1 During the seventh month of my pregnancy, I discovered that Keanu had acquired a close female confidante. They shared everything. Their chemistry was effortless, an unspoken rhythm that seemed to bridge their every gap. Every single day, Keanu bought two bouquets of flowers, one for me, and one for her. Yet, he never crossed the line. That was until she sent him a message: If you had met me first, would you have married me? Keanu never replied. But he stood on our balcony and smoked through the entire night. … Today, Keanu was entirely somewhere else. Several times he opened his mouth as if to say something, only to swallow his words and look away. In the end, I was the one who broke the silence. “Is something wrong?” Keanu let out a heavy sigh. “I have to go on a business trip to Oakport. I should be back tomorrow. But you can’t be left alone right now. Forget it, I’ll have someone else cover it.” As he spoke, I kept my eyes on him, watching the earnest, deeply concerned expression on his face. He met my gaze openly, without a single hint of evasion. “What is it, Vivi?” he asked, looking genuinely puzzled. I shook my head slowly. “Nothing.” Then I said, “You should go.” “But what about you?” “I’ll have my mother come over and stay with me.” Ever since I became pregnant, Keanu had been incredibly attentive. Especially as my belly grew larger, he hated the idea of leaving me alone. He had canceled countless business dinners and social events just to stay home and care for me. “What if something happens and there’s no one around?” he used to say. “I’ll be worrying the entire time anyway. I might as well stay.” Even on the rare occasions he absolutely had to step out, he would wait until my mother arrived, repeating a thousand instructions to make sure I was looked after. My mother would always laugh. “She is my own daughter, Keanu. Do you really think I’d neglect her?” But today, he only hesitated for a mere two seconds before nodding. “Alright. Take care of yourself. I’ll be back as fast as I can. Call me if anything comes up.” He left in a hurry. He packed only a single change of clothes before rushing out the door. I sat on the sofa, remaining completely still. I even managed to wave and offer a gentle smile when he turned back to look at me one last time before closing the door. When the lock clicked, I still did not move. But my spine, which had been held perfectly straight and rigid, finally collapsed. Keanu was acting strange. Everything about him today was off. Yet I did not say a single extra word, nor did I ask a single question. Because I already knew exactly where he was going, and who he was going to see. 2 In the beginning, I did not know the woman’s name. I only knew her last name was Xu, and Keanu referred to her as Valerie. I met her for the first time a year ago, back when I was not yet pregnant. I was waiting for Keanu in a newly opened café right beneath his office building. I had not told him I was coming, planning to call him once lunchtime rolled around. But he suddenly walked in. The woman behind the counter, who had been leaning lazily against the register, immediately straightened up. Keanu offered her a brief nod. She smiled and flashed him a subtle OK gesture. It was a silent, effortless understanding. I have always believed that unspoken chemistry between a man and a woman is a terrifying thing. It easily tricks both parties into believing they are destined for one another. But at the time, that unsettling thought only flickered through my mind for a second, and I brushed it aside. When Keanu finally noticed me, he was genuinely startled. He hurried over, asking what I was doing there. “Waiting to have lunch with you,” I said. “Why didn’t you call me?” “I didn’t want to disrupt your work,” I replied, looking at him. “Why did you come down?” He rubbed the bridge of his nose with a weary sigh. “Work has been incredibly frustrating. I needed to get out for a walk and grab a coffee. They make excellent butter cookies here, you should try some.” He raised his hand slightly. “Valerie, another order of cookies, please.” Meeting the woman’s curious gaze, he offered a warm, proud smile. “This is my wife, Vivian.” That day, they were both entirely natural. Keanu introduced me without a trace of guilt. Valerie greeted me warmly and even took our order off the bill. Keanu mentioned that their coffee was exceptionally authentic, so his company had started ordering all their afternoon tea catering from her shop. That was how they became familiar. Back then, I truly believed they were just a simple shop owner and a regular customer. I did not know that the delicious cookies she served us were actually a private batch, never sold to the public. And I certainly did not know that Valerie would eventually send Keanu a message, asking him: If you had met me first, would you have married me? 3 Keanu sent me a text at ten o’clock that evening. He said he had just finished his meetings and had checked into his hotel. He claimed he was exhausted, so we would skip our usual evening video call. He reminded me to take care of myself and to call him if anything happened. I replied to each message patiently, telling him not to worry and that I was perfectly fine. Then, I dialed the number for the café downstairs. “Is Valerie around? I was hoping to speak with her,” I asked the girl who answered. The waitress was young and naive. Hearing my familiar tone, she assumed I was a close friend. “Oh, she’s out! She left earlier this afternoon. Today is actually her birthday, so she’s probably out on a romantic date with her boyfriend. She left holding a massive bouquet of red roses, it was so sweet!” I thanked her, ordered a take-out coffee to end the call, and hung up. This city is vast. Trying to find two people in the dark should have been impossible. But Keanu had bought me a smart tracking watch a few months ago. Before he left the house today, I had quietly slipped it into the side pocket of his laptop bag. He had bought it for me during my fourth month of pregnancy. My morning sickness had been exceptionally severe. By the fourth month, my weight was still dropping instead of increasing. I did not realize I had developed severe anemia, nor did I expect to faint in the middle of a crowded shopping mall due to the stuffy air. Keanu had been absolutely terrified. His hands were still trembling when I woke up in the hospital room. The watch was meant to monitor my heart rate and track my location in real-time in case of another emergency. It was a luxury model, which meant its GPS positioning was incredibly precise. Just like now, the signal showed it had been stationary on the twelfth floor of a luxury hotel for over three hours. I did not pack my bags and rush over in the middle of the night. I was only twenty-three days away from my due date. In the end, I still cared about my own safety and the life of my child. I threw away the coffee, drank a warm glass of milk, and lay down on our soft bed, listening to the soothing hum of white noise. Yet, sleep refused to come. My mind kept drifting back to that night a little over a month ago. That was the very first time I had ever pried into Keanu’s phone. He had been so incredibly restless lately. He sliced his finger while peeling an apple for me. He shattered a mug while pouring water. Finally, with a dark, suffocating expression, he had kicked a kitchen chair across the room. I had screamed in fright. He immediately apologized, claiming he was just stressed about a difficult project at work, swearing he had not meant to scare me. But when I woke up in the middle of the night, the bed beside me was cold and empty. Keanu was standing on the balcony, smoking one cigarette after another in the dark. With a heart that felt like it was already flatlining, I unlocked his phone. The screen was still open to his messages. The contact, saved simply as ‘V,’ had sent a message earlier that afternoon. If you had met me first, would you have married me? Keanu had not replied. He had not typed a single word in response. But that night, my heart died right there in the glow of his screen. 4 I arrived at the hotel lobby at six in the morning, carrying our marriage certificate and household registration documents. I laid them neatly on the front desk. “Keanu is my husband. I need to know which room he is registered in. If you cannot disclose this to me, I will call the police immediately.” I did not have the energy to argue or plead. I was tired. A deep, bone-weary exhaustion had settled into my soul. The receptionist froze, her expression shifting from confusion to hesitation, and finally to deep, silent pity. “Please wait a moment, ma’am. I will look it up for you right away.” She quickly gave me the room number and even asked if I needed someone to accompany me upstairs. I offered her a polite, faint smile and shook my head. Clutching my swollen belly, I stepped into the elevator. Keanu did not make me wait long. I had only been standing in the quiet hallway for about forty minutes when the door swung open. Keanu stood in the doorway, his hand still resting on the handle. Behind him, a pair of slender arms wrapped gently around his waist. “Keanu, thank you for last night. I will remember this for the rest of my…” She never finished her sentence. Keanu violently threw her arms off him, his entire body stiffening in panic. He had spotted me. He took a frantic step forward. But my gaze drifted past him, looking into the room. Valerie had stumbled back onto the carpet. Her bright red silk slip dress had ridden up, exposing her bare legs. She was staring at Keanu’s back, her eyes filled with a mixture of profound sorrow and hurt. “Vivi,” Keanu’s voice trembled violently as he called my name. So did mine. The hands I held behind my back were shaking uncontrollably. I had thought I was mentally prepared. I had thought I could face this with absolute coldness. But now that the moment was here, I realized I could barely keep myself upright. “Where is the car?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “In the underground parking lot.” “Let’s go.” I leaned heavily against the wallpapered wall, turning toward the elevators. Keanu reached out, trying to support me. “Don’t touch me!” I hissed, a low, fierce warning. His hand froze in mid-air, trembling, before he slowly drew it back. He followed me at a cautious distance, his eyes locked on my every step. That was when Valerie came rushing out into the hallway. “Mrs. [Vivian], you don’t need to act like this! There was nothing sordid between Keanu and me!” Her tone was remarkably calm, her face filled with stubborn pride. The moment the words left her mouth, I turned and delivered a sharp slap across Keanu’s face. The sound cracked through the quiet hallway. “Ah!” Valerie let out a horrified gasp. “How dare you hit him?!” She lunged forward, her hands reaching out in distress, trying to touch the dark red mark blooming on Keanu’s cheek. Keanu flinched away, avoiding her touch entirely. He looked at me, his eyes pleading. “Vivi, please. Let’s just go home.” Valerie clenched her fists, glaring at me with raw hostility. “Mrs. [Vivian], if you have an issue, take it out on me! Why are you hitting Keanu?!” “Be quiet,” Keanu muttered. Valerie stared at him in utter disbelief. “I am trying to help you!” “I said, shut up!” Keanu snapped, his voice sharp with desperation. He did not offer Valerie a single glance. His eyes remained fixed entirely on me as he pleaded once more. “Vivi, please. Let’s go home.” 5 “Vivi, I can explain. “Yesterday was Valerie’s birthday. She doesn’t have any close friends in the city, and she just wanted some company. “I only stayed to help her celebrate. Absolutely nothing happened between us. “I was wrong to lie to you, and I am so sorry. “I was just terrified that you would get upset and overthink things. “I made a mistake. If it bothers you, I will never see her again. “She really is just a friend.” … “Vivi, please say something to me. “Don’t do this. You’re terrifying me.” … Ever since we returned to the apartment, Keanu had not stopped talking. He offered endless explanations, apologies, and self-reproach. I wanted to speak. But my throat felt as though it were packed with dry cotton, choking back every single syllable. I did not know where to begin. I did not know what there was left to say. In the end, I only managed to whisper a few quiet words. “Keanu, let’s get a divorce.” The words made Keanu flinch as if he had been struck. He clenched his fists tightly, closing his eyes to suppress a sudden wave of frantic anger. When he opened them, his voice was tight. “Nothing happened between us, Vivi. We drank some wine and we talked. That was it. Please, don’t do this. I know you’re angry, and I know I messed up. I’ll accept any punishment you want. But you have to believe me, I did not betray you.” What did betrayal even mean to him? “You held her, didn’t you? You probably kissed her too. You smell like her perfume. And right here…” I pointed to his bottom lip. “A bite mark.” Keanu froze, his lips pressing into a hard, defensive line. I looked at him, feeling a profound, echoing despair. “How much further did you need to go, Keanu? Did I need to catch you in the act? You stayed in a hotel room with her for an entire night. How do you expect me to believe you? How can I ever trust you again?” Keanu’s head fell forward. He dropped to his knees in front of me, his hands hovering near my lap, wanting to hold me but not daring to make contact. “Vivi, I was stupid. I lost my mind for a moment. But I swear, we didn’t go any further than that. I beg you, think of our years together. Think of the baby we are about to have. Just give me one more chance.” How utterly tragic. He knew exactly how many years we had spent building this life. He knew our child was about to be born. Yet he still chose to do what he did. And now, he expected me to use those very things as a reason to forgive him. The weight of every suffocating memory, every silent doubt, came crashing down on me all at once. I looked around our beautiful apartment, my eyes finally resting on my swollen stomach. Tears began to spill over, hot and uncontrollable. A low, wounded sob escaped my throat, sounding like a trapped animal. Keanu panicked, reaching out to shield me. “Vivi, Vivi, what’s wrong? What are you looking for? Tell me, I’ll get it for you!” His voice was the spark that finally lit the fuse. I broke down completely, sobbing hysterically. “I want a divorce! I just want to get away from you!” 6 This year marked our fourth year of marriage. When we first found out about the pregnancy, we were both ecstatic. But the journey had been anything but smooth. My morning sickness was so violent that I could barely keep any food down. But if I didn’t eat, my body would begin to shut down. I had to force myself to swallow every bite. I spent those early months crying nearly every single day. The physical torment was so agonizing that there were moments I wished I could simply close my eyes and never wake up. We had briefly discussed ending the pregnancy. But the moment we saw the first sign of spotting, panic seized both of us. I ended up bedridden in the hospital for an entire month, fighting to keep the baby. During those early stages, I felt as though I were recovering from a near-fatal illness. I suffered from severe malnutrition, chronic anemia, and then that sudden collapse in the mall. To call it a chaotic time would be an understatement. This tiny life inside me seemed so fragile, yet so incredibly stubborn. I was terrified that the stress of the divorce would trigger an early labor. I kept my phone fully charged, ready to dial emergency services at any second. I did not dare to scream, to smash things, or to let my rage consume me. Even my tears had to be quietly choked back. Until I couldn’t hold them back any longer. The physical strain of my sobbing triggered a violent wave of nausea, and I threw up. I knelt on the bathroom floor, clutching the toilet bowl, gasping through a pain that felt as though my very organs were being torn apart. Keanu pounded frantically on the bathroom door. He begged me to open it, to let him in. He yelled at me, telling me not to gamble with my life and the baby’s health. I huddled on the cold tiles, protectively wrapping my arms around my stomach. I had wanted to end this with some semblance of dignity. But the moment Keanu’s heart began to wander, my dignity had already been trampled into the dirt. My parents were eventually called to the apartment by Keanu. It was only when I heard my mother’s soft, worried voice through the wood that I finally unlocked the door. My father, usually a gentle and mild-tempered man, looked colder than I had ever seen him. “Is this how you care for my daughter?” he asked Keanu, his voice dripping with quiet fury. They packed my things and took me with them. Keanu did not dare to stop them. Once we arrived at my parents’ house, my father sat down beside me. “What do you want to do, Vivi?” “I want a divorce,” I whispered, my voice raw. He remained silent for a long moment, before nodding slowly. “Then we will get you a divorce.” That night, my mother slept beside me. She held me close, gently rubbing my back, never asking a single question about what had happened. The quiet, unquestioning support of my parents slowly brought me back to sanity. The next morning, Keanu arrived at their doorstep. He brought my favorite breakfast, offering my parents a tight, forced smile as he greeted them. They offered a curt nod and quietly left the house, giving us the space to speak. Keanu held the container of warm dumplings, looking at me with desperate, pleading eyes. “Vivi, please eat a little.” My face remained entirely blank. “Keanu, we need to talk.” He held the container for a long time, his shoulders slumping, before he finally nodded. “Okay.” 7 Where were we even supposed to begin? I looked at him. “I gave you opportunities, Keanu. I truly tried to pretend none of this was happening.” Keanu froze, looking at me with a bewildered expression. I let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “The day Valerie asked you if you would have married her had you met her first. You became restless, angry, and you couldn’t sleep all night because of that single question. While you were standing on the balcony smoking through the dark, I unlocked your phone.” I had always believed that snooping through a partner’s phone was a pathetic thing to do. The moment you feel the need to do it, the trust is already dead. If there is no trust left between two people, what is the point of staying together? Yet, despite holding those beliefs, I had still ended up doing exactly that. My words made Keanu stiffen. His body leaned back slightly, a subconscious instinct to flee from the truth. He clenched his fists, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “But I never replied to her.” I wiped away a tear that had slipped down my cheek. “Yes, you didn’t reply. But your silence was far more agonizing than any answer could have been.” A suffocating quiet filled the room once more. Keanu opened his mouth several times, but no sound came out. Finally, he spoke, his voice entirely devoid of confidence. “If you read those messages, then you must know that we never crossed any lines before last night. I only ever saw her as a friend. And the night before last… yes, we had too much to drink, and we lost our heads for a moment. But we stopped there. We didn’t go any further. Vivi, I swear, I never actually cheated on you.” I did not look at him. I only let out a long, weary sigh. “On April third, the day of my anatomy scan. It was the very first time we were going to see what our baby looked like. I was so incredibly excited. But you told me you couldn’t make it because of an urgent board meeting. In reality, you had planned a hiking trip with Valerie. “Every morning, you ordered two bouquets of baby’s breath from the florist downstairs. You took one with you in the morning to give to her, and you brought the other one home to me at night. The only exception was Valentine’s Day. That morning, you took a bouquet of nineteen red roses with you. “The executive elevator in your office building requires a security card. Valerie complained once about how long she had to wait for the public elevators, so you gave her your spare card. “You told me your shoulder was aching, and she went to the hospital to get special medicated patches for you. For weeks, you smelled of menthol. When I asked about it, you told me you bought them yourself at a pharmacy. “On your birthday, after I fell asleep, you slipped out of the apartment in the middle of the night. Valerie met you downstairs and gave you a pair of designer cufflinks. She asked if she was the first person to wish you a happy birthday, and you told her yes. “Your texting shorthand was effortless. She would text ‘Go?’ and you would reply ‘Go!’ She would text ‘Rooftop’ and you would reply ‘1.’ She would text ‘Tired’ and you would reply ‘Almost there.’ “The day you traded in your car, you took her along for the test drive. She told you the salesman mistook her for your wife, and you replied with a single awkward emoji, followed by a screen full of laughter. “Every single day on your drive home from work, you spent twenty-seven minutes on the phone with her. At a normal speaking pace, you two exchanged thousands of words daily. Aside from when we were first dating, when was the last time we ever spoke that much in a single day?” The Keanu who spoke to Valerie was someone I did not recognize. No, that was not entirely true. The Keanu from our university days had been exactly like that. Lively, talkative, even a little childish. It was just that the person on the receiving end was no longer me. That realization felt like a thousand ants biting at my skin, slowly consuming me from the inside out. Keanu’s head bowed lower and lower. “I only saw her as a friend,” he whispered, his voice completely hollow. “Sometimes I was just so exhausted, and talking to her made things easier. We were just talking, Vivi. What do I have to do to make you believe me?” A heavy, crushing weight pulled me down into the sofa. “Keanu, do you have any idea how much I wished you had actually slept with her? This unspoken chemistry, this effortless understanding you shared… it was like a guillotine suspended right over my head. I never knew when the blade was going to fall. I had to live every single second in terror, waiting for it. I tried to pretend I didn’t see it. I debated whether I should just close my eyes and let it go.” I really had hesitated. I was pregnant. Our child was about to be born. They had not actually slept together. Should I face the ugly truth, or should I just pretend everything was fine? But the moment I had closed his phone that night and turned away, pretending nothing was wrong, I had already made my choice. “I thought I could do it. But ever since I found those messages, I stopped trusting you. Every single time you left my sight, I assumed you were with her. I wondered what you were saying, what you were doing. Those doubts chewed away at my sanity every single minute of the day. I was being driven mad, Keanu! You were driving me absolutely insane!” I sobbed, the pain tearing through my chest. Those had been the most agonizing weeks of my life. I felt as though I were standing on the brink of complete madness. Until you finally agreed to spend that night with her. She had texted you: Maybe if you do this, I can finally let you go. Show me some mercy, Keanu. And you replied: Okay. In that exact second, the guillotine fell. And I chose to survive. “Keanu, let’s get a divorce.”

