1 The night I was diagnosed with stomach cancer, I saw a viral “Do you have the guts?” challenge. Owen had tagged Emily: Do you have the guts to admit you take off his hearing aids so he won’t hear us next door? Emily replied instantly. Stop it. Stop being crazy. Owen answered, Don’t worry, I won’t tell him. I’m dying anyway. My final wish is seeing you two happy. Commenters tore him apart, not knowing the truth. At the orphanage, when a drunk caretaker came for me, Owen locked me in a utility closet, taking the beating himself. Later, Emily gave up an Ivy League future and studying abroad to tutor me for three years so I could get into college. I owed them everything. Even knowing they betrayed me, hating them felt like ingratitude. The hospital called—Owen’s liver was failing, and I was a perfect match. I looked at my stage II stomach cancer diagnosis on the desk. Then I went to the hospital alone, signed the organ donation form, and signed papers refusing further cancer treatment. … After completing the pre-op tests, I sat in the hospital corridor for a long time, just trying to feel my own body before the sickness completely hollowed it out. When I turned my phone back on, the video was gone. The comments were deleted. Instead, I had thirteen missed calls from Emily and seventeen from Owen. I called Emily back. She picked up on the first ring, her voice freezing. “Michael, where have you been?” “Owen has been breaking out in cold sweats from the pain. Because we couldn’t find you, he refused to take his pain meds.” “Do we really have to worry about you at a time like this?” I opened my mouth, but my throat was incredibly dry. She noticed my silence and paused. “Where are you?” I stuffed the test results deep into my coat pocket. “Nowhere. I’m fine.” She let out a sharp sigh of relief. “If you’re fine, get over here. Owen wants to take a photo.” Owen’s voice came through the receiver, weak and laughing. “Art, I want to take a decent portrait for my funeral. I don’t want you guys remembering me looking like a corpse when I’m gone.” Emily immediately snapped at him. “Shut up. You look so awful right now even the Grim Reaper wouldn’t want you.” She sounded harsh, but I heard the rattle of the water glass shaking against the table. Her hands were trembling. When I reached the studio, Owen was already dressed in a crisp white button-down. He was so thin the shirt hung loosely on his frame. Emily stood behind him, her eyes red. Seeing me, she frowned. “Why is your face so pale?” Before I could answer, Owen smiled. “Hey, Art.” Emily immediately turned to support his weight. I walked over and gently adjusted Owen’s collar. He was just as thin when we were kids, pushing me into that dark closet. When the ambulance took him away back then, he still tried to comfort me. “Don’t worry about me, Art. I might be skinny, but I can protect you.” The photographer broke my reverie. “Should we do the solo shots first?” Owen shook his head. “Can we do a group photo of the three of us first? They’re the most important people in my life. Then you can take my solo portrait.” Emily’s face darkened. “Stop calling it that.” Owen’s eyes brimmed with tears. I looked at him and said softly, “Let’s not do a group photo.” They both looked at me, startled. I forced a smile. “You two should take a couple’s portrait.” Owen froze. Emily frowned. “Michael, don’t start.” I didn’t look at her. I squatted down to meet Owen’s eyes. “I’m just worried that if you go to the other side alone, other ghosts will bully you. You need some backup.” Emily went quiet. Owen’s tears spilled over, and I gently wiped them away with my thumb. The photographer told them to stand closer. Owen hesitated to touch her. I took his hand and placed it in Emily’s. “It’s okay.” Emily looked up at him. The photographer said, “Bride, hold onto the groom.” She didn’t correct him. She just wrapped her arms tightly around Owen’s. I stood outside the frame, holding Owen’s medicine bag and Emily’s purse. The flash went off, bright and blinding. It struck me then that Emily and I had never taken couples’ photos, let alone wedding portraits. I stepped slightly into the edge of the frame. In their perfect photo, my blurry shadow would be my final, quiet farewell. After the shoot, Owen wanted to go for a walk. “Just for a bit. I want to look at the sky one last time.” Emily refused. “You’re too weak to be moving around.” Owen looked down, silent. I went to speak, but my vision went black. The blood draw had left me lightheaded, and a dull, heavy ache throbbed in my stomach. I leaned against the back of a chair to steady myself. Emily saw me and knit her brows. “Michael, Owen is exhausted. Don’t start acting sick right now and make him feel worse.” I forced a nod, picking up Owen’s scarf. “Let’s go. I’ll walk with him.” The wind outside was freezing. Emily supported Owen ahead of me, and I lagged behind. Owen stood by the railing, staring into the gray distance. “Emily, I have one last wish.” Her voice strained. “You have a lot of wishes today.” Owen didn’t laugh. He looked back at me. Emily did too. After a few seconds, she spoke softly. “Art, can you take off your hearing aids for a moment?” I complied, and the world plunged into silence. Emily turned to Owen. With absolute seriousness and devotion, she said something. Owen froze, then laughed through his tears. They thought I couldn’t hear. But I could read lips. She had said: I love you. A wave of bitterness washed over me. I wiped my tears, slowly letting my lips curve into a silent shape: I love you both, too. That was why I was willing to let them go. Owen cried so hard his body swayed. Emily’s face paled. She lunged to catch him. “Owen?!” His eyes closed, his fingers still clutching her sleeve. Her voice shook with panic. “Owen, stay with me. Look at me! Do you hear me?!” She carried him to the car. As she sped away, she forgot all about me. I stood by the empty road, put my hearing aids back on, and hauled a cab to the hospital. When I reached the emergency room, Emily was standing outside the resuscitation room. Her dress was wrinkled, her hands stained with Owen’s nosebleed. The nurse told her to wash up, but she didn’t hear. Her eyes were glued to the red light. When the doctor stepped out, she rushed forward. “How is he?” “His liver is failing,” the doctor said. “We can’t drag this out any longer.” Her lips trembled. “Haven’t you found a donor? I don’t care how much it costs!” The doctor frowned. “It’s not about money.” Her voice cracked. “Then take mine. I’ll donate. Just save him.” I watched her from a few paces away. I remembered when my hearing first deteriorated and I was too terrified to sleep. Emily had stayed up with me until dawn. Her eyes had been red then, too. But back then, she had only patted my shoulder and said, “Don’t worry.” She was always so calm, I never thought she could break. The doctor went back inside. Emily slid down against the wall, burying her face in her hands, sobbing. I walked over and crouched before her. “He’ll be okay. He’ll get the donor.” She snapped her head up, her eyes bloodshot. “Michael, how can you say that so easily? Like it’s nothing?” I froze. She pushed herself up so fast her shoulder slammed into me. Lightheaded and weak, I lost my balance and fell to the cold floor. A sharp spasm of pain flared in my stomach, turning my vision dark. But Emily didn’t even notice. She glared down at me. “Owen almost died outside that door trying to save you when we were kids. Now he’s dying, and you’re just standing there telling me he’ll be fine? Michael, when did you become so selfish?” I sat on the freezing tile, unable to utter a word. A nurse ran over to help me up. “Are you alright?” “Just low blood sugar,” I mumbled. The nurse looked at my deathly pale face. “You really should get checked out.” Before I could answer, Owen’s weak voice drifted from the room. “Emily…” She spun around instantly. Owen’s first question upon waking was, “No donor yet?” Emily held his hand. “I’ve sent people to get tested.” Owen’s eyes welled up. “Don’t do it. I don’t want you giving up part of your liver for me. And I don’t want Art to be hurt either.” Hearing my name, Emily finally cast a glance at me. It was a complex look, filled with silent accusation that I was too detached. Owen pulled a worn notebook from under his pillow. A sticky note on the cover read: Bucket List. He opened the first page. “Took the photo. Check.” He drew a tick next to it. Then he flipped the page. “I want to go to the old hilltop sanctuary to draw a blessing card. The old lady near the orphanage used to say that if the card is blessed, it can buy you some extra time.” He smiled weakly. “I want to try.” Emily agreed. I leaned against the doorframe, my phone buzzing in my pocket. It was a text from the hospital: Mr. Michael, please check in by 8:00 AM tomorrow. Pre-op preparations for organ donation have been confirmed. I clenched my fists. Owen noticed my silence. “Art, do you not want to go?” “No, I just have some things to take care of tomorrow.” Owen’s eyes dimmed. “Are you tired of me, Art?” My chest tightened. “No.” “I only have a few things left,” he whispered. “If you don’t want to come, it’s okay.” Emily looked at me, her voice laced with cold irritation. “Michael. All he wants is for you to accompany him to get a blessing card. Is that really so hard?” I locked my phone and smiled. “It’s not hard. I’ll go.” The next day, we went to the hilltop sanctuary. Emily helped Owen up the path. I trailed behind, my stomach throbbing. Every dozen steps, I had to stop to catch my breath. Emily only looked back once. The sanctuary was quiet. Owen drew his blessing token first. When the priest read it, his face fell. A bad omen. The card read: A fading life cannot be held, fleeting blessings cannot endure. Owen stared at it, laughing quietly. “Pretty accurate.” Emily snatched the card and crumpled it. “Garbage. Draw again.” The priest shook his head. “One request per token. You cannot redraw.” Emily’s face twisted with anger. Just then, my token fell out. An auspicious omen. The priest glanced at it. “A long life of peace, filled with abundant grace.” My fingers trembled. I had drawn it for myself. Before I could pocket it, Emily reached over, took it from my hand, and pressed it into Owen’s palm. “Take this. Wash away the bad luck.” Owen blinked. “But this is Art’s.” Emily finally looked at me. “Michael, you don’t mind, right?” I looked at the card, then at Owen’s deathly pale face. If this card really possessed any magic, let it protect him. Owen walked to the relationship altar. The priest said, “A relationship token can only be drawn once in a lifetime.” Owen stepped back. “Then leave it for you and Art.” But Emily grabbed his hand. “Don’t be afraid. Draw it if you want.” The wooden token clattered down. A perfect match. The priest read: “Bound by life and death, a bond too deep to sever.” Strangers nearby murmured about what a beautiful match they were. I stood to the side, a sudden wave of nausea hitting me. I covered my mouth, forcing down the metallic taste of blood. I stayed silent. Emily helped Owen down the steps. Owen leaned on her, asking, “Where’s Art?” Emily looked back. I was far up the steps. “He’s slow,” she said. “We’ll wait for him at the bottom.” I tried to keep walking, but the pain in my stomach was blinding. Dizziness washed over me, and my knees buckled. I couldn’t do it. I turned back toward the sanctuary. Next to the side chapel was a small clinic. A white-haired nurse helped me lie down and gave me some basic treatment. “You need to go to a hospital immediately. Any longer and you’ll bleed out.” I grabbed her hand. “Don’t tell the people outside.” When Emily finally found me, I had just sat up. She rushed in, exhaling in relief before her expression soured. “Michael, why did you run off here?” “Look, I’m sorry about taking your card earlier. I’ll take you to draw as many as you want later. Owen only has so much time left. Can we just keep him happy, please?” I looked at her, nodding weakly. “Okay.” She helped me down the mountain, her phone buzzing constantly with texts from Owen: Did you find Art? Is he mad at me? Emily, please don’t yell at him. As she read them, she murmured to me, “Michael, let’s just let him have his way this time.” Upon returning, I checked straight into the inpatient ward. The doctor looked grim. “You have liver donation surgery tomorrow, but your current physical state makes this extremely high-risk.” I closed my eyes. “I know. But please, proceed.” That night, Emily called me three times. I didn’t answer. When she texted, I didn’t dare read them. Finally, I turned off my phone. The next morning, news came from Owen’s ward: a donor had been found. Emily rushed to the doctor’s office. Through the door, I heard her voice. “When is the surgery?” “The donor has been admitted and passed all checks,” the doctor said. “I can compensate them,” Emily said urgently. “Money, real estate, anything they want.” The doctor shook his head. “That won’t be necessary.” In the afternoon, the nurse wheeled me out for my final tests. Passing the hallway, I heard Emily on the phone. “I still can’t reach Michael. He’s been acting strange since we got back from the sanctuary.” Owen’s weak voice answered, “Go find him.” Emily fell silent for a long moment. “After your surgery. He’s a grown man, he’ll be fine.” The nurse wheeled me into the elevator. Just before the doors slid shut, I saw Emily look up. She seemed to catch a glimpse of my patient gown. She took a step forward, but the doors closed. Later, Emily brought fruits and supplements to the donor’s ward. I heard her asking the nurse outside, “Can I just peek in? I want to say thank you on behalf of Owen.” The nurse stopped her. “The donor needs to rest.” She hovered at the door. I kept my back to her, my hair messy, not daring to move or turn around. Through the crack in the door, her voice softened. “His back looks… like someone I know.” My fingers clawed into the sheets. The nurse smiled. “Ms. Emily, you’re just stressed. Tomorrow’s surgery will go smoothly.” She finally left. I let go, my palms slick with sweat. On the day of the surgery, Owen was wheeled in first. I lay on another gurney, pushed through a side corridor. From a distance, I saw her tucking his blanket in. Three hours later, the surgeon emerged to deliver the good news: “The surgery was a success.” She leaned against the wall, eyes tearing up. “He’s alive… thank God.” But a second later, another nurse rushed out from the operating theater. “Who is Michael’s next of kin?!” Emily froze. “Are you mistaken? I’m Owen’s family. Why would Michael be in the operating room?” The nurse was frantic. “No mistake. The donor who gave his liver to Owen is Michael. He was already suffering from stomach cancer, and now after the transplant, his vitals are highly unstable. We need the family to sign an emergency consent form immediately!”

