It was almost eleven at night by the time Noah finally walked through the front door. He kicked off his shoes, spotted me sitting quietly at the dining table, and walked over to casually brush a stray lock of hair from my forehead. “Why are you sitting in the dark?” he asked. “Saving electricity,” I replied. He let out a soft chuckle and headed into the narrow kitchen, returning a moment later with a steaming bowl of plain oatmeal. “Eat up. You haven’t been taking care of yourself again.” I stared at the bowl. The steam curled into the cold air. “Noah,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “What is that custom jewelry receipt all about?” His hand froze in mid-air. It was only for a fraction of a second. Then, his easy smile returned. “I ordered it for a guy at the office. You went through my pockets?” “It fell out while I was doing your laundry,” I said. “Twenty-five thousand dollars. Your coworker must be incredibly generous.” He looked down, smiling as he nudged the bowl closer to me. “Well, the guys in corporate make the big bucks. Now eat.” He sounded so relaxed. So casual. He sounded so convincing I almost believed him. But the twenty-thousand-dollar monthly deposits burned in my mind, searing hot and painful. He picked up his phone to reply to a text. The screen lit up in the dark room. The contact name was a single red heart emoji. Followed by one word. Wife. 1 I lowered my eyes and slowly forced down the bowl of bland oatmeal. I didn’t say another word. The next morning was Saturday. Noah left the apartment bright and early, claiming his department had an emergency data audit. I sat on the edge of the mattress for a long time. Finally, I picked up my phone and typed the address from the jewelry receipt into the GPS. The Azure. It was the most exclusive luxury high-rise in the downtown district. Condos there went for two thousand dollars a square foot. I had never even allowed myself to buy a cup of coffee in that neighborhood. Then, I searched for the name printed on the invoice. Stella. A perfectly curated social media profile popped up instantly. Her feed was a flawless grid of luxury living. Pilates studios, first-class boarding passes, exclusive tasting menus, and designer hauls. Every single photo radiated the effortless glow of a woman who was fiercely, deeply taken care of. Her latest post was from yesterday. The caption read, Hubby worked late but still managed to snag a reservation at my favorite Michelin Omakase. Waited two months for this table. Totally worth it! At the edge of the frame, a man’s side profile was barely visible. Noah. He was holding up a piece of fatty tuna with his chopsticks, offering it to the camera with the softest, most adoring smile. Just last week, I had asked him if we could save up to try a nice sushi place for our anniversary. He told me it was a waste of money and that we could make rice bowls at home for a fraction of the cost. I kept scrolling. A month ago, she posted another update. Woke up to a new car! Hubby was worried about me taking Ubers late at night, so he paid cash for this gorgeous baby. How did I get so lucky? A pristine white Mercedes convertible sat in a brightly lit underground garage. A massive bouquet of red roses rested on the passenger seat. I drove a rusted ten-year-old Honda Civic. The transmission had slipped twice last winter, and he told me to just take the bus because repairs were too expensive. I scrolled further down. Three months ago. Happy three-year anniversary! Woke up to a total smart-home appliance upgrade. Hubby says our sanctuary deserves only the best. Three-year anniversary. Noah and I had been together for eight years. We had lived together for five. That meant right around the time we signed our first lease together, he had started an entirely different life with her. For three whole years. He would lie in bed next to me in our cramped apartment, whispering, “Just hold on a little longer, Anna.” And all the while, he was living the exact life he promised me with someone else. I locked my phone, leaned back against the cheap headboard, and stared at the peeling paint on the ceiling. The roof had leaked last summer. Noah said hiring a contractor was a waste of money, promising he would patch it himself over the weekend. A whole year had passed. The water stain was still there. By four in the afternoon, I drove my beat-up Civic down to The Azure. I parked across the street, watching the massive glass building through my scratched windshield. Warm ambient lighting bathed the luxurious lobby. Security guards in tailored suits stood at attention by the revolving doors. I looked down at my pilled sweater and faded jeans. I couldn’t even muster the courage to walk into the lobby. I sat there all afternoon. Just as the sun began to set, Noah’s car pulled out of the underground garage. A young, beautiful woman was in the passenger seat. She rested her head affectionately on his shoulder. Noah steered with one hand, his other hand gently holding her fingers. He was wearing a smile I hadn’t seen in years. It was a relaxed, genuinely happy smile. The smile of a man without a single care in the world. Whenever he was with me, his brow was always furrowed. He was always exhausted, always annoyed, always stressed about our budget. Their car turned the corner and merged into the city traffic, vanishing from sight. I turned the key in the ignition and slowly drove away. At nine o’clock that night, my phone buzzed. It was an unknown number. Hey. You sat outside The Azure for three hours this afternoon. The concierge showed me the security footage. You’re Anna, right? The one Noah told me about. My fingertips turned ice cold. A second message followed immediately. Don’t panic, I’m not looking for a fight. But I think it’s time we had a real conversation. I typed back, I’m not his ex. I’m his girlfriend. We never broke up. The typing bubble on her end paused for a long time. Anna, you really don’t get it, do you? In Noah’s mind, you two have been over for years. 2 The text messages kept flooding in, lighting up my screen in the dark apartment. Noah told me everything about your severe depression. He said you’re mentally unstable, and he’s terrified to actually pull the plug. He’s scared you’ll do something crazy if he leaves. That’s why he’s been stringing you along, throwing you a few hundred bucks a month to keep you quiet and pacified. I stared at the word pacified. A bitter, acidic knot twisted in my stomach. I typed out a single line. How much did he tell you about me? Stella replied instantly. I know all of it. I know your mom lost her mind and jumped off a balcony. I know you were bullied growing up, and I know about the scars on your wrists from high school. Noah said he’s been taking care of you for years, but he is completely drained. He said you’re like a black hole. No matter how much love he pours into you, it’s never enough. My hand hovered over the keyboard. I couldn’t form a single word. Those memories were a dark abyss. It took me over a decade to crawl my way out of that hell. It took me years of therapy to finally stop waking up screaming in the middle of the night, to walk down a dark street without trembling, to finally look in the mirror and smile. Noah had always told me my scars weren’t a burden to him. He promised me, looking dead into my eyes, that he would take those secrets to his grave. And now, a woman he had known for less than three years knew exactly where all my deepest, most agonizing wounds were hidden. Stella’s messages kept coming. Look, I’m not trying to hurt you. When we first met, he didn’t mention he had a girlfriend. When he finally confessed, I told him I’d wait for him to handle it. But we truly love each other. Look at what he got me for my birthday last month. A photo popped up. A diamond Tiffany pendant resting on a massive bouquet of crimson roses. The attached card read, Happy Birthday, Stella. You are my forever. My birthday was last month too. Noah had sent me a text. Happy birthday. I’ll make you noodles when I get home. He didn’t even buy me a single flower. He boiled some instant noodles, said he was exhausted from work, and went straight to bed. I sat alone at the small kitchen table, eating the noodles, genuinely believing I was lucky to have a man who worked so hard for our future. Stella sent a voice memo. I tapped play. A sweet, deliberately delicate voice filled the quiet room. “Anna, Noah only loves me. He says you’re suffocating him. Do both of yourselves a favor and just let him go, okay?” I locked my phone and walked out onto the tiny balcony. The night wind bit at my face. Down on the street, the yellow glow of the streetlights washed over the pedestrians. Everyone was moving so fast. Nobody stopped. I stood there for a very long time, staring out at the city until my shoulders went numb from the cold. When I finally stepped back inside, I picked up my phone and sent one last reply. Thank you for telling me. She replied instantly. So you’re finally going to back off? I didn’t answer. Two days later, Noah quietly unlocked the front door. His luggage still had the airport tags on it, and he had changed into a fresh button-down shirt. When he saw me sitting on the worn-out sofa, he offered a tired smile and handed me a small plastic shopping bag. “Hey, Aud. The business trip was insane, but I managed to grab you some of that fudge you like.” I took the bag. It was a five-dollar box of stale fudge you could find at any gas station. He went on a “business trip” and brought me back five-dollar candy. He bought the other woman a twenty-five-thousand-dollar diamond ring. I looked up at his face. I spoke slowly, enunciating every single syllable. “Noah, where exactly did you go for this business trip?” “Seattle,” he lied effortlessly. “Then why did Stella post a photo of you two on a beach in Cabo two days ago?” The living room fell dead silent. The tired smile completely froze on Noah’s face. He slowly walked over and sat on the far end of the sofa, interlacing his fingers, staring down at the scuffed floorboards. A long time passed before he finally spoke. “You know everything.” It wasn’t a question. It was a hollow, emotionless sigh. 3 “Yeah,” I said evenly. “I know everything.” Noah rubbed the bridge of his nose and finally looked at me. There was no panic in his eyes. There was no guilt, either. There was only a chilling, settled calmness. “Anna, I’m done lying to you.” “Stella and I have been together for almost three years.” “She’s the woman I am going to marry.” The words hit my chest like a crowbar. “And what about me?” I asked. Noah’s gaze flickered. “You?” He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Anna, it’s not that I don’t care about you. But you are just too heavy.” “Every single day we’ve been together, I’ve had to manage your emotions, your depression, your paralyzing fears.” “Do you have any idea how exhausting that is?” “I never asked you to carry me,” I said, my voice steady but tight. “I’ve been going to therapy. I’ve been taking my medication. I’ve been getting better.” Noah shook his head slowly. “You think you’re getting better. But I’m not.” “Every day, I come back to this miserable four-hundred-square-foot box. I have to look at your nervous, walking-on-eggshells face. I have to look at the cheap curtains and the water stains on the ceiling.” “I feel like I’m suffocating.” His phone buzzed on the coffee table. He glanced at it. He didn’t pick it up, but the corners of his mouth twitched into a faint, involuntary smile. “Then why didn’t you just break up with me?” I asked. “Why sneak around for three years? You could have just ended it.” Noah took a deep breath, finally saying the quiet part out loud. “Because I was terrified you’d kill yourself.” He stared at me, his eyes dead and cold. “Your mother felt like she couldn’t handle life anymore, so she threw herself off a balcony.” “You are exactly like her. The second things get tough, your mind goes straight to the edge.” “That night in high school, when you called me bleeding… my hands shook for hours.” “I am not going through that again.” “So I stayed. I kept you company. I coddled you. I gave you a few hundred bucks a month to make sure you could survive.” “But Anna, that wasn’t love.” “That was…” He paused, searching for the word. “Pity.” I sat perfectly still. It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. I was fourteen the day my mother jumped. A crowd had gathered around the concrete courtyard. I ran down the stairs so fast I lost one of my shoes. She was lying on the pavement. Blood was pooling out from her dark hair. Her eyes were half-open, staring at nothing. I had to change schools three times after that. In every hallway, the whispers followed me. Her mom’s a psycho. Her mom took the quick way down. She’s going to end up just like her. Noah was the only one who stood between me and the bullies. He had gripped my hand tightly and promised, “Anna, you are not your mother. You are going to be okay.” He was the one who dragged me out of the absolute dark. And now, he was sitting on my cheap sofa, ripping open my deepest, most agonizing scars, using them as justification for his betrayal. My throat constricted. My voice shook violently. “Noah… you swore to me. You promised you would never use my mother against me.” He shrugged casually. “I’m not using it against you. I’m just stating facts.” “It’s different with Stella. When I’m with her, life is easy. It’s fun. I don’t have to watch her every second to make sure she doesn’t mentally shatter into a million pieces.” “Your anxiety, your trauma, your constant fear… it’s just too much weight.” “I can’t carry it anymore.” The doorbell rang. Noah stood up and walked to the door. Stella was standing in the hallway, wearing a bright yellow designer sundress. She immediately looped her arm through his. She shot me a look, her voice dripping with condescending concern. “Noah, are you okay? I was worried you wouldn’t be able to handle her alone.” I stood up and locked eyes with her. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to touch either of you.” Noah squeezed Stella’s hand and looked back at me. “Anna, I never wanted to hurt you. Let’s just end this peacefully, okay?” I gripped the edge of the dining table to keep myself standing. My legs felt like water. “Okay.” They walked out together. The moment the door clicked shut, my legs gave out. I collapsed onto the floor. My entire body shook uncontrollably. But I didn’t cry. I couldn’t force out a single tear. 4 I didn’t step outside the apartment for four days. I drew the blackout curtains tight. I tossed my phone onto the far end of the sofa, flinching every time the screen lit up. Stella’s messages were relentless. I knew it was her because the phone buzzed in rapid succession every few minutes. On the fifth day, I finally picked it up. Thirty-two unread messages. She had sent me screenshots of her private chats with Noah. Babe, I booked the bridal boutique. We’re going in for fittings next month. Did you pack your bags? Our flight is early tomorrow. I’ll pick you up. Miss you. FaceTime me tonight. Every single message was like a red-hot iron rod, driven deep into flesh that had already gone numb. She sent one final paragraph. Anna, Noah noticed your phone was off. He said he was incredibly relieved. He hated it when you threw your little episodes. He said when your brain misfires, no one can stop you. He said you’re exactly like your crazy mother. Exactly like your crazy mother. Those words looped in my head like a broken record. I threw the phone as hard as I could at the floor. Then, I slowly bent down and picked it up. The screen was splintered, but it still worked. I slumped against the kitchen counter, staring at the cheap aluminum pot on the stove. The pot Noah used to boil my oatmeal every morning. A faded sticky note was still clinging to the fridge. His handwriting. Don’t forget to eat breakfast. Eight years. He used to sit in the back row of our high school homeroom, sneaking the best parts of his lunch onto my desk. I would tell him I wasn’t hungry. He would say, If you don’t eat, I don’t eat. He was the one who called the police on my stepdad. The day the cops finally dragged that monster out of our house, Noah had pulled me into his chest, holding me so tight I could barely breathe. He had whispered, Anna, no one is ever going to put a hand on you again. I will protect you. His eyes were red, his chin resting softly on top of my head, his chest radiating heat. That was the first time in my entire life I felt like surviving wasn’t an impossible task. But look at him now. He took all of my most precious, vulnerable memories and weaponized them to justify throwing me away. I had no idea when the shift happened. When he started playing the dutiful martyr to my face, while calling me a psycho behind my back. On the evening of the sixth day, I took a long, burning hot shower and put on clean clothes. I turned on every light in the apartment and scrubbed the place top to bottom. Then, I started packing. I only packed the things that strictly belonged to me. My toothbrush. My towels. The dark red cardigan my grandmother knitted for me right before she passed away. I left the reading lamp he bought me. I left the shoebox full of love letters. I picked up the framed photograph of us by the TV and placed it face down on the wood. I zipped up my suitcase and dragged it to the front door. I took a sticky note and a pen from the counter and wrote exactly four words. Eight years. Paid in full. I slapped the note on the shoe rack and dropped my keys right next to it. When I stepped out, the hallway was perfectly quiet. The elevator dinged. I pulled my suitcase inside and hit the button for the lobby. Right before the metal doors slid shut, I took one last look at the place I used to call home. And then, I never looked back.