her wrist and pulled her to the sink, blasting the cold water. My movements were frantic, my eyes wide with manufactured panic. As the water rushed over her skin, I forced a hint of moisture into the corners of my eyes, turning them a sympathetic red. “Why would you be so reckless?” my voice trembled, thick with performative heartbreak. “These hands weren’t meant for grease and heavy pans. Isla, just sitting across the table from you is enough to make me happy. The food doesn’t matter. It’s about who I’m with. Please, never risk yourself like this again.” I fetched the first-aid kit and knelt before her on the cold marble floor. With a cotton swab, I gently applied burn cream to her delicate skin. Isla’s eyes shimmered with tears, and she squeezed my hand. “Caleb,” she whispered, using my name with a reverence that made my skin crawl. “The vows you made the day we signed the papers… do they still hold true?” Women are so sentimental. It was an anniversary; she just wanted to hear the script. I adjusted my expression to one of solemn devotion, acting as if I were baring my very soul. “Isla, if I ever betray you, let me lose everything. Let my bloodline end with me, and let me rot in the gutter where I belong.” Her face went pale, and she pressed her hand over my mouth. “Don’t say such things!” she scolded, her voice softening into pure, unadulterated tenderness. Late that night, I watched Isla sleep. Even her rest was perfect—her skin glowing like fine porcelain under the moonlight. It was a perfection that felt like a chokehold. I slipped out of bed and left a note on the nightstand: Something came up with the Waterfront project. I have to handle it. There’s warm milk in the kitchen—drink it when you wake up. Love you. Thirty minutes later, I parked my Bentley outside a dark alley on the outskirts of the city. Amber was waiting for me on the steps. She had just finished the night shift, still wearing her ill-fitting, grease-stained coveralls. She was shivering in the biting wind, an old, battered SAT prep book open on her knees. She was silently memorizing vocabulary by the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp. She looked like a weed pushing through a crack in the sidewalk, desperate for a drop of water. A strange, sharp ache hit my chest. Isla would never understand this. She was born on third base; anything she wanted was a mere reach away. She thought cooking a difficult meal was the ultimate sacrifice. Before I put on these bespoke suits, I was the one in the shadows, eating cold bread and staring up at the lights of the skyscrapers. That desperate, ugly scramble just to survive—only Amber understood that. I stepped out of the car, my polished shoes clicking through the oily puddles. She looked up, her eyes igniting with hope. She scrambled to her feet, trying to hide a plastic bag behind her back. “Caleb… what are you doing here? I’m filthy. I smell like a garage.” She retreated, embarrassed. I stepped forward and pulled her into a hard embrace. I could smell the cheap shampoo in her hair; I could feel her body trembling against mine. With her, I wasn’t the “trophy husband” who had to watch his step. I was the savior. I was a god she looked up to. “Amber, don’t move. Just let me hold you.” I closed my eyes, burying my face in her hair. When I thought of Isla, a sliver of malice rose in my throat. Some people are born with everything, while people like Amber and me are stepped on, forced to claw through the mud just to reach the starting line. But so what? The little princess of the elite had turned into my lapdog anyway. “Yes, the project in the neighboring city has hit a snag. I’ll need to oversee it for a couple of days…” I held the phone to my ear, my voice tired and professionally stern. Beneath me, Amber was biting down on a pillow, sweat beading on her forehead, letting out soft, muffled whimpers. I gripped her waist, my movements relentless and frantic. On the other end of the line, Isla’s voice remained soft. “The forecast says there’s a storm coming, Caleb. A big temperature drop. Did you pack a heavy coat?” “I did,” I said, forcing my breathing to stay steady while I played the martyr. “It’s freezing here. I think my gastritis is flaring up from the stress; it’s a dull ache that won’t go away.” “What?! Is it bad? Did you take your medicine?” Isla’s tone immediately sharpened with anxiety. I let out a weak, performative sigh. “Don’t worry. I bought something at the pharmacy. I’ll just have some tea and try to sleep it off. Isla, I’m exhausted. I think I need to go.” “Of course. Rest, honey. Don’t push yourself. Goodnight, Caleb.” She was so easy to play. I tossed the phone onto the carpet and, amidst Amber’s gasps, continued our night of entanglement. The rain began to hammer against the floor-to-ceiling windows, only making the room feel hotter. I had taken her on this “business trip” on the company dime, and I wasn’t going to waste a single second. At 3:00 AM, while I was in the shower, my phone buzzed. It was the hotel front desk. “Mr. Sterling, there is a lady in the lobby. She says she’s your wife.” I froze, the towel halfway to my head. I threw on my clothes in a panic. Amber was dead to the world, exhausted from the night. I took the elevator down. When the doors slid open, I stopped dead. Isla was there. She was soaked to the bone. Her hair, usually perfectly coiffed by professionals, was a tangled mess. In her arms, she clutched a waterproof bag. I knew what was inside: the specific herbal tea blend I used for my stomach. It was a three-hour drive from our house. The highway had been closed due to the storm; she must have taken the back roads, navigating dangerous, flooded stretches of blacktop. All because I told her I had a stomachache. Seeing me, her blue-tinged lips curled into a weak smile. “Caleb!” I rushed to her, my eyes welling up as I wrapped her freezing body in my arms. “Are you insane?!” My voice was hoarse, a mix of faked horror and calculated anger. “Driving through this for some tea? If something had happened to you, how would I even go on?” Isla leaned into me, her voice trembling. “I was worried you wouldn’t be able to sleep from the pain. I’m fine! See? I’m right here.” “Come on. Let’s get you upstairs for a hot bath.” I led her toward the elevators, but I pressed the button for the 8th floor. I have always been a cautious man. From the first day of this “trip” with Amber, I had booked two rooms just in case Isla checked in. Amber was in the executive suite on the 18th floor. This room on the 8th was a standard business double, filled with my suitcase, my laptop, and a few changes of clothes. It was seamless. I boiled water for her, blew on it until it was cool enough to sip, and dried her hair. Once I was sure she was deeply asleep, I stepped out. The elevator climbed back to the 18th floor. Amber was awake. She was in a robe, holding the shirt I had ripped earlier in our heat, carefully sewing the buttons back on. “Caleb? You’re back?” she asked softly. “Was it… was it Mrs. Sterling?” I nodded, not wanting to discuss it. I brushed my thumb over the calluses on her fingers—marks of a life of hard labor. “You clearly aren’t tired enough if you have time for sewing,” I whispered in her ear. She blushed. “I can’t help you with the big things, so I try to do the little ones.” I pulled her to me, a fresh surge of adrenaline hitting me. Downstairs, a woman worth billions had risked her life in a storm for a lie. And here I was, betraying her. What good was a powerful woman if she was this easy to manipulate? It was my special talent. I pulled her toward the window. “Round two.” ——– When I returned from the trip, I was forced into another family dinner. I sat next to Isla like a polished piece of furniture. “So, Caleb,” her Uncle Silas said with a thin, mocking smile. “I hear the Waterfront deal hasn’t closed yet? Still dragging your feet?” “We’re still negotiating the finer points…” I replied, keeping my head down and my voice deferential. “Business requires a certain… killer instinct,” a cousin chimed in, interrupting me with a smirk. “But I suppose we can’t all be like Isla. Honestly, Caleb, you’re lucky. Not many men get to collect a six-figure salary for a desk job while their wife does the heavy lifting. It’s quite the charmed life.” “Exactly!” another added. “There are perks to being a house husband. It saves you thirty years of climbing the ladder, doesn’t it?” The table erupted in polite, cruel laughter. I gripped the linen napkin on my lap, remaining silent. Clink. The sharp sound of a glass hitting the table cut through the noise. Isla wrapped her arm through mine, her eyes flashing with ice as she surveyed her family. “My husband’s capabilities are not up for debate,” she said, her voice dropping into a dangerous register. “The Waterfront project is being held at my request. Caleb is patient enough to listen to my strategy. Unless any of you feel the need to audit my executive decisions?” The cousin’s face shifted. “Isla, we were just joking…” “I don’t find it funny,” she snapped. “An insult to Caleb is an insult to me. If I hear another ‘joke’ like that, don’t bother looking for your year-end dividends from the holding company.” She stood up, taking my hand, and led me out of the restaurant without looking back. In the car, the streetlights flickered across her face in rhythmic pulses of shadow and light. “Still angry?” She turned to me, her expression softening. “Don’t listen to them. I value you, Caleb. I know what you’re capable of, even if they don’t.” I looked at her profile. There was no gratitude in me; instead, my chest felt like it was bleeding. She was so perfect. Strong, protective, and in total command. But it was that very perfection that made her defense feel like charity. She didn’t snap at them because she loved me; she snapped because I was hers. I was a piece of property. If they mocked me, they were mocking her taste in acquisitions. The more she protected me, the more she reminded me that I was a nobody who had climbed into her bed to find a life. I was the pathetic man who needed his wife to fight his battles at the dinner table. “I’m fine,” I muttered. My throat felt tight. “Isla, the wine tonight made me a bit restless. Drop me at the next corner. I want to walk for a bit, clear my head.” She thought my ego was just bruised. She reached over and stroked my cheek. “Okay. Just remember, in my eyes, you’re the best. You know that, right?” I nodded and stepped out. I watched her taillights fade into the night before hailing a cab and heading straight to Amber’s cramped apartment. It was her birthday. The place was dark. She was sitting at her small table with a cheap, five-dollar cake, her hands folded in a wish. “Caleb! You… you said you had to go to a gala with her tonight. I didn’t think you’d come.” I didn’t say a word. I placed two envelopes on the table. “I brought your presents. Open them.” She hesitated, then opened the first. It was an enrollment form for the city’s top adult education program, tuition paid in full. The second was a key and the deed to a renovated condo downtown. It was in her name. “Caleb… this is too much. I can’t take this! I just want to be with you, I don’t need—” “Take it,” I said, my voice firm. “I told you, as long as you’re with me, you won’t suffer. You want to go back to school? Go. I want you to live a life of dignity.” Suddenly, Amber was on her knees, clinging to my legs, sobbing into my slacks. “Caleb! Why are you so good to me? I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you. I’d die for you…” Watching her gaze up at me with that raw, unfiltered devotion, the wounds from the dinner party began to heal. This was what I wanted. I never expected to see those two red lines. Amber held the pregnancy test out to me, tears streaming down her face. “Caleb, I’m so sorry. I took the pill, I don’t know how this happened…” She was shaking, but she was so incredibly “selfless” about it. “Don’t worry. I know who I am. I’m not good enough for you. I won’t be a burden. I’ll go to the clinic tomorrow morning and take care of it. I’ll never mention it again, I promise.” The more she groveled, the hotter the flame of my twisted protective instinct burned. Just a few days ago, Isla and I had “argued.” Except Isla didn’t argue; she lectured. She had tapped her expensive fountain pen against a project proposal I had stayed up three nights straight to finish. “Caleb, this is too aggressive. The risk management is non-existent. We can’t move forward with this.” She was calm, logical, and effortlessly dissected every flaw I had. The calmer she was, the more humiliated I felt. It was like a slap in the face—the high-and-mighty Isla looking down at my hard work and dismissing it. She was always right. Always rational. Always unreachable. But here… here was a woman carrying my child, willing to sacrifice it just to keep me from being inconvenienced. Isla and I had been married for four years, and she had never gotten pregnant. She said we should “let it happen naturally,” but I knew the truth: she didn’t want a child interfering with her status at the company. But this child would be mine. My blood. A legacy that didn’t have to carry her family name. “You aren’t getting an abortion,” I said, pulling Amber up and locking her in my arms. “We’re having this baby. I’m going to give him everything.” Once I drained enough from the Sterling accounts, once I controlled the connections… I would bring this mother and son into the light. In the weeks that followed, I became a master of the balancing act. At home, I was the devoted, doting husband. I apologized to Isla for my “mistakes” at work. I cooked her healthy meals, took her on dates, and made everything feel like it used to. The CEO of Sterling Holdings was wrapped around my finger. She thought she was in control, never dreaming her husband had planted a seed elsewhere. I thrived on the thrill of it. I was the ultimate predator in the jungle of marriage. This afternoon, I canceled my meetings. I took Amber to the most prestigious private clinic in the city to start her prenatal file. I bought her the VIP package. Holding the ultrasound, seeing that tiny speck of life… my heart actually felt something. “Look, Caleb,” Amber whispered, leaning into me. “The doctor says the baby is healthy.” I kissed her forehead. “Of course he is. He’s ours.” We walked out of the exam room, laughing and talking. Ding. The elevator doors directly across from us slid open. My smile froze. The blood drained from my face, leaving my limbs cold as ice. Isla. She was stepping out, flanked by the hospital board members and a fleet of senior physicians. I instinctively stepped back, my mind screaming: Hide! But it was too late. Amber didn’t notice my terror. She had been walking all day and let out a soft, playful whine. “Caleb, my legs are so sore. Carry me to the car?” That flirtatious “Caleb” echoed through the quiet, sterile hallway like a gunshot. Isla stopped. The board members stopped. Slowly, Isla turned her head. Her gaze drifted over Amber’s arm linked through mine. It drifted over Amber’s slight baby bump, which I was carefully shielding. Finally, her eyes locked onto mine.