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1 On the day I went to the military hospital for a late-term termination, the surgeon asked me why I didn’t want the child. “I’m getting a divorce,” I replied, my voice steady. “I have no intention of raising a baby alone.” The surgeon pulled down her surgical mask. It was Greta Blackwood, the younger sister of my Major General husband. She stared at me for what felt like an eternity before she managed to squeeze out a sentence. “Sera… does my brother know?” “No,” I said, my tone even flatter than I had anticipated. “And he doesn’t need to.” Greta set the medical chart on the stainless-steel desk, flipping to the ultrasound report. “You’re nearly seven months along. An induced late-term termination is not a minor procedure. Are you absolutely certain about this?” “I am.” “Sera…” “Dr. Blackwood,” I interrupted gently. “Right now, you are my attending physician, not my sister-in-law. I’ve signed every necessary waiver. My thumbprint is on the consent form.” Greta fell silent. She pulled her mask back up, scribbled a few lines on the chart, and handed me a pre-operative checklist. “Day after tomorrow, eight in the morning. Fasting. Bring someone to assist with your discharge.” I took the slip of paper, stood up, and walked toward the exit. Just as my hand touched the door handle, Greta called out to me. “Sera, you’ve been with my brother for three years. He has genuine feelings for you.” I did not look back. Three years. One thousand and ninety-five days in the Blackwood family. The sentence he had spoken to me more than any other was: “Mission tonight. Won’t be back.” I had no idea what kind of feelings those were supposed to be. The moment I stepped out of the military hospital’s main gates, my phone began to vibrate. It was Gideon. “There is an award ceremony tonight. You will attend with me. Wear something formal.” He didn’t ask where I was. He didn’t ask how my day was going. Over the past three years, his calls always served only two purposes: a notification or a command. “Alright,” I said, uttering my very last ‘yes’ to him. By the time I returned to our quarters at the military estate, the orderly had already hung my dress outside the bedroom door. It was a navy blue two-piece suit, selected by Gideon’s chief of staff. His staff knew my clothing sizes far better than Gideon ever did. I changed into the suit and stood before the full-length mirror. My pregnancy was not yet highly visible; the clever tailoring of the suit perfectly concealed the slight curve of my abdomen. In forty-eight hours, this secret would cease to exist. Gideon’s military SUV arrived at the curb precisely on time. I climbed into the passenger seat. He was focused on a battle tactics briefing, offering me a brief nod by way of greeting. Throughout the forty-minute drive, he remained on the phone, discussing upcoming division exercises, new equipment deployments, and next month’s joint maneuvers. Not a single word had anything to do with me. The ceremony was held at the West Wing Auditorium. The Blackwoods were a legendary military dynasty. Gideon’s grandfather had fought in two foreign campaigns, and his father was a retired lieutenant general. At thirty-two, Gideon had been promoted to Major General, making him the youngest commanding officer in the entire service. We took our seats in the front row. Before we could even settle in, a woman approached. Victoria Prescott. She was the widow of Gideon’s late brother-in-arms, the star performer of the division’s theater troupe, and had recently transferred back to the capital. She wore a simple, elegant ivory dress, her hair pinned back flawlessly. She carried herself with a rigid grace, looking like a classic portrait. “Gideon, it’s been a long time.” Her gaze bypassed me entirely, locking onto my husband. Gideon stood up immediately. In three years, it was the first time I had ever seen him stand to greet a woman. “Victoria. You’ve transferred back?” “The orders were approved last month. I wanted to reach out sooner, but I was terrified of disrupting your schedule.” She finally cast a brief glance in my direction. “And this must be your wife. Gideon speaks of you often.” Often? I offered a small, polite smile. The only person Gideon ever mentioned at home was Victoria, and it certainly wasn’t to me. “Hello, Mrs. Prescott,” I said. “Please, call me Victoria. We don’t need to be so formal.” She took the seat directly beside me, naturally striking up a conversation with Gideon about base operations. Her tone was intimate, as if they were the only two people in the crowded auditorium. Throughout the entire evening, Gideon remained turned completely in her direction. She poured his tea, handed him his medal case, and gracefully intercepted a toast from a visiting officer on his behalf. These were things Gideon had never allowed me to do for him in three years. For the duration of the ceremony, I sat beside him like a piece of transparent glassware. At nine-thirty, I excused myself to use the restroom. As I rounded the corner of the quiet corridor, I overheard two officers’ wives whispering near the water cooler. “The Major General’s wife is incredibly pathetic. Her husband is flirting with another woman right in front of her.” “Pathetic? She married a Major General and lives in the officers’ quarters. That’s more than enough glory for someone like her.” “Still, now that Victoria is back, the lady of the Blackwood house will be replaced sooner or later.” “Well, that’s her own fault for being useless. She is a complete nobody.” A complete nobody. I liked those words. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, a sudden wave of relief washed over me. It was finally time to end this. The following morning, as Gideon was lacing his military boots, I was in the kitchen warming some milk. He glanced at me during a brief pause. “Why did you leave early last night? Unwell?” “Yes.” “Go to the medical bay if you’re sick.” He left immediately after. That was the closest thing to tenderness he had spoken to me in three years. Yet, I knew with absolute certainty that this warmth did not stem from any genuine care for me. It was only because Victoria had murmured to him the night before, “Gideon, you need to treat your wife better.” She was playing her part. But it didn’t matter. I no longer needed to participate in their drama. At ten in the morning, I arrived at Audrey’s law firm. Audrey was my only close friend from our university days. She had gone to law school and now specialized in high-profile military divorces, making her one of the most sought-after attorneys in the city. The moment I walked into her office, she set down her mug. “You’ve finally come to your senses?” “Help me draft a divorce agreement.” “How are we splitting the assets?” “I don’t want a single penny.” Audrey frowned. “You aren’t taking anything from the Blackwood estate?” “Nothing,” I said, taking a seat. “The house, the vehicles, the savings, the military pension shares. I waive all of it. I only want the signed certificate.” “Are you insane? You spent three years in that household. You deserve compensation.” “Audrey,” I said, looking her in the eye. “I want this to be clean and quick. If I demand nothing, he won’t have a single excuse to delay the signing.” Audrey stared at me for a long moment. “What happened?” “Nothing. I’m just done.” She didn’t press further, turning to her computer to begin drafting the documents. As her fingers flew across the keyboard, she spoke without looking up. “Aegis Precision, your design firm, recently secured several major contracts with the defense department. There’s a significant amount of capital in the corporate accounts. Do we need to initiate an asset isolation protocol?” “I’ve already handled it.” Audrey let out a soft laugh. “I see you’ve been planning this for a while.” “Not just a while. For three years. From the very first day I moved into that estate, I knew I didn’t belong. But I stayed because I foolishly hoped he would eventually see me. Now, I finally accept that he never will.” By three in the afternoon, I returned to the military estate. My mother-in-law, Genevieve, was sitting on the sofa, sharing a lively conversation with Victoria. The moment I stepped through the door, Genevieve’s smile vanished. “You’re back?” “Yes.” “Victoria is visiting. I’ve asked her to stay for dinner. Go tell the kitchen staff to prepare two extra dishes.” She was instructing me to order the staff to cater to another woman. Three years ago, such a request would have broken my heart. Now, it felt like nothing. “Alright,” I said, turning to head toward the kitchen. Victoria spoke up, her voice sweet and polite. “Sera, please don’t trouble yourself. A simple salad is fine, there’s no need to go to any trouble.” As she spoke, she offered me a flawless, gentle smile. It wasn’t an expression of defiance or mockery. It was the calm, settled assurance of a woman who already considered herself the true mistress of this house. I offered her a brief glance, said nothing, and walked upstairs. Once inside the bedroom, I opened the closet and pulled out my suitcases. I began folding my clothes, one by one. I didn’t have many personal belongings. I had arrived at the Blackwood estate with only two bags, and I would leave with no more than that. The designer clothes, fine jewelry, and luxury bags Gideon had purchased for me remained untouched, hanging neatly on the right side of the dressing room. Halfway through packing, the bedroom door was pushed open. Genevieve stood in the doorway, her gaze landing on the open suitcases. Her face darkened instantly. “What is the meaning of this? Why are you packing?” I placed my final jacket into the bag and zipped it shut. “I am divorcing Gideon.” “What did you say?” Genevieve’s hand gripped the doorframe tightly. “Divorce? Say that again!” “I am divorcing Gideon.” I lifted the suitcase and walked toward the door. Genevieve blocked my path. “Seraphina, you lived under our roof and off our name for three years, and now you think you can just walk away whenever you please?” “I already told you, I am not taking a single thing belonging to the Blackwoods.” “You think this is a place where you can come and go as you wish?” I stopped, looking at her calmly. “Are you suggesting I should be forced to stay?” Genevieve choked on her words. From the hallway below, Victoria’s voice drifted up. “Mom? Is everything alright?” She was already calling my mother-in-law ‘Mom,’ and Genevieve had not corrected her. I carried my bags down the stairs. Victoria was standing in the center of the living room, holding a porcelain cup of tea. Seeing me with my suitcases, she blinked in surprise. “Sera, what is…” “Mrs. Prescott,” I said, pausing before her. “This position is officially yours.” Without waiting for her reply, I opened the heavy front door and stepped out. Behind me, Genevieve’s furious voice echoed through the foyer. “Seraphina, stop right there! If you walk out that door, don’t you dare think about ever coming back!” I glanced back one last time. “I won’t be coming back.” As the door clicked shut behind me, the sound of my suitcase wheels rolling over the concrete walkway was loud and clear, sounding like a final period at the end of a long sentence. At eight that evening, Gideon returned to the estate. He was met with a half-empty closet and a single note resting on the coffee table: The divorce agreement has been delivered to my attorney, Audrey. Please sign it as soon as possible. My phone rang within ten seconds. “Seraphina, where are you?” “Away.” “Come back.” “Gideon, I told you. I want a divorce.” The line fell silent for three seconds. “What is this dramatic display about? Is this because of what happened last night?” “This isn’t drama. The agreement makes it clear; I am waiving all assets. You only need to sign.” Another long silence. “I won’t sign.” “Then we will proceed through the court system.” I hung up. The phone rang again, then a third time, then a fifth. I turned it off. That was the very first time in three years I had ever hung up on Gideon. Outside the window, the city lights flickered in the dark. I stood in my own private apartment. I had purchased this property with my own independent funds, and not a single member of the Blackwood family knew of its existence. Twelve hundred square feet, south-facing, with fresh mint and rosemary growing on the balcony. This was my true home. The next morning, Gideon tracked me down at my design firm. My assistant looked terrified as Gideon marched through the lobby, nearly knocking over her coffee cup. “Major General…” “Where is Seraphina?” “She’s in her office, sir.” He pushed open my door without knocking. I was reviewing a blueprint. I looked up, entirely unsurprised by his arrival. “Take a seat.” “Seraphina, pack your things and come home with me.” He remained standing, his uniform immaculate, his expression cold and demanding, as if he were delivering a military order that required immediate compliance. “I don’t have a home there anymore.” “You are a daughter-in-law of the Blackwood family.” “Not for long.” I pulled a document from my desk drawer and slid it toward him. “The divorce agreement. I don’t want the house, the vehicles, or any spousal support. Sign this, and we can go our separate ways.” Gideon stared at the papers for a moment before pushing them back. “I’m not signing.” “Why?” “We don’t have a history of divorce in my family.” “Your parents divorced twenty years ago.” His expression hardened for a split second. “Seraphina, what exactly is it that you want?” “I told you. A divorce.” “Is this because of Victoria?” I let out a soft laugh. “Gideon, you overestimate your own importance. This isn’t about anyone else. It’s about the fact that this marriage has absolutely no meaning.” He stared at me. “In three years, you have never spoken to me in this manner.” “Because for three years, you have never actually listened to a single word I said.” The office fell quiet. Suddenly, his military radio began to beep, signaling an urgent defense communication. He glanced at the channel, clicked it on, and then looked back at me. “We will discuss this later.” He turned and strode out. “Later.” Those five words were the perfect summary of our entire marriage. Every concern of mine was always pushed to ‘later.’ My birthdays, my illnesses, my desire to visit my family—all of it was delayed, until three years had passed without a single promise being kept. Once the door closed, my phone rang. It was Audrey. “How did he react?” “He refused to sign.” “As expected. If he refuses, we will have to establish a two-year separation before we can file for a unilateral divorce. Unless you have other grounds? Domestic abuse, infidelity, hiding assets?” “He never touched me.” That sentence carried two meanings: he had never laid a hand on me in anger, and he had barely touched me at all. In our three years of marriage, the number of times we had shared a bed could be counted on one hand. The last time had been seven months ago. And it was during that single night that I became pregnant. It was also after that night that I saw a message from Victoria on his phone: Gideon, I am transferring back next month. Do you still remember what you promised me? He had replied with a single word: Yes. I didn’t know what he had promised her, but I knew the weight of that single word was heavier than anything he had ever said to me. Audrey spoke through the receiver. “Then we begin the separation. From the day you moved out, I will document the evidence chain.” “Thank you.” “One more thing,” Audrey’s tone shifted, becoming more serious. “Your design firm has a major military bid coming up next week for a new camouflage system. Are you going to represent the company personally?” I thought it over. “No. Let Frank handle the presentation.” “Sera, how long do you plan on keeping your identity a secret?” “I’ll step into the light when the timing is right.” Three years ago, I had married Gideon under the simple name ‘Seraphina.’ None of them knew that Aegis Precision Systems, one of the defense department’s largest rising technology suppliers, was entirely my creation. And none of them knew that my mother’s maiden name was Vanguard—the family that controlled the multi-billion-dollar Vanguard Defense Group. A soft knock sounded at my office door. “Sera, there’s a client here. He’s asking for you by name.” “Who?”