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “440318”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 My older brother Thomas used his dying breath to entrust his twelve-year-old daughter and his entire estate to me. For ten grueling years, I played the role of both father and mother. I worked myself to the bone to put her through college. I thought the hardest days were finally behind us. But right after her graduation ceremony, she teamed up with my ex-wife, Brenda, a woman I hadn’t seen in years. Together, they slapped me with a massive lawsuit. “Uncle Tom, my dad left this house to me. You’ve been living here scot-free for a decade. It’s time for you to pack your bags. And that hundred thousand dollars? That wasn’t a gift. You owe me.” I stared at my niece. She was aggressively in my face, completely unrecognizable. A bitter smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I thought about the updated will securely locked inside a bank vault. A document no one else knew existed. Did Thomas somehow foresee this exact day? “Tom! Open the damn door! I know you’re in there!” The voice on the front porch was jarringly familiar. “Who is it?” I yanked open the heavy front door, my brow furrowed in confusion. Lily stood on the porch. Her eyes were as cold as ice. Standing right behind her, wearing a smug, arrogant smirk, was Brenda. “Lily?” I froze. I hadn’t seen her in a few weeks, and she looked entirely different from the bright-eyed girl I had raised. Something was deeply wrong. “What’s going on, Lily? Are you in some kind of trouble?” “Trouble? Oh, I’m doing great. Thanks to you.” She sneered, stepping past me into the house. Her eyes scanned the living room like a barcode reader, judging every piece of furniture. Her lips curled into a nasty smirk. “Just came to check on my amazing uncle. Playing house in a home you stole. Must be nice and cozy, right?” Her glare felt like a physical knife dragging across my skin. “Lily. What the hell are you talking about?” There was no warmth. No happy reunion. Just this biting, toxic sarcasm. “What am I talking about?” Lily let out a dry, mocking laugh. Brenda immediately took that as her cue. She eagerly unzipped her designer purse, pulled out a thick stack of folded papers, and shoved them into Lily’s hands. Lily took the papers and slammed them down hard onto the glass coffee table. The whole table rattled. “Open your eyes and read it. It’s a court summons. I’m suing you for embezzling my parents’ estate. For illegally occupying my property. And for that hundred thousand dollars in cash. It’s time to pay up.” My brain short-circuited. A loud ringing echoed in my ears. A summons? Suing me? Embezzlement? I looked at Lily, my throat suddenly going bone-dry. “Lily… what is this? When your parents passed away…” Lily ignored me and repeated herself, her voice flat and robotic. “Tom. Give me my house back. And the hundred grand.” “A hundred grand?!” I stammered. “Lily, how can you even say that? Every single penny of that money was spent on you. Your parents told me…” “Told you what?” Lily interrupted, her face twisting in pure disgust. “Did they tell you to take care of me, or did they tell you to steal my inheritance? Ten years. A hundred thousand dollars. Where are the receipts, Tom? Because all I see is you living comfortably in a house that belongs to me.” “Exactly.” Brenda nudged Lily’s arm, her eyes gleaming with malice. “Lily is a legal adult now. The law is on her side. You can’t just squat on a dead man’s property forever. Don’t waste your breath on him, honey.” After all these years, Brenda’s toxic, instigating mouth hadn’t changed one bit. Lily ignored Brenda and kept her dead eyes locked on my face. “Drop the act. This is my house. That is my money. Every single dime my parents left behind. They died, and you swallowed their blood money. How do you even sleep at night?” Ten years of blood, sweat, and tears. And in her eyes, I was nothing but a thief. “Lily… I’m your uncle. Your family…” “You stopped being family the day you decided to freeload in my house.” “Get out. Both of you, get the hell out of my house!” I pointed a shaking finger at the front door. Lily didn’t flinch. “Get out? You’re the one who needs to get out. This house will officially be mine very soon.” She didn’t spare me another glance. She turned on her heel and marched out. Brenda shot me a victorious, venomous glare and quickly followed her. I stood alone in the living room, staring at the blinding white legal papers on the coffee table. My hands were shaking uncontrollably. This was bad. 2 When I got to the office the next morning, my entire body felt heavy. My right eyelid wouldn’t stop twitching. I had barely sat down at my cubicle when Stan, the guy from the next desk over, rolled his chair toward me. His face was scrunched up in discomfort. “Hey, Tom… man… have you checked the local neighborhood Facebook group? It’s… it’s a total bloodbath.” My stomach dropped into my shoes. I frantically pulled out my phone. I opened the app. The top pinned post hit my eyes like a flashbang. The Ultimate Betrayal. Blood-Sucking Uncle Steals Orphaned Niece’s Inheritance for Ten Years! Posted by: Lily. There were photos attached. One was a picture of my front porch. The other was an old, heartbreaking photo of Lily as a little kid, wearing a faded, oversized t-shirt, standing alone in her parents’ old backyard. The post itself was an absolute character assassination. She called me a hypocrite. A predator. She accused me of betraying my brother’s dying trust, embezzling a massive fortune, and emotionally abusing her. The comment section was a mob out for blood. “Absolute human garbage!” “Lock him up!” “Get the hell out of our neighborhood!” “Give that poor girl her house back!” My hands shook so badly my phone slipped from my grip and clattered onto the desk. “Tom! Mr. Henderson wants you in his office. Right now.” One of the administrative assistants called out from the hallway. She looked at me like I was a piece of trash stuck to the bottom of her shoe. I forced myself to stand up and walk into the manager’s office. Henderson sat behind his massive mahogany desk. His face was thunderous. “Tom.” He tapped a heavy pen against his deskpad. “We expect a certain level of integrity from our employees. Personal scandals reflect on this company. Have you seen the absolute circus online today? Everyone in the building is talking about it. You need to pack up your desk and go home. Fix this mess before you even think about coming back. You are suspended. Do I make myself clear?” Suspended. It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water directly over my head. I drove home in a complete daze. The moment I pulled up to my driveway, I saw Lily standing on the front porch with her arms crossed, blocking the door like a bouncer. Brenda was hovering right next to her. A few neighbors were peeking through their blinds. Others were lingering on the sidewalk, whispering and pointing. “Wow. You actually have the nerve to show your face around here?” Lily announced, making sure her voice carried down the street. “Hey everyone, come take a look! This is the parasite who steals from his own orphaned niece. Does a guy like this really deserve to live in a house like this?” “Tom, you owe me that money. You owe me this house. And I’m not leaving until I get some answers.” “Answers?!” I felt the blood rushing to my head. “You posted a pack of lies online! The whole company saw it, and I just got suspended from my job.” “And now you’re blocking my door demanding money? I don’t owe you a damn thing.” “Lily, I want you to look deep inside your conscience. How old were you when your parents passed away? Twelve. Who raised you? Who put clothes on your back and food on your plate? Who drove through literal blizzards to sit through your parent-teacher conferences? For the last ten years, I was your father.” “My father?!” Lily’s lip curled in absolute disgust. “My real father wouldn’t have dumped me in a cheap boarding school. He wouldn’t have only cared about my test scores. He wouldn’t have been completely broke when it was time to pay my college tuition, humiliating me in front of the financial aid office. If Brenda hadn’t stepped in to cover the final payments…” “Save the sob story, Tom!” Brenda yelled, completely cutting me off. “Where is the money? Where are the bank statements? If you can’t produce them, it means you stole it. And the house? Is your name on the deed? No? Then pack your garbage and get out. Stop squatting in a house you don’t own.” Brenda turned to the watching neighbors. “Look closely, people. This is Tom. A man with zero morals. How can any of you sleep at night knowing a thief lives on your street?” More neighbors started gathering on the sidewalks. I could hear their hushed whispers, the judgmental clicking of their tongues. My vision swam with dark spots. I was shaking with so much rage I couldn’t even form a coherent sentence. 3 Bad news travels faster than wildfire. My own neighborhood became a hostile zone. When I stepped outside to take out the trash, Mrs. Higgins from the house across the street took one look at me, gripped her garbage bags, and practically sprinted in the opposite direction. A group of kids riding their bikes down the street stopped and pointed at me. “Look. That’s the bad guy. The guy who stole that girl’s house.” I had to grip the plastic trash bin to stop myself from doing something stupid. My phone was even worse. Unknown numbers called back to back, ringing constantly. I finally answered one. “Hello?” “Is this Tom? You absolute piece of trash. I hope you rot in hell.” A barrage of vile, explicit curses exploded through the speaker. I slammed the end call button and powered the phone off completely. The house finally fell silent, but the heavy, crushing weight in my chest only got worse. A lawyer was my only lifeline now. I scrounged together every loose bill I had hidden in my desk drawers just to cover the initial consultation fee. I sat in a stiff leather chair in a downtown law firm. Across the desk, Mr. Davis adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. His frown was so deep it looked permanent. “Tom.” He spoke slowly, and every word felt like a hammer hitting my chest. “Your situation is… well, it’s not looking good.” My stomach dropped. “The opposing party, Lily, is a legal adult. She is the rightful heir and the legal owner of the property. She wants to reclaim it, and legally, she is entirely justified. Your name is not on the deed.” Davis flipped open the thin manila folder on his desk. “The main issue is the hundred thousand dollars. You claim your brother and sister-in-law verbally entrusted it to you for her upbringing. But there is absolutely no paper trail. They just said ‘take it’ and ‘live here.’ They didn’t write a formal will stating the cash was a personal gift to you, nor did they legally transfer the house. In the eyes of the court, it is incredibly difficult to prove this was an unconditional transfer of assets.” He paused, looking at me with pity. “You have to prove that every single penny of that hundred thousand dollars was spent directly on Lily’s upbringing. Or, you need to prove your sister-in-law explicitly stated the money was yours to spend. Also…” He pointed a pen at the printed screenshots of Lily’s viral posts. “The court of public opinion is heavily stacked against you right now. Judges are human beings. They read the news. It will subconsciously affect their perspective.” Prove it? It had been ten years. Groceries. Utility bills. Gas money. Textbooks. Winter coats. Extracurriculars. Who in the world keeps a detailed receipt for every single gallon of milk and pair of shoes they buy over a decade? “So… that’s it? I just sit here and let them destroy my life?” “Do your absolute best to find evidence,” Davis sighed. “Large bank withdrawals that coincide with tuition due dates. Or, if there was anyone else in the room when your brother gave you those instructions. An eyewitness.” An eyewitness? My brother died suddenly. The only other person in that hospital room besides me… was Brenda. Her? Would she testify for me? Pigs would fly before that woman lifted a finger to help me. I dragged my exhausted body back home. As I unlocked the front door, I noticed a folded piece of paper shoved underneath the crack. A notice from the Homeowners Association. The itemized list was incredibly long. Neighborhood maintenance fees. Trash collection. Security gate upkeep. The numbers were astronomical. The bold black text at the very bottom hit me like a physical punch. Outstanding Late Fees and Penalties: $15,872.00 Fifteen thousand dollars in late fees?! I immediately dialed the HOA president’s number. “Listen, Tom. Lily marched into the office yesterday and demanded a full audit of the last ten years. She said the reduced rates we gave you out of sympathy were invalid. She demanded we back-charge you at the absolute maximum market rate. For ten years of occupancy. Plus late penalties.” I hung up before he could finish his sentence and immediately dialed Lily’s number. “Lily. You went to college to learn how to completely ruin a person, is that it? Making the HOA back-charge me fifteen grand? This is extortion. Back off.” “Having a tough time, Uncle Tom?” Lily’s voice was dripping with smug satisfaction. “If you want peace and quiet, pack your bags and wire me the money. I promise I’ll leave you alone. If not, I have a lot more tricks up my sleeve.” I was so angry my vision blurred. I tore the HOA notice into tiny shreds and threw them against the wall. 4 It didn’t take long for HR to drop the word “temporary” from my suspension. A rep from corporate handed me a heavily worded NDA and a “Graceful Exit Agreement.” The subtext was crystal clear. Sign the paper, quit quietly, and get a tiny severance check. Fight it, get fired for violating the morality clause, and leave with absolutely nothing. I felt like my spine had been ripped out. I took the severance. The massive suburban house felt incredibly hollow with just me inside it. I started tearing the place apart like a madman. My brother’s old toolbox. My sister-in-law’s knitting basket. Lily’s kindergarten art projects. I yanked out drawers and dumped them on the floor. I pulled every box out of the attic. I searched for twenty-four straight hours. Aside from some old photo albums and worthless trinkets, I found absolutely nothing. No receipts. No hidden documents. No evidence. I collapsed onto the messy floor, staring blankly at the dusty ceiling fan. Suddenly, a violent, aggressive pounding echoed from the front door. It was louder and angrier than Lily’s knocking. Someone was trying to break the door down. I scrambled up and yanked the door open. Three massive, intimidating men stood on my porch. The leader had a tight buzzcut, a black muscle shirt, and thick tribal tattoos snaking up his neck. His eyes were dead and aggressive. The two guys behind him were built like brick walls. Buzzcut held a stack of papers in his massive hands. When he saw me, he flashed a nasty smile, revealing a row of yellowed teeth. “You Tom?” His voice was pure gravel. He slapped the papers hard against the wooden doorframe. “Lily sent us. Read it and weep. Formal Notice of Reclaiming Property.” He paused, his small eyes gleaming with cruelty. “You have exactly two hours to pack whatever trash belongs to you and get out. This house belongs to the lady now. We’re here for the eviction.” “Eviction?!” I yelled. “The court hasn’t even heard the case yet. She has zero legal right to force an eviction.” “Rights?” One of the thugs with a deep scar across his cheek let out a harsh laugh. He shoved his heavy hand against my chest, physically pushing me backward. The three men pushed past me, marching into my living room like they owned the place. “Here’s your rights,” Buzzcut said, shoving the notice directly into my face. “Lily is the deed holder. Understand? The owner calls the shots. She wants you gone, so you’re gone. You want to cry to a judge? Let’s see who the cops side with.” He rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck. “Besides, the lady gave us full power of attorney to clear the premises. We’re just doing our jobs. Go ahead, call 911.” “This is breaking and entering,” I said, my heart hammering in my chest. “Get out of my house.” “Get out?” Buzzcut threw his head back and laughed. He shoved me hard into the drywall. “Alright boys, get to work. The boss lady said anything that isn’t nailed down is garbage. Throw it all out. Let’s give this freeloader some space.” They immediately started grabbing my belongings and hurling them into the corners of the room. One of the thugs picked up a cheap plastic picture frame from the side table. It was the only surviving family photo of my brother, Sarah, a tiny Lily, and me. He didn’t even look at it. He just casually tossed it onto the hardwood floor. The plastic cracked loudly. The photo slid out, and a heavy, dirt-caked work boot stepped directly onto my brother’s face. That photo was the only physical memory I had left of my brother. All the blood rushed to my head. I let out a feral yell and lunged directly at the man who stepped on the photo. The ensuing chaos was deafening. A neighbor must have heard the shouting and called the police. The flashing blue lights eventually scared the thugs away. As I was on my hands and knees, trying to sweep up the broken glass and shattered plastic, my phone rang. “Hello? Lily…” my voice was shaking. “Tom.” Her voice was completely hollow. “Tomorrow at 2:00 PM, a real estate agent is coming to do a walkthrough. Pack your garbage and leave the keys on the kitchen counter. I’m coming to officially take possession on Monday. If you are still inside that house, what happened today is going to happen every single day.” She delivered the threat rapidly, without a single stutter. A walkthrough? Taking possession? “Lily!” I jumped to my feet. “Your parents left this house for me to live in. They wanted me to have a roof over my head so I could…” “So I wouldn’t end up on the street!” Lily screamed, her voice cracking with fury. “It wasn’t meant for you to squat in for ten years. Do not bring up my parents. You don’t have the right. Brenda was right about you. You’re just a greedy, pathetic parasite.” “What kind of poison is Brenda feeding you?!” I roared into the phone. “That woman is a…” “She cares about me. She actually looks out for my future. She treats me ten thousand times better than you ever did.” Lily practically screamed the last sentence. The line went dead. The dial tone pierced my eardrum. Ten years. Ten whole years. I ruined my own life to play both parents. I clothed her, fed her, paid her tuition. I bought her the newest iPhones and expensive bags because I was terrified she’d get bullied for being the poor orphan kid. I ate ramen noodles for dinner so she could have steak. And this was the result. She sent violent thugs to tear my house apart and crush my brother’s face under a dirty boot. I had raised a monster. She didn’t even call me Uncle anymore. Just “Tom” and “Parasite.” The phone vibrated again. Brenda. My fingers were trembling as I hit accept. “I assume you heard what Lily just said,” Brenda purred, her voice dripping with triumphant satisfaction. “Be smart about this. Pack your bags and leave quietly. Save yourself the embarrassment of a public trial. Because if we go to court, I promise you, I will bleed you dry until you don’t even have the shirt on your back.” She didn’t even wait for a response. The call disconnected. The phone slipped from my sweaty palm and cracked against the hardwood floor. I slumped against the side of the sofa, sliding down until I was sitting in the dust. I had absolutely zero fight left in me. The house was gone. My career was gone. My reputation was completely destroyed. I was drowning in HOA debt, and my legal fund was basically empty. Was there really no way out? 5 I wandered around the empty, echoing house like a ghost for two days. The dirty, crumpled family photo sitting on the coffee table burned my eyes every time I walked past it. In the picture, Thomas had his arm wrapped tightly around Sarah. Lily had two little pigtails, grinning at the camera without a care in the world. Sarah passed away from a sudden illness when Lily was young. A few years later, Thomas’s grief caught up with him. His body just completely shut down. I remember Thomas lying in that sterile hospital bed. He was skeletal. He gripped my hand with a desperate, terrifying strength. “Tom… take care of Lily. The house… is big enough for both of you to live in. The money… make sure she has a good life.” I buried my face in my hands. A sharp, agonizing lump formed in my throat. Hot tears leaked through my fingers. No. I couldn’t just roll over and die. Thomas entrusted Lily to me. He told me to live in this house. He didn’t do it so I could be tortured and destroyed by Brenda’s toxic manipulation and a brainwashed kid. I dragged myself off the floor, wiped my face with my sleeve, grabbed a jacket, and ran out the door. The bank. I needed to go to the bank. That hundred thousand dollars was deposited under my name. The teller at the front desk frowned deeply when I asked for a decade of transaction history. “Sir, our local branch system only goes back five years for immediate printing. Anything older requires a formal request from the central archives. It usually takes three to five business days for approval.” “Request it. Right now. Expedite it if you have to,” I begged, pressing my hands against the bulletproof glass. I waited through two agonizing days of silence before the bank finally called me to pick up the files. My hands were shaking as I held the thick stack of printed statements. I flipped through the pages. Rapidly scanning the lines. Tuition. There it was. Every August, a massive sum was wired out. Payee: State University. The amounts matched perfectly. That was Lily’s college tuition. Five full years of out-of-state tuition. That single expense accounted for over fifty thousand dollars. My heart hammered against my ribs. This was a lead. But my relief lasted exactly two minutes. This was only her college years. What about high school? Middle school? What about groceries, medical bills, clothes, laptops, and emergency room visits? Out of the hundred thousand, college took half. The other fifty thousand was stretched over the first five years. That’s ten grand a year. Less than a thousand bucks a month for food, shelter, and clothing for a growing teenager. The paper trail was broken. A few college tuition receipts weren’t going to justify the entire amount in front of a judge. Refusing to give up, I drove to Lily’s old high school and middle school. The administrator at the high school adjusted his glasses and shook his head firmly. “Mr. Pendelton, you’re asking for financial records from seven years ago. Those are in the deep archives off-site. Without a formal subpoena or a court order, we absolutely cannot release a minor’s historical financial records to you. It’s a massive liability.” I hit a brick wall. The middle school was even worse. The old records clerk had retired, and the new staff didn’t even know what filing system was used back then. Every single thread led to a dead end. I walked back to my neighborhood, my head hanging low, utterly defeated. As I approached my street, I saw Brenda’s obnoxious bright red SUV parked by the curb. She was standing on the sidewalk, smiling warmly, brushing a stray lock of hair behind Lily’s ear. Lily actually looked happy. “Wow. You still haven’t packed?” Brenda caught sight of me, and her warm smile vanished instantly. She looked down her nose at me. “Absolutely shameless. You’re like a leech that refuses to let go.” She raised her voice, making sure anyone walking their dog could hear her. Lily’s smile disappeared. She shot me a look of pure, unadulterated disgust, grabbed Brenda’s arm, and climbed into the passenger seat without a word. The SUV sped off.

