Seven men walk out of my mother’s chamber that night, tightening their belts as they go. My father stands at the end of the hall with his new whore draped on his arm, watching Mother fall apart and enjoying every second of it. “You used to walk around like a true Wynne lady,” he says. “Too pure to share a roof with my Sera.” “Now half the town’s hands have been on you. Surely you can let me take Sera as my second wife.” Mother doesn’t scream. She doesn’t weep. She just walks to the hearth and drops his betrothal locket into the fire. The next morning, Father throws a wedding bigger than the one he gave Mother. Banners. Trumpets. Every lord and lady in the town is packed into our great hall. Seraphina glides down the aisle in white silk, smiling like she’s already won. I sit beside Mother, holding her cold hand under the table. Then it happens. A bundle of parchment comes raining down from the gallery above. Drawings. Dozens of them. My mother. Naked. On her knees. Strangers’ hands all over her. I lunge for them. I tear what I can reach. I throw my body over the ones I can’t. “Don’t look at her! Stop looking at her!” I scream until my throat tears. But everyone has already seen. The laughter starts low, then spreads like fire in dry hay. Father stands up. His face is purple. “If you love showing yourself off so much — then by God, I’ll let you show yourself off.” “Guards! Put her on the Wooden Horse!” I scream. I claw at the old nurse’s hands as she drags me from the hall. The Wooden Horse. I’ve heard the old nurse whisper about it before, “The cruelest thing they can do to a woman, my lady. That’s all you need to know.” Now, I see it: it’s a wooden beast, they make a woman ride, torn open between her legs — bleeding, ruined, no good for any man or any child, ever again. Their laughter follows me down the corridor. “A woman who’s ridden the Wooden Horse pisses herself the rest of her life. Might as well be dead.” “Generous of the Earl, sharing his own wife with us.” “Sweeter than any tavern girl, I’ll swear.” I go cold all over. The old nurse drags me back to my chamber. I’m not in my body anymore. I sit by the window all night. Mother doesn’t come. She doesn’t come at dawn either. It’s nearly noon when I’m finally allowed into her room. The smell hits me first. Blood and worse. She’s lying on the bed, eyes open, staring at nothing. Her nightgown is white, but under it she is every color a body shouldn’t be. Black. Purple. Yellow at the edges. “Mama —” My hand shakes too hard to touch her. I turn for the door, ready to scream for a physician — The curtain whips open. Father walks in with Seraphina painted up on his arm. He smells the room and recoils, pressing his sleeve over his nose. He looks down at Mother like she’s a stain on the floor. “Elinor. Stop performing.” “I told every man not to actually touch you. Must you put on this dying act?” I open my mouth to fight him. To tell him she’s broken in pieces. Mother grabs my wrist first. From under her pillow she pulls out a folded parchment. “Cedric.” Her voice is paper. “I want an annulment. I’ll take it to the bishop myself.” “I want nothing of this Keep. No gold. No land. No title.” “Only Pearl.” Father’s brow knots. Then he laughs, short and ugly. “Don’t be stupid, Elinor. Your father is dead. Your brother is dead. Your mother’s been dead since you were a girl. Where would you even go?” I freeze. So he remembers. He remembers that my uncle drew the heathen arrows off his back and died with a thousand of them in his chest, his body still lying somewhere in the wastelands without so much as a stone. He remembers my grandfather striking his own head against the throne room steps until the King granted him the seal that saved Father’s army. He remembers kneeling before the Wynne crest, sword in both hands, swearing on the blade: I, Cedric Thorne, will keep Elinor Wynne safe all my days. One wife. One love. No other. But “all my days” turned out to be three years. Three years before he came back from the northern wars with a woman on his saddle. Because she was an orphan, he said, Mother should be kind. Give Seraphina the best chambers. Because Seraphina sneezed at white roses, Mother’s garden — five years of her own hands in the soil — was ripped out by morning. And when Mother carried my baby brother, and Seraphina whispered the child’s stars would cross hers and shorten her life — Father held Mother down himself and forced a full cup of pennyroyal down her throat. She bled all night. I heard her scream through three walls. Father was in the great hall. Music. Wine. Seraphina on his lap. The drums drowned everything. That was the night the father who used to lift me onto his shoulders to watch the festival fires — died.

As if afraid Mother will say the word annulment again, Cedric snatches the parchment and throws it into the hearth. The flames eat it in a breath. He sighs, soft. Reaches out to stroke her hair the way he used to. Mother turns her face away. His hand stops in midair. He pulls back like she’s burned him, and his face goes black. “Tonight I’m taking Sera to the Queen’s feast. Give her your bridal circlet. The gold one. With the sapphires.” “No!” I’m on my feet before Mother can speak. “That belonged to my grandmother. It’s the only piece of she has left. No one touches it.” Seraphina’s eyes flood on cue. “My lord. I shouldn’t have asked. I’m not worthy of Lady Elinor’s heirlooms.” “I have no mother to leave me jewels. Let them laugh at me at court. I deserve it.” Father’s face drops to ice. “Elinor. This is how you raise my daughter? Sharp-tongued. No respect. Maybe she should be handed over to Sera from now on. Let Sera teach her what obedience looks like.” Mother goes white. She drags herself off the bed and puts her body between us. “Take the circlet. Take all of it. Don’t touch my girl.” Seraphina smiles, just for a flicker. Then, sweetly, “My lord. I’m afraid I’ll embarrass myself at the Queen’s table. Why not let Lady Elinor come along as my handmaid? She can guide me. Keep me from shaming you.” A highborn wife. Serving the whore as her maid. That isn’t guidance. That’s the knife twisting. “Done.” he doesn’t even pause. By dusk, they throw a servant’s dress through the door. Mother stands up. Every step makes her flinch. She pulls the rough cloth over her bruises body slow. I can’t stop crying. She wipes my face with her thumb. Then she presses something cool into my palm. A white bone hairpin, carved like a feather. “Pearl. Listen. I may not have much time left with you.” “When I’m gone, take this north. Find Lord Rowan Ashford. The Border Marquess. He was your grandfather’s sworn ward. He will protect you with his life.” I clutch the hairpin so hard it cuts my palm. I know what she is. A candle burned down to nothing. She fought. God knows she fought. When Seraphina first arrived, Mother set her up in a small house just outside the town — quietly, so she wouldn’t ruin my fame living with us. The next morning, Father called Mother jealous, and made her crawl on her knees down the road, all ten miles, to beg Seraphina back. Six months ago, when Mother woke up from the pennyroyal, she took a knife and went straight for Seraphina’s room. Cedric caught her at the door. He dragged her back by her hair and told her if she ever crossed Seraphina’s threshold again, he’d dig up Grandmother’s bones from the family crypt and scatter them to the dogs. Three days ago, filthy drawings of Seraphina from her whoring days started showing up all over Thornhold Keep. Father decided Mother had done it. That same night, he drugged Mother and locked her in a room with seven beggars. That was when the last light went out of her eyes. I curl into her thin chest and feel every rib. “Mama —”

Seraphina isn’t finished with us. At the Queen’s feast, she makes a show of it. “Wynne, pour the wine.” “Wynne, on your knees with the cup.” “Wynne, hold my hem.” Every lady at court sees it. Elinor Wynne. Lord Cedric Thorne’s own wife. On her knees. Serving a whore. When she’s drunk on it, she leads us out to the gardens, to a quiet lake under the willows. She pulls a gold earring from her ear and flicks it into the water. “Pick it up.” Mother doesn’t move. “You’re my maid now, Wynne! You do what I say!” Mother’s voice is ice. “Dress a whore in silk. She’s still a whore.” Seraphina’s hand snaps back to strike. I throw myself in front of Mother. “Don’t you touch her!” “You little bitch —” She swings for me instead. Mother pulls me in fast and Seraphina’s nails rake down her throat. Four red lines. For one second, my mother looks like a Wynne again. Back straight. Chin up. Seraphina actually steps back. Then she laughs. “A cat with no teeth. All hiss, no bite.” “Fine. Don’t pick it up. But your daughter will pay for every minute you make me wait.” “You wouldn’t dare.” Mother’s eyes blaze. “Pearl is the heir of Thorne family. Touch her and I’ll come back from the grave for you.” “Oh, I know.” Seraphina smiles. “Half the families in the capital want a marriage contract with her. Should I tell Cedric to give her to Lord Coren’s son? Or the Chancellor’s boy?” Both of them are known monsters. One has buried three chambermaids. The other likes to share his women with his hunting hounds. Mother shakes. Then she nods, jaw locked. “I’ll pick it up.” The lake is autumn-cold. Mother wades in step by step. Her lips turn blue inside a minute. Her face goes grey. “Mama, come out! Please come out —” Seraphina backhands me across the mouth. Then again. “Shut up, you little bitch. One more sound and I’ll cut your tongue out.” I taste blood and I do not look away from her. Then a voice cuts through the willows. “What in God’s name is going on?” Cedric. Seraphina moves like a snake. She grabs my hand, presses it flat against her chest — and throws herself backwards over the railing. The splash sends water up the bank. Cedric doesn’t even look at the lake. He dives straight for her. He drags her up against his chest, white with terror, and doesn’t see — doesn’t see — Mother going under in the middle of the lake. It’s one of the Queen’s guards who runs for Mother. Pulls her out half-drowned. Seraphina is shaking in Cedric’s arms, soaked and beautiful. She sees me and screams. “No — please — my lady, I’m sorry — don’t strike me again —” “I never touched you!” I point at the marks on my own face. “She made my mother go into the lake! She hit me! She called me a bitch and shout at my mother —” Cedric finally looks at Mother. She is barely breathing. Something passes through his face. Something almost guilty. Seraphina sobs into his chest. “Lady Elinor hates me, I know. But to make her own child lie for her — to teach the girl such cruelty —” “Yes, I hit the child. She called me a thousand-man whore. She spat on my dead mother’s name —” “I’m low-born, but I have my pride. I’d rather die than bear this —” She lurches toward the lake again. Cedric catches her, of course. “Enough.” Cedric’s eyes go black. “Guards. Take Pearl to the chapel. Twenty lashes.” Mother throws herself in front of me. “I raised her. If anyone is to be whipped, whip me.” Father’s mouth twists. “Forty.” … The family chapel is cold as a tomb. Mother kneels on the flagstones. She is already swaying. The whip is leather, soaked in salt water. The first stroke opens her like wet parchment. Blood runs along the cracks between the stones and pools dark at her knees. I throw myself at Cedric’s feet. I claw at his boots. I press my face into the stone and beg until my voice gives out. “Please — please — I’ll do anything —” My tears run down my cheek. No one stops it. At forty, she coughs up a mouthful of blood and folds sideways onto the stone. I carry her back myself to her chambers. I send for the physician. I sit by her bed until my eyes won’t stay open. I slump against the edge of the bed and sleep takes me whether I want it or not. Sometime before dawn, someone comes in. Cedric. He kneels by her bed. His fingers shake as he lifts the cloth from her back. When he sees what’s under it, his whole body folds. A tear lands on her ruined skin. He starts dressing the wounds himself. His voice is wrecked. “Elinor. Why must you be so stubborn.” “Sera came from filth, yes, but her soul is good. She saved my life in the north. I’d be a corpse in the wastelands without her.” “Fine. If you truly hate her so much — I’ll send her away once she’s given me a child.” “And it’ll be the three of us again. The way it was.” I keep my eyes shut. There is no the three of us anymore.

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I’m a hundred and twenty years old.I look twenty. I’ll always look twenty.And I just watched my own son get beaten in the dirt by the woman my mates are about to marry. I’m a vampire. Pureblood. From the Nightshade line. The females of my bloodline live three times longer than any shifter. Our faces stop at twenty. They never change. So every few decades, we fake our deaths. New name. New territory. New life. It’s the only way to stay hidden in a world full of beasts who’d tear us open for a single drop of our blood. Ten years ago, I’d had enough. The Sacred Alpha of the wolves wanted me. The Blood Dragon Lord wanted me. Between the two of them? I couldn’t breathe. So I drank the slumber draught. I left my only pup behind. And I made them swear one thing before I vanished. Take care of him. After I “died,” I turned into their tragic obsession. The Luna whose name nobody in Crimson Hollow was allowed to say out loud. Ten years went by. I missed my pup too much. I came back in secret. I never expected this. The very first day I’m home, I see a bruised teenage boy at my stall. He’s clutching twenty gold coins in a shaking fist. He asks me in the smallest voice I’ve ever heard. “Miss. It’s my birthday today. I only have twenty coins. Can I please buy a honey-cake?” My heart shattered. I gave him the biggest one on the tray. He held it for three seconds. Three. Then a female slammed her boot into the back of his knees. A fluffy red tail flicked behind her. Fox ears twitched on top of her head. Sharp amber eyes. Same hair as mine. Same face. Almost. A fox shifter. She ground her heel into his hand and laughed. “Silas Thornwood. Stealing now? Guess somebody’s gotta beat the manners into you. Pity your dead bitch of a mother isn’t here to do it.” “Once I’m your daddies’ new Luna, nobody’s gonna ask why your body’s cold. They’ll just kiss the hand that did it.” Her amber eyes snapped to me. “And you. You sold food to this little half-breed mongrel? Are you stupid? Or just begging to die?” I stared at her. My pulse roared in my ears. Silas Thornwood. That was the name I gave him. She swung her bag and cracked it across his face. The bruise on his cheek split open. Fresh blood ran down to meet the old. But his eyes. Gods, his eyes still burned. He glared up at her. “You’re lying. My dad would never touch a snake like you. Shut your mouth about my mom.” He swung at her. Two wolf warriors grabbed his head and ground his face into the dirt. She laughed again. “Sweetie. Everyone in Crimson Hollow knows. Your two daddies belong to me now.” “I told you. Ten coins a month. Ten. And you blew twenty on a cake?” “No mama to raise you right. Guess I’ll have to.” Cold spread through me. His stubborn little face was the same face from ten years ago. The same face that had clung to my “corpse,” sobbing, begging me not to go. I’d asked them one thing. Protect him. I’d left behind enough gold to buy half the territory. And my pup couldn’t even afford a birthday cake. “Enough.” My voice came out quiet. Both warriors flinched. “The cake was a gift. From me. You got a problem? Take it up with me.” I shoved the warriors back. They stumbled. I pulled Silas behind me. A hundred and twenty years on this earth. One spoiled fox shifter was not going to be a problem. Silas hadn’t cried when they hit him. But the second I stepped in front of him, his eyes went red. “Miss. Please. Don’t. You can’t fight them. I’m used to it.” Used to it. He said it like it was nothing. That tore me open worse than the blood on his face. He was the first pup I’d carried in a hundred years. A boy. Not a girl. In my bloodline, only daughters inherit the long life. Sons age like anyone else. He was always going to grow old. He was always going to die before me. I couldn’t drag him on the run with me forever. Hiding. Never settling. Never safe. So I left him with Aldric and Cassian. They were strong. They had a Pack and a Dominion. They could give him a real life. For this? “You and I share a name, sweetheart.” I brushed the hair off his bloody forehead. “Today, I’m handling it.” The fox shifter folded her arms across her chest. War-paint streaked across her cheekbones. That smug little smile. Wearing my features like she’d skinned them off me. It made my skin crawl. “Aww. Look at the little stray rushing in to save her sweetheart.” She giggled. “Silas. Sneaking around with trader girls already? At fifteen?” Her amber eyes flicked to the cloth wrap covering half my face. “And you. Take that rag off. If you’re too ugly to show your face, then shut your mouth and crawl out of my sight before I drag you out by the hair.” Little stray. I almost laughed out loud. I’d forgotten about the wrap. I’d kept it on so no one would catch my scent. So no one would catch my face. Looking twenty forever comes with complications. Two more guards lunged at me. I kicked one across the dirt. Dropped the other with one strike to the throat. The fox shifter’s mouth fell open. I planted my hands on my hips. “Go on. Tear the tent down. Half the trading grounds are watching. I’m sure your Alpha mates will love hearing how their precious little fox beat a starving pup in front of the whole territory.” Her face went white. Then red. Blotchy. Ugly. Red. “You filthy little bitch.” “It’s just a healer’s tent. I’ve got gold to burn. I’ll buy this dump and torch it in front of you!” She ripped a message stone from the cord at her throat and snarled into it. “Aldric. My Alpha. There’s a little tent I want. Burn it down for me.” A pause. Then his voice came through the stone. A voice I hadn’t heard in ten years. Low. Cold. “Where.”