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The day my body finally became mine again, I opened my eyes to the dizzying roar of a celebration. The air smelled of expensive salt spray and champagne. My parents’ voices drifted over the music, warm and intimate, but they were calling out a name that wasn’t mine. They were saying the ceremony was about to begin. To understand how I lost myself, you have to go back to the lake. Two years ago, I almost drowned, and in that suffocating darkness, two entities—infiltrators, they called themselves—slid into the vacant spaces of my soul. The first was Judy. She was fire and mercury, a girl of glass and ambition whose sole mission was to steal my boyfriend, Hudson. The second was Daisy. She was the “perfect” daughter—compliant, academically brilliant, and soft-spoken. She wanted my place at the dinner table, the space I occupied in my parents’ hearts. At first, Hudson held me tight. He swore I was the only woman he’d ever love. My parents took me on a luxury cruise around the world, meticulously avoiding any body of water that might trigger my PTSD, promising me that no matter what happened, I was their only daughter. But then, the tides shifted. Hudson grew tired of my “reserve.” He eventually became hysterical, demanding I “bring Judy back,” claiming that only through her had he discovered what real passion looked like. My parents, too, grew ashamed of my mediocre grades and my quietness. They wept over the Ivy League acceptance letters Daisy had earned while inhabiting my skin, mourning the fact that she wasn’t their biological child. Now, I had finally clawed my way back to the surface. I had control. But as I looked at the world around me, a strange, hollow chill settled in my bones. … Before I could utter a word of explanation, my mother’s arms were around me. She slid a vintage emerald cocktail ring—a family heirloom—off her own finger and onto mine. Her eyes crinkled with a pride I hadn’t seen in years. “It looks so much better on you, Daisy,” she whispered. My father leaned in, ruffling my hair with a casual affection that felt like a bruise. “Matches your dress perfectly, honey.” The gold of the ring was warm from her skin, but it felt like a shackle of ice. This was my grandmother’s ring. My mother treated it like a holy relic. I remembered being ten years old, watching her polish it, reaching out a curious hand. She had snapped at me then: “This stays with me until you’ve proven you’re a woman of substance, Callie. It’s for when you’ve built a life worth honoring.” She wanted me to be a traditional wife, a quiet shadow. But after Daisy took over, my mother held her hand and told her to be fierce, to be independent. “You don’t need a man to define you, Daisy. We are your fortress.” The ring I wasn’t allowed to touch was now a gift for the girl who had stolen my life. I lowered my head, blinking back the stinging heat in my eyes. My father pressed a glass of fresh-pressed orange juice into my hand and a plate with a gourmet breakfast sandwich. “Go on, try it. I made it myself,” he said, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. My heart did a slow, painful roll. My father didn’t cook. He was a man of boardrooms and late-night flights; he barely had time to sit for a meal, let alone prepare one. But a flash of Daisy’s memory flickered in my mind—he had spent weeks learning to make this specific brioche sandwich just because Daisy mentioned she liked it before her morning classes. I took a sip of the juice and a forced bite of the sandwich. My parents had always been too busy to care what I ate for breakfast. They didn’t know I had a mild allergy to the avocado spread inside. But they knew Daisy loved it. Under my father’s doting gaze, I choked down a meal that didn’t belong to me. It was the strangest sensation—being a ghost in your own home, feeling like a thief for inhabiting your own skin. “Come on,” my mother said, squeezing my hand. “The party is starting. Your father and I spent months planning this. You’re going to love it.” The heat of her palm was a memory of safety. Wrapped in that warmth, a tiny, foolish part of me allowed itself to hope. The “coming-of-age” party was at a private beach club in the Hamptons. I stood paralyzed on the sand, surrounded by arches of white peonies. Ever since the accident, I had been terrified of the water. When I was “asleep” inside my own mind, I’d often drift into nightmares of drowning. The ocean was my enemy. My parents used to know that. They used to plan vacations to the mountains just to keep me from shivering. But as I looked at the waves crashing just yards away, my mother leaned in, searching my face. “Do you like it, Daisy?” My throat felt tight. I managed a small, pathetic nod. “Yes.” I hated it. But Daisy? Daisy loved the sea. The emcee called my parents to the stage for a toast. My father gripped the microphone, a beaming smile stretching across his face. “Thank you all for joining us to celebrate the twenty-first birthday of our daughter, Daisy.” A murmur rippled through the crowd of family friends. “Wait, isn’t her name Callie?” a woman whispered nearby. “No, didn’t you hear? Her father filed the legal paperwork to change it last month,” another replied. “He put out a whole announcement on LinkedIn and everything. He said ‘Daisy’ was the name that finally fit her spirit.” I stared at them, my nails digging into my palms until the skin broke. The sharp, metallic tang of pain was the only thing keeping me grounded. They hadn’t just welcomed an intruder. They had erased me. This party wasn’t a celebration of my birth; it was a funeral for Callie. I moved through the rest of the night like a zombie. Claiming a migraine, I eventually locked myself in my bedroom. I pulled out my phone and messaged Hudson. He arrived twenty minutes later to pick me up. “Why the tears, babe?” he asked, reaching out to brush a stray drop from my cheek. I grabbed his arm, clinging to him like he was the last life raft on a sinking ship. “Take me away from here. Please.” A look of understanding crossed Hudson’s handsome face. “The party was for Daisy, wasn’t it?” His voice was a low, steady thrum. “Don’t be sad. I’ve prepared something just for you. Something private. Come with me.” As I climbed into his car, the frantic beating of my heart began to slow. Thank God. At least I still had Hudson. On the way to his place, he stopped to pick up a pre-ordered cake. I watched him, my eyes bright with a desperate, renewed love. When he got back in and our eyes met, he paused. Suddenly, his hand was over my eyes, plunging me into darkness. Then, his lips were on mine. Heat flooded my face. I gripped the hem of my dress, my breath hitching. Hudson and I had been together for years, but we had always been careful. A few kisses, long hugs, but we had a pact. We were waiting for something real, something permanent. This was the first time he had ever kissed me with such… hunger. By the time we reached his apartment, my skin was still buzzing. “Go take a shower,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I left some clothes for you in the bathroom.” I walked into the en-suite and froze. Hanging on the hook was a deep, wine-red silk slip—something far more provocative than anything I owned. I looked at the vanity. Two toothbrushes in one holder. A collection of expensive skincare products half-used. A silk robe thrown over the chair. The realization hit me like a physical blow. They weren’t just dating. They were living together. I had been so wrong. After the accident, Hudson had stayed by my hospital bed for two months. He had cried until his eyes were bloodshot, swearing he’d trade his life for mine. When Judy first took over, he had been horrified. I remembered him screaming at her: “Get out of my girlfriend’s body! You’re a parasite! I will find a way to burn you out!” Hearing that from the darkness of my subconscious had been my only comfort. He had consulted specialists, spiritualists, even hiked up a mountain in the rain to get a “blessing” for me. But then, the memories blurred. I had tried so hard to break through the veil, and when I finally saw the “real world” again through my own eyes, I saw shadows of things I couldn’t unsee. Used contraceptives on the nightstand. A tripod with a camera. Judy, using my body to perform a version of intimacy I had never consented to, in the home Hudson and I were supposed to build together. I had screamed at him in my head. How could you? You knew I wanted to wait! When I had briefly regained consciousness months ago, I had broken everything Judy owned and tried to end it. Hudson had knelt at my feet, weeping, promising he’d cut Judy out forever. But standing in this bathroom, I saw the truth. Every inch of this place was stained with Judy’s presence. I loved minimalism; the bedroom was now draped in velvet and lace like a high-end boudoir. I hated hard liquor; there was a row of expensive bourbons by the window. Even the trip to Antarctica I had dreamed of for years—Judy had gone in my place. The largest photo on the mantel was of Judy—in my body—wrapped in Hudson’s arms, laughing at the camera with a predatory, triumphant glow. She was mocking me. She was showing me that I was the ghost, and she was the one who was alive. The door opened. Hudson walked in. “How much longer are you going to hide in here?” He wrapped his arms around me from behind, his lips grazing my earlobe. I should have felt warm. Instead, my teeth began to chatter. “Wait,” I gasped, trying to push back. “Hudson, I need to tell you—” “I know what you’re waiting for, baby,” he interrupted. He spun me around and dropped to one knee, holding out a diamond that caught the light like a shard of ice. “Marry me?” His eyes were full of a terrifying, intense devotion. I looked into them and, like a fool, I nodded. “Yes.” Maybe, I told myself, a part of that love was still for me. But three months later, as I stood in a church Judy had chosen, wearing a gown Judy had designed, I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. Hudson wasn’t looking at Callie. He was looking at the woman who had replaced her. The priest spoke the words: “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” Hudson leaned in, his voice a feverish whisper against my lips. “I love you so much, baby. Only you. Forever.” The words were supposed to be a sanctuary. Instead, they were a knife, twisting in the meat of my heart. I remembered the night I told him Judy’s “mission” was to win him over. I had been so scared. He had sworn, “She can have the body, but she’ll never have my heart. I’m a one-woman man, Callie.” I jerked my head away, breaking the kiss. “Hudson,” I said, my voice cracking through the silence of the cathedral. “I’m not Judy.” “I’m Callie.” I looked at him with the last shred of hope I possessed. “Do you still love me?” If he said yes, I would fight. I would stay in this body and reclaim every inch of my life. I watched his face, waiting for the recognition, the relief. Instead, Hudson recoiled as if I’d slapped him. The guests in the pews gasped, half-rising from their seats. The best man rushed forward, whispering urgently, “Hudson, whatever drama you and Judy have, keep it private. People are filming.” Hudson’s face contorted with a cold, simmering rage. “Wedding’s over,” he hissed. “We’re going home.” He didn’t lead me out; he dragged me. My heels caught on the stone steps. I stumbled, twisting my ankle, but he didn’t slow down. By the time we got back to the apartment, my ankle was a swollen, throbbing mess. He threw me toward the sofa with a snarl. “How dare you?” he roared. “How dare you pretend to be her just to steal her wedding? You think you can just bully her out of existence?” Tears blurred my vision. “She stole my life, Hudson! She took my body!” Hudson let out a sharp, disgusted laugh. “It wasn’t her choice! She had a mission. She was just trying to survive.” The first tear tracked down my cheek, cold and lonely. The front door burst open. My parents had followed us. My mother looked like she was having a breakdown. “You’re not Daisy! What did you do with our daughter?” She lunged at me, clawing at my expensive lace sleeves, demanding I “give her back.” I huddled on the floor, trying to cover my tattered dress. “Mom, Dad… I am your daughter. Callie. Remember?” “Daisy’s mission was to make us love her,” my mother sobbed, her voice shrill with hysteria. “If she doesn’t finish, the system will kill her! She’ll be gone forever!” My father stood over me, his face a mask of disappointment. “She’s a good girl, Callie. Kind, smart… everything we ever wanted. We can’t just let her die.” “Once she finishes her mission and leaves,” he added, his voice dropping to a low, transactional tone, “then you can have your life back. You’ll be our only daughter again.” My mother’s face twisted. “But if you hold onto the body now, you’re killing her! How can you be so selfish, Callie?” Selfish. The word echoed in the empty spaces of my chest. I had taken back what was mine, and in their eyes, I was the villain. I was the thief of their happiness. Hudson knelt in front of me. For the first time in my life, he begged. Not for me, but for the woman who had erased me. “Callie, please. Give the body back to Judy. I can’t live without her. If you let her live… I’ll do anything. We can figure it out. We can all live together, some way. Just don’t let her die.” They all stared at me, their love held hostage, their anger vibrating in the air. If I said no, they would hate me for the rest of my life. I felt something snap inside of me. A final, clean break. The cold wind of reality rushed into my heart, and for the first time, I felt nothing at all. “Fine,” I whispered. “I’ll give it back. All of it.”

