The day after I signed my divorce papers with Julian Vanderbilt,my ex showed up at my door. Carter Reed,the tech billionaire who ruined my life,stood there wearing a smug smirk. “You’ve had your fun,Elara,”he said,taking a step closer. “You got out of that cage.Now isn’t it time to come back to me?” He dialed back the Silicon Valley arrogance and played the devoted man.”I’m done with Maya.I swear,Elara.This time,I’ll give you everything.” Hearing that name made my blood run cold. Maya. She was the waitress Carter bankrolled into a Hollywood star. Because of her,I lost my baby. Because of her,the hands that were supposed to play Carnegie Hall were ruined. Carter had taken a Juilliard prodigy and driven her to the edge of madness. So I looked him dead in the eye and said,”Coming back?Not in a million years.” Carter dropped the act instantly.”Why?”he snapped. “Julian took over the Vanderbilt empire. The whole Upper East Side knows he dumped you. Who else is going to take you in?” I turned to look at him,my eyes cold.”Who said he dumped me?” … Carter paused for a beat,then let out a scornful laugh.”Elara,you never change.Always living in your own little fantasy.Julian Vanderbilt is the sole heir to a billion-dollar empire.He went back to claim what’s his. Why would he keep a girl with no family and a ruined past?He got bored.Face it.” Let him believe that. Sure,the papers are signed.But Julian didn’t dump me. Five years ago,he walked away from his trust fund just to marry me. The succession war within his family was getting vicious. To keep me and our daughter safe,he had to go back and claim his throne. This divorce is just a cover. It’s our little secret. But to Carter,I was nothing but a woman the old money had chewed up,spit out,and forgotten.

My silence made Carter think he’d finally gotten to me. His voice softened. “I’m sorry,Elara.That was harsh.But I just want you back.I really do.” “I knew it wouldn’t last the moment you married Julian. I’ve been waiting for this day for five years.” His words dragged up memories I thought I’d buried. Back on the Columbia campus,on the lawn,him clutching onto my backpack charm with a flushed face,asking,”Elara,can I be your boyfriend?” I thought he was sweet and ambitious—a world apart from everything I knew.I thought a guy like him could never hurt anyone. But I was wrong. When a”good guy”goes bad,he’s far more ruthless than any real villain. I scoffed.”Five years?Carter,you could wait fifty,and it still wouldn’t change a thing.We ended a long time ago.” I turned and grabbed my suitcase. My fingers,once so agile on the piano,felt stiff and clumsy from the old injury. Carter stepped forward,blocking my path again. “You don’t have to love me.But what about Chloe?She needs her father.”

At the mention of my daughter,every defensive wall I had went up. “Chloe is Julian’s daughter and mine,”I spat. “She has absolutely nothing to do with you.Stop flattering yourself.” Carter frowned,clearly not buying a single word.He took a step closer,his gaze locked on my face.”Chloe is six years old,Elara! She was already born when you married Julian five years ago. We hadn’t even officially broken up back then.You were pregnant with my baby!” “Is admitting you had my child really that humiliating for you?” The more confident he sounded,the more absurd it was. The man who had thrown me away for some cheap actress now wanted to claim another man’s treasured daughter.He didn’t get to have it both ways. I didn’t bother arguing.My Uber was already idling at the curb. I brushed past him,pulled open the car door,and gave him one last,freezing look. “Believe whatever you want.I have nothing to say to you.” The car pulled away.In the rearview mirror,Carter’s figure shrank into New York’s concrete jungle,until the rushing traffic swallowed him whole. I let out a long,shaky breath. Chloe is actually only five years old. Five years ago,Julian pulled some highly illegal strings to protect me and secure our marriage. He used his wealth to alter her birth certificate,making her a year older on paper. It was a risky move,but Julian did it to protect us. My daughter shares not a single drop of blood with Carter Reed.My hand drifted unconsciously to my stomach,my fingertips trembling slightly. There had been a time when I carried his child in here. But his brutal betrayal ruined everything. I lost the baby,and he broke me.

The year I graduated,I turned down Carnegie Hall. Instead,I crammed into a tiny Brooklyn apartment with Carter,using every penny I made tutoring piano to fund his tech startup. My clients were ultra-rich. One hour of teaching paid more than a normal weekly salary. I taught from dawn till midnight,my fingers swollen and my voice hoarse,just to scrape together his startup capital. The day his company launched,he lifted me up by the Hudson River,laughing like a kid. “Elara,I see our future,”he promised. “Once we go public,I’ll buy out Tiffany’s on Fifth Avenue and make the happiest bride in the world.” We both thought the hard times were finally over. But I had no idea.It wasn’t the end of the struggle.It was the beginning of my hell.

Once the cash started rolling in,Carter got busy. Then came Maya—a waitress who delivered his lunch,the one variable I never saw coming.He pitied her,fell for her acting dreams,and decided to play hero: “Want to be a star?Let me help you.” Just like that,the money I nearly killed myself to earn became Maya’s stepping stone. He paid for her elite acting school in LA and bought her a supporting role in a hit show. When I confronted them on set,Carter shielded a sobbing Maya and shoved me to the ground. I was pregnant. I fell,my stomach slamming into the sharp edge of a metal prop box. Blood soaked my dress. My baby died right there—killed by his own father. Carter panicked.He swept me up and rushed me to the hospital,crying and begging for forgiveness the entire way.Numb,I told him it was over.But he lost it.He grabbed a knife,slit his wrist,and used self-harm to threaten me. “We’re just business,Elara!”he cried. “I was just doing charity.Didn’t you fall in love with me because I’m kind?” Yes.I used to believe that was kindness.But he had no right to feed that”kindness”of his with my flesh and blood.I was weak.I forgave him. Until my birthday.I received a teaching offer from Juilliard and called him,dying to share the news.Over the line,all I heard was the unmistakable sound of a man and a woman,breathing hard together—nauseating and undeniable. After what felt like forever,Carter’s panicked voice came through:”Baby,I’m almost home.”In that second,our six years together died.

Before I could even grieve,Maya cornered me in the music academy restroom with two bodyguards. She raised a hammer and brought it down hard on my Steinway—the one that had been with me for years. The keys shattered. My dreams shattered with them. Maya smirked,looking like a lunatic. “You think you’re something just because you can play a few songs,Elara?Come after my man again,and this is what you get.Carter was sick of you long ago.Get a clue!” During the struggle with her bodyguards,one of them stomped on my hand. Two of my fingers broke instantly,twisting at a sickening angle. My piano career was dead. The moment I left the hospital,my first thought was revenge.I sent the proof to The New York Post. Carter siphoning my money to launch Maya’s career.Maya’s deliberate assault.Every single detail. Maya was a rising star,so the scandal exploded online.Furious fans flooded Carter’s socials demanding answers.But he publicly gaslit me. “Elara’s mental health has been unstable.We broke up long ago.Please stop harassing my friends.” Maya followed up,painting herself as the victim and me as a bitter,obsessed stalker. Overnight,I became the laughingstock of New York. I was terrified to leave my apartment,hiding like a sewer rat. I begged Carter to just tell the truth.I promised I’d walk away forever. He just looked at me,cold and unmoved.”Maya’s career is just starting.I can’t let her be ruined.Just bear with it,Elara.I’ll make it up to you later.” Bear with it?Make it up to me? Everything I had suffered came from him. I went to his office to make a scene,and he had me arrested. At the police station,the man who bailed me out was Julian. Back in college,he was the one who would sit in the last row of the concert hall,day after day,just listening to me play. He draped his coat over my trembling shoulders. “You’re a free bird,Elara.You don’t belong in a cage.Let me take you home.” He pieced my broken soul back together. To give me a safe haven,he fought the entire Vanderbilt family,gave up his inheritance,and married me. “Elara,I won’t just say’I love you.’I will share your fate,for better or worse. We are each other’s destiny.”

I carried my bags to the apartment Julian had prepared for me. It was our safe haven.Warm,beautiful,and hidden from everyone. The door flew open,and Chloe ran out on her tiny legs,throwing her arms around me. “Mom!You’re back!Daddy says this is our secret castle!” Julian and I had agreed: once he took full control of the Vanderbilt empire,we would officially remarry. Life should have been peaceful,but Carter wouldn’t leave us alone. Every morning,he had fresh roses delivered to my door. Every evening,he stood outside the building,desperate for a glimpse of Chloe and me. He even bought out the entire FAO Schwarz toy store,crouching down to win over my daughter.”Chloe,I’m your dad.Can you call me dad,just once?” I immediately covered Chloe’s ears and walked right past him. “Chloe,remember,you only have one father.His name is Julian Vanderbilt.” Chloe gave a firm nod,her little face serious. “I know!That weird uncle bullied Mommy.He’s a bad guy!” I patted her head and smiled. “Yes.A bad guy.”

I ignored him.But Carter only pushed harder. One day,he planted himself at my door,arms full of property deeds,stock transfer agreements,and a pile of asset documents.”Elara,I’ll give you everything.Just come back.” “You and Chloe won’t have to keep hiding.Isn’t this the stability you wanted?” I looked at him.Two cold word:”Get lost.” Three months later.Julian called. “Darling,let’s remarry.” After the paperwork,he took an overjoyed Chloe to kindergarten.”I’ll pack at the apartment.Pick me up later.” He leaned in for a kiss,pouting. “You don’t even miss me?” I laughed.”So childish.” His eyes turned serious. “The ones who are loved never need to pretend to be mature.” At my apartment,I froze. The walkway was covered in red roses.Endless. Carter knelt with a massive diamond ring. “Elara,I know you’re still angry with me.” “But I’m willing to put up with every mood,every moment of it.You used to be the one giving everything—now let me be the one who comes to you.Marry me.” The neighbors who had gathered,oblivious to the truth,erupted.”Say yes!Say yes!” I walked up. I slapped the ring out of his hand. My heel crushed the roses. “I refuse.” Carter stood up,eyes bloodshot. “Why?!You still love me!” “I don’t,”I snapped. I held up the marriage certificate—still warm from my hands—for everyone in that room to see.”Because I’m already married.”

The crowd erupted in murmurs.”Oh my god,she’s married.What a clown.” “Come on,man.Stop embarrassing yourself.” Carter stared at the paper,his eyes wild. “It’s fake!You divorced three months ago!You’re lying!” He lunged and grabbed my wrist. The familiar fear rushed back. The miscarriage.The helplessness. “Let go!” He ripped the book from my hands. He opened it.The husband’s name: Julian Vanderbilt. Carter burst into manic laughter. “Julian?A billionaire like him would never take you back!” “He threw you out like trash!” “Enough!”My voice shook with rage. “He is nothing like you.” I snatched it back,then tucked it carefully into my bag,turned,and headed upstairs.

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Seven years ago,I saved a girl from a living hell. She repaid me by sleeping with my husband. At our third-anniversary gala,Ethan Vance hugged me from behind. He leaned toward my neck. I pushed him away. “Why so cold?”he said,his tone a playful complaint. “You’re not afraid I’ll seek comfort from another woman?” I smiled at him. “Have you heard the saying?”I asked in return. “Cheaters always end up losing everything.” Ethan scoffed. His thumb brushed the big diamond on my ring finger. “The CEO of the Sterling Group believes in something like that?” I looked at him and shook my head. “That was the vow you made when you proposed to me three years ago.” Ethan’s expression changed. I looked away from him and took off my wedding ring. I handed it to my assistant,Chloe. “Happy anniversary.Yours,not mine.” Both Ethan and Chloe were stunned. … “Tori…Miss Sterling,it’s not true…” Chloe’s eyes filled with tears. Her voice caught in her throat. “I…I never wanted to hurt you.” She shook her head. Her limited-edition Van Cleef&Arpels clover earrings chimed. She looked nothing like the girl from seven years ago. A desperate girl from a remote Appalachian town. She had begged me to save her. Her family was trying to force her into a marriage with a violent alcoholic. Back then,she had said,”Please get me out of that hellhole,and I’ll do anything for you.” So this was how she repaid me. Chloe was crying now. A flicker of pity crossed Ethan’s eyes. He stepped forward and pulled Chloe behind him. “Tori,it’s not what you think…It’s our anniversary tonight.Half of New York’s elite is here.Can we talk tomorrow?I’ll give you an explanation?”

I tilted my head and looked at him. My eyes landed on a faint lipstick mark below his collar. It was our anniversary.That hadn’t stopped him from sleeping with her.Or from asking why I was cold. I glanced down at my wrist,which he still held. I pulled it free. “Afraid I’ll make a scene?” His expression froze. He quickly changed his argument. “I’m worried about your father’s reputation!” My father,Robert Sterling,built the Sterling Group from nothing,with courage and integrity. Everyone who ever dealt with him admired his character. He had passed away. Now his son-in-law was openly sleeping with his daughter’s assistant. In the very empire my father built. If word got out,the Sterling Group would become a joke. Seeing me stay silent,Chloe thought Ethan had swayed me.She spoke up at once. “Miss Sterling,you were born with everything.You could never understand someone like me,someone who has to rely on others to survive…I only wanted to help you.” She paused,then went on as if it were true. “You’re meant for more than this.You shouldn’t waste your time on him.” So that was her excuse for sleeping with my husband？

Her shameless excuse almost made me laugh. Ethan glanced at Chloe,signaling her to stop. He turned to me,his gaze intense. “Tori,trust me one more time,please?I promise I’ll explain everything!” “Alright.” I gave a cold smile. I pushed open the doors to the banquet hall. A spotlight hit me. Hundreds of guests turned to look. Our third-anniversary video was playing on the big screen. In it,Ethan was down on one knee. His eyes were red-rimmed. His voice echoed through the hall. “Victoria Sterling,I swear,if I,Ethan Vance,ever betray you in this life,may I lose all my wealth,be abandoned by everyone,and die alone!” The guests applauded. I watched Ethan and Chloe hurry out after me. I picked up the microphone. “Thank you all for coming to Ethan’s and my third-anniversary celebration.Since Ethan Vance chose to cheat with my assistant,Chloe Miller…this marriage ends tonight.” The room erupted. Ethan rushed onto the stage,his face pale. “Are you crazy?”he hissed.”Do you have any idea of the consequences?” I gave him a cold look. “I only know the consequences of not doing this.” The crowd was in an uproar. Scornful looks turned on Chloe. She instinctively started to play the victim. “Miss Sterling,you’ve misunderstood.Ethan’s feelings have never changed.He only loves you…” Her knees gave out mid-sentence.I caught her. I raised my voice into the microphone. “Careful now.Don’t want to hurt the baby.” Chaos broke out. I left the two of them frozen on stage. Camera flashes exploded around me. I walked away,head held high.

My first stop was our penthouse on the Upper East Side. I changed every password. All of Ethan’s things were packed up and thrown out. Then I took a bath and fell asleep. My dream was full of him. He was eighteen and broke. We were outside the university library. He stepped in front of me and scared off some rich kids who were harassing me. At twenty,he worked odd jobs for months. He did it to buy a decent suit for my birthday party. He stopped me. “Victoria,I know I have nothing right now.No connections,no future.But…can you wait for me?Five years…no,three.In three years,I’ll make something of myself.I’ll earn the right to pursue you!” Back then,I had laughed. I found the ambitious boy amusing. I laughed in my dream and woke up laughing. My pillow was wet with tears. I sighed and wiped my tears. I opened my bedroom door. Chloe stood outside my door,deathly pale. “Miss Sterling,I came to apologize.” Her eyes were red. She pressed an abortion clinic appointment slip into my hand. “I never meant to ruin your marriage.” Didn’t ruin it? Just slept with my husband?

Her shameless logic almost made me laugh. I blocked the door with my arm. “The baby is yours.Your choice.”I shoved the slip back at her. “Don’t try to guilt-trip me with it.Get out.” I went to shut the door. Chloe pressed her hand against it. “Miss Sterling,it’s true!” “You got me out of that town.Without you,my parents would have married me off to that drunk.They would’ve used me to clean up their mess and bankroll my brother.” I watched her coldly. I wanted to hear what she would say. Her eyes welled with tears. She looked down,her hand on her stomach. “He told me you never wanted children.He said he’d given up on having a family with you.I know that doesn’t excuse anything.But I lied to myself.I thought if I got pregnant,maybe he would choose me.I know it sounds pathetic.” My stomach turned. I felt sick. “So what was the plan?I’d raise the baby as my own while you disappeared?” Chloe bit her lip. She looked up at me for a second,then lowered her head. “Fine.” I stared right at her,a humorless smile playing on my lips. “You’ll go to Europe and stay there until the baby is born.” I paused. “I’ll have someone take the baby the moment it’s born.” “You will stay abroad.Forever.Never see Ethan or the child again.Do you agree?”

Silence fell. She said nothing. After a long moment,she dropped the act. “Miss Sterling,you saved me.But compared to your condescending charity,Ethan is truly good to me.” I almost laughed.I still remembered their first meeting. Ethan had hated that she dirtied the carpet.He made her wipe it clean with her sleeve. “All you did was help me escape my hometown.You got me out,but I lost my family because of you.Ethan is different.” “He got my brother a job in the city,helped my parents pay off their debts,gave me the warmth of a normal family.He’s treated me better than you.” I felt sick again. Since childhood,her useless brother had pushed their parents to sell her for video game money. Her greedy parents nearly beat her to death trying to marry her off to an alcoholic. I paid them off and had a lawyer put them on notice. She would still be trapped there if it weren’t for me. Now she thought Ethan was better for being”generous”to that trash? I suddenly regretted every cent I had ever spent on her. I was done with her. “That’s enough,”I said.”You’re fired.” Chloe’s lip trembled. “Miss Sterling…” “It’s Ms.Sterling to you.” “But—” “Get out!” “But…the penthouse is in my name now.” I froze. Then I heard a car downstairs. Ethan was here.

He dropped the act,wrapped an arm around Chloe,and comforted her with a tenderness I’d never seen before. “Honey,wait for me in the car.” We were together for two years.Married for three. Ethan was good to me. He remembered everything I liked. No matter where I traveled for work,he would fly out to meet me. Everyone said I was lucky to have a husband like him. But now I understood. What he gave me wasn’t love. It was performance.With Chloe,it was different. He watched her get into the car. Then he turned back to me,a hint of blame in his voice. “Tori,you were too impulsive.” “Whatever Chloe did,she’s pregnant.You didn’t have to go that hard on her.” I looked away and fought back tears. “Cut the crap.What did she mean,this penthouse is hers?” Ethan sighed. He took out a document. The money for this penthouse came from my premarital account. But I was focused on my sick father at the time. Ethan handled all our finances. He had suggested putting the property into a new LLC for”tax optimization.” I signed the papers without reading them. Ethan had secretly changed the LLC’s beneficiary to Chloe. The transfer date was the day my father died. Rage flooded me. Smack. I slapped him across the face. “You son of a bitch!”

Ethan tilted his head and kept talking. He still spoke calmly. “She’s carrying my child.I can’t make it official,so I can only compensate her with material things.You’re not short on properties.She’s used to living here.So I transferred it to her.” Blood rushed to my head. My legs nearly gave out. I grew up in this house. Before my father founded the Sterling Group,it was only an old home. My childhood memories were of curling up here to watch Mom read. And waiting for Dad to get home from work. Later,when Mom fell gravely ill,Dad sold the house to pay for her treatment. Her dying wish was to come back here one last time. Ethan knew what this house meant to me. And he still gave it away. My throat tightened. I bit my lip hard to keep the tears from falling. I finally spoke. “How dare you…” I swayed.Ethan reached for me. “Tori,face reality.Your father is gone.You dropped everything to care for him for three years.You’ve spent the last month grieving instead of running the company.The Sterling Group isn’t the same anymore.” He reached to smooth my hair. “You’re a woman.Why make life so hard for yourself?Wouldn’t it be better to leave everything to your husband?”