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On my wedding day, my twin sister knocked me unconscious and locked me in the basement. Then, she stole my identity and married my fiancé. “From this day on, your man belongs to me,” she whispered, her eyes burning with ruthless triumph. She was in such a hurry to steal my life. She never noticed that, down in the dark, I had already stopped breathing. 1 I died right when the wedding reached its peak. My fiancé, Christian, held the hand of my dear sister, Gwen, as he solemnly swore his vows. To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, to love and to cherish, until death do them part. This was supposed to be my wedding. Instead, I was nothing but a wandering spirit, floating silently above the venue, watching my own sister steal my life and marry the man I loved. My gaze drifted down to Christian. He was strikingly handsome, tall and lean, with a naturally cold aura that kept most people at a distance. But to my surprise, this reserved man quietly flushed at the tips of his ears the moment he uttered the words, “I do.” And my sweet sister, draped in a gown as white as fresh snow, looked up at him with adoration, her eyes soft and filled with a deep, blushing warmth. As if she were the one who had spent years loving him. Not me, Nora. I stood at the edge of the altar, watching them bathed in a shower of flower petals and applause as they made the most sacred promise of their lives. Meanwhile, my physical body lay curled in the endless dark, a slow trail of blood seeping beneath me like a blooming flower withered before its time. I used to think my heart was made of stone, hardened enough to withstand any storm life threw at me. Yet, watching them kiss, a sharp, physical ache pierced my chest. The room was alive with joy, and they were the center of the world. Only I was entirely out of place. Unable to bear it any longer, I turned to leave. But after only a few steps, an invisible force violently yanked me back. Only then did I realize something was terribly wrong. Normally, when a soul leaves its body, it either fades into nothingness or moves on to the afterlife. So why was I still “alive” in this state? Refusing to accept it, I tried to drift toward the exit again. Dozens of attempts only left me exhausted and aching with an ethereal pain. Accepting my fate, I finally found a quiet corner to sit down. I waited, expecting some grim reaper to come and claim my soul. But instead of death, I was dragged into the dressing room by my dear sister. I watched her peel off the white bridal gown and slip into a vibrant crimson reception dress. Then, bound to her presence, I was pulled back to the banquet hall. I watched her cling to Christian’s arm, moving table to table, raising toast after toast. That was when I realized my soul was tethered to her. She had made a mess of my life while I was alive, and even in death, I could not escape her. I lowered my eyes, not knowing whether to cry or laugh. 2 Christian took most of the drinks for Gwen. Even so, she consumed quite a bit of wine. Gwen actually had a high tolerance; she used to drag me into drinking games. But in front of Christian, I had always claimed to have a severe alcohol allergy and never touched a drop. Gwen did not know about this little lie of mine. Flush with triumph, she drank far too much without realizing it. As the night wore on, Christian’s brow furrowed deeper. Gwen, however, noticed nothing. Once the reception ended, she dragged me into the bridal suite. She put on a grand performance of a doting, gentle wife, fussing over Christian. But it was painful to watch. A spoiled heiress trying to play the part of a nurturing homemaker was bound to look entirely unnatural. Christian, smelling of alcohol and exhausted, headed straight to the bathroom. Gwen tried to follow him under the guise of helping him wash up, hoping for a romantic bath together. But Christian quietly escorted her back out. Thinking he was merely being considerate, she hummed a cheerful tune and leisurely began washing fruit at the kitchen island. Tonight, all the villa staff had been given the night off. I sat on the sofa, watching Gwen sway her hips and put on a show, feeling a strange sense of amusement. Back when Christian and I were dating, Gwen would constantly pry into our relationship. At first, I answered honestly. But as her questions grew increasingly invasive, it made me uncomfortable, so I started feeding her half-truths. I told her that Christian was intensely passionate behind closed doors, insatiable in bed, and that we had crossed that line long ago. In truth, despite dating for years, Christian and I had never gone beyond kissing. We had a pact: whenever I felt ready, I would give myself to him. Until then, his affection remained deeply passionate yet strictly respectful. What had once been a boundary set due to my childhood trauma had unexpectedly sown the seeds for today’s drama. The more overtly seductive Gwen tried to be, the further she would push Christian away. Christian loathed deceit more than anything. If he ever found out Gwen was playing him for a fool… A faint smile curled my lips. When Christian emerged in his bathrobe, Gwen threw down the half-sliced fruit and rushed into the bathroom to shower and wash off her makeup. Eager to finally consume him, she bypassed her usual long bath. She used my favorite body wash, looking as comfortable as if she were in her own home. The bathroom steamed up, framing her slender silhouette. Over the years, Gwen had used her stunning looks to cycle through one boyfriend after another, while I had only ever had Christian. She had mocked me countless times for being old-fashioned and prudish, telling me I was wasting my beauty. Yet, after sampling so many men, she had come to pluck the pristine flower I had spent years guarding. Where did she get the courage? I stared blankly into space for a long time. It was not until I pictured the giant welcome poster at the wedding entrance that the truth finally hit me. Seven years ago, I had been forced to legally change my name to Gwendolyn. My entire relationship with Christian had been built under her name. Gwen was marrying Christian legally, officially, and in broad daylight. And I, the other Gwen, was nothing but a shadow living in the dark. Condensation dripped down my cheek like a tear. How pathetic that, even in death, I still did not know who I really was. 3 My mind drifted back to my brief, desolate life. The life where Nora was erased to become Gwen. When I was barely a year old, my father died in a workplace accident. My mother took my sister, Gwen, along with the entire insurance payout, and fled to another city, leaving me behind with my grandmother. My mother chose to take my sister because she believed my sister’s birth name carried a blessing for a bright future. I was the discardable one. Growing up, I never knew the warmth of a parent or the bond of a sibling. While other children were pampered, I could only clutch the single faded photograph of my parents, searching for them in my dreams. But what hurt more than being called an orphan was the unwanted, predatory attention I began receiving at fourteen. There were the creeping hands of different men who climbed over our low wall at night, trying to slip into my bed. How cruel of fate to give such a vulnerable girl a face that turned heads. If my grandmother had not grit her teeth to pay for me to board at school, my life would have been ruined long ago. But my tuition had already drained her dry. With the added boarding fees, her spine never fully straightened again. I studied like my life depended on it, desperate to give her a comfortable life before she passed. After graduation, I received an acceptance letter to a prestigious university. That was when the people who had been absent for seventeen years suddenly reappeared. Only then did I learn that my mother had remarried a wealthy businessman sixteen years ago, and my sister had been renamed Gwendolyn. They showered my grandmother and me with sudden affection, paying for her medical checkup and booking us a vacation package. They called it a celebration and compensation. I did not want to go, but I could not bear to disappoint the hopeful gleam in my grandmother’s eyes. She had been trapped in our impoverished, isolated village her entire life, never knowing how vast the world was. I was young; I had time. But my grandmother… After wrestling with my thoughts all night, I agreed. That trip showed me a world I had never imagined. It also brought a rare, radiant smile to my grandmother’s weary face. The resentment I harbored for my mother and sister began to soften. But when we returned and I saw the medical reports, my world shattered. My beloved grandmother had a malignant tumor the size of a child’s fist pressing against her heart. The surgery would cost one hundred thousand dollars. To us, it might as well have been a billion. My mother approached me in private, finally revealing the true reason for her return. She wanted me to legally change my name to Gwendolyn and share my sister’s life. In other words, we would attend the same university under one identity. My sister would enjoy the spotlight, the prestige, and the social life. I would do the grueling work: attend the classes, take the exams, maintain the GPA, and earn the certificates. Four years later, the degree with Gwendolyn printed on it would belong solely to my sister. In exchange, they would cover every penny of my grandmother’s medical expenses. She also demanded that I appear whenever my sister needed a substitute, and vanish the moment she did not. Most importantly, I was never to disrupt their perfect life. As she spoke, her posture was elegant, her smile serene. But her words shredded my heart. They had not arranged the medical checkup out of kindness; it was a calculated move to find my weak point. Sharing a life was a polite way of asking me to kneel and let my sister climb over my bleeding body to her golden future. Suspecting a trap, I took my grandmother to another hospital. But when the diagnosis came back identical, all hope died. For my grandmother, I surrendered my name and became a shadow. My mother kept her word, paying for the surgery. We both got what we wanted. 4 By the time Gwen finished her shower, she smelled exactly like me. The fruit she had left on the kitchen island was now neatly sliced and arranged on a platter. Even the sweet green grapes, my absolute favorite, had been peeled. Without a doubt, it was Christian’s doing. But I would never taste them again. Christian sat on the sofa with his eyes closed, his long lashes casting shadows over whatever thoughts he was hiding. Gwen picked up the platter and walked over to him. “Is your migraine acting up again?” she asked softly, placing a hand on his forehead. “I’m fine,” Christian murmured. Christian was guarded; he never complained about his pain to anyone. In the past, I would have gently massaged his temples until he caught my hand and kissed my knuckles. Gwen only knew he suffered from migraines, but she had no idea what I used to do for him. So, she simply withdrew her hand and offered him a slice of apple on a fork. “Here, honey, eat some fruit,” she said, flashing a sweet smile. Christian opened his eyes and stared at her in silence. “What is it?” she asked, blinking innocently. Christian shook his head. “I’ve already brushed my teeth. You have it.” “Oh.” Gwen sat down beside him and began eating. After a moment, a playful thought seemed to strike her. She popped a grape into her mouth and leaned over him on the sofa, pressing her lips to his. At the contact, Christian’s brow twitched imperceptibly. “Open up,” she mumbled against his lips. Christian did not budge. His dark, piercing eyes looked down at her. He seemed to be studying the physical shell in front of him, questioning if the soul inside was truly the woman he knew. In the end, he kept his mouth closed. Feeling rejected, Gwen tossed the fruit plate onto the table in irritation and stormed into the bedroom. Christian sat alone in the dim light for a long time before finally following her. The moment he lay down, Gwen clung to him like a vine. “Come on, honey, it’s our wedding night,” she purred, her voice dripping with suggestion. “I’m exhausted. Let’s just sleep,” Christian said. He pulled up the covers, closed his eyes, and turned away. Watching Gwen’s frustrated face, I burst into laughter. She had stolen my identity to get close to him, but she did not even know that Christian loved it when I called him “Chris.” Christian was not driven by lust, but he had absolutely no resistance to that nickname. If she had whispered “Chris” in his ear, he would have handed her the world. Too bad she did not know. She had always sneered that Christian was too high-born for a country girl like me to even dream of. Yet she thought she could use her usual cheap seduction tactics to force him into her bed. It looked like she had a long, frustrating road ahead of her. Once she realized she could not handle Christian, would she try her old tricks and demand that we share him too? Too bad I was already cold and stiff. How would she react when she finally saw my corpse? I rested my chin on my hands, imagining the scene. It was going to be highly entertaining. After all, she could only choose one: her innocence or her title as his wife. If she chose innocence, she would have to confess everything she had done and become a public laughingstock. If she chose to remain the wealthy wife, she would have to erase my existence entirely. But in a modern, heavily policed society, disposing of a body was no easy task for a pampered girl. The bed was wide. I lay down right in Christian’s arms, closing my eyes with a smile. From today on, I would never have to run to Gwen’s side at her beck and call. Because I was dead. 5 By the time Christian got out of bed, Gwen was still fast asleep. He sat on the edge of the mattress, staring at her for a very long time. His expression was as unreadable as ever. On my second day as a spirit, with no phone and no books, I was forced to hover near Gwen. Bored out of my mind, I floated around the room in endless circles. It was not until ten in the morning that Gwen finally yawned and woke up. She took her sweet time washing her face and brushing her teeth before ordering the maid to prepare her breakfast. Once full, she dug through my suitcase with a look of pure disgust, threw on one of my casual outfits, grabbed the key to the basement, and headed out. She was practically vibrating with rage, clearly eager to drag me over the coals for some perceived slight. I floated ahead of her, practically buzzing with anticipation to see her reaction when she saw me. And I was not disappointed. The moment she pushed open the basement door, the smug grin froze on her face. A sharp, piercing shriek tore from her throat, which she instantly muffled with both hands, terrified of being heard. I hovered above, watching her take slow, trembling steps toward my body. I watched her shaky fingers reach out to check for a breath that would never come. I watched her stagger backward, eyes wide with horror and raw panic. I watched her collapse to the floor, staring in absolute terror at the long, rusty metal nail driven straight into my chest. In the seven years since we reunited, she had always looked down on me with cold arrogance. This was the first time I had ever seen her so thoroughly undone. It was exquisite. Aside from the copper tang of blood, a faint, sweet rot was beginning to cling to the stagnant air. Having enjoyed her panic enough, I turned to look at my own body. My skin had lost all color, and the parts submerged in the pool of blood had turned a sickly purple-black. I looked like a discarded, broken ragdoll. Her blow had been clumsy and brutal; the back of my head where she had struck me was a gruesome mess. Unable to look any longer, I floated out of the basement. “Mom? It’s me… Can you… can you come to Nora’s hotel room?” “I think… I made… a mistake…” “Just come quickly, I can’t explain it over the phone.” “Please hurry, Mom, I’m so scared…” Gwen sobbed into my phone, tears smearing her carefully applied makeup. She looked utterly pathetic. I sat cross-legged in the air, leisurely enjoying her breakdown. Once she quieted down, Gwen locked the basement door and returned to the first floor. Perhaps the agonizing wait was too much to bear, so she turned on the television to drown out the silence. But with my sudden death weighing on her, she could not focus on the screen. She kept darting anxious glances at the front door, looking completely unhinged. I, however, found the show highly entertaining. An hour later, the doorbell rang. Gwen flew to the door faster than she had ever moved in her life, tears spilling over before she even turned the handle. “Mom, Nora is d—” The word died in her throat. I peered curiously over her shoulder to look outside. Standing at the door was none other than Christian.

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Married for five years, and the one thing that pisses me off the most is my wife’s obsession with buying gold. Other guys’ wives buy designer bags or spend weekends at the spa. My wife? The second her paycheck hits, she runs straight to the bullion dealer. Ten grams, twenty grams, fifty grams. She carts them home piece by piece. I call her short-sighted. My mom calls her a spendthrift. Even my business partners joke about it. “Your girl building a runaway fund or what?” She never argues. She never throws a fit. She just quietly stacks those little gold bars in the deepest corner of her closet. Until the night my partner vanished with four and a half million dollars, leaving everyone else to scatter like rats from a sinking ship. That night, she opened her closet. I couldn’t speak. 1 “Again?” Joan’s voice on the phone was barely a whisper. “The price per ounce dropped a bit today. I picked up fifty grams.” I gripped my phone, my back teeth grinding together. The lighting in the VIP lounge was a warm, expensive amber. Garrett was pouring top-shelf bourbon for the table, and Marcus had a cigar clamped between his teeth, telling a dirty joke. The vibe was perfect. I walked over to a quiet corner and lowered my voice. “Joan, you make barely five grand a month. You’re buying gold three or four times a month. What exactly are you hoarding it for?” Silence on the other end of the line. Two seconds ticked by. “Nolan, I just… I want to save it.” “Save it?” I let out a harsh laugh. “Look at Garrett’s wife. She signed up for an executive business course. That’s called investing in yourself. You act like a medieval miser hoarding coins under a mattress.” “Okay. I understand.” Her tone was completely flat. Same as always. No arguing, no crying, no explanations. I hung up, shoved my phone into my pocket, and walked back to the table. Garrett slid a crystal glass of bourbon toward me. “What’s up? The missus buying more shiny bricks?” “Tell me about it.” I took the glass and downed it in one burn. “I don’t know what goes through her head. I’ve told her a thousand times, put that cash into our current project and we’d double it in our sleep.” Marcus snorted. “Women, man. They don’t see the big picture. Trying to explain leverage and compound interest to them is like talking to a brick wall.” I didn’t answer. Deep down, I knew Marcus was wrong. Joan wasn’t stupid. She majored in finance. Her college GPA was higher than mine. But she refused to touch stocks. She ignored index funds. She was dead set on physical gold. Try to reason with her, and you’d hit the same brick wall every time. I just want to save it. It drove me out of my mind. Garrett clapped me on the shoulder and topped off my glass. “Let it go, man. Don’t fight with your lady over hobbies. Let’s talk business. I’ve already greased the wheels with the client for next week’s final payout. It’ll hit our accounts before the middle of next month, guaranteed.” I nodded, pushing Joan out of my mind. Back then, I was riding high. Third year into our tech consulting startup, and we were hitting ten million in annual revenue. Garrett handled the wining, dining, and massive accounts. Marcus managed the tech and execution. I oversaw operations and the books. The three of us were a perfectly oiled machine. We had just landed two massive contracts this year. Total value right around four point five million dollars. Profit margins were sitting at a comfortable forty percent. After three rounds of drinks, Garrett stood up and raised his glass. “Gentlemen, when these projects land, we’re looking at a seven-figure bonus for each of us. Nolan, when that check clears, buy your lady a whole damn vault of gold bars. Let her swim in it!” The table erupted in laughter. I laughed too. My mind was already spending that bonus. Upgrade to a bigger house in the suburbs. Buy my mom that vintage Cartier watch she kept hinting at. Lease a Porsche. As for how much gold Joan wanted to buy? She could knock herself out. I got home a little before midnight. The living room was pitch black. The only light was a thin yellow slit bleeding from beneath the bedroom door at the end of the hall. I softened my footsteps, walked over, and pushed the door open. Joan was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hair falling loosely over her shoulders. The drawer of her vanity was pulled halfway open. Inside sat a small, crimson velvet pouch. Seeing me step into the room, she casually pushed the drawer shut. “How much did you drink?” she asked. “Not much.” I peeled off my suit jacket, tossed it on the bed, and yanked my tie loose. The bourbon was swimming in my head, making the room tilt slightly. She stood up, walked into the master bathroom, and wrung out a hot towel. She brought it over and handed it to me. I wiped my face. The heat cleared my head a little. She was standing by the bed in a simple silk nightgown. Her hair hid half her face, but the skin around her collarbones caught the light, pale and flawless. Honestly, Joan was beautiful. Slender, naturally pretty, with a quiet, grounded energy. She never caked on makeup when we were together. She didn’t wear flashy clothes, and she rarely joined my social events. But there was one thing about this woman that constantly rubbed me the wrong way. She never initiated anything. She didn’t flirt. She wasn’t clingy. She never expressed any emotion that went beyond the strict boundaries of our “household division of labor.” Living with her was like sharing an apartment with a perfectly calibrated grandfather clock. The food was always cooked. The laundry was always done. The house was spotless. When my mom visited, Joan was the picture of polite hospitality. But if you asked me if she actually loved me? She had never said the words out loud. I tossed the towel back toward the bathroom sink. When I came back out, she was already lying in bed, facing the wall. “Joan.” “Yeah?” “Cut back on the gold. Seriously.” She didn’t turn around. “I’ll buy less next month.” I scoffed, deciding not to waste my breath. I got into bed, clicked off the lamp, and we went to sleep. A solid eight inches of dead space separated us. Just like every other night. 2 The alarm yanked me out of sleep the next morning. Joan was already gone. Her side of the comforter was folded with military precision. The low hum of the exhaust fan drifted in from the kitchen. I washed my face and walked out. She was at the stove, flipping eggs. Two bowls of oatmeal sat on the granite island, alongside a plate of sliced fruit and some toast. “Your mom called. She’s coming over today. I’ll leave the office early to prep a roast.” She didn’t look up from the pan. “Got it,” I muttered, sitting down to eat. My phone buzzed. A text from Garrett. [Garrett: Hey Nolan, meeting at 2 PM. Client wants a few tweaks to the contract clauses. Bring the financial projections.] I put the phone face down, finished my coffee, and stood up. Passing by her, I paused for a second. “I won’t be home for lunch.” “Okay. Good to know.” Before walking out the front door, I glanced back. She was at the sink, washing dishes over the sound of running water. Her back looked fragile, her shoulder blades pressing lightly against the fabric of her sleepwear. For a split second, a random thought flashed through my mind. What is actually going on inside this woman’s head? The thought evaporated as quickly as it came. I shut the door, went down to the garage, and drove to the office. On the way, I passed a high-end jewelry exchange. The yellow gleam from the display window caught the corner of my eye. I remembered the way Joan had slid that drawer shut the night before. I found myself staring at the storefront a second longer than I should have. Then I hit the gas and merged onto the highway. The afternoon meeting dragged on for three brutal hours. The client’s rep was a balding guy in his forties who picked apart the contract word by agonizing word. It took everything I had not to snap at him. Garrett played the perfect host, smiling the whole time, giving ground where he had to, holding firm where it mattered. When the guy finally left, Garrett slumped back in his leather chair and blew out a long breath. “We got it, man. It’s locked in.” I flipped through the revised annex. “They bumped up the penalty clauses. If we miss the delivery window…” “We won’t.” Garrett waved a hand dismissively. “I play golf with their CEO. We’re solid. He personally guaranteed the advance payment hits our accounts by next Wednesday.” I looked at him, saying nothing. He laughed. “You worry too much, Nolan. You gotta think bigger.” Marcus pushed the office door open, carrying three iced coffees. “What’s the verdict?” “Locked and loaded,” Garrett said, taking a cup. “Advance comes in next week. We clear the vendor invoices for the hardware, and run payroll.” Marcus nodded. “That new project manager we hired. His probation is up. We making him full-time?” “Yeah,” I said. “He does good work. Keeps the workflow tight.” The three of us sat there drinking our coffee. Beyond the office blinds, the autumn skyline of the city stretched out, the afternoon sun slicing through the glass and painting gold stripes across our paperwork. Everything felt untouchable right then. The company was scaling. The contracts were getting heavier. The payouts were getting ridiculous. My only real headache in life was Joan’s stash of shiny metals. The weekend hit. My mom showed up. Joan had come home two hours early. She bought groceries and had a massive pot roast simmering in the oven. The moment my mom walked through the door, the whole house smelled like rosemary and home-cooked perfection. “Oh, Joan, that smells wonderful.” My mom said it while slipping off her coat. Her tone had that specific brand of polite distance—warm enough for company, cold enough for family. Joan stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron. She offered a soft smile. “Sit down, Mom. The roast needs another ten minutes.” My mom settled onto the living room sofa, her eyes sweeping the room like a building inspector. Her gaze zeroed in on a small delivery box sitting on the coffee table. “What’s this?” I was just walking out of the bedroom and caught sight of the logo on the packaging. A precious metals dealer. Joan saw where I was looking. Her fingers twitched against her apron, but she kept quiet. My mom reached out and flipped the box over. “Joan, honey. Did you buy more gold?” Joan gave a small nod. “They were running a promotion. Zero premium over spot price. So I… I picked up ten grams.” My mom set the box down and shot me a look. I knew that look. It meant: Control your wife. I sighed. “Joan, my mom is here. Could you at least—” “No, no, it’s fine,” my mom interrupted, waving a hand at me. She turned her focus back to Joan. Her smile stayed perfectly pinned in place, but the temperature in her voice dropped. “Joan, I’m going to speak plainly, so don’t take this the wrong way. Nolan works himself to the bone running his business. Cash flow is always tight for entrepreneurs. You throwing thousands of dollars at a bullion store every month adds up. If you want to save, put it into Nolan’s company. The annual return would crush whatever you’re getting from chunks of metal.” Joan stood perfectly still in the kitchen doorway. She looked at me, then back at my mom. “Mom, this is from my own paycheck. I…” “Your own paycheck?” My mom’s voice went up an octave. “You’re a married woman. What is this ‘mine and yours’ nonsense? A family is supposed to pull in the same direction.” I sat in the armchair, keeping my mouth shut. Honestly, my mom wasn’t entirely wrong. Joan brought home five grand a month after taxes. Once she bought her gold, she had almost nothing left. I covered the mortgage, the HOA fees, the utilities, the car payments, even her health insurance. Groceries, dining out, holiday gifts for her parents—all of it came out of my account. It wasn’t that she refused to contribute. It was that every single spare dollar she had went into the lockbox. Call it selfish? She never bought anything for herself. No luxury goods, no expensive dinners. Call it being family-oriented? She locked all her liquidity in a dark drawer. Joan lowered her head, her fingers twisting the strings of her apron. A few agonizing seconds passed. “Okay,” she said softly. “I’ll buy less from now on.” The exact same script she fed me. My mom looked satisfied. She patted the leather sofa. “Alright then. Go check on that roast.” Joan turned and disappeared back into the kitchen. The moment