“Are you done making a scene, Chloe?” Julian wrapped his arm around Scarlett’s shoulders, shielding her like she was some priceless treasure. He didn’t even glance at the blisters forming on the back of my hand. I just stood there, the searing pain on my skin pulsing through my entire arm. Twelve years. I saved Julian’s life from a gang of street thugs when I was only twelve. And now, I was standing in the back kitchen of his engagement party, cooking soup for another woman. How pathetic. This recipe used to be exclusively his. Now, he called my cooking dirty and my love cheap. He claimed it was just a business marriage. He promised he would divorce her and remarry me in two years, saying I could still be his woman in secret. But looking at the burn on my hand, I tasted copper in my mouth. I finally woke up. The special treatment he once gave me could be taken back at any second. Chloe’s POV “Today’s slow-cooked wild mushroom soup is specially made for my husband. He has a sensitive stomach, and this is the best comfort food for him.” Facing the camera, I wore my favorite linen apron and smiled as I lifted the lid of the pot. Steam swirled up, carrying a rich, savory aroma through the kitchen. The live chat on my TikTok stream instantly blew up. “Another day of being jealous of Chloe and Mr. Vance!” “Julian is so lucky to have a wife who cooks like a Michelin-star chef!” “Today is their third anniversary, right? I bet Mr. Vance has a massive surprise waiting for her!” Looking at the comments, I couldn’t help but smile. Yes, three years of marriage. For today, I turned down all my brand deals. I spent the entire afternoon working in this high-tech, ten-million-dollar kitchen Julian had custom-built for me. Julian Vance, the CEO of Vance Enterprises in New York, and my husband of three years. We kept our marriage private to protect his public image. In the business world, they said Julian was ruthless, cold-blooded, and calculated. But only I knew how incredibly sweet he could be. If I casually mentioned wanting a pastry from a bakery across town, he would drive through a heavy rainstorm just to get it for me. When my cooking failed, he would eat every last bite without even blinking, smiling and telling me I was improving. He once told me, “Chloe, just focus on doing what you love. I’ll handle everything else.” “That’s all for tonight’s stream, guys. I’m going to wait for my husband to come home now. Goodnight, everyone.” I ended the stream and looked at the clock on the wall. 11:00 PM. I had reheated the dinner three times already. Julian still wasn’t home. He hadn’t even sent a single text. I picked up my phone to call him, but before I could dial, an Instagram notification popped up. “BREAKING: Billionaire CEO Julian Vance Spotted on a Late-Night Date with Heiress Scarlett Sterling. Engagement Rumors Confirmed?” My hand shook violently. I tapped the link. At the top of the article was a high-definition paparazzi photo. Inside a luxury Michelin-starred restaurant, Julian was wearing the custom Tom Ford suit I had personally ironed for him this morning. He was leaning in, cutting a steak for a beautiful woman. His eyes were incredibly gentle, a look I thought he only gave to me. That woman was Scarlett Sterling, the sole heiress to the Sterling Group. Even more blinding was the massive pink diamond ring sparkling on Scarlett’s finger. I had seen the blueprint of that exact ring in Julian’s study two weeks ago. At the time, I thought it was my third-anniversary gift. Turns out, it was an engagement ring for someone else. The front door clicked open. Julian walked in, bringing the cold night air with him. He loosened his tie. When he saw me sitting motionless at the dining table, he frowned slightly. “Why are you still up?” He walked over and leaned down to kiss my forehead. I jerked my head away, dodging him. A heavy, sweet scent of rose perfume. Another woman’s perfume. It hit my nose. It made me want to throw up. Julian’s hand froze in mid-air, his expression darkening instantly. “Chloe, what are you throwing a tantrum for now?” “What is going on with you and Scarlett Sterling?” I looked up at him, my eyes red and my voice trembling. Julian paused for a second, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “You saw the news?” He pulled out a chair and sat down, his tone as casual as if he were talking about the weather. “The company needs the Sterling family’s backing for our new project. It’s a strategic merger. A marriage of convenience. There are no feelings involved.” A marriage of convenience? I let out a bitter laugh. “A marriage of convenience? Julian, we are legally married! You’re going to marry someone else, so what am I to you?” “Chloe, be reasonable.” He reached out to grab my hand, but I slapped it away. “We don’t need to actually break up. We just file for a paper divorce. Once the project stabilizes in two years, I’ll end the marriage with her and we’ll get married again.” He looked at me, his eyes filled with a patronizing tenderness. “Just deal with it for two years. You can still live here. You’ll still be my woman. I’ll give you everything you want, except the title of Mrs. Vance for now.” I stared at him in absolute disbelief. Twelve years of knowing him, three years of marriage. He used to treat me like a princess. Now, he was asking me to be his hidden mistress. “Julian, you want me to be your side piece?” “Don’t put it so dirtily,” Julian’s face turned completely cold. “I told you, you’re the only one I love. Scarlett is just a business transaction. I won’t touch her.” “What if I say no?” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. Julian stood up, towering over me, his eyes ice-cold. “Chloe, don’t be childish. Without me, your TikTok account, your cooking studio. All of it would be shut down in a day.” “I am letting you know my decision, not asking for your permission.” With that, he turned and walked into the bathroom, not even glancing at the dinner I had spent all afternoon preparing. The bathroom door slammed shut. I collapsed back into my chair, staring at the cold food. Finally, my tears spilled over. The love he gave me could indeed be taken back at any moment.

Chloe’s POV That night, Julian slept in the guest bedroom. By the time I came downstairs the next morning, he was already gone. On the kitchen island sat a stack of divorce papers and an black American Express card. According to the documents, he was leaving me the penthouse, my studio, and several other properties. His compensation was generous and neat. But seeing his signature, “Julian Vance,” at the bottom of the page only made my stomach turn. I didn’t sign it. I threw the entire file straight into the trash can. For the next two weeks, Julian never came home. He was using the silent treatment to force me into submission. Meanwhile, on Instagram, the trending topics about him and Scarlett changed every single day. #JulianAndScarlettYachtParty #JulianVanceSplurgesMillionsOnFiancee #ScarlettSterlingSoonToBeMrsVance Every headline felt like a dull knife carving into my heart. I forced myself to focus on work. In the studio, my assistant, Penny, looked at my pale face with worry. “Chloe, are you okay? Maybe you should take a few days off.” “I’m fine,” I forced a smile. “Did we prepare the ingredients for today’s vegetable soup video?” “Yes, it’s been simmering on the stove for eight hours.” I habitually reached for a bowl to taste the broth. Just then, the glass door of the studio was pushed open. The sharp click of high heels echoed on the hardwood floor. “So, this is Chloe Lynn’s studio? Honestly, it’s a bit cheap.” I looked up and saw Scarlett Sterling walking in, wearing sunglasses, flanked by a group of burly bodyguards. She was dressed in head-to-toe Chanel couture, carrying a limited-edition Hermes bag. She looked like a walking billboard for luxury brands. “What are you doing here?” I asked coldly. Scarlett took off her sunglasses, scanning me from head to toe with a mocking sneer. “Just wanted to see what Julian’s little pet looks like in person.” She walked over to the stove, looking at the bubbling pot of soup, and pinched her nose in disgust. “Smells like trash. Chloe, don’t you know? Julian’s tastes have changed. He only eats food prepared by three-star Michelin chefs now. He’s sick of this garbage you make.” My fingers clenched tightly into my palms, my nails digging into my skin. “Miss Sterling, this is my private studio. You are not welcome here. Please leave.” “Feisty, aren’t we?” Scarlett sneered. Suddenly, she reached out and picked up the bowl of hot soup I had just poured. “Let me taste what kind of magic soup kept Julian amused for so long.” But as soon as she lifted the bowl, she suddenly let go. “Oops!” The boiling liquid splashed directly onto the back of my hand, and the rest shattered on the floor. The sound of breaking ceramic was deafening in the quiet studio. “Ah!” I gasped in agony. The back of my hand turned instantly red, blisters blooming on my skin. “Chloe!” Penny cried out, rushing to grab ice water. Scarlett, however, took two steps back, putting on a show of being terrified. “Chloe! What is wrong with you? I just wanted to try your soup, and you threw it at me?” “That’s a lie! You dropped it on purpose!” Penny yelled angrily. “What’s going on here?” A deep, cold voice came from the doorway. My whole body went rigid. I looked up and saw Julian walking in with fast, angry strides. The moment Scarlett saw him, her eyes welled up with tears. She threw herself into his arms. “Julian, thank God you’re here. I just wanted to visit Chloe and try her soup, but she suddenly snapped and threw the boiling soup at me. It almost burned my face…” Julian’s eyes swept over the broken mess on the floor, finally landing on me. He saw my blistered, red hand. His eyes flickered with a brief moment of hesitation, but it was quickly replaced by cold disappointment. “Are you done making a scene, Chloe?” His voice was heavy with disgust. “Scarlett came here out of goodwill, and this is how you treat her? Since when did you become so violent?” I stared at him, my heart freezing over. My hand was badly burned, my body trembling from the pain. Yet, he didn’t even ask if I was okay. He immediately declared me guilty. “Are you blind, Julian? She threw it herself!” I choked out, my eyes burning with unshed tears. “Enough!” Julian cut me off harshly. “Scarlett was raised in a gentle family. She would never do something so trashy. Stop lying, Chloe.” He wrapped his arm around Scarlett’s shoulder, holding her like she was a fragile glass doll. “If you don’t sign the divorce papers, I have other ways to make you do it. Stop testing my patience.” With that, he guided Scarlett out of the studio without looking back. I stood there, watching their retreating figures. Tears finally streamed down my face, dripping onto the shattered ceramic on the floor. My hand burned like hell. But it didn’t compare to the pain in my chest.

Chloe’s POV My hand blistered badly. Penny cried as she applied soothing ointment to my skin. “How could Mr. Vance do this… He used to freak out if you even nicked your finger with a paring knife.” I stared blankly at my bandaged hand. Yes, the past. Once, when a drop of hot oil splashed on my wrist, Julian had literally replaced every single pan in the kitchen with professional-grade safety gear. Now, half a bowl of boiling soup was dumped on me, and his only concern was comforting another woman’s fake trauma. A man’s love really could vanish overnight. “It’s fine. It’ll heal,” I pulled my hand back, my voice dangerously calm. I thought that was the worst Julian could do. But I underestimated how ruthless billionaires could be. The next morning, I was woken up by Penny’s frantic phone call. “Chloe! Turn on your phone! Look at TikTok right now!” My stomach dropped. I opened the app. The number one trending search was a hashtag with my name: #ChloeLynnPoisonPans I tapped on it. It was a video posted by a massive product-testing influencer with millions of followers. In the video, the influencer was crying, claiming that after using the co-branded non-stick pan I had heavily promoted on my channel, the chemical coating peeled off, causing her family to be hospitalized with severe food poisoning. She showed medical reports and photos of the flaking pan. The comment section was a war zone. “I trusted you! You promoted toxic garbage just for a paycheck!” “You should be in jail!” “Cancel this greedy influencer!” I went cold. That non-stick pan was manufactured by a subsidiary of Vance Enterprises. Julian had personally handed me the product, assuring me that the quality was top-notch and asking me to help boost their sales. Because of my absolute trust in him, I had used my own reputation to vouch for it. How could this happen? I immediately called the brand’s PR team, but the line was busy. In desperation, I called Julian. It rang for a long time before he finally answered. His voice was distant. “What is it?” “What’s going on with the non-stick pans? Why are people getting food poisoning from the coating?” I asked frantically. Silence stretched over the line for a few seconds. “There was a minor issue on the production line. The quality control check failed,” Julian said flatly. I felt like I had been hit by lightning. “You knew? You knew there was an issue and you didn’t tell me? My followers are dragging me to hell right now!” “Calm down, Chloe,” Julian’s voice carried a hint of annoyance. “Mistakes happen in business.” “Then what are we doing about it? The company needs to issue a recall and clear my name immediately!” “No,” Julian refused without hesitation. “Why?!” “I just transferred that subsidiary to Scarlett as part of her engagement gift,” Julian said, his voice smooth and cold. “The Sterling Group is going public next week. They cannot have any negative press right now.” My breath caught in my throat. It felt like icy water was being poured down my spine. “So… to protect Scarlett’s reputation, you’re making me take the fall?” “You’re just a food influencer. Post an apology, take a break from social media for a while, and this will blow over,” Julian said, his tone dripping with casual arrogance. “I will compensate you tenfold for your financial losses. Just be a good girl and don’t make trouble for me right now.” “Julian Vance!” I screamed. “That channel is my life’s work! My reputation! How dare you ruin me just to protect her?!” “I can do it because everything you have was given to you by me.” Julian’s voice was ice. “Get a grip on reality, Chloe. At 3:00 PM, my PR team will use your login credentials to post the apology. You better cooperate.” The line went dead. I sat on the cold floor, clutching my phone. Looking at the vile, hateful comments flooding my screen, my stomach suddenly churned. I ran to the bathroom and threw up violently in the toilet. I threw up until there was nothing left but bile and tears. At 3:00 PM, my Instagram and TikTok accounts automatically posted a pre-written statement, taking full responsibility for the faulty pans and announcing my indefinite hiatus. In an instant, I went from a beloved food creator to a pariah. My sponsors pulled out, leaving me with millions of dollars in breach-of-contract fines. I locked myself in the kitchen, mechanically chopping vegetables. I wanted to make a simple pasta. But when I put the food in my mouth, I froze. Nothing. No acidity, no sweetness, no saltiness. Nothing. In a panic, I grabbed the salt shaker, poured a handful of salt into my palm, and licked it. Still nothing. The extreme trauma and absolute despair had taken away the most precious thing I possessed as a cook. My sense of taste. I stared at the salt on my hands and began to laugh hysterically. And as I laughed, my tears fell into the white grains. Julian Vance, you won. You didn’t just kill my love. You destroyed my dreams and my entire life.

Chloe’s POV I don’t even know how I survived that night. The next day, I put on a thick layer of makeup to hide my ghost-like paleness and took a cab to the Vance Enterprises headquarters. The door to the CEO’s office was slightly open. As I approached, I heard laughter from inside. “Julian, this macaron is so sweet. Try a bite.” It was Scarlett’s voice. Then came Julian’s low, indulgent chuckle. “I don’t like sweets. You eat it.” “No, you have to try it.” I pushed the door open. On the leather sofa, Scarlett was sitting on Julian’s lap, holding a pink macaron to his lips. Julian hadn’t refused. He was holding her hand, taking a bite. Hearing the door, they both turned. Seeing me, Julian’s brow furrowed. He pushed Scarlett off his lap and stood up, adjusting his suit jacket. “What are you doing here? Who let you up?” His voice was laced with irritation. Looking at the crumbs on his lips, I felt incredibly sick. “I’m here to discuss the breach of contract fees,” I said, my voice empty of any emotion. “Because of your PR team’s stunt, I am facing thirty million dollars in fines.” “It’s just thirty million,” Scarlett chimed in with a giggle, wiping her fingers with a silk handkerchief. “Julian spends more than that on a single sports car. Miss Lynn, coming here to beg for money is a bit embarrassing, don’t you think?” Julian looked at me coldly. “I told you, I’ll take care of the money. Deal with the financial department directly. There’s no need to come to my office and cause a scene.” “Cause a scene?” I let out a dry laugh. “Julian, you ruined my career, dragged my name through the mud, and you think I’m just causing a scene?” “Chloe Lynn!” Julian’s voice raised, his eyes sharp. “How much is that stupid social media account even worth? I can support you for the rest of your life easily! Do you really have to fight with me over such a trivial thing?” A stupid account. A trivial thing. I looked at this man who was once my whole world. He looked so foreign now. I thought he understood me. I thought he understood my passion for cooking, the sleepless nights I spent developing recipes. But to him, my dreams were just a cheap hobby that could be paid off. “Julian, I lost my sense of taste.” I looked directly into his eyes. Julian froze for a split second, then his scowl deepened. “What game are you playing now? Are you seriously making up a medical lie just to get me to retract the PR statement?” He didn’t believe me. He actually thought I was lying. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Believe whatever you want.” I pulled a document from my bag and slammed it onto his desk. “These are the final divorce papers. I don’t want a single penny of your assets. I’ll figure out the thirty million on my own.” Julian’s eyes locked onto the papers, his pupils shrinking. “Chloe, have you lost your mind?!” Julian snatched the papers, ripped them in half, and hurled them onto the floor. “Without me, how are you going to pay thirty million? By begging on the streets?!” “I’d rather beg on the streets than stay here as your dirty secret!” I yelled back, refusing to back down. Slap! Julian slammed his hand onto the desk in fury, making his coffee cup rattle. “Fine! Great! You’ve got guts, Chloe!” He pointed toward the door, laughing in anger. “If you walk out that door today, don’t you dare come back crawling to me. I won’t help you even if you beg on your knees!” Without a second thought, I turned and walked out. “Julian, don’t be mad. She just doesn’t appreciate how good you are to her…” Scarlett’s voice faded behind me. I didn’t look back. Stepping out of the corporate building, the bright afternoon sun blinded me. I didn’t cry. My tears had run dry last night. I went back to the penthouse we shared, packed only a few clothes, and left all the jewelry, designer bags, and even my wedding ring on the table. When the heavy door clicked shut, I knew my twelve years with Julian Vance were officially over. That night, I rented a cheap basement apartment in Queens. I boiled some cheap pasta in plain water. No salt. No oil. I forced myself to swallow it. But as I chewed, my tears slipped into the bowl. I had no taste. I could never make Julian’s favorite soup again. But that was fine. He didn’t need it anymore.

