The night the flower shop closed for good, I signed a contract. By the end of it, I had a new identity. Ethan Gray’s wife. He was waiting for me in a wheelchair, deep inside the Gray estate. Rain hammered against the roof of the black Maybach, dull and relentless, like war drums. I wore a white dress. The fabric was cheap, damp against my skin, and thin enough to make me shiver. It wasn’t a wedding dress. It looked more like something you buried people in. The air conditioner blasted cold through the car. My fingertips were numb, but the chill inside me cut deeper. Three hours ago, I was still wondering how I was going to make next month’s rent. Now my parents had stuffed me into this car and sent me to the Gray estate. “Ava Blake, don’t blame us for being cruel.” Before I got in, my mother, Susan Blake, forced a few tears into her eyes. Her voice sounded staged. “Blake Holdings is out of cash. Mrs. Gray made it clear. If we send someone with the right background to marry Ethan Gray and keep the family image intact, she’ll inject five million dollars into the company.” My father, Richard Blake, stood beside her with a dark face. “Your sister Isabella is supposed to marry into real power. Her future can’t be ruined by a dying man. You’ve done nothing with your life. You’ve eaten off this family for years. It’s time you paid the Blakes back.” Everyone in the city knew Ethan Gray’s name. He had once run Gray Group. Two weeks ago, he had been in a brutal car crash. The rumor was that his spine and brain had both been badly injured. That he was lying in intensive care, alive only because machines kept him breathing. Mrs. Gray, desperate and terrified of another scandal, had even listened to a private family adviser who claimed the estate needed a proper marriage to steady the Gray name. That woman was me. They put a price on my life. Five million dollars. Paid in full. The car rolled through the gates of the Gray estate. Behind me, the iron gates closed with a harsh metallic groan, like the last escape route locking shut. A middle-aged butler with no expression held a black umbrella and led me through a dim hallway. It seemed endless. At last, he stopped in front of a heavy redwood door. “Mrs. Gray. Mr. Gray is waiting inside.” The title sounded almost mocking. He stepped away. His footsteps faded into the dark. I took a breath. My palms were slick with sweat. I had already prepared myself for the worst. The stench of disinfectant. The beeping of monitors. A shriveled half-dead man. I pushed the door open. And froze. There was no glaring white light. No medical equipment. The room smelled faintly of cedar and bitter medicine. The main lights were off. Lightning flashed beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, briefly illuminating the wide bedroom. In that sickly white light, I saw a man. He wasn’t in bed. He sat in a wheelchair with his back to me, facing the storm outside. “Do people from the Blake family not know how to knock?” The voice was low and cold, edged with absolute authority. There was no weakness in it. It sounded like a blade at my throat. My whole body went rigid. A vegetable? Dying? The rumors. My parents’ certainty. In that instant, they turned into a joke. The wheelchair slowly turned. Another flash of lightning cut across the sky, and I finally saw his face. He was devastatingly handsome, and just as terrifying. A sharp jaw. A high nose. But what you couldn’t ignore were his eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses. Dark. Deep. Cruel. Amused. He looked at me as if he had already seen every desperate thought in my head. Ethan Gray. He wasn’t just awake. He was terrifyingly alert. “You were forced to come here. I can tell.” He leaned back in the wheelchair and folded his long fingers over his knee. His tone was calm, almost casual. I stood three yards away, cold from head to toe, unable to speak. “Did the Blakes send you here to test whether I’m dead yet? Or do they really think offering up a woman will get them five million from the Gray family?” His mouth curved in a merciless smile. “Either way, you’re a discarded piece now.” He said it too clearly. Too brutally. Like he had ripped the last shred of dignity off me with one hand. Humiliation. Fear. Rage. They slammed into my chest at once. “If you want to run, the door is behind you.” He watched me, almost lazily. “I’ll have someone take you out. We can pretend the Blakes never sent anyone tonight.” Run? To where? Back to the house that sold me like trash? Back to my parents’ fury when they realized they weren’t getting paid? Or onto the street, broke and alone, to freeze in the middle of a storm? I stared at my soaked canvas sneakers. All the despair I had swallowed down all day hit bottom at once and came back up as something meaner. To hell with the Blakes. I looked up and met his eyes. I gritted out the most ridiculous question I had ever asked in my life. “If I don’t run. If I stay…” My voice shook with the force it took to say it. “How much will you pay me?” The room went still. Even the thunder seemed to pause. My heart pounded so hard it hurt. I was done for. He would think I was insane. A gold-digger. He’d have the butler drag me out like garbage. One second. Two. Three. Then he laughed. Low and real, from deep in his chest. He leaned forward slightly, and something dangerous lit up behind his glasses. “Interesting.” For the first time, there was a trace of amusement in his voice. “If you dare stay, name your price.”

The next morning, I sat at the far end of a dining table big enough for twenty. Actually, “morning” wasn’t accurate. I had never fallen asleep. After that absurd transaction, the butler had taken me to a guest room three times the size of my old apartment. I had sat on the bed all night, staring into space until dawn. Breakfast covered the table, but my stomach felt like stone. The staff at the Gray estate moved like flawless machinery, silent and efficient. Still, every time one of them passed with a tray, I could feel their eyes slide over me. Like they were looking at something cheap that had been shoved into an expensive display window. “So that’s the Blake girl they sent to curry favor with the Grays? I expected someone prettier.” “Keep your voice down. Mr. Gray hasn’t said anything yet. Looking at her, she’ll be gone in a week.” The whispers drifted out from the kitchen. My fingers whitened around the fork, but I sat up straighter. Don’t flinch, Ava Blake. You’re here to work. They’re just coworkers. Then I heard the soft hum of a motor at the dining room entrance. The servants instantly fell silent and stepped aside. Ethan Gray was wheeled in. He wore a dark gray cashmere lounge set. His face was pale, but the pressure he carried filled the entire room. He didn’t even look at me. He was pushed to the head of the table. The butler laid his napkin in place. Ethan began to eat with elegant precision, knife and fork barely making a sound. The whole room stopped breathing. My spoon suddenly felt impossibly heavy. “There aren’t many rules in this house,” he said after touching a napkin to his lips. His voice was as cold as a sentence being handed down. “Actually, there are none. Do as you like.” I looked up, startled. His eyes settled on me from across the long table. “Your movements, your spending, your social life. I won’t interfere. As long as you don’t use the title Mrs. Gray to drag me into some public scandal, you’re free to do whatever you want.” The butler stepped forward and held out a black card edged in gold. “Your advance,” Ethan said flatly. “And your salary.” Salary. The word felt unreal. “Starting today,” he went on, “your job is to play Mrs. Gray well. Attend the family events that matter. Help me deal with the business rivals waiting to laugh at me. Keep this marriage looking normal. Until the performance ends. Or until I no longer need you.” At last, I understood. I wasn’t really his wife. I wasn’t even a decorative tool. I was a highly paid actress. He had hired me to hold the outside world in place and distract his enemies. Strangely, the realization calmed me. Being an employee was safer than being a disposable wife. As long as I had value, I could survive. I tightened my grip on the card and gave him a polite, professional smile. “Understood, Mr. Gray.” The change in title came naturally. Something approving flickered in his eyes. He set down the napkin and signaled the butler to wheel him out. Just before he reached the door, he tossed one last bomb over his shoulder. “Nine tomorrow morning. Be at Gray Group headquarters. Human Resources will process your onboarding.” My hand jerked so hard I nearly dropped the spoon. “For what position?” The wheelchair stopped. His answer came from the doorway, cool and final. “My personal assistant.”

At 8:50 the next morning, I stood in front of the revolving doors of Gray Group’s headquarters. The glass tower rose eighty-eight stories into the financial district skyline like a blade. It was the kind of building that didn’t just show power. It enforced it. I stepped inside. And instantly became the rare animal everyone wanted to stare at. Executives in custom suits. Security guards with radios. Junior staff with coffee cups in their hands. Every single one of them looked me up and down with the same feverish curiosity. Pity. Disdain. Glee. And above all, gossip. “That’s her. The Blake girl they sent to please the Gray family.” “She looks so cheap. The whole outfit probably costs less than two hundred bucks.” “Didn’t you hear? After the accident, Mr. Gray couldn’t walk and got violent. The Blakes sent her in as a sacrifice.” “Why is she even here? To fight for inheritance?” “Who knows? Maybe she’s here to show off. She’s technically Mrs. Gray, after all.” Their voices swarmed around me like flies. I lowered my head and gripped the worn strap of my canvas bag so tightly my nails dug into my palm. I regretted coming. I’d rather deal with the icy servants at the estate than stand here and get stared at like a sideshow. “Excuse me. Are you Miss Ava Blake?” A bright voice cut through the whispers. I looked up and saw a young receptionist with a round face, big eyes, and a neat little bun. Her name tag read Maya Riley. She was the only person in the lobby who wasn’t looking at me for entertainment. “I am.” “Mr. Gray left instructions. Please wait in the VIP lounge. Serena Holt will be down shortly to get you.” She pointed toward a quiet, luxurious seating area half hidden by tall plants. I nodded and hurried over, grateful for the chance to disappear. A few minutes later, Maya brought me a steaming cup of tea and set it on the table in front of me. She glanced around to make sure no one was near enough to hear, then leaned closer. “Miss Blake…” she whispered. “Were you really forced into this? Everyone says you’re the family’s scapegoat.” My fingers tightened around the tea cup. Something in me softened at the concern in her eyes. In this steel-and-glass jungle, she was the first warm thing I had seen. I didn’t answer directly. I only smiled at her in thanks. But from that moment on, I filed Maya Riley away under one category in my head. Safe. Then the private elevator chimed. The first thing to step out was a pair of custom high heels covered in crystals and easily four inches tall. Their sharp clicks on marble were elegant and aggressive at once. Then came the woman wearing them. Tall. Stunning. Flawlessly made up. Wrapped in a perfectly fitted Armani suit that looked less like clothing and more like armor. I recognized her immediately. Serena Holt. Ethan Gray’s chief secretary. The real power behind his executive office. I had searched the core leadership team the night before. Serena Holt was widely known as Ethan’s right hand. She walked toward me in a cloud of expensive perfume and stopped just in front of my chair. “Mrs. Gray,” she said with a polished smile that held no warmth at all. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” She put deliberate pressure on the title. I rose to my feet and met her gaze. “Not long, Ms. Holt.” “No need to be formal.” Her smile only sharpened. Her eyes skimmed over my cheap clothes like a knife. “Mr. Gray has decided you’ll be joining the executive office. That makes us coworkers now. Come on. I’ll take you upstairs. And along the way…” She paused. “I’ll teach you the rules.” I followed her into the private elevator. In that tight space, the perfume almost suffocated me. As the elevator climbed, Serena looked at my reflection in the mirrored doors. “That position as Mrs. Gray was never really meant for you.” My stomach dropped. She turned to look at me directly. “When your sister Isabella Blake used to come to the office, Mr. Gray spoiled her. He let her near major projects. Too bad she had standards. She had no interest in a man in a wheelchair. Lucky for you, I guess. You ended up with what she threw away.” The pity in her voice was pure poison. The elevator doors opened on the top floor. Under the bright lights, I could see the contempt in Serena Holt’s eyes perfectly clearly. That wasn’t just a warning. It was a declaration of war.

Ethan Gray’s office took up half the top floor. His side of the space was all authority and glass. The city spread out behind his desk. The black ebony surface looked like a throne disguised as furniture. My side was a joke. In a cramped corner near the entrance, someone had shoved a narrow white desk against the wall. No window. No plant. No view. Not even a decent chair. It looked like a station for temporary help. The hierarchy was obvious. Ethan sat at his desk with a file open in front of him. He wore a black shirt with the collar loose at the throat. Even in the wheelchair, he gave off enough controlled pressure to make breathing difficult. Serena marched me over to my little desk and dropped a stack of files so hard the wood shook. “Miss Blake, this is Mr. Gray’s schedule for the next two weeks and the files for several key projects currently in progress.” She spoke fast, like she was trying to drown me in information on purpose. “Your task this morning is to memorize all of it.” Before I could even respond, she glided to Ethan’s desk and transformed. The sharpness she used on me vanished. Her voice turned sweet and soft. “Mr. Gray, I’ve revised the South District development proposal based on your notes.” She bent down slightly as she handed him a file. “Would you like me to change anything else?” He didn’t even look up. “Leave it. Go.” Four words. Ice cold. The smile on her face froze. But she recovered almost instantly. “Of course, Mr. Gray. I won’t disturb you and… Mrs. Gray.” She emphasized the title again before leaving. When the doors shut behind her, the office went silent except for the rustle of paper and the faint hum of the air system. I stood there awkwardly, not even sure where to put my hands. “Bring me the blue file.” His voice cut through the stillness. Relieved to finally have something to do, I pulled the blue folder from the stack and brought it over. He took it and tossed it back onto the desk in front of me without opening it. “By three this afternoon, I want a risk assessment report I can actually read.” I opened the file. It was a contract renewal for an overseas supplier Gray Group had worked with for years. My degree was technically in business administration, but my college had been mediocre, and I had spent most of those years working side jobs just to survive. Still, after reading the first few pages, even I could see something was wrong. The figures contradicted each other. Important liability clauses were worded vaguely enough to hide almost anything. Worst of all, the financial statements in the appendix showed an obvious hole in the cash flow. Someone was cooking the books. This wasn’t a normal file. It was a trap. A carefully prepared one. Serena had dug it, covered it with fake numbers, and left it there for the clueless new girl to fall into. I looked up at Ethan. He was already reading another set of documents, calm and detached, as if none of this concerned him. Anger rushed up so fast it made my vision blur. Of course he knew. He was Ethan Gray. He had seen right through this file the moment it touched his desk. Which meant he had let it happen. He had let Serena set me up because he wanted to watch me fail. He wanted me humiliated. He wanted me sent packing. My fingers tightened around the file until the edges bent. I was seconds away from throwing it back on his desk and walking out. Then something else rose up inside me. That old, stubborn thing I had built in the Blake household just to survive. Fine. If he was paying me, then I was going to make him regret underestimating me. I said nothing. I went back to the tiny desk, turned on the computer, and got to work. I dug through industry data. Pulled legal references. Rebuilt the cash flow line by line on scratch paper. Highlighted every suspicious clause in red. Made notes beside every contradiction. I forgot to drink water. Forgot to breathe normally. Forgot everything except the numbers in front of me. At 2:59 p.m., I dropped a marked-up report on Ethan’s desk. It was color-coded, blunt, and attached to three core questions and two alternative solutions. It was probably crude by professional standards. But it was everything I had. I stood there, chest heaving from exhaustion and nerves, and waited for judgment. He didn’t even glance at the report. He looked straight at my face instead. At my bloodshot eyes. At my trembling mouth. And then, in a tone that had nothing to do with the file in front of him, he asked: “What exactly did you major in?”

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Five years ago, he left me with a single text: “Let’s take some time apart.” Now he’s back—billion-dollar tycoon, empty-handed, begging me to open the door. But I’m no longer the girl who waited. I built my own empire. And this time, the only thing he can offer me is the truth. My name is Summer Blake. I’m thirty-two, single, and I run a crisis PR firm on the top floors of the financial district. If you want the flattering version, I’m a public relations strategist. If you want the truth, I clean up the messes rich people and powerful companies leave behind. That day, I was sitting in a glass conference room high above the city. My client was a fast-rising new energy startup. Their cash chain had snapped. A hostile acquisition was closing in. My job was to keep the public narrative from collapsing and squeeze out the last scraps of leverage they had left. The atmosphere in the room was suffocating. The acquisition team across from us acted like a pack of sharks. They tossed one clause after another onto the table, sharp and merciless. I sat beside my client, flipping through the documents in my hand with an impeccable professional smile. That was part of the job. No matter how badly I wanted to curse every person on the other side of the table, my face still had to look calm and refined. “Our boss will be here shortly. He’ll make the final call himself.” The man across from me checked his watch, every bit as arrogant as his money allowed him to be. That’s how the capital world works. Whoever has the money gets to control the room. The heavy double doors opened. A man walked in surrounded by assistants and senior executives. My hand stopped over the page for half a second. No longer. I turned the page as if nothing had happened and lifted my eyes. My heart, however, had already been seized by an invisible hand. Marcus Holt. What was he doing here? Five years. He looked older now. More composed. Colder. His suit fit him perfectly. He looked like everything he had always been built to become—untouchable, immaculate, high above everyone else. Only now there was something sharper in him. The hard authority of a man used to being obeyed. He was thirty-four now. No longer the young man who had once held me beneath a streetlamp and said in a hoarse voice, “Let’s give each other some space.” Now he was the man in charge of Apex Capital. The man behind this hostile takeover. The one my client had to bow to. The irony was almost funny. He took the main seat and flipped open the file in front of him. Then his gaze moved across the room and collided with mine. I didn’t look away. I met his stare, gave him a polite nod, and smiled at him with the same distant professionalism I would have used on any cold-blooded capitalist I’d never met before. His hand froze over the page. Real shock flashed in his dark eyes. Good. I wanted him shocked. I spent the entire negotiation cornering his team. I used reputation risk as a bargaining chip and forced them to give us three points on the acquisition price. Marcus said almost nothing. He only sat back and watched me. There was too much in his eyes for me to name. Curiosity. Disbelief. Something else I didn’t care to understand. I just wanted the meeting over. At last, the first round of agreement was reached. My client and I stood to shake hands. When it was Marcus’s turn, my client nervously stretched out a hand. “Mr. Holt, thank you for showing mercy.” Marcus didn’t look at him. He looked at me. Then he held out his hand. “Summer,” he said, his voice lower than it had been five years ago, roughened by something that sounded dangerously close to memory. “Long time no see.” I lowered my gaze to his hand. Then I gave him the smallest smile, touched his fingertips for the briefest second, and withdrew. “Mr. Holt, you’re being too polite. Have we met before?” All the blood drained from his face. The rush of satisfaction that hit me was ugly and immediate. Then I turned and walked out without looking back. By the time I got into the elevator, my palms were drenched in sweat. That night, I soaked in the bathtub for an hour and still couldn’t calm down. A financial news push alert popped up on my phone. **Marcus Holt of Apex Capital: the ruthless investor with five scandal-free years and no room for romance?** I laughed coldly and tossed the phone aside. Ruthless investor, my ass. If he had understood any of that five years ago, I wouldn’t have had to claw my own life together from the ground up. Just as I was thinking it, my phone vibrated. An unknown number. I didn’t answer. A text came through instead. Only two words. **I’m sorry.** I stared at the message for a long time. Then deleted it. Blocked the number. Reported it as spam for good measure. That night, lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling and found myself dragged back to another stormy night five years earlier. He had texted me then too. **Let’s take some time apart.** And after that, there had been nothing. I had just closed my eyes when my phone buzzed again. This time it was my client. They had sent over a document and a message. **Summer, this is the post-acquisition PR integration checklist Mr. Holt’s side just sent. It’s unbelievably strict, and they insisted you handle it personally. Let’s start prepping tonight.** I opened the file. It was packed with over a hundred detailed, impossible PR demands. Professional. Precise. And nasty in all the right places. At the very bottom, the file metadata listed the creator’s name. Marcus Holt. I scrolled to the final page. In the notes section, there was one line that didn’t belong in any formal business document. **The oat latte at that café nearby is still worth ordering. You used to like it with less sugar. I don’t know if you still do.**

