1 The night before Gideon planned to propose, my mother was diagnosed with cancer. After scraping together every dollar I had, I was still twenty thousand short for her surgery. Crying, I called Gideon, but the voice that answered sounded like him three years ahead. “Mom got better, didn’t she?” I sobbed. “You’ll save her, right?” Silence. Then his tone turned ice-cold. “She died. When you asked for money, I refused. Instead, I bought your best friend a thirty-thousand-dollar necklace.” I gripped the phone, my fingers shaking so hard the diagnosis papers crumpled. He laughed, dry and mocking. “Your best friend came onto me ages ago. I held back for you. But I never thought you’d beg for twenty grand like some gold-digger.” The next evening, Gideon knelt before me, ring in hand, ready to propose. His future self’s final words rang in my ears. “Tomorrow night, I sleep with your best friend for the first time. You could skip the money, but without my help, your mother dies sooner. Your move.” … “Will you marry me?” he asked softly. The moment the words left his mouth, both of our phones vibrated simultaneously. Mine was a text from the hospital, demanding the outstanding balance. His was a barrage of incoming WhatsApp notifications, chiming endlessly in the quiet air. “Who is texting you? Let me see.” Catching the sudden flash of guilt in his eyes, I lunged forward with red eyes, trying to snatch his phone to see the truth for myself. He scrambled backward to shield the device, but the movement was too slow. I had already caught a glimpse of the text on the screen. It was from Becca, my childhood best friend. [I know you’re proposing to her tonight. Just give me this one night, okay?] Dazed, I lost my balance and fell heavily onto the gravel path. The sharp stones sliced into my palms, and fresh blood immediately welled from the cuts. Right at that moment, the elaborate fireworks Gideon had prepared for my proposal exploded in the night sky behind him. The brilliant, colorful lights painted the dark heavens, resembling a grand, mocking joke. I let out a bitter laugh, reaching up to rip the delicate white veil from my hair. The blood pooling in my palms stained the pristine white tulle, spreading like crimson winter blossoms across snow. My tears fell drop by drop, blurring the face of the man I had loved for five years. “Never mind, Gideon,” I whispered, my voice raw and broken. “I won’t marry you.” With that, I forced myself up, turned around, and ran in the opposite direction. He instinctively took a step to chase after me, but the ringing of his phone pulled him back. Behind me, Gideon’s voice drifted through the freezing wind. He didn’t sound particularly disappointed. Instead, his tone carried an unsettling sense of relief. “Yeah, I was proposing, but she said no.” “Alright, stop crying. I’m coming to see you right now.” At the hospital, I stood behind the cold glass of the ICU, staring at my mother’s frail, pain-riddled body. Illness strikes like a landslide. No one had expected her sudden collapse last night to result in a terminal diagnosis. “Miss Vance, the deposit you made won’t cover the next round of chemotherapy,” the nurse said gently. “Please make a payment at the main desk on the first floor.” I clutched the hem of my shirt, pulling out my phone to check my banking app. My total balance was exactly $4,053.62. It was not even a fraction of the twenty thousand dollars needed for her long-term treatment. Under normal circumstances, my savings would have been more than enough. But half a month ago, Becca had borrowed every single dollar of my hard-earned savings under the pretense of starting a boutique business. She had held my hands, weeping tears of desperation. “Hazel, I don’t have a wealthy boyfriend like you do. If even you won’t help me, my parents will force me to marry that old businessman they picked out!” Without a second thought, I had transferred the money to her, not even asking for a promissory note. I never imagined that along with my savings, she would also steal the man I was supposed to marry. I took a deep breath, dialing Becca’s number. The moment I opened my mouth to ask for my money back, a familiar voice drifted through the receiver. “I’m out of the shower. Who’s calling?” “Just a wrong number…” Becca cut herself off, and then, as if realizing something, she let out a soft, deliberate giggle. Her voice rose, dripping with mock innocence. “Gideon, do you think Hazel rejected your proposal because you didn’t offer her a big enough dowry?” “She did tell me once that as long as the price is right, she doesn’t care who she marries!” I had never said anything of the sort. But Gideon remained silent on the other end. He didn’t defend me, nor did he dispute her words. Soon, the unmistakable, wet sounds of intimacy echoed through the speaker. This was exactly what his future self had warned me about, their first night together. The call ended with a sharp click. I tried calling back in a frenzy of desperation, but the line remained dead. I collapsed onto the cold hospital floor, my sobs escaping through my tightly clenched fingers. As my emotions completely ruptured, a violent wave of nausea hit my stomach. Clutching a nearby trash can, I threw up until my throat burned. 2 For the first twenty-five years of my life, my world revolved around only three people: my mother, Becca, and Gideon. I never imagined that in a single night, I would lose all three of them. I, who had never begged anyone for anything, spent the next few hours calling every relative and acquaintance I knew. The responses fell into three categories: they had no money, it was inconvenient, or they sent a token few dollars to appease me. To raise the funds, I took on three different part-time jobs, doing whatever paid the fastest. Aside from sleeping and sitting by my mother’s bedside, I didn’t allow myself a single breath of rest. During this time, Gideon sent me a single text: [Don’t regret this.] He would probably go to his grave never understanding why I had suddenly transformed into a stranger. Just as I would never understand how five years of shared love could be dismantled so effortlessly by another woman’s whispers. In contrast, his future self was far more talkative, sending me sporadic messages. “You don’t need to push yourself this hard.” “Even if you work yourself to death, you can’t change her outcome. What’s the point?” When I received that text, I was standing under a blazing hundred-degree sun, handing out flyers for five dollars an hour. I didn’t have a single drop of energy left to reply. That evening, a coworker from my part-time shift asked if I could cover her night shift at a high-end lounge. “The clients there are incredibly wealthy. The tips from a single table are more than what we make in a month!” “If my daughter wasn’t sick, I would never give up this shift!” I accepted without hesitation. But when I pushed open the heavy mahogany doors of the VIP suite, my eyes locked directly with Gideon’s through the hazy, dim lighting. Sitting curled against his side, her face glowing with triumph, was Becca. One of Gideon’s friends sneered, eyeing my uniform with absolute disdain. “Well, look at that, Gideon. Isn’t that your gold-digging ex-girlfriend who refused your proposal because the price wasn’t right?” “Working as a maid in a place like this? What, looking for another rich guy to parasite off of?” The room erupted into cruel laughter, with Becca’s giggles ringing the loudest. Now that she had successfully taken my place, she had no intention of playing the sweet friend anymore. Clinging to Gideon’s arm, her smugness was unbearable. “Gideon, Hazel has been desperately short of cash lately. She’s asked almost all of our mutual friends for loans.” “Should we help her out a little?” Gideon’s eyes remained dark and unreadable. After a long pause, a cold smile played on his lips. “Sure.” He tapped his leather shoe against the glass table, pointing at a line of high-end, high-proof liquor bottles. “Ten thousand dollars a bottle. Will you drink?” He knew about my severe alcohol allergy. He was doing this to humiliate me. But to his surprise, under the mocking stares of the entire room, I didn’t hesitate. I reached out, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, tilted my head, and began to gulp it down. The burning liquid scorched my throat, and my stomach immediately twisted in agony. I dug my nails deep into my palms, forcing myself to suppress the urge to vomit. By the time Gideon realized what was happening and snatched the bottle away, I had already drained more than half of it. “Hazel, are you out of your mind?!” he roared. “What is wrong with you? Why do you need money this badly?!” Under the influence of the alcohol, my eyes stung with tears. I wanted to tell him how exhausted I was, how terrified I was of losing my mother. But his future self had already shown me the truth: even if I told this version of Gideon, the outcome would be exactly the same. I wiped the stray liquor from my chin, holding up my phone’s payment QR code with a blank face. “What I drank was worth twelve thousand dollars, right?” He swore under his breath, authorized the transfer, and pointed at the door, telling me to get out. The moment I stepped out of the suite, my legs gave out, and I sank to the floor, leaning against the cold wall. Staring at the notification of the transferred funds on my screen, a weak laugh escaped my lips. Laughter turned to tears, which flowed freely down my face. With this money, combined with what I had saved and borrowed, my mother’s next treatments were secured. But right then, a frantic call from the hospital shattered my fleeting relief. “Miss Vance, your mother’s condition has suddenly deteriorated!” “Please get to the hospital immediately!” 3 I lost count of how many times I tripped and fell on the dark streets. By the time I reached the hospital, my knees were bleeding, and I had lost one of my shoes. But I was still too late. I didn’t get to say goodbye. The doctor simply handed me a cold slip of paper, her death certificate. I wrapped my arms around my mother’s cooling body, weeping until my voice cracked. “Mom… please don’t leave me alone!” “Take me with you. Please, I’m begging you…” Even the nurses, who were used to the tragedy of the ICU, looked away with red eyes. “Miss Vance, please accept our condolences,” one nurse whispered, handing me a tissue to dry my tears. In our family, there was an old superstition that a relative’s tears must never fall on the face of the deceased. If they did, the departed soul would be unable to find peace, or they might carry their most cherished person with them to the grave. I wished with all my heart that the superstition was true. My mother was my only family, the only anchor I had in this world. Now that she was gone, what was the point of my existence? My phone rang. It was future Gideon. “Hazel, your mother…” “Why? Gideon, tell me why!” I screamed into the receiver, letting out every ounce of grief and agony I had bottled up. “Why is it that no matter what I do, I can’t save my mother?!” “Why is it that when I did absolutely nothing wrong, you and Becca chose to destroy me?!” “Why did the man I loved for five years end up in bed with my best friend?!” “Tell me why! Explain it to me!” An absolute, crushing silence met my screams. Through the static of the line, I thought I heard the sound of a quiet sob. Finally, he let out a ragged breath. “I’m sorry.” The rage drained out of me, leaving me completely hollow. I slid down the wall, curling onto the floor. I had one final question for him. “Gideon… do you regret it now?” The future version of him didn’t answer. Instead, he spoke a single, strange sentence. “Hazel, don’t look out the window.” But his warning came too late. The moment the words left his mouth, a brilliant burst of fireworks lit up the night sky outside the window. One after another, the colorful lights shattered the darkness, turning the night into day. Two young nurses passed by, their voices filled with envy. “Young Mr. Gideon ordered those for his new girlfriend! They’re going to keep going all night!” “I’m so jealous. I heard his ex-girlfriend of five years rejected his proposal because she wanted more money. What a gold-digger!” Ah, I had forgotten. Today was Becca’s birthday. On social media, Becca had posted a picture of herself snuggled in Gideon’s arms, surrounded by a mountain of luxury gifts. [I want money, love, and everything in between, and he hands it to me with a smile, calling me adorable.] I stared at the screen, a tired smile touching my lips. I liked the post, and then I blocked her account. A second later, my phone rang. It was Gideon. “Hazel, do you have any idea that today is Becca’s birthday?! Why did you block her?!” “She’s crying her eyes out because of you! Call her and apologize right now!” I opened my mouth to speak, but a sudden, sharp pain flared in my lower abdomen. A warm rush of blood trickled down my legs. My vision went black, and I collapsed onto the floor. When I woke up, a doctor was standing by my bed with a gentle smile. “Congratulations, you are two months pregnant.” “But your body is severely malnourished, and your stress levels are far too high. You are experiencing a threatened miscarriage.” I stared at the medical report, reading the words over and over. Finally, I dialed the future number. “We… had a child, didn’t we?” The line fell silent again, but this time, I could hear his choked-up weeping clearly. “I’m sorry, Hazel…” In the end, even that child hadn’t survived. His voice carried a desperate, breaking plea. “Abort the pregnancy now, Hazel. Don’t let the baby suffer…” “I’m begging you, please.” 4 After hanging up the phone, I gently placed my hand over my flat stomach. Even if he hadn’t said it, I had no intention of keeping this child. “I’m so sorry, little one.” “In our next life, please find your way back to me, okay?” “I promise I won’t make you wait long.” If the baby’s destiny was already written, if my efforts could change nothing, then it was better to end it before the suffering began. At least now, before the baby was fully formed, they wouldn’t have to experience the pain of this world. Half an hour later, I was lying on the cold operating table. The freezing anesthetic entered my veins, but even as my consciousness began to slip, I could still feel the cold instruments scraping inside my body. Cold sweat soaked my hair and back. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the agony in my heart. After the procedure, dragging my aching, hollow body, I went to collect my mother’s death certificate. Once the cremation paperwork was signed, I sat on a bench outside the crematorium, watching the thin plume of white smoke rise from the chimney. I reached out my hand to catch it, but my fingers closed on empty air. After much thought, I decided to take my mother’s ashes back to our old house. She would be safe there, with me. But when I reached the front steps, holding the urn close, I found Gideon and Becca waiting for me. “Where have you been?! I told you to apologize to Becca on the phone! Are you deaf?!” I didn’t even look up. As I tried to squeeze past them, Gideon grabbed my arm. He stared at my deathly pale face, a sudden look of shock passing through his eyes. “Why do you look like this?” I frowned, trying to wrench my arm free. Before I could, Becca lunged forward, snatching the urn from my arms. “Hazel, what’s in this pretty jar?” “Give it back!” I screamed, my voice cracking like shattered glass as I lunged for it. Everything happened in a blur. Becca shrieked, throwing herself into Gideon’s arms, and as she did, she intentionally let go of the urn. The ceramic jar shattered on the concrete path. Staring at the fine, grey ash scattering into the wind, something inside me snapped. I lunged forward, striking Becca across the face with all my remaining strength. A second later, Gideon shoved me hard, sending me crashing to the ground. “It’s just a jar! Are you out of your mind?!” The sharp ceramic shards sliced deep into my palms, blood spilling instantly. But I felt no pain. I scrambled on my knees, desperately trying to scoop my mother’s ashes back together with my bleeding hands. The blood stained the grey dust, turning it a dark, wet crimson. I didn’t even notice when Gideon and Becca finally walked away. That night, clutching a framed photograph of my mother, I swallowed the bottle of sleeping pills I had bought on my way home. As my eyelids grew impossibly heavy, I heard the soft chiming of the windbell on the porch. With the last of my strength, I turned my head, and in the doorway, I saw my mother smiling at me. On the nightstand, my phone screen was still open to the chat with future Gideon. Thirty minutes ago, I had sent him a final message: [Thank you for telling me the truth. It’s finally over.] At one in the morning, Gideon’s phone rang. It was the hospital. “Hello, is this the family of Hazel Vance? She has swallowed a lethal dose of sleeping pills! We are currently resuscitating her!” Gideon didn’t remember how he made it to the hospital. His mind was completely blank, running through multiple red lights in a haze of panic. Only when he saw the resuscitation form with Hazel’s name on it did his denial finally crumble. Right then, Hazel’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He answered it instinctively. But he never could have dreamed that the voice on the other end would be his own. Only, it sounded far more weathered, and completely frantic.