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The day the Croft family hosted their sprawling Sunday estate dinner, my husband—in name only—Drew Croft, brought his mistress right through the front doors. The stares from the extended family felt like physical needles sinking into my skin, heavy with unfiltered mockery. Drew’s cousin, Blake, leaned across the mahogany table with a sickeningly sweet smile. “Bringing another woman to family dinner, Drew? Aren’t you worried Penny might actually get mad?” Drew offered a breezy, dismissive laugh. His tone was absolute. “Penny has a mild temper. She doesn’t let little things like this bother her.” It wasn’t that he thought I had a forgiving nature. He just knew I had absolutely zero leverage to leave him. And why would I? I was nothing but an orphaned girl taken in by the Crofts on a charity whim. How could I possibly go toe-to-toe with the newly crowned CEO of the Croft empire? But when the woman stepped fully into the chandelier’s light and I saw her face, the reason he had brought her here slammed into me. She was a carbon copy. A perfect, living replica of Drew’s dead first love. A sudden, crushing wave of exhaustion washed over me. I was so goddamn tired of this life. My hand moved almost involuntarily. I swept my arm across the side table, and the antique porcelain vase shattered into a thousand jagged pieces across the marble floor. The dining room went dead silent. Every eye locked onto me, faces painted with sheer, unadulterated shock. 1. “Drew,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “This dinner. It’s her, or it’s me.” Drew barely blinked. He looked at me, mildly annoyed, and drawled, “She’s just here for dinner, Penny. Relax. The title of Mrs. Croft is still yours.” My eyes stung, but I held his gaze with a fierce, burning clarity. “I’m serious.” It was probably the first time in my life I had ever openly defied him. For a fraction of a second, something like confusion flickered in Drew’s eyes. Right on cue, the replica shrank back, playing the doe-eyed victim perfectly. “Mrs. Croft, please… I begged Drew to bring me. If it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll leave right now.” I didn’t even give her the dignity of a glance. I kept my eyes locked on the man I had loved for a decade. “Enough!” Drew snapped, his patience evaporating. “Your temper is getting out of hand lately. Sit down and eat, or get out.” He gestured for the woman to take the chair right beside his—my usual seat. A bitter, self-deprecating laugh pushed past my lips. He couldn’t have made it any clearer. Slowly, I reached for my wrist and slid off the heirloom white jade bracelet his grandmother had given me on our wedding day. I placed it gently on the table in front of him. “I’m giving this back to you.” Drew arched a brow. “What is this supposed to mean, Penny?” I stared dead into his eyes, enunciating every single word. “It means I am done being Mrs. Croft.” He let out a harsh, patronizing scoff. “You’re an orphan. Leave me, leave this family, and where exactly are you going to go? Stop throwing a tantrum. You’re embarrassing yourself. Sit down.” The relatives around the table immediately chimed in, their voices dripping with fake concern, urging me to quit while I was ahead. I tuned them out. I grabbed my phone and started walking toward the massive double doors. Just as my hand hit the brass handle, his voice, cold and sharp as a knife, hit my back. “Penny, if you walk out those doors today, the position of my wife goes to someone else. Don’t even think about coming back.” I paused for half a second. And then, without a single backward glance, I walked out of the only home I had ever known. 2. I was the orphan the Croft family took in out of obligation. My grandmother had been dear friends with Josephine Croft—Grandma Jo. When my grandmother passed away, she entrusted me to the Croft matriarch. To the outside world, I was the luckiest girl alive. I grew up in a mansion, wore designer clothes, and eventually landed the ultimate prize: marrying Drew Croft. But only someone drowning in it could understand the true misery of that life. A Mrs. Croft ignored by everyone. A Mrs. Croft whose husband’s heart belonged to a ghost. A Mrs. Croft in title alone. When we got married, Drew sat me down and told me he could only give me a ceremony. The legal papers—the actual marriage license—would remain blank. Because in his heart, and on paper, his only wife would ever be Cecilia. Cecilia. Drew’s high school sweetheart. His untouchable saint. She had died of cancer seven years ago. Nobody in the elite circles knew that the stars of the ten-million-dollar “wedding of the decade” had never actually signed a legal marriage certificate. But what could I do? From the moment he pulled my drowning, thrashing body out of the estate pool when we were kids, I had loved him. Back then, I naively thought my warmth could eventually melt his glacier of a heart. I forgot the cardinal rule of grief: the living can never compete with the dead. After fleeing the estate, I wandered the rainy streets of the city without a destination. Drew’s mocking voice echoed in my head: Where exactly are you going to go? He was right. It was my brutal reality. Eventually, I tucked myself into a shadowy corner booth of a dim, indie acoustic lounge. Back at the mansion, the phrase I heard most often was, “Madam, you cannot do that.” Because my face represented the Crofts. My actions reflected on Drew. My entire twenty-five years of existence had revolved entirely around them. And my grand reward was becoming a glorified placeholder. Listening to the girl on stage croon a heartbreaking indie-folk song, I threw back shot after shot of whiskey. Right before the room spun out of control and everything went black, I heard a soft, melodic voice. “Hey. Are you okay?” I tried to speak, but the darkness pulled me under. When I finally woke up, my head was pounding so hard I couldn’t even focus on where I was. I massaged my temples, wincing at the harsh morning light. “Oh, you’re awake!” I looked up. Standing in the doorway of a bohemian, sun-drenched apartment was the singer from the bar. “I’m so sorry,” I rasped, mortified. “I was a disaster last night.” She flashed a brilliant, unrestrained smile. “Hey, it’s fine. Consider it fate! I’m Zoe. Who are you?” I stared at her. At how easy and bright she was. For a moment, I almost forgot my own name. “Penny.” “Well, Penny, I made oatmeal. Get up, wash your face, and come eat.” I just sat there, completely utterly lost. Zoe marched over, grabbed my hands, hauled me out of bed, and shoved me toward the bathroom. “Brand new toothbrush and towel on the counter. Chop chop! I’m starving.” She gave me this exaggerated, wide-eyed look, silently threatening to brush my teeth for me if I didn’t move. I went through the motions like a zombie, and before I knew it, I was sitting at a tiny, mismatched kitchen table. “Eat up, Penny! We’re going hiking after this!” Looking at her—radiating this raw, chaotic, beautiful youth—it suddenly hit me like a physical blow. I am twenty-five years old. In the Croft house, I had to be poised. Composed. Perfect. I had aged myself by decades just trying to play the part. I want to be her friend. It was the first time in my life I had ever felt such a desperate, spontaneous urge. I swallowed hard and asked quietly, “Zoe… could I rent your couch for a little while? I can pay.” She didn’t even hesitate. “Sure.” “You don’t even know me. What if I’m a psycho?” She waved a hand dismissively. “I have excellent radar. Eat your oats.” And just like that, I ate. True to her word, she dragged me out to a state park trail an hour north of the city. As we hiked up the steep, muddy inclines, we talked like we’d known each other in a past life. We talked about our pasts, our fears, our weirdest habits. Zoe’s life was a kaleidoscope compared to mine. She wandered. She’d move to a new city, rent a cheap room, sing at local dive bars until she got bored, and then pack up and do it again. While she was conquering the world, I had been locked in a gilded cage for ten years. 3. When we finally breached the summit, the wind whipping through our hair, Zoe turned to me out of nowhere. “You know, love isn’t about the promise of forever. The fact that things end doesn’t erase the beautiful moments that happened. But it has to actually be beautiful, Penny.” I offered a bitter, hollow smile. Between Drew and me, there had been no shared beauty. Just my own exhausting, one-sided delusion. She linked her arm through mine. “You’re dragging around so many chains, Penny. You have to smash them. You need to figure out who you are, define yourself, choose yourself. That’s what it means to actually be alive.” She looked me dead in the eye. “If you want someone to love you, you have to love yourself first.” Then she pulled out a vintage film camera and ran off to photograph the treeline. I stood there, watching her chase the light, her words echoing in the vast, open space of my mind. The Croft family had sanded down my edges until I was perfectly smooth and entirely invisible. I hadn’t had the luxury of being reckless. Running away from Drew was the very first choice I had made solely for myself. Yes, I felt like driftwood—homeless, untethered, floating without a compass. I had survived purely on a fleeting burst of adrenaline. But I was only twenty-five. Even if I had to admit the dark had swallowed me whole for a decade, I could still choose to live the rest of my life in the light. Zoe came bounding back, tugging me down to sit in the damp grass and watch the clouds. We spent an hour just pointing out shapes in the sky, talking absolute, wonderful nonsense. In that quiet space, I made a silent vow. I was going to step into the unknown. I had left the cage; now it was time to learn how to fly. “Zoe,” I said softly. “I want to see the world.” She threw her arm around my shoulders, her eyes lighting up like fireworks. “Let’s do it! Seriously, let’s start a travel channel. We’ll hit the road, document everything, and make some cash while we’re at it!” She was practically buzzing. “I’ll handle the camera, you’re gorgeous on film, we’ll go viral!” Listening to her spin this wild fantasy, for the first time in years, my chest fluttered with anticipation. “I was an English Lit major,” I offered. “I can write our copy, do the storytelling. And whatever else we need, I’ll learn.” Zoe clapped her hands together. “Yes! A match made in heaven.” I actually laughed. A real, chest-deep laugh. Zoe was a creature of intense momentum. She immediately dragged me down the mountain, declaring we needed to start plotting our route that exact night. I gently reminded her that I had fled a mansion with nothing but the clothes on my back. I needed to replace my ID, my bank cards, everything. We had to stay put for a few weeks. Halfway down the trail, I pulled my phone out of my pocket, popped the SIM card tray, and flicked the tiny chip into the dense woods. Goodbye, Croft family. Goodbye, Drew. 4. While I waited for my new documents in the mail, I enrolled in intensive online video editing courses. Zoe still sang at the bar every night. During the day, she’d beg me to cook for her, and we’d sit on her floor surrounded by maps, debating our first destination. The first time I made her a proper homemade dinner, she practically inhaled it, talking with her mouth full. “That toxic trash bag of an ex you had is an absolute idiot. Where else is he gonna find a girl this stunning who can throw down in the kitchen like this?” She pointed her fork at me. “If I were a guy, I’d put a ring on it immediately.” Since leaving the estate, my days were packed, exhausting, and completely fulfilling. Drew hadn’t come looking for me. Not once. One afternoon, I caught a business news segment on TV. A reporter ambushed him, asking about the rumors of a sudden separation. Drew’s face was an emotionless mask as he flatly denied it. Before the reporter could press further, his PR team shut the interview down. The consensus in the tabloids was that the “Cinderella” Mrs. Croft had finally been iced out for good. Exactly one month after I walked out, Zoe and I boarded a plane to Alaska. Our target was the deep wilderness, a brutal, awe-inspiring trek up a glaciated peak in the Chugach Mountains. By the time we neared the summit, the altitude and the freezing air had completely wrecked me. At one point, it felt like an invisible hand had wrapped around my throat. I couldn’t pull air into my lungs. My vision blurred into white static, and a high-pitched ringing drowned out the howling wind. My knees hit the ice. I truly thought my life was going to end right there on that frozen rock. But then, the clouds broke. And there it was—the Alpenglow. The sun hit the highest peak, turning the brutal, deadly ice into a towering beacon of pure, blazing gold. Kneeling in the snow, staring at that terrifying beauty, I started to sob. The tears just wouldn’t stop. Our trail guide rushed over, fumbling with a portable oxygen canister. Zoe dropped beside me, wrapping her arms around my shaking body. “Penny, hey, it’s okay! Your oxygen levels are coming back up, you’re not dying, I promise! You’re safe.” I shook my head, gasping for air, trying to smile. I wasn’t crying out of fear. With their help, I stood up on the mountain. I looked at that burning golden peak and saw the rest of my life stretching out in front of me. Alaska was my crucible. It was the birth of my courage. When we got back to civilization, we edited the footage, layered my voiceover narrating the struggle and the awe, and uploaded it. We didn’t expect it to explode. But it did. Thousands of comments flooded in from women saying the video made them cry, made them feel seen, made them believe in starting over. I felt the exact same way. During our travels, I bought a sketchbook. Grandma Jo had been a celebrated painter, and growing up at her feet, I had fallen deeply in love with oils and canvases. But when I got together with Drew, he made me pack away my brushes. The reason was cruel and simple. Cecilia had been an artist. At first, I thought he couldn’t bear to see me paint because it triggered his grief. But one night, standing outside his study, I overheard him talking to a friend. “When Penny paints, I just see Cece. And Penny doesn’t have the right to even be compared to her.” Cecilia had been dead for years, yet Drew weaponized her memory to keep me small. He enforced her presence in that house. The estate staff burned Cecilia’s favorite cedarwood incense. We ate off the ceramic dishware she had picked out. The gardens were choked with the jasmine she loved. And on the second floor, right next to the master suite, was a locked room. Cleaned by the head housekeeper once a week. Drew spent half his month sleeping in there. Two years after her death, Grandma Jo finally ordered the staff to clear it out. When Drew came home and found the room empty, he completely lost his mind. He shattered glass, screamed at the staff, and delivered an ultimatum to his own grandmother: “If that room is gone, I will never set foot in this house again.” He personally drove to the estate’s waste facility, dug through the garbage with his bare hands, and put every single item back exactly where it belonged. After that, the room became a shrine. And Cecilia became the patron saint of his heart, untouchable and immortal.