The next morning I showed up at the office looking like I hadn’t slept, because I hadn’t. My company wasn’t large. It occupied half a floor in a sleek building near the fashion district. Every inch of it had been paid for one ugly project at a time. By me and Sophie Bennett. My college roommate. My only real friend. My business partner. Beautiful, viciously sharp, impossible to fool. Back in college, she had been the one person who never believed Marcus and I would last. She had told me, “That man has too much buried behind his eyes. The water around him is deep, and you don’t know how to swim in deep water.” I hadn’t listened. Eventually, I nearly drowned. That morning, I threw my bag onto my desk and collapsed into my chair. “You look awful,” Sophie said from the break room, handing me a cup of coffee. “So. Which capitalist drained the life out of you this time?” “Don’t ask,” I muttered. “I saw a ghost.” “Male ghost or female ghost?” “Male.” “Hot?” “Hot enough to make me want to twist his head off and kick it down the street.” Sophie sat across from me and looked me over. “Marcus Holt?” I drank my coffee in silence. That was answer enough. “Unbelievable,” she said flatly. “Five years later and he climbs out of your graveyard like this?” I told her about the negotiation. About the way I looked him in the eye and asked if we’d ever met. Sophie slapped her thigh and grinned. “Good. He deserved it.” Then she sobered. “But this isn’t random. He sends you a file, insists you handle the account personally, and starts acting sentimental? He’s after something.” “I don’t care what he’s after,” I said. “It’s a project. I’ll handle it like any other.” Sophie leaned forward. “Summer. Stay away from him.” “I know.” “No, you don’t.” Her tone sharpened. “Don’t let some expired version of your past blow up everything you built over the last five years.” I didn’t answer. Because I remembered those five years too clearly. The days spent cleaning up other people’s disasters. The nights crying into my pillow until I threw up. The months when I could barely pay staff on time. The long, humiliating climb back to a life that belonged to me. By then, my company had a name. I had a home, a car, a reputation. I had built a life so solid I no longer needed anyone. Especially not him. That afternoon, while we were in a team meeting going through the integration checklist, the receptionist knocked and leaned in nervously. “Miss Blake? Mr. Holt from Apex Capital is downstairs. He doesn’t have an appointment, but he says he’ll wait.” The marker slipped in my hand and left a black streak across the whiteboard. I stared at it for a second. Then I said, “Tell him I’m busy.” “He said–” “I said I’m busy.” Her expression tightened. She nodded and left. The entire meeting room went quiet. I took a breath and forced my voice flat. “Why are you all staring? Keep going.” The meeting ended near seven. On my way past reception, I asked casually, “Did he leave?” “About two hours ago,” the receptionist said. I nodded as if it meant nothing. Then I went back into my office, stood by the window, and stared down at the street where his black Maybach was no longer parked. I felt relief. And then, against my will, something colder and hollower right behind it. I told myself to stop being pathetic. Then sent my assistant a message. **Push every meeting next week related to Apex Capital onto the deputy director. Make up whatever reason you want.** I put the phone down facedown and told myself that was the end of it. The next morning, the receptionist texted me before nine. **Something was dropped off for you. No name.** She attached a photo. Two oat lattes. Less sugar. A sticky note. **You still take it light, right?**

For the next few days, Marcus seemed to disappear. The silence should have made things easier. Instead, it only sharpened my temper. I buried myself in a luxury jewelry rebranding project for the North American market. It was high-budget, brutally competitive, and exactly the kind of account that changed a firm’s standing for years. Then one afternoon, in the middle of preparing our final proposal, Sophie walked into my office with a tablet and a look I didn’t like. “Check your email.” There was an anonymous message in the inbox. No subject line. Just an encrypted archive. Inside was a PDF. And inside the PDF was everything. The decision-making preferences of each board member overseeing the bid. Their professional histories. Their favored strategies. Even notes on personal habits and personality weaknesses. On top of that, it contained the rival bidder’s internal pricing floor. It was a cheat sheet. With something like that, our odds of winning would jump by half. At the bottom right corner of the file was a watermark from one of the top commercial intelligence firms in the country. I already knew what my gut was going to tell me. But I called an old contact at that firm anyway. After a little money and pressure, he finally admitted it. “A major client commissioned it directly from the top,” he said. “Who?” “Apex Capital. Marcus Holt.” For a second, all I could hear was blood rushing in my ears. Of course it was him. I felt sick. What did he think I was? Someone who needed him to rig the playing field because I wasn’t capable of winning on my own? Hadn’t he humiliated me enough with that same logic five years ago? Back then, he had called it protecting me. Now he was trying again. I looked at the PDF, then dragged both it and the email into the trash. Then deleted them permanently. Still not enough. Ignoring him felt too generous. So I called my lawyer. “I need a cease-and-desist sent,” I said. “Today.” The next morning, my law firm sent a sharply worded letter to the intelligence company, accusing them of obtaining non-public competitive information by improper means and attempting commercial bribery. I copied nearly every major PR head in the industry on it. Then, before anyone else could frame the story for me, I called Diana, the British executive leading the North American division of the jewelry brand. “Diana, I need to disclose something,” I told her plainly. “We received an anonymous document containing material that could compromise the fairness of the bidding process.” “I can’t verify who sent it or whether every detail inside is accurate. But I can tell you this: my firm will not use non-public material to win your business.” “To make that clear, we’re scrapping every previous version of our pitch and resubmitting a new proposal next week.” She was silent for a long time. Then she laughed softly. “That was the right decision, darling. Brave too. I’m looking forward to your new proposal.” We won the account two weeks later. And I won it clean.

By then, the gossip around what had happened with the anonymous file had already spread through the industry. The intelligence company tried to send its boss to my office to apologize. I didn’t see him. Their panic wasn’t my problem. Later, a friend from inside that same firm called me, nearly in tears. “You have no idea what kind of mess you made. Marcus Holt’s side is trying to pay anything to make this disappear.” “Then let him come talk to me himself.” Not through assistants. Not through money. Him. He sent his executive assistant in the end. The message was polished, professional, and empty. Marcus hoped to speak with me in person and explain the misunderstanding. I replied with two words. **Not available.** When they tried again the following week, I had my own assistant respond. **Miss Blake hopes Mr. Holt can learn to respect both commercial rules and her boundaries.** After that, everything finally went quiet. Too quiet, really. I told myself I had won. I had used his own methods against him and pinned him to the board. So why did it feel like throwing a punch into cotton? Like nothing had landed at all.

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My best friend had been sleeping with my ex-husband for three years. Together, they spread anonymous rumors, ruined my reputation, and pushed me to the edge. That was when Ethan Grant appeared. He stepped in front of the knife, protected my son Luca, and treated us with a kind of gentleness that almost felt unreal. And just when I was about to fall for him, he tore off the mask. That was when I realized I had only fallen from one trap into another. I slammed the door and tried to leave. He caught my wrist and dropped the truth that shattered what was left of me. “That child you gave birth to six years ago? He’s mine.” 00 At two-thirty in the morning, the underground parking garage of Harbor Grand Hotel felt like a walk-in freezer. The ventilation system rumbled overhead like some dying beast dragging out its last breath. My name is Evie Lane. I am thirty-five years old, and I am the deputy lobby manager of this luxury hotel. By day, I wear tailored suits, eight-centimeter heels, and a smile polished enough to survive the worst guests money can buy. By night, I drag my exhausted body through a custody war over my son, Luca. Life had become a grinder, and I could feel it stripping me down piece by piece. My calves throbbed. My stomach burned from a day lived on black coffee. When I hit my key fob, my battered used car flashed twice in the dark. The second I touched the handle, a rough hand reeking of cigarettes and cheap liquor slammed against the door. “Evie Lane, how much longer are you going to hide from me?” I knew that voice even before I looked up. Derek Cole. My ex-husband. Gambler. Liar. Human ruin. Every drop of blood in my body seemed to rush backward. I turned and saw the bloated, sleepless face I hated more than anything. “What are you doing here?” I took a step back until my spine hit the cold window. “This is my workplace. Leave now, or I call security.” “Go ahead. Call them.” He moved closer instead. “Let everyone at your precious hotel see what kind of woman Evie Lane really is. A bitch who won’t even let the father see his own son.” We had been divorced for two years, and still he clung to my life like rot that would not wash off. “Custody will be decided in family court,” I said, forcing my voice steady while my hand slid toward my bag for my phone. “We have nothing to discuss.” “Don’t hide behind family court.” He grabbed my wrist so hard I almost cried out. My bag hit the floor. My phone skidded away and stopped by his shoe. “Listen carefully, Evie. If you want me to give up custody of Luca, you pay me. Thirty grand. No, fifty. If you don’t, I go to his preschool tomorrow and take him myself.” Spit hit my cheek. The smell of alcohol made my stomach twist. “You’re insane. That’s your son. You can’t use him like this.” “I can’t eat. I don’t care about a kid.” His other hand caught my collar. “If you don’t pay, you’re not leaving this garage tonight.” Fear flooded through me. At this hour, no one came down here. “Let go of me! Help!” His answer was a brutal slap. My ears rang. The taste of blood bloomed in my mouth. I lost my footing and hit the concrete hard, skin ripping across my palm. “Ungrateful bitch.” He lifted his foot to kick me. I shut my eyes. “If you do that,” a cold male voice cut through the garage, “I can promise you’ll spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair.” Derek froze. I looked up. A man stepped out from the shadow of a support column. Tall. Immaculate dark gray suit. Black briefcase in one hand. Even in that dim, filthy garage, he carried himself with an ease that felt almost cruel. His dress shoes struck the concrete in slow, measured steps, like a countdown. “Who the hell are you?” Derek barked, though he had already retreated half a step. The man ignored him and stopped in front of me. He looked down once, taking in my swollen cheek and bleeding palm with a glance so brief it barely seemed human. “Ms. Lane,” he said evenly. “I am Ethan Grant. Your attorney.” 00

Ethan Grant. The name took a second to land. The Ethan Grant. Senior partner at Grant & White. Expensive, ruthless, undefeated. I had emptied almost everything I had to hire him, because Luca was the only thing in this world I refused to lose. I just had not imagined our first real meeting would happen with me on the garage floor, bleeding and humiliated. I looked up at him. He stood against the light, face unreadable, all cold authority and absolute control. “Mr. Grant…” My voice came out hoarse. He did not help me up. He simply shifted, putting his body between me and Derek. “So you’re the pretty-boy lawyer she hired?” Derek sneered, trying and failing to recover his swagger. “This is family business. Stay out of it. I can do whatever I want to my wife.” Ethan’s eyes narrowed a fraction. Dangerous. Without raising his voice, he took out his phone and turned on the recorder. “First, Ms. Lane divorced you two years ago. This is not family business.” “Second, your demand for fifty thousand dollars, accompanied by threats, constitutes extortion.” “Third, you physically assaulted her. I have just recorded your own statement. Depending on the extent of injury, that can carry criminal penalties as well.” Each point came down like a blade. Clean. Precise. Final. Derek’s face paled by degrees. “You’re bluffing,” he snapped, but his voice had already thinned. “I don’t know anything about law. Stop trying to scare me.” “Then test me.” Ethan stepped closer, and the difference in height suddenly mattered. “I can call the police right now. Extortion. Assault. Add your debt problems to that, and prison may be the least of your concerns.” He had found the pressure point. Derek was terrified of losing his freedom, even more terrified that his creditors would reach him where he could not run. His bravado collapsed. He shot me one poisonous look, then backed away. “Fine. You win this round. Just wait, Evie.” He turned and fled toward the exit like a dog kicked off a porch. Only after his footsteps disappeared did the tension leave my body. My knees gave out. I leaned against the wheel well, drenched in cold sweat and fighting for breath. Ethan turned back to me. Still no sympathy. Still no outstretched hand. He opened his briefcase, removed a thick file, and held it out. “These are the financial records and concealed assets we have gathered on your ex-husband. I need your signature.” I stared at him. Now? With my face on fire and my hand bleeding, he wanted paperwork? For one absurd second, I almost laughed. To him, I was not a woman in crisis. I was a case file. I forced myself up, dusted off my skirt, and took the papers. My hand shook badly enough that the pen nearly slipped. Blood from my scraped palm streaked the edge of the white folder. His gaze dropped to the red mark and paused. He said nothing. I signed anyway. “Done.” I handed it back. “And… thank you.” “Part of the job.” He slipped the folder away, then started to leave. After one step, he stopped, turned, and offered me a plain white business card. No title. No office address. Just his name and a number. “This is my private line,” he said. I took it and felt a trace of warmth still clinging to the card. “If that kind of man shows up again, don’t reason with him. Don’t try to carry it alone. Call this number.” His eyes held mine for one beat too long. “The law is a weapon, Ms. Lane. Not a shield. Protect yourself first. Then fight back.” 00

The next morning, I put my armor back on. At Harbor Grand, I became Evie Lane again. Efficient. Composed. Impossible to crack. “Why is the air-conditioning in the A-wing suites still not fixed? I want engineering there in five minutes.” “Guest breakfast complaints are up two points. Send the executive chef to my office.” “Those lobby flowers are dying. Replace the vendor.” Department calls flooded my radio. My heels snapped sharply against the marble. This was my battlefield, and here, at least, I knew how to survive. Only in the restroom mirror did I let myself look at the faint red mark still on my cheek. I covered it carefully. “You look awful,” Maya Reed said from the doorway. She carried a latte, wore flawless makeup, and looked exactly like the friend who had stood beside me for seven years. She was our front office manager, and once upon a time, I trusted her with everything. “Didn’t sleep well,” I said lightly. She crossed her arms. “Derek again?” My lipstick paused midair. “I knew it.” Maya clicked her tongue. “What about that lawyer? Ethan Grant, right? You paid a fortune for him. Is he doing anything?” At the sound of Ethan’s name, I saw him again in that garage, calm as winter, handing Derek’s threats back to him as legal charges. “He’s handling it,” I said. “We’re close to court.” “Good. Men like Derek only understand someone meaner than they are.” She patted my shoulder. “Still, I’ve heard Ethan Grant is cold and expensive and only loyal to money. Don’t trust him too easily.” “We’re strictly professional.” That should have been the end of it. Except later that morning, after I finished calming down a furious VIP over a delayed flight, a trainee at the front desk called out, “Ms. Lane, you have a delivery.” I frowned. I had not ordered anything. It was a thermal lunch bag with my name on it and no sender. Inside were three neatly packed containers: mushroom chicken soup still steaming, light side dishes, soft pumpkin porridge, a box of imported stomach medicine, and a tube of bruise cream. I went still. In this city, very few people knew about my stomach problems. Only one person knew I had been hurt the night before. Ethan Grant. Wasn’t he supposed to be cold? Didn’t people say he only cared about money? Why did he send this? The ointment had a small note attached in a sharp, disciplined hand. Eat on time. Take care of the bruise yourself. No signature. No wasted words. I stared at it longer than I should have. I was too old and too tired to mistake one warm meal for love. Men were rarely generous without motive. But what did Ethan Grant want from me? My legal fees had already been paid. And my heart? Surely a man like him had seen women far more polished, younger, easier, safer. I pushed those thoughts aside and lifted the soup. It was hot. Savory. Real. The warmth spread through my empty stomach and eased the pain in a way that felt almost indecent. While I ate, I pulled out the white card I had tucked at the bottom of my holder and searched the number on my phone. I sent a friend request with two words. Thank you. He approved it in under a minute. Black profile picture. Empty feed. No reply. We sat there in each other’s contact lists like a wire stretched in the dark, quiet for now, waiting. 00

On Thursday afternoon, I took half a day off and went to Grant & White. The firm occupied two full floors in the financial district. The lobby was all glass, steel, and severe black-and-white restraint. Even the sign on the reception wall looked expensive. After checking my appointment, the receptionist led me to a large corner conference room with floor-to-ceiling windows over half the city. The view was stunning. I could not enjoy it. There was something about that room that made me feel examined before anyone even walked in. A few minutes later, the door opened. Ethan came in wearing a dark blue shirt with the tie removed and the collar slightly open. He looked less lethal than he had in the parking garage, but only slightly. The eyes were still sharp enough to cut. “Ms. Lane.” He sat across from me and pushed over a heavy file. “This is everything we currently have.” I opened it. Hotel receipts. Gambling ledgers. Loan contracts. Evidence of hidden assets. Evidence of debt. Evidence of cheating. Evidence of a life built on rot. “Your ex-husband’s finances are worse than expected,” Ethan said calmly. “He is effectively broke and carrying close to three hundred thousand dollars in debt. His interest in custody is entirely strategic. He wants leverage. He wants money.” My fingers tightened around the papers. “Once the judge sees this, Luca stays with me. Right?” “Legally, yes.” His gaze did not soften. “But you are being naive, Evie.” The use of my first name hit harder than it should have. “You think a favorable ruling ends this? Men like Derek do not respond to court orders the way reasonable people do. The more frightened and accommodating you are, the more they feed on it.” “Then what am I supposed to do?” I asked. “I still have a job. I still have a child. I can’t spend every day waiting for him to come after us.” “Fight back.” Two words. Hard as stone. “Stop carrying yourself like prey. The law is useful, but not if you won’t pick up the sword.” The rebuke landed deep because part of me believed it. I had been enduring for so long that I had forgotten endurance and surrender were not the same thing. Before I could answer, my stomach seized violently. Pain shot through me so sharply that I bent over before I could hide it. Cold sweat broke over my back. Ethan frowned, stood, and walked out without a word. For a painful second, I thought he was irritated by the inconvenience I represented. He returned less than two minutes later with warm water and a prescription stomach medication packet from the firm’s emergency cabinet. “Take this.” I looked up. “Now,” he said. I obeyed. Once the pain dulled enough for me to breathe, he remained standing beside the table, one hand braced against the edge, watching me with an intensity that made me look away first. “You’re very good at functioning while falling apart,” he said quietly. I let out a brittle laugh. “Occupational skill.” “That isn’t a compliment.” Something in his tone stripped away my automatic defenses. “No,” I admitted. “It isn’t.” He stayed with me until the cramping passed. When I finally gathered the file to leave, he took it from my hands. “I’ll walk you out.” In the elevator, neither of us spoke. At street level, just before the doors opened, he said, “Strength is not pretending you feel nothing. Strength is deciding what happens next.” The words followed me all the way back to the hotel.

