When I got pregnant, my incredibly devoted boyfriend quit his job to pamper me. He managed everything I ate, wore, and used with strict precision. My best friend secretly got a high-end, pregnancy-safe skincare set customized for me. When he found it, he blew his top. “These are all chemicals! They are going to hurt the baby!” I tried to explain that keeping my spirits up was just as important for our child. The moment those words left my mouth, he dropped to his knees with a heavy thud. “I am so sorry! I made you upset! But what if there is something toxic in there and we lose the baby? I would never forgive myself!” His sheer panic threw me off guard. Feeling a bit guilty, I handed the expensive set over for him to “dispose of” properly. That very night, I was scrolling through social media and saw a lifestyle influencer posting a teaser for her next unboxing video. The luxury skincare box in her preview photo was the exact same custom set my best friend had just given me. Curiosity piqued, I clicked into her profile. As I scrolled through her past videos, my blood ran cold. Every single designer item my boyfriend had “disposed of” for the sake of the baby magically appeared on her feed. When a masked man walked into the frame of her latest video, I almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of it all. I slowly turned my head to look at the skincare set sitting near the entryway, the one he had not yet taken out to “throw away.” Without missing a beat, I opened my phone and placed a rush order for five bottles of industrial-grade superglue, five bottles of heavy-duty purple skin dye, and a whole lot of pepper extract. 1 My friends always warned me that Oliver was only after my bank account. I never cared. I had more than enough money to go around. Plus, Oliver always knew exactly what to say. “I know I am not in your league,” he used to whisper, holding my hands. “But I want to be the man supporting you behind the scenes. If you ever feel like you do not need me anymore, just say the word and I will walk away. But for now, please let me take care of you.” He quit his corporate job for me. He learned gourmet cooking, got certified as an infant care specialist, and even took doula classes. What reason did I have to reject a gorgeous, multi-talented guy who wanted nothing more than to wait on me hand and foot? I tossed him a black card without a second thought. He never spent a dime recklessly. He would even text me a receipt when he filled up the gas tank. He was so incredibly well-behaved it almost made my heart ache. But there was one specific habit of his that really got under my skin. Like right now. “Oliver! Where did that skincare set Harper sent me go?” Oliver poked his head out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a linen apron. He pursed his lips into a worried pout. “Sienna, honey, you are pregnant. Those commercial products are loaded with harsh chemicals. It is just not safe for the baby.” On the other end of the phone, my best friend Harper absolutely lost her mind. “Sienna! I paid a private dermatological team thousands to formulate that! It is food-grade! Completely safe for expecting mothers! Tell your warden of a boyfriend to hand it back. Pregnant women deserve to feel beautiful too!” I intentionally put her on speakerphone and raised my voice toward the kitchen. “Did you hear her? Hand it over. Do not tell me you donated it behind my back again!” Whenever Oliver “disposed” of my things, he claimed he was dropping them off at charity centers. We had a whole drawer full of donation receipts. He called it “building good karma for the baby.” He ignored my demand. Instead, he walked out of the kitchen carrying a steaming bowl. “You mentioned you were craving carbs yesterday but were worried about the baby weight. So, I minced fresh shrimp and made zero-carb noodles from scratch. I counted every calorie. It will not make you gain a pound, and it is packed with nutrients for you both.” Looking at the perfectly plated dish, all the fight drained right out of me. Oliver sighed, his voice dripping with gentle concern. “I am not trying to stop you from doing your skincare routine. I just genuinely do not trust those lab-made chemicals. I have been taking online courses on making pure, organic cosmetics. Let me make some for you, okay?” Handmade creams, soaps, daily essentials. All my top-tier luxury brands had slowly been replaced by his homemade concoctions. They were not exactly La Mer, but how could I fault a man pouring his entire heart into keeping me safe? I let out a soft sigh. “I am not trying to pick a fight. Just think about it. If I am happy and relaxed, that is good for the baby too, right?” The moment the words left my mouth, his knees hit the hardwood floor. “Did I do something wrong? Did I make you miserable?” “I am so sorry, Sienna! The box is right by the door. I will go grab it for you right now. But… what if there is a hidden ingredient in there? What if we lose the baby? I would live in agony for the rest of my life!” His dramatic reaction completely stunned me. Suddenly, I felt like the villain of the story for being too demanding. “Alright, alright, get up. Just promise me you will ask before you donate anything from now on. And leave the skincare alone, it is a gift from Harper.” “I promise! I swear!” He bounced up instantly, a bright, sunny smile taking over his face. “Oh, by the way, honey. A lot of the clothes in your walk-in closet do not fit your bump anymore. They are just taking up space. How about I bag them up and drop them off at the shelter?” I thought about it. I had not cleaned out my closet in ages. I nodded and gave him the green light. I sat at the island counter, enjoying the shrimp noodles, watching him hustle in and out of the master bedroom. One garbage bag. Two bags. Five massive black bags. I stared in absolute shock. “Are you cleaning out a closet or robbing the place?” I marched into the walk-in wardrobe. The entire right wing was practically stripped bare! 2 I eyed the five bulging bags, unable to bite my tongue. “Oliver, does the charity center have a monthly quota you are trying to hit?” “No, Sienna, I swear! I only packed up the old seasonal pieces. You cannot fit into them right now anyway, and some are just a bit too young for a mother-to-be. I did not touch any of your new maternity wear.” For some reason, a bitter taste settled in the back of my throat. Tossing out lotions and serums was one thing. They expired. But designer clothes? Even if I could not zip them up right now, I could wear them after the baby was born. I pointed a manicured finger at the smallest bag. “Take that one to the shelter. Put everything else back.” “But Sienna, unpacking them is such a hassle. Plus, the fabrics are restrictive. You really should not wear them right now. Letting them collect dust is such a waste…” A waste? Every single piece in those bags cost at least four figures. My money. He wanted to give them all away for a couple of printed tax receipts? Did he think I was born yesterday? I gave him one sharp, icy glare. Oliver instantly shut his mouth, grabbed the bags, and silently started hanging everything back up. I went back to my noodles, but my appetite was completely gone. Later, Oliver hovered around me, offering a foot massage, asking if I wanted him to draw a bath. If I ignored the wardrobe incident, the man was practically flawless. “By the way, baby, I need to visit my mom at the hospital tonight. There is a little bit of the shrimp pasta left in the pan. Do you mind if I pack it up for her?” “Go ahead.” Oliver’s mother was chronically ill. He spent multiple nights a week at the hospital keeping her company. When he quit his job, he told me it was to care for me, but I knew a big part of it was to manage his mother’s care. When I found out, I started quietly transferring two thousand dollars into his account every single week. He refused it at first, but eventually accepted it with tears in his eyes. After Oliver left the penthouse, I curled up in bed and started scrolling through my feed. The algorithm loved feeding me pregnancy content. A thumbnail caught my eye. The title read: Unboxing the Custom Luxury Pregnancy Skincare Hubby Got Me! The velvet box in the picture was identical to the one Harper had just given me. Harper told me the formulation was a one-of-a-kind exclusive. Was it possible someone else had the exact same order? I clicked the video. A pretty, heavily pregnant woman was live streaming, showing off her favorite maternity items. A cold chill crawled up my spine. Every single supplement, every brand of organic soap, aligned perfectly with my exact preferences. Some of the prenatal vitamins she showcased were imported and virtually impossible to get locally. The live chat was buzzing. Omg! Everything you use is so high-end! What do you do for a living? The streamer, who went by the name Daisy, giggled. “I am just a stay-at-home mom! My hubby works hard in the city. He spoils me with all these goodies.” I narrowed my eyes. Daisy’s supposed husband clearly had expensive taste and knew exactly what to buy. You did not just stumble across these specific luxury items without serious research. Right at that moment, a familiar voice drifted from the background of the live stream. “Honey, I am home!” Even though the camera only caught the edge of his shoulder, I recognized him instantly. He was wearing the limited-edition designer jacket I bought for his birthday. Oliver. What the hell was he doing there? The chat started begging for the husband to show his face. Daisy smiled coyly. “I cannot, guys! My hubby is a high-level corporate executive. Showing his face online might cause issues at his firm.” I let out a dark chuckle and typed a comment into the chat. Why would showing his face affect his work? Does he have a whole other family hidden somewhere? Instantly, Daisy’s loyal fans dogpiled on me. Who is this bitter troll? Daisy and her man are couple goals! Stop spreading toxic rumors! Exactly! Her husband treats her like a queen! Look, he even brought her dinner! On the screen, Daisy opened a sleek glass Tupperware container. As she lifted the lid to reveal the food inside, the final piece of the puzzle snapped into place. It was my zero-carb shrimp noodles. “Hubby? Did you make this?” “Yeah, minced the shrimp myself. Totally carb-free. I made a bigger batch, but some bloated old cow snatched the rest of it up.” A bloated… old cow? I stared at the glowing screen, my entire body turning to stone. My fingers moved on autopilot, clicking into her profile. Every single video was a showcase of the treasures Oliver had “disposed of” from my apartment. So this was how he built “karma” for our child. What an absolute master of philanthropy. No wonder Oliver never brought up getting married. He already had a wife playing house across town. 3 Taking my money under the guise of visiting his dying mother, only to feed his pregnant mistress. When you hit the absolute peak of disgust, all you can really do is laugh. I reached for my phone, fully prepared to dial his number and scorch the earth. But then Daisy’s whining voice drifted from the speaker. “Hubby, where is that custom skincare set you promised me? I have been waiting to do the unboxing for my fans!” “Sorry, baby, it is going to take a little longer. The bloated old cow at the office threw a fit over it. You know how it is, I have to play nice and let her have her way for now…” A bloated old cow, huh? I closed the app and made a completely different phone call. “Trace Oliver’s phone. I need his exact location right now.” Half an hour later, Harper stormed into my penthouse, practically breathing fire. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?! Where is that gold-digging piece of trash!” She dragged me out to the car, fully intent on catching them in the act. During the drive, she cursed his name to high heaven. I leaned against the window, my voice eerily calm. “Oliver is scum, but maybe this Daisy girl is in the dark. She plays the innocent housewife act pretty well online.” The moment we pulled up to the gated community, my generous assumption was shattered. Oliver and Daisy were strolling down the sidewalk, fingers intertwined. The look of pure adoration on his face was even more convincing than the act he put on for me. They were completely oblivious to our car idling in the shadows. “Babe, you keep bringing me that old cow’s hand-me-downs,” Daisy whined, swinging his arm. “When are we going to buy new stuff?” “Most of those clothes still have the designer tags attached. If you do not want to wear them, just flip them online for cash.” “No! I want fresh clothes! Unopened makeup! A new house! I want everything brand new!” Oliver wrapped a comforting arm around her waist. “Just hold on a little longer. Once she gives birth…” “It is always ‘hold on’! You promised you would marry me as soon as you secured the bag. Do you know how many years I have been waiting? Look at how big I am getting! I cannot wait anymore! The luxury recovery clinic, the nurses, it all costs money. We are still short forty grand!” “I mean it this time,” Oliver lowered his voice, the sound carrying perfectly through the crisp night air. “Once she delivers, staging an accident will be child’s play. She has no family left. As the father of her child, I will naturally inherit the entire estate. When that happens, you can have all the new clothes in the world.” Daisy finally giggled, resting her head on his shoulder. “That is more like it. But… what if the cops look into it?” “Relax, I have every angle covered.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “A lonely woman suffering from severe postpartum depression? Who knows what she might do to herself?” Standing in the dark, my phone silently recording every word, the blood froze in my veins. Harper grabbed my hand, her grip bruising. “Sienna, we are going to the police. Right now!” I shook my head slowly, my eyes locked on the happy couple. “Jail is too good for him right now.” We drove straight home. I ordered five bottles of industrial superglue, five bottles of heavy-duty gentian violet dye, and several vials of concentrated pepper extract. I pulled out the gorgeous velvet skincare box and began our little arts and crafts project. The next morning, the smell of breakfast woke me. Oliver was back in his apron. “Morning, Sienna. Oh, Harper, you are here too? Want some breakfast?” Harper did not even look at him, aggressively stirring her black coffee. I sat at the dining table, staring at the lavish spread. I picked up my mug and took a slow sip. “What is wrong? Not hungry?” he asked, looking like a kicked puppy. I forced a tight smile. Harper chimed in, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “We went out for midnight cravings last night. Stuffed our faces. She is still full.” “Harper, how could you take her out for junk food late at night? She is pregnant!” Oliver furrowed his brow, playing the deeply concerned father to perfection. Harper rolled her eyes and ignored him. Oliver suddenly turned to me, his face shifting into a mask of pure tragedy. “Sienna, my mom took a turn for the worse last night. Could I… could I borrow forty grand to cover the new treatments? Even thirty-five would help!” “How much? Forty grand?!” Harper slammed her mug down. “Oliver, you live in her house, eat her food, and she gives you eight thousand a month for doing nothing! Where exactly is all that money going?” Yes, Oliver. Where exactly is the money going? 4 Oliver stammered, unable to formulate an excuse under Harper’s glare. I stepped in, playing the saint. “Your mom’s health comes first. I will lend it to you. Just use the black card.” “Sienna! You let him walk all over you!” Harper threw her hands up in theatrical disgust. Oliver’s eyes lit up with greedy triumph, but his smug expression crashed when I dropped the next sentence. “Though, given the amount this time, do you think we should write up a quick promissory note? Just for the records.” Oliver froze for a split second before nodding vigorously. “Of course! Absolutely!” He scurried into the home office and drafted a perfectly formatted IOU. While he was busy, I quietly sent a text to my wealth manager, freezing the black card immediately. He handed me the signed paper, even adding his thumbprint for good measure. I laughed softly. “You really wrote it out. Honestly, Oliver, you hold the card anyway. Writing an IOU… I really could not find a more honest man if I tried.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking bashful. “Every penny I spend on that card, I want you to know about. I want everyone to know I love you for you, not your bank account.” He directed that last part at Harper. Harper and I locked eyes, both fighting the urge to burst into hysterical laughter. Before he rushed out the door, I shoved the velvet skincare box into his hands. “Actually, just throw this out for me. You were right. I need to be careful with chemicals. Keeping myself healthy is the priority.” Harper immediately played her part, shouting from the kitchen. “Hey! Sienna! I spent fifteen grand on that set!” Hearing the price tag, Oliver’s eyes practically turned into dollar signs. He clutched the box to his chest and leaned in to hug me. I smoothly pivoted, dodging his touch. “Hurry up and go. You do not want to delay your mom’s treatment.” Two hours later, Daisy’s livestream went live right on schedule. The title was nauseatingly sweet. [Late Night Pampering! Hubby Unboxes 5-Figure Custom Skincare Set!] Harper and I curled up on my plush sofa, armed with a giant bowl of popcorn. We had already texted my marketing team to quietly flood her stream with paid traffic.

