I was five months pregnant, suffering from severe hemorrhage, and my husband was with me at the hospital trying to save our baby. The doctor had just asked my husband to pay the hospital deposit when his ex-wife’s ringtone pierced the quiet of the room. “Declan, Harper’s chest hurts really bad. She won’t stop crying and screaming for her daddy… Please, you need to come over right now…” Without a single second of hesitation, he stood up. I grabbed his hand, my voice trembling. “The doctor said the baby is in a very unstable condition. Please don’t leave, okay? I need you.” But he pried my fingers off his hand, one by one. His tone carried a heavy edge of impatience. “I’m not getting back with Chloe, if that’s what you’re worried about.” “It’s just that Harper is still so young. She needs me.” “You have doctors and nurses all around you here. You’ll be fine.” With that, he walked out of the room without looking back once. At that exact moment, the cold truth finally hit me. Between me and his ex-wife and child… He had never chosen me. Not even once. I decided right then that I was going to get a divorce.

After he left, the hospital room became terrifyingly quiet. The nurse kept pushing: “Where is your family member? We need the admission deposit paid before we can administer the medication.” I opened my mouth, my throat feeling incredibly tight. “He… he’ll be back soon.” The nurse sighed, placing the billing slip on the nightstand. “Please hurry. We can’t delay the medication forever.” But deep down, I knew he wasn’t coming back anytime soon. I called Declan. The first call went unanswered. The second call was declined. On the third attempt, he finally picked up. Through the receiver, I could hear a little girl crying, mixed with the sound of Declan’s gentle, soothing voice. I forced back my tears and spoke. “Declan, the hospital is asking for the deposit.” There was a brief silence on the other end. “I can’t leave right now. Can you just pay it first? I’ll transfer it to you later.” I let out a bitter laugh. “I don’t have any money in my account.” After we got married, he told me that men were better at managing finances and planning for the future. So, my salary card, my bonus card, and even all the savings I had accumulated before our marriage were handed over to him, little by little. He told me that my only job was to enjoy life and let him worry about the bills. But every single time I needed to spend money, I had to beg him for it. When I wanted to buy a maternity dress, he would ask if it was absolutely necessary. When the OB-GYN added an extra ultrasound, he would frown and complain that the hospital was just trying to scam us. Eventually, even asking him for money felt like a humiliation. On the phone, his impatience boiled over: “Are you seriously doing this right now? Can’t you just borrow some from a friend?” In the end, swallowed by shame, I had to call a friend to borrow the money to pay the hospital. He finally showed up the next evening. I sat on the hospital bed, gently stroking my swollen stomach. My body was still incredibly weak, and my voice was raspy. “Declan, in all the years we’ve been married, I have never demanded anything from you. But this time, I want a divorce.” He looked at me in utter disbelief and shook his head. “No, I’m not divorcing you.” I gave a faint laugh. “I put your bank card back in your drawer.” “I know now that you never wanted to spend a single penny on me.” Declan’s face instantly turned incredibly pale. Not long after we married, we had a massive fight. Back then, when he broke up with Chloe, he had walked away with nothing. He had to pay a massive amount of child support every month. Even the expensive gifts I bought him were sold off so he could give the cash to his ex-wife and daughter. He had pleaded with me back then, saying, “Chloe is in the past. I only help her because of Harper.” “You are the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. From now on, all my money goes to you.” He had handed me his salary card and started reporting his location to me every single day. Seeing his effort to change, I had let the past go. Until a few days ago, when I tried to use his card to pay for some medicine and found out there was absolutely nothing left in it. I logged into his mobile banking app to check the transaction history. Every single dollar of his income had been transferred to Chloe. And in his cloud drive, there were albums filled with photos of the three of them—a happy family. During the times he claimed he was working late or going on business trips, he was actually with them. The way Declan looked at Chloe in those photos was still full of deep, lingering affection. I tried to tell myself he was only doing it for his daughter. But that excuse couldn’t hold weight anymore. My mother-in-law, Eleanor, poured a cup of water and handed it to me. “Amber, Declan truly loves you. You’ve been married for three years, and you’re five months pregnant now.” “What he does for Chloe and Harper is just out of responsibility. Just let him apologize, and let’s put this behind us.” I kept my eyes down. “I don’t need his apology.” Declan sighed, still trying to defend himself. “Harper has asthma, Amber. You know that. Chloe can’t handle emergency situations on her own.” “Your fever is down anyway, so stop making a scene over nothing.” Eleanor smacked his shoulder hard. “Apologize to your wife right now! You left your sick, pregnant wife at the hospital—how dare you raise your voice?” Declan frowned deeply. “Amber, I am your husband and the father of your baby, but Harper is also my child.” “If I can just abandon my own daughter, would you even respect me as a man?” I clenched my fists, my voice barely a whisper. “Then what about me? Was it fair when you abandoned me over and over again?” “Did you ever accompany me to a prenatal checkup? Did you ever give me money? Have you cared about me at all lately?” He looked completely annoyed. “Why do you have to keep score of everything?” Right then, his phone rang. A little girl’s voice came through the speaker. “Daddy, I miss you.” His expression instantly softened into pure warmth. “I’m on my way, sweetie.” As he hung up, Eleanor stood in front of the door, blocking his path. “Declan, if you walk out that door to go to them today, I am disowning you.” My heart, however, was already completely numb. During my first trimester, I had such severe morning sickness that I lost twenty pounds in a single month. He only offered a few cheap, verbal comforts and couldn’t even bother to buy me some fresh fruit. I had kept working through the pain, eventually fainting at the office due to low blood sugar. And he had blamed me for it, asking why a woman had to be so ridiculously stubborn about her career. My first marriage had taught me a harsh lesson: a woman must never depend on a man for money; she must remain independent. My first husband had despised me for being a stay-at-home housewife, which was why I fought so hard to build my own career this time. I thought Declan would cherish my strength. But his actions proved that everything I did was just a joke to him. He walked into the guest bedroom and walked out with a stuffed animal and a brand-new designer purse. He had never given me gifts or surprises. Even a gentle word or his presence was a luxury I had to beg for. Declan glanced at me. “It’s Chloe’s birthday today. She’s always been fragile. I’m just going to stay with them for a bit.” I nodded. “Go ahead.” We had known each other for five years and been married for three. He had never once remembered my birthday. Without a shred of hesitation, he pushed past Eleanor and opened the front door. “Think about it rationally, Amber. I know you’re not an unreasonable woman.”

Eleanor burst into tears, apologizing to me repeatedly. But this marriage had already drained every ounce of life out of me. I thought this second marriage would be my saving grace, but it turned out to be just another curse. After Eleanor cooked some food and left, I sat alone on the couch. I recalled how I had to drag myself through the past few days of threatened miscarriage all on my own. The day I started bleeding, I needed to go to the hospital. When Declan found out, he did rush to take me there. In that moment, I still held onto a tiny sliver of hope—that he still cared about me. But then, he walked away without a backward glance. That very night, I saw a post on Chloe’s Instagram. It was a photo of the three of them dining at a high-end steakhouse. Her caption read: “My ex-husband is always just one call away. He is, and always will be, our rock.” He was legally my husband, yet I could never rely on him for anything. Once, I had asked him to take me to a steakhouse. He had dismissed it, saying it was too expensive and we could make the same thing at home. I had thought he was just being financially responsible. But the truth was, he just didn’t care about my happiness. Tears fell uncontrollably. He remembered the exact date he met Chloe, the exact spot of their first picture together. But when it came to me, his excuse was always, “We’re an old married couple now, who keeps track of those details?” He could fulfill every single one of Chloe’s wishes. Yet when I asked for a simple box of chocolates, he would make a dozen excuses. While I was earning my own living, carrying our child, and doing all the housework, all he ever gave me was a lazy, “Thanks for your hard work.” I thought he genuinely appreciated me. It turned out to be nothing but cheap lip service. They had divorced because of “personality clashes and impulsive decisions.” Once the dust settled, Declan started romanticizing their past, forever carrying a sense of guilt toward Chloe and Harper. The next day at noon, Declan suddenly showed up at my office to bring me lunch. “I got this from that restaurant you like. Eat up.” I noticed he had swapped his wedding ring back to the older design he used to wear with Chloe. Declan noticed my gaze, took the ring off, and carefully tucked it into his pocket. “Harper was having a fit last night, so I was just trying to calm her down. Chloe also had a bit too much to drink. They really needed me.” A wave of bitterness washed over me. Did I not need him? I had to handle every single crisis by myself. Was I not allowed to be tired? Last month, I was clipped by a car while crossing the street. I had to handle the police report and the hospital visit all on my own. When he saw my bruises, he asked a couple of careless questions, bought some cheap ointment, and that was it. My scrapes were itching terribly as they healed. I couldn’t help but scratch them until they bled again, but he completely ignored it. “Declan, if you can’t let her go, why did you marry me?” He went quiet for a few seconds. “Chloe is just family to me now. But you… you are strong, Amber. You can handle tough things. They can’t.” My voice rose. “Is that supposed to be an excuse?” He glanced at my coworkers nearby and lowered his voice. “Amber, do we really have to dissect this right here? This is a second marriage for both of us. We have to be more pragmatic.” “You’re five months pregnant. Stop overthinking. I’ll come home early tonight.” I didn’t touch the food he brought. I stood up and walked away. In love, it doesn’t matter how outstanding or independent you are. If someone doesn’t love you, they simply won’t care. Because he didn’t love me, he felt no pain for my suffering. This was a second marriage for both of us. We had met on a blind date. I thought he was a decent, down-to-earth guy with a gentle temper. He used to take me out for drives, talking about his realistic plans for the future. He seemed so reliable. I was the one who initiated our dates, and eventually, I was the one who proposed marriage. He had said, “Thank you for accepting me and my past.” And I had replied, “As long as we build a good life together, that’s all that matters.”

My ex-husband was as good as dead to me. But Declan’s ex-wife was a constant, toxic presence in our lives. I was anxious all afternoon, and a sharp, cramping pain started spreading through my abdomen. I took emergency leave from work and drove myself to the hospital. After the examination, the doctor’s face was grim. “With the threatened miscarriage and your extreme emotional distress, the baby’s heartbeat has become incredibly weak.” Sitting alone in the sterile hallway, clutching my phone, my mind was a chaotic mess. That was when Chloe called. “Amber, Declan won’t be coming home tonight. I’m feeling really exhausted today, so he’s staying to take care of me.” Hearing her smug, provocative tone, I only had one thing to say. “Do whatever you want.” After being disappointed so many times, there was absolutely nothing left for me to hold onto. I scheduled the termination surgery for the next morning. Perhaps this was just my fate. This baby couldn’t be saved anyway. By the time I got home from the hospital, it was late at night. There was a plastic bag sitting by the front door. I opened it and found Declan’s dirty laundry inside. His underwear had obvious, suggestive stains. He had always been cold and distant when it came to intimacy with me. But clearly, he had plenty of passion left for Chloe. Right on cue, she sent me a photo. It was a picture of Declan gently massaging her legs. Even from his profile, you could see the immense patience and tenderness in his eyes. “I bet you’ve never experienced this side of him, Amber.” At first, these kinds of texts would make me scream and lose my mind, demanding answers from Declan. But he would always reply, “Why are you so incredibly petty? If we really wanted to get back together, do you honestly think you could stop us?” He was right. I couldn’t stop them. So, I chose to step aside. The next morning, before I was even fully awake, I heard noises coming from the living room. When I walked out, I saw Chloe standing in my kitchen, cooking breakfast, while my washing machine was already running. She glanced at me with a smirk. “Honestly, Amber, sleeping in until noon? No wonder you don’t know how to take care of Declan.” I let out a cold laugh. “If you were so great at taking care of him, why did the two of you divorce in the first place?” Her temper was notoriously worse than mine. Declan walked out of the bedroom, his face instantly darkening into a scowl. “Chloe came over specifically to help you out around the house. What’s with the attitude, Amber?” Chloe crossed her arms, looking smug. “Exactly. At the end of the day, we’re all family. Besides, this house of yours is in the top-tier school district, right? Declan said we should register Harper’s school address here.” I snapped, “This is my house. I bought it. I don’t consent to this.” Chloe’s smile grew even wider. “Well, that’s not really up to you, is it?” Declan avoided my gaze, keeping his head down, trying to dodge the conflict like he always did. He never actually solved any problems; he just assumed that if he ignored them long enough, they would disappear. “Amber, Harper is starting elementary school soon. Can you please just show some understanding for once?” I grabbed a glass mug from the counter and shattered it right at their feet. My voice went shrill. “I will not be understanding!” “Why should I sacrifice my life for the two of you? Chloe, are you incapable of surviving on your own?” “Declan, do you have any idea what happened to me yesterday—” Before I could finish, he pulled Chloe into his arms, shielding her protectively. “Have you lost your mind?!” he roared. She clung to his chest, whimpering. “Amber, why are you so utterly heartless? When you married Declan, he made it very clear to you.” “Harper is his daughter. He has a duty to look after her.” Declan looked at me, his eyes filled with pure, undisguised disgust. “I never realized you could be this toxic. Chloe is just brutally honest, but she’s not wrong. She came here to do chores and try to keep the peace, and this is how you treat her?” She played her victim card perfectly, backing away slowly. “It’s fine, Declan. It’s my fault. Harper and I should just vanish from your life completely.” Declan panicked instantly. “No, Chloe, this has nothing to do with you.” “You are my ex-wife, and Harper is my daughter. It is my responsibility.” Chloe fake-wiped a tear and ran out the door. Declan bolted right after her, not wasting a single second. The apartment fell into a deafening silence. My next-door neighbor poked her head into the hallway, looking concerned. “Oh my god, Amber, what happened? Did your husband just run off with another woman?”

I forced a smile. “With his ex-wife.” Realizing she had touched a painful nerve, the neighbor mumbled an apology and quickly shut her door. I went to the hospital at my scheduled time. But just as I was about to sign the consent form for the procedure, Eleanor suddenly appeared out of nowhere. “Amber! What on earth are you doing?” I gasped in shock. “Mom? How did you know I was here?” Eleanor’s eyes were completely bloodshot. “Every time I asked, you told me Declan was taking you to your prenatal checkups. But I found out today that he hasn’t shown up to a single one.” “I saw you leaving the house this morning, so I followed you.” Over the years, Eleanor had always been genuinely kind to me. Unable to keep up the facade anymore, I broke down and told her the entire truth. Eleanor’s heart broke for me. She hugged me tight, gently rubbing my back. “My poor child… you’ve been carrying all this pain alone.” Just then, Chloe’s voice echoed from down the hallway. “I told you it was just a minor cold, Declan. There was absolutely no need to drag me to the hospital.” “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill. I don’t even know what to say to you anymore.” Declan replied instantly, “If something happens to you, what will Harper do? What will I do?” Eleanor lost her mind. She marched right over and slapped Chloe across the face twice, hard. “You shameless gold-digger! You claimed you divorced my son because of compatibility, but it was because of your reckless spending!” “You were texting other men online! You are divorced now—why are you still leeching off my son like a parasite?!” Chloe snapped, instantly trying to claw back. “You crazy old lady! I’m going to ruin you!” Declan rushed to separate them, firmly shielding Chloe behind his back. “Mom! What is wrong with you?!” Eleanor glared at him, hands on her hips. “What is wrong with me? You are weak and spineless! Do you still not see what kind of person this woman is?!” Declan didn’t want to yell at his mother, so he turned his icy, furious gaze onto me instead. The sheer hatred in his eyes felt like a physical blow. “Did you stalk me? Did you bring my mother here to make a scene?” “You know Chloe is in fragile health, yet you still have to let your petty jealousy ruin everything?” I said quietly, “I didn’t do anything.” He stepped closer to me, his voice a violent, angry roar. “You didn’t do anything? Your heart is as small as a pinhead, Amber! Using these disgusting, manipulative tricks… aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” “Just to stop me from taking care of them, you’re using my own mother as a weapon?!” Chloe gasped for air, playing up her distress. “Whether legally or emotionally, Declan belonged to me first!” “Harper is so young and has asthma, and I’m constantly sick.” “Do you have any idea how hard it is for a single mother to raise a child?!” Hearing her words, the agonizing pity in Declan’s eyes practically overflowed. “Chloe, I am so, so sorry. I’ve failed you.” I stood there, finding the entire display utterly hysterical. He made sure he was fair to everyone in the world, yet he never once stopped to think if he had been fair to me. Eleanor screamed at him, “This has nothing to do with Amber! Do you even know why we are at the hospital today?!” But Declan was completely deaf to her words. He reached out and shoved me aside, his voice cold as ice. “Are you happy now?” “In all the years we’ve been together, have I ever hit you? Have I ever abused you? Have I cheated, gambled, or left you homeless?” “You know how important they are to me, yet you still pull this pathetic stunt. You are genuinely disgusting and pathetic, Amber!” “If anything happens to Chloe today, I will hate you for the rest of my life.” Listening to his venomous words, I finally realized that I had never truly known this man. He hated me. He wanted to hate me for the rest of his life. Without even giving me a single chance to explain, he chose to stand unconditionally with his ex. Suddenly, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through my lower abdomen. The world began to spin. I looked down and saw bright red blood rapidly staining its way down my pants. Eleanor screamed in horror, swinging her purse violently at Declan’s chest. “You bastard! Amber is here to get a termination because the baby is dying!” Declan’s face drained of color instantly.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “437168”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

After three years of fighting in divorce court, Julian suddenly withdrew the case. It was hard to believe. Just a while ago, because I slapped his cheating assistant, Chloe, he pinned me down and beat me black and blue, forcing me to sign the divorce papers. But now, he came home on time every single day. He handed over his phone, reported his schedule, and never mentioned the word “divorce” again. I thought he had finally fallen back in love with me. Until today, when I couldn’t help but ask him why. He stayed silent for a long time before whispering, “My future self from ten years later called me.” “He said that after the divorce, you would start a fire and burn Chloe alive.” “So, I can’t let you go.” At that moment, the cold truth finally hit me. This marriage I had fought so hard to save wasn’t salvaged because he changed his mind. It was because he would rather trap me in a living hell for the rest of my life just to keep her safe. If that was the case, this marriage wasn’t worth keeping anymore.

Seeing my silence, Julian didn’t say another word. He calmly put on his suit jacket, his face returning to its usual cold, composed mask. Before heading out, he grabbed his car keys and spoke to me like he was checking off a to-do list. “I have a board meeting this afternoon, and a client dinner right after.” “My phone will be on silent. If there’s an emergency, call Secretary Vance.” He paused, his eyes lingering on my face. “If you don’t trust me, you can come to the office and check on me.” But he didn’t walk over to hug me like he used to. He didn’t even wait for my reply. He just closed the door behind him. His black sedan slowly rolled out of the driveway. I stood by the window, watching his tail lights fade into the heavy rain. Suddenly, I realized the distance between us was just like that car. I could never catch up to it again. Tears fell without warning. Ever since I found out about him and Chloe, I had turned into a monster. I wiped him down with rubbing alcohol. I checked his phone, tracked his bank accounts, went through his emails, and stalked his Snapchat. I even made his driver send me his GPS location every single day. If he was even a minute late, I would interrogate him. Where were you? Who were you with? What did you say? He explained over and over again. He said that night was a setup, that both he and Chloe had been drugged. He showed me the security footage, the blood tests, the hotel logs. But I couldn’t hear a single word. Until the day he pushed the signed divorce papers in front of me. “Seraphina,” he said, sounding incredibly exhausted. “If we keep doing this, we will drive each other crazy.” “The house, the company shares, the savings—I’ll give you seventy percent of everything.” “Let me go. And let yourself go, too.” That night, I locked myself in the bedroom with a bottle of sleeping pills. When he broke the door down, he was shaking all over. He held me, his eyes bloodshot, sobbing into my shoulder. “Don’t leave me.” “I was wrong. Punish me however you want.” “But don’t use your own life to punish me.” For a long time after that, he never brought up the divorce. But at some point, his plea of “letting each other go” slowly mutated into something else: “Chloe can’t survive without me.” Outside, the rain poured heavier. I had left my umbrella right by the door, but I forgot to open it. For all these years, I had been completely babied by him. He drove me everywhere. He cut my steak. He put coats on me when it was cold. Even when I woke up thirsty in the middle of the night, there would always be a glass of warm water on my nightstand. I used to think that love would last forever. Only today did I realize that no one stands in the same spot waiting for you forever. Rainwater dripped from my hair. I couldn’t tell if the wetness on my cheeks was the rain or my tears. Not long after I got home, I broke out in a fever. In my fever dream, I could hear someone calling my name. A cool, damp towel was placed on my forehead, replaced again and again. Then came that familiar, soothing voice. “Her fever is going down.” “Just a little longer, babe. You’ll be fine.” I tried so hard to open my eyes, wanting to grab the hand holding mine. But in the next second, a harsh ringtone shattered the dream. The room was completely empty. There was no one by the bed. Only my phone was vibrating violently. I forced myself to pick it up. “Ma’am,” the voice of the private investigator I hired came through. “Mr. Julian canceled all his meetings this afternoon.” My heart sank instantly. “He left the office and drove straight to the Silverwood Wellness Retreat.” “He’s been in there for over two hours now.” My grip on the phone tightened. Silverwood Wellness Retreat. That was where Chloe was staying. Julian’s parting words from this morning echoed in my head: “If you don’t trust me, you can come to the office and check on me.” He knew me too well. He knew I would finally believe him this time. Every other time, I would have rushed to his office to confirm. But today, I didn’t go. And he lied to me anyway. The clock on the wall pointed to 6:00 PM. Usually, he would be home by now. I didn’t call him. Instead, I opened my drawer, took out the signed divorce papers, and slid my wedding ring off my finger. I put them both into a manila envelope. This time, he wouldn’t have to ask. I was going to end this marriage myself.

