I was covering a business dinner for my husband when I ran into my ex-husband of three years. He was there celebrating his upcoming wedding with his new fiancée, and when his eyes met mine, he looked away, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. But the peace didn’t last. Someone in his group recognized me, sauntering over with a smirk plastered across his face. “Well, look who it is. Zoe. This is a college reunion, you know? What is a dropout doing here?” A few others drifted over, their drinks sloshing in their glasses, their laughter sharp and unkind. “She probably heard Dave was going to be here and wanted to crash,” one whispered loudly. “Seriously, some women have zero self-respect.” “We all saw those pictures of you back in the day, Zoe. You completely humiliated him.” “Dave’s finally moving on with someone actually classy. We didn’t invite you because we wanted to spare you the embarrassment, but here you are, desperate as ever.” Dave sat right at the center of the private dining table. His handsome face was cold, carved from marble, his lips pressed into a tight line. He didn’t say a single word to defend me. I opened my mouth to shoot back, but the heavy double doors of the room swung open. A woman walked in, and her eyes locked onto mine. I had to admit, she was stunning. If only she hadn’t built that beauty on the ruins of my life. …… 1 The moment Dave saw me, he instinctively started to stand up, but Amber’s hand came down hard on his shoulder, pinning him to his seat. “Oh, look, the famous model,” she purred, her eyes dripping with a sweet, venomous contempt. “I don’t recall sending you an invitation. I mean, we went strictly by the graduation photo, and well… you aren’t exactly in it, are you?” Before she even finished, a wave of snickers rippled through the crowd. “Who says our resident cover girl isn’t in the photos?” one of the guys called out, raising his glass. “We’ve all seen the high-res version of your portfolio!” My fists clenched, the leather of my clutch cutting into my palm, before I forced my fingers to loosen. I turned on my heel, ready to walk away from the toxicity, when the voice I used to love cut through the noise. “Zoe.” Dave finally spoke. “Since you’re already here, stop acting like you’re too good for us.” He walked toward me, holding two glasses of white wine. “Long time no see.” I stared at him, my heart doing a slow, painful roll in my chest. I hesitated, then reached out to take one of the glasses. Just as my fingers were about to brush his, Dave opened his hand. The glasses plummeted, shattering against the hardwood floor. The pale liquid splashed across the hem of my skirt. It felt like the last shred of our shared dignity, smashed and rotting at our feet. “Did you seriously think I’d drink with you?” he sneered, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “I told you, Zoe, I don’t do reruns. What is this? You heard Amber and I are finally getting married, so you came to play the victim?” In the tense silence of the room, the quiet, mocking snickers of our old classmates felt like physical blows. I took a deep breath, looked down at my watch, and sighed. “I think you’re flattering yourself, Dave. I have actual business to attend to. Enjoy your night.” I walked past him, my heels clicking sharply against the floor, and headed straight to my own private dining room. My husband’s clients had just arrived. Two hours later, the wine was flowing and the conversation with our clients was warm and lively. Suddenly, the door was slammed open. Amber stood in the doorway, smelling strongly of tequila, leaning heavily against the frame. Her glazed eyes swept over the middle-aged executives sitting at my table. “Oh, look,” she sneered, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “A leopard really doesn’t change its spots. Still hunting for rich older men, I see.” My face burned with humiliation. I stood up immediately, offering a quick, tight apology to our clients before stepping toward her. My voice was a low, dangerous hiss. “Amber, leave. Right now. Or I’ll have security remove you.” That only seemed to fuel her fire. “Oh, really? You’re going to call security on me?” she shrieked, gesturing wildly. “Why don’t you just call the vice squad instead? Get all of you locked up for solicitation!” One of our clients cleared his throat uncomfortably. My patience evaporated. I pressed the call button on the wall and told the hostess to send up security. By the time two guards arrived, Dave was right behind them. He immediately wrapped his arms around Amber, who collapsed into him, sobbing crocodile tears. He glared at me, his eyes dark with fury. “Amber just came over to clear the air with you, Zoe. Why do you always have to make a scene?” he spat. “It’s been years, and you’re still the exact same toxic person. Apologize to her!” I looked at him, and for a second, the sheer absurdity of it made a cold, dry laugh escape my throat. Then, before he could say another word, I stepped forward and slapped him across the face. Hard. The sound cracked through the quiet hallway. “Dave,” I whispered, my voice trembling with a decade of unshed tears. “Did you forget? You’re the one who owes me an apology.” When I first met Dave, he was the golden boy. Bright, passionate, almost blindingly perfect. My parents had just gone through a messy divorce, and my mother dragged me to a new city to start over. I was the quiet, awkward transfer student—the perfect target for the school’s cruel cliques. I was bullied relentlessly. But Dave was the one who intercepted the rocks thrown at my head. He was the one who grabbed the eraser and wiped the cruel slurs off the chalkboard before I could see them. He stood at the front of the classroom, pointing a finger at my tormentors, telling them to leave me alone. I spent years memorizing the broad, protective lines of his back. “Don’t be scared,” he had told me, his smile warm and reassuring. “I’ve got you. Walk with me after school from now on.” We went to the same college, and falling into a relationship was as natural as breathing. During our senior year, Dave decided to launch a startup with a classmate. Money was tight, and he was drowning in stress. Everyone knew how desperate I was to help ease his burden. That was when Amber approached me. “Hey, Zoe, have you ever thought about modeling?” she had asked, her voice dripping with mock-concern. “My agency is looking for girls for a quick gig. It pays really well. It’s exhausting, but if you’re interested, I can get you in.” Trusting her, I thought I was signing up for a standard commercial shoot. Instead, it was a trap. They locked the doors of a seedy motel room, three men and a woman blockading the exit, forcing me to strip for nude photography. By the time Dave tracked me down and burst through the door, I was curled on the bed, naked and weeping. That day, Dave fought like a rabid dog, leaving everyone in that room bloodied and bruised. Finally, he wrapped his heavy, metallic-smelling jacket around my shivering body and carried me out of that hellhole. “Don’t cry, baby. You’re safe now,” he whispered against my hair. His words were a temporary balm, but they couldn’t stop the impending storm. By the next afternoon, printed copies of those photos were stuffed into locker grates and passed around the campus like flyers. Almost every single student saw them. At the same time, a hefty “compensation fee” was wired directly into my bank account—part of the trap to make it look like a transaction. The rumor was solidified: Zoe was selling her body. I was called into the dean’s office by the end of the week and handed an official expulsion notice. I quietly took that wired money, every single cent of it, and transferred it to Dave. It became the seed money for his startup. After being expelled, I didn’t curl up and die. I worked night and day, eventually signing with a legitimate agency as a fashion model. I used the money to pay for night school, determined to finish my degree on my own terms. When he graduated, he proposed to me on a rooftop, surrounded by cheap fairy lights and tears. His promises felt so real then. “Zoe, I wouldn’t be standing here without you,” he cried, holding my hands. “You’re my wings. If I ever fly, it’s because of you.” He was fiercely devoted. He defied his conservative parents, dragging me to the courthouse to get registered. There was no grand wedding, no reception. Just a cramped studio apartment with a shared bathroom down the hall. I was happy with that little life. But he constantly apologized, carrying the guilt like a heavy coat. “You suffered so much for me, Zoe. I promise I’m going to give you the life you deserve,” he would whisper in the dark. “Please stop modeling, okay? Let me take care of you.” I believed his sincerity back then. But sincerity has a remarkably short shelf life. By our second year of marriage, his company was thriving, and we bought a small townhouse. While I was happily picking out paint swatches for our bedroom, he came home one evening and tossed a roll of blueprints onto the kitchen counter. They were designed by Amber. “Amber’s trying to build her interior design portfolio,” he said casually, not looking me in the eye. “We’re old classmates. It’s better to give the business to someone we know.” Since the day of the photoshoot, her name had been a forbidden ghost in our home. I had assumed Dave had cut her off years ago. I never imagined they were still in touch—or how close they had remained. We had a screaming match that night. I ripped the blueprints into shreds, my chest heaving, throwing the pieces at his face. I swore I would never let that woman step foot in our home. Dave drove to the empty, unfinished townhouse and sat on the dusty subfloor. When I followed him there, he was smoking a cigarette. The moonlight cut across his face from the bare window, casting half his features in shadow. He looked like a stranger. “Zoe, I’ve been holding this in for a long time,” he said, his voice flat. “Amber came to me a few months ago. She was crying, apologizing. She swore she thought she was setting you up with a high-end promotional gig. She had no idea the coordinators would turn out to be predators.” He took a slow drag, the orange cherry of the cigarette glowing hot. “I don’t think she did anything wrong.” He looked up at me, his eyes cold. “But you… are you just addicted to the attention? I told you I’d support you, but you refuse to quit modeling. Why?” Dave ignored my protests and hired her anyway. “Amber wants to buy us dinner to clear the air,” he said one evening, fussing with his collar in front of the mirror. He had tried on three different shirts, trying to look effortlessly handsome. “Come with us. Let’s just put the past behind us.” I ignored him and went out with my own friends. But late that night, at the very bar we were drinking at, I ran into Dave—the same man who had texted me hours ago saying he was in bed. He was guiding Amber out the door, his arm securely around her waist. When he caught sight of me, his posture stiffened. “She… she had too much to drink,” he stammered, his arm tightening around her defensively. “I only lied because I didn’t want you overreacting.” Amber looked up from his shoulder, her eyes pooling with tears. “Zoe, please don’t be mad at Dave!” she cried, her voice trembling. “He’s just so sweet… he knew my design firm was struggling and wanted to help me…” She looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “It’s okay, Dave… don’t let me come between you two. I’ll apologize to her! Just promise you won’t fight!” Before anyone could stop her, she snatched a stray shot glass from the bar and choked it down, coughing dramatically. Dave immediately grabbed her by the shoulders, his face twisted with worry. “That’s enough!” He whirled on me, his eyes flashing with irritation. “Zoe, look at her! She’s practically begging for your forgiveness. Do you always have to be so incredibly heartless?” I stood there, watching the theatrical display. A cold, hollow laugh escaped me. “Did I say a single word, Dave?” Because I refused to budge, Dave didn’t drive her home that night; we called her an Uber instead. But he was anxious the entire drive back to our townhouse, constantly checking his phone. Only when the screen lit up with her “home safe” text did the tension leave his shoulders. We didn’t speak a word until we reached our front door. As I unlocked it, he muttered, cold and sharp: “They really are right about models. Pure vanity, no heart.” After that, the silence between us stretched into weeks, then months. He stopped telling me where he was going. He’d crawl into bed past midnight, keeping to his side of the mattress, a silent brick wall between us. Until the night I smelled it. A sweet, heavy floral perfume. Not mine. Something inside me snapped. I grabbed a pillow and began pelting him with it, screaming at the top of my lungs. “Who is she? Who is she, Dave? You absolute bastard!” He didn’t even try to block the hits. When I finally collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air, he stared down at me with flat, dead eyes. “Are you done acting like a psychopath? Can I sleep now?” After that night, he stopped coming home altogether. He disabled his location sharing. I became the pathetic, desperate wife I always swore I’d never be, checking my phone every five minutes, sending frantic texts. Where are you? Who are you with? Why are you ignoring me? Where are you? I couldn’t focus on shoots. My agent called me twice to warn me about my performance. But my mind was entirely consumed by him. The day the townhouse construction was officially completed, I knew he would go see it. I spent hours on my hair and makeup, putting on his favorite dress, determined to swallow my pride and beg for a fresh start. I sat on the empty floor of our new living room from noon until dusk. The door finally opened at nine. But he wasn’t alone. Dave and Amber stumbled through the entryway, their mouths locked together, hands clawing at each other’s clothes. Even when they saw me sitting there in the dark, they didn’t pull apart immediately. The last thread of my sanity snapped. I grabbed the bottle of champagne I’d brought to celebrate and threw it at them. Dave didn’t hesitate. He spun, throwing his body over Amber to shield her from the flying glass. Just like he used to shield me from the bullies. The dark red liquid exploded against the pristine white walls, staining the plaster like blood. Amber whimpered in his arms, and he looked back at me, his eyes dead. “You’re hysterical. You scared her. Get out of our house.” I waited downstairs in the lobby all night. The townhouse lights stayed on; they never came out. The next morning, Dave walked out of the lobby, holding Amber’s hand. I got out of my car, my eyes swollen and bloodshot, and blocked their path. “Just tell me why,” I choked out, grabbing his arm. “Why, Dave? Why her?” Amber shrank behind his shoulder. He sighed, trying to brush past me, but I gripped his sleeve with everything I had. Losing his patience, he shoved me away. “Zoe, you’re making a pathetic fool of yourself.” The push was hard. I lost my footing on the slick pavement and fell backward onto the concrete. A sharp, cramping pain bloomed in my abdomen. Within seconds, a warm, terrifying wetness seeped through my jeans. “Blood! There’s blood!” Amber shrieked, pointing at the ground. Dave’s face drained of color. He scrambled down, scooping me up into his arms, and started running toward his car. In that terrifying moment, his chest was still so warm. It felt exactly like the day he had carried me out of that motel room. We lost our first baby that day. Dave sat by my hospital bed, weeping, slapping his own face until his cheeks were bruised and raw. He pulled out his phone in front of me, deleting Amber’s number and blocking her on every platform. “I’m a monster,” he sobbed, burying his face in my lap. “I’m so sorry, Zoe. We’ll fix this. We’ll start over, I promise. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.” A miscarriage was the price I paid for a brief window of happiness. For the next few months, Dave cancelled his meetings and took me on a road trip along the coast. We went to a quiet chapel in the mountains, lighting candles and praying for a miracle to put our broken pieces back together. The universe was kind. It gave us a second chance. But my body was weak from the trauma, and I had to be hospitalized for bed rest to save the pregnancy. Dave came to the hospital every single day, bringing homemade soup and holding my hand. Except for one night. He didn’t show up until past midnight. He smelled of scotch, but underneath the alcohol was that familiar, sickly-sweet floral scent. “Where were you tonight?” I whispered, my heart dropping. “Client dinner,” he said smoothly, offering a warm smile. He pulled a box from his coat pocket and slipped it onto my bedside table. “I bought you a gift on the way. Do you like it?” It was a bottle of the exact same perfume. I stayed awake all night, staring at the glass bottle. A week later, when he called to say he had another late-night business dinner, I checked myself out of the hospital against medical advice and drove home. The townhouse was dark. I let myself in, praying I was just paranoid. But as I walked up the stairs, the muffled, unmistakable sounds of ecstasy drifted from our bedroom. Every ounce of my sanity vanished. I grabbed a bottle of champagne from the kitchen counter, stormed into the room, and poured the cold liquid directly over the two writhing bodies on our bed. “Dave! You are disgusting!” I screamed. He immediately threw himself over Amber, wrapping the sheets tightly around her, before turning to look at me. His expression wasn’t guilty. It was utterly indifferent. “Oh, and you’re clean?” he sneered, wiping the champagne from his face. “I’ve been eating leftovers for years, Zoe. You should be grateful I stayed this long.” I don’t remember how I got back to the hospital. I only remember that by morning, our second baby was gone. This time, Dave never showed up. He didn’t appear until the morning of my discharge, when the hospital insisted a family member sign the paperwork. He brought Amber with him. The moment she saw me, she fell to her knees at the foot of my bed. “Zoe, please, I beg you,” she wept, pressing her forehead against the linoleum floor. “Let him go. Please just let us be together!” She banged her head against the floor over and over until her skin bruised and bled, but I sat there, completely numb, staring blankly at the wall. Dave tossed a folder containing the divorce papers onto my bedside table, took Amber’s hand, and walked out. But I couldn’t let go. The grief and humiliation turned into a toxic obsession. I spent weeks crashing his office lobby, screaming his name until security threw me out. When they banned me, I went to Amber’s design firm. I bought a megaphone, standing on the sidewalk and telling everyone who walked past exactly how she had ruined my marriage. I watched her cower in the corner like a frightened rabbit, only for Dave to swoop in and carry her away, playing the hero. Soon after, they posted photos of their ring shopping and engagement shoots. Everything Dave had promised me but never delivered, he gave to her. The last time I went back to the townhouse to gather my things, I couldn’t even bring myself to step inside. Through the open door, I saw giant canvases of their engagement photos lining the walls. Dave dragged my suitcases out onto the porch and kicked them toward me, his face twisted with disgust. “This is everything,” he said coldly. “Don’t come back. Amber doesn’t want to see you. And neither do I.” I stood on the porch, feeling like a hollow piece of driftwood swept out to sea. I reached for the handle of my suitcase, but my hands were shaking too hard to lift it. I just stared at him. “Dave. Did you forget to say something to me?” The memory dissolved, and the cold air of the restaurant hallway rushed back in. I looked at Dave, who was once again shielding Amber behind him, the print of my slap reddening on his cheek. The anger that had lived in my chest for three years suddenly felt incredibly heavy—and incredibly useless. “Dave,” I said softly. I looked at his handsome, stunned face. “It’s been three years. Did you finally figure out what you were supposed to say to me?” He couldn’t answer. The restaurant manager hurried down the hall, bowing apologetically, promising complimentary bottles of champagne and entrees to smooth things over. “Mrs. Palmer,” he said, turning to me with a nervous smile. “Your husband is one of our most valued clients. I am so incredibly sorry for this disturbance…” I offered a polite, practiced smile and turned to leave, but a hand suddenly gripped my wrist, tight enough to bruise. “What did he just call you?” Dave asked, his voice shaking. “Zoe… are you married?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “500606”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I once thought relationships worked like the strictest double-entry books: every debit had a credit, and the two always balanced. Every sacrifice and every demand could be made to balance perfectly on the ledger of life. Then I met Ian Vale. To save my father, who had been left in a vegetative state, I signed a five-year contract with Ian. He was my creditor. I was his clearly priced “Mrs. Vale.” We agreed on three rules: accounts only, no love; We would act the part, but we would not fall for each other. I thought that once I cleaned up his messy books and cleared the debt, I could walk away intact. Then I was cornered in an alley, and he charged in like a madman, holding me with bloodshot eyes. “Nora, who gave you permission to reduce us to a line item?” 0I stood in the corner of the banquet hall, holding a glass of champagne. The crystal chandeliers caught on the jewels of socialites and wealthy wives until my eyes ached. Not far away, Ian Vale was surrounded by a group of business leaders. He wore a perfectly tailored black couture suit. His posture was straight, and his eyes carried a cold sharpness beneath their careless calm. He was always like this. Even when he did nothing, every eye in the room found him. I lowered my head and glanced at the brown paper portfolio in my hand. Inside was not the brochure for tonight’s charity auction, but a Final Financial Audit Report and a signed Divorce Agreement. I took a deep breath, set my champagne on a passing waiter’s tray, and walked straight toward him. The crowd parted on its own as I approached. Their eyes held curiosity, contempt, and polished fake courtesy. They all knew I was Mrs. Vale. They also knew I was little more than the senior financial auditor Ian kept at his side. I stopped in front of him. He arched an eyebrow. His deep gaze settled on my face, waiting for me to speak. I said nothing. I only handed him the portfolio calmly. “What is this?” He did not take it. His voice was low, edged with displeasure at being interrupted. “I have balanced the books for the past five years.” I looked into his eyes and said each word clearly. “Mr. Vale, we are even.” As his pupils tightened, I pushed the portfolio into his hand, turned, and walked out of the banquet hall without looking back. I pushed open the heavy carved doors, and the cold night wind rushed into my face. I pulled my trench coat tighter around me, but my thoughts drifted back to five years ago. To a rainy night just as cold, the night I lost everything. Five years earlier. I dragged a heavy suitcase and stood in front of the black iron gate of Ridge Manor. The rain was falling heavily, hitting my umbrella with a dull sound. I was soaked, as if I had just been fished out of the water. The iron door slowly slid open to both sides. An old man wearing a gray suit, gray hair but energetic, walked out holding a black umbrella. He looked me up and down, there was no contempt in his eyes, only a businesslike look. “You must be Ms. Nora Shaw.” He stepped aside slightly. “I’m Martin, the butler here. Mr. Vale is waiting inside.” I nodded. My throat was too dry to make a sound. The luxury inside the manor was beyond my imagination. The high dome, the huge crystal lamp, the Persian carpet that makes no sound when stepped on. There is a faint smell of cedar in the air, which is so oppressive that it makes people breathless. Ian Vale is sitting on the huge leather sofa in the living room. He was wearing a black shirt with a slightly open collar and sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his strong forearms. He was playing with a silver lighter in his hand, and the sound of “click, click” was particularly clear in the empty living room. That was the first time I really looked directly at this man. The youngest and most ruthless tycoon in the city. And, after my father’s company collapsed and his failed suicide attempt left him in a vegetative state, the only “good man” willing to pour enough money into that bottomless pit. Of course, his good intentions come with a hefty price tag. “Sit.” He didn’t raise his head, but nodded his chin towards the sofa opposite. I walked over and stood up straight instead of sitting down. “Mr. Vale, I’m here.” My voice was trembling, but I tried to make it sound calm. He finally raised his head and stared at me with his sharp eyes like an eagle, as if he was assessing the value of a commodity. He picked up a document from the coffee table in front of him and threw it in front of me. “Take a look and sign if there’s no problem.” I picked up the document. Debt Settlement Agreement. There are not many terms, but every one of them coldly reveals the calculations of the capitalists. 1. The term is five years. During that time, I had to live at the manor as “Mrs. Vale” and appear with him whenever he needed me in public. 2. I will serve as the chief financial auditor of his private and core industries and be responsible for cleaning up all bad accounts. 3. The massive debt my father owed would be offset by five years of my labor, my time, and my “identity.” At the end of the five-year period, both debts will be paid off. 4. Non-interference in each other’s private lives. He lives in the main building and I live in the annex building. I looked at the neatly printed fonts and felt a little funny. My father is an old-school accountant. He taught me abacus, double-entry accounting, and professional ethics. But the only thing he never taught me was how to do accounting when a person regards himself as an asset to pay off debts. I turned to the last page and looked at the figure that would take me even an ordinary person working for ten lifetimes to pay off. I took out an old pen from my bag. That was a gift from my father when I passed the CPA exam. I took off the cap of my pen and signed the words “Nora Shaw” in the place of Party B. The force penetrated the back of the paper, as if signing a life and death certificate. After signing, I pushed the contract back. “Mr. Vale, I’ve signed it.” He glanced at the signature, put the contract away in the drawer, and threw a bunch of keys on the table. “The room in the annex building, the access card for the study, and the code for the safe.” His tone was unimpressive. “My accounts are very messy, and I don’t like others to lie to me. If the accounts are done wrong or leaked, you can’t afford the consequences.” “Understood.” I lowered my eyes. “Martin, take her to the room.” He stood up and turned upstairs without hesitation. Martin came over and picked up my suitcase. “Nora, please come with me.” The room in the annex building is very spacious, but the decoration is minimal and gives off a deserted feel. A bed, a set of wardrobes, and a large desk. Martin put down the box, explained a few rules, and then left. The moment the door closed, all the strength in my body seemed to be drained away. I slumped down on the chair in front of my desk, took out my phone, and pulled up the calculator. That huge total debt, divided by 1825 days. A number accurate to two decimal places pops up on the screen. That was the daily “depreciation cost” of my next five years. I looked at that number and my eyes were hot, but I bit my lip to prevent tears from falling. This is a deal. Since it is a transaction, as long as the accounts are clear, it will be settled one day. I placed the old pen squarely on the table. From today on, I am no longer Nora Shaw, the up-and-coming auditor. I am Ian Vale’s debtor. A tool that is clearly priced. 0

