I dated Adrian Hunt for four years. The moment I discovered he had cheated, I broke up with him without hesitation. But Adrian, in an attempt to win me back, knelt outside my apartment building for a full day and night, regardless of his status. After that, He even publicly announced that he would transfer all his shares into my name. He said that if he ever betrayed me again, he would be left with nothing. A year later, I was finally moved by him and agreed to get back together. On our wedding day, under the fireworks, he kissed me and said, “Seraphina, you are my life. From now on, I will never let you go again.” I believed him. Until this charity gala night, when he brought me as his wife—and during the auction segment, I saw a girl in a white dress. She was brought onto the stage by the host as a “special item,” being sold for her virginity. At just one glance, Adrian’s expression changed. Without hesitation, he immediately spent a sky-high price to buy her first night. Seraphina POV I’d been dating Adrian Hunt for four years. The moment I discovered his affair, I broke up with him without hesitation. On the first day after our breakup fight, Adrian knelt outside my apartment building for a full day and night trying to win me back, regardless of his status. I turned a blind eye. One week after the breakup, Adrian personally made my favorite strawberry mousse. I didn’t even look at it before feeding it to the dog. One month after the breakup, Adrian won the bid for my favorite antique piano at auction. I immediately donated it to an orphanage. After that, Adrian even publicly announced he was transferring all his shares to my name. He said if he ever let me down again, he’d be left with nothing. A year later, I was finally moved by him and agreed to get back together. On our wedding day, Adrian rented out every billboard in the city, displaying our photos on a loop and announcing our wedding of the century in the most high-profile way possible. He kissed me under the fireworks and said, “Everything I have is yours now, Seraphina. You’re my life. From now on, I’ll never let you go.” In that moment, I truly believed he would love me like his own life and never betray me again. Until the charity gala that evening. Adrian brought me as his date, but during the auction segment, he spotted a girl in a white dress with a pale face. She was invited on stage by the host as a “special auction item”—dinner with the highest bidder. With just one glance, Adrian’s expression changed completely. “Ten million.” “Twenty million.” “Fifty million.” The gavel rose and fell. Adrian’s bids grew more insane with each raise. Every time he lifted his paddle, it was with absolute determination to win. The numbers climbed to absurd heights. Even the auctioneer started sweating. “One hundred million! Sold!” With the final strike of the gavel, Adrian won the “dinner date” at an astronomical price. The entire venue was shocked. Before the applause even died down, Adrian had already strode onto the stage. Under everyone’s gaze, he removed his suit jacket and draped it over the girl’s trembling shoulders. “Mr. Hunt?” The host approached in surprise. Adrian ignored him, grabbing the girl’s wrist. His voice was low. “What are you doing here? Do you know what this dinner date really means?” “I…” Tears immediately filled the girl’s eyes. She looked pitiful. “I need money. They said if someone bid on my dinner date, they’d give me ten percent of the auction price. My mom is sick and hospitalized. I need a lot of money. I had no choice…” Adrian’s thumb gently wiped away her tears. The gesture was so tender it was blinding. “How much do you need?” The girl named a figure. Without a word, Adrian signed a check and handed it to her. The host was sharp. He immediately approached Adrian. “Mr. Hunt, what’s your relationship with this young lady…?” “She’s my… friend.” Adrian said, his eyes never leaving the girl. “Her father saved my life.” I stood frozen in place. The pearl clutch in my hand was about to shatter from my grip. I recognized this girl. A year ago, Adrian and I broke up because of her. Her name was Vivian. Under the host’s subtly changing expression, Adrian finally remembered my existence. “Seraphina, don’t misunderstand.” He quickly turned and came down from the stage to my side. “Her father died saving me after all. Now her mother is sick and hospitalized and needs money. I can’t let her go down the wrong path for money. You know what this dinner date really means.” Those words were like a key, unlocking the floodgates of memory. A year ago, when I discovered those ambiguous texts on Adrian’s phone, he said the exact same thing. “Seraphina, let me explain. Her father died saving me. I’m only taking care of her to repay that debt.” But later, when I caught them in bed together, he explained again. “Seraphina, listen to me. Someone drugged me last night. I thought she was you.” And now, hearing his explanation that was barely different from a year ago, I couldn’t help but laugh. “A year ago, you took meticulous care of her, saying it was to repay a debt. Later, when you were sleeping in the same bed, you said you were drugged and mistook her for me. Now you’ve spent one hundred million on a dinner date with her, saying you don’t want her to go down the wrong path for money.” My heart was breaking. My voice trembled. “Adrian, how many more excuses do you have?” Adrian hadn’t expected me to confront him publicly. His face darkened immediately. “Seraphina, that’s enough. Don’t make a scene here.” “A scene?” I laughed, but my eyes grew redder. “Adrian, am I the one making a scene?” Vivian tugged at his sleeve from behind him. Her voice was small. “Mr. Hunt, please don’t fight with Seraphina because of me…” Adrian stepped forward, shielding her behind him. His gaze fell on me. “Whatever you want to say, we’ll discuss it at home.” I watched Adrian protect another woman and found the whole situation absurdly laughable. “Adrian, do you remember what you said to me before?” He said he would completely cut ties with Vivian and never betray me for another woman again. Adrian’s expression flickered. He was about to speak, but I had already turned to leave. “Seraphina!” He called after me. I didn’t turn back. I just walked quickly away from the suffocating gala.

Seraphina POV After leaving the charity auction, I drove aimlessly. By the time I came to my senses, I’d stopped by a lake near a university. The lake surface rippled with fragmented silver light under the moon. This was where Adrian and I had our first date, our first time holding hands, our first kiss. Adrian and I first met at a party. At the time, I’d refused the persistent advances of a wealthy man in our circle. He’d publicly thrown a drink on me and verbally humiliated me. Everyone knew I was the adopted daughter of the Palmer family. With the return of their biological daughter, I was no longer favored. When no one would speak up for me, Adrian stepped forward. He punched the wealthy man to the ground and forcefully made him apologize to me. From that moment on, I couldn’t control my feelings for him. Adrian liked me too. He pursued me actively. After we got together, he treated me so well. All my friends envied me. If only there hadn’t been Vivian… Vivian appeared two years ago. Adrian said that when he was a teenager, he was targeted by his family’s enemies. Vivian’s father had taken a fatal knife wound for him. He owed the Whitmore family a life, so he had to take responsibility for caring for her. At the time, I thought repaying kindness was the right thing to do. But later, Adrian started frequently taking Vivian’s calls, even during our dates. He remembered all of Vivian’s preferences. He knew she was allergic to mangoes, knew she was afraid of the dark, would take meticulous care of her during her period. “Her father died for me,” Adrian would explain whenever I showed the slightest unease. “Seraphina, I have to repay this debt.” Back then, I was foolish enough to believe that Adrian’s special treatment of Vivian was purely because she was his savior’s daughter. Despite my discomfort, I endured it. Until a year ago, when I saw Vivian wearing my pajamas, running out of Adrian’s bedroom. Adrian still made excuses, saying he’d been drugged and mistook Vivian for me. I thought that after that, I’d never cry for Adrian again. But now, the tears still wouldn’t stop. My phone vibrated repeatedly in my bag. All calls from Adrian. I didn’t answer. Finally, I just turned it off. At one in the morning, I finally returned to the villa. The enormous house was empty. The festive wedding decorations hadn’t been removed yet. The bright flowers now looked particularly harsh. I showered, buried myself under the covers, and fell into an exhausted sleep. The next morning, I was woken by my phone ringing. I groggily answered. Before I could speak, my friend Lillian’s urgent voice exploded through the line. “Seraphina! Have you seen the news? Look now! Right now!” “What news…” My voice was hoarse. “Adrian and that Vivian! Their story is all over social media!” I was instantly awake. I hung up and opened Twitter. I didn’t need to search. The top trending topic was #Hunt Corporation CEO Pays Fortune For Mysterious Woman’s Dinner Date#. I clicked in. There were nine photos. The first three were from last night’s charity auction. The rest were candid shots from various angles. In the photos, Adrian and Vivian were having dinner at an upscale restaurant. Afterward, they left the restaurant together and got into Adrian’s car. The car stopped in front of a five-star hotel. Adrian and Vivian walked in side by side, eventually entering a hotel suite together. The caption was ambiguous and detailed. [Hunt Corporation CEO Adrian Hunt paid one hundred million for mysterious woman Vivian Whitmore’s “dinner date.” After a romantic dinner, the two entered a hotel together and haven’t left as of this morning. Sources say Adrian recently married his wife Seraphina Palmer in a high-profile wedding of the century…] The comments had exploded. “Holy shit! One hundred million! Just for dinner? Who believes that! This obviously has deeper meaning!” “This Vivian is really something. She can make Mr. Hunt spend that much money and abandon his newlywed wife on the spot.” “Adrian is so handsome. Spending so much money just for Vivian’s smile. Their relationship is so touching!” “Am I the only one who feels sorry for the wife? She was there last night, right? Watching her husband bid insanely for another woman—what kind of hellish scene is that? Their wedding billboards are still up…”

Seraphina POV When Adrian came home, I was sitting in the dining room eating breakfast. My expression was blank. On the tablet to my left was the entertainment news about him and Vivian. “Seraphina, this is all false reporting. Don’t believe what these journalists make up.” A flash of panic crossed his eyes. He stepped forward quickly. “Last night, Vivian was too upset about her mother’s illness. I took her out to eat. She got drunk, so I had to send her to a hotel.” I forced down my nausea, eating my fried egg while smiling coldly. “You sent her to the hotel, but forgot to leave yourself? You spent the night at the hotel with her?” Adrian’s expression stiffened. I saw guilt flash across his face. “She kept crying last night. Crying and vomiting. I had no choice but to stay and take care of her. But I really didn’t touch her. Nothing happened between us.” My gaze fell on the fresh hickey barely visible beneath his collar. I felt sick. “Adrian,” I put down my fork and closed my eyes. “Send her away. Send her back to her own home, or to another city, or abroad—anywhere. I don’t want to see her again.” He was silent for a few seconds. Impatience flickered across his features. “Her mother is her only family. Her mother is seriously ill and needs surgery. Sending her away now—how is that different from forcing her to her death?” “Then let’s divorce.” I looked up. “Since you can’t bear to send her away, let’s divorce.” “Seraphina, the same trick doesn’t work twice.” Adrian’s eyes grew darker. “The first time you threatened to break up, I was willing to humor you and let you throw your tantrum. But we’re married now. Do you think the position of Mrs. Hunt is something you can take or leave as you please?” His tall figure loomed over me with oppressive pressure. His tone was ice cold. “The Palmer family raised you for years. They won’t hesitate to seek returns. Without me, you’re nothing but a bargaining chip for the Palmers to trade for benefits. They can marry you off to anyone at any time.” Those words were like blades, stabbing straight into my heart. “Wake up. Stop threatening divorce at every turn. Because this time, I might not humor you.” After saying that, he announced, “Vivian needs money. She needs a job. Starting tomorrow, she’ll join the company as my personal assistant.” My last shred of rationality completely collapsed. I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. “Adrian, you’re disgusting.” He turned his face to the side, running his tongue over his cheek. When he turned back, his eyes were frozen. “Looks like we both need to cool down. I’ll stay at the office for the next few days. I won’t be coming back.” With those words, he turned and left without hesitation. My chest felt like someone had brutally carved out a gaping wound. I suddenly laughed softly, my laughter full of mockery. After a moment, I picked up my phone from the dining table and dialed a number. “Prepare a divorce agreement for me. I want a divorce.” For several days straight, Adrian didn’t come home. But an unfamiliar number I didn’t recognize sent me various photos almost daily. In the photos, Adrian brought Vivian to yacht parties, accompanied Vivian to the hospital to visit her seriously ill mother, and at business receptions, wrapped his arm around her waist while introducing her to everyone. Unable to bear it any longer, I drove directly to Hunt Corporation. Ignoring the receptionist’s attempts to stop me, I swiped my card and entered the CEO’s private elevator. In the office area, Vivian was talking with someone. Hearing footsteps, she looked up. “Mrs. Hunt?” I didn’t pause. I walked up to her and slapped her across the face. The crisp sound exploded in the silent air. “Miss Whitmore, if Adrian wants to repay his debt and keep you by his side, I have nothing to say.” My voice was cold. “But we both know what you’re really after. As long as I haven’t signed divorce papers, you’re nothing but a mistress.” Vivian covered her rapidly swelling cheek. Tears welled in her eyes. “Mrs. Hunt, you’ve misunderstood me. I really haven’t…” “Seraphina!”

Seraphina POV Adrian’s voice came from the end of the corridor. He strode over quickly, pulled Vivian behind him, completely shielding her with his body. His gaze shot toward me like a sword. “Seraphina, you’ve been Mrs. Hunt for what, a few days, and you’re already bullying people?” His eyes were full of suppressed fury. “Do I need to remind you what happened at that party years ago? How someone publicly threw a drink on you and said those terrible things?” My face went deathly pale. Something gripped my heart violently. That party—he’d been the one who stepped up for me, forcing that wealthy man to apologize by stepping on him. But now, this same person who’d pulled me out of humiliation was personally dredging up my most shameful past and spreading it out in front of everyone. Adrian’s tone was harsh. “It seems I’ve spoiled you too much all these years, making you forget that you’re just the Palmer family’s adopted daughter who’s fallen out of favor. You’ve experienced plenty of bullying and humiliation yourself.” “Go home.” His command was absolute. “I’ll deal with you when we get home.” I couldn’t believe it. I pointed at Vivian behind him. “You’re going to make me suffer for this woman?” “I just want you to understand—don’t forget what you’ve been through. Don’t think that just because you’re Mrs. Hunt now, you can abuse your power.” Beside us, Vivian tugged at his sleeve, her voice weak and uncertain. “Mr. Hunt, forget it. The punishment you’re giving her is too severe. Please don’t fight with Mrs. Hunt because of me. I’m fine now… see, my face doesn’t even hurt anymore.” On her pale face, the five-finger mark was vivid. Adrian must already be heartbroken. “She must receive this punishment.” He looked back at me with dark, sinister eyes. “As Mrs. Hunt, you should be magnanimous and gracious, not running to the office like a madwoman to hit people.” I’m like a madwoman? I was so shocked I almost laughed. I pressed my lips together coldly. “What if I refuse this punishment?” His voice was harsh. “Seraphina, I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.” The atmosphere froze. Just as we were at an impasse, suddenly Vivian let out a weak moan. Her body swayed and she collapsed backward. “Vivian!” Adrian’s expression changed. He reached out to catch her. Vivian lay unconscious in his arms. Adrian lifted her in his arms. When he looked at me again, his eyes were filled with uncontrollable fury. “You’d better pray nothing’s wrong with her. Otherwise, I won’t forgive you.” He didn’t spare me another glance. Carrying Vivian, he strode quickly toward the elevator. I stood there, feeling everyone’s stares. My heart felt like someone had twisted a knife in it several times. The last bit of light in my eyes went out. I took the elevator down. The moment I walked out of the company entrance, two bodyguards in black suits grabbed me from both sides. “Mrs. Hunt, we apologize. Mr. Hunt has instructed us to take you home for punishment.” I struggled, but it was useless. I was shoved into a car. The car drove toward the suburbs, finally stopping in front of the Hunt family villa. The bodyguards pulled me out of the car and dragged me to the gravel area in front of the villa. “Kneel, Mrs. Hunt.” I straightened my spine stubbornly. “I did nothing wrong. I won’t kneel!” The two bodyguards exchanged glances. Then one of them kicked directly at the back of my knee. Caught off guard, my legs gave way and I fell heavily onto the gravel-covered ground. Excruciating pain immediately shot through my knees. I screamed, gasping. Cold sweat instantly beaded on my forehead. I struggled to get up, but the two bodyguards pressed firmly on my shoulders, forcing me back down. “Mr. Hunt has ordered that you must kneel for a full twenty-four hours. You’re not allowed to get up.” His punishment for me was to kneel on the villa’s gravel for a full twenty-four hours of repentance before it would be over. But on our wedding night, Adrian had held me in his arms and said he’d never let me suffer in this lifetime. Adrian, your words truly can’t be trusted at all. But I’d been too foolish before. I’d believed him again and again.

Seraphina POV After dark, Adrian came to the villa. His tall figure stood before me, looking down at me from above. “Vivian woke up.” His face was cold as a frozen pond. “The doctor diagnosed her with a mild concussion and post-traumatic stress disorder.” I’d been kneeling until both my knees hurt terribly. Blood had seeped through my knees, staining the gravel beneath them red. My vision kept going black. Cold sweat had long since soaked my hair. But he showed no sympathy. He just looked at me. “I know you’re very dissatisfied with her, but no matter how dissatisfied you are, you shouldn’t have gone to the office to hit her.” I finally raised my eyelids. “Don’t you know exactly why I hit her?” If he hadn’t brought Vivian to those places, if Vivian hadn’t used an unknown number to send me those provocative photos, if they hadn’t treated me—his wife—with such disregard, would I have struck her? My eyes reddened. My throat felt tight and choked. “Adrian, I have no problem with you repaying your debt. But you slept with her. Don’t you find that laughable? If you want to repay your debt, why does it have to be by trampling on my feelings and our marriage?” “I told you, a year ago with her—we were drugged. It was an accident. I didn’t lie to you.” “What about now? Her mother is seriously ill and needs money. You’ve already given her a check. Why do you still need to keep her by your side?” His voice was low and hoarse. “Because that night a year ago, she got pregnant with my child.” My breathing stopped for an instant. “Back then, you were threatening to break up with me. To get you back, I had no choice but to cut ties with her.” Adrian’s voice carried a pain I’d never heard before. He said, “While I was kneeling to beg you to come back, while I was personally making the cake you love, while I was announcing to reporters that I was transferring my shares to you and publicly winning you back—during all that time, she was alone, caring for her sick mother while constantly working to earn money. Eventually, from overwork, she miscarried the baby and fell into depression for a long time.” In this moment, he felt like a complete stranger. I moved my lips. My voice was hoarse. “What are you trying to say—that her miscarriage and depression are my fault?” “If you hadn’t insisted on breaking up, I wouldn’t have ignored her and cut ties with her. She wouldn’t have…” He stopped, looking at me deeply. “I owe the Whitmore family a life. And you caused her to lose a child.” He said, “Seraphina, you’re the one who wronged her.” Absurd. This was the most absurd, laughable thing I’d ever heard. “Kneel here properly. After you complete the full twenty-four hours, I’ll come pick you up.” Before Adrian turned to leave, he coldly instructed the bodyguards nearby. “Watch her.” “Yes, sir.” In that moment, I couldn’t tell which hurt more—my knees or my heart. I was forced to kneel in front of the villa for a long time, the bodyguards pressing down on my shoulders. Around midnight, thunder suddenly crashed and lightning flashed. Strong winds rose and a torrential downpour fell. The two bodyguards opened umbrellas, but didn’t shield me. I knelt on the gravel. The blood from my knees wouldn’t stop flowing. I was forced to endure the rainstorm all night. Whenever I was about to collapse and my body swayed, the bodyguards would press firmly on my shoulders, forcing me to correct my posture. At dawn, the alternating sensations of cold and heat throughout my body finally became unbearable. I lost consciousness and collapsed to the side. When I woke again, it was to the smell of disinfectant. I opened my heavy eyelids to the white ceiling of a hospital. An IV drip was attached to the back of my hand. “You’re awake.” Adrian’s voice came from beside the bed. I turned my head and saw him sitting there. His eyes were bloodshot, a shadow of stubble on his chin. “You had a fever of 104 degrees. Why didn’t you tell the bodyguards you were sick? The doctor said if you’d come any later…” He reached out to touch my face, but I avoided it. “Don’t touch me.” Adrian froze. He withdrew his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose wearily. “Seraphina, stop making trouble from now on, okay? We already owe Vivian too much.” His appearance made me feel sick. My throat was dry and hoarse. My laugh was desolate. “Adrian, you’re the one who owes her. Not me.”