Seraphina cut the mindlink and tossed her red hair like she’d just won the whole damn war. “You wait right there, Silas. Once I’m done with your little sweetheart here, I’m gonna make sure your daddies hear every dirty thing you did today. You hear me, pup?” Silas’s small fingers were shaking against the back of my cloak. His voice came out so quiet I almost missed it. “Miss. When they get here, I’ll stall them. You run. Please. Don’t worry about me.” I turned and looked at his bruised little face. I smoothed his messy hair down. “I’m right here, pup. Nobody’s laying a hand on you. Not while I’m breathing.” It didn’t take half an hour. A male strode through the trading grounds, six wolf warriors flanking him in a tight V formation. They moved like one body. No words. No paint. Just that cold, clean weight of warriors who answered to the Sacred Alpha himself. I knew the male at the front. When I’d first met Darius, he was a scrappy pup barely promoted out of warrior ranks. Sharp eyes. Sharper mouth. I’d liked him back then. I’d been the one who pushed Aldric to take him on as Beta. Ten years later, all that kindness had burned right out of him. Now he had the polished edge of a male who’d done a lot of dirty work for the Thornwood Pack. Seraphina spotted him. Her smile dropped like a stone. “What the hell. Where’s my Alpha?” Darius didn’t even blink. “The Sacred Alpha is preparing for the Luna’s death rites. He has to kneel at the Moon Altar a hundred nights and chant the old prayers before the anniversary.” “He sent me instead. Wrap this up. I have a Pack to run.” His words hit me like cold rain. The anniversary. Right. My “death day” was only a few sunrises out. I remembered it. The night I drank the slumber draught. The way Aldric had wrapped himself around my cooling body and refused to let go. The way Cassian’s dragon had screamed inside him until his throat tore open. And now? Now they had a fox shifter wearing my face. They couldn’t even keep my pup fed. The Sacred Alpha. The Blood Dragon Lord. Two of the most powerful males alive. What a load of bullshit. Seraphina’s amber eyes glittered with jealousy. “It’s just a dead female. Why’s he wasting prayers on ash? She’s been dust for ten years.” Darius shot a glance at me and Silas. He didn’t bother hiding the disgust on his face. He shoved a rolled-up scroll at me. “How much for the tent. Five hundred gold. Don’t get greedy.” Then he turned to Silas. His voice dropped colder. “Young master. The Sacred Alpha is disappointed in you. Why can’t you be more like your mother?” I almost laughed out loud. Greedy. Five hundred gold wouldn’t even buy the back post of my tent. I picked up the scroll. Read it once. Tore it in half. Then in half again. I threw the pieces up and let them rain down like ash. “Not for sale. Not for ten thousand. Not for a hundred thousand. Not for a million.” Darius’s lip curled like he’d smelled something rotten. He’d dealt with my type before. The grasping kind. The ones who held out for a fatter pile of coin. To him, I was just another beggar with her hand out. “One thousand gold.” “Think hard, female. If you don’t sell, the Thornwood Pack has a hundred ways to make sure you don’t last another moon on these grounds.” “Trust me. You don’t want to find out which one we pick first.” I looked at the new scroll in his hand. Didn’t move. “Fine. You want my tent? Then you buy the whole stretch of land it sits on.” Because the tent was the cheap part. Every plot of land on this row of the trading grounds was mine. I’d quietly bought it generations ago. Under another name. A back door. A safety net. In case I ever wanted to come home. Nobody could touch it. Not without the blood-signature of one specific heir. Silas. Darius’s jaw locked. His eyes glazed the way a Beta’s do when he’s reaching out through pack mindlink. “Find out who owns this land. I want it bought in three minutes.” Ten heartbeats passed. Then his face went pale. A shaky voice came back through the link. Loud enough that even I caught the echo. “Beta Darius. The land can’t be touched. It’s tied to the Lyra Nightshade estate. Sealed under blood-claim. Only the named heir — Silas Thornwood — can release it.” Darius froze. He hadn’t heard that name spoken out loud in a long, long time. Slowly, he turned to look at Silas. His voice dropped to something almost gentle. Almost. “Young master. Just sign the land over. Call it a peace offering to Lady Seraphina. Don’t make this hard on me.” He held out the scroll. Pushed it toward Silas’s chest. Silas didn’t even hesitate. He grabbed it. Shoved it in his mouth. Chewed once. Spat the wet, mangled paper right into Darius’s face. “Anything,” he snarled, “anything my mother gave me. Nobody. Touches.” Darius’s fangs flashed. He took one step forward. That’s when we all heard it. The thunder of paws beyond the trading grounds. A whole hunting party, riding hard. Riding furious. Seraphina shoved Darius out of her way and ran for the gates, all smiles again. “Useless. Can’t even handle one little tent. My Alpha is here. Get out of my sight!” She spun on her heel. Pointed a clawed finger at me. At Silas. At the watching crowd. “Oh, sweetheart. You picked the wrong day to play hero.” “Nobody’s walking out of here. Not until you’re on the ground crying. And trust me. I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

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Three years into my deployment as a war correspondent in Syria, an artillery shell exploded near me. I lost my memory. I developed severe PTSD and spent the next two years confined to a psychiatric hospital in Germany. It wasn’t until two months ago that I finally remembered who I was. The day I flew back to New York, my best friend, Vicky, and my husband, Ethan, met me at JFK Airport. Vicky cried harder than I did. Ethan’s eyes were bloodshot, but his voice was as gentle as ever. “The new place is all set up, Chloe. Go ahead and settle in. I’ll come over to be with you right after work tonight.” But I didn’t go to the temporary apartment. I took a cab back to our old house in Long Island. The moment I pushed the front door open, I froze. Hanging on the living room wall was a massive wedding portrait. The bride wasn’t me. It was Vicky. Suddenly, I heard the sound of keys jingling at the door. Ethan, the man who was supposed to be swamped with work at his firm, walked in hand-in-hand with Vicky. He was carrying a toddler in his arms. The little boy chirped in a sweet, childish voice, “Daddy!” I stood there like a statue, completely forgetting how to breathe. We had only been apart for two years. How on earth was their child already three years old?

Ethan and Vicky froze. Vicky’s smile stiffened on her face, and Ethan let go of her hand as if he’d been electrocuted. He hurriedly handed the boy over to Vicky, his voice trembling. “Chloe… what are you doing here?” I stared blankly at the three of them, unable to utter a single word. Vicky held the boy tightly, tears instantly welling up in her eyes. “Chloe, please let me explain. It’s not what you think…” “Then what is it?” I pointed at the giant wedding photo on the wall, my fingers shaking uncontrollably. “Ethan, you married Vicky. How come nobody invited me to the wedding?” Ethan stepped forward, looking like he wanted to hug me, but he stopped halfway. “Chloe, it’s complicated. Two years ago, everyone thought you were dead. We only did this because…” “I was only missing for two years!” my voice cracked as I cut him off. “But your child is three! You two were sleeping together long before I went missing, weren’t you?” More than Ethan remarrying, what broke me was the betrayal. He had cheated on me during our marriage, and with my absolute best friend. Faced with my accusation, both Ethan and Vicky fell silent. Vicky kept sobbing, whispering “I’m sorry” over and over again. Ethan just stood there, speechless. I looked around the house again. The living room was cluttered with toys. The couch and curtains had been changed. Everywhere I looked, there were framed photos of their little family. In one photo, Vicky was holding the baby, leaning against Ethan’s chest with a radiant smile. That smile felt like a physical blade piercing straight through my eyes. After what felt like an eternity, Ethan finally spoke. “Chloe, let the past go. We are just so glad you’re alive.” “Let it go? Ethan, I went from being your legal wife to a homewrecker in my own home. How do I just let that go?” My raised voice startled the little boy, and he burst into tears. Vicky frantically tried to comfort him. Ethan looked at the crying child, his brow furrowing with annoyance. “Chloe, I know I messed up, but Vicky and Leo are innocent. Don’t throw a tantrum here.” This house was our wedding home. Now, not only was another woman living in it, but he was kicking me out. “I’m not leaving! This is my home!” But Ethan grabbed my wrist and dragged me out of the house. “Chloe, calm down! We’ll talk tomorrow. Don’t scare the kid.” The heavy front door slammed shut in my face. A moment later, I heard the faint sound of the boy giggling inside. I heard Ethan whispering, “Let Daddy hold you,” and Vicky calling him “sweetheart.” They were a picture-perfect, happy family. And I was just a crazy, hysterical intruder. A sudden, sharp ringing filled my ears. It felt like I was back on the battlefield from two years ago, with mortar shells raining down on me. Shrapnel felt like it was tearing through my skin again, leaving me in paralyzing pain. When I had first woken up in that German hospital, I couldn’t remember anything. But a voice in my head kept screaming that I had to survive, because someone was waiting for me at home. Relying on that single hope, I dragged myself back from the brink of madness day after day, enduring endless meds, IV drips, and therapy sessions. And when I finally remembered everything—my family, my high school sweetheart, my best friend—I ignored the doctors’ warnings. I dragged my broken body onto a twelve-hour flight back to the States. I never could have imagined this was the “welcome home” waiting for me. I curled up on the porch and cried for a long time. Eventually, I stood up, wiped my face, and drove straight to my parents’ estate. When I arrived, my mother, Eleanor, was sitting on the sofa reading a book. Tears rushed to my eyes again. I ran over and threw my arms around her. “Mom, I’m back.” Before I could say another word, she shoved me away. Then, a sharp slap stung my cheek. “Chloe! You cold-blooded monster! How dare you show your face here?”

I cupped my stinging cheek and looked up at her in shock. “Didn’t you say you wanted to spread your wings? Didn’t you just have to be a war correspondent? What are you back for now?” I took a deep breath. “Mom, Ethan and Vicky got married and had a kid. Did you know about this?” My mother’s expression remained cold and indifferent. “Of course I knew. I helped organize the wedding myself.” “What?” My eyes widened in sheer disbelief. “I am Ethan’s wife. I am your daughter. How could you…” “You still have the nerve to talk!” My father, Robert, stormed out of the study, his face red with anger. “We begged you not to go to Syria! You had a perfect life here, but you just had to go and seek death.” “When you went missing two years ago, we thought you were dead. Your mother cried herself to sleep every night.” “And what did you do? You didn’t even bother to make a single phone call to tell us you were alive. Now you walk in here and start interrogating us?” Before I could explain, the doorbell rang. Ethan and Vicky walked in, holding little Leo’s hands. Vicky gave a sweet smile. “Uncle Robert, Aunt Eleanor.” My mother’s face instantly lit up. “Oh, my sweet girl is here! Come in, come in.” She immediately scooped Leo into her arms. “Is my little angel hungry? Grandma is going to make you something delicious…” My sweet girl? Grandma? Watching this play out felt like a knife twisting in my chest. Vicky caught my gaze and gave a polite, awkward smile. “Oh, Chloe, you’re here too?” “Don’t speak to me,” I snapped. “I don’t have a friend like you.” “Stealing my husband and my family… you must be thrilled.” My mother turned around, her eyes glaring at me with fury. “Chloe, shut up! Are you trying to ruin this family’s peace?” “We watched Vicky grow up. She is ten times more thoughtful and sweet than you’ll ever be. She’s the one who took care of us these past two years while you were gone. Unlike you, she isn’t an ungrateful brat!” I looked at Ethan. He quickly shifted his gaze to the floor, unable to look me in the eye. Years ago, when I decided to go abroad, both of our families were dead against it. It was Ethan who fought everyone to support me. The day I left, he hugged me tightly at the airport. He kissed my forehead and said, “Chloe, do whatever makes you happy. I will always have your back.” But now, as my parents humiliated me, he stood there and said absolutely nothing. Finally, Vicky broke the tension. “Aunt Eleanor, please don’t be mad. Chloe just got back. Let’s have a nice family dinner together.” At the dining table, the five of them sat closely together. I was pushed to the far corner, and no one had even set a plate or fork for me. My mother kept piling food onto Vicky’s plate, worrying she wasn’t eating enough. My father was laughing, playing with Leo and handing him a toy. They talked about their daily lives, Ethan’s company projects, and what preschool they should enroll Leo in. I sat there like a ghost. The food in my mouth tasted like ash. I put my fork down and stood up. “I’m full.” They were too focused on the kid to even glance at me. I walked out of my parents’ house. The night breeze was freezing. My mind raced back to my career. I drove to my temporary apartment, pulled out my old laptop, and booted it up. That laptop contained all my raw footage and interviews from the war zone over the years. I tried to log into my GNN work account to upload them, but a notification popped up: Account Deactivated. The next morning, I went straight to the GNN headquarters. The young receptionist, Amy, stopped me at the desk. “I need to see your ID badge, please.” “My name is Chloe Smith. I was the network’s correspondent in the Middle East. I’m here to apply for reinstatement.” Amy typed something into her computer, then looked up, confused. “Chloe Smith… That name has been taken off the roster. And your position has already been filled.” “Filled? By whom?” Amy smiled warmly. “Vicky Brown. She’s our youngest senior correspondent. She actually just won a major international journalism award for her latest documentary.”

At the mention of Vicky, Amy’s eyes practically sparkled. “Vicky is incredible! Her documentary on the Syrian refugee crisis was absolute genius!” Amy clicked on the video on her screen to show me. There it was. Vicky’s name was plastered in bold letters across the screen: Executive Producer & Director. “See? It’s beautiful. Everyone in the office cried when we watched it.” I stared at the screen, my blood running cold. Every single photo, every interview clip, every frame… was footage I had captured while dodging bullets. They had simply edited my face out and dubbed Vicky’s voiceover on top. Throughout the entire documentary, my name didn’t appear once. And at the top of the sponsors’ list was The Jones Group. Ethan’s company. Only Ethan knew the password to my laptop and cloud storage. I slammed the laptop shut, ran to my car, and drove like a maniac toward Ethan’s corporate office. Suddenly, a loud honk from a semi-truck blared behind me. The noise was deafening. My head began to throb violently, and the sounds of the Syrian explosions echoed in my ears again. I covered my ears in panic, losing control of the steering wheel. My car veered off the road and crashed hard into the guardrail. By the time Ethan arrived at the scene, his face was pale. He looked like he wanted to yell at me, but seeing how white my face was, he pulled me into his arms instead. “It’s okay, Chloe. I’m here…” His embrace was still so warm—so warm it made me want to cry. But I shoved him away, tears streaming down my face. “Ethan, why did you give my footage to Vicky?” “You know I almost died trying to get those shots! You know how much that project meant to me…” I had spent two years planning that documentary. I had run through active crossfire with a heavy camera on my shoulder. I had been hit by shrapnel, blown back by blasts, and danced with death more times than I could count. That footage was paid for with my life. Ethan reached out, gently wiping the tears from my eyes. “Chloe, after your accident, everyone thought you were dead.” “I gave your files to Vicky so she could finish the project for you. What’s wrong with that?” I slapped his hand away. “Then what about my name? Why is my name nowhere on it? Why is she taking credit for my work?” “Because you were dead to the world!” Ethan’s voice turned chillingly pragmatic. “But Vicky is alive. She needed a major project to secure her anchor spot at the network. I invested in her, and her success benefits my company too.” I stared at him, feeling a sudden, terrifying chill. He felt like a complete stranger. The old Ethan would never let me suffer a single scratch or shed a single tear. But now, just days after my return, I felt like I had cried a lifetime of tears. Ethan shoved me into his car and drove me back to the new apartment. Before leaving, he tossed a black credit card onto the table. “Chloe, be reasonable. Stay here and focus on recovering. I’ll give you whatever amount of money you want as compensation.” “Vicky’s career is at a critical stage right now. Don’t ruin it for her. This is what your parents want too.” I sat on the cold floor of the empty living room and let out a bitter laugh. They had teamed up to hand my entire life over to Vicky, all because I wasn’t “obedient.” I opened my laptop, bypassed the deactivated work account, and logged into my personal backup drive. The raw, unedited footage was still there—complete with my face, my voice, and my timestamps. I edited a short comparison video, attached the original metadata, and posted it directly to Twitter and TikTok. Once it uploaded, I collapsed onto the bed and fell into a deep sleep. By sunrise, the internet had exploded. My phone was buzzing with thousands of notifications. The video had gained over ten million views. Vicky’s social media pages were flooded with hate comments, and Ethan’s company account was being dragged through the mud. “So Vicky is a thief?” “Wow, what a snake. Stealing from her dead best friend.” “I feel so bad for Chloe…”

Ethan called me dozens of times. I ignored them all. My parents sent furious messages demanding I take down the video. I didn’t reply. Within an hour, Vicky’s name was trending number one. But very quickly, the narrative began to shift. The Jones Group released an official statement claiming that my mental state was unstable due to severe trauma, and that my posts were completely fabricated. My family’s company immediately followed up by holding a live press conference. My parents stood before the cameras and displayed heavily redacted medical records from my time in the psychiatric ward. They painted me as a delusional, mentally ill woman who was maliciously targeting Vicky out of jealousy. At the press conference, my mother wept bitterly. “My daughter has become so bitter. We searched for her for two years, and she didn’t even tell us she was alive. Now she comes back just to destroy Vicky’s life. I don’t know how we raised someone like this…” Vicky sat beside her, her eyes red and tearful. “Chloe is my best friend. I didn’t know she was this sick. I don’t hold a grudge against her…” In an instant, public opinion flipped. “Oh, so she’s literally insane. You can’t trust a crazy person.” “Poor parents, having a daughter like that.” “I feel so bad for Vicky. She’s being harassed by a psycho.” My comment section was suddenly flooded with thousands of hateful slurs. “Psycho,” “Go die,” “Get help”—the notifications filled my screen. Before I could lock my phone, the door to my apartment was burst open. A group of security guards hired by my parents walked in. “Miss Smith, your mother ordered us to bring you home.” Home? Did I even have a home anymore? I threw vases and glasses at them, screaming at them to get out, but they eventually pinned me down, tied my hands, and threw me into the back of an SUV. I was locked in a bedroom on the third floor of my parents’ estate. Through the floorboards, I could hear my mother talking to Vicky downstairs. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ve got your back.” “Thank you, Aunt Eleanor. I’m just so worried about Chloe. She…” “She brought this on herself! That’s what she gets for disobeying us and going to that godforsaken place!” I curled up on the floor, burying my face in my knees. Growing up, I had been pampered. I thought I would always be their precious daughter. But my very first act of independence had cost me everything. I was kept locked up for three days. My phone and laptop were confiscated. I was trapped in that suffocating room. On the fourth day, they finally let me down. It was Ethan and Vicky’s wedding anniversary, and my parents were hosting the party at the estate. Vicky wore a stunning burgundy gown, her neck adorned with a glittering diamond necklace. That necklace was the wedding gift Ethan had bought for me. Ethan wrapped his arm around her waist. Under the roaring cheers of the guests, they shared a deep kiss. Suddenly, a massive firework display shot into the night sky, exploding with deafening bangs. I covered my ears, my body shaking violently. The sound of the fireworks merged with the sound of falling mortar shells in my head. Every bang felt like a bomb dropping directly onto my body. “Stop it! Please, make it stop!” I screamed. No one paid attention to me. I tried to run out of the yard, but Ethan grabbed my wrist. “Chloe! What kind of stunt are you pulling now?” “The fireworks… Ethan, please… tell them to stop… I can’t…” I gasped, desperately grabbing his sleeve. He coldly brushed my hands off. “Stop acting, Chloe. I know you’re faking it to ruin Vicky’s night.” “I am not faking!” I screamed, my voice cracking into a desperate plea. “Ethan, please… I’m begging you… stop the fireworks…” Vicky walked over, wrapping her arm around Ethan’s and smiling up at him. “Ethan, the fireworks are beautiful. I love them.” Ethan pinched her cheek affectionately. “Then I’ll have them play all night for you.” He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before signaling the security guards. “Take her back upstairs and lock the door. Do not let her out until the party is over.” I fought and kicked, but it was useless. I was thrown back into the third-floor bedroom, and the door was locked from the outside. Outside, the fireworks grew louder and more frequent. I covered my ears and screamed until my throat bled. In my mind, I saw the blood-slicked ruins of Syria. I saw bodies torn in half. I saw the sky burning with fire. I heard the screams of dying people crying for help, only to be turned into ash a second later. The trauma completely swallowed me. One moment I was on the battlefield, the next I was in the psych ward, and then back in this locked room. I threw myself against the door, slamming my head and hands against the wood until my forehead bled and my fingernails tore off. Still, nobody came to open it. Finally, in a state of complete madness, I dragged myself onto the window sill, closed my eyes, and jumped…

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “436643”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

“Which home is programmed in your GPS?” I stared at his dashcam logs. For the past month, he took a detour after work every single day, driving past his ex-girlfriend’s apartment. He claimed it was just on the way. But our house is on the East Side, and hers is on the West Side. Two years of marriage, and his gas bills were double everyone else’s. I checked the E-ZPass statements. One hundred and eight times. He drove right under her building. I confronted him with the records. He slammed his phone onto the table. “Are you insane? Is driving past a building illegal now?” Last week was her birthday. His car was parked in her apartment’s underground garage for four hours. He said he was helping her move furniture. I didn’t cry. I didn’t make a scene. I taped the E-ZPass statement to the fridge and put on my coat. “Tomorrow, drive me back to our old college campus. To the trail where we first held hands.” I had already told my lawyer to draft the divorce papers. If, after walking that trail, his heart was still with me, we’d keep going. If not. Then that trail would be where we parted ways.