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1 Midnight in the university alumni group chat, someone suddenly posed a popular question: “If you could turn back the clock, which year would you go back to?” Tristan, the golden boy of our department who had vanished from the face of the earth five years ago, suddenly popped up: “Our junior year, during that freezing winter.” A few seconds later, another message followed: “And back to Eleanor Sinclair’s side.” The group chat exploded instantly. Back at Amberley University, they had been the golden couple everyone whispered about: the untouchable, ethereal beauty and the dazzling star athlete. Their love had been wild, passionate, and loud. Unfortunately, it had ended in heartbreak when he moved abroad. To this day, everyone in that chat was absolutely certain Eleanor still loved him. Myself included. I turned my head to look at Eleanor, who was fast asleep beside me. The once unattainable goddess of our campus was now my wife. She was quiet, attentive, perfect in every duty of marriage, and she did not love me. In my past life, I had slowly drowned in depression trying to warm this frozen stone of a woman, dying with the bitter belief that her heart belonged entirely to Tristan. Having been given a second chance at life, I decided I was done playing the fool. I quietly slipped out of bed, placed the signed divorce papers on the nightstand, and rolled my suitcase toward the bedroom door. Suddenly, a pair of burning-hot hands wrapped around my waist from behind. She held me with a desperate, crushing strength. Her tears scalded my collarbone, and her voice was a terrifying, ragged whisper. “Baby, where are you going? Why are you divorcing me?” “Please, don’t leave me, okay?” “Eleanor, are you having a nightmare?” I asked softly. Eleanor’s voice changed instantly, as if someone had flipped a switch. The raw, ragged desperation vanished, replaced immediately by her usual frigid composure. Her grip on my waist loosened, her hands retreating as if she had touched a hot stove. I turned around to see her back facing me, her shoulder blades tense and rigid. The warm glow of the bedside lamp caught the side of her face. She quickly swiped the back of her hand across her cheek, erasing any trace of wetness. “It was just sleep paralysis. I wasn’t fully awake.” “I’m sorry for disturbing you.” She leaned down to pick up the divorce papers she had crumpled in her grip. Flattening the creases with slow, deliberate care, she spoke in her usual business-like tone. She folded the paper once, then twice, then three times, before tossing it with perfect precision into the wastebasket by the bed. The movement was clean and cold, as if she were throwing away a used tissue rather than our marriage. “The Sinclair family cannot afford this kind of public embarrassment.” “And we do not have a history of divorce.” “If you’re feeling restless, go out and spend some money tomorrow.” Leaving me with those flat, empty words, she turned and walked into the bathroom. The lock clicked shut. Soon, the sound of rushing water filled the room. I stood there in the dark, the spot on my collarbone where her tears had fallen now completely cold. She had been exactly like this in our past life. Occasionally, she would lose control in the dead of night, only to act as if nothing had happened the next morning, masking everything under an impenetrable layer of dignity and poise. For five years, I had stupidly let myself be moved by those rare moments of midnight vulnerability. My phone screen lit up in the darkness. There was a new message in the alumni chat. I swiped it open. Tristan had posted a photo: a yellowed, worn movie ticket stub from a classic romance film that had played during our junior year. He had captioned it: “Some memories remain warm, even after five freezing winters.” The replies rolled in immediately. “You still kept that, Tristan? My heart breaks for you.” “Some people are just impossible to forget.” “@Tristan, you deserve so much better.” I exited the chat, leaning down to gather my coat from the floor. As I did, my hand brushed against the academic journal Eleanor always kept on her nightstand. I knocked it slightly out of place, and something slipped out from the pages, landing softly on the carpet. I picked it up. It was a custom leather bookmark with gilded edges. It shared the exact same design, the exact same font, and the exact same layout as the movie ticket stub Tristan had just posted. They were a matching set. The shower stopped. The bathroom door opened. Eleanor walked out, wrapping her robe tighter around herself. Seeing me kneeling on the floor with the bookmark in my hand, she paused for a fraction of a second. “It was a promotional gift from the publisher,” she said, her voice as flat as if she were explaining a shipping invoice. I nodded, slipped the bookmark back into the journal, and stood up. No demands for explanations. No accusations. I didn’t even look at her a second time. I grabbed my duffel bag and began packing my toiletries: my toothbrush, my face wash, and the bottle of lotion that was nearly empty. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Going to my parents’ place.” “At three in the morning?” “Yes.” She fell silent for a few seconds. “Leave the bag. I’ll have the driver take you.” “No need.” I pushed open the bedroom door and walked down to the foyer. The butler was already waiting there, holding a black umbrella and a heavy camel hair coat. “Sir,” he said politely, “Madame instructed me to ensure you don’t catch a cold. It would harm the public image of the Sinclair family’s marital harmony.” I looked at the coat. In my past life, she had done this too. She would never chase after me, and she would never offer an explanation. But she would always make sure someone handed me an umbrella, a coat, or a cup of warm water at just the right temperature. It was a cruel trick that made you feel cared for, while simultaneously making you realize that the care had absolutely nothing to do with you as a person. She only cared about protecting the pristine title of “her husband.” I walked past the butler, opened the heavy front door, and let the biting winter wind hit my face. My phone vibrated again. It was a friend request on WeChat. The avatar was a silhouette of Tristan’s profile. The invitation message read: “It’s been five years. I just wanted to ask how she’s doing. Please don’t take it the wrong way, okay?” I stared at the words for three seconds. Then, I tapped accept. Tristan chose a quiet coffee shop tucked away in an alley near our old campus. He was sitting by the window wearing a cream knit sweater, his hair casually styled, looking noticeably thinner than he had in college. “Long time no see,” he said, rising to offer me a warm, gentle hug. He smelled faintly of cedarwood. I sat down, declining to order anything. “To be honest, I hesitated for a long time before reaching out to you,” Tristan said, keeping his eyes down as he stirred his latte, the spoon clinking softly against the ceramic. He pulled a yellowed document from his bag and slid it across the table. It was a photocopy of an old visa application from five years ago. “Eleanor kept this safe for me all this time,” he said, his voice cracking slightly with emotion. “I left in such a hurry back then, I didn’t have time to gather my things. I’ve wanted to get it back for years, but I was so afraid of disrupting your lives.” I glanced at the photocopy. Eleanor’s name was nowhere on it. “She kept a photocopy of your visa,” I said flatly. “And?” “Nothing, I just…” Tristan shook his head quickly, his eyes instantly brimming with tears. “I just thought you should hear this.” He pulled out his phone, tapped the screen, and played an audio clip. The quality was poor, sounding as if it had been recorded through a heavy door. Eleanor’s voice came through, sounding exhausted. “Don’t push him. I’ll handle whatever consequences come of this.” And then it cut off. There was no context, no hint of who she was speaking to or who she was talking about. Tristan paused the recording, looking up at me with wet, pleading eyes. “I ran into some trouble when I was abroad, and she… she helped me so much. I didn’t mean to come between you, I just…” I picked up the untouched glass of ice water in front of me and slowly poured it into the potted fern sitting on our table. A few drops splashed onto the sleeve of his white sweater. “Tristan,” I said, standing up. “Cut the tragic hero act.” “If you have something to say, say it. Stop playing these pathetic games.” “If you want Eleanor, you should be talking to her, not me.” He froze, his lips parting in shock. Without waiting for a response, I grabbed my bag and walked out. The moment I pushed through the glass door of the cafe, a sleek black luxury sedan pulled up smoothly to the curb. A bodyguard in a tailored suit stepped out, holding an umbrella. He bypassed me completely, walking straight up to Tristan and bowing slightly. “Mr. Tristan, Madame requests your presence in the car.” I looked back. The transition on Tristan’s face from utter shock to pure triumph took less than half a second. He scrambled to gather his things and practically ran to follow the guard. The rear window of the luxury sedan remained rolled up. The heavy tint made it impossible to see inside. But I knew Eleanor was sitting in the back seat. The car glided away. I stood there on the pavement as a cold, biting rain began to fall, soaking through my clothes. By seven that evening, the alumni group chat had descended into absolute chaos. One of Tristan’s friends had posted a blurry, secretly taken photo of Tristan leaning in to enter the luxury sedan. The license plate was fully visible. Tristan replied almost instantly: “Guys, please don’t share this. Her husband will be heartbroken if he sees it. I only wanted to see her from a distance.” The chat went wild. “Tristan, stop hurting yourself for her.” “Honestly, some people are just taking up a spot they don’t deserve. It’s frustrating to watch.” “@Tristan, you deserve to be cherished.” I typed out a reply. My finger hovered over the send button for three seconds before I deleted every single word. Then, someone else chimed in: “Please, just leave Tristan alone. He only recently recovered from severe depression. Don’t trigger him.” The screen kept scrolling with endless vitriol. “Some people really love bullying the gentle ones.” “Tristan only went abroad back then to let them be happy together.” I closed the app. I popped open my phone’s SIM tray, pulled out the card, snapped it clean in half, and dropped it into a trash can by the street. Then, I walked into a print shop, printed out a fresh copy of the divorce agreement, signed my name, and booked a same-day courier. The destination: Eleanor’s private estate. Less than twenty minutes after the delivery was marked as signed, my phone rang. It was the bank. “Mr. Sinclair, this is your private account manager. We regret to inform you that all secondary cards under your account have been suspended by the primary cardholder. If you have any questions, please contact…” I hung up. I opened my wallet. Inside were three fifty-dollar bills and a few stray coins. This was all the money I had in the world. I hadn’t worked a single day since we got married. Eleanor had always told me, “You don’t need to work. We have everything you could ever want.” In my past life, I had believed her. I had believed her for five years, until I ended up having to ask her assistant for household funds just to buy a box of stomach medicine. I dragged my suitcase through the cold streets for hours before finding a run-down motel on the west side of the city. The front desk clerk quoted me eighty dollars a night, no breakfast included. I paid for two nights, leaving myself with seventy dollars. My room was on the third floor, with a window that faced a blank concrete wall. The building’s heating hadn’t been turned on yet, and the sheets felt damp and freezing to the touch. Just as I set my suitcase down, there was a knock at the door. A motel employee stood there holding an elegantly wrapped thermal delivery box, wearing a smile that was entirely too bright. “Hello, sir! This is part of our motel’s new VIP welcome program. It’s a complimentary bowl of stomach-soothing porridge. Congratulations on winning!” I glanced at the gold-embossed logo on the box. The Golden Crane. It was an exclusive, reservation-only restaurant on the east side of the city that required a three-week waiting list. Inside was sugar-free date and longan porridge. Eleanor absolutely loathed porridge. But Tristan loved it. I had no desire to unravel the mystery of why this was showing up at my door. “No, thank you. I don’t want it.” “But sir, it’s completely free—” I shut the door in his face. The employee left the box on the floor outside. I opened the door again, picked it up, and tossed it into the trash chute down the hall. My stomach had been burning since the afternoon. I had left the house in such a rush that morning that I’d only had half a glass of cold water all day. I sat on the edge of the mattress, curling inward to wait out the sharp, twisting pain. It didn’t stop. It only grew worse, feeling as though a cold hand was slowly wringing my organs. I grabbed my keycard and went downstairs, walking to the convenience store at the corner. The pain relievers were on the bottom shelf. Just as I reached for them, someone rounded the corner of the aisle so fast they nearly ran me over. It was Penny, Eleanor’s personal assistant. She was dripping with sweat, panting heavily as if she had just sprinted across several blocks, clutching a prescription box of stomach medication in her hand. “Mr. Sinclair,” she stammered, trying desperately to sound casual. “What a coincidence! I was just passing by. This medicine is incredibly effective for stomach pain. I use it all the time, so I thought I’d just buy some for…” “Penny,” I said quietly. She stopped talking. I looked at the box in her hand. It was an imported, high-strength prescription drug specifically for stress-induced gastritis. There was absolutely no way a common convenience store carried it. “Did she send you?” Penny’s eyes darted away, her lips trembling. I reached out and knocked the box clean out of her hand. The plastic packaging hit the linoleum floor with a sharp crack, the pills spilling out and rolling under the shelves. “Go back and tell her,” I said, “to keep her cheap pity to herself. If she actually cares, she can start by signing the papers.” Penny scrambled onto her knees to gather the loose pills, her hands shaking so badly she could barely pick them up. Only when I had paid for my items and turned to leave did she catch up to me, pressing a heavy, gold-foiled invitation into my hands. “Mr. Sinclair, Madame insisted I deliver this to you personally.” “Tomorrow is the university’s centennial gala. Madame said that for the sake of the company’s stock stability, you must attend as her husband.” I took the invitation. The cover was stamped with the Amberley University crest and a small line of print: Reserved VIP Seating — Mrs. Eleanor Sinclair and Partner. My stomach flared with another wave of sharp pain. The alumni chat had been muted on my end, but the whispers still found a way to reach me. Tristan had posted a new set of photos. Standing in front of a dressing room mirror, he was wearing a tailored midnight-blue suit, looking back over his shoulder with a sharp, elegant jawline. The caption read: “Even if I’m only a supporting actor tonight, I want to look my best for an old friend.” Apparently, the comment section was filled with praise and broken hearts. I chose a fitted black velvet shirt from my bag. It was the most daring piece in my wardrobe, tailored perfectly to hug my waist. In my past life, I had never dared to wear anything like this. Eleanor had once told me, “You’re too thin. Fitted clothes make you look fragile and unstable.” Tonight, I didn’t care. The gala was held in the university’s historic Grand Hall. The crystal chandeliers were blindingly bright, casting a warm glow over the sea of expensive dresses and sharp suits. I walked in alone. Eyes fell on me from every corner of the room, carrying a mix of cold calculation, muffled snickers, and blatant amusement. I hadn’t walked ten paces before Tristan stepped out from the crowd. Flanked by a group of seven or eight loyal followers, he paused when he saw me, then slowly walked over. “Oliver,” he said, his voice so soft and delicate it sounded as if he were trying not to scare a wild animal. “I’m so sorry. If my being here makes things awkward for you… I can leave right now. Really.” He lowered his head slightly as he spoke, pulling his shoulders inward to look as small and yielding as possible. The surrounding crowd instantly looked at him with profound pity—and shot me looks of pure disgust. I ignored him, reaching out to take a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray. Just then, a wave of hushed murmurs swept through the entrance. Eleanor walked in, surrounded by several members of the university’s board of directors. She was wearing a charcoal-grey power suit, her gold cufflinks catching the light. Her eyes swept across the room. They lingered briefly on Tristan, then on the crowd surrounding him, and finally on me. Without a single change in her expression, she averted her gaze and walked straight toward the VIP stage. It was the look she would give a total stranger. One of the women standing next to Tristan suddenly spoke up, her voice sharp and loud enough to carry. “Oh, look, the house husband is here. All by himself? Did Eleanor leave you behind?” It was Gemma, a woman who had been notoriously obsessed with Tristan since our college days. I didn’t answer. Taking my silence as permission, she stepped closer with her wine glass in hand. As she tried to brush past me, her elbow suddenly lunged sideways. She didn’t hit me. Instead, she slammed hard into the glass champagne tower beside us. With a deafening crash, the delicate glass shattered, cascading down in a violent wave of alcohol. The freezing champagne drenched me from head to toe. My black velvet shirt was instantly soaked, clinging heavily to my skin. The hall fell dead silent for a second, followed by a wave of poorly suppressed laughter. “Oh my gosh, I am so, so sorry!” Gemma cried out with theatrical horror, though the corners of her mouth were twitching with amusement. More people began to crowd around us. “Weren’t you the one who forced Tristan to go abroad five years ago?” “He spent five miserable years alone in a foreign country because of you. Doesn’t your conscience bother you at all?” “Say something! Apologize to him in front of everyone! Get on your knees and apologize!” Tristan stood just outside the circle, his hands covering his mouth, looking entirely innocent, as if he had no idea how things had escalated to this point. I took a step back, my spine hitting a cold marble pillar. Champagne was dripping from my hem, pooling inside my shoes. The lights above felt entirely too bright. I reached slowly into my small leather clutch and pulled out a small, grey device. It was an old voice recorder, its edges worn white from years of handling. In my past life, I had never found the courage to use it. But in this life, it was more than enough. I looked up, staring past the angry, mocking faces in front of me, and locked eyes with Eleanor, who was still being toasted by the board members in the distance. She set her glass down, apparently noticing the commotion, and turned her head. Our eyes met. I turned around, took the audio cable dangling from the standing microphone next to the pillar, and plugged it directly into the recorder. “Do you all really think Tristan chose to sacrifice himself and that I was the one who forced him out? Well, you might want to listen closely to what actually happened.”