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1 The heavy sound of the shower echoed through the apartment as I pushed the front door open. Nate was in the bathroom. His laptop sat open on the coffee table, the screen still glowing brightly in the dim living room. An open messaging app immediately caught my eye. The text at the top read: Luna the Mystic. The newest message hit me like a physical blow. [Your reading topic for today: Is there still a chance for you and the one who got away?] My heart skipped a beat. Without thinking, my fingers brushed the trackpad, scrolling up to read the rest of the conversation. The psychic had asked Nate to describe the person he wanted a reading on. “She is the woman I have loved and desperately wanted for seven years. Now, right before I get married, she moved back to the States.” Every drop of blood in my body turned to ice. Seven years. Nate and I had been together for exactly seven years. And we were supposed to get married next month. The shower stopped. I was so numb I did not even notice the sudden silence. Nate walked out a moment later, rubbing a towel through his damp hair. Drops of water trailed down his bare chest. “Serena? When did you get back?” He smiled warmly, walking toward me. “Why are you just standing there zoning out?” “Just walked in. Saw your laptop was still on.” “Since when did you start believing in this stuff?” I pointed a trembling finger at the screen, my throat incredibly tight. Nate glanced at the laptop. Something flickered in his eyes, barely there, before he casually snapped the laptop shut. “Oh, that.” He let out a soft chuckle and pulled me into his arms. “I was grabbing drinks with some colleagues today. I mentioned someone on my feed started doing tarot readings. One of the guys got super into it and begged me to ask a question for him.” “But you are the biggest skeptic I know.” I stared directly into his eyes, searching for a crack in his perfect facade. Nate smiled, the familiar crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. “Of course I do not believe in it,” he said, gently pinching my cheek. “I was just doing a favor for a buddy. Look, I even told the psychic it was not for me.” He opened the laptop again and pointed to a line of text. [Asking for a friend. This isn’t about me.] A fraction of the tension left my shoulders, but a dull, nagging unease remained coiled in my stomach. “So who is your colleague hung up on?” I asked, forcing a casual tone. Nate paused for a split second before laughing. “His high school crush. The guy is getting married soon, guess he is just getting cold feet and overly sentimental.” His expression was absolutely flawless. “What is going on? Why are you so on edge today?” Nate looked at me with deep concern. “Work stressing you out?” I nodded slowly. “We hit a roadblock on a huge project. I was at the office until just now.” His brows instantly pulled together in a look of pure heartache. “I told you to stop working yourself to the bone. Are you hungry? Let me make you some pasta.” Looking at his earnest, loving gaze, I silently cursed myself for being paranoid. This was Nate. This was the man who remembered my exact coffee order, who warmed up a glass of milk for me every single night, who let me use his phone whenever I wanted. How could I doubt him over a few random text messages? 2 Later that night, Nate fell asleep quickly. His breathing was deep and even, as if everything was perfectly normal. I lay wide awake staring at the ceiling. Driven by some dark intuition, I picked up my phone and searched for “Luna the Mystic” on Instagram. A profile with hundreds of thousands of followers popped up. The bio read: “Expert Tarot Reader. Ten years of experience. Unlocking your soul and interpreting your destiny.” Ten years. Not exactly someone who “just started doing tarot” like Nate had claimed. My heart did a painful stutter step. The sickening feeling of being played crept slowly up my spine. I clicked on the psychic’s newest post. “If you need a private, detailed reading to clear your confusion, drop a heart in the comments and I will DM you!” There were already hundreds of comments. I scrolled past endless strangers until a horribly familiar profile picture locked my vision. It was Nate. He always bragged about hating social media. Did he make an account just for this? My fingers trembled as I tapped his profile. It was a completely fresh account. He only followed ten people. Nine of them were boring financial news outlets. The tenth was a silhouette of a girl standing under the golden arches of the Eiffel Tower. Username: Abby Travels. I clicked. Her name was Abby. Her pinned posts were a timeline of her life studying, traveling, and working in Europe. And under every single major milestone, there was a comment from that familiar profile picture. Five years ago, she posted from a massive New Year party in London: “Counting down with strangers. So romantic yet so lonely.” Nate commented: “Next time, I will be there with you.” Three years ago, she posted her Master degree from a top tier university: “Stressed to the max, but I finally did it!” Nate commented: “I told you. You have always been a star.” A year ago, she posted a picture of an IV drip in her hand from a hospital bed: “Feeling so weak today.” Nate commented: “Please take care of yourself. Do not make me worry about you.” Seven years ago, she posted a picture at the airport departure gate: “A new beginning. Let’s both work hard!” Nate commented: “I will wait for you.” For seven entire years, he had been waiting for someone else. I kept scrolling. A week ago: “First day at the new job! Huge thanks to a certain someone for the referral!” The photo was a view from an office window. A view I knew intimately well. It was the exact view from the high rise building where Nate worked. The newest post was from three days ago. “If the cards say yes, we will finally be together.” The location tagged was the most famous romantic restaurant in the city. My chest caved in. A tsunami of pure agony and deep humiliation swallowed me whole. I put my phone down and lay frozen in the dark, letting the tears slide silently into my pillow. Seven years. That youthful obsession, that unforgettable girl in his heart, had never faded. So what was I? Just a warm body to kill time with? A convenient distraction until his real love came back? 3 The next afternoon, I took a half day off work and went straight to the financial district. The glass skyscrapers towered above me. I used to stand on this exact corner waiting for Nate to get off work, listening to him complain about his corporate drama. Back then, happiness felt so solid I could hold it in my hands. Right now, even the air smelled like a lie. I did not ask to meet Nate. I bypassed him entirely and messaged Abby. Those few minutes of waiting felt like a lifetime. Soon, a figure walked into the upscale cafe. She wore a perfectly tailored designer suit. She was tall, radiant, and her makeup was flawless. When she saw me, confusion flashed across her eyes, but she confidently walked over anyway. “Hi, I am Abby. And you are?” She extended a manicured hand. I ignored it. “I am Serena.” I skipped the pleasantries. “Serena?” She repeated the name, and a few seconds later, a spark of realization lit up her eyes. “Oh. Nate’s fiancee?” “Ex fiancee.” I looked at her with a deadpan expression. “I came here today to ask you one question.” “What could you possibly need to ask me?” She leaned back in her chair, a mocking smirk playing on her lips. “Is this about Nate?” I held her gaze. “I want to know the result of that tarot reading. Is there still a chance for you two?” Abby blinked, then let out a sharp, amused laugh like I had just told a hilarious joke. “Serena, honey, I think you have the wrong person. Whatever is going on between you and Nate is your business. Coming to me for answers? Do you not realize how pathetic that makes you look?” “It is not pathetic.” I shook my head, keeping my voice utterly flat. “Because he will never tell me the truth.” “After all, he just finalized the deposit for our wedding venue yesterday.” The smirk instantly vanished from Abby’s face. Her eyes turned ice cold. She stared at me for a long moment, then smiled again. This time, it was a petty, vindictive smile. “Alright. You want to see it?” She pulled out her phone, tapped the screen a few times, and shoved it in my face. It was a screenshot of Nate’s private Instagram story. The image was his chat with Luna the Mystic. [Based on the cards, you are definitely trapped in a love triangle. But you hold all the power. The Knight of Swords indicates a need for quick action. Ultimately, you must follow your heart.] Nate’s caption over the photo read: Follow my heart? I think I might just try that. An invisible fist crushed my lungs. Breathing felt like swallowing glass. I slowly lifted my head and looked at Abby’s triumphant, provocative eyes. I forced the corners of my mouth to curl upward. “Oh. I see he put that on his Close Friends list.” I kept my tone incredibly light. “No wonder it never showed up on my feed.” Abby’s face morphed into something ugly. Embarrassed and angry, she snatched her phone back. “Listen here. This is between me and Nate. What he posts is his choice. It has nothing to do with me!” “You coming here to confront me is completely pointless!” “It better have nothing to do with you.” I stood up, looking down at her. “Trying something new requires an opportunity. If you knowingly insert yourself into someone else’s relationship, then it is no longer just his problem.” I did not bother looking at her reaction. I turned around and pushed through the cafe doors. It was time to end this, Nate. 4 Nate was not home yet when I walked in. I went straight into his home office and booted up his desktop. The password was my birthday. It was so bitterly ironic I almost laughed out loud. I just wanted to find the contracts for the wedding planners and cancel this massive joke of an event as quickly as possible. His desktop was perfectly organized. As my eyes scanned the screen, a folder labeled “Referral” suddenly caught my attention. Abby’s post instantly echoed in my mind. Huge thanks to a certain someone for the referral! A heavy, suffocating dread wrapped around my throat. I double clicked the folder. Inside was a massive list of subfolders, and the naming convention made my blood run entirely cold. [Nova Corp Vanguard Market Analysis] [Nova Corp Vanguard Strategy Deck] [Nova Corp Vanguard Final Proposal] Nova Corp. My company. And Apex Innovations, Nate’s company, was our biggest, most vicious rival bidding for the Vanguard account. It was a multi million dollar international contract. My hand shook violently as I opened one of the files. It was my exact layout. The exact data charts I had built from scratch. It even had my personal shorthand notes in the margins. This was the highly classified project stored in a triple password protected vault on my work computer. How the hell did it end up here? A memory struck me like lightning. A few weeks ago, my laptop system completely crashed. When Nate found out, he used his special external drive to help me run a data recovery. I remembered him kissing the top of my head, gently scolding me for working too hard and not resting enough. So his little data rescue mission was just a cover to install malware and clone my entire hard drive? I was so furious I could not feel my fingers. I forced myself to breathe. In and out. I grabbed my phone and took clear photos of every single file, timestamp, and directory path. Then, I dialed Harper, the head of HR at Apex Innovations. Harper was my sorority sister from college. We were incredibly close. “Did your company just hire a girl named Abby through an internal referral?” My voice trembled. “Yeah, how did you know?” Harper sounded surprised. “Nate pushed her resume through. Said she was a brilliant junior from his old college who just moved back from Europe. Honestly, we usually do not hire like this, but…” “But what?” My chest tightened. “But she absolutely blew us away during her interview.” Harper sounded genuinely impressed. “You know Apex and Nova are fighting over the Vanguard account, right? Vanguard was leaning toward your company. But during Abby’s final interview, she pitched this mind blowing concept. The details were flawless, the data was bulletproof. Our CEO hired her on the spot!” “Why are you asking? Did Nate not tell you?” I did not hear a single word Harper said after that. Just a loud, high pitched ringing in my ears. That was my concept. Those were the details I stayed up until 3 AM perfecting. That was the data I spent months gathering. Just to get Abby a job, Nate was willing to let her step on my neck. He was willing to destroy my entire career and steal my life’s work. My body shook with a rage so pure it felt like ice. I dug my nails into my palms until they bled. “Harper,” my voice dropped an octave, turning deadly calm. “Thank you for telling me. I will explain everything later. I have to go.” I hung up and stared at the “Referral” folder on the screen. Seven years together. Engaged to be married. And yet, when it came to his perfect first love, he happily threw me under the bus. When anger reaches its absolute peak, it turns into a terrifying kind of clarity. If they wanted to play dirty, I was going to bury them both.

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The autumn hiking trip was supposed to be an adventure. But when the temperature plummeted below freezing, and my lips started turning blue, I reached into my pack to find my emergency thermal blanket had been swapped for a flimsy plastic bag. Before I could even ask who was responsible, my fiancé, Dermot, grabbed my arm. “Babe, don’t be mad,” he said, his voice tight. “I gave your blanket to Lila. Just… make do with the plastic bag for now.” I clutched the crinkling plastic, my teeth chattering so hard they ached. “Make do? So you’re just going to let me freeze to death out here?” His brow furrowed in annoyance. “Why would you say that? Lila’s not an experienced hiker, she wasn’t prepared. That doesn’t mean you can wish her ill.” He went on, his voice dripping with condescension. “We’re out here to connect with nature, to breathe fresh air, not to show off your professional gear. Lila was right, you know. You need to drop this spoiled princess act, expecting everyone to coddle you. After we’re married, I won’t have the time to deal with your drama.” I stopped listening. With the last of my strength, I pulled out my satellite phone and dialed. “Dad,” I whispered, my voice cracking, “come get me. And pull all our support from Dermot’s family.” 1 The moment the words left my lips, the phone died, its battery succumbing to the cold. Dermot’s face went rigid, then twisted into a cold sneer. “What, pulling that card again to make me grovel? Seriously, Seraphina, can’t you come up with a new trick?” He lunged for the phone, but I clutched it to my chest. The pain in my swollen, red hands was a searing agony, a thousand tiny needles piercing my skin. I felt myself on the verge of blacking out. The sub-zero temperature was already slowing my heart, and any sudden movement felt like torture. In a last-ditch effort, I draped the plastic bag over my shoulders. It was useless. My consciousness began to fray at the edges, my hands now completely numb. Lila approached, my thermal blanket draped over her arm. She gazed at me, her expression a mask of delicate fragility. “Sera, please don’t blame Dermot. I’m just so fragile, the slightest chill gives me a cold.” Then, right in front of me, she unfolded my emergency blanket and slowly, deliberately, wrapped it around herself. She even used a corner of the high-tech fabric to wipe some mud from her fingers. Every movement was slow, exaggerated, as if to make sure I didn’t miss a single detail. My vision tunneled. That blanket had cost me a fortune, imported from Switzerland. It was a piece of advanced tech designed specifically for extreme cold. Wrapped in it, you could maintain a normal body temperature even on a snow-capped peak. And she was using my lifeline like a dishrag. Dermot rushed to her side, his voice dripping with concern. “Lila, you’re just too kind. Don’t waste your sympathy on a cold-hearted bitch like her.” He turned his gaze on me, his eyes filled with a lofty, judgmental glare. “Knock it off, Seraphina. Stop the theatrics.” “Lila’s a pre-med student,” he continued, puffing out his chest. “She said the temperature isn’t even that low. It’s all in your head. Drink some hot water, jump around a bit. You’ll be fine.” “That fancy blanket of yours is a joke, no better than something you’d buy at a flea market. A total scam. Lila’s not as strong as you; she needs it more.” The plastic bag, already torn, offered no protection. The cold was sinking deeper into my bones. I fumbled for my thermos, desperate for a sip of hot water, only to find it was full of ice-cold slush. Then I watched as Dermot pulled a different thermos from his own pack, opened it, and handed it to Lila. Steam ghosted from the rim. “I swapped the water in your thermoses,” he said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “You’re fine. Stop being so delicate. My family can’t afford a wife as high-maintenance as you.” Through the rising steam, I saw Lila’s lips curve into a triumphant smirk. Dermot’s casual cruelty shattered the last of my hope. My blanket, my hot water… he had given everything to her. And I was being left to slowly freeze, my mind going numb. “Dermot,” I forced the words out, “I’m… I’m going to die.” “Die? Can you stop being so dramatic? Lila’s the one who’s sick, and you don’t hear her complaining, do you?” Lila leaned against his chest, her voice a pathetic whisper. “Sera, I know you don’t like me, but I really don’t feel well. Dermot said you’re an experienced hiker and you’d be okay.” She took a long, noisy gulp of the hot water, then licked her lips with theatrical satisfaction. Her eyes met mine, glittering with open provocation. A tremor of pure rage shot through my frozen body. “Give it back!” I lunged, trying to grab the blanket. Dermot shoved me hard. “Are you insane, Seraphina? Lila’s sick! And you’re trying to rip her blanket away?” I hit the frozen ground, the impact jarring my spine. Lila clutched the blanket tighter, her eyes welling with tears as she looked up at Dermot. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come. Dermot, honey, why does your fiancée hate me so much? Am I just a burden? Maybe I should just die! Then I wouldn’t ruin her mood anymore!” She made a show of letting the blanket slip, as if to run off into the wilderness, but Dermot caught her, pulling her into a tight embrace. He stroked her back soothingly. “It’s not your fault. She’s just a spoiled brat who thinks the world revolves around her.” Their words were a physical blow, each one sharper than the icy wind. The man who had knelt before me, promising to cherish and protect me for the rest of our lives, was now holding another woman, watching me shiver in a torn plastic bag. With a final surge of adrenaline, I grabbed my backpack and swung it with all my might, smashing it into Dermot’s face. “We’re over!” 2 The blow caught Dermot completely off guard. He staggered back, blood pouring from his nose. “You’re crazy!” he roared, tilting his head back while cursing a blue streak. Seeing him so disheveled sent a vicious thrill through me. “Dermot, honey, are you okay? Oh my god, somebody help! Seraphina’s trying to kill him!” Lila’s crocodile tears started flowing, her wails echoing through the mountains like a banshee, drawing the attention of our friends. When they saw Dermot’s bloody face, the accusations started immediately. Dermot’s buddy, Jake, pointed a finger at me. “You’ve gone too far, Sera! Lila was nice enough to give you her plastic bag, and this is how you repay her?” I tried to speak, to defend myself, but my jaw was locked, my body conserving every last bit of energy. All I could do was huddle inside the pathetic plastic wrap. Every movement was stealing precious seconds from my life. Lila peeked out from behind Dermot, her tear-streaked face a mask of pitiful innocence that made my stomach turn. “Don’t blame her,” she sobbed. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have taken her blanket just because I felt sick. But Dermot said… he said I was like a little sister to him, and that I’d be like a sister to Sera, too. He said she wouldn’t mind.” Her words seemed to soothe Dermot’s fury. He pulled her closer. “You don’t need to apologize. She’s the one making a scene.” “A sister?” The words scraped my throat. “I’ve never even met you before today.” Dermot’s expression hardened. “Don’t push it, Seraphina. Lila and I grew up together. She’s always been like a sister to me. She’s frail, always has been. Are you, a pampered princess, really going to fight her over a stupid blanket?” Five years we’d been together, and not once had he mentioned this childhood “sister.” And the way he’d given her my life-saving blanket… this wasn’t sisterly affection. It was something else entirely. My breathing grew shallow, the figures in front of me blurring into ghostly doubles. My limbs refused to obey me. I braced myself against a tree, my hand trembling as I tried to point, to explain. But the only sound that came out was the chattering of my teeth. Jake mocked me, mimicking my shivering. “Hah, that’s hilarious. The accusations didn’t work, so now you’re playing the victim? Give it a rest, princess. Your mommy and daddy aren’t here to coddle you.” The group erupted in laughter. Dermot just looked at me with pure disgust, convinced I was faking it all for attention. “That’s enough!” he snapped. “Stop your pathetic games. And don’t you dare talk about breaking up again. You won’t find anyone else as patient as me.” He dragged me over to a rickety-looking shack near the supply point. “You can stay in here and think about what you’ve done. Stop embarrassing me.” “Dermot, I can’t…” I managed to whisper, grabbing his sleeve. My fingers were so swollen the skin was almost translucent. He shook my hand off with a shudder of revulsion. “I’m sick of this act. You think I’m your mother? That I’ll come running every time you play the victim? If you’re going to be my wife, you need to cut the bullshit.” Slam! The wooden door shut, the force of it rattling the broken window panes. I could hear their laughter outside, and Dermot’s voice, now gentle, as he comforted Lila. “Don’t mind her. She’s just a spoiled brat who thinks the whole world owes her something.” “But Dermot,” Lila’s voice dripped with fake concern, “what if she hates me?” “Don’t worry about it. She’s all bark and no bite. Besides, you’re my sister. If she wants to marry me, she’ll have to learn to treat you right.” My mind grew foggy. The deadly cold made every movement an ordeal. The frostbite on my feet was so severe I couldn’t even crawl. A draft blew through the broken windows, a crosswind of icy air that seemed to freeze my brain solid. I tried to drag myself toward the door, to cry for help, but my body wouldn’t respond. A smear of blood on the floor from a cut I hadn’t even felt sent a wave of utter despair through me. My breaths came in ragged, shallow gasps. The fear of death was a living thing, coiling in my gut. I screamed, tearing at my vocal cords, but no one outside seemed to notice or care. My vision blurred. Just as I was about to surrender to the darkness, the shack door creaked open. It was Lila. A triumphant smile played on her lips as she crouched in front of me, her eyes gleaming with a venomous light. “You know, Seraphina,” she purred, “Dermot’s been wanting to dump you for ages.” My eyes widened. I tried to speak, but all I could manage was a choked, rattling sound. Lila continued, her voice a cruel whisper. “He said you’re nothing but dead weight, slowing everyone down. Said it would be better if you just died and got it over with.” She placed my thermal blanket on the floor and sat on it, making herself comfortable. “This thing really is warm,” she sighed. “Too bad you’ll never get to use it again.” 3 I tried to stop her, but my body was a prison. Lila then took out my thermos—the one with the hot water—and unscrewed the cap. With a malicious grin, she poured the steaming liquid all over the blanket, watching with satisfaction as the dark, wet stain spread across the metallic fabric. The sight broke something inside me. With a guttural cry, I launched myself at her, shoving her aside as I scrambled out of the shack. “You’re insane! That was my only chance to survive!” I shrieked, my voice a raw, broken thing. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” Dermot and his friends, who had been setting up a campfire nearby, heard the commotion and he strode over, a frown etched on his face. In an instant, Lila’s expression crumpled. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she threw herself into Dermot’s arms. “Dermot, honey!” she wailed. “I just felt so bad for her, I wanted to give her some hot water! But she knocked it out of my hands, all over my blanket! She told me… she told me to go die!” What? I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Dermot looked from her tear-streaked face to the sopping wet blanket on the ground. His own face turned black with rage. “Seraphina! You are a venomous, spiteful bitch! It’s below freezing out here! That was the only thing keeping Lila warm! Do you hate her so much that you’d actually try to kill her?” “It was her,” I croaked, pointing a trembling finger at Lila. “She…” But Dermot wasn’t listening. The look in his eyes was one of pure murder. Jake fanned the flames. “I knew it! She can’t stand that we all like Lila more than her. She’s just jealous!” “Yeah! She’s a spoiled brat who has to be the center of attention!” “I thought she was just high-maintenance, but this is a whole other level. She’s a psychopath!” Their accusations rained down on me, each word making Dermot’s expression darker. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. Tears of pure, helpless rage streamed down my frozen cheeks. Why? Why wouldn’t a single one of them believe me? Dermot held Lila, his voice now a tender murmur. “Shh, it’s okay. Don’t cry. She’s just a spoiled child.” Lila sobbed into his chest. “Dermot, honey, maybe I shouldn’t be here. Why does she hate me so much?” “It’s not your fault. She’s the twisted one. She can’t stand to see you happy. She’s the one who deserves to die.” Dermot’s words hit me with the force of a physical blow, shattering the last fragment of my sanity. The man I had loved for five years was telling me I deserved to die. I lay on the frozen ground, my face next to the cold, damp blanket that was supposed to be my salvation. Now it was useless. Out of Dermot’s line of sight, Lila shot me a look of pure triumph, her lips curled into the smirk of a victor. “Seraphina! Get on your knees and apologize to Lila. Right now.” Dermot’s shadow fell over me, his shoe inches from my face. “Do it, or we’re through.” I lifted my head, my gaze meeting his. The man standing over me was a stranger, a monster. When had he become so grotesque? “Never,” I whispered, the word costing me the last of my energy. The next second, Jake hauled me up by my arm, kicked the back of my knees, and tried to force my head to the ground. “You’ve been nothing but trouble this whole trip! We’re sick of you! Now’s your chance to make it right, so say you’re sorry and stop wasting our time!” A wave of agony washed over me, and I collapsed. My breathing was a faint whisper now, my body wracked with uncontrollable tremors. My consciousness was fading, each heartbeat a slow, painful thud marking the ebbing of my life. “Seraphina! Seraphina, what’s wrong?” Lila was suddenly beside me, her arms around me, her voice filled with fake panic. But in my blurry vision, all I could see was the venom in her eyes. She crouched beside me, grabbing the wet blanket. “Let me help you warm up!” she cried, wrapping the ice-cold, sopping fabric around my body. I wanted to fight, to scream, but I had no strength left. The wet blanket leached away what little warmth I had, and my face grew even paler. “It’s not working!” she shrieked, then shoved me flat on my back. “I’ll have to do CPR!” She placed her hands on my chest and pressed down with all her weight. An excruciating pain shot through my ribs. She wasn’t saving me; she was trying to finish the job. I bit down on my tongue, hard. The sharp, metallic taste of blood cleared my head for a fraction of a second. I reached up and clawed at her wrist, my nails digging into her skin. “Aah!” she screamed, kicking me away. “She’s attacking me! She’s still trying to kill me!” Dermot rushed over and slammed his boot down on my hand. I felt the crunch of bone. “Lila was trying to save you, and you attack her? You psycho!” he roared, his face contorted with rage. “I’ve seen enough, Seraphina! You’re an unhinged, violent monster! Maybe you don’t even deserve to have hands!” My heart was slowing to a crawl. The world was going dark. My consciousness was dissolving. The last thing I heard was Lila’s sobbing voice. “Dermot, honey, why does she want to hurt me? Why…” I closed my eyes, ready for death. And then, a deafening roar tore through the sky. A powerful downdraft blasted the mountaintop, sending branches and debris flying. Everyone shielded their faces, squinting up at the sky in confusion. Through a slit in my eyelids, I saw it: a massive helicopter, hovering directly above us.

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1 At a college reunion, my boyfriend’s freshman flame draped herself over his shoulder, drunkenly suggesting a real-life partner swap game. The room fell quiet. Everyone exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes darting toward me. But Jax couldn’t stand to see her look disappointed. Before I could even open my mouth, he shot me a look, his eyelids lifting lazily. “It’s just a game, Ivy. Don’t be a buzzkill.” And just like that, his best friend became my new boyfriend. His old flame became his new girlfriend. They went on dates, held hands, and hugged right in front of me. Then, behind my back, they moved into the house we were supposed to share, kissing, their passion igniting. No one took my objections seriously. Seeing the blood drain from my face, Jax just took a drag from his cigarette, unconcerned. “You agreed to this, Ivy. Don’t be a sore loser.” The day the game was supposed to end, he came back to me, telling me it was time for us to get married. But I slipped my hand from his grasp and turned to kiss his best friend on the lips. “Is that right? Because my game has just begun.” The world went white for a second when Jax pushed me into Cole’s arms. “Sorry,” I mumbled instinctively, trying to push myself up, but I felt a light tug on my palm. It was the faintest touch, but it made my heart skip a beat. The man didn’t even look at me. His large hand steadied my arm as he leaned in, his voice a cool whisper against my ear, laced with a distinct thread of mockery. “After leaving me, Ivy, you still end up with guys like this?” The memories I had buried so deep, the ones I’d tried so hard to forget, suddenly burst forth. Dark, humid rainy days. The sticky heat of bodies pressed close, our breath mingling with every turn. Our eyes meeting, then melting into another kiss. Everything converged on the man in front of me. Before me were Cole’s eyes, so dark they were almost cold. Behind me, the crowd was chanting, “Kiss, kiss, kiss!” And then there was Jax, the man who had physically pushed me away. I bit my lip and looked away, scrambling to get out of Cole’s embrace. When I turned back, Jax and Sienna were already holding hands, their fingers intertwined. It had been less than three seconds since Sienna had proposed the twisted game. It took Jax two years into our relationship before he reluctantly let me hold his hand. A thick film of plastic seemed to wrap around my chest, suffocating me. Someone, always eager to stir the pot, sidled up to Cole. “So, what do you think, man? Ivy was the star of our department back in the day. This is a win for you.” Cole lifted a finger to his nose, inhaling its scent for a moment before his gaze flicked to me. My mind flashed back to a summer in our sophomore year, another one of those dark, sticky rainy days. An endless downpour raged outside the window. He had me pinned against the wall with one arm, his other hand bringing a single finger to my lips. “Want a taste, Ivy?” The memory shattered. I hastily looked away. A small smirk played on Cole’s lips. “I’m in.” All eyes turned to me. “Come on, Ivy, you’re the last one.” My hand, resting on my lap, clenched into a fist. Before I could speak, Jax leveled that same dismissive gaze at me. “It’s just a game, Ivy. Don’t be a buzzkill.” There it was again. Growing up, Jax always made the decisions. He never once asked for my opinion. When we started college, he decided it was inconvenient for me to live in the dorms if I was going to run his errands, so he had me move in with his best friend, Cole. The year we graduated, he suddenly said, “Ivy, let’s try dating.” And today, it was, “It’s just a game, Ivy. Don’t be a buzzkill.” But we were supposed to get married in two weeks. My dad died in a car crash when I was five. My mom was bedridden, and I was sent to live with Jax’s family. They were my lifeline, paying for my mother’s medical bills, for my college. So, my entire life, I had never said no to Jax. This time was no different. I looked up, forcing a smile. “I’m in, too.” The room erupted in cheers, as if they’d just won a championship. “Scoot over, Ivy,” Sienna said, pulling Jax toward me. “For the next two weeks, Jax is my boyfriend.” She nudged me with the toe of her designer heel. “Cole’s your new man.” I followed her gaze. Cole was sitting alone on the two-seater sofa, his expression a mask of cold indifference. 2 He was looking at me, too. I broke eye contact, got up to give them my spot, and forced myself to sit down next to Cole. Sienna perched on Jax’s lap and giggled. “I know Cole’s a catch, but don’t forget this is just a game, Ivy. Try not to fall for him for real.” Jax smiled, playfully tapping her nose. “What are you talking about? Ivy lived at Cole’s place for four years and nothing happened. You think a guy like Cole would actually be interested in her?” “You never know,” Cole said. His two words silenced the entire room. My breath hitched. Jax’s gaze darkened as he stared at Cole. Without looking up, Cole flicked his lighter open and shut, his voice flat. “It was a joke. Don’t take it seriously.” The tension remained thick in the air until the class president tried to smooth things over. “It’s just a game, guys! Let’s just have fun.” “Right, and speaking of rules,” he added, “no real kissing or, you know, doing it.” The words had barely left his mouth when Jax cupped Sienna’s chin and crashed his lips onto hers. “If you’re going to play,” he said, pulling back for a second, “play to win. Don’t be a sore loser.” In that instant, all the color drained from my face. A chorus of gasps and whoops filled the room as they fell into another desperate, clinging kiss. I felt like a clown. I quickly looked away, blinking back tears as I reached for a drink. Cole intercepted, swapping the glass of whiskey for a glass of orange juice. “Don’t cry,” he said softly. In that moment, a profound exhaustion washed over me. After the party, we all headed toward the parking garage. Sienna glanced back, a sly grin on her face. “Ivy, you and Cole are standing so far apart.” Jax turned at the sound of her voice. The others followed suit. Cole and I were on opposite sides of the lane, a sea of space between us. “Even if you can’t bring yourself to kiss,” Sienna laughed, “you could at least hold hands for show.” The others chimed in. “Yeah, you’re already in the game, drop the act! Hold hands, hold hands!” My fingers twitched. Cole stood in the shadows, his expression unreadable. He didn’t move. The catcalls grew louder, their teasing gazes feeling like needles on my back. I took a deep breath and slowly shuffled toward him, hesitantly reaching out my hand. Just as my fingertips were about to touch his, his pinky finger curled slightly. Suddenly, Jax strode over and pulled me back. “If you don’t want to play, don’t force it,” he sighed, reaching up to stroke my hair. “When the game’s over, the wedding’s still on.” Cole’s jaw tightened, his eyes glinting with a sharp, chilling light. Everyone else just looked at each other, the teasing mood broken. Jax led me to his car and opened the passenger door. As I bent to get in, Sienna blocked my way. Her tone was sharp. “Did you forget, Ivy? The game isn’t over. Jax is my boyfriend now, and he’s taking me home.” I froze, looking at Jax. He chewed on his cigarette and glanced at Sienna, who just huffed and shoved me aside, climbing into the car. The door slammed shut with a deafening thud. Jax rubbed his nose, his voice softening. “Ivy, just stay at Cole’s for a few days.” “Don’t worry, it’s just for a little while. And if you don’t want to play, that’s fine. I know Cole. He won’t try anything.” Just like every other time, Jax didn’t ask for my opinion. He just decided. With that, he got into the driver’s seat. The Maybach peeled out of the garage, and the others soon left as well, leaving me alone in the echoing concrete space. In the end, I got into Cole’s car. We hadn’t seen each other in three years. I thought he would ask me why I’d vanished without a word during our senior year. I thought I would ask him why he was engaged to Sienna. But neither of us did. The drive was silent. Half an hour later, as we were on the freeway, my phone buzzed. When I saw the screen, my mind exploded. It was a photo from Sienna. The background was the master bedroom of the house Jax and I had bought together. On the bedsheets I had just put on yesterday, there was a single crimson stain amidst a chaotic mess. [Sienna]: A little reunion gift for Jax. My first time. [Sienna]: Don’t worry, Ivy, it’s just a game. I’m telling you this so you don’t get the wrong idea. [Sienna]: Jax was chasing me all through college. If we wanted something to happen, you would have never even been in the picture. The year we graduated, Jax had suddenly asked me out right after Sienna had rejected his confession. That’s why he agreed to this twisted game at the reunion today. Sienna was his unattainable prize. I was his consolation prize. I knew all of this. But seeing that stain… it felt like a million ants crawling up my throat. I felt sick. A large hand reached over and took the phone from my grasp. Cole tossed a pack of tissues onto my lap. “Wipe your tears.” 3 Just like seven years ago, Cole gave me a room of my own, separated from his by a single wall. Seven years ago, we found a stray Ragdoll cat together. We named him Milo. Cole had brought him all the way from his old city to this one. Now, Milo was an old man. But he hadn’t forgotten me. As soon as I held out my hand, he nudged his head against it, purring contentedly. “He’s missed you.” I didn’t know when Cole had appeared. He handed me a glass of water, leaning against the doorframe, his voice quiet. I took the glass and sipped, my lips pressed together. The words, “And what about you?” died on my tongue. I had no right to ask. We had never put a label on it. Back then, when I first moved in with Cole, we kept a careful distance. We barely spoke. That winter break during our sophomore year, Jax had promised to go home with me for the holidays. But on the day we were supposed to leave, he bailed to drive Sienna to the airport instead. I stood in the snow for three hours before Cole found me and took me back to his place. He brushed the snow from my hair and put a warm mug in my hands. Then, he stood behind me, his fingers combing through my hair as the hairdryer hummed. The distance between us shrank. Hormones, the perfect atmosphere… I can’t remember who made the first move. We kissed. We ended up in bed. That was the first time, and it was just the beginning. The study, the floor-to-ceiling windows, in front of the mirror, the shower… we left our mark everywhere. One restless night, I tentatively texted him: “Want to try making this official?” Cole never replied. He responded to every other message, but that one he left hanging. No yes, no no. Our undefined relationship lasted until the second semester of our senior year. Then I moved out, cutting off all contact. And now, here we were. He was Sienna’s fiancé, and I was Jax’s. I didn’t sleep at all that night. After that, Jax didn’t contact me for a long time. Sienna, however, posted on her Instagram story every day, and Jax was always in the frame. He took her to movies, bungee jumping, rock climbing. They kissed at the top of the Ferris wheel. Meanwhile, the only time Cole and I spoke was when we were feeding the cat. I found some time to go to the bridal shop. The wedding dress was the last thing my mother designed for me before she passed away. Whether Jax and I got married or not, I had to get it back. But when I got there, the consultant who had helped me before looked at me with a pained expression. “Miss Shaw, your fiancé was here this morning. He picked up the dress.” “He was with another young woman,” she added, her voice dropping. “He said she was… his girlfriend.” Her words were like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. I fled, their sympathetic gazes burning into my back. On the way back, Jax called. He asked how I was doing at Cole’s, if I’d eaten, what I wanted for lunch tomorrow. He offered to buy it and bring it to my office. I answered every question robotically. Then I asked, “Jax, where is my wedding dress?” Silence on his end. On the video call, I could see him sitting in a living room, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. His shirt was unbuttoned, and a constellation of red marks dotted his neck. After a long moment, he blew out a smoke ring. “Let’s just get a new one, Ivy.” My heart sank. Just then, a video popped up from Sienna. In the video, she was wearing my wedding dress, pressed against a floor-to-ceiling window by Jax. They were locked in a passionate kiss. Then, Jax’s hands moved, and he began to rip the delicate fabric, piece by piece, letting it fall to the floor in a stained, ruined heap. [Sienna]: Is this the dress you were asking about, Ivy? So sorry, Jax and I got a little carried away last night. 😉 [Sienna]: Don’t be mad. I’ll pay for a new custom one for your wedding. It’s no big deal. [Sienna]: It’s just a game, after all. Don’t be so sensitive. You and Cole can play like this too, you know. Rage, pure and hot, tore through me. I couldn’t stop myself from screaming into the phone. “That was my mother’s design! Jax, how could you take it? HOW COULD YOU!” But Jax just sounded annoyed as he stubbed out his cigarette. “That’s enough, Ivy. It’s just a game. You agreed to this, so stop being a sore loser.” “We’re getting married in a few days. Can you please not ruin the mood?” Then he hung up. When I tried to call back, I found he had blocked me. My anger, my hurt, my helplessness—it was all a joke. I closed my eyes, wiping away tears as I pulled up the number for the wedding planner, ready to cancel everything. But my finger hovered over the screen. Instead, I went to my block list and unblocked a number that had been there for three years. “Cole, this partner swap game… is the offer still on the table?” The silence on the other end stretched on for a long time before he finally spoke. “It is.” “Wait for me at home.” I wiped my eyes and hailed a cab. When I got back, Cole was waiting, a pack of tissues in his hand. He saw me and let out an almost inaudible sigh. “Why are you crying again…” I walked straight up to him, wrapped my arms around his neck, and crushed my lips against his.