The rules of the Vale household are engraved in their bones, and even their daily routine is like clockwork. At six o’clock in the morning the next day, I opened my eyes on time. After doing financial audits for so many years, my body has long been accustomed to this rhythm and does not need an alarm clock. After washing up and going downstairs, Martin had already set breakfast in the dining room. Typical continental fare: toast, fried eggs, bacon, and a pot of black coffee. “Ms. Shaw, morning.” Martin nodded slightly. “Good morning, Martin.” I pulled out a chair and sat down. “Where is Mr. Vale?” “Mr. Vale goes for a morning run. He should be on the forest path behind the manor right now. He usually has breakfast at 7:30 and leaves for the company at 8:00.” Martin answered crisply. I gave a short reply and lowered my head, eating faster. Share breakfast with him on day one? I couldn’t swallow that meal. At ten minutes past seven, I put down my knife and fork, picked up the access card Martin gave me, and walked to the study at the end of the first floor of the main building. Swipe your card and push the door open. A smell of old paper mixed with a hint of cigar came to my face. Even though I had done some mental preparation in advance, the moment I saw the whole view of the study, I couldn’t help but take a breath. This was not a study. It was clearly an abandoned archive warehouse. In a space of hundreds of square meters, oak bookshelves are filled with various folders, and mountains of ledgers, vouchers and reports are piled on the floor, sofas, and even on the large oak desk. Some documents were scattered on the floor, with half a dusty shoe print still printed on them. Ian Vale, a man famous in business for being cold and precise, had let his financial command center fall into this state. I even doubt how he managed Vale Holdings to this day. But I was shocked, and the auditor’s professional obsessive-compulsive disorder in my bones began to surge wildly. I didn’t back down. Roll up your shirt sleeves, find a few large cardboard boxes, and get started. The first step is coarse screening. I picked up all the documents on the floor and made preliminary classifications by year and project. The dust was flying in the early morning sunshine, making me sneeze several times, but I didn’t stop. The brain is like a high-speed processor that quickly archives messy information. The whole morning, I didn’t even take a sip of water. Martin brought his lunch to the door of the study at noon. When he saw the scene inside, he opened his mouth in surprise. “Ms. Shaw, you…” “Martin, please find me a few shredders, enough archive boxes, and label paper.” I did not even look up. I was still flipping through a purchasing ledger from three years ago. In the afternoon, I started segmenting. Vouchers, invoices, contracts, bank statements, each category must be in perfect harmony. It was not until evening that the entire study finally returned to its proper tidiness. All ledgers and documents are put into unified filing boxes, clearly labeled, and neatly stacked on the bookshelf in chronological order and project category. I wiped the desk spotless, with only a computer on it and a copy of the “Financial Current Situation Assessment and Rectification Plan” that I just drove out. In this plan, I bluntly pointed out the chaos of his current financial management, as well as possible tax risks and funding loopholes, and listed a detailed digital transformation plan. Looking at the brand new study, I rubbed my sore lower back and let out a long sigh of relief. This is my value. At seven o’clock in the evening, the sound of a car engine came from outside. Ian is back. I didn’t go out to greet him, but stayed in my annex room. It is written in the contract that they will not interfere with each other. About ten minutes later, I heard a loud bang from the main building. It sounded like a heavy folder being slammed against the wall. My heart sank. It seemed that my plan or my unauthorized arrangement of his study had offended him. This kind of big boss usually has a strong sense of territoriality and doesn’t like others touching his things. But I don’t care. I’m here to settle the accounts, not be a babysitter. If he did not accept my professional advice, the bad accounts of the past five years would not be able to be sorted out. At dinner time, Martin knocked on the door and asked me to go to the main restaurant. When I walked in, Ian was already sitting in the main seat. He changed into dark gray home clothes, but his face was so gloomy that it seemed like it could drip water. The air pressure in the restaurant is so low that it makes you breathless. I pulled up the chair farthest from him and sat down, lowering my head to eat without saying a word. “Who told you to touch my study?” He suddenly spoke, his voice as cold as ice. “Me.” I put down my knife and fork, raised my head and looked directly at him, “Mr. Vale, I am your chief financial auditor. If I cannot classify even the most basic original documents, I cannot carry out my work.” “I’ll keep those things for use!” His eyes were sharp. “Useful does not mean it should be piled up like trash.” I did not give an inch. “I have already labeled and indexed everything. If you need any document from any year, I can find it for you in ten seconds. Also, have you read my proposal?” He narrowed his eyes, seeming to look at me again. Probably few people would dare to speak to him in this tone. The air was stagnant for half a minute. Suddenly, he picked up the communal dinner tong, picked up a piece of the tenderest belly meat of grilled salmon, and threw it directly into the bone plate in front of me. “Eat more.” His tone was stiff. “You are so thin you make me look bad when I take you out.” I was stunned. Looking at the piece of fish on the plate, I frowned. A slap followed by a sweet date? As management tactics went, this was painfully clumsy. I didn’t touch the piece of fish, but picked up my knife and fork again and picked up a piece of asparagus. “Thank you Mr. Vale for your concern, but I’m allergic to seafood.” I lied expressionlessly. His movements paused, his eyes became deeper, but he said nothing more. After the meal, I went straight back to the annex. When Martin was clearing the table, he followed me and stopped me in the corridor. “Ms. Shaw.” Martin lowered his voice. “Mr. Vale has a bad temper, but he is not a bad man.” I sneered. “Martin, good or bad does not matter in a ledger. There are only debits and credits.” Martin sighed, his eyes a little complicated. “For the past three years, even the cleaning servants have not been allowed to enter Mr.’s study. His accounts are even more untouchable.” He looked at me, his tone meaningful. “You are the first person who not only went in, but also turned it inside out, and finally came out safe and sound.” My heart moved slightly. The first one? What is this? Special treatment for me, the “debtor”? Or is there some ulterior secret hidden in his pile of bad accounts, and now he finally decided to find someone to reveal it? I went back to the room and looked at the old pen on the table. No matter what his purpose is, I have only one mission: to investigate every account and survive these five years. Others are outside the scope of my calculation. 0

In the next few days, I locked myself in my study, like a human scanner, and inserted page after page of Ian Vale’s old ledgers into my newly created electronic database. The work was smelly and long. Vale’s business empire was sprawling: real estate and financial investment at the core, with logistics, building materials, and even a few fringe entertainment companies hanging beneath them. The flow of funds is like a tangled web, causing headaches. I spend more than ten hours in the study every day and rarely go out except for eating and sleeping. Ian rarely shows up either. He leaves early and comes home late. Although we live in the same house, we can count on one hand the number of times we have met. This is best. Do not disturb each other, the highest efficiency. Until late at night on the fourth day. I am checking the annual report of a subsidiary called “East Bay Logistics”. After staring at the numbers for several hours, my eyes were as dry as sandpaper. I put on two drops of eye drops, closed my eyes for a few seconds, and then opened them again. At this moment, professional intuition sounded the alarm. Something is wrong. I quickly pulled up East Bay Logistics’ monthly shipping details for the past three years. At first glance, the accounts look good — revenue is growing steadily, costs are within a reasonable range, and profit margins are in line with industry standards. But I set my sights on a specific line: the dedicated line from Nancheng to the northern suburbs storage center. The single transportation cost of this line will rise slightly every month. Five thousandths, or even three thousandths. This kind of fluctuation is like a drop of water in the ocean in the huge total cost. If you don’t draw three years of data into a curve, you won’t be able to find it at all. I grabbed the scratch paper, quickly listed the key data, and used the calculator to deduce it. In three years, all the “tiny increases” on this line add up… The calculator showed one number: 1.2 million. This is not a market move. Someone was using that dedicated line like a leech, quietly bleeding Vale Holdings dry. The technique is very clever — knowledgeable and extremely cautious. If I hadn’t re-entered all the original documents and cross-referenced them, this bad account would always be buried under the beautiful reports. I stared at that number and felt a chill go down my spine. This is no longer a financial mess. This is embezzlement and a crime. Just when I was about to dig deeper into the final flow of the funds, there was a knock on the study door. In the silence of the night, the sound was particularly harsh. I was startled and almost dropped the pen in my hand to the ground. “Who?” I asked warily. “Nora, it’s me.” Martin’s voice came from outside the door. I breathed a sigh of relief and stood up to open the door. Martin was carrying a tray with a glass of warm milk and a sandwich. “Mr. Vale just came back and saw the study light was still on, so he asked me to bring you something to eat,” Martin said with a smile. “He said staying up late wears you down, and you should not push yourself so hard.” I looked at the glass of milk and felt irritated. What does Ian want to do? It was as cold as ice during the day, and late at night snacks were served. This sudden “concern” is more dangerous than losing your temper. “Thank you Martin, I’m not hungry.” I refused coldly, “And I don’t have the habit of eating at night.” “Nora, please don’t embarrass me.” Martin sighed and brought the tray directly into the study and placed it on the coffee table. “Don’t you know Mr.’s temper? If you don’t drink this milk, I will have to pack up and leave tomorrow.” I know Martin is exaggerating, but I’m too lazy to dwell on this trivial matter. “Put it there, I’ll drink it later.” Martin nodded and backed out. I didn’t touch the glass of milk and sat back in front of the computer. Just then, the phone vibrated. The word “Mom” flashed on the screen. My heart suddenly rose to my throat. Calling me so late, something must have happened at the hospital. I got through immediately. “Hello, Mom? Is it dad…” “Nora…” On the other end of the phone, my mother’s voice was full of exhaustion and suppressed crying, “Your dad is not doing well today. The doctor said he had a lung infection and he just rescued him…” I held the phone tightly, digging my nails into my palm. “How much does it cost? I’ll transfer it right away.” “There is still plenty of money in the hospital account…” Mom choked out. “I am just… scared. Nora, are you being treated well at Mr. Vale’s home? Mr. Vale… he is not making things hard for you, is he?” “No, Mom, I’m fine.” I took a deep breath and tried to keep my voice steady, “Mr. Vale is a serious businessman, I’m just helping him with his accounts, don’t think too much about it.” “That’s good, that’s good. You have to take care of yourself and don’t be too tired…” When I hung up the phone, I felt like all my strength had been drained from my body. I walked to the window, opened it, and wanted to get some air. The night breeze is very cold. I lowered my head and looked through the landscape trees in the yard to the terrace outside the main building. Ian stood there. He held a cigarette between his fingers, the scarlet butt flickering in the darkness. He seemed to have just taken a shower and was only wearing a black bathrobe with the collar open. He was looking up and looking straight at the window where I was. I couldn’t see his expression clearly from a distance of dozens of meters, but I could feel the weight in his eyes. Like a net, covering it silently. I subconsciously took a step back and yanked the curtains shut. I hate this feeling of being spied on. What I hate even more is that he appeared in my sight when I was at my most vulnerable. I returned to my desk and forced myself to refocus on the numbers. I have to find the vampire. Only by proving my worth can I stand firmer in this cage. Just when I was about to follow the clues to investigate, the study door was pushed open again. This time, there was no knock. Ian strode in with a faint smell of tobacco and the cold fragrance of shower gel. 0