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1 It was the third year of my self-imposed exile in the wilderness, living on a deserted island to keep Silas company, far away from human society. His severe autism made the world a hostile place for him. He still only tolerated my presence, refusing to let anyone else set foot on the shore. He remained the same as he had always been: expressionless, quiet, and completely averse to any form of physical contact. Until today, when the tide washed a woman onto our beach. By the time I found them, his face was flushed red with embarrassment as he desperately pressed his lips to hers, performing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Over the next two weeks, I watched him lead her through every corner of the sanctuary we had built with our own hands. “This is the shelter. I tore it down and rebuilt it seven times.” “This is the garden. We grow lettuce and cucumbers here.” “This is where we fish. The water purifier is kept here too.” Finally, sitting under the glow of the campfire, he looked at her with a depth of emotion I had never seen and asked, “Sherry, the world out there is filthy. Stay here with me, okay?” I stared blankly at the sudden warmth in Silas’s face, a bitter, hollow ache spreading through my chest. In that moment, I finally understood. Someone had actually succeeded in breaking through his shell. But that person wasn’t me. Sherry ignored Silas, turning her head to look at me instead. “Lyra, why are you so quiet?” I sat on a log, preparing to speak, but Silas cut in with sudden, desperate urgency. “What is it about this place that you don’t like? I can have the Harrisons remodel the entire island. A massive villa with a swimming pool? A beautiful botanical garden? Just name it.” Silas had always loved the raw state of nature, detesting any form of modern technology that could corrupt the environment. Before we came to the island, his grandfather had insisted on building a sturdy concrete house for us. Silas had rejected the offer flatly. Shortly after we arrived, the rainy season hit. My clothes were perpetually damp, clinging to my skin. By the tenth day of a raging fever, I didn’t even have the strength to stand. Yet, all Silas had said back then was, “Once the shelter is built, it will be better.” Sherry let out a soft laugh. “Silas, you already have Lyra here to keep you company. Why would I stay? Besides, I get the feeling she dislikes me. I don’t think she wants me here.” Silas frowned, turning his head to glare at me with cold accusation. “You hate her?” Before I could even attempt to explain, he turned back to Sherry, his eyes fixed on her with an eager intensity. “This is my island. Don’t you know who the Harrisons are? We are the wealthiest family in the country.” He was practically desperate to display his fortune, showing off his lineage like a peacock fanning its feathers. Suddenly, it felt as though a clump of wet cotton was wedged in my throat. It had taken me ten long years of patience to understand Silas’s habits and his way of speaking. Sherry had demolished all of it in just two weeks. Over the past few days, Silas had initiated twenty-seven satellite calls to his grandfather. Every single one of them was for Sherry’s sake. Helicopters, which he usually despised for their loud engines, began arriving one after another. They brought fresh cakes, gourmet milk tea, and even luxury clothes and designer jewelry. They erected one elaborate, high-end tent after another on the beach, all reserved exclusively for her. I blinked rapidly, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill. I simply couldn’t believe Silas could fall for someone this easily. The satellite phone vibrated in my pocket. I stood up silently and walked a short distance away to answer it. It was his grandfather, Charles Harrison. Lately, he had been calling every day to ask about Silas’s condition, and I had reported everything to him honestly. Charles let out a booming laugh over the receiver. “Lyra, my boy Silas wants to keep Sherry on the island! He’s actually in love! I can’t believe how blunt he is when he tries to win a girl over!” His voice carried the same excited warmth as the time he first saw Silas kiss me. That had happened right after we finished building our very first crude shelter, which was so poorly made it leaked when it rained. Silas had been so ecstatic he spun me around three times and pressed a quick, clumsy kiss to my lips. My heart had nearly stopped beating in that moment. The old man on the line paused suddenly, realizing that I was still Silas’s fiancée. His tone quickly shifted to one of quiet comfort. “Lyra, I know Silas used to care for you deeply. He used to accompany you to the hospital every single day just to be near you. And when you two got into that car accident, he nearly lost his life trying to shield you. But love is a strange thing; it has no rhyme or reason. Maybe what he felt for you was just the affection of a sibling. If he truly loves Sherry, we should dissolve the engagement. I will compensate you, of course. I’ll officially adopt you as his sister.” I remembered when Charles had held my hand years ago, telling me how grateful he was to have me, wishing I could stay by Silas’s side forever. “Grandfather,” I said softly, “the medical expenses your family pays for my mother’s treatment are more than enough. I’ll stay for another two weeks. If… if things don’t change, I will leave the island on my own.” I was ten years old when I first met Silas. He had always rejected everyone, but for some reason, he would sit quietly in my mother’s hospital room, listening to me babble happily about school. When Charles discovered this, he immediately transferred my leukemia-stricken mother to a private wing and hired the best specialists. In exchange, I became Silas’s shadow. We ate together, studied together, and played together. He hated speaking, so I did all the talking. He couldn’t fit in with our classmates, so I constantly explained his behavior to others, shielding him from their cold, mocking stares. We had made a pact back then: if he managed to finish university, I would accompany him to a deserted island to escape the world for five years. But now, it was clear he no longer needed me. These days, he guided Sherry to every corner of the island, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with her, leaving no space for me to join them. Helicopters now flew in three times a day, delivering whatever Sherry wanted to eat, drink, or play with. They even transported two tons of purified water daily just so she could take comfortable showers. The plans for the villa, the pool, and the garden had already been laid out. Meanwhile, our small garden had been completely dug up by the workers. Those fruits and vegetables we had nurtured so carefully were tossed to the side, left to rot in the dirt. The mechanical roar of construction equipment was constant. Normally, Silas would have flown into a violent, shaking rage at such noise, requiring hours of gentle soothing from me to calm down. But now, he endured the discomfort willingly just to stay by her side, relaying her demands to the architects, revising the blueprints for the eight-hundredth time. His eyes remained filled with absolute indulgence whenever he looked at her. At night, Sherry would blast loud music that echoed across the entire island, pulling Silas to dance with her around the campfire. She would squeeze his chest, laughing. “Silas, you’re incredibly handsome. You’re in better shape than most movie stars.” With a sly smile, her fingers slid slowly down past his waistband. His throat bobbed, but he didn’t pull away. I couldn’t watch any longer and turned to leave, but the sound of a dry branch snapping under my foot betrayed my presence. Their eyes snapped toward me. Silas stiffened, while Sherry remained draped over him like a vine. I didn’t expect him to run after me, but he did, grabbing my wrist with a tight, frustrated grip. His brow was furrowed, his voice laced with irritation. “What are you doing? The island is huge. Do you have to keep stalking us?” “You put bugs in Sherry’s food, left a snake in her tent, and falsely accused her of pushing you into the sea. What are you planning to do this time?” It felt as if my heart was being squeezed by a cold hand. “I’ve explained to you a dozen times, I didn’t do any of those things,” I said, looking up to meet his eyes. “Silas, I’ve already told your grandfather. I’m leaving in two weeks.” But Silas only saw my departure as a childish tantrum. “Are you unhappy with the lifestyle here now? If you prefer the primitive way, you can keep living like that. But Sherry is a celebrity, she’s different from you. She’s used to being pampered. The fact that she’s willing to live on an isolated island is already incredible.” I opened my mouth, but the rest of my words died in my throat. I slowly pried his fingers off my wrist and forced a small, tired smile. “Silas, you’ve fallen for her.” He froze, his scowl deepening. “I haven’t. I was just dancing with her. I know you’re my fiancée. I’ll keep my promise and marry you when we turn twenty-five. Can you stop being so suffocating?” He was a man of very few words. In the past, I would say ten sentences and he would reply with one. Now, he was talking more than he ever had, yet he was accusing me of being suffocating. And all of it was because of Sherry. An overwhelming exhaustion washed over me. As I turned to walk away, Silas yanked my arm, throwing me off balance. I fell forward, a sharp rock jutting out directly in front of my face. I gasped, reaching back instinctively to grab him for support, but he let go. Sherry had tripped behind him. He lunged past me, catching her securely in his arms. I slammed hard against the sharp rock. A deep gash tore across my forehead, and warm blood began to trickle down my face. I looked up through the crimson haze, only to see him looking frantically at Sherry. “Sherry, are you hurt?” Sherry shook her head, her face pale as she looked at Silas. “Silas, I don’t want to cause any more misunderstandings between you two. Maybe I should be the one to leave.” I clutched my bleeding forehead. Silas didn’t give me so much as a passing glance, his words slipping out without hesitation. “I’ll have her leave the island so she can calm down.” My tears mixed with the blood dripping down my cheek. In that moment, I decided I wanted to leave immediately, just as he wished. After performing some basic first aid on my wound, I used the satellite phone to call Charles. The old man let out a delighted laugh. “Excellent! Excellent!” “Tell Sherry that if she gets pregnant, I will give her a hundred million dollars. If she gives birth to a boy, she can have whatever she desires. She doesn’t need to play those petty games anymore.” Charles had seen Sherry push me into the ocean through the satellite surveillance feeds. But he had never cared about who was right or wrong; he only cared about who could make Silas behave more like a normal human being. “You have no idea, Lyra. I’ve already had my staff edit a bunch of clips of them together. We’ll play them at their wedding.” His voice turned soft and coaxing. “Lyra, since things have turned out this way, why don’t you come back first? Let’s leave the island to the two young lovers.” The phrase young lovers felt like a needle driving straight into my heart. “Okay,” I whispered. “Grandfather, if that’s the case, you should tell Sherry yourself. I’ll leave the satellite phone with her.” I asked him to send a helicopter for me, then went back to the shelter to pack my belongings. When I entered, I found my only three sets of spare clothes shredded to pieces. Sherry was standing nearby, trying on a designer dress. She walked over, looking feigningly surprised. “Oh, Lyra, I’m so sorry. I just mentioned in passing that I needed some rags to wipe down the furniture. I had no idea Silas would go and shred your clothes.” “Why don’t you look through my wardrobe and see if there’s anything you like? I’ll give it to you as compensation.” I looked around the room. This was the shelter Silas and I had built with our own hands, the place where we had lived together for three years. The handmade clay plates and cups we had crafted were gone. Even the sacred fire we had kept burning continuously had been reduced to cold ashes. Now, the entire space was crammed with luxury clothing, expensive jewelry boxes, and a massive full-length mirror. Ignoring her insincere apology, I laid the satellite phone down on a trunk. “It’s all yours,” I said, turning to walk out. Sherry called out to me, looking at me with a smirk. “Lyra, to be honest, I really envied you. A penniless orphan almost becoming the mistress of the Harrison estate.” She let out a soft, mocking chuckle. “But don’t blame me for taking what’s yours. Silas was already sick of you. If you’re going to leave, do it quickly.” My face darkened as I gave her a cold warning. “I’ve already asked the Harrisons to investigate your background. You better pray you don’t have any skeletons in your closet.” A flash of panic crossed Sherry’s face. The next second, she raised her hand and slapped herself hard across the cheek, letting out a piercing shriek. “Lyra, please! I beg you, let me go!” She frantically disheveled her hair, tearing at her own collar just as Silas came rushing through the entrance, pulling her into his arms. “Silas, Lyra told me to stay away from you. She told me to leave the island immediately and stop seducing you, or else she’d throw me into the ocean to feed the sharks!” Silas’s eyes instantly turned red with rage as he glared at me with disgust. “Lyra, when did you become so malicious?” “I’m the one who insisted Sherry stay. If you’re angry, take it out on me!” “Apologize to her right now!” I looked at him, listening to the soft whimpering of the woman cradled in his chest. The suffocating weight of my grievances could no longer be contained. “I didn’t do anything.” Silas didn’t pay attention to my words, his harsh voice drowning me out. “Are you lying to me now too?” “And to think Sherry spent days helping me prepare a birthday gift for you, even going out of her way to have a mango cake delivered from across the country!” “Get out!” In just two short weeks, Silas had memorized Sherry’s favorite tea flavors and her preferred clothing brands. He knew what colors she liked and what flowers she adored, promising to plant a garden full of roses and lilies for her once the villa was completed. He, who had never cared for media, could even recite the names of her favorite directors, actors, and singers. Yet, he had completely forgotten that I was severely allergic to roses and mangoes. The wind swept over the cliffs, carrying away the tears from my eyes. I turned and walked away. Just as I reached the edge of the cliff to wait for the helicopter, Silas blocked my path once again. The anger in his eyes was palpable. “Where is Sherry’s jade pendant?” “Give it back to her.” “That was a gift from her mother for her eighteenth birthday.” Being falsely accused over and over again finally pushed me past my breaking point. I screamed at him, my voice cracking. “I didn’t touch Sherry!” “I didn’t threaten her!” “And I have never seen her stupid pendant!” I had never once lost my temper with Silas in all the years we had spent together. He froze for a moment, but my anger only seemed to provoke his own. He grabbed my wrist, yanked off my red string bracelet, and hurled it over the edge of the cliff. “Fine. If you won’t give it back, then you don’t get to keep yours either.” My breathing stopped. He knew exactly how much I treasured that bracelet. It was the only keepsake left to me by my deceased parents, something my father had traveled to a temple to obtain for my mother when I was born. After they passed away, I had worn it every single day for seven years. It was all I had left of them. The tears finally spilled over, completely out of my control. Silas’s expression softened slightly at the sight of my tears, but he still held my arm. “Now we’re even,” he said. “Go apologize to Sherry, and I’ll forgive you.” “If you don’t want to live on the island anymore, I can accompany you back to the city for a while. I’ve already promised to help Sherry win an award, but once the villa is built, we can come back together.” Seeing that I wouldn’t stop crying, he grew increasingly anxious, talking far more than usual. “What is wrong with you lately? Why won’t you speak to me?” “I’m not even holding your behavior against Sherry anymore.” “Are you crying now just so you can run to my grandfather and tell him I bullied you?” His voice grew louder, as if he were desperately trying to force everything back into order. “Sherry said you’re just jealous. I never said I wouldn’t marry you.” “You’re going to be Mrs. Harrison soon anyway. What more could you possibly want?” I raised my hand and slapped Silas hard across the face. I stared into his eyes, speaking slowly and clearly. “Silas, no one in the outside world even knows about our engagement.” “Your grandfather will help us dissolve it. I am not marrying you.” “I am leaving right now. We are done.” Silas’s expression darkened instantly. I ignored him, turning around and throwing myself over the edge of the cliff into the sea, desperate to find my red string bracelet in the vast, churning water. After my tenth dive, I dragged myself onto the shore to rest. Silas found me again, dragging my shivering, soaking-wet body back to the camp and shoving me in front of Sherry to force an apology. Sherry, her eyes red, spoke up timidly. “Silas, one of the construction workers found my pendant. I… I must have dropped it by accident earlier.” Silas’s grip on my wrist loosened. He let out a sigh of relief, gently brushing a tear from Sherry’s cheek. “I’m glad we found it.” “You’re too kind, Sherry. You don’t need to make excuses for Lyra.” He turned back to me, his tone carrying a sense of magnanimous forgiveness. “Lyra, thank Sherry.” “Thank her for being so understanding.” “Thank her for what?” I asked, my voice deadly quiet. “For framing me?” Seeing that I was completely unyielding, anger flared in Silas’s eyes once again. The roar of several incoming helicopters drew Sherry’s attention. She tugged at Silas’s sleeve. “Silas, it’s fine. Let’s go see what else you bought for me.” Silas shot me a final, warning glance, but I met his gaze with absolute indifference. I watched from a distance as Sherry squealed with delight, kissing the designer handbag Silas had purchased for her. Silas smiled indulgently, though a faint crease remained between his brows. “As long as you like it, Sherry. We’ll leave tomorrow, and I’ll buy you even more beautiful dresses for your red carpet events.” “What about Lyra?” “Leave her here. Since she loves the island so much, she can supervise the construction of our villa.”