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1 I dated Arthur for three years. At first, our friends thought he was just playing around, but eventually, they were wishing us a lifetime of happiness and a house full of kids. But I was the only one who knew the truth. Behind closed doors, almost every night, he’d whisper to me: We don’t do commitment, babe. Just love. Finally, the day came when his family demanded he marry for status. He gave me a twenty-million-dollar breakup fee. I took it without a second thought. I turned right around, dialed his little brother’s number, and said: “Ten million to buy you for the rest of your life. Is that enough?” When Arthur slid that black card across the table, his face was as unreadable as ever. I searched his features, desperate to find a single trace of guilt or reluctance. Unfortunately, I found nothing. Well, not exactly nothing. There was a shift, but it wasn’t what I wanted to see. For the first time in three years, those usually affectionate eyes of his held something else—a heavy, exhausted kind of relief. “Cassidy,” he murmured, deliberately softening his voice. “The family arranged a marriage. It’s the Sinclair girl. You know how it is. We need this alliance.” I didn’t say a word. I just picked up my cold brew and took a slow sip. It tasted bitter. “These past three years…” he trailed off, seemingly weighing his words carefully. “I haven’t treated you badly. From now on, whatever resources the company has, whatever your studio needs—just say the word.” I set the glass down. The sharp clink against the marble tabletop felt deafening in the dead quiet of the private room. “Twenty million?” I stared at the card sitting between us and let out a laugh. Arthur blinked, clearly thrown off. He had probably expected tears, screaming, the classic What did I mean to you? speech. He might have even braced himself to take a glass of iced coffee to the face. After all, when my company was just getting off the ground and my cash flow dried up, he wouldn’t even lend me half a million. His excuse? Money ruins romance. Now, suddenly, he was feeling generous. “Yeah,” he nodded, his tone slipping back into that arrogant, condescending charity he wore so well. “It’s enough for you to buy a nice place out of the city, keep running your studio, and live a good life.” Live a good life. How thoughtful. It was as if I’d been nothing more than a canary he kept in a gilded cage for three years. Now that the master was getting a new pet, he was handing me a severance package and telling me to fend for myself. I reached out and picked up the card. It was cold to the touch, its edges so sharp I felt like they could slice my fingers open. “So, you’re finally ready to do commitment, huh?” Just not with me. I looked up at him, my smile widening. Arthur’s face instantly froze. He opened his mouth to say something, then swallowed it back down. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes, swiftly replaced by irritation. He definitely hadn’t anticipated this reaction. “Cassidy, don’t do this…” He reached out, trying to grab my hand. I pulled away smoothly, slipping the card into my purse with a crisp, fluid motion. “Alright. We’re square.” I fired the words out, refusing to give him a single syllable more. The color drained from Arthur’s face. He watched me stand up and grab the Hermès bag he’d bought me for my birthday last year. Back then, he’d said it suited me. Looking back, he probably just thought a girl from my background was only worthy of a nice bag. “You don’t have anything you want to ask me?” He couldn’t help himself. There was a faint trace of expectation in his voice, one he probably didn’t even realize was there. I stopped at the door and glanced back at him. The overhead lighting cast harsh shadows across his face. This man, who used to make my heart race so hard I couldn’t sleep, was sitting there looking like a decaying statue—beautiful on the outside, rotting from within. “Ask what?” I tilted my head. “Ask if you loved me? Ask if the last three years were just a game to you? Or maybe ask…” I paused, flashing a smile as gentle as a spring breeze. “Ask if, every night when you whispered ‘We don’t do commitment, just love,’ you were already planning for today?” Arthur went completely pale. I turned the handle, walked out, and never looked back. The hallway was endlessly long, lined with expensive Persian rugs that swallowed the sound of my footsteps. This private club was one of Arthur’s favorite haunts. In three years, I’d accompanied him here countless times. I’d watched him close deals, entertain friends, even met his parents here. And every single time, he introduced me as a friend. “Cassidy is a bit shy. She’s not really into formal settings.” That was always his excuse. Then, when no one was looking, he’d squeeze my palm and steal a comforting kiss in some dark corner. I bought it. Or rather, I forced myself to buy it. When the elevator reached the lobby and the doors slid open, I caught my reflection in the mirrored walls. I was wearing a white dress. It was Arthur’s favorite style. He used to tell me I looked like moonlight in white—pure, soft, clean. Thinking about it now, moonlight doesn’t demand commitment. It shines for a moment, then fades away. How fitting. Stepping out of the club, the April night air hit me, carrying a sharp chill. I stood by the curb and pulled a cigarette from my purse. Arthur didn’t know I smoked. He once said it wasn’t a good look for a girl, so I never lit up around him. At least I didn’t have to pretend anymore. The second the lighter sparked, I dialed a number that had been sitting in my phone for three years, completely untouched. It rang five times before someone picked up. A lazy, gravelly voice came through, thick with sleep. “Yeah?” I could hear the thumping bass of electronic music in the background. “Jaxon,” I said his name, my voice so steady it surprised even me. “Ten million to buy you for the rest of your life. Is that enough?” Dead silence on the other end. And then, I heard him laugh. It was a low, rumbling sound vibrating through the speaker, carrying a raw, magnetic edge. “Cassidy?” He didn’t even hesitate on my name. “My brother just dumped your ass, and you’re already coming to me? That desperate?” “Desperate.” I exhaled a lungful of smoke, watching the pale cloud dissolve into the night. “Extremely desperate. So, is it enough?” Jaxon laughed again. “Send me the pin,” he said. “We’ll talk in person.” Hanging up the phone, I stood by the street, waiting for my ride. The night breeze caught the hem of my dress, dragging my thoughts back to a night exactly like this, three years ago. It had been April too, the air biting with the same cool edge. I had just graduated college and landed a job as a strategist at an advertising firm. Arthur was our biggest client, launching a new product line for his family’s empire. The first time I saw him was during the pitch meeting. He sat at the head of the long table, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up carelessly to his elbows, flashing a watch worth more than my life. After my presentation, he gave a curt nod. Didn’t say a word. But after the meeting, he pulled me aside. “Miss,” he said, handing me his business card with a slick smile. “The proposal is solid, but it’s missing something.” “Like what?” I asked. “Ambition.” He replied smoothly. “It’s too safe. Reads exactly like something a junior associate would write. The market you’re trying to capture doesn’t want caution. It wants to be surprised.” I took the card, my fingers brushing against his. He was warm. “And what exactly does a surprise look like to you?” I stared right back at him. Arthur raised an eyebrow. He told me later that was the exact moment I caught his attention. Most girls were either a nervous wreck around him or tripping over themselves to flatter him. But me? I questioned him. “Let’s grab dinner tonight,” he had said. “I’ll show you.” That dinner lasted three hours. We talked about everything from marketing tactics to art philosophy, from corporate warfare to life goals. Arthur had a silver tongue, but he knew how to listen, too. When he looked at me, it felt like his eyes held the entire night sky. When he finally dropped me off outside my apartment building, he said, “Cassidy.” It was the first time he used my first name. “I really admire you.” “Thank you,” I kept it polite. He smiled, reaching out to tuck a windblown strand of hair behind my ear. “You don’t have to be so formal,” he murmured. I didn’t answer. “I know what you’re thinking.” He stepped closer. He smelled like cedarwood mixed with the faint, intoxicating scent of red wine. “You think I’m some rich playboy looking for a one-night stand?” I did. “I’m not.” He looked at me, dead serious. “I just think it’s rare to find someone who actually gets me. We could try this. But without all the cliché baggage.” “Like what?” I asked. “Like commitment. Like marriage. Like the future.” He said, “That stuff is too heavy. Let’s just focus on right now. The feeling. Let’s just talk about… love.” When he said the word love, his voice was so soft it sounded like poetry. Like an idiot under a spell, I nodded. It wasn’t until much later that I realized every word he spoke that night was a meticulously crafted disclaimer. We don’t do commitment, just love. What a romantically packaged lie. It was so romantic it blinded me to the simple truth: A man who refuses to take on responsibility has absolutely no real heart to give. Twenty minutes later, a matte black sports car screeched to a halt in front of me. The window rolled down, revealing a face that looked strikingly similar to Arthur’s, but the vibe was entirely different. Arthur was polished, restrained, like a flawlessly cut diamond. Jaxon, on the other hand, was exactly what his reputation suggested—wild, reckless, like a jagged, unpolished stone. He had dyed his hair ash blonde. Three black studs lined the cartilage of his ear. The top two buttons of his black shirt were undone, showing off the faint edges of a tattoo tracing his collarbone. “Get in.” He jutted his chin toward the passenger seat. I pulled the door open and slid inside. The interior smelled like faint tobacco and some sharp, icy cologne. “Where to?” I asked. “Somewhere we can actually talk.” Jaxon hit the gas, and the car tore through the night like a sleek shadow. I buckled my seatbelt and turned to look at him. I’d seen this face a handful of times at family gatherings over the years. He was always sitting in the farthest corner, head buried in his phone, blending into the wallpaper. The illegitimate son. The brother Arthur looked down on the most. “The way you’re looking at me,” Jaxon broke the silence, his tone dripping with amusement, “is like you’re trying to appraise a piece of meat.” “I am.” I didn’t deny it. “I’m trying to see if you’re actually worth ten million.” He chuckled, taking a sharp turn down a narrow alleyway with one hand casually draped over the steering wheel. “How much did my saint of a brother give you? Twenty mil? Thirty?” “Twenty.” I told the truth. I figured there was no point in hiding anything from him now. “So you’re throwing ten at me,” he shot me a sideways glance, his eyes razor-sharp. “What about the other ten? Retirement fund?” “No,” I said flatly. “That ten million is your seed money.” The car slammed to a halt. We were parked outside a hidden speakeasy. The sign was tiny, just a neon Whisper flickering in the dark. Jaxon killed the engine and stared at me through the dim light. “Make it make sense.” His voice dropped, losing all its playful edge. “Cassidy, I’m not an idiot. You just got dumped by my brother, and five minutes later you’re calling me, offering ten million. What the hell is your game?” I met his gaze head-on. “I need you to do something for me.” “What?” “Simple. Blow up Arthur’s engagement.” Silence. A long, suffocating silence. Jaxon stared at me for a solid minute, and then he just started laughing. A loud, chest-deep laugh that had him leaning over the steering wheel, wiping a tear from his eye. “Fascinating,” he breathed, still chuckling. “Absolutely fascinating. Cassidy, I severely underestimated you.” He leaned in closer. The smell of tobacco suddenly felt suffocatingly intimate. “Do you have any idea how important this marriage is to the family?” He kept his voice low, his face inches from mine. “The Sinclairs are sitting on the zoning permits for the Eastside development. The family’s new commercial hub is dead in the water without that land. If he marries the girl, he gets the permits, and his spot as the heir is untouchable. But if the wedding goes up in flames…” “The old man cuts him loose,” I finished the thought. Jaxon raised an eyebrow. “You know a lot.” “Three years,” I said coldly. “Is plenty of time to learn where the bodies are buried.” Like the encrypted files on Arthur’s laptop. Like the audio recordings of him drunk, complaining that marrying the Sinclair girl was selling his soul. Like the trail of corporate resources he funneled under the table just to keep me happy. I kept the receipts for all of it. “How exactly do you want to play this?” Jaxon asked. “You have proof of Arthur’s shady dealings.” I locked eyes with him. “Three years ago, when he acquired the Eastside plot, he hired thugs to intimidate the locals to drive the price down. He buried it, but you kept the evidence. Am I right?” Jaxon’s eyes shifted. “How do you know that?” “Because you hate him,” I said softly. “I haven’t forgotten how your mother died.” The air in the car instantly turned to ice. Jaxon’s mother had been the old man’s mistress. She died under highly suspicious circumstances. The family spun it as an accident, but everyone in their circle knew Arthur’s mother—the legitimate matriarch—had her fingerprints all over it. “So,” I pushed forward, “you give me that evidence. I’ll make sure the old man sees it, and I’ll make you look like the hero. In exchange, you get me the proof that Arthur isn’t exactly a loyal fiancé, and you drop it right in the Sinclair girl’s lap.” “That spoiled princess hates being lied to more than anything.” Jaxon leaned back against his seat, his fingers absentmindedly drumming a rhythm on the steering wheel. “How long have you been planning this?” he asked. “Since the first time he told me we weren’t doing commitment.” He smirked, his eyes narrowing like a fox sizing up its prey. “Deal.” He held out his hand. “But ten million isn’t going to cut it.” “What do you want?” “I want Arthur’s seat at the table,” he said. “When the dust settles, the VP spot belongs to me.” I looked at his outstretched hand, but I didn’t take it. “Fine,” I said. “But you have to prove you’re actually useful first.” “How?” “Three days from now. The family gala. The Sinclairs will be there.” I pulled a small recording pen from my bag and hit play. Arthur’s voice floated through the car, slurred and drunk: “Marriage? I’m practically selling myself. That Sinclair bitch is a nightmare. If it wasn’t for her family’s land…” I clicked it off. Jaxon’s eyes lit up. “You want me to accidentally play this at the gala?” he asked. “No,” I slipped the pen back into my bag. “That’s way too obvious. I need you to orchestrate a moment. Make sure his precious fiancée overhears it purely by chance.” “And then?” “And then,” I smiled, “we get to see exactly how much of a nightmare the Sinclair girl really is.” After parting ways with Jaxon, I went back to my apartment. It was a place Arthur had bought—a sprawling, two-thousand-square-foot penthouse right in the heart of the city. He’d said, “Cassidy, this is close to my office. It’ll make it easier for me to come see you.” Easier for him to come see me. It was never our home. It was just a convenient pit stop. I unlocked the door, and the motion-sensor lights flickered on, casting a warm glow over the entryway. Sitting right by the door was a pair of plush pink slippers. Arthur bought them. He said girls should wear pink. I kicked off my heels and walked barefoot across the freezing marble floor. I opened the fridge. It was packed with imported groceries. Arthur had hired a private nutritionist to prep my meals, delivered daily, claiming it was for my “health.” So thoughtful. I grabbed a bottle of ice water and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, the city was alive—a sea of neon lights and endless traffic. From here, I had a perfect view of his family’s corporate headquarters. The lights in the top-floor office were still burning. He was probably still working. Or out to dinner with his fiancée. My mind drifted back to a night about a year ago. We’d been together for two years by then. Things felt stable. Comfortable. My friends had started teasing me. “He treats you so well. When’s he going to put a ring on it?” I always just laughed it off. That night, Arthur had a few drinks. He was resting his head on my shoulder, lazily twirling a strand of my hair around his finger. “Cassidy,” he mumbled. “Rick asked me again today when I’m going to marry you.” Rick was his best friend, the only guy who actually knew the truth about us. “What did you tell him?” I asked. “I told him,” he chuckled, his breath warm against my neck, “that marriage is a transaction, but love is art. And I refuse to let our art turn into something vulgar.” What a beautiful way to spin it. Art. He called us art. But art requires an audience. It requires a gallery. It requires validation. Our art was locked in the dark, never allowed to see the light of day. “So you’re never going to marry me, are you?” I whispered. Arthur went quiet for a long time. Then he said, “Cassidy, we don’t do commitment. We just do love. Isn’t that better?” “I love you,” he kissed my forehead. “That’s enough.” Enough. Back then, I actually managed to convince myself that it was fine. Looking back now, it was pathetic. How much love can a man really give you when he won’t even give you the dignity of a title? I walked into the study and pulled open the safe hidden behind the bookshelf. There were no diamonds inside. No stacks of cash. Just a few very specific items: A flash drive containing a complete backup of every encrypted file on Arthur’s laptop. Including that little backdoor deal he made with a rival firm, trading his family’s resources for leverage on a side project. A voice recorder filled with every drunken confession he’d made since our first month together. Audio of him trashing his family, mocking the arranged marriage, bragging about his cutthroat tactics. A leather notebook detailing every single corporate expense he’d authorized for me over the last three years. Dates, amounts, purposes, the names of the fixers. And a stack of photos. The one right on top was taken three months ago, the day Arthur’s mother paid me a visit. He was out of town, and she practically kicked my front door down. She was dripping in bespoke tailoring and designer leather, radiating the terrifying authority of a matriarch who owned the world. “Miss.” She sat on my sofa, completely ignoring the tea I offered her. “I’ll get straight to the point. My son is getting married. To the Sinclair girl.” I stood in front of her, keeping my mouth shut. “I know what the two of you have been doing.” She looked at me like I was a piece of trash stuck to the bottom of her shoe. “I don’t care if young men want to play around. But there are lines that cannot be crossed.” “He is the heir to this family. His marriage dictates our entire future. You,” she paused, letting the silence hang, “are entirely inadequate.” I didn’t blink. “I heard you’re running a little startup?” She pulled a checkbook from her designer bag, scribbled on it, and slid it across the coffee table. “Five million. That should be plenty for your little business. Leave him alone. Stop dragging him down.” I stared at the check, and I laughed. “Ma’am,” I started, keeping my voice perfectly level. “How much do you think your son is actually worth?” The color drained from her face. “Excuse me?” “I mean,” I leaned over, picked up the check, and slowly ripped it in half right in front of her eyes. “To me? Arthur isn’t worth this much.” She shot up from the sofa. “You—!” “Also,” I tossed the torn pieces into the garbage can. “Do me a favor. Tell him that if he wants to break up, he needs to come do it himself. Sending his mommy to do his dirty work is just pathetic.” She was shaking with rage. She snatched her bag and marched toward the door. Before leaving, she turned back and glared at me. “You’re going to regret this, you little bitch!” “I already do,” I smiled sweetly. “I regret not realizing sooner that everyone in your family is cut from the exact same garbage cloth.” I had the housekeeper secretly snap a picture of that exact moment. Her furious, purple face contrasted beautifully with my calm, collected smile. It was a masterpiece of irony. I placed the photo back into the safe and locked it. My phone buzzed. A text from Jaxon: Tomorrow. 8 PM. The family gala. She’s wearing a sapphire gown and an emerald necklace. The move happens by the garden fountain. I replied: Got it. Another text popped up: Are you seriously going through with this? You guys had three years. That’s got to mean something. I stared at the screen. I typed out a response, deleted it, typed another, and finally just sent: He threw it away first.