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1 My husband, Mark, used to be glued to his computer games, but lately, he’s stopped. Now, it’s his phone that’s always burning hot. As his thumbs flew across the screen again, I asked casually, “How come you’re not gaming anymore?” He didn’t even look up, just scratched the back of his neck and chuckled. “Ugh, the boss has been piling on the work. Just coordinating with him now.” That same old line. Later, after he’d fallen asleep, I stared at his still-warm phone. I remembered the goofy smile plastered on his face while he was typing and picked it up. I entered my birthday. Incorrect Password. Every password he’d ever had was my birthday. When had that changed? My heart sank. I tried our daughter Annie’s birthday. Incorrect Password. Our wedding anniversary. Incorrect Password. When did we start having secrets that I wasn’t a part of? I placed the phone back where I found it and lay down beside him, staring into the darkness for the rest of the night. Around 4 a.m., a harsh cough echoed from Annie’s room. I rushed in and touched her forehead. It was scorching. “Mark! Wake up! Annie’s burning up!” I shook my husband, who was dead to the world. He shoved my hand away, irritated. “What are you yelling about in the middle of the night?” “Annie has a high fever! We need to go to the hospital!” He finally, reluctantly, cracked his eyes open, mumbling, “I’m exhausted from overtime. You go. It’s normal for kids to get fevers.” “What overtime?” A fire ignited in my gut. He ignored me, rolling over. “Seriously, I was reporting to my boss.” I looked at his back, done wasting my breath. I scooped up my daughter and ran out of the house. The late-night emergency room was chaotic and overcrowded. I held my feverish, dazed daughter in my arms, juggling registration, waiting in line, and getting her temperature taken. I was a frantic one-woman show. The doctor prescribed some medication and told me to pay at the cashier. I pulled out the joint savings card we had, the one specifically for all of Annie’s expenses. “I’m sorry, ma’am, you have insufficient funds,” the cashier said, her voice edged with impatience. “That’s impossible!” I blurted out. “There’s fifty thousand dollars in that account!” She pushed the card back toward me. “There’s nothing in it. Do you have another card?” Fine. Paying was the priority. I used my phone to pay, and then, with trembling hands, I tried to log into our mobile banking app to check the card’s balance. Incorrect Password. I was completely adrift, but I had to push it aside for now. By the time I carried Annie back home, dawn was breaking. Mark was still sound asleep, his phone plugged in and blinking on the nightstand. I settled Annie into her bed and walked over to his side. This time, I picked up his phone and aimed it at his sleeping face. Click. It unlocked. 2 On the phone’s home screen was the icon for a mobile game I’d never seen before. It had a sugary-sweet, pastel aesthetic—not something Mark would ever play. I tapped it. The login screen was bypassed, and I was dropped directly into the game world. At the bottom of the screen, a chat window was blinking insistently. A username, “SweetheartBunny,” caught my eye. SweetheartBunny: Babe, are you asleep? I can’t sleep. I miss you so much. Mark’s username was “BunnyProtector.” BunnyProtector: Be good, baby girl. Daddy has to work tomorrow. Go to sleep. SweetheartBunny: Nooo. You didn’t give me my goodnight kiss today. (blushing emoji) BunnyProtector: Mwah, mwah, mwah. My baby is the best. SweetheartBunny: Babe, that new Starlight Carriage mount is so pretty. The top player in our server, DragonLord, bought it for his wife right away. It was a server-wide announcement. BunnyProtector: Don’t you worry, baby girl. Daddy will buy it for you today! SweetheartBunny: Wow! You’re the best, babe! I love you! I bet your wife has no idea you’re this good to me, hehe. BunnyProtector: Don’t mention that hag. Kills the mood. My finger froze on the word “hag.” My heart physically ached. I backed out and opened the game’s purchase history. A dizzying, endless list of numbers filled the screen. Transaction after transaction of $99.99. I did a quick mental calculation. In just three months, he had poured over twenty thousand dollars into this stupid game. That was the money we had worked so hard to save. It was our future. It was our daughter’s college fund, her medical fund! Forcing myself to stay calm, I quit the game and started digging through his messages. It didn’t take long to find the familiar bunny avatar. Her display name was also “SweetheartBunny,” but the contact name was saved as: Jenny Lee, 24, College Student. Her profile pictures showed a girl who looked deceptively innocent, flashing a peace sign at the camera with big, round eyes. The chat history was even more explicit than the game chat. They had shared intimate photos. There were records of video calls, their contents long gone. The last one was from the exact time he claimed to be working overtime. Worse, there were pictures of me he had secretly taken, accompanied by his commentary. “Look at this hag. The stretch marks on her stomach are disgusting.” “Not like my Jenny. So smooth and perfect.” Her reply was a close-up selfie. “You like this then, daddy?” “I love it!” I opened the transaction records. One transfer after another, for cute, romantic amounts. The notes read: “For my baby’s new purse.” “For my baby’s vacation fund.” “Don’t be mad, baby, it’s all my fault.” It added up to another ten thousand dollars. My hand was shaking as I tapped on the mobile banking app for that savings card again. Balance: $48.31. That account once held fifty thousand dollars, money I had earned working side-hustles, planning for our daughter’s future. Annie has a congenital heart defect. He knew better than anyone how much she needed that money. When I gave him the card three years ago, he swore he wouldn’t touch a single penny. Now, he’d given it all away to that woman. At that moment, I couldn’t even cry. I looked at my daughter’s small face, flushed from the fever, and felt my heart turn to stone. I picked up my own phone. I documented everything. Every page of his phone, every chat log, every transaction, every in-game purchase. Photos, screenshots, screen recordings. Then, I backed up all the evidence to my personal cloud drive. By the time I was done, the sun was up. All that was left was vengeance. 3 Mark finally shuffled out of the bedroom around noon the next day, yawning. He froze when he saw me, then quickly plastered a look of concern on his face. “Honey, how’s Annie? I was just so exhausted last night. I’m so sorry.” He moved to hug me. A cloying perfume that wasn’t mine, mingled with the stale scent of a middle-aged man trying too hard, washed over me. My stomach churned, and I instinctively sidestepped him. “She’s fine. The fever broke,” I said, my voice flat. My calmness seemed to catch him off guard, but he quickly recovered. “See? I told you. Kids get fevers. It’s normal. It passes quickly. Come on, Annie, let daddy hold you.” He put on a show of scooping her up, his face a mask of cheap affection. Looking at him made me sick. “I have an emergency at the office. I have to go,” I said, grabbing my purse. “Go, go! I’ve got things covered here,” he said with a wave, playing the part of the perfect family man. Not long after I left, he posted on social media: “Daddyduty day! Poor Annie had a fever last night, my heart just breaks for her.” Before I could even finish reading, a message from my mother-in-law popped up. “Sarah, dear, when you’re not busy, could you perhaps help my son out more with the child?” “If he’s so tied up with chores, it will affect his career.” “As a woman, you should focus more on the home.” I knew Mark had been feeding them his stay-at-home-dad act again. I didn’t reply. I just closed the app. I didn’t go to the office. Instead, I dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. “Hello, Luke? It’s me, Sarah.” A warm voice answered. “Sarah? It’s been a while. What’s up?” “Luke, are you still handling divorce cases?” “I am. If you need something, let’s meet up and talk.” Luke, my old friend from college, was now one of the top divorce attorneys in the city. At a quiet coffee shop, I told him everything, showing him the evidence I’d backed up. With every word, his expression grew darker. “Bastard!” he finally slammed his fist on the table, making the people nearby jump. “This isn’t just cheating! This is malicious transfer of marital assets! Sarah, don’t worry. I’ll see you through this.” “What do I do?” “Stay calm.” Luke shifted back into professional mode. “The evidence you have proves he cheated and squandered your money. But to leave him with nothing, we need more. We need undeniable proof that he deliberately planned to move these assets.” “For now, you need to play along. Keep being the perfect wife and mother. And then…” He showed me how to install a hidden recording app on my phone and helped me order tiny cameras for a few key spots in our house. “Remember,” he said, “the most damning evidence is when they condemn themselves in their own words.” When I got home, Mark was lounging on the sofa, legs crossed, ordering our recovering daughter to get him a glass of water while he played on his phone. He saw me and immediately started complaining. “Where have you been? I’m starving.” I bit back the hatred and forced a smile. “Okay, I’ll start dinner right now.” As I turned away, I heard the familiar sound of his game starting up, followed by him cooing the word “baby.” Mark, oh, Mark. Are you really so brazen you’d flirt with her right in front of me?

