1 This was the ninth time I was locked away for supposedly terrifying Erich’s fragile first love. Inside the ward, I realized his delicate porcelain doll was actually a powerhouse butcher who could hoist a half carcass of pork with one hand. She wore a four million dollar Tibetan Dzi bead bracelet Erich had just won at auction, yet screamed herself red at the logistics manager over a one dollar invoice error. I walked over and asked if a single dollar was worth all that. She wiped the sweat from her brow and nodded with absolute conviction. Every cent paid for her terminally ill husband’s treatment. Without even drinking water, she hopped onto her delivery tricycle and rushed to her next client. Erich, who had just promised me a future, gave no explanation. He simply signaled the orderlies to drag me into isolation for forced electroconvulsive therapy. You swore not to go near her and scare her again, he said coldly. After three sunless months, Erich returned. Say it, he ordered. I nodded numbly and recited the lines. I did not know Erich Sterling. He was the sick husband of Maya Evans. I did not eat pork and would never set foot near the meat market again. Grimly satisfied, he signed my discharge papers. On the way home, he told me Maya was pure and harmless. As long as I kept her secret, he would give me a child. The blood drained from my face as I curled into the leather seat. He had no idea the treatments had left me infertile, and that I no longer wanted a child with a man who belonged to someone else. … The moment we stepped inside our sprawling estate, Erich opened his arms, attempting to pull me into a hug. My body violently, uncontrollably flinched, trembling in sheer panic. Erich slowly lowered his arms, a satisfied smirk crossing his face. “Excellent. You are finally cured of being so suffocatingly clingy.” From the very day we got married, Erich claimed he suffered from severe mysophobia. He stated he despised physical contact with other human beings. But my memory was crystal clear. On the day he ordered the orderlies to drag me away for electroshock therapy, he immediately changed his clothes to chase after his precious Maya. Even when Maya was completely covered in raw animal blood and greasy pork fat, he had wrapped his arms around her with absolute desperation, burying his face deep into the crook of her neck, breathing her in like she was his lifeline. Erich forced me to sit at the grand dining table. It was entirely covered with a lavish spread of my favorite dishes. “I hired a Michelin-starred private chef. Cost a small fortune,” he remarked casually. He slid a heavy, metallic black card across the mahogany table. “You suffered a bit over the last few months. Consider this your compensation.” This was his standard operating procedure. When I was deathly ill and he was too busy to visit the hospital? He transferred money. When tabloids plastered his face next to a rising actress? He transferred money. When he forgot our wedding anniversary? He transferred money. He always said: Where my money goes, my love follows. Yet, when he dressed himself in cheap, twenty-dollar thrift store t-shirts to play a dying pauper for Maya, I saw a light in his eyes that he had never, ever shown to me. Erich picked up a perfectly glazed piece of sweet and sour spare rib and placed it onto my porcelain plate. “Taste it. This single piece of meat costs over four hundred dollars.” My stomach violently convulsed. I shoved my chair back, sprinting to the nearest trash can, vomiting until my throat bled and the world spun in dizzying circles. The agonizing memories of being forcibly “corrected” in the hospital rushed back into my brain, suffocating me. Erich stood over me, the curve of his smile growing even wider. “Excellent. You finally cured your appetite for pork.” I gripped the marble wall, my entire body violently shaking. I could not force a single word out of my throat. The previous times he had committed me to the asylum? I had simply been walking past the municipal meat market, wanting to buy a few pounds of ribs to cook him dinner. But Erich became paranoid, convinced I was stalking Maya to expose his billionaire identity. “Maya is easily frightened. You shouldn’t do things like that,” he had told me. At that time, I didn’t even know who Maya was. Erich didn’t bother checking on me as I collapsed on the cold tile, shaking violently. He simply walked upstairs, changed into a set of ragged, faded clothes, grabbed a plastic tupperware container filled with a dish he had cooked himself, and walked out the front door with a light, cheerful step. Erich’s executive assistant approached me quietly, holding out a crisp, white medical document. “Madam, Mr. Sterling has instructed you to report to the fertility clinic tomorrow for pre-operative preparations.” “He has arranged top-tier artificial insemination to grant you a child.” I stared at the medical requisition form, my voice dropping to a hollow whisper. “Does Maya have children?” The assistant froze, awkwardly lowering his head. “Mr. Sterling believes that pregnancy takes too severe a toll on a woman’s body and ruins her figure. He cannot bear to watch Maya endure that kind of physical suffering.” “So… Mr. Sterling underwent a vasectomy himself.” The medical form in my hand was instantly crushed into a tight, wrinkled ball. So, as the principal dancer of a prestigious ballet company, I was the one expected to sacrifice my body and endure the physical destruction of pregnancy. I didn’t say another word. I simply pulled out my phone and sent a secure text message to my grandmother. “Nana, I finally secured enough funds. We are leaving the country in two days. We are never coming back.” The following morning, I walked into the private hospital. I practically collided with Maya, who was wearing blue hospital scrubs, working as a private orderly. I instinctively turned to flee. She called out loudly, jogging over to stop me. My body went completely rigid in pure terror, but she simply smiled warmly, holding out a paper bag filled with fresh peaches. “Thank you so much for sending all that business my way! Several massive restaurant groups and supermarkets contacted me out of nowhere to supply their pork! My order book is full until next month!” “I made enough money to cover half a year of my husband’s medical bills in a single week!” “It even freed up my schedule so I can work as an orderly here to make extra cash!” Her laugh was bright and infectious. Her sun-kissed skin seemed to glow with genuine vitality. She looked exactly like the worn, faded photograph of the little girl Erich kept hidden in his wallet—the photograph he had rubbed so many times the edges were frayed. I gripped the bag of peaches tightly, my fingernails digging so deep into my palms they nearly drew blood. It was Erich. He was addicted to the fantasy of her desperate, unconditional devotion, yet he couldn’t actually bear to let her suffer the grinding reality of poverty. So he operated from the shadows, meticulously paving her road with gold while pretending to be a dying pauper. Yet, when I once asked Erich to simply purchase a specific ballet leotard for me while he was on a business trip in Europe? He bought twenty of them and had his assistant distribute them to every single dancer in my company. “These gifts are only being distributed out of Mr. Sterling’s pity for his wife,” the assistant had announced publicly. From that day forward, not a single dancer in my company ever spoke to me again. I stared at the cracked, bleeding calluses on Maya’s hands, driven by a morbid curiosity I couldn’t control. “Is your husband really that incredible? Is he truly worth killing yourself over?” The bright smile on her face instantly softened into profound, unconditional love. “He is the best thing that ever happened to me. When it rains, even though his leg is crippled, he limps all the way to the market just to walk me home. In the winter, he knows my hands get frostbitten, so he tucks them inside his shirt against his bare chest and holds them there all night.” Every single memory she shared was a level of tenderness I had never, ever received from him. It felt as though a massive, invisible hand reached into my chest and crushed my heart until I couldn’t breathe. Just then, Erich walked down the corridor. The moment his eyes locked onto me, his face darkened into a terrifying scowl. His eyes screamed a lethal warning. Completely oblivious, Maya beamed and ran over to grab his arm. “Hubby, look! This is the amazing woman I told you about! The one who helped my business!” Erich’s icy gaze scraped across my face. The suffocating pressure radiating off him nearly made my knees buckle. But he smoothly played along with Maya’s fantasy, forcing a rigid, unnatural smile onto his face as he looked at me. “Thank you.” Maya enthusiastically clapped her hands. “To show our appreciation, you absolutely have to come over to our place for dinner tonight!” Like a prisoner marching to the gallows, I followed them into a dark, damp, subterranean basement apartment. The moment they walked through the door, Erich pulled a small, colorful bouquet of cheap wildflowers from behind his back like a magic trick, pressing them into Maya’s chest. Maya gasped in delight, wrapping her arms around the flowers and standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Erich smiled warmly, rolling up his sleeves and stepping into the cramped, greasy kitchen. He began prepping dinner with practiced, effortless skill. Halfway through cooking, he walked out holding a small plate of sliced apples. He picked up a piece with a toothpick and gently fed it directly into Maya’s mouth. They acted completely alone in the world, radiating pure, undeniable love. I sat rigidly on a broken folding chair, feeling like the punchline of a sick, cosmic joke. When I once ran a fever of a hundred and four degrees in the middle of the night, I had begged him to pour me a simple glass of water. He had physically shoved me into the master bathroom. “My time is worth thousands of dollars a minute. I am not wasting it playing nursemaid to you.” When dinner was finally served, Maya enthusiastically piled food onto my chipped plate. “You have to try this! This is my husband’s absolute specialty!” Stir-fried shiitake mushrooms. I am severely allergic to shiitake mushrooms. Ingesting them causes aggressive hives, triggering an itch so bone-deep it feels like insects crawling under my skin. Yet Erich had ordered our private chefs at the estate to cook this exact dish every single day. I finally understood why. It was Maya’s favorite food. I picked up my chopsticks, intending to push the mushrooms aside. Clack. Erich tapped his chopsticks sharply against the rim of his bowl. I looked up and met his dead, reptilian eyes. I had no choice. I forced myself to chew and swallow the mushrooms whole. Within seconds, a burning, aggressive itch began spreading across my neck and arms. I barely survived the agonizing dinner. The exact second I walked through the doors of the grand estate, my phone buzzed. A text from Erich. [Bring a box of condoms to the basement.] I returned to the damp, peeling door of the subterranean apartment. Through the thin wood, the unmistakable sounds of passionate intimacy leaked out into the hallway. The door to the adjacent unit suddenly cracked open. An elderly woman poked her head out, clicking her tongue. “Tsk. That husband of hers looks like he’s at death’s door, but he’s got the stamina of a bull. Four or five times a day, they never leave that bed.” I froze in the dim hallway, the blood freezing in my veins. When I first married into the Sterling family, Erich slept alone in his private study on our wedding night. Months later, at a massive family banquet, his mother had pointed her finger directly at my face in front of dozens of wealthy relatives. “Did the Sterling family pay millions just to marry a piece of dead wood? You can’t even figure out how to satisfy your own husband in bed!” Erich sat right beside her, sipping his wine, remaining completely silent as I was brutally humiliated for an entire hour. I had naively assumed he suffered from some unspoken medical trauma or performance anxiety. Now I finally understood the truth. I was the one he found repulsive. But it wasn’t always like this. In the beginning, Erich and I weren’t enemies. When he first pursued me, the entire city of Seattle knew that the heir to the Sterling empire was throwing millions at the principal dancer of the ballet company. I was completely honest with him. I told him I needed a massive amount of liquid cash to support my family. Erich didn’t even blink. “Your grandmother is severely ill. It is your duty to take care of her.” But on the day of our wedding, he saw my grandmother walking around, entirely healthy and robust. From that exact moment, his entire demeanor flipped. In his eyes, I morphed into a ruthless, gold-digging parasite who fabricated a dying relative to drain his bank accounts. I couldn’t tell him the truth. I couldn’t tell him that the millions of dollars were being funneled to an elite private military contractor to fund the search for my missing parents. Years ago, my parents and his father had vanished together while traveling in South America. Erich was completely convinced that the “disappearance” was just a cowardly cover story—that his father had abandoned his family to start a new life with stolen corporate funds. But my grandmother’s only dying wish was to locate my parents’ remains and bring them home. I had no other options. But thankfully, the final payment had finally been secured. I could finally take my grandmother and escape this living hell. Erich vanished for several days. The next time I saw him was outside the ballet company headquarters. Maya came sprinting up to me, her face glowing with pure joy, shoving a grant application into my hands. “Thank you so much! Erich told me you personally fought the board of directors to secure this charitable foundation grant for us!” I looked up, locking eyes with Erich’s lethal, warning glare. Without a word, I signed the authorization forms. That night, I checked my banking app. Every single dollar I had bled for, every penny I had hoarded in my private account, had been entirely drained. I kicked open the door to his private study. “The money you transferred out of my account—you funneled it through that fake charity grant and gave it directly to Maya!” My entire body shook with violent rage. “That money was my compensation! You promised me that money!” He finally looked up from his mahogany desk, staring at me with absolute zero empathy. “You just admitted I was the one who gave it to you. Which means I can take it back whenever I please.” At that exact moment, my phone rang. It was my grandmother, her frail voice shaking with desperate hope. “Sweetheart? Can we leave a few days early? Nana just can’t wait anymore.” I gripped the phone against my ear, unable to force a single syllable past the suffocating lump in my throat. I couldn’t tell her that the hope she had clung to for ten agonizing years had just been effortlessly crushed by the man sitting across from me. I hung up the phone. I walked back to my dressing room and pulled out a provocative, skin-tight evening dress I had sworn never to wear. I dug through a drawer of old business cards and dialed a number I had ignored for years. Inside the pulsing, neon-lit VIP room of a luxury nightclub, a greasy executive named Mr. Vance rested his sweaty hand heavily on my bare thigh. Through the blinding strobe lights, I spotted a woman wearing a blue janitorial uniform. It was Maya. She stared at me in absolute, horrified shock. When Mr. Vance waddled away to the restroom, she rushed over to the leather sofa. “If you are being forced into this, just tell me! I will help you escape!” I glanced at her wrist. She was wearing a flawless, imperial green jade bangle. It was the Sterling family’s most sacred heirloom. The expensive liquor in my mouth suddenly tasted like battery acid. “Nobody forced me. I am doing this willingly.” When the networking event concluded, Mr. Vance wrapped a thick arm around my waist, demanding I accompany him to his hotel suite. At the exit, Erich, who had driven his beat-up sedan to pick up Maya from her janitorial shift, witnessed the entire scene. Maya clung to his arm, whispering frantically into his ear with deep concern. Erich merely cast a look of pure, unadulterated disgust in my direction. “She is a parasite who will spread her legs for anyone with a checkbook. It is none of our business.” I lowered my eyes and followed Mr. Vance toward his luxury vehicle. But before I could open the passenger door, Vance pinned me against the chassis, his greasy face contorting into a vile, drunken leer. “You know what? Let’s just do it right here against the hood. I like the thrill.” He lunged forward, violently grabbing the hem of my dress to rip it upward. SMACK. A heavy wooden broom handle swung through the air, cracking brutally across his forearm and knocking his hand away. Maya stepped forward, shoving me behind her back defensively. Vance squinted his drunken eyes. When he registered Maya’s face, a sick grin spread across his face. “Well, well. This one is even feistier. I haven’t tasted this flavor before.” Before his hand could even graze Maya’s uniform, Erich exploded forward, driving his fist directly into Vance’s jaw and dropping him to the concrete. The always cold, always calculated billionaire lost his mind. He mounted the executive, raining down savage, merciless blows upon the bleeding man’s face. I instinctively lunged forward to pull Erich off him, but he threw a blind backhand, striking me across the chest and sending me crashing hard into the asphalt. Maya took one step forward. “Stop hitting him.” Erich froze instantly. The demonic, bloodthirsty rage evaporated from his eyes, returning to total clarity. Maya knelt down, helped me off the ground, and pressed a worn debit card into my palm. “I had no idea things were this desperate for you. Please, take this money.” This time, Erich did not intervene. But as I limped a few steps away, Erich chased after me, violently hurling a thick legal binder against my chest. “Sign the divorce papers. You get absolutely nothing.” “Since you accepted Maya’s charity, you must trade something of equal value.” “The only thing of value you possess is the title of Mrs. Sterling—a title you conned out of me in the first place.” I looked at him and asked one single question. “If I sign it, do I get to keep the money on this debit card?” Erich let out a dark, mocking laugh. “You truly have no bottom line. To secure a few pennies, you sell your body to old men, and you sell your marriage.” I didn’t defend myself. I pulled a pen from my purse and signed my name on the dotted line. Then, I slid the diamond wedding band off my finger and held it out to him. Erich took the multi-million-dollar ring without a second glance and casually tossed it directly into the nearest storm drain. “I will never allow Maya to wear discarded trash.” The market value of that diamond was exactly identical to the amount of money he had drained from my account. Erich didn’t care about the financial loss. He simply wanted to prove that I was worthless. The freezing night wind whipped across my face, and the tears I swore I wouldn’t shed finally spilled over. When I returned to the Sterling estate, my belongings were piled in a heap outside the front gates. My customized ballet slippers, my international championship trophies, the hand-knit sweaters I had made for my grandmother—all of it had been thrown directly into the muddy gutters. My phone rang. It was the director of the ballet company, his voice dripping with absolute contempt. “Our company is far too small to house a disgraced, talentless parasite like you. Don’t bother coming back.” Erich couldn’t even wait a single hour. He immediately utilized his corporate power to strip away every single asset, connection, and benefit he believed I had leeched from his empire. But finally, I was free. I calmly walked to the cheap motel where my grandmother was staying. Three months later, my expedited visa and the finalized divorce decree arrived in the mail on the same day. I booked two seats on the earliest international flight out of the country. Just when I believed the nightmare was permanently over, the door to our motel room was violently kicked open, splintering the frame. Erich lunged across the room, wrapping his massive hand around my throat and pinning me against the wall. “What the hell did you say to Maya?! She’s gone!” He slammed a crumpled piece of medical paper against my face. It was a positive pregnancy test result. “Did you find out about this and threaten her?!” My reproductive system had been destroyed by his electroshock treatments months ago. I could never get pregnant. But with his fingers crushing my windpipe, I couldn’t force a single word out. He stared at me, the pure, unhinged madness in his eyes threatening to consume me alive. “Sienna, you brought this entirely upon yourself.” I woke up in the familiar, terrifying white room, blinded by surgical lights. Erich stood in the corner, his face an emotionless mask, watching as the psychiatric doctor applied the conductive gel pads directly to my temples. They turned the voltage dial to the absolute maximum. The current was so violent it burned the skin on my forehead black and blue. When my body finally gave out, Erich ordered his men to throw my unconscious body into an abandoned industrial meat freezer on the docks. “If my men don’t find Maya, you can freeze to death in here and rot as her sacrifice.” Using the absolute last reserve of adrenaline in my frozen body, I managed to pry open a rusted ventilation grate and crawled bleeding through the narrow exhaust shaft to freedom. I pushed through the agony, retrieved my grandmother, and dragged us both onto the international flight. It wasn’t until the heavy cabin doors sealed shut that I finally allowed myself to breathe. My phone vibrated in my pocket. A secure message from the military contractor. [We have successfully located the skeletal remains of your parents. They are waiting for your identification at the arrival terminal.] The dam broke. The tears flowed uncontrollably. Thousands of miles away, Erich finally tracked Maya down to a run-down roadside motel. When she saw him, her eyes immediately welled with tears. “I’m pregnant… I was terrified you would think the baby was a financial burden on your medical bills, so I ran away.” Erich stared at her in total shock. He had personally undergone a vasectomy. But he quickly rationalized it—this child must be an absolute miracle, a divine gift from the universe. But that meant Sienna… He fabricated a quick excuse, stepped out into the motel parking lot, and immediately dialed his assistant. “Get to the docks and pull Sienna out of the freezer right now!” On the other end of the line, the assistant’s voice was shaking violently. “Sir… the docks are completely surrounded by SWAT units and police tape.” “They… they said they discovered the frozen corpse of a woman inside the unit.”