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I am the default companion NPC bound to the ultimate Boss of a horror game. Everyone in the entire server knows it. I am cowardly and low-level. I don’t even know how to scare the players. Every time rookies enter the dungeon, I just hide in a wardrobe and shiver. Jarvis, on the other hand, is an Abyss-tier Boss. He is the most dangerous entity in the entire Infinite Corridor. With a single thought, he can reset any dungeon instance. So nobody understood. Nobody knew why a supreme being like him would ever look at a useless NPC like me. Only later did I realize. It wasn’t affection. It was merely a habit. 01 I had been with Jarvis for three years when the System launched the first cross-server event. It was a massive affair. All the high-tier players gathered. The Great Hall of the Abyss was ablaze with light. I sat right next to the Boss’s exclusive throne. That was my designated spot. It had been that way for three long years. Every monster knew it. Every player knew it. I belonged to Jarvis. At least, until the event began and a girl stepped forward. Her name was Sienna. She was the top-ranked player in the real-world server and the most popular streamer on the platform. She was beautiful, daring, and broke speedrun records with ease. In just six short months, she had risen to the legendary hall of fame. The moment she arrived, the crowd erupted into cheers. Jarvis sat on his throne, his expression as cold and detached as ever. But then Sienna walked up to the stage and smiled. “I’ve heard the Abyss Boss is unmatched,” she said, her voice carrying across the silent hall. “I’ve always wanted to test that theory.” The silence was absolute. Everyone knew her words were a direct provocation. Yet, in the very next second, Jarvis did something unexpected. He smiled. “And how exactly do you want to test it?” he asked. It was the first time he had ever acknowledged a player in public. I froze. Beside us, the skeletal butler responsible for tracking game data froze as well. The hall held its breath for two agonizing seconds before exploding into a frenzy of whispers. Sienna’s eyes lit up. “What if I win?” Jarvis rested his chin in his hand, looking completely unbothered. “Then you get a reward.” With a wave of his hand, a dark, shimmering authority panel materialized in the air. A collective gasp echoed through the room. That was the Abyssal Writ, the highest-tier clearance pass in the game. Whoever held it could enter Jarvis’s primary domain at will. For the past three years, that permission had belonged to only one person. Me. I stared at the glowing writ, suddenly feeling very cold. 02 Once the event ended, the community forums exploded. [Did the Abyss Boss just fall for the top streamer?] [Abyssal Writ granted to a player for the first time!] [Is the bound NPC finally losing her crown?] Dozens of posts flooded the front page. I didn’t read them. Clutching my plush rabbit close to my chest, I slipped back to my room. In the dead of night, Jarvis returned. Seeing that I was still awake, he reached out and gently ruffled my hair. “What’s wrong?” he asked. I looked up at him. “Where is the Abyssal Writ?” Jarvis paused, seemingly caught off guard by my question. “It was just a reward,” he said softly. “Required for the event.” I offered a quiet nod and lowered my gaze, refusing to say more. If it was just a reward, why did it have to be that specific token? If it was just for the event, why choose the one thing that connected us? Perhaps sensing my withdrawal, Jarvis pulled me into his arms. “Are you angry?” I shook my head. “No.” And I meant it. Because in that moment, I suddenly remembered something. Jarvis and I had never actually gone through a formal bonding process. I was merely a randomly generated NPC, while he was the supreme ruler of the Abyss. In theory, he could replace me whenever he pleased. I had no right to be angry. 03 The next day, I went to work as usual. Hide in the cabinet. Shed a few tears. Hand the key to the players. But the moment my shift began, a group of players barged in, recording with their system cameras and laughing. “Is this her?” “The NPC who got replaced by the streamer?” “She looks so ordinary.” “I heard the Boss kept her around for three years. He must be bored of her by now.” They chuckled among themselves. I curled up inside the wardrobe, hugging my knees, and kept silent. By afternoon, a new post topped the forums. [Breaking! Sienna receives permanent Abyssal clearance!] In the attached clip, Jarvis stood before his throne, personally handing the Abyssal Writ to her. Sienna accepted it with a radiant smile. The crowd cheered. Staring at the screen, a strange sense of detachment washed over me. Three years ago, when Jarvis gave me that same clearance, he had looked at me with the same intensity. He had told me, “From now on, nobody will ever bully you.” I had believed him for a very long time. 04 That evening, the skeletal butler came to see me. He hesitated for a long time before handing me an application form. “My lady,” he said gently. “Several other dungeons are currently short-handed on NPCs. If you wish to transfer…” He left the rest of the sentence hanging. But I understood completely. Everyone assumed Sienna would replace me. Even the monsters believed it. Staring down at the paper, I let out a soft, wry laugh. “Can I transfer to a completely different sector?” The butler blinked in surprise. “You want to leave?” I nodded. “Yes. I want a change of scenery.” He remained quiet for a long moment before asking, “Does the Master know?” I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter.” Three days after I submitted the request, the main System approved it. [NPC Designation: 0731.] [Transfer request: Approved.] [Effective in: Seven days.] Staring at the glowing notification, I felt a weight lift from my chest for the very first time. During those seven days, Jarvis became busier than ever. He was managing the cross-server events, streaming with Sienna, and coordinating with the main platform. The forums were entirely saturated with news of them. Some said Sienna was the only player worthy of standing beside the Boss. Some said she was the true protagonist of this world. Nobody knew I was already preparing to leave. 05 On the seventh night, Jarvis finally returned. He brought a mechanical rabbit with him. Standing at the doorway, exhaustion was written all over his face. “I heard you’ve been unhappy lately,” he said, holding it out. “I bought this for you.” Looking at the toy, I felt a sudden urge to cry. If this had been before, I would have been overjoyed. But now, it felt entirely meaningless. I took the rabbit and whispered, “Thank you.” Jarvis frowned, sensing the coldness in my tone. “Evelyn,” he said, using my name for the first time. “What is going on?” I simply smiled. Then, I unclasped the clearance pendant I had worn around my neck for three years. I placed it gently into his palm. “I am returning this to you.” The air in the room grew heavy. His expression shifted, hardening. “What is the meaning of this?” I met his eyes. “My transfer request went through. I am leaving the Abyss tomorrow.” Silence fell over the room like a physical weight. For the first time, Jarvis looked genuinely bewildered. He stared at me as if I were speaking a foreign language. “What did you just say?” I looked at him, the dim light catching his handsome features. He looked exactly the same as always, yet everything felt so distant. Suddenly, I lost the energy to argue. So, I let out a soft laugh and crinkled my eyes. “Nothing. Just a joke.” Jarvis watched me for a few seconds, as if searching for something. Ultimately, he just reached out and patted my head. “Don’t make jokes like that,” he said, his tone carrying a hint of exasperation, as if I were merely throwing another childish tantrum. I lowered my head and murmured an agreement. I didn’t explain, and he didn’t press. After all, over the last three years, I had said similar things so many times. “I don’t want to stay here.” “I want to work somewhere else.” “What if I run away one day?” Every single time, he would simply pull me into his embrace or offer a few half-hearted words of comfort. He had never once taken me seriously. That night, he left as usual, leaning down to kiss my forehead before he walked out. “Get some rest.” I stood by the door, watching his silhouette disappear down the long hallway. Only when the footsteps completely faded did I quietly close the door. 06 The next morning, the System finalized the process. [NPC 0731: Transfer fully effective.] I dragged my suitcase out of the Abyssal Citadel. There were no farewells, and I notified no one. I had already said my goodbyes the night before. It was just that no one chose to believe me. I boarded the transit train heading to Sector 13. Only after the train chugged to life and started moving did the intercom suddenly screech with static. Then, a name that had absolutely no business being broadcasted outside his domain echoed through the entire train. “Attention all units.” “The primary Abyssal instance has entered total lockdown.” “The Supreme Boss authority has seized control of all servers.” “Currently searching for NPC 0731.” I slowly raised my head. Outside the train window, the once-bright sky was slowly turning into the color of fresh blood. 07 Instantly, the entire carriage went wild. “The Supreme Boss authority?” “Is this a joke?” “The ruler of the Abyss never interferes with external sectors!” “Who on earth is NPC 0731?” The train was packed with monsters and minor NPCs, all whispering and looking at each other in confusion. I quietly pulled my hat down, a terrible premonition settling in my gut. A second later, the broadcast blared again. “Repeating notification.” “Target: NPC 0731.” “Name: Evelyn.” “Identifying features: Easily frightened, prone to crying, carries a plush rabbit.” The carriage fell into a dead silence. Dozens of eyes slowly turned to look at me. I froze. I was doomed. Three minutes later, I was sprinting through the train, desperately clutching my suitcase. “She’s over there!” “Catch her!” “The bounty is a hundred thousand points!” “Don’t let her escape!” I ran, tears streaming down my face. I had never realized I was worth so much money. The conductor chased me with a megaphone, shouting, “Miss Evelyn! Your boyfriend is looking for you! Please do not disrupt public order!” I nearly tripped over my own feet. What boyfriend? He was my ex. And who in their right mind locks down the entire server database over a breakup? Fortunately, the train finally screeched to a halt at Sector 13. The portal hissed open, and I dove straight through. 08 The world finally grew quiet. Sector 13, also known as the Ruined Fairground. It was one of the most remote and neglected dungeons in the game. There were no high-level players, no competitive leaderboards, and barely any decent loot. Its only saving grace was that it was incredibly far from the Abyss. Or so I thought. Two hours after stepping off the train, I saw the Abyssal Legion. The sky split open, revealing a massive, swirling rift. Thousands of flying monsters swarmed the heavens, blocking out the sun. The ground trembled as columns of high-ranking armored beasts marched in perfect formation. My jaw dropped. These people were absolutely insane. The supervisor NPC in charge of my reception turned pale. “Miss Evelyn, who exactly are you?” I wanted to know the answer to that myself. Just then, a system alert flashed before my eyes. [Server Announcement.] [The Abyssal Boss has upgraded the bounty.] [Anyone providing actionable leads on NPC 0731 will receive one million points.] The entire server lost its mind. The community forums crashed under the sheer volume of traffic. I sat in my tiny staff dormitory, watching the threads multiply at a dizzying speed. [The Abyss Boss Hunts Down His Runaway NPC] [Rumor Has It the Boss’s Girl Fled] [Does Anyone Know What Happened?] [One Million Points! My Mom Is Asking Why I Haven’t Logged In to Join the Hunt] There were tens of thousands of replies. [I heard she dumped him.] [No way, seriously?] [My buddy works in the Abyss. He said the Boss hasn’t slept in three days.] [Not three days, it’s been five.] [They’ve already terminated seventy-eight managers in the main dungeon.] I quietly shut down the interface, too terrified to keep reading. 09 That evening, there was a knock on my dormitory door. The supervisor stood there with a deeply complicated expression. “Miss Evelyn, someone is here to see you.” I blinked. “Who?” The supervisor swallowed hard. “Sienna.” A few minutes later, in the reception room, I met the legendary top streamer for the second time. She was even more stunning in person than on screen. When she saw me, she paused, seemingly surprised by my plain appearance. After a moment, she let out a soft laugh. “So, it really is you.” I nodded, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. Sienna looked at me and asked, “Why did you run?” I hadn’t expected her to be so direct. I remained quiet for a brief moment before replying, “I just wanted to work in a different place.” Sienna stared at me as if I had just given the most absurd answer in the world. “Just because of that?” I nodded. “Yes.” She laughed, shaking her head. “Evelyn, do you have any idea what’s going on?” “The entire server thinks I stole your spot.” I was stunned. Sienna leaned back against her chair, her expression showing a hint of weariness. “But the truth is, I’ve only ever seen Jarvis three times.” “The first time was at the event.” “The second was to receive the prize.” “And the third time…” She paused. “He came to find me.” I raised my eyes instinctively. Sienna continued, “He told me never to set foot in the Abyss again.” I sat frozen. “Why?” “Because he said it would make you unhappy.” The air in the room grew entirely still. Sienna stared down at her teacup, turning it slowly. “I thought he was out of his mind at first. But then I realized…” “He was just using me as a tool.” I had no words. “The event needed hype, and it needed a controversial figure, so he chose me. But the moment the event ended, he revoked my clearance immediately.” Sienna met my gaze. “Evelyn, did you ever even bother to ask him about it?” My mouth opened, but no sound came out. After that day, I indeed hadn’t asked a single question. I had simply filed for a transfer. 10 Suddenly, terrified screams echoed from outside the reception room. The entire building shook violently. Red alarms began to flash frantically on the walls. [Warning!] [Warning!] [An SSS-tier hazardous target has breached the perimeter!] [An SSS-tier hazardous target has breached the perimeter!] My heart leaped into my throat. The supervisor practically crawled into the room, gasping for breath. “Miss Evelyn! Run! The Abyssal Boss is here!” A deafening explosion tore through the room. The concrete wall crumbled into dust. Through the thick shroud of smoke, a familiar silhouette emerged. He wore a long dark coat, his pale skin contrasting sharply with the shadows, and his intense gaze locked directly onto me. It had only been seven days, but Jarvis looked visibly thinner. And terrifyingly cold. The entire hall was dead silent. Nobody dared to breathe. Only the automated system warnings continued to blare. I stood frozen, my chest thumping wildly. Jarvis stared at me as if I were a precious, long-lost treasure. After an agonizing pause, he spoke. “Evelyn. Come home with me.” I took a step backward. Jarvis’s entire body stiffened. The silence deepened. It was the first time I had ever refused to go to him. And it was the first time he had ever seen such unfamiliarity in my eyes. 11 Long after that day, someone dug up the surveillance footage of the encounter and posted it online. In the video, the most terrifying Boss in the game stood in the center of the ruins. And the usually timid NPC raised her head for the first time, asking him a quiet question. “Jarvis, did you come to find me because of a habit?” “Or because of love?” The silence in the hall was so profound you could hear a pin drop. Everyone waited for his answer. But Jarvis remained silent. He stared at me, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper. He looked like a man facing an impossible, unsolvable puzzle. Nobody in the room dared to draw a breath. Jarvis kept his eyes on me, eventually repeating, “Just come back with me.” I shook my head. “No.” His expression darkened. “Why?” I felt a profound exhaustion wash over me. In the past, I would have immediately explained myself. I would have told him why I was sad, why I felt slighted, and why I cried in secret. But now, I didn’t want to explain anymore. Because the pain I felt had been real. The moments of being overlooked had also been real. “Jarvis,” I said softly. “Have you noticed something?” “In these past seven days, you have never once asked me why I left.” He froze. “You only wanted to find me and drag me back. But you never cared about the reason I wanted to go.” Jarvis stared at me, speechless. Looking at him, many memories began to float to the surface. It wasn’t just about the Abyssal Writ. In the past, I had always made excuses for him. He was busy. He wasn’t good at expressing himself. He was the Boss. He had too many responsibilities. So every time I felt hurt, I kept it to myself. But those feelings never truly disappeared. They simply accumulated, day by day, until there was no room left to hold them. “I don’t want to go back.” 12 Jarvis stood frozen, the color draining from his face. The system interface popped up another alert. [Target’s desire to sever connection is rising.] [Estimated time to unbinding: 28 days.] [27 days.] The countdown had begun. Jarvis’s pupils contracted. This was the highest-level binding agreement. Once the countdown ended, I would no longer belong to the Abyssal instance. We would have no connection left whatsoever. He took a sudden step forward. I instinctively took a step back. Three years ago, when I first met him, I loved being near him more than anything. Even when I was shivering with fear, I would cling to his arm and refuse to let go. But now, I was actively dodging him. Jarvis’s face grew increasingly pale. He finally realized that I was truly letting him go. 13 That night, Jarvis did not leave Sector 13. The entire fairground dungeon was placed under maximum security. All the resident NPCs were too terrified to sleep. But after that encounter, Jarvis didn’t try to see me again. Some said he had returned to the Abyss and cancelled the bounty. A few days later, I returned to my dormitory clutching my toy rabbit. The moment I opened the door, I froze. A familiar box was sitting on the floor. I knelt down and opened it. Inside was an old scarf. The stitching was uneven and incredibly crooked. I had knitted it myself two years ago. I had spent an entire month on it, but when I gave it to Jarvis, he had simply said he didn’t care for such things. I had been heartbroken for a very long time. I never expected him to keep it. At the bottom of the box was a slip of paper with a single line written in his sharp, elegant handwriting. [I didn’t dislike it.] I stared at those words for a long time, unable to move. 14 Suddenly, a server-wide announcement blared across the entire system. [Emergency Notice.] [The hidden dungeon of Sector 13 is opening ahead of schedule.] [Hazard Level: Unknown.] [Dungeon Designation: The City of Oblivion.] Hearing the announcement, my face went completely white. Because three years ago, that was exactly where I had come from. Back then, I had no past, no memories, and no identity. My system profile simply read: [NPC 0731.] [Created: Three years ago.] Yet, in the dead of night, a lingering voice in my subconscious always told me that wasn’t the truth. Whenever I dreamed, I would see a city of snow, and someone standing in the raging blizzard, calling my name over and over. Every time I woke up, my chest would ache with an unbearable tightness. I had once asked Jarvis, “Did we know each other before?” He had been reviewing documents at the time. He had paused for a fraction of a second before answering quietly, “No.” And I had believed him. But now, as the City of Oblivion reopened, a profound sense of unease settled deep in my bones. The next day, the entire server was abuzz. An unknown hazard level, a complete system lockdown, and even leaderboard players were blocked from accessing any details. The forums went wild. By noon, the System issued a new exploration quest. [Countdown to the opening of Oblivion: 24 hours.] [Entry Condition: Must possess the Ancient Emblem.] The very next second, my inventory slot flashed with a brilliant red light. An item I had never seen before materialized. [The Ancient Emblem.] [Holder: Evelyn.] I gasped. How was this possible? Before I could process it, my entire system interface began to glitch violently. Screeching alarms echoed in my mind. [Anomaly detected.] [Anomaly detected.] [Archived data discovered.] [Bypassing restrictions…] A flood of memories crashed into my mind. I saw endless snow. I was standing on top of a high tower, with a roaring fire consuming everything behind me. In the distance, a young man covered in blood was stumbling toward me through the storm. His voice was muffled by the wind, but I could still hear his desperate plea. “Evelyn! Don’t jump!” A searing pain split my head. I fell to my knees, cold sweat soaking through my clothes. Static filled my ears. [Memory recovery: 1%.] [2%.] [3%.] At that exact moment, back in the Abyssal Citadel, the cup in Jarvis’s hand shattered into tiny pieces. The skeletal butler nearly fell to his knees in terror. “Master?” Jarvis slowly raised his head, his face incredibly pale. “Her memories are returning.” The air in the room turned to ice. The butler’s face went white. Because the entire Abyss knew. Three years ago, Jarvis had done something. Something that no one dared to mention. And now, that secret was about to unravel.