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1 The night of my bachelorette party, I lost control and ended up spending a wild, chaotic night with my high school nemesis, Tristan. The moment the haze cleared and I realized what had happened, a cold dread seized me. I immediately called my boyfriend, Roger. I expected panic, or at least anger. Instead, his voice through the receiver was chillingly detached. “I’m the one who set it up.” “The Montgomery family is preparing to officially recognize me. I’m going to be their heir soon, Gemma. We aren’t from the same social class anymore.” “Besides, Melody and I have been together behind your back for a long time.” He paused, his tone shifting into something disgustingly apologetic and innocent. “I know Tristan did some awful things to you back in the day, but his family is incredibly wealthy. Honestly, marrying him is a step up for an orphan like you.” My entire body began to shake. I couldn’t comprehend how the man I had loved for so many years could turn into such a ruthless backstabber. But there was one thing he didn’t know. The child the Montgomery family had been searching for, the one they were about to bring home, was actually me. … Just a few hours earlier, Roger had stood in front of our friends and family, swearing to love me unconditionally after our wedding. I had believed every single lie, letting myself get swept up in the celebration, drinking glass after glass of champagne. Now, he sounded like an entirely different person. “I’ve already received a handwritten letter from Mrs. Montgomery, my biological mother,” Roger said, his voice dripping with cold arrogance. “They’re picking me up in a week. You know how old money families are. They would never allow an orphan with no background to marry into their dynasty. Tristan is truly your best option now.” A sharp pain flared in my throat, as if a thousand needles were pressing against my vocal cords. It took everything I had to choke out a few words. “Did you actually run a DNA test?” “Enough!” Roger roared. I could practically see his handsome face twisting into an irritated scowl. “We don’t need a test. The letter used my childhood nickname, Hope. How could there be a mistake?” “Gemma, you’re just jealous. You were always like this at the orphanage, getting envious whenever other kids got adopted. You haven’t changed a bit.” He slammed the phone down, ending the call. My ears buzzed in the sudden silence, his parting words echoing in my mind. Hope. He had completely forgotten that I, too, was called Hope. At the orphanage, we used to stand together by the window on the second floor, watching other children get led away by their new parents. One of the older caretakers used to tease us, calling us Big Hope and Little Hope, promising that one day we would both find the families we longed for. Who would have thought I’d end up hoping for a traitor? I unlocked my phone, staring at the digital copy of the certified DNA report sitting in my inbox. I had verified it three times. I was the actual biological child of the Montgomery family. I had planned to surprise Roger with the news tonight. Now, hot tears spilled over my eyelashes. A hand suddenly clamped down on my bare shoulder. I flinched, instantly shoving Tristan away as he sat up in the bed. Tristan didn’t seem bothered. A wicked, knowing smirk spread across his lips. “We already did the deed, Gemma. What are you playing shy for?” “I told you years ago that Roger never loved you. His heart has always belonged to my little sister, Melody.” “Back in high school, I found his journal. Every single page was covered in her name. I beat him within an inch of his life on the school roof to make him stay away from her. Honestly, if he hadn’t been chosen by the Montgomery family, I would never have allowed my sister to associate with him.” A wave of dizzying pain tore through my head. Memories from my past fractured and collided. During high school, Tristan had been my primary tormentor. He would rip up my textbooks, laughing as he announced to the entire classroom that I was a cursed orphan who brought bad luck to everyone. Back then, I knew his family was powerful and that he was headed abroad for university. I kept my head down, swallowing the humiliation. Then, one evening, Roger had found me. He was covered in deep bruises, barely able to stand, with tears shining in his eyes. “Nobody will ever hurt you again,” he had whispered. He told me he had fought Tristan on the roof to protect me. But he had conveniently left out the part about Melody. Looking back, I had to wonder: was that tear on his cheek shed out of relief for my safety, or out of heartbreak because he could no longer be with the girl he actually wanted? Once, I would have answered without hesitation. Now, the truth felt like ash in my mouth. 2 On social media, Melody had just posted a new update. It was a photo of two hands clasped together, a delicate ring sparkling on her ring finger. The band was shaped like a stalk of wheat. It was a design I had created myself. A few weeks ago, I had eagerly shown the sketch to Roger. I remembered the brief flare of excitement in his eyes before he quickly turned away, calling the design childish and cheap. Then, he had secretly taken my sketches and put the finished piece on Melody’s finger. Melody’s caption read: An unforgettable bachelorette night. I’ll never have to walk alone again! I stared at the screen, a dry, bitter laugh escaping my lips. My bachelorette party had been a setup, and my fiancé’s bachelor party was a celebration of his future with another woman. I was the only fool kept in the dark. Tristan was a notorious trust-fund playboy who had even spent a brief stint in jail a few years back. He was toxic trash, yet in Roger’s mind, trash was exactly what I deserved. Tristan leaned back against the headboard, lazily lighting a cigarette. “A cursed girl like you is lucky to get someone like me. But if you don’t want to be my official girl, I don’t mind keeping you as a sidepiece. Just keep your phone on.” He blew a thick cloud of smoke directly into my face. He hadn’t changed at all. He was still the same arrogant bully. Under his watchful, amused gaze, I picked up my phone with trembling fingers and dialed. “I’d like to report a sexual assault.” At the police station, I forced myself to remain functional as the officers took my statement. I tried to reconstruct the timeline of the party. Everyone had been crowding around me, handing me drinks. I tried to recall who had handed me the glass that made my head spin, and who had guided my stumbling steps into Tristan’s hotel suite. But the more I tried to focus, the more the old high school memories intruded, bringing back the suffocating feelings of helplessness. My body began to shudder. Roger had known about my trauma. He knew how much I feared and hated Tristan, yet he had engineered this nightmare anyway. The betrayal hit me all at once, and I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. Just then, the door to the interrogation room slammed open. Roger rushed in, his face tight with apparent worry. He lunged forward, wrapping his arms around me just like he had done a thousand times before. For a split second, my body reacted to the familiar warmth, wanting to lean into the comfort. I looked up at his mouth, desperately hoping he would say this was all a horrible misunderstanding. Instead, Roger pulled a flash drive from his pocket and laid it on the metal table. “This is the security footage from the hotel corridor,” he said, his eyes hard and cold. “There was no coercion. She went with him willingly.” The detective plugged the drive into a laptop. A video began to play. On screen, I was laughing, my arm slung over Tristan’s shoulder as I eagerly followed him into the room. Roger was standing at the end of the hall, quietly watching us. He was the perfect eyewitness to destroy my case. After we were dismissed, Roger walked me out to the parking lot, even opening the passenger door for me with a gentle, practiced courtesy. I stood frozen on the pavement, my legs feeling like lead. I stared at his face. It was the same face I had loved for a decade, but he felt like an absolute stranger. “Roger,” I whispered, my voice raw. “Do you hate me that much?” 3 He paused, a flicker of something resembling regret crossing his features before his expression hardened again. He lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply. “The Lin family business is preparing for an IPO. They can’t afford any scandals right now.” He blew the smoke away from me, his eyes indifferent. “Gemma, you’re being incredibly ungrateful. If it weren’t for my arrangement, you wouldn’t even have a chance to marry into a family like theirs.” I let out a soft, mocking laugh. We had been together since we were sixteen. We had walked out of the orphanage hand-in-hand, working brutal shifts while trying to finish our degrees. We had lived in damp basement apartments and hauled water from public parks. During our hardest winter, we had shared a single cup of instant ramen, both of us refusing to eat the last bite until the soup went completely cold. Roger used to hold me close, crying and apologizing for not being able to give me the life I deserved. But I had never cared about the poverty. I only cared about him. When my DNA results had come back, the Montgomery family had immediately reached out to me. I had proudly told them that I was engaged, and that Roger and I would be coming home together. I had been planning our future while he was planning my ruin. I looked inside his car. The interior smelled different now, sweet and foreign. A plush, custom cushion sat on the passenger seat. It was clearly Melody’s spot. I climbed into the back seat instead, pulled out my phone, and sent a message to the Montgomery estate: The wedding is off. I’ll be returning home alone. When we reached our apartment, Melody was already there. She hadn’t changed much since high school. She was still the beautiful, pampered princess who had always looked down on me. Back then, Roger had sneered whenever she walked past, calling her a brainless, superficial girl. Now, I realized the only joke was me. I walked past her without a word and began packing my bags. Before long, her sharp, mocking voice drifted into the bedroom. “Are you still trying to play the tragic victim? Sleeping with my brother is the best thing that could have happened to you.” “Gemma, you were abandoned the day you were born. You should learn to accept your place instead of trying to claw your way into high society. A stray dog doesn’t belong in a palace.” She let out a cruel chuckle, her reflection in the mirror showing her rolling her eyes. I swallowed my anger, refusing to engage with her. “We bought this apartment together,” I said to Roger, my voice steady. “We’ll put it on the market and split the proceeds fifty-fifty.” My chest ached as I said it. We had spent years saving for this place, working three jobs and ignoring our health just to have a home of our own. Every single piece of furniture, every paint color, had been chosen by me. We had only lived here for three months. Leaving broke my heart, but staying in a place tainted by them made me physically ill. I expected Roger to agree, but Melody spoke up first, her voice dripping with venom. “Are you delusional, Gemma? This isn’t your apartment.” She draped herself over Roger’s shoulders, her voice turning sickeningly sweet. “Besides, I love this place. The kitchen, the bathroom, the sofa… Roger and I have left our marks everywhere. We could never sell a place with such thrilling memories.” 4 My brain went completely numb. I stared at Melody’s smug face. The kitchen. The bathroom. Our sofa. A wave of intense nausea hit me, and I had to physically press my hand against my stomach to keep from throwing up. I marched over to the closet, tearing through the hangers until I found our document lockbox. My hands shook so hard I could barely enter the code. When I finally pulled out the property deed, the name printed on the paper felt like a physical blow. Melody Lin. I had poured every cent of my life savings into this place. I had worked myself to the bone, never daring to take a single sick day, believing this home would be my ultimate safety net. Now, my security belonged to another woman. I stumbled out of the closet and threw the document down in front of Roger. “Care to explain this?” Roger frowned, immediately stepping in front of Melody to shield her. His eyes held nothing but disgust. “There’s nothing to explain.” “Gemma, when did you become so materialistic and cold? All you care about is money. Once I’m settled in with the Montgomery family, I’ll pay you back double what you put in. Is that enough for you?” The sheer audacity of his words choked me. I couldn’t believe I had spent a decade loving a man who could twist reality so effortlessly. Rage, hot and blinding, surged through my veins. Before I could stop myself, I snatched the heavy leather deed folder and hurled it at them with all my strength. The sharp metal corner of the binder grazed Melody’s cheek. A thin, bright red line appeared on her pale skin, and a second later, blood began to drip onto the hardwood floor. Melody collapsed to her knees, letting out a piercing shriek. Roger reacted instantly, dropping to his knees and pressing his hand over her wound. He glared up at me, his eyes wild with fury. “Gemma, are you insane? If her face is scarred, I swear I will ruin you!” I ignored them, returning to the bedroom to zip up my suitcase. Roger helped Melody to her feet, guiding her toward the door to go to the hospital. But as they reached the threshold, Melody stopped. She turned around, her eyes burning with pure hatred. “Gemma, I will make sure you suffer for this.” I didn’t even look at her. My life was already in ruins, what more could they possibly do to me? But then, my phone began to vibrate incessantly. I pulled it out. A massive alumni group chat containing thousands of people from our high school and college was active, messages flying by at a dizzying speed. I scrolled up, and my breath caught in my throat. It was the video of me and Tristan in the hotel room. The comments were brutal. “She always pretended to be so innocent, turns out she’s just another climber.” “Honestly, securing a rich guy like Tristan is a lot easier than actually working for a living.” “I can’t believe she’s desperate enough to sleep with a creep like Tristan.” The administrators quickly removed the video, but it was too late. People had already downloaded it. Within hours, my social media feed was flooded with anonymous accounts offering to sell the clip for a dollar. Direct messages started pouring in from strangers, asking me how much I charged for a night. My mind went completely blank, and my knees gave out. I collapsed onto the floor, staring at the screen. I tried to reply, to explain, but the wave of harassment was too massive to fight. Around midnight, Roger returned from the clinic. The anger on his face had faded, replaced by a patronizing calm. “If you go and apologize to Melody, I can make this go away,” he said, his voice quiet and gentle. “Gemma, you need to think logically. Marrying Tristan really is a good path for you. You’ll be a wealthy wife with no financial worries.” I looked up at his face. Make it go away? To the entire world, I was now a disgraced, desperate climber. My reputation was completely destroyed. I slowly stood up, a calm, empty smile spreading across my lips. I walked into the kitchen, picked up a paring knife from the block, and walked back to him. Before he could react, I lunged forward and slashed the blade across his cheek. The exact same spot. The exact same length. “Since you love Melody so much, I figured you should have a matching set,” I whispered. “Roger, shouldn’t you be thanking me?” Roger clutched his face, letting out a blood-curdling scream. He stumbled backward, tripping over my suitcase and crashing onto the floor. “You crazy bitch!” he howled, blood leaking through his fingers. “I was actually trying to help you, and this is how you treat me?” He scrambled to his feet, his face contorted with rage. He lunged at me, tearing the knife from my grip and pinning me against the wall, the cold metal blade pressing hard against my throat. “You’re just a nameless orphan, Gemma,” he hissed, his eyes wild and unstable. “Even if I slit your throat right here, the Montgomery family has enough power to sweep it under the rug for me!” He pressed down, and I felt the sharp sting of the blade cutting into my skin. My strength was failing. Suddenly, the front door was kicked off its hinges with a deaf-ening crash.

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1 After giving up our VIP booth for the World Cup final to an elderly man, my husband’s close friend Sienna had to stand for the rest of the match. The next morning, Garrett confronted me with bloodshot eyes. “Do you know Sienna stood for two straight hours? Her knees are so swollen she had to be hospitalized.” I almost laughed. “The bar was full of stools. If her legs hurt, why didn’t she take one?” Out of arguments, Garrett switched to talking about our anniversary trip. Once we were on the road, I realized we weren’t going to the scenic place we had planned. We were heading deep into the Everglades wetlands. The SUV roared forward, kicking up dust. From a hovering drone, Garrett’s cold voice rang out. “Vivienne, you said anyone could sit anywhere. Why don’t you try sitting in the swamp?” A chill ran through me. I reached for my satellite phone, only to find the back cover and battery missing. “Don’t bother calling for help,” Garrett said. “Today you will learn some humility.” In my despair, glowing text flashed across my vision like a livestream chat. [Is this really the female lead? The billionaire heiress who hid her wealth for five years to play housewife and repay a debt?] [Why is she just standing there? Doesn’t she realize she’s right above a sinkhole?] Garrett’s irritated voice blared from the drone again. “Vivienne, stop playing dead! Is it really that hard to apologize to Sienna? Just admit you shouldn’t have stolen her seat, and we’ll come back for you.” From behind him, Sienna’s sweet, artificial voice piped up. “Garrett, don’t be too harsh. Vivienne must be terrified. How about this? If she just bows and apologizes to me, we can go back and pick her up.” Garrett put her on speaker. “Did you hear that, Vivienne? Apologize to Sienna, and I’ll pull you out.” I did not have time to process Sienna’s pathetic power play. My instinct told me to trust the floating text, and I quickly took a step to the side. My sudden movement only seemed to infuriate Garrett further. “Vivienne! Are you deaf? How dare you ignore me! Do you think this is a game? This is an uncharted wilderness. Do you actually want to die out here?” A bitter laugh bubbled up in my throat. I opened my mouth to shoot back, but the ground beneath me suddenly gave way. I plunged downward as the earth turned to liquid mud. Sinking sand. The thick, brown sludge swallowed my knees instantly, dragging me down with a terrifying, heavy suction. The floating chat erupted. [He really picked the worst spot. Sinking sand everywhere!] [Sinking sand is a death sentence. She needs to swallow her pride and beg for help right now!] My heart sank. Through the humid air, Garrett’s panicked voice drifted from where the SUV had stopped. “Vivienne! Someone help! Vivienne fell into the quicksand!” I looked up, catching the genuine terror in his eyes. For a split second, my heart softened, thinking he still cared. But before he could take a step, Sienna grabbed his arm. “Garrett, don’t panic!” She pulled him back into the vehicle, comforting him with a voice dripping with fake concern. “It’s just quicksand. I’ve seen this on TV. The more she struggles, the faster she’ll sink. As long as she stays perfectly still, she’ll be fine.” She spoke with such calm, pseudo-scientific authority that Garrett clung to her words like a lifeline. He steadied his breathing and grabbed the radio. “Vivienne! Do you hear me? Don’t move! Whatever you do, don’t move!” A dry laugh escaped my lips. The floating chat was in an absolute frenzy. [Don’t move? She wants her to die! That venomous snake is doing this on purpose!] [I’ve watched documentaries on these wetlands. God knows what kind of predators are lurking beneath that