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1 After a bad car crash, my hearing mutated and became unnaturally sharp. I gained the strange ability to detect tiny changes in a heartbeat’s rhythm, letting me tell if couples truly loved each other. The day my best friend Piper went into remission, her boyfriend cried and dropped to one knee to propose. I heard the deep, unmistakable shift in his heartbeat. When my brother’s wife survived a terrifying plane emergency, he broke down at the airport. I heard the same change in his rhythm. I thought my boyfriend Julian would be the same. But his heartbeat stayed flat, without a single ripple of passion. When he confessed, eyes full of affection, his heart did not change. When he proposed, vowing eternal love, it stayed steady. Even after three years of marriage, it never skipped once for me. Everyone insisted he adored me, so I told myself he was just different. Until I was in another crash. Bleeding heavily, I was rushed to the ER where Julian worked. He burst through the doors in a panic, but ran straight past me to his ex-girlfriend, also caught in the pileup. At that moment, I finally heard it. His heartbeat roared like a violent, raging ocean. “Miss Carmella?” A blinding surgical light was suddenly directed into my pupils. I forced my eyes to focus, looking at the trauma nurse who was meticulously cleaning the laceration on my forehead. “Miss Carmella, can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?” The nurse held her hand in front of my face. I mumbled a random number in a total daze. In my ears, I could still hear the violent, thundering rhythm of Julian’s heartbeat echoing down the corridor. We dated for three years, and we had been married for three years. I had tested my ability on Julian countless times. When we were dating, wrapped in passionate embraces, exchanging breaths in the dark, I would press my ear to his chest and listen intently. Zero variation. On our wedding day, as he slid the diamond band onto my ring finger, I held my breath, praying to finally hear that magical shift in his cardiac rhythm. But it remained perfectly steady, entirely unmoved. Piper always consoled me, insisting that Julian was simply the exception to my strange neurological rule. After all, whenever I fell ill, he was always the first one by my side. He would drive across the entire city in rush hour traffic just to wait in line for a specific pastry I casually mentioned craving. He had lowered his personal boundaries and compromised his own rigid schedules for me, time and time again. I genuinely believed he loved me. But right now, pressing a gauze pad against my bleeding forehead, I slowly walked down the ER corridor toward him. At a distance of twenty feet, I heard it again. Julian’s heartbeat, surging with overwhelming, chaotic emotion. “Julian, I am perfectly fine! I do not need your help!” “Lydia, stop being so damn stubborn!” “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is with your congenital heart defect?! After all these years, why do you still treat your own life like a joke?!” In the middle of the chaotic, crowded emergency room, the two of them seemed enclosed in an invisible, impenetrable bubble. Watching their desperate, intense interaction, I suddenly realized how incredibly foreign this version of Julian felt. In front of me—in front of the entire world—he was always the perfectly composed, gentle, emotionally regulated gentleman. But in this exact moment, he was aggressively alive. Raw. Unfiltered. A sharp, throbbing spike of pain radiated from my bruised skull. My fingernails dug brutally into my palms as I took two more steps closer. Julian’s heartbeat was still crashing like a tidal wave. “Julian, I said leave me alone! I am getting married next month!” The second Lydia’s words hit the air, I heard it. Julian’s heartbeat violently seized, pausing for several terrifying seconds. And then, it erupted into an absolute frenzy, beating faster and harder than before. The sterile bandages the nurse had applied to my forehead were suddenly soaked through with fresh blood. Bright crimson drops fell onto the pristine white hospital tiles. I stumbled forward, stopping right behind Julian’s broad shoulders. “Julian… I feel really sick…” Relying on years of intimate muscle memory, I reached out and gently gripped his forearm. Lydia suddenly snapped her head up, her eyes locking onto my face. All the color instantly drained from her cheeks. She shot up from the examination bed and sprinted wildly toward the exit. Without a single microsecond of hesitation, Julian tore his arm out of my grip and chased after her. The violent force of him pulling away sent me crashing hard onto the linoleum floor. I sat there in the middle of the ER, utterly humiliated, my brain completely short-circuiting. Surrounded by rushing doctors and staring patients, I instinctively pulled out my phone and dialed Piper’s number. “Piper… I finally heard Julian’s heartbeat change. It was so incredibly loud…” “Really?! See? I told you there was no way Julian didn’t love you!” “You’ve just been overthinking everything all these years.” Piper’s voice crackled through the speaker, brimming with genuine excitement. Another violent spike of pain hammered through my skull. The agony was so intense I briefly convinced myself the turbulent heartbeat I just heard was just a trauma-induced hallucination. But a second later, Julian burst back through the emergency doors, his face pale with absolute terror, carrying Lydia’s unconscious body in his arms. That violent, thundering heartbeat returned, echoing directly into my eardrums. This time, Julian actually noticed me sitting on the floor. “Carmella? What are you doing here?” I looked up at him from the cold tiles, listening intently to the rhythm in his chest. Tears immediately flooded my eyes, spilling uncontrollably down my cheeks. My hearing wasn’t broken. My ability wasn’t flawed. Because the exact second Julian looked at me? His heartbeat instantly leveled out, returning to its perfectly flat, emotionless rhythm. “Carmella, are you alright?” “I need to get Lydia into a trauma bay for an emergency scan.” Without waiting for a single word of confirmation from me, Julian turned his back and disappeared down the corridor with his ex-girlfriend in his arms. I sat on the floor for several long seconds before finally using the wall to drag myself upright. “Piper… Julian’s heartbeat is incredibly loud.” “But it wasn’t beating for me…” Tears streamed down my bruised face. I ended the call and turned to leave the hospital. A nurse suddenly sprinted down the hall, grabbing my arm to stop me. “Miss Carmella! Were you aware that you are pregnant?!” “You are exactly eight weeks along!” I stared at the blood-test results in the nurse’s hand, entirely paralyzed. For the past three years, Julian’s mother had relentlessly pressured us to have children. Every single time, Julian had expertly deflected her demands with various logical excuses. Once, he had even slammed his silverware onto the dining table, his face entirely cold. “If anyone brings up pregnancy one more time, I will schedule a vasectomy tomorrow morning!” I had always interpreted his aggressive defense as him fiercely respecting my bodily autonomy. But right now? I wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Clutching the pregnancy report, I took a taxi back to our empty house. Julian never came home that night. It wasn’t until the following morning that I finally heard the front door unlock. Julian walked in, looking completely exhausted, carrying a massive stack of thick medical files. From across the room, I caught a glimpse of the patient’s name printed on the tabs: Lydia Thorne. The dates printed on the files went all the way back eight years. A sharp, physical pain pierced directly through my chest. I forced a tight, artificial smile onto my face and walked over, pulling the pregnancy report from my pocket. “Julian, I’m pregnant.” The living room plunged into a suffocating, terrifying silence. Julian’s heartbeat didn’t flutter. It didn’t skip. It remained entirely, ruthlessly flat. The forced smile on my face slowly died. Tears welled up, spilling over my lashes against my will. “Julian, I said I am pregnant.” I repeated the words, desperate for any reaction. Julian finally deployed his trademark, gentle smile. He reached out and softly stroked my hair. “You’ve been through a lot, Carmella.” “But… we cannot keep this child right now.” After delivering the sentence, Julian carefully carried Lydia’s massive medical history into his private study. He re-emerged holding a fully stocked first-aid kit. “Carmella, I was in the wrong last night.” “But Lydia has a severe congenital heart defect. I was terrified that if I hesitated for a single second, she would drop dead.” “I pulled your charts in the ER. You only sustained a mild concussion and superficial lacerations.” Speaking in his perpetually calm, composed tone, Julian guided me to the sofa and gently pushed me down to sit. He opened the medical kit, snapped on sterile latex gloves, and began meticulously cleaning and dressing my wounds. “Carmella, the timing for a child is completely wrong.” “Over the next three years, I will likely be traveling overseas constantly for advanced surgical fellowships.” “Raising a child entirely on your own will be far too exhausting for you.” He spoke in low, soothing tones, yet his eyes repeatedly darted to the expensive watch on his wrist. Even the way he applied the antiseptic swab felt unusually rushed and impatient. I kept my head bowed. Fat, heavy tears began falling from my chin, landing directly onto my lap. “But I want to keep this baby.” I swallowed the massive lump of acid burning my throat, my voice coming out thick and muffled. Julian’s gloved hands stopped moving. He set the surgical tweezers down on the glass table. When he spoke again, the gentle warmth had completely vanished, replaced by clinical frost. “Carmella, this is not the time for irrational emotional outbursts.” “Raising a child while your husband is overseas is functionally identical to being a single mother. You, out of everyone, should know exactly how miserable that existence is.” “Isn’t that the exact reason your mother committed suicide when you were twelve…” Julian’s words abruptly cut off. He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling a heavy sigh of frustration, and quickly pivoted to an apology. “I apologize, Carmella. That was entirely out of line.” “If you absolutely insist on going through with this pregnancy, we can hire a full-time live-in nanny.” The living room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. Suddenly, Julian’s smartphone vibrated on the coffee table. He snatched the device with lightning speed, stood up, and immediately walked out onto the balcony, sliding the glass door shut behind him. Separated by the heavy double-paned glass, I couldn’t hear a single word he was saying. But I heard it. The exact second he saw the caller ID flash on his screen, his heartbeat erupted into absolute, violent chaos. I raised my hand, wiped the tears off my bruised face, and opened my phone to schedule an abortion at a private clinic. Julian was absolutely right. Being a single mother was a miserable existence. I refused to repeat my mother’s tragic history, and I refused to let myself rot inside a loveless, hollow marriage. So, I didn’t want the baby anymore. And I didn’t want him anymore, either. When Julian finally slid the balcony door open and stepped back inside, I was already standing in the entryway, fully dressed in my winter coat. “Carmella, that was Lydia calling.” Julian’s expression was an absolute masterclass in transparency. He didn’t attempt to hide a single detail. “She is throwing a tantrum and demanding to be discharged against medical advice. Her cardiac arrhythmia is currently in a highly critical state.” “We share a significant history. Morally and ethically, as a physician, I cannot simply abandon her to die.” Julian always operated with this exact brand of unapologetic transparency. When we first started dating, he freely disclosed that he had been in a committed one-year relationship with Lydia. Back then, I had looked him in the eye and asked a direct question. “Julian, are you still in love with Lydia?” His expression had been perfectly stoic, entirely unreadable. “I am no longer in love with her.” I had believed every word he said. But human mouths can easily fabricate lies. The human heart cannot. I forced a polite smile to my lips, entirely dropping the subject of Lydia. Instead, I held up my phone, displaying the confirmed clinic appointment on the screen. “Julian, I made my decision. I am not keeping the baby.” Julian froze entirely. He clearly hadn’t anticipated me folding so quickly. “Carmella, you…” “I thought about what you said. Our current lifestyle and your career trajectory really aren’t suited for a child right now.” I cut off his hesitation, pushing the front door open and stepping out into the hallway. “Let’s go, Julian. Drive me to the clinic for the procedure.” The drive to the surgical center was dead silent. Neither of us spoke a single word. The suffocating quiet inside the cabin made me notice something I had previously ignored. Julian always kept a thick binder of the latest global cardiovascular research scattered across his passenger seat. The specific journal currently sitting next to the gear shift was stamped with the insignia of the most elite medical research institute in the United States. It was a cutting-edge study published barely a week ago, not even fully released to the global medical community yet. But Julian had already acquired a physical copy. Years ago, when my grandmother was dying of an undiagnosed, rapid-onset renal failure, I had dropped to my knees and begged Julian for help. I begged him to contact his former medical mentor in the United States, just to have the elite institute review her biopsy slides for a possible diagnosis. He had frowned, adopting a posture of strict, uncompromising professional ethics, and rejected my plea entirely. “Carmella, I would do almost anything for you.” “But Dr. Mitchell is ninety-three years old. He retired from the institute a decade ago. It is wildly inappropriate for us to disturb his peace with a hopeless case.” My grandmother ultimately died in hospice care, exactly one day before our wedding. She died without ever seeing me walk down the aisle in my wedding dress. A massive surge of bitter acid flooded my throat. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek to stop the tears. A second later, Julian’s phone rang through the car’s Bluetooth system. Once again, I heard his heartbeat explode into a frantic, chaotic rhythm. “Lydia! Listen to me very carefully, do not even think about sneaking out of that ward!” “What the hell do you mean you’re getting married so we need to maintain boundaries?!” “Lydia, tell me exactly where you are right now!” The temperature inside the car plummeted as Julian’s voice grew increasingly frantic and aggressive. Through the chaotic shouting over the speaker, I clearly heard the words: North River Bridge. I looked up through the windshield. The traffic light at the upcoming intersection was glowing red, counting down from ten seconds. Taking a right turn led directly to the abortion clinic. Going straight led directly to the North River Bridge. I broke the silence, interrupting his frantic phone call. “Julian, you need to turn right here for the clinic.” After issuing the simple reminder, I fell completely silent, staring at the digital countdown on the traffic signal. Ten, nine… three, two, one. The light flashed green. Julian slammed his foot on the accelerator and drove the SUV straight ahead, rocketing toward the North River Bridge. A broken, hysterical laugh slipped past my lips, and the tears I had been fighting finally broke free, streaming down my face. I pulled out my phone, slowly typing a message to Piper. [Piper, I want a divorce.] [Can you draft a separation agreement for me?] Throughout the entire drive to the bridge, Julian never once disconnected the call. I sat in the passenger seat, listening to him patiently, desperately coaxing Lydia off the ledge. I listened to him slowly recount the intimate, hyper-specific details of their past romance, using their shared memories as a psychological tether to keep her alive. A drive that should have taken twenty minutes in city traffic took him exactly ten. He slammed the SUV into park and frantically reached for the door handle. I reached out and grabbed the cuff of his dress shirt, my voice incredibly soft. “Julian. Do you love me?” Julian’s brow furrowed, a flash of intense irritation crossing his face. “Carmella, this is not the time to throw a jealous tantrum!” “Lydia is literally threatening to jump into a freezing river!” I kept my eyes locked onto his, completely ignoring his anger, and repeated the question. “Julian. Have you ever loved me?” I held my breath, listening with absolute desperation to the rhythm inside his chest. Flat. Steady. Entirely undisturbed. Exactly the same as it had been for every single day of the past six years. My fingers slowly relaxed, releasing the crisp cotton fabric of his sleeve. I forced a hollow smile to my lips and asked my final question. “Julian. Do you love Lydia?” The violent, deafening roar of his heartbeat nearly drowned out the sounds of the highway traffic outside. I completely let go of his arm. “Go.” “Lydia is about to jump off a bridge, and she has a severe heart condition. She is in extreme danger.” Julian’s scowl deepened. He opened his mouth, clearly intending to lecture me further. Suddenly, chaotic shouting erupted from the pedestrian walkway outside the car. “Call 911! Call 911!” “Someone is climbing over the railing!” Julian violently shoved his door open and sprinted out into the freezing wind without a single backward glance. I sat in the heated cabin, watching his retreating silhouette for exactly sixty seconds. Then, I opened my door and stepped out onto the highway shoulder. I raised my hand, flagged down a passing city taxi, and climbed into the back seat without a second of hesitation. “Driver, take me to the Provincial General Hospital.” The cab driver pulled his eyes away from the dramatic scene unfolding on the bridge, a thick local accent slipping out as he spoke. “Damn, looks like another messy love triangle!” “Gotta say though, that guy in the coat is pretty damn heroic. He just sprinted up there and dragged that girl right off the ledge!” “They’re practically eating each other’s faces right now!” The driver shifted into gear and merged back into traffic. The North River Bridge slowly disappeared in the rearview mirror. My phone vibrated. Piper had just sent over the finalized PDF of the divorce agreement. I forwarded the document directly to Julian’s email, powered down my phone, and closed my eyes. … After Julian physically dragged Lydia off the concrete barrier, he carried her weeping body all the way back to his SUV. “Carmella, I am taking you to the clinic right now—” The words died instantly in his throat. The passenger seat was entirely empty. Assuming I was simply throwing a petty tantrum and had taken a cab to the clinic by myself, Julian froze for a fraction of a second before completely dismissing my absence. He leaned over to buckle Lydia’s seatbelt and reached to start the ignition. His phone screen lit up with a notification from me. He immediately tapped the banner, expecting an angry text. Instead, the screen loaded a formal, legally binding Divorce Agreement PDF. His foot instinctively slammed down on the brake pedal. Julian’s face darkened in sheer irritation. Once the initial shock passed, he slammed the accelerator, speeding aggressively toward the Provincial Hospital to confront me. But two blocks away from the hospital intersection, his SUV was aggressively flagged down by a frantic traffic officer. The officer sprinted up and banged heavily on the driver’s side window. “Massive multi-car pileup at the intersection ahead! A female victim in her twenties just went into sudden cardiac arrest!” “I saw the medical insignia on your license plate. I am emergency-requisitioning your vehicle’s AED kit!” The officer reached for the rear door handle, intending to grab the medical supplies himself. Suddenly, the officer’s shoulder radio crackled to life. “Dispatch, we have positive ID on the cardiac arrest victim. Female, twenty-eight years old. Name is Carmella Miller.” Carmella Miller. The syllables echoed directly into Julian’s eardrums. His heartbeat—the heartbeat that had remained flawlessly, medically stable for years—suddenly exploded into absolute, violent chaos. It was beating so aggressively, so erratically, it completely eclipsed the frantic rhythm he had experienced for Lydia just an hour prior.

