The night before my wedding, my groomsmen dragged me into a high-end adult boutique, buzzing with the chaotic energy of a bachelor party. The moment I stepped through the neon-lit doorway, the laughter died in my throat. My fiancée was standing by the register. And right beside her was her childhood best friend—the one that got away. They were having their own little pre-wedding celebration. He was pressing a sleek, elegantly packaged toy into her hands. He leaned in, his voice low but loud enough to catch over the store’s ambient music. He told her it was custom-made to his exact measurements. A stand-in, he said, to keep her company when he couldn’t be there. Camilla’s cheeks flushed a deep, rosy pink. She took the box. She murmured something about how he needed to stop telling her to call off the wedding, adding that she would just tell me she bought it for herself so I wouldn’t get upset. Hearing that, a pathetic, desperate part of me actually felt a wave of relief. She’s still marrying me, I thought. She still cares about my feelings. But then, out of nowhere, glowing text began to float across my field of vision, scrolling like a digital ticker tape in the air: [Wake up, man! That’s not a rejection. She’s keeping him on the hook! She’s telling him she can’t marry him, but he still owns her heart!] I blinked, stunned by the hallucinatory words. But as I looked back at Camilla—at the coy, half-resisting, half-inviting way she looked at him—the truth hit me like a physical blow. The veil was gone. I understood everything. My face felt numb. I pulled out my phone, snapped a crystal-clear photo, and took a short video. I uploaded it straight to my Instagram story, making sure to tag him directly. No need to wait for the future, I typed. You can marry her tomorrow. I hit post. Then, I dialed the wedding planner. “Cancel everything for tomorrow,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Keep the deposit for the venue. Consider it my wedding gift to them.” … 1 An hour later, the heavy oak door of our townhouse was thrown open, hitting the wall with a violent thud. Camilla stormed in. She was unsteady on her heels, smelling sharply of tequila and a heavy, expensive men’s cologne that definitely wasn’t mine. “Theo! Have you lost your mind?!” she screamed, her eyes red-rimmed and wide with disbelief. “Why the hell did you cancel the wedding?!” I was sitting in the unlit living room, letting the shadows swallow me. I looked at her with an ice-cold stare. “You know exactly why. So why are you asking?” Camilla choked on her next breath. It was the first time in eight years I had ever spoken to her with anything less than total devotion. She dragged a frustrated hand through her perfectly styled hair. “Because of Thomas’s gift? You’re calling off a wedding and humiliating us in front of everyone over a stupid little joke?!” The glowing text scrolled past my eyes again. [Holy shit, a ‘stupid little joke’?! She comes home reeking of another man’s cologne and has the nerve to interrogate her fiancé? The audacity is astronomical!] [She doesn’t think she did anything wrong. It’s always the guy’s fault for being ‘insecure.’ Classic narcissist! Textbook gaslighting!] [She just wants to have her cake and eat it too. Don’t cave, man! Emotional cheating is still cheating!] I read the floating words and nodded, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “Yeah. Over a stupid little joke.” Seeing the immovable wall of my posture, Camilla faltered. Her tone immediately softened, slipping into the sweet, placating cadence she always used when she needed me to yield. She walked over, instinctively reaching out to take my hand. “Theo, stop this. If something was going to happen between me and Thomas, it would have happened years ago. Why would I wait until the day before our wedding?” “Just be a good guy, take down the post, and let’s get married tomorrow. Okay?” I pulled my hand away before she could touch me. I shook my head. “Before you even walked through that door, I had already notified everyone that the wedding is off. The venue is canceled.” I stood up. “I’ll pack my things and be out of here as soon as possible.” Camilla froze. Her lips parted, her eyes wide with genuine, unadulterated shock. “You’re moving out? Theo, do you even hear yourself?” I couldn’t blame her for being surprised. Anyone in our Upper East Side circle would have dropped their jaw hearing that I was the one walking away. Back in college, when Thomas moved to Paris, Camilla had sobbed until she threw up, unilaterally announcing that her life was over. I was the clown who jumped into a freezing lake in the middle of January just to fish out a silver ring Thomas had given her. I spent three days running a 104-degree fever, just happy she let me keep her company while she mourned him. Everyone in our circle called me Camilla’s lapdog. I didn’t care. As long as she smiled, nothing else mattered. Eventually, she looked at me and asked, “Do you want to try being together?” I had been ecstatic. I thought I had finally loved her enough to make her mine. For eight years, I held her like she was made of spun glass. I anticipated her every need, terrified she might break. Until a month ago. We were shopping for wedding bands when Thomas moved back to New York. That afternoon, Camilla was driving us to Whole Foods. Suddenly, Thomas’s name lit up on the car’s display screen. I will never forget that exact second. Camilla took one look at the screen, and her breathing hitched. Her hands jerked violently on the steering wheel. Her eyes were glued to his name, completely oblivious to the fact that the lane ahead of us had stopped. “Camilla! Watch out!” I yelled. The sound of screeching tires tore through the air. The car spun out of control, slamming brutally into a concrete median. 2 Crash. The impact was violent. Instinct took over; I unbuckled my belt and threw my body over the driver’s seat, shielding Camilla with everything I had. My forehead smashed into the windshield. Blood instantly poured into my eyes, turning the world a hazy, terrifying red. A high-pitched ringing echoed in my ears, and my ribs screamed in agony. Fighting through the pain, I turned to check on Camilla. She didn’t have a scratch on her. But she wasn’t looking at me. Her knuckles were white as she gripped her phone, her eyes locked on the text message on the screen. It took her a full five seconds to finally look over and see my face covered in blood. “Theo! You’re bleeding!” she cried, hastily shoving the phone into her purse. Her voice shook as she fumbled to start the ruined car, panicked about getting me to a hospital. I swallowed the metallic taste of blood in my throat, but my chest hurt infinitely worse than the gash on my head. In a life-or-death moment, her first instinct wasn’t my safety. It was his message. The ER smelled sharply of bleach and antiseptic. The nurse picked shards of safety glass out of my forehead. It hurt so badly a cold sweat broke out over my body, my fingernails digging half-moons into my palms. I turned my head to look at Camilla. She was sitting on a plastic waiting room chair, her head bowed, thumbs flying furiously across her screen. She didn’t even spare me a passing glance. “Camilla,” I asked, my voice raspy. “Is everything okay?” She flinched, quickly flipping her phone face down on her lap. She forced a stiff, unnatural smile. “It’s fine. My parents are just having a massive fight. It’s bad.” Looking at her evasive eyes, a pathetic, hopeful part of me wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe her distraction had nothing to do with Thomas. “You should go deal with that,” I told her. “I’ll come to your parents’ place after I get stitched up.” She looked at me like I had just granted her a pardon. She grabbed her designer bag and fled, not even stopping to ask if I needed anything for the pain. Half an hour later, my head wrapped in gauze, I showed up at her parents’ brownstone. They were sitting on the couch watching Netflix. They looked at me in total confusion. “Camilla hasn’t been here,” her mother said. “And we certainly haven’t been fighting.” I froze in the doorway, a bone-deep chill washing over me. Camilla didn’t come home that entire night. I sat in our pitch-black living room, dialing her number forty-seven times. Every single call went straight to voicemail. A suffocating wave of panic pulled me under. At 2:00 AM, my phone finally illuminated the dark room. It wasn’t a text from her. It was an Instagram update from Thomas. The photo showed a man’s hand gently pulling a duvet over a sleeping woman’s shoulder. On the woman’s wrist was the vintage Van Cleef & Arpels bracelet I had given Camilla last month as an early wedding gift. The caption was a knife to the gut: [People who have loved deeply will always find their way back to each other.] I gripped my phone until my knuckles turned white. I wasn’t angry. I was terrified. Terrified that eight years of unwavering devotion couldn’t compete with the ghost of her first love. Camilla finally came home the next evening. I was sitting at the dining table. I slid my phone across the wood, stopping right in front of her. Thomas’s post glowed on the screen. I looked at her, my voice eerily steady. “Camilla, if you want to start over with him, I’ll step aside.” All the color drained from her face. “I know,” I continued softly, “that if he hadn’t left, I probably never would have had a chance with you. So if—” Before I could finish, she raised her hand and slapped me across the face. Hard. “Theo! What the hell is wrong with you?!” she yelled, her eyes welling with angry tears, her voice shaking. “Thomas and I did nothing! I got too drunk yesterday and just slept in his guest room! You really have zero faith in me?!” She grabbed the collar of my shirt, practically screaming into my face. “I am only marrying you! Theo, do you hear me? Only you!” I looked at her tears and clung to them like a drowning man clutching a piece of driftwood. “Okay,” I whispered. “As long as you choose me, I will never let you down.” That night, we swore we would only ever love each other. We held each other in the quiet dark. I kissed her forehead, and she made a solemn vow against my chest. I thought that was the end of it. But memories are like scalpels; they cut clean and deep. “Theo, say something!” I snapped back to the present, looking at the woman standing before me, reeking of alcohol and betrayal. She took a step forward, gripping the hem of my shirt in a desperate plea. “I swear, I only love you. Thomas was just drunk and posted that out of context. Please don’t be mad. Please?” Seeing her frantic, pleading eyes, I felt an involuntary softening in my chest. Eight years is a lifetime. You don’t just amputate a limb without phantom pain. But right then, the neon letters scrolled across my vision again. [Classic cheater playbook: Get caught, shift the blame, make him feel guilty, then keep treating him like a backup plan!] [Tears + Promises + Pouting = He falls for it every time. Wake up! Don’t let her manipulate you!] [If you forgive her this time, you’re going to be miserable for the rest of your life!] Any lingering warmth in my heart instantly turned to ash. Slowly, deliberately, I peeled her fingers off my shirt, one by one. “You’re drunk. You’re not thinking straight,” I said, taking a step back to put cold, empty space between us. My voice was entirely devoid of emotion. “Go to sleep. Tomorrow morning, we’ll sit down and figure out the logistics of our breakup.” 3 Instead of letting go, Camilla threw her arms around my waist from behind, burying her face into my back. She was sobbing. “Theo, do you remember our sophomore winter? You jumped into that freezing lake for me. You almost died.” Her tears soaked through my shirt, burning hot against my skin. “We’ve been together for eight years. How can you just throw that away?” “Please don’t cancel the wedding. Just tell everyone it was a misunderstanding. We have to exchange our vows tomorrow…” My throat tightened. Eight years of memories tore at my nerves, begging me to stay. And then, the familiar text floated through the room: [Here we go again! Is she going to milk the ‘lake’ story for the rest of her life?] [Emotional blackmail at its finest! She treated him like garbage until she realized she was losing her safety net!] [She doesn’t miss you! She misses her personal ATM and emotional punching bag!] I closed my eyes and swallowed the bitter lump in my throat. Once again, I pried her fingers off my body. “It’s late. Go to bed.” The living room fell into a suffocating silence. I collapsed onto the sofa and lit a cigarette, my hands trembling slightly. The harsh smoke filled my lungs, but it couldn’t stop the flood of memories. The first time she burned her finger trying to cook me dinner. The way her eyes shone with tears when I proposed. The radiant joy on her face when she found her wedding dress. I took a sharp drag. The nicotine burned, but the pain in my chest was sharper. Am I really throwing away eight years? I thought. Maybe nothing really happened between her and Thomas. Just as I hovered on the edge of giving her—giving myself—one last, pathetic chance, the doorbell rang. The sound shattered the heavy silence. I crushed the cigarette into the ashtray and went to open the door. Thomas was standing on the porch. He smelled strongly of whiskey. In his hand, he held a sleek, black boutique shopping bag. “Hey, Theo. Is Milla asleep?” I stared at him with dead eyes. “She’s asleep. Whatever it is, say it tomorrow.” “Ah, wait.” Thomas wedged his leather loafer into the doorframe. He lifted the black bag with a smirk. “Milla left in such a hurry, she forgot something in my room. I didn’t want her to be without it for the wedding night, so I brought it over.” My brow furrowed. “Leave it on the porch. Now get out.” Thomas didn’t move. The corners of his mouth curled into a malicious, arrogant smile. “Don’t you want to know what she left behind, Theo?” Slowly, theatrically, he reached into the bag and pulled out a piece of black lace lingerie. “Milla is so forgetful. Leaving her undergarments lying around.” The blood in my veins turned to ice, then rushed to my head in a blinding flash of heat. That lingerie. I had bought it for her. I had gone to the boutique with her just last week and picked it out myself. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears. My stomach violently churned, and I dug my nails so deeply into my palms I felt the skin break. This wasn’t just a provocation. This was Thomas stripping me of my dignity and stomping it into the dirt. “Thomas! What the hell are you doing?!” Camilla came sprinting out of the hallway, barefoot. She stared at the black lace in his hand, her face draining of all color until she looked like a corpse. Smack! She lunged forward and slapped Thomas across the face with everything she had. “Get out! Why did you come back to ruin my life?!” Thomas’s head snapped to the side. Instantly, his eyes went red. Camilla’s hand hovered in the air. Her fingers trembled just a fraction, a flash of undeniable panic crossing her features. “I’m sorry, Milla! It’s my fault!” Thomas cried out. “I was just out of my mind with jealousy! I couldn’t control myself! I can’t let you go!” Then, in a sickening display, Thomas raised his hand and violently slapped his own face twice. His voice cracked with emotion. “But can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me you felt nothing when you looked at me tonight?” He stared at her, his eyes wild, tortured, and completely obsessed. Camilla opened her mouth, but no sound came out. The phantom comments exploded in my vision: [Gross! What is this, a cheap soap opera?!] [Give her an Oscar! She’s playing the tragic, torn heroine right in front of her fiancé!] [Run, Theo! Let these two toxic freaks destroy each other!] I watched this melodramatic display of star-crossed lovers, feeling nothing but a profound, acidic nausea. I turned my back to them and grabbed my coat off the back of the sofa. “Take your time,” I said. “I’ll give you two some privacy.” Camilla lunged, wrapping her arms around my waist in a death grip, her nails digging painfully through my shirt. “Theo! Don’t leave! You’re the only one I love! We’re getting married tomorrow!” She whipped her head around and screamed hysterically at Thomas: “Get the fuck out! I only love Theo!” Hearing that, Thomas’s face twisted into something ugly and unhinged. A dark, extreme madness flashed in his eyes. He suddenly reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a switchblade, and closed the distance between us in three long strides. He grabbed my right hand, forced the handle of the knife into my grip, and pointed the blade directly at his own stomach. “Theo! It’s all my fault! I couldn’t help myself!” he screamed. “Kill me! If it makes you feel better, if it means you’ll forgive Milla, I’ll die right here!” My pupils dilated. I yanked my arm back to throw the knife away. But in the next split second. A dull, wet tearing sound echoed through the silent room. Hot, thick blood sprayed across the back of my hand. 4 “Ahhh!” Camilla’s shriek shattered the room. Hot, sticky blood slid down my fingers, dripping onto the hardwood floor. I stood frozen, my mind entirely blank for one surreal second. “I didn’t do that,” I said, my voice purely instinctual. Camilla shoved past me, pushing me back with brutal force. Her eyes were bloodshot, her voice vibrating with panic. “Theo! Why would you do this to him?!” Thomas clutched his bleeding abdomen and slid down the doorframe, collapsing onto the floor. He leaned against the wall and offered Camilla a weak, tragically pale smile. “Milla, don’t be mad at Theo… It’s my fault. I made him angry.” The ticker tape went wild: [Holy shit! This guy is psycho! He stabbed himself just to frame the fiancé?!] [She actually believes him?! Does she have mashed potatoes for brains?!] [Get out of there, Theo! Let them have each other. This is insane!] I looked at the blood on my hand, then at the tragic, intertwined couple on the floor. A cold, cynical laugh clawed its way up my throat. I grabbed a tissue from the console table, wiped the blood off my skin with utter detachment, and dialed 911. On the floor, Camilla was pressing both of her hands over Thomas’s wound, her tears falling in a torrential downpour. “Thomas, hold on! You’re going to be okay!” Thomas raised a trembling hand, his bloody fingers gently brushing her cheek. “Milla… if I can’t have you in this life, I’d rather die today. At least… at least I’ll always have a place in your heart.” Camilla completely broke down. She pulled him against her chest, and right in front of me—the man she was supposed to marry in twelve hours—she wailed, “Stop talking like that! I love you! I’ve always loved you! Just stay with me, and I’ll do whatever you want!” The floating words returned: [Vomiting everywhere. Confessing their eternal love while her fiancé stands right there? Have they no shame?!] [The mask is finally off! Theo just got the biggest, brightest pair of horns ever!] [Burn it all down. Watching this is giving me an aneurysm.] Watching her weep over another man, the absolute last thread of attachment I had to her snapped. The resentment, the hope, the desperation—it all evaporated into cold, thin air. The wail of the ambulance sirens soon pierced the neighborhood’s quiet. Paramedics rushed in, loaded Thomas onto a stretcher, and hauled him out. Camilla didn’t even stop to put on shoes. Dressed only in a thin silk slip, her bare feet hit the freezing pavement as she chased the stretcher out into the biting wind. Watching her frantic, desperate silhouette disappear into the night, a memory from three years ago flashed in my mind. I had broken my leg pulling her away from a falling scaffolding. I was in agony, covered in cold sweat. But she had covered her eyes, refusing to even look at me, murmuring over and over, “It’s too awful. The blood… I hate blood.” I thought she was just squeamish. I had even comforted her while waiting for the ambulance. Now I knew the truth. She wasn’t afraid of blood. She just didn’t care enough because the man bleeding wasn’t him. Under the weight of that realization, the blood in my veins turned to ice. A gust of wind blew through the open door, snapping me back to reality. Footsteps rushed up the porch. Camilla had run back inside to grab her phone and wallet off the coffee table. “Theo, wait for me to get back. We will talk about this tomorrow,” she tossed over her shoulder. She didn’t even wait for a response before sprinting back out the door. At the hospital, Thomas’s wound turned out to be superficial. After a few stitches, he was perfectly fine. Sitting in his room, Camilla looked at his pale face, her heart breaking for him. She was convinced I had stabbed him in a jealous rage, and a seed of resentment toward me had sprouted in her chest. But remembering the canceled wedding, she pulled out her phone and sent me a few voice memos. “Theo, Thomas is fine. I know you just snapped because you were angry, so I won’t hold it against you. But he’s really weak right now, and I don’t feel comfortable leaving him alone. I’m going to bring him back to our house so I can take care of him for a few days. Pick up some good bone broth on your way home, and just apologize to him. We can put this whole mess behind us.” She hit send. There was no reply. Camilla frowned, assuming I was just throwing a tantrum. Two hours later, carefully supporting Thomas’s weight, she pushed open the door to our townhouse. “Theo, we’re back.” The house was dead silent. There was no smell of dinner cooking. I wasn’t waiting in the foyer to take her coat. Irritated, she settled Thomas onto the couch and marched straight to the master bedroom, fully prepared to give me a piece of her mind. “Theo, are you done acting like a—” Her voice cut off. She stood in the doorway, her pupils dilating in pure shock.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “440961”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The moment I stood on the edge of the rooftop, ready to let the wind take me, a ledger crystallized in my mind. Cold. Precise. Irrefutable. It whispered a truth I hadn’t been able to see: I was nothing more than a “disposable muse”—the tragic, short-lived “pure heart” in some twisted redemption arc. And my boyfriend, Grayson? He wasn’t the struggling student he pretended to be. He was the crown prince of a Manhattan real estate empire, a man who could buy and sell the very building I was standing on. For four years, he had played the role of the starving artist, watching me get bullied and overworked with a detached, chilling silence. As it turned out, my suffering was merely his “test.” The most sickening part? According to the script of his life, after my death, he would reclaim his throne and unleash a wave of “vengeful” grief. He’d probably light a hundred-dollar bill at my grave, sighing about how I was the only girl who ever loved him for his soul and not his billions. But the reality? For those four years, I was his benefactor. He ate, slept, and breathed on my dime. Even that five-figure designer watch on his wrist was something I’d bought by maxing out three different credit cards. I didn’t jump. I stepped back from the ledge. I walked down those stairs, found him in the middle of the crowded quad, and slammed a stack of itemized bills—years of accumulated debt—right into his face. “Hey, Grayson. It’s time to settle up. Fifty thousand dollars. I want every cent.” 01 The spreadsheets, crisp and cold, fluttered against his face before hitting the pavement. Grayson’s expression darkened instantly. “Nina, haven’t you had enough of this tantrum?” He reached out to grab my wrist, but I wrenched it away with a force that surprised even me. My skin burned where he’d touched it. “Nina, honey, don’t be like this. If it’s about money, we can talk,” Isabelle stepped forward, her hand sliding possessively into the crook of Grayson’s arm. She looked at me with that pitying, “bless your heart” smile she always used for the help. “Grayson didn’t mean to hurt you.” I laughed. My eyes landed on the limited-edition jacket she was wearing. Grayson had told me it was a birthday gift for her. A “high-end knockoff,” he’d called it. Coincidentally, he’d taken five thousand dollars from me last month. Claimed it was a “family emergency.” “That jacket he bought you last month? I’m pretty sure I paid for that too,” I said, my voice cutting through the humid afternoon air. “Tell him to pay me back for that, as well.” The smile on Isabelle’s face cracked, piece by piece. “What are you talking about?” “Nina, you’ve lost it!” one of Grayson’s hangers-on shouted, stepping into my personal space. “You think a guy like Grayson needs your money?” “Exactly! You got dumped, so now you’re throwing dirt? It’s pathetic,” another chimed in. They circled me like vultures, their faces full of righteous indignation. To them, I was the gold-digger. The jealous ex. The girl who couldn’t handle being told no. I turned to the first one. “Caleb.” “Last week, you bought that new gaming rig. You asked Grayson for five hundred. He told you he was broke and took my card to pay for it.” I pivoted to the next one. “Brooks. Two nights ago at The Onyx. You put a two-thousand-dollar tab on a card Grayson said was his. Want me to pull up the bank statement for the group?” The quad went silent. Only the rustle of the wind and the hushed whispers of the gathering crowd remained. Grayson stared at me, his eyes twin pits of ice. “Nina, four years of everything we shared… and all you see is money?” What a performance. If it weren’t for that ledger burning in my brain, I might have actually believed him. “Yes,” I replied. “Our ‘love’ has a price tag now.” I pulled out my phone, opened the calculator app, and shoved the staggering total in his face. “Fifty thousand. Not a penny less. Venmo? Zelle? Or do you need to ask your daddy for an advance?” The murmurs grew louder. Dozens of phones were out, lenses trained on us. “Holy shit, check the school’s Sidechat!” “It’s going viral! The architecture prodigy has been ‘charity-funding’ the secret billionaire heir for four years?” “Billionaire? Which one?” Just then, a black Maybach glided silently to the curb. The door opened, and a middle-aged man in a sharp charcoal suit and white gloves stepped out. He ignored everyone, walked straight to Grayson, and opened a black silk umbrella over his head. He bowed slightly. “Mr. Grayson, your father expects you home.” Grayson straightened his collar, smoothing out the wrinkles where I’d grabbed him. He looked at me, and for a second, the mask of the “struggling artist” was gone. “Nina,” he said, his voice flat and terrifyingly calm. “The game is over.” 02 Back in the dorm, I couldn’t stop shaking. “Nina!” Paige jumped down from her loft bed and threw her arms around me. “That was legendary! I’m staying up all night to help you draft the legal notice.” We started organizing the folder. It was a museum of his lies. October 2020: Designer sneakers, $1,200. March 2021: Isabelle’s birthday party at ‘The Onyx,’ $4,500. September 2021: Art gallery rental fees, $8,000. My phone lit up. Grayson. [You have twenty-four hours to take down those posts on the forum, or there will be consequences. Don’t test me.] I screenshotted it and sent it to Paige. “Perfect. Direct evidence of a threat. He’s just adding time to his own sentence.” Paige told me to block his entire circle. I was about to, but Isabelle’s name flashed on the screen. I hit speakerphone. “Nina, please…” her voice was weak, trembling with fake tears. “Just delete the post, okay? Grayson loves you. This was just… a test. He was going to propose after graduation. He already had the ring picked out…” I almost choked on a laugh. Paige was typing furiously, but she didn’t miss a beat. “Isabelle, are you paying the fifty grand? No? Then shut up and hang up.” “I’m trying to help Nina!” Isabelle’s voice spiked. “You have no idea what his family is capable of. Nina is going to get hurt! You can’t win against them. Is the money really worth ruining your life?” Before I could answer, a notification popped up from an anonymous group chat on the university forum. It was a leak of the group chat Grayson’s friends used. Brooks: [Holy shit, Nina is actually going nuclear? Crazy bitch.] Caleb: [She really thinks she’s special? Grayson was just slumming it. She’s just a broke architecture student with no connections.] Brooks: [For real. Grayson letting her hang around for four years was charity. Now she wants a payout? Hilarious.] And then, a reply from Isabelle. A “shy” emoji followed by: [Aww, don’t be mean guys. Nina is actually kind of pitiful.] I remembered the night of Grayson’s gallery opening. Isabelle was wearing a gown I’d paid for, smiling at him while they toasted his “genius.” I was in the corner, sallow-faced from pulling double shifts at the cafe, getting mocked by his friends for my “cheap” clothes. Grayson hadn’t defended me. He’d told me to go back to the dorm early so I wouldn’t “embarrass” him. “Nina?” Paige broke my trance. I hung up on Isabelle. I found Grayson’s contact. Block. Delete. One by one, I scrubbed his friends from my life. Ding. A message from an unknown number. [Ms. Nina, I am Grayson’s mother. Regarding the… misunderstandings between you and my son, I believe we should talk. Name your price. Fifty thousand? I’ll give you seventy-five to end this. Delete the posts and disappear.] I stared at the screen for a long time. I handed it to Paige. She read it and let out a sharp, dry laugh. “Nina, the accounting has just begun. Don’t worry. With me on your side, we’re going to discuss the interest on this debt.” 03 The next morning, my advisor called me into her office. She pushed a cup of lukewarm tea toward me. “Nina, your recent behavior has been… erratic. People are concerned about your mental state. Perhaps you should take a leave of absence? Just to get your head straight?” I started to speak, but a knock at the door cut me off. Isabelle walked in, carrying an expensive-looking fruit basket. “Professor, I just wanted to check on Nina. She’s been so volatile lately. I’m worried she might do something desperate.” She turned to me, eyes brimming with tears. “Nina, I know you’re hurting, but you can’t keep lashing out at Grayson like this. Just delete the post. We’ll find a way to handle the money, I promise.” The advisor nodded in agreement. They were playing “good cop, bad cop” with practiced ease. When I refused to budge, the advisor’s tone shifted from “concerned” to “impatient.” Every time I tried to argue, they talked over me. So this was what Grayson’s mother meant by “ending this.” Seventy-five thousand dollars to buy my silence, my exit, and a “mentally unstable” label to follow me for life. Suddenly, the office door was shoved open with a loud bang. Paige stood there, followed by a very grim-looking Dean of Students. She slammed her phone onto the desk. Grayson’s text was on the screen: [You have twenty-four hours… or there will be consequences.] Paige tapped the screen again. An audio file began to play. It was Isabelle’s voice from the group chat: “Aww, don’t be mean guys. Nina is actually kind of pitiful.” Then, a different recording. A private voice note: “It’s disgusting how broke she looks. Did she really think Grayson liked her? She’s just a walking ATM. My mom already talked to the advisor—she’s getting kicked out today. Who does she think she is, trying to take down a family like ours?” The fruit basket slipped from Isabelle’s hand, apples and oranges rolling across the floor. The advisor froze, her lips trembling, unable to find a single word. Paige tucked her phone away. “The evidence we’ve gathered is enough to prove that my client, Nina, is being subjected to premeditated, organized harassment and psychological coercion. And considering your role in this, Professor, we’ll be reserving the right to pursue legal action against you personally.” For the first time, I felt the true power of using the rules as a weapon. As we left the office, the Dean called out to me. He looked at Paige, then at me, his expression complicated. “The Grayson family… they have deep roots in this city, Nina. This isn’t going to end easily.” 04 Within ten minutes of leaving the office, the university forum had a new pinned post in bright red. EXPOSED: Architecture Student Nina Accused of Extorting Ex-Boyfriend for $50k After Being Dumped! The post was a work of fiction. It painted me as a calculating social climber who had drained Grayson’s “modest” savings and was now lashing out because he couldn’t satisfy my greed. It framed Grayson as the victim—a guy blinded by love, who gave me everything only to be betrayed. The comments were a cesspool. [I knew it. Grayson is way too hot for her. He was definitely doing her a favor.] [Fifty thousand? Who does she think she is? A Kardashian?] [This girl is toxic. Cancel her.] Paige grabbed my phone, her face a mask of cold fury as she scrolled. Isabelle’s “mean girls” squad had joined the fray. They posted photos of me from freshman and sophomore year—wearing faded T-shirts, eating ramen in the library, pulling all-nighters in the studio with messy hair. I looked plain. Tired. Average. The caption: [Some people have been planning the ‘victim’ act since day one. Look at the ‘innocent’ act. The real Nina is the one screaming for cash now.] Paige handed the phone back. “It’s time.” She logged into my account and hit ‘post.’ Subject: Four Years, Fifty Thousand Dollars. The Ledger of a ‘Charity Case.’ The post contained a single, massive image: an Excel spreadsheet. It was an endless, meticulously detailed scroll. Date. Item. Amount. Payment Method. Notes. From fifty-dollar skins for his video games to five-hundred-dollar “boys’ dinners” to thousand-dollar tech upgrades. And behind every single entry was a screenshot of a text message. Grayson begging, wheedling, or simply demanding. The evidence of my “sweet burden” was now the evidence of his parasitic nature. At the very bottom was the watch. $12,000. Next to it was the credit card statement, and the subsequent “overdue” notices from the bank. The forum went dead silent for three seconds. Then, it exploded. The narrative didn’t just shift; it was obliterated. [Holy… my eyes… This isn’t charity. This is a scam.] [Four years? He sucked her dry.] [I take it back. Nina isn’t an ex; she’s a saint. Most tragic partner of the year.] [I’m gonna puke. Isabelle is wearing gifts bought with another girl’s credit card debt?] I watched the comments roll in, and for the first time in years, I felt a strange, hollow peace. 05 Apologies and messages of support flooded my DMs. I felt like I could finally see the light. Until a high-pitched roar of an Aston Martin engine tore through the quiet of the dorm parking lot. The light died. Grayson stepped out of the car. He was wearing a bespoke suit, looking every bit the billionaire heir—a world away from the guy in the “thrifted” tees I’d loved. The crowd of students parted for him like the Red Sea. He walked up to me, pulled a black card from his wallet, and tossed it at my feet. “A hundred thousand. Is that enough?” He looked down at me as if I were an ant he’d accidentally stepped on. “Nina, stop embarrassing yourself.” I smiled. My phone was already recording, the red light blinking silently. “So, the last four years… it was all an act?” His handsome face finally showed something other than boredom: annoyance. “It was a test, Nina. One you failed.” “I was too good to you. I let you forget your place. I gave you a thousand chances. If you’d just stayed quiet, stayed humble, we could have actually made it.” “I even thought that if you passed the final test, I’d tell you everything. I’d bring you to the estate. I’d let you marry into the family.” He spoke as if he were granting me a divine blessing. The crowd began to whisper. The eyes that had just pitied me were now filled with a sickening envy. “A test?” I repeated, stepping forward until my shoe touched the black card. “When I stayed up all night drawing blueprints so I could split my scholarship money with you, was that a test?” “When I worked three jobs to buy you that phone and my hands were literally peeling from the industrial soap in the kitchen, was that a test?” “When I was eating plain bread for a week because my card was maxed out, and you were taking Isabelle to a two-hundred-dollar-a-seat musical using my money—was that a test too?” With every question, his face grew more twisted. He had no answer. His patience snapped. He waved a hand dismissively. “Enough! Nina, stop obsessing over these petty details! It was a game. You lost.” I tucked my phone away and turned my back on him. I didn’t look back. I sent the video to Paige. Five minutes later, the hashtag #TrustFundPrinceTestsGirlfriend hit the top of the trending charts.