Ian’s sudden intrusion made the air in the study freeze instantly. He was tall and his broad shoulders almost blocked the light from the doorway. He didn’t look at the glass of cold milk on the coffee table, but walked straight to my desk. His eyes fell on the scratch paper spread across my desk and the dense shipping details on the computer screen. “What are you checking?” His voice was low, with an undeniable sense of oppression. I quickly turned over the scratch paper, trying to cover up the data I was deducing. “Some daily account checking.” I replied calmly, “Mr. Vale, it’s one o’clock in the morning. You coming in without knocking on the door doesn’t seem to be in compliance with the ‘non-interference’ clause in our contract.” He sneered and ignored my protest. He suddenly leaned down, put his hands on the edge of the desk, and approached me aggressively with his tall body. The distance was so close that I could even feel the warm air from his breath. I subconsciously leaned back in my chair. He reached out his hand and unceremoniously pulled out the scratch paper I had just turned over. He glanced at the slightly fluctuating numbers I circled above and the final summary of “1.2 million.” His eyes instantly became dark, like a bottomless pool of black water. “East Bay Logistics?” He read the name, and there was no emotion or anger in his tone. “Yes.” Now that I had been discovered, I simply stopped hiding it. “There are traces of man-made manipulation in the transportation costs of this dedicated line. In three years, someone used this subtle adjustment to siphon 1.2 million from the company’s account.” I looked into his eyes, trying to catch something in his reaction. anger? shock? Or the embarrassment and anger after being exposed? None. He just looked at the piece of paper calmly, as if what I said was just a trivial matter. “Do you understand the unspoken rules of the logistics industry?” He suddenly spoke, with a hint of mockery in his tone. “I don’t understand the hidden rules.” I met his gaze without giving in. “I only understand mathematics. Mathematics doesn’t lie. This money is flat on the books, but in fact it is lost profits.” He straightened up and looked at me condescendingly. “Nora, do you know some accounts are not meant to be examined too closely?” His voice carried a warning. “When the water is too clear, there are no fish. Did your father never teach you that?” When I mentioned my father, the fire in my heart suddenly started to burn. “My father taught me that books are like people. One wrong entry can hide a hole no one can fill.” My voice was cold. “If you think I am overstepping, you can fire me right now. But while I am in this position, I will not pretend I cannot see a parasite this blatant.” The study fell into a deathly silence. We were like two beasts confronting each other, neither of us willing to look away first. I thought he was going to get mad and tear up the scrap paper and smash it in my face. But he didn’t. He suddenly smiled. It was an extremely dangerous, predatory smile. “Okay.” He slapped the scrap paper on the table, “Since you have such a professional ethics, I will give you this opportunity.” He leaned down, put his hands on the table again, and locked his eyes with me. “Keep checking.” “Dig out all the interest chains, capital flows, and handlers behind this line.” “I want to see a complete investigation report at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.” I was stunned. Not only did he not stop me, but he asked me to investigate thoroughly? “What?” He raised his eyebrows, “Didn’t you speak righteously just now? Now you don’t dare?” “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” I immediately replied, “As long as you don’t regret it.” “I, Ian Vale, don’t have the word regret in my dictionary.” He straightened up, turned and walked towards the door. When he reached the door, he stopped and looked back at the coffee table. “Drink that glass of milk.” This is an order. After saying that, he left the study without looking back. The door is closed. My tense nerves finally relaxed, and a layer of cold sweat broke out on my back. This man is too dangerous and too difficult to see through. He clearly knew that East Bay Logistics had a problem, why didn’t he deal with it? Why wait for me to lift the lid? I don’t have time to think too much. It’s less than seven hours until eight in the morning. I picked up the glass of cold milk and drank it in one gulp. The cold liquid slid down my throat and into my stomach, clearing up my chaotic brain. I sat back in front of the computer and tapped my fingers quickly on the keyboard. I want to follow this line and drag out the big rat hiding in the dark. I pulled up all the financial data of East Bay Logistics and started cross-referencing it. I reviewed every payment receipt and checked every collection account. As the investigation deepens, a secret financial chain gradually emerges. The money that was withdrawn did not go directly into the individual’s pockets, but was carried out through a series of complex money laundering operations through several seemingly unrelated shell companies. In the end, all the money flowed into an offshore account called “Kingsley Capital.” The actual controller of Kingsley Capital is a man named “Victor Kingsley”. Victor Kingsley. I did not see this name in the list of Vale Holdings executives. who is he? Time passes minute by minute. The night outside the window gradually faded, and a fish-belly white color appeared in the east. I rubbed my sore eyes, organized the last piece of evidence, saved it, and printed it. 7:50 in the morning. I took a thick investigation report and walked out of the study. This night of fighting made me feel exhausted, but more importantly, I felt the pleasure of uprooting the cancer. I want to see what else Ian will say in the face of this irrefutable evidence.

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In her previous life, Erin loved Keller so blindly that she threw away her dignity. In the end, he and Sophia joined hands to drag her into hell. Lynn Medical Group collapsed. She was tortured to death by kidnappers, while Keller stepped over its ruins and married the woman he had always wanted. Reborn on the day of the business marriage arrangement, she pushed Keller away and announced in public that she would marry Landon, the senior power behind his family. No one believed Erin could win Landon over until he appeared in the private room himself, draped his coat over her shoulders, and calmly declared, “She is my fiancée.” After the wedding, he gave Erin a level of indulgence others could only envy. For a while, she almost believed her second life had finally turned around. But when the truth came out, Erin realized she had only fallen from one trap into another. The first second after her rebirth, Erin looked at the luxurious villa living room in front of her and knelt before her parents without hesitation. “Dad, Mom, I want to change the person in the business marriage arrangement with Reid Holdings.” Erin’s voice trembled, but every word landed steady. “I will not marry Keller. I want to marry Landon.” The parents’ hands holding the coffee cups shook suddenly, their faces full of astonishment. “Are you crazy? Weren’t you so in love with Keller that you lost all sense? Landon is the senior Reid family member actually running Reid Holdings. No one can read him. Why would he agree to marry you?” Erin closed her eyes, and the brutal scenes of her previous life flashed through her mind like a film reel. In her previous life, she had married Keller as she wished, only to receive endless emotional neglect. Keller only had eyes for fragile, pitiful Sophia. For Sophia, he watched Erin get tortured by kidnappers. After Erin died, he even turned the ruins of Lynn Medical Group into Sophia’s stepping stone. Now that she had been given another life, even one glance at Keller made her sick. “Just because I know the consequences of loving him, I will never marry him.” “Because I know what loving him costs, I would rather die than marry him.” Erin opened her eyes, cold and clear. “Dad, Mom, Lynn Medical Group needs Reid Holdings’ funding, and Reid Holdings needs our medical resources. It is a deal. Does it matter who we make the deal with? Landon has more power than Keller, doesn’t he?” My father was silent for a long time and sighed: “Landon is in a high position, so he may not agree. Let’s go test it out, but don’t have high hopes.” As soon as her parents’ car drove out of the yard, Erin’s phone vibrated. It was a text from Keller: [The bar downtown. Come here now.] Erin looked at the words on the screen, sneered, took the car keys and went out. She was worried that she wouldn’t have a chance to speak clearly. The moment she pushed open the door to the private room, a glass of iced whiskey splashed into her face. Cold liquid ran down her cheeks, and mocking laughter burst through the private room. “Well, Miss Erin really does come when called. Even a dog has more backbone than you.” “You can come if Keller asks you to come. Why, you can’t bear not being around him for a day?” Keller sat in the middle of the sofa, holding Sophia with red eyes in his arms. He looked down at the embarrassed Erin, his eyes full of disgust. “What game are you playing now? Spreading rumors that you want to break off our engagement so I will come coax you?” Keller sneered. “Let me make this clear. Even if this is a business marriage arrangement, all you deserve is an empty marriage. I love Sophia. Stop disgusting us.” Erin took out a tissue and slowly wiped the wine from her face. Unlike in her previous life, she did not go mad with jealousy. Her gaze was calm, as if she were looking at trash. “You misunderstood.” She threw the tissue into the trash. “The engagement is ending. The business marriage arrangement is still happening.” Keller frowned: “What do you mean?” “It means I am marrying into Reid Holdings, but the groom is not you.” Erin looked at him and smiled coldly. “Keller, the next time you see me, remember to call me Mrs. Reid.” The private room went dead silent. Keller was stunned for two seconds, and then burst into laughter, as if he had heard a big joke: “Have you lost your mind? You want to marry Landon? You think you deserve him? He will not even spare you a second look!” Sophia spoke timidly as well. “Erin, do not say things like that just to make Keller angry. A man like Landon would never…” “Whether it’s possible or not, it’s not your turn to worry about it.” She didn’t want to waste any more words, so she turned around and left. “Stop!” Keller was irritated by Erin’s ignoring attitude and stood up suddenly to grab her wrist. Just then, the private room door was pushed open from outside. A man in a black couture suit and gold-rimmed glasses stood in the doorway. He was tall and lean, with a cold, restrained elegance. Behind the lenses, his eyes were deep as an abyss and heavy with pressure. The air in the private room solidified instantly. Keller’s hand froze in midair. His face went white, and even his voice shook. “M-Mr. Reid.” Landon did not look at him. His gaze passed over everyone and went straight to Erin. He stepped forward, took off his coat, and naturally draped it over her soaked shoulders. “Erin.” Landon’s voice was low and pleasant, yet distant in a businesslike way. “Your father called me just now. I accept your proposal.”

There was silence in the private room, and everyone seemed to be strangled. “Mr. Reid, are you insane? You want to marry her? She is…” “She is someone you will have to respect from now on.” Landon cut him off calmly, his eyes indifferent. “Keller, mind your manners.” Keller was frozen in place by that look and couldn’t say a word. Landon turned to her and gathered the coat around her shoulders with long fingers. “Let’s go, fiancée. It is too noisy here.” Erin followed Landon out of the bar and got into the black Maybach. The car was filled with the faint smell of agarwood, and Erin turned her head to look at the man beside her. Landon’s profile was impeccable, but his aloofness made people shudder. “Why did you agree?” Erin asked directly. She didn’t believe in love at first sight, and she didn’t believe that people like Landon would do business at a loss. Landon took off his glasses and rubbed his brow. “Lynn Medical Group’s research institute has something I need. And you need a backer strong enough to crush Keller. We each get what we need.” “Is it that simple?” “That simple.” Landon put his glasses back on and looked at her. His gaze was honest, but cold. “Erin, I can give you the status of a legal spouse, absolute freedom, and protection. Keller will never be able to touch you again.” Erin’s heart moved slightly, this was exactly what she wanted. “But I have conditions,” Landon said calmly. “First, do not interfere with my private life. Second, do not fall in love with me.” Erin froze for a moment, then laughed. “Do not worry, Landon. I know my place.” She was scarred by love in her previous life. In this life, she just wants to build a career and keep the Lynn Medical Group. She gave up on the luxury of love. Over the next half month, Landon showed her what textbook indulgence looked like. If Erin casually mentioned that she liked a restaurant, its head chef appeared at the house the next day. If she glanced twice at a dress from a couture show, the entire collection arrived in her closet the following morning. Landon solves all her troubles with force and resoluteness. Keller tried to cause trouble with her, but was immediately stopped by Landon and sent to a remote overseas branch for training. He protected her so completely it was almost airtight, as if he were worshiping an expensive porcelain doll. But Erin gradually realized that his indulgence was cold. Landon never had any physical contact with her. When walking side by side, he always kept a distance of ten centimeters from her; occasionally when handing something over, his fingers would deftly avoid Erin’s skin. He was like a perfectly programmed husband. No flaw could be found, except that he lacked the warmth of a living person. Until a week before the wedding, Erin went to Reid Holdings to deliver documents to Landon. There was no one in the CEO’s office. Erin pushed open the door to the break room and saw an upside-down photo on Landon’s desk. Instinctively, she opened the photo. The photo shows two young men. One was a younger Landon. The other was an extraordinarily handsome young man with a sickly pallor in his brows. They stood very close, and the way Landon looked at him held a tenderness and obsession Erin had never seen before. Written on the back of the photo were two words: Noah. “What are you doing?” A cold and biting voice came from behind. Erin’s hand shook and the photo fell on the table. She turned around and saw Landon standing at the door, his face terrifyingly gloomy. He strode over, grabbed the photo, carefully wiped away the non-existent dust, and then looked at her coldly. “Erin, I remember telling you not to interfere with my private life.” That was the first time Erin saw Landon lose control, because he was touched by the reverse scale. Erin suddenly understood something. “Who is he?” Erin heard her voice wavering. Landon locked the photos in the drawer and returned to his aloof and indifferent look. “An old friend.” His tone was very faint. “Erin, play the role you are supposed to play. Do not ask questions you should not ask.”

That photo became a thorn in Erin’s heart. Erin used Reid Holdings’ contacts to investigate, but the result left her feeling trapped in an ice cave. Noah had once been a brilliant young painter in New York. He was also the old love Landon kept hidden in his heart. Five years earlier, Noah had been in a serious car accident and was left in a vegetative state. He still lay in a top care facility in Seattle, and the core medical technology behind that facility came from Lynn Medical Group’s research institute. Erin was sitting in an empty room, looking at the investigation report in her hand, and suddenly felt extremely ridiculous. No wonder Landon agreed so readily, no wonder he wanted the medical resources of Lynn Medical Group. He was not bisexual. He was gay, completely and without question. He married Erin only so he could use Lynn Medical Group’s technology to save the person he loved. At the same time, a conventional marriage would hide his unacceptable orientation from his family and give them an explanation. She had escaped Keller’s trap, only to plunge headfirst into Landon’s abyss. “Knock knock.” There was a knock on the door, and Landon’s assistant walked in pushing a row of wedding dresses. “Mrs. Reid, these are all Paris couture. Please see which one you like,” the assistant said respectfully. Erin looked at those priceless white gauze and felt dazzled. “Where’s Landon?” “Landon went to Seattle on a business trip and said he would be back the day before the wedding.” Go to Seattle… to see Noah. Erin twitched her lips: “I know, let it go.” The wedding took place as scheduled. The wedding of the century shook all of New York. Landon gave Erin the ultimate public respect: Bulgarian roses everywhere, a pink diamond ring worth over a hundred million, and an official place in the Reid family’s inner circle. At the wedding scene, Keller was escorted back from the remote overseas branch. He was tanned and thin, and his eyes were full of unwillingness and regret when he looked at Erin who was so radiant on the stage. He tried to rush onto the stage, but was held down by Landon’s bodyguard. Holding Erin’s hand, Landon looked down at Keller. His voice was not loud, but it carried through the room. “Call her Mrs. Reid.” Keller bit his lip in humiliation and squeezed out a few words through his teeth: “Mrs. Reid.” Erin looked at Keller’s humiliation, but she felt no pleasure from revenge. The large hand holding hers was warm, yet stiff as wood. Landon was enduring physical contact with a woman. The moment the toast was over, Landon released her hand and wiped his palm with a handkerchief. That tiny movement was like a loud slap across Erin’s face. Wedding night. The wedding room was decorated festively and luxuriously. Erin sat on the edge of the bed wearing red silk pajamas and watched Landon walk out of the bathroom. He was wearing neat dark pajamas, buttoned to the top button, and was ascetic to the extreme. He walked to the bed, did not get on the bed, but took out a spare quilt from the cabinet and walked to the sofa in the distance. “You sleep on the bed, I’ll sleep on the sofa.” Landon said in a calm voice with his back to Erin. Erin tightened her grip on the sheets: “Landon, we’re getting married.” “I know.” Landon turned around, his eyes clear and empty of desire. “Erin, I promised you that aside from love and physical intimacy, I can give you anything. If you feel wronged, my supplementary card has no limit. Buy anything you like.” Erin laughed angrily. “You think money can solve everything?” “At least it solves most troubles.” Landon walked over, bent slightly, and placed a kiss on her forehead as light as a feather. There was no warmth or emotion in it. It felt like a bedtime ritual. “Good night, Erin.” Erin looked at his back walking towards the sofa, her eyes sore. She had thought she could keep this as a transaction and leave feelings out of it. But the heart was made of flesh. In the past half month, Landon had shielded her from storms and backed her up when she needed it. How could she not feel anything? Yet that feeling looked ridiculous in the face of Landon’s absolute reason and the gender line she could never cross.