mud!] A violent shudder ran down my spine. It was not because of the text, but because something slimy and heavy had just brushed against my submerged calf. “Garrett!” I screamed, my voice cracking under the raw terror. “Help me! There’s something in here with me!” Right on cue, Sienna clutched her chest, gasping for air. “Garrett, my heart. It hurts. I can’t look at this, it is too much.” She collapsed into his arms, weak and pathetic. Garrett immediately panicked, all his attention shifting entirely to her. “Sienna! Talk to me! Don’t scare me like this! Where is her medication? Get the pills, now!” The SUV became a scene of frantic chaos, while my heart turned into a block of ice. Five years ago, as the sole heiress to the ultra-wealthy Ainsworth empire, I was forced onto the streets by a vicious family coup. Garrett had been the one to take me in. We had shared a cramped, damp studio apartment in the city for six months. During our darkest days, we lived on nothing but cheap instant noodles and stale bread. Yet, he had never complained. He used to hold me close and say, “We are a team, Vivienne. We look out for each other.” I honestly believed that was what pure, unadulterated love looked like. But prosperity, it seemed, was a curse our bond could not survive. The heavy pull of the mud was trying to drag me into the abyss. Inhaling sharply, I stopped shouting. I slipped my right hand behind my back, reaching for the custom tactical knife concealed beneath my waistband. If you want something done right, do it yourself. The moment my fingers gripped the hilt, a pair of murky, reptilian eyes surfaced silently from the black water. Then another pair, and another. Alligators. Massive, dark shapes glided through the sludge, slowly closing in on me. I gripped the hilt so hard my knuckles turned white. [Holy crap! An entire pack of gators! She is dead meat!] [She has a knife, she just needs to hold them off until Garrett steps in. He can’t be that heartless, right?] [Exactly! Remember when he stood up to those street thugs for her? They used to be so sweet together!] Up in the armored SUV, Garrett seemed to sense the shift in the air. He turned his head and looked in my direction. His eyes widened in sheer disbelief, and his voice went up an octave. “Alligators! Why the hell are there gators here?!” Panic took over. He screamed at the local guide, his voice cracking. “Get down there! Save her! Where is the rifle? Where is the rope? Throw her the rope!” The guide scrambled to grab the emergency gear. But before he could open the door, Sienna, whose chest pain had miraculously vanished, lunged forward and snatched the radio from Garrett’s hand. “Don’t go out there!” she shrieked at the guide. “If those beasts smell blood and attack the truck, we are all going to die with her!” She shivered, playing the part of a terrified victim perfectly. But the chat saw right through her act. [They have an armored truck and a gun. They could easily drive off the gators!] [Look at her playing the saint. I bet she is throwing a party in her head right now.] Yet, her frantic warnings worked. The guide hesitated, pulling his hand back from the door. “She is right. Those things are killers. If she hadn’t wandered off, we wouldn’t be in this mess.” Garrett’s resolve crumbled. Sienna wrapped her arms around him, her eyes pooling with tears. “Garrett, look at me! I don’t want anything bad to happen to Vivienne either, but we can’t save her by throwing our own lives away! She loves you, Garrett. She wouldn’t want you to die for her!” Her words were a masterpiece of manipulation, sweet as honey and sharp as a blade. They snuffed out the last ember of decency in Garrett’s chest. He turned his eyes away from me, tears streaming down his face. “Vivienne, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I stared at him, my soul turning to ash. This was the man who had sworn to love me in sickness and in health, the man who promised we would face the world together. All it took was a few whispers from another woman for him to throw my life away. The mud was up to my chest now. The water around me began to churn as the dominant male alligator lost its patience. It lunged forward, jaws snapping shut. Razor-sharp teeth grazed my calf, sending a jolt of agony through my body. As blood billowed into the dark water, my reflexes took over. I arched my back at an impossible angle, driving my blade upward with terrifying speed. The steel buried itself deep into the soft flesh beneath the beast’s jaw. The alligator thrashed in agony, whipping the swamp into a frenzy of red mud and foam. The scent of fresh blood sent the other predators into a feeding madness. Pure survival instinct lent me strength I did not know I possessed. Using the thrashing beast as a stepping stone, I yanked myself free from the deadly suction of the quicksand. Before the other gators could close the gap, I scrambled up the trunk of a dead, withered cypress tree. Jaws snapped empty air inches beneath my boots, the stench of swamp rot and blood brushing against my ankles. I climbed higher, gasping for breath as I clung to the branch. [Incredible! That was straight out of an action movie!] [I knew the Ainsworth heiress wouldn’t go down easy. Those survival training camps her family paid for actually paid off!] [But that tree trunk is way too thin. It’s not going to hold if those things keep ramming it!] I peered down to see a dozen pairs of cold, yellow eyes locked onto me, waiting for me to lose my grip. My throat tightened. Before I could plan my next move, Garrett’s voice shattered the silence. “Vivienne! You were playing games with me this entire time!” “See, Garrett? I told you she’d be fine,” Sienna chimed in, her voice dripping with venom as she glared at me. “She probably jumped into the mud on purpose just to scare us and make you feel guilty.” I looked over. The fear in Garrett’s eyes had vanished, replaced by an ugly, self-righteous rage. “Vivienne, you actually staged this entire performance just to make me feel bad? You are a sick, manipulative woman. You disgust me.” The chat was moving at lightning speed. [This girl is a master manipulator. A few sentences and Vivienne is the villain again!] [This is infuriating! Doesn’t she remember that destroying the satellite phone’s transmitter chip sends an automatic emergency beacon to her family? Call the cavalry and feed these two to the gators!] A jolt went through my chest. I stared at the useless satellite phone in my hand. I had lived as a commoner for so long that I had forgotten the emergency features my father had built into all my devices. Without a second thought, I hurled the phone straight into the water below. A massive alligator snapped its jaws shut, crushing the device to pieces. [Yes! The emergency beacon has been activated!] [Just ten more minutes, Vivienne! Hold on and show them who they messed with!] Before I could even draw a breath, a massive bull alligator slammed its heavy body against the decaying trunk. The bark splintered, and the wood groaned. I clung to the branch, my fingernails digging into the rough bark. The tree was dead and brittle; it would not survive another impact. “Garrett!” I screamed, the pain in my leg flaring up again. “I’m bleeding! Do you honestly think I would risk my life for some pathetic game?” Garrett froze. His gaze flicked down to my leg, where blood was soaking through my torn pants. The deep, jagged tear from the alligator’s tooth was gruesome. For a second, hesitation flickered in his eyes. But Sienna beat him to it, bursting into dramatic tears. “Vivienne, please stop! Fine, you win! If you just come down and go home with Garrett, I’ll step aside. I’ll leave both of your lives forever!” Garrett grabbed her hand. “What are you talking about?” Sienna shook her head, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. “I was foolish to think I could ever be a part of your life, Garrett. I shouldn’t have gotten between you two. I’ll sacrifice myself if it means she can come back safely.” She made a show of breaking free from his grip, pretending to climb out of the truck. Garrett panicked, wrapping his arms around her to hold her back. When he looked back at me, his brief sympathy had vanished. “Vivienne, Sienna is willing to sacrifice everything, and you are still throwing a tantrum? I’m counting to three. You get down here and apologize right now! One!” Below, the predators seemed to sense the countdown. Another beast rammed the base of the cypress. A loud crack echoed through the swamp. “Garrett!” I gritted my teeth against the searing pain in my leg. “The tree is snapping! Drive the truck over here and throw me a line!” “Two!” Garrett called out, completely ignoring my plea. The trunk tilted precariously. If he did not move now, I would fall straight into their waiting jaws. “Garrett! If anything happens to me today, my family will destroy you…” “Garrett, she is so terrified she is starting to lose her mind,” Sienna murmured, her eyes wide with false sympathy. “Maybe we should…” “Quiet, Sienna,” Garrett snapped, his jaw set. “She is still trying to bluff her way out of this. If I don’t teach her a lesson today, she’ll never stop treating you like dirt. Three!” The final count hung in the air just as the dry wood gave out with a deafening crack. The trunk snapped completely in half. Gravity took hold, and I began to fall toward the swarm of waiting predators below.

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1 I was happily waiting for the lab session to end so I could celebrate our one-year anniversary with my girlfriend. That was when our advisor accidentally uploaded the semester’s grading sheet to our group chat of over a dozen students. Although he deleted it quickly, it was not fast enough. I had already seen the failing grade my TA girlfriend had given me. Seeing my face fall, my classmates tried to comfort me in my embarrassment. “Don’t take it to heart, Luke. Alyson is notoriously brutal. She never pulls her punches when she grades.” “Yeah, everyone knows she is the most terrifying teaching assistant in the entire science department. A bad grade is nothing. She literally made me cry last semester.” “Me too! Even the professor didn’t call me stupid, but after I made one mistake on an analysis, she looked at me with those cold eyes and told me to drop out. I was terrified.” Was that really just her style? But I had clearly seen the perfect score she gave Tristan. Tristan, who had ruined three consecutive experiments without ever receiving a harsh word from her. She had even stayed up all night in the lab just to help him redo his work. As I stared blankly at the glass beaker in my hand, Alyson walked in from the adjoining lab. She wore her usual crisp white lab coat, her silver-rimmed glasses resting on the bridge of her nose, her eyes as distant and cold as ever. Seeing us gathered together whispering, she knit her brows in annoyance. Afraid of catching her temper, the others quickly scattered back to their stations. Before leaving my side, one of them whispered a final warning. “Keep your cool, Luke. Whatever you do, do not start an argument with her. Even the professor won’t be able to protect you if she gets angry.” Alyson was ruthless with everyone, including herself. She despised mixing personal life with professional work, which was why we had kept our relationship a secret. My classmates assumed we were just typical peers, which explained their well-meaning advice. And indeed, their warnings were not exaggerated. Alyson held immense sway in the department. As our advisor’s star student, she had published several high-impact papers during her doctoral studies, single-handedly securing massive grants for the lab. She was already being scouted by top research institutions before she even defended her thesis. The professor treated her like gold, consulting her on almost every decision. In this lab, crossing Alyson meant career suicide. The last student who had argued with her had been forced to leave the program entirely. I gave a quiet nod. “Don’t worry. I won’t cause trouble.” The moment Alyson stepped deeper into the room, the atmosphere turned freezing. Everyone held their breath, terrified she would spot a flaw in their setups. She walked along the rows with a clipboard, inspecting each student’s progress and results. “Steps are correct. Data is consistent. Clean your glassware and you are dismissed.” A collective sigh of relief swept through the room. Unwilling to linger any longer than necessary, they quickly washed their beakers and slipped out. Soon, the lab emptied out until only one group remained, which included me. I was not even supposed to be working today. I had only come to wait for Alyson so we could head to our anniversary dinner, bringing iced teas for my friends along the way. But Tristan had skipped out on his shift, leaving his team short-handed, so they had begged me to help them log their data. Alyson glanced at our group’s spreadsheet, her forehead creasing. “Who ran this sequence? How did no one notice such a fundamental tracking error?” Her voice was flat and icy. Her eyes scanned the remaining students, stopping directly on me. The clipboard was sitting right by my elbow, and she instantly assumed I was the culprit. The girl beside me quickly grabbed the sheet to defend me. “Alyson, it wasn’t Luke. He only came here to…” “Did I give you permission to speak?” Alyson cut her off, her gaze narrowing as she focused on my hands. “Luke, is that how you hold a reagent bottle? Did no one teach you basic safety protocols, or did you leave your brain in your dorm room this morning?” I stared at her, completely stunned. In the twenty-some years we had known each other, she had never spoken to me with such raw disdain. Our parents were close friends, and we had grown up side by side. Coming from a family of academics, she was a certified prodigy, skipping grades in elementary and high school before moving directly into her doctoral program. My family was in the commercial estate business, and I possessed no natural talent for science. My grades had always been average. But Alyson detested incompetence. Terrified she would grow bored of me and leave me behind, I had spent my youth studying until my eyes bled, crying over practice sheets late into the night. My parents had begged me to stop, telling me I could easily inherit the family’s multi-million dollar business without pushing myself to the brink. But I wanted to stand beside her. I loved her. I thought I had finally closed the distance between us. I had worked myself to the bone to get accepted into the same master’s program under the same advisor, and she had finally agreed to be my girlfriend. Yet, hearing her insult me in front of my peers felt like a knife twisting in my chest. When Tristan’s negligence almost caused a fire in the lab last month, she had not said a single harsh word to him. She had never called him stupid. Now, she was demanding I take the blame for his mistake, waiting for me to humiliate myself. “Alyson, this is Tristan’s shift,” my classmate said, unable to stay silent any longer. “Luke was only helping us because we were short-handed.” She knew speaking up against Alyson was risky, but she refused to let me take the fall. She gave my shoulder a supportive squeeze, determined to clear my name. Alyson froze, her brow furrowing slightly. She looked at me, her gaze softening just a fraction, as if waiting for my confirmation. Once the ice was broken, the other members of the group chimed in. “She is right! Tristan didn’t even ask for permission before skipping out to attend his driving lessons. We were desperate, so Luke stepped in to help.” “Luke is completely innocent here. If the data is messed up, that is on Tristan for abandoning his post.” They had been frustrated with Tristan’s constant slacking for months, and now the dam had burst. Alyson remained silent for a long moment, a flicker of regret passing through her dark eyes. “I see. I did not have the full context. I will speak with Tristan about his absence. Everyone has worked hard today. You may all leave before the dining hall closes.” Just as the group began to pack up, relieved that justice had prevailed, Alyson’s gaze snapped back to me. “Luke, stay behind.” Everyone froze, confused. “The laboratory is not a playground,” Alyson said coldly. “There is no such thing as just helping out. Every procedure must be followed perfectly. Your hand placement on the glass was incorrect, Luke. You will clean every single piece of glassware in this room before you leave tonight.” I looked up at her in disbelief, but she kept her face turned away, refusing to meet my eyes. My classmates immediately began to protest, ready to stand up for me again. But Alyson silenced them with a harsh warning. “Anyone who helps him can pack up their belongings and leave this program permanently.” The threat hung heavy in the air. Everyone was stunned. I knew what she was doing. She wanted me to submit to her authority, to beg for her leniency. It was just a few hundred flasks. “Understood, Alyson,” I said, my voice entirely flat. “It was my mistake. I will clean them.” My quick compliance did not seem to bring her any satisfaction. She paused, then turned on her heel and swept out of the room. My classmates refused to leave me alone. “We are not leaving you, Luke,” one of them said. “She can’t kick all of us out of the department. Let’s get this done quickly.” Rolling up their sleeves, they began washing the glass beakers alongside me. They scrubbed the glassware aggressively, venting their frustration. “Tristan is such a piece of work. He always dumps his duties on other people.” “And Alyson never calls him out on it. It makes no sense.” One of the girls leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Do you think there’s something going on between them? During our department dinner last week, she had a little custom charm hanging from her bag. When some guy tried to touch it, she practically snapped his hand off.” “No way. Can you actually picture Alyson in love?” “Well, someone said they saw her dragging a guy into the stairwell to kiss him after an argument. They couldn’t see his face, though.” Was it really love? I remembered the charm she used to keep on her bag. It was a matching silver pendant I had saved up to buy her. But she had taken it off recently, replacing it with a plush key ring. When I asked about it, she claimed she had bought it from a charity stand out of pity. Later, I saw the exact same plush key ring hanging from Tristan’s backpack. Had her feelings for me already shifted long ago? Lost in my thoughts, I barely registered their chatter. We worked quickly, leaving only a dozen flasks left. When they offered to finish the rest, I gently pushed them toward the door. “You guys should head out. If Alyson walks back in and sees you here, she will only find another excuse to penalize us. I can manage the rest.” They hesitated, but eventually nodded, offering apologetic smiles. “We will order some takeout for you, Luke. See you back at the dorm.” The moment the door clicked shut, the fake smile slid off my face. In the empty, echoing lab, the weight of the day finally crashed over me. This was not how our anniversary was supposed to go. We were supposed to be sitting at a nice restaurant overlooking the river, sharing a small cake and taking photos. Instead, I was alone in a cold room, my hands pruning from the soapy water. Had I been wrong from the very beginning? Perhaps her acceptance of my feelings was never about love, but merely pity for the boy who had chased her for over two decades. I scrubbed the last beaker, my wrists aching and my legs numb from standing. I turned off the lights and locked the heavy door behind me. My phone showed several missed calls from the restaurant, but it was already too late. They had likely given away our table, and there was no point in calling back to apologize. The science building was dark and empty. Normally, I would have teased her by pretending to be scared of the shadows, wrapping my arms around her waist just to hear her sigh and say, “We are chemistry majors, Luke. There are no ghosts here, only chemical reactions. You are the only scaredy-cat around.” But tonight, I felt nothing but a quiet, hollow exhaustion as I made my way down the stairs. As I stepped through the main entrance, I saw a familiar, slender figure waiting beneath the stone archway.