Before I could even reach Chloe’s room, a dozen bodyguards surrounded me. The moment they saw me, they went on high alert. “Ma’am, Mr. Julian gave strict orders. You are not allowed near Miss Chloe.” Through the gap in the wall of men, I saw the door to Chloe’s suite. There was a framed photo of Julian and Chloe, surrounded by a pink heart. Underneath, in cute calligraphy, it read: “[Our Secret Haven]”. I forced a cold laugh. “How pathetic.” I had once begged Julian to take photos like that with me. But he had always brushed me off, saying he was the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company and couldn’t do something so childish. It turned out he wasn’t incapable of being childish. He just didn’t want to do it with me. I took a deep breath, ignoring the dull ache in my chest. “Move out of my way.” “You all know how crazy I can get. Don’t test me.” I reached into my bag and pulled out a small utility knife. I only wanted to scare them. But in the next second, one of the bodyguards lunged at me, slamming me to the ground. The others pinned my arms behind my back. I couldn’t move an inch. “Apologies, Ma’am. Mr. Julian’s orders. If you show any signs of instability, we must restrain you immediately.” Another guard pulled out his walkie-talkie. “Sir, the wife is here. And she has a knife…” Before he could finish, Julian’s panicked voice roared through the speaker. “Then pin her down! Don’t let her hurt Chloe! Do it now!” My struggles stopped instantly. “She’s restrained, sir. Should we take her back to the villa or lock her up here?” The radio went silent for a few seconds. Finally, Julian let out a low, tired sigh. “Fine. Bring her in.” The knife was swiped from my hand, but in the scuffle, the blade had sliced my wrist. As they dragged me into the room, blood dripped onto the floor, drop by drop. I bit my lip, forcing myself not to cry. But the moment I stepped inside, I froze. The sunset filtered through sheer curtains, casting a warm glow over a rocking chair on the balcony. On the side table sat a cup of hot coffee and an open book. In the corner, a vintage record player was spinning, playing Julian’s favorite jazz record. This wasn’t a hospital room. This was a home. Specifically, it was the home I had designed. Before our wedding, I had spent weeks drawing up blueprints based on our shared tastes. But Julian had told me he didn’t want me to stress. He hired a design firm instead and decorated our villa in a completely different style. And now, my dream home was right in front of me. Only it belonged to him and another woman. “You’re here,” Julian’s voice came from behind. I turned around, shock still written all over my face. “Chloe loved this design,” he said casually. “So I built it for her.” “You don’t mind, do you?” “Are you insane?” I whispered, my voice trembling. “What do you think?” He nodded slowly. “Then tear it down, Seraphina. If it makes you happy, destroy it.” His eyes flicked briefly to my bleeding wrist, but there was only disgust in his gaze. “I’m used to your tantrums. Chloe is, too.” He looked out the window, speaking in a tone so calm it was chilling. “Look, Seraphina. The rainbow is out. The weather is beautiful.” I followed his gaze. The rain had stopped, and a perfect rainbow spanned the sky. But the storm inside my heart would never clear. “Babe, come play “It Takes Two” with me…” Chloe’s voice cut off the moment she saw me. The controller slipped from her hands and clattered to the floor. Suddenly, she grabbed her head and started screaming at the top of her lungs. “No! Please don’t take my clothes off! Don’t kill my baby!” “I’m a home-wrecker! I’m a bitch!” “I’m sorry! Please… I won’t do it again…” Julian rushed over, throwing his arms around her. His eyes were red with pain. “Shh, it’s okay. Don’t cry, baby.” “I’m here. No one will ever hurt you again.” As he said those words, he stared directly at me. His eyes were filled with pure, unadulterated hatred. Suddenly, I laughed. I laughed so hard tears streamed down my face. For a split second, I wanted to grab Chloe and drag her off the balcony with me. But my remaining sanity told me she wasn’t worth it. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms, killing the urge to destroy us both. I sneered, “Cut the act, Chloe. It’s getting pathetic.”

Chloe flinched, burying her face deeper into Julian’s chest. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she sobbed. “PTSD doesn’t look like that,” I said coldly. Julian stood up, blocking her like a human shield. “Enough! If you have a problem, bring it to me!” “Stop acting like you know everything. I won’t let you slander her!” Of course I knew. I had been living with PTSD for over a decade. Ever since the day I watched my mother die. Whenever I pictured the pool of blood spreading around her body, I would vomit, scream, and hurt myself. I had never told anyone that my mother jumped off a building because my father had cheated on her. I had sworn I would never enter the prison of marriage. But Julian had sworn on his entire family’s legacy that he would never betray me. I thought I would escape my mother’s fate. But in the end, I walked right into it. The hysterical screaming, the self-destruction. But I was done. I didn’t want to play this game anymore. I reached into my bag to grab the signed divorce papers. Julian’s face went pale. “What are you doing?!” he screamed. “Hold her down!” Before my hand could even clear my bag, the bodyguards slammed me back onto the marble floor. Julian kicked my bag away, the force of it numbing my fingers. “As long as I am breathing, you will never lay a finger on her!” I stared up at him from the floor. His eyes were a chaotic mix of fear and rage. I remembered a night not too long ago when he had slipped out of bed while I was asleep. I thought he was going to see Chloe, so I followed him. But I heard him on the phone, asking, “Will Seraphina go crazy ten years from now? As long as I keep her close, can I protect Chloe?” I didn’t understand what he meant back then. But now, I did. That was the phone call from the future. He was terrified of me. No matter what I did, he would always assume I wanted to murder his mistress. My cheek was pressed against the freezing marble floor. It felt just like my heart. I let out a bitter laugh. “The envelope in my bag has the divorce papers. I already signed them.” Julian looked suspicious, but he reached down and opened my bag. The moment he saw the papers, he ripped them into pieces. “I told you! We are not getting a divorce!” I looked at him calmly. “Because of that phone call?” Chloe pulled at his sleeve. “What phone call?” “Nothing,” Julian muttered. “But you promised to give me a home,” Chloe whined, her eyes welling with tears. Julian clenched his fists, his face turning red. “Don’t ask questions. Just know I am doing this for your own good.” He wiped her tears gently. “I can give you everything, Chloe. Everything except the marriage itself.” Those words were meant for me, too. He would give me the title of his wife, but nothing else. No love, no respect, no truth. Suddenly, I felt so tired. “Just sign it, Julian. I’m not going to burn her.” “That phone call? I paid someone to use a voice changer to trick you.”

“What?!” Julian froze, staring at me in total disbelief. “It’s true,” I said, turning my face away. “I was terrified you would leave me, so I made up that lie to keep you.” He hesitated, still doubtful. “But he knew everything about my childhood. Things only I know.” I let out a soft laugh. “Julian, I’ve known you since we were kids. I know every single detail of your life. I knew exactly how to make the threat believable.” Julian went dead silent, his brows furrowing as he stared at me, trying to read my mind. I pressed my forehead against the floor, hiding my expression. This was the first time in our entire lives that I had lied to him. Maybe there really was a call from ten years later. Maybe he really would regret everything. But I didn’t care anymore. I was too exhausted. I sniffled, looking up at him with a smirk. “So, what’s it going to be? Are you signing or not?” “If you don’t sign now, I might change my mind.” “Slap!” Julian’s hand whipped across my face. My cheek burned instantly. “You can play your crazy games all you want, Seraphina, but this is crossing the line!” “You are a psycho!” He turned to his assistant. “Print out a new copy of the divorce papers. We are signing them right now!” I thought I couldn’t feel pain anymore. But the hollow space in my chest still felt ice-cold and aching. The new papers were brought in. Julian signed them furiously and threw them in my face. “You get half of my assets. I won’t keep a single penny from you.” “But mark my words, I never want to see your face again.” The bodyguards finally let go of me. I scrambled up from the floor, gathered the papers, and walked out without looking back. On my drive home, it started pouring again. The rain soaked me to the bone, but my mind had never been clearer. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was an unknown number. “Seraphina, this is you from ten years in the future. You have to divorce Julian!” “But please, don’t do anything stupid. Don’t hurt yourself, and don’t start a fire. Otherwise, Julian will torment you for the rest of your life!” I stayed quiet for a couple of seconds. “I already signed the papers. And I’m not going to do anything stupid.” The “me” on the other end let out a massive sigh of relief. “Thank God.” “Go live your life, Seraphina. Be happy.” “I will,” I said, and hung up. Two phone calls from the future, predicting two completely different endings. But I didn’t care which one was real anymore. I was done living in fear. Back at the villa, I packed my things. A few old clothes, my passport, and some documents. That was all I had to show for my years with him. But the framed sketch of the two of us on the nightstand caught my eye. Julian always said he hated taking photos. In our ten years together, we didn’t even have a single wedding photo. Yet Chloe’s place was covered with pictures of them. Surfing on the beach, skiing in the snow. They had traveled the world together. While he and I were just like the two sketched figures in this frame—living under the same roof, but worlds apart. I smashed the frame, tore the drawing in half, and took my half of the memories with me. When I reached the airport, my phone started buzzing. It was Julian. I declined the call. He kept calling. I kept declining. Then came the text messages: “I never told anyone about the scar on the sole of my foot! How did the caller know?!” “Was the call real?!” “You lied to me! You never lie to me!” “Seraphina! Where the hell are you?!” I turned off my phone and buckled my seatbelt. An hour ago, I had called my father. His private jet was already taking me to a city where it never rained.

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Brandon had been sailing the open seas as a cargo ship captain for five years, and for five years, I waited for him on dry land. He always told me that the ocean was dangerous, the conditions were brutal, and dependents weren’t allowed on board. So, I quietly kept our home running, waiting for the few times his ship would dock. I even endured a miscarriage alone after a bad fall, refusing to disturb him at sea. Until that day, while deep-cleaning the house, I found a velvet box hidden beneath his pillow. The moment I opened it, photos spilled across the floor. Resting on top was an official document: “Merchant Marine Spousal Sail-Along Authorization.” The applicant’s name: “Chloe Miller.” In the photos, Chloe was standing right beside him. Behind them were seagulls and a massive luxury freighter. She was laughing, her smile brighter and wilder than any tropical sea breeze. On the back of the photo, Brandon’s handwriting read: “You are my lighthouse in the endless ocean.” I laughed. I looked around our small house. I couldn’t find a single photo of the two of us. From that day on, I stopped going to the harbor. I stopped sending messages that would only sink into the void. I stopped keeping dinners warm for a man who would never show up. The ship that had been sailing in my heart for five years had finally sunk, silently, into the dark.

“Why didn’t you come to the harbor to pick me up today?” Brandon pushed the door open. I was sitting at the dining table, peeling a tangerine and watching the weather channel. In the past, every time he returned, I would be waiting at the dock two hours early, rain or shine. “I was busy,” I said. I popped a tangerine slice into my mouth and walked into the kitchen. He followed me, reaching out to wrap his arms around my waist from behind. Usually, whenever he did this, I would turn around with a smile, stand on my toes, and hug his neck. But this time, my body reacted faster than my brain. I took a step to the left, stepping out of his reach. He didn’t seem to mind and began unpacking his duffel bag. “We sailed pretty far south this time. I didn’t have time to shop for anything fancy.” “But I got you this silk scarf. Chloe said all girls love these.” The scarf was ocean-blue. I didn’t even recognize the foreign brand on the tag. A bitter wave of pain washed over my heart. He always did this. A cheap souvenir to make up for his absence, as if that somehow meant I had shared his journey. And then he took it for granted that I would always be waiting in the exact same spot. “You don’t like it?” Seeing that I wasn’t thrilled, Brandon frowned slightly. “It’s nice,” I said flatly. His frown deepened. He tugged at his collar, looking annoyed. “Hazel, are you still mad because I didn’t take you with me?” “It was a brutal route this time. You couldn’t have handled it.” “Next time, I promise. We’ll plan a perfect trip just for you.” I didn’t reply. Thinking the matter was settled, Brandon leaned in naturally, trying to kiss me. I raised my hand, gently pressing against his shoulder to stop him. He froze. “I’m tired, Brandon.” He fell silent for a few seconds, then patted my shoulder. “Then get some rest.” “Chloe said she couldn’t find where she put her souvenirs from the trip. You know how clumsy she is. I’m going to go over to her place and help her look.” “Okay.” He didn’t leave immediately after I said that. My unusually calm reaction seemed to catch him off guard. In the past, whenever he went to see Chloe, I would throw a fit. I would scream at him, demanding to know if Chloe was more important than his own wife. And every time, Brandon would explain with a sigh that Chloe was just the girl next door, that she was lonely and shy, and that he, as an older brother figure, had to look after her. Then, he would leave for her apartment without a second thought. But this time, I just turned my back. I didn’t look at him anymore. The sound of the front door closing left the apartment in dead silence. After a long time, I stood up and walked into the study. This was where Brandon kept his navigation charts. He once pointed to those routes and promised to take me to see every single one of them. I walked in. Seashell wind chimes from Bali, a model fishing boat from the Maldives, blue-and-white ceramics from Greece… Over the past five years, his ship had docked in twelve different countries. Yet, I hadn’t even been to the nearest harbor with him. At the bottom of the shelf was a blue logbook. The Strait of Malacca, the Cape of Good Hope, Cape Town… Every single page had Chloe’s handwriting or her little doodles on it. I gently ran my fingers over the fabric cover. I had spent three painful nights sewing that cover by hand for his birthday two years ago. My stitching was messy, and I had pricked my fingers so many times. When he received it, he had spun me around in his arms, saying, “This will record every single place we explore together.” Now, under the study light, Chloe’s handwriting on those pages felt like a slap in the face. The sound of quiet footsteps came from the hallway. Brandon pushed the door open, his eyes landing on the notebook in my hand. His expression shifted slightly, but he quickly recovered his composure. “Why aren’t you in bed yet?” I didn’t answer. He wrapped his arms around my waist, offering a casual explanation. “Chloe insisted on putting those labels on. She said it keeps the good memories alive.” “I see.” I lowered my head and put the logbook back. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a Snapchat message from my best friend, Cleo. “I found the lawyer you asked for. He specializes in maritime divorces. He wants to know when you’re free for a consultation.” I set my phone on the desk, the screen still glowing. Brandon subconsciously glanced down. His breathing stopped.

He stood there, suddenly letting out an annoyed, dry laugh. “What is wrong with you today, Hazel?” “Just because I took Chloe out to sea a couple of times?” “Fine. I’ll take you on the next voyage, okay?” He loosened his collar, his tone condescending, like he was comforting a spoiled child. Without waiting for my answer, he turned and walked toward the master bedroom. After a few steps, he stopped and looked back. “Chloe is years younger than you, yet she’s way more mature.” “Can’t you learn a thing or two from her?” A surge of grievance rushed to my chest, but it faded just as quickly. Once, words like that would have made me panic. They would have made me beg for his approval, doubting my own worth. But now, my heart was a flatline. For five years, I had done nothing but wait. Wait for him to dock. Dealing with emergencies with no one to lean on, sending texts that got ignored. All while he ran off to Chloe under the guise of “taking care of her.” I looked into his eyes and nodded. “Okay. I won’t make a scene anymore.” With that, I turned on my heel and walked into the guest bedroom. Over the next few days, I silently began packing my things. Brandon spent almost all his time at Chloe’s place. Because of that, he didn’t notice the things slowly disappearing from our apartment. The small fishbowl on the table went to Cleo. I dragged the old armchair from the living room out to the trash. My existence was being erased from this home, piece by piece. “I’m teaching Chloe how to read navigation charts this afternoon. You should join us.” Brandon sat at the breakfast bar. “Didn’t you always complain about not understanding the charts? That you never knew where I was?” In the past, I had begged him to teach me. But he had said, “Maritime stuff is too complicated for you. You don’t need to learn it anyway.” Now, he was offering, but only as an afterthought to Chloe’s lesson. There was a knock at the door. Chloe stood at the entrance, wearing a white sundress. She smiled sweetly, but when she saw me, her smile faltered. I didn’t say a word. The atmosphere turned icy. Her eyes immediately welled with tears, and she began twisting the hem of her dress. “Hazel… are you mad that I’m here?” “If it bothers you, I can leave right now.” Seeing her tears, Brandon’s face instantly darkened. He grabbed her by the wrist. “Why should you leave?” He glared at me, his patience exhausted. “Hazel, I’ve told you a thousand times, Chloe is like a sister to me. If you can’t stand her being around, then you don’t need to come on the next voyage either.” Disappointment washed over me like freezing seawater, numbing me from head to toe. Brandon didn’t look at me again. He led Chloe into the study and shut the door. Under the warm glow of the desk lamp, he spread out the giant marine map. He leaned over, his finger tracing a path from one port to another. “This is Malacca. And here is the Cape of Good Hope.” “Last year, when we passed the Cape, the storm was so bad the whole ship felt like it was going to capsize.” He tilted his head to look at Chloe, his voice incredibly gentle. “Do you remember how scared you were? You sent me so many texts.” Chloe giggled, wiping away her crocodile tears. “Thirty-seven texts.” “But you told me everything would be fine, so I wasn’t scared anymore.” They stood side by side, their shadows overlapping on the wall, looking like a perfect couple. I stood at the doorway of the study, feeling like an intruder in my own home. I remembered that storm. The news had reported a category-four gale in his area. I had paced the living room all night, out of my mind with worry. I sent text after text. It wasn’t until the next afternoon that he replied with a single word: “Fine.” Everything they shared was a world I was locked out of. My chest ached slightly. I turned around, went back to my room, and continued packing the rest of my life. Because Brandon’s future was a world I no longer wanted any part of.

A knock came at the door. When I opened it, our neighbor, Mrs. Gable, was standing there with a freshly baked apple pie. “Hazel, honey, I saw Brandon was back, so I made some—oh?” She glanced past me and saw the two figures standing close together in the study. Her warm smile instantly vanished. She shoved the pie into my hands and spoke loudly enough for the whole apartment to hear: “Captain Brandon, Hazel has been waiting for you all alone. She goes to the harbor before sunrise, rain or shine. She hasn’t missed a single day.” “Now that you’re finally home, you’re spending your time with someone else, leaving your wife to watch from the sidelines?” The murmuring in the study stopped. Chloe walked out, her eyes red. “Ma’am, you’ve got it all wrong.” “Got it wrong? I’m old, not blind,” Mrs. Gable scoffed, giving her a look of pure disgust. “Honestly, girls these days… always trying to claw their way into someone else’s marriage.” Before she could finish, Chloe burst into tears, covered her face, and ran out of the apartment. Brandon snatched his jacket, rushing to chase after her. As he brushed past me, he threw a freezing glare. “Is this how you trash-talk Chloe when I’m not around?” “If anything happens to her tonight, I will never forgive you.” I stood alone in the doorway. The apple pie was still warm, the steam rising against my face. Mrs. Gable looked mortified. “Oh, Hazel, sweetie, I’m so sorry. Did I just ruin things between you two?” My voice was dry. “The person ruining things isn’t you, Mrs. Gable.” Suddenly, I remembered a winter night two years ago. The wind at the harbor was freezing. I had waited in my heavy winter coat for three hours. But the moment he stepped off the ship, Chloe called. She said she had sprained her ankle and couldn’t walk. He threw a quick, “Take an Uber home,” at me, leaving me alone in the dark parking lot. The freezing wind howled down my collar. Halfway home, something warm began dripping down my legs, soaking my jeans in crimson. I called Brandon. He didn’t pick up. It wasn’t until the next morning that he sent a brief text saying his ship had to set sail again immediately due to an urgent cargo order. I didn’t want him to feel guilty while out at sea, so I never told him about the pregnancy or the miscarriage. But looking back now, he hadn’t been on an urgent mission at all. He had probably just taken Chloe out on a joyride to cheer her up. … When Brandon returned that night, his face was stormier than the deep ocean. He stood at the door, jacket still on, and barked, “Are you happy now?” “Chloe has been crying for hours. You are going to go over to Mrs. Gable’s tomorrow and clear Chloe’s name.” “Chloe and I are completely innocent! You’re just paranoid!” “If you can’t accept her in my life…” He paused, his eyes cold. “Then maybe this marriage was a mistake.” “Are you done?” I stopped packing my box. Brandon frowned. “I won’t accept it.” He blinked, caught off guard. “What did you say?” “I said,” I gently touched my stomach, where a little heartbeat had once lived, “go be with Chloe. Let’s get a divorce.” Brandon snapped straight up, his face turning incredibly pale. “Hazel, remember what you’re saying right now. Don’t come crawling back crying to me later!” He thought I was just throwing a tantrum. Because in the past, when he was home for such short periods, I hated wasting our precious time together on arguments. So, I was always the one to bow my head, apologize, and let him run back to Chloe. But this time, I just calmly turned around, walked to the nightstand, and pulled open the bottom drawer. Inside was a thin manila envelope. I pulled it out and set it on the nightstand. It was the divorce agreement Cleo’s lawyer had drafted and sent over half an hour ago.