Seraphina POV I continued mockingly, “Since you feel you owe Vivian so much, let’s divorce and you can marry her.” Adrian’s expression instantly darkened. “Must you keep causing trouble like this? Vivian just wants a job to live properly and earn money to care for her sick mother. I simply gave her a job. Why do you hate her so much?” “I don’t hate her,” I said expressionlessly. “As long as you sign divorce papers with me right now, I don’t care what you do with her. It doesn’t matter to me.” Adrian’s pupils contracted sharply, as if this statement had struck a nerve. He suddenly leaned forward, hands braced on either side of my body, trapping me between the hospital bed and his chest. “Seraphina, between us, it’s always breaking up or divorce. Have you ever actually loved me?” This question almost made me laugh out loud. He was actually asking if I’d ever loved him? “Let me tell you, Seraphina—divorce? Don’t even think about it.” Adrian gritted his teeth. “In this lifetime, even in death, you can only be Mrs. Hunt!” As soon as he finished speaking, his phone rang in his pocket. Adrian frowned, pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen. It was Vivian calling. He hesitated, but still answered in front of me. The moment the call connected, Vivian’s panicked voice came through. “Is this the police? I’m… I’m being harassed. I’m so scared…” “Vivian?” Adrian’s expression darkened. “It’s me. Who’s harassing you?” The other end went quiet for a second. Then came Vivian’s tearful, startled voice. “Mr. Hunt? I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I was too scared. I called the wrong number…” “Tell me, who’s harassing you? Where are you now?” Adrian’s tone grew urgent. “I’m… I’m at Golden Moon Club… for the company’s South District project… but Mr. Watson was touching me inappropriately…” Vivian’s voice was broken and intermittent, mixed with sobs. “Don’t be afraid. I’m on my way!” Before Vivian could finish, Adrian had already hung up. He didn’t even look at me again. He turned and strode quickly out of the hospital room, his entire body tense with anxiety. I watched his retreating back. The warmth in my eyes disappeared completely. This marriage—no matter what, I had to end it. I stayed in the hospital for several days. During that time, Adrian didn’t appear again. But that unknown number kept persistently sending messages. [Do you know? Ever since I told him a client harassed me that day, he not only taught that person a lesson but also canceled the cooperation with them. He’s even worried I’ll be harassed again, so now he personally drives me to and from work every day.] After my fever completely broke and the wounds on my knees began to scab over, I checked myself out of the hospital and finally replied to that unknown number. [If you want what you’re after, meet me at the café near Hunt Corporation in one hour.] One hour later, at the café. When I arrived, Vivian was already sitting there. I sat across from her, ordered a glass of water, then pushed a thick manila envelope across the table toward her. Vivian looked at me. “What’s this…?” “My divorce agreement with Adrian.” At those words, surprise mixed with a hint of secret joy flashed in Vivian’s eyes. But then she looked confused. “What do you mean by this?” I said coldly, “Don’t you want to be Mrs. Hunt? I’m divorcing Adrian. I’m giving you a chance.” Vivian hastily put on an aggrieved expression. “Mrs. Hunt, you’ve really misunderstood me. Mr. Hunt and I…” “Enough, Vivian. There are only the two of us here. You don’t need to perform for me.” My eyes were cold. “You’ve found every way to cling to Adrian’s side. We both know what you’re really after.” Vivian looked me over, suspicious. “How do I know you’re not recording this?” Worthy of being the woman who’d manipulated Adrian—her vigilance was strong enough. “Don’t worry. If I wanted to do that, I wouldn’t have waited until now.” My expression was blank. “A man who’s been physically and emotionally unfaithful isn’t worth me exhausting myself to keep by my side.” Vivian studied me skeptically, saying nothing. I continued, “I’ve mentioned divorce to him. He refuses. If you want what you’re after, make him sign this divorce agreement.” I’d prepared this divorce agreement long ago, but I could never find an opportunity to get Adrian to sign it. Adrian wouldn’t agree to divorce me. I had no choice but to come to Vivian. I’d thought Vivian would readily agree. Vivian scoffed mockingly. “Don’t be ridiculous. He transferred most of his shares to you. If you divorce, he’d essentially be leaving with nothing. I’m not that stupid. I won’t make him sign something like this.”

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Elena’s first love, Marcus Blackwood, came back. I heard he was a ruthless gang member who killed without batting an eye. Terrified of being silenced, I fled overnight with my daughter. Over the past eight years, Elena was busy holding a grand wedding with Marcus, traveling the world together, and attending various events. They became the enviable power couple everyone admired. But they never had children. Meanwhile, I struggled to make ends meet, working seven jobs a day, scrimping and saving every penny for my daughter’s medical expenses. I became the laughingstock everyone mocked—a cheapskate. In the ninth year, I was working as a server at an important event. While pouring wine for a guest, I accidentally bumped right into Elena. She stared at me in shock, her voice trembling. “Nathan. Where have you been all these years? Our daughter—is she still alive?” Eight years had passed. Elena remained as coldly beautiful as ever, while I stood frozen in place, momentarily speechless. “You blind bastard! How dare you bump into Miss Winters! You must have a death wish! Get on your knees and apologize!” The event manager rushed over and slapped me across the face. “I’m sorry, Miss Winters. I didn’t mean to dirty your clothes.” I quickly apologized. Just as I was about to kneel, Elena suddenly spoke. “Forget it.” She frowned and glanced at me, then added, “If someone tells you to kneel, you just kneel? Don’t you have any dignity left? Living this pathetically—you might as well be dead.” Dignity? I’d stopped caring about that long ago. I still remembered the first time I knelt—when my daughter Piper had a fever and I had no money. I knelt at the clinic entrance. Later, I knelt to beg for jobs, to demand unpaid wages, when bullied by thugs… I’d knelt so many times I’d become numb to it. As long as I could stay alive and Piper was doing well, that was enough. But I didn’t tell Elena any of this. I forced an ugly smile, thanked her, and turned to leave. “Mr. Blackwood is here!” At that moment, the crowd suddenly stirred with excitement. I turned to look, my pupils constricting slightly. I deeply regretted accepting this event gig. From the scar on his face, I could confirm it was Elena’s first love, Marcus Blackwood. When he’d returned to the country years ago, he’d threatened to chop me into mincemeat and feed me to the dogs, to strangle my daughter. Afraid of being discovered, I quickly ducked into the crowd and headed straight for the break room to hide. Buzz buzz! Just then, my phone vibrated. The private hospital was calling. “Mr. Anderson.” “We currently have a donor whose heart matches your daughter, but there’s another competing recipient.” “The other party has money and influence. I can stall for one hour at most. If you can’t get here and pay within that time, you’ll have to wait for the next opportunity.” I was ecstatic. “Within one hour, I’ll definitely come pay and sign the papers!” After hanging up, I immediately called a loan shark to borrow money at high interest. The entire heart transplant surgery would cost at least two million dollars. I didn’t have enough money, but if I waited for next time, who knew when that would be—or if my daughter could even hold on that long. So I’d rather sell my body, sell my blood… anything to seize this chance. Once the loan came through, I was about to leave when the event manager blocked me at the door. “Mr. Blackwood’s wedding ring is missing.” “All employees must go to the main hall for inspection.” I said I’d been at least thirty feet away from Marcus when I saw him earlier, so it definitely wasn’t me. Plus, I urgently needed to get to the hospital. But the manager wouldn’t listen at all. He had security drag me to the main hall. I hid in the back row, trying hard to keep my head down, terrified Marcus would recognize me. “Whoever stole my wedding ring, step forward now! I’ll spare your life. Otherwise, don’t blame me for throwing you in the river to feed the fish!” Marcus’s cold eyes swept over everyone. “Last row, fifth from the right—lift your head!”

My heart sank. I broke out in a cold sweat all over, still refusing to lift my head. “He’s talking to you, idiot!” The manager forcibly lifted my chin, and I found myself staring directly at Marcus. “It’s you.” Marcus narrowed his eyes slightly and walked toward me step by step. “You stole my wedding ring, didn’t you?” He questioned coldly. “No!” I shook my head frantically. “Today’s the first time I’ve seen you.” Everyone knew Marcus was ruthless and didn’t value human life. To eliminate rivals, he’d use any means necessary. From his demeanor, was he trying to make me the scapegoat? “Marcus.” “It probably isn’t him, right?” Elena glanced at me, a mocking smile on her lips. “When you came back, he fled overnight. How would he dare steal your ring?” She seemed to be blaming me for being a coward. I didn’t understand how she had the nerve. The whole room erupted. Countless people cast contemptuous looks my way. “From what she’s saying, is he Mr. Blackwood’s former stand-in?” “A stand-in is just a stand-in. Miles away from the real deal. Look how pathetic he is now—can only work as a server.” “If he didn’t have a face that looked like Mr. Blackwood’s, he wouldn’t have enjoyed those few good years. He should be grateful.” Mocking voices poured down like a torrential rain. I thought this might help me escape punishment. But Marcus clearly had no intention of letting me go. With a playful smile, he said, “But this morning when I was changing and showering upstairs, I clearly saw him delivering clothes.” “Though at the time I thought I’d seen wrong, so I didn’t pay attention.” Hearing this, Elena’s delicate brows immediately furrowed. She said coldly, “Nathan Anderson, I didn’t expect it really was you. Hurry up and hand over the wedding ring.” Eight years ago, I’d fled with my daughter not just because I feared Marcus, but because I was afraid Elena would be biased and believe only him. I hadn’t expected it to play out exactly as I’d feared. “You’re lying! I didn’t arrive at the event until noon!” I argued my case, casting pleading looks at the manager and my coworkers. “Please help clear my name. I need to get to the hospital. I’ll come thank you properly later.” But everyone remained uniformly silent. Marcus coughed lightly. “Speak up. Why are you all standing there? Anyone who dares lie, I’ll sew their mouth shut with a needle!” Everyone shuddered. The manager’s eyes darted around, then he pointed at me. “Don’t drag us down with you. You clearly came this morning.” “That’s right!” One coworker also stepped forward. “I saw Nathan Anderson enter Mr. Blackwood’s room with my own eyes this morning.” “You people…” I was utterly desperate, my eyes nearly red with anger. Clearly. They were deliberately framing me, wanting to use me as a stepping stone to curry favor with Marcus. “Someone!” “Search him! Strip off all his clothes!” The manager waved his hand, then flashed a fawning smile at Marcus. “Mr. Blackwood, rest assured, I’ll get to the bottom of this. No mercy.” Two security guards pinned me to the ground. I tried to resist but was held down by my head. Several more guards arrived and began tearing at my clothes in front of everyone. Though I’d knelt plenty over these years and taken many beatings, I’d never been humiliated like this. Shame flooded my heart. The key issue was that this entanglement would waste so much time. Who knew when it would be resolved. It would delay me getting to the hospital to pay! That concerned my daughter’s life! Forced into a corner, I looked at Elena. “It really wasn’t me!” “You have to believe me!” “In the eight years we were together, when did I ever take anything from the Winters family? When did I ever ask you for a single dollar?”

I believed Elena understood my character. But she said, “People change. You no longer have the backbone you once had. When told to kneel, you just kneel.” I was so angry I wanted to laugh. Did she really think I’d changed, or was she simply believing her first love Marcus’s words? Within a few breaths, my clothes were stripped off, my skeletal frame exposed to everyone’s view. “Hahaha, this is hilarious. Look at him—skinny as a monkey and ugly too.” “So disgusting. So revolting.” “How did someone like this ever qualify to be Mr. Blackwood’s stand-in? I really don’t know what Miss Winters was thinking.” Mocking laughter continued. Elena’s face showed her discomfort. She frowned even more deeply, looking at me with disappointment and disgust. After all, back then I’d worked out every day, extremely disciplined! Elena used to touch my eight-pack abs every day. When she was unhappy, she’d rest against my chest muscles to relax. She said I was so masculine. She said no matter what, she wouldn’t allow anyone to hurt me or slander me. Compared to this moment, how ironic. Marcus took my phone and used facial recognition to unlock it, then rummaged through it carelessly. “Oh?” “You actually borrowed a million dollars from loan sharks? Looks like you’re desperate for money. That’s another reason to steal the ring.” “Besides revenge against me, you could also sell it for money, right?” Marcus displayed the loan message for everyone at the scene to see. This prompted another round of mockery. Elena’s eyes filled with more disappointment. She shook her head and sighed, “I actually still held onto a shred of hope, thinking that under your care, our daughter might still be alive.” “How foolish of me.” “Someone as depraved as you—how could you care whether our daughter lives or dies?” Seeing her act this way. I couldn’t help but say, “Then let me ask you—when our daughter was first diagnosed, where were you?” “Shut up! Say another word and I’ll knock your teeth out!” Marcus glared at me, then turned to comfort Elena. “Honey, don’t be sad. As long as we keep trying IVF, we’ll definitely have our own child.” Elena didn’t respond, just looked at me with complex emotions, as if recalling scenes from eight years ago. But I only wanted to say two words: karma! Eight years ago. Piper was seriously ill and hospitalized, and Marcus was returning to the country. So Elena devoted all her attention to Marcus, personally arranging welcome banquets and various events. I hoped she’d use her resources to find a heart donor for Piper and complete the surgery before Marcus returned. But I called her a hundred times. She only answered once, dropping three words: “Stop bothering me!” That’s when I finally made up my mind to run away with Piper. “Anyway, I didn’t steal the wedding ring. If you don’t believe me, let’s call the police.” I gritted my teeth. “Call the police? Absolutely not!” Marcus’s expression turned cold. “Why would I need the police for such a small matter? I’d lose face. If you don’t hand over the wedding ring today, you’re not leaving. I’ll cripple one of your hands first for fun.” He pulled out a knife and aimed it at my right hand. “Marcus!” Elena frowned. “That’s enough. Don’t go too far. It won’t look good if word gets out.” Marcus shrugged reluctantly and put away the knife. “Someone! Tie him to that pillar!” At his command. The manager personally dragged me toward a pillar. “You have no solid evidence, and no right to restrict my freedom.” “Let me go!” I struggled desperately, but I was outnumbered and couldn’t break free. I could only look at Elena again. “For the sake of our past relationship.” “Help me this once. Trust me just this once, okay?” “There’s only half an hour left. If I can’t get there in time, you’ll definitely regret it!”

Elena froze, confusion flashing in her eyes. “Why do you need to go to the hospital? Who’s sick?” “Hmph, who else? His girlfriend, of course.” Marcus sneered. “Elena, don’t listen to his emotional manipulation. He just wants to run away with his girlfriend.” Hearing the word “girlfriend,” Elena’s face instantly turned cold, resentment surging in her eyes. Seeing this, I knew I had to tell the truth. “Elena.” “Listen carefully. The sick person is your own daughter, Piper!” “If I don’t pay within half an hour, the heart donor will go to someone else!” What? Elena’s eyes widened. She pushed Marcus aside and ran to me in three quick steps. “Piper’s still alive?” “You’re not lying to me?” Her face was full of excitement. “I’m not lying.” I took a deep breath. “If you don’t believe me, my phone has photos of Piper and me, plus photos of her medical records.” Elena quickly turned and snatched the phone from Marcus, frantically scrolling through the screen. But the light in her eyes gradually changed from hopeful excitement to disappointment. “There’s not a single photo on the phone. You’re lying to me!” She clenched her fists in anger. “That’s impossible. There were definitely…” I frowned, about to explain, when I caught the mocking smile on Marcus’s lips. I immediately understood. Marcus must have just formatted my photo gallery. That’s why Elena couldn’t find anything. This Marcus was truly cunning and vicious, stopping at nothing to achieve his goals. “Honey.” “I told you, this Nathan Anderson is full of lies and can’t be trusted.” Marcus patted Elena’s shoulder. “I’m not lying!” “Piper really is still alive!” I shouted loudly. Marcus frowned and gave the event manager a look. The manager understood. He raised his hand and slapped me. “Still making excuses?” “Hand over the wedding ring now! Or don’t blame us for not holding back.” The security guards behind me laughed menacingly. “I didn’t steal the ring. How can I hand it over? Let me go…” “Stubborn fool. Beat him!” The manager led the assault, raining punches and kicks on me. Tied to the pillar, I couldn’t protect myself, couldn’t fight back, couldn’t dodge. Fists fell on my face like a rainstorm. After several rounds. I was beaten bloody, my ears ringing, excruciating pain spreading throughout my body. “I’m not a thief, I’m not…” I weakly looked at Elena through blurred vision. “Piper really is still alive. You don’t have to let me go, but you must go to the hospital and pay.” “I’m begging you… she’s our daughter. Please…” As I spoke, I began crying in desperation. Elena’s expression showed a flicker of emotion. Before she could speak, Marcus pointed at my nose and cursed, “You’re such a bastard! To escape punishment, you’d even exploit your dead daughter.” Hearing this, Elena’s expression turned cold again, as if she wished I were dead. “I didn’t! I really didn’t! I can swear… there’s only fifteen minutes left! We’re really running out of time!” My whole body trembled as I choked out the words. “Still acting?” Marcus narrowed his eyes, raised the knife again, and slowly walked toward me. “I’ll pry out two of your front teeth. Let’s see if you tell the truth then!” I kept staring at Elena. But this time she chose silence. Marcus raised the knife toward my mouth.