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This world is a novel. And I am its leading lady. I have known this fact from the moment I was old enough to understand anything. So, three days after I caught Preston cheating on me, I sat in my empty room with red eyes and spoke into the silence, acting just as spoiled as I always did. “Mother, this toy is dirty. Get me a better one.” The very next second, the air froze. The curtains billowed without a single breeze. The entire fabric of reality began to flutter and flip like the pages of a paperback book. A gentle, wildly excited voice echoed from the void. “What kind do you want, baby?” “Mommy will swap him out for you.” “If he doesn’t love my leading lady, he can go straight to hell.” … Finding out Preston was cheating on me was incredibly easy. The way he hid his phone screen, the canceled dates, the sudden distance. The signs were glaringly obvious. When a man loves you, he wants to tear his entire world open and lay it at your feet. When he doesn’t love you anymore, even a piece of plastic and glass becomes a highly classified restricted zone. I used to be able to grab Preston’s phone whenever I wanted. His passcode was my birthday. He used to tell me that I was allowed to see every single important thing in his life. Back then, Preston really was perfect. At least, when he still loved me, he was perfect. When my hands were freezing in the winter, he would tuck them into his heavy wool coat. When I worked myself into a stomach ache during endless board meetings, he would cancel hundred-million-dollar contract signings just to bring me medicine. When his grandfather tried to force him into an arranged marriage with another heiress, he knelt in the pouring rain outside the Lancaster estate for an entire night, just to beg my father for my hand. I remember him looking at me with bloodshot eyes, his voice trembling. “Audrey, I can lose absolutely everything else.” “But I cannot lose you.” I believed him back then. Because I was the female lead, and he was my leading man. The romance between the two main characters was supposed to be the strongest, most brilliant, most incorruptible thing in this entire universe. So when I first noticed him changing, I didn’t even suspect infidelity. I just thought he was overwhelmed with work. Harrington Corp was in the middle of negotiating a massive merger with Apex Ventures. The project was worth billions. It made perfect sense for him to be working late into the night. When he didn’t text back, I made excuses for him. When he said he had back-to-back meetings, my heart broke for his exhaustion. When he said he couldn’t make it to dinner, I had my private chef send hot soup to his office. Until that one rainy night. I waited outside the Harrington Corp headquarters for two hours. The rain was coming down in sheets. I sat in the back of my car, watching the lights on the top floor of his building flick off one by one. My driver turned around for the third time. “Miss Lancaster, would you like me to call Mr. Harrington?” I looked down at my phone. Half an hour ago, I had texted him: When are you coming down? I’m waiting out front. He didn’t reply. Ten minutes ago, I texted again: It’s raining so hard. I just really want to see you. Still nothing. I was never a clingy woman. I grew up knowing I was the main character, which meant I was suffocated by the world’s love. My father loved me. My friends loved me. The readers loved me. Even Mother, the author who wrote this universe into existence, played favorites with me so blatantly it was almost unfair. I never lacked love. So I never needed to act needy just to prove I was loved. But that night, I just desperately wanted to see him. Maybe it was because we hadn’t sat down for a proper dinner in seventeen days. Maybe it was because I had spent four hours sparring with a bunch of corporate sharks in the boardroom that afternoon. I won beautifully, but I felt inexplicably drained. Or maybe it was because, for the past two weeks, a strange, creeping anxiety had been gnawing at the edges of my heart. Like a flawless porcelain vase that looked perfect on the outside, but was secretly harboring a hairline fracture within. I wanted to see him. I wanted to hear his low, gravelly voice call my name. I wanted him to pull me into his arms. Just one hug. That was all I needed. But I didn’t get him. Instead, I watched a sleek black Bentley roll out of the underground parking garage. I knew that license plate by heart. It was Preston’s car. As the vehicle glided past me, the rear window was rolled halfway down. I saw Preston. And I saw the woman resting her head on his shoulder. She was wearing a white knit dress. Her hair was damp, her face pale. She looked like a fragile little wallflower battered by the storm. Draped over her thin shoulders was Preston’s tailored suit jacket. When Preston looked down at her, his eyes were incredibly soft. It was a specific kind of tenderness I knew intimately. A tenderness that used to belong exclusively to me. My driver saw it too. All the color drained from his face. “Miss…” I raised a hand, signaling him to stay quiet. The silence inside the car became deafening. I watched the Bentley disappear into the curtain of rain, and a sudden urge to laugh bubbled up in my throat. So my anxiety hadn’t been paranoia after all. My leading man really was tainted. I didn’t chase after them that night. I went straight to our new house. It was a sprawling custom estate we bought right after getting engaged. The architecture, the interior design, every single detail was handpicked to my taste. Preston had told me this would be our home after the wedding. He said it while kneeling in the dirt of the backyard, planting a row of rosebushes for me. This untouchable, elite billionaire had his expensive white sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his hands covered in mud. I had crouched next to him, teasing him. “Mr. Harrington, isn’t this ruining your ruthless CEO aesthetic?” He looked up at me, his eyes catching the sunlight. “For Audrey Lancaster, I’ll throw away any aesthetic I have.” But now, he wasn’t throwing away his aesthetic. He was throwing me away. I sat on the living room sofa, waiting from ten o’clock at night until two in the morning. Preston finally walked through the door. He carried the scent of rain mixed with the faint, lingering notes of a perfume I didn’t recognize. It was subtle. But I smelled it. The moment he walked in and saw me sitting in the dark, his brow instantly furrowed. “Why are you still up?” In the past, he would have said, Why are you waiting up for me? You must be exhausted. Look at that. Love and indifference don’t even share the same vocabulary. I looked up at him. “Where were you?” Preston paused in the middle of taking off his coat. “The office.” I let out a dry laugh. “The office?” He stared at me. “Audrey, what is that supposed to mean?” He rarely used my full first name like that in that tone. He used to call me his queen when he was teasing. Even when he was genuinely annoyed, he would just sigh and softly say, Audrey, please don’t be difficult. But now, he said it like we were entering a cold, calculated business negotiation. I didn’t scream. I just picked up my phone, pulled up the photo my driver had discreetly snapped, and turned the screen toward him. In the picture, Willow was leaning on his shoulder, buried inside his jacket. A rainy night. A luxury car. A fragile woman and a stoic billionaire. It looked exactly like a promotional poster for a romantic movie. Except, I was supposed to be the female lead of this story. I asked him, “Who is she?” Preston glanced at the screen. His expression barely shifted. He didn’t even look panicked. And honestly, his absolute calm hurt far more than panic ever could. Because his lack of panic meant he had already rehearsed this exact confrontation in his head a thousand times. He said, “She’s a new project assistant. Willow.” I nodded slowly. “Does a project assistant need to wear your clothes and use your shoulder as a pillow?” “She had a fever,” Preston replied, his voice cooling down. “I was just dropping her off.” “She doesn’t have family? She doesn’t have friends? She can’t call a cab? She can’t afford an ambulance?” Preston looked at me, a flicker of raw impatience bleeding into his eyes. “Audrey, could you stop being so suffocating for once?” That word finally made me freeze. Suffocating. Asking my fiancé why he was chauffeuring another woman home in the middle of the night was considered suffocating. I stared at him and let out a hollow laugh. “I ask you one single question, Preston, and you call me suffocating?” His frown deepened. “The way you’re acting right now. It’s just exhausting.” I didn’t say a word. The living room fell into a long, heavy silence. The rain battered against the floor-to-ceiling windows. I looked at the man standing in front of me, and he suddenly felt like a complete stranger. It was still the same face. The sharp jawline, the striking features. When he wore a black suit, he looked like a freshly sharpened blade. But I just had this overwhelming realization that the Preston who used to look at me like I hung the moon had died on some random night I wasn’t there to witness. The man standing in front of me was just a defective knockoff wearing my leading man’s skin. I stood up and walked right up to him. “Preston, do you have feelings for her?” He looked at me like I had just spoken a foreign language. “Audrey, stop being completely irrational.” I kept my eyes locked on his. “Answer the question.” He went silent for three seconds. And in those three seconds, I had my answer. He didn’t deny it immediately. That was all I needed to know. I really didn’t want to make a scene. It felt beneath me. But in the end, I lost control. Because at that exact moment, I still loved him. When a woman truly stops loving a man, she doesn’t scream. She doesn’t break things. Screaming is a cry for help. Cursing is just struggling against the pain. Tears mean you still want to be caught when you fall. I grabbed the antique vase he had given me and hurled it across the room. He had bought it for me at an auction three years ago for three million dollars. He had told me, It’s a beautiful piece of history, but it doesn’t hold a candle to you. Now that I think about it, when a man is spitting out sweet nothings, you can’t even trust the punctuation marks. The vase shattered against the hardwood floor. Porcelain shards exploded everywhere. Preston finally snapped. “Audrey, are you out of your damn mind?!” My eyes were burning. “I’m out of my mind? Preston, you’re the one cheating on me!” “I did not cheat on you.” “Then tell me right now, do you have feelings for her?!” Preston’s face turned to stone. He refused to speak. I took a step closer, my chest heaving. “Say it.” He finally opened his mouth, his voice dripping with ice. “Willow is not like you.” I laughed bitterly. “How so?” He looked down at me. His gaze was incredibly complex, yet entirely cruel. “She’s simple.” “She doesn’t feel the need to win every single battle, Audrey. Not like you.” I stopped dead in my tracks. So that was it. I was too strong. Too proud. Too radiant. Too incapable of playing the helpless victim. When he loved me, my sharp edges made me a breathtaking rose. Now that he didn’t, those exact same edges were just an annoyance. I asked him, “Preston, did you forget? When your family threw you to the wolves, I was the one who stood by you and helped you win your empire back.” The color drained from his face, replaced by a dark, ugly flush. “And?” he spat. “Are you going to hold that over my head for the rest of my life?” That single sentence disgusted me more than the actual cheating. I wasn’t trying to hold the past over his head. I just wanted him to remember that we used to stand shoulder-to-shoulder against the world. But he had already forgotten. Or rather, he hadn’t forgotten. He just refused to acknowledge it. Because acknowledging our history meant admitting how pathetic he was acting right now. I looked at him, and the tears finally spilled over. “Preston, you’ve changed.” He looked away, his voice dropping into a cold monotone. “People change.” He was right. People change. Which meant even a male lead could become absolute trash. After that night, Preston and I didn’t speak for three days. On the first day, I cried until I couldn’t breathe. My eyes swelled up, and my throat went raw. I sat on the floor of my massive walk-in closet, pulling out every single thing he had ever given me. Diamond necklaces. Ruby earrings. Haute couture gowns. Handwritten cards. I read his old handwriting. Happy birthday, my queen. May my Audrey always keep her chin up. Never bow your head. I will always be standing right behind you. I read the words never bow your head, and I laughed so hard fresh tears streamed down my face. Preston, you’re the one trying to force my head down now. On the second day, the crying stopped. I started cleaning house. I had my assistant box up every piece of jewelry he ever bought me and sent it straight to an auction house. I had my staff pack up every item of clothing he left at my place and ship it to his corporate headquarters. I called the venue we booked for the wedding and canceled the reservation. The designer crafting my custom wedding gown texted me, asking if I was absolutely sure. I stared at the screen and typed back a single word. Positive. By the third day, I had found complete and utter peace. Preston finally sent his first text since our explosive fight. Are you done throwing your tantrum? Ten minutes later, another message popped up. Come home when you’re finished acting like this. I read those two sentences and suddenly realized all the tears I shed on day one were a total waste of hydration. Look at him. He didn’t even think he was in the wrong. He genuinely believed I was just having a dramatic episode. He thought I was going to follow the old script. Be angry, cry it out, and inevitably run back into his arms. I stared at the glowing screen, absolute clarity washing over me. I typed out a reply. Preston, do you honestly believe that no matter what you do, I will always forgive you in the end? He replied almost instantly, as if I had asked the dumbest question in the world. Audrey, what we have isn’t something ordinary people can compare to. He sounded so incredibly entitled. As if the phrase what we have was a magic spell that could instantly erase betrayal. I let out a soft scoff and typed back. So you think just because you have protagonist armor, you get free passes to screw up? The moment that message delivered, my phone started ringing violently. It was Preston. The ringtone grated against my ears like nails on a chalkboard. In that split second, I knew for sure. He knew. He knew he was a “main character.” But he didn’t understand the full scope of the rules. He knew he had plot armor, but he had no idea where that armor actually came from. He forgot one crucial detail. He didn’t write the rules of this universe. On the night of the third day, I slipped into his favorite black silk dress and poured myself a heavy glass of red wine. I sat in the middle of my cavernous, empty bedroom and looked up at the ceiling. I rarely called out to Mother directly. Mother was the author of this world. She created me. She favored me above all else. She gave me my beauty, my wealthy background, my intelligence, my flawless plot armor. And she had given me the Preston who used to love me with his entire soul. When I was a little girl and tripped in the garden, Mother would write a gust of wind to blow soft petals into my palms to cushion the fall. When I was nervous before an exam, she made sure the test only covered the exact chapters I had reviewed. When I got kidnapped for the first time, she immediately wrote in ten police cruisers and a spectacularly unlucky car crash for the kidnappers. Mother used to tell me. Audrey, you are mommy’s leading lady. I didn’t write you into existence just so you could suffer. I always remembered that. But I never expected that the first person to ever truly break my heart would be the male lead she wrote specifically for me. I drained the glass of wine. My eyes were still slightly red, but my voice was completely soft. Just like when I was a little girl asking for a favor. “Mother.” “This toy is dirty.” “Get me a better one.” And so, the world hit pause. The curtains billowed. Every light in the room flared blindingly bright, then dimmed all at once. I heard the sound of pages turning. One page. Two pages. Three. It sounded like someone angrily flipping through a manuscript that had gone horribly wrong. Then, Mother’s voice echoed in the room. She sounded loving, thrilled, and laced with a barely contained, homicidal rage. “What kind do you want, baby?” “Mommy will swap him out for you.” “If he doesn’t love my leading lady, he can go straight to hell.” My eyelashes fluttered, and I finally smiled. In that exact moment, I knew. Preston was finished. Not just because I was done with him. But because the universe itself was done with him. Mother’s voice grumbled in my ear, cursing up a storm. “I am so entirely sick of this guy.” “I wrote him to be deeply devoted. I gave him a billion-dollar empire, an eight-pack, a genius-level IQ, a clean background, and a borderline obsessive love for you. And he turns around and catches feelings for a pathetic little wallflower?!” “Is his brain actively rotting?” I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “Mother, your language is very unprofessional for an author.” Mother scoffed. “He’s cheating on my daughter. Why the hell would I care about being professional?” “Tell me, baby, what exactly are you looking for in the new one?” I leaned back against the velvet sofa and actually thought about it. “He needs to be gorgeous.” “Obviously,” Mother replied. “Better looking than Preston.” “He needs to be rich.” “Filthy rich. Richer than Preston.” “He needs to be obedient.” “Taking notes on that one.” “And he needs to be a little unhinged.” Mother went silent for two full seconds. Then, her voice spiked with pure excitement. “Baby, you’ve finally grown up.” I was speechless. She didn’t need to sound quite so proud. I swirled the remaining drops in my glass. “But not the irrational, annoying kind of crazy. I want him to be a ruthless monster to the rest of the world, but perfectly behaved when he’s with me.” Mother snapped her fingers. “Understood. A gentle, unhinged, devoted hound. The absolute premium upgrade.” I nodded. “Add a little bit of danger.” “Done.” “And he absolutely cannot have a soft spot for helpless little white lotuses.” Mother’s voice dropped to absolute zero. “I’d like to see any of them try.” I smiled. “Mother.” “Hmm?” “Will Preston regret it?” Mother stayed quiet for a moment. Then she said. “Yes.” “But not because he deserves the luxury of regret.” “He’s going to regret it because mommy is going to show him exactly what it looks like when a male lead gets reduced to absolute garbage in just three days.” I lowered my eyes. The lingering ache in my chest was slowly being smoothed away. Not because I wasn’t sad anymore. But because I knew my sadness wasn’t going to be a pointless waste of energy. There are so many women in this world who have to swallow their pain and suffer in silence. But I was different. I was the female lead. If I suffered, the heavens would rewrite the script just to make it right. This was a romance novel, after all! When I woke up the next morning, the sunlight was pouring through the windows. I walked downstairs in my silk robe. My butler informed me that Preston was here. He was sitting in the living room, looking terrible. We hadn’t seen each other in three days, and he looked visibly exhausted. I used to hate seeing him like this. A single crease in his brow used to make my heart ache. Now, looking at him just felt like a mild annoyance. Preston stood up when he saw me coming down the stairs. His eyes locked onto my slightly swollen eyelids, and he hesitated. “You’ve been crying?” I gave a dry smile. “Isn’t it obvious?” His brow furrowed deeply. “Audrey, we really don’t need to make this so ugly.” Ugly. There he goes again. I walked over to the sofa, sat down, and took a sip of the coffee my maid handed me. “Did Mr. Harrington come all this way just to lecture me?” He hated it when I called him Mr. Harrington. Predictably, his expression darkened. “Audrey.” “Don’t call me that,” I cut him off. Preston fell silent for a few seconds, actively suppressing his temper. “I can explain what happened the other night.” I looked up over the rim of my cup. “Explain why you were playing chauffeur for Willow in the middle of the night?” “She had a fever.” “Explain why you let her sleep on your shoulder?” “She was incredibly weak.” “Explain why you gave her your clothes?” “It was raining.” “Explain why it took you three entire days to show up here?” He had no answer for that one. I let out a short laugh. “Look at that, Preston. Every single one of your excuses sounds perfectly reasonable on its own.” “But when you put them all together, it’s just repulsive.” Preston’s face turned grim. “Do you always have to speak to me like this?” “I’ve always spoken like this.” I stared right back at him. “Didn’t you used to love it?” His breath caught in his throat. I set my coffee cup down, taking my time. “You used to tell me that I had every right to be proud, to have sharp edges, to never back down.” “Why don’t you like it anymore?” “Because Willow isn’t like that?” Preston’s eyes turned freezing cold. “This has absolutely nothing to do with Willow.” I just gave a soft, noncommittal oh. Right on cue, a timid, fragile voice drifted in from the foyer. “Mr. Harrington…” I glanced toward the door. Willow was standing there in a pristine white dress. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she was clutching a stack of folders to her chest. When she saw me, she practically flinched, taking a half-step back like a startled deer. “Oh, Miss Lancaster, you’re here too…” I raised an eyebrow. What an interesting choice of words. We didn’t know each other at all, yet she was acting like she had stumbled into my territory. Anyone watching would think we were a couple of concubines fighting over the emperor’s favor. Preston whipped his head around, frowning. “What are you doing here?” Willow lowered her voice to a pathetic whisper. “Mr. Harrington, the paperwork for Apex Ventures needs your signature immediately. The executive secretary said you were here, so I just…” Her eyes welled up with fresh tears. “I’m so sorry. Am I interrupting something?” Give the girl an Oscar. I looked down at my coffee and stayed quiet. Preston looked at Willow, then looked back at me. In that split second, I could practically hear the gears turning in his head. Willow was fragile and helpless. I was cold and dominant. Therefore, he automatically assumed I was about to verbally destroy her. Sure enough, his next words were aimed at Willow. “Go wait for me outside.” Willow bit her lower lip. “But the documents…” “Outside.” A single tear spilled over her lashes. She shot me a terrified glance, spun on her heel, and practically sprinted out the door. I clapped my hands slowly. “Spectacular.” Preston’s face was livid. “Audrey, are you happy now?” I looked at him like he was insane. “She ran away on her own. What does that have to do with me?” “Did you really have to push her like that?” I almost laughed in his face. “What exactly did I say?” Preston froze. Because I literally hadn’t said a single word to her. But his savior complex was so deeply ingrained that he instinctively blamed me for her tears. I looked at him, and the very last shred of nostalgia I held in my heart was thoroughly, completely eradicated. “Preston.” “What?” “Did you know? Three days ago, I was actually pretty heartbroken over this.” His eyes flickered. I kept going. “But I’m not heartbroken anymore.” He seemed to realize where this was going. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “What are you trying to say?” I stood up and walked until I was standing right in front of him. “I’m saying I don’t want you anymore.” Preston froze completely solid. For a second, he just looked bewildered. As if the mathematical possibility of me ever saying those words had never even entered his brain. After a few beats, he let out a dark chuckle. “Audrey, is this your new strategy to force me to apologize?” I smiled. “You flatter yourself.” I picked up a thick manila envelope from the coffee table and shoved it into his chest. “Notice of cancellation for the engagement. Confirmation of cancellation for the venue. The asset division strategy for all our joint ventures, and a finalized ledger of every single asset you ever transferred to my name, all ready to be returned.” “Preston, you know me. When I cut dead weight, I don’t drag my feet.” The color drained out of his face, inch by inch. “You’re serious?” “What did you think?” I tilted my head. “Did you really think I was playing some childish game of hard to get?” Preston stared at me, his eyes burning. I could see the rage. But beneath the rage, I finally saw the creeping panic clawing its way to the surface. Too bad it was way too late. “Audrey.” His voice dropped into a low, commanding register. “Calm down.” My smile only grew sweeter. “I’ve been calming down for three days.” “I am completely, entirely calm.” Right at that moment, a sharp gasp echoed from the front porch. “Mr. Harrington!” It was followed immediately by the shattering of glass. Preston’s instincts kicked in. He spun around and sprinted out the door without a second thought. I stood in the center of the room, watching him run. Look at that. Habits really are terrifying. He didn’t even look back at me once. A few minutes later, my butler walked in, looking incredibly strained. “Miss, the young woman outside accidentally knocked over the Ming dynasty replica vase by the entrance. She scraped her hand.” I asked, “Is it serious?” “Not at all. Barely broke the skin.” I nodded. “Make her pay for it.” My butler blinked. “Pardon?” I smiled. “That vase was three million dollars.” He immediately bowed his head. “Yes, Miss.” From the porch, I could hear Willow’s pathetic sobbing. Preston’s furious voice cut through the air. “Audrey! It’s just a damn vase. Do you really need to be this vindictive?” I strolled out to the front door and looked down at them. Willow had a single band-aid wrapped around her index finger. She was hiding behind Preston, crying her eyes out. Preston was shielding her with his body, glaring at me like I was the villain of the century. I drawled, taking my time. “Mr. Harrington, it’s just a vase. Three million dollars. Will that be cash or wire transfer?” Willow turned ashen. “I… I didn’t mean to…” I nodded sympathetically. “Oh, so if it’s an accident, it’s free? Good to know. If I accidentally bulldoze the Harrington Corp headquarters, I assume I won’t have to pay for that either?” Willow sobbed even harder. Preston gritted his teeth. “She can’t afford that.” “And?” I looked him up and down. “Are you going to pay for it?” Preston hesitated for a fraction of a second. I laughed. “Make sense. She can’t afford it, but you definitely can.” “After all, you two are so very close.” Preston’s face was practically black with rage. “Audrey Lancaster!” I was bored with his yelling. I turned to my butler. “Add it to his tab and have the legal department draft the lawsuit.” Then I looked back at Preston. “Mr. Harrington, the gate is that way.” “Take your little project assistant and get off my property.” After dropping that line, I felt better than I had in weeks. Maybe it was the sheer power trip of having main character privileges. Or maybe it was just knowing that my shiny new toy was going to arrive very soon. That very night, disaster struck Harrington Corp. Apex Ventures abruptly announced the immediate suspension of all merger negotiations. Preston had been bleeding himself dry over this project for six months. He had bet the entire next three years of the company’s strategy on this deal. The second the news broke, Harrington Corp’s stock plummeted, wiping out billions in market value in a single afternoon. The financial news networks were having a field day. I was sitting in my dining room eating dinner when my phone started vibrating off the table.