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The security footage from two in the morning cleared the sleep from my brain like a shot of pure adrenaline. There, on the glowing screen of the property manager’s tablet, was my brand-new, eighty-five-thousand-dollar Winnebago RV. And there was my neighbor, Penny, sitting in the driver’s seat. Behind her, loading into the cabin like they were boarding a tour bus, were her husband, her daughter, and her elderly parents. The brake lights flared in the grainy black-and-white video. And then, my RV pulled out of the complex, heading straight for the interstate. The fuse for this entire nightmare had been lit a few days prior. I had just dropped a small fortune on that custom Class C motorhome. My plan for the Fourth of July weekend was simple: drive down the coast, park by the ocean, and embrace the absolute, unbroken quiet of solitude. I hadn’t accounted for Gary. Gary lived next door. When he saw the rig parked in my spot, he showed up on my porch with his wife, his eight-year-old kid, and his in-laws, pitching the idea that they should “tag along” to save on travel expenses. I had politely, but firmly, shut the door on that idea. It wasn’t until the following morning that I walked outside and found a rectangular patch of empty asphalt where my sanctuary used to be. When I finally got Gary on the phone, the sheer entitlement vibrating through the receiver made the blood roar in my ears. “Look, man, you’re flying solo. You can crash at any cheap motel,” he’d yelled over the highway wind. “This thing is perfect for a family. We’re finally comfortable.” I didn’t hesitate. The second the call disconnected, my thumb tapped 9-1-1. You want to steal my rig? You want to be comfortable? Get comfortable with the idea of a holding cell. 1 “Hey, Jack! Heard you got yourself a land yacht!” I had been lying on my couch, endlessly scrolling through my phone, when the doorbell rang. I opened it to find Gary from next door standing on my welcome mat, grinning like he’d just scratched a winning lotto ticket. He hadn’t come alone. He’d brought the whole circus. His wife, Penny. His daughter, Mia. His father-in-law, Frank. His mother-in-law, Helen. Five of them, packed onto my porch, radiating expectant energy. “Hey, Gary,” I said, keeping my hand on the doorknob. “What’s up?” “Word on the street is you’re taking that new RV out for the Fourth of July weekend,” Gary said, clapping his hands together. “That’s fantastic. We’re coming with you. Saves you from being all by your lonesome!” I blinked, waiting for the punchline. When none came, I shifted my weight. “I’m driving down the coast by myself. That’s kind of the point.” Gary waved his hand, dismissing my reality entirely. “Ah, come on. Road trips suck when you’re alone. No one to talk to, no one to pass the time with. We’ll keep you company. It’ll be a blast.” “Gary,” I said slowly, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. “The RV is just for me.” “I know, I know,” Gary pushed on, entirely unfazed. “But that thing is huge! You can’t possibly need all that space. The five of us can just squeeze into the back. We won’t be in your way at all.” Down around my knees, little Mia started jumping. “I wanna ride in the big car! I wanna ride in the big car!” I let a heavy, uncomfortable silence fall over the porch. Penny finally chimed in, offering a tight, appeasing smile. “Jack, look, we aren’t trying to take advantage. You can just drop us off at the first national park on your route, and we’ll get out and do our own thing. It just saves us the gas money. We’re neighbors. It’s what neighbors do.” “No,” I said. “I can’t do that.” Helen, the mother-in-law, instantly soured. Her face pinched together. “Well, aren’t you a stingy young man? We live right next door. What does it cost you to do a simple favor?” “Helen,” I kept my voice flat. “It cost me eighty-five thousand dollars. I literally haven’t even driven it off the lot for a trip yet.” Frank cleared his throat, adjusting his baseball cap. “Son, don’t be so selfish. Put some good karma into the world. It comes back to you.” A dry laugh scraped the back of my throat. “So, let me get this straight. I buy a vehicle with my own money, I don’t want to chauffeur five people I barely know, and I’m the selfish one?” Gary quickly held up his hands, playing the peacemaker for the fire he’d started. “Alright, alright. If Jack doesn’t want to help out, we’ll leave it. Don’t make a big deal out of it.” He corralled his family, turning them back toward their unit. But just before he stepped off my porch, Gary glanced back over his shoulder. It wasn’t a look of disappointment. It wasn’t anger. It was a look that said, We’ll see about that. I locked my door, brushing it off as suburban absurdity. Sometime around midnight, floating in that heavy space between waking and sleeping, I thought I heard a faint rustling outside my front door. A quiet clinking, like metal on metal. But the exhaustion of the workweek pulled me under before I could investigate. The next morning, I walked out with my coffee mug. The parking pad was empty. My RV was gone. I stood there, the warm morning air suddenly feeling like ice against my skin. A high-pitched ringing started in my ears. Impossible. I rubbed my eyes. The concrete was still bare. A small oil stain from my old sedan was the only thing left. I pulled out my phone, opening my camera roll to the picture I’d taken yesterday. The pristine white Winnebago, the sleek awning. It had been right there. Now, there wasn’t so much as a tire mark left behind. My first, frantic thought: Did the HOA tow it? I jogged down to the community clubhouse, pushing open the glass doors. Barb, the property manager, looked up from her desk. “Barb,” I said, a little breathless. “My RV is gone from my spot. Did the association have it towed?” Barb frowned, adjusting her glasses. “No, Jack. We don’t tow unless there’s a written violation first. You’re fully registered.” “Can we check the security cameras?” “Sure,” she said, her voice softening at the panic in my eyes. “Come back here.” She clicked through the digital archive. We went back to midnight and fast-forwarded. At exactly 2:13 a.m., a figure appeared on screen. It was Penny. She walked straight up to my RV. In her hand, something metallic glinted under the streetlamp. She pressed a button. The amber hazard lights flashed, confirming the doors unlocking. She climbed into the driver’s seat. Two minutes later, Gary emerged from the breezeway of their unit. Following him like ducks in a row were Helen, Frank, and little Mia. They were lugging duffel bags and a cooler. Gary slid the side door open. He hoisted Mia in. Then Frank. Then Helen. Then Gary climbed in himself, pulling the heavy door shut behind him. At 2:18 a.m., my eighty-five-thousand-dollar motorhome rolled out of the complex gates. Barb slowly turned her head to look at me, her eyes wide. “Jack… aren’t those your neighbors?” 2 I didn’t answer her. I couldn’t. I just stared at the frozen frame of the video, my palms growing damp with a cold, creeping sweat. The keys. It hit me with the force of a physical blow. Gary had come over the night before, uninvited. When he was standing in my entryway, leaning against the console table, I had my back turned for exactly ten seconds to grab a bottle of water from the kitchen. I had left my spare set of keys in the ceramic bowl by the door. I thought I had misplaced them. I hadn’t. He had palmed them while I wasn’t looking. I pulled out my phone and dialed Gary’s number. User busy. I called again. User busy. Third try. It rang. And then, he picked up. “Gary,” I said, my voice dropping an octave. “Where is my RV?” Through the speaker, I could hear the distinct, heavy rumble of highway tires and the wind whipping against the chassis. Gary’s voice boomed, completely unbothered. “Hey, Jack! Man, we’re just borrowing it for a couple of days. You’re a grown adult, don’t be so tight-fisted about it.” I closed my eyes. I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to cage the absolute fury rising in my chest. “Turn it around,” I said softly. “Bring it back. Right now.” Gary actually laughed. A bright, genuine chuckle. “Bring it back? Buddy, we’re already three hours out on the interstate. Look, you’re just one guy. Book a nice hotel room for the weekend, get some room service. It won’t cost you that much. This thing is perfect for us. We’re saving a fortune on lodging.” “Gary,” I said. “You stole my vehicle.” “Oh, stop with the dramatics,” Gary scoffed. “We’re neighbors. It’s not stealing, it’s borrowing. I’ll bring it back with a full tank.” “If you do not turn off at the next exit and bring it back, I am calling the police.” Gary laughed again. It was louder this time. Exaggerated. Mocking. “Call them! Go ahead, call the cops. See what they tell you. You think they care about a neighborhood dispute?” His tone turned dismissive. “I gotta go, Jack. The kid is trying to sleep.” The line went dead. I hit redial. The number you are trying to reach has been turned off. I stood in the air-conditioned office of the clubhouse, the phone still pressed to my ear. Outside, the July sun was beating down on the asphalt, baking the rows of parked cars. None of them were mine. I tried again. Power off. I tried Penny’s number. Power off. I didn’t have the in-laws’ numbers. Barb, who had been listening to the entire one-sided conversation, offered a sympathetic wince. “Jack, maybe… maybe just let it go for the weekend? They’re your neighbors. You don’t want to start a war over a misunderstanding.” I lowered the phone and looked at her. “He stole my vehicle.” “I know, but, you know how these civil things get… it’s just a dispute. Maybe they’ll really bring it back?” “Barb.” My voice was hollow. “It’s an eighty-five-thousand-dollar motorhome. You think this is a ‘misunderstanding’?” Barb fell silent, her eyes dropping to her keyboard. I walked out of the clubhouse. I walked back to my empty parking pad. I stood exactly where the rear tires should have been. Yesterday, I was out here polishing the chrome. Yesterday, I was making a grocery list, debating which snacks to pack for the coast. Now, there was just an oil stain. Gary’s words looped in my head like a bad record. Book a nice hotel room. Perfect for us. Saving a fortune. The anger stopped being hot. It turned into something sharp, cold, and incredibly clear. My hands were shaking, not from panic, but from the sheer adrenaline of what I was about to do. I pulled out my phone again. I didn’t dial Gary. I dialed three numbers. 9-1-1. “911, what is your emergency?” “Hi. I need to report a Grand Theft Auto. My vehicle was stolen.” “Okay, sir. Can I get the make and model?” “It’s a custom Winnebago Class C. Valued around eighty-five thousand dollars.” “Do you know who took it?” “Yes,” I said, staring at Gary’s front door. “I have them on security camera. I have a recorded phone call of them admitting to it. They are currently driving it on the southbound interstate. Five passengers.” “Copy that, sir. We are dispatching an officer to your location to take the report.” I hung up. I stood in the blistering heat, letting the sun beat against my face. I could wait. Let’s see who ends up paying for the hotel room. Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting on a hard plastic chair in the local precinct. A young patrol officer, probably no older than twenty-five, walked over with a clipboard. “You the one reporting the stolen RV?” he asked, looking me up and down. “Yes.” “Alright, walk me through it.” I laid it out methodically. The uninvited visit. The refused request. The missing spare key. The 2:00 a.m. security footage. When I finished, the young cop leaned back, tapping his pen against his chin. “So, you guys are neighbors?” “Yes.” “And he told you he was just borrowing it?” “Yes. But I explicitly denied him permission. Three times. I told him no. His wife asked, I told her no. The mother-in-law asked, I said no.” The officer sighed, the universal sound of a cop who didn’t want to deal with a mountain of paperwork. “Look, man. Why don’t you head home? We’ll try to get him on the phone, tell him he needs to bring it back.” 3 “I already tried to get him on the phone,” I said evenly. “He turned his phone off.” “Okay, well, when he gets back, we can set up a mediation. Talk it out. It’s a neighborhood dispute, these things happen.” I stared at him. I could feel the muscle in my jaw jumping. “Mediation?” “Yeah, you know, civil matter. It’s best to resolve it without getting the courts involved.” “He stole my vehicle,” I enunciated every word. “At two in the morning. He snuck onto my property, used a stolen key, packed his entire family into my RV, and drove across state lines. In what universe is that a ‘neighborhood dispute’?” The officer opened his mouth to reply, but I cut him off. I unzipped my leather folio and pulled out a stack of papers. “This is the bill of sale. Eighty-five thousand dollars, paid in full.” I slid it across the table. “These are time-stamped stills from the HOA security feed. 2:13 a.m. That is Penny in the driver’s seat.” I slid them across. Then, I unlocked my phone, opened my call recording app, and hit play. I pushed the phone toward him. Gary’s booming, arrogant voice filled the quiet precinct. “Man, we’re just borrowing it for a couple of days. You’re a grown adult, don’t be so tight-fisted about it.” “Book a nice hotel room for the weekend… We’re saving a fortune on lodging.” The recording clicked off. The young cop’s face had gone perfectly still. “He explicitly acknowledges he took it,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “He explicitly refuses to return it. I gave no authorization. He stole the key. That is theft. He took it across state lines. That is Grand Theft.” I leaned in, making sure he couldn’t look away from my eyes. “In this state, Grand Theft Auto for a vehicle valued over fifty thousand dollars is a second-degree felony. That carries a maximum sentence of fifteen years in a state penitentiary. Does eighty-five grand meet your threshold for a felony, Officer?” The young cop swallowed hard. He looked at the paperwork. He looked at me. “You a lawyer?” “No,” I said. “But I know how to read. And I know what theft is.” For a long moment, there was just silence. Then, he gathered up my papers. “Wait here.” He disappeared into a back office. I sat there for ten minutes, watching the wall clock tick. When he came back, he wasn’t alone. A silver-haired sergeant with weary eyes was trailing behind him. The sergeant pulled out a chair opposite me and sat down heavily. “Mr. Jack,” the sergeant said, his voice gravelly. “I’ve reviewed the materials. We are officially opening a case for Grand Theft Auto.” He folded his hands on the table. “I need you to understand something, though. If we put this over the wire to the State Troopers and they make the stop… there is no un-ringing this bell. If he calls you crying tomorrow, the DA has the case. You can’t just drop it.” “I don’t plan to,” I said. “Alright then.” The sergeant pulled over a fresh incident report pad. “Let’s get this on the record.” I went through it all again. The timeline, the locations, the exact wording of the conversation. “What is your ultimate objective here?” the sergeant asked, pen hovering. “I want him prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. A thief is a thief, whether he lives next door or in another state.” The sergeant nodded slowly. “We’re coding this as a felony auto theft. We’ll put out a BOLO to the Highway Patrol. They’ll ping the plates. If they’re on the southbound interstate, Troopers will intercept them.” “Thank you,” I said. I stood up and slung my bag over my shoulder. As I walked toward the heavy glass doors, the young patrol officer called out to me one last time. “Hey. Are you sure you don’t want to try and settle this? What if he offers to just pay you for the rental time?” I stopped. I didn’t turn my whole body, just looked back over my shoulder. “I don’t need his money,” I said. “I need a consequence.” “He didn’t care about settling when he stole from me in the dead of night. He didn’t care about settling when he was laughing at me on the highway. He didn’t care about settling when he turned his phone off.” “It’s too late for a settlement.” The officer didn’t say another word. I pushed through the doors into the blinding July afternoon. I checked my phone. No missed calls. No texts. Gary and his family were still cruising down the highway, living it up. They had absolutely no idea what was coming for them. I stood in the parking lot, letting the breeze cool the sweat on my neck. You want a free vacation, Gary? You want to save on hotel rooms? Let’s see how much you enjoy state housing. “Dad, this thing is massive!” Mia was sprinting from the front cab to the rear bedroom, her sneakers leaving scuff marks on the pale grey upholstery of the dinette. Gary was kicked back in the passenger seat, his phone held high as he snapped a selfie. “Fourth of July weekend in the luxury suite! Life is good!” he narrated, uploading a carousel of photos to his Facebook. The pristine kitchen counter, the queen-sized memory foam bed, the panoramic windows. All mine. Penny had her hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel, her eyes glued to the road. “It drives okay,” she muttered, “but Jesus, it drinks gas.” “Who cares?” Gary laughed, tossing his phone onto the dash. “It’s not our wear and tear.” In the back, Frank was sprawled on the leather sofa. He patted his chest pocket, pulled out a pack of Marlboros, and struck a match. “Dad,” Gary called out, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Maybe don’t smoke in here.” Frank took a long drag, exhaling a thick cloud of grey smoke. “Relax, Gary. It’s not our car.” 4 Snap. The burning ember at the tip of the cigarette broke off, tumbling down to the floor mat. Frank didn’t notice. When he took another drag, he carelessly flicked the ash. A stray spark floated upward, kissing the pristine white ceiling fabric. A brown burn hole instantly melted into the material. Gary squinted at the rearview. “Eh. A little bleach wipe will fix it when we get back.” The bathroom door suddenly swung open. Helen stumbled out, her face the color of old oatmeal. “I’m seasick,” she gasped, clutching her stomach. “This thing sways too much.” Before anyone could say a word, she doubled over. Splash. Right onto the custom leather bench seat. Gary grimaced, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jesus, Helen. Could you not have aimed for the toilet?” “It came on too fast,” she groaned, sinking to the floor. “Whatever. We’ll hose it down later,” Gary muttered, rolling his window down to let the smell out. Off in the corner, Mia had dug a permanent marker out of Penny’s purse. She was pressing the dark ink deep into the faux-wood paneling of the hallway. She drew a circle. Then a jagged line. “Mia, what are you doing?” Gary asked, distracted. “Drawing.” “Cut it out.” “No! I want to draw!” she whined, pressing harder. Gary sighed and turned back around. “Whatever.” Penny tapped the brakes as a green highway sign approached. “I’m pulling into the next rest stop. I need a break, my shoulders are killing me.” “Sure,” Gary said. “Stretch the legs.” The RV lumbered up the off-ramp and pulled into the massive parking lot of a sprawling travel plaza. Penny threw it into park and killed the engine. She let out a long breath and looked over her shoulder into the cabin. Ash on the floorboards. Vomit on the leather. Sharpie on the walls. A burn hole in the ceiling. Her stomach gave a nervous little lurch. “Gary… is he going to take this back like this?” Gary let out a booming laugh, unbuckling his seatbelt. “What’s he gonna do? He’s a single guy in his twenties. You think he’s gonna throw down with me? We’ll wash it. It’s fine.” “I guess,” Penny murmured, opening her door. Gary pulled out his phone, ready to post another update. Suddenly, his screen lit up. An unknown number. He frowned and answered it. “Hello?” “Is this Gary?” a stern voice asked. “This is Detective Ramirez with the county police. We’re calling regarding the unauthorized use of a motor vehicle…”