“Are we going or not? What’s so special about a stupid trail?” Ethan sat in the driver’s seat, impatiently honking the horn. In the morning, I had taped the E-ZPass statement to the fridge, asking him to take me back to our college campus. In the past, every sticky note I left on the fridge would be carefully collected by him in a wooden box. He used to say they were proof of our love. Now, that billing statement only got me a sour face and an aggressive grab of his car keys. I opened the back door and sat in the back seat. Ethan looked at me through the rearview mirror. “Why are you sitting in the back? Am I your chauffeur now?” I said, “The passenger seat is pushed too far forward.” That was Hailey’s habit. She was petite and always liked to push the passenger seat all the way to the front. Ethan frowned. “Then just adjust it back. It’s not a big deal.” Seeing that I didn’t move, he shook his head and started the engine. The car was filled with the heavy scent of Hailey’s favorite perfume. My throat felt itchy, and I coughed twice. Ethan snapped immediately. “What’s wrong with you now?” “I’m allergic to heavy perfumes. You forgot.” “Hailey rode in my car yesterday to meet a client and sprayed it. Don’t be so dramatic, okay?” He glanced at me through the mirror, his eyes full of annoyance, and rolled down the window. The wind rushed in, diluting the scent a bit. Three years ago, when he first bought this car. Just to pick me up from work, he put charcoal bags in the car two weeks in advance and wiped the leather seats with lemon water every day. Because I had told him that the smell of a new car made me sick. Back then, he wouldn’t even hang any ornaments on the mirror. He said they would swing around and make me dizzy. Now, a cute little charm Hailey gave him hung right from the rearview mirror. I closed my eyes. “Can you take that charm down? It’s making me dizzy.” “Why do you have so many issues today?” Ethan slammed on the brakes. I lurked forward, hitting the back of the front seat. My chest throbbed with pain. I held my chest and said nothing. Ethan glanced at me again through the mirror and adjusted the AC vents to blow cold air to the back. In the past, this tiny bit of care would have made me happy for days. Now, it just felt pathetic. I looked at the barren trees outside, pulling my coat tighter. He said, “Hailey custom-ordered that charm for me. She said it brings good luck. It’s bad luck to take it down.” I rubbed my aching temples. He used to drive so smoothly, slowing down long before a red light. He was always afraid that sudden braking would make me throw up. Now, because he was in a hurry, he kept weaving in and out of lanes. With every sharp turn, my stomach churned. I said softly, “Slow down.” “I can’t. Hailey said her cat is having severe anxiety and is hiding under the bed. I need to finish this walk with you quickly so I can go help her.” “Doesn’t she have a boyfriend?” “You know she just broke up and is in a terrible mood. Why are you picking a fight over a hurting girl?” I let out a soft laugh and didn’t reply. The car speakers suddenly blasted heavy metal music—Hailey’s favorite. My stomach felt worse and worse as the trees outside blurred past. I didn’t even have the energy to ask him to turn it down. “I need some loud music to stay awake. You just sleep,” he said. In the past, as long as I was in the car, the playlist was strictly soft piano music. He said he didn’t want to disturb my rest. Now, even my voice annoyed him. My phone vibrated. It was a text from my lawyer. [Hi Avery, the divorce settlement has been sent to your email. Please review it.] Right then, Ethan’s phone rang too. He picked up the FaceTime call. “Hailey, what’s wrong?” “Ethan, the cat still won’t come out. I’m so scared.” “Don’t worry. I’ll be there as soon as I finish this routine check with Avery.” A routine check. That was what he called the final walk of our eight-year relationship. “Then hurry up, please. I can’t do this alone.” “Okay, wait for me.” Ethan hung up and sped up even more. I stared out the window, my eyes burning. “Ethan,” I called him. “What now?” I paused, then said, “Nothing. Just focus on the road.”

We pulled into a highway rest stop, and Ethan’s phone rang again. “How did you cut yourself? Don’t move, I’m coming right now!” He put out his cigarette, threw the door open, and hopped back into the driver’s seat. “Ethan, I’m not in the car yet.” He didn’t look back. I walked to the car, and just as my hand touched the rear door handle, the car jolted forward. The sudden movement threw me to the ground. My knee slammed against the concrete, and the pain made my vision go black. Years ago, I had sprained my ankle at this very rest stop. He had carried me on his back for over a mile to the nearest clinic, cursing himself the whole way for letting me get hurt. Back then, Ethan truly treated me like his entire world. Now, I lay on the ground right next to his car, and he didn’t even bother to open his door. Ethan hit the brakes, rolled down the window, and stuck his head out, frowning deeply. “Can’t you watch where you’re walking? Why did you run into the car?” I sat on the ground, watching blood seep through my ripped jeans. The pain made my voice shake. “You started driving suddenly.” “Hailey cut her hand slicing peaches. She’s bleeding a lot. I have to get back.” He said this while sitting comfortably in his seat, not even unbuckling his seatbelt. I looked at him, suddenly remembering when I cut my finger chopping vegetables years ago. The cut was tiny, but his face had turned pale with fear. He ran out in the middle of the night to buy bandages and antiseptic, holding me afterward and promising he’d never let me cook again. Now, my knee was scraped raw, and he only saw me as an inconvenience. “Get in.” He grabbed a handful of napkins and threw them to the back seat. “Are there any Band-Aids in the glove box?” I asked. “No.” He answered too quickly. The glove box wasn’t fully closed. I could see a box of waterproof Band-Aids inside, right next to a pair of women’s flat shoes. They were all prepared for Hailey. Once, the passenger seat and the glove box of this car were filled with my things. Painkillers, candies, motion sickness patches, and little things he kept just in case I needed them. Now, those things were gone, replaced entirely by the existence of another woman. The space I thought securely belonged to me had been given away long ago. He was terrified Hailey’s feet would hurt in heels, terrified she wouldn’t find a bandage for her cut, yet he wouldn’t even give me a single Band-Aid. Maybe noticing my jeans turning red with blood, Ethan pulled a pack of wet wipes from his pocket and tossed them back. It was the brand I used to use. “Clean it up quickly. Don’t ruin the leather. When we get there, go buy some ointment at a pharmacy yourself.” Ethan drove incredibly fast, his phone screen constantly lighting up. It was flooded with messages from Hailey on Snapchat. “Ethan, it hurts so bad.” “Where are you?” He held the steering wheel with one hand and typed with the other. “Almost there.” He used to never touch his phone while driving. He used to say my safety was more important than anything. Now, the person who mattered most was already sitting in his heart. “Avery,” he suddenly said. “When we get to the campus, can you just walk that trail by yourself?” “Hailey really needs me. I’ll drop you off, and you can walk it. Just call me when you’re done, and we can end this.” End this. Eight years of love, spoken from his mouth, felt as light as dust. “No.” He glared at me through the rearview mirror, raising his voice. “Can you stop being so difficult?” “Ethan, you promised me. You walk this trail with me, and then we make the decision.” He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “Fine! We’ll walk! I’ll walk it with you! Just don’t regret it!” I looked down at the dried blood on my knee. I wouldn’t regret it. The person who should regret this was never going to be me.

We finally arrived at the campus. I pushed the door open, and the moment my foot touched the ground, the pain in my knee flared up. Ethan was already walking ahead without looking back. We ran straight into Ethan’s old college roommates and a few underclassmen from our department. “Whoa, Ethan! Long time no see, man!” “Avery? You’re here too? What happened to your leg?” Ethan said casually, “She wasn’t looking where she was going and tripped.” “That looks nasty. Ethan, you should be carrying her.” Ethan didn’t say a word. A guy next to them leaned in and smiled. “Ethan, Hailey just posted on Snapchat earlier showing the cake you got her from her favorite bakery. You two have been close for so many years, your friendship really never changes.” As soon as he said that, the atmosphere went cold. The others glared at him. The guy realized his mistake, looked between Ethan and me, his face turning slightly pale. I stood there, my fingers tightening around my purse strap. Ethan and Hailey were childhood sweethearts. Everyone knew that. Standing next to him as his wife, I felt like an unwanted intruder. Ethan didn’t bother to explain. He just flicked his cigarette ash. “Hailey hurt her hand, so I bought her a cake to cheer her up.” He said it so naturally, as if he didn’t need to hide it from me at all. “Avery, don’t take it personally. Ethan has always treated Hailey like a little sister.” One of his friends tried to smooth things over. Ethan glanced at me. “She was bored at home and insisted on coming back here to walk down memory lane. I don’t really have the time for this nonsense.” The truth was, I had worked overtime for a week straight just to clear my schedule to accompany him back to our alma mater for the Alumni Homecoming preparation. But in his words, I became an idle housewife dragging him here to waste his time. The looks on his friends’ faces shifted. Years ago, right in front of the restaurant next to this plaza, Ethan had knelt down and proposed to me in front of everyone. He had said Avery was the pride of his life. If anyone dared to disrespect me, he would fight them on the spot. Now, he was the one throwing my dignity into the dirt in front of these same people. “Ethan!” Hailey ran up from behind and wrapped her arm around Ethan’s. Five years ago on this plaza, Ethan had yelled to the world that I was his destiny. Everyone who witnessed it remembered that day. Now, he looked down at Hailey, all his gentleness and patience reserved for her. Watching them stand together, I suddenly realized there was nothing left to fight for. This relationship had rotted long ago. There was no going back. “Why are you here?” Ethan’s voice softened instantly. “My hand hurt, and I was scared being alone at home. Once the cat calmed down, I took an Uber over.” Ethan took her hand, inspecting it closely. “How could you be so careless? Didn’t I tell you to wait for me at home?” “But I missed you,” Hailey said, tugging his arm playfully. Only then did she turn her eyes to me. “Oh, Avery’s here too. Why is your leg still bleeding? Ethan, why didn’t you take Avery to get patched up?” Ethan frowned. “She insisted on coming here first.” People around us began to whisper. Ethan probably heard them. He let go of Hailey’s hand and walked toward me. He didn’t ask if I was in pain. He just pulled a napkin from his pocket and handed it to me. “Wipe it.” I didn’t take it. I stepped back. “No, thank you.” I glanced at the arm Hailey had just held, feeling a wave of nausea. “You guys catch up. I’ll head to the trail first.” I turned and walked away. Hailey called out from behind, “Avery, please don’t be mad! I just wanted to come see Ethan!” I didn’t look back. My jeans rubbed against the raw wound on my knee with every step, sending sharp jolts of pain up my leg. But I kept walking.

The trail was lined with beautiful Maple trees. Now that it was autumn, the ground was covered in a thick blanket of golden leaves. Eight years ago, this was where Ethan had first taken my hand. I walked to a bench halfway down the trail and sat down. I pulled a worn sketchbook from my bag. I had kept this book safe for years, terrified of ruining it. Inside were drawings of Ethan and journal entries of our years together. Once, during a storm, Ethan was so afraid the sketchbook would get wet that he held it tightly against his chest under his jacket. He ended up with a high fever and was bedridden for three days. Back then, he said this book held our beginning, and it was more precious than his own life. I touched the cover where he had written, “Avery’s Personal Diary.” A tear fell onto my hand. Over the years, whenever things got hard, I would look at these drawings and tell myself that Ethan used to love me. But as I flipped through the faded pages now, I knew the Ethan who cherished me was dead. Footsteps sounded behind me. Ethan walked up, with Hailey trailing beside him. Hailey was holding two cups of hot coffee. “Avery, have something warm to drink.” “No, thanks.” Ethan frowned. “Just take it. Hailey stood in line for a long time to get this.” Hailey stepped forward to hand it to me, but she tripped on a root, and the hot coffee splashed directly toward me. I dodged to the side. The hot coffee splashed entirely over my open sketchbook. “My book!” I lunged to grab it. But Ethan grabbed my arm first, pulling me back. “What are you doing? Can’t you see Hailey got burned by the hot coffee?” He grabbed Hailey’s hand to check it. Her skin was barely pink, but her eyes were already brimming with tears. “I’m so sorry, Avery. It was an accident. I just wanted to bring you some coffee…” I shook off Ethan’s grip and knelt to pick up the sketchbook. The paper was soaked through, the edges turning to mush at my touch. The sketched face of Ethan was smeared with brown liquid, completely unrecognizable. “It’s just a cheap sketchbook. Do you have to make such a big deal out of it?” He walked over, snatched the ruined sketchbook from my hands, and threw it carelessly onto the wooden bench. “Hailey is wearing a white dress. How is she going to meet clients later with a dirty dress? Use this book to cover the wet bench first.” With that, he guided Hailey to sit down. Hailey glanced at the book, didn’t say a word, and sat right on top of my precious sketchbook. I stood there, staring at Ethan. The book he had risked a fever to protect from the rain was now nothing more than a cushion to protect Hailey’s dress. The man I loved for eight years had personally stomped our past into the mud. At this very moment, the pain in my heart vanished. It just felt completely empty. Seeing the expression on my face, Ethan’s tone softened slightly. “Fine, I’ll buy you a couple of designer bags tomorrow to make up for the book. Satisfied?” I used to wonder how he would apologize if he ever broke my heart. I never imagined he would try to pay off our memories with a couple of handbags. That single sentence burned away the last thread of my hesitation. “Ethan.” I unzipped my bag, pulled out the divorce papers I had printed at the campus library, and thrust them in front of him. “We finished the walk.” “Sign it.” Ethan froze. His eyes darted from the document to my face. “Avery, are you done throwing a tantrum? I literally just used your sketchbook as a seat cover.” “I am not throwing a tantrum.” I looked him dead in the eye. “Ethan, I don’t love you anymore.”

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My Son Ruined His SATs to Label Me a Killer During the two-and-a-half-hour SAT exam, my son wrote only one essay. The title was: “My Mother is a Cold-Blooded Killer.” It detailed, step-by-step, how I allegedly murdered my husband ten years ago and bricked his corpse up inside our bedroom wall. A few days later, the test graders read it and immediately called the cops. A dozen police cruisers surrounded our house, and officers smashed open the exact wall my son had described in his essay. But when they finally saw what was hidden inside… I smiled. And my son completely lost his mind. When the police surrounded my house, I was in the front yard watering the hydrangeas. These flowers were planted one by one by Tyler when he was just a little boy. He treasured them. If even one leaf withered, he would be too upset to eat. Suddenly, the front gate was kicked open. A crowd of police officers rushed in, trampling all over the lush green flowerbeds. Watching Tyler’s favorite flowers get crushed under heavy boots made my heart ache. But before I could say a word, Tyler rushed out of the house, his eyes wide and burning with excitement. “You’re finally here!” he cried. I stood there, totally confused. The lead officer stepped forward, flashing his badge right in front of my face. “I’m Detective Marcus. Ma’am, you’re a prime suspect in a homicide investigation. Please cooperate with us.” With that, he handed me a printed copy of the essay Tyler had written during his exam. It was only in that exact moment that I realized I had become the most notorious “killer mother” in the country. Tyler’s essay had caused an absolute media storm across the state. He was a straight-A student. In every single practice exam, he ranked first by a landslide. Everyone expected him to get a perfect score on the real SATs. But instead of answering a single multiple-choice question, he spent the entire two and a half hours writing this essay. The essay read: “Ten years ago, on a dark night, my mother, Grace, murdered my father, Richard. She bricked his body up inside their master bedroom partition wall overnight.” Once the grading board flagged it and called the cops, the story leaked online. Along with the news, the essay itself was leaked. Now, the entire internet was buzzing. Everyone was talking about the high school genius who threw away his future just to expose his own mother. And I was the last one to know. I stared at the printout for a long time. My hands shook violently. I recognized the handwriting. It was Tyler’s. But the words on the page felt like a fever dream. I looked up at him, my voice trembling. “Did you write this, Tyler?” Tyler stared back at me, his face devoid of any emotion. “Yes. I’ve been waiting ten years for this day.” A sharp pain stabbed through my chest. “So… for the last ten years, you studied your heart out just to ruin yourself today and stab me in the back?” Tyler’s gaze was icy. “Exactly. Only by becoming a top student would my essay get this kind of attention. Only then would the whole world know what a monster you are.” Looking at the boy I had raised for eighteen years, he felt like a complete stranger. Ten years ago, Tyler was in the third grade, and his grades were at rock bottom. He wasn’t stupid. He just couldn’t sit still. His mind was always on the garden, the dirt, and the flowers. I hired tutors and signed him up for prep classes, but nothing worked. Until his father disappeared. Then, everything changed. He became quiet, almost mute. Whether he was eating or lying in bed, he always had a textbook in his hands. At first, I thought it was just a phase. But the test papers on his desk piled higher and higher. He did practice sheets from morning till night, all the way from third grade through senior year.