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I was stalked by a creep for two straight weeks. He wore a black trench coat, haunting me like a ghost that refused to disappear. To protect myself, I set a trap in the underground parking garage, blasted him in the face with high-concentration pepper spray, and called the police. I thought the nightmare was over — until a woman moved in next door. She told me with red-rimmed eyes that the creep was actually her cheating husband. I believed her. We formed an alliance and installed a hidden camera in the hallway to catch his mistress. But when the footage came out, I was horrified to discover that the “mistress” in the video — the one acting strangely, talking to thin air — was me. And the man I’d been treating like a stalker, the one I’d hurt over and over again, looked at me with red-rimmed eyes and said, “Abby… I’m your husband…” The lights in the underground parking garage always flickered. Click. Click. Click. There was another sound beneath my footsteps. Soft. Heavy. Keeping a steady distance of about thirty feet behind me. I didn’t need to turn around to know — the creep was back. This was the fifth time this month. He always wore a long black trench coat and a baseball cap pulled low, half his face swallowed by shadow. Every time I came home after a late shift, he’d appear like a ghost on the only path back to my apartment. I tightened my grip on the pepper spray in my pocket. My palm was slick with sweat. The elevator bay was just ahead. If I could make it inside and hit the close button, I’d be safe. I took a deep breath and broke into a run. The footsteps behind me sped up too. I practically threw myself into the elevator bay, jabbing the up button over and over. The elevator doors slid open. I stepped in, spun around, and reached for the close button. Just as the doors were about to shut, a large hand shoved through the gap. The sensors caught it. The doors bounced back open. The man in the black trench coat stood in the doorway, his chest heaving. He lifted his head. Beneath the brim of his cap were a pair of eyes shot through with red. “Abby…” His voice was hoarse, edged with a desperation that made my skin crawl. He knew my name. My scalp went cold. Every ounce of fear I’d been holding back exploded into raw, instinctive rage. “Stay away from me, you freak!” I yanked out the pepper spray and drove my thumb down on the trigger, aiming straight at his face. A concentrated blast hit him dead-on. “Ahhh—” He let out a cry of pain, both hands flying to his eyes. He stumbled backward and slammed hard into the wall behind him. I hammered the close button. The doors finally shut, cutting off the sight of him writhing in the hallway. I pressed my back against the elevator wall, gasping, my whole body shaking. The moment I got home, I deadbolted the door and called 911. The police arrived quickly. Two young officers swept through the garage and came up empty. “Ma’am, we pulled the garage footage,” the taller one told me, “but that spot is a blind zone for the cameras. Don’t worry though — we’ll increase patrols in the area. If you see him again, call us right away.” I nodded, but the unease didn’t leave me. The way that man had looked at me was strange. Not leering. Not predatory. It was something else entirely — complicated, pained, almost desperate. Like he was suffering. I wasn’t buying it. A creep is a creep. I poured myself a cup of hot tea and forced myself to breathe. Then the doorbell rang. I flinched so hard I nearly dropped the mug. Through the peephole, I saw a woman standing in the hallway.

She was wearing a wine-red silk slip dress with a thin cashmere cardigan draped over her shoulders. Her long, wavy hair fell loosely around her face. Beautiful. And exhausted. I hesitated, then cracked the door open — just enough, the chain still on. “Hi. I just moved in next door.” The woman gave me a strained smile. Her eyes were red. “I’m Zoe.” “Can I help you?” I kept my guard up. “I… could I come in for a minute?” Zoe bit her lip. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I don’t know who else to turn to. I’m scared.” Something in me softened at the sight of her. We were both women. Both living alone in a city that didn’t care. Everyone falls apart sometimes. I unlatched the chain and let her in. Zoe sank onto the couch, cradling the mug of hot tea I handed her, her body still trembling faintly. “What happened?” I passed her a few tissues. Zoe wiped her eyes and looked up at me, her gaze full of desperation. “Abby, women need to stick together — can you help me out?” I blinked. “Help you with what?” “Help me catch my husband’s mistress.” I nearly choked on my own saliva. In the middle of the night, she’d come to her neighbor’s door for this? “Your husband… is cheating on you?” I asked carefully. Zoe nodded, and the tears started falling again. “He’s been coming home really late lately, and he smells like another woman’s perfume. And I found out he’s been secretly following someone.” “Following someone?” I latched onto that word immediately, and a wave of unease washed over me. “Yeah. He was wearing a black trench coat and a baseball cap…” My head started buzzing. Black trench coat? Baseball cap? Following someone? “Your husband — is he really tall? Around six foot one or so?” I asked urgently. Zoe stared at me. “How did you know?” That confirmed it. The creep I’d pepper-sprayed in the parking garage was my next-door neighbor’s husband. I was so angry I could grind my teeth. No wonder he knew my name — he must have checked the building’s resident registry, or overheard it somewhere. He had a gorgeous wife right next door, and instead he was out there stalking me. What an absolute creep and a scumbag, through and through. Fueled by shared outrage, I immediately told Zoe everything that had happened in the parking garage. “What? You pepper-sprayed him?” Zoe’s eyes went wide — and then, to my surprise, a look of deep satisfaction crossed her face. “Good. Serves him right. Men like that need to be taught a lesson.” Just like that, we were on the same side. Zoe sipped her water and glanced around my apartment. “You live alone?” I nodded. “Yeah, just moved in not too long ago.” Her gaze drifted to the front door. She frowned slightly, like something was turning over in her mind. “Abby,” she said, turning to look at me with a new resolve in her eyes, “I want solid evidence before I take him for everything he’s got. Would it be okay if I… installed a hidden camera outside your door?” I froze. “If I put it outside my door, he’ll get suspicious. But if it’s on your side, it’ll catch the blind spot in the hallway — he’d never think to look there.” Zoe took my hand, her voice soft and earnest. “Please, Abby. I’m begging you.” Looking at her red, swollen eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to say no. And honestly — if it could capture evidence of that creep’s behavior, it would protect me too. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll do it.”

The next day was the weekend, and Zoe wasted no time. She came back with a tiny camera disguised as a small motion-sensor night light and mounted it on the wall just outside my door. The lens pointed straight down the hallway toward the elevator — the only way in — and it had a clear view of her front door too. “Done!” Zoe dusted off her hands, a gleam of revenge flickering in her eyes. “If he ever dares bring that woman back here, or comes near you again, I’ll make sure he regrets every second of it.” The next few days were surprisingly quiet. The man in the black trench coat didn’t show up again. Every evening when I got home from work, I’d glance at the little night light on the wall out of habit, and it made me feel just a little bit safer. Zoe started coming over a lot too. We’d order takeout together, vent about our insufferable bosses, and go on long rants about terrible men in general. I was amazed by how well we clicked. We both loved extra-cheese pizza, we were both allergic to mango, and we even had the exact same taste in movies — we were both obsessed with twisty, mind-bending psychological thrillers. “Abby, I feel like we’re long-lost sisters,” Zoe said one evening, a little tipsy on red wine, sinking back into the couch with a dreamy look on her face. I smiled. “Yeah. Me too.” In a city where I barely knew anyone, finding a friend who just got me — that felt like real luck. But the quiet didn’t last. On the fifth night, I worked late and didn’t get home until ten. The moment I stepped off the elevator, something felt off about the hallway. It was too still. Even the faint sound of a TV from next door — something I’d gotten used to hearing — was gone. I slowed my steps and tightened my grip on the pepper spray in my bag. As I reached my door, I glanced instinctively at Zoe’s place. No light coming from under the door. Was she out? Already asleep? I pulled out my keys — and then I heard it. A sound. Coming from inside my apartment. A soft rustling. Like someone moving things around. Every drop of blood in my body went cold. Someone was in there. The first face that flashed through my mind was his — the creep in the black trench coat. How did he get in? Does he have a key to my apartment? I didn’t rush to open the door. Instead, I tiptoed back to the elevator lobby and dialed 911. “Hello? I think someone broke into my apartment. Yes, I’m outside right now. I’m too scared to go in…” I hung up and stood there, eyes locked on my front door, heart hammering in my chest. About ten minutes later, the elevator chimed and the doors slid open. Two officers stepped out — the same two from last time. “Madam, what’s going on?” the tall one asked. “I heard noises coming from inside. Someone’s in there, I know it!” I pointed at the door, my voice shaking. The officers exchanged a glance and motioned for me to step aside. The tall officer drew his baton and approached the door carefully, reaching out to try the handle. It wasn’t locked. My stomach dropped. I was sure I’d deadbolted it when I left this morning. I was absolutely sure. The officer shoved the door open and rushed in. “Police! Don’t move!” I followed behind them, peering in from the doorway. The living room was empty. The bedroom, the kitchen, the bathroom — they swept every corner. Nothing. “Madam, are you certain you heard something?” The tall officer put his baton away and looked at me with a furrowed brow. “Yes, I’m certain! There was definitely a sound!” I was getting frantic. I pointed at the coffee table, which was clearly out of order. “Look — it wasn’t like this when I left. Someone moved these magazines.” The officers walked over to check, then examined the windows. “Windows are locked from the inside. No sign of forced entry on the door either.” The tall officer let out a slow breath. “Madam, have you been under a lot of stress lately? Sometimes when people are exhausted, they—” “No. I heard it. I know what I heard.” There was nothing I could say to make them believe me. After they left, I sat alone on the couch, staring at the empty apartment, a cold unease creeping under my skin. Someone had been in here. I was sure of it. The air still carried a faint trace of cigarette smoke — and something else. Something sharp and clean that I couldn’t quite name. It was him. That creep. It had to be. Then it hit me — the security camera outside my door. Of course. The camera must have caught something. I grabbed my phone and called Zoe. “Sorry, the number you have dialed is unavailable…” What? Why was her phone off? I went next door and knocked hard. No answer. A wave of unease washed over me, deep and unsettling.

That night, I left every light in the apartment on and sat on the couch until morning. I showed up to work the next day with dark circles under both eyes. I couldn’t focus on anything. My mind kept drifting back to the night before. The moment the workday finally ended, I rushed home and went straight to Zoe’s door. It opened. Zoe was wearing an oversized white button-down, her hair messy, her face drained of all color. “Zoe, what happened? Where were you last night?” I grabbed her hand — it was ice cold. “Abby…” The moment she saw me, her eyes filled with tears. “He came back. That bastard came back last night.” My chest tightened. “Did he hurt you?” Zoe shook her head, her jaw clenched. “No. He just came to get his things. He wants a divorce — and he wants me to walk away with nothing.” “Are you serious?!” I was furious. “He’s the one who cheated. He’s the one who’s been stalking someone. And he has the nerve to kick you out with nothing?” “That’s exactly why we need proof.” Zoe grabbed my hand, her eyes burning with intensity. “Abby — the camera. Whatever happened last night, the camera caught it.” Right. The camera. I pulled her into my apartment and locked the door behind us. Zoe took out her phone, pulled up the app connected to the hidden camera, and scrolled back to last night’s footage. We sat side by side on the couch, eyes glued to the screen. The image was sharp and clear. The hallway was empty, the motion-sensor light flickering on and off every now and then. Time ticked by, second by second. We dragged the progress bar to 9:30 PM. Then a figure appeared in the frame. My heart leapt into my throat. But when the figure stepped fully into view, I froze. It wasn’t the man in the black trench coat. It was a woman. Wearing the same beige coat I’d had on yesterday. Carrying my bag. It was me. The woman on screen didn’t do what I remembered. She didn’t stop at the door, hear a noise, back away, and call the police. She walked straight to my door, pulled out her keys, unlocked it, and went inside. Then the door closed. No hesitation. No panic. No retreat to the elevator lobby. I stared at the screen, my mind completely blank. “What… what is this?” I stammered. “I could have sworn I…” “You could have sworn what?” Zoe turned to look at me, her expression cold. The look in her eyes sent a chill straight through me. I stared at her now — not with that pitiful, helpless look she’d worn before. This was different. This was scrutiny. Cold, mocking scrutiny. “I heard something inside, so I didn’t go in — I stepped back and called the police!” I said desperately. “The cops came! They actually showed up!” “The police?” Zoe let out a cold laugh. “Abby, look at the footage carefully. Did any cops show up last night?” I snatched the phone out of her hand and frantically dragged the progress bar forward. 9:40. 10:00. 11:00… The hallway was empty. No police. No one had come at all. According to the security footage, I walked through the door at 9:30 — and never came back out. “That’s impossible… this is absolutely impossible!” I threw the phone onto the couch and grabbed my head with both hands. “I called the police. I talked to them. The footage is fake. Someone tampered with it!” “Abby, calm down.” Zoe’s voice dropped suddenly, soft and drifting, like it was floating. “The footage wasn’t tampered with. It’s you… you’re not well.” “I’m perfectly fine!” I shot to my feet and pointed straight at her. “It’s you! You did this, didn’t you? You and that psycho husband of yours cooked this whole thing up to mess with me!” Zoe looked at me, and something flickered in her eyes — a flash of sadness. “Abby, really look at me.” She stood up and moved toward me, one slow step at a time. “Don’t you think… we look alike?” I froze. I stared hard at Zoe’s face. Before, I’d just thought we clicked — that we had some natural chemistry. But now, looking closely… Her brows. Her nose. That tiny mole on her chin. Aside from the heavy makeup and the way she carried herself — more mature, more striking — her features were identical to mine. Every single one. “Who… who are you?” I backed away, step by step, until my back hit the cold wall behind me. “Who am I?” Zoe smiled — and tears spilled down her face. “Abby, I’m the coward inside you. The part of you that’s too scared to face the truth.” “You’re out of your mind!” I pressed my hands over my ears and shook my head frantically. “Am I? Then tell me — why are we both allergic to mango? Why do we both always order extra cheese? And why is there a wine-red silk slip in your closet that’s exactly like mine?” Each word Zoe spoke hit like a blade driving straight through my skull. And then I remembered. That wine-red silk slip — I’d bought it last month. Never worn it, because I thought it was too revealing. But the night Zoe first knocked on my door, that was exactly what she had on. “You lied to me… you lied to me!” I screamed, completely falling apart. “I’m calling the police! I’m going to find that officer from last night!” I fumbled with my phone, frantically scrolling through last night’s call history. Nothing. There was no record of calling 911. Not a single one. Just one outgoing call to an unsaved number I didn’t recognize. Duration: two minutes. I stared at the digits on the screen — and felt a strange, unsettling sense of familiarity wash over me. “Go ahead.” Zoe stood over me, looking down. “Call it. See who picks up.” My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the phone. I pressed dial and switched it to speaker. Ring… ring… Two rings. Then someone answered. “Hello?” A low, hoarse voice came through — heavy with exhaustion. It was him. The man I’d pepper-sprayed by the elevator. “Who… who are you?” I heard my own voice trembling. Silence on the other end. It stretched so long I thought he’d hung up. Then the voice came back — cracked, broken, like something inside him was shattering. “Abby, have you forgotten me again?” he said. “It’s Eric. I’m your husband.”

