In my past life, my mate rescued an orphan girl from the battlefield of the witch clan—and she gave me a pair of hairbands. From the moment I put them on, I felt drained of energy day after day. In the end, I contracted a filthy disease. My body rotted from the inside out, and I died. Only after death did I learn the truth: she had been the lowest-ranked prostitute of the witch clan. After their defeat, she had used her beauty to bewitch my mate. Once inside our Gem Pack, she performed a ritual exchange—trading bodies and destinies with me. My mate became obsessed with her body while he let me die in a filthy corner. After I died, they rolled me into a straw mat and threw me into a mass grave. Only one person came for me—a lowly slave with no wolf, someone I had once helped at a royal banquet. He snuck out of the palace in secret and buried me. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the moment she offered me those gem hairbands. She wanted my alpha bloodline? Fine. I would give her a body with no wolf. — “The Alpha has won a great victory. Surely he’ll be rewarded with a higher rank.” “Our Alpha returns triumphant. He truly is the pride of our pack.” The guests raised their glasses one after another, smiling toward my mate and me at the head table. “Alpha Harlan is so blessed—he was gone three months on campaign, and the two luna awaited him faithfully. How enviable!” Bella Vane had no formal status yet, but hearing herself called “luna” made her eyes gleam with barely restrained triumph. She glided to stand before me, her smile honeyed and sharp. “Sister, I know how faithfully you’ve prayed for the Alpha all these months. I made a special trip to the Temple of the Moon Goddess on your behalf and asked the Moon Goddess to bless you with peace. Here—she sent this through me.” She produced a wooden hairband. “If you wear it, Sister, I’m certain the Moon Goddess will grant the Alpha continued victory and a safe return.” In my past life, I had been overjoyed by my mate’s triumphant homecoming—and so moved by Bella’s gesture that I let her pin the band into my hair on the spot. What I never imagined was that this wooden gem hairband was cursed. The moment it touched my hair, it began swapping our bodies and destinies. First came the exhaustion—my spirit drained, my body aching in the most shameful places. I called healer after healer, and none could name my ailment. Meanwhile, Bella seemed to bloom overnight. She glowed. And night after night, she shared my mate’s bed. By the time I finally clawed my way back to consciousness, I was already rotting below. The stench clung to me like a second skin. Bella stood at my bedside, waving her hand delicately in front of her nose, coiled against my mate like a snake. “Oh my. It seems the luna has let herself be used and ruined—and caught herself a filthy disease.” Harlan’s expression darkened. “Lock this wretch in the dungeon. Anyone who brings her food or water gets beaten to death.” I tried to push myself upright, tried to speak—but no words came. I could only watch as Harlan turned and walked away without a second glance. I died in that dungeon. Until my last breath, I never understood how the mate who had once loved me so tenderly had become this cold, contemptuous stranger. Only after my soul drifted upward did I learn the truth: Bella had been an enemy spy, a woman sold to satisfy men, defeated in battle. She had seduced my mate with her body and slipped into our Gem Pack under false pretenses. She had been dying anyway. That gem hairband was her salvation—she used it to steal my identity and my fate. I raged. But as a soul, I was powerless against her. The music swelled around me. I blinked back to the present. Bella’s eyes flashed with cold venom for just an instant before her expression smoothed into something soft and sweet. She extended the gem hairbands toward me. “Let me put them on for you, Sister.”