The next morning, I met Cleo at a coffee shop. She was already there, two iced coffees on the table. She had already downed half of hers. “Didn’t sleep well?” I asked, taking a seat. “I was too busy being furious on your behalf,” she said, crushing her empty plastic cup and throwing it in the trash. “That bitch Chloe posted on Snapchat again last night. It was a photo of your husband’s study.” “The caption said: “‘Thank you, Brandon, for walking through every ocean with me.’” “I swear, she is a pathogen. Pure poison.” I pulled out my phone to check. In the photo, Chloe’s finger was pointing at the Cape of Good Hope on the chart, and Brandon’s arm was visible in the frame. The afternoon sun streamed through the window, making the blue map look warm and peaceful. I scrolled down to the comments. Chloe had replied to someone: “It’s Brandon’s study! He promised to take me to Iceland next.” I flipped my phone face down and took a sip of my coffee. It tasted incredibly bitter. Cleo suddenly grabbed my hand. “Are you scared?” “No,” I replied softly. “I’m more scared of being trapped in those five years forever.” The road from our apartment to the harbor… I never wanted to walk it again. When I got home, Brandon was waiting for me in the living room. He was holding a piece of paper, his eyes bloodshot. “We had a baby? Why didn’t you tell me?” I glanced at the hospital discharge papers in his hand. My face remained blank. “I tried to.” “But before I could even open my mouth, Chloe called you away.” Watching his face twist in sudden agony, I said every word clearly: “It was freezing that night. I didn’t even make it home before the baby was gone.” “I’m sorry, Hazel…” Brandon couldn’t bear to hear any more. He cut me off, burying his face in my lap, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed. “I’m so sorry.” “I won’t do it again. I promise, I will never see Chloe again.” I paused for a moment. “Let me take you out to sea with me this time, okay?” “You’ve wanted to go for so long,” he looked up, his eyes pleading. “Just the two of us.” I agreed. This was his final test. The next morning, the harbor was quiet. Brandon loaded our suitcases into the trunk and opened the passenger door for me. Before I could step in, his phone rang. The name “Chloe” flashed on the screen. He glanced at it and rejected the call. But the moment he put it back in his pocket, it rang again. He rejected it again. When it rang a third time, his hand hovered over the screen, hesitating. “Answer it,” I said, leaning against the car door. My voice was eerily calm. He let out a breath of relief and swiped green. Immediately, Chloe’s hysterical crying echoed from the speaker: “Brandon! What do you mean we can’t see each other anymore?” “We promised we would go to the Keys together! Are you taking Hazel instead?!” Brandon glanced at me guiltily, opening his mouth to speak. But Chloe screamed over the wind on her end: “If you’re not in my life, what’s the point of living?!” Brandon’s face drained of color. He gripped his phone tightly. “Chloe, don’t do anything stupid” I watched him. His brow was furrowed, and his hand instinctively reached for the car keys. I knew that movement all too well. For five years, whenever Chloe cried, he did that exact same thing. My voice was soft, but heavy. “Brandon.” “If you walk away today, we are officially divorced.” He froze, torn in deep conflict. “Just this once, Hazel. It’s an emergency.” The tight string that had been pulled taut in my heart for five years finally snapped. I realized I had never been waiting for a voyage. I had been waiting for him to finally put me first. Now, I saw the truth. That spot had never belonged to me. I smiled gently. “Go ahead. Don’t forget to sign the papers.” Brandon paused, looking at me deeply. “Hazel, stop playing games. Wait for me at home.” I didn’t answer. There would be no more waiting. … The yellow cab merged onto the highway. The ocean stretched out to my right, a quiet, dusty blue. My phone lit up. A Snapchat from Brandon: “Where are you? Why aren’t you at the apartment?” I didn’t reply. I turned off the phone, popped out the SIM card, and threw it out the window. It vanished into a roadside drain in the blink of an eye. From this day on, we would be strangers.

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Eight months pregnant, on a hurricane night, I accidentally slipped and fell. A pool of dark red blood stained the floor beneath me. In a desperate panic, I called my husband, Nathan. But his new assistant, Chloe, answered. “Oh, Mrs. Adler? Nathan is taking me for a spin on the mountain track. The wind is so loud, I can barely hear you!” Then, I heard Nathan’s laughing voice in the background. “Tell her the mountain roads are blocked because of the storm. I’m staying at the hilltop resort tonight.” At that exact moment, my baby’s heartbeat inside my womb grew weaker and weaker. Biting my lip until it bled, I dialed 911 myself. On the emergency contact form, under marital status, I checked the box: Widowed. Later, Nathan knelt in the pouring rain, holding the core code of the patent I had single-handedly developed, begging me to leave him a lifeline. I looked at him coldly. “Sorry, Nathan. The wind is too loud. I can’t hear you.” The night the hurricane hit, the entire city was swallowed by a violent storm. The massive floor-to-ceiling windows rattled under the fierce wind. Lightning ripped through the night sky, casting a deathly pale light over our empty mansion. I was eight months pregnant, and my belly was so heavy that even moving was a struggle. Nathan had promised to come home early tonight to be with me. The weather channel had issued a Category 3 hurricane warning, and he knew I had been terrified of thunder since I was a child. But by 10:00 PM, there was still no sign of him. I went to close the window in the second-floor hallway. A sudden gust of wind blasted in, bringing the rain with it and instantly soaking the marble floor. My foot slipped. My body lost balance, and I fell backward. With a dull thud, my lower back slammed hard against the edge of the stairs. I tumbled down two steps. Agonizing pain shot through me, like a rusty saw tearing my lower body in half. I curled up on the cold floor, gasping for air, cold sweat instantly drenching my pajamas. Instinctively, I touched my stomach. Sharp, violent contractions were ripping through me. Then, a warm rush of liquid flowed down my thighs, quickly staining the white wool rug crimson. It was blood. A terrifying amount of blood. Panic seized me. With trembling fingers, I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed Nathan’s number, leaving bloody smudges on the screen. “Ring… Ring… Ring…” Every second of the long ringing tone felt like a knife twisting in my chest. Finally, the call connected. But it wasn’t Nathan’s voice. Instead, the roaring sound of car engines and the excited screams of a crowd blasted through the speaker. “Hello? Mrs. Adler?” A sweet, high-pitched female voice came through, dripping with smugness. It was Chloe. The intern Nathan’s company hired last month, who had quickly become his “personal assistant.” “Where is Nathan… put him on…” I gritted my teeth, fighting through waves of tearing pain. My voice was so weak I could barely hear myself. “Oh, Nathan is on the track right now!” Chloe chirped. “The club booked the entire track tonight, and Nathan is the star of the show!” Her cheerful voice felt like a poisoned blade plunging straight into my heart. “My stomach hurts… I’m bleeding… Tell him to come home now…” I screamed into the phone with the last of my strength. There was a brief silence on the other end. Then, I heard Nathan’s familiar voice, light and careless. “Chloe, who are you talking to? Come over here, let me teach you how to drift.” Chloe giggled. “It’s your wife! She says her stomach hurts or something…” Nathan’s voice instantly turned cold, laced with heavy irritation. “What is she throwing a tantrum for now? Didn’t she just have an OB-GYN checkup this afternoon?” “Tell her the mountain roads are closed because of the storm.” “I’m staying at the resort on the summit tonight. Tell her to go to bed and stop overreacting over every little thing.” Chloe let out a soft laugh. “You heard him, Mrs. Adler. Nathan can’t make it back tonight.” “Honestly, it’s just a pregnancy. Why are you so fragile?” “Nathan works so hard every day. He finally got a chance to relax. You shouldn’t use the baby just to beg for his attention.” Beep— The line went dead. The screen turned black, reflecting my ghost-white face. Begging for attention? I looked down at the pooling blood on the floor in utter despair. The movement in my belly was fading, as if the tiny life inside me was slowly slipping away. Nathan, I am fighting for my life, and you think I’m just playing games. I bit my lip hard, forcing myself to stay conscious. I couldn’t die. My baby couldn’t die. With shaking hands, I dialed 911. “911, what’s your emergency?” “I need an ambulance… I’m at 17 Seaview Drive…” “Pregnant, eight months… slipped and bleeding heavily… Please, hurry…” After hanging up, I called my mom. Once that was done, my last bit of strength evaporated, and I plunged into complete darkness.

When I woke up again, the sharp smell of bleach filled my nose. My vision slowly cleared, revealing the sterile white ceiling of a hospital room. “Sloane? Sloane, you’re awake?!” My mom’s cracked, tearful voice echoed beside me. I turned my head with difficulty. Her eyes were red and swollen, her hair a messy bird’s nest. She looked like she had aged ten years overnight. “Mom…” My throat was so dry it felt like sandpaper. Instinctively, my hand went to my stomach. It was flat. Completely empty. A wave of terror gripped me, and I scrambled to sit up. “My baby! Where is my baby?!” The incision on my abdomen flared with a burning, tearing pain. I gasped, falling heavily back onto the pillows. “Don’t move! Sloane, don’t move! You just had an emergency C-section!” My mom rushed to gently hold me down, tears streaming down her face. “The baby is alive. It’s a boy. But because of the premature birth and your massive blood loss, he suffered severe oxygen deprivation. He’s in the NICU right now.” Hearing that my baby was alive, my frayed nerves finally relaxed. Tears poured from my eyes. “You almost died…” Mom held my hand, her body shaking as she sobbed. “The doctors said it was extremely dangerous last night. You lost so much blood. I was shaking so hard I could barely sign the consent forms.” “I called Nathan fifty times! Fifty times, Sloane!” “He hung up on me every single time, and then he turned his phone off!” Mom gritted her teeth, her eyes burning with pure rage and heartbreak. “Where the hell was he?! His wife and child almost died, and he was nowhere to be found!” I stared at the ceiling, my heart completely numb. No anger, no grief. Just a freezing, hollow coldness creeping out from my bones, freezing every emotion I had left. “He went racing,” I said quietly, my voice like a faint whisper. “What?” Mom froze. “The roads were closed. He stayed at the resort on the mountain with his assistant.” I closed my eyes. Chloe’s giggles and Nathan’s annoyed ‘stop overreacting’ played on a loop in my mind. We had been together for five years, married for three. We used to be the couple everyone envied. When Nathan first started his tech company and his funding was cut off, I stayed up for weeks, writing the core algorithm that secured his very first multi-million-dollar investment. Back then, we lived in a tiny studio apartment under 300 square feet. He would put the only egg in our ramen into my bowl, his eyes red as he promised: “Sloane, when I make it, I’ll give you and our children the best life in the world.” Eventually, the company grew, and he got busier. And then, Chloe showed up. She was a fresh college graduate, radiating a kind of clueless innocence and a total lack of boundaries. She would bring Nathan warm honey water during board meetings. She would naturally slide into his passenger seat on rainy days, asking him to drive her home. When I confronted Nathan about it, he called me unreasonable. “Sloane, why are you so insecure and paranoid lately?” “Chloe just graduated. She doesn’t know anything. What’s wrong with me mentoring her as her boss?” “You didn’t use to be like this. You’re acting like a bitter housewife.” A bitter housewife. So, after I gave up my career and stepped back to focus on a difficult pregnancy, I had become nothing but a bitter housewife in his eyes. I slowly opened my eyes and looked at my phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up with several unread text messages. All from Nathan. —The storm was crazy last night. There was no signal on the mountain, and my phone died. —What was your problem last night? —Chloe was just giving me a work update. Did you really have to call and scream at her? —The company has a massive pitch meeting today. I’ll come check on you tonight. —Just rest at home and stop making up scenarios in your head. Looking at the cold text, I felt a sudden, hysterical urge to laugh. He didn’t even know I wasn’t at home. He had no idea his wife had just crossed the gates of hell, or that his newborn son was currently hooked up to tubes in an incubator. I didn’t reply. I simply blocked his number. Then, I looked at my mom. “Mom, hire a private nurse for me.” “And go to the hospital admin. Update my emergency contact. Remove Nathan. You are my only contact.” “For the baby’s birth certificate… leave the father’s section blank.”

On the second day after my C-section, I finally managed to drag myself out of bed with my mom’s help. The incision burned like fire. Every step felt like walking on glass. But I had to see my baby. My mom pushed me in a wheelchair to the NICU doors. Through the thick glass, I saw my son. He was so tiny, so fragile. His skin was bright red, and he looked like a helpless little kitten. There was a breathing tube in his nose, an IV in his tiny arm, and his little chest rose and fell with a struggle. The label on the incubator read: Baby Boy of Sloane Adler. The space for the father’s name was completely blank. Tears poured down my face. I pressed my palm against the glass, wishing I could feel his warmth. I’m so sorry, sweetie. Mommy didn’t protect you… I whispered in my heart. Ping. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I wiped my tears and pulled it out. It was a notification from Instagram. Chloe had posted a new update. It was a photo of a lavish French dinner at the most exclusive revolving restaurant in the city. In the corner of the frame, a man’s hand was visible, wearing the limited-edition Patek Philippe watch I had gifted Nathan. The caption read: The best dinner after the storm. Thank you for the treat, Boss Nathan. P.S. I was too scared of the thunder on the mountain last night to sleep, but having him around makes me feel so safe. She added a playful winking emoji at the end. Staring at the photo, my stomach churned with intense disgust. So, this was the “massive pitch meeting” Nathan had to attend. He was treating Chloe to French cuisine. While he enjoyed fine wine and steak, basking in the adoration of a young girl, I was sitting in a hospital smelling of bleach, watching our premature son fight for his life. Five years of devotion. It was all a pathetic joke. Just then, a nurse walked over with a stack of bills. “Ms. Adler, we have the daily bill for the NICU.” “Since we used a specialized, non-insurance-covered drug to help his lungs mature, the cost is quite high. You need to pay an out-of-pocket deposit of $50,000 at the billing department.” My mom took the slip, her face falling. The emergency surgery and initial deposit had wiped out her savings. Most of my money was tied up in long-term investments, and my checking account didn’t have much liquid cash left. “Sloane… should I call Nathan? It’s his baby too…” Mom suggested hesitantly. “No,” I cut her off coldly. I unlocked my phone and dialed Julian, my former college mentor and the managing partner of a top venture capital firm. “Sloane?” Julian’s deep, steady voice came through. “Julian, sorry to bother you,” I said, keeping my voice as calm as possible. “I had an emergency delivery. I’m in the hospital.” “I’m ready to license the core patent for my new battery technology to your firm under my personal LLC. But I need an immediate advance on the royalties.” Silence fell over the line for two seconds. Then, Julian’s voice turned incredibly serious. “What happened? Which hospital are you in? I’ll have my team wire the funds immediately.” In less than ten minutes, my phone chimed. A wire transfer of $500,000 had hit my account. I handed the phone to my mom. “Mom, go pay the bill. From now on, the baby and I have absolutely nothing to do with Nathan.” My mom saw the sheer determination in my eyes, sighed, and walked toward the billing department. I sat in my wheelchair, staring at my son through the glass. My gaze turned cold and sharp. Nathan, you will pay back everything you owe me. With interest.

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I spent five years struggling alongside Rob, staying by his side through his poorest days. But on the very day his company was about to go public, he handed me divorce papers and a bankruptcy filing. He told me he wanted to be child-free for the rest of his life, and that he didn’t want to waste my prime years anymore. Heartbroken and worried about his mountain of debts, I left him with every single penny of my savings. I walked away quietly, trying to give him a dignified exit. Yet, in a cruel twist of fate, I ended up working as a private chef in the most luxurious mansion in the Hollywood Hills, cooking for none other than his new pregnant wife. I watched this woman, glowing with a six-month baby bump, wearing the exact pink diamond necklace I had designed myself—the one Rob had once ridiculed as cheap. She paraded around, bragging about the business empire Rob had built just for her. That was the moment I finally realized the truth. He didn’t want to be child-free. He just didn’t want to have a child with me. He thought I wouldn’t be able to survive without him. Little did he know, every single dish I prepared in this mansion was a carefully crafted step toward his ultimate ruin. This time, I’m going to make them pay back everything they owe me, with a thousand times the pain!

Los Angeles. A mansion in the Hollywood Hills. The marble kitchen island was covered with top-tier ingredients flown in from Europe. Dressed in my pristine white chef’s uniform, I used a pair of plating tweezers to place the final touch of caviar onto a beautifully seared Beef Wellington. Clatter! A hand adorned with a diamond-encrusted bracelet ruthlessly swept my freshly prepared appetizer off the counter. The expensive white truffle mixed with the specialty sauce, spreading into a dirty, messy stain across the plush rug. “What is this garbage?” “I already told you, I’m pregnant and I can’t stand the smell of anything earthy! Why did you put so much truffle in it? Are you trying to make me throw up?” The woman speaking was Tiffany. She wore a silk maternity dress and reclined lazily on the velvet sofa, one hand gently cradling her slightly protruding belly. Her face was twisted in a snobbish, condescending scowl. I took a deep breath, suppressing the icy anger in my chest, and forced a flawless, professional smile. “Mrs. Williams, the white truffle was specifically requested by your husband. He said it would provide the essential minerals you need during your pregnancy.” “So what if he requested it? I don’t want to eat it right now!” Tiffany rolled her eyes with a dramatic sigh, but her face quickly softened into a smug, sweet smile as she rubbed her belly. “Actually, my husband used to be so adamant about being child-free. He absolutely refused to have kids.” “But he saw how much I wanted a family, so he compromised.” “He told me that for the sake of our baby, he’d break all his rules and bring the entire world to my feet.” “Look at this mansion. He bought it just for me as a pregnancy gift. Isn’t he just too much?” Yes, he was indeed “too much.” Especially that part about “breaking his rules.” My eyes locked onto the sparkling pink diamond necklace resting on her collarbone. My fingernails dug deep into my palms, drawing blood, but I couldn’t feel the pain. I had spent three sleepless nights designing that exact necklace three years ago. I wanted it to be our anniversary gift. But Rob had thrown the sketch into the trash with a cold, disgusted face, calling me vain and materialistic. Now, it was shining around another woman’s neck. “To be honest, my husband was married before. I heard his ex-wife couldn’t get pregnant. “She kept nagging him for a baby and even tried to squeeze every penny out of him during the divorce,” Tiffany said, popping a cherry into her mouth with a casual shrug. “Luckily, my husband is smart. He faked a company bankruptcy beforehand so that greedy woman would sign a clean-break agreement and leave with nothing.” “Can you believe how stupid some women are? It’s almost sad.” Boom. The last string of sanity in my mind snapped completely. Six months ago, Rob had stood before me with red, teary eyes, handing me a stack of debt and bankruptcy papers. “Chloe, you know I don’t want kids,” he had said. “You stopped taking your birth control to try and trap me with a baby. You crossed the line.” “Now the company is bankrupt, and this house is being foreclosed to pay the debts. We’re done. Just sign the waiver and leave. Don’t ruin your life staying with a broke man like me.” I had believed his lies. To make sure I wouldn’t burden him, I signed the waiver, walked away without a single asset, and even left him my entire personal savings of five hundred thousand dollars. While I was living in a damp, ten-square-meter basement, eating stale bread and working three jobs a day… He was living in this Hollywood Hills mansion, using the necklace I designed to pamper another woman who was carrying his child. The bankruptcy and the “child-free” vow were nothing but a massive, elaborate scam. He just didn’t want a child with me. My five years of unconditional devotion were nothing but a hilarious joke in his eyes!

“Hey! Chloe! What are you zoning out for? Clean up this mess and start over!” Tiffany’s screeching voice brought me back to reality. I looked down at the ruined food on the floor. A cold, dark smile crept onto the corners of my lips. “Of course, Mrs. Williams. I’ll clean it up right away.” I knelt down, picking up the mess piece by piece, as if I were sweeping away the foolish, naive version of myself from the last five years. Rob, since you chose to be this ruthless, don’t blame me for what comes next. Just then, the front door clicked open. “Honey, did the baby behave today?” A deep, gentle voice echoed through the foyer, filled with a tenderness I had never once heard during our five years of marriage. My body froze. My grip on the cleaning cloth tightened. Rob walked in, looking sharp in a custom-tailored designer suit, holding a limited-edition luxury shopping bag in his hand. Tiffany immediately jumped up, throwing herself into his arms with a high-pitched squeal. “Babe! You’re finally home!” “The new private chef is so incredibly stupid. The food she makes is disgusting! You have to fire her right now!” Rob laughed, wrapping his arm around her waist and handing her the bag. “Alright, if you don’t like her, we’ll replace her. You can choose any chef in Los Angeles until you’re completely satisfied.” As he spoke, he casually looked up toward the kitchen. In the next second, the smile on his face completely froze. His pupils dilated in pure horror, staring at me as if he had just seen a ghost. I stood up, dusted off my apron, and met his gaze with absolute calm. “Mr. Williams, long time no see.” The air in the room turned to ice. Rob’s throat bobbed with difficulty. His face drained of all color, turning a sickly pale. “Chloe? What… what are you doing here?” Sensing something was wrong, Tiffany looked up from her new bag, glancing between Rob and me with a frown. “Wait. You two know each other?” Rob snapped out of his shock. He quickly pulled Tiffany behind him, a flash of panic crossing his eyes before it was replaced by cold hostility. “No, we don’t,” he lied through his teeth, his voice freezing cold. “She’s just a former cleaner from my old office. I fired her for stealing. I had no idea she managed to sneak her way into becoming a private chef.” A cleaner? Fired for stealing? I almost laughed out loud. Five years of being his wife, and now I was reduced to a thieving maid. “Oh my god, a thief?!” Tiffany shrieked, instantly flying into a rage. “Kick her out right now! What if she steals my jewelry? This pink diamond necklace cost you twenty million dollars at the auction!” Twenty million dollars. So, he was never broke. His money just never belonged to me. Rob glared at me, his eyes filled with a heavy, threatening warning. “Chloe, pack your things and get out of here right now. For old times’ sake, I’ll still pay you for today.” “But if you dare to utter a single word of nonsense, I will make sure you never find another job in this city again!” He still thought I was the same weak, submissive wife who would let him push me around. I took off my apron, folded it neatly, and placed it on the counter. “Don’t worry, Mr. Williams. I’m just a chef hired to do a job. Since the client isn’t satisfied, I’ll leave.” I grabbed my purse. As I passed by Rob, I paused and whispered in a voice only the two of us could hear: “The view from this mansion is beautiful, Rob. I just wonder… how much longer can you keep playing the bankrupt victim?” Rob flinched violently, snapping his head to look at me, his eyes filled with sheer terror. I didn’t give him a second look and walked straight out of the mansion. The moment I stepped past the gates, I pulled out my phone and stopped the voice recording. This is only the beginning, Rob. Everything you took from me, you will pay back with your life.