Landon is the perfect husband. He remembered Erin’s period and had brown sugar ginger tea prepared in advance. He knew she was allergic to mangoes, so no yellow fruit appeared in the house. When she attended charity dinners, he even chose her jewelry himself. He took good care of her, but he was very distinct. Erin tries to break the deadlock. One weekend, Landon was working overtime in the study. Erin cooked herself, made his favorite scallop and seafood porridge, and brought it to the study. “Landon, take a rest and drink some porridge.” She put the bowl next to his hand, and her fingers inadvertently touched the back of his hand. His hand jerked back as if it had been burned. Although he tried his best to hide it, the physical rejection at that moment still stung Erin. He looked at the bowl of porridge and frowned slightly, but he still picked it up and took a sip. “It’s delicious, thank you.” He said in a gentle tone. Before Erin could be happy, she heard him press the intercom and call the housekeeper in. “Do not let Mrs. Reid go into the kitchen again.” Landon pulled out a wet wipe and cleaned his hands. “Smoke and oil are bad for her skin. We hired Michelin chefs. They are not here for decoration.” The butler nodded repeatedly. Erin froze. He was not cherishing her. He was maintaining a beautiful ornament and refusing to let it touch ordinary life. “Landon, I just want to do something for you.” Erin bit her lip. “You do not need to do anything. Just be Mrs. Reid.” Landon looked at her like a disobedient child. “Erin, do not cross the line.” Crossing the line again. Erin suddenly felt very tired. This soft-knife torture was more hopeless than Keller’s open cruelty. Keller would at least argue with her and get angry. Landon, on the other hand, was even stingy about getting angry at her. Half a month later, it’s Erin’s birthday. Landon booked New York’s top revolving restaurant early and prepared fireworks and a private jet as gifts. Erin wore a haute couture dress and sat at a dining table covered with roses, waiting for him. At 8 p.m., Landon didn’t show up. Nine o’clock in the evening, still nothing. Erin called his phone, but no one answered. It wasn’t until ten o’clock in the evening that the assistant rushed over, sweating profusely: “Mrs. Reid, I’m sorry, Landon can’t come.” “Something happened to the company?” Erin suppressed the panic in her heart. The assistant avoided her eyes. “No… Seattle called. They said Noah’s vitals suddenly dropped, and the hospital issued a critical condition notice. Landon took a private jet there overnight.” Erin’s blood instantly ran cold. She looked out the window at the sky full of fireworks that bloomed on time. They were gorgeous and dazzling, but they couldn’t warm her cold heart. “Did he leave anything before he left?” Erin heard her dry voice. The assistant handed her a black card and a velvet box. “Landon said happy birthday. The card has no PIN. The necklace is the Heart of the Ocean, the one he won at auction. He said he was sorry and would make it up to you when he came back.” Erin looked at the priceless necklace and suddenly smiled. Laughing till tears came out. compensate? What compensation will be given? On her birthday, her husband had left without even saying happy birthday to her face, all because of another man. What was she? A professional stand-in with a high salary and premium benefits? Or a shield that could be dropped at any time? Erin didn’t take the card or the necklace. She took off her high heels and walked out of the luxurious restaurant barefoot. The night wind blew on me, biting the bones. She finally understood that Landon’s indulgence had never been love. It was charity from above, a compensation mechanism for a business partner. His heart had died with the man named Noah in that car accident five years ago.

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On their fifth wedding anniversary, Ethan Hawthorne’s gift to Stella was a hundred shots of strong liquor and a stand-in who looked just like her. To save that stand-in, Ethan forcibly took one of Stella’s kidneys. In despair, Stella fell into the deep blue water beneath Harbor Bridge. When she woke again, she had become Iris Haven, the gentle owner of a flower shop. A warm, gentle doctor stayed by her side, and her days were steady and quiet. Until the day a broken man, ragged and paralyzed in both legs, knelt outside Iris’s flower shop. Their fifth wedding anniversary. The gift Ethan Hawthorne prepared for Stella was a hundred shots of high-proof liquor. The lights in the club private room were dim and the air was oppressive and suffocating. Stella was pinned down on the sofa by two bodyguards in black suits. On the long coffee table in front of her, a hundred shot glasses were stacked into a glittering little tower. “Drink.” Ethan sat across from her with his legs crossed, his voice as cold as something dragged out of an ice cellar. Stella’s stomach was churning and cramping—she had a severe stomach ulcer that had gotten worse over the past two years. “Ethan, I really can’t drink anymore…” Her voice was hoarse, with a plea as humble as dust. Ethan sneered, leaned forward and pinched her chin, so hard that he almost crushed her mandible. “Your parents loved drinking so much that they drove drunk and killed my whole family. As their daughter, what do these hundred cups mean? ” Stella’s eyes were red, tears hitting the back of his hand. “I’m sorry…” She had said those three words for five years, until they became instinct. “My parents have already paid for it with their lives. Isn’t this… enough?” “If they die ten thousand times, can they bring my parents and sister back!” Ethan swung his hand away, his eyes filled with frightening hatred. “Stella, this is only the fifth year, and you already can’t take it?” He stood up straight and took out a handkerchief to wipe his hands, as if he had touched something dirty. Then he winked at the bodyguard behind him. “Force it down.” The two men stepped forward. One pried her mouth open, and the other poured the liquor in. The burning liquid rushed down her throat like a red-hot blade. Stella coughed violently, her face was smeared with wine and tears, her stomach was on fire, and she was convulsing. She fell down on the dark carpet, as embarrassed as an abandoned dog. When will this endless torture end? She doesn’t know. A soft female voice suddenly broke the dead silence. Stella looked through blurry teary eyes. There was a girl standing at the door, in a white dress with long hair and a bright smile. Stella’s breath hitched, and her heart seemed to be clenched. Alina Locke. This girl looks so much like her twenty-two-year-old self. No wonder Ethan kept her close to him. Seeing Alina, the ice in Ethan’s eyes immediately turned into spring water. He stood and went to her, his voice soft enough to drip honey. “Lina, wait a minute. Today is Stella’s and my wedding anniversary. I am giving her a gift.” Alina looked past him and glanced disdainfully at Stella on the ground. Then she took his arm and shook it gently. “Don’t waste your time on irrelevant people, okay?” Ethan was silent for a moment. He really couldn’t ignore Stella completely. But he quickly changed the subject: “Okay, it’s up to you. Are you hungry? I’ll take you for a supper. ” With that said, he took Alina’s hand and walked out. When passing by Stella, Alina swept the hem of her skirt and deliberately kicked the edge of the coffee table with her toes. Crash— The tower of glasses collapsed, and shards of glass rained down on Stella. She instinctively protected her head and face, and there were more than a dozen bloody cuts on her arms and calves. The blood gushed out and stained her shirt red. “Ah!” Alina covered her mouth, “I didn’t mean it! Ethan, she’s bleeding, should she be sent to the hospital? ” Without looking at Stella, Ethan nervously grabbed Alina’s hand, frowning. There was a light red mark on Alina’s index finger, and the skin was not even broken, but Ethan lowered his head and kissed it gently, as if he were treating a peerless treasure. “Does it hurt?” Alina hooked her arms around his neck, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him. “It won’t hurt if you kiss it.” Ethan grabbed the back of her head and deepened the kiss. Stella lay among broken glass and spilled liquor, blood running down her arms. Their kiss sounded in her ears, and her heart felt as if it were being torn apart. “Lina…” Ethan murmured softly in his confusion. Lina. Lena. Exactly the same pronunciation, what an ironic overlap. After the kiss ended, Ethan hugged Alina sideways and walked out without looking back. Walking to the door, he coldly said: “Clean her up. Do not let her die. That body is still worth keeping around for a little more torture.” The door to the private room is closed. Stella closed her eyes, tears falling silently into her ears. Everything had changed. The boy who once cherished her like a treasure had died in that car accident five years ago. Now Ethan Hawthorne is an evil spirit crawling out of hell. —

Five years ago today was the day Stella looked forward to the most. She put on the most beautiful wedding dress and waited to marry the person she loved most in her life. Ethan held her, kissed her forehead and said, “Lena, I finally got to marry you.” They grew up together. Everyone knows how much Ethan loves Stella. She casually said that she wanted to eat lemon desserts from the small bakery near the old campus. He could drive two hours to buy it in a rainstorm. She had stomachaches during her period, so he stayed up all night, using his warm palms to warm her stomach. On the day of the proposal, he knelt down on one knee, with red eyes, and vowed to pamper her for the rest of his life. But all the good things were ruined in that car accident. Stella’s parents drove drunk after their wedding reception and crashed into Ethan’s parents’ car at the intersection. The Hawthorne couple died at the scene, and Ethan’s sister in the back seat later died from her injuries. His grandfather, far away in his rural hometown, died of a sudden cerebral hemorrhage after hearing the news. Overnight, the Hawthorne family was destroyed. The wedding turned into a funeral. Lovers turn into enemies. Ethan went mad. He used all means to send Stella’s parents to state prison, and specially arranged for them to be “taken good care of” inside. During her last visit, Stella looked through the glass at her parents, who were so thin that they were only a handful of bones and covered with scars. The elderly couple had suffered a serious accident in prison. After emergency treatment, they were left with only their final breath. They looked at her weakly. “Lena, Mom and Dad did something wrong, and we should bear the consequences. But you are innocent and should live well. ” “Ethan hates you, but he also loves you to the death. Please, no matter how difficult it is, just hold on for five years. ” “If you still can’t find hope of living after five years, you…come to us.” That night, her parents removed their own breathing tubes and died together. Stella became the only person in the Fallon family who lived to repay the debt. In order to fulfill her parents’ last wishes, she stayed with Ethan and began to bear the punishment of these five years. Five years. More than 1,800 days and nights. Ethan tortured her in every possible way. In the cold winter, she was forced to kneel in the snow wearing single clothes. In the hot summer, she was locked up in an attic without air conditioning and exposed to the sun. She was forced to eat mangoes that she was allergic to. She had red rashes all over her body and could not breathe. She wanted to escape from it all countless times. But that five-year agreement was like an invisible shackle, nailing her to the world. Until three months ago. Alina appears. Similar faces. Names with the same pronunciation. Ethan gave all his tenderness to this stand-in, and left all his violence to her. But Stella still feels pain when she hears him calling someone else “Lina” and pampering another woman like he pampered her before. The pain is so painful that she can’t breathe. Now, there are only seven days left before the five-year agreement expires. On the cold floor, Stella took out the family photo from her pocket. The edges of the photo were yellowed and curled, and blood seeped into the fingers, staining the parents’ smiles red. “Dad, Mom…” She curled up and her voice was as light as a wisp of smoke. “I will hold on for the last seven days.” “I will go find you in seven days.” When I woke up it was early the next morning. Stella was lying on the bed in the guest room, her wounds hastily bandaged. She took out the photo of her heart, and there were still six days left. A glance at the bedside calendar—it’s Ethan’s birthday. He hasn’t had a birthday in five years. Stella climbed up with her weak body. Give it one last try. She walked into the kitchen and beat the dough and eggs. The cut on her finger was soaked with rhinestones and felt painful. She gritted her teeth and endured it. The cake burned twice, but the third time it was finally successful. She dug out the old photos she had saved back then and made a handmade photo album. evening. She sent Ethan a text. [Ethan, see you at the same place. I have something very important to tell you.] She took the cake and photo album she baked by herself and went to the French bistro. After waiting for a full two hours, Ethan opened the door and came in. He is wearing a black suit and has cold and stern features. When he saw the cake, his face suddenly darkened. “After my parents died, I couldn’t celebrate my birthday.” He raised his hand, the cake smashed to the ground, and the cream splashed on Stella’s skirt. She didn’t hide. “I know…” she said shakily, “Ethan, five years. My parents have already paid for it with their lives. I’ve had enough too. ” She looked up, tears filling her eyes. “Let’s let each other go.” “dream!” Ethan leaned forward, his eyes fierce. “Stella, your torture is not even one ten thousandth of what I was.” “Your parents drove drunk, and my whole family was ruined overnight!” He grabbed her neck and pulled her close. “Let me put it down? Why! ” Stella burst into tears. “I’m sorry…” “Ethan!” Alina pushed the door open and walked in, her white dress floating in the air, holding a glass jar filled with paper cranes. “Happy birthday! I folded a thousand of them with my own hands, each with a wish. ” Ethan froze and let go of Stella. Stella fell down, her face pale. This scene was too familiar — when she was eighteen years old, she had also given him a can of paper cranes and said the same thing. “Lina…” Ethan took the jar, his eyes dazed. He hugged Alina suddenly. “I love so much.” Alina glanced triumphantly at Stella and hugged him back. Stella dug her fingers into the photo album, and her nails cracked and bled, but she didn’t feel any pain. The heart seemed to be cut with a dull knife. The one who defeated her was her former self. Ethan hates the present, but deeply loves the girl named “Lena” in his memory. Seeing the two embracing each other, Stella grabbed her bag and rushed out of the tavern. The night was cool and she was driving around, her eyes blurred with tears. She had thought the pain had numbed her, but her heart was still bleeding. A white shadow suddenly appeared. Squeak — the brakes screeched, and with a bang, the person was knocked away. Stella got out of the car, and there was Alina on the ground in a pool of blood. “Lina! ! ” Ethan’s Maybach stopped, and he rushed over and pushed Stella away, scratching his palm. He picked up Alina and glared at Stella with a glare like a poisonous blade. “You want to kill her too? ! ” “It wasn’t me…she rushed out on her own…” “Shut up!” He ordered his bodyguards to escort Stella to the hospital and knelt at the door of the emergency room. The hospital’s red light was dazzling, and Ethan’s back was tense. Stella was forced to kneel on the tiles, her knees ached from the old injury, she lowered her head and said nothing. “If something happens to her,” Ethan came over and said coldly, “Stella, you will be buried with her.” Every word stabbed into her heart. Three hours later, the light went out. The doctor said, “Her kidney has ruptured. She needs an immediate transplant to survive.” “Make a match immediately, no matter the cost!” “But she’s RH negative, type B blood, and has no backup kidney donor.” Ethan zeroes in on Stella—she also has the same blood type. “Draw her blood and match her blood type.” Stella struggled, “No…” but was held down. Ethan pinched her chin, “You don’t have the right to say no.” “Ethan…do you really want to do this?” He had no trouble and ordered the doctor to execute it. The result matches exactly. Stella was strapped onto the gurney and pushed into the operating room. Ethan signed the consent form in his husband’s name. Under anesthesia, she recalled when she was fifteen: when he had a high fever, he ran with her on his back; when she was eighteen, he swore to protect her. Now, he personally sent her to the office to have her kidney cut off. Tears fell and fell into darkness. After the operation was over and pushed back to the general ward, Stella curled up in pain. The family next door chatted with the nurse: “The VIP’s wife is undergoing surgery, and the CEO is watching over her every step of the way.” “Good luck to her.” Stella cried silently and whispered weakly: “I am his wife…” No one heard. She was thirsty and wanted to pour water. She fell to the ground and suffered severe pain from the incision. Ethan was outside the door, saw this scene, and was about to step in, but stopped, turned around and left. Charles was confused: “You are obviously worried…” Ethan said, “This is her punishment.” “But Mrs. Hawthorne was also innocent in the car accident that year. Her parents have already paid for it with their lives. You tortured her for five years and even kidney forced her to donate. Not enough? ” The corridor was deathly silent. After a long time, Ethan asked in a low voice: “If I let her go, who will let me go?” He strode away with a determined look from behind. Stella lay on the ground for a long time before gathering enough strength to climb back into bed. For the next few days, Ethan was never seen again. Only the nurse comes to change the dressing on time. At noon that day, Stella was woken up by the vibrating sound of her cell phone. A multimedia message was sent from an unknown number. [Your kidney, I’m very used to it. From now on, not only your kidney, but everything you have — including Ethan — will be mine.] A photo is attached below. On Alina’s slender wrist, she wore the antique gold locket. Stella’s pupils shrank suddenly, and her blood instantly became cold. It was the last relic left by her mother to her, and inside was the only photo of her and her mother. How did it get into Alina’s hands when it had been locked in the safe in the master bedroom of Hawthorne Manor?! She suddenly pulled out the infusion needle on the back of her hand, not caring about the blood splattering. Holding the wound on his abdomen, he stumbled out of the ward. VIP ward area. Stella knocks open Alina’s door. Alina was leaning on the bedside eating cherries, and when she saw her, a proud smile appeared on her lips. “Hey, isn’t this our great contributor to kidney donation? What, came to see your kidney? ” Stella stared at the locket on her wrist, her voice trembling. “Give it back to me.” Alina raised her wrist and twirled the locket nonchalantly. “Why should I pay you back? Ethan said it looked good on me, so he gave it to me. ” “You lied!” Stella rushed to grab it. Alina ducked back and screamed. “ah! Help! She wants to kill me! ” The ward door was kicked open. Ethan strode in and pushed Stella away. Stella hit the wall, the knife edge tore open, and she gasped in pain. “Ethan, she’s trying to steal my locket…” Alina shrank into Ethan’s arms, trembling. Ethan’s face looked horribly gloomy. “Stella, why are you crazy!” Stella leaned against the wall, her eyes red. “That’s a relic left to me by my mother. Give it back to me…” She put down all dignity and her voice was hoarse. “Alina, as long as you give it back to me, I will agree to anything. You want Mrs. Hawthorne’s place, I’ll give it to you. Please, give it back to me…” Ethan stiffened suddenly, his eyes filled with overwhelming anger. “Stella!” He gritted his teeth, “In your heart, my wife’s status is not as good as that of a dead person? ! ” Stella looked at him with despair in her eyes. “That’s my mother…” “Your mother is a murderer!” Ethan growled. He grabbed Alina’s wrist and forced the locket off. The gold chain made red marks, and Alina shrank back in fear. “Everything related to your parents should be destroyed.” After saying that, he turned around, walked to the window, and pushed open the window. The cold wind from the eighteenth floor rushed in, and he raised his hand to throw the locket down. “don’t want–!” Stella let out a shrill scream. She didn’t know where the strength came from, and she pounced on Ethan the moment he let go, knocked his arm away, and leaned half of her body out of the window to grab the locket. His fingertips touched the cold metal, and his body lost its balance. “Stella!” Ethan’s pupils shrank suddenly and his heart stopped for a beat. He reached out like crazy and only caught a piece of clothing. Stab. The fabric is torn. Stella fell straight down like a kite with its string broken.