I stepped aside quickly. She blinked, startled. Then the tears came—instant and perfect. “Sister, do you not like what I’ve brought you?” “I knelt before the Moon Goddess for forty-nine days to earn this blessing for you and the Alpha.” “I know you think I’m beneath you—just an orphan girl, and you’d naturally look down on anything I offer.” At those words, several lunas at the table immediately softened. “What a sincere gift. And yet you greet it with a cold face. Well, I suppose none of us will dare give you anything from now on.” “Rescued from the battlefield—what a kind-hearted girl. And here the luna makes her look like the villain.” … I had no choice but to force a smile and say I appreciated both the sentiment and the gift. My hair was already pinned with a comb, I explained. It would be awkward to swap things out now. Bella dabbed her eyes and looked at me with wounded dignity. “A humble gift, given with a full heart. My gem hairband may not compare to your jeweled comb, Sister—but I scraped my knees raw kneeling in prayer for it.” “I only ask that you try it on for a moment. It would suit you so beautifully.” It was clear she would not relent until I wore it. At that very moment, a slave with no wolf stepped into the hall, head bowed respectfully toward Harlan. “My lord Alpha, I come at the Luna Queen’s command to escort the Luna to the palace for a flower-viewing.” My heart lurched. It was little Finn—the one who had dug me out of the mass grave and given me a proper burial in my past life. Finn glanced at me with quiet concern. I seized the opportunity to excuse myself—but Bella surged forward and caught my arm. “Sister, let me put the gem hairbands on before you go to see the Luna Queen. It wouldn’t do to outshine her with that jeweled comb, would it?” She reached for my hair again. Then Finn spoke, his tone carefully neutral. “This young lady looks familiar. Weren’t there dancers brought from the northern territories last year? I believe I’ve seen her before.” Bella froze. Then she recovered quickly, her smile plastered back into place. “You must be mistaken. I am an orphan the Alpha rescued from the battlefield. I don’t dance.” Finn said nothing more. I took my chance. “Since the Luna Queen has summoned me, I’ll go at once.” I turned to Bella with a placid smile. “We can worry about the gem hairbands when I return, Sister.” I moved toward the door. Bella grabbed my sleeve. “Are you running from me, Sister? It only takes a moment to put on a hairband. How much time could it possibly waste?” Then she swayed—and crashed into Finn. “You—you dared touch me!” she shrieked, clutching her side, tears streaming down her face. The lunas at the table erupted. “In broad daylight—a worthless slave daring to lay hands on someone from the Alpha’s Gem Pack!” “A creature like that deserves to be beaten to death!” Bella wept with breathtaking beauty, her voice trembling. “I may be lowborn, but I am a clean and honest woman. To be violated like this—I’d rather die than endure it!” She lurched as if to throw herself against the stone pillar. Harlan shot to his feet and caught her, pulling her into his arms. Finn had gone chalk-white. He dropped to his knees. “I didn’t touch her! She lost her balance and nearly fell. I reached out to steady her—I never made contact!” Bella only wept harder. Harlan’s voice was ice. “Drag this slave out and give him fifty lashes, then send him to the punishment chamber.” I stepped forward quickly. “My lord, he was sent by the Luna Queen herself. If he is beaten—or worse—in our Gem Pack, how will we answer to her?” Bella choked out a sob and cut in. “Why is Sister defending an outsider? Unless…unless it was Sister he was touching, and Sister enjoyed it?” The malice in those words was razor-sharp. She was implying, openly, that Finn and I had something between us. Harlan’s gaze slid to me, and something cold and shadowed moved through it. I opened my mouth—but Finn spoke first, pressing his forehead to the floor. “My lord, I accept whatever punishment you see fit.” “I only ask that you spare my life, for the Luna Queen’s sake, so I may return and fulfill my duty.” Something clenched tight in my chest. If I pleaded for him, it would prove the accusation. Finn was protecting me. I was trembling with fury. My eyes fell on the wooden gem hairband still in Bella’s hand, and an idea took shape. She wanted to swap bodies and destinies with me. Then I would give her something very specific in return. I looked at Finn. I wondered if he would understand what I needed from him.