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The night before my wedding, I was kidnapped and tortured for three days. When I was finally rescued, my fiancé had already married someone else. In my despair, Vincent stayed by my side and married me. For three years of marriage, I thought he was my salvation. But on our anniversary, I overheard his conversation with friends. “Vincent, are you really never going to tell Elara the truth?” “Why would I? Isn’t everything fine as it is? Sienna likes Elara’s fiancé, so I had to help Sienna get him. As for Elara, I’ll treat her well.” “You’re really something, Vincent! Three years ago, you had her kidnapped, made her infertile, and now she’s still grateful to you!” The cake in my hands fell to the floor. So the person who ruined my life had been by my side all along… “What was that sound? Is someone outside?” Footsteps from inside the private room drew closer. I instinctively retreated several steps and hid behind a pillar. The person who opened the door looked left and right but didn’t notice the cake on the floor before retreating back inside. The surroundings were noisy, yet all I could hear was my heart pounding violently in my chest. My ears rang as Vincent’s voice echoed endlessly in my mind. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a message from Vincent. [Sorry Elara, I’m still in a meeting. I’ll have to come home late today.] [Don’t wait up for me, just get some rest. When things settle down, I’ll take you on a trip to make up for it, okay?] Vincent’s tone was as gentle as always. He was busy with work and often missed our anniversaries and Valentine’s Day. But he always compensated me afterward. He complied with almost all my requests. I had reflected more than once that fate had been somewhat merciful to me. Although I experienced that terrible incident before my wedding, at least I met Vincent. I met someone in this world who truly cared about me. He picked up my broken pieces one by one, carefully protecting me, using tenderness and love to open my heart. But only now did I realize how laughable everything I believed had been. Before I could reply to Vincent’s message, I caught sight of a familiar figure approaching from the corner of my eye. Instinctively, I turned my head and let my long hair cover my face, but I could still see who it was. Sienna, my own sister. She got lost as a child and only returned home at eighteen, deeply cherished by our parents. Three years ago, the night before my wedding, I was kidnapped and humiliated. After being rescued, the first news I learned was that she had married my fiancé, Ethan. Those were the darkest days of my life. Sienna knelt by my hospital bed, crying and begging me to forgive her. Ethan held my hand, begging me to fulfill their love. Mom and Dad frowned at me, blaming me for everything that happened. Ethan and I grew up together. For over twenty years, I had dreamed of becoming his wife. But in just three days, everything changed. “Hey, Sienna’s here! Beautiful as always.” The man’s compliment snapped me back to attention. I walked to the door again and listened carefully to what was happening inside. Sienna laughed. “Still so smooth-tongued after just a few days.” “No wonder so many young women fall for you.” Sienna’s tone sounded very familiar. I couldn’t help but think that in the three years we’d been married, I still knew nothing about Vincent’s friends. He always said his friends weren’t easy to get along with. That he worried I might remember the past. I thought he was thinking of me. But I forgot—if Vincent truly loved me, how could he allow his friends to slander me? My nails dug into my palms as I listened to the laughter inside the private room. I caught Vincent’s voice among them. “Coming out this late, won’t Ethan worry?” “Don’t worry, he’s been busy with work lately. He hasn’t even left the office yet.” “Vincent, I’m here because of something else…” Through the gap, I saw Sienna sitting next to Vincent, her hand resting on his thigh. Vincent had mild germaphobia. Even at home, he only let me handle his personal clothing. But now, facing Sienna’s intimacy, he showed no sign of displeasure. “What is it? Whatever you ask, I’ll agree to it.” “Ethan and I have been married for three years, but I still haven’t gotten pregnant… He’s been much colder to me lately. Vincent, I want a child. Can you give me one?”

Sienna’s words nearly made me cry out. But I covered my mouth and stared intently at Vincent’s face. Even at this moment, I still hoped he would refuse. That he would maintain one last shred of decency for the sake of our three-year relationship. But on Vincent’s face, I saw shock and panic, but no anger or condemnation. In that instant, I already understood Vincent’s choice. My heart, which had been raised high, fell back to its place. I turned and walked outside. Like a soulless corpse. What kept appearing in my mind were only scenes from three years ago. Actually, I had forgotten most of the memories from those three days of captivity. The doctor said my body had abandoned some memories for self-protection. But what I dreamed of every night was only the scene of Vincent kicking open the iron door and rescuing me. Behind him was the sunlight I hadn’t seen in three days. Vincent in his suit walked toward me step by step, his eyes full of worry and heartache. Then he knelt down and held me in his arms. The last words I heard before losing consciousness were his trembling voice. “It’s okay now, Elara.” “It’s okay now…” Later, when Vincent proposed to me, videos of my abuse were all over the internet. Everyone avoided me. Only he walked against the crowd and knelt before me. He said, Elara, marry me. I will never let you suffer for the rest of your life. He said, Elara, trust me. I’ll take good care of you forever. But in the end. Ethan lied to me. And so did he. By the time I got home, it was already dawn. Vincent still hadn’t returned. My unanswered messages had no follow-up. I sat on the bed, staring blankly at the wedding photo hanging on the wall. In the photo, I was skin and bones with vacant eyes, but Vincent looked at me as if I were a rare treasure. These three years, Vincent had indeed taken good care of me. He helped me, someone who only dared hide at home, to willingly go out and see people. But what I thought was salvation was actually an even deeper abyss… My phone vibrated again. Another message from Vincent. [Elara, I’m sorry, I can’t make it back tonight. When you wake up tomorrow, I promise I’ll make it up to you.] Before I could react, another message appeared. From Sienna. [Elara, I know you were outside just now. I saw you.] [How does it feel watching your husband sitting with me, laughing and talking?] [I could steal one person from you, and I can steal the last one too.] [Elara, in the end, everything you have belongs to me.] Along with Sienna’s message came a photo. A hotel’s pure white bed. On the floor beside it was Vincent’s jacket. My heart suddenly seized with sharp pain. Sienna hated me. I didn’t know the reason before. But now, I didn’t want to know anymore. I closed my eyes as tears slid down from the corners. I pulled at the corners of my mouth in a bitter smile. Three years ago, Mom and Dad abandoned me because of my reputation. I didn’t cling to them and left. Three years later, Vincent cheated with someone else. I wouldn’t cling to him either. Things that don’t belong to me—I don’t want them anymore. I got up, took down the wedding photo from the wall, viciously cut it to pieces with scissors, then threw it in the trash can by the door. I carefully took screenshots of all the messages Sienna sent me and saved them to my photo album. Leaving was certain. But I couldn’t just leave like this.

Vincent didn’t come home until noon the next day. When he saw me, he immediately walked forward to hold me in his arms. “Sorry, Elara. Yesterday was my fault.” Up close, I could even smell the strong perfume on him. And the obvious kiss marks on his neck. I turned away, avoiding Vincent’s gesture, and said softly, “You smell like alcohol. Go take a shower.” Vincent paused, then laughed. “Okay, okay, I’m bothering Elara. My fault.” “Here, this is your anniversary gift. See if you like it.” Vincent pulled out a box from his pocket containing a ruby ring. Since we got married, he often gave me gifts. I often told him he was wasteful. But Vincent said giving his wife gifts was his duty as a husband. Looking back now, perhaps it wasn’t just duty, but also an element of atonement. I forced a smile and accepted the gift. “Thank you. I love it.” “No need to thank me.” “Oh, Elara, today… Mr. Hartwell is hosting a charity gala. Will you come with me?” Vincent looked at me with some concern, worried that this would remind me of bad memories. In my memory, Mom and Dad used to love me dearly. Until the kidnapping three years ago, which made me see the truth. What they loved was the praised Miss Hartwell. Not the flawed Elara. “Okay.” Hearing my answer, Vincent let out a long breath and patted my head. “I knew it. My Elara is the strongest person.” While Vincent was showering, I secretly took his phone from the table. Vincent told me his phone password on our first day of marriage. But in these three years, I trusted him too much and never looked at it once. I didn’t know that for these three years, he had never stopped contacting Sienna. I scrolled through their chat records page by page, not missing a single sentence, and photographed them all. Due to time constraints, I didn’t examine the meaning of each sentence. Just before the water stopped, I put the phone back. Vincent noticed the missing wedding photo, but I brushed it off saying the photo accidentally fell. He didn’t ask further, only saying we’d take better photos together later. I looked at Vincent’s smile, but my heart couldn’t help feeling sour. Later? How much time did we have left? I hadn’t attended such a gala in three years. The moment I appeared on Vincent’s arm, I felt many eyes on me. Some pitying, some curious, some gossiping and mocking. Vincent patted the back of my hand and said softly: “Don’t be afraid, Elara. I’m here.” I looked at his profile, wondering at that moment what he was thinking when he, as the mastermind, said such things. “Elara, Vincent, you’re finally here.” “Elara, I haven’t seen you in so long.” Sienna walked over holding Ethan’s hand. Ethan looked at me with some embarrassment, but I only glanced at him once before looking away. Sienna smiled. “Since getting married, you rarely go out.” “Are you still worried about what happened three years ago?” “After all, what happened wasn’t your fault. You were the victim too. You don’t need to be so cautious.” With seemingly innocent words, Sienna instantly tore through the protective membrane I had wrapped around myself. Vincent’s body stiffened for a moment. Ethan tugged at Sienna’s arm, signaling her to stop. But Sienna continued softly: “Or are you still bothered by the fact that Ethan and I got married three years ago?”

Sienna’s words dropped like a bomb into the crowd. “Is that the eldest Hartwell daughter from three years ago? How does she have the nerve to come to a gala?” “Exactly! If I were her, I would’ve been crying at home!” “I heard after that incident, not only did her fiancé not want her, even her parents cut ties with her.” “I think in the end Mr. Sawyer married her. Tsk tsk, what a sucker.” “Mr. Sawyer is just too nice. Not only did he rescue her, but he was willing to take on this hot potato. Unbelievable.” The surrounding gossip came one sentence after another. The smugness in Sienna’s eyes grew more obvious, as if waiting to see me unable to accept this and cry in breakdown. But she was destined not to see it. I had broken down many times over this matter. But I wasn’t the one in the wrong. The person who should break down, who should suffer, wasn’t me either. Why should all the mistakes, all the pain, be borne by me? “I stopped caring a long time ago.” “Someone who can easily abandon his fiancée will probably abandon his wife just as easily in the future.” “I should thank you for being generous enough to take on secondhand goods.” The moment my words fell, the noise instantly disappeared. Sienna and the other two looked at me in shock. After all, this was the first time I had said something so sharp. From a distance came a cold snort. “Married to a rich man, and now you’ve got the confidence to talk back. Elara, you’re really heartless. Three years and you haven’t come home to see us once.” Mom and Dad walked over shoulder to shoulder, standing beside Sienna. Father frowned at me and said coldly: “Is this how we taught you to speak to your sister?” “Apologize to Sienna right now!” Sienna raised her chin slightly to look at me, her eyes full of smugness. Vincent blocked me, saying softly: “Elara hasn’t attended a gala in a long time. She just misspoke. I apologize on her behalf.” Vincent’s action seemed kind. But it firmly nailed me to the position of being in the wrong. Frankly speaking, he never thought I was innocent. Whether three years ago or now, it was all the same. This farce ended with Vincent’s apology. He followed behind Mom and Dad with Ethan, chatting with guests about work. I found it boring and got up to go to the restroom on the second floor. But when I came out, Sienna blocked my way. Half her face was hidden in darkness, unclear. But I could hear the mockery and contempt in her tone. “Elara, I didn’t expect that after three years, you’re still so pitiful.” “Mom and Dad didn’t want you back then, and now even your husband doesn’t stand by your side.” I pressed my lips together and said coldly: “Sienna, I never offended you.” “So what? I’m going to take everything that belongs to you.” “Elara, everything you have belongs to me.” “Ethan is mine, and Vincent can only belong to me.” After dropping this final sentence, Sienna leaned against the railing. A crisp sound rang out as her body flew out like a butterfly. A second later, she fell heavily to the ground. Amid screams, I locked eyes with Vincent downstairs…

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On the day the black market organ trafficker stood trial, the judge asked if he felt any remorse. He laughed shamelessly: “Not only do I have no regrets, I’m actually proud.” “If I hadn’t provided that heart, Grant Thornton wouldn’t have been able to save his student Lily Wade, and he never would have won the Medical Progress Award to benefit humanity.” When the judge accused him of killing an innocent person for money, he interrupted: “But that heart came from Grant Thornton’s ex-wife. If he hadn’t destroyed her reputation years ago and driven her out, how could she have ended up in my hands?” “If we’re really talking about murder, he’s the killer! I’m just the delivery man at most!” In an instant, reporters swarmed. Grant Thornton laughed coldly in anger, warning sternly into the camera: “Stella Johnson, wasn’t it enough that you caused Lily’s condition to flare up back then? Now you’re bribing black market dealers to spread lies?” Soon, Grant Thornton brought police and cameras, kicking down the door of our rental apartment. In the dim room, there was no malicious ex-wife as he’d expected, only a little girl huddled in the corner, thin as a skeleton: “Who are you? Where’s Stella Johnson? Got the guts to slander but not the guts to face me?” The girl slowly lifted her head. When she saw Lily casually chewing gum, huge tears fell from her eyes. “Are you looking for my mommy? But her heart—didn’t you already dig it out and give it to that lady?” …

From the mouths of babes, yet it set off a storm in the livestream. Grant Thornton’s expression instantly darkened to the extreme as he laughed coldly. “Stella Johnson, you’re even using a child to lie? Get out here right now and apologize, clear Lily’s name!” I floated in midair, watching the undisguised disgust in his eyes, and laughed bitterly. In his heart, Lily had never been a despicable homewrecker, but a student who needed his protection. As his wife, wanting to get rid of her was deliberate harm. Five years ago, I obtained evidence that Lily had tampered with my thesis and tried to interfere in our marriage. I laid the evidence before Grant Thornton. Right in front of me, he threw all those documents into the shredder. “Stella Johnson, Lily is just a young student. How could you forge these things to destroy her future?” When I couldn’t take it anymore and posted it online, to protect Lily, he shoved me hard onto broken glass. He forced me to issue a public statement admitting I was mentally unstable and had maliciously slandered Lily. I refused through gritted teeth. The next day, he brought people to smash my mother’s tombstone and dig up her ashes. He even threatened to destroy the urn, demanding: “Will you apologize or not?” I trembled all over, and could only kneel in the cold mud and compromise. To let my mother rest in peace, I bowed and apologized at the hospital-wide meeting, admitting I was insane. Grant Thornton piled all the blame on me, then threw down divorce papers, forcing me to leave with nothing. My reputation was destroyed, everyone accused me of being jealous and crazy. I was forced to flee to this remote city, barely scraping by. Until seven days ago, to save enough for my daughter’s medical bills. I chose to work an extra night shift. But I was kidnapped and sold by a gambling client who needed money. After some packaging, I became a kind-hearted donor, forced to give up my heart. I permanently closed my eyes on the operating table. My soul followed the heart back to the country. What I never expected was that the recipient of this heart would be Lily. Not only did Grant Thornton personally perform her surgery, he held my heart and pressed a tender kiss on Lily’s forehead. “From now on, you’ll be whole.” I broke down, I felt hatred. Until I followed Lily and arrived precisely at this rental apartment. I watched her point to her own chest in front of my daughter, revealing a malicious smile. “Your daddy said he’d find me the cleanest heart, but I think only your mommy’s heart is worthy of me.” “So I recommended a trafficking channel to a thug at your mom’s workplace. Then I successfully got this heart.” “You don’t know yet, do you? The one who installed this heart for me was your daddy.” I went crazy trying to strangle her. My hands passed through her neck again and again. But I couldn’t kill her. I was powerless. At this moment, in the living room, Annie clutched the black box tightly in her arms, her small knuckles turning white. “Mommy was taken away by that bad lady, burned to ashes, all here.” Grant Thornton walked back to the living room, his eyes full of contempt. “Even bought an urn as a prop, how unlucky!” He suddenly waved his hand, snatching the black box from Annie’s hands and smashing it hard on the floor. The wooden box shattered into pieces, powder instantly scattered everywhere. “Don’t throw my mommy!” Annie let out a scream, falling to the ground, desperately trying to gather the ashes with her small hands. Those were my ashes. I wanted to rush over and hold my child. My outstretched hands passed straight through her thin shoulders. I had no tears, only felt that empty, bloody hole in my chest beginning to fill with bone-chilling cold wind again. Grant Thornton watched the child’s frantic movements, his brow twitching imperceptibly. If it were fake, would it be necessary to go this far? Lily walked out from behind Grant Thornton, her toes stepping on the pile of ashes, grinding hard. “Don’t be angry. Stella can’t stand you being good to me, so it’s normal for her to use pet dog ashes to disgust people.” She pulled out a photo showing a golden retriever with Annie. Three years ago, Annie was diagnosed with a severe genetic disease. Her immune system was weak, she couldn’t be exposed to furry pets at all. That photo was just randomly taken by a nurse when she was getting tested at the hospital. “Stella must hate me to death now. I’d rather not have this heart than have you become like this because of me.” Grant Thornton grasped her wrist in return, his voice softening. “This heart came from an overseas medical assistance program, it has nothing to do with Stella Johnson. Stella Johnson truly hasn’t changed, full of schemes!” The livestream comments were scrolling frantically, Grant Thornton’s eyes swept over them. [Wait, those aren’t pet dog ashes, right? That angel dog in the photo was still sunbathing on the city hospital lawn this morning!] His gaze froze for a moment.