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At the family dinner, my stepsister Lexi couldn’t stop glowing. She had just announced her biggest “get” yet: she’d managed to hire Dante, the internet’s most coveted livestreamer, for her personal brand launch. I sat across from them, nursing a glass of Pinot Noir, watching the man I had spent nearly a million dollars supporting over the last three years. To his millions of fans, he was a god. To me, he was supposed to be a partner. But tonight, I was invisible. Dante was busy peeling shrimp for Lexi, his movements practiced and tender. He laughed as he shared “insider” tips on product selection, and even made a show of pouring a special artisanal herbal blend for my father, playing the part of the perfect, dutiful guest. He even went as far as adding our housekeeper on Snapchat, charming everyone in the room. Everyone except me. When I finally raised my glass, intending to offer a professional greeting, the warmth vanished from his face. He leaned in, turning his head so only I could hear his venom. “No amount of money can buy back your youth, Jade,” he whispered. “Stop trying.” Lexi smirked, pulling out her phone to show off her chat logs with him. There were photos of Dante—shirtless, wearing nothing but an apron—cooking dinner for her. She bragged that he had driven across the entire tri-state area just to deliver a home-cooked meal to her doorstep. “Jade, did you know?” Lexi asked, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Dante told me his top donor is some pathetic, middle-aged woman going through a mid-life crisis. He says she uses every order as an excuse to harass him. Just because she has a little cash, she thinks she owns him.” I felt a coldness settle in my chest. For three years, I had been his silent engine. I bought every product he endorsed, cleared his inventory, and pushed his metrics to the moon. Yet, he never once accepted my friend requests. His only communication was through the platform’s cold, automated system: “New drop live. Go buy.” Even at industry events, he looked through me like I was made of glass. I realized then that he wasn’t a cold person. He was just cold to me. I offered a thin, effortless smile and looked down at my phone. With a few taps, I pulled up the dashboard for the man who had been stuck in second place behind Dante for three years—a creator named Kit. I pushed him to the top of the featured homepage. Then, I sent a single message to a private group chat. Within seconds, three hundred major brand reps responded. The pivot was instantaneous. If Dante found me so embarrassing, I saw no reason to keep his throne warm. … After Lexi finished her little taunt, I didn’t bother replying. I kept my head down, typing into the group chat: Cancel Dante’s ten-million-dollar contract. Reallocate the budget. The chat went silent for three seconds. Then: Who’s the replacement? I scrolled through the platform until I found a familiar face. Kit. He’d been in the industry for a decade. For the first seven years, he and Dante had been neck-and-neck. Then, three years ago, Dante met me. Kit had spent the last three years being suffocated by Dante’s shadow—a shadow I had cast. I had met Kit once. It was at a gala where someone had accidentally spilled red wine down my dress. I had instinctively looked to Dante for help, but he had jerked his head away, pretending to be deep in conversation with a CEO. It was Kit who had stepped in. He politely asked if I needed assistance, led me to a private suite to change, and then stood guard outside the door for twenty minutes to ensure my privacy. That night, I rewarded him by fast-tracking a contract for him. When Dante found out, he blocked my number for two weeks. Thinking of that now, I typed: Give it to Kit. The chat exploded. Notifications blurred past, but I put the phone away. The dinner continued. Dante, who was always stoic and unreadable with me, was currently making my father roar with laughter. Lexi playfully tugged at his sleeve, and he caught her hand, giving her a look so full of adoration it turned my stomach. Lexi shot me a triumphant look. “I heard you and Dante were acquainted, Jade. Why are you so quiet?” Dante’s expression turned to stone. He didn’t even glance my way. “I don’t know her,” he said flatly. Three years. A million dollars. And I didn’t even warrant a “hello.” I said nothing, stood up, and walked to the restroom. When I came out, Dante was waiting in the hallway. His brow was furrowed in disgust. “If you continue to stalk me like this, I’m calling the police,” he snapped. I almost laughed. “This is my house, Dante.” “It’s Lexi’s house,” he countered, cutting me off. “She told me everything. How your mother stole another woman’s husband and occupied the position of ‘Mrs. Summer’ for twenty years. If she hadn’t died early, Lexi wouldn’t have even been allowed to reclaim her rightful name.” He stepped closer, his eyes threatening. “I’ll let it slide this time. But if there’s a next time…” He brushed past me, his pace quick, as if he were afraid my “desperation” might be contagious. I watched him go, offering no explanation. That evening, Dante posted a status: Saw someone I love today. Feeling great. Going live at 7 PM. I checked the time. It was 6:30. Usually, I’d be in the digital waiting room by now, ready to drop ninety-nine “Grand Finale” gifts to prime the algorithm for him. Dante would always act like he didn’t see the screen-filling effects, never saying a word of thanks. If I commented, he would intentionally reply to the person right above or below me, never me. My assistant sent a text: The deal with Kit is inked. He wants to add you to say thank you personally. I replied ‘Sure’ and went to sleep. A while later, someone started pounding on my bedroom door. Lexi’s voice was shrill. “Jade! What are you doing? Dante is live! Why aren’t you in there supporting him? If he gets angry, don’t come crying to me!” I pulled the door open. “Why should I support him? I don’t even know the man.” She choked on her next word, then sneered. “Fine. Be petty. But don’t regret it later. Dante has a high pride. If you offend him now, it’ll be more than a two-week block.” My heart sank—not for Dante, but at the realization. My history with Dante… she knew everything. When did they start conspiring together? Lexi isn’t blood-related to me or my father. Five years ago, after my mother passed, my father remarried. Lydia brought Lexi into our lives, changed her last name to Summer, and Lexi started playing the part of the “perfect, helpful daughter.” They had tried to wiggle into the family company multiple times, but my father never relented. They thought it was my father holding them back. They didn’t realize the company was founded by my mother, and her shares passed entirely to me. My father didn’t refuse them; he simply didn’t have the authority to say yes. Lexi must have been feeding Dante lies, making him believe the Summer empire belonged to her. I closed the door and checked my phone. I tried to enter Dante’s stream just to see the wreckage, only to find I was blocked again. This time, I didn’t send an apology. I blocked him back. Dante’s fan forums were already tagging me. “Where is the Queen Patron today? Is something wrong?” A familiar avatar popped up in the comments. It was Lexi. “We don’t need her. Let’s show him we can carry the room ourselves!” The fans tried to rally, but the energy was limp. When Dante finally ended his stream, the hashtag #DantesBust started trending. Without my massive opening donations, the major brands hadn’t bothered to show up. He was used to being the king, but he had neglected his community management. Now that I was gone, the house of cards was folding. His peak viewership wasn’t even hitting the numbers of a C-list influencer. While Dante’s fans were begging for my return, I was looking at a message from Kit. He had sent over an exhaustive list of brand partners. His 8 PM “Mega-Drop” was going live with discounts even lower than Dante’s best days. The internet caught fire. Everyone was speculating on who Kit’s new “Angel Investor” was. Meanwhile, Dante’s camp was silent. His team hadn’t even announced a lineup for the night. At 8:00 sharp, I entered Kit’s room and dropped gifts for ten minutes straight. Dante’s team officially canceled his broadcast for the night. I didn’t look back. I watched Kit’s numbers climb to an eye-watering 500,000 concurrent viewers. Kit was different from Dante. Dante used to sit there, bored, letting his assistants do the talking. If he got annoyed, he’d just walk off-camera, and his fans would call it “authentic.” Kit, however, was in the trenches. Before the stream, he had sent me a twenty-seven-thousand-word strategy brief, timed to the minute. The sales ticker started rolling. Thirty million. Fifty million. Eighty million. The moment it crossed a hundred million, the chat went feral. Kit’s eyes turned red. His voice trembled. “Thank you, Jade. Thank you so much…” Three hours later, the stream ended. He was the number one trending topic in the country. I exited the app only to find my DMs exploding. Dante’s fans had invaded. “You shameless bitch. You leave Dante to go hook up with another guy? Where’s your loyalty?” “You were Dante’s top fan. You owe him a handwritten apology on video, or we’re coming for you.” “Disgusting. How many times did you have to sleep with Kit for this?” Someone asked Dante for his take. He posted a brief, chilly response: “Some fans spend a little money and think they own the creator. Honestly, it’s terrifying.” That was the spark. The fans went rabid. “So that woman, Jade Summer, tried to force Dante into a relationship just because she bought some stuff?!” “Gross. She’s giving all women a bad name.” Within an hour, my photos were leaked. They were edited to look like funeral portraits, captioned with slurs like “Old Whore” and “Sugar Mommy.” My phone started ringing incessantly. “I heard your mom is dead. Good. She deserved to die for raising a snake like you!” I gripped the phone, my knuckles white. Despite the harassment, Dante said nothing. He watched the world burn my reputation and didn’t lift a finger. The last flicker of warmth I felt for him died right then. I wasn’t going to play nice anymore. Suddenly, Kit posted to his Twitter and Instagram. “Jade is my most important partner. Anyone who insults her insults me. My success belongs to her, and I won’t tolerate this harassment. If you want to talk shit, come for me.” His fanbase immediately clashed with Dante’s. My legal team already had the cease-and-desist orders ready. I retweeted them and shut off my phone. The moment I walked into the house, Lexi’s voice cut through the air. “Jade! Are you insane? You’re trying to make Dante jealous by doing this? You’ve lost it!” She practically shoved her phone into my face. “Who gave you permission to send Dante a legal threat? Do you have any idea what this does to his reputation?” “Withdraw it now. Publicly apologize to him. Say you were out of your mind and promise to triple your donations next time he goes live!” I didn’t hesitate. I slapped her hand away from my face. “Are you done telling me how to run my business?” A flash of pure hatred crossed Lexi’s face, but she shrank back. I went upstairs and checked the metrics. It had been a good night. Kit had gained 400,000 followers, and the engagement was off the charts. A Tier-1 luxury brand had already reached out—they wanted to host their new product launch exclusively in Kit’s studio. As the owner of the media firm, I scheduled a meeting for both parties to sign the contracts at my office the next morning. The next day, I arrived to find two uninvited guests in my lobby. Lexi smirked at me. “Jade, I brought Dante here. Just apologize to him. For my sake, he’ll forgive you, and we can put this ugly mess behind us.” Dante didn’t look at me. He was sipping a coffee, chin tilted up, waiting for me to come crawling over. I was exhausted by the delusion. Before I could speak, Lexi’s eyes snagged the folder in my hand. She snatched it. Her eyes lit up. “Oh, I see! You were playing the long game. Using Kit to create a buzz, just so you could hand this luxury contract to Dante as a ‘peace offering.’ Clever.” Dante’s expression softened. He took the contract and signed his name in a sweeping, arrogant scrawl before I could even process the theft. Then, he tossed the folder at my chest. He chuckled darkly. “I’m taking this contract because I’m the best, not because you gave it to me,” he said. “Don’t get it twisted. And don’t try this pathetic ‘jealousy’ stunt again. It’s beneath you.” I frowned. “That contract wasn’t for you.” Dante looked at me with pure condescension. “Jade, you got my attention. You won. But don’t push your luck.” Lexi chimed in, “Seriously, Jade, stop the act. You’re obsessed with him. You can’t breathe without Dante. If he actually walked away, you’d crumble. Just be grateful he’s giving you another chance.” I had once liked Dante. I had built him up because I admired his talent, and yes, his market value was high. But “couldn’t breathe”? Please. Dante stood up to leave. “I don’t need an apology from someone who doesn’t matter,” he said over his shoulder. Lexi shot me a smug look. “I’ll talk him down for you, Jade. He listens to me.” After they left, I called my legal team to void the signature and draft a fresh copy. As the broadcast time approached, Kit messaged me, sounding panicked. “Jade, I… am I supposed to be co-hosting the launch with Dante?” I went to Dante’s page. He had posted a promotional poster: Exclusive Luxury Launch. Tonight at 8 PM. I sighed and sent him a private message: That contract wasn’t for you. It’s a legal violation. Take the post down now. He didn’t reply privately. He screenshotted my message and posted it to his millions of followers, tagging me. “Just because I chose your sister over you, you’re trying to sabotage my career? You’re the daughter of a mistress, Jade. You owe Lexi everything. Have some dignity.” The internet exploded. “A mistress’s daughter? That explains everything.” “Spending the family’s money on a man who hates her. Pathetic.” Lexi followed up with a post of her own: “The past is the past. My mother and I just want peace. Please don’t dig into the family drama. Thank you for the love.” She attached a “family” photo: her, my father, and her mother. I was nowhere to be seen. The comments hailed her as a saint. Lexi called me, gloating. “Jade, you should probably go into hiding for a few days. People are looking for you. Dante is going to address everything tonight on his stream. Don’t watch—it’ll only hurt your feelings.” I hung up without a word. Shortly after, Kit’s official account announced the luxury pre-sale. The public was confused. “Who’s doing the drop? Kit or Dante?” “Are they co-streaming? No way, they’re rivals.” “Who actually signed the deal?” The brand’s official account settled it. They tagged Kit: “Thrilled to announce our exclusive partner for the new collection, @Kit. See you at 8 PM.” Then, a second post, tagging Dante: “Regarding the unauthorized use of our brand name for promotion: this is a formal notice of trademark infringement. Remove all related materials immediately or face legal action.” My phone began to vibrate violently. It was Dante. When I picked up, his voice was a low, vibrating growl of suppressed rage. “Jade Summer. Have you had enough yet?”

