I stared at his journal entry, absolutely dumbfounded. [My brother has been a gigolo for years, but suddenly he can’t get it up anymore…] For the sake of this young child’s mental and physical well-being, I decided I needed to call his brother in for a serious talk. But somehow, the student completely misunderstood my intentions and stubbornly insisted on setting me up with his brother. I politely declined. “Honey, your teacher doesn’t really like men in… that line of work.” But the student didn’t understand. Instead, he got anxious. “My brother doesn’t have to be a gigolo! What about an escort? Do you like escorts, Ms. Chloe?” Me: ? 01 After reading my student’s journal entry. I felt like the sky had literally fallen on my head. [My brother has been a gigolo for years, but suddenly he can’t get it up anymore.] [Since his body isn’t working right, he can close his doors and rest for a few days to recover.] [Honestly, working in the service industry is really hard. I totally understand him…] The further down I read, the colder my heart got. What on earth is this?! Amidst the shock, a thick wave of absolute fury surged into my chest. “Timmy, when your brother does… all this… does he do it right in front of you?!” I slammed the journal onto my desk. Timmy blinked his big, round eyes, his hands politely folded in front of him as he stood obediently across from my desk. “Pretty Ms. Chloe, my brother always hides when he’s being a gigolo, but I can still smell it from outside his door.” Smell it?! What kind of massive commotion are they making that a kid can smell it from outside the door?! My temples throbbed violently. I lowered my head, desperately trying to suppress the raging fire inside me. For the sake of this innocent child’s future, it was definitely time to have a very serious chat with his brother. I gently took Timmy’s hand, softening my tone. “Timmy, from now on, when your brother is doing his… gigolo business, you are absolutely not allowed to go watch, do you understand? Also, this Friday…” Timmy suddenly started twisting his shirt shyly, interrupting me with a conflicted look on his face. “But pretty Ms. Chloe, my brother said that when I grow up, he’s going to pass the business down to me! He says it makes a ton of money!” I completely petrified into solid stone. He’s going to inherit the business?! Is that actually his biological brother?! Are we absolutely certain he wasn’t kidnapped by human traffickers?! I couldn’t wait until Friday for a parent-teacher conference. “Tell your brother to come see me. Tomorrow!” 02 The next day. Timmy’s brother didn’t show up. “Ms. Chloe, my brother was too busy with his business today. He said he got a massive order, and he’ll come apologize to you in person another day.” Timmy kept his head down, his eyes darting away nervously. I was boiling with rage and about to snap, but then I noticed Timmy’s shirt was on backward, and his hair looked like a bird’s nest. My anger instantly vanished. My poor, sweet boy. When the oldest brother acts as the father, what kind of horrible guardian is this?! For the sake of his disgusting “business,” he’s actually neglecting his own little brother! “Please don’t be mad, Ms. Chloe! My brother didn’t mean to skip it. But Jessica from the West End specifically requested my brother to deliver his services personally to her house, so he had to…” Seeing my face turn dark, Timmy’s eyes instantly welled up with tears, and he frantically tried to explain. He was always such a good boy in class. He was smart, friendly, and all the other kids loved playing with him. If it hadn’t been for this journal prompt about “Family”… I never would have known his living environment was this toxic. How did he grow up with a brother like that and not turn out completely twisted? My heart instantly melted into a puddle of mush. I reached out and pulled Timmy into a hug, heartbroken as I helped him fix his backward shirt, gently pinching his chubby cheeks. “If you ever need anything, or if things get too hard, you can always come to me, understand?” Timmy, clearly confused, nodded anyway. Then his eyes crinkled into happy little crescents, and he nuzzled into my chest, acting spoiled. Oh my god, my heart is breaking for this kid. 03 That overwhelming sympathy lasted right up until the next day. Since Timmy’s brother kept making excuses not to show up… I decided to do a home visit myself. “Ms. Chloe, my brother said he’ll be home in about half an hour. I’m going to go to my room and do my homework first!” Timmy put down the landline phone, grabbed his little backpack, and marched straight into his bedroom. He didn’t cry. He didn’t throw a tantrum. He didn’t turn on the TV. He didn’t even need anyone to remind him—he just proactively started doing his homework. He was unbelievably well-behaved. My absolute disgust for his older brother leveled up significantly in my head. After silently cursing his brother out for thirty straight minutes, I finally heard the front door unlocking. Trying to maintain my professional courtesy, I stood up, preparing a polite greeting. “Hello, Mr. Timmy’s brother, I’m…” Holy shit. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, impossibly long legs, and a perfect tan. With looks like that, actual male models would weep. No wonder he’s a successful gigolo. The figure in the doorway suddenly stopped. Seeing me go completely silent, he walked over and waved a hand in front of my face. “Ms. Chloe?” From far away, I couldn’t tell. But up close, not only was his physique elite, his face was unbelievably handsome. Sharp jawline, deep, dark eyes, slightly parted lips. But what really got me were his ridiculously long, curly eyelashes—it gave his razor-sharp features this unexpected, adorable contrast. I quickly turned around in a panic. I mentally scolded myself. Get it together! You look like you haven’t seen an attractive man in eight centuries! “Here, Ms. Chloe. Have some water.” A pair of incredibly elegant, long-fingered hands flashed in my peripheral vision, and a glass of water was gently placed on the table in front of me. “Hello, Ms. Chloe. I’m Nolan, Timmy’s older brother. Did he get into trouble at school?” Nolan sat down across from me, spreading his long legs and naturally leaning back into the sofa. But three seconds later, he abruptly shot straight up, forcing a stiff, unnatural smile. “Sorry, Ms. Chloe. I just finished a session and I’m exhausted.” Finished a session. My brain instantly locked onto the keywords. So what if Nolan was gorgeous? The business he ran was absolutely shameful. 04 I cleared my throat. “Nolan, I actually came here today to talk to you about your… work.” Nolan straightened his posture and nodded seriously. “Okay, I’m listening.” “It’s about you being a…” The words refused to leave my mouth. The sheer embarrassment hit me first. If I just blurted out the word gigolo, what if Nolan had a complete mental breakdown? I slammed on the conversational brakes and swerved. “Are you experiencing severe financial difficulties? Why on earth did you decide to get into… that specific industry?” The light in Nolan’s eyes instantly dimmed. “A few years ago, my parents had a really ugly divorce. In the end, neither of them wanted custody of me or Timmy. They just dumped us and vanished.” He forced a smile. “Ms. Chloe, Timmy and I are doing much better now. I know my business isn’t exactly high-class or respectable, and every time I finish a session my body gets completely filthy… but as long as I can provide a good life for Timmy, I’m completely satisfied.” I closed my eyes tight. My brain was screaming, I AM SUCH A TERRIBLE PERSON. All the horrible assumptions and accusations I made about him in my head before knowing the truth… suddenly transformed into crushing guilt. “Nolan, I am so, so sorry. I had no idea your family went through all of that, but…” God. I couldn’t even finish the sentence. To end this quickly, and for the sake of Timmy’s future psychological development, I decided to lay my cards on the table. “When you do… that… please try your best to avoid doing it when Timmy is around. He’s still young, so he doesn’t understand what it means. But what about when he grows up? What is he going to think of you?” “Or… are you considering switching careers? I can introduce you to some legitimate jobs.” Seeing the completely baffled, blank look on Nolan’s face… I panicked. “You could be a security guard! You could do Uber Eats! Timmy is such an angel, and you’re still so young! Why do you insist on being a…” “BIG BROTHER! YOU’RE HOME!” A tiny, chubby shadow bolted past me and launched itself directly into Nolan’s arms. “Brother, I finished all my homework! My tummy is rumbling.” Timmy blinked his massive eyes, looking up at Nolan pitifully. Nolan reached behind his back and produced a giant, novelty-sized lollipop. Timmy’s eyes instantly lit up like fireworks. “Ms. Chloe, stay and have dinner with us! Whatever we need to talk about, we can finish discussing it over food.” Nolan scooped Timmy up, placed him on the sofa, and stood up to head to the kitchen. I frantically waved my hands, hurriedly said my goodbyes, grabbed my purse from the sofa, and practically sprinted out the front door like I was fleeing a crime scene. Timmy was right there. I absolutely could not talk about his brother being a gigolo at the dinner table. I needed to figure out another plan. 05 After that day. My sympathy levels for Timmy broke through the ceiling. His brother working in that industry… was probably entirely against his will. Nolan didn’t look much older than me. We were probably the same age. Because his parents abandoned them years ago, he had to carry the entire weight of his family on his shoulders alone. Acting as both an older brother and a father, raising Timmy to be so healthy, chubby, and sweet—you could see exactly how much effort and love he poured into him. But he absolutely could not keep doing this out in the open! Timmy was still little, but what happens when he hits middle school? I couldn’t even fathom the psychological damage it would cause him when he realized the truth. The prejudice and judgment of society can utterly destroy a person. Thinking about this, I pulled snacks out of my desk drawer and shoved them into Timmy’s arms, my eyes full of maternal pity. “Eat up, sweetie. If you need more, just come find me.” Timmy nodded happily, and a second later, stuffed his cheeks full like a little hamster. He was too damn cute. After that, I requested Nolan come to school for a parent-teacher conference several more times. Until this issue was resolved, I wasn’t going to have a single moment of peace. But every single time, his brother wasn’t available. He was either “too busy” or “out of town on business.” “Out of town?! Your brother’s business requires him to travel out of town?!” I shot up from my desk. I was absolutely horrified. His clientele network is that massive?! Timmy looked up at me. “Yeah! He and a bunch of his friends went out of state this week to be gigolos over there! Our neighbor, Mrs. Smith, is watching me for a few days.” He has friends?! A GROUP OPERATION?! My vision literally went black. I almost passed out. I thought I was just quietly convincing a lone sex worker to leave the life. Turns out he’s part of an organized trafficking ring! This was dangerously close to crossing legal boundaries. If they got busted by a sting operation, what would happen to Timmy? An elementary school kid with no parents and his only brother in jail? And more importantly… with a felony on his record, Timmy could never get a federal job! “Timmy, the absolute second your brother gets back, tell him he needs to come see me immediately. Do you hear me?!” I pulled Timmy closer, lowering my voice, my face etched with extreme anxiety. Timmy looked at me and suddenly burst into a fit of giggles. Before I could even ask why, he covered his mouth and bolted away. Oh no. Timmy’s mental state seems to be deteriorating into madness! 06 A week later. Nolan finally showed up at my office. “Ms. Chloe, I’ve been unbelievably swamped lately. I’m so sorry it took me this long to come see you.” He rubbed his hands together and sat down in the chair across from my desk. The chair was a bit small, so he had to stretch his incredibly long legs out to the side. In an instant, he drew the attention of more than half the teachers in the office. He must have really rushed over here, because he was wearing a tight, white muscle tank. I have to admit, seeing a basic white tank top on him gave off this rugged, intense, masculine energy. No wonder he’s the gold standard in his industry. “Ms. Chloe, Timmy told me you wanted to talk. I have absolutely zero intention of changing careers. I know the work is exhausting and I get filthy every day, but it pays the bills and feeds me and Timmy. Plus, I actually enjoy doing it.” Nolan suddenly looked up, his eyes determined, neither arrogant nor submissive. Every single female teacher in the office shot their eyes over at us like laser beams. Chua, chua, chua. I panicked. Terrified he was going to expose himself completely, I grabbed his wrist and sprinted out the door. Nolan looked completely bewildered, just letting me drag him down the hall. It wasn’t until we reached an empty, secluded corner of the campus that I stopped, panting heavily, and finally let go of his hand. Looking around like a thief, I scolded him in a harsh whisper: “Why were you talking so loud in the staff office?!” If all those teachers found out what Nolan actually did for a living, how was Timmy supposed to survive the next three years of elementary school? I was just a student teacher on a temporary practicum. I was leaving in a few months. If Timmy got bullied after I left, who would protect him?! The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I couldn’t help but raise my voice a little: “Is that the kind of thing you should be announcing in public?!” Nolan looked even more confused. “Is what I said really that shameful?” Shameful?! You could literally be arrested for it! “Look at you! You’re young, you have both your arms and legs, you could do literally anything else! Why do you insist on doing that?! What if you get caught? What’s going to happen to Timmy? And don’t you know doing that kind of work puts you at high risk for diseases?!” Nolan opened his mouth, clearly trying to explain, but a group of students started walking toward us down the hall. I quickly shoved him toward the campus exit, telling him in an exasperated tone to seriously think about what I said. Then I grabbed the students’ hands and walked briskly in the opposite direction. Just as we reached the classroom door, Timmy suddenly popped out from behind me, smiling like a sneaky little gremlin. “Pretty Ms. Chloe!” He tugged on my sleeve, signaling for me to bend down. “Ms. Chloe, what do you think of my brother? He’s single! And I like you so much… will you be my sister-in-law, please?” ?! All those times I asked his brother to come in for a meeting… Timmy must have completely misunderstood my intentions. I took a massive step back. Terrified of breaking Timmy’s little heart, I gently pulled his hand off my sleeve and gave him a soft, polite rejection: “Honey, your teacher doesn’t really like men in… that line of work.” But Timmy didn’t understand. Instead, he got anxious and gripped my sleeve even tighter. “My brother doesn’t have to be a gigolo! What about an escort? Do you like escorts, Ms. Chloe?” 07 “What?! He says his brother is an escort too?! So he literally caters to both men and women?!” I was on the phone, trauma-dumping this utterly mind-blowing revelation onto my best friend. My best friend let out a piercing, high-pitched scream that literally shook the phone in my hand. I groaned miserably. “Yes! His little brother is in third grade and already knows these terms! It absolutely has to be because of his older brother’s influence!” I originally thought Timmy just didn’t know what “gigolo” meant, but then he literally dropped the word “escort”! When he said that, I was so stunned I almost collapsed straight onto the floor. If Mr. Davis from the classroom next door hadn’t walked by and caught me, I probably would have ended up in the ER with a concussion. “Why don’t you just stop dealing with those two brothers? You’re just a student teacher anyway. You only have a few months left before you have to go back to campus for graduation.” My best friend paused for a second, hesitating before suggesting it. I had definitely thought about that. This wasn’t my permanent job. It was just a mandatory teaching practicum required by my university. I was only going to be here for another three or four months before I had to leave. Barring any miracles, I was never going to teach at this elementary school again. Very soon, a new teacher would take over my classroom. Whatever happened after that would have absolutely nothing to do with me. But Timmy was so young. He genuinely didn’t know what he should and shouldn’t be writing in his school journal. What if one day, he wrote about this again? And what if a new teacher saw it? What if she thought it was hilarious and made him read it out loud in front of the entire class as a joke? Not everyone who holds the title of “teacher” actually deserves it. That was what terrified me the most. My moral compass kept screaming at me: As long as you are the teacher in this classroom, you have to fix this. I’m the kind of person who helps an old lady cross the street even knowing I might get scammed. I’m the kind of person who gives money to the guy faking a limp on the sidewalk. I’m the kind of person who pays out of pocket for expensive vet bills when I find an injured stray cat. If the old lady scams me, that’s her bad karma. If the homeless guy is faking it… well, at least he isn’t actually injured, which is a good thing. If I heal the cat, it gets to live a happy, bouncy life again. When I see a problem, I physically cannot just walk away. “I have to fix this.” My best friend went quiet for a second, clearly having predicted my answer, and didn’t argue. But right before she hung up, she couldn’t resist throwing a jab at me: “Alright then. Just be careful you don’t accidentally fall in love with the gigolo while you’re trying to save him.” 08 Speak of the devil. I didn’t even have to hunt him down. The man who worked as both a gigolo and an escort voluntarily showed up right at my desk the very next day. But this time, he was bundled up tighter than a mummy. A crisp button-down shirt, black slacks, and he was even wearing a black surgical mask and a baseball cap pulled low. The only thing visible was a pair of bright, striking, fox-like eyes. I had just walked back from teaching a class when I saw him standing there. “You’re back, Ms. Chloe?” The moment he saw me, his eyes crinkled into a smile. I set my textbooks down and tilted my head, looking him up and down. “Why are you dressed like that?” Nolan sat down in the chair next to my desk, keeping his knees perfectly pressed together. “I was afraid Ms. Chloe would say I was dressed inappropriately again.” … Just because I told him his outfit the other day was inappropriate for a school setting. Now he was being incredibly passive-aggressive about it. He definitely holds a grudge. With a personality like that, how the hell does he survive in the service industry? “Ms. Chloe, I think there’s been a massive misunderstanding between us. I really want to clarify what we were talking about last time…” STOP! Why is he trying to talk about his sex work in the middle of the teachers’ lounge?! I lunged forward across my desk, slapping my hand directly over his masked mouth to cut him off. “Wait for me after school! We will find somewhere private to talk!” My adrenaline spiked, and I didn’t control my volume. Instantly, every single teacher in the room stopped what they were doing and stared at us with intense, burning curiosity. And there I was, practically sprawled across my desk, leaning entirely over Nolan’s chest. I shot backward in sheer embarrassment, grabbed his sleeve, and practically shoved him out the door to get him out of the room as fast as possible. When I scurried back to my desk and sat down. Ms. Davis, the English teacher sitting next to me, blinked her eyes rapidly, grabbed a handful of sunflower seeds, and leaned over. Her voice dripped with gossip: “Chloe, I saw you and him pulling each other outside the school gates the other day too.” “Is there… something going on between you two?” “You’ve got a great eye, Chloe! Timmy’s brother is hands-down the most gorgeous guy in this entire district.” “Spill the tea. How did it happen?…” …