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1 A boiler exploded at our processing plant, burning a fifty year old veteran technician to a crisp. The industrial compensation was set at 1.9 million dollars. The deceased worker’s only daughter rushed from his hometown to claim the money. Her parentage certificate and notarized documents were perfectly in order. The human resources department cleared her in seconds. The owner of the plant personally received her and even offered her a job on the spot. The woman knelt before the memorial altar, sobbing until she fainted. Even when they lifted her up, she was still screaming for her father. But as the man holding the company purse, I refused to stamp the check. Richard, the owner, called me into his office with a dark face. “Mark, is money your enemy? The poor girl is crying her eyes out. Have you no heart?” The grieving daughter stormed in behind him, her eyes red as she slammed her fist onto the desk. “My dad slaved for this plant for thirty years, and now you are holding back his funeral money?” She pulled a thick stack of documents from her pocket and shoved them into my face. “Over two hundred people from our hometown signed this petition. Are you saying I am not his daughter?” I aligned the papers one by one, pushed them back toward her, and looked up. “Are you finished?” I brushed some invisible dust off my sleeve. “If you are finished, get out. I am not signing this check.” The air in the office went dead silent. The woman, who went by the name Brenda, stared at me with bulging eyes. The heavy flesh on her face twitched violently. The grief in her eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a wild, raw aggression. She kicked the swivel chair in front of her. The metal frame crashed onto the linoleum floor with a sharp screech. “You arrogant piece of trash!” Brenda shrieked, pointing a finger at my nose. Her spit flew close to my glasses. “My father was burned to ash by your piece of shit boiler! There was not even enough left for a proper casket! Now I am here to claim his blood money, and you, some low life bean counter, think you can block me?” She leaned over, slamming both hands onto my desk. Her knuckles turned white, her jaw clenched, and bloodshot veins mapped the whites of her eyes. The stench of cheap perfume mixed with stale sweat washed over me as she pressed closer. “Sign it! If you don’t sign this today, I will tear this office apart!” I sat still. I did not even lean back. I looked straight into her bloodshot eyes. “According to Company Financial Regulation Section Eight, any non routine disbursement exceeding five hundred thousand dollars must undergo audit and be confirmed by a third party accident investigation report. Right now, you only have preliminary approval from HR. It is not compliant.” Brenda blinked. She did not understand the jargon, but she understood the refusal. She turned to the door, where Richard was standing. “Richard! Is this how you run your factory? Bullshitting a grieving family? You want me to march out to the main highway with a banner? You want me to call every reporter in the city to film this sweatshop?” Richard’s face turned ash gray. He marched into the office and grabbed her arm. “Brenda, please, calm down. Let’s talk.” He glared at me, his eyes screaming to tear me apart. “Mark, what the hell are you doing? The legal team is out of town, and the third party report will take two weeks. This is an exceptional circumstance! The man’s memorial is almost over, and his ashes are sitting at the mortuary because they can’t pay for the burial! Do you really have to hide behind your damn regulations right now?” I stared at him. “Richard, you signed off on those regulations yourself. If I transfer nearly two million dollars of company funds in violation of protocol and something goes wrong, who takes the fall?” Richard slammed his palm on the desk. “I do! I am telling you to transfer it, so do it! Am I the boss, or are you?” Audrey, the HR manager, squeezed through the door. Clad in professional attire, holding an iced coffee, her face was a mask of irritation. “Mark, you are being ridiculous. I verified every piece of identification. The family registry is real, and the DNA test was issued by St. Jude’s General Hospital. The local council’s document has the mayor’s personal seal. What are you even suspicious of?” She walked over to Brenda, playing the comforting sister. “Brenda, don’t worry. Our finance head is just going through a mid life crisis. He likes to overcomplicate things.” Brenda took the cue, collapsing onto the couch. She pounded her chest, wailing loudly. “Oh, Dad! You died so terribly! Look at what they are doing to your daughter! They won’t even give me the money to bury you!” Her dry wails echoed down the corridor. No tears, just raw screeching. Employees began gathering outside the door, whispering. Richard was sweating. The factory was already under strict environmental and safety scrutiny. The boiler explosion was a scandal they were desperately trying to bury. If she made a scene, a temporary shutdown would cost hundreds of thousands a day. He pointed a trembling finger at me. “Mark, I am asking you one last time. Are you signing or not?” I took the security token from my drawer and held it tight. “Like I said, the paperwork is incomplete. No signature. And because someone is causing a disturbance in a secure financial area,” I picked up the landline, “I have called the police.” Brenda’s fake crying cut off instantly. Richard and Audrey froze. “You called the cops?” Richard’s voice cracked. He lunged to grab the receiver, but I had already hung up. “The dispatch center took the call three minutes ago. Officers should be here in five.” Brenda bounced off the sofa. Her eyes flared with a strange, manic excitement. “Fine! Let them come! Let’s see who is in the wrong!” She pulled a smartphone from her worn jacket and opened a live streaming app. “I want the whole world to see this blood sucking factory!” She pointed the camera at herself, messing up her hair and squeezing a few forced tears. “Guys, look at this! My father worked here for thirty years, got blown up by their boiler, and now this bean counter won’t release his insurance money! Even the owner agreed, but this guy is holding it back! He even called the cops on me!” She shoved the lens right in my face, almost touching my nose. “Remember this face, everyone! He is trying to steal my dead father’s money!” The viewer count began to climb rapidly. Brenda hurled insults, accusing me of wanting a kickback or being a psychopath. Whispers outside grew louder. A few sales reps who hated my strict policies chimed in. “Mark is going too far this time.” “A man died. Why hold up the process over paperwork?” “Heartless.” Richard panicked. He could not let this go viral. He blocked the camera, smiling nervously at Brenda. “Brenda, turn it off. We’ll settle this internally!” She shoved him away. “Settle my ass! Unless that money hits my card right now in front of everyone, I’m not stopping!” Richard stumbled, then glared at me. “Mark! Do you want to destroy my company? Insert the security token and transfer the funds now!” I kept the token in my hand. “The daily corporate limit is five hundred thousand. A transfer of 1.9 million takes four days, or a special bank clearance. I can’t do it right now.” Brenda went wild. Believing she was being played, she lunged like an angry bull, grabbed my ceramic mug, and smashed it on the floor. A shard sliced my ankle, drawing blood. “I will kill you, you worthless bastard!” She swung her palm at my face. Audrey shrieked weakly without trying to stop her. Richard watched coldly, hoping she would beat me into submission. I did not move. I stared at her contorted face. Just as her hand was inches away, a voice boomed from the door. “Stop!” The door swung wide. Three uniformed officers stepped in. Leading them was a tall detective with sharp, hawkish eyes. Brenda’s hand froze. She instantly threw herself to the floor, rolling and clutching her chest. “Help, officer! This factory is trying to murder a grieving family!” The lead detective walked over, cast a cold glance at Brenda, then looked at me. “Who called?” “I did,” I said, stepping back and brushing the ceramic shards from my trousers. The detective turned on her body cam. “Detective Valerie Morgan, Metro Police. We received a call about a disturbance. What is going on here?” Brenda crawled over and grabbed Morgan’s leg, weeping and repeating her dramatic story, emphasizing my heartless greed. Morgan frowned, pulled her leg free, and turned to Richard. “Are you the owner? Is what she is saying true?” Richard wiped his brow. “Detective, it’s just an internal issue. The accident was real, the settlement is agreed upon. We have all the paperwork.” He handed over the thick folder. “Her ID, family registry, death certificate, cremation permit, and a DNA test from St. Jude’s General Hospital. Everything is legal.” Morgan opened the folder and flipped through. The seals were clear, the fonts perfect. She pulled out her police terminal and scanned the DNA report’s barcode. The terminal emitted a soft chime. A green light flashed, showing the report was genuine and logged in the state database. She ran Brenda’s ID. The system confirmed her identity and listed her as the deceased’s sole surviving relative. It was flawless. A wall of objective facts. Morgan closed the folder and looked at me. “Mr. Graham, as a financial officer, diligence is your duty. But all legal documents are present, and the company owner has authorized the payment. What is your reason for withholding it?” All eyes locked onto me. Brenda sneered from the floor. Audrey chimed in, “Detective, our finance director just likes to play God. He’s probably trying to flex his power.” I stood behind my desk. Alone against everyone. I looked into Detective Morgan’s cold, pressuring eyes. “Detective Morgan, as a financial director with fifteen years of experience, I am personally liable for every cent that leaves this company. These documents are physically perfect. But I cannot sign.” “Your reason?” I took a breath. “I have no written proof yet. But I believe this woman’s identity is a lie.” The room erupted. Brenda shrieked, “You liar! The police database verified it! Who the hell do you think you are?” Morgan’s face hardened. Her gaze turned into a warning. “Mr. Graham, we operate on evidence. If you are acting on a whim or deliberately obstructing business, you are committing a crime. This is unreasonable.” “I am not being unreasonable,” I said, gripping the security token. Richard lost his mind. “Detective, he is insane! As the owner, I am firing him right now!” He turned to Audrey. “Get the backup laptop! We don’t need him to do this!” Audrey ran out and brought back a laptop. Richard charged at me. “Hand over the token! It’s company property! You’re fired, hand it over!” I stepped back, opened the safe behind me, tossed the token inside, and slammed the door. My fingers flew over the keypad, entering the wrong code deliberately. A electronic beep sounded, followed by a cold mechanical voice: “Incorrect password. Account locked for thirty minutes.” The room fell silent. Richard’s face turned purple. “Mark! I’ll kill you!” Brenda grabbed a folding chair and lunged. “You bastard! I’ll break your head!” The two officers pinned her to the wall. She thrashed like a rabid animal. Morgan stepped between us, staring at me with anger and confusion. “Mark Graham! Do you know what you just did? You maliciously locked a corporate account. This is no longer a labor dispute.” She unclipped her handcuffs. “I am placing you under arrest for obstruction of justice and disorderly conduct. Let’s go.” She grabbed my wrist. Cheering erupted from the hallway. Audrey smirked. Richard breathed a sigh of relief. Brenda laughed wildly against the wall. The cold steel touched my skin. I did not struggle. “Detective Morgan,” I said, meeting her gaze. “If you’re going to arrest me, at least let me finish.” I turned to Brenda. “You claim to be Thomas’s only daughter, correct?” Brenda spat. “Damn right! The papers prove it!” I nodded, my voice dropping to a calm, icy whisper. “But three years ago, during the summer…” “His real daughter drowned in the Blackwood River while trying to save a little boy.” The air in the room froze instantly.

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1 “Raymond, you want to go independent? Fine. Sign over your shares.” My father threw the documents onto the mahogany table. I glanced at my watch. Ten minutes. From the moment I proposed my departure to the moment he signed the agreement, it had taken exactly ten minutes. Last week, when my younger brother Tyler mentioned wanting to start his own project, our father had pulled him into the study and held his hand for three hours. He had promised him a luxury penthouse downtown, three hundred thousand dollars in seed money, and full access to the family’s extensive business network. I had been running this family’s distribution business for four years. Tyler had spent the last two years loafing around. I managed every client relationship and handled the logistics, but Tyler’s sweet talk was simply more pleasing to our father’s ears. I picked up the share transfer agreement. My father’s signature sat under a single, cold word: Approved. Before packing my bags, I notified our key clients that I was stepping down. Every single one of them made it clear they wanted to follow me to my new venture. Since Tyler was apparently the talented one, I figured he would have no trouble winning them back. “Raymond, why are you just sitting there?” Tyler walked into the side lounge of the estate, holding a cup of tea. It was three in the afternoon. I had just hung up a call with a major supplier, finalizing a new partnership that would net me eighty thousand dollars in annual dividends, not including equity. “Just resting,” I said, putting my phone face down on the table. Tyler leaned against the back of a carved wooden chair, idling with his expensive watch. His tailored shirt was fresh, and his emerald cufflinks caught the light. “I wanted to tell you something, Raymond.” “Go ahead.” “Dad handed the Westside expansion project to me.” His voice carried a smug, poorly concealed excitement. “Starting Monday, I’ll be running the family’s premium spirits distribution.” I nodded. “Congratulations.” “You aren’t angry?” Tyler tilted his head. “I’ve only been back for two years, and you’ve been slaving away for four. Dad just handed the most lucrative line to me. You really aren’t pissed?” I looked at his immaculate suit and deep red tie. Every morning and evening, he was there to serve our father drinks, playing the doting son without fail. “Success goes to those with the talent for it,” I said flatly. “Why would I be angry?” Tyler laughed, shaking his head. “You really are a bore, Raymond.” “I suppose.” I stood up and placed my cup back on the silver tray. “Tyler, did you resolve that accounting discrepancy from Wednesday?” “What discrepancy?” “The outstanding invoice from Brooks. I left the files on your desk.” Tyler frowned. “Isn’t that your job?” “I reconciled the inventory. You are responsible for client relations and collections. I gave you the collection notice days ago.” “The invoice says net thirty,” Tyler rolled his eyes. “But Brooks is having cash flow issues. He wants to renegotiate terms.” “Then renegotiate it.” “Renegotiating requires Dad’s approval, and you’re the one who spends all your time playing chess with him.” Tyler groaned. “Why do you have to dump everything on me?” I stared at him, offering no reply. “Whatever. I run the business now. I’ll just handle it myself.” He waved me off and strolled out of the room, his loafers clicking sharply against the hardwood floor. I watched him walk away. A minor issue, he called it. If that invoice wasn’t cleared by next week, the suppliers would halt our shipments. But I had no intention of warning him. By then, I wouldn’t be here anyway. I returned to my room and began organizing my personal client directory. Four years. I had sustained this family for four years, starting as a fresh graduate and building three separate distribution lines from scratch: premium spirits, building materials, and logistics. Every single client was one I had won myself. The estate’s massive monthly expenses were funded entirely by these operations. And sixty percent of that revenue came from the spirits trade. 2 Our three largest partners, Vanguard Distillers, Apex Wine and Spirits, and Merit Hospitality, only dealt with me. Their directors didn’t care about the family name; they cared about my signature. Did my father know this? Yes. But he didn’t care. I wasn’t affectionate enough for his taste. During my first year back at the estate, we hosted the annual shareholder dinner. My father wanted the younger generation to make toasts to the board. Tyler went around the room making jokes, charming the investors, and making everyone laugh. My father beamed with pride. I sat in the corner, silent. During my second year, at Thanksgiving dinner, Tyler sat right next to Dad, serving him wine and chatting about art and antiques. I sat at the furthest table, finishing my meal quickly before slipping away to the quiet of the backyard. During my third year, at the annual business review, Tyler presented a fifty page slideshow filled with colorful charts and empty corporate buzzwords. My presentation lasted ten minutes, focusing entirely on pure profit and loss data. My father called Tyler a visionary leader and gave him a massive holiday bonus. I received a brief nod. And now, in my fourth year, Tyler threatened to move out, and Dad begged him to stay with gifts of prime real estate and cash. I asked to go independent, and it was approved in ten minutes. I opened my safe and packed the journals containing four years of transaction histories and client profiles. There were over two hundred files, detailed with delivery routes, contract copies, and personal preferences. Without these records, any newcomer would need six months just to understand the trade. With them? It would still take at least three months, because so many of our agreements were based on handshakes and personal trust that only I possessed. I packed them into my personal trunk. These records belonged to me; I had compiled them privately. The family had never requested them, nor did they care to. At five thirty in the afternoon, I prepared to leave the estate. The next morning, I returned to collect my final belongings. The butler stopped me in the hallway. “Master Raymond, your father wants to see you in the study.” I walked in to find my father reviewing a ledger. He did not look up immediately. “Sit,” he said. I sat. He flipped a page, then finally raised his eyes. “Raymond. Why are you doing this?” “I want to build something of my own.” My father leaned back in his leather chair. “Tell me the truth.” “Dad, I have run this family’s trade for four years. What have you given me besides basic living expenses?” “So you think you’ve been mistreated?” “Not mistreated. Just undervalued. When Tyler threatened to leave last week, you begged him to stay and gave him a penthouse. What did I get?” My father was silent for a moment. “Raymond, I know your contributions. But you are too cold, too detached.” I said nothing. “Look at Tyler,” my father sighed. “He brings life to every family gathering. He knows how to connect with the board members and our associates.” “You mean he knows how to flatter them.” “He knows how to build relationships.” “Then let me ask you,” I said, leaning forward. “Gavin at Vanguard, Fletcher at Apex, Harrison at Merit, do you know them well?” My father blinked. “Of course. They are old family associates.” “Then do you know who has been handling every single one of their accounts, resolving their shipping delays, and securing their contracts for the past three years?” My father opened his mouth, but no words came out. I stood up. “I won’t keep you, Dad.” “Wait!” “I’ve left what is required of me. Don’t worry.” I turned and walked out. 3 “Where do you think you’re going?” my father’s voice echoed behind me. I didn’t look back. “You don’t need to know.” For the next three days, I wrapped up my personal affairs. Tyler officially took over the management office. On his first day, he posted a message in the family group chat: To all board members and family, starting today, I am managing the spirits division. If you need anything, come directly to me. No need to go through Raymond anymore. The replies were filled with congratulations and praise for my father’s brilliant leadership. I did not reply. That afternoon, Tyler called my private line. “Raymond, where are the shipping orders for Vanguard’s next delivery?” “Arriving next Wednesday,” I replied. “And where are the manifests?” “What manifests?” “The intake orders and contracts. I need to reconcile the accounts with Gavin.” I stared out the window. “If you want to reconcile, ask him yourself.” Tyler’s tone sharpened. “What kind of attitude is that?” “It’s not an attitude, Tyler. It’s the rules. When I managed the books, everything was kept under my personal supervision. Now that you’ve taken over, it’s your job to organize it.” Tyler scoffed. “Are you intentionally making this difficult for me?” “No.” “Then give me the contracts.” “There are no contracts.” “What do you mean, no contracts?” “I’ve handled this shipment for three months. No one has ever asked me for written contracts.” Tyler glared through the line. “You still bear our family name, Raymond. You are obligated to hand over the files.” “I’ve handed over what belongs to the company.” Tyler hung up, and five minutes later, the butler arrived. “Master Raymond, your father wants you in the study.” I walked in, and my father’s face was dark. “Raymond, Tyler says you aren’t cooperating.” “Dad, I’ve surrendered everything that belongs to the office.” “What about the manifests and supplier agreements?” “They don’t exist in writing.” My father slammed his hand on the desk. “You managed a shipment for three months without written contracts?” “Our family has never had a policy requiring them.” He fell silent. It was true. Our business relied almost entirely on verbal handshakes and personal trust. I kept all those details in my head and handled the friction myself. Now that I was leaving, they suddenly realized they had no paper trail. “I can write down what I remember before I leave,” I offered. My father’s expression softened slightly. “Do it quickly, then.” “But.” “But what?” “Those records were compiled in my private time. They are my intellectual property. They aren’t part of the family division.” My father’s eyes narrowed. “Are you bargaining with me, Raymond?” “I’m speaking logically. I ran the business, maintained the relationships, and kept the books without any extra compensation. Now that I am leaving, you expect me to hand over my personal intellectual assets for free? Does that sound fair to you?” My father’s face twisted into a scowl. “You think you’re indispensable now, don’t you?” “I am simply protecting what is mine.” “Fine,” my father sneered. “Do you think this estate will collapse without you? Get out. I don’t believe a cold, silent boy like you has any real future out there anyway.” 4 I stood up. “Then I won’t trouble you any longer.” “Get out!” my father barked. As I closed the door, my phone vibrated. It was a message from my business partner: Ray, the new office is ready for Monday. Your eighty thousand dollar dividend is locked in, equity is finalized. Also, Gavin from Vanguard wants to buy you dinner tonight. Are you free? I typed back a single word: Yes. Friday was my last day at the estate. My room was empty except for a small trunk of old clothes. “Raymond,” a voice called out. It was my cousin Sam, who had been staying at the estate for six months to learn the trade. “Are you really leaving?” “Yes.” “Who do I go to with questions about the shipping lines?” I smiled. “Ask Tyler.” Sam’s expression faltered. “Tyler doesn’t seem to know how the warehouse actually operates.” “Then he will have to learn,” I said, patting his shoulder. “There is only so much this estate can teach you, Sam. If you get the chance, you should look outside as well.” Sam nodded, his eyes misting over. “Let me buy you dinner before you go.” “No need. I have plans. Let’s keep in touch.” I took my trunk and walked out. No one came to say goodbye. Tyler was hiding in his newly decorated accounting office, pretending not to see me. My father’s study door remained firmly shut. Four years of my life, summarized in a ten minute approval. As the heavy iron gates of the estate swung shut behind me, I took one last look at the plaque on the stone pillar: The Prescott Estate. Goodbye. At seven in the evening, I sat in the private dining room of Vanguard Distillers. Gavin sat across from me. “Ray, is it true? You’ve cut ties with the family estate?” “Yes.” Gavin sighed. “A shame. Who is going to oversee our shipments now?” “They’ll assign someone. Probably Tyler.” Gavin scoffed. “That boy? He can talk a big game over cocktails, but when it comes to actual logistics…” He shook his head. “To be frank, Vanguard only partnered with your family because of you. Now that you are gone, I’m going to have to reconsider our contract.” “That is entirely your decision, Gavin.” “Have you started your own firm?” “Yes. A boutique trade agency.” Gavin’s eyes lit up. “Excellent. I’ve been looking for a reliable partner for a new import line.” “Let’s discuss it once my office is settled,” I smiled. “And another thing,” Gavin leaned in. “Fletcher from Apex and Harrison from Merit have been asking where you went. Should I pass along your new contact details?” I took a sip of my drink. “Please do.” Monday morning. My new office was located on the thirty-eighth floor of the glass tower in the heart of the Financial District. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the entire city lay spread out before me. My office door bore a simple brass plaque: Raymond Prescott. Associate partners introduced me to new clients. Everyone called me “Mr. Prescott” with genuine respect. At ten in the morning, my private phone rang. It was an unknown number. “Hello?” “R-Raymond?” It was Tyler. His voice was trembling. “What is it, Tyler?” “The warehouse… we have a major problem.”