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1 At my career’s breaking point, my manager and boyfriend, Nolan, told me to gain twenty pounds in two weeks to land an Oscar-bait role. I showed up hopeful, but the director sighed. “Your acting is incredible, Avery, but the character is severely emaciated. You’re all wrong.” My stomach dropped. Before I could text Nolan, I saw him across the room, smiling triumphantly at my rival. She got the role—simply because she was thinner. When Nolan met my gaze, his smile vanished. He rubbed his nose, looking exhausted. “Serena is in her prime for awards season. She needs this more than you. Your acting is too good; I had to trick you into gaining weight to let her win.” He delivered the final blow without pause. “And you’ve begged me to marry you for years. Now that you’re too heavy to book roles, we can finally settle down.” There was no romance, no vow. His eyes darted to Serena, his first love, standing nearby. I realized I was just a placeholder, a warm body waiting for her return. I laughed bitterly, slid the silver ring off my finger, and said calmly, “Forget the wedding. We’re done.” The silver ring hit the floor and rolled under a leather casting couch. Nolan’s face darkened with immediate fury. “Are you expecting me to beg you to stay in front of her? Is this your way of proving you matter?” I opened my mouth. “No…” He held up a hand, his eyes burning with impatience. “Save the excuses. Do whatever you want. Just don’t come crying to me tonight, drunk and begging to get back together.” I gripped the hem of my oversized sweater. My cheeks burned with a humiliating heat, worse than if he had slapped me across the face in front of a live audience. Serena gently tugged at his sleeve. “Nolan, I told you not to speak to women like that. Avery, he’s just blunt, he doesn’t mean any harm, please don’t be mad at…” Nolan grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the door. “Don’t waste your breath on her. Didn’t you need to go to wardrobe for your fittings?” They walked out without a single backward glance. The chemistry between them was palpable. They moved in sync, looking exactly like the leaked paparazzi photos from their romance years ago. It was as if they had never broken up at all. Someone in the casting room recorded the entire exchange. An hour later, it was posted online by an anonymous burner account. Once again, my body became the internet’s favorite punching bag. [Good lord, her body has completely let itself go. Does she know she’s an actress? Is she prepping for a role as a slaughtered pig?] [Seriously, she just blew up overnight. Zero work ethic. Could she not put the fork down for five minutes? Look at how elegant Serena Blair is!] I was born with a metabolism that punished me for breathing. The first time I was ruthlessly fat-shamed by the internet years ago, I fell into a severe depression. I had to take steroid medications just to function, which only made my weight spiral further. Directors laughed me out of rooms. I was ready to quit acting entirely. That was when Nolan pushed his way through a crowd of executives mocking me, grabbed my hand, and pulled me out of the building. He looked at my tear-streaked makeup and told me, “The world is already looking down on you. Are you going to bully yourself, too?” From that day on, he was my guiding light. I followed him, trusted him implicitly, and fell deeply in love with him. He knew exactly how agonizing my journey had been. He knew how much faith I placed in him. And today, he took that faith and crushed it under his heel. My phone buzzed. It wasn’t a text from him. It was a flood of direct messages from my top fan accounts, begging me to fire my manager. They had been telling me to drop Nolan since the very beginning, ever since my styling and roles started tanking. I used to brush it off, blindly believing that as long as my acting was solid, I could elevate any terrible script he handed me. But now, the label of “the ugly, toxic supporting character” had been permanently glued to my forehead, bleeding over into my real life. 2 I finally realized how pathetic my confidence was compared to the brutal reality he had orchestrated to elevate Serena. My assistant, Jess, let out a heavy sigh from the passenger seat of my car. “Stop reading the comments, Avery. Look, I already enrolled you in an elite weight-loss boot camp.” I took a deep breath, staring out the rain-streaked window. “Cancel it. Didn’t the agency want to pivot me to the international market? Tell Director Davis I accept his offer.” Jess whipped her head around, her jaw dropping. “But that’s a massive global franchise! You’ll be shooting on a closed set overseas for two years. What about you and Nolan?” “There is no me and Nolan,” I cut her off smoothly. “From now on, my life has absolutely nothing to do with him.” The head executives at my agency were thrilled when I agreed to the international pivot. To build up my underdog narrative, they intentionally left all the fat-shaming hashtags trending on Twitter. Thankfully, my mental armor was infinitely stronger than it used to be. The insults barely registered. I was sitting in the agency’s conference room, filling out my international transfer and visa applications, when the door violently crashed open. Nolan stormed in, his face red with fury. “I told you guys when I signed on that we do not buy negative PR for Serena! The entire internet is calling her a manipulative homewrecker right now!” His tirade choked off the second he realized I was sitting at the table. A flash of awkward guilt crossed his face. The rumor was that after Nolan and Serena broke up years ago, our agency spent a fortune to poach him. They agreed to a massive list of unequal demands. I just hadn’t realized that one of those demands was a protective clause for Serena. Looking back, it all made sickening sense. Whenever I needed good PR, he threw me to the wolves. He bought negative trending topics about my weight, my face, my personality, leaving them up for days. When I was doxxed and stalkers showed up at my front door, he didn’t show a single ounce of sympathy. Just like now. We were both getting dragged online, but his eyes were only looking out for her. A soft, mocking chuckle escaped my lips. His face instantly hardened into a scowl. “The executives promised me they wouldn’t touch her. So this was your doing, wasn’t it?” “You’re mad that I gave the role to her, so you rallied your toxic fanbase to call her a homewrecker? You’re spinning a narrative that she’s using me to sabotage your career?” I furrowed my brow. Before I could even open my mouth to defend myself, his phone rang. I caught a glimpse of the screen. Serena. He answered it on the first ring. It was a courtesy he had never extended to me, not even the night I was being chased down a highway by deranged stalkerazzi and called him for help in tears. “Nolan!” Serena’s voice was frantic on the other end. “Someone leaked photos of you and Avery on a date! Everyone is saying I’m the other woman! They’re calling me a mistress!” “She won’t stop crying,” her assistant yelled into the background. “She’s threatening to jump off the balcony to prove her innocence!” In that split second, the color drained from Nolan’s face. His knees physically buckled. He glared at me, his eyes burning with pure, unadulterated hatred. “You are a vicious, evil woman. You’re so desperate to ruin her that you’d set your own career on fire!” He didn’t give me a chance to speak. He stumbled backward and sprinted out of the room. The executive sitting across from me let out an uncomfortable sigh. “We didn’t buy those trends. Do you want me to…” I forced a polite smile. “No need. Let him think whatever he wants. I’m leaving anyway.” The executive nodded silently and collected my transfer paperwork. Less than three minutes after I walked out of the conference room, my phone chimed with a notification from Twitter. I opened the app. Nolan had just quote-tweeted the viral photo of us on a date. [Avery and I have never been in a romantic relationship. We are strictly colleagues. Serena Blair and I never broke up. Any romantic marketing involving Avery Sinclair was purely a studio-mandated PR strategy. There is no infidelity involved.] My chest seized. It felt like an invisible fist was crushing my lungs. When Nolan first became my manager, Serena’s rabid fanbase accused me of being the homewrecker who ruined their fairy-tale romance. When paparazzi finally caught us kissing a year later, the hatred multiplied tenfold. I endured a solid year of brutal cyberbullying. It got so bad the agency begged us to just go public and clear the air. 3 But Nolan always refused. He always used my career as an excuse, claiming a public relationship would ruin my marketability. He stood by and watched as millions of people called me a slut, a mistress, a home-wrecker. And now, he freely handed the public declaration of love that I had bled for over to his ex. He permanently branded me with the “mistress” label just to protect her. In that moment, I finally understood that true love knows no obstacles. The only obstacle was that he simply didn’t love me. The agency couldn’t control him anymore. They immediately moved to assign me a new manager and drafted a statement to sever all ties with him. But when it came time to hand over my portfolio, Nolan suddenly slammed the brakes. “I’ve managed her for years! No one knows her career trajectory better than I do!” The sudden 180-degree shift in his attitude was laughable. It only cemented the fact that I was nothing but a tool he needed to keep in his back pocket. I stared at him, my eyes empty, filled with nothing but profound numbness and exhaustion. “No. I know my own trajectory.” He flinched. He clearly hadn’t expected me to speak to him with such cold authority. In the past, whenever the agency suggested switching managers, I was the one who fought against it. I wanted to stay close to him. I willingly kept myself chained to him. But now that my spine was made of steel, he was completely powerless. Sensing the tension, the executive slid my international transfer forms across the table. “Look, the reality is, Avery is leaving the country…” Nolan frowned deeply. He reached out to grab the papers. My eyes narrowed. I stepped directly into his path, blocking his hand. “I am in control of my own career from now on. If you refuse to hand over the files, I will build a new portfolio from scratch.” I grabbed the papers, folded them neatly, and handed them back to the executive. I shook my head slightly. As I turned to walk away, Nolan raised his hand, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to grab my wrist. I side-stepped him effortlessly. After the disastrous meeting, I went back to my apartment and started packing my life into boxes. As I was folding clothes, my phone buzzed. A text from him. [Her mental health is incredibly fragile. I was just calming her down. Don’t overthink this.] In a sea of green text bubbles, this was the first time in an entire month he had initiated a conversation that wasn’t strictly about work schedules. And yet, it was still revolving around Serena. Whenever I texted him for comfort, whenever I needed a shoulder to cry on or just a shred of affection, his standard response was always the same three words. [Toughen up, Avery.] I didn’t immediately call him back in tears. I didn’t beg for his attention or try to explain my side of the story like I used to. What was the point? A few minutes later, the electronic lock on my front door beeped rapidly with several failed passcode attempts. My heart skipped a beat. I pulled up the security camera feed on my phone and saw him standing in the hallway. The tension in my chest evaporated. All that was left was a hollow, empty void where my expectations used to be. Our passcode was our anniversary date. He had been coming to this apartment for five years and still couldn’t remember it. Yet, when he needed to log into a social media account he hadn’t touched in two years, he remembered Serena’s birthday as the password in less than a minute. I put my packing tape down and opened the front door. His eyes were laced with genuine anxiety. “Why didn’t you open the door? I thought something happened to you.” I found the whole situation hilarious. “What could possibly happen to me? You said it yourself, I’m tough.” He frowned, the fleeting guilt in his eyes vanishing instantly. “Look, I found out Serena’s PR team bought those trending hashtags. I didn’t have all the facts, and I shouldn’t have accused you. That’s on me.” “But there is absolutely no need for you to be this petty and sarcastic. She only broke up with me back then because her management forced her to. There is nothing going on between us now.” “That statement on Twitter? She posted that using my phone. By the time I saw it, the damage was done. I already told you, we can get married right now. You really need to let this go.” I stared at the poorly concealed impatience swimming in his eyes. 4 I finally spoke. “So, if you two had never broken up, is this how you would talk to her? Would you demand she marry you without a shred of romance or a proper proposal?” He rubbed the back of his neck, visibly irritated. “That doesn’t matter. You’re in a critical phase of your career right now, you shouldn’t…” My chest contracted violently. Before he could finish his sentence, I raised my hand and slapped him directly across the face. My voice was terrifyingly calm. “You knew I was in a critical phase of my career, and you still manipulated me into gaining twenty pounds!” “You’re right. None of it matters. Whether your pathetic excuses were meant to protect me or because you’re still obsessed with her, it doesn’t matter. Because we are broken up.” “Now get the hell out of my apartment. I never want to see your face again.” His eyes widened, rimmed with a furious, humiliated red. It was the first time in five years I had ever kicked him out. He slammed the door behind him, spitting out one final, venomous threat. “You’re going to regret this!” For five years, I had bent over backward to accommodate his every mood. We had never been at each other’s throats like this. So, when he realized I was no longer his submissive, easy-to-control puppet, he resorted to the dirty tactics he usually reserved for his enemies. My interim manager told me I had to attend a high-end charity gala that evening. But when I arrived, I realized I had been tricked. It was a sleazy, low-tier corporate networking mixer. A yacht party where actresses were treated like eye candy. Nolan and Serena were sitting on either side of the wealthy studio executives. My new manager gently pushed me into the private room. “Your resources are being downgraded, Avery. You aren’t bringing in money right now. Nolan said if you can handle the drinking for Serena tonight, he’ll secure a great script for you.” Back when I was a nobody clinging to Nolan’s roster, I couldn’t book any good roles. My lack of income meant his performance bonuses tanked. To make sure I didn’t drag his career down, I secretly agreed to attend one of these shady investor banquets. It started with just drinking on behalf of the executives. But as the night dragged on, several men cornered me and started force-feeding me liquor. I tried to run, but the VIP doors were deadbolted. They pinned me down, their hands wandering all over my body. Right as I was about to give up all hope, Nolan kicked the heavy wooden doors off their hinges, grabbed a fire axe from the hallway, and smashed the mahogany dining table cleanly in half. His eyes were bloodshot as he pulled me into his chest, shielding me from the room. He drove me home, screaming at me the entire ride, calling me an idiot with no brain. He told me that these drinking banquets almost always ended in hotel rooms. He yelled until I stopped responding. Bright red blood had started spilling past my lips like water. That was the first time I ever saw genuine, unfiltered terror on his face. From that day forward, I was banned from attending any event that required alcohol. Seeing me frozen in the doorway, Serena smiled brightly and walked over. “Oh, this is all my fault. I told the investors my alcohol tolerance is terribly low, but I didn’t want to disrespect them. Nolan remembered you could hold your liquor, so he called you in.” “You don’t mind, do you? Really, we’re doing this to help you network for new roles.” I stared at the smug, provocative gleam in her eyes. Surprisingly, I felt entirely at peace. It was fine. I would drink the poison tonight. Because after tonight, every single debt, every ounce of history between Nolan and me, would be permanently erased. I picked up a heavy crystal tumbler filled with dark amber liquor. I locked eyes with Nolan, watching the sudden, nervous tension ripple across his face. “Thank you all for this wonderful opportunity.” The cheap, high-proof alcohol burned down my esophagus like battery acid. I wiped a stray tear from the corner of my eye and poured myself a second glass. “But for this next round…” Before I could finish, Nolan practically lunged out of his chair, snatching the glass from my hand. His brow was furrowed in deep, angry lines. His voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “If you can’t drink, then don’t! Do you always have to be this stubborn? Would it kill you to just admit you need me?” I smiled. I opened my mouth to speak, but a violent, metallic clattering erupted from the ceiling above us. Before any of us could look up, the entire room lurched into a violent, terrifying sway. The floor dropped out from under my heels, sending my head spinning. 5 With a heavy thud, I crashed onto the marble floor. Piercing screams erupted from the hallway outside the VIP suite. “Earthquake! It’s an earthquake! Run!” Nolan grabbed my arm, hauling me to my feet. He threw his arm around my waist, preparing to drag me toward the exit. But from behind us, Serena’s voice pierced the chaos. “Nolan! My legs… my legs won’t move! I’m so scared!” In that split second, without a single micro-expression of hesitation, he let go of my hand. “She was in a severe earthquake as a child. She has crippling claustrophobia, I can’t just leave her here.” “You need to get out on your own. If you can’t make it to the stairs, find cover! I promise I’ll come back for you!” Without waiting for a response, he scooped Serena up into his arms and sprinted past me, vanishing into the panicked crowd. I struggled to push myself up off the floor. But with a deafening crack, the massive crystal chandelier detached from the ceiling and slammed directly into my shoulder. Nolan had glanced over his shoulder right as it happened. The momentary hesitation in his eyes vanished as quickly as it appeared. He disappeared into the dust and the screaming, taking my consciousness with him. … When I finally woke up, the sterile smell of a hospital room filled my lungs. Jess was sitting by my bed, her eyes red and puffy. The earthquake hadn’t been catastrophic. The hotel suffered minimal structural damage, and there were barely any casualties. The most severely injured person in the entire building was me, knocked unconscious by a cheap light fixture. The emergency rescue teams were the ones who pulled me out of the rubble. Jess looked at me, her mouth opening and closing. I knew exactly what she wanted to say. Nolan never came back. He was busy comforting Serena. On Instagram, I saw the photo they posted. Their hands tightly intertwined. The caption read: [No matter how much time passes, my heart will always choose you first.] I didn’t feel the soul-crushing grief or the fiery rage I expected. I only felt a profound sense of relief. My heart, which had spent five years sprinting to keep up with his, could finally beat for itself. I looked at the nightstand. Sitting next to my water cup was a first-class ticket for an overseas flight. “Let’s go,” I whispered. Jess helped me out of the hospital bed. We took a private car straight to the international terminal. Right before I stepped into the security checkpoint, a text from Nolan popped up on my screen. [Why aren’t you in your hospital room? Stop running around. I hired a private specialist to give you a full-body scan.] Staring at the message, I felt absolutely none of the pathetic, desperate joy I used to feel whenever he showed me a breadcrumb of attention. I smiled, hit block, and permanently deleted his contact. I popped the SIM card out of my phone and tossed it into a trash can. I had already set up a new international number. Nolan Cross. I am so incredibly tired of playing your twisted game of cat and mouse. From this moment on, I will never haunt your world again. Nolan gripped his phone, pacing the hallway outside Avery’s hospital room. He had been waiting for twenty minutes, but she hadn’t replied. In the past, the moment he sent a text checking up on her, she would immediately call him back, her voice thick with happy tears. Even when she was buried in script readings, she made her assistant reply instantly. But ever since that disastrous casting call, the dynamic had subtly shifted. It planted a dark, unsettling seed of panic in the pit of his stomach. Someone gently tapped his shoulder. He spun around, assuming it was Avery. “Where the hell did you go? Stop running…” The spark of relief in his chest instantly flatlined when he saw Serena standing there. A heavy, unexplainable wave of disappointment washed over him. “What are you doing here? I told you to stay in your suite and rest. The lobby is swarming with paparazzi and stalkers, what if they get a photo of you?” Serena’s eyes grew glassy with tears. “It’s fine. I wasn’t really hurt anyway. I just felt so alone in that big room… and I wanted to check on Avery. I need to apologize to her. If I hadn’t cried out for you, she wouldn’t have been crushed by that chandelier.” Nolan’s immediate instinct was to say Avery was fine. She was built tough. During action sequences, she refused to use stunt doubles to save the studio money. She took hits, cuts, and bruises without ever complaining. To the rest of the world, she was made of iron. But whenever she was alone with him, she would pout and show him her bruises. Even when he gave her the cold shoulder, she would whine until he was forced to pat her head and comfort her.