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1 Aaron never humored anyone. In high school, while others laughed at a teacher’s joke, he kept his head down doing calculus. At corporate mixers, he sat silent in the corner, running data diagnostics while colleagues flattered executives. When we dated, he viewed my Instagram dumps without liking them, gave my new hair color a blank glance, and turned away when I asked for a kiss. I thought that was just who he was. Until my best friend Doris beat me at Spin the Bottle. Half teasing, she asked, “My wedding’s in a week but the groom ran off. Want your boyfriend to stand in?” I opened my mouth to refuse, but Aaron said, “Sure.” Doris laughed. “Propose first.” Without hesitation, Aaron knelt, pulled a velvet box from his jacket, and opened it to reveal a diamond ring. He looked up at her with a tenderness I’d never seen. She let him slip it on her finger, then leaned down to kiss his cheek. “You say he kills the mood, Audrey, but he’s fun,” she said. I watched the flush creep up Aaron’s neck and stared at the ring on her hand. That was the exact ring we’d chosen together two days earlier. Aaron wasn’t incapable of enthusiasm. He just reserved it for Doris. Exhaustion crashed over me. My phone buzzed with a text from Mr. Harrison: Still open to the London expat post? Guaranteed promotion on return. I replied without hesitation. “I’ll take it.” I stood outside the bar for half an hour, letting the biting city wind numb my face until my heart finally stopped racing. When I pushed the heavy door of the VIP room open, Doris was standing in front of the screen, gripping the microphone. Thanks to the tequila, she was completely off-key, missing half the lyrics. Yet Aaron was sitting on the edge of the leather sofa, absolutely captivated. He had his phone out, recording her. “Look at the camera, Doris. The lighting right here really matches the vibe of your voice.” Doris playfully rolled her eyes. “Stop making fun of me. Everyone knows I sound like a dying cat.” Aaron’s tone turned dead serious. “I mean it. Your voice has this ethereal quality. It is incredibly unique.” Anyone with eyes could see he was shamelessly gassing her up. It brought back a bitter memory from college. I had entered the campus singing competition and actually won first place. When I got off stage, people swarmed me with congratulations. But the one person I had begged to be there was nowhere to be found. I searched the whole campus until I finally found Aaron in the quiet section of the library, patiently walking Doris through a chemistry assignment. When I confronted him, he didn’t even look up from the textbook. “I don’t know anything about music. Me being there would have been pointless.” “I am happy you won, but faking enthusiasm and clapping like everyone else just feels incredibly hypocritical to me.” Back then, I convinced myself he was just a pragmatic guy who did not understand romance. Now, the truth was glaringly obvious. He just did not want to waste his energy on me. It wasn’t until Doris finally put the mic down, completely out of breath, that Aaron even noticed I was back in the room. His brows knitted together. “Where did you go? You disappeared for ages.” “Just the restroom.” He opened his mouth, probably to lecture me, but Doris suddenly shot up from the sofa. “I am so mad! I am literally shaking!” she yelled, aggressively tapping her phone screen. “My ex just went Instagram official with his new girl. We broke up five seconds ago! He is doing this just to humiliate me.” She marched over to Aaron. “No. We are taking a picture right now. I am firing back.” Before he could respond, she dropped right onto his lap. She pinched his cheek, held her phone up, and snapped a selfie. Seconds later, it was on her Instagram Stories. Caption: Always feel so safe when he is around. But that wasn’t enough for her. She turned to Aaron, her eyes wide and pleading. “You still have him on your followers list, right? You need to post one too. He used to worship you back in college. If he thinks I am with you now, he will completely lose his mind.” Then, as if suddenly remembering I existed, she glanced my way. “Audrey, you wouldn’t just watch your best friend get publicly humiliated by a toxic ex, right? I don’t even need you to confront him. Just let your guy pretend we are official on his feed for a bit. You don’t mind, do you?” I looked her dead in the eye. “If I say I mind, are you going to take it down?” Doris froze. The air in the room went still. Aaron frowned, his voice dripping with disappointment. “She is in a tough spot, Audrey. Stop being so unreasonable.” “She is your best friend. We have to show up for her.” Without even waiting for my consent, he uploaded the photo of Doris sitting on his lap to his own feed. We had known each other for over twenty years. We had been dating for five. And not once had he ever claimed me on his social media. Whenever I brought it up, he would just sigh. “Don’t be so immature. A relationship is between two people. We don’t need an audience.” Because of that, aside from my family and Doris, no one in our social circle even knew we were together. The people in the karaoke room started cheering for their “new relationship,” and the mutuals online were already flooding his comments with congratulations. I took a slow, deep breath. I took a screenshot of his post and dropped it directly into the shared iMessage group that contained both my parents and his. I typed: Congratulations to Aaron on finding his girl. Wishing them a lifetime of happiness. A flash of genuine panic crossed Aaron’s eyes. He stood up abruptly. “I am just helping Doris play a part. Why the hell would you send that to the family chat?” I shrugged, grabbing my purse. “I am just showing up for you guys. Isn’t that what you wanted?” The moment I unlocked the door to our apartment, my mom called. “What is the meaning of that screenshot, Audrey? Did you and Aaron break up?” “You two are supposed to get married by the end of the year! The custom Vera Wang dress is already paid for. What is going on?” I opened my mouth to tell her the truth, but a hand reached out from behind me and snatched the phone away. Aaron pressed it to his ear, his voice perfectly calm and polite. “Hi, Mrs. Davis. No, you misunderstood. Audrey and I are doing great. We haven’t broken up.” “That picture? Oh, it was just one of those stupid AI filters. She was trying to prank everyone.” My mom bought it immediately. She let out a massive sigh of relief, scolded us lightly for giving her a heart attack, and hung up. Aaron tossed the phone onto the kitchen counter. He looked at me, his tone laced with heavy exhaustion. “I already deleted the post. Can you please stop throwing a tantrum now?” I looked at him, feeling absolutely nothing. “I am not throwing a tantrum.” “Then why did you send that screenshot to our parents? You haven’t said a single word to me the entire Uber ride home.” He reached out, instinctively trying to pinch my cheek. I took a step back, dodging his hand completely. I turned and walked to the fridge to pour myself a glass of ice water. Aaron’s hand hovered awkwardly in the air. He let out a deep sigh, walked up behind me, and wrapped his arms around my waist. He started pressing soft, trailing kisses along my jawline and the side of my neck. This was his go-to move. Whenever he pushed me too far, he would use physical intimacy to blur the lines and shut me up. The smell of his cologne, which used to make me feel safe, now just made me feel suffocated. Right as his grip tightened, his phone rang. The interruption made him stiffen. Annoyance radiated off him. But the second he saw the caller ID, all the tension vanished. “Aaron, my apartment is literally flooding. A pipe burst in the bathroom and there is water everywhere. Can you please come look at it?” Doris’s voice was frantic and pitiful through the speaker. Aaron’s eyes softened instantly. He looked down at me. “She is in trouble. I have to go check on her.” I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “If her pipes burst, she needs to call a plumber, not you. Unless you suddenly got a license I don’t know about?” Aaron froze. His face darkened. “Are you ever going to drop this, Audrey?” “She is clearly panicking, and she reached out for help. You are supposed to be her best friend, yet you don’t care about her safety at all. All you do is make these toxic, sarcastic comments.” It was funny. When the pipes in our bathroom burst a year ago while I was home alone, I called him in a panic. His exact words were: “Call the building super. I am not a handyman. What do you expect me to do about it?” Half an hour later, Doris posted a new story. It was a picture of Aaron sitting on her velvet sofa, wearing her blush-pink silk bathrobe. Caption: My personal handyman got his clothes soaked fighting the flood! Forced him to wear my robe. So cute. Aaron was the first person to like the story. I liked it too. A minute later, a text from Aaron popped up. My clothes are in her dryer. It’s too late to order anything off Amazon, so she lent me the robe. Don’t overthink it. It’s brand new, she never wore it. We are keeping our distance. I didn’t reply. Instead, I opened my chat with Mr. Harrison. Harrison: “Your visa paperwork is expedited. You fly out to London in exactly seven days. The corporate housing is already set up.” Me: “Perfect. Thank you, Mr. Harrison.” Aaron didn’t come home that night. The next morning, I was kneeling on the bedroom floor, rolling up my winter coats, when the front door finally clicked open. He walked into the bedroom and stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the open suitcase. “Where are you going?” “Nowhere. Just doing a closet purge,” I said, my voice completely flat. Relief washed over his face. He stepped aside, pulling two massive suitcases into our hallway. “The building management checked Doris’s place this morning. The water damaged the electrical wiring. It is going to take a while to fix, and it’s dangerous for her to stay there. So she is going to crash in our guest room for a bit.” Doris popped her head out from behind him. She flashed a sickeningly sweet smile and practically threw herself at me for a hug. “Audrey! It feels like forever since we had a proper sleepover!” Then she turned to Aaron, putting her hands on her hips in a mock-scolding gesture. “You have hogged my best friend for way too long. The real wife is here now, so you better behave.” Aaron chuckled, actually amused. “Alright, alright. I’ll let you have her for a few days.” I didn’t say a word. I just went back to packing my bags. It didn’t matter who moved in. I was leaving anyway. That evening, Doris wandered into the living room holding an iPad, looking incredibly distressed. “Audrey, there are way too many wedding invitation designs. My indecision is acting up again. Can you just pick one for me?” I was in the middle of drafting an email for the London transition. I didn’t even look up. “I am working. Pick it yourself.” Aaron, who had been reading on the couch, suddenly walked over and slammed my laptop shut. His eyes were icy. “She respects your taste, which is why she asked. Stop acting like you are above everyone else.” “A wedding is a huge deal. You can’t just pick any random card. Help her look.” Just two days ago, I had spread out our own invitation samples on this exact coffee table, asking for his opinion. “I am a guy, I don’t care about paper stock. Just pick whatever.” “It’s literally just a piece of cardboard with a time and place. Stop being so neurotic about it. As long as people can read it, it’s fine.” Doris chimed in, playing the peacemaker. “Don’t fight! If Audrey doesn’t want to look at them, it’s fine.” “But you at least have to come with me to look at dresses, right? I don’t want to wear the one I originally bought. It has bad juju now.” She linked her arm through mine. “You guys are my favorite people in the world. You know exactly what looks good on me. Help me pick something out.” A harsh laugh escaped my throat. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would be dragged along to help my boyfriend and my best friend pick out their wedding outfits. I was about to tell them to go to hell, but I remembered the voicemail from the bridal boutique this morning. My custom dress was ready for pickup. I changed my mind. If I was burning this life to the ground, I might as well tie up all the loose ends before my flight. The manager at the boutique recognized me instantly. She carefully brought out the garment bag and unzipped it. “Miss Davis, your custom gown is ready. Please take a look.” Aaron had actually sketched the original concept for this dress. I had spent a fortune bringing it to life, just so I could walk down the aisle looking exactly the way he envisioned. Now, none of it mattered. Just as I opened my mouth to tell the manager to cancel the order, Doris gasped. She lunged forward, grabbing the silk fabric and holding it against her body in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror. “Oh my god, this is stunning! I am obsessed. Audrey, can I borrow this for the ceremony?” “Your wedding isn’t until December anyway. You have plenty of time to get another one. Right, Aaron?” Aaron nodded without hesitation. “She makes a fair point. Just let her wear it for the event. You guys are the same size anyway. It will fit her perfectly.” He didn’t even seem to realize how messed up it was that he knew my best friend’s exact measurements. He just shot me a warning look, silently telling me not to cause a scene. Even the boutique manager looked deeply uncomfortable. She opened her mouth a few times to defend me but ultimately stayed quiet. Ten minutes later, Doris stepped out of the fitting room wearing my dress. A flash of absolute awe crossed Aaron’s face. He didn’t hold back a single word of praise. “That dress looks like it was made for you. You look absolutely incredible.” “It brings out this elegance in you. It is exactly what I always pictured a bride should look like.” Doris blushed, doing a little twirl for him, the train sweeping across the carpet. Aaron smiled, clapping slowly, playing the ultimate hype man for her. I stood there watching this picture-perfect moment, feeling a sharp, physical pain in my chest. Half a month ago, Aaron and I were standing in this exact spot for my fitting. I had been wearing the muslin prototype, spinning around, asking him excitedly how it looked. He had barely glanced up from his phone. “It’s fine.” Desperate for just a crumb of validation, I pushed. “Can’t you just say one nice thing about it?” He finally looked at me, his eyes cold. “You know I don’t do sweet talk. I hate fake compliments. Grilling me for validation is pointless.” “Wearing a white dress doesn’t magically change who you are. As long as it fits, who cares? Do you really need people to worship you to feel secure?” That was the most humiliating moment of my entire life. Because he hated humoring people, I had survived for five years on zero emotional support. He even managed to tear down a design he created himself, just to avoid giving me a compliment. I hadn’t been able to stop the tears that day. Only then did his tone soften. He had sighed, looking exasperated. “You are gorgeous. You look good in anything. You don’t need my validation. It’s all just superficial nonsense anyway.” Yet here he was, effortlessly throwing the most beautiful compliments at Doris. Like she was the most precious thing on earth. Doris was thrilled with the dress. She refused to even look at the other racks. The manager looked at me, clearly unsure of how to proceed. I kept my voice deadly calm. “I don’t want this dress anymore. Do whatever you want with it. Oh, and the custom tuxedo on my account? Cancel that too.” “Have you lost your mind, Audrey?” Aaron snapped, his face flushing with anger. “You know how much Doris loves this dress, and you are just throwing it out? Are you doing this just to make her miserable?” I didn’t even blink. “If she likes it, she can buy it herself. She is not a charity case, and I am done handing out handouts.” I turned on my heel and walked out the door. The evening before their fake wedding, Aaron and Doris suddenly showed up at the apartment with half a dozen people in tow. They were carrying floral arrangements, balloons, and boxes of wedding decor. I stood in the hallway, crossing my arms. “What is this?” Aaron ran a hand through his hair, looking stressed. “Doris wanted a larger space for the morning prep and photos. Our place has the best natural light. We are just lending it to her for a few days.” “To make it look authentic, we can’t have your stuff lying around. You need to pack up and stay at a hotel for the week.” Doris stood next to him, sipping an iced coffee. “Yeah, make sure you take all your toiletries too, because I am bringing all my bridesmaids’ stuff over.” “I already got your bridesmaid dress steamed! Make sure you show up early tomorrow to help me with my hair.” She turned to the crew they brought. “Alright, guys, let’s get moving! Everything needs to be perfectly set up by midnight!” A bitter laugh forced its way out of my mouth. This apartment? Aaron and I went 50/50 on the down payment. We hadn’t even fully settled in, and now I was being kicked out so they could use it as a fake bridal suite. I stepped directly in front of the crew. “Drop the boxes. This is my property. No one touches a damn thing.” Aaron’s patience snapped. “Are you physically incapable of not causing drama? She is just borrowing the space. She will be gone the second the wedding is over.” “You are so damn petty. No wonder you don’t have any other friends. Doris is the only one who can tolerate you.” The words hit me like a physical blow. He had conveniently forgotten our childhood. His parents were high-powered executives who were never home. He was a lonely, anxious kid who cried and begged me not to make other friends because he was terrified of being abandoned. “I just need you,” he had said. I gave in. I kept my circle small just to make him feel secure. And now, he was using the isolation he created as a weapon against me. He had ripped open my oldest wound and handed the knife to Doris. I felt the last thread tying me to him snap. When I looked up at him, my eyes were completely dead. “Wire me my half of the apartment’s equity right now, and she can play house all she wants. If you don’t, I am calling the cops for trespassing.” Aaron’s face turned white, then a furious red. He didn’t want to lose face in front of Doris and the crew. He pulled out his phone, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered. “You are unbelievable, Audrey.” A minute later, the massive wire transfer notification popped up on my screen. “Take your money,” he spat, “and get out.” I didn’t say a word. I grabbed my suitcase by the door and walked out. I was never coming back. And I genuinely hoped he wouldn’t live to regret it.

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My daughter was only twenty months old when she was murdered. Not a single bone in her tiny body was left intact. The suspect was just a child himself. Because of his age, he faced no prison time. The system sealed his records and protected him. I spent the next ten years waiting for him to grow up. 1 My name is Elena. If you looked at my stark white hair, you would think I was an old woman, but I am only thirty four years old. No one knows how I survived this past decade. I was born in a deeply impoverished, isolated town nestled high in the Appalachian mountains. I was pulled out of school by the time I was fourteen. When I turned eighteen, my father handed me over to a man in a neighboring county to be his wife. In that backwards, off the grid community, a woman had no real standing until she gave a man a son. My husband, Jared, was over a decade older than me. He spent his days reeking of cheap whiskey. Most people in the county had left to find real work in the city, but Jared refused to leave. He kept me trapped on a desolate plot of farmland with his aging parents, living a life of suffocating misery. I was not afraid of hardship. I had grown up with nothing. I was not even afraid of the beatings, because violence was all I had ever known. The following year, I gave birth to a baby girl. That was when Jared’s mother turned on me. Whether it was complications from the birth or sheer exhaustion, I never got pregnant again. Jared grew disgusted with me. The beatings became merciless. One night, after a particularly brutal attack left me bleeding on the floor, my survival instinct took over. In a haze of panic and desperation, I ran. I fled the farmhouse and ran into the pitch black night. But I left my daughter behind. I know it was the greatest sin of my life. But I had less than two dollars to my name. I was starving, bruised, and had absolutely no way to keep a baby alive on the streets. My plan was to make it to a city, find a job, get a roof over my head, and then come back to steal my daughter away in the dead of night. 2 For the next three years, I lived like a ghost. I drifted from city to city, working grueling under the table jobs because I had no formal education. I scrubbed floors, washed dishes, and took the lowest pay imaginable. Yet, I was strangely content. I no longer woke up terrified of a fist. No one screamed at me. Being poor and free was a luxury. I just didn’t have enough to go back for her yet. I pinched every penny, hoarding a meager stash of five hundred dollars in a coffee can. I refused to see a doctor even when I was sick with a fever. That money was my lifeline. Every dollar saved brought me one step closer to my little girl. Terrified that Jared would track me down and drag me back, I cut all ties with anyone from my home state. If I heard a familiar accent on the street, I would turn and walk the other way. 3 Running into my cousin Sarah was a complete accident. I was working at a diner in the city. The kitchen sink had backed up, so I carried a heavy plastic tub of murky dishwater out the back door to dump it in the alley. Sarah happened to be walking past. The dirty water splashed onto her boots, and she immediately started cursing at me. Hearing that specific, thick mountain drawl made my heart drop. I nearly dropped the plastic tub. We locked eyes, and recognition hit us both like a physical blow. I spun around to run, but Sarah lunged forward and grabbed me. She threw her arms around my shoulders and burst into agonizing sobs. “It’s Lily! Something happened to Lily!” “Tell me! What happened? Is she sick?” My throat felt tight, like someone was choking me. I was desperate for it to just be a fever. “Lily is dead.” When those three words registered, all the weight left my body. The alleyway spun wildly around me, and the sky seemed to crash into the pavement. 4 Lily had been thrown to her death. Every single bone in her torso and limbs was shattered. Only her head remained intact. The investigators theorized she had been dropped from a terrifying height dozens of times. Every time she was thrown, the killer had deliberately held her by the head so only her fragile body struck the ground. She was conscious. She felt every single second of that unimaginable agony. The killer was an eight year old boy. And the law could not touch him. “Jared took a payout from the boy’s family. They bought his silence, and the case was closed,” Sarah sobbed, her fingers digging into my coat. “But I can’t let it go, Elena. She was just a baby. There has to be some kind of justice in this world.” I stood frozen in that filthy alley. It felt like invisible ropes were binding my arms while arrows pierced my chest. I could see the arrows flying toward me, but I could not dodge, could not run, could only stand there and bleed. Every bone in her body. How much did that hurt? I could not even fathom it. I remembered fracturing a single finger once and crying for hours from the throbbing pain. How did my sweet, helpless Lily endure that? 5 Sarah choked out the rest of the details. The boy was eight. His mother was the only person from our county to ever graduate from a major university. She had moved to the East Coast, built a massive company, and become incredibly wealthy. Her family had returned to the mountains that summer for a rustic vacation, treating the trip like a royal homecoming. They were the VIP guests of the county. The local women spent their days fawning over the rich mother, playing cards on the porch. Jared’s mother had gone over to join the gossip. Since I was gone, Lily was treated like a stray dog. They tossed her scraps when they remembered, but otherwise, she was completely ignored. Several people later admitted they heard a baby screaming that afternoon. But nobody bothered to check. It wasn’t until the card game ended and Jared’s mother walked back into our silent, empty house that she noticed something on the rotting mattress. It was a bundle. Wrapped in a piece of filthy, faded fabric. It was the old curtain that used to hang in our kitchen. Curious, she walked over and untied the knot. She took one look, let out a bloodcurdling scream, and passed out cold. A state trooper happened to be passing through the county on patrol. He responded to the screams and immediately locked down the area. The wealthy family tried to flee. The trooper blocked their luxury SUV on a narrow dirt road. 6 The eight year old boy was tall and unnervingly thin. When the police questioned him, his face was extremely pale, and he refused to speak a single word. Based on the forensic evidence and the bloodstains on the heavy stone slabs on the ground floor, they determined Lily had been carried up to the second floor of the old barn. And then dropped. Over and over again. But he was eight. Under the law, he lacked the capacity to form criminal intent. His mother wrote Jared a massive check. Jared and his parents were thrilled. To them, my daughter was just a worthless burden, and her death had suddenly made them rich. The matter was swept under the rug. 7 My entire universe collapsed. Lily’s death took the very last shred of my humanity with it. When I finally returned to the cramped apartment I shared with six other women, they went quiet. They had heard the news. I could hear their frantic, pitying whispers in the dark. For three days and three nights, I lay on my thin mattress. I wept until my tear ducts ran completely dry. Then, I sat up and drank a bowl of cold soup someone had left on my nightstand. I needed to live. The monster who murdered my baby was still breathing. I had no right to die. When I finally walked out of that apartment, the people in the hallway stared at me with pure horror. They had never seen a young woman whose hair had turned completely white overnight. 8 Before Sarah left, she slipped me a piece of paper with the name of a wealthy East Coast city. The boy’s family had immense resources. To avoid the local scandal, they relocated immediately. The boy was shielded by juvenile privacy laws. He was given a clean slate and a brand new life. For someone like me, finding them was like trying to pull a needle from the ocean. But I had to do it. I was Lily’s mother. I swore I would spend the rest of my miserable life hunting him down. Even if he was buried under a mountain of bodies, I would dig him out. I was twenty three years old. I realized very quickly that to exact revenge, I needed to evolve. A penniless, uneducated runaway could not touch a family with that kind of wealth. I needed to blend in. I needed access. I moved to the city Sarah had written down and found work as a domestic maid. Being a cleaner or a nanny gave me an invisible pass into the homes of the elite. Whenever I wasn’t scrubbing floors, I was in the public library. I read obsessively. Psychology, sociology, criminology, whatever I could get my hands on. I absorbed knowledge like a starving animal. No one understood why a simple maid was driving herself to the brink of exhaustion. 9 By my ninth year in that city, I had transitioned into working as a high end maternity nurse. This allowed me to float seamlessly through the most affluent neighborhoods across seven different school districts. It gave me endless access to gossip, records, and wealthy networks without raising a single red flag. Yet, for nine years, I found absolutely nothing. Not a single trace of him. But I refused to believe he had vanished into thin air. 10 In my eighth year of searching, I switched tactics again. I stopped maternity work and became a private chef and housekeeper. I specifically targeted the zip code surrounding the city’s most prestigious, elite public high school. I calculated his age. He should have been entering high school right around this time. My maternal instinct told me that his arrogant, ambitious mother would never settle for a mediocre education. She would pull every string to get him into the best academy available. There were dozens of middle schools in the metropolitan area, but only one undisputed crown jewel of a high school. The incoming freshman class had over two thousand students. He had to be one of them. 11 Because my cooking was impeccable and my demeanor was quiet, my reputation grew quickly through word of mouth. I had my pick of clients. I deliberately chose two specific households. One was the home of the high school’s Dean of Students. The other was the home of a very chatty freshman boy. I never expected the first real clue to be handed to me so casually. One afternoon, I was finishing up the lunch prep at the freshman’s house. His mother was leaning against the marble counter, chatting with me. She mentioned that the organic markets had fresh spring produce and asked me to mix up the menu. Without thinking, I let out a specific, regional grunt of agreement from my old mountain town. The boy, who was eating a sandwich at the island, suddenly snorted with laughter. His mother glared at him. “Sorry,” the boy said, turning red. “It’s just that Tristan said that exact same weird country phrase during his valedictorian speech last week.” My heart slammed against my ribs. I gripped the edge of the sink to keep my knees from buckling. That phrase was incredibly specific to our isolated county. Could this Tristan be the monster I was hunting? “Tristan?” his mother asked, pouring a glass of water. “That senior you basically worship? The one applying to all the Ivy Leagues?” “Yeah! He just ranked number one in the state mock exams again.” I turned my back to them, pretending to wipe down the stove. My hands were shaking so violently I nearly dropped the sponge. When the boy finished eating and went upstairs to study, I slipped out the back door. I had miscalculated. That was why I couldn’t find him. He was two grades ahead of where he should be. Lily must have been guiding me from the beyond. If I had waited until next year, he would have graduated and disappeared into a university campus. 