The dull thud of a lash came from the dungeon. In my past life, he had buried my body. In this life, he was taking my punishment. What could I do for him? Help him escape that broken body. Give him freedom. Just then, a maidservant hurried in to find me. “The slave with no wolf has lost consciousness. Do they continue?” My stomach dropped. “What does the Alpha say?” “The Alpha is with Miss Bella. He gave no order to stop.” No order to stop meant an order to kill. Bella wanted Finn silenced permanently. I spun toward the dungeon—but Bella’s voice stopped me cold. She appeared at the far end of the corridor, two maidservants trailing behind her. “If you go to him now, Sister, everything said at the table today becomes truth.” I laughed, sharp and hollow. “You’re right, Sister. What do I care whether that slave lives or dies?” I glanced at the gem hairbands in her hand. “About those gem hairbands, Sister—do you still want to put them on me?” Bella’s eyes lit up. She thrust the wooden band toward me. “You’ll wear it?” I took it from her, then let out a slow sigh. “Tomorrow is the anniversary of my mother’s death. I’ll be going to the Temple of the Moon Goddess to pay my respects.” “If you truly mean what you say, Sister, come with me tomorrow. We’ll stand before the Moon Goddess together, and you can put the gem hairbands on me yourself—as a proper offering.” A flicker of suspicion crossed Bella’s face, but it drowned quickly in triumph. She probably thought I was afraid of the gossip and needed an excuse to save face. “Very well. I’ll go with you tomorrow.” She smiled exactly the way she had when she won, in my past life. I nodded, turned, and walked back inside. “Aren’t you going to the dungeon, Sister?” “No.” Finn had already lost consciousness. Going now would not save him. Pleading would only confirm what Bella had implied—and hand her exactly what she wanted. But I had another way. I went straight to my room and wrote a letter, pressing it into a trusted maidservant’s hands to be delivered to the palace in secret. The Luna Queen might not care much about the life of one lowly slave—but she cared a great deal about her dignity. Her own man had been beaten in another pack’s territory. Sooner or later, she would ask questions.

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The moment the ring slid onto my ring finger, darkness exploded. Not light. Darkness. Thick, living, burrowing into skin, bone, soul. I crumpled to the ground. Dorian rose and looked down at me. “It’s done, my dear.” Behind him, Rosaline stepped forward. My best friend. The person I had told every secret. She walked over my hair and past me, laughing. “Poor Arwen — and you actually believed it.” It wasn’t a ring. It was a forbidden soul-swap ritual. The wedding went ahead as planned. Rosaline wore my wedding gown, took Dorian’s arm, and smiled at my father the King. They had stolen my body. My identity as the mermaid princess. My birthright. My family’s love. My brother Leon noticed something was wrong. That night he died on the stone floor of the throne hall, face purple, pupils blown wide. I screamed. No sound came. I was nothing but a wandering wraith. Invisible to everyone. Inaudible to everyone. The King and Queen fell ill and died, one after the other. When the Queen died, she was holding Rosaline’s hand — that hand wearing my ring, wrapped in my skin. “Mother… I will take good care of the kingdom.” She called her Mother. That was my mother. The coronation. Dorian and Rosaline sat side by side on my father’s throne. Dorian turned his face toward her. “I love you, Arwen.” Rosaline nestled against him. “I love you too, Dorian.” No. I am Arwen. I am Arwen. I threw myself at the throne. My fingers passed through their bodies — nothing to grab. Tears of blood poured from my eyes: the first sign of a soul’s collapse. I was growing more transparent by the moment. I was about to disappear. To disappear forever. No one would ever remember me. The villains sat on the throne, draped in my flesh, living a stolen life. At the edge of extinction — I opened my eyes. My bed. The bed in the palace, the year I turned eighteen. Sunlight filtered down through the sea, through the crystal window, and fell across my face. The door opened. Dorian walked in, took my hand, and cradled in his palm that deep-blue ring. “This ring is the symbol of our eternal love.” He smiled. The most perfect fiancé in the world. I stared at the ring. The ring that had taken everything from me. The ring that had killed my brother. The ring that had brought my parents to their deaths. The ring that had erased me from the world. My hand was trembling. But this time — I would not put it on. This time, I would make them burn in hell.

“Do you like it? Go ahead and try it on.” “It’s a gift from you. I’d like to wait and wear it tomorrow, at the wedding.” “All right. As long as you’re happy.” His tone was as gentle as ever. Yet I caught the flash of impatience that crossed his eyes — there and gone in an instant. How had I never seen it before? Dorian lowered his head and pressed his lips to the back of my hand. “I will love you forever.” “As will I.” Nothing but lies. Anyone can say them. After returning to the palace. I stared at the ring in my hand, buried my face in my hands, and wept without a sound. My ladies-in-waiting were frightened out of their wits. “Your Highness! Has someone wronged you?” They crowded around me, flustered, pressing handkerchiefs into my hands and gently patting my back. “It’s nothing. Only a very terrible dream.” In my past life, the ladies-in-waiting had noticed something was wrong with Rosaline. To silence them, Rosaline had every one of them put to death. I can still hear their desperate cries as they were dragged away. But in this life. I will not let anyone die again. “I need all of you to find someone for me. As quickly as possible.” My ladies-in-waiting brought back the person I was looking for — a young mermaid child named Lily. She was skeletal with hunger, large patches of scales had fallen away, her tail fin was covered in scars, and branded onto her shoulder was a black number: 387. “Who could be so cruel?” “She’s not even of age!” I crouched down and met her eyes at her level. “Who did this to you?” “Thank you for saving me, but I cannot say. The mermaids who spoke have all disappeared.” “It was Dorian, wasn’t it? He kidnapped and imprisoned you. To make the dark magic rings.”