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “442368”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My younger brother’s new girlfriend practically kicked me out of my own car. “This car is going to be my property one day. If you don’t take care of it, you don’t deserve to drive it.” Left stranded in the pouring rain, soaking wet and humiliated, I watched them drive away. Then, I pulled out my phone and dialed 911 without a second thought. “Hello, police? I’ve just been carjacked.” 01 I recently closed a massive deal at work. To reward myself, I bought a Porsche. During a family dinner, I pulled out the keys to share my excitement. My parents immediately praised my hard work. I was just about to say something when my younger brother’s new girlfriend, Mia, inexplicably lost her mind. She stood up, slamming her hands on the table, and aggressively interrogated me: “Did you get permission from me and Liam before you bought that car? Did we authorize you to blow money like that?!” I was completely dumbfounded. I couldn’t fathom why I needed her permission to spend my own hard-earned money on a car. But, out of respect for my brother, I patiently explained: “I was in a great mood, so it was a bit of an impulse buy. Besides, I used my own money, not my parents’, so I didn’t think I needed to announce it.” “But hey, if you guys like the car, you’re welcome to borrow it sometime.” I thought my explanation would calm her down. Instead, she looked at me with pure disdain. “Don’t use our own money to pretend you’re doing us a favor.” “You’re an unmarried woman, what ‘own money’ do you possibly have?! Let me make this clear: from now on, every single cent you spend has to be approved by me and Liam!” The moment that bizarre, delusional statement left her mouth, the mood at the table instantly soured. To be honest, none of us were thrilled about my brother’s new girlfriend to begin with. But since Liam seemed so infatuated with her, we kept our mouths shut. I never expected her to be this astronomically delusional. I guess I really gave her too much leeway. 02 I was so angry I actually laughed. I shot back without hesitation: “And on what grounds exactly? You can’t just make insane rules without logic. Or is sheer audacity your only qualification?” She let out a cold scoff, looking down her nose at me. “You’re the audacious one. I’ll tell you exactly on what grounds. Liam is the future head of this household, which means the two of us have absolute authority over you.” “Every single penny you earn right now belongs to this family. When you eventually get married, you’re leaving it all behind for us anyway. So yes, Liam and I have the right to manage you.” Hearing her spew such ridiculous, archaic nonsense immediately reminded me of a viral internet quote. Some people are actually mildly intellectually disabled, but because they can dress and feed themselves, society just hasn’t noticed yet. It was glaringly obvious that Mia fell into that category. Reaching that conclusion, I gave up trying to reason with her. I leaned back in my chair, looked at my parents and Liam, and asked: “Is this how our family operates?” My parents’ faces had already darkened the moment the argument started. Hearing my question, my mom looked directly at Mia and set the record straight: “Mia, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but our family has never operated that way. We don’t subscribe to that patriarchal nonsense. In our hearts, our daughter and our son are equally important.” “After Chloe graduated, she hasn’t taken a single dime from us. All her assets are entirely self-made. As for Liam, our plan is the exact same. Once he graduates, we’re cutting him off financially.” “And as for the money my husband and I have saved? We have our health and our freedom. We’re going to spend it on ourselves. You don’t need to worry about our bank accounts.” My mom’s response was exactly what I expected. After all, my parents truly raised us as equals. They never favored the son over the daughter. And as for their wealth? I never expected a cent of it. Mia, however, looked like she was about to explode. She angrily pointed a finger at my parents: “I have never met parents like you! You have so much money, why wouldn’t you give it to us?! Are you planning to take it to the grave?!” “You better think carefully before you speak. Otherwise, when you’re old and decrepit, don’t expect Liam and me to take care of you. We won’t put you in a nursing home, we’ll just leave you to rot!” My parents and I exchanged a look, struggling to hold back our laughter. She was genuinely hilarious. Threatening parents with a net worth over a hundred million dollars with elder neglect? Seeing that my parents only offered her looks of sheer contempt and didn’t take her threats seriously at all, she grew furious. Panicking, she turned on my brother: “Liam, say something! Didn’t you say you loved me more than anything? Your family is bullying me, you have to defend me!” At her demand, my parents and I simultaneously turned our gaze to Liam. 03 Liam had always been incredibly passive and cowardly. Faced with this standoff, he looked terrified, almost on the verge of tears. His voice choked up as he looked at us, pleading: “Can you guys please stop fighting? Please, I’m begging you!” “It’s all my fault. If you’re mad, just yell at me instead.” Liam had been a spineless pushover since childhood. My parents and I had always been frustrated by his cowardice. But he was family. Seeing him so distressed still softened our hearts a little. My dad, who had been silent until now, finally spoke up: “Alright. We’re done discussing this.” My dad rarely lost his temper, but he commanded absolute authority in the house. Mia was clearly intimidated. Despite looking furious and unwilling, she clamped her mouth shut. Liam spent the rest of dinner practically groveling to coax her. Finally, he pulled her outside for a private, whispered conversation. When they returned, her expression had marginally improved. In the end, she looked at me like a benevolent queen granting mercy: “Fine. I’ll let this go out of respect for Liam.” “But I am absolutely forbidding you from wasting money like that again. If you do, I will never forgive you.” Hilarious. Like I needed her forgiveness? I was just about to rip into her when I saw my brother shooting me a desperate, pleading look. Thinking about the fact that we had grown up together, I ultimately bit my tongue. But toward this brother, whose only priority was coddling his delusional girlfriend… My heart turned completely cold. I realized it was time to seriously reevaluate our sibling relationship. 04 For the next few months, I didn’t initiate contact with Liam once. When he called, my responses were brief and freezing cold. He probably felt guilty. On one of my rare weekends off, he asked me to meet up. He said he wanted to treat me to lunch and properly apologize. It had been months, and my anger had mostly subsided. I figured if he was willing to offer a sincere apology, I could probably forgive him. Furthermore, I wanted to use this meeting to gently advise him to reconsider his relationship with Mia. After all, our entire family unanimously agreed that Mia was fundamentally toxic. But to my utter shock, he showed up with Mia in tow. It seemed they were already at the attached-at-the-hip stage of codependency. So, I swallowed the advice I had prepared. I was his sister, not his mother. When I saw Liam, he was acting incredibly submissive and eager to please. It seemed he genuinely knew he messed up. He even brought a gift to apologize. And he bought my favorite boba tea order. “Chloe, please don’t be mad anymore. No matter what happens, we’re blood. We’ll always be closest.” Mia, standing next to him, looked sour, but surprisingly didn’t say a word. Since he was my biological brother, I ultimately let it go. The meal was painfully awkward, filled with stilted, forced conversation. After we finished and I was preparing to drive them home, Liam asked if he could test-drive my new Porsche. I was feeling a bit exhausted anyway and didn’t feel like driving, so I tossed Liam the keys and climbed into the back seat. I was used to being chauffeured around anyway, so the back seat felt natural. Right then, I heard Mia mutter under her breath: “At least she has some basic self-awareness. She wasn’t totally insufferable today.” I was so used to her room-temperature IQ that I couldn’t be bothered to argue. Fighting with her would just make me look stupid by association. I kept my head down, quietly sipping the boba tea Liam bought me. But the car hadn’t gone far before Liam, due to his sheer lack of driving experience, violently slammed on the brakes. Completely caught off guard, the boba tea launched out of my hands and flipped upside down. A thick mix of cheese foam and fruit tea splattered all over the leather seats, creating a massive, sticky disaster. I felt a sharp pang of regret for the car—it was basically brand new. But I couldn’t bring myself to yell at Liam. As long as everyone was safe, that was what mattered. I was just about to ask if they were okay. But the second the car stopped, Liam whipped his head around, his face dark with anger. I thought he was feeling guilty for his terrible driving. I quickly tried to comfort him: “It’s fine, it’s fine! It’s just boba. I’ll just take it to a detailer later.” To my absolute shock, Liam started attacking me: “Chloe, seriously?! You’re a grown adult, how can you not even hold a cup of boba?!” “You completely ruined such an expensive car!” “Do you have any idea how much genuine leather seats cost?!” He didn’t mention a single word about his atrocious, reckless driving. He didn’t even ask if I was hurt from the sudden stop. He just blamed me for the entire thing. I was just gearing up to tear him a new one when Mia, hearing the commotion, snapped her head back to look. Seeing the sticky mess, her face turned pitch black. She shrieked, threw her door open, yanked my door open, and grabbed me by the collar, violently dragging me out of the car. While dragging me, she started screaming obscenities: “You fucking useless parasite! You don’t deserve my pity! I graciously allowed you to drive the car for a few days, and you ruin it like this?!” “This car is worth more than your pathetic life, and you got it dirty! Either get the fuck out of this car right now, or get on your hands and knees and lick the boba clean!” I forcefully shoved her hands off me and yelled back: “Are you psychotic?! It’s my own car! If it gets dirty, what the hell does it have to do with you?!” Mia went completely unhinged: “What do you mean your car?! Liam already told me! You’re only driving it temporarily. This car belongs to us!” “Besides, you’re just a woman who barely graduated. Unless you’re selling your body, there’s no way you afford this! Your parents obviously bought it for you! You guys conspired to lie to us, do you think we’re brain-dead?!” “This car is going to be my property! You don’t deserve to drive it anymore! Get out!” Hearing that deranged rant, I realized they must have planned this narrative behind my back. I turned to Liam: “Liam, did you tell her that?” Liam maintained his pathetic, cowardly posture, but the words leaving his mouth were absolutely vile: “Chloe, Mia isn’t exactly wrong. What kind of family lets the daughter drive a luxury sports car when the son doesn’t even have one?” “Don’t let all that feminist garbage online brainwash you. Mom and Dad’s money and assets belong to me anyway! I’m the eldest son. The family fortune has absolutely nothing to do with you!” Hearing Liam’s words, the last shred of familial affection I had for him evaporated into thin air. I was literally shaking with rage. At that exact moment, while I was distracted, Mia violently yanked me entirely out of the vehicle. Because of the force, I fell backward onto the pavement. Landing directly in a filthy, muddy puddle. She instantly jumped back into the passenger seat. As for my beloved brother? He didn’t even spare me a single glance. Completely ignoring the pouring rain, he left me stranded on the side of the road and sped off. Maybe even God was laughing at my stupidity, because the rain suddenly started coming down harder. I stood in the freezing rain, watching their taillights disappear. But inside, I felt terrifyingly calm. If this is how they want to play it… then don’t blame me for what happens next. I quickly found an awning to shield myself from the rain. Then I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. “Hello, police? I’ve just been carjacked.” 05 Not long after Liam and Mia sped off, we were reunited at the local police precinct. Mia was still acting like an unhinged banshee, completely unaware of her surroundings, screaming demands at the officers: “Release us right now! We didn’t break any laws! Why the hell did you arrest us?!” “I’ll sue you all for police brutality! Just watch me!” The interrogating officer looked at her sternly: “You didn’t break any laws? Then whose car were you driving?” Mia didn’t miss a beat, answering with absolute arrogance: “My boyfriend’s car, obviously! You think it’s yours?!” Liam eagerly chimed in: “Exactly, officer. That car legally belongs to me.” The officer didn’t waste time arguing with them. He simply demanded their registration and insurance: “We received a 911 call reporting a carjacking. I assume you both understand the severity of a grand theft auto charge.” “Since you both swear the car is yours, hand over the registration and proof of insurance right now.” They looked at each other, suddenly completely speechless. Of course they didn’t have the paperwork. The title and registration were entirely under my name. Liam’s first instinct was to call me, complaining the entire time: “Fuck, is the registration expired or something?! I can’t believe I have a sister like her!” Mia immediately started adding fuel to the fire: “I bet she bought it with stolen money or something illegal!” “We are totally screwed because of your psycho sister! My little brother is applying for law school! If this gives me a criminal record and ruins his background check, I will literally kill her!” Liam’s call came through. My phone started ringing loudly in the precinct lobby. Holding my ringing phone, I stepped out of the waiting area. Under their completely stunned gazes, I pulled the title, registration, and insurance cards from my designer bag and handed them to the officer. “Officer, here are all the legal documents. These two individuals stole my vehicle.” When they saw me, it finally clicked. “You’re the one who called the cops?!” I raised an eyebrow. “Obviously. You literally stole my car and left me on the side of the road. Why wouldn’t I call the cops?” Mia exploded with rage, screaming: “You vindictive bitch! You actually called the cops on us?!” Liam looked at me with an expression of profound, theatrical disappointment. “Chloe, I am so unbelievably disappointed in you.” “So what if we didn’t let you ride in the car?! Is that a reason to call the police on your own brother?! You…” I cut him off sharply: “Yes. It is.” “Since when do you get to make decisions about my car? Is your brain physically rusting?!” “And stop calling me your sister. You two are currently suspects in a felony investigation. Don’t try to play the family card with me.” Seeing that I was dead serious about pressing charges, Liam finally panicked. He immediately switched tactics and started begging: “Chloe, please don’t be mad! I know I messed up today, but I just really loved the car and didn’t want it ruined! How about this: you apologize to us, pay for a professional interior detailing, and we’ll forgive you.” Hearing that, Mia chimed in, looking at me like she was granting me a royal pardon: “You better take the deal. We’re already making a massive compromise. Push your luck any further, and you’re going to regret it.” I was so astounded by their sheer audacity I actually burst out laughing. “You want to ‘forgive’ me for spilling a drink in my own car, and you expect me to thank you for it? Are you both severely brain-damaged?” The officers processing the paperwork overheard the bizarre exchange and looked at the two of them with blatant disgust. “You two better get on your knees and beg her not to press charges. Otherwise, neither of you are walking out of this precinct today.” Ultimately, terrified of a felony conviction, they had no choice but to swallow their pride, apologize to me, and hand the keys back. I took the keys, deliberately dangling them right in front of their faces. “Weren’t you so eager to steal it earlier? Why aren’t you grabbing for it now?” Their faces flashed violently between pale white and furious red. They were clearly suffocating with rage. Because of our familial relationship, the police ultimately classified the incident as a domestic dispute and allowed them to leave without formal charges. I drove my car home. They arrived in an Uber shortly after. The second Liam walked through the front door, he started whining and complaining to my parents: “Mom! Dad! Do you have any idea what Chloe did?! She actually called the cops and had me arrested!”