Chloe’s POV Three days after I moved into the basement, Julian’s assistant showed up at my door. The suited assistant stood in the damp, smelly hallway of my building, looking at my thin, pale face with pity. “Mrs. Vance, Julian wants you to come home.” “I’m not Mrs. Vance anymore,” I said calmly. “The divorce papers have been mailed to his office.” The assistant sighed. “He ripped them up. He said if you just apologize and admit you were wrong, he’ll clear your debt and help you reopen your studio.” I let out a cold laugh. A slap in the face followed by a sweet treat. Julian really loved playing corporate mind games with me. “Tell him I’d rather starve to death than take a single dollar of his money.” After the assistant left, I began looking for jobs. But with the “toxic pan” scandal attached to my name, no company would hire me. I even tried applying for dishwasher jobs at local diners, but the managers recognized me and kicked me out. “We don’t hire scammers here. Get lost!” Standing on the busy New York streets, watching people pass by, I felt utterly powerless for the first time in my life. Then, my phone rang. It was an unknown number. “Miss Lynn, I hear you’re desperate for cash.” The voice on the other end was familiar, arrogant and dripping with condescension. It was Scarlett. “What do you want?” I asked guardedly. “Come to Club V888 tonight at 8:00 PM. If you show up, I’ll give you a million dollars.” I wanted to hang up immediately, but the thought of the thirty million dollar debt made me squeeze my eyes shut. “Fine.” At 8:00 PM, I pushed open the heavy door to the VIP lounge at Club V888. The room was dimly lit, filled with expensive cigar smoke and loud music. Julian was sitting right in the center of the plush leather sofa, holding a glass of whiskey, looking relaxed and regal. Scarlett was clinging to his arm, surrounded by several wealthy young heirs of New York. The room went dead quiet when I walked in. Julian’s eyes landed on me. Seeing me in a cheap oversized t-shirt and worn jeans, looking noticeably thinner, his brow twitched slightly. But he quickly masked it with cold mockery. “Well, well. Did your pride run out that quickly?” I ignored him and walked straight to Scarlett. “Why did you call me here?” Scarlett giggled, pulling a check from her designer bag and slapping it on the table. “Chloe, there’s a million dollars right here. All you have to do is drop to your knees and drink this entire bottle of tequila, and the money is yours.” She pointed to a bottle of high-proof liquor on the table. The rich kids around her laughed and cheered. “Whoa, isn’t this the proud Chloe Lynn? Look at her now.” “Julian, your ex-wife is really pathetic. Kneeling for just a million?” “Scarlett, you’re brutal!” I stared at the check, my hands clenching into fists, my nails drawing blood from my palms. I looked at Julian. He swirled the whiskey in his glass, his eyes cold and detached, as if watching a stranger. He wasn’t going to stop her. He was letting her humiliate me. “What’s wrong? Don’t want it?” Scarlett mocked. “Then get the hell out and stop ruining our night.” I took a deep breath. The thirty million dollar debt was a mountain crushing me. I had no other choice. Slowly, I began to bend my knees. But right before my knees could touch the dirty floor, Julian slammed his whiskey glass onto the ground. Smash! Glass shattered everywhere. The lounge fell into dead silence. Julian stood up abruptly, grabbed my wrist, and yanked me up with brute force. “Chloe Lynn, have you lost all self-respect?!” His eyes were bloodshot as he glared at me in fury. “For a lousy million dollars, you’re willing to throw away your dignity? Where is your pride?!” My wrist hurt from his grip, but I only let out a broken laugh. “Dignity? Julian, didn’t you step on my dignity a long time ago?” I yanked my hand out of his grip, my eyes entirely dead. “Who are you to judge me? I am in this position because of you.” “Get her out of here!” Julian shouted at his bodyguards, frantically loosening his tie. “Julian, what are you doing…” Scarlett complained, grabbing his sleeve. “Shut up!” Julian snapped at her, his voice so cold that she instantly went quiet. I was dragged out of the club by his bodyguards and thrown into the back of a black Maybach. The car sped through the city, finally stopping in front of a secluded mansion in the suburbs. This was the house we bought when we first got together. I was shoved inside, and the heavy oak door slammed shut behind me, the lock clicking into place. “Mr. Vance ordered that you are not to leave until you’ve cleared your head,” the bodyguard’s cold voice came from outside. Looking at the empty, quiet house, I closed my eyes in despair. He wasn’t just ruining me. He was locking me up. The mansion was huge, but it felt like a gilded cage. I was locked there for a whole week. No phone, no internet, no TV. The maid delivered three meals a day, but I barely touched them. Food meant nothing to me now. The extreme mental stress made me drop weight rapidly. My clothes hung loosely on my bony frame. Every day, I just sat by the window, watching the sun rise and set, replaying the last twelve years in my mind. At twelve, I saved his life. At twenty, I ran away from my family to marry him when he had nothing. At twenty-three, he became the billionaire CEO of Vance Enterprises, and he wanted me to be his hidden mistress. Love is a losing game. I bet everything, and I lost down to my bones.

Chloe’s POV On the seventh evening, the heavy front door finally opened. Julian walked in, bringing the chilly winter air with him. He was dressed in a pristine, custom-tailored black suit, looking as powerful and untouchable as ever. But when his eyes fell on me sitting on the carpet, looking like a skeleton, a flicker of pain and frustration crossed his face. He quickly masked it, returning to his usual cold demeanor. “Are you done throwing your tantrum?” He walked over, looking down at me, and tossed a document onto the table. “Sign this. Then we’ll go get the divorce finalized.” I turned my head slowly, my eyes landing on the paper. “I thought you ripped up the last copy because you didn’t want to divorce,” my voice was raspy, sounding like sandpaper. “Chloe, don’t be naive,” Julian said, his tone brutally calm. “Next Wednesday is my engagement party with Scarlett. You need to accept reality. The title of Mrs. Vance belongs to her now.” My heart squeezed painfully, a sharp ache radiating through my chest. “If you’re getting engaged, why are you keeping me locked up here?” I looked up, my eyes bloodshot. Julian knelt down, his fingers gripping my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Because I’ve designated you as the head chef for the engagement party.” My pupils dilated. I stared at him in utter horror. He wanted me, his wife, to cook for his engagement party to another woman? “Are you insane, Julian?” My voice finally cracked. “What do you think I am? How much more of my dignity do you need to crush before you’re satisfied?!” “What are you? A chef who once cooked for the Vance family, or a woman who needs to learn her place.” Julian’s eyes were merciless. “Your assistant, Penny, and the rest of your studio staff. I have them blacklisted. If you don’t make this dinner perfect, I’ll make sure none of them ever find a job in New York again. They will be drowning in debt.” “You monster!” I raised my hand to slap him, but he caught my wrist mid-air. “I’m just teaching you how the real world works,” Julian said, throwing my hand back and standing up. “Chloe, if you behave, do this one last job, and prove you’ve let go of your obsession with being my wife, you can stay by my side. I’ll make sure you live in luxury.” I trembled, staring at him for a long, long time. So long that Julian actually looked away, unable to meet my gaze. My eyes were completely dead. The twelve years of love, adoration, and warmth had burned to ash in a single second. I finally accepted that the boy who once carried me on his back for five miles in a rainstorm was dead. This man was a stranger. “Fine,” I said, my voice flat and lifeless. “I’ll do it.” Julian blinked, clearly surprised by how quickly I agreed. “Good. Sign the papers and prepare. Don’t think about running away.” He turned and walked out, his back cold and unyielding. When the door locked, I didn’t cry. My tears had dried up during the week of isolation. I picked up the pen and signed my name on the divorce papers. Each stroke felt like a cut through my past twelve years. Over the next few days, I started eating again. I even asked the maid to bring in premium ingredients. The guards thought I had finally given up, so they relaxed their security. I worked like a robot, making batch after batch of wild mushroom soup. But this time, I didn’t use any of the rare, gut-healing herbs I used to source from all over the world. I opened the pantry and dumped thousands of dollars worth of premium, health-boosting ingredients straight into the garbage. Julian, you wanted me to cook? I’ll cook. But from now on, your health, your stomach, and your life have absolutely nothing to do with me. The following Wednesday, at the Waldorf Astoria in New York. The engagement party of the century between Vance Enterprises and the Sterling Group had taken over the entire penthouse ballroom. Every powerful family in New York was there. But in the kitchen, the atmosphere was tense. I stood in a white chef’s uniform, my hair tied back neatly, staring blankly at the prep station. The other chefs looked at me with pity and whispered gossip. Everyone knew I was Julian’s secret wife, now forced to cook for his new bride. It was the ultimate humiliation. “Miss Lynn, they are calling for the soup in the ballroom. Is the wild mushroom soup ready?” the head chef asked cautiously. “Yes,” I said quietly. I sprinkled a bit of fresh parsley over the soup. It looked beautiful, but it lacked the rich, healing aroma it used to have. Suddenly, the kitchen doors swung open.

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At thirty-six, I finally qualified for the World Cup for the first time in my career. But the day before the tournament started, the head coach called me in. “Julian, you’re not going.” I stood there, shocked. “Why? I’m the team captain!” The coach pulled out his phone and played a video. On the screen, my wife, Britney, was sobbing in front of a crowd of reporters. “Julian is not only cheating on me, but he’s also abusing me at home! A man like him doesn’t deserve to represent our country in the World Cup!” As she spoke, Britney flashed fake evidence of my infidelity to the cameras. She even pulled down her collar to reveal a nasty bruise on her shoulder. The video already had over ten million views on TikTok. And I, busy with pre-match training, had been completely in the dark. I scrambled to explain. “She’s lying! I was framed!” “This is my only chance to play in the World Cup, Coach. You can’t bench me now!” The coach shook his head helplessly. “Unless you can prove your innocence, I can’t take you with us. The entire internet is calling for your head right now.” I rushed home to confront Britney. She just looked at me coldly and said, “If you don’t drop out, Ronald won’t get his chance to play. Just let him have this one, Julian.” I never expected that the woman I had been married to for seven years would crush my lifelong dream in such a brutal way. Fine. If you want to play dirty, don’t blame me for being ruthless.

I went back to our house and started packing my things. I had been preparing for this World Cup for years. For a thirty-six-year-old veteran, this was my absolute last dance. My study was packed with trophies I’d won over the years, but none of them could compare to the World Cup. Now, my phone was blowing up. The comment sections on my Instagram were filled with hate. [How is this abuser still on the national team?] [Cheater and domestic abuser! Get out of professional sports!] [Ban him for life! Don’t let this trash ruin the game!] I shoved my cleats into my gym bag. Britney walked into the room and blocked the doorway. “Are you done? Move,” I growled, looking at her through gritted teeth. Her eyes were still red from her media performance, but her voice was completely cold. “You can’t leave right now. If you walk out that door, everyone will think you’re guilty.” I let out a harsh laugh. “So I should stay here and let you keep dragging my name through the mud?” Her face paled slightly. “I only got you suspended. I didn’t ask you to die.” “Only suspended?” I threw my phone onto the bed in front of her. “The entire internet is cancelling me.” “My sponsors are dropping me, and the Association is about to kick me off the team.” “You make it sound so simple, Britney.” She pressed her lips together. After a long silence, she muttered, “Once Ronald finishes the tournament, I’ll clear your name.” “We’ll just say it was a misunderstanding. You’ll only be suspended for six months at most.” “Besides, even if you play, our team would get eliminated early anyway.” I stared at her. “A misunderstanding? Then explain the hotel room keycard.” She avoided my gaze. “I don’t know.” “What about the Snapchat chat history?” “I don’t know about that either.” I laughed coldly. “The girl’s name is Hannah Miller. She’s the president of Ronald’s fan club.” “You personally gave her that keycard. And you generated those fake chat logs using AI.” Britney snapped her head up. “So what? Who’s going to believe you now?” I pointed a finger at her. “Last night, I was at the facility preparing for the game. I slept in the locker room all night. I never went to that hotel.” “Do you really think the training facility doesn’t have security cameras?” Britney’s face went completely blank. She lunged forward to grab my jacket pockets, but I grabbed her wrist. “What do you think you’re doing?” She struggled, but she couldn’t break my grip. Looking at her panic, it hit me. She didn’t follow me here because she cared. She was terrified I had proof. Sure enough, she asked, “Are you bluffing? There’s no way you have camera footage.” I let go of her. “We’ve been married for seven years. Do you hate me so much that you want to destroy my entire life?” She got anxious. “Julian, don’t make me out to be the bad guy. I love you. It’s just that Ronald really needs this World Cup.” “He’s been waiting for this opportunity for six years.” “His career was almost ruined by that leg injury back then. He’s been through enough.” I looked at her, my heart turning to ice. “So I’m the one who has to suffer?” Her eyes welled with tears. “You already have so much!” “You’re the captain. You’ve won trophies. You have big sponsors, and millions of fans.” “Ronald only has this one shot.” I laughed, a hollow sound. “So in your eyes, my innocence is just a stepping stone for Ronald’s career.” She didn’t answer. I threw my bag over my shoulder. She grabbed my arm. “You can’t leave. Tell me—is the official team roster still with you?” I paused. So that was what she was really worried about. Ronald had failed his physical exam. He wasn’t even qualified to be on the bench for the World Cup. As the team’s operations manager, Britney had secretly altered his medical records. The final roster sheet was indeed in my bag, but I would never tell her that. “What roster? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She visibly relaxed. “Good.” “Julian, stop being stubborn.” “Just write a statement. Say you only had a private dinner with a fan, but nothing happened.” “Once Ronald finishes the tournament, I’ll have Hannah delete her posts and make a video clearing your name.” “We can go back to how things were.” I looked at her. “We are done. As soon as the World Cup is over, we’re getting a divorce.” Britney’s face darkened. “Do you have to be this dramatic?” “Seven years of marriage, and you want a divorce over this?” I snatched my jersey back from her hands. “I’m not the one who destroyed this family. You did.” I walked toward the door. She screamed behind me, “Julian! If you walk out that door today, don’t you dare come crawling back to me!” I stopped for a second. “Don’t worry. Even if you beg me on your knees, I will never look back.” The next morning, the Soccer Association held an emergency hearing. The hallway outside the conference room was packed with reporters. Dozens of live-streamers pointed their phones at my face. The moment I walked into the room, my teammates quickly looked down, avoiding eye contact. Only Ronald sat near the bench, wearing my Number 10 training jersey. He smirked at me. His face was filled with smug satisfaction. Director Thomas pushed a stack of documents across the table. “Julian, your wife and a fan named Hannah Miller have accused you of using signed jerseys to lure her to a hotel room.” “She provided the room keycard, chat screenshots, and photos of you in the hallway.” “Do you admit to this?” “No.” “Hannah, tell us what happened,” Director Thomas said. Hannah stood up, her eyes red and puffy. She was wearing an Apex FC jersey and clutching a tissue. “That night, Julian DM’ed me on Snapchat, saying he would give me a signed jersey.” “Once I got to the room, he forced me to drink.” “Then… he locked the door. He wouldn’t let me leave.” The room erupted into whispers. I looked at her. “Which night?” Hannah sniffled. “The thirteenth.” “On the thirteenth, I was training alone at the facility.” “I didn’t go anywhere that night. I slept in the facility’s lounge.” “You can check the security cameras. Plus, I have a witness.” I gestured, and one of the facility’s night-shift janitors walked in. Everyone gasped. Britney’s face froze. Hannah panicked. She instinctively looked over at Ronald. Ronald cleared his throat loudly, and Britney immediately stood up. “It wasn’t the thirteenth!” “Hannah is too nervous; she got the date wrong. It was the twelfth.” Hannah nodded quickly. “Yes, the twelfth! I got confused.” I smiled. “On the night of the twelfth, the team had a closed-door training session.” “The security log at the gate shows I didn’t leave until ten-thirty PM.” Director Thomas’s expression grew heavier by the second. Just then, Mateo Alvarez, our backup forward, stood up. “Julian always gets too close to female fans anyway.” I looked at him. “Did you see it with your own eyes, Mateo?” Mateo stammered. “I… I heard it from others.” Another player chimed in, “He always brings girls into the VIP lounge.” I asked back, “Which game?” He couldn’t answer. The room grew louder with arguments. Suddenly, Britney stood up, slamming her hands on the table. “Julian! How long are you going to keep lying?” I looked at her. Tears streamed down her face. “I’ve been married to him for seven years. I know exactly what kind of monster he is.” “He has a terrible temper at home.” “Whenever he loses a game, he smashes things. He hits me. He abuses me.” “Sometimes he even brings random women home and forces me to ignore it.” The room exploded. “That’s disgusting. How is this guy still the captain?” “No wonder the fan came forward.” I stood up abruptly. “Britney!”

Two security guards immediately stepped in, blocking me. “Watch it!” “Are you trying to threaten a witness in front of us?” Britney took a step back, crying even harder. “See? This is how he always acts.” At that moment, the way everyone looked at me changed. It wasn’t suspicion anymore. It was pure disgust. The Association announced my immediate suspension. My captaincy was stripped, and my name was removed from the World Cup roster. The case was handed over to the disciplinary committee, with the police to be involved if necessary. As I walked out of the conference room, Britney ran after me. She was holding my old knee brace in her hands. “Your old injury hasn’t fully healed yet. Don’t forget to wear this.” I looked at the brace. It was incredibly ironic. “You just painted me as a domestic abuser and a predator, and now you’re worried about my knee?” She frowned. “Julian, don’t be so ungrateful.” “I did this for the team.” “Ronald promised me that after the World Cup, he will speak up to clear your name.” I stared at her. “Do you have any idea that if the disciplinary committee rules against me, my career is over? I will never play professional soccer again.” She lowered her voice. “Without solid evidence, they’ll suspend you for a year at most.” “You’re a man, Julian. Can’t you just take one for the team?” “If Ronald misses this World Cup, his life is over.” I didn’t say a word. Her voice softened again. “Just listen to me. Write an apology letter.” “Just say you had some inappropriate DMs with a fan and caused a misunderstanding.” “Give the Association an easy way out, and they won’t dig any deeper.” I looked at her coldly. “I didn’t do it. I won’t write a single word.” Britney’s face soured. “Julian, do you really have to push Ronald to the edge?” “Did I force him to fail his physical exam?” She was left speechless. I turned and walked away. She hissed behind me, “Julian, you’re playing with fire.” That night, things took an unexpected turn. Mateo came to see me. He was waiting at the back gate of the training facility, his hoodie pulled low, clutching a crumpled piece of paper. “Julian, I’m sorry.” I didn’t say anything. He handed me the paper. It was a petition: [Julian’s training methods are abusive. He hoards the starting position and refuses to give younger players a chance.] There were over a dozen signatures and fingerprints at the bottom. Mateo’s voice was shaking. “This is what Britney made us sign.” “She told us it was just a complaint to the Association about your strict leadership.” “She promised that once Ronald took over, we’d get more playing time.” “I had no idea she was going to turn it into a sexual assault accusation.” I took the paper. “Who changed the complaint?” Mateo looked down. “Ronald did. He was the one who brought Hannah in.” “She’s not your fan. She’s the head of Ronald’s fan club.” “The hotel room was booked by Ronald’s personal assistant.” I looked at him. “Why are you telling me this now?” Mateo’s eyes turned red. “I wanted to play, but I didn’t want to destroy your life.” “Julian, I asked the nurses at the hospital about yesterday.” “They confirmed you were there all night taking care of Britney’s mom.” The next morning, I took the original petition, the hospital receipts, and the unaltered physical exam reports straight to the Association’s disciplinary committee. Before I could enter the building, Britney blocked my way. When she saw the envelope in my hand, her face went pale. “Mateo talked to you?” “Get out of my way.” She grabbed my arm tightly. “Just give Ronald one day.” “Just one day.” “Once the first match is over, I’ll make Hannah take down the posts.” “I’ll clear your name myself.” I looked at her. “Then clear it right now.” Tears streamed down her face. “I can’t do it now.” “If I do, Ronald won’t be allowed on the pitch. And… my signature is on the roster change form.” “I was the one who submitted the forged physical exam.” “If this blows up, I’m ruined too.” Finally, she told the truth.

She wanted to protect Ronald, and she wanted to protect herself. As for me, I was never even a consideration. I pried her fingers off my arm. “There’s a follow-up hearing this afternoon.” “If you tell the truth in front of everyone, I will tell the committee that you were manipulated by Ronald.” “This is your last chance.” Britney cried for a long time, but finally, she nodded. “Okay.” That afternoon, the committee reconvened. Mateo openly admitted that the petition they signed had nothing to do with sexual misconduct. Five other backup players also retracted their statements. They admitted the original complaint was just about training disputes. None of them had ever seen the keycard or the chat logs. Director Thomas’s face grew darker. Finally, he turned to Britney. “Britney, you are the team’s operations manager. Who actually drafted this accusation?” Britney sat there, her face completely pale. I waited for her to speak. Suddenly, the door was pushed open, and Ronald walked in. He was wearing my Number 10 jersey with the captain’s armband pinned to his chest. “Don’t worry, Britney. I’m here. Nobody can bully you.” Britney’s eyes filled with panic. Director Thomas demanded, “Britney, what is the truth?” She looked at Ronald, then at me, and finally lowered her head. “The accusation is real.” “Mateo and the others changed their stories because Julian threatened them last night.” I froze. She continued, “He came to see me last night too.” “He said if I didn’t drop the charges, he would destroy both me and Ronald.” Outside the door, two officers from the disciplinary committee walked in. Britney refused to look me in the eye. “I stand by my statement.” “Julian is guilty of abuse, sexual misconduct, and threatening his teammates.” My playing license was confiscated on the spot. As I walked past her, I whispered only one thing: “Britney, that was the last chance I will ever give you.” “And you threw it away.” She whispered back, her voice barely audible, “I had no choice.” “You shouldn’t have stood in Ronald’s way.” At that moment, I completely gave up on her. In the interrogation room, the investigator asked me, “Julian, do you have anything else to say?” I pushed the envelope across the table. Inside were the hospital’s security camera request forms, the original petition, the hotel’s actual booking records, and Ronald’s failed physical exam report. “I am officially reporting Ronald Cole for fabricating evidence and framing me.” “And I am reporting Britney Vance for forging physical exam results and illegally changing the World Cup roster.” I turned my eyes to the TV screen on the wall. The massive stadium was packed with screaming fans. Ronald, wearing my Number 10 jersey, was standing in the player tunnel, waving to the cameras. Up in the VIP seats, Britney was waving excitedly. The TV announcer yelled, “Apex FC’s Number 10, Ronald Cole, is about to play the most important match of his career!” But just as the announcer finished his sentence, the stadium’s PA system crackled to life. “Player Number 10, Ronald Cole, is temporarily suspended from today’s match.” “Please report to the disciplinary room immediately.”