I returned to my damp, tiny basement apartment. The air was thick with the smell of mold. I opened my battered laptop and transferred the audio recording I had just made. But that wasn’t all. Today, while working in the kitchen, I had discreetly hidden two micro-cameras—one in the kitchen vent and another under the living room sofa. I had bought them years ago to secure our old apartment, never imagining they would be used for this. Soon, the live feed of the mansion’s living room appeared on my screen. Rob was pacing around the room anxiously, while Tiffany whined on the couch. “Rob, why were you so polite to that chef? You should have just had security throw her out!” Rob tugged at his tie in frustration. “You don’t understand! She…” He paused, clearly struggling to find an excuse. “She knows some of my old trade secrets from before the restructuring. The company is about to go public. We cannot afford any drama right now.” “Then what do we do? What if she tries to blackmail us?” Tiffany asked, suddenly looking nervous. Rob sneered, a sinister look gleaming in his eyes. “Relax. She’s a broke, powerless nobody. What can she possibly do to me?” “Tomorrow, I’ll send someone to warn her and throw some hush money her way. If she still doesn’t cooperate…” He made a sharp slashing motion across his throat. Watching the monster on the screen, the last lingering warmth in my heart died completely. This was the man I had loved for five years. For the sake of his fortune, he was willing to have me killed. Without hesitation, I dialed a number. “Mr. Sterling, this is Chloe Campbell. You said before that if I could gather solid proof, you would take my case.” A deep, cold voice answered from the other end. “Do you have it?” “Yes,” I said, staring at Rob’s face on my screen, my teeth clenched. “I want him ruined, bankrupt, and humiliated.” Edward Sterling. The most ruthless divorce lawyer in Los Angeles. They called him “The Courtroom Devil.” Whenever he took a case, the guilty party was guaranteed to be stripped of every single dime. The next morning, I met Edward in a secluded corner of a quiet cafe. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit and gold-rimmed glasses. His eyes were as sharp as an eagle’s. I handed him the audio and video files. Edward listened to the recordings, pushed up his glasses, and a smirk played on his lips. “Hiding marital assets, fabricating corporate debt, forcing a spouse into signing a fraudulent waiver, and now… conspiracy to threaten and intimidate.” He looked at me. “Your ex-husband has quite the appetite for crime, Ms. Campbell.” “Can we make him give everything back?” I asked, looking him dead in the eye. Edward tapped his long fingers on the table. “This evidence proves he has money now, but it doesn’t directly prove that the money was illegally transferred during your marriage.” “We need something more central to his finances.” “Like what?” “The transaction records of his offshore accounts, or the ledger of the shell companies he used to siphon the assets.” Edward leaned forward. “These kinds of documents are highly confidential. Usually, only those closest to him would know where they are.” I fell silent. Rob was naturally paranoid. He wouldn’t even trust Tiffany with those documents. “I’ll find a way,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Give me a week.” “Alright.” Edward stood up and handed me his business card. “Stay safe. If you need security, call me immediately.”

I didn’t quit my job as their private chef. Although Rob wanted me gone, Tiffany’s pregnancy cravings had become incredibly erratic. She had hired and fired three different chefs within days because their food made her sick. Eventually, she demanded that I be brought back. To keep his pregnant wife happy, Rob had no choice but to let me return, though he hired private security guards to watch my every move. I played along, acting terrified, quiet, and submissive—like a broken woman who was only returning for the paycheck. A few days later, an unexpected guest arrived at the mansion. It was Rob’s mother, my former mother-in-law, Christine. When I was married to Rob, she had treated me like garbage. She constantly belittled me for not getting pregnant, mocked my middle-class background, and treated me like her personal maid. But now, she was holding Tiffany’s hands, carrying bags of expensive maternal supplements with a massive smile on her face. “How is my precious grandbaby doing today?” “Oh, Tiffany, you are the absolute savior of the Williams family! Just tell me what you want to eat, and I’ll have it delivered!” Tiffany shot me a smug, triumphant look and pointed at me. “Oh, Christine, no need. We have a private chef now.” “Hey, Chloe! Go make me some foie gras. Make sure it’s the premium cut.” Christine followed Tiffany’s finger. The moment she saw me, her fake smile vanished, replaced by pure, unadulterated disgust. “You? What are you doing here? How dare you show your face in my son’s house!” I kept my head down, walking into the kitchen without a word, and started preparing the dish. I left the kitchen door slightly ajar and discreetly turned on my phone’s voice recorder. From the living room, Christine and Tiffany’s voices drifted in clearly. “Christine, don’t get worked up. She’s just a servant cooking for us now,” Tiffany said in a sweet, mocking tone. “Hmph, she better know her place!” Christine sneered proudly. “If Rob hadn’t been smart enough to fake that bankruptcy to trick her into signing those papers, she would have taken half of our family fortune by now!” “I know, Rob is brilliant.” “But Christine, Rob transferred so much money into that offshore trust under my name… is it really safe? What if the IRS or the courts look into it?” “Don’t worry about that! Rob paid a top-tier financial agency a fortune to set up that trust. It’s completely airtight!” “Even if that stupid girl tried to sue, she wouldn’t be able to trace a single dollar!” “Now, this mansion and those tech investment firms are completely clean under your name.” Standing in the kitchen, listening to the shameless boasting of this mother-and-daughter-in-law duo, my blood boiled with rage. An offshore trust! No wonder Edward couldn’t find any large local transaction records. Rob had laundered his assets overseas long ago and hidden them under Tiffany’s name. I finished plating the foie gras and served it to the table. Tiffany took a single bite, spat it out instantly, and threw the entire plate onto my chest. “This is disgusting! Are you doing this on purpose? Are you trying to poison my baby?!” Seeing this, Christine flew off the sofa, marched over, and slammed a harsh slap across my face. Slap! “You cheap bitch! I knew you had bad intentions! I’ll teach you a lesson!” I didn’t dodge. I let the blow land hard. The copper taste of blood filled my mouth. I kept my head down, letting them scream and curse at me. But beneath my lowered gaze, a maniacal grin spread across my face. Keep screaming. Keep hitting. Every single ounce of your arrogance today will become the rope that hangs you in court.

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My childhood sweetheart, Julian Thorne, personally destroyed my father’s casino empire. I became his plaything, someone he used whenever he needed to vent his rage. Thinking of my father still clinging to life in the ICU, I swallowed my pride. I put on the skimpy bunny girl lingerie and tried to please him. When he slapped my thigh and ordered me to arch my back, I obeyed, choking down the humiliation. Just bear it. My father needs the medical money to survive. “You really are pathetic, begging like a cheap whore.” After the torturous intimacy ended, I asked him when he would wire the money. Instead of answering, he got dressed and dragged me to a mega-yacht. This yacht, The Luminary, was the custom eighteenth-birthday gift my father had built for me. Now, it belonged to someone else. Julian kicked me behind the knees, forcing me to the floor. “Eva’s shoes are dirty. Lick them clean, Stella, and I’ll wire the cash.” Eva was the mistress he kept just to torment me. I looked up at Julian. He waited, as he always did, for me to scream, cry, and throw a tantrum. But this time, I was just too tired.

Stella Vance POV Atlantic City. The Luminary yacht. A high-society charity gala was in full swing. The glare from the crystal chandeliers made my eyes sting. Dressed in an ill-fitting, cheap black dress, I stood stiffly in the darkest corner of the ballroom, holding a serving tray. Once, I was the most dazzling princess of Atlantic City, the daughter of the Casino King. This very yacht was my eighteenth-birthday gift from my father. Now, the master of the ship had changed. And I had fallen from the high-and-mighty heiress to the lowest server on board. “Stella, Eva’s shoelace is loose.” A deep, cold voice cut through the chatter, slamming into my eardrums with precision. The entire ballroom went dead silent. Every pair of eyes in Atlantic City’s high society turned to me like poisoned arrows. Those looks held mockery, pity, and the thrill of watching a train wreck. My thin shoulders tensed. I raised my head and looked across the crowd at the man sitting in the center booth. Julian Thorne. Once my father’s most brilliant prodigy, and my childhood sweetheart. Now, he was the king of Atlantic City, the man who had thrown my father into a prison hospital and swallowed the Vance family casino empire whole. He leaned back on the velvet sofa, lazily swirling a glass of champagne. Beside him sat a fragile-looking woman, Eva Sterling. “Julian, don’t do this. There are so many people here…” Eva murmured, her voice sweet and dripping with fake innocence, though a smug glint flashed in her eyes. “She wants to do it,” Julian said, his dark eyes locked onto me, completely ignoring Eva. A cruel smirk played on his lips. “Am I right, Miss Vance?” I bit my lower lip so hard I tasted blood. How could I want this? I was Marcus Vance’s daughter. My pride used to be higher than the heavens! But my father was in the ICU, hooked up to a ventilator, and Julian held the plug to his medical fund. “If you don’t behave, I’ll cut off your father’s life support tomorrow.” That was what he had whispered in my ear last night in the gentlest tone, delivering the most venomous threat. I took a deep breath and set down my tray. Under the gaze of a hundred elites, I walked toward the center of the hall, feeling like I was stepping on broken glass. In those few yards, I walked over the shattered remains of my dignity. I stopped in front of Eva and let my knees hit the cold marble floor. Thud. Whispers and muffled giggles erupted around us. “Wow, she actually knelt…” “A fallen peacock is worse than a chicken. She’s not even worthy of polishing Eva’s shoes now.” I blocked out the noise. With trembling hands, I reached out and touched Eva’s diamond-encrusted heels. They were custom-made from Paris, a gift from Julian. I tied the loose silk ribbon, my movements mechanical and numb. There were no whips or physical blows, but this public stripping of my pride burned worse than a thousand cuts. “It’s done,” I said, my voice dry and raspy. I tried to stand, but Julian’s long fingers gripped my chin, forcing my face up. His eyes were like ice, devoid of any past warmth. “Eva has a thing about germs. Your hands are dirty; you soiled her shoes,” Julian said casually. “Wipe them with your dress.” My pupils dilated. I looked at him in disbelief. “Julian, don’t push me too far…” My voice shook, my eyes rimmed with red. “Too far?” Julian sneered, leaning in so only I could hear. “When your father drove my mother to jump off that building, did he think about what was ‘too far’? What you’re feeling now isn’t even a fraction of what I went through. Wipe them.” His voice carried absolute authority. I closed my eyes, a tear slipping down my cheek. I grabbed the hem of my cheap dress and slowly wiped the nonexistent dust off Eva’s shoes. At that moment, my heart died on this yacht that used to be mine.

Stella Vance POV The Vance Estate, Atlantic City. This place used to be my home. Now, it was my prison. I curled up on the cold floor, my stomach cramping painfully. I hadn’t eaten a bite at the gala, and the emotional trauma had left me so weak that a strong breeze could have blown me away. The door clicked open. Julian walked in, bringing the chilly night air with him. He loosened his tie and looked down at me with cold indifference. “Get up,” he commanded. I didn’t move. I didn’t even have the strength to open my eyes. Julian frowned, walked over, hauled me off the floor, and threw me onto the bed. “Stop playing dead.” He pulled a document from his coat and tossed it onto my face. “Sign it.” The sharp edge of the paper sliced my cheek, leaving a thin trail of blood. I numbly picked up the paper. When I read the title, my blood ran cold. Equity Transfer Agreement. He wanted me to sign over the Rubik’s Casino, the last and most symbolic property of the Vance family, to Eva Sterling for free. “The Rubik is my mother’s legacy.” I snapped, my dead eyes finally flashing with anger. “Julian, you have already taken everything from the Vance family. Why do you have to steal the last memory of my mother?” The Rubik’s Casino was designed by my late mother. Every inch of it held my most precious memories. Julian smiled at my rage. He leaned down and gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his touch so tender it felt mocking. “Because Eva likes it,” he whispered, each word piercing my heart. “Her birthday is next month. I think the Rubik makes a perfect gift.” “I won’t sign!” I ripped the paper in half, my body trembling. “In your dreams, Julian!” Julian didn’t get angry. He sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers trailing down my pale cheek. “Stella, you’re still so stubborn,” he sighed, like a parent dealing with a spoiled child. “But what cards do you have left to play? Your braindead father in the ICU, or your ridiculous pride?” My heart sank further with every word. “The hospital called this afternoon. Your father’s condition is worsening. He needs an expensive experimental drug,” Julian whispered in my ear, his warm breath sending chills down my spine. “One hundred thousand dollars a shot. Stella, what do you think the hospital will do if I don’t authorize the payment?” I froze. I stared at him, trying to find a trace of the boy who used to fight street punks just to protect me. There was nothing. The Julian Thorne in front of me was a monster. “What do you want from me?” I closed my eyes in defeat, tears spilling over. “I told you. Sign.” Julian pulled an identical copy of the contract from his briefcase, along with a pen, and held them out to me. No physical violence. But he knew exactly where to strike to crush my soul. I took the pen with trembling fingers. The tip felt as heavy as lead. I signed my name, burying my mother’s last legacy with my own hands. Julian took the paper, satisfied. “See? That wasn’t so hard.” He adjusted his suit jacket to leave. At the door, he paused without turning back. “Eva is visiting the Rubik tomorrow. As the former owner, you will be her tour guide. Don’t make her unhappy.” The door slammed shut, plunging the room back into silence. I hugged my knees and wept in the dark. My pride and my dignity had been ground into dust by his web of hatred.

Stella Vance POV Late autumn in Atlantic City brought a massive storm. I was sick. With a fever of 103 degrees, I felt like I was burning alive, then shivering in ice. In the vast estate, the maids ignored me. Without Julian’s permission, no one dared to call a doctor for the fallen princess of the Vance family. As I drifted in and out of consciousness, a cool hand touched my forehead. “Why is her fever so high?” It was Julian’s voice. I forced my eyes open and saw him sitting by my bed, his brow furrowed with rare anxiety. He brought a warm, wet towel and gently wiped my forehead and neck. His touch was soft, just like it used to be years ago. Back then, when I caught a cold from playing in the rain, he would stay by my bed all night, coaxing me to take my medicine. “Julian…” Delirious with fever, I clutched his sleeve, tears slipping from my eyes. “It hurts…” Julian stiffened. Looking at my pale, fragile face, the ice in his eyes seemed to crack. He took my hand, his voice raspy. “The doctor is coming. Just hold on.” He pulled me into his arms, using his body heat to warm my shivering frame. For a second, I thought I was back in the past. I thought the Julian who loved me was still there. I greedily clung to his warmth, a tiny spark of hope reigniting in my dead heart. Maybe he still cared? Maybe all this torture was just temporary anger? Then, Julian’s phone rang. The custom ringtone was for Eva. Julian let go of me instantly. He answered, his voice turning incredibly soft. “Eva, what’s wrong?” Eva’s whimpering voice came through the receiver. “Julian, the thunder is so loud. I’m scared… Can you come over?” Julian’s expression tightened. He looked down at me, shivering and feverish, but didn’t hesitate to push me back onto the cold bed. “Don’t worry, I’m on my way.” He stood up, grabbed his coat, and headed for the door. “Julian…” I woke up from my brief dream, looking at his back in despair. “Don’t go… I’m really sick…” He paused but didn’t turn around. “Eva has been terrified of storms since she was a kid. She has a heart condition; she can’t handle shocks,” he said coldly. “It’s just a fever. You won’t die. Take the medicine when the doctor gets here.” With that, he walked out. A few minutes later, the butler walked in, expressionless. “Miss Vance, Mr. Thorne ordered the doctor to go to Miss Sterling’s place instead. She needs the medical staff.” Not only did they take the doctor, but the butler also unplugged my only space heater, claiming “Miss Sterling’s room is too cold.” I lay alone in the dark room, listening to the thunder rattle the windows. My body was burning, but my heart was frozen solid. That was Julian. He excelled at giving you a taste of heaven just to drag you back to hell. I grit my teeth, dragged myself to the bathroom, and poured a bucket of freezing water over my head. The shock cleared my brain instantly. I stared at the pale, broken woman in the mirror, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. Stella Vance, what are you still wishing for? He is not your Julian anymore. From now on, my heart must be as cold as this water.

Stella Vance POV It was the night of the annual Atlantic City Charity Gala. Julian, as the new casino tycoon, made a grand entrance with Eva on his arm. As his personal assistant, I was ordered to walk behind Eva, carrying her purse and serving her drinks. The venue was packed with elites and flashing cameras. I stood in the shadows, dressed in a plain, drab grey pantsuit. I used to be the star of these events. Now, the people who used to flatter me looked at me with open disgust. Halfway through the auction, a piece appeared on the big screen. It was a sapphire necklace called “The Devil’s Tear.” My breath hitched. I stared at the screen, my heart stopping. It was my mother’s necklace! When the Vance family went bankrupt, our assets were seized, and this necklace was auctioned off. I had searched for it for years, and now it was here. “Starting bid, five million dollars,” the auctioneer announced. My heart hammered against my ribs. I threw caution to the wind and rushed to Julian’s side, my voice trembling. “Julian, please… bid on it. It’s my mother’s…” I could throw away my dignity, but that necklace was my only connection to her. Julian looked at my pleading face, a strange emotion flashing in his dark eyes. “What are you offering in return?” he asked quietly. “Anything! I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll be your slave… just please buy it,” I sobbed, my eyes red. Julian didn’t answer, but he raised his paddle. “Ten million.” The crowd gasped. After a few rounds of bidding, Julian secured the necklace for a staggering thirty million dollars. I watched the staff bring the velvet box over, my body shaking with relief. I thought he still had a shred of humanity left. I reached out to take the box. But Julian bypassed my hand. In front of everyone, he opened the box, took out the sapphire necklace, and draped it gently around Eva’s neck. “Eva, this color matches your dress perfectly,” Julian smiled. Eva touched the gems, shooting me a triumphant look. “Thank you, Julian. I love it.” My hand froze in the air. Something inside me snapped. “Julian…” My face was ghostly pale. “You know very well that’s…” “It’s just a necklace,” Julian cut me off, his eyes devoid of warmth. “Stella, have you forgotten your place? You don’t have the right to wear something this expensive.” Snickers erupted around us. “Does she still think she’s an heiress?” “Seriously, look at her. She actually thought Mr. Thorne bought that for her.” Every whisper felt like a slap to my face. But it didn’t stop there. Eva gasped as the necklace slipped from her neck and hit the floor. “Oh no, I’m sorry, Julian. The clasp must be loose…” Eva stepped back in a panic, and her sharp stiletto heel came down right on the sapphire. Crack. The gem didn’t shatter, but my heart did. “My necklace!” I screamed, lunging forward to push Eva away. Julian reacted instantly, pulling Eva into his arms and slapping me across the face, sending me crashing to the floor. “Stella, have you lost your mind!” Julian roared. “Julian, I’m scared. She looked like she wanted to kill me…” Eva whimpered in his chest. Julian looked down at me as I clutched the soiled necklace on the floor, his face turning incredibly cold. “You frightened Eva,” he commanded. “Apologize.” I squeezed the necklace, my nails digging into my palms until they bled. “She stepped on my mother’s legacy… and you want me to apologize?” I looked up at him, my eyes bloodshot. “I won’t say it again,” Julian’s voice was flat. “Apologize, or your father’s ventilator gets turned off tonight.” That threat. Always that threat. I closed my eyes, feeling like a broken doll. Slowly, I dragged myself up and bowed deeply to Eva. “I am sorry, Miss Sterling.” With those words, my soul shattered completely.