[If it’s not the dog’s, then the kid is crying like that, could it really be her mother’s?] Staring at the pile of gray-white powder on the ground, a trace of irritation crept across Grant Thornton’s brow. He looked away. “Stella Johnson got dead person’s ashes from somewhere to make it realistic. That’s the kind of person she is, capable of anything.” Annie lifted her head, her eyes locked on the foot Lily had planted in the ashes. She suddenly lunged forward, biting down hard on Lily’s calf. “Don’t step on my mommy! You’re all bad people! Give my mommy’s heart back!” Lily cried out in pain, kicking Annie away with one foot. The four-year-old’s body was light as a feather, slamming hard into the corner of the coffee table. Her forehead instantly split open in a long gash, blood covering her face. “My daughter!” I rushed to shield Annie like a madwoman, but could only watch as the crimson blood dripped onto the floor, soaking into the carpet. Grant Thornton didn’t even glance at his daughter. He crouched down, rolling up Lily’s pant leg to examine the bite mark. “Is this little bastard a dog? Is this how Stella Johnson normally raises her?” “Grant, I’m fine, it just hurts a little…” Lily leaned into his arms. “Did Stella teach her a lot of things to make her hate me? I’m a little scared…” “I’m here. I’d like to see who dares touch you.” Grant Thornton’s eyes were fierce as he looked up at the camera and said coldly. “Stella Johnson, I will pursue this despicable behavior of using a child to hurt people to the end!” Watching him make threats, I remembered when I was sixteen, when several upperclassmen cornered me in an alley. Grant Thornton rushed out with half a brick, blocking them in front of me. His face was covered in blood, grabbing my hand and trembling. “Stella, I’ll protect you forever.” Now, he was indeed protecting someone. Only the person being protected was no longer me. I felt such hatred. Why make a promise of forever, then fail to keep it and harm my child? The police outside rushed in directly. The lead female officer’s face was ashen as she scooped up Annie, blood covering her face. “Call an ambulance!” Another officer walked up to Grant Thornton. “Mr. Thornton, regarding the black market organ trafficking case, please come with us to the station for questioning.” “Fine. But my fiancée just had heart transplant surgery and has been frightened. I need to settle her first.” He took Lily’s hand and walked out of the messy rental apartment. Police station interrogation room. Grant Thornton sat in the chair, looking calm. “My donor was a kind person found through an overseas assistance program. Everything was legal, nothing to do with the black market. Stella Johnson’s report is just her venting personal grievances.” Before the officer across from him could speak, the interrogation room door was pushed open forcefully. The female officer who had taken Annie to the hospital called. “That little girl has a very deep forehead wound, now she’s in critical condition from excessive blood loss.” “She has RH negative AB blood type, a very rare type. The hospital blood bank has no supply!” “We checked the system and found that Mr. Thornton has this rare blood type.” Grant Thornton’s movements froze. He lifted his eyelids. a very rare type? An extremely rare hereditary blood type—how could she have the same blood type as him?

“Have him come to the hospital immediately for a transfusion!” I floated in midair, nodding desperately. Go! That’s your flesh and blood! Your daughter! But Grant Thornton suddenly laughed coldly, refusing without hesitation. “Officer, whatever bastard Stella Johnson found somewhere just happens to have my blood type.” “I’ve been cooperating with the investigation. I’m tired now. I’m not going.” The female officer became anxious. “That’s a human life!” Grant Thornton leaned back in his chair. “Her life has nothing to do with me.” The female officer’s expression changed, her voice tinged with anger. “Mr. Thornton, a life is at stake. If you’re willing to donate blood, we can send you there by car, and you can continue the investigation after the transfusion. I’m begging you.” Grant Thornton covered his chest and took a deep breath. “Let’s go.” The police car raced toward the city center hospital with sirens blaring. I stood in the vehicle, watching the scenery flying past the window. Annie, wait, just wait a little longer. Mommy’s bringing someone to save you. The car screeched to a halt at the emergency building entrance. Grant Thornton pushed open the door and strode inside. Lily suddenly emerged from the hallway. She wore an oversized hospital gown, her face deathly pale, throwing herself into Grant Thornton’s arms. “Grant! My chest hurts so much! Am I having a rejection reaction?” Grant Thornton’s footsteps stopped dead. He immediately held Lily, urgently shouting at the nurses’ station: “Get a gurney! Call the cardiothoracic director down here now!” The female officer ran out of the emergency room. “Where’s Mr. Thornton? The child can’t hold on! Her blood pressure has dropped to thirty!” Grant Thornton held Lily, not looking back. “Can’t you see she’s having heart rejection!” “Stella Johnson created this karma, let her repay it herself! If she hadn’t deliberately framed us, how could Lily have ended up like this?” The female officer rushed forward and grabbed his arm. “Save that child first!” Grant Thornton forcefully shook off the female officer’s hand. “Fuck off!” In the livestream that had never been turned off, the comments had completely exploded. [Is this guy insane? The mistress kicked the child and caused such a huge gash, and now he’s protecting the perpetrator?] [This couple is truly disgusting. He really thinks he’s protecting some innocent patient.] Grant Thornton glanced at the dense stream of curses on the screen, his face darkening to the extreme. He continued to protectively hold Lily, righteously warning the camera: “You don’t understand anything! Lily is the victim of Stella Johnson’s schemes!” At that moment, several officers arrived. The lead officer pulled out handcuffs, directly restraining Lily on the gurney. “Lily Wade, you’re under arrest for intentionally causing serious injury to a child!” Lily trembled all over, screaming in terror: “Grant! Save me! I didn’t hurt her, the kid ran into me herself!” Grant Thornton flew into a rage, shielding Lily behind him. “Are you crazy! She’s a patient who just had a heart transplant! This is all Stella Johnson’s conspiracy, she deliberately had that bastard stage this to frame Lily!” The police showed no compromise. “The suspect must come with us immediately! Mr. Thornton, please don’t obstruct official business!” Grant Thornton watched helplessly as Lily was forcibly taken into the elevator, unable to stop it, his chest heaving violently in anger. He turned and ran right into the female officer. “I’ll give her the transfusion. I hope when she’s fine, you’ll release Lily!” But the female officer glared at him. “No need for a transfusion! The child is dead!”

My legs gave out, and I collapsed to the ground. In that instant, my soul felt torn into countless fragments. My Annie was dead. She was only four years old. She hadn’t even worn the new dress I bought her yet. He twisted the corners of his mouth, letting out a short, cold snort. “Dead?” “Good riddance. Stella Johnson has one less bargaining chip for her frame-up.” The next second, I lunged at Grant Thornton in a frenzy. My hands clamped around his neck, wanting to tear him apart on the spot. But my hands passed through his body again and again, unable to touch him at all. Hearing the news of death over the radio, the officer’s face changed dramatically, immediately issuing an order: “The victim is dead. Change suspect Lily Wade’s charge to intentional homicide. Take her into custody immediately!” Hearing the words “intentional homicide,” Grant Thornton’s eyes filled with viciousness. He stared deadly at the emergency room, cursing through gritted teeth. “Stella Johnson, you’re ruthless enough. To frame Lily, you’d even kill the bargaining chip you found yourself.” “You think hiding behind the scenes pulling these stunts will succeed?” He pulled out his phone and made a call on the spot. “Investigate! Check that black market dealer’s account transactions! Track down Stella Johnson!” “I’m going to personally drag out this mastermind and make her kneel before the police and admit that all of this was her scheme to harm people!” He pulled out his phone and opened a conversation window that hadn’t been touched in five years. His fingertips pounded the screen forcefully. “Stella Johnson, your bastard is dead.” “This is what you get for causing trouble.” “Come back right now and apologize to Lily, issue a settlement agreement, or I won’t even let you take that bastard’s corpse.” Message sent. A red exclamation mark popped up. Five years ago, I had blocked him. Irritated, he switched to the text message interface and resent it. I stood right in front of him, watching him type these words. Watching him use the cruelest vocabulary to announce the death of his own flesh and blood. Grant Thornton returned to the police station. The underground black market dealer was restrained in the interrogation chair. Seeing Grant Thornton enter, the dealer whistled. “Dr. Thornton, back from playing nurse to your mistress?” Grant Thornton’s eyes were icy as he braced both hands on the table. “Cut the crap. How much did Stella Johnson pay you to recite this testimony?” The dealer leaned back his head and laughed. “Dr. Thornton, do you really think that was an overseas donor?” “When we tied that woman to the operating table, she kept crying and begging.” “She begged us to give her some anesthesia. She said she had a sick daughter, she couldn’t die.” The dealer leaned close to the table, lowering his voice. “She begged us to give her anesthesia. But the client ordered that anesthesia would affect the heart’s vitality, bad for the recipient.” “So we held her down hard on the table. Four people holding down her limbs. We split her chest open alive.” “That woman’s vocal cords were torn, the pain made her whole body convulse. Blood sprayed everywhere in the room.” The moment the dealer spoke, the pain seemed to cross the boundary of life and death, sweeping over me again. I clutched my empty chest, curling into a ball in midair, screaming. But no one could hear me. “Oh, right.” The dealer tilted his head thoughtfully, his smile widening. “Below her left ribs, there was a very deep burn scar. When we made the incision, we just happened to avoid that spot.” That scar was from when I was twenty, when the rental house caught fire. I was burned by a red-hot iron frame protecting his experimental data. The dealer looked at Grant Thornton and continued twisting the knife. “With her last breath, she was calling a name.” “She kept calling: Grant, save me.” In the moment of dying, I did call for Grant. That nickname that no one in this world except eighteen-year-old Stella Johnson would use. At that time, the pain left me mentally confused. I thought the boy who vowed at eighteen to protect me forever would take me home like before. But my Grant had died five years ago. Grant Thornton seemed to hear the most absurd joke, scoffing as if he’d seen through everything. “Stop your nonsense!” “Even knowing about that burn scar—to drag Lily down, she really planned out every detail!” The interrogation room door was suddenly pushed open. The female officer from before walked in. She walked up to Grant Thornton and slammed the report in her hand heavily on the table. One was a heart source DNA comparison report. One was a paternity test certificate between the deceased and Grant Thornton. The female officer looked at him, her eyes full of anger and disgust. “Grant Thornton.” “The heart beating in Lily Wade’s chest is indeed your ex-wife Stella Johnson’s heart.” “And the girl who just died in the hospital because you refused to donate blood. She was your biological daughter.”

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My husband Andrew and my best friend Andy went to the mountains to find inspiration for his new art exhibition, and they both went missing. The rescue team was conducting a carpet search through the forest, and I had cried while running from one end of the mountain to the other. Suddenly, a sparrow landed on a branch by my shoulder, tilting its head and chirping: [Oh my! My eyes! Two humans naked and kissing each other, don’t even know the cave is about to collapse.] I froze. So this is what they meant by “finding inspiration”? I immediately wiped away my tears, rushed to the rescue captain, and clutched my ankle with a pained expression: “Captain! I twisted my ankle.” “Captain, my ankle… it hurts so much…” The rescue captain was a dark-skinned middle-aged man. Seeing me collapse to the ground, he hurried over to help me up. “Kristen, don’t panic. Let me check your injury first.” He crouched down and gently touched my ankle. I immediately exaggerated with a sharp hiss, scrunching up my face. “No, I can’t move it at all. It feels like needles stabbing me when I move!” The captain frowned deeply. “If it hurts this badly, it might be a serious soft tissue injury. You can’t walk anymore.” He turned to his team member and ordered, “Paul, escort Kristen down the mountain first and find her a place to rest.” My heart sank. Go down the mountain? How could that work? I needed to stay here to make sure that cheating pair got buried good and deep. I grabbed the captain’s arm and shook my head, crying. “No! I won’t go down the mountain! Andrew hasn’t been found yet. How can I leave!” “I’ll wait right here! I’m not going anywhere!” My sincere appearance moved all the rescue team members and several kind-hearted villagers present. “What a devoted wife. She’s injured but still worried about her husband.” “Yeah, such a loving girl.” The captain couldn’t persuade me otherwise, so he had someone find me a flat rock to sit on and brought over a first aid kit for simple treatment. While pretending to groan in pain, I used the corner of my eye to survey my surroundings. Perfect. This position gave me a clear view of the main route leading to that dangerous mountain area. The forest here was dense and rarely visited by people. From earlier until now, apart from our group, we hadn’t seen a single soul. As long as I delayed long enough, once the cave collapsed… A sharp sound of brakes screeched through the air. A brand new Maybach roughly stopped by the mountain road. The car door opened, and Andrew’s brother Tobias jumped out. Andrew had bought him this car with my money. We’d even fought about it. Tobias had posted on Twitter subtly accusing me of being stingy. Tobias immediately spotted me surrounded by the crowd and rushed over in a few strides. “Kristen! Why are you sitting here? Where’s Andrew? Have you found him?” I lifted my red, swollen eyes and pointed at my ankle. “I twisted my ankle…” He raised his voice in disgust. “What’s the big deal about a twisted ankle?” “Andrew’s life or death is uncertain, and you can’t even put in more effort? All these people are searching, and here you are, taking a break!” Everyone around was stunned. The rescue captain’s face darkened. Tobias completely ignored everyone’s stares and barked orders at the rescue captain. “What the hell are you all doing? It’s been so long and you still haven’t found anyone!” “Let me tell you, Andrew is the breadwinner of our family! If anything happens to him, can you afford the responsibility?” Seeing no one paying attention to him, he started with the moral blackmail. “Now that Andrew is missing, I’m his only family member!” “I’m ordering you, right now, immediately, increase the search and rescue efforts! No one is allowed to rest!” That self-righteous look on his face made my stomach churn. However, his timing was perfect. I needed someone to take the blame.

On the branch by my shoulder, the sparrow started chirping again. [Oh! That cave is dropping dirt! They’re scared and hugging each other, still kissing!] [The man says even if they die, they’ll die together. So romantic!] Romantic? I lowered my eyelids, hiding the hatred in my eyes. Then I’ll grant your wish to become a pair of dead lovebirds. Tobias was still over there verbally attacking the rescue team, spitting as he spoke. “Are you even professional? It’s been hours and you haven’t found a single ghost!” “Andrew is a renowned artist! His time is precious! Can you afford to compensate?” I knew what he was anxious about. Tobias hadn’t held a proper job since graduating from college. He loafed around all day, relying entirely on Andrew’s support. The car was bought with my money, the apartment he lived in had its mortgage paid by Andrew, and even his dating expenses came from asking Andrew every few days. His eagerness to find Andrew was simply to perform his “brotherly love” in front of relatives, so he could continue to leech money from Andrew in the future. The rescue captain’s face turned iron-blue from his yelling, but he still patiently explained, “Sir, we are professionals. Please don’t interfere with our work.” Tobias snorted coldly. “Professional? Professional means running around like headless chickens?” His eyes rolled, and seeing me sitting on the rock crying, he immediately redirected his attack. “Kristen! Stop just crying! You know best where Andrew likes to go. Quickly give the captain a direction!” The opportunity had come. I lifted my tearful face, putting on an effort to recall, deliberately hesitating for a long time. After a while, I extended my trembling hand and pointed in the completely opposite direction from the dangerous mountain. “I… I remember now. Andrew mentioned once that… that the scenery at Lover’s Valley to the south is especially beautiful, and it could inspire his creativity.” “He said… he said he wanted to go see it with Andy…” I choked up at the right moment. Lover’s Valley was a famous scenic spot in this mountain area. The scenery was beautiful, but the terrain was flat. It had no adventure value whatsoever, and it was impossible for anyone to go missing there. The rescue captain was somewhat skeptical. “Lover’s Valley? We already checked that area. The signal is good, the roads are easy to walk. It’s unlikely…” Hearing a lead, Tobias’s eager, opportunistic brain immediately ignited. “What do you mean unlikely! Kristen already said Andrew was going there for inspiration!” “It must be that Andrew, to be with… cough, for the sake of art, deliberately found a secluded corner, and his phone just died!” He snatched the map from the captain’s hands, pointing at the direction of Lover’s Valley with a grand wave. “Stop wasting time! Everyone, follow me to Lover’s Valley! Hurry!” The captain frowned. “But the mountain roads there aren’t accessible by vehicle, and…” “And what!” Tobias shouted impatiently. “Is Andrew’s life important or your rules? Main force, everyone follow me! Just leave a few people to watch Kristen!” Watching Tobias lead most of the rescue team and the media reporters who caught wind of the story marching magnificently in the wrong direction, I sneered inwardly. Go ahead, go as far as you can. Best if you can’t make it back until nightfall. That way, no one could disturb Andrew and Andy’s “private time together.”