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1 The green light flashed as I reached the crosswalk. I hesitated while Darcy and Owen dashed across. Red trapped me at the curb. They never looked back. A black car hissed past, mud spattering my pants. I blinked, stunned, then stepped away. I had always been half a beat behind, last to drop my fork and lagging on group walks. In school, they fretted over my grades. One drilled math while the other took notes until their heads bent close, bickering over a geometry line all afternoon. I sat mute beside them. Apartment hunting, they linked arms, comparing commutes and sunlight. Owen swung Darcy’s bag as she laughed. I trailed, watching their backs. Only those in sync caught the same green light. The slow waited alone. The signal changed. I stepped forward. If we could not walk together, I would walk alone. … By the time I reached the apartment, they were already inside, exploring the rooms. Seeing me enter, Darcy’s face tightened with impatience. “What took you so long? Owen and I are almost done looking. If you were any slower, the agent would have gone off work.” Owen poked his head out from the kitchen, quickly walking over to Darcy’s side and gently patting her shoulder. “Stop yelling at Shawn. He’s always walked slow. Can’t you show some patience?” I looked down at the dark mud stains on my trousers. “You guys just walk too fast.” Owen let out a cheerful laugh, pointing toward the open balcony. “Well, at least you’re here now. Look at this balcony; it’s beautiful. Planting some lisianthus flowers here would look amazing, perfect for photos.” Darcy followed his gaze, letting out a soft chuckle. “Lisianthus are incredibly hard to keep alive. With your three-minute attention span, they wouldn’t survive a week. Better to grow mint; at least we can use it for cocktails.” “Who says I can’t keep them alive? I’m going to plant lisianthus!” “Fine. When they wither, don’t expect me to replant them for you.” They bickered back and forth, their voices filled with a comfortable, intimate familiarity, looking exactly like a young couple planning their first home together. But I was the one renting the apartment. I was the one who would be paying the rent. Yet, they had already bypassed me entirely, deciding the fate of the balcony and even assuming I would definitely live here. Looking at the empty concrete floor, a sudden wave of apathy washed over me. I didn’t even want to plant a single blade of grass here anymore. The bitter taste of being ignored crept up my throat. I remembered a time when I had complained to Darcy about how difficult it was for me to join their conversations. She hadn’t even looked up from her phone. “You’re always sitting there like a mute. How is anyone supposed to constantly cater to your quiet moods?” I took a deep breath, stepping forward to bridge the distance between us. “Actually, I think a cactus would be nice too,” I said, trying to keep my voice light and cheerful. “Because when a cactus gets heartbroken, it turns into a round little ball because it cries so hard all its needles fall off.” It was a silly, outdated joke I had read in an old magazine the night before. The moment the words left my mouth, the playful bickering stopped, and the room plunged into an awkward, suffocating silence. Perhaps because I was always slow, even my jokes were hopelessly outdated. Five seconds passed. Owen was the first to react, breaking the silence with a sudden burst of laughter. “Darcy, that was freezing. That joke is even colder than the time you fell into the snowbank in Iceland.” Darcy’s eyes instantly crinkled with warmth at his words. “And whose brilliant idea was it to drag me into the backcountry for skiing? I was the one who had to dig you out of that hole.” “Haha, you were covered in snow from head to toe, looking at least ten years older. If you end up an old maid because of that, don’t expect me to marry you!” They laughed freely, their joy unreserved. I remembered how she had promised to take me to see the Northern Lights once we graduated, then pushed it back to when our careers settled, and then told me to wait until her next vacation. I had waited and waited, only to find out she had already gone with Owen. “Iceland?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “When did you go?” The laughter stopped instantly. Darcy’s expression smoothed over into a cool, dismissive mask. “Last winter. You were away on a photography shoot.” Was I away on a shoot, or did they deliberately plan the trip for when I was gone? Owen waved his hand quickly. “It’s in the past, no big deal. Let’s focus on the apartment.” They moved on, their mutual silence closing the topic with perfect coordination. The damp, muddy trousers clung to my skin, making every second I stood there feel like an eternity. “I’m not feeling well. I’m going home. We can look at apartments another time.” As I turned to leave, I heard Darcy’s low, irritated whisper behind me. “Throwing another tantrum. He’s completely spoiled.” I returned to our shared apartment alone. I slipped on my slippers and went into the bathroom, using a wet wipe to gently clean the dried mud from my trousers. The motion-sensor light above flickered on and then died, leaving me in the dark. Only when the water in the sink overflowed, spilling cold droplets onto my bare feet, did my slow brain register the mess and reach out to turn off the faucet. I was always half a beat behind. But it hadn’t always been this way. When I was seven, Darcy had dragged me into a torrential downpour for two hours just to catch a cicada. I had suffered a raging fever for a day and a night, nearly damaging my brain. From that day on, my reflexes were permanently slower than the rest of the world. My older sister, Valerie, had been so furious she wanted to beat Darcy. The young Darcy had knelt by my bedside, her face drenched in tears as she sobbed, “Valerie, you can hit me! It’s all my fault! Just please don’t take Shawn away. I swear, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to him. I’ll never let him suffer a single day of unhappiness.” I believed her. And my sister believed her too. So, when Valerie took over our family’s international business and moved abroad, she left me to live with Darcy’s family. In the beginning, Darcy had kept her promise. Back when my hair was long, I was too slow and clumsy to hold the heavy blow dryer steady. She would always take it from my hands, her slender fingers gently running through my hair, checking to make sure the air wasn’t too hot. “It’s okay if our Shawn is slow. I have all the time in the world to wait for you.” But now, she had run out of time. A few days ago, under the exact same circumstances, water was dripping from my hair onto the floor. She hadn’t reached for the dryer. Instead, she had simply tossed a dry towel at my chest, her brow furrowed with a deep, unconscious irritation. “Shawn, you’re twenty-three, not three. Can’t you learn to be a bit more independent like Owen? He carried a water jug up six flights of stairs the other day without a single complaint. You can’t cling to me forever. Move out into your own place for a while and learn how to be an adult.” Patience, it seemed, was a resource easily worn away by time. The person who had once sworn to spend her life making things up to me now found me to be nothing but a nuisance. And that was why I had gone to look at apartments today. I dried my hands, walked into the living room, and sat down on the sofa. I pulled my camera from my bag. It was one of the few things I truly owned, and the tool I used for my photography work. I spun the dial, clicking through the playback menu. The screen illuminated my face in the dark room as I slowly scrolled backward, image by image. I was the one who had pressed the shutter on every single one of them. The compositions were steady, the lighting captured beautifully. But the subjects were always the same. Darcy and Owen laughing by the window of a chic cafe. Darcy and Owen clinking their glasses together by a cozy campfire. Owen gently reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from Darcy’s eyes. There were over three hundred photos stored on the memory card, and I was permanently frozen behind the lens, invisible. In the life that belonged to Darcy, my only role was to record her moments with someone else. I wasn’t in her photos. And naturally, I had no place in her future. Darcy didn’t return until late in the afternoon. She tossed her car keys onto the entryway table, the metal clinking sharply against the wood. “Shawn, what exactly is your problem?” she asked, walking over to stand in front of me with her arms crossed. “Owen spent four afternoons running around, calling in favors just to find a place that suited you. What are you so unhappy about?” “Leaving like that just because you ‘didn’t feel well’… do you have any idea how awkward you made things for him?” “I don’t have a problem with the apartment,” I said slowly. “Then why did you look so miserable? He spent the entire day worrying about you, so guilty he couldn’t even eat dinner.” So Owen hadn’t eaten dinner, and she had rushed back to demand justice on his behalf. Last month, when my acute gastroenteritis had flared up so badly I was curled double on the sofa, she had only sent a brief text: Drink some hot water. I have to play cards with some clients tonight. Order some medicine through a delivery app. I pressed the delete button on my camera, erasing every single photo on the card. “I just felt like… that apartment wasn’t being chosen for me.” She let out a cold scoff. “Shawn, stop being so paranoid and bitter. Do you think everyone is as idle as you, sitting at home all day looking for things to complain about?” “I’ve booked a restaurant for tomorrow lunch. You’re going to come and apologize to him, and we’re going to put this behind us.” I stared at her for a few silent seconds. My girlfriend was furious because I hadn’t managed to protect the feelings of another man. “Darcy, let’s break up.” Darcy’s expression froze. A flash of genuine shock crossed her eyes, quickly replaced by a look of sheer amusement. “Break up?” “Shawn, do you really think you can threaten me with that? With your slow, helpless brain, where would you even go without me?” “I’m not threatening you.” Darcy turned away, tossing her bag onto the sofa. “Fine, stop acting childish. I’ll text you the restaurant address. Make sure you’re on time.” She walked into the bathroom without looking back, and the sound of running water soon filled the apartment, shutting my voice out completely behind the frosted glass door. The next day, I went to the restaurant anyway. Owen really had spent a lot of time helping me look at apartments, and my upbringing dictated that a proper “thank you” was still necessary. When I pushed open the door to the private room, they were already there. They were sitting side-by-side on one side of the long table, their heads close together as they laughed at something on a phone screen. A table set for three always had a cruel geometry. They sat so close their shoulders were practically touching. And I was left to pull out the single chair opposite them, sitting down like an uninvited guest at a private meeting. “Shawn, you’re here!” Owen greeted me with a bright smile. “Darcy said you were throwing a fit and might not show up. No need to apologize, we’re all friends here. It’s no big deal, let’s just move past it.” “Thank you,” I said softly, keeping my eyes on the table. In front of Darcy and Owen sat two tall, condensation-beaded glasses of iced lemon tea. In front of me, there was nothing. In the past, whenever we ate out, she would always make sure a cup of warm tea was waiting for me the moment I sat down, knowing my weak stomach couldn’t handle ice. Now, she couldn’t even remember to order a glass of water for me. “I’ll go grab something to drink,” I said, rising from the table. I walked to the front counter and ordered a hot milk. As I waited for the drink to be prepared, I turned to walk back to the room. Just as I rounded the corner, a waiter carrying a heavy, piping-hot clay pot of soup came rushing toward me. “Watch out!” I heard the warning. But my reflexes were always half a beat behind. By the time my foot took a single inch of a step backward, the boiling liquid had already cascaded down. Most of the scalding soup poured directly onto my shins and the tops of my feet. An agonizing, searing pain instantly ripped through my skin. My brain went entirely blank, and my body froze, locking me in place. The door to the private room opened, and Darcy and Owen stepped out. She didn’t rush forward to help me. Instead, she let out a light laugh. “Shawn, when are you going to fix that slow reaction time? You’re a grown man, how do you not even know how to dodge a waiter?” Owen stood beside her, joining in on her laughter. “Seriously, Shawn, you’re too much. If that were me, I would have leaped out of the way in a second. Your reflexes are slower than a sloth’s.” Darcy chimed in, “If he had even half of your quickness, I wouldn’t have to spend every waking hour worrying about him.” The skin on my legs was already beginning to swell into angry, red blisters, the burning pain radiating deep into my bones. Back in high school, I had tripped on the track, scraping a tiny patch of skin on my knee that barely even bled. Darcy had run faster than the gym teacher to reach me, her face pale as she helped me up, her hands trembling so hard she could barely hold a cotton swab in the nurse’s office. “You can’t even walk straight,” she had scolded me, her voice shaking. “What are you going to do if I’m ever not around?” Owen had also patted my shoulder, promising to keep an eye on me whenever we ran. But now, as they stared at my blistering skin, they only found my clumsy pain amusing. I looked up, meeting her eyes. “Is this funny to you?” The laughter faded slightly from Darcy’s face. “It was just a joke, Shawn. Do you have to take everything so seriously?” Owen chimed in, “Yeah, Shawn, I was just trying to lighten the mood. Don’t be mad. When I burned myself cooking before, I just put some toothpaste on it and was fine. It’s really no big deal.” Darcy let out an impatient sigh. “You heard him. Go to the bathroom and run some cold water over it. Stop standing there making a scene.” I took a taxi to the city hospital by myself. After the doctor had finished cleaning and bandaging my burns, I pulled out my phone and sent a message to my sister. Valerie, is your offer for me to come to Los Angeles to help you still open? Her reply came almost instantly. Of course it is! I’ve kept a room ready for you. Did that girl Darcy do something to you? My throat tightened, and I blinked back tears. I just really, really miss you. I returned to the apartment and began packing my suitcase. As I worked, I noticed that the moisture-proof box I kept in the corner of the closet was empty. Inside was the only keepsake my mother had left me: an extremely rare, out-of-production roll of Kodak film that had inspired my dream of becoming a photographer. The front door opened, and Darcy walked in. Seeing my bandaged leg, her brow furrowed slightly. “What did you do? You look like a mummy.” She knelt down, her fingers gently touching my ankle. “Try to look where you’re going next time. Once this busy season is over, I’ll take you to Iceland to see the Northern Lights, okay? Stop looking so miserable all the time, no one owes you anything.” I pulled my leg back, out of her reach. “Where is my film?” Her hand froze in mid-air. She stood up, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a crushed, bent metal canister. “Since you treasured it so much, Owen and I decided to hide it. We were going to give it back once you got worried, to give you a surprise.” “But the metal was so old. When Owen tried to pull it open to look, he accidentally tore the film.” My hands shook as I took the canister and opened the lid. The delicate film inside had been completely pulled out of its casing, entirely exposed to the light. It was torn clean in two. It was the only remaining memory of my mother, something I would hold and look at on the nights when insomnia gripped me, missing her. My voice shook uncontrollably. “Do you have any idea how important that was to me?” “I know, but he didn’t do it on purpose.” She reached into her shopping bag and pulled out two brand-new, expensive rolls of film, placing them on the table. “No matter how important that old film was, can it really be more important than my relationship with Owen? I went out of my way to buy these rare replacements at a premium for you.” I raised my hand and slapped her hard across the face. The force of the blow turned her head to the side. She froze, completely stunned. When I was seventeen, I had accidentally lost a cheap lens cap worth a few dollars. Darcy had spent three hours with a flashlight in the dark schoolyard grass, searching until she found it. She had told me back then, “Anything that belongs to Shawn, no matter how small, is a treasure.” But now, she had personally helped destroy my most precious memory. Darcy slowly turned her head back, her grip clamping onto my wrist with sudden, terrifying strength. “Shawn, are you out of your mind!” She pulled me roughly into her chest, locking her arms around me. “Let go of me!” I struggled. “Stop acting up!” she commanded, her arms tightening until I could barely breathe. “That film is already in the past! You have to learn to look forward, do you understand?” I stopped struggling, letting my arms hang limp at my sides. My tears slipped silently down, soaking into her collar. Yes, she was right. It was all in the past. Including her. I cried quietly, the silent tears flowing until my eyes felt dry and the sharp ache in my chest finally subsided. Darcy’s hand gently stroked my back. Only when she felt my muscles finally relax did she slowly loosen her grip. “You still have me,” she whispered softly. I didn’t answer her. I turned back to the bedroom to continue packing. Darcy followed me, her voice turning cold. “What are you doing?” “Packing my things.” “Are you playing the run-away-from-home game again?” “You were the one who told me to learn from Owen and be independent. I’m moving into the rental tomorrow.” She opened her mouth to argue, but stopped, remembering that she had indeed been the one to suggest I move out. After a long silence, she spoke quietly. “Let’s sleep in the same bed tonight. Since it’s your last night here.” We hadn’t slept in the same bed for months. She had complained that my slow lifestyle affected her sleep, and that my tossing and turning disturbed her work the next day. She had told me, “Shawn, you need to learn to be independent, not like a child who needs someone to hold him to sleep.” So I had moved into the guest bedroom, and I had stayed there for half a year. I didn’t argue. That night, Darcy wrapped her arms around my waist from behind. In the dark, I kept my eyes wide open, staring at the neon lights of the city glittering through the window. “Darcy, if I truly learn to be independent, will you be happy?” “Of course,” she answered without hesitation, her tone carrying a wave of relief. “I can’t wait.” Yet, the arm wrapped around my waist tightened its grip just a fraction. The next morning, I changed into fresh clothes and rolled my suitcase to the entrance. Darcy put on her coat, reaching out to take the handle of my bag. “I’ll help you move.” Before her hand could touch the metal bar, the phone in her pocket began to ring. It was Owen, his voice bright and excited over the speaker. “Darcy! That new sci-fi movie is premiering today, and I managed to snag two tickets! Come watch it with me!” That was the movie we had promised to see together three months ago. Darcy glanced at me, then accepted his invitation, hanging up the phone and heading for the door in a rush. “Take a cab to move your things first. I’ll go watch the movie with him, and we’ll come find you at your new place later.” “Okay,” I said quietly. Once the door clicked shut behind her, I called a cab and headed straight for the airport. I dialed my sister’s number. “Valerie, make sure you’re there to pick me up.” Her warm, laughing voice came through the line. “Don’t worry, little brother. Have I ever forgotten anything that concerns you?”

