My father was stiffed by his contractor, so he had to come to the city to find a lawyer to sue him. He didn’t know how to use the elevator. He actually climbed 20 flights of stairs, clutching a crumpled contract in his hand, before walking into the law firm. “Wilson, can you please take a look at this… He owes me $120,000. What should I do?” As the founder of the firm, Wilson used to represent pro-bono cases for animal rescues. But right now, he was busy editing a graduation thesis for Grace, the firm’s new intern. “A $120,000 dispute isn’t even enough to cover my retainer fee. I’m sorry, Donald, but I can’t take this case.” His cold words made my father’s back, already bent from years of hard labor, sink even lower. “Oh… then… I won’t trouble you anymore…” He slowly packed his papers back into his canvas bag. When he turned around, even his footsteps were heavy with apology. My nose stung. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I stood up to confront Wilson. But my father grabbed my hand. “Selena, I’m fine. Wilson has his professional rules. Don’t blame him.” The tears I had held back for so long finally spilled over. I stood there, watching my father’s hunched back disappear through the door. From the moment that door closed, I suddenly didn’t want to be Wilson’s family anymore.

Watching my father walk away so dejectedly felt like a fire had been lit in my chest, burning away all my sanity. I rushed back into Wilson’s office, grabbed the thesis papers on his desk, and ripped them to shreds. “Are you crazy?!” Wilson stood up abruptly. “Why won’t you take my dad’s case? Do you have any idea how long he waited out there?” “I’m busy, Selena. I don’t have time for your drama.” “Busy? Busy editing Grace’s thesis? But you don’t have five minutes to look at my dad’s contract?” I let out a cold laugh, the irony suffocating me. “I run a law firm, not a charity,” Wilson said, his voice dropping to a freezing temperature. “Do you know what my hourly billable rate is? Taking your dad’s case is a waste of my billable hours.” “But he is your father-in-law!” I screamed. “So what?” Wilson’s voice darkened. “Everyone is equal before the law. Am I supposed to break industry standards just because he’s a relative? If I take this case today, what will my partners think of me? How will I maintain my reputation in this city?” “Wilson, do you even remember why you went to law school in the first place?” Wilson froze. I took a step back, looking at him as if he were a complete stranger. I didn’t know when it happened, but the man who used to stay up all night researching labor laws for underpaid immigrants, the man I fell in love with, was completely gone. “People have to be realistic, Selena. We can’t live in the past forever.” Ignoring his coldness, I asked stubbornly, “So realistic that you’d abandon your own father-in-law?” “Would you be reasonable for once?” He pulled at his tie, frustrated. “I have too many high-profile corporate cases on my desk right now. I don’t have time for your dad’s petty drama.” No time? I stared at the thesis on his desk, covered in his detailed, handwritten notes. Suddenly, I lost all desire to argue. “Let’s get a divorce, Wilson.” Wilson froze. The tie in his hand dropped to the floor. “Selena… what did you say?” “I said, let’s get a divorce.” When the words came out, my heart didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. Instead, I felt a massive weight lift off my shoulders. I turned and walked out of the office. Downstairs, my father hadn’t gone far. He wasn’t giving up. He was walking along the office plaza, asking door-to-door: “Excuse me, do you take breach of contract cases?” But the moment the receptionists heard the defendant was Wood—a notoriously shady, wealthy general contractor—they shook their heads and ushered him out. The 100-degree Florida heat made my father look so small and helpless. I wiped my tears and ran to catch up with him. “Dad, don’t worry. I’ll find a way.” My father was surprised to see me. He quickly shielded his eyes from the sun. “It’s so hot out here, sweetie, why did you run out? I was just trying my luck. It’s fine.” Trying his luck. He took a six-hour Greyhound bus and climbed twenty flights of stairs just to “try his luck”? I opened my mouth, about to tell him about the divorce. Then, his phone rang. “Hello? Is this Mr. Donald? I’m Peter. Mr. Wilson asked me to handle your case.” When the call ended, my father’s weathered face erupted into a bright smile. “Did you hear that, Selena? Wilson sent someone to help me! I knew it. He has a good heart, he’s just too busy!” Right after he spoke, my phone buzzed with a Snapchat message from Wilson. I sent Peter to handle your dad’s case. Stop talking about divorce so easily. I stared at the screen, stunned. When I looked up, my father was smiling warmly, pulling two large bunches of bananas from his canvas bag. “Your mom cut these from our backyard farm this morning. She picked the thickest ones. Thin skin, very sweet. Take them home to Wilson. Please, don’t fight with him…” My eyes welled up again as I held the bananas tight. “Dad, don’t worry. Once this lawsuit is over…” Once I divorce Wilson. “…I will never let anyone look down on you guys again.”

Three days later, I took a day off from the school to accompany my dad to court. “Once I get my hard-earned money back, I can buy your mom some new clothes,” he chatted happily on the way. “And we can help your cousin Charis buy a laptop for college.” Thinking about getting his money back made my dad’s mood visibly brighter. But when we arrived at the courthouse, Peter, the lawyer who had called my dad, was nowhere to be found. His phone went straight to voicemail. “Did Peter get the time wrong?” My dad sat in the plaintiff’s box, nervously rubbing his calloused hands. “Selena, Wilson set this up. Should you call him and ask?” Before I could dial Wilson’s number, the courtroom door pushed open. It wasn’t Peter who walked in. It was Wood’s new lawyer. It was Grace—the intern whose thesis Wilson had been obsessively editing. At the same time, my phone buzzed. It was a call from Peter. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Wilson. Mr. Wilson suddenly reassigned me to an out-of-state corporate case. I can’t represent your father anymore.” The call cut off. Then, Grace’s voice rang through the courtroom. “Your Honor, I am representing the defendant, Mr. Wood, from Wilson Law Group. We are ready to proceed.” Wilson Law Group, representing the defendant. My father’s face went completely pale. “Selena… Wilson Law Group… isn’t that Wilson’s firm? What… what does this mean?” My heart felt like it had been struck by a hammer. I didn’t expect Wilson to break his promise, let alone have Grace turn my father from the plaintiff into the defendant. “Your Honor, on behalf of the defendant, we are filing a counterclaim against Donald,” Grace announced coldly. “First, during Donald’s employment, he led his crew in violating safety codes, resulting in substandard construction and causing direct financial losses to my client.” She continued ruthlessly: “Second, Donald used cheap, defective materials to cut corners, violating the contract.” “Third…” “Fourth…” “Therefore, the defendant requests that the court order Donald to pay $500,000 in damages to my client.” The hearing lasted for two hours. Without a lawyer, and with no witnesses daring to speak up for my dad against a powerful contractor, my father stood there alone. Even my attempts to speak were shut down by the judge. My dad stammered, his anxiety making his English worse, unable to explain the complex technical terms. The judge’s expression shifted from sympathy to impatience. We lost. The $120,000 we were owed turned into a judgment ordering my father to pay Wood $500,000 in damages. When we walked out of the courthouse, my father’s hands were shaking violently as he held the judgment paper. “It’s okay, Dad… I’ll find a way.” I held his hand, tears burning my eyes. Just then, a black Mercedes pulled up in front of the steps. Wilson stepped out of the car. My father’s dull eyes lit up, and he rushed forward, clutching the paper. “Wilson! You’re here. Are you here to help me…” But Wilson walked right past him, and right past me. He opened an umbrella and held it over Grace’s head. “Great job today. Are you tired? I booked a table at that French restaurant you like to celebrate your victory.” Grace smiled and took his arm. “It’s all thanks to the prep work you did for me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been so confident about the counterclaim.” “You’re already excellent. I just gave you a little push.” They laughed and walked down the steps, completely ignoring us. My nails dug into my palms. I yelled, “Wilson! Are you deaf? Can’t you hear my dad calling you?” The air froze. Wood, who was walking out of the court, looked between Wilson and my father. “Mr. Wilson, is this old man your father-in-law?” Wilson didn’t even look up. “I don’t know him.” Wood’s face relaxed instantly, and he turned to glare at my father. “You old fraud, did you hear that? The big-shot lawyer doesn’t even know you. How dare you claim to be his family? Look at yourself in the mirror.” My father’s face flushed bright red, his lips trembling, unable to utter a single word. “Wilson, you bastard!” I screamed. But the man only paused for a second before Grace said, “I’m hungry, Wilson.” He got into the Mercedes without hesitation and drove away. My father stood on the steps, his body swaying. “Dad?” I ran to support him. “Dad, are you okay?” He looked at me, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Selena… did I embarrass you?” My tears finally poured down. “No, Dad, never…” “Then why… why did Wilson pretend he didn’t know me?” I couldn’t answer him. I took him back to his small house in the countryside. For the first time in my life, I hated myself for being so powerless, and I hated myself for marrying the wrong man.

“Wilson, what the hell was that today?” When I got home, I thought Wilson would feel some guilt. I thought he would apologize. But instead, he threw a ridiculous question back at me: “What was your problem today? Why did you let some dirty blue-collar worker scream my name in public? Do you know how embarrassing that was for me?” “So you lied to me, set up my dad, and let him lose a lawsuit that now costs him half a million dollars?!” I laughed, my eyes burning. Wilson’s expression flickered, but he quickly recovered his composure. “I did assign Peter,” he said. “But I didn’t expect Grace to take Wood’s case. Some partners in the firm already have issues with her. If she lost this high-profile case, her chance of getting hired full-time would be ruined.” Even though I knew how much Grace meant to him, hearing it out loud still broke my heart. “So you let her fabricate evidence and frame my dad?” “My job is to win cases,” Wilson said, standing up and looking down at me. “Wood is a major client for our firm. He pays millions in retainer fees every year. What can your dad give me?” He kicked the trash can in frustration. Inside were the fresh bananas my father had brought. They were bruised now, sitting among the trash. “Is he going to pay me with this garbage?” Garbage? He called the bananas my father lovingly grew “garbage”? I realized then how fast a human heart could change. When we first came to Florida to build our life, my parents worked tirelessly, cutting crops and carrying bricks, sending us every penny of their savings so we could buy our first townhouse. But the man in front of me was no longer my husband. He was a monster. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said, pulling off his tie. “Fine, I’ll talk to the bank and help your dad set up a payment plan for the $500,000. It’s not that much. I can help him pay it in installments…” Slap! I couldn’t hold back anymore. I slapped him hard across the face. The living room went dead silent for three seconds. Wilson held his cheek, staring at me in disbelief. “You slapped me?” My body shook with rage. “Get out.” “Fine, Selena. Stay here and think about what you’ve done.” With a swollen cheek, Wilson slammed the door and left. I collapsed onto the floor and cried all night. The next morning, my mom called, her voice hysterical. “Selena! Oh my god, Wood’s debt collectors came to the house and threatened your father. He had a heart attack! He’s in the ICU!” My mind went completely blank. Shaking, I dialed Wilson’s number. “Wilson, my dad had a heart attack. He’s in critical condition. Can you please ask your cardiologist friend, Dr. James, to come to the county hospital for an emergency surgery?” “Hold on a second,” his voice was calm, almost detached. “Did you hear me, Wilson?! This is the last time I will ever ask you for anything. Please save my dad!” “I heard you, but Dr. James is busy right now.” “Busy? With what?! What could be more important than my father’s life? Do you have a soul, Wilson?!” There was a brief silence on the other end, and then I heard Grace’s voice in the background: “Wilson, come help me chop the veggies!” “I’ll ask Dr. James for you tomorrow. I have things to do here. Bye.” Wilson hung up. Sitting in the Uber on my way to the hospital, I stared at the “Call Ended” screen, my blood running cold. Wilson, you are truly heartless. Half an hour later, a notification popped up on my Snapchat. Grace had posted an update: [Accidentally cut my finger while cooking, and Wilson immediately called his cardiologist friend to bring over first-aid supplies. ] [He even gave my parents a free medical check-up! Wilson is literally the best mentor in the world! ] So, the “busy” thing he had to do was cooking with Grace and her family. I held the phone and laughed until tears streamed down my face. Finally, I opened my contacts and dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. “Mrs. Hathaway… can I please ask you for a favor?”

That night, two teams of surgeons rotated in the operating room. My mother cried until she fainted multiple times. It wasn’t until dawn that my father was finally out of danger. And Wilson never once showed up at the hospital. “Where is Wilson? Didn’t he come with you?” my father asked weakly when he finally woke up on the third day. Seeing my exhausted face, his eyes filled with worry. “It’s okay, Dad,” I forced a smile. “I won’t let this happen again. I won’t let anyone hurt us anymore.” My parents stayed silent for a long time. Finally, my dad patted my shoulder. “Do what you have to do, sweetheart. We support you.” Once I stepped out of the ward, I called Wilson again. “What is it?” “My parents want to see you. We need to talk.” His voice sounded raspy on the phone, as if he hadn’t slept: “Not tomorrow. Grace has her thesis defense tomorrow. I need to help her prep and run mock presentations. I don’t have time for your family’s drama.” I clenched my phone, my voice trembling. “What did you say?” “We’ll talk after tomorrow. I have to edit her slides now. Bye.” Since Grace appeared, I couldn’t count how many times this had happened. His excuses and broken promises had completely eroded our ten-year relationship. This was the final straw. I blinked back my tears and said to the phone, “Fine. You said it. We will talk tomorrow.” The next morning, I took the earliest flight back to the city. Carrying a flash drive with slides I had worked on all night, I went straight to the law school auditorium. On stage, Grace was presenting her thesis confidently, using the slides Wilson had polished for her. In the audience, Wilson’s eyes never left her. I let out a cold, mocking laugh, pushed the heavy double doors open, and walked inside. “I heard Grace is the star graduate of the law school this year,” I announced loudly. “So, can someone help me with a legal question? My husband is having an affair, and I want him to leave with absolutely nothing. How should I build this case?”

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“Babe, you need to clear your weekend schedule right now. You’re taking me to that new French restaurant that just opened downtown.” The moment I walked into my husband’s office, my jaw dropped. Benjamin, the man who always prided himself on keeping a strict professional distance from the opposite sex, was holding the hand of our new intern, Nora. Fury flared in my chest. I stormed over, my hand automatically raising to slap this homewrecker across the face. But right before my hand made contact, a strange, robotic voice echoed in my head: 【Slap me! Come on, hit me hard!】 【The stream chat said that if she hits me, Benjamin will hate her even more!】 【What a brainless heiress. A cheap trick, and she totally fell for it.】 【Keep throwing your tantrum, honey. I’m the main character here.】 【Your ending is a one-way ticket to a mental asylum. Mine is a fairy-tale wedding with Benjamin.】 My hand froze mid-air. I looked at Nora. Her eyes were wide with eager anticipation, practically begging for the slap. Instead of hitting her, I lowered my hand, reached out, and gently patted her soft cheek. “Nora, your skin is absolutely glowing,” I said, my voice dripping with honey. “No wonder Benjamin likes you so much. He just can’t seem to let go of your hand, can he?”

Nora froze. A flicker of absolute confusion crossed her innocent little face. This was clearly not how her script was supposed to go. 【Why didn’t she hit me?!】 【The stream chat explicitly said she’d slap me the moment she saw us holding hands!】 【If she doesn’t hit me, how is Benjamin supposed to feel sorry for me and start hating her?!】 I sneered inwardly. Hit you? In your dreams, sweetie. Benjamin quickly let go of Nora’s hand, stepping forward to wrap his arm around my waist. “Atalanta, don’t get the wrong idea. She almost tripped, and I was just catching her.” “Oh, I believe you.” I looked up at him, flashing him my sweetest, most dazzling smile. “Babe, I have a quick question for you.” “What is it?” “I really like this girl.” I slid my arm through his, leaning in with my usual pampered, spoiled attitude. “Transfer her to my office. I want her as my personal assistant.” I needed to keep this girl right under my nose to see what other “plots” she was cooking up. Benjamin frowned slightly, hesitating. “She’s doing incredibly well in the Mergers and Acquisitions department. The M&A director specifically requested to keep her.” Nora’s mental voice immediately erupted with joy. 【The M&A director never said that!】 【The chat was right! Benjamin definitely has feelings for me, his destined heroine. He’s already making up excuses to keep me close!】 【Atalanta is such a clueless idiot.】 The fire in my chest flared up again. I pushed Benjamin away. “What’s that supposed to mean? I can’t even have one intern?” “Atalanta, that’s not what I meant…” “Then what do you mean?” I stared him down. Benjamin was taken aback by my sharp tone. He subconsciously glanced at Nora. Nora stood behind him, looking terrified and fragile on the outside. In her mind, though, she was throwing a party. 【Yes! Atalanta is throwing a fit! The chat is so right—the more she throws tantrums, the more annoyed Benjamin gets!】 【Benjamin just looked at me! He’s worried about my feelings! His affection points just went up again!】 I took a deep breath, suppressing the violent urge to slap them both. “Benjamin, I’m only asking you once.” I crossed my arms, tilting my chin toward Nora. “Are you giving her to me, or not?” I had been pampered by my parents my entire life, and since marrying Benjamin, I had never faced a single “no” from him. And now, he was hesitating over a mere intern? He had to be joking. Looking at my cold expression, Benjamin finally sighed. “Of course. Whatever makes you happy, babe.” Nora’s mind instantly went into overdrive— 【What?! He’s actually transferring me to her?】 【No way! How am I supposed to romance Benjamin if I’m stuck working for her!】 【Wait… the chat says it’s fine. A transfer will actually make Benjamin feel guilty.】 【He’ll start seeing Atalanta as selfish and unreasonable.】 【Yes, yes! As long as I play the victim, he’ll only pity me more!】 For the next few days, I kept Nora right under my eyes. But every single morning, the first thing she did wasn’t reporting to me. She would sneak straight into Benjamin’s office. 【Benjamin complimented my financial report today. He said it was better than the senior analysts’ work.】 【The chat says: Affection points +10.】 At lunchtime, she would “coincidentally” run into Benjamin in the corporate cafeteria. 【He actually asked if I was eating alone and sat at my table!】 【He said I have a great personality and a strong work ethic—unlike some rich girls who only know how to spend money~】 In the afternoon, when Benjamin came to my office to discuss business and saw Nora working overtime, he’d casually say, “Thanks for your hard work. Don’t stay too late.” 【He cares about me!】 【The chat is so right. The more useless Atalanta is, the more my hard work stands out.】 Sitting at my desk, my grip on the fashion magazine tightened until the pages wrinkled. Technically, Benjamin hadn’t crossed any lines. No hugs, no kisses, no suggestive texts. He probably genuinely believed he was just mentoring a capable, hardworking intern. But I had to sit there and listen to those mental updates, over and over again. Until one afternoon, when I went to his office to drop off some files. That was when I noticed something that made my blood run cold. The way Benjamin looked at Nora… it contained something unfamiliar to me. Admiration. And worse—tenderness.