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The gala for my father’s seventieth birthday had just wound down. Deep in the night, my phone buzzed frantically. It was my husband, Mark. His voice crackled with panic on the other end. “Max, something terrible has happened! Our lead investor just skipped town with all the money. I have to get out of the country, lie low for a while. Don’t, under any circumstances, try to contact me!” In an instant, every trace of sleep vanished. I forced my voice to remain calm, telling him to be safe. The moment I hung up, I didn’t hesitate. I called the bank’s 24-hour hotline and froze every single card and account under my husband’s name. The irony was almost funny. The so-called “lead investor” who had supposedly vanished with our fortune was, at that very moment, passed out drunk in the room next to mine. He was my father. And I was very, very curious to see just how long he and my husband planned to keep up this elaborate “bankruptcy” charade. 1 I booked the first flight I could. When I arrived at the luxury resort he was supposedly hiding out in, I found him at the entrance of a grand ballroom. He was dressed in a sharp tuxedo, and on his arm was my close friend, Jessica, glowing in a white wedding gown. They were greeting guests. His eyes widened in panic when he saw me. He stumbled down the steps, rushing towards me. “Max, let me explain. Jessica’s father is critically ill. His dying wish is to see her married.” He grabbed my arm, his voice a desperate whisper. “I’m just acting, that’s all. It’s just a performance for her dad.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I yanked my arm free and slapped him hard across the face. “A performance?” I spat, my voice dripping with ice. “Should I chip in for a wedding gift, then? Help you really sell it?” The surrounding guests were already starting to whisper and point. Jessica, seeing the commotion, flushed with a mixture of shame and anger. Then, as if on cue, tears welled in her eyes, expertly casting her as the victim and me as the intruder. “Miss Aston,” she began, her voice trembling beautifully, “I know you’ve always been obsessed with Mark, to the point of developing… delusions. I feel for you, I truly do. But this is my wedding day. Please, don’t be so aggressive. You can’t force someone to love you.” Mark nodded, playing along. “Whatever you have to say, we can talk about it at home after the ceremony. Be good, Max. Don’t make a scene.” Even now, all he could think about was continuing with this sham of a wedding. I laughed, a harsh, grating sound. My eyes scanned Jessica, and then I saw it, glittering around her neck. It was my necklace. A one-of-a-kind emerald piece worth ten million dollars. The very one I had reported stolen months ago. “No wonder you were paying her a fifty-thousand-dollar-a-month salary,” I seethed, the pieces clicking into place with sickening clarity. “You two have been screwing around behind my back for God knows how long!” “And my designer bags, my jewelry that went ‘missing’… you stole them all for her, didn’t you?” I raked my gaze over Jessica with contempt. “One of you steals, the other one wears it. You’re a match made in hell, you pair of scumbags.” The crowd erupted in a mix of gasps and laughter, phones already out and recording. Jessica stomped her foot, her face a mask of fury. She fumbled in her purse and triumphantly produced a marriage certificate, shoving it in my face. “Open your eyes and look! Mark and I are legally married!” she shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at me, high on her momentary victory. “She’s sick in the head! She throws herself at any man who looks her way. My husband is just her latest obsession!” The crowd’s murmurs shifted. A few men started looking me up and down with leering eyes, one of them letting out a low whistle. “Hey, baby, you that desperate? The guy’s married. My room’s just upstairs if you need to scratch an itch…” One of them was bold enough to reach for my arm. I snatched a wine bottle from a nearby table and brandished it, making him recoil. I pointed the jagged neck of the bottle at Mark, my voice low and dangerous. “I’m giving you one last chance. Me, or her. Who is your wife?” Mark’s gaze flickered, and his next words plunged a shard of ice into my heart. “My only wife is Jessica,” he said, his voice cold and final. “Now, you’re going to apologize to her, or so help me, I will have you committed.” Jessica clung to Mark’s arm, her face a picture of tearful gratitude, and shot me a look of pure triumph. “Darling, don’t waste your breath on a psycho. She’s not worth it.” Looking at their disgusting, triumphant faces, something inside me snapped. I raised the bottle, ready to bring it crashing down on them both. If I was going to hell, I was dragging them with me. But Mark was faster. He kicked out, not at the bottle, but at me. As I stumbled, he lunged forward, stomping on the back of my hand with all his weight. His eyes were filled with a chilling malice. “Jessica is my life,” he snarled. “You hurt her, and I’ll make you pay a hundred times over.” A sickening crack echoed in the ballroom. A dull, throbbing agony shot up my arm, stealing my breath. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead. Jessica, ever the actress, rushed to his side, tugging on his arm. “Mark, stop! It’s our wedding day. If something bad happens, it’ll be a terrible omen. Just… just make her kneel and apologize. That’s enough.” Mark nodded, his tone dripping with magnanimous condescension. “You hear that? Get on your knees and apologize. Do it now, or you’re going straight to an asylum.” The loathing in his eyes was a physical blow. My heart felt like it had turned to stone. This was the man I’d given my youth to. My first love. Seven years. Our seven years of history were nothing against the test of time. I fumbled for my phone, my fingers clumsy and shaking. I opened my photo gallery and pulled up a picture of our marriage license, and a photo from our wedding day. “This is proof we’re married,” I announced, my voice trembling with rage. “I’m reporting you for bigamy!” In this country, bigamy was a serious crime. Prison time. The crowd’s murmuring turned suspicious, their eyes darting between Mark and Jessica. “That certificate she’s showing is dated seven years ago. Were they lying?” “If he’s married to both, that’s a felony! He should be locked up!” Jessica just smirked at me, a cruel, triumphant gleam in her eyes. She leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper. “You still don’t get it, do you? Your marriage certificate with Mark… it’s a fake.” “He promised me he would only ever truly love me. You were never worthy of legally being his wife.” For a moment, the world went silent. Then, a tidal wave of pure, unadulterated fury surged through me. My entire seven-year marriage, my devotion, my sacrifices… it was all a joke. I started to laugh, a broken, hysterical sound that quickly turned into sobs of despair. I stared at her, my vision blurred with tears of hatred. I raised my good hand, not even sure what I intended to do, but before I could touch her, she let out a piercing shriek and threw herself backward onto the marble floor. She clutched her stomach, her face contorted in agony. “Mark! My stomach… the baby… our baby!” Before I could even process the word “baby,” a brutal slap sent my head snapping to the side. My ears rang, and the coppery taste of blood filled my mouth. Mark scooped Jessica into his arms, his eyes burning with a hatred so intense it scorched me. “Jessica is pregnant with my child,” he roared. “If anything happens to that baby, I swear to God, I’ll make you pay with your life!” I tried to speak, but only a bitter taste coated my tongue. He was the one who said he never wanted kids. A DINK—double income, no kids—lifestyle, that’s what he’d preached. A child would only get in the way of “our life together.” I’d believed him. Now I understood. It wasn’t that he didn’t want a child. He just didn’t want a child with me. Jessica let out a panicked cry. “Get me to a hospital! Please, I think I’m losing the baby!” Without a second glance at me, Mark turned and ran, carrying his precious cargo out of the ballroom. The world tilted, and darkness swallowed me whole. When I woke up, the sterile white ceiling of a hospital room greeted me. An IV was taped to my arm, but it wasn’t dripping fluid in. It was drawing blood out. I tried to struggle, to sit up, but my body felt like lead. Mark appeared at my bedside, looking down at my pathetic state with cold, detached eyes. “Jessica’s losing a lot of blood,” he said flatly. “She needs a transfusion, and you’re a match. Consider it your way of atoning for what you did.” A surge of adrenaline-fueled rage shot through me. “I didn’t push her!” I screamed, my voice raw. His hand clamped around my throat, squeezing. “I have waited seven years for this child,” he hissed, his face inches from mine. “I will not allow anything to happen to Jessica or my baby. If they don’t make it, I will burn you to ashes and scatter them to the wind.” He held on until spots danced in my vision, then released me. I fell back against the pillow, gasping for air, overwhelmed by a suffocating sense of helplessness. The blood loss made me dizzy, and I drifted into a groggy sleep. I was pulled back to consciousness by the sound of a voice. I cracked my eyes open to see Jessica on the phone, her back to me. “Yes, everything is arranged with the asylum,” she was saying. “The moment Max Wynton is stable, she’s to be transferred. I want her locked away for the rest of her miserable life.” She noticed I was awake, ended the call, and walked over to my bed with a smirk. She poured a glass of water from the carafe on the nightstand. And then, she tipped it, sending a stream of scalding hot water onto my arm. “This is what you get for crossing me,” she sneered. I cried out, my body convulsing from the searing pain. I bit my lip until it bled, glaring at her through a haze of agony. “You faked it all,” I rasped. “The fall, the miscarriage…” She laughed, a loud, ugly sound. “And what if I did? Mark only believes what I tell him.” She placed a hand on her flat stomach, a cruel smile playing on her lips. “My baby could have been perfectly healthy. Such a shame I had that ‘accidental’ fall a few weeks ago that took care of it. Mark was so excited about being a father… I just had to find someone to blame, didn’t I?” I trembled with a rage so profound it felt like it would tear me apart. “You’re a monster.” Her smile widened. “And once you’re gone, all your assets will become mine.” A cold dread washed over me. She wasn’t just planning to lock me away. She was planning to make sure I never left this hospital alive. Using every last ounce of strength I possessed, I ripped the IV from my arm, scrambled out of bed, and shoved her aside. I had to escape. But my body betrayed me. I was too weak. After only a few steps, my legs gave out and I collapsed in the hallway. Jessica followed at a leisurely pace, giving my side a contemptuous kick. Seeing that I couldn’t even get up, she laughed. “Go on, run. I thought you were so tough.” Her eyes glinted with a sadistic light. “You know, just getting rid of you would be too boring. Let’s play a little game.” “I hear there’s a derelict part of town not too far from here. Full of… desperate men. How about we drop you off there?” I recoiled in horror, scrambling backward. “You can’t do this. My father is—” Before I could finish, she grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back and slapping me twice, hard. “Your family? A bunch of ungrateful leeches!” she spat. “Every time Mark brought them gifts, they looked down on him. If it weren’t for Mark supporting your family all these years, do you think you could have lived the life of a wealthy housewife?” My heart sank. The lie was so audacious it was almost brilliant. Mark was a broke nobody when I met him. I used my own savings to fund his first start-up. My family never approved of him, which is why he barely had any contact with them. The few times he did visit, he brought a cheap basket of fruit. And “supporting” them was a joke. Without my father secretly investing millions into his company, he never would have gone public in seven years. Her bodyguards dragged me out of the hospital and threw me into a car. We drove to the city’s dark, forgotten underbelly and they dumped me in a filthy alley. She pulled out her phone and addressed the group of gaunt, hollow-eyed men who were already gathering, drawn by the commotion. “Whoever shows her the best time,” she announced, her voice echoing in the grimy space, “gets half a million dollars.” Instantly, four or five of them closed in, a predatory hunger in their eyes that made my stomach churn. I grabbed a loose brick, ready to defend myself. “You will regret this!” I screamed at her. She was unfazed. She even started a video call with Mark. My terrified, dishevelled image on the screen made him roar with laughter. “Jessica, you’re too soft,” his voice tinny through the phone’s speaker. “She killed our baby. She should be rotting in a prison cell.” Jessica sighed dramatically. “But she was with you for a time, Mark. I want to build up some good karma for our future children. She’s just so stubborn. If she had just knelt and begged for forgiveness, I wouldn’t have had to do this.” Mark scoffed. “She’s a vindictive bitch. I’ve had enough of her. You know, Jessica, we’ll have to redo our wedding, but I promise you, this time, it will be the most extrMaxgant event this city has ever seen.” They talked as if I wasn’t even there, as if my life wasn’t about to be destroyed. Any last flicker of hope I had for the man I once loved died in that filthy alley. After hanging up, Jessica turned to the vagrants. “What are you waiting for? Get to it! If you don’t, you won’t see a single penny!” With a primal scream, I surged forward, crashing into Jessica and knocking her to the ground. I threw all my weight on top of her, my hands finding her throat and squeezing. “If I die, I’m taking you with me!” I shrieked. For the first time, I saw real fear in her eyes. She clawed at my hands, choking and gasping for help. Suddenly, Mark’s furious roar cut through the air. “Max, you’re dead!” He must have rushed over after the call. He snatched a heavy rock from the ground and brought it down on the back of my head. The world exploded in a flash of white-hot pain as he kicked me off of Jessica. It took a long moment for my vision to clear. When it did, I saw Mark glaring at me with pure, unadulterated hatred. “It wasn’t enough for you to kill our child, you had to try and kill her too,” he seethed. “This time, I won’t be lenient.” He barked an order at his bodyguards. “Go get more of them. And call the local news stations. Tell them we’ve got a scoop. By the end of today, Max Wynton’s name will be synonymous with filth!” Ignoring the blinding pain in my head, I tried to crawl away, to escape, but the bodyguards were on me in a second. They dragged me back, forcing me to my knees in front of Mark and Jessica. Mark fussed over Jessica, gently brushing dust from her dress with a sanitized wipe, his touch full of tenderness. He wouldn’t even look at me. “Don’t worry, my love,” he murmured to her. “I’ll get your revenge for you right now.” Jessica, her eyes brimming with tears, clutched his hand and shook her head weakly. “I don’t blame her. As long as I can be with you, I’ll endure any hardship.” I spat at her feet. “How many men have you pulled that routine on? How many backup plans do you have lined up after Mark?” I’d seen her getting cozy with other men at his office before; I’d just been too blind and trusting to see it for what it was. Her act shattered. The tears became real, streaming down her face in angry torrents. “Mark, she’s humiliating me! I can’t live like this!” she wailed, turning as if to smash her head against the nearby brick wall. Mark caught her, holding her tight, his face a thundercloud of fury directed at me. “I’ve been too good to you,” he snarled. “You can live out the rest of your pathetic life in this gutter.” He gestured to his men. “Break her arms and legs.” Panic seized me. I thrashed against their grip. “Mark, you’ll pay for this! As long as there is breath in my body, I will never let you get away with this!” He let out a cold, dismissive laugh. “Oh, I’m waiting. I remember that old college flame of yours, the one who’s still single, waiting for you. I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he sees the video of the great campus beauty, Max Wynton, begging for mercy under a pile of hobos. He probably won’t be able to eat for a week.” I couldn’t believe it. To appease Jessica, he was willing to utterly and completely destroy me. My joints were brutally dislocated. The physical agony was immense, but it was nothing compared to the searing pain in my soul. Tears streamed down my face, hitting the grimy pavement as memories of our seven years together flashed through my mind. The sweeter the memory, the more bitter the irony now. I was a broken puppet, paralyzed on the ground, my eyes locked on Mark, burning with a helpless, venomous rage. He held Jessica, gazing down at my ruined form as if I were an insect. The circle of men closed in, the stench of unwashed bodies and cheap liquor overwhelming me. Their greedy, lecherous stares made me want to vomit. My tears of terror only seemed to excite them more. Jessica burrowed into Mark’s chest, her voice a sickly sweet murmur. “Mark, I can’t watch. It’s too scary.” He covered her eyes with his hand, his voice a gentle caress. “I’ll watch for you, my love. I’ll watch her get the punishment she deserves. She could never compare to you, to your purity and kindness.” My heart shattered into a million pieces. I gritted my teeth, trying to writhe away like a worm, to escape their grasping hands. But they cornered me, my back against the cold, damp brick wall. There was nowhere left to run. As they lunged, I squeezed my eyes shut. I’d rather die than suffer this humiliation. I was about to bite down on my own tongue, to end it all, when the piercing wail of sirens sliced through the night. Seven, eight police cruisers swarmed the alley, their lights painting the scene in strobing flashes of red and blue. In the middle of them all, a black Rolls-Royce, the kind that whispers of old money and untouchable power, glided to a silent stop.