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I was born with the kind of body that demands attention. Between the natural curves and my preference for tailored, form-fitting silhouettes, the internet had affectionately labeled me the “Ice Queen Mother.” Whenever I went out with my roommate, she’d joke that we looked like a stepmother taking her middle-schooler for a walk. Even the stray dogs on campus seemed to stop and stare a little too long. Before we ever met in person, the guy I was seeing online sent me a photo. My roommate, Gwen, recognized him instantly. She let out a piercing scream. “Shut up! Jenny, your mystery man is Hudson Christian? His dad is literally on the Board of Trustees. He’s the golden boy of the university. But there’s a catch—he’s got this ‘childhood friend,’ Daisy Vance, who’s obsessed with playing the eternal toddler.” Before I could even ask for details, Gwen had the student forums pulled up, giving me the full dossier on Daisy. “Look at this, Jenny. Daisy is a piece of work. She’s built her whole personality around being ‘tiny’ and ‘innocent.’ People call her the ‘Weaponized Toddler.’ If you two cross paths, it’s going to be a clash of the titans: the ultimate Femme Fatale versus the world’s oldest baby. I’d pay for a front-row seat to that.” I ran a hand through my long, dark waves, admiring my fresh manicure with a practiced indifference. “Let her play house,” I said, my voice smooth. “Tomorrow, when we meet, I’ll make sure she understands one thing: in the face of real femininity, ‘cute’ is just a consolation prize.” … To be honest, I have zero interest in “girl hate,” and I wasn’t exactly looking for love. But Hudson Christian was obscenely wealthy. We’d been “dating” online for a week without meeting, and he’d already “gifted” me ten thousand dollars—voluntarily. I was planning to go to Caltech for my PhD, and I was frantically saving for tuition. Hudson wasn’t just a boyfriend; he was a bridge to my future. The secret to maximizing your take in a relationship like this? Never be the one at fault. With a “baby-brained” childhood friend in the mix, walking away with a cool million seemed less like a dream and more like a business plan. We agreed to meet at 2:00 PM in the University Hall. I happened to have an award to pick up there anyway. A minor crisis in the lab held me up, and by the time I pushed through the heavy oak doors, I was twenty minutes late. I could hear voices drifting from the back of the hall. “Hudson, where is she? Maybe she’s too scared to show up.” The voice was high-pitched, syrupy, and cloyingly sweet. Every sentence ended with a little upward lilt, like a question from a toddler. That had to be Daisy. “Maybe she’s a three-hundred-pound catfish who’s just a pro at Photoshop,” another male voice chimed in, snickering. “Stop it,” Hudson’s voice was low, resonant, but carried a hint of hesitation. “I’ve heard her voice. She sounds… sophisticated.” Daisy let out a soft huff. “Voices can be faked, Hudson. There are so many girls online who use filters and voice changers. I’m just worried you’re being scammed. I just want to protect you.” “Exactly, man. You’ve got to be careful these days—” I chose that moment to push the door wide. Sunlight flooded in behind me, silhouetting my figure against the bright afternoon. I was wearing a charcoal-grey bandage dress that hit just above the knee, the neckline framing my collarbones perfectly. My hair fell in heavy waves over one shoulder, and my pearl earrings caught the light as I moved. The hall went silent. A guy who had been mid-sip of his water choked, coughing violently. I scanned the room, my gaze landing on Hudson in the back row. He was even better-looking than his photos—high brow bones, a sharp jawline, and an air of cool detachment. Right now, though, that detachment was gone. He was staring at me, his thumb frozen over his phone screen. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. I walked toward them, the rhythmic click of my heels echoing in the cavernous room. I took my time. “So sorry I’m late,” I said, stopping in front of Hudson and leaning in slightly. “Lab emergency.” He looked up at me, his voice a bit raspy. “You’re… Jenny?” “In the flesh.” I gave him a slow, knowing smile. “Why? Are you disappointed I’m not a three-hundred-pound catfish?” The tips of Hudson’s ears turned a vivid shade of red. A guy with glasses nearby theatrically clutched his chest. “Holy hell. Nice to meet you, Sister-in-law. I’m Mike. I wasn’t the one who said ‘catfish,’ it was this idiot—” He pointed shamelessly at the guy next to him, who looked like he wanted to vanish into the floorboards. I laughed, and the tension in the room broke. “Isn’t that dress a little… much for campus?” Daisy’s voice cut through the air, sharp and brittle. She was practically glued to Hudson’s side, clutching his sleeve like a security blanket. I took her in: pigtails, a Peter Pan collar, a pink bow, and a quilted purse. Wow. She really was leaning into the “Precious Moments” aesthetic. “Is it?” I sat down across from them, my movements deliberate and graceful. I looked her in the eye, my voice dripping with faux-kindness. “Sweetie, when you have a woman’s body, everything looks ‘much.’ But I actually love your look. It’s so… retro.” I paused, my eyes traveling from her pigtails down to her Mary Janes, then back up to her flat chest. “It’s a shame, really. Only a girl with a flat, childlike frame can pull off those doll dresses. On a woman like me, the buttons would probably become shrapnel.” Daisy’s face went from pale to beet-red in three seconds. “Who are you calling flat?!” she shrieked, her “baby” voice cracking into something much shriller. I widened my eyes, pulling a face more innocent than hers could ever be. “Oh, honey, I was just stating a fact. You aren’t upset, are you? I forgot how sensitive children can be.” “You—!” Daisy looked like she was about to have a full-blown tantrum. “Daisy,” Hudson interrupted, his brow furrowed. He gently pulled his sleeve out of her grip. “Sit down. Don’t make a scene.” Daisy looked at him in total betrayal, her eyes instantly welling with tears. “Hudson? You’re taking her side? She just insulted me!” “I didn’t insult you,” I said softly, my tone incredibly sincere. “I was calling you cute. Grown women envy that kind of youthfulness, Daisy. We can’t all be ‘babies’ forever.” Daisy’s lip trembled. She pointed a shaking finger at me. “So you have a chest! Big deal! Big boobs, no brains!” Before I could respond, the hall’s PA system crackled to life with a burst of static. Then, a booming male voice filled the room. “And now, please join me in welcoming our top honor recipient for the National Life Sciences Competition, Jenny Jiang, to the stage.” The room erupted in applause. Daisy’s words died in the air, making her look utterly ridiculous. She stood there with her mouth open, unable to find a comeback. Hudson’s gaze stayed on me, and this time, there was something more than just physical attraction in his eyes. There was genuine intrigue. I looked up at the stage and saw Richard Christian—Hudson’s father—holding a gold-embossed certificate and a medal. He was scanning the crowd. I stood up, smoothed my dress, and walked to the stage under the gaze of three hundred people. That night, Hudson wired twenty thousand dollars to my account as a “congratulatory gift.” Just as I was starting to think this would be easy, my advisor called. Her tone was grim. She told me to get to the department office immediately. There were five people waiting for me, all looking like they were at a funeral. The head of the ethics committee pushed a stack of papers toward me. “Jenny, we’ve received an anonymous tip accusing you of academic fraud. These are screenshots of your alleged chat logs.” I flipped through them. It was a fake account using my photo and name, chatting with someone labeled “Essay Ghostwriter.” The messages were blunt: payment details, prompts, deadlines. The tone was a decent imitation of mine. “This isn’t my account,” I said, sliding the papers back. “The whistleblower provided a photo of your student ID as proof of identity.” “My ID went missing last week.” The committee head adjusted his glasses. “We have to investigate. Until then, your fellowship and prize money are suspended.” I didn’t argue. The money wasn’t the point; a fraud charge would kill my chances at Caltech. I picked up the chat logs again and turned to the third page. “Professor, look at the timestamp on this message. 3:12 PM last Tuesday.” “And?” “At 3:10 PM, I was on stage in the University Hall receiving an award from Richard Christian. There were three hundred witnesses and a live stream. I wasn’t in the back of the room hiring a ghostwriter.” The professor’s expression shifted. I tapped the “Ghostwriter’s” profile picture in the screenshot. “And this account? They posted a selfie last night with a location tag at the South Dorms. If you look at the reflection in the mirror behind them, you can clearly see a girl with pigtails and a pink bow.” I turned my phone around to show them a photo of Daisy from the forum. “Should I call Daisy Vance in here to clarify, or should we just go straight to the Dean?” The office went silent. The professor took off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “Jenny, we will handle this with the utmost seriousness—” I stood up, my voice cold. “I expect a formal apology, and I’ll be pursuing a defamation claim.” The moment I stepped out of the office, a text from Hudson popped up. How much will it take for you to drop this? I looked up and saw Hudson leaning against the wall at the end of the corridor. He looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable. “Jenny, can we talk?” He sounded hesitant. “Look, our families have been close forever. Our fathers are business partners. Daisy… she’s been spoiled her whole life. She has a temper, but she isn’t a bad person. She’s just… immature. Could you just let this one go? For me?” He said it softly, his voice like a caress. I smiled. “Sure, Hudson. If it’s that important to you.” He visibly relaxed. Five minutes later, another hundred thousand dollars hit my account. I stared at the zeroes, and my anger evaporated instantly. Let it go? For a hundred grand, I’d let her set my car on fire. But Daisy wasn’t done. That afternoon, I returned to my dorm to find my desk stripped bare. My three thick research journals—the culmination of months of lab work—were gone. “Where are my notes?” I asked Gwen. Gwen looked sick as she pointed toward the trash chute at the end of the hall. I walked over. My journals had been ripped to shreds, soaked in leftover ramen soup and coffee grounds, with a muddy footprint stamped on the cover. “I tried to stop her,” Gwen whispered. “But Daisy said she was ‘helping you clean’ and thought it was just scrap paper. When I told her it wasn’t, she started crying, saying she was ‘just trying to be a good girl’ and ran off.” I stared at the trash for a long time. Those notes contained three months of raw experimental data. My mid-term defense was next week. Without that data, my thesis was dead. I took a photo and sent it to Hudson. No text, no accusations. Just the image. Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed. Bank Notification: +$20,000. Memo: Don’t be mad. Buy something nice. I stared at the screen for a few seconds, then tucked my phone away and headed to the campus print shop. I pulled up my cloud drive and hit “Print” on a fresh set of data. Gwen stared at me, jaw dropped. “When did you scan those?” “The first day I started in the lab,” I said, watching the printer whir to life. “Anyone in research who doesn’t have a backup is asking for a disaster.” Gwen was silent for a moment. “Jenny… you’re so cold it’s almost scary.” I didn’t answer. Soon after, it was Daisy’s birthday. Hudson rented out the entire local theme park for her. The school forums were flooded with photos. “Golden Boy throws royal bash for his Princess.” “Hudson and Daisy: A Real-Life Fairy Tale.” Gwen looked at me with concern. “Jenny, he’s technically your boyfriend. Doesn’t this bother you?” I shrugged, sipping my tea. “It’s a business transaction, Gwen. You don’t catch feelings for your ATM.” Gwen nodded, then added, “You know, Hudson’s dad really likes you. You could actually marry into that family if you wanted to.” I let out a short, sharp laugh. Since I started seeing Hudson, Richard Christian had already “invited” me for a private chat. “The Christian family needs a daughter-in-law who prioritizes the home,” he’d told me. “This research, these competitions… they’re nice hobbies. But after graduation, you’ll be expected to settle down and focus on supporting Hudson. Can you do that?” Like hell I can. My life plan was mine to write. I went back to my laptop, refining my final paper. Daisy burst into my dorm at 10:00 PM that night. When she saw me sitting calmly at my desk, she faltered. “Don’t you check the forums, Jenny?” “I saw the photos,” I said, not looking up from my screen. “The pink balloons really brought out your complexion.” Her smirk vanished. “You aren’t even mad?” I turned around and smiled at her. “Why would I be? Hudson told me all about it. Family obligations, social appearances… I understand perfectly.” Daisy’s expression twisted. She stared at my laptop screen. “Your screen looks so dusty, Jenny. Let me help you.” She picked up a bottle of industrial-strength bleach from my cleaning supply caddy and unscrewed the cap. “I’m just being a good little helper!” She poured the entire bottle directly onto my keyboard. The liquid seeped into the keys, the screen flickered violently, sizzled, and then went black. Daisy tilted her head, blinking those big, “innocent” eyes. “Oops! Did I do a bad thing again? Oh well. Hudson always fixes things for me anyway.” She skipped out of the room, looking triumphant. Gwen came back with coffee, saw the wreckage, and nearly dropped her mug. She started reaching for her shoes to go find Daisy. I caught her arm. “Relax. I have a plan.” I took a deep breath, photographed the dead laptop, and sent it to Hudson. Caption: She was “helping” me clean again. The reply came faster this time. Bank Notification: +$30,000. Memo: Don’t fight with her. Buy a new one. And then, a different notification popped up. An email from Caltech. We are pleased to inform you… I stared at the words for three full minutes. Then I turned off my phone, leaned back in my chair, and let out a long, slow breath. Every moment of patience, every time I “let it go,” every bit of swallowed pride—it was all worth it. My offer was here. Screw this. I’m done playing nice. That night, I tallied the balance in my accounts. Then a thought struck me. If I broke up with Hudson now, could he try to claw the money back? In the eyes of the law, “gifts” and “loans” can get messy when a relationship ends. If he felt cheated, he could claim I scammed him under the guise of romance. I needed the breakup to be his fault, not mine. The next day, I texted him. Are you free tonight? I want to grab a drink. He replied instantly. Where? I picked a dimly lit lounge just off-campus. When I arrived, he was already there, sitting in a velvet booth with his sleeves rolled up, a glass of scotch in his hand. I sat closer to him than usual. “What’s up?” he asked, looking at me. “Nothing.” I took his glass and took a sip. The scotch was harsh, and I winced. He took the glass back and pushed a glass of orange juice toward me. “Drink that instead.” I rested my chin on my hand, watching him. The low light hit the planes of his face, making him look devastatingly handsome. His Adam’s apple moved as he took a drink. “Jenny.” “Hmm?” “Don’t go back to the dorms tonight, okay?” Before he could finish the thought, his phone buzzed. The name Daisy flashed on the screen. Hudson went to silence it, but I caught his wrist. I took the phone, swiped to answer, and held it to my ear. “Hudson? Why aren’t you back yet? I’m scared being all by myself—” Daisy’s sugary voice filled the air. I smiled into the receiver. “Hey, Daisy.” The line went dead silent. “You? Where’s Hudson? Put him on!” “He’s a little busy right now.” “Why?!” I glanced at Hudson. He was watching me, his eyes dark and unreadable. I spoke into the phone, my voice low and playful. “Because Hudson and I are about to do ‘grown-up’ things. And there isn’t really room for a baby.” I hung up and tossed the phone onto the table. Hudson was stunned for a second, then he let out a short laugh, his ears turning pink. “You’re doing that just to spite her.” “Maybe. She’s been getting on my nerves lately.” Hudson didn’t argue. He took another drink, a smirk tugging at his lips. My phone buzzed in my lap. A text from Gwen: Everything is set. She’s on her way.

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Three months ago, during a live-streamed reality show, my rival decided to set my career on fire. He leaked a photo of me—a candid, blurry shot of a kiss that I’d tried to bury in the deepest recesses of my mind. It instantly dragged me back to that first snowfall in Manhattan, the night Beatrice Lancaster told me she was getting married. I had been with her for seven years. I knew the rules of her world better than anyone. In the eyes of the elite, I was just a “pretty face,” a screen idol for the masses, a performer. I was never meant to step over the threshold of her family’s Upper East Side estate as anything more than a guest. The night we ended things, the atmosphere was hauntingly still. She told me she was leaving me the penthouse and the vintage Porsche. The career connections she’d promised would remain intact. Then she pushed a check across the marble counter. It was for thirty million, but there was an extra zero tacked onto the end—a parting gift for seven years of discretion. Then she asked me if there was anything else I wanted. I told her no. I took the money with the grace of a man who knew his place, and then I scrubbed myself from her life completely. Or so I thought. … “Damian Chester, that’s you in the photo, isn’t it?” The moment Tyler dropped the bombshell, the set went dead silent before the internet absolutely exploded. The live comments were a blurred frenzy on the monitor. [???] [Wait, did Tyler actually just do that? Did the Botox seep into his brain? You don’t ask that on a live feed!] [Our Tyler is just ‘authentic.’ He’s speaking truth to power.] [Am I the only one who wants to know who the woman is?] [Who else? It’s obviously his sugar mommy.] [Tyler is a dead man walking. Damian’s ‘sponsor’ is powerful enough to erase him from existence.] I sat there, staring at the screen, watching the vitriol pour in. The host was sweating through his suit, trying to play it off. “Tyler, you must be mistaken. It’s probably a still from a movie, right?” Tyler grinned, smelling blood. “No way. I had it authenticated. It’s real. Taken exactly three months ago.” He turned his gaze to me, eyes glinting with malice. “Am I right, Damian?” Three months ago. Exactly the night before Beatrice and I called it quits. Over the last seven years, we had an unspoken agreement: total secrecy. We were never seen together in public. We never touched where someone might see. But that night, perhaps knowing it was the end, she couldn’t help herself. She had pinned me against the wall of the darkened parking garage and kissed me with a desperation that tasted like grief. I hadn’t realized we were being watched. Across from me, Tyler waited for an answer. I didn’t give him one. With my current standing in the industry, I didn’t owe him the breath it took to lie. The host laughed nervously, forcing the conversation toward a different topic. The second the cameras cut, I was whisked away into my SUV. My manager, Marcus, shoved his phone into my face. The top three trending topics on Twitter were: #DamianChesterKiss #WhoIsDamianChesterSponsoring #TheLancasterHeiress Beatrice Lancaster was usually a ghost in the tabloids. She moved in circles too high for the paparazzi to reach. But when it came to my career, she had been loud. She wanted the world to know I had a shadow—a powerful, untouchable force at my back. She was my foundation. It started during my first year in the business. I was a nobody, and a well-connected nepo-baby actor had used a “fight scene” as an excuse to slap me eighteen times across the face. I was so naive back then; I thought I was just failing at the craft. I didn’t feel like a victim; I just thought I was a bad actor. Beatrice had been furious. She called me a fool while she iced my bruised jaw, her eyes burning with a protective fire. The next day, that actor was blacklisted. Permanently. “His family is powerful,” I had whispered to her. “Won’t you get in trouble?” She didn’t even look up from her tablet. “His family should be the ones worrying about offending me.” For seven years, she poured resources into me like water. I had Oscar winners as my supporting cast; I had first pick of every script from the top directors in Hollywood. When I walked the red carpet, industry titans stepped aside to let me through. “My darling deserves the spotlight,” she used to say. I worked hard. I didn’t want to waste her investment. I became a household name, an A-lister. But that meant my influence was now a double-edged sword. This “kiss” scandal wouldn’t just hurt me; it would hit Beatrice. It would hit her upcoming merger—her “royal” wedding. Sure enough, as soon as I reached my office, my phone buzzed. Her name flashed on the screen. I stared at the number I knew by heart. I didn’t pick up. Once it went to voicemail, I sent her three short texts: [I’ll handle this as quickly as possible.] [If it can’t be buried, I’ll announce my retirement.] [Don’t worry. I won’t be a burden to you.] It was March, but the snow was still falling over Manhattan. This kind of heavy, swirling white always made me think of the first time I met her. I was nineteen, a sophomore at NYU’s Tisch School. She was the billionaire investor even the dean bowed to. I had been selected to attend a high-stakes dinner—the prize was a supporting role in a major indie film. After a few rounds of expensive scotch, the masks slipped. The “gentlemen” at the table began pressured me into drinking heavy liquor until I was dizzy. Beatrice sat at the head of the table, her fingers idly tapping the rim of her crystal glass. “That’s enough,” she said, her voice cool and sharp. “Stop bullying the boy.” A single sentence, and the pressure vanished. No one dared to push further. I looked up, dazed, and our eyes met. In that room full of sycophants and forced laughter, we held a gaze for exactly one second. It was a small act of kindness, and I didn’t think much of it afterward. People like her didn’t inhabit the same universe as people like me. But after that night, she began appearing everywhere. Like a guardian angel. When a dean’s son tried to steal a role from me, she made sure it was returned with a phone call. On a night when the city was paralyzed by a blizzard and I couldn’t find a cab, she pulled up in her town car and drove me to my dorm herself. When my father needed a rare blood type for surgery, she—a woman whose time was worth thousands a minute—went to the hospital and sat in a chair to donate a pint herself. She was too good to me. So good that I was terrified. I was afraid I was just a whim, a temporary distraction for a woman who had everything. I was the one who finally broke the tension. “What do you want from me?” I had asked, my voice trembling as I ripped open my shirt buttons in her living room. I looked at her with cold, defensive eyes. “You want me in your bed? Fine. Let’s get it over with, and then we’re even.” She didn’t touch me. She stepped forward and buttoned my shirt back up, sighing softly. “Damian… what is it that you want?” My lashes fluttered. I forced myself to look into those deep, dark eyes and said, word for word: “I want the kind of love that can survive on nothing. Can you give me that?” Beatrice froze. Then, a ghost of a smile touched her lips. She kissed the tips of my fingers, her voice so tender it made my heart ache. “I can.” She didn’t lie. She gave me the love I asked for. But love isn’t a magic wand; it wasn’t strong enough to bridge the chasm between us. Class is a canyon you can’t jump over, no matter how high you climb. The day we broke up, New York saw its first snow of the season. The night before, we had been inseparable—from the living room to the shower to the study, clinging to each other as if we could fuse our souls. She had cooked dinner herself. When I finished eating, she said, “I’m getting married.” I froze for a few seconds. Then I laid down my fork and said, “Okay.” The silence stretched. The food grew cold on the table. Finally, she spoke. “The penthouse and the car are yours. The career support stays. I’ve added an extra zero to the severance check.” “Anything else you want?” I said, “No.” Beatrice nodded, turned, and walked out into the snowy night. Watching her back disappear, I felt a sudden, sharp pang of regret. After all those years, I realized I had never actually told her “I love you” out loud. The seven years had gone by so fast. We had walked through so many winters together that I’d fooled myself into thinking we’d grow old together. I thought there would always be another chance to say the truth. How pathetic. The snow fell harder, erasing her footprints. My vision blurred, and I felt a sudden cold dampness on my cheeks. I reached up to wipe it away. It was tears. Unsurprisingly, the internet turned on me. The news of the merger between the Lancaster Group and the Winthrop banking empire had just gone public. Suddenly, I wasn’t just a star with a secret—I was a “homewrecker.” “Damian, are you alright?” My team was in a tailspin trying to draft a PR statement when Tyler actually had the nerve to strut into my office. We were under the same management, and I had mentored him when he first started. It was a classic tale of the snake biting the hand that fed it. His confidence didn’t come from his mediocre acting; it came from the fact that he’d clawed his way into the inner circle of the Winthrop family’s younger daughter—Freddie Winthrop’s sister. I didn’t know if this stunt was his own idea or a hit ordered by the Winthrops. If it was Tyler, I had a chance. If it was the Winthrops… I was finished. They were the only family in the city with enough weight to rival the Lancasters. With a powerful family backing him, Tyler was insufferable. He leaned down, whispering in my ear, “Did you really think your little princess would protect you forever?” “So what if she adored you once?” “Freddie Winthrop is the man who belongs at her side. A man of her status. And you…” “You’re just the side piece. The ‘other man.’” That phrase made me lift my eyes to meet his. Tyler smirked. “Freddie asked me to give you a message. He’s a generous man—he can tolerate a secret ex. But you…” “Being this sloppy? Exposing her like this? He won’t stand for it.” “He suggests you retire. Now. While you still have your dignity.” “Do me a favor and give him a message back,” I said. I looked at my nails, not even giving him the courtesy of a full glance. “Tell him his taste in lapdogs is absolute trash.” Tyler’s face contorted with rage. “You’re dead, Damian! You’re getting blacklisted!” “I’ll be waiting.” I acted unbothered, but internally, I was bracing for the end. I’d been in this world for seven years. I knew that no matter how bright a star shines, to the true dynasties, we are just jesters. Expensive toys. Beatrice wouldn’t fight her fiancé for me. She loved me, yes. But for a woman like her, love was a small percentage of life. Compared to a billion-dollar merger, love was an easy sacrifice. So when my manager told me the next morning that every single negative headline had been wiped clean—replaced by a flood of scandals involving Tyler’s drug use and workplace harassment—I was stunned. That cold, surgical efficiency… that was Beatrice. Was this my “retirement” gift? I looked down at the pixelated photo of our kiss. It looked like a grainy scene from an old movie. The mess my entire team had stayed up all night to fix had been solved by her with a single phone call. Like it never even happened. The next day, I went to the set as usual. But the moment I stepped out of the car, a swarm of “fans” who were clearly paparazzi in disguise surged forward. Cameras and mics were shoved into my face, the questions sharp and poisonous. “Mr. Chester, what is your true relationship with Beatrice Lancaster?” “Tyler was ruined this morning—is the Lancaster heiress cleaning up your messes?” “She’s engaged to Freddie Winthrop. How do you feel about being called a ‘homewrecker’?” The sidewalk was blocked. The flashbulbs made my head throb. I kept my voice flat. “I have no obligation to discuss my private life.” “Is it because you don’t want to, or because you’re actually ‘servicing’ more than just Miss Lancaster?” A masked paparazzo sneered, his voice dripping with malice. “We’ve heard how that circle plays. Is it true you participate in ‘The Carousel’?” “You know, one guy, a dozen wealthy women—” My stomach lurched. A wave of nausea hit me so hard I actually gagged. The cameras went wild, zooming in to capture every detail of my distress. “Have you played that game, Damian? How much do you charge for a night like that?” “Which other high-profile women have paid for a turn—” “AH!” A sickening thud cut him off.