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“Mom, today is a private VIP birthday bash hosted by my socialite friends for Leo. You’re sitting at the head table wearing those thrift store rags—are you trying to embarrass me on purpose? Just go eat at the corner table with the nanny.” My daughter-in-law, Tiffany, shoved me aside with pure disgust in the VIP suite of the five-star InterContinental Hotel. I watched as the handcrafted custom gold baby bracelet I had personally made for my grandson fell to the floor. My heart went completely cold. This thirty-thousand-dollar birthday banquet was charged to my authorized user card. The five-million-dollar luxury penthouse they lived in was bought by me, cash in full. And now, I didn’t even have the right to sit at the table? Without saying a word, I picked up the gold bracelet, turned around, and walked out. As I did, I dialed the exclusive customer service line for my Amex Centurion Black Card. “Freeze all authorized user cards under Marcus’s name. Right now.” **Chapter 1** “Mom, what kind of tantrum are you throwing now? Get back here and pay the bill!” I had just walked out of the InterContinental when my son, Marcus, called, his voice booming with anxiety and anger. The early autumn wind was chilly. I wrapped my knit cardigan tighter around myself, my voice calmer than I expected. “I wasn’t even allowed to sit at the table. Why on earth should I pay for your dinner?” On the other end of the line, Marcus let out an irritated sigh. His tone was full of impatience and entitlement. “Mom! Tiffany’s guests today are all high-society people. Their purses cost tens of thousands of dollars. If you sit there in your pilled, cheap clothes, how is Tiffany supposed to face her circle ever again?” “She just asked you to eat at the side table. Is it really that big of a deal? Just come back. The waiter is waiting for the payment. It’s thirty-two thousand dollars!” Listening to the son I carried for nine months speak to me in such a condescending, demanding tone all for the sake of a vanity-obsessed woman, I found it utterly ridiculous. “Thirty-two thousand dollars? Figure it out yourselves. My card has been frozen.” “You froze the card?!” Marcus’s voice instantly jumped an octave, sounding like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. “Mom, have you lost your mind?! How are we supposed to pay if you froze the card? Are you trying to humiliate Tiffany on purpose?” I let out a cold laugh. “Whether she is humiliated or not is none of my business. Don’t you guys love the luxury lifestyle? A luxury lifestyle is paid for with your own money, not by sucking your mother dry to show off.” Before he could utter another word, I hung up. Thirty years. Ever since my husband passed away in an accident, I had fought my way through the business world alone, eventually founding a multi-billion-dollar restaurant conglomerate. To prevent Marcus from turning into a spoiled, useless rich kid, I had always hidden my true wealth. I told him we only had some modest savings. I bought him a house, got him a car, and gave him eight thousand dollars a month as an “allowance.” I only hoped he would live a stable life and learn to be a responsible man. But what did I get in return? He married Tiffany, a woman whose brain was filled with nothing but designer logos and vanity, and turned into a completely spineless, ungrateful leech. Just as I locked my phone, my SnapChat family group began blowing up. Tiffany had posted a sixty-second voice note. In the background, I could hear the whispering of her so-called “socialite” friends. “Everyone, come look at this! This is my wonderful mother-in-law! Today is Leo’s birthday, and I kindly invited her to a five-star hotel for dinner. But she threw a tantrum because she didn’t like the food and walked out in front of all my friends!” “And to make it worse, she froze Marcus’s credit card on purpose! Now the restaurant manager has blocked us in the private room demanding payment! She just hates seeing us happy. She’s trying to ruin our lives!” Aunt Clara was the first to jump in, pretending to be the voice of reason: “Evelyn, this is really wrong of you. The kids need to save face. What’s wrong with swallowing a little pride as an elder? How could you embarrass them in front of outsiders?” Uncle Charles followed up with a text: “Exactly, Evelyn. Tiffany is a stay-at-home mom, and Marcus is under so much pressure supporting the family alone. What’s the point of clutching onto your little retirement fund? Just go back, pay the bill, and apologize to Tiffany. We’re family, after all.” Looking at these relatives who loved to give advice from their moral high grounds, a cold smirk played on my lips. Tiffany immediately replied with a crying emoji: “Uncle Charles, Aunt Clara, you have no idea how she treats me at home! I bought some organic baby food for Leo, and she nagged me for days. If she doesn’t pay us eighty thousand dollars for emotional distress today, I am done with this marriage!” Eighty thousand dollars? Emotional distress? I typed directly into the group chat: “Yesterday afternoon, who took the fifteen hundred dollars meant for Leo’s preschool tuition behind my back and used it to buy a pair of Chanel shoes?” The group chat instantly went dead silent. After a full minute, Tiffany’s screeching voice note blasted through the chat again: “Evelyn! Stop throwing wild accusations! What’s wrong with me buying a pair of shoes? I have to look presentable for Marcus’s sake! Unfreeze the card right now, or I’m taking Leo to a hotel tomorrow and you will never see your grandson again!” Marcus quickly followed up: “Mom, just transfer the money! Tiffany’s friends are laughing at us! Are you really going to force my family apart before you’re satisfied?!” Looking at this absurd couple, I didn’t even have the energy to be angry anymore. I left the SnapChat group and sent a message to my private attorney, Arthur. “Put the penthouse at Royal Oak up for sale tomorrow. Price it three hundred thousand below market value. Cash buyers only. It must be sold within three days.” After sending the message, I hailed a cab and headed back to my private penthouse in the city center. Since you think I’m poor and embarrassing… Let’s see how many days your “luxury lifestyle” lasts without this “poor” old woman. **Chapter 2** The next morning, just as I finished a cup of black coffee on my spacious terrace, Chris, my real estate agent, called. “Ms. Evelyn, because the price on the Royal Oak penthouse is so competitive, we already have three all-cash buyers wanting a viewing. But…” Chris’s voice was hesitant. “But what?” I asked calmly. “But the tenants, Marcus and Tiffany, are refusing to let anyone in. Tiffany actually chased our agents out with a broom, claiming the apartment belongs to her and she’ll fight anyone who tries to buy it.” I let out a cold laugh. “Put me on speakerphone.” Instantly, Tiffany’s screaming voice echoed through the line like a street thug: “Get out! All of you, get the hell away from here! This place is registered in my husband’s name! You’re trespassing! I will call the police and have you arrested!” I spoke into the phone, my voice quiet but crystal clear: “Tiffany, go ahead and call the police. Let them see how a squatter behaves when they refuse to leave someone else’s property.” Hearing my voice, Tiffany froze for a second before screeching even louder: “Evelyn! You old hag! Don’t try to scare me! I’m telling you, I’ve lived in this house, so it’s mine! What right do you have to sell it?” “The deed is in Marcus’s name, what does that have to do with you? You better tell the agents to leave and transfer me a hundred and fifty thousand dollars right now, and I’ll pretend yesterday never happened!” I was almost amused by her sheer shamelessness. “A hundred and fifty thousand? You’re still dreaming.” At that moment, Marcus grabbed the phone, his voice dripping with frantic threats: “Mom! What are you trying to do?! Are you really going to push us to the edge? If you sell this place, where are Tiffany and Leo supposed to live? Where am I supposed to put my face?!” “So what if you bought it? I’m your only son! Everything you own will be mine sooner or later anyway! You’re only doing this to force Tiffany to bow down to you, aren’t you? Let me tell you, it’s not going to happen!” “If you let anyone in to view this place, I will cut all ties with you! When you’re old and sick in a nursing home, don’t expect me to visit you even once!” Using my retirement to threaten me? This was his favorite trick since he was a kid. In the past, to keep our relationship intact, I always let it slide. But now, I was done playing. “Suit yourself,” I said, my voice completely flat. “The house is being sold. Keep blocking the door if you think you can do it forever.” I hung up, opened SnapChat, and sent Marcus a high-definition scan of a document. It was the *Nominee Agreement* I had forced Marcus to sign when I bought the property. In black and white, it clearly stated: The purchase price of the property was paid in full by Evelyn. Marcus was merely a nominee holder, and Evelyn retained absolute ownership and the right to dispose of the property. Attached to it was the bank statement showing the full wire transfer of 5.2 million dollars. In less than thirty seconds, Marcus started spamming my phone with calls. I blocked his number instantly. If we were cutting ties, we were doing it cleanly. For the next two days, I ignored the outside world. I let Arthur handle the sale of the penthouse while I went to our corporate headquarters to deal with some backlogged executive contracts. On the afternoon of the third day, I suddenly received a call from Leo’s preschool teacher. “Leo’s grandmother, could you come to the school? Leo fainted in the cafeteria during lunch today. He’s in the nurse’s office right now.” My heart squeezed. My gold pen dropped onto the desk with a sharp clack. “I’ll be right there!” Without even grabbing my coat, I rushed downstairs, got into my car, and had my driver speed to the elite private bilingual preschool that cost forty thousand dollars a year in tuition. When I burst into the nurse’s office, Leo was lying on a small cot, his face pale and his forehead covered in cold sweat. Seeing me, the poor little guy’s lips trembled, and tears began rolling down his cheeks. “Grandma… my tummy hurts… I’m so hungry…” My heart ached so badly that tears nearly welled up in my eyes. I rushed over and held him tight. “Oh, baby, Grandma is here. Grandma is going to get you some delicious food.” The school nurse walked over, her brows furrowed with disapproval. “Ma’am, how are you guys taking care of this child? He has severe malnutrition and fainted due to hypoglycemia. And…” The nurse paused, lowering her voice. “The clothes he’s wearing today—though they are designer brands—don’t have any thermal layers underneath. It’s late autumn. Of course he’s going to get sick.” I froze. Malnutrition? Hypoglycemia? I gave Marcus eight thousand dollars a month. Tiffany was constantly posting photos of high-end restaurants and organic foods on her Instagram. How on earth was my grandson malnourished?! Suppressing my boiling rage, I turned to Leo’s homeroom teacher. “Did Leo not have lunch at school today?” The teacher sighed, looking conflicted. “Leo’s grandmother, here’s the situation. Last month, Leo’s mom downgraded his meal plan from the premium organic menu to the lowest tier basic option, saying she wanted to build his character.” “But the basic plan doesn’t provide enough nutrition for a growing boy. On top of that, his mother has been constantly late paying the meal fees. We’ve sent several reminders, but she always says she forgot…” I was shaking with rage. Building character? Forgetting meal fees? That wretched woman, Tiffany, was actually starving her own son just to fund her vanity! **Chapter 3** I immediately scooped Leo up in my arms and walked out. “Teacher, I’m taking Leo with me. I will clear all outstanding balances today, and from now on, send all bills directly to me.” Just as we reached the school gates, a brand-new Porsche Panamera screeched to a halt by the curb. The door swung open, and Tiffany stepped out, wearing four-inch Louboutins and clutching the latest Hermès Birkin bag. Her makeup was flawless, her hair freshly blown out, and she smelled of expensive perfume. Seeing me holding Leo, her expression darkened, and she marched over aggressively. “Evelyn! What do you think you’re doing?! Who gave you permission to take my son!” She grabbed Leo’s arm, trying to yank him out of my arms. Terrified, Leo burst into tears, wrapping his little arms tightly around my neck. “You’re hurting him!” I slapped her hand away, shielding Leo behind me as I glared at her with freezing eyes. “Tiffany, you drive a hundred-thousand-dollar Porsche and carry a twenty-thousand-dollar bag, yet you make your own son eat trash at school until he faints from hunger? Do you even deserve to be a mother?!” The surrounding parents picking up their kids stopped to stare and whisper. Feeling humiliated, Tiffany’s face flushed bright red, and she shrieked: “Stop lying! How am I not a good mom? Boys need to be raised tough! I’m building his character!” “Besides, what’s wrong with me investing in myself? If I don’t look beautiful, how am I supposed to support Marcus’s image? How am I supposed to fit into high society?” Her self-righteous attitude made my stomach churn. “Support his image? High society?” I laughed coldly. “Starving your three-year-old son to fit into a socialite circle? Your ‘high society’ is pathetic.” “Shut up!” Tiffany pointed a finger at my face, her voice trembling with rage. “What do you know, you old peasant? Transfer the Royal Oak deed to Leo right now and unfreeze the Black Card! Otherwise, I’m calling the cops on you for kidnapping!” At that moment, the driver-side door of the Porsche opened, and Marcus stepped out, frowning. He didn’t even glance at the crying Leo. Instead, he yelled at me with irritation: “Mom! Have you had enough? Do you have to make a scene in public?” “Tiffany is already exhausted from raising the kid, and instead of helping, you just cause trouble! Put Leo down and go back to your rental!” Looking at the son I had poured my life’s work into raising, the last shred of maternal affection in my heart vanished completely. “Marcus, your son fainted from hunger at school, and you don’t even ask how he is? All you care about is defending this superficial woman?” Marcus scoffed, completely indifferent. “So what if he missed a meal? Tiffany is right, boys shouldn’t be coddled. Mom, your control issues are getting out of hand. You want to micromanage everything.” “I’m warning you, I’m still mad about the penthouse! Stop the sale immediately, or I’ll really cut you off!” I took a deep breath and held Leo closer. “Cut me off? Fine.” I looked at them both, pronouncing every word clearly: “As of today, Marcus, you no longer have a mother. I am taking Leo. And as for your penthouse, the eviction notice will be served tomorrow. Good luck.” With that, I turned around and walked toward my waiting car with Leo. Behind us, Tiffany was throwing a tantrum, her shrill voice echoing down the street: “Evelyn! You crazy old psycho! Don’t you dare take my son! I will destroy you!” Marcus joined in, screaming: “If you walk away today, don’t ever call me your son! I won’t even show up at your funeral!” I shut the car door, locking out their toxic venom. Show up at my funeral? I don’t need a parasite like you there anyway.