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1 I suspected the new transfer student in our department had been reborn. She always managed to beat me to the punch, snatching away every single opportunity that was supposed to fall into my lap. Competition slots, faculty research projects, public presentations—she even managed to “guess” the exact location of the research materials I was about to hand in before I even opened my mouth. After having my opportunities hijacked for the third time in a row, I deleted the entire proposal I was supposed to submit, leaving nothing but an empty file in its place. She ran up to the podium, hugging her laptop to her chest, and flashed a bright smile. “Professor, I’ve already organized everything for Roselyn.” The projector flickered on. The lecture hall fell dead silent. I looked up at her, my face a mask of absolute confusion. “What proposal?” … The air conditioning in the lecture hall was broken. Waves of heavy, suffocating heat pressed down from the ceiling. The projector screen glowed with an ashy white light, and the smell of chalk dust mixed with cheap coffee drifted into my nose. I sat in the third row, my fingers resting lightly on the edge of my laptop, watching Patrika up on the podium. She was wearing a creamy white blouse. Her hair was tied back in a low, effortless ponytail, the sleeves rolled up to her forearms. In her arms, she was hugging my laptop bag. Or, to be more precise, a laptop bag that looked exactly like mine. She stood there with perfect posture, wearing the exact kind of smile that made professors nod in approval and put classmates at ease. “Professor Davis, Roselyn hasn’t been feeling well the past few days. I was worried she wouldn’t be able to finish her presentation in time, so I went ahead and organized the materials for her.” A few heads turned to look at me. I didn’t move a muscle. Patrika plugged her flash drive into the computer. Her finger swiped across the trackpad, and a file name popped up on the projector screen. Urban Historic District Commercial Revitalization Proposal – Final Version. The sound of chairs scraping against the floor echoed through the room. I heard my roommate, Chloe, suck in a sharp breath next to me. She grabbed my sleeve, dropping her voice to a frantic whisper. “Roselyn, isn’t that the topic you’ve been killing yourself over for the past two weeks?” I stared at the projector screen, a single thought popping into my head. Oh. Here we go again. Patrika double-clicked the file. White screen. Empty. It wasn’t that the content was still loading. From the first slide to the last, it was completely blank. There was a title, and absolutely nothing else. Not even page numbers. The low hum of whispers in the classroom instantly died. Patrika’s smile froze on her face. Her finger swiped down the trackpad a few more times. The pages flipped by, one after another. All of them pure white. Her throat bobbed. I could see the veins on the back of her hand bulging. “Maybe… maybe the file got corrupted.” I stood up. The legs of my chair scraped harshly against the floor tiles, the sound setting teeth on edge. Professor Davis frowned at me. “Roselyn, what is the meaning of this?” I closed my laptop, hugged it to my chest, and kept my voice perfectly level. “Professor, I have absolutely no idea what proposal she’s talking about.” Patrika’s head snapped up. I looked at her, my eyes even more innocent than hers. “The topic I registered for this week is Community Elderly Care Services Research. Not historic district commercial revitalization.” Chloe froze, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Someone in the back row muttered, “But Patrika just said she organized the materials for Roselyn.” “How did she even know Roselyn was going to do the historic district topic?” “And the file is completely empty. What exactly did she organize?” The hand Patrika was using to grip the mouse trembled. The mouse hit the desk with a loud clack. She opened her mouth to speak, then swallowed the words back down. Professor Davis looked at her, then looked at me. His expression darkened. “Patrika, who authorized you to submit her materials on her behalf?” Patrika pressed her lips together tightly. It took her two full seconds to finally force the words out. “I… I just heard her mention this topic before. I was afraid she was running out of time.” I blinked. “When exactly did I ever mention it to you?” She choked. The broken AC unit hummed loudly above us. The hot air blew across the loose strands of hair on her forehead. A fine layer of sweat broke out on her temples, and her carefully crafted smile slowly disintegrated. I pulled out my phone, opened my notes app, and turned the screen toward Professor Davis. “Professor, this is the research topic I submitted to the portal last night. The timestamp is right here.” Professor Davis looked down at the screen. The light from my phone reflected off his glasses. Patrika stared at that timestamp, her fingernails digging so hard into her palms that the cuffs of her pristine blouse wrinkled. I added casually, “As for the historic district topic, I actually scrapped that idea last week. I realized the data was too difficult to source.” Professor Davis looked up. “Patrika, step down.” Patrika stood there, completely paralyzed. She had already walked up to the stage. She had already said the words. She had already prepared to steal my presentation slot right out from under me. But when she reached out to grab the prize, her hand closed around empty air. I walked past her, up onto the podium, and plugged my own laptop into the projector. The first slide popped up. It was a photo of the rusted, peeling iron sign outside a local nursing home. The second slide was my interview logs. The third was a data spreadsheet. The fourth was a series of on-site photographs. I heard someone in the audience whisper, “She really did change her topic.” “Then what the hell was Patrika trying to pull just now?” Professor Davis flipped through my physical materials, his frown easing slightly. Patrika stood frozen by the side of the podium, her shoulders stiff as a board. I didn’t even look at her. I just faced the class and said, “My presentation begins now.” The light from the projector washed over my face, the brightness stinging my dry eyes. Deep down, I let out a very soft, quiet laugh. You thought you knew exactly which road I was going to take. So I decided to go off-roading. 2 The first time I realized there was something seriously wrong with Patrika was the day we registered for the university-wide event planning competition. It was pouring rain that day. A layer of muddy water pooled outside the administration building. Dripping umbrellas left a mess all over the floor. The student council office was packed shoulder-to-shoulder, the printer chugging away in the corner. I was holding my registration form, waiting in line. There were three people ahead of me. Chloe was standing right beside me, holding two cups of hot soy milk. The plastic bag was digging into her fingers, turning her knuckles white. She shoved one cup into my hands. “Drink it fast before it gets cold and tastes weird.” I had barely taken my first sip when a soft, sweet voice drifted through the office door. “Excuse me, I’m here to submit my application for the planning competition.” Patrika walked in, clutching a glossy folder to her chest. She had just transferred to the university a week prior. She smiled at everyone she met, and she always spoke a half-beat slower than normal, as if she was terrified of startling people. The faculty advisor took her application, flipped through a few pages, and his eyes instantly lit up. “This is a fantastic concept. Converting unused campus spaces. It fits perfectly with this year’s theme.” My teeth froze around the plastic straw. Chloe looked at me, her eyes wide. “Wait, isn’t that the exact same topic you chose?” I nodded. Not only was it the same topic, the specific angle was identical. I was planning to propose converting the abandoned bicycle sheds in the North Campus into a late-night study corner. I had literally just talked to Chloe about it in our dorm the night before. Chloe had even teased me, asking why I was neurotic enough to go out and count the exact number of lightbulbs currently in the sheds. Patrika pushed her folder slightly closer to the advisor, her voice sickly sweet. “I went over to the North Campus yesterday and took a look. It’s such a waste to leave those sheds empty. If we turn them into a study corner, students heading back to the dorms late at night could actually use them.” When she finished speaking, she turned her head and looked right at me. It was a split-second glance, so fast that no one else in the room caught it. But I saw the smile hiding in her eyes. It was the look of a spoiled child who had just snatched someone else’s candy—a smug satisfaction she couldn’t completely hide. The advisor didn’t even hesitate. He immediately wrote her name down on the recommendation list. By the time it was my turn to submit my form, the advisor looked troubled. “Roselyn, you and Patrika have the exact same topic. Her materials are a bit more fleshed out. Would you consider switching yours?” I gripped the registration form. The corner of the paper had gotten soaked in the rain, turning mushy beneath my thumb. Chloe was furious. “Professor, Roselyn has been working on this for weeks!” Patrika immediately walked over, lowering her eyelashes in a perfect display of guilt. “I’m so sorry. I honestly had no idea Roselyn was doing the same topic. Should I withdraw my application?” She said the word withdraw, but her arms hugged the folder even tighter against her chest. A dozen pairs of eyes in the office turned to look at us. If I told her to withdraw, I would look petty and jealous. If I didn’t, I would be swallowing a massive loss. I looked down at the form in my hand, folded it neatly in half, and shoved it back into my bag. “No need. You take it.” Patrika let out a very audible sigh of relief. She thought I didn’t notice. The second time was when Ivy Design Studio came to campus recruiting for interns. The founder of Ivy Studio was Jack Vance. I had been following his work obsessively for three years. I knew for a fact that after every campus recruitment seminar, he would stay behind for exactly ten extra minutes, purely to review students’ personal portfolios. The night before the seminar, I stayed up until 3 AM printing and binding my portfolio. The binding wire slipped and sliced my finger open. A tiny drop of blood smeared on the inside of the back cover. The next day, the lecture hall was packed. People were standing in the aisles behind the chairs. The heat from the stage lights made my back sweat. Jack stood on the stage, the sleeves of his black dress shirt rolled up to his elbows. He didn’t use notes when he presented his projects. His finger tapped casually against the laser pointer, his voice low but commanding enough to hold the entire room hostage. I sat in the second row, my portfolio resting on my knees. I had wiped the cover clean three times. The moment the seminar ended, before I could even stand up, Patrika practically sprinted from the back of the room, completely bypassing the aisles, and planted herself directly in front of Jack. “Mr. Vance, I read the case study on your factory revitalization project from last year. I actually did a similar mock-up exercise. Would you mind taking a quick look?” She handed him her portfolio. The cover image was a revitalized factory. Even more coincidentally, her core design philosophy was exactly the same as mine: utilizing natural light zoning instead of hard physical partitions. Jack took the portfolio. When he flipped to the third page, he paused. “You have a very distinct perspective on spatial flow.” Patrika smiled brightly. “I just think that the very first thing a person sees when they step into a space is far more important than how much furniture you manage to cram into it.” That exact sentence was written on the title page of my portfolio. I had never posted it online. I had only read it out loud to Chloe in the privacy of our dorm room. All the color drained from Chloe’s face. She grabbed my wrist, her voice tense. “Is she eavesdropping on us?” I didn’t answer. I just watched Patrika standing in front of Jack. Her back was perfectly straight. Her eyes were burning with an intense, calculated ambition. That wasn’t the look of someone who had just overheard a clever quote in passing. It was the look of someone who knew for an absolute fact that that specific sentence would make Jack stop and pay attention. Jack asked her to leave her email. My ten minutes were gone. That night, I sat at my desk in the dorm, flipping through my portfolio over and over again. The rain outside had finally stopped. Delivery scooters buzzed past the building one after another, their sharp, electronic horns piercing the quiet night. Chloe was lying on my bed, fuming. “Is she psychotic? Once is a coincidence, but twice? And she hits the nail on the head so perfectly both times?” I pressed my thumb against the dried blood stain on the back cover. It’s not a coincidence. It’s because she already knows. But how the hell did she know? The third time was the historic district presentation. Before that presentation, I only did one thing. I sat in my dorm, making sure Chloe was in the room, and I loudly announced that I was definitely moving forward with the historic district topic. I then created an empty file, named it Final Version, and slapped it right in the middle of my desktop where anyone could see it. My actual, brand-new topic was locked in an encrypted folder on my cloud drive. All my interview notes were saved directly to my phone. Chloe asked me, “Are you fishing for her?” I hit save on the empty file and closed my laptop. “Not exactly.” “Then what are you doing?” I looked out the window. The streetlights illuminated the wet pavement, the reflection of the dorm building rippling in the puddles. “I’m waiting to see if she actually takes the bait.” And she did. She took it hook, line, and sinker. 3 After the historic district presentation blew up in her face, Patrika laid low for two days. She stopped trying to talk to me. She dropped the whole friendly, helpful new girl act. But she started watching me a lot more. Waiting in line at the cafeteria, in the stairwell of the library, hovering near the sign-in sheet before lectures—she was constantly lurking just at the edge of my peripheral vision, clutching her phone, the screen lighting up and going dark over and over. Chloe was totally creeped out. “Do you think she knows you’re onto her?” I pushed the green peppers to the side of my lunch tray. “She doesn’t know.” “How can you be so sure?” “If she knew I was onto her, she wouldn’t be staring at me like that.” Chloe didn’t get it. I didn’t bother explaining. A person who survives by stealing the answer key is absolutely terrified when the teacher suddenly changes the test. She wasn’t investigating me. She was desperately trying to figure out if the answers she had memorized were somehow flawed. On Friday afternoon, the department sent out a mass notification. The upcoming university anniversary exhibition needed a team of students to curate the main pavilion. The prize was five thousand dollars, the final project would be featured on the university’s official website, and representatives from Ivy Studio were confirmed to attend. The second the message hit the group chat, my phone started buzzing off the hook. Chloe sent me a screenshot. “Roselyn, you have to apply for this. Jack Vance is going to be there.” I stared at the words Ivy Studio, my finger hovering over the screen. Jack Vance. After the seminar, I honestly thought my shot was completely gone. But as the crowd was clearing out that day, he had walked past me, and suddenly stopped. His eyes had dropped to the portfolio resting on my knees, zeroing in on the tiny, smeared bloodstain on the back cover. “Is that yours?” I nodded. He held out his hand. “May I see it?” Before I could even hand it to him, Patrika shouted from the front of the room. “Mr. Vance! The dean is looking for you!” Jack turned around. My portfolio was left hanging halfway in the air. Then he left. I shoved the portfolio back into my bag. The sharp edge of the paper caught my finger, leaving a paper cut. But now, the opportunity had circled back. I typed out two words: I’m in. Chloe replied instantly: Make sure she doesn’t find out your topic this time. I looked up and saw Patrika standing right in the doorway of the classroom. She clearly heard that. I placed my phone face down on the desk and didn’t bother lowering my voice. “It doesn’t matter if she knows. I’m doing a vintage photo wall. It’s a classic, safe bet.” Patrika’s footsteps halted for half a second. She didn’t walk into the classroom. She turned around and left. Chloe’s eyes widened in horror. “Are you out of your mind?! Why would you tell her?” I pulled out my sketchbook and wrote two words on the very first page. Audio Archive. Chloe stared at the words, and a slow, wicked smile spread across her face. “You are so damn evil.” I clicked the cap back onto my pen. “She loves showing up early to steal the spotlight, doesn’t she? Let her.” The day before the anniversary exhibition applications closed, Patrika submitted her proposal. A Vintage Photo Wall. She threw it together incredibly fast. Too fast for it to be a genuinely original idea she had just brainstormed. People in the student council group chat started showering her with praise. “Patrika’s execution speed is insane.” “The logistics for sourcing the alumni photos in her proposal are so detailed.” “Wait, didn’t Roselyn say she wanted to do a photo wall too?” Patrika sent a cute little emoji into the chat. “I had no idea Roselyn wanted to do the same thing! Should we team up?” Chloe was so furious she practically slammed her phone onto the desk. “She’s pulling the exact same stunt! She either forces you to team up and share the credit, or she makes you look like a jealous bitch if you say no.” I typed a reply in the group chat. “No need. I changed my topic.” The chat went completely silent for a few seconds. Patrika quickly replied, “Isn’t it a bit late to change topics now? Won’t you be rushing?” I typed, “It’s fine.” She replied again, “Let me know if you need any help!” I stared at that line of text and smiled. “Thanks, but I’m good.” On the day of the panel review, the small auditorium was half-full. The hardwood floors gleamed under the lights. The edges of the projector screen were slightly curled, and empty water bottles crowded the corners of the judges’ tables. Patrika went first. She presented the vintage photo wall flawlessly. The photo sourcing process, the timeline, the alumni messages, the interactive photo spots—every single detail was rock solid. As she wrapped up, she looked directly at the judges’ panel. “I hope this wall allows everyone who returns to our campus to see the footprints they left behind.” The room erupted in applause. As she walked off the stage, she passed right by me. Her voice was barely a whisper. “You’re up, Roselyn.” Her tone made it perfectly clear: Let’s see how you scramble your way out of this one. I walked up to the podium holding nothing but a single, black digital recorder. The projector lit up. There were no photos. Just a series of audio waveforms pulsing across the screen. I hit play. The first clip was the cafeteria lady. “I’ve been serving food here for twenty years. Some of these kids come back ten years after they graduate and still call me ‘Auntie.’ They tell me they miss the tomato and egg stir-fry from the second floor.” The second clip was the campus security guard. “There was this one girl studying for her master’s exams. She came to the library at 6 AM every single day. I watched her walk through those doors from the dead of winter all the way through the summer heat. After she passed, she came back and gave me a tin of candies.” The third clip was a retired professor. “A university isn’t made of brick and mortar. It’s the kind of place that, long after a person walks out the gates, they still find themselves wanting to look back.” The auditorium was dead silent. I saw someone on the judges’ panel slowly put their pen down. Jack was sitting in the second row. He was resting his elbow on the armrest, his eyes locked onto the screen. He was wearing a dark grey jacket over a crisp white t-shirt. He was sitting in the shadows, but the light from the projector reflected perfectly in his eyes. I delivered my final line: “Because of this, my pavilion won’t ask people to stand in front of a wall and take pictures. I want them to put on a pair of headphones, and listen to this university speak to them.” The room stayed silent for two full seconds. Then the applause hit like a tidal wave. It was significantly louder than Patrika’s. As I walked down the steps, I saw Patrika sitting in the front row. She was squeezing a plastic water bottle so hard the plastic was caving in. With a sharp crack, the bottle buckled. She looked up at me. That smug, victorious smile she usually wore was completely, entirely gone. 4 I was officially named the lead curator for the anniversary exhibition. The moment the announcement went live, the group chats exploded. “The audio archive idea is actually genius.” “I literally almost cried listening to the cafeteria lady.” “Roselyn absolutely killed it this time.” Patrika didn’t say a word. It took her ten full minutes before she finally sent a message: “Congratulations, Roselyn.” Two words, followed by a little flower emoji. Chloe stared at the emoji and sneered. “Why do I feel like she’s about to pull out a pair of garden shears and snip that flower’s head off?” I locked my phone screen. “Sounds about right.” Sure enough, the very next morning, a post popped up on the university’s anonymous forum. The title read: Rigged Selection? Student Changes Proposal Last Minute and Still Wins First Place. Is the Review Process Actually Fair? The post didn’t explicitly name me, but it laid out my demographic details perfectly. Junior, female, recently changed her topic during a class presentation, known to have had contact with professionals from Ivy Studio. The comments immediately turned toxic. “Wow, changing topics last minute gets you first place? Taking notes.” “Did someone leak the judges’ preferences to her?” “Wasn’t that Jack guy from Ivy Studio on the panel?” Chloe was so furious she was practically vibrating. “I’m reporting this post right now.” I stopped her. “Hold on.” “What are you waiting for? She’s literally throwing dirt on your name!” I took screenshots of the entire thread, making sure to capture the timestamps of every single comment. “I’m waiting for her to double down.” Chloe looked at me, then slowly put her phone down. By the afternoon, the post had blown up. An anonymous user dropped a photo in the thread. It was a picture of me handing my portfolio to Jack at the end of the recruitment seminar. The angle was incredibly malicious. It only captured my outstretched hand and Jack looking down, making it look exactly like we were secretly exchanging something illicit. The caption was a single word: Makes sense. Chloe slammed her hand onto her desk. “That photo could only have been taken by someone who was physically in the room that day. It’s Patrika. It has to be.” I stared at the photo for a few seconds. At the very edge of the frame, caught in the reflection of the glass door, was half of a creamy white sleeve. It was the exact same blouse Patrika was wearing that day. I sent the screenshots directly to the faculty advisor in charge of the student council, and forwarded a copy to Professor Davis. At 7 PM, the department called an emergency meeting. The fluorescent lights in the conference room were blindingly white. A row of paper cups lined the long table, tea leaves floating on the surface of the hot water. The professors, my project team members, and the student council executives were all present. Patrika was sitting directly across from me. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She spoke first. “Professor, I know everyone suspects me, but I swear I didn’t write that post.” Her voice broke, and someone immediately softened. “Patrika’s usually really sweet…” “Yeah, maybe someone else is just jealous of Roselyn.” I didn’t rush to speak. Professor Davis looked at me. “Roselyn, do you have anything to say?” I turned my laptop around and hooked it up to the main display screen. The first slide was the timestamp of the forum post. The second slide was an official request log for the security footage from the student council office. The third slide was the metadata for the anonymous photo that had been uploaded to the forum. I said, “The account that made the post logged in from Computer #3 in the public lab on the ground floor. The time was 12:47 PM.” Patrika’s fingers twitched. I kept going. “At that exact same time, a USB drive was plugged into Computer #3. The volume label on that drive is ‘YQQ’.” Patrika’s initials. Several heads in the room snapped toward Patrika. The color drained from her face. “That doesn’t prove it was me. Anyone can change a volume label.” I nodded. “You’re right. Which is why I requested the security footage from the hallway outside the computer lab.” A video popped up on the screen. Patrika walked into the lab, hugging her laptop bag to her chest. The timestamp read 12:44 PM. She walked out holding a cup of milk tea. The timestamp read 12:52 PM. The only sound in the conference room was the hum of the AC unit. Patrika shot up from her chair so fast it crashed into the wall behind her. “I just went in there to print some documents! I didn’t write that post!” Professor Davis’s face was stone cold. “Sit down.” She didn’t sit. She stared at me, a desperate, cornered fire burning in her eyes. “Roselyn, why are you blowing this wildly out of proportion? Forget the post for a second. Can you look everyone in the eye and explain your private relationship with Mr. Vance?” She finally pulled her knife out. I looked at her, and the lingering annoyance in my chest finally settled into a cold, satisfying focus. Alright. My turn. I clicked play on the next video. It was the security footage from the back of the lecture hall on the day of the recruitment seminar. The camera angle was crystal clear. Jack stepped down from the stage. I stood up with my portfolio. Patrika practically sprinted past me to shove her portfolio into his hands. Then, a professor called Jack away. I never once left the room alone with him. The video kept playing. Patrika stood by the doorway, raised her phone, and snapped a picture of me and Jack. The exact same picture from the forum. Someone in the room gasped loudly. Chloe crossed her arms and sneered. “Does that answer your ‘forget the post for a second’ question?” Patrika opened her mouth, but the words died in her throat. Tears finally spilled over her lashes, hitting the conference table with heavy taps. “I just… I just felt like it was unfair.” Professor Davis pushed his paper cup to the side. Water sloshed over the rim, soaking the meeting minutes. “Feeling something is unfair does not give you the right to fabricate vicious rumors about a classmate.” Patrika lowered her head. Her shoulders shook violently. But I could see her hands hidden under the table. Her fists were clenched so tight her knuckles were bone white. She wasn’t crying because she regretted what she did. She was calculating her next move.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “530567”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 At the overlook, I shifted angles repeatedly, chasing the perfect light. Framing Dana in my lens, I called out three times. She did not seem to hear me, her eyes fixed elsewhere. It was only when Owen shouted for her to smile that she lit up, beaming at him with a warmth I had not seen in months. A passing couple glimpsed Owen’s screen and laughed. Man, your girl must really adore you. Look at how her eyes light up. Owen’s ears flushed crimson. Dana cleared her throat, shifting her weight. I looked down at my DSLR. The viewfinder captured only a blurred side profile, making me look like a paparazzo hiding in the bushes. Since childhood, they had overlooked me, assuming I would follow their lead. In high school, they planned every road trip, taking for granted I would tag along. Later, they chose medicine and enrolled me in nursing without asking. Now they were celebrated as the ER’s Dream Team, while I worked myself to the bone just to keep up. I looked up. They were already walking shoulder to shoulder toward the next stop, certain I was behind them. But this time, I turned and walked the other way. After a lifetime of trailing behind them like a shadow, even a shadow grows tired of following. It took Dana three hours to realize I was gone. The text she sent was cold and demanding. [Where did you run off to? Go grab us some iced lattes from the entrance. Did you seriously get lost again?] I couldn’t even remember how many times she only reached out because she needed something from me. I didn’t reply. I just locked my screen and kept organizing the medical supplies. Our head nurse, Martha, walked back from her rounds and stared at me in confusion. “Wait, Gavin? Didn’t you save up all your PTO to go on that trip with them? Why are you back so early?” My hands froze on the medicine vials. Dana and Owen only had to pull off a single successful emergency surgery to get rewarded with a week-long paid vacation. Meanwhile, I had to hoard every precious hour of my annual leave just to tag along. Yet, the trip I had looked forward to for months had only made me feel like an invisible ghost. Another three hours passed. Owen sauntered up to the nurses’ station clutching a massive plush bear. He tapped my shoulder, grinning. “Hey man! Dana and I had to fake-hug for a whole thirty minutes to win this in a couples’ contest. My arms are literally dead, but hey, anything to cheer up my best bud!” Earlier that day, I had suggested we enter that same contest, but Dana had dismissed me with a cold, “Don’t be childish.” So I dropped it. But the moment Owen wanted it, she was more than willing to pretend to be his partner. We were the ones in a relationship, yet my chest felt so tight I could barely breathe. Seeing that I wasn’t reaching for it, Dana shoved the plush toy into my arms, her face darkening. “You walked off without a word earlier, and Owen is still thinking about you. Who are you throwing a tantrum for?” Her sharp tone drew disapproving glares from the surrounding staff. Owen quickly stepped in to play the peacemaker, a role he knew all too well. “Come on, Dana, you know you sound terrible when you say stuff like that,” he said, turning back to me with an apologetic smile. “Gavin, you aren’t still sore about the photo thing, are you? Tell you what, I’ve got tons of hilarious, ugly photos of her on my phone. Let me show you!” He unlocked his screen, showing off his gallery like a playful act of revenge. The woman who was always so rigid and professional in front of me was pulling goofy faces and laughing hysterically in his photos. Meanwhile, my own camera roll was filled with over a thousand candid photos, each capturing only a fraction of her face. Dana playfully wrapped her arm around his neck, teasingly squeezing his shoulders. “I told you never to show anyone those! You’re dead, Owen!” “Alright, alright! I give up, man!” I stood there like an idiot, feeling entirely like the “anyone” she referred to. I turned away, walked straight up to the top floor, and knocked on the medical director’s door. “Director Harrison, I’ve decided to accept the overseas fellowship.” The director’s face lit up with excitement, though a hint of worry quickly followed. “Gavin, I’m thrilled to hear that. But have you discussed this with your supervising physician?” My supervising physician was Dana. When we first started at the hospital, both Owen and I were interns under her supervision. But Owen was the only one she fast-tracked for a permanent position. During my residency, I made absolutely zero mistakes and received three commendations, but she shrugged it off as just doing your job. I pulled consecutive double shifts to catch up on patient charts, and she called it the slow bird trying to catch the worm. But when Owen managed to stabilize a single seizure patient on his own, she flooded the director’s office with recommendation letters, securing him a spot in the trauma unit. Over time, I realized that no matter how hard I ran to catch up, the distance between us only widened. I shook my head, a sense of relief washing over me. “No need to discuss it with her. This is my decision.” When I left the hospital that night, a torrential downpour was hammering the streets. Dana popped open her umbrella, naturally pulling Owen close under her arm. I stood behind them, having forgotten my own umbrella, completely drenched. She blinked, looking back at me. “I’ll drop Owen off at the car first, then come back for you.” Before I could even answer, she was already running into the storm, shielding Owen. The wind was biting, and I sneezed repeatedly, shivering under the awning. An hour dragged by. Freezing and exhausted, I dialed her number. It took twenty minutes of continuous ringing before she finally picked up. In the background, the sounds of a video game roared. Dana’s voice was laced with the annoyance of someone who had been interrupted. “Oh, sorry. I totally forgot. Honestly, Gavin, you’re so dense sometimes. If I didn’t show up, you should’ve just hailed a cab instead of standing there like a statue. Fine, I’ll call an Uber for you.” Right then, Owen’s voice cut through the line, whining, “Cover me, cover me! We’re gonna lose!” The call was cut off without another word. I stood at the entrance, cold rain mixing with the tears on my face. I walked nearly two miles through the storm before I finally managed to flag down a taxi. The driver handed me a napkin, shaking his head. “Tough night, huh? There’ve been a couple of muggings around this area lately. You shouldn’t be wandering out here alone in this weather. Didn’t you have anyone to pick you up?” Hearing his words, a sudden chill ran down my spine. There had indeed been a string of violent robberies near the hospital. Dana had even ordered pepper spray and tactical alarms online, stuffing them into Owen’s backpack. She hadn’t bought a single thing for me. When I had asked her about it back then, she had leaned into my chest, murmuring, “Why would you need that when you have a girlfriend to walk you to your car every day?” Now, I had neither the protection nor the girl. I pushed open the front door of our apartment to find Dana blow-drying Owen’s hair. He was wearing my pajama set, the matching couple’s set I had bought. Hearing the door, Dana turned off the dryer, her expression instantly souring. “You’re finally back. Owen and I were worried sick. We were just about to go out and look for you.” The two of them were showered, warm, and wearing matching loungewear. They didn’t look like they had any intention of stepping foot outside. My eyes stung, and the bitterness I had bottled up finally boiled over. “Did it ever cross your mind that I could have been in danger out there? I’m your boyfriend, Dana, not him!” Dana froze. Owen’s face flushed bright red. He pushed past her, grabbing his coat and rushing out the door. Dana muttered a curse and made to follow him, but then stopped, turning back to me with a glare. “Did you take the wrong meds today? You were the one being stupid, and now you’re taking your attitude out on us? Tomorrow, Owen and I have a shift. There’s a surgery scheduled, and you’re going to assist. Consider it your way of making up for this tantrum.” She spun around and ran out to chase after Owen. I stood in the hallway, soaked to the bone, mud dripping from my jeans onto the hardwood floor. I was always the one left waiting for orders, never even given the chance to say no. The next morning, I woke up with my head spinning. I checked my temperature, and it was nearly 104 degrees. My vision swam, and I could barely lift my eyelids. I called Dana and Owen over ten times, but neither of them picked up. Desperate, I dialed the emergency line. Hearing Dana’s voice on the dispatch receiver, I felt like I was grabbing onto a lifeline. “Dana, please, I have a really high fever.” “Gavin? Why are you calling this line?” her voice snapped. “You’re clogging up the emergency line just because you’re sick? You’re a medical professional, Gavin. Act like one instead of playing games.” Suddenly, Owen’s voice drifted through the receiver, sounding on the verge of tears. “My mom just slipped and threw her back out! She can’t move at all! Dana, please, I called an ambulance but you need to help me.” His frantic cries drowned out my weak plea. The call was cut off. Eventually, a colleague noticed I hadn’t showed up for my shift and sent an EMT team to my apartment. When I finally opened my eyes, the attending physician on duty sighed heavily. “High-grade fever caused some mild neurological strain. You went to nursing school, Gavin. You know how dangerous that is.” I knew. And as a chief resident, Dana should have known better than anyone. It was past midnight when Dana finally realized I had been admitted. She walked in straight from her rounds, her white lab coat still on, and picked up the chart at the foot of my bed. “The fever is down, but we should run another IV to be safe.” Her hand brushed against my forehead, her touch unusually gentle, but I only stared at her with cold eyes. “I told you I was burning up. Why didn’t you help me?” Her hand paused, her brows knitting together. “Gavin, an elderly woman is fragile. What if she had fractured her hip? As medical staff, you should know how to prioritize.” But her favorite motto had always been that no patient’s life was worth more than another’s. Owen walked in then, his face a mask of guilt. “Gavin, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. My mom’s accident was so poorly timed, otherwise we wouldn’t have tied up the emergency dispatch.” Dana glanced at me coldly before turning to soothe him. “Accidents happen, Owen. Don’t beat yourself up. Gavin has always been dramatic about minor things anyway.” My voice fell flat and cold. “The hospital has more than one ambulance, Dana.” The faint smile on her face vanished, replaced by irritation. “But you’re fine now, aren’t you? Owen was panicking, and I couldn’t focus. Besides, I knew you’ve always been independent enough to take care of yourself.” Perhaps the squeaky wheel always got the grease. Or perhaps I was simply never her priority. But this time, I had almost died. This wasn’t just another petty snub. The bitter lump in my throat tasted like ash. I swallowed it down and said quietly, “Dana, let’s break up.” I turned away from her and closed my eyes. Owen tugged at my blanket from behind, his voice cracking. “Gavin, please. I’m so sorry. Blame me, but don’t do this.” Behind him, Dana let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Is this your first day knowing him, Owen? He probably saw some video online about playing hard to get. He’s never had a spine before. Suddenly he’s acting out like he’s someone else.” The two of them continued to talk about my passive nature, completely ignoring the flight confirmation notification that had just popped up on my phone screen. My final shift before leaving was assisting the two of them in the operating room. A male patient had been brought in after a head-on collision, and his vitals were highly unstable. During the procedure, I read out the vitals clearly. “Heart rate 120. Preparing beta-blockers.” Yet, Owen administered a dosage meant for a heart rate of 125. The monitor immediately erupted into a shrill alarm. Dana, acting as the lead surgeon, barked, “Get out! Both of you! Call Dr. Bennett to scrub in!” After a grueling three-hour rescue, the patient was stabilized. Dana walked out of the OR, ripping off her mask, her face livid. “What the hell was that? How do you make a rookie mistake like that?” Owen’s eyes instantly welled with tears. “I swear I heard 125. I’m sorry, I must have misheard.” Dana’s accusatory glare locked onto me. My chest tightened, and I quickly defended myself. “Everyone in that room heard me. I said 120.” Dana sighed, her impatience clear. “A mistake was made, Gavin, and someone has to take responsibility.” Without another word, she marked a giant UNSATISFACTORY on my annual performance review. The year-end excellence award wasn’t just a title; it came with a triple bonus. I had worked harder than anyone, practically living at the hospital and pulling consecutive 24-hour shifts to earn it. My eyes stung, my voice rasping. “The rest of the board already voted to approve my nomination.” Dana only offered a cold shrug. “Every file requires a comprehensive evaluation.” Behind her, a smug smirk played on Owen’s lips. Five years of sleepless nights and absolute dedication evaporated in a single second. Five hours remained until my flight. I gathered my belongings from the nurses’ station and packed them into a cardboard box. The other nurses steered clear of me, treating me like a pariah. Dana walked up, flanked by a group of interns. “I won’t be too harsh on you this time. I’ll have you reassigned to the triage desk. You have the patience for it anyway. Write a five-thousand-word reflection, apologize to the patient’s family, and we’ll put this behind us.” She looked down at me, waiting for me to bow my head, apologize, and beg for forgiveness like I always did. But I didn’t say a word. I picked up my heavy box and walked out. By the time Dana texted me demanding the reflection essay, my flight had already taken off. Owen was assigned to cover my shifts as a penalty, and Dana stayed at the hospital with him for three straight days to help him through. She figured a few days of silence would give me time to cool down and realize how foolish I was being. When the three days were up, Dana walked down to the nurses’ station, ready to take me home. She met Martha just as she was coming out of the locker room. “Hey Martha, can you call Gavin out for me? I’m taking him home.” Martha stared at her in utter disbelief, uttering a sentence that left Dana frozen in her tracks. “Dr. Dana, Gavin left for an overseas fellowship three days ago.”

