At my birthday party, my fiancé’s widowed sister-in-law Lira announced to everyone: “I’m pregnant, and the child is Kael’s.” Kael, my fiancé, the current Alpha of Blackrock Pack. I looked at Kael, waiting for him to deny it, but he lowered his eyes and nodded coolly: “The child is mine. My brother died under Rogue claws trying to save me. I owe him my life, so now I’m giving him a child in return. Consider it repayment.” Then he finally raised his head to look at me, without a trace of apology in his eyes: “But Lira and I are innocent. This child is from IVF. Our wedding will be postponed. We’ll decide what to do after she gives birth.” Later, I heard Kael and Lira having sex in the study. So the so-called innocence was all a lie. My heart shattered in an instant. Numbly, I dialed my father’s phone. “Dad, about the arranged marriage you mentioned before—I agree.” The moment I hung up, I turned around to see Lira standing in the shadows of the corridor. She leaned against the stone wall, toying with a delicate porcelain cup in her hands. “Elara,” she held the cup out to me, “help me take this herbal tea to the kitchen and warm it up. It’s gone cold.” That arrogant manner, as if she were already the Luna of Blackrock Pack. I glanced at her deliberately loosened collar and sneered: “Are your hands broken?” She’d ordered me around like this plenty of times before, using various trivial matters to test my boundaries. Back then, for Kael’s sake, I’d endured it all. But now that I’d agreed to my father’s arranged marriage, I didn’t need to tolerate her for another second. Lira didn’t get angry. Instead, she moved closer and lowered her voice: “I heard everything you said to your father on the phone.” My eyes sharpened. She smiled even more sweetly, her hand slowly covering her abdomen: “Since you want to leave, I’ll help you out.” The next second, she suddenly grabbed my wrist and threw herself toward the ground. A dull thud—she fell onto the stone floor. And I was violently pushed to the ground by a sudden force. A piercing pain shot through my ankle where my old injury was. Six months ago during the winter hunt, Kael had led a squad deep into the border and been ambushed by dozens of rogues, suffering severe injuries. I’d dragged him—twice my weight—out of the ambush circle, killing our way through. But at the last moment, a rogue hiding in the shadows shot a silver arrow into my ankle. The doctor said the silver weapon was soaked in wolf’s bane, enough to kill a full-grown adult wolf. I’d endured the excruciating pain and dragged Kael back from death’s door. When Kael woke up then, he held my trembling body with tears in his eyes: “Elara, you gave me this life. I’ll never let you get hurt again for as long as I live.” But now? The moment anything involved Lira, he completely lost control. He rushed over and without asking whose fault it was, shoved me to the ground. Then he turned to help Lira up, gently asking if she was hurt. He didn’t spare me a single glance as I trembled in pain. Lira nestled pitifully in his arms, pulling his hand to cover her abdomen as she complained tearfully: “I just asked Elara to warm up some herbal tea for me, and she pushed me down.” Kael glared at me viciously and roared: “Do you know how much suffering Lira has endured to preserve a bloodline for my brother? How can you be so vicious as the future Luna of the Pack? If anything happens to this child, our engagement is over!” I forced myself to smile through the searing pain in my ankle: “If she wants to get pregnant, why bother with artificial insemination? You could just sleep with her directly. You’d both enjoy it and get a baby. Wouldn’t that be more convenient?” Kael’s face turned livid with anger. “Elara, when did you become so vulgar? This is my sister-in-law. I won’t allow you to insult her like this!” Lira buried herself in Kael’s arms, crying even harder, her shoulders trembling slightly. I pulled out a bitter smile and said to Kael, “Let’s break off our engagement.” Lira made a show of trying to get out of Kael’s arms, but he held her even tighter. “Kael, don’t blame Elara. I just felt dizzy and lost my balance. I’m fine—go comfort Elara.” Kael patted her back soothingly, then turned to me coldly: “Elara, when will you be as sensible as Lira?” Lira suddenly gasped softly, clutching his sleeve weakly: “Kael, my stomach hurts so much. Can you carry me back to the bedchamber to rest?” As soon as she finished speaking, Kael immediately scooped her up and rushed toward the bedchamber without the slightest pause. I couldn’t hold it in anymore and shouted at his retreating back: “Kael, are you blind? My wolf’s bane injury has relapsed—can’t you see?” He only paused for a second, then carried Lira away even more determinedly without looking back. My throat tightened, and tears fell uncontrollably. I could only support myself against the stone wall and limp back to my guest room to treat my wound. All night long, Kael never showed up. Well, in the past whenever we fought, I was always the one who gave in first, the one who went to comfort him. But not this time. Never again.

Late that night, the pain kept me from sleeping, so I decided to go for a walk in the garden. As I passed Kael’s study, I saw the light was still on inside. I hadn’t planned to stop, but the voices inside made me freeze. Lira’s voice was soft and tearful. “Kael, I keep having nightmares tonight, dreaming of the day Rurik left, covered in blood…” She choked up. “Can you let me stay here for a while? I feel so cold alone in the bedchamber.” After a brief silence, Kael’s voice sounded, low and restrained: “Have a maid keep you company. It’s not appropriate for me to stay with you.” “I don’t want a maid.” “Kael, you smell like Rurik. It soothes my heart.” Hearing Lira’s words, my heart clenched violently. Lira didn’t wait for Kael’s response and continued: “I don’t have any other intentions. I just want this child to be close to his father.” “Feel this—he’s already moving. Kael, you promised Rurik you’d protect us, didn’t you?” Standing at the door listening to their conversation, I hazily recalled the five years I’d been with Kael. Kael and I had been through countless things together, but he’d never had sex with me. He said he wanted to save the most sacred act of making love for our wedding night. I believed in his restraint, believed he would keep his boundaries. But even if Kael hadn’t crossed the line, he still had a child with Lira. That fact alone was like a knife stabbing into my heart. I still remembered five years ago, the first time I saw Kael at the academy training grounds—I fell for him at first sight. Kael was the most dazzling presence at the academy then, never lacking admirers. But I knew he had a thorn in his heart. After his brother died, everyone said he only became Alpha because of his brother’s death. He desperately wanted to prove himself, but always lived in the shadow of not being as good as Rurik. So I hid my identity as the only daughter of Whitepeak Pack’s Alpha and pretended to be a lone wolf. I pursued him for half a year before he finally agreed to be with me. He hated being deceived, so when he found out I was the heir to the most powerful pack in North America, he was angry with me for half a month. I coaxed him for a long time before he finally forgave me. Back then, my whole heart and eyes were filled with him. Whatever he said, I agreed to. He said he didn’t like me using Whitepeak Pack’s resources, afraid people would say he was living off me, so I put away all the premium herbs my father sent. He said he wanted to establish himself on his own merit, so I only helped him quietly behind the scenes, not daring to let him know. The only time he actively asked for help was during the winter when Blackrock Pack had internal rebellion. At that time, Blackrock Pack faced both internal and external troubles. I pestered my father until Whitepeak Pack provided Blackrock Pack with supplies to get through winter, helped him suppress the rebellious forces within the pack, and even helped him fend off three ambushes from rogues. Kael proved himself capable, stabilizing Blackrock Pack’s situation completely in just one year. He held me then and said I would be his only woman in this life. But at this moment, through the crack in the door, I could clearly see Lira kneeling on the carpet in front of Kael, her soft chest pressed tightly against his legs, rubbing gently. Her tears slid down her cheeks as she looked up at Kael, fragile and devout. “Kael,” she said softly, “I don’t expect anything from you. I just want this child to feel his father’s warmth before birth. Just once—pretend it’s Rurik holding us.” Kael’s hand, which had been about to push her away, slowly lowered. I didn’t want to watch anymore and fled toward the bathroom. With Lira seducing him like this every day, how could two adults living together day and night truly not do anything? It didn’t matter anymore. Since I’d already decided to leave, whatever happened between him and Lira had nothing to do with me. It’s just that five years of feelings had ultimately been fed to the dogs.

Cold water splashed on my face before I could barely suppress my churning emotions. I’d just reached the staircase when I ran into Lira. “Elara,” she looked at me smugly, “you saw everything just now, didn’t you?” I tried to turn and leave, but she grabbed my arm. “I got a good thing last night. I want to show you.” She held up a wolf fang pendant in front of me. That wolf fang pendant was Blackrock Pack’s heirloom, traditionally passed only to the Luna. Kael had said this pendant would be placed around my neck by his own hands on our wedding day. It was his promise to me. I stared at the pendant, my heart aching in waves. “Look familiar?” Lira spun the pendant between her fingers. “Kael put it on me himself. He said this wolf fang should have belonged to his future Luna, but this child and I need protection more than any Luna.” She leaned close to my ear and whispered: “I’ll tell you another secret—this child isn’t from any artificial insemination.” “Kael has slept with me many times. The first time, he was so nervous his whole body was shaking.” “Elara, don’t you mind that you’re with a man who’s slept with me?” In the past, with my temper, I would have slapped her across the face. But these five years with Kael had smoothed too many of my rough edges, dimmed too much of the sharpness that belonged to the heir of Whitepeak Pack. Instead of getting angry, I smiled and looked into her eyes: “You two sleeping around behind Rurik’s back—if he knew, he’d probably strangle you both, you filthy pair!” “That child in your belly is even more unfortunate. Should it call Kael ‘daddy’ or ‘uncle’ in the future?” “Elara, you—!” Lira trembled with rage. “You two are perfect for each other, both disgusting!” Unable to out-argue me, she grabbed a nearby vase and smashed it toward my head. The vase flew past my scalp and shattered against the stone wall with a crash. Hearing the commotion, Kael rushed in immediately. Thinking I’d made the first move, he lunged forward and grabbed my throat. His eyes churned with towering fury, as if he wanted to kill me on the spot. “I’m the one who postponed the wedding. I’m the one who decided to keep this child. Why do you keep targeting Lira?” “She’s pregnant—can’t you give her a break? I’ve told you so many times that nothing happened between us!” Just then, Lira called out tearfully: “Kael, glass shards cut my leg—it’s bleeding…” Kael immediately released his grip on my throat and rushed to her side. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll take you to the doctor right now.” With that, he carried Lira away without looking back, leaving me standing there. Blood was flowing from the wound on my arm, but from beginning to end, he never saw it. Enduring the pain, I called a car and went to Whitepeak Pack’s hospital alone. I’d just finished treating my wound when I ran into Kael carrying Lira as they rushed to the emergency room. Seeing me, his face instantly filled with annoyance: “Are you following us?” “Elara, how many times have I told you—Lira is my sister-in-law. There’s nothing between us. If you keep being unreasonable like this, our engagement is completely over!” I said coldly: “I’m not so idle as to follow you two, much less bother her.” Only then did Kael finally notice the thick bandage on my arm, still seeping blood. A flash of guilt crossed his face. He stepped forward, wanting to touch my arm, and opened his mouth to explain: “Elara, Lira is pregnant. I was just anxious to take care of her. I was too impulsive earlier. Let me register you for an appointment.” I looked at Kael’s anxious face and scoffed. This world was truly ironic. If Rurik knew that the brother he’d died to save not only slept with his woman but also got her pregnant, he probably couldn’t rest in peace even in death. The next second, Lira’s tearful voice came from the examination room: “Kael, I’m scared. Can you come in and stay with me?” Kael immediately withdrew his outstretched hand and turned to me: “Elara, handle it yourself first. Lira is timid—I need to go in with her.” With that, he turned and rushed into the examination room without another glance at me. I had to completely cut ties with a man like this, the sooner the better.

On Saturday, there was a joint gathering hosted by the three major packs. All the outstanding young members attended. I accepted the invitation, just wanting to clear my head. But I didn’t expect to see Kael there with Lira. Kael, Lira, and I had all attended the same academy. Back at the academy, Lira had pursued Kael just as crazily as I had. In the end, I won—I moved Kael’s heart and we got together. And Lira turned around and married Kael’s brother, the former Alpha of Blackrock Pack, Rurik. After the banquet began, Kael sat beside Lira, patiently cutting the venison on her plate. He carefully reminded her: “Don’t be picky. Eat more venison—it’s good for the baby’s development.” A packmate nearby teased: “Kael, you’re so good to your sister-in-law. You gave her the whole tenderloin. Aren’t you afraid Elara will be upset?” He smiled, his tone flat: “Elara doesn’t like this.” The people around could see my face had darkened and tactfully changed the subject. “Will we be attending Elara and Kael’s wedding soon?” “Back in school, I envied Kael for finding such a beautiful and capable mate.” I couldn’t take it anymore and raised my hand to interrupt them: “Stop, everyone stop! You’re all welcome to attend my wedding, but not mine and Kael’s. We’ve already broken off our engagement. The groom is someone else.” “Elara!” Kael ground out my name through clenched teeth, his hand balled into a tight fist. He quickly explained to everyone: “Sorry, everyone. Elara is just talking out of anger. Our wedding will happen—it’s just postponed a few months.” Hearing this, the people around thought I was just throwing a tantrum and turned to persuade me. “The wedding is just delayed a few months. You and Kael have been together for so many years—what’s a few more months?” “Exactly, it’s not a big deal.” With Kael’s explanation, it seemed like I was the one being unreasonable. Using the excuse of needing air, I left the banquet hall and walked to the deep forest pool behind the gathering grounds. I was staring at the water when Lira’s voice suddenly came from behind me: “If I were you, I would have told everyone the truth just now.” I turned to glance at her, about to speak, when the woman in front of me suddenly reached out and pushed me into the deep pool. The icy water instantly enveloped me. I’d been afraid of deep water since childhood—Kael knew this. He’d suggested many times that we hunt at the border lakes, but I’d refused. He said the best way to overcome fear was to face it head-on. But I was terrified of this endless cold, terrified of the suffocating feeling of sinking underwater. “Splash”—someone jumped into the pool. I thought it was Kael coming to save me. But he swam right past me without even touching me, heading straight for Lira standing by the pool’s edge and pulling her tightly into his arms. Love and indifference were clear at a glance. In that moment, my heart went completely cold. I didn’t even have the strength to struggle, letting my body slowly sink to the bottom. Just as my consciousness blurred and despair filled my heart, a pair of strong hands suddenly wrapped around my waist, lifting me up from the depths. He swam me to shore. Seeing I was unconscious, he immediately bent down and gave me CPR. Just as his lips were about to cover mine again, an angry roar rang out: “What are you doing to my fiancée?”

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At the wedding, when the couple was exchanging vows, Sebastian suddenly spoke up: “Mila, the truth is, the person I really want to marry is Vivian.” “Last night, she cried her heart out, saying she couldn’t live without me, begging me to stay with her. I was soft-hearted, so in our wedding bed, I slept with her.” “We grew up together. If my parents hadn’t objected, I would have married her long ago.” “We can continue with the wedding, but I want to transfer all our joint assets to Vivian’s name. You’re lucky—you have wealth and a family that loves you. But Vivian has nothing. She only has me. Even if I marry you, I can’t abandon her.” I froze, unable to believe my ears. Years ago when the Foster family went bankrupt, it was my family, the Rivers, who emptied our coffers to help them rise again. How sincere our feelings had been back then, how sweet his promises had sounded—all of it was now overturned by these few sentences. At that moment, Vivian walked onto the stage and gripped my hand tightly. “Mila, I shouldn’t be saying this at a time like this, but love can’t be forced. Sebastian and I share true love.” Sebastian’s face turned cold as he pulled her into his arms. “Don’t be afraid. If she doesn’t agree, we won’t go through with this wedding.” I laughed bitterly in my rage. “What a coincidence. Last night, someone also told me they couldn’t live without me and begged me not to get married.

Sebastian glanced at me and laughed mockingly. “Mila, don’t make such pathetic jokes. You’re not the type to cheat.” He was right—I didn’t cheat in the end. But my loyalty to my partner now made me look like a complete fool. I stared daggers at Vivian Foster. She was Sebastian’s adopted sister. At this moment, leaning against Sebastian, she looked fragile and pitiful. Once upon a time, I’d also thought she was pitiful. Bang! I hurled my bouquet into Vivian’s face. Petals scattered everywhere, and her face was scratched, leaving visible blood marks. Sebastian’s expression instantly turned dark and terrifying. “Mila Rivers, what the hell is wrong with you?” I laughed—a laugh that sounded like crying. “Vivian, haven’t I been good enough to you?” “You wanted a limited-edition bag, so I canceled my work and flew to Paris to buy it for you. You said you wanted to study acting, so I spent money networking for you, drinking until I had a bleeding stomach…” “Whatever you wanted, I gave you. Sebastian said he only saw you as a sister, so I loved you like my own sister. I was even planning to hand my bouquet directly to you, just hoping you’d find happiness!” “I’ve been so good to you—why would you destroy my happiness?” Vivian’s eyes reddened, and she began to explain tremulously: “Mila, I’m sorry… I don’t have your privileged background. I’m just the Foster family’s adopted daughter. I have low self-esteem, I’m oversensitive, I didn’t know Sebastian felt this way about me…” She dropped to her knees with a thud and began slapping herself. “Not until you two were about to get married did I have the courage to live for myself once. If you want to blame someone, blame me. Don’t blame Sebastian—he’s innocent…” Sebastian scooped her up in his arms and glared at me furiously. “Apologize to her, Mila. I want you to post an apology to her on social media by tomorrow.” “She did something wrong—why should I apologize?” A sour feeling surged up my throat in waves. Only then did I realize I could barely stand. Sebastian’s cold gaze swept over me, brooking no argument. “I’m the one who wronged her. She’s too fragile. Just let it go.” Then, just like that, he carried Vivian away without looking back.