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1 The day my aunt Teri’s heart began to fail, my father strapped my mother to an operating table, forced a heart transplant, and bought Teri another ten years of life. From that day on, I ran away from home and buried myself in my studies. I graduated at the top of my class and secured a fellowship at the prestigious Medical Research Institute. Ten years later, I developed a fully functional artificial heart. As a highly sought-after specialist, countless desperate souls begged at my door, all vying for a slot to receive the artificial heart. My assistant, Lexi, handed me the latest batch of applications. At the very top of the stack, in bold letters, was my aunt’s name. I took a pen, drew a heavy line through her name, and said, “Denied. Block her permanently.” The applications were sorted by the size of the donation offered. The only reason Teri’s name was at the top was because my biological father, Victor, had offered an astronomical sum. Yet, I crossed it out without a second thought. She had lived on my mother’s stolen heart for a decade. It was time to pay the debt. Lexi took the paper back, her eyes widening as she stared at the dark ink. “Dr. Eva, Vargas MedTech is offering a one-billion-dollar endowment for our research.” “They want to distribute it over ten years, a hundred million annually.” “If we take this, we won’t just secure our funding. We could double the number of charity surgeries we perform every year.” I stared at Lexi until her voice trailed off into a whisper. Ten years. It had been exactly ten years since my mother died. My gaze drifted to the frame on my desk. The original family photo had been torn in half, leaving only a bright, smiling woman holding her young daughter. “I’ll handle the funding,” I said quietly. “But this application is permanently blacklisted.” Lexi looked bewildered. When the artificial heart first launched, I established a strict rule: a fixed portion of our budget must be reserved annually to provide free surgeries for pediatric heart patients. Accepting the Vargas deal meant saving dozens of innocent children, yet I was turning it down. Seeing the absolute resolve in my eyes, Lexi hesitated. “Should I draft the rejection letter to Vargas MedTech?” “Yes,” I replied. She left my office, glancing back at me with concern. A moment later, a notification popped up on my screen. The system’s blacklist count had changed from zero to one. Lexi had been with me since the project’s inception, but she didn’t know the truth. That charity rule wasn’t just policy. It was a tribute to my mother’s soul. I poured my life into this research to prevent another tragedy like the one that took my mother. She was only thirty-eight when she died. The night it happened, I had just received my college acceptance letter. We stayed up late in her bed, talking about my dreams of medical school. I fell asleep beside her, completely unaware when my father dragged her away. By the time I woke up the next morning, the surgery was over. Teri was alive, my mother was a pile of ashes, and I never even got to say goodbye. Instead, I was forced to face my aunt. When she woke in the recovery room, I watched my father rush to her side, weeping with joy as he held her hand. Teri looked at me and promised she would care for me in my mother’s place. But she wasn’t my mother. I would never have a mother again. Once the horrifying truth came to light, I packed my bags and fled. I changed my major to cardiothoracic medicine. From that day on, I consumed textbook after textbook, studying anatomical specimens and tracing the pathways of human hearts until my eyes burned. My life became a relentless cycle of libraries and study rooms, starting at dawn and ending past midnight. I lived like that for eight years. By graduation, I had designed the first prototype. It took another two years of grueling trials and regulatory hurdles to finally bring it to the public. Ten years. I hadn’t seen either of them in a decade. Until today. I sat back down at my desk and pulled up my computer. A clean folder of new patient files was waiting in my inbox, but my hand moved on its own, clicking on the archived Vargas application. When the scan of Teri’s face appeared on my screen, mirroring my mother’s features so closely, a tear slipped past my lashes and splashed onto the keyboard. My phone began to buzz. Lexi knocked twice before bursting in, her face flushed with panic. “Dr. Eva, someone from Vargas MedTech is on the line. I don’t know how they bypassed our system to get your direct number, I couldn’t stop them.” I stared at the vibrating screen. With a slow sweep of my finger, I wiped away the tears. “It’s fine,” I said quietly. Ten years was long enough. “It’s time we had a talk.” 2 I swiped to answer. A voice, both intimately familiar and chillingly distant, filled the line. “Are you the lead developer of the artificial heart? I’m Victor. I assume you know who I am.” “I do,” I replied smoothly. “What is your price? Money? Status? Recognition? I can donate fifteen million, twenty million, call it a blessing for my ailing wife. I’m close friends with your board director. Accept this patient, and I can guarantee you a fast track to department head. Think it over.” When I offered only silence, he immediately tried to sweeten the pot. “In addition to all of that, I can personally transfer shares of Vargas MedTech to your name.” A small, cold smile touched my lips as I cut him off for the first time. “Mr. Victor, those things don’t interest me.” The line went dead silent for a few seconds. “Then tell me what you want,” he demanded. “Name your price.” I chuckled softly. “It isn’t a matter of money. It’s the patient. I won’t operate on her.” Victor let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. “You won’t? I’ve done my research. You’re the only surgeon capable of performing this specific implantation. Now you’re telling me you won’t do it? Are you playing games with me?” He paused, likely remembering he was the one begging, and forced his tone to soften. “Look, if you do this, if you save her life, I will sign over five percent of Vargas MedTech to you immediately. That is more wealth than you could earn in several lifetimes.” I repeated my words, slowly and deliberately. “Mr. Victor, money is not the issue here.” “Then what is the issue?” Victor practically roared through the receiver. “You’re a doctor! It’s your duty to save lives! Refusing to treat her is no different from murder!” He took a few ragged breaths before continuing, his tone turning venomous. “I’ve looked into your history. I know you’ve bled for this project. You’re deeply in debt from a high-stakes funding agreement you signed years ago, one you still haven’t cleared. I even know you recklessly tested experimental materials on yourself, nearly dying from anaphylactic shock. That funding agreement expires this year, doesn’t it?” “Vargas MedTech is the heavyweight in this industry. With a single word from me, I can ensure no venture capitalist touches your lab. Once I cut off your financial oxygen, your funding dries up. Your project, your career, everything you are will be utterly ruined.” “Is that so?” I let out a soft laugh. “Then you don’t need to trouble yourself on my behalf, Mr. Victor. But if I go down, the woman you’re so desperate to save will go down long before I do. Go ahead and try your worst.” Silence stretched over the line, punctuated only by his heavy, rapid breathing. “What do you actually want? What will it take for you to perform this surgery?” “I’ve already told you,” I said. “No.” A sudden realization seemed to strike him. “Who are you? Do we know each other? Have I crossed you in the past?” My silence only solidified his suspicion. “I don’t care who you are,” he snarled, his patience snapping. “You will save her, whether you want to or not. I expect you to be in that operating room within three hours. If you aren’t, you will face the consequences.” “I’ll be waiting,” I said calmly. I pressed the end-call button, cutting off his threats with a dial tone. I wasn’t afraid of Victor digging into my background. My research was under federal security clearance, and my true identity was classified. I opened an encrypted application on my desktop. Inside lay the puzzle pieces of the truth I had painstakingly gathered over the past ten years, evidence Victor believed he had swept away long ago. It was more than enough to dismantle Vargas MedTech and send both Victor and Teri straight to prison. One click would ruin their reputations instantly. Looking at the torn photo at the corner of my desk, I whispered to the empty room. “I know, Mom. Your heart must be so tired of beating inside her. But please, just wait a little longer. I still have a part to play.” “The fall is always most devastating from the highest peak. Only when Victor feels the exact pain I felt will he truly begin to pay.” 3 Three hours came and went. Victor didn’t get his surgery, but his retaliation arrived right on schedule. A group of federal investigators marched into my office, their expressions stern and uncompromising. “Dr. Eva, an internal whistleblower has filed a formal complaint accusing you of embezzling state research grants. You need to come with us for questioning.” Before I could open my mouth, Lexi stepped forward defensively. “That’s impossible!” Her eyes were wide with shock as she blocked the investigators. “You must have the wrong person! Anyone else in this facility might be capable of that, but not Dr. Eva!” She was on the verge of tears. “A few years ago when our budget ran dry, Dr. Eva sold her own house to keep us afloat. She even pawned her own mother’s heirlooms just to cover the security deposit for our funding.” “Lexi, that’s enough,” I said sharply. She fell silent, tears spilling over her cheeks. I looked around the room. Several members of my research team lowered their gaze, unable to meet my eyes. I had handpicked every one of them, guiding them from the project’s infancy. I had treated them with nothing but fairness and respect. “You all did great,” I murmured, my voice dripping with cold irony. “I won’t forget this.” They confiscated my access cards and seized my research servers. To ensure I didn’t leave the country, they held my passport. Later that evening, Victor’s call came through. “Ready to surrender?” “Never,” I said, and hung up. The next morning, Victor uploaded a video statement to social media. With tears streaming down his face, he pleaded desperately for his wife’s life. “I don’t know what grudge this doctor holds against me, but my wife is completely innocent. She has been confined to a hospital bed for ten long years, watching the world go by through a window.” “Her only wish is to feel the ocean breeze one last time, to see the snow.” “I beg of you, give her that chance. If you agree to perform the surgery, Vargas MedTech will donate three hundred million dollars to artificial heart research and charity care.” The video spread like wildfire, igniting public outrage. With paid bots steering the narrative, I became public enemy number one overnight. The comment sections were brutal. “Who is this doctor? Sounds like a bitter, miserable creature. How can someone be so heartless?” “A human life is on the line, and she’s playing god. Absolutely disgusting.” “Vargas MedTech, tell us where she is! If she won’t do the surgery, we’ll drag her to the hospital ourselves!” “Isn’t saving lives literally a doctor’s job? Revoke her medical license immediately!” “If you have zero empathy, you don’t deserve to live.” It didn’t take long for internet vigilantes to dox me. My name, Eva Vargas, my license plate, and my position at the research institute were posted online for the world to see. Once news of my suspension and embezzlement investigation leaked, angry protesters began gathering near my apartment’s parking garage. The moment I stepped out of the building, rotten eggs and garbage rained down on me. “Monster! You have no right to practice medicine!” “Get out of our city!” In the span of forty-eight hours, I had become a pariah, hunted by the very public I had spent ten years trying to save. 4 I barely managed to scramble into my car and lock the doors before my phone rang again. Victor’s name flashed on the screen. “How does it feel to be the most hated woman in the country? Ready to yield, my dear daughter?” “Shut up,” I hissed, gripping the steering wheel. “Hearing that word come out of your mouth makes me physically sick.” “Does it? That’s rather hurtful. But whether you like it or not, I am your father.” Victor let out a soft laugh, then sighed. “I suggest you agree to my terms soon. After all, if we can’t use the artificial heart, there is always another way to save her.” “Then go find someone else to do your dirty work,” I spat. I ended the call and put the car in drive, but as I pulled out of the garage, I noticed several dark SUVs tailing me. Within minutes, they boxed me in on the highway, forcing my sedan to a screeching halt. The door of the leading black SUV swung open, and a man stepped out. It was Victor. He leaned against the hood of his car, adjusting his cuffs. “Since you refused to do this the easy way, we’ll have to do it the hard way.” Before I could hit the lock button, his bodyguards shattered my driver’s side window, dragged me out, and threw me into the back of his vehicle. Victor climbed in right next to me. “I really wanted you to live, Eva. I truly did. All you had to do was cooperate. But since you’ve chosen to be stubborn, and we have no artificial heart, your own heart will have to replace your mother’s.” My hands were bound tightly behind my back, leaving me with nothing but a lethal glare. “That’s how my mother died ten years ago, wasn’t it?” Victor clipped the end of a cigar, lit it, and took a long, slow drag. He blew a thick cloud of smoke into the tight cabin. “You’re smart, Eva. But just like Judith, you’re far too stubborn.” He glanced at me sideways. “I tried to reason with her. But she refused to listen. She claimed she had promised to take you on a graduation trip, insisting she would only donate her heart after she returned.” “She thought I was an idiot, unable to see she was just trying to buy time. She wanted to stall until Teri died so she could keep living. How could I let that happen?” Rage boiled inside me, threatening to burst. “So you kidnapped her, strapped her down, and stole her heart to keep Teri alive!” “Exactly. Though I must admit, Judith’s heart proved to be just as fragile as she was. Ten years was all it could manage.” Victor turned to look at me, his eyes as cold as stone. “Fortunately, when the doctors told me about her genetic match back then, I made sure she gave birth to you first. Now that her heart is failing, yours will do nicely. If you hadn’t run away a decade ago, I wouldn’t have had to waste so much time chasing after that artificial heart project in the first place.” I gritted my teeth, staring directly into his hollow eyes. “The embezzlement charges, the media campaign, the doxing, it was all you.” He smiled. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?” The SUV pulled into the secluded courtyard of a private clinic, the facility where Teri was being kept. Victor’s men pulled me out of the car. He caught my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Don’t worry, Eva. You will sign a voluntary donor agreement, just like your mother did. When the media reports on your passing, they will say you gave your life to atone for your crimes. It will be poetic.” I spat at his feet, shouting over the roar of the wind. “You will regret this, Victor! You are going to pay for every single thing you’ve done!” He didn’t bother responding. He simply pushed me toward the waiting surgeons. “I’ll be waiting,” he muttered. As soon as my back was turned to him, a cold grin spread across my face. Deep inside my coat pocket, my phone’s screen was glowing, transmitting a live broadcast signal to a secure server. Every confession, every threat, and every detail of how he murdered my mother was currently being broadcasted live to the entire country. They dragged me into the sterile operating room where Teri lay hooked up to a life-support monitor. Seeing me, she wept, reaching her trembling hand toward Victor. “Thank goodness you found her. We can finally be a family again.” She was never innocent. She knew where her first heart came from, and she knew exactly where this one was coming from now. I stared at her, engraving her twisted face into my mind. They strapped me to the cold steel table. The anesthesiologist prepped the syringe, the cold metal needle resting against the vein on the back of my hand. Just as the plunger was about to be pressed, the heavy silence of the corridor shattered. My rescue had arrived. The double doors of the operating room burst open, slamming against the walls with a violent crash. “Police! Nobody move! Put your hands where we can see them!”