12 The next day was Saturday. The Dean and his family were home. I pulled out all the stops, cooking a flawless, elaborate four course meal. The aromas filled the entire house. When the Dean stepped out of his home office, the dining table was set perfectly. “Thank you, Elena. You really outdid yourself. I can take it from here,” he said, offering a polite smile. I kept my head bowed and softly mentioned that times were a bit tough and asked if he needed me to take over the deep cleaning duties for his private study. He agreed instantly. He trusted me implicitly by now. That was how I gained access to his home office. And more importantly, his laptop. Over the years, I had taught myself how to navigate operating systems and bypass basic security. I had a narrow window. The senior class files were already digitized. I pulled up the directory and searched for Tristan. There were three boys with that first name. I had to read through each file carefully. One profile made my blood run cold. This Tristan had a gap in his early childhood records. His elementary enrollment was delayed by exactly two months. There was no transfer record, just a blank two month void. The exact two months immediately following my daughter’s murder. After that, his academic record showed he skipped two grades. I calmly closed the laptop and wiped down the keyboard. I had found him. It was time for the next phase. 13 I visited every elite domestic staffing agency in the district and left my resume specifically requesting afternoon cooking shifts. I just had to pray his family was looking for help. Heaven rewards the patient. His mother walked right into the agency. The recruiter whispered to me beforehand that Eleanor was a nightmare client. She fired maids constantly. No one ever lasted more than a month. When Eleanor looked at me, she saw a quiet, prematurely aged woman who kept her eyes on the floor. She liked that. She hired me on the spot for a trial dinner. I spent an hour in her pristine, modern kitchen preparing a flawless meal. Just as I plated the food, I heard the heavy front door open. Footsteps echoed in the foyer, followed by a woman’s sharp voice and a younger, deeper reply. I could not stop myself. I walked out of the kitchen. Standing in the entryway was a tall, incredibly handsome teenager. He was over six feet tall, lean, with sharp cheekbones and a bright, radiant smile. He looked like the picture of wealthy, suburban perfection. This was completely contrary to the twisted, deformed monster I had pictured in my head for a decade. I froze in the hallway, staring. “What are you staring at?” Eleanor snapped, glaring at me. “I… I’m sorry. I’ve just never seen such a handsome young man before,” I stammered, perfectly playing the part of a naive, uneducated servant. Eleanor scoffed, her ego stroked by the compliment. My rustic ignorance put her completely at ease. I retreated to the kitchen, my legs turning to jelly. Every instinct in my body screamed that this was him. But my mind was reeling. How could a demon who shattered a baby’s bones look like a golden boy? For ten years, I had fantasized about finding him. I imagined tearing his throat out with my bare teeth and drinking his blood. But seeing this bright, polite teenager completely shattered my expectations. I began to doubt myself. 14 After a week working in their home, my doubts only grew heavier. Tristan was brilliant. He wasn’t just top of his class academically; he was a prodigy. He played the violin, dominated on the baseball field, and had a wall covered in swimming medals. But the school records were too specific. It had to be him. How was this possible? Did I have the wrong family? Tristan loved my cooking. He always called me Auntie Elena. Compared to Eleanor’s constant, biting criticism and Richard’s cold, absent demeanor, Tristan was actually the warmest person in the house. He always thanked me. He complimented my stews. He smiled politely when we crossed paths. I lived in a constant state of agonizing conflict. Because my work was flawless, Eleanor eventually approached me. She asked me to move into the house as their full time, live in housekeeper. I hesitated for a fraction of a second, then agreed. 15 Living in the house gave me unrestricted hours to observe Tristan. The boy I had hunted for ten years was sleeping just upstairs, yet he acted like a saint. It was deeply unsettling. I knew I could not afford to hurt an innocent person. I needed absolute, undeniable proof before I made my move. The layout was simple. The parents lived on the sprawling ground floor. Tristan had the entire second floor to himself. I was given a converted storage room near the laundry area. Tristan’s bedroom door was always shut. Eleanor explicitly warned me on my first day never to go upstairs and never to touch his room. I simply nodded, playing the obedient servant. One morning, the family left for their respective schedules. I took my cleaning supplies and methodically worked my way through the ground floor. Then, I grabbed a microfiber cloth and slowly walked up the stairs, wiping down the banister. I reached the second floor landing. Tristan’s door was locked. Picking a standard interior lock was child’s play. I had mastered that skill years ago. But just as I reached for the knob, a glint of light from a smoke detector in the hallway caught my eye. I immediately dropped to my knees and started aggressively scrubbing the floorboards, not even brushing against his door. I turned and walked back downstairs. My intuition was screaming. That room hid his true face. But the timing wasn’t right. The house was wired. I had waited ten years. I could wait a few more days. 16 Eleanor was a rigid, neurotic woman. Her words were always dipped in venom. If I wasn’t fueled by pure hatred, I wouldn’t have lasted forty eight hours under her roof. But she was also incredibly meticulous. I used my deep cleaning sessions to tear apart her master bedroom, searching for anything tying them to my hometown. Nothing. She had spent a decade sanitizing their past. I needed to get into Tristan’s room without triggering the cameras or raising suspicion. I formulated a new plan. 17 It was a long holiday weekend, and the family went out to a country club brunch. The suburban neighborhood was full of kids playing outside. A group of boys was kicking a soccer ball in the cul-de-sac. I was standing at the kitchen island, chopping vegetables, when a deafening crash shattered the silence of the house. Glass rained down onto the hardwood upstairs. I sprinted upstairs, acting panicked. The hallway camera caught my frantic reaction. I checked the ground floor windows. Intact. I ran to the second floor landing. Tristan’s door was still locked, but the structural damage was obvious. When the family returned that evening, Tristan walked into the kitchen with his usual bright smile. He handed me a slice of expensive bakery cake. “It’s my birthday today, Auntie Elena. I made sure to save you a piece.” I took the plate, my chest tightening with a sickening mix of emotions. I had never celebrated a birthday in my life. No one had ever offered me cake. And now, the first slice I ever received was being handed to me by the monster who murdered my child. The irony tasted like ash in my mouth. If my Lily had lived, she would be turning twelve this year. She never got to taste birthday cake. The thought made my heart physically ache. I took the cake and walked into the pantry. A second later, a loud, furious shout echoed from upstairs. “What the hell is this?” Tristan yelled. 18 Eleanor and I rushed up the stairs at the same time. Tristan had unlocked his door and stepped inside, in his socks. The floor was covered in jagged shards of thick glass. A leather soccer ball was sitting on his expensive rug. He had stepped on a piece of glass, and blood was soaking through his white sock. “I have no idea what happened! I heard a crash earlier, but the door was locked!” I stammered, perfectly mimicking a terrified maid. Eleanor’s face turned purple with rage. She turned and helped Tristan limp down the stairs so they could drive to the urgent care clinic. I stood in the hallway, wringing my hands, looking helpless. “Clean it up! And make sure you get every single piece!” Eleanor barked over her shoulder. Tristan glanced back at me. His eyes were dark and unreadable. He opened his mouth, but closed it, saying nothing as his mother led him out. 19 I dropped to my knees inside his room, picking up the larger shards by hand. I waited until I heard the heavy thud of the garage door closing. I was finally inside. I paid a neighborhood kid two hundred dollars to kick that ball through the window. The investment was worth every penny. The room was surprisingly neat, but there was a faint, sickening odor lingering in the air. A sweet, rotting smell. And that was with a shattered window letting in the fresh breeze. If the room had been sealed, the stench would have been overwhelming. I grabbed the vacuum to speed up the cleanup. I checked under his bed and swept out several crumpled, stiff wads of tissue paper. Standard teenage boy behavior. But that wasn’t where the smell was coming from. I scanned the room. The bookshelves were packed with dense academic texts. The closet was perfectly organized. I knew I had limited time. My eyes landed on a heavy, vintage steamer trunk shoved in the corner of his walk in closet. The trunk looked old, the leather handle worn and discolored. For a boy who wore pristine designer clothes and threw away anything slightly used, keeping a battered trunk made absolutely no sense. This was his anchor. I dragged it out. It was incredibly heavy. And it was secured with a digital combination padlock. I tried his birthday. Error. I was trying to calculate other significant dates when the landline downstairs started ringing. I ran down to the kitchen. It was Eleanor. She ordered me to start boiling a bone broth for Tristan’s recovery. They would be home in thirty minutes. 20 Time was running out. I sprinted back upstairs. I had to get that trunk open. Luggage locks have a manual reset mechanism. I grabbed a sewing needle from my apron, found the tiny pinhole on the side of the lock, pressed it down, and reset the combination. The latch clicked open. The trunk was filled with pristine, categorized binders. I pulled out the first one and flipped it open. It was full of glossy photographs. At first glance, I couldn’t comprehend what I was looking at. I stared at the images, my brain struggling to process the visual information. Then, I read the meticulous, handwritten captions beneath the photos. A wave of violent nausea hit me. I gagged, clapping a hand over my mouth to keep from vomiting on his rug. I pressed my fist against my chest, forcing my heart to slow down. I grabbed three more binders at random and flipped them open. They were catalogs of pure, unadulterated evil. High resolution photos of grotesque animal mutilations. Stray cats, neighborhood dogs. Some were action shots, others were forensic style post mortems. He was a psychopath practicing his craft. The sound of tires crunching on the driveway gravel snapped me back to reality. I shoved the binders back, locked the trunk, and scrambled the numbers. I practically flew down the stairs and bolted into the kitchen, tossing ingredients into a stockpot just as the front door swung open. Eleanor helped Tristan inside. She peeked into the kitchen, saw the broth simmering, and nodded in approval. But my blood ran cold. I was dead. I had reset the combination on his lock. The next time Tristan tried to open it, his old code wouldn’t work. He would instantly know someone had breached his sanctuary. And I was the only person in the house. 21 I waited in agony for the broth to finish simmering. I poured it into a porcelain bowl and carried it upstairs. Tristan’s door was open. I set the tray on his desk, keeping my eyes glued to the floor. “Thank you,” he said, his voice smooth and calm. As I turned to leave, my peripheral vision swept the closet. The heavy trunk had been moved. It was sitting flat on the rug. He had opened it. A sudden realization struck me like a bolt of lightning. I stumbled, my foot catching the edge of the top stair. I nearly plunged face first down the staircase. “Auntie Elena, are you alright?” Tristan’s voice drifted out from the room, laced with feigned concern. “I’m fine! My bad knee just gave out. I’m not used to the stairs,” I called back, gripping the railing and forcing myself to walk down slowly. I could not look back. If I looked back, he would see the sheer terror and rage burning in my eyes. When I reached the ground floor, Eleanor was screaming at someone on her phone. I slipped into the powder room and locked the door. I leaned over the sink and splashed ice cold water on my face. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were completely feral. I was right. It was him. The monster had not changed. When I panicked and reset the lock upstairs, I blindly punched in a random sequence of numbers. Without thinking, my muscle memory had typed the date Lily was murdered. And Tristan had opened it without issue. Because the code he used to secure his trophies… was the exact date he slaughtered my baby. That date meant as much to him as it did to me. So he didn’t realize the lock had been reset. He just assumed the tumblers had stuck. I finally had my proof. This boy was a demon wearing a human skin suit. How was I going to destroy him? 22 Over the past ten years, I had mapped out hundreds of ways to kill him. But killing him quickly felt like a mercy. It was too easy. Lily had been dropped to the stone floor over and over again. She felt the agonizing terror of the fall, the excruciating shatter of her bones, repeated until her tiny heart gave out. He needed to feel that exact same psychological and physical torture. Especially now that I knew what he truly was. A bullet to the head was a gift he didn’t deserve. To truly destroy a narcissist, you have to rip away everything they value most. Their reputation, their future, their facade. I was the cat. He was the mouse trapped under my claws. And the game had just begun.

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At our college reunion, I lost a Truth or Dare game and had to hand over my unlocked phone. They scrolled straight to my texts with Charles. Years of messages filled the thread. “Classic you two,” Marcus laughed. “In college, you passed ten pages of notes per lecture. Six years married and still obsessed.” “Read the juicy stuff!” someone shouted. Marcus tapped the screen. The past two years showed only one message—from Charles: Need appendix surgery. Come to the hospital? He frowned. “Got a new phone?” “No cloud backup? All those memories gone,” another friend said. I looked across the room. Charles sat in the corner, drinking whiskey in silence. Beside him was Dana, the quiet girl who’d chased him through college. They sat close, shoulders nearly touching. Two years earlier, I’d walked in on them together in bed. “I did replace something,” I said evenly. Not my phone. My husband. The heavy tension in the room instantly evaporated into nervous laughter. People started talking over each other to break the ice. “Oh, I thought it was a software bug.” “Note to self, always back up your iCloud when upgrading.” But a few people stayed dead silent. They glanced at me, then looked over at Charles’s pale, rigid face. They definitely had their suspicions. After all, before everything fell apart, Charles and I were joined at the hip. At every single social gathering, we were practically breathing each other’s air. Since the incident, I hadn’t attended a single reunion for two years. I only agreed to show up tonight because Charles and I had legally remarried this year, and he wired five million dollars to my bank account just to buy my presence. It was a business transaction. He wanted to save face. But I hadn’t spoken a single word to him all night. Looking utterly defeated, he just hid in the shadows, letting the alcohol burn down his throat. “Next round! Let’s go!” The empty beer bottle spun on the mahogany table. Just my luck. It pointed right at me again. “Alright, Serena, your turn for a Truth,” Marcus said, sliding the deck of cards across the table. I picked a card at random and flipped it over. It read: [What is the boldest thing you have ever done?] I pretended to think about it. But the only image that filled my mind was the blinding fluorescent lights of the operating room, and the feeling of the pen in my hand as I signed the abortion consent forms all by myself. That was the baby Charles and I had spent four agonizing years trying to conceive. I just closed my eyes, and when I opened them, the surgical basin was half full of my tears. The baby was gone. To this day, nobody knew I had even been pregnant. “I once ate a raw, beating snake heart on a trip to Mexico,” I said, using a bright smile to bury a pain that had already turned into thick scar tissue. “Does that count?” “Hell yeah, that counts!” The bottle spun again. This time, the glass neck aimed straight at Charles. “Dare time for the golden boy!” Marcus clapped his hands together. “Charles, you have to pick someone in this room right now and sing ‘Perfect’ to them!” Everybody knew the history behind that song. It was the exact acoustic track Charles had played on his guitar when he asked me to be his girlfriend all those years ago. They all knew he had to choose me. Marcus was intentionally trying to play matchmaker. He noticed the freezing atmosphere between Charles and me, and he wanted to throw us a lifeline. “Charles…” Dana reached out and gently tugged at the hem of Charles’s designer shirt. Charles suddenly stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the hardwood floor. “Something came up. I need to head home.” He looked at me. “Let’s go, darling.” Out in the dimly lit hallway, I couldn’t resist mocking him. “What, couldn’t bear to see Dana looking so heartbroken?” “You’re paying awfully close attention to her…” Charles suddenly grabbed my wrist and pinned me against the wallpaper. A heavy wave of bourbon washed over my face, and I immediately scrunched my nose in disgust. “Get off me.” “This kind of physical contact costs extra.” His mouth twisted into a bitter, self-deprecating smile. “Is money really the only thing we can talk about anymore?” “What else is there?” I shot back. He had used his massive wealth to force my second husband out of the picture. He had used dirty corporate tactics to back me into a corner until I agreed to remarry him. Did he honestly believe there was an ounce of love left between us? The crushing grip on my wrist instantly loosened. Charles lowered his eyes, trying to hide a flash of sheer devastation. Right then, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the notification light up the screen. It was a text from Dana. [Dana: We finally get to see each other tonight. Can’t you stay with me a little longer?] “You should go to her,” I said smoothly. “If you’re worried about getting caught by the paparazzi and causing a PR nightmare, I can book a hotel for you.” “I just got Diamond status at the Hilton, actually.” I pulled out my phone, opened the app, and specifically scrolled until I found their Presidential Suite. “This one looks nice.” “It’s way bigger than that boutique motel you guys used to sneak around in. Better room service, too. If you two get exhausted from screwing all night, they’ll roll a breakfast cart right up to the bed.” With every word that left my mouth, the color drained further from Charles’s face. By the time I looked up at him, his expression was so dark it looked like a storm was about to break. “Are you really that desperate to push me into another woman’s bed?” “Serena, I have explained it to you a thousand times. That night was an accident.” “I had too much to drink, and I just…” I played dumb. “Well, you’ve had plenty to drink tonight, too.” “The alcohol will definitely make things more fun for you guys.” “Go on. I’ll drive over and pick you up in the morning. Half a million dollars for the chauffeur service. Make sure it hits my account by dawn.” I reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out the keys to his car, and turned on my heel, walking away without a backward glance. The custom matte-yellow Maybach stood out like a beacon in the underground garage. It was a pathetic gesture. After we remarried, Charles had the entire car wrapped in my favorite color, desperately trying to cater to my tastes. I drove the luxury car out into the freezing night, speeding down the empty avenues. While waiting at a red light, my gaze drifted to a row of sticky residue marks lining the passenger side dashboard. That spot used to be covered in those cheap, ugly little figurines Dana loved so much. The glove compartment used to be overflowing with her lip glosses and trinkets. The passenger seat used to be draped in a fluffy pink lambskin blanket, with her fuzzy slippers resting on the floor mats. And back then, I was probably the one clinging to the outside of the window, screaming like a lunatic, chasing after their car as it drove away. A loud honk from the vehicle behind me ripped me back to reality. When I finally got home, the moment I pushed the front door open, a gust of wind knocked a sticky note off the entryway wall. It fluttered to the ground. It read: Welcome home, $20,000. The entire penthouse was covered in them. On the stainless steel refrigerator: Having dinner together, $50,000. On the flat-screen TV: Watching a movie together, $30,000 an hour. Right on the master bedroom door: Sleeping in the same bed, absolutely no physical contact, $150,000 a night. Sometimes he threw money at me so randomly that I couldn’t be bothered to keep track. Eventually, I just gave him a flat rate. Spending one full day with him cost one million dollars. My phone suddenly chimed with a massive bank transfer notification. It was from Charles. The memo attached read: [You booked the hotel room for me, but you didn’t order the ultra-thin condoms?] A wave of pure nausea hit the back of my throat. I gripped my phone so tightly my knuckles turned white, taking several deep, shaky breaths before I opened an overnight delivery app. I typed in his specific size, added a box to the cart, and hit purchase. Watching the GPS tracker show the delivery driver getting closer to the Hilton, I threw my phone onto the marble counter and sprinted into the bathroom. I pumped handfuls of antibacterial soap, scrubbing my hands raw under the scalding water. I scrubbed until the flesh was bright red. I scrubbed until the skin started peeling off. The stinging pain throbbed all the way up my arms. My brain was trapped in an endless loop, flashing the image of my hand ripping the duvet off their naked bodies that night. Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. It felt like I was back in that cramped, suffocating bathroom from two years ago, with Charles pounding frantically on the door from the outside. He was begging for forgiveness. Dana was weeping hysterically. And I was inside, dry-heaving over the toilet, desperately trying to wash my hands in the bowl just to feel clean. Crash. My elbow knocked into the glass display shelf. More than a dozen imported perfume bottles Charles had bought for me shattered across the tiles, the overpowering mixture of floral and musk suffocating the air. I simply stepped out, pulled the bathroom door shut, and left the mess for him to clean up whenever he crawled back. I picked my phone off the counter. The screen showed the delivery was complete. My fingers flew across the keyboard, typing out the very first text I had sent to Charles all year. [If one box isn’t enough, you can always pay me to order more.] I never in a million years thought Charles would end up sleeping with Dana. Back in college, she was completely invisible. She was painfully introverted, possessed absolutely zero talents, and had totally mediocre grades. She shrank away from everything and everyone, yet she had stubbornly trailed after Charles like a lost puppy for three years. But Charles was secretly in love with me. He found Dana’s relentless pursuing utterly pathetic and even considered it a stain on his reputation. Once, when Charles coldly tossed a homemade breakfast Dana had baked for him straight into the campus trash can, I dragged him aside and tore into him. “You do not treat a girl like that.” “You don’t have to date her, but you can’t just humiliate her in public. It breaks people.” Only then did Charles soften his attitude toward her. Eventually, Charles and I made things official. The night he confessed his feelings to me, Dana stood at the edge of the cheering crowd. She was clutching a stuffed bear she never got the courage to give him, crying so hard she could barely breathe. The very next week, she transferred to another university. What I didn’t know back then was that she and Charles had exchanged private numbers, and they kept in secret contact the entire time. By the time I saw Dana again, eight years had passed. She had already been working at Charles’s corporate headquarters for six months. She was his executive secretary, spending every waking hour glued to his side. “She applied for the job, and I figured I’d help out an old classmate,” he had explained smoothly over dinner. “Plus, I was a real jerk to her back in college. Consider this me making amends.” Charles, a man who was arrogant to his very bones, was actually reflecting on his past mistakes. I didn’t think much of it. Not until I noticed that Charles was taking longer and longer to text me back. I was the kind of person who wanted to share everything with my husband. A blooming flower on the sidewalk, a weirdly shaped cloud, I sent it all to him. Usually, he replied within seconds. We easily sent a hundred texts a day. But then, messages I sent at dawn wouldn’t get a reply until midnight. I sent him eighty texts. He replied with a single, cold “Yeah.” Gradually, it shifted from one reply a day, to one reply every three days. Eventually, our chat log was just a wall of my green speech bubbles crying out into the void. I drove down to his office, only to be told by HR that he and Dana had gone on a ‘business trip.’ It wasn’t a business trip. It was a month-long vacation in the Maldives. He lied to my face, spending thirty days in paradise with her. I later found the hidden, encrypted album on his laptop. It was entirely filled with candid shots of Dana laughing on the beach. And at the bottom, a note he had typed out: If I hadn’t been so cruel to you back then, would everything be different now? When I confronted him with the evidence, we tore the house apart. Charles didn’t even try to deny it. Reeking of expensive scotch, he pointed a shaking finger right at my face and roared, “I am so sick of this!” “Why do I have to spend my whole life bowing down to you?” “Back in college, I followed you around like a dog! You whistled, I came running. You told me to get lost, I vanished! Do you really think you’re some kind of royalty?” “If I hadn’t spent years inflating your massive ego, you wouldn’t have the guts to stand here and scream at me!” After that earth-shattering fight, I locked myself in the house and cried for three days straight. During those three days, he took Dana on a private jet to see the Swiss Alps. So, the second he walked back through the front door, I handed him divorce papers. That was when the reality set in for Charles. He panicked. He dropped to his knees, clutching my legs, sobbing and apologizing. “I was drunk! I was just saying hurtful things to win the fight, I swear!” He slapped himself across the face, over and over, swearing on his life he would cut Dana off completely. “Then fire her,” I demanded. Charles froze. “Darling, I can’t do that to her.” “You were the one who taught me. A ruthless rejection like that… it breaks people. Besides, she hasn’t made any mistakes at work.” The very words I had spoken to protect her all those years ago had turned into a poisoned blade, driving straight into my own heart. Dana was soft. She was yielding. She stayed by Charles’s side, wrapping around him like warm water, pulling him deeper and deeper until he was drowning in her, completely unable to escape. After surviving that first major crisis, Charles just grew bolder. He permanently gave Dana the passenger seat of his car. He bought her diamond necklaces, completely renovated his executive office to match her aesthetic, and even brought her to our house. He would look me dead in the eye, say they had urgent corporate matters to discuss, and then lock the study door right in my face. They became each other’s pinned contacts. He showed her the world. He took her to see the oceans and the mountains. And sitting around a roaring bonfire on a private beach, he sang “Perfect” to her. Yes. The exact same song he used to win my heart. Now, the melody belonged to Dana. I had been standing in the shadows behind the crowd that night. The ultrasound report slipped from my trembling fingers, falling into the sand, where it was trampled to shreds by the passing tourists. Catching them in bed together was only a matter of time. I knew it was coming. I just didn’t expect it to happen so fast. The very next day, he flew back to the city. He took me out for a lavish anniversary dinner, kissed my cheek, and said he had to go back to the office to finish a merger. I felt a sickening knot in my stomach. I secretly followed his car. And I walked right into a nightmare that would brand itself into my brain until the day I died. That night, it felt like I shed every tear my body was capable of producing. My memories warped and twisted into a suffocating loop. One second, it was the teenage Charles promising to love me forever. The next, it was the cold, distant Charles calling me an overbearing bitch. Six years of dating. Six years of marriage. Twelve years of history, slaughtered in a single night. I hated him with every fiber of my being. I swore on my own life I would never, ever forgive Charles. When I woke up the next morning, my muscle memory kicked in. I unlocked my phone to check if Charles had transferred the daily allowance. Instead, I saw forty missed calls from him, all placed between 2 AM and 4 AM. When I didn’t answer, he left one single text: [You’re truly heartless.] Below that were frantic messages from his best friend, Blake. [Blake: Serena, please! You gotta help. Charles locked himself in a hotel room and he’s drinking himself to death. I can’t stop him!] [Blake: He’s got severe alcohol poisoning! I’m sending you the hospital address!] Five hours had already passed since those texts.