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On a dating reality show. I made a plate of shredded potatoes stir-fried with shredded ginger. The rule was: any male contestant who bit into a piece of ginger had to forfeit the chance to go on a date with me. The other guys took one bite and immediately tapped out. I watched as Cole Kensington, an A-list actor, expressionlessly finished the entire plate down to the very last bite. Finally, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Because the truth was… I didn’t put a single shred of potato in that dish. It was all ginger. 01 My name is Harper Monroe. I debuted three years ago, but I’m still considered a nobody. Aside from a massive, relentless mob of anti-fans, I have absolutely nothing to show for my career. The dating reality show Thirty-Day Heartbeat was the absolute last project I had to film before my contract with my bloodsucking management agency finally expired. I only had two goals for this show: First: Stay completely under the radar. Second: Stay as far away from Cole Kensington as humanly possible. But on my very first day on set, my plans shattered. There were five guys and five girls. Out of a thousand ways to pair us up, the producers chose the most psychotic method imaginable. Every female contestant had to personally cook a plate of ginger-shredded potatoes. The male contestants would taste them. If a guy bit into a piece of ginger, he had to forfeit the chance to date the girl who cooked it. I banged around the kitchen for ages before finally bringing my masterpiece out. Eat it. Eat up, boys. Looking at the plate entirely composed of julienned ginger, I silently praised my own genius. I had zero interest in being shipped with anyone for drama. And I definitely didn’t want to go on a date. Sure enough, the other male contestants took one bite, immediately put their forks down, and backed out. I was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when I saw Cole Kensington, face completely blank, taking bite after bite. He didn’t stop until he finished the entire plate, then elegantly wiped his mouth with a napkin. I finally broke. Didn’t he absolutely despise the taste of ginger? Did this man’s taste buds completely malfunction? “Is it good?” I couldn’t hold back my curiosity. Taking advantage of a moment when the cameras weren’t on us, I lowered my voice and asked him, feeling incredibly conflicted. “Mhm.” His response was short and simple. I felt even more frustrated. “Is your tongue broken?” “Once this show wraps, I can finally terminate my contract. Do not cause trouble for me.” Seeing his usual calm, unbothered expression, I waved my fist and threatened him through gritted teeth. Cole didn’t even flinch. “Mhm.” Mhm your head! I was just about to lose my mind when a camera suddenly swung our way. I instantly swallowed my annoyance, summoning every ounce of professionalism a D-list actress possesses. I plastered on a polite, official smile, gave a slight bow, and extended my right hand. “It is an absolute honor to be paired with Mr. Kensington. I hope we get along well.” Cole raised an eyebrow, staring at me intently for a moment before answering softly: “We will.” A hint of amusement danced in his eyes as he reached out and gently shook my hand. The second the camera panned away, Cole suddenly leaned down. Using a voice only the two of us could hear, he added: “I’ll make sure to take very good care of you… ex-girlfriend.” I aggressively yanked my hand out of his grip, forcing a fake, plastic smile. “Please maintain a professional distance, Mr. Kensington. Don’t ruin your ‘aloof superstar’ persona.” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a deeply hostile glare directed at me. I shrugged helplessly. “Your rumored girlfriend is glaring at me, Mr. Ex-Boyfriend.” 02 Cole and Stella Rossi had recently starred in a massive hit TV drama together, and the internet was shipping them aggressively. The producers obviously planned to pair them up to farm that sweet, viral engagement. No one expected that a literal plate of ginger would make me Cole’s first date on the show. The entire cast and crew looked completely baffled. Especially the production team. The director furiously signaled the cameramen, making sure they didn’t miss a single micro-expression. He was practically praying that Stella and I would start throwing punches. Two actresses fighting over a man on national television? The ratings would go through the roof. The most unbothered person in the room was Cole. Hearing my comment, he slowly looked up, meeting Stella’s venomous glare before she had time to hide it. His expression was utterly neutral, but his words silenced the entire room. “Ms. Rossi, why the dark expression? Did the smoke from the kitchen get in your eyes, or are you just unhappy with the show?” Damn. He truly lived up to his reputation as the industry’s most ruthless talker. His bluntness left me stunned, and honestly, I felt a tiny sliver of pity for Stella. Caught off guard, Stella’s face went from dark to ghostly pale. She stammered for a painfully awkward few seconds before squeezing out, “I’m not feeling well,” and practically fled back to her room. “There. No one’s glaring at you anymore.” Cole sounded smug. The aristocratic, icy persona the media loved so much completely vanished. Standing there, he looked like a proud, strutting rooster. He paused, then added seriously: “She is not my rumored girlfriend. I wouldn’t give anyone else that kind of opportunity.” My movements paused. Feeling a sudden, awkward tension in my chest, I turned away without saying a word. After that little incident, the director abandoned whatever drama he had planned and quickly issued the next task to change the subject. “There are ingredients prepared outside. Please head out and cook dinner with your partners.” Everyone nodded. But as we walked out, I heard someone muttering behind me: “Cooking again? Is this a dating show or Survivor?” Honestly, I completely agreed. Mostly because my cooking skills were… tragic. I had absolutely zero confidence in this task. And when we saw the massive, cast-iron pots and neatly stacked firewood waiting outside, everyone froze. “Are they seriously expecting us to rub sticks together to start a fire…?” “Are we sure this is a dating show? Did I walk onto the wrong set?” It was already 8:00 PM. We had been filming for hours, and everyone was starving. None of us had any outdoor cooking experience. It took an agonizing amount of effort just to get the fires started. Finally, after an hour of struggling, the youngest actress on the cast couldn’t take it anymore and wailed: “I’m so hungry!” Hearing her, I shoved my dark, charred excuse for scrambled eggs aside, ran back to my room, and grabbed my designer bag. Then, under the incredibly confused stares of the entire cast, I reached inside and slowly pulled out a plastic bag full of plain, white steamed buns. “Do you guys… want to eat these first just to survive?” 03 The silence was deafening. Cole suddenly let out a soft laugh, shattering the awkwardness. He walked over and took a bun. The others followed suit, lining up to grab a bun and politely thanking me. The young actress stared blankly at my Hermès bag, then at the plain white bun in her hand. Her mouth opened and closed, but she ultimately said nothing. With tears in her eyes, she took a massive bite of the bun. After getting some actual calories in their systems, the other groups finally finished cooking their dishes. The director announced that partners had to taste each other’s food and give a score. Looking at my plate of black, charred tomatoes and burnt eggs, I desperately prayed for a hurricane to blow the plate away. “Did you…” I coughed awkwardly, trying to ease my own humiliation, and continued: “…buy life insurance?” Cole laughed out loud. Without saying a word, he picked up a piece of the burnt egg with his fork and put it in his mouth. I waited in sheer panic for his review. Finally, after a moment, he nodded approvingly and looked at me with absolute sincerity: “One hundred points.” Hearing Cole give such a high score, the other contestants—who had been suffering through their own culinary disasters—looked over in shock and envy. They probably thought he actually tasted something delicious. But I knew exactly what my cooking tasted like. I picked up my fork and took a small bite. Just one tiny bite. Instantly, my mouth was assaulted by a violent mixture of sour, bitter, and aggressively salty flavors. For a split second, I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. I forced myself to swallow it with a heavy heart, patted Cole on the shoulder, and said with profound gratitude: “Bro. I owe you one.” Cole had cooked sweet and sour pork—easily the most difficult and complex recipe the producers had provided. Visually, it looked infinitely better than my toxic waste. I took a piece and put it in my mouth. My eyes instantly went wide. A swear word almost slipped out. “Holy f—” I remembered the cameras were rolling. I slammed the brakes, instantly plastering on a smile to save myself. “Holy cow! Mr. Kensington, you are incredibly talented! My 100 points were totally unearned, but you genuinely deserve a perfect score!” I wasn’t just sucking up. I had to admit, Cole absolutely killed it. The pork was perfectly crispy, sweet, and tangy. It tasted like it came from a high-end restaurant. But I remembered clearly… he couldn’t cook at all back in the day. “Are you secretly a culinary genius?” I asked with my cheeks stuffed full of pork. “Just hard work and practice.” Cole’s lips curled into a smile. His eyes softened beautifully as he reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His voice was incredibly gentle. “Someone once told me that sweet and sour pork was the absolute pinnacle of human cuisine.” I stopped chewing. I looked up, meeting those deep, devoted eyes. Sweet and sour pork is the absolute pinnacle of human cuisine. That was a tweet I had posted just a few weeks ago! I lowered my head and let out a soft, hoarse laugh. My long eyelashes hid the violent fluttering in my chest. “Mr. Ex-Boyfriend. We’re crossing into dangerous territory here.” “You don’t like it?” Cole’s voice was low and magnetic. Just like the brilliant, confident boy I knew three years ago. 04 During my junior year of college, I was working as a nameless extra on movie sets, where I met Cole, who was also scraping by as an extra. We encouraged each other, comforted each other, and survived the darkest, hardest days together. We played background soldiers, we played dead bodies, we played countless invisible characters who never had a single line of dialogue. Life was brutally hard, but our days were sweet. In a cramped, three-hundred-square-foot apartment, Cole and I held hands and fantasized about our future a million times. Finally, a year later, we both signed with agencies. Cole broke out of the background-actor curse and skyrocketed to A-list fame as the lead in a massive hit drama. But I was scammed by a toxic, bloodsucking agency into signing an exploitative contract. They bled me dry financially while simultaneously buying massive amounts of negative PR articles to smear my name online. It was their signature corporate strategy. If an actor could endure the hate, they’d monetize the negative engagement. If the actor cracked under the pressure and tried to terminate the contract, they’d force them to pay millions in breach-of-contract penalties. Either way, the agency made a fortune. Cole’s career was just taking off. Because I knew exactly how agonizing his journey to success had been, I was absolutely terrified of becoming the scandal that dragged him down. So, I hid what my agency was doing to me and initiated a breakup. I took an overseas development opportunity that no one else in my agency wanted, and I vanished for three years. Thankfully, after three years of squeezing every drop of value out of me, the agency promised that if I participated in one final domestic reality show, they would terminate my contract. I never expected it to be a dating show, and I definitely never expected to run into Cole. To ensure I wouldn’t be paired with him, I intentionally cooked an entire plate of ginger—the one thing he hated most. It wasn’t just to repel the other guys; it was a desperate attempt to keep Cole at a distance. I was terrified that our past would be dug up by the internet. I was terrified that three years of running away would be rendered completely useless. I refused to be the only stain on Cole’s flawless, skyrocketing career. He deserved to shine brightly on the big screen, not be dragged through the mud for some celebrity romance drama. 05 “Of course I like it!” I forced a wooden smile and took another massive bite of the pork. “Mr. Kensington, your cooking is incredible. I gave you 100 points, how could I not like the food?” The director’s voice echoed through the PA system, announcing that we would depart at 3:00 AM tomorrow to hike up the mountain and watch the sunrise. Beneath the loud crackle of the PA system, Cole asked, his voice tinged with hurt: “Harper, what about me? Am I still your type?” His voice wasn’t loud, but I heard it. I heard it, but I didn’t answer. Because right now, the answer in my heart—just like our relationship—could not be made public. The early autumn air at 3:00 AM was biting cold. Everyone wore thick jackets and hiking boots. Cole and I were trailing at the very back of the group. Since I worked out constantly, the night hike wasn’t particularly exhausting for me. But Cole naturally took my heavy backpack from me anyway, staying close by my side to protect me the entire way up. In my memories, he was always like this. As if this was exactly how things were always supposed to be between us. When we were about two-thirds of the way up the mountain, a sharp cry of pain echoed from the front of the pack. “Ah! My ankle!” I looked up. It was Stella, who had been walking a few paces ahead of us. She had delicate, pretty features, and a naturally fragile, pitiful aura. But the dim lighting on the mountain, combined with the sheer exhaustion of the hike, made her delicate whining sound a bit pathetic. “Cole, I think I sprained my ankle. Could you please help me up?” Stella had a clear target. Using all her acting skills, she pleaded with Cole, her voice trembling with tears. The cameras were rolling. They knew each other from working together. If he didn’t help her, the internet would instantly brand him as “cold-blooded and arrogant.” Cole didn’t hesitate. He took two steps forward, leaned down, and used his flashlight to carefully inspect where she had fallen. Just as Stella’s eyes filled with grateful tears and she reached her hand out for him to pull her up… Cole suddenly stepped back, clicking his tongue. “That looks like it hurts.” Stella looked confused, not understanding what he meant, but nodded anyway, adding: “I don’t think I can walk up the rest of the mountain by myself. I need someone to support me…” Before Stella could even finish her sentence, Cole turned to another actor standing nearby, looking exasperated. “What are you standing around for, Wyatt? Your partner is injured!” He then repeated Stella’s exact words: “She needs someone to support her!” Then, he turned around and grabbed my hand. “Thank God my partner didn’t sprain her ankle. That looks agonizing! Come on, Harper, I’ll hold your hand so you don’t fall!” Everyone else: …

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The night before we were supposed to get our marriage license, I discovered that my mother-in-law had secretly canceled the deposit on our future home. Instead, she used the money to put a down payment on a massive, luxury condo right next to my fiancé’s office. I kept my expression perfectly calm, indefinitely postponed getting the license, and told her I was going to hand over all the money my parents gave me for the house directly to her. 01 Four bedrooms, three bathrooms, with master suites facing north and south. Staring at the floor plan, my hands couldn’t stop shaking. The phone screen was still unlocked, displaying the text thread between me and Sarah, the sales agent at Riverbend Estates. My fiancé, Liam, and I had agreed: tomorrow morning we would get our marriage license, and tomorrow afternoon we would go sign the papers for our new home, putting both our names on the deed. I had been so excited I couldn’t sleep. I ironed the dress I was going to wear to City Hall and his suit multiple times. I even texted Sarah one last time to double-check what documents we needed for the down payment, terrified of messing anything up on our big day. I never expected her to call me back, sounding completely bewildered. “Chloe, didn’t your mother-in-law tell you guys weren’t buying the house anymore? She came and got the deposit refunded last week! Or did you guys talk it over and decide to stick with Riverbend…?” I barely heard the rest of her sentence. My brain completely short-circuited. In less than twelve hours, I was supposed to be a legally married woman. And my future mother-in-law had canceled the deposit on our house? If this had been the old me, I would have immediately called her to demand an explanation. But a deeper, much more terrifying anxiety gripped my heart. I needed to know. Did Liam know about this? Did he agree to it? Liam had gone out to dinner with his boss tonight and still wasn’t home. Driven by a desperate need for answers, I rushed into the home office. It didn’t take long. I found the brochures for a completely different luxury development. The receipt for the deposit was dated last Sunday. And the signature on the bottom… belonged to Liam. 02 Last Sunday was our five-year anniversary. We had originally planned to visit our old college campus to reminisce, and then take our old college friends out for dinner to celebrate before officially getting married. But that morning, Liam received a phone call, and his face instantly went pale. He told me that a massive VIP client had suddenly showed up at the office for an unannounced tour, and he absolutely had to go in. Left with no choice, I took the train to the neighboring city alone. During the dinner with our friends, Liam called me, sounding incredibly guilty. “Baby, once I close this massive deal, we’ll have so much extra cash to furnish the new house. Whatever you want, we’ll do it exactly your way!” Our college friends, who had watched our entire relationship unfold, laughed and teased him for being so whipped. Everyone believed that our love story—from college sweethearts to young professionals—was pure, flawless, and completely genuine. That it was free of any selfish calculation. Until today, I believed that too. The edges of the floor plan for “The Pinnacle Residences” I was clutching were already crumpled from my grip, but the total price printed at the bottom was glaringly clear. $1.2 million. I opened the desktop computer in the study. Liam used it for work all the time, and his iMessage was still logged in. I scrolled through his chat history with the sales agent from The Pinnacle. The minimum down payment was 15%, but they had been running the math on monthly mortgage payments based on a 30% down payment. Which meant he had put down exactly $360,000. A sudden, paralyzing wave of sheer terror washed over my back. Because that exact amount—$360,000—was the exact total price of the modest, two-bedroom condo Liam and I had originally agreed to buy in full. 03 The money for the house was primarily coming from my parents. Liam and I had been working for three years and managed to save up $60,000 together. His mother had given me a $30,000 engagement gift, but told us we needed to save it to pay for the wedding next year, claiming she had absolutely no money to help with a house. I understood how hard she had worked as a single mother, so I didn’t complain. That was exactly why, when we were house hunting, I strictly only looked at affordable, small starter homes. Liam’s office was on the north side of the city, and mine was on the south. Riverbend Estates was the only development that worked for us. It was right next to the highway, exactly a 30-minute commute for both of us, and the price was reasonable. When we paid the deposit, his mother came with us. She didn’t say a single word the entire time. My parents, on the other hand, called me later and said that on top of the $30,000 engagement gift, they were wiring me another $230,000. They were old-school and absolutely hated the idea of debt. They told us to just buy the two-bedroom condo in full with cash. They said we could consider it a zero-interest loan from them, and we could just pay them back slowly over time. Thinking back on it now. That day, when I was happily signing the deposit paperwork, I remember seeing his mother pull Liam outside for a private conversation. She had probably already made up her mind right then and there. Sitting on the floor of the study in the dead of night, a cold sneer involuntarily tugged at the corners of my mouth. Looking at the texts Sarah had sent me, the timeline became crystal clear. I paid the deposit for Riverbend on Saturday. On Sunday, his mother went back, canceled the deposit, and then took Liam to the north side of the city to put down a new deposit on The Pinnacle. Meanwhile, I was in a different city, completely oblivious to what was happening. Once you pay a deposit on a new build, you have exactly seven days to wire the full down payment. By that time, Liam and I would already be legally married. If we backed out then, the lost deposit money would legally be my financial loss as his spouse. What an absolutely flawless, psychopathic calculation. The warmth slowly returned to my fingertips. Even I was surprised by how incredibly calm I felt. There was only one question left. Why were Liam and his mother so absolutely certain that once I found out, I would just swallow my anger and accept it? I looked back down at the floor plan. Liam and I had absolutely zero need for a massive, four-bedroom, three-bathroom luxury condo. Years ago, in our college sociology class, after watching a brutal documentary on childbirth, Liam had tears in his eyes and swore he would never make me go through that. He swore he wanted to be child-free. My parents had their own house in our hometown. Liam was raised by a single mother, but she had always lived with his older brother to help raise her grandson. Liam had promised me that she would never live with us. At least, that’s what he told me. So who exactly was this massive luxury condo for? Right at that moment, I heard the lock click on the front door. Liam was home. 04 “Wifey! Look what I brought you! Barbecue and boba!” The same attentive, sweet face I had known for years appeared in front of me, but suddenly, the man named Liam felt like a complete stranger. From the day we started dating, he had taken care of me meticulously. He saved seats for me in lectures, walked me to the library, and picked me up from my late-night campus job. Combined with his passionate vows about never wanting me to suffer the pain of childbirth, all my friends constantly praised him as the absolute perfect boyfriend. But now, on the exact night before we were supposed to get married, I had discovered an entirely different side of him. I opened my mouth, my voice raspy. “Is there anything you want to tell me?” Liam froze for a second, then smiled and nodded. “Of course.” He set the food down on the coffee table, walked over, pulled me into his arms, and smiled with pure adoration. “Tomorrow we’re officially becoming husband and wife, so of course I have to tell you—” “I love you, wifey. I hope we hold hands and walk through the rest of our lives together.” The tiny, pathetic sliver of hope in my heart completely evaporated. Just a second ago, I had actually thought to myself: If he confesses to me right now, maybe I’ll try to forgive him. But he hid the fact that he completely changed our future home, and still had the audacity to look me in the eye and say he loved me. For the past few days, I hadn’t suspected a single thing. Being held in his arms, I felt physically nauseous. Using the excuse that I had to wake up early tomorrow, I pushed him away and rejected his attempts to be intimate. He didn’t suspect a thing. Probably because of the alcohol, he washed up and immediately passed out from exhaustion. And while he slept, I unlocked his phone and found the exact reason why he changed the house. 05 Even through the text messages, his mother’s ecstatic tone was glaringly obvious. [Your brother and sister-in-law have been eyeing those condos for ages, but they just couldn’t afford them.] [When the time comes, your brother’s family can take the master suites. I’ll take my precious grandson and sleep in the north bedroom, and we’ll still have a room left over for your future kids! Our whole family living under one roof! Mom is so incredibly happy!] [Plus, the complex is right next to your office! You won’t have a commute, and you can come home to Mom’s hot meals every night. It’s going to be a perfect life!] Liam’s responses were slightly more hesitant: [Mom, you need to help me smooth things over with Chloe when the time comes. I’m worried she’ll freak out when she finds out and we’ll get into a massive fight.] [What is there to fight about? It’s not like we aren’t letting her live there! Taking care of your mother and providing for your brother’s family is exactly what the younger generation is supposed to do. If she complains, everyone will think she’s a selfish brat.] Liam sent a voice memo, sighing heavily: “The place is massive, and it’s in a premium school district. My salary isn’t going to be enough to cover the mortgage and the renovations. We’re really going to have to butter Chloe up.” [Don’t you worry about a thing, son. Tomorrow she officially becomes part of our family. Every woman knows she has to prioritize her husband’s family once she’s married. She won’t dare say a word.] [As for the mortgage, let her worry about it! She has rich parents, there’s no way she won’t be able to pay it! From now on, your paycheck needs to be saved up to pay for little Leo’s college tuition!] Convinced by his mother’s logic, Liam felt much better, replying “You’re right” several times. Then, he sent a screenshot of a bank transfer. [I just paid Leo’s life insurance premium for this year.] His mother replied with a voice memo. When I clicked it, a little boy’s voice piped up sweetly: “Thank you, Uncle Liam!” I was so shocked I literally couldn’t find the words. Didn’t Liam constantly complain that his salary was too low, the cost of living was too high, and he could never save any money? Why was he paying his nephew’s insurance premiums?! I held my breath and systematically scrolled through his bank statements for the past three years. That’s when I realized: him not saving money was true, but his salary being low was a complete lie. He had been underreporting his income to me by $1,500 every single month, secretly funneling all of that extra cash to his mother and his brother’s family. Looking at the man sleeping soundly next to me. I suddenly felt completely numb. Scenes from our relationship flashed before my eyes like a movie. I finally realized that his version of “love” was incredibly cheap. Saving me a seat in class. Buying me late-night takeout. And I had been completely trapped by those cheap gestures, genuinely wanting to spend the rest of my life with him. I had never associated the word “hypocrite” with him. But now, it was the only word I could use to describe him. As I scrolled to the very bottom of the chat, an even more horrifying message caught my eye. His mother urged him repeatedly: [I told you to poke holes in the condoms with a needle. Did you do it yet?] The blood in my veins turned to absolute ice.