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1 At thirty-five, I was a financial wreck, living paycheck to paycheck and blowing each one on trendy restaurants or concert tickets within days. After five years, I had no savings. When I got sick, I could not afford treatment. I died in a hospital bed, full of regret. Reborn, I vowed to save. But as soon as my salary arrived, the urge to spend took over. I turned to credit cards, and only when I faced a twenty five thousand dollar statement did I realize I needed someone to manage my money. But who would take on such a job? My best friend mentioned her cousin Simon, and a light went on. Simon was a finance director famous for his frugality. He split bills to the soda, kept hotel toiletries, and sold raffle prizes the same night. At thirty-five, he was still single. His penny pinching scared everyone away. I put down my bubble tea, a plan forming. A meticulous finance director obsessed with saving. He was the personal money manager I had been searching for. He was exactly what I needed. My best friend thought I’d lost my mind. “What do you even see in him?” she asked, bewildered. “Are you excited for him to take you on dates to Taco Bell? Or to make you go Dutch on everything?” “You don’t get it,” I said, my eyes gleaming. “I need someone to control my spending. I just can’t do it myself.” She sat across from me, frowning. “Then find a normal guy! Simon has a problem! It’s like a compulsion!” I just grinned. “Isn’t that perfect? I’m a spender, he’s a saver. We’ll balance each other out.” She rolled her eyes. “You two get together, and I guarantee he’ll be logging the cost of your morning bagel into a spreadsheet. You know that, right?” I took a long sip of my tea and nodded enthusiastically. “I know. That’s why I need him.” When my parents found out, their reaction was even stronger. “Simon? You mean the guy who’s so cheap he made the local news?” My mother nearly fainted. “Chloe, sweetie, you’re already so extravagant. If you get with a guy like that, you’ll be fighting every single day!” My dad had a slightly different take. “Being responsible with money is a good thing,” he mused, “but he does take it to an extreme.” I wrapped my arms around my mom, trying to win her over. “Mom, think about how much money I’ve wasted over the years. I need someone who can keep me in check.” “But not a complete Scrooge!” she lamented, sinking into the sofa in despair. I ignored their protests and had my friend set up a dinner for me and Simon. For our first meeting, I chose a budget-friendly diner—about twenty dollars a person. Simon was even more handsome than I’d expected: tall, slim, with sharp features behind a pair of glasses. He wore a faded navy-blue sweater. The first thing he did after sitting down was pull out his phone and open the calculator app. “This place averages twenty dollars a head, according to Yelp,” he stated. “The most recommended dishes are the spicy fish and the sweet and sour pork. For two of us, two entrees and a soup should be plenty. We can keep the total under fifty. Does that work for you?” I was stunned for a second. Not because he was being cheap, but because… it was such a relief. He had no idea how much anxiety a menu usually gave me. I always wanted to order everything, but my budget was limited, and I almost always overspent. Now, here was someone who had done all the math for me, right down to the final total. I didn’t have to think at all. I nodded shyly. “Okay. I trust your judgment.” After dinner, he walked me home. Standing at the entrance to my apartment building, I took a deep breath. “Simon,” I said, my courage wavering. “I’d like to try… with you.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Try what?” My face grew hot. “Dating.” Simon was silent for three full seconds. Then he spoke. “I’m open to that. But first, we need to sign a financial agreement.” I thought he was joking. He wasn’t. The next day, he emailed me a “Relationship Financial Management Agreement.” It stipulated that both parties would cover their own daily expenses, and all shared costs would be split 50/50. Each month, both parties were required to save no less than 30% of their income, with proof of savings subject to mutual review. Any non-essential purchase over fifty dollars required prior notification and justification. Neither party was to give the other gifts exceeding one hundred dollars, with a holiday gift budget capped at fifty dollars. If either party violated these terms, they would be required to pay the other 200% of the difference as a penalty. I stared at the document for a full ten minutes. Then, I burst out laughing. This man was completely serious. He wasn’t trying to take advantage of me. He just wanted to manage my money. 2 On our first official day of dating, Simon took over my finances. He had me show him everything: all my bills, my credit card statements, my payment apps. After reviewing them, he was silent for a full minute. “Chloe.” I couldn’t bring myself to look up. Twenty-five thousand dollars in debt was, admittedly, a bit beyond my ability to repay. His voice rose, but he didn’t mention the debt. Instead, he pointed at my order history. “You spent over a hundred and fifty dollars on bubble tea last month?” “I think so…” I wished the floor would swallow me whole. “One a day?” he asked, and I could hear him gritting his teeth. I mumbled, “Sometimes two.” He took a deep breath and scribbled a line in his notebook: “Bubble tea: limited to two per week, maximum four dollars per cup.” I scrambled over, trying to snatch the notebook away. “You might as well just kill me.” Simon held the notebook out of my reach, looking down at me. “You spend a hundred and fifty a month on tea. That’s nearly two thousand a year. If you saved that money, in three years you’d have enough for a down payment on a small condo.” My mouth fell open, but no words came out. He was right. In the weeks that followed, I learned what true budgeting really meant. He helped me cancel two streaming subscriptions I never used. He turned off the auto-renew feature on all three of my food delivery apps. He disabled push notifications for every shopping app on my phone. He even created a new lunch plan for me. The company cafeteria offered a meat and two-veg special for five dollars. It was healthy and cheap. I’d always found the cafeteria food disgusting and had never once eaten there. He joined me for lunch every day for a week, and I had to admit, it wasn’t half bad. In the first month, my spending dropped by a thousand dollars compared to the month before. I stared at the positive balance in my bank account—a first for me—and my eyes welled up. This time, I finally had money. This time, I wouldn’t die in a hospital bed because I was broke. The next day, I went for a full medical check-up. The results came back perfect. To celebrate, I treated myself to a spicy noodle soup that night. But after just a few bites, I was hit with a violent bout of food poisoning. My fever shot up to 102. By the middle of the night, I couldn’t take it anymore. I called Simon. He was at my door in twenty minutes. The first thing he did wasn’t ask how I was. He glanced at my takeout history on my phone. “What did you eat tonight?” I clutched my stomach, a cold sweat breaking over my body. “Spicy noodle soup…” Simon shoved the phone in front of my face, his expression grim. “Again? You just had that last Friday. I told you, you need to cut back on that stuff. It’s unhealthy and it’s not cost-effective.” I was delirious with fever, and hearing him talk about cost-effectiveness sent a surge of anger through me. “Simon, I’m dying here, and you’re still talking about money?” His tone was calm, almost clinical. “I’m not talking about money. I’m helping you analyze the cost-benefit. If you go to the ER now, the visit will be at least five hundred dollars. Do you even have that in your health savings account?” I turned my head away, refusing to answer. After a minute, I heard him sigh. “Fine. I’ll take you to the hospital.” I slapped his hand away. “I’m not going! All you care about is money!” Simon stood frozen, his eyes turning a little red. “Chloe, if I only cared about money, I wouldn’t have a taxi waiting downstairs with the meter running.” I blinked. Peeking out the window, I saw the flashing hazard lights of a cab parked by the curb. “Let’s go,” he said, reaching for my hand again. This time, I didn’t pull away. 3 At the hospital, he was a whirlwind of efficiency—registering, paying, picking up prescriptions. I sat in a chair in the treatment room, an IV drip in my arm. By three in the morning, my fever had broken and my head was clear. I watched him dozing in the uncomfortable plastic chair beside me, and a wave of guilt washed over me. “Simon.” “Hmm?” He opened his eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you earlier.” “It’s okay.” He paused. “But I still have to say it: that noodle soup was not a good value. Ten dollars for a meal that makes you sick. The hospital visit cost over five hundred dollars. Your total cost for that one meal was nearly six hundred. That’s enough to cover our cafeteria lunches for half a month.” I looked at his dead-serious expression and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Can’t you just be a little concerned about my health?” Simon reached out and felt my forehead. “Your health is fine now. But your spending habits are not. If you don’t change them, this will happen again.” He pulled a thermos from his bag and handed it to me. “Drink some warm water. The IV will make your hands cold.” I took the thermos, and the last bit of my irritation melted away. This was just his way of caring for me. A year passed just like that. For our first anniversary, I decided to buy Simon a new phone. He’d been using the same one for five years; the screen was so cracked he’d put tape over it to hold it together. While he was in the shower, I took his old phone to transfer the data. That’s when I saw it: a transfer record for two thousand dollars. Two thousand? I froze. Simon’s total monthly expenses were never more than a few hundred dollars. Where did this transfer come from? I glanced towards the bathroom but decided not to ask him yet. I put the old phone back where I found it and said nothing about the new one. But over the next few days, I started paying attention. I discovered a recurring transfer every month. The amounts varied—sometimes a thousand, sometimes fifteen hundred, but the two-thousand-dollar one was the largest. The recipient was always the same account. What was stranger was that after every transfer, he would delete the confirmation text from the bank. He was hiding something from me. My mind started racing. Did someone in his family need money for medical bills? But he’d never mentioned anything. Was he seeing another woman? The thought made my stomach twist into a knot. But no, that didn’t make sense. Simon wouldn’t even splurge on a movie ticket for our dates. How could he possibly afford to support another woman? What was it, then? I wracked my brain until one possibility emerged. Was he paying back an ex-girlfriend? I remembered my friend telling me that when he and his last girlfriend broke up, he’d given her an itemized list of shared expenses. Maybe she was turning the tables on him? All these theories battled in my head, keeping me up for nights. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. We were eating at a cheap food stall one evening when I just came out with it. “Simon, who are you sending money to every month?” The hand holding his chopsticks froze mid-air. “You went through my phone?” I shook my head, fighting the lump in my throat. “I’m willing to live this frugal life with you, but are you giving all our money to some other woman?”

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During an experiment in the quantum computing lab, the graduate student I was mentoring suddenly asked me, “Professor, do you know the saying, ‘From chaos, duality’?” I set down the equipment I was holding, but before I could answer, she let her lab coat slip from her shoulders, followed by everything else. She guided my hand to the warmth between her legs. Her captivating eyes locked onto mine. “From chaos, duality,” she whispered. “From duality, unity.” “The highest form of purity is also the highest form of debauchery.” That night, my restraint finally broke. 1 My wife’s beauty had long since faded, and my life was consumed by my work. It had been a long time since I’d felt such a release. Afterward, I rested my hand on Isabelle’s waist. “What do you want?” I asked. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, strangely vacant. “Someone once said that for kids from towns like mine, the most powerful person we’ll ever meet is our university advisor.” “I refused to believe that was my limit. I sent my resume to company after company. They’d grant me an interview out of respect for you, but the questions were always about you. Once they realized our relationship was purely professional, the offers would vanish into thin air. I haven’t received a single one.” “Professor,” she said, her voice hardening, “I want a position at Elysian Dynamics. I’ve given you the most valuable thing I have to trade for it.” She added, almost as an afterthought, “It was my first time.” In the dim, hazy light, I studied her. She was undeniably beautiful; otherwise, she never could have tempted me to cross this line. Her face was a portrait of conflict: one half pained innocence, the other half ruthless ambition. I dressed and, before leaving, told her, “You’ll get what you want. The offer from Elysian will be in your inbox tomorrow.” My reputation in the field is formidable. A word from me was all it took. After I made the call, I found my wife staring at me. Her expression was placid, but her words were like needles. “You’ve never involved yourself in student placements before.” “What’s different today?” “Is there something special about this student? I think I saw her once, at that university gala.” “She’s very beautiful. It makes sense you’d take such an interest. I just…” “That’s enough.” I cut her off before she could finish. “She’s from a poor background. Life is harder for kids like her. Besides, her academic record is exceptional. I’m just giving her a hand up. Is there a problem with that?” My wife, Connie, looked at me, stunned. I rarely used such a sharp tone with her. But tonight, for some reason, the sight of her sagging cheeks and her shocked expression filled me with an intense irritation. My mind involuntarily flashed back to Isabelle’s smooth, pale skin, and the flicker of panic in her eyes as I entered her. I couldn’t stop myself. I went to see Isabelle again. She smoothed her hair, her voice unnervingly calm. “Professor, a one-time transaction can be born of desperation. But to continue… that would make me no better than a prostitute.” She bowed deeply. “Professor, despite what happened, I still believe you are a man of principle. You wouldn’t force me if I wasn’t willing, would you?” After she left, I sat there, rubbing the rim of a paper cup. She was right. I wouldn’t force her. But there were other ways to make her willing. Isabelle was gambling on my character. I was gambling on her breaking point. Isabelle’s new job at Elysian quickly became a nightmare. She was hitting roadblocks at every turn. It was my doing, of course. I hadn’t needed to say much. Just a single, casual comment to a senior executive: “That student of mine, Isabelle… I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She’s become rather difficult lately. I suppose a big offer from a company like yours has gone to her head.” We were all seasoned players. The executives at Elysian understood immediately. They began applying pressure from all sides. I expected her to last a week, maybe less. To my surprise, two weeks passed, and she still hadn’t contacted me. A flicker of annoyance sparked within me. I had been a master puppeteer for years; this was the first time a string had gone slack in my hands. I called the executive and arranged a dinner meeting for that evening. Isabelle, naturally, was required to attend. Throughout the dinner, she played her part perfectly, smiling and making conversation as the wine flowed. But afterward, her face was etched with fatigue. “Professor,” she said, her voice low. “I didn’t think a man like you would resort to such petty, dirty tricks.” I cornered her by the restrooms, my hand moving to her blouse, undoing the buttons one by one. “Isabelle, there’s a beast I’ve kept caged inside me for a long time. You’re the one who unlocked the cage. Are you just going to walk away and leave it hungry now?” Just as the pale curve of her breast was about to be exposed, she clamped her hand over mine. Her eyes, when they met mine, were shockingly resolute. “Don’t push me, Professor. I told you, our transaction is over. Don’t try to use my job to threaten me. I may be an ant trying to shake a tree, but if I make our story public… even if no one believes me, even if I have no evidence… it would still damage your reputation, wouldn’t it?” Her voice was cold and steady. “You value your reputation above all else. You wouldn’t want to tarnish it, would you?” She then proceeded to button her blouse, her gaze never wavering from mine. I let out a soft, sharp laugh. To kill a snake, you strike it where it’s most vulnerable. I had been too hasty. I had someone look into her background. I needed to understand this sudden, fierce resistance. Once you take the easy road, it’s hard to go back to walking the hard path. The report arrived on my phone that afternoon. It turned out Isabelle’s fiancé had come to the city to be with her. Interesting. According to the file, he had paid for her entire education, from her undergraduate degree through her master’s, with his own labor. They had planned to get married in a month. I sighed, zooming in on a photo of the two of them on my phone. Her fiancé—a man named Rocco—looked like he’d just finished a shift on a construction site, covered in grime. But Isabelle was kneeling beside him, holding a lunchbox, looking at him with a smile of pure adoration. True love… If it was true love, then why did she climb into my bed? Another hypocrite, tainted like the rest. After some thought, I made a call to a friend in real estate. The very next day, Isabelle was in my office. “Professor… was it you?” I feigned ignorance. “What are you talking about?” She took a deep breath. “My fiancé… he doesn’t have the connections. No one would just hand him a major construction contract out of the blue. I don’t believe in miracles. So, what is your price?” I gestured behind her. She turned her head. Through the one-way glass of my office wall, she could see Rocco in the hallway, his face alight with a joyous, triumphant smile. I felt her entire body begin to tremble. I stepped closer, putting my arms around her. “Don’t be afraid. He can’t see in. But look at him… look how happy he is. Do you have the heart to shatter that beautiful dream of his?” As she watched him, I pressed her against the cold glass and slipped my hand beneath her blouse. Once you’ve tasted something, you develop a craving. I was beginning to realize I was becoming obsessed with her. The first person to notice my change was my wife. She confronted me, holding up one of my shirts, a smear of lipstick on the collar. “Alistair,” she pleaded, “this was a mistake, wasn’t it?” I could see the desperation in her eyes. She was begging me to lie. How pointless. To come looking for an answer you already know, hoping I’ll tell you what you want to hear. I took the shirt from her calmly. “No, Connie. It’s exactly what it looks like. I’m having an affair.” She began to shake. “But… why?” Why? My mind drifted back to a suffocating summer afternoon decades ago. I was just a junior lecturer back then, a boy from a small town who had clawed his way to the big city. I was called a genius back home, but here, I was just one among many. I had neither top-tier talent nor powerful connections. Advancement seemed impossible. The day before my tenure review, when I had finally understood the unwritten rules of the world and was on the verge of despair, Connie told me she had to work late. The Dean, however, had told me to wait for him in the office next to his. He had something to discuss with me. I assumed he wanted a bribe for the promotion, a bribe I couldn’t afford. But I didn’t wait long.

