1 After surgery, the doctor ordered three months of vocal rest. Still, my girlfriend Wendy and friend Jasper mocked me relentlessly. During arguments, Jasper would smirk and step back. Can’t hear you, buddy. Frustrated, throat burning, I’d clutch my shirt, struggling to repeat myself. He’d nudge Wendy, laughing. Told you—he’ll squeak himself hoarse and quit. Wendy smiled, high-fiving him. That evening, Jasper invited her to a bar for the playoffs. I gripped Wendy’s arm, signaling my needed follow-up. Jasper pulled her away. Too quiet, Nolan. Can’t hear a word. He whispered loud enough for me, Though he’s my brother, I pity you. Whiny before—now unbearable. Wendy adjusted my scarf. Be good. Stop the scene. Wait in the VIP lounge. I’ll take you after. She shoved me inside, locking the door. The room was stacked with nuts and snacks. AC blasted, circulating dust and peanut particles. I was severely allergic. I pounded the door, but only raspy hisses escaped my swollen throat. Outside, Jasper laughed. Another fit? Wendy paused. Let him be. He’ll tire out. By the time paramedics arrived, my airway was completely closed. … When I woke up in the hospital bed, my throat was in excruciating pain. Wendy was standing by the bedside, still wearing her coat, with the neon wristband from the bar still dangling from her wrist. Jasper leaned against her, his phone screen glowing. Someone in their group chat had just posted a photo of the crowd leaving the bar last night. In the center of the shot, Wendy and Jasper were clinking beer mugs, laughing brightly. The nurse flipped through my chart. “He had severe anaphylactic laryngeal edema last night. If he had arrived any later, it would have been fatal.” Wendy immediately bent over me, her eyes wide. “Nolan, does it hurt?” I wanted to ask her why she hadn’t opened the door. But the moment my throat muscles moved, tears of sheer physical pain welled in my eyes. The nurse pressed a hand to my shoulder. “Don’t speak. Not a single syllable.” She turned to Wendy, her tone accusing. “When the patient was screaming for help, why didn’t anyone open the door?” Wendy froze, then picked up my phone from the nightstand. In our three-person group chat, the last seventeen messages were all from me: Open the door. I don’t feel well. Further up was a meme Jasper had sent earlier: Understood, little mute. The little mute needs to be a good boy and type his words today. Wendy had replied once: Don’t call him that. Jasper had sent a tongue-out emoji: It’s just a cute nickname. He won’t get mad. Since then, I was the only one who ever posted in that group. The two of them had their own private chat. Last night, not a single one of my seventeen desperate messages had received a reply. Jasper bit his lip, stepping forward to speak first. “The bar was way too loud last night, Nolan. We didn’t hear our phones.” He looked at me, his voice dripping with cautious innocence. “And besides, you always exaggerate things whenever you and Wendy have an argument.” “Even though you’re my brother and I should support you, it’s exhausting for Wendy when you constantly use these emergencies to get her attention.” Wendy had been holding my hand, but when she heard Jasper’s words, her fingers slowly loosened. The nurse ignored him, turning to me. “Do you have any drug allergies?” I reached for the writing tablet on the bedside table. Jasper jumped in before I could grab it. “I don’t think so. I’ve looked after Nolan for a long time, and he’s never mentioned anything.” The nurse bent her head to write it down. I slammed my hand against the bed rail. The motion pulled hard on the IV needle in my hand, sending a sharp pain up my arm. Wendy finally handed me the writing pad. My hand was shaking so violently I could only scribble two words: Cephalosporin. The nurse’s face changed, and she immediately stopped writing. “Cephalosporin allergy?” Wendy’s eyes widened as she suddenly remembered. “Yes, he’s highly allergic to cephalosporin.” Jasper’s eyes turned red instantly. “I’m so sorry, Nolan. I completely forgot. I was just trying to help you so you wouldn’t have to strain yourself writing.” He was always like this, completely ignorant of my life, yet constantly pretending to be my most devoted caretaker. He had only met me after Wendy and I started dating. At our first meeting, he had wrapped an arm around my shoulder, gushing about how lucky I was to have such a great girlfriend, and insisted on being my best friend. I had genuinely treated him as a brother. But over time, he became Wendy’s advisor. If she wanted to buy me a gift, she asked him first. If we had an argument, she went to him to vent. He used to tell me, “I’m just helping you train your girlfriend.” But every time they finished “training” her, I was the one who had to bow my head and apologize. Wendy watched Jasper’s tears fall, her expression softening. “He didn’t do it on purpose, Nolan.” I stared at her, turning the writing pad to a fresh page: Let’s break up. Wendy’s brow furrowed. “You just woke up, and you’re already starting a scene?” The doctor walked in just then, handing over the discharge instructions. “He must return for a follow-up in one week. During this time, he cannot be left alone. Someone must watch him constantly, especially monitoring his breathing and any potential allergic reactions.” Wendy took the forms, finally finding a convenient excuse. “Did you hear that? Before your follow-up, you’re staying at my place.” I didn’t write anything back. The nurse told me to go to the lobby window to sign some papers and pay the bill. Wendy took the invoice from my hand but immediately tossed it back to me. “Your ID is in your bag, so you go pay. I need to take Jasper downstairs to get something sweet. His blood sugar is dropping.” I was left clutching the prescription bag, limping slowly toward the payment window. By the time I finished paying and turned around, Wendy and Jasper were already standing by the elevator doors. Jasper said something, and Wendy leaned in with a soft chuckle. I hurried to catch up with them. The elevator doors were slowly sliding shut. Wendy looked out and saw me. Her hand was inches away from the open door button. But she didn’t press it. I stood in the corridor, watching the metal doors seal shut. I remembered the last time we were at the pharmacy. I was waiting in a long line to get my post-surgery medication while they went ahead to buy Jasper some cold medicine. When I finally limped out to the entrance, Wendy had only frowned. “Why are you always so slow?” And that time at the convenience store. I was typing on my phone to tell her I wanted warm water, but before I could finish, Jasper had already grabbed a cold soda and handed it to her. She took it, took a sip, and only then turned to me. “What were you trying to say?” The elevator numbers ticked down on the display. I unlocked my phone, opened the medical app, and booked the very last specialist appointment at the Seattle Vocal Rehabilitation Center for seven days from now. Then, I booked a one-way flight to Seattle for the exact same afternoon. Once I got my follow-up results in seven days, I would leave. On discharge day, the doctor pulled Wendy aside to explain the medications. “Take this one thirty minutes after meals.” “Use the nebulizer twice a day. Do not skip the evening session.” I stood at the counter signing the paperwork. From a distance, I could see Wendy nodding, while Jasper hovered close by, listening intently. Jasper even smiled and raised his hand. “Don’t worry, doc. I’ll make sure he sticks to it.” When we got back to Wendy’s apartment, Jasper followed us inside, carrying his bag. “The match is tonight,” he sighed, tossing his bag onto the sofa. “But whatever. Who asked me to have such a high-maintenance brother like Nolan?” He turned to shoot me a playful wink. “Don’t get too emotional, little mute. Taking care of you is my duty.” Wendy’s brow twitched slightly. “I told you, don’t call him that.” Jasper stuck his tongue out. Wendy checked her phone. “I need to run to the office to grab some files. I’ll be back soon.” Jasper immediately raised his hand. “I’ve got him covered.” Once the door clicked shut, the apartment fell into a tense silence. Within seconds, Jasper blasted the TV volume. The roaring voice of the sports commentator echoed through the living room, sending a wave of tightness through my throat. Jasper curled up on the sofa, opening a bag of chips and sipping a cold milk tea. He laughed and cheered, his legs swinging wildly with every goal. My glass of water was empty, so I pushed myself up from the armchair, intending to get a refill. Just as I walked past the sofa, Jasper let out a sudden, ecstatic shout. “Yes! Goal!” He kicked his leg out in excitement. My knee caught on his shin, and I lost my balance, crashing hard against the sharp corner of the coffee table. The medicine bag was knocked over, and pill bottles scattered across the hardwood floor. Jasper finally turned around, a chip still clutched in his hand. “Oh, my bad. Why didn’t you make a sound?” I pushed myself up, my throat throbbing so intensely my vision blurred. He scrambled down to pick up the mess, but the first thing he grabbed was his spilled bag of chips. “If Wendy sees this when she gets back, she’ll think I haven’t been looking after you.” I knelt down, silently gathering the scattered medicine boxes one by one. A moment later, my phone buzzed. In our three-person group chat, Jasper had sent nine selfies in a row. Help me choose one for my feed. Wendy replied almost instantly: The third one. Jasper: But the fifth one makes my legs look longer. Wendy: Then post both. The notifications kept coming, making my phone warm against my palm. I took a photo of the medicine boxes on the table and sent it to the group. The doctor mentioned how to take these, but I was paying the bill and didn’t hear. How do I take them? A few minutes passed. Wendy replied: Just read the manual. A bitter ache bloomed in my chest. I locked my phone and placed it face down on my lap. At seven in the evening, Wendy returned. Jasper immediately bounced up from the sofa. “Boss, I’ve been playing maid all day. Don’t you think my advice deserves a reward?” Wendy set her files down, shooting a quick glance at me. “Is he okay?” Jasper cut in before I could move. “He’s fine. Good as gold.” He pointed to the medicine on the table. “I even made sure he took his pills.” In reality, the boxes remained untouched. The thirty-minute post-meal window had long passed. I reached for my phone, wanting to ask her directly, but Jasper was already dragging her toward the dining table. He had ordered spicy crawfish, claiming he was starving from a long day of caretaking. “Let’s see who can peel them faster,” Jasper said, tossing her a pair of plastic gloves. Wendy chuckled. “You lose every time.” “Then can’t you just let me win for once?” They sat directly opposite me. One peeled, the other grabbed. Jasper’s lips were bright red from the spice. Wendy placed a peeled crawfish into his bowl, and he immediately picked it up with his chopsticks, holding it to her lips. “Your reward.” I opened one of the medicine boxes, letting the pills spill into my palm. The tiny print on the instruction sheet blurred together. I stared at them for a long time, unable to figure out which ones could be taken together. I typed on my phone: I want to talk to you. Wendy looked up briefly. “Now?” I nodded, continuing to type: About the locked door, the nuts, and those seventeen messages. Before I could finish, Jasper burst into laughter. “Wendy, look at this one. Doesn’t it look like a heart?” Wendy turned her head to look. My fingers froze over the screen. By the time she looked back at me, her expression was laced with irritation. “Nolan, if you have something to say, can you speed it up? I have a major meeting tomorrow.” I slowly deleted the words in the text box. I backspaced letter by letter, until the screen was entirely blank. Wendy frowned. “Nothing?” She pulled her plastic gloves back on. “Then let’s wait until you can actually speak to have this conversation.” I lowered my head, blinking back tears as I tried to sort the pills in my hand. In the living room, Jasper won another round of their game. He piled the empty shells in front of Wendy with a grin. “You lost. You’re my personal driver again tomorrow.” Wendy agreed. Neither of them noticed that I hadn’t taken a single correct pill that night. The next day, Jasper complained that the apartment was too quiet and insisted on inviting a few friends over. “Nolan can’t go out anyway, so the least we can do is bring the fun to him.” By three in the afternoon, the living room was packed. The coffee table was covered with beers, chips, snacks, and two bowls of mixed nuts. I stared at the nuts, reaching for my phone to type. Wendy noticed my gaze and quickly moved the bowls to the far side of the table. “Keep those away from him.” Someone laughed. “Wendy, look at you being all attentive.” Jasper joined in, grinning. “Of course she is. Otherwise, Nolan would have another excuse to make her life miserable.” The room went quiet for a second, then someone chimed in. “Seriously, last night was wild. I thought it was some massive emergency, but Jasper explained it later. It was just Nolan getting jealous because the two of you were hanging out, right?” My fingers froze over the screen. Jasper quickly waved his hands. “Come on, don’t say that. Nolan just lacks security, that’s all.” He slid over, nudging my arm. “Right, Nolan?” I looked down, refusing to type a single word. When they played Truth or Dare, the bottle spun and landed on Wendy. “What is your biggest pet peeve about your boyfriend?” Before she could answer, Jasper raised his hand. “I know this one!” He grinned at me. “He is so incredibly slow.” The room erupted into laughter. “So true!” “Jasper, did you have to suffer through his whining too?” Jasper doubled over with laughter. “No, no, I’m on Nolan’s side. But seriously, when he could speak, he was slow, and now that he has to type, he’s even slower.” Wendy held her cards, her head tilted down as she let out a soft laugh. She didn’t disagree. I picked up my phone and slowly typed: I’m going to my room. Before I could hit send, Jasper shoved a card into my hand. “Nolan lost! Penalty drink, penalty drink!” Wendy frowned, pulling the shot glass away. “He can’t drink alcohol.” She poured a glass of warm water and pushed it toward me, checking the temperature with her finger. But Jasper immediately snatched the shot glass. “Then I’ll drink it for him!” He slammed it back, coughing as the liquid hit his throat, his eyes turning red. Wendy quickly handed him a tissue. “Why do you always have to show off?” Jasper waved her off, his voice slightly raspy. “Who asked me to have such a pathetic brother?” “I have to speak for him, take the blame for him, and now I’m drinking for him.” The friends laughed again. Someone teased, “Jasper, you act more like a real boyfriend than the actual boyfriend.” Jasper immediately covered his mouth. “Shh, don’t say that. Nolan will get mad.” Everyone looked at me. If I so much as frowned, I would be labeled as sensitive and petty. Later, they started singing. Jasper scrolled through his phone for a moment, his eyes lighting up. “This one! Didn’t Nolan and Wendy love singing this together?” It was a classic love song. Back when Wendy and I first started dating, she had held my hand and promised we would sing it together on every anniversary. As the intro played, Jasper held the microphone out to me. “Come on, Nolan. Let’s hear that romantic duet.” Then, as if suddenly remembering, he quickly pulled it back. “Oh, my bad. I forgot you can’t sing right now. I’ll sing your part for you. I know the lyrics anyway.” Wendy shot a quick, hesitant glance at me. I thought she would refuse. But Jasper had already forced the other microphone into her hand. “Come on, Wendy, let’s go!” She took it. They stood in the center of the room, singing together while their friends recorded videos on their phones. I sat on the very edge of the sofa, watching the lyrics scroll across the screen, unable to make a sound. By the time the party ended, it was almost midnight. Jasper, slightly tipsy, curled up on the sofa with a pillow. “Wendy, my throat is starting to burn.” Wendy pressed her hand to his forehead. “I’ll take you to the clinic tomorrow.” I looked up at her. Tomorrow was the day of my specialist appointment. The doctor had warned me that a follow-up within a week was critical. I had waited six days for this specific slot. Wendy seemed to recall something, looking down at her phone. “Let’s let Jasper use your appointment slot tomorrow.” I stood up so fast my knee slammed into the coffee table, making my water glass rattle. She frowned. “He drank that penalty shot for you tonight, and now his throat is irritated. You’re being selfish.” Jasper sat up quickly. “No, no, Wendy. Nolan’s condition is much worse than mine.” But as he spoke, he let out a couple of soft, dry coughs. Wendy’s tone hardened. “Don’t argue with him.” “You can’t speak anyway, Nolan. Going a day early or a day late won’t make a difference for you.” The next morning, Wendy went to park the car while Jasper, clutching his throat, walked ahead with her. I didn’t wait for them. I retrieved my ticket, checked in, and walked straight into the examination room. Every movement was swift and deliberate. The doctor reviewed my laryngoscopy results, falling silent for a moment. “Your recovery is not looking good.” “If you delay treatment any further, you may struggle to vocalize permanently.” I typed on my phone: I am flying to Seattle for treatment today. The doctor looked at me and nodded. “The sooner, the better.” When I walked out with my results, the corridor was empty. Wendy and Jasper were nowhere to be seen. My phone buzzed with a message from her: Jasper has been taking care of you for days. Is it really necessary to throw a fit over an appointment slot? Can you stop being so incredibly petty? Just wait at the entrance. Once Jasper is done, you need to apologize to him. He drank for you last night and offered to give his slot back to you today. Don’t be so ungrateful. I stood at the clinic exit, the cold wind making my throat ache. When the taxi pulled up, the driver asked where I wanted to go. I showed him my phone screen, which displayed the airport address. At three twenty in the afternoon, my flight was boarded. Before turning off my phone, Wendy called. I watched her name flash on the screen for several seconds. Then, I declined the call and blocked her number. From this moment on, I was completely done with both of them. Wendy walked back to the ENT department after Jasper’s examination, only to find the bench empty. She dialed my number. But the line only gave her a cold, automated rejection. Jasper, holding his neck, stood beside her and whispered, “Is Nolan still mad at me?” Wendy’s face was tense. “His temper is getting out of hand.” She typed a quick message to me, but a red exclamation mark flashed on her screen. Her fingers froze over the display. Jasper quickly grabbed her sleeve. “Wendy, don’t worry. Nolan is probably just upset that you took me first. Once he calms down, he’ll come back.” Wendy said nothing, driving straight back to her apartment. The entryway was dead silent. All of my belongings had been cleared out. The only thing left on the coffee table were a few boxes of medicine. One box was completely unopened. Another had some pills popped out, only to be stuffed back in. The nebulizer sat in its original packaging, its seal unbroken. Beside the boxes was a sticky note in my handwriting: Take after meals? Do not mix? Wendy picked up the note, her fingers slowly crushing the paper. Jasper walked in, and when he saw the medicine on the table, his expression faltered. Wendy looked up at him. “You said you made sure he took his pills.” Jasper’s eyes welled with tears. “I did remind him! But Nolan always hated me meddling in his business. I treated him like a brother, but he was always hostile toward me. You know that.” Wendy didn’t comfort him this time. She turned around and opened the living room security camera app. Jasper reached out to stop her. “Wendy, there’s no need to watch that. He’ll just accuse us of spying on him again.” Wendy brushed his hand away. The footage quickly loaded. On the screen, Jasper was lounging on the sofa watching the game with the volume blasted. I stood up, trying to get some water, when Jasper kicked his leg out. I tripped, my knee crashing into the table, and the medicine boxes scattered everywhere. Wendy’s hand stopped on the mouse. Jasper’s face went completely white. “I… I was just startled by the goal…” The footage kept playing. Panicking, Jasper lunged to slam her laptop shut. “Don’t watch it! He did that on purpose to make you feel guilty!” For the first time, Wendy shoved him away. “He didn’t even know I had access to these cameras.” In the footage from the early hours of the morning, the living room was empty except for me. I was quietly packing my medical records, ID, and a few clothes into my suitcase. Before leaving, I stood at the door, taking one final, long look at the apartment. Once the door clicked shut, there was no one left on the screen. Wendy immediately began searching my travel history. My GPS was turned off, but my flight had already landed.