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At my engagement party, I became the biggest laughingstock in the city. My fiancée, Christine, threw an HPV test report right in my face in front of everyone. Behind her, the giant LED screen clearly displayed the results: Test Result: High-Risk Positive. “Ethan, you slept with someone else behind my back. We are over!” The crowd gasped. Right then, my best friend, Caleb, rushed onto the stage and shielded me. His eyes were red, and his voice trembled: “Christine, stop accusing him! Ethan would never do something like this!” “You must be the one with the problem!” The guests below whispered in admiration, praising him for being such a loyal, true friend. But as for me, my blood ran dead cold. Because the exact moment he opened his mouth, a wicked, sneering voice echoed clearly in my head: [Keep acting, you idiot. Last night, Christine was still riding me in my bed.] [This test report is my special engagement surprise for you.] I stared at his back, and a cold smile slowly formed on my face. My best friend. What a great friend indeed. Since you both want so badly to drag me into hell, then fine. Next, it’s my turn.

That thin sheet of medical report felt like a resounding slap across my face before it drifted slowly onto the expensive Persian carpet. The once-bustling, luxurious banquet hall fell into a dead silence. Hundreds of eyes pinned onto me like blinding spotlights. On the big screen, the slideshow of our romantic memories had been forcefully replaced by a glaring medical document. HPV Test Result: High-Risk Positive. The words, highlighted in blood-red, were magnified a hundred times, burning straight into my retinas like a red-hot iron. Christine stood in front of me. Her exquisite, high-society face, which she usually took so much pride in, was now distorted with disgust and rage. Holding the microphone, her voice echoed through the high-end sound system to every corner of the hall. “Ethan, do you have no shame?” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was dripping with venom, each word aiming to pin me to the wall of shame. “I trusted you so much, and this is how you repay me?” “Carrying a disease like that and still dreaming of marrying me? Do you take me for a trash bin?!” The crowd erupted. “Oh my god, he looks like such a decent guy. I can’t believe he has an STD…” “How messy must his private life be? That’s disgusting!” “Poor Christine. She almost married a liar.” Countless looks of disdain, ridicule, and malice pierced my back, locking me onto this stage of humiliation. I clenched my fists, my knuckles turning white. I humiliatedly bent down to pick up the paper. I didn’t understand. I had barely even held another woman’s hand. How could I have this disease? There had to be a mistake! Just as my fingers were about to touch the paper, a hand gripped my shoulder. It was Caleb. My college roommate, my best friend, and the man who was supposed to be my best man today. He shielded me, turning around to yell at Christine: “Christine, have you lost your mind? You know what kind of guy Ethan is!” “This report must be fake! How dare you humiliate him like this in public!” The scent of my newly opened designer cologne wafted off him. Usually, I found the smell refreshing, but right now, it made my chest feel incredibly tight. “Ethan, don’t worry. The hospital must have messed up!” He turned back and whispered to me. His voice sounded anxious, but beneath it lay a faint, almost imperceptible trace of smugness. I gripped his shoulder, grinding my teeth in what I thought was gratitude. Then, a warm breath brushed past my ear. A wicked, cheerful voice—one that only I could hear—exploded in my head. [What a loser. Look at that pale face.] [Of course the hospital didn’t mess up. I paid a fortune to have my name swapped with yours on that report.] [Everything that belonged to you, I’ve already used.] [Your razor, your glass, and… your high-and-mighty fiancée.] [You’ll never get to experience how wild she was in my bed last night.] [The spot of the Miller family’s son-in-law belongs only to me.] In that single second, my blood froze into solid ice. I stared daggers at Caleb’s hand on my shoulder. On his wrist was a brand-new mechanical watch. It was a limited-edition piece Christine had gifted me for my birthday last month. I had been too careful to even wear it, keeping it locked in my drawer. Caleb had asked to borrow it “just to show off at a party,” and he had never returned it. The engagement ring on my finger pressed hard against my bone, sending a sharp, stinging pain through my hand. I shoved Caleb away with all my might. The force caught him completely off guard, and he tumbled onto the stage with a sharp gasp. “Ethan… what are you doing?” He looked up at me, his face a perfect picture of shock and hurt. [What is this psycho doing? That hurt like hell!] The voice in my head chimed in again, crystal clear and brutally sharp. I wasn’t crazy. I had just, finally, woken up. I coldly swept my gaze across the whispering crowd, before letting my eyes rest on Christine’s hypocritical face. “The wedding is off. Christine, you disgust me.” With that, I ripped the boutonniere off my suit, turned around, and walked out of the hall without looking back.

I don’t even remember how I got back to our shared apartment. It was pouring rain outside. I hadn’t used an umbrella, letting the freezing water ruin my styled hair. My custom suit was soaked, heavy and clinging to my skin, matching the weight of my heart sinking into the abyss. My keys scraped against the lock for a long time before the door finally clicked open. The apartment was dead silent. Caleb and I had rented this place together for three whole years. After graduation, to save money and look out for each other, we got this apartment. I used to think we were each other’s strongest support in this cold city. When he had a fever, I stayed up all night taking care of him. When I worked late, he would leave a warm meal on the stove. When I first introduced Christine to him, he had solemnly sworn to vet her for me, promising he wouldn’t let any bad woman trick his best bro. Looking back, every ounce of that trust had turned into barbed wire, wrapping around my throat, drawing blood with every breath. Barefoot, I walked slowly into the bathroom. On the wall, two towels hung side by side—one blue, one gray. The gray one was mine. I remembered folding it perfectly before leaving this morning. Now, one corner was draped messily, damp with a lingering, suspicious moisture. On the sink, inside my gray rinsing cup, there was a faint, smudged streak of dark red on the rim. It was lipstick. The exact shade Christine loved to wear. I rushed to the toilet, my stomach violently churning, and dry-heaved until tears blurred my eyes. All the signs had been there. I had just been blind. Suddenly, my phone buzzed frantically in my pocket, like the dying spasms of a heart. The screen lit up with ‘Jennifer.’ Christine’s mother. I numbly swiped to answer. There was a heavy, suffocating silence on the other end for several seconds. “The Miller family cannot have any stain on our name.” Jennifer’s voice finally came through, cold and hard like iron. “What happened at the engagement party made us the laughingstock of the city.” “We only agreed to this marriage because we thought you were a decent, honest man. Who knew you were such trash?” “You’ve read the prenup. Cheating on Christine makes you the sole guilty party.” “You are leaving with absolutely nothing. Christine’s money, the cost of the party, and all the designer jewelry—I will have her retrieve them tomorrow.” “You better have every single item ready. If even one thing is missing, we will see you in court.” The line went dead. The world fell back into silence. I held my phone. The screen lit up again with a new text from Christine. It was just five words: “Give me back the ring.”

I didn’t reply to Christine. All my raging emotions seemed to have evaporated in the storm, leaving behind a hollow shell filled with icy, calculating hatred. I walked into my bedroom and pulled open the wardrobe. My clothes hung inside, and at the very end was my most prized possession—a custom designer suit jacket. It was my reward to myself after winning Top Sales of the Year last year. I remembered it disappearing last week. I had turned the room upside down, sweating and anxious, while Caleb had simply said, “Haven’t seen it. Maybe you misplaced it somewhere.” Now, it hung there, pristine and spotless. Except for the collar, which carried a very faint, yet incredibly familiar scent. It was the luxury car diffuser scent Christine always used. My fingers turned white as I opened Instagram on my phone. I clicked on a mutual friend’s profile. Three days ago, they had posted a carousel of photos with the caption: “Yacht party this weekend, so much fun!” In one of the group photos, Christine and Caleb stood shoulder to shoulder. Caleb was grinning, wearing my missing custom suit jacket. Christine’s hand was casually resting on the railing behind him, wrapping around him in an incredibly possessive stance. I zoomed in on the photo. Closer. Closer. Until the pixels became blurry. On Caleb’s wrist, there was a black braided leather cord. Hanging from it was a small, simple silver signet ring. It was the only heirloom my father had left me. I treasured it like life itself, keeping it locked at the very bottom of my jewelry box, never daring to wear it. “Ha…” A cold laugh escaped my lips, sounding echoing and creepy in the empty room. Using my towel. Wearing my clothes. Wearing my dad’s ring. Sleeping with my fiancée. Caleb, you really are a piece of work.

Around ten in the evening, the lock clicked. Caleb was back. He carried two large bags of my favorite snacks, his face painted with the perfect amount of worry and exhaustion, as if he were a hero who had rushed back just to save me. “Ethan, look what I got you! Your favorite beef jerky and cheese crackers.” He tossed the bags onto the coffee table. The loud rustle aggressively shattered the silence of the room. “Don’t take today’s stuff to heart,” he said, walking over and reaching out to pat my shoulder. “That bitch Christine didn’t deserve you anyway! I already chewed her out for you!” I sat on the sofa and casually leaned aside, dodging his touch. His hand froze awkwardly in mid-air, a crack appearing on his perfect mask of ‘concern.’ “Ethan, what’s wrong? Are you still hurting?” I didn’t answer. I just looked up, slowly studying him. I looked at his face, his eyes, and the watch on his wrist that belonged to me. This was a face I had looked at for seven years, yet right now, it made me physically sick. He quickly adjusted his expression, continuing his sickening act with a voice full of fake sympathy. “I know you must be feeling terrible right now. It’s okay, I’m here for you.” “Once this all blows over, I promise I’ll introduce you to someone way better. Someone a hundred times better than Christine!” [Ugh, what a loser, sitting there like a corpse.] [The Miller family’s wealth is finally mine.] [Christine was so worried about me when I fell on the stage. She spent hours comforting me in her car just now.] [Once you pack your bags and get lost, the first thing I’m doing is throwing all your trash out. Such an eyesore.] [And that cheap silver ring his dead dad left him? So tacky. I’m sick of wearing it anyway. Tomorrow, I’ll have Christine buy me a Rolex.] The voice in his head grew louder, more vicious, and more arrogant. But with every word, my mind became terrifyingly clear.

I picked up the bag of beef jerky from the coffee table and slowly tore it open. With oily fingers, I pulled out a piece and held it up right before his startled eyes. “Don’t you love this?” My voice was gentle, like a casual chat, showing no emotion. Caleb froze. He clearly hadn’t expected this reaction from me. [What is he doing? Trying to poison me?] [Hmph, like he has the balls. He’s probably just traumatized and trying to please me.] He hid the suspicion in his eyes and forced a smile. “Thanks, Ethan. You always know me best.” He opened his mouth to take the jerky. But a second before his lips could touch it, I flipped my wrist. The jerky brushed past his cheek and fell onto the floor. Then, I raised my greasy hand. And using the back of my fingers, I slowly, humiliatingly tapped his smooth, expensive-skincare-coated cheek. “Caleb,” I whispered, watching his pupils shrink in shock, “You’re dirty.” The fake smile on his face shattered completely. [Does he… know?] [Impossible! I did everything perfectly. Even the hospital report was swapped by someone I paid off. He’s too stupid to find out!] [He must be driven crazy by today’s shock. Yes, he’s lost his mind!] I coldly retracted my hand, as if I had touched garbage. I walked over to the balcony and picked up the tub of dirty cat litter I was planning to throw away. Coming back to the living room, right under his furious gaze, I dumped the entire tub of dirty litter right into the bags of “comfort snacks” he brought. The gray clumps and smelly yellow bits rained down, burying the neatly packaged snacks. A pungent stench of ammonia and decay instantly filled the room. Caleb’s face turned from pale to green, and then to a furious, bright red. “Ethan! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He finally ripped off his mask, screaming as he jumped back to protect his limited-edition sneakers. I tossed the empty tub at his feet. It hit the hardwood floor with a loud, hollow clatter.

“What’s wrong with me?” I finally smiled, but the smile was ice-cold. Ignoring his screaming, I walked straight into his bedroom and threw his wardrobe open. I was greeted by the scent of expensive cologne, along with several luxury brand clothes and shoe boxes I had never seen before. I reached in and pulled out a designer hoodie that still had the tag on. [How dare he touch my things?!] [Christine just bought me that last week!] [It’s a limited edition! I was going to wear it to our date tomorrow!] Deaf to the screaming in his head, I gripped the hoodie and walked back to the living room. “Caleb, you make three grand a month. After rent, you can barely afford to eat. How did you buy this?” I threw the hoodie hard at his face. The price tag showing “$1,800” hit him like a physical slap. “Without eating or drinking, you’d have to save for two months for this.” He stumbled back, desperately catching the hoodie as if it were a lifesaver. “I… I used a personal shopper! It was on sale! Super cheap!” His eyes darted around wildly as he stammered, his voice lacking any real confidence. [He can’t find out. He absolutely cannot!] [If he finds out I’m using Christine’s money and makes a scene at the Miller estate, Jennifer will destroy me!] “Is that so?” I nodded, pretending to believe his terrible lie. I unlocked my phone and opened my banking app right in front of him. “What a coincidence. I wanted to buy some things too. Give me your personal shopper’s contact.” “I recall that after graduation, to make utility bills easier, we set up a joint credit card account under your name.” “And every month, the bank sends the statements to my email.” My finger slid slowly across the screen, my gaze cutting like a knife across his pale face. “Let’s see your statement for this month…” Caleb stopped breathing. He stared at my phone as if it were a live bomb. The screen lit up. The statement was long, and every large expense was clearly documented. Not a single one was from a “personal shopper.” But there was a charge for $1,800 at a high-end department store, and another for $1,200 at a luxury suite. The merchant was the Sky Hotel—a five-star luxury hotel famous in the city. The date of the transaction: last Friday night. The exact night my custom suit went missing. I zoomed in on the hotel charge and took a screenshot. The sharp camera click sounded like a death knell, ending our seven-year friendship. “Sky Hotel, Presidential Suite. Caleb, does your personal shopper also provide bedroom services?” I sneered. Caleb’s lips trembled violently, but he couldn’t squeeze out a single word.

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During the World Cup quarterfinals, Holan accidentally kicked the ball out of bounds. The soccer ball flew straight into the front-row VIP section, hitting a couple sitting there. The tracking camera instantly put them on the stadium’s giant screen. On the screen, the woman was wearing an Argentina jersey. The man beside her caught the ball. Realizing they were on the Kiss Cam, the two passionately locked lips. The blood in my veins turned to ice. Because that woman was my wife, Chloe. She had no idea that I was sitting on the exact opposite side of the stadium. She had no idea that the global live broadcast had just delivered the high-definition image of her kissing another man right to my eyes. Today was our fifth wedding anniversary. She told me she had to work late. I actually believed her. I came to the game alone, holding the World Cup ticket I had originally bought for her. Only at this moment did I realize she wasn’t too busy. She just saved the chance of watching the game for the person she actually wanted to be with. Fine. I’m out of this marriage.

Chloe was a die-hard soccer fan. Her ultimate dream was to watch the World Cup live. To get the tickets, I stayed up for three straight nights refreshing the ticketing website. The moment I got them, I was too excited to sleep. Because that day was not just the match, but also our fifth wedding anniversary. I had even planned to give her the anniversary gift right outside the stadium after the final whistle. Before leaving, I purposely asked her, “Can you clear your schedule for the next few days?” Chloe didn’t even look up from her laptop. She frowned at her screen and said, “The project is in its final stage. I have to work overtime all week. I won’t even have time to check my phone. Can you stop annoying me?” I quietly put the tickets back into my pocket. In the end, I flew to the game alone. After finding my seat, I took a picture of the empty seat next to me and sent it to her. That seat was supposed to be hers. Ten minutes later, she replied with just one cold line. [Busy. Stop texting me.] I stared at the cold words on the screen and let out a bitter laugh. During the intense game, Holan made a powerful shot. The ball went off target, flying straight toward the front-row VIP seats. The crowd gasped. A man caught the ball in his arms. The broadcast director instantly switched the live feed to the giant screen in the center of the stadium. Tens of thousands of fans cheered, and the camera locked onto the lucky couple. The woman was wearing a brand-new Argentina jersey, with blue and white flag paint on her cheeks. Realizing they were on the big screen, the two kissed passionately. The stadium erupted into deafening cheers. I was sitting in the back row, less than twenty yards away from them. My breathing stopped. That man was Chloe’s first love, Julian. He was a soccer fan too. To make sure her first love didn’t have any regrets, she lied to me on our fifth anniversary. I didn’t run down like a madman to confront them. Instead, I took out my phone, started screen recording, and saved the live broadcast. Then, I opened the reservation app and canceled the expensive anniversary dinner I had booked. After doing all this, I turned around and walked out of the noisy stadium. It was already 1:00 AM when I got home. The door clicked, and Chloe walked in, humming a song. She was holding a gift box. Inside was a rare, limited-edition jersey Julian had given her. Seeing me sitting on the couch, the smile on her face vanished. “Didn’t I tell you I was exhausted from working overtime? Why are you sitting here in the dark? You scared me.” She changed her shoes and threw the gift box onto the table, clearly showing it off. “Why can’t you be romantic like other guys?” “I’ve been working my ass off at the office, and you don’t even ask how I am. You just sit here with a resting bitch face.” She poured a glass of water, her voice full of impatience. I looked at her self-righteous face and pulled a folder from under the table. “So your idea of ‘working overtime’ is sitting in a front-row VIP seat with your ex?” Chloe’s hand trembled, spilling water onto the floor. “You… did you stalk me?” I didn’t want to argue. I pushed the folder in front of her. “Chloe, here is your fifth-anniversary gift.” The words printed at the top of the page read: Divorce Agreement. Chloe stared at the words, her face turning pale instantly. “Are you crazy? You want a divorce just because I went to a game?” “Julian just got back to the country. He has no one here. What’s wrong with me keeping an old friend company?” I threw my phone over. The screen was playing the live broadcast of her snuggling in Julian’s arms and kissing him. “Does an old friend require you to lie to your husband about working overtime?” “Does an old friend require you to make out in front of millions of viewers?” Chloe went dead silent, her lips trembling. “I… that was just for the Kiss Cam! I was too excited and did something stupid!” She reached out frantically to grab my hand. I stepped back to avoid her and threw a pen at her feet. “Sign it. We’re going to City Hall tomorrow morning.” “I’m not signing! I will never sign!” Chloe’s eyes welled up with tears, her voice cracking. “Five years of marriage! You’re really throwing it away over this?” “I didn’t throw it away. You did.” I stood up, grabbed my pre-packed suitcase, and walked straight out the door. Behind me, I heard the sound of the gift box being slammed onto the floor, followed by Chloe’s hysterical crying. But none of it had anything to do with me anymore.