The weather changed in an instant. Just moments ago there were only dark clouds. In the blink of an eye, rain the size of beans came pouring down. No wonder the sparrow said there would be a collapse. Turns out there’s a rainstorm today. The few rescue team members who stayed behind and I quickly found a temporary shelter. The wind grew stronger, carrying the rain and beating against us at an angle. It was actually getting cold. The sparrow also flew to the beam at the top of the shelter, shaking its wet feathers. [It’s raining hard! The cave entrance is starting to gush water!] [The woman is crying out, saying she’s cold and wants to leave.] [The man is holding her tighter, saying it’s raining heavily outside and she’ll get sick if they go out. Wait a bit longer.] Ha, how considerate. The rain grew heavier, and the mountain roads quickly became muddy. The squad leader who stayed behind looked at the dark sky in the distance, deeply worried. “With such heavy rain, the mountains are very dangerous. Landslides and mudslides could happen at any time.” “I’ve already notified Mr. Tobias and his group, suggesting they immediately stop the rescue and take shelter nearby.” As soon as he finished speaking, Tobias’s roar came through the walkie-talkie. “Take shelter from what rain! Scared of a little rain, and you call yourselves a rescue team!” “Andrew is still waiting for us to rescue him. Anyone who dares to stop, try it!” “It’s just getting a little wet. No one’s going to die! Everyone keep searching!” The squad leader’s face changed. He shouted into the walkie-talkie: “Mr. Tobias! This is no joke! The mountain could collapse at any time. Everyone will be in danger!” “I’m in danger, my ass!” Tobias cursed on the other end. “If you don’t find Andrew, I’ll make sure none of you get away with it!” The walkie-talkie transmitted some commotion, as if other team members were trying to persuade him. I suppressed the smile on my lips. Tobias, you truly are my good helper. Less than half an hour later, Tobias returned with his team in a sorry state. He and the search and rescue members behind him were all soaked through, covered in mud. Obviously, they found nothing at Lover’s Valley and had been drenched by the rainstorm, looking like drowned rats. Tobias’s face was darker than the bottom of a pot. As soon as he saw me sitting leisurely in the shelter, he flew into a rage. “Didn’t you say they were at Lover’s Valley? Where are they!” He rushed over in a few strides, pointing his finger at my nose and cursing: “Now it’s raining so hard, we’ve wasted the golden rescue time. If anything happens to Andrew, I won’t let you off!” I timidly shrank back, tears flowing at just the right moment. “I… I only said maybe… I didn’t know it would be like this…” “You didn’t know?” Tobias was shivering from the cold. “I think you did it on purpose!” He looked at me, dry and comfortable, then at his soaked self. Suddenly he grabbed my arm. “Stop pretending! You must know other clues! Get up! Take us to find him!” My ankle “timely” sent a sharp pain. I screamed and my whole body went limp. “Ah! My ankle! It hurts so much!” “Let her go!” The rescue captain, who had been silent all along, finally couldn’t bear it anymore. He knocked Tobias’s hand away. “Mr. Tobias! Please calm down! Kristen is injured!” Several young team members also gathered around, glaring at Tobias. “How can you put your hands on a woman?” “Exactly! Her husband is missing, she’s injured herself. She’s miserable enough. What more do you want?” The villagers also started pointing and whispering. “What’s wrong with you? How can you treat her like this?” “Looks decent on the outside, but has such a cruel heart.” Tobias, accused by everyone, turned red and white, but still stubbornly retorted. “What do you all know! This is our family business!” I huddled to the side, watching the people about to break into a fight, with only one thought in my mind. Fight. Fight even louder.

The heavy rain grew fiercer. Seeing it was getting dark soon. The captain feared that rescue would be even more difficult after dark, so he gritted his teeth and decided to risk going up the mountain. Tobias followed the rescue team with a dark face, full of resentment. The search dog led the way, sniffing around with its head down. Soon, it stopped and barked in front of a cluster of bushes. A team member pushed aside the wet branches and picked up a foil wrapper from the muddy ground. “Captain, we found something!” Everyone immediately gathered around. It was a wrapper dirtied by muddy water, but the brand logo on it could still be vaguely seen. It was an expensive imported condom brand. Before I could react, Tobias excitedly called out. “This is Andrew’s!” He snatched the wrapper and examined it from all angles. “That’s right! It’s this brand! Damn, so expensive. I asked him to buy me some and he refused, but he’s generous when it comes to using them himself!” As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized what he had said and quickly shut up. But it was too late. Everyone’s eyes became meaningful. Missing, adventure, deep mountains, Lover’s Valley, condoms… When these words were combined together, even an idiot would know what had happened. The rescue captain’s face became extremely ugly. He glared at Tobias and said in a low voice, “Keep searching!” The search dog pulled the rescue personnel step by step in one direction, and at the end of that direction was a pile of dirt and stones. Could this be the cave the sparrow mentioned? Were they about to be rescued? At this critical moment, the sparrow suddenly flew over and let out a sharp screech. [Collapse! Water is flooding in! Half the cave entrance is blocked by mud and rocks!] [They can’t get out! Oh! The man is using a rock to smash at the crack, but it’s useless!] My heart jumped violently. No, I couldn’t let them be discovered now! Half blocked meant there was still a chance to rescue them! Tobias also saw where the search dog was pointing. Like he’d been injected with adrenaline, he excitedly shouted. “Found them! They must be down there!” He yelled at the rescue team, “Quick! Andrew must be inside!” I watched as several team members with shovels had already rushed over.

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I slammed my phone face-down on the desk. My right hand darted to the drawer, fingers trembling until they brushed against the hardbound cover of my journal. I exhaled—it was still there. On my desk, the screen wouldn’t stop lighting up. Notification after notification pierced the silence of the office. “You have been removed from the ‘VIP Skin Solutions’ group by Hailey Shaw.” And another. The same cold, mechanical sentence flashed repeatedly until the forty-seventh alert finally signaled the end. Those forty-seven client groups represented 150,000 leads. They were the culmination of eight years of my life—my sweat, my late nights, my literal blood. And the girl who had just purged me had been on the payroll for exactly three months. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t scream. I just sat there, frozen. 1. I didn’t storm into anyone’s office. Not yet. First, I took a screenshot of every single one of those forty-seven notifications, from the first to the last, and saved them into a hidden folder on my cloud drive. Then, I stood up and walked over to Hailey’s desk. “Hailey.” She was mid-snack, a seasonal latte from the cafe downstairs on her desk, a hand-drawn smiley face mocking me from the plastic cup. “Jolie?” She looked up, her expression as smooth and unbothered as glass. “My admin permissions are gone. All of them.” “Oh,” she said, taking a bite of a trendy artisanal pastry. “Rachel’s orders. She said we needed to ‘centralize client management’ under a single master account.” “Centralize.” “Right.” She said it with a flat, airy tone, as if she were commenting on the afternoon drizzle. “And who holds the keys now?” “I do.” She offered a small, sharp smile, tucked her pastry back into its wax paper bag, and brushed the crumbs from her manicured fingers. “Rachel said I should handle the interfacing from now on. She said you’ve been working so hard lately, Jo. You deserve a break. A chance to… pivot.” Hailey had been here three months. Three months ago, she couldn’t tell the difference between hyaluronic acid and salicylic acid. She’d literally called it “hydraulic acid” in her first week. I didn’t engage. I turned on my heel and walked straight into Rachel Bennett’s office. Rachel was on the phone. She saw me, held up a finger, and whispered into the receiver, “I’ll call you back.” She hung up and leaned back in her leather chair. “Jolie. Come in. Sit.” “What’s going on with my groups, Rachel?” Rachel took a slow, deliberate sip from her branded mug. She wasn’t in a hurry. “We’re doing a routine audit of our digital assets, Jo. You know how it is—the client groups have always been a bit… ‘wild west.’ We need them under Hailey’s account so the backend can be monitored properly for compliance.” “Rachel, I built those forty-seven groups from scratch. I started when we had five people in a single chat. I know every person in there.” “I know, and that’s exactly why we need a standardized system.” She smiled—that practiced, corporate-soft smile that suggested everything she was doing was for my own good. “You’ve done the heavy lifting for years. Now that you have someone to share the load, you should be relieved.” “Share the load.” “Exactly.” She glanced at her Apple Watch. “Actually, why don’t you spend the rest of the week auditing your old client files? Make the hand-off documents as detailed as possible so Hailey can get up to speed.” I stood in front of her desk, a ghost in my own career. She had already looked back down at her monitor. Our conversation was over. As I turned to leave, I heard her phone ring again. Her voice dropped an octave, intimate and deferential—four words that chilled me to the bone. “Don’t worry, Mr. Shaw.” Mr. Shaw. Our Regional Director was Patrick Shaw. Our new intern was Hailey Shaw. I went back to my desk and opened the CRM. My access levels had been stripped. Yesterday, I had “Editor” status. Today, it was “Read-Only.” Last modified by: Hailey Shaw. Time: Yesterday, 2:17 PM. Yesterday at 2:17 PM, I was on the phone with a long-term client, helping her process a return for a damaged shipment. I closed the window and opened my desk drawer. Eight journals were stacked in the back. The cover of the first one was frayed at the edges. On the flyleaf, in my own handwriting from years ago: March 2017—Client Archives. I didn’t need to open it. I knew what was on every page. 2. When I started at this firm in 2017, I was making peanuts. No base salary, no benefits, no 401(k), and absolutely zero leads. “Find them yourself,” my boss at the time had said, tossing a burner phone onto my desk with a fresh SIM card. I sat in a cramped, six-person open-plan office and started from zero. I’d add fifty people a day until the platform flagged me, then I’d switch accounts and keep going. It took six months to build the first 500-person group. I called it the “Glow & Grace Community.” For the first few weeks, nobody talked. I spent every waking hour posting skincare tips, answering questions, and sliding into DMs. “You mentioned your skin is sensitive—this serum has a high alcohol content, let me find you a better alternative.” “Hey, I remember you mentioned your daughter has eczema. I did some digging, and this cream is fragrance-free. It might help.” Nobody taught me to do that. Nobody paid me to do that. On clients’ birthdays, I’d go to the local stationery shop, buy cards with my own money, hand-write a note, and spend seven bucks on registered mail to make sure they got it. I spent over two thousand dollars on postage that first year alone. I once asked Rachel’s predecessor for a client retention budget. “The company doesn’t have a budget for that.” “Then I’ll pay for it myself.” “Fine by me.” With that one “fine,” I spent eight years subsidizing the company’s growth out of my own pocket. By year two, I had 30,000 clients. By year three, 70,000. By year five, 120,000. This year, it was 150,000. Our monthly sales grew from $80,000 in the beginning to $3.4 million last year, hitting $3.8 million this year. I was responsible for 68% of the entire department’s revenue. And my salary? In eight years, it had barely doubled. When I asked for a raise last year, HR told me: “The salary cap for a ‘Senior Operations Specialist’ is $85k. You’re already at the ceiling.” “Then can we discuss a promotion? A title change?” “There are no vacancies for leadership roles at this time.” I tried again in January. HR forwarded my email to Rachel. Rachel sat me down, her voice dripping with artificial empathy. “Jo, I get it. I do. But you know I can’t change the corporate compensation structure on my own.” “Rachel, I’m managing 150,000 people by myself. I’m bringing in nearly four million a month.” “That’s a team effort, Jo.” The “team” she was referring to was me and a rotating door of interns. Meanwhile, Rachel was pulling in over $200k. She’d been parachuted in last September as the “Director of Private Growth.” On her first day, she asked for my client segmentation models. “Just so I can get the lay of the land,” she’d said. The next day, that model appeared in her presentation to the board. The title slide read: Rachel Bennett’s Growth Strategy 2.0. I stayed quiet. Then there was the Playbook. Eighty-two pages, 32,000 words. It took me three months to write. It covered everything from opening hooks to objection handling to re-purchase funnels. Every line was polished by the thousands of hours I’d spent talking to real women. Rachel asked for a copy “for the archives.” A week later, at the regional summit, the printed manuals were handed out. The cover read: Author: Rachel Bennett. I sat in the audience. My colleague, Beth, nudged me. “Are you going to say anything?” “What is there to say?” I looked down at my ID badge. Title: Specialist. Start Date: 2017. A tiny line of text at the bottom: Valid through Dec 2024. My phone buzzed. A message from a long-time client. “Jo? Are you still around? Someone in the group just said you’ve been transferred?” 3. “Jolie has been transferred.” I didn’t say it. Hailey did. I scrolled through the chat history and found the message from 11:00 AM. A client named Margot—a regular since the beginning—had tagged me: “@Jo, are there any deals this week? I need more of that baby cream for Daisy.” Hailey replied instantly: “Hi Margot! I’m Hailey, your new account manager. Jolie has transitioned to a new role, so I’ll be taking care of you from now on! Feel free to reach out with any questions! [Heart Emoji]” Margot didn’t reply. Another client jumped in: “Where did Jo go?” Hailey used the same scripted line. “Jolie has transitioned! I’m taking over!~” I hadn’t been notified of a transfer. There was no email, no HR meeting, no “we’re moving you to a different department.” But Hailey had already informed 150,000 people. I opened Rachel’s Instagram and scrolled back through the last three months. December 8th: A photo of a team lunch. Hailey is standing right next to Rachel. Caption: “So excited to have my new superstar on board. Let’s crush it.” December 15th: Rachel had asked me to compile a “Core Client Data Sheet.” She’d said: “Headquarters is doing an audit, I need you to organize the VIP data.” I spent two days building a master sheet of our top 2,600 VIPs—names, birthdays, purchase histories, skin types, allergies. December 20th: Rachel told me to “take a few days off.” “You haven’t had a vacation in months, Jo. It’s mandatory. Use it or lose it.” While I was away, the system logs showed Hailey had logged in using my credentials and exported the entire database. January 3rd: Rachel had Hailey introduce herself in the groups as the “Corporate Concierge.” January 10th: Hailey started using my scripts to push sales, signing them “Best, Hailey.” Through January and February, Hailey replied to over 1,200 messages. She used every word of the Playbook I had written. I didn’t see the pattern then. I was too busy helping Rachel write the “Quarterly Performance Review.” She’d said: “You know the clients best, Jo. Help me draft the report. I’ll put my name on it for the board presentation, but I won’t forget who did the work.” I wrote it. Thirty thousand words in a week. On the day she submitted it, she bought me a twelve-dollar salad for lunch. “You’re a lifesaver, Jo.” Twelve dollars. That was the price of a week of my life and eight years of my data. I sat at my desk, connecting the dots of the last three months. December: She gets the data. Late December: She gets me out of the office so Hailey can clone the files. January: Hailey infiltrates the groups. February: She drains the last of my strategic knowledge for her report. March: She kicks me out of the groups. Every move was calculated. Every “kind” gesture was a ruler measuring how much juice was left in the lemon before they tossed the rind. My phone buzzed again. A private DM from Margot. “Jo, who is this Hailey girl? I asked her about the cream and she said ‘Give me a sec to check,’ and it’s been an hour. Do you still have that ingredient list you marked up for me last time? The one for Daisy’s flare-ups?” I set the phone down. I was locked out of the groups. But I still had Margot’s number. In eight years, I hadn’t just built a database. I’d built a life. 4. At lunch, Beth pulled me aside in the convenience store downstairs. She scanned the aisles to make sure we were alone before sliding a business card across the counter. “Look at this.” The card read: Hailey Shaw, Director of Client Relations, Bloom Aesthetics. No “Intern.” No “Junior.” “Where did you get this?” “She had them printed in the admin office last week,” Beth whispered. I flipped the card over. In the tiny print at the bottom, under the emergency contact section on the internal directory form Beth had snapped a photo of: Patrick Shaw. The Regional Director. “She’s his niece,” Beth said, her voice barely audible. “Are you sure?” “I saw the HR file. Patrick Shaw is listed as her internal sponsor. Relationship: Uncle.” The air conditioning in the store suddenly felt like ice against my neck. “Does Patrick know what Rachel is doing?” “Are you kidding?” Beth looked at me like I was naive. “Rachel and Patrick have dinner once a week. It’s not a secret. He’s the one who blocked your raise, Jo.” I didn’t say anything. “Jolie,” Beth said, using my full name—something she rarely did. “Rachel has been here eighteen months. The first year, she learned everything from you. The second year, she’s been spent making sure you’re replaceable. You think she did this alone?” I handed the card back. “Be careful, Beth. Don’t let them see you talking to me.” “That’s why I brought you here.” She grabbed a bottle of water and headed to the register. Before she left, she added one more thing. “There’s a meeting at three. Are you going?” “What meeting?” “Rachel’s ‘Standardization Seminar.’ It’s on the calendar.” “I wasn’t invited.” Beth froze. “Hailey’s on the list. Rachel is on the list. The new junior, Kevin, is on the list. But not you.” A meeting about client management. And the woman who had managed them for eight years wasn’t in the room. I went back to my desk. I opened my drawer and took out the eight journals. I stacked them one by one on the desk. 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022, 2023, 2024. I opened the first one to the first page. Entry 001: Margot Henderson. 35. Owner of a local daycare. Dry/Sensitive skin. No alcohol-based products. Daughter: Daisy (4), prone to mild eczema. Eight years. Daisy would be twelve now. I closed the book. Laughter drifted from Rachel’s office—Hailey’s voice. Beth walked by and dropped a sticky note on my keyboard. Five words: Hailey Shaw, Patrick Shaw. And a tiny scribbled note below it from the meeting agenda: Item 3: Permanent transfer of admin rights to Hailey Shaw. Reassignment of legacy staff. Reassignment. Four syllables to erase eight years. 5. The next morning, Rachel called me into her office. “Jo, we need to talk about your next steps.” She pulled a form from her drawer. “The company is restructuring. We’re moving toward a ‘de-personalized’ model for our private channels. Hailey is going to handle the groups from now on. As for you—” She paused. “The logistics warehouse is short-staffed. We need you to head over there for a few months and help with the inventory audit.” “The warehouse.” “Yes.” “I’m a Client Relations Lead, Rachel.” “Jo, this is a corporate directive. It’s not just my call.” She sighed, that fake, heavy sigh. “Patrick has a new vision for the department, and—” “Rachel.” “Yes?” “When you say ‘de-personalized,’ you just mean getting rid of me.” She didn’t answer. I stood up. “I’ve been here eight years. I grew this company from nothing. I represent nearly seventy percent of your revenue.” “Which is exactly why it needs to be standardized. We can’t have that much value tied to a single person.” “Then why wasn’t it ‘standardized’ five years ago? Or three?” Rachel bit her lip. “Jolie, don’t get emotional.” Emotional. I watched her tear down eight years of my life in three months, and she tells me not to get emotional. “I’m not going to the warehouse.” “Well…” Rachel clicked a few things on her computer. “The system has already updated your role.” “When?” “Yesterday afternoon.” Yesterday. She was “consulting” me today, but she’d executed the kill yesterday. I walked out of her office. I didn’t go to the warehouse. I went to my desk. I logged into the internal portal. Position: Inventory Associate. Effective: Yesterday, 3:08 PM. Approved by: Patrick Shaw. I closed the tab. I took one last look at the CRM. My name had been scrubbed. Every client I’d ever helped was now assigned to “Hailey S.” It was as if I’d never existed. I pulled a canvas tote bag from under my desk and packed my eight journals. They were mine. I hadn’t used company pens, company paper, or company time. I wrote in them at night, on my small kitchen table in my rented apartment. I grabbed my bag and stood up. “Beth.” “Yeah?” “Can you hand this to HR for me?” I slid a white envelope across the desk. “Jo—are you sure?” “I don’t do warehouses.” She looked like she wanted to cry, but she just nodded. I unclipped my ID badge, set it on the cold desk, and walked out. I passed Rachel’s office on my way to the elevators. The door was open. She was laughing with Hailey, holding a report in her hand. My report. I didn’t stop. As the elevator doors slid shut, my phone chimed. Margot: “Jo, are you really leaving? People in the group are asking. Is everything okay?”