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“Yulia, you shameless skank! Xander is NOT a Johnson!” At my son’s graduation party—the day we were celebrating him getting into a top ivy league university—my ex-mother-in-law crashed the event, dragging my ex-husband and his new wife along with her. She threw a paternity test in my face, demanded I pay back what she called “child support,” and tried to destroy my reputation in front of everyone. The whole room erupted. Dozens of phone cameras swung toward me. Looking at the three of them and their ugly, twisted faces, I didn’t flinch. I didn’t cry. I calmly reached into my purse and pulled out a yellowed, confidential medical document. “Yvonne Johnson—eighteen years ago, when you were on your knees begging me to do IVF, you had a very different tune.” The August heat was brutal. The air conditioning inside the seafood restaurant was cranked up high, but I still felt a thin layer of sweat on my skin. Today was Xander’s graduation party. Eighteen years old. Top 1% SAT score. Accepted into an Ivy League university. I stood near the entrance greeting guests in a custom-made red dress. Xander stood beside me in a crisp white button-down shirt—he’d shot up to six feet tall, with little dimples that appeared at the corners of his mouth every time he smiled. “Mom, go take a break. I’ve got this.” He handed me a cup of hot coffee. I took it, my eyes watered up just a little. Eighteen years. From a tiny newborn to this tall, handsome young man standing next to me. I raised him on my own—playing both mom and dad—and I’d done it. “That Miller girl really has it made! Look at the son she raised!” “No kidding. Single mom and everything—she really pulled through.” Friends and family gathered around us, the compliments flowing freely. I smiled and nodded along, feeling a weight finally lift off my chest. Xander had done well. His future was wide open. And I’d done my job—at least most of it. Then the front doors burst open with a deafening bang. The crash cut through every conversation in the room. Everyone froze and turned toward the entrance. The smile died on my face. Yvonne Johnson. My ex-mother-in-law. She swept in wearing a bright red silk dress, a gaudy string of pearls around her neck, a designer bag hanging from her arm, and a look on her face like she owned the place. Behind her came my ex-husband, Albert Johnson, and his new wife, Mia. Albert had packed on a lot of weight—his shirt stretched tight over a beer gut—and his hair had thinned considerably on top. Mia was dressed to the nines, tottering in sky-high stilettos, clutching Albert’s arm with her chin tilted up like she was royalty. The three of them looked like three toads who’d crashed a Swan Lake —revolting no matter how you looked at them. “Yulia! You shameless slut!” Yvonne was still halfway across the room, but her grating voice cut through everything. The entire hall went dead silent. Xander instinctively stepped in front of me, brow furrowed tight. “What do you think you’re doing?” “What am I doing?” Yvonne let out a cold laugh and raked her eyes over Xander with open contempt. “I’m here to expose your mother for what she really is!” She closed the distance in a few steps, yanked a stack of papers from her bag, and flung them straight at my face. The sharp edges sliced across my cheek. It stung. “Come get a good look, everyone!” Yvonne spun around to face the room and shouted at the top of her lungs. “This woman—Yulia—was sleeping around behind my son’s back! That boy is a bastard, and the Johnson family has been stuck supporting him for years without knowing the truth!” The room exploded. Friends and relatives turned to each other, the whispers swelling like a wave. “Oh my God, is that true?” “No way—Yulia always seemed so… normal.” “You never really know someone, do you? Look at how sure that woman sounds.” Xander’s face went white. He stared at the papers scattered across the floor, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles cracked. I took a deep breath and bent down to pick up the paper from the floor. A paternity test report. The conclusion section read: Albert Johnson is excluded as the biological father of Xander Johnson.

I stared at those words and suddenly started laughing. I laughed so hard tears nearly sprang to my eyes. Five years. It had been five years since Albert and I divorced. In those five years, his family never once checked in on us — never paid a single dime in child support. Now that Xander had gotten into a good university, now that he’d actually made something of himself, they had the nerve to show up and cause a scene. I didn’t even need to think about it. Mia’s hasn’t showed any sign of getting pregnant this whole time, and they were getting desperate. They wanted to use this as an opportunity to drag Xander’s name through the mud — and mine along with it — so they could either claim Xander for themselves or squeeze some money out of me. Quite the scheme they had cooked up. “Laughing? You still have the nerve to laugh?” Yvonne jabbed her finger at my face. “The evidence is right there! You owe the Johnson family an explanation — today!” Albert cowered behind Yvonne, his eyes darting everywhere but at me. Mia, on the other hand, was loving every second of it. She let out a cold laugh and said with a sneer, “Yulia, you always acted so high and mighty. Didn’t think you had it in you to be this shameless. Passing off some other man’s bastard as a Johnson — aren’t you afraid karma will catch up with you?” I ignored her and turned to look at Albert instead. “Albert, do you think Xander is a bastard too?” Albert shrank back, stammering. “The test results are right there… Yulia, just… just admit it. Return what our family gave you over the years, and we’ll call it even.” “What your family gave me?” I almost laughed at the absurdity of it. “Albert, swear to god — in the five years since our divorce, have you paid Xander a single dime in child support?” “I…” Albert had nothing to say. “Don’t change the subject!” Yvonne shoved him aside and stepped forward, puffing up like a mother hen shielding her chick. “So what if we didn’t pay child support? You had a bastard kid — why should the Johnsons foot that bill? Let me tell you something, Yulia. If you don’t compensate us for the emotional damage you’ve caused this family, I will make sure you can’t show your face in this city. And that little mongrel of yours? He won’t even make it to college.” Bastard. Little mongrel. The insults kept rolling out of her mouth. Xander was shaking with rage, his eyes were blood shot. He stepped forward, ready to confront her. I grabbed his arm. “Xander.” I patted the back of his hand, my voice was dead calm. “If a dog bites you, you don’t bite back. Let me handle this.” I turned back around and looked at Yvonne’s face, twisted with fury. “Yvonne, you just said — black and white, right there on that test — that Xander is not Albert’s son.” “That’s right!” “You’re correct.” Dead silence fell over the room. Everyone stared at me, wide-eyed, unable to believe what they’d just heard. Even Yvonne froze, clearly not expecting me to admit it so willingly. “He is not Albert’s son.” I said it slowly, one word at a time. A wave of gasps rippled through the crowd. Someone pulled out their phone and started recording. Mia grinned with delight and pointed her phone straight at me. “Did everyone hear that? She admitted it herself! This is big news!” Yvonne snapped out of her daze and turned even more vicious. “Well, well! So you finally admit it, you shameless woman! You—” “But—” I cut her off. I reached into my bag and pulled out a worn kraft paper envelope from the innermost pocket. The envelope was old, its corners frayed and torn. “Yvonne, do you want to know why Xander isn’t Albert’s son?” I fixed my gaze on her, eyes sharp as a blade. Yvonne shifted uncomfortably under my stare and took an involuntary step back. “Why… why? Isn’t it obvious? You were sleeping around!” I let out a cold laugh and, right in front of everyone, untied the string on the envelope.

“Albert Johnson. Male. Twenty-nine years old.” I pulled a yellowed lab report from the envelope, my voice clear and loud enough for every single person in the lobby to hear. “Semen analysis report: sperm density — zero. Sperm motility — zero.” I paused, my eyes sweeping over Albert’s face, which had gone ghost-white in an instant. “Diagnosis: Primary azoospermia.” Boom! The room erupted again. This time, the uproar was even louder than before. “Azoospermia? Doesn’t that mean he’s shooting blanks?” “Oh my God, so it’s the man who can’t have kids!” “And that old woman had the nerve to accuse the wife of cheating? Shameless!” Albert stood there like he’d been struck by lightning, completely frozen. His face, usually slick and flushed, was drained of every drop of color. The smile on Mia’s face went rigid. She whipped her head toward Albert, her voice sharp and unsteady: “Albert! What is this? You told me there was nothing wrong with you!” Albert stammered, “M-Mia, just let me explain—” “Explain what?!” Mia slapped him across the face. The crack of it echoed through the room. “You lied to me! You actually lied to me!” Mia was shaking with rage, pointing right in his face. “Your mother made me drink that disgusting herbal medicine every single day and called me a hen that couldn’t lay eggs — and it turns out you are the one who can’t have kids, you useless piece of garbage!” Albert covered his face with his hand and couldn’t say a word. Yvonne panicked too. She hadn’t expected me to still have the medical records from back then. But she was a seasoned troublemaker. Her eyes darted around, and she launched right back into her act. “It’s fake! All of it’s fake!” Yvonne lunged at me, trying to snatch the lab report out of my hand. “Yulia, you conniving witch! You’re trying to cover up your own affair by forging documents to frame my son! My son is perfectly healthy!” I stepped back, dodging her grab, and held the lab report high above my head. “Forged?” I laughed coldly. “It has St. Mary’s Hospital’s official seal, the attending physician’s signature, and Albert Johnson’s own signature right there at the bottom. Go ahead — verify it yourself.” I flipped the lab report around and held it up for everyone to see. A clear red official seal. The doctor’s bold, sweeping signature. And Albert Johnson’s unmistakable scrawl. Someone in the crowd called out: “That seal looks real to me!” “The handwriting matches too!” Yvonne’s face cycled through every shade of red and white, like she couldn’t settle on one. She gritted her teeth and pushed back: “Even if… even if that record is real, it only proves my son had health issues back then! How does anyone know where that kid of yours really came from? For all we know, you slept with some random man!” “Still not giving up, are you?” I nodded and pulled another sheet of paper from the folder. “In Vitro Fertilization – Embryo Transfer Informed Consent Form.” I read it out, word by word. “Patient: Yulia Miller. Spouse: Albert Johnson. Due to the spouse’s severe azoospermia and inability to provide viable sperm, both parties have consented to in vitro fertilization using an anonymous donor from a licensed sperm bank.” I turned to the last page and pointed to the signature line. “Family member signature — Yvonne Johnson.” I held the consent form right up in front of Yvonne’s face. “Yvonne, that’s your own signature. Surely you recognize it?” Yvonne’s eyes locked onto that signature, wide and unblinking, like they might pop right out of her head. Her lips trembled. She couldn’t get a single word out.

“You… you’re lying! I never signed that!” Yvonne suddenly snapped, shoving me aside and jabbing a finger in my face. “Yulia, who did you pay to make all this up?! You think a few sheets of paper are enough to fool people? Not a chance!” She turned to the crowd and shouted: “Don’t believe her! This woman is calculating as hell! She’s trying to get her hands on the Johnson family’s money — that’s why she cooked all this fake stuff up!” The people around them exchanged uneasy glances, unsure who to believe. It was all happening too fast. Too many twists. “Fake?” I looked at Yvonne — shameless and unyielding as ever — and shook my head. “Yvonne, if I was brave enough to bring it out, I’m not afraid of you checking it.” I took out my phone and opened an audio file. “Since you won’t admit to signing it, let’s all listen to this.” I turned the volume all the way up. A brief burst of static, then a woman’s voice came through the phone—wailing, hysterical. “Yulia, please! I’m begging you!” The moment those words rang out, the room erupted. Because that voice—it was identical to the one Yvonne had been screaming with just moments ago. The recording kept going. “Albert’s condition—the doctors say there’s no cure. The Johnson family can’t die out without an heir! Yulia, please consider IVF. A sperm donor is fine too. As long as you’re the one carrying the baby, I’ll accept the child as my own! I’ll treat you like my own daughter!” Then came my voice—younger, weighed down with exhaustion and resignation. “Mom, this is a huge decision. What do we tell the child when they grow up? And what if you two change your minds?” “We won’t! We absolutely won’t!” Yvonne’s voice was fierce with conviction. “I swear to God! Only the three of us will ever know. We take this to our graves. If I ever go back on my word, may lightning strike me dead!” “Words aren’t enough. The hospital needs a family member’s signature.” “I’ll sign! I’ll sign right now! Just say yes, and I’ll do whatever it takes!” The scratch of pen on paper came through the recording. Then a dull thud. “Yulia, I’m on my knees. The future of this family rests entirely on you.” The recording cut off. The hall went dead silent. Every pair of eyes turned to Yvonne. Shock. Contempt. Disgust. Yvonne’s face had gone a deep, ugly shade of red. Her whole body trembled—shaking so violently she could barely hold herself together. “You… you recorded me!” She pointed at me, her finger quivering like a leaf caught in the wind. “If I hadn’t, how was I ever going to expose that fake face of yours today?” I stared at her, cold and steady. “Eighteen years ago, you got down on your knees and begged me to give your son an heir. Eighteen years later, you show up here with your son to ruin my son’s graduation party, calling him a bastard to his face. Yvonne Johnson—do you even have a conscience?” Albert crouched on the floor, head buried in his hands, like he was desperate to disappear through the floorboards. Mia let out a sharp, humorless laugh. The look she gave Albert was like she was staring at a pile of trash. “Oh, wonderful. Just wonderful.” Mia began to clap slowly, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “What a performance you two put on. You played me like a complete fool.” She stormed over to Albert and kicked him hard. “Albert, you are pathetic, useless for a man! Not only did you trick me into marrying you, you had me taking fertility herbal supplements for three years! Do you have any idea I ended up in the hospital twice with a bleeding stomach because of those treatments? Are you even human?!” Albert rolled across the floor under her kicks, begging for mercy. “Mia, please stop—I know I was wrong. I only kept it from you because I loved you so much. I couldn’t bear to lose you—” “Loved me? You loved having a baby machine!” Mia landed another kick. “Divorce. I want a divorce. I’m going to sue you for fraud. I’ll make sure you lose every single thing you own!” Watching them tear into each other, I felt nothing stir inside me. Nothing except disgust.

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Five years of marriage, and everyone in the Sterling family knew the truth: I was just a placeholder for Julian’s first love, Chloe. When I finally handed him the divorce papers, I only had one condition. “Send me to Paris to study art.” Julian flipped through the agreement twice. A mocking smile played on his lips. “So, you’re finally dropping the act.” He stood up, walked over to me, and pinched my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “She studied art, so now you want to study art. She went to Paris, so you have to go to Paris. Seven, are you really that obsessed with me, or are you just desperate to become her?” I didn’t answer. The next day, he had his driver pick me up, saying everything was arranged. But the car didn’t stop at an airport. It stopped in front of a colorful, tacky storefront in a suburban strip mall: “Happy Hippo Kids’ Art Class”. The receptionist at the front desk smiled warmly and handed me a tiny, paint-splattered apron. “Hi there! Are you here to drop off your kid?” “No,” Julian’s voice cut in from behind me. He stepped up, hands slid casually into his tailored suit pockets, his tone dripping with lazy condescension. “She’s the student.” The other parents nearby shot me weird, pitying looks. Julian leaned down, his breath brushing my ear, his voice barely a whisper. “A beginner’s class. Just your level, babe.” I didn’t make a scene. Instead, I turned around and pointed to the framed oil painting hanging in the lobby window. Specifically, at the signature in the bottom right corner. “Julian, I sold that exact painting ten years ago for seventy thousand dollars.” I looked him dead in the eye. “Do you still think I’m the one copying her?”

“Seventy thousand?” Julian glanced in the direction of my finger. His eyes lingered on the canvas for less than half a second before his face contorted into a cold, deeply contemptuous sneer. “Seven, are you seriously making up lies this pathetic just to get my attention now?” He stood there, towering over me, a hand in his pocket. He looked down at me like I was a misbehaving pet. There wasn’t a shred of doubt in his eyes—only absolute certainty. He was certain I was lying. He was certain I was just a jealous, vain woman acting out. “I don’t care about seventy grand,” he whispered, leaning closer. “If you love this painting so much, I’ll have my assistant buy it and hang it in your bedroom.” “But you don’t need to embarrass yourself by claiming you painted it.” The receptionist couldn’t help but let out a soft snort. She covered her mouth, her eyes darting between Julian and me with blatant mockery. “Mr. Sterling, your wife has quite a sense of humor,” she said, tapping a glossy brochure. “This piece, “Drowning”, is just a high-quality print our franchise bought. The original masterpiece is in the private collection of a billionaire in France.” “If your wife could paint at this level ten years ago, why is she signing up for a class that teaches you how to hold a brush?” The parents waiting in the lobby started whispering. Dozens of mocking, amused stares pricked my back like needles. I stood there silently. I didn’t defend myself. Ten years ago, when I painted that piece, I signed it with my real name, “Seven”. But nobody in this superficial circle knew that. And Julian was the last person who would ever care. For the past five years, his entire world had revolved around Chloe. I was just the quiet, obedient shadow he kept around to fill the void. Looking at Julian’s handsome but cold face, a wave of nausea hit me. “Cat got your tongue?” Julian straightened up, adjusting his flawless platinum cufflinks. “Embarrassed because you got caught?” I swallowed the dryness in my throat and kept my voice flat. “If you don’t believe me, Julian, forget it.” “I’ll figure out the Paris trip on my own.” His brows furrowed instantly. My indifferent attitude clearly annoyed him. “On your own?” He let out a sharp chuckle, as if I’d just told the funniest joke of the year. “Seven, you’ve been married to me for five years. You haven’t swiped anything but my black card. You’re telling me you have a backup plan?” “What are you going to use? Your imaginary seventy-thousand-dollar art money?” Right then, his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a custom ringtone. Chloe. The harshness in Julian’s eyes melted away in an instant. The cold aura around him vanished. He answered the call right in front of me, his voice suddenly soft enough to drip honey. “Chloe? What’s wrong?” “Your stomach is hurting again? Did you take your meds?” “Okay, don’t move. I’m coming over right now.” He hung up, and the warmth vanished from his face. When he looked back at me, he was the cold billionaire again. “Chloe is sick. I don’t have time for your childish tantrums.” He pointed at the apron on the desk, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Since you’re already here, go inside and take the class. Behave yourself.” “And stop trying to compete with Chloe. You’re not her, and you never will be.” Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked out of the mall. Through the glass doors, I watched his Maybach disappear into the heavy rain. I looked down at the registration form in my hand, slowly tore it into tiny pieces, and tossed them into the trash can. “Um, ma’am? Or… student?” the receptionist called out, her voice dripping with attitude. “Are you taking the class or what? The beginner session starts in two minutes, and we don’t do refunds.” I ignored her, turned around, and walked toward the elevators. Outside, the rain was pouring, cold wind whipping against my face. Standing under the awning, I pulled out my phone and scrolled to a number I hadn’t dialed in five years. My fingers shook slightly. It rang for a long time before a sleepy, deep voice answered. “Who is this?” I took a deep breath. “Zach. It’s me.” The line went dead silent. For thirty seconds, all I heard was a sudden crash on the other end, like someone had knocked over a desk of art supplies. “Seven?!” Zach’s voice leaped an octave, thick with utter shock. “You’ve been MIA for five years, and now you finally decide to call?” Looking at the blurry neon lights of the city through the rain, my eyes stung. “Zach,” I whispered. “You told me once… that there was an open slot for the residency program at the Paris Academy of Fine Arts.” “Does that offer still stand?”