Just as my hand touched the doorknob, Chloe grabbed my suitcase from behind. “It’s just a game! Why are you making such a big deal out of this?” “Julian and I have history. Can’t you be a man and be a little more open-minded?” She snatched my backpack from the entryway table and pulled out the ticket stub inside. Seeing the seat number, she let out a mocking laugh. “This is the surprise you talked about?” “You couldn’t even afford a VIP seat. You wanted me to sit in these cheap, crowded seats?” “Julian got front-row seats easily. You couldn’t even give me a decent experience, and now you’re blaming me?” She ripped the ticket into pieces. “Your cheap romance only embarrasses me!” I shook her hand off and walked out without looking back. The next afternoon, Chloe sent me a text. She said her parents were at our house and demanded I come back to explain myself. When I pushed the door open, Chloe’s family of three was sitting in the living room. My mother-in-law, Helen, had a stern face and started scolding me immediately. “Couples fight, but you are being way too possessive.” “Chloe just went to a game with a friend. You making a scene about divorce will only make us a laughingstock.” My father-in-law, Richard, slammed his teacup onto the table. “Go apologize to Julian, and we’ll forget this ever happened.” I laughed out of sheer anger and pointed at myself. “My wife kissed her ex in front of millions of people, and you want me to apologize?” Richard stood up abruptly, pointing his finger at my face. “Julian has a weak heart! His emotions can’t handle stress!” “If anything happens to him because of your drama, can you even take responsibility?!” Chloe walked over and held Richard’s arm. “Dad, don’t get angry. Let me talk to him.” She turned to me, her tone incredibly casual. “Julian just got back to the country and hasn’t found a place to stay yet.” “Since you want a separation anyway, clear out of the master bedroom and let him move in for a few days.” “I don’t feel comfortable leaving him alone in a hotel.” I stared at this absurd family, pulled out my phone, and turned the volume to the max. Chloe’s voice echoed in the living room: “He’s actually my first love. I lied to my husband about working overtime.” Richard and Helen’s faces turned incredibly ugly. Chloe screamed and lunged forward to grab my phone. “Go ahead and delete it. It’s backed up on iCloud,” I said coldly. Chloe’s hand froze in mid-air, and she slammed the phone onto the couch in frustration. “If you were there, why didn’t you warn me? You did this on purpose to humiliate me!” At that moment, I saw this woman for who she truly was. She didn’t think she did anything wrong. She only hated me for not helping her cover up her affair. I bent down, picked up the divorce papers from the table, and put them back in the folder. “Tomorrow morning at nine. I’ll see you at City Hall.” “Don’t be late. We are getting a divorce.”

The next morning at nine. My phone buzzed. Chloe sent a photo of Julian lying in a hospital bed with an IV in his hand. “Julian had a relapse because of the video you played last night. I have to stay at the hospital.” “Postpone the divorce. Don’t be so heartless.” I grabbed her ID card she had left at home and went straight to the hospital. As I approached the room, I heard Julian’s playful laugh through the gap in the door. “Chloe, you just made up an illness, and Logan actually believed it?” Chloe’s voice sounded playful. “Shh, keep it down. I need to keep that idiot calm first.” “If we really divorce, I can’t let him keep the downtown apartment and our savings.” I stood outside, listened to the whole thing, and walked away. I went straight back to our apartment. At 3:00 PM, the front door was kicked open. Chloe rushed into the study, pulling open every drawer and throwing files all over the floor. She gripped the house deed, her face dark with anger. “Why is this deed only in your name? Why didn’t you add me after we got married?” She slammed the deed onto the desk, demanding an explanation. “We are married! What’s yours is mine! You need to add my name to the deed right now!” “Also, Julian quit his job to be with me. You have to hire him at your company.” I sat in my chair, looking at her coldly. “Do you think that’s even possible?” Chloe pulled out her phone and threatened me with her Snapchat family group. “If you don’t agree, I’ll post in the group chat that you emotionally abused me and drove me to depression!” “I’ll make sure your parents can never show their faces around our relatives again!” I picked up my iPad and opened the living room security camera app. “Go ahead. For every text you send, I will post a high-definition clip of this security footage to your company’s Slack group.” The arrogance on Chloe’s face instantly froze. She quickly changed her expression to a victim’s face, her eyes turning red as she reached for my arm. “Logan, I was just stressed. Julian is just an outsider. You are my husband, the only one I love!” I opened my phone and played the World Cup clip right in front of her face. “He’s actually my first love. I lied to my husband…” Chloe’s face turned paper-white. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t squeeze out a single word of defense. I grabbed her wrist, dragged her to the front door, and pushed her out. Then, right in front of her, I deleted her fingerprint access. I slammed the heavy door shut. From outside, I could hear Chloe frantically banging on the door, crying and begging. I walked back to the living room and threw her trash into the bin. I would never believe a single word out of that woman’s mouth again.

I submitted a transfer request to my company’s out-of-town branch. I packed up all the cheap gifts Chloe had given me over the years and mailed them back to her. The next second, Chloe’s Instagram was updated. The picture was a close-up of Julian’s hand with an IV. “Five years of love ruined by baseless jealousy. I am losing my mind. Does a married woman have no right to have friends?” Underneath, comments from her relatives and friends started piling up. They were all calling me heartless, petty, and toxic. I opened our family group chat on Snapchat. Without saying a word, I sent three video files. They were all proof of Chloe and Julian’s affair. The relatives who were just bashing me in the comments went dead silent. In less than thirty seconds, Helen sent me a direct message. “How can you be so immature? Delete those videos right now!” “Don’t wash your dirty laundry in public! Do you want Chloe to never show her face in front of her relatives again?” “Go apologize to Chloe, and we will let this go!” I typed back: “Chloe did those things herself. I didn’t make her do them.” After sending it, I blocked her and left the group chat. The night before I left the city, I went to a hotel to pick up some luggage I had stored there. The elevator doors opened on the third-floor banquet hall. The first thing I saw was Chloe holding Julian’s arm, walking in happily. She was wearing a custom-made designer gown. It was the anniversary gift I had spent three months of my salary on. The guests raised their glasses to congratulate them. Chloe laughed happily. “After all these years, I’m finally back with the man I was meant to marry.” “My past marriage was just a nightmare. Now that I’m awake, I deserve to be happy.” The guests cheered, and Julian leaned in to kiss her cheek. I stood at the end of the hallway, watching this farce coldly. I pulled out my phone and messaged Marcus, the hotel manager, on WhatsApp. “Marcus, is the special gift ready?” “When they cut the cake, play it on the big screen at max volume.” After sending it, I grabbed my suitcase and walked into the down-bound elevator. Enjoy my gift, Chloe.

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When my daughter jumped from the eighteenth floor, she was still clutching a silver necklace tightly in her hand. Until her very last breath, she was waiting for her father to save her. But Harvey, the famous, high-profile defense attorney, didn’t fight for her. When she was being assaulted, he declined her FaceTime calls. And when I went to the police, he accused me and our daughter of being dramatic liars. Then, the horrific leaked videos of the assault went viral on TikTok and Snapchat. The cyberbullying pushed her over the edge. She cried and asked me, “Mom, does Dad not love me anymore?” I couldn’t answer her. She didn’t know that her father had checked out of our marriage long ago for a younger woman. But I was done trying to save a toxic marriage. My only goal now was to drag everyone who hurt my baby girl straight to hell. My daughter, Olivia, was in the ER. When the doctor handed me the medical report, his voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper. “She has been severely assaulted. She needs immediate physical and psychiatric care.” In that second, my brain went completely numb. The world around me faded into a dull buzz. In the hospital room, Olivia was curled up in the corner of the bed. She was shivering under the thin blanket. Her exposed wrists and neck were covered in dark purple bruises. Every time a footstep echoed in the hallway, she flinched violently, her eyes filled with pure terror. The rage inside my chest boiled over. I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned and ran out of the hospital. Thirty minutes later, I slammed open the doors of Harvey’s law firm. He was in the middle of a partners’ meeting. Every eye in the conference room locked onto me. Harvey put down his fountain pen, his brows furrowing into a deep, irritated scowl. “Sarah, whatever this is, we’ll talk about it at home.” I ignored the stares of his colleagues and walked straight up to him. “Olivia called you last night. Multiple times.” “Why didn’t you pick up?” The room fell dead silent. Harvey waved his hand, signaling his team to leave the room. The moment the heavy glass door clicked shut, his voice dropped. “Are you seriously doing this right now?” “This is my firm, Sarah. Not a place for you to throw tantrums.” I stared into his cold eyes, speaking through my teeth. “Answer me.” “When Olivia called you last night, screaming for help, why did you decline her call?” Harvey’s remaining patience completely evaporated. “I was working on a multi-million dollar merger.” “You stormed into my office just because of a missed call?” I let out a dry, bitter laugh, my eyes burning with tears. “She was attacked last night, Harvey.” “She called you because she was begging her father to save her.” “Did you even care?” His expression froze for a fraction of a second, but he quickly regained his icy composure. “Did you call the police?” I stared at him, stunned. He continued smoothly, “If a crime was committed, let the police handle it. Coming to my office and screaming at me serves absolutely no purpose.” I grabbed his expensive collar, my tears finally spilling over. “She is your daughter!” “When she was at her absolute worst, you were the first person she thought of!” “And you couldn’t even bother to slide to answer!” Harvey calmly but firmly pushed my hands away, his voice turning freezing cold. “Sarah, pull yourself together.” “Adults solve problems with legal procedures, not emotions.” “Now, stop disrupting my work.” Those cold, clinical words completely extinguished the last spark of hope in my heart. Years ago, to help me win a lawsuit, he had changed his entire career path and went to law school. Back then, he swore he would never let anyone hurt me again. But now, when his own daughter needed his protection, he couldn’t even spare a single word of comfort. Harvey checked his Rolex. “If that’s all, I have a client waiting.” I looked at this man—someone who used to be my husband but now felt like a total stranger. Suddenly, I had nothing left to say. I turned and walked away. … It was evening by the time I got back to the hospital. The second I pushed the door open, Olivia startled awake from her nightmare. She looked at the doorway in absolute horror, her body tense and ready to hide. Only when she realized it was me did she slowly relax. In the next second, she threw herself into my arms, sobbing so hard her entire body shook. “Mom…” “I can’t sleep.” “Every time I close my eyes, I see their faces.” I held her tight, my own tears soaking her hospital gown. “It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s here.” “Nobody is ever going to hurt you again.” But as soon as the words left my mouth, she screamed as if she had been shocked. “No!” “They will!” She scrambled back to the corner of the bed, covering her ears. “They said… they said they wouldn’t let me go…” “There were so many of them…” “Mom, you can’t beat them. They have too much power.” I pulled her back into my arms, gently stroking her back until her shaking slowly subsided. After a long silence, she reached out and took my hand. “Mom.” “Please don’t tell Dad.” I froze. “Why?” She kept her head down, her voice barely a whisper. “I don’t want him to think… I’m a bad girl.” Her words felt like a physical knife twisting in my chest. To Olivia, Harvey had always been the perfect, heroic father. She studied day and night, pushing herself to the limit just to get a single nod of approval from him. But even now, when she needed him most, her hero was nowhere to be found. I held her close and didn’t have the heart to tell her that her father had ignored her desperate calls all night. Once Olivia fell back asleep under the sedatives, I quietly left the room and drove to the police station. I didn’t care if Harvey believed us or not. I was going to get justice.

The detective assigned to the case was incredibly sympathetic. “The attacker tried to silence her, and she had to jump from a low balcony to escape them,” he explained. “When our patrol unit found her, she was badly bruised and disoriented.” “But she was clutching this necklace so tightly. She kept repeating that she bought it for her dad.” “She’s such a bright, sweet girl. It’s a tragedy.” “But don’t worry, we are going to do everything we can to put this monster behind bars.” To move the investigation forward, the detective asked me to identify some personal items recovered from the scene. The moment he pulled them out, I lost it. Beneath a pile of torn, stained clothes lay a small, delicate silver necklace. Olivia had worked part-time at a local coffee shop all summer to save up and buy that for Harvey’s birthday last year. But when she proudly presented it to him, he had scoffed, calling it “cheap junk” and telling her she was wasting her time instead of focusing on her SATs. Since that day, Olivia had worked twice as hard, determined to get into his alma mater, Harvard. Two days ago, she received her Harvard acceptance letter. She had been so excited to go to his office to surprise him. Instead, she was dragged into hell. I pressed the cold necklace against my chest. The tears I had been holding back for days finally washed over me. For the next few days, I stayed by her side. With the help of a trauma therapist, she stopped talking about wanting to end her life. She even forced a small smile to comfort me. “Dad is a brilliant lawyer, Mom. I have to be strong. I can’t make him look bad.” But her brilliant lawyer father hadn’t visited her once. Olivia didn’t say it out loud, but I saw the way she stared at the door. I couldn’t stand seeing her heart break. So, I called Harvey repeatedly until he finally agreed to stop by. Knowing he was coming, Olivia specifically wore a long-sleeved shirt to cover her bruises. But we waited from sunrise to sunset. When Harvey finally showed up, he looked completely annoyed. He was on his phone, frowning at me as he walked in. “My firm just took on a massive federal case. Make this quick.” Olivia eagerly reached for her backpack to pull out her Harvard acceptance letter. But before she could, Harvey turned to his young legal assistant, Sienna, who had followed him into the room. “Did we secure the CCTV footage of the street yet?” Harvey asked her. “Time is money. We can’t waste a single second.” The smile on Olivia’s face froze, but she still gathered her courage and spoke up. “Dad… I got into Harvard.” Harvey didn’t even look at her. He just kept discussing his case with Sienna. “Don’t worry about it too much, Sienna. Since the kid is your relative, I’ll handle the defense personally,” Harvey said. “Besides, I absolutely despise those cheap, trashy girls who party hard and then cry foul when things go wrong.” The color completely drained from Olivia’s face. She began desperately rubbing her sleeves over her hidden scars, her forced smile looking more painful than a sob. My chest tightened. Just as I was about to step in and shut him down, there was a knock on the door. Sienna checked her phone, looking frantic. “Harvey, my cousin—the boy I told you about—is outside. He’s terrified.” “He’s just a sweet boy from a small town. He came to the city and got scammed and set up.” “Please come talk to him. He’s so fragile, I’m terrified he might do something reckless to himself…” Hearing this, Harvey immediately turned on his heel, completely ignoring Olivia, and walked out the door. I rushed to Olivia’s side to comfort her, but before I could touch her, she started shaking violently. “Mom…” Olivia’s teeth chattered. “That boy… the one outside with Sienna…” “He was the one who attacked me.” “What?!” I stood up, my blood running hot. But Olivia grabbed my hand with terrifying strength.

Even in the middle of summer, her hands felt like ice. Every word she spoke was laced with a deep, paralyzing dread. “Why is Dad defending a monster like him?” “Does Dad hate me that much? Does he not want me to be his daughter anymore?” “I’m dirty, aren’t I? I disappointed him… Dad doesn’t want me…” “No, baby, no!” I shook my head, desperately trying to pull her out of her panic attack. But she was completely triggered, repeating the same words like a broken record. “Dad doesn’t want me.” “Dad hates me…” I had no choice. I ran out into the hallway to catch Harvey and tell him the sickening truth. But when I explained what Olivia had just said, Harvey snatched his hand away with utter disgust. “Sarah, do you ever think before you lie?” “Olivia is my daughter. In this city, with my reputation, who would dare touch her?” “If she didn’t get the grades she wanted and is throwing a fit, she can just tell me. There is absolutely no need to invent a disgusting lie like this just to get my attention!” I froze, staring at him in utter disbelief. “She is your flesh and blood! You would believe a complete stranger’s sob story over your own daughter?” Harvey sneered. “I am a defense attorney, Sarah. I deal in hard evidence.” “If she can’t produce solid, undeniable proof, then she can stop pretending to be my daughter. I don’t raise liars.” “Dad…” A soft, fragile voice came from behind us. Olivia was standing there, swallowed up by her oversized hospital gown. Her trembling hands were still clutching her Harvard acceptance letter. “I didn’t lie… I really got in…” But before she could finish, Harvey’s phone rang. He looked at the caller ID, and without a second thought, answered it. His voice instantly softened into a gentle tone. “Sienna, hey, calm down. I’m coming right now.” “I’m here. You don’t have to worry about a thing.” The last spark of light in Olivia’s eyes died. The acceptance letter slipped from her fingers, fluttering down to the dirty hospital floor. She looked like an old, broken woman as she slowly turned back, her shoulders slumped, dragging her feet. “I get it now,” she whispered to herself. “Dad just… hates me.” My heart shattered into a million pieces. I lunged at Harvey, grabbing his jacket, screaming at him to go back and apologize to our daughter. But he just looked at me with deep annoyance. “Sarah, cut the drama, will you?” Harvey pulled out his phone and tapped on a video. “I already had my investigator check the security cameras around our house.” “Olivia was inside the house all night. She didn’t even step outside.” “How could she have been attacked if she never left the house?” “I know you hate how close I am with Sienna, but you don’t have to poison our daughter’s mind to frame an innocent kid!” A high-profile lawyer like him knew damn well that digital video could be edited and forged. Yet Harvey, who prided himself on being objective and meticulous, had lost all his brain cells the moment Sienna was involved. I looked at him, feeling a profound, heavy emptiness. “Harvey, when we got married, you swore to me.” “You said no matter what happened, you would always believe me. You said we would face the world together.” “Look at you now. What are you doing?” Harvey laughed, a sound dripping with contempt. “Look at yourself, Sarah. Are you even the same woman I married?” “You spend all day being paranoid and jealous, and now you’ve raised our daughter to be a manipulative liar!” Olivia was a good girl. She was my absolute pride. Years ago, when Harvey first started his firm, his arrogant attitude pissed off some dangerous people, and he was almost blacklisted from the state bar. I was the one who carried Olivia in my arms, knocking on every partner’s door to apologize and beg for him.

Back then, Olivia couldn’t even speak full sentences. But she would look at those powerful men and babble, “Daddy is good. Please don’t hurt Daddy.” Her innocent face had bought Harvey a second chance at his career. And now, when she was the one begging for a lifeline, he was stomping on her hand. “Whatever,” Harvey sighed, looking at my tear-stained face. “I know raising her hasn’t been easy for you.” “Go back and tell Olivia that it’s fine if her grades aren’t perfect, but she needs to keep her morals straight.” “I don’t expect her to take over my firm, but I won’t let her make me the laughingstock of the legal community.” “A top attorney like me cannot have a daughter who lies about being assaulted.” No investigation. No forensic tests. Just because of a few words from Sienna, he had declared his own daughter guilty. Before I could even process the pain, my phone buzzed frantically with a dozen notifications. It was the head nurse from the hospital. “Sarah, you need to get back to the psychiatric ward right now!” “Someone just leaked a highly graphic video of Olivia on Snapchat and TikTok. Olivia saw it and is completely hysterical!” “She’s hurting herself! We can’t hold her down!” My hands shook so violently I could barely hold the phone. The video was slightly pixelated, but anyone who knew Olivia could tell it was her. The comment section was filled with disgusting, vile messages from her classmates: “Omg, isn’t this the quiet girl from AP Lit? She acted so innocent, but look at her go.” “If I were her, I’d literally jump off a bridge. How embarrassing for her parents.” “I have the full unblurred link. $5 on Venmo, DM me.” Every single word felt like a physical blow to my skull. I forwarded the link to Harvey, my fingers trembling on the screen. “Sue the poster! They are destroying Olivia! Do something!” This time, Harvey replied instantly. But it was only two words: “Too busy.” Right. I forgot. Harvey was too busy saving the actual rapist. Why would he care if his daughter lived or died? Tears dripped onto my screen, blurring my vision. I quickly called a few of my old friends from college who worked in PR and media, begging them to help me get the videos taken down. Not even ten minutes later, Harvey called me back, his voice booming with fury. “Sarah! Why are you telling people that Sienna set Olivia up?” “Do you have any idea what kind of damage a smear campaign like that does to a young girl’s career?” “Get over to the office and apologize to Sienna right now. Publicly admit you lied. I will not let you ruin Sienna’s future!” His blind defense of that girl made me lose my mind. I screamed into the phone. “What about Olivia’s future?! What about her life?!” “The boy who did this is Sienna’s cousin! You are defending a monster and gaslighting your own daughter! Are you even human, Harvey?!” Harvey choked on his words for a second. Then, he spat out, “You’re delusional,” and hung up. Back in the room, Olivia was curled under the bed, shaking as she listened to my muffled screams. When I crawled under to hold her, she slowly looked up. “Mom… does Dad really hate me?” I wanted to lie. I wanted to protect her. But the brutal truth was staring us in the face. I couldn’t make excuses for Harvey anymore. The light in Olivia’s eyes completely vanished. For the next week, her mental state deteriorated rapidly. She was terrified of every shadow, staying awake for days. But sometimes, she would hold my hand and whisper, “I’ll stay strong for you, Mom. I’ll live.”