For ten long years, he never took a single day off. His grades crawled up from the bottom to the average, and then shot straight to the top. Throughout high school, he held the number one spot. In all his prep exams, he got near-perfect scores, leaving the second-place student miles behind. His teachers patted his back, telling him he was Ivy League bound. His classmates looked at him like he was some kind of miracle. I was so incredibly proud of him. I genuinely thought he had just grown up, matured, and decided to take charge of his life. But now I knew the truth. He had spent ten years sharpening himself into the sharpest blade possible. All so he could drive it into my heart today. The media and local TikTok influencers arrived right behind the police. Now, dozens of phone cameras and professional lenses were pointed directly at my face. Some were livestreaming; others were shouting questions. “Grace! What do you have to say about your son’s essay?” “We heard your husband vanished ten years ago and was never found. Did you really murder him?” “Your son gave up his entire future to expose you. How do you feel about that?” “Why did you kill him, Grace?” The questions were brutal and relentless. The livestreams were blowing up. The viewer count crossed a hundred thousand in minutes, and the comment section was filled with pure hate. It was as if the whole world had already convicted me. I looked straight into one of the camera lenses, my voice dead calm. “It’s just a creative writing piece my kid made up. You guys actually believe this nonsense without a shred of proof?” As soon as the words left my mouth, a sharp voice cut through the crowd. “Tyler is an honest boy! He has never lied in his life!” “I know he’s telling the truth!” It was Eleanor, my mother-in-law. Leaning heavily on her daughter, Chloe, Eleanor pushed her way through the crowd. Her eyes were red, filled with pure hatred as she glared at me and yelled to the reporters: “I am Grace’s mother-in-law!” “I haven’t seen my son, Richard, in ten years!” “Every time I called him, his phone was dead. He never replied to a single text.” “Back then, Grace told me he went abroad for a top-secret, high-paying job. She said he changed his number and was too busy to call.” “I always knew something was wrong. My son was a devoted boy. No matter how busy he was, he would always visit me, or at least call to check on my health.” “There is no way he would cut me off for ten years.” “So I believe Tyler! My son was murdered by this wicked woman!” Chloe chimed in, her face twisted in rage. “Exactly! I tried to visit my brother so many times, but Grace always blocked the door. She was hiding her crime!” Hearing this, Detective Marcus frowned deeply. He turned to my son, his tone serious. “Tyler, how do you know the exact details of the murder you wrote about in your essay?” Tyler looked at me, his eyes dark. “Because ten years ago, on that very night… I saw it with my own eyes.” The entire yard fell dead silent. Every camera lens shifted to Tyler, waiting for the gruesome details. Under the gaze of hundreds of thousands of live viewers, Tyler clenched his fists and spoke, his voice shaking: “It was the night of November 20th, ten years ago. I was asleep, but I woke up to my parents screaming at each other in their room.”

“The fight was vicious. My dad was screaming about a divorce, saying he was going to take me away and expose some dark secret.” “I felt like something was wrong, so I crept over to their bedroom door to peek through the crack. That’s when I saw my dad lying on the floor, covered in blood. My mom was just standing over him, staring down coldly.” “Later, I watched her carry bricks and cement into the room. She sealed his body inside the master bedroom partition wall.” “Since that night, she never let me set foot in her room again. And whenever anyone asked about my dad, she just said he went abroad.” Hearing this, Eleanor clutched her chest, sobbing hysterically. “My poor baby!” “I knew you wouldn’t just abandon your mother! You were murdered!” Chloe wiped her tears, pointing a finger at me. “Grace, you monster!” “My brother was so good to you! Why did you kill him?” Looking at their dramatic display of grief, I actually found it a bit funny. “Who says I killed him?” I asked quietly. “Anyone can write a fictional essay. Anyone can make up a story.” “Do you have actual proof?” Tyler’s eyes flared red. He turned to Detective Marcus. “Detective, my dad’s body is right inside that wall in her bedroom. If you smash it open, you’ll find the proof!” Marcus’s face hardened. He cast a long, calculating look at me. After a tense silence, he gestured to the officers behind him. “Get inside. Break the wall.” A few young officers immediately grabbed sledgehammers from their patrol cars and headed for the front door. I moved fast, blocking the doorway with my arms spread wide. “Detective Marcus, you have no warrant and no physical evidence. On what grounds are you destroying my property? This is illegal.” Marcus stared me down. “Ma’am, your son is an eyewitness.” “Furthermore, our preliminary check shows that Richard has had absolutely zero social footprint for ten years. No bank activity, no phone signals, no ID usage. Nothing.” “We have strong reason to believe he is deceased. Step aside.” I didn’t budge an inch. “A high school kid ruins his SATs to write a confession letter, and you think he’s mentally stable? You’re taking the word of an unstable teenager as gospel?” “Just because my husband hasn’t been active doesn’t mean he’s dead.” “Maybe he’s just hiding, or maybe he changed his identity to start a new life.” “You don’t even have a death certificate. What right do you have to smash my walls?” Marcus hesitated, his brow furrowed. Just then, our next-door neighbor, Mrs. Higgins, spoke up from the crowd. “Detective, I can back the boy up. What Tyler said is true.” Everyone turned to look at her. Mrs. Higgins said solemnly, “I’m a very light sleeper. Ten years ago, on that exact night, I heard them screaming. It was a massive fight.” “But midway through, the noise suddenly stopped. The very next day, Richard vanished into thin air. I never saw him again.” Other neighbors started nodding in agreement. “Yes! They fought so loud that night. And Richard never walked out of that house again!” “I actually asked Grace about it back then. She told me Richard had to leave for an overseas job in the middle of the night, and they fought because she didn’t want him to go. But she claimed he left anyway.”

“I remember that too! Grace sounded so convincing back then, so I didn’t think much of it. But looking back, it’s incredibly suspicious!” The neighbors’ testimonies spread like wildfire through the crowd. The livestream chat went completely wild: “The neighbors are confirming it! Grace is definitely a killer. No doubt about it.” “No kid would throw away his SATs unless he actually saw his dad get murdered.” “This is terrifying. I heard her husband was a really nice guy. How evil do you have to be to brick someone up in a wall?” “What are the cops waiting for? Go in and smash the wall!” At that moment, a young officer ran into the yard, panting, and handed a file folder to Detective Marcus. Marcus flipped through the documents, his face growing darker by the second. Finally, he looked up at me. “Grace, according to the city water records, on the night Richard went missing, your household water usage spiked by seven times its usual amount. What were you washing away in the middle of the night?” “Also, home association records show you renovated a partition wall in your bedroom that very same night, entirely by yourself, without hiring any contractors.” “Tell me, why would a woman pull an all-nighter to build a brick wall by herself? What were you hiding?” Marcus’s eyes locked onto mine, trying to read my expression. I remained completely calm. “Detective, the water spike was because a pipe burst. I spent half the night fixing it and washing the flooded floors.” “As for the wall, the plaster was cracked and damp. It looked ugly, so I put up some decorative brick veneer. Since when is home DIY a crime?” “I built a brick planter in the backyard last week too. Do you want to smash that open as well?” Marcus sneered. “Fixing pipes and bricking a wall all in one night without sleeping? Grace, do you take us for idiots?” He didn’t want to waste any more time. He waved his hand. “Move her out of the way. Get inside and break that wall!” Two officers grabbed my arms to drag me away while the others rushed into the house with sledgehammers. Seeing them reach the bedroom door, panic flared in my chest. I broke free from the officers with a burst of desperate strength. I ran into the kitchen, grabbed a paring knife from the counter, held it against my own throat, and screamed: “If anyone touches that wall, I’ll kill myself right here!” To prove I wasn’t bluffing, I pressed the blade in. The sharp steel broke the skin, and a warm trickle of blood slid down my neck. Marcus froze. He immediately raised his hand, signaling his men to stop. The house went dead silent. Everyone stared at me, terrified. The livestream chat exploded: “Oh my god! She’s threatening suicide to protect a wall? She’s insane!” “What on earth is in that wall that’s worth her life?” “The more she acts like this, the more it proves there’s a body in there!” The viewer count on the stream had bypassed half a million. Seeing the blood on my neck, Marcus grew visibly anxious. He held his hands up in a placating gesture, keeping his voice soft and steady. “Grace, please calm down. If you didn’t do anything, breaking the wall will prove your innocence.” “But doing this only makes you look incredibly guilty.”

I gripped the handle tighter. “I don’t need to prove anything to you.” “If you truly believe there’s a body in there, get a proper warrant.” “But smashing my house without a shred of real evidence? You’re acting like thugs, not law enforcement.” I pressed the knife a little deeper. Pain flared, and more blood dripped down my collar. I wasn’t fearless. I didn’t want to die. But some things in this world are far more terrifying than death. Even if it cost me my life today, I had to stop them. Marcus silenced himself. He knew I was right legally. Without a search warrant or solid forensic evidence, relying solely on a teenager’s essay and some vague neighbor gossip to destroy a citizen’s home was a massive legal liability. If I actually killed myself on a live broadcast, Marcus wouldn’t just lose his job—he could go to prison. For a long, agonizing fifteen seconds, the room remained at a complete standoff. But just as Marcus was about to back down, Tyler suddenly snatched a sledgehammer from an officer’s hand. He charged into the master bedroom like a madman, raising the heavy hammer high above his head. My pupils dilated, and I screamed at the top of my lungs: “Tyler! Don’t do it! You’ll regret this for the rest of your life!” Tyler turned his head, his eyes wild and bloodshot. “Regret?” “Mom, the only thing I regret is not stopping you ten years ago!” “I’ve waited ten years for this day.” “If I don’t break this wall and bring you to justice, that is what I’ll regret forever!” With a guttural scream, he swung the hammer with all his might against the brick wall! “CRASH!” With a single blow, the bricks fractured, and a cloud of white dust billowed into the air. The wall was open. But as the dust settled, everyone in the room froze in absolute shock… Plaster and debris rained down. The silence in the room was so thick you could hear a pin drop. Every single eye was glued to the dark cavity inside the shattered wall. But there was no body. No bones. No rotting clothes, no bloodstains, not even a speck of dark discoloration. It was completely empty. Just a hollow space between the studs, some old backing bricks, and a thin layer of grey dust. Nothing. Tyler stared, paralyzed. “No… that’s impossible.” “I saw it. I saw her seal my dad inside this wall.” “How is it empty?” He muttered to himself, shaking his head in denial. Then, like a man possessed, he raised the hammer again and began frantically smashing the rest of the wall. He swung again and again. Within minutes, the entire partition wall lay in a pile of rubble on the floor. But even with the wall completely demolished, there was absolutely nothing inside. The heavy hammer slipped from Tyler’s limp fingers and clattered onto the floorboards. He collapsed to his knees among the debris. He stared at the broken bricks, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with terror. The ten years of hatred and vengeance he had built his entire life around began to crumble into dust. “No way.” “This can’t be happening.” For ten years, he had relived that night in his nightmares. The blood on the floor, his father lying lifeless, my cold posture, and the overnight brick construction. He was absolutely certain his father was sealed inside this wall.

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On the day of our graduation trip, my boyfriend and his childhood best friend left me behind at a highway gas station. They had been driving for half an hour before they even realized someone was missing from the car. When Ethan finally called, there was no panic in his voice—only sheer impatience. “Caroline, why aren’t you in the car?” “Stop playing around. We’re rushing to catch the sunset, and we can’t turn back now.” “Just Uber and catch up with us.” Through the receiver, Summer’s voice came in loud and clear in the background: “She’s not a kid, Ethan. You can’t baby her forever.” If this were the old me, my eyes would have welled up with tears as I apologized. I would have dragged my heavy suitcase and done everything in my power to chase after them. But this time, looking up at the vast blue sky over the gas station, the urge to run after them suddenly vanished. I canceled all the hotel reservations for the rest of the trip. Instead, I booked a ticket to a quiet coastal town—a place I had always wanted to visit, but they had always dismissed as “boring.” From that moment on. I was done following in anyone’s shadow.

This graduation road trip was originally supposed to be just between Ethan and me. Throughout our four years of college, I had tagged along with him to so many places. Snowy peaks, deep canyons, scorching deserts, endless highways. Every single trip was tailored to his tastes. Before graduation, I had pleaded with him just once. “Ethan, let’s go to the beach this time.” “Just a quiet, underrated coastal town. No tight schedules. We can sleep in, eat fresh seafood, and just feel the ocean breeze.” He had promised so easily back then. “Sure. We’ll do whatever you want for our graduation trip.” I was thrilled for weeks. I made three different versions of the itinerary. I booked a cozy Airbnb right next to the historic district, complete with a tiny balcony overlooking the harbor lights. I even secretly bought a white sundress, hoping to take graduation photos with him by the shore. But a week before our departure, Summer suddenly dropped a map of the Colorado Loop into our SnapChat group. [Graduation is all about chasing wild adventures! 🔥] [We can go to the beach anytime. But you don’t get perfect summer weather in the Colorado Rockies every year! ] Ethan replied almost instantly: [This route looks sick. Let’s do it.] I stared at my phone, my fingers hovering over the screen for a long time. Finally, I typed: [But didn’t we agree on the beach?] Summer was quick to reply: [Come on, Caroline. You don’t want our graduation trip to feel like a retirement home vacation, do you? 👵] [We’re in our twenties. Live a little! Don’t be such a grandma.] The others in the group chat started chiming in with laughing emojis. Someone said Colorado would look amazing on Instagram. Someone said the beach was too basic. Someone else added that with Ethan and Summer’s photography skills, it would be a crime not to shoot a road-trip documentary. Ethan didn’t defend me. Instead, he sent me a private Snapchat: [Don’t be a party pooper.] [Summer has a point. I’ll take you to the beach next time, I promise.] Next time. He always had a million “next times.” But every “next time” promised to me eventually became someone else’s “right now.” My chest tightened as I stared at the screen. Still, I typed out a single word: [Okay.] So, I canceled all the coastal hotel bookings. I spent the next few days researching the Colorado route, renting the car, booking cabins, checking altitudes, monitoring weather forecasts, budgeting, and buying travel insurance. Summer sent a text to the group chat: [Honestly, Caroline is a lifesaver when it comes to planning. 👏👏] Looking at her message, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. On the day of the trip, Ethan drove over to pick me up. Summer was already sitting in the passenger seat. She was wearing oversized sunglasses, her long legs casually propped up near the dashboard, holding an iced Americano. Seeing me walk out with my luggage, she gave me a lazy nod. “Caroline, do you mind sitting in the back?” “I get super carsick, so the front seat is way better for me.” I got carsick too. And Ethan knew that. But before I could even speak, Ethan had already opened the back door for me. “Just hang in there, babe. Summer was editing videos until 3 AM last night. She’s exhausted.” “The back has more room anyway. You can take a nap.” Watching his natural, practiced care for her, my mind flashed back to our freshman year. On our first trip together, I had been throwing up from motion sickness. Ethan had immediately made me sit in the front, cramming himself into the back while constantly passing me water and tissues. Back then, he had smiled and said: “So what if my girlfriend is high-maintenance? I love spoiling her.” Now, he tossed my luggage into the trunk. He turned to Summer and said, “Seatbelt on, let’s hit the road.” I stood by the car door and let out a quiet, bitter smile. I guess being the favorite has an expiration date.

The entire drive was filled with their loud chatter. They talked about camera angles. They talked about drone flight paths. They argued over which stretch of the highway would be perfect for the sunset shoot. They decided that if they edited this trip into a vlog, they’d title it “Wild Hearts: Our Great Escape Before Graduation.” I sat in the back, an iPad resting on my knees. On the screen was the itinerary I had meticulously built. What time to leave, what time to arrive, where to refuel, where to eat, which zones had no cell service, and which cabins required us to call ahead to make sure the hot water was turned on. I tried to join the conversation a few times. “Hey, the cabin host for tonight said the mountain road is super narrow. We should really get there before sunset.” Nobody heard me. When we stopped at a highway diner for lunch, I forwarded Ethan a highly-rated spot I had researched. “This diner on the left has terrible reviews. A lot of people got food poisoning. Let’s go to the organic cafe next door.” Summer glanced at the diner’s neon sign. “But I want diner food.” “Bad reviews just mean it’s authentic. Those trendy aesthetic cafes are always overpriced trash.” Ethan chuckled. “Alright, whatever you want.” I frowned. “Ethan, your stomach has been acting up lately.” “Caroline,” he sighed, his voice dripping with annoyance. “Can you stop being so uptight?” “It’s just a quick lunch. It’s not that deep.” In the end, they ordered a table full of greasy, spicy loaded nachos and jalapeño poppers. Ethan ate happily. Thirty minutes later, he was leaning against the car, his face pale from stomach cramps. I reached into my bag, pulled out some Pepto-Bismol, and handed it to him with a bottle of water. Summer sat beside him, resting her chin on her hand, smirking. “Wow, Caroline. You really act like his mom.” Ethan froze mid-sip. Then, he laughed it off. “Yeah, she’s always been like this. She loves micromanaging me.” My hand froze in mid-air. It was genuine care. But out of their mouths, it sounded like a pathetic joke. We continued our drive in the afternoon. The weather took a turn for the worse, and thick fog began rolling over the mountain passes. I warned Ethan, “Slow down a bit. There are sharp turns ahead.” Summer, busy adjusting her camera settings, didn’t even look up. “Caroline, if you’re scared, just close your eyes and sleep.” “Don’t stress out the driver.” Ethan chuckled, echoing her, “Yeah, babe. Close your eyes.” I gripped my seatbelt and didn’t say another word. As the fog grew thicker, my motion sickness hit me hard. My stomach churned, and cold sweat broke out on my forehead. I rumbled through my bag for my motion sickness pills. Only then did I realize that during our morning packing, I had put the medicine bottle in the front glove compartment. I called out to Ethan. “Can we pull over at the next rest stop? I need to grab my medicine.” He gave a distracted “Mm-hm.” The music in the car was blasting. Summer was excitedly showing him the photos she had just snapped. “Look at this one! It has such an indie movie vibe.” “If we post this on YouTube, it’s going to blow up.” Ethan leaned in to look. “Damn, Summer. You’re a genius.” They laughed together. I leaned back against the headrest, closing my eyes as waves of nausea washed over me.