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It had been twelve months since my husband and I started our family, but my stepdaughter remained stubbornly distant. At my wit’s end, I posted online, asking for advice: How could I improve my relationship with my stepdaughter? Netizens offered various suggestions, and one with the most likes said: “Try bonding with her over complaining about your husband.” Spurred on by the comments, I impulsively decided to give it a shot. That evening, I walked to my stepdaughter’s door and knocked softly. I told her, “Honestly, your dad’s cooking isn’t really that great.” 1 After that sentence, The air hung heavy for a full ten seconds. I was instantly filled with regret. Ever since Mia’s mom passed away, it had just been her and her dad, leaning on each other. And here I was, complaining about her dad right to her face. Had I lost my mind? My palms were sweating. Just as I was about to apologize, The little girl’s questioning eyes suddenly lit up. “You think it’s bad too?” It was the first time she’d shown such an animated expression around me. Usually, she was so reserved. She pulled the door open and gestured me inside. Truth be told, I hadn’t been this nervous even on my wedding day. This was my first time entering her room. The little girl’s room was impeccably neat. A poster of a female celebrity adorned the wall, and her desk was covered with various standees of her idol. Her dad always said her idol worship was a waste of time. But I didn’t see it that way. As long as the idol was a positive influence and gave her strength, it couldn’t be a bad thing. She was a neat freak, so I didn’t dare sit on her bed. I stood by her desk, recalling the comments under my post. The netizens said the quickest way to bond with someone was to gossip together. I cleared my throat, gathering my courage. “Tell me about it.” “Your dad’s cooking is like a culinary crime scene – taste, smell, and presentation, all forfeited.” “If I didn’t know him better, I’d suspect he was trying to poison me.” I intentionally put on a performance of deep suffering, all while watching my stepdaughter’s reaction. She didn’t get angry. Instead, her eyes widened, as if she’d found a kindred spirit, a fellow survivor, and was thrilled. “Oh? I thought you always ate so happily. I really thought I was the only one who found it inedible.” “Pffft.” I sighed dramatically. “I was faking it. Honestly, I never really felt full.” “Me neither!” She pulled open a drawer, revealing a stash of snacks. Pfft! We looked at each other and shared a laugh. But quickly, her smile faded, and the indifferent expression returned. “I need to do my homework.” Being ushered out of the room didn’t upset me at all. Instead, I felt a little happy. That was the most she’d spoken to me all year. It seemed like you really could learn things online. 2 I quickly opened my post to share the good news with the netizens. [Thanks everyone for the advice! I just tried bonding with my stepdaughter over her dad’s awful cooking, and guess what? Not only did she not get mad, but she invited me into her room and we spoke eight whole sentences! I’m so happy! What should I do next to keep building our relationship, fam?] I hadn’t expected so many people to follow my thread. I immediately received a flood of replies. The netizen who first gave me the advice seemed shocked. [OMG, Auntie, I was just being sarcastic! I didn’t expect you to actually go for it?!] “Sarcastic”? Isn’t that an adjective? I didn’t quite get it. [I thought you meant to imply that the enemy of my enemy is my friend.] Below that, a string of “hahahahas.” But there were also some genuinely helpful suggestions. [From your description, it sounds like your stepdaughter is afraid to give her dad feedback. So why don’t you be the “bad guy” and talk to your husband? That way, you won’t have to eat bad food, and you’ll look good in your stepdaughter’s eyes.] After Mia’s mom passed, my husband, Liam, always felt he owed his daughter something. He’d come home from work every day and cook dinner himself. But his culinary skills were, to put it mildly, questionable. The quality was purely a roll of the dice; the seasoning, a stroke of luck. When I offered to cook, he wouldn’t hear of it. And Mia was such a sweet, considerate kid; she didn’t want to hurt her dad’s feelings, so she never said anything. I didn’t feel comfortable bringing it up either. But now, I had to. I’d noticed the stack of snacks in the little girl’s drawer; they were all high-calorie, low-nutrition junk. She was at an age when she needed proper growth, how could she fill up on that every day? Dinner. Liam had prepared three dishes. Candied Braised Pork. Berry-Stewed Ribs. Kiwi Scrambled Eggs. My eyes nearly rolled back into my head. Mia walked out of her room, saw the dishes on the table, and her face went completely blank. Liam, being the oblivious sweetheart he was, didn’t notice a thing. He happily began to share his “innovative” creations. “Mia, you said this morning you wanted tomato scrambled eggs, right? We were out of tomatoes, but I had a flash of inspiration and used kiwi instead! Try it, tell me if it’s good.” Mia’s lips twitched, as if she was struggling. “Dad, maybe…” The words caught in her throat. She glanced at the few gray hairs at her father’s temples, then quietly picked up a piece of the dish and put it in her mouth. “It’s good.” Liam, taking her at her word, eagerly picked up his chopsticks to add more to Mia’s plate. Seeing the look of sheer dread on her face, my heart ached. But if I spoke plainly, I’d crush Liam’s efforts. After some thought, I decided to be more subtle. “Hahahaha, I feel so bad for this poor pig.” Father and daughter looked up at me in confusion. I picked up a piece of braised pork, coated in crushed cranberries. “Isn’t it tragic? Even after it died, it had to endure this humiliation.” Mia’s pupils dilated. Liam’s face cycled through shades of red and white. “Ava, are you saying my cooking is bad?” “No, no!” I quickly waved my hands. “Your cooking isn’t bad, it just… lacks a certain something in flavor and presentation.” “Honestly, cooking doesn’t need so much ‘inspiration.’ We can just stick to the basics.” Liam’s face grew darker. But for some reason, the more I spoke, the more I wanted to say. I picked up a piece of the green scrambled egg. “Take this dish, for example. If you really don’t have tomatoes, you could just make a plain fried egg or steamed egg, instead of using kiwi.” “And these ribs, I racked my brain and still can’t imagine anyone using berries to stew them.” “Other people cook to win over someone’s stomach; you cook to get rid of ours!” I’d told myself to be tactful, but once I opened my mouth, it was like a machine gun, words just spraying out. I immediately realized my mistake and was about to apologize when Liam, face stormy, stalked back into his room. Then I got mad. Why couldn’t he take criticism when his food was genuinely bad? I summarily dumped all the dishes into the trash. Heading into the kitchen, I grabbed a spatula. 3 Half an hour later. “Mia, I just whipped up a couple of new dishes. Would you like to try some?” “No thanks.” Her voice was flat, her head still buried in her books. But the next second, a telltale rumbling sound echoed in the air. I suppressed a smile. “I accidentally made too much. Could you help me finish some?” After a moment of hesitation, she pushed herself out of her chair. “I just don’t want to waste food.” She was still just a kid. Even her stubbornness was adorable. The honey-glazed chicken wings and sliced beef with peppers on the table were still steaming. She picked up a chicken wing. Honestly, I was a little worried. I had no idea if my cooking would suit her taste. Watching her take a bite, my palms were sweating with anticipation. Her eyes widened slightly. “You… you really made this?” I nodded, my heart practically in my throat. “It’s even better than restaurant food.” My suspended heart finally settled back into place. I couldn’t help but smile, feeling warm and sweet inside. “If it’s good, eat plenty. We’re not leaving any for your stubborn old man.” Speaking of Liam, I couldn’t resist another jab. “Can you believe that big tough guy, so sensitive? Two words and he’s hiding in his room.” “And sensitive isn’t even the worst part, his taste is awful. Every time we go shopping, he drags me along to buy clothes. I’m already well past my prime, and he still tries to get me into pink dresses. How am I supposed to wear that out?” “But you’re even worse off. You’re in high school and still have to wear the Hello Kitty T-shirts he buys.” I prattled on, not noticing the change in the little girl’s expression. “Are you saying… all those ugly clothes in my closet, my dad picked them out?” Unaware of the shift in her tone, I nodded honestly. “Yeah, I told him you’re a big girl now, and wearing such childish things would get you laughed at by your classmates. But he wouldn’t have it, said he knew you best and you’d definitely love them.” The words were barely out of my mouth when she suddenly put down her bowl. “I’m full.” With that, she turned and went back to her room, the door closing with a soft thud. She’d barely touched the food on the table. My heart instantly seized with panic. Did she get upset because I kept complaining about her dad? Ugh, it’s all my fault, I was too eager. I should have taken things step by step. Because of this, my mood was also quite low. That night, Liam thought I was still mad at him. He suddenly put down his phone and solemnly apologized. “I’m sorry.” Seeing me stare blankly, he awkwardly shifted his gaze. “I sent pictures of my cooking to my buddy, and he said it was a ‘culinary crime,’ that no normal person could eat it.” “And you two put up with it for so long.” The more he spoke, the lower his head dropped. “Honestly, today I just had a bit of a bruised ego, that’s why I was intentionally sulking.” “But don’t worry, I’ve adjusted now, and I deeply recognize my mistakes.” “You’re right, cooking just needs to be simple, no need for so much innovation.” “Starting tomorrow, I’ll stick to basic cooking, no more fancy stuff.” Seeing his earnest expression, half of the gloom in my heart dissipated. 4 After my first husband passed away, many people tried to set me up. Liam wasn’t the most eligible bachelor, but he was the easiest to get along with. Some men, despite having been divorced three or four times themselves, still had the nerve to look down on me for being a second wife. Others were even more absurd, demanding I bear him sons right away, with such exaggerated confidence you’d think he had a royal throne to inherit. Then I’d ask about his salary, and it would be less than mine. When my friend first introduced me to Liam, I was a bit hesitant, fearing another oddball. But at our first meeting, he was surprisingly normal. We went to a trendy barbecue spot, popular with young people. Liam said little, spending the whole time grilling meat for me. This reminded me of my previous blind date. He’d declared that men shouldn’t be in the kitchen, so from the moment he sat down, his hands never moved. He just waited for me to cook, all while rambling on and on, his saliva splattering onto the grill. When he demanded three sons, living with his mother after marriage, and me handing over my entire paycheck, I finally couldn’t take it anymore and just asked the waiter for the bill. Of course, I only paid for my half. So, seeing Liam act so normally, I was actually a little unaccustomed to it. After a few more dates, I realized he truly was a good man. He was kind to me, honest, humble, generous, and willing to admit his mistakes and improve. After a year of dating, we got married. Life after marriage was uneventful, but happy. The only fly in the ointment was Mia, who still refused to accept me. I knew Liam had tried hard to bridge the gap behind the scenes. And I knew he was torn between us. But since I’d decided to spend my life with him, I couldn’t just hide and do nothing. We had to face problems together. Before going to bed, I checked my phone for the thread. Many comments were asking for updates. It was late, and I didn’t plan to reply. But I couldn’t figure out what had happened. One moment, she was praising my cooking, the next she slammed her bowl down and left? The netizens were smarter than me; I decided to ask them for their analysis. I typed out everything that happened at the dinner table, recounting it in detail in the comments section. Unexpectedly, I received many replies almost immediately. [From Auntie’s description, it seems like the stepdaughter’s face changed when clothes were mentioned. Could it be related to the clothes?] [There’s a stepmom in my neighborhood who dresses her own daughter beautifully but makes her stepdaughter wear her old, shabby clothes. It’s so bad that the poor kid can’t even hold her head up at school.] [Combining that with Auntie saying her stepdaughter was polite at first, then suddenly became very cold, I have a bold guess: could the stepdaughter think Auntie deliberately bought her ugly clothes to humiliate her, and that’s why she holds a grudge against Auntie?] It hit me like a ton of bricks. Every time Liam gave Mia new clothes, he’d say: “Your Aunt Ava and I bought these for you when we were shopping.” Oh no, Mia wouldn’t actually believe I bought those ugly clothes, would she? The more I thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. Looking at Liam, who was sleeping like a log next to me, I couldn’t stand it. I slapped him. Waking with a start, he was utterly bewildered. “Ava, I just dreamt someone hit me.” I pulled the covers over. “There was a mosquito on your face. I shooed it away for you.” The next day after work, I made a huge spread of dishes. I planned to clear up the misunderstanding with Liam and Mia as soon as they got home. The doorbell suddenly rang. It was Mia’s aunt, Diana. I quickly opened the door and welcomed her in. “Diana, you’re here! Dinner’s just ready, would you like to—” “Stop pretending!” Her words cut me off before I could finish. I was a bit taken aback. “Diana, what do you mean by that?” She looked at me coldly, scrutinizing me with disgust. “You’ve got some nerve, you know? A woman who’s been used and discarded, marrying Mia’s dad and living in such a nice house.” “Ever since he married you, Mia’s dad has barely spent any time with us.” “And you’re still not satisfied? You even run to a child to sow discord.” “Are you hoping they cut ties with all their relatives?” “They were right, after all. Stepmoms are never any good!” She was a few years older than me, and Mia’s aunt. Normally, if she said a few harsh words, I’d let it go. But now she was openly slandering me. We’re all just trying to live our lives. Why should I endlessly tolerate her?

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I was scrolling through a trending post online, asking, “Who is the person you regret most?” One reply, in particular, caught my eye, and I couldn’t resist clicking on it. The person said they regretted their best friend the most, but that it was all their friend’s wife’s fault for perfectly matching their aesthetic. They also mentioned that from the moment their friend introduced them to his wife, they fell in love with her at first sight. At a graduation party, he intentionally got both his friend and his wife drunk, then had sex with his friend’s wife. He even smugly stated that his friend, who was typically so discerning in his choices, was a fool. When his wife got pregnant with his child, she lied to his friend, saying she was going on a business trip abroad. In reality, she was secretly carrying the baby in a neighboring state. Even more absurd, he didn’t consider himself a homewrecker because his marriage certificate with the woman was the legitimate one; they just hadn’t had the wedding yet. He concluded by declaring that those who are brave for love shouldn’t be ashamed, and he hoped people wouldn’t give up just because the person they liked was already taken. The reply was accompanied by a photo of a man and woman holding hands, fingers intertwined. And the thin scar on the woman’s wrist immediately told me that the female lead in the story was my own wife, Sophia. 1 I stared fixedly at the intertwined hands in the photo on the screen. The photo didn’t show faces, only two hands clasped together. The man’s hand was sharply jointed, the woman’s slender and fair, her nails neatly trimmed. And on the inner side of the woman’s cool, pale wrist, There was an extremely faint, fine raised scar, like a pale centipede lurking beneath the skin’s texture. Others might not notice this detail, but I couldn’t mistake it. Because that scar was a mark I had personally snatched from the jaws of death. Sophia and I were childhood sweethearts. From elementary to high school, we were always in the same class. Back then, Sophia wasn’t the decisive, professionally dressed executive she is today. She was gloomy, reclusive, timid, like a mushroom growing in a dark corner, Always keeping her head down, bangs obscuring her eyes, never speaking to anyone. The girls in class ostracized and even bullied her, but I was the only one willing to include her. I would retrieve her textbook when it was tossed into the trash. I would share half of my sandwich with her when she was hungry. In eighth grade, her parents were going through a messy divorce. Her volatile mother took all her anger out on Sophia, often resorting to punching and kicking. Sophia developed severe depression. I still remember that stormy afternoon. Worried about her, I climbed over the fence into her yard. Through the window of the first-floor bathroom, I saw a scene that chilled me to the bone. Sophia lay in the bathtub, the water stained a shocking crimson. On her wrist, there was a gash, deep enough to expose bone, made with a utility knife. It was me who smashed the glass, rushed in desperately, Used a towel to tightly bind her wrist, and calmly called 911. By her hospital bedside, She was as pale as paper, her eyes vacant as she looked at me, Asking, “Dan, do you not want me anymore either?” I reached out and pressed her shoulder, swearing with unwavering certainty: “I want you, Sophia. I will never, ever let you go.” From then on, I became the only light in her life. I accompanied her to therapy, gave her medication, and helped her endure countless nights battling suicidal thoughts. That scar was the brand of her depression, and even more, it was the medal of our life-and-death bond. After high school graduation, we naturally started dating. Though our paths diverged in college due to different majors, Attending two different universities in the same city, four years of long distance didn’t dilute our feelings. After graduation, I knelt on one knee with a diamond ring and proposed to her. Her eyes red, she nodded yes. We got married and have been together for four whole years now. She was always so good to me; she’d even personally brew the ginger tea when I had a cold. If I so much as frowned, she’d be anxious for ages. I always thought I was the happiest man in the world. Until tonight, when that familiar scar, In the most absurd and cruel way imaginable, Appeared in a post by a man claiming to have “had a child with his best friend’s wife.” I trembled all over, biting my lower lip until I tasted blood. With shaking hands, I tapped on the poster’s profile picture. The page loaded for a few seconds, then a cold message popped up: “Due to the user’s settings, you cannot view their profile activity.” He had blocked me. Or rather, he had blocked this account. “WindRiver”… Noah White. 2 My best friend, Noah White. We were college roommates, four years of living together, So close we’d wear the same jacket, eat from the same instant noodle cup. I considered him the closest person in this city besides Sophia. In our freshman year, I introduced Sophia to him. How could I have known that was the beginning of letting a wolf into the fold? I forced myself to calm down, exited the app, Switched to a burner account I’d never used, and re-searched to click into his profile. Hundreds of posts, like a meticulously planned, drawn-out torture, rained down on me. [Today, the baby kicked for the first time. She touched her belly, her eyes brimming with tears, and said, “This is the fruit of our love.] Attached image: A woman’s hand resting on a swollen pregnant belly. On that wrist, the faint scar was still visible. “Our first family trip. With her by my side, I fear nothing.” Attached image: A sunny beach, a little boy, perhaps two or three years old, riding on the woman’s shoulders. Only the lower half of the woman’s face was visible, a doting smile on her lips. That jawline, that curve of her smile, I had kissed countless times, familiar enough to be etched into my very bones. Like a masochist, I scrolled down, post by post. Every single photo, every single caption, aligned perfectly with Sophia’s and my memories. Three years ago, during the May Day holiday, Sophia said she was going out of town for a project evaluation. In reality, she was accompanying Noah for a prenatal check-up. Two years ago, on my birthday, Sophia said her flight was delayed and she couldn’t make it back. In reality, their child had a high fever, and she stayed up all night at the hospital. Last month, for our wedding anniversary, she gave me a limited edition watch. Then turned around and bought Noah a Porsche, with the caption: “A reward for my great hero.” What struck me as most absurd and chilling was that line: “Because his wife’s marriage certificate with mine is the real one.” I yanked open my drawer and pulled out my and Sophia’s marriage certificate. A red booklet, the seal clear, our faces in the photo beaming with sweetness. I remembered that graduation party. Everyone was so happy that day. Noah kept pulling me into drinking games. My tolerance for alcohol wasn’t great to begin with, and after a few drinks, I blacked out. When I woke up the next day, I was in a hotel room, my head throbbing. Sophia sat by the bed, her eyes bloodshot, gripping my hand tightly, saying: “Dan, I drank too much last night and didn’t take good care of you. I’m sorry.” At the time, I thought she was just blaming herself for not stopping me from drinking. Now, looking back, her apology wasn’t about my getting drunk at all. It was because, on that night I lost consciousness, She and my best friend were having sex in the room next door! Later, Noah suddenly came to me, red-eyed, and said he’d broken up with his girlfriend and wanted to go abroad to clear his head. I, like an idiot, went to the airport to see him off, Patting his shoulder, comforting him for a long time, telling him to take good care of himself. Turns out he never went abroad! He was just in the next state, waiting for my wife to give him a child, Complacently enjoying Sophia’s care, And openly mocking me, the oblivious husband, on social media! My stomach churned. I rushed into the bathroom and dry-heaved violently into the toilet. Nothing came up, just a mouthful of bitter, sour bile. I looked at myself in the mirror, eyes bloodshot, face ashen. I suddenly felt that the past four years of stability and happiness were like a soap bubble. It had looked radiant and dreamlike, but now, popped, there was nothing left but emptiness. I didn’t cry. Tears seemed too cheap in the face of such extreme anger and shock. 3 I picked up my phone again, opened Noah White’s anonymous account, And searched for clues in his photos, despite not showing faces. In one picture, a window was half-open, And faintly visible outside was the spire of a building. It was the iconic Seastar TV Tower, a landmark in H City, the neighboring state. In the corner of another photo, there was a distinctive chain coffee shop sign. In yet another picture, the stone lions at the entrance of a residential complex were vaguely captured. In less than half an hour, I had pinpointed Noah’s exact location: H City, the Cypress Grove Luxury Villa Area. Less than three kilometers from a large amusement park. Without a moment’s hesitation, I got up, changed into comfortable athletic wear, Grabbed my car keys and all my identification, and headed to the garage. The moment I started the engine, my mind was exceptionally clear. I didn’t want to hysterically question her over the phone, nor did I want to listen to her explanations filled with lies. I wanted to see it with my own eyes. To see the woman I had saved with my life, to see the friend I had treated with all my heart. How they secretly trampled my dignity, building their happy little family of three. My hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white from the force. Images from the past decade flashed through my mind like a movie. That year, when Sophia was sixteen, her mother beat her until her head bled, and she hid in our guest room, Clutching my shirt like a wounded kitten, saying, “Dan, I only have you.” That year, when I was twenty-two, I knelt with a diamond ring, My eyes glistening with tears: “Sophia, I’ll love you with my life, forever.” Just last week, she was still gently straightening my tie, saying softly: “Honey, let’s have a baby. A handsome little prince, just like you.” And on the other side, there was Noah in our college dorm, patting his chest and telling me: “Dan, if anyone ever dares to bully you, I, Noah White, will be the first to tear them apart!” It was him at the airport before he left, his eyes red, patting my shoulder: “Dan, you must be happy.” These images intertwined, Finally settling on that photo of intertwined hands on the social media post, And that jarring line: “His wife often comes to see us now, and our family of three is very happy.” Sophia, I never knew you were such a skilled actress. I arrived early at the amusement park entrance in H City and rested for a bit. The next morning, Noah’s anonymous account updated. [Good morning! Off to the amusement park! Dressed the little one in the cutest bear outfit today!] The accompanying photo was a selfie of him in the passenger seat, The background showing the interior of Sophia’s familiar black Maybach. I waited by the entrance, like a hunter lying in wait, for them to arrive. “Mommy! Let’s go on the carousel!” A clear, childish voice called out not far behind me. “Okay, okay, whatever you want to ride, Mommy will go with you.” The woman’s gentle, doting voice, Like a poisoned blade, pierced my eardrums with precise accuracy. Sophia. Even in a bustling crowd, Even just a short, coaxing phrase to a child, I could never mistake that voice. I rigidly turned around, About fifteen meters away, through the jostling crowd, I saw them. It was truly a dazzling yet harmonious scene. Sophia wore a casual white shirt, sleeves rolled up, revealing that scarred wrist. She was looking down at a little boy, about three years old, dressed in a bear outfit, Her face alight with a mother’s tender smile. Noah stood beside her, Wearing a light blue hooded sweatshirt, his short hair neat, Wiping sweat from the little boy’s face with a tissue. He looked at Sophia with eyes full of love and devotion. They stood together, a handsome couple with an adorable child, Anyone who saw them would exclaim: “What a happy family of three.” I stood rooted to the spot, feeling all the sounds around me fade away in that moment. I thought I had prepared myself mentally, I thought I had already exhausted all my heartache on the drive here. But when this bloody truth, these living people stood before me, I realized that the pain of being betrayed by those closest and dearest to me, Was beyond words. It was like someone had reached into my chest, Crushing my heart into pieces while it was still alive, Then stuffing the mangled flesh back into place. I followed closely behind them, Almost masochistically watching their happy family enjoy the entire day. Until numbness set in. In the afternoon, the child clamored for ice cream, Sophia turned to join the queue. Noah held the child’s hand, waiting for her under the shade of a tree. The little boy had a red rubber toy ball in his hand, idly bouncing it on the ground. Suddenly, the little boy’s hand slipped, The toy ball flew out of his control, Rolling across the ground towards me. Noah was looking down at his phone, Not noticing the child’s ball had gotten away. The red toy ball stopped right at my feet. The little boy ran breathlessly up to me. He was truly a very handsome child, His eyes and eyebrows were so much like Sophia’s, but his nose and mouth resembled Noah’s. The little boy looked up, His clear eyes fixed on me, and he said in a sweet, childish voice: “Uncle, can you give me my ball back?” I took a deep breath, slowly knelt down, Picked up the red ball, and handed it to him. “Thank you, Uncle!” The little boy happily took the ball, And flashed a bright smile. “Leo! Don’t run off!” Not far away, Noah finally realized the child was gone, And anxiously looked up, searching around. When his gaze swept across the crowd, And landed on the little boy holding the ball, He let out a sigh of relief. Then, his eyes followed the little boy, And found me, kneeling in front of him. I slowly stood up, Took off my sunglasses, And calmly met his gaze.