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1 World Cup final day, the city roared. I sat alone in the silent living room, staring at four faded jerseys on the table—Dad’s number 10, Mason’s 7, Noah’s goalie kit, and Mom’s bright red supporter shirt she’d worn to every game. Past tournaments, we’d cram into this room, eating barbecue and screaming at the TV. Dad once promised, “Graduate high school, Andrea, and we’ll all go live.” I’d graduated. But they’d taken my adopted sister Beth to Cabo for the final. In Mason’s post, Beth sat center, radiant. His caption: A family of four, finally whole.I stared until the words blurred. They’d cut me from the roster long ago. Last summer, Beth shattered my state physics trophy, wailing, “Andrea wins everything—what’s the point of me?” Dad ripped my gold certificate. Mom banned me from academic decathlons. Mason funded Beth’s European healing trip, banishing me to a dingy basement for senior year. “You’re a genius,” he’d said. “Study anywhere.” I did. Perfect 1600 on the national merit exam, full ride to Stanford. I stuffed the jerseys into a trash bag, tossed it by the dumpster. As the players lifted the trophy on screen, I held my acceptance letter. This time, I wasn’t waiting for their applause. … “Andrea, why the hell did you throw away our jerseys?!” The front door slammed open, and Mason’s furious voice exploded through the living room. I sat on the sofa, not even bothering to look up. Dad walked in carrying bags of expensive souvenirs, while Mom hovered protectively around Beth. The last person to walk through the door was Noah. He was carrying a pristine pink gift box. It was the limited-edition collectible Beth had been bragging about online all week. “Are you mute? Answer me!” Mason closed the distance between us in three long strides. “Mom and Dad felt bad that you were home alone, so they paid out the ass to change our flights and rush back early. And the first thing we see when we pull up is our gear sitting next to the garbage.” He slammed the plastic trash bag onto the coffee table. “Do you have any idea how much these mean to us?” I looked at the washed-out fabric spilling from the bag. They did mean a lot. They were the last remaining proof that this family used to love each other. But now, they were just dirty rags. “They’re old. We don’t need them anymore,” I said, my voice completely flat. Mom’s face contorted in disgust. “What do you mean we don’t need them? How did you get so cold-blooded? Beth was worried sick about you the whole time we were in Cabo. She insisted we come back early to watch the replay with you. Why are you acting like a psycho?” Beth shrank behind Mom’s back, her eyes rimmed with red. “Andrea, are you mad at me? Are you upset because my health is bad and Mom and Dad had to take me to the beach to recover?” Dad slammed the souvenir bags onto the floor, his face dark with rage. “Do you even have a heart, Andrea? If Beth’s biological father hadn’t pushed me out of the way of that semi-truck, you wouldn’t even have a dad today! And if you hadn’t pushed Beth down the stairs all those years ago, she wouldn’t suffer from these chronic migraines!” My fingers twitched. That same old story. When I was twelve, Beth missed a step and tumbled down the staircase. But she pointed her trembling finger at me and told everyone I pushed her. From that day on, I became the resident sinner of this house. Noah placed the pink gift box into Beth’s hands and turned his disappointed gaze to me. “Andrea, stop throwing a tantrum.” I slowly picked up my phone from the table, letting the screen light up. “I’m not throwing a tantrum. I’m just giving you a heads-up. I got into Stanford.” The room went dead silent for a fraction of a second. Mason blinked, then let out a scoffing laugh. “You’ve been a straight-A nerd your whole life. Getting into a good college is expected. Mom and Dad pay for your food and board.” Mom nodded in immediate agreement. “Exactly. Your sister bombed her SATs this year, and she is already depressed about it. Did you really have to rub salt in her wound today?” Beth’s tears started falling faster. “Am I just completely useless? I just drag everyone down, don’t I?” Dad immediately wrapped his arms around her, shooting me a lethal glare. I watched them crowd around Beth, cooing and comforting her. I watched Noah gently rub her back to soothe her. It was purely absurd. I had bled over my textbooks for twelve years to get into one of the best universities on the planet. And my reward was a room full of people screaming at me. “She’s depressed?” I let out a dry, hollow laugh. “Depressed from taking selfies in Paris? Or depressed from eating lobster on a private beach in Cabo?” Mason lunged forward and pointed his finger an inch from my nose. “Why the hell are you picking a fight with a sick girl?” I stared dead into Mason’s eyes. “Because I’m not sick, I deserved to rot in a basement for a year? I deserved to have my family not even text me on the day college decisions came out?” Mom waved her hand dismissively, cutting me off. “Enough. Cut the crap. Since you got accepted, you can spend the rest of the summer tutoring Beth. She has to repeat her senior year.” I slowly stood up and slipped my phone into my pocket. “No.” Dad’s face turned purple. “Say that again.” I looked at all of them, my voice perfectly steady. “I said, I don’t owe you people a damn thing.” Dad raised his hand, fully intending to slap the defiance out of my mouth. Noah caught his wrist just in time. “Mr. Davis, don’t. Andrea is just stressed from exams. Let it go.” He turned to look at me, using that tone reserved for unreasonable toddlers. “Apologize to Beth, and we can forget this ever happened.” I looked at Noah’s handsome, familiar face. Once upon a time, that face was my only light in the dark. When I had a fever, he carried me to the clinic on his back. When kids bullied me, he was the shield standing in front of me. But now. “Why should I?” I looked him dead in the eye. Noah’s brows furrowed deeply. “You already have everything, Andrea. The grades, the perfect future. It’s all yours. Beth only has us. Would it kill you to just let her have this?” The corners of my mouth twitched. “She only has you? She has my parents’ absolute devotion, my brother’s endless wallet, and your protection. I have nothing but my grades.” Suddenly, Beth grabbed her chest and started hyperventilating. “Mason, my head… it’s spinning…” She collapsed straight into Noah’s arms. Noah caught her immediately, total panic washing over his face. “Beth! Hey, look at me, what’s wrong?” Mom turned pale as a sheet and started frantically digging through her purse for pill bottles. Dad pointed a trembling finger at me. “If anything happens to her, I will never forgive you!” Mason shoved me hard by the shoulder, knocking me into the wall. They swarmed Beth, scooped her up, and rushed out the front door. The heavy door slammed shut, plunging the house back into suffocating silence. I leaned against the plaster wall, slowly sliding down until I hit the floor. The bruise on my shoulder throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the massive, hollow cavity in my chest. … Early the next morning, my homeroom teacher called me. “Andrea, the principal wants to throw an honors assembly for you next Wednesday. You need to prepare a speech.” Her voice was bursting with pride. “Make sure you bring your parents. Having the valedictorian of the entire district is a huge honor for your family.” I gripped my phone, my throat feeling like sandpaper. “Thank you, Mrs. Gable.” I hung up. I was standing in the kitchen, trying to figure out how to tell them, when the front door clicked open. They were back with Beth. Dad was on his cell phone. “Yes, next Wednesday at noon. The biggest banquet hall you have. We are throwing an eighteenth birthday and cheer-up party for my youngest. She didn’t do well on her exams, so we need to make her feel special.” I froze in my tracks. Next Wednesday. The exact same day as my honors assembly. Mason noticed me standing there and immediately scowled. “You cause a massive scene yesterday, and you don’t even bother coming to the hospital to check on her? What is wrong with you?” I ignored him and spoke slowly. “Next Wednesday, the school is throwing an honors assembly for me. The principal wants you all there.” Mason let out a loud, mocking snort. “An honors assembly? Who cares? It’s just a bunch of teachers blowing hot air.” Dad hung up the phone and glared at me. “We can’t do next Wednesday. We are celebrating Beth’s birthday.” My fingernails dug into my palms. “This is the most important moment of my academic life. I am the district valedictorian.” Mom walked past me toward the kitchen, rolling her eyes. “So you got good grades. Does that mean you can just abandon your sister? Beth is traumatized by her scores, and you want to parade around at some assembly? Do you have any idea how bad that will make her look in front of our relatives?” I stared at her entitled, unapologetic face. “Did you ever stop to think how it makes me look? The district valedictorian, standing on stage without a single family member in the audience?” Mason stepped into my space, looking down at me with sheer disgust. “Stop being so incredibly selfish, Andrea. Next Wednesday, you are going to put on a nice dress and sit quietly at the banquet hall.” I took a deep breath, fighting the acidic burn behind my eyes. “I’m not going.” Dad slammed his leather briefcase onto the dining table. “If you dare walk out that door next Wednesday, you can forget about calling me your father!” I looked at his purple, furious face, and felt nothing but pure, unadulterated exhaustion. “Fine. Then I won’t.” Before the words even settled in the air, a heavy hand cracked across my face. The slap echoed in the room. My head snapped to the side, my ears ringing violently. Dad roared at the top of his lungs. “Then pay me back every single dime I spent raising your ungrateful ass!” Just then, the doorbell rang. Noah pushed the door open and walked in. He saw my bright red, swollen cheek and froze. “What happened?” Beth immediately threw herself into his arms, crying beautifully. “Noah, Andrea is insisting on going to her school assembly, and it made Dad so mad. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have planned my party for next Wednesday.” Noah held her, gently stroking her hair. He looked up at me, his brows knit in heavy disapproval. “Andrea, are you really not happy unless you are tearing this family apart?” I looked at his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, and the sight made my stomach turn. “Get your facts straight, Noah. They are the ones stripping away the proudest moment of my life.” Noah let out a heavy sigh, sounding like a exhausted parent. “Beth’s health is fragile. She can’t handle the stress. Plus, her biological dad literally died for your family. Giving up one day of the spotlight won’t kill you.” As he spoke, he pulled a small velvet box from his jacket pocket. “Look what I brought you, Beth.” He popped the box open. Resting on the black velvet was a delicate silver bracelet adorned with tiny, glittering stars. My breathing stopped completely. That was the bracelet Noah gave me for my sixteenth birthday. He had told me, “Andrea, you are the brightest star in my sky. I’ll protect you forever.” But a few months later, Beth “accidentally” lost it. I searched the house for a month, crying until my eyes bled. Noah had held me and promised to buy me a better one. It turns out, she never lost it. It just got a new owner. “Oh my god, Noah, it’s gorgeous!” Beth giggled through her tears. Noah smiled warmly and fastened it around her wrist. “No one is ever going to bully you again.” I took a step forward, biting the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood. “Noah, that bracelet is mine.” Noah’s hands stopped. “You’re remembering things wrong. I had this custom-made just for Beth.” Beth immediately covered her wrist with her other hand, looking at me like a terrified deer. “Andrea, are you really going to steal the gift Noah bought for me?” Mason lost whatever patience he had left. He grabbed my shoulders and shoved me violently out the front door. “You are absolutely insane! Get your ass back to the basement and don’t come out until you learn how to act like a human being!” The heavy door slammed in my face. I stood in the humid hallway, touching my burning cheek, and suddenly let out a laugh. I laughed so hard the tears finally spilled over. I walked back to my dingy basement apartment in a complete daze. When I pushed the cheap door open, I froze. The room was completely trashed. My competition notebooks from the last six years, my medals, my certificates. All of them were submerged in a plastic tub full of water. The ink had bled through the pages, turning years of my blood, sweat, and tears into a soggy, illegible mess. My phone buzzed. A voice memo from Beth. “Hey Andrea, I am so, so sorry. I wanted to clean up your apartment and maybe borrow your study notes. But I accidentally kicked over the mop bucket. You’re so smart, you won’t hold a grudge against me, right?” I gripped my phone so tight my knuckles turned white. I didn’t reply. I walked over to the tub and stared at the ruined remains of my entire childhood. I pulled them out, one by one. And I dropped them straight into the trash can. Along with every last ounce of love and hope I had left for that family, and for Noah. “Good,” I whispered to the empty room. “Now I can leave without carrying any baggage.” The next morning, I woke up burning with a high fever. I dragged myself out of bed, fumbling for my phone to call an Uber to the clinic. The moment the screen unlocked, a notification from the family group chat popped up. Mom had sent a photo. Beth was lying in a VIP hospital bed, surrounded by everyone. Dad was peeling an apple for her. Mason was making funny faces. Noah was reading a book out loud to her. Mom’s caption read: Beth had a headache flare-up today. The whole crew is here. Praying for my baby’s health. I stared at the picture and couldn’t even muster a bitter smile. I dropped the phone, forced myself to get dressed, and swallowed two expired ibuprofen pills. By the time I took the bus to the local urgent care, it was late afternoon. My fever had broken slightly, but my stomach was cramping from hunger. I was standing in a massive line at the pharmacy counter, clutching my prescription slip. “Andrea?” A familiar voice echoed behind me. I turned around. It was Noah. He was holding a stack of lab results, his brows pulled tightly together. “What are you doing here? You look terrible.” I didn’t answer him. I just turned back around and stared at the back of the person in front of me. My coldness clearly stung his ego. He marched up and grabbed my wrist. “Andrea, I am talking to you! Are you seriously still throwing a fit over a piece of jewelry?” I yanked my arm out of his grip. “Don’t touch me.” Noah looked stunned. Right then, Beth’s sickly sweet voice called out from down the hall. “Noah? Who are you talking to?” She was wearing a hospital gown, leaning heavily on Mason’s arm as they walked over. The second she saw me, she started trembling violently, hiding behind Mason’s broad shoulders. “Andrea, I swear I didn’t mean to ruin your notes.” Mason instantly flared up. He stormed over and pointed his finger right in my face. “You have some nerve showing up here! Beth’s head is killing her today because of the stunt you pulled yesterday!” I looked at him with dead eyes. “Do you own this hospital?” Mom and Dad hurried over from the waiting area, hearing the commotion. “What are you doing here? Did you come here to stress her out even more?” Dad barked. I looked at the group of people standing in front of me. My biological parents, my flesh-and-blood brother, and the boy who promised to protect me. They were guarding Beth like I was a serial killer holding a knife. “I have a fever. I came to get an IV,” I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion. Mom let out a vicious sneer. “A fever? Beth is the one who is actually sick. Cut the crap and stop acting.” Suddenly, Beth grabbed her head and dropped into a crouch, screaming in agony. “Mason, it hurts! It feels like someone is driving needles into my brain!” Total panic seized Noah. He shoved me out of the way to get to her. He used his full body weight. I was already weak and dizzy from the fever. When his hands hit my chest, I flew backward. The back of my skull slammed violently against the cold tile wall of the corridor. A sickening crack echoed in my head, and a blinding wave of agony swallowed me whole. Right before the darkness took over, I heard Noah shouting. “Doctor! Get a doctor for Beth right now!” Not a single one of them turned around to look at me. Good. That made this so much easier. When I finally woke up, I was lying in a curtained-off ER bed. A nurse was gently removing an IV from the back of my hand. “You are crazy for walking around alone with a 103-degree fever, honey. That fall gave you a mild concussion. You need to go home and rest in a dark room.” I stared at the blinding fluorescent lights on the ceiling and whispered a raspy “Thank you.” By the time I walked out of the sliding glass doors of the hospital, it was pitch black outside. I went back to the basement and clicked on the flickering desk lamp. I pulled a rusted metal lockbox out from under my bed. Inside were eighteen years of blood, sweat, and glory. State math olympiad gold medals, regional physics trophies, straight-A report cards, and thick stacks of scholarship certificates. I took them out, one by one, and lined them up perfectly on my cheap desk. Then, I opened the local university forum on my laptop. I was about to create a new post when a recommended thread on the homepage caught my eye. It was an anonymous burner account named Beth Hates Meds. I scrolled through the posts, recognizing the highly specific details and photos. I let out a cold, sharp laugh. I ran a script to backup and download the entire account history. Then, I clicked ‘New Thread’ and typed out my headline. Incoming Stanford Freshman Auctioning Off 18 Years of Medals, Trophies, and Academic Blood. All proceeds will be used to pay a legal severance fee to my toxic biological family. I clicked post. Seeing the ‘Published Successfully’ banner flash across the screen, I let out a long, heavy exhale.

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Late at night, Mom was driving me back to our old family home upstate. Just as we pulled out of the highway rest area, I noticed a black sedan start its engine at the exact same moment. All the way down the road, it followed our every move. It took the same turns, paused when we paused, and blinked its turn signals in perfect unison with ours. It hung back, keeping a steady fifty yards behind us. I was absolutely certain of it. We were being stalked. My mind raced, frantically trying to figure out how to shake them or call for help. But I had no idea that the truth was infinitely more terrifying than a simple stalker. 1 Once we exited the interstate, Mom began to sense it too. She glanced nervously at the rearview mirror, her knuckles whitening on the wheel. “That black Volkswagen is still behind us, isn’t it?” I had told her earlier on the highway that I thought a car was tailing us. Traffic had been light, but with multiple lanes and occasional passing cars, the tail wasn’t completely obvious. It was Mom’s first time driving on the interstate at night, and her nerves were already stretched to their limit. When I first brought it up, she laughed it off, telling me I was letting my imagination get the best of her. Still, she didn’t dare take her eyes off the road to look back. Instead, she silently pushed the speedometer up to ninety, changing lanes three times. But now, off the interstate, the roads were emptying fast, and the black car was still right there. There were only two routes back to our house, and Mom had deliberately taken the one that added five minutes to the drive. Nobody heading in the same direction would make that choice. Yet, the black car followed. We were on a narrow county road now, bordered by thick woods. The streetlights were few and far between. It was just the two of us, a white sedan and a black sedan, our headlights cutting harsh, ghostly beams through the dark. Mom was visibly panicking now. As soon as I got into college, she had paid for my driving lessons. I didn’t have my license yet, and I’d never driven alone, but I had finished my road training and knew the basics. This county road was a narrow two-lane strip. The yellow divider line was dashed, meaning passing was allowed. Driving in the dead of night is exhausting, especially after a high-speed sprint on the highway. I tried to soothe Mom’s rising panic. “Mom, take a breath. Maybe they just live in our town and took the same detour. Let’s slow down. Force them to pass us.” Mom nodded quickly, eager for a solution. “Right. Okay. Good idea.” She tapped the brakes, dropping our speed to twenty-five miles per hour. The car lurched with a heavy, sudden deceleration. Coming straight off the highway, the drop in speed made it feel like we were crawling at a snail’s pace. Mom was too tense, and she had hit the brakes a bit too hard. The gap between us and the black Volkswagen shrank instantly, so fast I thought they were going to rear-end us. I silently swore that the moment I got my license, I would never let her drive again. My heart hammered against my ribs as I stared at the passenger side mirror. But the driver of the black car had lightning-fast reflexes. They braked just as hard, maintaining that exact fifty-yard cushion. They had absolutely no intention of passing. Mom frowned, trying to stay steady this time as she eased her foot further off the gas. Twenty miles per hour. Then fifteen. The black car was like a phantom, slowing in perfect synchronization. The distance between us remained as precise as if it were controlled by a computer. Cold dread washed over both of us. There was no doubt about it now. They were hunting us. 2 Silence filled the cabin, heavy and suffocating. Once we hit the county road, the late-night radio station began to break up, filling the car with a harsh, grating static. Mom turned the radio off, leaving only the low, metallic hum of the engine beneath our feet. The GPS screen showed we were still thirty miles from home. Mom set her jaw, not saying a word, but I watched the speedometer climb again. Thirty. Forty. Fifty. Sixty. On a winding, unlit backroad, this was getting dangerous. I pulled up the navigation map, scanning the route ahead to see if there were any well-lit residential areas or main roads. Or a police station. If there was a station nearby, we would drive straight into the parking lot. But there was nothing. The nearest sheriff’s office was in the opposite direction, nearly forty miles away. I took a deep breath, opened my phone, and texted Dad. I told him what was happening and asked him to drive out in his truck to meet us. Then, I shared my live location. If Dad was with us, there was no way this creep would keep following. Thankfully, Dad replied instantly. He had been working late and couldn’t pick me up himself, which was why Mom had gone. He was too worried to sleep. I told Mom that Dad was on his way. The tight lines around her mouth softened slightly. I let out a long breath, feeling a wave of relief. If Dad was driving toward us, the distance to safety was cut in half. I reached out to pat Mom’s shoulder, only to find her muscles as rigid as stone. Thinking back, we had been targeted at the last highway rest stop. Our tank had been nearly empty, so we pulled in to refuel and grab a bite. While Mom was in the restroom, I sat at a booth, eating a burger and waiting for her. That was when I felt a heavy, unsettling gaze on me. It was a stranger, a tall, dark-skinned man who looked to be in his early twenties. Even though it was midnight, he wore a dark baseball cap pulled low, casting a thick shadow over his face and hiding his eyes. The stare was intense, making my skin itch with discomfort. I looked down, self-consciously checking my clothes, feeling incredibly exposed. When I finally saw Mom walking toward me in the distance, I summoned the courage to look back up, ready to glare at the creep. But he was gone. We finished our food and walked back to the car. Mom’s car was a white crossover, decorated with cute steering wheel covers and dashboard trinkets. It was obviously a woman’s car. I had read online that predators specifically target female drivers. Normally, I loved those little personal touches, but in that moment, I wanted to rip them all off and throw them out the window. Mom started the engine. At the exact same second, the headlights of a black Volkswagen parked nearby flickered to life. An icy knot twisted in my stomach. I felt a terrible, instinctual certainty that the car was waiting for us. I glanced through their windshield, but I couldn’t see the driver’s face. The man kept his head down, wearing a dark baseball cap. The exact same cap as the man from the fast-food joint. The car heater was running, but goosebumps erupted across my arms. As Mom pulled out of the parking lot, the black car rolled out of its spot and slotted in behind us. And it had stayed there ever since. Looking at the dashboard, I saw Mom was holding a steady sixty-five, and she was still accelerating. No, this was too fast. My pulse raced in sync with the roaring engine. The road was flanked by thick stands of pine trees. If a deer or a person jumped out, any swerve would flip us into a ditch. My palms were slick with sweat. But I didn’t tell her to slow down. The terror of being hunted had taken over, and I wanted what she wanted. Only twenty-five miles left. We had to keep moving, as fast as we could. Once we reached Dad, we would be safe. But as Mom accelerated, the black car didn’t just keep pace. It began to flash its high beams aggressively. 3 At first, it was just two quick flashes. When Mom didn’t react, the high beams began to strobe relentlessly. The sudden, blinding glare reflected off our mirrors, searing Mom’s eyes. She threw up a hand to shield her face, and the car veered slightly. Still, she didn’t dare slow down. The flashes became faster, almost frantic. The black car surged forward, closing the gap until it was practically riding our bumper. At its closest point, the glare illuminated the driver’s profile, his jaw clenched, muscles tense under his baseball cap. He was too close. Panicking, Mom jerked the steering wheel to the left, crossing into the oncoming lane and slowing down, desperate to let him pass. But we were driving against traffic now. It was suicide. Mom knew how dangerous it was, her face slick with sweat that dripped down her neck. She tried to swing back into our lane, but the black car refused to give her space. It stayed parallel, matching her speed, flashing its lights, trapping us in the wrong lane. We were trapped on the wrong side of a blind, two-lane road. Mom’s voice shook violently. “Addie, call the police! Now!” “He’s crazy! He’s out of his mind!” I had wanted to call earlier, but before this, the car had just been driving behind us. I didn’t think the dispatcher would take a tailgating car seriously. But this was different. He was forcing us to drive head-on into potential traffic. If another car came over a hill, we would collide at highway speeds. On this narrow road, there was nowhere to dodge. He had to know this. This wasn’t just harassment. It was murder. Why did he want to kill us? What did we do to him? Sweat poured down my forehead. I forced myself to take a ragged breath, trying to steady my trembling hands as I grabbed my phone. Just then, a faint, distant blare of a horn echoed through the trees. But there were no headlights ahead. What was that? In a fraction of a second, I realized the danger. The road ahead dipped sharply into a blind intersection at the bottom of a hill. The horn was a warning from a driver coming from the side road, letting others know they were pulling out. I looked to my right. The black car was right beside us now. The driver had rolled down his window, wildly waving his arm, gesturing at us. What was his problem? Suddenly, the black car slammed on its brakes. It dropped back, disappearing from my side window instantly. I screamed at the top of my lungs, “Mom! There’s a car! Get over!” A pair of massive high beams burst over the crest of the hill, and the silhouette of a heavy pickup truck materialized right in front of us. I squeezed my eyes shut, shielding my face, bracing for the impact. The car lurched violently, tossing us side to side like a toy boat in a storm. In that split second, I heard my dad’s voice screaming in my head, crying over our mangled bodies in a burning wreck. The sound of his grief was so low, so raw, and so real that it felt like he was standing right next to my ear. But the crash never came. Suddenly, the violent swaying stopped, replaced by the smooth, steady motion of the road. I opened my eyes. The blinding high beams of the truck were gone. Beside me, Mom was staring wide-eyed at the road, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. We were back in our lane. In the moment I screamed, Mom had realized there was a blind intersection at the bottom of the dip. A truck had been turning onto the road. Because of the terrible visibility and the trees, the driver had honked to warn anyone coming. It was the move of an experienced local driver. And he had no idea that his horn had just saved our lives. A sob tore from my throat, and tears streamed down my face. Mom’s hand shook as she reached over to touch my hair, her voice trembling. “It’s okay, Addie. It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you. I’m going to protect you.” Her hand was ice-cold, but her shirt was completely soaked with sweat. I couldn’t begin to comprehend the sheer terror she must have felt in the driver’s seat, staring down a head-on collision. If she hadn’t swerved back in time, we would be dead. My gaze drifted to the rearview mirror, filled with a sudden surge of anger. Through the pitch-black night, a pair of headlights reappeared. The black car accelerated, quietly resuming its position behind us. The flashing had stopped. The driver’s window was still down, and his arm was extended, waving at us, his cap poking out slightly. But I still couldn’t see his face. What did he want from us? Anger and the lingering adrenaline of near-death mixed into a toxic cocktail. The GPS showed we were twenty-five miles from home. Crying, I picked up the phone that had slipped into my lap and dialed 911. We had a dashcam. Once we got to safety, I was going to make sure this lunatic ended up behind bars. The call connected on the second ring. Relief washed over me. I opened my mouth to speak. Suddenly, a freezing chill touched my neck. Out of the darkness of the backseat, a hand shot forward, clamping down hard over my mouth. A cold, razor-sharp blade pressed firmly against my carotid artery. A wet, raspy voice whispered directly into my ear, sounding like it had crawled straight out of a grave. “Shh. Don’t make a sound.”