Stella Vance POV My world had become an isolated island of despair. Then Adrian Cole appeared, bringing a tiny spark of light to my ruined life. Adrian was the most brilliant young lawyer in Atlantic City, and my childhood friend. When the Vance family fell, he was in London handling a massive case. By the time he rushed back, everything was already over. He managed to track me down in the Thorne estate, where I was kept as a maid. Looking at me, a shell of the vibrant girl he once knew, Adrian’s eyes filled with pain. “Stella, I’m taking you away,” he whispered, grabbing my hand in a quiet corner of the garden. “I have gathered evidence that Julian illegally rigged the bankruptcy to steal your family’s assets. If we file a lawsuit…” “It’s no use, Adrian,” I gasped, pulling my hand back as panic seized me. “You have to leave! If he finds you, he’ll kill you!” I knew Julian’s methods too well. He was a psychopath. “I’m not afraid!” Adrian’s eyes were fierce. “Stella, you can’t let him torture you like this. It will kill you!” “Whether she dies or not is none of your business.” A chilling voice drifted from the shadows behind us. My blood froze. Julian stepped into the light, a lit cigarette between his fingers. Through the smoke, his handsome face looked terrifyingly twisted. “Julian!” Adrian shielded me, glaring at him. “This is kidnapping! I will sue you until you have nothing left!” Julian chuckled, a low, mocking sound. He dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his leather shoe, stepping closer. “Mr. Cole, you have a big mouth,” Julian stopped in front of us, his gaze sliding over me like a snake. “Stella, is this your savior?” He didn’t throw a punch. He didn’t even yell. He simply pulled out his phone, dialed a number, and put it on speaker. A panicked voice came through the line: “Mr. Thorne, it is done. Adrian Cole’s license has been suspended, and the Fraud Unit has opened a case against him for fabricating evidence. His career in Atlantic City is over.” Adrian’s face drained of color. “Julian, you bastard!” Julian didn’t even look at him. He kept his eyes on me. “And that’s not all,” Julian continued smoothly. “The Cole family’s latest real estate project just lost its funding. They will declare bankruptcy tomorrow morning. I wonder if Adrian’s elderly father can survive that kind of heart attack?” My body began to shake violently. Julian didn’t need to lay a finger on me to make my life hell. He would destroy anyone who showed me kindness, leaving me completely isolated, forced to cling to him in despair. “No…” I begged, grabbing Julian’s sleeve. “Please, don’t hurt Adrian. He’s innocent!” “Innocent?” Julian grabbed my chin, his eyes flashing with malice. “He touched what is mine. He has to pay.” He shoved me away and looked down at me coldly. “Want to save the Cole family? Want to keep his father alive? Fine. Tell him, right now, what kind of woman you really are.” My mind went blank. I turned to look at Adrian, whose eyes were filled with shock and worry. He was the only friend I had left in this world. “Stella, don’t listen to him. I don’t care about the bankruptcy…” Adrian cried. “Shut up!” I screamed, tears streaming down my face. I forced the most venomous words out of my mouth, cutting myself deeper than anyone else. “Adrian, who do you think you are? Do you really think I’d run away with you?” I laughed, though it sounded like a sob. “I’m Marcus Vance’s daughter! I’m used to luxury. You’re not even a lawyer anymore, and your family is broke. How are you going to support me?” “Stella…” Adrian took a step back, devastated. “I stay with Julian because he has money! He pays for my father’s medical bills!” I closed my eyes, letting my heart tear to pieces. “Stop flattering yourself and get lost! I never want to see a loser like you again!” Adrian’s face was white. He stared at the stranger standing before him. Finally, with a bitter laugh, he turned and stumbled away. As his shadow disappeared, my strength left me, and I collapsed onto the grass. Julian looked down at his masterpiece, satisfied. He knelt and patted my head, like praising a good dog. “Good girl, Stella. Remember, in your world, there is only room for me.”

Stella Vance POV I was pregnant. Clutching the thin strip of paper, I hid in the bathroom stall, my body trembling. This child was an accident. It happened on a night when Julian came home drunk, pinning me to the sofa like a wild animal, taking me by force. I should have hated this child. But as my hand rested on my flat stomach, a surge of maternal instinct filled me. This was my only blood relative left in the world, other than my dying father. Maybe… this could be a turning point? I thought naively. Julian hated me, but this was his child. Surely, he wouldn’t destroy his own flesh and blood. If he knew, would he show mercy? Would he let my father and me go? Clinging to this tiny hope, I tucked the test result into my pocket and walked toward Julian’s study. The door was slightly ajar. As I raised my hand to knock, the voices from inside froze me in my tracks. “Julian, the doctor said it’s hard for me to get pregnant.” It was Eva, her voice dripping with tears. “If we don’t have a child, your family will never let me marry you.” “Don’t cry. He said it’s hard, not impossible,” Julian replied, his voice filled with a tenderness I hadn’t heard in years. “But… what if Stella gets pregnant?” Eva whispered, her voice laced with jealousy. “She lives with you, after all…” Silence stretched in the study. Those few seconds felt like a lifetime of torture. Then, Julian’s cold, lifeless voice pierced through the door, stabbing my heart. “She doesn’t deserve to.” With those words, he signed my death warrant. “She’s just a tool to keep her dying father in check, a toy for my revenge,” Julian said flatly. “Even if she does get pregnant, I will never acknowledge it. The heir of the Thorne family will only come from you, Eva. A sinner’s bloodline like hers would only produce a mistake.” Outside the door, I slapped a hand over my mouth to choke back a scream. The test paper in my pocket felt like a branding iron, burning my skin. A mistake. To Julian, I was not just an enemy, but a piece of trash. He had left absolutely no room for mercy. And I had actually dreamed of using this child to awaken his conscience. How pathetic of me. I don’t even remember how I walked back to my room. Like a marionette with its strings cut, I sat on the cold floor from daybreak until night fell. No tears came. My heart had died. When your last shred of hope is crushed, you can’t even cry. I slowly pulled out the test paper, tore it into tiny pieces, and threw it into the trash can. Staring at the white scraps, my eyes went hollow and empty. But there was no hesitation left in me. I would never tell Julian about this child. I would never let this baby enter a world of hatred, only to be called a “mistake” by its own father. I would take this secret and escape this hell. Or take it with me to the grave.

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“Elena, Serena can’t be left alone right now. I’m not coming home tonight.” His voice was barely above a whisper, as if he were afraid of waking the “terminally ill” woman lying beside him. Rain pounded against the windows as I lowered my gaze to the worn file envelope on the coffee table. Inside were the fake medical records she’d used to fabricate her fatal illness, her bank statements, and every transfer he had personally signed. I’d known the truth for six months. But he had never once looked at the report lying on my bedside table. I hung up the phone, saved a screenshot of his text message into a folder, grabbed my umbrella, and walked out of the prison that had trapped me for the past three years. As the elevator doors slid shut, a message from my attorney appeared on my screen. 9:00 a.m. tomorrow. We begin the full liquidation process. I turned off the screen. This time, he would never find me again. Elena’s POV Damian Sterling took away my exclusive private doctor for the sake of his first love, Serena Morrow. Outside, a torrential rainstorm battered the windows. Inside the penthouse, the main lights were off, leaving the living room in deep shadow. I sat quietly on the sofa. On the coffee table in front of me sat a single manila folder, its edges crumpled from where I had gripped it too tightly. Inside was Serena’s forged terminal illness report. It was also the concrete evidence of my husband’s betrayal, which I had spent the last six months painstakingly gathering piece by piece. When the clock struck ten, Damian’s call finally came through. I pressed answer. The background on his end was loud and chaotic. The clatter of ER gurneys. Underneath which came Serena’s fragile, pathetic coughing. “Elena, Serena is in really bad shape right now. She can’t be left alone. I won’t be coming home tonight.” Damian’s voice was barely a whisper, as if he were terrified of disturbing the “fragile” woman beside him. I stared at the folder on the table, my eyes dead, saying nothing. Sensing my silence, Damian assumed I was about to throw another tantrum. His tone instantly turned icy, dripping with condescension and impatience. “She’s a very sick woman, Elena. She has no family in New York, and I’m the only one she trusts. Can you please just be mature for once? Stop picking fights at a time like this.” Lately, this line had slipped off his tongue with disgusting ease. Serena had a chest pain. He ran to her. Serena had insomnia. He ran to her. Serena said she was scared of the thunder in the hospital. He abandoned his fever-ridden wife without a backward glance to hold her hand. I pulled the phone away from my ear. Because at that exact second, a text notification popped up on my screen. It was from Dr. Julian Cross, the renowned specialist Damian had hired for me at an astronomical cost. “Mrs. Vance, per Mr. Sterling’s mandatory orders, I have relocated to Miss Morrow’s private suite for 24-hour care. I will no longer be managing your medical records. I am deeply sorry.” I stared at the screen, my knuckles turning white. This doctor was a gift Damian had once practically begged me to accept. Three years ago, to save the near-bankrupt Sterling Group, I had secretly mortgaged the townhouse my mother had left me. The sheer exhaustion of that year had wrecked my immune system, leaving me with chronic respiratory issues. Back then, Damian had stood in the pouring rain, his eyes bloodshot as he knelt and gripped my hands. “Elena, half of Sterling Group belongs to you! I swear I will hire the best doctors in the country. I will make sure you live a long, beautiful life to enjoy it!” But now that Sterling Group was a powerhouse, he locked me away at home like a caged canary under the guise of “protecting my privacy.” And then, he used the money I had nearly died to secure to buy a private doctor for Serena’s fake illness! I hung up the phone without another word. I took a screenshot of the text and saved it into a folder labeled Evidence. Then, I stood up, slid the manila folder into my bag, and grabbed my umbrella. When I shut the door behind me, I didn’t look back at the cage that had held me for three years. The lights in the underground garage were fluorescent and blinding. Damian’s sports car was idling right at the exit gate. His window was half-down. One hand was resting impatiently on the steering wheel, while the other tapped away on his phone, likely sending some sweet, reassuring message to Serena. When he saw me walking toward his car with an umbrella, his brows knitted into a tight, disgusted knot. “What the hell are you doing down here in the middle of the night?” I stood by his window, rainwater dripping off my umbrella onto the cold concrete. “Are you going to the hospital?” “Serena could have a medical emergency at any second! She needs someone there!” Damian’s tone was filled with pure irritation. “You’re not well either. Go back upstairs and sleep. Stop making my life harder.” “So, that’s your excuse for forcing my private doctor to cater to her?” I looked at him. Damian’s expression shifted slightly, but he quickly raised his voice defensively. “Serena’s condition is critical! She’s dying, Elena! Do you understand that?” “And my health doesn’t matter?” Damian’s face darkened completely, his eyes cutting like knives. “Elena, I don’t have time for your pathetic jealousy right now. If anything happens to Serena, can you take responsibility for her life? Move!” I didn’t budge. Expressionless, I pulled the manila folder from my bag and slammed it onto his windshield with a sharp thwack. The thick stack of documents slid right in front of his face. Damian froze, staring at the folder. “What is this?” “Serena’s terminal illness records,” I said, staring at him. “They’re fake.” Damian’s eyes flared with sudden fury. I pressed my hand against the folder through the glass, my voice quiet but deadly. “Every single lab result in there was forged by a doctor she bribed. She isn’t sick.” Damian’s grip tightened on the steering wheel so hard the veins on his hand bulged. “You went behind my back to investigate me?!” “I investigated her.” “She is a dying, helpless girl! You won’t even let a dying person have peace? Elena, when did you become so malicious?” Damian roared, his eyes filled with absolute disappointment and hatred. Watching him defend that woman with such blind rage, I found it almost comical. In truth, those forged medical records were full of holes. How could a brilliant businessman like Damian not see through them? He wasn’t stupid. He just wanted an excuse to care for his first love without feeling guilty. He chose to be blind. I slowly let go of the folder, pulled another stamped document from my bag, and tossed it through his window. It landed lightly in his lap. “Since you love taking care of her so much, let’s talk about something else.” I looked down at him. “Damian, who do you think was the actual investor behind that VC debt agreement you signed last month?” Damian looked down. The moment he registered the name on the document, his pupils dilated in shock. “What is this?” “Did you really think those bloodsucking investment firms suddenly grew a conscience and stopped hounding you for payments over the last six months?” I looked at him coldly. “It’s because I bought out your debt through a proxy agency. Which means, Damian, I am now the majority creditor of Sterling Group.” The motion-sensor lights in the garage flickered on, casting a harsh white glow over Damian’s face. The color completely drained from his confident, handsome face. His lips trembled, but he couldn’t form a single word. For three years, this was the first time I had ever seen true terror in his eyes. It wasn’t for my health. It wasn’t for the years of neglect I had suffered. It was solely for his precious Sterling Group. “Are you insane?!” Damian threw his car door open and scrambled out, blocking my path, his eyes wild with fear. “That is Sterling! That company is my life!” “And it was built on my mother’s townhouse!” “What do you want?!” I gripped my umbrella, looking at him as if he were already dead. “I’m calling in the debt. I’m going to ruin you.” “You wouldn’t dare!” Panic completely took over. He lunged forward to grab my wrist. I took a sharp step back, my eyes filled with disgust. His hand froze in mid-air. Damian stared at his empty hand, stunned. In the past, I never shrank away from him. When he yelled, I took it silently. When he lied, I believed him. Even when he came home in the middle of the night smelling of Serena’s perfume, I always left the porch light on for him. But tonight, there were no lights left for him. Only ice. I picked up the folder of evidence from his windshield and threw it at his chest. “Everything is in there. Serena’s fake illness, the bank statements of you buying her designer bags and renting her luxury condo with my money, and every single illegal asset transfer you signed.” Damian clutched the folder, his throat bobbing as cold sweat broke out on his forehead. “You… you’ve been planning this?” “For six months.” His face was ghostly pale, his voice shaking. “So for the last six months… you playing the submissive wife, your coughing fits… it was all an act?!” I didn’t even bother to answer. I turned and walked resolutely toward the elevator. “Elena! Get back here!” Damian screamed behind me, his voice cracking. I didn’t stop. “If you walk out of this garage tonight, we are over!” he yelled, throwing out his final card, still believing our marriage was something he could threaten me with. The elevator doors chimed and slid open, casting a cold bar of light at my feet. I stepped inside without hesitation. Damian ran toward me like a madman, slamming his hands against the closing doors, his face twisted in panic. “What else are you hiding from me?!” Through the narrowing gap of the doors, I gave him my final words: “Enough to ensure you lose everything.” The doors shut. My phone buzzed in my bag. A message from my financial proxy: “Mrs. Vance, all takeover documents have been delivered to the board of Sterling Group. Liquidation proceedings will officially begin tomorrow morning at 9:00 AM.”

Damian’s POV I didn’t sleep a wink. When dawn broke, I looked around the empty penthouse, only to realize with a jolt of terror that I had no idea where Elena would go. With trembling hands, I dialed her mother’s number. Margaret Vance picked up. After hearing my voice, she only had one cold question: “Did she finally dump you, you ungrateful parasite?” I gripped the phone, my face burning. “Margaret, please. Where is Elena?” “Don’t address me by my name as if we are family. It makes me sick,” Margaret’s voice was devoid of warmth. “My daughter doesn’t need to report her whereabouts to a cheating bastard.” Click. The line went dead. I stared at the black screen. For the first time, this multi-million dollar penthouse felt terrifyingly hollow. In the walk-in closet, Elena’s old coat still hung. On the vanity, her hand cream was half-used. In the fridge, there were ingredients she had bought just two days ago to make my favorite dinner. Her presence was everywhere, but she was gone. I didn’t have time to process the ache in my chest. I raced down to my car and sped toward the Sterling Group headquarters. But the moment I walked through the lobby, my CFO met me with a ghost-white face. “M-Mr. Sterling… we have a massive problem. The investment firm just sent over a foreclosure and restructuring mandate!” “Let me see that!” I snatched the document, my eyes tearing through the text. There, stamped clearly at the bottom, was the seal of the proxy firm. “All creditor rights transferred.” “Board veto power reassigned.” “Forensic audit initiated immediately.” Every single clause was a scalpel, slicing directly into Sterling Group’s jugular. I slammed the papers onto my desk, my eyes bloodshot. “Who authorized them to enter my building?!” The CFO trembled. “It… it started six months ago. They used a highly confidential offshore proxy channel. The funds were so clean we couldn’t trace them. We had no idea the actual client behind the proxy was Mrs. Sterling…” Six months ago. Again, six months ago! My mind flashed back to the garage last night, to Elena’s utterly detached face. She wasn’t bluffing. Step by step, she had personally woven the noose around my neck. I grabbed the desk phone and dialed the managing partner of the investment firm. He picked up quickly, but his tone lacked any of his usual warmth. “Mr. Sterling, the contract is clear. We are simply following standard legal procedures.” “You went behind my back and conspired with Elena?!” “Let’s not use such ugly words, Mr. Sterling. The debt transfer was entirely legal. When you signed that VC debt agreement, it was your own greed that drove you. No one forced your hand.” “But she’s my wife!!” I screamed, on the verge of a breakdown. The man let out a dry chuckle. “Then you should probably know better than anyone just how many of your dirty secrets your brilliant wife is holding.” The line went dead. I collapsed into my chair, paralyzed. Outside my glass office, I could hear the hushed whispers of my employees. I looked up. The staff who used to bow and scrape to me were now scattering like I was a leper. Some were even looking at me with blatant amusement. I had been stripped of my power. In the very company I took pride in, I had become a useless joke waiting to be kicked out. I grabbed my keys and ran out of the building like a headless chicken. I went to the florist Elena always visited. The clerk said she hadn’t been there in three months. I went to her favorite cafe. The waiter checked the system and said her card hadn’t been swiped there in half a year. I even drove down to the Columbia Business School campus, to the little diner where we used to share a single bowl of cheap ramen when we first started the company. But the staff had changed, and nobody recognized me. New York was massive, and I realized with a wave of despair that I had no idea where she actually spent her time. I knew nothing about her soul. By evening, I dragged myself back to the penthouse. The foyer was pitch black. My hand hovered over the light switch, freezing for a long time. In the past, no matter how late I got home, Elena would always leave a lamp on and keep a warm bowl of soup waiting on the table. Back then, I found her annoying. I thought of her as a boring housewife whose questions only ruined my mood. But now, the living room was as dark as a tomb. I flipped the switch. The blinding light flooded the room, making my eyes sting. Like a madman, I began to tear the place apart. Drawers, bookshelves, nightstands… I threw everything onto the floor, desperate to find a single clue, an address, a new phone number. Finally, in the deepest drawer of the study, I found a worn, dark-leather journal. My hands shook as I opened the first page. The date was exactly six months ago. “Today, I checked the accounts and found he transferred another $30,000 to Serena. He labeled it ‘medical advancement.’ He was careful, but I saw it instantly.” My fingers went numb. Next page. “He did something highly unusual tonight. He brought home my favorite red velvet cupcakes. I asked him where he was this afternoon, and he said he was in board meetings. When he lies, he can’t look me in the eye. And to think, I used to believe he was just tired.” Another page. “The bank called to remind me about the outstanding mortgage on my mother’s townhouse. When I risked that house to save Sterling, he knelt in the rain and swore he’d remember it forever. Today, he used Sterling’s cash to lease a luxury penthouse overlooking the Hudson for Serena.” Each page felt like a physical slap to my face. There were no hysterical rants in her diary. Just cold dates, exact dollar amounts, locations, and my pathetic, self-satisfied lies. Every excuse I thought was foolproof had been recorded by her like she was watching a clown perform. “Today, he came home with a medical report, crying that Serena was dying. I stared at the paper and suddenly remembered my own doctor reminded me last week that I needed a chest scan. Damian forgot. He forgot entirely.” “I have decided to play along. I will pretend to be sick.” My breath hitched, cold sweat soaking through my shirt. I kept flipping, my hands trembling so violently I could barely hold the book. “If he has even a shred of love left for me, he will notice that the medication bottles I bought don’t match my alleged symptoms.” “If he asks my doctor even once, he will know my oxygen levels are dropping.” “If he just looks at the medical report on my nightstand, he will see the word: Cancer.” “But he won’t. He didn’t even look.” With a sharp gasp, I clutched the diary to my chest, my knuckles white as the paper crumpled under my grip. During those six months, it wasn’t like I hadn’t entered our bedroom. But every time I did, I was too busy texting Serena! I had seen that medical report on the nightstand. I had simply ignored it, assuming it was just another one of Elena’s pathetic ploys to get my attention! Just as the tidal wave of regret threatened to drown me, the phone in my pocket buzzed. Serena flashed on the screen. I stared at the name for a long time before numbly pressing answer. “Damian~ why didn’t you come see me today?” Serena’s voice was sweet and whiny, dripping with her usual fragile helplessness. “The doctor said I can’t have any stress. I can’t be left alone. You promised me…” Yesterday, I would have dropped everything and rushed to her. But now, I stared at the very last line of Elena’s diary. The date was just three days ago. “He’s leaving again to be with Serena. I didn’t stop him. I am giving him one last chance.” My throat felt like it was filled with sand. On the other end, Serena kept coaxing. “Damian? Are you there? My chest feels so tight…” “If your chest is tight, hire a nurse.” My voice was raspy, carrying a chilling coldness that startled even myself. Serena froze. “Damian? What… what did you say?” I didn’t give her a chance to explain. I hung up and immediately blocked her number. The penthouse fell back into dead silence. I stared at the leather journal on the desk. I finally saw the last chance Elena had given me. It wasn’t the debt agreement in the garage. It wasn’t her quiet nights. She had laid my salvation right on the nightstand I passed every single day, right within my reach. And I had chosen never to look down.