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In the alumni lounge, Ashly’s ex Carter stood and revealed that for three years, someone had been anonymously sending him money, worried he was in need. The room erupted in cheers, all eyes turning to Ashly. Carter went on, describing how when his father was critically ill, someone flew across the country to stay at his bedside, even booking him a luxury hotel to rest while she slept exhausted under hospital lights. I quietly withdrew my hand from the table’s edge. No one knew Ashly and I had lived together for five years, or that her distant stares on our couch were moments spent longing for him. So that’s where her salary went, every dollar quietly supporting Carter’s life. I remembered the day my father died; she stayed ten minutes at the funeral before hurrying off. Now Carter took her hand in front of everyone and asked softly if they could start over. She did not pull away, only sat in silence. As the crowd chanted for them to kiss, a cold clarity washed over me: my five years with her had just ended, for good. 1 Ashly opened her mouth, but she simply could not bring herself to reject him outright. Instead, she used the most ambiguous tone possible to string everyone along. “Let us talk about it when we get back.” That word “we” carried a heavy, intimate weight that completely shifted the vibe of the room. The loudest guy in our graduating class took the lead, slamming his beer on the table. “Oh come on! That is basically a yes right there!” “Be honest, Ashly, you have been waiting for this day forever, right?” “You did not even want to come tonight! But the second I mentioned Carter was flying in, you practically begged me for the location!” Laughter filled the room. Three years had passed. Yet the mere mention of Carter still made her lose all her composure. My grip on my drink tightened, the color draining from my face. Before coming here tonight, I actually thought I had the upper hand. I foolishly believed that my five years of devotion could overshadow their three years of college romance. After all, during our time together, Carter never stopped texting her. But every single time, she would ruthlessly reject him right in front of my face. “Carter, I have my own life now. Stop bothering me.” It was only at this exact moment I realized that all those harsh rejections were just a theatrical performance put on for my benefit. In the hidden corners of her heart that I could never reach, Carter still owned the absolute largest piece of real estate. That was why she compromised her own boundaries for him, time and time again. Snapping out of her daze, Ashly did not give the crowd a straight answer. Instead, she gently nudged Carter’s shoulder, laughing softly to smooth things over. “Are we still playing the game or what?” “Stop teasing him, guys. He has thin skin, you are going to make him blush.” Her tone was sickeningly sweet and entirely too fond. The girls in the room exchanged knowing, giddy smiles. “Alright, alright, we will stop bullying your precious boy!” “Let us keep playing!” A new round of the drinking game started. ‘Never Have I Ever’. Unsurprisingly, when the prompts got specific, almost everyone put a finger down, except Carter. People shook their heads, sighing dramatically. “Carter, you are a seriously lucky guy.” “Is there anyone on this planet more devoted than Ashly?” Following the collective agreement, everyone naturally started bringing up the old college days. Like when Carter hosted the campus talent show, Ashly would always sneak a bouquet of roses backstage after the curtain fell. Or when Carter twisted his ankle playing varsity basketball, she immediately took off her own jacket, draped it over his shivering shoulders, and half carried him to the campus clinic. Even when Carter’s family went bankrupt and he could not pay his tuition, she was the one who quietly settled the massive bill. Out of her four years of college, she spent three of them desperately chasing Carter. Carter’s ears turned bright red. He subtly shifted closer to her on the sofa. Ashly’s hand froze for a second. She instinctively shot a glance in my direction. But just as quickly, she averted her gaze, acting like we were total strangers to avoid suspicion. Suddenly, someone noticed I still had one finger raised. Just a moment ago, Carter had bragged with total confidence. “I had someone propose to me, saying they would buy me a luxury waterfront condo as a wedding gift. Have any of you experienced that?” Everyone had silently put a finger down, admitting defeat. Everyone except me. But there was absolutely no pride on my face. Because Ashly had said those exact same words to me. She told me that once our careers stabilized and we were a bit older, she would buy that exact waterfront condo and gift it to me as our forever home. The promise that once filled my heart with overwhelming sweetness now felt like an endless, suffocating joke. The classmates finally registered my raised hand, their eyes widening, ready for the gossip. “Holy crap, Noah! When did you secretly get a girlfriend?” “I thought you were perpetually single!” “Wait a minute. Is that girl someone from our graduating class?” Before I could even open my mouth, I felt a sharp kick against my shin under the table. It was only when the entire room focused their attention on me that Ashly finally looked at me directly. She acted like I was just an old acquaintance she barely knew, joining in on the teasing. “I am curious too. Who is the lucky girl?” 2 When she said those words, her eyes were dead and cold, carrying a silent, sharp warning. I knew she would never let me go public with our relationship. After all, this was exactly how I had survived the last five years. At home, she played the role of the perfect, caring girlfriend perfectly. She would cook me breakfast, kneel to help me take off my shoes after a long shift, and even draw me a hot bath and bring me a mug of tea before bed. But the second Carter entered the equation, all her supposed loyalty became utterly worthless. Everything she had ever done for me, she had already done for him, and with far more passion. Ashly was not worried that making us public would cause people to gossip. She was terrified that if people knew about me, she would no longer be able to comfortably enjoy Carter’s attention and affection. It was the middle of summer, but the breeze blowing through the open lounge window froze my blood solid. “Come on Noah, spill the tea!” “I really want to know what kind of girl managed to lock down a handsome guy like you. Is she some rich heiress? Or the super gentle, domestic type?” Under the barrage of curious questions, I gave a very simple physical description. “Tall, pale skin. The kind of eyes that make me feel like I am standing in a warm spring breeze the second they look my way.” Sitting directly across from me, Ashly let out an involuntary, conceited little smile. Perhaps she was secretly thrilled that every single trait I listed matched her to absolute perfection. “Oh my god, that sounds exactly like our Ashly!” Someone immediately caught the similarities, laughing loudly. “Noah, you and Carter were college roommates, and you even have the exact same taste in women! That is hilarious!” Hearing this, Carter stiffened slightly. I raised my glass, downed my drink in one gulp, and swallowed the bitter lump forming in my throat. Carter quickly recovered, throwing out a casual joke. “Really? Well now I definitely want to meet her.” “Noah, when you get married, you better invite us all so we can finally see her face!” Saying this, he playfully bumped his shoulder against Ashly’s, winking at her. “You have to come too! I want to see just how much you two look alike!” Ashly completely froze, her face flushing awkwardly as she desperately changed the subject. “Stop worrying about other people’s love lives and worry about yourself.” “Drinking straight whiskey with your stomach ulcer? You will be groaning in pain in an hour.” She naturally reached out, taking his whiskey glass and drinking the rest of the liquor herself. Then she flagged down a waiter and ordered him a warm chamomile tea. She even instinctively opened her mouth, about to list out his dietary restrictions so he would not order anything spicy. It was only when the fruit fork slipped from my fingers and clattered loudly onto the glass table that she abruptly stopped talking. Her hands retreated under the table, twisting the fabric of her dress. She awkwardly pulled her gaze away, rubbing the tip of her nose in guilt. We had been together for five years. She could never remember my food allergies, nor could she remember what flared up my acid reflux. Whenever I quietly pointed out her mistakes, she would just brush it off lightly, claiming work made her too exhausted to remember the small details. But now I finally understood. True love meant remembering absolutely everything. Even after three full years apart, she could still rattle off his medical history without a second thought. Snapping back to reality, I realized I had pinched the skin between my thumb and index finger so hard it was bruised red. The crowd, oblivious to the tension, just assumed Ashly was acting shy and kept teasing her. “Oh give it a rest, stop playing the innocent caretaker!” “Did you forget how many times you rubbed Carter’s cramped legs after track practice?” “When he got heatstroke during gym class, you literally carried him halfway across campus to the nurse!” Carter did not say a word, but his ears burned an even deeper shade of red. Suddenly, my phone buzzed on the table. It was an email from the Paris Institute of Architecture. A formal acceptance and invitation. The guy sitting next to me glanced at my glowing screen and gasped loudly. “Noah! You are going to Paris?!” His voice was loud enough to cut through the chatter. Instantly, every eye in the room zeroed in on me. Ashly furrowed her brows, her expression unreadable. “Oh yeah! You were always obsessed with architectural design back in college. Did not you want to switch majors at one point?” Someone remembered the old days and eagerly chimed in. “I remember! Noah entered that national design competition and took first place!” “Wait, did not a design firm invite you right after graduation? Why did you never go?” I sat there in dead silence. A rare flicker of genuine guilt surfaced in Ashly’s eyes. 3 Back then, we had only been dating for three months. She had gripped my hands so tightly, terrified that I was going to leave the country. “Noah, trust me. I will give you a beautiful life.” “Please do not leave me. I cannot survive a long distance relationship where we only see each other twice a year.” To prove her absolute devotion, she drained her savings account and gave me every scholarship award she had ever earned. When I got my driver’s license, she even bought me a car. Thinking about all my friends whose international long distance relationships ended in messy breakups, my heart softened. I agreed to stay in the country. I took a mediocre job at a tiny, uninspired local design firm, doing the most basic, soul crushing drafting work. “Something came up back then, so I could not go.” My voice was incredibly soft, preserving my own dignity and saving Ashly from public embarrassment. “Well what about now? Are you going to take it?” “This is an incredible opportunity man! Some people would kill for an offer like that and never get it their entire lives!” My classmate was absolutely right. This was my final chance. The Paris Institute had broken their own protocol to send me a delayed invitation. Before walking into this reunion tonight, I was genuinely torn. I did not want to throw away a five year relationship. And I did not want to lose Ashly. But sitting here right now, I had absolutely zero reservations left. “Yeah. I am going.” Seeing me nod, the guys around me broke into massive, genuinely happy smiles. “That is amazing! Let us all raise a glass to Noah!” “Our graduating class officially has a Parisian architect!” Everyone eagerly raised their drinks in the air. Only Ashly remained frozen in her seat. Carter patted her shoulder, urging her. “Come on, what are you spacing out for?” Her face looked slightly pale. As she clinked her glass against the others, the glass slipped right through her trembling fingers. It shattered violently on the hardwood floor, splashing liquor all over my shoes and pants. “Sorry.” Ashly handed me a napkin, her face instantly returning to its usual cold composure. Those two simple, distant words made me want to laugh out loud. I muttered an acknowledgment and walked out alone to the restroom to clean myself up. A few minutes later, she followed me out. She stood quietly behind me as I wiped down my pants. “Are you seriously going to Paris?” Ashly glared at me through the mirror, her tone sounding more like an interrogation than a question. After all, for the past five years, I had loved her so deeply I completely lost my own identity. I had thrown away my career for her once. In her mind, it was only natural that I would do it again. That I would throw away my dreams just to curl up in the pathetic scraps of her undivided attention. I took a deep breath, cementing my decision. “Yes. I am certain.” Ashly did not take me seriously at all. Instead, she let out a scoffing laugh. “Stop throwing a tantrum.” “I was literally just playing along with their jokes to be polite. Are you really going to be this petty?” I did not say a word, my eyes dropping to her bare hands. Petty? Before she even walked into this venue tonight, she purposely took off our matching promise ring. That alone proved she never truly let him go. It proved she came here holding onto a tiny sliver of fantasy. A fantasy that they could rekindle their romance. Just as I was about to speak, Carter’s voice echoed down the hallway. “Ashly, where are you? They are cutting the cake!” She did not hesitate for a single second. She turned on her heel and walked right out. Through the crack in the door, I watched her sit down right next to Carter, intimately wiping a smudge of frosting off the corner of his mouth with her thumb. Without looking away, I pulled out my phone, opened the airline app, and booked a one way ticket to Paris. By the time the party wrapped up, everyone had drank way too much to drive home. The group collectively decided to book rooms at the luxury hotel right next door. When it came time to distribute the room keys, everyone shared a collective, mischievous look and assigned Ashly and Carter to the same room. “This is perfect! You two can stay up all night catching up. Say whatever you need to say, do whatever you need to do!” “We better be getting wedding invitations by the end of the year, and maybe a baby announcement!” Carter bit his lower lip, his face flushed deep red. “You guys are terrible, stop making things up.” He said the words, but his hand intentionally brushed against Ashly’s arm. He was clearly soaking up every second of the teasing. I stood there like a statue until everyone grabbed their room keycards and scattered into the elevators. I never looked at Ashly, and I never let a single trace of anger show on my face. 4 Late that night, just as I was getting ready to sleep, a sharp knock hit my door. Ashly was leaning against the doorframe, looking extremely irritated. “Do not overthink things. He is taking the bed, and I am sleeping on the couch.” “Absolutely nothing is going to happen between us.” I gave her a flat nod and started to push the door shut. “Noah!” Her voice suddenly spiked, lacing with genuine anger and impatience. “When exactly are you going to stop throwing this little fit?” I froze in place, genuinely confused about what ‘fit’ I was supposedly throwing. From the start of the reunion to the very end, I played the role of the distant, polite classmate perfectly. Even when I watched them getting overly intimate, even when I listened to the crowd demanding they get married, I did not flinch. Even right now, with her sharing a hotel room with the man she loved, I had not shown a single ounce of jealousy. “I am not throwing a fit.” Ashly refused to listen, opting to just aggressively warn me instead. “Do not think that lying about moving to Paris is going to scare me into line.” “Carter finally came back after all these years. Can you please not ruin his mood tonight?” “I promise you, when we wake up tomorrow morning, I will clear the air with everyone and tell them I already have a boyfriend.” Perhaps I just knew her too perfectly. The words slipped out of my mouth automatically. “Yeah. You will tell them you have a boyfriend, but you will deliberately leave out my name.” “That way, they can keep assuming your boyfriend is Carter and keep cheering you on right in front of me, right?” Having her exact manipulative thought process dragged out into the open, Ashly’s face went ghost white. But that brief flash of guilt instantly morphed into defensive fury. “Noah, when did you become so toxic and insecure?” “Since you want to act like this, you can drive home alone tomorrow and spend the whole ride reflecting on your attitude!” She bit her lip, spun around, and stormed off, the wind from her movement sweeping past my door. That cold gust of air felt like a physical slap across the face. I laughed. I actually laughed out loud. My jaw clenched so tight it ached, but I did not utter another word. My phone buzzed. The alumni group chat was blowing up. “Holy crap, can anyone else feel the walls shaking from Ashly and Carter’s room?” “I swear I just heard him call her a wild thing!” “It is official! We are definitely getting good news tomorrow morning!” Notification after notification popped onto my screen. My thumb hovered over the glowing glass until the screen finally timed out and went black. I tossed my phone onto the passenger seat, leaned back against the leather headrest, and closed my eyes. The only sound was the quiet hum of my car engine. The second the sun rose, I checked out of the hotel. I drove straight to our apartment and packed my suitcases. Sitting at the terminal, just as my flight was called for boarding, I sent one final message to the group chat. “Sorry everyone. Had to catch an early flight, so I took off first.” Hitting send, I powered my phone down completely. I looked out the massive glass windows, taking one final look at the city skyline. Ashly, our five years ends right here.