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1 After clocking out, I rushed to the theater to buy three tickets. Joanna and Zack didn’t show up until two minutes before the trailers started. As usual, Joanna Venmoed me fifteen dollars. “That’s for Zack’s ticket. I just sent it over.” I froze, staring at the long list of transactions in our chat history. A knot tightened in my stomach. When Zack was sick, Joanna bought his medicine. When I grabbed takeout for him, Joanna covered his share. My throat tightened, and I opened my mouth to ask her why she was always paying my best friend’s way. Before I could speak, Zack handed me a cold brew and held up his phone, showing his Venmo QR code. “Hey Gabe, that’ll be six bucks.” I hesitated, looking at Joanna, but she kept her eyes glued to her screen, acting completely oblivious. When my silence dragged on, Zack lowered his hand, looking a bit self-conscious. Joanna instantly snapped her gaze to me, her forehead creased in irritation. “Just pay him, Gabe. Are you seriously going to pinch pennies over a coffee?” My head throbbed. I let out a dry, humorless laugh. She wasn’t oblivious at all. I was simply never on her radar. I tapped Zack’s profile and sent the money. Zack rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “Honestly, Gabe, you didn’t have to. It was on me.” Before his words even registered, Joanna snatched his phone and swiped to accept the transfer. It was as if she was terrified the money would slip back into my pocket if she waited another second. “Why wouldn’t he pay? Didn’t you blow through your savings on stocks last week? Every little bit helps.” She knew the intimate details of his finances, understanding his life better than I did, and we had been friends for six years. The theater lights were dimming, and the screen flickered to life. I parted my dry lips to tell them we should get inside, but Joanna’s eyes suddenly lit up. “Oh, you changed your profile picture! Is that the new anime character from that Japanese show?” Zack grinned, his face lighting up. “You actually watched it?” The two of them immediately launched into an animated conversation. I stood there, my hand half-raised, completely ignored. It wasn’t the first time. Zack had barely been in our lives for six months, yet they shared an effortless chemistry that made them look like a perfect match. They always had something new to talk about. Meanwhile, I could talk until my throat went dry, and they would barely spare me a glance. I let my hand drop, turned around, and walked through the ticket gate alone. I sat in the dark theater for nearly twenty minutes before they finally slipped in, shoulder-to-shoulder. I had bought three seats in the middle of a row, sitting right in the center myself. Zack glanced toward me, whispered something in Joanna’s ear, and then pulled her toward an empty row near the front. “There are open seats down here with a better view. We’re just going to sit here,” Joanna texted me. She turned off her phone immediately, not even waiting for a reply. Soon, her quiet giggles drifted back to me. A man in the row ahead of them turned around, his voice dripping with annoyance. “Hey mate, can you tell your girlfriend to pipe down? We can barely hear the movie.” Zack let out a soft laugh. Even though I was sitting right behind them, he didn’t correct the man. “Sorry about that. I’ll get her to quiet down.” The soft curve of Joanna’s smile was clear as day, even from the shadows of the back row. My phone remained silent. No explanation, no apology. I sat through the next hour in a daze. When the lights came up, I walked out of the theater with a hollow mind. Joanna jogged to catch up with me, chatting as if nothing had happened. “Why did the main character punch that older guy?” “I don’t know.” My flat, three-word response caught her off guard. Her brows knitted, her tone shifting to annoyance. “Why are you being like this? Wasn’t this the movie you wanted to see?” “No, it wasn’t.” Yesterday, Zack and I had both pitched movies. As she had done a thousand times before, Joanna chose his. An uncomfortable silence settled over us. Joanna had changed, so gradually that she probably hadn’t even noticed. We were childhood sweethearts. We had gone to the same schools from elementary through high school. She had always been my shadow, supporting every decision I made. She had even given up a spot at a top-tier university just to follow me to Chicago State. Our friends used to joke that Joanna’s world revolved entirely around Gabe. But all of that vanished the moment Zack arrived. “It’s not like you actually follow the plot anyway, so what difference does it make?” Joanna said, her voice dripping with dismissiveness. Zack let out a sudden chuckle. “Remember that time Gabe fell asleep in the theater? We walked all the way out to the parking lot before realizing he was still inside sleeping. He didn’t even notice his phone and wallet had been swiped.” “Exactly! See, he doesn’t even like movies. Even if we picked his choice, he’d just sleep through it.” Listening to them casually tear down my dignity for a laugh made my blood run cold. That night, I had worked a thirteen-hour shift, finishing at midnight, but Zack had insisted I tag along. Exhaustion had dragged me under the moment the seat reclined. When I finally woke up, Joanna and Zack were gone. My phone was missing, and I was left stranded on a dark street corner at three in the morning. I had been furious back then, begging them never to bring it up again. Yet, they kept parading it like a cheap party trick. It felt as though my only purpose in their lives was to serve as their punchline. Joanna finally noticed the tension in my posture. She frowned, looking at me. “Why are you getting mad again? You seriously can’t take a joke.” Zack shot her a warning glance, his voice soft. “Alright, that’s enough. Gabe’s already having a rough night.” He paused, turning to me with an apologetic smile. “My bad, man. How about we go grab some of that hot pot you love?” “No way,” Joanna interjected before I could even open my mouth. “You’ve been dying to try that French bistro, and it took weeks to get a reservation.” “But Gabe…” “He’ll eat anything, don’t worry about him. You think everyone is as picky as you? You’re practically skin and bones.” Zack smirked. “I’m not that light.” “Oh, really?” Joanna challenged. Zack’s dark eyes locked onto hers, a slow, unreadable smile spreading across his face. “Want to bet? I could lift you with one hand.” “I doubt it.” Before she could react, Zack stepped close. Joanna took a step back, her cheeks flushing crimson. She glanced at me, her voice suddenly hesitant. “Gabe might mind.” But before the words fully left her mouth, she let out a squeal as Zack swept her off her feet, hoisting her up onto his shoulders. He grinned, holding her thighs to keep her skirt from riding up. “How about now? Do you yield?” Passersby paused, smiling at the spontaneous display of affection. A few teenagers even pulled out their phones to snap a photo. Joanna blushed, swatting at his shoulder. “You are so annoying!” she squealed as he finally set her down. She covered her face and ran ahead, laughing. Zack didn’t hesitate to chase after her, pulling at her jacket as they bantered like a couple in the middle of a lovers’ spat. I stood frozen on the sidewalk, the color draining from my face. Through the entire display, Joanna hadn’t looked back once. I was a ghost to them. My chest ached, but a strange, hollow sense of clarity washed over me. I turned around, raised my hand, and hailed a cab. Ten minutes later, my phone vibrated. It was Joanna. “Where did you go? We can’t find you.” “I went home.” There was a brief silence on the other end, followed by muffled whispering. Finally, Joanna let out a heavy sigh. “What is your problem now? Don’t be so old-fashioned, Gabe. He’s your best friend. Are you seriously jealous of him?” Zack’s voice drifted through the speaker, chuckling. “Come on, Gabe, you know I’m not interested in Joanna. With that temper of hers, you’re the only guy on earth who could survive her.” “Hey! Who has a temper?” “You heard me!” The two of them drifted back into their private world, bickering over the line. I had tried so many times to explain how their behavior made me feel, only to be met with Joanna’s dismissive, “You’re just being paranoid.” Eventually, I had simply stopped talking. Now, I didn’t even have the energy to argue. I hung up. Joanna didn’t call back. As the cab neared my apartment, thunder rattled the windows, followed by a sudden downpour. I ran through the rain to my building, my clothes soaked. Back in my apartment, I stripped off my wet shirt and turned on the hot water in the bathroom. While waiting for the tub to fill, I opened my phone. Zack had just posted on social media. In the photo, Joanna stood in a drenched white dress that clung to her silhouette, a heavy denim jacket draped over her shoulders. It was Zack’s jacket. Joanna was a germaphobe who refused to touch anyone else’s clothing, yet there she was, wrapped in his coat. Zack’s caption read: [Drenched like drowned rats today!] A mutual friend had commented: [Get inside before you catch a cold!] Zack had replied: [Already checked into a hotel, we’re good!] The bathwater overflowed, splashing against the tiles with a steady, heavy rhythm. I shivered, staring at the screen. Then, I turned off the tap, stepped into the tub, and let the warmth sink into my skin. Joanna didn’t come home that night. And for the first time in my life, I didn’t ask where she was. I actually slept incredibly well. The next morning, the front door clicked open. “Gabe! We brought breakfast. Coffee and bagels!” Joanna walked into the living room, heading toward me with a soft expression, as if she wanted to say something. I stood up, stepping past her to go to the bathroom. Joanna froze, but then she turned to Zack, a look of triumph on her face. “See? I told you. He’s overthinking things again. You owe me.” Zack smirked, pocketing his hands. “So, I get to keep it?” “A bet’s a bet.” Zack walked straight past me into the study and picked up the vintage camera sitting on the shelf. It was a gift from my father for my eighteenth birthday. A sharp ache throbbed behind my eyes. “What are you doing?” Zack paused, his hand hovering over the leather strap, his voice losing its confidence. “Joanna lost the bet, so the camera is mine now. Unless you mind, Gabe? If it makes you uncomfortable, I can put it back.” “Then put it back,” I said. I reached out to take it, but before my fingers could touch the leather, Joanna grabbed my wrist. “A bet is a bet, Gabe. Don’t be a sore loser.” “What do your stupid bets have to do with my things?” My voice was flat, devoid of the warmth she was used to. Joanna’s jaw tightened, an edge of irritation creeping into her eyes. “You gave that camera to me. That means I can do whatever I want with it.” The patience I had held onto for twenty-odd years evaporated. I yanked my hand back, my voice turning icy. “I gave it to you on the condition that you would take care of it! Do you even remember what you promised me?” The vintage camera was a rare Japanese import my father had bought on a business trip decades ago. It was long out of print. Joanna had loved its aesthetic, so I had parted with it to make her happy. It held my childhood, my struggles, and the memories of my late parents. Back then, her eyes had welling with tears as she cradled it. “Gabe, let me be the one to document our lives from now on. I promise to give you a perfect record of our future.” Now, she had traded it away like a cheap casino chip. Joanna rolled her eyes, letting out a sharp scoff. “Are you seriously throwing a tantrum just because I stayed out last night? It was pouring, Gabe. How was I supposed to drive home? We got two separate rooms at the hotel. Stop letting your imagination run wild. Acting jealous over nothing makes you look pathetic.” Her words cut through the room like a blade, leaving a suffocating silence in their wake. I felt a sudden, bizarre sense of detachment. I remembered when we were eighteen on a high school trip. The teacher had assigned Joanna to fetch water with a boy who had an obvious crush on her. Joanna had immediately swapped tasks with another classmate, taking on double the physical labor just to avoid making me uncomfortable. When she had walked back to my side, she had looked at me with absolute sincerity. “I don’t want you to doubt me, Gabe. Not even for a second.” It wasn’t that Joanna didn’t understand boundaries. She simply didn’t care about my feelings anymore. I let out a quiet sigh. There was no anger left in me, no desire to scream. I just looked at her. “Joanna, let’s break up.” She froze, her eyes widening in utter disbelief. But within seconds, her confident, dismissive smile returned, as if she were looking at a stubborn child. “Don’t be ridiculous, Gabe.” Zack stepped in, placing a friendly hand on my shoulder. “Come on, man, you’re just emotional right now. Once you cool down, you’ll realize you’re just making a mountain out of a molehill.” He spoke with the smooth tone of a supportive brother, yet every word subtly painted me as the unstable, unreasonable villain of the story. I had trusted him for years, and this was the result. The arguments, the tension, the constant feeling of being the third wheel in my own relationship, it all came back to him. I shrugged his hand off my shoulder. “Zack, we are no longer friends.” Zack’s eyes welled with sudden tears, and he stood there looking entirely helpless. Joanna lost her temper completely. She lunged forward, her voice rising to a screech. “Why are you being so selfish? Do you have to hurt everyone who cares about you to feel good? What did Zack ever do to you? You’re like a wild dog, biting anyone who gets close!” The screeching in my ears sounded like static. When I broke up with her, she had laughed it off. But the moment I cut ties with Zack, she defended him with her life. The front door slammed shut, and the apartment fell silent. They had walked out together, a united front, leaving me behind without a single text. I knew what they were doing. They were trying to freeze me out, waiting for me to crawl back and apologize like I always did. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was my mother. “Gabe, have you made up your mind yet? Now that you’ve passed the civil service exam back home, your father and I really think you should take the job. It’s a stable career for life. You can talk it over with Joanna. There’s no need for both of you to wear yourselves out in the city.” It was the sixth time this month she had called to persuade me, her tone carrying little hope. But this time, I gave her a different answer. “Mom, I’m coming home.” “Really?” My father’s excited voice echoed from the background. “That’s wonderful! Pack your things, son. You start next week!”