The noise around me was deafening, but I couldn’t hear anything. His words echoed endlessly in my ears until I caught sight of a streak of bright red blood. Looking down, I discovered my wedding dress was already drenched in blood. Pain—so much pain. Blood gushed from my abdomen in waves. I clutched my lower abdomen and crouched down with difficulty. Inside me was a three-month-old baby. I had fertility issues. For this child, I’d endured countless injections and suffering. Back then, Sebastian had gently caressed my belly. “Mila, this baby is hard-won. We should treasure it.” But before I could even process my grief, people hurriedly helped me into an ambulance. There was another person lying in the ambulance. My hearing returned at that moment. I heard them say: “Mila, your grandfather couldn’t handle the shock from earlier. He had a stroke.” Blood trickled from Grandfather’s mouth. Gasping for breath, he gripped my hand, trembling uncontrollably. Even in this state, he still tried to comfort me. “Mila, call Sebastian back. There must be some misunderstanding between you two. Once it’s cleared up, everything will be fine. Once it’s cleared up, I can die without regrets…” I was Grandfather’s most beloved granddaughter, and Sebastian was Grandfather’s favorite young man. Our meeting was even arranged by Grandfather. He’d always praised Sebastian endlessly. When Foster Corporation went bankrupt, he’d emptied his coffers to help, forcibly pulling the company back from the brink. Looking at his weakened state, I knew he didn’t have much time left. Without hesitation, I called Sebastian. After three calls, he finally picked up. “Grandfather… Grandfather doesn’t have much time left. Can you please come see him one last time!” My choked voice formed a stark contrast to his angry tone. “Mila Rivers, since when did you start lying too?” “I already said at the wedding—if you want the wedding to continue, transfer all joint assets to Vivian’s name…” “I agree! Just please say in front of Grandfather that you’re still willing to marry me!” “Too late, Mila. I want to cancel our engagement.” “I did have some feelings for you, but I just figured it out. You can’t have your cake and eat it too. Rather than keeping you around to disgust Vivian, I’d rather just marry her.” I don’t remember how I ended that phone call. I only remember that until Grandfather closed his eyes, I didn’t dare look him in the face. The doctor told me to watch my diet, but I got blackout drunk instead. In the past, if I came home even a little late, Sebastian’s concerned calls would flood in. “Mila, almost home?” “Mila, let me come pick you up.” But today my phone was so quiet it felt unsettling. What arrived before any call was a divorce agreement Sebastian sent, along with a string of cold text. “Sign it. There’s five million in the account. If it’s not enough, I can add more. Mr. Rivers helped me considerably, so consider this repaying his kindness.” “But Vivian doesn’t owe you anything, so you still need to apologize to her.” My vision went black for a moment. Money was the one thing I never lacked. In a single day, I’d lost both family and my child, and the person responsible was trying to use money to force me to back down. “I should congratulate you both. Hope you two lovebirds stay locked together forever!” After cursing a few times, I blocked Sebastian on Snapchat. But my heart felt suddenly lost, not even knowing where I belonged next. I’d been raised by Grandfather since childhood. Sebastian was the partner Grandfather had chosen for me. Grandfather was dead. Sebastian didn’t want me anymore. What came next? Where was my home? Under the influence of alcohol, after wandering around, I somehow ended up back at the Fosters’ new house.

I wanted to take all my belongings away, but when I actually arrived, I discovered this house was connected to me everywhere. The furniture was selected by Sebastian and me together. Even the wall colors were my favorites. Back then, we’d nestled together, envisioning our future, adding to this space bit by bit according to our preferences. Before I knew it, I’d walked to the bedroom door. The man’s panting, the woman’s moaning—everything told me I shouldn’t linger here. Yet somehow I pushed the door open. The answer was exactly as expected. The air was thick with chaotic scents. Men’s suits and women’s lace were tangled together. Vivian screamed in panic. Sebastian quickly grabbed the blanket and covered her. His shoulders heaved violently. He was like a powder keg about to explode. “What the hell are you doing?” Only a door separated us. Outside was my world, but inside I felt like an intruder who shouldn’t be there. I realized I really had gone mad. I didn’t question them. I just smiled faintly. “Sebastian, if this is how you feel about your adopted sister, why did you deceive me in the first place?” Veins bulged on Sebastian’s forehead. His voice kept rising: “Who gave you permission to come here? Get out!” As he commanded, I left the villa in a daze, taking nothing with me in the end. Under the influence of alcohol, a person’s senses become abnormally slow. In my daze, I heard Vivian’s soft voice behind me. “Sebastian, I’ll follow Mila. Can’t have anything happen to her this late at night.” Then, in a blur, she slapped me hard across the face. She’d completely abandoned her sweet demeanor, now looking hideous. “This is for the slap you gave me during the day. Now I’m returning it.” My face swelled quickly, burning with pain. She grabbed my hair and sneered in my ear. “Mila Rivers, do you know how much I’ve envied you? You have so much money, and I have nothing.” Her lips curved slightly upward. “What a shame. Sebastian loves me most. This time, I won.” Something dripped down from the corner of my eye. I touched it—tears. “So you stole him from me just because you were jealous?” “That’s right. Why do you always act so high and mighty? Seeing you this pathetic makes me happy.” I turned my head away, unwilling to argue with her. But she forced me to face her. “Let me tell you a secret. I’ve already begged Sebastian to buy the cemetery plot where your grandfather is buried. I’m going to turn it into an amusement park so it’ll be noisy all the time and your grandfather will never rest in peace.” My brain exploded with a “boom.” My parents died when I was young. Grandfather raised me. Grandfather built his fortune from nothing. His dying wish was to return to his roots, so after a simple funeral, I buried him in the vegetable garden on the hillside. My entire body trembled violently. I lunged at her without thinking and grabbed her by the throat. “I won’t allow it! I won’t allow you to desecrate my grandfather like this!” I didn’t come to my senses until someone punched me to the ground. Several bodyguards who’d rushed over looked at me with malicious intent. “This doesn’t seem right. She’s still the Rivers family heiress.” “A fallen phoenix is worse than a chicken! With Mr. Rivers dead, Rivers Corporation is leaderless now. In a few days, Mr. Foster will probably acquire it anyway.” “Didn’t Miss Foster say this woman is ours to do with as we please?”

I struggled to run, but they forcibly pinned me to the ground. Vivian grabbed my hair and stepped on my face. My consciousness dissolved in blood and tears. My vision blurred into a sheet of red. They tore at my clothes, toying with me like a completely broken plaything. In my stupor, Sebastian’s face became strangely clear. One moment, sunlight fell on his handsome face as he smiled and greeted me. The next moment, he gripped Grandfather’s hand, telling him to rest assured he’d never let us down. Fireworks exploded above our heads. Usually so reserved, he kissed me frantically: “Mila, I love you. I love you most. I’ll always love you.” Blood pooled in one place. I don’t know where I found the strength, but just before they succeeded, I pushed them away violently. I’d never been this disheveled before. My clothes were in shreds. My bare feet were covered in blisters from being scraped by stones. It hurt so much, but I couldn’t worry about the pain. I ran forward desperately. I fled, and a crowd chased behind me. Vivian’s mocking voice kept coming from behind. “Mila Rivers, I did it on purpose. I just wanted to see you fall into the mud.” “Sebastian loved you so much, but I got him with just a crook of my finger. There’s no place for you in the Foster family. The Rivers family is barely hanging on. Where else can you go?” She was right—I had nowhere to run. I’d been forced to a dead end. Ahead was rushing river water. Behind were people closing in step by step. Vivian panted from exhaustion. “Mila Rivers, stop struggling. You have nowhere left to retreat.” I lowered my eyes and laughed mockingly at myself. Life was truly full of ups and downs. Yesterday I was still looking forward to a happy married life, and today all that remained was fear, humiliation, and tears. Sebastian, if there’s another life, I never want to meet you again. With a splash, water rushed in from all directions, flooding my ears, mouth, and body. I didn’t struggle. I let my body sink continuously. Suddenly, a pair of warm hands pulled me upward. Before losing consciousness, I heard a clear voice: “Mila, stop loving my brother. Love me instead from now on, okay?”

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To make it to my childhood friend’s birthday party, fire captain Ethan Shaw locked me inside our house. And that day, a fire really did break out. I covered my nose and mouth and dialed my husband’s office, crying for help: “Help… I’m locked inside the house, the fire’s already spreading—” But the voice on the other end was ice cold: “Mrs. Shaw, Captain Shaw warned us in advance that you’d definitely report a false alarm today. Stop making a scene.” The call was disconnected. I dialed again. After verification, the dispatcher said hesitantly: “Ma’am, your number has been flagged for malicious emergency calls. We need to confirm with your family first.” When they called Ethan, he only said one thing: “She’s losing it. Ignore her.” Thick smoke filled the bedroom. I shattered the window and jumped from the second floor. I survived. But the doctor told me: “You were pregnant, but the baby didn’t make it.” “Help! My house is on fire! I’m locked inside!” I crouched in the corner covering my nose and mouth, dialing 911 over and over on my phone. The fire in the kitchen had already reached the upper cabinets. The range hood was making a piercing electrical noise, and thick smoke was rolling into the living room in waves. The call connected. I immediately said: “My house is on fire! The door’s been locked from the outside, I can’t get out! The address is—” I’d just finished giving the address when there was a pause on the other end, then a familiar male voice came on. “Mrs. Shaw, Captain Shaw said if you called tonight, you’d just be throwing a tantrum.” I froze. “It’s not a false alarm! There’s really a fire! The kitchen exploded, the door won’t open, please come quickly—” The person on the other end impatiently cut me off: “Mrs. Shaw, fire emergencies aren’t something to play around with. We’re very busy here.” The call was disconnected. I stared at the darkened screen, my fingers stiff. The next second, there was a “bang” from the kitchen, like something had exploded. The living room curtains instantly caught fire. A wave of heat hit my face. I was forced back two steps, then immediately dialed again. “I’m not joking! Please send a truck! I’m really going to die—” “Mrs. Shaw, Mr. Shaw already told us you’d act up today.” Beep— The call was cut off again. My phone immediately vibrated. It was a message from Ethan. [Emma, are you done yet?] [It’s just going to Violet’s birthday party. Do you really have to make a scene all the way to the fire department?] [If you keep this up, I’m not coming home tonight.] I stared at those lines, my throat tightening. The fire was real. And I really was about to die. But the fire department didn’t believe me. No—Ethan wouldn’t let them believe me. Gritting my teeth, I dialed 911 instead. “Emergency services, go ahead.” “Help… my house is on fire, I’m injured, I’m locked inside, please hurry…” The dispatcher quickly logged the information. “Please give the specific address.” As soon as I finished, the person paused for a few seconds, their tone changing. “Ma’am, the system shows you just had a suspected false report on record. We need to verify with your family.” My voice was hoarse: “I didn’t make a false report! I really am locked in my house!” “Please hold.” The line didn’t disconnect. A few seconds later, the dispatcher dialed another number. The background was noisy, with music playing and people singing happy birthday. Then I heard Ethan’s voice come through. “Is it her?” The dispatcher asked: “Sir, can you confirm if the patient’s current situation is accurate? She says there’s a house fire and she’s trapped—” “She’s throwing a fit.” Ethan coldly interrupted. “Don’t send a truck.” “Understood, sir.” The call ended. I clutched my phone, hearing my own labored breathing. Thick smoke poured in, choking me until I bent over, tears streaming down uncontrollably. The living room was already impassable, the door wouldn’t budge, and the kitchen fire was growing fiercer. If I stayed any longer, I’d be burned alive. I rushed into the guest bedroom and grabbed a chair, smashing it into the window. With a crash, glass shattered everywhere. This was the second floor. Below was a small street. Jump, and I might end up crippled. Don’t jump, and I could only wait to die. I gripped the window frame and shouted down: “Help! Fire! Help—” Someone looked up, someone stopped walking, and someone was shouting. The fire had rolled into the bedroom. The curtain edges were turning black, and the bedsheets were starting to smoke. I was out of time. I gritted my teeth, climbed onto the windowsill, closed my eyes, and jumped. The instant my back hit the ground, my whole body felt like it was splitting apart. Sharp pain shot through my leg bones and abdomen simultaneously, and everything went black. Chaos erupted around me. “Quick, call an ambulance!” “The upstairs really is on fire!” “She’s bleeding!” I lay on the ground, barely able to move, blood running down my legs. Before I lost consciousness, I was still clutching my phone tightly. The screen was frozen on the chat with Ethan.

“Mrs. Shaw, you’re awake?” I opened my eyes to a blinding white overhead. The doctor stood by the bed, medical chart in hand. “You have a fractured right arm, soft tissue damage in your left leg, inhalation injury, abdominal trauma, multiple abrasions and lacerations. You’re out of danger now.” My lips were dry, my throat so hoarse I could barely make a sound. “During emergency treatment, we discovered you were six weeks pregnant.” “But I’m very sorry—the baby couldn’t be saved.” I stared at the ceiling, a ringing in my ears. Pregnant. I’d actually been pregnant. Three years of trying to conceive, every treatment I’d tried. Each disappointment, I’d comfort myself that next time would work. But now, I’d finally conceived. And the child was gone. And the one who killed him was his own father. I turned my head, picked up my phone from the bedside table, and dialed Ethan’s number. It rang for a long time before he answered. The private room music was loud, glasses clinking and people laughing all mixed together. Violet’s voice was piercingly close. “Ethan, come help me cut the cake.” I gripped the phone, my voice hoarse: “Ethan, I’m in the hospital.” “So what?” His tone was perfunctory. “Are you done making a scene?” “I was pregnant.” The other end went quiet for a second. I continued: “The baby’s gone.” The next second, he actually laughed coldly. “Emma, you’re really something.” “First harassing my colleagues, then making false reports, now you’re even making up pregnancy and miscarriage?” “Why don’t you exaggerate a bit more and say you almost died?” I closed my eyes: “I jumped from the second floor.” “Keep performing.” He scoffed. “It’s Violet’s birthday today. You won’t be happy until you’ve ruined it, right?” My voice was soft: “Just come to the hospital and see for yourself.” “I don’t have time for your drama.” After saying that, he hung up directly. I put down the phone and opened social media. Violet had just posted a new update. In the photo, she sat in front of a birthday cake smiling radiantly, Ethan standing behind her, his hand on her birthday hat, his eyes as tender as if he were looking at a treasure. The caption read: [Someone said they’d spend every birthday with me from now on.] I looked at it for two seconds, then exited and messaged Lisa. [Help me draft divorce papers.] She replied instantly. [You’re finally ready to let go?] I replied: [The sooner the better.]

The next morning, the hospital room door was pushed open. Ethan had come. He was holding a bouquet of flowers, with Violet following behind him. When I saw the bouquet clearly, my fingers paused. Lilies. I’m allergic to pollen. As soon as Violet entered, she said with a smile: “Emma, Ethan brought me first thing in the morning to check on you.” Ethan walked to the bedside and carelessly tossed the flowers onto me. “Feeling better now?” The flower stems hit my chest, several petals falling onto my hospital gown. The pungent fragrance rushed over, immediately tightening my throat. I raised my hand and swept the flowers to the floor. “Take them away.” Ethan’s expression darkened. “What are you throwing a fit about now?” I looked at him: “I’m allergic to pollen.” He didn’t even furrow his brow. “Who remembers all that.” Violet immediately crouched down, picked up the flowers, and said in a soft voice: “Emma, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were allergic to lilies. It’s all my fault. I just wanted to buy the most fragrant ones.” After saying that, she leaned closer to me and spoke in a low voice: “But Ethan took me shopping at the baby store today. He said he loves children the most.” “Too bad some people just can’t get pregnant.” I raised my eyes to look at her. She was smiling, her eyes full of provocation. I grabbed the water cup from the bedside table and threw it directly at her. “Get out.” “Ah—” The cup smashed near her feet, water splashing everywhere. Violet screamed and immediately shrank behind Ethan. “Ethan, I just wanted to check on Emma…” “Shut up.” I stared at her. “This is a hospital room, not your stage.” Ethan grabbed my wrist, his face ashen. “Emma, can you act like a normal person?” I pulled my hand back and took out the divorce agreement from under the pillow, throwing it at him. “Sign it.” The room went quiet for a moment. Ethan looked down at it, his face darkening terribly. “Say that again?” “Divorce.” My voice wasn’t loud, but it was clear. “I don’t want the assets, I don’t want the house. I just want to be done with you.” A flash of joy crossed Violet’s eyes, but she hastily tried to persuade him: “Ethan, Emma just had a miscarriage, her emotions aren’t stable. Don’t hold it against her…” I suddenly looked at her. “How did you know I had a miscarriage?” Violet’s face stiffened. Ethan also turned to look at her. She quickly explained: “I… I guessed.” I let out a cold laugh and looked at Ethan: “Do you believe her, or the medical records?” He grabbed the agreement and tore it up bit by bit in front of me, paper scraps falling on my face. “Emma, threatening me with divorce won’t work.” “You want to make a scene, I’ll humor you. But don’t think I’ll indulge you forever.” I raised my hand to brush the paper scraps off my face, my voice turning cold. “Fine.” “Then I’ll see you in court.”