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1 Because of my scars, my brother and my fiancé forbade me from ever taking off my veil. Every stunning profile shot the media managed to capture of the mysterious pianist was attributed to my sister. Everyone believed she was the prodigy, the genius behind the alias Luna. But tonight, I decided to finally take off my veil at the awards ceremony and reveal my true self. My brother blocked my path. “Darcy, can you just let your sister accept the award for you? She doesn’t have much time left. Her only wish in this life is to stand in the spotlight just once.” A cold chill settled in my chest. This was the fifth year in a row he had used that exact excuse. I turned to look at my fiancé, hoping for some support. Instead, he frowned. “What? You’re not willing to do this for her?” “Kelly’s illness is so severe. Why can’t you just make her dream come true? You can always explain the truth to the public later.” He handed me a small jewelry box. “Actually, I was planning to propose to you tonight. If you let your sister have her moment, this ring is yours.” “Darcy, don’t be so selfish.” My lips twitched into a bitter smile. I held the tiny, pathetic diamond ring in my palm, remembering the drawer I had accidentally opened in my sister’s room two days ago. Inside was a ring identical in design, but ten times the size. I took a step back. This time, I was done giving things up. Hank raised his voice in front of all the backstage staff. “Darcy, say that again?” I met his gaze. “I said, I’m going up there to accept my award myself.” Hank took a step forward, towering over me. His finger practically brushed the tip of my nose. “Your sister has one final wish, and you won’t even give her that? Darcy, do you have a single shred of decency left in you?” Kelly rose slowly from her makeup chair. She wore a champagne-colored silk gown, her long hair pinned up in an elegant, intricate bun. She looked like she had spent hours preparing for this very stage. She dabbed her eyes with a lace handkerchief. “Hank, don’t press her,” she said softly. “It’s just my bad luck. I shouldn’t have expected so much from life anyway. We all have to leave this world with some regrets.” Her head dropped, her shoulders trembling with quiet, delicate sobs. Hank’s eyes welled with tears of pity. He pulled her into a tight, protective embrace. “Don’t talk like that! You are not going to die. I’ll find you the best doctors in the world. I’ll take you wherever you want to go, and if you want to stand on that stage, I will make sure you do!” He glared back at me, his eyes full of cold authority. “Darcy, you’re young. You’ll have plenty of chances to win awards in the future. Does this single night really matter to you? Your sister doesn’t have that luxury.” Does this single night really matter? I had heard that exact line for five long years. Last year, I fell in love with an antique necklace at an auction. Kelly saw it and said she liked it too. Without a second thought, Hank took it and clasped it around Kelly’s neck. “Darcy, you look beautiful in anything. Let your sister have this one. She’s sick and depressed, let’s just make her happy.” When our parents passed away and left me their house, Kelly casually mentioned she wanted to live there. Hank took my keys and handed them to her on the spot. “Darcy, Kelly’s health is fragile. Living in the old house makes it easier to get to the hospital. Just let her have it. Does it really matter where you sleep?” For years, every time I yielded, Kelly’s illness would miraculously improve for a couple of days. Then, it would take a sudden turn for the worse, repeating the cycle until my next sacrifice. It was an endless, exhausting drain, squeezing every drop of life out of me. “Darcy!” Another voice cut through the air. Jared, my fiancé, stormed over and grabbed my wrist. “Have you lost your mind?” His grip was so tight my bones ached. “I am perfectly sane,” I replied, staring him down. “Look in a mirror! Have you forgotten what you look like?” He scoffed. “Who else could ever stand looking at a face like yours? If you go out on that stage, are you accepting an award, or are you just trying to humiliate both of us?” I froze. He called me ugly. He called me an embarrassment. But who was the reason my face was scarred in the first place? 2 Ten years ago, on a sweltering summer afternoon, Jared took me out to the countryside to paint. We stood on a crumbling, abandoned stone bridge. He was busy capturing the scenery, while I watched from his side. The bridge had been neglected for decades. Suddenly, the stone beneath his feet gave way, and he began to slip backward over the edge. Without thinking, I lunged forward and shoved him toward safety. He tumbled onto the grass, scraping nothing but his knees. I plunged into the jagged ravine below. A rusted iron rod tore through my left cheek, ripping the flesh open from my cheekbone down to my jaw. Blood soaked the earth. The surgeon had to use thirty-seven stitches to put my face back together. After that day, a hideous, jagged scar became a permanent fixture on my left cheek. Jared had knelt by my hospital bed, weeping, swearing he would love me forever, that he would never care about my scars, and that he owed me his life. But promises fade. Human hearts rot. I stared at him, unable to believe my ears. “Jared, you’re using my face to hurt me?” A flicker of guilt crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by his usual, patronizing coldness. “I’m only looking out for you. The internet will tear you to pieces. You’ll be crying before the night is over. Darcy, try to have some self-awareness.” I trembled, my eyes burning with unshed tears. I forced them back. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out the velvet box, popped it open, and looked at the cheap, pathetic ring inside. The diamond was so small and poorly cut it resembled a piece of broken glass. I laughed softly, tossing the box back into his chest. “Think whatever you want,” I said. “I don’t want to marry you anymore anyway. And tonight, I am going up on that stage to claim my own award.” I turned on my heel. Jared lunged, grabbing my arm and pulling me back so hard I nearly lost my balance. “What the hell is wrong with you? There’s a limit to how much of a tantrum you can throw!” I sneered at him. “Jared, tell me the truth. Did you actually buy this ring for me? Or did you buy a real one for Kelly and just toss me the free gift?” His face stiffened. The ring was indeed laughably tiny. Two days ago, I had found an identical box in Kelly’s vanity. But the diamond in her drawer was ten times the size of mine. At the time, I found it strange. But later, I saw an advertisement for that exact jewelry store. The Collector’s Edition. Limited to one piece worldwide. Value: Eight million dollars. Limited to one piece. That meant the eight-million-dollar ring was sitting in Kelly’s drawer, while the scrap of glass in my hand was likely nothing more than a complimentary token. Exposed, Jared’s expression turned defensive, but he quickly assumed his usual high-and-mighty posture. “What are you talking about? I just thought your features were… a bit delicate, too understated to carry such a massive stone. It would look out of place on you. I didn’t mean it as an insult. Delicate is a compliment. Stop acting up. If you really want a big one, I’ll buy you one later.” He dismissed it so easily. Of course he would. He was rich enough to throw money around without a care. Last year, when Kelly claimed she was having trouble breathing, he spent fifty million dollars to charter a private jet and fly in a world-renowned team of respiratory specialists. The doctors spent three days running tests only to conclude there was no physical issue, suggesting she simply needed rest. Fifty million dollars, gone in the blink of an eye. The year before that, Kelly wanted to see the Northern Lights. He leased a private jet and flew her halfway across the globe. When they returned, Kelly claimed she was exhausted and her condition had worsened, prompting him to spend tens of millions more on consultants. Again, they found nothing. Over the years, he had poured over a hundred million dollars into Kelly’s endless whims. But for me, he couldn’t even buy a proper engagement ring. Seeing my stubborn refusal, Kelly chimed in from behind, her voice dripping with artificial distress. “Darcy, please don’t be mad at Hank and Jared. It’s all my fault. I’ll tell them right now that I don’t feel well and won’t go on stage. Jared… my chest feels so tight… I think it’s happening again…” Frantic footsteps scrambled behind me. The steps leading to the main stage were right in front of me. I lifted my foot to take the first step— Suddenly, a rush of cold, viscous liquid poured over the back of my head. It drenched my collar, trickled down my neck, and soaked my entire back. The sharp, chemical stench of red paint filled my nose, clinging thick and heavy to my skin. I froze. Hank stood behind me, holding an empty paint bucket. “Hank?” My voice was choked, barely a whisper. “Now you don’t have time to go on stage, do you?” Hank’s eyes reflected my pale, paint-streaked face. “Just let Kelly take your place. The credit is still yours, and since Kelly is beautiful, everyone will praise Luna as a goddess. Even if you explain the truth later, the public will only admire you for being such a loving, supportive sister.” He patted my shoulder gently. “I’m older than you, Darcy. I’ve walked more roads than you’ve eaten grains of salt. Stop being so stubborn. Listen to your brother and go change your clothes.” 3 I couldn’t understand when my brother had become such a monster. When we were kids, he had climbed over a tall brick wall just to get me a candied apple, scraping his knee raw in the process. I remember crying and asking him, “Does it hurt, Hank?” He hadn’t shed a single tear. He just pressed the sweet treat into my hands and grinned. “Not at all. As long as Darcy is happy, it doesn’t hurt.” Later, to buy me a birthday present—a giant, expensive teddy bear—he worked grueling shifts at a construction site, hauling drywall until his hands were covered in bloody blisters. He never complained. Now, a stage manager wearing a headset ran over. Seeing me drenched in red paint, he stopped dead in his tracks. “Miss Darcy? What happened to you? Thank goodness we still have time. The awards ceremony has been delayed by an hour due to a technical glitch. Let me find you a spare dress to change into.” He turned to fetch a dress, but a heavy hand gripped his shoulder. Jared had walked up, his face dark with fury. “Who told you to interfere?” Jared grabbed the manager by the collar, pulling him so hard the veins on the man’s neck bulged. “Mr. Jared, I… I was just trying to help Miss Darcy. Her dress is ruined.” “Go to HR and collect your final paycheck. You’re fired,” Jared said, pointing toward the exit. “Now get out of my hotel.” This venue belonged to one of Jared’s luxury hotels. Here, his word was law. The stage manager realized there was no point in arguing. His lips trembled, but he slowly took off his vest, bowed his head, and walked away. Before he walked out the door, he turned back to look at me. There was no anger in his eyes—only a deep, sorrowful pity. I clenched my fists. “Jared, you fired an innocent man just to coddle Kelly? This is his livelihood! He has a family to support!” Before Jared could snap back, Kelly pressed a hand to her forehead, groaning softly. “Please, don’t fight because of me. I really don’t feel well. I don’t want to go up there anymore. Darcy, let me take you back to the dressing room so we can clean you up and rest.” As if possessed, I followed her into the private suite. “Take a seat, Darcy.” I remained standing. Kelly walked over to the vanity, picking up a bottle of expensive perfume and casually spritzing it. Her movements were smooth and graceful, showing none of the weakness she had feigned moments ago. “Darcy, stop fighting it. We’re only doing what’s best for you, aren’t we?” She stopped in front of me, reaching out a hand as if to touch my scarred cheek. I flinched away. “Kelly, they’ve favored you for years. Why do you have to steal the only thing I have left?” Her hand hovered in the air before slowly dropping back to her side. The sweet smile on her face flickered for a brief second, then returned, sharper this time. “Because I hate you.” Before the words fully left her mouth, she suddenly stumbled backward, throwing herself to the floor. With a dull thud, she crashed onto the carpet, clutching her knee and letting out a piercing, agonized shriek. Before I could even process what she was doing, the door to the dressing room was thrown open. 4 Jared and Hank rushed in. Seeing Kelly sprawled on the floor, their faces twisted in panic. “Kelly!” “What happened? Are you okay?” Kelly clung to Jared’s chest, her tears flowing freely. “It was my fault… I lost my balance and tripped… It has nothing to do with Darcy…” Despite her words, her fingers gripped Jared’s sleeve so hard her knuckles turned white, her body shivering like a leaf in a storm. Jared looked up at me, his eyes burning with venom. “Darcy, have you lost your mind? Your sister is incredibly sick, and you pushed her?” “I didn’t touch her.” “I saw it with my own eyes!” Hank roared. “You were standing right next to her! Who else could have pushed her?” One wiped her tears, while the other patted her back. It was a pathetic, rehearsed drama they had performed a thousand times. “Darcy,” Hank said, picking Kelly up in his arms, his eyes filled with pure disgust. “Heaven knew how ugly your soul was, and that’s why it gave you such a hideous face.” Jared supported Kelly’s other side, murmuring softly to soothe her. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. Everything is going to be fine. If you don’t get better, I won’t even think about marriage. I’ll put my wedding with Darcy on hold. Don’t worry about it.” Kelly offered a tearful, delicate smile, her voice soft as silk. “Don’t say that, Jared. Darcy will be heartbroken.” “Then you need to get well quickly,” Jared said, squeezing her hand. “I can’t have my wedding without my beautiful maid of honor.” Their voices drifted down the corridor. Under the harsh hallway lights, their three shadows stretched and merged into one, looking like a perfect, exclusive family. I stood alone in the empty dressing room, staring at my reflection. The sticky red paint was drying on my hair, my veil, and my dress. I looked like a stray dog drenched in blood. The scar on my left cheek stood out prominently, looking like a jagged, red centipede crawling across my skin. Just then, there was a soft knock on the door. A junior staff member walked in, carrying a fresh dress. “Miss Darcy… it’s time for you to go on stage. Let me take you to the washroom to clean up first.” I wiped my face and followed him. He led me down one corridor after another, turning into increasingly isolated, dimly lit wings of the building. The crowds vanished. I stopped walking. “Where are you taking me?” The staff member turned around, his face tight with guilt. “I’m so sorry, Miss Darcy. Mr. Jared ordered that this door remain locked until the ceremony is completely over.” He pushed open an unmarked wooden door, revealing a dusty utility closet packed with old sound equipment, discarded backdrops, and cardboard boxes. “Please wait here. It won’t be long.” With a heavy click, the door locked from the outside. 5 I sat on a dusty box, my knees pressed against my chest, staring blankly at a small monitor mounted on the wall. It was a backup screen connected to the security feed of the main stage. The lights dimmed, and the host took the microphone. Under the dazzling spotlight, to the sound of thunderous applause, Kelly walked out onto the stage. She wore my dress. She wore my veil. With effortless grace, she accepted the crystal trophy, bowing elegantly to the crowd. The moment she unveiled her face, a collective gasp echoed through the auditorium. “My God, she’s gorgeous!” “An absolute angel!” “No wonder she kept her face hidden. What a waste to keep that beauty in the dark!” “We love you, Luna!” They chanted my name, but they cheered for her face. I felt as though every drop of blood had been drained from my body. I slumped to the cold floor, entirely hollow. The ceremony wrapped up quickly. Wiping the tears from my face, a sudden realization struck me—I couldn’t just sit here and take this. I reached into my pocket. My phone was still there. I opened my social media app, logged into the official account that had millions of followers, and began to type: My name is Darcy. The person who just accepted the award was my sister, not me. I am currently locked in a backstage utility room, and this was all planned by— Before I could hit post, the door was thrown open. Hank charged in, snatching the phone straight out of my hands. He stared at the draft, his face turning an angry shade of purple. “What do you think you’re doing? Are you trying to ruin your sister?” “I am taking back what belongs to me!” I screamed, utterly hysterical. “Hank, you can’t just steal my life and hand it to her!” “I never said you couldn’t clarify things later!” Hank bellowed back. “But you have to wait! If you post this now, the entire world will tear her apart! She can’t handle that kind of stress! She’ll die, Darcy! How can you be so heartless to your own sick sister?” “What about me?” my voice cracked. “I’m locked in a closet like trash! Does anyone care about me?” Hank scoffed. “Can’t you just wait a little while? You’ve waited years, what’s a few more weeks?” “I’m not waiting another second,” I said coldly. He let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Fine.” “If you insist on posting this, Jared and I will both go public and call you a liar and an impostor. Who do you think the world will believe?” My vision blurred, the room spinning around me. My own brother was willing to commit perjury just to destroy my reputation and protect her lie. Jared stepped into the room behind him, looking thoroughly annoyed. He took the trophy from Kelly, who had slipped in behind them, and tossed it carelessly at my feet like a piece of garbage. “Isn’t this what you wanted anyway? Now you have it. What more do you want?” “If you want to throw a fit, do it here. We’re going out to celebrate.” The door slammed shut, and the utility room plunged back into darkness. I don’t know how much time passed before an elderly cleaning lady opened the door with a master key to clear out some trash. Seeing me sitting on the floor, she gasped in horror. “Oh, child! What on earth happened to you?” My eyelashes fluttered, heavy with dried paint. “Could I borrow your phone, please?” Without hesitation, she handed it over. I opened a travel app and booked the very next flight to Europe. The moment the booking was confirmed, a single tear fell onto the screen, smudging the digital ticket. I thanked her, using the wall to pull myself up. “Wait, dear.” The cleaning lady stopped near the corner, bending down to pick up the crystal trophy. She wiped the dust off with her rag and looked up. “Is this yours? Don’t leave it behind.” My name was engraved on the base. The gold letters glinted under the dim hallway light. I stared at it. “I don’t want it anymore.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “530549”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Transmigrated into the body of a ridiculously wealthy heiress, my billionaire mother sent me out to collect rent. Miguel had just finished a brutal underground boxing match. He was covered in bruises. “Money is a little tight right now. Can you give me a two-month grace period?” I shot down the request without blinking. “No way. If you don’t have the rent by tonight, pack your bags.” The man turned around in silence and walked into his room to pack. Right on cue, a mechanical voice chimed in my head. “System online. Host, your mission is to conquer him.” Miguel was a professional boxer. According to the plot, he was destined to win countless gold belts and become a legend. Right now, he was just at rock bottom. I closed the front door behind me, walked up to him, and casually poked his rock-hard abs. I offered him a wicked smile. “How about you pay off your rent with yourself?” 1 “Your lease expires today. If you want to renew, you need to pay next year’s rent upfront.” I pulled up the payment link on my phone and held it up to Miguel. “Oh, and my mom said the rent is going up by ten percent. That makes it forty thousand dollars for the year. You can just scan this.” Miguel was a pro boxer who had literally just stepped out of the ring. Judging by the fresh purple bruises blooming across his ribs, he had lost. His face was battered, a split lip and a bruised cheekbone, but none of it managed to dull his rugged, heart-stopping good looks. He pulled a bottle of ice water from the fridge and casually pressed it against his bruised jaw. “Money is a little tight right now. Can you give me a two-month grace period?” Two months? That was way too long. Two or three days, maybe. But asking for two whole months right out of the gate? I shut him down instantly. “No way. If you don’t have the rent by tonight, pack your bags. We have a waitlist of people dying to move into this building.” Miguel grabbed another bottle of water and handed it to me. “One month, then?” Standing at six-foot-three, he loomed over me, radiating a dark, overwhelming presence. He was wearing a skin-tight athletic shirt that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Every carved inch of his chest and abs was practically demanding attention. I couldn’t help but wonder what all that muscle felt like. Suddenly, my mouth went completely dry. I twisted the cap of my water bottle, trying to look unbothered. “No. The best I can do is let you pay half a year upfront. You can pay the rest next month.” Before I even finished my sentence, Miguel took the bottle from my hands. I had been struggling to open it. I thought he was going to snap at me. Instead, he effortlessly twisted the cap off, handed it back, and said in a low voice, “I’ll go pack my bags. I’ll be out by tonight.” He turned and walked toward his bedroom. Wow. He really was broke. Are boxers really this poor? He couldn’t even scrape together rent money? Or maybe he was just going through a really rough patch? The System’s voice suddenly echoed in my mind. “Please initiate the conquest of this target, Host.” “Pfft.” I choked on the water I had just taken a sip of, nearly spitting it all over the floor. 2 Three months ago, I woke up inside a steamy romance novel as a filthy rich heiress. The package deal included this so-called Conquest System. This was the very first mission it had ever given me. A shiver ran down my spine. “He looks a little too intense. I don’t think I can handle a guy like that.” The System let out a sleazy, robotic chuckle. “Oh, once you get a taste, you’ll be begging for more. Trust me.” Miguel walked out of his room and headed to the balcony to gather his laundry. He was holding a pair of boxer briefs in his hand. As he walked past the living room, he stopped and looked at me. “Why are you still here?” The System chimed in again. “Scanning target. Measurements confirm he is packing an XL. You are in for a treat, Host.” The tips of my ears burned bright red. What the hell did XL mean? Nope. I was playing dumb. I absolutely refused to be corrupted by an AI. The System wasn’t done. “New directive. Please go poke his chest.” Excuse me? You can’t just walk up and poke a guy’s chest like he’s a piece of meat on display. What if he got mad and snapped my neck? But before my brain could process the danger, my body was already moving. I stood up from the sofa and walked right up to him. I reached out a single finger and pressed it against Miguel’s chest. Wow. Solid as a rock. I kind of wanted to do it again. Miguel froze. A faint flush crept up his neck and tipped his ears. He looked at me like I was an alien species he had never encountered before. “What exactly are you doing?” Before I could come up with a lie, the System issued another order. “Directive updated. Now poke his abs.” I had no explanation for poking his chest. Now I had to poke his abs? I was going to die today. Swallowing my pride, I reached lower, trailing my finger over the ridged muscles of his stomach. I looked up at him through my lashes and flashed a wicked, sultry smile. “How about you pay off your rent with yourself?” Miguel’s eyes darkened instantly. His voice dropped an octave, turning rough and gravelly. “What did you just say? Repeat that.” 3 The System was practically cheering. “The more times you conquer the target tonight, the higher your rewards will be. Good luck, Host.” I swallowed hard, letting the adrenaline take over. “I said, you can use yourself to pay the rent.” “You said money was tight, right? Say yes, and you won’t have to pack your bags tonight.” “One time equals one month of rent.” “How many months you want to pay off is entirely up to you.” That last sentence came out as barely a whisper. But Miguel heard every single word. His gaze swept over me, dark, predatory, and burning with a sudden, intense heat. “Are you sure about this?” I nodded slowly. “Yeah. I’m sure.” In the blink of an eye, he scooped me up by the waist and dropped me onto the plush sofa behind us. His large, calloused hands gripped my waist. He leaned down, his voice thick with meaning. “It’s not too late to back out.” I forced myself to hold his gaze. “I’m not backing out.” Without breaking eye contact, Miguel grabbed the hem of his athletic shirt and pulled it over his head. Up close, his physique was nothing short of a masterpiece. Before I could even take it all in, his mouth crashed down on mine, hungry and desperate. A drop of hot sweat rolled off his sharp jawline and landed perfectly on my collarbone. Like a storm tearing through a quiet town, he kissed the heat right off my skin, leaving me trembling. Every nerve in my body was buzzing. His voice was a husky, intoxicating rasp against my ear. “I need a shower. Care to join me?” The System yelled in my head. “Host, say yes.” My cheeks were on fire. I looked up at him, my voice completely soft and ruined. “The tiles are slippery. You’ll have to carry me.” 4 The bathroom was thick with steam, clouding the mirrors and making my eyes glisten like a siren drawing a sailor to the rocks. Miguel was like a man who had been wandering in a desert for years, finally stumbling upon a lush oasis. And true to his profession, his stamina was absolutely terrifying. By the time he carried me out of the bathroom, I just wanted to curl up in the corner of the sofa and pass out. He pressed a lingering kiss to my lips, coaxing me awake. “Don’t fall asleep yet.” I stretched like a lazy cat. “That was two months of rent right there. We’re good.” Miguel knelt over me on the sofa, a raging wildfire burning in his dark eyes. “Two months isn’t nearly enough.” I was speechless. “By the way,” he whispered, trailing kisses down my neck, “I still don’t know your name.” “Hazel. Hazel Harrington.” The night was intoxicating. A warm breeze drifted in from the balcony, rustling the blooming wild roses he kept in a pot by the railing. The next morning, I stumbled out of Miguel’s apartment. He had left for the gym at the crack of dawn. His energy levels were insane. The System booted up immediately. “Congratulations, Host. Target successfully conquered last night. Please claim your rewards.” “Reward: Lost three pounds. Applied.” “Reward: Skin brightened by one shade. Applied.” “Reward: Beauty stat increased by ten. Applied.” “Reward: Charm stat increased by ten. Applied.” “Reward: Cup size increased by one. Applied.” “Reward: Physical flexibility increased by ten. Applied.” “Reward: Bank balance increased by $77,777. Transferred.” Listening to that rapid-fire list of perks sent a rush of pure dopamine to my brain. Honestly, the money and the looks were great, but as a professional dancer, that plus-ten flexibility stat was gold. I could pull off routines I hadn’t even dared to try before. The System snickered. “Hehe, you can definitely pull off a lot of high-difficulty positions now.” I ignored the dirty joke. If these were the rewards, I was fully on board for more missions. The second I got into my car, my mom’s name flashed on the screen. “Hazel, honey,” she said cheerfully. “How did the rent collection go?” I did a quick mental tally. “Got almost everyone. Just one unit left.” My mom didn’t miss a beat. “Beverly Grove, Building 1, Unit 1101, right? Perfect. Someone just offered double the asking price for that place. Tell the current tenant he has two days to pack up and leave.” My mind flashed back to the steamy night on the sofa, and my face heated up instantly. “Mom, no. We can’t kick him out. He’s pre-paid for at least seven months.” My mom was confused. “Seven months? I thought his rent was completely overdue.” I spotted Miguel walking out of the building, heading straight for my car in the parking lot. I panicked and rushed to get off the line. “Mom, something just came up. I’ll call you back later.” I hung up just as Miguel stepped up to the driver’s side window. He looked like he had something to say. “Everything okay?” I rolled the window down. He held up a small tube of medical ointment. Without a word, he opened the door, effortlessly picked me up from the driver’s seat, and deposited me into the spacious backseat. “You got scraped. Let me put this on for you.” 5 Last night in the bathroom, my lower back had accidentally slammed into the sharp edge of the marble sink. It was just a minor scrape, nothing serious. But sitting in the cramped backseat brought back vivid memories of being pressed against his crowded sofa. I cleared my throat and looked away. “You really need to wash those sofa cushions.” He hummed in agreement. “Yeah. Need to change the bedsheets, too.” My face felt like it was on fire. I pressed my face into a plush throw pillow and refused to look at him. Miguel gently lifted the hem of my shirt. His breathing hitched slightly. “You’re so delicate. Your skin bruises if I even breathe on it.” I buried my face deeper into the pillow. “Stop talking.” He squeezed some of the cooling gel onto his fingertips and carefully massaged it into the scraped skin on my lower back. “Were you serious last night? Seven months of free rent?” He was being incredibly gentle, but the moment the medicine touched the broken skin, it stung. I hissed in pain. “I was serious,” I mumbled. A satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of Miguel’s mouth. He gently rolled me over so I was facing him. I caught his gaze slowly dropping lower. I immediately pulled the throw pillow to my chest to cover myself. “That’s enough. Get out of my car.” He chuckled, letting it slide. He pulled out his phone and handed it to me. “Give me your number. I have a fight coming up. You should come watch.” “Fine.” I typed my number in and handed it back. 6 When I got home, I collapsed onto the living room sofa. The housekeeper immediately brought out a plate of freshly cut fruit. My mom walked down from the second floor, looking deeply stressed. “Hazel, I just got off the phone with the police. Dexter broke out of prison. You need to be incredibly careful when you go out. I’m terrified he’s going to come after us.” My mom owned a ridiculous amount of real estate, and a lot of the properties were rented out. Dexter used to be one of our tenants. He was a man with a violent, twisted mind. According to the original plot of the book, three years ago, I went to his apartment to collect rent. When I stood outside his door, the hallway reeked of copper and blood. His shirt was stained crimson. When I stared at it, he offered a chilling smile. “Just butchering some chickens in the kitchen. Want to come in and take a look?” “Is your wife home?” I had asked, leaning slightly to peek inside. The place felt empty. “She went to the grocery store to buy some soy sauce. She’ll be back any minute. Why don’t you stay for lunch?” Dexter had swung the door wide open, his eyes gleaming with something terrifying. Every instinct in my body screamed that something was horribly wrong. “No, I’m good. My mom is waiting for me for lunch. Gotta go.” I practically sprinted down the hallway. When I got home, the sickening dread wouldn’t go away, so I called the cops. When the police busted down Dexter’s door, he had already finished dismembering his wife and was boiling her bones on the stove. He was sentenced to a decade in prison, and he blamed me entirely. As they dragged him away, he screamed that the day he got out, he would hunt me down. A chill ran down my spine. “He actually broke out? That’s insane.” My mom was trembling. “Cancel your dance performance next week. I won’t be able to sleep if you’re out in public like that.” My actual career was as a professional dancer. In two weeks, I was scheduled to perform as the lead backup dancer for pop idol Tedd’s solo arena tour. Tedd and I went to the same university. Getting a gig like this was a huge career milestone, and I absolutely refused to breach the contract. Besides, Dexter was a fugitive on the run. The entire police force was hunting him. He was probably scrambling to survive. Coming after me right now would be suicidal. Still, better safe than sorry. An image of Miguel’s massive, imposing frame flashed in my mind. My eyes lit up. “Mom, what if I just hire a bodyguard?” My mom instantly looked relieved. “That’s brilliant. Actually, one isn’t enough. Hire four. I’ll wire the money to your account right now.” 7 A few days later, I texted Miguel. [What are you up to? Busy?] He must have been training because it took him half an hour to reply. [Just finished a round on the heavy bag. Want to come over?] [Send me the address. I’m on my way.] I needed to see just how good he actually was. If he had the skills to back up all that muscle, I was going to hire him to keep me safe. Miguel sent me the location for Apex Gym. When I pulled up and walked into the training area, Miguel was in the middle of a brutal sparring session with another fighter. The other guy was Jax, a former regional champion who had retired and opened this gym to work as a coach. I stood by the ropes, watching quietly. Miguel caught sight of me out of the corner of his eye, and it was like someone flipped a switch. His intensity skyrocketed. Within three rounds, he delivered a devastating hook that sent Jax crashing to the mat. I clapped softly, genuinely impressed. He really is that good. The System sounded smug. “Of course he is. Miguel is destined to win every major title in the sport. His legacy will dwarf Jax’s. Why do you think I picked him for you?” So he really was a future world champion. Then he was definitely overqualified to be my bodyguard. I grabbed a fresh bottle of water and walked over to hand it to him. Jax picked himself up from the mat, wiped the sweat from his brow, and looked at me. “Your girlfriend?” “Yeah,” Miguel nodded smoothly. He grabbed my hand and led me toward the locker rooms. 8 Inside the private locker room, Miguel grabbed a towel and started wiping the sweat off his chest. I couldn’t help but stare. The man was a walking work of art. I forced my brain to reboot. “Since when did I agree to be your girlfriend?” Miguel stepped into my personal space, his voice a low, magnetic hum. “Do you want to be? When I win the championship belts and all that prize money, you can have it all.” Well, that was direct. I was just here for a good time, and he was already talking about handing over his life savings? I cleared my throat, shifting gears. “Alright, let’s be serious. I came here today for a reason.” His expression hardened instantly, slipping into a cold, professional mask. “What is it?” “I want to hire you as my personal bodyguard. Name your price.” “I’m a fighter, not a security guard.” He paused, his dark eyes trailing over my face. “But if it’s for you, I’ll do it.” Before I could ask about his rate, he added, “And I don’t want your money. You’re letting me live rent-free, right? Consider this returning the favor.” Wow. A free, world-class bodyguard. I hit the jackpot. “Take a seat. I need to take a quick shower and change. Then I’m taking you to dinner.” I was just about to nod when the System crashed my thoughts. “New mission. Ask Miguel to teach you self-defense.” I replied internally, Sure, makes sense. The System added, “And he has to teach you inside the shower.” My jaw almost hit the floor. Are you kidding me? Of all the places to learn martial arts, you want me to do it in a slippery, cramped glass box? This System was completely unhinged. I argued back. What’s the reward for this? “For every move you master, your Defense stat increases by ten. No limit.” With a literal serial killer on the loose, a higher defense stat could be the difference between life and death. Even if Miguel was my bodyguard, he still had training. He couldn’t physically be glued to my side twenty-four-seven. If push came to shove, I needed to be able to protect myself. Screw it. I’m doing it. I grabbed Miguel’s hand before he could walk away and pointed toward the row of showers. “Can you teach me some self-defense right now?” 9 “Sure.” Miguel led me straight into the furthest shower stall and locked the door behind us. It was his idea of situational training—teaching me how to break free if an attacker cornered me in a tight, inescapable space. Miguel stood behind me, wrapping his massive arms around my waist to simulate being grabbed from behind. “What have you been eating? Papaya and cream?” he muttered, his voice rough. “Your waist is so soft. If I squeezed too hard, I’d break you in half.” “What kind of lotion do you use? Your skin is flawless.” He was supposed to be playing the bad guy, but his whispered commentary was doing terrible things to my heart rate. After showing me the hold, he walked me through the escape. Following his exact instructions, I spun around and threw an elbow right into his ribs. He hissed, genuinely startled by the impact. Learning actual self-defense was no joke. Miguel walked me through multiple scenarios. He was incredibly patient, and I focused intensely on every single movement. Half an hour later, there was a heavy knock on the locker room door. Jax’s voice echoed through the room. “Miguel, I gotta head out early. Lock up the gym for me, will you?” The gym was officially closed. The other fighters had already cleared out. I held my breath in the damp shower stall. Miguel didn’t miss a beat. “Got it.” We heard Jax’s heavy footsteps fade away down the hall. The lesson continued. By the time I had mastered every move he showed me, I was drenched in sweat and completely exhausted. After a quick rinse, Miguel wrapped me tightly in a massive, fluffy towel. “Don’t catch a cold. Let’s go get some food.” I offered a tired smile. “Okay.” By the time we walked out of the dark, empty gym hand-in-hand, the sun had completely set. The System buzzed happily. “Congratulations, Host. Mission accomplished. Please claim your rewards.” “Defense stat +10. Applied.” “Defense stat +10. Applied.” A total of twenty defense points. Not bad at all. I felt significantly safer walking out into the night. 10 Miguel took me out for a massive steak dinner. Once we were completely stuffed, he drove me back to my sprawling estate. Standing right by the front gates, he pulled me in, demanding a kiss. I went up on my tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. I tried to pull away, but his arm snaked around my waist, pulling me flush against him. What followed was a deep, breathless, soul-stealing kiss. By the time I finally stumbled inside, my mom was practically waiting by the door. “Hazel, who was that stunning man dropping you off? A new boyfriend? Why on earth didn’t you invite him inside?” She saw everything. I scrambled for an excuse. “That’s the new bodyguard I hired.” “Oh… just a bodyguard.” My mom sounded visibly disappointed. She tried a different angle. “Well, since you’re single, how about I set you up on some blind dates?” “No thanks,” I waved her off, practically running for the private elevator. “Mom, I’m exhausted. Going to bed. You should sleep too.” Between the intense training and the non-stop “conquering” of Miguel, my legs felt like jelly. The last thing I wanted was a blind date. I face-planted into bed and slept like the dead. I slept so hard I completely missed the string of late-night texts Miguel fired off. [Are you asleep?] [I can’t sleep.] [Thinking about you.] [Every time I close my eyes, you’re right there.] [You looked incredible today. Completely intoxicating.] [I can’t get enough of you.] [What time are you leaving tomorrow? I’m coming to pick you up.] He even sent a short video of himself casually wiping sweat off his abs. When I opened it the next morning, I almost dropped my phone. The chest. The V-line. It was a masterpiece. The System chimed in, munching on digital popcorn. “Oh, he has got it bad for you.” I picked up my phone and silently watched the video three more times. After showering and picking out an outfit, I headed downstairs for breakfast. To my shock, Miguel was already sitting in our opulent living room. He was wearing a sharp, tailored black suit and dark sunglasses, looking like something out of a James Bond movie. With his broad shoulders and towering height, the suit made him look incredibly elegant, distant, and intimidatingly professional. But it was all a facade. Only I knew how wild and feral the man beneath the tailored wool really was. My mom was beaming at him. “Hazel, I just had the loveliest chat with Mr. Sinclair here. Knowing he’s looking after you makes me feel so much better. I told him he can keep his apartment rent-free permanently. I’m taking it off the market.” “Great.” I nodded, grabbing a piece of toast. After breakfast, Miguel drove me to the Downtown Studio for rehearsals. He didn’t have training today, so he was on full-time bodyguard duty. While I danced, he sat quietly in the corner, his dark eyes tracking my every move. When practice wrapped, I walked over, panting, and took the water bottle he held out for me. His eyes were blazing as his large hand settled casually on my waist. “Hazel, it makes sense now. You’re a dancer. That’s why you’re so unbelievably flexible.” The System had absolutely zero chill. “Location: Dance Studio. Prop: Wall-length mirror. Action: Conquer. Reward: Defense points. Do we have an understanding, Host?” Yeah. I understood perfectly. Over the next few weeks, my Defense stat rocketed from 20 to 80. But a gnawing anxiety was building in my chest. I couldn’t shake the creeping sensation that eyes were watching me from the shadows. 11 Before I knew it, it was the night of Tedd’s massive arena tour. I was scheduled to lead the opening number and perform a solo during the grand finale. After wrapping up the explosive opening act, I had a brutal two-hour wait in my private dressing room. Miguel had been my shadow all day. As soon as the opening act ended, I practically sprinted back to my room. I was wearing a gorgeous, glittering mermaid-style gown, but I needed to change out of it for the intermission. I stepped behind the velvet privacy curtain to unzip it, but I couldn’t reach the clasp between my shoulder blades. I pulled the curtain back just a fraction and peeked out. I curled a finger at Miguel. “Hey. Come help me with this zipper.” Miguel had been slouching in a leather armchair. He stood up instantly and closed the distance. He stepped up behind me. He was a full head taller. He rested his chin softly on the top of my head, and his arms wrapped securely around my waist. His dark eyes met mine in the reflection of the vanity mirror. The air in the tiny space crackled with electricity. He lowered his head, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Hazel, you are an absolute vision.” The stubble on his jaw tickled my neck. I squirmed slightly in his grip. “Funny you say that. The solo I’m performing tonight is literally titled ‘The Vision.’” Miguel’s voice dropped to a dangerous rasp. “Stop moving. If you keep grinding against me, I can’t guarantee I’m going to behave.” I stood perfectly still, a smirk playing on my lips. “Just unzip the dress. I need to change.” “Right.” The zipper slid down, exposing the smooth, pale skin of my back to his burning gaze. The sight of it shattered whatever restraint he had left. “I’m going to go find some ice water.” Miguel gritted his teeth, tearing his eyes away and turning to leave the changing area. The System screeched. “Emergency Mission: Perform a private dance for Miguel in this dressing room.” My eyes widened. What? Right here? Behind the curtain? There was barely enough room to spin, let alone do an actual routine. While I hesitated, the System added, “The reward tonight is a massive Defense boost. You are going to need it, Host. If you fail this mission, you will regret it for the rest of your life.” The sinister warning made my blood run cold. Was the System trying to tell me I was going to be attacked tonight? My Defense stat was sitting at 80. I just needed 20 more points to max it out. Now was not the time to play it safe. I grabbed Miguel’s wrist before he could pull the curtain aside. “Wait. Don’t go.” Miguel turned back, his eyes dark and heavy with unspoken desire. “What? I thought you were changing.” I went up on my tiptoes, pressing my lips dangerously close to his ear. “Do you want to see me dance?” Before the words even left my mouth, a massive, scalding-hot hand gripped my waist. “Yes.” 12 “The Vision” was a highly emotional, sensual contemporary piece designed to be performed alongside Tedd playing a grand piano. The entire premise of the routine required the dancer to use every ounce of her allure to tempt and seduce Tedd while he played. Tedd was the biggest pop star in the country. His brand was built on being the cool, untouchable prince. The choreography was supposed to show him remaining completely unfazed while a breathtaking siren tried to break his focus. The small velvet loveseat in the changing area became the piano. Miguel sat down heavily on the cushions. I pulled out my phone and hit play on the instrumental track. Miguel reached up and loosened his black silk tie, his eyes locked onto my body as I began to move. Every beat, every sway of my hips, every agonizingly slow body roll felt like I was plucking the strings of his sanity. As the music swelled to a climax, the cold, composed bodyguard persona completely shattered. His eyes were practically black. “You’re going to go out there and do this right in front of Tedd?” I nodded slowly, still holding a pose. “Yeah.” He let out a low, rough breath. “I’m going to lose my mind with jealousy. You’re going to have to make it up to me.” “I will,” I whispered, closing the distance and throwing everything I had into keeping him happy. It worked flawlessly. I lost track of time. Suddenly, the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. Panic seized me. I threw myself into Miguel’s arms, my voice trembling. “Someone’s coming.” “Relax. Why are you shaking?” Miguel’s lips curled into an arrogant smirk. How was I supposed to relax? The heavy dressing room door swung open, and Tedd’s voice filled the room. “Hazel? Are you in here?” The velvet curtain of the changing area didn’t touch the floor. There was a two-inch gap at the bottom. If he looked closely, he would see four feet instead of two. My heart hammered against my ribs. I forced my voice to sound casual, though it shook slightly. “I’m changing! Do you need something?” “You dropped an earring during the opening number. One of the stagehands found it. I figured I’d bring it to you before I have to go back on.” Tedd’s footsteps moved closer to the velvet curtain.