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I was just settling into bed, sliding my noise-canceling headphones on to drown out the world with some lo-fi beats, when the music cut out. Instead of the soothing piano, a high, saccharine giggle bled through the speakers. “I told you she was faking that strawberry allergy,” a girl’s voice whispered, thick with a performative shyness. “Did you hear her earlier? She wasn’t exactly holding back.” “I timed you guys, by the way,” a second voice chimed in—a different girl, playful and sharp. “Two hours and twenty-three minutes. Honestly, Mr. Shaw, I’m impressed. You’ve got stamina.” The words hit me like a physical blow. My eyes snapped open, the darkness of the bedroom suddenly feeling claustrophobic. My mind flashed to the kitchen trash can. Earlier this evening, I’d seen a discarded carton of organic strawberries—a premium brand we never buy. When I’d asked Beckett about it, he’d hesitated for a fraction of a second before pulling me into his arms. “One of the guys from the firm dropped it off after drinks,” he’d murmured against my neck. “You know how the junior associates are—always trying to kiss up with ‘thoughtful’ gifts they don’t realize will kill my girlfriend. I told them to take it back, but they insisted. I’ll toss it, babe. Don’t worry about it.” Then he’d kissed me. He’d kissed me until I stopped asking questions, until I felt guilty for even noticing. I’d told myself that the corporate world was just like that—boozy, boundary-crossing, and full of tasteless jokes. I didn’t want to be the “difficult” girlfriend. Now, the lie tasted like ash. The bathroom door creaked open. Beckett stepped out, steam clinging to his skin, a towel low on his hips. I watched him, my heart hammering against my ribs, and forced a jagged, cold smile. “Since you’re keeping a timer to spice things up,” I said, my voice eerily steady, “why don’t you just invite them over to ‘enjoy’ the show in person?” … The call disconnected with a sharp click. Beckett froze, seeing me staring him down. He let the towel slip slightly, a smug, practiced look in his eyes. “You want another round, Gwen?” “Doesn’t your little fan club get jealous?” I gestured toward my headphones, my smile widening into something bitter. “The Bluetooth auto-synced to your phone again. I caught the tail end of the commentary.” The blood drained from his face. He scrambled for his phone on the nightstand, his thumb swiping frantically. The silence in the room became deafening. I answered the question he was too afraid to ask. “I heard everything. I heard how she left the strawberries out on purpose to see if I’d react. And I heard her complimenting your… performance.” Beckett’s jaw tightened. The charming facade was cracking. “Making an intern buy your condoms is cheap, Beckett,” I spat. “At least have the decency to use your own credit card next time.” I turned to leave, but his hand clamped around my wrist. “She’s just an assistant, Gwen. She’s a kid. She has a big mouth and a dark sense of humor.” He was scrambling now, his voice dropping into that soothing tone he used for clients. “It’s not what you think. We had a department dinner, played a round of Truth or Dare, and I lost. I couldn’t exactly back out without looking like a stiff…” The chill in my chest deepened. He wasn’t even trying to give me a good lie. “Whatever. There are a few boxes left in the nightstand. Don’t let them go to waste.” “Gwen!” His grip tightened. “Are you really doing this? You can check my phone. I tell you everything. I give you a play-by-play of my entire day. You really have that little trust in me?” I looked at him—really looked at him. I saw the fine lines creeping around his eyes. We’d been together for seven years. Seven years since I’d quit my stable job back home to follow him to Seattle, to live on instant noodles in a cramped studio just so he could chase this version of himself. I remembered the way he looked when he promised he’d build us a life. We’d spent five years in the trenches together, and we’d finally made it. My friends told me to be careful—that men change when they finally get a taste of power. I thought he was the exception. Looking at this bedroom now, I realized I was just the rule. “I’m tired,” I said, pulling my arm away. “I’m going to sleep.” I went to the closet to grab a spare blanket, but when I pulled the door open, I stopped. All our crisp white linens were gone. In their place was a stack of blankets in a garish, neon lime green. I hate green. I’ve always insisted on white. Beckett has mild red-green color blindness; he never buys anything in those shades. “Spring is coming,” he said from behind me, his voice thin. “I thought the place needed some color. Something… lively.” I didn’t bother responding. I walked into the living room. The minimalist sanctuary I’d spent years curating was gone. There were plush stuffed animals on the sofa. Pink adhesive stars on the walls. Even my hand-woven rug had been replaced by a cheap, trendy cartoon-character mat. No wonder he’d covered my eyes when I walked in from my business trip earlier. He’d claimed it was a “surprise.” He hated clutter. He hated “cute.” My phone buzzed. An unknown number. “Hey, sorry! It’s Lexi, Mr. Shaw’s assistant. That call was just a stupid dare, totally didn’t mean anything. If I offended you, I’m so, so sorry!” A second message followed immediately. “Mr. Shaw and I spent three whole days redecorating the place while you were gone. He said the apartment felt cold and depressing, like a museum. Doesn’t it look so much brighter now? Please take the makeover as my apology gift! I just know you’re going to love it.” Beckett stood in the doorway, watching me read. “Lexi was just trying to help, Gwen. She’s a sweet girl. She apologized. Don’t be petty.” I dug my nails into my palms. My home—the one I’d built with my own hands while he worked eighty-hour weeks—had been gutted. And now, I was being told to be “the bigger person” in the face of a blatant territorial marking. I started grabbing things. The stuffed animals, the stars, the rug. I threw them all into a pile by the door. Beckett watched me, his expression shifting from guilt to a simmering, defensive rage. Finally, he grabbed his keys and slammed the door behind him. I packed my bags. I didn’t know how far they’d gone, but I knew I was done breathing this air. It tasted like rot. At 5:00 AM, Beckett returned. He was carrying a bag of fresh donuts and expensive coffee. “It’s pouring outside, Gwen. Where do you think you’re going?” He tried to take my suitcase, his voice casual, as if the last eight hours hadn’t happened. He set the donuts on the table. Back in the early days, this would have been a luxury. We used to share one cruller, laughing about how we’d eat steak every night once he made partner. Seeing him now, fumbling with the coffee cups, I felt a ghost of that old affection. But it was overshadowed by the realization that I didn’t recognize the man in front of me. “How long?” I asked, leaning against the back of a chair. He nearly choked on his coffee. “I told you, it was a dare! Lexi and I are strictly professional. How much more drama are you going to milk out of this?” “A month ago,” I said, my voice flat. “I found a pair of boxers in the laundry that aren’t yours. Then there were the DoorDash receipts for a pharmacy—ibuprofen and Midol delivered to your office, things you never take. And that air freshener in your car? Since when does a thirty-two-year-old man like the smell of ‘Sugar Sparkle’?” The room went silent. Beckett set his cup down with a deliberate thud. He stood up and stared at me for a long time. “You’re leaving because of… errands?” His voice was thick with disappointment. “The firm is full of Gen Z kids, Gwen. I felt old. I wanted to fit in. Is it a crime to want to feel relevant at my own company?” It was a pathetic excuse. “You need to stop hanging out with your sister,” he continued, his voice gaining strength as he shifted the blame. “She’s miserable in her own marriage, so she wants everyone else to be as paranoid as she is.” That did it. The heat flared up in my throat. “Leave my sister out of this! And have some goddamn dignity, Beckett!” “I am doing this for us!” he roared, finally snapping. “I work myself to the bone so I can provide for you! Do you have any idea how many women throw themselves at me? And I turn them down! Every single one! What more do you want? Do you want to drive me into their arms? Is that the goal?” A year ago, Beckett couldn’t even win an argument with me without blushing. Ever since Lexi joined the firm, he’d learned how to weaponize guilt. “Did Lexi teach you that line, too?” His flinch told me everything. “I am done talking about her! Everyone at the office loves her. She’s bright, she’s capable, and she has a hell of a lot more heart than you do right now!” He didn’t even notice the small, subconscious smirk playing on his lips. It was the same look he used to have when he introduced me to his friends. The front door opened. A shivering, soaking wet Lexi stood in the entryway. “Mr. Shaw… you forgot your jacket in my car.” So, there was a third person with the code to our apartment. My stomach turned. I started to laugh. It was a jagged, hysterical sound. Beckett looked at me, ashamed for a second, but his body moved before his brain could catch up. He rushed to her, draping a towel over her head. “Why did you come out in this? I could have picked it up later.” “I was just scared…” Lexi peeked at me from under the towel, her eyes wide and watery. “I was scared Gwen would misunderstand. I wanted to apologize again.” Beckett gave me a look. Don’t make this harder than it has to be. I didn’t move. Lexi twisted her fingers together. “Gwen, honestly, Beckett and I are just friends…” I looked at the faint, purple mark on her neck she was trying—and failing—to hide with the towel. “Stop. I really don’t care about the logistics of your hookups. Since you brought breakfast, consider it my housewarming gift to the new couple.” I walked out to the sound of her sobbing and his hushed comforts. But the weather was brutal, and it was too early for an Uber to accept the fare. An hour later, Beckett came down to the lobby, supporting a trembling Lexi, who was now wearing one of my sweaters. When he saw me still standing there, he actually chuckled. “I thought you were so ‘done,’ Gwen. Turns out you’re just standing in the rain.” Lexi lunged toward me, grabbing my arm. “Gwen, please! It’s all my fault. Don’t leave because of me, I’ll go, I’ll quit…” I tried to shake her off. She went down like a sack of bricks, collapsing onto the marble floor. “Gwen!” Beckett screamed, rushing to her side. Lexi moaned, shaking her head. “I can’t get up… go to her, Beckett. I’m fine, really…” “I’m taking you to the ER,” Beckett said, lifting her into his arms without a backward glance. Three hours later, my phone rang. I thought maybe he’d realized she’d faked the fall. Maybe he was calling to see if I’d finally caught a ride. “You are unbelievable,” he barked the moment I picked up. “Lexi was trying to be kind, and you pushed her? Do you have any idea how hard she’s crying right now? You’re going to come down here and apologize to her.” “Or what, Beckett?” “Or you can see how far that ‘freelance’ income gets you on your own. You’ve had it too good for too long, Gwen. You’ve forgotten who actually pays for your life.” I hung up. He was the one who had forgotten. He’d forgotten the girl who worked two jobs to pay his bar exam fees. He’d forgotten the girl who believed in him when he was nothing. A week of silence followed. Then, a text from Beckett. “My parents are in town. We’re doing dinner at the Grill. You’re not going to blow them off, are you?” He sent the location. “Everyone knows we’re supposed to get married this year. Please, Gwen. Just stop the theatrics and show up.” I thought about my own parents, how proud they were of my “successful” fiancé. I thought about the messy divorces my friends were going through. I felt trapped. I dressed up. I did my makeup in a way that made me look younger—a desperate, subconscious attempt to compete. When I arrived at the restaurant, I could hear the laughter from the private room. I pushed the door open. Lexi was sitting right between Beckett and his mother, her mouth moving a mile a minute. I froze in the doorway. Lexi scrambled to her feet. “Gwen! I was shadowing Beckett for a client meeting today, and his parents were so sweet, they insisted I join. You don’t mind, do you?” Beckett’s mother smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Gwen is always so sensible. She knows you’re Beckett’s right hand. She wouldn’t dream of being petty.” If I caused a scene now, I was the villain. “Sit,” Beckett said, pulling out a chair. “We were just waiting for you.” The waiter brought a dessert platter. Lexi expertly picked up a chocolate truffle and fed it to Beckett. He’s always hated sweets, but he ate it without a word. Seeing my expression, Lexi chirped, “Oh, don’t mind us! Beckett’s been so stressed with the merger, he keeps skipping meals. I make sure he gets some sugar for energy during the day.” Beckett’s mother nodded approvingly. “A good assistant thinks of everything. Honestly, Beckett, she’s a treasure.” She glanced at me. “Some people are about to join this family and still haven’t learned how to take care of a household. Being an ‘illustrator’ is all well and good, but you can’t eat a drawing. You should take notes from Lexi on how to actually support my son.” She conveniently forgot the five years I spent bankrolling his life with my “drawings.” I looked at Beckett. He stayed silent. Maybe he agreed. Maybe he just wanted to punish me. “It’s fine, Mrs. Shaw,” Lexi said, her voice dripping with fake humility. “I’ll make sure he’s taken care of. You don’t have to worry about a thing.” She leaned in, her eyes sparkling. “You don’t mind, right, Gwen?” “Of course not,” I said, my voice hollow. Lexi beamed. She grabbed a water glass to toast me. “To the happy couple!” Predictably, her hand “slipped.” Half a glass of ice water splashed directly into my face. She jumped up, dabbing at me frantically with a napkin, smearing my mascara across my cheeks. “Oh my god, Gwen! Your skin is so clear without the makeup! We should take a selfie!” Before I could react, her phone was up. The flash blinded me. I knew what the photo looked like: me, disheveled and aging, next to her, glowing and youthful. I swiped the phone out of her hand. Beckett immediately pulled her toward him, scowling at me. He noticed the water had made my blouse transparent. He started to take off his blazer, but Lexi let out a tiny, theatrical sneeze. “I’m so cold,” she whispered. The blazer that was meant for me redirected to her shoulders. “Don’t start,” Beckett warned me. “Lexi has to travel with me for a conference tomorrow. She can’t get sick.” I stared at him. “Beckett, was the point of this dinner to show me how much your parents prefer your mistress?” Beckett’s face turned purple. “Gwen, enough! My parents are right here! Why are you always attacking her? She’s done nothing but try to be your friend!” Lexi started to sob. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have come. I’ll go…” I stood up. “No. You stay. I’m done.” I looked at Beckett’s parents. “The wedding is off.”

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My wife, Madeline, told me I looked like I was drowning. She claimed the stress of the firm was eroding me, so she staged an intervention of sorts: a two-week paid sabbatical. She wanted me to take our daughter and fly across the Atlantic, to find some version of myself that wasn’t tethered to a desk. I was ecstatic. I spent the afternoon packing, humming to myself as I folded sundresses and tech gear, until I reached into the back of our shared closet to find a stray shoebox. Inside, tucked beneath old tax returns, was an envelope that looked too fresh to be a relic. The handwriting on the front was a jagged, familiar scrawl. “Madeline, it’s been seven years. I’m finally divorced. Would you still marry me? If you’re willing to give us another chance, I’ll be waiting at the bridal boutique on 5th and Main. The 19th. Please.” Today was the 19th. It explained why Madeline had skipped breakfast and practically bolted out the door this morning, mumbling something about a last-minute project and an all-day quarterly review. She wasn’t at the office. She was with Damian, the “one who got away”—the ghost of a man she’d spent the last seven years pretending to forget. I gripped the letter so hard the paper bit into my skin. I waited for the pain, for the sharp sting of betrayal to register physically, but there was only a hollow, ringing silence. Fine. If she believed her past was a better destination than her present, I wasn’t going to argue. But I was making a choice too. This trip wouldn’t be a vacation. Zoe and I weren’t coming back. … Dinner was cold by the time Madeline walked through the door. She looked exhausted, collapsing onto the sofa with a theatrical sigh. I played the part. I sat beside her, pulled her head onto my lap, and began kneading the tension out of her shoulders. She closed her eyes, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips. “Luke,” she murmured, her voice like honey. “I honestly don’t know what I did to deserve you. I’m the luckiest woman alive.” I felt a sharp prick of irony. “You’ve said that a thousand times, Madeline.” “Because it’s true.” I stood up. “Stay there. I’ll go get Zoe for dinner.” As I moved to leave, she caught my hand. I looked down at her. She didn’t speak for a moment, just searched my face with an intensity that felt almost mourning. Then, she pulled me into a fierce, desperate hug. “Luke… two weeks is a long time. I’m going to miss you both so much it’ll ache.” “Then come with us,” I said, testing the water. She pulled back, her gaze flickering. “I can’t. The merger… it’s too much. I have to stay.” “Work is important, Madeline,” I said softly, “but don’t forget to breathe while we’re gone.” “I know. I will.” We sat down, but she barely touched her food. Within ten minutes, she was standing up again, grabbing her coat. “The team is waiting for me. I have to go back in. Finish eating, okay?” I followed her to the door, a plate in my hand, playing the doting husband one last time as I coaxed her to take a few bites of steak before she left. I watched her car pull out of the driveway, the red taillights disappearing into the dusk like fading embers. Later, while Zoe was finishing her homework, I went back to the closet. I found the letter again, reading it until the words blurred. My heart was a lead weight in my chest. I pulled out my phone and dialed her number. “Hey,” she picked up on the third ring. Her voice was breathless. “Where are you?” I asked. “The office. Where else? It’s a madhouse here.” In the background, I heard a wet, soft sound—a muffled laugh, the unmistakable friction of skin on skin. “Shh, not now,” I heard her whisper, though she thought the phone was muffled. “Luke? Look, I’m right in the middle of a deck review. I have to go. It’s going to be a late one, so don’t wait up for me. Kiss Zoe for me. Bye.” The line went dead. I stared at the screen until my knuckles turned white. My intuition wasn’t just whispering anymore; it was screaming. At 1:00 AM, the ghost of a key turned in the lock. Madeline stumbled in, smelling of expensive bourbon and something sharper—a heavy, musky men’s cologne. Her hair was damp at the temples, plastered to her forehead by sweat, and as she reached up to adjust her collar, I saw it. A dark, plum-colored bruise on the side of her neck. She saw me sitting in the dark and flinched, the intoxication momentarily clearing from her eyes. “Luke? Why are you still up?” Usually, she’d fall into my arms the moment she got home. Tonight, she kept a careful three-foot perimeter between us, as if the air around her was contaminated. “Is it hot out?” I asked, my voice devoid of inflection. “You’re soaked.” “I… I had a few drinks with the partners after we finished,” she stammered. “I’m going to jump in the shower.” She started toward the bathroom, but I stepped into her path. A flash of pure panic crossed her face. “Madeline…” “Luke, please, I’m just tired—” “Give me your clothes. I’ll throw them in the wash for you so they’re ready for tomorrow.” “No!” she snapped, then softened her tone. “No, it’s fine. I’ll do it. Just go to sleep. I’ll be out in a minute.” She pushed past me, retreating into the bathroom like a soldier into a bunker. I heard the lock click. Then the deadbolt. The next morning, the atmosphere in the house felt brittle. I found Zoe standing in the hallway, her bottom lip trembling, eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Hey, Peanut,” I knelt beside her. “What’s wrong?” She shook her head, refusing to look at me. It took five minutes of gentle coaxing before she finally cracked. “Dad… remember that bag Mom bought? The one with the designer’s signature on the leather?” I nodded. “The limited edition one. She told me it was your tenth birthday present.” “She took it when she left this morning.” “Where?” “She didn’t say. She just… she just took it.” My stomach turned. I pulled out my phone and called Madeline. “Where is Zoe’s bag?” I didn’t bother with a greeting. “What bag?” her voice sounded distracted, muffled by street noise. “The limited edition one. The birthday gift.” “Oh. That. You both misunderstood. That wasn’t for Zoe.” “You told her it was for her tenth birthday, Madeline. She’s been counting down the days.” “Look, I changed my mind. It was for a client. It’s too expensive for a ten-year-old anyway; I don’t want her growing up with that kind of entitlement. It’ll just make her difficult to manage later. If she wants a bag, take her to the mall and buy her something from the department store.” Her voice was cold, transactional. I hung up without saying another word. I walked Zoe into her room to find the “replacement” gift Madeline had mentioned. There, on her nightstand, sat a small velvet box. Inside was a delicate gold necklace with a tiny heart charm. I stared at it, a cold chill settling in my bones. Zoe had received this necklace two years ago. I had bought it for her eighth birthday. Madeline hadn’t even bothered to buy something new. She had scoured Zoe’s own jewelry box, found something she’d forgotten about, and re-gifted it to her own daughter as a distraction. Zoe started to cry in earnest then. I pulled her into my arms, holding her tight. “Forget the bag, okay? This afternoon, we’re going to the flagship store. You can pick out any bag you want. Anything in the store.” She sniffled, looking up at me with wide, hopeful eyes. I smiled for her, but inside, I was finished. Madeline was a stranger now. Ever since Damian had resurfaced, she hadn’t just checked out of our marriage; she had checked out of her motherhood. She had made her choice. A moment later, I pulled out my phone and sent a text to a contact I’d been ghosting for weeks. “I’m in. I accept the offer.” It wasn’t long before the reply came through. “Mr. Anderson, we are thrilled to have you. The terms remain the same: Head of Global Operations, London office. We’ll have the contracts ready for signing immediately.” I typed back: “I’ll be there in a few days. I’ll need help with a permanent residence. I’m bringing my daughter. We’re settling there for good.” “Consider it done. The firm will purchase the property under a corporate holding and deed it to you as a signing bonus. A fresh start for you and the little one. See you soon.” I spent the afternoon packing the last of our essentials. To keep my promise, I took Zoe to the luxury shopping district. We were walking toward the leather goods boutique when I saw a familiar silhouette through the glass. It was Damian. And he wasn’t alone. “Dad, look!” Zoe whispered, pointing. “That’s my bag!” Beside Damian stood a young girl, roughly Zoe’s age. Slung over her shoulder was the distinct, limited-edition bag Madeline had promised our daughter. “Luke. It’s been a long time.” Damian had noticed us. He turned, a smug, relaxed grin on his face, and began walking toward us, his daughter in tow. “Seven years, isn’t it?” I said, forcing my voice to remain steady. “Close enough. I was abroad for the duration. Just got back a few days ago.” He reached out as if to ruffle Zoe’s hair. “And this must be little Zoe.” Zoe flinched away, letting out a sharp cry. “Ow! You pinched me!” I pulled her behind me, noticing a red mark blooming on her cheek. He hadn’t been trying to be friendly; he was marking territory. He hated me because I had lived the life he wanted for seven years. “Careful, Damian,” I said, my voice dropping an octave. “Oh, she’s just sensitive,” he laughed off. He gestured to his own daughter. “This is my girl, Bella Madeline.” Bella Madeline. The name hit me like a physical blow. He wasn’t even being subtle. He wanted me to know that Madeline’s name—and her heart—belonged to his family tree now. “Funny,” I said, my jaw tight. “My wife’s name is Madeline.” “Is it? Small world.” He smirked. “We should catch up properly sometime. I’m just out with Bella today. A very dear ‘Auntie’ gave her this bag as a homecoming gift, and she insisted on coming out to buy a matching charm for it. She hasn’t taken it off since she got it.” I looked at the bag. “Must have been expensive.” “A few thousand, I hear. I don’t follow the trends, but hey… it’s the thought that counts, right? And she’s got a lot of ‘thought’ for my little girl.” “That’s my bag!” Zoe yelled, her voice cracking with the indignity of it all. “Don’t be a brat,” the girl, Bella, snapped back. She looked Zoe up and down with a sneer that was far too adult for her face. “My Auntie Madeline gave this to me. It’s worth more than your whole life. You couldn’t even afford the strap.” She was a mirror image of Damian’s arrogance. Zoe’s eyes filled with tears. She looked at me, her voice trembling. “Dad, Mom said that was for me. She promised.” “Honey, stop dreaming,” Bella mocked. “You’re not the type for labels. You’re more… Walmart.” Damian didn’t stop her. He stood there, looking at my daughter’s heartbreak with a sense of triumph. He let Bella flaunt the bag, pivoting it in the light so the gold signature caught the sun. “See this?” Bella continued. “One of these costs more than your dad makes in a month. If he sold you, he still couldn’t buy it back.” Damian finally offered a half-hearted cough. “Bella, play nice. She’s younger than you.” Bella rolled her eyes. “I’m not being mean, Dad. I’m being honest. She’s pathetic.” “Dad…” Zoe sobbed, clutching my hand. “Come on,” I said, my voice cold and hard. “We’re going inside.” I led Zoe into the boutique. Damian followed us in, seemingly intent on rubbing salt in the wound. Every time Zoe looked at a bag, Damian would signal a clerk. “We’ll take that one too. Wrap it up.” I watched him, my expression unreadable. He gave me a mock-apologetic shrug. “Sorry, Luke. I spoil her. Once she sets her sights on something, I can’t say no. You know how it is.” “Does a child really need twenty designer bags, Damian?” “Probably not. But she’s got a very generous benefactor paying the tab.” He pulled out his phone and hit a speed-dial. “Hey, babe. Bella and I are at the boutique on 3rd. We’ve picked out a few things. Why don’t you swing by and settle the bill?” Ten minutes later, Madeline came rushing through the door, breathless and glowing. “Just put it on my card,” she told the clerk before she even looked at the group. “Auntie Madeline!” Bella squealed, throwing herself into Madeline’s arms. Madeline picked her up, laughing, kissing her cheek with a warmth she hadn’t shown Zoe in months. “I gave you a bag this morning, you little rascal. Are you already shopping for more?” Bella pointed over Madeline’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to, but she was looking at the ones I wanted. I had to have them.” Madeline turned around, the smile still on her face. Then she saw us. She froze, the color draining from her skin until she looked like a marble statue.