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When my husband slid the divorce papers across the marble table, the afternoon sun was streaming through the window, blindingly bright. It was the kind of light that exposed every speck of dust in our perfect living room. He told me he had spent our entire marriage “just getting by.” He said he only had three months left to live, and he wanted to spend that time with his true love. I stared at the “voluntary forfeiture of all assets” clause, my fingernails digging into the edge of the paper until they left red crescents in the skin. Three seconds later, I picked up the pen. I suddenly remembered that only thirty minutes ago, my doctor had called to tell me that his terminal cancer diagnosis was a colossal mistake. A lab mix-up. He wasn’t dying. In this grand, deathbed confession of his, it turned out I was the only one who was terminal—terminal to a marriage that had been dead long before the “diagnosis.” 1 “Let’s get a divorce. Please, let me have this one last wish,” Christopher said as he handed me the documents. His eyes were calm, his voice heavy with a manufactured gravity. I froze, the words sinking in slowly. “Your ‘true love’? What the hell is that supposed to mean, Chris?” Christopher was wearing a crisp white linen shirt and beige chinos. He didn’t look a day over thirty, let alone like a man at death’s door. He still looked every bit the refined, handsome literature professor I’d married. He looked down, tracing the grain of the table. “Yes. My life is on a countdown now. There’s no point in hiding the truth from you anymore.” “Three years into our marriage, I met a girl. She was one of my grad students.” “We spent hours discussing Keats and Plath. We spoke the same language—intellectually, spiritually. It was a world away from the grocery lists and utility bills I discussed with you. With her, there was resonance. A soul-deep connection.” “I fell for her.” “But I was married. Out of a sense of duty to you, and because she felt so much guilt toward you, we ended it.” Chris’s voice was peaceful, almost wistful. When he spoke about this girl, a faint, subconscious smile touched the corners of his mouth. “We’ve stayed friends over the years. We never crossed the line again. When we met, it was just poetry, philosophy, the meaning of life.” He looked up then, locking his eyes onto mine. “Do you have any idea? Only when I’m with her do I feel like I’m actually alive. Like a complete human being. I’m not just a cog in the machine of domesticity, worrying about mortgage payments or trying to conceive a child.” “She is my Muse. My soulmate. We were an accident of fate, a tragedy defined by the rules of a world that doesn’t understand us.” I listened to his poetic monologue in silence. My lip curled into a sharp, bitter arc. “Wow. You really can put a tuxedo on a pig, Chris, but it still smells like a farm.” Christopher flinched, his ears turning a bright, indignant red as if I’d slapped him. “Vulgarian! You don’t have a graceful bone in your body. This is exactly what I can’t stand—your utter lack of depth, your lack of education. Marrying you was like throwing pearls before a swine.” “…” I was speechless for a second, but then the anger started to cool into a hard, crystalline clarity. “So what? Am I supposed to apologize for being the one who actually kept your life running?” I leaned in, my voice dropping an octave. “Professor, does wrapping your affair in ‘literary resonance’ make it a masterpiece instead of a cliché?” Chris looked momentarily embarrassed, but his resolve didn’t waver. “I’m getting this divorce. I won’t spend my final days living a lie.” He pushed the papers closer. I flipped through them, my eyes skimming past “Irreconcilable Differences” and stopping at the property division: Christopher Miller waives all rights to shared assets. Chris tilted his chin up with a martyr’s grace. “These material things mean nothing to a man who’s leaving this world. It’s my way of compensating you. Call it a parting gift.” I let out a dry laugh, thinking of the “Clear Bill of Health” notice folded in my pocket. A second later, I uncapped my pen and signed my name in a jagged, decisive scrawl. Fine. Let him go chase his “spiritual twin flame.” I’d take the “vulgar” house, the “shallow” savings accounts, and the “pedestrian” investment funds. I think I could handle the burden of being rich and alone. 2 Christopher clearly hadn’t expected me to agree so quickly. He stared at the signed papers, looking stunned, almost disappointed that I hadn’t begged him to stay. I didn’t give him time to process. I walked into the bedroom and went into overdrive, throwing his designer shirts and cashmere sweaters into two massive suitcases. He stood in the doorway, bewildered. “Diana, are you really in such a rush to kick me out?” I shot him a look over my shoulder. “Why wait? Every minute you’re here is a minute you’re not with your ‘Muse.’ And we wouldn’t want to waste your precious, limited time, would we?” I zipped the suitcases shut with a loud thrip. “Your clothes are here. I’ll have a professional moving crew send your books to whatever address you give me tomorrow. I’ll send them COD—cash on delivery. Don’t forget to pay them.” A look of realization dawned on Christopher’s face, followed by a sneer of pity. “I see. Now that you know I’m terminal, you can’t wait to unload the ‘burden,’ can you?” He looked at me with a holier-than-thou disdain. “This is why these years have been such a struggle. Our marriage was a mistake from the start. You are so transactional, so obsessed with the bottom line. You only ever wanted to talk about money and chores. You were a waste of my time.” He sighed, his eyes glazing over with that dreamy look again. “But life shouldn’t be a chore. Becca says life should be a snowfall we stop to admire. It should be moonlight and poetry…” My stomach turned. I couldn’t help but cut him off. “Are you finished? My ‘common’ ears can’t take any more of this Hallmark-channel-crap. Take your bags and get the hell out of my house.” Christopher’s gold-rimmed glasses caught the light, cold and sterile. He looked at me as if I were a smudge on a painting, a piece of filth infecting his spiritual sanctuary. He opened his mouth to retort, but his phone buzzed. His expression softened instantly. He answered, and I caught the faint, melodic lilt of a woman’s voice. His “Becca.” She said something on the other end—probably something coy or “soulful”—and a look of pure, doting indulgence washed over his face. He spoke to her with a tenderness I had never heard in ten years of marriage. I used to think all marriages were like ours—quiet, stable, a bit dull. I thought that was just what adulthood felt like. Now I realized my marriage wasn’t just dull; it was a hollow shell. Christopher left. I stood in the middle of the empty living room. The sun was still shining, the flowers on the balcony were swaying in the breeze, and birds were chirping outside. The world didn’t stop because a marriage ended. I thought I would cry. I thought I would break down or smash a vase. But I didn’t. The epiphany hit me with a lightness that felt like flying. In the span of a few hours, I had gone from joy (he’s not dying!) to shock (he’s leaving me) to rage (he’s a cheater) to a strange, soaring sense of relief. Why would I want a man like that? He was gone, I had the house, and he was effectively dead to me anyway. It was like winning the lottery and having the trash take itself out at the same time. Oh, wait. I felt the paper in my pocket—the misdiagnosis report. My husband wasn’t going to die. He was just going to roll out of my life in a very literal, very healthy way. 3 Once the dust settled, my biggest fear was that Christopher would suddenly regret it. Because life without him? It was magnificent. I grew up in a very traditional, very “safe” family. My parents raised me to be a Good Woman. They taught me that there was a timeline for everything: graduate, get a stable job, get married. So, when a family friend introduced me to Christopher Miller, I followed the script. My parents adored him. He was a professor at the local university, handsome, well-mannered, with a respectable income. I didn’t even think to ask if I loved him. It felt like we were both just at the stage of life where “marriage” was the next logical step, so we stepped into it together. I thought this was what everyone meant by “love.” A partnership of convenience and shared meals. And then came the “terminal” diagnosis. For a moment, my world collapsed. I thought the pain I felt was grief for my husband. But after the divorce, I realized it was just the terror of the unknown—the fear of my “script” being torn up. Finding out it was a misdiagnosis had been a moment of pure euphoria. But now, my life was completely off-script. And instead of panic, I felt a sense of liberation I hadn’t known since I was a child. I audited our assets. He had been generous in his “dying” guilt. I had enough to live comfortably for a long, long time. During the mandatory cooling-off period before the divorce was finalized, I learned how to breathe again. I took a sabbatical. I traveled to places I’d always wanted to see—the rugged coast of Maine, the vast plains of Montana, the neon chaos of Tokyo. Without the “wife” label weighing me down, I felt weightless. It was during these travels that I stumbled upon a video on social media. It was Christopher. And his “Becca.” The woman in the video looked to be in her late twenties. She was beautiful in a soft, curated way—long auburn waves framing a face with delicate dimples. Her name was Rebecca Jones. Her profile was a masterpiece of “Main Character” energy. Every post was a poetic reflection or a soft-focus literary critique. She didn’t post often, but when she did, it was usually a video of her discussing Plath, and now, a man had started appearing in the frame with her. In the videos, Chris looked the same—soft knit sweaters, gold-rimmed glasses, the image of the “tortured intellectual.” In one video, they were talking about love. Christopher looked into the camera with a profound sigh. “Love is an irrational force,” he said. “It doesn’t care about timing or social contracts. When it happens, you’re helpless. Even in the face of duty, the heart demands its truth.” He looked at Rebecca with a gaze so thick with longing it was nauseating. Rebecca looked down, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her cheeks flushing perfectly. I scrolled through the comments. “Relationship goals!” “Literary soulmates!” “This is the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen.” I looked at them, and for the first time, I felt zero pain. Watching him be “profoundly in love” with someone else was the final confirmation I needed: I had never loved him either. I smiled, closed the app, and went to get a glass of wine. When the cooling-off period ended, we met at the courthouse to sign the final papers. Rebecca was there, standing by his side, watching me with a wary, defensive look—as if she expected me to claw her eyes out. But I was calm. I was radiant. Chris gave me that same pitying look. “Our marriage was a mistake, Diana. Now that things are back on the right track, I hope you find your own version of happiness.” I smiled, waving my copy of the decree. “Thanks, Chris. I’m sure I will. But I’ll try to find it without cheating on anyone first.” I walked away without looking back. As soon as I got home and confirmed the wire transfers for the house and accounts were complete, I put the misdiagnosis report in an envelope and mailed it to his new address. 4 I thought we’d go our separate ways and never speak again. I underestimated how low Christopher and Rebecca were willing to sink for “content.” A former colleague texted me a link. It was a livestream on Rebecca’s account. On the screen, Chris and Rebecca were wearing matching cream-colored sweaters, looking like a spread from a “Kinfolk” magazine. They looked perfect. The words coming out of their mouths, however, were anything but. Chris was holding court for the camera. “Yes, I’m divorced now,” he said, his voice dripping with faux-humility. “When I was younger, I thought ‘compatibility’ was enough. I rushed into marriage. But my domestic life was… stagnant. It was a cycle of the mundane. Every morning was about bills, insurance, the mundane stresses of work.” “I wanted to talk about Camus, Shakespeare, Tagore. But my ex-wife… she just listened with a blank stare. She couldn’t meet me where I was.” “We turned our life into a dull, gray pebble. It wasn’t until I met Becca that my life found its color again.” He looked at her, and she gave a practiced, shy smile. The chat was flying by. People were hailing them as icons of “authentic living.” “With Becca, we talk about the philosophy of existence. We are intellectually synchronized. With her, I’m not just surviving. I’m living.” “After the divorce, I finally felt like I could breathe. I didn’t have to face the suffocating boredom of domestic chores, or a narrow-minded, materialistic wife, or the endless, clinical pressure of trying to conceive…” I stopped cold. We had tried to conceive for years. It hadn’t worked. We’d gone to the clinic once, and the tests had shown that Chris had an extremely low sperm count. It was almost impossible for him to father a child naturally. At our parents’ suggestion, we had discussed IVF. He was the one with the fertility issues. I was the one who was going to have to take the hormone shots, deal with the mood swings, the physical pain, the fear, and the permanent changes to my body. And this man—this man who would have just sat in a waiting room—had the audacity to sit there and act like he was the victim of “pressure”? In all those years of marriage, I had managed our home, our social lives, and cared for both sets of parents. To him, all that labor was just “narrow-minded materialism.” A white-hot rage flared in my chest. My fingers moved before I could think. I typed into the chat: “Does a man who cheated on his wife really have the balls to play the victim? Does knowing a bit of poetry make being a ‘douchebag’ an art form?” Among the sea of “So beautiful!” and “Soulmates!” my comment stood out like a bloodstain on a white rug. The chat paused for a heartbeat, then exploded. Behind my screen, I smirked. I typed again: “Hey Chris, did you get that mail I sent? You know, the one about your medical follow-up?”