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1 On the hundred and eighth time Garrett asked for a divorce, I was reborn. His exhausted voice drifted to my ears: “There is nothing left between us. Dragging this out is only draining both of us.” In my past life, I was consumed by bitter denial, clinging desperately to my title as his wife. It was not until his illegitimate child was born, and I threw a massive, screaming scene, that he had me locked away in a psychiatric ward. Only when I was on my deathbed did he deign to see me one last time. “If I had known you were this unhinged, I would never have married you.” So in this life, what obsession could possibly be worth more than my own survival? “She is pregnant,” Garrett said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can have anything you want, except my last name. If we can’t settle this today, we can talk next time. We’ll keep talking until you are ready to…” I cut him off. “No need to wait for the hundred and ninth time. I agree to the divorce.” The moment the words left my mouth, Garrett’s eyelashes fluttered. He sat across from me, wearing that same weary, long-suffering expression. It was as if I had been the one throwing endless, unreasonable tantrums for the past three years, while he was the saint who patiently endured me. Now, he finally had the answer he wanted. “I am glad you have finally come to your senses.” He gave a slight nod, a trace of relief slipping into his tone that even he didn’t seem to notice. Then, he pulled a set of papers from his briefcase and slid them across the table to me. “Three properties, twelve percent of the company’s shares, the Maybach, and forty million in cash. Take a look. Let me know if you want to add anything.” He spoke with effortless fluidness, as if he had rehearsed this pitch a thousand times. His tone was sincere, carrying a patronizing touch of: I am doing this for your own good. I looked down at the contract and felt a sudden, bitter urge to laugh. I knew that what he had secretly given to my adopted sister, Audrey, was worth far more than this pittance. Without a word, I picked up the pen and signed my name. Garrett watched me finish. A strange, unreadable emotion flickered in his eyes. The news traveled fast. By that afternoon, my social media feed had absolutely exploded. Isabella finally came to her senses. Garrett is finally free. They should have divorced ages ago. Why drag him down for so long? Someone even texted the group chat: Garrett, let’s get drinks tonight. Time to celebrate. His friends were raising their glasses, cheering because he was finally rid of that suffocating woman. I scrolled through the messages one by one. I felt no rage, not even sadness. Seven years of marriage, reduced by outsiders to a single word: liberation. Nobody thought to ask me: Does it hurt? My phone vibrated. It was my close friend, Beth. She asked in a tentative, cautious voice, “Isabella, are you really letting him go?” I leaned against the window, watching the bleak, gray sky. “What choice do I have? Some people cannot be kept, no matter how tightly you hold on.” She fell silent for a few seconds before letting out a soft sigh. “I guess this is it then.” “Yeah, this is it.” I hung up, opened my gallery, and began deleting Garrett’s photos one by one. Our marriage certificate photo: he had a faint, polite smile, while I looked incredibly foolish and ecstatic. Our honeymoon by the ocean: his arm wrapped tightly around my waist as the wind whipped my hair. Our anniversary dinner: him cutting my steak while I secretly snapped a picture of his sharp profile. The last photo: our wedding day, him gently adjusting my veil. The sunlight streamed through the stained glass of the church, bathing his face in a warm, gentle glow. My finger hovered over the screen for a long, quiet second before I pressed delete. Seven years of memories, erased in three seconds. I closed my eyes, but my mind betrayed me, flooding with memories of my past life. When I found out Audrey’s child was born, I had gripped the metal rails of her hospital bed, screaming and weeping, asking why she had stolen my husband. Security guards had slammed me to the floor. With my cheek pressed against the freezing tile, I heard Garrett’s voice from above: “Send her to the asylum. I have had enough of this.” He didn’t even look back. I screamed, I wept, I begged, but nobody listened. Right before I drew my last breath, he finally visited. He stood by my bedside, wearing the dark gray wool coat I had bought for him, looking as handsome as ever. Looking at my emaciated, unrecognizable body, his final words to me were: “If I had known you were this unhinged, I would never have married you.” I opened my eyes. Night had fallen outside. In this life, I will never let myself end up like that again. I will make them pay for every drop of blood they took from me. 2 The next day, I went back to our penthouse to pack my things. I pushed the door open to find Audrey lounging on the living room sofa, cradling a maternity pillow. She was wearing Garrett’s oversized cashmere cardigan. Her hair fell loosely around her shoulders, and her face was painted with complete smugness. Seeing me, she smirked and stood up slowly, deliberately flaunting her six-month-pregnant belly as she swayed toward me. “You’re finally here, Isabella. I thought you weren’t even going to bother packing your things. I already sorted through everything for you. Have a look and see what you want to take.” Her voice was soft and sweet, like honey laced with arsenic. As she brushed past me, she lowered her voice to a venomous whisper. “This place is massive. The baby and I are living so comfortably here. Oh, by the way, I replaced the bed in the master bedroom. The old one; Garrett and I felt it brought bad luck.” Every word was a calculated stab. She spoke with the same familiar tone I had used when I first welcomed her into my home. Audrey was my adopted sister, raised in my household since childhood. My parents had treated her even better than they treated me. After I married, I felt terrible about her living alone, so I offered to let her stay with us in our new home. I had held her hand and told Garrett, “This is my sister. You must treat her well.” He had smiled and promised he would. And what did he do? She wound up in my bed wearing my nightgown, with my husband sleeping right beside her. I stared at Audrey’s round stomach, and flashes of my previous life crossed my mind. It was after this child was born that Garrett lost the last of his patience. Bound to a metal frame in the asylum, I had heard that Garrett had transferred all his assets to this newborn son. I couldn’t even cry. Pure hatred surged through me like molten lava. My nails dug deep into my palms, drawing blood. I wanted to rip her lying face to shreds and force her to suffer the exact agony she had inflicted on me. But I couldn’t. I hadn’t been given a second chance just to end up locked in a padded cell again. I drew a deep breath and began packing with an emotionless expression. There wasn’t much: a few clothes, some books, and an old picture frame. That was the entirety of my seven-year marriage. Seeing my utter lack of reaction, Audrey grew agitated. “Why aren’t you saying anything, Isabella? Is your heart breaking?” I looked up, the corners of my mouth curving into a chilling smile. “Audrey, what do you expect me to say? Should I congratulate you?” She froze. “You can have this house,” I continued. “I hope you enjoy living in my shadow.” I grabbed my suitcase and walked out. Before leaving, I glanced subtly toward a hidden corner of the study. Tucked away was a wireless spy camera I had installed the very day I signed the divorce papers. In my last life, I lost because I had no evidence. In this life, I will calculate every single move. That night, Garrett met me to sign the final financial addendum. He glanced at the papers I handed over and remarked, “Isabella, you’ve gotten a lot more sensible.” I set my pen down and looked him in the eye. “Garrett, you think this is me being sensible?” His hand hovered over his coffee cup. “Don’t play the victim,” I continued. “Sleeping with your wife’s adopted sister isn’t exactly going to look great if word gets out, is it?” His brow furrowed, but he kept his temper in check. I knew he wouldn’t lash out over a little sarcasm. Right now, his greatest fear was me making a public scene. He needed me to walk away quietly and gracefully. He needed the world to believe our divorce was an amicable split due to irreconcilable differences, rather than him knocking up my sister. I had read him perfectly. You see, I knew him inside and out. But he never truly knew me. Just as I was about to leave after signing, Audrey suddenly walked in. She clutched her belly, her voice thick with tears. “Garrett, the baby keeps kicking. It hurts so much…” Garrett slammed his coffee cup down and rushed to her side. He wrapped one arm around her waist while gently placing his other hand on her stomach, his voice melting into an incredibly tender tone. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’m right here.” The raw anxiety and tenderness on his face was something I had rarely seen in our seven years of marriage. Standing in the foyer, watching the display, a laugh bubbled up in my chest. How pathetic. This man treated me like a lunatic, yet offered his absolute gentleness to her. And he didn’t even suspect that the child she carried wasn’t even his. I pushed the door open, letting the cold night wind rush past me. Garrett’s voice drifted from behind: “Get home safe.” Why bother acting like you care now? 3 The next morning, I went to my design studio. The lock had been pried open. The interior was completely trashed. My hand-drawn sketches were shredded and scattered across the floor, my equipment smashed, and the wall defaced with bold red spray paint: WHORE, GET OUT. Those designs had taken me three grueling months to prepare for next month’s exhibition. Now, they were ruined. Before I could process the devastation, I heard the neighbors whispering nearby. “Did you hear? Isabella finally agreed to the divorce.” “Garrett is such a nice guy, Isabella must have done something awful to make him leave.” A wave of dizziness hit me. How incredibly familiar. It was exactly like my previous life. To shield Audrey, Garrett had spread rumors that I was mentally unstable, calling me a delusional stalker who refused to let him go. Back then, I had torn away their polite facade, storming into his corporate headquarters to expose their dirty secrets. And what happened? Everyone labeled me a psychopath. Garrett seized the opportunity, signing the commitment papers while I was screaming at the hospital. The medical report read: Paranoid Personality Disorder. Inpatient treatment recommended. Signed by Garrett. Shaking off the ghosts of my past, I marched directly up to the whispering neighbors. “You call me a mistress. Tell me, who exactly is my lover?” Startled by my sudden appearance, they stammered and looked away, unable to answer. Right then, Audrey appeared at the far end of the hallway. She glided over, her face wearing that familiar, innocent smirk. “Isabella, as for who your lover is, only you would know that.” Her eyes gleamed with absolute triumph. I looked at her with a deadpan stare. “Out of everyone standing here, only one of us is an actual homewrecker. Care to take a guess who?” Audrey’s smug grin vanished, her face turning pale. The onlookers gasped, murmuring among themselves. At that moment, Garrett rushed into the hallway. He stepped protectively in front of Audrey, glaring at me. “Isabella, the divorce is finalized. Stop targeting Audrey.” I stared back. “So you admit you are the ones behind these rumors?” He didn’t deny it, nor did he confirm it. He simply said, “You’ve crossed a line.” “I’ve crossed a line?” I turned my gaze to Audrey. “Tell me, Audrey, have I ever mistreated you? Since we were children, did I ever deny you anything? I paid for your college tuition. I got you your job. I welcomed you into my home. And this is how you repay me? By sleeping with my husband?” Audrey bit her lip, her eyes pooling with tears as she played the helpless victim. I turned back to Garrett, letting every syllable sink in. “You destroy my life behind closed doors, then play the savior in public. You are the most repulsive creature on this earth.” Garrett’s eyes turned icy. Yet, his calm, patronizing demeanor remained intact. “Isabella, you’re being hysterical. Calm down before you make things even uglier.” That was him: always composed, always protecting his image. I stood tall, speaking with cold precision. “Garrett, if you think this is crossing the line, then buckle up. I am going to show you what crossing the line actually means.” I had returned from the dead to save myself and watch them burn, not to be their punching bag. I spun around and walked out, leaving behind Audrey’s quiet whimpers and Garrett’s soft whispers: “Shh, don’t cry, sweetie. It’s bad for the baby.” I quickened my pace, never looking back. 4 I didn’t expect them to move so quickly. A handful of gossip bloggers were live-streaming outside my apartment, pointing their phone cameras at my front door. Someone had dumped trash bags, splashed red paint across my doorstep, and spray-painted HOMEWRECKER across the wall. Standing a short distance away, the sheer absurdity of the scene washed over me. The betrayed wife was being publicly branded a homewrecker, while the actual mistress slept peacefully in my ex-husband’s bed. I pulled out my phone and texted Garrett: Who dumped the trash at my door? No reply. Ten minutes later, a bank notification popped up. A wire transfer with a brief note: Compensation. I stared the sum and laughed. Compensation, again. He always thought money could resolve any crisis, as if my humiliation could be swept under the rug with a wire transfer. I vividly recalled the first time he sent me “compensation.” It was the day I found Audrey’s lace underwear at the foot of our bed. I had returned early from a business trip, opened our bedroom door, and saw her bra lying right there. Garrett had just stepped out of the bathroom, his hair still wet. When I demanded an explanation, his face didn’t even twitch. “It’s exactly what it looks like,” he had said. I screamed, threw things, and broke down like a madwoman, demanding to know why. He remained entirely silent. Finally, he transferred a large sum to my account and said, “We can divorce.” But why? Why did I have to be cast aside when this was my home too? He stared at me for a long time before saying, “Isabella, given your colorful past, I was the only man willing to look past it and marry you.” The room had fallen into a heavy, agonizing silence. That was the first time he used my trauma to stab me. The incident in college wasn’t my fault, yet in his mouth, it became the reason I wasn’t worthy of him. He apologized later, claiming he spoke in anger. But I knew better. It wasn’t an outburst; it was his truth. He had never actually accepted me. Coming back to the present, I stared at the transaction on my screen. I didn’t accept the money. Instead, I took a screenshot and saved it. Every single cent of his compensation was a paper trail. Then, I forwarded the screenshot directly to Audrey. The very next morning, a vicious rumor exploded online: Isabella’s premarital affairs exposed. My name, my photos, and the trauma I had buried deep inside were splashed across gossip blogs and video essays. I couldn’t believe Garrett had shared my deepest wounds with her. What was I to him? A conversational piece? A token to please his new lover? I stared at the flood of vile comments. Why? Why did the wrongdoers get to strut around like royalty while the victim was hunted down? Why did Garrett and Audrey get to walk away unscathed, while I was stripped bare for public amusement? My phone buzzed. It was Beth. Isabella, I have all the files. I replied: Perfect. Another notification popped up on my screen: In three days, Garrett and Audrey will host their engagement gala at the InterContinental Hotel downtown. I made a call. “Get me an invitation to the grand ballroom at the InterContinental.” Three days later, dressed in a sleek, floor-length black dress, I walked through the grand entrance of the ballroom. Audrey clung to Garrett’s arm in a white trailing gown, smiling as if the entire world owed her its blessings. I pulled out my phone and started a live stream. “Hello, everyone. I am Isabella.” I walked toward the stage, my heels clicking sharply against the polished marble floor. Garrett finally spotted me, his pupils contracting instantly. “Today, I’m taking you all on a live tour of my ex-husband and my adopted sister’s engagement gala.”