I decided to test him. The next day, Nora brought me a contract. The formatting was a total disaster, and she had used three different fonts. I snatched the folder, marched into Benjamin’s office, and slammed it onto his desk. “Look at this. Is this the ‘capable’ intern you talked about? She can’t even format a basic document. How did she even pass her internship review?” Benjamin flipped through the pages, frowning slightly. But then he sighed. “She’s fresh out of college, Atalanta. There’s no need to be so harsh.” “It’s a basic document, Benjamin.” “She’ll get better with practice.” He dismissed it gently. 【He defended me again!】 【The chat says Benjamin is officially getting sick of this spoiled heiress!】 Later that afternoon, I asked Nora to bring me a cup of coffee. When she brought it, it was barely warm, choked with milk, and sickeningly sweet. I took a sip right in front of her and spat it back into the cup. “What is this garbage? Are you here to work, or are you on vacation?” Nora’s eyes instantly welled with tears. She lowered her head, her voice trembling. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Jefferson. I’ll make a fresh cup right away…” 【Just endure it. The chat says the more she bullies me, the more cruel she looks to Benjamin.】 Right on cue, Benjamin walked in. Seeing Nora’s red, tear-filled eyes, his frown deepened. “Atalanta, it’s just a cup of coffee. Is it really worth throwing a tantrum over?” I looked up at him. “She can’t even remember my basic coffee order. You call that capable?” “She’s only been here for a few days. Give her some time to adjust.” Benjamin’s voice carried a distinct edge of annoyance. “Can you stop being so…” He cut himself off, but I knew exactly what he wanted to say. Stop being so unreasonable. I let out a bitter laugh. I leaned back in my chair and waved my hand. “Nora, get out.” Nora glanced at Benjamin, then at me, and scurried out with her head low. Benjamin walked over, pulled up a chair, and sat beside me, softening his tone. “Babe, what’s wrong with you today?” “Nothing.” “You’re clearly angry.” He reached out to hold my hand, squeezing my fingers. “Is this still about the other day? I already transferred Nora to you, didn’t I?” I stared at him. Did he truly not know what he was doing, or was he just playing dumb? “Let me ask you something.” I looked straight into his eyes. “Do you honestly think she’s better than me?” Benjamin blinked, then chuckled. “How can you even compare yourself to her? You’re my wife. She’s just an employee.” “I’m only helping her because she actually has potential.” Outside the door, Nora was eavesdropping, her mind gloating triumphantly: 【He’s definitely comparing us in his head! The chat says his affection points just went up again~】 I ignored the voice and kept my eyes locked on him. “Then why don’t you take Nora to our weekend date?” I asked coldly. “You two can talk about work the entire time.” Benjamin sighed, pinching my cheek gently. “What are you talking about? Of course I wouldn’t go with her. My weekend belongs to you.” A flicker of hope ignited in my chest. 【Atalanta is so gullible. She believes everything he says.】 【But the chat already revealed the truth. Benjamin is going to cancel on her, claiming he’s too busy, and then he’s taking me out for my favorite Mexican food~】 The smile on my face froze. No, I told myself. Those voices might not be real. Nora’s “system” could just be a delusion. On Friday afternoon, I put on my makeup and a brand-new dress, waiting for Benjamin to finish work. At 5:30 PM, my phone buzzed. Benjamin: 「An urgent business dinner came up tonight, babe. I can’t make it. I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you next time.」 I stared at the screen, the bright light burning my eyes. I typed out a long reply, then deleted it all. In the end, I only sent: 「Okay.」 The next day, I was scrolling through Instagram when I saw Nora’s new post. There was no caption. Just a single photo. A table full of Mexican food, and a man’s hands sitting across from her. On his ring finger was the wedding band I had personally chosen for him.

After that weekend, Benjamin seemed to realize I was being unusually cold. For the next few days, he came home strictly on time for dinner and brought me expensive gifts. On Wednesday night, as we lay in bed, Benjamin wrapped his arms around me from behind. “Babe, I have a three-day business trip this weekend. It’s a major project, very important.” I nodded slowly. “Okay.” He leaned down to kiss the back of my neck. “Be good. I’ll bring you back something nice.” The next morning, the moment I approached my office door, Nora’s mental voice drifted out— 【The chat says Benjamin is taking me to Santorini!】 【A luxury cliffside hotel! A sunset suite!】 【That’s the exact trip Atalanta has been begging him for five years!】 【The chat is right. I am his true love. Atalanta is just a stepping stone on her way to the asylum!】 The coffee cup in my hand almost slipped. Santorini. That was the honeymoon trip Benjamin and I had promised each other when we got married. I had brought it up for five years. And for five years, he had always said he was too busy, to wait, next time. And now, he was taking someone else. The moment I shut my office door, my hands began to tremble. At noon, I went into Benjamin’s office. He was reviewing some documents. When he saw me, he smiled. “What’s up, babe? Miss me already?” I sat down across from him, quietly observing the face I had loved for over a decade. “Benjamin.” My voice was barely a whisper. “Do you remember you still owe me a trip?” Benjamin paused, then smiled. “Of course I do. Santorini, right?” “When are we going?” “Babe, I’m drowned in work right now.” He walked over, gently stroking my hair. “Once things quiet down, I’ll take you. I promise, okay?” Once things quiet down. Always the same excuse. I forced a smile and said nothing. I was done waiting. On Thursday, they departed. Standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, I watched Benjamin’s car pull out of the parking garage. Then, I unlocked my phone and texted my best friend, Audrey: 「Can you recommend a divorce lawyer? The absolute best in the city.」 She replied instantly: 「??? Are you insane?」 「I’ve never been more sane. Just send me the name.」 After a long silence, she sent over a contact card. 「Jonathan Vance. He’s a shark of a divorce attorney. And… he was our college classmate, remember?」 I stared at the name. Jonathan. The tall, quiet guy from college who used to buy me yogurt every single day. The next morning, I walked into his law firm. He was dressed in a sharp, tailored charcoal suit. He looked much more mature and grounded than he had in college. He was handsome, but in a completely different way from Benjamin. After listening to my story, Jonathan didn’t ask unnecessary questions. He simply said: “I’ll draft the paperwork. We will take him for everything he’s worth.” He paused, then added, “It’s on the house.” “Jonathan, I can pay—” “Back in college, when those street thugs cornered me to steal my money, you swung your skateboard and chased them off. I’ve remembered that for ten years.” He looked at me, tilting his head with a soft smile. “You also told me back then that if it weren’t for him, you would have chosen me.” “Are you still making me wait?” I couldn’t find the words to answer. On the night the paperwork was finalized, I saw Nora’s Instagram update. Pictures of the blue-domed churches of Santorini, the stunning Aegean sunset, and the infinity pool of a cliffside hotel. And the last photo was a shot of Benjamin from behind. He was standing on a white balcony, overlooking the deep blue sea. Her caption read: 「Thank you for taking me to the most beautiful place in the world.」 I stared at the photo for a long time. Then, I opened my chat with Benjamin, sent him a PDF of the divorce papers, and added two words: 「We’re divorcing.」 Then, I blocked his number.

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My husband was taking me out to dinner. The moment we got into his new car, he casually gave a voice command to the console: “Navigate to our usual spot.” The screen flashed, and the GPS immediately pinned a famous, high-end organic bistro known exclusively for its curated maternity menu. I looked at him, completely confused. “I thought we were going to that Omakase place downtown?” Julian’s face stiffened for a microsecond. Then, he let out a casual laugh and swiped the screen to cancel the route. “This stupid system. It’s been full of bugs since the last software update. I need to take it to the dealership tomorrow. Did it scare you, babe?” My heart sank, but I chose to stay silent. A few days later, I drove to his office to drop off some urgent tax documents. Just as I parked, I saw his gorgeous new assistant, Tiffany. She walked straight up to Julian’s brand-new car, completely at ease, and unlocked it with a quick voice command. “Adjust the passenger seat to maternity lounge mode. Use my personalized profile, please.” The documents in my hands scattered all over the concrete. Julian had told me that this car only registered one woman’s voice—mine. Now, it was obeying someone else.

“Mrs. Vance? What are you doing here?” Tiffany’s sweet, high-pitched voice snapped me back to reality. Panic flashed across her face. She quickly knelt down to help me gather the scattered papers. Right then, Julian came rushing out of the office building. Seeing the mess on the ground, he frowned. But instead of walking toward me, he went straight to Tiffany. “What happened?” He grabbed Tiffany’s arm, his voice laced with a tense panic I had never heard before. Tiffany’s eyes instantly welled up with tears. She shook her head. “It’s nothing, really. Mrs. Vance just…” Only then did Julian turn his annoyed gaze to me. “Fiona, what is wrong with you? Why are you being so clumsy?” “Why does she have voice access to this car?” I asked, pointing directly at the brand-new SUV. Julian froze. He let go of Tiffany and stepped closer to me. The annoyance on his face melted into his signature gentle smile. He lowered his voice. “Tiffany had a family emergency, and I had to let her borrow the car. I just set up a temporary profile for her.” “It was just for convenience, Fiona. It’s a temporary guest setting. Don’t overthink it.” “A temporary setting?” I squeezed the papers in my hand, repeating his words. “But she literally said ‘passenger maternity lounge mode’ and ‘personalized profile.’ You call that temporary?” Julian choked on his words. A flash of irritation crossed his eyes, but he quickly covered it up. “Fiona, you must have misheard her. She said ‘cloud-saved driving mode.’ The voice recognition system in this car has been acting up lately.” “She’s just a young girl fresh out of college. How could she possibly be pregnant?” He said it so confidently, so righteously. He was treating me like an idiot. Did he really think I was hallucinating? “Julian, do you honestly think I’m that stupid?” Tiffany chimed in from the side, looking utterly helpless. “Mrs. Vance, I have a bit of an accent, so maybe that caused the mix-up. Mr. Vance was just being kind enough to help me when I was in a rush.” She called him “Mr. Vance,” but they were practically finishing each other’s sentences. Watching them play their little roles made my chest tighten with a suffocating anger. When we got home, Julian went back to his usual doting self, acting as if nothing had happened. He even voluntarily did all the chores. That night, he wrapped his arms around me from behind, kissing my neck. “Babe, don’t be mad anymore. I promise I won’t set up temporary profiles for anyone else ever again, okay?” I didn’t say a word. While he was in the shower, I grabbed the car keys and went downstairs alone. I sat in the driver’s seat. The faint, sweet scent of another woman’s perfume had not yet faded. I took a deep breath, mimicked Tiffany’s soft tone, and spoke to the console. “Hello.” The car’s system responded with a cold, robotic voice: “Identity unrecognized. Please use a registered voice profile or key fob to operate.” It felt like a knife had plunged straight into my heart.

The next morning, Julian brought breakfast to my bed, looking incredibly eager to please. “Babe, it really was a system bug. I called the dealership first thing this morning.” “They said the latest software update has messed up some user data, especially the voice profiles. They told me to bring it in for a factory reset when I have time.” “I’ve already deleted Tiffany’s temporary profile. You can rest easy now, okay?” His eyes were filled with nothing but sincerity. I stared at him, unable to say a word. If I hadn’t heard that “Identity unrecognized” prompt with my own ears last night, I probably would have believed him. For the next few days, he treated me like we were back in the honeymoon phase. He came home straight after work and spent the weekend taking me out to movies and shopping. He even suggested we finally go on that luxury trip to Hawaii we had delayed for years. His sudden wave of tenderness began to slowly wear down my defenses. I almost let myself fall back into his beautiful illusion. On Wednesday, I took Julian’s car to the grocery store. I casually said to the console, “Play some music.” The system paused for a few seconds. “Sure. Playing Tiffany’s Favorite Playlist.” A cold shiver ran down my spine, and my blood froze instantly. I began tapping the screen frantically like a madwoman, trying to turn it off. But no matter what I pressed, the words “Tiffany’s Favorite Playlist” remained locked in the center of the screen. I pulled over to the curb, my heart hammering against my ribs. Didn’t he say he deleted her? Why was this still here? When Julian came home that night, I confronted him immediately. “What is ‘Tiffany’s Favorite Playlist’ doing in your car?” He gasped, then quickly put on a look of sheer frustration. “This piece of junk! I told you the system is completely messed up!” He pulled out his phone, put it on speaker, and called the dealership representative right in front of me. “What is wrong with my car? Didn’t you guys say it was reset? Why is another user’s playlist still popping up when my wife drives it?” The representative on the phone apologized profusely, claiming it might be a cloud cache issue and asking him to bring it in again. Julian hung up and pinched the bridge of his nose, looking exhausted. “Babe, please don’t overthink this. It’s genuinely just a technical glitch.” “I’ll take a day off tomorrow to get this sorted out once and for all.” He took my hand and kissed it gently. “And to give you peace of mind, I’ve already transferred Tiffany to another department. Is that enough?” I looked into his eyes. “Really?” “Really. Have I ever lied to you?” His gaze was steady, without a hint of guilt. The heavy stone in my heart finally felt a little lighter. But the next day, while doing the laundry, I found a crumpled piece of paper in his suit pocket. It was a billing receipt from an elite private maternity clinic. The date on the receipt was the exact day he had sworn to me that he had deleted her profile. Under the patient name, it read: “Fiona Miller.” That was my name.

Clutching the receipt, I stormed into Julian’s home office. “What is this?” I slammed the paper onto his desk. He was reviewing some reports, but when he saw the receipt, he remained surprisingly calm. “Fiona, your health hasn’t been great lately, right? I asked a friend to book a top specialist for you. I wanted to surprise you.” “Tiffany happened to feel unwell that day too, so I just gave her a ride and got her a basic checkup first.” “I used your name for her registration because I didn’t want you to worry and get the wrong idea.” The explanation sounded absolutely seamless. “A surprise?” My voice was trembling. “Julian, do you honestly think I am brain-dead?” “An early pregnancy confirmation test. Is that your surprise for me?” The air in the office instantly turned freezing cold. Julian’s face darkened, his gentle facade completely vanishing. He stood up and walked toward me, step by step. “Fiona, what are you trying to say? Are you accusing me of cheating?” He raised his voice, sounding deeply offended. “Is that who I am to you? A man who would just betray you like that?” “We’ve been married for three years. How I’ve treated you… do you have no heart?” With every sentence, he took another step closer. The sheer pressure of his imposing figure forced me backward until my spine hit the cold wall. “Then what about Tiffany? Where did you transfer her?” I gritted my teeth and asked. “I told you, another department! Why can’t you just trust me!” he roared. Suddenly, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and immediately silenced it. “Fiona, can you please be rational? Are you really going to destroy our marriage over some petty suspicion about an outsider?” Even as he tried to soothe me with his words, his fingers were rapidly typing a text. I saw it clearly on his screen: “Don’t worry, I’m handling her.” My heart plummeted into a dark, bottomless abyss. There was nothing left to deny. The person on the other end of that phone was Tiffany. While his mouth was promising me the world, his fingers were busy comforting his pregnant mistress. I suddenly felt a wave of mocking laughter bubble up in my throat. “Julian, let’s get a divorce.” I said those words with absolute, chilling calm. He froze. “What did you say?” “I said, I want a divorce.” I looked him dead in the eye. “I can’t live like this anymore. Go spend the rest of your life with your little assistant.” His face turned a terrible shade of gray. “Fiona! Have you lost your mind?!” He grabbed my wrist with terrifying force. “Over this? Over some stupid software glitch in a car? You want to throw away our marriage?!” Suddenly, a sharp, agonizing pain ripped through my lower abdomen. I let out a weak groan, and cold sweat instantly drenched my forehead.