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The boy next door had a vicious tongue, always mocking my weight for laughs. At our high school graduation dinner, someone joked that Cory and I were childhood sweethearts. He slammed his fork down, face twisting in disgust. “Are you insane? Who’d like a whale like Wendy? I hang out with her out of pity.” The table roared. Carter, our class president, frowned. “You’re blind, Cory. Wendy’s bone structure is better than anyone here. If she lost the weight, you wouldn’t be fit to tie her shoes.” Silence flickered, then laughter exploded again. “Serious, Carter? Her?” Cory scoffed, eyeing me mockingly. “If she loses weight and looks half as good as Bella, I’ll kneel and apologize. But we all know that’ll never happen.” More howls of laughter. Under the table, my fists clenched. Eight years of secret feelings shattered in that instant. That night, I stood before my full-length mirror. Five-eight, two hundred pounds. I made two quiet decisions. One: I would lose the weight. Two: I would not follow him to Columbia. … Back at the restaurant, Bella, the reigning prom queen, had laughed the loudest. She deliberately dropped a greasy piece of pork belly onto my plate. “Don’t be sad, Wendy. Eat up. A full stomach makes you forget everything.” Someone else immediately chimed in. “Exactly! Our Wendy doesn’t need a boyfriend. A plate of ribs is all she needs.” The table exploded again. Cory leaned back in his chair, a lingering smirk playing on his lips as he scrolled through his phone. He acted completely detached, like the humiliation he just orchestrated had nothing to do with him. Carter shot him a dark look but chose not to start a fight. Meanwhile, Bella leaned over and whispered something directly into Cory’s ear. Cory let out a low, husky chuckle. It wasn’t loud, but in the chaotic room, I heard it perfectly. I set my chopsticks down on the ceramic rest. “I’m heading out.” Bella instantly plastered on a mask of fake concern. “Wendy, please don’t be mad. We were honestly just joking around…” I ignored her completely. I grabbed my purse and walked toward the exit. As I passed Cory’s chair, he didn’t even bother to look up. He was too busy texting Bella. I stopped right beside him. “Cory.” He finally lifted his head, his eyes laced with heavy impatience. “What?” I just looked at him. My mind flashed back to when we were six years old. He had just moved into the house next door and scraped his knee on the pavement. I was the one who crouched in the dirt, digging desperately through my tiny backpack just to find my only band-aid for him. When he put it on, he gave me a brilliant, toothy smile. I held onto that single smile for eight years. “Every single word you said today.” My voice was eerily quiet. “One day, you are going to regret them.” He raised an eyebrow, letting out a dismissive scoff. “Me? Regret? I guarantee you I will never…” I didn’t stick around to hear the rest. I pushed the heavy restaurant doors open and walked out into the night. The street was suffocatingly quiet. My hands were shaking violently, but I refused to let a single tear fall. It wasn’t that I didn’t feel the pain. It was because it hurt so deeply that crying felt completely useless. My best friend Gemma chased after me, grabbing my wrist tightly. “Wendy, I swear to God I will go back in there right now and dump a drink on his…” “Gemma.” I cut her off, my voice raw and scraped hollow. “Just walk with me.” The amber streetlights stretched our shadows out across the pavement. We walked for a long time before I finally spoke again. “He’s right about one thing. I am two hundred pounds.” “But he said I could never lose it.” “I am going to make him eat those words.” Gemma bit her lip hard and didn’t say a word. She just squeezed my hand tighter. When I finally got home, the house was completely dark. My parents were already asleep. I stood alone in the bathroom under the harsh fluorescent lights. I actually had a medium frame, but it was completely buried. My face was dangerously round, my jawline practically non-existent. But as I leaned closer to the glass, I saw the truth. My eye shape was striking. The bridge of my nose was naturally high. And there was a tiny, delicate beauty mark resting right beneath the outer corner of my eye. Carter’s words echoed in my ears. “If she ever lost the weight, you wouldn’t even be fit to tie her shoelaces.” Was it true? I didn’t know. But tonight, my mind was set. First, I was dropping the weight. My goal was one hundred and fifteen pounds. Second, I unlocked my phone and logged straight into the university admission portal. My cursor hovered over Columbia University’s Fine Arts program. I stared at those glowing letters for a long time. I picked that major three years ago solely to stay close to Cory. I spent countless sleepless nights perfecting my portfolio just to make sure we ended up in the same city. Enough. I hit delete. In the search bar, I typed: UCLA. Distance: Three thousand miles away. My thumb hovered over the confirm button. One second. Two seconds. I pressed it. Status: Submitted. I tossed my phone onto the mattress, switched off the lamp, and stared up at the dark ceiling. I didn’t shed a single tear. Instead, an unfamiliar, absolute peace washed over my chest. Wendy, starting tomorrow, you are living for yourself. The alarm dragged me out of bed at five in the morning. The sky outside was still pitch black. I laced up my running shoes, stepped out into the freezing air, and started jogging along the river trail. On the first day, I barely made it a mile before I felt like my lungs were collapsing. By the third day, I pushed it to two miles. My knees throbbed so badly I could barely walk up the stairs. On the fifth day, I finished three miles and immediately threw up in the bushes. But I never skipped a single morning. On the evening of the sixth day, I was stretching against the brick wall outside my apartment building when Cory walked up. He was returning from the basketball court, spinning a ball on his finger. He stopped and looked me up and down. “Why are you dripping in sweat?” I didn’t answer. I just switched legs and kept stretching. He leaned casually against the wall, his tone dripping with his usual careless arrogance. “People in the group chat are saying you’re actually trying to run to lose weight?” I stayed completely silent. He just kept talking, convinced he knew everything. “If you’re serious, just buy a gym membership. Jogging on the street won’t do anything for a baseline like yours. Honestly… just forget it.” He paused, then shifted the topic. “Anyway, Columbia’s orientation is September 3rd. Did you join the freshman group chat yet?” My hands briefly stalled. He fully believed I was still going to Columbia. Everyone did. I stood up straight, keeping my face completely blank, and walked toward the lobby doors. He called out from behind me. “Hey, did you join or not? I can send you the invite link…” The heavy glass door clicked shut, instantly cutting off his voice. As I walked up the stairs, the corners of my mouth curled up into a cold smile. Keep waiting, Cory. When September 3rd rolls around, you’ll figure it out. On the eighth night, someone dropped a video into our high school group chat. It was a clip of me running along the river. Heavy, ragged breathing. A sweat-drenched t-shirt clinging to my back. Everything jiggling violently with every heavy step. Whoever filmed it intentionally zoomed in from the most unflattering angle possible. [I am screaming laughing. Wendy is actually trying to exercise!!] [Cory’s comment at dinner really did a number on her.] [Didn’t Carter say she had potential? I’m using a magnifying glass and I still can’t find a single cheekbone.] Bella chimed in: [Keep it up, Wendy! Columbia’s art department is packed with gorgeous girls. If you don’t slim down before orientation, you’re going to feel so insecure. Smiley face.] Then, Cory’s name popped up. My heart skipped a tiny beat. He wrote: [Stop posting this childish crap.] Someone immediately teased: [Aww, is Cory catching feelings?] He replied instantly: [You guys have way too much free time. Let her do whatever she wants. What she does has absolutely nothing to do with me.] Nothing to do with me. Right. It never had anything to do with him. I secretly loved him for eight years, and he said it had nothing to do with him. I bled over my sketchbooks for three years to get into his dream school, and he said it had nothing to do with him. Fine. From now on, I truly have nothing to do with you. I muted the group chat. I opened Gemma’s messages: [I’m going to my grandma’s cabin in Montana until college starts. Keep it a secret. If anyone asks, you don’t know anything.] Gemma: [My lips are sealed. Just promise me you’ll come back alive.] I smiled and sent an OK emoji. Then, I opened my text thread with Cory. I scrolled through three years of pathetic, one-sided messages. “My mom made your favorite ribs. Want to come over for dinner?” “It started raining. I brought an umbrella to the court for you.” “Goodnight.” Every single message was left on read. Occasionally, he would reply with a cold “Yeah,” “Got it,” or “Stop bothering me.” I took a deep breath. Delete contact. Block number. I didn’t hesitate for a single second. The next morning, I dragged my suitcase out to the sidewalk. I ran straight into Cory’s mother checking her mailbox. “Wendy, honey, where are you off to?” “I’m staying with my grandma for the summer, Mrs. Davis.” “Oh, well, when Cory comes over for dinner next week…” “Mrs. Davis,” I smiled politely, “Cory is eighteen now. I don’t think he needs my mom cooking for him anymore.” As I dragged my luggage toward the waiting taxi, a window slid open on the second floor of the house next door. I knew exactly whose bedroom that was. But I didn’t look back. Not even once. My grandma’s cabin was buried deep in the mountains. Cell service was basically a myth, and Wi-Fi simply did not exist. The moment I arrived, I turned my phone off and locked it in a drawer. Every single morning, I woke up at five and ran the brutal mountain trails. In the afternoons, I swam laps in the freezing lake. By evening, I was chopping firewood and hauling soil for my grandma’s garden. My diet was violently strict. Boiled chicken breast, steamed vegetables, and small portions of complex carbs. Week one, I dropped eight pounds. Down to 192. Week two, another seven. Down to 185. By week three, the weight loss started slowing down. I forced myself to add an extra mile to my morning run and started doing bodyweight strength training in the dirt. Week four, 175. In exactly one month, I had lost twenty-five pounds. The mirror showed progress, but it wasn’t earth-shattering yet. My face wasn’t as bloated, but my jawline was still buried. My clothes hung loosely off my frame, making me look like a deflated balloon. I didn’t let it break my focus. Keep going. Week five, 168. Week six, 160. I turned my phone on for the very first time. Dozens of texts flooded the screen. They were all from Gemma. [Cory texted me! He asked where you went! I played dumb!] [He asked me again today! He even asked if you changed your number!] [LMAO guess what he told the guys. He said, “She’s just throwing a tantrum. Give it a few days and she’ll come running back.”] I let out a harsh laugh. Throwing a tantrum? Cory, you really think you are the center of the universe. I kept scrolling. Gemma sent another update: [He’s getting super close with Bella. Today Bella posted a picture of them getting smoothies after his game. The whole group chat is asking if they’re officially dating.] I stared at the message. I waited for the familiar twist of jealousy in my gut. Surprisingly, there was nothing. It didn’t hurt. It genuinely did not hurt anymore. I powered down the phone and went back to training. Week seven, 150. Week eight, 142. The reflection in the mirror started changing violently. My jawline carved itself out, sharp and defined. My cheekbones surfaced, making it look like my entire face had been re-sculpted from clay. My proportions finally made sense. My collarbones were visible. My legs went from stocky to long and lean. But it wasn’t enough. I knew my absolute best was still hiding underneath. Keep going. Week nine, 135. I drove my grandma’s rusty truck down to the local pharmacy to pick up her medication. When I handed the prescription to the young girl at the counter, she froze. She stared at my face for an uncomfortably long time. “Are you… an actress? You look exactly like that girl from…” My grandma quickly grabbed the bag and pulled me out the door. When we got back to the cabin, my grandma sat on the porch, looking deeply troubled. “Your mother was exactly like this,” she muttered. “Before middle school, she was just a chubby, harmless little thing. Then she lost the baby fat over a single summer, and the entire town went absolutely crazy.” “But you are much more dangerous than your mother.” I laughed it off, thinking she was just being dramatic. Week ten, 128. I turned on my phone for the second time. A fresh text from Gemma: [Cory told me to warn you that if you don’t join the Columbia freshman group soon, you’re going to miss room selections. His exact words: “Is she really still throwing a fit? Tell her I’m not going to babysit her on campus, so she better drop the attitude.”] Reading those words, I couldn’t help but smile. He still fully believed I was heading to New York. He still thought I was going to follow him around like a lost puppy. Cory, what kind of fever dream are you living in? I typed a quick reply to Gemma: [Don’t tell a single soul I’m going to UCLA. Especially him. Let him figure it out the hard way.] Gemma replied with a string of laughing emojis: [Yes ma’am! I cannot wait to see the look on his stupid face!!!] Week eleven, 120. My grandma officially banned me from going into town. “The day before yesterday, when you were reading by the lake, three boys from the neighboring ranch sat in their truck and stared at you for four straight hours. Did you even notice?” “…It’s not that serious, Grandma.” “Go look in the damn mirror!” I did. And then I fell completely silent. The girl staring back at me was a stranger. Five foot eight, one hundred and twenty pounds. The weight loss had unlocked every genetic advantage my bone structure possessed. My features were so sharp they looked completely painted on. My eyes tipped up slightly at the corners, framed by thick lashes. My lips were a natural, soft rose color. My collarbones looked like resting butterfly wings, and my waist was impossibly narrow. And that tiny beauty mark by the corner of my eye was the final, lethal touch that pushed the face from simply “pretty” to absolutely breathtaking. I stood there for a long time. Carter was right all along. Week twelve, 115. My grandma stood behind me in the mirror and let out a heavy sigh. “What a tragedy. Your parents spent a decade feeding you good food, and you ruined it all in three months.” I finally spun around. “What are you even talking about? What happened when I was little?!” My grandma just shook her head and refused to elaborate. She just mumbled, “When you get to campus, wear a hat. Keep your head down. Don’t cause trouble.” I replied with a soft “Okay.” But in my head, I was already picturing it. Cory. On September 3rd, you are going to stand in the massive crowd at Columbia orientation, looking for me. You’re going to scan every single studio in the Fine Arts building. You’re going to search the entire freshman registry. But you will never find Wendy. Because I am gone. And I will never walk in your shadow again. The day before my flight to Los Angeles. Gemma sent me a massive flood of screenshots. They were all from the high school group chat. Bella had posted a photo of her and Cory standing in front of the iconic Columbia University gates. She was leaning heavily against his shoulder, flashing a brilliant smile. The caption read: [Ready for the next four years together! ~] The chat immediately exploded with gossip. [Wait, are you guys officially a couple now?!] [You guys look amazing together! The ultimate power couple of Columbia!] Cory rarely ever engaged in the chat, but this time he replied, his tone arrogant and relaxed: [Chill out, we’re just friends.] Someone else quickly typed: [Hey, where’s Wendy? Didn’t she get into Columbia too? I haven’t seen her in any of the freshman orientation posts.] Bella replied instantly: [She’s probably still busy trying to lose weight LOL. I mean, the art department is packed with models. If she showed up weighing 200 pounds…] She followed it up with a string of crying-laughing emojis. Cory’s reply came seconds later: [She’s still throwing a tantrum. She’ll show up in a day or two.] Someone teased: [You know her so well, Cory~] He replied: [We grew up together. I know exactly how her brain works. Give her two days and she’ll cave.] I stared at that specific message for a very long time. “I know exactly how her brain works.” Cory. You literally know absolutely nothing about me. You don’t know that I dropped eighty-five pounds. You don’t know that I am currently boarding a flight three thousand miles away. And you definitely don’t know that the Wendy who would have died for your attention is already dead. I closed the screenshots and calmly packed my outfit for tomorrow. A crisp white button-down. A flowing black maxi skirt. That was all I needed. September 1st. UCLA’s Freshman Welcome Gala. The massive campus auditorium was packed with three thousand students. The Fashion Design department’s runway show was slotted right before the finale. I was walking as the closing model. The backstage area was absolute chaos. The girls walking before me were sweating through their makeup, shaking with nerves. I felt nothing but absolute, freezing calm. Five foot eight. One hundred and fifteen pounds. I tucked the white silk shirt into the high-waisted black skirt. It made my legs look endless. The senior makeup artist’s hands were literally trembling as she dusted powder over my cheekbones. “Are you… seriously a freshman?” I offered a small smile but didn’t say a word. The last thought that drifted through my mind before the music swelled was that Cory was probably still scrolling through the Columbia group chats, waiting for my name to pop up. Keep waiting. “And our final look, presented by freshman design major… Wendy.” I stepped out onto the runway directly on the heavy bass drop. The exact second the blinding spotlights hit my body. Three thousand people collectively lost their voices. It wasn’t just quiet. It was absolute, suffocating silence. Like the entire room had suddenly forgotten how to breathe. I wore no heavy makeup. No glittering jewelry. Just a clean, flawless face, an effortless ponytail, and that tiny beauty mark resting by my eye. I walked down the center of the runway, my heels clicking rhythmically against the glass floor. The dead silence lasted for three agonizing seconds. And then, the auditorium exploded.