“How did you know?” “Dorian kidnapped many common mermaids and used us for experiments. Drawing blood. Stripping scales.” “He said that if it worked, he could create a true soul-swapping ring.” “I was number 387. All the others died.” The black number branded on Lily’s shoulder looked like a wound that could never heal. Every one of my ladies-in-waiting had gone pale with horror. “He’s mad… is he mad?” “Do you want revenge?” Lily nodded hard. Tears rolled from her eyes and fell into my open palm, where they became two perfect, round pearls. Her gaze suddenly fixed on my hand. Lily: “That ring — whatever you do, don’t put it on!” Lily: “It’s a dark magic ring. It will kill you.” “I know.” I knew all of it. The person Dorian truly loved was Rosaline, his childhood sweetheart. But Rosaline had been frail since birth, and his family would not permit him to marry her. So he sought out a dark sorcerer and used forbidden arts to craft two soul-swapping rings — one for me, one for Rosaline — intending to place Rosaline’s soul into my body. To that end, he had kidnapped countless underage common mermaids. He had tormented them. Drew their blood. Stripped their scales. Extracted the essence of their lives to forge the rings. Lily was the 387th. And the only one to survive. “The moment I put on the ring, the dark magic nearly killed me. But I lived.” “My parents loved me. My brother loved me. Their love protected my heart.” “And so, as a transparent soul, I witnessed everything — and then I came back.” Lily: “I am close to death. My only wish is revenge. Can you truly help me?” “Yes. I swear it.” Lily: “Then… would you give me that ring?”

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When my husband needed someone to sign the surgical consent form after his car accident, the nurse told me something that stopped my heart cold — I wasn’t his legal wife. Five years. For five years, I had stood by Ethan’s side, helping him grow a cheap community pizzeria into a thriving chain of Italian restaurants. At our lowest point, we shared a basement apartment. We scrubbed dishes together, peeled vegetables side by side, and stayed until past midnight to close up. He used to hold my hand and say, “Once we have money, I’ll give you the grandest wedding you’ve ever seen.” But now, the nurse’s voice was polite and utterly cold. “I’m sorry. The woman registered in our system as Mr. Ethan Caldwell’s legal spouse — that isn’t you.” “The person authorized to sign is a Ms. Vivian Marsh.” A second later, Ethan’s secretary, Vivian Marsh, came rushing in and coolly signed her name in the next-of-kin field. “Nora, don’t overthink it. There’s probably just a glitch in the hospital system.” “Right now, getting Ethan into surgery is what matters. I had to sign — there was no choice.” In that moment, I actually believed her. I thought it was a hospital mistake. Until I asked a friend to pull Ethan’s marriage records from the civil registry database. We had been together for ten years. His marriage certificate with Vivian had been registered for eight. I didn’t say a word. I simply took the secret recipe I had spent years refining — batch after batch, trial after trial — and destroyed it completely. No formula. No ingredients list. Nothing. Let’s see what he uses to open his new locations. Let’s see how he repays his loans. … ICU visiting hours were limited. Vivian had handled all the paperwork under her status as next of kin. “Nora, Ethan still hasn’t regained consciousness, but the doctor says his vitals are stable now.” She walked toward me. “Would you like to go in and see him? I told the nurse to give you five minutes.” I looked at her, and a wave of absurdity washed over me. Since when did I need another woman’s permission to see my own husband? “No thank you.” “When exactly did the two of you register?” Vivian’s hand froze in midair. She lowered it slowly and smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Nora, why are you asking that now? You’ve known all these years that Ethan only has eyes for you.” “He treats you like a wife. You’ve always been his wife. Does that piece of paper really matter so much?” I looked at her, and suddenly I laughed. “Then go to the registry right now and divorce him. Put my name on the certificate instead. Will you do that?” Vivian’s expression went rigid. I held her gaze and repeated, slowly and deliberately: “I asked — when.” Vivian let out a long breath, reached into her bag, and handed me a small red booklet. “Eight years ago. October.” Eight years ago, Ethan told me he was traveling to another city to scout new locations. He was gone for an entire week. Apparently, that week, he had gone to register a marriage with his secretary. I