The pain was so blinding that my vision went black. My knees buckled, and I slid down the wall onto the floor. “Julian… my stomach… it hurts so bad…” I curled into a ball on the floor, my voice barely a whisper. Julian squatted down, looking down at me with cold, skeptical eyes. “What now? You were perfectly fine a second ago. What kind of sick game are you playing, Fiona?” “I’m not playing… it hurts…” I felt a sudden, warm gush of liquid between my thighs. I looked down. The fabric of my pants was rapidly staining bright red. Blood. Julian saw it too, and his pupils dilated in sheer shock. “How… why are you bleeding?” He finally realized I wasn’t acting. He tried to lift me up but panicked, his hands shaking violently. The pain was causing me to black out. I used the last ounce of my strength to grab his hem. “Call 911… please…” As if waking from a nightmare, he fumbled for his phone. The moment the call connected, he stammered: “My… my wife has severe abdominal pain. She’s bleeding a lot… but she was just arguing with me a second ago…” Hearing his words, I nearly choked on my own breath. Even at a moment like this, he was trying to paint me as the hysterical, difficult wife to the dispatcher. Thankfully, the operator was highly professional. She cut him off and demanded our address immediately. On the way to the hospital, the agonizing pain kept dragging me in and out of consciousness. Julian’s phone rang again. It was Tiffany. He answered it, whispering in a low, hushed tone. “I have an emergency here… don’t worry, just find a place to sit down and rest. I’ll come over as soon as I’m done here.” I was lying on a gurney, practically dying, while my husband was using his gentlest voice to soothe another woman. The moment we arrived at the hospital, I was rushed straight into the emergency room. After a quick examination behind the curtain, the doctor’s face turned incredibly grave. “It’s an ectopic pregnancy. The fallopian tube has ruptured, causing severe internal bleeding. We need to perform emergency surgery right now!” Julian stood there, completely dumbfounded. “Ectopic pregnancy? How… we always use protection…” Just then, Tiffany actually showed up at the hospital. She looked pale and fragile, practically trembling. The moment she saw Julian, her tears began to stream down her face. “Julian, I’m so scared…” Then, she noticed me on the gurney and the critical consent form in the doctor’s hand. She walked over to my bedside, her voice dripping with sweet poison. “Fiona, how could you be so careless… Did you stress the baby out during your argument with Julian this afternoon?” “Do you have any idea how much Julian was looking forward to having a baby? If this is because of me…” Hearing this, Julian suddenly snapped. He rushed over, grabbed my shoulders, and began shaking me violently. The agonizing pain in my abdomen coupled with his rough shaking made my vision spin into darkness. “Fiona! What does this have to do with Tiffany? Did you do this on purpose to get rid of the baby?!” “Do you hate me that much?! To the point of using our own child to punish me?!” The doctor immediately slammed him back. “What are you doing?! The patient is in critical condition!” The doctor shoved the surgical consent form and the critical condition notice into Julian’s shaking hands. “This is an emergency! We need to remove the ruptured fallopian tube, and we might even have to perform a hysterectomy to save her life! Sign it now!” Julian held the pen, but his hand was shaking uncontrollably. Tiffany whispered from behind him, her voice filled with mock concern. “Julian… a hysterectomy… does that mean… Fiona will never be able to have children again?” Julian’s hand froze. He looked at me, and in his eyes, there was not a single shred of pity or love. I felt my life slowly draining away. The pain in my abdomen was consuming me entirely. Looking at this hesitating man—the man who had sworn to love and protect me for the rest of his life, yet hesitated to save me when I was dying—my heart finally died. With the very last of my strength, I dragged myself up and reached for my bag. I pulled out a document and a pen I had prepared beforehand. I signed my own name on the surgical consent form. Then, I flipped to the last page of the “Divorce Agreement” I had drafted days ago, and signed my name there too, smearing a drop of my own blood onto the paper. I weakly shoved both documents into his face. “Sign it, and I’ll go into the operating room myself.” Julian stared at the blood-stained divorce papers, completely paralyzed. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. The nurse beside us stamped her foot in frustration. “What are you waiting for?! If we delay any longer, she’s going to die!” My consciousness was fading fast, and my vision began to double. Without looking at him again, I turned to the doctor. “Doctor, I signed it myself. I take full responsibility.” With those final words, I plummeted into absolute darkness.

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On my wedding day to Julian, his Shibari artist ex-girlfriend and “first love,” Chloe, quietly returned to the country. Since then, Julian was always out of reach. He was either finding people for her to practice her rope rigging on, or busy cleaning up her messy accidents. It went on until Chloe tied me up in those tight, brutal ropes, forcing a miscarriage that took the baby in my womb. As I was being rushed to the hospital, slipping in and out of consciousness, Julian gently touched my lower abdomen. “Chloe said real art requires sacrifice. Don’t worry, you’re incredibly fertile anyway. We can always have another baby.” “I’ve already spoken to the doctors. They’ll do everything they can to keep you healthy.” Before I was even wheeled into the operating room, his assistant rushed over, saying Chloe had tripped in a pool of blood and scraped her knee. Without hesitation, Julian left with him. He had no idea that the baby was the very last one I had risked my life to keep for him, defying my System’s warnings. It was also the sole condition for me to give up my mission and return to my original world.

Julian’s hurried footsteps faded at the end of the long hallway. I lay all alone on the cold metal gurney. The freezing metal frame pressed against my back, and the IV fluid slowly dripped down the tube. The nurse wheeled me toward the operating room in silence. The medical staff around us looked at my pale face, their eyes filled with pity. The fully-formed baby inside me had already stopped moving. The lead surgeon put on sterile gloves, his brows furrowed in deep sympathy. “Evelyn, your uterus was already severely damaged from previous miscarriages.” “Having to induce labor at this stage… the chances of you conceiving again are almost zero. You most likely won’t be able to have children ever again.” As his voice fell, a cold, mechanical sound suddenly rang in my mind. But this time, the usually emotionless electronic voice carried a hint of pity. “Host, you risked your soul and defied the System’s rules to have this baby. I can make an exception and save the fetus for you.” “After all, you were so stubborn about completing your mission with Julian, risking your life to get pregnant multiple times, only to end up with miscarriages. I don’t want you to leave with absolutely nothing.” I stared at the harsh, bright surgical lights above me and let out a dry, bitter laugh. “No need. You can’t force someone to love you.” The System was silent for a moment, as if wanting to persuade me further. But seeing the utter deadness in my eyes, its voice returned to its usual icy tone. “Understood. Proceeding with Host’s choice. However, the anesthesia will be blocked immediately.” “All pain during the surgery will be multiplied. This will serve as your final trial to leave this world.” The moment the anesthesia wore off, painful, shattered memories rushed into my mind. I remembered Chloe binding me with those thick ropes, pulling them brutally tight across my abdomen. The pain was so agonizing that I had curled up on the floor, screaming. “Julian, it hurts so bad! Please, untie me!” But he had only shaken his head. “Chloe’s rope art requires sacrifice. Just bear with it, Evelyn. Stop making a scene.” As I struggled in agony, my foot had accidentally brushed against Chloe. It was barely a touch, but Julian had immediately panicked, pulling her into his arms to check if she was hurt. Then, he turned around and personally tightened the ropes around me. That heartbreak had already carved itself into my bones. Compared to that, what was a little physical pain now? I slowly nodded. In the darkness, I felt the sharp scalpel slice through my skin. The sensation of cold surgical instruments stirring inside my abdomen was sharp and agonizing. Warm blood poured out of my body continuously. Wave after wave of excruciating pain washed over me, threatening to swallow me whole. When the long surgery finally ended, all my strength was gone. I felt like an empty shell that had lost its soul as the nurses wheeled me out. The System’s voice chimed in right on time. “Congratulations, Host, on successfully passing the departure trial. You will be transported back to your original world in forty-eight hours.”

I was taken back to a regular recovery room. Just as I leaned back against the pillows to rest, the door was pushed open. Julian walked in, holding a thermal flask. His eyes fell on my suddenly flat stomach. A fleeting look of guilt crossed his face, and he stepped forward, reaching out to pull me into his arms. I turned my head slightly, coldly dodging his touch. My hand instinctively protected my empty stomach. Julian froze, a look of shock flashing in his eyes. But he quickly masked it, his voice softening. “I know you’re still angry. I know you suffered this time. To make it up to you, I’ll stay here and take care of you.” He opened the flask and poured out a bowl of rich, thick herbal soup, holding it out to me. The heavy, greasy smell hit me, making my stomach churn. I frowned. Seeing my reaction, Julian’s brow furrowed, his tone turning annoyed. “Chloe made this herself and asked me to bring it to you. I’m even feeding you personally. What more do you want, Evelyn?” In the past, whenever he mentioned Chloe, I would lose control and scream at him. Because of those fights, he had stopped bringing her up, but he had also grown colder and more distant. But now, as I touched my empty belly, I felt absolutely nothing. I replied flatly, “I’m not ungrateful. I just don’t have an appetite after the surgery.” My calm reaction caught Julian off guard. He set the bowl down and grabbed my wrist, wanting to say something. But the door opened again, and Chloe walked in, wearing a delicate, elegant dress. She kept her eyes down, looking incredibly hurt. “Why won’t you drink the soup, Evelyn? Do you hate me that much?” “I know I’m clumsy. I even cut my hand while making it. It’s only natural you’d look down on it.” Julian immediately let go of my hand. He rushed over to grab Chloe’s hand, examining her tiny cut before calling for a doctor. Chloe giggled, gently tapping his chest. “It’s just a scratch. It’s already treated. As long as Evelyn finishes the soup, my hard work won’t be wasted.” Julian turned back, picking up the bowl and pushing it toward me again. I looked at the two of them acting so intimate. Since I only had two days left, there was no point in fighting anymore. I took the bowl, forced down the nausea rising in my throat, and drank the greasy soup in one gulp. Seeing me finish it, Julian’s face softened a bit. “Good girl. Get some rest. I’ll stay here with you.” The moment he said that, Chloe chimed in. “Oh, don’t stay here. Our rope experiment got interrupted because of Evelyn earlier. You have to make it up to me.” “Let’s just use the empty private room next door. That way, we won’t disturb Evelyn’s rest.” Soon, my room became dead quiet. My heart still ached for my unborn child. I wanted to ask Julian for a proper burial place for the baby, so I forced myself up and slowly walked to the room next door. The door wasn’t fully closed. I could see everything inside. Julian was lying on the bed, bound in layers of intricate ropes. Chloe’s fingers slowly traced his skin, her eyes full of desire. “Since I came back, I’ve wanted a baby that belongs to just the two of us. Will you give me that, Julian?” Their intimate whispers drifted into my ears clearly. I stood outside the door quietly. The very last shred of hope I had for this man completely shattered and turned to ash.

I turned around to go back to my room. But my body was too weak after the surgery, and the greasy soup made my stomach churn again. I gasped, my shoulder heavily bumping against the doorframe. Julian quickly untied himself and rushed out of the room. He patted my back to help me catch my breath. The scent of Chloe’s expensive perfume clung to his shirt. The strong fragrance triggered my nausea again. I pushed him away with all the strength I had left, leaning against the wall. Chloe walked out leisurely behind him. The passion in her eyes had completely vanished, replaced by her usual innocent, fragile act. She spoke softly, “I don’t have much time left to live, and I don’t want to get married. I just want a child of my own.” “Julian only agreed to help me because he saw how lonely and miserable I was. While you’re recovering from losing your baby, you can help us take care of our child to fill the void.” I knew she was mocking me, but my face remained completely blank. “None of my business. I was just passing by.” Chloe wouldn’t let it go. She stepped closer. “Evelyn, I know you think I’m disgusting. But I had no choice. You can understand me, right?” I looked up at her. “You are indeed disgusting.” My blunt words took her by surprise. Tears instantly filled her eyes, and she made a move to drop to her knees to apologize, sobbing. “Then I’ll just disappear. I won’t ruin your life anymore.” Julian immediately caught her, pulling her up. He glared at me with absolute disgust. “Evelyn! This is Chloe’s only wish. Why do you have to be so cruel and push her to the edge?” I wanted to laugh. Julian had always been so stingy with his warmth and tenderness when it came to me during our marriage. For him, I had gotten pregnant multiple times and suffered miscarriages, facing the pain of losing my babies all by myself every single time. A million emotions choked my chest, but I was too tired to argue. I turned to leave. But Julian suddenly picked me up in his arms and carried me back to my hospital bed. “The one I love has always been you. I’m only helping Chloe to fulfill her dying wish.” “Since you care so much about this, I’ll give you another baby. Will you stop throwing these tantrums then?” Before he could lean down any closer, I struggled with all my might, crying out in terror, “No!” But Julian ignored me, tightly grabbing my wrists. Driven to a corner, I gathered every ounce of strength I had left and slapped him across the face. The loud slap echoed in the room. Julian froze. Then, his eyes flared with rage. “Evelyn! You are getting completely out of hand.” “Since you don’t want it, I promise you will never have a child of mine again. Don’t you dare regret this!” With that threat, Julian slammed the door. Not long after, the playful, suggestive giggles from the room next door drifted into my ears. I lay on the bed quietly with my eyes closed. I only had one day left before I could leave this world. Nothing mattered anymore. The next morning, ignoring the doctor’s warnings, I checked myself out of the hospital. I went back to our penthouse, took off my diamond wedding ring, and threw it into the trash chute. I didn’t take a single thing that Julian had bought me. I only packed a small suitcase with my own belongings. Just as I finished, the front door was pushed open. Julian stood there, his brows furrowed as he looked at my suitcase. “Where do you think you’re going with that?”

The scent of Chloe’s perfume on Julian was even stronger now. Before I could speak, he stepped forward and snatched my suitcase away. His eyes were filled with impatience, assuming I was still playing hard to get. “Stop acting out. Chloe just came up with a new rope design. Go over and help her practice.” “If you behave well and make her happy, I might reconsider the baby thing.” I used to desperately want his baby because I loved him to death. But now, I looked him dead in the eye and said calmly, “I don’t want your baby anymore. And I will never be her guinea pig again.” “Since you love helping her so much, why don’t you go keep her company for the rest of her short life?” Right then, the System’s voice chimed in my head. “The twelve-hour countdown to departure has begun.” My rejection completely infuriated Julian. He violently kicked my suitcase, sending it sliding across the floor. His face was ice-cold. “I knew you wouldn’t listen. I’ve already sent men to pick up your mother.” Hearing the word “mother,” my heart seized. In this strange world, my mother, Sarah, was my only comfort. During the countless nights Julian had left me alone, she was the one who stayed by my side. She gently healed my loneliness and anxiety. She was the only person I cared about in this world. I rushed forward to stop him. “Don’t you dare touch my mom!” Julian grabbed my arm. His grip was like iron, his voice cold and commanding. “You don’t get a say in this.” He dragged me out of the penthouse and threw me into his car. The car sped through the city and finally stopped at the underground warehouse of Chloe’s private estate. The warehouse was dimly lit. When I looked up, I saw my mother hanging from the ceiling by ropes. Her limbs were tied tightly, and her face was deathly pale. I screamed, trying to run over to untie her, but Julian held me back firmly. “Chloe has no interest in hurting an old lady. If you want to save your mother, take her place.” Looking at my mother’s agonizing state, I bit my lip and nodded. A smug smile spread across Chloe’s face. “Smart girl. Once I’m pregnant with Julian’s baby, I’ll need to rest. This will probably be my last session.” With that, she began tying my limbs. Julian quickly pushed her aside, telling her not to exhaust herself and that he would handle the rest. Rough ropes were wrapped tightly around my skin, squeezing my waist and chest. My blood flow was cut off, and a suffocating feeling washed over me. My limbs gradually went numb and freezing cold. The torture went on for what felt like eternity. My face turned paper-white, and my body shook uncontrollably. Seeing this, Julian was about to call it off, but Chloe held his arm to stop him. “The time isn’t up yet.” Then, she pressed her hand to her forehead, looking weak. “Julian, I feel so dizzy and hot… Do you think it’s because of my illness?” All of Julian’s attention immediately shifted to her. Filled with worry, he carefully scooped Chloe into his arms and rushed out of the warehouse. He didn’t even look back at me. I was left hanging in the middle of the dark, silent warehouse. Just as the agonizing pain was about to make me pass out, the System’s voice suddenly rang in my head. “Warning: Host’s life is in extreme danger. Emergency departure can be activated immediately. Do you wish to return to your original world now?” I looked at my unconscious mother on the floor. “Yes,” I whispered in my mind. The next second, a powerful force pulled my soul out of my body. … Julian was too worried about Chloe’s dizziness. He drove her straight to the nearest hospital. But shortly after they arrived, his phone rang. It was his assistant. The voice on the other end was frantic. “Mr. Julian, the other volunteers who practiced Chloe’s rope art before are all having severe medical emergencies!” “The authorities are investigating. They need Chloe to come down and explain her techniques immediately.” Julian frowned. He was confident in Chloe’s skills, so he answered carelessly, “Don’t bother Chloe. Go to the warehouse and bring Evelyn to testify.” “She has always been obedient. She will tell them the technique is perfectly safe.” He was certain he had me wrapped around his finger. But a few minutes later, the assistant called back, his voice trembling. “Mr. Julian… we just went to the warehouse. We took Mrs. Evelyn down from the ropes… but she’s not breathing…”

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I had just transferred the hard-earned money from my fifth side hustle to my boyfriend, Ethan, when a viral video popped up on my Instagram feed. It was a grand proposal that was breaking the internet. The sheer luxury of the setup was breathtaking. On screen, a man knelt on one knee, tears glistening in his eyes. “I regret so much that I didn’t confess my feelings to you before we went to study abroad. We let other people get in our way for so many years.” I sighed, thinking it was just another beautiful love story, and was about to swipe away. But then the camera panned. The man’s face came into full view. It was Ethan. And the girl crying tears of joy opposite him was my younger sister, Chloe. The only difference was that they both looked a bit more mature, a bit older. My eyes darted to the background banner. It read: “July 2030.” This was Ethan… four years into the future. Suddenly, a cold realization washed over me. Ethan’s stubborn insistence on going to London to study with Chloe wasn’t for my sake. It was never about me. Just then, two calls came in simultaneously—one from my supervisor at my next gig, and another from Chloe demanding her monthly allowance. I declined both. If they were meant to be, it would be extremely impolite of me to keep getting in their way.