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1 As the most recognizable face among the new generation of supermodels, every single runway I walked became the center of the fashion world’s attention. But just hours before the most critical show of my career, my boyfriend, Rahm Denton, gave away my custom haute couture dress. He handed the exclusive, first-in-the-world debut piece to his childhood best friend. When I confronted him in the middle of our penthouse, Rahm just looked irritated. “Daisy just entered the industry. Wearing a global debut piece will put her on the map. She wants it, so I am giving it to her.” “You are already an established supermodel. What difference does one dress make to you?” I stared dead into Rahm’s eyes, refusing to take even half a step back. This specific gown was custom-fitted for me by Celestia, the most prestigious lingerie and couture brand on the planet. Tonight’s runway would determine if I became the very first supermodel from our agency to sign an exclusive, multi-million dollar global contract with them. Rahm knew exactly what was at stake. Seeing my absolute refusal, Rahm furrowed his brows. His limited patience was completely gone. “I am an heir to the Denton empire. As long as you are with me, what could you possibly lack?” “Anna, remember your place. Stop screaming at me. Without my backing, you are nothing.” In that exact moment, the ugly truth finally clicked into place. My dreams, the career I had bled for, were nothing more than a childish game in Rahm’s eyes. “I have never relied on your money or your name, Rahm.” “With or without you, I am still Anna. I built myself.” I kept my spine perfectly straight, standing my ground in the center of the living room. Rahm rubbed his temples in aggressive frustration. “Are you seriously going to throw a tantrum over this?” “It is just a piece of fabric. Daisy needs this opportunity infinitely more than you do.” Before I could even open my mouth to fire back, Daisy interrupted with a soft, trembling voice. “Forget it, Rahm. It is totally fine if Anna does not want to share.” “I am already so lucky just to share the same stage with her. How could I ever dream of wearing the global debut piece?” Rahm’s dark expression instantly softened. He looked down at her with undisguised tenderness. “Do not worry about it. The stage, the dress, it is yours.” “As long as you want it, I will give it to you. Trust me.” I watched the two of them with eyes colder than ice. They were casually deciding the fate of a masterpiece that rightfully belonged to me, acting like I was completely invisible. Rahm turned his gaze back to me. “Anna, as long as you marry me, you will have the world at your fingertips. Why be so obsessed with one dress?” “Enough. The decision is made. I will have my assistant deliver the gown to her dressing room tomorrow.” I took a deep, shaky breath, tilting my chin up to glare right through him. “You know exactly what this runway means to me. You know what my dream has been since the day we met.” “This is not just a piece of clothing. It is my golden ticket to becoming a signed Celestia Angel.” A rare flicker of guilt flashed across Rahm’s handsome face. But when he met Daisy’s wide, expectant eyes, he chose to completely crush my dream without hesitation. “Daisy and I grew up together. She wants a shot at the spotlight, and obviously, I am going to help her.” “So what if you don’t walk for Celestia? Does it even matter?” “Once you marry me, you will be the wife of a Denton. A meaningless modeling title is nothing compared to that.” With those words, the very last shred of love I held for Rahm turned to ash. He despised my profession. He looked down on me. When Daisy wanted to be a model, he moved mountains to pave her way. But every agonizing step I had taken over the last six years meant absolutely nothing to him compared to the title of ‘Mrs. Denton’. To him, I was just an accessory. I was completely done talking. I turned on my heel, marched straight to the front door, and yanked it wide open. “I am not an accessory to anyone. I have my own empire and my own ambitions.” “Rahm, with or without you, I will always be Anna. I am in no way inferior to you.” “Now, both of you need to get the hell out of my apartment. I have the most important runway of my life tomorrow, and I need my sleep.” Rahm’s face flushed with anger. He took a step forward to argue, but I shut him down instantly. “Get out!” “Get out of my house, and get out of my life.” This time, I left absolutely no room for negotiation. His ego severely bruised, Rahm grabbed Daisy by the wrist and dragged her out into the hallway. He glared back at me, his jaw clenched tight. “You are going to regret this, Anna.” I stood frozen in the doorway, staring at their retreating backs until they disappeared into the elevator. The tears I had fought so hard to hold back finally spilled over, dropping heavily onto the hardwood floor. I had loved him deeply for three years. But if he was going to deny my worth, sabotage my career, and mock my dreams… Then I did not want a man like him. Early the next morning, my assistant Ruby and I arrived perfectly on time at the VIP dressing rooms backstage. But the moment we reached my door, a massive bodyguard stepped in front of us. “Apologies. This room is currently occupied.” “You will need to find another space.” I frowned in pure disbelief, but Ruby was already furious. “What is that supposed to mean? Everyone in this building knows this is Anna’s exclusive suite! Who else would be in there?” “Are you expecting her to do her makeup in the public hallway? Move out of the way!” The bodyguard did not say a single word. He just stood there like a brick wall, making his orders abundantly clear. Ruby was shaking with rage and prepared to scream. I didn’t waste my breath. I reached out, shoved the man hard in the shoulder to unbalance him, and twisted the door handle open. Inside, Daisy was sitting comfortably in my makeup chair. Standing right next to her, gently holding her shoulder, was Rahm. And applying her foundation was my personal, exclusive makeup artist. I walked straight into the room. “Who gave you permission to be in here?” “Was stealing my couture dress not enough? Now you have to steal my artist and my room?” Rahm scowled at me. “Anna, can you drop the toxic attitude for one second?” “Daisy is a rookie. She does not have a private suite assigned to her. What is the big deal about her borrowing yours for an hour?” I ignored his pathetic excuse and looked down at the vanity counter. My premium, custom-ordered cosmetics were scattered everywhere, completely unsealed and used. I pointed a shaking finger at the mess. “Is this what you call borrowing?” “For a high-stakes show like this, you let your artist rip open and contaminate all of my personal products. How am I supposed to use them now? Do you expect me to walk the runway barefaced?” Whether it was a commercial shoot or a global runway, models required heavy, layered theatrical makeup. After six grueling years in the industry, my skin barrier was dangerously sensitive. Whenever I attended major events, my cosmetics were strictly sanitized and reserved only for my face. A single breakout or allergic reaction could destroy a campaign. Rahm knew all of this. The very first time I suffered a severe allergic reaction, he had held my swollen, red face in his hands, his eyes full of heartbreak. He had sworn to me, “From now on, your suite and your products will be totally exclusive. I will never let this happen to you again.” Hearing my furious question, a brief flash of guilt crossed Rahm’s eyes. But he quickly swallowed it down and masked it with arrogance. “She used it once. It is not going to kill you. Your skin is not made of spun glass.” “Stop throwing a fit. Daisy is almost done. She will give you the chair in a minute.” I glanced at the glowing digital clock on the wall, then back at Daisy. They were barely blending her eyeshadow. Her hair had not even been touched. If I waited for her to finish, the show would be over before I even got dressed. I refused to waste another second breathing the same air as Rahm. I unzipped my personal travel bag, pulled out my emergency backup cosmetics, and walked over to the secondary mirror in the corner. I sat down and began aggressively applying my own makeup. I thought that would be the end of the morning drama. But suddenly, Daisy started crying softly. “Rahm, did I make Anna mad again?” “This is all my fault. I should have hired my own team so I wouldn’t have to steal hers.” “But you know this is my very first time on a stage like this. I do not know how any of this works, and now she hates me.” Rahm immediately leaned down, wiping away her tears and whispering sweet, protective comforts into her ear. The sound of their voices made my blood boil. I spun around in my chair. “Borrow? I never agreed to lend you a damn thing. Taking without asking is called stealing.” “Whether you are truly clueless or doing this on purpose, you know the truth better than anyone, Daisy.” “If you want to cry, get out into the hallway and cry. Stop polluting my air and ruining my focus.” My words were razor-sharp. Rahm stepped forward, his fists clenched, ready to defend his precious childhood friend. But Daisy grabbed his sleeve, looking up at him with wide, tear-filled, innocent eyes, slowly shaking her head. I had a strikingly sharp, high-fashion face. It wasn’t traditionally sweet. Daisy, on the other hand, had pale, porcelain skin and soft, youthful features. She looked like a fragile doll. Seeing her bite her lip in silent suffering, even a stranger would feel an urge to protect her. “Let’s go, Rahm. She is right, this is my fault. We shouldn’t disturb her preparation anymore.” Rahm glared at me with absolute venom, but ultimately kept his mouth shut. He wrapped his arm around Daisy and escorted her and the makeup artist out the door. Two hours later, the music started pounding. The show had begun. As the reigning queen of the runway, I was meant to close the segment. I was wearing the heavy, breathtaking global debut piece that Celestia had designed exclusively for my proportions. My spot in the lineup was the undeniable center. I lifted the heavy silk train of my dress and stepped out into the blinding stage lights. But the very second my foot hit the polished glass runway, Daisy, who had been placed directly behind me, completely lost her footing. She slammed violently into my back. I was carrying a massive pair of mechanical wings and wearing six-inch stilettos. My center of gravity vanished. I pitched forward, crashing brutally onto the crystal-clear runway. My bare knees hit the solid glass with a sickening crack. The blinding pain paralyzed me, making it impossible to push myself up immediately. At the exact same moment, the sharp heel of Daisy’s shoe came down hard on my silk train, ripping a massive, jagged hole right up the center of the gown. The heavy wings detached and slammed down hard against the back of my head. A collective gasp of absolute horror echoed through the VIP audience. With the heavy metal frame pressing my head into the glass, I slowly, agonizingly looked up into the crowd. I saw the disappointment, the shock, the pity in their eyes. I knew the brutal reality. This single fall had shattered my reputation as a flawless supermodel. It had also destroyed my golden ticket to signing with Celestia. But the heavy bass of the runway music was still pounding through the speakers. My walk was not over. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper, forcing my trembling body to stand. I grabbed the broken mechanical wings and tucked them fiercely under my left arm. I looked down at the shredded, ruined silk of my gown. Without a second thought, I grabbed the torn fabric with my right hand and violently ripped the damaged train clean off. I took a deep, steadying breath and plastered a lethal, breathtaking smile onto my face. Clutching the broken wings to my side, flourishing the ripped silk in my hand, I locked my eyes onto the cameras and stomped down the rest of that runway perfectly on beat. The moment I stepped past the backstage curtain, my adrenaline completely vanished. My knees buckled. I collapsed onto the concrete floor, burying my face in my hands, sobbing uncontrollably. Daisy stood a few feet away, her hands clasped together, trembling like a frightened mouse. “I am so sorry, Anna. I swear I didn’t mean to do it. My ankle just gave out.” “You know this is my first time walking. I don’t have the muscle memory…” I didn’t even have the breath in my lungs to scream at her. My mind was completely consumed by the agonizing realization that my entire career was dead. Ruby dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms around me. She glared up at Daisy with absolute hatred, cutting off her pathetic excuses. “You know exactly what you did, Daisy!” “Not on purpose? Does your fake apology fix the fact that you just destroyed her entire life?!” Rahm immediately stepped out of the shadows, pulling the weeping Daisy into his chest, shielding her from our anger. “Watch your mouth! Daisy already said she was sorry. What more do you want?” “If you really want to assign blame, blame yourself. Daisy is a rookie. You are supposed to be the veteran supermodel.” “Your own balance and core strength failed you, and now you are trying to project your incompetence onto a terrified girl? Is this how you handle pressure?” I forced myself to take three deep, shuddering breaths. The oxygen slowly cleared the red haze of pain from my mind. I pushed myself off the floor. I was completely done holding back. I raised my hand and delivered a vicious, echoing slap directly across Daisy’s face. Daisy shrieked in pain, but I did not give her a single second to play the victim. “According to the director’s lineup, you were not supposed to be walking behind me.” “You know exactly what you did, and you know exactly why you did it.” “Keep your pathetic, fragile little innocent act to yourself. It might work on a gullible idiot like Rahm, but it does absolutely nothing for me.” Rahm’s eyes widened in fury. He shoved Daisy behind his back. “Anna!” “She already apologized! What gives you the right to put your hands on her?!” I laughed, a cold, bitter sound, even as hot tears continued to stream down my face. “What gives me the right? She just slaughtered six years of my blood, sweat, and tears.” “Is that a good enough reason for you?” A brief shadow of pity finally crossed Rahm’s eyes as he looked at my bleeding knees. “Anna, calm down. I am here. I will not let your career die.” “I will have my PR team bury the videos and spin the narrative. You just need to…” I did not want to hear another word. I raised my hand high into the air again. This time, my palm connected violently with Rahm’s jaw. “Daisy is a snake, and you are absolute garbage.” “I made myself perfectly clear last night. We are done.” “For six years, I built my own name. I never relied on your money, and I sure as hell won’t start now.” Without waiting for his reaction, I turned my back on both of them, pushing through the crowd of shocked stagehands and walking toward the exit. Rahm’s dark, threatening voice echoed through the concrete hallway behind me. “I am giving you exactly one second to take back what you just said.” “If you drop to your knees and beg me right now, I might still save you.” I didn’t even bother to turn around. I just stood in the hallway and laughed loudly, the sound bouncing off the walls. When I finally caught my breath, my voice was raw but steady. “You are not worthy of my apologies.” “I will never bow to you.” The consequences of rejecting the Denton heir were swift and brutal. By nightfall, my name was dominating the top trending spots across every major social media platform. Anna Runway Fall. Anna Incompetence. Those two phrases sat comfortably at number one and number two. Clicking on the hashtags revealed thousands of high-definition clips of me crashing into the glass. Trolls had already edited the footage into humiliating compilations, looping my agonizing fall to comedic background music. The comment sections were a bloodbath. “Celestia is definitely going to drop her. She is a total embarrassment to our fashion industry.” “Right? Her PR team hyped her up for years as our nation’s top model, and she can’t even walk in a straight line. What a joke.” “If this is the standard for supermodels, I could walk the runway in my pajamas.” Thousands of comments ripped my professional abilities to shreds. Simultaneously, my phone began ringing off the hook. Every single luxury brand I represented demanded immediate contract terminations. In a single night, my endorsements, my commercials, and my billboards vanished. I sat on my living room floor, staring blankly at the endless stream of hate. Ruby paced back and forth across the rug, practically hyperventilating with rage. “This is a coordinated smear campaign! Look at the accounts, they are all paid bots!” “Anna, he is trying to permanently bury you so you can never make a comeback.” I let out a tired, hollow laugh. “My career is already in ruins. Does it really matter if he pays people to throw dirt on the ashes?” “Go home, Ruby. Get some sleep. We have to go to the agency tomorrow morning to negotiate my termination.” Early the next morning, I walked through the glass doors of my modeling agency. Standing right in the lobby, wearing oversized designer sunglasses, were Daisy and Rahm. Rahm frowned the moment he saw me. “Anna, what are you doing here?” I actually smiled at the sheer audacity of his question. “Do you really have the nerve to ask me that? Am I not here because of the hit job you ordered?” I walked right past them, heading for the elevators. As I brushed past his shoulder, Rahm reached out and clamped his hand around my wrist. “I am willing to pretend yesterday never happened.” “As long as you lower your head and apologize, I will make all of this go away.” “You know the power I have. I am a Denton…” I ripped my arm free and backhanded him across the face, cutting off his pathetic monologue. “Clearly, I didn’t hit you hard enough yesterday if you are still spewing this garbage in my presence.” “All day long, you hide behind your family name. Without the Denton wealth, what exactly do you have to offer?” “If you leave your family, you are nothing but an empty suit. But I am different. If I leave you, I am still Anna.” I didn’t spare them a second glance as I stepped into the elevator and let the doors slide shut. My physical retaliation completely destroyed the last ounce of Rahm’s patience. That evening, the second wave of coordinated attacks hit the internet. Every single brand that had just terminated my contract released synchronized public statements. They proudly announced Daisy as their brand new global ambassador. The promotional photos flooded the timelines. The comment sections were heavily manipulated, designed specifically to crush me while elevating her. “Oh my god, this new girl is breathtaking. She has that perfect, sweet innocent look. A million times better than that aggressive, washed-up Anna.” “Agreed! I never understood the hype around Anna’s ‘high-fashion’ face. She looks too mean. Daisy is beautiful.” “Watching a toxic model lose everything is the greatest karma ever. We love to see it.” Conspiracy theories began brewing, heavily guided by paid accounts. “Was Anna actually a top model, or did she just sleep her way to the top to block rookies from getting a chance?” “Exactly. The minute Anna gets canceled, this gorgeous new girl instantly gets booked. Anna has definitely been bullying the new talent behind the scenes.” “Isn’t that just workplace abuse?” And right on cue, a leaked video surfaced. It was the footage of me slapping Daisy backstage. The video had no audio. It had no context. It was perfectly cropped to only show me raising my hand and striking the fragile, weeping rookie. Instantly, a tidal wave of death threats and pure venom flooded my personal accounts. My name was dragged through the mud on every single platform. In the midst of the chaos, a text message from Rahm lit up my phone screen. “This is the absolute last chance I am giving you.” “Beg.”

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On my very first day at the new job, a fellow intern heavily hinted that she was the Chairman’s daughter. Instantly, the whole office was practically kissing her feet. Me? I got dragged through the mud, with rumors flying around that I was some old guy’s sugar baby. Furious, I dialed the Chairman’s number. “Dad, they’re calling you a wrinkly old creep, and saying you’re having an affair…” 1 Right after graduation, my dad waved his hand and tossed me straight into the lowest rung of our corporate ladder. He called it character building. Said it would sharpen my edge. I whined and complained to his face, but deep down, I was actually pretty stoked to finally spread my wings. But barely an hour into my first day, I caught snippets of office gossip in the breakroom. “Did you hear? Chairman Crawford’s daughter is hiding in our batch of interns.” “Seriously? That’s kind of harsh for a billionaire dad. You’d think he’d at least let his little princess start as a regional manager.” I froze, genuinely caught off guard. Who leaked my cover? Luckily, the wild guessing game fizzled out quickly, and the vultures moved on to other topics. That was, until the intern orientation. A girl strolled in fifteen minutes late and offered a sickeningly sweet smile. “Hi everyone, I’m Tessa Crawford.” “Crawford? Wait, are you the Chairman’s daughter?” The girl sitting next to her practically shrieked, slapping a hand over her mouth. The entire conference room erupted. It wasn’t a hard sell. Tessa was dripping in designer labels from head to toe, and a brand new Cartier Ballon Bleu watch rested on her wrist. She looked every inch the trust fund baby. Tessa looked down, offering a coy, perfectly practiced smile that totally dodged the question. “My dad always taught me to keep a low profile. Honestly, I’m just here to fulfill his wishes.” “Wow, you can just tell she was born with a silver spoon. That aura is totally different!” “Tessa, please don’t forget about us little people once the internship is over!” I sat there, literally speechless. Wasn’t I an only child? When the hell did my dad adopt a second daughter? 2 I guess it was an easy mistake for them to make. I took my mother’s maiden name, Bennett, to stay under the radar. Tessa was the only intern in the entire batch with the surname Crawford. And just like that, she was crowned the queen bee of the office. I watched her soak up the adoration, her smile bright and completely fake. I didn’t rush to expose her. The chaotic chatter only died down when the department supervisor walked in. Right off the bat, I noticed something off. The way the supervisor looked at Tessa was noticeably… different. Sweeter. More indulgent. Before the meeting was even over, he appointed her as the intern team lead, giving her full authority to delegate our tasks. I wasn’t about to swallow that kind of blatant favoritism. I stood up, keeping my tone deadpan. “Shouldn’t we keep things fair? A quick vote seems more appropriate.” “The company doesn’t have time to hold elections,” the supervisor snapped back. “Tessa’s resume is the most outstanding out of all of you. It makes perfect sense for her to take the lead.” I practically choked on a laugh. Just last night, my dad had patted my shoulder in his study and told me, “Harper, your portfolio blew the rest of the applicants out of the water. I know you’re going to shine.” Faced with the supervisor’s bold-faced lie, I bit my tongue. Just like I held off on exposing Tessa’s fake heiress routine. Some lies are way more satisfying to watch when the liar finally runs out of runway. I really wanted to see what kind of “outstanding” skills Tessa actually possessed. But before she could show off, I became public enemy number one. A stack of folders halfway up to my chin was slammed onto my desk. Tessa stood over me, looking down her nose. “I need all of these digitized, sorted chronologically, and in my inbox before tomorrow morning.” She turned on her heel, pausing just long enough to throw a glance over her shoulder. “Oh, and grab me a coffee on your way back.” The sheer entitlement in her voice made my skin crawl. “Are your legs broken?” I asked. Not even my own father had the privilege of ordering me to fetch his coffee. “It’s on your way. Why are you being so difficult?” Gwen, another intern who had glued herself to Tessa’s side all morning, instantly jumped to her defense. “Yeah, it’s just a cup of coffee. Don’t be so petty.” Listening to them, you’d think I was the one bullying the poor, defenseless rich girl. I picked up the empty mug and shoved it right into Gwen’s chest. “If it’s no big deal, you do it.” Whoever wanted to play the maid could go right ahead. Gwen’s face flushed an ugly red. “What the hell is your problem, Harper? Are you trying to start a fight on your first day?” Before I could even fire back, Tessa gracefully stepped between us. “It’s okay, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have asked Harper for a favor. Please, let’s not ruin the team spirit over me.” Look at her, playing the martyr. I didn’t actually care about making coffee. I just refused to bow down to her snobby, condescending attitude. Gwen fanned her face, glaring at me like I was a piece of trash. “If you can’t even handle basic teamwork, I have no idea how you passed the interview.” “I got hired to do my job,” I shot back, “not to act as a glorified barista.” “You…” “Tell you what!” Tessa clapped her hands together. “I’ll treat everyone to afternoon tea later. Let’s all just get back to work!” With her audience appeased, Tessa took a step closer to me. “Harper, please don’t be mad at me, okay?” The sugary sweetness in her voice made me want to gag. I brushed past her and walked away, a heavy knot of annoyance tight in my chest. How could someone be this fake? But the real shocker came later. Walking back from the rooftop terrace, I took the stairwell to avoid the elevator crowd. That’s when I stumbled right into Tessa and the supervisor. 3 “That Harper girl is such a bitch. Complaining about me being team lead this morning, and then totally disrespecting me in front of everyone.” “She did that?” The supervisor had Tessa pinned against the concrete wall in the shadowy corner of the landing, his hands roaming dangerously low on her waist. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. I promise you, Harper won’t last till the end of this internship.” What followed was a symphony of breathy, explicit noises echoing off the cinderblock walls. My stomach churned in disgust, but at the same time, I almost wanted to laugh. I couldn’t wait to see exactly how they planned to get rid of me. Sure enough, the very next morning, I was summoned to the supervisor’s office. “Where are the digitized files I asked for yesterday? If you can’t even handle the most basic data entry, there is absolutely no reason for you to stick around.” I had expected some sort of corporate mastermind move. Instead, I got this lazy garbage. I stared him down, my expression freezing over. “Did Tessa come crying to you?” “She gave an objective report on your performance, and I am handling this impartially.” Impartially. What an absolute joke. “Those files are case studies from fifteen years ago. They’ve been fully archived on the company’s internal server for a decade. A simple search pulls them up instantly. Digitizing them again is a massive waste of company time.” I leaned forward, resting my hands on his desk. “Tell me, have you ever actually logged into our own intranet?” “I… of course I have!” Clearly not expecting me to have done my homework, his face mottled an embarrassing shade of purple. “I was simply testing your work ethic!” He was desperately trying to save face, and it was pathetic. I didn’t push it further. I still wanted to spend this internship doing real work and proving my worth on paper. The supervisor cleared his throat aggressively. “I also heard you were causing drama in the bullpen yesterday.” “I know you resent my decisions, but in the real corporate world, things don’t always go your way. You are young, Harper. You have a lot to learn about respect.” If I hadn’t literally caught him swallowing Tessa’s face in a stairwell, I might have actually believed his pseudo-mentor act. 4 Walking out of his office, I headed back to the bullpen. A large crowd had gathered right around my desk. The moment Gwen spotted me, she raised her voice so the whole floor could hear. “Some people are just shameless! They act all high and mighty, but behind closed doors, they’re total lowlifes!” Tessa tugged at Gwen’s sleeve, her eyes wide and innocent. “Gwen, don’t be mean. We have to work together. Maybe Harper was just curious and wanted to try it on.” “Curious? She’s a thief, Tessa! Stop defending her.” What fresh hell was this? I frowned and pushed my way through the circle of gossiping interns. Gwen didn’t back down. “You stole Tessa’s Cartier watch, Harper! How do you even have the nerve to show your face right now?” I paused. A Cartier? I had a velvet display case full of those back at my penthouse. Most of them were too flashy for my taste anyway. Why would I steal one? “Which one of your eyes saw me steal anything?” I asked coldly. “Keep your mouth shut if you don’t have proof.” “Then open your drawer and prove us wrong!” Tessa stepped forward, playing the gentle peacemaker. “Harper, look, if you really love the watch that much, I can buy you a brand new one. But that specific one was a gift from my late mother. It holds a lot of sentimental value.” They had rehearsed this perfectly. It was a flawless guilt trip. A cold realization hit me. The watch was definitely inside my drawer. There was no other way Gwen would be screaming with this much confidence. Every intern’s drawer had a lock, but given Tessa’s intimate connection with the supervisor, getting a master key would take her two seconds. Taking my silence as guilt, Gwen crossed her arms triumphantly. “What’s wrong? Scared, you little thief?” I glanced up at the ceiling, making sure the small, black dome of the security camera was angled right at us. I let out a sharp laugh. “Whoever planted it knows exactly what they did.” I unlocked the drawer and pulled it open. Right on top of my notebooks rested a silver and sapphire Cartier Ballon Bleu. But as I looked closer, my breath hitched. Etched right into the side of the metal casing were two tiny letters. H.B. My initials. Before I could even process the coincidence, Gwen snatched the watch right out of the drawer. “Look, Tessa! Is this the one you lost?” “Yes! This is exactly the one my mother gave me.” Tessa’s eyes welled up with perfectly timed tears. She looked at me, a picture of absolute betrayal. “Harper, how could you?” The crowd murmured in sympathy for her. I had to hand it to her. The sheer audacity was almost impressive. “Your mother gave you a watch engraved with my initials?” The office went dead silent. Everyone crowded in closer to look at the side of the watch where Gwen was holding it. Half a month ago, for my birthday, a social-climbing frenemy from college had custom-ordered this exact watch to suck up to me. But since I already owned three variations of it, I tossed it up on Poshmark for a fraction of the retail price. I remembered the buyer vividly. She haggled with me in the DMs for two hours straight. I finally got bored and knocked an extra hundred bucks off just to make her go away. I never in a million years thought the cheapskate on the other end of the screen was Tessa Crawford. “Who says H.B. stands for Harper Bennett? You’re delusional!” Gwen was grasping at straws now. “Stop trying to change the subject! We caught you red-handed with stolen property. You’re done!” “You’re right, I’m done talking,” I said, pulling out my phone. “Let’s just pull the security footage. You guys do realize there are cameras right above us, right?” Judging by their suddenly pale faces, they had absolutely no idea. “Should I call the cops now, or wait until security brings the tape up?” I hovered my thumb over the keypad. Gwen looked like she was going to throw up. “What is going on out here! This is a workplace, not a playground!” The supervisor stormed out of his office right on cue. Tessa immediately pivoted, looking at me with big, apologetic eyes. “Oh my gosh, someone must have just placed it in the wrong desk by mistake! I am so sorry for the misunderstanding, Harper. Please be the bigger person and don’t hold this against us, okay?” She orchestrated a literal frame-up, and now she was asking me to be the bigger person? Buying my second-hand cast-offs and acting like royalty. I scoffed, tossing the watch back onto the desk. I wasn’t going to waste my breath arguing with them right now. But the battle lines were officially drawn. 