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1 Ten years after my husband’s death, I took my son to a youth science competition. There, a group of people pointed at him, calling him a fatherless bastard. Just as I was about to rush over, the man on the judging panel beat me to it. He scooped up the other woman’s little girl in his arms. “Don’t cry, Penny,” he said softly. “Daddy’s here.” I had listened to that exact voice for ten long years. Everyone had told me he was dead. I had clung to a single black and white photograph, gave birth to his son, and dragged my failing body through nine years of poverty to raise our child alone. But he was alive. He had changed his name, become a respected professor, and married the heiress of a wealthy foundation. When his eyes finally met mine, the trophy in his hand slipped and shattered on the polished floor. I looked at him, forcing a quiet smile. “Professor Silas, do you know who I am?” … The main lobby of the exhibition hall was a chaotic storm of crying children and shouting parents. By the time I pushed through the crowd, Peter was cornered in a dark alcove by two security guards. The sleeve of his school jacket was torn, and blood was slowly pooling on the back of his hand. A little girl in a white dress sat on the floor nearby, sobbing as she clutched a shattered model bridge. The woman standing next to her looked on with a face of pure ice. “Are you Peter’s mother?” she demanded as I approached. I ignored her, kneeling down in front of Peter first. “Does it hurt, sweetheart?” Peter bit his lower lip, trying to blink back his tears. “Mom, I didn’t push her. I swear.” The woman’s voice immediately went up an octave. “Your son destroyed my daughter’s project, and now he’s lying to your face?” I stood up, shielding Peter behind me. “Your daughter crying does not automatically make my son guilty.” Her expression darkened. “Excuse me?” Before another word could be traded, a man walked over from the judges’ table. He wore a sharp, deep gray suit, and his ID badge read: Silas, Professor of Structural Engineering. He knelt, lifting the crying girl into his arms with a tender, gentle voice that cut through me like a razor. “Don’t cry, Penny. Daddy’s here.” Daddy. Silas. My fingers turned numb. Peter looked up at him, whispering, “Mom, he looks just like the dad in our photo.” My throat tightened so much I could barely breathe. It wasn’t a mere resemblance. It was Arthur. My husband. The man who had supposedly died in a tunnel collapse ten years ago. The little girl wrapped her arms around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder. “Daddy, he broke my bridge. Make him apologize.” Arthur stroked her hair gently. “Alright, sweetheart. Daddy will handle it.” I stared at his face, my voice trembling but cold. “And how exactly do you plan to handle it, Professor Silas?” He whipped his head toward me. In that single second, his entire body went rigid. His eyes widened with absolute shock, followed quickly by a wave of pure panic, before he finally averted his gaze in shame. I took a step forward. “Why are you silent, Professor?” His lips parted slightly. “You…” I cut him off. “My name is Evelyn. Evelyn Wantang. Does that name sound familiar to you, Professor Silas?” His face lost all color. The woman beside him frowned, looking between us. “Silas? Do you know this woman?” I let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Silas?” The woman wrapped her arm tightly around his, her tone turning slow and possessive. “I am his wife, Vivian. Ma’am, if your child made a mistake, it would be best if you didn’t try to change the subject.” I looked at her hand. The diamond ring on her finger was blinding, its reflection stinging my eyes. “Mrs. Vivian,” I said, “let’s look at the security cameras first.” Vivian sneered. “Is that really necessary? All these children saw what happened.” Peter spoke up, his voice cracking with emotion. “She dropped it herself! And she told me I didn’t have a father!” Vivian’s face fell. “Do not make excuses, child.” I knelt down and faced Peter. “Tell me exactly what she said.” Peter’s eyes welled with tears. “She said the father’s section on my registration form was empty. She said my mom is a liar and my dad abandoned us because he didn’t want me.” The lobby fell into a tense silence. Arthur’s hand trembled visibly. I stood up and faced him. “Professor, you’re an engineer. You value evidence. Shall we review the footage, or should I call the police?” Arthur’s voice was barely a whisper. “No need for the police.” “Then we check the cameras,” I demanded. Vivian glared at him. “Silas, what are you doing? Look how hard Penny is crying.” “My son is bleeding,” I shot back. “Do you not see that?” Arthur reached out toward me, his fingers trembling as if he wanted to reach for my sleeve. “Evelyn…” I stepped back, out of his reach. “Please address me as Peter’s mother, Professor.” His hand remained frozen in midair. The staff brought up the security footage on the main monitor. The video clearly showed Penny grabbing Peter’s sketches first. Peter tried to pull them back, and Penny, stepping backward, tripped over a desk corner and dropped her own bridge. Peter hadn’t touched her. Vivian’s face burned with embarrassment. Penny’s crying gradually died down. Peter wiped his tears with his sleeve, looking down at his shoes. I gently stroked his hair. “Peter, look up.” He raised his head. “You did nothing wrong,” I told him, making sure my voice carried. “You never need to hang your head.” He choked back a sob and nodded. “Okay, Mom.” I turned back to Vivian. “Apologize.” Vivian gritted her teeth. “She is just a child.” “My son is also a child.” Arthur finally spoke up. “Vivian, make Penny apologize.” I locked eyes with him immediately. “Not just the child.” Vivian glared at me. “Don’t push your luck.” I let out a cold, hollow laugh. “Your daughter called my son a fatherless bastard, and you think I am pushing my luck?” Arthur lowered his voice, pleading. “Evelyn, let’s not make a scene here.” I stared at him, my chest feeling as though it were packed with shattered glass. “A scene?” “Arthur, you are standing here, alive, letting another woman’s child call you father.” “And you are telling me that I am making a scene?” Vivian whipped her head to face him, her eyes wide with sudden realization. “Arthur?” I looked at her. “So, you can’t bear to hear that name either.” Arthur’s face went completely gray. “Evelyn, I can explain.” “Let them apologize first,” I demanded. He was silent for a moment, then turned to Vivian. “Apologize.” Vivian’s gaze was sharp enough to cut. She nudged Penny, who muttered a half-hearted “Sorry.” I kept my eyes on Vivian. She stared back, spitting out three words: “I am sorry.” “Not to me,” I said. “To Peter.” Vivian turned to my son, her voice tight. “I’m sorry.” Peter didn’t say it was okay. He simply looked up at me. I took his hand. “Let’s go.” Arthur took a few steps after us. “Evelyn, we need to talk.” I stopped and looked back over my shoulder. “Ten years ago, your last words to me were to wait for you.” “You certainly made a grand return, Arthur.” 2 Peter remained quiet all the way home. Our apartment sat behind the old flea market. It was a tiny one bedroom place with peeling wallpaper and a cold stove. Stacks of graded homework from my adult night school classes were piled near the window, and a bowl of cold noodles sat on the small table. Peter sat on a wooden stool, trying to hide his torn sleeve. I brought out the antiseptic and a cotton pad. “Hand.” “Mom,” he whispered, “I didn’t mean to stare at him.” I dabbed the cut on his knuckles. “You can look if you want to.” He bit his lip. “Is he really my dad?” My hand froze. A drop of the brown liquid fell onto the linoleum floor. “Do you want him to be?” I asked quietly. Peter thought for a long time. “The dad in our photos is a hero. The man today wasn’t.” A lump formed in my throat. I looked down, carefully applying a bandage over his cut. “You’re right, Peter.” “Mom, why are you crying?” I touched my cheek, only then realizing I was weeping. “The antiseptic is just strong.” Peter wrapped his small arms around me. “Mom, I don’t want a dad anymore.” I held him tight. “Okay.” “I only need you,” he added. Those words hurt worse than any blade. I wanted to tell him that I might not be able to stay with him much longer, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it. That night, I put Peter to bed. He held onto my sleeve, murmuring, “Mom, don’t leave,” in his sleep. I sat by his bedside until his grip loosened. Half the lights in our tiny living room were broken. I fumbled in the dark for my medication, taking three pills from the bottle. The moment I swallowed them, a sharp pain flared in my chest, forcing me to double over. I gripped the edge of the table, gasping for air as cold sweat poured down my neck. My phone vibrated on the table. It was David. I answered, trying to steady my breathing. His voice was frantic. “Evelyn, you missed your clinic appointment today.” “Something came up,” I managed to say. “Are you in pain again? Where are you? I’ll come get you.” “No, Peter is asleep. Don’t come.” A brief silence followed. “Evelyn, your heart isn’t a joke.” “I’ll go tomorrow,” I promised, clutching the pill bottle. “I don’t trust you.” “Then come block my door tomorrow morning.” “Fine. I’ll be there at seven.” “Don’t bring Peter sweet cinnamon rolls,” I reminded him. “He has a cavity.” “Understood.” I slid down to the floor, leaning my back against the cold wooden cabinet. Ten years ago, when the news of Arthur’s accident arrived, I was two months pregnant. They said the rescue team only found his helmet. No body. No final words. Just a stamped accident report from the company. I hadn’t believed it. I had walked to the construction site, the project office, and his company headquarters with my swelling belly. Some avoided me, some pushed me away, and some told me to stop making a fuss because he was gone. At five months pregnant, I was diagnosed with severe cardiomyopathy. The doctor recommended terminating the pregnancy. I refused. I kept thinking that when Arthur returned, he would be so happy to see our child. I pinned all my hope on Peter. On the day of delivery, my heart failed. It took seven hours to save me. David was the resident doctor who took over my case. He saved my life, and he saved Peter. Later, Arthur’s parents kicked me out of our old apartment, claiming the child in my belly had brought bad luck and killed their son. I held my newborn baby and moved into the warehouse behind the flea market. By day, I collected used books. By night, I taught adult literacy at the community center. When my chest flared, I strapped Peter to my back and knelt on the roadside, waiting for the pain to pass. I thought I had survived the worst. But today, Arthur stood alive before me, holding another woman’s daughter. 3 At seven the next morning, David arrived with breakfast. Peter’s eyes lit up. “Uncle David!” David knelt down, handing him a bag. “Savory breakfast wraps today.” Peter laughed. “Mom said you’re unreliable, but you proved her wrong today.” I walked down the stairs. “When did I say he was unreliable?” David looked up, his expression turning serious. “You look terrible, Evelyn.” “Dr. Brooks, you really know how to ruin a morning,” I sighed. “I’m here to save lives, not to flatter people,” he replied. “Let’s go. Peter, eat your breakfast. I’m taking your mom to the clinic.” Peter looked at me, his brow furrowing. “Mom, are you sick again?” I knelt down to his level. “Just a routine checkup. I’ll be back soon.” He frowned. “Promise?” I offered my pinky. “Promise.” At the hospital, the tests took two hours. David’s frown deepened as he read the reports. “Don’t look at me like that,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s scary.” “Your cardiac function has dropped again,” he said flatly. “How much time do I have left?” He set the papers down. “Without a transplant, three to six months.” My fingers tightened. “Am I on the list?” “There’s no matching donor yet.” “Then don’t scare me.” “Evelyn, you have to cooperate. You skipped your dose last night.” “I took three pills,” I argued. “You need four.” I closed my eyes. “Fine. Four next time.” The sharp sound of heels echoed in the hallway outside. Vivian stood at the entrance of the clinic, wearing a beige suit and holding a medical folder. She looked at David, then at me. “Evelyn, so you’re here.” I stood up. “Are you looking for me, Mrs. Vivian?” David stepped in front of me. “This is a private consultation.” I patted his arm. “David, give us a moment.” “I don’t recommend it,” he muttered. “I’ll be quick.” Vivian gave a faint smile. “Dr. Brooks seems very devoted to you.” “Get to the point,” I said, walking with her to the stairwell. As soon as the heavy door shut, her smile vanished. “Stay away from Silas.” “His name is Arthur,” I corrected. Her eyes grew cold. “That was his past.” “Then what are Peter and I?” She folded her arms. “An accident.” I let out a soft laugh. “What’s funny?” she snapped. “I’m just laughing at how people like you choose such gentle words to justify cruelty.” She lowered her voice. “Ten years ago, he was always meant to choose me.” “Did you have his child?” I asked. She blinked, then smirked. “You guessed.” “It’s not hard.” She took a step closer. “My father was the primary investor for his project back then. There was an accident, and Arthur was facing criminal negligence charges. One word from my father, and his career would have been over. But my father offered him a way out: change his identity, study abroad, take over new projects, and marry me.” My limbs felt cold, but I didn’t back down. “And his death certificate?” “Part of the deal,” she said. “A dead man is clean. No ex-wife making a scene, no child disputing the estate.” My heart felt squeezed by an iron fist. I leaned against the wall. “And he agreed?” “He hesitated,” she smiled. “But in the end, he got into our car.” The fluorescent lights in the stairwell were blindingly white. I heard my own shallow gasps. “Evelyn, you lost ten years ago,” Vivian sneered. “Don’t come back now to humiliate yourself.” I raised my hand and slapped her hard across the face. She clutched her cheek, shrieking, “You dare strike me?” “That was for the twenty year old version of me, who got thrown out of her home with a child in her belly,” I said. She raised her hand to strike back, but the door flew open. David caught her wrist. “Mrs. Vivian, there are security cameras in this hospital.” I looked at him. “Let her go.” David turned to me, frantic. “Evelyn, does your chest hurt?” “It hurts, but I can still stand.” Vivian’s eyes were red. “Do you think hitting me will bring him back to you?” I looked at her. “You’re mistaken. I find him disgusting.” 4 When we walked out of the hospital, Arthur was waiting near the entrance. He rushed over the moment he saw me. A black luxury car was parked by the curb, and a driver was holding an umbrella for him. I stopped on the steps. “Evelyn,” he said, “I’m so sorry about yesterday.” “Don’t call it ‘yesterday,’” I replied. “You owe me far more than one day.” “I want to talk to you properly.” “Talk about how you rose from the dead?” His expression twisted in pain. “After the accident, my injuries were severe.” “Severe enough to marry an heiress?” “It wasn’t like that.” “Then what was it like?” He stepped closer. “The project liabilities… if I didn’t leave, I was going to prison. My entire team would have been ruined.” “So you left me to be a widow?” “I thought you would move on and start a new life.” “I was pregnant,” I said softly. He froze. The rain pattered heavily against his umbrella. “I wanted to tell you on our last phone call,” I continued. “But you said you had an emergency and told me to wait. I waited ten years, Arthur.” The color drained from his face. “The child… Peter is mine?” I began to tremble, laughing weakly. “You don’t even deserve to ask.” “I didn’t know,” he whispered. “Of course you didn’t. You were too busy changing your name, getting your doctorate, and playing the perfect son-in-law to the foundation.” “Evelyn, I had money sent to my parents every year,” he pleaded, reaching for my arm. “I told them to help you if you ever needed it.” I shoved his hand away. “They threw me out. I was six months pregnant, and they pushed me out of the door, calling me a curse. On the day I gave birth, David was the one who signed my emergency consent form because I had no one else. I never saw a single cent of your money.” He stumbled back. “When Peter was three and had a high fever, I carried him for four blocks in the middle of the night to reach the clinic,” I said. “My chest hurt so badly I collapsed at the emergency room door, and the nurse thought I was a vagrant. When Peter was five, he asked me why his dad didn’t like him. I told him his father was a good man. Arthur, you made me lie to myself and our son for ten years.” His eyes welled with tears. “Evelyn, I am so sorry.” “Those words are too cheap.” “I can make it up to you both,” he insisted. “I can get Peter into the best schools, give him the best life.” “Is that what he missed?” I asked. “He missed having a father stand up for him when he was called a bastard. He missed having someone cook him a warm meal when I was lying in bed with heart failure. He missed ten years of a father’s life. Can you give him that?” Arthur’s tears fell. I felt no pity. “I’ll get a divorce,” he whispered. I smiled. “Don’t. Don’t call your belated guilt love.” “Evelyn, I loved you.” “And I loved you,” I said. “But that version of me died the day you got into that car.” The pain in my chest flared, sharper than before. I bit the inside of my cheek, suppressing the metallic taste of blood. “Your face… you look so pale,” he noticed, stepping forward. “Are you sick?” “It has nothing to do with you.” I turned to leave. After three steps, my vision went black. “Evelyn!” David’s voice echoed from behind. I tried to answer, but warm blood welled in my throat and spilled past my lips, dripping onto the concrete steps. Arthur rushed over. “Evelyn!” With the last of my strength, I pushed him away. “Don’t touch me.”