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1 When I divorced, I walked away with absolutely nothing just to secure sole custody of my daughter. To give her a decent life, I worked myself to the bone. I never imagined she would turn on me for a deadbeat. Even less did I expect her to conspire with him to paralyze me, strip me of my wealth, and eventually kill me. But now, granted a second chance at life, I decided to give her the exact freedom she begged for. … “Just because your own marriage was a failure, you want to ruin mine too?” I opened my eyes to the sight of my daughter, Amber, violently smashing my favorite clay teapot onto the hardwood floor. Her eyes were bloodshot, staring at me with a pure, unadulterated venom that made her look more like a mortal enemy than my child. A sharp fragment of the clay sliced across my shin, leaving a thin crimson trail. I stared at the bleeding cut, utterly dazed. How was this possible? Just a second ago, I was in a hospice room, watching this love-blind girl rip the oxygen tube from my face. How was I suddenly back in my own living room? Seeing my silence, Amber’s rage only intensified. Vicious words poured from her mouth. “No wonder Dad left you! You deserved it! You deserve to grow old and die alone! Nobody could ever love a monster like you!” Just as in my memory, she grabbed a glass mug from the coffee table and hurled it down. The shattering sound was incredibly sharp and real. I had actually traveled back in time. Perhaps even the heavens thought my previous death was too pathetic, granting me a chance to rewrite my fate. This time, I would not walk down the same path of self-destruction. I looked up at Amber, the child I carried for nine months and cherished above my own life. Years ago, when her father cheated on me, I sacrificed every penny of our marital assets just to keep her. In return, she plotted with a parasite to ruin me, ultimately pushing me into an early grave. The sheer coldness of it shivered through my bones. In this timeline, I had locked her inside the house to stop her from moving in with Jared. That was why she was throwing this tantrum. In my past life, I had refused to let her go. She had grabbed a wooden chair, struck me over the head until I blacked out, and fled. If the neighbors hadn’t found me in time, I would have bled out right there. This time, I was going to hand her the freedom she craved. I pinched the bridge of my nose and said coldly, “Quiet, Amber. Let me ask you one last time. Are you absolutely determined to be with Jared? Even knowing he is a lazy fraud, a parasite who only wants you for your family money, you still want him?” She shrieked in response. “He is not like that! You are just a bitter, hateful woman who projects her own misery onto everyone else! I am going to be with him! If you try to stop me, I’ll end my life right in front of you!” In my previous life, that threat had terrified me. I had begged her, pleaded with her to see the truth, but she only spat in my face. “Fine. This is the absolute end of the line, Amber. If you walk out that door with him, you are willing to cut all ties with me?” A spark of excitement flashed in her eyes, almost disturbingly bright. “Yes! I don’t want a suffocating, controlling mother anyway! Let me go, and whatever happens to me from now on has absolutely nothing to do with you!” My heart had already died in my previous life. Hearing these words again brought nothing but a numb silence. “Very well. Go. From this day forward, you are no longer my daughter. I believe you already drafted the termination of parental rights agreement? Hand it over. I’ll sign it right now.” In my past life, after spending two days in the hospital, I had returned to find a blood-stained agreement lying on the floor where I had collapsed, already signed by Amber. Hearing my words, Amber snatched the document from her bag and shoved it into my hands. “Sign it! Hurry up!” It was a standard dual-copy agreement. I signed my name without a single second of hesitation. “Go on then. Chase your happily ever after. You got what you wanted, Amber. You no longer have a mother.” “As if I care. I still have my dad.” 2 After she slammed the door, I sat on the couch for a long time, slowly digesting the reality of my rebirth. Over the next few days, I put the house on the market. Since it was in a prime neighborhood, it sold quickly at a fair price. I moved into a smaller apartment close to my company. I had originally bought that apartment as a graduation gift for Amber, intending to hand it over to her along with a share of the company stock once she finished college. She still had six months until graduation, but she had officially forfeited her right to any of it. Three months later, the security guard from my old building called me. He said Amber was throwing a massive tantrum at the front gate, screaming that it was her home and demanding that I come down to explain myself. I told the guard simply, “I do not have a daughter.” A video of Amber’s scene was posted online. She looked thinner than when she left, and her long hair had been chopped into a messy bob. Seeing her like that dragged up memories from my past life. Around this exact time in my previous life, she had run back to me wearing those same clothes, sporting that same hairstyle. She had thrown herself onto my couch, sobbing that Jared was mistreating her. “He refuses to work! He pawned my designer bags and clothes! He even hit me and forbade me from calling you! I had to sneak out! Mom, I was so wrong! I promise I’ll listen to you from now on!” My heart had broken for her. I had held her close, cried with her, and immediately wired her fifteen thousand dollars to buy new clothes and get back on her feet. But the moment the money hit her account, she vanished again. I had panicked, thinking she had been kidnapped. I searched the entire city, calling her repeatedly, nearly dialing the police. Then a colleague called to say they spotted Amber at a high-end club. I drove through a torrential downpour to find her, only to open a private booth door and see her wrapped around Jared, kissing him passionately on a velvet sofa. Furious, I slapped Jared across the face and tried to drag Amber out, warning him to stay away from her. But Amber, seeing me strike her precious boyfriend, spun around and lunged at me. Her nails tore across my cheek, leaving three deep, bleeding gashes. She shoved me away and threw herself back into Jared’s arms, caressing his cheek with tearful eyes. “Jared, baby, are you okay? She is insane, just a crazy woman. Ignore her.” My blood had run cold. I had spent twenty-four hours without sleep searching for her, only to be branded a lunatic and physically assaulted by my own child for the sake of a deadbeat. Jared had smirked at me then, his eyes dripping with calculated malice. Yet, fool that I was, I still worried about her future. I practically begged her, “Amber, please come home with me. I only want what is best for you. This man will destroy you.” But she behaved as if she were under a spell, clinging to his neck and screaming at me. “You are so annoying! Get lost! Are you just jealous because I’m happy?” Dizzy with shock, I had stumbled back, barely keeping my footing. Jared had pulled her close, offering me a greasy smile. “Ma’am, Amber and I are deeply in love. Just let us be happy.” Unable to tear them apart, I had capitulated. Hoping Jared would at least treat her decently if he had a career, I gave him a job at my firm. Despite his lack of qualifications, I paid him a generous salary, hoping he would learn the ropes and eventually help Amber run the business. I had grossly underestimated the depth of human greed. In the video from the security guard, Amber was desperately trying to force her old key into the lock of my former home, sobbing at the top of her lungs. “Mom! Mom, open the door! It’s Amber! How could you change the locks? Have you abandoned me?” A neighbor passing by spoke up. “Amber, your mother sold this place weeks ago. Didn’t you know?” Amber shrieked, “Impossible! This is my house! She has no right to sell it!” I let out a cold laugh. Her house? I had worked eighteen-hour days, drank myself to stomach ulcers during client dinners, and collapsed in my office multiple times to afford that home. It had absolutely nothing to do with her. It was my property, and I could sell it whenever I pleased. Because she refused to leave, the new owner eventually called the police, and she was forced to slink away in embarrassment. I hired a private investigator to keep tabs on her. It turned out she went straight back to Jared. The investigator sent me a video clip, adding a brief note, “Ma’am, you raised a viper.” A viper indeed. If she had even a shred of decency, she wouldn’t be plotting with her boyfriend on how to bleed me dry. The video showed Amber returning to Jared’s dingy, single-room rental. It was a filthy space with a tiny bed and a peeling desk cluttered with greasy takeout boxes and empty beer cans. Amber kicked the side of the bed where Jared lay scrolling through his phone. “That old witch sold the house,” she muttered, clearly frustrated. “Her number is blocked too. Your plan isn’t working.” A flicker of annoyance crossed Jared’s face, quickly masked by greed. “Your mother is heartless. What kind of mother does that to her own child? That place was huge, it must have fetched millions.” Amber flopped onto the bed, resting her head on his shoulder. “Of course. It’s prime real estate. Easily three million.” The greed in Jared’s eyes became almost palpable. He wrapped his arm around her, his voice dripping with false warmth. “You poor little fool. Her money is supposed to be your money. Selling the place without your permission proves she doesn’t care about you at all. She probably has some guy on the side, maybe even had another kid. Amber, I’m the only one who actually looks out for you. You can’t let her walk all over you. That wealth belongs to you, you have to claim it.” “She’s just a bitter, menopausal old woman. No man would ever want her,” Amber scoffed. “My dad has the patience of a saint and even he couldn’t stand her. Her things are mine. When she dies, everything comes to me anyway.” Jared licked his lips, casually asking, “Your mom is only in her forties, right? By the time she dies, you’ll be an old lady yourself.” “Please,” Amber laughed. “She ruined her health giving birth to me, and then she practically drank her liver to death running that company. She won’t last long. Soon enough, her business, her money, her cars, they’ll all be ours.” She sighed with anticipation, as if visualizing a glorious future. “I honestly can’t wait for that day.” A chill crept down my spine. She had been wishing for my death all along. What a wonderful daughter I had raised. It was true that during my pregnancy, her father had been sleeping with my best friend. When I caught them, a physical altercation ensued, and he pushed me to the floor. The severe hemorrhaging nearly cost me my life. Though I survived to deliver Amber, my health was permanently damaged. To ensure my daughter grew up like a princess, I had worked myself to the bone, only to have her eagerly await my demise. I had still held a tiny sliver of hope in my heart, telling myself she was merely brainwashed by Jared. But no, she was inherently rotten. In the video, they began planning to corner me at my office. Their goal was simple: extort enough money to buy themselves a house. 3 The next morning, the receptionist called to inform me that Amber was downstairs making a scene. I had already instructed my staff that she was no longer associated with me, so no one was letting her up. I sent my assistant down to handle it, telling her to have security throw Amber out if she became too disruptive. Then, I quietly signed off on a charitable scholarship program. A few minutes later, my assistant rushed back into my office, pale and breathless. “Ma’am, Amber pulled out a pocket knife and slashed one of the guards across the arm. How should we proceed?” “Call the police,” I replied, my voice flat. “Do I really need to teach you how to handle a violent trespasser?” Startled by my coldness, the assistant didn’t ask further and immediately went to place the call. As the police escorted Amber out in handcuffs, she shrieked like a maniac. “I am Valerie’s daughter! This company is mine! Those guards are my employees! I can do whatever I want to them! Let go of me!” Fool. Because she was causing such a massive scene, I finally walked down to the lobby. She tried to lunge at me the moment she saw me, but the officers held her firmly. “Mom! Mom, save me! They’re trying to arrest me!” I looked at her as if she were a complete stranger. My gaze drifted to the plastic evidence bag containing the pocket knife. I remembered her conversation with Jared from the video. “I’ll bring a knife tomorrow. If she doesn’t give me the money, I’ll hold it to my throat and force her.” And Jared had fondly replied, “Smart girl.” “Mom, what are you standing there for? Tell them to let me go!” Amber demanded. I offered a polite, apologetic smile to the officers. “I am sorry for the trouble, officers. Please handle this strictly by the book. This girl signed an agreement severing our relationship weeks ago. Even if she were still my daughter, no one is above the law.” Amber panicked. When she panicked, she lost all filter, just like her father. “Valerie! You bitter old hag! You just hate seeing me happy! You’re trying to force me to crawl back to you! I would rather die than call you my mother! Even when you’re on your deathbed, I won’t come to see you!” Her venomous words no longer had any power over me. “Don’t worry,” I said softly. “You won’t have to.” Shortly after she was taken away, my private investigator sent a photograph. It showed Jared lurking in the shadows outside my building, recording a video of the arrest on his phone. I sneered. They were playing the exact same card as in my past life. Did they honestly think I would yield to public pressure this time? In my previous life, there had been no arrest, so there was no video. Instead, Amber had posted a fabricated sob story online along with a few carefully staged photos, accusing me of extreme maternal abuse. She had claimed that I controlled her entire life, from what she ate to what she wore, and that I denied her basic personal freedom even as an adult. She wrote that when she fell in love, I went into a psychotic rage, beat her, locked her in a room without food, and tried to force a breakup. She labeled me a monster, a lunatic, a woman unfit to be a mother. She declared that she hated me more than anyone on earth, and that she would have been infinitely happier living with her father. With a few pictures of self-inflicted bruises, she painted me as the ultimate villain. I couldn’t remember how viciously the internet had torn me apart back then. All I remembered was the crushing, suffocating pain in my chest when I read her words. I had genuinely believed she was being held hostage and coerced by Jared. So I had called her, begging to know if she was in danger. The moment the call connected, Jared snatched the phone. He told me that if I wanted my daughter back in one piece, I needed to wire him two million dollars. I hadn’t hesitated. As long as my daughter was safe, I would have given him everything. He warned me not to involve the police, threatening her life. Terrified for her safety, I kept transferring funds. Every time I heard her weeping on the phone, begging me to save her, my heart broke into a million pieces. Eventually, Jared demanded that I transfer the ownership of my company to his name before he would release her. I agreed, believing that as long as we were alive, we could always rebuild. I gathered the legal documents and went to meet Jared. Just as I was about to sign, I spotted Amber hiding behind a pillar. Blinded by maternal instinct, I hadn’t noticed how relaxed she looked. I ran to her, weeping, pulling her into my arms. “Amber, thank God you’re safe. Mommy is here.” She had shoved me away with a look of pure disgust. “You smell like sweat. Get away from me. Just sign the papers, we’re in a hurry.” I froze. “What?” Jared dropped his act, chuckling as he stepped forward. “Ma’am, Amber and I are getting married. You want her to be happy, don’t you? Sign the papers so we can go get our marriage license.” “Oh, and she’s pregnant,” he added. “If I don’t marry her, she’ll be a ruined woman.” I stared at Amber in utter disbelief. She patted her stomach, looking at me with immense impatience. “Just sign it. It’s all going to be mine eventually anyway. What’s the difference if you hand it over now?” I hadn’t signed. I took the papers and walked away, utterly shattered, her sharp, demanding voice ringing in my ears. My own daughter, cursing and blaming me for her own choices. It was a tragic joke. The morning after Amber’s arrest at my office, the familiar smear campaign made its debut online. The edited video of my cold response to the police went viral, accompanied by Amber’s sob story. She also posted photos of fresh cuts and bruises, claiming I had beaten her. I had never raised a hand against her. In reality, she was the one who had physically assaulted me several times for Jared’s sake. My investigator sent over another video. To make the photos look convincing, Jared had physically beaten Amber at her own request. This girl, pampered her entire life, had willingly let a man bruise her just to destroy her own mother. I began to wonder if there had been a mix-up at the hospital. How could a child of mine carry such deep, senseless malice? With my secret assistance behind the scenes, the scandal gained massive traction, topping the trending charts within three days. Amber and Jared even went on a local talk show, playing the role of tragic young lovers torn apart by an abusive, tyrannical matriarch. They wept on camera, begging for their freedom. “I couldn’t breathe in that house,” Amber sobbed to the interviewer. “She treated me like a possession, not a human being. I just want to escape her shadow and live my life with the man I love.” My office phone rang off the hook with angry callers. My well-trained staff remained calm, politely stating, “Please reserve your judgment. Valerie will address the matter publicly this afternoon.” Before the broadcast, I agreed to meet Amber and Jared one last time. I had unblocked her number specifically to receive this invitation. We met at the same quiet cafe from my previous life, choosing a secluded booth in the corner. The moment they arrived, they ordered nearly half the menu without a hint of courtesy. Amber didn’t even bother calling me Mom. “Valerie,” she said, leaning across the table. “I assume you’ve seen the news?” “I have,” I replied calmly. “And what is it you want?” “This scandal is tanking your company’s stock, isn’t it?” she sneered. “If you want us to take the videos down and clear your name, you do exactly what I say.” “Go on. I’m listening.” “First, wire ten million dollars to my account. Then, sign the company over to me. As for real estate, you can keep a small condo, but all your other properties must be transferred to my name.” Their greed had grown even larger than in my previous life. I looked at my own reflection in the darkened window, my eyes cold and dead. “And what else, Amber? What else do you want from me?” She turned to consult Jared. He nudged her, whispering urgently, “The cars! Demand the cars!” “And your cars,” Amber parroted. “All of them…” Jared interrupted, his voice hushed but demanding, “We agreed to split it down the middle! The cars go to you, but the house and the company go under my name!” I watched their frantic calculations, a silent sneer curling inside my chest. Amber hesitated for a moment, but Jared quickly smoothed it over, coaxing her. “We’re getting married anyway, baby. What’s mine is yours. Let’s just get the assets secured first.” Amber turned back to me. “The cars too. Don’t bother keeping them, you won’t be able to afford the maintenance anyway. I’m giving you twenty-four hours, Valerie. Have the paperwork ready by tomorrow, or things are going to get very ugly for you.” “Ugly? How so, Amber? Lest you forget, you forced me to sign a parental waiver. Your name has been legally removed from my household registry. In the eyes of the law, you are a stranger to me.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Who cares about being your daughter? I just want the assets.” “If you aren’t my daughter, what right do you have to demand my life’s work? Why should I give you a single cent?” Her face contorted, her voice rising to a screech. “Because it belongs to me! You should have handed it over years ago! When you die, it’s all mine anyway! If you don’t want to be utterly ruined online, you’ll hand it over. Trust me, I can make your life a living hell.” She leaned in, a malicious grin stretching across her face. “You wouldn’t want me to leak the real reason you and Dad divorced, would you? I know all about your disgusting past, Valerie.” I stood up, looking down at her with absolute detachment. “Let’s get a DNA test, Amber. I truly doubt you’re my flesh and blood. How can anyone be this vile?” She scoffed, entirely unbothered. “You brought this on yourself by withholding what is rightfully mine. I can ruin you, and I will.” I nodded slowly. “Understood. From this moment on, any remaining shred of affection I held for you is gone. I have no daughter.” I turned and walked away. She screamed after me, “You booked this table! Pay the bill!” I kept walking. People like her didn’t deserve a single dime of my money. I stepped into my waiting car and instructed the driver to take me directly to the studio of the city’s most influential media outlet. My assistant and investigator were already there waiting. I was ready for my live interview.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “530546”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The motion-sensor light outside the apartment I shared with my boyfriend, Mason, was always broken. After fixing it once or twice, he completely gave up on it. I told him, “Mason, I have night blindness. I literally can’t see in the dark.” He just looked annoyed. “Doesn’t your phone have a flashlight? Stop being so dramatic.” I didn’t tell him that for someone with severe night blindness, a tiny phone flashlight didn’t do much. Until today. I was fumbling in the pitch black, trying to get to our door, when I tripped over some clutter left in the hallway. I fell hard, scraping my knee so badly that the skin ripped open. When I looked closely, the clutter was an empty box for a light fixture. For a second, I felt a spark of hope. I thought Mason was finally going to fix our light. But then, the light in the opposite hallway flickered on. I instinctively looked up. Through the glass, I saw Mason clearly. He was in the opposite building, busy installing a brand-new light for his childhood best friend, Lilah. We had lived here for three years. I had tripped and fallen in this dark hallway seventy-two times, and he never cared. Yet, the light outside Lilah’s door was never allowed to go out because of him. Maybe the noise of my fall was too loud. My elderly neighbor, Mrs. Gable, opened her door and rushed over to help me. “Oh my god, sweetie! That’s a huge cut on your knee!” she said, her heart breaking for me as she helped me up. “Where is your boyfriend? Why isn’t he helping you?” I forced a smile and said, “We broke up.” I was moving back to my hometown next month. I wouldn’t have to walk in the dark anymore.