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The morning I checked out, I was just waiting for the routine release of my incidental deposit when the receptionist slammed my room key onto the marble counter. She told me the sheets were stained. My hundred-dollar hold was being confiscated. I immediately tried to explain that I had knocked over a glass of water late last night while working, but she let out a sharp, breathless laugh. Her eyes dragged over me, heavy with absolute disgust. “Water? You think I was born yesterday?” Her lips twisted into a sneer. “I was on the graveyard shift. I saw the revolving door of men going in and out of your room. It didn’t stop all night.” She leaned over the counter, lowering her voice to a venomous hiss. “You look like a decent girl, but behind closed doors, you’re a complete wreck. And you’re going to stand there and lie to my face about water? I know what kind of bodily fluids get left behind when you’re playing house with half the city.” A cold shock of adrenaline hit my bloodstream. My hands started to shake. “Watch your mouth,” I snapped. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Hit a nerve, did I?” “Either you march upstairs and scrub those sheets yourself, or that deposit covers the biohazard fee. Pick one.” I didn’t yell. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat, memorized the name etched on her gold nametag—Krystal—and turned on my heel to wait for the general manager. I took a seat in the lobby lounge, pulling out my phone to distract myself. I opened a local neighborhood app, scrolling mindlessly, until a trending post made the breath vanish from my lungs. The headline was screaming in bold letters: WARNING: Local Hotel Hooker! Brought 5 or 6 guys to her room, ruined the bed, and tried to blame it on spilled water. Acts innocent, actually a total trash bag! Attached to the post was a grainy, secretly snapped photo. I clicked on it, my heart seizing in my chest. The girl in the photo was me. With trembling fingers, I swiped to the next slide—surveillance screenshots of her so-called “johns.” A second later, a bitter, incredulous laugh escaped my lips. They weren’t “men.” They were Doordash drivers, a late-night pharmacy courier, and a guy in a bright neon jacket dropping off an expedited lens rental. 1 The comments beneath the post were a toxic sludge of internet misogyny. “Damn, she’s busy. Five guys couldn’t finish the job? Absolute garbage.” “Always the ones who look like sweet girl-next-door types. Textbook serial hookup.” “Six dudes in one night? Drop the @, I want to see what the hype is about.” A violent tremor wracked my body. My fingernails dug so hard into the leather case of my phone that I thought it might crack. This was blatant, malicious defamation. I whipped my head around to look at the front desk. Krystal was leaning against the back counter, clutching her phone, a smirk plastered across her face. Her thumbs flew across the screen, a soft, self-satisfied giggle slipping out of her every few seconds. I stared at her, completely bewildered. I had never met this woman before today. I had done nothing to her. Why was she trying to destroy me? The anger hit me like a physical blow, a rush of heat straight to my brain. I wanted to storm over, grab her by her cheap polyester lapels, and smash her phone into pieces. But as I began to stand, the sharp sting of my nails biting into my palms anchored me. Breathe, I told myself. Think. If I confronted her right now, she would deny it. Worse, she would flip the script, filming my outrage and spinning it as the hysterical meltdown of a guilty woman. I would be backed into a corner, completely defenseless against the court of public opinion. I took a long, ragged breath, forcing the violent urge down into a cold, hard place in my chest. Moving methodically, I began taking screenshots. I captured the original post, the security footage stills, and dozens of the most vile comments. Then, I typed out a reply under my real name. “I am the person in the photo. The men in the surveillance shots are food delivery drivers and couriers. The stain on the bed is spilled water. The hotel has the full, unedited hallway security footage to prove this. Delete this post immediately, or my next call is to the police.” I hit send. The notification came almost instantly. Krystal hadn’t just replied to me—she had pinned my comment to the top of the thread. “Ooh, the star of the show has arrived! At least put some effort into your lies, honey. Five delivery guys in one night? Do we look stupid? Let me guess, they were delivering emergency condoms because you blew through your stash?” The thread exploded. The digital mob, armed with anonymity, descended in droves. “LMAO ’emergency condoms’, OP is a savage!” “Still trying to lie her way out of it. Embarrassing.” “Stop playing the victim and get out of our city, you filthy skank.” Before I could even process the vitriol, the page refreshed. Krystal had posted a new update. She had linked my personal Instagram handle. “Everyone go take a look! This is her account. Plenty of skimpy little photos on there too!” Within minutes, the floodgates opened. Thousands of strangers swarmed my profile. My notification chime went off like a fire alarm, freezing my phone screen entirely. When it finally caught up, I opened the comments on my most recent post—a completely standard, stylized editorial shoot I’d done for a boutique clothing brand. The comment section had turned into a cesspool. “Dressed like that, no wonder you need six guys a night.” “What’s the hourly rate? If a Doordash guy can hit it, so can I.” “Check your Venmo, baby. Accept my request and let’s talk business.” Something inside me snapped. The quiet restraint I had been holding onto evaporated. I marched across the marble floor and slammed my palm flat onto the front desk. “Delete it. Now.” Krystal barely flinched. “You are committing cyber harassment and defamation,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “I have screenshots of everything. If you don’t take it down this second, I am calling the cops.” She looked at me, gave a theatrical sigh, and rolled her eyes. “Why are you barking at me? Who’s defaming who? I’m posting on my own time. What does that have to do with you?” Without breaking eye contact, she leisurely tapped her screen. “Call them. Go ahead. Let’s see if the police care about a cheap escort’s hurt feelings.” I let out a breathless, incredulous laugh. I was just pulling up the dialpad when a push notification dropped down from the top of my screen. It was an alert from the neighborhood app: Live Stream Started. It was Krystal’s account. She held her phone up, angling the camera to capture both her face and me standing in the background. She smiled, a greasy, conspiratorial grin meant for her viewers. “Hey guys, welcome to the live. There she is, the lot lizard herself, throwing a tantrum in my lobby.” She leaned in close to the mic. “The manager isn’t here yet, so I’m gonna take the master key, go up to her room, and do a little unboxing video for you guys!” She winked at the camera. “Let’s go investigate the crime scene. Let’s see if she left any tools of the trade behind. Tap that heart button and stay tuned!” The viewer count skyrocketed past a thousand in seconds. The chat was a blur of rapid-fire text. “DO IT! Let’s see the nasty room!” “Careful girl, don’t catch anything in there lol!” “Zoom in if you find the wrappers!” My head snapped up. Krystal had already pulled a silver master keycard from the drawer. Holding her phone out like a shield, she practically sprinted toward the elevators, her face flush with the thrill of the chase. 2 She practically ran down the carpeted hallway, stopping in front of my room. The lock clicked green, and she barged in before I could even get my arm across the doorframe to stop her. The room was exactly as I’d left it: a few empty takeout bags on the desk and my heavy, expensive camera equipment neatly packed in the corner. But a second later, Krystal let out a wildly exaggerated gasp. “Oh my God! Guys! Look what I just found!” She let out a shrill, mocking laugh, thrusting her camera directly into the small mesh trash can by the nightstand. I followed the lens, and my entire body went rigid. Lying right on top of the trash was a used, torn condom wrapper and the discarded latex itself. Impossible. I had been up until 3:00 AM editing photos. I hadn’t left the room except to grab my deliveries from the door. There was absolutely zero chance that was in my trash can. A hot, blinding fury spiked in my chest, but just as I opened my mouth to scream at her, I caught a micro-expression on Krystal’s face. I saw her hand, the one not holding the phone, subtly wiping something against the seam of her uniform slacks. A sickening realization washed over me. For the sake of internet clout, this girl had brought her own prop. The anger vanished, replaced by an icy, crystal-clear calm. I crossed my arms and leaned against the doorframe, watching her. “Are you absolutely certain,” I asked, my voice chillingly steady, “that you found that in my room?” She didn’t miss a beat. “What, you’re still playing dumb? The evidence is right here! Unless you think it’s mine?” She pointed the camera closer. “Look at this, guys. Extra-large, ribbed. Our girl likes to play rough! Gotta wonder how much damage she’s taking with a revolving door of guys!” The live chat was moving so fast it was unreadable, a waterfall of crude jokes and visceral hate. “Boom. Caught red-handed.” “Her face right now lmao, she knows it’s over.” “What kind of Doordash comes with that kind of tip??” “Thinking about six dudes using that bed makes me wanna puke.” Krystal looked at the viewer count—it was surging past five thousand. She was practically vibrating with triumph. She shoved the phone screen toward my face. “Lost your voice? You were acting so tough down in the lobby.” She sneered. “The proof is right here. Let’s hear the excuse now. You’re treating everyone on the internet like they’re idiots.” I looked at her smug, victorious face, and the corners of my mouth slowly curled into a smile. It reached my eyes. “Well, since you’re so adamant that this was found in my room…” I tilted my head. “And since I know, for a fact, that I was completely alone in here last night…” I paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough. “I wonder how that got there.” The chat was still roasting me, calling me a pathological liar. “Give her an Oscar!” “The gaslighting is insane. Just admit you’re a pro.” Krystal let out a barking laugh, looking at me like I was pathetic. “You don’t remember? Honey, after five or six guys run through you, I’m sure you just blacked out and forgot!” “Okay.” I nodded slowly. I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed 911. “Hi, 911? I need to report a crime.” I locked eyes with Krystal. Her smile faltered. I pitched my voice up, letting a raw, panicked edge bleed into my tone. “I stayed at a hotel in your jurisdiction last night. I was traveling alone. But this morning, the front desk attendant found a used condom in my room.” “I have no memory of this happening. I was entirely alone!” I let my voice crack. “I believe I was drugged. I believe multiple men assaulted me while I was unconscious!” I hung up the phone and smiled brilliantly at Krystal, whose face had just drained of all color. “The police are on their way. Don’t go anywhere.” I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “After all, you’re the one who found the evidence. You are my star witness.” 3 Panic hit Krystal like a freight train. She lunged forward, her manicured hands clawing for my phone. “No! That’s not what happened! It’s not!” I sidestepped her smoothly, grabbing her by the collar of her uniform and yanking her back into the frame of her own live stream. “Not what?” I demanded, my voice ringing out clearly. “Didn’t you just swear, on camera, that you watched five or six men enter my room last night?” “Didn’t you just discover the physical evidence?” “Are you going to look at the thousands of people watching right now and tell them you made it all up?” Krystal was paralyzed. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish on dry land, her face flushing violently purple. She couldn’t form a single word. The live chat abruptly shifted tone. The mob realized something was horribly wrong. Within ten minutes, heavy footsteps sounded in the hall, and two uniformed police officers stepped into the room. “Who called it in?” the taller one asked, his hand resting near his radio. I let the tears come. It wasn’t hard—the adrenaline and the sheer exhaustion of the morning pushed them right to the surface. I practically threw myself forward, gripping the officer’s sleeve. “Officers, thank God you’re here!” I cried, my voice trembling perfectly. “I ordered dinner last night, ate it, and passed out. I was dead to the world. But this morning, this receptionist came in and said she found that in my room!” I pointed a shaking finger at the trash can, letting massive tears spill down my cheeks. “I’m a young woman traveling alone! I don’t know where that came from! I don’t remember anything! Someone must have slipped something into my food!” I gripped his sleeve tighter, letting out a jagged sob. “And she—” I pointed at Krystal, “—she said she watched multiple men go into my room! She gave explicit details online! She saw them! She’s the key witness to my assault!” The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. The officers’ expressions hardened into dead-serious professionalism. The lead officer turned slowly, fixing Krystal with a severe, intimidating glare. “You witnessed this?” he barked. “Can you identify the men? Give me physical descriptions. We need to pull the hallway security footage right now.” Krystal shrank back, her knees literally knocking together. “I… I…” She stammered, swallowing hard before screeching in panic. “The cameras are broken! They didn’t catch anything!” I let out a ragged breath, swiping at my eyes, and pointed at the trash can. “If the cameras are broken, we have the physical evidence. The DNA of the men who did this to me is right there. Please, you have to bag it and send it to the lab. Run it through the system. You have to find out who did this!” The word DNA seemed to short-circuit Krystal’s brain. She had brought that wrapper from home. If the police ran forensics on it, her fingerprints—or worse, her husband’s DNA—would be the only things on it. It would prove she fabricated a crime scene. She would be going to jail. “NO!” She shrieked, diving toward the trash can. She snatched the latex and the wrapper in her bare hands and hurled them frantically out the open window. “What the hell are you doing?!” the officer roared. Tampering with a crime scene in front of the police was the dumbest thing she could have done. Both officers lunged. They grabbed her by the arms, twisting her around and pressing her face-first into the wall. “You are destroying evidence in an active felony investigation!” Krystal was pinned, sobbing hysterically, completely unravelling. Just then, a heavy-set man in an ill-fitting suit squeezed through the door, sweating profusely. It was Todd, the hotel manager. “Wait! Wait! Officers, please, this is a massive misunderstanding!” He wiped his forehead, immediately turning his wrath onto Krystal, putting on a show for the cops. “What is wrong with you?! Is this how I trained you? You can’t even handle a simple checkout without bothering the police?!” Having established his dominance, Todd turned back to the officers with a greasy, placating smile. “Officers, look. That… item… it was left behind by the previous guest. Our housekeeping staff just missed it during turnover. It’s a sanitary issue, nothing more.” While he spoke, he shot Krystal a sharp, threatening look. She caught the cue instantly. “Yes! Yes, I was confused! I made a mistake!” Todd rubbed his hands together, bowing slightly toward the officers. “See? Just a simple mix-up. This is an internal management failure, and it has caused this poor woman unnecessary distress.” He turned to me, his smile not quite reaching his cold eyes. “We will absolutely discipline her, and of course, your stay with us is completely comped. Free of charge.” He gestured toward the door. “So, if we’re all settled here, we shouldn’t keep these fine officers from their important work, right?” He was already ushering the cops toward the exit. I looked at his broad, sweating back, my expression hardening into stone. “Hold on.”