“Seven, did you finally get a brain transplant?” Zach’s voice crackled through the phone, his frustration vibrating across the Atlantic. “Five years ago, you got the prestigious scholarship, and then you dropped out overnight for some guy. You literally vanished. Do you know the Professor almost burned down your studio because he was so pissed?” I leaned against the cold brick wall, staring at my shoes. “I know.” “I’m sorry, Zach.” Zach scoffed, but his tone softened. “Save it.” “I’ve kept your slot open. But Seven, you haven’t touched a paintbrush in five years. Can you even still paint?” I lifted my right hand. My fingers were long and pale. I curled them into a fist. Five years ago, trying to make Julian the homemade soup he’d been craving, I had accidentally knocked over a pot of boiling water. There was still a coin-sized scar on the back of my hand. Julian had been hungover at the time. He had simply tossed his credit card at me and told me to drive myself to the ER. Staring at the scar, my voice was quiet but steady. “Yes, I can.” “Good,” Zach said, getting straight to business. “Get your portfolio ready. Email me the digital files by next week.” “Also, you’ll need a financial guarantee for the visa and living expenses. At least a hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” “Is that cheap husband of yours going to pay for it?” I bit my lip. “No. I’ll figure out the money myself.” “Fine. Let me know when you’re ready.” After hanging up, I stood in the cold wind for a long time. It was 9:00 PM by the time I got back to the Sterling mansion in the Upper East Side. The house was fully lit. The moment I pushed the door open, a high-pitched, sweet laugh echoed from the second floor. Chloe. My hand froze on my keys. I kept my face blank as I walked upstairs. At the end of the hallway, I stopped. It was my old studio. Three years ago, Julian had complained that the smell of turpentine gave him a headache. He had ordered the maids to throw all my art supplies into the basement, turning the room into a storage space. Now, the door was wide open. Chloe was wearing a silk slip dress, gesturing gracefully to a couple of movers. “Yes, throw all those old papers away. They’re just collecting dust anyway.” She pointed at a dusty, cardboard blueprint tube in the corner, her face twisted in disgust. Julian was leaning against the doorframe, a glass of red wine in his hand, watching her with soft, indulgent eyes. “You don’t need to lift a finger, Chloe. Your stomach just flared up. Let the movers handle it.” Chloe pouted playfully. “But I want my new yoga studio to be perfect, Julian!” She turned around and finally noticed me standing at the top of the stairs. The smile on her face froze for a second before turning into a picture-perfect expression of sweet innocence. “Oh! Seven, you’re back!” She walked toward me like she owned the place, her voice dripping with fake apology. “I hope you don’t mind. The room was just sitting here empty, so I thought I’d turn it into a yoga space.” “Julian said you don’t paint anymore, so I assumed it was fine.” I looked at her fake smile. It was hilarious, really. She was the “white moonlight,” the girl Julian actually wanted. Even if she burned the mansion down, Julian would probably write her a check for the matches. “Do whatever you want,” I said, not even looking at her as I walked past. I went straight to the corner. That cardboard tube contained the only sketch my late mother had left me. As I reached down to grab it, a polished leather shoe stepped firmly onto the tube. Julian. He stared down at me, his eyes dark with irritation. “Where have you been?” “You smell like the street.” I tried to pull the tube, but his foot didn’t budge. “I went to make plans,” I said, meeting his gaze calmly. Julian’s brows knitted. “What plans?” “My plans to go to Paris.” The room went dead silent. Then, Julian let out a low, mocking laugh. He handed his wine glass to a maid, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me up to face him. “Seven, are you addicted to playing victim?” “You didn’t embarrass me enough at the kids’ art studio today, so now you’re bringing the drama home?” He glanced down at my damp, ruined skirt. “Are you trying to show me how pathetic you are? Like a wet, homeless dog that can’t survive without me?” I yanked my wrist back, my voice completely flat. “Let go.” Julian’s eyes narrowed. He hated defiance. Seeing the tension, Chloe quickly slipped her arm through Julian’s, speaking softly. “Julian, don’t be mad at Seven.” “She’s just insecure because I’m back. She’s saying this because she loves you.” She looked at me, her eyes filled with the pity of a winner. “Seven, you really don’t have to act out like this.” “If you really want to learn how to paint, I can ask some of my friends in the art scene in France. I can get you into a nice, easy hobby class.” “After all, we all need to know our limits.” I looked at Chloe’s perfect, fake face and felt absolutely nothing. I didn’t even want to argue. I leaned down again and yanked the tube out from under Julian’s shoe with all my strength. The cardboard was crushed and covered in dust. I wiped it clean with my sleeve and held it tight against my chest. “Don’t worry about me, Chloe,” I said, walking past them toward the master bedroom. “My life has nothing to do with either of you anymore.”

The next morning, I packed up all my expensive jewelry. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars was a lot of money. Over the past five years, Julian might have been stingy with his affection, but he had never been cheap with material things. The jewelry he bought me was worth a fortune. Wearing sunglasses, I walked into the biggest pawn shop in Manhattan. The appraiser’s eyes nearly popped out when I emptied my bag onto the velvet tray—diamond necklaces, emerald rings, platinum bracelets. “Ma’am, these are top-tier pieces. Are you sure you want to liquidate everything?” I nodded. “Yes. The faster, the better.” The appraiser grabbed his loupe and started examining the pieces. Half an hour later, he gave me a number. It was below market value, but more than enough for my visa guarantee. “Two hundred thousand. Cash or wire.” “Wire is fine,” I said without hesitation. “Great. I just need your ID and the bank routing info.” I handed over my driver’s license and my Chase card. The manager typed on his computer for a minute, and then his expression turned incredibly awkward. He slid the card back to me. “I’m sorry, ma’am.” “This card has a hold on it. The primary account holder has flagged it, and we cannot process any transactions or deposits to this account.” My heart stopped. It felt like an invisible hand had gripped my throat. “A hold?” I took the card, pulled out my phone, and opened my banking app. A bright red banner flashed across the screen: “[Account Suspended. Please contact primary account holder].” My fingers clamped around the phone until my knuckles turned white. Only Julian had the authority to do this. He was cutting off my escape route. “Do you have another account, ma’am?” the manager asked gently. I shook my head, swept the jewelry back into my bag, and walked out. Outside, the New York sun was blazing, but I was freezing. Julian was forcing me. Forcing me to bow my head, to crawl back to him, and to keep playing the quiet, obedient shadow. My phone rang. The screen lit up with his name. I stared at it for a few seconds before sliding to answer. “Why is my account locked?” I asked coldly. The sound of a lighter flicked over the line. Julian’s voice came through, sounding lazy and completely in control. “Finally decided to call me?” “Seven, I thought you were supposed to be tough.” He exhaled a breath of smoke. “Taking the jewelry I bought you to a pawn shop? Nice try.” I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “Those were gifts during our marriage. Even in a divorce, I’m entitled to half.” “Divorce?” Julian scoffed, his tone suddenly dropping into ice. “Seven, let’s get one thing straight.” “As long as I don’t sign those papers, you’re not going anywhere.” “Even if I keep you like a dog in the backyard, you’ll stay and wag your tail.” I closed my eyes, fighting the urge to throw up. “What do you want, Julian?” “It’s simple,” he said casually, as if talking about the weather. “Chloe saw that pink diamond necklace you have. She wants to wear it to the charity gala next week.” “Bring the necklace to her, apologize for your attitude yesterday, and make nice.” “Do that, and I’ll double your credit limit.” I opened my eyes, a dry laugh escaping my throat. That pink diamond necklace was made from the stones my mother had left me. I had just had them reset. Julian didn’t know the history. To him, it was just an expensive trinket to throw at his mistress. “And if I say no?” “No?” Julian’s voice went completely cold. “Seven, be realistic. Without my money, you are nothing in this city.” “You want to go to Paris? Let’s see how far you get when you can’t even buy a plane ticket.” He hung up. Listening to the dial tone, an overwhelming exhaustion washed over me. This was the man I had loved for five years. Arrogant, selfish, and convinced that money could buy anyone’s dignity. I stood on the bustling street corner, the sun beating down on me, yet feeling utterly cold. After a long time, I dialed Zach’s number again. “Zach.” “Can you… lend me some money?” The line went quiet for a moment. Zach didn’t ask why. He didn’t mock me for being broke. He just sighed, his voice more serious than I’d ever heard it. “Seven, text me your routing number.” “Also, buy a ticket. I’ll meet you at Charles de Gaulle Airport tomorrow morning.” I gripped my phone tightly, a single tear slipping down my cheek and hitting my hand. “Okay.”

The day I went back to the mansion to pack was gray and overcast. I only brought a small, 20-inch carry-on suitcase. Inside were just a few changes of clothes and my mother’s keepsakes. I didn’t touch anything else. The designer dresses, the Birkin bags, the diamond shoes—they remained neatly arranged in the walk-in closet, like trophies of my five-year captivity. As I rolled my suitcase down to the lobby, the front door opened. Julian walked in. He stopped when he saw the suitcase, his eyebrows instantly drawing together. “What kind of tantrum is this now?” He walked over, glancing at my small suitcase with disdain. “Are you packing a lunch? Planning to run away for a few hours?” “Seven, the playing-hard-to-get act is getting old.” I stood there, calm. I pulled the signed divorce papers from my bag and held them out to him. “I’m not throwing a tantrum.” “I’m divorcing you.” My signature was already on the line. Julian stared at the papers, his face darkening instantly. He didn’t take them. Instead, he slapped them out of my hand. The sheets scattered across the marble floor. “I don’t have time for your high school drama.” He loosened his tie, walked over to the velvet sofa, and sat down, crossing his legs in his usual power stance. “Got a taste of what it’s like to be broke, have we?” He pulled a document from his leather briefcase and tossed it onto the coffee table. “Sign this, and I’ll pretend this week never happened.” I looked down. The title read: “Postnuptial Agreement and Asset Arrangement”. “What is this?” I asked. Julian leaned back, tapping his fingers on the armrest. “Chloe is moving in next month.” “I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable, so I need to give her the title of Mrs. Sterling.” He looked at me, completely devoid of guilt. “But you’ve been with me for five years.” “Sign this, and the penthouse downtown is yours. I’ll also give you thirty thousand dollars a month for living expenses.” “You can stay by my side. Nothing changes, except the legal title.” He paused, clearly thinking he was being incredibly generous. “As for your art, I’ll hire a private tutor for you. Nobody will laugh at you.” I stared at him, suddenly finding him terrifyingly alien. What did he think I was? A mistress he could just pay off and keep in a side apartment? I bent down, picked up the scattered divorce papers, and slammed them back onto the table, covering his ridiculous postnup. “Julian, you disgust me,” I said, highlighting every syllable. Julian’s face twisted in rage. He stood up abruptly, grabbing my chin in a tight, painful grip. “Don’t test me, Seven!” “Do you think you’re some pure, innocent saint? You climbed into my bed for my money five years ago.” “Don’t start acting like you have morals now.” Pain flared in my jaw, but I didn’t blink. “Believe whatever you want.” I looked at him coldly. “Just sign the papers.” Julian stared at me for ten long seconds. Suddenly, he let go, letting out a cruel, vicious laugh. “Fine.” “You want to be a martyr? Go ahead.” He snatched a pen, scribbled his signature on the divorce papers, and threw them right at my face. The sharp edge of the paper cut across my cheek, leaving a thin red scratch. “Take your trash and get the hell out of my house.” “Let’s see how long you survive out there without my money!” I bent down, picked up the signed papers, verified his signature, and slid them into my bag. Without a single glance back, I grabbed my suitcase and walked out of the mansion. The moment the heavy oak doors shut behind me, the sound of glass shattering echoed from inside the house. Three days later. Paris, Charles de Gaulle Airport. I walked out of the terminal, and the first thing I saw was Zach standing in the crowd, holding a massive, hand-painted sign with my name on it. He was wearing a loud, colorful silk shirt and designer sunglasses, looking incredibly extra. “Seven!” He waved like a lunatic, ran over, and snatched my suitcase. “Finally! The Professor was literally yelling in his office yesterday because he was so excited you were coming.” My eyes welled up. The heavy weight I’d carried for five years finally dissolved. “Let’s go,” I smiled. Looking up at the gray Paris sky, I let out a real, genuine laugh for the first time in five years. Meanwhile, back in New York, Julian was sitting in the first-class cabin of a flight to Paris. Chloe was leaning against his shoulder, her voice sweet. “Julian, I heard there are going to be so many famous gallery directors at the Paris Academy’s exhibition.” “I want to show them my work. What do you think?” Julian kept his eyes closed, but his mind kept flashing back to the sight of Seven walking away with her tiny suitcase. An annoying, persistent ache was blooming in his chest. “Sure,” he mumbled, completely distracted. He was absolutely sure Seven was crying in some damp basement right now, regretting her choices. In a few days, she’d be calling him, begging to come back. The Paris Academy’s exhibition hall was a masterpiece of modern design. Warm spotlights lit up the canvases, making the art glow. This was the biggest annual event in the European art scene. Anyone exhibiting here was considered a prodigy. Julian, wearing a custom Tom Ford suit, walked through the gallery with a bored expression. He didn’t care about art. If Chloe hadn’t begged him to come, he would never have set foot in a place like this. “Julian! Look at that painting!” Chloe suddenly gasped, pulling his sleeve and pointing to the center of the hall. A crowd had gathered there, with journalists flashing their cameras like crazy. Julian looked over. It was a massive, abstract oil painting with incredibly bold, violent colors. It was mesmerizing. The plaque next to it displayed the artist’s name in French and English. Julian’s eyes casually swept over it, but the moment he read the letters, his heart stopped.

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On the day Zach finished his SATs, he came to pick me up from preschool wearing a pair of limited-edition $4,000 sneakers. My teacher, Miss Miller, stared at his shoes for a long time. She said Zach was barely an adult himself and that she didn’t feel safe letting two kids walk home alone. She insisted on walking us back. I was about to nod blindly when the Barbie doll in my arms suddenly spoke inside my head: [Right before you reach your house, Miss Miller will fake a sprained ankle. She will ask Zach to help her inside and let her stay the night.] [At midnight, she will crawl into Zach’s bed. Tomorrow, she will lie and say Zach assaulted her.] [Your brother will be expelled from school. She will take your house, your family’s savings, and kick you all onto the streets to freeze to death.] My mind went completely blank with fear. By the time I finally processed what the doll said, we were already at the gates of our gated community. Suddenly, Miss Miller gasped and leaned against the wall, clutching her ankle. Her face was pale. “Chloe, my foot hurts so bad I can’t walk. Can I please stay at your place tonight?” I squeezed Zach’s hand tightly, remembering the last thing the doll had whispered: [In the end, she will sell you to human traffickers. You will never see your mom, dad, or brother again!] I was terrified of bad guys, and even more terrified of losing my family. I gathered all my courage and screamed: “Miss Miller! We are going on a road trip tonight! We won’t be home!”

Miss Miller’s face froze for a second. But then she forced a quick smile. “Summer break hasn’t even started yet, sweetie. Why are you going on a trip now?” “Besides, I didn’t get any text from your mom about this…” “Chloe, are you just saying that because you don’t want to help me?” “Lying isn’t what good girls do, you know.” Being accused of lying made me feel so frustrated. I screamed louder: “I am not lying! Mom said Zach got a perfect score on his SATs, so we are going to New York to celebrate!” Hearing this, Miss Miller’s eyes lit up. She wasn’t angry at all. Instead, she turned to my brother and gave him an understanding smile. “I guess Chloe is just too excited for the holidays and wants to skip school. That’s why she’s making up excuses.” Zach frowned slightly. His tone was firm. “Chloe doesn’t lie. If she doesn’t want to go to school, there must be a reason.” Then, he knelt down, ruffled my hair, and asked softly: “Tell me, Chloe. Are you feeling sick? Or did someone bully you at school?” Looking at my gentle brother, the terror of being sold by traffickers finally turned into hot tears. I buried my face in his chest, grabbing his shirt, and sobbed, “There’s a bad person at school… they want to sell me…” Zach’s face went pale instantly. He held me tight and glared at Miss Miller with suspicion. Miss Miller clearly didn’t expect me to say that. Seeing Zach staring at her, she quickly forced a laugh. “She… she must be talking about the anti-abduction drill we did at school!” “Yes, that’s it! Since summer break is coming, the school organized a safety drill so kids know how to stay safe outside.” “Chloe is just sensitive. She probably got scared.” “You know how kids are. They get confused easily.” Zach was still worried, but Miss Miller sounded so confident, and I was crying too hard to speak clearly. He could only pat my back to soothe me. “Don’t worry, Chloe. The bad guys in the drill aren’t real. No one is going to take you away.” Then, looking at Miss Miller, who was sweating from her “painful” ankle, he sighed apologetically. “Your ankle looks really bad. Why don’t you come inside and rest for a bit? I’ll help you find some ice and medicine once I calm my sister down.” Hearing Zach believe her instead of me, I lost it. I let out a loud wail. I pushed Zach’s hand away and threw myself straight onto the ground. “It is real! It’s not a drill! I’m going to get stolen! I don’t want to go home! No, no, no!” Zach was shocked by my meltdown. People walking by started staring at us. Zach’s face turned beet red. He was completely stuck. “What’s going on here? Why is Chloe crying like this?” A familiar voice came from behind us. It was Mom, just getting home from work. Zach looked like he had just seen his savior. He quickly explained everything to her. After hearing it, Mom patted Zach’s shoulder. Only then did Zach’s tensed shoulders finally relax a bit. “You did great, honey. Don’t worry. Since Chloe is scared, we won’t wait for Dad to get off work. We’ll leave for our trip right now.” She picked me up, gently wiping my tears, and smiled. “We will stay far away from any bad guys. Dad will meet us there later, so Chloe doesn’t need to be scared at all.” After calming Zach and me down, Mom turned to Miss Miller with an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry for the drama, Miss Miller. Let me drive you home instead.”