5 The next evening, the entire department had to work overtime. Tessa took charge of ordering dinner for everyone with the intern budget. But when the takeout bags were passed around, my desk remained empty. “Oh no, I swear I counted thirteen people when I ordered! How could they forget one?” Tessa frowned, her voice dripping with fake concern. My name was right in the middle of the roster. It wasn’t at the top, wasn’t at the bottom. But somehow, mine was the only one skipped? “Tell you what, I’ll just order you a fresh one from my own pocket,” she said, pulling out her phone. “Oh… wait. Delivery won’t get here until seven, and we have the big strategy meeting in ten minutes.” I smirked. This kind of middle-school bullying was genuinely embarrassing. “Simple solution,” I said loudly. “Whoever messed up the order gives up their meal. I’ll take yours.” I didn’t even want her cheap takeout. I just wanted to see her squirm. Before Tessa could say a word, her loyal lapdog Gwen bared her teeth. “Are you insane? First you try to steal her luxury watch, and now you want to steal her dinner?” Gwen’s voice practically echoed through the bullpen. Everyone stopped eating and stared at us. I kept my voice icy and level. “First of all, I didn’t steal anything. The camera footage is sitting right there if you ever want to test that theory. Second, who exactly is stealing food?” Gwen stuttered, clearly not expecting me to push back so hard in front of an audience. Tessa swooped in to play the angel again. “Harper, don’t take it to heart. Gwen just speaks without a filter. She doesn’t mean any harm.” I looked at the two of them, absolutely disgusted by the synchronized routine. I grabbed my notes and walked straight into the conference room. Out of sight, out of mind. But by nine o’clock, my stomach was roaring, and my vision was practically blurring. Under the table, I aggressively texted my mom. [I am starving! I need a massive dry-aged Ribeye, creamy lobster mac and cheese, loaded truffle fries, and a whole chocolate lava cake! Oh, and extra carbs!] By the time we finally dragged ourselves out of the building, it was nearing midnight. Everyone was exhausted, shuffling toward the subway station in dead silence. Suddenly, a sleek, jet-black Bentley idling by the curb caught everyone’s attention. “Oh my god, Tessa, is that your family’s car? Your dad is so sweet, sending a driver to pick you up so late!” Gwen practically drooled over the shiny hood. Tessa tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled demurely. “Oh, stop it…” I ignored them. The driver stepped out of the Bentley, locked eyes with me, and gave a small wave. I picked up my pace and walked straight toward the car. “Wait, what is happening? Why is she getting in?” I heard Gwen’s confused shriek right as I closed the heavy car door. I didn’t even bother looking out the window. “Just drive, George,” I told the chauffeur. When I got home to the penthouse, the dining table was covered in a feast fit for a king. I completely forgot about the miserable day and dug in like a wild animal. My dad walked in a few minutes later, loosening his tie. Seeing me inhaling a ribeye, he sat down and asked how my first couple of days were going. I paused, a piece of steak hovering halfway to my mouth. I almost spilled everything. But I swallowed it down. “It’s going great. Just wait, I’m going to blow them all away.” Tessa’s pathetic little parlor tricks weren’t worth my dad’s time. I wanted to wait for the absolute perfect moment. I wanted to watch Tessa’s fragile house of cards collapse while she was standing right inside it. Calling in the airstrike now would ruin the fun.

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The incubus I bought online was a complete bait and switch. The product page promised a sweet, obedient, and thoroughly domesticated companion. What I actually got was a feral menace. I pictured coming home to a hot meal, a spotless apartment, and someone eager to warm my bed. Instead, I came home to cold leftovers, a wrecked living room, and a shrieking disaster of a demon. Warming my bed? I wouldn’t let this guy near my sheets in a million years. Just as I was about to completely lose my mind, a direct message popped up on my phone from the seller. “So sorry about that, ma’am! We accidentally shipped you the wrong inventory. Would you like to process a return or exchange?” I looked up. Jax was currently tangled up in the living room drapes, dramatically threatening to hurl himself out the second-story window if I didn’t give him my undivided attention. My vision literally went dark with rage. “Return it! Come get him right now!” 1 I was typing my furious reply to the seller single-handedly while trying to pry the feral demon out of my curtains with the other. By the time I dug him out of the expensive fabric, I hit send on my final message. I finally turned my attention to him. His demonic tail was whipping back and forth in a frenzy, and he glared at me with absolute outrage. “Blair, what are you doing? Let me go!” “Are you an idiot?” I snapped. “If you fall and break your neck on my property, I’m the one going to supernatural prison.” Incubi were a rare and heavily regulated species. That legal red tape was the only reason I hadn’t seriously humbled Jax during the absolute hell he had put me through these past few weeks. My words left him sputtering. He choked on his own rage for a second before his face flushed bright red. “Don’t try reverse psychology on me! I have my pride, you know! I would rather die than submit to you!” “Let me go this instant! I don’t want anything to do with you! I hate you!” My phone buzzed in my hand. I caught a glimpse of the seller’s confirmation message on the lock screen. A massive wave of relief washed over me. I didn’t bother arguing. I didn’t even care how hard he was thrashing in my grip. I just opened my hands and dropped him. Jax hit the hardwood floor with a loud, undignified yelp. Ignoring his angry shouts about how I dared to drop him, I turned my back, dragged my exhausted body into my bedroom, and locked the door behind me. But a few minutes later, I stepped back out. Jax looked up, his expression screaming I knew you’d come crawling back. I completely ignored him. Keeping my face deadpan, I walked through the apartment, deadbolting the front door, locking all the windows, securing the cabinets, and packing away every single fragile item I owned. I yanked the half-shredded drapes off the rod and tossed them in the trash. Finally, I flipped the main circuit breaker, plunging the entire apartment into darkness. I clicked on a heavy-duty flashlight, pointing the beam directly at Jax’s bewildered face. “You can stop throwing your little tantrums, Jax. I am officially done playing nice.” I walked back to my bedroom door and delivered my final ultimatum over my shoulder. “I already processed your return. The agency will be here in a few days to collect you.” “Since you hate me so much, you are free to go.” “Pack up whatever garbage you brought with you. You’re moving out.” With that, I slammed the bedroom door shut, locking him out of my sight and my life for good. 2 That night, I had nightmares about that chaotic demon. Looking back, Jax and I hadn’t even lived together for a full three months. It all started when my best friend, Stella, saw how much the corporate grind was destroying my soul. She insisted I look into the paranormal companion market. “Blair, you have to trust me on this. The modern incubi they breed now are incredibly sweet. They are literally domestic perfection. They just want to take care of you.” “They aren’t even that expensive anymore. Just get one. It will take so much stress off your plate.” To prove her point, she practically dragged me over to her condo to meet her own supernatural househusband. Despite her nagging, I was skeptical. Work was absolutely crushing me, but I didn’t see how buying a magical roommate would fix anything. Who could possibly take care of my life better than me? But after spending one evening at Stella’s place, my entire perspective shifted. Her incubus greeted us at the door with a warm smile, handed us silk pajamas, poured us perfectly temperature-controlled water, and drew a steaming, lavender-scented bath. By the time we stepped out of the bathroom, he had a gourmet dinner waiting on the table. During our post-dinner gossip session, his presence was flawless. He chimed in at all the right moments, matching our energy, laughing when we laughed, and validating every complaint we had about our bosses. Right before bed, he gave Stella a gentle, expert shoulder massage. The combination of his magic, the soothing ambient music, and the incense he burned had me sleeping like a rock. The next morning, a hot breakfast was waiting for us. On our way out the door, this absolute saint of a demon wrapped Stella in a tight, affectionate hug. Walking to the subway, my mind was entirely blown. That level of care was intoxicating. Buying one of these guys seemed like the ultimate life hack. Stella nudged my ribs with her elbow, flashing a smug grin. “See? Told you. Order one tonight. You won’t regret it.” That very evening, I used the exclusive referral link Stella sent me and placed an order. The profile I selected featured a stunning, elegant man with soft eyes and a gentle smile. According to the bio, his temperament was top-tier. I messaged the agency for details, and the handler immediately bombarded me with glowing photos and endless praise for this specific incubus. “Just a quick heads-up,” the seller typed. “He can be a little possessive. If you adopt him, you absolutely cannot bring another incubus into your home.” “Not a problem,” I replied. “All sales are final once shipped. No refunds.” “Got it.” The transaction went through seamlessly. In my mind, I had it all mapped out. I would come home to a warm, peaceful house. We would take care of each other and build a quiet life together. He could share my bed if he wanted, but no pressure if he preferred his own space. But I never could have predicted the absolute holy terror that would show up on my doorstep. 3 When Jax first arrived, he was undeniably breathtaking. His features were sharp and striking, matching the agency photos perfectly. The only difference was a tiny notch missing from his right eyebrow, something I assumed happened during transit. His physique was flawless. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and incredibly long legs. He was built like a Greek god, with muscle definition that belonged on a magazine cover. He was definitely broader and more muscular than his pictures suggested, but I didn’t care. I figured it was just the camera angle. I was so excited to welcome him that I actually took a day off work to catch up on sleep, determined to be well-rested and in a great mood for his arrival. After all, this was the creature I planned to spend the rest of my life with. The delivery handlers dropped his enchanted transport crate in my living room. Trying to contain my excitement, I carefully unlocked the heavy iron latch and reached my hand inside to guide him out. “Welcome home. I promise we’re going to have a great life toge…” Before I could finish the sentence, he lunged. His teeth clamped down viciously on my fingers. I screamed in pain, ripping my hand out of his mouth with a violent jerk. Blood dripped down my knuckles. He crouched in the shadows of the crate, his eyes glowing a cold, menacing violet in the dim light. I cradled my throbbing hand against my chest. My heart was pounding, and the pain radiating from my torn skin was intense. But seeing him curled up like a frightened, cornered animal, I swallowed the angry words burning on my tongue. We stayed locked in a tense standoff until I finally backed down. Figuring he was just severely traumatized by the shipping process, I opened the door to the spare bedroom, left him alone, and retreated to the kitchen to bandage my hand. For the next twenty-four hours, I watched him through the security camera I had installed in the hallway. He stayed huddled in the darkest corner of his room, refusing to move. Worried he might be sick, I tried cracking the door open just to talk to him. But the second the hinges creaked, his head snapped up. He glared at me with such intense, suffocating hostility that my stomach dropped. The memory of his teeth sinking into my flesh was still too fresh. I didn’t dare push my luck. I quietly closed the door and backed away. This exhausting dance dragged on until Sunday evening. I was sprawled on the couch, brainstorming a marketing pitch, when I heard the spare bedroom door click open. I instantly leaped to my feet. He flinched, taking a defensive step backward into the shadows. I immediately threw my hands up in surrender. “Don’t panic! I’m not going to hurt you!” Patience won out in the end. That night was the first time he actually spoke to me. He told me his name was Jax. It suited him. We exchanged a few basic words, and I gave him a quick tour of the apartment layout. Sensing that his defensive walls were finally lowering, I pulled a sleek black debit card out of my pocket and placed it on the TV stand right in front of him. I offered him my warmest, most genuine smile. “Jax, from now on, you’re in charge of running this house. Don’t stress about money. That account has plenty of funds for groceries and whatever else you need. I’ll handle the earning.” I took a slight step forward, tentatively opening my arms. “We’re a team now, okay?” Jax was a solid half-head taller than me. I looked up at his handsome face, hoping for a breakthrough. But out of the corner of my eye, I noticed him subtly shifting his weight backward, recoiling from my approach. What was his problem? I frowned, opening my mouth to ask if he was okay. Before I could speak, he snatched the debit card off the console, took three massive steps back to put a solid distance between us, and actively avoided my gaze. “Whatever,” he muttered. 4 For a while, I genuinely believed he was just shy. I convinced myself he needed time to adjust before he felt comfortable with any physical affection. I thought the worst of our friction was behind us. I massively underestimated Jax. I was in the middle of a crucial strategy meeting at work when my phone blew up. It was my frantic next-door neighbor, screaming that my apartment reeked of natural gas. I burned rubber getting home, only to discover that Jax had tried to cook a meal, completely failed, and left the stove burners running on full blast without a flame. He was inches away from suffocating himself. “How is this even possible?” I yelled, ripping every window in the apartment open to air out the toxic fumes. “Your bio literally said you were a master in the kitchen!” I dragged him by the collar into the center of the room, lecturing him at the top of my lungs about basic fire safety. He just stood there in absolute silence, staring at the floor, still clutching a blackened, melted spatula in his hand. When he finally looked up at me, his eyes were brimming with defiant resentment. “I don’t know how to cook,” he mumbled defensively. “Incubi don’t even eat human food. You don’t actually care about me at all.” His voice was so low I barely caught it. “What did you say?” Those words seemed to trigger something volatile inside him. He violently hurled the burnt spatula across the kitchen, didn’t even bother taking off his apron, and stormed down the hall. He slammed his bedroom door so hard the framed pictures on the wall rattled. I stood in the kitchen, completely bewildered. I had zero clue what he was throwing a tantrum over. To make matters worse, my boss was blowing up my phone, demanding I get back to the office immediately to salvage the meeting. Trapped between a furious boss and a sulking demon, I resorted to knocking gently on his door. Because of his “shyness,” we slept in separate rooms, meaning I couldn’t just walk in when he threw the deadbolt. I swallowed my frustration and tried to coax him out. “Jax? Are you mad? I wasn’t trying to yell at you, I was just terrified you were going to get hurt. I’m sorry, I should have controlled my temper better.” Dead silence from the other side of the wood. I kept pleading for a few more minutes, but the notification pings from my boss were becoming increasingly unhinged. Left with no choice, I shouted, “Order some takeout on the card!” before grabbing my purse and sprinting back to the office. That was just the prologue to my misery. From that day forward, a switch flipped in his brain. If I left the apartment for five minutes, he would miraculously cause a disaster that required my immediate return. The second I sat down at my desk, a crisis would unfold, forcing me to hail a cab straight back home. Once, while I was buried in paperwork, he pulled a stunt so ridiculous I refused to leave. I demanded over the phone to know if he genuinely had a death wish. He went dead silent, hung up on me, and then spammed my messages with texts reading: I hate you. All the shy, timid behavior he displayed on his first day completely vanished. He evolved into an absolute tyrant. He refused to communicate like an adult, relying solely on variations of “I hate you!” to express his feelings. I tried sitting him down for a rational conversation. It was utterly useless. My words went in one ear and out the other. He was committed to chaos. It got to the point where I started questioning his motives. Maybe he wasn’t trying to get himself killed. Maybe he was actively trying to put me in an early grave. Whenever I was on the brink of closing a massive deal, my phone would ring with an emergency dispatch notifying me that my incubus was in critical danger. I was legally obligated to drop everything and rush to his side. The authorities warned me that ignoring these calls could result in criminal charges for magical neglect. This exact nightmare scenario played out seven different times. By the time my boss finally pulled me into his office and screamed at me until his face turned purple, I walked out feeling entirely numb. I wasn’t even angry at the demon anymore. I was just questioning my entire existence. Jax was put on this earth to destroy my life. And now, here we were. After finally sleeping peacefully alone in my dark apartment, I woke up feeling refreshed for the first time in months. I grabbed my phone and typed a quick response to the seller: I’ll be ready for the pickup. I stepped out of my bedroom, expecting to deal with more of Jax’s attitude. Instead, the apartment was completely empty. The front door was wide open, swinging back and forth on its hinges in the morning breeze. I stood frozen in the hallway, my jaw dropping. The living room window was shattered. The front door was breached. The console table drawer where I kept the emergency cash? Gone. The entire drawer was ripped out. And stuck to the wall directly across from my bedroom door was a crumpled piece of paper. Stop trying reverse psychology on me. I’m running away. You are the worst! That absolute bastard. I slammed my fist into the doorframe and immediately dialed the paranormal authorities. “Hello?! I need to report a robbery!” 5 Jax and I sat on opposite ends of my ruined living room, covered in drywall dust. To prevent another psychotic episode, I had secured every door in the house and locked all my valuables inside the heavy steel safe in my bedroom. Now, sitting in an apartment that looked like a bomb had gone off, I unscrewed the lid of my thermos, took a slow sip of tea, and stared him down. “Give me my money back.” Jax set his jaw. “No.” “Then pay me for the broken window.” “No.” “Then stop terrorizing my life for the next three days!” “No!” I inhaled a massive, shaky breath. “Then what the hell do you want from me?!” Jax went completely silent. The tension in the living room was suffocating. I forced my racing heart to slow down, pinching the bridge of my nose before trying again. “Jax, let’s just talk about this calmly, like normal friends.” That specific phrase somehow triggered him all over again. His head snapped up, his eyebrows pulling together in a fierce scowl. “What do you mean, ‘friends’?!” I paused mid-sip, my fingers tightening around the metal thermos. I stared at him for a long moment before slowly nodding. “Fine. You’re right. That was a bad choice of words.” Jax’s expression instantly relaxed. “Exactly. You…” “We shouldn’t use the word ‘friends’,” I continued, trying my absolute hardest to view this from his twisted perspective. “Considering how much you despise my existence, ‘friends’ is a massive overstatement.” “How about ‘casual enemies’? Does that work better for you?” Jax looked at me like I had lost my mind. “What?” “Wait, you…” I cut him off, completely out of patience for his semantic games. “Okay, Jax. Let’s talk it out like casual enemies.” “Do you just inherently hate my personality, or did I do something specific to piss you off?” “I’ll admit I don’t know the first thing about taking care of an incubus. If you hate my guts, just say it. You’re getting shipped back to the agency in a few days anyway. We might as well clear the air so we can part ways without wanting to murder each other.” To my absolute shock, Jax panicked. “You’re actually sending me back?! Where am I supposed to go?!” I rubbed my temples, the exhaustion seeping into my bones. “Where are you supposed to go? How is that my problem? You’re a fully grown demon, you’ll figure it out. Besides, if you stay here, I’m the one who’s going to end up dead!” My temper flared, and my words came out infinitely harsher than I intended. Jax’s eyes widened in genuine disbelief. He couldn’t process why the woman who had spent months coddling and appeasing him was suddenly speaking to him like he was garbage. I took another long drink of tea, trying to cool the fire in my chest. I needed a minute to collect my thoughts before trying to reason with him again. Suddenly, the front door creaked open. Jax and I both whipped our heads toward the entryway. The cold, fluorescent light from the hallway spilled into the apartment. Standing right in the doorway was an incubus whose facial features were a near-perfect mirror image of Jax’s. “Blair.” The newcomer’s voice was like warm honey. He wasn’t confined to a shipping crate; he simply carried a sleek leather duffel bag over his shoulder. He looked exhausted from travel, yet his eyes crinkled into a breathtaking, affectionate smile the second he saw me. “I apologize for the intrusion. I simply couldn’t wait to see you, so I caught an earlier flight.” “I picked up some fresh groceries on the way. What are you craving? I’d love to cook for you.” I was still trying to process why my front door was unlocked, completely incapable of forming a coherent sentence. But Jax practically exploded off the sofa. He stared at the newcomer, absolute horror washing over his face. “Silas?!” 6 The second that name left his mouth, combined with the uncanny resemblance between the two demons, all the puzzle pieces clicked perfectly into place. It explained why the product page promised a domestic angel, but the delivery box contained a feral nightmare. It explained why the demon I received was noticeably more muscular than his photos. It even explained the tiny scar missing from the edge of Jax’s right eyebrow. My brain worked in overdrive, finally realizing the massive logistical screw-up that had ruined my life. But the two demons were already locked in a bitter standoff. Silas stepped gracefully into the apartment, not even bothering to close the door behind him. He turned his warm, flawless smile toward Jax. “Hello, little brother,” he said gently, though his words were laced with ice. “I was informed about the shipping error.” Jax was furious. “She bought you too?!” Silas didn’t blink. “No. She requested a return on her defective product. It is time for you to go home.” “Why the hell is she returning me?!” “It’s time for you to go home.” “I was here first! I belong here!” “It is time for you to go home.” “…” I sat on the couch, completely dumbfounded. Were these two actually related? Even though Silas didn’t seem like the most forgiving guy on the planet, his demeanor was already lightyears better than Jax’s. I set my thermos on the coffee table and stood up, ready to formally evict Jax from my property. “Please, allow me. You shouldn’t strain yourself,” Silas said smoothly. Before I could take a step, Silas crossed the room in a blur, clamped his hand around Jax’s bicep, and physically dragged him toward the open door. Jax, despite his massive frame, was hauled several feet across the floor before his brain caught up with his body. He started thrashing wildly. “Silas! Let go of me!” “Jax, be a good boy. Stop making a fool of yourself.” “Let me go! You don’t understand anything!” Silas’s grip was like a steel vise. Panicking, Jax pulled his arm back, balling his hand into a heavy fist, aiming straight for his brother’s face. My instincts kicked in. I cleared the distance between us in three massive strides, pulling my arm back as far as it would go. Smack! The sharp crack of my hand connecting with Jax’s cheek echoed through the silent apartment. The sheer force of the blow sent him stumbling backward. He caught his balance, clutching his rapidly swelling face, staring at me in absolute shock. “Did you… did you just hit me?” he stammered. “I sure did,” I replied, my voice dropping to a dangerous chill. “And you deserved it.” I had trained in kickboxing for eight years. I wasn’t some fragile pushover. I stepped firmly in front of Silas, shielding him. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I tapped the screen and shoved my digital termination certificate right in Jax’s face. “Our legal binding contract has been officially severed. You are trespassing on private property, and you just attempted to assault my incubus. That slap was self-defense, and I am perfectly willing to defend myself again.” I didn’t give him an inch of breathing room. “Now. Drop my money on the floor, and get the hell out of my house before I count to three.” Jax opened his mouth to argue, but I raised my voice, cutting him off like a whip. “Three!” The sheer venom in my tone visibly rattled him. He flinched, taking a half-step backward. For a fleeting second, a flash of genuine hurt crossed his eyes. I didn’t care. “Two!” He gritted his teeth, his jaw trembling. He violently threw my stolen credit cards and cash onto the hardwood floor, spinning on his heel and marching toward the hallway. “One.” I finished the countdown, my expression completely blank. Jax stopped in the doorway, standing exactly where Silas had been moments before. He looked back at us standing shoulder to shoulder, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. The edges of his eyes were rimmed with red. “You’re going to regret this, Blair. My brother isn’t the saint you think he is…” I wasn’t in the mood for any more of his desperate manipulation. I looked over my shoulder at Silas. “Close the door.”