she turned her back, I saw her shoulders slump, just a fraction of an inch. Dinner was civil. My mom complimented the food. Joan served her seconds. Then my mom started talking about the neighbor’s daughter-in-law, going on and on about how she played the stock market and made a killing for her family. Joan just smiled and listened. A smile so perfectly measured it looked pasted onto her face. After my mom left, Joan started clearing the table. I sat on the couch, scrolling mindlessly through my phone. “Joan.” She paused, holding a stack of ceramic plates, and looked at me. “Don’t let her get to you. You know how my mom is. All bark, no bite.” “I’m not mad.” She carried the plates into the kitchen. The faucet clicked on. The clinking of porcelain rang out over the rush of water. I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t find anything else to say. That night, she went to bed early again, facing away from me. I stared at the curve of her spine beneath the blankets, and a single question kept echoing in my skull. What does this woman actually want out of this? Married for three years. She never threatened divorce. She never snapped at my mom. She never raised her voice at me. She handled the house. She held down her job. And she bought gold like her life depended on it. I couldn’t figure it out. But I didn’t waste too much time dwelling on it. My phone buzzed. Another text from Garrett. [Garrett: Advance payment just cleared! Drinks on me this Friday, boys. We’re celebrating!] A smirk pulled at the corner of my mouth. I rolled over and went to sleep. The next two months were an absolute blur of adrenaline and exhaustion. We were pushing both major projects simultaneously. Managing developers, hardware vendors, client expectations—it was a circus. I was out the door before the sun came up and dragging myself home long after dark. Three or four nights a week, I was stuck at client dinners. Joan stayed exactly the same. Dinner was on the table. Clothes were washed, folded, and stacked. When I got in at midnight, she was asleep. When I left at six in the morning, coffee and breakfast were already waiting on the counter. She was like a ghost haunting my apartment. Her presence was incredibly faint. The only proof I had that she was still out there, living her life, were the automated bank alerts on my phone. “Transaction: Platinum Exchange – $3,200.” “Transaction: Royal Bullion – $2,800.” “Transaction: Platinum Exchange – $4,100.” I would stare at the texts, take a deep breath, and let it go. We had millions sitting in the corporate accounts. Cash flow was a river. I didn’t have the energy to pick a fight over a few thousand bucks. The day it all collapsed, there were no warning signs. A random Tuesday afternoon. I was at my desk, running the quarterly numbers. Marcus pushed the door open. His face looked like wet ash. “Nolan. Have you tried calling Garrett?” I looked up. “No. Why?” “He didn’t show up today. His phone is dead. He’s not reading texts.” I frowned, grabbed my phone, and dialed Garrett’s number. Straight to voicemail. “He probably had an emergency. Didn’t he say his wife was feeling sick yesterday?” Marcus didn’t move from the doorway. “Nolan… have you checked the main operating account lately?” My finger froze over the screen. Marcus’s expression sent a cold spike of dread straight down my spine. “Why?” He stepped forward and shoved his phone onto my desk. The screen showed the banking app. Operating Account Balance: $0.00. The room spun. My vision tunneled. I didn’t believe it. My first reaction wasn’t rage. It was absolute denial. How was it even possible? Four and a half million dollars. The client’s advance, our operating capital, the vendor escrows—everything was in that account. I ripped my laptop open and hammered my password into the banking portal. The moment the transaction history loaded, my blood turned to ice. Over the past seven days. He had been wiring out amounts ranging from three hundred thousand to half a million. The receiving accounts were shell companies I had never heard of. “Apex Trading,” “Vanguard Logistics,” “Summit Tech Partners.” Every single transfer had a verified digital signature. Every single transfer was authorized by Garrett. Marcus was standing right behind my chair, his voice shaking. “I just went to his office. It’s completely sterile. Hard drives are wiped. Drawers are empty.” My hands were shaking violently. I dialed his number again. The number you have reached is currently out of service. I dialed it again. The number you have reached is currently out of service. I stood up so fast my office chair crashed backward into the glass partition. “We’re going to his house.” Garrett lived in a gated community out in the wealthy suburbs. I blew through three red lights getting there. When we pulled up to the driveway, a heavy padlock was wrapped around the wrought-iron gates. I laid on the intercom buzzer. Nothing. Marcus got out of the passenger side, hoisted himself up over the stone wall, and peered into the property. “Place is dead. Blinds are all drawn. Garage is empty.” I squatted on the pavement by the gate. My temples were throbbing, a vicious, rhythmic pounding. I pulled out my phone. There was one unread message. Sent by Garrett about thirty minutes before Marcus walked into my office. I hadn’t noticed it in the chaos. I opened it. [Garrett: I’m sorry, Nolan. I needed this money. Don’t bother looking for me, you won’t find me. I can’t fix the mess I made, so you’re on your own. We were brothers once, so I’ll give you one piece of advice—don’t call the cops. It won’t help you. Both our names are on that master account. If the feds start digging, you’re going down with me. Take care of yourself.] I stared at the glowing pixels for a full minute. Then I hurled the phone at the concrete. The screen spider-webbed into a thousand pieces. But the text was still legible through the cracks. I’m sorry. We were brothers once. I knelt on the driveway of that empty mansion and buried my face in my hands. What seeped through my fingers wasn’t tears. It was sweat. Cold, sickening sweat. The next forty-eight hours were the longest of my life. Back at the office, reality set in. Payroll was due next week. Eighty thousand dollars. Vendor invoices were due at the end of the month. Three hundred thousand. The client delivery milestones were rapidly approaching. If we breached contract—penalty clauses kicked in. A cool one million dollars in damages. Total exposure: Over a million and a half dollars. And the company account balance? Zero. My personal checking account? After the mortgage, car lease, and credit cards, I had exactly fourteen thousand dollars to my name. Marcus was panicking harder than I was. “Nolan, I’m tapped out. I dumped everything into a down payment on my house last year. I’m leveraged to the hilt.” I chain-smoked cigarette after cigarette out on the office balcony. The air inside my office was gray with smoke. Only one question looped relentlessly in my brain. Where do I get the money? A bank loan? The underwriting alone would take weeks. Family? What kind of relatives just have a spare million sitting around? Investors? The company was bleeding out. No VC firm would touch us with a ten-foot pole. I went through my contacts. From A to Z. Every single name. Mike, the VP who bought me drinks last month and told me “call me if you ever need a favor.” I called. It rang three times and went to voicemail. I called back. He declined it. My cousin David, owns a construction firm. He actually picked up. “A million bucks? Are you out of your mind, Nolan? My entire net worth is barely half that!” Steve, a guy I went to college with who worked in commercial banking. “Nolan, look… I can ask around, but your corporate accounts are zeroed out. You’d never pass a credit check. Do you have collateral?” Collateral. I had one house under my name. Market value: eight hundred thousand. Remaining mortgage: five hundred thousand. Net equity: three hundred grand. A drop in the bucket. I dialed every number I knew. And when I hit the bottom of the list. Not a single person was willing to throw me a lifeline. All those “tight” connections Garrett had bragged about. The clients, the drinking buddies, the VIPs. None of them picked up the phone. It felt like the entire city knew I was a dead man walking before I had even accepted it myself. Day three. I hadn’t left my office chair in twenty-four hours. The ashtray was overflowing, spilled across the desk, and filled up again. Marcus left around three in the morning. Before he walked out, he paused by the door. “Nolan… maybe we should go to the police.” I didn’t answer him. I had read Garrett’s text dozens of times before my screen fully died. Both our names are on that master account. If the feds start digging, you’re going down with me. He was right. To cut through red tape, we had set up joint signature authority. But for the sake of speed, I had granted him unilateral clearance for transfers under half a million dollars. That was how he bled us dry. Transfer by transfer, staying just under the alarm threshold. If I called the cops— They would audit everything. They would see my digital authorization granting him that power. They would dig into every vendor contract I had ever signed. I wouldn’t necessarily go to jail. But I would be tied up in litigation for years. And besides— Even if the FBI caught Garrett, would the money be there? He had planned this. The cash was already washed through offshore shell companies or crypto mixers. The odds of recovering a single dime were practically zero. And I still had a million-dollar hole to fill immediately. Day four. The demand letters from the hardware vendors arrived via certified mail. The client’s project manager called, asking for a progress update. Two of our senior developers, sensing the bad blood in the water, submitted their resignations. I sat behind my desk, staring at a stack of final notices and exit paperwork. My phone rang. It was my mom. “Nolan, why haven’t you answered my calls for three days? What is going on with you? Come over for dinner this weekend, your dad got a great cut of steak—” “Mom, I’m swamped. I’ll call you later.” I hung up. It rang again. Joan. I stared at her name on the screen for three solid seconds. I answered. “Are you coming home for dinner tonight?” Her voice was as calm and steady as it always was. I opened my mouth. I wanted to say, Everything is gone. I wanted to say, The company is dead. I wanted to say, I’m about to file for bankruptcy. But the words wouldn’t come out. “No.” “Okay. I’ll leave the porch light on for you.” She hung up. Why didn’t I tell her? Maybe it was pride. Maybe I thought it was pointless. She made five grand a month. What could she possibly do against a seven-figure deficit? Or maybe it was because— From the very beginning, I had never viewed her as a true partner in the trenches. I had boxed her into a very specific role in my mind. Cook the meals. Do the laundry. Be nice to my mom. Buy your little gold coins. That was it. Day seven. The client sent official notice. A cure period warning. If we didn’t hit our deliverables within thirty days, they would trigger the penalty clause. One million dollars. Add the vendor debts and payroll. A million and a half. Liquidate my entire life, and I couldn’t cover half of it. I seriously began to consider the unthinkable. Filing Chapter 11. The moment the phrase crossed my mind, I felt like someone had kicked my legs out from under me. Three years. Built from absolute scratch. Three years of blood, sweat, and sleepless nights to hit a ten-million-dollar valuation. Wiped out. Back to square one. No, worse than square one. At square one, I didn’t owe a million and a half dollars to angry creditors. I collapsed forward, resting my forehead against the cold wood of my desk. I closed my eyes. Garrett’s smiling face flashed in the darkness. Seven-figure bonus for each of us! You gotta think bigger. I’m sorry. I dry-heaved. My stomach was totally empty. Nothing came up. Night ten. I finally walked through the front door of my apartment. Ten days. I had spent the last ten days either sleeping on my office couch or driving around the city begging for loans. The result? Not a single cent. My hand was violently shaking as I pushed the key into the deadbolt. Not from the cold. From sheer exhaustion. A total physiological and psychological collapse. The living room lights were on. Joan was sitting on the sofa, a hardcover book in her lap. When I walked in, she set the book down and stood up. I saw something shift in her expression. Her brow furrowed. “When was the last time you ate a real meal?” I looked down at myself. My suit was a wrinkled disaster. The collar of my dress shirt was stained gray with sweat and grime. My shoes were scuffed. I had lost at least ten pounds. “I’m fine,” I muttered, trying to walk past her toward the bedroom. She stepped into my path. “Nolan.” I stopped. “Are you in trouble?” I stood with my back to her, leaning my weight against the doorframe. A long, heavy silence stretched between us. “The company accounts were drained.” There was no sound behind me. I turned my head. Joan was standing in the hallway, the ambient light casting long shadows across her face, making her expression unreadable. “How much?” “Four and a half million.” Her face didn’t twist in horror. She didn’t scream. She didn’t break down sobbing. She didn’t demand to know how I could be so stupid. She just gave a slow, deliberate nod, like she was processing a data point in a spreadsheet. Then she said, “Go take a hot shower. I’m going to heat up some food.” That night, I ate my first real meal in ten days. Pot roast, roasted vegetables, buttered potatoes. Joan sat across from me at the kitchen island, watching me eat. I kept my head down, shoveling the food into my mouth, too ashamed to speak. When I finished, I put my fork down. “Joan.” “Yeah.” “We’re probably going to lose the house. If I can’t cover the client’s breach of contract penalties…” I trailed off. She picked up my empty plate and carried it to the sink. The sound of running water started again. I sat there, staring at the empty space where my plate had been. My mind was a complete void. Half an hour later. She walked out of the kitchen. She wasn’t carrying a dish towel. She was carrying a key. Not a house key. A very small, vintage-looking brass key. She walked past me, heading straight for the master bedroom. I followed her. She opened her closet. She reached into the deepest corner, removed a stack of winter sweaters, and popped loose a false back panel I never knew existed. I stared at the wall behind it.

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For fifteen years, I lived in a foster home waiting for my parents to come back for me. Martha, the director of the home, always told me that my mother and father were brilliant scientists. She said their research was too dangerous, the laboratories too hazardous for a child. She promised that as soon as their massive project was finished, they would come take me home. But fifteen years slipped by, and their project never seemed to end. On the day I graduated middle school at the top of my state, Mayor Wilkins personally came to congratulate me. “You really are Craig’s son. You’ve set such a wonderful example for your little sister.” That was the exact moment I found out. My parents’ research project had ended years ago. They didn’t leave me here because their work was dangerous. They left me because they had a new child. It was fine. I didn’t want to wait for them anymore. I tore up the elite invitation letter sent by their research institute. I walked straight to Martha’s office. “Is Dr. Sarah still looking to adopt me?” 1 The mayor’s voice slowly turned into a muffled buzz in my ears. “Oh, right. You haven’t met your sister yet, have you?” He held up his phone. On the screen, my father, my mother, and a little girl were smiling brightly. They looked like the absolute picture of happiness. The mayor pointed to a small, empty wooden chair positioned in the corner of the photograph and chuckled. “This is their tenth annual family portrait. Look at that. Every single year, they make sure to leave a seat open for you.” I stared at that perfect, happy photo, and a sudden, biting cold washed over me. The sister I had never met. She was already ten years old. She was born during the exact year my parents claimed to be at their absolute busiest. Ten years ago, I contracted a severe case of encephalitis. The doctors told the foster home that if I didn’t respond to the treatment, my cognitive development might permanently stop at the age of five. I lay in a hospital bed, burning with a violent fever. In my delirium, I just kept crying out for my mom and dad. Martha had called them, wiping her own tears away, begging them to come look at me just once. But my parents simply expressed their deep regrets. They said their research had entered a critical phase and they absolutely could not step away. They wired a massive sum of money to the foster home and told Martha to make sure I got the best doctors. But when Martha placed the phone next to my ear, begging them to at least say a few words to me, they hurriedly hung up. Martha was too old to stay up all night. It was Dr. Sarah who stayed by my hospital bed. She took me to every scan, held my hand through every needle, and stayed awake for days on end. Because of that, Sarah lost out on an eighty-million-dollar federal grant she had been pursuing for six months. But on the day I was finally discharged, Sarah smiled brighter than the sun. She told me that as long as I was healthy, she would gladly lose a hundred grants. Deep down, even back then, I understood. I simply wasn’t that important to my parents. But I used to comfort myself by imagining them in white coats, working tirelessly to change the world. If they were that busy saving the future, the least I could do was be a good, quiet boy. Now I knew the truth. It wasn’t that they didn’t have time to raise a child. They just didn’t have time to raise me. Mayor Wilkins was still happily ruffling my hair. “Now that you’ve been selected for the Vanguard Academy’s youth program, you’ll finally get to be with your folks!” The anticipation I had carried for a decade vanished. I just gave a hollow nod. A notification chimed on the mayor’s phone. A voice message played out loud. “Just like last time, please intercept Rowan’s invitation to the Academy. Pearl is transitioning to middle school right now, and we don’t want his arrival to upset her.” I froze. This wasn’t the first time the Vanguard Academy had invited me. And it wasn’t the first time my parents had intercepted it. All my blood, sweat, and tears. Erased with a single text message. The mayor’s smile stiffened. He hastily locked his phone and looked at me with cautious, nervous eyes. “Rowan… about that invitation letter I gave you earlier…” I pretended I hadn’t heard the voice message. I patted my chest, right where I had carefully tucked the envelope earlier, and offered a sheepish, apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Mayor. I think I accidentally lost it. That’s okay, right?” 2 Mayor Wilkins let out a very obvious sigh of relief. “Of course it’s okay. It’s just a standard research program anyway. You don’t need to go all the way out there. You stay right here in Seattle, and you’ll easily get into MIT or Harvard.” My fingernails dug so deeply into my palms that the pain was the only thing stopping my tears. I wasn’t stupid. I knew the Academy wasn’t the thing that was unnecessary. I was. The institute where my parents worked was globally renowned. There was nothing “standard” about it. Years ago, they used to call on my birthday and encourage me to study hard. They promised that one day, we would reunite in those very halls. So I studied like my life depended on it. I studied until the fingers on my right hand were covered in thick, yellow calluses. All just to get a tiny bit closer to them. And now, they had personally shattered that dream. The brutal reality finally set in. Their excuses about being swamped with work were lies. Their claims about the labs being too dangerous for a kid were lies. The very existence of my little sister was the ultimate, glaring proof. It proved that I, the boy dumped in a foster home and left to rot, was nothing but a pathetic joke. Maybe when I was screaming in agony from the brain swelling, they felt a fleeting moment of worry. But it was nothing compared to the overwhelming joy they felt hearing their new baby cry for the first time. Maybe when I scored perfect grades and Martha sent them my report cards, they smiled. But it couldn’t hold a candle to the emotion they felt hearing Pearl call them Mom and Dad. It was exactly like that empty chair in their family portrait. They didn’t leave that seat open because they were waiting for me. They left it open because they had grown perfectly comfortable with my absence. That chair was just like me. Collecting dust in a dark corner, only dragged out into the light when it made them look good. The mayor looked at me with thinly veiled pity. He patted my shoulder gently. “Don’t be sad, Rowan. Once you get into a good college on the East Coast, you’ll see them.” He drove me back to the foster home. The moment I walked through the doors, a crowd of strangers with cameras swarmed me. A woman shoved a massive novelty check made of foam board into my hands. Printed in bold black letters across the top: [Charity Foundation Educational Grant for the Orphan Rowan: $50,000.] The word ‘Orphan’ burned my eyes like acid. My eyes flushed red and I immediately tried to hand it back. “You made a mistake. I’m not an orphan.” A plump woman laughed and patted my head. “We did our background checks, honey. Your legal guardianship belongs to the state. You have no registered relatives. There’s no mistake.” 3 While I stood there in absolute shock, Martha gently pulled me aside. Her weathered face was filled with profound guilt. “Rowan… there is something you need to know. The day before you collapsed from the fever, your parents came here.” I felt like someone had swung a baseball bat into my ribs. My voice shook violently. “Then why didn’t I see them?” Martha looked at me with the exact same pity the mayor had shown. The kind of sympathy reserved for someone whose entire life is a tragedy. “Your parents were applying for a massive federal appointment. They needed a flawless public image. But the doctors told them your brain damage might be permanent.” She took a shaky breath. “They didn’t want the burden of a disabled child distracting them from baby Pearl. So they signed your legal rights over to the state, claimed their work environment was too toxic for a child, and rushed back to the city.” It was the middle of a blistering summer, but I felt like I was drowning in an icy lake. Violent shivers ripped through my body. The echoing laughter of the other kids from when I was five years old flooded my mind. They’re never coming back for you! You’re just a stray! Nobody wants you! Why do you get the gold star? I remembered clutching that little paper star to my chest, screaming back at them. You’re lying! My mom and dad are the greatest scientists in the world! They’re coming to take me home! In the ensuing scuffle, they had pushed me into the decorative pond. Right before I lost consciousness in the water, my last thought had been a wish. I wished my mom and dad were there. Because if they were, they would never let anyone bully me. Now I knew. They had literally been in the building that day. And they couldn’t even spare five minutes to look at me before throwing me away. They were the ones who permanently branded me an unwanted stray. Martha’s rough, warm hands enveloped mine. “Rowan, I know how much it hurts to accept that word. But the home is desperate right now. We really need this grant money.” Seeing the deep lines of sorrow carved into the face of the woman who actually raised me, I wanted to sob. “Three, two, one, smile!” The camera flashes burned into my retinas. They captured the moment perfectly. Me, clutching a giant piece of foam board that declared me parentless. I stared dead into the camera lenses and accepted the heavy stacks of cash. “On behalf of all orphans, I want to thank the community and the media for your care.” Every single word that left my mouth felt like a knife dragging across my skin. As the applause thundered through the room, a dark thought crossed my mind. If my parents saw this broadcast, would they feel even a single second of guilt? 4 That evening, the foster home threw a small party to celebrate my exam scores. To reward me, Betty, our cook, had bought fresh Dungeness crab. I worked tirelessly to crack the shells, even though I actually hated crab. Eating too much of it always gave me terrible stomach cramps. The only reason everyone thought I loved crab was because on my twelfth birthday, my parents had randomly shipped a massive cooler of them to the home. So, even though the sharp claws cut my fingers and my stomach twisted in pain, I smiled and ate every last bite. Someone in the dining room flipped the TV channel, landing on a science and lifestyle talk show. My father’s face suddenly filled the screen. The host smiled at him. “Craig, let’s step away from the lab for a moment. Do you know your daughter’s favorite food?” My father let out a helpless laugh. His tone was dripping with a profound, tender affection I had never heard in my life. “She is incredibly picky. I remember one year, she was obsessed with crab. Her mother and I practically bought out a local fishery for her. But a week later, my little girl decided she hated them.” As he spoke, the cold, sharp demeanor of a leading academic completely vanished. He was just a normal, hopelessly devoted dad. “We didn’t know what to do. We ended up shipping boxes of crab to everyone we knew. Close friends, distant acquaintances. We shipped them off just to get rid of them.” A sharp piece of crab shell sliced the corner of my mouth. Blood slowly dripped down my chin. I didn’t move. I didn’t even feel the sting. Because the agonizing pain in my chest eclipsed everything else. In that moment, I wanted to smash through the screen, grab him by the collar, and scream. What about me? What am I to you? A close friend? Or a distant acquaintance? The gift I had cherished so deeply. The proof that they still remembered me. It was just the garbage their precious daughter refused to eat. Martha rushed over with a napkin, frantically wiping the blood from my mouth. Tears finally breached my eyes. I reached into my shirt and pulled out the thick, wax-sealed invitation envelope from the Vanguard Academy. It was still warm from my body heat. Then, piece by piece, I tore it to shreds. I let the confetti of expensive paper fall into the pile of broken crab shells. Crabs I didn’t want to eat. Parents who didn’t want to love me. I was done with all of it. I looked up at Martha, my voice eerily calm. “Martha. Dr. Sarah… is she still waiting for me?” Martha looked confused. “Sarah is supposed to transfer back to her main research station in a couple of days. But yes, she’s been constantly submitting adoption papers for you. Why do you ask?” I looked at her, a tear-streaked smile breaking across my face. “I want to be Sarah’s son.” “I’m not going to the Vanguard Academy. I’m going with Sarah to the Cascade Mountain Observatory.” 5 This was Sarah’s ninety-ninth time submitting an adoption application, and the very first time I didn’t refuse. It wasn’t that I didn’t love Sarah. She was the only person who had ever made me feel truly loved. Compared to the ghost-like promise of my parents returning, Sarah’s love was a physical, grounding force. Unlike my mother, who sent me clothes that were always two sizes too big, Sarah would take me to the store, buy me a fitted suit, and patiently teach me how to tie a Windsor knot. Unlike my father, whose only reaction to my perfect grades was a sterile text saying Congratulations, Rowan, Sarah would read with me for hours and press a warm kiss to my forehead before bed. The only reason I had rejected her before was because I thought belonging to someone else would be a betrayal to my parents. But the truth was, my parents had betrayed me the day I was born. I was nothing but a biological accident. Pearl was their actual child. The legal transfer was incredibly smooth. When Sarah called the Cascade Observatory to tell them the news, the board was ecstatic. They immediately promised to allocate their top resources to my education. After a tearful goodbye with my foster family, Sarah and I began our journey. I thought I would never have to deal with the East Coast research circles again. But fate has a twisted sense of humor. Our first stop before heading to the mountains was a national science exposition. Sarah was representing the Observatory as a keynote speaker. “Rowan, I need to get backstage to prep. Go walk around and check out whatever exhibits you like.” I nodded obediently and wandered through the massive convention center, entirely absorbed in the robotics displays. “Rowan?” The voice startled me. When I turned around, it felt like an invisible hand had reached into my chest and crushed my lungs. I thought I didn’t care anymore. But my breathing hitched, and my throat tightened painfully. I forced myself to breathe, suppressing the tremor in my voice. “Sir. Ma’am. It’s been a long time.” My father and mother stood there, staring at me with expressions of utter shock.