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The blue light of my phone cut through the darkness of the office. It was a text from Rachel. Just a reminder to pay the electric bill and the water. I swiped the notification and opened my banking app, scrolling through the autopay history. For six years, this had been our rhythm. Rent, utilities, HOA fees, the parking pass for her SUV—it all came out of my account. Rachel venmoed me fifteen hundred dollars every month. “For the groceries,” she’d say, always with a kiss on the cheek. She told me work was draining, that she was grinding so she could save every penny for us. She promised that one day, she’d be the one to take care of me, to buy us the house with the wraparound porch, to give me the stability I’d never had. My mind drifted back to a post I’d seen on my feed earlier that afternoon. Some guy was bragging about his “Queen.” He posted screenshots of her monthly transfers—forty thousand dollars a month, labeled Wedding Fund. He wrote about how she never hesitated to spend on him, how she was always there when he called, how she provided a “safety net” that made him feel invincible. The comments were a sea of heart-eyes and “goals.” I had stared at that post until my eyes burned. Because the girl in the profile picture, the one he called his “Queen,” was Rachel. It was a secondary account I wasn’t supposed to know about. And her post-tax salary? It was exactly forty-five thousand a month. With fingers that wouldn’t stop shaking, I sent the guy a DM. Do you know your girlfriend has another boyfriend? … I waited for hours. Silence. Then, thirty minutes later, the guy posted an update. They were at Disneyland. Under the neon glow of the fireworks, I saw the silhouette of a woman’s face—that sharp, elegant profile I knew better than my own. Even in the blurry light, the way she looked at him was unmistakable. It was a look of pure, unadulterated adoration. The air left my lungs in a sharp wheeze. He was sharing tips on the best rides, his captions dripping with the smug happiness of a man who knows he is deeply, securely loved. “So sweet,” the comments read. “A match made in heaven.” I shut off the screen. The office was silent, save for the hum of the HVAC. The spreadsheet on my monitor blurred into a mess of meaningless numbers. When I finally got home, Rachel was waiting. She took my bag like she always did and pointed toward the kitchen, where a bowl of carbonara sat steaming on the table. “You look exhausted, Daniel,” she said softly. “Eat. You need the energy.” It was her ritual. Whenever I pulled a late shift, she made sure there was a hot meal waiting. It was the kind of domestic grace that had kept me hooked for a decade. I sat down and stirred the pasta, the steam rising to meet my face, but I couldn’t bring myself to take a bite. Rachel didn’t notice. She was busy zipping up a suitcase. “Company’s sending me to Sedona for three days,” she said, her back to me. “Take care of yourself while I’m gone, okay?” I froze. I looked at her, my throat feeling like it was lined with glass. “Sedona?” In the post I’d seen earlier, the guy mentioned he’d been feeling down, so his “girl” had booked a three-day retreat in Arizona to help him clear his head. Rachel’s shoulders stiffened for a fraction of a second. She turned around, a bright, practiced smile plastered on her face. “Yeah. Just a boring retreat. I’ll be back before you know it.” I nodded slowly. I set the fork down. “Rachel, let’s get married. For real. This year.” A flash of something—was it pity?—crossed her eyes. She sat beside me and pinched my cheek, the way she might a child’s. “Patience, babe. Just a little longer. I’m looking at listings. We need the perfect spot first.” Just a little longer. It was always the same refrain. I thought about the guy’s posts. Rachel hadn’t just given him “security”; she’d bought him a sixty-thousand-dollar condo downtown as “pre-marital property” in his name only. A few months later, a brand new Audi appeared in his driveway. [Shoutout to my girl’s year-end bonus. Debt-free and driving in style,] the caption had read. Every memory of our life together started to reformat itself, like a corrupted hard drive. When I’d mentioned wanting a dog, Rachel had laughed and said we were too busy, that it wouldn’t be fair to the animal. Then I saw the picture of the Ragdoll kitten she’d bought for Joey. When I wanted to try that new Michelin-star place, she’d claimed she was buried in paperwork. The next day, she’d rented a suite of camera gear to help Joey shoot his “lifestyle” content. She didn’t lack time. She didn’t lack money. She just didn’t want to spend either of them on me. I pushed the bowl away and walked into the bedroom without a word. The next morning, Rachel kissed my forehead while I pretended to sleep. “Love you, Danny. See you soon.” The door clicked shut, the wheels of her suitcase rattling down the hallway. I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. My phone buzzed. The reply I’d waited for all night finally arrived. [I know she has a boyfriend,] Joey wrote. [You’re the high school sweetheart, right? The one she’s been with for ten years.] I sat up, my heart hammering against my ribs. Before I could type a response, he sent a photo. It was the two of them, fingers interlaced, cheeks pressed together, grinning like they’d just won the lottery. [Rachel says she’s been bored with you for years,] the text continued. [The only reason she hasn’t dumped you is she’s afraid you’ll spiral again. Something about your history with depression? She didn’t want your blood on her hands.] [Look, I didn’t know about you at first. But when she told me, I realized I could wait. I’m not looking for trouble. This arrangement works for all three of us, doesn’t it?] I gripped the phone so hard the edges dug into my palm. Every word felt like a physical blow, a heavy stone dropped into the pit of my stomach until I was nothing but bruised, hollowed-out meat. I went through the motions of the day. Shower, coffee, commute. At noon, a delivery driver arrived at my desk with a bag from my favorite deli. Rachel. She knew I’d forget to eat when I was stressed, so she ordered for me every single day. The note was the same as always: No onions, extra pickles. Eat up, I’m watching you! Love, R. She sent a “landed safely” text right after. I stared at the sandwich until the bread got soggy. I had no appetite. I walked down to the park and sat on a bench. A group of college students walked by, laughing, oblivious. I thought about the girl who had saved me. Rachel had been my hero when we were seventeen. When the bullies at school had put glue on my chair, she was the one who stood up for the entire period so I could have hers. When they’d spray-painted slurs on my locker, she’d given me her oversized hoodie to hide my shaking frame. When someone poured a tray of cafeteria food over my head, she’d been the one to swing first, landing herself in detention while I sat in the nurse’s office. I’d cried and asked her why she cared. She had cupped my face with hands that smelled like cheap perfume and pencil lead. “Daniel,” she had said, her eyes like a calm lake. “You aren’t what they say you are. Your mother’s mistakes aren’t yours to carry.” She’d looked at the faint, silver lines on my wrists—scars I’d made in the dark—and whispered, “Promise me you’ll never hurt yourself again. I’m here now.” Those words had been my anchor. My mother had been the “other woman” in a high-profile scandal that had left us pariahs in our small town. I was used to the whispers, the disgust. I was ready to let go of everything. But Rachel had been the light that caught me in freefall. I walked back to the office, ten years of memories churning in my gut. And then, the anchor snapped. [Rachel says she’s been bored with you for years.] The screech of tires hit my ears before the impact hit my body. I was on the ground before I realized I’d walked into the street. My head was ringing. Everything was white. My first instinct—my only instinct—was to call her. It went to voicemail. The driver was out of the car, frantic, checking my pulse, but I was in a cold, dark dream. The mechanical voice telling me the “user was busy” was the final shove into the abyss. I started texting Joey. I was manic, the words spilling out in a flood of grief. [What is she doing? Why isn’t she answering?] [How could you take her from me?] [Give her back. Just give her back!] [You’re a homewrecker. Do you have any shame at all?] I sobbed into the screen, my hot tears blurring the glass as I curled into a ball on the asphalt. Hours later, the phone rang. Rachel’s voice was sharp, vibrating with a cold, jagged anger I’d never heard before. “Daniel, enough! Why are you harassing Joey? Stop acting like a lunatic!” Rachel took the first flight back. But she didn’t come alone. Joey stood in my living room, looking exactly like his photos—young, soft-featured, and terrified. Rachel held his hand, standing in front of him in a defensive stance, guarding him from me. “Now that you know, there’s no point in lying,” she said. Her voice was flat. No guilt. No apology. She looked at him as if he were her true North. “I love Joey, Daniel. It’s that simple.” It was a haunting echo of high school. When people used to mock her for hanging around the “freak,” she’d admit she loved me just as boldly. Yeah, I like Daniel. If you have a problem with him, you have a problem with me. “But you said…” my voice was a raspy ghost of itself. “You said I was the only one. You said ‘forever’ every morning.” Those vows had been the bricks of my house. I thought I was living in a fortress; I didn’t realize it was a cardboard box in the rain. Joey let out a small, nervous laugh. “Dude, how can you be this naive?” Rachel’s lips curled into a faint, weary smile. “Daniel, I did love you. At the time. But what I feel for Joey… it’s real. I’m going to spend the rest of my life with him.” The tears came again, hot and stinging against the scrapes on my arms from the accident. I grabbed a glass from the coffee table and hurled it at them. “You’re disgusting! Get out! Both of you!” Joey shrieked and dove behind her. Rachel didn’t flinch. She just stared at me with a look of pure, unadulterated venom. “Yeah, we’re the ‘bad guys,’” she spat. “But are we really any worse than your mother? The woman who couldn’t stay out of married men’s beds? You’re her son, Daniel. Don’t act like you’re some saint. I love Joey because we have a connection. Your mother did it for a paycheck. So don’t you dare look down on us.” The room seemed to tilt. The roar in my ears was deafening. “Joey’s parents are decent people,” she continued, her words cutting like a serrated blade. “Not like yours. You’re broken, Daniel. You’re a mess, and you’ve always been a mess. You’re unstable. You’re a freak!” She led him out, slamming the door so hard the frames on the wall rattled. I sank to the floor. The sun went down, and the shadows stretched across the room like reaching fingers. I tried to stand up to find the light switch, but I tripped over the coffee table, landing hard on the shards of the broken glass. The pain in my palms was sharp and hot. I watched the blood bloom across my skin, but I didn’t move. The old Rachel… she used to say my mother’s sins weren’t mine. She used to say she’d be my shield. The girl who had once stood between me and the world was now the one holding the sword. I pulled my knees to my chest, trying to hide my wounds from the empty room. A few days later, Rachel came back. Alone. I woke up to the smell of lemon pledge and chicken soup. The apartment was spotless. A vase of fresh lilies sat on the dining table. Rachel was standing there, ladling soup into a bowl. She sat on the edge of the bed and blew on a spoonful, offering it to me. “Look at you,” she whispered, her voice thick with performative pity. “You can’t even function without me.” I turned my head away. She sighed and stroked my hair. “Daniel, stop. Your boss called me. He said you haven’t been in for three days. When I walked in, the place smelled like a brewery and old takeout. I talked to Joey. He’s going to stay at a hotel for a while. You just need to rest.” Her voice was so soft, but when she said Joey’s name, there was a spark of something—a lingering sweetness—she couldn’t hide. It was the same tone she’d used when she talked about me in college. I remembered how she’d take the train for six hours just to see me for twenty minutes between my exams because she didn’t want me to feel lonely. Everyone knew Rachel belonged to Daniel. I just didn’t realize how short “forever” was. “Daniel, I’m sorry about how it happened. Just… don’t be mean to Joey anymore. He’s been through enough.” She was begging me. Begging me not to hurt the boy she loved. I let out a hollow, bitter laugh. My phone buzzed on the nightstand. She checked it instantly. She gave me a quick, distracted pat on the shoulder and hurried out the door. I dragged myself out of bed and went to the window. Down in the parking lot, Joey—dressed in a designer jacket I’d probably paid for—jumped into her arms. They clung to each other like they were the only two people left on earth. I opened my phone and looked at the messages Joey had been sending me all week. She fell for me the second she saw me. She’d die for me. I’m a nice guy, Daniel. I’ll wait for you to get your head straight so you can break up with her peacefully. I don’t mind sharing her for a bit. I’m generous like that. He’d sent me screenshots of the bank transfers. Photos of them on vacation. A list of the gifts she’d bought him. Rachel loved with her whole heart; she just had a different heart now. A notification popped up. Today is your 10th Anniversary. Rachel wasn’t coming home for it. Joey had already told me that today was also their six-month anniversary. The irony was so thick I could taste it. I went into the bathroom and looked at the stranger in the mirror. I showered. I shaved. I put on a clean suit. I replied to my boss and my colleagues. Then, I started packing. By the time night fell, the apartment was a tomb. Joey sent one last video. It was a minute long. A hotel room. The sound of heavy breathing, of skin on skin, of Rachel whispering things to him she used to whisper to me. [You’re too fragile, man,] the text read. [I’m the one she wants. Stop being the pathetic ex. Take a hint.] I felt a wave of nausea so violent I nearly gagged. I blocked him. Rachel had been the sun in my world. I didn’t realize that when the sun goes out, it only takes a second for everything to freeze. I zipped my last suitcase and walked out the door without looking back. Two days later, Rachel returned to a silent home. She walked through the rooms, a strange, creeping dread settling in her bones. On the mirror in the entryway, there was a single Post-it note. [Ten years. I’m gifting them back to you.]

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I was wiping down the espresso machine behind the counter when a man walked up, a faint flush creeping up his neck, and asked for my number. I just stood there, the damp rag frozen in my hand, staring at him. Because the man standing in front of me was Wayne Croft. Technically speaking, we were bound by a massive, multi-million-dollar corporate marriage. Only, he hadn’t bothered to show up on our wedding day. After that, we’d indefinitely postponed signing the actual legal marriage certificate, leaving us as nothing more than strangers sharing a footnote in a press release. Just yesterday, he had called me out of the blue to tell me he had found the absolute love of his life and needed to end our arrangement. I had agreed instantly. Why would I care about severing a tie that existed only on paper? But now, less than twenty-four hours later, he was standing in my cafe, acting like a lovestruck teenager. What kind of twisted script was he playing at? 1 In the two years since our wedding, I hadn’t seen Wayne Croft once. Honestly, you couldn’t even call it a marriage. We had the lavish ceremony, the flowers, the society photographers, but we never signed the legal paperwork. He was a very busy man. He simply didn’t have the time. For the past two years, he had been stationed overseas, ruthlessly expanding Croft Enterprises’ global market share. But rumor had it he was flying back stateside this week. I’d been on edge ever since I heard. My life was finally peaceful, comfortable, and entirely my own. The absolute last thing I wanted was for him to drag me down to City Hall to make this farce legal. “Noelle, I heard Wayne is coming back. You need to pin him down and get that certificate signed, otherwise…” My mother called to nag me about it almost every single week. Before, I could use his geographical distance as a shield. This time, I could only offer a weak, noncommittal hum of agreement. The second I hung up on her, a string of unknown digits lit up my screen. I answered, bracing myself. “Hello? Who is this?” The voice on the other end hesitated, sounding slightly formal. “Is this Ms. Noelle Stratton?” It was a devastatingly good voice. Deep, resonant, the kind of voice that commanded boardrooms. “Speaking. What can I do for you?” “This is Wayne Croft.” My in-name-only husband? I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at the screen. It really was him. Two years without a single phone call, I had honestly forgotten what it felt like to interact with him. Wait. Why was he calling me now? Was he actually going to demand I go to City Hall with him? My mind raced, trying to formulate an airtight excuse to get out of it. Then, his cool, detached voice filtered through the speaker. “Ms. Stratton, I am currently back in the States. If you have the time…” My heart lodged in my throat. “…I would like you to meet with my assistant to discuss the terms of our separation. Name your price. I will do everything in my power to accommodate it.” “I don’t have the time to—” The words died on my tongue. I blinked. Wait. Did he just say separation? Oh, thank God. “Ms. Stratton, my assistant can unconditionally work around your schedule,” he pressed, clearly mistaking my shock for resistance. “I have time! I absolutely have time!” I practically chirped. “I just double-checked my calendar. How about tomorrow afternoon?” Wayne didn’t question my sudden enthusiasm, mostly because he seemed in an even bigger rush than I was. “If possible, I’d prefer this afternoon. Just give me an address, and I’ll send my team to you.” He really wanted out. But when I took a second to think about it, it didn’t make any sense. Wayne Croft was notorious for being married to his work. He didn’t have time for feelings, let alone a messy personal life. He had agreed to our marriage purely for the corporate synergy between our families’ companies. Back then, I had purposely submitted the most unflattering photo of myself to the matchmakers, and he had still agreed. The merger was currently running flawlessly. Why sever the tie now? My curiosity won out. “Mr. Croft, forgive me for asking, but why the sudden rush to separate?” Silence stretched over the line for a fraction of a second. When he finally spoke, that icy boardroom detachment had completely melted. “Because I’ve met her.” He let out a breath. “It was love at first sight.” A bizarre shiver ran down my spine. I honestly couldn’t imagine what poor, unfortunate girl had become the fixation of this ruthless workaholic. “Got it, got it. Just asking. No ulterior motives here,” I assured him quickly. “But Mr. Croft, what about the partnership between our families?” His tone snapped right back to strictly business. “You don’t need to worry about that. The corporate partnership will remain entirely unaffected.” Perfect. That meant my parents couldn’t use the company as an excuse to lecture me anymore. “Fantastic. Have your assistant contact me, Mr. Croft.” 2 “Ms. Stratton, here are the contracts. Please take your time to review them.” Wayne’s assistant was the picture of elite professionalism. I had my own lawyer look everything over, and once I got the green light, I signed on the dotted line. A profound, weightless relief washed over me. By the time I got back to my apartment, I was hugging the folder to my chest, unable to stop smiling. Say what you want about Wayne Croft, but the man was extraordinarily generous. Not only did he sign over the deed to the downtown skyline penthouse I was currently living in, but he threw in a beachfront estate as well. Fifty million in liquid cash. And two percent of Croft Enterprises’ voting shares, which meant my annual dividends were going to be astronomical. I was in the middle of a private celebratory dance when my mother called again. “Noelle, I was talking to Mrs. Chen, and she said her husband saw Wayne at a tech summit yesterday. He’s back in the country early. Has he come home yet?” I froze, guilt pooling in my stomach. I absolutely could not tell her that I had just signed away my marriage to him without even looking him in the eye. “Uh, no. Not yet.” “Well, call him! Ask him how his flight was. Or better yet, go to his office. You two haven’t seen each other in years, you can’t afford to let—” Always the same song. Pin him down. Hold onto him. As if my very existence would cease to have meaning if I wasn’t attached to Wayne Croft. It was exhausting. “Right, right, I know. I’ve got to go, Mom. We’ll talk later.” I hung up, the joy instantly draining out of me. Growing up, I was always the smart one. My grades were flawless. But my parents poured every ounce of their ambition, their resources, and their pride into my older brother. They forced me into an art degree, refusing to let me study finance. Even when I built something successful on my own, they chalked it up to luck. Meanwhile, my brother could successfully tie his shoes and they’d throw a parade to celebrate his genius. I never understood it. Where was I lacking? In the end, they decided my only real value was acting as a pretty bargaining chip for a corporate merger. I had fought back, but it was like screaming into a void. That was the era of my life where I learned a hard truth: some people are simply incapable of changing. They didn’t abuse me; they provided for me. They just fundamentally, inherently believed a daughter was worth less than a son. And that realization was a splinter permanently lodged in my heart. I didn’t hate them enough to cut them off entirely, but I wasn’t going to let them control me anymore, either. I had treated the marriage to Wayne as a final repayment for raising me. Once I walked down that aisle, my debt was cleared. I wouldn’t be their pawn ever again. When I first married him, I had naive plans of setting ground rules, maybe making the best of a bad situation. But he was perpetually unreachable. Which turned out to be a blessing. It saved me the emotional labor. And now, he had given me a clean break and enough money to secure my freedom forever. Wayne Croft, you truly are a saint. 3 After graduating, I used my own savings to open a cafe. I was good at baking, and I loved experimenting. The artisan coffees and pastries I developed were constantly selling out. By year two, my shop had become one of the city’s trendiest spots. At nine-thirty in the morning, I rode my bicycle up to the back entrance. It was early, so the rush hadn’t started yet. A few regulars waved as I walked in. I ducked straight into the kitchen to test a new cake recipe. Gia, one of my shift leads, slid up next to me, her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Boss, did you see that Bentley parked out front?” I pulled on my disposable gloves, glancing toward the dining room. “What Bentley?” “It’s been idling there since I unlocked the doors. The guy in the driver’s seat has come in to buy coffee twice already.” That was odd. Usually, people got their caffeine and left. “I thought it was just the driver,” Gia continued, practically vibrating with excitement. “But when you pulled up on your bike, the tinted window in the back rolled down.” She forgot to whisper, her voice squeaking upward. “Oh my god. Total smoke show.” “A smoke show?” “Like, high-level corporate god. The guy buying the coffee is definitely his chauffeur.” Gia gripped my arm. “The face, the nose, the eyes, a jawline that could legitimately cut glass… Ahhh, I’m dying!” I snapped a hairnet over my head, unimpressed. “Wow. Thrilling.” Gia clicked her tongue. “You’re immune because guys hit on you all day long, but I’m not. I officially declare Bentley Guy the hottest man of the month.” Gia lived for two things: pastries and men. We got a lot of influencers and models in the shop, and she meticulously ranked them. For her to declare a winner before noon was rare. “Oh my god, he’s coming in.” I peaked out from the kitchen, mildly curious. Toby, the barista on register, saw Gia staring and stepped aside with an amused smirk. “Good morning, sir! What can we get started for you?” Gia asked, beaming like a lottery winner. The man in the tailored suit didn’t look at the menu. He looked directly at the kitchen door. “I’m looking for her.” Gia blinked, confused. “I’m sorry, who?” “The woman you were just talking to in the back.” Realization dawned on Gia’s face. “One moment, please.” She ducked into the back, grabbing my arm and yanking me out from where I had crouched behind the prep table. “Why are you hiding? Confess right now. Is he one of your stalkers?” I felt like I had been struck by lightning. It was Wayne Croft. Standing in the middle of my cafe. Had he waited outside all morning just to ambush me? A wave of panic hit me. Did he regret the settlement? Was he here to demand the fifty million back? No way, the ink was dry! “Seriously, if you knew a guy who looked like this, why didn’t you tell me…” Gia was still rambling. “I don’t know him. We’re not close,” I hissed, pushing her aside. I stepped out to the counter, keeping my guard up. “Can I help you?” The shop was getting crowded. Surely, a CEO of his caliber wouldn’t make a scene demanding his money back in front of a dozen college students, right? Wayne stared at me for two solid seconds. Then, he pulled out his phone, the tips of his ears turning a bright, violent shade of pink. “I… I would like to ask for your number.” I just stared at him. Is he insane? Beside me, Gia was practically vibrating, shooting me wide-eyed looks that clearly said, Give it to him, you idiot! It took my brain three full seconds to process what was happening. He didn’t know who I was. He had no idea I was the wife he had abandoned for two years and divorced yesterday. He had just seen me riding my bike and… experienced love at first sight. The exact love at first sight he had used as an excuse to divorce me. And now, he was trying to pick me up. You literally couldn’t script this. “Is this… making you uncomfortable? Perhaps I’m being too forward,” Wayne stammered, his cheeks darkening. “It’s very forward. Which is why I’m not giving you my number,” I said flatly. He looked genuinely pained. “I apologize.” But he didn’t move toward the door. “Then… I’ll just order,” he said quietly. “An Americano. For here.” Gia snapped out of her trance and rang him up. I frowned, retreating to the kitchen. Was he planning to just camp out in my lobby? 4 He absolutely camped out. He ordered his coffee, had his chauffeur bring in a stack of leather-bound dossiers, and turned a corner table into his personal C-suite. I couldn’t exactly kick a paying customer out, so I spent the entire shift hiding in the back room. By mid-afternoon, the cafe was packed, and seating was scarce. I flagged Gia down and told her to go casually suggest to Wayne that he might be more comfortable elsewhere. She returned five minutes later, shaking her head. “Bentley Guy just bought three more coffees, a dozen pastries, and said he wants to rent out the private room upstairs for the next two weeks. Says he’s setting up a remote office.” I glared at her. “Please tell me you quoted him an extortionate rate.” Gia sighed. “I threw out a ridiculous number. A thousand dollars a day. Do you know what he countered with?” I had a very bad feeling about this. “Six thousand, six hundred and sixty-six dollars a day. Pastries and coffee billed separately.” Wayne Croft. Still tossing money around like it was confetti. As much as I wanted to accept that kind of absurd cash, I couldn’t run a business like that. I untied my apron and sighed. “I’ll deal with him.” He must have anticipated I’d come out eventually. As I approached the table, he took a delicate bite of a lemon tart. “This is exceptional. The coffee is perfect, too.” “I am not interested in you. Stop wasting your time on me.” I didn’t bother with pleasantries. Wayne didn’t flinch. “I gathered that. But I have to at least try.” The sheer audacity of the man. I was momentarily speechless. He took advantage of my silence. “I didn’t ask to rent the room just to harass you. I genuinely need the space. The coffee, the food, the atmosphere—it’s exactly what I need right now. I want to work from here.” He paused. “If you feel my offer wasn’t high enough, I can double it.” Good lord. Does he think money grows on trees? It was obvious he wasn’t going to give up easily. I briefly debated just dropping the bomb on him. Hey, I’m the ex-wife you dumped yesterday. But I quickly scrapped the idea. Knowing him, the guilt would just make him pursue me harder as some twisted form of compensation. My eyes narrowed as a better idea formed. “You don’t need to pay thousands. Standard rates apply,” I said coldly. “Two hundred dollars a day for the private room. Food and drink are extra. Deal?” Wayne let out a breath he’d been holding. “Deal.” 5 That night, my mother called again. “Did Wayne go home? Did you go to his office?” Wayne, Wayne, Wayne. It was always about him. Sometimes I wondered if she had given birth to him instead of me. Could she really not ask about my day for five seconds before bringing him up? I gave her a few clipped, dismissive answers and hung up. Given how frantic she was acting, I definitely couldn’t tell her about the divorce yet. The fallout would be nuclear. I’d have to drip-feed them the truth eventually. I crawled under my duvet, exhausted. Every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was Wayne’s earnest face staring at me over an Americano. He was infuriating. But it was fine. By tomorrow, I’d make sure he gave up for good.