In that moment of misery, a flood of old memories rushed back. I remembered his sophomore year photography exhibition. To help Ethan set up, I had run back and forth to the print shop for three straight days, losing my voice from exhaustion. When the exhibition opened, Summer stood proudly by the gallery wall, explaining the artistic concepts to the professors. The professors praised their incredible chemistry. Ethan had smiled warmly and said, “Yeah, we make a great team.” I had stood in the far corner of the gallery, holding a stack of empty cardboard boxes. He didn’t look back at me once. I remembered the summer of our junior year when Ethan wanted to do a shoot in the wilderness of Montana. Worried about his asthma, I spent two weeks researching the terrain, buying first-aid kits, and renting heavy-duty gear. But on the morning of the trip, he casually told me the car was full and that I should just stay home. I stood under my dorm building with my packed suitcase for a long time. Later that day, I saw Summer’s Instagram post: [The best adventure partner. Always on the road. 🌲🚗] In the photo, she was in the passenger seat, and Ethan had one hand casually on the steering wheel. The golden hour sunlight hit his face perfectly. He looked so handsome. And so incredibly foreign. There was also that one time at a photography club party. Someone asked Ethan, “Where’s your girlfriend tonight?” Ethan had waved it off. “Oh, Caroline doesn’t really do parties. She’d just sit in the corner and feel awkward.” He said it so casually. I had been standing right outside the door, holding a hangover cure kit I had bought for him. I never went inside that night. I texted him lying that something had come up. He didn’t even ask what it was. None of these things seemed like a big deal on their own. But piled up in my heart, they felt like heavy, wet blankets. It didn’t cause sharp pain. It just slowly suffocated me. The car finally pulled into a rest stop. I pushed the door open and stepped out, my legs trembling. Ethan rolled down his window. “Hurry up, Caroline. We need to catch the sunset.” I nodded. “I’ll just grab my meds. I’ll be quick.” The rest stop was packed with tourists. The convenience store was all the way at the back of the building. I lined up to buy my medicine, then went to fill a paper cup with hot water. By the time I walked out, the sky had turned a dusky gray. Clutching the medicine and the warm cup, I walked back to the parking lot. The spot where our car had been parked was empty. I froze. Thinking I had misremembered the spot, I walked further down. Row after row of cars. But there was no sign of our white SUV. I stood there in the chilling wind, my hands turning cold. That was when my phone rang. Ethan’s voice came through the speaker: “Caroline, where are you?” My throat felt incredibly tight. “I’m at the rest stop. I went to get my medicine.” He sighed loudly. “Why didn’t you get back in the car?” I retorted, “I didn’t get in the car, and neither of you noticed?” Summer’s voice drifted in from his side. “Oh, I totally thought she was sleeping in the back.” “Ethan, we’ve already driven twenty miles. If we turn back now, we’re going to miss the sunset completely.” Ethan lowered his voice, sounding exasperated. “Caroline, don’t make a scene.” “We’re on the highway, and taking an exit to loop back is a huge pain.” “Can you just call an Uber or see if someone can hitch you to the next exit?” I stood alone in a strange rest stop, surrounded by crowds of unfamiliar faces. A massive semi-truck roared past, the gust of wind making my eyes sting. I asked him quietly, “Ethan, are you really not coming back to get me?” There was a brief silence on the other end. When he spoke again, he sounded even more annoyed. “Why do you have to blow everything out of proportion?” “It’s not like we did it on purpose.” “You’re a grown woman. Can’t you just figure it out and meet us there?”

Summer let out a dry laugh in the background. “See? You’ve spoiled her way too much.” “Every single time, she expects the whole world to revolve around her over some minor inconvenience.” A soft, empty laugh escaped my lips. So being abandoned at a highway rest stop was just a “minor inconvenience.” So the sunset they were rushing to see was far more important than my safety. I looked down at the hot water in my hand. The cup was hot enough to turn my palm red. But my chest felt like ice. I said, “Okay.” Ethan seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “Great. Send me your location once you get an Uber.” “Don’t wander off.” “And hey, don’t start crying. It ruins the vibe of the trip.” I didn’t reply. I just hung up. The cold wind swept over me, and my tears finally spilled over. I wasn’t sobbing hysterically. They just silently streamed down my face. They dripped into the paper cup, making no sound at all. I remembered my mom asking me before I left: “Are you sure you want to go that far with them, Caroline?” “Every time you go trip with Ethan, you come back looking absolutely drained.” I had defended him back then: “It’s our graduation trip, Mom. It’s the last time.” Well, she was right. It really was the last time. I opened my travel app and booked a bus ticket to Fairhope, Alabama. The historic streets. The ocean I had been longing to see. The fresh seafood soup. And a boutique travel agency where I had secretly submitted my resume weeks ago. They had sent me an interview invite last week. I hadn’t replied because Ethan had said: “I don’t feel comfortable with you living in some random southern town alone.” “Just come back to New York with me. I’ll ask my dad’s friend to get you an operations gig.” I hadn’t rejected him then. Not because I wanted that job. But because I was so used to aligning my life with his. But now, I was done aligning. I opened my booking apps. I canceled all the cabin rentals, campsites, car bookings, and photography reservations for the next six days. I had planned it all, and my credit card was on the hook for the deposits. I had absolutely no obligation to fund a trip that no longer included me. Then, I opened Snapchat. I unpinned Ethan from the top of my chat list. I blocked and deleted Summer. Finally, I texted my mom: [Mom, I’m not going to Colorado anymore.] [I’m going to the coast.] My mom replied almost instantly: [Go for it, sweetie.] [This time, stop taking care of everyone else. Just take care of yourself.] Staring at her text, the tears came fresh again. The sky had gone completely dark. I dragged my suitcase toward the bus stop. Behind me, the highway lights stretched into a long, glowing thread. It looIt looked like the path I had spent four years desperately chasing. But this time, I wasn’t running anymore.

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To pay off my boyfriend’s debts, I sold Scout—the rare, purebred Akhal-Teke stallion who grew up with me, the last of his kind in the world. On the day of the transfer, Howard held me tight, his eyes red and tearful. “I’m so sorry, Bella. I promise I’ll work myself to the bone and buy Scout back for you!” Today, while I was mucking out stalls at the dusty suburban ranch, I spotted a newly released issue of a luxury finance magazine left on a bench. The cover headline screamed at me. [New Billionaire Icon Bids Fortune for Ultra-Rare Stallion, All to Win a Beauty’s Smile] Inside, on a high-definition, double-page spread, was Howard—the man who claimed he was working himself to death. He was wearing custom-tailored equestrian gear, elegantly holding Scout’s reins. And the woman sitting on my horse, laughing with wild, arrogant triumph? It was Chloe White. My former rival who, jealous of my riding skills, had sabotaged my saddle three years ago and severed the tendons in my right hand, ending my career. In the photo, Scout was pawing at the ground, looking visibly stressed. Meanwhile, Howard was leaning down, tenderly kissing the back of the hand of the very woman who had destroyed my life.

I gripped the magazine so hard the glossy pages sliced into my palm, leaving deep, red marks. My stomach churned. I dry-heaved, but nothing came up. I pulled out my phone and dialed Howard’s number. The screen showed it went through, but he declined it instantly. Without a second thought, I ripped off my manure-stained apron and bolted out of the run-down suburban stables. There was only one place Chloe White hung out—the elite Sky Equestrian Club in the heart of downtown. I spent my last $50 on an Uber to get there. The security guards at the gate stopped me, but I managed to slip through a side entrance when a luxury sports car was being waved in. Suddenly, a sharp, agonizing neigh echoed through the arena. I knew that sound all too well. It was Scout’s cry of extreme pain. I ran toward the noise. In the center of the indoor sand arena, Scout was secured to a metal exhibition post by two heavy iron chains. Chloe was dressed in a pristine white riding habit, holding a professional whip tipped with metal spikes. She raised her arm and brought the whip down hard across Scout’s back. A bloody welt bloomed instantly on his coat. “Still got a nasty temper, huh? Just like your pathetic, crippled former owner!” Howard stood nearby, holding a glass of red wine. He frowned slightly, but his voice was completely indulgent. “Careful, Chloe. Don’t let him kick you. He’s wild and untamed.” The blood rushed to my head, boiling hot. To pay off Howard’s $300,000 debt to those shady loan sharks, I had literally knelt before the buyer, begging him to treat Scout well. Howard had held me and wept, swearing he would do anything to make it up to me. And now, he was watching my worst enemy abuse my horse, only telling her to “be careful.” I lost control. I charged into the arena and shoved Chloe away with all my might. Chloe lost her footing and stumbled, crashing hard onto the dirty sand. Her white outfit was instantly ruined with mud. I turned around, wrapping my arms around the panicked Scout, my rough fingers gently stroking his neck. Sensing my scent, Scout slowly calmed down. He lowered his head, nuzzling my shoulder with a soft, trembling whimper. “What the hell do you think you’re doing!” Howard slammed his wine glass down. He marched over, grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, and threw me to the ground. I crashed onto the hard dirt, my right wrist taking the brunt of the fall. Pain flared instantly in the exact spot where my tendons had been severed three years ago. Cold sweat broke out on my forehead. Howard knelt down, checking Chloe’s arm with deep concern. Once he was sure she didn’t have a scratch, he whipped his head around to glare at me. “Bella? Are you stalking me?” I clutched my throbbing right wrist and slowly forced myself up, staring directly into Howard’s eyes. “What are you doing here? You said you were working yourself to the bone!” “You said the loan sharks were going to kill you!” “Why are you with Chloe White!” Chloe dusted the sand off her clothes and walked over to me. She looked down at my faded t-shirt and my mud-caked sneakers, letting out a sharp scoff. Then, she raised her hand and slapped me across the face. The loud crack echoed through the quiet arena. My head snapped to the side, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. “Know your place, Bella. Do you really think someone like you belongs in a club like this?” I ignored Chloe, my eyes locked onto Howard. “Howard! Say something!” Howard stood up, stepping in front of Chloe to shield her. The warmth and tenderness he used to look at me with were completely gone. His eyes were dead and cold. “You see it. It is exactly what it looks like.”

Looking at Howard’s familiar face, my head spun. “Why?” I screamed, my voice cracking. “I sold Scout to save your life! I’ve been working three jobs a day!” “And you used my sacrifice to hang out with Chloe?” Chloe burst into a mocking laugh. “Oh, Bella. You really are an idiot, aren’t you?” “Did you honestly think Howard needed your pathetic $300,000?” She wrapped her arm around Howard’s, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Let me introduce him properly. The man standing in front of you is the sole heir to the Wilmot Group, and the actual owner of this very club.” I froze. The Wilmot Group. They were the mega-corporation that monopolized the entire equestrian industry in North America. Howard looked at me, showing no remorse. Instead, he looked relieved, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “Chloe’s right, Bella. I don’t need your money.” “I only hid my identity and went to that trashy suburban ranch to study the operational model of low-end stables.” “And, of course, to find a free, highly skilled trainer to break Scout in.” “Your $300,000 wouldn’t even buy the cufflinks on my suit.” Every word he spoke felt like a dagger to my chest. Three years ago, right before the national championships, someone cut my saddle girth. I fell, and my hand was ruined. We later found out Chloe had bribed the stable boy, but her family was too powerful, and they got a scapegoat to take the fall. I lost my career. I was forced to retreat to the countryside to survive with my Grandpa Charles and Scout. Then, Howard showed up. He played the part of a struggling, penniless traveler. He mucked stalls for me, brewed my herbal teas, and swore he didn’t care about my disability. He promised to protect me forever. Last month, a group of terrifying men broke into the ranch, holding a knife to Howard’s throat. To save him, I swallowed my pride and sold Scout to a mysterious private buyer. It turned out that buyer was Howard all along. It was all a sick, twisted game. I looked at Howard, my body trembling violently. “You knew Chloe destroyed my hand. You knew what Scout meant to me!” “You lied to me from day one? You treated me like a joke?” Howard frowned, a look of pure disgust flashing in his eyes. “Bella, stop playing the victim.” “Chloe is an heiress. It’s an honor for Scout to belong to her.” “As for you… look at yourself.” “You smell like horse manure, and your hands are covered in ugly calluses and scars.” “Every time I had to hold your hand, it made my skin crawl.” “How could a girl like you ever think she was worthy of standing next to me?” A physical pain stabbed through my heart. The calluses I got from working day and night to keep us afloat, the scars I got from cooking his meals… To him, they were just disgusting marks of poverty. Chloe raised her chin proudly. “Howard and I are getting engaged next month. Scout is his engagement gift to me.” “Have some self-respect, Bella. Go back to the gutter where you belong.” I looked at Scout. He was pacing nervously, chained up. I tried to run over to unchain him, but Howard kicked me hard in the back of my knee. I collapsed heavily onto the sand. “Get out. Don’t dirty my arena.” Howard threw those cold words over his shoulder as he walked toward the VIP lounge, holding Chloe’s hand. Two burly security guards rushed in, grabbed me by my arms, and dragged me out of the club. They threw me onto the hard pavement of the street. My palms were scraped raw, dripping blood.

The next morning, ignoring my aching body, I put on my only clean white shirt and went to the National Equestrian Association headquarters. Today was my final evaluation to get certified as a rehab coach for disabled riders. It was my only way back into the industry, and my only hope to pay for Grandpa Charles’s urgent heart surgery. I sat in the waiting room, clutching my application form tight. The large screen in the lobby was playing promotional videos for the association. Suddenly, the screen glitched, and a security camera video started playing. In the video, a woman wearing the exact same white shirt I was wearing was brutally whipping a chained horse. The horse was Scout. But the person wielding the whip wasn’t me! It was Chloe, wearing her white riding habit from yesterday! The video had been maliciously edited. The face was blurred, leaving only the clothes and the silhouette. The riders and coaches in the lobby gathered around, pointing and whispering at the screen. “Isn’t that Bella? How does she have the nerve to apply for a coaching license?” “Her hand got ruined, so she’s taking out her anger on a helpless animal? What a psycho!” I jumped up, shouting, “That’s not me! That video is fake!” A soft laugh echoed from the entrance. Chloe, dressed in a designer suit, walked into the lobby, accompanied by Howard. “Bella, the evidence is right there. Are you seriously trying to deny it?” Chloe pulled out a document stamped with the Wilmot Group’s official seal and handed it to the association’s president. “Chairman Thomas, I saw it with my own eyes. Bella was desperate for cash.” “She not only sold her horse illegally, but she also abused him severely before the sale, leaving him traumatized.” Chairman Thomas took the file, his face darkening as he glared at me. Howard stepped forward, standing close to Chloe, looking at me with total indifference. I stared back at Howard. “Howard, you were there yesterday! You know exactly who was whipping Scout! Tell them the truth!” Howard casually adjusted his designer watch. “I was indeed there. And I personally witnessed Bella whipping Scout with a spiked crop.” “I couldn’t stand the cruelty, which is why I bought the horse at a high price and handed him over to Chloe to be saved.” Gasps erupted around the room. The testimony of the heir of the Wilmot Group was the final nail in my coffin. I shook with rage, my fingernails digging deep into my palms. “Howard! You liar!” Howard looked away, annoyed. “Bella, take responsibility for your own actions. Stop making a scene.” Chairman Thomas announced loudly to the room: “After reviewing the evidence, Bella is found guilty of severe unsportsmanlike conduct and animal abuse.” “Her application is denied. She is banned for life from holding any position in the equestrian industry!” Banned for life. The words shattered my world. I had lost my career, lost Scout, and now I had no way to make money to save Grandpa Charles. The crowd began hurling insults at me. Someone threw a half-empty cup of cold coffee, splashing it all over my white shirt. Security guards grabbed my collar and threw me out the front doors. I tumbled down the concrete steps, my forehead hitting the edge of a step. Warm blood trickled down my face. Chloe stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at me like I was trash. “You can never beat me, Bella. You’re done.”

As I lay on the cold ground, my phone vibrated violently in my pocket. It was the hospital. “Is this Bella? Your grandfather, Charles, has gone into acute heart failure. He needs an emergency bypass right now.” “We need a $100,000 deposit immediately, or we can’t proceed with the surgery!” I scrambled up from the ground. Grandpa Charles was my only family left in the world. Wiping the blood from my eyes, I stumbled to the street and hailed a cab. I ran to the hospital’s billing counter, pulling out the bank card that held all my hard-earned savings. The receptionist swiped it and handed it back. “Declined. Your account is frozen.” I gasped. “That’s impossible! There’s at least $20,000 in there!” I begged her to try again, but the people in the line behind me began to complain. Then, the click of high heels echoed down the hallway. Chloe and Howard strolled over. Howard was casually holding a black credit card between his fingers. “Bella, your account has been frozen by the Wilmot Group’s legal team due to investigation into illegal horse trading.” Howard’s voice was flat, as if he were just reading a weather report. I turned to him, desperate. “Howard, that’s my grandfather’s life-saving money!” “Give it back to me, or unfreeze my card. Please, I’m begging you.” I bowed my head, swallowing every ounce of pride. Chloe sneered. “Why should Howard give you a dime? But… I’m in a good mood today. I can pay the $100,000 for you.” Chloe pointed to the filthy, cold tile floor of the hospital lobby. “Kneel. Admit to everyone here that you abused Scout, and sign this contract waiving all your rights to ever see him again.” Howard stood by, silent and cold. “Chloe is offering to help you. It’s your last chance. Don’t be ungrateful.” I looked toward the ICU doors. Grandpa Charles was in there, fighting for his life. I closed my eyes. My knees hit the hard tiles with a dull thud. “I admit it. I abused Scout. I waive all my rights. Please… pay the bill.” I pressed my forehead to the floor. Chloe let out a delighted laugh. She whipped out her phone and snapped several pictures of me. “Good girl. Howard, go pay.” Howard walked toward the counter with his card. But before he could hand it to the receptionist, the doors of the operating room flew open. The surgeon walked out, drenched in sweat, pulling down his mask. “Are you Charles’s family? I’m so sorry. We couldn’t save him. The patient has passed away.” My mind went completely blank. “No… no, doctor! We’re paying right now! Please, try again!” I scrambled up and rushed toward him. A nurse rolled out a gurney covered in a white sheet, sighing softly. “A young woman snuck into his ward earlier and played a video of you being banned for life and accused of animal abuse. She told him you were going to prison.” “The patient’s condition was already critical. The shock caused his heart to stop instantly.” The nurse’s words echoed in my ears. I slowly turned my head to look at Chloe. She was playing with her phone, not a single trace of guilt on her face. “Oops. I just wanted to keep the old man updated on your life. Who knew he was so fragile?” A primal, agonized shriek escaped my throat. I lunged at Chloe. Howard immediately stepped in, grabbing Chloe by the waist and kicking me squarely in the chest. “Bella, have you lost your mind! He died because of his weak heart! What does this have to do with Chloe!” I collapsed onto the floor, staring at Grandpa Charles’s covered body, gasping for air. Just then, loud sirens wailed outside the hospital. A squad of armed police officers burst into the lobby, quickly surrounding Howard and Chloe. The lead detective flashed his badge, his voice booming. “Howard, Chloe! You are under arrest for suspicion of manslaughter. Come with us!”