Damian’s POV When I took that diary to Margaret’s house, I didn’t even get to knock before a voice rang out from inside. “Don’t come in.” The voice was cold and hard. I stood in the hallway, clutching the diary. “Margaret, please. I need to see Elena.” “I told you, do not call me that. We are not family.” The door opened a crack. Margaret stood there, her face far calmer than I expected. My throat tightened. “Where is she?” She glanced at the journal in my hands. “She left you for a reason.” “I know I messed up. I can explain.” “Explain to whom?” She pressed her hand against the doorframe. “To the wife you abandoned over and over? Or to the woman who mortgaged her mother’s home for you?” I froze. She didn’t look at me again. “She doesn’t owe you a meeting.” The door slammed in my face. I stood in the dim hallway for what felt like hours. I scrolled to the very bottom of my contacts, stopping at Elena’s best friend, Julia Stevens. I begged her for a meeting three times. She finally replied with a single address. 3:00 PM. A boutique cafe in West Village. When I arrived, Julia was already seated by the window. A manila folder sat on the table. She didn’t invite me to sit. “Where is Elena?” “You really have a talent for asking the most useless questions.” She slid the folder toward me. “Look at this first.” I opened it. Inside were printed chat logs. Between me and Serena. Starting from the very day Serena returned to New York. “Damian, I’m scared to sleep alone.” “Don’t worry, I’m coming over.” “Won’t Elena be mad?” “She’s understanding.” Next page. “Can we take some money from the new project budget? The doctor says my treatment is due next week.” “I’ll handle it.” “Does Elena check the accounts?” “She doesn’t touch the company books.” The veins on the back of my hands bulged. Julia let out a harsh laugh. “You certainly sounded confident.” “Where did you get these?” “She gave them to me.” I looked up. She glared at me. “You really thought she was blind?” The papers rustled as a draft swept through the cafe. “When… when did she find out?” “The very first time you wired money to Serena.” My breath caught. “That’s impossible.” “Why? Because you think you’re a genius?” She slammed another paper onto the table. “Your company was facing a liquidity crisis back then. The banks were calling in loans, and investors were breathing down your neck. While she was out begging clients for you, she discovered you were using her mortgage money to feed Serena.” It was the mortgage record. The address, the signature, the exact amount. Everything was laid bare. I stared at Elena’s signature, my finger brushing against the ink. “Why didn’t she confront me?” “She did.” Julia’s voice was razor-sharp. “And you told her Serena was dying and told her to stop being so petty.” My heart stopped. I remembered. One evening, Elena had stood at my study door, asking why a transaction was marked as ‘medical advancement.’ I was texting Serena at that exact moment. I hadn’t even looked up. I had said, Elena, can you please try to be a decent human being? The memory crawled out of the past, suffocating me. Julia spread the chat logs across the table. “You claimed you were just doing a good deed. Meanwhile, you bypassed project approvals. You gave Serena Elena’s personal client list so Serena could use your name to secure deals. You even had your doctor monitor Elena’s records to make sure she wasn’t snooping around Serena.” I slammed my hands on the table, standing up. “Stop. That’s enough.” My sleeve caught my coffee cup, sending the dark liquid splashing across the wood. She didn’t flinch. “It’s not enough.” She pulled a bank statement from the very bottom of the folder. “This wire transfer was sent to Sterling Group the day after Elena mortgaged her mother’s house. Three days later, you wired a third of it to Serena.” I stared at the numbers, my lips trembling. “I… I was just lending it to her. She needed it.” “And did she pay it back?” I couldn’t answer. Julia looked at me, her eyes devoid of any pity. “Elena had all of this months ago. She was waiting for you to tell her the truth.” My throat felt tight, dry. “Why did she give these to you?” “Because she was terrified she would be weak enough to forgive you.” She tossed a wet napkin onto the spilled coffee. “She asked me to keep a copy. She said, ‘If I ever start believing his lies again, show me this and wake me up.’” My hands slowly lost their strength. The papers lay scattered across the wet table. I had always thought Elena was quiet because she was weak, because she didn’t know how to fight. But every single time she had remained silent, she had noted down a date and filed away a piece of evidence. “Where is she?” my voice cracked. “I just want to talk to her. Just five minutes.” Julia gathered her things, leaving a copy of the mortgage document on the table. “You don’t even remember what you signed, do you?” I looked up. “What do you mean?” She grabbed her bag and walked past me. “Go back to your office, Damian. And stop looking for her.” The cafe door opened, and the cold New York wind rushed in. I looked down at the paper. Right next to Elena’s signature was my own handwriting from years ago. I had written: “I hereby acknowledge and guarantee this capital injection into Sterling Group.” My name was written right next to hers. A stolen future. A name I had personally dragged through the mud.

Damian’s POV By the time the emergency board meeting started, my chair at the head of the table had already been removed. The head of the conference table was empty. I pushed the doors open. Everyone looked up, only to quickly avert their eyes. My proxy stood by the projector screen, a stack of files in his hand. I walked in, my face cold. “Who authorized this meeting?” The proxy looked up. “Ms. Vance.” “Where is she?” “Ms. Vance will not be attending.” I glared at him. “Tell her to get down here and face me.” The proxy opened a folder. “The meeting has officially begun. You are welcome to observe, Mr. Sterling, but you no longer hold voting rights.” The room was dead silent. I let out a harsh laugh. “I founded this company.” “You are currently still listed as a registered partner,” the proxy replied in a calm, robotic voice. “However, Ms. Vance is now the majority shareholder and primary creditor.” The screen lit up. Shareholder restructuring records. Debt transfer files. Foreclosure triggers. Page after page, the black ink nailed me to the wall. I stepped forward, slamming my hands onto the table. “She did all of this behind my back! It’s illegal!” The proxy looked at the board members. “All documents were processed through legal proxy channels. The funding sources are fully verified, and the signatures are authentic.” “I never signed off on this!” “Actually, you did.” The moment those words left his mouth, several board members lowered their heads. I snapped my gaze toward the Director of Operations. His face was pale, and he refused to make eye contact. The proxy continued reading. “First item on the agenda: the immediate removal of Damian Sterling from all executive and managerial positions within Sterling Group.” My eyes flared. “You wouldn’t dare.” “Second item: the freezing of all corporate assets under Damian Sterling’s name.” “Say that again!” “Third item: the initiation of a forensic audit to investigate all suspicious fund transfers over the last three years.” I snatched the documents from the table and tore them in half, throwing them into the air. The white papers fluttered down like snow. “I built this place!” I roared. No one spoke. I looked at their silent faces, my chest heaving. These were the people who used to line up outside my office for a signature. Who waited for my nod of approval. Who called me Mr. Sterling with practiced reverence. Today, they sat in their expensive chairs, watching a stranger kick me out of my own kingdom. The proxy bent down and picked up the torn resolution. “Mr. Sterling, the flow of capital is very clear.” My temple throbbed. The proxy placed the paper back on the table. “Every agreement you signed carried Ms. Vance’s financial backing.” “Shut up!” “Including the initial round of funding, the bridge loans, the mortgage documents, and the VC debt agreement.” I lunged forward, grabbing the proxy by his collar. The security guards stationed at the door immediately rushed in, pinning my arms behind my back. Gasps echoed through the room. I wrenched myself free from one guard and pointed a finger at the board. “If you sign this today, I will make sure every single one of you is fired tomorrow!” Finally, one elderly director spoke up. “Damian… the forensic audit team is already in the building.” The use of my first name felt like a physical blow. I stared at him, and he slowly looked away. “We have to protect ourselves.” The blood drained from my face. Protect themselves. I understood now. Elena didn’t need to show up. She didn’t need to yell. She had simply fed the evidence into the corporate machine and let these greedy bastards tear me apart to save their own skins. The proxy handed the final resolution to the secretary. “All in favor?” One hand went up. Then another. Then the entire table. I stared at their raised hands, my fists clenching so hard they shook. Years ago, when I took Elena to meet our very first investor, she had sat beside me and gently filled in every blank I left in the presentation. The investor had said, Your wife is sharper than you, Damian. I had laughed it off. She doesn’t know anything about business. She’s just here for moral support. Elena had simply sorted her papers, saying nothing to defend herself. Now, she didn’t have to. The entire boardroom was voting on her behalf. “The resolution passes,” the proxy announced, shutting the folder. “Mr. Sterling, please hand over your access badge and company seals.” I ripped the badge from my chest and slammed it onto the table. “Tell Elena to come get them herself.” The proxy didn’t move. The guard took a step forward. “Mr. Sterling, please leave the premises.” I glared at him. “You’re kicking me out?” The guard’s face remained entirely blank. “It’s company policy.” Another guard grabbed my shoulder. As they dragged me out, not a single person in that room stood up to stop them. I struggled. “Let go of me!” The employees in the hallway scrambled out of the way. They dragged me past the executive suite. The nameplate on my door hadn’t even been changed yet. I caught my reflection in the glass door. My suit was rumpled, my collar crooked, and my face looked like that of a defeated dog. The elevator doors opened. The guard ushered me inside. “Mr. Sterling, your personal belongings will be packed and sent to your registered address.” “Who gave you permission to touch my things?!” The doors slid shut. No one answered. The wind outside the building was freezing. I stood on the pavement, my phone buzzing incessantly in my pocket. The screen lit up. A text from Serena: “Damian, why hasn’t my therapist’s fee been paid yet? They said they’ll cancel my appointment if we don’t pay today.” I stared at it. Another text popped up: “Are you still mad about Elena? She’s just trying to control you. Don’t let her get to you.” My thumb hovered over the screen. After a long time, I locked the phone. The corporate logo of Sterling Group loomed high above, cold and imposing. For the first time in my life, I was standing on the outside.

Damian’s POV The first place I went after being kicked out of Sterling Group was the investment firm. I was still wearing yesterday’s suit. My sleeve was torn from where the guard had grabbed me, and my tie was askew. The receptionist made me wait in the lobby from morning until late afternoon. Finally, a junior project manager came out to meet me. He didn’t even invite me into a conference room. He just sat opposite me in the open reception area. “Mr. Sterling, we are aware of your situation.” I glared at him. “I want to see your managing partner.” “He is unavailable.” “That wasn’t his attitude when he wanted me to sign that debt agreement.” The manager placed a document on the glass table. “The foreclosure has been initiated. We will not be releasing any further capital.” I let out a bitter laugh. “How much did Elena Vance pay you?” “Ms. Vance did not contact us directly,” the manager replied smoothly. “She utilized Cypress Capital as her financial advisor.” My heart did a violent flip. “Cypress Capital?” “Yes. Their equity transfer has already been registered. Mr. Sterling, nobody in New York is going to cross Cypress Capital for you.” The words were spoken softly, but they crushed me. I sat frozen on the sofa, my nails biting into my palms. I knew Cypress Capital. They were one of the most ruthless private equity firms in Manhattan. I had no idea Elena even knew they existed, let alone had them in her pocket. The manager stood up. “If you wish to dispute this, please have your legal counsel contact our compliance department.” “I just need a short-term bridge loan. Just a couple of million.” “Mr. Sterling,” the manager said, picking up the folder. “All your personal and corporate assets have been frozen.” By the time I was escorted out of the building, the sun had set. I stood on the sidewalk, dialing Serena’s number. The first call went straight to voicemail. The second was declined. On the third, a cold, automated voice told me the number was no longer in service. I caught a cab to the luxury condo I had rented for her. The building was a high-rise in Chelsea, quiet and exclusive. Serena had complained about the street noise, so I had paid extra to have double-pane acoustic glass installed. She had told me she was terrified of being locked out, so I had kept a spare key hidden behind the fire extinguisher in the hallway. The space behind the extinguisher was empty now. And the lock on the door had been changed. I buzzed the intercom repeatedly, but there was no answer. The building manager walked up the corridor, looking at me with a look of pity and discomfort. “Mr. Sterling, Miss Morrow moved out.” “When?” “The afternoon your company’s restructuring made the news.” My hand remained glued to the smart lock. “Who helped her move?” “Two guys from a moving company. Miss Morrow said she wouldn’t be returning and explicitly told us not to let any ‘unauthorized individuals’ up to the floor.” Unauthorized. The word echoed in my head. The manager added, “She left in such a hurry she didn’t even ask for her security deposit back.” The hallway lights flickered off. I stood in the darkness, my phone screen glowing. There was still no reply from Serena. I suddenly remembered the look Elena had given me in the garage. She hadn’t cried. She hadn’t screamed. She had known Serena would run the second the money dried up. Only I was stupid enough to keep paying medical bills for someone who already had her bags packed. Late that night, I dragged my suitcase to the dingy studio apartment I had lived in before I started Sterling Group. The wallpaper in the hallway was peeling, and a water bill warning was taped to the door. The key jammed twice in the rusty lock. I forced it open, and the smell of damp air rushed to greet me. The cheap bed was still there. The scratched wooden desk was still there. Even the broken chair by the window was still there. I had brought Elena here once. Back when Sterling was just an idea and I couldn’t even afford a co-working space. Elena had sat at that scratched desk, rewriting my pitch deck until the sun came up. The next day, she had walked me into my first pitch. I had walked out with my first check. But later, when I told the story to reporters, I always said, I built this empire with my own bare hands. I pushed my suitcase against the wall and sat on the edge of the mattress. The springs creaked under my weight. My phone buzzed. Someone had forwarded me Elena’s social media post. It was a photo of her standing on a beach in the Hamptons. Her red dress billowed in the wind against a backdrop of endless blue water. The caption was simple: “A beautiful day.” I stared at the picture. She hadn’t looked back. She didn’t mention me. She didn’t mention Sterling Group. I realized with a crushing weight that Elena didn’t even care enough to show me her pain. The screen went dark. I was entirely alone in the damp studio apartment with an unpacked suitcase and my own regrets.

Elena’s POV Three months later, I took over a boutique consulting firm in Soho. It was a small operation, housed in a charming but weathered pre-war building. The reception desk was just a simple oak table, the conference room doors had scratches, and the accounting software was hopelessly outdated. I spent the first two weeks auditing the books. By the third week, I rewrote our standard contract templates and began reaching out to clients. Within a month, my desk was piled high with new project files. All the crisis management, negotiations, financing, and auditing skills I had used to build Damian’s dream were finally being used for my own name. When my assistant brought in my new business cards, I stared at them for a long time. Elena Vance. Managing Partner, Vance Consulting. No Sterling Group. No “Wife of Damian Sterling.” I slid the cards into a sleek silver case and snapped it shut. Our launch celebration was merged with a networking gala hosted by one of our major partners. I arrived a bit late. As I walked in, a group of old acquaintances was gathered near the bar. When they saw me, their faces turned slightly awkward. “Elena… long time no see.” The way they addressed me had changed. I raised my glass of sparkling water and nodded. “Good to see you.” Midway through the evening, the host walked over with a tall man in a tailored suit. “Elena, this is Ethan Black from Cypress Capital. His team will be overseeing the M&A pipeline we’re partnering on.” Ethan Black wore a charcoal-grey suit. He held a neat business card in his hand. When he saw me, he paused. “Elena Vance?” I looked up. “Do we know each other?” He smiled warmly. “Columbia Business School, the annual debate championship. You were the third speaker. You locked the opposing team into a corner so tight they couldn’t speak for ten seconds.” I hadn’t expected anyone to remember that. My grip on my glass relaxed slightly. “That was a lifetime ago.” “Not that long,” he said, handing me his card. “I was in the audience. My professor told me to study your pacing.” The host chimed in, “What a small world! You two are alumni.” I looked at the card. Ethan Black. Managing Director, Cypress Capital. The name was printed in clean, minimalist font. He looked at me. “I haven’t seen you around the Manhattan circuit these past few years.” His question was gentle. There was no prying. No pity. I stared at the condensation on my glass. “I was busy building a runway for someone who didn’t deserve it.” He didn’t push for details. “Well, you’re back now. That’s all that matters.” The warm lights of the venue caught his sharp profile. He stood tall, projecting a quiet, steady confidence. I had heard too many empty promises from men in my life. Damian had promised to remember my sacrifice forever. Damian had promised half of everything. Damian had promised I would never have to worry. His words had been grand and empty. Ethan Black simply offered a card. “Let me know if your team needs anything for the upcoming integration,” he said. “We will follow your protocols. I won’t go over your head.” I looked up into his eyes. Those words made me quiet for a moment. He didn’t say he would help me. He said he would respect my protocols. Treating me as an equal partner was far more reassuring than any empty sweet talk. “Thank you,” I said, sliding his card into my silver case. “I look forward to working with you.” He nodded. “Likewise.” Two weeks later, I signed my first independent contract under Vance Consulting. On the day of the signing, my assistant laid the contract before me and uncapped a Montblanc pen, placing it by my right hand. The client line did not read Sterling Group. The consultant line did not carry anyone else’s name. I signed my name. As I finished the last stroke, there was a knock on the door. My assistant walked in, unable to hide the excitement in her voice. “Elena, Cypress Capital just confirmed. Mr. Black said they are ready to initiate the kickoff next Monday.” I closed the folder. The silver card case on my desk caught the light, Ethan’s card peeking out slightly. This time, I didn’t push it back in. “Notify the team. Kickoff meeting tomorrow at 9:00 AM.” My assistant nodded and left. I picked up the signed contract. This time, the victory belonged entirely to me.