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The scent hit me first—that familiar, cloying perfume she always wore. It drifted into my senses without warning, a ghost of a memory I hadn’t summoned. Before I could even think, my hand moved. I slapped her. Hard. Mallory stumbled back, the force of the blow snapping her head to the side. She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She just looked at me with that same maddening indifference she’d perfected over the years. “So,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “I guess you heard.” Just an hour ago, I had been at a boutique downtown, helping my best friend, Gavin, pick out an engagement ring. We were standing under the harsh glow of the chandeliers when he suddenly let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Your wife is quite the charmer, Tom,” he’d said, his voice dripping with something foul. I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He tilted his head, pulling his collar down to reveal a jagged, dark red mark on his neck. “She did this in the car last night. You should tell her to be a little more careful. She’s got a bit of a bite.” The world turned into static. My throat tightened until I could barely breathe. “Gavin, what are you saying? Have you lost your mind?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into his jacket and tossed a piece of paper onto the velvet jewelry counter. It was a sonogram. “She loves you, sure,” Gavin whispered, leaning in so close I could smell his cologne—the same scent that was now clinging to Mallory. “But let’s face it, Tom. You’re broken. You can’t satisfy her. All those years of… whatever happened to you… they ruined you. I can give her what she actually needs. I can give her a child. That’s why she’s choosing me.” I’d stumbled back then, the jewelry store spinning around me like a carousel from hell. … My entire body was shaking, a coldness seeping into my bones that no heater could touch. Mallory watched me, her tongue poking the inside of her cheek where my ring had probably cut her. “You’ve been Gavin’s best friend for twenty years, Tom. How is it you never learned a thing about his temperament? He’s much gentler than you.” Her tone was exactly the same as it had been yesterday. Calm. Rational. It was the tone she used when discussing the grocery list or the weather. Every word was a scalpel, peeling back my skin. “Doesn’t this disgust you?” I choked out, my voice thin and brittle. She paused, then smiled. It wasn’t a cruel smile; it was worse. It was pitying. “You’re the one who’s inadequate, Tom. Every time we… finished… I felt empty. And let’s not forget your history. You were basically a plaything for that woman, weren’t you?” A wave of nausea hit me. The disgust in her eyes was unmistakable. “I could never let my child have a father with a history as filthy as yours,” she added. I froze. My ears were ringing so loudly I could barely hear my own heartbeat. I looked at her, searching for the woman who, only twenty-four hours ago, had curled into my chest and whispered that she loved me more than life itself. The woman who had promised that my past didn’t matter, that she would be my sanctuary. “Do you even hear yourself?” My voice broke, the back of my eyes burning with a stinging heat. She reached out, her fingers grazing my cheek with a phantom tenderness before she sighed. “I know. It’s not that I don’t love you, Tom. But I wanted to see what a ‘clean’ man felt like. And honestly? You’re the one who lied to me first. You never told me the full extent of your… damage.” She stepped over to Gavin, who had just walked through the door, and looped her arm through his. “Gavin is your brother in every way that counts,” she said. “He’s not trying to take your place. He even said the baby could call you ‘Dad’ eventually. You should be thanking him.” I watched their fingers intertwine—the gold band I’d bought her glinting in the light. My vision blurred. Yesterday, I’d found that sonogram in her purse. I’d been so ecstatic that I’d called for a celebratory dinner with Gavin. I wanted to share the greatest joy of my life with my best friend. But when they arrived, they ignored me. They spent the whole night bickering. Gavin complained that Mallory wasn’t “domestic” enough; Mallory snapped at him for being overbearing. I’d laughed it off, used to their “sibling-like” friction. I’d spent the whole night playing mediator, forgetting all about the pregnancy announcement I’d planned. And now, they stood together, telling me that the child I had been praying for—the one I thought was a miracle given my health issues—was a betrayal in physical form. I was gasping for air, my lungs refusing to expand. Mallory stepped forward, a look of faux-concern on her face. “Just don’t make a scene, and things can go back to how they were,” she said. “Last night, after Gavin and I had that ‘fight,’ I told you I had to go back to the office. I didn’t. I was in his car. I bought this red lace set… I wanted to see if he could do what you couldn’t. It turns out, he could.” The hole in my chest felt like it was being blasted by an arctic wind. My teeth were literally chattering. “He’s my best friend, Gavin! Why?” Gavin took a step toward me, clapping a hand on my shoulder with the same casualness he’d used a thousand times before. “Tom, man, because we’re brothers, I’m not a threat to you. This? This was just for the thrill. A little excitement for me and Val. In our hearts, you’re still the most important person.” I clenched my fists so hard my nails drew blood. The air was thick with the scent of their shared secret. Mallory leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Cheer up. You always wanted to know what kind of woman Gavin would finally marry, didn’t you? Well, you’re going to be the best man at our wedding.” The diamond on her finger caught the light, stabbing at my eyes. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I swung my hand again, catching her across the other cheek. “You’re both sick,” I spat. “You’re disgusting.” Before the words had even left my mouth, Gavin lunged. He shoved me hard, my back slamming into the edge of the marble table. Pain exploded through my spine. “We’re disgusting?” Gavin barked, his voice dropping an octave. “You’re the one who spent months in bed with my sister, Tom. You’re the one who crawled into her sheets like a dog. Don’t you dare talk to us about ‘dirty.’” Mallory looked down at me, her expression cold. “Get a grip on yourself, Tom.” Then, they walked out. They left me there, collapsing into the dark abyss of my own memory. Gavin and I had been inseparable since we were kids. When he was seventeen, his life fell apart. His father died, and his mother remarried a man with a teenage daughter named Lydia. Gavin used to cry to me, telling me how Lydia would hit him, how she bullied him in that house. I felt for him. I went over there constantly to stand up for him. On his eighteenth birthday, I’d saved up every cent I had to buy him the gaming console he’d wanted for years. I went to his house to surprise him. He gave me a glass of juice. When I woke up, the world was a blur of blood and searing, agonizing pain. I remember Gavin standing over me, shouting at Lydia, pretending to defend me while I lay there, broken. Fate wasn’t done with me. Lydia ended up pregnant. Her father—Gavin’s stepfather—burst into our house with a knife, demanding I “take responsibility” for his daughter. My parents, desperate to save my life, emptied their life savings to pay them off. We moved to another city, fleeing the shame and the trauma. But the pain never left. By the time I met Mallory, I was a shell of a person, drowning in depression and self-loathing. She was the light. She looked at me with those soft, brown eyes and leaned her head on my shoulder. “Why are you always so sad, Thomas?” I was terrified to let her in. But she stayed. She held my hand through the night terrors and whispered, “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. I’ll wait for you to get better.” On the day we got engaged, she promised she would spend her life healing me. And now… The pain was so intense I felt like my organs were shutting down. I thought I had started over. I thought I was safe. But the two people I loved most had just reached back into my past, ripped open the scars, and poured salt into the wounds. I cried until I couldn’t breathe. I cried until my eyes were swollen shut. When my phone finally buzzed, it was a text from Mallory. [Tom, go to the pharmacy and pick up some prenatal vitamins and some spotting medication. Things got a little too heated just now, and I’m worried about the baby.] Then a message from Gavin: a photo of him and Mallory, her head on his bare chest. I stared at the screen, my breath hitching. The phone rang, shattering the silence. Mallory’s voice came through, sounding satisfied and drowsy. “Tom? Did you see the message?” I forced the words out, my voice trembling with a murderous edge. “Mallory, how can you be this pathetic? Aren’t you afraid I’ll snap and kill you both?” There was a pause. Then, Gavin’s laugh echoed in the background. “Tom, buddy, you’re too weak. You’re a coward. You shake when someone raises their voice. You don’t have the stomach for murder. Well, except for that time you killed my sister’s ‘baby’ by leaving, right? But this kid? You love this kid too much to hurt it.” He told me to hurry up with the medicine and hung up. I started laughing. A jagged, broken sound. I was afraid of loud noises because of the way Lydia used to scream while she hurt me. It was a physical response to trauma, not a lack of courage. But I wasn’t afraid of dying anymore. And I was going to make sure they felt every ounce of the hell I was living in. I drove to Gavin’s place. I pushed the door open to find a trail of clothes leading to the living room. They were on the sofa, locked in a heated, desperate kiss. The wet, rhythmic sound of it turned my stomach. I gripped my phone, recording them as I walked closer. Gavin saw me. Instead of stopping, he pulled Mallory closer, a provocative smirk on his face. He wanted me to watch. “You know, Val,” Gavin whispered, his voice loud enough for the camera to catch, “when I found Tom in my bed with Lydia all those years ago, they were kissing just like this.” The lie—the absolute, monstrous lie—burned through the last of my sanity. He had set me up. He had handed me over to his sister, and now he was using that violation as a weapon. I held the phone steady, my voice cold and dead. “This is a live stream of my wife and my best friend. Please, don’t stop on my account. Give the audience a show.” Mallory froze, burying her face in Gavin’s chest. A moment later, she lunged out and slapped the phone from my hand. “Thomas! Have you lost your damn mind?” I didn’t move. My eyes were fixed on her wrist. On the pale skin, there was a new tattoo—a string of obscure, gothic letters. The room began to tilt. My vision tunneled until all I saw was that tattoo. It was identical to the one Lydia had. I remembered those letters. I remembered that wrist holding the rope around my neck. I remembered those sharp nails carving those same letters into my skin. “Mallory,” I whispered, my voice shaking violently. “What is that?” She glanced at her wrist, her voice turning soft again. “Gavin said you had a thing for women with tattoos on their wrists. I did it for you.” I looked up and caught Gavin’s eye. He was gloating. He’d done it on purpose. He’d marked her with the symbol of my rapist just to see if he could break me. The final string snapped. I grabbed the paring knife from the fruit bowl on the coffee table and pressed it against Gavin’s throat. My hand was shaking, tears streaming down my face. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You wanted to remind me.” Gavin’s face paled for a split second, but then he tilted his chin up, daring me. “It’s just a tattoo, Tom. Get over it.” I broke. I pressed the blade harder. Blood began to bead on the steel. Gavin’s eyes widened. Then, a heavy blow struck me in the back. A hand slammed across my face, sending me reeling. “Thomas, stop it! You’re insane!” Mallory screamed. I rolled onto my back, laughing through the tears. “I’m insane? Do you even know why he made you get that tattoo, Mallory?” Before I could say another word, Mallory doubled over, clutching her stomach. “God… it hurts. Gavin, something’s wrong.” Blood began to bloom through her light-colored skirt. Gavin’s face transformed into a mask of pure terror. He didn’t care about my words anymore. He scooped Mallory up, his elbow slamming into my chest to shove me out of the way. Mallory leaned into him, her eyes fixed on me with a chilling hatred. “If anything happens to this baby, Tom, I will destroy you.” They ran out, leaving me hollowed out on the floor. I couldn’t even cry anymore. I wandered out of the house, the world turning grey and fuzzy. Everything went black. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. A nurse told me I was sick—that the stress had triggered a physical collapse and I needed surgery. She asked for my emergency contact. No one had answered. “I have no one,” I whispered, the pillow soaking up my tears. My parents were hundreds of miles away. In this city, I had only two people I called family. And they were busy with each other. Gavin sent me a photo. They were in another wing of the hospital, holding each other, smiling. I stared at it, letting the jealousy and the hate burn me alive. How could they be happy on the ruins of my life? I sent a photo of my medical chart to Mallory. She didn’t reply. It wasn’t until dusk that she finally walked into my room. She looked tired, her eyes dark. “How long have you been sick?” she asked. I smiled, a jagged, bitter thing. “I tried to tell you the day Gavin picked out the ring.” She didn’t say anything. she just twisted the ring on her finger. She stood there for a long time, her head bowed. Finally, she spoke, her voice cold as a winter morning. “You need to postpone the surgery.” “What?” “The baby is the priority right now. Gavin and I… we need support. Your condition isn’t life-threatening this second. You can wait a few weeks. Besides, we talked about it. The baby will still call you ‘Dad.’ Isn’t that enough?” My blood turned to ice. I looked at her, truly seeing her for the first time. She walked to the bed and squeezed my hand. “Isn’t this good, Tom? We both still love you.” I felt my stomach turn over. I shoved her away and vomited over the side of the bed. She narrowed her eyes, her voice hardening. “I’ve already told the doctors to switch you to conservative treatment. No surgery for now.” The door opened, and two orderlies walked in. They grabbed my arms. I was too weak to fight, but I found the strength to scream. “Mallory! I am asking you one last time—are you really going to sacrifice my life for that mistake?” She looked like she might hesitate for a second, but then her face set into stone. “Tom, stop being dramatic.” I started laughing—a wild, hysterical sound. I broke free from the orderlies’ grip with a sudden burst of adrenaline. Before anyone could stop me, I threw myself toward the open window. In that split second of weightlessness, I saw Mallory’s face. Pure, unadulterated horror. I smiled. I wanted her to see me break. I wanted her and Gavin to see my blood on the pavement and never have a night of sleep again. But it was only the third floor. I didn’t die. I just broke. My ribs shattered, puncturing my lungs. The pain was astronomical—a physical agony that matched the one in my soul. After I was stabilized, Mallory sat by my bed. “Was it worth it?” she asked, her voice dripping with irritation. “Jumping out a window to scare me? It’s pathetic, Thomas.” I let out a wet, wheezing laugh. “Scare you? Mallory, you’re a monster. You’d kill your husband for a child that was born out of a lie. You’re a beast.” The last of her patience vanished. “Maybe you’re the one who’s ‘filthy,’ Tom. No matter how much she forced you, you’re the one who had a physical reaction back then, aren’t you?” With those words, she erased everything. She blamed the victim. She justified the trauma. I was done. “I want a divorce. Go to Gavin. I’m done.” She froze, staring at me in silence for a long time. I didn’t look at her. I reached for my phone and called Gavin. He arrived minutes later. “Val, wait outside. I need to talk to him.” She left without a word. “Are you happy now?” I whispered. “You ruined me then. You ruined me now.” He smiled, but there were tears in his eyes. “I didn’t want to do it, Tom. But back then, the only way I could get Lydia to stop hitting me was to give her you. I had to survive.” I closed my eyes. My heart was a graveyard. “I’ve always felt like I owed you,” Gavin continued. “That’s why I won’t take Val away completely. We’ll just have our fun, and when I’m bored, I’ll give her back to you.” The hate I’d been suppressed for a decade finally erupted. I didn’t hesitate. I lunged from the bed, grabbing a scalpel the nurse had left on the tray. I drove it into Gavin’s abdomen. He screamed. Mallory burst in as he collapsed. The color drained from her face. She kicked me away and fell to her knees beside him. “Thomas! This is attempted murder! Are you insane?” I wiped the blood from my face. “He owed me that.” Mallory’s eyes were dark with rage as she called for the doctors. She looked at me, her voice trembling. “This isn’t over.” I tossed the signed divorce papers at her feet. “It is for me. We’re even.” She stared at the signature, her hands shaking. “Are you serious, Tom?” Gavin groaned in her arms. “It hurts… Val, am I going to die? I want to see the baby…” Her panic returned. “I’ll deal with you later,” she snapped at me, and they rushed him away. I laughed, a hollow, broken sound. There wouldn’t be a “later.” I wiped my eyes and dragged myself out of the hospital, heading for the airport. But as I reached the exit, I ran into someone. My body began to shake, and I nearly fell. … Gavin survived. But Mallory couldn’t stop thinking about those divorce papers. As she watched Gavin sleep, a gnawing unease took root in her chest. She hurried back to my room, but when she pushed the door open, the sight that met her eyes shattered her world.