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1 I fished the key out of my coat pocket, the one with the tacky pink charm dangling from it. I remembered seeing it sitting quietly on the center console yesterday when Tristan picked me up from work. While he was showering, I walked to the front door and slid the key into the deadbolt. It turned perfectly. The door clicked open. When he walked out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, he casually mentioned that I should put the spare key away. He did not even bother to look up. Suddenly, a notification popped up in the condo building’s WhatsApp group. “Tristan, babe, be careful today. You left your key in my car. Hide it well, or the missus might get the wrong idea.” The message was deleted before I could even click on the sender’s profile. The next morning, after Tristan left for the office, I stuck that pink key straight into our front door’s lock and snapped a clear photo. I opened the building chat and typed: “Did one of my neighbors leave their key in my front door? I took a picture for proof. If nobody claims it in thirty minutes, I am calling the police.” I hit send, staring at the screen with a cold sneer. Turning around, I headed straight to the grocery store like nothing had happened. I stopped my shopping cart in front of the freezer aisle. The icy air blasted against my face, drying out my eyes. I paid for my groceries, went home, put everything away, and sat on the sofa to wait for him. I knew he would come back. I never deleted that message in the group chat. The chat remained completely dead silent. Nobody claimed the key. The only person panicking was Tristan. He left work two hours early. He did not even bother taking off his suit jacket when he barged through the door. His leather shoes slammed against the hardwood floor. His face was livid. “Audrey.” He only ever used my full name in two scenarios. Either I had done something completely out of line, or he had done something he was incredibly guilty about. “Are you suffering from paranoid delusions?” He slammed his phone onto the coffee table. The screen was still lit up, showing the building’s group chat. “What exactly is the meaning of this? Do you know the property manager just called me asking what the hell was going on?” I sat perfectly still on the sofa, looking up at him. “Then tell me. Whose key is this?” “Didn’t I already tell you? I had a spare made for you.” “Tristan.” I stood up, closing the distance between us. “Look me in the eyes and say that again.” He looked at me. But his focus was fixed on the blank wall behind my head, completely avoiding my gaze. “You always have to blow everything out of proportion.” He shifted his eyes away, unbuttoning his collar. His tone shifted from aggressive questioning to sheer annoyance. “I got the key made for the cleaning service. She forgot to put it back and dropped it in my car. It is that simple.” “A cleaning service?” “Yes, the maid.” “When did you hire a maid?” “Last week.” “Why didn’t I know about this?” “You work so hard. I wanted to take some of the burden off your shoulders, but I was afraid you would yell at me for wasting money.” His lies were flowing smoother now, even painting himself as the victim. “I was just trying to be nice, and what do you do? You post crazy things in the building chat, trying to start a war over nothing.” I stared at his face. It had been five years. Whenever he lied, his right eyebrow twitched upward just a fraction of an inch. He had no idea he even did it. Right now, that eyebrow was sitting high. “Alright then,” I said calmly. “Give me the maid’s phone number. I will call her and ask if she left her key in your car.” His expression froze for a split second. “Are you seriously doing this?” “I am.” “Audrey, how far are you going to take this?” He raised his voice. “It is just a damn key. I told you it belongs to the maid, and if you do not believe me, that is your problem. But posting it in the group chat was completely out of line. Do you know how people look at me now? They think we are having some domestic meltdown.” “I do not care how people look at you,” I cut him off. “What I care about is why you are lying to me.” The air went dead silent. His eyes darted nervously. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Right at that moment, the doorbell rang. I walked over and pulled the door open. A young woman stood in the hallway. She had her hair pulled back into a low ponytail and wore a fitted white t-shirt. She was holding a blue canvas tote bag commonly used by cleaning agencies. “Hi there, I am the cleaner Mr. Tristan hired. I am here to tidy up.” Her voice was sickly sweet. When she smiled, her eyes curved into little crescents. The moment she saw Tristan standing in the living room, her eyes lit up, but she quickly suppressed it, putting on a strictly professional mask. “Mr. Tristan, where would you like me to start today?” Tristan’s face visibly paled with panic. He looked at me, then looked at the girl, his Adam’s apple bobbing heavily. I stepped aside, leaving the doorway open. “Come on in,” I said. “Perfect timing. You can be a witness for him.” The girl hesitated for a second before stepping inside, not even bothering to take off her shoes. I picked up the pink key from the coffee table and held it up to her face. “Did you have this key made?” She looked at the key, then shot a glance at Tristan. That brief exchange of looks was entirely too obvious. It was not the look of an employer and a maid. It was a look that screamed, “What the hell are you doing?” She quickly pulled her gaze away and smiled at me. Her voice was still sweet, but there was a sharp, mocking edge hidden beneath it. “Ma’am, Mr. Tristan did ask me to get this key made. He said you work so hard, so he wanted me to come twice a week to help out. Please do not be mad at him, he is only doing this because he cares about you.” Twice a week. Ma’am. I looked at her youthful face, her perfectly styled ponytail, and that white t-shirt that was very clearly not a cleaning uniform. I suddenly found the whole situation hilarious. Standing nearby, Tristan seemed to find his footing. His tone immediately hardened. “See? I told you she was the maid. You refused to believe me, you insisted on making a scene, and now she is standing right here. What else do you have to say?” I did not look at him. I kept my eyes entirely on the girl. “What is your name?” “Gemma.” “Gemma, are you absolutely certain you had this key made?” She blinked innocently, her smile unwavering. “I am positive, ma’am.” I gave a slow nod. “Alright.” I picked up my phone and dialed 911 right in front of them. “Hello, I need police assistance. Someone made an unauthorized copy of my house key and trespassed into my home.” Tristan’s face drained of all color. Gemma’s confident smile completely vanished. “Audrey!” Tristan lunged forward to snatch my phone. “Are you insane?” I took a step back, dodging his grasp, and continued speaking to the dispatcher. “The address is Oakwood Residences, Building 9, Unit 302. The suspects are Tristan and Gemma. The evidence is the key. I handled it with gloves, so only their fingerprints should be on it.” I hung up the phone and stared at Tristan. His face flushed a violent red, his lips trembling, but he could not force a single word out. Gemma stood frozen in the entryway, her knuckles turning white as she gripped her blue tote bag. “Audrey,” Tristan finally spoke, lowering his voice into a coaxing whisper. “Please, do not do this. Let us just sit down and talk.” “Didn’t you just say I was having paranoid delusions?” I stared dead into his eyes. “Didn’t you say she was the maid? Didn’t you say you were just trying to help me?” He fell silent. “When the cops get here, you can explain it to them.” I walked over to the balcony and slid the glass door open, letting the cold wind rush in. I could already hear the faint wail of police sirens approaching the building. Behind me, I heard Gemma’s quiet, panicked sobbing. “Tristan, you promised me she would never find out.” The police arrived quickly. They scanned the tense living room, their eyes landing on Tristan. “Who made the call?” Surprisingly, Tristan took a step forward. “I did.” I froze. “What is the situation?” The officer pulled out his notepad. Tristan pointed a finger directly at me, letting out an exhausted sigh. “This woman’s name is Audrey. She is my cleaning lady. Today, while I was out, she took my spare key and entered my home without permission. When I caught her, she tried to flip the script and claimed I gave her the key. I did not know what else to do, so I called you.” He called me the cleaning lady. I opened my mouth, but the sheer audacity left me completely speechless. The officer glanced at me, then looked over at Gemma. “And who is this?” She was standing slightly behind Tristan, her head bowed, her hands instinctively resting over her lower stomach. “This is my wife, Gemma,” Tristan said, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders. Gemma looked up at the officers, appearing entirely docile and harmless. “And what about this key?” The officer gestured toward the pink keychain resting on the coffee table. “That is the key I had made for my wife,” Tristan lied flawlessly. “This maid somehow got her hands on it and called the cops, accusing me of illegal duplication. It is completely absurd.” He spoke with such terrifying calm, even lacing his voice with the perfect amount of offended irritation. I stared at his face, my entire body going numb with cold. When he kissed me in bed, it was with this face. When he held my hand and told me he would always protect me, it was with this face. And now, standing in front of armed police officers, he looked me in the eye and called me a maid, claiming another woman was his wife. My voice shook violently. “Tristan, I am your wife.” Tristan spread his hands toward the officers, offering a helpless, bitter smile. “See? This is exactly how she acts. The second she gets caught, she starts making crazy accusations. I have fired her twice before, but she keeps finding excuses to break in.” The officer looked at me, his expression shifting from neutral to suspicious. “Sir, I am going to need you to provide proof of your marriage to Gemma.” Tristan nodded immediately. He pulled his phone from his pocket, opened a photo gallery, and handed it to the officer. “Officer, here is a photo from our courthouse wedding, along with a picture of our marriage certificate.” I caught a single glimpse of the screen, and my heart plummeted into an endless abyss. It was a picture of him and Gemma. They were wearing matching white button-downs, smiling brightly against a formal backdrop. The official seal of the marriage certificate was clearly visible on the screen. Perfectly legal. The officer inspected the photo, then looked back at me, his demeanor turning icy cold. “Ma’am, these two are legally married. What you are doing here is harassment, and it is highly inappropriate.” “I didn’t.” Tristan pulled a neatly folded piece of paper from his inner jacket pocket and handed it over. “This is Gemma’s ultrasound report. She is twelve weeks pregnant. If she wasn’t my wife, why would we be starting a family?” The officer took the report, reviewed it quickly, and handed it back with a respectful nod. “Alright, the situation is clear.” He looked at Tristan, his tone much more polite. “Sir, how would you like to handle this? If you want to press charges for trespassing, we can take her down to the station for booking.” Tristan cast a long, calculated look at me. “Forget it. She has had a hard life, and she always did a good job cleaning the place before she went crazy. She is probably just going through a financial crisis. I will not press charges. You officers have a good day.” The officer gave me a final, warning glare, likely assuming I was just a mentally unstable nuisance. He snapped his notepad shut and walked out. The front door clicked shut. The living room descended into a suffocating silence. “When exactly did you sign a marriage license with her?” My voice came out as a dry, jagged whisper. “Last October.” Last October. He took me to Japan last October. He told me it was our four year anniversary and he wanted to make it incredibly special. We stayed in Kyoto for five days. Every single night, he held me in his arms and whispered how much he loved me. And he had already married Gemma by then. “We never got a divorce. Bigamy is a felony.” Tristan finally looked at me, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. “Audrey, our marriage does not exist in the legal system anymore.” My blood froze instantly. “What are you talking about?” “Last September, I hired a lawyer and pushed through an ex parte divorce,” he stated with chilling calmness. “Don’t worry, the paperwork was processed legally. You were served by publication in a local paper you never read. Legally speaking, your current status is completely single.” A sudden memory hit me. During that anniversary trip, while we were at the airport, he took my phone, claiming he was checking us in and selecting our seats. He messed with my phone for a long time. I thought he was just picking a window seat for me. He was actually intercepting legal notifications. I blinked hard, forcing back the burning tears. “So for the last six months, you have just been playing a sick game with me.” Tristan did not answer. Gemma took a step forward, playing the pathetic, innocent victim. “I never meant to keep it a secret from you, Audrey. I didn’t want things to end up like this, but my baby needs a father, and Tristan desperately needed a child of his own.” Hearing those words, my mind violently snapped back to a tragic accident on our honeymoon five years ago. It had been pouring rain. We were driving down a mountain road when a mudslide triggered a rockfall. Knowing I was newly pregnant, I threw myself over Tristan to protect him, completely exposing my own body. A massive rock smashed directly into my abdomen. I bled so much. The island we were on only had a tiny, run-down clinic. The elderly doctor’s hands shook as he told us the baby was gone, and the damage meant I would likely never conceive again. I laid on that bloody stretcher while Tristan held my hand, sobbing like a broken child. “Audrey, I am so sorry. I failed to protect you.” “It does not matter if we never have kids. As long as you stay by my side, that is all I need.” I had clung to those words for five agonizing years. And now, they felt like a brutal, sickening slap across the face. I spoke, my entire body trembling. “Tristan. Our marriage is over. Pack your things and get out of my house.” He looked at me and suddenly let out a dark laugh. “Audrey, are you really this selfish? Just because your body is broken, you expect me to end my bloodline?” Gemma stepped closer, her eyes red, her voice pitifully small. “Audrey, I am so sorry. If you want, once the baby is born, I can give it to you to raise. I don’t even need a title.” She reached out, trying to grab my arm. Disgust surged through me. Without thinking about my own strength, I violently slapped her hand away. She stumbled backward, losing her footing, and crashed hard onto the floor. A second later, I saw the blood. A dark red stain began to spread across the light-colored hardwood floor, seeping from between her legs. “Tristan. My stomach hurts.” Tristan’s face morphed into pure horror. He shot forward, grabbing my wrist in a vice grip, his voice dripping with venom. “Apologize to her!” I let out a cold, hollow laugh. “Why would I apologize for getting rid of a bastard that never should have been conceived?” The fury in Tristan’s eyes darkened into something terrifying. “Fine. Do not say I didn’t warn you.” Without another word, he dragged me down the hallway by my wrist and kicked open a door that was always kept firmly locked. It was the nursery. Light blue wallpaper, a pristine white crib, floral bedsheets. In the corner sat piles of unopened, dust-covered baby toys. And on the highest shelf against the back wall sat a small, pure white ceramic urn. Engraved on the front were the words: The beloved child of Audrey and Tristan, born into heaven. It was the ashes of our miscarried baby. Tristan threw my wrist aside, walked over to the shelf, and grabbed the urn. He turned to look at me, his eyes dead. “Audrey, you hurt Gemma’s baby. So this child is going to pay your debt.” He raised the urn high into the air. “No!” Raw panic ripped through my throat. He let go. His face was completely devoid of emotion. The ceramic shattered violently against the hardwood. Grey powder exploded outward, scattering across the floorboards. I dropped to my knees in absolute terror, crawling through the sharp ceramic shards, desperately trying to scoop the ashes into my hands. The grey powder slipped through the gaps in my fingers. I could not hold onto anything. I opened my mouth to scream, but not a single sound came out. Tristan stood towering over me, looking down with cold disgust. “You better pray to God that Gemma’s baby survives this.” He turned and walked out of the room. I stayed on my knees in front of that pile of ashes. I knelt there for hours. Until I felt the last drop of warmth leave my body, replaced by a freezing, lethal calm. “Tristan. I am going to make you pay for this.”