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When the fourth cornea match came through, my husband, the head of ophthalmology, expertly slid a voluntary waiver across the table. His face was painted with guilt, but his tone left absolutely no room for negotiation. “Trexie, we can’t use this set of corneas for you either.” “Stella had acid thrown in her face by her ex. It ruined her vision completely. She relies on sleeping pills just to make it through the night. If she hears that your sight has been restored, it will drag up all her past trauma. She will be suicidal. I can’t just stand by and watch her suffer.” “Don’t worry. You can still make out blurry shapes with your left eye. Once Stella is fully recovered, we can always wait for another donor.” I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream and demand answers the way I had the first three times. I just silently signed my name on the dotted line. David had no idea. While he was busy crossing my name off the surgical schedule to prioritize his childhood sweetheart, I had already accepted an offer from the world’s most advanced neural integration research center. I had agreed to be their Chief Scientist and primary test subject. I was leaving the country, and I was never coming back. Finally, it was time to say goodbye to David. 1 Right after the pen left the paper, a sharp, stabbing pain pierced my left eye. My vision rapidly blackened. David’s face, which I could barely make out a moment ago, dissolved into murky, shapeless blobs of color. I braced both hands against the desk, entirely unprepared for the sudden shift. David didn’t notice a thing. He was too busy eagerly shoving the signed waiver into his folder, terrified I might change my mind. Just then, an emergency room nurse slammed the door open. “Dr. David! Stella slit her wrists!” “She lost a massive amount of blood! They are trying to resuscitate her right now!” He didn’t even look at me. He shoved past the nurse and sprinted down the hall. The darkness in my left eye grew heavier. The agony drilled straight through my optic nerve and into my brain. I fumbled blindly until my fingers found the call button on the desk. A few minutes later, the door swung open again. Heavy footsteps rushed right up to me. I assumed it was the doctor on call. I opened my mouth to ask for help, but someone gripped my wrist in an iron hold. A rough alcohol swab was slathered haphazardly over my vein. “Trexie, the hospital blood bank is totally depleted. Stella needs a transfusion immediately.” It was David’s voice. “We have to draw from you. She doesn’t have time to wait.” I couldn’t see a single thing. I could only feel the icy prick of a large needle burying itself into my flesh. “It hurts…” I struggled, trying to pull my arm away. “It is just a little blood. Stella is fighting for her life. What is your little bit of pain compared to that?” David pinned my arm down with brutal force. Right then, someone burst into the room. It was Brooke, my attending physician and my absolute best friend. She shoved David hard, snatching the oversized syringe out of his hand. “Are you out of your mind?!” “Stella has O-negative blood! The bank is full of it!” “Your wife’s optic nerve is on the verge of rapid necrosis. You want to draw her blood right now? Do you want her to go completely blind?!” Brooke’s voice was shaking with fury. She stepped between us, shielding me. David hesitated for a fraction of a second, but his resolve hardened. “Stop fearmongering, Brooke.” “It is just a little blood. How much worse could her eyes possibly get?” “Stella is carrying two lives right now. I am not letting anything happen to her!” Two lives? But David didn’t give me a single second to process that. He shoved Brooke out of the way with terrifying force. Then he grabbed my arm again. This time, he grabbed an even larger gauge needle. He jammed it brutally into my already bruised vein. “Draw four hundred cc’s and get it to the operating room immediately.” He barked the order with absolute, chilling apathy. I could feel the blood rushing out of my body. And along with it went the very last, fading sliver of light in my left eye. I closed my eyes. A memory drifted to the surface. My right eye had gone blind two years ago. A deranged family member of a patient had lunged at David with a knife. I threw myself in front of him, taking the blow. The heavy hilt of the knife had shattered my right eye. From that day on, half my world had been pitch black. Back then, David had held me in his arms, sobbing hysterically. He swore to the heavens he would spend the rest of his life making it up to me. And now, he was personally ripping away my very last hope of ever seeing the light again. “David.” I stared blankly toward the sound of his breathing. “If you take this blood today, we are done.” My voice was incredibly soft. Stripped of all emotion. The pulling sensation in my vein paused. But a second later, he let out a scoff. “Are you really pulling this card again?” “Every single time something happens to Stella, you threaten me with a divorce. Are you ever going to drop it?” “You are practically a cripple who cannot even see where she is walking. Where exactly are you going to go without me?” Warm, crimson blood flowed continuously through the plastic tubing. Brooke scrambled up from the floor, reaching out to rip the needle from my arm. David backhanded her away. “Security! Get this crazy woman out of my sight!” Guards rushed into the room and dragged Brooke backward. “You are an absolute monster, David! You are going to rot for this!” “Trexie lost an eye to save your pathetic life, and now you are destroying her other eye for your mistress!” Brooke’s screaming faded down the corridor. David yanked the needle out. He pressed a freezing alcohol cotton ball against my puncture wound, not even lingering for a full second. He grabbed the blood bag and turned on his heel. “David,” I called out to him one last time. “Did it ever cross your mind that if my eye is completely ruined, it might never be fixed?” His footsteps paused at the door. He threw his words over his shoulder like trash. “Then it doesn’t get fixed.” “If you go totally blind, I will just provide for you for the rest of your life. But nothing is going to happen to Stella.” The door slammed shut. I listened to the frantic sound of his dress shoes sprinting down the hallway. I raised a trembling hand and touched my left eye. There was nothing but a hollow, empty void. The version of Trexie who had once thrown her life on the line for him died right there on that vinyl chair. I lay alone in the freezing phlebotomy room. My left eye sank into absolute, inescapable darkness. I was entirely blind. Tears were a luxury I could no longer afford. I pulled out my phone and let muscle memory guide my thumb to the voice assistant. “Call Brooke.” The line connected almost instantly. I could hear Brooke’s muffled, suppressed sobbing. “Trexie… your eyes…” “Brooke, process my discharge papers.” “I want to go home.” 2 Tapping my cane against the pavement, I blindly navigated my way back to the house I used to call home. The moment I pushed the front door open, I heard the blaring noise of a daytime soap opera. And the rhythmic cracking of sunflower seeds. I accidentally bumped into the hallway shoe cabinet. An expensive ceramic vase sitting on the edge tipped over and shattered into a thousand pieces on the hardwood. The deafening crash echoed through the living room. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?!” My mother-in-law, Brenda, tossed her seed shells onto the floor and stomped over in her slippers. “You blind, useless jinx!” “Can you not see a massive vase right in front of your face?” “David paid thousands of dollars for that antique. You couldn’t afford to replace it if you sold your own organs!” I couldn’t see her face, but I could feel the spray of her spit hitting my cheek. I ignored her, carefully stepping around the sharp shards, and headed for the stairs. The front door opened again. It was David’s voice. “Mom, I brought Stella home.” I heard the sound of two sets of feet. One of them stepped with an exaggerated, delicate lightness. “Oh my gosh!” Stella suddenly shrieked, practically throwing herself into David’s arms. “Why is the floor covered in broken glass?” “That is so scary. David, I am frightened.” David immediately wrapped his arms tightly around her. “It is okay. I’ve got you.” Seeing this, Brenda marched straight up to me. She raised her hand and slapped me across the face with everything she had. My head snapped to the side. A high-pitched ringing echoed in my ears. “You vicious witch!” “You intentionally broke that vase so Stella would trip on it, didn’t you?” “Stella is pregnant! If anything happens to that baby, I will make you pay with your life!” I froze. Pregnant? Stella was pregnant. So that was what David meant in the hospital when he said two lives. Judging by Brenda’s fiercely protective reaction, the baby undoubtedly belonged to David. I thought my heart was entirely dead. I thought it couldn’t hurt anymore. But in that moment, all I felt was overwhelming, suffocating nausea. Touching my burning cheek, I turned my sightless eyes toward David. “Do you have anything you want to explain?” David stiffened. His voice was laced with nervous tension. “Trexie, do not overthink this.” “Stella is only staying temporarily. Her ex-boyfriend abandoned her.” “I could not let her live out there all alone. It is not safe. So I brought her here.” “She has had a hard time. Show a little compassion for a pregnant woman.” He didn’t say a single word about who the father was. Every single syllable was a desperate defense of Stella. “Starting tomorrow, you need to move down to the guest room on the lower level. Stella needs the master bedroom.” A hollow laugh slipped past my lips. He wanted his blind wife to clear out of her own bedroom so his mistress could nest. And I was supposed to be compassionate about it. Stella buried her face in David’s chest, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Trexie, please do not be mad at David.” “This is all my fault.” “If you really cannot stand the sight of me, I will just leave. I will take my baby and throw myself off a bridge.” She made a theatrical pivot toward the door. David violently yanked her back. “Where do you think you are going?! From today on, this is your home.” He turned to me, his voice taking on a thick, patronizing layer of guilt. “Trexie. Stella is blind, and she is expecting. I know you are not a cruel person.” Blind? I inhaled sharply. The heavy, suffocating scent of a custom designer perfume rolled off Stella’s skin. What kind of blind woman flawlessly applied full makeup and spritzed high-end fragrance every single day? “David, I want a divorce.” Silence hung heavy in the air. Then, a deep, frustrated growl. “Have you entirely lost your mind?” “Stella is just staying for a little while. Are you really going to hold a divorce over my head over this? You are completely blind. If you leave me, where are you going to go? Are you going to beg for change under a highway overpass?” He was absolutely convinced I was playing hard to get. “Fine. You want to throw a tantrum?” I heard him pull out his phone. He tapped the screen a few times, freezing every single credit card attached to his accounts. “Go down to the basement storage room and think about how you are acting.” “When you finally accept reality, you can come back upstairs!” I didn’t argue. The phone in my pocket vibrated with a distinct pattern. It was a priority email notification. I knew exactly what it was. A message from the Neural Integration Institute. Their private jet would touch down in exactly three days. I turned around, sweeping my cane, and began the slow descent down the stairs to the basement. There was no heating down there. Just piles of forgotten boxes and a moldy cot. But it was exactly what I wanted. I needed absolute silence to organize my core experimental data. 3 The basement was damp and freezing. I huddled in the corner, listening to the automated voice assistant read my email aloud. The flight path clearance had been fully approved. Suddenly, the heavy basement door swung open. The sharp click of stiletto heels echoed aggressively against the concrete floor. What kind of blind woman wears stilettos down a flight of concrete stairs? Stella stopped right in front of me. I heard the metallic screech of my desk drawer being yanked open. That drawer contained my exclusive, handwritten medical manuscripts. A decade of irreplaceable research. “Trexie, are you really hiding down here playing the misunderstood martyr?” Her voice was dripping with arrogance. “What is all this scrap paper? Looks pretty old. Maybe I should just toss it in the fireplace.” I shot up from the cot. Using purely spatial memory, my hand shot forward and locked around her wrist like a vice. I ripped the stack of manuscripts out of her grasp. “What are you doing?! You are hurting me!” Stella shrieked. I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Stella, is playing blind fun?” “Your corneas are perfectly intact. You could clearly see the lock on my desk drawer.” “You bribed a doctor to forge a blindness diagnosis, and you are playing David like an absolute fool.” “What is your endgame?” Caught red-handed, Stella panicked for a split second. But her shock quickly morphed into a vicious, gloating cackle. “So what if I am?” “David eats it right out of the palm of my hand.” “Who do you think he is going to believe? Me, or a washed-up, sightless housewife?” She leaned in close, her breath ghosting against my ear. “Trexie, tell me something. If I accidentally killed your precious little guide dog… do you think David would even blame me?” My golden retriever, Max, was my only lifeline in the dark. Fury surged through my veins. I raised both hands and shoved her away. “Get out!” She used the momentum to stagger backward, throwing herself violently onto the hard concrete. Then, she let out a bloodcurdling scream. “Ahhh! My baby!” “Help! David, help me! Trexie is trying to kill our baby!” The thunderous sound of heavy footsteps hammered against the ceiling. David sprinted down the stairs. He shoved me aside with brutal force and dropped to his knees beside Stella. I lost my balance and crashed onto the dust-covered floor. “Trexie! How could you be so utterly venomous?!” David scooped Stella into his arms, glaring at me with absolute hatred. “What the hell happened to you? When did you become this monster?” Stella buried her face in his neck, putting on a flawless performance of a frail, dying victim. “David, I am okay. My stomach just hurts a little…” “Trexie is just upset that I moved in. She lost her temper. Please do not be mad at her.” She paused, letting the silence hang before seamlessly pivoting her strategy. “Oh, David… isn’t the new Chief Director from that overseas Neural Institute arriving tomorrow?” “I heard they are desperately looking for live human pain-response data.” “Trexie is fully blind now. If you put her in the high-voltage neural stimulation chamber and record her sensory feedback…” “You would get the perfect data set. Trexie used to love researching this kind of stuff. I am sure she would be happy to contribute.” I gasped, the air turning to ice in my lungs. The high-voltage stimulation chamber. Surging extreme electrical currents straight through the cerebral cortex. The pain was beyond human comprehension. I truly believed that David, as an established medical professional, possessed at least a shred of baseline morality. But after a brief moment of hesitation, he actually agreed. He walked over, his hand brushing against my cheek for the first time in months. His tone was sickeningly gentle. “This data could secure me the regional directorship for their Institute. If I get that, I will be promoted to Hospital President!” “Trexie, just endure it for a little bit.” “You just need to provide some sensory data. It is not lethal.” “Once we impress the Director and secure a cure for Stella, you can finally get your cornea transplant. Isn’t that what you want?” I lay on the filthy floor, listening to the absolute insanity spilling from the mouth of the man I used to share a bed with. For a mistress. For a shiny new title. He was willingly sending his legally wedded wife into an electric torture chamber. “I am not going.” I forced the words through gritted teeth. “Be a good girl. Once this is all over, I will take you to the Bahamas. You can rest on the beach while you recover.” David waved his hand. Two massive, broad-shouldered orderlies marched into the basement. The suffocating stench of industrial bleach flooded my senses. I was strapped tightly to a freezing stainless-steel examination table. David stood safely behind the reinforced observation glass. “Trexie, just hold on. It will be over before you know it.” His voice echoed mechanically through the intercom speaker. “Initialize sequence.” Along with the deafening hum of heavy machinery, the first wave of pure electricity ripped straight through my brain. A guttural, agonizing scream tore out of my throat. My body convulsed violently against the thick leather restraints, tearing the skin off my wrists. I bit completely through my bottom lip, my mouth flooding with the hot, metallic taste of blood. I was trapped in a living hell, begging for death, while they stood safely on the other side, documenting cold, clinical numbers. The torment lasted until dawn. My pain receptors were entirely fried. Even drawing a breath felt like swallowing crushed glass. Every single lingering trace of love I had for David died a violent death inside that chamber. The heavy airlock hissed open. Stella walked in, looking down at me with unvarnished disgust. “Stop playing dead. We got the data. Get up.” David had already left for the summit at the luxury hotel. Stella didn’t even bother tossing a jacket over my torn clothes. She simply dragged me out to the car. Today, the entire medical community was holding its breath, waiting for the newly appointed Chief Director to make an appearance. When David saw my horrific state, a fleeting shadow of long-forgotten pity crossed his eyes. He took a step forward to check on me, but an older, distinguished gentleman approached the lobby, instantly hijacking David’s attention. “Dr. Harrison! It is an honor.” David rushed forward, bowing his head in extreme deference. “I am Dr. David. I prepared these exclusive, live-subject neurological data logs specifically for your review.” Dr. Harrison furrowed his brow, taking the thick binder and flipping through the first few pages. Then, his gaze drifted upward and landed directly on me. The moment he recognized my face, the heavy binder slipped from his hands and crashed onto the marble floor. Dr. Harrison shoved David aside, practically sprinting over to me. He caught my collapsing body, his voice shaking with absolute reverence and horror. “Chief! What on earth happened to you?!