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Tomorrow was supposed to be the day I married Hudson. But instead of final fittings or rehearsing vows, my world started glitching. Strange, translucent lines of text—scrolling “bullet comments”—began drifting across my vision like a live social media feed only I could see. The comments called me the “Venomous Second Lead.” They said Hudson was so desperate to escape our marriage that he’d literally turned into a dog. Even worse, they mentioned that in exactly one week, I’d be dead, having fallen from the roof of a skyscraper. I was still reeling, staring at the empty air, when my parents burst into my room. Their faces were pale, their expressions twisted with a mix of confusion and disgust. They told me Hudson was gone. Missing. In his place, they found a dog in his bedroom. They were holding it now. I looked down at the Samoyed in my father’s arms. The dog looked back at me, its eyes narrowed in a look of pure, unadulterated loathing. In that instant, it clicked. The comments were right. This wasn’t just a pet. This was Hudson. Without a word, I lunged forward, snatched the dog from my father’s startled grip, and bolted for the door. “Paige! Where are you going?” my mother shrieked behind me. I didn’t look back. I just threw my voice over my shoulder as I reached the driveway. “To the vet. This dog needs to be fixed. Immediately.” The creature in my arms visibly recoiled, a pathetic whimper escaping its throat. My vision flared with a fresh wave of comments. The digital crowd was losing its mind, screaming about whether I was actually going to “neuter the male lead.” … 1 The moment I peeled out of the driveway with the dog, my vision became a chaotic mess of scrolling text. [??? Is she actually going to snip him???] [The villainess has finally lost it. How does she even have the nerve?] [RIP Hudson’s manhood. This is going south fast!] [Chill, she’s just bluffing. She’s obsessed with him. She’d never actually go through with it.] [Exactly. She’s ‘ride or die’ for Hudson. She’ll probably end up pampering the dog because it belongs to his family.] I glanced at the comments and let out a sharp, cold laugh. I slammed my foot onto the gas, the engine roaring in response. In the passenger seat, the Samoyed—Hudson—was a mess. His paws were dug deep into the leather upholstery, his white fur standing on end as we drifted around a sharp corner. He was terrified. Good. [Poor Hudson! Look at him shaking!] [My heart is breaking for him! He’s a mess!] [But honestly, look at how cute he is when he’s scared? Paige’s heart has to be melting right now.] [Are you guys blind? This isn’t ‘cute’ time! He’s about to lose his ability to produce heirs!] [Don’t worry, he’s the protagonist. He’s got plot armor. Something will stop her!] I kept one hand on the wheel and reached over with the other to pat his head. Hudson snapped. He whipped his head around, baring his teeth at my hand in a snarl of pure aggression. He was ready to tear my skin off. I gave him a wicked, sideways grin. “Go ahead. Bite me. Give me a reason to just skip the surgery and go straight to euthanasia.” His teeth chattered for a second, then he slowly pulled his lips back over them. He slumped into the seat, defeated. The feed went wild again: [Damn, she’s cold. Euthanasia?!] [To be fair, Hudson’s a coward. He couldn’t even man up and call off the wedding, so he turned into a dog and left her to die in the original plot. Total trash move.] [Hey! It’s the plot! He’s a victim of fate!] [Victim? A real man says ‘I don’t love you.’ He doesn’t pull a disappearing act and leave his fiancée to jump off a building!] [Technically he’s not a man right now. He’s a male dog. LOL.] By the time the comments peaked, I was pulling into the parking lot of ‘Everheart Specialty Vet.’ The moment Hudson saw the sign with the little blue cross, he went ballistic. He scrambled up, front paws scratching frantically against the glass of the passenger window. “Awoo! Awoo-woo!” He was howling for help. But tonight, help wasn’t coming. He tried the door handle with his paws, desperate and clumsy. I leaned in close to his ear, my voice a silky, cruel whisper. “Don’t fight it, babe. Think of it as a gift. I’m just being a responsible new owner.” His mouth fell open, his eyes wide with a very human sense of despair. The screen in my head was a blur: [Oh my god, poor baby!] [But wait… he IS a dog right now. Neutering a dog is like… basic pet care…] [Shut up! That’s the Male Lead! He’s going to turn back eventually!] [Exactly! If she snips the dog, what happens to the man? How is he supposed to have his ‘steamy nights’ with the True Heroine later?!] [Wait for it… the original story says the True Heroine is his guardian angel. She always shows up when he’s in trouble!] [A ‘Beauty Saves the Beast’ moment! I’m here for it! He’ll fall so much harder for her after this.] [And the villainess will be one step closer to her rooftop exit! Hahaha!] I stared at that last comment, a cold lump forming in my chest. Fine. If I’m destined to fall off a building, I’m making sure your “Golden Boy” falls with me—starting with his dignity. Let’s see how he enjoys his “happily ever after” without his favorite equipment. I hopped out of the car, hauled Hudson out by his collar, and marched into the clinic. 2 The second we hit the lobby, I tried to set him down, but he turned into a thrashing blur of white fur and claws. “Awoooo!!!” [The agony in that voice… I’m literally crying.] [Where is the Heroine?! If she doesn’t show up in thirty seconds, it’s over!] I had to pin him against my chest, shouting for a technician. Hudson didn’t hesitate; he lunged for my wrist, his teeth sinking into my skin. I didn’t flinch. I grabbed his head, forcing him to look me in the eye. My voice was a low, dangerous growl. “Bite me one more time, and I’ll tell the surgeon to take an extra two inches off.” He froze. His jaws went slack. [The ‘extra two inches’ comment, I’m dying! I feel bad but that’s hilarious.] [IT IS NOT FUNNY!] The girl at the front desk, a teenager with a messy ponytail, didn’t even look up from her computer. “Sorry, we’re closing. Come back tomorrow at eight.” “I need an emergency neuter. Now.” She sighed, finally looking up. “Look, it’s 10 PM. The doctor is literally walking out the—” “I’ll pay extra.” “How much extra?” I pulled out my phone and scanned the QR code on her desk. Ping. Transaction successful: $15,000. The girl’s jaw dropped so far I thought it might hit the linoleum. I gave her a sharp, predatory smile. “Fifteen thousand dollars for a standard neuter. But I want it done now. Swiftly. I want him completely… decommissioned.” The girl practically vaulted over the counter. “Ma’am, for fifteen grand, I’ll sharpen the scalpel myself. One second!” Hudson looked like he was about to faint. The receptionist snatched him from my arms and sprinted toward the back, screaming at the top of her lungs, “Dr. Miller! Stop! Don’t leave! We’ve got a fifteen-thousand-dollar balls-ectomy! We’re rich!” The comments were stunned: [She’s for real…] [She dropped fifteen grand just to spite him. Honestly? Iconic.] [The Villainess is giving ‘Unhinged Queen’ energy and I’m kind of obsessed.] [Are you people crazy? Hudson is about to be castrated! My poor baby!] [Heroine! Where are you?! Your future happiness is on the line!] Dr. Miller, who had been halfway out the back door, didn’t hesitate for a single second. For fifteen thousand dollars, ethics and office hours were merely suggestions. Within minutes, he was back in his scrubs, snapping on latex gloves. “Jenny, prep the anesthesia and the tray.” As Hudson was hoisted onto the cold stainless steel of the operating table, his eyes were fixed on me. They were full of disbelief. He probably never thought I—Paige—would do this. In his mind, my devotion was supposed to be hardcoded into my DNA. That’s why he’d let his family bring him to me after he transformed. He hated our arranged marriage, hated that I was “forced” upon him, but he knew I loved him more than life itself. He figured he’d hide out as a pet, let me wait on him hand and foot, and watch me crumble in grief over his “disappearance.” He wanted a front-row seat to my misery. Instead, he got a front-row seat to his own surgery. The receptionist, Jenny, was moving with lightning speed, laying out the tools. Forceps, scalpels, sutures, antiseptic. The sight of the blade triggered a primal fear in Hudson. He tried to bolt, his paws slipping on the steel table. He let out a piercing, soul-shattering howl. Jenny pinned him down with practiced ease. Then, Dr. Miller stepped forward with the sedative. Hudson’s eyes stayed locked on mine, wide with betrayal, until the drug took hold and his head finally slumped over. Just as the doctor raised the scalpel… “STOP!” The front door slammed open with a violent crash. [SHE’S HERE! THE QUEEN IS HERE!] [Hudson is saved! I knew she wouldn’t let him down!] I turned around, my eyes narrowing. It was my sister. Daisy. The “True Daughter” who had been brought back to our family only six months ago. 3 The comments went into a frenzy: [The Heroine has arrived! I knew the universe wouldn’t let him be snipped!] [Daisy is the one Hudson is destined for. Paige is just a stepping stone.] Daisy was panting, sweat beading on her forehead. She must have sprinted from the house. Her eyes bypassed me entirely, landing on the limp white dog on the table. Her eyes welled with tears instantly. “Paige, stop! You can’t do this!” [Daisy’s heart is breaking. That’s her future husband’s legacy on that table!] [Move, Paige! Get out of the way!] When I didn’t move, Daisy rushed over and grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “Paige, this is Hudson’s dog! Hudson is missing! If he comes back and finds out you mutilated his favorite pet, how are you going to explain yourself? He’ll never forgive you!” I looked at Daisy’s tear-streaked face and felt a wave of cold amusement. My “True Daughter” sister. Since she’d arrived, she’d taken everything. My room, my jewelry, my place in the company. I just hadn’t realized she was planning on taking my fiancé, too—even in dog form. I shook her hand off. “Doctor, proceed.” Dr. Miller looked between us, sweating. “Look, if this is a family dispute…” “Do it,” I snapped. “I’ll double the fee.” “No!” Daisy shrieked, throwing herself over the dog’s body like a shield. “This is animal cruelty! I’ll call the police!” I let out a dry, jagged laugh. “Daisy, this is my fiancé’s dog. Making a medical decision for a pet isn’t a crime. It’s called being a responsible owner.” Daisy glared at me, her voice trembling. “You’re only doing this because he left you at the altar. You’re taking your petty anger out on a helpless animal!” [Daisy’s right! Paige is just a bitter, rejected woman!] [With Daisy there, the villainess won’t touch a hair on his head!] I stepped closer to Daisy, looming over her. “Hudson humiliated our family. He made me a laughingstock. And you’re telling me I can’t even touch his dog?” I leaned in, my voice a whisper. “Or is it that you know exactly who this dog is?” Daisy’s pupils shrunk. She flinched. [Did she catch on?] [No way. In the original book, she never finds out until the very end!] I straightened up, watching the guilt flash across her face. The comments were right—my sweet little sister knew everything. “Doctor,” I said, my voice flat. “Continue.” “No! Please!” Daisy started sobbing, grabbing my hand. “Paige, I’m begging you. Don’t do it. Please?” “He’s Hudson’s… he’s so special to him!” She bit her lip, clearly dying to tell me the truth but bound by the ‘rules’ of the story. [Ugh, my heart. Daisy is literally begging for his life.] [Paige is a monster. Look at her crying!] I looked at Daisy’s miserable face and gave a slow, wicked nod. “Fine.” Daisy’s eyes lit up. “Really?” I smiled. “We don’t have to neuter him. Let’s just change the procedure.” “What procedure?” Daisy asked, her voice cautious. I turned to Dr. Miller. “Doctor, do you perform vocal cord clips? I’m tired of hearing this dog howl. I want him silent.” The feed exploded: [PAIGE, YOU ARE THE DEVIL!] [A mute dog?! That’s even worse than being a eunuch!] [Daisy, do something! Your man is about to get his throat slit!] Daisy turned white. I watched her face, feeling a sick sense of satisfaction. Hudson, Daisy… you thought you could hide behind a curse to avoid me? Think again. I’ll break you both. Dr. Miller swallowed hard, his hand shaking as he held the scalpel. He’d clearly never dealt with a client this unhinged. Daisy dropped to her knees, clutching the hem of my coat. “Paige, I’m begging you. Just let him go. Please.” [Kneeling for her man… I’m sobbing!] [Paige, that’s enough! She’s on the floor!] I looked down at her, and suddenly, a new idea struck me. A truly evil, wonderful idea. 4 I pulled out my phone. Without breaking eye contact with Daisy, I tapped a few buttons. Ping. Daisy’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, looking confused. Transaction received: $200,000. [Wait, what?] [Is she trying to buy her off? Daisy can’t be bought!] I squatted down so I was eye-level with her. “Is that enough for you to step aside?” Daisy looked at the screen, then back at me, her expression one of insulted pride. “Do you think I’m that shallow? You think money matters more to me than Hudson—I mean, the dog?” [Yes! Tell her, Daisy! Your love is priceless!] [Look at that resolve! She’s a saint!] I smiled and tapped my screen again. Ping. Transaction received: $200,000. “Priceless?” I whispered. “Nothing is priceless. It just has a market value.” [Daisy, don’t look at the phone!] [It’s a trap! Don’t let her corrupt you!] Daisy bit her lip. Her voice lost its edge. “Paige… money can’t buy loyalty…” I watched her closely. A thought occurred to me. Hudson was a rich kid, sure, but he was also a stingy bastard. He probably hadn’t given Daisy a dime since she’d arrived. Daisy grew up in the middle of nowhere. She’d spent her life counting pennies. Being the “True Daughter” meant she had the name, but our parents were still keeping her on a tight allowance to “teach her the value of work.” I leaned in closer. “Tell me, Daisy. Since you and Hudson started your little… secret friendship… has he ever bought you anything? A car? A house? Has he even sent you a Venmo for coffee?” Daisy’s face turned a deep, shameful red. “No.” “Not a single dollar?” She shook her head. She wanted to lie, but the truth was written all over her face. The comments shifted: [Wait… he hasn’t given her anything? Not even a gift?] [Okay, that’s actually kind of a red flag.] I let out a harsh laugh. “He’s engaged to me, screwing around with you, and he hasn’t even paid for your Uber? What a joke.” I stood up and did a final tap on my phone. Ping. Transaction received: $1,000,000. Daisy gasped. It was a sharp, audible sound that filled the quiet clinic. I patted her shoulder, my voice dripping with honey. “Sweetie, you’ve been eating crumbs. Hudson is a dead end. Once this is over, I’ll take you out. I know a place downtown with the best drinks and even better-looking men. Real men. Not dogs.” [Daisy, no! She’s poisoning your soul!] [She’s wavering! I can see it in her eyes!] [Their love can survive this! It has to!] Daisy looked at the million-dollar balance on her phone. Then she looked at the unconscious Samoyed on the table. Her eyes flicked back and forth, a war raging in her head. Then, she took a deep breath. Her voice was suddenly very, very steady. “Dr. Miller? Please continue.” The comments went silent for a full three seconds. [Daisy, WHAT?!] [She sold him out for a million bucks?!] [Where is the ‘eternal love’?! Where is the loyalty?!] I stood there, stunned. Daisy didn’t even look at me. She was too busy scrolling through her bank app, a tiny, blissful smile playing on her lips. She looked like she’d just won the lottery. “Doctor,” she urged, her voice impatient. “Let’s get on with it. Make it quick. Snip-snip.” Before I could even process her sudden heel-turn, Hudson’s eyes fluttered open. The anesthesia hadn’t fully knocked him out yet. He gropped for Daisy with a faint “awoo,” looking for comfort. But when he heard her words—the “snip-snip”—his pupils dilated with pure horror. Thud. His head hit the table. He’d passed out from pure shock. “You heard the lady, Doctor,” I said, feeling better than I had in years. “Proceed.” Daisy didn’t even look up. She was too busy checking her reflection in her phone screen, already picking out which designer bag she was going to buy first. Hudson was going to wake up a very different man.

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