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1 After the breakup, my feelings became tradable commodities. A single dose of heartbreak could sell for ten thousand dollars. A flare of anger was worth five grand. I fast-tracked my way to financial freedom entirely on the back of getting dumped. Just as I was about to bundle up ten pounds of sorrow to sell to the system, my ex-boyfriend suddenly showed up. He cornered me against a brick wall, his eyes bloodshot, his voice trembling. “Why aren’t you sad anymore? Did you ever even love me?” I looked right past his face. Hovering above his head was a massive, glittering orb of affection, easily worth a cool million. Without a second thought, I reached out and grabbed it. Sold! … On the first day after Carter and I broke up, I locked myself in my room and cried until I was severely dehydrated. Three years together. From cramped college dorms to the ruthless corporate world, I really thought we were going to make it to the altar. Reality handed me a brutal slap in the face. Carter’s family company hit a massive financial crisis. To save it, he chose another girl, someone who could offer him the perfect corporate marriage of convenience. That girl was Valerie. His childhood neighbor and our mutual friend. On the day we split, Carter couldn’t even look me in the eye. Guilt dripped from his every word. “Stella, I’m so sorry. I don’t have a choice. This company is my dad’s entire life’s work. I can’t just stand by and watch it go under.” I stared at him, finding the whole thing incredibly absurd. “So your solution is to throw away everything we built just to buy a bailout with a wedding ring?” He stayed silent. When I dragged my suitcase out of the cozy little apartment we had shared, all those sweet memories we made suddenly morphed into jagged shards of glass, slicing my heart to ribbons with every step I took. I barely made it back to my cheap, rundown rental before I completely broke down. Just as I thought the suffocating grief was literally going to kill me, a mechanical, synthesized voice echoed inside my skull. [Severe emotional fluctuation detected. Emotion Trading System officially activated.] [Host, would you like to sell your ‘Heartbreak’?] I froze. I honestly thought the crying had finally short-circuited my brain. “Who is that? Who’s talking?” [I am Emotion Trading System 007. My primary function is helping the Host convert useless emotions into immense wealth. I have detected a premium-grade ‘Heartbreak’ currently in your possession. Estimated market value: $10,000. Would you like to sell?] Ten thousand dollars? The number hit me like a freight train. Since when did a broken heart pay out in cash? I tested the waters, asking in my mind: “How do I do it?” [Please confirm by selecting ‘Yes’ or ‘No’.] Well, I was already at rock bottom. Could things get any worse? “Yes!” I screamed in my head, clenching my jaw. In the very next second, the tearing, agonizing pain in my chest receded like a pulling tide. My heart still felt hollow, but the suffocating torture was completely gone. Right on cue, my phone buzzed. A banking notification popped up on the screen. [City Bank: A deposit of $10,000.00 was made to your account ending in 4592 on October 25. Current balance: $10,521.34.] Before I could even celebrate, another line of tiny text flashed across my vision. [System Warning: High-energy emotional trade detected. Market regulation protocols have been triggered. Please regulate your trading behavior.] Regulation protocols? I didn’t care at all. I brushed it off as some standard terms of service nobody reads. I just kept staring at those digits on my phone screen, counting the zeros over and over to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. It was real. This was actual money! A tidal wave of absolute ecstasy drowned out whatever lingering doubts I had. Who cares about the pain of a breakup? If it could be swapped for cold hard cash, that was the ultimate comfort! 2 To test the system’s limits, I started digging up every little memory Carter and I shared. From the first time he smiled at me on the college basketball court, to the nights he stayed up late just to queue for that limited-edition vinyl record I wanted, all the way to our early startup days when we practically lived on cheap ramen… The more I thought about it, the more a bitter, burning sensation bubbled up in my chest. Why should I be sitting here mourning our past while he gets to comfortably prep for a flashy engagement with another woman? Why did three years of loyalty mean absolutely nothing against a single corporate bankruptcy threat? [Medium-grade ‘Anger’ detected. Estimated market value: $5,000. Would you like to sell?] “Sell! Absolutely sell!” [City Bank: A deposit of $5,000.00 was made to your account…] That suffocating fury vanished into thin air. I actually wanted to laugh out loud. This felt incredibly surreal. All I had to do was flick a mental switch, dwell on some ancient history, and money literally deposited itself into my bank account. For the next few days, I became obsessed with my new career as an emotion trafficker. I scrolled through our old text threads, staring at his “Goodnight, my sweet girl” messages. Then I sold the ‘Sweet Nostalgia’ for two grand. I pulled up the photo gallery of him lifting me over his shoulders at a music festival. I sold the ‘Melancholic Longing’ for three grand. Eventually, I actively started looking for triggers. I clicked onto Valerie’s Instagram. She and Carter had officially announced their engagement. The photo showed Carter looking sharp in a tailored tuxedo, with Valerie draped in a custom white gown. The blinding sparkle of their diamond rings felt like a physical jab to my eyes. The comment section was flooded with congratulations, mostly from people in our shared friend circle. [Complex emotion ‘Jealousy and Resentment’ detected. Premium quality. Estimated market value: $15,000. Would you like to sell?] “Take it!” Watching my bank balance skyrocket, I realized for the very first time that getting dumped was the absolute best thing the universe could have done for me. In just one week, my pathetic savings skyrocketed into the six-figure range. The very first thing I did was pack my bags, ditch that depressing little rental, and sign a lease on a gorgeous luxury loft right in the heart of downtown. I went on a massive shopping spree, swiping my card for designer bags and clothes I used to only admire through storefront windows. I booked the most expensive spa treatments and soaked up top-tier luxury. But there was a catch. My emotions were drying up. When I opened up Valerie’s page to look at their couple selfies again, I felt absolutely nothing. A flatline. The system stayed dead silent. My emotional gold mine was completely tapped out. No, I had to manufacture some new feelings. I tried binging tragic romance movies and listening to indie sad-girl playlists, but the results were pathetic. Best case scenario, I squeezed out a few bucks worth of ‘Mild Melancholy’. Better than nothing, but hardly a living. Just as I started stressing over my future cash flow, the system dropped a new objective. [Milestone Task: Bulk Sale. Accumulate 10 pounds of ‘Sorrow’ for a packaged transaction. Price payout will be doubled.] Ten pounds of sorrow? Since when did feelings come with a weight limit? Still, double the payout sounded way too good to pass up. I went on the offensive. I called up my best friend Brooke, met her for coffee, and put on an Oscar-worthy performance. I tearfully unloaded all of Carter’s sins onto her, successfully harvesting a solid wave of ‘Grievance’ and ‘Self-Pity’. [Accumulating Sorrow. Current progress: 0.5 / 10 pounds.] It worked like a charm. I figured out that venting to an audience was the ultimate sorrow-production factory. For the next couple of days, I went on a systematic pity tour, visiting every sympathetic friend I knew and repeating my tragic sob story on a loop. My acting skills leveled up. I could summon tears on command and build a heartbreaking atmosphere out of thin air. Soon enough, my sorrow inventory hit nine and a half pounds. I was inches away from the finish line. I needed a grand finale. I picked the city park where Carter and I had our very first date to brew that final batch of misery and close the big deal. Sitting on a familiar green bench, I forced myself to visualize that exact afternoon. The sun had been perfect. Carter was wearing a crisp white button-down, blushing furiously as he nervously handed me a bouquet of roses. Just picturing his clumsy teenage smile actually brought a genuine, long-forgotten ache to my chest. [Accumulating Sorrow. Current progress: 9.8 / 10 pounds.] So close! I took a deep breath, ready to push out the last few tears. But right at that moment, a shadow fell over me. A familiar yet strangely foreign figure stood blocking my light. It was Carter. He looked like absolute garbage. Dark circles bruised his eyes, a rough shadow of stubble coated his jaw, and his insanely expensive suit looked like he had slept in it. He was staring at me, his eyes rimmed red. 3 My first reaction wasn’t shock. It was pure annoyance. What the hell was he doing here? He was interrupting my cash flow. I stood up, planning to just walk around him. Instead, his hand shot out and gripped my wrist. “Stella, please. We need to talk.” “What is there left to talk about?” I yanked my hand back with icy precision. “Mr. Sinclair, you are an engaged man. Messing around with your ex-girlfriend in a public park is a bad look. Aren’t you worried Valerie might get the wrong idea?” My words hit him like a physical blow. All the color drained from his face, and his voice visibly shook. “Why? Why aren’t you hurting at all?” He pointed a shaking finger at my brand-new designer coat. “You’re doing great, aren’t you? You upgraded your apartment, you bought a new car… Did you ever even care about me?” Looking at his dramatic breakdown, I found the whole thing incredibly hilarious. “I’m devastated, obviously.” I brushed a piece of lint off my sleeve. “I’m so devastated I managed to commodify my grief and achieve financial independence.” He clearly thought I was just throwing out sarcastic insults. “Stella, please don’t do this to me.” He took a heavy step forward, trapping me against the brick wall of the park’s pavilion. His tall frame completely boxed me in. “I’ve been losing my mind these past few days. I close my eyes and all I see is you. I know I’m a bastard. I know I picked the company over us. But I physically cannot stop thinking about you.” He sounded so raw, so agonizingly sincere. A tear actually slipped from his red eyes. If this were the old me, I probably would have caved instantly. But right now, he was just loud and annoying. And that was when I saw it. Hovering right above his head was a massive, blindingly bright, golden orb of pure energy. [Alert. Ultra-pure unowned emotion detected nearby: ‘Love’. Quality: Legendary. Estimated market value: $1,000,000.] [Severe Warning. Any unauthorized extraction of external emotions is a major violation and will trigger high-level regulatory intervention.] [Notice: This emotional energy is exceedingly massive. Direct absorption may cause system shock. Attempt capture anyway?] One million dollars? My eyes practically turned into dollar signs. Violation? Regulation? Those threatening words briefly flashed through my mind, only to be instantly vaporized by the blinding glow of that seven-figure payout. I had already triggered a warning once anyway. What was one more? Fortune favors the bold! Without a single drop of hesitation, I reached my hand up and grabbed that giant orb of ‘Love’ right off the top of his head. The second my fingertips breached the golden light, a surging, scalding wave of power rushed down my arm and flooded my veins. Carter’s entire body went rigid. The look in his eyes morphed instantly. All that agonizing, desperate affection evaporated, replaced entirely by a hollow, vacant void. It was as if I had violently ripped out his soul. Meanwhile, inside my head, the system alerts were screaming like air raid sirens. [WARNING! Ultra-high energy contraband emotion breach! System overload! Initiating forced upgrade sequence!] [Ding! ‘Legendary Love’ captured successfully. $1,000,000 deposited into system escrow. Funds will be available for withdrawal upon upgrade completion!] [System Upgrading: 1%… 10%… 50%…] Before I could even process the absolute chaos happening in my brain, Carter’s knees buckled. He collapsed forward, dead weight against my shoulder. I shoved him off me, scrambling to check his pulse. He was breathing. But the way he looked at me… it was like looking at a blank wall. Empty. Devoid of any recognizable human feeling. My stomach plummeted. I think I just went way too far. I didn’t just sell all my own sorrow. I literally ripped his love right out of his chest and pawned it.

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Twenty years ago, when I was completely over the moon thinking we were about to welcome a new life, my wife asked me to get a vasectomy. I agreed without a second thought. But shortly after the surgery, she told me she was pregnant. The news left me utterly bewildered, yet entirely overjoyed. Time flew by. Two decades later, at the company’s annual shareholder meeting, my wife suddenly announced she was transferring forty percent of her equity to our twin boys. In that moment, I noticed Tristan’s reaction. He looked even more ecstatic than I was. At the time, I just figured he was happy for us. It wasn’t until the meeting wrapped up and the two boys ran straight toward Tristan, sweetly calling him “Dad,” that the truth hit me like a freight train. I finally understood the reality behind that “accidental pregnancy” twenty years ago. 1 I stared at the two names on the equity transfer agreement. Asher and Blake. My knuckles turned white, joints aching from how hard I was gripping the paper. How did forty percent of the Sinclair Group end up under the names of two kids I had never even heard of? The secretary mentioned my wife had it notarized just last week. A loud, deafening ringing echoed in my ears. Ten years ago, my mother-in-law suddenly announced she was retiring to the French Riviera. It turned out she was just paving the way for these two boys. “Sylvia, what the hell is going on with these kids?” I slammed the agreement onto the dining table. The clatter of silver knives and forks made Sylvia flinch. She looked up at me, her eyes darting away instantly. “They are Tristan’s boys. I was a surrogate for him ten years ago.” A surrogate? A bitter, hollow laugh escaped my throat. Ten years ago, she packed her bags for Switzerland, claiming she was attending a six-month executive program. When she came back, her suitcase was stuffed with baby clothes. When I asked about it, she brushed it off, saying she was bringing them back for a friend. Now it all made sickening sense. There was no friend. She had given birth to them herself. “You told me you didn’t want kids. That’s the only reason I got the surgery.” My throat felt tight, choked with gravel. “All these years, when our parents pressured us, I took the fall. I let everyone think I was shooting blanks. I swallowed those shady, experimental fertility pills for five years until they gave me a bleeding ulcer. And you just played me like a fool?” Sylvia dropped her fork. Impatience laced her tone. “Tristan’s mother was on her deathbed. She begged me to leave their family an heir.” “I figured we wouldn’t have to raise them anyway, so I did IVF and came right back after they were born.” She stood up, reaching out to hug me. “Please don’t be mad. I just didn’t want you to suffer through a reversal surgery. Besides, the Sinclair empire is going to need heirs eventually…” I shoved her away. Back when the Sinclair Group was facing bankruptcy, I dragged myself through hell for her. I swallowed my pride, begged every investor in the city, and drank at business dinners until I was vomiting blood just to secure our first lifeline contract. She had cried in my arms, telling me she couldn’t survive without me. Now that the company was a titan, she handed over the shares to another man’s kids and spoke as if it were the most logical thing in the world. “Those annual overseas business trips you take… You’ve just been playing house with them, haven’t you?” I unlocked my phone and swiped to the photos my private investigator had sent. Pictures of her wearing an apron, feeding two little boys. Pictures of Tristan with his arm wrapped intimately around her shoulder, both of them beaming. “Even your mother knew. I was the only idiot kept in the dark.” All the color drained from her face. “Arthur, you hired someone to follow me?” I ignored her. In the photos, my mother-in-law was holding the boys, laughing so hard her eyes crinkled. It was a stark contrast to the cold, disgusted glares she gave me when she was forcing those fertility treatments down my throat. They had treated Tristan and his sons like real family for a decade. And I, the devoted husband who married into their wealth, was nothing more than a glorified corporate slave working to build their empire. 2 “Come on, Arthur. Sylvia did it for the future of the company. Stop making a scene.” Cousin Marcus slid a cup of coffee across the table toward me. “It’s not like you have to pay for the kids’ college funds. Just look at them as two extra nephews.” “Shut your mouth.” My hand trembled as I slammed it on the table. The living room was packed. Sylvia’s parents, a few of my own relatives, and the old board members from the company were all crowding around, trying to talk me out of a divorce. My mother-in-law rolled her eyes. “You can’t even give her a child, and you’re throwing a tantrum? Sylvia is generous enough to let you keep your dignity. Don’t push your luck.” Sylvia stood by the window. The afternoon sun stretched her shadow across the hardwood floor. She twisted her wedding ring and spoke softly. “Arthur, I know you feel wronged. But Tristan really doesn’t have any ulterior motives. He just wanted to give the boys a proper title.” “A proper title?” I burst out laughing. “So you give forty percent to the boys, and ten percent to Tristan. I’ve bled for this company for twenty years, and I don’t even get the scraps?” My father-in-law slapped the armrest and stood up. “You married into our money, and now you want to fight over the assets?” “Sylvia’s shares belong to her. She can give them to a stray dog if she wants!” He pointed a trembling finger right at my face, looking exactly like the creditors who used to spit on me and call me a gold-digger. Sylvia walked over and grabbed my arm. The cloying scent of Tristan’s signature cologne clung to her clothes. The investigator told me she went to Tristan’s suburban estate every weekend. She attended parent-teacher conferences where the sign-in sheet clearly read “Mr. and Mrs. Tristan.” And me? I was always stuck at home, waiting for texts about her “international meetings,” not even knowing what time she’d walk through the front door. “Arthur.” Sylvia suddenly dropped to her knees. The heavy thud echoed in the silent room. “I’m begging you, don’t file the papers. I’ll visit them less. We can even change the equity agreement.” “Change it?” I pulled the divorce papers from my briefcase. “It’s already notarized. What’s left to change?” “When we stood at the altar, we promised no lies, no secrets. You played me for ten years.” My mother-in-law sneered. “Men who shoot blanks are always the most sensitive. Sylvia is giving you an out. Take it.” “That’s enough!” I cut her off, my voice echoing off the high ceilings. “Haven’t I swallowed enough of your garbage? I ruined my stomach on your quack medicine. I let the whole social circle mock me for being half a man. All because I was protecting her decision to be child-free.” “And now I find out she secretly baked someone else’s kids in her oven. What the hell am I to you people?” Sylvia wrapped her arms around my legs, sobbing openly. “Arthur, I’m sorry. I’ll listen to you from now on. Let’s go reverse your surgery. We can have our own baby, okay?” I pried her fingers off my legs one by one. A freezing chill settled deep in my chest. Ten years ago, when she was pushing those babies out, did she ever think about the day I lay on that operating table, signing the consent forms to end my bloodline? Did she ever think about the endless nights I carried the shame of infertility just to shield her? “Let go.” I grabbed the handle of my suitcase. “You never had room for me in your heart. Just your ‘duties’ and your precious ‘heirs’.” As I walked toward the door, my mother-in-law was still hurling insults. Marcus was still making useless excuses. Sylvia was crying hard enough to tear her vocal cords. But I didn’t want to look back anymore. For twenty years, this marriage was a building I held up all by myself. Now I finally saw the truth. The child-free vows were fake. The “building our future together” was fake. I was just the idiot who handed over his beating heart on a silver platter. This marriage was over. 3 At my father-in-law’s seventieth birthday banquet, I stood by the champagne tower and watched Tristan walk in with the twins. He wore a custom-tailored suit and a polished, arrogant smile. He looked absolutely nothing like the scrawny college kid who used to wear faded t-shirts. Beatrice rushed forward to greet him, practically glowing. She took the velvet box from his hands, pulled out a diamond-studded watch, and immediately strapped it to her wrist, laughing loudly. “Tristan always has the best taste. Unlike some people who bring bad luck.” She threw a sideways glance at me, then tossed the vintage Rolex I had carefully selected straight into the messy pile of discarded gift bags. Sylvia had been resting her hand on my arm. The second she saw the kids, she dropped me like a bad habit. “Asher, Blake, did you miss Mommy?” She crouched down in her designer gown, pulling both boys into a tight hug, kissing their cheeks repeatedly. Tristan walked up and naturally wrapped his arm around her bare shoulders, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “Tired from the drive? Hope the boys weren’t too much trouble.” Sylvia smiled affectionately, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his lapel. They looked like a picture-perfect married couple. I clenched my fists so tight my fingernails dug into my palms. In twenty years of marriage, this was the first time I had ever seen her look so painfully tender. When I was hospitalized with exhaustion, she stayed for three hours before claiming the office needed her. The night my ulcer ruptured and I was coughing up blood, she cried and said she was heartbroken, but she didn’t even stay the night in my room. “Arthur, this is Asher, the older brother.” Sylvia led the boy over to me, a lingering smile still warming her face. Asher