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My Bestie’s 16th Idol Got Canceled, So She Mad-Debuted Me Instead Bad news: A massive industry plant just dropped into Hollywood. Good news: The industry plant actually has top-tier talent. 01 I was just chilling and streaming a show when an ear-piercing screech erupted from my bestie next to me. “Ahhhh! I’m going to slap him so hard he’ll be peeled off the wall! Not even twenty and he can’t keep it in his pants, damn it!” On X, the hashtag #ZackeryHayesScandal was sitting boldly at number one on the trending page. Zackery was my bestie Harper’s ultimate idol. He used to be a nobody, which felt safe, but then Harper bombarded him with all sorts of industry resources until he actually got famous. And less than half a month after hitting the big time, he got canceled. I patted Harper’s head. “Don’t be sad. It’s not your first time dealing with a cancellation.” 02 Other people stan celebrities; Harper plays minesweeper. Every single star she has ever loved, regardless of age or gender, has had their career implode. The reasons range from dodging taxes to sleeping with people they definitely shouldn’t be sleeping with. I held back a laugh, feeling a little sympathetic, but not much. “Look, maybe you should just give up on the whole fangirl thing.” Harper’s eyes were bloodshot. “Impossible. My luck can’t be this bad forever!” As the daughter of a billionaire tech mogul, Harper had money, looks, and brains. Her life was smooth sailing in every aspect—except for this bizarrely cursed luck when it came to stanning celebrities. I couldn’t help it; I burst out laughing, flashing a wide, obnoxious grin right into my bestie’s murderous glare. Then I heard her grit her teeth and say, “Better to stan a bestie than a stranger. Chloe, pack your bags. You’re debuting.” I blanked out. “Huh???” 03 One week later, I officially debuted. Parachuted straight into the lead role of a massive AAA fantasy adaptation! I stayed silent, but the internet exploded. [Who is Chloe? Does Hollywood even know this person?] [Hahahaha, people always talk about nepo babies and industry plants, but THIS is the ultimate industry plant.] [Wasn’t the lead supposed to be Olivia Thorne? Did she get robbed?] [LMAO, I looked her up. Total nobody. Made her Instagram yesterday, less than 100 followers.] The drama-hungry netizens quickly migrated to my page. In just one hour, my follower count skyrocketed by fifty thousand. Compared to the casual mockery on the official studio’s post, the comments under my page were overwhelmingly toxic. [Girl, doesn’t that stolen role burn your hands?] [Your first role ever is the lead in a $100 million franchise. The audacity.] [Hey, drop your sugar daddy’s contact info.] [Industry plant. Disgusting.] [You’re the bitch who stole our Liv’s role. Just wait, karma’s a bitch. You won’t be arrogant for long.] Even knowing I’d get flamed, I was still pretty shocked. After mentally cursing Harper out eight hundred times, I started a keyboard war with the haters: [You know a lot about selling out. Speaking from experience?] [I’m just brave. What’s there to be afraid of?] [Hehe, not sharing.] [If you’re getting nauseous that easily, maybe go get a pregnancy test.] [Who is Liv?] My thumbs moved like lightning. In less than ten minutes, I scored three more trending hashtags. #MostArrogantIndustryPlantEver# #ChloeFightsWithHaters# #ChloeSaysSheDoesntKnowOliviaThorne# That third hashtag climbed to the number one spot at lightning speed. 04 Under the trending tag, Olivia Thorne’s fans were furious. [I’ve never seen anyone so disgusting in my life. Stole Liv’s role and now throwing shade? Shameless.] [Tagging Chloe, come out and apologize.] [They’re in the same industry, how could she not know her? Stop playing the innocent act.] [First time I’ve ever seen a studio announce a cast without dropping a single photo of the lead. Do they know their lead is too ugly to show? Tagging Aethelgard Official.] [Protecting our Liv. Can the industry plant please learn to walk on her own?] [Seriously, they’re just letting any random stray dog into the industry now.] 05 What pushed the whole thing to a boiling point was Olivia Thorne herself. She liked an article directly throwing shade at me. No, not shade—it was a full-on targeted attack! Even though she unliked it a second later, eagle-eyed fans had already screenshotted it. The news spread like wildfire, instantly topping the trending charts. The internet grabbed their popcorn. [Dying of laughter, the actual celebrity came down to confirm she got robbed?] [Hollywood is so messy. No talent, just pure scheming.] [I don’t even follow pop culture, but stealing a role someone worked so hard preparing for is actually sickening.] I clicked on the article. The whole thing boiled down to one strategy: “Playing the Victim.” Though I didn’t care much for showbiz, having a hardcore fangirl bestie meant I had absorbed all the PR playbooks via osmosis. Clearly, she didn’t get the part, so she was stepping on me to gain sympathy. Oh honey, you kicked the wrong steel plate today. 06 Giving her a taste of her own medicine, I immediately liked a post on X. [The lead for Aethelgard was never finalized. Olivia bought so many PR articles that she convinced herself it was hers? Fool others all you want, but don’t fool yourself.] Netizens caught my move instantly. [Oh my god, she’s fighting back directly!] [Woooow, fight! Fight! We love to see it!] [It’s been three minutes and she hasn’t unliked it. This girl is absolutely doing it on purpose.] [The actual stars fighting each other publicly, how low-class.] [She’s calling out Olivia for being desperate, right? Right?!] At first, it was just casual onlookers commenting. But soon, the comment section was hijacked and copy-pasted by Olivia’s fans. [Flop, stop clout chasing.] [Industry plant, stop tying your name to hers. Can you walk independently?] [Wow, an industry plant who loves liking hate posts. Producers, are you really going to use an actress this emotionally unstable?] [Stop directing your own little drama. Get lost.] [Our Liv has no background and no sugar daddy. She prepared for four months and lost to you just whispering in some producer’s ear. Leave her alone.] Looking at these comments, I wasn’t angry. I just found it hilarious. With a smirk, I unliked the post and tweeted: [Sorry, my hand slipped, just like Miss Thorne’s.] [Also, I’ve blockchain-timestamped all the rumors defaming me. Please wait patiently for your court summons.] I added a little pleading-puppy emoji at the end. Maximum passive-aggression. 07 My absolute savage behavior was like dropping a bomb into the stagnant waters of Hollywood. Smelling the drama, millions of users flooded in. Seeing the situation blow up, Olivia Thorne finally made an appearance. [Sorry for taking up public server space. My hand accidentally slipped earlier, I apologize if it caused anyone trouble.] [As for Aethelgard, I want to clarify something here. As a die-hard fan of the original books, I actively sought this out since the project was announced. I prepared extensively, went to auditions, did the stunt training, and was so happy to receive validation from the director and crew.] [The female lead is the absolute soul of Aethelgard, so it’s true that even over the last three months, the casting wasn’t finalized. I’m very regretful that I ultimately cannot participate.] [I believe the producers chose Miss Chloe because she surely has extraordinary talents. I trust she will bring a spectacular performance to the audience!] [Finally, I couldn’t become Aelynn for a short while, but I will forever be Aelynn’s biggest fan.] Attached was a photo of her dressed in Aelynn’s iconic teal robes, striking a pose with a prop sword. The photo was highly polished—polished to the point where every single strand of hair was edited. With the perfect lighting, her already pretty face looked even more stunning. The Aethelgard book fans immediately recognized it: it was the most iconic look of the protagonist, Aelynn! 08 [Holy crap! So accurate!] [Ahhhh! Why isn’t Olivia playing her?!] [It’s missing a little edge, but the accuracy is so high.] [I want to see what kind of person the director picked if they weren’t satisfied with THIS!] [So naive. Directors have no say nowadays. It’s all about what the investors want. Whoever the money wants, gets the part.] [Industry plant get out of Hollywood!] Reading through these, I almost gave her a standing ovation. Brilliant. Truly brilliant. It sounded like she was speaking up for me, but every sentence was a trap. Saying she prepared a lot implied I didn’t prepare at all. Saying I would give a “spectacular performance” and then dropping her own gorgeous character photo was subtly raising the audience’s expectations. As long as I was even slightly worse than her—or even just equally good—the internet would cry foul for her. Most people in the world are just ordinary people. We don’t want to see capital and privilege easily defeat hard work. But unfortunately, she miscalculated one thing. How did she know I didn’t work harder than her? 09 Half an hour later, the official Aethelgard account dropped an absolute bombshell. [Per @Chloe ‘s request, to provide a fair, just, and open competitive environment for talented, hardworking actors, Aethelgard will launch the ‘Aelynn Initiative’, opening up the lead role to a public audition.] [The audition will be fully live-streamed, evaluating actors on vocals, line delivery, physicality, and acting. The audience will vote to decide the best actor.] [June 2nd, streaming simultaneously on YouTube and Twitch. Stay tuned.] The internet was dumbfounded. [Wait, what? Is this actually the official account? Not a prank?] [I literally have goosebumps. Chloe plays hardball.] [Witnessing history. Always wanted to see a studio cast a role publicly. Didn’t think it would happen today.] Some people had a different takeaway. [Official account, you’re spoiling her! She told you to post this and you actually did?!] [Why does it feel like the whole production team are just Chloe’s simps?] [Put yourself in Chloe’s shoes: People say I don’t deserve it, so let’s just compete publicly. Producer, you know what to do. Producer: Understood, setting it up right now! Damn, that’s such a flex.] These comments made my toes curl in secondhand embarrassment. I am not. I did not. I just casually mentioned to my dearest bestie that I wanted a fair competition! Sure enough, whenever Harper’s eyes light up, it’s never anything normal.