On the third day of hospitalization, the doctor finally relented and agreed to let me be discharged for home recovery. He said I had a leg bone fracture, abdominal soft tissue contusion, had inhaled quite a bit of smoke, and needed at least another week of observation. But I didn’t agree. I just asked quietly: “Can I leave now?” The doctor looked at me for a long while, then finally closed the medical chart, his tone cooling: “You can sign the papers, but if anything happens after discharge, you bear the consequences.” I said: “Okay.” When Lisa came to pick me up, she was still carrying a stack of freshly printed materials. Divorce agreement, asset division list, draft complaint. She placed the items in my lap, her gaze falling on my leg in its plaster cast. She held back once, twice, but finally couldn’t help herself: “Emma, have you really thought this through? In your condition—” “I can’t wait.” I interrupted her. My throat, damaged by the smoke, still carried a tearing hoarseness when I spoke. “The property management just called. They said the fire scene has been logged. Residents can go back to inventory their belongings. If I wait any longer, once they start cleaning up and repairing, my things will be even harder to find.” Lisa frowned: “Are you sure there’s anything left?” I lowered my eyes to the documents on my lap, my fingers slowly tightening. The fire had started in the kitchen. That night when the fire was at its worst, the kitchen, living room, and guest bedroom were almost completely destroyed. The walls were scorched black, curtains and furniture burned and curled, even the floorboards were warped from water damage. But the fire department had extinguished it relatively quickly. The master bedroom hadn’t been completely burned through—it had only taken in smoke, and most of what was in the cabinets should still be there. My ID, household registration, property deed. And the wooden box my mother had left me. Inside were her belongings, the only things I couldn’t bear to damage all these years. More importantly, all the original documents I needed to file for divorce were in there. One step later, who knows if I’d still be able to get them back. “Let’s go there first.” I raised my head and looked at Lisa. “I’ll leave right after I get them.” Lisa was silent for a few seconds, but finally sighed and helped me into the car. After the car pulled out, she kept her eyes on the road ahead while saying in a low voice: “The spare key is with the property manager. Don’t worry, I’ll go in with you. I won’t let you stay there alone for too long.” I hummed in acknowledgment and turned to look out the window. The afternoon sky was heavily overcast, the roadside plane trees rustling in the wind. The sunlight clearly wasn’t harsh, yet my eyes still felt gritty, as if the smoke from the fire had left a residue that wouldn’t dissipate. That house—I had once spent a long time decorating it. The color of the sofa, the style of the dining table, the pattern of the curtains, that warm lamp in the living room, even every single dish in the kitchen—I had picked them all out one by one. I thought it was home. Later I learned it was just a house I’d funded, worked on, invested my feelings in, only to have someone else move into it in the end. And now, going back wasn’t about “going home.” I just needed to take out what belonged to me before everything completely rotted away. When the car stopped downstairs, the wound on my leg was already throbbing with dull pain. Lisa got out first and came around to help me. The stairwell still carried the faint burnt smell left after the fire. A new safety inspection notice from the property management was posted on the wall, abandoned debris bags were piled by the elevator entrance, and the air was damp and oppressive. I slowly climbed the stairs. Each step felt like my abdomen and back were being torn open again. Lisa was afraid I couldn’t handle it and cursed under her breath: “That bastard better never fall into my hands.” I said nothing. When we reached the door, she inserted the spare key from the property manager into the lock and turned it gently. The door opened. What hit us wasn’t just the lingering burnt smell. There was also a thick, stifling smell of alcohol. My brow twitched. Lisa froze too, instinctively reaching out to block me. The living room was even more devastated than I’d imagined. Large patches of gray-black smoke stains still marked the walls. But in this place that had nearly burned me to death, the table was littered with empty bottles, takeout containers, and ashtrays. A woman’s shawl and stockings were thrown on the sofa, along with a pair of glaringly bright red-soled high heels. It was as if someone had turned this post-fire disaster zone into a pleasure den. I gripped my crutch tighter and tighter, my knuckles turning white. Lisa’s expression also darkened as she muttered: “She really moved in?” I didn’t respond, just propped myself against the wall and walked step by step toward the master bedroom. The door was ajar. Inside came the sound of light breathing. The moment I pushed the door open, I froze completely. On the master bedroom’s large bed, Violet was sleeping wrapped in my comforter. She was wearing my nightgown, her hair spread across my pillow, and on the nightstand sat half-drunk milk and unopened imported fruit. She looked exactly like the mistress of this house. And I stood at the door with my leg in a brace, pale-faced, still carrying the faint smell of disinfectant and smoke, as disheveled as an intruder who’d stumbled in by mistake. Probably hearing the noise, Violet slowly opened her eyes. When she saw me, she first looked startled, then raised her hand to touch her flat abdomen and gave me a lazy smile. “Emma, you’re out of the hospital.” Her tone was as light as if she were greeting an uninvited guest. “Why didn’t you say something ahead of time? Ethan’s not here today, no one made you soup.” Lisa angrily stepped forward: “Do you have no shame—” I raised my hand to stop her, but my gaze was locked on Violet. She sat up from the bed, deliberately pulling the comforter up around her shoulders, exposing the ambiguous red marks on her collarbone. Men’s clothing was scattered at the foot of the bed. I didn’t need to look to know whose it was. She followed my gaze and her smile deepened. “Don’t look at me like that.” She said softly. “Last night Ethan was afraid I’d sleep poorly alone, so he specially came back to keep me company.” My chest felt like something had stabbed it hard, the pain numbing. Last night. When I jumped from the second floor and lay in my blood waiting for the ambulance, he was celebrating Violet’s birthday. And now, having barely salvaged half my life from the fire, he’d let her sleep in my bed. I stared at her, my voice terribly hoarse: “Get up.” Violet tilted her head as if she hadn’t understood. I immediately spotted the pale yellow blanket beneath her. That was the baby blanket I’d bought for our future child. Now it was covered in red wine stains and a large patch of vomit. My expression went cold. “Get up.” Violet looked down at the blanket and laughed. “It’s just a blanket. Why are you so worked up?” I walked over and yanked the blanket out from under her, holding it to my chest. The blanket was filthy beyond recognition, its edges burned through by cigarettes. Violet nearly fell off the bed, her expression changing too. “Emma, are you sick?” I held the blanket and turned to leave. But she stood up and blocked my way, her voice dropping: “Do you really think you’re still anything?” “Ethan doesn’t love you anymore. He just doesn’t.” “While you were in the hospital, he took me to dinner, shopping, stayed overnight with me. When you were lying in that hospital bed miscarrying, he was buying me breakfast.” “Tell me, what are you?” Lisa had already raised her phone to record. “Keep talking.” She said coldly. “Say more, save you from denying it later.” Seeing the camera, Violet’s eyes flashed. She suddenly raised her hand and slapped herself twice hard, then sat down on the floor. Tears instantly started flowing. “Emma, I already apologized. Why did you still hit me?” “I didn’t mean to sleep in your bed, I really didn’t mean to—” At that moment, the door was violently pushed open. Ethan had returned. He’d just finished a call-out, hadn’t even changed out of his firefighter uniform, sweat still on his forehead. As soon as he entered, he saw Violet sitting on the floor covering her face and crying. “Violet!” He rushed over in a few strides and helped her up. Violet grabbed his sleeve, crying so hard she could barely breathe: “Ethan, don’t blame Emma… it’s all my fault, I shouldn’t have touched her things…” Lisa immediately spoke up: “I recorded the whole thing, she just—” “Shut up!” Ethan didn’t listen at all. He turned and slapped me across the face. “Smack—” I was knocked into the cabinet, my fractured arm immediately shooting with pain. The blanket in my arms fell to the floor. Lisa was furious: “Ethan! Have you lost your mind? She just got out of the hospital!” But Ethan stared at me, grinding his teeth: “Apologize to Violet.” I steadied myself against the cabinet and slowly stood up, blood at the corner of my mouth. “You want me to apologize to her?” “Yes.” He stared at me. “I’m counting to three.” “Three—” I bent down to pick up the divorce agreement from the floor, shook it out, and held it in front of him. “Ethan, let’s divorce.” He snatched it away and tore it up again. “I told you, I won’t sign.” “Then I’ll file in court.” After saying that, I picked up my suitcase and walked out. Just as I reached the door, a sudden sharp pain shot through my abdomen and everything went black. Cold sweat instantly broke out on my back. Lisa’s face changed: “Emma!” I gripped the door frame. My legs gave out and I collapsed straight down. Before losing consciousness, I heard her shouting: “Call an ambulance! She’s hemorrhaging!”

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After three years together, I stood by Ethan through his rise from nothing to a fortune worth millions. I thought our struggles were finally over, until I caught him shielding the company’s new intern in his arms, calling me a vicious shrew. For his so-called true love, he not only killed our child with his own hands, but threatened me with my parents’ lives to force me to leave with nothing. Just as my heart turned to ash, Ethan’s brother—Alexander, chairman of the Sterling Group—pulled me into his embrace. His eyes blazed with ruthless intensity. “Natalie, Ethan was never worthy of you! Marry me, and everything the Sterling family has will be yours!” Late into the stormy night, lightning flashed and thunder roared outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. I sat in the pitch-black living room, staring at the cold, untouched anniversary dinner on the table, my stomach cramping with waves of pain. The door lock clicked softly. The motion-sensor lights flickered on as Ethan walked in, dripping with rain. But he wasn’t alone—he was holding a soaking wet girl tightly in his arms. She wore an oversized men’s dress shirt that hung loosely on her frame—Ethan’s favorite custom-made piece. Like a frightened rabbit, she clutched his sleeve, pressing half her body against him. The moment the lights blazed on, Ethan saw me sitting on the sofa. A flash of panic crossed his eyes, quickly replaced by cold indifference. He didn’t let go of the girl. Instead, he pulled her behind him in a protective stance. “Natalie, why are you still awake?” His voice carried a hint of impatience. I didn’t answer. My gaze locked onto the girl. Her name was Bella. I recognized her. The new intern at Ethan’s company—a girl who posted on social media about being “poor but noble in soul.” “Mr. Sterling… did I upset Miss Carter?” Bella peeked out timidly, her eyes red-rimmed, her voice trembling like leaves shattered by the winter wind. “Miss Carter, please don’t misunderstand. The basement I’m renting flooded, and Ethan only brought me here to escape the storm because he felt sorry for me. I’ll leave right now…” She turned as if to rush back out into the torrential rain. Ethan grabbed her wrist and yanked her back into his arms. The momentum sent Bella crashing into his solid chest with a delicate gasp. Ethan’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he turned to glare at me, his eyes instantly cold. “That’s enough, Natalie. Can you stop acting like some high-and-mighty princess? Bella is just a young woman fresh out of college. You’re scaring her.” Fury boiled over into bitter laughter. I slowly stood and walked toward them, step by step. The air carried his familiar cedar scent, now mixed with a cheap, cloying sweet perfume. The combination made me nauseous. “Ethan, today is our wedding anniversary.” I stared into his eyes, my voice eerily calm. “You brought another woman into our home, wearing your clothes, leaning against you, and then you say I’m scaring her?” Ethan’s brows furrowed deeply, irritation flashing in his eyes. “I told you, she had nowhere to go! You’ve lived in luxury your whole life. You have no idea how hard it is for people at the bottom. She has a high fever. Did you expect me to leave her on the street to die?” “Miss Carter, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault…” Bella suddenly burst into tears, reaching out to grab my sleeve. “Don’t touch me!” I jerked away from her hand. *Slap!* The sharp sound of the blow echoed through the silent living room. I didn’t hit her. Ethan did. He shoved me hard, pulling Bella protectively behind him. I stumbled backward, my lower back slamming into the hard marble bar counter. Searing pain instantly consumed my entire body. I looked up in disbelief at the man I’d loved for three years. There wasn’t a trace of guilt in Ethan’s eyes—only cold warning. “Natalie, I warned you. Don’t touch her.” In that moment, I heard my heart shatter. Three years. I’d stood by him as he climbed from a bankrupt rich kid to where he was today. For him, I’d threatened to end my life and severed ties with my parents. For him, I’d swallowed my pride and begged people who once looked down on him. I thought I was his safe harbor. But now, he was giving all his tenderness and protection to another woman. “Ethan,” I bit my trembling lip hard, swallowing the metallic taste of blood in my throat. “Do you think I can’t survive without you?” Ethan laughed coldly, looking down at me. “Isn’t that true? You were willing to die just to marry me back then. What’s with this act now?” He bent down and scooped up the shivering Bella, walking toward the guest room without looking back. “Clean up that disgusting mess on the table. Bella has a sensitive stomach. Make some oatmeal for her in the morning.” *Bang.* The guest room door slammed shut. I slid down onto the cold floor, clutching my aching abdomen as tears finally broke free. Originally, I’d planned to tell him tonight that I was pregnant. Now it seemed pointless.

The next morning, I didn’t make any oatmeal. I applied flawless makeup, changed into a designer suit, and sat on the sofa waiting for him. When Ethan emerged from the guest room, his clothes were disheveled, but his eyes held a satisfied, tender glow. When he saw me, the softness instantly vanished, replaced by cold formality. He sat across from me, pulled a document from his briefcase, and pushed it toward me. Divorce Agreement. “Sign it.” He lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and through the curling smoke, his features looked especially blurred. “Name your terms. As long as they’re reasonable, I’ll agree.” I stared at the black text on white paper, feeling utterly absurd. “Why?” My voice came out hoarse. Ethan was silent for a moment. He tapped ash from his cigarette, his tone as calm as if discussing the weather. “Natalie, the first half of my life was too hard, and the second half too smooth. You paved the way for me, and I’m grateful. But I’ve never experienced what real love feels like.” He looked up, his eyes carrying a cruel sincerity. “Until I met Bella. She’ll argue with security guards on the street over a homeless person. She’ll run across half the city to bring me a sandwich when I’m working late. She showed me what it means to find beauty in suffering.” “But you, Natalie—you’re too perfect. Perfect like a doll. Your love is full of calculation and charity. I’m sick of always being beneath you.” I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms, drawing blood. Calculation? Charity? To clear his parents’ names, I’d knelt at the victims’ families’ doors for three days and nights. To secure investment for him, I’d drunk until I had a stomach hemorrhage and was rushed to the ER. In the end, my devotion became “condescension” in his eyes, while Bella’s cheap sandwich was “true love born from hardship.” I grabbed the glass of water from the table and hurled it at his face. *Crash!* The glass shattered against the wall, grazing his brow and cutting it open. Blood immediately seeped out. “Ethan, you disgust me!” My whole body shook as I pointed at his nose. “You want love? Fine! Then give back everything you have now! Without me, you’d still be picking through garbage in the slums!” Ethan didn’t dodge. He let the blood flow, his eyes growing colder. “Natalie, you’re finally showing your true colors.” He pulled out a tissue and casually wiped the blood. “You always act like you’re doing me favors. Sign the papers. It’s better for both of us. Don’t make me go nuclear.” He stood up, glancing down at me dismissively. “Bella is still sleeping. Don’t disturb her. I’ll send my lawyer this afternoon.” With that, he strode out of the villa. I collapsed on the sofa, staring at the words “no-fault party” on the agreement, suddenly laughing hysterically until tears streamed down my face. I hated my own stupidity, and even more, his heartlessness. My hand moved to my flat abdomen as I took a deep breath. Baby, Mommy will take you away from this.

I didn’t sign the papers. Instead, I went straight to the hospital for a prenatal checkup. I was still torn about the pregnancy. This child couldn’t be born into a world filled with betrayal and disgust. But a part of me couldn’t let go. The day I went to the hospital, the sky was overcast and gloomy. Holding my registration slip, I sat alone in the long corridor of the OB-GYN department. Around me were expectant mothers accompanied by their husbands, all looking happy. Only I sat alone. “Oh my, isn’t this Miss Carter?” A saccharine voice shattered the quiet. I looked up to see Bella wearing a pure white maternity dress, holding an ultrasound report and standing before me with a smug expression. Her belly was still flat, but she deliberately supported her lower back with one hand, acting as though her child had secured her status. “Are you here for a checkup too, Miss Carter? All by yourself?” Bella covered her mouth with a light laugh, her eyes full of malicious challenge. “Ethan wanted to come with me, but he had an important meeting at the company. He insisted on hiring ten bodyguards for me. I told him it was such a waste of money.” I looked at her coldly, as if watching a clown. “Get lost.” I spat out the single word. Bella’s expression froze momentarily, then her eyes quickly reddened, tears falling like broken pearls. “Miss Carter, I know you hate me. But love doesn’t follow a first-come-first-served rule. Ethan doesn’t love you at all. He says being with you feels like completing a chore. Why do you keep clinging to him shamelessly?” She leaned closer, lowering her voice to a volume only we could hear, whispering viciously: “You know what? Ethan says you’re like a cold, dead fish. But me—I’m his real woman. I’m carrying his child now. What do you have to compete with me, you barren woman?” Rage instantly shattered through my rational defenses. I jumped to my feet, raising my hand to slap her. But before my hand could land, Bella suddenly screamed and threw herself backward like a kite with its string cut, crashing hard onto the cold floor. “Ah—my baby! It hurts so much!” She clutched her stomach, rolling on the ground in apparent agony. “Bella!” A furious roar came from the end of the corridor. Ethan charged over like a madman, shoving me aside. His strength was tremendous. Caught off guard, I flew backward, my lower back slamming brutally into the metal armrest of a corridor bench. *Bang!* A dull thud. Excruciating pain instantly tore through my nerves. My vision went black and I nearly passed out. “Bella, are you okay? Don’t be scared, I’m here!” Ethan knelt on the floor, carefully cradling Bella in his arms, his voice trembling uncontrollably. “Ethan… Miss Carter… she pushed me… our baby…” Bella weakly leaned against him, pointing at me, crying pitifully. Ethan whipped his head around, his eyes bloodshot, glaring at me like an enraged beast. “Natalie! You vicious woman! If anything happens to Bella, I’ll make you pay with your life!” I lay crumpled on the floor, drenched in cold sweat. A heavy, dragging pain seized my lower abdomen, followed by warm liquid slowly trickling down my inner thighs. I looked down with difficulty. Bright red blood—shockingly red—spread across the floor tiles. “Ethan…” I reached out with a trembling hand, trying to grab his pant leg. “My… child…” Ethan glanced at the blood on the floor, his eyes flashing with utter disgust. “Enough, Natalie! How long are you going to keep up this act? Faking a pregnancy for sympathy—you make me absolutely sick!” He scooped up Bella and rushed toward the emergency room without looking back. “Doctor! Please save my wife!” He called her his wife. People passed through the corridor, countless pairs of eyes looking at me with accusation and contempt. I lay in a pool of blood, feeling life drain away, my vision gradually blurring. In the last second before darkness consumed me, I saw a pair of polished designer shoes at the end of the corridor, running frantically toward me through the coldness.

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After seven blind dates, all seven men ran away. They all ran off to chase my cousin, Vivian. My eighth blind date sent me a message at midnight: “Does Vivian have contact info for all your blind dates? She added me first.” A screenshot followed. In the screenshot, Vivian’s message to him read: “Just so you know, Peyton has a history of mental illness. Her family’s keeping it under wraps. Be careful.” I asked the previous seven men that same night. Vivian had told them all the same thing. I saved the screenshots and kept quiet. When the monthly family gathering came around, she walked in arm-in-arm with my sixth blind date. The entire table of relatives stood and applauded. Linda, my aunt, patted my hand with a sigh. “Peyton, you should learn from Vivian. Look how good she is at picking men.” I smiled and nodded. “You’re right. I should learn from her.” Then I picked up my wine glass and stood. “Vivian, in front of the whole family today, there’s something I’d like to ask you.” “You sent messages to all eight men. How come only one of them wanted you?”