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Every time my wife brought home a new boy toy, she made sure to bring back a college girl for me. “I need some excitement, and you need company,” she’d say, her voice dripping with casual indifference. “We both get what we need. No hard feelings, right?” But this time, she flew too close to the sun. Stroking her slightly rounded three-month-old belly, she spoke to me with a veneer of sweet, reasonable negotiation: “We slipped up, and I got pregnant. Troy wants me to give him some status before he agrees to let me carry this baby to term. So, we need a temporary divorce.” “Until we get back together, you can play around with her. I won’t stand in your way.” I looked at the seemingly innocent home-wrecker standing beside her, and then at the college girl on the other side, whose ears were burning a bright, embarrassed red. I looked up and smiled. “Sure. Whatever you want.” The cigarette dangling from her lips froze. 1 Every time Marina brought a young boy home, she made sure to have a college girl in tow for me. For three years, she had never missed a beat. In the past, I would face them with a cold expression and hand over a check. Five thousand, ten thousand, sometimes thirty thousand dollars. I’d tell them to take the money and get the hell out of my house. Marina’s circle of friends used to mock me behind my back. They said I had a ridiculous moral purity complex—that if I so much as touched another woman, my skin would crawl off. Marina believed them. That was why she was so utterly fearless. She brought woman after woman into my home, parading them before me just to test my limits and trample on my remaining dignity. But this last time, she brought Troy. He was a young college student with clear, clean eyes and a low, soothing voice. And alongside him, she brought Ivy. Ivy was different. She was five-foot-eight, a top pre-law student, a mock trial champion, and on a full academic scholarship. Marina had spent real money this time. This wasn’t some random girl she had picked up from a nightclub. “We slipped up,” Marina said, her hand resting on her stomach as she spoke in a tone so light she might have been commenting on the weather. “Troy wants a ring before he lets me carry this baby to term. We need a quick, temporary divorce.” “Until we get back together, you can do whatever you want with her. I won’t care.” Later, in the hallway, I overheard her friend Lauren asking her in a hushed whisper, “Marina, seriously? This is the man you climbed ninety-nine wet stone steps at St. Jude’s Cathedral on your bare knees to pray for. Are you really this generous?” “Yeah,” Rachel chimed in. “You didn’t even give that college girl any ground rules. What if she actually touches Dylan?” Marina took a slow, elegant drag of her cigarette. “I don’t have a cuckold kink. You all know Dylan’s obsessive need for absolute fidelity. He won’t touch her.” “Ah, Marina, you’re brilliant. You bring the girl to his doorstep, but if he doesn’t use what’s offered, that’s his problem. It’s the perfect crime.” I stood at the top of the stairs, hearing every word clear as day. In the past, I would have stormed down. I would have smashed a glass, screamed at her, and demanded to know how she could treat me this way. And then she would have looked at me with cold amusement and asked, “Are you done throwing a tantrum yet?” Then would come the weeks of agonizing silence, followed eventually by the arrival of the next girl. But today, I didn’t storm down. I walked down the stairs calmly. Every eye in the living room turned to me. Marina looked up, a smug, victorious grin hovering at the corner of her lips. She expected the usual—the thrown check, the demands for them to leave, the tearful fight. Instead, I looked up and smiled. “Sure. Whatever you want.” The living room fell into a sudden, heavy silence. Lauren was the first to react. “Wait, Dylan, what did you just say?” I set my phone down, my gaze sliding past Marina to land directly on Ivy. “I said sure.” I looked her up and down. “She is actually quite beautiful.” Someone in the back gasped. “Dylan actually agreed?!” “No way. He’s not kicking her out this time?” “Marina, did you hear that?” Marina’s expression didn’t change. That faint, confident smirk remained on her face, but the fingers holding her cigarette tightened slightly. Troy, looking a bit nervous, clung tighter to Marina’s arm. “Marina, he’s finally seeing reason. You should be happy.” Marina didn’t reply. She stubbed her cigarette out in the glass ashtray, walked over to Ivy, and patted her on the shoulder. “Take good care of him.” With that, she wrapped her arm around Troy and headed upstairs. I withdrew my gaze and looked at Ivy, who was still standing in the same spot, her ears burning red. “Are you staying here, or do you need to go back to campus?” She swallowed hard, her voice quiet and thin. “Either… either is fine.” “Then stay here.” I turned and walked down the hallway. Behind me, the whispers started up again, sharp and quiet. “Is he serious this time?” “Usually he throws a fit that ruins the whole night!” “Oh, relax, Marina knows him. He’s just trying to get a rise out of her. Remember the last one? He had security throw her out on the lawn.” “He’s probably just doing this to spite her because Troy got her pregnant.” I kept walking, the words pricking at my back like tiny needles. They didn’t cause a sharp pain, but they left a dull, aching throb. They were right. I had been foolishly proud. I had been too convinced that my refusal to touch anyone else would somehow protect my marriage. But what did my emotional cleanliness actually protect? A signed divorce agreement. An empty bed. The laughingstock of her social circle. At the door of the guest bedroom, I pushed it open. “Here you go.” I leaned against the doorframe, watching Ivy stand nervously in the room, her fingers twisting the hem of her shirt. “Are you doing this for the money?” I asked. She nodded. No hesitation. No excuses. The old Dylan would have scoffed, thrown a check, and told her to get out. I would have stood on my moral high ground, treating every girl Marina brought home as if they were dirt. And what did that get me? The girls left, but Marina never stayed. In truth, none of those girls were dirtier than she was. “Let the housekeeper know if you need anything,” I said, walking into the room. She followed me inside. “I’m Ivy,” she murmured. “I know,” I said without looking back. “Marina told me.” I walked out onto the balcony. I didn’t ask her to follow, and she didn’t try to. Below, the guests were finally leaving. I had lost count of how many times they had gathered here to watch my life fall apart. Returning to the bedroom, I glanced at the divorce papers sitting on the nightstand. For three years, I had closed my eyes to her behavior because of what had happened back then. We both had our debts to pay. At first, I told her: “just don’t bring them home.” Then I said: “just make sure you use protection.” I had retreated step by step, and she had pushed further and further. Now, since we were both thoroughly exhausted by this marriage, there was no point in hesitating. I picked up the pen and signed my name. Ivy had just finished her shower and walked out of the bathroom, her hair half-damp. The moment she saw me, her ears flushed red again. “I’m… I’m done washing up.” I stood up. Marina had really chosen someone who blushed easily this time. The previous girls usually had a look of resentment in their eyes when I paid them to leave. One had even screamed at me: “Are you two crazy? One pushes us in, the other kicks us out. What do you think we are?” I had only looked at her coldly and said, “Take the money and shut up.” Now, I realized she was right. We were both sick. One had a craving for betrayal, and the other had a pathological need for purity. My phone buzzed. A text from Marina: “Go to sleep early.” I stared at the words, finding them laughably absurd. She had never sent me texts like this before. She only sent it now because I had kept Ivy. Because she realized that the husband who “never touches anyone” might actually do it this time. I didn’t reply. The lights outside went out, and the entire house fell silent. Troy had moved in, and Ivy had moved in. This place finally felt like a landfill—a dump where anyone could be thrown. Including me. I switched off the light, a faint, mocking smile on my face in the dark. She thought I was still the same Dylan. She thought I didn’t dare. She thought I would always keep myself clean for her. She was wrong. 2 The next morning, when I went downstairs, Ivy was in the kitchen helping the housekeeper. When she saw me, she almost dropped the spatula. I smiled. Where had the brave girl from last night gone? Just as I sat down at the dining table, Marina came downstairs. “Up so early?” She sat across from me, a cryptic smile on her face. “How was last night?” Before I could answer, the front door was pushed open. Lauren rushed in first. “Marina, Marina, who won the bet? I put down twenty grand that he wouldn’t last until noon!” “I bet he’d kick her out last night. Three-to-one odds!” The excitement died instantly when they saw me sitting there. “Dylan… morning!” Marina picked up her coffee and took a sip, her expression relaxed, as if her friends weren’t treating her marriage like a casino game. “Sit down,” I said. “Breakfast is ready.” I turned to Ivy. “You should get ready for class.” Ivy blinked, took off her apron, and slipped out the door. Once the front door closed, Lauren lowered her voice. “See? He sent her away anyway.” Rachel laughed. “Of course. Marina knows him inside out. That’s how you train a husband—one who stays home and never strays.” Marina sat there, finishing her egg, the corner of her mouth curving up in satisfaction. I took a breath and walked out of the dining room. Marina and I spoke almost at the exact same moment— “Come back to the family estate for dinner tonight…” “Meet me at the courthouse at two this afternoon…” The room went quiet. I laid the signed divorce papers on the table. “Let’s get this done first.” Marina froze, her eyes locking onto my signature. She expected me to tear the paper to pieces, weeping and asking her why she was doing this. She expected a fight. She looked up, her tone lazy. “What’s the rush? I told you we’d wait until the pregnancy stabilizes.” “I can’t wait,” I said. “Two o’clock. Will you be there?” Her eyelids twitched. “Dylan, are you out of your mind?” “You wouldn’t want me to change my mind and tear up the papers when I wake up, would you?” Troy came down the stairs then, his voice soft and trembling. “Dylan, please don’t be angry. I just don’t want the baby to be born with any stigma… We can wait until Marina’s pregnancy is safe. Otherwise, her health might suffer…” He looked so fragile, his eyes red as he clutched his shirt. He looked more devastated by the divorce than I was. Marina looked at Troy. His delicate, submissive act, combined with his gentle pleading, seemed to poke at her pride. Since when did she need anyone to push her into a decision? “Dylan, you think I don’t dare sign?” She laughed, grabbed the pen, and signed her name with a flourish. She threw the pen back onto the table. “I keep my word. Everyone here is a witness.” “Once Troy’s baby is born, we’ll get remarried.” She stood up and leaned in close to my ear, her voice dripping with possessive affection. “You’re the man I dragged back from the edge of death. No one out there can compare to you. This child… only you have the right to raise it, understand?” I let out a soft laugh. So this was her version of love. I didn’t say another word. I grabbed my pre-packed suitcase and walked out the door. Behind me, Troy’s voice drifted out. “Marina… is he really not coming back?” Marina held an unlit cigarette in her mouth, silent. In her original plan, we would divorce but still live under the same roof. My sudden departure was entirely unexpected. But she didn’t let it show. “You,” she said, glancing at Troy. “With Dylan gone, you must be thrilled deep down.” “No, of course not!” Troy hung his head. “How could you say that? My upbringing wouldn’t let me destroy a marriage… It’s all for the baby.” He looked so vulnerable, like a child terrified of being abandoned. It instantly disarmed her anger. “Alright, I’m just teasing.” Troy was much smarter than the others. He didn’t send me smug texts or call me to gloat. He played the innocent victim, making sure Marina always felt the need to protect him. At 1:50 PM, I sat on the bench at the courthouse. I dialed Marina’s number for the ninth time. She finally picked up. “Where are you?” I asked. “I’m at the hospital with Troy for his appointment. I can’t leave right now. Just wait for me, I’ll head over when we’re done.” “I told you, our appointment is at two.” “The courthouse isn’t going to run away,” she said, as if placating a difficult child. “Wait until we’re finished.” Wait. Always waiting. I watched the couples passing through the lobby—some crying, some entirely numb. I had cried like that once. And her temporary softness had always been my “reward.” But today, that wasn’t the reward I wanted. The clerk called the next number. I pulled out my phone and texted my lawyer. “Mr. Lawson, let’s file for a contested divorce. I’ll send you the materials this afternoon.” 3 That evening, after several urgent calls from Grandpa Richard, I went back to the family estate. The entire drive over, I wondered how to explain things to him. Should I tell him his granddaughter was pregnant by a boy toy? That she was forcing me into a divorce? Or that I was already moving forward with a lawsuit? Family debts are always more tangled than legal ones. When I walked in, I was alone. Grandpa paused. “Where’s Marina?” “She’s busy,” I said. “Busy?” He slammed his silverware onto the table. “What could be more important than her husband?” I remained silent. Grandpa Richard and my father had been brothers-in-arms, surviving combat together in their youth. He had championed our marriage from the start, though Marina’s mother, Catherine, had been fiercely opposed. She looked down on my family background and thought my childhood illnesses made me a liability. But Marina had refused to let go. She had gone to St. Jude’s Cathedral, kneeling on the cold stone steps in a freezing rain, dragging herself up all ninety-nine steps until her knees were bloody. She had prayed: “I don’t even have to end up with him, just let him live.” When I found out, I had wept. From then on, I stopped hiding. I told her if she was brave enough to marry me, I was brave enough to stand beside her. And indeed, my health recovered. I married into her family, and Grandpa Richard transferred a third of his private stock options to my name to ensure I would be respected within the family. I used to think her mother was our only obstacle. Now I knew better. The front door opened, and Marina walked in, her arm looped through Troy’s. She froze when she saw me. Grandpa’s face darkened instantly. “What kind of trash are you bringing into my house?” Marina sat down next to Troy, her tone casual. “Grandpa, it’s just dinner. Don’t make a scene.” Then she shot me a look. “Dylan, you should leave first. I didn’t think you’d come tonight. This is Troy’s night, okay?” I let out a soft laugh. Troy’s night. She was so eager to establish his place that she brought him to meet her family before our divorce was even finalized. Catherine came downstairs, her gaze sweeping over me before landing on Troy. “So this is the new one? Our family certainly has a habit of attracting low-class grifters.” One sentence, insulting both of us. In the past, Marina would have stood in front of me and declared, “Dylan is the man I chose.” But today, she frowned and shielded Troy. “Mom, don’t talk about my partner that way.” Her voice was fiercer than it had ever been for me. Troy leaned against her, his eyes red, playing the victim. I stood up quietly. “I’m leaving.” Grandpa tried to keep me, but I didn’t stay. Marina didn’t even look up. Walking out of the estate, those ninety-nine steps crossed my mind again. “Just let him live,” she had prayed. Well, she got her wish. I was alive, and we were done. The divorce proceedings went surprisingly fast. Marina likely assumed that once the baby was born, we would simply remarry and return to normal. On the day we signed the mediation agreement, she arrived forty minutes late, but she signed without hesitation. Afterward, she leaned in, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “Didn’t you always want a beach wedding?” “When we remarry, I’ll plan it myself. The island, the white dress, everything you wanted.” I looked at her. “Marina, don’t bother.” She smiled. “I know you think we don’t need to put on a show, but I owe you a real wedding. I want to make it up to you.” I shook my head. “In a week…” Before I could finish, her phone rang. She answered, then stood up abruptly. “What do you mean he’s not feeling well? I’m on my way!” She took two steps, then paused to look back at me. “I know the divorce is officially finalized in a week, but that’s just a legal formality. The papers belong to the court, but you belong to me. Those are two different things.” She patted my shoulder and hurried out. Standing outside the mediation room, I quietly finished my sentence: “…In a week, you won’t just receive the divorce decree.” 4 The day the official divorce decree was delivered to the estate, Grandpa Richard called Marina back in a fury. “I don’t care what you have to do, call Dylan back here right now. I have things to say to him.” “Once I’m done, if you still want to go through with this ridiculous divorce, I won’t stop you.” Marina frowned. Though she didn’t know what Grandpa wanted, she knew deep down how chaotic this divorce had been. Her phone had been silent for a week. No texts, no calls from me. She claimed she didn’t care, but the emptiness was settling in. She had never gone a whole week without speaking to me. She needed an excuse to reach out, and Grandpa had just handed her one. “Fine, fine,” she sighed, pulling out her phone. “So annoying. I’ll call him.” Despite her words, her fingers flew across the screen faster than usual. She pressed call. She cleared her throat, rehearsing her opening line. Should she say, “Dylan, Grandpa wants you to come to the estate,” or “Stop acting like a child, we aren’t actually separated, are you really not coming home?” The call connected. A voice on the other end spoke first: “Hello, the groom is currently busy with the toasts. Are you a guest of the groom?”

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A woman in a couture gown collapsed at the threshold of my holistic apothecary. I spent the entire night performing targeted acupuncture, brewing custom herbal decoctions, and pulling her back from the brink of death. When her fiancé finally arrived, his only reaction was a cold, accusatory sneer: “You drugged her, didn’t you?” It was only then that I realized she was Wendy Sheffield, the crown jewel of Manhattan’s elite. Once she regained consciousness, she looked at me with patronizing charity. “Close your little shop,” she said. “I have an estate in the Hudson Valley. You’ll live there from now on, and I’ll visit you once a week.” When I refused, her fiancé lunged forward and slapped me across the face. “Still not satisfied? Did a backwoods peasant like you actually think you could occupy the seat of Wendy Sheffield’s lawful husband?!” I threw them both out. Within twenty-four hours, the State Medical Board and the police raided my shop. The apothecary was boarded up, my landlord evicted me, and the neighbors gathered around, whispering and calling me a “backmarket criminal.” I tracked Wendy down, demanding answers in hysterics. She merely swirled her red wine, giving me a weary, patronizing smile. “The principled, self-reliant boy routine is tired, Isaac. And your acting is terrible. Stop pretending.” “You purposely saved me just to get my attention, didn’t you?” She locked me away in her Hudson Valley estate, promising she would break me in slowly. Then, a late-night fire claimed my life. Now, I open my eyes. Outside the apothecary, there is a heavy, muffled thud against the oak door. I look down, take a slow sip of my chamomile tea, and pretend I didn’t hear a thing. 1 In my past life, Wendy Sheffield locked me away in that secluded estate in the Hudson Valley. She said my pride was too stubborn; it needed to be broken. She said since I had chosen to be her kept man, I needed to learn how to serve my master. After she left, Pierce broke in with his thugs. His designer leather shoe ground into my face, his laugh cold and poisonous. “A backwoods herbalist dreaming of marrying into the Sheffield dynasty? Wendy just wanted a taste of something organic. One bite, and once she’s sick of it, she throws it in the trash.” Gasoline poured over my face, burning my eyes, choking my throat. He turned and walked away. The heavy iron doors of the estate were padlocked from the outside. The entire forest went up in flames with me. Until the moment I died, I didn’t know what I had done wrong. I had only tried to save a life. Now, I open my eyes. I’m back in my familiar apothecary, surrounded by the comforting scents of dried lavender, ginseng, and cedarwood. Outside, there is a heavy, muffled thud against the oak door. I look down, take another sip of my tea, and pretend I didn’t hear it. It goes quiet for a moment. Then, desperate pounding starts. I don’t budge. It’s two in the morning. I’m going to bed. If the morning commuters find a body on my steps, it has nothing to do with me. The pounding grows faster, frantic with panic at my silence. Suddenly— “CRACK.” The old wooden frame gives way as the door is violently kicked open. I bolt upright, rushing down the stairs from my loft. The brass lock lies shattered on the floorboard. Wendy Sheffield stumbles in, one hand clutching her chest. Her face is paper-white, her lips a sickly shade of bluish-purple. A wave of fury hits me. If she had the strength to break down a solid oak door, why couldn’t she drive herself to the ER? Wendy’s eyes cut through the dark, locking onto me with absolute, demanding authority. “Come here,” she gasps. “The needles… the herbal tea. Now.” I take three steps back. I pull out my phone and dial 911. I state my address clearly, calmly, and hang up. Then, I open my camera and hit record. I point the lens directly at her. “It is 2:15 AM. This woman just broke into my property. I have called an ambulance. This video is proof that I have not touched her.” Wendy’s pupils dilate. A raspy, disbelieving hiss slips through her teeth. “What… what are you doing?” “Securing evidence,” I say, my voice flat. “If anything happens to you, I am not liable.” Her chest heaves. She has clearly never been treated this way in her life. The great Wendy Sheffield, the woman whose nod can sway the city’s real estate market. “You—” She doesn’t finish. Her knees buckle, and she collapses onto the floor, unconscious. The ambulance arrives within minutes. I follow them to the hospital, mostly to ensure my name is cleared. In the sterile, fluorescent corridor of the ER, the sharp click of leather shoes echoes off the linoleum. Pierce storms toward me, his hand already swinging to strike my face. “You drugged Wendy, didn’t you? I know your type!” I catch his arm, shoving it back. “Get your facts straight. Your fiancée broke down my door in the middle of the night. If I hadn’t called 911, she’d be a corpse right now.” Wendy’s mother, Catherine Sheffield, follows closely behind. Her sharp eyes sweep over me like she’s inspecting a cheap knock-off at a flea market. “You saved my daughter, so of course you will be compensated,” she says. “But you need to understand your place. Know what you are entitled to, and more importantly, what you are not.” She sighs. “Wendy is too naive. She doesn’t understand how predatory men from your background can be. She fell right into your little trap.” Pierce suddenly grabs me by the collar, twisting the fabric so tightly it cuts off my breath. His voice escalates to a shrill, accusatory pitch. “What is this? Did she kiss you here? How many times did you have her? You shameless, parasitic leach!” I look down. He’s pointing at a red mark on my collarbone—a mosquito bite from yesterday afternoon. “That’s not—” Before I can finish, Pierce’s face contorts with sudden alarm. “Have you had a vasectomy?!” At those words, Catherine Sheffield’s expression shifts from disgust to sharp hostility. “You have no right to father a Sheffield child,” she says coldly, her voice cutting like glass. “Don’t think you can anchor yourself to our family with a pregnancy. Even if Wendy bore a hundred of your children, a man like you will never walk through our front door.” She immediately turns to her bodyguards, ordering them to drag me to the clinic downstairs for a vasectomy. Pierce lunges at me, trying to tear my shirt open. I shove him away with all my strength. “Why are you resisting?” Pierce sneers, his eyes burning with jealous rage. “I knew it. You calculated this entire thing just to trap her with a kid, didn’t you? In your dreams!” He kicks me hard in the stomach. The air leaves my lungs. I double over, my back slamming against the cold corridor wall. Just then, a booming voice echoes from the far end of the hall. “Stop right there!” Two police officers march toward us. “Who called?” “I did,” I choke out, leaning against the wall for support. Pierce snarls, “You actually had the nerve to call the cops, you piece of garbage?” I ignore him, unlocking my phone and pulling up the video. “This woman broke into my private property at two in the morning. I called 911 and saved her life. Her fiancé and mother arrived at the hospital, assaulted me, and are attempting to force a medical procedure on me against my will.” The video plays, showing everything from Wendy breaking my door to her fainting. Pierce and Catherine’s faces go pale. Pierce tries to save face, letting out a bitter laugh. “Even if that’s true, you should have left after saving her. Why are you still lingering here? You’re just trying to milk this for a payday!” The ER doors slide open. “The patient is awake.” Pierce and Catherine immediately turn to push past, but the doctor stops them. “She asked to see Isaac Prescott.” When I walk into the room, Wendy is propped up against the pillows. She is pale, but her eyes have already regained that cold, condescending sheen. “You play a very clever game, Isaac,” she says, her voice still rough from the attack. “Opening your apothecary right on my daily commute… I assume you dug up my medical records to find out about my heart condition.” “Then refusing to open the door, playing hard to get to make me think you’re special… Congratulations. It worked.” She sighs, looking at me with a weary sort of amusement. “Now that you’ve got what you wanted, you can close that little shop. I have an estate in the Hudson Valley. You’ll move in there, and I’ll visit you once a week. But first, you’ll go get a vasectomy. You are not fit to father my children.” “I don’t like my men flaunting themselves in public. You won’t leave the estate without my permission. My staff will take care of your daily needs.” The room falls into a dead silence. When I don’t show the breathless gratitude she expects, Wendy arches an eyebrow. “What? Surely you didn’t think you’d actually become Mr. Sheffield?” She speaks as if she’s doing me a favor. “Be sensible, Isaac. The Sheffield family is out of your league.” I look at her, completely disgusted, then turn to the door and call out, “Officers.” Wendy’s face freezes. She sits up straight. “Isaac, what are you—” Before she can finish, the police officer steps in and recites the details of the break-in. “Ma’am, we’ve reviewed the footage. Your medical episode has nothing to do with Mr. Prescott. Furthermore, you destroyed his property. You are liable for the damages.” Wendy’s smug expression crumbles into something dark and confused. She stares at me, unable to comprehend that a man offered her patronizing “benevolence” would choose to call the cops instead of bowing down. “Forget the damages,” I say, looking at her with pure aversion. “I only hope Miss Sheffield never shows her face near me again.” “She’s a curse.” Wendy lets out a soft, bitter chuckle. “You’re just emotional right now. Saying things you don’t mean.” She leans back against the pillows, her voice dripping with unshakeable confidence. “It’s natural. A windfall like this would overwhelm any man from your background. I’ll give you time to calm down.” I laugh out of sheer exasperation. Without a word, I turn on my heel and walk out. The next morning, State Medical Board vehicles pull up outside my apothecary. A bright red warning seal is plastered across my door. The neighbors gather in a tight circle, whispering. The inspector speaks loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Suspicion of using unregulated, hazardous substances, allegations of sexual harassment against a client, and practicing medicine without proper local authorization.” The crowd gasps. “I knew there was something off about him…” “Disgusting. To think I bought herbal tea here. Do you think he has cameras in there?” I don’t bother defending myself. In my past life, I screamed until my throat was raw, begging them to investigate the truth. All it got me was louder mockery and a broken lease slammed into my face by my landlord. Instead, I carefully take down the hand-carved wooden sign that had belonged to my grandfather—a legacy spanning three generations. I wrap it in an old canvas sheet and lock the door behind me. Back at my apartment, I pull out a business card from the very bottom of my desk drawer and dial the number. “The Integrative Medicine Summit tomorrow. I’ll be there.” That is all I say. On the other end of the line, there is a sharp, ecstatic gasp. After I hang up, a text from an unknown number comes through with a location pin. Followed by two words: “Come here.” There is no context, but I know exactly who it is. I stare at the screen, let out a cold laugh, and block the number without hesitation. An hour later, there is a heavy pounding on my door. Several large men in black suits stand on my threshold. “Mr. Prescott. Miss Sheffield wants to see you.” I give them a two-word answer: “Go away.” The lead man shoves past me, forcing his way into my living room. His eyes land on a delicate celadon urn sitting on my side table. With a casual flick of his wrist, he knocks it to the floor. The porcelain shatters, scattering fine, pale grey ash across the dark wood. “Oh, my bad,” he grins, showing his teeth. “We’re just blue-collar guys, we don’t know our own strength. If Mr. Prescott doesn’t cooperate, I’m afraid more things might start breaking.” My chest tightens so hard I can barely breathe. My mother’s ashes. I had carried them with me for ten years. I swallow the lump in my throat, my hands shaking. “I’ll go with you.” When I am escorted into the private VIP lounge, before I can even process the room, a glass of red wine is splashed directly into my face. Pierce stands there holding the empty glass, turning to the wealthy crowd gathered around the mahogany table. “See? I told you. Once he knew Wendy was here, he’d come crawling!” The table erupts into laughter, their eyes scanning me like I’m a cheap dish on a menu. “This is him? A bit plain, isn’t he?” “These charity cases are only fun for a week or two. You get sick of them fast.” Pierce grabs me by my collar. “Everyone gets one punch. Anyone who doesn’t hit him is insulting me.” Wendy sits in the center of the plush leather sofa, letting out a soft sigh. “Pierce is hurt, Isaac. Just take it.” “After all, he is my fiancé. You will have to get used to things like this.” I take a deep, shuddering breath. “Did you ever ask if I wanted any of this?” I lock eyes with Wendy, speaking slowly and deliberately. “I told you. I want nothing to do with you. And I sure as hell don’t want to be your kept pet.” Wendy shakes her head with patronizing pity. “The hard-to-get act works once or twice, Isaac. Keep it up, and it just becomes tedious.” Her tone shifts to one of cold instruction. “Right now, you should be learning how to please me.” With a sudden burst of adrenaline, I violently shove Pierce away. He shrieks in surprise as I grab a heavy wine bottle from the table and smash it against the edge of the hearth. The room falls dead silent. A woman in the corner gasps, “Well, he’s got spirit.” I throw the broken neck of the bottle down, push open the heavy double doors, and walk out without looking back. The next day. The International Integrative Medicine Summit, hosted by the world-renowned Prescott Global organization, is packed to the brim at the city’s grand convention center. I am seated in the very front row. As I look down at the program, a pair of designer stilettoes stops in front of my boots. Wendy’s voice drops from above. “Didn’t I tell you that I don’t like my men seeking attention in public?” I look up, meeting her visibly irritated gaze. “Not only did you sneak out, but you came to an event of this scale.” A woman in a red cocktail dress next to her leans over. “Wendy, is there a problem?” Wendy says dismissively, “Nothing. Just a boy who needs to be taught his place.” The woman follows Wendy’s gaze to me. Her expression freezes. Her entire posture changes, straightening into a stance of absolute reverence. “Dr. Prescott! You actually came! We invited you so many times, but you always declined… Having you here today is an absolute honor…” She doesn’t even finish her sentence. Wendy’s face turns completely pale. Her eyes have finally traveled down to the nameplate on my seat. “HONORED GUEST — ISAAC PRESCOTT.” She is silent for a few seconds, then lets out a soft, mocking laugh. “I have to hand it to you,” she whispers, leaning down close to my ear. “You really have a lot of tricks up your sleeve. The independent boy act wasn’t enough, so you set up this little display of competence just to make me think you’re special, right?” Her smile widens, but her eyes remain freezing cold. “But unfortunately for you…” She straightens up. “You don’t realize that this entire summit is organized by Prescott Global. And my family has deep, personal ties with their executive board.” She raises a hand, beckoning the event coordinator over. Pointing a finger at me, she says, “This man. Remove him. Blacklist him from the industry.” The coordinator doesn’t move. I don’t move either. Wendy’s brow furrows. “What are you waiting for?” Then she notices something. The crowd that usually flocks around her is backing away. A ten-foot empty circle has formed around her. I smile. “Do you know why this international organization is called Prescott Global?” I finally speak, meeting her trembling, uncertain gaze. “Because my grandfather founded it. His name was Alistair Prescott.” The side doors of the auditorium fly open. An elegant, white-haired man rushes in, the gold President’s medallion of the Prescott Foundation pinned to his lapel. Following right behind him, looking utterly disheveled and grey-faced, is Catherine Sheffield. “Dr. Prescott!” The white-haired president rushes to my side, bowing his head respectfully. “Thank you for waiting, sir.” And behind him, Catherine Sheffield bends her waist in a deep, ninety-degree bow.