looked up, his eyes filled with pure disgust. “You’re ugly. Not as handsome as my dad.” He twisted away and tugged at Sylvia’s dress. “Mommy said you got me a huge present for my tenth birthday. What is it?” “Be polite. This is your Uncle Arthur.” Sylvia gave him a light, playful tap on the shoulder. There was absolutely zero discipline in her voice. Asher stuck his chin out, glaring at me. “I know who he is. He’s the loser who stole my mom!” “We hate you! Go away!” The grand ballroom went dead silent. Beatrice cleared her throat, trying to smooth things over by muttering that kids say the darnedest things. She didn’t ask him to apologize. Tristan walked over and patted Asher’s head, though his tone carried a thick layer of smug satisfaction. “Watch your mouth, buddy. Uncle Arthur is Mommy’s friend.” Friend? I stared at Sylvia, waiting for her to reprimand the brat. But she just sighed and whispered that I shouldn’t take it personally. Then, she turned around, taking a silver tray from a waiter. She pulled off the velvet cloth to reveal three keys to luxury sports cars, the deed to a penthouse downtown, and a matte black limitless credit card. “Tristan, you guys will live in the city from now on. Use the cars and the card however you like.” Applause erupted. The wealthy guests swarmed Tristan with congratulations. I stood completely ignored in the corner, watching the light in Sylvia’s eyes. It was the exact same look she gave me when I signed our first million-dollar deal. Now, that light belonged to another man and his sons. The family lawyer took the microphone and stepped onto the stage to announce the equity transfer. “Forty percent of Sinclair Group is hereby gifted to Asher and Blake. Ten percent is gifted to Mr. Tristan.” A murmur rippled through the crowd. I heard a socialite nearby whisper, “The poor husband worked like a dog for two decades, and the outsider gets the goldmine.” Sylvia walked back toward me, reaching for my hand. Her fingertips were still warm from touching Tristan. “Arthur, giving them the shares is just a business move for the Sinclair legacy. Please don’t…” “Don’t what?” I cut her off coldly. “For the legacy? So you treat the man who built this company from the ground up like a ghost?” “When I was on my knees begging for loans with you, you promised me the shares would be ours. What happened to that?” She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Tristan strolled over, wrapping his arm around her waist and physically guiding her back toward the crowd of elites. As he passed me, a flash of pure mockery crossed his eyes. “Sylvia, I don’t think I’ve met the CEO of Vanguard yet. Care to introduce me?” After they walked away, I sat alone on a velvet sofa and downed half a bottle of neat bourbon. I remembered twenty years ago, taking a punch to the jaw from a furious creditor to protect her. She had cried, holding my bleeding face, swearing we would make it. I remembered the night in the ER, where she swore she would never leave me. Now, her “never” meant a happy family of three with another man. The next morning, Sylvia brought the kids back to our house. “Asher, Blake, play nice with Uncle Arthur. Mommy needs to run to the office.” She crouched down, adjusting their collars with a softness she never showed me. The moment the heavy oak door clicked shut, Asher marched right up to me, his eyes full of venom. “Mommy went to see my dad. He said you’re just a pathetic leech nobody wants.” “This is our house now. Get out!” I reached into my pocket to call Sylvia. Asher lunged, snatching the phone from my grip and smashing it against the marble floor. The second the glass shattered, he threw himself backward, wailing at the top of his lungs, smearing a tiny scrape on his hand against his shirt. “Dad! He hit me!” Tristan arrived faster than Sylvia did. He scooped Asher up, acting like a devastated father. “Arthur, if you have a problem, take it out on me. Don’t touch my son.” His eyes were red, every word perfectly calculated. Sylvia walked in right at that moment. Her face hardened into ice. “Arthur, you’re taking this out on a child?” “I didn’t…” A sharp slap echoed through the foyer, cutting off my sentence. A burning sting spread across my cheek and settled right in the center of my chest. Her eyes held a coldness I had never seen in twenty years. She pointed a trembling finger at the front door. “This is the Sinclair house. Asher is the heir. What gives you the right to treat him like dirt?” I looked at her, and suddenly, I chuckled. So this was it. In her heart, I wasn’t even worth the benefit of the doubt against a lying ten-year-old. I crouched down, picked up the crumpled divorce agreement from the coffee table, smoothed it out, and signed my name in bold, steady strokes. Sylvia’s voice came from behind me, suddenly laced with panic. “Arthur, where are you going? I’m sorry, don’t…” The rumble of my suitcase wheels drowned out her words. As I reached the door, Asher peeked out from behind Tristan’s legs and stuck his tongue out at me. Beatrice was leaning over the upstairs balcony, screaming about the ungrateful leech leaving. Sylvia’s tears hit the hardwood floor. I didn’t look back. Twenty years ago, I walked into the Sinclair family for love. Twenty years later, I finally understood that some people’s greed is a bottomless pit that true love can never fill. This time, I was going to make every single person who looked down on me regret it.

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Ever since the new intern at our company found out I hold a lifetime Platinum card with Apex Airlines, her attitude toward me became suspiciously warm. Right before the Memorial Day weekend, she slid over to my desk and batted her eyelashes. “Sarah, do you want to fly to Paris with me for the holiday? If we use your miles to book the tickets, we wouldn’t have to spend a dime.” I politely declined, telling her I had plans with my family. I didn’t expect her to cross her arms and casually drop a threat. “Well, if you aren’t going, then I’ll just go by myself.” My heart skipped a beat at those words. A flight to Paris, even a cheap economy ticket, would cost well over a thousand dollars. This girl was so cheap she smuggled rolls of toilet paper out of the office bathroom. How could she suddenly afford a European vacation? The more I thought about it, the more something felt off. Was she plotting to steal the miles off my Platinum card? My gut instinct was spot on. She actually tried to hack into my loyalty account behind my back, using my hard-earned miles to book four luxurious First-Class tickets for her entire family. But she didn’t stop there. She booked the VIP lounge, premium in-flight Wi-Fi, and even pre-ordered expensive duty-free luxury goods under my name. When her family was sitting in the VIP lounge, stuffing their faces and eagerly waiting to board their luxury flight, reality hit them like a freight train. 1 I was staring at my monitor, frantically trying to finalize a pitch deck, when our new intern, Jessica, leaned over my partition with an overly sweet smile. “Sarah, you’ve been working so hard this month. The Memorial Day long weekend is coming up. Want to take a trip to Paris together?” “Domestic tourist traps are going to be a nightmare. Paris is gorgeous this time of year. We should totally go.” I had already promised my family a trip to Florida for the long weekend, so I shut the idea down. “I’m spending the holiday with my family. I can’t go.” Her face immediately fell. Trying to soften the blow, I suggested an alternative. “I don’t think Riley has any plans for the weekend. Why don’t you ask her?” Jessica’s expression soured even more. “Her? She’s so broke she probably couldn’t even afford the passport renewal fee. If I travel with her, I’d end up subsidizing her whole trip. It’s way more fun traveling with you, Sarah. You’re like a walking blank check.” She had always been a gold digger with a massive superiority complex, looking down on anyone she deemed beneath her. I was going to laugh it off and get back to work, but my brain snagged on her exact phrasing. What did she mean by a blank check? Did she honestly expect me to fund a European getaway for the two of us and act as her personal ATM? She must have noticed the shift in my expression because she awkwardly laughed and quickly changed the subject. “Well, since you aren’t going, I guess I’ll just go by myself.” I watched her walk away, my suspicions kicking into overdrive. Jessica had only joined the firm three months ago as an intern, and I was her direct supervisor. She was a textbook social climber, obsessed with money but completely unwilling to spend her own. Every single day, she swiped a box of premium tissues from the supply closet before clocking out. She regularly emptied the reception snack bowl into her purse. Worse, she borrowed money and suffered from sudden amnesia when it was time to pay it back. Last week, she borrowed fifty bucks from Riley to cover her electric bill and still hadn’t returned a single cent. There was no way she could afford a last-minute flight to Paris on a holiday weekend, let alone the exorbitant costs of European hotels and dining. Even with my salary, I would have to budget for a trip like that. Where was her money coming from? Then it clicked. A cold realization washed over me. She wanted to use my Platinum miles to book her tickets. A month ago, a colleague in our department had a family emergency. His father was critically ill, and all the last-minute flights home were sold out. I called Apex Airlines, gave them my Platinum member number, and used my miles to secure him a seat on the next flight out. Jessica must have assumed that all you needed to book a free flight was a member ID. Now that I thought about it, she had asked an uncomfortable amount of questions that day. “Do you just give them your phone number?” “Can anyone in your family use it?” “Do you get a text alert when a flight is booked?” She had interrogated me like a detective. I had brushed it off at the time, casually mentioning that I got so much spam from the airline that I never checked their text alerts anyway. I distinctly remember her eyes lighting up. She had smiled a little too brightly. Looking back, that smile was pure, calculated greed. My lifetime Platinum status with Apex Airlines was the result of over a decade of grueling business travel. It took millions of flown miles to earn. The points sitting in that account were enough to book over a dozen First-Class international flights, complete with VIP lounge access and duty-free shopping perks. It wasn’t about being stingy. If a coworker was in a genuine crisis, I was more than happy to help. But the sheer audacity of Jessica casually planning to commit identity theft and drain my account filled me with absolute disgust. Still, I couldn’t exactly confront her without proof. After some careful thought, I picked up my phone and dialed the airline’s customer service line. 2 “Hi there. I have a security question. If someone knows my frequent flyer number, can they redeem my miles for a ticket without my explicit consent?” The representative replied almost instantly. “Please don’t worry, Ms. Davis. Redeeming miles requires not only your member ID but also a two-factor authentication code sent directly to your personal mobile device. Without that code, no booking can be finalized.” “When you booked a flight for your colleague previously, you were calling from your registered phone number, which verified your identity automatically. Rest assured, if a third party tries to use your account online or at a desk, the system will demand the authentication code.” Perfect. As long as she needed a code sent to my phone, Jessica’s little scheme was dead in the water. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief. I didn’t have to cause a scene at the office, and my miles were safe. The next morning, I had just sat down at my desk when Jessica strutted into the office. She looked completely different. She was wearing heavy, glamorous makeup and a pair of ridiculously high designer heels. A shiny gold bracelet wrapped around her wrist. She intentionally rolled up her sleeves and paraded around the open-plan office, making sure everyone got a good look. “Oh, this?” she said loudly. “My dad just got back from Paris and bought it for me. It’s Cartier. I told him not to spend so much, but he just insists on spoiling me.” I glanced at her wrist. The metal looked cheap and too yellow. The engraving was blurry. It looked like it came straight out of a vending machine. As someone who frequently shopped at high-end boutiques, I could spot a counterfeit from a mile away. That thing was a cheap knockoff from Temu, worth maybe twenty bucks at most. Brenda from accounting let out a sharp laugh. “Wow, Jessica. Cartier is seriously expensive. How much did that set your dad back?” Thrilled that someone had taken the bait, Jessica launched into an elaborate, entirely fictional backstory about the bracelet. When it finally came to the price, she waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, it wasn’t that much. Only around thirty grand. My dad told me to just wear it for fun as a reward for surviving my first three months of the internship. Money isn’t really an issue for my family anyway.” Riley, who was taking a sip of her morning coffee, nearly choked. My phone buzzed with a direct message from her. “Thirty grand for that cheap junk? I literally saw the exact same one on Wish.com last night for $13.80 with free shipping.” I let out a soft snort of laughter. Completely oblivious to the awkward atmosphere, Jessica kept bragging. “For the long weekend, my whole family is flying to Paris. Four tickets. First Class, obviously.” Another coworker raised an eyebrow. “Is Paris really all that?” Jessica scoffed, looking at him with pure disdain. “Paris is the ultimate luxury experience. You don’t know what true civilization and high culture look like until you’ve been to Europe. But I guess people who have never been just wouldn’t understand.” She kept talking, hyping up France as if even the oxygen there was superior. But everyone had lost interest. People turned back to their monitors and put their headphones on. Realizing her audience had evaporated, Jessica packed up her ego and sauntered over to my desk. “Sarah, you’ve probably never been to Europe, right? If you come with me this weekend, we could book a luxury spa hotel and get massages.” “Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to come?” 3 I smiled and shook my head. “I promised my family I’d spend the holiday with them. Plus, I have to drop a friend off at the airport. I’ll pass.” Jessica’s fake smile stiffened. “What a shame. Maybe next time.” She stared at me for a few agonizingly long seconds. I could practically see the gears turning in her head, calculating her next move. I pretended not to notice and went back to typing. But the whole interaction left a bad taste in my mouth. She was definitely plotting something. That night, after working late, I was scrolling through Instagram on my couch. A post from Jessica popped up. It was a glossy, filtered photo of the Eiffel Tower. The caption read: Paris bound for the long weekend! Living my best life! Underneath, a coworker had commented: Look at you, flying international for the holiday! Must be nice to be rich. Jessica replied: Hehe, the world is my oyster! When your family has the means, you have to explore the globe. Reading her replies brought that uneasy feeling rushing back. It felt exactly like being targeted by a con artist. Everything I owned was earned through years of sleepless nights and relentless hard work. If this girl managed to exploit a loophole and drain the miles I had spent a decade accumulating, I would be genuinely furious. I opened the airline app and checked my balance. Everything was normal. Still paranoid, I called customer service one more time. “Hi, I just need to be absolutely certain. If someone has my account number and password, is it physically impossible for them to book a ticket without the SMS code?” The agent was very patient. “Yes, Ms. Davis. We recently upgraded our security protocols. Even if they somehow guessed your password, the system will not authorize a booking without the two-factor authentication code. For high-value transactions like First Class international flights, it even prompts for facial recognition on the app. No one can steal your miles.” I finally relaxed. The morning of the holiday weekend, I drove my friend to the international terminal. After dropping her off, I walked past the Apex Airlines VIP Lounge, planning to grab a quick espresso before heading home. As I approached the frosted glass doors, a familiar figure caught my eye. It was Jessica. I stopped dead in my tracks and stood out of sight, observing the scene through the glass walls. Jessica was standing in the center of the ultra-exclusive lounge with her parents and younger brother. The contrast was jarring. Her parents were wearing faded, worn-out clothes that looked like they came from a thrift store bargain bin. Her brother’s jacket was visibly stained with grease. It completely shattered the “old money heiress” illusion she maintained at the office. Her brother was standing at the gourmet buffet, grabbing handfuls of food with his bare hands, taking a bite, and throwing the half-eaten pieces back onto the trays. A lounge attendant rushed over, keeping a polite customer-service tone. “Excuse me, young man. Please use the tongs provided.” Jessica’s mother rolled her eyes dramatically. “He’s just a kid, his hands aren’t dirty. Why are you being so bossy?” Meanwhile, Jessica’s father was walking around with five plates stacked high with enough food to feed an army, far more than they could ever eat. When the staff looked away, the mother pulled several plastic grocery bags from her oversized purse and started shoveling fresh pastries and expensive fruit directly into them. Instead of stopping them, Jessica actually helped. “Mom, these artisan cakes are super expensive outside. Grab a few more. They’re delicious.” The younger brother started sprinting laps around the quiet lounge, shrieking at the top of his lungs. The wealthy business travelers around them glared in absolute disgust. Jessica’s family didn’t care at all. Her mother laughed loudly, her voice booming through the glass. “This place is fantastic! That coworker of yours is amazing for letting us use this for free!” Jessica flipped her hair, looking incredibly smug. “Of course. I basically do all her work for her at the office. She owes me big time. She practically begged me to use her account.” She lied with such flawless conviction it was almost impressive. I let out a dark, quiet laugh. When exactly did I owe her a favor? Listening to her boast, everything fell into place. It wasn’t me being paranoid. She genuinely believed she had successfully stolen my Platinum benefits. Thank god I had double-checked the security protocols. If I hadn’t, this leech would have actually gotten away with it. 4 Jessica set up a small tripod on a table and started vlogging inside the lounge, even harassing the waitstaff into taking family photos of them. Minutes later, she updated her Instagram with a nine-photo carousel, tagging her location at the VIP First Class Lounge. The first photo was the Boeing jet on the tarmac. The second was the luxurious interior of the lounge. The third was a selfie of her posing with a crystal coffee cup, trying to look like a brooding billionaire. The fourth was a massive table covered in high-end food, featuring a massive, perfectly roasted whole lobster. The caption read: The lunch spread at the VIP lounge is to die for. You can even order whole Maine lobsters a la carte! So blessed. The service is a bit mediocre though, they really need to train their staff better! I zoomed in on the last photo. I could clearly see the menu price for the a la carte lobster. Two thousand dollars. Seeing that price tag made me laugh out loud. She wasn’t just stealing; she was trying to bleed my account dry. Did this idiot actually think she could pay for a la carte luxury dining with frequent flyer miles? The comments section on her post was pure gold. Wow, Jessica is loaded! Dropping two grand on a lobster while waiting for a flight! Wait, don’t you need a lifetime Platinum card to even get into that specific lounge? Living the dream! So jealous! Jessica replied with her signature fake humility. Oh, it’s nothing special. Just my standard travel routine! A few of our colleagues couldn’t resist calling her out. If you’re so rich, why did HR publicly reprimand you for stealing toilet paper from the office bathroom last week? I snorted. Just last month, the office manager caught Jessica stuffing her tote bag with premium coffee pods and paper towels. She was officially written up and ordered to pay fifty bucks to restock the supplies. She had made a million excuses, trying to get out of paying, until the accounting department threatened to deduct it directly from her paycheck. She finally paid the fine, glaring at everyone. The very next day, she went right back to stealing paper towels. Her greed truly knew no bounds. Suddenly, my phone vibrated in my hand. It was a call from Apex Airlines customer service. “Hello, Ms. Davis. We have a situation at the terminal. A Ms. Jessica gave the desk agent your frequent flyer number, claiming to be your immediate family member. She requested to use your miles to book four First-Class tickets to Paris.” “Due to a system error on our end regarding guest passes, they were temporarily allowed into the lounge while the booking was pending. However, the transaction requires your SMS verification to process. Did you authorize this redemption?” I didn’t hesitate. “I am not flying today, and I absolutely did not authorize anyone to use my miles or my account.” The agent’s voice turned strictly professional. “Understood, Ms. Davis. Furthermore, her party has accrued a significant bill for a la carte dining inside the lounge. Do you authorize the charge to the credit card linked to your profile?” “Absolutely not. That has nothing to do with me.” “Understood completely. We will handle the situation immediately.” I hung up the phone and looked through the glass one last time. Jessica and her family were still tearing into their lobster, completely oblivious. I shook my head, let out a cold laugh, and walked away from the airport. An hour later, I pulled into my driveway. When I checked my phone, I had 99+ unread text messages and over a hundred missed calls. All from Jessica. Before I could open the chat, a text notification popped up from the airline. Dear Member, a request has been made to deduct 500,000 miles from your Platinum account ending in 6688 for four First-Class tickets and VIP lounge access. If you authorize this, reply with code 27054. If you did not authorize this, reply NO.