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When the family company finally bled out and filed for bankruptcy, the two men I loved most in the world sold me to the highest bidder. My husband and my biological son drugged my tea, dragged my unconscious body into the back of a town car, and delivered me to the sprawling, hyper-modern estate of the city’s most ruthless tech billionaire. “We’re three hundred million in the hole,” my husband’s voice had hissed in the dark, thick with frantic greed, just before the sedatives pulled me under. “Getting on his good side is the only way we survive this.” My son, the boy I had carried and raised, had looked at me not with pity, but with cold, hard resentment. “You’ve been a stay-at-home mom for twenty years. You’ve been living off Dad’s money and my trust fund. It’s time you actually contributed.” He had even leaned in, his words a filthy whisper against my slipping consciousness. “Everyone knows he has a thing for older women. Honestly, a night in a billionaire’s bed? You’re getting the better end of the deal.” What they didn’t know—what they couldn’t possibly fathom—was the tectonic shift of emotion that rocked me to my very core when I was dragged through the gilded doors of this estate. Twenty-three years ago, in a quiet, lonely room, I had given birth to the boy who was now the apex predator of the city’s financial world. And he had spent his entire adult life tearing the world apart, looking for the mother who had vanished into the night. 1 The moment my eyes fluttered open, the harsh bite of a crystal chandelier blinded me. As my vision cleared, the faces of my husband, Richard, and my son, Blake, swam into view. They were looming over me, staring down with eyes so devoid of warmth I could have been a slab of meat on a butcher’s block. “What is this?” My voice was thick, tasting of copper and cotton. “What are you doing to me?” Richard offered a thin, razor-sharp smile. “Diana, don’t act stupid. We told you what the plan was.” He adjusted his tailored cuffs, oblivious to my terror. “You are going to be very, very accommodating to Mr. Gideon tonight. If you keep him happy, our debts vanish.” “And then some,” Blake chimed in, a smug, entitled smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. “If you can manage to keep his attention, Dad and I will practically own this city.” Blake scoffed, rolling his eyes as if my visible horror was a personal inconvenience to him. “Jesus, Mom, stop looking like you’re going to a funeral. Gideon is in his twenties. You’re past forty. Even if you have to sleep with him, it’s not like you’re the victim here.” “Listen to the boy, honey,” Richard crooned, a sickening layer of faux-sweetness coating his words. “Just pretend I hired you an incredibly expensive, incredibly fit escort. Have a little fun.” The pieces slammed together, forming an agonizing picture. They were offering me up. Tossing me onto Gideon’s bed to plug the gaping hole of their financial ruin, hoping to ride his coattails to a new empire. But they were utterly, devastatingly blind to the truth. Gideon didn’t seek out older women because of some twisted fetish. He was searching. Sifting through faces and ages, desperately looking for the mother who had been forced to abandon him—me. I was young when it happened. A brief, reckless romance that resulted in a pregnancy. I had every intention of bringing my baby home, of raising him with everything I had. But my mother—obsessed with lineage and corporate mergers—had threatened to end her own life if I brought “shame” upon the family. She forced me into an arranged marriage with Richard’s family. She forced me to walk away from my baby. Backed into a corner, completely isolated, I had surrendered him to an elite, anonymous trust foundation. Over the years, I watched Gideon from the shadows. I watched him rise, brilliant and terrifying, and I knew he was leaving no stone unturned in his search for me. But the guilt was a heavy, suffocating blanket. I never felt worthy of claiming him. And now, through some sickening twist of fate, the family that had caged me had drugged me and laid me at his feet. When I refused to speak, the silence stretching into something brittle, Richard nudged my ribs with the toe of his leather oxford. “Diana, fix your face. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. Don’t ruin it with your mood swings.” Blake let out a derisive snort. “You know, Dad, she’s never had an ounce of the class Brittany has. Or the looks.” He looked down at me, his eyes dead. “When this is over, you should just divorce her. Let Brittany be my mom. She actually gets it.” The air evacuated my lungs. “What?” I pushed myself up onto my elbows, staring at my son. “Brittany? Your father’s twenty-five-year-old secretary?” The betrayal was a physical blow. Richard had been sleeping with his assistant. And Blake—the boy I had sacrificed everything to protect—knew. He didn’t just know; he preferred her. Before Richard could even bother to formulate a lie, heavy footsteps echoed on the marble floor. Gideon’s executive assistant walked in. He didn’t even look at Richard. He just tipped his chin upward, radiating arrogance. “You the people who called? You brought the merchandise?” “Yes, yes, of course, Gavin. Please, take a look.” Richard grabbed me by the bicep, hauling me up only to shove me violently forward. I collapsed at Gavin’s Italian-leather shoes. Gavin looked down his nose at me, his eyes sweeping over my trembling form with blatant disgust. “Age is right. Fits the boss’s weird criteria. But…” He lifted his foot and pressed the toe of his shoe hard beneath my chin, forcing my head up. “She’s over forty. God knows how much mileage is on her. She’s filthy,” Gavin sneered. “And she’s had a kid. Body’s probably ruined. I’ll never understand what the hell is wrong with the boss’s head, wanting these used-up hags.” My husband—the man I had slept beside for two decades—didn’t flinch at the insult. He bowed his head, his voice dripping with sycophancy. “You’re absolutely right, Gavin. Honestly, at her age, catching the boss’s eye is the greatest blessing she’ll ever receive.” “Exactly,” Blake added, stepping forward eagerly. “My mom’s built tough. She can take a beating. Tell Mr. Gideon to use her however he wants.” My fingers curled into the plush rug. I dug my nails in until I felt the skin of my palms split. Forget Richard. Forget the son who had just gutted me. Let’s talk about Gavin. A man who worked for my son, who lived on my son’s payroll, daring to speak about my son’s desires with such vile disrespect. Gideon would never tolerate an employee like this. I slowly lifted my eyes, locking my gaze onto the assistant’s face. The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. “You think I’m ruined?” I asked, my voice deadly quiet. “I wonder how ruined your life is going to be when this night is over.” 2 “What did you just say, you crazy bitch?” Gavin’s face contorted. Before I could blink, his hand swung down, the back of his knuckles connecting with my cheek in a vicious, cracking slap. “You think just because you’re getting shoved into the boss’s bed tonight, you’re suddenly royalty? He’s probably going to take one look at you and vomit!” Gavin spit on the floor next to my hand. “Apologize. Now. Or the deal is dead.” “We apologize! We are so sorry!” Richard shrieked, the color draining from his face. He shot a panicked, wild look at Blake. The two men lunged at me. They grabbed my shoulders, kicking the backs of my knees until I buckled. They shoved their weight against my spine, trying to force my forehead to the floor. “Let go of me!” I thrashed, kicking out blindly. “I won’t beg! I did nothing wrong!” But I was one woman against two grown men. My strength was nothing against their sheer, panicked desperation. They forced me down, grinding my face into the cold, unforgiving marble. The friction tore the skin on my forehead; my knees bruised and bled against the stone. Only when blood began to pool beneath me did Gavin let out a huff of dark amusement. “Alright, that’s enough,” he muttered, adjusting his Rolex. “The boss is going to want some energy left in her.” Richard instantly beamed, panting heavily as he kept his knee pressed into my back. “Whatever you say, Gavin. We follow your lead. And, uh… we know you have the boss’s ear. When it comes to that venture capital injection we talked about…” Gavin soaked in the flattery, his cruel smile returning. “Relax. As long as you two know your place, the funding is fine. Honestly, I see women like your wife every week. They think they can spread their legs and become queens of the castle. But a tired old thing like this? She’s nothing compared to fresh blood.” Gavin clapped his hands sharply. Two towering security guards stepped out of the shadows. “The boss will be down soon. Throw her in the scrub tub. She needs to be sterilized. God knows what diseases she tracked in.” “What tub?” I gasped, trying to turn my head. Gavin ignored me. At his command, the guards dragged a massive, antique steel clawfoot tub into the center of the foyer. They began filling it with freezing water, and then, horrifically, dumping industrial-sized bags of coarse rock salt into it. It wasn’t a bath. It was torture. Gavin gave Richard a pointed look. “Throw her in. The salt will burn off the stench of failure.” “No!” I scrambled backward, my heels slipping on my own blood. My body was covered in open abrasions from the marble. Plunging into freezing, hyper-saline water would be absolute agony. But I didn’t make it three feet. Richard and Blake grabbed me by the arms, lifting me completely off the floor. “Take one for the team, Mom!” Blake hissed. “Do it for the family, Diana. Just endure it,” Richard grunted, his fingers digging into my bruises. They swung me over the edge and dropped me into the freezing depths. The moment the icy, salt-heavy water invaded my open wounds, it felt like liquid fire. A scream ripped from my throat, raw and agonizing. Tears blinded me. I thrashed, trying to grip the slippery steel to pull myself out. But Richard’s hands clamped down on my shoulders, shoving me beneath the surface. Water flooded my nose and throat. I choked, my lungs burning as the salt scoured my airway. “Stop fighting it, Diana! Get clean so he’ll actually want you!” Richard yelled over my splashing. “Stop acting crazy, Mom! Do you want to get us killed?” Blake screamed, grabbing my hair to keep my head submerged just long enough to terrify me, before yanking me up for air. I couldn’t speak. My vocal cords were paralyzed by the stinging water. Just as black spots began to dance at the edge of my vision, Gavin waved a hand, looking entirely bored. “Pull her out. She’s sanitized enough to be looked at. Bring her up to the second-floor restricted wing.” My entire body convulsed with pain as they dragged me onto the rug, leaving wet, red-tinged stains on the fabric. My teeth chattered violently. But beneath the agony, a cold, terrifying clarity settled over me. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to my feet. I suddenly wanted—needed—Gideon to see me exactly like this. Bleeding, shivering, abused. Because I knew my boy. I knew that years ago, a rival CEO had accidentally spilled wine on a photograph of me, and his entire company had been dismantled within a week. I took one step toward the staircase. Before my foot could hit the first tread, a hand shot out, manicured nails digging painfully into my collarbone, shoving me back. “What is this trash?” a shrill, imperious voice echoed through the hall. “Who gave this garbage permission to enter the private wing?” 3 A woman in her late forties stepped onto the landing. She was draped in head-to-toe vintage Chanel, her face pulled tight with expensive, subtle cosmetic work. But beneath the filler and the luxury, an undeniable truth struck me: she looked like me. Before I could process her identity, the arrogant Gavin practically folded himself in half, bowing deeply to the woman. “Monica! I didn’t know you were coming by! I would have sent the helicopter for you.” He turned to Richard and Blake, his voice sharp with warning. “Show some respect. This is the boss’s surrogate mother. She raised him. She is the most important person in his world.” Surrogate mother. I let out a short, hollow laugh. The final puzzle piece snapped into place. Gideon couldn’t find me. The ache of my absence was so profound that he had found a proxy. A woman who shared my features, whom he kept steeped in luxury just to have a shadow of a mother around. When Monica’s eyes landed on my face, the haughty indifference vanished, replaced instantly by a dark, feral rage. “Gavin. What is this?” Gavin wiped a sudden bead of sweat from his forehead. “Monica, please, she’s just the entertainment for the night. You know how he is. He’ll look at her for five seconds and have her thrown out. You are the only mother figure he cares about!” But the flattery didn’t work. Monica stepped closer, her eyes scanning my face with the paranoid intensity of a woman looking at her own replacement. “Did you scrub her?” Monica demanded. “My Gideon is highly allergic to filth.” “We did. Sterilized her exactly as instructed,” Gavin promised quickly. Monica sneered, stepping into my personal space. “Not clean enough. She still reeks of the gutter.” Without warning, her hand darted out. She twisted her fingers into the wet, tangled mass of my hair. “This hair is offensive,” she spat. “It needs to go.” Richard and Blake were desperate to win the favor of the “most important person” in Gideon’s life. The moment they heard her complaint, they threw themselves at me, tackling me back to the floor. “If it offends you, ma’am, it’s gone!” Richard yelled, pinning my arms. “We’ll shave her bald right now!” “Shave her?” Monica laughed, a high, cruel sound. “Where is the fun in that? Weeds need to be pulled out by the roots.” She wrapped the strands of my hair tightly around her fist, planted her designer heel on my shoulder for leverage, and yanked. A sickening rip echoed in the hall as a clump of my hair was torn directly from my scalp. “Ah!” A primal scream tore from my throat. Blinded by the searing pain, survival instinct took over. I wrenched my upper body free and shoved Monica as hard as I could. Monica, entirely unprepared for a “broken” woman to fight back, stumbled backward, her manicured hands flailing before she hit the floor. Her face twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated hatred. “You stupid bitch!” she shrieked, scrambling up and raising her hand to strike my face. “You dare touch me? I am a god in this house!” I tried to dodge, but Richard and Blake slammed their weight onto my wrists, pinning them to the floor. As Monica’s hand came down, I lunged forward with my neck and clamped my teeth down hard onto the fleshy part of her palm. I bit down until I tasted copper, until warm blood flooded my mouth. Monica screamed, a horrifying, piercing sound. She wrenched her hand free, staring at the deep, bleeding puncture wounds. Breathing heavily, she aimed a vicious kick directly at my ribs, sending me sliding across the wet floor. “Where the hell did you find this feral animal?!” Monica screamed at Gavin. “Do you want to lose your job, Gavin?!” Terrified of her wrath, Gavin turned on me. He marched over and kicked me squarely in the stomach. The wind left me in a violent rush. “You crazy bitch,” Gavin roared. “Do you have any idea who you just bit? I’m going to bring a pair of pliers and rip your teeth out one by one so you can never bite anyone again!” I coughed, spitting a mixture of salt water and Monica’s blood onto the marble. I looked up at Gavin, my chest heaving. “Pull my teeth? You?” I rasped, a dark smile touching my lips. “Are you sure you want to do that? When Gideon finds out, he will end your life.” “How dare you speak his name!” Monica shrieked, kicking me in the chest. “I won’t just pull your teeth. I’m going to cut your tongue out. Let’s see how much you run your mouth then!” 4 At the mention of cutting out my tongue, Gavin hesitated. “Monica, please. The boss has said a hundred times he hates blood on the floors. Maybe we just…” “Are you questioning me?!” Monica glared at him, her chest heaving. “Gideon worships me! He would burn this entire estate to the ground if I asked him to!” Seeing Monica’s lethal intent, I tried to drag myself backward toward the door. But my own family was my warden. Richard and Blake seized me again, digging their fingers into my bruises. “Monica, she assaulted you first! Punish her however you want!” Richard begged. “Kill her if you want, just please, put in a good word for our investment!” Blake pleaded, holding my shoulders down. Monica’s lips curled into a sinister smile. “Investment? As long as I am entertained, the money is yours.” A security guard returned, holding a pair of heavy, gleaming garden shears. The metallic glint sent a cold spike of adrenaline straight through my heart. Just as Monica grabbed my jaw, her fingers digging into my cheeks to force my mouth open, Gavin’s phone chimed loudly. He checked it and gasped. “Monica, stop! The boss just texted!” Gavin’s voice pitched upward in panic. “He said he’s meeting someone incredibly important tonight. He said under absolutely no circumstances is there to be a mess. Please, we have to stop.” A flash of genuine fear crossed Monica’s eyes. As arrogant as she played, she knew the limits of the monster she lived with. Slowly, resentfully, she dropped the shears. But her fury hadn’t burned out. Instead of cutting me, she straddled me, raising both hands, and delivered a barrage of vicious, open-handed slaps. Left, right, left, right. The room spun. The metallic taste of my own blood filled my mouth. One final, brutal backhand connected with my jaw, and I felt a tooth loosen and give way. I spat the tooth onto the floor, my breathing ragged. “You are going to regret this. Every single second of this.” “Regret?” Monica panted, standing over me, adjusting her bloody blazer. “The only one who’s going to regret anything is you. You will regret the day you were born.” She grabbed me by the collar. “You wanted to see the private floor so badly? Fine. I’ll take you.” Monica twisted her hand into the hair that was left on my head and dragged me toward the stairs. My knees slammed against the wooden steps, pulling agonizing trails behind me. When we reached the top of the landing, she threw me onto the floor. I gasped for air, trying to orient myself. When I finally looked up, all the rage and pain evaporated, replaced by a profound, paralyzing shock. The entire second floor wasn’t a modern bachelor pad. It was a perfect, pristine replica of the nursery I had decorated twenty-three years ago. The exact vintage wallpaper. A worn, knitted cardigan—my cardigan—draped carefully over a rocking chair. A stack of classic children’s books arranged perfectly on a low table. It was as if time had stopped. As if I had never left. Richard, who had followed us up, stared at the books in confusion. “Mr. Gideon has a kid? I never read that in the trades…” Gavin kicked Richard in the back of the knee. “Keep your mouth shut! You want to end up in a ditch?” While they were distracted, my trembling hand reached out. I let my bloodstained fingers brush the cover of Goodnight Moon. I used to read this to him, feeling his tiny heartbeat against my chest. Every word was burned into my soul. Before I could open it, Monica’s stiletto heel slammed down onto the back of my head, crushing my face into the floorboards. “You piece of trash!” she screamed. “Don’t you dare touch his things! If you stain that book, a hundred of your pathetic lives wouldn’t be enough to pay for it!” I let out a wet, rattling cough. Every bone in my body ached, but the fire in my chest was absolute. “When he gets here,” I whispered, blood bubbling on my lips, “you’ll see exactly whose life isn’t enough to pay for this.” “You dare say his name again?!” Monica was unhinged now. She lifted her stiletto, aiming the deadly steel spike directly for my temple. A strike there would kill me instantly. But before the heel could drop, a heavy, deadening silence fell over the hallway. Then, footsteps. Slow. Measured. Terrifying. “What… are you doing?” The voice was cold enough to freeze the blood in my veins. It was Gideon. He stood at the top of the stairs, dressed in a sharp black suit, his face a mask of supreme, aristocratic boredom and irritation. Monica reacted instantly. The feral monster vanished, replaced by a simpering, distressed victim. She abandoned me and rushed to him, wrapping her bloody hands around his bicep. “Oh, Gideon, thank God you’re home. The agency sent over this horrific, violent woman tonight. She attacked me. She was trying to kill me, look at my hand!” Richard practically threw himself forward, bowing so low his nose almost touched his knees. “Mr. Gideon! I am so, so sorry. She is completely out of line. But don’t worry, sir, we’ve already disciplined her for you!” Gideon didn’t look at them. His dark eyes slowly tracked past the bowing men, past the hysterical woman clutching his arm, and landed on me. In a fraction of a second, the mask of the untouchable billionaire shattered into a million pieces. The icy detachment in his eyes fractured. His pupils blew wide. The color drained from his face, and a violent tremor seized his shoulders. His eyes rapidly filled with tears, rimming with red. I pushed myself up onto one elbow, ignoring the blood dripping from my chin. I offered him a soft, broken smile. “Long time no see… my beautiful boy.”