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We had been blissfully dating online for three months. But the moment we finally met in person, he realized he had added the wrong girl. Connor, our university’s golden boy, swept his gaze over me with an annoyed frown. “I don’t know why you pretended to be the department sweetheart to add me,” he said coldly, “but you’re really not my type. Let’s just delete each other and pretend none of this ever happened.” I nodded, swallowing my embarrassment, and hesitated for a long moment before finding the courage to speak up. “Before we delete each other, could you send me your roommate’s Instagram?” After all, I had just realized that I, too, had added the wrong guy. 1 The silence that followed my words was deafening. Connor’s finger hovered over the screen, freezing right before he could hit block. He stared at me, looking as if he had misheard, his voice cautious. “My roommate? Who? Nolan?” My face burned as he hit the nail on the head. I lowered my head and gave a soft, embarrassed mumble of agreement. Nolan was Hudson University’s resident genius, boasting looks that rivaled Connor’s. Countless girls had crushed on him, so it wasn’t hard to guess. But unlike Connor, whose list of rumors and exes was endless, Nolan was an untouchable, quiet academic. No one had ever managed to get close to him. Connor went silent for a long time, so long that I couldn’t help but look up, ready to plead my case. After all, a girl like me had zero overlap with Nolan’s social circle. “Is it that difficult? I think I actually tried to add him before, but I got the accounts mixed up. If it’s too much trouble, you can just tell me his handle.” Back then, to get Nolan’s Instagram, I had volunteered to write a feature piece on the university’s top student dorms. I ended up adding every single guy from the top three apartments. With so many new contacts flooding in at once, I must have swapped their handles. Well. No wonder things had felt so strange. The Nolan I had been chatting with wasn’t distant or cold at all. In fact, we hit it off so quickly that he confessed his feelings to me within weeks. It turned out to be a massive mix-up. Connor’s expression grew incredibly complex. “Why do you want to reach him?” he asked, trying to sound casual. My mind raced, and I blurted out a perfect excuse. “The student council wants him to record a promotional video for the upcoming semester, but I couldn’t find his direct contact info.” Connor pondered this for another moment before giving a barely perceptible nod. “Fine. How about this? I’ll send you his contact info, and you send me Sienna’s. But let me warn you, Nolan is an arrogant prick. He might not even give you the time of day.” 2 Hearing him mention Sienna’s name again sent a dull ache through my chest. I barely processed his warning, simply nodding like a robot while forcing a smile. I stared at our chat screen, waiting for him to send the contact card. It was incredibly mortifying. On my screen, the very last message Connor had sent me was still sitting there, glowing in the dim light. Babe, can I kiss you when we finally meet? My cheeks flared up. Who could have predicted such a cruel twist of fate? In the span of five minutes, a passionate boyfriend had reverted into a complete stranger. To spare both of us further awkwardness, I tapped the settings and cleared our entire three-month chat history with one tap. Connor caught my movement out of the corner of his eye. His expression darkened further, but he said nothing as he sent over the contact card. I tapped it open immediately, zooming in on the profile picture. Ah. So this was Nolan’s actual account. Their profile pictures were remarkably similar, a dark, minimalist aesthetic. It was an easy mistake to make. I quickly screenshotted the card and tapped the top right corner of Connor’s profile, preparing to delete him as agreed. But before my finger could land, a cold hand wrapped around my wrist. “Let’s not delete each other just yet,” Connor said suddenly. He seemed to search for a reasonable explanation before adding, “Just keep the chat logs cleared. Once I successfully add Sienna, you can remove me. Also, let’s keep this little mix-up between us. I can transfer you ten thousand dollars to make up for your wasted time.” There was a strange, unreadable look in Connor’s eyes as he spoke. But I didn’t dwell on it. He was a legendary figure on campus, a wealthy heir from the finance department. Naturally, he wouldn’t want anyone to know he had spent three months sweet-talking the wrong girl online. Paying for silence was standard procedure for guys like him. Ten thousand dollars was probably just the price of one of his designer jackets. But to me, it was enough to cover my living expenses for a long time. Besides, he had given me Nolan’s real contact info. Any way I looked at it, I was coming out ahead. “Deal,” I said. Under Connor’s darkening gaze, I gave a casual wave of my phone and walked away. 3 The moment I turned the corner, the fake smile slid off my face. I couldn’t pretend to be strong anymore. When I first realized we had added the wrong people, I had hesitated. Even if it was a mistake, the three months of late-night conversations, the shared secrets, and the constant companionship had been real. The butterflies in my stomach and the genuine affection weren’t illusions. Nolan, on the other hand, was just a distant crush, someone I admired from afar but had never actually known. If Connor had shown even a shred of hesitation back there, I would have suggested we try again, starting over as our real selves. But Connor had been so cold, so decisive. He didn’t want me. From the very beginning, the girl he had been looking for was Sienna. 4 On the walk back to my dorm, I couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over. By the time I composed myself and slipped into my room, the lights were about to go out. Connor’s transfer had already cleared. His promptness was a clear reminder to keep my mouth shut around Sienna. Following our agreement, I cleared our brief transaction history and took a deep breath. I turned to Sienna and told her that Connor wanted to add her. Sienna froze, a look of pure delight washing over her face. Still, she seemed skeptical, asking me to confirm multiple times. “Connor from the finance department? Are you guys close? Why would he ask you for my contact?” I made up a plausible lie on the spot. “I interviewed him for a campus piece a while back. He happened to find out we were roommates and asked if I could connect you two.” Sienna nodded, glancing at my empty chat screen with Connor, and didn’t press further. “Thanks, Tessa.” Her eyes sparkled as she stared at her screen. True to form, Connor didn’t make her wait. A second later, her notification light blinked. I climbed up to my bunk and drew the curtains shut, wanting to block out the world. I couldn’t bear to watch them hit it off. But as I closed my eyes, sleep refused to come. For the past three months, my entire life had revolved around my phone. At this exact hour, I would usually be pacing the hallway, whispering sweet nothings into the receiver, or exchanging blushing texts. Just last night, I was imagining walking down the campus avenue under the canopy of old trees with my boyfriend, showing him the stray orange cat I fed behind the library, and booking study rooms together. Now, those dreams were reduced to ash, leaving a hollow ache in my chest. Across the room, the constant pinging of Sienna’s phone and the soft click of her typing served as a relentless reminder. Let it go, Tessa. It’s over. All of Connor’s patience and affection had been meant for Sienna. Even when he whispered those sweet promises, the face in his mind had been hers, never mine. Since he had corrected the course, I needed to stop drowning in the past. I typed out one final message to Connor, a polite notice before removing him for good. Hey Connor, I’ve passed along your contact to Sienna. I’ll be deleting you now, as promised. 5 No goodbyes. There was no point. I paused for a brief second, preparing to tap the block button, when a reply popped up. Wait. My finger froze. The status at the top of the screen changed to ‘typing…’, but no message came through for a long time. After what felt like an eternity, he finally sent a follow-up. I just remembered, the imported medicine you asked me to get for your grandmother has already been shipped by my friend. It should arrive in about two weeks. Let’s keep each other added until I can hand it over to you. His words jarred my memory. A few weeks ago, I had offhandedly mentioned that my grandmother’s heart condition required a specific imported medication that was incredibly difficult to find locally. Connor had immediately offered to have a friend source it from abroad. I quickly typed back. Thank you, Connor. I completely forgot about that. Let’s keep each other added until the medicine arrives. A few seconds passed before a simple reply came back. Okay. I realized I should pay him first. By the way, how much was the medicine and shipping? I can transfer the money to you now. My family wasn’t well-off, and my grandmother usually refused to buy expensive medication to save money. But the money Connor had just sent me was more than enough to cover the cost. I waited for his reply, staring at the screen until my eyes began to burn. No response came. A wave of bitterness washed over me. Before today, Connor would reply to my messages within seconds. Even if I had a nightmare in the middle of the night, he would stay awake to soothe me. Now, our texts were stiff, distant, and colder than those of mere acquaintances. “Oh my god, Connor, your gaming rank is insane! You have to carry me tonight!” Sienna’s sweet voice suddenly echoed through the quiet dorm. My chest tightened. He wasn’t replying to me because he was already busy playing games with Sienna. Sienna had her headphones on, but she laughed, her voice dripping with affection. “My voice isn’t that pretty. You’re just saying that to flatter me.” “Be honest, how many girls have you used that line on?” “Come on, a guy like you must have a long line of admirers. Don’t lie to me, or your next food delivery won’t come with utensils!” Her giggles were endless. Even though she tried to keep her voice down, the sound pierced right through me, bringing a flood of sorrow. Their beginning was going much smoother than ours ever had. I suppose this was how it was always meant to be. I found my earplugs, shoving them in to drown out the noise, and let the tears flow freely in the dark. 6 After that painful wake-up call, I didn’t have the courage to reach out to the real Nolan. I dragged myself through each day, pasting on a fake smile, though my energy was entirely depleted. Moving on takes time, I kept telling myself. It was just a silly misunderstanding. I’ll get over it. But while I was struggling to stay afloat, Sienna and Connor were thriving. Connor started showing up in Sienna’s life constantly. He would walk her to her 8 AM lectures, wait in long lines at the cafeteria to buy her favorite meals, and sit patiently for hours outside her dance studio while she practiced. Sienna brought back designer snacks and pastries to the dorm daily, gushing about his thoughtfulness. Their social media feeds were filled with subtle hints of romantic dates and luxury gifts. Within a week, the entire campus knew they were official. They were the perfect, high-profile couple, radiant and envied by everyone. Unlike me. I was just a shadow who had briefly stolen a piece of someone else’s affection in a digital world. I began actively avoiding any place where Connor might appear. But with our campus being so small and Sienna being in my department, encounters were inevitable. One afternoon, in a narrow, quiet corridor, I stumbled upon them. Against the backdrop of a fiery sunset reflecting through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Sienna stood on her tiptoes, pressing a soft kiss against Connor’s lips. Connor’s gaze darkened with intensity as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into a deep, passionate kiss. I froze, my mind going entirely blank. I forgot to turn around, forgot to run. It was only when Connor’s hand slid down to tickle Sienna’s waist, causing her to let out a soft gasp, that I snapped out of it. My eyes locked right into Connor’s. His gaze was cold and annoyed, as if I were an intrusive pest ruining their moment. A shiver ran down my spine. “Sorry,” I whispered, turning to flee as fast as my legs could carry me. I didn’t stop running until I burst out of the academic building, gasping for air. But before I could even catch my breath, my phone vibrated. The profile picture I had tried so hard to forget was lighting up my screen. Tessa, didn’t we agree to end this gracefully? I hope you’ll stop staring at Sienna and me. If she finds out even a tiny detail, I won’t let it slide. Also, please stop any feelings that shouldn’t be there.