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I saw a video of firefighters training online and couldn’t resist dropping a thirsty comment. “Nice waist, bro. I’d ride that.” The guy replied instantly: “? Don’t let me catch you.” Karma works fast. The next night, I rolled over in my sleep and somehow got completely wedged in the gap between my mattress and the wall, unable to escape. When the fire department broke down my door, my phone was still stuck on the comment section of his video. Our eyes met. The guy from the video was standing over me, holding a reciprocating saw, giving me a half-smile. “Wow, it’s you. Don’t remember me? You’re the one who ripped my underwear off while saving a cat.” Me: I am so dead! New grudges piled on top of old ones! 01 Stuck in the narrow gap between the bed and the wall, I tried to suck in my stomach and regulate my final, desperate breaths. The violent sound of my door being battered down echoed from outside, accompanied by the TikTok audio of a trending beat-drop song looping for the 800th time from my phone lying next to me. After what felt like an eternity, right as I was about to suffocate, I finally heard the sound of the deadbolt being popped. The door swung open, and a blast of freezing wind swept in. Along with the wind came several young, incredibly attractive firefighters. “I’m here… I’m down here…” A pathetic, weak voice squeaked from the gap like a dying kitten. The firefighters reacted quickly and tried to pull the bed away from the wall. I immediately let out a blood-curdling scream. “Whoa, relax! Don’t panic, we’ll get you out right now,” a firefighter reassured me patiently, while giving the bed a forceful heave. My vision went black, and I squealed like a slaughtered pig. By the time I recovered from the shock, I had been dragged out of the gap. The firefighters peeled back the six layers of blankets I was wrapped in, finally getting a clear look at my calf, which was still wedged tightly into the bed frame. It was covered in dried blood and swollen to twice its normal size. “Captain, the victim’s leg is trapped in the frame. We need tools to cut it.” Just as the firefighter spoke, the looping TikTok audio suddenly stopped. The man standing at the very back of the group had picked up my phone. With an icy, expressionless face, he crouched down by my feet to inspect the injury. I stared at his sharp, chiseled jawline and the name embroidered on his chest patch, instinctively gulping. Ethan Cole. God, he’s hot! “It’s wedged too tight. Go down to the truck and grab the reciprocating saw.” I closed my eyes in absolute agony. Great. Now I have to pay for a broken front door and a new bed. My poor bank account… Ethan, crouching beside me, seemed to sense my inner turmoil. He turned his head and patted my shoulder. “It’s okay. Just try to relax.” Looking at his devastatingly handsome face, a sudden realization clicked in my brain. He looks really familiar. I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before… The saw arrived quickly. Someone plugged it in, and the loud, buzzing roar of the motor filled the room. Ethan stood up, took off his heavy turnout coat, and grabbed the saw. I looked up at his olive-green t-shirt clinging tightly to his sculpted abs, and the veins popping on his forearms. My brain instantly short-circuited. Wait. Isn’t this the exact same guy doing pushups in the viral video I was just drooling over?! Which means… when he was holding my phone a minute ago… he definitely saw my comment. I got caught red-handed. My brain spun frantically, trying to figure out how to explain that I was just a keyboard warrior who was all talk and no action. But Ethan was already approaching me, holding the saw, a dark half-smile playing on his lips. “Hold still. I’m very fast.” My face drained of all color, my eyes darting around in panic. The next second, his deep, deliberately lowered voice reached my ears. “Well, well. Don’t remember me? You’re the one who ripped my underwear off while saving a cat.” My confused expression instantly shattered. My temples throbbed so hard I thought my head was going to explode. I am so dead! New grudges piled on top of old ones! Watching Ethan lower the spinning saw toward me, I burst into terrified tears and screamed in sheer panic: “I’M SORRY! I WAS WRONG! I’M SO SORRY, HUBBY…” 02 That single “Hubby” completely obliterated whatever dignity I had left. Under the shocked and highly amused stares of the entire fire squad… I was tossed over Ethan’s shoulder, my face burning brighter than a tomato, and carried out to the ambulance. Yes, carried like a sack of potatoes. To maintain professional boundaries, my 100-pound self didn’t get a romantic bridal carry. I got the “hauling a dead boar out of the woods” carry. At the hospital, my best friend finally arrived. She stared at my calf, which was currently swollen to the size of a tree trunk, and slapped her thigh, honking with laughter. “Chloe, you are incredible. You literally made the local news.” My brain was still buzzing, and my leg was throbbing in agony. I quickly pulled out my phone. “SHOCKING!!! Woman wrapped in six blankets gets stuck in bed frame, nearly assassinated by her own bedding!” “Girl stuck in bed carried into hospital by firefighter, weight currently incalculable!” Me: [Angry embarrassment.jpg] When my best friend wheeled me out of the hospital, she relentlessly interrogated me about how I managed to rip a firefighter’s underwear off. To avoid being dumped on the freezing street, I gritted my teeth and recounted the most humiliating moment of my life. It happened three months ago, late at night. I was walking home from working overtime when I heard meowing coming from the bushes by the sidewalk. After searching, I found a tiny calico kitten stuck high up in a tree, too terrified to climb down. The kitten looked like it had barely been weaned, shivering violently in the branches. My heart broke, and I decided to save it. But I couldn’t find anything to climb on. Right at that moment, Ethan happened to run past on his nightly jog. So, I aggressively recruited him for a rescue mission I would never forget for the rest of my life. The kitten, terrified by our commotion below, kept crying and climbing higher. Ethan didn’t hesitate. He tied his shoelaces tight and started climbing the tree. The tree was incredibly thin. Ethan swayed precariously as he climbed, looking like he was going to fall at any second. I stood at the base, grabbing his calves to help stabilize him. Just as he was inches away from grabbing the kitten… the branch he was standing on snapped under his weight. Ethan panicked, trying to jump down safely. Blind panic took over me, and I reached my hands up, desperately trying to catch him. In a split-second flash of absolute chaos… my hands accidentally grabbed onto his upper thigh… and I violently ripped the side of his tight athletic shorts wide open. With the loud RIIIIIIP of tearing fabric, Ethan scrambled to adjust his footing and somehow managed to wrap his arms around the trunk, hanging on for dear life. The kitten, however, was launched from the shaking tree, landed safely in the bushes a few yards away, and bolted into the night. Just as this happened, a city bus slowly pulled up to the stop right next to us. Illuminated perfectly by the bus headlights… was Ethan, clinging to a tree, wearing shredded athletic shorts that fully exposed a pair of bright crimson, Year of the Dragon novelty boxers. The golden dragon embroidered on his crotch literally sparkled under the headlights, gleaming in all its majestic glory. The sheer, apocalyptic embarrassment was too much. I instantly hit the deck and combat-crawled straight into the bushes to hide. Leaving Ethan and his golden dragon crotch to make awkward, agonizing eye contact with the men, women, and children staring out the windows of the passing bus… “Are… are you okay?” After the bus drove away, I poked my head out of the bushes, cautiously asking Ethan, who had just dropped down from the tree. His face was pitch black. One hand was covering his ass, and the other was clenched into a tight, trembling fist. “What do you think?” I was absolutely terrified. I took three huge steps back, took off my jacket, and handed it to him. “It’s fine! Everything’s fine! At least we saved the cat, right? The cat…” The cat was long gone. I was crying internally. Please don’t punch me! Thankfully, Ethan just looked pissed. He snatched my jacket and tied it tightly around his waist. But the violent yank of the fabric caused the torn piece of his athletic shorts—which I had unknowingly stuffed into my jacket pocket—to fall out and land directly at his feet. Oh my god! What sin did I commit in my past life to deserve this?! My hands were shaking violently as I pulled out my phone and opened my Venmo QR code. “Sir, I’ll pay you for the shorts. Please, just add me.” Ding… The second he accepted the request, I turned and sprinted away faster than Usain Bolt. 03 Sitting on the curb, my best friend ignored the strange looks from passersby, slapping my head and laughing until she couldn’t breathe. For a very long time after that, it became her favorite piece of ammunition to mock me. Recovering from my leg injury at home was agonizingly boring. I saw the viral video of Ethan carrying me into the hospital being turned into meme edits all over Twitter. I decided it was time to exact my revenge. I was going to harass Ethan late at night. “You asleep yet, babe?” He replied instantly: “? Are you paying me back?” The smug smile vanished from my face. My brain was instantly flooded with the image of his golden dragon boxers and his incredibly firm, sculpted thighs. I hesitated for a few seconds, then Venmoed him $52.00. He accepted the payment instantly. Me: ??? FUCK!!! People really shouldn’t stay up late. I tried to troll him, and ended up losing money instead. So unlucky. But looking at the algorithm pushing more videos of his abs onto my feed… I decided I wasn’t going to let that money go to waste. My official goal for this year: Touch Ethan’s abs! To achieve this goal, as soon as my leg healed, I bought several massive orders of boba tea and delivered them to the fire station. My excuse? Showing my deep gratitude to Ethan for saving my life. The atmosphere at the station was great. A bunch of young, grinning firefighters grabbed the drinks and immediately scattered, giving us space. In the middle of the massive training yard, it was just me and Ethan, staring at each other. I handed him the last cup of boba. “Here. This one’s yours. I secretly told them to add extra boba.” Ethan hesitated for a few seconds before finally taking the cup. “Thanks.” His lips parted slightly. The olive-green t-shirt he was wearing was soaked with sweat from training, clinging tightly to the sharp outline of his abs. My mouth moved faster than my brain, and I blurted out: “If you really want to thank me, let me feel your abs.” The moment the words left my mouth, Ethan’s cold, aloof expression shattered, replaced by sheer, unadulterated shock. I pressed my lips together, my face burning hot. Okay, maybe that was a little too direct. But since the elephant in the room was already tap-dancing, I decided to just go all in. “Ethan, I already asked around. You don’t have a girlfriend. Can I pursue you?” The guy standing across from me was clearly still buffering from the shock of my first sentence and definitely didn’t process the second one. I didn’t give him time to react. I kept going. “Not gonna answer? Then I’ll take that as a yes, boyfriend.” And just like that, based entirely on my own unilateral assumption, Ethan was officially my boyfriend. By the time I left the station, several of the younger firefighters were already calling me “Sister-in-law.” I didn’t hold back either. I answered them brightly and enthusiastically. “Bye, Sister-in-law! Come back soon!” I nodded, turned to Ethan, and smiled. “I’m heading out! Bye, hubby.” Ethan had been standing there with a dark expression for five minutes, opening his mouth several times to say something. But that final “hubby” completely short-circuited his brain, leaving him speechless. 04 For the next few weeks, I lived a life of aggressively, unilaterally dating Ethan. To win him over and speedrun my way to touching those abs, I started posting on Reddit asking for advice. Finally, a highly-rated comment gave me a revelation: “These guys who act like tough, stoic walls of iron usually have a super flamboyant inner self. Otherwise, why would he be wearing bright red novelty boxers?” “Trust me, girl. Be direct. If he’s secretly wild, you have to be overtly wild. If that doesn’t work, just sexually harass him! Go get ’em!!!” Armed with this divine knowledge, I began my practical application. “Good morning, babe. I didn’t sleep at all last night, because I spent the whole night thinking about you in my dreams…” “Baby, the wind is so strong today. It’s almost as strong as my desperate need for you!” “I can’t sleep. My bed feels so cold. It feels like something’s missing… Oh, right. It’s missing you.” After a full week of aggressively sending him thirsty texts, Ethan only replied to me exactly two times. “Morning.” “If you’re cold, turn on the heater…” I mentally cursed that Reddit user 800 times. After agonizing over my failure, I came to a painful conclusion. Texting creates too much distance. I needed to show up in person and force my existence onto his radar. So, when I found out the city was hosting a firefighter skills competition and livestreaming it, I woke up earlier than I ever had in my life. When I arrived at the training facility, it was already packed with a massive crowd. Official drones buzzed overhead, filming the event. I tied my hair up tight and aggressively elbowed my way to the very front of the crowd. When the whistle blew, my eyes locked onto Ethan’s figure. Watching him hurdle over obstacles, low-crawl through the dirt, and drag massive tires over towering walls… I let out a feral, groundhog-like scream. Hot! He is so fucking hot! When the competition ended, the livestream host announced they would pick one random audience member to interact with the first-place winner. Standing in the front row, I frantically blew kisses and shot heart hands at Ethan, completely shameless. My unhinged behavior successfully caught the host’s attention, and I was gloriously selected as the lucky winner. On the live broadcast, the host asked me what I wanted to say to the champion. I grabbed the mic and walked right up to Ethan. His clothes were soaked in sweat, his chest heaving as he chugged a bottle of water. Staring at his bobbing Adam’s apple and his incredibly sexy collarbones, I made my bold request. “I want to see you do pushups. 100 of them.” “Also… can I sit on your back?” The crowd erupted in cheers. I tilted my head up, raised an eyebrow at Ethan, and flashed a triumphant, wicked smile. His face darkened. He silently put down his water bottle, dropped to the ground, and assumed a flawless pushup position. His flexed muscles showcased perfect, fluid lines, and the veins popped on his arms, radiating pure masculine energy. A group of girls in the crowd gasped. He looked up at me, his voice slightly strained through gritted teeth. “Sit!” The late afternoon sun hit his back, bathing him in a golden glow. A single drop of sweat dripped from his bangs, catching the light perfectly. The sight struck my heart, sending ripples through me. I happily kicked off my shoes, grinning like an idiot as I climbed onto his back. As he moved up and down, I almost slipped, so I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around his neck. The very next second, his entire body went rigid. I secretly smiled, leaning close to his ear, and whispered. “Keep going, hubby. You got this.” Underneath me, doing incredibly stiff pushups, Ethan’s ears turned a violent shade of crimson. Hehehe. I definitely got a feast today. One step closer to my ultimate goal! 05 After the livestream ended, I relentlessly harassed Ethan until he agreed to walk me home. As we walked past a row of street food stalls, the smell of barbecue was overwhelmingly intoxicating. I was literally drooling. Ten minutes later, there was a case of beer and three plates of grilled meat on our table. “When exactly are you planning to go home?” Ethan sat across from me, gripping a grilled sausage, his brows furrowed deeply. I aggressively gnawed on a grilled chicken wing, my voice muffled. “When I finish eating. Once you finish eating with me, I’ll go home.” Swallowing the chicken, I popped open another beer for Ethan. A few beers later, I was violently throwing up. Next to a trash can by the sidewalk, I stared at Ethan—who currently had three blurry clones overlapping him—and stumbled directly into his chest. “You smell so good!” Ethan completely froze in place, his hands hovering awkwardly in the air, having no idea what to do. “You’re drunk. Let me take you home.” I shook my head, aggressively rubbing my face against his chest. It was rock hard, and my nose actually hurt. “No. No way. You’re so mean to me. So cold and ruthless.” A heavy sigh came from above me. It sounded faint, but I could feel Ethan trying to push me away. I quickly wrapped my arms around his waist like a vice, hanging my entire body weight onto him. “Don’t move. You are not allowed to push me away.” “I like you so much. Can’t you just like me back, even a little bit?” I heard the sound of Ethan swallowing hard. A heavy, ragged breath blew down my collar, brushing against the back of my neck. It sent a tingling, electric shock down my spine. I tilted my head up, staring hazily at his devastatingly handsome face, and asked, word by word: “Ethan, do you like me even a tiny little bit?” The only answer I got was the sound of the wind. Then, Ethan hoisted me up with one arm and pulled me tightly into his chest… I never got an answer to my question. But the text messages from Ethan started becoming a lot more frequent. I just kept casually harassing him. I’d randomly show up at the station to drop off boba, then force him to walk me home. Half a month later, while walking me home, Ethan received an emergency dispatch page. Watching him sprint back toward the station in a panic, my right eyelid started twitching violently. Soon after, fire trucks roared past me, their sirens echoing through the streets. A news alert popped up on my phone: “Gas explosion at Sunset Apartments in the historic district triggers massive fire… Casualties unknown!” The second I saw the notification, I dropped my half-empty boba cup on the pavement. I unlocked a rental bike and pedaled like a maniac. My parents lived in Sunset Apartments!

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The basement air was thick, damp, and tasted like copper. I slumped against the bottom step, the blood from my temple carving a slow, hot path down my neck and soaking into the collar of my shirt. Just minutes ago, my own parents had shoved me down these stairs. When the back of my skull cracked against the unforgiving concrete, the last thing I heard was my mother’s voice: “Paige, you need to stop being so selfish.” They said today was Caroline’s big day. If they could just get through this wedding, my older sister would finally be free of the prophecy. But Justin was supposed to be my fiancé. It all started when my parents began seeing the floating words. Phantom, glowing text suspended in the air that only they could read—a bizarre, digital omen they called the “Premonition.” It predicted that Caroline would sink into a severe depression out of jealousy over my being the favored child, and that on the day of my wedding, her heart would simply give out. The only way to cheat the prophecy is a total reversal of fates. My parents had clung to those spectral words like a lifeline. Overnight, the center of gravity in our house shifted entirely to Caroline. They went so far as to announce to the world that Justin was actually marrying her. Now, I weakly slapped my palm against the heavy, locked door at the top of the stairs. My voice was a shredded whisper. “Mom… Dad… I’m bleeding…” My mother’s muffled, impatient sigh bled through the wood. “Are you seriously making this about yourself right now? Do you really want your sister to die?” Her footsteps clipped away. I tried to lift my arm to pound on the door again, but it was made of lead. My consciousness was draining away, leaking out onto the floor right along with my blood. 1 When I woke up, I felt weightless. I looked down. My body was still crumpled on the bottom step, a dark, jagged pool of red staining the concrete around my head. I was dead. I drifted up through the basement door and stepped into the living room. It was an explosion of tulle and white roses. Joy radiated from the walls. Dad was on his knees, gently fussing with the hem of Caroline’s wedding gown, while Mom carefully adjusted her veil. “Mom, shouldn’t we let Paige out?” Caroline asked, chewing her bottom lip. “I still don’t completely buy that whole Premonition thing. Paige is younger; it’s normal that you guys spoiled her a bit. Why would I get so depressed over that?” Caroline started to stand, clearly intending to head for the basement, but Mom and Dad immediately pushed her gently back into her chair. “Caroline, focus,” Mom said, her eyes instantly welling with tears. “Do you have any idea what’s at stake today—” Her voice broke. “Nothing is more important than you today. We can deal with everything else tomorrow.” “But you guys favoring me because of that prophecy has already hurt Paige so much,” Caroline protested, her voice tight. “And now making Justin marry me? I—” “She knows exactly what the Premonition said!” Mom snapped, cutting her off. “She knows you’re in danger, yet she still throws tantrums out of sheer jealousy. Have you forgotten how she fought with you over the frosting on a cake and pushed you down the stairs, breaking your leg?” Caroline fell silent, but her eyes kept darting anxiously toward the hallway that led to the basement. I let out a bitter, hollow laugh. Ever since my parents figured out how to save my sister’s life, I had become entirely invisible. Yes, I had been jealous of Caroline. On the day of my eighteenth birthday, my parents decided to throw a massive “do-over” birthday for her instead of celebrating mine. I had cried, we had argued, and in the scuffle, she lost her balance and fell down the stairs. But I wanted my sister to live, too. Because that same night, when my dad was furious and ready to practically beat me senseless, it was Caroline who had dragged her broken leg across the floor, shielding me with her own body. She had sobbed, begging him to stop, and then stroked my bruised cheek, whispering I’m sorry, I’m so sorry over and over again. I understood why my parents had to tilt the scales to save her. I really did. But somewhere along the line, they hadn’t just leveled the playing field. They had turned me into the enemy. The sound of the front door opening pulled me back. “Justin’s here! Perfect timing,” Mom said, clapping her hands. “Take Caroline to the car.” She sniffled, looking at my former fiancé. “I’m so sorry, Justin. I know how much you and Paige love each other, but our hands are tied. Caroline has always been our rock. We can’t lose her.” As Mom choked on a sob, Justin gave a solemn, reassuring nod. “I know, Diane. I believe Paige will understand why we had to do this.” Justin walked toward the basement door and tapped on it lightly. “Paige, I know you’re furious,” he called out, his voice smooth and coaxing. “But we’re doing this so Caroline doesn’t die for nothing. Once midnight hits, everything goes back to normal. You know you’re the only one I love. Okay?” Silence. Mom’s face hardened. She marched over and banged her fist against the wood. “Paige Gallagher, who do you think you’re punishing in there? Is this how we raised you?” She reached for the handle and pulled. The door cracked open an inch. My phantom heart leaped into my throat. Is she going to see me? Is she going to see that I’m dead? But Justin gently caught her wrist. He sighed, the picture of exhausted patience. “Leave it, Diane. She’s just pouting. Nothing we say right now is going to get through to her.” He checked his watch. “We need to go, or we’ll be late.” He glanced back at the dark slit of the door. “Hang in there, Paige. Tomorrow, we’re coming back and we are going to make this up to you.” With that, he wrapped his arm around my sister’s waist and guided her out the door toward the waiting limousine. Even as a ghost, the ache in my chest was blinding. I touched my face. My fingertips came away wet. I was crying. Mom, Dad. Your premonition told you exactly when my sister was going to die. But what about me? 2 By the time the reception ended, it was late afternoon. Back in the hotel suite, Caroline immediately grabbed her phone, her brow furrowed in panic. I leaned over her shoulder. She was texting me. [Paige, do you have your phone? There’s a spare key under the mat by the basement door. Please come out.] [I left you a plate in the fridge. Please eat.] The bubbles remained grey. Unread. She dialed my number. It went straight to voicemail. Dropping the phone, she practically ran into the adjoining room to find Dad. “Dad, Paige isn’t answering. She must have dropped her phone upstairs before you locked her in. Can you please go back and check on her? She’s