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The free bread at the back of the campus cafeteria had become my primary food group. On my phone screen, a photo from my parents’ Instagram feed stung worse than the hunger in my gut. It was a platter of oysters and Alaskan king crab, glistening under the warm lights of a high-end bistro. They always claimed they were sending me three thousand dollars a month for “living expenses,” but the balance on my debit card had never crested a hundred. When the registrar’s office sent me a final notice for my tuition, I finally found the courage to call home. “I already transferred that money!” My mother’s voice was a jagged blade, slicing through the receiver. “You probably blew it all on some mindless trend, and now you have the nerve to ask for more?” My knuckles were white as I gripped the phone, my voice trembling. “Mom, I swear, I haven’t spent a dime on anything but food. The money just… it never hit the account.” “Bullshit! I have the transfer confirmation right here on my phone!” she shrieked. “Not only are you a spendthrift, but you’re a liar too. It’s time you learned a lesson.” That afternoon, I received a text notification from the bank. My account had been frozen. … I was just pouring the lukewarm cafeteria bread over a bowl of plain white rice when I saw the update. Another “family” dinner. The table was a graveyard of expensive shells. My mother was smiling, carefully de-shelling a lobster claw and placing it onto my cousin’s plate. My father had his arm around him, flashing a peace sign for the camera. That single meal cost more than my entire year’s grocery budget. The caption read: Dinner with the kid. He’s growing into such a thoughtful young man. We couldn’t be prouder! If you didn’t know any better, you’d think they were a perfect nuclear family of three. I stared at the rice. The bread had cooled, and the grains were hard and clumpy, but I didn’t care. I tilted the bowl and forced it down. My stomach, shriveled from days of neglect, cramped instantly. I doubled over, gasping, and my hand slipped. The bowl shattered on the floor, the remnants of my sad meal splattering across the linoleum. By the time the cramps subsided, the cafeteria staff had already started the midday cleaning. The food was gone. I thought about my empty bank account and felt a surge of desperation. I closed my eyes, reached down, and gathered the relatively clean clumps of rice from the table with my bare hands, swallowing them dry. “Noah? What are you doing?” I froze. It was my roommate. My face went hot, a deep, burning crimson. I couldn’t blame him for being shocked. On move-in day, my parents had pulled up in a top-trim Range Rover. My mother was draped in designer silk, a Rolex Submariner gleaming on her wrist. Everyone on floor four assumed I was a trust-fund kid. Nobody would believe that my monthly allowance was barely enough to cover a pack of gum. By the end of the month, I was a ghost haunting the free-bread station. Before I could manufacture a lie, my phone vibrated. It was my mother. I hit ‘accept,’ and her voice came through, uncharacteristically bright. “Noah, honey, I just put this month’s three thousand into your account. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?” I didn’t say anything. I opened my banking app. Balance: $30.58. Still two digits. It was always two digits. I thought of the lobster. I thought of the way she looked at my cousin. I took a breath, trying to keep the bile down. “Mom? Can I be honest with you?” She chuckled, sounding like she was in a great mood. “Of course. When has your mother ever lied to you?” “Could you… could you maybe send a little extra? Or send it differently? It’s just… it’s been really tight this month.” Silence. It stretched so long I could hear my own pulse drumming in my ears. I dug my nails into my palm, already regretting the words. Then, the snap. “Is three thousand not enough for you? What are you doing, Noah? Are you out there running with a bad crowd? Drugs? Gambing?” “Mom, no—I’m telling you, I only see thirty dollars in the account. Every month. I’m living on free soup. I can’t keep doing this.” My voice broke. “I don’t even need much. Just five hundred. Just Venmo it to me directly. Don’t go through the bank.” The sound of a glass shattering echoed through the phone. Then came the explosion. “Noah! How dare you lie to my face? I transfer that money like clockwork every month! You’re ungrateful, you’re greedy, and you’re a liar! I sent you to school to get an education, not to live like a king. If this is who you’ve become, you don’t belong at that university!” The line went dead. I stood there, paralyzed. My roommate was staring at me, his expression a mix of pity and confusion. I didn’t say a word. I just looked down, finished the last of the rice, and walked out. It was a sick joke. My roommates lived on eight hundred a month and ate like royalty. I was supposedly “getting” three thousand, yet I was survives on thirty. I’d been living this lie for two years, surviving on grueling side gigs and sheer willpower. The next morning, the hunger finally won. A sharp, white-hot pain bloomed in my stomach, coiling me into a ball on my mattress. I forced myself up. I had a shift at the dining hall—the only perk was a free breakfast. Three breakfast burritos. That was my fuel for the next twenty-four hours. I swallowed an old antacid and hurried to work. But the pain wouldn’t quit. Halfway through the breakfast rush, the world turned grey and tilted on its axis. I woke up in the infirmary. The nurse had placed a warm compress on my stomach, but my first instinct wasn’t relief. It was panic. I grabbed my phone and checked the app. Balance: $30.58. I couldn’t even afford the co-pay. With no other choice, I called home again. “Mom, please. I’m in the campus clinic. I passed out. I need money for the medical bill…” “If you’re broke, stay healthy!” she screamed before I could even finish. “I gave you three thousand yesterday! One day, Noah! It’s been one day and you’ve blown it all? You’re a disgrace!” I hadn’t realized I’d bumped the speakerphone button. Her voice rang through the quiet infirmary like a siren. My skin burned with shame. I saw the nurse look away, pretending to be busy with a chart. Something inside me finally snapped. “Enough! You keep saying three thousand! But look at my statement! It’s thirty dollars! Thirty! Do you have any idea what these two years have been like? I’m delivering food until 3 AM on a rented bike. I’ve worked through fevers because I couldn’t afford a bottle of Tylenol. You put the money in and then you take it back—who are you doing this for? Who are you trying to impress?” There was a pause. Then her voice sharpened into a lethal point. “Are you accusing us? We work ourselves to the bone to provide for you, and you turn around and blame us for your own incompetence? If the money is gone, you lost it. You deserve to struggle.” My father’s voice drifted in the background. “Noah, son, don’t worry. I’ll send more later…” “Send what?” my mother cut him off. “He’s a boy. Why does he need so much cash? He’ll just get into trouble. Our reputation can’t handle a delinquent son. We survived on pennies when we were in college. He’s just spoiled. A spoiled brat.” I stared at the ceiling, trying to keep the tears from spilling. I failed. In the end, I had to beg my supervisor at the dining hall for an advance to pay the clinic. By the time I left, the delivery app on my phone chimed. My second job was starting. I took a deep breath and ran to the electric bike rental station. It was five dollars an hour. I usually booked two hours and rode like a madman to hit the bonuses. The orders were slow today, but one popped up—a long haul, way outside the campus bubble. A thirty-minute ride for an eight-dollar payout. I took it. At a red light, a matte-black sports car pulled up beside me. The engine purred with the kind of expensive precision that made my teeth ache. I glanced over. The guy in the driver’s seat looked familiar. It was Tyler, my cousin. He was on a hands-free call, grinning, a heavy gold watch catching the afternoon sun. “Thanks, Aunt Diane! Yeah, I just picked it up. The handling is incredible. It’s like driving a cloud.” He glanced my way, his eyes skimming over my sweat-soaked delivery vest and the beat-up thermal bag on my back. His gaze paused for a microsecond. Then he looked right through me. Like I was part of the scenery. The light turned green, and he roared away. I sat there, my hands frozen on the handlebars. Tyler was my father’s nephew. He wasn’t even related to my mother, yet she’d bought him a supercar. And I, her own son, had just woken up in a clinic because I couldn’t afford a sandwich. The irony tasted like copper in my mouth. I reached the delivery address a minute late. The customer was a pregnant woman who snatched the bag and began complaining before I could even apologize. “What took so long? If my baby gets stressed because I’m hungry, that’s on you!” “I’m sorry, the traffic—” “Save it. You’re getting a one-star.” The door slammed. My phone buzzed. Delivery completed. Payout: $4.00. The app had docked half for the delay. I stared at the screen for a long time. Then I got back on the bike. On the ride back to campus, it started to drizzle. My vision blurred, a mix of rain and salt. I didn’t cry, though. I just twisted the throttle, letting the cold wind fill my lungs until the ache in my chest felt like it belonged to someone else. At 9:00 PM, I crawled back to the dorm. After showering, I counted my earnings. After the clinic debt, I had $42.58. Total net worth. At least I wasn’t in the red. My phone buzzed again. A private message from my advisor. Noah, your tuition is significantly past due. Is everything okay? Tuition? My stomach dropped. My mother had “paid” it before the semester started. I’d watched her click through the portal. Had she canceled the payment? Or was it another lie? I spent the weekend on a bus back to my hometown. I needed answers. When I reached the front door of our suburban estate, my thumb wouldn’t work on the biometric lock. They’d changed the settings. I was about to ring the bell when the door opened. It was Tyler. He saw me and let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Hey, little cousin. Why didn’t you call? It’s family dinner night. We didn’t really set a place for you.” “Noah? You have the nerve to show up here?” My mother’s voice barked from the foyer. Tyler turned back to her, his voice dripping with fake concern. “Aunt Diane, I know Noah’s been irresponsible with money, but he’s still family. I’ve heard about college kids getting into deep water—gambling debts, shady loans. He’s probably just in over his head.” The bait was set. My mother took it instantly. “I cannot believe I raised such a failure!” she screamed, lunging toward me. “Getting into debt, hanging out in the gutter, and then crawling back here for a handout? Get out!” She raised her hand to strike me. Even knowing she didn’t love me, the fact that she believed a cousin’s gossip over her own son felt like a physical weight in my chest. “I’m not here for a handout,” I said, my voice cold. “I’m here to ask why my tuition hasn’t been paid.” She froze. Then, the vitriol returned. “Don’t you dare play that game! On top of the three thousand a month, I’ve sent you money for clothes, holiday bonuses—nearly ten thousand dollars this year alone! You gambled it away, didn’t you? And now you’re trying to steal your own tuition?” I clutched my bag, staring her down. “You say you sent the money. Where is it?” “My account shows thirty dollars every month. I’m at the top of the ‘failure to pay’ list at the registrar. Is that your idea of providing?” I pulled up the email from the school and held it in her face. “You say you gave me the money? Prove it. Let’s look at the ledger. Right now.” My mother opened her mouth to snap back, but my father, who had been quiet on the sofa, suddenly stood up. His face was a mask of stern authority. “Noah, that’s enough. Is this the thanks we get? You come into this house and scream at your mother? Where is your respect?” I looked at him, my eyes burning. “Respect? She’s lying to my face, Dad! She says she’s sending thousands, but I’m starving!” “Lying?” My mother slammed her hand on the side table. “You want proof? Fine. Let’s look at the receipts, you ungrateful brat. Let’s see exactly how much of a liar you are.” She pulled out her phone and pulled up her banking app. She shoved the screen an inch from my nose. I stared. I didn’t want to miss a single digit. My heart stopped. The records were there. Every single one. The first of every month: Transfer to Noah – $3,000. Status: Success. But… that was impossible. “I don’t understand…” I whispered. The transfers were real. The system showed the money leaving her account and entering mine. Every ‘birthday gift,’ every ‘clothing allowance’—it was all there, marked as completed transactions. But my balance had never changed. It was as if the money hit my account and then simply evaporated into thin air. Before I could wrap my head around the glitch, my mother’s voice turned low and dangerous. “Get on your knees.” Before I could react, she kicked the back of my calf. The pain sent me stumbling down. Then, a sharp, stinging slap across my face. I was kneeling on the porch of our million-dollar home in full view of the neighbors. “I have tried everything to raise you right,” she shouted, her voice booming so the whole street could hear. “But you are a liar and a thief. You spent your tuition on god-knows-what, and then you came here to gasprint your own mother? Everyone, look! This is what an ungrateful son looks like!” She grabbed a decorative broom from the foyer and began striking my back. A small crowd of neighbors began to gather. “Isn’t that Diane’s son? What happened?” “Spent all his tuition money, apparently. Then tried to extort her for more.” “What a shame. Diane works so hard. Some kids are just born rotten.” The crowd murmured their approval of my “discipline.” My mother’s chin lifted. She loved an audience. She loved being the righteous martyr. She hit me harder. My father stepped out, his voice a faux-whisper of sympathy. “Noah, just apologize. It breaks my heart to see you like this. Just admit you spent the money and say you’re sorry.” I looked at him. Truly looked at him. And in that moment, a jagged piece of memory slotted into place. I started to laugh. It was a cold, jagged sound that stopped my mother’s hand mid-swing. “I know,” I said, my voice echoing in the sudden silence. “I know exactly where the money went.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “440954”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Late at night, my husband Ethan once again snuck into the bedroom of his deceased brother’s wife. Shameful moans spilled through the crack in the door. My heart twisted as if a knife was being driven through it. I once thought I’d married into happiness. Three years ago, I was kidnapped and nearly violated by a dozen men. It was Ethan who risked his life to save me. In that moment, I was moved to tears, and I chose to marry him. It wasn’t until two days ago that I learned the truth. The kidnapping was orchestrated by him. The knife wound he received while saving me was all calculated. Marrying me, doting on me, getting me pregnant. It was all to protect his beloved Lydia. It was all because his forbidden love with Lydia wasn’t supported by the family. Our three years of love was nothing but a lie. If that’s how it is, don’t blame me for what comes next. Sophia’s POV I am San Diego’s most well-behaved socialite, a recognized model lady in high society circles. I was so obedient growing up that I’d never even held a man’s hand. But my family insisted I marry the most infamous bad boy, Ethan. Rumors said he could go through three different women in a week, racing cars and yachts every night, living a life of complete debauchery. This man was definitely not husband material. So I made the only rebellious decision of my twenty-three-year life. The night before our engagement, I ran away. But fate played a cruel joke on me. I fled the arranged marriage, only to be kidnapped halfway by my family’s enemies. Just as my clothes were being torn off and I was about to be violated by a dozen men, the warehouse door was smashed open from outside. Ethan drove a black sports car straight in. He got out and fought over a dozen burly men. Eventually he drove them all away, but he was also severely injured. A blade pierced his left chest. He collapsed in a pool of blood, struggling to crawl to my side and untie the ropes binding me. I tore off the hem of my shirt and pressed it trembling against the wound on his chest. “Why did you come to save me?” “Because you’re my fiancée.” He coughed up blood, his devastatingly handsome face pale from blood loss. “Even though… you didn’t seem too willing.” My tears surged out, falling one by one. “I’m sorry. If I hadn’t tried to run away from the marriage, you wouldn’t have been dragged into this and injured…” Ethan reached out and wiped away my tears with his thumb. “Don’t cry.” He said, “It was my fault before, too many scandals, too bad a reputation… and you’re so good, so pure. No wonder you wanted to run.” “But don’t be afraid… from now on, they won’t force you anymore, won’t pressure you into this marriage… you’re free now, you can go anywhere, marry whoever you want…” In that moment, my heart was like a lake struck by a massive stone, rippling with countless waves. My heart was moved. “I won’t run anymore.” I held him tightly, tears rolling uncontrollably. “Ethan, I won’t run anymore. As long as you’re okay, I’m willing to marry you!” Fortunately, the ambulance arrived in time. The doctor said he was lucky: the blade missed his heart by two centimeters. He was saved. After he recovered and was discharged, I followed my heart and married him. After marriage, Ethan reined in his wild ways. No more women around him. He spoiled me endlessly. He was so good to me. So good that if I scraped my skin even a little, he’d hold it tenderly and blow on it for ages. So good that to avoid making me angry, he replaced all his secretaries and drivers with men. So good that he’d always come home by ten o’clock at night, earning teasing from his friends about being “henpecked.” And Ethan would always respond happily, with pride and affection, “My Sophia is a treasure that countless men would beg for and never get. That she’s willing to marry me is my blessing.” Every time I heard him say this to others, I felt that marrying him was the most correct decision I’d ever made. Until this prenatal checkup, seven weeks into my pregnancy. Ethan had an important client he couldn’t reschedule. I went to the checkup alone, and seeing it was still early, I stopped by his company wanting to wait for him to get off work so we could go home together. Learning he was meeting a client in the conference room, I didn’t have the secretary notify him. I went into his office and found a magazine to read in the private rest room. Ever since getting pregnant, I’d become especially drowsy. Without realizing it, I fell asleep on the single bed in the rest room. I woke to the sound of loud conversation from the office. “Tsk, aren’t you the gold standard for good husbands in our circle now? Your wife had such an important prenatal checkup today, yet you dared make up an excuse to hang out with us here? Aren’t you afraid she’ll make you sleep in the study when she finds out?” A burst of knowing laughter followed. It was Ethan and his group of friends chatting. I smiled slightly. Knowing this group made boundless jokes in private, I didn’t mind. I got up, about to open the rest room door and go out, when I heard Ethan laugh shortly, his voice carrying a cold mockery I’d never heard before. “A good husband?” Ethan scoffed. “Marrying Sophia, getting her pregnant with this child. None of it was ever my choice. I was forced into all of it.” My hand froze on the doorknob, my fingertips trembling imperceptibly. What did he mean by that? What did he mean, he was forced? Another friend said incredulously, “What are you talking about? Who in San Diego could force you?” “Who else?” One friend who knew the inside story said, “His grandfather! Have you all forgotten that punishment three years ago that left him bedridden for half a month?” The others exchanged glances, their expressions changing. “All these years, I acted like a jerk: racing cars, changing girlfriends, constant scandals. I thought if I did that, Grandfather wouldn’t think I still had feelings for Lydia.” Ethan laughed at himself bitterly, then his tone grew heavy. “But three years ago, he still caught me and Lydia together.” Lydia… Lydia Hayes? How could it be her? My breath caught. I could barely stand. Lydia Hayes, his deceased brother’s wife. He was actually with his own brother’s wife? A massive sense of absurdity crashed over me. I suddenly felt my stomach churning with nausea. “When grandfather saw me with Lydia, he thought we were disgraceful. He said she was disgusting, that I’d betrayed my brother. But Lydia and I were together first. It was my brother who tore us apart.” In the office, Ethan’s words continued. “But Grandfather wouldn’t listen to explanations. He was furious and severely punished Lydia. I got beaten too, but that wasn’t the worst of it.” He paused, then his tone turned ice cold. “The problem was, Grandfather used Lydia to threaten me. He said if I didn’t marry Sophia, Lydia’s days in the Quinn family would only get worse.” “So you married Sophia for Lydia’s sake?” Someone said with a sigh. “We all thought you’d long since moved on from her and fallen for Sophia. Otherwise, why would you have stepped up three years ago to save her, nearly dying from your injuries?” The friend who knew the inside story laughed knowingly. “You don’t know the whole story. The kidnapping Sophia went through three years ago, he orchestrated the entire thing.” “No way! That kidnapping was your setup?” Ethan was silent for a moment, his voice low. “Yes.” Hearing that affirmative word, my fingers dug sharply into my palm, nails piercing flesh, but I didn’t care.

Sophia’s POV Ethan continued slowly, “You all know how stubborn my grandfather is. He valued Sophia’s family background, appreciated how well-behaved she was. He said she was pure and innocent, the perfect choice for my wife.” He paused, flicking cigarette ash, that red glow flickering at his fingertips. “But she didn’t want to marry a notorious bad boy like me, and Grandfather was pressuring me hard. I had no other options.” “So you arranged that whole scene?” Someone asked. “Yeah.” Ethan admitted it readily. “I knew she was going to run from the marriage, so I contacted her family’s enemies and set up that situation. The knife was angled to miss by two centimeters, the ambulance was already waiting outside. Everything was calculated.” He laughed shortly, the sound devoid of warmth. “I didn’t expect her to actually cry like that when I collapsed, holding me and saying she’d marry me.” Everyone exchanged glances, momentarily speechless. “Brilliant!” Someone was the first to react. “That plan not only satisfied your grandfather but made Sophia completely devoted to you. Two birds with one stone!” Ethan crushed out his cigarette, his voice heavy. “This stays between us. She’s carrying my child now. If word gets to her…” “Don’t worry, which of us would tell?” “Exactly. This secret dies with us.” “But,” someone hesitated, “Do you really have no feelings for Sophia at all now? She’s carrying your child…” Ethan didn’t answer immediately. After a long pause, he finally spoke, his tone as calm as if discussing something unrelated to himself. “Lydia lives every day walking on eggshells. I promised to protect her, that I wouldn’t fall for another woman.” Inside the rest room, I felt completely frozen, like I’d been cast into hell. I covered my mouth tightly with one hand to keep from making a sound, the other clenched into a fist, knuckles white. So that was it. He conspired with the Hayes family’s enemies to kidnap me, nearly having me violated, then appeared at the crucial moment to stage that dramatic rescue. All his tenderness, consideration, and doting on me, including his supposed reformation, was fake. Those moments that moved my heart, those times I thought were sweet and happy, were all just an elaborate act he performed. And the purpose was to protect the woman he truly loved from being mistreated. He never loved me from the beginning, yet I was foolish enough to be deceived for three years, only discovering today just how many lies he’d woven for me. Countless emotions surged like a tide, nearly drowning me. When I came back to my senses, the office outside had gone quiet. Ethan and his friends had left. I wiped away my tears forcefully, took a deep breath, and pushed down all the anger, resentment, and the dull, knife-like pain in my chest before pulling open the rest room door. Outside was completely empty. I left Quinn Corporation and hailed a car to a law firm. “Hello, I want a divorce.” I found a divorce attorney and said directly, “Please draft a divorce agreement for me.” I was going to divorce Ethan. I would no longer be his tool to protect another woman. Just then, my phone rang. It was a call from Ethan.

Sophia’s POV Looking at the caller ID “My Love” on the screen, I zoned out for a moment. If Ethan knew I’d discovered everything and was even considering divorce, he would definitely try every means to stop me. So before successfully divorcing, I absolutely couldn’t let him notice anything. In the last second before the call would automatically disconnect, I slid to answer. “Sophia?” Ethan’s voice came through the receiver, carrying his usual warm concern. “Did you finish the checkup? How did it go?” If this were yesterday, I would have felt sweet about this thoughtful concern. But now, I only felt my stomach churning with nausea. I tried to keep my voice steady and normal. “Yes, it’s done. The doctor said the baby is very healthy. Don’t worry.” “That’s good.” Ethan’s tone relaxed a bit. “By the way, I have to make a sudden business trip to the next city. Important project. I’ll be gone two or three days. Take care of yourself and the baby. Have the kitchen make whatever you want to eat. I’ll bring you a gift when I get back.” “Okay.” I only replied with one word, afraid saying more would betray my emotions. After hanging up, I stood in the law firm’s air-conditioned hallway, feeling my blood run completely cold. I raised my other hand and gently touched my still-flat belly. Just yesterday, I’d been filled with joy about this child’s arrival, imagining who the baby would look like. But now… With such a calculating father whose heart belonged elsewhere, if this child were born, it would surely have an unhappy life. After getting the divorce agreement from the lawyer, the next day as I went downstairs in a distracted state, my foot slipped and I fell. When I woke up, my lower abdomen throbbed with pain. The doctor told me the baby was gone. I returned weakly to the villa and lay in bed to rest. My phone vibrated. I picked it up to see Lydia had just posted on Ins. There were six photos. A selfie of Lydia with a gentle smile, an elaborately decorated birthday cake, brilliant fireworks in the night sky, two plates of exquisite Western cuisine, and two wine glasses clinking together. The last one was a close-up of two hands with fingers interlaced. On the man’s wrist was a Patek Philippe starry sky watch I knew all too well. The caption read, “This year’s birthday, still with my favorite person by my side.” Location tagged: Grand Hyatt Hotel in the neighboring city. My whole body went ice cold, chilled to the bone. So Ethan’s so-called business trip was to celebrate Lydia’s birthday, enjoying their undisturbed time together. With trembling fingers, I clicked into Lydia’s Ins and scrolled up through her posts. Three years ago in autumn, Lydia posted a photo of maple leaves with the caption, “Maple leaves are red again. Remember that year you said you’d take me to see all the red leaves in the world.” Two years ago on Valentine’s Day, Lydia posted a starry sky image. “Even if we can’t always be together, our hearts in one place is enough.” One year ago, on mine and Ethan’s wedding anniversary, Lydia posted, “Some people, some things, are destined to remain only in the heart. But being able to silently protect is already fortunate.” Looking through these, I suddenly realized Lydia had posted quite a bit of ambiguous content over the past three years. It’s just that before, I’d genuinely treated Lydia as family and never connected that content with Ethan. Now, suddenly awakened to the truth, I felt like a complete fool. I had been thoroughly deceived for three years. I thought I had love and happiness, not knowing that my sweet happiness was just a joke to others. I closed my eyes. Tears slid silently from the corners of my eyes.

Sophia’s POV Two days later, Ethan returned. But it was the Quinn family estate’s butler who told me. The butler spoke urgently, with rare panic. “Please come to the estate quickly. Something’s happened to him!” I frowned. “What happened?” “You’ll know when you get here. The old master is furious. No one can calm him down.” I was confused but still rushed to the Quinn estate. The whole way, I’d imagined various possibilities, but I never expected to see this scene. Lydia’s long hair was disheveled, tears on her face, her whole body trembling. And Ethan was tightly shielding her in his arms. His entire back had numerous vicious bloody marks, skin split open, blood soaking through his white shirt. “You disgusting creature! How dare you do such a shameful thing!” Grandfather stood to the side leaning on his cane, chest heaving violently. “Did you think that just because you weren’t in San Diego, I wouldn’t know what you two have been doing these past few days?” Lydia shook her head crying. “It’s not like that, Grandfather…” “If Grandfather must punish someone,” Ethan said hoarsely, “Then punish me. This is all my fault. It has nothing to do with Lydia.” “You bastard! How can you face your deceased brother? How can you face Sophia? How can you face the child in her belly!” “Lydia and I truly loved each other from the start!” Ethan suddenly raised his voice, eyes reddening. “As for Sophia and the child in her belly, you forced me into that, grandfather.” The words fell, and the room went deathly silent. Grandfather trembled with rage, nearly fainting from anger. “I thought after three years of marriage to Sophia, you’d have some feelings for her. I never imagined you were still so bewitched by this woman that you’ve lost all reason!” Just then, the butler hurried in from outside. “She’s here…” Ethan’s body stiffened. He slowly turned his head. At the doorway, I stood quietly. Our eyes met. Ethan’s eyes flashed with momentary panic and guilt. His lips moved as if wanting to say something, but ultimately he just looked away and said nothing. Grandfather saw me too. His expression changed slightly as he urgently signaled to the butler. “Quick, take her to the front hall to rest!” The butler stepped forward respectfully. “This way, please.” I pressed my lips together and had no choice but to follow the butler away. Behind me came Grandfather’s voice, suppressing fury with his command. “Continue! Beat them severely!” The sound of the rod striking flesh resumed. From the corner of my eye, I glimpsed that every strike the servant swung at Lydia landed heavily on Ethan’s back instead. He gritted his teeth, not making a sound, protecting Lydia in his arms completely. And Lydia remained completely unharmed. Late that night, a private doctor came to the villa to treat Ethan’s wounds. After nearly two hours of cleaning, medicating, and bandaging, the doctor finally left. Ethan lay on his stomach on the bed, looking toward me. After a moment of silence, he spoke. “Today at the estate… what did you hear?” I raised my eyes to meet his. “What should I have heard?” I asked back. Ethan studied me. “Nothing. She angered Grandfather. He wanted to punish her, but she’s too delicate to withstand it. With my brother gone, I have to protect her for him.” He reached out to hold my hand, his thumb gently rubbing the back of my hand, his habitual intimate gesture. “Sophia, don’t let it bother you.” I looked at his hand holding mine. Long fingers, well-defined and strong. Once, this hand had wiped my tears, stroked my hair, countless times gently held me, embraced me. Now, I only felt disgusted. “I know.” I calmly pulled my hand away. “I understand.” I took out a document from the nightstand drawer and placed it in front of him. “By the way, sign this for me.” “What is it?” He asked casually. “I saw a necklace I really like. It’s quite expensive. I want you to buy it for me.” I was gambling. Gambling that having just been punished for Lydia’s sake and having lied to me, he wouldn’t carefully read the document’s contents at a time like this. Sure enough, Ethan barely hesitated before taking the document and pen. He signed his name smoothly on the signature line of the last page I’d turned to. “What else do you want?” He handed the document back to me with an indulgent smile. “I’ll buy it all for you.” “That’s not necessary.” I smiled. “This one thing is enough.”