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “496740”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 During my lunch break, I was scrolling through a food delivery app out of pure boredom, trying to sort out an order for my coworkers. That was when a bizarre listing on a high-end dessert boutique’s page caught my eye. The item was called “Afternoon Solace for Her” and it carried a staggering price tag of $999. The main image showed what looked like an incredibly ordinary slice of tiramisu. But when I clicked into the comment section, a distinctly suggestive atmosphere hit me right in the face. “The delivery guy was gorgeous. The cake was delicious. Will definitely order again.” “Customer service replied so quickly. Punctual delivery. Completely brightened up my dreary afternoon.” Driven by morbid curiosity, I clicked on the profile of a user who had left a one-star review. Her complaint read, “What a trashy shop. Spent a fortune for some solace, and the guy they sent was old and ugly. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at him.” It clicked instantly. This was a male escort service using a pastry shop as a front. I let out a dry chuckle, marveling at the lengths people would go to these days. I dropped the link into the group chat with the boys as a joke, then closed the app. It was just a funny anecdote until three in the afternoon, when a Chase bank alert popped up on my phone. A $999 charge had just been made on our joint family credit card. The merchant name was Sweet Serendipity Boutique. The item name was exactly “Afternoon Solace for Her.” My wife, Sarah, was currently on a business trip in a city three hundred miles away. Half an hour ago, she had just texted me, complaining about how boring it was to process paperwork alone in her hotel room. Her words were sprinkled with affectionate, pouting emojis. It was impossible. Sarah was known among our friends as the ultimate devoted wife. Gentle, considerate, and entirely dedicated to me. We had been together for seven full years, from college to marriage, and she still looked at me with a spark in her eyes. She was the kind of woman who would shed quiet tears if I forgot a Valentine’s Day gift, yet light up for an entire week over a cheap bouquet of bodega roses. How could a woman who valued our love above all else spend a thousand dollars on a male escort while out of town? I stared unblinking at the text message, reading it over and over. It had to be a coincidence. Maybe she really just wanted to try their tiramisu. After all, dropping a ridiculous amount of money on an artisanal cake sounded exactly like the kind of impulse buy a stressed corporate executive might make. Yes, that had to be it. I took a deep breath, dialed Sarah’s number, and forced my voice to sound perfectly normal. “Hey honey, are you busy?” “Just finished up. I was actually about to take a breather.” Her voice carried its usual soothing warmth. “What’s up, babe? Missing me already?” “Always,” I chuckled, keeping my tone light and casual. “Any good food around your hotel?” “I saw a dessert spot called Sweet Serendipity online that looked pretty popular. Is there one near you?” The line went dead silent for two agonizing seconds. Those two seconds made my stomach drop. “No, nothing like that,” Sarah’s voice bounced back to normal, even carrying a faint laugh. “Where did you hear about that?” “I’m out in the new development district. It’s totally desolate out here. If I want a late-night snack, I have to walk miles.” “I actually just ordered some room service. A salad, and it was absolutely awful.” She clearly and definitively said no. My hands and feet turned ice cold. But clinging to the last shred of hope, I pressed on. “I just got a credit card alert. I thought maybe you bought something sweet.” “Huh?” “That $999 charge.” Sarah sounded genuinely surprised for a moment, but it quickly melted into an exasperated groan. “Oh my god, I completely forgot to tell you.” “I booked that for Eleanor. Her corporate card was acting up with the out-of-state zip code, so she asked me to front the cost for a bit.” “Look at my terrible memory. I got so busy I completely forgot. I bet you thought it was a scam text.” “You’re so sharp, babe. Nothing gets past you.” The explanation was perfect. Covering an expense for her senior director was the most reasonable excuse in the world. I could even picture her sticking her tongue out in that cute, apologetic way she always did. “Oh, that makes sense. Scared me for a second.” I exhaled deeply, feeling like I had just been pulled back from the edge of a cliff. “Try to get some rest tonight, okay? Don’t overwork yourself.” After hanging up, I let out a long sigh, mocking my own paranoid delusions. Yet, that one-star review echoed relentlessly in my mind. The guy they sent was old and ugly. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at him. 2 Sarah’s excuse was airtight, but the dark cloud of suspicion in my chest refused to dissipate. If anything, it grew heavier. I couldn’t sit still. The words on my laptop screen blurred into meaningless static. I frantically combed through our recent interactions, desperate to find a single crack in her story. Eleanor was the senior director at Sarah’s firm. She was in her late forties, perpetually single, and had always taken Sarah under her wing. It made perfect sense for Sarah to cover a luxury expense for her. Why, then, did my instincts scream that something was deeply wrong? Driven by a ghost of an impulse, I opened our shared iCloud photo album. It was a digital scrapbook we had maintained for years, a place where we could catch glimpses of each other’s daily lives. The most recent upload was from yesterday evening. A picture of the sunset outside her hotel window, captioned with a simple “Miss you.” Everything appeared painfully normal. I refreshed the page out of habit. The screen blinked, and a cold notification popped up. The shared album I had created seven years ago, holding tens of thousands of our memories, displayed a blunt message: “This shared album has been deleted.” My chest seized. I immediately texted Sarah. “Honey, what happened to the cloud album? I can’t see anything.” Five agonizing minutes passed before she replied. “Huh?” “I have no idea. Maybe my phone is glitching. Let me restart it and try again.” “Don’t worry about it, babe.” Ten minutes later, she sent a screenshot showing a generic network error, claiming she couldn’t connect to the cloud servers. It was the exact same excuse she had used about the hotel’s bad Wi-Fi. Once could be a coincidence. But twice? My mind raced, and a reckless, toxic idea took root. I was going to contact that shop. I searched for Sweet Serendipity again, found their contact page, and used a burner number to message their customer service on WhatsApp. The profile picture was a delicate macaron. The background image, however, was a silhouette of a man with defined abs frosting a cake. The implication was dripping with intent. Once my request was accepted, I played the role of a curious client. “Hi there. I saw your Afternoon Solace package and found it pretty intriguing. What exactly does the service entail?” The representative instantly replied with a “shush” emoji, followed by an image file. The picture detailed a comprehensive menu of services. It ranged from “Sunshine Boy Companionship Reading” to “Mature Gentleman Wine Chat,” and even an “Alpha Male Fitness Coaching” session. Each item had a different price point attached. The $999 tier was explicitly labeled as the “Boy-Next-Door Sweet Interaction” package. Fighting down a wave of nausea, I kept typing. “A friend of mine placed an order with you guys this afternoon. She had it sent to The Grand Plaza hotel. She said she was incredibly satisfied, so I’m thinking of giving it a try.” I deliberately dropped the name of the hotel Sarah was staying at. The response was immediate. “We are so thrilled your friend enjoyed our service.” “For privacy reasons, we cannot disclose specific order details.” “However, I can confirm that one of our gold-tier pastry chefs did visit The Grand Plaza this afternoon, and the client feedback was absolutely stellar.” A gold-tier pastry chef. I clenched my fists so hard my fingernails dug deep into my palms. The final wall of my denial crumbled into dust. Sarah was lying. She hadn’t just bought the service. She was incredibly satisfied with her “pastry chef.” I slumped into my office chair, my entire body drained of strength. Flashbacks of our life together assaulted me. Sharing cheap street food near our college campus, when she would always save the best bites for me. Squeezing into a tiny studio apartment, dreaming about the big house we would own one day. The agonizing hours she spent in the delivery room, culminating in the most radiant, beautiful smile the second she laid eyes on our daughter. Was all of it a lie? How could the woman who looked at me like I hung the moon be in another city, smiling at another man, and then lying to my face with such effortless grace? I pulled her MacBook from the drawer. It held all our travel photos and home videos. My fingers trembled as I typed in our password, but the screen shook with an incorrect password prompt. I froze. We had used the same login credential for seven years. I tried our daughter’s birthday, my birthday, our anniversary. Every single one failed. Just as I was about to give up, a dark, cynical impulse guided my fingers. I typed in “sweetserendipity.” The welcome screen materialized. 3 The screen flared to life, but my heart plunged into an icy abyss. A suffocating chill wrapped around me from every corner of the room. The desktop background was still our family photo at the beach. Sarah’s smile looked so pure, so full of joy. Now, that same smile felt like a venomous mockery. With shaking hands, I opened her browser. The history had been meticulously wiped clean. I checked the downloads folder, the trash bin. Every conceivable hiding spot was completely empty. She had covered her tracks flawlessly. Just as I was about to shut the laptop in defeat, my eyes snagged on an inconspicuous folder tucked in the corner of the screen. The folder was named “Lily’s Milestones.” It was a digital diary we had agreed to keep together the day our daughter was born, meant for her childhood photos and videos. I clicked it open. Instead of familiar snapshots of my little girl, I found dozens of encrypted documents. My pulse hammered against my ribs. I tried using every significant date in our lives to unlock them. All failed. I stared at those locked files, consumed by a single, obsessive thought. I had to rip them open. I immediately called Mark, an old college buddy who worked in cybersecurity. I practically begged him, giving him a rushed story about forgetting the password to crucial work files. Mark listened, paused for a long moment, then sent me a secure drop link to upload the documents. The wait felt like an eternity. I paced the living room, chain-smoking until the floor was littered with crushed filters. I didn’t know what I wanted to find in those files, and I was terrified of what I actually would. An hour later, Mark called back. His voice was thick with hesitation. “Laura, man… are you absolutely sure you want to look at this?” “Sometimes ignorance really is bliss.” His words slammed into my chest like a sledgehammer. “Send them to me,” I demanded, forcing my voice to remain steady. The decrypted files landed in my inbox seconds later. I took a deep breath that tasted like ash and clicked on the first document. The title was “First Time.” Inside was a single photograph and a date. The photo showed the side profile of a handsome young man. He was sitting by the window of a café, bathed in sunlight, looking incredibly clean-cut and warm. The date was exactly three months ago. I opened the second document. “Second Time.” This photo featured a different man, standing in a gym, his muscles sharply defined under the harsh lighting. The date was two and a half months ago. Third. Fourth. I mechanically clicked through them, one by one. The men varied wildly. A refined guy in a crisp white shirt, a bright-eyed college kid in a hoodie, a rugged, wild-looking man behind the wheel of a sports car. The only common denominator was that they were all young, and they were all gorgeous. And the dates, starting from three months ago, grew increasingly frequent. The most recent entry was dated today. It wasn’t a one-time mistake. She had been playing me for an absolute fool for months. A hollow laugh escaped my throat. I laughed until the tears finally broke free, tracing hot, pathetic lines down my face. I picked up my phone and, without a second of hesitation, booked the earliest express train to the neighboring state. Sarah. You were my entire world. But this time, I was going to tear you out of my life with my own two hands. I was going to march into that hotel. I was going to kick down that door. I was going to make her choose between that man and me. No. She didn’t get a choice anymore. I just wanted her destroyed. Sitting on the late-night train, I felt like an empty shell devoid of a soul. The dark scenery whipped past the window at breakneck speed, much like the last seven years of my pathetic, laughable marriage. 4 My mind relentlessly rehearsed the upcoming confrontation. Should I burst in and shatter that bastard’s jaw, or should I coldly record the evidence and force her to leave our marriage with absolutely nothing? Neither felt like enough. I wanted her on her knees, sobbing and begging for forgiveness. I wanted her to taste a fraction of the agonizing poison currently burning through my veins. I gripped the flash drive in my pocket like a weapon. It held every single diary entry from her laptop. It was her one-way ticket to hell. It was past nine by the time I arrived at The Grand Plaza. Standing in the opulent, gold-trimmed lobby, a sudden wave of clarity washed over me. I couldn’t just charge upstairs like a madman. The hotel had security. I wouldn’t even make it past the elevators without a room key. I needed a plan. Something foolproof. My eyes fell on the Sweet Serendipity app on my phone. A wicked, venomous idea crystallized in my mind. I moved to a quiet corner of the lobby and registered a new account using a secondary phone number. Then, I placed an order for the $999 “Afternoon Solace for Her.” In the special instructions box, I typed: “My husband is getting suspicious. Do not wear any kind of uniform. Come straight up and tell anyone who asks that you are a friend. I am in Room 1208.” Room 1208. Sarah’s room. I bought a black coffee, sank into a leather armchair in the lobby café, and locked my gaze on the elevator banks. I was going to see exactly what kind of man had the power to turn my gentle, perfect wife into a stranger. I was going to film him walking right into her room. The minutes dragged on like thick syrup. At nine-thirty, a tall man in casual black streetwear walked through the revolving doors. He was incredibly handsome, carrying that same clean, effortless vibe as the men in the photos. He didn’t pause at the front desk, walking with purpose straight toward the elevators. That was him. My heart began to hammer against my ribs, driven not by nerves, but by a volatile mix of rage and adrenaline. I casually lifted my phone, aiming the camera lens right at him. The man stepped into the elevator and hit the button for the twelfth floor. I quickly ducked into the adjacent car and followed him up. I slipped into the stairwell, pushing the heavy fire door open just a crack, leaving one eye fixed on the door of Room 1208. The man approached the room. He didn’t knock. Instead, he smoothly pulled a keycard from his pocket. A soft beep echoed in the hall, and the door clicked open. A white-hot rage flared in my chest. I raised my phone, ready to immortalize this ultimate betrayal. The door swung wide, and a strange woman wrapped in a plush white bathrobe practically leaped out to greet him. She grabbed his hand, her voice dripping with playful affection. “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting forever.” I froze. Why was it a different woman? Where was Sarah? I leaned slightly further out of the stairwell, straining to see past the doorway. That was when I saw her. My wife, Sarah. She was sitting dead center on the room’s velvet sofa. She was fully dressed in a sharp, tailored business suit, her face completely devoid of emotion. She watched the couple at the door with the cold, calculating gaze of a queen surveying her subjects. But what truly paralyzed me was the person sitting directly across from her. Another man. He was wearing the exact same jacket as me. He had my haircut. He even slouched his shoulders the exact same way I did. He had his back to the door, so his face was hidden. Sarah’s eyes flicked up, sensing the movement in the hallway. She didn’t react. She simply murmured something to the man sitting across from her. Slowly, methodically, the man turned his head. The warm glow of the corridor lights spilled across his features, and I finally saw his face. In that fleeting second, I stood rooted to the spot, the blood turning to ice in my veins.