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Tyler had severe sensory issues. After his car accident, Tyler couldn’t stand even the slightest noise. To accommodate his illness, I wore noiseless slippers at home. I even held my breath whenever I walked past him. One night, I couldn’t help but sneeze. Tyler lost his mind, relapsing instantly, and kicked me straight out of bed. That kick cost me our five-month-old unborn baby. Yet right now, Tyler was sitting in a deafening VIP lounge at a downtown club. The heavy bass was vibrating through the floorboards, shaking my chest. Instead of throwing a tantrum, Tyler was watching my adopted sister, Polly, with pure adoration as she danced wildly to the music. The moment he saw me walk in, Tyler’s face iced over. “What are you doing here, Alyssa? Don’t ruin Polly’s graduation party. Go wait for us outside.” “And remember to whip up a hangover cure the second you get home. Polly’s stomach gets sensitive when she drinks.” I didn’t say a word. I just threw the divorce papers right in his face.

The noisy VIP lounge went dead silent. Tyler frowned, brushing the papers away. The white sheets scattered all over the sticky club floor. “Alyssa, what kind of childish stunt is this?” “Look at yourself. Is this how a decent wife behaves?” The sheer disgust in his eyes was blinding. It was as if my very existence was a chore to him. I took a shaky breath, a sharp pain radiating from my chest. I couldn’t help but ask: “And how is a ‘decent wife’ supposed to behave? Like Polly?” “Since you’re so obsessed with her, why don’t we just get a divorce so you can put a ring on her finger? That way, I won’t be standing in your way anymore.” Tyler didn’t expect me—the girl who had always been submissive—to humiliate him in public. He stared at me, his gaze resembling that of an owner looking at a pet throwing a sudden tantrum. He let out a heavy, patronizing sigh and reached out to grab my hand. I took a step back, dodging his touch. His hand froze in mid-air. Slowly, his expression darkened. “Alyssa, do you still think you’re the pampered heiress of the Franklin family?” “Look at you. Aside from me, what man would ever want to marry a ruined woman like you?” The moment those words left his mouth, my eyes went wide. I stared at him as if he were a complete stranger. Before I turned eighteen, my life was perfect. But maybe my happiness was too loud, and fate decided to silence it. On my eighteenth birthday, I was kidnapped. I was tortured, broken, and left wishing for death. It took a whole year before the police finally rescued me from that basement. I foolishly thought I could just go back to my old life. But the ugly scars all over my body and my heavily pregnant belly were constant slaps to my face. My old friends, who used to kiss the ground I walked on, gave me pitying looks. But behind my back, they whispered. They treated my trauma as juicy gossip over brunch. Even my parents, who used to worship me, started treating me like the family’s dirty little secret. Eventually, they adopted Polly—the nanny’s daughter. They didn’t want a broken daughter anymore. They wanted a clean, shiny new one. I was so exhausted back then. I wanted to end it all, but Tyler saved me. He dragged me back from the edge. He spent months telling me it wasn’t my fault. He told me not to be afraid, that he would protect me forever. But in just five years, the man who once rebuilt my entire world had turned into a monster. I stared at him, tears blurring my vision. Seeing my tears, Tyler seemed to realize he had gone too far. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his tone softening a bit. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up…” “But today is Polly’s high school graduation. You’re her older sister. Can’t you just let her have her moment for once?” For once? Hadn’t I let her have every single moment over the past few years? Ever since she entered the Franklin estate, she had made it her mission to throw her perfect life in my face. She constantly reminded me of how much our parents loved her. How they were a “real” family. She made sure I knew that my presence was a stain on the family name. But I was too tired to fight her. So I stood by and watched her steal my parents’ love, my inheritance, and my place in the family. Yet, she only grew greedier. Even after I married Tyler, she refused to let me go. Whenever she ran into sketchy guys, twisted her ankle, forgot her umbrella… or just felt sad, she would call. She always had a million emergencies to drag Tyler away from me. In the past, I lied to myself. I told myself Tyler only cared about Polly because she was my sister. But now, the illusion was shattered. You can’t hide love. His endless excuses, his protective instincts, his constant favoritism—it was all glaringly obvious. The woman Tyler loved was never me.

Before I could say anything, Polly pushed her way through the crowd. She smiled sweetly at me, looking genuinely thrilled by my arrival. “Alyssa! You came to celebrate with me after all?” “It’s all Tyler’s fault. He kept saying you hated loud places. I’m so happy you’re here!” With her bright eyes and bubbly tone, anyone would think she was just an innocent, sweet girl. But I didn’t miss the cruel gleam of triumph in her eyes. A wave of nausea hit me. I was done playing nice. I let out a cold laugh. “Aren’t you tired of acting after all these years, Polly?” “You already took my parents, my friends, and my status. Is this pathetic little game still fun for you?” Polly’s eyes instantly welled up with tears. She looked incredibly hurt. “Alyssa… how could you say that about me?” “I know I’m just adopted. I’ve never forgotten my place. I would never try to steal anything from you.” I ignored her act and took a step toward her. “You want Tyler too, right? Fine. He’s yours. Consider him my graduation gift to you. Do you like it?” Before the last word left my mouth, a glass of red wine was splashed directly over my head. Tyler quickly pulled Polly into his arms, shielding her, and glared at me with pure rage. “Alyssa! That is enough!” “Just because you’re a useless failure doesn’t mean you get to drag down everyone who is better than you!” “She’s your sister! There’s a limit to your jealousy. And now you’re throwing a tantrum about divorce? You’re pathetic.” A sneer curled on his lips. He was entirely convinced that I could never survive without him. He thought this was just another desperate attempt to get his attention. I wiped the dripping wine from my face, blinking back the burning tears. A failure? Useless? So that was what I was to him. A pathetic, disgusting burden. Then why did he go through all that trouble to save me five years ago? Why did he insist on marrying me despite all the rumors? When he was teaching me how to love myself again, was he laughing inside? When he kissed my scars with tears in his eyes, was he secretly holding back vomit? What an incredible actor. “Tyler, let’s get a divorce. I’m not playing games.” The smirk on Tyler’s face slowly faded. He stared at me. Then, he let out a harsh laugh, as if he had just heard a hilarious joke. “Divorce? Where would you even go? Back to the Franklins? They don’t want you.” “Look at you. Every single thing on your body was bought with my money.” “I’ve clearly spoiled you too much. If you’re so independent, stop using my credit cards.” “Even the clothes you’re wearing right now are paid for by me. You want a divorce? Fine. Strip right here, give them back, and leave!” The lounge gasped. All eyes locked onto me. The whispers, the mocking grins, and the sudden clicking of phone cameras filled the air. Polly tugged at Tyler’s sleeve, pretending to be shocked. “Tyler, stop! Calm down!” “Alyssa, why do you have to be so stubborn? If you hate me, I’ll stay away from you. Why are you taking it out on Tyler?” “Just apologize to—” Before she could finish, I unzipped my jacket and let it drop to the floor. I didn’t stop. I reached for the buttons of my shirt. One, two… “Fuck!” Tyler cursed, lunging forward to wrap his own coat around me. He gritted his teeth, his eyes blazing. “Alyssa, you’re a psycho!” “Are you trying to make me a laughingstock?!”

Without caring about the crowd, Tyler grabbed my wrist in a vice grip. He dragged me out of the club, threw me into the passenger seat of his car, and slammed the door shut. A second later, he climbed in, leaning over to pin me against the cold door. His hand wrapped tightly around my throat. His eyes were wild with fury, his grip tightening as he growled: “Fine… you win!” “Throwing a tantrum like this just because I forgot our anniversary? You really are desperate.” It was pathetic. Even now, he genuinely believed this entire meltdown was just a twisted game to make him pay attention to me. Looking at his furious face, I actually laughed. I laughed at his arrogance. I laughed at his stupidity. Five years ago, when Tyler’s outburst caused my miscarriage, I had begged for a divorce. But the Franklins refused to support me. They told me I should be grateful that a man like Tyler was willing to overlook my “baggage” and marry me. They blamed me for ruining my marriage over an “accident.” Tyler had knelt by my hospital bed back then, sobbing and shaking. He told me that ever since he witnessed my kidnapping, he had suffered from terrible nightmares. He said he could still hear my screams every time he closed his eyes. He hated himself for asking me out that day. He hated himself for letting go of my hand to help a stranger. Over time, his PTSD and anxiety grew worse. The slightest noise triggered his fight-or-flight response. He couldn’t control himself. He held me tight, crying so sincerely. But my heart was already dead. That was my baby. That was my only hope for a fresh start. How could he murder my child and then casually ask for forgiveness? How was I supposed to just live happily ever after with him? But what choice did I have? My life was already a trainwreck. What was the point of fighting? So, I went home with him. I never mentioned the baby again. But soon, I realized something. His “uncontrollable PTSD” disappeared the moment Polly was around. He could tolerate any noise, any chaos, as long as Polly was the one making it. That was the moment I realized. He didn’t hate the noise. He hated me. Since we both despised each other, there was no point in dragging this out. From now on, we were both free. Seeing my face turn red from the lack of oxygen, Tyler finally let go of my throat. He turned his head away, refusing to look at me. He slammed on the gas, driving us home in tense, suffocating silence. The moment we got back, Tyler went straight to the shower. I walked into the study to print out a fresh copy of the divorce papers. The moment I turned on his laptop, his SnapChat started flashing. He had forgotten to log out. I clicked on the chat. The screen was filled with messages between him and Polly. I watched him apologize for ruining her graduation night, making promise after promise to make it up to her. He sounded like a teenage boy head-over-heels in love. Then, I saw his text: Tyler: [Ugh, I don’t know what kind of crazy episode Alyssa is having today.] Tyler: [I’m hiding in the bathroom right now. Honestly, just the thought of having to touch her tonight makes me want to throw up.] Polly’s reply was quick, dripping with fake innocence: Polly: [Tyler, please don’t say that. Alyssa is your wife. It’s my fault… I shouldn’t have let myself fall for you.] Polly: [It physically hurts thinking about you two together, but there’s nothing I can do.] The flirting, the mocking, the casual way they ripped my dignity to shreds—it made my blood run cold. My heart hammered against my ribs. I placed my fingers on the keyboard, typed a quick message, and hit send: [You don’t have to worry about that anymore. I’m out.]

A second later, the account was force-logged out from another device. Within minutes, Tyler burst into the study with only a towel wrapped around his waist. He cleared his throat, trying to hide his panic with anger. “Why the hell were you snooping through my SnapChat? Where are your manners?” He raised his voice, desperately trying to cover up his betrayal. I was too exhausted to fight. I tried to walk past him to go to the bedroom. Thinking I was backing down, he reached out to wrap his arm around my waist. I flinched away, dodging his touch, locked myself in the bedroom, and went to sleep. It was the best sleep I had in years. At dawn, a loud crash woke me up. The bedroom door was kicked open. Tyler marched in, his face contorted with rage. “Alyssa! Did you post anonymous threads calling Polly a homewrecker?” “This was your plan all along, wasn’t it? Stripping at the club to get clout, and then leaking lies about Polly to ruin her reputation?” “I didn’t realize you could be this calculating.” My head was pounding. I groaned, turning away. “I didn’t do anything. I don’t care enough to.” My indifferent attitude only pushed him over the edge. Tyler lunged forward and slapped me across the face. The loud crack echoed in the quiet room. The force of the blow knocked me back onto the mattress. My head spun, and I had to swallow the metallic taste of blood rising in my throat. Tyler froze, staring at his own hand, realizing what he had just done. “Alyssa… I…” “Get out!” I wiped the blood from my lip. The very last trace of affection I had for this man died right then and there. Tyler opened his mouth to explain, but his phone started ringing. He glanced at the screen, muttered “stay put,” and rushed out of the room. I dragged myself out of bed, forced down some breakfast, and grabbed the suitcase I had packed weeks ago. When I arrived at the airport terminal, I noticed people staring at me. Whenever I caught their eyes, they quickly looked away, whispering furiously to their friends. “So tragic…” “The kidnapping…” “Oh my God, is that her?” A chill ran down my spine. My grip on my suitcase tightened. My heart beat so fast it felt like it was going to burst through my throat. With trembling fingers, I opened Twitter. The top trending hashtag in New York was: #Tyler’s Wife: The Kidnapped Heiress and the Secret Pregnancy.# The article leaked highly confidential photos from five years ago. Staring at the screen, my head felt like it was splitting open. Through the static in my mind, I was dragged back to that horrifying day five years ago. I saw my eighteen-year-old self—naked, bruised, and pregnant under the blinding flashlights of the paparazzi after being rescued. Even though the Franklins had spent millions to scrub those photos from the internet back then, the humiliation was permanently branded into my soul. There was no way Tyler hadn’t seen this. And yet, he let them drag me through the mud just to protect Polly. With shaking hands, I called Tyler. He picked up almost instantly, his voice filled with a tenderness I hadn’t heard in years. “Alyssa, don’t be scared. I’m here.” “Just stay home. Don’t look at your phone. I’ll be back to hold you as soon as I finish this meeting.” I paused, my voice barely a whisper. “Why did you do it, Tyler?” There was a long, agonizing silence on the other end. “Alyssa, I’m sorry. By the time I found out, the leak was already viral. I couldn’t stop it.” “But you’re my wife. As long as I don’t care about your past, what does it matter what public thinks?” “Besides… this leak successfully buried the threads exposing Polly. It was the only way to save her. It’s a win-win, right?” I couldn’t hear whatever else he said. The world went cold. My legs gave out, my vision turned black, and I collapsed onto the hard airport floor.

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“Fifty million dollars. Sold.” When the auction hammer fell, I was already prepared to feel the weight of that crown on my head. But Eric Carter walked right past me. He strode straight to the very back row and placed the bridal crown, the one I had personally designed, onto the head of a woman in a white dress. “Welcome home, Claire.” His voice was so tender it could melt ice. The entire hall fell into a dead silence. Every socialite in the room shifted their gaze from envy to sheer mockery. I stood up, my high heels clicking against the marble floor as I walked up to him. My voice was as calm as if I were talking about the weather. “I have only one question. Is our wedding next month still on?” Eric sneered. “Sure. As long as you work as Claire’s personal assistant for her comeback show, the wedding is still on.” I nodded. “Deal.” He would never know that I never wanted his love in the first place. All I wanted was a wedding that would allow me to die. Because once I died at that wedding, my quest would be complete, and I could finally resurrect my true love.

Hailey’s POV “Hailey, you designed this bridal crown yourself. Mr. Carter is definitely buying it as your wedding gift tonight.” “Of course he is. Everyone in New York knows how much Eric spoils Hailey. He even named his luxury jewelry brand after her. Who wouldn’t be jealous?” At the charity auction, the socialites around me were whispering about my relationship with Eric Carter. I sat in the front row, staring calmly at the crown on the stage. I had pulled three consecutive all-nighters to sketch that design. It was meant for me to wear at my wedding with Eric next month. “Fifty million!” Eric’s deep, cold voice rang out beside me as he raised his paddle. The crowd gasped, followed by warm laughter and envious stares. “Mr. Carter is indeed generous.” The hammer fell. The deal was closed. The staff carefully brought the dazzling crown to Eric. I curved my lips slightly, about to reach for it, but Eric walked right past my outstretched hand. He took the crown and walked straight toward the back row of the venue. There, a woman in a white dress with a gentle aura was standing. I hadn’t even noticed when she arrived. Under the shocked gazes of everyone in the room, Eric gently placed the bridal crown on her head. “Welcome home, Claire,” he murmured, his voice dripping with tenderness. Dead silence. The socialites who had been flattering me a second ago now looked at me with blatant mockery and pity. “Is that Claire Bennett? The girl Eric actually loved?” “Claire is back, so Hailey, the placeholder, has to pack her bags. I knew it. How could a billionaire like Eric actually fall for a nameless orphan? She was just a rebound.” “How pathetic. Their wedding is next month. I guess it’s canceled now.” Their sharp whispers pricked like needles. But I didn’t even blink. I stood up, stepping forward in my high heels, and walked over to them. Claire shrank back slightly, hiding behind Eric, her eyes pooling with tears. “Eric, is Miss Miller mad? I’m so sorry, I didn’t know this crown was…” “You don’t need to apologize.” Eric shielded Claire behind him and glared at me coldly. “Hailey, Claire just got back to the States. Consider this crown a welcome-home gift for her. You’re not that petty, are you?” I looked at the man I had “loved” for five years. Over these five years, Eric had given me absolute devotion. He showered me with resources, made me a lead designer, and even insisted on marrying me despite his family’s fierce opposition. Everyone thought I loved Eric more than life itself. But only I knew the truth. I didn’t love him at all. “I don’t mind,” I said, my voice flat, without a single ripple of emotion. “I only have one question. Is our wedding next month still on?” Eric froze. I was acting too calm, like a stranger whose only concern was the contract of the wedding. “Are you really that desperate to marry me?” Eric let out a harsh laugh, his eyes filled with contempt. “Fine. If you agree to be Claire’s assistant for her comeback show, the wedding will go on as scheduled.” Asking a lead designer to be a personal assistant to a socialite who knew nothing about design? It was a public humiliation. Gasps echoed around us. Everyone waited for me to break down and cry. Instead, I just looked at him for two seconds and nodded. “Okay. I agree.” With that, I turned around and walked away, my spine perfectly straight, without a single hint of regret. As I walked out of the auction hall, the night breeze was chilly. A mechanical voice suddenly echoed in my mind. “Hailey, the quest progress has reached 90%. Once your wedding with Eric Carter is successfully completed, you will receive the final reward.” I took a deep breath and whispered in my mind, “I know.” Five years ago, a System brought me to this world. My mission was to make Eric Carter fall in love with me and have a wedding with him. Once the quest succeeded, the System would resurrect the only man I had ever truly loved, Julian Vance. For Julian, I would gladly play the role of an assistant. I would gladly die. I didn’t care who Eric loved. All I needed was a wedding to complete my quest.