I stumbled into the apartment, turned on the lights, and pulled out the first-aid kit. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Mason on Snapchat. “You home yet? I’m not coming back for dinner tonight.” I looked out the window. Across the courtyard, I could see him cooking in Lilah’s kitchen. In our seven years together, he had always complained that cooking was too much trouble. He had never made a single meal for me. I snapped a picture of my bloody, torn knee and sent it to him. He replied with a meme of a guy giving a sarcastic thumbs-up. I let out a bitter laugh and closed the app. In our apartment building’s Snapchat group, neighbors were complaining again. “When is management going to fix the hallway lights? This is getting ridiculous.” While the landlord stayed silent, Lilah jumped in to play the savior. “Everyone, let’s be understanding. It’s not that hard to fix it ourselves. No need to make a big deal out of it.” Her comment immediately triggered another neighbor. “Lilah, of course you’d say that. You have a ‘bestie’ who fixes everything for you. Some of us have to pay handyman fees every single time. Do you know how expensive that is?” Other neighbors quickly chimed in, agreeing. Soon, Lilah posted a voice note. I tapped it. It was Mason’s voice. “Hey everyone, please don’t be mad. Lilah is just being sweet. I’ve always taken care of her, so she doesn’t really know how hard these things can be. I apologize on her behalf. I’m taking a day off tomorrow, and I’ll personally go door-to-door to fix everyone’s lights, okay?” I poured rubbing alcohol over my cut. The burning pain flared up, but it was nothing compared to the ache in my chest. Seven years ago, I had packed my bags and moved to New York just to be with Mason. Now, reality was breaking me into pieces. When we were looking for a place to buy as our future home, I had researched dozens of condos. I had filled a whole notebook with details. Mason had rejected every single one of them. In the end, he picked this complex. I had thought he chose it after careful consideration. It was only after we moved in that I found out the truth. He chose this place solely because Lilah had decided to rent an apartment here. The blood kept seeping through the bandage. The cheap ointment wasn’t enough. Helpless, I had to walk back down the dark stairs to go to the ER. When I got back from the hospital, I ran into Mason and Lilah at the entrance of our building. They were laughing, sharing some late-night takeout. Mason ran over to me, looking cheerful. “Hey, Chloe! Come eat with us. Lilah ordered way too much and can’t finish it. You can help her eat the rest.” I looked at the messy leftovers on the table and said flatly, “I just got back from the hospital. I can’t eat spicy food right now.” Mason seemed to finally notice my heavily bandaged knee. His expression didn’t change much. “Oh. Never mind then.” Lilah leaned in, looking concerned. “Oh my god, Chloe, that looks nasty. I can give you some of my first-aid supplies. Mason said I’m always clumsy, so he bought me a huge medical kit last week.” “No thanks,” I said. “I have my own.” In my seven years with Mason, I had learned to be completely independent. As I turned to walk away, I heard them bickering behind me. “You can barely take care of yourself, and you want to give away medicine?” Mason grumbled. “Don’t you know how dark it is outside my door? What if you trip?” “But I have you with me,” Lilah giggled. “Why would I be scared?” “Still, what if? Look at Chloe. She’s always so careful, and even she fell.” My heart sank. He knew exactly how dangerous the dark hallway was. He just didn’t care because the person falling was me. That night, Mason didn’t come home until 3:00 AM. In the past, no matter how late it was, I would always text him ahead of time. I would stand at the door with a flashlight, waiting for him, terrified he might trip. But this time, he called me repeatedly from downstairs, and I didn’t answer a single call.