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In the jewelry store, my husband, Black Pack’s Alpha Cian, suddenly spoke: “I cheated on you.” His golden wolf eyes churned with cruel amusement: “Lila is an incredibly sexy vixen. Sex with her is absolutely amazing.” I froze in place, too agonized to make a sound. But Cian closed his eyes, savoring the memory. “I understand Kael now. Lila really is more feminine than you, addictive to men.” Yes. This was the second time I’d been betrayed. My ex-husband Kael, White Pack’s Alpha, and my current husband Cian had both cheated on me with my best friend Lila. Five years ago, I witnessed Kael and Lila tangled together in my bed. When I was collapsing from depression, Cian saved me. He said he’d stay with me forever, that I would be his Luna. But now, he too had betrayed me because of Lila. In Black Pack’s exclusive luxury jewelry boutique, crystal chandeliers cast flowing light. My fingertip traced over the diamond ring on my ring finger. “Cian, do you think this style looks good?” I turned my head, smiling at the man beside me. He wore a tailored black suit, his posture upright—the Black Pack Alpha that every woman swooned over. Cian lazily lifted his eyes, but before he could speak, his phone rang. “What’s wrong, baby? Mm, I’m helping her pick out a ring. Okay, I know. I’ll come right away.” After hanging up, he walked back and leaned against the counter. “Pick whatever you want. Consider it compensation for my betrayal.” The smile froze on my face, the diamond ring on my fingertip ice-cold and piercing. “What did you say?” “I slept with Lila.” Cian raised his head, his eyes devoid of any guilt, instead carrying a hint of mockery. “Right in our marriage bed. I finally understand why Kael betrayed you. Lila’s bedroom skills are so much better than yours.” Just then, Lila walked in wearing a red slip dress, swaying her hips. She waved her left hand, showing off an identical diamond ring on her ring finger. “Elara, sorry about this,” Lila giggled coquettishly, deliberately holding the ring up to my face. “Yesterday Cian saw I liked this style, so he bought me one too. He said it looks way better on me than on you.” Cian wrapped his arm around Lila’s waist and kissed her forehead. “Stop teasing. You’re scaring Elara.” I watched their affectionate display, trembling with rage. Lila giggled and poked my arm: “Elara, five years ago when Kael cheated, you were crying just like this too. No wonder men don’t like you. You’re too boring.” The words “five years ago” stabbed into my heart like a sharp blade. In a daze, I seemed to return to that rainy night. I came home early from a business trip, only to find Kael and Lila having sex in our marriage bed. Lila had smiled at me the same way then: “Elara, Kael said he’s been tired of you for a long time.” “Why?” My whole body trembled, my voice hoarse beyond recognition. “Cian, you clearly said you’d protect me for life, that you’d never let me suffer again.” “Protect you?” Cian sneered, his eyes full of contempt. “Elara, don’t forget—you’re a woman Kael abandoned. If I didn’t pity you, why would I marry you? Did you really think I fell in love with you?” He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him: “I pursued you for so long, but you chose Kael. Only after he didn’t want you anymore did you turn back to me. Do you think I’d be content marrying secondhand goods?” “Being with Lila is just my revenge on you. Revenge for not choosing me back then.” Cian released his grip, wiping his fingers with disgust. “You were married to Kael for a year, so I’ve been with Lila for a year. Fair, isn’t it?” Tears finally fell uncontrollably. I looked at this man who had once cared for me day and night during my worst depression. I looked at this man who had once knelt on one knee, swearing to the Moon Goddess he would never betray me, and felt nothing but bitter irony. “I want a divorce.” I spoke, looking at Cian. “Divorce?” Cian laughed as if he’d heard the funniest joke. “Elara, you think you can divorce me just because you want to? Without my consent, you’ll be Black Pack’s Luna for the rest of your life.” Thunder suddenly rumbled outside, heavy raindrops hammering against the glass windows. “Cian, you can’t do this to me!” I shouted in despair. Lila hooked her arm through Cian’s, looking at me triumphantly: “Elara, Cian loves me, not you. Just leave already. Stop being an eyesore.” Cian suddenly opened the shop door and gave me a light push: “You asking for divorce made me very unhappy. Go stand in the rain and cool down.”

I tumbled into a puddle of mud, ice-cold rain soaking my hair and clothes. This was the edge of the city. Further ahead was rogue territory, the air thick with dangerous bloodscent. And Cian just stood quietly at the doorway. “Elara, see? Without me, you can’t even stand up in the rain. If you really divorce me, where will you go? Which pack would take in an Omega abandoned by two top-tier Alphas?” Before I could answer, the door slammed shut with a bang. I supported myself against a broken wall, slowly getting up. Before I could steady myself, three large, ragged rogues emerged from the alley. They circled around me, their murky eyes filled with greedy lust: “Well, well, isn’t this the noble Luna? What are you doing here alone? Where’s your Alpha?” “So pretty. More beautiful than any Omega we’ve seen. Come with us. We’ll take good care of you.” One rogue reached out to touch my face. Terrified, I retreated, grabbing a stone from the ground and hurling it at them: “Get away! Don’t touch me!” But my resistance meant nothing to them. The lead rogue grabbed my wrist and twisted hard. I screamed in pain, the stone dropping to the ground. “Feisty. But I like that.” He sneered, reaching to tear my clothes. Just then, a gunshot pierced the rainy night. “Let her go!” A gray-haired old werewolf rushed out from a nearby grocery store with a hunting rifle, pointing the barrel at the three rogues: “Touch her again and I’ll blow your heads off!” The three rogues exchanged glances, cursed reluctantly, and finally slunk away. The old werewolf lowered his rifle and handed me a dry towel: “Child, are you alright? This place is too dangerous. What are you doing here alone?” I took the towel, wiping the rain and mud from my face, my voice hoarse: “Thank you. I’m fine.” “Let me drive you home. It’s too dangerous for an Omega alone in this rain.” The old werewolf started toward his small truck. I shook my head, speaking softly: “No need, thank you. I can walk.” The old werewolf sighed and stuffed an umbrella and a pack of crackers into my hands: “Then be careful on the road. If you run into rogues again, run to my shop. I’m Old Jack. They’re all afraid of me.” I took the umbrella and crackers, bowing deeply to the old werewolf. Then I opened the umbrella and walked step by step toward the villa over ten miles away. Ice-cold rain dripped from the umbrella’s edge, soaking my pant legs. I trudged through the muddy road, each step unbearably heavy. I pulled out my phone to call a ride, only to discover Cian had frozen all my payment accounts. I couldn’t pay even a single cent. Not only that, he’d also cut off all my medication supply. Those were my anti-anxiety medications for controlling my depression. Without them, I could break down at any moment. Rain blurred my vision. I couldn’t tell if my face was wet from rain or tears. I remembered five years ago, on a rainy night just like this, I lost my child. And today, once again, the person I loved deeply had abandoned me in the rain. I don’t know how long I walked. The sky had turned completely dark. When I finally saw that familiar villa, I’d exhausted all my strength. I pushed open the door, my mind going blank instantly. The moment I opened the door, the motion-sensor light in the entryway turned on, illuminating the shameful scene in the living room. On the leather sofa in the center of the living room, Cian and Lila were tangled together. Cian’s hand wandered freely along her waistline as Lila arched her neck, releasing seductive moans. They didn’t even stop when I walked in. Lila opened her eyes and saw me, deliberately tightening her arms around Cian’s neck. Cian chuckled low, his palm squeezing her waist hard. “Cian…” Lila deliberately drew out her tone. “Stop it, someone’s watching.” “So what?” Cian turned his head, his eyes coldly sweeping over me. “It’s not like she hasn’t seen this before.” I stood frozen, rainwater dripping from my hair, pooling in a small puddle at my feet. I was soaked through, utterly wretched, while they did the filthiest things in the home I’d carefully decorated. A broken whimper escaped me involuntarily, my legs weakening until I nearly collapsed. Only then did Cian slowly push Lila away, standing up to straighten his wrinkled shirt. He walked toward me step by step, still carrying Lila’s perfume scent. “What? Stunned?” His tone was full of disdain. “It’s just this. You experienced it five years ago. Why make such a fuss?” Lila also walked over, leaning into Cian’s embrace, flipping her hair, looking at me triumphantly: “Elara, I’m really sorry. We were too into it and didn’t notice you came back. But honestly, Cian is so much better than Kael.” She deliberately stood on tiptoes and kissed Cian’s lips. “Right, Cian?” “Mm.” Cian pinched her chin, his eyes doting. “You understand me best.” Cian walked toward me, that sickeningly sweet perfume smell growing stronger. I looked at that face I’d once relied on so completely, feeling my stomach churning. Just as his hand was about to touch my arm, I suddenly turned around, supporting myself against the wall as I retched violently. The laughter behind me stopped abruptly. After a moment of silence, I heard Cian’s sinister voice by my ear, carrying an incredulous fury: “Elara, you—an Omega—find me disgusting?”

He suddenly grabbed my chin, the force so great it felt like he’d crush my bones. “Elara, you dare say I’m disgusting? You, a secondhand Omega abandoned by Kael, what right do you have to despise me?” “Let me tell you, you’ll endure this disgust today whether you like it or not!” He dragged me toward the master bedroom. I struggled desperately. But against an Alpha’s natural strength, my resistance was as insignificant as an ant’s. Bang! The master bedroom door was kicked open. Everything here was decorated by my own hands. My favorite cashmere rug, and that custom-made king-size bed Cian had specially ordered. When buying it, Cian said he wanted to hold me while sleeping for a lifetime. But now, Lila’s lace underwear was scattered across this bed, and my silk pillowcase was thrown on the floor, covered in footprints. Cian threw me roughly onto the single sofa by the bed, loosening his tie, and shouted toward the door: “Lila, come here.” Lila swayed her hips as she walked in, wearing my white rose embroidered silk robe—a gift Cian gave me when we first married. When she saw me, a flash of triumph crossed her eyes, though she pretended to look frightened. “Cian, Elara seems angry. Maybe we should just forget it…” “Forget it?” Cian sneered coldly, pulling her into his arms and kissing her lips roughly. “Why forget it? She finds me disgusting, doesn’t she? I’ll make her watch her fill.” He leaned down to kiss Lila, his hand wandering freely beneath the robe’s hem. Lila deliberately released exaggerated moans. “Elara, don’t be angry. Cian said you’re always cold as ice, like a block of wood. Being with you is no fun at all.” “He also said no woman has ever made him this happy like I do.” Cian chuckled low, biting her earlobe: “You understand me best. Unlike some people who lie in my arms like a corpse.” His gaze fell on me, filled with cold hatred: “Watch carefully, Elara. This is what a woman should be like. You thought I really liked your holier-than-thou act? I only took pity on you and brought you home.” He carried Lila onto the bed where we once slept embracing each other. Lila’s moans were deliberately amplified, like needles stabbing into my heart one by one. I sat on the sofa, body rigid, without even the strength to move. I watched them rolling on my bed, watched Cian caressing Lila. I remembered how he once held me, whispering in my ear: “Elara, I’ll never let you cry again.” I remembered when my depression flared up, he held me through the entire night, saying “I’m here, don’t be afraid.” I remembered him saying “Marry me, I’ll protect you for life.” It was all fake. Five years ago, Kael and Lila betrayed me. Five years later, Cian and Lila delivered an even crueler blow. My head throbbed, phantom ringing starting in my ears. All the negative emotions I’d buried deep inside surged up like a tide, drowning me instantly. I trembled as I pulled my antidepressants from my pocket, pouring out a handful to shove into my mouth, but my shaking hands scattered the pills across the floor. “Oh my, what’s wrong with Elara?” Lila lifted her head from Cian’s embrace, asking with feigned surprise. “Taking medication now? Are you so upset seeing us that you’re going crazy?” Cian glanced at the pills on the floor without any sympathy. “Being upset is right. When you made me stand outside your wedding all night, watching you marry someone else, did you think about how upset I was? I’m just letting you taste what I felt back then. This is nothing.” He thought I would cry, beg him, break down and hit him like I did five years ago. But I didn’t. I pulled out another unopened bottle of antidepressants from my pocket. Right in front of them, I poured the entire bottle of white pills into my mouth. The bitter taste instantly filled my mouth. I didn’t even drink water, just forced them down. The smile on Cian’s face instantly froze. He roughly pushed Lila away and rushed toward me: “Elara! Are you insane! What did you take!”