Sophia’s POV The next day, I delivered the signed divorce agreement to my lawyer, asking them to process it as quickly as possible, then returned to the villa. Stepping into the entrance, the housekeeper who was wiping a vase saw me. Her expression was somewhat strange, hesitant to speak. “What is it?” I asked while changing shoes. “Ma’am.” The housekeeper gestured toward upstairs. “Someone’s here. Upstairs.” My movements paused briefly, then returned to normal. “I see.” I went straight upstairs. The closer I got to the master bedroom, the clearer the sobbing from inside became. “…It’s all my fault. If not for me, you wouldn’t have been hurt so badly…” Lydia was draped over Ethan, crying with a face full of tears. Ethan turned his face slightly, seemingly about to raise his hand to wipe her tears, but his gaze inadvertently caught sight of me at the door. His movement froze instantly. “Sophia?” Ethan called out, with a trace of barely perceptible tension. Lydia startled like she’d been frightened, hurriedly moving away from him and straightening up, turning to look toward the door. Her face was pale, eyes red and swollen, looking pitiful. “Sophia, you… you’re back…” Lydia’s fingers twisted at her clothes anxiously. “Ethan was hurt because of me. I felt so guilty, I just wanted to come see him… We… we didn’t do anything else…” “She was just emotionally overwhelmed for a moment. Nothing more.” Ethan picked up the conversation. “Don’t misunderstand.” One with red-rimmed eyes looking pitiful, one with a soothing tone and evasive gaze. I suddenly wanted to laugh. Their panic wasn’t about me misunderstanding, was it? They were just afraid I’d tell Grandfather, afraid this marriage would fall apart, afraid Lydia’s days in the Quinn family would become even worse. “I understand.” I nodded. “I get it.” Lydia bit her lower lip, those wet eyes looking at me with careful pleading. “Sophia, Ethan was hurt because of me. I feel terrible about it. I want to stay and take care of him for a few days, even if it’s just bringing him water.” Before I could respond, Ethan spoke first from the bed. “Grandfather is furious right now. Her days at the estate aren’t easy. Let her stay here temporarily for a few days. When Grandfather calms down, she can go back.” He seemed to be asking, but his tone brooked no refusal. I smiled. “As long as you two think it’s fine, I have no objections.” “I knew it! Sophia, you’re so magnanimous and understanding!” Lydia beamed with joy and just like that, moved into our villa. That night. In the dead of night, my phone suddenly vibrated with a message notification. Ethan picked up his phone to look, then glanced sideways at me. After confirming I was asleep, he slowly got up and left the room. In the darkness, I opened my eyes, got up as well, and walked to the guest room door. Light leaked through the door crack, casting the shadows of two intertwined figures. “Does it still hurt?” Lydia’s voice was full of heartache. “Seeing those wounds, my heart is breaking…” Ethan cupped her face and lowered his head, kissing her wet eyes. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.” His voice carried a tenderness I’d never heard before. “Don’t worry. I can move around now. I’ll be fine soon.” Lydia tilted her face up, tears streaming. “Don’t protect me like that next time. Seeing you hurt makes me suffer a thousand, ten thousand times more than if I were hurt myself…” Ethan’s thumb caressed her cheek. “Silly girl. I told you I’d protect you. No matter how badly I’m hurt, it’s my willing choice.” Lydia’s eyes grew hazy. Suddenly she stood on tiptoe and kissed his lips. Ethan seemed ignited. The next second, he bent down and swept Lydia up in his arms. Walking to the bed in a few steps, he laid her down and pressed himself on top of her, kissing her lips as his hands began to roam restlessly. “Mmm… Ethan…” Lydia’s breathing was unsteady. “Isn’t this bad, doing this here? What if we wake Sophia?” Ethan’s kisses traveled down her neck, his voice muffled but certain. “She won’t wake up. She sleeps deeply since getting pregnant. Not even thunder would wake her.” I stood outside the door, watching that nauseating entanglement. They were actually so desperate they couldn’t control themselves, having an affair right under my nose. This was the good man I once believed in. My good husband. This was the woman I’d sincerely treated as family, whom I’d pitied as a young widow.

Sophia’s POV Just before dawn, the master bedroom door was gently pushed open. Ethan returned to the bedside silently like a ghost. He softly called my name once. After confirming I was still asleep, he lifted the covers and lay down. I had my back to him. In the faint light of dawn seeping through the curtains, I opened my eyes. In the days that followed, a bizarre calm settled over the villa. Lydia, under the pretense of caring for the injured, had practically become half the lady of the house. In the mornings, she’d wear silk robes while making coffee for Ethan, her fingertips “accidentally” brushing his hand. In the afternoon garden, she’d stand on tiptoe to straighten Ethan’s collar, her lips nearly touching his chin. Every time, I carefully took note but continued pretending not to know, as if I’d seen nothing. “Next week is Grandfather’s seventy-fifth birthday.” That evening at dinner, Ethan cut his steak and said casually, “We’re celebrating at the estate this year. We’ll need to stay overnight.” Lydia’s knife and fork paused in mid-air. “Got it.” I scooped up a spoonful of soup and agreed. On the birthday, the Quinn estate was filled with guests. Nearly every prominent figure in the city attended. Ethan held my hand, playing the loving couple in front of others. Lydia wore an elegant moonlight-white dress, sitting quietly in a corner. Occasionally when her gaze met Ethan’s, tender affection that only they understood flowed between them. When the banquet ended and guests dispersed, it was already evening. I’d been standing in high heels all day. My calves ached terribly. I was about to go upstairs to rest when a young maid hurried over carrying a fruit plate. The maid’s face was pale as she pleaded, “I suddenly have terrible stomach pain… This fruit plate is supposed to go to your grandfather. Could you… help me deliver it?” Thinking it was just a small favor, I nodded and took it. “Give it to me.” “Thank you!” The maid looked relieved, clutching her stomach as she hurried away. Grandfather’s bedroom was at the end of the hallway. The door was ajar, light spilling from inside. I approached, about to raise my hand to knock. A dull thud of something heavy hitting the floor suddenly came from inside. My heart jumped. Without thinking further, I pushed the door open with my elbow. The scene before me made my blood freeze instantly. Grandfather lay face-up on the carpet beside the bed, while Lydia gripped a down pillow with both hands, pressing it firmly over his nose and mouth. Her profile in the lamplight appeared twisted and vicious, her eyes full of malice. Completely different from her usual weak and pitiful appearance. “Grandpa!” The fruit plate slipped from my hands. I gasped in disbelief and lunged forward, shoving Lydia away. “Lydia! What are you doing?!” Caught off guard, Lydia was pushed to the floor. She screamed, hurriedly dropping the pillow, her face drained of all color, trembling violently. I was about to reach out to check Grandfather’s breathing when Ethan and other Quinn family members burst in after hearing the commotion. Ethan saw Grandfather collapsed on the floor. His pupils constricted sharply. “What happened?!” “Grandfather! Grandfather, what’s wrong?” Other Quinn family members crowded in, crying out in shock at the scene. “Quick! Call an ambulance! Now!” After Ethan shouted, he rushed over like a gust of wind, crouched down, carefully lifted Grandfather, and urgently pressed his fingers to the carotid artery. Chaos erupted. The ambulance arrived quickly. Grandfather was lifted onto a stretcher and sent to the hospital, straight into the emergency room. The situation was critical, life and death uncertain. In the Quinn estate’s main hall, the atmosphere was unbearably heavy. The main Quinn family members gathered there, everyone’s faces somber. Ethan returned from the hospital to the estate. When he entered the hall, his expression was even darker than when he’d left. “What exactly happened?” His voice was low, carrying the feeling of an approaching storm, each word like ice. “Grandpa was perfectly fine. How did he suddenly suffocate and fall unconscious? Who did this?” Everyone’s eyes focused on Lydia and me: some suspicious, some scrutinizing, some furious. When they all heard the commotion and rushed to the room, there were only two people inside besides Grandfather: Lydia and me. Only we knew what had happened. I opened my mouth, about to speak. “It was… it was Sophia!”

Sophia’s POV I looked at Lydia in shock as she suddenly cried out. Lydia’s face was deathly pale. She raised a trembling hand, pointing at me, tears streaming down. “It was Sophia! I saw it with my own eyes… saw her holding the pillow, covering Grandfather’s nose and mouth! I tried to stop her, but it was too late…” “You’re lying!” All the blood in my body rushed to my head. “It was you! I saw you with my own eyes holding the pillow over Grandfather’s face!” I turned to Ethan, explaining urgently. “Ethan, you have to believe me! I went to bring Grandfather fruit. When I pushed the door open, I saw Lydia using the pillow to smother him! She’s the one trying to kill Grandfather! That pillow must have Lydia’s fingerprints on it. We just need to test it!” “That won’t be necessary.” Ethan abruptly cut me off, his voice so low it was alarming. His gaze fell on my face, his eyes full of cold scrutiny, as if looking at a stranger. “Lydia would never do such a thing.” He said each word deliberately. “I believe her.” “You believe her?” I couldn’t believe it. My whole body trembled. “You won’t even investigate before believing her?” Ethan’s face was iron-gray, his eyes flashing with terrifying coldness. “Lydia’s been married into the Quinn family for so many years. We’ve all seen what kind of person she is. She’s usually so gentle she wouldn’t even step on an ant. How could she possibly dare harm Grandfather?” “Then what about me? Grandfather has always treated me well. What reason would I have to harm him?” “Yes, I’d very much like to ask you.” Ethan’s handsome face was as cold as frost. “Grandfather has always treated you well. Why were you so ruthless as to attack him?” My whole body shook. I was utterly shocked. I’d expected him to protect Lydia, but I never imagined he’d be so blind to the truth. “Ethan.” An older Quinn family member spoke gravely. “Your grandfather’s life still hangs in the balance. This matter must be severely punished.” “Yes, he must be given justice!” “We absolutely cannot let the culprit go free!” The Quinn family members chimed in, looking at me with disgust and fury. Ethan was silent for a moment, then finally raised his hand. “Someone come.” Two bodyguards entered at his command. “Take her to the police station.” Ethan’s voice was ice cold. “On charges of attempted murder.” “Ethan!” Cold seeped through me from the inside out. “You can’t do this to me. I’m carrying your child!” This was my only bargaining chip now. Though only I knew the child was already gone. But at this moment, this was the only way I could think of to delay and wait for the truth to come out. “Even if you really don’t believe me.” My voice choked, carrying a last shred of hope. “At least wait until Grandfather wakes up and hear what he has to say…” “Take her away.” Ethan didn’t look at me, only uttering two words to the bodyguards. The bodyguards stepped forward, gripping my arms from both sides. “Ethan!” I struggled, my voice shrill. “Please, at least wait until Grandfather wakes up…” “If Grandfather can wake up.” Ethan finally looked at me, his eyes colder than I’d ever seen. “Perhaps I’ll consider hearing your explanation. But now, you should pay for what you’ve done.” “You can’t do this, Ethan! I’m your wife. I’m carrying your child!” No matter how I struggled, argued, or pleaded, I couldn’t soften Ethan’s heart. The bodyguards forcibly dragged me away. The following days were the darkest period of my life. I was locked in a detention center. The female inmates looked at me like I was prey. At first, it was just verbal abuse, then it escalated to shoving, and then… “I heard she’s a vicious woman who tried to kill her own grandfather?” “Looks so innocent on the outside, but has such a black heart!” “Someone paid big money for us to teach her a lesson!” Fists, slaps, fingernails digging into flesh. All aimed at me. The most painful was late at night, when they’d press me down on the filthy bathroom floor and pour cold water over my head again and again. The cold water soaked through my thin prison uniform. The bone-chilling cold made my teeth chatter, but it couldn’t compare to one ten-thousandth of the cold in my heart. I’d fantasized countless times that Ethan would appear, investigate the truth, and take me out. But one day, two days, three days… hope gradually extinguished. On the afternoon of the seventh day, a guard opened the cell door. “Sophia Wright, someone’s posting bail for you.” I struggled to get up from the floor. My whole body was covered in injuries, my left eye so swollen I could barely open it, dried blood still at the corner of my mouth. I stumbled out of the detention center. The harsh sunlight made me dizzy. A black sedan was parked in front. Ethan leaned against the car, a cigarette between his fingers. Seeing me in this state, his expression didn’t waver. He just looked up slightly. “Get in.” I stood still, my voice so hoarse it didn’t sound like my own. “Has Grandfather… woken up?” Ethan’s smoking motion paused. Through the cigarette smoke, his face was somewhat blurred. “The doctor said his brain was severely deprived of oxygen. He’s become a vegetable. The chances of him waking up are minimal.” My heart sank to rock bottom.

Sophia’s POV “However.” Ethan threw the cigarette butt on the ground and crushed it with his shoe. “Considering you’re still carrying Quinn family blood in your belly, the family has decided to temporarily not pursue criminal charges against you.” He opened the car door. “But from now on, you’re no longer my wife, no longer part of the Quinn family. Once the child is born, I’ll divorce you.” I looked at him and laughed. Laughed until tears came out. “Ethan.” I said softly. “You’re going to regret this. One day, you’ll know how ridiculous today’s choice was.” Ethan frowned, as if wanting to say something, but ultimately just turned aside. “Get in. Don’t make me say it a third time.” I wanted to refuse, but the words stuck in my throat. I knew resistance was meaningless. Besides, all my documents were still at the villa. I had to go back to get them before I could leave. Half an hour later, the car pulled into the familiar villa courtyard. But after stepping into the villa, the scene before me made me stop in my tracks. Several servants were moving things out of the master bedroom. My clothes, jewelry, cosmetics, even my cherished books and photo albums: all carelessly stuffed into cardboard boxes, piled in the hallway like trash. “Hurry up.” Lydia commanded imperiously. “Throw anything useless into the storage room.” She looked up and saw me, a victorious smile curving her lips. “You’re back?” Coming before me, she looked me up and down in my disheveled state, saying smugly, “Starting today, this villa has a new mistress. Naturally, the master bedroom is no longer yours either.” She raised her hand, pointing to a narrow door at the end of the hallway. “From now on, you’ll live there.” I found this utterly absurd and laughable. I looked at Ethan mockingly. “Your grandfather is still lying unconscious in the hospital, and instead of investigating the truth, you let this woman move into our bedroom? Can you face him after doing this?” “Grandfather became like this because of you. That’s the truth.” Ethan’s face was terrifyingly dark. “If not for the child in your belly, you’d still be in jail right now instead of standing here questioning me.” He raised his chin toward a nearby servant. “Take her to the storage room. From today on, she lives there until the child is born.” Two servants stepped forward, gripping my arms from both sides. The storage room was worse than I’d imagined. Less than a hundred square feet, filled with old junk, the smell of mold mixed with the pungent odor of cleaning agents, nauseating. The servants carelessly threw my belongings on the floor. “Starting tomorrow, you’ll be responsible for cleaning the entire villa every day.” Lydia stood in the doorway, her smile sweet but vicious. “Because the Quinn family doesn’t support freeloaders.” She paused slightly, as if remembering something. “Oh, and don’t think about running away or contacting anyone, because it would be futile. Your phone has been confiscated. I’ve also instructed everyone that no one in this villa dares lend you a phone. Before the child in your belly is born, someone will watch you every moment of every day.” With those words, the door slammed shut heavily. I dug my fingertips deep into my palm, trying hard to calm my emotions, then turned to rummage through the pile of belongings for a long time, finally finding all my identification documents. I gripped those documents tightly. I had to endure for now, endure until I found a chance to escape. In the days that followed, before dawn each day, I was dragged from the storage room by servants to begin the day’s labor. Scrubbing floors, cleaning toilets, washing mountains of dishes, tending to wildly overgrown weeds in the garden… any slacking off resulted in kicks from the servants watching me. My three meals were the cold leftovers everyone else didn’t finish. As for Ethan and Lydia… If before, with Grandfather keeping them in check, they still exercised some restraint and only dared to sneak around… Now with Grandfather down, they had completely thrown caution to the wind. The living room sofa, the study desk, the dining table, even the garden swing… everywhere bore traces of their lovemaking. Several times late at night, tossing and turning on the narrow bed in the storage room, I could hear moans and panting from the other side of the wall, obscene and unbearable. The gentle consideration that once moved my heart. How laughable it all seemed now. This afternoon at noon, the sun blazed overhead. I was ordered to clean the pool. I crouched by the pool’s edge, scrubbing the walls bit by bit with a brush. At the other end of the pool, water splashed everywhere. Lydia wore a sexy bikini, her whole body clinging to Ethan, laughing coquettishly. The servant watching me was a middle-aged woman, currently leaning back in a lounge chair dozing off, obviously drowsy from the stifling afternoon heat. My scrubbing motion paused slightly. I raised my eyes, quickly scanning the surroundings. Ethan and Lydia were immersed in their own world, not paying attention to me. The villa gate was at the end of the garden, about fifty meters away. My heart pounded violently in my chest. I gently set down the brush, pretending to reach for the hose in the corner, but used the cover of the bushes to inch bit by bit toward the gate. Five meters, ten meters, twenty meters… Behind me came Lydia’s coquettish complaint. “Ethan, my shoulders are so sore. Massage them for me…” Ethan chuckled lowly. “Where? Here?” Panting sounds resumed. I held my breath and finally reached the gate. I looked back once. The servant was still dozing. Those two were still entwined in the water. Now. This was the best chance to escape. I gripped the documents in my pocket tightly. Then without looking back, I slipped out silently.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “394877”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

The intimate photos of me and Liam Hunter suddenly went viral throughout the entire company. Each photo was even labeled with a price tag: just ten dollars for a night with me. Only Liam had access to these photos. I had just reached his office door when I heard him laughing on the phone inside. “Nora White is just a pawn I’m using to piss off the Hunters. Once I’m done with her, I’ll throw her away.” “Vivian is the one carrying my child. She’s the one I’m going to marry.” I broke up with him on the spot, but all I got in return was a resounding slap across my face. He even released our sex tape. In just one day, I became the laughingstock of the entire company. The “woman who sold her body.” The moment my heart died, I opened the reply email from Liam’s rival law firm. “I accept your offer. On one condition: help me deal with that bastard Liam Hunter.” The phone rang almost instantly. That man’s low chuckle came through, his voice magnetic and dangerous. “Baby, you’re finally willing to leave that scumbag? Now, can I pursue you?”

Nora White POV I was a lawyer who had been recruited directly by Kingsley Law Firm. I had no background, no connections, just a score that ranked first in the state bar exam and top performance for two consecutive years since joining. Because I was poor, because I came from a small town, I didn’t fit in with the people around me. Behind my back, my colleagues called me a tool. Strong professional abilities, but not one of them. Then one afternoon, someone anonymously posted a document to the firm’s internal work group chat and tagged everyone. The title read: “The Secret to Miss White’s Rise to the Top: Every Step Has a Price Tag.” The document was meticulously crafted, with neat formatting and a combination of images and text. It listed chronologically everything I had received since dating Liam. The limited edition handbag he gave me on our first date: eighty-six thousand dollars. The presidential suite he booked the first night we spent together: twenty-three thousand dollars per night. The monthly living expenses he transferred to my account: fifty thousand dollars. Every single item had a screenshot, a price tag, accurate to two decimal places. And at the bottom was a set of photos. These were photos Liam said he wanted to take that belonged only to the two of us after we got together. I had hesitated for a long time before agreeing. Now these photos had been cropped and spliced together, arranged at the end of the document with a line of text below: “Full version available. DM for access. Two hundred dollars per set.” The moment the document was posted, it exploded throughout the entire firm. In less than ten minutes, even the chat groups in neighboring departments were circulating it. I stared at the screen, my ears filled with nothing but ringing. I had returned all of these things. I had the receptionist send back the handbag the very next day, and I returned every single transfer. He knew I wouldn’t accept them. So later he changed his approach, buying things and placing them directly on my desk or at my apartment door, making it impossible for me to return them. But the document only showed screenshots of what I received. Not a single record of what I returned. The voices of several female colleagues leaked through the half-open door of the break room. “So that’s how she became number one in performance.” “Mr. Hunter personally led her through projects, funneling all the resources her way. Who wouldn’t be number one?” “Did you see those last few photos? Tsk, I really didn’t expect that. Usually she walks around with that cold face like everyone owes her money, but behind closed doors she’s quite open.” “Come on, that’s called investment. Didn’t you see how high the return rate was?” The laughter wasn’t deliberately suppressed. Iit even carried a kind of intentional casualness. I stood outside the door holding my water cup, the surface of the water trembling slightly. I didn’t go in. When I turned to leave, my cheeks burned fiercely, but my steps didn’t falter. Those photos, transfer records, hotel bookings, no one except Liam himself could have obtained them. I walked straight toward Liam’s office. Before I could push the door open, my hand froze on the handle. The door wasn’t fully closed, and voices from inside leaked through the gap. It was Liam on the phone with someone, on speakerphone. “The document spread! Everyone at Kingsley has seen it. Nora White is completely finished now. The partner nomination is definitely over.” “But that’s not even the worst part. She still doesn’t know that you only pursued her to use her as a stepping stone. You never really looked at her, never even touched her. If she found out, she’d probably collapse on the spot.” “But then again, the Hunters and the Whitlocks are bitter enemies. If you want to be with Miss Whitlock, you’ll definitely have to go through some trouble.” The person on the other end of the phone spoke in a frivolous tone with laughter in their voice. “Didn’t you promise Nora you’d take her to meet your parents next week? Are you really planning to keep up the act?” Liam’s voice came through the door, unhurried. “Of course it’s an act. The Hunters won’t let me marry Vivian, so I’ll bring home a woman who doesn’t meet their standards and see where that leaves them.” “Once they give in and approve Vivian, this pawn will have served her purpose.” I stood outside the door, completely still. My blood seemed to freeze all at once. The cold spread from my fingertips to my limbs, then lodged in my chest, making even breathing painful. So from beginning to end, I was just a pawn. Him holding an umbrella for me in the rain was fake. Him showing up on time at my office every day when I worked late was fake. When everyone else ignored me, the fact that he was the only one to sit beside me, that was fake too. All of it was fake. I released the door handle and took a step back. I don’t know how I made it back to my workstation. The way people around me looked at me had completely changed, from two years of disdain to naked contempt. Some even couldn’t hold back a laugh in my direction. I didn’t look at anyone. I sat down and opened my computer, clicking into my email. At the top of my inbox was an email from two weeks ago, from a top-tier law firm in London. They had seen my case report at an international arbitration conference and reached out with an invitation. The annual salary was five times what I currently made, with a full relocation allowance included. I had looked at this email many times but never replied. Because I couldn’t bear to leave. I couldn’t bear to leave Liam. I stared at that email on the screen for a long time. The office lights were blindingly white, and people were still whispering in the hallway. I moved my cursor to the reply button. My finger hovered for three seconds. Then I clicked.