On screen, Chloe sobbed out a tearful “Yes,” and the crowd erupted into cheers. Live streamers rushed forward, shoving microphones into their faces. I clicked into the most popular live stream. “Mr. Miller, it seems your journey with your fiancé wasn’t easy. Would you mind sharing your story with our viewers?” “Yes, please! Everyone in the chat is dying to know!” Ethan offered a gentle, practiced smile and wrapped his arm around Chloe’s waist. “Chloe, her older sister Nora, and I… we grew up in the foster care system together,” Ethan began softly. “Actually, I’ve always loved Chloe. But I never expected Nora to confess to me first. To protect the sisters’ relationship, I had to bottle up my feelings.” “I wanted to tell Nora so many times that I didn’t love her. But during our years studying abroad, she wouldn’t let go. She kept obsessively transferring money to us, trying to use financial guilt to keep us apart.” I stared at the screen, my breath catching in my throat. I couldn’t believe these words were coming from Ethan’s mouth. When Chloe graduated high school and wanted to go to a top-tier college in London, I didn’t hesitate. I told her to focus entirely on her studies, promising I would handle the money. Ethan had held my hands back then, begging me, “Nora, you know my degree won’t get me a good job here. I need to go to London with Chloe to build a better future. I’m doing this for our future family.” Since then, I had been working three regular jobs and countless side hustles, barely sleeping. I was terrified they would starve or feel less than their peers abroad. Ethan had promised he would marry me the moment he graduated. And now, all my sacrifices were reduced to “obsessive harassment” in his narrative. The live chat was absolutely ruthless. “What a toxic psychopath! She didn’t even try to improve her own life, but wanted to drag down two successful people.” “Thank God true love won in the end.” Ethan glanced at the rolling chat, a satisfied smirk flashing across his face before he turned to the crowd. “Alright, everyone. I have a special surprise for Chloe.” With a wave of his hand, the giant LED screen behind them began playing a video compilation. “Ethan Miller will definitely marry Chloe Evans one day.” In the video, a teenage Ethan wore his high school jacket, the silver necklace I had bought him with my first summer job check still hanging around his neck. The scene cut to a beaming Ethan. “We graduated! Chloe and I got into the same college program. We’re going to be together every single day!” My chest felt hollow, like my heart had been ripped out. When we were applying for colleges, my grades were good enough for a top university in a major city. But Ethan had begged me to choose a local community college to study nursing so I could get a job quickly. “You need to start earning ASAP to fund Chloe’s grad school,” he had argued. “After all, you’re her only family. Don’t worry, I’ll apply to a school in the same city as you.” But when the admission letters came, he and Chloe were accepted to a university in a completely different state. He told me it was a computer system error. The video kept playing. “Today is Chloe’s 23rd birthday. I can’t wait to give her this gift. I don’t have much money right now, so I could only get her this simple thing. But once I make it big, I’ll give her the world.” In his hand was a Chanel handbag—the exact luxury bag I had stared at through the glass display window during my shifts, never daring to touch. Her 23rd birthday was the day after tomorrow. I had just worked five grueling shifts back-to-back, sending him $5,000 to cover his “rent crisis,” only for him to spend it instantly on a “simple” designer bag for my sister. My body shook uncontrollably. Tears hot as fire rolled down my cheeks and splattered onto the back of my hand. I opened Snapchat and pulled up my chat with Ethan. “Ethan, are you really going to marry me?” After what felt like an eternity, a bubble popped up. “Don’t overthink things, babe.” Before I could type a reply, another message flashed on my screen. “When are you transferring Chloe’s allowance for this month?”

Of course. The only reason he even replied to me was because Chloe needed money. “I won’t be sending any more money for your living expenses. Ever.” After I sent that, the chat went dead silent. Suddenly, my phone rang. I answered, and the faint, whiny voice of a girl in the background grated on my nerves. I was about to hang up when Ethan’s voice came through the receiver. “You’ve been working really hard lately, haven’t you?” “Thank you for everything.” “Actually, I bought you a gift. It should be arriving today.” My hardened heart softened just a tiny bit. After hanging up, I went down to the lobby with a flicker of hope to retrieve the package. It was a cheap, poorly crocheted bag. The kind you could buy on eBay for five dollars. Holding the cheap yarn in my hands, I couldn’t even bring myself to be angry anymore. Right at this moment, he was probably using my hard-earned cash at a high-end boutique, picking out a luxury designer purse for Chloe. In the past, I would have immediately snap-chatted him a picture, telling him how much I loved it. But I was done acting. I dialed my manager’s number. “Hey, Mr. Davies. I’m accepting the transfer to the London branch. I’m ready to relocate permanently.” Within an hour, I signed the digital contract on the company portal and booked a one-way flight. Once everything was set, I couldn’t help but look back at the live stream to see how my “future” played out. The screen showed them in different outfits now. The venue had shifted to a stunning historic castle, with a massive multi-tiered cake standing in the center. “On July 5th, 2026, you finally became mine,” Ethan said into the microphone, looking passionately at Chloe. “From that very moment, I swore to myself that I would work myself to the bone to make sure you’d never suffer again.” I let out a bitter laugh. July 5th. That was my birthday. “So, I did everything I could to make money. And thank God, I can finally give you the home of your dreams.” My mind flashed back to the summer after high school graduation. I had gotten tipsy on cheap beer, crying about how exhausted I was and how much I just wanted a place to belong. Ethan had held me tight, whispering, “I’m going to build a home for us, Nora. I promise.” I had only ever seen him as a supportive friend from foster care, but from that night on, I fell hopelessly in love with him. “Ding.” A text popped up on my phone. “Nora, you really need to transfer Chloe’s allowance soon.” “I know it’s tough on you, but she’s your only sister.” “She’s literally starving here, surviving on cheap burgers because we have no cash.” The texts kept rolling in, one after another. My chest felt suffocated. They were complaining to me about being broke? When they first moved, Ethan complained that the dorms were too noisy and cramped, demanding to rent a luxury apartment off-campus. I spent my nights doing Uber Eats deliveries in torrential downpours just to pay his security deposit. Even when a car clipped my bike and left me with a hairline fracture, I didn’t complain once. When Chloe whined that walking to class made her legs hurt and begged for a Vespa, I washed dishes until my hands cracked and bled, never saying a word. I had only one thought back then: “My sister and my boyfriend love me. They are my family. I have to take care of them.” “Why aren’t you replying? Are you sick?” “Should I order some medicine to your place through DoorDash?” Ethan’s messages flooded my screen. I didn’t reply to a single one. On the live stream, the romantic speech reached its climax. “Fortunately, after Nora went completely delusional, claiming we betrayed her, she had a massive psychological breakdown and had to be committed to a mental facility.” “Even God was on our side.” Hearing those words, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through my chest. I could barely breathe. Ethan’s messages were still flashing on my phone. I opened the chat. “Ethan, you don’t have to marry me anymore.” “And I don’t want to marry you, either.”

He didn’t reply. On the screen, the host was asking Ethan about my commitment to the mental facility. The viewers in the chat seemed thrilled to see the “villain” who tried to ruin true love finally get her karma. Ethan cleared his throat, speaking with a sigh of mock pity. “After graduation, Chloe and I tried to distance ourselves from her.” “Normally, anyone with an ounce of self-respect would have taken the hint. But instead, she kept calling, demanding to know when we were coming home.” Chloe took the microphone, putting on a victim act. “Yeah, she was shameless. She wouldn’t leave Ethan alone. We didn’t want to humiliate her publicly, so we just stopped visiting.” “But then she actually tracked us down near our campus. She started telling our classmates that she had been funding our lives for years and that we had abandoned her.” “She made us look like ungrateful monsters. For a long time, we couldn’t even hold our heads up in front of our friends.” Chloe wiped away a stray tear. Ethan wrapped an arm around her, patting her shoulder reassuringly. “She wanted to use financial leverage to make us feel guilty, but I didn’t give her the chance. I flat out told her that Chloe and I were together.” “I told her that we had already crossed that line, and we were officially a couple.” “I guess her fragile mind couldn’t take it. She just… snapped.” Someone in the crowd yelled, “She went crazy because she couldn’t have you!” Ethan remained silent, but a faint, mocking smirk played at the corner of his lips. I knew that smirk. Back in high school, when he fought off three bullies at the school gate for me, wiping blood from his lip, he had warned them: “Touch Nora again, and I’ll end you.” He had that exact same arrogant smirk on his face. But back then, I thought he was my protector. Tears were streaming down my face now. In my memory, he had always been a good guy. In foster care, when other kids tried to take our food, he would always stand in front of Chloe and me, holding his arms out. “Don’t be scared, Nora. I’ll protect you guys forever.” But now, his protection only extended to Chloe. The grand proposal live stream finally ended. I sat in the dark apartment for a long time, unable to move. The two people I loved most in the world were going to betray me, gaslight me, and drive me into an asylum. I refused to accept that ending. I spent the rest of the night packing my bags. I needed to leave for London as soon as possible. Around 3:00 AM, a frantic knocking echoed from my front door. I crept up and looked through the peephole. Ethan was standing outside, looking completely panicked. The moment I opened the door, he practically threw himself inside, wrapping his arms tightly around me. “Nora! Oh my god, I was so worried about you!” I raised my hands and pushed him away. His face froze. “What… what’s wrong?” I shook my head, keeping my voice flat. “Nothing. Why are you here?” Ethan stammered, looking uneasy. “I was so worried after your last message. I literally booked the earliest flight back.” “I’m just glad you’re okay.” Before I could even process his sudden arrival, he added, “Since you’re fine… could you please transfer Chloe’s allowance? She’s really stressed out.” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “When I got hit by a car and was hospitalized, you knew about it, but you didn’t even bother to call, let alone fly back.” “But for her…” The words choked in my throat. I swallowed down the bitterness. “Never mind.” Ethan’s brow furrowed, and he grabbed my shoulders. “Nora, I didn’t have the money for a plane ticket back then! You know that!” I didn’t answer. I turned around and walked toward my bedroom. His eyes scanned the apartment and fell on my packed suitcases. “Nora? Where are you going?” I kept my head down, wiping away my last tear. “I’m leaving. I’m getting out of your and Chloe’s way.”

Ethan stared at me in shock, then let out his signature gentle chuckle. “Silly girl, what are you talking about?” “Have you been overthinking things because we’ve been apart for too long?” Looking at him now, I finally realized what an incredible actor he was. “Chloe is just my sister-in-law, Nora. I only care about her because of you. I don’t have any feelings for her.” “Come on, stop being dramatic.” He reached out to ruffle my hair. “I’m going to run to the 7-Eleven down the street to grab some food. I’ll stay here and keep you company for a few days.” He turned and left the apartment. Like a possessed woman, I opened Instagram and searched for the account that had streamed the proposal. Their “epic love story” had already gone viral. I had been branded as the toxic, obsessed ex-girlfriend. The comments were flooded with hate directed at me. As I scrolled, one comment caught my eye: “No need to waste your energy hating her. Karma got her. Word is that Nora Evans actually passed away last night.” My heart stopped. I quickly replied with a burner account: “Do you have any details?” The user replied almost instantly. “Ethan hated her. After they put her in the psych ward, he refused to pay for her care or even visit. Her mental health deteriorated rapidly. My friend who works at the facility said she watched the proposal video, went to sleep, and never woke up. The nurses heard her crying and whispering about how unfair it all was before she passed.” Reading this, my breath hitched. Pure, icy terror gripped my throat. I forced myself to take deep breaths to stop my hands from shaking. Once I calmed down, I opened my airline app and rescheduled my flight to London for the very next morning. I had to run. I had to rewrite this ending. Just as I put my phone down, Ethan returned with a bag of snacks. He sat down next to me on the couch, and I instinctively flinched away. His eyes flashed with confusion, but he quickly opened a bag of chips. “Here, Nora. These are your favorite. I bought a bunch and put them in the pantry.” “Don’t be mad at me anymore, okay? I promise to spend more time with you from now on.” Right then, his phone vibrated. He tried to turn away, but in the quiet room, I could clearly hear Chloe’s sobbing voice from the speaker. “Ethan… I’m so scared here by myself…” Ethan stood up quickly and locked himself in the bathroom. Five minutes later, he came out with a helpless expression. “Nora, I’m so sorry. My advisor just called. There’s an emergency with my thesis, and I have to fly back immediately.” “I can’t stay with you right now.” “But I promise, I’ll make it up to you during the holidays.” In the past, I would have begged him to stay, tears streaming down my face. But now, I simply nodded. “Go ahead.” A flash of doubt crossed Ethan’s face, but he brushed it off. Before sunrise, he was ready to leave. At the door, he suddenly stopped, turned around, and pulled me into a tight embrace. “Don’t worry, Nora. I will marry you. I promise.” His eyes were slightly red. For a split second, I couldn’t tell if he was acting or if there was a shred of sincerity left in him. I just nodded to get him to leave. Before boarding my flight, I checked Instagram again and found Ethan’s personal account. Someone had left a comment on his post: “I heard Nora passed away.” His reply was a simple: “Thank you.” The plane took off, and I switched my phone to airplane mode. When we finally landed in London, I nervously turned my phone back on. I let out a massive sigh of relief. The video, the account, the comments… they were all gone. The timeline had shifted.

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Five years of marriage, and Alaina never let me turn on the lights in the bedroom. Whenever I asked her why, she always gave me the same cold excuse: she hated feeling exposed, and she didn’t like anyone staring at her body. I believed her. Until today. She was taking a shower in her office bathroom and realized she’d forgotten her clothes. Instead of calling me, she called her assistant, Tristan Cole, and told him to bring them inside. Through the heavy wooden door, I heard Tristan slip. The next thing I knew, his entire weight was pressed against Alaina on the wet tile floor. There was no scream. There was no outrage from my wife. Instead, all I heard was Alaina’s soft, breathless giggle and a shower of compliments aimed at Tristan. “Alaina, you’re just as breathtaking as you were three years ago. If anything, your body has only gotten sweeter.” I stood right outside the door, freezing as the ugly truth washed over me. I hoped I was hallucinating. But Alaina didn’t push Tristan off. Instead, she pulled him down for a deep, passionate kiss. At that exact second, my blood boiled. I lost all control, threw the door open, and stepped inside. “Should I leave so you two can finish putting on a live show on the floor?”