“Peyton, what are you trying to say?” Vivian laughed first. A light laugh. She released Ethan’s arm, her fingertip pressed against the rim of her glass, her voice soft. “Today’s a family dinner. Don’t lose control of your emotions again.” Linda immediately chimed in. “That’s right, Peyton. Vivian just brought her boyfriend home. What are you freaking out about?” My dad, Harold, put down his fork. “Peyton, sit down.” I didn’t sit. I placed my phone on the turntable, screen lit, stopped on a screenshot. “I’m not freaking out. I’m asking a question.” Ethan’s expression changed. He was my sixth blind date. Three months ago he’d been asking if I wanted to catch a movie that weekend. The next day he said we weren’t compatible. Now he stood among my relatives wearing a light gray shirt Vivian had picked out for him. Vivian glanced at the phone but didn’t touch it. “Peyton, did someone turn you against me again?” “Are the screenshots fake?” “These days they can deepfake videos. What’s a chat screenshot?” “What about seven of them?” I opened my photo album and pulled up each of the seven screenshots one by one. “Seven people. Seven accounts. Seven times the exact same sentence. Even the punctuation’s identical.” My aunt, Catherine, muttered quietly, “Kids these days really know how to stir up drama.” Linda glared at me. “Even if Vivian said those things, she was just worried about them. That time you were hospitalized—who in this family doesn’t know about it?” My fingers froze. Around the table, some people looked down into their soup, some picked at their food, some pretended not to hear. My mom, Sandra, went pale. She reached for me. “Peyton, stop talking.” Vivian’s eyes welled up instantly. “Peyton, I really didn’t mean any harm.” After she spoke, tears fell. “I was just afraid they’d blame you later if they found out, and afraid you’d get hurt. Every time you came back from a date you said the guy was nice, but are you really suitable for marriage?” Ethan immediately supported her. “Vivian, don’t cry.” I looked at him. I remembered on our first date, he’d complimented my sincerity. Now he was frowning at me. “Peyton, Vivian’s just looking out for you.” “Looking out for me?” I smiled slightly. “She added you on Snapchat, told you I have a history of mental illness, then chatted with you until three in the morning—that was looking out for me too?” His face stiffened. “Don’t make things up.” Vivian wiped her tears. “Ethan was just asking about your situation. I told him the truth.” “And you just happened to turn him into your boyfriend while you were at it?” Linda slammed the table. “Peyton, how can you be so vicious? Your cousin has always given in to you, and you still try to steal her spotlight?” Harold’s face darkened. “Apologize.” I looked at him. “Dad, didn’t you see her telling people I’m mentally ill?” “You did go to the hospital when you were little.” “That was because I had insomnia after being bullied by classmates. The doctor prescribed two weeks of sleep medication.” “To outsiders it all looks the same.” I stood frozen in place. Vivian said through her sobs, “Harold, don’t blame Peyton. She probably just can’t accept that Ethan and I are together.” Ethan squeezed her hand. “Peyton, feelings aren’t first-come-first-served. Just because things didn’t work out between us doesn’t mean I can’t like Vivian.” I said, “Of course you can.” The table collectively exhaled. I continued. “But before you two date, let’s settle the accounts for her slandering me.” Vivian suddenly looked up. In those eyes there was no trace of tearful softness, only a flash of coldness. Quickly, she lowered her gaze again. “Peyton, if you insist on forcing me, then I can only tell the truth.” Sandra panicked. “Vivian!” Linda immediately pressed. “What truth?” Vivian bit her lip. “She cut her wrists in college.” The sound of a fork hitting the floor rang out loudly. I heard myself say, “I didn’t.” Vivian shook her head, crying. “Stop denying it. That year I came to see you at your dorm, I saw the gauze wrapped around your wrist with my own eyes.” I pulled up my sleeve. The very faint scar on my wrist was exposed. Linda gasped. “Oh my, it’s real.” Sandra’s eyes reddened. “That was from a fruit knife.” “A fruit knife could do that?” Vivian’s voice grew softer. “Peyton, I’ve been covering for you this whole time, but since you insisted on making a scene today, I have no choice.” Ethan’s eyes as he looked at me completely changed. “Peyton, what you need isn’t blind dates. It’s treatment.” In that moment, all the screenshots lost their weight. They couldn’t see the evidence. They only saw the scar on my wrist. Harold stood up, his voice very low. “Apologize to your cousin, then go to your room.” I asked, “What if I don’t?” He looked at me, saying something this serious in front of relatives for the first time. “Then from now on, you don’t need to come to the family table anymore.” Vivian called out softly, “Harold, don’t do this. Peyton didn’t mean it.” Harold didn’t look at her, only at me. “Apologize.” I picked up my phone. When I pressed the screen dark, it reflected my face. Turns out when someone’s trampled all the way down, they don’t immediately break down. They just suddenly become very clearheaded. I put my wine glass back on the table. “Vivian, I’m sorry.” Tears still hung at the corners of Vivian’s eyes, but her lips curved up slightly. I stared at her, my voice not loud. “I’m sorry. I underestimated you.” Her expression paused. Harold shouted angrily, “Peyton!” I turned and walked out. Behind me came Linda’s voice. “This child is truly beyond saving.” At the door, Ethan came after me. “Peyton, Vivian asked me to see you out.” I stopped. He frowned. “Stop targeting her. She’s kinder than you, and more normal than you.” I looked at him. “Ethan, do you feel especially righteous right now?” He said, “At least I won’t hurt someone who genuinely cares about you.” I nodded. “Fine. Then pass along a message for me.” “What message?” I tucked my phone back in my bag and pushed open the door. “Tell her she’d better not lose the eighth one too.”

“Peyton, Vivian added me again.” The next morning, my eighth blind date, Marcus, sent me a voice message. His tone was flat, no surprise in it. “This time she didn’t say you’re mentally ill. She said you have violent tendencies.” I stared at that voice message and didn’t reply. He sent another screenshot. Vivian: “She had an episode at the family dinner yesterday and almost smashed someone with a wine bottle. She’s done this before. Everyone in the family is afraid of her.” Marcus: “How do you have my contact info?” Vivian: “I’m her cousin. I can’t just watch you get deceived.” Marcus: “Are you close with her?” Vivian: “Of course. I care about her the most.” I turned my phone face-down on the table. Sandra came out of the kitchen and placed a bowl of oatmeal in front of me. “Peyton, Harold was harsh last night. Don’t take it to heart.” I asked, “Mom, do you believe her?” She paused. “Of course I believe you.” “Then why didn’t you say anything last night?” “There were so many people there, and Vivian was crying like that. You insisted on making it a big deal—what good would that do you?” I looked at that bowl of oatmeal. “She said I cut my wrists.” “But you do have a scar on your hand.” “That year I was cutting a mango and the knife slipped.” “I know.” “Then why didn’t you say so?” Sandra sat down, her eyes avoiding mine. “Vivian lost her father when she was little. Linda raised her alone—it wasn’t easy. She’s been competitive since childhood. She hates losing face most of all.” I laughed. “So it doesn’t matter if I lose face?” “Peyton, don’t fixate on this.” The doorbell rang. Linda came in with Vivian, carrying a bag of fruit. Vivian’s eyes were red and swollen. She’d obviously cried all night. Linda said as soon as she entered, “Peyton, your cousin insisted on coming first thing to apologize to you. Look how thoughtful she is.” Sandra quickly stood. “Vivian, sit down.” Vivian stood at the door, refusing to come in. “Peyton, I said some harsh things yesterday.” I didn’t move. “Which part?” She bit her lip. “The… the thing about your wrist.” “When you said I cut my wrists—was that being harsh, or was it slander?” Linda’s face darkened. “How can you talk like that? Your cousin already humbled herself.” Tears were about to fall from Vivian’s eyes again. “Peyton, if you really hate me, I can break up with Ethan.” Linda immediately exploded. “Break up for what? Ethan’s got such good prospects—why should she break up because of you?” Sandra panicked too. “Peyton, say something.” I asked Vivian, “Can you bear to?” She looked up at me, tears hanging there, but she herself was perfectly steady. “As long as you’re happy, I can bear anything.” After that line, Sandra couldn’t take it anymore. “Peyton, your cousin’s already doing this—what more do you want?” I said, “I want her to tell everyone who was at last night’s dinner the truth about those messages she sent, and the truth about how I got this scar.” The room went quiet for two seconds. Linda sneered. “You’re trying to destroy your cousin?” “Clarifying facts is destroying her?” “A girl’s reputation is so important. She still has to get married.” I looked up. “My reputation isn’t important?” Linda rolled her eyes. “You don’t even have a boyfriend.” The words came out so smoothly that even Sandra couldn’t follow up. Vivian said softly, “Peyton, if you really insist on this, I won’t stop you. But Ethan’s mother already heard about you last night. She added Linda and asked if you hurt people.” I picked up my phone. Sure enough, the family group chat had several new messages. Linda had posted a photo of my wrist. The angle was very close—must have been secretly taken at last night’s dinner table. The caption read: “It’s not that our Vivian talks nonsense. Peyton really does need the family to look after her more.” The relatives below all agreed. “No wonder seven blind dates didn’t work out.” “This kind of thing can’t be hidden from the man’s side.” “Vivian was just being kind.” My fingertips went stiff. Sandra said quietly, “Linda, how could you post that photo in the group?” Linda was unconcerned. “I was just reminding the family so nothing happens later.” I looked at Vivian. She kept her eyes down, her voice as light as a sigh. “I didn’t know my mom posted the photo.” I said, “You didn’t know?” Linda immediately defended her. “It has nothing to do with Vivian. I posted it.” Vivian looked up, a flash of triumph in her eyes. Her tactics had always been distinctive. When other people play the victim, they lower themselves. When she plays the victim, she elevates everyone else into her weapons. I opened the group chat, about to post the screenshots. Harold called. “Peyton, don’t make a scene in the group.” “Dad, did you see the photo?” “I saw it.” “Don’t you think it’s excessive?” “Linda was just anxious.” “Anxious to destroy me?” “Delete whatever you’re about to post in the group right now. My colleagues are in that group too. Don’t make me lose face with you.” I closed my eyes. “Dad, I’m already losing face.” He said, “You’re a girl. If your reputation gets damaged, it can slowly be repaired. If you ruin your cousin’s marriage prospects, Linda will hate you for life.” I asked, “What about you?” Silence on the other end. I finished for him. “You will too.” I hung up. Vivian looked at me and spoke gently. “Peyton, Harold’s just afraid you’ll be impulsive.” I put down my phone. “You’re not here to apologize. You’re here to confirm whether I’ll fight back.” She finally stopped crying. “Peyton, you always think the worst of everyone. No wonder no one dares get close to you.” Linda picked up the bag of fruit and set it heavily on the table. “We’re leaving this here. If you have any conscience left, stop making things hard for Vivian.” Before the door closed, Vivian looked back at me. Her voice was very soft, but just loud enough for me to hear. “The eighth one seems pretty nice too. If you really can hold onto him, don’t give me a chance to get to know him.”

“Peyton, come to the community clinic this afternoon.” Harold’s call came while I was meeting with Marcus. He sat across from me, phone screen facing up, showing Vivian’s fifth message. “She’s asking me if you brought any sharp objects to our meeting.” Marcus said this without smiling. I replied, “Are you scared?” “I’m just curious why she’s in such a hurry.” Before I could answer, Harold called again. “Did you hear me? Three o’clock this afternoon. Your mom will go with you.” “Go for what?” “A psychological evaluation.” My grip on my cup tightened. “Whose idea?” Linda’s voice came through the phone. “My idea—what’s wrong with that? You scared Vivian like that. Don’t you need an evaluation?” Harold lowered his voice. “Peyton, cooperate. Get a certificate proving you’re fine, and this whole thing will blow over.” I said, “The person who started the slander should apologize. That would make it blow over too.” “You’re still being stubborn?” I said nothing. Marcus looked up at me. “Need help?” I shook my head. Harold’s voice became very weary. “Peyton, don’t make this hard on your mom.” That sentence worked better than any command. I went that afternoon. The community center wasn’t large. Several elderly people sat in the hallway. Linda and Vivian were there too. Vivian wore a face mask, only her red eyes showing. Linda saw me and said, “Don’t glare at your cousin. She had nightmares last night and didn’t sleep all night.” Sandra pulled me aside. “Peyton, just answer a few questions and it’ll be over.” I asked, “Why are they here?” Linda said, “Family members have the right to provide information.” I said, “Since when is she my family?” Vivian said softly, “Peyton, I’m just afraid you won’t tell the truth.” The doctor called my name. I went in and sat down. Just as I was about to speak, the door was pushed open again. Linda handed a stack of papers to the doctor. “Doctor, this is her history. We family members compiled it.” I saw the title read: Record of Peyton’s Abnormal Behavior. Item one: Suspected self-harm during college. Item two: Prolonged low mood after failed blind dates. Item three: Attacked Vivian at family dinner, persecution delusions. Item four: Repeatedly harassed males, suspected paranoid personality. I reached for it. Linda pressed down on the papers. “This is for the doctor. Why are you grabbing?” The doctor frowned. “Family members, please step outside.” Linda refused. “Doctor, you don’t know how good she is at acting.” Vivian stood at the door, her voice trembling. “Doctor, can I stay? If she gets agitated, I can calm her down.” I looked at her. “You’ll calm me down?” Her eyes reddened again. “Peyton, don’t be like this.” In the end, the doctor asked them all to leave. After the door closed, he asked me, “Is this information accurate?” I said, “It’s not accurate.” “Do you have evidence?” “I have screenshots that prove she’s been messaging my blind dates with false information for a long time.” The doctor nodded. “You can file a police report or pursue civil litigation for defamation.” I’d just started to relax. Outside the door, shouting suddenly erupted. Linda’s voice was piercingly shrill. “She pushed someone! Doctor, she pushed Vivian!” I rushed out. Vivian sat on the floor, her wrist scraped red in one spot, her mask fallen off, tears streaming down. Sandra stood to the side, her face deathly pale. When she saw me, her first words were, “Peyton, why did you come out just now?” I froze. “I was inside the whole time.” Linda pointed at me. “You came out! You snuck out when the doctor wasn’t looking, yelled at Vivian, and pushed her!” I said, “There are cameras in the hallway.” Linda sneered. “The nurse just said this section of cameras is broken.” Vivian looked up, her voice breaking. “Peyton, I don’t blame you. You’re just too scared.” People around us all turned to look. Someone whispered, “That girl looks pretty normal. How could she do this?” The doctor came out, his expression changed too. “Peyton, calm down first.” I said, “I am calm.” Linda immediately jumped in. “She says she’s calm every time she has an episode.” Sandra covered her mouth, tears falling. “Peyton, I’m begging you, please stop this.” I looked at her. “Mom, you think I pushed her too?” She didn’t answer. Silence was the answer. I suddenly remembered many years ago, when my wrist was cut by the fruit knife. I was trembling in pain, and Vivian stood at the kitchen door crying. Linda rushed in and hugged her. “Don’t be scared, don’t be scared. Peyton didn’t mean to frighten you.” Back then my hand was covered in blood. No one asked if I was hurt first. Now it was the same. Vivian steadied herself against the wall and stood up. Ethan had somehow arrived and draped his coat over her shoulders. When he saw me, his eyes were full of disgust. “Peyton, you really make me sick.” I said quietly, “I didn’t push her.” “The cameras are broken. Of course you can say whatever you want.” Marcus’s call came through at that moment. I answered. Before I could speak, he said, “I’m at the entrance. Vivian sent me a message saying you’re at the hospital threatening suicide and told me not to come.” I looked up at Vivian. Her expression finally changed slightly. I asked into the phone, “Why did you come?” Marcus said, “To see how far one person can take their lies.” Before I could respond, Ethan suddenly snatched my phone and hung up directly. “Enough. Stop dragging innocent people into this.” I reached for it. He held the phone up high. “Apologize to Vivian first.” I said, “Give it back.” Linda blocked Vivian. “Apologize, or you’re not leaving today.” I looked at Sandra. She shook her head, crying. “Peyton, just lower your head.” In that moment, I really was backed into a corner. No cameras, no witnesses, not even my own family on my side. I slowly spoke. “I’m sorry.” Vivian lowered her eyes. “It’s okay. I forgive you.” I stared at her scraped wrist. “But you’d better remember—scrapes heal. Lies don’t.” Ethan tossed my phone back into my arms. “If you’re really sick, don’t drag other people down to rot with you.”

“Peyton, the company suspended you.” When my supervisor called, her tone was much more polite than usual. So polite that I immediately knew the news had spread. “What’s the reason?” “Someone reported to HR that you pose a serious psychological risk and might endanger client safety.” I sat at my desk. The voices of several nearby colleagues suddenly dropped. “Who reported it?” My supervisor sighed. “Go home and rest for now. Wait for the evaluation results.” “The evaluation results aren’t out yet.” “But they submitted documentation.” “What documentation?” “Records from the community center, and a joint statement from your family members.” I hung up and opened my email. The attachment HR sent included a scanned document. The title was neatly written: Statement Regarding Peyton’s Recent Abnormal Behavior. The signature section had Linda, Vivian, and Harold. Sandra’s name was there too. Those two characters were familiar. So familiar I could tell at a glance she didn’t write them. But the stamp was real. I clutched my phone and went to find HR. The HR manager closed the door, lowering her voice. “Peyton, personally I believe your work performance has been fine, but the company can’t take the risk.” I asked, “Who sent this?” She hesitated. “Someone named Vivian. She said she’s your cousin.” “She’s not my legal guardian.” “She provided your father’s signature.” “I can request a review.” “You can, but the process takes time. Also, you have a client coming this afternoon. She already contacted the client in advance saying you’ve been unstable recently.” I laughed. Vivian wasn’t just stealing my blind dates. She wanted to pluck me out of every place that could prove I was normal. My Snapchat buzzed. Vivian sent a voice message. “Peyton, don’t blame Harold and Sandra. I was the one who alerted your company. What if you have an emotional episode someday and hurt a client? You couldn’t handle that responsibility either.” I replied: “What do you want?” She quickly sent back text. “Come to my place tonight. In front of Linda and Ethan, delete the screenshots.” The next message was more direct. “Also, send Ethan a message saying you slandered me before out of jealousy.” I stared at the screen. Half a minute later, another message came. “If you don’t come, I’ll post about your evaluation in your company group chat.” I didn’t reply. At three o’clock in the afternoon, the client did come. He was the project lead I’d been working with for six months. His last name was Wilson. He usually spoke bluntly. His first words after sitting down: “Peyton, are you suitable to continue managing our account?” I said, “I am.” He looked at me. “Someone said you hurt people at a family gathering.” “I didn’t.” “Someone said you have a history of self-harm.” “I don’t.” “Someone said you harassed your blind dates and retaliated against female relatives.” I looked up. “Mr. Wilson, are you here to discuss the project or interrogate me?” He was silent for a few seconds. “I’m here to assess risk.” Colleagues stood outside the glass door watching. Those gazes weren’t sharp, but they were dense. My supervisor pushed the door open. “Peyton, step outside.” I didn’t move. Mr. Wilson suddenly pushed a piece of paper toward me. “Vivian said if we change account managers, she can introduce resources from her fiancé’s family to me.” I looked at that paper. On it was a client list written in Vivian’s handwriting. She was even poaching my clients. My supervisor’s face darkened. “Peyton, excuse yourself.” “Why should I be the one to excuse myself?” “Because you’re the one being complained about right now.” I stood up. When I reached the door, my phone rang. Marcus sent a video. In the video, at the side entrance of the community center hallway, Vivian crouched down by herself, scraped her wrist against the rough corner of a wall, then sat down on the floor as if on cue. The angle was very oblique, filmed from inside a car. He sent a message: “My car was parked at the back entrance. The dashcam caught it.” My finger hovered over the screen. This should be the first real piece of ammunition I’d gotten in days to hit back with. But before I could save it, Ethan called. I answered. “Peyton, come to Vivian’s place right now.” “What for?” “She took sleeping pills.” My mind went blank. “What did you say?” “She left a suicide note saying you pushed her to this, saying if she dies, she hopes you won’t hate her anymore.” My supervisor heard. Her expression changed instantly. The HR manager poked her head in from the doorway. “What’s going on?” I didn’t answer. I ran out. In the taxi, Ethan never hung up. “Peyton, are you satisfied now?” “Did you call an ambulance?” “We did.” “How many did she take?” “Now you’re scared?” “Ethan, answer me.” He sneered. “People like you only care about whether you’ll be held responsible.” When I got to Vivian’s place, the door was open. Linda sat on the floor crying. Ethan held Vivian. Her face was pale, but there were faint lipstick marks on her lips. Paramedics were checking her. I heard the nurse say, “Vital signs are stable. Probably didn’t ingest much.” Linda lunged at me and grabbed my hair. “You dare show up here! If anything happens to my daughter, I’ll fight you to the death!” She yanked me off balance. My phone fell to the ground. The screen was lit, stopped on the video page Marcus had sent. Vivian lay in Ethan’s arms, eyes half-open. She saw it. The next second, she suddenly reached out and stepped on my phone. The sound of the screen shattering was very soft. But I heard it crystal clear. She said weakly, “Peyton, stop trying to frame me with fake evidence.” Ethan shoved me away. “Get out.” I fell against the coffee table. My elbow started bleeding. Linda cried out, “Call the police! She drove my daughter to suicide!” I looked at the shattered phone, chaos ringing in my ears. The most crucial evidence had just gone black right before my eyes. Ethan looked down at me from above. “Peyton, from now on, who’s going to believe you?” Someone at the door responded, “I do.”