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I can see the countdown that marks the exact moment someone decides to leave their partner. The day the numbers above my father’s head hit zero, he laid a set of divorce papers on the kitchen island and walked out on my mother and me without looking back. The day my best friend Rachel’s clock hit zero, she finally found the courage to pack her bags and leave her toxic ex. My greatest fear in life was seeing those numbers appear above Dan’s head. But for seven years of marriage, his crown was clean. Not a single digit. Nothing. I spent those seven years believing I was the luckiest woman alive. I had married a truly good man. Until last month, when he came to pick me up from work. I looked up as I got into the passenger seat, and a bleeding, crimson timer sliced through the dim evening light: [702 days, 14 hours, 22 minutes.] Less than two years. My chest tightened, a cold panic seizing my lungs. I started looking for answers, searching frantically through our quiet, comfortable life. Had I done something wrong? Had his heart wandered? And then came the storm. We were parked outside his office building when we ran into his new intern, Lexie. She was drenched to the bone, but her smile was brilliant, radiant against the grey afternoon. Dan handed her a napkin, his face an unreadable mask of professional detachment. But in that exact microsecond, the numbers above his head flickered and plummeted: [327 days, 4 hours, 47 minutes.] A drop of over three hundred days. The roar of the rain was deafening. But in that silence, I knew. I had found my answer. 1 “Dan, Nancy, I am so, so sorry. The weather is insane, and I couldn’t get an Uber to save my life.” The car door flew open. A gust of wet wind whipped into the cabin, spraying the leather seats. Lexie shook her umbrella and slid into the back seat, bringing a wave of damp, humid air with her. Her white chiffon blouse clung to her skin, and her dark hair dripped onto her shoulders. She looked like a drowned rat, yet she was glowing. Dan’s hands remained on the steering wheel. He didn’t turn around. He simply reached into the center console, pulled out a handful of tissues, and stretched his arm over my shoulder, offering them to the back. “Dry off,” he said, his voice carrying that warm, familiar kindness. “You’ll catch a cold.” Lexie took them, her fingers deliberately brushing his knuckles. She didn’t flinch. “Thanks, Dan. I knew you always looked out for us poor, struggling interns.” She giggled, entirely devoid of the deference usually reserved for a CEO. Dan pulled his hand back, his thumb lightly tracing the leather of the steering wheel. “It’s not easy for a young girl, running sales calls in this city.” I sat in the passenger seat, staring at the windshield. The wipers slammed back and forth, dragging heavy sheets of water across the glass. And right when Dan uttered that soft, empathetic phrase—not easy—the red numbers above his head shifted again. The crimson light flashed, dropping from [327 days, 4 hours, 47 minutes] to [289 days, 10 hours, 12 minutes.] Just like that. A month of our remaining marriage evaporated because of a single puff of cheap empathy. I closed my eyes, a dull ache blooming in my stomach. “Is the AC too high?” Dan asked suddenly. I opened my eyes, thinking he was speaking to me. I was about to say I was fine when a sneeze echoed from the back seat. “A little,” Lexie said, her voice shivering. “My clothes are soaked. The air vent is blowing right on me.” Dan looked down at the console, turning the temperature dial up three degrees. Then, his eyes fell on the cashmere throw draped over my lap. It was a blanket I’d kept in the car for chilly evenings. “Nancy,” he said softly. “Give Lexie the blanket. She’s shivering.” I turned my head to look at him. The cabin was dim, the passing streetlights casting sharp shadows across his handsome profile. His expression was completely open, free of guilt. It was the face of a man performing a simple act of charity. This was Dan. A perfect husband in everyone’s eyes—gentle, attentive, radiating a suffocating sense of decency. Without a word, I lifted the blanket and passed it back. “Oh, thanks, Nancy!” Lexie wrapped herself in it. “You’re so sweet. Dan is incredibly lucky to have you.” She sniffed, letting out a satisfied sigh. I looked up at his head. [260 days, 5 hours, 08 minutes.] Another twenty-nine days gone. The car lapsed into silence, save for the hum of the tires against the wet asphalt. Up ahead, we approached an intersection. A left turn led to the French bistro I had booked two weeks ago for our anniversary. Straight ahead lay the run-down, warehouse district on the edge of town where Lexie rented an apartment. Dan flicked the turn signal. Straight. I watched the flashing green arrow on the dashboard. “Aren’t we going to dinner?” My voice was quiet, almost lost to the storm. Dan pressed the brakes and offered a fleeting, apologetic look. “The storm is too bad, Nancy. Her neighborhood isn’t safe for a girl to walk alone at night, especially drenched like this. Let’s drop her off first. We can do dinner afterward.” “They only hold our table until eight,” I said. “It’s already seven-thirty.” Dan’s brow furrowed. “Nancy, she’s my employee. I can’t leave her stranded in a deluge. It’s just a dinner. If we miss it, I’ll take you out tomorrow to make up for it.” He spoke with such absolute righteousness. In his mind, his actions were rooted in pure benevolence. Therefore, any objection on my part was merely a childish tantrum. From the back, Lexie leaned her head forward. “Dan, honestly, you can just drop me at the subway station. I don’t want to get in the way of your anniversary.” Her tone was dripping with sincerity, but we both knew there wasn’t a subway station for miles. Dan’s frown deepened. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not navigating the subway in this weather.” The light turned green. Dan stepped on the gas, and the car surged straight through the intersection, leaving the quiet romance of the French restaurant behind us. The numbers flickered: [201 days, 2 hours, 30 minutes.] “Thanks, Dan,” Lexie murmured. 2 It was past eight-thirty by the time we dropped her off. The rain had only intensified, turning into a relentless downpour. Dan parked in our apartment’s underground garage and cut the engine. He unbuckled his seatbelt and reached over to unclip mine. “I’m sorry, Nancy.” His hand brushed against my collarbone, his skin radiating warmth. “Tomorrow, I’ll cancel all my meetings. I’ll take you back to that restaurant, okay?” I stared at him. After seven years of marriage, his face was still the most familiar thing in my world—still handsome, still soft. But the glowing red numbers above him were blinding. [198 days, 11 hours, 45 minutes.] I unbuckled myself and opened the car door. “It’s fine. I’m tired. I just want to go upstairs.” We didn’t speak for the rest of the night. When I stepped out of the shower, my head felt heavy, and my throat burned. The cold draft in the car had caught up with me. Dan walked out of the kitchen carrying a glass of warm water. Seeing my pale face, he immediately came over and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. “You’re burning up,” he said, his brows knitting together. “Did you catch a cold in the car?” He guided me to the sofa, his touch as gentle as if I were made of glass. He fetched the medicine box, pulled out fever reducers, and went back to the kitchen to brew some lemon-ginger tea. “Take this first.” He placed the pills in my hand and watched me swallow them. “I’ll make you some hot soup. Go lie down in bed.” I leaned back against the pillows, listening to the familiar sounds drifting from the kitchen—the rhythmic chop of ginger, the clink of metal, the soft boil of water. This was the man I married. He had never raised his voice, never mistreated me, never withheld affection. He was the husband who would fuss over me when I was sick, who would show up with an umbrella in a storm. He was flawless. And that was exactly how I had allowed myself to be slowly anesthetized by seven years of quiet domestic bliss. Until the clock appeared. Dan walked into the bedroom, carefully placing a mug of steaming tea on the nightstand. “Let it cool down a bit before you drink it.” He sat on the edge of the mattress and took my hand. “Are you still mad at me?” He smiled, gently rubbing my knuckles. “I promise you, I just felt sorry for her. She’s young and struggling. You’re the only one in my heart.” I looked at him. Was I? I looked at the numbers. [198 days, 10 hours, 20 minutes.] The timer hadn’t budged. His guilt, his tenderness, his soft promises—none of it bought us even a single extra second. I closed my eyes and quietly pulled my hand from his grasp. “I’m not mad.” Right then, his phone rang, shattering the quiet of the bedroom. Dan hesitated, picking up the device from the nightstand. The screen lit up with Lexie’s name. He glanced at me, his eyes shifting slightly. Instead of declining, he pressed answer and put it on speaker. It was his favorite way of proving he had nothing to hide. “Dan…” Lexie’s voice came through, trembling and thick with tears. “What’s wrong?” Dan’s voice tightened instantly. “My… my roommate locked me out.” She sobbed, the sound of heavy rain roaring in her background. “I was in the shower and realized I forgot a towel. I stepped out into the hallway wrapped in one, and a draft slammed the door shut. My keys and phone are inside. I’m calling from the corner store downstairs. Dan, I’m so sorry… I didn’t know who else to call.” Dan stood up so fast his chair scraped against the floor. “Stay in the store. Do not go anywhere!” His panic was palpable. “I’m coming.” He hung up and immediately reached for his jacket on the hanger. “Nancy, Lexie has an emergency. I have to go,” he said, throwing the jacket over his shoulders. I leaned against the headboard, watching him. “It’s pouring out there.” “I know.” “And I have a fever.” His movements paused. He walked back to the bed, reaching out to stroke my cheek. “You took the medicine. Just sleep, okay? You’ll feel better in the morning. She’s standing outside in a towel, Nancy. If I don’t go, something terrible could happen.” His voice carried the weight of a soldier heading to the front lines. “Wait for me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” With that, he turned and strode out of the bedroom. The front door clicked shut. I looked at the mug of ginger tea, still radiating heat on the nightstand. Then I looked at the empty space where he had just stood. The crimson numbers seemed to bleed into the dim room. [120 days, 8 hours, 15 minutes.] “Okay,” I whispered to the empty room. “I’ll wait.” 3 My fever broke the next morning, but my throat was raw and my voice was entirely gone. Dan hadn’t returned. At six in the morning, a text from him popped up: “Her landlord was unreachable. I checked her into a motel nearby to get her out of the cold. Just got to the office. Make sure you take your meds.” I stared at the words. Motel. Nearby. I didn’t think they had slept together. Dan had his boundaries, his moral codes. But the mere sight of those words made my chest ache. That afternoon, I drove over to his office. Rachel had borrowed my car the day before and had left it in his building’s parking garage. I also needed to drop off some financial documents Dan had left on our study desk. When I pushed open the glass doors of his executive suite, the office was quiet. Dan was in a budget meeting. Lexie was sitting at her assistant desk, typing away. When she saw me, she practically bounced out of her chair. “Nancy! Oh my gosh, you’re here! Are you feeling better?” She smiled, showing a row of perfect white teeth. She was wearing a baggy, oversized men’s windbreaker. The sleeves were rolled up twice, but it still swallowed her. It was Dan’s favorite jacket. Dan was incredibly particular about his belongings; he hated anyone touching his clothes, let alone wearing them. Lexie noticed my stare and tugged at the hem, offering a bright, effortless smile. “Oh, Nancy, don’t get the wrong idea,” she said, her voice dripping with innocence. “My clothes were still wet this morning, and the motel didn’t have a dryer. Dan didn’t want me showing up to work in damp clothes, so he let me borrow this. He’s honestly the sweetest boss ever. No ego at all.” Her eyes were clear, her tone light. She wasn’t trying to provoke me. She genuinely believed she was just praising a kind mentor. I stepped forward and placed the documents on her desk. “I see.” My eyes drifted down to her desk. Next to her monitor sat a small, white ceramic humidifier shaped like a sleeping cat. A month ago, I had found a pair of them at a local boutique. I bought them because they were charming. One sat on my nightstand; the other, I had told Dan to keep at his desk. Now, it was puffing a steady stream of mist directly into Lexie’s face. Lexie followed my gaze. “Oh, this?” She tapped the cat’s ear. “The office air conditioning makes my skin so dry. Dan saw me struggling this morning and just handed it to me. Isn’t it adorable?” She smiled at me. I didn’t say a word. I turned and walked into Dan’s private office. His desk was immaculate. The corner where the little ceramic cat once sat was completely bare. Ten minutes later, the door opened and Dan walked in. Seeing me on the leather sofa, he froze. “Nancy? What are you doing here? I thought you were resting at home.” He walked over, his hand instinctively reaching for my forehead. I tilted my head back, avoiding his touch. His hand hovered in the air for a second before he dropped it, looking slightly hurt. “Are you still upset?” He sighed, sitting in the armchair opposite me. “Last night was an emergency, Nancy. I couldn’t just leave a young girl out on the street.” “That windbreaker,” I said, my voice hoarse. “You hate when people touch your things.” Dan’s brow furrowed. “Nancy, don’t be petty. Her clothes were wet. She couldn’t very well work in a wet shirt all day.” “And the humidifier?” I asked. “Was that an emergency too?” A shadow of discomfort crossed his face, but he quickly recovered his familiar, self-righteous armor. “It was just sitting on my desk doing nothing. Her desk is right under the draft, and she was uncomfortable. If you like it that much, I’ll buy you ten of them. Nancy, you’ve never been this insecure. Making a scene over a cheap plastic toy… it’s beneath you.” Insecure. Beneath me. I looked above his head. [89 days, 12 hours, 05 minutes.] Below a hundred days. A sudden, bitter amusement washed over me. When a man has already checked out of a relationship, even your breathing is an annoyance. I stood up and picked up my purse. “You’re right,” I said quietly. “It is beneath me.” 4 When I walked out of the building, the sky had turned a bruising shade of slate grey. Rachel handed me my car keys, studying my face with deep concern. “You look like a ghost, Nancy. Did you and the golden boy have a fight?” “No,” I replied, shaking my head. We hadn’t fought. We hadn’t even raised our voices. We were simply marching quietly toward our predetermined expiration date. By four in the afternoon, the sky had gone completely black. The rain fell in heavy, punishing sheets. I drove out to my mother’s old cottage in the valley. It was the only piece of her she had left me, filled with boxes of her old journals and childhood photo albums. The property manager had called to tell me the basement was flooding. I spent two hours wading through freezing, muddy water, hauling heavy plastic bins up to the main floor. By the time I finished, my clothes were soaked, my hands were raw, and my body was shaking from the cold. On the drive back, taking a quiet side road, the engine sputtered and died. The water on the road had been deeper than I realized, flooding the exhaust. There were no streetlights. Only the violent drumming of rain on the roof of my dead car. I pulled out my phone. The battery was at fifteen percent. I dialed Dan’s number. After seven years, it was still my reflex when the world fell apart. The phone rang for a long time before he finally answered. “Nancy,” he said, his voice drowned out by a chaotic background. I could hear shouting and high-pitched crying. “Dan, my car stalled on the bypass. The road is flooded and there are no Ubers out here. Can you come get me?” I gripped the steering wheel, my fingers stiff with cold. There was a beat of silence on the line. Then, Lexie’s hysterical screams pierced the speaker. “I can’t fix this! I don’t have that kind of money! Just let me jump! I’ll just jump!” Dan’s voice instantly turned sharp and frantic. “Get away from the ledge! What are you doing?!” Then, he spoke rapidly into the receiver. “Nancy, Lexie made a massive mistake on a client account. She’s hysterical and threatening to jump from the office roof. I can’t leave her right now.” He paused, his voice dropping slightly. “Call a tow truck or take a cab. I’ll pay for it. I have to go.” The line went dead. I stared at the black screen of my phone. The air inside the car felt colder than the floodwater outside. I didn’t try to call him back. I didn’t call a tow truck. I pushed the door open and stepped into the storm. The rain blinded me instantly, soaking through my clothes in seconds. I walked along the shoulder of the road, wading through ankle-deep water, keeping my eyes fixed on the distant glow of the main highway. It took me nearly an hour to cover the two miles to a small diner, where I finally managed to hail a cab. It was past ten when I got back to our apartment. The unit was pitch black. I didn’t bother turning on the lights. I walked into the bedroom, pulled my suitcase from the closet, and began to pack. I took only my clothes and a few personal items. The jewelry, the designer bags—everything Dan had bought me over the years—remained perfectly arranged in their places. In the study, I booted up the computer, printed a document, and sat at the desk. I signed my name at the bottom of the final page. Nancy Cross. My signature was clean, steady, without a hint of hesitation. I placed the papers on the kitchen island, placing his spare key directly on top of them. Then, I wheeled my suitcase out of the home we had shared for seven years. As the door clicked shut behind me, the hollow ache in my chest finally went numb. At dawn the next morning, Dan unlocked the front door, his face pale with exhaustion. He had spent the entire night talking Lexie down and driving her back to her apartment. “Nancy, I’m home,” he called out, kicking off his shoes. Silence greeted him. Frowning, he flicked on the living room lights. His eyes locked onto the white sheets of paper sitting on the kitchen island. He walked over and picked them up. The words Divorce Agreement stared back at him. His breath hitched, his chest tightening as his eyes fell on her neat signature at the bottom. And in that exact moment, the glowing red numbers above his head began to flicker violently. [89 days, 12 hours, 05 minutes.] The digits blurred, spinning backward before solidifying. [125 days, 7 hours, 30 minutes.] For the first time in my life, the clock had moved backward.

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