The two of them froze, their lips still practically glued together, panic flashing instantly across their faces. “Marcus? Aren’t you supposed to be on a business trip?” “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?” Alaina stared at me in shock, but she didn’t even bother to push Tristan off her. They were still tangled up in a ridiculously intimate position. I knew right then—if I hadn’t walked in, she would have officially made me a cuckold today. But more importantly, my mind was spinning over what I’d just heard. Three years ago. Tristan was too terrified to move. He stammered, trying to find his tongue, but made no effort to get up. I let out a harsh, dry laugh and kicked him right in the ribs, sending him flying across the floor. “What’s the matter, Tristan? Still addicted to whatever she gave you three years ago?” As Tristan crashed into the wall, Alaina gasped in worry. Then, she turned her head and glared at me with pure venom. “Marcus Pierce, have you lost your freaking mind?” “Why did you kick Tristan? And what the hell are you talking about, three years ago?” Without even grabbing a towel to cover herself, she ran over in her underwear to help Tristan up. “Tristan, are you okay?” Tristan looked at me, trembling like a wet dog, and quickly scrambled to his feet to apologize. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Pierce!” “It’s not what you think! Alaina forgot her bathrobe, and since I was the only one in the office, I was just trying to help. I slipped, I swear!” I didn’t even look at him. My face was dead cold, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “I thought you hated people looking at your body, Alaina.” “So why are you standing basically naked in front of another man right now?” Faced with my sharp question, Alaina finally realized she was barely wearing anything. She bent down, grabbed a coat from the floor, and wrapped it around herself. But there was no shame in her eyes. No real panic. My heart wrenched. This wasn’t her first time being naked around him. Not by a long shot. The devastating truth finally hit me: she didn’t hate being seen. She just hated being seen by me. At that moment, the love I had carried for her for five years began to die. The silence in the room was suffocating. Tristan quickly bowed, trying to play the martyr. “Mr. Pierce, blame me if you have to! Please don’t be mad at Alaina!” “I’ll be more careful next time…” “Did I ask you to speak, you parasite? Shut up!” I snapped. Tristan winced, looking incredibly victimized. Seeing that I was genuinely furious, Alaina finally reached out and grabbed my arm. “Okay, Marcus, stop making a scene!” “This was just an accident. I swear, nothing like this has ever happened before!” I turned my head slowly and stared at the face of the woman I had loved for half a decade. For the first time in my life, I felt nothing but utter disgust.

“Don’t treat me like an idiot.” “He literally just said your body is as breathtaking as it was three years ago!” “If he hadn’t seen it before, how would he know?” “If you don’t give me a real explanation right now, we are done.” Before she could answer, the sound of something dropping echoed from the doorway. The three of us turned our heads. A crowd of gossiping employees was standing in the hallway, staring wide-eyed. Alaina glared at them, and they immediately scattered like rats. But their whispered words carried perfectly back into the room. “Oh my god, Mr. Pierce finally caught them.” “Right? What kind of assistant carries clothes into his female boss’s bathroom anyway? I’ve seen him giving her shoulder rubs in there before…” With every word, Alaina’s face grew darker and more hostile. If they hadn’t done it, people wouldn’t be describing it in such vivid detail. She had been caught red-handed, and there was no lying her way out of this. I looked at Alaina, giving her a straight choice. “I don’t care what trash you two pulled in the past. I won’t dig into it.” “But as of today, Tristan is fired. You need to clear the rumors. The Smith Group’s stock price is tied to our public image, and I won’t let you ruin it.” I expected Alaina to be reasonable and weigh the business risks. Instead, she just clenched her fists and remained stubbornly silent. Seeing this, Tristan’s eyes welled with tears, and he literally fell to his knees in front of me. “Mr. Pierce, Alaina and I are innocent.” “Please don’t believe those lies and ruin our lives.” “I can’t lose this job. My family took out massive loans from relatives just to send me to college. I swore to my parents that once I graduated and got a real job, I’d pay off their debts and give them a good retirement. Please…” Tristan sobbed dramatically, playing the role of the poor, struggling college grad being crushed by a heartless boss. And Alaina bought every second of it. Her heart practically melted for him. She bent down to pull him up. “Tristan, get up. Don’t kneel to him.” “I am not firing you. Get up.” “No, Alaina!” Tristan cried, staying on his knees. “Let me kneel. If Mr. Pierce doesn’t forgive me, I won’t get up. Everyone in this company knows he’s the one who actually runs things around here anyway.” I narrowed my eyes at Tristan. I had underestimated this little rat. His words were a calculated poison, designed to spark Alaina’s pride. Sure enough, Alaina snapped, her head whipping up to glare at me. “The Smith Group is my family’s company, Marcus! Since when do you run things?” She let out a mocking laugh. “Marcus Pierce, you seem to have forgotten your place.” I stared at her coldly, waiting for the rest of her speech. She sneered, “Aren’t you from a poor family, too? What right do you have to look down on Tristan?” “I still don’t know why my grandfather forced me to marry you. You were just a charity case who married into my family. A trophy husband.” “I only gave you some respect because you managed the company well. But make no mistake—the Smith Group belongs to me. Understood?” Beside her, Tristan secretly smirked. Alaina had just completely humiliated me in front of her assistant, tearing down my dignity to protect her little pet. “Alaina Smith… so in your heart, I’m just a worthless gold-digger?” Alaina met my gaze, her eyes cold as ice. “Yes!” She had no idea how deeply her words had pierced my heart. But then again, she didn’t care.

Tristan kept playing the terrified victim. “Alaina, please don’t speak to Mr. Pierce like that.” “He’s still your husband, and he’s the COO of the company.” “Even if you don’t fire me, I’m afraid Mr. Pierce will make my life a living hell…” He trailed off, letting Alaina’s imagination fill in the blanks. “Let him try,” Alaina spat, giving me a warning glare. “If he tries to abuse his power to get back at you, I’ll show him who really holds the cards.” Looking at them, I suddenly laughed. It was a hollow, empty sound. I had wasted five years of my life protecting and building up a woman who wasn’t worth a single second of my time. How pathetic was I? I turned my back on her and walked toward the door. Before leaving, I said coldly, “You’re wrong, Alaina. If things go sideways between us, I’ll be the one replacing you. Not the other way around.” Alaina didn’t take my warning seriously. To her, I was just a penniless nobody who got lucky by marrying her. In her eyes, getting into the Smith family was like hitting the jackpot for me. “Marcus, let me tell you something!” she yelled after me. “Just to make sure you don’t bully Tristan, I’m giving him 5% of the Smith Group’s shares!” “Tomorrow is his birthday. This will be my gift to him.” Tristan looked up at her, utterly ecstatic. “Alaina… is this real? You’re giving me 5% of the company?” Alaina smiled warmly at him and nodded. “You’ve been with me for three years. You’ve worked hard, and you’ve taken so much abuse. Once you have those shares, nobody in this company will ever look down on you again.” Standing in the hallway, my heart turned to stone. Three years of hard work. What about my five years? I had poured my blood, sweat, and tears into turning her family’s struggling regional business into a multi-billion-dollar empire. Where was my reward? Who was going to give me justice? I didn’t say another word. I walked out of the building. I went straight to a high-end lounge downtown and started drinking. Halfway through my third glass of whiskey, my phone rang. “Marcus, you lied to me.” “Five years ago, the day I left for my master’s in London, you promised you’d wait for me.” “I’m finally back… but I hear you married some mediocre woman in this city.” I sobered up instantly, looking at the caller ID. It was Melanie Vance. She was my childhood friend. Five years ago, her father had sent her abroad to prepare her to take over the Vance conglomerate. Before she left, to comfort her, I had indeed promised her I’d wait. I shook my head and smiled bitterly. Destiny really loved playing jokes. “Melanie, I’m actually getting a divorce…” “Wait, really?!” her voice lit up instantly. “I mean… as long as you’re single, that’s all that matters! But what happened?” I laughed softly, chatted with her for a few more minutes, and hung up. By the time I left the lounge, it was past midnight. I obviously wasn’t going back to the apartment I shared with Alaina. Instead, I drove to the oceanfront mansion I had recently purchased. But when I reached the front door and entered the passcode, the lock beeped red. Incorrect password. I frowned and tried again. Incorrect. A sudden, sickening realization hit me. Alaina had changed the passcode. Rage flared in my chest. I forced myself to calm down and typed in her birthday. Incorrect.

I typed in our wedding anniversary. Incorrect. Just as I was about to lose my temper and kick the door down, a disgusting thought crossed my mind. I typed in Tristan’s birthday. Click. The door unlocked. My fists clenched so hard my knuckles popped. I threw the door open and stormed inside. Tristan was loungeing on my custom sofa, wearing my silk pajamas, drinking a vintage Bordeaux from my private cellar, and hum-singing to a song on his phone. My sudden entrance didn’t even startle him. He just smiled, looking at me like he was the king of the castle. “Oh, hey, Marcus! Glad you could make it.” “Come on in. You want some of this XO, or…” “Who gave you permission to be in my house?” I roared. This was my house. I bought it. Who the hell did this little parasite think he was, flaunting himself in my face? He had already finished half of a $50,000 bottle of wine. My face turned dangerously dark. But Tristan didn’t care about my anger. Now that there were no employees around, he dropped his innocent act completely. “Your wife told me I could stay here… oh, actually, scratch that.” “She said she’s gifting this mansion to me.” I knew it. It was Alaina’s doing. But this mansion’s deed was solely under my name. I bought it with my own money. “She gave it to you? Who the hell does she think she is?” “Get the fuck out of my house before I call the cops and have you arrested for trespassing!” Tristan laughed, completely unfazed. He stood up, walked over, and splashed the red wine right into my face. He tapped a finger hard against my chest. “Marcus, who the fuck do you think you are?” “You’re just a kept man. A dog the Smith family decided to feed.” “Every penny you spend on food, clothes, and housing comes from the Smiths. And you have the nerve to claim this house is yours?” “You’re the one who needs to get out!” The wet, sticky wine dripped down my face. The last of my patience snapped. I reached out, grabbed his finger, and twisted it backward until the bone cracked. Tristan screamed, dropping to his knees. “You piece of trash, let go!” “Oh, I’ll let go,” I whispered. I grabbed his arm, pivoted, and slammed his body onto the marble floor. I had been trained by elite private security instructors since I was five years old to be the heir of the Pierce family. A fragile, pampered kid like Tristan stood absolutely zero chance against me. The loud crash drew Alaina running down the stairs. She was wearing a silk nightgown, her neck covered in fresh hickeys. I froze for a second. I hadn’t expected her to be here. They must have had a wild night before I arrived. Even though I was completely done with her, seeing the physical proof of her betrayal still stung a little. I had resisted my family’s arranged marriage for years, until I saw Alaina’s picture. I remembered her from years ago—the brave girl who had risked her life to save my pet dog. I thought she was pure, kind, and different. But people change. Time rots everything. “Marcus!!” Alaina screamed, rushing down. She grabbed a heavy wooden chair and swung it directly at my head. I easily stepped aside, dodging the blow. Missing me made her even more furious. Since the gloves were off, I didn’t hold back. “Alaina Smith, you ignored my warning.” “You’re going to pay a heavy price for your arrogance.” “Make me pay? Fine! Let’s see who dies first!” Alaina shrieked. “I’m divorcing you. I’m going to ruin you until you have absolutely nothing left!” She moved fast. Within twenty minutes, she had summoned a team of her family’s private bodyguards and lawyers to the mansion. She slapped a pre-drafted divorce agreement onto my chest. “Sign it. You leave with nothing.”

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It was the fifth year of my marriage to a beautiful, ruthlessly guarded heiress when the news crossed the Pacific: the rigid, untouchable woman who had raised me was dead. When my executive assistant’s overseas call finally came through, it was five in the morning in Los Angeles. “Sir, Virginia is gone. The Carlisle family is in total chaos. You’re the only one who can come back and take control…” Virginia Carlisle. It had been a long time since I allowed myself to hear that name. I froze, the phone pressed hard against my ear. Back when I was just the foster son of a dynasty, navigating the turbulent waters of my youth, I only ever did two things that crossed the line. The first was the night Virginia drank too much, and I used the blur of the alcohol to cross a boundary that should have remained sacred, spending one reckless, absurd night tangled in her sheets. The second was boarding a plane to marry another woman before she ever woke up, keeping my departure a total secret. From that day forward, I severed an eighteen-year bond with the woman who had been my entire world since the orphanage. A clean, brutal cut. I never imagined that my return to my homeland five years later would be to collect the body of the woman who had haunted my every waking thought. Yet, on the day of the funeral, a little girl in a black velvet dress broke free from the grip of the surrounding relatives and threw herself directly into my legs. Instinct took over. I bent down and scooped her up into my arms. She scrubbed at her tear-stained, slightly scraped face, her small chest heaving with violent sobs. “Daddy, you finally came home!” “They’re all bad people. They just want Mommy’s money, and they won’t stop picking on me!” Looking down at this little girl—whose face was a near-perfect mirror of Virginia’s—I was instantly violently pulled back to the very first time I met her mother. … 1 For as long as I could remember, I had no one. No mother, no father. I kept myself alive by running petty grifts and picking the pockets of oblivious tourists down by the pier. That was my life until I was seven. I slipped my fingers around the cold metal of a Rolex on a wealthy woman’s wrist, only to be caught dead to rights. The woman, draped in a custom-tailored designer dress, didn’t strike me. She didn’t scream for the police. Instead, she crouched down to my eye level and, like a magician, produced a piece of candy, pressing it into my dirty palm. Her smile was devastatingly gentle. “Rowan, I’m so sorry. I’m late.” “My name is Virginia Carlisle. I was an old friend of your parents.” “From now on, I’m going to be your legal guardian. You can call me Aunt Virginia. I’m going to take care of you for the rest of your life.” And she kept her word. She went to my parent-teacher conferences. She shielded me from drunken brawlers in the streets. She taught me which fork to use at a gala, and how to hold my posture at a grand piano. She took a feral, street-corner stray covered in thorns and painstakingly molded him into a refined, respectable man. But I was too greedy. Being her ward, her “nephew” in name, wasn’t enough. I wanted to monopolize her. I wanted every ounce of Virginia Carlisle’s goodness to belong solely to me. My original plan had been to wait until her birthday to confess the truth about that absurd, boundary-shattering night we shared when she was drunk. I had it all mapped out. If she rejected me, I was prepared to act like that wild seven-year-old again—throwing a massive, destructive tantrum until she finally caved and nodded yes. But before I could utter a single word, she stood up at the family’s annual banquet and publicly announced her engagement to Donovan Croft, the golden boy of a rival tech empire. The entire table went dead silent. Every member of the Carlisle family stared at me, terrified I was going to flip the dining table and tear the room apart. But this time, I simply reached into my pocket and slid a velvet box across the linen. The box snapped open to reveal a pair of flawless, natural blue diamonds, catching the chandelier light in a dazzling, icy display. My foster mother, Helena—the woman who had officially signed my adoption papers on Virginia’s behalf—froze, hesitating. “Rowan, these diamonds are worth millions. Weren’t you planning to have these set into a wedding ring…?” I kept the smile on my face broad, immaculate, and entirely polite. “I originally bought them for Aunt Virginia anyway. They make a perfect engagement gift for my new uncle.” The moment the words left my mouth, a flicker of uneasy dissonance crossed Virginia’s eyes. Her tone dropped into something that was half-warning, half-reprimand. “Rowan. When you were younger, you threw your fits and I indulged you.” “But if you cause trouble now, I will not let it slide.” Beneath the table, my fingernails dug into my palms until they nearly broke the skin. I tipped my chin up, keeping the smile locked in place. “You’re absolutely right. I promise I won’t let your kindness go to waste.” Virginia frowned. She could sense something was off, but before she could press, her phone lit up. It was Donovan. He was waiting outside to take her to see a fireworks display. She grabbed her coat, but paused at the doorway, looking back at me with a strange hesitation. “Rowan, do you want to come with us…?” I blinked, then shook my head, forcing a light, breezy tone. “You go ahead. Have a great time with Donovan.” Virginia stared at me for two heavy seconds. Then, she walked out without another word. The second the heavy oak door clicked shut, the smile fell off my face like dead weight. Helena looked at me, her eyes softening with a sudden, sharp pity. “Rowan, it’s okay to cry if it hurts.” Instead of crying, I suddenly dropped to my knees on the hardwood floor, bowing my head respectfully to the woman who had mothered me. Helena gasped, rushing forward to pull me up. “What on earth are you doing, child?” My expression was dead serious. “The Carlisles have housed me, fed me, and raised me for twenty years. I know what I owe this family, and I have no right to ask for more.” “I know the board has been desperate to secure a partnership with the Laurent family overseas, but you haven’t had an in. I’m willing to marry their eldest daughter.” Helena went pale. She gripped my forearms tight. “Rowan, you want to marry Daphne Laurent?!” “Do you have any idea who she is?” “The rumors say she’s a ruthless, paranoid eccentric. You’d be throwing yourself directly into the fire!” I didn’t pull away. I just softened my voice to calm her. “Mom, those are just rumors. And honestly, don’t people think I’m a bit unhinged too?” “Unhinged enough to ignore morality, act like a tyrant, and try to chase away any man who comes near Virginia.” “The Laurents keep a notoriously low profile. A marriage alliance is the only way we get a seat at their table.” “You and Dad have indulged me my whole life. Let me do something for the family for once.” I laid out the strategic benefits of the marriage, my voice growing steadier, my eyes harder with every word. Helena’s eyes rimmed with red. She looked at me for a long, agonizing moment before finally reaching out to smooth my hair. “Alright. If your mind is truly made up. The Laurent family will send someone to collect you. The wedding will take place in Los Angeles in two weeks.” Hearing the timeline, a bitter, hollow laugh echoed in my chest. What a coincidence. My wedding day was scheduled for the exact same day as Virginia’s engagement party. Helena suddenly seemed to remember something, her tone turning frantic. “But I haven’t even prepared a dowry for you… I need to have your father transfer some of his company shares to your name immediately—” I cut her off. “Mom, I don’t need anything.” “And please, keep this marriage a secret from Virginia for now.” “I don’t want her to think I’m doing this to force her hand, or to ruin her engagement to Donovan.” Helena couldn’t change my mind. She just let out a shattered sigh and pulled me tightly into her arms.