Hearing this, a flash of panic crossed Miss Miller’s eyes. “Mrs. Miller, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t bother you guys.” “But… the apartment I rent is an old walk-up. I live on the fourth floor. With my ankle swollen like this, I can’t climb the stairs at all.” She let out a bitter sigh. “And calling an ambulance for a sprained ankle feels like such a waste of medical resources.” “It’s fine. I’ll just sit on the bench in the park tonight. I’ll probably feel better tomorrow morning…” Mom looked at Miss Miller’s pale face, feeling conflicted. Miss Miller was my homeroom teacher. She always talked to the parents and seemed to care a lot about the kids. Leaving her on a park bench overnight felt too cruel. So, Mom knelt down and tried to negotiate with me. “Chloe, how about we push our trip to tomorrow morning? Can we do that for Mom?” I hugged my doll tightly. Every cell in my body was screaming “no”. But I didn’t know how to argue back. My parents had always taught me to be polite and kind. My tantrums earlier had already used up all my courage. I had to think fast. If I couldn’t kick her out, I would just stick to my brother like glue! “Okay…” I pouted, pretending to give in. Then, I spun around and wrapped myself around Zach’s leg like an octopus. “But Zach has to sleep with me tonight! I’m scared of the bad guys!” Seeing my red, puffy eyes, Zach couldn’t bear to say no. “Deal,” he said immediately. The heavy rock in my heart finally dropped. As long as I slept in the same bed with Zach, that evil teacher wouldn’t be able to crawl into his bed! However, Miss Miller almost lost her smile. She forced a dry laugh. “Oh, Chloe, you’re a big girl now. Why are you still so clingy to your brother?” “Are you afraid of the dark? The other kids at school might laugh at you if they find out.” Normally, this peer pressure would work on me. But right now, I felt like a superhero fighting a supervillain. I wasn’t falling for her tricks! “I’m not afraid of the dark! I just want to sleep with Zach!” I buried my face in Zach’s leg. “If you don’t let Zach sleep with me, I won’t let you stay at our house!” That shut Miss Miller up completely. No matter how angry she was, she could only close her mouth in embarrassment. That night, I got my wish. I crawled into Zach’s bed with my doll. Zach leaned against the headboard, reading me a bedtime story in his soft voice. I pretended to listen, but my ears were straining to hear any noise outside the door. I promised myself I would keep my eyes open all night to protect my brother. But a five-year-old’s body simply couldn’t hold out. Under the soothing sound of his voice, my eyelids grew heavy, and my brain turned to mush. Before I knew it, I fell fast asleep. But my sleep was far from peaceful. In the middle of the night, I felt the air turn freezing cold. It felt like a pair of icy hands was pulling my arms, trying to drag me out of the warm bed. In my dream, I was caught by human traffickers. I couldn’t move. I screamed for Zach to save me, but my body felt like it was made of lead. I couldn’t wake up. I couldn’t make a sound. The terrifying face of the trafficker came closer and closer. I was shaking with fear. “AHHHHHHH!!!” Suddenly, a piercing shriek woke me up completely.

I pouted, turning around to cry to Zach. But my hands grabbed nothing but air. Zach wasn’t next to me. Even my doll was gone! I rubbed my blurry eyes and looked around. Pink wallpaper, stuffed animals everywhere… This was my own bedroom! How did I get here? I was sleeping with Zach last night! I didn’t even put on my shoes. I ran as fast as my short legs could carry me straight to Zach’s room. When I reached the door, the scene inside shocked me. Miss Miller was sitting on Zach’s bed, holding the blanket tightly up to her chest. Her hair was a mess, and her face was covered in tears. Zach was standing by the bed in his pajamas. His face was ghostly pale, and he looked completely lost. “I really don’t know… I woke up and she was just in my bed… I didn’t do anything…” Zach’s voice was shaking with pure terror and despair. Just then, loud footsteps came from the hallway. Dad had just gotten back from his business trip. Still holding his briefcase, looking exhausted, he rushed in when he heard the scream. The moment Dad stepped into the room, he saw the chaos. Zach saw Dad and tried to explain immediately. “Dad, let me explain! I was sleeping with Chloe last night! I swear I didn’t touch her!” Dad froze. Then he saw me standing by the door, having just run out of my own room. Dad’s face turned dark. He rushed forward and slapped Zach across the face. “Your sister just came out of her own room!” “You did something this disgusting, and you’re using your little sister as a shield?!” Dad was shaking with rage, pointing his finger at Zach’s nose. “I didn’t! I really slept with Chloe!” Zach held his cheek, his eyes filled with tears of injustice. The noise was so loud that the neighbors from upstairs and downstairs started gathering around. Our front door was open, and people were whispering and pointing at us. “Isn’t that the kid who got a perfect score on his SATs? Wow, you really can’t judge a book by its cover.” “I used to tell my kids to be like him… Oh my god, being smart doesn’t mean you have morals!” “How did his parents raise a monster like this?” I screamed at Miss Miller on the bed. “Zach is not lying! I slept with him last night! She sneaked in by herself!” Hearing my words, Miss Miller didn’t panic. Instead, she cried even harder. She gasped for breath, sobbing. “Chloe… I’ve always been so nice to you. How can you lie to protect your brother like this…” She pointed at Zach, wailing: “He is a six-foot-tall guy! I’m just a kindergarten teacher.” “My ankle is injured. How could I possibly fight him off?” The neighbors murmured in disgust. “What is wrong with this family? The brother does something terrible, and they teach the little sister to lie at such a young age!” “That poor teacher. She just needed a place to stay…” Being pointed at and called a liar by so many adults was too much for a five-year-old. Tears poured down my face. I didn’t know what to do. No one believed me. I knew I was holding Zach’s arm last night. Why did I wake up in my own room?

Suddenly, I remembered the candy Miss Miller gave me last night. She said Mom bought it for me, so I ate it without thinking. I couldn’t quite connect the dots, but I felt like that candy was the reason. On the bed, Miss Miller was screaming for someone to call 911. A few minutes later, the police arrived. Facing the officers, Miss Miller clutched the sheet and wept hysterically. Because this happened inside our house, there were no security cameras. But the disheveled bed, the torn clothes, the hair on the pillow… All the physical evidence pointed directly at Zach. The police officer frowned, took some notes, and turned to the crowd of neighbors outside. “Did anyone hear anything unusual last night?” Mrs. Gable, a lady from down the hall, stepped forward and said hesitantly: “Officer, I did hear a woman screaming last night.” “It was so loud that I actually came over and knocked on the door.” “This young man opened the door and said he was playing a horror game. He said the screaming was from the TV.” “I told him to turn it down and went back to bed.” “Now that I think about it… it must have been the teacher screaming for help.” Hearing this, Zach’s eyes widened in horror. He waved his hands wildly. “I didn’t! I wasn’t playing any games! I didn’t even open the door last night! I never talked to you!” “Why are you still lying?!” Mrs. Gable snapped back, looking disgusted. “We live in the same building. Why would I lie to get you in trouble if you didn’t do it?” I was sweating with anxiety. The police didn’t believe me. Dad was too angry to see the truth. My only hope was Mom! Mom was the smartest adult I knew. If she was here, she would kick this bad woman out. But I looked through the crowd and couldn’t find her. Then I remembered—Mom always went to Whole Foods early in the morning for groceries. She wasn’t back yet! Seeing that all the “evidence” and “witnesses” were against Zach, and Zach had no way to prove his innocence, the lead officer sighed. He walked over to Zach and said coldly: “Son, you’re going to have to come down to the station with us for questioning.” At that exact second, Mom burst through the door. She was out of breath, and her grocery bag was empty. She pushed through the crowd, stood right in front of Zach and me, and said firmly: “Officer, I guarantee my son was sleeping with his sister last night. He couldn’t have done this.” I nodded like crazy behind Mom. “Yes! And I dreamed of being taken by bad guys, and then I woke up in my own room!” Miss Miller wiped her tears and said: “Of course you’re going to defend him, you’re his family…” “Even if they slept together at first, his brother could have easily carried Chloe back to her room before coming back to assault me!” “Chloe, did you see anyone else in the room last night besides your brother?” Miss Miller’s question stumped me. Seeing me silent, the officer shook his head and reached for his handcuffs to take Zach away. Suddenly, Mom looked at me and asked: “Chloe, where is your Barbie? Didn’t Mom tell you to never let that doll leave your side?” I froze. I looked down at my empty hands. I realized that since I woke up, I hadn’t seen my doll. Mom saw my reaction and nodded. She walked straight into Zach’s room. A moment later, she came out holding my Barbie. She held the doll up and said coldly to everyone: “Who says we don’t have cameras in this house?” “The eyes of this doll are the cameras!”

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The billionaire heir to a massive shipping empire was getting married, celebrating with a high-profile parade of ninety-nine luxury yachts along the West Coast. My best friend excitedly dragged me to the harbor to watch the spectacle. Out of habit, I snapped a photo first, wanting to share it with my boyfriend right away. But a second later, two familiar figures walked right into my camera frame. My boyfriend, who was supposed to be working overtime, was wearing a bespoke designer tuxedo. He was holding another woman’s hand, leading her onto the glittering flagship yacht. I froze, my mind going blank. Anger surged through me, and I wanted to rush forward to confront him, but my best friend grabbed my arm, stopping me. “Chloe, Elena was always meant to be Julian’s fiancée. If you make a scene now, you’re just going to embarrass yourself.” “Julian pretended to be broke and lived in a cramped basement with you for five years. I actually felt bad for how much he had to hold back.” “As your best friend, I’m advising you to have some self-respect. Don’t be a shameless homewrecker.” The cold ocean breeze slapped my face, and my heart turned completely to ice. My boyfriend of eight years had been lying to me this whole time. And the girl I treated like my own sister had known all along and kept it from me. My phone buzzed with a Snapchat notification. It was a message from Julian. “Babe, I just got off work. I took two more Uber rides to make some extra cash.” “Don’t be jealous of other people. If I work a little harder, I’ll save enough for an engagement ring soon and propose to you.” Looking at the elegant billionaire standing on the yacht, I felt nothing but pure disgust. “No need. My mom wants me to go back home for some blind dates.”

The reporters swarmed the couple. Julian casually looked back. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted me standing outside the crowd. The smile on his face froze instantly. He reflexively let go of Elena’s trailing wedding gown. “I thought you said she wouldn’t know. Who brought her here?” He pushed past the crowd and leaped off the deck of the yacht. Amidst the gasps of the onlookers, he ran toward me desperately, panic written all over his face. “Babe, let me explain!” “I didn’t mean to keep this from you… I was just afraid that the status gap between us would make you feel insecure.” “Elena and I are just putting on a show for the families. Please don’t make a scene, okay?” Holding back my tears, I violently shook off his hand. “You’re still trying to lie to me even now!” I looked past him at Elena, who was wearing a satin, diamond-encrusted wedding dress, looking as elegant as a white swan. Around her neck was a sapphire necklace that had recently been auctioned for $20 million. Meanwhile, Julian, the man who had been with me for eight years, couldn’t even “afford” a $300 engagement ring. My best friend, Vivian Cole, frowned. “Chloe, are you really trying to ruin the wedding of the century?” “Let’s be real here. You have no right to throw a tantrum. Can you grow up for once?” I stared at her in utter disbelief. We had been best friends for over a decade. After her parents divorced, I was the one who brought her into my home, sharing my parents’ love with her. I had even cut down on my own expenses and begged my parents to help pay for her college tuition. And now, she was standing here, accusing me to defend outsiders! Elena let out a soft laugh, stepping up to Julian’s side and shaking her head at me. “Chloe, even your best friend has more class than you.” “Do you know what kind of event this is? Who gave you the courage to come here and cause trouble?” My chest felt incredibly tight, and I couldn’t help but raise my voice. “My boyfriend of eight years is suddenly marrying someone else. Am I not even allowed to ask for an explanation?” “Shut up!” Seeing the reporters sniffing out a scandal and starting to gather around, Julian lowered his voice, warning me coldly: “Do you want to broadcast our private business to the entire world?!” “Vivian, please take her back and help her calm down.” Vivian nodded, locking her hands tightly around my shoulders. “Don’t worry, Julian. I’ll make sure she leaves.” It wasn’t until Julian and Elena, arm in arm, boarded the yacht again under the spotlight that Vivian finally let me go. She sighed with deep envy. “They look so perfect together!” “Chloe, take my advice. You and Julian belong to different worlds. Give up, and stop clinging to him.”

Vivian hailed an Uber. “I still have things to do at the clinic, so I won’t ride back with you.” “Chloe, people need to have self-respect. I don’t want a best friend who is a homewrecker.” It finally clicked. She had purposely brought me here tonight to witness Julian and Elena’s wedding. A bitter taste spread through my chest. The Uber driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror, and the silent judgment in his eyes made me feel like I was sitting on needles. I returned to our tiny, 100-square-foot basement. As soon as I pushed the door open, the entire room was visible. A small twin bed, a desk squeezed tightly against it, and on the desk lay a half-ironed Louis Vuitton shirt. Julian had told me he was competing for a promotion and begged me to buy him a luxury piece to “look the part.” I had gritted my teeth and spent a whole month’s salary on it. On the day I swiped my card, he had laughed so hard seeing how much it pained me to spend that money. Now, the image of the $20 million necklace he gave Elena flashed through my mind. He wasn’t happy because he received a gift. He was laughing at how pathetic and poor I was. My eyes stung. I grabbed a pair of scissors, shredded the shirt to pieces, and threw it into the trash can. Then, I rummaged through the room, grabbed all of Julian’s things, threw them into a suitcase, and shoved it outside the door. I sent him a text: “[Julian, we’re done. I threw your stuff out. Pick it up yourself.]” Right after sending it, I blocked and deleted him on Snapchat. After doing all this, I collapsed onto the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. I remembered our sophomore year in college. I was working part-time at the cafeteria when I overheard Julian complaining that he could barely afford food. Feeling sorry for him, I gave him my own meal. His expression back then was so strange, but I was too busy working to think much of it. Now that I think about it, he must have found me incredibly hilarious. A broke student working for tuition actually pitying the heir of a multi-billion-dollar shipping empire. Later, he started pursuing me. After graduation, I followed him to the West Coast to build a life. The West Coast is incredibly expensive, and rent is insanely high. Even this tiny basement cost me $3,000 a month. Julian said he wanted to save up to marry me and buy us a big house, so I took on the burden of the rent. But the first time he saved up $10,000, he supposedly clicked on a phishing link, and his account was wiped out. The second time, he allegedly donated it to a little girl with leukemia. The third time, he got into a car accident and had to pay for damages… For five whole years, he hadn’t saved a single penny. He couldn’t even afford a cheap $500 engagement ring. But it wasn’t that he didn’t have $500. He just didn’t want to marry me. Suddenly, the front door was pushed open from the outside. A dripping wet Julian rushed in and hugged me tightly. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his voice trembling. “Babe, please don’t break up with me.” “Just wait for me a little longer. I promise I’ll marry you.” The cold rainwater on his body soaked through my clothes. For a split second, my heart softened. But then my eyes landed on the shredded designer shirt in the trash can. I snapped back to reality and pushed him away. “Julian, you’re married.” His body stiffened, but he hugged me even tighter. “Chloe, my older brother passed away, and my dad had a brain hemorrhage and is still in a coma.” “Your family is ordinary, so you don’t understand how dangerous high society can be. Only Elena’s family can help me secure my position right now.” “But the only person I love is you. The only one I want to marry is you. Can you just wait for me for another six months? Just until I stabilize things…” His voice grew softer, and my vision started to blur. I suddenly remembered a month ago, when we were preparing to celebrate our eighth anniversary. He had received a phone call, turned pale, and told me his family had an emergency and he had to leave for a while. I had stuffed a debit card into his hand. It had $100,000 on it—every single penny I had saved from working for five years. Because he had promised me countless times that once we saved enough for a down payment, we would move back to my hometown, get married, and settle down. So, I had worked myself to the bone to save that money. “Julian, I don’t understand your high-society struggles.” “But I’ve already waited for you for five years. I don’t want to wait anymore.” “I promised my mom that if I wasn’t married by twenty-seven, I would go back home and let her set me up.”