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Everyone in Manhattan’s high society used to say that Ethan, the billionaire heir of the prestigious Vance family, broke ties with his own empire just to marry me. They said he kept every other woman at a distance just to keep me safe. But on my twenty-fourth birthday, he showed up with another woman. Throughout the night, Ethan attended to me with his usual gentleness. That was until Chloe placed a bowl of blueberries right in front of my face. “I imported these specifically from France for your birthday, Stella,” Chloe said, her voice dripping with sweet innocence. “Have a taste.” When I didn’t move, Ethan’s brows furrowed. “Eat them, Stella. Don’t ruin Chloe’s sweet gesture.” I still didn’t move. Ethan’s patience snapped instantly. “Don’t act like I don’t know your allergy cured years ago. Do you really have to humiliate Chloe on your own birthday?” In that moment, Ethan looked like a complete stranger. He seemed to have completely forgotten that I once almost died in an ICU because of a single blueberry. Before I could even speak, Ethan’s best friend, Mason, grabbed my jaw. Along with a few others, they pried my mouth open and forced the blueberries down my throat. “Don’t think you can act like a spoiled brat just because Ethan loves you,” Mason sneered in my ear. “If Chloe tells you to eat, you eat.” Chloe instantly put on a victimized face, tears welling in her eyes. “I just wanted to bring her something nice. How could she…” She ran out of the venue sobbing. Ethan’s face darkened instantly. “Stella, you are so incredibly toxic. You ruined your own birthday. Are you happy now?” Without even looking at my distress, Ethan turned on his heel and chased after Chloe. His friends stayed behind, throwing every disgusting insult they could think of at me. By the next morning, I was trending all over Snapchat and TikTok. The headline read: *#GoldDiggerExposed: Did Stella Drug Manhattan’s Golden Boy to Force a Marriage?* When reporters caught up with Ethan at his office, he simply looked at the camera and said, “It is exactly what it looks like.” With those words, my reputation as a scheming, manipulative gold digger was sealed. And as my eyes slowly closed from the agonizing pain in my chest, I couldn’t understand. He used to love me so much. How did we get here? 1 When I woke up, I was already in a hospital bed. Ethan was sitting by my side, looking like he hadn’t slept a wink. “Sweetheart, you’re awake! How are you feeling?” He grabbed my hand eagerly. “You’re pregnant, Stella. Why didn’t you tell me? Do you have any idea how worried I was?” Looking into his eyes, he seemed like the old Ethan again. My heart softened just a tiny bit. But before I could speak, his phone buzzed. Ethan glanced at the screen, and his expression shifted subtly. “I need to take this.” Without waiting for my reply, he walked out of the room. The hospital door wasn’t fully closed. His warm, gentle tone drifted inside, striking a cold chord in my heart. “Yeah, don’t worry, she’s fine. It was all her own doing. She passed out because she was pregnant and didn’t tell anyone, not because of the blueberries. Don’t blame yourself, Chloe.” “Alright, get some rest. I’ll come over to see you later.” Ethan hung up and turned around, only to meet my tear-stained eyes. Panic flashed across his face, and he rushed to explain, “Chloe just wanted to apologize to you. But honestly, Stella, this is on you. You’re not even allergic to blueberries anymore, yet you had to make a scene. You fainted because of pregnancy hormones, but you wanted to blame it on Chloe just to make her feel guilty, didn’t you?” I didn’t say a single word. I just let him ramble. When he finally ran out of excuses, I looked at him with dead eyes. “Ethan, who is Chloe? And who am I to you?” “Chloe is my childhood friend. You are my wife. Those two things don’t clash, Stella.” *They don’t clash?* I let out a bitter laugh. Years ago, when Ethan’s assistant looked at him with a bit too much admiration, he fired her on the spot. He had told me: *“I won’t allow any woman with hidden intentions to stay near me. My wife is a jealous little kitten, and I intend to keep her happy.”* And now? Seeing my silence, Ethan’s face hardened. “Stella, enough. I already apologized, didn’t I? You can’t keep acting this toxic just because you’re pregnant.” Toxic. That was all I was to him now. Oh, Ethan. When exactly did you change? You used to hold me like I was your entire world. Now, you throw me to the ground and trample over me. I took a deep breath. “Ethan, do you still love me?” “Of course I do. If I didn’t love you, why would I have married you? Haven’t I sacrificed enough for you over the last ten years?” He began listing every single sacrifice he had ever made for me, one by one. He remembered them so clearly. It was only at this moment that I realized being with me had made him feel so incredibly suffocated and resentful. “Okay,” I whispered. “I get it. I’m fine now. You should go check on Chloe. She must have been really shaken up.” “Are you sure you’re okay?” I nodded. I had nothing left to say. When love is dead, what is the point of dragging things out? Ethan looked pleased with my “maturity.” He kissed my forehead and left me with one last sentence: “Chloe just got back to the city. I can’t let her lose face. Once she calms down, I’ll have my team take down those trending articles about you.” “Okay.” I watched him leave, and then I signed my own discharge papers. The doctor warned me that my pregnancy was highly unstable and that I needed to stay bedridden. But deep down, I knew this baby had come at the worst possible time. When I finally dragged myself back to my apartment, my keycard wouldn’t work. Just as I was wondering if I had entered the wrong code, the door swung open from the inside. It was Chloe. She was wearing my silk nightstand robe, leaning against the doorframe provocatively. “Oh, aren’t you supposed to be hospitalized? Why are you back? Couldn’t trust Ethan alone with me for even a second?” She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You wives are always so insecure. The bond between Ethan and me isn’t something a girl like you could ever understand.” 2 Before Chloe could finish her sentence, Ethan’s voice echoed from behind her. “Who is it, babe?” “Who else? Your dear wife. Looks like she’s here to interrogate us.” Ethan walked up to the door. Seeing me, there was no concern in his eyes—only pure annoyance. “What are you doing here?” His question left me completely stunned. This was *my* apartment. Why shouldn’t I be here? Ethan seemed to realize his slip of tongue under my icy stare. He quickly tried to patch it up. “I mean… shouldn’t you be at the hospital?” “Am I interrupting something?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Stella! Are you seriously doing this again? Chloe’s apartment had a plumbing emergency, so she just came over to use my shower. Is your mind always filled with such disgusting thoughts?” Honestly, if I hadn’t received a video five minutes ago, I might have actually started questioning my own sanity. On my way back from the hospital, I was thinking about whether my marriage was truly over. Then, a random account requested to add me on Snapchat. Instinct told me it was Chloe. The moment I accepted, she sent a video. In the video, Ethan was desperately pulling Chloe into his arms, kissing her passionately. *“Chloe, you’re finally back. I missed you so much,”* his voice murmured in the clip. I didn’t need to watch what happened next. I knew Ethan too well. I knew exactly what that look in his eyes meant. Even though I knew we were over, seeing it still felt like a physical blow to my chest. And now, watching him lie straight to my face while turning me into the villain made me want to laugh out loud. “Just get inside,” Ethan grumbled, trying to pull me in. “Don’t embarrass us in the hallway.” “Why did you change the door code, Ethan?” I asked, staying rooted to the spot. “Oh, that. I couldn’t remember the old one. I’m going to be staying here for a few days.” “No. This is my apartment.” I glared at him. Seeing me refuse to back down, his patience wore thin. “Stella, have you forgotten? Everything in your life belongs to me. I pay for your lifestyle.” “Yes, you do. But not this apartment.” This apartment was located right next to Ethan’s corporate office. My parents had spent their entire life savings to buy it for me before they passed. They had told me, *“Sweetheart, our family isn’t as wealthy as the Vance family. We can’t give you a grand dowry, but we can give you this little sanctuary. It’s yours, forever.”* When Ethan found out back then, he was incredibly moved. He had hugged me and said, *“Your parents are amazing. They knew I was struggling with my start-up and didn’t have money for a house. I will cherish them and you for the rest of my life.”* Back then, the Vance family had cut Ethan off, and his company was barely surviving. We lived in this tiny apartment for years. It was only in the last few years, when his business took off, that we moved into a mansion in the suburbs. But I still came back here whenever I needed peace. “Wow, Stella,” Chloe chimed in, a nasty smirk on her face. “You live off Ethan’s money, and now you’re claiming this place isn’t his?” “This is between my husband and me. Get the hell out of my apartment,” I snapped, showing her no mercy. Ethan’s face darkened, but he didn’t say anything to defend Chloe. He probably remembered the deed was indeed in my name. “Fine,” Ethan said, grabbing Chloe’s hand. “We’re going to the mansion. You stay here and think about what you’ve done, Stella.” But Chloe yanked her hand back. “Why should I leave? Is this tiny place really not his?” “Yes, it’s mine,” I answered for him. Before Chloe could spit out another insult, I walked past them, grabbed the deed from my safe, and shoved it in her face. “See this? My name. Now, get the fuck out of my house.” 3 I couldn’t hold it in anymore. A mistress parading around my home, trying to claim the only thing my deceased parents left me? I would have to be brain-dead to tolerate this. I shoved Chloe toward the door. Ethan’s eyes flared with rage. He violently pushed me away to protect her. I wasn’t prepared for the force of it. I stumbled backward and crashed hard onto the hardwood floor. Instantly, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through my lower abdomen. When I looked down and saw the pool of blood blooming through my pants, panic seized me. “Ethan… please… help me,” I whimpered, reaching out to him. “Stella, you’ve gone too far!” Ethan barked, completely ignoring my pale face. “So what if this apartment is in your name? We bought it during our marriage. It’s marital property!” He glared at me with pure disgust, then scooped Chloe into his arms. “If anything happens to Chloe because of your temper, I will make you pay.” He walked out, slamming the door behind him. He didn’t even glance back to see the blood pooling beneath me. With the last of my strength, I dragged myself to my phone and dialed 91

By the time I woke up, the sterile smell of the hospital greeted me once again. The young nurse standing by my bed sighed softly, pity in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. The baby is gone.” I saw the sadness in her eyes, but strangely, I felt nothing. My heart had gone completely numb. Shortly after the nurse left, my phone rang. It was Ethan’s assistant, Luke. When I answered, Luke’s cold, professional voice came through. “Mrs. Vance, regarding your downtown apartment… Mr. Vance has instructed me to begin the property division process. According to the law—” He went on and on with legal jargon, but the message was clear: *Ethan was going to sue me for my parents’ apartment.* I never thought the man who once swore to protect me would go to court against me for a mistress. I didn’t argue. “Come to my ward, Luke.” When Luke arrived, he looked extremely uncomfortable. I didn’t waste time and handed him a document. “I know you’re just doing your job, Luke. Tell Ethan I agree to everything. He just needs to sign this.” Luke looked down at the paper, his eyes widening in shock. “Mrs. Vance… this is… a divorce petition?” “You’ve seen the news, Luke. Everyone online thinks I’m the villain who ruined Ethan and Chloe’s true love. He wants to take my parents’ apartment. If he really loved me, would he do this?” Luke remained silent. “Tell him if he signs this, he can have whatever he wants. Even the apartment.” Luke stared at me for a long time before taking the papers. Before he left, I whispered, “If you’re worried he won’t sign it, give it to Chloe. She will find a way to make him put his pen to paper.” Luke looked at me, a complicated expression on his face. “Are you really letting him go, Stella?” I didn’t answer. Did I still love him? I didn’t even know anymore. But too much had happened. Long before Chloe returned, Ethan had already changed. He stayed out all night. He forgot our anniversary. He used to tell me, *“I hate perfume. I only want to smell your natural scent.”* But lately, he always came home smelling of heavy jasmine—Chloe’s favorite scent. When I questioned him, he just said I was being paranoid. The signs were always there. My heart had just died in slow motion. An hour later, Luke returned with the divorce papers. Ethan’s signature was sharp and clear at the bottom. I checked myself out of the hospital immediately.

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According to Ethan Miller’s family tradition, a groom had to hand-carve a piece of bridal jewelry for his bride. It was supposed to symbolize a love stronger than diamond. The night before we were set to sign our marriage license, Ethan, my boyfriend, locked himself in his studio for three days straight just to finish this set. Our friends and family couldn’t stop praising him. They said he was so deeply in love, a brilliant rising star in the jewelry design world who was willing to lower himself for me. I truly believed I was the luckiest woman in the world. Holding a thermos of gourmet lavender-infused honey tonic that I had spent five hours slow-brewing, I reached out to push open the frosted glass door of his studio. But then, I heard the trembling voice of Amber Vance, his newly hired apprentice. “Ethan, are you seriously giving this Imperial Jadeite set to me? Chloe paid a hundred thousand dollars just to get her hands on this raw stone!” “Chloe is so petty. If she finds out, she’ll probably trash this entire studio.” Ethan let out a scoff. It was followed by the harsh, grating sound of a carving knife scraping against stone. “Trash it? Please. Chloe Shen loves me so much she’s completely lost her dignity. I can buy her a cheap designer knockoff bag, say a few sweet words, and she’ll believe anything.” “She’s just an orphan with no parents, no family, and no one to back her up. I’m a genius designer with a limitless future. It’s only natural that she throws herself at me.” “This stone might look like high-quality synthetic lab-grown glass to her, but the green is stunning. This necklace was tailor-made for your gorgeous, slender neck anyway. I’ll give Chloe the wedding, but I’m giving this set to you. It’s only fair.” Using my raw gemstone to custom-make a necklace for another woman. Despising me as a helpless orphan. Thinking it was only natural that I desperately clung to him. These words felt like poisoned ice needles piercing straight into my brain. The dust kicked up by the polishing machine drifted through the crack in the door, making me feel physically sick. But I didn’t push the door open. I just stood in the cold, dimly lit hallway, pulled out my phone, and sent a text with a blank face. “Christian, I’m doing it your way. Playing poor to find true love was a joke. I’m done taking this trash’s disrespect.”

“Ethan, do you want to drink this tonic while it’s hot?” I pushed open the half-closed glass door and slammed the empty thermos heavily onto the workbench. The sharp clang of glass hitting metal echoed loudly in the quiet studio. Amber flinched violently, dropping her polishing cloth onto the floor with a clatter. “Ch-Chloe… when did you get here?” Amber stammered, her eyes darting nervously toward the velvet-covered tray beside her. Ethan turned around. The mockery and contempt on his face vanished instantly. In their place was that suffocating, tender gaze that I had once believed in so blindly. “Chloe, babe, why did you come all the way here?” He stepped forward quickly, trying to grab my hand, then made a show of wiping his dirty hands on his apron. “It’s dusty in here. I don’t want you breathing in all this grime.” I stared at his dusty hands, my heart freezing over as if I had been dumped into an arctic lake. “I just came to see what my hundred-thousand-dollar raw stone turned into.” Ethan immediately held up his hands, showing me the tiny, bleeding cuts on his palms left by the carving tools. “Look, I’m putting my life on the line just to marry you.” “I carved every single facet of this set by hand. Three nights of no sleep, pure hand-polishing. I’m practically going blind.” He sighed, his tone carrying an undisguised sense of superiority, as if he were giving me charity. “Chloe, you’re just an orphan with no background. In my elite circle, you wouldn’t even be worthy of wearing a piece I personally designed.” “But I love you too much. I ignored all the gossip from my colleagues just to give you the best.” “You better appreciate this and give me everything you have in return.” I didn’t lose my temper. Instead, I quietly slipped my phone out of my bag and tapped the voice recorder. “Ethan, you’re so good to me.” I sniffled, forcing my eyes to turn red as if I were deeply moved. “But this raw stone cost me a fortune and a lot of favors to get. I trusted you to keep it safe and work on it.” “It’s all going to be used for our wedding jewelry, right?” Ethan’s eyes flickered, a trace of guilt flashing in his pupils before he quickly masked it. He puffed out his chest and nodded righteously. “Of course! This set will be your wedding ring and necklace.” “Don’t worry, the stone is all here. Not a single scrap was wasted. It’s all for you.” I saved the recording and slid the phone back into my pocket. Just then, Amber slid over to his side, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. She was wearing the exact Bvlgari luxury perfume I had just bought last week. Noticing my gaze, she gasped dramatically, covering her mouth. “Oh my, Chloe, have you been wearing that same coat for three years? The cuffs are practically pilling.” “I didn’t think someone your age would be so sensitive to the draft in the studio.” “But then again, being an orphan with no one to look after you, your body must be weak. You should take care of yourself. We wouldn’t want you falling sick at the wedding and embarrassing our star designer, Ethan.” She walked right up to Ethan, naturally wrapping her arms around his, her chest rubbing against his sleeve. “Ethan is the sweetest. He just told me on Snapchat earlier that once the wedding rush is over, he’s taking me to Paris for the fashion exhibition.” She looked at me with a smirk, her eyes filled with the smugness of a thief who had successfully stolen a treasure. Looking at Amber’s face, distorted by greed and jealousy, I found it hilarious. In the past, I would have screamed, demanded to know who he really loved, and begged him to prove his innocence. Now? I just saw them as two rats in a sewer. Utterly pathetic.

I ignored Amber’s jab and pulled a document from my purse. “Ethan, we haven’t decided on our wedding house yet, right?” I slid the document in front of him. “This is a penthouse in the ‘Aurelia Heights’ downtown. It’s worth thirty million dollars. I paid for it in full.” “Here are the keys.” Ethan’s eyes widened instantly. His greedy gaze locked onto the deed, his breathing turning heavy. He snatched the contract, his hands shaking with excitement, completely forgetting his sophisticated act. “Chloe… you… you bought this for me?” Amber swallowed hard, the jealousy in her eyes practically boiling over. “Wow, Chloe, you must be loaded.” She spoke with a sour tone. “An orphan with no family, yet you saved up this much cash to throw at a man? Impressive. Is this money even clean?” I smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, my eyes turning icy as I looked at her. “It’s a wedding, after all. We need a decent place to live.” “I’ll let you two get back to work. I have things to handle at the office. See you.” I turned and walked out, getting into the back of my Maybach parked around the corner. I watched the studio window in silence. Ethan was currently grabbing Amber and planting a wet kiss on her lips, his hands sliding down her waist. The two of them were jumping up and down with the deed, acting as if they had just won the lottery. My phone buzzed. It was a Snapchat message from Ethan. “Babe, I saw the penthouse. I love it. But I’ve been meeting high-end clients lately, and I need a ride that matches my status. I saw a fifteen-million-dollar limited-edition Lamborghini. Since you love me so much, why don’t you get that for me too?” He was moving fast. He wasn’t even trying to hide his greed anymore. I sneered and dialed a number that had no contact name. “Christian, move the plan up.” “Activate the international grading certificate for that raw Imperial Jadeite.” A deep, cold chuckle came from the other end of the line. “Already done, little sis.” “The priceless dowry of the Shen Group’s heiress isn’t something a street rat can touch.”