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1 At six, my father was brainwashed by his mistress Victoria and threw my mother and me into a brutal reformatory to break us. To escape the endless abuse, my mother grabbed me and fled into the dead of night. Victoria hunted us down in her SUV and released vicious guard dogs into the woods. She shoved me to safety and stayed behind, letting herself be mauled to death so I could survive. Rescued by the revered spiritual guide Madam Agnes, I spent twenty years on her secluded estate. Now I have returned as the ultimate corporate good luck charm. The business world calls me the Midas Touch. My name alone sends stock prices skyrocketing without me working a single day. Today, Victoria arrived at my door to offer me a job, not recognizing the girl she had once tried to kill. Her husband ran Crawford Enterprises, and my apprentice whispered that signing with them would be a jackpot. Victoria slid the contract across the table with a smug smile, claiming her empire was already booming and I was just the finishing touch. The terms were lavish—a seven-figure salary, luxury cars, and a penthouse suite. I picked up the contract and ripped it cleanly down the middle. Your family’s luck is running out. Your business is doomed to fail, and I will take my talents elsewhere. Victoria had brought a swarm of media reporters and rival CEOs to my living room. Snagging the famous Midas Touch was a massive PR stunt she did not want to miss. She thought she had me in the bag. She never expected me to tear up her golden ticket in front of flashing cameras. Her confident smile completely froze. The reporters started murmuring, and the rival executives exchanged gloating looks. Victoria’s face darkened. “Excuse me, Miss Bennett? I do not think I heard you correctly.” Isabella tugged at my sleeve, whispering nervously. “Sera, the Crawfords are top-tier elites. We cannot afford to offend them. Even if you do not sign, at least play nice and give her an out.” I ignored her advice. I locked eyes with Victoria, my mind flooding with the toxic memories of her cruelty. That night, she was behind the wheel, screaming that she was going to run us over. We scrambled into the woods, and she let the dogs loose. My mother was dragged down into the darkness by those massive beasts. She was torn apart, bleeding everywhere, but she did not scream in pain. She only begged me to run, to live. I stumbled blindly into the night, Victoria’s wicked laughter echoing behind me. Those memories made my fists clench so hard my nails dug into my palms. I took a deep breath, enunciating every single word. “Your family is cursed with bad karma. Bankruptcy is knocking at your door, and you cannot handle my blessings. Get out. I will never join your company.” Victoria was absolutely livid. But with the cameras rolling, she forced down her rage and tossed a sleek business card onto the ruined contract. “Miss Bennett, you clearly misunderstand the situation. Do you know who I am?” She tapped a manicured finger against the card. “I am the Vice President of Crawford Enterprises. I am Anderson Crawford’s wife.” She leaned in, dropping her voice to a venomous whisper. “This is your second and final chance. Know when to fold.” “Please leave,” I replied coldly. Without warning, Victoria grabbed the cup of steaming tea from the table and splashed it directly into my face. Isabella shrieked in anger. “What is wrong with you? Get out of my sister’s house!” Isabella frantically grabbed a cold towel, dabbing at my burning skin. Victoria pointed a finger at me, completely dropping her elegant facade. “You think you are magic? When we hype you up, you are a lucky star. When we drop you, you are nothing but trash!” She spun on her heels and stormed out. At the door, she yelled to the crowd. “Are you all blind? Are you really going to worship this con artist? A lucky constitution? It is absolute garbage.” A few people hesitated and scuffled out behind her. But the majority stayed planted in my living room. They watched me with burning curiosity, waiting for my reaction. Isabella looked at my red skin with tears in her eyes. “Sera, she completely ruined the vibe. I think these CEOs are doubting your abilities now. What do we do?” I picked up a hand mirror, examining the red blotches on my cheek. “Turn on the TV. If I am right, there should be some breaking news.” Isabella flicked on the flat screen. Instantly, the entire room gasped. A special news bulletin was flashing across the screen. Crawford Enterprises had just been busted for a massive supply chain failure. Their flagship products were exposed for containing toxic, counterfeit materials. The company’s stock was currently in a terrifying freefall, and class-action lawsuits were already piling up. I spoke without raising my voice. “Victoria attacked a blessed charm. Looks like karma works fast.” What I did not say was this. This is only the beginning. The real show has not even started. The executives remaining in my house looked at me with pure awe. One CEO rushed forward, his eyes burning with desperation. “Miss Bennett, please join my firm. Whatever the Crawfords offered, I will add thirty percent.” The others panicked and started shouting their own bids. “I will add fifty percent!” “Eighty percent!” “I will double it!” I did not accept any of them. I simply waved my hand. “I am tired. We can discuss this another day.” These men were opportunists who swayed with the wind. I had zero affection for them, so I politely kicked them out. Surprisingly, they were not angry. Being dismissed only deepened their reverence. To them, a true Midas Touch was supposed to be cold and untouchable. As they walked out the door, I heard their excited whispers. “She is the real deal. Whoever gets her on their payroll is set for life.” “Anderson Crawford is a blind fool. Sending his arrogant wife to insult the Midas Touch? He is finished.” “Did you hear her prophecy? The Crawfords are cursed. They will be bankrupt before the quarter ends.” Isabella closed the front gate and turned to me, her voice hushed. “Sera, are the Crawfords really going to go bankrupt?” “Their empire was built on rotten foundations,” I said calmly. “The universe always collects its debts. They will not escape this.” Isabella nodded in agreement. Less than ten minutes later, a violent pounding echoed from the front yard. Before we could even unlock the deadbolt, the heavy wooden doors were kicked open. A swarm of men in dark suits stormed into the courtyard. They parted like the red sea, allowing one man to step forward. Anderson Crawford. Seeing that face made my jaw clench. He was the monster who tossed my mother and me into that hellish reformatory. I still remember the day my mother fell to her knees, pressing her forehead against the floor, begging him. “Lock me in here until I die, I do not care. Just take our daughter with you! Do not leave her in this abusive nightmare!” Anderson’s face was made of stone. He kicked my mother squarely in the chest, knocking her to the dirt. I cried, pulling at his tailored suit. “Daddy, do you not love me anymore? Do you not love Mommy?” He looked down at me with pure disgust. “Get off me! I never want to see either of your faces again.” The bitter memory faded as Anderson stopped right in front of me. He stared at me with cold, calculating eyes. “So, you are Seraphina Bennett.” I nodded slowly. After Madam Agnes rescued me, I dropped the Crawford name entirely. I took my mother’s maiden name, Bennett. I even threw away the childhood name Anderson had given me, asking my mentor to bless me with a new identity. Seraphina. Anderson let out a harsh, mocking laugh. He looked me up and down like he was interrogating a criminal. “I built a billion-dollar empire from the ground up, and you dare call me cursed? Tell me, who paid you to short my stock? Who ordered you to spread these rumors?” I narrowed my eyes. “Who said they were rumors?” Anderson raised his voice, his face flushing red. “Answer the question! Who is pulling your strings?” I glanced at Isabella calmly. “Call the police. Tell them we have a home invasion.” Anderson ignored the threat, consumed by his own rage. “Crawford Enterprises is my life’s work! Nobody has the power to destroy it!” “You planted the toxic seeds,” I said smoothly. “Now you are choking on the harvest. You did this to yourself.” Anderson sneered. “I have heard the legends about your little ‘Midas Touch.’ I admit, it is a neat parlor trick. But you need to understand something. A billionaire’s wrath is not something a little girl can survive.” He took a menacing step closer. “It does not matter how magical you are. If you are dead, your constitution is useless.” I smiled. “How exactly do you plan to kill me? Are you going to lock me in an abusive boot camp until I waste away? Or are you going to unleash a pack of dogs to tear my throat out?” Anderson’s face went completely pale. His lips trembled. “Who the hell are you?” “You will find out very soon,” I said coldly. Anderson quickly regained his composure, masking his shock with a sneer. “It does not matter who you are. Going against my family is suicide.” He pulled a crumpled contract from his jacket pocket and slammed it onto the table. “Sign it. We can still play nice, and your compensation stays the same.” I let out a sarcastic laugh. “Did you honestly think bursting into my home and shouting at me would make me submit? Besides, your company is moments away from filing for Chapter 11. Why would I want a job on a sinking ship?” Anderson exploded. “You ungrateful little bitch!” He raised his hand to strike me across the face. But right at that moment, the wail of police sirens echoed down the street. Anderson froze. He lowered his hand, glaring at me with pure venom. “I will dig up everything about your past, Seraphina. Nobody in this world is perfectly clean. Once I find your dirty secrets, I will wait for you to come crawling to me on your knees.” He turned and marched out with his men. Isabella and I obviously did not let him off the hook. We followed the officers to the precinct and filed a detailed police report for trespassing and assault. By the time we finished giving our statements, the sky was pitch black. I smiled at Isabella. “Come on. Let me treat you to a nice dinner. You earned it today.” Isabella gripped her purse tightly. “Sera, I am a little scared. The people in this city are so vicious. Maybe we should just go back to the sanctuary and stay with Madam Agnes.” I shook my head. “I have unfinished business here.” We hailed a cab and headed toward the downtown restaurant district. But halfway through the ride, headlights flashed aggressively in our rearview mirror. A massive black SUV accelerated out of nowhere, slamming violently into our rear bumper. Our cab spun out of control and flipped. Shattered glass rained down. Blood dripped into my eyes. Before I could process the crash, the doors were pried open. Isabella and I were dragged out of the wreckage like dead weight and thrown onto the asphalt. Someone slapped my face hard. “Are you dead? Open your eyes.” I forced my eyes open, blinking through the blood. A young man with a nasty sneer crouched over me. He grabbed me by the throat, laughing darkly. “Do you know who I am? My father is Anderson Crawford!” It all made sense now. This was Preston. Anderson and Victoria’s precious son. Victoria had secured her place in the Crawford empire by giving Anderson a male heir. Preston was the anchor that gave her the power to exile my mother and me. Preston unscrewed a bottle of cheap liquor and poured it directly over my bleeding face. The alcohol burned my open wounds, forcing tears from my eyes. Preston threw his head back and laughed. “I heard you like playing God! How does the pain feel now?” He snapped his fingers, and a group of thugs stepped out of the shadows. They grabbed my arms and legs, pinning me to the pavement. Rough hands started tearing at my jacket. “What are you doing?!” I screamed, thrashing wildly. Preston smiled, a sick look in his eyes. “My parents tried to negotiate with you nicely, but you were too stupid to listen. So, I am going to teach you a lesson.” “Let us see if your little Midas Touch still works after my guys are done having their fun with you.” He pulled out his phone, holding it up with the flash on, recording the nightmare. The thugs laughed, their hands ripping at my clothes. Just as my shirt collar gave way, a furious voice shattered the darkness. “Get your hands off her! Back off!” A tall silhouette charged out of the shadows. He was swinging a heavy steel baton, bringing it down ruthlessly on the thugs. At first, the gang tried to fight back, assuming it was just one guy. But this stranger fought like a man with absolutely nothing to lose. He cracked ribs and shattered knees, leaving the thugs howling in pain. They scrambled away from me, yelling at Preston. “Hey, man! You paid us five hundred bucks to rough up some girl! You didn’t say we were going to get murdered!” The thugs bolted into the night, and Preston immediately jumped back into his damaged SUV, flooring the gas pedal to escape. The stranger dropped his baton and immediately dialed 911 for an ambulance. Later, in the bright lights of the hospital ward, we finally exchanged names. He was Alec Harrington, the heir to the Harrington Group. He stared at my bandaged face for a long time before speaking. “You look familiar. Are you… the Midas Touch?” I smiled and nodded. Isabella chimed in, exasperated. “Your family runs a major corporation, right? How could you not know my sister? Were you not at the elite networking banquet last week?” Alec rubbed the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. “My family’s business has been targeted and crushed by the Crawfords for years. We are bleeding money. We could never afford to match the salary demands of a Midas Touch, so we stayed home to avoid the humiliation.” I looked at him warmly, a plan already forming in my mind. Alec had a heart of gold. I could absolutely save his family’s empire. Suddenly, Isabella shot up from her hospital bed, letting out a terrified gasp. “Sera! Oh my god, look at this!” I was startled. “What is wrong?” She handed me her phone, her hands trembling. I looked at the screen, and my vision swam. The internet was completely flooded with smear campaigns against me. The accusations were wild, but coordinated. One post claimed I was a master fraudster, stealing millions from desperate companies under the guise of being a lucky charm. Another viral thread accused me of corporate extortion. It claimed that if CEOs refused to pay my exorbitant fees, I would intentionally spread rumors and tank their stock prices. Predictably, anonymous accounts started defending the Crawfords. They claimed the toxic materials scandal was entirely fabricated by me because Anderson refused to be blackmailed. The gullible public took the bait instantly. “I knew it! That is why she predicted their bankruptcy! The Crawfords are billionaires, why would they risk their reputation over cheap materials?” “So the Midas Touch is just a corporate terrorist. Glad she messed with the wrong family this time.” Then came the final, devastating blow. High-resolution photos flooded the timeline, claiming to expose my “disgusting private life.” They were screenshots from the attack tonight. It showed me pinned to the ground with torn clothes, surrounded by men. But the malicious captions completely warped the reality. They framed it as me participating in twisted, underground orgies. The slut-shaming was instantaneous and brutal. “My name is John. Seraphina was my girlfriend. I dumped her because she could not stop cheating.” “I know her background. Her mother was a notorious homewrecker. She is a bastard child with zero morals.” “I bought her for a night at a shady club. Cheap. Only two hundred bucks. I have no idea how she rebranded herself as a lucky charm.” The comments were incredibly vile. Reading those disgusting lies, I felt a lump form in my throat. My phone buzzed. It was Anderson Crawford. His voice dripped with arrogance. “Miss Bennett, I assume you have seen the news?” “The power of a billionaire is beyond your comprehension. Work with me, or the torment is only going to get worse.” “Is this your idea of extortion?” I asked coldly. Anderson scoffed. “I am offering you a lifeline, and you call it extortion? Talk about biting the hand that feeds.” “I am giving you a warning. In less than a week, your reputation will be radioactive. You will be begging for a janitor job, and nobody will hire you.” “You have thirty minutes to think about it.” Thirty minutes later, my phone rang again. I answered and gave him a one-word reply. “Rot.” Anderson hung up with a vicious click. Ten minutes later, Isabella came into my room, her eyes red from crying. “Sera, they are going too far. People are showing up at our front gate.” A mob of paid actors had gathered outside my residence, holding banners claiming I had scammed them out of their life savings. They were screaming into megaphones. The chaos attracted online streamers and clout-chasers. They turned my home into a circus, filming, cursing, and throwing trash over the walls. The very executives who had begged on their knees to hire me yesterday released public statements completely cutting ties with me. The only family that stood by my side was the Harringtons. Alec quickly arranged for a covert transfer, moving Isabella and me to a private, highly secure hospital owned by his family’s medical branch. Our identities were locked down, shielding us from the mob. Alec’s father, Richard Harrington, personally visited my room with a basket of fruit. He patted his chest, swearing that he would support me with whatever resources I needed. I thanked him genuinely. “I only have one request. I want to leave this hospital, go back into the public eye, and clear my name.” Richard looked shocked. “Miss Bennett, you cannot show your face right now.” “The internet is a vicious, fickle beast. The outrage burns hot, but it fades quickly. The best strategy is silence. If you hide for three months, everyone will forget this ever happened.” “If you speak out now, every single word will be twisted, and the fire will only spread.” I smiled. “I am not afraid of the fire spreading. I want it to burn down the entire forest.” “Some secrets need to be blasted into the spotlight.” Seeing my absolute certainty, Richard finally nodded. Alec looked at me with cautious curiosity. “So what is your plan to clear your name?” I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. “I just need a little cooperation from a certain someone.” Alec glanced at the screen, and the color instantly drained from his face. He lunged forward and snatched the phone right out of my hand. “Are you insane? How could you call him?”

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