Julian gripped my shoulders tightly, his eyes bloodshot. “You’ve been with me for eight years! How can you marry someone else? I won’t allow it, Chloe! I won’t!” Anger flared in me, and I slapped him across the face. “Julian, you are married to Elena now. You have no right to control me!” “It’s just a marriage of convenience!” “You waited five years, so why can’t you wait another six months?!” “Don’t worry, Elena is very open-minded. As long as you stay quiet and behave, she won’t cause trouble for you.” I was shaking with pure rage. I used all my strength to push him out the door. “Get out!” “I never want to see you again!” Through the closed door, Julian’s muffled voice continued, trying to coax me into being his kept woman. “I’ll buy you a villa, okay? You can move your parents in. I’ll give you $10,000 a month for living expenses.” “You won’t have to wake up early and squeeze onto the subway for work anymore. I’ll take care of you…” So, he had seen how hard I struggled over the past five years. He had just chosen to ignore it. Tears streamed down my face as I collapsed onto the floor, completely exhausted. The man I had loved for eight years had turned into an absolute monster on the other side of the door. My bones felt icy cold, but my skin was burning hot, and my consciousness began to slip. I had suffered from severe pneumonia a few years ago. Whenever I ran a high fever, it became extremely dangerous. I dragged myself to open the door, my voice incredibly raspy. “Julian… can you take me to the hos—” Before I could finish, his phone rang. He checked it, his face changing instantly, and he rushed toward the elevator. “Elena is feeling unwell. Just hang in there for a bit. I’ll call Vivian to come over.” His retreating back distorted in my vision. I couldn’t hold on any longer and blacked out. When I opened my eyes again, I was in a hospital bed. Vivian was bending over me, replacing my cooling patch and checking my forehead with the back of her hand. “Good, your fever is going down.” “Chloe, it’s just a breakup. How did you end up like this?” Her eyes were filled with pity. “One is a billionaire heir, and the other is a wealthy heiress. Messing with them was never going to end well for you.” “When did you find out?” I stared directly into her eyes, watching her every expression. Vivian bit her lip, avoiding my gaze. “The year he first started dating you, he confessed his identity to me.” “He gave me a million dollars and set me up with a job. The only condition was that I had to help him hide his secret.” “He said that saving up for a ring and a house was too easy for him, so I was the one who suggested he use fake scams, donations, and car accidents to drag out the time…” A million dollars was all it took to buy out our ten-year friendship. Money and a bright future are hard to resist. I couldn’t even find the energy to blame her. But— “Vivian, leave. I’ll pretend I never had you as a friend.” Vivian’s eyes widened. “You’re ending our friendship over this little thing?” “Fine, Chloe. Don’t regret this!” She slammed the door and left. Shortly after, a nurse came in to administer my IV. The needle missed my vein over ten times, making me gasp in pain. The nurse looked at me with a mocking smile and tossed a local tabloid newspaper onto my bed. “Ms. Shen, you’re famous now.” Confused, I looked down, and a massive headline caught my eye: “《On His Wedding Night, the Billionaire Shipping Heir was Seducing His Slum Mistress, Leaving the Wealthy Heiress Devastated》” My private photos took up half the page. My pupils dilated. Only Julian had those photos. He had begged me to take them on his birthday. Rage boiled in my chest. Just as I was about to call him, my phone rang. It was Julian. “I went to see you last night, and Elena was upset, so she leaked those to the media.” “Just let her vent her anger. Don’t make a big deal out of it.” Before I could say a word, he hung up. Meeting the nurse’s judging eyes, I didn’t even have the energy to explain myself. I simply closed my eyes. But I never expected Vivian to publicly label me a gold-digger. In front of the reporters’ cameras, she put on an act of deep disappointment. “Chloe and I have been friends for over ten years. I tried to warn her not to interfere in other people’s relationships.” “But she wouldn’t listen. She was obsessed with marrying into money and kept harassing Mr. Vance.” The video went viral, shooting straight to the top of the trending page on Twitter. My brain buzzed. I stared blankly at Vivian’s face on the screen, unable to believe she would stab me in the back like this! But before I could even process my best friend’s betrayal, my phone rang again. It was my mother, her voice filled with tears. “Chloe, your sister Emily had an accident!”

“Your sister saw Vivian’s interview on the news. She was so distracted and panicked that she didn’t see the construction site… A falling steel bar pierced her chest!” “The doctor said there’s a matching heart available right now, but there’s a strict time limit. If we can’t raise the $100,000 for the surgery fee within an hour, the heart goes to the next patient on the list!” “Taking out a loan on our house will take too long. Do you have $100,000 with you?” My heart hammered violently against my ribs, and a cold sweat broke out all over my body. “Mom, don’t panic! I have $100,000. I’ll transfer it to you right away!” I quickly unlocked my phone and tried to transfer my savings—the money I had worked so hard to save. But the screen flashed: “Transaction Failed.” Then I remembered. A month ago, I had given that debit card to Julian for his “emergency.” Given his massive wealth, he surely wouldn’t care about a measly $100,000. But when I logged into my mobile banking app, the cold, glaring balance of $0 made my eyes sting. With trembling hands, I called Julian, but the call wouldn’t go through. In my panic, I accidentally opened Snapchat and clicked on Vivian’s story. “Accidentally crashed a private party. Crying over the beautiful love story of our favorite billionaire heir and his gorgeous wife! ~” In the center of her photo grid, Julian and Elena were kissing passionately under the fireworks at a luxury mansion on the hill. A sharp pain pierced my chest, but I didn’t have time to think. I quickly traced the location and rushed over. When Vivian saw me at the entrance, her face fell, and she tried to push me back out the door. “Julian finally got Elena calmed down! What are you trying to ruin now?” I was still weak from my fever. When she pushed me, I lost my balance, fell hard onto the concrete, and a sharp, blinding pain shot through my wrist. Elena sneered, raising her eyebrow at Julian. “Julian, did your little mistress switch to a victim-playing strategy now?” The surrounding crowd burst into laughter. Julian’s wealthy friends looked at him with mocking grins. “Man, your standards must have been really low back then. You dated “this” for eight years?” “She’s so embarrassing.” Julian looked embarrassed and glared at me. “Stop acting. Get up right now.” There were only ten minutes left! Anxiety consumed me, and I forced myself to stand up. “Julian, give me back my $100,000!” “Oh, so you’re here for money,” Elena sneered mockingly. “Kneel down, slap yourself, and I’ll give you the $100,000. It’s pocket change to me anyway.” “Elena is so generous!” “Slap yourself once more, and I’ll throw in another ten grand as a wedding tip!” Listening to their relentless humiliation, the taste of copper rose in the back of my throat. “I am only here to take back what is rightfully mine!” “Julian, you said your family had an emergency last month, so I gave you a debit card with $100,000 on it.” Julian frowned. “What debit card?” Only three minutes left. Tears of pure desperation finally spilled over. “My sister is in critical condition! Give me the money back! I’m running out of time!” “I’ve never seen any debit card. Besides, where would you even get that much money?” Seeing that Julian was denying it, I gritted my teeth and turned to Elena. “Is it true? If I kneel and slap myself, you’ll give me the $100,000?” Julian stared at me in utter disbelief. “Chloe, have you lost all your self-respect for some cash?” To save my sister’s life, I didn’t hesitate. I dropped to my knees right in front of Elena. Elena looked down at me with pure disgust, as if she were looking at a piece of garbage. “Julian, a mere $100,000 to show you exactly what kind of trash she is? Totally worth it.” She pulled out her phone to transfer the money. But Julian grabbed her hand, his expression incredibly complicated. “Chloe isn’t a gold-digger. Don’t use money to humiliate her.” No matter how much I begged and explained, Julian refused to let Elena send me the money. I watched the clock on the wall hit the hour mark. All the strength was drained from my body, leaving me completely numb and hollow. “Julian, the biggest regret of my life was ever meeting you.” Lied to for eight years, and in the end, I lost both my love and my life savings. My heart was completely dead. I turned around and walked away without looking back.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “434482”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

Twenty years ago, my oldest brother, Ethan, made me the fall guy just to keep his precious little sister, Dorothy, out of trouble. My second brother, Ryan, had even looked me in the eye and promised: “Victoria, if you just take the fall for Dorothy this once and do her time, we will do whatever it takes to clear your name when you get out. We’ll make sure you get your normal life back.” And Lucas, the third brother, just said it straight to my face: “You’re the older sister. It’s your job to protect her. Mom and Dad told us to look after Dorothy before they passed.” “Just take one for the team.” Ignoring my crying, my begging, and my desperate struggles, the three of them joined forces to throw me to the wolves. I was sent straight to prison. Three years later, I was finally released, only to find that everything that once belonged to me had been handed to Dorothy on a silver platter. My design portfolios were stolen and published under her name. The prestigious awards that should have been mine were shining in her display case. Even my fiancé, Mario, had married her. When I stormed over to demand answers, Mario literally shoved me out the door. “Victoria, have you no shame?” he sneered. “Dorothy is kind, generous, and actually talented.” “You honestly think I’d choose a convicted felon with a ruined reputation over her?” Even my own brothers completely abandoned me. They threw a prepaid card with a measly five thousand dollars at my face and bought me a one-way ticket out of the country. Now, twenty years later, I am back in the country with a multi-million-dollar tech patent in my hands. Standing in front of me are two very familiar faces, begging for my help. I let out a cold laugh. “I’ll partner with anyone in this city. Anyone but you.”

“Ms. Samuels, the people waiting outside are Mario and his wife, Dorothy Johnson, from Future Tech.” “The Johnson family has built quite a reputation in New York over the last few years. And Dorothy’s three brothers are…” “That’s enough,” I said, raising my hand to cut my assistant off. I turned my eyes toward the two familiar faces standing outside the glass door. My office was fitted with one-way mirrors. I could see their every movement clearly, but to them, it was just a blank wall. Twenty years. Dorothy hadn’t changed a bit. It looked like my brothers had kept her perfectly sheltered in her little bubble. That innocent face of hers had only grown more refined with age. Mario was standing next to her, looking sharp and professional in a designer suit. “I’ve made myself clear. We are not doing business with them. Tell them to find someone else.” “If they can’t, then that’s their problem.” I scoffed. Though my assistant looked confused, she nodded and went out to deliver the message. “But why?” I heard Dorothy’s bewildered voice through the door. The next second, the two of them bypassed security and burst right into my office. “Ms. Samuels, is there something wrong with our proposal? Why won’t you even consider a partnership with us?” “Or is it because…” Dorothy froze mid-sentence. Her eyes locked onto my face. Her throat seemed to tighten, and she couldn’t squeeze out another word. After what felt like an eternity, she gasped, “Vic… Victoria?” “Victoria? It’s you!” Mario gasped, his eyes widening in pure shock. He took a few steps forward, staring at me. “You… you’re the legendary Ms. Samuels?” “I can’t believe it. Twenty years, and you’ve managed to climb this high.” There was a mix of awe, nostalgia, and utter disbelief in his voice. I leaned back in my chair and looked up at him with a smirk. “What did you expect, Mario? Did you think I’d be living like a stray dog, dying in some back alley overseas?” “That’s not what I meant,” Mario frowned, his eyebrows knitting together. “Why do you have to be so hostile? After all, we used to be…” “Victoria!” Dorothy suddenly rushed forward, grabbing my hands with forced warmth. “Victoria, where have you been all these years?” “The boys and I missed you so much! Are you still mad at me?” “I know I caused you so much trouble back then, but it’s been twenty years. It’s time to let it go. We’re family, Victoria. We haven’t had a proper reunion in forever.” “Come home with me, please.” It’s been twenty years? Let it go? Of course it was easy for her to say. She wasn’t the one who spent three years in a cold cell. She was still playing the same old naive, innocent girl. Or rather, she had been so spoiled by everyone that she never had to grow up. “I’m not your sister, Dorothy,” I said, my voice ice-cold as I snatched my hands back. “Stop acting like we’re close.” Dorothy stood frozen, her eyes welling up with tears. “Victoria… are you really still holding a grudge over what happened back then?” Even after all this time, she still acted like a fragile teenager. “Victoria, what is your problem?” Mario barked, stepping in front of Dorothy. “Dorothy is trying to be nice to you. She’s inviting you home, and instead of being grateful, you treat her like trash!” “If you hadn’t made that mistake back then, none of this would have—” “Mario!” Dorothy cut him off, clutching his arm. “Don’t blame Victoria. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.” She turned back to me, squeezing out a pathetic smile. “Victoria, you probably know why we’re here.” “Our company is facing a massive technical bottleneck right now, and you happen to hold the exact patent we need. Could you please just…” “No,” I replied instantly. I turned to my assistant. “Show them out.” They tried to argue, but my security team was already moving in, pushing them out the door. I could hear Dorothy’s soft whimpering and Mario’s angry shouting fading down the hallway. I didn’t care. I simply turned back to my laptop and got back to work.

I didn’t expect another uninvited guest to show up the very next day. Lucas barged past my secretary and slammed my office door open. “Well, look at you, Victoria! It really is you. When Dorothy told me, I didn’t want to believe it. But here you are, back in the city.” “Bullying your own little sister the moment you get back? Some older sister you are.” Lucas had aged quite a bit over the last twenty years. There was gray hair at his temples, and he looked like a seasoned businessman. But one thing hadn’t changed: his blind devotion to Dorothy. Just like twenty years ago, he immediately took her side and started pointing fingers at me. I slowly capped my pen and stood up. “Sir, watch your mouth. There is no Victoria here. You are standing in the office of Victoria Samuels, the founder of CN Tech.” “Furthermore, I license my technology to whoever I want. It’s purely business.” “There is nothing personal about it.” “Now, if you are suffering from early-onset dementia, I suggest you visit a hospital.” “Why, you—!” Lucas slammed his fist on my mahogany desk, his face turning red with anger. “You’ve got some nerve, Victoria! Just because you got lucky and started a little company, you think you can look down on us now?” Brother? I wanted to laugh. Where was this ‘brotherly love’ twenty years ago when they conspired to send me to prison? Where were they when I finally finished my three-year sentence, only to be handed a five-thousand-dollar card and kicked out of the country to starve? They told me back then that the Johnson family couldn’t have a ‘criminal’ ruining their reputation. Why didn’t anyone talk about family values back then? And now he wanted to talk about feelings? What a joke. I looked him up and down with pure disgust. “Sir, I’ll say it one last time. My name is Victoria Samuels. I don’t go by Victoria anymore.” “And I don’t have any siblings. Get out of my office.” Lucas refused to budge, but my security guards quickly arrived and dragged him out by his arms. After that incident, I tightened the security at the front desk. They weren’t allowed anywhere near my floor. I finally enjoyed a few days of peace. That was until I received a VIP invitation to a high-society charity gala hosted by the Morgan family. After some consideration, I decided to go. But the moment I walked into the venue, I ran straight into Dorothy and Mario. “Victoria!” Dorothy squealed, running toward me with a fake, bright smile. “I knew it was you! I didn’t expect to see you at Mrs. Brown’s gala tonight.” “Oh, but Victoria, you do know this event requires an exclusive VIP invite, right? Not just anyone can walk in.” “Do you actually have an invitation?” She stared at me with her wide, innocent eyes, practically oozing superiority. I frowned, thinking of Mrs. Brown who was waiting for me inside. I had zero interest in playing along with her little drama. I brushed past her hand and turned to walk away. But she wasn’t having it. She chased after me and grabbed my arm, her face instantly shifting into a victim expression. “Victoria, why are you ignoring me?” “Is it my fault again? Did I do something to make you hate me?” Her voice was just loud enough to draw the attention of the surrounding guests. In seconds, people began whispering. “Wait, isn’t that Victoria? The oldest Johnson daughter?” “Oh my god, it is! Didn’t she go to prison years ago and get disowned by her family? Why is she back?” “Twenty years and she’s still as toxic as ever. She’s throwing a tantrum the moment she sees Dorothy.” “Seriously. Everyone knows Victoria has a criminal record. She’s nothing compared to Dorothy, who is so talented and sweet.” “Victoria, Dorothy is just trying to be nice. Don’t be so dramatic!” Mario stepped forward, shielding Dorothy as if I were some kind of monster. But I hadn’t even said a single word. My phone buzzed in my hand. It was a text from Mrs. Brown, letting me know her husband was ready to discuss our project partnership in the private lounge. “I have a business meeting. Move,” I said coldly. I tried to step around them, but someone grabbed my arm from behind and yanked me back. The force caught me off guard. My heels slipped, and I fell hard onto the marble floor. My phone flew out of my hand and smacked against the ground, the screen instantly going black.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snapped, my voice rising in anger. I quickly scrambled to pick up my phone, but no matter how many times I pressed the power button, the screen remained dead. The guy who did it was standing over me, looking down like some righteous judge. “Apologize to her!” “What?” I stared at him, thinking I had misheard. “I said, apologize to Dorothy!” Mario demanded again. I let out a sharp, hysterical laugh. I gathered my things from the floor and pushed myself up, standing tall. “Mario, are you completely insane?” I hissed. “If you have a mental issue, go see a doctor.” “Or are you just losing your mind with age?” “You—!” “It’s okay, Mario. Don’t blame Victoria,” Dorothy sobbed, putting on her classic fragile act. “It’s my fault. If I had known Victoria still hated me this much, I wouldn’t have approached her.” “I’m sorry, Victoria.” “Are you still mad at me for marrying Mario?” “But you were in prison back then, and the Johnson family desperately needed the alliance, so I had to…” “And Mario and I already have—” “Are you the bitch who’s bullying my mom?” a loud, arrogant voice interrupted. Before I could even turn around, a sharp pain shot through my forehead. A heavy decorative stone had been thrown straight at my head. Warm blood immediately started trickling down my face. I gasped in pain, clutching my forehead. I looked up and saw an eighteen-year-old boy standing in front of me. He was tall, well-built, and had a nasty sneer on his face. He stormed over and shoved me hard, stepping right in front of Dorothy. “You trashy woman, are you trying to get with my dad? Is that why you’re harassing my mom?” Jefferson yelled, clenching his fists. The surrounding guests gasped and took a few steps back to stay out of the crossfire. “Jefferson, stop it! Don’t be rude,” Dorothy said, though there was barely any weight to her voice. Jefferson rolled his eyes. “Mom, I’m trying to protect you! You’re way too soft. You never stand up for yourself.” “Women like her are so manipulative. Dad is rich and handsome, who knows what kind of dirty tricks she’s trying to play.” “And don’t tell me to be polite. If my uncles find out this ex-con tried to hit on Dad, she’d be in a much worse state than this.” The three of them chatted away like I wasn’t even there, completely ignoring the fact that I was bleeding on the floor. To make matters worse, with my phone broken, I couldn’t even call the police. I had to ask for help. But the guests around us only looked at me with disgust and avoided my gaze. I couldn’t even contact Mrs. Brown. I dragged myself up and grabbed a nearby security guard’s arm. “Please, tell Mrs. Brown that Victoria Samuels is outside and needs—” Before I could finish, the guard let out a mocking laugh. “Who? You? You’re trying to tell me you have a business meeting with Mrs. Brown?” “Who are you trying to fool? Get out of here. Leave before I throw you out myself.” The guard pointed toward the exit threateningly. Mario and Dorothy, who knew exactly who I was, chose to remain completely silent. I turned to walk toward the lobby desk to use their landline, but Mario blocked my path again. “Victoria, if you just agree to license that patent to us, I’ll personally drive you to the hospital.” “And about your relationship with your brothers… Dorothy and I can help smooth things over. We can help you get back into the family.” Before I could even respond, Jefferson lunged forward again, shoving me back. “You cheap bitch, trying to flirt with my dad right in front of my mom? Are you begging for a beating?” The veins on my temples were throbbing. I looked at Mario and Dorothy, who were still playing dumb. “Are you two deaf and mute? Can’t you control your own son?” “If you won’t teach him some manners, I will.” I found my footing, stepped forward, and slapped Jefferson across the face. The loud, sharp *SMACK* echoed through the lobby. “What do you think you’re doing?!” Suddenly, Dorothy wasn’t deaf or mute anymore. She shrieked and lunged forward, throwing her arms around Jefferson to protect him as if I were a wild animal.