“Chloe, this penthouse and the lambo have to be under my name before the wedding.” Three days before the wedding, Ethan slammed a property transfer agreement onto the coffee table. He lounged back on the sofa, lit a cigar, and blew a cocky puff of smoke into the air. “You’re an orphan. In my family’s eyes, your bad luck already brought down your parents.” “I’m a brilliant, handsome young designer with a golden future. Marrying you despite the social backlash has made my parents back home feel incredibly embarrassed. They think I’m settling.” “This thirty-million-dollar penthouse and the fifteen-million-dollar supercar are just my mental compensation.” I looked at the agreement on the table, amused by how he could dress up utter shamelessness as a noble sacrifice. The penthouse and the Lamborghini were bought with my own cash, totaling forty-five million dollars. With just a wave of his hand, he wanted to take it all for free while acting like he was doing me a favor. “Ethan, I bought these in full before the wedding.” I pretended to be heartbroken, my eyes welling with tears as I looked at him with a trembling voice. “I’ve spent all my savings to buy you a home and a car. Why are you forcing me to sign them over?” “Do you even love me? Or are you just after my money?” Ethan frowned impatiently, snubbing his cigar out in the expensive crystal ashtray. “What nonsense are you talking? If I didn’t love you, would I have spent three sleepless nights carving that jewelry set for you?” “That set is a hand-carved masterpiece! Priceless! Wealthy socialites beg me for custom work and get rejected!” “Besides, you have no family. Who else is going to take care of you if not me? What’s wrong with me taking some of your assets? It’s your chance to show your commitment!” “If you won’t sign them over, then this wedding is off!” He stood up abruptly, pretending to walk out—a classic manipulation tactic he had mastered. Amber, who had been sitting quietly peeling an apple, immediately stood up and grabbed his arm. “Ethan, please don’t be mad.” She turned to me, putting on her best “sweet, innocent helper” act. “Chloe, I hate to say this, but you’re being really unreasonable. Ethan is so good to you. He gave you his sweat and blood with that jewelry set.” “These are just material things. You can’t take them with you when you die. If you love Ethan, you should trust him completely.” “Or does a pile of cold concrete mean more to you than Ethan’s love?” Watching these two put on their little show almost made me laugh out loud. “Fine. I’ll sign.” I took a deep breath, pretending to break down and surrender. “But before I do, you have to sign this.” I pulled a document from my bag—one I had prepared long ago—and handed it to Ethan. “What’s this?” Ethan took it warily, a flash of suspicion in his eyes. “A prenuptial agreement regarding gifted assets.” I pointed to the detailed clauses, keeping my voice soft and submissive. “I can transfer the penthouse and the car to you. But you must guarantee that the jadeite jewelry set you carved remains solely mine.” “You cannot gift, sell, pawn, or even lend that set to anyone else.” “If you violate this, you must pay me double the value of the penthouse and the car. That is ninety million dollars.” Ethan stared at the complex legal jargon, his brows furrowing. He was a hack designer who built his career on plagiarism and marketing. He couldn’t understand the legal traps hidden in those words.

“What is this? Are you treating me like a thief? You don’t even trust me?” He yelled angrily, trying to cover his guilt with rage. “Ethan, I just want some security.” I lowered my head, my shoulders shaking as I let out a soft sob. “That set was hand-carved by you for me. It’s the most precious thing in my life because it represents your heart. As long as you promise it’s mine, I’ll transfer the penthouse and the car immediately.” Ethan and Amber exchanged a quick, knowing look. Amber gave a barely noticeable nod, a sneer of pure greed flashing in her eyes. To them, that stone was just a hundred-thousand-dollar piece of synthetic glass. At most, the labor was worth a few thousand. Trading a cheap stone for a forty-five-million-dollar luxury package? Only an idiot would say no. “Fine, I’ll sign! I swear, your petty, lower-class mindset is exhausting.” Ethan grabbed a pen, scrawled his signature, and stamped his thumbprint in red ink. He held the agreement joyfully, as if he could already see himself living in the penthouse, driving the supercar, and leaving me in the dust. That afternoon, we went to the registry office and transferred the titles. The moment he got the papers, Ethan’s attitude toward me turned freezing cold. “Alright, take an Uber back. I have some finishing touches to do at the studio.” He stuffed the papers into his pocket, didn’t even look at me, and hopped into the brand-new Lamborghini, roaring away. Standing at the curb, I watched the supercar disappear into the traffic. A cold, lethal smile spread across my face. Back in my empty apartment, I opened my laptop. The screen lit up with live feeds from the studio and the new penthouse. I had hired a top-tier security team to install hidden cameras yesterday while they were out. On screen, Ethan was proudly holding the completed Imperial Jadeite necklace, presenting it to Amber. Amber, wearing a silk slip dress, squealed with excitement. “Oh my god! Ethan, this is gorgeous! The green looks so deep, like it’s glowing!” “Of course it is. Look who carved it. Even though the stone itself is cheap synthetic crap, under my skills, it’s a masterpiece.” Ethan smugly fastened the massive jadeite necklace around Amber’s neck. The brilliant green glow reflected off her greedy face. “Ethan, are you really giving this to me? What if that dumb b*tch Chloe asks about it?” “Who cares? I’ll just throw some leftover scraps together, make a thin ring, and give it to her. What does she know about jewelry? Wearing this on her would be a waste of art anyway.” Ethan leaned in, burying his face in Amber’s neck. “Babe, let’s go check out our new home.” Half an hour later, the Lamborghini parked in the underground garage of the thirty-million-dollar penthouse. The feed switched to the living room camera. The moment they walked through the door, Ethan pinned Amber onto the expensive, custom Italian leather sofa. Their clothes were thrown all over the floor as they tangled together. The Imperial Jadeite necklace around Amber’s neck caught the light of the crystal chandelier, reflecting a dazzling glow that made the filthy scene look incredibly ironic. “Ethan… this place is huge… it’s ours now…” “Yes, all ours. That idiot Chloe thought she could control me. Once we’re married, I’ll slowly drain her dry and kick her to the curb.” I watched the screen without a shred of emotion. I packaged the high-definition recordings and sent them to an encrypted email address.

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I’m to marry the most powerful man in the realm in seven days. He still doesn’t know I take my tea without honey. At my final gown fitting, my sister said she wanted to help me choose. I stepped out of the dressing chamber and saw her fastening the family crest brooch on my betrothed Lord Ashford’s ceremonial cloak. Gabriel Ashford. The Duke who commands the King’s armies. The man whose name makes envoys from every rival kingdom lower their eyes. I had just opened my mouth to say “Let me,” when the seamstress smiled and curtsied to her. “This way, my lady bride.” Gabriel didn’t correct her. The black-armored knights standing at the door kept their gaze forward. Margot only smiled shyly and leaned into him. Behind me, Soren, my childhood friend, brushed past with his quill and ledger. He’s the chronicler the Ashfords hired to record the wedding for the family annals. I stood frozen, like a stranger who’d walked into the wrong room. Page after page in his ledger, every line about Margot and my betrothed. Margot at the mirror. Margot laughing. Margot at Gabriel’s elbow. Not a single line about me. The bride. Margot spoke as easily as though she were the one getting married. “Elara, hand me that bouquet.” When Gabriel noticed I hadn’t moved, he came over and gently took the flowers from my hands. Those eyes, the ones that had made grown lords kneel, softened a little. “Elara, what are you staring at? Go choose the wax seal for the invitations. I’ll join you when Soren is finished.” Soren glanced up from his ledger. “Elara. Out of the way. I can’t see them from here.” I moved without a word and stood in the corner. In that moment, I understood how unwanted I was. If this wedding had no need for me, then I wouldn’t be there. … I quietly lifted my cloak from the bench and pushed open the door. The bell above it chimed once. No one called after me. I looked back. Margot was twirling before the mirror. Gabriel stood behind her, adjusting the sash at her waist. Soren dipped his quill. “Yes. Hold there. Just like that.” His pen flew across the page, line after line. I turned and walked out. When I climbed into my carriage, the two black-cloaked knights of my escort fell in behind me without a sound. A folded note waited on the seat. From the wedding herald. My lady, the day approaches. Have you chosen the wax seal for the invitations? Before I could answer, another arrived. Or perhaps your sister might choose. She has such a good eye. The carriage was silent. So silent I could hear my own breathing. In and out, as if I were counting something. What was I counting? How many times I’d been forgotten in this betrothal. How many times overlooked. I wrote three words back. Let her decide. I meant it. Gabriel would listen to her in the end anyway. The reply came at once. As you wish, my lady. I stared at the words and pictured the herald exhaling in relief. Every choice the bride made was undone afterward. They were tired of redrafting parchment. Easier to let my sister decide from the start. I hadn’t yet folded the note when more arrived. Soren had sent copies of his day’s pages around to the wedding party. One after another. I unfolded one. His hand was clean and lovely. Every line described the way Margot had moved, the way Gabriel had looked at her. A betrothal record fit for the King’s own archives. The future Duchess of Ashford and her husband. I’d poured everything into this wedding, as though it could prove I wasn’t always the one who got forgotten. I never imagined that in the end, I’d still be pushed outside the frame. The notes on my lap lit and dimmed in the lantern light as more arrived. I didn’t answer. No one noticed. I dismissed my escort at the castle gate and walked alone to my chambers in the east wing. Pinned to my looking glass was a slip of parchment, in my own hand. Seven days until the wedding. I peeled it off, crushed it in my fist, and dropped it into the hearth.

I don’t open my eyes till past noon. A stack of sealed letters waits on my writing desk. I count them. Easily a hundred. All from the wedding council. Only one is addressed to me. Margot’s seal. I break the wax. Elara, sweetheart, I had the musicians swap out that ballad you picked. It was such a downer—nobody wants to cry at a wedding! Trust me on this one. xx M. Underneath, in Gabriel’s slanted black hand: Agreed. The other one didn’t suit. Didn’t suit. I chose that ballad. I spent a month on it. It was the song they played at my parents’ wedding. They died too young. I wanted them there in some small way. Gabriel knew that. Margot knew that. I open the next letter. Margot, again, copied to the whole council: You all know how Elara gets with decisions—she’ll fuss for weeks and still hate it. Just let me handle the rest, darlings. Saves everyone the headache. Gabriel’s reply is one word. Agreed. I stare at it. I do not move. Letter after letter. The whole council chattering past me on parchment. No one notices the bride is reading. No one notices the bride hasn’t said a word. I open the small box where I keep Gabriel’s private letters. The last one is from yesterday. I’m a little nervous, I had written. Don’t fret. I have it in hand, he wrote back. That’s it. Nothing since. Not a single line asking why I left the fitting early. Just one casual note pinned to the council scroll that night: What was that about, Elara? Nerves got the better of you? No one answered. No one cared. Margot sent a sketch around with a sweet little ribbon. Fitting went perfectly! Gown’s done. And that was that. Then they were back to flowers and seals and chapel banners. I’m not just unwanted. To be unwanted, you’d have to have been there in the first place. I’m folding a cloak into my trunk when a maid raps at the door. Lady Margot is asking for me. I go. She’s at her vanity. A painter is already working on her face, brushing rose powder across her cheekbones. “Elara, finally.” She doesn’t turn around. “You take forever with everything. The bridal painter still wasn’t sorted, so I just—handled it. I’m letting her practice on me first. You’ll thank me.” I look at her in the mirror. I want to say: I told you two weeks ago. Lady Helen is already on the road from Ravensbrook. She’s painting my face. I want to say: Did either of you, even once, ask if I wanted any of this? I don’t. What would be the point. Have I never asked before? Never been hurt? Never pushed back? I have. The answer is always the same. You’re the older one, Elara. Be the bigger person. Soren grew up in my nursery, not hers. He still takes her side. Every time. When Gabriel courted me, he told me my quiet ways were lovely. That he liked a girl who didn’t chatter. I believed him. Then he met Margot. Suddenly a girl ought to be lively. Ought to know her own mind. One night I finally said it. Could you not be quite so close with her. He laughed. He brushed his knuckles down my hair. “She’s family, Elara. You want me at war with my own sister-in-law?” I went quiet. Of course I didn’t want that. The eldest bears a mother’s burden. Those words have been on my shoulders since I was sixteen. That night, for the first time, I couldn’t breathe under them. She’s only two years younger than I am. I wanted sweets too. I wanted someone to ask me, just once, do you like this one? A line of sun comes through the window and falls across the stone floor. I remember the gardens, the games of pretend-bride. After everyone ran inside for supper, I was the one who stayed behind to gather the petals back into the basket. No one ever helped. No one ever asked if I was tired.

I send word to the steward that I’m vacating my chambers in the east wing today. The old man looks up from his ledger, surprised. “Truly, my lady? Four years you’ve kept these rooms.” Four years. When Gabriel and I first became betrothed, he wanted me to move into Ashford Keep with him. Margot said it wasn’t proper, living together before the wedding. I agreed. I wanted a place that was mine. So I took chambers in the east wing of the royal palace, near the council halls where Gabriel spent his days. Close enough to see him often, I thought. He approved. He’d come some nights. Stay till morning. These rooms have seen all of it. The early sweetness. The arguments. The long silences. His back disappearing through the door, again and again, summoned away. “Yes,” I say. “Today.” The steward sighs and tells me to leave the key in the gatehouse. I’m barely finished folding the last gown when the door swings open without a knock. Gabriel walks in. Margot trails behind him, laughing at something he’s said. She turns and beams up at him. “You promised, remember? The bridal suite at Ashford Keep, the one with the window seat. It’s mine. And I’m having the curtains changed to rose pink.” I freeze in the middle of the room. I must have misheard her. She says it the way you’d ask for sugar in your tea. As though moving into my marriage bed was something already decided. As though my home was already half hers. Gabriel doesn’t correct her. He smiles. That soft, indulgent smile. “As long as Elara doesn’t mind.” “Elara adores me. Of course she won’t mind.” Something inside my throat comes loose. “And if I do mind?”

The room goes silent for two seconds. Margot blinks at me. I don’t think I’ve ever told her no before. She hasn’t said a word yet, but her eyes are already shining. Gabriel’s voice cools. “What’s the matter with you, Elara? You give her everything. You always have. And now you’re going to make a fuss over a bedroom?” “I’m not making a fuss.” “Then what is this?” He frowns. “She’s your sister. It’s not as though I’m letting a stranger move in. The keep has thirty rooms. One of them sitting empty doesn’t bother anyone.” “It’s our bridal chamber, Gabriel. Is she the one walking down the aisle with you?” That stops him. Margot’s eyes spill over. Right on cue. “Elara, I only wanted to be near you. Forget I asked. I won’t come.” Gabriel turns on me. “Look at her. One word from you and she’s in tears. She’s a young girl. She’s your sister. Could you not be cruel for once?” “And who’s kind to me?” I lift my head. “You found her a position at court. A stipend. A title. She wants for nothing. And what about me? All I have left is—” “Enough.” His face hardens. He takes a step toward me. “Listen to yourself. She’s your sister. The only reason I lift a finger for her is you. And this is how you thank me? By being small?” Small. There it is. I smile a little. I don’t say anything else. Margot tugs at his sleeve, voice gone soft and careful. “Gabriel, leave it. She’s just tired.” He covers her hand with his. His voice gentles. “Elara. It’s settled. Margot will be good for you. You won’t have to be apart from her.” I nod. Fine. It’s their home. Not mine. I’m never going to live there anyway. Gabriel exhales. Margot dabs at her eyes and gives him a small, brave smile. I turn back to my trunk. Behind me, her voice again. Sweet now. Light. “So I really can have rose pink curtains?” Gabriel laughs. “Whatever you want.”

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Two months ago I left Patrick Pelletier. Tonight he’s standing at my register, buying condoms for other girl. He doesn’t even pretend to be subtle about it. He pulls a box off the shelf, holds it up between two fingers, and turns to the girl hanging off his arm. “There’s like ten kinds, baby. Which one feels best? You pick.” The girl blushes hard. Stares at the boxes. Doesn’t say a word. Patrick laughs, low and mean. “Right. My bad. We never used these when it was you and me. You wouldn’t know.” I keep wiping down the counter. I don’t look up. He leans on the register. I can feel his eyes on me, that lazy, amused look I used to die for. “What about you, sweetheart? Got a recommendation?” I freeze for a second. Just one. Then I reach behind me, pick a box, and slide it across the counter. “This one. Thinnest we carry. Goes on smooth, feels like nothing. Girls love it.” Patrick’s smile thins out. “You sound experienced.” “I get by.” He picks up the box, turns it over in his hand, eyes locked on mine. “You and your new boyfriend go through a lot of these, then?” The brunette on his arm laughs — sharp, ugly. She looks me up and down like I’m something stuck to her shoe. “Look at her clothes, babe. Whole outfit’s, what, twenty bucks? Her and her broke boyfriend can’t afford the good brand. They’re probably using the cheap stuff that breaks halfway through.” Patrick’s watching my face. Waiting for me to crack. I don’t. I just smile, polite as a hostess. “Don’t worry, sir. I’ve tried every brand on this shelf. They all hold up.” His hand goes still on the box. His jaw locks. “Cute,” he says. Quiet. Cold. “I’ll take this one. If it’s not as good as you say — I’ll be back.” He drops a black card on the counter. I ring it up. He doesn’t break eye contact once. The bell over the door rings. They’re gone. I exhale. Turns out, the condoms really were good. Because for the next seven nights in a row, Patrick walks into my store at exactly 11 p.m. and buys another box. Same brand. Same brunette on his arm. Every. Single. Night. By night four, my manager Rita can’t keep it in anymore. “Sweetheart, I have been in this business twenty years. I have never seen a man go through a box of these every single night. That is some Olympic-level stamina.” I keep scanning barcodes. “And the car, Cara. Did you see the car? Phantom. Blacked out. Plates aren’t even real. That’s mob money, honey. Old mob money. The kind you don’t ask questions about.” “Mm-hmm.” “Lucky girl, that one. Designer head to toe. Earrings probably cost more than my house.” She squints at the security monitor. “Y’know, she looks familiar. I swear I’ve seen her somewhere.” She turns to me, eyes narrowing. “Cara. Honey. Tell me she’s not someone you know.” I keep my eyes on the register. “She’s nobody.” Rita doesn’t buy it. She bumps my hip with hers. “C’mon. Spill. Were they together before? Was she your friend? Roommate? Sister? Give me something.” “There’s nothing to give.” I close the drawer. Take a breath. “Rita. Can I take a couple days off this week? I’ve got a doctor’s appointment.” She blinks. “Sure, baby. Of course. The dad going with you?” I shake my head. “Going alone.” She sighs, long and tired. “Every appointment, you go alone. Whoever this man is, honey — he’s a piece of trash.” I press my lips together. I don’t argue. Because she’s right. And because the man she’s calling trash just walked out of my store with his new girl, a fresh box of condoms, and absolutely no idea what I’m carrying under this cheap uniform. His baby. Eight weeks along.