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When I heard the news that Vivian Blackwell had gone bankrupt and returned to the country, I was curled up in Dominic’s arms, picking out rings. The entire social circle was mocking the downfall of this once untouchable goddess. I looked up and kissed his chin, teasing, “Vivian’s back. Don’t you need to go help her out?” He played absentmindedly with my fingers and sneered, “Why would I help her? Baby, don’t think I’m that sentimental.” I breathed a sigh of relief. After all, it was the Blackwell family who dumped Dominic years ago because they thought he was too poor. With his pride, he would never go back to her. I went to the dressing room to change into an evening gown. When I came out, I saw Dominic standing on the balcony with his back to me, cigarette smoke curling around his fingertips. On impulse, I picked up his phone from the couch. A message from his assistant popped up on the screen: “Dominic, as per your instructions, I’ve redeemed Miss Blackwell’s family estate. The total was 50 million.”

“What are you looking at so intently?” A low voice came from behind me, with a raspy edge from just smoking. My fingers instinctively stiffened, the numbers on the screen reflected in my pupils. A few seconds later, I calmly pressed the lock button and placed the phone face down on the couch cushion. “Nothing.” I turned around and met his eyes. The dark undercurrent in his eyes hadn’t completely dissipated, but the moment he met my gaze, he skillfully switched to a gentle expression. “Just checking tomorrow’s bridal fitting schedule,” I said. Dominic casually stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and strode toward me with long legs. He carried the scent of tobacco mixed with the coolness of the night breeze, naturally pulling me into his embrace. “Leave those trivial matters to the assistant.” His chin rested on top of my head, rubbing gently in a soothing manner. “Tomorrow I’m clearing my entire schedule to spend the whole day with you.” I leaned against his warm chest, listening to his heartbeat, which remained steady. The question “What’s with the fifty million?” got stuck in my throat. I closed my eyes and swallowed it down, along with five years of my youth. “Okay,” I said softly. The next morning, a light rain began to fall over River City. Unusually, Dominic didn’t handle emails during breakfast. Instead, he carefully peeled an egg and placed it on my plate. When we arrived at the city’s most exclusive bridal boutique, the manager and her assistants were already waiting at the entrance. “Miss Harper, all three wedding dresses you reserved have been flown in.” I was ushered into the VIP room. Dominic sat on the couch, casually flipping through a magazine. “Go try them on. I’ll wait here for you.” He smiled at me warmly, his eyes full of affection. The first dress was an extremely elaborate French embroidered gown with a long train. The fitting process was lengthy, with several assistants carefully tightening the laces at my waist. Just as I was about to put on the veil, a sudden urgent phone ring came from outside. Through the half-open curtain of the fitting room, I saw Dominic abruptly stand up. He didn’t even notice the magazine dropping to the carpet. He strode to the window, covering the receiver, his voice extremely low, his spine rigid. By the time I walked out of the fitting room holding up my skirt, he had already grabbed his suit jacket from the chair. “Dominic?” I called softly. He turned around, his gaze pausing on me for half a second. No amazement, no praise, only poorly concealed irritation. “A friend has an emergency.” He strode toward the exit while quickly buttoning up his jacket, not even coming over to hug me. “I’m going to check on them. I’ll be right back. Whichever dress you like, just put it on my account.” As the VIP room door clicked shut, he disappeared behind it. The manager stood awkwardly holding the veil. “Miss Harper, this…” “It’s fine,” I said, looking at myself in the full-length mirror, dressed so elaborately yet looking utterly ridiculous. “I’ll wait for him.” The wedding dress was heavy, making it hard to breathe. The wall clock ticked monotonously. The staff changed my tea for the fourth time. The water had gone completely cold, a bitter film forming on the surface. I glanced at my phone. 8 PM. He said he’d be right back, but made me wait twelve hours in the climate-controlled VIP room. A sudden pain shot through my lower abdomen. My face went white as I bent over, fingers gripping the wedding dress tightly. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead. With trembling hands, I opened my contacts and dialed Dominic’s number. The long ringing tone echoed in the empty VIP room. Just one second before it automatically disconnected, the call was answered. “Dominic, my stomach hurts a bit…” “Hello?” What came through the speaker wasn’t Dominic’s deep voice, but a woman’s coquettish laugh. “Oh, it’s Miss Harper.” My breathing stopped abruptly. It was Vivian. “Dominic can’t take your call right now.” I heard a faint metallic clinking sound from the other end. Vivian laughed casually, her tone blatantly showing off. “The crystal chandelier at the Blackwell estate is too heavy. Dominic’s worried it might fall and hit me, so he’s standing on a ladder right now, personally hanging it for me.”

The call was disconnected from the other end. The dragging pain in my lower abdomen slowly tortured my nerves. I sat on the couch, not moving for a long time. It wasn’t until the manager softly asked if I needed a car that I snapped out of it, took off the wedding dress, and changed back into my regular clothes. The Blackwell family’s hillside estate was nearly an hour’s drive from downtown. The taxi drove along the mountain road, the windshield wipers swinging frantically. By the time I reached the front gate, my shoes were completely soaked through. The rusty iron gate stood ajar, welcoming its former owner. I stepped through the mud puddles, walking step by step to the floor-to-ceiling windows of the main building. Inside, the lights blazed brightly. Through the rain-washed glass, I could clearly see the scene inside. Dominic had removed his suit jacket and wore only a white shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows. He stood on a ladder, tools in hand, looking down and saying something to the person below. Vivian wore a nightgown, looking up with a happy smile. She held a ragdoll cat in her arms. Dominic hated cats the most. In five years of living together, he wouldn’t even go into cat cafés, making excuses about allergies and waiting for me in the car. But now, he descended from the ladder and not only didn’t avoid it, but quite naturally reached out to pet the cat’s head. Vivian took the opportunity to grab his sleeve, acting coquettish. The scene was too warm, so warm that me standing here as his fiancée seemed utterly ridiculous. I stood in the rain, watching through the glass for a long time. Long enough for my fingers to freeze stiff, long enough for even the pain in my abdomen to become numb. I circled around to the front entrance and pushed open the main door. The laughter inside stopped abruptly. Vivian flinched and immediately hid behind Dominic with the cat. “Miss Harper… why are you here?” She looked at me timidly, her eyes instantly brimming with tears. Dominic turned around, the warmth on his face instantly cooling the moment he saw me covered in mud. “You followed me?” He frowned deeply, striding up to me. I ignored his accusation, my gaze moving past his slightly wrinkled white shirt to the few cat hairs still remaining on his fingertips. He said he was allergic to cat hair. In the past, if I so much as glanced at a stray cat, he would nervously remind me to wash my hands. Now, he could let that ragdoll cat roll around in his arms without any problem. It wasn’t an allergy after all. It was just not enough love. “Rain, do you have to make a scene in the pouring rain?” Seeing my silence, his tone grew harsher. “Vivian has severe depression. She’s afraid to be alone.” Boom! Thunder crashed outside the window, white light illuminating my wet, slightly trembling fingers. The vintage wall clock struck eleven. I looked at him draping his suit jacket over Vivian’s shoulders and suddenly smiled faintly. “So it’s already eleven.” I didn’t cry, and even looked at him quite gently. “Dominic, the bridal shop closed at eight.” Dominic’s previously angry eyes instantly froze, his hand draping the jacket stopping mid-air. Behind Dominic, Vivian tugged at his sleeve, her voice choked: “Dominic, don’t blame Miss Harper. It’s my fault. This house is full of my parents’ memories. I was too scared… I’ll never dare trouble you again.” Dominic turned and gripped her wrist, patting it reassuringly. He turned back to me, his eyes cold, as if looking at a stranger. “Your jealous behavior right now is completely unreasonable.” He pointed toward the door. “Go home right now. Stop making a scene here.” I looked at his posture protecting Vivian. “Fine.” No hysterical argument, no pointing at Vivian and cursing. I turned and stepped over the threshold, opening my black umbrella again. Behind me came the sound of the door slamming heavily. The airflow kicked up muddy water, splashing onto my beige dress hem, leaving several dirty streaks. The relationship I had carefully protected for five years was now completely soiled.

The next morning, the sound of the keypad lock beeped in the quiet apartment. Dominic walked into the bedroom carrying the chill of late autumn. He held a paper bag printed with the logo of that croissant shop in the west of the city. That was the place where years ago, after I casually mentioned wanting to eat there, he braved sub-zero temperatures and snow, waiting in line for two hours, keeping the food warm against his chest so it wouldn’t get cold, bringing it back to me. Back then, his eyes held only me. Back then, I thought I had the whole world. Now it was also pouring rain, only he was rushing to someone else. Turns out time really does devour people. It not only devoured his love but also devoured the me whose eyes were full of him. He placed the paper bag on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. He reached out, wanting to tuck the stray hair from my cheek behind my ear. Just as his fingertips were about to touch my skin, a faint scent of perfume drifted into my nostrils. It was Vivian’s favorite perfume. Last night, he had draped his suit jacket over her shoulders. My body reacted faster than my brain, instinctively turning my head away from his touch. His hand froze in mid-air, his fingers curling slightly before he casually withdrew it. “I had a bad attitude yesterday.” He lowered his posture, his tone carrying helpless tolerance. “But you have to understand. The Blackwell family went bankrupt. She has nothing now, and her depression relapsed. She keeps trying to kill herself.” “I can’t just watch her die, can I?” He opened the paper bag on his own and used a bamboo pick to spear a steaming croissant, bringing it to my lips. “Be good. Eat it while it’s hot. After you finish, we’ll reschedule the dress fitting.” The rich buttery aroma mixed with that faint perfume smell fermented in the air. I didn’t get angry. My body even retained the muscle memory from the past. I obediently reached out and took the bamboo pick. A hint of relaxed amusement flashed in Dominic’s eyes. But in the next second, I turned around and quite naturally tossed the whole steaming croissant, bamboo pick and all, into the trash can beside the bed. A soft thud. “It’s cold. Can’t bite through it.” I pulled out a wet wipe and carefully cleaned the fingers that had just held the bamboo pick, not even lifting my eyelids. The smile on Dominic’s face instantly froze. He stared at the trash can, seemingly unable to believe that I, who had always been so docile, would do such a thing. “Rain,” his voice turned cold, carrying the authority of someone in power, “don’t push your luck.” He threw down those words, stood up, and went into the bathroom. I threw the wipe I’d used to clean my hands into the trash can. From that day on, for a whole week, Dominic always had an excuse to stay out all night. Each time he returned in the early morning, the scent of that perfume on him grew stronger. I didn’t expose him, nor did I make a fuss. I continued to eat, sleep, and work on my designs as usual. I just stopped initiating messages to him and stopped asking about his schedule.

These past few days, the dragging pain in my lower abdomen had become more frequent. I’d spent four hours making chicken soup, packing it in a thermos, planning to take it to the hospital to eat after my checkup. But at the intersection, on impulse, I had the driver change course to Dominic’s studio. The receptionist saw it was me and respectfully let me through. I carried the thermos and walked to his private consultation room. The door wasn’t fully closed, leaving a small gap. Vivian’s soft voice drifted out: “Dominic, you spent fifty million to buy back the Blackwell estate. Was it really just to help me?” I stopped in my tracks. “Don’t overthink it,” Dominic’s voice was flat. Vivian laughed softly, her voice even softer: “Then… does this count as you preparing our wedding home?” Inside went silent for a few seconds. Dominic didn’t deny it, only saying quietly: “Just live there for now.” I looked at the heavy thermos in my hands and suddenly felt that these days of restraint and understanding were absurd to the extreme. I raised my hand and pushed open the half-closed door. Both people inside looked over simultaneously. Vivian was leaning against the edge of the desk, Dominic standing in front of her, the distance between them long past the safe boundary of social interaction. “Miss Harper…” Vivian looked startled when she saw me, suddenly stepping backward. She wore thin high heels. Her foot caught and she fell backward. “Ah!” Her hand happened to land on a decorative crystal on the desk, the skin breaking, a trace of blood seeping out. “Vivian!” Dominic’s expression changed instantly. His body moved faster than his reason, rushing past me, even bumping my shoulder heavily in his haste. I stumbled backward from the impact, my lower back hitting the door frame, the thermos in my hands falling to the floor. Sharp pain spread rapidly from deep in my abdomen. My face turned deathly pale instantly. I slid down along the door frame, sitting on the floor. A few steps away, Dominic was half-kneeling on the ground, carefully protecting Vivian in his arms. He held the handkerchief I had embroidered with his name, pressing it firmly against Vivian’s palm, which had only a minor scrape. After doing all this, he turned his head, looking at me with extremely guarded and disgusted eyes. But the moment he saw the spilled chicken soup on the floor, his body froze abruptly. His fingers holding Vivian’s wrist moved involuntarily. His gaze moved from the soup up to my pale face, a panic he himself didn’t notice flashing in his eyes. “Rain…” He instinctively released Vivian, wanting to stand up. But Vivian cried out delicately at that moment: “Dominic, it hurts so much.” His knee, which had just lifted, knelt back down again. “Rain, do you have to make a scene at a time like this?” He lowered his voice, his tone revealing guilty anxiety and coldness. I looked at his posture protecting Vivian. The pain in my abdomen had made even breathing painful. But I didn’t cry out in pain. I knew that the man before me would no longer feel heartache for my tears. Crying out would only make me seem more pathetic. I braced myself against the wall, slowly and shakily standing up. I looked at the spilled soup on the floor, then at Dominic. “I’m sorry.” I swallowed dryly, my voice so soft it was almost inaudible. “I dirtied your floor.” I didn’t look at him again. Clutching my aching stomach, I slowly walked out of the studio. The moment I walked out the door, I thought I heard Dominic call my name. I didn’t look back. A warm flow trickled down my thigh, washing away five years of relationship completely clean.

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