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1 The night before graduation, I finished tutoring early and dragged my suitcase to the station. Lucia and I had promised our first trip would be to the ocean. That ticket cost three months of grueling essay drills with elementary students. But the kiosk did not print my ticket. Instead, a text confirmed it had been refunded. When I called Lucia, it went straight to voicemail. Minutes later, I saw her at the far end of the waiting hall. She wore the white sundress I had bought her, crouching to adjust Paul’s jeans. She held my camera, my graduation lanyard was around her neck, and my brand-new suitcase sat by her feet. Before I could reach them, Paul’s eyes welled with tears. “Noah, please don’t be mad… I really wanted to see the beach.” Lucia looked up, her face cold. “How did you find us?” I pointed at the suitcase. “That’s mine.” She tightened her grip with an irritated sigh. “Paul’s back is bad. He can’t carry a heavy bag. Is it such a crime to borrow yours?” “And my ticket?” She paused, then shoved a crumpled coach ticket into my hand. “I booked you a seat home tonight.” Her voice dropped, each word hitting like a nail. “This trip is a celebration. Don’t tag along and ruin it.” Using my things, stealing my trip, and calling me the killjoy. I stared at the crumpled piece of paper. Back to my hometown. Coach class. Three months of saving every dime, and all it bought me was a one-way ticket backward, personally arranged by my girlfriend. I ripped the ticket in half and dropped it into the nearest trash can. Lucia’s face shifted. “Noah, are you out of your mind?” I looked her dead in the eye. “My camera, my suitcase, and my graduation lanyard are all in his hands. Why the hell should I be the one to leave?” Paul immediately shrank behind Lucia’s shoulder. “Lucia, maybe… maybe I should just give his stuff back.” He said the words, but his knuckles were white as he gripped my suitcase handle. He wasn’t letting go. Lucia frowned at me. “Paul gets motion sickness, and he can’t carry a backpack. Do you really have to make a scene and humiliate him in public?” As she spoke, I looked down and pressed the side button on my old phone. The voice memo app lit up. The recording timer started ticking. The overhead speaker blared, announcing the final boarding call for their train. Paul gently tugged at her sleeve. “Lucia, if we don’t go now, we’re gonna miss it.” She didn’t look at me again. With one hand holding Paul’s arm and the other dragging my suitcase, she turned and walked through the boarding gates. I stood frozen in the middle of the terminal as my phone screen slowly faded to black. My chest felt just as hollow. I went to the ticket counter and bought a standing-room-only ticket for the next train to Cape Haven. Seven hours. No seat. I stood in the cramped, shaky vestibule between train cars the entire way. By the time we arrived, my legs were numb and trembling. Halfway through the ride, Lucia sent me a text. Paul is dizzy from the train. Don’t come here and stress him out. I didn’t reply. At two in the morning, I dragged myself into the lobby of the beachside resort. The guy at the front desk pulled up the reservation, looking incredibly awkward. “Mr. Davis, the reservation is under your name, and you’re the one who paid for it.” “But the guest name was modified to Paul.” I gripped my ID so hard my fingers hurt. “Who modified it?” “A Miss Lucia.” The elevator dinged. Lucia stepped out. Her hair was damp, and she was wearing a loose, oversized t-shirt. When she saw me, her first question wasn’t how I managed to survive a seven-hour train ride standing up. She just frowned. “You actually followed us?” I stared at her. “Where is my room?” “Paul just fell asleep. Keep your voice down.” “I asked you, where is my room?” Lucia rubbed her temples, looking thoroughly exhausted by my presence. “There are no rooms left tonight. There’s a storage closet downstairs on the ground floor. You’ll just have to make do for now.” She tossed a rusted key at my chest. “Don’t go up there and make a scene. You know Paul gets anxious.” I looked down at the key hitting the floor. A dry, humorless laugh scraped out of my throat. “Lucia, I booked that room. With my money.” “I know.” Her voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “But Paul has a weak constitution, and the travel wiped him out. Just act like an adult, Noah. Stop throwing a tantrum.” I slid my hand into my pocket and pressed the button on my old phone again. The recording app was still running. This time, I didn’t try to convince myself to just let it go. I unlocked the storage closet. A wave of mildew and damp earth hit my face. Mops, dirty buckets, and a half-collapsed mattress were piled inside. My suitcase was shoved into the corner. The lock had been completely pried off. My clothes were thrown around in a messy pile. I squatted down, sifting through the mess piece by piece. My toiletry bag was there. My charger was there. But the blue button-down shirt my dad had bought me… was gone. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from Lucia. Paul was nice enough to unpack your suitcase for you. Don’t be ungrateful. 2 The next morning, the class group chat pinged. Everyone was supposed to meet on the beach at nine for graduation photos. I hadn’t slept a wink. I carried my busted suitcase upstairs to the lobby. The moment the elevator doors parted, I saw Paul standing right outside the ocean-view suite. He was wearing the blue shirt. Lucia was standing in front of him, buttoning the collar. Her movements were so natural, so practiced. Like she had done it a thousand times. That shirt was the last thing my dad ever bought me before he passed away. He had been sitting in the hospital gift shop, IV tape still plastered across the back of his bruised hand. He had smiled and said, “Noah, when you go to the beach for your graduation trip, wear this. Take a picture for me so I can see the ocean too.” I walked over. My voice was trembling, thick with venom. “Take it off.” Paul’s eyes instantly welled up with tears. “Noah… I didn’t know it was yours.” Lucia stepped right in front of him, shielding him like I was a monster. “Are you seriously making him strip in the hallway?” “There are cameras here, Noah. Have a little decency.” I kept my eyes locked on him. “That shirt is the only thing my dad left me for graduation.” Lucia’s face stiffened for a fraction of a second. But then her brow furrowed in annoyance. “Your dad is gone, Noah. Are you really going to bully a living person over a piece of fabric?” Paul started sobbing, his shoulders shaking pitifully. Lucia turned around, her voice softening into a gentle coo. “Hey, don’t cry. It’s okay. He’s just having one of his moods.” Down on the beach, when the group photo was taken, Paul stood dead center. He was wearing my dad’s shirt. He was holding my camera. He was leaning right against Lucia. Someone in the crowd whistled. “Lucia, Paul, you guys totally look like a couple!” Lucia didn’t deny it. She just looked at me. There was no guilt in her eyes. Only a warning. After the group shots, Paul grabbed the hem of the blue shirt and jogged toward the jagged rocks near the tide pools. “Lucia, come take some solo shots of me!” I lunged forward and grabbed the camera strap from his neck. “Give it back.” Paul yanked backward. “Noah, come on, I’m not done yet!” “It’s my camera.” As we pulled back and forth, he suddenly let out a sharp shriek. He slipped. The bottom of the blue shirt caught on a jagged rock, tearing all the way from the knee to the calf. Paul used the momentum to fall right into Lucia’s arms, gasping for air like he was having a panic attack. “I didn’t mean to! Why does he always have to fight me for everything?” Lucia shoved me hard in the chest. I stumbled backward, my palms scraping against the barnacles on the rocks. Blood immediately welled up, stinging violently against the salt air. But she didn’t even look. She was too busy checking Paul. “Are you hurt? Did you scrape anything?” I looked down at the blood dripping from my hands, and then at the massive tear running up my dad’s shirt. Lucia glared over her shoulder at me, her eyes like absolute ice. “Are you happy now?” I opened my mouth, but before I could make a sound, Paul fished a soaked, crumpled wad of paper from the shirt pocket. “Ew, what’s this? It’s all soggy.” The blood drained from my face. It was the graduation card my dad had written for me. I had tucked it into the pocket right before I left, planning to read it once I finally stood in front of the ocean. I lunged to grab it. Paul yelped and let go. The card dropped right into the churning tide. A wave crashed in, sucking half of it out to sea. I fell to my knees in the wet sand, desperately clawing at the water. I only managed to snatch a torn corner. There was only one line of ink left visible. Noah, keep moving forward. Lucia stood behind me, crossing her arms. She sounded thoroughly annoyed. “It’s literally just a piece of paper. Get over it.” I gripped that torn, soggy corner of the card. My hands were shaking so hard they didn’t even feel like mine anymore. That was the moment it finally clicked. It wasn’t that she didn’t know I was bleeding. It was just that my pain would always take a backseat to his tears. 3 At noon, my phone buzzed. A text from Lucia. Bring the spare camera battery to the restaurant. I didn’t go. I sat on the curb outside the resort and turned on my camera. The SD card had been swapped. The only things left on the new card were blurry selfies of Paul. My entire senior thesis film was gone. The project was titled Taking Dad to the Ocean. I had been shooting it for three years. I filmed the misty bus stops in our small town at dawn. I filmed the bruised purple sunsets on my way home from tutoring. I filmed the glass of water going cold on my dad’s hospital nightstand. I filmed his trembling hands, secretly wiping away sweat the day he bought me that blue shirt. I had planned to shoot the final sequence here, on the beach. I was going to set his photograph in the sand, let the waves touch it, and tell him, I graduated, Dad. I really made it out. Now, it was all gone. I called Lucia. Before the call connected, I woke up my old phone. I checked to make sure the recording app was still ticking. She took her time answering. In the background, I could hear glasses clinking. People laughing. “What is it now?” “Where is my SD card?” Dead silence on the line for two seconds. “Paul has his grad school portfolio interview coming up, and he didn’t have enough footage. I transferred your raw files to his laptop.” Rage spiked through my veins so hot it made my fingertips go numb. “Who gave you the right to touch my things?” Lucia’s tone went ice-cold. “Noah, can you stop being so incredibly selfish?” “You’re not even applying for grad school. That footage is just going to sit on your hard drive doing nothing.” “It’s different for Paul. He needs this opportunity.” A bitter, venomous laugh tore out of my throat. “So my thesis film is just supposed to be a stepping stone for him?” “He’s just borrowing it.” “Lucia, that film was for my dad.” She went quiet. When she finally spoke again, her voice was dripping with disgust. “Stop using your dead dad to guilt-trip everyone.” I hung up. Ten minutes later, the class group chat exploded. Paul had just uploaded a short film. The title was I Finally Saw the Ocean. The first frame was my shot of the small-town bus stop. The second frame was the sterile hallway of my dad’s hospital wing. The third frame was the exact voiceover script I had written in my notes app. I clawed my way out of a small town to reach the ocean, not so the world could see me, but so my dad would know… I didn’t lose. Except Paul had deleted “my dad.” He changed it to: …but to prove that I deserve a better future. The comments were a flood of praise. “Paul, this is so raw. You have such an artistic eye!” “If this doesn’t win the Outstanding Graduate Film award, the system is rigged.” Then, the department head chimed in. “Paul, this is phenomenal. I’m submitting this for the campus-wide showcase.” I stood up and sprinted to the seafood restaurant. When I pushed open the door to the private dining room, Lucia was peeling shrimp for Paul. She had never peeled a shrimp for me in her life. Once, I sliced my thumb open on a crab shell, and she laughed and called me dramatic. Now, a whole plate of perfectly peeled shrimp sat in front of Paul. The waiter brought out a platter of roasted crab. Lucia immediately held up a hand. “Paul can’t eat crab. He’s allergic.” I stopped in my tracks. A second later, she pushed the only bowl of warm, soothing porridge directly in front of him. “Your stomach has been acting up. Eat this first.” It was almost hilarious. It wasn’t that she was forgetful or careless. She knew exactly how to care for someone. She just chose to care for someone else. I walked right up to the table and held out my hand. “Give me my SD card.” Paul’s eyes immediately reddened. “Noah, I swear, I was just trying to work hard for once.” I stared down at him. “Working hard at stealing other people’s lives?” Lucia slammed her chopsticks onto the table. “Noah, watch your damn mouth.” “Then watch your damn actions. Both of you make me sick.” The entire private room went dead silent. Lucia’s face darkened into something ugly. “Are you seriously going to ruin this lunch for everyone?” “You ruined my film.” Paul shook his head, tears spilling over his cheeks. “Noah, Lucia gave me the files! I swear, I thought you agreed to let me use them!” Lucia looked up at me, jutting her chin out. “I gave them to him. You have a problem, you take it up with me.” I smiled. A tight, dangerous smile. “Perfect. Then why don’t you tell the whole room right now? Are those files mine or not?” She clamped her mouth shut. Paul started crying louder. “Noah, why are you forcing Lucia into a corner like this?” Just then, a notification popped up on my phone. A direct message from the department head. Noah, someone submitted an anonymous report accusing you of plagiarizing Paul’s project. Your nomination for the Outstanding Graduate award has been suspended pending review. Right beneath it, another message popped up. The HR rep from the local TV station back home. Mr. Davis, due to the ongoing dispute regarding your academic integrity, we are placing your internship offer on hold. I stood in the middle of the restaurant, the blood turning to ice in my veins. I found out later exactly how it happened. The anonymous report was Paul. He had sent an email to the college board and the TV station. He attached a heavily edited, ten-second clip of me yelling in the restaurant, framing me as the aggressor, and linked the video he had already claimed under his own name. He didn’t just want to steal my work. He wanted to permanently brand me as a thief. I didn’t come from money like Lucia did. I didn’t have the luxury of crying to get my way like Paul did. That internship was my only lifeline. And now, they were casually snapping it in half. Lucia noticed the look on my face. She frowned. “What’s wrong now?” I tossed my phone onto the table in front of her. She read the messages. For a split second, genuine panic flickered across her face. But then Paul gently tugged at the hem of her shirt. “Lucia… I’m scared.” And just like that, the panic vanished, replaced by an iron-clad defense of him. She slid the phone back to me and lowered her voice. “Noah, let’s not blow this out of proportion.” “Just admit it was a misunderstanding. Tell them you got confused, and Paul won’t press the plagiarism charges.” I stared at her like she was an alien. “You want me to apologize?” She couldn’t meet my eyes. “Just put the fire out first. We’ll deal with the rest later.” It was pure, unadulterated insanity. The footage was mine. The thief was him. The one who handed him the knife was her. And the one who had to get on his knees and apologize… was me. 4 At eight o’clock that night, the department held an emergency Zoom meeting. I was sitting on the half-collapsed mattress in the storage closet. The single naked bulb above my head flickered, buzzing like a dying insect. On the screen, Paul was sitting in the plush chair of the ocean-view suite I had paid for. His eyes were puffy and red. Lucia was sitting right beside him. Looking like his girlfriend. Looking like his bodyguard. The counselor spoke first. “Noah, Paul. We need to clear the air regarding this thesis dispute right now.” Paul instantly started weeping on camera. “Professor, I swear I didn’t steal anything.” “Lucia gave me the footage. I swear I thought Noah said it was okay.” “He’s been mad at me ever since we were at the train station. I had no idea he was going to take it this far.” I didn’t say a word. I just dragged my raw camera files, cloud backups, and the creation dates of my script notes into the Zoom chat box. “I shot the footage.” “I wrote the voiceover.” “Paul had absolutely zero involvement.” The class president, who was also on the call, squinted at his screen and muttered, “Yeah… the timestamps definitely line up with Noah’s timeline.” Paul’s face went chalk-white. He whipped his head to look at Lucia. “Lucia, please, tell them!” I looked at her on the screen too. Even after everything, some pathetic, naive part of me thought she might finally tell a single ounce of the truth. Lucia stared at her webcam for a few seconds. Then, she spoke. “The raw footage is technically Noah’s.” The tight knot in my chest loosened for a fraction of a second. But her next sentence dragged me straight to the bottom of the ocean. “But Paul spent a lot of time editing it, color grading it, and rethinking the narrative structure. You can’t just call it theft. It was a collaboration.” I stared at the pixelated version of the girl I had loved for four years. I didn’t even recognize her. “Lucia, do you hear the words coming out of your mouth?” She scowled. “Noah, stop being so aggressive.” “Blowing this up isn’t going to do you any favors.” I laughed out loud. “Do me any favors?” “My train ticket was refunded. My hotel room was hijacked. The shirt my dead father bought me was torn to shreds. My thesis film was stolen and submitted under his name.” “And now my job offer is suspended.” “Tell me, Lucia. What part of this exactly is doing me a favor?” The Zoom room was dead silent. Paul sniffled, holding up his phone to the camera. He had pulled up a screenshot of his texts. I’ll handle Noah. He’s a pushover. He won’t actually do anything about it. Just submit the film. Let me do the talking. Everyone on the call could clearly see the contact name at the top: Lucia. Lucia’s face drained of color. Paul sobbed even harder. “Professor, I was just so scared!” “Lucia promised me Noah wouldn’t mind, that’s the only reason I used it! I didn’t want to fail my portfolio review!” “If Noah really wants me to apologize, I’ll do it.” He wiped his nose and looked straight into the webcam. “But Noah, shouldn’t you apologize to me too?” “You screamed at me in the middle of a restaurant. You called me a thief in front of everyone.” Lucia rubbed the bridge of her nose, letting out a long, suffering sigh. “Noah. Just apologize. Let’s move on.” I stared into the screen. “Apologize to who?” “To Paul.” She said it so quietly. But every syllable felt like a blade slicing across my throat. “Just admit it was a miscommunication. I’ll pull some strings with my dad’s company and figure out a way to get your internship back later.” I started laughing again. It echoed off the damp walls of the closet. “Later?” “Lucia, when you left me stranded at the station, you said we’d talk about it later.” “When you locked me in a closet, you said you’d deal with it later.” “When my dad’s shirt was destroyed, you said we’d handle it later.” “When my film was stolen, you still said later.” “Is your definition of ‘later’ just forcing me to get on my knees and take it, over and over again?” Lucia’s jaw tightened. Paul whimpered, “Noah, stop bullying Lucia! She’s trying to help!” The counselor finally chimed in, sounding stressed. “Noah, the optics on this aren’t great for you right now.” “If you two can just settle this privately and issue a joint statement, that would be the cleanest way forward.” I looked down at the scratched screen of my old phone. The red dot was still blinking. From the train station, to the hallway, to the restaurant. I wasn’t recording because I was waiting for some dramatic rescue. I was recording because from the exact second she shoved that coach ticket into my hand, I finally realized I could never rely on her conscience ever again. Every time she told me to grow up, every time she told me to stop being a buzzkill, I just pressed the button. To document the reality I was living in. When my dad passed, I couldn’t bear to throw this crappy phone away. I never expected it would be the only thing left in the world willing to tell the truth for me. On the screen, the professor sighed. “Noah Davis. Do you have anything else to add to the record?” I looked up. I looked at every single face staring back at me in the grid. “Yeah. I do.”