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The girl who stole my life swapped places with me, determined to make my husband and my son her own. Yet, after five long years, she gained nothing but a body covered in scars. When her mission failed, her system offered her a choice of how she wanted to leave this world. She chose the ultimate sacrifice—taking a bullet for them, dying right before their eyes. But they barely spared a glance at her cold body. The moment the universe spun me back into their reality, they turned and threw their arms around me, holding me as if I were their only lifeline. “You’re back…” Their voices trembled, choked with unshed tears. I held them just as tightly. For five agonizing years of forced separation, my dreams had been haunted by nothing but them. Then, a few days ago, I accidentally scraped my cheek, leaving a thin, jagged scar. To hide it, I got a small, delicate tattoo over the mark. But when my husband and son saw it, the warmth in their eyes vanished instantly. Gordon’s grip clamped around my throat, squeezing the air from my lungs. “Why did you get a tattoo?!” he roared, his eyes bloodshot. “You only looked fifty percent like her to begin with! Now even that fifty percent is gone! How am I supposed to pretend you’re her?!” Looking into his crazed, desperate eyes, a bitter laugh bubbled up in my chest. Put her back, I whispered to my own system. What they didn’t know was that while the interloper had failed her mission with them, my mission in the other world had been a flawless success. … Just as the darkness started closing in on my vision, Gordon let go. I collapsed onto the hardwood floor, gasping for air, clutching my bruised neck. His eyes were rimmed with red, staring down at me, but he wasn’t seeing me. He was looking at a ghost. “You don’t look like her anymore,” he whispered, his voice cracking. He turned and walked into the bedroom. Jamie, my son, stood by the doorway. He looked down at me, his eyes filled with a deep, crushing disappointment. The bedroom door clicked shut. Through the slight gap in the frame, I could see them. Father and son, huddled together, staring at a photograph. Jamie clung to his father’s chest, sobbing softly. “Daddy, is she really gone? Is there nothing left of her?” Gordon’s throat bobbed. His voice was a strangled, suppressed rasp. “No, buddy. She’s still here.” “But Mommy doesn’t look like her anymore… not at all…” My hand, which had been reaching for the door handle, slowly dropped to my side. A sudden, hysterical laugh slipped through my lips. But I am the real one, I wanted to scream. I am your wife. I am your mother. I was supposed to have a happy life. It was Lydia, the interloper, who had run from a toxic, abusive home in her own world. She had heard of my perfect marriage, my sweet, obedient son, and she had stolen my place without a second thought. She was the thief who took everything from me. So why was she the one being mourned? I turned away and slumped onto the sofa. If I had known, I thought, staring blankly at the wall, I would have never come back. The bedroom door flew open. Gordon marched out and grabbed my wrist in a vice grip. “Come on.” “What are you doing?” “That thing on your face,” he growled, glaring at the tiny tattoo. “We’re getting it removed.” “Gordon, let go of me! You’re hurting me!” The man who used to cradle me and call me his absolute world was gone. He was deaf to my cries. Before I knew it, I was dragged back into the tattoo parlor. The tattoo artist looked at Gordon and Jamie, shaking his head apologetically. “This ink is layered over deep scar tissue. Laser removal won’t work. Even if we try, the original scar will be warped and ruined.” For a second, a flash of pure panic crossed Gordon’s face. “Then cut it out.” The words hung in the sterile air. Both the artist and I froze. “Excuse me?” the artist asked, blinking in disbelief. “Cut that piece of skin out,” Gordon said, his voice deadly flat. “Do a skin graft. You clinics have the technology for that, don’t you?” The artist stammered, looking between us. “I mean… we can refer you to a cosmetic surgeon, yes, but… is that really necessary?” Gordon turned toward the exit, holding Jamie’s hand. He paused at the door, casting a cold glance back at me. “It is necessary. Even if it’s only a fifty percent resemblance. It’s worth it.” I passed out from the sheer pain. My body has always had a high tolerance to local anesthetics, rendering them useless. When I finally woke up, the skin on my cheek was tight, raw, and completely clear of both the scar and the ink. The tears I had cried before blacking out were still dry and sticky on my temples. Someone was holding my hand tightly. Gordon leaned over, pulling me into a suffocating embrace. His voice was muffled against my shoulder. “I’m sorry…” I rested my chin on his shoulder, my voice hollow. “When you say you’re sorry, are you apologizing to me? Or to the fantasy living in your head?” The arms wrapping around me stiffened. Slowly, he let go. His fingers gently traced my newly grafted cheek. A self-deprecating, bitter smile played on his lips. “Don’t worry,” he said softly. “She is never coming back.” I couldn’t tell if he was trying to reassure me or convince himself. With a heavy sigh, he stood up. “Get some rest,” he muttered, closing the bedroom door behind him. Jamie was standing right behind him. Before he stepped out, he looked back at me. “Mommy, you look so much prettier like this.” I didn’t ask him why. Was it because the scar was gone? Or because I finally looked like his beloved Lydia again? I didn’t want to hear the answer. I was terrified of the truth. I closed my eyes, summoning the silent interface of my system. Have you found a way to send me back? Yes, host. It is the same exit mechanism the previous interloper used. If your physical body dies in this world, your soul will be pulled back to the world you just left. So simple. I turned my head toward the open window. Six floors up. More than enough. I crawled out, sitting on the narrow ledge, letting the cold wind whip against my face. In that other world, there were two people waiting for me. Two people who loved me for me. I closed my eyes and let myself fall. “Isla!” A hand shot out of the darkness and clamped onto my wrist with brutal strength. I opened my eyes in shock. Gordon’s face was distorted, the veins on his forehead bulging with fury. With a violent heave, he dragged me back inside. Before I could even catch my breath, a sharp slap stung my face. “Are you out of your mind?! Who gave you permission to jump?!” I fell to the floor, cupping my burning cheek. The next second, his fingers dug painfully into my jaw, forcing my face up. He sneered, his breath hot against my skin. “Do you honestly think your life belongs to you? You are the only vessel left of her in this world! How dare you try to destroy it!” I stared at him, my world crumbling. “Gordon…” My voice shook, barely a whisper. He let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Or is this some pathetic attempt to copy her? Are you trying to die so we’ll be plagued with guilt, so we’ll hate her memory and love you instead?” I couldn’t believe these words were coming from the man who had once sworn to love me forever. He shoved my chin away. “It won’t work, Isla. No one in this world will ever replace her. No one will ever be like her. So you are going to live. You are going to stay alive.” He looked down at me, his eyes cold as ice. “You will live for her.” I clenched my jaw, pushing myself up. A slow, mocking smile spread across my face. “What if I told you that if I die, she comes back?” Gordon’s breath hitched. Beside him, Jamie’s eyes widened in sheer shock. The room fell into a suffocating silence. Then, Gordon spoke. “If that’s the truth… I’d prefer you die right now.” My nails dug so deep into my palms that they nearly drew blood. “However,” Gordon continued, his eyes narrowing, “I can’t rule out the possibility that you’re lying just to punish us—to rob us of the only physical piece of her we have left.” “I am not lying!” “Don’t flatter yourself, Isla.” He grabbed my jaw again, tilting my face toward the dim light, studying my features. “Even if there is a one-in-a-million chance you’re telling the truth, I won’t risk it. You might only look fifty percent like her… but it’s still her face.” “Gordon!” I hissed, swinging my arm to slap him. He caught my wrist effortlessly. Wrapping his other arm around my waist, he pinned me against him, looking down at me. “All you need to do right now is sleep.” He threw me onto the bed, pulling the duvet over my body. Before he walked out, he called the house security. Within hours, the windows were barred, the doors reinforced. Every exit was sealed. I was a prisoner in my own home. I stopped eating. I refused even a single drop of water. For two days, the maids begged and pleaded, but I didn’t budge. Death is the only way out, I kept telling myself. Once I die, I can go back to that other world. It might have been simulated, but the love there was real. I closed my eyes, only to hear the heavy click of the door opening. It was Jamie. He glanced at the untouched tray of food on the nightstand, then walked over, resting his chin on the edge of the mattress. His dark, expressive eyes—so much like his father’s—blinked at me. “Mommy, are you trying to do what Mommy Lydia did? Do you think if you die, we’ll magically fall in love with you?” I froze. He giggled, showing his sharp little canine teeth. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up if I were you. We didn’t love Mommy Lydia because she died for us. We loved her long before that. You’re so silly, Mommy. Your logic is terrible.” He pushed the tray a little closer to me. “I can’t accept anyone else as my mother anymore.” Jamie stared at me with a chilling coldness. “So you should just give up.” He turned on his heel and strolled out of the room. I stared at the cold food, letting out a soft, mocking laugh. I didn’t touch a bite. Soon enough, the door was kicked open. Gordon burst in, hauling me out of bed by my shoulders. “Isla! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” I was completely drained of energy, but I managed a weak, sarcastic smirk. “I’m trying to die. Isn’t it obvious?” “You—!” “Gordon…” my voice was barely audible. “I suggest you let me go. Because if I starve to death in secret, you might not find my body until it’s too late. And a decaying corpse won’t look much like your precious Lydia, will it?” “Shut up!” he snarled, pinching my jaw tight. “I told you, this emotional blackmail won’t work! Bring the food in!” A maid rushed in with a bowl of soup. “I don’t care if you want to rot,” Gordon hissed, “but you are not taking her face to the grave with you!” “Gordon, let go of me—mmph!” He took a mouthful of the green soup and slammed his lips against mine, forcing the liquid down my throat. I had no strength to push him away, no power to break his hold. The fluid rushed down the wrong pipe, and I began to choke, coughing violently. Gordon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “If you don’t want to be force-fed like an animal, eat it yourself.” I collapsed over the edge of the mattress, gasping for breath. “Isla?” Still, I didn’t answer. “Isla!” He grabbed my shoulder, forcing me to face him, but his voice suddenly cut off. He stared down at the bedsheets. Beneath my clutching hands, a dark, brilliant red was blooming across my pajamas. “You…” His breath hitched in panic. Realization struck him like a physical blow. He scooped me into his arms, screaming at the top of his lungs, “Call an ambulance! Someone call a damn ambulance!” “The pregnancy is threatened, but we can still save the baby,” the doctor announced, standing by my hospital bed. Gordon stood frozen, staring at me in utter disbelief. I pulled the hospital blanket tightly over my stomach, turning my face toward the wall. His voice was cracked and hollow. “When… when did this happen?” “She’s three months pregnant,” the doctor said, looking between us. “Did neither of you realize?” Three months. It happened the very night I was pulled back to this world. Gordon’s eyes welled with tears. “Sir?” the doctor asked, sensing the tension. “Are you alright?” “I’m fine…” Gordon whispered, shaking his head. Then, he looked away. “Terminate it. If Lydia… if she knew I had a child with another woman, it would break her heart.” The doctor stared at him, appalled. “But sir, the fetus is viable. We can save it.” “No. Perform the abortion. Just make sure there are no complications.” Without another word, Gordon turned and walked out of the room. The doctor turned to me, her eyes softening with pity. “It’s fine,” I said, forcing a pale smile. “I didn’t want it either.” “You… oh, dear.” The doctor sighed, heading out to prep the OR. I closed my eyes, sinking into the silence. The procedure was a blur of hazy consciousness; I woke up a few times under the light sedation, feeling the cold instruments and a deep, empty ache in my abdomen. But eventually, it was over. I was brought back to the house to recover. True to form, Gordon remained by my bedside. When he walked into the room, I was propped up against the pillows, staring out at the grey sky. “I’m sorry,” he said, resting his hand gently over mine. “But we already have Jamie.” “I know,” I replied, keeping my eyes fixed on the window. “Isla, you know as well as I do that we can’t control who we love. It’s just like how you and I fell in love once. But five years is a long time. Things change. You must understand that.” I kept silent. He squeezed my hand tighter. “You will still be my only wife. I’ll keep my vow to you. But I can’t betray her memory. If we had another child… I wouldn’t be able to look her in the eye in the next life.” With a sudden burst of energy, I yanked my hand back. The movement was so sharp it knocked a small plastic bottle off the nightstand. It rolled across the floor and stopped at Gordon’s feet. He picked it up. Even with his basic knowledge of medicine, the bold chemical name printed on the label was unmistakable. It was an abortifacient. “Isla…” He turned the bottle over, counting the empty blister packs. The dosage aligned perfectly with the days since I had first tried to escape. “This wasn’t a miscarriage.” I finally turned my head to look at him, a sharp, bitter laugh escaping my lips. “Did you really think I was just starving myself? I was taking those pills every single day.” “How could you?!” he roared, slamming the bottle down. He grabbed my shoulders and shoved me back against the window frame. I stared up at him, my smile widening. “Did you honestly think I would carry a child of yours? To be honest, Gordon, I regret ever giving birth to Jamie!” “You—” His chest heaved, his face pale with fury. “Why? Why are you doing this to me? Do you hate me that much? I’m the one who failed you! Punish me, not an innocent child!” “There’s no need, Gordon.” I wrapped my fingers around his wrists, slowly pulling myself closer to his face. “Did you know? While Lydia was trying to win you over in this world, I was given my own mission in another. She failed hers. But I succeeded in mine.” Gordon’s eyes widened. “What… what are you talking about?” “There are people waiting for me, Gordon. In that other world, I have a real family.” “Stop talking nonsense!” His voice shook, panic bleeding through his anger. But I only laughed, a beautiful, free sound. “Goodbye, Gordon. I hope you and your ghost have a wonderful life together.” With one final surge of strength, I shoved him back, tilted my weight, and let myself fall backward out of the window. “Isla!!” “Mommy!!” In that final, fleeting second of weightlessness, I saw a figure leap out of the window right after me, throwing himself into the empty air.