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The campus golden boy started a vicious rumor about me. He claimed he saw me sneaking out of the men’s dormitory in the middle of the night, my dress wrinkled like a discarded tissue. I was furious enough to call the police on the spot, but suddenly, lines of glowing text floated across my vision. [Do not clarify! Whatever you do, do not explain yourself!] [If she defends herself, the male lead walks away spotless, and the female side character takes the fall and gets expelled!] I let out a cold laugh. Fine. They want to play games? The very next day, when the entire campus was buzzing with the rumor that I was sleeping with the Student Body President, I stood in front of a crowd and nodded. “Yes, I admit it.” “I am pregnant, and the baby might be his.” “Hello, 911? I suspect I was drugged, and I have about three hundred witnesses right here.” 1 I was cornered at the entrance of the dining hall, still holding the five dollar combo meal I had just fought tooth and nail for. General Tso’s chicken and roasted eggplant. There were only three pieces of chicken, but I was already incredibly satisfied. The cafeteria lady had been unusually generous today, scooping extra sauce onto my rice like she had just cured her arthritis. I was just about to find a quiet corner to devour my food. A plastic cup of boba tea slammed into the ground right next to my sneakers. The sticky brown liquid splattered all over the leg of my jeans. I looked up. The golden boy of the Finance Department, the Student Body President, the guy every girl on campus referred to as a god. Jace. He was standing right in front of me. A whole entourage trailed behind him. Guys and girls. The most conspicuous one was a girl wearing a pristine white dress, her eyes red and puffy, looking like the entire world had just bullied her. Her name was Lily. She was the undisputed sweetheart of our major. She was beautiful, had a sweet voice, came from money, and got straight As. If she tripped and fell, someone would probably write a poetic aesthetic post about her fragile vulnerability. Jace stared at me, his face completely frozen. “Riley, how much longer are you going to keep up this act?” I stared at him in confusion. I looked down at my chicken and rice. Then I looked at the sticky boba dripping down my jeans. “You better give me a very logical explanation.” “Otherwise, either you or this cup of boba is going straight through that wall today.” The crowd around us instantly fell dead silent. Jace furrowed his brows, his tone dropping to subzero. “You really do not know what you did?” A girl with a sharp bob haircut standing next to him immediately chimed in. “Riley, you are such a good actor! The whole school knows! You were caught sneaking out of the men’s dorm building last night looking completely disheveled, and the dorm supervisor caught you red handed!” Another guy sneered. “Word is she came straight out of Jace’s room.” “Tsk. She always acts so high and mighty, but behind closed doors, she is wild.” My brain buzzed with static. Disheveled? The men’s dorm? Jace’s room? I was at the library last night rushing a group project until one in the morning. When I finally dragged myself back to my room, I even sent a voice memo to my dorm group chat. “If anyone ever tells me college is easy again, I am going to staple this syllabus to their forehead.” My three roommates had all replied with a synchronized wall of laughing emojis. A laugh bubbled up in my throat out of pure anger. “Who said that?” The girl with the bob rolled her eyes. “Are you trying to pick a fight? Everyone saw it!” I locked eyes with Jace. “Did you see it too?” Jace’s eyes flickered away. He stayed silent. Lily gently tugged at his sleeve, her voice soft and trembling. “Let it go, Jace. Please do not make a scene. Riley probably… she probably has her own difficulties.” I shifted my gaze to her. “What did you just call me?” Lily shrank back under my stare, her eyes growing even redder. “Riley, I just wanted to help you.” “Please do not look at me like that. You are scaring me.” The people around her immediately rushed to her defense. “Do not be scared, Lily. She is just guilty.” “Exactly. She did the crime but cannot face the time.” “She is always like this. Thinks she can just hook up with whoever she wants just because she has a pretty face.” I gripped my plastic food container tightly. Great. My food could get cold. But I was not going to cool down. I was just about to open my mouth when a line of glowing golden text drifted across my line of sight. [Here it comes! The iconic scene! The vicious side character gets publicly judged by the whole school!] I froze. A split second later, the floating text flooded my vision like a broken dam. [Run, Riley! Explaining won’t do anything!] [Do not clarify! Whatever you do, do not explain yourself!] [If she defends herself, Lily is going to cry, Jace is going to protect her, and then everyone will just think Riley is making excuses!] [In the original plot, this is exactly when she breaks down and curses at Lily. Someone records it, edits the video, and after three days of cyberbullying, she jumps off a building!] I was speechless. I looked down at my combo meal. Then I looked at Jace. And finally at Lily. Jump off a building? Who? Me? My name is Riley. I am eighteen years old, a freshman pre law student, and my ultimate goal in life is to land a secure state job and collect a fat pension until I am a hundred years old. And I am supposed to jump off a building for these absolute lunatics? Do they think they are worth it? Seeing my silence, Jace assumed I was feeling guilty. His tone softened just a fraction. “Riley, as long as you apologize to Lily right here in front of everyone, I can make this whole thing go away.” I was even more baffled now. “Why on earth would I apologize to her?” The girl with the bob flared up. “Stop playing dumb! You know Lily likes Jace, and you still went to his room in the middle of the night!” I looked straight at Jace. “Do you like her?” The tips of Jace’s ears turned slightly red, and he subconsciously glanced at Lily. Lily lowered her head, her long eyelashes fluttering delicately. The floating text went wild. [Ahhhh! The main couple is so sweet!] [The way Jace looks at Lily is everything!] [Get Riley out of here! Stop blocking the romance!] [Stop hating on her! Riley is actually innocent, she never even went to the dorms.] My eyes turned to ice. “So, no one actually has any proof, right?” The crowd choked on their words. Jace frowned. “The dorm supervisor saw you.” “Which dorm supervisor?” “Mrs. Higgins from Alpha Hall.” “What time?” “Half past midnight.” “And exactly how disheveled was I?” “Riley!” Jace’s voice dropped into a warning growl. “Do you really have to make this sound so vulgar?” I smiled. “You guys had no problem being vulgar when you were spreading rumors about my sex life.” Lily spoke up, her voice dripping with gentle concern. “Riley, everyone is just worried you are going down the wrong path. As a girl, you really need to have some self respect.” I almost crushed my plastic food container. Self respect? To save money, I only ever ordered the cheapest dollar drinks from the campus café. My daily routine was a strict triangle between the library, the dining hall, and my dorm. My reputation was cleaner than a freshly wiped whiteboard. And she was telling me to have self respect? The text floated by again. [Do not act reckless! Do not yell at her! Lily has the protagonist halo. If you insult her once, the whole school will hate you for a decade!] [Hold it in! Please do not clarify!] [Listen to the chat, girl, I am begging you!] I took a deep, steadying breath. Fine. I won’t clarify. I shoved my combo meal into the hands of a random student standing next to me. “Hold this for a second. Do not eat it. I counted. There are exactly three pieces of chicken.” The student took it, looking completely bewildered. I pulled out my phone, opened the camera, and pointed it right at Jace. “Alright, let us get this on the record.” “You are saying I came out of your room last night?” Jace’s face darkened. “I did not say that. That is what everyone is saying.” “Who is everyone?” Nobody made a sound. I nodded slowly. “Let me rephrase the question then.” “If I truly walked out of your room at half past midnight looking completely disheveled, what exactly is our relationship?” The entire crowd inhaled sharply. Jace snapped. “Riley!” I stared him down, enunciating every single word. “Answer the question.” “Did I climb into your bed willingly, or did you force me?” 2 The entrance to the dining hall exploded into chaos. “Oh my god!” “Can she even say that out loud?” “She has completely lost her mind!” Lily’s face drained of color. She frantically tugged on Jace’s arm. “Jace, explain it to them!” Jace’s face was livid. “Riley, stop twisting the narrative.” I smiled. “How am I twisting anything?” “Didn’t all of you just accuse me of walking out of his room looking disheveled?” “A female student leaving a male dormitory in the middle of the night with messed up clothes. There has to be a legal definition for that, right?” I held my phone higher, projecting my voice so the back row could hear. “If I was willing, you call me a slut with no self respect.” “If I was not willing, it is a felony.” “Mr. President, pick a lane.” The veins on Jace’s forehead were practically throbbing. Lily’s eyes filled with pristine tears. “Riley, how could you do this? Jace is a victim here too. You are just dragging him down with you.” I turned my lens to her. “Then who is not a victim here?” “Me?” Daniela, the girl with the bob, lunged forward trying to snatch my phone. “Stop recording! You are violating our privacy!” I dodged backward smoothly. “We are in a public space. When you were crowding around me spreading rumors about my body, you didn’t care much about privacy.” “Now you want to give me a lecture on civil rights?” The floating text cheered. [Hahahaha she is so bold!] [Oh no, the plot is broken. The original text said she was supposed to cry and beg here.] [Do not explain, just keep going feral! Entering her villain era! We love to see it!] I scoffed internally. Going feral? This is just the warmup for a defamation lawsuit. Before long, an academic advisor was called to the scene. Our advisor’s name was Liam Sinclair. He was twenty seven, finishing his PhD, and possessed the exact aesthetic of a morally gray villain in a dark academia novel. He wore silver rimmed glasses, and his dress shirts were always buttoned rigidly to the very top. On the first day of orientation, he had told our class: “If you have a problem, come find me. If you do not have a problem, pretend I do not exist. I am very busy.” The entire class had been stunned into silence. But he was incredibly efficient. Scholarships, financial aid, excused absences. He processed them instantly, without ever making us jump through hoops. I actually had a pretty decent impression of him. At the very least, he was miles better than the circus currently standing in front of me. By the time Professor Sinclair arrived, the kind student holding my food was starting to look like his arms were falling asleep. Sinclair scanned the crowd, his sharp gaze landing directly on the brown stain on my jeans. “Who did that?” The crowd went dead silent. I pointed directly at Daniela. “She did.” Daniela panicked. “It was an accident!” Sinclair’s voice was flat. “Apologize and pay for the dry cleaning.” Daniela’s face flushed bright red. “Why should I? We are talking about Riley sneaking into the men’s dorm!” Sinclair looked at her coldly. “Are those two things mutually exclusive?” “You ruined her property, so you apologize and pay up.” “As for whether she went into the dorm, I will check the security footage.” I practically wanted to give him a standing ovation. Even the floating text seemed stunned. [What is up with this advisor? In the original plot, didn’t he just sweep this under the rug?] [Must be the butterfly effect.] [Professor Sinclair is so handsome! Finally, a teacher with actual common sense!] Feeling suffocated, Daniela turned to me. “Sorry.” I did not blink. “Cannot hear you.” She gritted her teeth. “I am sorry!” “Pay up.” “How much?” I glanced down at my leg. “The jeans were forty five dollars. If the stain does not come out, you are buying me a new pair. The boba was five dollars, and based on the splatter, it looks like a half sugar, light ice pearl milk tea. I will calculate the emotional damage later.” Daniela looked like she was about to burst into tears from pure anger. “You are robbing me!” My face was stone. “Did you offer a discount when you were robbing me of my reputation?” Sinclair let out a faint, quickly suppressed cough. Then he turned his attention to Jace. “You are claiming Riley left your room last night?” Jace stayed quiet for a few agonizing seconds. “I didn’t see it with my own eyes.” Sinclair pressed on. “Who did?” The group exchanged nervous glances. Finally, a guy in the back raised his hand hesitantly. “I heard it from Carter.” Carter immediately waved his hands defensively. “I just heard it from the guys in Alpha Hall.” Someone from the Alpha Hall group chimed in. “It was the dorm supervisor. She is the one who said it.” Sinclair pulled out his phone and made a call right there on speaker. “Mrs. Higgins, last night at half past midnight, did you catch a female student leaving Alpha Hall?” Everyone held their breath. Mrs. Higgins’ booming voice echoed through the speaker. “Absolutely not! The power grid tripped at exactly half past midnight. I was stuck in the utility room with the electrician trying to fix the breaker. When would I have time to go hunting for girls?” “Who is spreading this garbage? Sounds like a nasty rumor to me!” The air died for three solid seconds. I heard the floating text screaming. [Ahhhhh they found out!] [Do not celebrate yet! The original plot has a scapegoat!] [Lily is starting to panic!] I looked at Lily. Her face was indeed terrifyingly pale. Jace looked completely shell shocked. Sinclair hung up the phone, his tone returning to an icy calm. “I will be pulling the security footage myself.” “Every single person who participated in spreading this rumor will report to the department conference room at 2:00 PM today to provide a full statement.” “Whoever started this will be held responsible.” Jace instinctively stepped forward. “Professor Sinclair, this whole thing might just be a massive misunderstanding. There is no need to escalate it.” I laughed out loud. “Didn’t the President just demand I apologize to Lily?” “How come the second you realize the rumor is fake, it magically becomes a misunderstanding?” “You had no problem dumping this misunderstanding on my head. Why not dump it on hers?” Lily bit her lip, looking devastatingly fragile. “Riley, I truly did not mean any harm…” I cut her off sharply. “Do not call me by my first name like we are friends.” “We are not close.” Tears immediately spilled down her cheeks. “I was just worried about you.” I nodded. “Thank you. I am worried about you too.” I turned my attention back to Sinclair. “Professor, Lily just told me that girls need to have self respect.” “I highly suspect she has inside knowledge regarding this incident. I recommend she be included in the formal investigation.” Lily gasped. The floating text was laughing hysterically. [Hahahaha the counter kill!] [The white lotus act is not working anymore!] [Riley knows exactly how to drag people down with her!] Sinclair actually nodded. “Agreed.” Lily’s tears flowed even faster now. “Professor Sinclair, I swear I do not know anything. I only heard about it from someone else…” “From who?” “I…” She subconsciously looked toward Jace. Jace immediately stepped in front of her like a shield. “I told her.” I raised an eyebrow. Jace gritted his teeth. “But I heard it from someone else too.” Sinclair’s expression was unreadable. “Perfect.” “Both of you, 2:00 PM.” He finished his sentence and looked at me. “You too.” I pointed at my container. “Can I eat my lunch first?” Sinclair stared at me in silence. He glanced over at the student who was still holding my food. The student immediately offered it back to me, looking as solemn as if he were handing over the crown jewels. “Here you go. Did not touch a single bite. All three pieces of chicken are safe.” I was so moved I almost shed a tear. “You are a good person. Thank you.” 3 At 2:00 PM sharp, the department conference room was packed. I took a seat on the far left. Jace, Lily, Daniela, Carter, and the rest of the peanut gallery who had been cheering them on were clustered on the right. Professor Sinclair sat at the head of the table. Next to him was Dean Harris, looking like a thundercloud. Everyone in the department knew Dean Harris loved to sweep scandals under the rug. True to form, his opening sentence was entirely predictable. “Now, students, this whole ordeal looks very bad for our program.” “Especially you, Riley. You need to be mindful of how you handle yourself. Shouting about felonies in the middle of a crowded dining hall. Do you know how bad that sounds to outsiders?” I stared right back. “Oh, so spreading rumors about my sex life sounds good to outsiders?” Dean Harris choked on his next word. Sinclair placed a stack of printed documents onto the polished wood table. “I reviewed the footage.” “From 11:40 PM to 1:00 AM last night, Riley was seated in the study lounge on the fourth floor of the library.” “At 1:08 AM, she swiped her ID card to enter the women’s dormitory.” “At no point did she go near the men’s dorm.” “Jace was inside Alpha Hall from 10:30 PM onward and did not leave the building.” When he finished speaking, the room plunged into absolute silence. I rested my chin on my hand. “So, who is patient zero for this rumor?” Carter’s face went sheet white. Sinclair called him out. “Carter.” “This morning, you claimed you heard it from guys in Alpha Hall.” “The residents of Alpha Hall stated that the first message came directly from you.” Carter panicked immediately. “I did not make it up! I was just joking around in the group chat!” He fumbled for his phone. “Someone posted a picture of a girl from the back last night. They said it looked like Riley, so I just casually commented—” Sinclair cut in. “Show me the photo.” Carter hesitated. Dean Harris lost his patience. “Show it to us!” Carter opened the group chat. The photo did show a girl from behind. She was wearing a short white jacket and a black skirt, with her hair down. She was walking past the entrance of Alpha Hall. The picture was so blurry it looked like it was taken with a toaster. I stared at it for exactly two seconds. “That is not me.” Daniela muttered under her breath. “The back looks exactly like you.” I looked at her dead on. “You think everyone looks like you when you look in the mirror.” She slammed her hand on the table. “Riley!” I slammed my hand down too. “I am defending myself. I do not need your permission!” The chat stream went wild. [Slay!] [She is speaking straight facts!] [Daniela is Lily’s best friend. In the original plot, she is the one who edits the video that gets Riley cancelled!] My eyes darkened. Daniela. Noted. Sinclair zoomed in on the photo on the screen. “Who originally posted this picture?” Carter stammered. “Xavier.” Xavier was Jace’s roommate. He was also the Vice President of Communications for the Student Body. He was not in the room. Sinclair immediately picked up his phone and summoned him. Ten minutes later, Xavier pushed open the door, looking incredibly annoyed. “Professor, I have another meeting to get to.” Sinclair slid the printed photo across the table. “Did you take this?” Xavier glanced at it. “Yeah.” “Why did you tell people it was Riley?” Xavier shrugged carelessly. “It looked like her.” A cold laugh escaped my lips. “By that logic, if someone looks like a trash can, should we start throwing garbage at them?” Xavier’s face hardened. “Riley, watch your mouth. There is no need to be nasty.” I stood up. “You creep shot a girl from behind, posted it in a group chat, and guided everyone to believe it was me.” “People started telling the whole school I was sneaking out of the men’s dorm at midnight.” “And now you are telling me I am being nasty?” “The fact that I have not shoved that phone down your throat means my parents raised me well.” Xavier scoffed. “I never said your clothes were messy, and I never said you came out of Jace’s room.” “People drew their own conclusions. How is that my fault?” Dean Harris practically lunged at the opportunity to de-escalate. “Right, exactly. This whole thing just got blown out of proportion through the grapevine.” “Xavier was definitely careless, but it does not seem like there was any malicious intent.” The floating text began flashing bright red warnings. [Here it comes! The cover up!] [Do not let him get away with it! Xavier is Lily’s biggest simp! He took that photo on purpose!] [In the original story, he dumps all the blame on the dorm supervisor and walks away scot-free!] I stared at Xavier, and a slow smile spread across my face. “Alright then.” “Since everyone loves looking at photos and making up stories.” I pulled out my phone, opened a picture, and cast it directly onto the conference room’s main projector screen. In the photo, Xavier and Lily were standing behind the academic building. Xavier was leaning his head down, and Lily was tilting her face up toward him. The angle was perfectly deceptive. It looked exactly like they were kissing. Lily’s face instantly drained of all color. Xavier violently pushed his chair back and stood up. “Where the hell did you get that picture?” I shrugged. “Just took it casually.” “It looked like a kiss.” “But I never explicitly said you were kissing.” “People can draw their own conclusions. How is that my fault?” The conference room was dead silent. Jace stared at the projector, his expression freezing over. “Lily?” Lily was in a full panic. “Jace, it is not what it looks like! I got some dirt in my eye that day, and Xavier was just helping me look for it.” I nodded approvingly. “Oh, getting dirt in your eye requires mouth-to-mouth inspection? Good to know.” Tears began to spill rapidly down Lily’s cheeks. “Riley, why are you trying to ruin me?” I fired right back. “Why were you trying to ruin me?” Xavier lunged across the table, trying to grab my phone. Sinclair shot his hand out and locked his grip around Xavier’s wrist like a vice. “Sit back down.” Xavier’s face was flushed with fury. “Professor Sinclair! She took pictures of me without my consent! She is invading my privacy!” I laughed coldly. “When you secretly photograph a girl from behind and post it to a group chat, it is just being ‘careless.’” “But when I take a picture of you in a public courtyard, it is an invasion of privacy.” “Xavier, is your double standard genetic, or did you buy it on sale?” Someone in the back of the conference room could not hold back a snort of laughter. Dean Harris’s face turned an even uglier shade of purple. “Riley, you need to stop attacking your fellow students.” I turned my focus entirely to him. “Dean Harris. When my reputation was being dragged through the mud, you told me to watch my tone and worry about optics.” “When Xavier admitted to taking the photo, you said he had no malicious intent.” “Now that I am giving him a taste of his own medicine, you are accusing me of attacking him.” I picked up the sleek digital voice recorder resting on the table. “From the moment I walked into this room, everything has been recorded.” “I am giving you two options.” “One: The university launches a formal investigation, issues a public clarification, and strictly disciplines the source of the rumor and the primary spreaders.” “Two: I walk out of here, call the police, and upload the audio, the photos, and the chat logs to the internet.” Dean Harris’s expression twisted in horror. “Riley, are you threatening this institution?” I looked him dead in the eye, spacing out my words. “Dean Harris, this is not a threat.” “It is a notification.” “Whoever tries to bury this today is getting buried with it.”