been down there all day, she hasn’t eaten a thing.” Mom groaned, poking Caroline in the forehead. “Why are you still worrying about her? Her skipping a meal is nothing compared to you dying!” “Mom!” Caroline pleaded. “Fine, fine. I’ll go let the brat out and bring her to the hotel so she can keep you company,” Mom huffed, grabbing her purse. Caroline shoved a Tupperware container into her hands. “It’s all her favorites. Please make sure she eats. You know she gets those awful stomach cramps.” My throat felt tight. I reached out to hug my sister, but my arms passed right through her shoulders. Thank you, Care. But I’m never going to eat again. Mom drove straight back to the house. When she walked in, the basement door was still shut. She sighed heavily and walked up to it. “Your sister said there’s a spare key under the mat. Open the door yourself,” Mom called out. “She packed you some food. Eat it, and then we’re going to the hotel.” No answer. Mom’s face darkened with rage. She slammed the Tupperware onto the entryway table. “Fine, Paige! You want to throw a pity party? We are doing all of this for your sister! Are you really so petty that you’d rather see her dead? How did you get so vicious?” She pounded on the door, then aggressively dug her own key out of her pocket and shoved it into the lock. The door clicked and swung open a few inches. The shadows of the basement shifted, the pale silhouette of my arm just barely catching the hallway light. Right at that exact second, her cell phone rang. It was Dad, sounding panicked. “Diane, get to a pharmacy! Caroline just slipped in the bathroom and cut her ankle, she’s bleeding!” Slam. Mom pulled the door shut, locking it in one swift motion. She didn’t even look back as she sprinted out the front door. I stood there in the quiet house, a bitter laugh tearing from my chest. She was an inch away. One inch from finding me dead. Back at the hotel, Mom carefully applied a bandage to Caroline’s ankle. Justin walked in, and the four of them huddled on the suite’s plush sofas, watching the clock on the wall. Usually, an hour flies by. Tonight, it felt like wading through molasses. At 11:59 PM, Mom started to whimper, gripping Dad’s hand. For the last thirty seconds, they pulled Caroline into a tight embrace, their eyes squeezed shut. Ten seconds… five seconds… one second. Midnight. The room was dead silent. “Is it over?” Mom whispered, her voice trembling. Dad pulled out his phone with shaking hands. “It’s past twelve. The text didn’t appear. The premonition… it’s broken.” They stared at each other for a long, suspended moment. And then, they broke down. Loud, ugly, joyous sobbing. “You’re safe! Caroline, my baby, you’re safe!” They held her like she had just been pulled from the wreckage of a plane crash. “We have to go back,” Caroline said urgently, wiping her face. “We have to tell Paige! She’s been locked in there all day, she must be starving and terrified.” They piled into the car. The mood was euphoric. Dad kept glancing at Caroline in the rearview mirror, grinning through his tears. “We really owe Paige an apology,” Dad admitted softly. “Once we get back, we should take her on a trip. Just the four of us.” “We haven’t celebrated her birthday properly since she turned eighteen,” Caroline said, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the silver pendant around her neck—a gift I had bought her. “I want to throw her a huge party.” “We will,” Mom sighed, leaning her head against the window. “We’ve neglected her for too long. It’s time to make it right.” Sitting in the backseat beside them, I just smiled a sad, broken smile. I wondered what they would look like when they saw my body. They arrived at the house quickly. But the moment they walked into the kitchen, they froze. The Tupperware Mom had left on the table was covered in a fuzzy layer of blue-green mold. I hadn’t come out of that basement in two days. 3 Dad finally snapped. He marched down the hall and kicked the basement door with the heel of his boot. “Paige, enough is enough! Get out here right now!” he roared. “Your sister literally just survived a death curse, and you can’t even come out to say congratulations? Who the hell are you punishing?” Justin frowned, stepping up to the door. “Paige, stop acting like a child,” Justin said, his tone dripping with disappointment. “Come out. Caroline is safe. I told you we’d make up for everything today. But acting like this? It’s just selfish. She’s your sister.” Silence. Justin, you’re an idiot, I thought, staring at his perfectly styled hair. No matter what you say, I literally cannot answer you. It was Caroline who realized something was wrong. “She wouldn’t do this. Her stomach cramps get so bad when she skips meals,” Caroline said, her voice rising in panic. “She must have dropped her phone out here!” She frantically searched the hallway, but my phone was nowhere to be found. I looked through the floorboards at my own corpse. My phone was lying inches from my lifeless head. “She has it on her. She’s just screening us,” Mom said, her face hardening. She grabbed Caroline’s arm. “Fine. If she wants to rot down there and prove a point, let her. Your sister literally cheats death and you’re still throwing a tantrum? Ungrateful little brat.” Mom turned to Dad. “Pack the bags. We’re taking Caroline to Carmel for the week to celebrate. I shouldn’t have ever had that second child; she’s been nothing but a headache!” Mom dragged Dad and Caroline toward the stairs to pack. Justin lingered by the basement door for a long moment. His eyes were unreadable. Finally, he let out an exasperated sigh, turned on his heel, and walked out the front door. I closed my ghostly eyes, the bitterness pooling in my mouth. There were two keys to that basement. One under the mat. One in my mother’s purse. She could have opened the door right then. But she chose not to. She missed me. Again. … They took Caroline and Justin to a luxury resort in Carmel-by-the-Sea. Like a tethered balloon, my soul was dragged along with them. I watched them toast to Caroline’s new lease on life with champagne on the beach. I watched them go shopping, buy her expensive gifts, and laugh in the California sun. Three days passed like this. In the hotel room, Caroline sat on the edge of her bed, staring at our text thread. Nothing. “Mom, I think we should go home,” Caroline said, pressing a hand to her chest. “I’ve had this awful feeling all day. My eye won’t stop twitching. Paige hasn’t opened my messages in almost a week. What if something happened to her down there?” Dad scoffed from the armchair. “Ignore her. She’s stubborn just to be stubborn.” But Mom slowly lowered the blouse she was holding. “She’s never held a grudge this long,” Mom murmured, a flicker of genuine uncertainty crossing her face. “If she has her phone… why wouldn’t she at least text to yell at us? By now, she usually gives up and demands we order her takeout…” A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the room. Then, Mom’s phone buzzed. It was our next-door neighbor.

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The piercing shriek of the ambulance siren shattered the quiet hum of the graveyard shift. A pregnant woman was being rushed through the double doors, hemorrhaging massively. The charge nurse’s frantic voice clipped my ears. I was already moving, reaching for my scrub cap, preparing to sprint into the operating room. But before my hand could even touch the fabric, the air in front of me warped. A barrage of jagged, glowing red text suddenly exploded across my vision. [Watch out! That’s your wife on the stretcher. She was out in the woods hooking up with her childhood best friend and things went wrong!] [She’s been planning to fake her death to get out of the marriage. They’re going to pin a medical malpractice suit on you so you rot in a cell forever!] [The baby isn’t even yours. Her parents already called the cops. They’re on their way to arrest you right now!] Line after line of spectral text scrolled rapidly in mid-air. I stopped dead in my tracks. The blood drained from my face, rushing back in a dizzying wave of cold panic, and my stomach plummeted into an endless freefall. … 01 “Dr. Wright! Her vitals are crashing. They’ve bypassed triage and are prepping the OR now. We need you in there!” The nurse’s voice was a desperate tether trying to pull me back to reality, but the glowing sentences suspended in the corridor held me captive. I was paralyzed by a sickening collision of duty and absolute terror. I had spoken to my wife, Corinne, not twenty minutes ago. She had told me she was rolling up her yoga mat, exhausted, heading to bed. How could she possibly be the woman bleeding out from a reckless, illicit encounter in the middle of nowhere? I took a trembling step toward the trauma bay. Instantly, new text slashed across the air. [No! If he goes in and comes back, they’re going to plant an empty vodka bottle covered in his fingerprints in his desk drawer. They’re going to frame him for operating under the influence!] [He gets fifteen years in a federal penitentiary for this! And the moment he makes parole, his ‘dead’ wife runs him over with a car!] My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I spun on my heel and bolted back into my private office. I threw open my desk drawer. It was completely empty. I stared at the pristine wood, the manic scrolling of the floating text reflecting in my wide eyes. It was impossible to ignore. A visceral, primal instinct flared to life inside me. I didn’t have time to question the impossibility of the floating words; I only knew I had to survive. I reached for my computer, brought up the webcam application, and hit record. I angled the lens perfectly so that the entire desk, the drawer, and the door were caught in a wide, indisputable frame. [Oh my god, he turned on the camera? Is he actually trying to secure an alibi?] [It won’t matter. The boyfriend is about to storm in and physically drag him to the OR. He won’t have time to check the footage!] Right on cue, the heavy oak door of my office was shoved open so violently the handle cracked against the drywall. Trevor. Corinne’s childhood best friend. He lunged across the room, his face a mask of manufactured hysteria, and grabbed me by the bicep, yanking me toward the hallway. “Corinne is dying on the table! What the hell are you doing standing around in here?” Trevor screamed, his grip bruising. “The nurses have been paging you for five minutes! Why aren’t you in there saving her?” “She’s carrying your child, Thomas!” I looked at Trevor. The man who had sat at my dining table, drinking my scotch, laughing at my jokes. Thousands of invisible needles pierced my chest. The hemorrhaging woman. It really is my wife. I forced my facial muscles into a mask of utter bewilderment. “What are you talking about, Trevor? I just got off the phone with Corinne. She’s asleep in our bed. Why would she be in the ER?” Seeing my genuine-looking confusion and my absolute lack of urgency, Trevor’s eyes widened. A flash of real panic broke through his performance. “Why would I lie about this?!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “Go to the OR and see for yourself! Thomas, this is a human life! If you waste another second, she is going to die!” He lunged for me again, trying to physically haul me out the door. I sidestepped him smoothly. I narrowed my eyes, injecting a heavy dose of suspicion into my voice. “Are you absolutely certain? You’re telling me the woman in the trauma bay is Corinne?” “Yes! Would I joke about her life?” My expression turned to ice. “Then tell me, Trevor, why do you know my wife was brought into my hospital before I did?” “Were you the reason she got hurt?” Trevor stammered, his eyes darting frantically to the door, but he quickly recovered, masking his slip with explosive, righteous anger. “She is bleeding out, and you’re standing here interrogating me?!” he roared. “She is your wife! You took an oath, Thomas! You’re supposed to save lives, but you’re so damn cold-blooded you’d let the mother of your unborn child die on the table!” His shouting had the desired effect. Doctors and nurses from the adjacent hallway began crowding around the open door, murmuring, their eyes wide with shock. Just then, a young triage nurse pushed through the crowd, breathless. “Dr. Wright… the John Doe… she had an ID in her coat. It really is Corinne. It’s your wife. You need to get in there.” She kept her voice low, but in the echoing silence of the office, Trevor caught every word. He puffed his chest out, a savior in the spotlight. “You hear that? Do you believe me now? Get your scrub cap on and save her!” Trevor’s face was a portrait of agony, but I didn’t miss the micro-expression that flickered through his eyes—a dark, triumphant gleam of pure contempt. He was desperate to get me into that room. He needed me away from my desk to set the trap. Fine, I thought. Let’s play. I cast a brief, imperceptible glance at the tiny green light of my webcam. I gave a slow, grave nod. “Alright,” I said, my voice deadpan. “I’ll go.” 02 By the time I pushed through the swinging doors of the OR, gowned and gloved, the trauma surgeon looked up at me like I was a ghost. “Thomas,” the surgeon breathed. “Massive pelvic hemorrhage. She’s deep into hypovolemic shock.” Simultaneously, the phantom text flared in the periphery of my vision. [She took a black-market beta-blocker to simulate cardiac arrest. Of course her pulse is thready. She’s going to flatline in three… two…] [I feel so sick for the husband. Getting cheated on is bad enough, but framing him for murder? Evil.] I stood over the operating table, looking down at Corinne’s ashen face. For a fractured second, a devastating ache ripped through me. I had loved her from the moment I met her. Since the day we married, I had treated her like royalty, bending over backward to give her the world. Every long shift, every sacrifice, had been for her. For our future. And she despised me enough to orchestrate her own death just to watch me burn. The grief calcified instantly into a cold, hard resolve. I pointed a gloved finger at the monitor. The green line was already staggering, dropping rapidly into a flat, continuous wail. “She was brought in too late,” I said, my voice projecting clearly over the frantic beeping. “The damage is irreversible. Cease compressions. Call it, and notify the family.” Without waiting for a response, I stripped off my gloves, threw them in the biohazard bin, and walked out of the room. I didn’t return to my office. I bypassed it entirely and walked straight into the main doctors’ lounge. [Wait, he didn’t operate? He didn’t even touch the instruments. They can’t pin the malpractice on him now!] [It doesn’t matter! The trap is already set! Ugh, I wish I could scream the truth at him through the screen!] [Trevor is going to bring a whole mob tomorrow morning. The truth won’t matter when they drag his reputation through the mud. The father-in-law is going to bring the cops, find the bottle, and it’s over!] I sank into a worn leather sofa in the corner of the lounge, my heart thudding against my ribs. Impossible. My office had a camera. I never laid a hand on her in the OR. How could they possibly make a DUI malpractice charge stick? Being a doctor wasn’t just my job. It was my identity. I had clawed my way through medical school on scholarships, working myself to the bone for over two decades to earn my place here. Was I really going to let my entire life be incinerated by a cheating wife and her parasitic lover? No. I clenched my fists so hard my knuckles turned white. Breathe, Thomas. Think. If it was a conspiracy, there had to be structural weaknesses. There had to be a flaw in their timeline. I closed my eyes, tuning out the hum of the vending machines, and ran a forensic sweep of my own memory. Every conversation over the last seventy-two hours. Every text. Every anomaly. Thirty minutes later, my eyes snapped open. The chill in my blood was replaced by a sharp, electric clarity. “So that’s how,” I whispered to the empty room. A dark, grim smile pulled at the corner of my mouth. I pulled out my phone and made three very specific phone calls. [Holy shit. The male lead just woke up. The counter-attack is coming!] 03 I stayed planted in the main doctors’ lounge. It was shift-change. Surgeries were wrapping up, and the room was packed with exhausted colleagues waiting for food delivery and nurses charting at the center tables. There was too much foot traffic here, too many witnesses. I dared Trevor to try something out in the open. I grabbed a stale cup of coffee and waited. It didn’t take long. “Where is he?! Get out here, Thomas!” Trevor’s furious roar echoed down the corridor before he burst through the double doors. He wasn’t alone. He had brought a dozen people with him—relatives, loud neighbors, and several people with their phone cameras already out, recording the ambush for the internet. The lounge descended into instant chaos. “You let your own wife die out of pure selfishness! You’re a butcher! You don’t deserve the white coat on your back!” Trevor screamed, playing to the lenses pointed at him. [Here we go! The lover boy brought the fake death certificate to start a riot!] [Thomas is ready for this, right? Please tell me he’s ready.] I glanced at the floating text and arched an eyebrow. A death certificate? I almost laughed. I certainly hadn’t signed one. Trevor clearly didn’t understand the bureaucratic ironclad walls of a hospital system. A random piece of paper held absolutely no weight here. Before I could speak, Trevor’s mob surged forward, screaming obscenities, hands outstretched, trying to grab my scrubs, trying to get a physical altercation on camera. I remained perfectly calm, stepping smoothly behind a burly trauma nurse and two very confused, very broad-shouldered paramedics who were waiting for their coffee. Seeing the physical aggression, my colleagues snapped to attention. Outrage flashed across the faces of the senior staff. A seasoned ER doctor stepped in front of me, pointing a stern finger at Trevor. “Who the hell are you people? This is a restricted area. If you take one more step, security is locking this wing down and the police will be here in three minutes.” He already had his phone to his ear, dialing hospital security. Trevor sneered, pointing a trembling, dramatic finger at the doctor. “You want to call this trespassing? Your golden boy Dr. Wright just used his position to murder his wife and his unborn baby! He’s a monster!” Trevor turned to the crowd of doctors. “Step aside! We are here to get justice. If you protect him, you’re complicit, and I promise you, the whole world is going to know it!” He expected them to scatter. He expected the fear of a viral PR nightmare to make my colleagues throw me to the wolves. Instead, three more doctors moved to stand shoulder-to-shoulder in front of me. I caught the fleeting, panicked disappointment in Trevor’s eyes. I couldn’t help the cold smirk that touched my lips. “Trevor,” I said, my voice cutting through the shouting, perfectly steady. “You’re accusing me of using my medical authority to murder my wife. I assume you have proof?” Trevor let out a manic, theatrical laugh. “You want proof? I’ll give you proof!” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a crisp sheet of paper. The death certificate. 04 I looked at the paper. I felt no fear. I stepped out from behind my colleagues, took the document from his hand, and scanned it. The flaw was glaringly obvious. I tapped the header of the paper. “Trevor. My wife was pronounced dead in this hospital. The certificate of death must be generated by our medical examiner’s office.” I looked up at him, my eyes narrowing. “Even if you had a vendetta against our staff, protocol dictates an independent autopsy at a state facility. What exactly is this document from a strip-mall urgent care clinic?” Before Trevor could sputter an excuse, I raised my voice, ensuring every phone camera recorded my words. “Furthermore, I was not the attending physician on her case last night.” “By the time I entered the OR, resuscitation had already proven futile. I never touched a surgical instrument. And every single second of that is time-stamped and recorded on the surgical bay cameras.” The trauma surgeon who had been in the room earlier stepped forward, snatching the paper from my hand. He took one look at it and scoffed loudly. “Failure to provide timely intervention resulting in death? This is utter fiction,” the surgeon barked. “The patient was in profound hemorrhagic shock upon arrival. I initiated the code. We pushed every protocol we had. It’s all on the tape. You’re trying to extort this hospital, you pathetic little man.” Trevor had clearly anticipated this roadblock. He barely blinked. He pivoted effortlessly, abandoning the fake certificate and pointing a trembling finger squarely at my chest. “You didn’t operate because you refused to!” Trevor yelled to the crowd. “When the charge nurse called his office, he refused to come down! I ran to his office myself, begging him on my hands and knees to save her, and he just sat there! The nurses can back me up!” He looked at the phone cameras, tears welling perfectly in his eyes. “He let two lives end because he couldn’t be bothered! Who here can look me in the eye and say Thomas didn’t intentionally delay his response?!” A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the lounge. It was a brilliant, manipulative twist. In the medical field, a delayed response to a code blue was a massive ethical gray area. No doctor in the room was willing to put their own license on the line to vouch for my minute-by-minute timeline without reviewing the charts. Sensing the hesitation, a sickeningly triumphant light returned to Trevor’s eyes. He turned to his mob. “He killed her! And he’s going to pay!” Trevor bellowed. “A doctor who refuses to save his own family shouldn’t have hands to practice with!” I didn’t flinch. “Hold on.” My voice was quiet, but it carried the absolute authority of a man who held all the cards. “Nothing you’ve said is evidence of a crime, Trevor. And since the police are on their way, as Corinne’s legal next of kin, I am formally requesting a full, state-mandated autopsy.” I took a slow step toward him. “By the way… who exactly gave you the authorization to remove my wife’s body from the morgue?” Before Trevor could formulate a lie, a frail, trembling voice broke through the crowd. “I did.” Richard and Martha Evans, my father and mother-in-law, walked into the lounge, flanked by two uniformed police officers. The moment Richard saw me, he tore himself away from the officer’s steadying grip. He marched up to me, raised his hand, and slapped me across the face with everything he had. The crack echoed like a gunshot. A hot, stinging red mark instantly bloomed across my cheek. “Thomas Wright!” Richard spat, tears of rage tracking down his wrinkled face. “We treated you like our own flesh and blood! Is this how you repay us?!” “The reason you didn’t save my little girl is because you were blind drunk!” He turned his grief-stricken face to the stunned crowd. “You’ve always had a drinking problem, but I never thought you’d be so reckless as to let your own wife and unborn child die because you couldn’t put the bottle down!” Richard turned back to the police officers, a picture of absolute, broken heartbreak. “Officers. I am formally reporting my son-in-law for practicing medicine while heavily intoxicated. If you check his private office… the bottles should still be in his bottom drawer.” I closed my eyes. I felt the sharp sting of the slap, but underneath it, a much deeper, colder pain hollowed out my chest. Richard. The man I spent my Sundays with. The man I golfed with, who I bought expensive fishing gear for. Martha, whose luxury skincare and spa retreats I funded without a second thought. I had no parents of my own. I had loved them as if they had raised me. And here they were, performing a flawless, premeditated execution of my life. I opened my eyes and let out a long, slow exhale. The tension that had been knotting my spine suddenly vanished. The grief was gone. Only the game remained. Everything was playing out exactly as I had deduced. The room was dead silent. My colleagues stared at me, their faces caught between horror and disbelief. The police officers, following Richard’s agonizing plea, left and returned moments later. One of them held up a clear evidence bag. Inside it was a completely empty vodka bottle. The atmosphere in the room shifted violently. The shock in my colleagues’ eyes morphed instantly into disgust and betrayal. The doctors who had stood in front of me slowly backed away, putting distance between us. Trevor stepped up, unable to suppress the vicious smirk playing on his lips. “Well, Thomas,” Trevor whispered, loud enough for the cameras. “There’s the proof. What do you have to say for yourself?” I looked at the bottle. Then I looked at Richard. Then at Trevor. And I laughed. It wasn’t a chuckle; it was a dark, echoing laugh that made Trevor flinch. I raised a finger, pointing first at my father-in-law, and then squarely between Trevor’s eyes. “Officers,” I said, my voice ringing with absolute, terrifying calm. “I would like to report a conspiracy to commit fraud, defamation, and the planting of false evidence. And unlike them… I brought receipts.”