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1 I held the family shirts I’d embroidered all night, our little cartoon faces stitched with care. My heart was light as we drove to Noah’s kindergarten sports day. Then Phill spoke, shattering my world without warning. “Noah isn’t your son.” His tone was flat, casual, as if commenting on the weather. I froze, blood running cold. He kept his eyes on the road. “Sierra was afraid of pain. I paid to have her embryo implanted in you. That’s why you had such severe rejection—he was never biologically yours.” Sierra. The girl I sponsored through college, now a teacher at Noah’s school. Bile rose in my throat. “Why tell me now?” My voice was a broken whisper. He shrugged, a cold smirk on his lips. “I grew tired of watching you play the perfect, devoted wife. It started to look pathetic. Time for a reality check.” I looked down at the smiling faces on the shirts. My whole life felt like a cruel joke. Later, I sat at home, tightly gripping a DNA test report. The thin sheet of paper felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, completely crushing my lungs. The names listed under biological parents were painfully clear. Noah and Sierra. The ninety nine percent match burned my retinas. I forced back my tears and looked at the man sitting next to me. He looked perfectly relaxed, even in a good mood. “When did it happen? Between you and Sierra.” The deep, gentle voice I used to be so desperately addicted to now spit out the coldest poison imaginable. “Ironically, I have you to thank for it. If you had not insisted on making Sierra your maid of honor, I never would have met someone who suited me so perfectly.” “It happened on our wedding night. Remember when I told you there was an emergency at the company and I had to leave? Sierra and I confessed our feelings that night. We just could not control ourselves.” I stared at him in absolute disbelief. My heart crumpled into a bleeding mess. I would never forget that night. I thought it was the happiest moment of my life. I had walked down the aisle with the absolute love of my life, believing we would belong to each other until our dying breath. I was so blinded by joy that I did not suspect a single thing when Phill said he had to go to the office. I even felt a deep, aching gratitude toward him. I thought he was leaving because he wanted to be gentle with my psychological trauma. I thought he was giving me time to adjust to the physical intimacy of marriage. I had absolutely no idea he was consummating our marriage in another woman’s bed. My voice trembled like dead leaves in the wind. “Then why tell me now? You could have kept this a secret until the day I died.” Phill’s face softened instantly. A look of deep, spoiling affection washed over his features, but it was not for me. “Sierra is pregnant again. It is a little girl. I promised her this baby would be the undisputed princess of my empire, and I always keep my promises.” “I originally thought about using the same trick. But you refuse to even let me touch you anymore. Getting you pregnant again is impossible. So I had to put my cards on the table.” “Whether you decide to accept this new child is your problem.” I could not hold it in anymore. Hot, agonizing tears flooded down my face. My deepest, most agonizing scar had just become the knife he used to stab me in the back. He conveniently forgot that he once promised me the world. He promised we would be a single soul in two bodies. But in the end, he gave me the ultimate betrayal on the happiest day of my life. “So all those years you told me you loved me, when you said you would never force me… when you purposely ordered a custom, highly realistic mannequin with my exact face so you could cope… it was all an act?!” “You didn’t touch me because you were already getting your fill somewhere else?” Phill scoffed, looking at me with pure amusement. “Not entirely.” “Sierra is delicate. If I am too rough with her, she gets hurt. So yes, I do use that doll.” “The face belongs to you. But the physical mold for the rest of the body…” He gave me a long, meaningful look. The humiliating implication was crystal clear. That single glance plunged me into a lake of freezing ice. So everything I believed in was a lie. All his restraint, all his deep affection. It was all just a beautiful illusion he built to cover up his nest with another woman. Those vows of eternal love were a script. And I was the only idiot who took them seriously. When we got out of the car at the kindergarten, my legs were shaking so badly I could barely stand. Phill acted like absolutely nothing was wrong. He smiled brightly and helped our son change into his sports day outfit. I followed them like a walking corpse, completely tuning out Noah’s excited screaming. A second later, a heavy leather ball slammed brutally into my stomach. I crashed hard onto the dirt floor. Even after five years, the surgical scar from the C section burned with an agonizing, piercing pain. Phill did not know this, but the phantom pain had never stopped. Every single night, my body would drag me back to the horrors of that pregnancy. The severe immune rejection pain would torture me until I almost passed out. The scar tissue would burn like acid. It felt like my abdomen was being sliced open while I was wide awake. When the pain reached its absolute peak, I would dig my nails into my own arms, hoping the new bleeding would distract my brain from the old agony. It was not that I did not want him to touch me. I was just terrified that if he saw me writhing in absolute psychotic agony, it would scare him away. But I never imagined my attempt to shield him would just give him the perfect cover to cheat on me. Noah watched me struggling to get up from the dirt. He grew impatient and kicked me hard in the shin twice. He turned around and whined to Phill. “Daddy, Mom is too clumsy! If she plays with us, I am definitely going to lose!” “Can Miss Sierra be my mom today and race with us? Everyone loves Miss Sierra. All the other kids will be so jealous of me!” Even though I already knew Noah did not share my blood, my heart still gave a violent, tearing ache. I carried him for ten months. I nearly died on the operating table for him. The immune rejection alone put me in the intensive care unit five different times. I gave up half my life to bring him into this world. How could I just cut him out of my heart? But at the same time, I suddenly realized something painfully clear. All the suffering I endured meant absolutely nothing against the magnetic pull of real blood. He was not mine. I was never going to keep him. The same went for Phill. I lay frozen on the dirt, completely unaware of when Sierra had walked over. The next thing I heard was her voice. She was wearing the matching family shirt I had made. “Oh my gosh, this fits perfectly!” she exclaimed with a sweet, surprised laugh. “I had waist reduction surgery a while ago, so normal clothes never fit me right. I thought this would look so bulky on me, but it is like it was custom tailored just for my body.” My dead, hollow eyes twitched. I looked up at Phill in absolute disbelief. Phill was the one who suggested altering the waistline. It was on our fifth anniversary. He had pulled me into his arms and picked me up, spinning me around. He joked that I had gained a little weight. Then he gave me his anniversary present. It was a stunning, incredibly form fitting designer dress. He sighed and said it was a shame it was too tight. I felt so incredibly guilty. I thought my body had ruined his romantic surprise. I went completely crazy after that. I took every single piece of clothing I owned and paid a tailor to shrink the waists to match the exact dimensions of that dress. I forced myself to starve, pushing myself to the point of a bleeding stomach ulcer just to hit that target weight. I just wanted to make sure that on our next anniversary, I would be perfect for him. Looking back at it now, it was a pathetic joke. I had tortured my own body to fit another woman’s mold. That anniversary dress was never meant for me in the first place. With Sierra taking my place, Noah easily won first prize. They basked in the envy and adoration of the crowd. The other kindergarten mothers surrounded them, praising what a beautiful, happy family they were. Sierra could not hide the smug triumph on her face, but she played the humble sweetheart perfectly. “Oh, you guys have it all wrong. I am just a teacher helping out. Noah’s real mother is right over there.” Dozens of eyes instantly shifted to me. Some looked at me with deep disgust, others with pathetic pity. After all, looking at the pale, shaking woman sitting in the dirt with ruined clothes, nobody would believe I was the wealthy wife of a corporate CEO. When Noah saw me looking at him, he burst into fake tears and buried his face in Sierra’s chest. “She is not my mom! I want Miss Sierra to be my mom!” Phill exchanged a helpless, incredibly fond look with Sierra. He could not tear his eyes away from her. He did not even notice the dozens of malicious, judging stares stabbing into me. In a fraction of a second, the pain in my chest reached its absolute limit and then completely went numb. Pure survival instinct made me open my mouth. “Noah is right. Miss Sierra is his mother.” The moment the words left my mouth, all three of them froze. Noah stopped his fake crying and stared at me in shock. They looked at me as if I was a cold blooded monster abandoning her poor family. Ignoring the shocked gasps of the crowd, Phill marched over, grabbed my arm, and violently dragged me toward the parking lot. He shoved me into the backseat of his luxury SUV. His eyes were filled with absolute disgust. “You really know how to play the obedient victim, don’t you? I tell you to accept a second child, and your response is to happily give up your position as a mother?” “Did you announce that in public just to brand Noah as an illegitimate bastard?” “I just asked you to carry a baby for Sierra, and you hate me this much?” The bitter acid in my throat burned hotter. How could I possibly hate him? He was the one who pulled me out of the gutter. When I was a kid, my family was so desperately poor I did not even have the right to say no to anyone. So I learned to be quiet. I learned to be a good girl. Even when the school bullies targeted me, I never made a sound. The street thugs loved preying on quiet, broken girls like me. They threw basketballs at my head until I was covered in bruises. They burned my skin with curling irons. They choked me until my vision went black, just to see how long I could last before dying. Seeing that I would bite my own tongue until it bled rather than scream, the leader finally got bored with violence and shoved his dirty hands up my shirt. That was the exact moment Phill appeared. He was a wealthy, arrogant kid who solved problems with his fists. One brick to the head was not enough, so he used two. His handsome, wild face was splattered with blood, but he looked like the sun itself. When he looked down at me, there was no pity. There was no disgust. He just clicked his tongue. “Why are you so obedient? Do you not know how to fight back?” “Whatever. Being a good girl suits you. I will protect you from now on.” Because of those two sentences, I followed him for twenty years. And he truly did protect me for twenty years. He never left my side, from the dark corners of high school all the way to the altar. I did not hate him. I just hated myself for being too greedy. I hated the fact that the bright, beautiful moon hung in the sky for everyone, but I foolishly believed it shined only for me. When Phill saw that I was not going to argue back, his patience evaporated. “Since you want to throw a tantrum and push things this far, you better keep playing the good girl.” “I am moving Sierra into the house. She is going to be Noah’s official mother.” “You pack your things and move to the guest room. Sierra and I are taking the master suite.” I thought I had gone completely numb, but watching my personal belongings being tossed aside to make room for another woman’s clothes still made my vision blur. Sierra stood in the doorway, pretending to look shy and apologetic. “I am so sorry about this, Hazel. Phill just absolutely insisted he wants to see me in this lingerie tonight.” I ignored the smug gloating in her voice. I just looked at her and asked the one question burning in my mind. “Why? I paid for your tuition and living expenses for ten years. Why would you do this to me?” There was not a single ounce of guilt in her eyes. “Sponsored me? The money you gave me over ten years is what I can make in a single night with him. Why would I throw away a golden ticket for your pathetic little charity?” “You were the one who taught me to fight for my own survival. I am just following your advice, big sister.” “Besides, how are we any different? Phill sponsored you too. He paid for your life. If you can sleep your way into his mansion, why can’t I?” My mind went completely blank. She was right. Phill was the one who sponsored me. He paid for my university, and eventually, I became his wealthy wife. Now, he was just transferring his “sponsorship” to someone new. His taste in broken girls never changed. I was just arrogant enough to think I was the exception. I did not say another word. I quietly carried my boxes out of the room that used to be my sanctuary. Night fell like a suffocating blanket. Through the thin walls of the guest room, the sound of their laughter and heavy breathing pierced right through my eardrums. The vile noises instantly violently triggered the darkest, most humiliating memories buried in my brain. It also woke up the monster living in my abdomen. Cold sweat soaked through my clothes. The phantom pain hit me like a burning iron rod twisting violently inside my stomach, threatening to rip its way out. A massive wave of nausea hit me. I leaned over the trash can and dry heaved violently, coughing up nothing but bitter stomach acid. I had been on a liquid diet for two days trying to maintain my waistline. There was nothing left inside me to throw up. After the nausea faded, the tearing, ripping agony of the C section took over. This was the brutal aftermath of the birth. I never had the courage to tell Phill. When I was suffering from the intense PTSD of almost being sexually assaulted, he was already exhausted trying to keep me sane. To calm me down, he used to hold me in his arms all night, reading me stories until the sun came up. I would eventually pass out from exhaustion, but he had to go straight to the office to run a massive corporation. He never got a moment of rest. If he knew that giving him a child had cursed me with chronic, agonizing pain, the guilt would have destroyed him. But now, it did not matter. Even if I told him, he had a new toy to play with. He would not care. I fumbled around in the dark, my brain fuzzy from the pain. I realized my prescription painkillers were empty. I kept a backup bottle in the kitchen medical kit. I used the wall to pull myself up and stumbled blindly out of the room. In the past, I would have locked my door and suffered in absolute silence until dawn. I was always terrified that making a sound would wake him up and expose my secret. But the disgusting noises coming from the master bedroom were a brutal reminder. He was at the peak of his pleasure right now. He was not going to notice a ghost haunting the kitchen. I poured a glass of water from the pitcher. My hands were shaking so violently I could barely open the pill bottle. A sharp spike of agony shot through my spine, making me lose my grip. White pills scattered all over the marble counter. Two of them bounced and fell directly into the open water pitcher. I was too blind with pain to notice. Just as I raised the glass to my lips to swallow my dose, a tiny voice echoed from the hallway. “Mom? What are you eating?” My heart stopped. I frantically swept the loose pills off the counter, swallowed my dose dry, and fought through the blinding pain to go coax Noah back to sleep. It took forever to get him to close his eyes. But just as I stood up to leave his room, a bloodcurdling scream shattered the silence of the mansion. Phill was screaming for the private family doctor. Inside the master bedroom, the sheets beneath Sierra were stained with a terrifying, blinding red. Phill was completely losing his mind, babbling to the medical staff. “She is pregnant! We didn’t even do anything rough! How is this happening?!” “She just went to the kitchen for a glass of water! She came back and said her stomach was cramping!” A heavy, suffocating dread clamped down on my chest. Before I could even open my mouth, Noah ran into the room and pointed a furious finger at me. “I saw her! Mom put medicine in the water pitcher! Mom poisoned Miss Sierra!” “Mom is a monster! She should go die instead of Miss Sierra’s baby!” Phill’s head snapped toward me. His eyes turned completely feral. He did not give me a single second to explain. He lunged forward, grabbed my hair, and violently threw me onto the floor of the hallway. “It was you! You hate Sierra so much you poisoned her to kill my baby! You are an absolute psychopath!” “If anything happens to her child, I swear to God I will make you pay with your life!” I collapsed against the cold hardwood floor, my face drained of all color. A loud ringing noise deafened my ears. I wanted to explain. I opened my mouth, but my throat was so dry I could not produce a single syllable. And what was the point of explaining? I was taking pills for a phantom pain I had hidden for five years. The pills accidentally fell into the water. Sierra accidentally drank it. Would he believe a single word of that? No. He would never believe me. When the doctor quietly announced that the pregnancy was lost, Phill’s eyes went dead and terrifyingly dark. He dragged me into the bedroom, grabbed a silk tie, and brutally bound my wrists to the heavy wooden bedpost. The sound of my shirt tearing echoed like a gunshot in my brain. “You love killing babies so much? Then you are going to give Sierra a new one to replace it!” I shook my head frantically, staring at him in absolute, mind breaking horror. “No! Phill, you can’t do this to me! You know I have…” He laughed. It was the cruelest sound I had ever heard. “Have what? Trauma? PTSD? Do you honestly think I still believe a single word that comes out of your lying mouth?” “You played the innocent, broken girl for decades, but your true, venomous nature finally slipped out!” “Your trauma is a pathetic lie! I bet you absolutely loved it when those street trash put their hands all over you!” “Let me tell you a little secret, Hazel. Those thugs? They worked for me. Everything they did to you… I gave them the green light!” The blood in my veins completely froze. I stared at the man standing above me. The man I had wanted to spend eternity with. A bottomless wave of absurdity and pitch black despair swallowed my soul. Every single moment of warmth, every gentle touch from the past twenty years, dissolved into ash. It was all a lie. Every single ounce of suffering I had endured in my life was orchestrated by him. I was so incredibly pathetic. I thought I had reached up into the dark sky and caught the moon. I did not realize I was just holding onto a handful of toxic, burning rot. For twenty years, I had never actually escaped that dark alleyway. In that split second, the final thread holding my sanity together violently snapped. Ignoring the sickening crack of my wrist bone dislocating, I twisted my hand free and grabbed the small, sharp metal letter opener I kept under the bedside table. The blade that would usually bring me pain was now my only ticket to salvation. Looking straight into Phill’s suddenly terrified, widening eyes. I did not hesitate for a fraction of a second. I plunged the cold steel deep into the artery of my wrist, slicing violently upward. “Hazel, no!”

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