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Ever since I found out my husband was having an affair, I wanted nothing more than to kill him. Until one rainy night. He was meeting that woman again down by Crescent Lake. I saw his hand resting on her waist, tilting his head to kiss her. A few moments later, the woman headed back to her car to answer a phone call. Leaving him standing alone in his yellow raincoat, right at the edge of the wet stone steps. I couldn’t control myself anymore. I rushed forward and, with every ounce of strength I had, shoved him into the dark, freezing waters. He thrashed wildly a few times before sinking beneath the surface, completely swallowed by the lake. Back home, I stripped off my soaked clothes. An eerie, unprecedented peace settled over me. But the next morning, the doorbell rang. I took a deep breath, steeling myself to play the part of the grieving widow. Yet when I opened the door, it wasn’t the police standing there. It was my husband. My heart leaped into my throat. He was alive and well. If he was standing here, then who the hell did I push into the lake last night? 1 He was dripping wet, but there wasn’t a scratch on him. He didn’t look like someone who had just drowned. How was this possible? I had personally pushed him into the depths. I forced myself to breathe, desperately trying to project a calm facade. “Where on earth have you been? You could have at least told me you were going out in the middle of the night.” He gave a careless grin, setting down an empty bucket on the entryway floor. “Just out fishing.” Fishing. Always fishing. Chad was obsessed with night fishing, constantly slipping away to Crescent Lake. But I knew the truth. Fishing was nothing but a pathetic excuse. He was sneaking out to meet Sylvia. Sylvia was his secretary. At the office, they kept a professional distance, but the moment they clocked out, they were practically glued to each other. They thought they were being incredibly clever, but I had known for months. His messages were synced to our home computer. Sylvia had been pressuring him to leave me, demanding he make things official. Chad had been putting her off, but last night, his tone shifted. He told her he needed to deal with me first to clear the way for her. That was the final straw. Blinded by rage, I followed him to the lake. My plan was to push him in and frame Sylvia, but somehow, something went horribly wrong. Wait. If the person who drowned wasn’t Chad, could it have been Sylvia? It was pouring last night. Maybe he gave her his raincoat, and in the pitch-black storm, I mistook her silhouette for his. I set the breakfast plates on the table, trying to sound casual. “Heavy rain last night. Everything okay out there?” He shook his head, taking a bite of his food. “Fine. Why wouldn’t it be? It’s not like anyone threw themselves into the lake.” My heart skipped a beat. Did he know something? Why would he say something so specific out of nowhere? I lowered my head and took a sip of my coffee, trying to steady my breathing. No, if Sylvia had drowned, he wouldn’t be sitting here so calmly. Right then, his phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen, his face turning slightly pale. He grabbed the phone and walked out onto the balcony. I caught a glimpse of the screen. It was Sylvia. Sylvia was alive. My stomach dropped. If it wasn’t Chad, and it wasn’t Sylvia, who did I push into the abyss? 2 A name suddenly flashed in my mind. Blake? Blake lived just a street over. He was in his fifties, an incredibly kind-hearted man. He was a regular at Crescent Lake, always taking a stroll along the water after dinner. If I had accidentally killed him, the guilt would crush me. He had practically watched me grow up. When my parents divorced, I sat on the curb crying my eyes out, and he was the one who took me in. His wife, Maureen, made me a warm bowl of soup to comfort me. How could I have done this to him? “What are you daydreaming about?” Chad’s voice shattered my thoughts. He was standing right in front of me, back from the balcony. “Nothing,” I murmured, quickly gathering the dishes. He hesitated, his face unusually grave. “Fiona, do you have a minute? We need to talk.” I glanced at his phone, already guessing it was about Sylvia. But my mind was entirely consumed by Blake. I had no patience for Chad’s lies. I threw on my coat. “I don’t have time right now. We’ll talk when I get back.” I practically ran to Blake’s house. The front door was locked tight. My chest tightened. At this hour, Blake and Maureen usually loved setting up a folding table on the porch to play cards with Mrs. Higgins and Mr. Fletcher, laughing and bickering until dusk. But today, the porch was empty. As I stood there debating whether to knock, hurried footsteps echoed behind me. “Fiona!” I spun around. It was Maureen, looking pale and frantic. “Aunt Maureen? What’s wrong?” “Have you seen Blake? He went out last night and never came back. I’ve tried calling him a dozen times, but it goes straight to voicemail. He never does this. I’m so worried.” I swallowed hard, a cold sweat breaking out on my neck. “He likes to walk around Crescent Lake. Have you checked down there?” “I did, but there’s no sign of him. Oh god, Fiona, what if something terrible happened to him?” My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a vice. I forced my voice to remain steady. “Don’t panic, Aunt Maureen. I’ll go look for him. You stay here in case he comes back.” Without waiting for a reply, I turned and rushed away, tears hot against my cold cheeks. When I reached Crescent Lake, I walked straight to the stone steps. Standing at the edge, I stared down. The water was perfectly still, offering no secrets. I walked the entire perimeter of the lake, searching every shadow, but found nothing. Desperate and exhausted, I slid down onto the damp grass, on the verge of a breakdown. Suddenly, my phone vibrated. It was Maureen. “Fiona, don’t worry anymore! Blake is home!” A massive wave of relief washed over me. “That stubborn old fool crashed his e-bike last night. Hurt himself pretty badly and someone helped him to the hospital. He was too embarrassed to call me and spent the night in the ward. I’m going to kill him when he gets his strength back.” Maureen kept rambling, but my mind went entirely blank. I hung up and slowly stood up. Blake was safe. He was alive. I stared back at the glassy surface of the lake. If it wasn’t him, then who was at the bottom of that water? 3 When I got home, Chad had already prepared dinner. I was stunned. In our five years of marriage, he had never once touched a frying pan. I sat down, watching him. “You said this morning you wanted to talk. What is it?” He carefully put a roasted pork chop onto my plate, lingering for a moment before speaking. “Fiona, there have been some nasty rumors going around the office lately about me and one of the secretaries. If you hear anything, please don’t believe it.” I stared at him. “Which secretary?” “Sylvia. You know her. But I swear, there’s absolutely nothing between us. We’re strictly professional.” His expression was so earnest, so painfully sincere. It was almost funny. If I hadn’t read their messages with my own eyes, I might have actually believed him. I took a small bite of my food. “Right. Why bring this up so suddenly?” He gave a sheepish, defensive laugh. “Just didn’t want you getting the wrong idea, that’s all.” I nodded, remaining silent. Someone at his company must have caught wind of their affair, and he was trying to run damage control before I found out. I set my fork down and looked him dead in the eye. “Then tell me, what exactly were you doing last night?” He stiffened slightly. “Fiona, I told you. I was fishing. I didn’t go anywhere else.” He said it with such absolute conviction. The man was a pathological liar. Looking at his face made my stomach churn. And then my thoughts drifted back to the shadow I had pushed into the lake. I still had no idea who it was. An innocent stranger had lost their life because of my reckless rage. I stood up. “I’m going out for a walk.” I wandered the streets aimlessly, my mind a chaotic mess of guilt. Maybe I should confess. No matter who it was, it was my fault. But what if they didn’t die? What if they swam out? But if they had, wouldn’t they have called the police? Wouldn’t they be looking for me? Even if I went to the police now, there wasn’t even a body. Just then, I noticed a crowd gathering up ahead near the park entrance. Muffled voices drifted over. “Someone’s dead.” “They found a body in the water.” My legs began to tremble violently. Step by agonizing step, I forced myself toward the crowd. I squeezed through the onlookers and saw the figure lying on the grass. The body was bloated and pale, the facial features unrecognizable from water damage. My knees felt like lead. It was all my fault. I had killed an innocent person. I deserved to rot. Up until now, I had clung to the desperate hope that whoever it was had survived. But looking at the cold corpse in front of me, there was no denying it. The only right thing to do was to turn myself in. A couple of police officers and a forensic examiner pushed past the crowd. The medical examiner did a quick, preliminary check on the spot. “Crescent Lake isn’t the primary crime scene,” the examiner called out to an officer. “The victim was poisoned first, then dumped in the lake. Time of death is roughly two to three days ago.” My brain went completely numb. Poisoned? And the time of death didn’t match at all. It wasn’t my victim. My knees buckled, and I nearly collapsed. I didn’t kill them. I didn’t kill them. I took a deep, trembling breath and slowly backed out of the crowd. The police were already cordoning off the area, and the body was zipped into a black bag. As the onlookers began to disperse, I stood by the curb, my racing heart slowly returning to a normal rhythm. But the terrifying question returned, louder than ever. If this wasn’t the person I pushed, who did I plunge into the dark water? 4 If I kept spinning in circles, I was going to lose my mind. Instead of waiting for doom, I needed to take control. There had to be some detail I was overlooking. I walked back to the stone steps by the lake. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But just as I turned to leave, something caught my eye. Directly above the pathway, a small security camera blinked with a steady red light. My heart seized. How could I have been so blind? After a couple of near-drownings the previous year, the neighborhood association had installed security cameras around Crescent Lake. Everything that happened last night was on tape. The world seemed to tilt beneath my feet. If the police reviewed the footage, they would see me shoving someone into the water. I would be locked away for murder. But if they had the footage, why hadn’t they knocked on my door yet? I decided to pay a visit to the property management office. The young man working the desk looked up as I walked in. “Can I help you?” “I lost my wedding ring near the lake path last night,” I lied, my voice tight. “I was hoping I could look at the security footage to see if I can spot where it slipped off.” He stared at me for a long moment, his eyes lingering a bit too long. “Sure. Go ahead.” He led me into the tiny surveillance room and pointed to the screen. “Knock yourself out. I’m going to step out for a smoke.” I sat in front of the monitor, my hands shaking so badly I could barely grip the mouse. I scrolled back to last night’s timestamp. 11:00 PM: Nothing. Just a blank screen. 1:00 AM: Still nothing. The feed didn’t resume until 8:00 AM this morning. I dragged the slider back and forth, confirming there was absolutely no footage from the night before. It wasn’t deleted; there was simply no recording at all. I stood up and walked out. The attendant was just finishing his cigarette. “Any luck?” I shook my head. “No. But why is the footage from last night completely missing?” He gave me a strange, knowing smile. “Oh, that. The camera got waterlogged during the storm and short-circuited. We only got it fixed this morning.” I thanked him and hurried out into the cool night air. A great weight lifted from my chest. The camera had been broken. No one knew what I had done. The person I pushed must have been a strong swimmer. They probably scrambled out of the lake on their own. If they hadn’t gone to the police, it meant they didn’t want any trouble either. I hadn’t killed anyone. With that realization, the suffocating anxiety that had plagued me all day finally evaporated. When I got home, Chad was stretched out on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. He frowned when he saw me. “Fiona, what is up with you lately? It’s finally the weekend, and you’re constantly running out.” “Just felt a bit cooped up. Needed some air,” I replied dismissively. Watching him lie there so peacefully made a bitter resentment flare up inside me. I had spent the entire day living in a waking nightmare, convinced I was a murderer, while the man who caused all of this didn’t have a care in the world. If he hadn’t cheated on me, I would never have been pushed to such a dark edge. I was tired of the suspicion, tired of the fear, tired of letting this toxic marriage eat away at my soul. I looked at him, my voice cold and clear. “Chad, I want a divorce.” He sat up instantly, staring at me in disbelief. “Are you insane? Why would you suddenly want a divorce? Did someone say something to you? Is this about Sylvia? I told you, she and I are strictly” The sharp ring of the doorbell cut him off. I opened the door to find two police officers standing under the porch light. “Good evening. We’re with the local precinct. A body was recovered from Crescent Lake today, and security footage shows you visited the lakefront three times today. We need you to come with us to answer a few questions.” My mind went entirely blank. Before I could even process their words, the second officer pulled a photograph from his folder. “Do you recognize this person?” I stared at the picture, the breath leaving my lungs in a sharp gasp. Every baffling piece of the puzzle suddenly fell into place with terrifying clarity.

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1 At dawn, I raced to the airport for a life-saving medical flight to Seattle. Instead, my husband—the pilot in command—blocked me from boarding. “Overbooked,” Preston said coldly. “Rebooked you first class later. Airline’s giving a $500 voucher. Stop causing a scene.” I showed my medical confirmation, begging. “Months to get this specialist. Miss it, who knows when I’ll get another slot. Condition can’t wait. Our three-year-old son needs me.” He adjusted his pilot’s tie, righteous. “Rules are rules. Being my wife doesn’t grant special treatment.” Then I saw her—the college student I’d sponsored for years—stroll past security, late but boarding without issue. Fury surged. “I arrived two hours before her! Overbooked, yet I’m bumped while she boards?!” He swatted my hand away, scowling. “Be decent. Fighting a girl for a seat? She’s never been to Disneyland. Can’t you step aside? And stop faking illness to manipulate me. Terrible example for our son.” “Preston, I’m not lying. I barely got this appointment. Missing it could cost me my life,” I pleaded, my voice trembling. I had been up all night taking care of our sick toddler before rushing to the airport. Right now, my messy hair and wrinkled clothes clearly disgusted him. “Stop throwing a tantrum. The airline is compensating you and giving you an upgrade. Don’t push your luck!” I crumpled the five-hundred-dollar voucher he shoved into my hand and threw it on the floor, my emotions finally reaching a breaking point. “I don’t want an upgrade. I just want to make my appointment.” “The doctor warned me that if I don’t get surgery immediately, the cells will turn cancerous. Is five hundred dollars going to buy my life back?” Seeing that I wasn’t backing down, Preston’s face darkened completely. “Are you done?” “I thought you quit your job so you could focus on raising our son. Instead, you’re constantly faking illnesses just to get out of doing anything around the house.” “It’s bad enough you pull these stunts at home, but making a scene in public? You’re embarrassing me. If you want to act this badly, go audition for a reality show.” His cold, mocking words pierced through my chest like jagged glass. When I married him, I defied my parents, asked for zero financial support, and gave up my own career trajectory. For years, he was incredibly gentle with me. The only dark cloud over our marriage was our struggle to conceive. To fulfill his dream of becoming a father, I endured agonizing physical pain and mental anguish. After hundreds of hormone injections and grueling rounds of IVF, I finally got pregnant. But shortly after our son was born, I was diagnosed with a severe endometrial condition, a direct result of the relentless uterine stimulation from the fertility treatments. Right as I got the diagnosis, Preston hit a critical turning point in his career, preparing to promote from First Officer to Captain. Afraid of distracting him, I hid my illness, quit my high-paying job, and became a full-time stay-at-home mom. It wasn’t until my doctor sternly told me that I could no longer overwork myself, urging me to see a top specialist in Seattle for immediate surgery, that genuine fear set in. But the specialist was incredibly sought after. Appointments were impossible to get. To prevent my condition from deteriorating while I waited, I followed my doctor’s orders. I stopped scrubbing the house from top to bottom every day. I stopped cooking extravagant five-course meals every night. Preston’s dissatisfaction grew daily. I thought that once I explained my exhaustion, he would understand and comfort me. Instead, he convinced himself I was just lazy, using phantom pains as an excuse to avoid housework. Watching the boarding time tick away, I was burning with panic. I had no choice but to use our son as a bargaining chip. “Preston, please, for the sake of our little boy. Let me on this plane. He’s only three. He needs me.” Hearing me mention our son only deepened the contempt in his eyes. “You have the nerve to bring him up? You’re acting like a lunatic in a crowded terminal, lying through your teeth. Do you even deserve to be his mother? I won’t let you infect him with your toxicity.” “I suggest you drop the act. As the Captain of this flight, I will not show favoritism. Company policy dictates that overbooked passengers must be rebooked.” “And you are no exception!” Staring at his flawlessly bureaucratic mask, a profound sense of disappointment washed over me. Just then, a middle-aged woman in line stepped forward, her voice sympathetic. “Captain, your wife looks terribly pale. She might actually be very sick. Why don’t I give her my seat? I’m not in a rush.” A spark of hope ignited in my chest, but Preston shut it down without a second thought. “Audrey, don’t think I didn’t see your physical from last year. You are perfectly healthy.” “When did I ever have a…” “Shut up!” My husband barked, cutting me off aggressively. “Stop preying on the kindness of strangers to get your way.” The moment those words left his mouth, the kind woman gave me a complicated, slightly disgusted look. A second later, she turned away and walked straight down the jet bridge. Driven into a corner, I pulled up my hospital portal on my phone, showing the digital consultation receipt and my medical chart. “Preston, look at this. I really do have an appointment with the oncology department in Seattle. I stayed up for three nights straight refreshing the page to snag this slot. I truly cannot afford to miss this.” He didn’t even glance at the screen. He just scoffed. “Your little forgery skills are getting impressive. If you put this much effort into taking care of your family, maybe our house wouldn’t be a mess.” Looking at the man I thought I knew better than anyone, my entire body began to shake with rage. “Preston, do I look like the kind of woman who would joke about her own life?” “Who knows? All I know is that your desperate need for my attention has officially made you lose your mind.” Before he even finished his sentence, the airport intercom chimed for the third time. “Final boarding call for passenger Lexi Vance traveling to Seattle on Flight 804. Please proceed immediately to Gate 5.” 2 Originally, I assumed it was just a passenger with the same name. It wasn’t until she physically walked up to the podium that the reality set in. It was Lexi, the impoverished student I had been financially sponsoring since she was in high school. She strolled up to the gate without a care in the world. When she noticed me standing there, a flicker of surprise crossed her features. She looked me up and down, completely discarding the humble, deferential tone she used to use with me. “Wow, Audrey. If Preston wasn’t standing right next to you, I wouldn’t have even recognized you.” “Your husband is a Captain now. You really should put some effort into your appearance when you leave the house. How is he supposed to show his face around his colleagues looking at you like that?” Standing there in her pristine designer clothes, she was a glaring contrast to my exhausted, disheveled state. The subtle provocation in her voice made my skin crawl, but I had no time to put her in her place. I grabbed her hand like it was a lifeline. “Lexi, I have to get to a life-saving medical appointment today. It’s an absolute emergency. Could you please let me have your seat and take the next flight?” She immediately looked past me to Preston. He frowned, looking deeply offended on her behalf. “Nobody is trading seats! Every ticket is tied to a specific ID. If everyone started swapping seats like you, how would we maintain aviation security?” After snapping at me, he turned to Lexi, his eyes melting into a puddle of sickening fondness. “Hurry up and get on board. If you delay any longer, your Disneyland itinerary is going to be ruined.” The corners of Lexi’s mouth twitched upward. She couldn’t even hide the smug satisfaction in her eyes. “Sorry, Audrey. Since it’s a security issue, I really can’t help you out.” Seeing her refuse, panic seized my throat. “Lexi, please, I am begging you. I paid for your tuition, your housing, your food from high school all the way through college. I have never asked you for a single thing. Just this once, please.” The mention of my charity brought a flash of embarrassment to her face. The bystanders, sensing her hesitation, began to speak up in my defense. “Come on, kid. This woman supported you for years. If you don’t have a life-or-death emergency, just let her take the flight.” “Look at her dripping in designer brands. She obviously struck gold and completely forgot the person who pulled her out of poverty.” “So many ungrateful people in the world these days. You really can’t trust anyone.” The whispers and pointed glares from the crowd made Lexi’s face flush with humiliation. Seeing his precious passenger cornered, Preston immediately stepped in front of her, shielding her from the crowd as he yelled at me. “Audrey! You’re the one who volunteered to sponsor her. Don’t stand here trying to emotionally blackmail her now. Stop acting like you’re some noble savior.” Choking down the urge to scream at him, I tried one last, desperate tactic. “Fine. I won’t ask for a favor. I’ll buy the seat.” “Lexi, whatever you paid for this ticket, I will double it right now. If that’s not enough, I will cover your Disneyland hotel and park tickets in full. Name your price.” To my absolute shock, Lexi’s eyes instantly welled up with tears. “Audrey, I know I’m not as rich as you, but you can’t just throw money at me to humiliate me. What kind of person do you think I am?” Seeing her play the victim made Preston’s heart bleed. “Are you completely out of your mind, Audrey? When did you become such a shallow, materialistic snob? Don’t try to corrupt a young girl’s spirit with your filthy money.” “This is her first time ever flying. It’s her first time going to Disney to celebrate her birthday, right during their anniversary event. Do you really think you can put a price tag on that kind of joy? You’re disgusting.” Without giving me another glance, he placed a protective hand on her back, ushering her toward the jet bridge. I lunged forward, snatching the boarding pass right out of her hand, and glared at Preston. “Preston! She checked in two hours after I did!” “If the flight was actually overbooked, why wasn’t she the one bumped? Why was it me?!” A businessman standing nearby leaned in to look at the timestamp on the boarding pass and immediately took my side. “She’s right. The wife checked in way earlier. Standard protocol dictates the last to check in gets bumped. It shouldn’t be her.” Hearing the man’s confirmation, the entire crowd turned their suspicious glares directly onto Preston. Under the heavy weight of their scrutiny, his flawless composure finally cracked. “The, uh, the airline’s algorithm selects passengers randomly for rebooking. Whoever the system picks, gets bumped.” “Besides, think about it. A perfectly healthy woman throwing a tantrum and faking a terminal illness just to board a flight? Doesn’t her motive seem a little suspicious to you all?” 3 His words caused the crowd to take a collective step back, looking at me as if I were a volatile security threat. I closed my eyes, a crushing weight settling on my chest. We dated for three years and had been married for six. This was the man I had defied my family for, the man I sacrificed my career for, the man I nearly died giving a child to. My entire world. My hands curled into tight fists as I fought to keep my voice steady. “Preston, you keep telling everyone I’m faking it. Fine. Will you at least believe my primary care physician?” I pulled out my phone and dialed the clinic. “Dr. Aris? Hi. Could you please take two minutes to explain my diagnosis to my husband? He’s refusing to let me fly to Seattle for my surgery.” Hearing the desperation in my voice, Dr. Aris’s tone spiked with urgency. “This is absolutely unacceptable! Your condition cannot wait another day. You must get to Seattle immediately!” Preston snatched the phone out of my hand and let out a vicious laugh. “Drop the act. I don’t care if you’re Dr. Aris or Dr. Frankenstein. How much is my crazy wife paying you to play along with this little script?” He ended the call, tossed my phone back, and turned away. “The cabin doors are closing. Let me make this clear, Audrey. Go to the customer service desk, accept your rebooked ticket, and stop harassing my passengers.” I grabbed his uniform sleeve, clinging to the very last shred of hope that my husband was still in there somewhere. “Preston, we have been together for almost a decade. I swear on everything we have built together, I am seriously ill. I have to get on that plane.” My voice was hollow, stripped down to raw, bleeding desperation. A microscopic shift flickered in his eyes. He opened his mouth, perhaps to relent, when his cell phone buzzed. Lexi’s sickeningly sweet voice drifted from the speaker. “Preston, babe, when are we taking off? Did Audrey finally go to the ticketing desk?” “If she knew you intentionally kept her seat open just for me, I wonder how she’d react.” My eyes widened in absolute horror. “Why would you do this?! What did I ever do to deserve this from you?!” “You would rather hand my ticket to a girl who missed her check-in window than let your own wife get life-saving medical care? Preston, you are a monster!” My agonizing screams echoed through the terminal, drawing shocked stares from everyone. Realizing his cover was blown, Preston leaned in close, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper right next to my ear. “Yeah. I saved your seat for her. So what?” “She grew up with nothing. No parents, no love, living in squalor. Today is her birthday. Why the hell can’t you just be a decent person and let her have this?” “And look at yourself. Have you looked in a mirror lately? If you’re going to fake being a cancer patient, at least try not to look like a homeless beggar. You’re an embarrassment.” I looked down at my clothes. A hoodie stained with baby spit-up, baggy sweatpants, and mismatched sneakers. What choice did I have? He practically lived at the airport to secure his promotion. Our son spiked a massive fever last night. To make sure Preston could sleep, I stayed up the entire night holding our baby in the ER. The second my mother arrived to take the morning shift, I sprinted straight to the airport. When was I supposed to do my hair and makeup? Watching his broad shoulders disappear down the jet bridge, the last embers of my love for him turned to ash. Fifteen minutes later, the flight I was supposed to be on soared into the clouds. Thinking of my little boy, I knew I couldn’t just lay down and die. I called Dr. Aris back in tears. Hearing what happened, he immediately called in a favor with the Seattle specialist. Luckily, a patient had canceled their afternoon slot. I thanked him profusely and ordered a rideshare straight to the train station. Sitting on the high-speed train to Seattle, I opened Instagram. Lexi had just posted a new story. She was smiling radiantly in front of a Disney parade float, wrapped in the arms of a tall man. The caption read: Celebrating my birthday for the first time with the love of my life, at the most magical place on earth. Absolutely blessed! The man’s face was cropped out, but his hand rested on her waist. I would recognize that hand anywhere. The jagged scar on his wrist—the scar he got from a stray dog while protecting me on our second anniversary. I would never forget it. I quietly exited the app and powered off my phone. I don’t remember how I navigated the subway, how I signed the surgical consent forms, or how I made it onto the operating table. All I know is that when I finally woke up, it was the next morning. When I turned my phone back on, there was a flood of worried texts from my mother. From Preston? Nothing. Absolute silence. He was clearly too busy drowning in his new romance to remember he even had a wife. Just as I replied to my mother, a message from Lexi popped up. “Hey Audrey! My boyfriend just invited me to his big promotion banquet on the 25th. What do you think I should wear to match my elegant vibe?” “After that little scene at the gate yesterday, I’m sure you’ve figured out who my boyfriend is. I strongly suggest you step aside with some dignity. Stop embarrassing yourself.” I typed back a single, cold reply. “Lexi, clothes are meant for human beings. You are nothing but an animal.” I blocked her number immediately. Five minutes later, my phone rang. It was Preston, completely furious. “Audrey, you are crossing a serious line. Your mother just told me our son was hospitalized with a fever, and you’re not even there? What kind of garbage mother abandons her sick kid?!” I didn’t defend myself. I just delivered a deadpan response. “Our son’s birthday is in three months. He really wants to go to Disneyland. Make sure you take him.” He paused for two seconds before snapping back. “You’re his mother, why don’t you take him? Do you not realize I am in the middle of a massive promotion cycle?” “Also, I have to fly out on the 25th. You better drag yourself back from Seattle before I leave, or else—” I hung up on him. The surgery was a success. The specialist advised me to stay for observation, but I insisted on an early discharge. The moment I was out, I hired a private investigator to track every single movement Preston and Lexi made. Then, I tracked down the businessman from the gate who had defended me. The next day, I walked into a high-powered law firm with a flash drive full of evidence. Following that, I sent the full, unedited story of the airport incident to an old friend who worked as a senior editor at a major news outlet. Soon enough, the 25th arrived. I slipped into the banquet hall wearing a sleek dress and a medical mask, taking a seat in a dimly lit corner. Lexi was wearing a stunning evening gown, her arm looped intimately through Preston’s. The two of them glided through the ballroom like a Hollywood power couple. Every colleague who walked past them smiled and said, “Congratulations, Mrs. Vance.” Preston never corrected them, and Lexi soaked up the title with a radiant smile. When the formal program began, Preston stood at the podium, looking incredibly handsome and arrogant. He gave a charismatic speech about his dedication to aviation safety, thanking the executives for their mentorship. The room erupted into applause as he finished. Suddenly, Director Davis, the head of flight operations, stormed onto the stage. His face was thunderous. He grabbed the microphone and announced to the entire room: “I have just received an urgent notice from the board of directors. Effective immediately, Preston Vance is suspended from all flight duties pending a full investigation.”