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1 I was the only son of the Sinclair dynasty, with three older sisters who adored me without question. Life was perfect until a strange, glitchy memo app appeared on my phone. June 15: Victoria signs a blind liability guarantee for her male assistant. Sinclair Group loses ten billion in market value overnight. September 3: Josefina is framed by her toxic ex, voted off the board, and stripped of all equity. December 1: Megan gives up her trust fund to elope with a deadbeat, bankrupting the family. I stared at the screen. My three billionaire safety nets were about to disappear. From that day, I launched the Save My Wallet protocol. I took Victoria’s black card and spent four million dollars in one afternoon. She spent two days handling fraud alerts and luxury returns. I flew Josefina’s private jet to Paris, ripped out the custom leather interior, and demanded a full remodel. She was so furious she forced me into an eight-hour transatlantic video call micromanaging the redesign. I turned Megan’s climate-controlled wine cellar into a frat party, popping million-dollar vintages just to spray them at the walls. I kept them too busy and sleep-deprived to check their phones, let alone ruin their lives over men. As long as Cole Sinclair was around, their world revolved around me. Everything was perfect until Silas appeared in Victoria’s executive office. He looked at me, voice smooth but eyes icy. “Little brother, the executive floor isn’t a playground. Run along and play somewhere else.” The lounge fell silent. The most aggressively protective CEO in the city was about to walk through those doors. … I still had half a garlic butter lobster roll in my hand. I hadn’t even swallowed my last bite. There were five people in the executive lounge. Even the newest staffer had been with my sister for at least six years. Right now, their expressions were completely identical. A painful, agonizing conflict of wanting to speak up but being terrified of saying the wrong thing. Nancy, the admin coordinator, was the first one to crack. She let out a dry, awkward laugh. “Silas, this is Ms. Sinclair’s…” “I know. He’s the CEO’s little brother.” Silas cut her off without even looking her way. The way he said little brother had a slight upward lilt to it. It dripped with a very subtle, very deliberate disrespect. “But even a little brother shouldn’t be treating the executive suite like a food court.” “That lobster roll smells incredibly strong. What happens if a high-level client walks in?” He glanced at the greasy takeout box in front of me, his brow furrowing in distaste. “Besides, it’s my first day. The rules of this office need to be established.” “When Ms. Sinclair isn’t here, day-to-day operations fall under my jurisdiction.” He smiled, tilting his head at me like he was coaxing a toddler having a tantrum. “Be a good boy. Pack up your snacks, and I’ll have reception call you a black car to take you home. How does that sound?” Nancy started panicking, her voice pitching up half an octave. “Silas, you really don’t understand the situation. Ms. Sinclair had this lounge specifically built for…” “It doesn’t matter who it was built for.” Silas turned his head, his tone still perfectly gentle. But every single word carried an undeniable, heavy weight. “Nancy, you’ve been with Ms. Sinclair for a long time. You should know better than anyone that the executive office is the face of the entire corporation.” “A kid sitting in here stuffing his face with greasy seafood… if word gets out, how does that make the Sinclair Group look?” Fiona, the Director of Operations, set her coffee mug down and finally couldn’t hold back. “Silas, I highly suggest you wait until the CEO gets back before you…” “Fiona.” Silas turned his profile to her, his smile never wavering. “Ms. Sinclair authorized me to manage the daily affairs of this floor. This falls exactly within my purview.” “Unless… you’re questioning the CEO’s judgment?” Fiona opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. I picked up a napkin and wiped the garlic butter off my fingers, taking my sweet time. “What was that phrase you used earlier? Run along?” Silas’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. “I didn’t say that,” he corrected smoothly. “I said play somewhere else.” “Right.” I nodded slowly. “So what you’re saying is, you get to decide where I sit?” “Mr. Sinclair. The whole company knows the CEO adores you. But business is business…” “By the way,” I interrupted him. “The passcode to the digital lock on that door? It’s my birthday. 0816. You can ask literally anyone in this room.” “Technically speaking, this lounge belongs to me.” Nancy nodded so hard she looked like a bobblehead. Silas went quiet for two full seconds. He took a deep breath and completely rearranged his face. This time, he wasn’t smiling. “Mr. Sinclair, every word I’ve said today is for the good of the company. It’s not a personal attack.” He turned to Nancy, his voice shifting into the hard, clipped tone of an executive giving an order. “Nancy. Notify reception. Starting today, anyone who is not an executive staff member must be logged and approved before entering this floor.” He paused. “Everyone. No exceptions.” Nancy’s face drained of color. “Silas, this kind of policy… it really needs Ms. Sinclair’s…” “She gave me the authority.” Silas cut her off smoothly. “I don’t need to ask for her permission for every little thing.” Then he turned back to me. This time, he didn’t even bother keeping up the gentle facade. “Mr. Sinclair, your behavior today has disrupted the workflow of this office.” “As the executive coordinator, I have the right to handle it.” He walked over to the glass doors, pulled them open, and nodded at the two security guards stationed in the hall. “Please lock this lounge temporarily.” He looked back at me, his voice quiet but crystal clear. “You can stay in here for a bit and cool off.” “Once I’ve given my report to the CEO, I’ll let you out.” “Consider it… a learning experience.” Nancy shot up from her chair. “Silas! Are you insane?!” Silas raised a hand, stopping her in her tracks. The smile crept back onto his lips, so fake it made my skin crawl. “Nancy, relax. I’m doing this for his own good.” “A spoiled kid needs someone to teach him boundaries eventually, right?” The security guards pulled the doors shut. The lock clicked. The lighting in the room didn’t change, but the atmosphere suddenly felt like we were all suffocating underwater. Standing on the other side of the glass, Silas clapped his hands together lightly, like he had just wiped a smudge off a window. “Alright.” He turned to Nancy, his tone back to being perfectly pleasant. “Nancy, type up the meeting minutes from this afternoon and email them to me. The CEO will want to review them later.” Nancy didn’t move. “Silas…” Her voice was shaking. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing right now?” “I do.” Silas said. “I’m restoring order to the executive suite.” “And Nancy, I wasn’t asking.” Nancy’s head snapped up, her eyes flashing red. She had been with Victoria for eleven years. She was here back when the Sinclair Group was just a mid-sized firm. She had never been spoken to like this in her life. She took a deep breath, ready to explode. But Silas had already turned away, pulling his phone from his pocket and dialing a number. It connected almost instantly. A heavy, authoritative voice echoed through the phone speaker. “Silas, what is it?” Silas’s posture immediately softened. His tone became deferential, almost sweet. “Uncle Arthur. I just got to the executive floor and ran into a bit of a situation. I wanted to run it by you.” The moment the name Uncle Arthur dropped, the lounge went dead silent again. Gary’s coffee cup froze in mid-air. Fiona’s eyes widened. The man Silas was talking to wasn’t just anybody. It was Arthur Mercer. A founding board member, a loyalist to our late father, and the current Head of the Supervisory Board. Silas recounted the incident. His tone was aggrieved, his phrasing meticulously crafted to make him sound like a helpless professional just trying to do his job, while painting me as an unhinged, entitled brat throwing his weight around. “…I really had no choice. The CEO isn’t here, and the office was in total chaos. I had to follow protocol.” “Uncle Arthur, did I do the right thing?” The line was quiet for a couple of seconds. “You did the right thing, Silas. Rules are rules.” Arthur Mercer’s voice wasn’t loud, but it pierced right through the glass. “I’ll give Victoria a call later and tell her to get a leash on that brother of hers.” “A grown kid running wild around a corporate office. It’s a disgrace.” Silas looked up, his eyes sweeping over everyone in the room before locking onto me. The corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Thank you, Uncle Arthur. I knew you’d understand.” He hung up, slipped the phone back into his pocket, and stood a little taller. His entire aura had shifted. Before, he was playing the polite newcomer. Now, he didn’t even need the mask. He looked right at me through the glass. “Mr. Sinclair. You’re a smart kid. I won’t insult your intelligence by beating around the bush.” He crossed his arms, his voice perfectly level. “I didn’t come to this company to make enemies with you. But lines have to be drawn.” “You play along today, I put in a good word for you with your sister, and from now on, when you come up here, I’ll turn a blind eye.” “Doesn’t that sound like a win-win?” I looked down at my cold lobster roll. I looked back up, right as I was about to open my mouth. Footsteps echoed down the marble hallway. “Who gave the order to lock this door?” It was Evelyn. Victoria’s shadow. The Chief of Staff. Evelyn stood in front of the glass doors, holding the master keycard in her hand. She was in her early forties, had been with Victoria for thirteen years, and was literally there the day the company signed its first office lease. Everyone in the building knew the unwritten rule: When Victoria wasn’t around, Evelyn’s word was god. Her eyes swept over the locked door, the terrified staff inside, and finally landed on Silas. “I’m going to ask one more time.” She adjusted her glasses, her voice as flat as a dial tone. “Who gave the order to lock this door?” Silas didn’t answer immediately. He studied Evelyn for a couple of seconds, his eyes lingering on the gold badge pinned to her blazer. Chief of Staff: Evelyn. “I did.” He kept his chin lifted. There wasn’t an ounce of guilt in his voice. “There was a disruption in the office. I utilized the authority granted to me by the CEO to handle it temporarily.” Evelyn didn’t say a word. She swiped her keycard. The doors beeped and unlocked. She walked straight past Silas and stopped right in front of me. She looked at the cold, greasy takeout box on the table, and then at me. “Cole. Are you alright?” I shook my head. Evelyn nodded once. She turned to Nancy. “Have the kitchen prep a fresh order. Add a bowl of shrimp bisque. The CEO knew Cole was visiting today and specifically asked for it.” Nancy looked like she had just been handed a presidential pardon. She blurted a quick “Yes, ma’am!” and bolted for the door. “Hold on.” Silas’s voice cut through the air. Nancy froze in her tracks. “Evelyn.” Silas took a step forward, planting himself right between Evelyn and Nancy. “I just explicitly stated that non-employees are no longer permitted to dine on the executive floor. That policy is effective immediately.” “Are you overriding my administrative decision?” Evelyn slowly turned her head to look at him. “Silas.” Evelyn finally spoke. “I was the one who processed your onboarding paperwork. I know the exact limits of your authority better than you do.” “The CEO authorized you to coordinate daily administrative tasks.” She paused. “That does not include HR. That does not include security deployments. And it certainly does not include… locking doors.” Silas’s expression stiffened. He recovered quickly, even managing a small, condescending chuckle. “Evelyn, those are just words on a contract.” “Do you really think the CEO brought me up here just to be a glorified paper pusher?” “You’ve been with her for thirteen years. You should know better than anyone…” “She doesn’t hire people based on job descriptions.” He tilted his head, his tone suddenly dripping with a bizarre, intimate familiarity. “The dynamic between me and the CEO isn’t something that can be summed up in an offer letter.” “Evelyn, you’re a smart woman. I don’t think I need to spell it out for you.” The moment those words left his mouth, Gary nearly dropped his coffee mug on the floor. Fiona physically turned her head away to hide her face. Nancy stood in the doorway, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Evelyn adjusted her glasses. Her expression didn’t change by a single millimeter. “Silas. Whatever your personal relationship with the CEO may be, while you are on Sinclair Group property, you follow corporate policy.” “Because those are the rules the CEO herself put in place.” She turned back to Nancy, her voice completely unchanged. “Go. Get the food.” Nancy didn’t hesitate this time. She practically sprinted down the hall. Silas watched Nancy disappear, the smirk on his face dissolving inch by inch. He turned back to face Evelyn. He wasn’t smiling anymore. “Evelyn, I respected your seniority, which is why I tried to be polite.” “But you blatantly undermining me in front of the entire staff makes my job very difficult.” Evelyn didn’t flinch. “I locked this lounge because Cole’s behavior was actively disrupting the workflow of this floor.” Silas lowered his voice, grinding out every single syllable. “Arthur Mercer himself gave his blessing on this.” “Are you saying you outrank a founding board member?” Evelyn tucked her tablet under her arm. Her tone was as dead and still as a frozen lake. “Silas. Arthur Mercer is the Head of the Supervisory Board. His job is to ensure corporate compliance.” “He has absolutely zero jurisdiction over executive HR or office management.” She paused. “That is written in the corporate bylaws. In black and white. It’s not my opinion, and it’s certainly not his.” Silas’s eyes went entirely cold. “Evelyn.” It was the first time he dropped her title completely. “Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?” “I do.” Evelyn replied effortlessly. “Silas, the new executive assistant. Currently on his first day of work.” It wasn’t a shout. But every word drew blood. He spun around and looked at me. Since Evelyn was a brick wall, he clearly decided to pivot and pressure the weakest link. “Cole.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “I’m going to give you one last chance.” “Play along today, and I’ll pretend none of this happened.” “You can keep coming up here, I won’t stop you, and we stay out of each other’s way.” “But if you keep pushing this…” He trailed off, his eyes doing a slow sweep of my face. “I have no problem calling Arthur Mercer down here to handle this personally.” “If this blows up, it’s not going to end well for you.” I pushed the cold lobster roll away and looked up at him. “Silas.” I said. “How long have you been in this room today?” Silas frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?” “Just curious.” I said. “You walked in, locked the door, name-dropped a board member, tried to bully the Chief of Staff, and now you’re trying to negotiate with me.” I tilted my head. “Do you really think you have any leverage left?” Silas’s eyes snapped wide. It wasn’t anger. It was that frantic, cornered-animal panic of a man who realized he had miscalculated completely. But he shoved it down fast. He took a deep breath, forcing the polite smile back onto his face. But the mask was cracking. The venom was leaking through. “You’ve got a sharp tongue on you, kid.” “I’ve always been this way. My sisters are used to it.” “Your sisters?” Silas repeated the words softly, a sneer curling his lip. “Your sisters aren’t here right now.” “No matter how much they coddle you, they can’t save you from this.” He took a step forward. “So, think carefully, Mr. Sinclair.” He raised a hand and pointed straight at the open door. “Are you going to walk out on your own, or do I have to have security escort you out?” Evelyn stepped forward instantly. “Silas—” “Evelyn, if you interrupt me one more time,” Silas snapped, his voice turning vicious, “I am calling Arthur Mercer right now. We’ll see how he feels about an assistant chronically obstructing executive operations.” Evelyn stopped. Silas looked back at me, keeping his arm extended toward the door. “Let’s go, Cole.” I looked down at his outstretched hand. I stared at it for about three seconds. Then I looked up, past his shoulder, staring straight into the hallway. Silas noticed my gaze. He frowned and slowly turned around. Footsteps clipped sharply against the marble floor. A figure appeared in the doorway. Victoria stood there, her voice completely flat. “What exactly is going on here?”

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