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Richard and I were married for thirty years. Everyone envied us. We were the gold standard of devotion. For the last decade, I was his full-time caregiver after an accident left him paralyzed. That was, until the estate lawyer calmly informed me that Richard had left something behind for me. He had just finished reading the primary distribution of Richard’s trust: fifteen million dollars in assets, all left to his ex-girlfriend. This included the three-million-dollar estate, three million in liquid cash, and a thirty-percent stake in his company, valued at roughly nine million. When it was my turn, the lawyer paused for a long, heavy moment. He slid a thick, manila folder across the mahogany table. Inside was a certified court document. A final decree of divorce. I froze, my eyes scanning the page until they hit the filing date: March 10, 2014. Ten years ago. I hadn’t been his wife for ten years. 1 The air conditioning in the lawyer’s office was running too high. The legal decree in my hand felt like ice. The gold foil seal of the county clerk glared back at me, blindingly official. “This is impossible.” I heard my own voice. It sounded thin, trembling. The lawyer pushed his half-moon glasses up the bridge of his nose. His expression was a mask of practiced, professional detachment. “Mr. Whitman’s legal team provided the comprehensive filings. This decree was signed by a judge and filed with the county. It is legally binding.” He slid another stack of papers across the table. Copies of the court docket. The marital settlement agreement. My signature. On every single page. I stared at the loops and slants of the ink for a long time. It looked like my handwriting. But I had zero memory of ever holding the pen. “I never signed this.” “Mrs. Whitman—apologies, I should say, Ms. Jessie.” The lawyer corrected himself. That tiny, semantic shift slipped between my ribs like a switchblade. “You are within your rights to request a handwriting analysis, but according to the standing legal framework, your marriage to Mr. Whitman was dissolved on March 10, 2014.” There were other people sitting in the conference room. Richard’s ex-girlfriend, Jocelyn, sat perfectly composed in a black Chanel tweed suit, her makeup flawless. Richard’s corporate legal team—five men in expensive suits. And Richard’s parents. My in-laws. No, my former in-laws. They were all looking at me with a strange, collective expression. The way you look at a stranger who has overstayed their welcome. I kept my finger pressed against the date on the paper. March 10, 2014. What happened that day? My memory started to spool backward. That was the day before Richard’s car crash. I remembered the hospital. He had been in a coma for three days. When he woke up, he was paralyzed from the waist down. The doctors said he would be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. For the ten years that followed that day, I was his nurse, his maid, his wife. I rolled him over in bed to prevent sores. I massaged his atrophied legs. I measured out his medications. I am fifty years old, but I look sixty. My hair is entirely gray. My skin is lined. My posture is permanently stooped from lifting him. Everyone always told me I was a saint of a wife. They said my loyalty was beautiful. It turns out, those words were the punchline to a joke I wasn’t in on. I had long ceased to be his wife. “Ms. Jessie, there is one final document that requires your signature.” The lawyer pushed a single sheet of paper toward me. “The monthly living stipend Mr. Whitman provided you during his lifetime, totaling roughly one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, has been legally classified as a non-taxable gift. We need you to acknowledge receipt of these funds and waive any further claims against the estate.” One hundred and fifty thousand. Ten years. Roughly twelve hundred dollars a month. That was my salary. For keeping him alive. My throat tightened so hard I couldn’t breathe. That was when Jocelyn finally spoke. Her voice was soft, dripping with the benevolent pity of a woman who had already won. “Jess, honey,” she said. “Richard said before he passed that this money should be enough to get you set up somewhere quiet. He asked me to pass on his gratitude. Thank you for taking such good care of him.” She called me Jess. Not Jessie. Not the grieving widow. Just Jess. The way a homeowner speaks to the hired help. I stood up. My legs felt like water. The heavy oak door of the conference room took all my remaining strength to push open. The hallway outside was painfully long. My shadow stretched out thin and warped against the marble floor. Like a ghost that had been evicted from its own haunting. 2 I didn’t go straight home. My feet carried me, entirely on autopilot, into a corner coffee shop. I sat in a booth by the window and ordered a black Americano. It was bitter. But it tasted like water compared to what was sitting in my chest. My phone buzzed. It was the building manager at the penthouse. “Ms. Jessie? There’s a moving company in the lobby. They said a Ms. Jocelyn sent them to pack up Mr. Whitman’s belongings. We need your authorization to let them up.” Ms. Jocelyn. She was already taking inventory. “You don’t need my authorization,” I heard my own voice say, hollow and distant. “It’s not my house.” I hung up and stared at the glowing screen of my phone. Our text thread was still there. Richard’s last message to me, sent five days ago. Want pot roast for dinner tonight. I had replied: Okay. I’ll go to the butcher. Five days ago, I still thought I was his wife. I scrolled up. The entire thread was a wasteland of clinical logistics. Did you take the blue pills? What time is the physical therapist coming? Sun’s out today. Want me to push you to the park? Thirty years of marriage. Ten years of intimate, grueling care. Boiled down to a sterile checklist. I opened my photo album. The most recent picture was from three months ago. Richard sitting in his customized wheelchair, me standing behind him. He was smiling, looking vibrant despite the chair. I was smiling, looking bone-tired. It was his sixtieth birthday. His parents had come over, bringing expensive vitamins and a card stuffed with cash. Jocelyn had come too. She said she was just dropping by to visit an “old friend.” She gifted him a stunning, vintage chess set. I had spent twelve hours on my feet in the kitchen, preparing a massive dinner spread. During the meal, Richard and Jocelyn talked endlessly. They talked about their youth. They talked about inside jokes and memories I had never been a part of. I sat at the end of the table, an extra at my own dinner party. That night, as my in-laws were leaving, my mother-in-law had squeezed my hand. “Jocelyn is such a wonderful woman,” she had whispered. “Richard is so blessed to have a friend like her.” I hadn’t understood the weight of that sentence then. I understood it now. She knew. She knew back then. She knew Jocelyn was the real daughter-in-law. I was just the live-in nurse. My phone rang again. An unknown number. “Jessie? This is Dr. Aris. Richard’s oncologist.” I remembered him. For the last few years, Dr. Aris had managed Richard’s pain. “There’s something I feel ethically obligated to tell you. A week before Richard passed, he came in for a full workup.” My heart stopped. “Did you know he had stage-four pancreatic cancer?” No. I didn’t know anything. “He explicitly instructed me not to tell you. He said he didn’t want to burden you. But as his next of kin, I felt you had a right to know the timeline.” Next of kin. The phrase felt like a cruel joke now. “He also signed a directive ensuring all his medical records were forwarded directly to a Ms. Jocelyn. He said he was afraid you wouldn’t be able to handle the emotional toll.” My hand shook around the phone. Afraid I couldn’t handle it. So he left his entire fortune to Jocelyn. So he left me a ten-year-old divorce decree. So he made sure I was the absolute last to know that my entire life was a lie. “Thank you, Dr. Aris.” I ended the call. The coffee had gone cold. Outside, the sky cracked open and it began to rain. The droplets raced each other down the glass pane, heavy and erratic, like tears. But I didn’t cry. My eyes felt like they were full of sand. I didn’t have a single tear left to give him. 3 The rain was coming down in sheets. I didn’t have an umbrella. I walked the six blocks from the cafe to our building, letting the water soak me to the bone. The doorman blinked in shock when I walked in. “Ms. Jessie? Are you alright?” I just shook my head. In the mirrored walls of the elevator, I looked like a drowning victim. My gray hair was plastered to my skull. My clothes were heavy with water. My eyes were swollen. When had I started crying? I couldn’t remember. Floor thirteen. The doors chimed open. The hallway was already cluttered with cardboard boxes. The moving crew was working with brutal efficiency. The front door of my home was propped wide open. A man with a clipboard was directing traffic in my living room. “Take all this to the truck. Ms. Jocelyn said it goes straight to donation.” I walked in. The living room was half-empty. Richard’s wheelchair was already gone. The books on the built-in shelves were being dumped into bins. The framed photos had been stripped from the walls. Some of those photos had me in them. Now they were piled in a plastic trash bag in the corner. “What are you doing?” My voice scraped out of my throat like sandpaper. The man with the clipboard turned, eyeing my dripping clothes. “And you are?” “I live here.” “Ah, Jessie, right? Ms. Jocelyn left strict instructions. You’re permitted to pack your personal effects. Everything else comes with us.” Personal effects. I looked around. I had lived in this space for thirty years. What actually belonged to me? The clothes in the closet? Most were a decade old, faded from constant washing. The skincare on the vanity? A few drugstore moisturizers that cost maybe forty bucks combined. The books? All Richard’s. The pots and pans in the kitchen? I had used them every day for ten years, but my name wasn’t on the deed to the house. “I don’t have anything to pack,” I said, turning toward the hallway. I walked toward the master bedroom. The door wouldn’t budge. I pulled my key from my wet pocket, but it wouldn’t fit. The lock had been changed. “Sorry about that, Jessie,” the foreman called out. “Ms. Jocelyn said the master suite has sensitive documents. She asked us to keep it secured from third parties.” Third parties. The words hit me like an open-handed slap. I took a jagged breath, pivoted, and walked to the guest room. That was where I had slept for the last ten years. It was tiny. Barely a hundred square feet. A twin bed. A single dresser. A window that faced a brick alleyway, forever starved of sunlight. I opened the bottom drawer. Beneath a pile of old sweaters was a heavy cedar box. My mother’s keepsake box. She gave it to me right before she died. Inside were a few pieces of vintage gold jewelry, a pearl necklace, and a jade bangle. I pulled the heavy box against my chest. This was it. The sum total of my existence in this house. Suddenly, the door to the master suite clicked open. A young woman stepped out. She looked incredibly familiar. “My mom said you’d be leaving today. I came to make sure you got out okay.” My mom. She called Jocelyn “mom.” I stared at her. Really looked at her. The shape of her jaw. The bridge of her nose. The dark, deep-set eyes. She looked exactly like him. Like Richard. “Who are you?” I breathed. “I’m Bella,” she said, her voice dripping with bored privilege. “Jocelyn’s daughter.” She paused, letting the silence stretch out before twisting the knife. “And Richard’s daughter.” The blood stopped moving in my veins. The sound of my own heartbeat vanished from my ears. Richard’s daughter. She looked to be in her early twenties. Twenty years ago. When Richard and I had been married for ten years. “How old are you?” I asked. “Twenty-three.” Twenty-three years ago, we had been married for seven years. That was the year I was desperately going through IVF. The doctors kept telling me my tests were normal, but I just couldn’t get pregnant. It wasn’t that I couldn’t get pregnant. It was that he never wanted me to. “Are you okay, Jess? You look a little pale.” Her concern was purely performative. I leaned against the doorframe, forcing my legs to hold my weight. “I’m fine.” Clutching the cedar box, I walked out. As I passed through the living room, I noticed a silver-framed photo resting on the coffee table, waiting to be boxed. It was Richard, Jocelyn, and Bella. They were glowing. Laughing into the camera. A real, complete family. I had lived in this house for thirty years. And I had never, not once, smiled like that. 4 I didn’t know where to go. My phone buzzed. It was Naomi, my best friend. “I heard,” she said, her voice tight. “I’m at our spot. Get here now.” Our spot was a quiet wine bar we’d frequented for two decades. The owner knew my order by heart. Naomi was already tucked into a back corner booth. The second she saw me, her eyes flooded with tears. “Jess, my god. Look at you.” I looked down at myself. Soaking wet, hair a tangled mess, clutching a wooden box like a lunatic. “I’m okay.” “You are not okay,” Naomi snapped, pulling me into the booth and shoving a cup of hot chamomile tea into my freezing hands. “I’ve wanted to tell you for years. I just… I didn’t know how to detonate that bomb.” I gripped the ceramic mug. It burned my palms, but it felt good to feel something. “You knew?” “Knew what?” “About Richard and Jocelyn.” Naomi stared at the table for a long time. She nodded slowly. “But I didn’t know they had kids. And I swear to god, Jess, I didn’t know he actually divorced you.” She took a ragged breath. “You’ve been drowning for years. Everyone else saw the devoted wife playing Florence Nightingale. But I saw how he ground you down to dust.” “I thought if I just endured it, it would mean something,” my voice floated out of me, detached and weightless. “I thought, he’s broken now. He needs me. I thought my loyalty would eclipse whatever he was looking for.” “He was playing you from day one.” Naomi reached across the table, grabbing my wrists. “Jess, you need to brace yourself. There’s more.” I nodded slowly. What could possibly be worse than the bottom of the ocean? “Ten years ago. The day of his crash. He wasn’t alone in the car.” My chest seized. “Jocelyn was in the passenger seat.” The ambient noise of the bar faded to static. “They had just checked out of the Plaza. They were heading to JFK. That day… it was their anniversary.” Anniversary. My brain short-circuited. “But… that day was my anniversary with Richard.” Naomi offered a broken, bitter smile. “You see it now? He picked the exact same day.” No. That wasn’t right. I married Richard on March 9, 1984. Thirty years ago. Wait. “You said they were going to the airport?” “Yeah. Flying to Vegas. You can get a marriage license same-day there.” The timeline snapped together with sickening clarity. March 9, 2014. The date on the divorce decree. But I had no memory of a courtroom or a judge. March 10, 2014. He and Jocelyn were driving to the airport to get married. He crashes. He wakes up paralyzed. Jocelyn, wanting the money but not the burden, vanishes into the background. I thought he was a broken man who needed his wife. I stepped up. But I wasn’t his wife. I spent the last ten years acting as a hospice nurse for my ex-husband. “Naomi. The lawyer said I signed an agreement.” “I know. I dug around through a contact at his firm.” “But I don’t remember signing anything. Nothing.” Naomi frowned, her brow creasing deeply. “Think back. You were in the hospital right before the crash. You had some kind of accident. Head trauma. You were admitted for two days.” Head trauma. Missing time. The missing puzzle piece clicked into place. “Who took me to the hospital?” “His mother.” My mother-in-law. She knew everything. She orchestrated it. “Jess… didn’t you ever suspect? Even a little?” Suspect what? That Richard didn’t love me? I knew that. That he was cheating? After the crash, he was paralyzed. I assumed that part of his life was over. Suspect Jocelyn? Whenever she visited, she was polite, measured, keeping her distance. I actually thought she was kind to still visit him. I was the biggest fool on earth. “There’s one more thing.” Naomi looked physically ill. “You spent years trying to get pregnant. You saw all those specialists, right?” “Yes.” “And who recommended those doctors?” Ice flooded my veins. “Richard’s family.” “Jess… I had a friend pull your old medical files.” Naomi’s voice broke. “There was nothing wrong with your fertility. The medication those ‘specialists’ prescribed you for all those years? They weren’t fertility drugs. It was heavy, synthetic birth control.” All the air was sucked out of the room. I couldn’t draw breath. Ten years. I swallowed ten years of birth control, praying to God every night that it would help me hold a baby. “I wanted to be a mother so badly.” I barely recognized the guttural sound coming out of me. “I begged him to let us keep trying. He told me to be patient. To wait until his business settled. I thought he was protecting me from the stress.” “He was protecting his real family. Because he and Jocelyn were already having kids.” Naomi’s eyes were fierce now, burning with anger. “Bella is their youngest. They have a son too. Chris. He’s twenty-five.” Two kids. They had two children. And I was left completely hollow. “Are you going to let them bury you, Jess?” Naomi’s tone shifted from pity to a sharp, commanding edge. “They built a cage for you. They needed a free, round-the-clock nurse who was too blindly loyal to ask questions.” “And I played the part beautifully.” I stared down at my tea. A single tear finally fell, breaking the surface of the golden liquid, sending ripples to the edges of the mug. “What do I do?” It was the first time in thirty years I had asked that question. Because for thirty years, I always knew my script. Be the good wife. Be the obedient daughter-in-law. Swallow your pride, sacrifice your time, erase your needs. But now, the script was ash. Naomi reached across the table and gripped my hand hard enough to bruise. “We burn them to the ground.” 5 Naomi took me back to her place in the suburbs. She ran a hot shower for me, gave me a clean pair of sweatpants, and forced me to eat a bowl of soup. I sat on her plush living room sofa, staring blankly at the wall like a rusted animatronic. “Get some sleep,” she said softly. “Tomorrow, we find a shark of a lawyer.” “It won’t work.” My voice was flat. “The paperwork is bulletproof. The decree, the settlement, the signatures. It was all me. I signed it.” “But you don’t remember doing it.” “A judge doesn’t care about memory. They care about ink.” Naomi went quiet. She knew I was right. “So that’s it? You walk away? Thirty years of your youth, ten years of breaking your back to lift him out of the bathtub, and you just walk away with nothing?” I didn’t answer. I closed my eyes and forced my brain into the dark waters of March 9, 2014. That morning. Richard had told me we needed to run an errand downtown. To a law office. He asked if I felt up to it. I said yes. And then? Then, black static. The next memory was fluorescent lights. The rhythmic beep of a monitor. I was in a hospital bed. His mother was sitting in the vinyl chair beside me. She told me I had slipped on a wet floor and hit my head on the marble coffee table. The doctor told me I had a mild concussion. Prescribed me rest. Those forty-eight hours were a complete, terrifying blank. On the third day, Richard crashed his Porsche. I ran from my discharge room straight to the ICU. When I finally saw him, he was hooked up to a ventilator. The surgeon told me it was a miracle he was breathing. I sat by his bed for three days and three nights. When he finally opened his eyes, the first word out of his mouth was my name. “Jessie.” I sobbed. I buried my face in his hospital gown. I thought it meant he still loved me. I thought brushing against death had made him realize I was his true north. From that second on, I became his martyr. Feeding him purees. Bathing him with sponges. Managing his catheters. I barely slept. His parents paraded me around to their country club friends as the ultimate tragic heroine. Our neighbors looked at me with awe. But only I knew the truth of that bedroom. He never actually looked at me. His gaze always slid right past my shoulder, staring at the wall, at the window, at anywhere I wasn’t. The only time the deadness left his eyes was when Jocelyn visited. Then, he would light up. He would laugh. I had convinced myself it was just the joy of seeing an old friend who didn’t pity him. God, I was blind. It was the desperate longing of a man trapped away from his true love. “Jess? Where did you go?” Naomi’s voice pulled me out of the undertow. “I was just trying to pinpoint the exact moment my life became a joke.” “You are not a joke.” “I am.” I opened my eyes, staring at the ceiling. “I thought I was this noble sacrifice. Moving mountains out of pure devotion. And all I was, was a conveniently programmed Roomba.” Naomi didn’t try to offer a platitude. Because it was the truth. “Tomorrow,” she said firmly. “We go to the county courthouse. We pull the public records.” I nodded. I didn’t sleep that night. My brain was a projector, playing the reels on an endless loop. Jocelyn’s perfume lingering in the living room. My mother-in-law’s condescending pats on my arm. Richard’s cold, lifeless stares. Every tiny inconsistency, every weird comment, all weaving together into a meticulously crafted snare. And I had walked right into it, smiling. 6 First thing the next morning, Naomi drove us downtown to the county courthouse. I walked up to the records window, sliding my copy of the decree under the glass. The clerk typed furiously into her terminal. “Yes, it’s in the system. March 9, 2014. Dissolution of marriage, mutual consent. Whitman v. Whitman.”