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Because I was dead broke. That was the only reason I took a side hustle acting as a digital diary for some trust fund kid. I spent hours chatting with him online, listening to him pour his heart out about the girl he was madly in love with. Then one day, he suddenly sent me a photo of her. [Isn’t she gorgeous?] I froze. I actually knew her. It was Randee, the undisputed queen bee of our junior class. I didn’t overthink it. I just kept playing the ultimate wingwoman, giving him advice on how to win her over. Until today, when I received his final message. [You are amazing. Girls really do understand girls best!] [She said yes! We are officially dating!] [Anyway, I am deleting this account now. Goodbye!] Attached was a wire transfer for fifteen thousand dollars. I genuinely wished him the best, but I declined the money. The very next night, after study hall ended. I was walking down the quiet corridor when I accidentally stumbled upon Randee kissing a guy in the shadows. My breath caught in my throat. I knew the broad line of that boy’s shoulders better than I knew my own reflection. It was Asher. The boy I had been secretly in love with for five agonizing years. 1 So, the guy I had been messaging every single night. It was Asher. For a moment, I didn’t know whether to marvel at how terrifyingly small the world was, or just laugh at my own sheer stupidity. I had known Asher since middle school. Well, it was more like a completely one sided acquaintanceship. Back then, he was in homeroom five and I was in homeroom two, separated by an entire stretch of linoleum hallway. Every ten minute passing period. I would drag my best friend from the east wing all the way to the west wing restrooms, just for a chance to walk past his classroom and catch a glimpse of him. Even back then, he was taller than everyone else his age. He would lean casually against the balcony railing, his uniform sleeves rolled up to his elbows, always tilting his head slightly when he listened to someone speak. My friend would nudge me. “What are you always staring at over there?” I would just smile. “The view.” When it came time for high school applications, I secretly tracked down his first choice and enrolled in the exact same academy. I knew he hated plain milk and was obsessed with blueberry yogurt. I knew he never paid attention during lectures. But his grades were flawless anyway, and he spent most of his time sketching aimlessly on scrap paper. I also knew that whenever he came back from playing basketball during gym class, he would always take a long drink of water before sitting down. He never missed when he tossed his empty plastic bottles into the recycling bin across the room. I could not stop myself from watching him every single day. But I never saw a single sign that he was in love with someone. And now, there was absolutely nothing I could do but stand there, watching him kiss Randee. It was an incredibly restrained kiss, light and hesitant. The tips of his ears were burning bright red. It was so raw and beautiful. I didn’t dare make a sound to interrupt them. A dense, suffocating ache spread through my chest. Taking a subconscious step backward, I shrank entirely into the dark shadows of the stairwell. In that moment, I realized something. So that is what he looks like when he is nervous. I had watched him for five years. I had never seen him look like that. My mind went completely blank, and my eyes began to sting. But the tears refused to fall. Asher finally pulled away from Randee. He looked down at her. His fingers slowly slid through hers until their hands were tightly intertwined. Randee bit her lip, smiling shyly. “Asher, you…” He looked at her and let out a soft laugh. “Don’t worry. It is dark out, nobody can see us.” “Yeah.” Suddenly, I hated myself. I hated that my vision was so sharp. I could see everything perfectly. Asher’s smile was soft and incredibly gentle. It was entirely different from the polite, distant smiles he gave everyone else. I let out a shaky sigh and was just about to turn away. Suddenly, a voice echoed right behind me. “Sadie, why are you just standing here in the dark?” “What are you looking at?” 2 I whipped around in absolute panic. When I saw it was my desk mate, Becca, I let out a massive sigh of relief. “Shh!” But she had already seen them. “Oh my god. Asher and the popular girl? Randee?!” My fingers curled into tight fists against my jeans. I gave a stiff nod. “Wow, I never would have guessed they were a thing.” Becca lowered her voice and leaned in close to me. “Honestly though, good for them. The hottest guy and the prettiest girl. It is basically charity for our average eyes.” I didn’t say a word. I just nodded again. “I just didn’t expect Asher to go for the glamorous, high maintenance type.” “Plus, he is loaded and super generous. Dating him must be amazing.” “Ugh, the more I think about it, the more jealous I am of Randee. She actually locked down the guy every girl in school is obsessed with.” I stayed completely silent. Noticing my blank stare, Becca looked at me in surprise. “Sadie, why are you still staring at them?” She leaned even closer, her tone suddenly turning conspiratorial. “Do not tell me. Do you have a crush on Asher? Are you going through a heartbreak right now?” My heart skipped a beat. I snapped my head toward her instantly. My voice came out half a decibel louder than I intended. “What kind of nonsense is that? I do not like him!” “Okay, okay, I was just messing with you.” She laughed and waved it off. “I know you are the ultimate good girl. Your brain only cares about AP exams and GPA.” “Alright, let’s get out of here. Stop staring at them!” “Randee has a private driver waiting for her, but if we stay any longer, we are going to miss the last bus!” She grabbed my arm and dragged me down the stairs. Hearing that we were going to miss the bus finally snapped me out of my trance. I turned to follow her. With my very last glance, I saw Asher bending down to pick something up for Randee from the corner of my eye. The motion sensor light in the stairwell clicked off. In the sudden darkness. I finally blinked away the single tear that had been clinging to my lashes. 3 Asher and Randee didn’t try to hide their relationship from anyone. They were both eighteen. And they were ranked first and fifth in our graduating class. Last year, Asher’s family had literally funded a new science wing for the school. Even if the administration wanted to crack down on them, they wouldn’t dare. I forced myself to stop looking in their direction, even though Asher sat diagonally in front of me. During breaks, Randee would constantly come to our classroom to find him. “I accidentally brought an extra bottle of iced coffee today, you can have it!” “Are you sure it was an accident?” Randee would get flustered, a pretty blush creeping up her neck. “You are so annoying!” He would just smile, his eyes curving into crescents as he nodded along. He spoiled her completely. “Yeah, yeah, I am annoying.” Asher didn’t even like iced coffee, but he took it anyway. I kept my head down, forcing my eyes to focus on the geometry textbook in front of me. But I couldn’t absorb a single word. Later that night. I got home and pulled my phone out of my backpack. I hadn’t deleted the anonymous venting app yet. Out of pure muscle memory, I tapped the icon. When my brain caught up, I was just about to close it. But my pupils contracted sharply. Asher’s profile picture was still glowing green. Wait a minute. Didn’t he say he was deleting his account? 4 Driven by pure instinct. My heart did a tiny, pathetic flutter of hope. I tapped into our direct messages. [I thought about it, and I decided not to delete the account. What if I need your advice again someday?] [Why didn’t you accept the money?] [Seriously, do not feel weird about it. We have known each other for so long, I consider you a real friend.] Then there was a message sent just moments ago. [Why haven’t you logged on in days?] [Are you there, Tiny? I have an emergency and I really need your help!] Tiny was my screen name. Staring at these messages, my mind uncontrollably pictured Asher saying these exact words right to my face. I shook my head violently. I forced myself to calm down. Asher already had a girlfriend. It was time for me to let this go. I shoved my phone under my pillow. Rolled over and squeezed my eyes shut. But sleep refused to come. My phone buzzed again. I debated with myself for a painfully long time before finally opening the chat thread. [Why are you leaving me on read?] [You are so cruel, Tiny.] [I guess I have officially lost my best strategist. Sigh.] My heart was hammering against my ribs. I took a deep breath. I typed back. [I was busy.] [What happened?] He replied in less than a second. [Something amazing happened today, but I will tell you about it later.] Then he paused for a minute. [Here is the situation.] [Her birthday is coming up. What do girls actually want for their birthdays?] [I want to give her a massive surprise.] 5 I stared at the glowing screen. A wave of absolute exhaustion washed over me. [Sorry, Tiny. I know you are busy, but I literally have zero close female friends in real life, and I have never dated anyone before. I have no idea what I am doing.] I stared at the keyboard, typed out a few words, and deleted them. Finally, I replied. [Just look at what she normally likes.] [Hmm, I think she has been looking at lipsticks lately. Do you have any brand recommendations?] As soon as he sent that, my phone flooded with a dozen screenshots. I recognized the brands. They were all luxury labels. A single tube cost as much as my entire monthly food budget. I pressed my lips together tightly. I sent one final message. [I do not really know much about this stuff. You should probably just search for recommendations on TikTok or Pinterest.] After sending it. I flipped the mute switch on my phone and shoved it deep under my mattress. This time, I didn’t take it out again. The next day at lunch. I walked into the campus convenience store. As I approached the refrigerated section. I spotted the very last bottle of blueberry yogurt. Normally, I wouldn’t care for that flavor. But because Asher loved it, I had forced myself to try it, and eventually, I genuinely started to like it. I was just reaching out to grab it when another hand reached in from the side. The fingers were long and elegant, the knuckles perfectly defined. His nails were trimmed impeccably short. There was a tiny, dark mole right above his thumb joint. My heart did a violent flip. It was Asher. I looked up in shock, meeting his deep, pitch black eyes. The air went dead silent for a fraction of a second. “You take it.” My voice came out rough and raspy. “You grabbed it first.” “I do not even want it that badly anyway.” I forced a smile and pulled my hand back. “You can have it.” Asher looked at me closely. He didn’t argue. He picked up the bottle of yogurt. He offered a polite smile. “Thanks.” “No problem.” He turned and took two steps toward the register, then suddenly stopped and looked back. “Wait, aren’t you the girl who sits diagonally behind me? What is your name again?” “Sadie.” “Sadie.” He gave the yogurt bottle a little shake, his eyes curving into a warm smile. “Thanks again.” I shook my head silently. He didn’t say anything else and walked away. I stood frozen in the aisle, staring at his broad back until he disappeared through the glass doors. 6 Days slowly bled back into a normal routine. Another monthly exam cycle finished. During a passing period, my homeroom teacher called me into the faculty office. “Sadie, I need you to do me a favor and quietly look into something for me.” Mr. Davis put down his red grading pen and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Asher has been off his game lately. His English score dropped by fifteen places this week.” “Can you ask around and see if he is fighting with Randee from the other class?” Noticing my stunned silence, Mr. Davis explained. “You are in his class, and you are the class representative. It is easier for you to casually ask.” I lowered my eyes to the floor. “I am sorry, Mr. Davis. I am really not close with Asher at all.” “You should probably ask someone else in the class.” Mr. Davis looked at me, clearly a bit surprised by my flat refusal, but he didn’t push it. “Alright then. I will figure something else out.” I nodded and backed out of the office. Not close. When those words left my mouth, I actually felt a bitter urge to laugh. It was the absolute truth. Not close. I could count the number of words he had spoken to me in real life on two hands. But the words he had typed to me through a screen. I remembered every single one. After washing up that night, my phone buzzed on my desk. I picked it up. It was a notification from Asher. [Tiny, are you there?] 7 I typed a single letter. [Y.] [Randee and I got into another fight.] [Honestly, sometimes I sit back and wonder… is she really the girl I have been looking for?] [Sigh…] [You are the only person I can talk to without filtering myself. Sorry, Tiny, I know I am always bothering you.] I stared at the glowing text, completely confused by what he meant by “the girl I have been looking for.” But I didn’t ask. I didn’t type a single letter back. I flipped the phone face down and went back to my calculus homework. But my pen hovered over the word “Solve,” and I could not bring myself to write the next line. Solve what? There was nothing to solve. It was a dead end. That night, I tossed and turned. Sleep was completely impossible. I suddenly sat up in the pitch black room. I opened the chat thread with Asher and hit “Delete Friend.” Then, I initiated the account deletion process for the anonymous app. For a very long time after that, I stopped paying any attention to Asher and Randee. All I knew was that the cold war between them eventually ended. And Asher’s grades shot right back up to rank number one. The only silver lining was that, by actively ignoring Asher’s existence, my own grades actually improved significantly. During a break between classes. Becca leaned over my desk. “Sadie, can I borrow your phone to look up an answer key? I totally maxed out my data plan for the month.” I handed the phone to her. “Is your passcode your birthday?” She asked while trying to unlock it. “No. It is August 27th. 0827.” “Got it…” “Wait, why does that date sound so familiar? I feel like I have seen it somewhere.” I kept my mouth shut. It was Asher’s birthday. I had set my phone passcode to his birthday years ago. I had just been so swamped with studying lately that I completely forgot to change it. Suddenly, Becca froze. I followed her gaze straight to my phone screen. A notification from the anonymous app had just popped up. [Dear User Tiny, it has been three years since you joined the Echo community. Are you absolutely sure you want to permanently delete your account?] “Oh my god, Sadie, your username is ‘Tiny’ too?” The guy sitting directly in front of us turned around, looking surprised. “Wait, yesterday Asher was literally asking in the class group chat if anyone knew a girl who goes by ‘Tiny’. He said it was an online friend he had been talking to on Echo for years, but she suddenly ghosted him and requested an account deletion.” “He wanted to know if something terrible happened to her.” The guy was a chronic gossip. He blurted the whole thing out before realizing that Asher was sitting only a few desks away. My scalp went completely numb. All the blood drained from my face. I wanted to speak, but my throat clamped shut. Not a single sound came out. A second later. From diagonally across the room, Asher suddenly turned around. He was looking directly at me, but his question was aimed at the guy sitting in front of me. His voice was dead calm, but laced with a rough edge. “What did you just say? Who is named Tiny?” 8 In that split second, the entire world went completely silent. I snatched my phone back from Becca’s hands and forced a bright, breezy smile. “It is just an auto generated username the app gave me when I signed up. It is super common. Just a coincidence.” That part wasn’t a lie. “Tiny” was genuinely a default handle the system assigned to me. I had just been too lazy to change it at the time. Becca didn’t suspect a thing. “Oh, that makes sense. It is a cute username though.” She turned and glanced at Asher. “Nothing, you misheard him. Nobody uses that name.” Asher slowly moved his gaze away from my face. His voice was terrifyingly level, completely devoid of emotion. “Is that right?” I dropped my eyes back to my textbook. My heart was hammering so violently it felt like it was going to crack my ribs. I had no idea how much time passed before he finally turned back around to face the chalkboard. Only then did I dare to look up. In my line of sight. His head was slightly bowed, his thumb swiping rhythmically across his phone screen. I had no idea what he was looking at. I shoved my phone into the absolute deepest corner of my desk and took a shaky breath. I could never use it again. I was finalizing the account deletion the second I got home. After the final bell rang. I didn’t go straight home. Instead, I took a detour to the empty stadium bleachers. The evening wind swept across the track, carrying a sharp, biting chill. I sat on the very highest metal bench. I pulled out my phone and opened the Echo app one last time. [Dear User Tiny, it has been three years since you joined the Echo community. Are you absolutely sure you want to permanently delete your account?] I stared at the text, my finger hovering trembling over the “Confirm Deletion” button. Three years. Over a thousand days and nights. Asher and I didn’t chat every single day. But I had shared countless conversations with him on this platform. He knew I got terrible cramps during a specific time of the month. Whenever those days rolled around, he would send me money for ginger tea. [I hate the taste of that stuff.] [Fine… then go buy whatever junk food makes you feel better, deal?] I never held back either. [Thanks, boss!] [Hmph.] We had shared so many secrets. Like that one night when he first confessed he was in love with someone. By the end of the conversation, I had admitted my own secret. [What a coincidence. I have a massive crush on someone too.] [This is my fifth year liking him, and I am still too terrified to confess.] Asher had replied instantly. [? You have liked a guy for five years and never made a move? What are you, a monk?] I refused to lose the argument. [You are doing the exact same thing! You have no right to laugh at me!] […Fair enough.] [I am making a wish right now that the person I love loves me back.] Me: [I am making the same wish!] Except. His wish actually came true. Mine didn’t. And every single word he typed to me after that night was about another girl. I took a deep breath and pressed “Confirm.” [Account successfully deleted. Thank you for three years of memories. Goodbye.] [Dear Tiny, we hope you find happiness.] [If you ever miss us, you are always welcome back.] I hope so. If the app says I will be happy, maybe I actually will be. 9 Even though the app was gone from my phone. Asher’s shadow still haunted my thoughts when I least expected it. The next day. The weekly exam rankings were posted on the bulletin board. Asher was back at number one. Sometimes, you just have to admit that natural talent is a deeply cruel thing. He got a perfect score in AP Calculus. He only missed five points on the Physics and Chemistry combined exam. When our homeroom teacher read the top ten list aloud, every eye in the classroom drifted toward him. The boy looked completely indifferent, resting his chin on his hand and staring out the window. It was like being the smartest kid in the school had absolutely nothing to do with him. Becca leaned over and whispered. “Do you think Asher sold his soul for good grades? Last month he bombed, and this month he just skyrockets back to perfection.” I nodded in total agreement. “By the way, you did amazing this time too. Rank twenty five in the whole grade. Congrats!” “Thanks. Let’s keep pushing.” My eyes drifted down to the printed spreadsheet on my desk. Rank 1: Asher. Rank 25: Sadie. There were two dozen names wedged between us. It was a perfect metaphor for the distance between him and me. Not impossibly far, just a few lines of ink. But entirely out of reach. And Randee was rank number two. People who belong together even have their names printed side by side on a spreadsheet. I let out a heavy sigh. But I didn’t realize how loud it was until Becca turned to me. “What is wrong?” “Nothing, it is just… I have been studying so hard, and I only moved up a dozen spots. It just feels a little hopeless.” Becca stared at me. She didn’t say a word. Just when I thought she was going to drop the subject, she suddenly spoke. “Sadie.” I kept my eyes glued to the open chemistry workbook. “Yeah?” “You actually are in love with Asher, aren’t you?” 10 The black pen in my hand slipped. It dragged a jagged, ink black line straight across the crisp white paper. My brain completely short circuited. I had no idea when I had slipped up, or if Becca was just dangerously observant. “You…” I looked at Becca, and she stared right back with total clarity. Whatever. Did it even matter if I liked him? He had a girlfriend anyway. I decided I was too tired to lie anymore. I let out a bitter, self deprecating laugh. “How did you figure it out?” Becca grinned triumphantly. “Honestly, I wasn’t one hundred percent sure, but I totally just baited you into admitting it.” “It was the passcode. August 27th. I was the one who logged everyone’s personal info for the homeroom roster earlier this year. Asher is the only person in our class born in August. It caught my eye.” I let out a defeated sigh. “Fine. You got me. You are a genius.” Then, I shot her a deadly serious look. “You cannot tell a single soul.” Becca laughed at my panic. “Who would I even tell? Besides, he and Randee are like the ultimate power couple right now. Nobody cares about a secret admirer pining from the sidelines.” I went completely silent. What Becca said was perfectly logical, but it still felt like a needle plunging into my chest. “Oh crap, me and my big mouth. Sadie, I was just joking, please do not take that to heart!” I shook my head and forced my focus back to my chemistry equations. When the bell rang for the passing period, Randee appeared. She was standing at the back door of our classroom. She was wearing a cream colored knit cardigan over her uniform. Her hair was down, and her eyes curved into beautiful little moons when she smiled. “Asher!” Asher looked up, and the moment he saw her, the coldness in his eyes melted into something incredibly soft. He stood up and walked to the doorway. The two of them stood there whispering. Separated by a few rows of desks. I couldn’t hear a word they were saying. All I saw was Randee handing him a small paper gift bag. He took it and flashed a bright, genuine smile. Becca leaned over again. “See? That is why he is back at number one. The girlfriend delivered some much needed motivation.” “Oh wait, crap, I forgot you have a crush on him. Just ignore them, do not be sad!” I kept my head down and started aggressive physics calculations. “I am not sad.” “I am already teaching myself how to not care about him.” My phone buzzed against the wood desk. Without thinking, I picked it up. I had already deleted the Echo app. It couldn’t be a notification from that. It was a text message. From an unknown number. It contained a single period. I stared at that little dot for a very long time. Who was it? A wrong number? Just as I was about to lock the screen, a second text came through. [Tiny, is that you?]