stared at the booklet. Their two photos sat side by side on the page, smiling. Warm. Happy. I had a booklet that looked exactly the same in my own bag — the one Ethan had arranged for me ten years ago. He’d said we were both too busy. The line at the registry was too long. He’d pulled some strings to have it expedited. And I had believed every word. I had stayed up with him in the slums washing bowls, helped him navigate complex tax filings, eaten donated food with him from the shelter line. I thought we were partners forged in hardship. It turned out I was nothing more than free labor the law didn’t even recognize. When I stayed silent too long, Vivian tucked the certificate back into her bag. “Nora, Ethan had his reasons.” “The company needed to expand. We needed access to loans and credentials. My household registration is local — I have property in my name.” “By registering with me, the company qualified for the maximum tax-exempt enterprise loan.” “It was all for the company’s growth. Nora, surely you can see what matters here?” I turned and walked toward the exit. Vivian called after me: “Nora, are you actually angry right now? I already told you, Ethan and I are just—” I stopped. Turned back to face her. “Just what? Just legally married? Just using me for loans? Just for credentials?” “Save those lines for someone who’ll swallow them.” Vivian bit her lip, then muttered under her breath, “So petty. Such a faded old hag.” I almost laughed at that. Instead, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. Then I turned and walked in the direction of the other end of the city. Toward the kitchen of our very first pizzeria. Toward the recipe I had spent ten years perfecting — tested hundreds of times, refined over and over. When Ethan proposed, I told him I had no dowry. He said it didn’t matter. He said I was the finest dowry there was. Now I finally understood what he really meant. My recipe was my dowry. And since I was never his lawful wife — it was time to take it back.

The cab pulled up outside the flagship restaurant. The hostess at the front desk gave me a quiet nod as I walked in. “Ms. Nora.” I nodded back and walked straight upstairs to the general manager’s office. I went to the safe and, out of reflex, typed in my birthday. “Incorrect password.” I paused. My fingers trembled slightly as I tried again — our anniversary. “Incorrect password.” I stared at the keypad. An image of Vivian’s personnel file surfaced in my mind. With a kind of masochistic calm, I pressed her birthday. Click. The safe opened. A quiet laugh escaped me. For years, no matter how many locations we opened, the core sauce had been made by my hands alone. Each branch sent a driver to collect it from this kitchen every single day. Ethan and Vivian had seized control of the company’s operations and finances. But they had forgotten what actually kept this chain alive. I removed everything from the safe. Then I walked to the kitchen, picked up a bucket of grimy dishwater and waste grease from beside the sink, and without hesitation, poured every drop into the stock pots. A chain without a soul. Enjoy what’s left of it. On my way out, I passed the culture wall — a display of framed photographs running the length of the hallway. In the center was a photo of Ethan and me. I walked over, tore it down, and dropped it in the trash. Before it even settled, a woman’s voice drifted in from the doorway — unhurried, almost leisurely. “Nora. You don’t seriously think throwing a tantrum is going to make Ethan feel guilty for everything he put you through, do you?” I turned. Vivian stood at the entrance of the dining hall, every hair in place, a studied kind of elegance about her — and in her gaze, open satisfaction she wasn’t bothering to hide. “Though I understand, I suppose. Anyone in your shoes would be upset.” “After all this time with him, all those years — and then you find out you have no legal standing at all. That’s genuinely pathetic.” I said nothing. Something in her seemed to relax — like she’d been waiting for exactly this moment. The careful act she’d maintained began to slip away. “You know, I used to respect you. Genuinely.” She smiled, slow and deliberate. “A woman who grinds alongside a man from absolute zero to something real — that takes grit.” “But grit is one thing. Whether you belong at his side is another.” She paused, then dropped her voice. “The position of Mrs. Caldwell was never yours to begin with.” I studied the satisfaction written all over Vivian’s face and felt only a faint, dry amusement. “So what?” “You came all the way here to stake your claim?” Vivian smiled lightly. “Does it even need staking? The registry is real. The hospital signature