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I died in the quietest way possible. After finishing a batch of the caramel puddings Daniel loved so much, I lay down on the recliner in the living room to catch my breath. I closed my eyes, and they simply never opened again. There were so many things I still wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell him that I didn’t hate him anymore. I wanted to tell him I’d finally forgiven him for the blurred lines and whispered secrets he shared with his assistant, Tiffany. But those words, like my breath, vanished into the ether. They say everything ends when you die, but my soul felt glued to the floorboards of this house. I watched as Daniel walked through the door, carrying a bag of warm sweet potato chips, with Tiffany trailing right behind him like a shadow. “Daniel, honey,” she chirped, her voice dripping with calculated sweetness. “Your wife just sent me another text calling me a homewrecker. She told me to go kill myself… maybe I should just leave. I don’t want to be the reason your marriage falls apart.” Daniel looked at my closed eyes, and the flicker of concern in his gaze vanished, replaced by a cold, hard crust of disgust. “Claire, for God’s sake, when is this performance going to end? Tiffany is just here to pick up some files. Can’t you be an adult for once?” From the moment my body began to grow cold, he did nothing but scold me. He had no idea that later, he would sit beside my corpse, sobbing, begging me to open my eyes—begging for just one word. It reminded me of being a little girl. My mother had packed a suitcase and walked out after a petty argument, leaving me an orphan in all the ways that mattered. I realized then, as I watched him now, that no matter how much I grew up, I never learned the secret of how to make someone stay when they already have one foot out the door. 1 Daniel stood over me, venting his frustrations for several minutes. When I didn’t snap back or offer a sarcastic remark, he finally let out a long, jagged sigh. The sharp edge of his anger softened into something resembling pity. He knelt down and gently tucked the bag of sweet potato chips—still warm from his coat pocket—into my hand. “Stop being stubborn,” he said, his voice dropping into that low, persuasive tone he used when he wanted to fix things. “I waited in line forever for these. They’re still hot. You’ve been craving them from that place downtown for weeks, haven’t you? Get up and eat them before they get cold.” The paper bag was warm, but my palm was a frozen wasteland. I couldn’t feel a thing. Daniel noticed how cold my hand was, and his brow furrowed. He stood up, went into the bedroom, and returned with a heavy wool throw. He draped it over me, tucking the edges around my shoulders with a practiced tenderness that broke my ghostly heart. He disappeared into the kitchen, the sound of running water filling the silence. “I’m pouring you some warm water,” he called out. “Drink it. It’ll help that cough.” I heard the clink of a glass. His voice took on a rhythmic, domestic quality, as if he were planning a future that still existed. “After the New Year, I’m clearing my schedule. I’m taking you down to the coast for a few weeks. The air is cleaner there, warmer. This cough of yours isn’t getting better, and the sea breeze will do your lungs some good. We’ll just watch the waves. Whatever you want.” I hovered in the air, watching the silhouette of the man I loved moving in the kitchen. My eyes burned with the ghost of tears I could no longer shed. It’s too late, Daniel. Tiffany stood by the sofa, her eyes burning with a manic jealousy. She hadn’t expected this. She thought my “silent treatment” would infuriate him, but instead, it had brought out a side of Daniel she couldn’t control—the side that still belonged to me. While Daniel’s back was turned, Tiffany crept toward my recliner. She reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my phone. It didn’t take her long to guess the passcode—it was Daniel’s birthday. Her fingers flew across the screen, tapping out a message and setting a timer. Then, she slipped my phone into her own designer handbag. A second later, a blood-curdling scream ripped through the living room. “Ah!” Tiffany grabbed the heavy crystal ashtray from the coffee table and slammed it against her own forehead. Blood erupted instantly, dark and viscous, trailing down her pale face. “What happened?!” Daniel rushed out of the kitchen, water splashing from the glass in his hand. He found Tiffany collapsed on the floor, clutching her head, weeping hysterically. “Daniel… oh my god…” she sobbed, pointing a trembling finger at my motionless form. “She just… she snapped! She hit me with the ashtray! She called me a whore and told me she’d kill me if I didn’t leave right now!” Daniel’s face went white, then a terrifying shade of red. He lunged toward me, his hand reaching out to grab my shoulder. “Claire! Have you lost your mind? She’s just a kid! How could you do this?” Just as his fingers were about to bruise my dead skin, a ding echoed from his pocket. Tiffany shrieked, “Look! Look at your phone! I bet she’s texting more threats! She was just holding her phone a second ago—she’s faking it, Daniel! She’s faking the whole thing!” Daniel froze. He pulled out his phone. A message sat on the screen from “Wife.” [If that bitch doesn’t get out of my house, I’ll kill myself and make sure everyone knows it was your fault.] The veins in Daniel’s hand popped; his knuckles turned a ghostly white. He looked up at me, the last shred of warmth in his eyes evaporating into a towering, murderous rage. “Fine,” he whispered, a terrifying, jagged laugh escaping his throat. “Fine, Claire. You want to use death as a threat just to get your way? You think you can hold me hostage with your drama?” He raised his hand. Splash. The warm water he had poured for my throat hit me full in the face. Droplets rolled down my graying cheeks, soaking my eyelashes and the wool blanket he had so carefully tucked around me moments ago. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t blink. “Still acting?” Daniel’s fury reached a breaking point. He snatched the bag of chips from my hand and hurled them into the trash can. “Fine. You want to play dead? Then stay here and play your little game until you’re bored. I’m done.” He turned, hoisting Tiffany up from the floor. He didn’t look back at me once. His voice was thick with loathing. “Come on, Tiffany. Let’s get you to the ER. We’re spending the rest of the holiday at the office. Let her rot in her own madness.” The front door slammed with such force the chandelier rattled. I drifted in the empty air, looking at my wet face and the discarded chips in the trash. Daniel, I wasn’t playing. I’m really gone. 2 By the next day, the change began. Faint, purplish bruises—the marks of the end—began to bloom across my pale skin. The heat in the house was turned up high, accelerating the inevitable. My soul, bound by some invisible tether to Daniel, was forced to follow him. I sat in the back of his car as he drove, his jaw set in a hard, angry line. Tiffany sat in the passenger seat, a white bandage wrapped around her head, surreptitiously playing with my phone. She glanced at Daniel’s profile, her thumb dancing across the screen as she typed out a status update for my Facebook page. She tagged him, hit send, and then tucked the phone back into her bag with a satisfied smirk. She looked at him, her eyes wide and innocent. “Daniel… she seems really angry this time. Maybe we should check on her?” Daniel scoffed, pulling his own phone out at a red light. When he saw the notification—the update from “Claire”—his face darkened. [If you leave, I’ll die in this house, and you’ll have to live with the guilt for the rest of your life!] Thud! Daniel slammed his fist against the steering wheel, the horn blaring and startling a pedestrian. “She’s a lunatic!” he hissed, the pulse in his temple throbbing. He had spent the night cooling off, feeling a twinge of guilt. He knew I wasn’t well. He’d even thought about stopping at the pharmacy on the way home to pick up my prescription. But that post—that calculated, public cry for attention—snapped the final string of his patience. “If she wants to die so badly, then she can do it without me,” he growled. He wrenched the steering wheel, pulling a sharp U-turn. The route home was abandoned; he drove toward Tiffany’s apartment instead. “Daniel, are you sure?” Tiffany asked timidly, though her eyes danced with triumph. “I can handle being alone. Maybe you should go back.” “No,” Daniel snapped. “She’s pulled this stunt a thousand times. The more you indulge her, the worse she gets. She needs to learn that her threats don’t work on me anymore.” At Tiffany’s place, she played the role of the perfect caregiver. She tied on an apron and began fussing in the kitchen. Suddenly, she let out a small “Ow!” Daniel, who had been brooding on the sofa, rushed into the kitchen. Tiffany had “accidentally” splashed hot soup on her hand. “Careful, honey,” Daniel murmured, his voice softening as he took her hand and ran it under cold water. He looked at her with such genuine concern it made my chest ache. I remembered when I’d sliced my finger open in our kitchen a year ago. I’d asked him for a bandage, and he hadn’t even looked up from his laptop. “It’s just a scratch, Claire. Deal with it yourself. I’m busy.” It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to care for someone. He just didn’t want to care for me. His phone rang. It was Dr. Benjamin, my specialist. Daniel saw the name and let out a cynical laugh before answering. “What is it, Benjamin?” The voice on the other end was frantic. “Daniel? Where is Claire? I’ve been calling her for hours! Her lab results came back—it’s a crisis. Her lungs are failing. She needs to be hospitalized immediately. Put her on the phone!” Daniel interrupted him, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Is that the new plan, Doctor? Claire got you to call me with a fake medical emergency? You guys really put a lot of effort into the script this time.” “What are you talking about?” Benjamin stammered. “Daniel, I’m not joking! Her pulmonary fibrosis has reached—” “Enough!” Daniel barked. “Tell Claire that if she wants to fake her own death, she’d better make it convincing, because I’m the one who’s going to have to sign the papers. I’m not falling for this ‘team-up’ with her doctor. Don’t call me again.” He hung up and blocked the number. I floated beside him, screaming into the void, trying to explain, trying to tell him that the air was gone, that I was gone. But my voice was nothing but a draft in the room. To spite me, Daniel leaned in as Tiffany took a selfie of them. In the photo, Tiffany held a glass of wine, smiling sweetly. Daniel sat across from her, and though his expression was cold, the background was a warm, candlelit dinner. Tiffany posted it instantly. [Thank you for being here. Best holiday ever. Here’s to many more.] She adjusted the privacy settings so that I was the only person who could see it. Late that night, fireworks exploded outside the window, painting the sky in brilliant colors. Daniel stood by the glass, watching the fading light. He absentmindedly rubbed his thumb over his phone and, on a whim, sent me a text. [Have you had enough yet? If you’re done being a brat, go heat up those dumplings. Don’t starve yourself to death in my house. It’s bad luck.] The message was sent. No reply came. No “typing…” bubbles appeared. Daniel stared at the screen for a minute, then tossed the phone onto the bed in a huff. He thought I was playing a game of chicken. He thought we were in a cold war. He had no idea that my body was currently rotting on the chair he’d bought me for our third anniversary. 3 The day after the holiday. Daniel woke up in Tiffany’s bed, a hangover pounding behind his eyes. His first instinct was to reach for his phone. Nothing. Not a single notification. Usually, no matter how angry I was, I never went a full night without checking on him. I’d send a text asking if his stomach hurt from the wine, or I’d tell him there was aspirin on the nightstand. The silence was beginning to feel heavy. “She’s really committed this time,” he muttered, throwing his phone aside. Anger flared in his chest. “Fine. You want to see who breaks first? Let’s see how long you can hold out.” Tiffany brought him breakfast, watching his face like a hawk. “Daniel, it’s a beautiful day. Why don’t we drive out to the coast? You need a break.” Daniel wanted to say no, but the thought of me sitting at home, waiting for him to crawl back, made him nod. “Let’s go.” As they were packing, Daniel’s phone buzzed. It was the building manager. “Mr. Sterling? I’m sorry to bother you, but your downstairs neighbor is complaining. They’re saying there’s a… strange odor coming from your unit. Like something spoiled. Could you head over and take a look?” Daniel’s jaw tightened. He remembered the bag of chips he’d kicked over, and how I looked “playing dead” on the recliner. He assumed I was being vindictive—leaving trash out or letting food rot just to spite him. “It’s just my wife being difficult,” Daniel said into the phone, his voice cold. “She’s leaving trash out to get my attention. Ignore it. She’ll clean it up when she realizes I’m not coming home to do it for her.” He hung up, the disgust in his heart curdling. They drove to the shore. The winter wind was brutal, whipping against his face. Daniel stood on the rocks, watching the gray Atlantic churn. The peace he was looking for didn’t come. Instead, a memory hit him like a physical blow. Our anniversary. I’d pulled on his sleeve, my eyes bright with hope. “Daniel, let’s go to the beach. When I feel a little stronger, let’s just go and collect shells. Please?” He had looked at his watch. “I’m busy, Claire. Maybe next year.” Daniel looked down at a small, perfect shell by his boot. His heart suddenly felt soft, bruised. He walked over to a small boardwalk gift shop and bought a delicate shell bracelet. “Fine, I’ll go back and fix it,” he muttered to himself. “She’s fragile. If she gets herself worked up into a real sickness, it’ll just be more work for me.” He went into a convenience store to grab a bottle of water, thinking he might pick up a carton of milk for me, too. As he stood at the counter, Tiffany watched him from the car, her eyes narrowed. She pulled my phone out of her bag. She quickly navigated to a search engine, downloaded a gruesome photo of a slit wrist from a dark forum, and sent it to herself. She shoved the phone back into her bag, plastered a look of pure horror on her face, and ran into the store toward Daniel. “Daniel! Daniel, oh my god!” she screamed, her voice cracking. “She just sent me a picture… she did it! She cut her wrists! Look!” Daniel took his change from the clerk, and the coins clattered to the floor. He snatched the phone from Tiffany’s hand. The sight of the blood, the raw red of the wound, sent a shock of pure, unadulterated fury through him. It was another threat. Another play for pity. Yesterday it was a “medical crisis,” today it was suicide. What would it be tomorrow? “Lunatic!” Daniel roared. He raised his hand and flung the shell bracelet he’d just bought. It arched through the air and vanished into the dark, churning surf. “I am done with this!” his chest heaved, his eyes bloodshot. “She wants to die? Fine! Let her bleed! Let’s see how much she likes the sight of her own blood!” I drifted in the salt spray, watching the bracelet sink to the bottom of the ocean. It was the first gift he’d bought me in years. And he’d thrown it away with his own hands. Daniel, it doesn’t hurt anymore. Truly. 4 The second day after the holiday. Daniel drove home, his rage having condensed into a cold, hard diamond of resolve. He’d made his decision. He didn’t care if I cried, if I begged, or if I knelt at his feet. He was filing for divorce. He couldn’t live like this for another second. Tiffany sat next to him, a small, predatory smile playing on her lips. The title of Mrs. Sterling was finally within reach. The elevator climbed to our floor. Ding. The doors slid open, and Daniel froze. The hallway, usually silent and sterile, was teeming with people. There was a bright, jagged line of yellow police tape stretched across our front door. Officers were moving in and out, and a forensic investigator was carrying a heavy black kit, his face grim. Our neighbors were huddled together, whispering. They were all holding their noses, their expressions a mix of disgust and horror. “God, the smell… it’s unbearable.” “I heard she’d been there for days. How awful.” Daniel’s brain went numb. Everything went white. Tiffany stepped out behind him. Seeing the scene, she gasped and covered her mouth. “Oh my god! Did she… did she set the place on fire just to get us back here?” That sentence was the match that lit the powder keg in Daniel’s soul. Another stunt. She’d called the cops just to force him home. “Claire!” Daniel screamed, shoving through the crowd. He reached the door, his voice a jagged blade. “Get out here! Right now! Are you happy? You’ve got the whole building watching! Is this enough attention for you?!” He reached out to rip down the police tape. “Sir! Step back!” A young officer blocked his path, his voice stern. “This is a restricted scene. You can’t go in there.” Daniel shoved the officer’s hand away, the veins in his neck bulging. “I live here! That’s my wife! Tell that crazy woman to stop acting and get in the car. We’re going to the hospital, and then we’re going to a lawyer!” The hallway went dead silent. The neighbors looked at Daniel with expressions that made my skin crawl. A medical examiner, an older man with graying hair and a mask over his face, stepped out of the bedroom. He pulled off his gloves and looked at the black body bag being zipped up on the floor. “Stop shouting,” the examiner said, his voice cold as a tombstone. “The deceased is Claire Sterling. Cause of death appears to be respiratory failure brought on by advanced pulmonary fibrosis, complicated by severe malnutrition.” “Based on the state of the body, she has been dead for at least forty-eight hours.” Daniel staggered. “Dead? No… that’s impossible.” He laughed—a short, sharp sound. He looked at the cop, then at the black bag. “You’re wrong! She sent a photo yesterday! She sent texts! She’s playing you! She’s faking it!” Tiffany scrambled forward, holding out her phone. “Officer! Look! She sent this to me yesterday! She’s not dead, she’s just trying to scare us!” The medical examiner frowned. He took the phone, glanced at the photo, and then looked at Tiffany with a profound, chilling intensity. He turned back to Daniel. “Sir, the vital signs of the deceased ceased on the afternoon of the holiday. Pray tell, how does a woman who has been dead for two days send a photo of her slit wrists to this lady?”