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Every time Wesley brought one of his girls home, he would conveniently bring a college boy back for me. “I need a thrill, and you need company,” he would say, his tone perfectly casual. “We both get what we want, Caroline. Nobody gets to play the victim here.” But this last time, he played his hand too far. He brought another twenty-something kid to the house and sat me down, using that perfectly measured, reasonable voice he saved for board meetings. “Birth control failed. Sophie’s pregnant. She’s refusing to keep the baby unless I legitimize it and give the kid my last name. We’re going to file for a temporary divorce.” He paused, looking at me as if he were simply suggesting a change of dinner plans. “Until we remarry, you can spend some quality time with him. I won’t stand in your way.” Behind closed doors, his friends would ask him, “Wes, you climbed the ninety-nine jagged stone steps of St. Jude’s on your bare knees to beg God for her life. You fought to make her your wife. Are you really this generous now?” “Yeah, man,” another would chime in. “You didn’t even warn this college kid to keep his hands off your wife?” Wesley would just take a slow drag of his cigarette, his expression unreadable. “I don’t have a cuckold fetish,” he’d say. “You guys know how Caroline is. She’s got a rigid moral compass. She treats infidelity like a physical contamination. She won’t let them touch her.” “Brilliant, Wes. You bring the guy into her house, but if she’s too proud to use him, that’s her problem. You come out looking like the good guy. Masterclass.” They all assumed I would do exactly what I had done every time before: write a check, shove it into the boy’s chest, and kick him out. Instead, I looked up, met Wesley’s eyes, and smiled. “Sure,” I said softly. “Sounds good to me.” … 1 Wesley froze, the cigarette stalling halfway to his mouth. A heavy silence dropped over the living room. Brad’s wife was the first to recover her voice. “Caroline… what did you just say?” I placed my phone face-down on the coffee table. My gaze drifted slowly from Wesley’s tightened jaw to the young man standing near the entryway. “I said sure.” I looked the boy up and down, taking him in. “He’s definitely easy on the eyes.” Someone sucked in a sharp breath. “Did she just agree?!” “Wait, she’s not throwing him out this time?” “Wes, did you hear that?” Wesley’s expression didn’t shatter. That faint, arrogant smirk remained stitched to the corner of his mouth. Beside him, Sophie shifted nervously, her fingers digging into Wesley’s arm. “Wes, your wife finally understands. You should be happy.” Wesley didn’t answer her. He crushed his cigarette into the glass ashtray, walked over to the young man, and clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Take good care of her.” With that, he wrapped his arm around Sophie and headed upstairs. I pulled my gaze away and looked at the boy. He was still standing in the exact same spot, the tips of his ears flushed a deep, frantic red. “Do you live on campus, or are you staying here?” I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Either… either is fine.” “Then you’ll stay.” I turned on my heel and walked toward the hallway. Behind me, the rustle of panicked whispers broke out: “Is she serious right now?” “Last time this happened, she nearly took our heads off!” “Relax, trust Wes. When has she ever not thrown a checkbook at them with her nose in the air? She acts like touching another man would rot her skin off.” “Yeah, remember that frat guy last month? She didn’t even pay him. Just called security to drag him out.” “She’s just putting on a show because the new girl is pregnant. She’s trying to get under Wes’s skin.” I kept walking. Their words felt like tiny needles pressing into my spine. They didn’t hurt, but the sensation was dense and suffocating. They were right. I used to be insufferable. Too aloof, too proud. I foolishly believed that having a “rigid moral compass” would somehow protect me. Every time Wesley paraded a young man in front of me, I would frost over, sign a check, and banish them from my sight. I thought that meant I was winning. I thought, at the very least, it meant my hands were clean. And what did that get me? Sophie’s belly was growing. What had my precious “morals” protected? A signed divorce agreement? A vast, empty bed? The mocking stares of the high-society vultures sitting in my living room? I reached the second-floor bedroom and pushed the door open. “We’re here,” I said, leaning my shoulder against the doorframe. I watched the boy standing awkwardly in the hallway. Evan. Six-foot-two. Valedictorian. Best speaker at the national mock trial, guaranteed admission to Columbia Law, full-ride academic scholarships every single year. Wesley had really spared no expense this time. He wasn’t just some random gym bro picked up from a downtown club. “Selling yourself for tuition money?” I asked. He nodded. No hesitation. No desperate excuses. The old me would have scoffed right then, tossed out a freezing, ‘How much? Take it and get out,’ and dismissed him like trash. God, how mighty I used to feel. Standing on my moral high ground, wielding my purity like a sword. Treating every man Wesley sent me as if they were infected. And yet, the “infected” men left, and Wesley never came back to my bed anyway. Between the two of us, whose soul was actually rotting? “If you need anything, tell the housekeeper,” I said, stepping into the room. He followed me inside. “Caroline… my name is Evan.” “I know.” I didn’t turn around. “Wesley gave me your resume.” I walked out onto the balcony. I didn’t invite him to follow, and he didn’t intrude. Below, the guests were finally dispersing into the night, their expensive cars pulling out of my driveway. I had lost count of how many times I had been their evening’s entertainment. When I stepped back into the bedroom, my eyes snagged on the divorce papers sitting on the nightstand. For three years, I had made a home in the blind spot of our marriage, looking past every late night, every rumor, every cheap perfume. A single, shattering incident years ago had fractured us, tearing our hearts in opposite directions. He had his resentments, and I had mine. But debts, no matter how old, always come due. At first, I told him I didn’t care what he did, as long as he didn’t bring them to our house. Then I told him I didn’t care who he brought, as long as he didn’t get them pregnant. I surrendered an inch, and he took a mile. Now, since we were both utterly exhausted by the rotting carcass of this marriage… there was no point in hesitating. I picked up the pen and signed my name. Evan stepped out of the en-suite bathroom just then, his hair damp, a towel slung low on his hips. The moment he saw me, the tips of his ears burned that same violent red. “Caroline… I just finished.” I stood up. Wesley really had a talent for picking them. This one blushed so easily. Usually, when I threw money at them, there was an ugly flash of resentment in their eyes. One had even screamed at me: “You two are psychotic! One of you buys us, the other throws us out! What the hell are we to you? Props?” I had looked at him with dead eyes and said, “Take the money and shut your mouth.” Looking back, he was entirely right. We were both psychotic. One obsessed with humiliating his wife, the other obsessed with maintaining an illusion of purity. My phone lit up. A text from Wesley. [Go to sleep early.] I stared at those four words and let out a dry, hollow laugh. He never texted me things like that anymore. But he did tonight. Was it because I had let Evan stay? Because he finally realized that the untouchable Caroline might actually let someone touch her? I didn’t reply. Outside, the streetlights clicked off. The massive estate fell dead silent. Sophie had moved in. Evan had moved in. This beautiful, multi-million dollar house was finally functioning exactly as what it was: a landfill. Stuffed with garbage and broken people. Myself included. I switched off the lamp, a bitter smile catching on my lips in the dark. He thought I was still the old Caroline. He thought I wouldn’t dare. He thought my pride would keep me starved forever. He was wrong. … The next morning, an unfamiliar, heavy ache settled deep in my lower back. When I came downstairs, Evan was in the kitchen, awkwardly helping the housekeeper chop vegetables. The moment he saw me, the spatula nearly slipped from his grip. I offered a small smile. Where had all that quiet, intense confidence from last night gone? I had barely taken my seat at the dining table when Wesley came down the stairs. “Up early?” he asked, pulling out the chair opposite mine. His lips curved into an illegible smirk. “How was last night?” Before I could answer, the front door burst open. Vince charged in, loud and practically vibrating. “Wes! Who won the pool? I bet twenty grand he didn’t make it past noon!” “I bet she kicked him out at midnight. Three-to-one odds, Wes is holding the pot—” The voices snapped off. They saw me sitting there. The chaotic excitement on their faces curdled into immediate, suffocating panic. “Caroline… morning!” Wesley picked up his coffee and took a slow sip. Utterly relaxed. As if his friends weren’t treating his crumbling marriage like a Vegas sportsbook, but rather celebrating a trophy he’d won. “Sit down,” I said smoothly. “Breakfast is ready.” I stood up and walked toward the kitchen. “Evan, you need to get to class.” Evan blinked, startled, then hurriedly untied his apron and left out the back door. The heavy mahogany door clicked shut. Silence held the living room hostage for two agonizing seconds. Vince leaned in, dropping his voice to a harsh whisper. “See? Told you! She’s sending him away!” Brad chuckled, the tension breaking. “What did you expect? You think Wes doesn’t know exactly how her mind works?” “You’ve got her perfectly trained, Wes,” Vince said, awe bleeding into his tone. “That’s exactly the kind of wife you want. Guards the house, guards herself.” Wesley sat at the head of the table, his plate empty. He listened to them, the corner of his mouth lifting. He looked deeply, thoroughly satisfied. I let out a long breath, stepping out of the kitchen archway. I spoke at the exact same second Wesley did. “Come with me to my father’s house for dinner tonight—” he started. “I’ll see you at the lawyer’s office at two o’clock—” I said. The room went graveyard still. I placed the signed divorce agreement squarely in the center of the table. “Let’s get this done first.” Wesley went rigid. His eyes locked onto my signature on the bottom line. He didn’t move. I knew exactly what was running through his head. In the past, this was the part where my eyes would well with tears, where I would rip the paper to shreds and scream, ‘How dare you throw us away like this?!’ He thrived on that desperate pull. He slowly dragged his eyes up to meet mine. He slipped back into his lazy, arrogant drawl. “What’s the rush? I told you, we wait until Sophie is out of her first trimester.” “I’m not waiting,” I said. “Two o’clock. Are you going to be there?” A muscle jumped beneath his eye. “Caroline.” He slid the papers back toward me. “Are you out of your mind?” “Or what?” I tilted my head. “Are you afraid you’ll wake up tomorrow, change your mind, and tear these up yourself?” The air in the room thickened into concrete. Suddenly, Sophie appeared at the top of the stairs, her hand resting delicately on her stomach. “Caroline, please don’t be so aggressive,” she said, her voice trembling just enough. “I just… I just don’t want my baby to be born a bastard. The divorce… we can wait until my pregnancy is stable!” Her eyes pooled with tears. She looked more devastated about the end of my marriage than I was. Wesley glanced at her. That pathetic, fragile display, paired with her pleading ‘don’t be aggressive’, acted like a needle straight into his inflated ego. Since when did Wesley Kincaid let anyone back him into a corner? “You think I won’t sign it, Caroline?” he scoffed, grabbing the silver pen off the table. Vince panicked. “Wes, wait—” “Shut up,” Wesley snapped, not looking up. He signed his name with aggressive, slashing strokes and slammed the pen down. That trademark, cocky smile returned to his face. “I am a man of my word. Everyone here is a witness.” He stood up, leaning across the table until his face was inches from mine. His tone dropped, dripping with a possessive, toxic intimacy. “You’re the woman I dragged back from death’s door, Caroline. You think any of the trash out there can compare to you?” He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “This baby… you’ll raise it. Only you have the right to raise a Kincaid heir. Understood?” I let out a soft, breathy laugh. So this was how he loved me. This was his twisted version of devotion. I didn’t say a single word. I simply turned, grabbed the suitcase I had packed hours ago, and walked out the front door. Behind me, Sophie’s soft, whiny voice floated through the foyer. “Wes… is she… is she really not coming back?” Wesley had an unlit cigarette clamped between his teeth. His original plan was a legal divorce but a shared roof. I was supposed to retain residency in the house. Walking out had not been on his script. But to him, it didn’t change the ending. “You little manipulator,” he said, glancing at Sophie. “She’s gone. You’re probably thrilled.” “I am not!” Sophie pouted. “You’re so mean… I was raised better than to destroy another woman’s marriage…” She looked down, caressing her flat stomach. “It’s all just for the baby.” She played the part of the helpless flower battered by the wind flawlessly. It immediately extinguished whatever irritation was brewing in Wesley. “Alright, alright. Don’t cry. I’m just messing with you.” Sophie was smarter than all the girls before her. She didn’t write me unhinged paragraphs on Instagram. She never called me at 2 AM to whisper, ‘He’s sleeping next to me.’ She just played the innocent bystander swept up in a tragedy. All I had to do was raise my voice, and Wesley was convinced I was torturing her. I had met younger, prettier, sharper women during his reign of terror. But they were always too eager. Too desperate for him to choose, too desperate for me to leave. Only Sophie had the patience to move in, pregnant, quietly calling me “Caroline” with more sweetness than my own family. She achieved what a dozen other women couldn’t. … At 1:50 PM, I was sitting on a hard wooden bench inside the family law attorney’s office. I dialed Wesley’s number for the ninth time. This time, he picked up. “Where are you?” I asked. His voice was entirely too casual. “I’m with Sophie at the OB-GYN. They’re backed up. Just wait around, I’ll head over when we’re done.” “I told you. The appointment is at two.” “The paperwork isn’t going to evaporate, Caroline,” he sighed, the exact tone one uses on a toddler throwing a tantrum in a grocery store. “We’ll do it after her ultrasound. I’m hanging up.” Wait. Always waiting. I looked around the sterile waiting room. Couples sat miles apart on the same couches. Some had eyes rimmed red from crying; others looked hollowed out. I used to cry like that. I used to scream until my throat bled. And then, moved by some twisted sense of mercy, he would ‘reward’ me by not filing the papers. But today, I didn’t want his mercy. The receptionist called the next name. I opened my phone, found my attorney’s contact, and typed a quick message: [David, I want to move forward with a contested, at-fault divorce. I’ll email you the documentation this afternoon.] That evening, after dodging three calls from Wesley’s father, Richard Kincaid, I finally drove to the Kincaid estate. The whole drive there, my stomach was in knots. How was I supposed to explain this to the old man? Tell him his golden boy knocked up a twenty-something? Tell him he manipulated me into signing divorce papers? Or tell him I was taking his son to court to burn his empire down? Family politics are always uglier than legal battles. When I arrived in the grand dining room, I was alone. Richard Kincaid paused, his heavy brow furrowing. “Where is Wesley?” “He’s busy,” I said quietly. “Busy?” Richard slammed his silverware onto the mahogany table. “What could possibly be more important than his own wife?” I kept my mouth shut. Richard and my father had built their fortunes side-by-side. They had bled for each other in the early days. Richard had always championed our marriage, but Wesley’s mother despised me. She thought my background was too pedestrian, and after I fell seriously ill in my twenties, she decided I was a bad omen for the family bloodline. It was Wesley who refused to let me go. When I was in the ICU, fighting for my life, he flew to the mountains and climbed the ninety-nine jagged stone steps of the old St. Jude’s Monastery on his bare knees. By the time he reached the chapel, his legs were shredded and bleeding. He had knelt at the altar and said, “I will walk away from her forever if you just let her live. Just let her be okay.” When I woke up and heard what he did, I sobbed until I couldn’t breathe. In our relationship, he had always been the one charging into the fire, while my insecurities kept me shrinking back. After that day, I grabbed his hand and promised him: “I won’t hide anymore. If you have the courage to ask, I have the courage to marry you.” Miraculously, I recovered. I walked into the Kincaid estate with my head held high. Richard Kincaid was so thrilled he transferred a third of his personal stock options into my name as a wedding gift. He said it was to guarantee my protection against his own family. Back then, I thought my mother-in-law was the biggest hurdle I would ever face. I know better now. Outside forces can never destroy a marriage. Only the rot from the inside can. I was just trying to figure out how to break the news when the dining room doors swung open. Wesley walked in, his arm securely wrapped around Sophie. He froze the second he saw me. Richard’s face darkened into thunder. “You insolent bastard. Who the hell did you drag into my house?” Wesley effortlessly guided Sophie to a chair, his tone dripping with nonchalance. “Dad, it’s just dinner. Relax.” He shot a cold look in my direction. “Caroline, go home.” Then, as if he felt a sudden need to justify himself, he leaned down and whispered loudly enough for me to hear: “I only brought her because I assumed you wouldn’t show up. Let her have tonight, okay?” I let out a dry, scratching laugh. Let her have tonight. He was holding court for his mistress. Elevating her to the point of bringing her to a family dinner before the ink on our divorce papers was even dry. I used to think Sophie was just another toy. A passing phase until the novelty wore off. I was wrong. Wesley’s mother descended the grand staircase. Her cold, surgical gaze swept over my face before landing on Sophie. “So this is the pregnant stray?” she sneered. “Our family just attracts the most low-class, pathetic creatures, doesn’t it?” One sentence, perfectly engineered to degrade us both. Years ago, Wesley would have stepped in front of me, shielded me with his body, and snarled at his mother, “Caroline is the woman I chose.” Tonight, his brow furrowed as he pulled Sophie tightly into his chest. “Mom. You don’t get to speak about my woman that way.” His tone was harder, more vicious than it had ever been when he was protecting me. Sophie buried her face in his jacket, her shoulders trembling as if the whole world were conspiring to crush her. Unlike me. Even when I was being emotionally gutted, I sat there with a spine made of steel, looking like I could hold up the sky if it fell. I stood up, suddenly entirely bored of the theatrics. “I’m leaving.” Richard tried to stop me, but I didn’t look back. Wesley didn’t even glance up from stroking Sophie’s hair. As I walked out of the massive iron gates of the estate, the memory of those ninety-nine bloodstained steps flashed in my mind. I will walk away from her forever if you just let her live. Just let her be okay. Well, Wesley. You got your wish. … The divorce proceeded much faster than I anticipated. Wesley likely assumed that once Sophie popped the kid out, we would just march down to City Hall and quietly remarry. Business as usual. The day we met to sign the final, binding mediation agreement, he was forty minutes late. When he finally strolled in, he picked up the pen and signed his name with a smooth, practiced flick of the wrist. Then he leaned in close to me, dropping his voice into that rare, intoxicating register he used when he wanted to coax me into something. “You always wanted a real wedding, didn’t you?” he murmured. “When we remarry, I’ll plan it myself. That island in Greece you loved, the designer veil, everything you ever wanted. I’ll give it to you.” I looked up, meeting his eyes evenly. “Wesley. Don’t bother.” He blinked, taken aback for a fraction of a second, before his arrogant smile returned. “I know you think it’s silly since we’ve been married for years, but I owe you a real wedding. I’m going to make it right.” I shook my head slowly. “Next week, you’ll—” Before I could finish the sentence, his phone erupted. Wesley answered it, his posture instantly snapping to attention. “What do you mean her stomach hurts? I’m on my way!” He took two sprinting steps toward the door before suddenly stopping. He spun around, pointing a finger at me. “I know that once the court finalizes these papers next week, our marriage is technically dissolved. But that’s just a piece of paper, Caroline. The court gets the decree, but you belong to me. Understand? Those are two entirely different things.” He patted my shoulder and bolted down the hallway. I stood in the doorway of the mediator’s office, speaking to the empty air as I finished my sentence. “…Next week, you’ll be getting more than just divorce papers.” When the court decree arrived by certified mail at the estate a week later, my father summoned me home with the fury of a firing squad. “I don’t care what sick game you’re playing,” the old man bellowed through the phone. “You get Caroline back to this house immediately. I have something to say. And when I’m done, if you still want a divorce, I won’t stand in your way.” I rubbed my temples, a spike of annoyance flaring. I didn’t know what my father was planning, but I knew deep down how unhinged this entire divorce was. My phone had been dead silent for a week. No texts from Caroline. No calls to check up on me. I had told everyone I was giving her space, but the silence was hollowing me out from the inside. I had never gone an entire week without speaking to my wife. My father’s demand was the perfect excuse. The perfect golden ladder for me to climb down from my ego and go find her. “Fine, fine,” I muttered, pulling my phone from my pocket and swiping to her name. “God, you’re exhausting. I’ll call her right now.” I complained out loud, but my thumb hit the dial button faster than it had in months. I cleared my throat, mentally rehearsing the opening line. Caroline, the old man is demanding you come to the house. No, too weak. Are you done throwing this tantrum? It’s not a real divorce, you don’t need to ghost me for a week. The line clicked open. But it wasn’t Caroline. “Hello! The bride is just touching up her makeup. Are you a friend of the bride or groom?” a bright, cheerful female voice chirped.