The crowd began pointing and muttering insults at me. Just then, the loud screech of tires sounded from the driveway. A sleek black Maybach pulled up to the entrance, and my three brothers stepped out. Seeing them arrive, Jefferson immediately clutched his cheek and ran over to Ethan, crying. “Uncle Ethan! You have to help me! She tried to seduce Dad right in front of us, and when I stopped her, she slapped me!” “She made Mom cry too!” Hearing this, the three brothers’ faces darkened instantly. The moment Ethan’s eyes landed on me, he froze. “Victoria?” But within a second, his expression turned freezing cold and accusing. “It’s been twenty years, and the moment you step foot back in this country, you start targeting Dorothy again?” “Oh, so you’re the trashy, ex-con aunt everyone talks about,” Jefferson sneered, looking at me with pure disgust. “You really are a piece of work.” Dorothy put on her most pitiful face and clutched Ethan’s sleeve. “Ethan, please don’t yell at Victoria. It’s my fault. It has nothing to do with her.” “You haven’t shown your face in twenty years, and the moment you do, you bring drama to Dorothy,” Ryan snapped at me. “And look at you, covered in blood. Who are you trying to guilt-trip? Are you trying to embarrass the Johnson family in front of everyone?” Before Ethan could even speak, Ryan had already finished judging me. Dorothy, playing the saint, stepped forward and tried to grab my hand. “Victoria, I know you must have suffered a lot while you were away, and it’s natural for you to hate me.” “But Jefferson is Mario’s and my son. He’s your nephew. How could you lay a hand on him?” “He’s just a kid.” “If you’re angry, take it out on me. Just hit me instead.” She grabbed my hand, trying to force me to slap her face. But Mario quickly stepped in and pulled her back. “Victoria, enough is enough!” Mario yelled. “You claim you don’t care about the past, yet you stalked us all the way to this gala!” “You’re making life miserable for Dorothy and me just because I married her instead of you!” “Let me make this clear: I love Dorothy. No matter what kind of sick games you play, I will never love you. Get over it!” Mario held Dorothy tightly, delivering his grand, dramatic declaration of love. I stood there, completely numb, watching this circus. “Who said I stalked you here?” I asked, massaging my temples. “Do you people have no shame?” “I’m here to meet with Mrs. Brown for a business partnership.” As soon as the words left my mouth, Lucas let out a loud, mocking laugh. “You? Partnering with Mrs. Brown?” Lucas sneered. “Has living abroad made you completely insane? Do you even know who she is?” “Mrs. Brown is not someone a person like you can just casually chat with.” Dorothy sighed, looking at me with pity. “Victoria, please stop lying.” “Mr. Brown is one of the wealthiest men in Los Angeles. The Morgan family has a massive legacy. They aren’t people we can easily reach.” “I get that you want to impress our brothers, but you shouldn’t make up such ridiculous lies.” Her words instantly turned me into the laughingstock of the night. The crowd whispered and snickered. “She really is delusional, trying to use the Morgan family’s name to look good.” “Where does she get the confidence? Claiming she knows Mrs. Brown… how embarrassing.” “Look at her. She looks like a mess. How could she possibly know Mrs. Brown?” I didn’t bother explaining. Seeing that it was almost time for our meeting, I decided to ignore my broken phone and just head inside to find Mrs. Brown in person. I pulled some tissues from my bag, looked in the compact mirror, and wiped the blood from my forehead. I packed my things, turned around, and walked toward the entrance, but Dorothy grabbed my arm yet again. “Wait, Victoria, where are you going?” “To see Mrs. Brown.” A wave of snickers burst out around us. “Still lying even now.” “Let’s see what she does when Mrs. Brown actually gets here.” Just then, someone in the crowd gasped. “Oh my god, Mrs. Brown is actually coming this way!” Everyone turned toward the grand entrance. Draped in a stunning custom gown and wearing a flawless emerald necklace, Mrs. Brown was walking gracefully toward the lobby. Dorothy’s face lit up, and she immediately stepped forward. “Mrs. Brown—” The others watched with bated breath. “Of course Dorothy is the one who actually knows Mrs. Brown.” “Exactly. Victoria’s little lie is about to blow up in her face.” They all smirked, waiting to watch me fall. But Mrs. Brown walked right past Dorothy, completely ignoring her, and stopped directly in front of me. “You must be Ms. Samuels! I’ve been waiting for you. Please, come right in.” The entire room went dead silent.

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For the eighteenth time, Mom delivered a gift that was supposed to be mine straight to Hayden’s room. She shot me a guilty look, but immediately turned it around to blame me. “Why didn’t you remind me? Well, since things turned out this way, let’s just let Hayden have it.” I froze in place. Watching Hayden look so incredibly happy with my gift, I just nodded. I didn’t care anymore. Ever since Hayden was born, Mom always “accidentally” gave my things to him. She promised to take me to the theme park, but ended up giving my ticket to Hayden. I had a high fever in the middle of the night, but Mom rushed Hayden to the ER instead, frantically asking the doctors if he was going to catch whatever I had. Even on my birthday, my cake was delivered straight to his room. “Since things turned out this way, let Hayden go play.” “Since things turned out this way, we can’t let Hayden get sick.” “Since things turned out this way, it’s fine to let Hayden blow out the candles first.” Just like right now. Mom smiled as she carried my birthday cake over to Hayden. My lips twitched into a bitter smile. Mom had completely forgotten. I had terminal stomach cancer. The doctor said this would likely be my last birthday. So be it.

The sound of keys jingling came from the front door. Dad was home from work. I forced myself to ignore the sharp, stabbing pain in my stomach. Clutching the wall, I slowly dragged myself out of my room. Years ago, if I coughed even once, Dad would drive me to the urgent care clinic in the middle of the night. Now, I was standing in the living room, covered in cold sweat, but Dad didn’t even spare me a glance. He walked straight past me to Hayden, shoving a limited-edition Transformer into his arms. “Happy birthday, Hayden! Do you like the present Dad got you?” Hayden squealed with joy, jumping up to plant a big kiss on Dad’s cheek. Dad’s eyes crinkled with laughter. It was only when he turned around that he finally saw me, pale and swaying against the wall. His smile vanished instantly. His brows furrowed into a tight, angry knot. “What is up with that look on your face?” “Today is Hayden’s birthday. Do you have to ruin the mood with that miserable face?” “You’re getting more and more depressed every day. It’s exhausting just looking at you.” I bit my lower lip so hard it bled. My fingers tightened around the medical diagnosis sheet inside my pocket. “Today is my birthday, too,” my voice trembled. Dad froze for a second. A flash of guilt crossed his eyes. But that tiny sliver of regret was instantly swallowed by annoyance. “How old are you now? Why are you still throwing tantrums over Hayden’s birthday? Can’t we just buy you another cake in a couple of days?” Mom was slicing the cake nearby. She rolled her eyes. “Don’t buy her anything. She just can’t stand seeing Hayden happy.” “She loves throwing drama all day long. She’s just desperate for attention.” I slowly pulled the sweat-soaked diagnosis sheet out of my pocket. “The doctor said… this might be my last birthday.” “Stomach cancer…” Both Mom and Dad frowned. For a brief second, their eyes softened. But suddenly, Hayden pointed at me and started crying hysterically. “Mom! Audrey is being scary! I don’t want her to die! Make her stop!” Seeing Hayden cry, Mom rushed over, snatched the diagnosis sheet from my hand, and threw it right into the trash can. “Audrey, are you out of your mind?” “So what if you have stomach cancer? Do you have to scare Hayden to death just to feel satisfied?!” I stood there, completely numb. I shook my head frantically. “No, I didn’t…” SLAP! A heavy blow struck my face. The force knocked me straight to the floor. My ears rang loudly, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. Dad stood over me, looking down with pure disgust. “You are absolutely toxic!” “How did we raise such a selfish loser who only knows how to bully her little brother!” Lying on the cold floor, I stared at the trash can. The diagnosis sheet was sitting right there, stamped in red by the hospital. But nobody wanted to look at it. Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion washed over me. All my urge to explain, all my hurt—it all died right there. I used the wall to push myself up and wiped the blood from my mouth with the back of my sleeve. I turned around and walked toward my room. Dad grabbed a glass from the table and shattered it right at my feet. “Always acting like a corpse!” “If you ever use death to threaten us again, get the hell out of this house and die outside!” “We don’t need your bad luck in this family!”

The next morning, I woke up from a stabbing pain in my stomach. I hadn’t eaten dinner last night, and nobody had come to check on me. Even though it was my birthday, I could only curl up in my room, listening to Hayden celebrate his birthday right outside my door. I struggled to open my eyes. Surprisingly, there was a glass of milk and two slices of toast on my nightstand. Mom was sitting on the edge of my bed. She had a rare, gentle smile on her face. “You’re awake? Come on, eat something.” I stared at her. My nose stung with tears. She did something she hadn’t done in years—she reached out and gently stroked my hair. “Your dad was just stressed yesterday. Don’t take it to heart.” “This weekend, I’ll take you to that theme park you’ve been begging to go to, okay?” My dry, cracked lips trembled. The dying embers of hope in my chest sparked back to life. The theme park. I had been waiting for this for three years. When I was little, Dad used to put me on his shoulders, laughing as we rode the carousel. Maybe… maybe they still loved me. As long as I behaved, as long as I didn’t make Hayden mad, they would still care about me. I swallowed the stomach pain and nodded quickly. “Okay. I’ll go.” “Thank you, Mom.” I held on until the weekend. I pulled my favorite white dress out of the closet. It was a bit too short for me now, but I couldn’t bear to throw it away. Since I got sick, I hadn’t gotten any new clothes. I stood in front of the mirror, splashing cold water on my face to make myself look a bit more alive. I didn’t want to ruin their mood. I leaned against the wall, taking slow steps out of my room. In the living room, Mom was on the phone. She was packing Hayden’s bright yellow backpack, her voice dripping with affection. “Yeah, taking Hayden to the theme park today. Already got the VIP passes.” “Oh, don’t worry about Audrey. She looks like a walking corpse anyway. Bringing her would just ruin the fun.” “Exactly. Hayden’s happiness is what matters. Who wants to drag a sick drag-along around?” I froze. It felt like my entire world had collapsed. Mom’s milk that morning, her promise, her gentle smile, and her comforting words… How did it all change so fast? I dragged my weak body into the center of the living room. “Mom…” My voice was incredibly hoarse. “You said… you were taking me.” Mom hung up the phone. The smile on her face vanished instantly. She knitted her brows in disgust. “Are you having another episode? Didn’t I tell you to stay in your room?” “But you promised me…” “Promised you what? Look at yourself in the mirror!” She looked me up and down with pure disdain. “Dressed like that… are you trying to embarrass us in public?” Hayden ran over and shoved me hard. “Get out of the way! Mom gave the tickets to me! They’re only taking me to the theme park, not you!” I was already running on empty. His shove threw me completely off balance. I reached out, trying to grab Mom’s sleeve to steady myself. But Mom flinched away as if I were a leper, shaking me off violently. “Don’t touch Hayden! Are you trying to fake a fall to blame him now?” My body slammed hard against the solid wooden coffee table. A sharp, agonizing pain shot through my lower back. The pain was so intense that I curled up on the floor, cold sweat instantly soaking through my dress. I gasped for air, unable to even scream. Mom watched me writhe on the floor with cold eyes. “Cut it out. Stop acting. I’m sick of your little guilt trips.” She took Hayden’s hand and walked toward the front door. Before stepping out, she stopped and threw one last icy look at me. “Look at you, acting like this. Why would we bring an embarrassment like you to the theme park?” “Don’t bother calling me today. Nobody is going to ruin Hayden’s weekend!” The front door slammed shut.

Once the door closed, the house fell deathly quiet. The stabbing pain in my back and the violent cramps in my stomach twisted together. Every breath I took tasted like blood. After lying there for hours, my condition took a sudden, violent turn for the worse. A warm, thick rush of liquid erupted from my throat. Bright red blood instantly stained my favorite white dress, pooling onto the hardwood floor. I convulsed violently, my body locking up in pain. I reached my hand out, desperately trying to grab onto anything. Staring at the growing pool of dark blood on the floor, my survival instinct kicked in. I didn’t want to die. I really didn’t. I grit my teeth and started crawling toward the landline phone in the corner of the living room. It was only a few feet, but it took me ten agonizing minutes. I dragged myself forward, leaving a horrifying trail of blood behind me. Memories of when I was seven flashed through my mind. That year, I was hit by a car and broke my leg. Mom and Dad had rushed to the hospital so fast they didn’t even put their shoes on properly. Mom had held me, crying her eyes out, while Dad begged the doctors with teary eyes to save me. I thought, even if they hated me now, even if they preferred Hayden… If they knew I was actually dying, if they knew I was bleeding this much… They would run back to save me without a second thought, just like they used to. With trembling fingers, I dialed Dad’s number. It rang for a long, long time before he finally picked up. Through the receiver, I could hear the roar of a roller coaster and Hayden’s cheerful laughter. “What do you want now?!” Dad’s voice was filled with extreme impatience. I gasped for air, crying into the phone with the last of my strength. “Dad… it hurts so bad…” “I’m bleeding so much… my stomach… please, come back and save me…” There was a brief second of silence on the other end. Then, Mom’s mocking voice drifted over. “I knew she’d pull something! Listen to her, she’s faking her death again!” “She just can’t stand us having a good time!” Dad hesitated. “What if… what if it’s real?” Mom sneered. “Real? She’s just trying to ruin our day because we took Hayden out and left her behind.” Dad let out a sigh of relief. Then, he let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Audrey, you’ll really use any cheap trick just to compete with Hayden, won’t you?” “You think we’ll run back just because you claim you’re bleeding? Do you think I’m a gullible idiot?” I clutched the phone cord in despair, my tears mixing with the blood on the floor. “I’m not lying… it really hurts… please…” In the background, Hayden screamed, “Dad! I want that giant strawberry ice cream!” Dad’s voice instantly softened into a gentle tone. “Okay, buddy. Dad will buy it for you right now.” But when he spoke back into the receiver, his voice was pure ice. “Do you hear that? Hayden is happy right now.” “If you want to die, go do it somewhere else. Stop calling to ruin our day!” I opened my mouth, but another surge of blood rushed up my throat. I coughed up a huge splash of blood right onto the phone receiver. I couldn’t make a sound. Dad roared angrily on the other end. “I’m warning you! If you dare call again, I’ll come back and break your legs!” Click. The line went dead.

Listening to the dial tone, the pain suddenly faded. The agonizing cramps that felt like they were tearing my stomach apart seemed to disappear with that beep. I thought, maybe this is for the best. I really was a bad kid. Even getting sick was just me “demanding attention.” I shouldn’t have done that. I slowly put down the bloody receiver and wiped the tears from my face with my sleeve. I looked at the long, horrifying streak of blood on the floor. It was so dirty. Mom loved a clean house. If she came back and saw the floor ruined, she would scream at me. Leaning against the wall, I used the very last of my strength to crawl to the bathroom and grab a rag. On my hands and knees, inch by inch, I wiped up every single drop of my blood until the floor was spotless. The water in the bucket turned a deep, dark red. I poured it into the toilet and flushed it five times until the water ran clear. Hayden’s Transformers and building blocks were scattered all over the sofa. I picked them up, piece by piece, and neatly arranged them back into his toy chest. After doing all this, I went back to my room. I pulled a dusty metal box from under my bed and took out a stack of crumpled bills. It was exactly three hundred dollars. It was the money I saved by secretly stopping my expensive cancer meds, sneaking out to hand out flyers behind their backs. I found a clean sheet of paper and grabbed a pen. “Mom, Dad, please don’t be angry anymore.” “I secretly stopped taking my medication. Since things are already like this, and it’s terminal anyway, let’s not waste any more money.” “Please use this three hundred dollars to buy Hayden’s school supplies or get him some new toys.” “As long as you guys had fun at the theme park today, I am happy.” “I won’t call to annoy you or ruin your mood ever again.” “I hope you are always happy.” I wrapped the money inside the letter and walked slowly to my parents’ bedroom. I carefully tucked it right under their soft pillows. After that, I returned to my dark, tiny bedroom. I took off the stained white dress and put on my faded school hoodie. It was the only piece of clothing they had bought me in the last few years. I climbed onto my hard little bed and curled up in the corner against the wall. I pulled my knees to my chest, tucking myself into a fetal position. Slowly, my breathing grew shallower and shallower, until my chest stopped moving entirely. My soul felt light as it floated up, drifting to the ceiling. I looked down at the tiny, stiff body on the bed that would never cry in pain again. It was nice. I would never get screamed at again. At eight in the evening, the sound of keys jingling came from the front door. My parents, holding a giant colorful balloon for Hayden, walked into the house full of laughter. The living room was spotless. There was no trace of blood, as if nothing had ever happened. Mom kicked off her shoes and walked habitually to my closed bedroom door. She put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. “Locking yourself in your room to play dead all day! You don’t even know enough to come out and get Hayden a glass of water!” “Do I seriously have to invite you out? Get your butt out here!” Hearing no response, her anger flared. She grabbed the doorknob and shoved the door open violently. The bright light from the hallway spilled into my dark room. The room was silent. So silent that it made her heart skip a beat. Her eyes fell upon my body on the bed. The phone in Mom’s hand slipped through her fingers, hitting the floor with a loud thud.

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