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1 For six months I’d frozen out my firefighter husband, our marriage reduced to stagnant silence. That evening, curled on the sofa scrolling my phone, I heard him choke back a sob. At first he clamped his jaw, breathing shallow, as if afraid to startle the dark. Then came the sniffle, his voice trembling and raw. “Kathryn… how much longer are we going to let this drag on?” I turned my video volume higher. Colors flashed, but I didn’t register a word. “It’s been six months since we last…” He faltered, choking on the words. I knew exactly what he meant. One hundred and eighty-three days since our last touch of skin, since a real conversation longer than three words. I slept on a futon in the office; he stayed in our empty king bed. Same roof, separate lives. We staggered our schedules to avoid crossing paths, sharing only the kitchen and bathroom. A takeout container sat on the table, leftover brisket gone cold. When Charles reached to clear it, his flannel cuff brushed my arm. I flinched back on pure reflex. His hand froze midair, rigid as iron. “Does it really disgust you that much when I touch you?” His eyes reddened instantly. Tears spilled over, hitting the glass table with a sharp, stinging sound. I stood and walked to the office without looking back. The futon lay tangled and messy. I sat on the edge, listening to his muffled weeping from the living room. Six months. One hundred and eighty-three days. Since September sixteenth—the date burned into my bones. I had gotten off work early that day and drove over to Station 42 to pick him up as usual. The convenience store across the street had just put up a brand new neon sign. I texted him to let him know I was idling out front. He replied that he would be out in two minutes. And then, I saw the bouquet. It was a massive bundle of white lisianthus wrapped in premium paper, tied off with a navy blue ribbon. Charles walked out of the administrative building carrying the flowers. He was wearing a bright, open smile that I had not seen on his face in half a year. Walking right behind him was a female lieutenant from his squad. Her name was Stella. She reached out and held the heavy glass door open for him. Stella was in her early thirties, looking sharp and professional in her crisp navy station uniform. The silver lieutenant bars on her collar caught the late afternoon sun. She reached out and casually steadied Charles by gripping his forearm. The gesture was incredibly familiar and entirely natural. Charles turned his head, smiled, and murmured something low to her. Sitting in the driver’s seat, my hands gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned a bruised white. My fingernails dug deep enough into my palms to leave angry red crescent moons. Charles spotted my car. He waved goodbye to Stella, jogged over with the flowers in his arms, and pulled the passenger door open. A bitter, sweet floral scent instantly flooded the cramped space of my sedan. “The department handed these out.” He carelessly tossed the bouquet into the backseat. “The regional rescue drill just wrapped up. Everyone got a bouquet.” “Did everyone get white lisianthus?” I asked, my voice flat. Charles froze in the middle of pulling his seatbelt across his chest. “What did you say?” “Nothing.” I kept my tone perfectly level and did not push the issue. We drove through two intersections before Charles finally broke the heavy silence. “Are you upset about something?” “No.” “You are clearly bothered by something.” He turned his head to stare at my profile. “Kathryn, if you have something to say, just say it.” I pulled the car into a temporary parking spot on the side of the road and killed the engine. “That female lieutenant who walked you out. Stella. What exactly is going on between you two?” “She is just one of the crew members on my squad.” “She touched your arm.” All the color instantly drained from Charles’s face. “I just missed a step coming down the stairs, and she reached out to catch my balance. Kathryn, what kind of crazy ideas are running through your head?” I did not respond. I just restarted the engine and pulled back into traffic. We rode the rest of the way home in absolute, suffocating silence. Charles took the white lisianthus and arranged them in a ceramic vase in the living room. Under the warm yellow glow of the ceiling light, the flowers looked pure, clean, and aggressively mocking. I tossed and turned late into the night. When I finally woke up from a restless doze, the space beside me in bed was freezing cold. I threw a cardigan over my shoulders and walked out toward the balcony. Sure enough, I saw him leaning against the railing, his voice lowered to a harsh whisper as he talked on his phone. He had intentionally turned his back to the glass doors, but the wind still carried snippets of his words straight to my ears. “…I think she noticed something… I do not know how to handle this right now… Please, do not reach out to me first anymore…” I quietly backed into the bedroom and lay back down, squeezing my eyes shut. A few minutes later, Charles crept back into the room and slid under the covers beside me. His back was arched like a drawn bow. His entire body was radiating a rigid, guilty tension. I took the next day off work. The moment Charles left the house for morning roll call, I dug out his old tablet. The passcode was still the date of our wedding anniversary. He had never bothered to change it in all these years. The main chat logs on his messaging app were wiped completely clean. But in the recently deleted folder, I found a batch of screenshots he had failed to permanently erase. It was a chain of text messages stretching back a solid three months. The very last message had been received late the night before. “When we meet up tomorrow, wear that workout shirt I brought you.” I sat on the freezing hardwood floor, staring blankly at the glowing screen. The morning sun sliced through the window blinds, illuminating the slow, lazy dust motes floating in the air. Out in the living room, the petals of the white lisianthus had already begun to quietly shrivel and curl. When Charles got home from his shift that evening, I had dinner waiting on the table. Three side dishes and a soup. Everything was his absolute favorite. “How did you get home so early today?” He asked, pasting a look of easy relief across his face. “I took the day off.” I set the soup bowl down on the dining table. “Wash your hands. Let’s eat.” During dinner, we forced polite, meaningless small talk. We talked about the upcoming cold front, how the radiators at his station were running too hot, and how my mother had called to complain about a week of non stop rain back in our hometown. On the surface, the atmosphere looked exactly like it always did. Beneath the floorboards, everything had already rotted to the core. As I was clearing the plates, Charles suddenly wrapped his arms around me from behind. He pressed his cheek against my shoulder blades. The damp heat of his breath seeped right through the fabric of my blouse. “Kathryn, we…” “I am sleeping in the office tonight.” I cut him off without a second thought. “I have a massive project proposal I need to finish.” The tight grip of his arms around me slowly went slack. From that day forward, I moved into the home office. That rickety futon was a piece of emergency surplus gear he had dragged home years ago. Every time I shifted my weight, the metal springs groaned and shrieked, grating on my nerves. It kept me company as I stared at the ceiling until dawn, sounding like a punchline to a joke nobody dared to say out loud. During the first week, Charles actively tried to thaw the ice. He looked up recipes and tried to cook glazed ribs the way I liked them. He carefully ironed my work blouses and hung them up. At night, he deliberately wore the gray sweatpants I used to compliment, pacing back and forth across the living room to get my attention. I either kept my head buried in my phone, or I tossed him a flat “thank you” before retreating behind the office door. By the second week, his patience had worn dangerously thin, and the anger started to bleed through. “What exactly do you want from me?” He pounded heavily on the office door. “Kathryn, if you have a problem, open this door and say it to my face!” I answered him right through the solid wood. “I am exhausted. Just go to bed.” “Are you seeing someone else?” His voice cracked, thick with the threat of tears. I stared at the plaster ceiling above me and kept my mouth shut. The cheap futon groaned beneath my weight. By the third week, he stopped asking. We became two gears operating on strict, separate timers, brushing past each other in the hallway without interfering in each other’s lives. When he got called out on emergency runs, I was still asleep. When I got home from the office, he frequently opted to stay at the firehouse on standby. On weekends, I drove out to the state park to hike alone. He stayed at the station for extra drills. At the end of the first month, my mother called. “Charles mentioned you have been working crazy overtime lately.” Her voice was laced with genuine anxiety. “Do not work yourself into the ground, honey. Oh, by the way, have you two talked about when you are going to start trying for a baby?” “We are waiting a bit longer.” My tone was as dead as a stagnant pond. “You are thirty two, and Charles is thirty three. You really need to start taking this seriously.” “Mom, I have some stuff to handle. I need to go.” I hung up the phone and sat alone in the dark office, staring into space. Outside the window, the suburban neighborhood was glowing with scattered lights. Behind every window was a family. Some of those houses were bursting with noise and warmth. Others were just like ours, as silent as a graveyard. In the second month, Charles was deployed to a chemical plant zone for a week long preventative standby. I took advantage of the empty house to deep clean every room. While I was rotating the mattress in the master bedroom, a small jewelry box slipped out from underneath. I popped the lid open. Resting quietly on the velvet cushion was a delicate silver necklace. It was absolutely not something I had ever bought for him. The pendant was a tiny, stylized flame. Engraved on the back were two letters: S&W. S, obviously, stood for Stella. W stood for Wyatt. Or maybe something else entirely? I placed the necklace exactly where I found it and meticulously smoothed out the fitted sheet. I stayed wide awake that entire night. At three in the morning, I dragged myself into the kitchen and boiled a pot of instant ramen. The steam fogged up the glass window above the sink. I stood at the counter, mechanically shoving noodles into my mouth. When Charles returned from his deployment, he brought me a gift. A custom made, fire department themed metal bookmark. “I saw it in a boutique near the site. I figured you could use it for your reading.” He slid the small gift box across the kitchen counter toward me. “Thank you.” I didn’t even bother opening it. I just tossed it onto the entryway console table. The light in his eyes died instantly. He turned around and silently unpacked his duffel bag. I sat on the sofa, staring at the little box, lost in my own thoughts. In the past, whenever he came back from a long deployment, he always brought me little trinkets. A bookmark, a silk scarf, some local snacks. Back then, I would rip the packaging open immediately, pull him into a laughing hug, and thank him. Now, that gift was just gathering dust in a corner, an unspoken barrier wedged between us. In the third month, I got a massive promotion. The department director was transferred to the corporate headquarters, and I was bumped up to take his place. During the celebratory team dinner, my coworkers cheered and told me to call my family to share the good news. I walked out into the corridor and dialed Charles’s number. It rang seven times before he finally picked up. The background noise was chaotic. Sirens blared faintly beneath a roar of voices. It sounded like he was on the drill ground or at a station banquet. “Hello?” “I got promoted. I am the new department director.” I said. The line went completely dead for a few seconds before he finally spoke. “Congratulations.” “Thanks.” “Do you want to come home? I can cook a nice dinner to celebrate.” “No need. The team is still buying rounds.” “Alright. Just take it easy on the drinks.” “Yeah.” I ended the call and leaned against the hallway wall for a very long time. The geometric patterns on the floor tiles started to blur under the harsh fluorescent lights. I blinked hard and turned back toward the private dining room. I drank myself into an absolute stupor that night. A coworker had to drive me home. Charles opened the door, thanked my coworker politely, and supported my dead weight all the way to the master bedroom. He gently took off my coat and my shoes. I lay on the massive bed I hadn’t slept in for months, my nose filled with the familiar scent of his sandalwood body wash. He soaked a towel in hot water and gently wiped the makeup off my face. “Kathryn.” He whispered my name in the dark. I kept my eyes clamped shut, pretending I was completely blacked out. He sat on the edge of the mattress for a very long time. Then, a single, scalding drop of liquid hit the back of my hand. He was crying, terrified to make even a single sound. By the fourth month, Charles started coming home late on a regular basis. Sometimes he walked in at ten. Sometimes it was past eleven. I never asked him where he was going, and he never offered an excuse. The conversations between us were stripped down to the absolute bare minimum. “I paid the HOA fees.” “Okay.” “The temperature is dropping tomorrow. Wear a thicker coat.” “You too.” One night, he didn’t stumble through the front door until one in the morning. I was still in the office finalizing a budget report. I heard the lock turn and walked out to the hallway. He was sitting on the floor by the shoe rack, struggling to unlace his uniform boots. One of the heavy leather boots slipped from his grip and slammed against the drywall with a sickening thud. “Let me help you.” I walked over and crouched down. He looked up at me. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot. “Kathryn, do you remember the day we got married?” I didn’t answer. I just reached out and helped pry the other boot off his foot. “You told me you were going to be good to me for the rest of our lives.” He forced a smile that looked infinitely more tragic than a sob. “You said that no matter what happened to us, we would carry the weight together.” I shoved the boots into the cabinet and reached down to help him stand. He swayed on his feet and let his weight collapse heavily against my shoulder. Beneath the sharp tang of alcohol and his usual sandalwood soap, his shirt reeked of an unfamiliar, expensive women’s perfume. “Go to bed. Sleep it off.” I shoved him away. “Carry me back. Like we used to.” His tone was soft and pleading, sounding exactly like the boy I had fallen in love with. I stood rooted to the spot, completely unmoving. He slowly straightened his posture and walked back to the master bedroom completely alone. Just a second before the door clicked shut, he muttered under his breath. “I hate you, Kathryn.” The door closed, and the house sank back into the silence of a graveyard. In the fifth month, my younger sister Sophie came over for dinner. She had just graduated college, landed a job in the city, and was temporarily living in corporate housing. Charles cooked a massive feast. Glazed ribs, steamed sea bass, blanched lettuce. All of Sophie’s favorites. At the table, Charles constantly loaded food onto Sophie’s plate, asking her if she liked her new job and teasing her about finding a boyfriend. Sophie chattered away non stop. Charles smiled and listened, chiming in with gentle advice. Watching the scene unfold in front of me, I actually zoned out, briefly feeling like nothing in my life had ever changed. After dinner, Sophie dragged me into the home office and locked the door behind us. “Ness, what the hell is going on with you and Charles?” She kept her voice low, her face etched with panic. “Nothing is going on.” “Do not lie to me.” Sophie glared at me. “The vibe out there is insanely toxic. You two didn’t make eye contact once during dinner. You speak to each other like you are customer service reps.” “You are too young to understand how marriage works.” “I am twenty three years old!” Sophie scowled. “And I have eyes. Charles has lost so much weight. Are you bullying him?” “I am not bullying anyone.” “Then why are you guys…” “Sophie.” I cut her off, my gaze hardening. “There are some things in life you are better off not knowing.” Sophie froze, her expression shifting into something far more serious. “Ness, you guys used to be so perfect. What actually happened?” Used to be. Those three words felt like a microscopic needle piercing straight through my sternum. She was right. We used to be so happy. When he was out on emergency calls until the middle of the night, I would always drive to the station to pick him up. When it poured freezing rain, I would stand outside the firehouse with an umbrella, waiting for his truck to pull in. On brutal winter nights, he would pull my freezing feet under his shirt to warm them up against his chest. When his stomach acted up from inhaling too much smoke, I would slow cook him plain porridge for hours. Back when we were crammed into a tiny, two hundred square foot apartment in the old municipal housing blocks, we would share a single bowl of instant noodles and laugh, promising each other that once he made captain, we would buy a real house. We eventually bought the gorgeous, spacious condo. But all the genuine, messy warmth we used to share had been permanently left behind in that tiny, rundown apartment. “It really is nothing,” I lied to comfort her. “Married couples fight. It is normal.” Sophie clearly didn’t buy a word of it, but she didn’t push the issue any further. Before she left, Charles handed her a massive Tupperware container packed with freshly washed fruit. “Come visit whenever you want,” Charles told her warmly. “You are out here all on your own. Make sure you take care of yourself.” Sophie stepped forward and gave him a huge hug. “You take care of yourself too, Charles.” The front door clicked shut, and the dead silence rushed back into the room. Charles started clearing the dining table. I walked into the kitchen to wash the dishes. The water rushed violently from the faucet, washing the grease off the ceramic plates.