The next morning, Mason blocked me at the bedroom door. “Were you mad at me last night?” he asked, looking defensive. “Lilah is my childhood friend. Is it really so bad that I help her out sometimes?” It wasn’t “sometimes.” He was at her beck and call, 24/7. I pushed past him and walked into the bathroom. He followed me. “Can you stop overthinking everything?” he complained. “Lilah is a girl, living so far away from home to work in New York. It’s really hard for her.” He forgot that I had also left my home and traveled thousands of miles for him. “Yeah, I get it,” I said quietly. Mason blinked, looking relieved, as if he had just gotten rid of a heavy burden. He reached out and patted my head. “That’s my girl. You’re getting so mature, Chloe.” As I was leaving the apartment, I ran into Lilah in the hallway. I noticed the designer bag on her shoulder. Instinctively, I pulled my cheap ten-dollar tote bag behind my back. Lilah smirked. “Cute bag, right? Mason got it for me last week. It’s a gift for our twenty-year friendship anniversary.” Last week was also my seventh anniversary with Mason. We had agreed not to exchange gifts and to put our money into our joint wedding savings account instead. Because I wanted us to have a future, I saved every penny I could, even skipping lunches, just to deposit money into that account. But when I checked the balance last week, I realized Mason hadn’t deposited a single dollar. Instead, he had used that card to buy several things for Lilah—including the five-thousand-dollar designer bag she was currently flaunting. I remembered Mason’s mom’s birthday party last year. Helen had looked at me with disgust. “Chloe, as Mason’s future fiancé, you really need to work on your image. You look so cheap. I honestly don’t know what Mason sees in you.” Then she had smiled at Lilah. “Look at Lilah. She dresses so elegantly. You can tell she has class.” Mason had sat there in silence the entire time, never uttering a single word to defend me. When I got off work that day, I went straight to a real estate agent. The agent was surprised to see me. “Chloe? I thought you bought that condo to be your dream wedding home. Why are you putting it on the market now?” “The prices are still going up,” the agent advised. “It’s a pity to sell it now.” I forced a smile. “There’s not going to be a wedding. I don’t need the place anymore.” The agent looked awkward and quickly changed the subject. “What about the custom interior design? You spent so much effort on it. Are you leaving all of it?” “Yes,” I said. “I don’t want any of it.” The orthopedic chair for his bad back, the cozy home theater room, the perfect mattress… I had custom-designed everything for Mason. It had cost me half a year’s salary. But now that the love was gone, those things felt completely worthless. By the time I got back to our rented apartment, it was already dark. I saw Mason walking out of the building. “Why are you so late?” he asked casually. Before I could answer, Lilah popped her head out from behind him. “Hey, Mason! You promised we’d walk together, and you’re leaving without me again?” Mason rubbed his arm where she had playfully smacked him, a huge grin on his face. “Hey, princess, you hate the heat and hate waiting. That’s why I went ahead to start the car and turn on the AC. It’s an hour-long drive. You’d melt otherwise.” A week ago, on our anniversary, I had asked him to take me to see the free fireworks show. It was a twenty-minute drive. He had refused, saying it was too crowded and hot. In the end, I sat alone in front of the TV watching the broadcast. The two of them kept flirting and joking around. It took them a while to remember I was even standing there. “Oh, Chloe,” Lilah said, using the tone of a housewife hosting a guest. “Don’t worry about the hallway light. I’ll have Mason fix it for you as soon as we get back from the concert.” “No need,” I said, walking past them. But Mason grabbed my wrist. “Wait for me at home tonight,” he said. “I have something to tell you. Walk carefully, okay? Don’t fall again.”

He said it so easily. But to someone with night blindness, climbing those dark stairs was a nightmare. In the dark, the stairs didn’t look like stairs. They felt like a bottomless abyss. The feeling of stepping into empty space, of falling without knowing when you’d hit the ground… only I knew how terrifying that was. I pulled my hand out of his grip and let out a quiet sigh. “I’ll try.” At midnight, I sent him a text. “Are you coming back tonight?” Instead of a reply from Mason, I got a photo sent from Lilah’s Snapchat. It was a photo taken from her bed. Mason was sleeping soundly beside her. “Chloe, Mason snores like a literal pig, omg hahaha.” “He worked so hard helping me get the VIP tickets today. He’s exhausted. If you have something to say, tell him tomorrow.” He hated crowds when it came to fireworks with me, but he didn’t mind them at all to get her VIP tickets. I stared at the screen and let out a cold laugh. Then, my phone rang. It was my mom. “Sweetie, when are our families finally meeting? You said it would be this month. It’s already the 31st.” Mason had forgotten. I had reminded him so many times, but he still forgot. My silence gave me away. “Is it canceled again?” Mom’s voice cracked. “What is he doing? Why does he keep dragging this out?” “I told you not to move so far away, but you wouldn’t listen. And now? You let them humiliate you over and over. Is my daughter not good enough? When you were in the hospital last time, my heart almost stopped.” Mom started crying, and my eyes welled up with tears too. To meet Mason’s parents, my mom had traveled to New York three times. The first time, Lilah had a stomachache. Mason and his parents immediately canceled the dinner to go take care of her. The second time, Lilah was participating in a jewelry design competition. Mason’s whole family went to support her. My mom and I waited at the restaurant for six hours, only to receive a text saying they couldn’t make it. The last time, Mason changed the time and location three times. I was frantically guiding my mom from one place to another. Terrified of being late again, I rushed across the street and got hit by a car. I broke three ribs and was rushed straight to the ER. My mom had called Mason dozens of times, but he never answered. The moment I woke up from surgery, I told him we were over. Mason had panicked. He swore to my mom that he would never let me suffer again. While I was hospitalized, he took a long leave of absence and stayed by my side 24/7. When I slept, he slept on a tiny cot next to my bed. When I ate, he fed me, peeled fruit for me, and only ate my leftovers after I was done. Sometimes in the middle of the night, I would wake up from the pain of him holding my hand too tightly. For a moment, it felt like we were back in the beginning. Back when his car only had one passenger seat, and it was always mine. Back when my friends envied me because Mason was the most attentive boyfriend in the world. Having witnessed my father’s infidelity as a child, Mason was the one who had slowly healed my trauma. He had filled the cracks in my heart, telling me he was different. But in the end, he was exactly the same. On the day I was discharged, I decided to give him one last test. “Why didn’t you answer my calls the day of the accident? And why did you keep changing the location of the dinner?” He avoided my eyes. “I was showing some clients around the city… I was running around, so I didn’t see my phone…” But the truth was, Lilah’s parents had come to New York for vacation that day. Mason had spent the entire day playing tour guide for them. Lilah had posted a photo on her Instagram of Mason carrying her parents’ heavy shopping bags. Her caption read: “Whenever I need you, you’re always there.” I didn’t call him out on his lie. But from that moment on, I began quietly preparing to leave. Now, it was time. “Mom,” I said over the phone. “You don’t need to come to New York anymore. I’m moving back home next week.” “What do you mean? You’re not getting married?” “No,” I said. “We’re done.” The next day, Mason and Lilah didn’t return until noon. Lilah walked in, kicked off her shoes, and put on the bunny slippers Mason had bought specially for her. Without even saying hello to me, she yawned and walked straight into my bedroom. She opened my closet and casually took out a brand-new silk pajama set. I had seen the packaging for those pajamas two days ago. Mason had told me it was a gift for his mother, so I hadn’t opened it. It turned out it was for Lilah. I frowned and looked at Mason. “What is this supposed to mean?” Mason lowered his voice. “Lilah wanted to—” Suddenly, Lilah shrieked from the bathroom.

Mason rushed in, panicked. Lilah, wearing the revealing silk pajamas, was pointing at a bottle of body wash and screaming at him. “Mason! You told me you didn’t care about my cheap stuff when you bought this for me, but you’ve been secretly using my body wash!” She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning her body heavily against him. Mason swallowed hard, his face turning bright red. I couldn’t stand to watch it anymore. I interrupted them. “Mason, did you buy that for her?” I had asked Mason for that specific body wash before. He had told me it was too expensive. When I saw it in our bathroom, I thought he had bought it for me. Mason’s awkward silence answered my question. I let out a sigh. “I was the one who used it.” Lilah let go of Mason, looking disappointed. “Oh. I thought it was this idiot. He’s been stealing my stuff since we were kids.” She turned to me with a fake smile. “It’s fine, Chloe. Just tell me next time. I don’t mind sharing things with you.” “Sharing.” She was talking about my home, yet I needed her permission. “Why did you bring her here today?” I asked, looking directly at Mason. Lilah cut in before he could speak, grinning. “Chloe, Mason’s mom gave us a rare gemstone. Aren’t you the winner of last year’s jewelry design championship? I’m going to stay here for a few days so you can help me design our couple rings.” “Please, Chloe! Helen’s birthday is next week, and she really wants to see us wearing them. We’re on a tight schedule. Just help us out, okay?” “You want me to design your couple rings?” I asked, a cold chill running down my spine. Mason rubbed his nose, looking guilty. “There’s one more thing, Chloe.” “My mom’s birthday gala this year is going to have a lot of famous designers. Lilah is entering the competition this year. Since you were last year’s champion, we were thinking… maybe you shouldn’t go to the gala this year? We don’t want you to steal Lilah’s spotlight.” “Don’t worry, my mom knows about this. She won’t blame you for not coming.” I let out a soft laugh. So this was the “important thing” he wanted to tell me last night. “You don’t want me to go so the two of you can announce your relationship to your family, right?” I asked coldly. Mason’s temper flared instantly. “Chloe! What the hell are you talking about?!” Lilah looked hurt, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Chloe, you’re really misunderstanding. Mason is just like a brother to me.” “Maybe I should just leave. I won’t stay here. I’ll figure out the rings myself.” Mason grabbed her arm and glared at me, raising his voice. “Chloe! You are being absolutely ridiculous!” “No wonder your mom is so bitter and single. You inherited her exact psycho personality. You’re impossible to love.” My heart physically ached. The wound he had once healed was ripped wide open by his own hands. He grabbed Lilah’s hand, shoved past me, and walked toward the door. “Come on, Lilah. Let’s go.” I took a deep breath, forcing my tears back. “Mason, let’s break up. For real this time.” He let out a dry, mocking laugh without even turning around. “Chloe, are you really using this cheap trick again to make me stay? I’m sick of your drama.” “I’m serious,” I said to his back. “I’ve already canceled the lease. Next week, I’m—” The heavy slam of the door cut off my words. The day I finished packing everything was the day of Mason’s mother’s birthday gala. Right before I was about to leave for the airport, Mason showed up. He froze when he saw the empty apartment, but he didn’t ask questions. Instead, he grabbed my hand hurriedly. “I thought about it,” he said quickly. “It’s bad if my future fiancé doesn’t show up to my mom’s birthday. I’ll take you there. Just promise me you won’t try to outshine Lilah.” He dragged me toward his car. I figured I should tell his mother face-to-face that the engagement was off anyway, so I went with him. But as he kept driving, I realized something was wrong. The surroundings were getting darker and darker. “Mason, why is it so dark? This isn’t the way to your mom’s house. I can’t see anything.” “It’s a shortcut. You just don’t know it.” When the car finally stopped, he helped me out. “Mason, is the party here? Why are there no lights? I literally can’t see.” “Mason? Can you hear me? Where are we?” Suddenly, the hand holding mine let go. “Chloe, tonight is too important for Lilah. I can’t take any risks. Just wait here for a bit. I’ll come back and get you as soon as the gala is over. Be a good girl.” “Mason! Mason!” I reached out in the direction of his voice, but my hands grabbed nothing but cold air. I heard his footsteps pause for a second, but when I reached out again, he stepped back. The car engine started in the distance, and soon, the sound faded into the night. There was nothing left but absolute silence. I stood there, my entire body shaking. I couldn’t believe it. Mason had actually abandoned me in the middle of nowhere just for Lilah. After what felt like hours, I forced myself to calm down and tried to call for help. “Is anyone there?” I called out, my voice trembling. Suddenly, I heard rustling footsteps nearby. “Well, look at that. What’s a pretty girl doing out here all alone in the dark?” a rough voice sneered. My instincts screamed danger. I heard the footsteps of several other men approaching, smelling of cheap beer and cigarettes. In a panic, I turned and ran blindly in the opposite direction. The next second, my foot stepped into empty air. My world spun. Cold, dirty water rushed into my nose and mouth. The freezing water filled my lungs, and I gasped for air, suffocating. Meanwhile, Helen’s birthday gala was a huge success. As the party was winding down, Mason finally remembered me. A sudden wave of anxiety hit him. He tried to call me, only to realize he had confiscated my phone earlier so I wouldn’t disrupt the party. Looking panicked, he grabbed his jacket to leave. But his mother, Helen, stopped him. “Mason, I can tell you don’t really care about Chloe anymore. Why don’t you use tonight to announce your engagement to Lilah instead?” Mason looked at Lilah, who was staring back at him with hopeful eyes. He opened his mouth to speak. Suddenly, a guest gasped loudly. “Mason! Isn’t this your fiancé on the news?!”

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I love surprises. That was why, during our three years of long-distance, Ethan sent a monthly surprise box to our house. He wanted me and my older sister, Natalie, to unbox them together. The rule was simple: whoever unboxed the item got to keep it. But for three whole years, my share was always cheap, dollar-store keychains. Meanwhile, Natalie always seemed to unbox Cartier necklaces and Chanel bags. I honestly thought I just had terrible luck. Until yesterday, when I saw a pinned chat on Natalie’s Snapchat. It was a message from Ethan. “For this month’s box, make sure you choose numbers 1, 4, 5, 9, and 11.” “I put your surprises in those.” My breath caught in my throat. I scrolled up through their chat history. It turned out that for the past three years, on the exact day we were supposed to open the boxes, Ethan would text Natalie a list of numbers beforehand. He made sure she would always get the luxury gifts he had meticulously prepared. The truth hit me like a physical blow. It wasn’t that I had bad luck. It was just that Ethan had given all of his luck—and effort—to Natalie. If that was the case, then I didn’t want any of it anymore. 0

Ethan’s latest surprise box arrived. As soon as Natalie brought the package inside, she FaceTimed Ethan. When he picked up, Ethan smiled. “Did you get the box?” “The usual rule, then. Natalie gets to choose first.” Natalie sat down next to me on the couch, holding the box. She casually tossed out a few numbers. “I’ll go with 1, 4, 5, 9, and 11.” They were the exact same numbers I had seen on her phone the night before. I bit my lower lip, my nose stinging with unshed tears. No wonder. Every single time we opened these boxes, Ethan insisted on Natalie choosing first. He was terrified that if I chose first, I would accidentally take the surprises he had bought for her. With her numbers selected, Natalie eagerly tore open the boxes. Number 1 was a Van Cleef & Arpels bracelet. Number 4 was a Bvlgari necklace. Number 5 was a custom gold bangle. Number 9 was a pair of Cartier earrings. And number 11 was a classic Tiffany & Co. solitaire engagement ring. I froze, staring at the ring. My heart felt like it was being squeezed. When we were eighteen, Ethan had confessed his feelings to me using a metal tab he had pulled off a soda can. Back then, looking at me with pure guilt and devotion, he had promised, “One day, Riley, I’m going to buy you the most expensive diamond ring in the world.” I had laughed and said, “Then I want you to propose to me with a classic Tiffany ring.” “Deal. I promise,” he had replied. I had waited ten years for that ring. And now, Ethan had packaged it as a “surprise” for my sister to unbox. I lowered my eyes. I reached out, grabbed the remaining boxes, and opened them one by one. With every box I opened, my heart grew colder. Until they were all empty. I looked at the pile of cheap mall-kiosk keychains in front of me and let out a self-deprecating laugh. What was I even hoping for? Hoping that Ethan would actually have a surprise for me? Seeing my pile of plastic junk, Natalie let out a soft giggle. “Riley, how is your luck always this bad?” “It’s been three years, and you always get these silly keychains.” I didn’t answer her. Instead, I looked directly at Ethan on the FaceTime screen. “Ethan, didn’t you promise you would buy me a Tiffany ring one day?” The screen went quiet for a second before Ethan let out a helpless laugh. “Riley, I did buy it. But you’re the one with bad luck. Natalie was the one who drew it. You can’t really blame me for that, can you?” I went completely silent, staring coldly at his face on the screen. Sensing the tense atmosphere, Natalie quickly took off the ring and held it out to me. “Riley, here, take the ring. Please don’t fight with Ethan. He just didn’t expect your luck to be this bad.” “Why are you giving it to her?” Ethan’s voice through the speaker sounded impatient now. “Riley, we agreed on the rules from day one. Whoever draws the item keeps it. You’re seriously going to snatch Natalie’s ring just because you had bad luck?” “Stop being so spoiled just because Natalie always lets you have your way.” I let out a quiet scoff. If I hadn’t seen their Snapchat messages, I really would have believed this was all just bad luck. But the reality was right in front of me. It wasn’t bad luck. It was just Ethan giving all of his love to Natalie. I looked down at the ring Natalie was holding out. Ultimately, I didn’t reach for it. “Forget it. I don’t want it.” I stood up and walked away. It was never meant for me anyway. Taking it now would be meaningless. 0