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My secret relationship with Nicole lasted three full years—basically our entire college experience. On the final night of our graduation trip, the class president, Laura, suddenly suggested we draw lots for room assignments. “This is the ultimate test of fate!” Laura announced, her voice buzzing with an annoying level of excitement. “Boys, girls, doesn’t matter. If you draw the same number, you’re roommates for the weekend. Let’s see where the universe wants you.” But before the game even started, I’d overheard Laura whispering to Nicole in the hallway: “Look for the ball with the small circular bump on it. I saved it specifically for you and Jackson.” I reached into the cardboard box, my fingers brushing against various textures, and pulled out a sphere. I waited in silence. When it was Nicole’s turn, she pulled out number seven. Laura didn’t miss a beat, her voice booming through the common room. “And the other guest for Room Seven is—Jackson!” Jackson. The guy Nicole had spent her freshman year chasing with a desperate, public fervor. He blushed instantly, a bashful smile playing on his lips. The room erupted. Everyone started hooting and hollering about “divine intervention” and “meant-to-be.” I stood there, frozen, the air leaving my lungs. I watched Nicole. She didn’t look away; she didn’t protest. Instead, she walked over to Jackson with a soft, practiced smile and reached out to take his coat for him. I found myself smiling, too—a sharp, bitter thing. Three years. Three years of being her “secret,” of waiting in the shadows for a public acknowledgment that was never going to come. In that moment, looking at them, I made a choice. I was going to be the one to walk away first. 1 The room assignments were still being called out, but the energy in the room had already peaked. Laura was handing out colored wristbands, shouting over the noise, “Listen up! Rules are simple: same numbers are a pair. For these three days, you’re tethered. No solo missions, okay? It’s about the ‘experience’!” Whistles rang out. One of the girls nudged Nicole’s shoulder playfully. Jackson, still flushed, kept stealing glances at her while he fumbled with his wristband. Nicole’s lips curled into a smile. She stepped slightly in front of him, a protective gesture. “Stop it, guys. He’s shy.” “Oh, look at that! Already getting protective!” someone yelled. “Better watch out, if we upset Jackson, Nicole’s going to come for us!” The teasing became a roar. I stood on the periphery of the crowd, the number three ball clutched in my left hand, my right hand gripping the handle of a heavy suitcase. Before we’d left, Nicole had shoved all her things into my bag. “We’ll be together anyway,” she’d said. “Carrying two suitcases is just a hassle.” Then she’d pointed to my new overcoat. “I’ll be the one responsible for your coat this trip.” In three years, she had never once been affectionate in front of our peers, let alone offered to carry my things. I’d been so stupidly happy, thinking this trip was her way of finally stepping into the light with me. But on day one, she took Jackson’s coat instead. My suitcase felt impossibly heavy, the weight dragging at my shoulder, a dull ache spreading from my fingertips to my neck. I set it down and cleared my throat, forcing the raspiness out of my voice. I raised my hand. “Hey…” The room turned. Laura, still riding her high, grinned at me. “What’s up, Wyatt? Jackson’s your roommate back at the dorms—you got some ‘best man’ advice for Nicole?” Jackson stiffened, his smile turning awkward. Nicole’s eyes snapped to mine. I saw it then—a flash of tension, a warning look that said don’t you dare. She was worried about the wrong thing. I just held up my ball. “Who’s number three?” Laura scanned the room until a hand went up on the far side. “Me.” It was Tatum, a girl who had always stayed on the fringes of our social circle, quiet and observant. Laura laughed. “Tatum! Okay, I know you’re single. Wyatt, what about you? If you’re single, you stay. If you’ve got a girlfriend back home, I’ll swap you for one of the guys…” I interrupted her, my voice quiet but clear. “I’m single.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nicole’s brows knit together. She started to turn toward Tatum, but Laura was already pulling out an orange wristband. “Perfect! Two singles! Maybe the universe is working overtime tonight!” I took the wristband and gave a polite nod. “Thanks.” As I hoisted my suitcase again, I could feel Nicole’s gaze burning into my back. I didn’t look back to see her expression. I imagined it was probably a look of relief. Once the rooms were settled, everyone lined up to check in. Jackson went to call his parents, and Nicole lingered, moving like lead, until I was the only one left at the counter. She slid her ID toward the clerk without looking at me. “Go talk to Laura,” she whispered, her voice low and sharp, her eyes fixed on the lobby wall. “Tell her you aren’t comfortable staying with a girl. Pay for a private room if you have to. I’ll cover the difference.” I was busy texting my parents to let them know I’d arrived. I didn’t look up. “Why?” “What do you mean ‘why’? You aren’t single, Wyatt. You can’t just share a room with another woman.” “And you?” I asked, finally meeting her eyes. “Are you single?” Nicole’s fingers froze on the counter. Her voice took on that familiar edge of irritation. “These are the rules of the game we all agreed to. I’m just respecting the draw.” “Right,” I said softly. “I’m respecting the draw, too.” Her jaw set, but before she could snap back, I grabbed my key card and walked away. I hadn’t gone five steps before Laura announced, “Everyone in the media room in thirty minutes! I’ve got it booked. We’re doing a throwback—watching the documentary from our freshman year sports fest!” I didn’t stop. I just tightened my grip on my coat. The freshman year documentary. The one that chronicled Nicole’s grand, public pursuit of Jackson. 2 The media room was overflowing with snacks. As soon as Nicole sat down, she moved a plate of strawberries directly in front of Jackson. A girl next to them giggled. “Nicole, you’re so biased. You know Jackson loves strawberries, so you’re hoarding the whole plate for him.” The room joined in. Jackson pushed the plate back toward the center, looking sheepish. “Everyone should have some. Nicole actually bought me a bunch earlier.” He glanced at her. “If these aren’t enough, she can just go grab the rest from the room.” Nicole pulled the plate back toward him, her smile indulgent. “I’ll go get them. You just eat.” As she slipped out, the room erupted again. “One word from Jackson and she’s on it! He’s got her wrapped around his finger!” Jackson popped a strawberry into his mouth and looked over at me. “Wyatt, make sure you have some when she gets back. I remember you like strawberries too.” The door swung open, and Nicole returned with two more bowls, placing them both in front of Jackson. She knew. Over the last three years, I’d bought strawberries countless times. And every time, she’d frown and tell me, “Don’t eat too many. They’re so sweet, you’ll just break out.” I picked up a tangerine instead. Laura called out to me, “Wyatt, where’s Tatum?” “She had some things to take care of,” I said, peeling the fruit without looking up. Laura looked disappointed. “Well, looks like that match is a bust. But hey, at least our ‘star couple’ is going strong!” Nicole’s eyes flickered to me for a split second before darting away. “The movie’s starting,” she said, her voice a bit breathy as she handed Jackson a napkin. The documentary lasted two hours. Everyone was hooked, cheering and laughing every time Nicole and Jackson appeared on screen. “Look! Nicole’s wiping his sweat again! It was a fifty-meter dash, girl, you were closer to him than the cameraman!” “Water, fans, even sunscreen—she had the whole kit ready!” “Jackson, seriously, she chased you so hard the whole school knew. How did you hold out for four years? Poor girl stayed single the whole time just waiting for you!” Jackson looked at Nicole, his eyes softening, looking almost misty. “I just thought college relationships weren’t stable. I wanted to wait until graduation to be sure.” He paused. “I didn’t realize she’d wait this long.” A girl leaned forward. “Nicole, was it hard? Waiting for four years?” Nicole looked into his eyes and gave a small, slow nod. “It was… okay.” Two words. Two words that supposedly contained four years of pining and loyalty. The room sighed in collective sympathy. I almost laughed out loud. Hard? She had chased Jackson for six months with no luck, then pivoted to tennis. I was the captain of the varsity team. She asked me to coach her for six months, and by the start of sophomore year, she was the one who asked me out. She was more than “okay.” Our relationship might have been a secret, but we were happy. We were deeply, intimately involved. Or maybe… maybe it was just me who was happy. I took a bite of the tangerine. A girl next to me pointed at the screen. “Wait, Wyatt, is that the class secretary holding a parasol for you? Did she have a crush on you?” The spotlight shifted to me. “No,” I shook my head. “She was just heading the same way.” “Too bad she didn’t come on the trip,” the girl said. “She definitely liked you. You should think about it. You guys would be a cute power couple.” On the other side of the room, Nicole was pouring water for Jackson. Her movements were fluid, unbothered, as if she hadn’t heard a word. I smiled faintly. “No thanks. Actually, I have a girlfriend.” Nicole’s entire body went rigid. Her hand clenched into a fist around the water pitcher. I knew that look. She was terrified I was about to blow her cover. The girl grabbed my arm, her eyes wide. “Who?! Is she in our class?” Dozens of eyes locked onto me. I kept my expression pleasant and nodded. “Yeah. She is.” 3 The room went electric. Everyone was shouting, trying to guess who it was. Nicole’s face grew darker by the second. She stared down at her phone, her thumbs flying. I felt my phone vibrate twice in my pocket, but I didn’t reach for it. “She’s busy,” I said calmly. “She couldn’t make it to the screening.” There were seven or eight girls who hadn’t shown up to the media room. Laura looked ready to interrogate me, but suddenly Jackson let out a small “Oh!” His glass had tipped, water soaking into his jeans. Nicole was instantly there with napkins, dabbing at his leg. He looked up, blushing. “Sorry, I’m such a klutz.” “It’s fine,” she said softly. “Let’s go back to the room and change. I don’t want you catching a cold.” She led him out of the room. With the main attraction gone, the documentary lost its charm, and the group began to drift apart. When I got back to my room, my suitcase was open. Nicole’s things were gone. I sat on the edge of the bed and finally looked at my phone. Two unread messages from her: Don’t you dare say a word. Don’t ruin the atmosphere. The “atmosphere.” Right. I was the boyfriend who wasn’t allowed to ruin the romantic tension between her and another man. It was a pattern. Like the charity auction junior year—I’d raised the most money, but she’d asked me to let Jackson take the credit so he wouldn’t lose his “Golden Boy” status. Or the tennis tournament where I’d dropped out because Jackson said he “wanted to try competing” and she didn’t want me to crush his confidence. For three years, Nicole had been “good” to me. She shielded me from the sun in the summer and the wind in the winter. She did everything a girlfriend should do—except acknowledge I existed. But when it came to Jackson, I was always the one expected to step back. Morning came, and my phone remained silent. I watched the sun rise over the skyline, feeling a strange, hollow peace settling in my chest. The day’s itinerary was sightseeing. Nicole and Jackson, sporting their matching red wristbands, were inseparable. She used the expensive camera I’d bought her to take photos of him at every “Instagrammable” spot, then took selfies with him. While we were resting by a bridge, someone brought up post-grad plans. “Wyatt, you staying in the city or heading back to Chicago?” “Back to Chicago,” I said casually. Nicole was unscrewing a water bottle for Jackson. Her eyes flicked toward me, sharp and questioning. Laura nudged her. “Jackson’s a local here. Nicole, you’re definitely staying in New York, right?” Nicole didn’t hesitate. “Of course.” Jackson’s eyes lit up, and he shifted closer until their shoulders were pressed together. One of the guys looked confused. “Wait, Wyatt, didn’t you already land that analyst job at the firm in Manhattan? Why are you leaving?” I smiled. “I turned it down. I want to be closer to my parents.” “No way. Is it for your parents, or for this mystery girlfriend?” The group crowded in, sensing gossip. My smile deepened. “Both. My parents miss me, and she… well, she’s decided to settle down in Chicago too.” The cheering started up again, everyone demanding a name, but I just shook my head and kept my mouth shut. At the next stop, Nicole cornered me outside the restrooms. “Did you really turn down the job?” She was breathless with anger. We had applied together. The firm wanted me for my stats, and I’d made it a condition of my contract that they hire my girlfriend as well. If I pulled out, her spot was in jeopardy. I nodded. “Yeah. My parents found a great position for us in Chicago. We’re getting engaged once things settle.” “Wyatt!” Nicole’s voice was a low, furious hiss. She looked around to make sure no one was listening, her face pale with rage. “Who gave you the right to plan my future for me?” 4 She stormed off, leading the pack with Jackson in tow. I stayed at the back, chatting idly with a few classmates. That night at the buffet dinner, Jackson announced loudly, “The Perseid meteor shower! Didn’t you guys know? Nicole said there’s a viewing point nearby. We could see a hundred meteors an hour.” The group was instantly intrigued. Laura, however, gave a knowing smirk. “Guys, have some common sense. You can see the stars from the hotel balcony. Don’t go out there and be third wheels.” The realization hit the room. “Oh, right. The ‘perfect’ viewing spot should be reserved for the people who really need it.” Nicole was serving Jackson more food. She didn’t say anything, but the smug curve of her lips said enough. Jackson blushed. “You guys can come too…” The buffet food didn’t sit right with me. The flavors were too heavy, too cloying. I tried a piece of seafood, but it felt like it was sticking in my throat. I spit it into a napkin and stood up to find something plain. Laura followed me, whispering, “Hey, Wyatt, I saw you posted about wanting to see the meteor shower a few days ago. Maybe skip the viewing point tonight? Don’t crash Nicole and Jackson’s moment.” I nodded. “I know.” “Top of the class for a reason,” she patted my arm. “Oh, one thing you don’t know—I actually rigged the draw. I made sure they got the same number.” I nodded again. “I heard you telling her before the game started.” Laura froze, surprised. Before she could say anything, someone called her name, and she scurried back. I was opening the lid to the congee when Nicole appeared to grab some pumpkin soup for Jackson. She spoke as if nothing had happened. “I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” I didn’t answer. “I get it,” she continued, her voice light. “You’re acting out because I’m staying with Jackson. But honestly, Wyatt, last night I took the bed and he slept on the floor. We just talked. It’s just the rules of the game. Nothing is actually happening.” I filled my bowl. “Okay.” She still didn’t look at me. “Talk to your parents. New York is better for our careers than Chicago. We should stay here. Once we’re settled, we can find our own place.” I didn’t respond. As I turned to leave, she hesitated. “Wyatt… Jackson is really excited about the meteors tonight. I promised I’d go with him.” She paused, then added, “The Perseids happen every year. Next year, I’ll take you. I promise.” I stood with my back to her, the bowl hot against my palms, though I felt nothing but cold. “Okay,” I said quietly. I heard her sigh in relief. As she brushed past me, she didn’t forget to grab another plate of strawberries for Jackson. After dinner, I went back to the room and packed. The outfit I’d bought specifically for tonight—the one I’d imagined wearing while we watched the stars together—went straight into the trash along with the sightseeing brochures. I zipped the suitcase. It felt lighter now. I’d bought a ticket on my phone an hour ago. The flight was tonight. Ten minutes before takeoff, the Perseids began to streak across the sky. I saw people through the terminal windows pointing and taking photos. My phone buzzed. One unread message. It wasn’t from Nicole. Everything is ready. Your parents are heading to bed, and I’m waiting for you at the airport in Chicago. As the plane began its ascent, I leaned back and closed my eyes. Nicole, there is no “next year” for us.

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The door clicked shut, and my husband, Mark, walked into the living room. I was sitting at the dining table, staring blankly at our residency documents and the deed to our house. He didn’t even look at me. He just started unbuttoning his cuffs, mentioning casually that he wouldn’t be able to drive me to work tomorrow. Apparently, he had promised to help his coworker, Cassie, take her son, Toby, to his first day of school. The words hit me like a physical blow. They sent me spiraling back to the humiliation I’d endured at the district office just hours ago. To get our daughter into this specific school district, we had spent $1.2 million on this house. It was a calculated, grueling investment. Today was supposed to be the day I finalized her enrollment. Instead, the administrator had looked at me with a mix of pity and suspicion, informing me that the enrollment slot for this address had already been claimed. I was furious and confused. This was a new build. Only the three of us—Mark, me, and our daughter, Chloe—were supposed to be registered to this address. I had rushed home to dig through the paperwork, looking for something to bring to the school board to prove a mistake had been made. That was when I found it. Stashed in the back of Mark’s filing cabinet was a series of notarized residency affidavits. A thirty-year-old woman named Cassie and a six-year-old boy named Toby. Both listed as residents of our home. Both registered at our address. Toby’s age was exactly the same as Chloe’s. Hearing those names come out of Mark’s mouth now made my blood run cold. 1 It clicked. The fog in my brain cleared, replaced by a sharp, jagged reality. Mark is the primary name on the mortgage. He’s the one who handles the property tax filings. Without his signature, without his explicit help, there was no way this woman and her son could have claimed our address for school residency. I picked up the affidavits, my fingers trembling, and shoved them toward him. “Mark, what the hell is this?” I pointed at the names. “Why are Cassie and Toby registered to our house? Why does the school district think they live here?” Mark’s face went blank. It was that practiced, neutral look he used during performance reviews. He took the papers from me, squinting at them as if he were seeing them for the first time. “This… there are other people on the registration? I have no idea how that happened,” he said, his voice a pitch too high. “Why are you even digging through the files? You’re acting paranoid.” The lie was so blatant it felt like a slap. My temper, usually a slow burn, ignited instantly. “Don’t you dare, Mark! Don’t you dare gasplay me!” I slammed my hand on the table. “You’re the homeowner. If you didn’t sign off on the residency verification, there is no way in hell they could have registered for that school using our zip code. Talk. Now.” Seeing that he couldn’t deflect his way out of this, Mark’s posture slumped. A flicker of guilt—or maybe just the annoyance of being caught—crossed his face. He tried to shift into his “reasonable man” persona, giving me a sheepish, placating smile. “Oh, right. Now I remember. Look, Cassie is going through a brutal divorce. Her ex is a nightmare, and she had to move out of their old place fast. She just needed a stable address for a little while so Toby wouldn’t lose his spot in a good school system. It’s a temporary thing. She’ll move the registration once she gets settled.” “Don’t worry about it,” he added, reaching out to pat my shoulder. “It’s not a big deal.” I looked at his hand as if it were a venomous snake. My knuckles were white from clenching my fists. “Not a big deal?” My voice was a low, dangerous hiss. “I went to enroll Chloe today. The district told me the ‘one-child-per-household’ quota for that specific magnet program is already filled. Toby took her spot, Mark. We spent $1.2 million to be in this district for that school. We’re paying a massive mortgage and property taxes for a benefit our own daughter isn’t getting. And you’re telling me it’s not a big deal?” Mark’s smile vanished. He realized he wasn’t going to charm his way out of this one. He reached into his briefcase and pulled out some glossy brochures, shoving them into my hands. “Honey, just breathe. Stress isn’t good for you,” he said, his tone patronizingly soft. “I’ve already thought this through. I would never let Chloe suffer.” He pointed at the brochures. “Look, we don’t have to send her to the public academy. I looked into these private schools nearby. The facilities are actually better, smaller class sizes, great Ivy League tracks. Since Toby is already settled at the public school, let’s just leave it be. It’s just elementary school. It’s not worth the drama of forcing a kid out of a classroom…” He didn’t even finish the sentence before I threw the brochures directly into his face. “Like hell it isn’t.” The paper edges caught his cheek, but I didn’t care. “That public academy is top three in the entire state. Parents kill to get their kids in there. You took that opportunity away from your own daughter and handed it to a coworker’s son on a silver platter. Do you even hear yourself?” I was done. I didn’t have the energy for a circular argument. I reached for my phone and my keys. “I’m going to make this very simple for you, Mark. I don’t care what your relationship is with Cassie—whether she’s just a ‘coworker’ or if there’s something disgusting going on behind my back. That school spot belongs to Chloe.” I took a deep, shaky breath, stripping all the emotion from my voice. “You have until Monday to fix this. Get them off our deed, get them off our registration, and get that spot back for Chloe.” I looked him dead in the eye. “If you don’t, I’m calling a divorce lawyer.” 2 The word divorce finally seemed to puncture his arrogance. He blinked, looking stunned, before sighing loudly to show me how “difficult” I was being. “Fine, fine! I’ll talk to Cassie. Happy? God, it’s just a school district, Sabina. You’re blowing this way out of proportion…” He grabbed his jacket and slammed the door as he left, probably heading to a bar—or to Cassie’s. I wanted to scream. I wanted to chase him down and demand he feel the same betrayal I was feeling. But I forced myself to stay still. Anger wouldn’t fix Chloe’s future. And based on Mark’s attitude, I knew I couldn’t rely on him. If that spot was gone for good, I needed a Plan B. But this wasn’t something I could handle alone. With a heavy heart, I picked up the phone and called my parents. “Hey, Dad… Mom. I need to tell you something.” For the next three days, nothing happened. Every time I asked for an update, Mark brushed me off with the same vague excuses. “I’m working on it, Sabina. Give it a rest.” “It’s not that simple,” he’d snap over the phone. “You can’t just flip a switch. It’s a child’s education. Cassie needs time to find another school, to file the paperwork for a transfer. Stop hounding me!” Then, he’d end the call as quickly as possible. “Look, I’m swamped at the office. We’re pushing a deadline. Don’t wait up for dinner.” The “deadlines” kept getting later. Monday, he was home at eleven. Tuesday, it was nearly midnight. By Wednesday, I was curled up on the sofa in the dark when my phone buzzed with a text: Project is behind. Sleeping at the office tonight. I wasn’t stupid. He was hiding. He was waiting for the enrollment window to close, thinking that if he stalled long enough, I’d have no choice but to give in. On Friday night, I sat in the living room and waited. When he finally slunk through the door, the air around him smelled of expensive bourbon and faint perfume. “You’re back,” I said, my voice flat. Mark kicked off his shoes, barely glancing at me. “Yeah. I’m exhausted. If you don’t mind, I’m going to shower and crash.” I stood up, blocking his path to the stairs. “The school spot. Where do we stand?” “It’s been a week, Mark. The public enrollment period closes next month. If Toby isn’t out of the system by then, Chloe is locked out.” Mark rolled his eyes and tried to sidestep me. “Again with this? Can you just let me breathe? I’m working eighteen-hour days to provide for this family, and all you do is nag me about paperwork.” “Cassie needs to find a school that will take Toby mid-month. That takes phone calls, visits, logistics. Can’t you have a shred of empathy for someone else’s struggle?” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. I’d expected exactly this. I crossed my arms and looked at him with something close to pity. “Oh, I have plenty of empathy, Mark. And I know how hard it is for you. You’re such a ‘good guy,’ right? You hate being the villain. You probably find it impossible to tell poor, struggling Cassie that her time is up.” Mark stopped. He looked at me, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “Exactly! Sabina, I knew you’d understand. You’re not an unreasonable person. Honestly, Chloe will love the private school, I’ll pay for the tuition myself—” “Which is why,” I interrupted, my voice cutting through his like a blade, “I’ve already found a school for Toby.” The color drained from his face. “Since you find it so hard to speak up, I’ll do it for you. I’m going to your office on Monday morning to talk to Cassie myself. And if she doesn’t agree to withdraw him immediately, I’ll take the conversation to HR. I’m sure the board would love to hear about a senior VP using company time and personal assets to facilitate residency fraud for a subordinate.” “Didn’t you mention your firm is looking to downsize?” Mark’s face twisted. The “nice guy” mask shattered, revealing a snarling, panicked man. “Sabina, what the hell is wrong with you?” he hissed. “You’re threatening my career!” He lowered his voice, casting a glance toward Chloe’s room. “Chloe is upstairs. I am not having this fight with you now. I told you I would handle it. Do not come to my office. Do not make a scene. You’ll ruin everything!” I shook my head. It was almost funny how predictable he was. He just wanted to stall. He wanted to wait until it was too late to change anything, hoping I’d eventually just shrug and move on for the sake of “peace.” I gestured toward our daughter’s bedroom. “Don’t worry. Chloe isn’t here. I took her to my mom’s this afternoon. She’s staying there for a while.” I leaned down and picked up a manila envelope from the coffee table, holding it out to him. “And for the record, I’m moving out, too. These are divorce papers. I’ve already signed them.” Mark stared at the envelope as if it were a bomb. “I gave you a week. You chose Cassie’s kid over your own daughter. So, I’m done. I’m not arguing anymore. If you won’t fix the school situation, the court will handle the fraud and the property dispute.” “I’ve officially filed suit against you and Cassie for residency fraud and damages.” 3 Mark stood there, paralyzed. He wouldn’t even reach out to take the papers. I didn’t wait. I shoved them into his chest, grabbed my suitcase from the hallway, and walked out the door. The next morning, the legal process servers did their job. Both Mark and Cassie were served at the office. The filing was comprehensive: Fraudulent transfer of residency, malicious misappropriation of educational benefits, and significant financial damages to the plaintiff’s property value. I also made sure to call Mark’s parents. I’m not a doormat. I wasn’t going to let Mark spin some narrative about me being “unstable.” If he was comfortable enough to steal his daughter’s future, he was comfortable enough to face the consequences. Honestly, the moment I decided to leave, I felt a weight lift. Losing a husband like Mark wasn’t a tragedy; it was a deep-clean. But, as it turns out, people like Mark only find their conscience when their back is against the wall. By that afternoon, Mark was blowing up my phone. He had set up a meeting with Cassie. They had a “solution,” he claimed. We met at a quiet bistro. The moment I sat down, Cassie leaned forward, her face a mask of practiced concern. “Sabina, thank you for coming,” she said. “I’ve ordered you a latte. Please, sit. I can’t tell you how sick I feel about all of this. I never meant to cause any trouble for your family.” I’d met Cassie a couple of times at company holiday parties. I hadn’t thought much of her then—she seemed quiet, unassuming. Now, I saw the calculation in her eyes. She was the kind of woman who played the “damsel in distress” role to perfection. I didn’t touch the coffee. “Cassie, if you’re actually sorry, let’s skip the small talk. How are you going to fix this? I don’t have time to waste.” Cassie’s smile faltered. She glanced at Mark, then back at me. “Sabina, the school thing… it was an honest mistake. I was just so desperate to get away from my ex—he’s a gambler, he’s dangerous—and Mark was a godsend. He offered the address, and when the school enrollment came up, I just… I panicked. I didn’t realize it would take Chloe’s spot. I’m so, so sorry.” I leaned back, unimpressed. “You panicked? You live in this city, Cassie. You know exactly how competitive the magnet programs are. You didn’t just pick a random school; you picked the best one in the county. A school attached to a house you didn’t pay for.” “Save the ‘poor me’ routine. How are we resolving this?” Cassie’s face flushed. Mark looked like he wanted to jump in and defend her, but she stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm. She reached into her purse and pulled out a check, sliding it across the table toward me with a pleading look. “I know it’s not much, but I’ve been looking at other public schools that are still enrolling. Most of them are… well, they aren’t great. And as a single mom with no child support, I’m struggling. I’ve managed to scrape together five thousand dollars. I’m asking—begging—if I can pay you that to let Toby keep the spot. Please, just out of the kindness of your heart…” She started to sniffle, her head bowing as a single tear escaped. Mark couldn’t help himself. He turned to me, his voice full of righteous indignation. “Sabina, look at her. She’s really trying. Five thousand is a lot for her. It shows she’s sincere. The spot is already Toby’s. Can’t we just let it go?” “I’ll pay for Chloe’s private school tuition. We can afford it. Why do you have to be so vindictive?” If I didn’t have a shred of dignity left, I would have thrown my coffee in both their faces.