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For the past year, I had been the easiest finance manager this company had ever seen. I never made anyone jump through hoops for their expense reimbursements. But right after I signed off on the paperwork for our new intern, Mindy, she flashed me a sickeningly sweet smile. “Tell me, Melissa, are you this generous when signing off on your own expenses?” Seeing my expression darken, she dramatically covered her mouth and gasped. “Oh, my gosh, I am so sorry! I just lack a filter sometimes.” “I am definitely not saying you are secretly embezzling company funds. I just noticed you are carrying another brand new designer bag, and I got a little curious.” The surrounding cubicles fell dead silent. Whispers began to ripple through the office. Given her age and inexperience, I decided to let it slide. I never expected that the very next morning, the HR department would issue a company-wide email accusing me of compliance violations and completely stripping my quarterly bonus. I marched straight into the HR manager’s office to demand an explanation, but Davis just sighed and told me to swallow my pride. “Mindy is the young boss’s girlfriend.” “Right before Jay left for his business trip to South Africa, he explicitly told us to make sure nobody steps on her toes. Just let it go, Melissa.” I stood there, absolutely stunned. The young boss? His girlfriend? Well played, Jay. You have really grown some spine while I wasn’t looking. Just wait until I tell your mother about this. You are so incredibly dead. Stepping out of the manager’s office, my first instinct was to call Jay. Unsurprisingly, the cell reception out in the remote South African mining district was absolute garbage. The call went straight to a dead tone. I aggressively typed out a single text. [You have a girlfriend?] Silence. The message vanished into the void. My face was a mask of cold indifference as I walked back to my desk. The moment I sat down, the hushed gossip of my coworkers drifted over. “No wonder she is always so lenient with our reimbursements. She is just using it to cover up her own massive theft.” “Exactly. Look at the stuff she uses every day. It is all high-end luxury.” “On her salary? Nobody buys the idea that her hands are clean.” “She always plays the nice, accommodating coworker. Who knew she was so rotten behind the scenes?” Listening to their venom, a hot spike of anger flared in my chest. Whenever these people needed me to expedite their sketchy receipts, they practically kissed the ground I walked on. Now, they were the first ones to plunge a knife into my back. I shot a freezing glare across the room. The gossiping colleagues panicked and immediately glued their eyes to their monitors. I did not say a word. I just coldly booted up my computer to process the morning reports. A moment later, Mindy strolled over to my cubicle, holding a fresh iced latte and wearing a beaming, triumphant smile. She pressed her palms together pleadingly and stuck her tongue out in a playful, innocent gesture. “I am so sorry, Melissa. Did I make things difficult for you this morning?” “You know me, I am just a little too brutally honest sometimes.” “I know you have a good heart, but we really cannot be breaking corporate policy with company money, right?” Reaping the benefits and still playing the victim? Did she really think I was some soft target she could walk all over? I let out a dry, mocking laugh and leaned back in my ergonomic chair. “And exactly how did I violate corporate policy?” “Just because you opened your mouth and decided I did?” Mindy froze for a second. Her gaze deliberately drifted to the handbag resting on my filing cabinet, her tone dripping with implication. “Now, do not get defensive, Melissa.” “That bag is Louis Vuitton, right? Even if it is last season’s style, that is easily three or four grand.” She intentionally raised her voice, ensuring every single person in the department could hear her. “I have been eyeing that exact one, but I just cannot bring myself to spend that kind of money. Not like you, of course. You just casually sling it over your shoulder.” “I am just so… envious.” She dragged out the last word, the insinuation heavy and obvious. Hearing this, the stares from my coworkers grew even more condescending. An out-of-season designer bag was her grand evidence of my corruption? I refused to indulge her delusions. I tossed my pen onto the desk and locked eyes with her. “It is my own money. I will buy whatever the hell I want.” “Besides, you are an intern making minimum wage. Even if you wanted to spend the money, you do not have it.” “If you cannot afford the lifestyle, stop staring at people who can. What exactly are you so bitter about?” Mindy clearly did not expect me to bite back so viciously. Her perfectly contoured face turned a violent shade of red. She gritted her teeth, and as if on command, the tears welled up in her eyes. “Melissa, I… I did not mean it like that…” She buried her face in her hands and sprinted off, her theatrical sobs echoing down the corridor. “Melissa, the poor girl was just making an observation. Did you really need to go off on her like that?” A coworker in the adjacent cubicle shot me a judgmental glare, acting as if I was the one bullying a defenseless child. The entire situation left a sour, suffocating feeling in my chest. If it were not for that idiot Jay, would I really be sitting here taking this garbage? My Aunt Victoria had been terrified that Jay was too young and reckless to manage the family enterprise. She practically begged me, his older cousin, to come in undercover and keep an eye on him for two years. Once he matured, she would feel comfortable handing the reins over to him completely. I figured it would be good practice before taking over my own parents’ corporate empire, so I agreed. Naturally, Jay was kept completely in the dark about my true identity here. To the high and mighty young boss, I was just a nameless cog in the finance department. This situation was right on the edge. Was it worth dragging my aunt into this mess? While I was debating my next move, Brenda, a senior accountant who sat nearby, knocked on my partition. She looked anxious. “Melissa, Manager Davis wants to see you in his office.” I pushed open the heavy glass door. Mindy was curled up on the leather sofa, sobbing relentlessly. Her eyes were puffy and red like irritated walnuts. Davis was sitting right beside her, offering gentle words of comfort. The second he saw me step inside, the sympathetic warmth on his face evaporated. He glared at me with absolute fury, looking like he wanted to swallow me whole. “Melissa! You finally decided to show up?” “You are a senior employee, yet you publicly humiliate a new intern?” I raised an eyebrow, casting a dismissive glance at Mindy, who was still whimpering into a tissue. “Oh? How exactly did I humiliate her?” “I simply stated a financial fact. She genuinely cannot afford it.” “You…” Davis choked on his words, completely stumped by my bluntness. Seeing him falter, Mindy forced her crying to stop, letting out a series of pathetic, calculated hiccups. “Mr. Davis, please do not blame Melissa. This is all my fault. I just talk too much…” “I just wanted to kindly remind her to be more careful with her expense reports so she would not make any more mistakes.” “I never expected she would react so aggressively…” “What mistakes?” I cut straight through her nauseating, manipulative performance. “Mindy, since we are sitting right in front of the manager, why don’t you clearly explain exactly what is wrong with my work?” “Enough! Keep your mouth shut!” Davis waved his hand dismissively, his patience clearly exhausted. He had bought Mindy’s narrative hook, line, and sinker. “I already know exactly what you have been doing behind my back!” “Do not think for a second that your little ‘nice girl’ routine fooled me, Melissa. I know about your dirty little side hustle.” “Over the past year, how much company money have you funneled into your own pockets by manipulating the reimbursement system? Do you even know?” “I thought you were just a pushover, signing off on bad receipts out of pity, so I turned a blind eye. I never imagined you had the audacity to pocket the funds yourself!” I almost burst out laughing. Could this guy be any more of a hypocrite? Did he really think I did not know the real reason he was targeting me? Just two months ago, I rejected his personal expense report, and he had been holding a grudge ever since. The man tried to expense a client dinner where he ordered three imported lobsters and two king crabs. I was surprised he did not eat himself into a coma. “So, what is your grand plan for dealing with me?” I crossed my arms, looking at him with absolute boredom. Davis let out a cold sneer, clearly mistaking my calmness for fear. “It is very simple. I will not make this harder than it needs to be.” “You will return every single cent you stole from this company. I want it paid back in full.” “Then, you will write a three-thousand-word apology letter, post it in the company-wide chat, and publicly beg for forgiveness.” “Do that, and we can sweep this under the rug.” Pay him back? An apology letter? I physically could not hold it in anymore. I laughed out loud. “Davis, is there something clinically wrong with your brain?” “If this was a legitimate work issue, I would cooperate. But you want me to play along just so the young boss can impress his little girlfriend?” “Do not forget, Jay does not own this entire company yet.” This corporation was built from the ground up by Jay’s mother. My Aunt Victoria was still the majority shareholder. She was merely testing the waters to see if her son was ready for power. Hearing my words, Mindy’s face drained of color. She blurted out, “This company will belong to Jay sooner or later! What are you so arrogant about!” The moment the words left her mouth, she realized she had slipped up. She quickly clamped a hand over her lips. I rolled my eyes, turned on my heel, and walked out. “Melissa, stop right there!” “What kind of attitude is that?!” Davis roared at my back. I paused, glancing over my shoulder with a sharp smile. “I have never taken a single dime from this company, and I will absolutely not write a single word of apology.” With that, I slammed the glass door shut behind me. After dealing with that circus, the anger simmering in my chest was reaching a boiling point. The only reason I had not called my aunt yet was out of mercy for Jay. He might be an idiot, but he was still family. And while Aunt Victoria only had one son, she had enough money and time to easily find another heir if he proved totally useless. Looking at my phone and seeing zero new messages, I could not resist sending Jay a venomous text. [Does your mother know you are treating her company like your personal playground?] Still no reply. Absolutely pathetic. A total slave to his hormones. When I got home that evening, my parents immediately noticed my dark mood. They hovered around me, brimming with concern. “Sweetheart, are you burning out? Are you feeling sick?” my dad asked. “Why don’t you take a few days off and rest?” I kept the truth to myself, mostly because I knew how my mother would react. My mom adored me more than anything in the world. And my Aunt Victoria, despite being a ruthless CEO, was absolutely terrified of her older sister. If my mom found out about this and accidentally let it slip to Victoria, Jay would likely be beaten within an inch of his life. The next morning, the moment I stepped into the office lobby, the atmosphere felt incredibly toxic. Everyone was staring at me with a bizarre, morbid curiosity. I was confused, but the elevator arrived, so I brushed it off. Inside the elevator, I ran into Brenda from the sales department. Brenda and I had always been on great terms. She was a single mother struggling to raise three kids, so whenever she submitted her expenses, as long as they were within company bounds, I approved them instantly to get her the cash faster. I even passed my corporate holiday bonuses and gift baskets directly to her. There were times when she had to work late, and I drove across town to pick her kids up from daycare. “Melissa, you were way too reckless yesterday,” Brenda said, letting out a heavy sigh. “Davis was absolutely raging after you left.” “Honestly, what were you thinking? Everyone knows Mindy is Jay’s girl. Why would you go to war with her?” “Thank god the young boss is out of the country, otherwise…” I did not offer a real response, just giving a vague nod to be polite. Right at that moment, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a notification from the corporate group chat. I glanced at the screen, and my blood ran cold. [Following an internal management review, it has been determined that Finance Manager Melissa has severely violated corporate reimbursement policies and exhibited egregious insubordination. Effective immediately, she is suspended without pay pending further investigation.] [Her duties will be assumed by Mindy.] Brenda had clearly read the notification on her own phone. She shot me a nervous glance, then leaned in close, lowering her voice. Her eyes were searching mine, heavy with suspicion. “Melissa, just between you and me… you didn’t actually skim off the top, did you?” I stared at Brenda, utterly blindsided. She was doubting me? After everything I had done for her, after treating her like a genuine friend, her first instinct was to assume I was a thief? Seeing the sudden, icy drop in my expression, Brenda seemed to realize she had crossed a line. She avoided my gaze and forced an awkward, hollow laugh. “Oh, come on, I am just messing around! Of course I believe you!” “I bet Davis and Mindy just teamed up to frame you!” I did not say another word. The last lingering trace of warmth in my heart completely froze over. I didn’t even look at her when I stepped out of the elevator. When I finally reached my cubicle, I realized it had already been occupied. All of my personal belongings—my framed photos, my favorite mug, my expensive stationary—had been carelessly tossed into a beat-up cardboard box like absolute garbage. Mindy was sitting in my ergonomic chair. Seeing me approach, she flashed a playful wink and a victor’s smile. “Oh, Melissa, I am so sorry. Mr. Davis practically forced me to take your desk. My hands were tied.” She casually twirled a silver USB drive between her manicured fingers, her tone dripping with entitlement. “Oh, by the way, Mr. Davis also said you need to hand over every single reimbursement voucher you have processed since you were hired.” “We need to run a complete forensic audit to figure out exactly how much money you stole from us.” “Let me give you a piece of advice, Melissa. If you do not want this to get ugly, and if you do not want the company to press criminal charges, you should really just wire the money back.” I took a deep, steadying breath, picked up my cardboard box, and turned around to leave. I was not going to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Press criminal charges? She should probably call Jay in South Africa and ask him if he has the guts to press charges against his own cousin. After stashing my belongings in my trunk, my frustration was hitting a fever pitch. I walked back toward the breakroom, needing a black coffee to clear my head. Before I even pushed the door open, I heard Brenda’s voice mixing with a few other familiar coworkers. These were people I ate lunch with. People I thought I knew. “Man, do you think Melissa is actually going to jail for this?” “Probably. Honestly, you cross the future CEO’s girlfriend, you get what is coming to you.” “Serves her right! She always walked around here acting so superior, like she owned the place.” “Acting all sweet and generous… she just loved the power trip. She loved watching us beg her to approve our receipts.” Brenda’s voice cut through the chatter, thick with a sickening layer of schadenfreude. “Tell me about it. I have been sick of her for months.” “I used to think she was just sleeping with some rich old guy to afford all that jewelry and designer clothes.” “Now we know the truth. She is just a dirty thief.” When the wall falls, everyone rushes in to kick the bricks. I dropped my hand from the door handle. Every single person in that room had submitted questionable expenses at some point. Padding taxi receipts, booking more expensive hotels on work trips, claiming unapproved overtime. Which one of them hadn’t benefited from my willingness to fight management for their perks? And this was my reward. My heart felt like a stone dropping into a freezing ocean.

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