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The agony in my stomach was a white-hot blade, twisting until I was on the verge of blacking out. I forced a single word through my gritted teeth: “Fine.” I wasn’t going back. I was done with her. I was done with everything. Years ago, to be with Madeline, I did the unthinkable. I severed ties with my own family—a family that had given me everything—just to marry into hers. I became the husband in the shadows, the one who took her name, the one who supported her while she built her empire. In just six months, Madeline’s career exploded. She became the face of modern American entrepreneurship, a titan of industry. Back then, everyone envied me. They said I’d played my cards right, that I was the luckiest man alive to be tethered to a woman like her. Nobody predicted that a year later, I’d be diagnosed with stage three stomach cancer. The night before my surgery, I lay in that sterile hospital bed, a roadmap of tubes and wires snaking out of my body. I waited for Madeline. I waited until my eyes ached from staring at the door. She never came. Instead, my phone buzzed late that evening. When I answered, her voice was light, rhythmic, and devastatingly happy. “I’m getting married today,” she said. “Don’t ruin this for me. Don’t call me, and don’t show up.” I sat there, frozen. The words felt like a physical blow to the chest. “Parker has been waiting for me for three years,” she continued, her tone matter-of-fact. “Now that the company is stable, I can finally give him what he deserves. I can finally be his wife.” “And what about me?” my voice came out as a ragged whisper. She let out a soft, indifferent sigh. “We’ll just all live together. I’ve already bought a new estate. Parker’s sweet—he won’t mind you being there. Besides, where else would you go? Your parents disowned you years ago. You have nothing without me.” … Almost simultaneously, a notification popped up. Madeline had shared a livestream link to her wedding reception on her private social media. In the video, she was radiant in a deep crimson gala dress, her face glowing with a kind of joy I hadn’t seen in years. She was glowing. Parker was holding her hand, leading her through a forest of champagne flutes and cheering guests. In the background, her friends were shouting toasts. “Finally, Maddie! You finally married the man you actually love!” “True love wins in the end!” “Look at them—the perfect couple. This is the real Mr. Sampson!” They were all celebrating their ‘happily ever after.’ Meanwhile, I was breathing in the scent of industrial-grade disinfectant, my stomach cramping in waves that made me want to scream. The contrast was a cruel joke. In their world of silk and top-shelf bourbon, I didn’t exist. Not a single person asked where I was. The pain intensified. Beads of cold sweat rolled down my temples. Shaking, I typed a comment into the livestream: Congratulations. But I’m going into surgery in ten minutes. Can someone—anyone—please come help me? Seconds later, the stream cut to black. My phone rang instantly. It was Madeline, and she sounded livid. “Oliver, what the hell is wrong with you? Are you seriously trying to pull this pathetic stunt right now? You’re trying to make us look bad?” The pain was so sharp I could barely catch my breath. “I’m not… I’m not playing, Madeline. I’m in the hospital. I’m scared. I need someone here.” She didn’t hear the tremors in my voice. She had already decided I was the villain. “Enough. You’re just trying to ruin Parker’s night because you’re jealous. Listen to me: Parker is a better person than you’ll ever be. He’s willing to let you stay in our lives. If you can just keep your head down and behave, we’ll take care of you. We won’t let you starve.” She sighed, a sound of heavy, martyred patience. I stared at the ceiling, a bitter laugh dying in my throat. Was I supposed to thank her? Thank her for marrying another man? Thank her for letting me live in the guest house of her new life like a stray dog? I used to think the legalities didn’t matter. I thought as long as we were together, as long as she loved me, I could handle being the “trophy husband” who gave up his pride. But the reality was a bloody mess on the floor. She never intended for it to be us. I was just a placeholder. A footnote. The grief finally broke through the pain, and the tears started to fall. “Madeline, why? You told me you loved me. That’s why I gave up my family name for yours!” There was a pause on the other end. Then, she laughed. It was a sharp, mocking sound. “Oh, Oliver. You actually believed what I said in bed? You really have no self-awareness. Why would I ever truly want a man who was so desperate he’d cut off his own blood just to crawl into my shadow? Look, I like you well enough. I’ll keep you around, but don’t confuse that with marriage.” Her voice turned sharp. “I have to go. My husband is calling me.” The line went dead. A moment later, a doctor walked in. She looked at me with a sneer that made my skin crawl. She must have overheard the call. In her eyes, I wasn’t a patient; I was a homewrecker. She reached down and grabbed the gastric tube inserted into me, tugging it with a brutal, unnecessary force. “Still haven’t adjusted to the tube? Stop whining,” she snapped. “I’ve seen your type before. Making a scene like a jilted mistress…” “It hurts!” I gasped, my whole body convulsing. “Then endure it. You wanted to marry into money so bad you’re faking a crisis to get attention. You deserve exactly what you’re getting.” She dropped the tube and slammed the door behind her. I gripped my phone, staring at the screen. I didn’t even know who to call. I looked at the medical equipment surrounding me and for a fleeting second, I wondered if it was even worth fighting to stay alive. I checked our chat history. A long string of red exclamation points. Blocked. She was so afraid I’d “interrupt” her wedding that she’d erased my existence. I curled into a ball, clutching my stomach. I looked at the engagement ring she’d placed on my finger last year. I remembered her getting down on one knee, her eyes seemingly full of tenderness. “Oliver, I know how much you’ve sacrificed. I’m going to work so hard to give you the life you deserve. Once you’re healthy, I’ll give you the most beautiful wedding the world has ever seen. Even if you took my name, I’m going to make you the happiest man on earth.” She had been my North Star. My safe harbor. It was all a lie. The man she wanted at the altar was never me. The next morning, the pain woke me again. When I opened my eyes, a young man in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit was standing at the foot of my bed. I flinched. “Who are you?” He met my gaze, a bright, chilling smile spreading across his face. “Sorry to drop in. My wife couldn’t make it, so she sent me to check on you.” My heart hammered against my ribs. “Your… wife?” He nodded, his smile growing even more dazzling, more predatory. “Yeah. Madeline. She had a bit too much to drink last night, and well… she was pretty exhausted after we finally got to bed. I felt bad waking her, so I figured I’d come see how the ‘guest’ was doing.” He looked me up and down with blatant disgust. “Honestly, man to man? This is pathetic. Look at you.” He pointed at my emaciated frame, hidden beneath the thin hospital gown. “You’re skin and bones. You’re hunched over like a gargoyle. You’re repulsive. No wonder Maddie doesn’t want to see you. She told me she used to gag just thinking about eating the food you cooked for her.” A cold realization sank into my gut. So that was it. That was why Madeline had been “too busy” to visit me after my chemo sessions. That was why, a month ago, when I’d spent all morning making her favorite lunch and drove to her office, the security guard wouldn’t let me in. He’d taken the containers and tossed them directly into the trash while I watched. Madeline had called me later, sounding outraged. “That guard is an idiot, Oliver. I’ll fire him tomorrow.” But a week later, when I passed the building, the same guard was still there. He’d smirked at me. It hadn’t been a mistake. It had been an order. “I don’t need your help,” I said, trying to claw back some shred of dignity. “Get out.” I tried to push myself up, but then Madeline walked in. She saw Parker’s “hurt” expression and immediately rushed to his side, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Hey, baby,” she murmured, her voice dripping with a concern she had never shown me. “What’s wrong? Did he say something to you? You’re too kind for your own good, coming here…” Parker squeezed out a fake tear, playing the martyr. “It’s okay, Maddie. People get bitter when they’re sick. I just… I’m scared. What if I ever get sick like this?” Madeline kissed his forehead, her eyes lingering on him with worshipful intensity. “You won’t, my love. You’re not like him. You have a good soul. The universe wouldn’t be that cruel to you.” Cruel. The word felt like acid. “Get out!” I screamed, the rage finally eclipsing the pain. “Both of you! Get the hell out!” I grabbed the pillow, a water cup, anything within reach, and hurled them at them. Parker let out a startled cry, and Madeline instantly stepped in front of him, shielding him with her body. “Oliver!” I had never seen her look so murderous. “If you so much as scratch him, I will make sure you regret ever being born!” I tried to stand up to confront her, but a spike of agony shot through my abdomen, and my knees hit the floor. Madeline’s eyes flickered with a momentary, fleeting panic. “What is it? Is it the stomach again?” I was gasping, the world spinning into gray. It felt like my internal organs were being shredded. “Call… call the doctor…” “Okay, okay,” she said, looking flustered. She started hitting the nurse’s call button repeatedly. The same doctor from before walked in, her brow furrowed in irritation. She didn’t even look at my chart. She just stared at me on the floor with contempt. “Every other patient manages their pre-op just fine. Why are you always the one causing a scene?” She sighed and looked at Madeline. “We’ll take him back to surgery when it’s time. Honestly, if I were you, I’d spend this time with your real husband.” Parker chimed in then, his voice soft and manipulative. “Maddie, the doctor says he’s fine. And he was throwing things pretty hard a second ago—he’s clearly got plenty of energy. Let’s not worry ourselves over nothing. You haven’t eaten all day. Let’s go grab some lunch downstairs, and we can bring Oliver something back later.” Madeline’s expression hardened as she looked at me. “Parker came here out of the goodness of his heart, and you treated him like garbage. When are you going to stop being so damn jealous?” She let Parker take her hand. They turned and walked out, leaving me collapsed on the freezing linoleum. I reached up, my fingers trembling, and kept pressing the call button. I wasn’t being dramatic. I was dying. I could feel it. The pain reached a crescendo. I managed to grab my phone and dial Madeline. One. Two. Three. She declined seven calls in a row. On the eighth attempt, she picked up, her voice sharp with annoyance. “What now? What could you possibly want?” Before I could speak, I heard Parker’s snickering in the background. “Maybe he’s just hungry, Maddie. Poor guys are always so greedy when they don’t have their own money…” “Enough,” Madeline snapped into the phone. “We’re coming up. Stop the theatrics.” Half an hour later, she returned with a small army of nurses and the same doctor. “Check him,” Madeline ordered, her eyes sweeping over the room. “I want to know if he’s actually in pain or just faking it. If he’s truly unwell and you missed it, I’ll pull my funding from this entire wing.” The doctor paled slightly but maintained her stance. “It’s early-stage gastric cancer, Mrs. Sampson. In my experience, ‘patients’ like this—mistresses and hangers-on—exaggerate their symptoms to keep their providers close. We see it all the time.” A nurse added, “His vitals were stable this morning. There’s no clinical reason for this level of distress. It’s psychological.” The doctor stepped forward to check my tube. I recoiled, shaking my head in terror, looking at Madeline. “No… please. Get a different doctor. Anyone else. Please.” Madeline’s jaw tightened. “Maybe we should—” Parker leaned in, rubbing her arm. “Maddie, I hand-picked this doctor myself. She’s one of the top specialists in the city. People wait months to see her. If he doesn’t trust the best, who will he trust? You know I only want what’s best for him.” I tried to protest, but Madeline’s eyes went cold. Her voice was an icy command. “Oliver, I am losing my patience. Shut up and let her do the exam.” My heart plummeted. She didn’t trust me. She didn’t even see me. They stripped me, pinning my legs down. The doctor’s hands, cold and smelling of cheap sanitizer, grabbed the tube again. She twisted it. I screamed. The sound was raw, primal. “It hurts! God, it hurts! Madeline, stop the surgery! I want to go home! Just let me go home!” I was incoherent, sobbing, but Madeline looked at me like I was a stranger. “Oliver, is it because I’m here? Is that why you’re being so theatrical? You’re perfectly fine when I’m gone.” She stepped back, her voice chillingly calm as she addressed the doctor. “Can we just take him to the OR now?” “Not yet. He’s not stabilized,” the doctor said. She let go of the tube, but then, with a hidden, vicious intensity, she pinched the skin over my ribs and twisted until I saw stars. “Mrs. Sampson, his issue is purely behavioral. He’s too agitated for the procedure. I recommend physical restraints. We need to keep him still so he doesn’t hurt himself—or the equipment.” I thrashed, pleading with my eyes, but Madeline didn’t stop them. She walked over and wiped the sweat from my forehead, a gesture that felt more like an insult than comfort. “Just be a good boy. Do what the doctor says. I know it’s hard, but once you’re better, I’ll make it up to you. This is for your own good.” She turned to the doctor and nodded. “Do what you have to do.” Fear, sharper than the cancer, washed over me. I began to wail as they buckled the leather straps around my wrists and ankles. Then, they pulled a wide restraint across my midsection—right over my stomach. The pressure was unbearable. I knew right then that if I stayed like this, I wouldn’t make it to the morning. I lunged forward, grabbing Madeline’s hand as she tried to pull away. I let go of every ounce of pride I had left. “Please… please help me. You said you loved me. I’ll do anything. I’ll be the ‘guest.’ I’ll be the servant. I’ll stay in the shadows. Just make them stop. It hurts so much.” For a second, Madeline hesitated. She had never seen me like this. In her mind, I was always the poised, silent shadow who took her hits and kept smiling. But Parker leaned down, his voice a demonic whisper in my ear. “Hurts, doesn’t it, Oliver? Good. I thought you were too ‘noble’ to be the other man. Look at you now, begging for a crumb.” I stopped fighting. A single tear rolled onto the pillow. I understood then. It didn’t matter what I said. Parker didn’t want me marginalized; he wanted me dead. The adrenaline of pure survival took over. With a strength I didn’t know I had, I ripped my hand free from the loosened strap. I lunged for the bedside table, grabbing a paring knife from the fruit basket. I held it to my own throat. “Stay back! Get away from me!” I rasped. “Let me go! I’m leaving this hospital right now!” Madeline’s voice failed her for a moment. “Oliver, you’ve lost your mind! Put that down!” She turned to the medical staff. “Are you deaf? Unbuckle him! Now!” The doctor tried to argue, but Madeline slapped her across the face so hard she hit the floor. “You said this would calm him down! Look at him!” The nurses scrambled to release the restraints. I didn’t even stop to find my shoes. I bolted for the door, driven by a primal need to escape this house of horrors. Parker tried to block my path, but I shoved him with everything I had, sending him sprawling. Behind me, Madeline’s voice was a scream of fury. “Oliver! Don’t you dare walk out that door! You’re being selfish! You’re throwing away your life because you can’t handle a little competition!” I ignored her. I reached the elevators and fumbled for my phone, dialing 911. I needed a different hospital. I needed to live. The elevator doors slid open, and I nearly collided with a man in a white lab coat. He looked at me, his eyes widening with instant professional alarm. “Sir? Sir, wait. If I’m not mistaken… your gastric tube is misplaced. It’s hemorrhaging. You are in critical danger. Where are you going?” Suddenly, a woman behind him gasped. “Oh my god! Look at his gown! There’s blood everywhere!” I looked down. A dark, crimson stain was spreading across my midsection, dripping onto the floor. By the time Madeline stepped out of the room, having comforted Parker, she didn’t see me standing there. She saw a team of medics lifting me onto a gurney, my body limp, as they sprinted toward the emergency OR. As the world faded to black, I saw Madeline’s face. For the first time, the mask of indifference had shattered. She tried to grab a doctor, tried to ask what was happening, but he shoved her aside. “Get out of the way! We’re losing him! This is a life-or-death emergency—move!