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “500628”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Right before we boarded at the gate, Derrick gave my first-class ticket to his childhood friend, Sylvia, who had just gone through a bad breakup. He leaned down to adjust my wool scarf, his touch gentle but his words carrying a quiet, familiar cruelty. “Sylvia’s heart condition is flaring up from the stress,” he said. “Ten hours in economy would absolutely drain her. Be the bigger person, Irene.” I looked down at the coach boarding pass in my hand, and a sudden, dry laugh slipped out of me. Five years. For five years, every time he demanded I step aside, it was always because she needed it more. On my twenty-fifth birthday, he left my dinner party early to carry a feverish Sylvia to his car, telling me over his shoulder that I’d always have next year. He took the concert tickets I had queued three hours in the freezing rain to get and handed them to her because she “needed a reason to smile.” I booked a glass-roofed cabin in Alaska three months in advance, and he let her have the master bedroom because she was afraid of the dark. And on the day of my diagnosis, he took her crying phone call right at the clinic doors, turning on his heel and walking away without looking back. He didn’t know that the doctor had already told me I wouldn’t have a next year. This trip to Alaska wasn’t just a vacation. It was the final funeral I had planned for myself. By the time the gate agent called for group boarding, Derrick had already guided Sylvia into the first-class lounge. My chest tightened with a dull, suffocating ache. Derrick glanced back, noticing I hadn’t moved, his brow knitting together in familiar irritation. “Irene, don’t just stand there blocking the lane. Go check your bag.” I held out my hand. “Give me my passport holder.” 1 He paused for a beat, pulled it from his pocket, and handed it to me along with the luggage tags. “Handle the check-in yourself,” he said, checked his watch. “I need to stay with Sylvia. She’s looking really pale.” Through the glass wall of the lounge, I could see Sylvia sitting on a plush leather sofa, draped in Derrick’s favorite cashmere coat. “Derrick, let Irene have her seat back,” she murmured as he walked back to her, her voice carrying just enough weight to be heard. “I’ll be fine in coach. Really.” Derrick leaned down, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. “Don’t push yourself. Your heart can’t take the pressure changes. Irene is healthy—she’s tough. She’ll be fine.” I clenched the boarding pass until the paper crumpled in my fist. Healthy. Tough. For five years, that was his shield. Because I was the strong one, the one who didn’t cry, I was the one who could be pushed aside. I swallowed two of my prescription painkillers, washed them down with lukewarm bottled water, and dialed Derrick’s number. The line connected, but it was Sylvia’s soft voice that came through. Before I could speak, Derrick’s voice echoed in the background: “Irene, stop throwing a tantrum with your health.” Then, the line went dead. I stared at the medical release waiver the airline staff had requested me to sign due to my condition. I didn’t try calling back. When I finally walked out of the airport clinic, the gate agent informed me that economy was overbooked due to a system error. They suggested I take a travel voucher and rebook on the next flight, six hours later. I nodded slowly. “That’s fine.” “Do you need us to notify the rest of your party, Ms. Marshall?” the agent asked, looking at my joint booking. “No,” I said. “No need.” My phone buzzed in my palm. It was a text from Derrick. [I used my name to check us into the cabin. When you get there, go to the front desk to register your ID.] [I let Sylvia take the master bedroom. Leave your spare keycard at the desk for her too, so she can get in and out easily.] I read the messages and clicked the screen off. This Alaskan cabin was something I had researched, planned, and paid for on my own. When Derrick found the booking, he had insisted that we go together to celebrate our fifth anniversary. But the moment Sylvia’s relationship fell apart, he claimed she would do something drastic if left alone in Seattle, and dragged her along. In the end, even my final destination had been handed over to her. I opened the travel app, accessed our shared itinerary, and quietly removed Derrick and Sylvia from the loop. From now on, only my name was tied to the reservations. Sylvia’s Instagram updated almost instantly. It was a photo of the first-class cabin window, Derrick’s jacket draped over her knees. The caption read: Thankfully, there are still people who understand my fragility. I closed the app, set my profile to private, and blocked her updates. My oncologist’s nurse called just as I was walking toward the new boarding gate. “Irene, do you have your pain management routine and the copies of your medical records with you? This is a long trip, and you cannot afford to push your limits.” “I have them,” I said softly. “Once you land in Fairbanks, please register with the local clinic immediately. And don’t forget to keep your signed palliative care directive in your bag.” “I won’t.” As I ended the call, I saw Derrick walking out of the VIP boarding tunnel. He must have realized I wasn’t on their flight. He looked around the terminal, his jaw set in a hard line. A second later, a text popped up. [Don’t bring your attitude all the way to Alaska, Irene. It’s exhausting.] The final boarding announcement echoed through the terminal. I switched my phone to silent, handed my ticket to the agent, and walked down the jet bridge. Derrick tried calling twice while I was walking down the aisle. The screen lit up against my palm until the flight attendants requested all devices be set to airplane mode. I turned the phone face down and let the quiet engine hum take over. By the time I landed in the frozen expanse of Fairbanks, it was six hours later than their arrival. Derrick hadn’t sent a single text asking if I had landed safely. There was only a pin drop of the cabin’s location. [Go to the desk when you get here.] I dragged my suitcase through the snow to the wooden lodge. The front desk host checked my reservation, pausing as he looked at the screen. “Ms. Marshall, the master suite is already occupied by the guests who arrived earlier.” “I know,” I said. But when I pushed open the heavy timber door of the cabin, my hand froze on the brass handle. Sylvia was sitting on the edge of the king-sized bed in the master suite, clutching the custom-embroidered linen pillow I had ordered months ago. Derrick was standing by the stone fireplace, adjusting the thermostat. He looked up as the door clicked. “You’re finally here,” he said, his voice entirely devoid of apology. “Sylvia’s anxiety flares up in the dark, so I told her she could take the master.” Sylvia stood up immediately, her eyes wide and watery. “Irene, I’m so sorry. I’m just so jumpy lately. If you’re angry, I can pack up and sleep on the floor.” Derrick’s hand went to her shoulder, holding her gently in place. “Don’t start. The doctor said you can’t get cold. It triggers your arrhythmia.” Then he looked at me. “Irene, the loft or the living room pull-out is fine. You slept on a cot when we went camping in the Cascades, didn’t you?” That camping trip. He had changed our hotel reservation at the last minute to save money for Sylvia’s birthday gift, leaving me to spend the night shivering in the back of an SUV with a low-grade fever. Later, he told his friends I was “wonderful” because I was “so low-maintenance.” I didn’t answer him. I only asked, “Where are my things?” Derrick pointed to the utility closet in the hallway. “I put them in there. Sylvia’s still raw from the breakup. Seeing all your couple stuff around was making her emotional.” I opened the narrow closet door. My white silk dress—the one I had bought specifically to wear under the Northern Lights—was shoved at the bottom of a plastic bin. My empty silver photo frame was wedged beneath a stack of extra blankets. The dress was supposed to be my final memory. The frame was meant for the last photo of myself. Derrick stepped up behind me and slid the closet door shut, not even glancing at the silk fabric peeking out. “I booked this cabin for three months,” I said, my voice flat. Derrick pulled at the collar of his sweater, looking annoyed. “I can Venmo you your half of the deposit, Irene. Don’t make this trip ugly over a room.” I looked up, meeting his eyes. “No need.” He blinked, taken aback by my lack of argument. I grabbed my suitcase and turned back toward the front door. Derrick followed me into the snow-dusted hallway. “Where are you going?” “To get another room.” “Irene, stop wasting money. Your limit on the joint card isn’t that high.” “I’m using my own account.” The front desk host booked me into a small, basic single cabin at the far end of the property. When the transaction cleared on my personal card, Derrick’s face hardened. I quietly slipped the card back into my wallet. In the past, I had always run every expense through our shared account so he could track our budget. Now, there was no budget left to share. As I finished checking in, Sylvia emerged from the main lodge, clutching her phone. “Derrick, the tour guide said the ice lake looks beautiful tomorrow. I really want to take some photos to mark a fresh start.” Derrick immediately turned to me. “Irene, lend Sylvia your Leica.” I shifted my camera bag slightly behind my hip. “No.” Derrick’s face darkened. “She just wants to take a few photos to help her move on. Do you have to be this cold?” I tightened my grip on the canvas strap. That camera was the only thing I had left to complete my final project. I wanted to capture the green lights dancing across the sky, to capture myself standing in the snow one last time before the pain made it impossible to stand at all. Sylvia reached out, lightly tugging at his sleeve. “It’s fine, Derrick. Let’s not force her if she doesn’t want to.” But my refusal only made Derrick more defensive. “I’ve spoiled you too much, Irene. You’ve lost all sense of empathy.” I didn’t stay to hear the rest. I turned and walked down the wooden deck to my single room. That night, I sat at the small pine desk, filling out the legal forms for my palliative care directive. My phone rang. It was Derrick. I pressed accept. “Where are you?” his voice was sharp with panic. “Sylvia’s chest is tight. Come back and help me find her rescue inhaler and meds. I can’t find where you packed them.” I held the medical document in my hand, staring at the blank line next to Emergency Contact. For years, that line had always belonged to him. “Irene, don’t make me come look for you,” he snapped. I left the contact line blank. Instead, I saved the 24-hour hotline for the Fairbanks Palliative Care Center into my phone and set them as my primary emergency contact. When I walked back to the main cabin to drop off the rescue meds, the heavy oak door was slightly ajar. Derrick’s voice drifted out into the cold air. “Don’t worry about it. Irene won’t stay mad. She’s just stubborn. She always barks but never bites.” Sylvia’s voice was softer, hesitant. “But she looked so pale today, Derrick. What if she’s really mad?” “She does this every time she doesn’t get her way. She’ll be back to normal by tomorrow.” I stood on the porch, my hand resting on the cold metal handle. I pushed the door open. Derrick looked up from the sofa, pointing toward the kitchen. “You’re back. Go pour Sylvia some warm water. She’s still shaking.” “I don’t feel well,” I said. He scoffed, his brow furrowing. “Irene, stop using your health as an excuse the second you don’t get your way.” Sylvia sat huddled under a blanket, her hand pressed to her chest. “It’s okay, Derrick. I can get it.” “Stay put,” Derrick told her. Then he turned his gaze back to me, cold and demanding. “She has a chronic heart condition. Stress triggers her attacks. Can you please show some decency?” I didn’t move. I walked past him to the utility closet, reaching for my own small bag of medication. My fingers were so numb and stiff that the plastic bottle slipped, spilling small white tablets across the hardwood floor. Because Sylvia was closer, she bent down to help gather them. Her hand froze as she picked up the bottle. The prescription label read: Oncology Services – For Severe Chronic Pain Management. She stared at it, then quickly turned her back, pulling out her phone to search the drug name. When she looked back up, her face had gone entirely white. She looked at the master bedroom, then at Derrick, her lips parting but no sound coming out. I reached out my hand. “Give it back.” Sylvia’s voice was barely a whisper. “Irene… is this…” Derrick walked over, seeing her bent over the floor. “Irene, are you seriously letting a sick person clean up after you?” Sylvia clutched the bottle tight, her chest rising and falling. But when she met my cold, empty stare, she slowly handed the pills back to me. “I’m fine,” she murmured to Derrick. I swept the rest of the pills into my bag. “Don’t worry. I won’t be asking either of you for help again.” Derrick let out a harsh, dry laugh. “Right. The breakup threat. You really need to find a new routine, Irene. That threat stopped working a long time ago.” He had seen the thick medical folders on my home desk back in Seattle. But he had never bothered to open them. I looked up at him. “Derrick, I’m not threatening you.” “Then what are you doing?” he demanded, stepping closer. For years, I would have cried. I would have explained how much my bones ached, how the chemotherapy had failed, how much I needed him to just hold me. But tonight, I only felt a vast, peaceful emptiness. “Just taking my medicine,” I said. His expression hardened, but he didn’t say another word. Back in my single room, I logged into our joint bank account and systematically transferred my personal savings out. I itemized every single transaction in the memo line: My share of rent. My plane ticket. My cabin deposit. My camera gear. Just as I finished, a soft knock sounded on my door. I opened it to find Sylvia standing in the freezing wind, her coat clutched tightly around her neck. She looked past me into the small, bare room, her eyes landing on the medical documents on the desk. “Irene… are you dying?” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. I didn’t answer. She took a shaky step forward. “Why haven’t you told him? If he knew—” “I tried,” I said, my voice flat. I tried on the afternoon of my biopsy, but he was driving her to an appointment. I tried the day of my prognosis, but she had called him crying about her ex, and he had left me in the clinic parking lot. When I finally left the papers on our desk, he told me he was too tired to deal with my “drama.” Eventually, I just stopped trying. Sylvia opened her mouth to speak, but Derrick’s voice cut through the dark from the main path. “Sylvia? What are you doing out here in the cold?” Sylvia flinched, her fingers clenching her sleeves. Derrick strode over, pulling her gently behind him. He glared at me. “Irene, what did you say to her now? Do you have to ruin every single night of this trip?” I looked at his hand wrapped protectively around her wrist. I didn’t bother to correct him. Sylvia looked up at him, her voice trembling. “No, Derrick, it’s not like that. I just…” She looked at me, saw the absolute lack of hope in my eyes, and swallowed her words. “I’m just cold. Let’s go back.” Derrick’s shoulders relaxed slightly. He looked at me, his tone still sharp. “The Northern Lights photography tour is booked for tomorrow morning. Don’t ruin it for everyone.” “What about my private session reservation?” I asked. “We’ll figure that out tomorrow.” The next morning, I walked to the lodge registration desk. The host looked up from his computer, his expression sympathetic. “Ms. Marshall, the private photography slot under your reservation has been transferred to Sylvia.” I stood at the desk, the cold air from the doorway washing over me. I had booked that specific slot three months ago, planning to wear my white silk dress and capture one final portrait of myself before the disease took my body. Derrick walked into the lobby, his hands in his pockets. “I changed the name.” “Why?” “Sylvia needs something beautiful to look back on from this trip,” he said, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. “She needs a fresh start, Irene. It’s just a photo shoot. Stop making everything a federal case.” To him, every dream I had ever nurtured could be brushed aside to make room for her comfort. Sylvia stood a few paces behind him, looking down at her boots. “Derrick, maybe we shouldn’t. I don’t need the pictures that badly.” “Don’t do that,” Derrick said, his voice softening as he turned to her. “You always put others first.” I didn’t argue. I didn’t feel the heat of anger anymore, only the cold certainty of an ending. I went back to my room, packed my suitcase, and walked back to the front desk to check out. Derrick, who had been waiting in the lobby, blocked my path. “Now where are you going?” “Away.” “To another resort?” He let out a bitter laugh. “Fine. Go. But I’m not chasing you this time, Irene. I mean it.” I placed my keycard on the counter. The host looked at me, hesitant. “Ms. Marshall, are you sure you want to cancel the rest of your three-month stay?” “I’m sure.” Sylvia came running out of the main cabin, her hands trembling as she held out my bag of rescue medication. “Irene, please. How much time do you actually have?” I took the medicine from her. “Don’t tell him.” Her eyes welled with tears. “Why? He deserves to know.” “Because,” I said, looking at the shuttle van pulling up to the curb, “I don’t want my last memory of him to be him telling me I’m just acting out for attention.” Sylvia lowered her head, silent. As I climbed into the van, I could see Derrick through the window of the lodge, holding up two different winter jackets, helping Sylvia decide which one would look better in her photos. Before the van reached the main highway, I pulled out my phone and sent him one last text. [Derrick, let’s end this. We’re done.] Then, I blocked his number. By evening, Derrick finally realized I wasn’t coming back. He couldn’t reach my phone, and our shared travel itinerary was completely blank. He stormed into the front desk of the lodge. “Where did Irene Marshall go?” The host checked the system, looking up with a quiet, solemn expression. “Mr. Miller, when Ms. Marshall checked out, she dropped this transport slip. Since you were listed as her secondary contact on the initial booking, I assumed you knew.” Derrick snatched the paper from his hand. There were only two lines printed on the receipt: Passenger: Irene Marshall. Return flight canceled. Destination: Fairbanks Palliative Care & Hospice Retreat.

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