Back in my room. I looked at the glass display case that was almost overflowing with cheap keychains. My eyes burned. From age eighteen to twenty-eight, my feelings for Ethan had never wavered. I had cherished every single thing he gave me. Even if they were just worthless pieces of plastic. But now I realized. In Ethan’s eyes, I was probably just like these keychains—cheap and easily dismissed. I took a deep breath, refusing to hesitate any longer. I pulled all the keychains out of the case and threw them into the trash can. Just as I finished, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Ethan. “I’m back in town. Come downstairs. I’m taking you to see the new house.” Only then did I remember that we had closed on our house two weeks ago. Ethan had booked a flight back to inspect the place and to take me to meet his parents to discuss a wedding date. I had been helping him pay the mortgage for five years. That house was supposed to be ours. After a moment of thought, I decided to go. When I got downstairs, I walked over to the car and opened the passenger door. Natalie was already sitting there. I looked up at Ethan. He smiled casually. “Forgot the rules already?” “First come, first served. Whoever gets downstairs first gets to ride shotgun.” I clenched my jaw. In the five years since Ethan bought this car, I had never sat in the passenger seat. Natalie and I lived in the same apartment complex. Every time we went out, Ethan would text both of us at the same exact time. Whoever got to the car first got the front seat. For five years, no matter how fast I ran down the stairs, I had never managed to get it. I used to think I was just too slow. Now I realized. Ethan must have texted Natalie ahead of time. Just like he had given her the numbers to the surprise boxes. I didn’t get into the car. Instead, I stared straight at Ethan. “I thought you were taking me to see our future house.” “Why is she here?” Ethan chuckled, looking amused by my reaction. “Natalie has the keys. If she doesn’t come, how are we supposed to get in?” I froze, my body going completely rigid. Natalie acted as if she didn’t see the shock on my face. She teased, “Ethan, you should be embarrassed. You lost the keys only two weeks after we got them. When are you going to fix your forgetfulness?” Ethan looked at her with pure tenderness in his eyes. “I leave all my important stuff with you anyway. Why would I need to fix it when I have you?” The two of them laughed and bantered, completely lost in their own world. I watched them, my heart turning to ice. When the house keys were delivered, since the deed was in Ethan’s name, the agent had mailed them directly to him. I had asked him for a spare copy back then. He had merely shrugged and said, “It’s my house. Why do you need a key?” But the key I had begged for and never received… He had given it to Natalie without a second thought. 0

I eventually got into the back seat. I watched them talk the entire ride. They talked about the sports games Natalie had watched with him, the video games they played together. It was a conversation I had no part in. When we arrived at the house and got out of the car, Natalie pouted and said she was thirsty. Ethan gave her a fond, hopeless smile. “Fine, fine. I get it, Princess. I’ll go buy you a drink, okay?” “Mango smoothie, right?” “You’ve had it a million times, aren’t you sick of it yet?” Though his words sounded like complaining, he knew her preferences by heart. When he came back, Ethan handed me a cup. “Here, bought this for you.” I didn’t take it. I looked up at him. “I’m allergic to mangoes.” Ethan rubbed the back of his neck, looking slightly embarrassed. “Oh, sorry, Riley. I forgot.” “Just have some water then. I’ll drink this.” Without waiting for my reply, he fell into step right next to Natalie, and they walked upstairs together. I stared at his back for a long moment before slowly following them. When we reached the apartment, the door was already unlocked. As I pushed the door open, I was greeted by a floor covered in rose petals, glowing candles, and a group of Ethan’s friends. Before I could react, someone rushed over, pulled me into the center of a giant heart made of rose petals, and placed a white bridal veil on my head. I finally snapped out of my daze. Ethan was proposing. But before the joy could even register, Ethan stepped forward and abruptly pulled the veil off my head. He laughed, turning to the friend who had put it on me. “Hey, you got the wrong girl.” “She’s not the main character today.” The friend blinked, confused. “Wait, isn’t Riley your girlfriend?” “Yeah, she is,” Ethan said, still smiling. “Riley is my girlfriend, but the one I’m proposing to today is Natalie.” With that, he gently placed the veil onto Natalie’s head. Then, he turned to look at me. “Riley, don’t blame me for this. You’re the one who had bad luck and couldn’t unbox the engagement ring.” “Since Natalie got the ring, she has to be the one I propose to today.” I stood frozen, my mind going entirely blank. Right in front of me, Ethan dropped to one knee before Natalie. He held up the Tiffany ring, his eyes filled with intense devotion. “Natalie, will you marry me?” Tears welled up in Natalie’s eyes as she choked out, “Yes, I will.” To anyone else, they looked like a perfect, beautiful couple. I bit my lip so hard I could taste copper. I watched as Ethan wrapped his arms around Natalie, pressing a tender, almost sacred kiss to her forehead. The crowd erupted in cheers and confetti. I stood there in the middle of the celebration, watching my boyfriend propose to my sister. Whispers from the crowd began to drift into my ears. “Man, Ethan is bold. Proposing to another woman right in front of his girlfriend, and she doesn’t even dare to make a scene.” “Girlfriend? I bet Riley is going to get dumped soon anyway. Did you see the way Ethan looks at Natalie? It’s totally different.” “Sucks to be Riley. She wasted ten years with him, and she doesn’t even get a proposal…” I couldn’t stand it for another second. I turned to leave, but Ethan grabbed my wrist. He looked at me, a playful, uncaring smirk on his face. “Oh, come on, Riley. It’s just a joke. You’re not actually mad, are you?” I didn’t say a word. I just stared at him. Seeing this, Natalie hurriedly took off the ring and tried to hand it to me again. “Riley, don’t be mad. I’m giving the ring back to you. Just pretend Ethan was using me to practice his proposal…” Her eyes turned red as she looked down at the ring, her face full of reluctance. Ethan frowned. “Riley, since Natalie likes the ring so much, let her keep it. I’ll buy you another one later.” “There are so many people here today. Don’t make things difficult for her.” I looked at him and said softly, “Okay.” Ethan blinked, seemingly surprised that I was being so cooperative this time. He smiled and reached out to ruffle my hair. “Good girl. You’re being so sweet today.” “Tell you what, as a reward, I’ll stay in town and spend a few extra days with you before I head back.” “Haven’t you always hated long-distance? Didn’t you want to spend more time together?” “I’ll grant your wish this time.” I shook my head. “No need.” “I don’t need you to stay, Ethan.” I looked down at the ring on Natalie’s finger and said in a flat voice, “Since you’ve already proposed to Natalie, let’s break up.” “From now on, I don’t need your company anymore.” 0

The smile on Ethan’s face vanished instantly. “Riley, are you seriously doing this right now?” “It’s just a ring. Do you really have to throw a tantrum and bring up breaking up?” “Yes,” I said. Beside him, Natalie suddenly burst into tears. “Riley, please don’t fight with Ethan. This is all my fault. You two have been together for ten years and were about to get married. You shouldn’t break up over something so trivial…” “If you’re really that angry, I’ll apologize.” “I’m so—” Before she could finish, Ethan pulled her into his arms. “Why are you apologizing to her?” “You’ve spoiled her too much over the years.” He glared at me, his brow furrowed in anger. “Riley, if you keep acting this childish, it only proves to me that you’re too immature for marriage.” “Then we won’t get married,” I said coldly. “Ethan, the engagement is off.” “We are done.” With that, I turned around and walked out of the apartment. Behind me, one of Ethan’s friends tried to nudge him. “Dude, are you really not going after her?” “Aren’t you worried she’s actually serious about breaking up this time?” Ethan scoffed. “She’s been with me since she was eighteen. She’s threatened to break up a hundred times.” “Has she ever actually walked away?” “Don’t worry. In a few days, I’ll send her a couple of texts, and she’ll come crawling back like she always does.” I walked out of the building and stood by the curb. I took a deep breath, forcing back the tears that threatened to fall. Just as I calmed myself down, my phone rang. It was my boss, Chloe. “Riley, there’s an opening for a Managing Director position at our branch in Paris, France.” “The board just finished their evaluations, and they think you’re the perfect fit. Would you be interested?” I gripped my phone tightly. The image of Ethan proposing to Natalie flashed through my mind, making my chest ache. I didn’t hesitate. “Yes, Chloe. I’ll take it.”

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Before the engagement rehearsal, I saw a Snapchat group chat on Julian Carter’s iPad. It was a group chat with his childhood bros. Someone had posted a picture of a handwritten scorecard titled: The Marriage Checklist. Under my name, Sera Miller, there was a long list of calculated pluses: Stable job +10, Sweet temper, no drama +10, Great at taking care of people +10… Under another girl’s name, there were only a few messy lines: Hot and exciting +10, High-maintenance, too proud -10, But thrilling to be with +20. One of his friends asked: “So, you’ve really decided?” Julian’s reply was cold, rational, and sober: “Yeah. Scarlett is the one who makes my heart race, but she’s too wild. Great for dating, but exhausting for marriage.” “I’m going with Sera. She’s safe. She’s the perfect wife material.” Staring at the words “perfect wife material,” my eyes burned. I had always thought our seven-year relationship was a natural progression of deep, mutual love. It turned out that in his eyes, I was just a low-risk, cost-effective compromise. If that was the case, I was out.

“Miss Miller, could you and Mr. Carter run through the ring exchange one more time?” The wedding coordinator’s voice echoed through the grand ballroom. Today was our engagement party rehearsal. Julian stood under the arch of white roses, looking breathtakingly handsome in his tailored suit. He smiled and stretched his hand out to me with deep affection. I stared at his hand, feeling a sudden wave of detachment. The absurdity of that scorecard was like a jagged piece of glass stuck in my throat. I couldn’t swallow it, and I couldn’t spit it out. “Sera? What’s wrong? Your hand is freezing.” Julian walked over, wrapping his warm hand around mine while handing me a cup of warm water. “Are you tired from standing all morning? Just hang in there, babe. We’re almost done.” Even his comforting tone was flawless, polished to perfection. Just as I was about to pull my hand away, the heavy oak doors of the ballroom were pushed open with a loud thud. “Julian! Is this really your taste? All these champagne roses? It’s so tacky.” A red dress. Voluminous curls. Bold, radiant, and loud. It was Scarlett Davis. The toxic ex who had scored a “Hot and exciting +10” on his list. She strolled in, arm-in-arm with Julian’s best friend, Zach Brooks. I felt Julian’s hand instantly stiffen around mine. A second later, he subconsciously let go of me. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes were glued to Scarlett. I saw his throat tighten as he swallowed hard. Scarlett walked straight to the VIP table, her eyes scanning the place cards. She stopped right in front of the gold-embossed card that read: [Fiancée: Seraphina Miller] and let out a soft laugh. Then, with a flick of her manicured finger, she swiped it. My name card fell to the floor, rolling right to the tip of Julian’s leather shoe. “Oops. My hand slipped.” Scarlett covered her mouth, her eyes dripping with pure, undisguised provocation. “Sera is too mature and sweet to care about a little accident, right?” The coordinator and the staff looked at each other in awkward silence. Even Zach cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. Julian finally snapped out of his trance. But instead of getting angry, he bent down and personally picked up my fallen card for Scarlett. There was no blame in his eyes when he looked at her. In fact, there was a faint, hidden indulgence. After placing the card back on the table, Julian turned to me. “Sera.” His voice was gentle, carrying his usual tone of calm manipulation. “Today is a happy day. Let’s not make a scene. You’ve always had a great temper. Don’t stoop to her level.” To placate me, he patted my shoulder and whispered, “She’s just a spoiled brat. Ignore her.” My shoulder flinched under his touch. A cold chill ran from my toes straight to my chest. Great temper. At this moment, the “Sweet temper, no drama +10” from yesterday’s scorecard turned into a physical slap in the face. Because I was the sensible one, I didn’t even have the right to be angry. Because I was “wife material,” I was expected to smile and swallow every humiliation. I looked down at the name card he had put back. “Julian,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “She’s spoiled. But who spoiled her in the first place?”

The air in the room froze. Zach immediately jumped in, trying to laugh it off. “Come on, Sera! Who else? Us! We all grew up together. Scarlett is like a little sister to all of us. Don’t overthink it!” Julian visibly relaxed, using the opportunity to wrap his arm around my shoulders. “Exactly. We’re all friends here. Come on, let’s go grab lunch.” I was half-shoved, half-guided into the private dining room. During the post-rehearsal lunch, the atmosphere was so wild it felt like Scarlett was the actual bride-to-be. After a few rounds of drinks, the guys started getting loud. Zach raised his glass and laughed. “Julian, you’re a lucky bastard! Girls like Sera are a dying breed. She’s pure tradwife energy. You could stay out partying until 3 AM, and she wouldn’t even track your location.” The table roared with laughter. Julian leaned back in his chair, crossing his long legs, and smiled. “Of course. Sera is the most sensible girl I know.” Sensible. Low-maintenance. These labels were branded onto me, serving as badges of honor for him to brag about at the bar. Right then, Scarlett, who was sitting on Julian’s other side, suddenly leaned her head onto his shoulder, smelling of alcohol. “Julian…” Her voice cracked, her eyes pooling with tears. “I’m so stressed out. My design studio is completely out of cash. I can’t even pay my employees next month. I think I have to close it down.” The smug composure on Julian’s face vanished instantly. He didn’t push Scarlett away. Instead, his body naturally leaned toward her, his forehead creasing with deep concern. “How much do you need? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” “A lot…” Scarlett bit her lip, looking utterly helpless. Without a second thought, Julian spoke up. “The Aurora Project we’re signing next week—I’ll outsource the entire core design work to your studio. It’s a guaranteed money-maker. The advance payment will easily cover your deficit.” My hand tightened around my water glass so hard it almost shattered. The Aurora Project? That was the project my team had pulled three all-nighters for, researching for an entire month to secure. Only yesterday, Julian had promised me that I would lead and execute it. “Julian, the Aurora Project is my project,” I said, my voice tight. The laughter at the table died instantly. Julian turned to look at me, his eyes flashing with irritation. “Sera, your position at your firm is already stable. You don’t need this single project to prove yourself.” He dismissed all my hard work with a wave of his hand, speaking as if it were the most logical thing in the world. “Scarlett is facing bankruptcy. This project is a lifesaver for her.” Seeing my silence, Julian softened his voice, sighing. “We’re getting married soon, Sera. What’s mine is yours. It’s just business. Why be so petty? Be the bigger person.” I stared at the man I had loved for seven years. A wave of intense nausea hit me. So, my efforts didn’t deserve respect, and my hard work could be stolen at any time, simply because I was “stable.” Watching him whisper comfortingly to Scarlett, my stomach churned with pure disgust. He was absolutely repulsive.

I don’t even remember how that lunch ended. That night, Julian’s mother, Eleanor Carter, called me to the living room and threw a thick prenup onto the coffee table. All of the Carter family’s real estate, stocks, and savings had nothing to do with me. After marriage, our living expenses would be split 50/50. It even explicitly stated that I would be responsible for all household chores and must take a full-time leave to prepare for pregnancy in the first year. This wasn’t a prenup. This was a slave contract for a zero-salary, 24/7 live-in maid who could be kicked out with nothing at any second. I raised my eyes to look at Julian, who was sitting next to his mother. He was slowly peeling an orange. Seeing that I hadn’t picked up the pen, he leaned over and wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “Sera, just sign it,” he said in a tone you’d use to coax a stubborn child. “My mom is old-school. She just wants peace of mind. Besides, we’re getting married to build a stable life. What’s mine is yours anyway. You’re not the type of girl who’s after my money, right?” He said it so smoothly. With the phrase “not after my money,” he easily locked me onto a moral pedestal, stripping away my rights while expecting me to thank him. I looked at his handsome, calculating face and suddenly smiled. “Okay.” I took the pen and signed “Seraphina Miller” on the signature line without a second thought. A flash of smug satisfaction crossed Julian’s eyes. He probably thought I loved him so much that I had completely lost my mind. Late that night, the only sound in the bedroom was the running water from the bathroom. I sat quietly on the edge of the bed, my eyes falling on his unlocked iPad. The screen lit up with rapid notifications from his Snapchat group. Julian had sent a voice note, which had been transcribed into clear text on the screen: “Prenup is signed. She didn’t even read it. We’re set, boys. Once she’s a housewife, I can focus entirely on expanding the business.” Below was a string of replies: “Congrats, Julian! You just secured a perfect, low-maintenance back-up!” Then, Scarlett’s profile popped up. She posted a selfie with teary eyes, captioned: “Congratulations on the wedding. Wish you a lifetime of happiness.” Almost instantly, Julian replied: “Stop it. You know you’re the only one I can’t let go of.” “The only one I can’t let go of.” I stared at those words. My chest ached with a suffocating tightness, but miraculously, I couldn’t shed a single tear. It was amazing how cruel a person could be when they were busy calculating their own interests. He handed me the “safety” of a marriage contract as if it were charity, turning me into his free maid, while dedicating all his passion, career opportunities, and love to the woman who actually made his heart race. When you reach the absolute bottom of despair, only pure, cold clarity remains. I turned off the iPad, walked out to the balcony, and called my college friend who was now a top attorney. “Chloe, I need you to draft an official cancellation of engagement and a complete financial split sheet. I need it tonight.” Half an hour later, the printer in the study buzzed softly, spitting out several warm sheets of paper. Listening to the shower shutting off in the bathroom, I slowly smoothed out the creases on the documents. Julian, you wanted a perfect, brainless tool of a wife. Too bad. I’m canceling my subscription.

The engagement party was held at the Peninsula, the most luxurious hotel downtown. The ballroom lights dimmed, leaving only a single spotlight shining on Julian standing under the floral arch. Dressed in a designer tuxedo, he looked tall and striking. Holding a velvet box with a two-carat diamond ring, he walked toward me step by step. Around us, the guests erupted into envious whispers and thunderous applause. But my gaze drifted past his shoulder, landing on the VIP table in the front row. Scarlett was sitting there. Today, she wore a simple white floral dress. Her eyes were red, her lips pale, looking as fragile as a falling leaf. Julian stopped in front of me, and the emcee handed him the microphone. “Mr. Carter, please share your vows with your beautiful fiancée.” The room fell dead silent. Julian held the mic, his lips parting, but his eyes automatically drifted toward Scarlett. In that split second, a flash of genuine pain and longing crossed his face. “Sera, we’ve been together for seven years…” He started, but his voice suddenly choked up. A heavy, five-second silence stretched across the room. The air in the ballroom seemed to turn to ice. He stared at Scarlett’s tear-stained face, completely losing his train of thought, even forgetting to open the ring box in his hand. It wasn’t until Eleanor let out a loud, sharp cough from the front row that Julian snapped out of it. He quickly turned his head back to me, forcing a warm, practiced smile, and recited his prepared lines: “Sera, I love you. Will you marry me and be my solid rock?” The emcee quickly tried to hype up the crowd. “Come on, bride! Say yes!” Everyone looked at me, smiling expectantly. I looked at Julian, staring at his fake, hollow devotion, and slowly raised my microphone. “I won’t.” Those two words, amplified by the high-end sound system, echoed clearly into every single corner of the grand ballroom. The applause that was starting to build froze instantly. The smile on Julian’s face cracked. He lowered his voice, his tone sharp with warning and annoyance. “Sera, stop playing games. Do you know what day it is?” “Of course I know what day it is.” I let out a cold laugh, pulled a small remote control from my clutch, and pointed it at the giant LED screen behind us. The romantic video of our seven-year journey cut out instantly. In its place, a massive screenshot of Julian’s Snapchat checklist titled “Who to Marry” filled the screen, followed by the insulting prenup, and his text saying I was just a “low-maintenance back-up.” The crowd erupted into a frenzy of gasps and shocked whispers. Julian’s face went dead pale. He lunged toward the control panel to shut it off, but my brother and cousins blocked him instantly. “Are you out of your mind, Sera?!” Julian roared, his eyes wide with fury and shock. “Julian, thank you for the 98-score you gave me,” I said, my voice incredibly calm. “I have a stable job, a sweet temper, I don’t want your money, and I do all the chores. In your eyes, I really was the ultimate deal.” I curled my lips into a mocking smile. “But I suddenly realized that being a highly cost-effective maid is incredibly boring.” With that, I slid the engagement ring off my finger and tossed it casually onto the floor. “You—” Julian was shaking with rage, reaching out to grab my arm. I stepped back, pulled the printed cancellation of engagement and the ripped prenup from my bag, and threw them right into his face. “Julian, keep your cheap, manipulative love for someone else.” Looking at his crumbling expression, I said coldly: “We’re done.”

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