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I hadn’t eaten in two days. I didn’t even have the strength to stand. My mother—the kind of woman who regularly “forgot” to pay my school fees—suddenly announced she was taking me to the carnival. She promised that if I was a good girl and followed her out, she’d buy me a warm meat pie on the way back. But we didn’t end up at a carnival. We stopped in front of a derelict, rotting Victorian mansion on the edge of town. The moment I stepped into the overgrown yard, glowing lines of text began to flicker across my vision like a digital fever dream: “Welcome to the Horror Trials, Little Bitter Melon!” “On the first floor, the Starved One will force a thick pipe down your throat, pumping you full of food until you burst.” “On the second floor, the Flayed One has a nasty temper. One wrong move, and she’ll peel the skin right off your bones!” “But the Headless One is the worst. He loves to crush skulls—get ready for the ‘Watermelon Splash’ finale. We can’t wait!” The final line read: “Complete the trial to claim the $100 Million Grand Prize.” It hit me then. My mother didn’t want to buy me a treat. She was tired of another mouth to feed and decided to gamble my life for her “retirement fund.” 1 “Mom? Mom! I don’t want to play. I want to go home!” I grabbed the hem of her coat, my voice trembling. “Don’t you want that meat pie anymore?” I let go, my hand instinctively drifting to my hollow, aching stomach. Ever since Mom married my stepdad and had my little brother, Toby, everyone always seemed to “forget” to leave a plate for me. “I’m hungry,” I whispered, tears spilling over despite my best efforts. “Mom, I don’t need the pie. I’ll just have a piece of bread. One slice. Just one, and then can we please go home?” Mom’s face hardened instantly. She shoved my hand away. “I went through hell to get you a slot in this game! You’re always crying about how I’m unfair, how I don’t love you. Now I bring you somewhere special to play, and you’re throwing a tantrum?” “I’m not throwing a tantrum! I’m scared!” I whimpered, shrinking back. “You don’t get to be scared!” She snapped a heavy metallic collar around my neck and shoved me toward the front door. I spun around, but the heavy oak doors had already slammed shut, locking with a final, echoing thud. The house was dark. Suffocatingly quiet. “Go to the kitchen,” Mom’s voice suddenly crackled inside my head. I jumped, spinning in circles, looking for her. “Mom? Mom, where are you?” “Stop looking,” she snapped. Her voice was coming directly from the collar. “The collar I put on you has a chip. I can hear you, and I can talk to you. Now, move. Go to the kitchen.” “I can’t… I’m scared.” I started to sob. “Be a good girl, June. If you do this, I’ll let you sleep in the big bed with me tonight. Toby on one side, you on the other. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?” I froze. Toby always slept with Mom. I was always relegated to the cramped, drafty closet under the stairs. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, fueled by a desperate, pathetic hope. “Really?” “Mommy wouldn’t lie to you. Now check the kitchen. You’re hungry, right? Maybe there’s something to eat.” I stood up slowly, feeling my way through the shadows toward the kitchen. The floor was slick, sticking to the soles of my shoes with a sickening tack-tack sound. After a few steps, my foot slid, and I went down hard. My palms hit the floor. It was wet. Cold. Viscous. In the faint, grey light filtering through the grime-streaked windows, I saw it. The floor wasn’t just wet. It was painted in deep, thick crimson. “Ah—!” I screamed, trying to scramble back, but my limbs felt like lead. “Don’t be a baby! It’s just a fall. Be brave!” Mom’s voice urged, her patience clearly wearing thin. “Quickly, open the pantry. Go on.” I stayed huddled on the floor, staring at my blood-stained hands, weeping uncontrollably. “If you want to sleep in my bed, stand up,” Mom’s voice turned cold. That threat worked better than any encouragement. I sniffed, wiped my face and hands on my sleeves, and used the wall to pull myself up. I navigated around the thickest puddles of gore, inching toward the rusted metal pantry at the back. The digital overlay flickered again: “God, this mother is heartless. She knows the Starved One is in that cupboard and she’s still pushing the kid?!” “She’s literally sending her own daughter to the slaughter for a paycheck.” “Is she even the real mother? This is a death sentence.” Suddenly, rows of piercing red text flashed—Mom’s response to the viewers: “What do you people know?! She had a fever as a baby that fried her brain! The doctors said she’s slow, delayed, basically an idiot. She doesn’t even know what a ghost is. She doesn’t feel fear like we do!” “She’s just a little afraid of the dark. She’s highly adaptable!” Mom… I was only afraid of the dark because you always made me sleep alone. And I only adapted because no one ever cared what happened to me. I had to get used to it. “Let her open the door. She thinks it’s a game of hide-and-seek! Do it!” “Open the cupboard!” her voice screamed in my skull. I blinked, looking at the rusted handle. Hide-and-seek? That did sound a little bit like fun. I reached out and pulled. 2 The door creaked open. It was pitch black inside, filled with lumpy, heavy shapes. I leaned in, trying to see. It looked like several people, twisted and wedged together in a silent, motionless pile. The comments went wild: “Corpses! It’s a literal pile of bodies!” “The Starved One is coming! Run, you little dummy, run!” From the very back of the cupboard, a shadow began to shift. A woman sat up slowly. Her abdomen was torn open, a gaping, ragged hole where her stomach should have been. In her hands, she trailed a long, translucent plastic tube. She looked at me, her voice a wet, gurgling rasp. “Are… you… hungry?” Before I could even blink, she lunged. The tube was shoved into my mouth, hitting the back of my throat. “Mmph!” I gagged for a second, but then, a warm, sweet liquid began to flow. It was oatmeal. Warm, thick, tasting of brown sugar, cinnamon, and cream. I was so starving that I didn’t care about the tube or the ghost. I clamped my teeth down on the plastic and began to suck greedily. The warmth spread through my chest, hitting my stomach like a miracle. I drank so fast I almost choked. When I couldn’t hold another drop, I let go. The tube slid out with a wet snap. I wiped my mouth and looked up at her. “Thank you,” I whispered. Then, I looked at the hole in her stomach. “Are you hungry? If you’re hungry, I can stop. I’ll save the rest for you.” The ghost froze. “I am a monster,” she rasped. I nodded, thinking for a moment. “You’re a kind monster. Better than my mom. She always forgets to feed me.” The corners of her torn mouth twitched upward into a jagged, heartbreaking smile. “Is that so…?” She reached out, her freezing fingers brushing my cheek. “Then you can call me Mom.” The red text flashed again: “See! I told you she’s a half-wit! She doesn’t even know how to be afraid. She handled the Starved One just like that. My daughter is a natural!” The text vanished. Inside my head, Mom’s voice returned, light and triumphant. “Good girl, June. Now, go to the second floor.” I looked at the Starved One. “I have to go upstairs now.” She immediately grabbed my arm. “Don’t. The one on the second floor… she flays. She’s cruel. She’ll skin you alive.” I nodded and tried to squeeze into the cupboard with her. “Okay. I’ll stay here with you then.” “No!” Mom’s voice exploded in my head, sharp with rage, before instantly softening into a manipulative coo. “June, honey, remember? If you finish, you get the big bed. The pink sheets with the bunnies on them. Your favorite ones. Don’t you want to sleep on the soft pink bunnies?” I did. I wanted my own bed so badly. I didn’t want to sleep on the hardwood floor anymore. “The ones with the bunnies?” I asked. “I promise! Would Mommy lie? Now, go!” I looked at the Starved One. Her hollow eyes were fixed on me. “My mom has pink bunny sheets for me,” I said softly, gently prying her cold fingers off my arm. “I have to go.” She didn’t stop me, but she crawled out of the cupboard to follow. Her stomach wound swayed, the internal organs threatening to spill. I looked at my own dirty, oversized hoodie. I took it off and carefully wrapped it around her waist, tying the sleeves in a knot to cover the hole. The feed erupted: “Wait… is she dressing the ghost?” “I don’t think anyone has ever cared about the Starved One’s modesty before.” “The ghost looks like she’s about to cry. Is empathy the secret to the trial? Not violence, but kindness?” The red text snapped back: “A retard doesn’t know empathy. It’s just dumb luck. Stop wasting time and get upstairs!” “Move!” Mom barked in my ear. 3 The Starved One looked down at the hoodie, then back at me. She reached out and took my hand in her ice-cold palm. “I will go with you,” she said. She led me up the creaking stairs. At the landing stood a figure that was entirely crimson. No skin—just raw, pulsating muscle and throbbing veins, dripping wetly onto the floor. “Don’t you have clothes either?” I asked, my voice cracking into a sob. “Did your mommy throw you away, too?” The flayed figure seemed to glitch, her head tilting at an impossible angle. She looked at the Starved One, her voice like sandpaper on bone. “Where did this little fool come from?” “She’s a player,” the Starved One replied. “But she’s mine now.” The Flayed One reached out with needle-sharp claws, pressing them against my scalp. “Such tender skin. It would come off in one beautiful piece.” The Starved One stepped between us. “Don’t you dare scare her.” I peeked out from behind her. “It’s okay,” I said to the Flayed One. “If you’re cold and you don’t have a coat, you can have my skin. I’m a little skinny, but maybe it will fit.” The Flayed One’s hand froze mid-air. Her lidless, bulging eyes stared directly into mine. “What did you say?” she asked, her voice cracking. “I just want you to be warm. If you wear it, you won’t be cold anymore, right?” The Flayed One didn’t move for a long time. Then, slowly, she lowered her hand. I saw a thick, red liquid pool in her eye sockets and roll down her cheeks, lost in the gore of her face. She sniffled, a wet, rattling sound. “You little idiot. You’re not like the others. I like you.” She turned and began walking down the hallway, leaving bloody footprints behind. “Follow me.” She led us to a bedroom and pushed the door open. It was massive, with a vanity and a grand bed. She walked to a wardrobe and flung it open. It was filled with dresses—vibrant, clean, beautiful fabrics that shimmered even in the gloom. The comments exploded: “No way! She’s found the exploit!” “Heart-to-heart with the monsters? Is that how you play this?” “She might actually win the hundred mil!” The red text flared with impatience: “Heart-to-heart? She’s just too stupid to be scared! Pure luck. Get on with it! Find the Headless One!” I shook my head, gripping the Starved One’s hand. “I don’t want to go to the third floor.” “You don’t have a choice!” Mom’s voice was like iron. Suddenly, the metal collar around my neck constricted. It bit into my flesh like a vice. A split second later, a massive jolt of electricity surged through me. Everything went black. I collapsed to my knees, my body convulsing, foam bubbling at my lips. “Ah—!” I couldn’t even scream properly. “Let her go!” the Starved One shrieked, lunging forward, trying to claw at the collar with her frozen fingers. The Flayed One joined her, her sharp nails sparking against the metal. But the collar didn’t budge. Blue sparks danced across its surface. “It’s no use!” Mom’s voice crackled with a sadistic glee. “It’s custom-built! Crank it up!” Another wave of agony hit me. It felt like thousands of white-hot needles were being driven into my marrow. I curled into a ball, losing the strength even to twitch. “I’ll go… I’ll go,” I gasped, my voice a mere breath of air. “Stop it… Mom, please… I’ll go.” The pain subsided slightly. My head was ringing, filled with Mom’s cold command: “Third floor. Now.” The two ghosts crouched beside me, wanting to touch me but afraid of the shock. I forced myself up, my legs shaking like jelly. “I have to go to the third floor,” I croaked. 4 “No!” the Starved One cried. “The one up there is the worst of us!” The Flayed One shook her head violently, splattering blood. “The Headless One… he has no mind! He’s spent eternity looking for his head! He destroys everything in his path. You’ll die!” Regardless, they walked with me. The third-floor landing was an empty, echoing hall. In the center stood a massive figure in tattered clothes. Where his head should have been, there was only a jagged stump of dark muscle and throbbing veins. I looked at the “bleeding” neck and whispered, “You must be so hungry.” The Headless One, who had been raising a massive rusted axe, paused. “How do you eat without a mouth?” I looked at his empty shoulders, feeling a deep, heavy pit of pity in my chest. “You poor thing.” The Headless One went completely still. After several seconds, a muffled, sobbing sound emanated from the stump of his neck. “No one… has ever… asked if I was hungry.” The axe hit the floor with a heavy thud. The feed was a blur: “Wait, that’s it?” “Where’s the ‘Watermelon Splash’???” “He’s tamed already?” “Is this game a joke?!” The red text reappeared, smug and boastful: “My daughter is amazing! Do you see? Her brain is different. That’s the key to the game!” The three ghosts gathered around me. “Little one,” the Starved One whispered. “Do you know what this place is? It’s a game. People die here.” I nodded. “I know. But Mom said if I finish, she’ll buy me a meat pie.” The three monsters fell silent. Then, together, they placed their cold hands on my head. “We give you our final blessing,” the Flayed One rasped. “You are too kind for this world,” the Starved One added. “Goodbye, little one,” the Headless One muffled. Their hands began to glow with a faint, warm light. It wasn’t cold anymore. Slowly, their forms began to dissolve into the light, fading into nothingness. A cold, mechanical voice boomed through the hall: “Congratulations, Player June Lin. You have completed the ‘Manor Trial.’ Grand prize: $100 Million. To claim the prize, the following conditions must be met…” Before the voice could finish, a wave of vertigo hit me. The world spun. When my vision cleared, I was sitting in a comfortable chair. I was in a tiered auditorium filled with people in expensive suits. In front of me was a massive glass wall. On the other side of that glass was the very same hallway I had just left. And standing there, looking around in a panic, was my mother.

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