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1 My thesis advisor set me up and sexually assaulted me in his office. After I called 911, I locked myself in the restroom. The police did not arrive first. My junior lab mate, Sarah, did. She shrieked and slapped me hard across the face. “My Harvard PhD application is due next week! Dr. Lawson is my primary reference! What am I supposed to do if he goes to jail? Couldn’t you just suck it up?” A senior guy from our lab pulled a stack of cash from his pocket and threw it right at my face. “Take the five grand. Drop the charges. We will make sure you graduate without any hiccups. Do you honestly think anyone is going to believe you over a tenured professor?” I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth and opened the voice memo app on my phone. “They will believe this.” … At three o’clock that afternoon, I was in the tissue culture room passaging a fresh batch of cells. My advisor walked down the hallway and rapped his knuckles twice against the glass door. “Nora, come to my office. We need to talk about your thesis.” I looked up. Dr. Lawson was wearing a navy blue polo shirt with a popped collar. His face was flushed with an unnatural redness. He looked like he had just woken up from a nap, or maybe like he had downed a few drinks at lunch. The AC in the tissue culture room was blasting, but a thin layer of sweat coated his forehead. “Right now? I just finished splitting this batch.” “Leave it. It will survive a few minutes.” I was two years into my master’s program, and the spots for transferring into the PhD track had not been finalized yet. Another student in my cohort had been quietly pushed out of the program just last month. I could not afford to offend my advisor. I followed him up the stairs to his office. His door was wide open. He walked in first, pulled the blinds shut, and casually pushed the door closed behind him. I knew immediately that something was wrong. Closing a door for a private academic meeting was normal, but the casual, practiced way he did it made my stomach drop. I kept quiet and sat down across from him, separated by a massive mahogany desk. He pulled up a chair and walked around the desk to sit right next to me. “So, I looked at the third chapter of your thesis. The innovation just is not there. You need to dig deeper.” He reached out and patted my shoulder. “Relax. Do not look so tense.” His palm rested on my shoulder for a full second before sliding down to rest against the curve of my waist. Even through the thin fabric of my lab coat and shirt, I could feel the burning heat of his fingers. My entire body flinched away on pure reflex. “Dr. Lawson?” “Keep talking,” he said, not removing his hand. His thumb rubbed lazy circles against my side. “Tell me. How exactly do you plan to dig deeper?” I did not say a word. I just stared at him. He stared back, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Move your hand,” I told him. He did not move. Instead, he stood up. “Grad students need to learn how to play ball, Nora. How do you think you get published, earn a degree, or secure a PhD spot? You could be the best bench scientist in the world, but if I do not sign off on your work, you walk away with absolutely nothing.” I stood up quickly, my back hitting the heavy bookshelf. There was nowhere else to retreat. “Do not come any closer.” He lunged forward and clamped his hand around my wrist. His grip was entirely too strong. “Dr. Lawson, let me go!” He did not let go. His free arm wrapped around my waist, yanking me away from the bookshelf and dragging me roughly toward the edge of his desk. “Screaming will not do you any good,” he whispered, his voice dropping low. “The entire floor is empty. I sent the rest of the lab down to the animal facility.” He was telling the truth. At two o’clock, the entire research group had gone down to the basement vivarium. I was the only one who stayed behind because my cells needed to be passaged. He shoved me down onto the mahogany desk. I fought with everything I had. I shoved his chest and dug my fingernails deep into his forearm. He hissed in pain but did not stop. The buttons of my lab coat snapped off, scattering across the floor and rolling under the bookshelf. I opened my mouth to scream, and he immediately clamped a heavy, sweaty hand over my mouth. “Shut up. Making a scene will not end well for either of us.” I bit down hard on his hand. In response, he threw his weight against me, pinning me down with crushing force. I do not want to remember what happened after that. 2 I only remember the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. They were blindingly bright, burning my eyes so badly that the tears just kept flowing. My cheek was pressed against the freezing surface of the wooden desk. Tears slid down my face, pooling into a small puddle on the polished wood. When it was over, he stood up, walked over to the water cooler, and poured himself a paper cup of water. He chugged it in three loud gulps before turning back to look at me. I lay on the desk, my entire body shaking violently. My lab coat was completely ripped off. Two buttons were missing from my undershirt. I tried to sit up, but when I put weight on my arms, my elbows completely gave out. He walked over and reached out to help me up. I violently shrank back. “Do not touch me!” He pulled his hand back and let out a heavy sigh. “Nora, listen to me,” he said, crouching down to look me in the eye. His tone was infuriatingly gentle, like he was answering a simple question during office hours. “I really care about you. I have had my eye on you since you joined the lab as a first-year. I lost control for a second, but my feelings for you are genuine.” “Do not breathe a word of this to anyone. It would ruin both of us. I will save that PhD fellowship spot for you, and I will put you as a co-first author on the next major paper. If you are open to it, we can…” Before he could finish his sentence, I grabbed the heavy glass mug from his desk and smashed it directly into his face. I slid off the desk. My legs were so weak that my knees crashed hard onto the floorboards. I scrambled up, grabbed the brass door handle, ripped the door open, and sprinted down the hallway like a madwoman. His voice echoed down the corridor behind me. “Nora! Calm down!” I practically dove into the women’s restroom and locked the door behind me. My heartbeat hammered against my eardrums in heavy, agonizing thuds. I pulled out my phone. My fingers were shaking so badly I could barely hit the right numbers. I dialed 911. “911, what is your emergency?” “I need the police. I was just raped. I am hiding in the restroom on the fourth floor of the biology building.” The dispatcher was a rock of absolute calm. She asked for my exact address and whether the attacker was still nearby. I gave her all the details. She told me patrol cars were on the way and to keep my phone on. I hung up and crouched on the cold tile floor, completely frozen. The exhaust fan hummed steadily. A fluorescent tube above me flickered. Footsteps echoed outside the crack under the door. It was not the police. It was him. He was making a phone call in the hallway. His voice was low, but I could hear every single syllable. “Where are you? Get over here right now! Yes, Nora. She called the cops. I do not give a damn about your application right now, get your ass up here!” I stared down at my phone screen, watching a little red waveform pulse silently in the corner. The hallway went dead silent for a few seconds. Then came the sound of sneakers slamming aggressively against the floor tiles. It was fast, urgent, and definitely more than one person. I was praying for the sound of police sirens. Instead, a deafening crash shook the bathroom stall as someone kicked the heavy wooden door. A girl in a white hoodie stood in the doorway, her chest heaving heavily. Her fingers were white-knuckling a clear plastic document folder. It was Sarah, my junior lab mate. She was Dr. Lawson’s absolute favorite, the golden child who had just snagged a co-first authorship in a top-tier science journal last year. Two people stood right behind her. One was Mark, a senior PhD candidate in our lab. The other was Diane, the department’s administrative coordinator. Mark was casually holding a flathead screwdriver. He was the one who had popped the lock. I did not even have time to stand up. Sarah lunged across the tiles, grabbed me by the collar of my torn shirt, and hauled me upward. She slammed my spine against the edge of the porcelain sink. The pain was so sharp my vision blacked out for a second. “It was you?” Her voice was as shrill as nails dragging across glass. She shoved the plastic folder right into my face, practically poking my eye out. “Do you see what this is?” “I am submitting my PhD applications to Harvard next week! Dr. Lawson is my primary recommender. He is at the top of the list! If he gets arrested, what the hell happens to my application?” She swung the heavy folder like a weapon and smashed it into my face. The sharp plastic edge sliced across the bridge of my nose, leaving a burning trail of pain. The documents spilled out and scattered across the wet floor. Official transcripts, GRE score reports, cover letters, meticulously crafted personal statements. Smack. She backhanded me across the cheek. 3 The force of the slap sent my head snapping to the side. A loud, high-pitched ringing echoed in my left ear. “You just ruined three years of my life!” Smack. Another brutal slap to my right cheek. This time, a warm, metallic taste flooded my mouth. “Three years! Do you have any idea what I sacrificed to get into this program?” Diane, the department coordinator, lunged forward next. Her thick hands wrapped tightly around my throat, her manicured nails digging deep into the soft flesh of my neck. I opened my mouth to scream, but the grip tightened with every passing second. White static began to flash at the edges of my vision. “Nora,” Diane hissed, her voice dripping with venom. “Do you have any idea what a scandal like this will do to the university’s reputation?” She squeezed harder, slamming the back of my head against the tiled wall. My vision started swimming. “Diane.” A voice cut through the chaos. It was soft, almost deadpan. “Do not kill her. It will be too much paperwork.” It was Sarah. She crouched down and began gathering the scattered documents from the wet floor, tapping them neatly into a stack before sliding them back into the clear folder. Then she looked down at me. “Do you know what I gave up for this application cycle?” Her voice was no longer shrieking. It had taken on a bizarre, chilling gentleness. “I turned down a six-figure tech job. I rejected offers from top domestic labs. I took the GRE three times. I published three major papers. While everyone else was dating and partying, I practically lived in that lab.” “My mom worked double shifts just to pay my rent so I could study. She stood on her feet all day just to come home and cook for me.” “My dad took up a roofing gig in the middle of summer just to pay off my undergrad loans so I could afford the application fees and conference travels.” She pressed the plastic folder flat against her chest. “My entire family’s hope is riding on this application.” She paused, tilting her head. Her eyes scanned me up and down, looking at me like I was a piece of rotting garbage. “And you? Some nobody who transferred from a dead-end community college. You get screwed once, and you decide to burn my entire life to the ground?” You get screwed once. Those words echoed in my ears, hurting far more than the physical slaps. The doorway was crowded now. Mark leaned casually against the doorframe, looking like he was watching a decent movie. A few students from other research groups were peeking down the hallway, whispering. Not a single person stepped inside to help. Mark finally spoke up. “Come on, Nora. You are just trying to get a payout, aren’t you? Dr. Lawson has been great to you. Doesn’t your conscience bother you pulling a stunt like this?” Diane sighed heavily. “Listen to me, Nora. Calling the cops does not help anyone. Dr. Lawson is a highly respected professor. You are a disposable student. How do you think this will look? They will just say you tried to seduce your advisor, got rejected, and cried wolf. You came from a no-name school. Without Dr. Lawson, you will never even graduate.” I sat slumped on the floor, my spine pressed against the freezing tiles. The blood on my mouth was already drying. The nail marks on my neck were blooming into dark purple bruises. Nobody was looking at me with an ounce of pity. Diane reached into her blazer pocket and pulled out a thick envelope. She turned it upside down, and a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills hit the floor with a heavy thud. “Five thousand dollars.” Diane lowered her voice to a lethal whisper. “Take the money. Withdraw the police report. I will pull some strings with the dean and make sure your graduation goes smoothly. If you don’t, you leave here with empty pockets and no degree. Good luck finding an advisor who wants to take you in after this.” I slowly lifted my head. “Five thousand dollars to buy your golden girl’s future? Seems a bit cheap.” Diane’s face darkened instantly. Sarah let out another wild shriek and lunged at me again. Mark finally stepped in, grabbing her waist to hold her back. He pressed his other hand roughly against my shoulder, pinning me firmly into the corner. My back was flat against the wall, my chin forced upward by the heel of Mark’s hand. The fluorescent light burned directly into my retinas. I forced a sentence out. My throat was so bruised that my voice barely came out as a whisper, but I made sure every single syllable was clear. “I am pressing charges. I want him in a cell.” Sarah froze for a split second before bursting into cruel, mocking laughter. Her eyes were completely filled with disgust. “What proof do you have? Do you honestly think the cops are going to believe you over a tenured professor?” I slowly slid my hand into my pocket. A little red waveform icon was flashing rhythmically in the corner of my cracked phone screen. The voice memo had been running the entire time. “They will believe this.”

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1 Six years into our long-distance relationship, I finally saved up enough for a down payment. I traveled to her city without telling her, wanting to surprise her with a ring and a trip to City Hall. When the receptionist heard I was looking for Stephanie, she smiled warmly and handed me a small, beautifully wrapped box of wedding favors. “Are you here for the reception? Our CEO, Ms. Stephanie, is getting married today. These are for the guests.” I opened my mouth to explain that the Stephanie I was looking for was just a low-level clerk, but then the elevator doors slid open. A familiar figure stepped out. It was Gemma, Stephanie’s best friend. Taking in her elegant bridesmaid dress, a cold knot formed in my chest. “Is someone getting married today? Why did nobody tell me?” Before she could answer, her phone rang. The speaker was loud enough for me to hear Marcus’s voice blasting through. “Where the hell are you? Stephanie and Sebastian’s ceremony is about to start! You’re the maid of honor, Gemma. You better get up here right now!” Gemma’s face drained of color. She panicked, frantically trying to hide the phone behind her back. “Is Stephanie getting married today?” Gemma’s silence said everything. I didn’t even know what I was feeling anymore. The numbness was suffocating. My own voice sounded hollow, distant. “Take me up. We’ve been together for ten years, after all.” A jagged tear ripped through my chest, raw and bleeding. Ten years. Four years in college, six years long-distance. I had brought up marriage so many times. Every single time, she had an excuse: the distance was too hard, or her career was at a standstill. “Owen,” she used to tell me, “I’ll only marry you once we can afford a house in Boston.” That was why I worked myself to the bone, why I skipped meals and pulled double shifts, just to surprise her with a life together. And this was the surprise waiting for me. Gemma didn’t say a word the whole way up. When we reached the grand ballroom on the third floor, she hesitated at the double doors, biting her lip. “Maybe… maybe we shouldn’t go in.” I pushed the doors open anyway. The swells of the wedding march washed over me, loud and mocking. Along the walls were beautifully framed photos of Stephanie and another man. Their first meeting, their proposal, every milestone of their romance was meticulously captured. And in some of those photos, our mutual friends, even my best buddies, were smiling right alongside them. I counted the years on the captions. Five years. Five whole years. I looked around the room. Almost everyone sitting at the tables was someone I knew. Standing near the altar as groomsmen were my own close friends, including Marcus. They all knew. They knew Stephanie was never a struggling office worker, and they knew she was getting married today. I mapped out the dates. While Stephanie was vacationing in Europe with Sebastian, I was drinking myself to a pulp at business dinners, throwing up blood just to secure a client. While they were shooting high-end wedding photos in Paris, I was working three consecutive weeks at the office, nearly dying of exhaustion. None of them had said a word to me. I could practically hear their whispers. Pitiful Owen, working so hard for nothing, while they laughed at my pathetic struggle behind my back. While I hesitated over a fifty-dollar clearance jacket, Sebastian’s cufflinks alone cost thousands. The party favors Stephanie handed out so casually were worth a fortune, yet she had constantly played poor in front of me. The memories cut like broken glass. When the newlyweds walked down the aisle to toast the tables, Stephanie finally saw me. Her mask slipped for a fraction of a second. Sebastian looked at me, confused. “And who is this?” Stephanie’s voice was smooth, detached. “Just a college classmate.” I stared at her, utterly shattered. But her eyes were already back on Sebastian. Sebastian smiled and clinked his glass against mine. “Since you’re Stephanie’s old classmate, you must have a drink with us. Thank you for coming today.” I could only offer a bitter, empty smile. Ten years of devotion, and she didn’t even have the courage to acknowledge who I was. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A message from Stephanie: [I’ll explain everything later. Just be good for now.] A second later, an email notification popped up. It was a non-disclosure agreement. The terms were simple: if I did anything to disrupt her marriage with Sebastian, I would owe a devastating sum in damages. But the most horrifying part was the signature at the bottom. I had already signed it. Sebastian noticed my pale face. “Are you alright?” I forced a tight smile. “Fine. Just… I’ve never seen Stephanie look so in love. It’s a bit of a surprise.” Their hands were tightly clasped, fingers interwoven perfectly. In our ten years together, Stephanie had never once initiated holding my hand. Sebastian’s eyes shone with the pride of a groom. “She usually acts so cold and strict at the office, but she’s incredibly gentle with me.” No, Stephanie wasn’t just gentle with him. She was devoted. On the massive LED screens, a slideshow of their ninety-nine pre-wedding photos played on a loop. In ten years, our photos together could be counted on one hand, and whenever we did take one, she made me delete it. But on that screen, she was radiant. She smiled, she laughed, her cheeks flushing red when Sebastian leaned in to kiss her cheek. Stephanie spoke softly to him, “Are your feet hurting? Do you want to change shoes?” “I’m fine,” Sebastian laughed, turning to me. “See? She’s incredibly attentive. Always remembers the little things.” But her care had never once extended to me. Whenever I was too sick to get out of bed after pulling all-nighters, her phone was always unreachable. She was always “busy with work,” only replying the next day, before ignoring me again. I had convinced myself she was just quiet, reserved, bad at expressing herself. I made endless excuses for her. She forgot our anniversaries because she didn’t care for superficial dates. She ignored my needs because she was stressed at work. Today, I finally saw the truth. She had plenty of warmth and romance; she had just saved all of it for someone else. I don’t know how I survived until the end of the reception. It was only when I locked myself inside my cheap motel room that the dam broke, and I sobbed until my chest was raw. When Stephanie and I first started dating, we were desperately poor. I came from a small mountain town, working every odd job I could find. Though Stephanie was a local, she claimed her family was struggling too. We often worked at the same part-time jobs. She never let me pay for anything, always rushing to grab the bill. “I don’t have much,” she’d say, “but I’m not letting you spend your hard-earned money.” While other couples planned trips, we planned how to stretch a single dollar. There was nothing about her that suggested she was an heiress to a massive corporate fortune. After graduation, she said her family found her a job in Boston, while I took a position in another city. During those long-distance years, she claimed she was pulling late nights just to save up for our future wedding. My heart ached for her, and I wanted to carry her burden. Every time she complained about her boss cutting her commission, I transferred half of my freelance earnings to her account. It was exhausting, but I felt so incredibly blessed. Blessed enough that even now, seeing the truth with my own eyes, I could barely process it. That night, a knock sounded at my door. Stephanie stood outside. She didn’t waste time. “Sebastian and I… it’s a family alliance. In families like mine, we don’t get a choice in these matters.” I stared at her. “The NDA. When did I sign that?” Her eyes flickered. “Three years ago.” A memory flashed in my mind. Three years ago, the year I worked myself to near-death. I had pulled a solid week of all-nighters and almost fainted at a bus stop. Hearing the weakness in my voice over the phone, Stephanie had rushed over to see me, bringing a stack of paperwork. “It’s a non-disclosure agreement for a new project at work,” she had said. “They need a relative’s signature to guarantee it.” I had hesitated. “But we aren’t married yet.” She had smiled warmly, her voice full of promise. “We will be soon anyway, won’t we?” Full of joy and hope, I had signed my name. While I believed she was finally building a future with me, she was already structuring her marriage to another man. Stephanie’s expression softened with a trace of pity. “If you just behave, you can still stay with me. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. You can choose any luxury apartment you want, and I’ll give you fifteen thousand dollars a month.” I stared at her in utter disbelief. “You want me to be your… kept man? Your side piece?” Stephanie didn’t see the issue. “You always complain about how exhausted you are at work. Staying with me will be much easier…” Before she could finish, my hand flew across her face. The slap echoed in the small room. She knew. She knew my own mother had spiraled into severe depression because she had been forced into being a mistress. She knew how much I despised that dynamic, yet she offered it to me as if it were a privilege. Stephanie’s face darkened. Seeing my tear-stained face, she softened her tone again. “Owen, think about it. What kind of life did your mother live? Do you really want to repeat her misery? At least I won’t abandon you like your father did.” I screamed at her, physically shoving and kicking her out of the room. The next morning, my phone rang. It was my mother, her voice trembling with fury and shame. “How could you do this? How could I raise such a disgusting child?” Someone had taken photos of Stephanie entering my motel room and turned it into an online article. The headline was vile: “Billionaire CEO Weds, Instantly Caught with Secret Boy Toy at Cheap Motel.” The comment section was a toxic wasteland. Someone had leaked my phone number and ID. The harassment poured in like a flood. “Owen, how could you become one of those people?” my mother sobbed. “You know what I went through.” “Mom, I’m not a homewrecker, I swear…” “Stop lying!” her voice shrieked. “If you aren’t her secret lover, why was she visiting your motel room in the middle of the night?” I couldn’t explain it to her, so I desperately posted my own evidence online, proving we had been together for ten years. The internet went into a frenzy. But my post was taken down almost immediately. That was when Sebastian found me. “Owen, we need to talk. I’m sorry for the inconvenience my friends caused you, but your post is causing significant trouble for both our families. We need you to go live on social media and admit you’re the homewrecker.” My mother’s screams still echoed in my ears, and now Sebastian was handing me the blade, demanding I plunge it into my own chest. “And if I refuse?” A cold, ruthless light entered his eyes. “Have you forgotten what you promised Stephanie? You violated the NDA by disrupting our marriage. Do you want me to calculate how much you owe us? If you apologize on live stream, I’ll give you an extra eighty thousand dollars.” I ended up agreeing. “Fine. I’ll apologize.” The live stream opened, and a barrage of insults immediately flooded the screen. I forced a jagged, empty smile. “I’m sorry. I apologize for not keeping my mouth shut and quietly swallowing this bitter pill. I suppose I should have just smiled while the woman I loved for ten years married someone else. It’s just a green light, right? I should wear it proudly.” The words “Sebastian’s Homewrecker” trended instantly. Stephanie, absolutely furious, cut the stream off. She laughed, a bitter, angry sound. “Owen, you grew up in the mountains. You clearly don’t understand how the rules of our world work.” A sudden chill ran down my spine. “Do you remember how your mother was dragged across the internet years ago?” She tapped her phone and turned the screen toward me. It was an old webpage screenshot from over a decade ago. The headline screamed: High School Teacher Exiled as Mistress, Beaten in Broad Daylight by Wife. “If this goes viral again, do you think your mother can survive a second wave of harassment?” I fell to my knees, sobbing, begging Stephanie to spare my mother. My mother’s fragile mental state couldn’t take another hit. It would kill her. Stephanie’s eyes flashed with a momentary pang of guilt, but she pressed send anyway. “You hurt Sebastian. You have to pay the price.” “No! Please…” I dragged myself over, begging Sebastian. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sebastian. I was stupid. Please, just leave my mother out of this!” The old scandal exploded online. My mother, who had barely crawled out of that dark abyss, was dragged right back in. Seeing my complete breakdown, Sebastian smiled warmly. “If you apologize properly on stream, I’ll let it go.” I went live again, enduring an even worse onslaught of abuse. Stephanie’s expression softened slightly. “Your mother will be fine. I’ve already sent people to watch over her.” She stepped out to take a call. Sebastian looked down at me. “Aren’t you curious how we found out about your mother’s past?” Marcus stepped out from the shadows. My mind went completely blank. The person who had handed them the ammunition was Marcus. “Why?” I whispered. “Why would you do this to me?” Marcus laughed. “I’m doing this for your own good, Owen. Stephanie has always loved Sebastian. Why are you clinging to another man’s wife?” Marcus had been my brother since childhood. When his parents wanted to pull him out of high school to put him to work, I was the one who paid his tuition so he could finish his education. Even when he kept Stephanie’s wedding a secret, I hadn’t blamed him. But I never imagined he would be the one to push me off the cliff. Before the security guards threw me out, Sebastian whispered in my ear, “Oh, and by the way, those people Stephanie sent to watch your mother? I called them off hours ago.” It felt like a physical blow. I frantically called home, only to receive the news that shattered my world: my mother had jumped from her apartment building. The sheer weight of the despair suffocated me. My limbs went entirely cold. Through blurred eyes, I saw a text from Stephanie: [I deleted the post and handled the online rumors. Sebastian won’t touch you anymore. We can go back to how we were.] I turned on my livestream, ignoring the torrent of hate, walked to the edge of the bridge, and jumped into the freezing river. Stephanie, we can never go back. On the other side of town, Stephanie, sitting beside Sebastian, happened to scroll past the stream of my leap. Sebastian scoffed, “Probably just a desperate stunt for attention.” Stephanie’s racing heart settled. Right. Owen wasn’t the type to do something so foolish. But a second later, her assistant burst into the room, pale and trembling. “Ma’am, it’s bad. He really jumped!”

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