It’s a stupid story. The kind that sounds made up. The brunette on Patrick’s arm? Her name’s Chiara Conti. She was my roommate in college. And four years ago, she stole my face. Not literally. She just took every photo off my social media — the candid ones, the blurry ones, the ones where my hair fell over my eyes just right — and used them to bait a rich boy online. A very rich boy. She bragged about him every night in our dorm. Said he was loaded. Said he was obsessed. “He sent me money again. Like, ten grand. I haven’t even spent the last one. So embarrassing.” She’d stretch out on her bed, scrolling. Eyes flicking up to make sure I was listening. “Don’t be jealous, Cara. I know you’re on financial aid. But some of us just get lucky, you know?” After that, everything she owned got upgraded. Designer bags. Red bottoms. Dinners that cost what I made in two weeks. Her mystery boyfriend had bad insomnia, she said. Real clingy. Needed her on the phone every night till dawn. So every night she’d lock herself in the bathroom, voice gone soft and breathy, giggling for hours. I slept four hours a night, if I was lucky. I was on three jobs. My parents had split when I was nine. Both remarried. Both forgot to remember me. I paid my own tuition. I bought my own instant noodles. One morning I tried to sneak out for my 5 a.m. shift, careful not to wake anyone. Chiara sat up in bed and threw a pillow at my back. “You’re so dramatic, Cara. Some of us are trying to sleep. If you’re that broke, just drop out and find a sugar daddy. God knows it’d be less annoying than this.” I didn’t answer. I had a bus to catch. The job that morning was at a coffee shop two miles from campus. A man came in. Ordered the most expensive thing on the menu. Sat in the corner and watched me. He was — okay, I’ll just say it. He was beautiful. Black coat, amber eyes, jawline like a weapon. Half the girls in the shop were filming him on their phones. When I brought him his coffee, he slid a hundred-dollar tip across the table and grinned, slow and lazy. “Long shift, baby?” I blinked. “Why are you up this early pulling shifts? I send you plenty of money. You need more? Just say the word.” I stared at him. “I’m sorry — what?” His smile flickered. He pulled out his phone, opened his camera roll, and turned the screen toward me. It was full of pictures of me. Hundreds of them. “You’ve got that little mole right under your ear, baby. That’s you. Don’t act like you don’t know me. You call me daddy every night.” I almost dropped the tray. “That’s my face. But sir — I have never seen you before in my life.” His smile died. We sat down. We pieced it together. Within twenty minutes we’d figured out exactly what Chiara had done. He looked like he was going to put his fist through the wall. Then he looked at me, really looked, and the anger melted into something else. Something sharper. Hungrier. He held out his hand. “Patrick Pelletier. And whoever the hell you actually are — I want to know you.” I should’ve walked away. I knew the last name. Everyone in this city knew the last name. The Pelletiers don’t run a company. They run the city. Patrick was the old Don’s only son, and the only son meant heir. Heir meant blood. Blood meant rules — alliance marriages, no outsiders, no civilians. But he leaned across the table and lowered his voice, and his eyes were doing that thing. “Stick with me, sweetheart. Life gets a hell of a lot easier.” God help me — I let it. I was so tired. I was so tired of being tired. I said yes.

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At the final fitting for my bridal vestment, I stepped out from behind the silk partition to find my sister Rosalind adjusting the silver clasp at my fiancé Caelan’s collar. Caelan Solyne — the High Priest of the Temple of Solyne, the most feared and revered hand of divine authority across all of Aurelia. I had just opened my mouth to say, “I’ll do it,” when the adornment attendant smiled brightly and walked toward Rosalind. “This way, my lady bride.” I stopped where I stood. Caelan did not correct her. The Silver Vow guardsmen at the doorway kept their gazes fixed forward, faces unreadable beneath their pale hoods. Rosalind only lowered her lashes shyly and leaned a little closer against him. Meanwhile Miles — my oldest friend, the temple’s appointed bridal portraitist — lifted his enchanted lens and began capturing image after image of the two of them. I stood there like a stranger at other own betrothal. Almost every image glowing inside Miles’s lens-stone was of Rosalind and Caelan. Not a single one of me. The actual bride. Rosalind spoke as easily as if she were the one preparing for the bonding ceremony. “Elara, bring me those starlilies, would you?” When Caelan noticed I hadn’t moved, he walked over and gently took the bouquet from my hands. Those eyes of his — eyes that had silenced entire councils of priests, eyes before which kings had been known to bow — held a rare flicker of warmth. “Elara, what are you standing there for? Go look over the scroll designs. I’ll come find you once we’re done with the portraits.” Miles lowered the lens just enough for one eye to show above it. “Elara, scoot over a little. You’re in the light.” I moved without a word and stood in the corner. That was the moment I finally understood how unnecessary I was. If this bonding ceremony didn’t need me, then I wouldn’t be here. … I quietly lifted my cloak from the bench and pushed open the heavy temple door. The silver chime above it rang once, soft as a sigh. No one called after me. I looked back. Rosalind was twirling in front of the long mirror while Caelan stood behind her, smoothing the sash at her waist. Miles lifted his lens-stone again. “Yes — that’s it. Hold there. Perfect angle.” The enchantment hummed five or six times in quick succession. I turned and walked out of the fitting hall. The polished marble corridor stretched ahead of me, cool and empty. My two Silver Vow guards assigned to my protection fell into step behind me without a sound. My communication crystal pulsed once at my wrist. A message from the temple’s bonding ritualkeeper. “Princess Elaria, the ceremony is only days away. Have you chosen the design for the Sacred Vow Scroll?” Those outside the temple called me Princess Elaria of Marenthia. Only my family and the man I was supposed to bond with called me Elara. Before I could answer, another message bloomed inside the crystal. “Or perhaps your sister could choose. Her taste is exquisite.” The corridor was so quiet I could hear my own breathing. One breath after another, like I was counting something. What was I counting? How many times I’d been forgotten in this love? I touched the crystal and let three words form in the light. “Let her choose.” I meant it. Rosalind would pick something. Caelan would agree with her in the end anyway. The reply came almost instantly. “Understood, Princess.” I stared at those words and could practically picture the ritualkeeper exhaling in relief. Every choice the bride made was always changed afterward. Easier to let my sister decide from the start. Before I could lower my hand, the crystal started pulsing again. Over and over. Miles was pushing portraits into the shared bonding crystal — the council thread that linked the whole wedding party. I opened one. His composition was flawless. The afternoon light landed perfectly on their faces. Caelan stood tall in the deep indigo robes of the High Priest, the silver embroidery along his shoulders catching fire in the sun. The two of them looked like a sacred painting come to life — the High Priest and the woman about to stand beside him before the Eternal Flame. I had poured everything into this bonding, as though doing so could prove that I was not always the one who got forgotten. I never imagined that, in the end, I’d still be the one pushed out of the frame. The crystal flared, dimmed, flared again. Images kept blooming in the shared light. I didn’t answer. No one noticed. I dismissed my escort at the temple gates and walked alone down the long white road toward the small dwelling I kept near the outer sanctum. A folded note had been left beneath my desk. Seven days until the Bonding. I picked it up, crushed it in my hand, and dropped it into the brazier by the threshold. The little flame swallowed it without a sound. The way everyone else, it seemed, had learned to swallow the silence of me.

The next morning, I checked my communication crystal. The the council thread had 99+ unread pulses. Rosalind had tagged me once, in a voice imprint. I tapped it. “Elara, I changed the ceremony hymn. The one you picked was too gloomy. A bonding should feel lighter.” Caelan’s reply came right under it. “Agreed. The original hymn doesn’t fit the occasion. Half the temple will be there. Pick something lighter.” The original hymn didn’t fit? I had spent a whole month choosing it. It was the song my parents had played at their bonding. Hearing it always made my eyes burn. They had died far too young, and I had wanted them to be present in some small way. Caelan knew that. So did Rosalind. And they still called it gloomy. Rosalind kept going in the thread. “Elara never likes making decisions. We can just choose these things for her.” Caelan replied with one word. “Agreed.” I stared at it without moving. Messages streamed past, one after another. No one noticed that I was in the thread. No one noticed that I was silent. I had no role in my own bonding. I opened my private thread with Caelan. The last exchange was still from yesterday’s fitting. I had written, I’m a little nervous. He had sent back a small glowing rune — the temple version of a pat on the head. After that, nothing. He hadn’t even reached out privately after I left early to ask what was wrong. The only thing he’d done was tag me in the council thread later that night. “What happened? Got too nervous and slipped out early?” No one answered. No one cared. Rosalind posted a portrait with the caption, Elara, today’s fitting was perfect. The vestment is officially confirmed! And just like that, it was forgotten. They went back to discussing flowers, scrolls, and altar arrangements. Suddenly, I realized I wasn’t just unnecessary. While I was packing, Rosalind suddenly called through the crystal. When I answered, someone was applying her makeup. “Elara, you’re moving way too slow. The makeup team still isn’t confirmed, so I booked one myself. I’m testing them out for you first.” I listened at Rosalind in front of the mirror and wanted to say something. But I no longer knew what. Two weeks ago, I had told her my closest friend would handle my bridal adornment. But my voice never seemed to reach her. She just made every decision for me. Had I never pushed back? I had. It always ended with the same line. “Elara, you’re the older one. Don’t make a big deal out of this.” Miles had known me longer than anyone. He always took her side. Then Caelan stepped into my life and chased me with everything he had. The High Priest the whole continent feared used to walk me home through the dark and tell me my quiet, dreamy ways were lovely. I thought he liked me that way. But after he met Rosalind, his preferences seemed to shift. Without realizing it, he started saying that women should be lively. Decisive. One day, I finally said it. “Can you stop being so close to Rosalind? You need better boundaries with her.” I thought he’d understand. Instead, he laughed, ruffled my hair, and brushed it off. “Boundaries? Once we’re bonded, Rosalind will be part of the temple family too. Do you want me to treat her like a stranger?” I went quiet. Of course I didn’t want them at each other’s throats. But the words You’re the older one, so you should be more understanding had pressed down on me for years. For the first time, they were heavy enough to suffocate me. They had all forgotten I was only two years older than her. I wanted someone to ask me, Do you like this? But no one ever cared.

I sent word to my capable subordinates and told him I was leaving the house that day. “Are you sure?” he asked. “You’ve lived there more than four years.” Four years. When Caelan and I first started seeing each other, he had wanted me to move into the temple’s inner sanctum — a heavily warded compound where only his most trusted clergy lived. Rosalind said I should keep some private space before the bonding and suggested I live alone. So I rented this little dwelling near the outer sanctum, hoping I’d see Caelan more often. He agreed. Every now and then, he’d slip away from his Silver Vow escort and stay the night. These rooms had held the sweetness of our early love. Then the arguments. The silences. The countless times he left in a hurry because of temple business. But now I had finally hit the end of it. “Yes,” I said. “I’m leaving today.” The subordinates sighed and told me to leave the rune-key under the threshold stone. I had barely closed the connection when the door opened from outside. Caelan and Rosalind walked in, laughing together. Rosalind glanced back at him with a smile. “You promised that once my lease ends, I can stay at the inner sanctum for a few weeks after the bonding. I want the chamber with the bay window in the east wing. And I want the drapes changed to pink.” I stood in the middle of the room, sure I had heard her wrong. She said it so naturally. As if she had every right to decide how long she’d stay and how our future home would look. Caelan didn’t object. He smiled indulgently. “As long as Elara doesn’t mind.” “Elara always looks after me. Of course she won’t mind.” Something tightened in my throat. “What if I do mind?” The room went silent for two seconds. Rosalind stared at me. Maybe it was the first time I had ever truly refused her. Before she could say anything, her eyes were already turning red. Caelan’s tone sharpened with reproach. “What’s gotten into you, Elara? You’ve always given her whatever she wanted. Now you’re going to make an issue out of one room?” “I’m not making an issue out of it.” “Then what are you saying?” He frowned. “Her lease is ending. She’d only stay a few weeks. She’s your sister, not some stranger we need to guard against. The sanctum is huge. What difference does one more person make?” “That’s supposed to be our home after the bonding. The home of the future lady of Solyne.” I looked at him. “Which one of us is bonding with you?” That shut Caelan up. Rosalind’s voice came out soft, eyes wet. “Elara, I just wanted to be close to you. If you don’t want me there, forget it. I won’t move in.” Caelan turned on me with that same reproachful look. “See what you’ve done? One sentence, and you’ve hurt her this badly. She’s your sister. Can’t you think about how she feels?” “And who thinks about how I feel?” I lifted my head. “You personally pulled her into the temple’s outer ministry and approved a stipend far above everyone else at her level. She barely has to worry about anything. What about me? All I have is—” “Enough.” Caelan’s expression changed. “Be reasonable. She’s your sister. I only look out for her because of you. Do you really have to be this petty?” Petty. That word again. I smiled and stopped speaking. Rosalind tugged at his sleeve. “Caelan, stop. Elara’s probably just in a bad mood.” He patted her hand, then softened his voice toward me. “Elara, I’ve already decided. It’ll be good for Rosalind to stay with us. The two of you can keep living close to each other.” I nodded. Agreed. It was their home, after all. I would never live there. Caelan relaxed. Rosalind dabbed at the corners of her dry eyes and smiled again. I turned back to my packing. Behind me, Rosalind asked, “So I really can change the drapes to pale pink?” Caelan laughed softly. “Whatever you like.”

That afternoon, I went to the Temple of Solyne, the seat Caelan ruled. On the surface, the great spire housed the outer ministry, the relic vaults, and the council chambers. Everyone on the continent knew what it really was. I packed the access rune to the inner sanctum, the key-sigil to Caelan’s private chamber, and several scrolls concerning the temple’s outer affairs that he had asked me to organize. At the reception desk, the attendant straightened the moment she saw me. “Princess Elaria. Shall I notify the High Priest?” “No.” I set the bag on the desk. “Just give him this.” Then I turned to leave. As I reached the dark-runed staircase, Caelan’s voice drifted through a half-open door. Two Silver Vow guards stood outside, and I slowed without meaning to. “You want me to take you to your bridal manicure on the seventh day?” My fingers stiffened. A moment later, his amused voice carried through the doorway. “All right. I’ll take you. I’ll explain it to Elara.” I gave a bitter smile. I had already decided to let go. What was I still hoping for? Before the bonding, Caelan and I had planned one thing we never managed during our years together — to watch the sunrise above the cliffs. He had been postponing it since winter, always saying he was busy and we’d go next time. We had finally chosen this seventh day. Now he had postponed it again. But this time, I didn’t care. I pushed through the great temple doors and traveled straight back to Hartwell, the small coastal town in Marenthia where I had grown up. The next morning, I was cleaning the old house my parents had left me there. Lady Mirelle and Lord Theron lived nearby, and Mirelle came over early. “Elara, take a break.” I shook my head and told her I was almost done. Mirelle took my hand and patted it gently. “All these years, you’ve always been the one expected to be the older one. Expected to give in. You’ve suffered far too much.” She sighed, like she was turning over years of memories in her mind. “Rosalind may have been adopted by your parents, but you always treated her like your own sister. You gave her everything. That child never learned when to stop taking.” She wiped the corner of her eye. “The ministers and other dukes all knew. But they were afraid you’d feel uncomfortable, so no one dared say anything.” “Now you’re both grown. You’re about to start a family of your own. I thought you’d finally be free of looking after everyone else.” I smiled but said nothing. After a while, I said, “Aunt Mirelle, you and Uncle Theron should move in. An empty house doesn’t stay in good shape for long.” Mirelle looked startled. “What do you mean, empty? You’ll still come back after the bonding.” She smiled. “I know you and Caelan will live at the inner sanctum, but you’ll need somewhere to stay when you visit.” I agreed. But I kept insisting they move in. Mirelle thought I was only being polite and refused several times. I didn’t explain. I only thought that once I left, I might not come back for many years. That evening, Caelan arrived for the pre-bonding family dinner as arranged. Three Silver Vow carriages stopped outside. His guards stayed at the entrance. Rosalind stayed at his side like the hostess. They both looked surprised when they saw me. “Elara, what are you doing here?” Caelan asked, as if I had no reason to be there.

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