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1 The day before our wedding, my fiancé saved my life by throwing himself in front of a speeding car. The impact left him with severe brain trauma, trapping him in a deep coma. A newly developed neurological therapy offered a desperate chance: transferring my consciousness directly into his mind to wake him from the inside out. Before the connection was established, the lead researcher gave me a final, solemn warning. “The human mind is a labyrinth, Gloria, especially when you descend into the subconscious. There is no telling what you might find, or what could go wrong.” “One wrong step, and you could end up with permanent cognitive damage of your own.” I offered a weak, trembling smile. “I’d like to see that idiot try to hurt me.” The machine hummed, my brainwaves aligning with his. When I opened my eyes, a hand was waving right in front of my face. A teenage Jasper, wearing a crisp high school uniform, was staring at me with a look of pure confusion. “Gloria? Hey, are you zoning out on me?” I had materialized in the middle of our old high school classroom. I grabbed his hand, panic driving my voice. “Jasper, listen to me. You’re in a coma right now. We need to…” But he cut me off, leaning in close to whisper in my ear. “Did you give the love letter to Mia yet?” A soft, boyish blush crept across his pale cheeks. The words died in my throat. Mia was my best friend. For a moment, I thought I had misheard him. Before entering, the medical team had explained that this simulated reality was built entirely from the raw materials of his subconscious. Every event, every character, and every relationship here held a profound meaning. Nothing was random. Yet, knowing that only made the cold dread pooling in my chest worse. Why was my partner of ten years, the man I was supposed to marry tomorrow, writing love letters to my best friend in his deepest subconscious? I forced the rising panic down, telling myself it was just a glitch. The human mind is a chaotic web. Writing a letter to Mia in a dream didn’t mean he loved her in reality. I squeezed his hand, determined to stay on track. “Jasper, none of this is real. You are twenty-eight, not eighteen. Your brain created this world after a terrible accident. You need to wake up.” According to clinical data, direct confrontation was the fastest and most reliable method to break the simulation. Ninety percent of patients responded immediately, especially when the message came from the person they cherished most. Jasper had told me a thousand times that I was his entire world. When that car had barreled toward us, he hadn’t hesitated for a single second before shoving me out of harm’s way. That was why I had risked my own sanity, defying my family’s pleas, to come in here and save him. I held my breath, watching his eyes, my heart drumming against my ribs. The doctors said that if the protocol worked, the illusion would fracture right now. But a full minute crawled by. Jasper merely stared at me, his lips twitching before he burst into a loud, bright laugh. “Gloria, have you been binge-watching those sci-fi flicks again?” “What do you mean, a fake world? I think I know the difference between reality and a dream.” He reached out, pressing the back of his hand to my forehead. “No fever. Why are you talking nonsense in the middle of the day?” Frustrated, I grabbed his arm and gave it a sharp pinch. “I’m telling you the truth!” “Ow, okay, okay, uncle!” he laughed, rubbing his arm. “Fine, let’s say you’re telling the truth. Can you just tell me if you delivered the letter to Mia yet?” My hand froze. A dull ache bloomed in my chest. Jasper was smiling, but his eyes were filled with an intense, quiet sincerity. I knew that look all too well. He had worn that exact expression when he promised me we would get into the same university. True to his word, he dragged his grades from the bottom of the class to the top three in a single semester. He had worn it when he vowed to show me the snow-capped peaks of the Alps. He worked three jobs throughout his freshman year, and that winter, we stood together at the summit, the cold wind whipping around us as he swore he would build a fortune so I would never have to worry about a thing. And he had done it, building a multi-million-dollar firm by his junior year, making me the envy of everyone we knew. Now, he was looking at me with that same relentless determination, asking about a love letter to Mia. He wasn’t playing. He meant every word. A bucket of icy water seemed to pour down my spine, freezing me in place. The chatter of the classroom faded into a distant hum. Suddenly, Jasper smiled, waving toward the doorway. “Mia!” 2 I shuddered, snapped back to reality. Mia was standing by the classroom door, offering us a gentle wave. Jasper stared at her, a goofy, love-struck grin plastered across his face. When the warning bell rang, Mia headed back to her own hall. Jasper rubbed his palms together nervously. “You have to give it to her today, Gloria. If you don’t, I’m going to lose my mind and just blurt it out to her face.” Another sharp prick of pain hit my heart. I remained silent for a long moment before looking up at him. “Jasper, what exactly am I to you?” He blinked, then laughed, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “My best bro, obviously! Did you forget our sacred bond? Why else would I trust you with my love letters? You’re the only one I can count on.” A bitter smile touched my lips. The ten years of passionate, devoted love I thought we shared was nothing but a friendship in his subconscious. I used to love his smile. It had always been my anchor. Now, that bright, familiar grin felt like a handful of thorns pressed deep into my skin. When the final bell rang, Mia came to find me. We lived in the same neighborhood and always walked home together. As Jasper walked away, he gave me a series of desperate, pleading looks. I ignored him, my chest tight with a suffocating weight. On the walk home, I finally pulled the envelope from my bag and handed it to Mia. I knew this version of her was just a projection of his mind. But I needed to see how the Mia in his subconscious would respond. She slid the letter out, reading it slowly. Then, she carefully folded it and tucked it into her pocket. I watched her face, clinging to the tiniest, desperate hope that this was all a misunderstanding. “What are you going to do?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Mia remained quiet for a few seconds, a soft blush spreading across her cheeks. “Actually,” she murmured, “I’ve liked him for a while too.” My stomach dropped. My mind went completely blank. I pinched my arm hard, desperately reminding myself that this Mia wasn’t real. She was a figment of Jasper’s imagination. The real Mia would never do this. In high school, when I first confessed my feelings for Jasper, she had been my biggest cheerleader. And for our wedding, she had spent months helping me plan every detail as if it were her own. But the emotion on this projection’s face was terrifyingly genuine. Was his subconscious somehow creating a perfect, realistic simulation of the future, or had Jasper already confessed to her in the real world long before his accident? The dull ache in my chest sharpened into a piercing physical pain, radiating up into my temples. A loud, high-pitched ringing filled my ears. Through the static, I faintly heard the lead researcher’s panicked voice in my earpiece. “Her vitals are spiking! Gloria, you need to stabilize, please!” “Gloria, are you okay?” Mia’s voice dragged me back as she caught my elbow to keep me from stumbling. Suddenly, a gruff voice blocked our path. “Well, look what we have here. A couple of pretty schoolgirls. How about you share some of that pocket money with us?” I looked up through the haze, spotting three rough-looking thugs blocking the alleyway. The scene felt dizzyingly familiar. Mia took a terrified step back, clutching her bag to her chest. “We don’t have any money!” “Don’t lie to me, sweetheart. Give it over!” One of the thugs lunged, ripping the bag from her hands and throwing her to the ground. I stepped forward to intervene, but another man shoved me hard. I fell onto the gravel, the sharp rocks tearing through my palms. I gasped at the stinging pain. Before they could do anything else, the sound of heavy, rapid footsteps echoed down the street. A flurry of violence followed. By the time I raised my head, Jasper was standing over us. His uniform was disheveled, a smear of blood on his cheek, and his eyes were wild with fury. “Touch her again,” he growled, standing directly in front of Mia, “and I’ll kill you.” I stared at his back, my blood running cold as I pressed my scraped palms into the dirt. I remembered this day. In high school, Mia and I really had been cornered by muggers. But back then, the girl Jasper had shielded with his life was me. 3 In Jasper’s mind, he was invincible. The thugs were quickly beaten back and fled down the alley. As soon as they were gone, Jasper spun around, grabbing Mia’s shoulders and checking her over with frantic concern. “Are you hurt? Did they touch you?” Mia shook her head, her gaze drifting over his shoulder toward me. Jasper finally looked my way, his pupils contracting slightly. “Gloria, are you okay?” I didn’t understand why, but even though this was a virtual world, the scrapes on my hands stung worse than any physical injury I had ever suffered. I had always been incredibly sensitive to pain, the kind of person who cried during simple blood tests. Jasper used to tease me about it, but he would always pull me close, cradling my head against his chest and stroking my hair. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here,” he would whisper. But now, all I got was a flat, distant inquiry. A sudden wave of irrational anger washed over me. Tears welled in my eyes as I screamed at him, “Jasper, it hurts! It hurts so much!” Why aren’t you comforting me? He looked startled, taking a step toward me to look at my bloody palms. But before he could reach me, Mia let out a soft gasp, cradling her hand. During the struggle, her finger had been nicked by the zipper of her bag. Jasper froze, his eyes immediately darting back to her. He forgot about me in an instant, his face pale with panic. “Let me see! Is it bad?” “Come on, we’re going to the clinic right now!” He took her hand, pulling her down the street without looking back. The air felt like it was being sucked from my lungs, leaving me struggling to breathe. That night, Jasper knocked on my door. He stood on the porch, handing me a small paper bag filled with ointments and bandages. “I know you hate scars,” he said gently. “I bought the expensive stuff. It won’t leave a mark.” I took the bag silently, my movements robotic. Then, a goofy, boyish grin spread across his face as he scratched the back of his neck. “Mia accepted my confession. I wanted you to be the first to know the good news.” Every drop of warmth drained from my body. “Why?” the word slipped out before I could stop it. Jasper blinked in confusion. “What do you mean, why? You’ve always known I liked Mia.” “We made a pact to get into the same college so we could be together after graduation.” “Oh, and she mentioned she wants to see the Alps, so I’m planning to work part-time next year to save up and take her. Don’t worry, though, I haven’t forgotten about my best bro. I’ll make sure you come along…” “Jasper, you’re wrong,” I interrupted, my voice trembling as the dam broke. Tears cascaded down my cheeks. He panicked, reaching out tentatively. “Gloria? Why are you crying? Did someone hurt you?” “Tell me who it was. I’ll take care of them!” “The person you love is me,” I choked out. He froze, taking a step back as if he had been slapped. “What are you talking about? We’re friends, Gloria. We’ve always been friends.” I stared into his eyes, refusing to let him look away as I tried one last time. “This is a simulation, Jasper! In the real world, you were in a horrific car accident. You’re in a coma. I risked my life to come in here and bring you back. Please, you have to believe me. Wake up!” “Have you forgotten? We’ve been together for ten years. We were supposed to be married tomorrow!” Jasper’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief. He let out a heavy sigh, gently patting my shoulder. “Gloria, are you cracking under the stress of final exams?” “I’ve loved Mia from the moment I met her.” “How could I ever be with you, let alone marry you?” A sudden, high-pitched ringing filled my ears. The words of the lead researcher echoed in my mind: “Everyone’s subconscious harbors secrets they would never share in the waking world. The truth might destroy you, Gloria. If it becomes too much, tell us, and we will pull you out.” I had expected many things, but I never could have imagined that his entire universe was built around Mia. 4 Time in the subconscious was fluid, skipping forward in giant leaps. In the blink of an eye, high school graduation was behind us. Jasper and Mia had been accepted into the same university, while I ended up at a neighboring college. During our freshman winter break, they both posted pictures of the snowy peaks of the Alps. Jasper changed his profile background to a silhouette of the two of them standing side by side against the white landscape. I remembered when I had begged him to change his background to a photo of us, and he had held my hands, pleading with me. “Gloria, honey, let’s keep it private. I don’t want my business clients thinking I’m unprofessional or soft.” I had agreed. But apparently, he wasn’t afraid of being soft when it came to Mia. The three of us still met up occasionally, just like we used to during our college years. We even went to the same late-night diner. The only difference was that Mia was the one sitting beside him, her hand tucked into his. Every time Jasper had a few drinks, he would sling an arm around my shoulder and say, “I owe it all to you, Gloria. If you hadn’t delivered that letter, I never would have won her heart.” I would just smile and take another sip of my drink, forcing the bitterness back down. As the years blurred past, my shattered heart grew numb. I still occasionally brought up the truth, telling him that this world wasn’t real. He had grown used to it, nodding along with an amused smile. But on the ninety-ninth time I told him, his reaction was different. He was slightly flushed from the alcohol, looking at me with a rare intensity. “Gloria, sometimes I wonder. What if you’re right? What if this really is a dream world?” My heart leaped into my throat. If he had even a shred of doubt, the illusion would start to crack. He could wake up. He set his glass down on the wooden table with a soft clink. “Honestly, I think I’d be okay with that,” he said. The hope in my chest froze. “I have the career I wanted, and I have the woman I love. Why would I care if it’s an illusion? If the real world is any different from this, I’d rather never wake up.” My heart sank into a dark abyss. Numbing myself with another glass of wine, I asked, “What if in the real world, you and I are engaged? What if we were about to be married? Would you still choose to stay asleep?” He was quiet for a few seconds before letting out a soft chuckle. “You’re doing it again, Gloria. I’ve told you a thousand times, my heart belongs to Mia. I care about you, of course, but only as a friend.” Listening to his absolute certainty, the desire to save him began to wither away. Not long after, Mia called me, her voice trembling with excitement as she told me Jasper had proposed. I forced myself to offer congratulations. She begged me to go bridal gown shopping with her. By some cruel twist of fate, the boutique she chose was the exact same shop where I had tried on my wedding dress in reality. In the real world, Jasper had accompanied me there, watching me try on gown after gown, smiling warmly at each one. “My Gloria looks beautiful in everything,” he had said. “My Mia looks beautiful in everything!” The voice shattered my daydream. Jasper had appeared out of nowhere, staring at Mia with a look of pure adoration as she modeled a lace gown. He turned, finally noticing me standing nearby. Leaning his chin on his hand, he smirked. “Gloria, why don’t you try one on too?” Before I could decline, Mia clapped her hands. “Yes! Oh, you have to try this one on!” A faint hope flickered in the ashes of my heart. Maybe, just maybe, if he saw me in a wedding gown, his memories would spark. With that final, desperate wish, I let the stylist slip the heavy white satin over my shoulders and stepped out from behind the curtain. But when I opened my eyes, I didn’t see Jasper looking at me. He was holding Mia, whispering in her ear as she laughed, their bodies pressed close together. The world around them seemed to fade into a blur, leaving me as nothing more than a background prop in their perfect romance. The gown felt like a shroud of needles, drawing blood from every inch of my skin. I let out a quiet breath, pulled out my phone, and dialed the emergency frequency. The call connected instantly. “Miss Cross,” the lead researcher’s voice sounded in my ear. “Pull me out,” I said quietly. “I’m not the one who can wake him.” The moment I hung up, the glass doors of the boutique swung open. A tall, slender man in a dark suit walked in, making a straight path toward me. It was Lucas, the researcher overseeing my therapy. “Miss Cross, let’s go home,” he said, extending his arm. We turned to leave, but before we could take more than two steps, a hand clamped down on my wrist. Jasper had pulled away from Mia. His brow was furrowed, his eyes darting between me and Lucas with a sharp, possessive glare I recognized all too well. “Gloria,” he demanded, his voice dropping an octave. “Who is this guy?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “499812”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I have a mild hearing impairment, my right ear nearly deaf. As kids, Lonny always stood to my right. “That way,” he’d say, “if anyone talks behind your back, I’ll hear it first.” Years later, we were engaged, invitations printed. Everyone envied my childhood sweetheart who’d shielded me for over a decade. Then Hailey joined his firm. Striking, vibrant, with an easy smile, she eyed my hearing aid before teasing, “With that on, does she even hear your sweet nothings?” My face paled; Lonny frowned mildly. “She speaks without thinking,” he murmured. “Don’t mind her.” At the wedding rehearsal, I stood outside the double doors as Hailey read my vows aloud. “Lonny, I promise to be your ears, your cane, your favorite little headache.” Laughter rang out; even Lonny chuckled. “Quit messing with her words,” he said, no bite in his tone. “She’ll be hurt if she hears.” Hailey tilted her head, mock-innocent. “So, are you still marrying her?” Lonny paused two agonizing seconds. “Invitations are out,” he said quietly. “What else can I do?” I stood at the corridor’s end, watching rain drip from the white umbrella he’d bought me. The rain had stopped. Suddenly, I didn’t want to go inside anymore. Lonny walked out of the hall a few minutes later, finding me standing there, quietly wiping the water from my hands. He froze for a second. “When did you get here?” I looked up at him. “Just now.” Hailey followed him out, her smile perfectly natural. “Iris! We were just joking around inside. You didn’t hear us, did you?” She deliberately moved to my right side, positioning herself in the dead zone of my hearing. Lonny frowned, casting a warning glance at her. “Stop it.” Hailey playfully stuck out her tongue. “Fine, I’ll stop. Since Iris has bad ears, I’ll make sure to always stand on her left from now on.” She phrased it like a favor, but the bridesmaids and groomsmen behind them let out quiet snickers. I looked at Lonny. Years ago, if anyone so much as hinted at a joke about my hearing, Lonny would be the first to glare them down. He used to tell me that my hearing loss was not my fault, and that the people who lacked basic manners were the ones who should feel ashamed. But now, he merely snatched the vow sheet from Hailey’s hands and handed it back to me. “Don’t overthink it. She just has a big mouth.” I took the paper. The elegant cursive I had spent nights drafting was now heavily scribbled over. Where I had written, Thank you for being my right ear for the last fifteen years, Hailey had crossed it out and penned, Thank you for tolerating my annoying self for the last fifteen years. I pressed my thumb against the ink, which was slightly smudged by the damp air. Lonny noticed and reached for the sheet. “I’ll have them print a fresh copy.” I stepped back, pulling the paper out of his reach. “No need.” His hand hovered in the air, stiffening. “Iris.” He used my full name. It was his tell, his way of letting me know he was losing his patience. Hailey coughed softly beside him. “Lonny, don’t be harsh on Iris. She probably feels like I’m stealing her spotlight.” Lonny rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Did I say anything wrong?” Hailey smiled knowingly. “Well, it’s rehearsal day, and everyone was crowding around me. It’s only natural for Iris to feel a bit left out.” One of the groomsmen stepped in to play peacemaker. “Alright, alright, just pre-wedding jitters. Don’t be mad, bride-to-be. Lonny treats you like a queen.” As if reminded of his duty, Lonny stepped forward and took my hand. “Come on. Let me drive you home. It’s pouring.” His palm was still warm, but my mind was stuck on his words from moments ago. The invitations are already out. What else am I supposed to do? He was marrying me to avoid a scene, not because he actually wanted to. I gently pulled my hand from his grip. “No thanks. I’ll get back on my own.” Lonny looked down at his empty hand, his expression darkening. “What is it this time?” This time. The words echoed in my ears, sending a sharp, familiar buzz through my head. Hailey stepped forward, her voice softening into a sweet, apologetic tone. “Iris, I really didn’t mean to upset you. How about I apologize properly?” She began to bend her knees in a mock bow, and Lonny immediately caught her by the arm to stop her. Hailey leaned in slightly against his arm, tilting her head to wink at me. “See? He still cares about me.” The corridor fell dead silent. Lonny quickly let go of her, looking highly uncomfortable. “Iris, she’s just talking nonsense.” I nodded. He stared at me, almost waiting for me to start screaming, to throw the tantrum he expected. But I did not. I folded the ruined vows, placed them neatly in my bag, and said, “I’m leaving.” Lonny blocked my path. “The wedding is in three days, and you’re throwing a fit over this?” My eyes fell on his wrist. He was wearing the watch I had saved up to buy him for his birthday last year. Inside the leather strap, I had engraved a tiny message: A promise for a lifetime. He had teased me back then, calling it overly cheesy, yet he had worn it every single day since. Now, that same wrist was barring my exit like a locked gate. “Lonny,” I said quietly, “I’m just tired.” His scowl deepened. “If you’re tired, go home and get some sleep. Stop acting up when we have so much to do.” Hailey peeked out from behind his shoulder. “Iris, the schedule is going to be brutal these next few days. If you’re not feeling up to it, I can always stand in for you during the rehearsals. I already have the vows down anyway.” Someone in the background laughed. Lonny did not join in this time, but he did not stop her either. I looked away from him, reaching for my umbrella. One of the metal ribs had been bent out of shape when someone bumped into it earlier. When I popped it open, the canopy tilted awkwardly to one side. I stared at the crooked frame for a second, then stepped out into the rain. Behind me, Lonny’s voice cut through the downpour. “Iris! If you walk away today, don’t expect me to come crawling back to coax you!” I paused for a brief second, then kept walking. The following morning, the wedding coordinator called to ask for final confirmation on the names for the main backdrop. When I arrived at the venue, Hailey was standing in the center of the grand ballroom. She was wearing a stunning white satin dress. It was not a wedding gown, but it looked close enough to make her look like the bride. Lonny was sitting in the front row, reviewing the schedule. The coordinator let out a massive sigh of relief when she saw me. “Ms. Iris, thank goodness you’re here. Ms. Hailey wants to change the backdrop to a design she created, but we couldn’t proceed without your approval.” I looked up at the stage. The original backdrop read: Lonny & Iris. It had been replaced by a sleek, minimalist English quote. In the lower corner, in tiny font, my name was practically invisible. Hailey walked over, offering a sweet explanation. “Iris, don’t get the wrong idea. I just thought putting two names together on a huge board looked a bit tacky. A wedding should feel elegant and high-fashion.” Before I could even speak, Lonny raised his head from the papers. “I’ve reviewed it. It looks great.” The coordinator looked incredibly uncomfortable. “But this is the main backdrop. If the bride’s name is too small, it won’t show up in the photography.” Hailey immediately cast her eyes downward, looking crestfallen. “Forget it then. I was only trying to help. Since Iris has hearing issues, I know communication is probably hard for her.” Lonny snapped the folder shut. “We’re going with Hailey’s version.” I looked at him. “Lonny, this is my wedding.” “It’s my wedding too,” he replied coldly. The words blocked any reply I had. Hailey walked over and wrapped her arm snugly around mine. “Iris, don’t be so tense. A wedding is supposed to be the happiest day of your life. If you keep scowling like this, you’re going to wear Lonny out.” She was standing so close that the heavy scent of her perfume burned my nose. I pulled my arm back, keeping my voice steady. “I don’t like the design.” Hailey’s eyes welled with tears instantly. “Do you… not like me either, then?” Lonny stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Iris, stop taking your anger out on her.” “I only said I don’t like the design.” “You know she was just trying to help.” Lonny walked over, lowering his voice so only I could hear. “The wedding is in three days. Do you really have to humiliate everyone over a piece of cardboard?” The surrounding staff members quickly looked down, pretending to be busy, but I knew they were hanging on every word. My ears could not catch the quietest whispers, but I could feel their judging gazes. They felt like tiny needles pressing into my skin. Hailey wiped her eyes. “Let’s just use Iris’s design, Lonny. She’s always been sensitive.” Sensitive. Years ago, Lonny used to tell me that I was not sensitive—that other people were just incredibly rude. Now, he stood on the other side, using his silence to tell me that I was, indeed, the problem. I pulled the original design draft from my bag and handed it directly to the coordinator. “Use this.” Lonny’s face hardened. “Iris.” I did not look at him. “I signed the contract, and I paid the deposit. We are doing it my way.” It was the first time I had ever openly defied him in public. Lonny looked momentarily stunned. “Are you really going to be this petty?” Hailey stepped between us, pulling on his sleeve. “Lonny, don’t fight. I’ll just step back, okay? I don’t want to cause trouble.” She turned to walk away, but Lonny immediately grabbed her by the wrist. “No one is asking you to leave.” He held her tightly, his hand wrapping fully around her wrist, as if terrified she would be wronged. The coordinator stood there, looking entirely lost. “So… which version are we printing?” Lonny stared at me. “Iris, don’t push things to a point where we can’t save face.” We can’t save face. It was always about the presentation. Our entire twenty-year relationship had apparently simmered down to a mere performance. I slowly placed the original draft back into my bag. “Do whatever you want.” Lonny’s shoulders relaxed slightly, looking as if he had finally won a exhausting argument. Hailey smiled brightly. “Don’t worry, Iris, I’ll make sure your wedding is absolutely beautiful.” Before leaving the ballroom, I took one last look at the stage. The cold white spotlights hit the new backdrop, highlighting the sleek English letters. My name was so small it was practically a speck. I stood there, and for the first time, I felt a strange sense of peace. If it was invisible, I did not have to look at it anymore. My phone buzzed in my hand. It was a private message from the coordinator. Ms. Iris, if you wish to cancel the booking, the contract allows a sixty percent refund of the deposit, but we need your final confirmation by five p.m. today. I stared at the message for a long time, my thumb hovering over the screen. “Iris,” Lonny’s voice called out from behind me. “Send me Hailey’s measurements for her bridesmaid dress.” I turned around. “Hailey isn’t a bridesmaid.” “We’re adding her last-minute,” he said casually. “What’s the big deal?” Hailey stood beside him, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “If Iris doesn’t want me, it’s fine. I don’t have to be a bridesmaid.” Lonny looked at her. “Don’t say that.” Then, he looked back at me. “It’s just a dress, Iris.” Just a dress. Just a vow. Just a backdrop. Just an umbrella. It seemed that anything belonging to me could be easily reduced to a “just” the moment Hailey wanted it. I unlocked my phone, copied the contact information for the boutique, and sent it to him. Lonny’s expression softened instantly. “See? That wasn’t so hard.” I did not say a word. That afternoon, I went back to our shared apartment to pack up the wedding supplies. The living room was piled high with cardboard boxes. There were customized candy boxes, table cards, guest registries, and a thick, heavy photo album. I had made that album myself, compiling memories from elementary school to college. On the very first page was a photo of Lonny standing to my right, leaning over to block a paper ball thrown by some rowdy boys in our class. On the back, I had written: He was the first voice I ever truly heard. I had genuinely believed that back then. The doorbell rang. When I opened it, Hailey was standing on the threshold, flanked by two assistants from the wedding agency. She held up a shopping bag with a smile. “Iris, I came to pick up the bridesmaid dress, and I thought I’d see if you needed any help packing.” I did not step aside. “No need.” Hailey peeked over my shoulder. “Wow, you have so much stuff.” Before I could stop her, she squeezed past me into the apartment. The two assistants stood awkwardly at the door. Hailey’s eyes immediately caught the photo album on the coffee table. She flipped open the first page and giggled. “You guys looked so goofy when you were kids.” I walked over and shut the album firmly. “Don’t touch that.” She blinked, looking startled. “Is it really that precious?” Lonny’s voice echoed from the hallway. “Hailey, weren’t you just picking up the dress?” He had followed her up. Hailey immediately shrank back, hiding her hands behind her back. “I was just looking. I think Iris is mad at me.” Lonny looked at me, his eyes tired. “She was just curious, Iris.” I clutched the album to my chest. “I said, don’t touch it.” Lonny’s face darkened. “Iris, when is this tantrum going to end? No one is trying to steal your things.” Hailey whispered softly, “Lonny, don’t scold her. Maybe because she’s always had trouble hearing, she feels insecure about her belongings.” Lonny did not object. He stood there, silent for two long seconds. And those two seconds were enough. They were long enough for me to realize that he agreed with her. Hailey reached into a bag and pulled out a delicate white camellia boutonniere. “Oh, Iris, can I have this? It’s so pretty.” That boutonniere was meant for the bride. I had loved white camellias for as long as I could remember. Since I was little, I had a habit of mishearing things. Once, when we were kids, I had misheard Lonny. I thought he said camellia when he actually said I’ll keep you safe. Ever since, he bought me a white camellia on my birthday, reminding me: I’ll keep you safe. Now, Hailey was holding it in her hand, smiling as she asked if she could have it. My voice was dead quiet, but entirely firm. “No.” Lonny stepped forward. “If she likes it, let her have it. We can have the florist make another one for the wedding.” I looked up, meeting his eyes. “Lonny, you chose this one.” He froze. Hailey looked between the two of us, a smug smile playing on her lips. “Oh, you chose it? Now I love it even more.” She pinned it directly onto her white dress. “Does it look good?” Lonny did not answer, but he did not tell her to take it off either. The photo album in my arms suddenly felt incredibly heavy. My wrists ached under the weight. I knelt down, placed the album back into one of the cardboard boxes, and pulled out my phone. I opened the chat with the wedding coordinator. If I cancel, I need to confirm by five p.m., correct? The reply was instant. Yes, Ms. Iris. Before I could type another word, Lonny snatched the phone from my hand. “Who are you messaging?” The screen was still lit, and the text was fully visible. The living room fell into a suffocating silence. Lonny stared at the screen, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. “Iris, what is the meaning of this?” I reached out to grab my phone, but he lifted it out of my reach. “Answer me.” Hailey leaned over to glance at the screen, letting out a gasp. “Cancel the wedding? Iris, you’re joking, right?” I looked at Lonny. “Give me my phone.” He did not budge. “You’re canceling our wedding over a few minor disagreements?” Minor disagreements. A dry, bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Yes. Minor.” Lonny’s face turned incredibly ugly. “Iris, do not use this to threaten me.” “I am not threatening you.” “Then what do you call this?” He slammed the phone onto the coffee table, his finger pointing at the screen. “You know our families have already booked their flights. The venue is paid for, and hundreds of invitations have been sent out. You canceling now is just a desperate attempt to humiliate me.” My eyes drifted to the white camellia pinned to Hailey’s chest. The urge to argue simply vanished. “I won’t humiliate you.” I should have realized much sooner that he did not care about my pain. He only cared about saving face. Hailey gently tugged at Lonny’s sleeve. “Lonny, don’t be angry. Iris probably just wants you to coax her a little.” Lonny let out a cold, humorless laugh. “Haven’t I spent my entire life coaxing her?” He glared at me, his voice tight. “Iris, you’ve been doing this since we were kids. Every time you can’t hear, I have to repeat myself. Every time you’re unhappy, I have to guess why. If anyone so much as looks at you wrong, you start crying. I used to think you needed me, but now, it’s just exhausting.” A loud, high-pitched ring echoed in my right ear. I heard every single word perfectly. Hailey added in a quiet voice, “Honestly, Lonny is pretty pitiable. He’s taken care of you for so many years. Surely he deserves to have some say in his own wedding.” Lonny did not deny it. My gaze drifted to the white umbrella leaning against the doorframe, its crooked rib sticking out awkwardly. When he gave it to me, he told me that even if it rained and he wasn’t there, he would always protect me. I walked over and picked it up. Lonny’s brow furrowed. “You’re leaving again?” I did not answer. I simply held the umbrella out to him. He did not reach for it. I set it down carefully at his feet. “I’m returning this to you.” Lonny’s pupils dilated. “Iris, are you serious?” Hailey suddenly bent down and picked up the umbrella. “This thing is so old, and the frame is completely bent.” She popped it open, and the canopy warped violently. “No wonder Iris doesn’t want it anymore.” My voice went cold. “Put it down.” Hailey flinched at my tone. Her hand slipped, and the umbrella dropped to the floor. The tip struck the sharp wooden leg of the coffee table with a loud crack. The remaining support ribs snapped completely. The apartment fell dead silent, save for the low hum of the air conditioner. Lonny stared down at the ruined umbrella, his expression finally shifting into something resembling panic. But Hailey was quicker to react. Her eyes flooded with tears. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. Iris, please don’t look at me like that. You’re scaring me.” Lonny immediately stepped in front of her, shielding her from my view. “Iris, it’s just an old umbrella. If it’s broken, I’ll buy you a new one.” I stared at him for a long, quiet moment, then nodded. “Okay.” His frustration flared again. “Stop being so passive-aggressive.” I knelt on the floor, gathering the sharp, broken metal ribs one by one. The jagged edges scraped against my fingertips, leaving a dull, stinging pain. Lonny reached down to pull me up. “Stop picking them up. You’ll cut yourself.” I pulled my hand back, avoiding his touch. “No need.” Hailey whispered behind him, “Lonny, maybe I should leave. I feel like Iris really hates me.” Lonny rubbed his temples. “I’ll walk you down.” He turned back to me, his voice firm. “Stay here and calm down. The wedding is still on. Stop making a scene.” He reached the front door and paused, looking back. “Iris, I know you can’t live without me. When you’ve cooled off, call me.” The door clicked shut. The silence in the apartment was absolute. I tossed the broken pieces of the umbrella into a trash bag, walked back to the coffee table, and picked up my phone. The coordinator’s final text was on the screen. Ms. Iris, you have ten minutes left. I pressed the microphone icon and recorded a brief, flat voice note. “Cancel it.”