Hailey’s POV The next morning, I showed up at Claire’s studio on time. “Hailey, Eric asked you to help me.” Claire sat on the sofa, her smile innocent and sweet. “I just got back, and there’s so much I don’t know. I’ll be in your care.” I took the files she handed over with a blank face. “What do you need me to do, Miss Bennett?” “Could you grab me a coffee? I want the hand-drip coffee from that artisanal shop in Brooklyn. No sugar, no milk,” Claire said. Brooklyn was easily an hour’s drive from Manhattan. With traffic, a round trip would take at least two hours. “Sure,” I said, turning on my heel. By the time I returned with the coffee, Eric was already there. He was sitting on the sofa, whispering something to Claire, his face softening with a tenderness I had never seen before. Hearing the door open, Eric looked up. Seeing me drenched in sweat, holding the coffee cup, his brows furrowed instantly. “Where have you been?” “Getting coffee for Miss Bennett.” I walked over and placed the cup on the table. Eric’s face darkened. But suddenly, Claire let out a sharp gasp. “Ah!” Claire reached for the coffee, but “accidentally” knocked the cup over. The scalding hot coffee splashed all over the back of her hand, turning her skin red instantly. “Claire!” Eric’s face paled. He grabbed her hand, his eyes wild with worry. He whipped his head around, glaring at me like a beast. “What the hell is wrong with you? You can’t even set a coffee cup down properly? Did you burn her on purpose?” I stood there, watching Eric’s furious expression. It was almost funny. Claire had clearly knocked it over herself, yet he didn’t even bother to ask before convicting me. “I didn’t,” I replied flatly. “How dare you lie!” Eric slammed his fist on the table, standing up and pointing at me. “Apologize to Claire. Now!” I looked at him, my eyes devoid of any warmth. “I’m sorry, Miss Bennett,” I said, bowing my head slightly, my voice completely robotic. Eric gritted his teeth, grabbed my wrist roughly, and dragged me out of the office and into the fire stairwell. With a loud thud, he pinned me against the concrete wall. “Hailey! Where is your pride? You used to be so stubborn! Why are you acting like a desperate dog now?” My back throbbed from the impact, but I didn’t even flinch. I looked straight into Eric’s face, which was distorted by anger. My calmness was almost terrifying. “Eric, didn’t you make me her assistant? An assistant apologizing to the client is just business.” “You!” Eric was choked by my words. He stared into my eyes, his grip tightening. “Hailey, do you think as long as you play nice, I will actually marry you?” Eric sneered. He suddenly bent down and bit my lips violently. It was a kiss stripped of any affection, filled only with punishment and rage. I didn’t struggle, nor did I respond. I let him vent like a lifeless doll. Tasting blood, Eric pushed me away, his eyes dark. “Let me tell you something. Even if we get married, you will never compare to a single hair on Claire’s head!” I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth and nodded slightly. “I know. There are twenty-eight days left until the wedding. Don’t forget to try on your tux, Mr. Carter.” With that, I pushed open the heavy door and walked away without looking back. Claire’s comeback show was heavily publicized. As her assistant, I did all the grunt work. One afternoon, Claire came to me with a sketch, her face twisted in disgust. “Hailey, is this the garbage you drew? How dare you show this to me? Are you trying to ruin my show on purpose?” I glanced at the sketch. It was the final draft I had stayed up for three days to revise, following her feedback fifteen times. “Miss Bennett, this is the fifteenth draft, modified exactly according to your instructions.” “I don’t care! It’s trash!” Claire snatched the paper and tore it to shreds right in front of me. “Redo it! If you don’t finish it tonight, you’re not going home!” I stared at the shredded paper on the floor. After a moment of silence, I knelt down to pick them up. As I did, a photo fell out from between the sheets. It was a photo I always kept close to my heart. It showed the back of a man wearing a white shirt, with sunlight spilling over his shoulders, looking warm and bright. It was Julian. My pupils dilated, and I lunged to grab it. But Claire was faster. Her high heel came down hard, grinding right onto the photo, puncturing a hole through Julian’s back. “Oh, oops. I didn’t see that,” Claire said, covering her mouth with a smug giggle. My mind went entirely blank. My sanity snapped. I shoved Claire away with all my might. She stumbled, and I threw myself onto the floor, carefully cradling the ruined photo in my hands. The hole in Julian’s back was torn open. It could never be fixed. “What are you doing?!” Claire screamed as she fell onto the sofa. The office door was slammed open. Eric rushed in and immediately helped Claire up. “Hailey, have you lost your mind?!” Eric roared. I knelt on the floor, my entire body shaking. I stared at the photo, my eyes bloodshot, tears heavy as lead dropping onto the ruined paper. This was the only proof I had left in this world that Julian Vance had ever existed. And now, it was ruined.

Hailey’s POV Eric froze when he saw how utterly broken I was. He walked over, trying to see what the photo was. “It’s just a photo. Is it really worth crying over?” He reached down to grab it. “Don’t touch it!” I snapped at his hand, shielding the photo like a feral animal protecting its food. I looked up at him, my eyes filled with pure hatred. Eric let out a cold laugh, his anger flaring. “What? Crying over an old photo of me again? Hailey, aren’t you sick of this dramatic act?” He thought the photo was of him. I didn’t bother to correct him. I carefully tucked the photo back into my coat, stood up, and wiped my tears. “Eric,” I said, my voice hoarse but dripping with an icy chill. “Keep your woman on a leash. If she ever touches my things again, I promise I will break her hand.” Without waiting for his response, I pushed past him and walked out. A few days later, Claire’s comeback show suffered a massive disaster. On the eve of the runway, her headliner jewelry design was exposed as a blatant plagiarism of an early work by a famous European designer. The internet exploded. Claire’s reputation as a talented, innocent designer shattered overnight, and boycotts poured in. Inside Eric’s office, the air was suffocating. Claire was sobbing hysterically. “Eric, I didn’t plagiarize! It was Hailey! She drew that sketch! She set me up!” Eric rubbed his temples and looked at me, standing quietly in the corner. “Hailey, you will take the blame for this,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. I looked up at him. “Mr. Carter, I am a professional designer. If I admit to plagiarism, my career is completely over.” “So what?” Eric looked at me coldly. “You’re marrying me soon. The wife of the CEO of the Carter Group doesn’t need to work. But Claire is different. Her career is just starting, and she cannot have a stain on her record.” My wife doesn’t need to work. I sneered inwardly at those words. I looked at Eric, my eyes as dead as a winter morning. “Fine. I’ll take the fall,” I said. “But remember this, Eric. This is the last thing I will ever do for you. If anything goes wrong at our wedding next month, I will never forgive you.” The next day, I held a press conference. Facing the blinding camera flashes and aggressive reporters, I calmly admitted to plagiarism and announced my permanent retirement from the design industry. The crowd in the lobby was furious. An angry protester suddenly broke through the security line and threw a heavy water bottle at my head. “You thieving fraud! Get out of the industry!” The bottle struck my forehead. Blood trickled down my face. I didn’t dodge. I didn’t even wipe the blood. I just stood there, letting the cameras capture my most humiliated moment. Later, I sat alone in the empty dressing room, casually dabbing the blood from my forehead with a napkin. Hearing footsteps, I looked up and saw Eric rushing in. I was slightly surprised. “What are you doing here?” my tone was indifferent. Eric stared at the cut on my forehead, a flash of genuine pain in his eyes. He stepped closer, reaching out to touch my wound, but I tilted my head to avoid him. “I did what you asked,” I said, looking at him with clear eyes. “There are fifteen days left until the wedding. I hope you keep your word.” Eric’s hand froze in mid-air. I had given up my reputation, my career, and my dignity. All I wanted was that wedding. And as I looked at him, there was not a single trace of love left in my eyes.

Hailey’s POV Ten days before the wedding. I went to the bridal shop alone to try on my dress. Eric said he had a corporate meeting and couldn’t make it. I didn’t care. As long as he showed up on the wedding day, nothing else mattered. I put on the custom gown I had ordered a year ago and stood in front of the full-length mirror. The dress was breathtaking, adorned with nine hundred and ninety-nine tiny diamonds that shimmered under the boutique lights. “Miss Miller, you look absolutely stunning,” the stylist gasped. I looked at my reflection, but my mind drifted. Julian, if only you were the one standing next to me today. Suddenly, the boutique door was pushed open. Eric walked in, his arm wrapped around Claire’s waist. When Claire saw the dress on me, her eyes lit up with greed. “Oh my god, Eric! That dress is gorgeous!” Claire whined, tugging at Eric’s arm. “I want to wear this exact dress for my engagement party with Tyler next month.” Eric’s eyes flickered with a brief moment of awe when he saw me. But he quickly masked it, his voice turning cold. “If you like it, try it on.” “But… that’s Hailey’s wedding dress…” Claire bit her lip, acting hesitant. “It’s just a piece of fabric.” Eric looked at me, his tone commanding. “Take it off and let Claire try it.” Even the stylists were stunned. I could read the sheer disbelief on their faces. Who in their right mind would ask a bride-to-be to strip off her custom wedding gown for another woman? I just stared at Eric, saying nothing. My silence made him look slightly guilty, but he doubled down anyway. “Claire is just trying it. I’ll order you an even better one.” “No need,” I said calmly. I turned around, walked into the fitting room, and took off the masterpiece without hesitation. When I stepped out, I was wearing the cheapest, most basic off-the-rack wedding dress in the shop. No diamonds, no lace, and the hemline was slightly too short. Eric’s face turned completely pale when he saw me in the cheap gown. “Hailey, what is this supposed to mean? Are you trying to embarrass me on our wedding day by wearing trash?” I looked at him, my expression blank. “Didn’t you say it’s just a piece of fabric, Mr. Carter? Since it’s just a dress, what difference does it make what I wear?” “You!” Eric snapped. He lunged forward, ripped the veil off my head, and slammed it onto the floor. “If you love this cheap trash so much, then you can walk down the aisle in it on our wedding day!” With that, he grabbed Claire and walked out. I stood there, looking at the soiled veil on the floor, and sighed softly. It didn’t matter. As long as the wedding happened, I could wear a garbage bag for all I cared. The night before the wedding. Eric’s friends threw him a bachelor party at a high-end club in Manhattan. As the bride, I was dragged along too. The VIP room was dimly lit. Eric sat in the center of the plush sofa, with Claire clinging to his side. I sat alone in the far corner, quietly sipping my water. “Hey Eric, are you seriously marrying Hailey?” one of his drunk friends slurred. “She’s a labeled plagiarist now. Marrying her brings zero benefit to the Carter Group.” “Exactly. Look at her now. She doesn’t even have an ounce of pride left. I bet if you gave the wedding ring to Claire right now, she wouldn’t even dare to protest.” The room erupted into laughter. Eric had had a lot to drink, his eyes glassy. He looked at me sitting in the corner, quiet as a ghost. Suddenly, he pulled a velvet box from his pocket and opened it. Inside was a flawless pink diamond ring, the wedding ring he was supposed to put on my finger tomorrow. Amidst the cheers of his friends, Eric took the ring out and casually tossed it into Claire’s lap. “It’s yours, Claire. Consider it an early engagement gift.” The room fell silent. Everyone turned to look at me, waiting for me to scream, cry, or run. I set my glass down, stood up, and walked over to Eric. I glanced at the ring in Claire’s hand, then looked at Eric. My voice was steady. “Since the ring is gone, what are we using tomorrow?” Eric let out a mocking chuckle. He grabbed a soda can from the table, ripped off the metal pull-tab, and dropped it at my feet. “Use this. What’s the matter? Don’t want to marry me anymore?” I looked down at the sticky metal tab covered in alcohol. I bent over, picked it up, and clenched it tightly in my palm. “I do,” I said, looking into Eric’s eyes. “As long as you show up on time tomorrow, I will use whatever you want.” Then, I turned and walked out of the room.

Hailey’s POV Our wedding day. The grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel in New York. I stood in the bridal suite, wearing the cheap, off-the-rack dress, staring at my reflection. “Hailey, the quest is at 99%. Once the rings are exchanged, the quest will be complete.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Julian, I am finally going to see you. Suddenly, the door was kicked open. Eric’s assistant rushed in, drenched in sweat. “Miss Miller, this is bad! Miss Bennett is standing on the roof of the Empire State Building threatening to jump! Mr. Carter rushed over there!” My eyes snapped open. I grabbed the hem of my dress and ran. I sprinted down the hallway, ignoring the stares, and managed to block Eric’s car right as he was about to leave the hotel driveway. “Eric, you can’t leave!” I grabbed his car door, my voice trembling. Eric’s eyes were bloodshot. “Claire is trying to kill herself! I have to save her!” “The ceremony starts in ten minutes! If you leave, what about me?” I glared at him. “Just give me five minutes! Exchange the rings with me, and then you can go wherever you want!” “Hailey, do you even have a heart?!” Eric shoved my hand away, roaring, “Claire is about to lose her life, and all you care about is this stupid wedding! I’m telling you, I’m not doing this today!” He slammed the door, and the car sped away. The force of the acceleration threw me onto the asphalt. My palms were scraped raw, blood oozing out. I watched the tail lights disappear, the light in my eyes fading into darkness. “Warning! The groom has left the venue. The quest is at risk of failing!” I slowly pushed myself up from the ground. Ignoring the whispers of the onlookers, I walked back into the ballroom step by step. Inside, the guests were already whispering. “Where is the groom?” “I heard he ran off to save Claire. Hailey is so pathetic, dumped at the altar.” I walked up to the center of the stage, took the microphone from the stunned officiant, and spoke. “The wedding will proceed.” My voice echoed through the speakers, calm and steady. The crowd went wild. How could a wedding proceed without a groom? I didn’t care about their stares. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the rusted metal soda tab. If I put the tab on my own finger, would the System count it as complete? I raised my hand, preparing to slide the metal ring onto my finger. Bang. The heavy double doors of the ballroom were slammed open. Eric stood there, panting, his suit disheveled, his eyes wild with panic. Seeing me standing alone on the stage, holding that ridiculous soda tab, a look of profound guilt and agony crossed his face. He sprinted up the stage, snatched the tab from my hand, and threw it away. He pulled a spare diamond ring from his pocket, dropped to one knee, his voice shaking. “Hailey… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I’m late.” The room fell quiet. I looked at Eric kneeling before me, saying nothing. Terrified by my silence, he grabbed my hand and desperately slid the diamond ring onto my finger. “Hailey, we are married now. I will treat you well from now on. I’ll make up for everything I owe you.” The moment the ring slid into place, the mechanical voice echoed in my head. “Ding! The wedding is complete. Quest progress: 100%. Reward issued: Julian Vance has been resurrected. Hailey Miller may exit this world at any time.” I smiled. For the first time in five years, a genuine, dazzling smile broke across my face. Eric stared at my smile, completely mesmerized. “Hailey.” He stood up, reaching out to hug me. But I took a step back, dodging his touch. “Eric, thank you,” I said, looking at him with eyes that held neither love nor hate, but only absolute relief. Eric froze. “Hailey, what are you doing?” I didn’t answer. I turned around, grabbed the hem of my cheap dress, and ran toward the massive floor-to-ceiling glass window at the end of the ballroom like a bird escaping its cage. “Hailey.” Eric’s eyes widened in horror as he chased after me like a madman. But it was too late. I grabbed a heavy chair nearby and smashed it against the glass. The window shattered. The cold wind howled into the ballroom, whipping my cheap dress around me. I looked back at Eric one last time, and without a single shred of hesitation, I leaped out.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “436637”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

Five years into building a company with Ethan Thorne, we had gone from broke basement lovers to the power couple everyone envied. Everyone said Ethan treated me like a queen. He once even walked out on a multi-million dollar VC pitch just to rush me to the ER when I had an allergic reaction. Until today, when I saw his wedding invitation to his first love. Yet, just half an hour ago, we were tangled in the sheets, loving each other to death. I confronted him. “Ethan, what have I been to you these past five years?” He took a slow drag of his cigarette, his voice painfully calm. “Just your bad luck, I guess. You happened to show up when I was at my lowest.” “And now? Now you have everything.” He turned to look at me, his eyes devoid of any warmth. “Now? Now it’s time to give the seat back to the one who actually belongs there.” I let out a cold laugh. Then it really is time for me to find a new husband. Sera’s POV Behind the scenes of Apex Tech’s grand product launch, the door to the VIP green room was locked from the inside. Ethan pinned me against the vanity mirror, kissing me so hard I could barely breathe. My silk blouse was completely disheveled, unbuttoned down to my collarbone, while Ethan was still immaculately dressed in his bespoke suit, his glasses sitting perfectly on his high nose bridge. This dominant, possessive contrast made my ears flush crimson. Ethan’s large hand gripped my waist, pulling me hard against his chest. His lips brushed my earlobe as he chuckled darkly, “The press is right outside, Sera. If I open this door, everyone will see you like this. Why are you trembling, hmm?” The crisp, clean scent of cedarwood on him completely enveloped me. Just as I was losing myself in his rare display of passion, a frantic knock shattered the silence. “Mr. Thorne, Mr. Carter says there’s an urgent matter,” his assistant’s voice called out from the other side. Ethan froze, the passion in his eyes vanishing instantly. He let me go, slowly buttoning his suit jacket, returning to his usual cold, aloof self. “Wait for me here. I’ll take care of it.” The door clicked shut, leaving me alone in the quiet room. I caught my breath, walked over to the sofa, and picked up Ethan’s iPad to finish some digital sketches, as I always did. But the moment the screen unlocked, an iCloud sync notification popped up. File Sync Complete: Marriage_Certificate_Scan.pdf My heart skipped a beat. A marriage certificate? Ethan and I had been together for five years. Though he’d recently mentioned “settling down,” we hadn’t even bought rings yet. Where did a marriage certificate come from? I tapped the file. The high-definition scan filled the screen, and what I saw made my eyes burn. The man in the photo was indeed Ethan, looking incredibly gentle. But the woman leaning happily against his shoulder wasn’t me. It was Chloe Bennett. I scrolled down. The registration date was three days ago. The next page was a pre-drafted Prenuptial Agreement and Asset Transfer. “The groom, Ethan Thorne, voluntarily transfers 10% of Apex Tech’s founder shares to the bride, Chloe Bennett, upon marriage.” In that single second, the blood in my veins turned to ice. Chloe Bennett. The name was like a poisoned needle stabbing straight into my heart. Five years ago, Ethan was just a broke college kid trying to start a business. Chloe, his college sweetheart, stole his core source code, sold it to his biggest competitor, and fled the country to study abroad, leaving him ruined. Ethan went bankrupt overnight, buried under millions in debt. He was so severely depressed he almost jumped from the roof of his building. It was me who dragged him back from the edge of that roof. A nobody. A struggling freelance illustrator. For five years, I worked three jobs. I was a receptionist by day and drew digital commissions late into the night. To help him pay off his debts and restart his project, I drew until my neck was permanently damaged and my vision blurred. I literally used my own life to pave the way for Ethan’s success. I shared moldy bread with him. I lived in leaky basement apartments. I held him through countless nights of absolute despair. I thought I had finally become irreplaceable in his life. Yet now, when he was worth billions and stood at the top of the world, the very first thing he did was bring back the woman who betrayed him and secretly marry her! He was even giving away the shares I had sacrificed my health for to that parasite! Tears fell, splashing onto the screen and blurring the text. So, five years of devotion meant absolutely nothing compared to his first love coming back. I didn’t go to Ethan to scream and cry. When adults break down, they do it silently. I wiped my tears, pulled out my phone, and dialed a number I had promised myself I would never call. When the call connected, Eleanor Thorne’s arrogant voice rang out: “So, Miss Vance, have you finally faced reality?” “Yes, Mrs. Thorne,” I said, my voice shockingly calm. “I accept your offer of $50 million. I will leave Ethan forever.”