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “442360”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I suffer from clinical prosopagnosia. Face blindness. Even after months of marriage, I couldn’t pick my husband—a notoriously lethal black mamba shifter—out of a police lineup. That night, I was waiting for him to get home from work, just like always, when it started. A bizarre, glowing stream of text began scrolling horizontally across my field of vision, like a spectral ticker tape. At first, I thought I was having a stroke. But the words were too coherent. [God, the wife is so pathetic. Her husband is totally exploiting her face-blindness. He sent his best friend to play house with her while he’s out hooking up with his golden-girl first love!] Another line of text materialized, hovering near the ceiling: [Honestly, how oblivious can she be? She hasn’t even noticed the guy in front of her isn’t her husband. Her husband is a snake. This guy is a wolf. The anatomy doesn’t even line up!] I stared at the floating words, a cold knot forming in my stomach. Doubt is a creeping vine; once planted, it takes over. I looked up at the man standing before me. Stripped down to just his face, I truly couldn’t tell if it was the man I’d said vows to. Later, after my shower, I sat on the edge of the bed. I stared at my “husband,” who was wearing nothing but a loosely tied bathrobe. I tilted my head, letting a perfect mask of innocent confusion slide over my features. “Honey,” I murmured, “why is there only one of you down there today?” 1 He froze. The stillness was absolute. A violent rush of red flooded his cheeks—whether from sheer mortification or panic, I couldn’t tell. “Nothing is missing,” he choked out. “You’re seeing things.” His voice was a low, resonant baritone. He was trying to pitch it perfectly to match my husband’s cadence, and to his credit, it was terrifyingly close. I narrowed my eyes slightly, rising from the bed and closing the distance between us. “Don’t be silly,” I whispered. I pressed my palm flat against his chest, tracing the rigid topography of his muscles, trailing downward. “Your pecs feel great,” I observed softly. “Abs are sharp. The V-line is practically carved out of marble. But…” My fingers dipped lower, resting brazenly against his lower abdomen. I gave a light, deliberate flick. “But, sweetheart, you’re a little… sparse right here today. You usually fill out your slacks quite differently.” Shifters, despite their flawless human facades, always retain certain biological blueprints of their animal halves. Snakes, you see, are doubly equipped. At my touch, the man gave a violent shudder. He grabbed my wrist, his grip iron-tight but trembling. “No,” he stammered, his voice fracturing. “It’s—it’s just that I bought this robe a size too big. It’s not fitting right.” “Is that so…” I stared at the frantic pulse beating against his throat, at the tips of his ears burning crimson. I offered him a soft, sympathetic smile, stepping into his space and looping my arms around his neck like a devoted wife. “Honey, listen to me. Even if you’re experiencing some… performance issues, you shouldn’t hide it from me. We can see a doctor.” The man gritted his teeth, a strained “Okay” ripping from his throat. He reached up, physically peeling my arms off him. “It’s late. We should just go to sleep.” I wasn’t about to let him off the hook. I snagged him by the lapels, dragging him down onto the mattress with me. “No way. I need to inspect the merchandise. Just to be sure you’re healthy.” The spectral text flared to life again, buzzing with digital anxiety: [Wait, why is she acting so out of character? Did she figure it out?] [No way. Jax has played the stand-in half a dozen times already and she never noticed a thing.] [Yeah, but they’ve never actually gotten into bed together before! This is their first time sharing the mattress. And let’s be real, Jax is packing a single barrel—he can’t compete with the snake’s double-barrel shotgun!] Jax. So that was his name. So he really wasn’t my husband. I narrowed my eyes, a dangerous thrill humming in my veins. I slid my palm down the curve of his waist. “Come on, sweetie… let me just check.” Before he could protest, I slipped my hand under his shirt. Jax violently jolted. A stifled, guttural groan tore from his throat. A split second later, a pair of plush, snow-white animal ears popped out of the top of his head. 2 It was so incredibly blatant, I couldn’t even pretend to be blind to it. The bedroom plunged into a suffocating silence. Jax was as rigid as a corpse. Biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing, I reached up and gave one of the ears a squeeze. “Honey? What are these?” Jax swallowed hard, forcing a breathless, desperate chuckle. “It’s… it’s a surprise. For you.” I blinked. “A what?” “You know, the animal ear trend,” Jax babbled, his eyes darting everywhere but my face. “I read online that women are into this kind of thing. So, I… I bought props.” He was a terrible liar, but I admired the hustle. I kneaded the ear again. It was warm, twitching under my touch, the fur impossibly soft. No prop on earth felt like a living pulse. I feigned total gullibility, leaning over to peek behind him. “Oh! Well, if you got the ears, did you remember to buy the tail?” Jax’s face turned ashen. “Y-Yes.” He didn’t need to tell me. I could see the heavy, telltale bulge threatening to tear through the back of his sweatpants. He might not be filling out the front the way my husband did, but he was certainly making up for it in the back. [Tsk, tsk. The wife knows exactly what she’s doing. Three seconds of touching and she forced this virgin pup right into a partial shift.] [Ugh, she’s so shameless! How can she just flirt with any man she sees?] [Are you guys stupid? She literally thinks that’s her husband! If anyone deserves to be dragged, it’s the cheating husband and his gross little proxy. Taking advantage of a disabled woman’s condition? They deserve whatever she dishes out!] Oh, I agreed. They definitely needed to be taught a lesson. Looking at Jax’s flushed, panicked face, a wicked idea bloomed in my chest. “Oh, honey! You remembered how much I love surprises. I’m so happy!” I sprang off the bed, marching to the darkest corner of my closet. I rummaged around until I found a specific box. I popped the lid, pulling out a scrap of sheer, skintight lingerie. Attached to the plunging neckline were two delicate, silver nipple clamps. “I bet you didn’t forget about this, either,” I said brightly, holding it up. “Put it on! It’s going to look absolutely stunning with the ears.” Jax stared at the fabric like it was made of radioactive waste. “You want me to wear that?!” “Of course.” I tilted my head, weaponizing my innocence. “Did you forget? You promised me.” Jax clenched his jaw. “You’re misremembering. I never—” “No backing out, husband!” I lowered my voice, letting it drop into a smoky purr. “Or… do you want me to dress you myself?” 3 Jax looked like he was about to pass out. After three agonizing seconds, he snatched the lingerie from my hands and practically sprinted into the bathroom, slamming the door. I heard a lot of rustling, followed by a muffled complaint. “This thing is way too small. It’s cutting off my circulation.” “That’s impossible,” I called back smoothly. “I bought it to your exact measurements. Though… maybe your workouts have been paying off. I did think your chest felt a bit fuller just now.” Silence stretched from the bathroom for a full beat. “…You really think my body looks better than before?” “Oh, absolutely,” I lied. Jax went quiet again. Two minutes later, the door clicked open. Jax stepped out. The sheer fabric clung to his muscular frame in a way that was both utterly humiliating and objectively fantastic. He looked everywhere but at me. I immediately whipped out my phone and snapped a photo. The camera flashed. Jax flinched, lunging forward to grab my wrist. “Don’t take pictures!” I easily dodged him, snapping two more. “Why not? My husband is gorgeous. His body is amazing. What’s wrong with wanting to keep a few photos?” He froze, his hand dropping to his side. “You… you really mean that?” I nodded earnestly. Some of the mortification drained from his face, replaced by a bashful, confusing sort of pride. “Even so… you shouldn’t…” “I only take pictures of you because I miss you so much,” I said, letting a trace of genuine melancholy slip into my voice. “You’re always away on missions. I never see you. Sometimes, looking at your pictures is the only way I remember you’re mine.” Jax’s expression completely shattered, melting into something agonizingly soft. “I’ll… I’ll stay home more. To keep you company.” I raised an eyebrow. Keep me company? Who is keeping me company? You? I mean, I wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea… I smiled, reaching out to hook my index finger under the silver chain connecting the clamps on his chest. I gave it a sharp, testing tug, pulling him down to my eye level. “You promise?” Jax hissed at the pinch, but his tail thumped rhythmically against the floorboards. “I promise.” I let out a soft laugh, gazing up at him with half-lidded, adoring eyes. Jax stared back, his breath hitching. Drawn by some invisible gravity, he began to lean down. His lips parted. The kiss was a millimeter away— BRRRING. A shrill ringtone shattered the moment. Jax scrambled backward like he’d been electrocuted, frantically swiping for his phone on the nightstand. “I—I have to take this…” As the screen flashed past my line of sight, I caught the caller ID. Declan. My actual husband. 4 I didn’t know what transpired during that phone call, but when Jax returned, the playful energy was dead. His face was thunderous, and the sheer lingerie was gone, replaced by a baggy t-shirt. Feeling my gaze on him, he climbed into bed, his back stiff. “Go to sleep,” he muttered harshly. “I’m not in the mood tonight.” He switched off the lamp. The room plunged into darkness. A long time passed. Just as I closed my eyes, I heard Jax whisper a vicious, muffled curse into his pillow. [Ooooh, the fake got caught slipping by the real husband! Didn’t even get the kiss, just got a screaming match over the phone. Serves the dog right.] [He usually plays it so safe. Why did he fold tonight? Ugh, it’s the wife’s fault. She’s too seductive.] [Okay, but can we talk about how unhinged the actual husband is? He literally has hidden cameras in his own bedroom to spy on his disabled wife! Typical creepy snake behavior…] Cameras?! My heart slammed against my ribs. A wave of ice-cold shock washed over me, followed instantly by a tidal wave of fury. Declan and I were bound together by a state-mandated, high-compatibility shifter marriage. I had fully planned to endure the probationary period, sign the paperwork, and part ways amicably. But I never imagined I was married to a voyeuristic psychopath. Yet, as the anger settled into a cold, hard clarity, a realization dawned on me. This blatant violation of my civil rights was the perfect ammunition. I could use this to petition the authorities for an immediate annulment. But if Declan liked watching so much… I rolled onto my side in the dark, staring at Jax’s broad, tense back. A dark, vindictive smile touched my lips. If he wanted a show, I’d give him a blockbuster. The next morning, I woke up the picture of domestic bliss. Downstairs, Jax was already at the stove. The apron strings pulled taut over his broad chest. “You’re up,” he said, voice tight. “Breakfast is ready.” Nothing like starting the day with both a nutritional and a visual feast. I hummed happily, walking right up to him and planting a loud, affectionate kiss on his jaw. “Thanks, honey!” [The husband is watching this on the feed right now and he just shattered a coffee mug with his bare hands.] [Honestly, the husband is so weird. He’s the one who ditched her to go see another woman. Why does he care what she does with the proxy?] [Stop the presses—the husband just booked a red-eye flight back. He’s abandoning the girl. He’s coming home for blood!] 5 Coming home for blood? I watched Jax’s bushy tail inadvertently wag behind the counter and scoffed inwardly. Let him come. We’d see whose blood ended up on the floor. “Why are you still wearing the ears and tail?” I reached up and pinched his ear again, adopting a careless tone. “I’m having a hard time getting used to these little dog ears.” Jax clicked his tongue in offense. “Wolf.” I nearly choked on my coffee. Right. Wolf. I cleared my throat. “Well, take them off.” Jax’s face fell. He looked a mix of offended and genuinely heartbroken. “You said you liked them last night. Are you already bored of them?” “Because snakes don’t have furry little ears.” I met his gaze, offering a soft, devastating smile. “Unless… you keep them out all the time. So I can get used to them. So I can look at them until the idea of you without them feels wrong.” “Do you think you can do that for me, honey?” Jax stared at me, swallowing hard. “Maybe. I could try.” I let the hook sink in, then stood up, leaving my plate half-finished. “You do that. I need to get ready for work.” “I’ll go warm up the car,” Jax said eagerly. “Wait.” I paused on the bottom step of the staircase, curling my finger at him. “Come help me with something first.” Upstairs, in the walk-in closet, I stood before the full-length mirror, buttoning a silk blouse. “I have a presentation for the board today. Tell me which outfit looks better.” The skirt I was wearing was a new arrival—a high-waisted pencil skirt with an intricate silk ribbon corset back that cinched the waist tight. Jax stood in the doorway, his eyes dark and heavy, tracking the line of my throat down to the curve of my hips. “That one. That one is perfect.” “You think so?” I smiled faintly, turning my back to him and swaying my hips just a fraction. “Then be a good husband and tie the back for me.” Jax’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He had to take a visible, steadying breath before he crossed the room. His calloused, slightly rough fingers brushed mine as he took the silk ribbons, slowly pulling them taut against the small of my back. “Honey,” I breathed. Jax looked up, meeting my eyes in the mirror. The fire in his gaze was barely contained. “Yeah?” My eyes dropped to a specific reflection in the glass. I kept my voice feather-light. “The pants you’re wearing today… they fit much better.” “Not sparse at all.” 6 Jax dropped the ribbons like they were on fire and bolted from the room. I sighed, a little disappointed. I was curious to see the differences in canine shifter anatomy up close. A girl can wonder. When I finally walked out the front door, Jax was waiting by the SUV. His ears were still flushed pink. Honestly, compared to Declan’s dark, obsessive lurking, Jax’s flustered golden-retriever energy was vastly superior. He drove me to the Institute. As the car shifted into park, I leaned over the console and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for the ride, honey.” Jax’s ears burned brighter, but his arm snaked out, pulling me flush against him for a tight, possessive squeeze. “I’ll pick you up tonight.” I nodded, my mind already calculating how long it would take for Declan to land. I needed them both in the same room when the bomb dropped. Preoccupied, my heel caught on an uneven paving stone. I stumbled forward, bracing for impact, when a strong hand caught my elbow, steadying me perfectly. “Thank—Elliott?!” I stared up at the man, a genuine wave of surprise and warmth hitting me. “It’s been so long!” Elliott was one of the very few people in the world I could consistently recognize. He was my senior from university, a brilliant mind. Though he was a shifter, his intellect vastly outclassed his physical prowess, steering him away from the military and into advanced genetics at the Institute. I hadn’t seen him in two years, but he looked exactly the same. The sharp tailoring of his suit, the wire-rimmed glasses, the faint, crisp scent of cedar—and pinned to his lapel was the silver wolf-head brooch I had given him for graduation. “It’s good to see you, Gemma.” Elliott looked down at me, the habitual coldness in his eyes melting into something incredibly warm, like morning sun on snow. “We’ll be seeing a lot more of each other. I just transferred back to the local branch.” I was shocked. Elliott had been recruited by the most prestigious lab in the capital. Why would he come back to our mid-level city? He seemed to read my mind. His lips parted to explain— “Wife!” The shout came from behind me. I turned. I couldn’t see the face clearly, but the frantic bounding energy was unmistakable. Jax was running toward us. “Wife, you forgot your thermos. I made your tea—” Jax ground to a halt, the thermos dangling from his hand. He stared at the man standing next to me. “Bro?! What are you doing here?” Elliott. Jax. Brothers. Well, isn’t that a small world. While Jax looked like he’d seen a ghost, Elliott’s face darkened like a thunderhead. His eyes darted between Jax and me, his jaw setting into a brutal, sharp line. “Who,” Elliott asked, his voice lethally quiet, “are you calling wife?” “And since when the hell are you married?!”

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