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Twenty years ago, my baby girl, who could barely even take her first steps, died in that freezing, sterile emergency room. She could have lived. The St. Jude Foundation had already approved her Compassionate Use Grant. The lifesaving funds had been wired to the hospital’s account. But the night before her surgery, her name was secretly replaced, and the funds were withdrawn. Only later did I find out that the people who stole her spot were my own brother, Thomas, and his wife, Samantha. They traded my daughter’s life for their own son’s chance to survive. Back then, Samantha pointed her designer-clad finger at my face, waving a forged approval letter, and sneered, “This is just how life is, Lynn. Your daughter was born cheap. Don’t blame us for having better luck.” I didn’t cry. I didn’t make a scene. Instead, I spent twenty long years clawing my way up to where I am today—the Chief Director of the Compassionate Use Program at the State Medical Board. Today, Samantha’s son lies in the ICU, desperately waiting for the only dose of a rare, federally funded gene-therapy drug in the entire state. I looked down at the familiar name on the application form, picked up my red pen, and drew a massive, cold “X” right across it. 0

“Director Mitchell, are you out of your mind? You signed the wrong box!” My assistant, Dr. Julian Carter, practically jumped out of his chair. His eyes were glued to the red-stamped document in my hand. “This is the final allocation sheet for ‘NeoGenesis-1’! Tyler Mitchell’s bio-markers rank number one in the state! The system automatically flagged him as the perfect match!” Julian leaned over my desk, slamming his hands down, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “You signing ‘REJECTED’ in that box… do you have any idea what that means?” “It means this patient does not qualify for our free compassionate-use drug program,” I replied. I didn’t even look up. My voice was as flat as if I were commenting on the weather. Julian was completely dumbfounded. “How does he not qualify? Is it a genetic mismatch? Is his body too weak to tolerate it? Director Mitchell, the federal government only gives our state one single dose of this drug a year. It’s worth 1.2 million dollars, fully covered! It’s his only lifeline!” I raised my head. My gaze drifted past Julian, landing on the young man sitting in the waiting area outside my glass office. It was Tyler Mitchell. Through the glass door, the hope on his pale face instantly shattered the moment he saw me shake my head. “Director Mitchell…” Julian tried to argue again, but I tossed the file folder right back into his chest. “I said he doesn’t qualify, so he doesn’t. The applicant’s paperwork is compromised.” The office door pushed open. Tyler looked ghostly pale, his breathing shallow and ragged. He held onto the doorframe, his voice trembling violently. “Aunt Lynn… is there something wrong with my lab results?” I looked at him. He was twenty. The prime of his life. But unfortunately, he had inherited the worst genetic defect of the Mitchell family. I flipped open his background file, my fingers tapping heavily on the names listed under parents: “Father: Thomas Mitchell,” “Mother: Samantha Vance.” “Your application failed the review,” I said coldly. Tyler froze, taking two desperate steps forward. “How is that possible? My parents did everything. They notarized all our financial assets, they even put up our two estates in the Hamptons as collateral to prove that although we have money, we fully meet the criteria for emergency compassionate relief…” “Did they submit these documents themselves?” “Yes.” I let out a cold laugh and threw my pen onto the desk. “Then it’s officially over. You’re not getting it.” Julian was practically shaking with anxiety. “Director Mitchell, what the hell are you playing at? This file went through initial, secondary, and final reviews! Five department heads signed off on this! Who are you to reject it with a single word?” “Because I am the Chief Director of the Compassionate Use Program,” I said, leaning back in my leather chair, staring at him coldly. “And I hold the veto power.” Julian gasped, his face turning from anxious to furious. He looked around the room. The other assistants in the office quickly bowed their heads, pretending to be buried in their work. No one dared to make eye contact. “This is murder! Do you even know who Tyler’s father is? He’s the CEO of Vance Enterprises!” “Dr. Carter,” I cut him off, my voice sharp as a whip. “Are you a doctor of this state hospital, or are you a lapdog for Vance Enterprises?” Julian’s face instantly flushed a deep, angry purple. Tyler’s eyes were red, fighting back tears as he struggled to stand straight. “Aunt Lynn, if my parents missed some paperwork, I’ll call them right now to fix it. If my medical evaluation is being questioned, I can do another bone marrow biopsy. Please. Just give me a straight answer. I want to live.” He lowered himself completely, begging for his life. Looking at his face, my mind suddenly flashed back to twenty years ago. Back then, I was ten thousand times more pathetic than he was now. I had knelt in the pouring rain on the concrete steps of the foundation’s office, desperately grabbing the director’s leg, banging my head on the ground until I bled. *”Please, just check the accounts! The grant was approved! Why is it suddenly gone? My daughter is on a ventilator, she can’t wait!”* No one even looked at me. The security guards dragged me through the mud like a dead dog. I closed my eyes, forcing those blood-soaked memories back into the dark corners of my mind. When I opened them again, I looked at Tyler. “I’ve made myself clear. You do not qualify. Get out.” 0

Tyler’s tears finally spilled over. He bit his lip hard, turned around, and stumbled out of the room. A nurse gasped in the hallway outside. He must have tripped and fallen. Julian pointed a trembling finger at my face. “Fine. Great. Lynn Mitchell, everything you did today is going straight to Dean Henderson. Don’t think you can play god just because you sit in this chair!” I pulled out a sanitizing wipe and slowly, methodically cleaned my fingers. “The door is on your left. Don’t let it hit you on the way out.” Julian slammed the door shut. Less than five minutes later, I could hear him shouting into his phone from the stairwell down the hall. He was so loud the entire floor could hear. “Mrs. Vance, it’s Julian. I’m so sorry, there’s a massive issue with the drug allocation… Director Mitchell refuses to sign off. You and Mr. Mitchell need to get down here right now. I can’t keep this under wraps anymore.” I tossed the used wipe into the trash, spun my chair around, and looked out the window. Twenty years. I had waited for this phone call until my very bones felt restless. The next morning, the moment I walked into my office, Julian snuck in with a smug, mocking grin on his face. “Director Mitchell, Mrs. Vance asked me to deliver a message.” “Speak.” Julian choked on his words for a second, forcing his anger down. “Mrs. Vance said, mother to mother, she hopes you can understand. If Tyler’s drug gets approved, she will personally fund and donate the most advanced PET-CT scanner to our radiology department.” I flipped open the medical chart on my desk. “A PET-CT scanner? That’s over three million dollars.” “Exactly!” Julian’s eyes lit up. “Mrs. Vance promised it personally. No take-backs.” “Must be nice to be that rich,” I sneered. Thinking I was tempted, Julian leaned in closer. “Director, let’s be real. Tyler’s medical profile is flawless. You sign the paper, everyone wins. It’s good for the hospital, and it’s even better for your next performance review. Dean Henderson’s new research lab is still waiting on Vance Enterprises’ phase-two funding, you know.” I stopped writing and stared directly into his eyes. “Dr. Carter, how many years have you been in this field?” “Six… six years.” “Six years. And have you ever seen me, Lynn Mitchell, sign off on a single document in exchange for money?” The smile on Julian’s face froze. “I don’t care how much Samantha Vance is paying you under the table. But in this office, her money is nothing but garbage.” Julian shook with rage, his mouth opening and closing but no words came out. Finally, he sneered, spun on his heel, and slammed the door. The office fell silent. I unlocked the bottom drawer of my desk, entered my passcode, and pulled out a plain black folder. Inside, there were no medical charts or hospital documents. There were only yellowed, decades-old bank receipts, blurry photos, and a few USB drives containing recorded calls. This was the evidence I had spent more than seven thousand days digging out from the depths of hell. I thought I would have to wait longer for the Mitchell family to make a mistake. But God had eyes. Tyler’s illness relapsed, and this specific drug was his only hope. At two in the afternoon, my office landline rang. “Hello, is this Director Mitchell of the Compassionate Use Program?” The voice on the other end was dripping with the same high-and-mighty arrogance I remembered. Twenty years, and Samantha’s tone of talking down to people hadn’t changed at all. Back then, my ex-husband had begged her, kneeling in front of her BMW. She had rolled down the window, thrown a few hundred-dollar bills in his face, and said: *”The kid is dead anyway. Just make another one. If you dare come to my office and make a scene again, I’ll make sure you lose your job sweeping the streets!”* “Speaking,” I said, gripping the receiver. “This is Samantha Vance, Tyler’s mother. I want to discuss my son’s drug approval with you in person. Tomorrow morning, 9:00 AM. Be in your office.” It wasn’t a request. It was an order. “Of course,” I smiled. “I’ll be waiting.” “My husband will be joining me. We expect a reasonable explanation from you, Director Mitchell.” “I promise you’ll get exactly what you deserve.” I hung up, walked over to the restroom, and looked in the mirror. The woman staring back had short, sharp hair and cold, icy eyes. At forty-five, I was no longer that pathetic girl in a faded T-shirt with a ponytail, weeping and begging for mercy. More than that, back then, to them, I was just a poor relative from the countryside whose name wasn’t even worth remembering. How could they possibly recognize me now? 0

The next morning at exactly 9:00 AM, my office door was kicked open. Samantha strutted in on four-inch heels, clutching a limited-edition Hermès Birkin bag, looking like she owned the place. My brother, Thomas, followed closely behind in a tailored suit, looking every bit the successful billionaire. “So, you’re Director Mitchell?” Samantha looked me up and down, pulled out a chair, and sat down without a single polite word. “I don’t beat around the bush. You made things difficult for my son yesterday, and he didn’t sleep a wink last night. How are you going to make this right?” I took a sip of water from my mug. “How would you like to settle it, Mrs. Vance?” Samantha slammed a thick stack of medical reports onto my desk. “This is a joint evaluation from the top medical specialists in the state! Tyler is a one hundred percent match! What right do you have to block us at the final stage? Who do you think you are?” Thomas gently pulled her sleeve, trying to play the reasonable gentleman. “Director Mitchell, my wife is just worried sick about our boy. She’s a bit emotional. We came here today to find a solution.” He pulled out another chair and sat down, folding his hands on my desk. “My son’s condition is critical. If there’s some misunderstanding, let’s lay it all out on the table.” I pushed the stack of reports aside. “Mr. Mitchell, Mrs. Vance. I made my decision clear in the file. Tyler does not qualify.” “Bullshit!” Samantha slammed her hand on the desk. “You just want money, don’t you? Name your price! Stop acting so damn righteous!” Thomas quickly tried to smooth things over. “Director Mitchell, I understand your position carries a lot of pressure and many things to consider. But rules are made by people. If your department needs funding for research, or if you personally… have some expenses that are hard to talk about, Vance Enterprises can take care of it.” “Like what?” I asked with a half-smile. “For instance, a luxury apartment in Manhattan, or perhaps your children want to go to an Ivy League school…” Thomas lowered his voice, offering the bait. “Are you openly bribing a state official, Mr. Mitchell?” Thomas’s face stiffened, and he let out a dry laugh. “You misunderstand, Director. It’s a perfectly legal philanthropic donation…” “Stop wasting your breath on her!” Samantha snapped impatiently, glaring at me. “Just tell me, how much money will it take for you to sign? Five million? Ten million?” The office fell into a dead, heavy silence. I set my mug down, stood up, and looked down at the wealthy couple. “Mrs. Vance, this is the State Medical Board, not a flea market for Vance Enterprises. Take your dirty money and get out.” Samantha gasped in disbelief, then laughed mockingly as she stood up, pointing her finger at my nose. “You ungrateful bitch! Who do you think you are? A low-level director, and you actually think you’re hot shit?” “I’m warning you for the last time. You are signing that paper today, whether you like it or not! If you don’t, I will make sure you never practice medicine in this country again!” The utter disregard for human life in her eyes was identical to twenty years ago. “Samantha Vance,” I said, calling her by her full name. She froze. “Tyler Mitchell’s application is permanently denied. If you don’t like it, go file a complaint with the Department of Health.” Samantha’s face turned white with rage, her chest heaving. “Fine! Just you wait!” She spun around to leave, but stopped at the door, turning back to hiss, “Let’s see how many more days you get to wear that white coat!” Thomas gave me a long, dark look filled with malice. “Director Mitchell, you’ve chosen a very dangerous path.” The moment they left, Julian slipped back into the room, sweating profusely. “Director! Are you crazy? You just completely crossed Samantha Vance! Her family holds massive political sway in this state. You’re committing career suicide!” “Dr. Carter,” I sat back down, opening my computer. “Take a guess. What do you think her next move will be?” Julian swallowed hard. “What else? Use her connections to pressure you, and get the media to destroy you!” I nodded. “Excellent. Let’s make sure she plays it as big as possible.” 0

At three in the afternoon, I was summoned to Dean Henderson’s office. When I opened the door, Samantha was sitting on the leather sofa, sipping tea, while Thomas stood by the window, smoking a cigar. Dean Henderson sat behind his mahogany desk, his forehead creased into deep lines. “Lynn, come in, take a seat,” the Dean said, pointing to the chair opposite him. “Speak freely, Dean. I’ll stand,” I replied. The Dean cleared his throat. “Well, Mrs. Vance just brought a serious issue to my attention. She claims you have a personal bias in the drug allocation process, and that you are intentionally blocking her son’s lifesaving medication. This is reflecting very poorly on our institution.” “I am following the regulations. What bias?” Samantha slammed her teacup onto the glass table. “Regulations? Every specialist in this state says my son is the perfect fit, and you’re the only one saying no! If that’s not bias, what is? Did you take a bribe from someone else to sell our drug under the table?” Dean Henderson waved his hands frantically. “Mrs. Vance, please, let’s not throw accusations. Lynn isn’t that kind of person. But Lynn, Tyler’s condition is indeed critical. You must give us a reasonable explanation.” “My explanation is in the file. Non-compliant paperwork.” Samantha bolted upright and marched right up to my face. “Do you think your position here is secure?” She leaned in, whispering so only the three of us could hear: “Let me tell you something. Crushing you is easier than stepping on an ant. Bow your head, apologize, sign the paper, and I’ll pretend today never happened. Otherwise…” “Otherwise what?” I met her icy glare. Samantha suddenly laughed, a vicious, triumphant sound. “Otherwise, by tomorrow, everyone in this state will know that the Director of the Compassionate Use Program at this hospital is a corrupt, heartless murderer. I wonder if the families of the patients who didn’t get the drug will come and tear you apart?” Dean Henderson panicked. “Mrs. Vance, please, let’s not be rash…” “There’s nothing to talk about!” Samantha turned to the Dean. “Dean Henderson, I’m putting it on the line today. If my son doesn’t get that drug, the fifty-million-dollar endowment Vance Enterprises promised for your new medical wing is officially canceled!” Dean Henderson’s face drained of all color. “Lynn!” The Dean slammed his hand on the desk. “What the hell are you holding out for? Sign the damn paper!” I looked at the panicked Dean, and then at the smug, victorious Samantha. “No.” Samantha let out a cold laugh, pulled out her phone, and put it on speaker. “Hey, is this the lead editor at *The Daily Chronicle*? I have a massive story for you. The Director of the Compassionate Use Program at the state hospital is abusing her power and letting a young boy die out of spite. Yes, I have all the proof ready. I’ll send it over now.” She hung up and looked at me with pure malice. “Get ready to be ruined, Mitchell.” Thomas walked over, patting Samantha on the shoulder, looking at me with cold pity. “Director Mitchell, you should have left yourself a way out. Since you insisted on putting yourself in a corner, don’t blame us.” The two of them walked out, heads held high. Dean Henderson collapsed back into his chair, his hand trembling as he pointed at me. “Lynn! You’re usually so smart! Why the hell are you acting like an idiot now? Do you know how important that fifty million is to this hospital? How am I supposed to defend you when the news breaks tomorrow?” I turned toward the door. “You don’t have to defend me, Dean.” “What do you mean?” I looked back over my shoulder and smiled. “Because I’m the one who lit the match.”

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I was scrolling through Reddit on my phone when a trending post caught my eye in the local community sub. “I’m an Uber driver. I’m looking for a woman named Natalie who lives at The Aspen Apartments.” “Just so you know, your fiancé married his childhood best friend seven years ago. They already have a son and a daughter together.” The comments were blowing up instantly. “Holy crap, this is wild.” “OP, give us more details! There are probably fifty girls named Natalie in that complex.” The original poster replied: “The guy has a distinctive birthmark right under his left eye. I didn’t get a good look at the woman because he was holding her close in his arms the entire ride.” Staring at the screen, a cold shiver ran down my spine. It took me a few seconds to process the words, but the realization hit me like a physical blow. The man they were describing… was Carter. My fiancé. My hands shook so violently I could barely hold my phone. No wonder. Every single time I brought up our wedding date, Carter would get annoyed and tell me there was no rush. It turned out he already had a whole other family waiting for him. Suddenly, my phone buzzed with a text notification. “Hi Natalie, this is the bridal boutique. Your wedding dress has been altered to your measurements. When would you like to come in for your final fitting?” I blinked, trying to force back the hot, stinging tears in my eyes. “Cancel it,” I typed back. “And process the refund.” If he couldn’t give me a real home, I would find someone else who could.

It was past 1:00 AM when Carter finally got home. Seeing me still sitting in the living room, he kicked off his shoes and asked casually, “The boutique called me. They said you canceled the wedding dress? What’s wrong with it?” I looked up at him, my voice completely flat. “I just realized I don’t want it anymore.” He frowned, instantly irritated. “You were the one begging me to get married, and now the wedding is literally next week. Can you stop acting on a whim?” “Didn’t you choose that dress yourself? What kind of drama are you trying to stir up now?” The mug of coffee in my hands had gone ice cold. Yes, I was the one who picked it out. But it wasn’t the dress I actually wanted. During our three fitting appointments, he had brought Chloe along every single time. I wanted a sleek, elegant satin gown. Chloe insisted that a puffy lace tulle dress was much better. So, Carter spent the entire time subtly and not-so-subtly pressuring me into choosing the tulle. I wanted a simple white-gold band. Chloe said she preferred a classic diamond solitaire. So, behind my back, Carter switched the ring order. I slowly set my coffee mug down on the table and looked him straight in the eye. “Carter, I hate tulle. I’ve always wanted satin.” His hands paused as he unbuttoned his coat. His face immediately darkened with impatience. “Are you seriously throwing a tantrum over a fabric?” “Yes. Over this exact fabric.” “Natalie, if you’re really that bored and have nothing better to do, I can ask Chloe to sign you up for a domestic etiquette class. They teach you how to actually support your husband instead of picking fights.” I stared at him. “Like how Chloe supports you?” For the past ten years, no matter what I did, Carter would always compare me to Chloe. My cooking was never as good as Chloe’s. My housekeeping skills were nothing compared to hers. He even had the nerve to say these things right in front of my parents. Once, my mom took me aside and quietly asked if I wanted to reconsider my relationship with him. But I refused. Because I could never forget the night I casually mentioned wanting late-night spicy wings, and he drove twenty miles through a torrential thunderstorm just to bring them to me. I still remembered when he only had $20 left in his bank account, but he spent $19 to buy me a box of organic cherries from Whole Foods because he knew they were my favorite. Carter sat down across from me, sighing heavily. “Is it really that hard for you to admit that Chloe is just more capable than you?” “Then why the hell are you with me?!” I screamed back, my eyes burning with tears. Carter seemed to realize he had gone too far. He let out a long breath, softening his voice. “I didn’t mean it like that.” “Fine. If you don’t like the dress, you don’t like it. Chloe knows a few high-end bridal designers. I’ll ask her tomorrow if she can rush a new one before next week.” I tried my best to swallow the bitter, suffocating pain rising in my chest. “Oh, perfect. So she can have another chance to design a dress she loves? Who knows, maybe she’ll just wear it herself.” Carter’s expression finally cracked. Underneath his sudden anger, I saw a flash of sheer guilt. “Do you really have to be this toxic tonight?” I almost wanted to laugh. Carter was always like this. The moment Chloe was involved, he could spin black into white. Wrong became right. And his protection was something I would never, ever receive.