Sera’s POV “At least you’re smart,” Eleanor sneered over the line. “Tomorrow morning, 10 AM, at the St. Regis Cafe. Don’t be late.” The next morning, I arrived right on time. Eleanor slid a $50 million cashier’s check and a non-disclosure agreement across the table, her eyes filled with nothing but disgust. “Sign it, and the money is yours. But let’s get one thing straight. Once you take this, get as far away from Ethan as possible. You are just a painter. Don’t ever dream of marrying into the Thorne family. Ethan is already married to Chloe. If you keep clinging to him, you will be nothing but a shameless mistress.” I didn’t argue. I picked up the pen and signed my name at the bottom of the page. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Thorne. He will never see me again.” Eleanor took the paper, satisfied. “I’ll give you two weeks. Ethan is busy with Chloe right now anyway. Find a good excuse and vanish completely.” After leaving the cafe, I went straight to the visa center to fast-track an artist residency visa for Iceland. The Thorne family was powerful in New York, but their reach couldn’t touch Northern Europe. Once I was in Iceland, Ethan would never find me. On the cab ride home, I opened Instagram. A notification popped up. It was a post from Chloe. It was a photo of two hands locked together on a steering wheel, a massive diamond ring glittering on her ring finger. In the passenger seat lay a vintage Leica camera. The caption read: “What’s meant to be will always find its way back to its rightful owner.” The post was set so that only I could see it. Looking at that camera, a bitter laugh escaped my lips. That was the birthday present I had spent three freezing days hunting for in the vintage markets for Ethan’s 25th birthday, spending every last penny of my savings. I liked the post without any expression, then logged out. At 10 PM, Ethan came home. He threw his suit jacket onto the couch and wrapped his arms around me from behind as I was packing up my sketches. Resting his chin on my shoulder, his voice was surprisingly tender. “Why are you so sweet today? You even left the lights on for me.” My body tensed. I didn’t struggle, but asked quietly, “Where were you today?” “Just some urgent meetings at the office. I had to work late,” Ethan lied without blinking, even kissing my cheek. “I’ve been neglecting you lately. There’s a yacht party tomorrow night. Come with me. You need some fresh air.” Looking at his handsome, loving face, my stomach turned with pure disgust. I lowered my gaze, hiding the dead look in my eyes. “Okay.” The next evening, the luxury yacht was glowing with lights. When I entered holding Ethan’s arm, we immediately became the center of attention. Everyone in our social circle knew Ethan had a woman who had been through thick and thin with him. Though we weren’t married, my status seemed rock-solid. But shortly after we sat down, a woman in a custom red gown walked down the grand spiral staircase. Chloe Bennett. She walked straight to our table, sat in the empty seat right next to Ethan, and smiled. “Long time no see, Ethan.” Ethan’s grip on his wine glass tightened, but his face remained like ice. He didn’t even look at her, only turning to me. “The oysters here are great. Want some?” Watching his forced indifference, I found it pathetic. They were already married. Why was he still acting for me? Halfway through the party, Ethan was called away by some business partners. I walked out to the deck alone to get some air, holding the digital tablet that contained five years of my artwork. “Sera, you really are pathetic, aren’t you?” Chloe’s voice came from behind. I turned around, staring at her coldly. “Do you need something, Mrs. Thorne?” Hearing “Mrs. Thorne,” Chloe smirked triumphantly. “Since you already know, why haven’t you packed your bags and run? Do you really think Ethan loves you? He just pities you. You’re nothing but a glorified, free maid. Now that I’m back, the placeholder needs to get lost.” With that, Chloe stepped forward and snatched the tablet from my hands. “What are you doing? Give it back!” My face paled. My upcoming commercial illustrations and five years of hard work were all in there! “It’s just a cheap piece of plastic. Why so tense?” Chloe sneered, her hand flicking outward. Splash. The tablet sank into the pitch-black ocean. “Chloe!” My eyes turned bloodshot. I raised my hand and slapped her across the face with everything I had. Slap! The sharp sound echoed across the deck. “What do you think you’re doing?!” A furious roar came from behind us. Ethan rushed over, shoving me aside violently to catch Chloe, who was whimpering and clutching her red cheek. His shove was so hard, and with my high heels, I lost my balance and crashed backward. Crack! My right wrist slammed violently against the iron railing of the deck. A sickening snap echoed in my ears.

Sera’s POV White-hot agony shot from my wrist straight to my brain. Cold sweat poured down my face, and I collapsed onto the deck, unable to move. For an illustrator, her right hand is her life. But Ethan didn’t even look at my way. He was gently cradling Chloe’s face, his eyes filled with pure panic. “Chloe! Are you okay? Where does it hurt?” Chloe’s eyes were red, tears streaming down her face like a victim. She shrunk into Ethan’s chest. “Ethan, I just wanted to see Sera’s drawings. It slipped out of my hand and fell into the ocean. It was an accident, but she… she hit me…” “Sera!” Ethan whipped his head around, his eyes wild with rage as he glared at me. “When did you become so vicious? It was just a stupid tablet! How dare you lay a hand on her!” A stupid tablet? Holding my shattered wrist, I let out a broken laugh. That tablet didn’t just have my livelihood; it had every single sketch I had drawn of him over the last five years. His profile while working late, his sleeping face, us eating ramen together… I had poured all my love into those digital pages, and now he dismissed it as “a stupid tablet.” “Ethan, that was my life,” I whispered, looking at him with hollow eyes. Ethan flinched at my dead stare. But Chloe’s quiet whimpering quickly brought his anger back. “Julian! Take Sera back to the apartment! She is grounded until further notice. She is not to step foot outside!” Ethan threw the words at me coldly, then scooped Chloe up in his arms and rushed toward the yacht’s medical suite. The wealthy guests around me didn’t hide their mockery. “Yikes, she really thought she was going to be the next Mrs. Thorne. The moment Chloe comes back, this charity case is nothing.” “Exactly. She doesn’t even know her place, actually hitting Chloe.” I ignored them. I forced myself up, refusing Julian’s hand as he tried to help me. Dragging my limp right hand, I walked off the yacht alone. The ER at Mount Sinai Hospital at midnight was freezing and quiet. The doctor stared at the X-ray, his brow furrowed. “Severe wrist fracture with major soft tissue damage. You need a cast immediately. No lifting heavy objects for at least three months, let alone drawing. If it doesn’t heal perfectly, you might have permanent nerve damage.” I listened in silence, using my left hand to clumsily sign the paperwork. “I understand. Thank you, Doctor.” After getting the cast, I took a cab back to our empty luxury apartment. I didn’t turn on the lights. Under the moonlight, I used my left hand to throw away every couple’s cup, matching slippers, and all the cheap gifts Ethan had ever given me into trash bags. If I was leaving, I was leaving nothing behind. The next afternoon, Ethan’s assistant called. “Miss Vance, Mr. Thorne wants you to come to the office immediately.” I changed into a long-sleeved coat to hide the cast on my wrist and took a cab to Apex Tech. The moment I pushed open the penthouse office door, the suffocating tension hit me. Ethan sat behind his massive desk, his face dark. Chloe sat on the leather sofa nearby, holding a cup of Starbucks, looking down her nose at me. Seeing me enter, Ethan slammed a document onto the desk. “Sign it.” I walked over and looked down. Intellectual Property Transfer Agreement. It was for my most famous illustration series, “The Deep Sea and the Star”. This IP was based on our love story, and a major film studio had just offered me a million-dollar contract for the rights. The recipient was a new media company newly registered under Chloe’s name. It was so absurd I laughed out loud. “Ethan, have you lost your mind? This is my life’s work. Why should I give it to her?” “Because you put your hands on her yesterday!” Ethan stood up, leaning over his desk, glaring down at me. “Chloe just got back and needs a major IP to launch her agency. This transfer is your apology to her.” “My apology?” I stared at him. “She stole your code! She ruined you! She almost made you jump off a building! And now you want me to give her my life’s work to pave her way? Ethan, do you even have a soul?” “Shut up!” Ethan’s face turned crimson, his ego bruised. “Chloe had a choice back then! She did it to save her sick brother! You know nothing!” Looking at this man I had loved for five years, he felt like a complete stranger. “And if I refuse?” I asked coldly. Ethan narrowed his eyes, his voice dripping with venom. “Sera, don’t push me. The major clients for your art studio are all partners of Apex Tech. With one word from me, I can blackball you from the industry permanently. Sign it, and we can keep this civil.” He was threatening my entire career. For another woman. I closed my eyes, swallowing the metallic taste of blood in my throat. I reached out my left hand and picked up the pen. “What’s wrong with your right hand?” Ethan finally noticed my awkward posture, his brow twitching slightly. “None of your business.” I didn’t look up, using my left hand to scribble a messy signature at the bottom. I dropped the pen and turned to leave. “Sera!” Ethan called out. I stopped, but didn’t turn back. “Ethan, we are done. Completely.”

Sera’s POV The moment I walked out of the Apex Tech tower, my phone rang. It was the Icelandic Embassy. “Miss Vance, your artist residency visa has been expedited and approved. You can book your flight whenever you are ready.” “Thank you.” I hung up and booked a one-way ticket to Reykjavik for three days later. During those three days, I didn’t see Ethan once. I quietly canceled the lease on my studio, let my assistant go, and listed everything I couldn’t take with me on eBay for dirt cheap. The evening of the third day was our five-year anniversary. In the past, no matter how busy Ethan was, he would cancel every meeting to cook dinner for me. But tonight, the kitchen was cold, and the apartment was as silent as a tomb. At 8 PM, my phone rang. It was Julian. “Miss Vance, Mr. Thorne is hosting a gathering at the penthouse of The Obsidian Club tonight. He said it’s to celebrate your five-year anniversary. He wants you to come over right away.” Julian’s voice sounded incredibly strained. I wanted to say no, but then I thought. This would be the last time I would ever see him. Consider it a final goodbye. I changed into a simple black dress and took a cab to The Obsidian. When I pushed open the heavy doors of the VIP suite, the room was dimly lit and thick with cigar smoke. Half of Manhattan’s elite young crowd was there, but the atmosphere was weirdly quiet. I immediately saw Ethan sitting in the center. He sat with his legs crossed, holding a glass of Cabernet. In his lap was a fluffy, snow-white Ragdoll cat. Chloe sat next to him, waving a cat toy, smiling brightly. The moment I saw that cat, the blood drained from my face. I took a sharp step back, my spine hitting the cold door. I have a life-threatening allergy to cat dander. It triggers severe anaphylactic asthma that can suffocate me within minutes. Ethan knew this. Three years ago, when Apex Tech was just taking off, a billionaire investor brought his cat to a meeting. I had an allergic reaction on the spot. Ethan literally flipped the conference table, kicked the investor out, and threw away the multi-million dollar deal just to save me. He had promised me back then: “No one will ever make you suffer again.” But today, he held that poison in his own arms. “Ethan, Sera is here,” Chloe purred, her smile widening. Ethan looked up, his eyes landing on my pale face. He frowned. “Why are you standing by the door? Come sit down.” I covered my nose and mouth, my voice shaking. “Get the cat out… Ethan, you know I’m allergic…” “Sera, stop acting,” Ethan scoffed, his voice filled with impatience. “Chloe loves cats, so I bought this for her. Your allergy was only because your immune system was weak back then. You’ve been living in luxury for years now; how could you still be allergic?” The rich kids around the room laughed. “Yeah, Sera, it’s just a cat. Ethan threw this party for your anniversary. Don’t be a party pooper.” “Even Chloe doesn’t mind you being here, what are you complaining about?” Looking at Ethan’s cold, indifferent face, the very last ember in my heart died. Without another word, I turned to open the door and leave. “Stop right there!” Ethan snapped. “Sera, if you walk out of that door tonight, don’t you ever think about coming back!” Just then, Chloe gasped, “Oh no! Snowflake, don’t run!” The Ragdoll cat broke free from Ethan’s arms, streaking like white lightning straight toward me. “Ah!” I couldn’t dodge in time. The cat’s claws caught my dress, and a cloud of white dander exploded into the air around me. Instantly, my airway began to swell and close. I clutched my throat, collapsing to the floor, gasping desperately for air, but my lungs remained completely empty. “Help… please…” My face turned blue, and I stretched my left hand toward Ethan in absolute terror. Ethan’s face paled, and he jumped up to rush to me. “Ow! It hurts!” Chloe suddenly screamed, crouching down and clutching her hand. “Ethan, the cat scratched me… there’s blood. What if I get rabies? I’m so scared…” Ethan froze in his tracks. He looked at me, suffocating and twitching on the floor, and then at Chloe, who had a tiny, barely visible red scratch on her hand. “Julian! Call the club’s doctor! Chloe is bleeding!” Ethan roared, turning his back on me to scoop Chloe up, rushing out of the room. As he ran past me, his leather dress shoe stepped right onto my outstretched fingers. My fingers throbbed, but I could barely feel the physical pain anymore. Lying on the cold floor, my vision began to fade. Watching Ethan carry Chloe away, a single, final tear slipped down my cheek. Ethan Thorne, you are truly heartless.

Sera’s POV The room was in chaos, but nobody cared about the girl suffocating on the floor. It was Julian who finally rushed over, tore open my purse, found my emergency EpiPen, and jammed it into my thigh. “Miss Vance! Hang in there!” The medication flooded my system, and I began to cough violently, finally clawing back a breath of air. I pushed Julian’s hand away and forced myself up against the wall, shaking. “Miss Vance, let me take you to the hospital…” Julian said, his eyes filled with genuine worry. “No need,” my voice was raw, sounding like sandpaper. “Goodbye, Julian.” With that, I dragged my heavy steps out of The Obsidian. At 2 AM, I returned to the apartment. I didn’t turn on the lights. I went straight to the backyard, to the old oak tree. Four years ago, the day Ethan paid off his last debt, we buried a time capsule here. Inside were our wishes for the future. I grabbed a small shovel, using my left hand to slowly dig up the rusted tin box. I opened it. My note read: “I hope Ethan is always happy, and I hope we stay together forever.” Ethan’s note, written in his bold, confident handwriting, read: “I want Apex Tech to go public, and I want Chloe to come home soon.” There was no me. From the very beginning, his dream of the future never had my name in it. A laugh escaped my lips, turning into quiet, bitter tears that smudged the ink on the paper. I pulled out a lighter. Click. The flame swallowed the paper, burning his lies and my wasted youth into ashes. Back in the bedroom, I rolled out my suitcase. Inside were only a few old clothes I had bought myself, my passport, and my visa. The designer bags and jewelry Ethan had bought me were left completely untouched on the shelves. I walked to the vanity table, took off the cheap $50 silver band Ethan had bought me from a street vendor years ago, and placed it quietly on the table. Next to it, I placed the signed copy of my resignation letter. At 4 AM, suitcase in hand, I walked out of the apartment for the last time. In the cab to JFK airport, I called Eleanor. “Mrs. Thorne, I’m on my way to the airport. I’m leaving for Iceland.” Eleanor’s satisfied laugh came through the speaker. “Excellent. The $50 million has been wired to your Swiss account. Remember your promise. Never come back.” “Don’t worry. Even if he dies in front of me, I won’t look twice.” I hung up, pulled out the SIM card, snapped it in half, and threw it out the window. Then, I deleted my Instagram and all my social media accounts. But before going to JFK, I had to stop by my old studio in Brooklyn to pick up my mother’s journal, the last thing I had left. The flight to Reykjavik wasn’t for another three hours. I thought I had time. But just as I zipped my backpack, a loud crash echoed. The wooden door of the studio was kicked open. I looked up in shock to see Chloe Bennett walking in, wearing head-to-toe Chanel and towering stilettos. Behind her stood two burly bodyguards. “Well, well. Took $50 million just to rot in a dump like this?” Chloe looked around the dusty studio, pinching her nose in disgust, her eyes dripping with malice. I tensed, staring at her coldly. “What are you doing here?” “Where do you think you’re going?” Chloe sneered, stepping closer. “Sera, you made my life a living hell. Did you really think you could just take that money and walk away?” “I made your life hell?” I scoffed. “Chloe, you got Ethan back. What else do you want?” “I want you ruined!” Chloe’s face distorted with rage, and she nodded to her guards. The two men instantly lunged forward, pinning me face-down onto the dirty floor. Chloe walked over, her eyes locking onto my struggling right hand. A cruel smile stretched across her face. “I heard you’re an illustrator. Ethan told me your hands are worth millions.” A wave of sheer terror washed over me. “Chloe, don’t you dare!” “Why wouldn’t I? I’m the real Mrs. Thorne now!” Chloe raised her foot, and the sharp heel of her stiletto came down hard on my right wrist. “AH!” A blood-curdling scream tore from my throat, echoing in the empty studio. Chloe didn’t stop. She put all her weight on it, grinding her heel into my flesh. The sickening crunch of breaking bones filled the small room. “You love to draw, don’t you? Let’s see you seduce men with a shattered hand!” The agony was a tidal wave, drowning my senses. I convulsed, cold sweat soaking my clothes instantly. “Chloe, you will pay for this.” I bit my lip so hard blood dripped down my chin. “You will die first.” Chloe’s eyes drifted to my stomach, her smile growing more demonic. “Don’t think I don’t know you visited the OB-GYN last week. You want to trap Ethan with a baby? In your dreams.” Before I could process her words, Chloe kicked me violently in the stomach. Once. Twice. Three times. A guttural scream of absolute agony escaped my lips. A sharp, tearing pain ripped through my lower abdomen. A warm, thick liquid began to flow down my thighs, quickly staining the wooden floor crimson. Looking at me lying like a broken ragdoll in a pool of my own blood, completely unconscious, Chloe finally smiled in satisfaction and walked out with her men.

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