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What my wife, Stella, did completely shattered my understanding of human decency. At the time, she mistakenly thought I was lying about her mother being bitten by a venomous snake and clinging to life. As a result, she literally stood by and watched her favorite male student inject the only vial of universal antivenom into a stray dog. Worse still, she stood there viciously cursing her own mother, wishing death upon her. Seeing her true colors, I simply replied to her message with a single word. Pathetic. I immediately turned around and uploaded the audio recording of our conversation, along with screenshots of that male student boasting about the dog on his social media, straight to the university’s public message board. I even had the perfect title ready. Risking Her Own Mother’s Life to Save a Stray Dog. Is This Our University’s ‘Daughter of the Year’? She loved to gloat, didn’t she? Well, she could just wait. Once the tidal wave of public outrage drowned her, I wanted to see if she could still smile. 1 In less than ten minutes, the comments under the forum post had surpassed a thousand. Stella was a highly respected professor at the university. Now that she had committed such an unforgivable and twisted act, the university board was furious. Rumors were already circulating that they were going to strip her of her position. Furious, she bombarded me with over a dozen voice messages, ordering me to delete the post. “My mother has always been in poor health. If the snake venom had really reached her heart, she wouldn’t have survived long enough for me to get the serum to her anyway. Rather than wasting it, it’s better to help a poor animal!” I let out a bitter, disbelieving laugh. “The person bitten by that snake is your own mother! Get your ass to the ER right now!” The other end of the line was dead silent for a second. Then, the cursing began. “Do you think I’m an idiot, Arthur?” “My mom has bad knees. She would never go hiking in a state park.” “Besides, if she was really hurt, wouldn’t she have called me herself?” If my mother-in-law could have reached her, she wouldn’t have had to call me as her last resort. Just then, the red light above the resuscitation room behind me flicked off. The attending doctor walked out, shaking his head with a look of deep regret. “The venom has spread entirely. The patient is experiencing multiple organ failure. You should go in and say your final goodbyes.” I immediately sent Stella a video call request. I pointed the camera directly at the sterile hospital bed. When the call connected, the screen didn’t show Stella. It showed Felix’s face. “Arthur, there is something I’m really curious about. Silver Peak is a highly regulated state park. How could there be venomous snakes there? Are you just making this up to steal the formula for the universal antivenom?” “I am not!” Stella scoffed coldly from somewhere off-camera. “No wonder you’ve been so obsessed with the progress of the antivenom lately. Now you’re cursing my mother to death just to get your hands on my finished samples?” “You are absolutely shameless, Arthur!” A second later, she snatched the phone and terminated the video call. I laughed out of pure anger. Just as I was about to dial back, my mother-in-law’s trembling hand gripped my wrist. Her eyes were unfocused, darting around the empty room. “Is it Stella? Why isn’t she here yet?” I knew Martha had been holding on by a thread solely to see her daughter one last time. But the person she was waiting for was never going to show up. I stayed silent for a long moment before my voice broke. “Traffic is really bad. She’s almost here. Just hold on a little longer, Martha.” Her pale lips quivered. She clearly had something left to say. I leaned in close and caught her raspy, choked whispers. “Arthur, I failed at raising my daughter. I am so sorry for what she put you through. Please, don’t give up on her.” I didn’t say a word. Last month, at Martha’s sixtieth birthday dinner, Stella had brazenly brought Felix along. Right at the dining table, in front of our entire family, she had hand-peeled shrimp and fed them to him. I demanded a divorce right then and there. The shock and humiliation triggered a mild heart attack for Martha. The ordeal only ended when Stella swore to me that she would cut off all contact with Felix. But from that day on, she stopped coming home. Not long after, using her research project as an excuse, she started sleeping around with him again. That was exactly why Martha had traveled up the mountain. She had gone to an old chapel at the peak of Silver Peak to pray for our crumbling marriage. She had no wilderness experience. When she was bitten, she didn’t even know if the snake was venomous until the toxins rapidly spread through her bloodstream, leaving her on the brink of death. The only thing that could save her was a dose of broad-spectrum universal antivenom. Coincidentally, the latest breakthrough at Stella’s research institute was exactly that. I had called her the absolute second I found out. She had sworn up and down that she would deliver it in time. Yet, it still ended like this. I couldn’t even describe the twisted knot of grief and rage in my chest. Meeting Martha’s desperate, hopeful gaze, I finally let out a heavy sigh. “I will take good care of her for you. I promise.” 2 Stella blocked me on every single platform. But someone had to handle Martha’s funeral arrangements. I had no choice but to go to the city clerk’s office to get the necessary next-of-kin paperwork. The clerk behind the glass looked at my ID, frowned, and pushed the documents back to me. “Sir, our system shows that your marital status is single.” “You must have a power of attorney signed by the deceased’s immediate legal family member before we can process anything for you.” I froze. Three years ago, Stella and I went to City Hall together. I literally watched the clerk stamp the official seal onto our marriage certificate. How on earth could I be single? “There must be a glitch in the system. Here is our marriage certificate. Could you please run the names again?” The clerk typed a few things into her keyboard and turned the monitor toward me. “Stella’s legal husband is named Felix.” “The state database doesn’t make mistakes like this. As for how this happened, I really couldn’t tell you.” I stared blankly at the timeline on the screen. The date of their marriage registration was last October. A memory suddenly clicked into place. Around that time, Stella told me her institute had taken on a highly classified government project. As her spouse, she claimed I needed to sign a strict non-disclosure agreement. She had rushed me so aggressively that I signed the paperwork without reading the fine print. Looking back now, the problem was definitely hidden inside that stack of papers. What an incredible bait-and-switch. No wonder she didn’t look panicked at all when I demanded a divorce at the family dinner last month. Stepping out of City Hall, I received a call from the hospital morgue. They were asking when Martha’s body would be transferred for cremation. Martha’s dying pleas echoed in my ears. She had begged me to believe that Stella was just being manipulated, that she had simply taken a wrong turn in life, and begged me not to blame her. But legally, I was a complete stranger. I had absolutely no right to offer forgiveness, let alone plan a funeral. “I am sorry,” I said calmly into the phone. “I am not Martha’s legal family. I don’t have the authority to make those decisions.” “Furthermore, her daughter hasn’t even seen her one last time. Please transport the body directly to the university campus to find her daughter.” I hung up and took a cab back to my house. But the moment I unlocked the front door, I saw Felix pinning a half-undressed Stella against my living room sofa. Hearing the door click, they scrambled to sit up in a panic. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?” Stella frowned at me in deep annoyance. The fresh red hickeys on her neck were blindingly obvious. I sneered, stepping inside and deliberately stepping right on Felix’s expensive jacket that had been tossed onto the floor. “Do I need to report to you when I return to my own house?” “I am giving you five minutes. If you aren’t out of my sight by then, I’m calling the cops and reporting a home invasion.” Hearing this, Felix put on a sickeningly pathetic face and bowed to me apologetically. “I am so sorry, Arthur. I was just worried about the Professor walking home alone, so I escorted her. Please don’t misunderstand.” Escorting her home. Did that require lying half-naked on the sofa? I didn’t have the energy to argue. I turned and walked straight into the master bedroom. Staring at the massive wedding photo hanging on the wall, I felt nothing but pure irony. Stella was living in the house I paid for in cash, yet she had tricked me into signing a divorce agreement. And now, she was brazenly bringing Felix into my living room. I walked over, ripped the wedding photo off the wall, and threw all of our matching couple’s items directly into the trash. Just as I finished, I heard the front door slam shut. I intended to walk out and finally lay everything on the table with her. But the moment I stepped into the hallway, I found two police officers standing in my entryway. Stella pointed a manicured finger right at my chest. “Officers, I want to report this man for attempting to steal classified national research formulas for illegal profit!” 3 My head snapped up in utter shock. “You are lying!” “Stella, I never lied to you today. Your mother was really bitten by a venomous snake and needed that serum.” “She called your name until her final breath, and you didn’t even care enough to check. If you don’t believe me, I will call the morgue right now.” Stella marched forward and slapped me hard across the face. She let out a cruel laugh. “After all those words, you’re just mad that I didn’t fall for your trap, aren’t you?” “You said my mom was dying? Open your eyes and look closely. My mom texted me half an hour ago to tell me she was perfectly safe!” She shoved her phone screen directly into my face. The contact labeled ‘Mom’ had indeed sent a message thirty minutes ago. Princess, everything is fine. But I knew Martha inside and out. She never, ever called Stella ‘Princess’. That message was absolutely not sent by her. I opened my mouth to point this out. But Felix stepped right into my personal space. He threw an arm over my shoulder in a mock-friendly gesture. “Arthur, the institute invited you to join us earlier this year, but you rejected the Director’s offer because you weren’t happy with the salary. Now you’re jealous that we made a breakthrough, and you want to steal the formula to sell it? That is just pathetic.” “When you get to the station, make sure you confess everything. Maybe you can learn to be a better person when you get out.” His blatant provocation completely snapped my last nerve. Not even caring that the police were standing right there, I drove my fist straight into his smug face. “Why don’t you just die, you absolute piece of trash?” The man beneath me didn’t even try to fight back. He practically absorbed my punches, making sure to dramatically cover his face and whimper. “Arthur, I know you hate me.” “But I never blamed you for interfering in my marriage or harassing my wife. How do you have the nerve to play the victim here?” Stella decided to drop all pretenses. She forcefully shoved me away from him. Then, she pulled a document from the coffee table drawer and threw it directly at my face. “You are the one trespassing, and you are the one who deserves to rot!” “Read it carefully, Arthur. Half a year ago, you voluntarily signed an agreement giving up all marital assets. What right do you have to bark in my house?” “You maliciously slandered my mother’s name for your own selfish greed, and you assaulted my husband. I am not letting this go!” The sharp edge of the thick paper sliced a thin cut across my cheek. But I acted as if I couldn’t feel it. My hands tightly gripped the thin sheets of paper. So, she had planned this all along. Even this house, the one I had purchased entirely with my own money, was now legally a “voluntary gift” I had handed over to her. After a long silence, I looked up, a mocking smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “You really played a good game, Stella.” “But I promise you, you are going to regret this.” She crossed her arms, watching coldly as the police handcuffed me and led me to the cruiser. Right as the car door was about to close, I saw Felix pull a phone out of his pocket behind Stella’s back. My mind exploded. My eyes went wide. That was Martha’s phone. Why on earth did he have it? Felix shot me a triumphant, arrogant smirk. I could clearly read his lips. You are always going to be a loser. 4 It wasn’t until I was sitting in the interrogation room that I finally processed everything. Martha had always treated me well. When my own parents were hospitalized from a bad accident, she drained her retirement fund just to help me cover their medical bills. Every holiday, there was always a plate of sweet and sour ribs on the table, just because she knew it was my favorite. In the past, Stella used to mock me for it, saying a grown man shouldn’t have a sweet tooth. But Martha never cared. She always defended me to Stella. “Arthur works hard for this family. I’m just glad he likes my cooking.” And now, after her tragic death, she was being used as a pawn in a sick game, and I was forced to watch the mastermind gloat. After I gave my statement and the police verified the actual timeline of events, they realized the assault was a minor domestic dispute and the espionage claim was baseless. I was released without charges. As I walked out, my phone buzzed with a text from Stella. For the sake of our past, I’ll drop the assault charges. But the condition is that you must publicly apologize to Felix. Otherwise, once the allegations of you trying to steal state research go public, your entire career is over. Seeing how blissfully unaware of her own impending doom she was, I typed out a quick reply. I agree. Stella thought I was terrified. She happily called me, demanding I take a cab straight to the university campus. I was to apologize in front of the entire university board for my behavior. On the ride over, I called the funeral home. “Please transport Ms. Martha’s casket to Oakbridge University right now.” “I sent you her daughter’s phone number earlier. When you arrive, just call her to accept the delivery.” The director readily agreed. I hung up the phone and pushed open the door of the cab. Stella was already waiting for me with the university board and a swarm of local media reporters in tow. “I invited everyone here today primarily to clarify a few things,” she announced, her voice steady and professional. She didn’t even glance in my direction. “As many of you know, Arthur and I were married for three years. But we legally divorced six months ago. Despite that, for the past half-year, he has continued to harass me. He aggressively tried to force his way between me and my new husband, Felix.” “Out of respect for our past, I tolerated his behavior. But I never imagined that because he couldn’t have me, he would try to destroy me. He lied about my mother being bitten by a snake, trying to trick me into abandoning the institute’s serum.” “Arthur caused this disaster, and he should take full responsibility for it.” The crowd erupted. The reporters sighed in sympathy for Stella’s “endurance” and turned their cameras toward me, openly spitting insults. Amidst the flashing cameras, Felix stepped forward. “Arthur, Stella and I are willing to let the past go. But to try and steal classified research for your own profit is unacceptable.” “Since everyone is here today, give a proper apology. You owe it to all the researchers who worked on that project.” “Get on your knees. Show some actual sincerity.” I curled my lips into an icy smile. “I can apologize. Forget kneeling, I’ll even bow my head to the floor.” “But before I do that, I have a few things to say as well.” I pulled out my phone and played the audio clips of Felix’s provocations, swiping through the screenshots of his obnoxious social media posts. “You claim I have no shame and that I interfered in your marriage. But for the past six months, I am the one who has been constantly harassed.” “And I never lied about today. I can prove it to you right now.” Without missing a beat, I dialed Martha’s phone number in front of the dozens of rolling cameras. A second later, a loud ringing sound vibrated from Felix’s coat pocket. He panicked, frantically pressing his hand against his pocket to muffle the sound, but it was useless. Stella rushed over and ripped the phone out of his coat. “Why do you have my mother’s phone?” Felix stuttered, completely unable to form a coherent sentence. Right at that exact moment, Stella’s own phone began to ring. A gruff voice echoed over the murmur of the confused crowd. “Which one of you is Ms. Stella? We need a signature for the delivery of your mother’s body.”

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