Nora White POV I then picked up my phone and sent a message to my direct supervisor, Simon Yale. “Simon, I’ve decided to resign. I’ll leave next week.” The reply came quickly. “I respect your decision. I’ll help you with the resignation process. It’s a shame, though. The firm was planning to promote you to the youngest senior partner. The management committee already passed the initial review.” Senior partner. The thing I had fought desperately for two years at Kingsley to achieve. I stared at that line of text for a few seconds, then typed a reply. “Thank you.” Then I scrolled through my phone’s contact list and found a number that had only called me once, one I had never dialed myself. Liam’s mother, Sophia Chambers. Three months ago, Liam took me to the Hunter family home for dinner for the first time. Throughout the meal, Sophia was polite but distant. Afterward, she called me alone to the study, told me I wasn’t suitable for Liam, and said I should leave sooner rather than later. She even offered me money. I refused on the spot. Sophia said nothing more, just left me a phone number. Now, I dialed it. “But I agree to break up with him.” There were two seconds of silence on the other end, then Sophia laughed, the kind of laugh that saw through everything with disdain. “I’ll give you five million dollars. I’ll send the check to your company.” “No need.” The call had already ended. I gripped my phone. I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes for a moment. Liam’s voice filled my head. “This pawn will have served her purpose.” But I didn’t want to believe it. I still remembered the night I first met Liam. I had just joined the firm three months earlier and taken on a rotten case no one else wanted to touch. The defendant was a local real estate developer with connections, and the plaintiffs were a group of workers whose construction payments had been withheld. Everyone advised me not to take it. Even if I did, I couldn’t win. Even if I won, I’d make enemies. I took it anyway. For two straight weeks I lived in the office, sleeping only four hours a day. The rest of the time I spent combing through case files, searching for evidence, and writing legal briefs. One night at three in the morning, I couldn’t hold on anymore and fell asleep at the conference table. When I woke up, there was a jacket draped over my shoulders and a still-warm cup of coffee on the table. Sitting beside me was a man I’d never seen before, flipping through the case files I had spread out. “Your case, the breakthrough isn’t in breach of contract. It’s in the money trail.” He didn’t look up, just pointed at a page in the file. “Follow this line and you’ll find their off-the-books accounts.” I was stunned. I looked at the file and realized the loophole he’d pointed out was something I’d missed after two weeks of searching. “Who are you?” The man looked up. Under the lights, his features were sharp, his eyes carrying a kind of casual coolness. “Liam Hunter.” Later I learned that this man who had guided me through a case at three in the morning was the only son of Kingsley’s founding partner, Richard Hunter. After that, Liam began appearing frequently in my work life. He’d bring me late-night snacks when I worked overtime. When I didn’t eat them, he’d leave them at the corner of my desk, and when they got cold he’d replace them with fresh ones. He’d block me from the firm’s obligatory drinking parties. When everyone else avoided me, he would casually sit in the empty seat beside me, open a case file, and say he wanted to look at my case. I refused him many times. I knew what my status was, and I was clear about the distance between us. But Liam didn’t care. He never gave expensive gifts, at least not at first. He gave me band-aids because my new shoes gave me blisters. He gave me a voice recorder because I always forgot details from court hearings. He gave me a folding umbrella because I never checked the weather forecast. They were all inconspicuous little things, but each one precisely met a need of mine. So when he asked me seriously one more time if I’d give him a chance, I nodded. Clearly, all I ever wanted was him as a person, not his money. But now I knew. Even him as a person was fake. I opened my eyes. The office was nearly empty now, and the lights in the hallway were going out one by one. I stood up to gather my things from the desk, preparing to leave. I pushed open the office door, and suddenly the safety stairwell door at the end of the hallway burst open. A man stumbled out, his suit rumpled, reeking of alcohol, holding up his phone with my photo displayed on the screen. “It’s you.” The man squinted as he looked me up and down, the corner of his mouth twisting upward. “Miss White, you’re prettier in person than in the photos.” I took a step back. “Who are you?” The man grinned, his steps unsteady as he closed in on me, grabbing my wrist. “Don’t be nervous. If you can sell your photos, surely you won’t cost more than the photos, right? Name your price. I can afford it.” His grip was strong, causing a sharp pain in my wrist. I struggled hard but couldn’t break free. Just as I was about to kick him, a hand reached from the side, grabbed the man by his collar, and yanked him backward. Then came a dull thud. Liam’s fist slammed into the man’s face with enough force to knock him to the ground. Blood immediately gushed from his nose. He kicked the man. “Get lost.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it was as cold as ice. The man covered his face and scrambled away. Liam turned around and looked at my wrist. Red marks had already surfaced. He frowned and reached out to examine it. “Why are you still at the office this late? Does it hurt? I’ll take you-” I pulled my hand back. I looked at the face in front of me. The same concern as always, the same tenderness as always, the same… perfectly timed response as always. Perfectly timed enough to make me believe he actually cared about me. “Nora? Still angry about the document?” Liam’s tone softened. “I didn’t send that document. I lent my phone to a friend for a few days. He went too far sometimes. I already scolded him and I’m having people delete it.” “Liam.” I interrupted him. My voice was so soft that the echo in the hallway was louder than my own voice. “Let’s break up.” Liam’s expression froze for an instant. Before he could speak, the elevator door at the other end of the hallway opened. Vivian Whitlock walked out. She wore a white dress today, her long hair falling over her shoulders, holding a bouquet of flowers. Seeing Liam and me standing face to face, her steps suddenly halted. The bouquet slipped from her hands. “Liam… you and her…” Her voice trembled, tears immediately welling up in her eyes. “Are you two really together?” Before she could finish, she turned and ran into the stairwell. Liam’s expression changed. He glanced at me once, then turned and chased after her. As he passed me, his shoulder slammed heavily into mine, causing me to stumble back two steps. My back hit the wall. I didn’t cry out in pain. I slowly steadied myself and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window at the end of the hallway. Below was the firm’s courtyard garden. In the night, the streetlights stretched two people’s shadows very long. Liam grabbed Vivian’s wrist, rain falling on his shoulders. He seemed oblivious to it. “Yes, the Hunters and Whitlocks are enemies. So what? Even if it means defying the entire Hunter family, even if the whole world opposes it, I only want you.” Vivian looked up, tears and rain mixing together. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his lips. Liam cupped her face with both hands and kissed her back forcefully. I stood at the window, looking down at this scene. I returned to my apartment, took a shower, and lay in bed. I didn’t sleep all night.

Nora White POV The next day, I went to the firm as usual. When I walked into the office area, the atmosphere was wrong. A group of people surrounded my workstation, talking over each other. When they saw me approaching, the crowd fell silent for a second, then someone whistled. “Miss White, another deposit today? A check for five million dollars.” My steps halted. I pushed through the crowd. An envelope sat on my desk. It had already been opened. Inside was a check from the Hunter family’s exclusive account. Amount: five million dollars. It was from Sophia Chambers. Before I could reach for it, the check was snatched away by a male colleague nearby. He held it up to look at it, then passed it to the next person. “Who gave you permission to touch my things?” My voice was very low. No one paid attention to me. The check passed between several people’s hands, and every time I reached for it, I couldn’t get it. Those people were a full head taller than me, and their passing motion even carried a kind of playful coordination. A female colleague tilted her head to look at me, her tone rising. “Miss White, shouldn’t you update the price list in your document? The market’s going up.” Another person chimed in. “No wonder she wants to break up with Mr. Hunter. Turns out she found a higher bidder.” “You’re all overthinking it. She’s just holding out for the best price.” “Enough!” I practically shouted these two words. I never lost my composure in front of others. But now, my whole body was shaking. My throat felt like something was stuck in it, my voice hoarse and tight. The surroundings fell quiet for a second. Then came laughter that couldn’t be suppressed. “All right, everyone back to work.” At some point, the administrative supervisor had walked over, frowning as she dispersed the onlookers. I stood in front of my workstation, fists clenched, nails digging into my palms. I had to get that check back and return it to Sophia. That afternoon, I finally cornered the colleague who had taken the check in the hallway. Just as I was about to get it back, a familiar voice came from behind me. “Looking for this?” I turned around and met Liam’s dark gaze. The check was pinched between his fingers, already creased. “So you said you wanted to break up with me because of this money?” His voice was very soft, close to my ear, like a blade cutting across skin. I shook my head. “No, this money I never even-” A slap landed on my face. Several colleagues passing by all stopped in their tracks. Liam’s eyes were cold to the extreme, but a smile hung at the corner of his mouth. “Nora, I didn’t think your appetite was this big. A small-town lawyer with a humble background, this face of yours is really worth a fortune.” I covered my cheek, half my face burning. I opened my mouth, wanting to say that the money was from your mother… “I heard Miss White’s family still has quite a bit of debt?” Vivian had somehow walked to Liam’s side, her tone as gentle as if chatting about everyday matters. “Your father is a high school teacher in a small town with limited income, and he had to put you through law school. It really wasn’t easy.” Every word was fact. Every word was a knife. Liam looked down at the check in his hand, then raised his hand and threw it at my face. The thin piece of paper stuck to my cheek for a second before sliding to the ground. “I will recommend that the management committee conduct a financial audit of all cases you’ve handled.” His voice had no fluctuation. “People who practice law can’t have dirty hands.” Vivian added at the right moment. “This is for your own good. The innocent will be proven innocent.” The two of them turned and left side by side. A few passing colleagues slowed their pace, their eyes sweeping back and forth between me and the check on the ground. I bent down to pick up the check. My hands were shaking, but my movements were slow and steady. That afternoon, an announcement was posted on the firm’s internal system. My case representation authority was suspended, and an internal audit of all case accounts I had handled would begin immediately. I stood in front of the bulletin board, hands clenched into fists. Without case representation authority, I couldn’t appear in court, couldn’t sign documents, couldn’t access any case files. For a lawyer, this was no different from being crippled. And even worse, without representation authority, there was no performance commission. My current monthly income went toward student loan repayments, rent, and living expenses I sent to my father. If this money stopped, I couldn’t even survive in this city. Someone passed behind me, their voice neither loud nor soft. “An audit? I think it’s just for show. Everyone already saw what needed to be found.” “Right? She made so much money and still pretended to be poor. She also applied for quite a few of the firm’s pro bono case subsidies, didn’t she?” “Tsk, what kind of person.” I didn’t turn around. I stared at that announcement, reading it word by word, then turned and walked back to my workstation. I opened my computer and began writing an email. The recipient was the firm’s management committee. I would compile every transfer record I’d returned, every gift list I’d sent back, every complete financial record of cases I’d handled, and list them out one by one. Not to show anyone. But because I, Nora White, had nothing to feel guilty about to anyone.

Nora White POV Before the appeal email received a response from the management committee, I received even worse news. Simon Yale came to find me personally. “Nora, come to the conference room for a moment.” His expression was much more serious than usual, and as he walked ahead, he didn’t say a single unnecessary word. I followed him into the large conference room. Three senior partners sat at the other end of the long table. One of them was the management committee chairman, Vincent Pearson, the person who truly called the shots at Kingsley. A stack of documents lay in front of him, his gaze sharp. Vivian was also there, sitting in the corner with slightly red eyes, looking like she’d been wronged but was trying hard to hold it in. “Nora White, sit.” Vincent spoke, his tone flat but without pleasantries. “Yesterday, DuRay Corporation’s legal representatives formally sent us a letter stating that someone inside Kingsley leaked core evidentiary materials from the DuRay case to the opposing party. This case involves over eight hundred million dollars.” He pushed up his glasses. “We retrieved the backend records from the document management system. The last two people to access the DuRay case electronic files were you and Vivian Whitlock.” I sat up straight. The DuRay case was my most important project over the past six months. Most of the work, from filing to evidence collection to drafting the brief, was done by me. Vivian was brought in midway to assist, nominally responsible for client liaison. “Mr. Pearson, the last time I opened the case files was last Thursday. Simon assigned me to organize the data for the closing statement.” My speaking pace was measured. “That day my work records, email correspondence, and system logs can all prove that after I finished organizing, I logged out of the system. If needed, Simon can confirm this.” Simon nodded. “I can confirm that I assigned her that work that day.” Vincent’s gaze slowly moved to Vivian. “Miss Whitlock, what about you? Last Friday afternoon between three and five o’clock, you accessed all of the DuRay case electronic files. Please explain why.” Vivian’s lips trembled slightly, and she was about to speak. The conference room door was pushed open. Liam walked in. His expression was cold, as if attending an unimportant routine meeting. “Mr. Pearson, there’s no need to investigate further.” He walked to Vivian’s side, facing Vincent, and placed a USB drive on the table. “I found this USB drive in Nora White’s drawer yesterday. It contains the exact files that were leaked from the DuRay case.” What! My drawer?! There had never been any USB drive in my drawer. “Also.” Liam took out the creased check from his pocket and gently placed it next to the USB drive. “This is the five million dollar check Nora White received the day before yesterday. Everyone in the firm saw it.” He tilted his head slightly to glance at me, his gaze as calm as if looking at a stranger. “A lawyer whose representation authority has been suspended suddenly receives a large sum of money from an unknown source. Mr. Pearson, do you think this is a coincidence?” I stood up. “That USB drive isn’t mine, and that money wasn’t payment for any transaction.” “Miss White.” Vivian spoke softly, her voice carrying a trace of grievance and reluctance. “I don’t want to wrongly accuse you, but… when I accessed the system that day, I was only recording client follow-up notes. I didn’t copy anything. If it wasn’t me, then it could only be…” She didn’t finish, lowering her head. But the meaning was clear enough. Several voices came from the doorway. At some point, people had gathered outside the conference room. “I saw it. Miss White did bring a USB drive back last week. I thought it was strange at the time. Isn’t all the DuRay case material in the system?” “Plus her financial situation hasn’t been great lately, right? Her representation authority was suspended, her performance went to zero, and I heard her family still has loans to repay…” “She accepted a five million dollar check. What wouldn’t she do?” Vincent was silent for a few seconds. Then he closed the file in front of him, his voice heavy. “Nora, until the matter is investigated, the firm has decided to suspend our internal recommendation for your professional certification. This incident will be recorded in your practice file.” My heart skipped a beat. A lawyer’s practice file was my lifeline. Once I was marked with suspected leaking of client confidential information, I’d never be able to establish myself at any legitimate law firm for the rest of my life! “Mr. Pearson, I request a full review of the system operation logs and surveillance footage.” “The investigation will proceed according to protocol.” Vincent interrupted me. “In the meantime, go back and wait for notification.” His tone no longer held the neutrality from the beginning. I looked at Vincent, then at Vivian sitting in the corner with downcast eyes, and finally at Liam. He didn’t avoid my gaze. There was even an extremely faint curve at the corner of his mouth.

Nora White POV I left through the back door of the conference room. I leaned against the wall for a while, until my legs no longer felt weak, then slowly walked forward. I bought a bottle of water at the convenience store downstairs, sat on the steps by the roadside, opened the cap, and took a sip. Then I pulled out my phone. There was a message from Simon. “Nora, I believe you, but the Hunter family put pressure on this. Vincent Pearson can’t stand up to them. Don’t worry, I’ll help you figure out a way to pull the surveillance footage and logs.” I replied. “Thank you.” Then I scrolled to my chat window with Liam. The last message stopped three days ago. He had sent it. “I’ll pick you up after work tomorrow. Let’s go to that restaurant you said was pretty good last time.” I never replied to that message. And I didn’t plan to reply now. I closed my phone, sat on the steps, and stared at the trees lining the street across the road for a long time. I thought of the day my father sent me to this city. The bus ride took nearly eight hours. My father helped me load my suitcase onto the bus, stood outside the window, and waved at me on his tiptoes. He wasn’t good with words. After thinking for a long time, he only said one thing. “Nora, Dad doesn’t have much ability. From now on, you’ll have to rely on yourself. When you run into trouble, don’t be afraid. The sky won’t fall.” I lowered my head and took a deep breath. Then I stood up, patted the dust off my pants, and walked back to the firm. When I reached my workstation, Liam was already waiting for me. He leaned against the edge of my desk, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed. Seeing me return, he raised an eyebrow. “Cooled off yet?” I didn’t look at him. I walked around him, sat in my chair, and opened my computer. Liam frowned, his voice lowering. “About the DuRay case, don’t take it to heart. You know what Vincent is like. It’s just going through the motions. He won’t really do anything to you.” My fingers stopped on the keyboard. “You know full well that USB drive isn’t mine.” “You also know full well that check was from your mother.” I looked up at him. Liam’s expression stiffened for an instant. So brief. Too brief to truly capture. But my eyes had seen too many witnesses’ microexpressions in court. I saw it clearly. He knew. He knew everything. “Vivian needs the credit from the DuRay case project to compete for a partner seat.” Liam’s voice returned to calm. “You’ve already decided to leave anyway. This project is meaningless to you now. Sign a voluntary transfer statement and give your signature rights and project results to her.” I looked at him. The person in front of me had blocked drinks for me, covered me with his jacket, and found the breakthrough in my case in a conference room at three in the morning. This same person had personally placed a USB drive that didn’t belong to me on the table in the conference room, using a check I never intended to accept to nail me to the pillar of shame for selling client secrets. “I won’t sign.” I said. Liam stared at me for a few seconds. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, as if he wanted to say something. In the end, he just straightened up, adjusted his cuffs, and left. I thought that was the end of it. If I didn’t sign, what could he do? I was leaving next week, flying to London, and would have nothing to do with anything here. But I was wrong.That night, my phone rang. It was my uncle Mike calling. “Nora! Something happened to your dad! Heart attack! The town hospital can’t handle it. He needs to be transferred immediately! The doctor said the surgery will cost at least three hundred thousand dollars!” I sat up too quickly from the bed. My vision went black. “Tell the hospital to save him no matter what it costs. I’ll figure out the money right away.” “Figure it out?” Mike’s voice suddenly shot up. “Nora, your dad received an envelope today! It was full of your… those… photos! And some kind of invoice! Your dad couldn’t handle it on the spot and…” His voice choked. “Nora, your dad saw those things and couldn’t take it. He collapsed. If you have the money, send it over quickly. The hospital is pressing hard…” It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.

Nora White POV Who sent the photos and an invoice? I thought Liam had deleted the document before, but those photos were still saved on his phone. He could use them however he wanted. And the letter was sent to my hometown. Only Liam knew my hometown address. My hands were shaking, but I still dialed Liam’s number. It rang for a long time before he answered. “You’re the one who sent it, aren’t you.” There were two seconds of silence on the other end, then Liam’s unhurried voice. “Come to your senses? Then come to the office tomorrow.” He hung up. I gripped my phone, standing in the cramped living room of my rental apartment. Outside the window were the lights of this city that would never go out. Three hundred thousand dollars. My bank account held less than twenty thousand. With my representation authority suspended, I had no income. I still owed sixty thousand dollars in student loans and had maxed out eight thousand dollars on my credit card last month. Three hundred thousand dollars, where could I possibly get it? Early the next morning, Nora White appeared at Kingsley Law Firm. Liam was waiting for me in his office. Vivian sat on the sofa holding a cup of coffee. When she saw me come in, she even smiled slightly. A document lay on the desk. “Sign this voluntary project credit transfer statement, apologize, and I’ll handle the money.” Liam’s tone was like he was discussing an insignificant business deal. I stood in place, looking at that document. The DuRay case was something I’d poured six months of my heart into. This case was my entire proof of existence at Kingsley. If I signed, I’d be completely erasing myself from this case, as if I’d never participated at all. But my father was lying in a hospital. “Lend me three hundred thousand dollars. I’ll sign.” Liam’s expression shifted. “Three hundred thousand dollars?” He laughed lightly. “Nora White, bow and apologize to Vivian, and I’ll give you five hundred thousand.” The air fell silent for a second. Vivian sat on the sofa holding her coffee, the curve of her mouth unchanged. I stared into Liam’s eyes. When he said these words, his expression showed no fluctuation whatsoever. Thinking of my father’s condition, I couldn’t wait any longer. I bent at the waist. “I’m sorry.” I looked at Vivian. Vivian lowered her head and sighed softly, looking full of pity. “Nora, why go this far? Get up.” I didn’t move. I took the document from the desk, flipped directly to the last page, and signed my name. Then I stood up. I stood very straight. “When will the money arrive?” Liam looked at me. His gaze grew complex for an instant, then returned to coldness. He picked up his phone and operated it for a moment. “The five hundred thousand is transferred.” My phone vibrated. I didn’t look at it. I turned and walked toward the door. When I reached the doorway, Vivian’s soft voice came from behind me. “Liam, thank you. Actually, I’ve been too embarrassed to say this, but the DuRay case really was a project I put a lot of effort into following up on.” Liam’s cold voice interrupted her. “You don’t need to explain to me. I’ve seen your hard work. As for Nora-” He paused. “Someone who can sell anything doesn’t deserve your concern.” The door closed behind me. I thought my heart had already died last night when I received Mike’s call. I didn’t expect it could be stabbed again. Walking out of the law firm building, I pulled out my phone. Five hundred thousand had arrived. I transferred three hundred thousand to Mike with a message. “Use this money for my dad’s surgery. Please.” The remaining two hundred thousand, along with all the previous medical bills, I transferred down to the last cent to the Hunter family’s corporate account. Then I bought a ticket on the earliest train back to my hometown. Four and a half hours later, I stood outside the ICU door at the hospital. Mike leaned against the hallway wall, his hair seeming to have turned white overnight. When he saw me arrive, he opened his mouth and his eyes immediately reddened. “Nora… your dad… he didn’t make it.” My body swayed. I barely managed to stay standing. I was still too late! I didn’t cry. It was just that all sounds disappeared in that instant. The world became silent. I spent one day handling my father’s funeral arrangements. I buried my father next to my mother. I stayed in front of the tombstone for a long time. When the sun had half-set, I cried. “Dad, I’m sorry.” “I couldn’t give you a good life.” “I have to go now. I’ll come back to see you.” Mike stood not far away. After hesitating for a long time, he walked over. “Nora, I burned all the stuff your dad received for you. I’ll explain things to the townspeople. Don’t take it to heart.” I nodded at him and said thank you. My voice was already hoarse. That evening, I returned to my rental apartment. I canceled my phone number. I canceled my bank card. I deleted all my social media accounts. Finally, I opened my closet and packed all the things Liam had given me, a windbreaker, two scarves, a pair of headphones, into a cardboard box, wrote the Hunter family address on it, and placed it by the door. I’d have it picked up by courier tomorrow. Then I picked up my luggage and called a car to the airport. My flight was in the early morning hours, heading to London. After arriving at the airport, I had no nostalgia whatsoever. I smoothly passed through security and boarded the plane. I sat by the window. As the plane took off, the city lights grew smaller and smaller, finally becoming a blur of light. I turned my face toward the window, my forehead pressed against the cold porthole. From this moment on, all that remained between Liam Hunter and me was hatred and enmity.

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