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1 It was the fifth year of sharing my wife with another man. Every year, she set aside exactly one day for me. The rest of her time belonged to him. I stared at her back as she stood by the entryway, the silence stretching between us until I finally found my voice. “Can you please just end things with him? Can we focus on our marriage for once?” I ran the entire household. I paid the bills, managed the chores, and took care of her ailing father. She never once asked how I was doing. Her entire world revolved around Ashton. She pinched the bridge of her nose, her face twisting into a look of pure exhaustion and disgust. “This house is nothing but mortgages and bills, Nate. It suffocates me. There is no joy left here. But Ashton is different. He is gentle, attentive, and he actually understands how hard I work. Is it really a crime for me to want a little escape from this misery?” I let out a bitter, silent laugh. The harmony they shared only existed because they didn’t have to deal with the harsh reality of daily life. If that was what she wanted, I would let her go. I had my own life to live; I was done waiting for a storm that would never clear. She remained standing in the entryway, showing no intention of staying. Swallowing the last of my pride, I forced down the bitterness in my throat. “Just stay tonight. For me. Let’s try to make this work, please?” If she said yes, I was willing to forgive everything. But Valerie kept her face turned away, her brow furrowing with irritation. “Ashton and I are too deep into this to end it now. Trying to force us apart won’t do anyone any good.” She pushed the door open, pausing on the threshold. “And stop playing the victim. You knew when you married me that I wasn’t the type to be chained to a kitchen sink.” The door slammed shut behind her, the heavy sound echoing through the empty hall. I stood there, a humorless smile tugging at my lips. She had been the one to spark our romance, showering me with affection and taking care of everything in the beginning. When did our home become a prison she was desperate to escape? My phone buzzed. It was a message from Ashton. The attached photo showed him sitting in the passenger seat of Valerie’s car, their fingers tightly intertwined. [Five years, Nate, and you still can’t keep her for a single day. Thank you for being so useless. We’re going on a road trip to the coast.] I sank into the couch, tossing the phone face down. Looking at the calendar, where today’s date was circled in red ink, a hollow laugh escaped my chest. Tears slipped down my cheeks. Today was our wedding anniversary, the only day she came home. I had been up since four in the morning, preparing a table full of her favorite dishes and putting on the tailored shirt she had gifted me, hoping against hope that she would choose our family. But she left to watch the ocean with Ashton. My phone rang again, this time a FaceTime call from my father. I rubbed my eyes and answered. His face filled the screen as he squinted at the empty room behind me. “Valerie didn’t stay? She went back to that parasite?” I didn’t answer, and my silence was confession enough. He sighed heavily. “People are like that, Nate. It’s been five years. Just keep your head down and take care of the house. In time, she’ll realize how good she has it.” He paused. “Our neighbor’s son got a divorce last year, and people still talk behind his back.” In the corner of the screen, my mother sat silently on a stool, her face tight. The words about not being able to do this anymore died in my throat. I hung up, changed out of my nice clothes, and scraped the untouched dinner into the trash. Five years of humiliation, five years of playing the third wheel in my own marriage. I was done. This house was no longer my home. Within hours, Ashton posted a gallery of photos on social media. The caption read: [Shoutout to my queen for spoiling me like a prince.] It felt like a slap in the face. In the photos, his skin looked flawless against his bright red suit. I looked at my own reflection in the mirror. I was only thirty, but my face was sallow and my eyes were hollow. I had destroyed myself for a woman who didn’t care if I breathed. Before I could even close the app, a demanding text from Valerie popped up. [My dad was admitted to the hospital. Go check on him.] A flood of conflicting emotions washed over me. I despised her cruelty, but her father was an innocent old man who shouldn’t suffer because of our failing marriage. I swallowed the bitterness, grabbed a jacket, and rushed out. It took me an hour and a half to reach the hospital. Just as I reached for the door handle of the private room, the sound of laughter from inside stopped me cold. “Ashton, you two have fun and don’t worry about me,” her father’s voice boomed. “Nate is holding down the fort at home, and I’ll have him handle everything here at the hospital. You guys enjoy the ocean air, relax, and focus on giving me a grandchild.” Ashton’s soft voice followed. “Arthur, are you sure we aren’t putting too much on Nate? I’d hate to be a burden.” Her father clarified immediately. “What burden? He’s the son-in-law. It’s his job to take care of the family.” I stood frozen in the corridor, a chill running through my veins. Five years of exhausting myself, catering to their every whim, and they viewed it as my duty. I was nothing but unpaid labor to them. I pushed the door open. Her father’s laughter died on his lips, and he hastily hung up the video call. “Nate, what took you so long?” He was too used to my submissive nature for any guilt to linger. “Now that you’re here, go settle the bill at the front desk and fill out the inpatient paperwork.” I looked at him, my expression blank. Over the years, whenever his chronic illness flared up, I was the one who pulled all-nighters in the emergency room. Even when I was burning up with a fever, I never missed a shift. Valerie was always too busy with Ashton. And they had come to expect it. “Call your daughter,” I said quietly. He gaped at me in disbelief. “What did you say? You’re the son-in-law, how dare you…” I didn’t listen to his shouting. I turned around and walked out. Once outside, I dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. It was answered almost instantly. “Finally decided to call me? Did you finally wake up?” “Yeah,” I said, a little embarrassed. “Do you still have a spot for me?” Dylan let out a loud laugh. “Man, it’s about time! You’re always welcome here.” Fortunately, it wasn’t too late. The moment I hung up, Valerie’s texts started flooding my screen. [Nate, my dad said you just walked out?] [What is your problem? I work myself to the bone to provide for this family, and this is how you repay me?] [Get back to the hospital right now. If anything happens to him, it’s on you.] I stared at the screen, let out a dry laugh, and blocked her number before deleting the contact entirely. I was done being her safety net. Back at the house, I began packing my bags. Valerie rarely came home, but her things occupied every corner, her baseball bats, her skis, her fishing rods, all kept meticulously dust-free. Yet, after living here for five years, my own belongings didn’t even fill a single carry-on suitcase. I remembered when she first brought me to this house, promising to make it a haven for me. Now, all her warmth was reserved for Ashton, leaving me with nothing but empty rooms. Once my bag was zipped, I sat at the laptop and began tallying our expenses over the last five years. The monthly mortgage, her father’s medical bills, surgeries, utilities, and groceries totaled well over two hundred thousand dollars. The numbers on the screen were staggering. Over the same period, Valerie had contributed less than eighty thousand. Whenever I had asked her for help, she had accused me of suffocating her, running back to Ashton and leaving me with the bills. To keep us afloat, I had taken night shifts at a local convenience store. I had drained my youth and my savings to maintain this illusion of a home while she rented out an entire boutique hotel to celebrate Ashton’s birthday. The memory stung like an open wound. I saved copies of every bill, bank transfer, and medical receipt. As I finished saving the files, the front door clicked open. It was Valerie. Thanks to her father’s hospitalization, I was seeing her for the second time in a week. Her eyes swept over my suitcase, but she didn’t look concerned. “Are you done throwing your tantrum? My dad is in a hospital bed, and you walk out just to force me to come home and coax you?” I looked at her, suddenly too exhausted to argue. “Believe whatever you want.” She grabbed my wrist, trying to drag me toward the door. “Get in the car. We’re going to the hospital so you can apologize to my dad.” I stumbled, nearly losing my footing, but she didn’t seem to care. I yanked my arm back, my wrist scraping against the edge of the console table. A dull ache throbbed under my skin. “Why should I apologize? If you love Ashton so much, why don’t you have him take care of your dad?” I was practically shouting now, my voice trembling. Valerie stared at me, astonished. “You’re my husband, Nate. Why would I ask anyone else? If you were just a little more understanding, like Ashton, we wouldn’t have to live like this.” I looked at her with absolute calm. “We won’t have to anymore. We are done. I want a divorce.” A flicker of amusement crossed Valerie’s eyes. “A divorce? You’ve been a homemaker for five years, Nate. You have no job, no income, and I’ve been supporting you this entire time. You wouldn’t even survive a month on your own. Stop embarrassing yourself.” She was too familiar with my past obedience, confident that I had nowhere else to go. She kicked my suitcase lightly. “I’ll let this slide. Unpack your things, and go take care of my dad tomorrow. Don’t push your luck.” With that, she slammed the door and walked out. I watched her leave, then pulled out my phone to send my location to Dylan. [Dylan, I need a divorce. Can you draft the paperwork for me?] For five years, he had begged me to cut my losses and leave. I had been too stubborn to listen. Dylan replied instantly: [I’m on it.] We met at a quiet diner down the street. The moment he saw me, he pulled me into a tight hug. “I’ll handle the filing and the asset division, Nate. We’re going to get back every single penny she owes you.” He opened his laptop, typing rapidly. “We can trace all household expenses, the mortgage payments you covered, and her father’s medical bills. She’s been cheating and emotionally abusive, so we have all the leverage.” I nodded, sending him the folder of receipts. Dylan quickly drafted the agreement and turned the screen toward me. “Take a look. If it looks good, I’ll print it, and we can file it at city hall tomorrow.” But when I looked up our marriage certificate number on the county portal to verify the details, a red warning box popped up on the screen: [Record not found. Invalid registration number.] I thought it was a glitch. I refreshed the page and re-entered the details, but the result was the same. Dylan noticed my frozen expression and leaned in. “What’s wrong?” I stared at the screen, my mind completely blank. “Dylan, our marriage certificate… it’s a fake.” Dylan snatched the paper from my hands. As a seasoned legal professional, it took him only a few seconds to spot the forgery. “That piece of garbage. She lied to you for five years. Don’t worry, this is fraud. I’ll get you every cent of your assets and emotional damages.” I walked back to the apartment in a daze, the weight of the last five years crashing down on me. I had sacrificed everything for a forged document, playing the dutiful husband in a marriage that never existed. I logged into my banking app, turned off the automatic payments for the mortgage, the utilities, and her father’s medical accounts. I placed my keys on the entryway table and walked out of the prison that had held me for five years, never looking back.