The argument ended with him slamming the door and storming out. The next morning, when I woke up, the sound of children laughing and shouting echoed from the living room. I opened my bedroom door and found my neat, clean apartment in absolute chaos. The hand-woven throw blanket that Carter had supposedly custom-ordered for me was currently being trampled under the dirty shoes of Chloe’s young daughter. “Oh, Natalie, you’re finally awake!” Chloe chirped, looking up. Before I could say anything, she turned toward the kitchen and called out, “Carter! Natalie’s up. Serve another bowl of oatmeal!” Carter walked out of the kitchen, looking incredibly awkward. “Uh… I only made enough for the four of us.” “There’s some leftover peanut butter toast in the pantry. You want that?” I shook my head. “No, thanks. You guys go ahead.” He set his bowl down and walked over to me. “Are you still mad at me?” “Even if you’re mad, you shouldn’t skip breakfast. Especially with your sensitive stomach.” I looked at him. At that moment, my chest felt like it was packed with heavy, wet cotton. I could barely breathe. I let out a slow, cold breath. “Carter, do you even remember what I’m allergic to?” He froze for two seconds, a sudden flash of panic crossing his face. “Oh… right. Babe, I’m sorry. I forgot.” He didn’t forget. He just never cared enough to remember. He couldn’t remember that peanut butter could literally send me into anaphylactic shock. Yet, he never failed to deliver a warm cup of ginger tea to Chloe on the exact day her period started every single month. “If you don’t want to eat, then don’t. Why do you always have to make my mom and dad feel bad?” The little boy speaking was Chloe’s seven-year-old son, Mason. His presence was a loud, mocking reminder of how incredibly stupid I had been. I had once asked Carter why Chloe’s children carried his last name, Miller. At the time, he had told me: “Chloe and I made a pact when we were younger. We promised we’d be co-parents to each other’s kids if anything happened. Since their biological father walked out and they don’t have a dad, it’s only right they take my name so they don’t get bullied at school.” And back then, like an idiot, I believed him. Chloe gave me an apologetic, sweet smile. “Kids are just protective of their parents. Don’t take it personally, Natalie.” I didn’t say a word. I grabbed my purse and walked toward the front door. “Where are you going?” Carter grabbed my wrist. “I’m hungry.” His grip slowly loosened, and he didn’t ask anything else. “Come back early.” The only response he got was the sound of the door slamming shut. I drove to the local diner that Carter and I used to visit every weekend. I ordered a plate of blueberry pancakes, crispy bacon, and a hot mug of black coffee. “Carter came in a while ago,” Bob, the diner owner, said as he brought my food. “I was wondering why you weren’t with him.” “But hey, glad to see you today!” I swallowed a bite of pancake and forced a polite smile. “Your pancakes are the best in town, Bob. Of course I’d come back.” Bob grinned widely. “Then how come you didn’t join him last time?” “He was here with a woman and two kids. I honestly thought that was you…” Behind him, his wife, Mary, quickly tugged at his apron. Bob realized his mistake instantly, his face turning red. “Anyway! You need anything else, sweetheart? On the house!” I shook my head. “I’m good, Bob. Thank you. I have to run.” My schedule for the day was packed. 10:00 AM: Hair and makeup trial. 1:00 PM: Wedding photoshoot. And in the evening, I had to finalize the guest list and RSVPs. Fortunately, I wasn’t doing any of this alone anymore.

At 8:00 PM, Carter called me. The background was incredibly noisy, filled with the shrieks and laughter of children. “Where are you? My mom wants us to come over for Thanksgiving dinner.” Anticipating my refusal, Carter quickly added, “Mom specifically told me to make sure you come with me.” “I’m at the bridal salon.” “Send me the address. I’ll pick you up.” After a brief silence, I texted him the address. Carter arrived incredibly fast, almost as if he had already been waiting nearby. I walked up to the car and reached for the front passenger door. It was locked. As I reached for it a second time, the window rolled down. “I’m so sorry, Natalie,” Chloe said with a sweet, helpless smile from the passenger seat. “I get terrible motion sickness if I sit in the back. Do you mind?” I stood there, motionless. Carter cleared his throat. “Natalie, she gets sick easily. Just let her have the seat.” Let her have it? I hadn’t said a single word, yet somehow, I was the one being difficult. Carter frowned impatiently. “My parents are waiting. Just get in, quickly.” I turned and opened the back door. There were three seats in the back. Two of them were taken up by bulky child safety seats. The remaining middle seat was piled high with shopping bags and toys. Chloe turned around, looking embarrassed. “Carter took us to the theme park today, and the kids got a little carried away with the souvenirs.” “You don’t mind squeezing in a bit, do you, Natalie?” It was only then that I noticed all four of them were wearing matching family outfits. I didn’t say a word. I squeezed into the tight space, closed my eyes, and leaned my head against the cold window. During the entire drive, the two of them chatted happily about parenting styles and planning their next summer vacation. Not once was I included in any of those plans. The moment we walked through the door, Carter’s mother, Mrs. Miller, rushed over with a huge smile. “Chloe, darling! You’re finally here! Come in, come in!” “And look at my beautiful grandbaby boy and girl!” Mrs. Miller completely bypassed me, pulling Chloe toward the dining room. Carter followed right behind, carrying the kids. I was left standing at the entrance like an invisible ghost. At the dinner table, Mr. and Mrs. Miller sat at the head. Carter sat next to Chloe and the kids. I was placed at the very end of the long table, next to the kitchen door. “Chloe, try this. I made all of your favorites tonight!” Mrs. Miller said warmly. I glanced over the table. They had invited me under the guise of a family holiday, yet there wasn’t a single dish on the table that I wasn’t allergic to or that I actually liked. “Natalie,” Mrs. Miller suddenly spoke up, her voice dropping its warmth. “I heard you canceled the dress Chloe worked so hard to find for you?” I took a sip of my water. “Yes.” Mrs. Miller’s brow furrowed in deep disapproval. “How could you just cancel it like that? Do you have any idea how much time and effort Chloe put into picking that out for you? You are so ungrateful.” I set my glass down, my voice quiet but firm. “Because it’s my wedding.” Mrs. Miller pointed a finger at me, her face red. “You are such an stubborn, difficult girl!” Carter didn’t even look up. He was fully occupied cutting the steak on Chloe’s plate and feeding the kids. After the miserable dinner finally ended, Mrs. Miller immediately told me to clean up the table and wash the dishes. Meanwhile, Chloe sat comfortably in the living room, eating fresh fruit that Carter was peeling for her. Suddenly, my lower abdomen cramped painfully. My phone buzzed. A custom alarm went off, and Carter’s recorded voice played through the speaker: “Hey babe, your period is starting today. Remember to stay warm and don’t touch cold water, okay?” Carter had set that reminder himself years ago. He had said, “I have a terrible memory, so this way I won’t ever forget to look after you.” But now I realized it wasn’t about his memory. He just never kept me in his heart. He remembered Chloe’s favorite foods, the exact dates of her cycle, and every little preference of those two kids. He just couldn’t remember mine. “Let me take over. Go rest.” Carter suddenly appeared and took the dish towel from my hand. In the living room, Chloe and Mrs. Miller were playing with Lego blocks with the kids. Mr. Miller was sitting on the patio, peacefully sipping his tea. Only I stood there, feeling like an unwanted intruder in someone else’s perfect family. At 9:00 PM, a massive storm rolled in, rain lashing against the windows. “Chloe, you and the kids are staying here tonight,” Mrs. Miller announced. Chloe shot a quick, guilty glance at me. “But there’s only Carter’s room. Where will he sleep?” Mrs. Miller patted her hand reassuringly. “Natalie isn’t married into the family yet, so it’s not appropriate for her to sleep over anyway. Carter can just sleep on the couch.” Then, she turned to me with a fake, polite smile. “Natalie, it’s getting late and the storm is bad. It’s not safe for a girl to drive alone, so I won’t keep you any longer.” I nodded, grabbed my purse, and walked out without another word. Carter ran out after me, grabbing my arm in the hallway. “Natalie, don’t overthink this. My mom is just looking out for your reputation.” I violently shook his hand off and took a step back.

“Carter, do you really not see how differently your family treats me compared to Chloe?” “Or is the truth just that the daughter-in-law you all wanted was never me, but her?” A flash of pure guilt washed over Carter’s face, and his voice became stiff. “How can you say something so ridiculous? My mom just treats Chloe like her own daughter.” “Look, if we made you feel bad, I apologize.” He leaned down to meet my eyes, softening his tone. “I know you can be a bit sensitive and jealous. I’ll make sure to pay more attention next time, okay?” “Don’t frown so much. You’re going to be the most beautiful bride next week.” “Carter,” I said quietly, “I already canceled the entire wedding.” He chuckled, not taking me seriously at all. “I know. Didn’t you just book a different venue and dress today? I saw the charge.” But the groom wasn’t him anymore. I opened my mouth, but the words stayed trapped in my throat. I chose to stay silent. As Carter escorted me to my Uber, I called out to him just before closing the door. “Carter, come home early tomorrow morning.” He frowned. “Is something wrong? I promised Mason I’d take him to the arcade tomorrow morning.” I looked at him, a bitter taste filling my mouth. Mason had only mentioned the arcade once at the dinner table, and Carter remembered it perfectly. But the appointment I had reminded him of multiple times was completely wiped from his brain. “Tomorrow morning is my post-surgery checkup for my fractured wrist.” He froze, looking incredibly conflicted. “Can… can you reschedule it to the afternoon? I really don’t want to break my promise to a kid.” “Never mind. I’ll go talk to Mason tonight and see if we can go to the arcade later. I’ll text you in the morning.” But I never received that text. I waited until noon the next day, alone. I went to the hospital by myself, registered, and waited in line for an hour. After the examination, the doctor’s face was grim. “The bone isn’t healing well at all. Have you not been resting it?” I remained silent for a moment. “I’ve been busy… preparing for a wedding next week.” “Can’t the groom handle those things? Let me be blunt, if you keep straining this wrist, you’re looking at permanent nerve damage.” Holding my medical report, I sat on the hallway bench for a long time before finally heading back to the apartment. The moment I pushed the door open, a small white dog rushed out, barking aggressively at me. Having been severely bitten by a stray dog when I was a child, my survival instinct kicked in. I reflexively kicked the dog away. Mason was the first to run out of the bedroom. Seeing the dog whimpering on the floor, he screamed in rage and charged straight at me, slamming his body into mine. I instinctively raised my hands to protect myself. The next second, the color drained from my face. A sharp, white-hot agony shot through my newly set wrist. Carter was the second to run out. He didn’t even look at me. His entire focus was on comforting the crying boy. “It’s okay, buddy. Daddy’s going to take the dog to the vet right now.” He scooped up the dog with one arm and pulled Mason with the other, rushing toward the door. “Stop,” I gasped, holding my throbbing wrist. Carter turned, his face contorted in anger. “Get out of the way!” I didn’t back down. Instead, I stepped forward and pointed at the silver necklace dangling from the dog’s collar. “Give that back to me.” “Are you out of your mind?! It’s just a stupid necklace!” Carter yelled. Just a stupid necklace? I was raised by my grandma, and that necklace was the only thing she left me before she passed away. The day Grandma gave it to me, Carter was standing right there. He had sworn to her that he would love me forever and never let anyone hurt me. Yet now, the person hurting me the most was him. Carter violently ripped the necklace off the dog’s collar. The string snapped, and the silver pendant fell to the hardwood floor with a sharp metallic clink. As he turned his back to leave, I screamed after him with every ounce of strength I had left: “Carter! If you walk out of this door today, the wedding is officially off!” He didn’t even hesitate. He didn’t look back. For the next few days, Carter never came back to the apartment. And I used that time to pack up every single thing I owned and moved out of the home I had spent years decorating. The night before the wedding, Carter finally sent me a text. “I have to take Mason for his kindergarten physical tomorrow morning, so I might be a bit late. Just take the bridesmaids and go straight to the venue.” I didn’t bother replying. I blocked his number and deleted him from my contacts. The next morning, when the groomsmen arrived at my apartment to pick up the bride, no one answered the door. One of them eventually climbed through a window, only to find the entire apartment completely empty. Panic finally set in, and someone called Carter. “Carter, bro… Natalie is gone. She’s not here.”

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He dropped to his knees right there under my apartment building. In front of Aiden Hall. That man who had spent three years married to me without ever truly looking at me. That man who had treated me like air for the sake of Sophie Dane. Now the president of Cole Capital was kneeling in the rain, soaked through, apologizing again and again like his life depended on it. How funny. Where was he when his mother humiliated me with money? Where was he when I spent night after night alone in an empty house, unable to sleep? Now that I had dragged him into court and ruined his reputation, he suddenly wanted to call it love? I looked at his bloodshot eyes and felt nothing. Only contempt. Love that comes too late is cheaper than dirt. What he did not know was that my revenge had only just begun. And he knew even less about the real tragedy behind our marriage. The whole thing had been a lie from the start, staged by the people closest to him. 0 My thirty-second birthday happened to be the third anniversary of my marriage to Grayson Cole. At five o’clock sharp, I left work and went to the grocery store. I bought sea bass, asparagus, and a small cut of steak. Every one of them was something he had once mentioned at dinner in passing. I remembered everything. Back at the suburban villa everyone called home, the silence felt like another kind of weather. The housekeeper had already left. There was no sound in that huge place except my breathing. I changed out of my lawyer’s suit, tied on an apron, and walked into the kitchen. For one brief second, I caught my own reflection and nearly laughed. In court I fought over property division and dignity for other women. At home I played the role of a good wife waiting for her husband to come back. I had been performing that part for three years. Long enough to nearly believe it. At eight, the table was set. Four dishes. One soup. A glass of red wine for me. I waited. At nine, the food went cold. I reheated everything. At ten, it went cold again. This time I left it there. It takes three minutes to reheat a dish. How long does it take to warm a dead heart? At ten-thirty, the code lock at the front door beeped. He was home. His steps were steady as always. He smelled like a sweet floral perfume that was not his. My stomach turned. He glanced at the table, then tossed me a branded envelope from some luxury department store. “Allowance,” he said. That was his preferred way to fulfill his duty as a husband. Efficient. Convenient. Emotionless. I looked up at him. “Grayson, do you remember what today is?” He paused while loosening his tie, frowned as if he had been handed a difficult equation, then gave up. “Not important.” Then he went upstairs. Not important. My birthday was not important. Our wedding anniversary was not important. The evening I had spent preparing everything was not important. I poured my wine down in one swallow, got up, and dumped the fish, the asparagus, the steak, and the soup into the trash one by one. It sounded like a funeral. A quick, careless one for a three-year marriage. Then I messaged my best friend Chloe Benson. I decided. 0

The next morning, I was in court at nine o’clock sharp. My client was a woman who had survived ten years of domestic abuse. Broken nose twice. Cigarette burns on both arms. Her husband refused to divorce her unless she surrendered her property rights and gave up their child. She trembled in the hallway before the hearing. “Ms. Sutton… I’m scared.” I squeezed her hand. “Don’t be. From today on, no one touches you again. I will get back everything they took from you.” The opposing counsel tried to call ten years of violence “ordinary marital conflict.” I answered with hospital reports, witness recordings, bloody clothing, and screenshots of the husband’s drunken boasts about how he disciplined his wife. By closing argument, the room was silent. “The law is not here to excuse power,” I said. “It is here to protect the weak. Marriage should never become a cover for violence. My client is not here for pity. She is here for justice, dignity, and what is hers.” We won. Seventy percent of the marital property to my client. Full custody of the child. Monthly support. A restraining order. When I got back to Benson & Sutton, Chloe already had coffee waiting. She was my law school friend, my best friend, and my partner. “So Her Majesty has returned victorious?” I dropped into the sofa. “Her Majesty is exhausted.” Chloe tilted her head. “You go into court and tear men apart for other women, then go home and let your own husband ignore your existence. Terrible business model, Mia.” “Exactly,” I said. “So I’m done.” I opened a blank document and typed five words: Divorce Settlement Agreement. Chloe watched quietly for a long moment, then only said, “Fine. Tonight I’m buying dinner. And none of it is cooked by you.” 0

The first draft came fast. Clear logic. Clean clauses. When I reached the property section, I stopped. The villa. The luxury cars. The unlimited secondary card Grayson had given me. Three years ago, my family put a price on me. Three hundred thousand dollars. Now I was buying myself back. So I wrote a single sentence: I voluntarily waive all rights to division of marital property. Not because I was noble. Because I wanted nothing tying me to him anymore, least of all money. I needed the policy number from the one insurance plan we held jointly, so I texted Grayson. Where’s the insurance contract? Study. Third cabinet on the left. It was the first time in three years I had entered his study. The room smelled like his cologne and looked exactly like him. Dark, precise, expensive, and completely lifeless. I found the contract. Then I noticed the top drawer of his desk. Unlocked. That was unusual for Grayson. I opened it. Inside was a velvet box. Inside the box was a silver photo frame. In the picture, Grayson was smiling. Really smiling. It was a version of his face I had never seen. In his arms was Sophie Dane in a white dress, laughing into the camera. His fiancée who had run the night before their wedding. His great unfinished love. On the back of the frame was an engraved line in his handwriting. My Sophie. My only one. I stood there holding it while the last of my self-deception died quietly. I was not even a substitute. I had been a temporary bandage over a social embarrassment. I put the frame back exactly as I found it and walked downstairs. Grayson was in the living room watching financial news. “Found it?” “Yes.” I set the insurance contract down and looked him in the eye. “Grayson, we need to talk.” 0

He turned off the television. The silence that followed was immediate and heavy. “About what?” I did not answer directly. “We’re going to the main house this weekend.” That was the Cole family rule. First weekend of every month. For three years it had felt like attending a funeral. This time, I needed to go. I needed the right opening. At lunch the next day, Evelyn Cole finally raised the subject she always circled sooner or later. “Mia, you’ve been married to Grayson for three years now. Why is there still no child? This family needs an heir.” Every relative at the table looked at me. Sympathy. Curiosity. Mockery. I looked only at my husband. He lowered his head and drank his soup, as if his mother were speaking about the weather and not about his wife sitting three feet away. That was Grayson. Every time this family made me bleed, he chose silence. Not a bystander. An accomplice. I smiled politely and said, “You’re right. I haven’t done well enough.” Evelyn seemed pleased by my obedience. On the drive home, Grayson finally said, “Don’t take what my mother says seriously.” I laughed. “I don’t. I just finally understood something. We need to talk. Properly this time.”

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