is real. The safe combination is real. And Ethan himself said I’d be handling all finances going forward. All real.” Her gaze dropped deliberately to my empty hands. “Nora. You sacrificed so much for him. But you should understand by now — in business, what counts is capital, management, resources, connections. Not who knows how to stir a pot of sauce.” Each sentence landed soft and even, but every word had an edge. I looked at her. “Are you proud of yourself right now?” Vivian blinked, as though she hadn’t expected that. Then she smiled — a full, unguarded smile, satisfaction flooding every feature. “Why wouldn’t I be?” “The man you spent years on — he’s my husband.” “The restaurants you poured yourself into — they’re mine to run now.” “You don’t even have the right to put your own child under his name. But me? I’m the legally recognized Mrs. Caldwell.” She let that sit, as if exhaling years of something held back. “Nora. I won.” I looked at her and smiled. “You think because you have the marriage certificate, the company seal, and the keys to the operation — that means you’ve won?” “Vivian. Why don’t you go check the kitchen first? Let’s talk about what you’ve actually inherited.”

Her pupils contracted sharply. She spun toward the back of the house. The restaurant manager, Daniel, appeared in the doorway — face drained of color, mouth working soundlessly before he finally got the words out. “Ms. Marsh… the sauce. All of it. It’s ruined.” “We have reservations tonight — what are we supposed to do?” The triumph on Vivian’s face cracked open. “Are you out of your mind?!” “Nora, that’s company property!” “Company property?” I laughed, just barely. “That recipe was mine. Five years of trials. Hundreds of batches. Ethan himself wouldn’t dare call it company property — and yet here you are, claiming it?” “Besides—” I let my gaze drift over her suddenly ashen face. “Weren’t you the one who said times have changed? That business runs on capital, management, resources, connections — not on who can stir a pot of sauce?” “So why the panic?” Vivian’s breath came fast and shallow. She was staring at me with pure, cornered fury. “Nora. You think destroying the sauce gives you power over us?” “When Ethan wakes up, he will not let this go.” “Is that so?” I nodded, almost pleasantly. “Good. Then when he does, pass along a message for me.” I reached into my bag and set a sealed envelope on the front counter — the letter I had already written. “I’m done with him.” “This restaurant. This man. This rotten wreck of a relationship. Whoever wants to pick up the pieces is welcome to them.” I had barely gotten home when my phone rang. The screen showed: Ethan Caldwell. I answered. Ethan’s voice came through — low, barely controlled, like a man trying to hold a fire inside his chest. “Nora. Have you lost your mind?” I leaned back in my seat, voice even. “Something you needed?” He clearly hadn’t expected that. A beat of silence, and then the anger came harder. “Something I needed? You took the recipe. You know how many tables we have booked tonight? You just walked out and want to watch every location go dark?” “Isn’t that what you’re good at? Management, capital, connections. One less person stirring sauce shouldn’t even register. You’ll be fine.” A sharp pause on the other end. Then a cold laugh. “You’re still sulking over the marriage certificate?” “Nora, when did you get so small?” I closed my eyes for a moment. The urge to laugh rose and died in the same breath. Even now, he thought I was sulking. “Ethan.” I kept my voice quiet. “You lied to me for eight years. In your mind — that makes me petty?” “What lie? Everything you ate, wore, used — I provided it. Did I ever let you go without? You had it good with me, Nora. Was that not enough?” “A marriage certificate is just paper. What matters is that you were by my side. I let everyone call you the boss’s wife. Wasn’t that enough?” My hand tightened around the phone, knuckle by knuckle. Yes. That was Ethan. He never believed he had done anything wrong. In his mind, a woman only ever wanted a little face-saving, a little money, a little of whatever affection a man chose to hand down. As for legal standing, genuine respect, honesty — that was her being ungrateful. “All right. I won’t push this further.” “Give the recipe back. Come to the hospital and apologize to Vivian. We’ll pretend today never happened.” I almost thought I’d misheard him. “Apologize to her?” “Shouldn’t you?” Ethan’s voice rose. “The way you carried on at the restaurant today — destroying every last batch of sauce, humiliating her in front of the whole staff. She’s a wreck right now. She hasn’t stopped crying.” “Nora, when did you become so cruel?”