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1 My fiancée never seemed to catch my words, yet she responded flawlessly to my best friend’s slightest cues. She blamed poor hearing, insisting people stand close and speak up. But with Will, she never asked for repeats. Two taps on the table and she slid him coffee. A glance at the window and she rose to shut it. Yet when I sat beside her and called her name twice, she turned blankly. Did you say something? Speak up, I can’t hear you. I swallowed hard, telling myself she was worn out from wedding plans. That illusion shattered during our photoshoot, when Jenny pulled Will into the frame. Let’s get one of the three of us, she said. Rare we’re all dressed like this. After the shutter clicked, the photographer handed me the preview. In the shot, Jenny’s right hand hung loose, her pinky hooked around Will’s. The smile she gave the camera was relaxed, effortless—nothing like the strained look I’d seen for three years. I lowered my bouquet slowly. Watching her gesture softly to Will a few feet away, I stayed silent. There was no point. She wouldn’t hear me. The photographer laid out thirty proofs on the table. Jenny’s gaze skipped right over me and landed squarely on Will. “Which one do you think is best, Will?” Will didn’t speak. He simply reached out and tapped the corner of that three-person group shot with his index finger. Jenny immediately turned to the studio staff. “Blow this one up. Make it the secondary poster for the welcome table.” The staff member froze, shooting me a highly uncomfortable look. Right on cue, Will took a half-step back, his tone smooth and considerate. “It’s probably not appropriate to put the groomsman on the wedding poster, is it?” Jenny casually took his trench coat off the back of the chair and draped it over her own arm. “Why wouldn’t it be? You’ve been with us every step of the way. You deserve to be in the picture.” She finally turned back to look at me, as if waiting for my stamp of approval. I gave a small smile. “Print it. Put it right in the most prominent spot.” After all, there wouldn’t be a groom standing next to it on that day anyway. She nodded in satisfaction and reached out, trying to brush a stray hair behind my ear. I tilted my head away, pretending to look down and adjust the hem of my suit jacket, letting her hand catch empty air. Jenny didn’t press the issue because Will just tapped the side of his empty water glass. Two soft clinks. She spun around, walked straight to the lounge bar, filled a glass with warm water, and handed it over. The moment his fingers wrapped around the glass, Will looked up at her. His lips parted slightly, silently mouthing the word “thanks.” Jenny read the exact curve of his lips without missing a beat. But when I had just told her to put the poster in the most prominent spot, she hadn’t even tilted her ear toward me. I pulled out my phone and opened the venue booking app. I was the sole contact person who had signed for all the hotel blocks, catering, and accommodations. Quietly, I went down the list, canceling the room reservations for the five tables of my out-of-state relatives, one by one. By the time the refunds processed, Jenny was busy adjusting the angle of the straw in Will’s water glass. A confirmation pop-up appeared on my screen. I pressed “Yes.” Later, in the showroom of the wedding favor company, the manager brought out the premium tea gift sets I had finalized last month. Artisanal chamomile and Earl Grey. The older folks in her family had been drinking it for two decades. Will picked up the complimentary matcha cookie that came in the box, wrinkled his nose slightly, and pushed it away an inch. Jenny’s eyes locked onto that micro-movement instantly. She turned to the manager. “Swap all the favors to those drip-bag coffee pouches from that hipster roastery. Will recommended them before, the quality is great.” I raised my voice. “The older relatives don’t drink black coffee.” Jenny pointed to her right ear and shook her head with a sigh. “If you lower your voice, I can actually catch it. When you shout like that, it’s just static to me. Whatever, just put the order through, manager.” The manager walked over with the amended invoice, asking me to sign and pay the final balance. The total had jumped from five hundred dollars to over two thousand. Will stood by the display boxes, his fingers absentmindedly playing with a silk wrapping ribbon. The ribbon got tangled around his wrist. He didn’t try to pull it off, only furrowing his brow slightly. Jenny walked right over, meticulously unwinding the silk ribbon from his wrist loop by loop. On the day we got our marriage license, I had crouched outside City Hall to tie my dress shoes. The aglet got stuck in the eyelet, and I struggled with it for a minute. She had stood ten feet away, loudly rushing me, complaining she couldn’t hear why I was dawdling and telling me to hurry up and stop embarrassing her. The manager was still waiting for my signature. I placed the pen back on the glass table, took a step back, and looked at Jenny with a polite smile. “You ordered it. You sign for it.” She frowned, but didn’t want to make a scene in front of Will. She snatched the pen, signed her name, and swiped her own credit card. Two thousand four hundred dollars. While she was distracted asking Will about packaging colors, I logged into the catering portal and wiped out the entire open bar and beverage order for all forty tables. Jenny walked back over holding the coffee samples Will had approved, looking to be in high spirits. “Rowan, what do you want for dinner?” Her voice was three times louder than when she was speaking to me earlier. Because Will was watching, she needed to put on the performance of a sweet, attentive fiancée. “Whatever.” My volume was perfectly normal. Predictably, she didn’t hear it. She turned right back to Will. “Sushi bar for dinner?” Will nodded, drawing a small circle in the air with his finger. She laughed. “Got it, the rotary sushi place.” I followed behind them and locked my phone screen. The cancellation receipt for the wedding drinks had already hit my inbox. 2 By the time the movers dropped the last three boxes off at our new apartment, Will was already sitting on the living room sofa flipping through an architectural digest. He claimed he was there to help figure out which entrance the groomsmen should use to make the procession flow better. The TV was on, playing the afternoon news. Will raised a hand to cover his right ear, his eyebrow twitching just a fraction of an inch. Jenny leaned out of the kitchen, crossed the room in two strides, and muted the television. I stood in the hallway holding a heavy box of books and asked her. “Do you want the bedroom shelves installed on the left or the right?” She had her back to me, busy pouring lukewarm water for Will. I asked again, raising my voice significantly. She didn’t turn around. Will stood up with his glass and strolled toward the master bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bridal bed, glanced up at the vintage brass wall sconce above the headboard, and murmured softly. “This light is a bit dim.” His voice was much quieter than my shout had been. Jenny followed him right in, stepped onto a stool, and unscrewed the sconce in three quick motions. That was the exact light fixture I had spent a week hunting down on an antique auction site. I walked into the bedroom. “Why are you taking it down?” Jenny watched Will’s lips before relaying his thoughts. “The lighting is harsh on the eyes. We should get something brighter.” Will immediately chimed in. “I was just thinking out loud. Don’t replace it on my account.” Jenny handed the heavy brass fixture to me. “It’s fine, Will’s eyes are sensitive anyway. Rowan, just go hunt down another one online. You like browsing those sites.” I didn’t say a word. I turned around and shoved the sconce into a cardboard box by the door. Later that afternoon, the boutique delivered our wedding attire. Will tried on the cropped suit trousers meant for the groomsmen. Standing in front of the full-length mirror, his gaze drifted down to his calf. There was a faded, inch-long scar on the outer side of his right leg, perfectly exposed by the hemline. He looked down and tapped the scar with his fingertip. He didn’t speak. Standing nearby, Jenny followed his finger and stared at his leg. She frowned. Will turned and grabbed my tuxedo from the rack. It was a heavy, custom-tailored suit with intricate stitching along the long coat tails. It had taken two months to hand-sew. He held it up against his body. “The length on this would cover it perfectly.” Jenny looked at me, her tone as casual as if she were discussing the weather. “Will has a scar on his leg. Shorts and cropped pants won’t look good on him. Rowan, just wear the backup suit, let him wear this one.” She paused, then pulled out her phone and wired me three thousand dollars on the spot. “Take this as compensation. You can order another custom one later.” The frostbite scars on my calves were three times the size of that thin white line on Will’s leg. During my sophomore year, I spent two months freezing my legs off handing out flyers in the snow to afford her first pair of high-end hearing aids. My skin had blistered and peeled. She had sat in the clinic hugging my knees and crying, swearing that when we got married, she would buy me the longest, most expensive tuxedo money could buy. I kept my mouth shut and accepted the money transfer. The tailor led Will behind the curtain to change. Jenny watched him walk into the fitting room, not turning her eyes away until the heavy velvet curtain fell shut. Then she turned with a smile and patted my shoulder. “You’re so understanding.” I smiled back. I unlocked my phone and refunded my parents’ train tickets. Then my aunt’s, my uncle’s, and my cousin’s. Six tickets in total, canceled one by one. A notification chimed loudly from my phone confirming the hotel refunds had hit my bank account. Jenny didn’t hear a thing. Will stepped out from behind the curtain wearing my custom tuxedo. The tails draped perfectly, the stitching catching the overhead light like crushed gold. Jenny stared at him, her eyes brimming with pure admiration. “You look amazing.” She had never said those words to me. I took a screenshot of the canceled train tickets and saved it to an album. I titled the album: Two days until the wedding. 3 The sound system in the hotel ballroom was cranked to maximum volume. Jenny stood frozen halfway down the runway, pressing a palm tightly against her right ear. The officiant politely asked her to wait for the groom’s entrance. She shook her head. “It’s too loud. I can’t stand here.” Will rose from the front row of the guest seating, walked right up to her, and pulled a pair of silicone earplugs from his pocket. He didn’t say a word. He just lowered his head slightly. Jenny naturally stood on her tiptoes, leaning in to let him insert the earplugs for her. They looked at each other and shared a quiet smile. The officiant hit play on the entrance march. I started walking from the beginning of the red carpet. Wearing her earplugs, Jenny kept her eyes glued to the hem of Will’s trousers. He was standing very close to the carpet, and her gaze tracked the tip of his shoes, terrified he might trip over something. I stopped directly in front of her. “Jenny.” She didn’t react. I raised my voice. “Jenny.” She still didn’t look up. Will finally reached out and nudged her elbow. She snapped out of her daze, glanced up at me, and with a delayed reaction, held out her hand. Her fingers brushed against mine, but her eyes were already drifting past my shoulder, fixated on the teleprompter behind the officiant. I pulled my hand back. “We can skip this part of the rehearsal.” Assuming I was just complaining about the stuffy room, Jenny let out a breath of relief. “Sure, we’ll just wing it tomorrow.” I retreated to a chair on the sidelines, opened my work app, and sent my final handover documents to Greg in HR. My official departure date was set for tomorrow. After the rehearsal, we went up to the VIP suite to verify the jewelry. The wedding planner handed over the velvet ring box. I opened it to inspect the contents. Two bare diamonds, one large, one small. I had flown to five different cities to find the perfect stones. Will leaned over to look, hovering his left ring finger over the box to gauge the size. Jenny picked up the smaller secondary ring, grabbed Will’s hand without a second thought, and tried to slide it onto his ring finger. “Let’s see if it fits.” Her tone was as careless as if she were testing a cheap pair of winter gloves. The ring got stuck at the second knuckle. Will’s knuckles were on the thicker side. The metal band wouldn’t go up, and it wouldn’t go down. The base of his finger quickly began to turn a bruised purple. Jenny completely panicked. She had Will soak his hand in ice water, pumped liquid soap over his knuckles, and scrubbed frantically for five minutes. It didn’t budge. The purple tint grew darker. Jenny practically screamed at the hotel staff to call maintenance. A mechanic rushed in with a toolbox and pulled out a pair of micro-pliers. The grating sound of metal grinding against metal echoed in the suite for agonizing seconds. The band snapped cleanly in half. Jenny cradled Will’s hand, desperately checking his skin for scratches, all while throwing words over her shoulder at me. “What kind of cheap closure design is this? The band is way too narrow. If you hadn’t insisted on buying this rigid cut, Will wouldn’t have gotten stuck.” “Whatever, it’s broken. Just grab a plain silver band for tomorrow so we don’t look like idiots in front of my family.” I had spent four months comparing clarity and cuts for that diamond. When I first showed it to her, she had held my hands and declared it was the anchor of our marriage, something that must remain flawless. I took the remaining primary diamond out of the box and dropped it into my briefcase. At nine o’clock that night, I called a luxury jewelry buyer. He verified the GIA certificate numbers over the phone and offered me ten thousand dollars in cash. I took the deal. Then I logged into our joint banking portal and transferred every cent of my personal savings I had fronted for the wedding back into my private account. The shared balance hit zero. As I confirmed the transfer, Jenny was meticulously applying a waterproof bandage to Will’s bruised knuckle. She smoothed down every edge flawlessly, terrified he might get water on it. I locked my phone and stared at the two broken halves of metal lying on the carpet. It was good material. It just wasn’t worth anything anymore. 4 Before heading out, Jenny changed into a dark navy silk blouse and spritzed her favorite perfume. “The girls are throwing me a wild bachelorette night, so I might be back late.” She walked up to me and, in a rare display of affection, stood on her tiptoes to press a kiss to my cheek. “Tomorrow, you’ll finally be my husband.” She smiled and walked out the door. The second the lock clicked shut, I pulled a stack of heavy-duty black trash bags from under the couch. My toothbrush cup from the vanity. My face wash from the shower. The potted mint plant I grew on the balcony. Six jackets, three button-downs, and a scarf from the closet. My passport, my college degree, my banking security tokens from the desk drawer. Everything went into the bags. The apartment was massive, yet the space I occupied was pathetically small. Three years of my life fit into two and a half trash bags. At ten o’clock, I carried the bags downstairs. Across the street from our complex was a cozy Italian bistro, its warm yellow light spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I was about to turn toward the dumpsters when my peripheral vision caught a familiar silhouette in the glass. Jenny was sitting at a window booth. Sitting across from her was Will. Just the two of them, a bottle of wine, and no sign of any “girls.” Will raised a finger and pointed to the corner of his own mouth. Jenny grabbed a linen napkin from the table, leaned completely across the booth, and gently wiped a smudge of sauce from his lip. She didn’t pull her hand back immediately. Her fingers lingered by his cheek as she murmured something. Will smiled, lowered his head, and lightly pressed his forehead against the back of her hand. I stood on the opposite sidewalk and watched them for ten full seconds. Then I pulled out my phone and dialed Jenny’s number. She pulled her hand back, hesitating for several rings before finally pressing accept. “Hey? Rowan?” The background noise on the call was perfectly quiet. “The girls are doing karaoke and it’s so loud in here, I can hardly hear you! What’s up?” I didn’t say anything. “Whatever it is, tell me tomorrow. Go to sleep early!” The call disconnected. I threw the trash bags into the dumpster and turned back toward the apartment. On the coffee table, a massive Lego castle was still lit up from the inside. Three thousand seven hundred pieces. We had spent two months building it together. When she attached the highest spire, she had told me this represented our future home. I reached out and shoved the castle off the table, watching it shatter into pieces in the trash can. At two in the morning, Jenny finally came home. She reeked of alcohol, and there was a faint, undeniable hickey near her collarbone. She didn’t come into the master bedroom. She tip-toed down the hall into the guest room and quietly shut the door. Two minutes later, my phone screen lit up. “You’re going to be the most handsome groom tomorrow. Get some rest. I love you.” I stared at that text for a very long time. At three in the morning. I stood in the center of the living room with a single duffel bag slung over my shoulder. Spread out on the coffee table was the cropped backup tuxedo she had forced me to wear. It was folded sharply. Resting right on the collar was a tarnished silver quarter. Heads up. It was the exact quarter I got in change when she bought me frostbite ointment during that freezing winter in college. That was the day she swore she would never let me suffer or be wronged again. Our entire relationship had started with this quarter, and now, I was giving it back to her. Paid in full. We were done. I stared at the closed door of the guest room. I spoke in a low, even voice, enunciating every syllable slowly into the dead quiet of the apartment. “Jenny, your groom doesn’t want you anymore.” I walked to the entryway and bent down to tie my shoes. When I stood up, I raised my voice one last time and shouted toward that closed door. “Jenny.” My voice echoed down the hallway. Met with absolute silence. I let out a soft laugh, pushed the front door open, and walked out into the night. From today on, I would never have to shout to be heard again.

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