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I broke up with Carter on Christmas Eve. He asked carelessly, “Just because there wasn’t a seat for you at the family dinner?” “Yes.” At the annual Christmas Eve family dinner, a table set for twenty people didn’t have a single empty seat for me. No one noticed me standing awkwardly at the door. Carter only focused on serving soup to Chloe, our sponsored charity case. In the end, a server had to add a flimsy white plastic chair for me. “Breaking up on Christmas Eve is just bad luck. Stop throwing a tantrum and don’t embarrass me in front of my family.” This past year, we’d fought countless times because of Chloe. Every single time, I was the one who backed down and apologized. He didn’t believe for a second that I’d actually leave him. But this time, I was done. I opened the message I’d received just minutes ago. [I’ll pick you up after the show wraps. Should be there around midnight.] I typed back a single word. [Okay.] From now on, Carter would just be another ex I didn’t need to mention. … Carter grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “Alright, stop pouting. You keep scowling like this and you’ll ruin Christmas for everyone.” I remained expressionless and pushed his hand away. “You know, you’ve got a pretty face, but you’re just so unlikable. Look at Chloe, she sits there and all the kids climb all over her.” He clearly hadn’t taken my breakup comment seriously at all. “Carter, I mean it this time.” He finally dropped that cocky smirk. “So you’re really going to break up with me over a damn chair? Come on, Serena, are you seriously that petty?” “Yes. At your family’s Christmas Eve dinner, the person sitting next to you wasn’t me. It was Chloe.” Of course it mattered. Christmas Eve. Carter insisted on bringing Chloe, the college student we sponsored, to his family dinner. When we got to the banquet hall entrance, Carter remembered he’d left two bottles of vintage Bordeaux in the underground wine cellar. He sent me down to get them. By the time I came back with the wine, everyone had already been seated. The Harrington relatives were toasting each other, exchanging well wishes. No one noticed I was still standing. Carter was attentively serving Chloe food and soup, as if they were the loving couple. A server noticed I had nowhere to sit and tried to make room. Carter waved it off casually. “The regular chairs won’t fit. Just grab a plastic one from the storage room.; she can squeeze in. It’s fine, she’s skinny.” That dirty white plastic chair was painfully out of place. Carter explained, “It was crowded and loud. I wanted you to sit next to me, but everyone had already settled in. Moving people around would’ve been a hassle.” “If you’re really going to be this jealous over a chair, I’ll save you a seat for the rest of the holidays, alright?” His tone sounded like he was placating a bratty child. I took a deep breath. “You don’t get it. It’s not about the damn chair.” “You’re right, I don’t get it. These are such small things. You really don’t need to make a big deal out of them.” I felt utterly exhausted. I didn’t expect him to change anymore. “Carter, this strawberry is so sweet!” Chloe picked up a chocolate-dipped strawberry and naturally fed it right into Carter’s mouth. Seeing my expression darken, she immediately asked with fake concern, “What’s wrong? Carter, did you upset Serena again?” Carter pursed his lips but said nothing. Chloe immediately jumped in to mediate. “Serena, please don’t be mad at him. It’s all my fault. When there’s food around, I just get tunnel vision. I’m the outsider here. I should’ve been the one sitting on that plastic chair.” She tugged lightly on Carter’s sleeve. “Maybe I should just go back to campus? There’s no reason to make Serena uncomfortable over something this small.” I let out a cold laugh. “Small?” “You, an outsider, crashing my family’s Christmas dinner is small? Having my boyfriend at the top of your contacts is small? Wearing matching bracelets with my boyfriend is also small?” “Chloe, I just can’t figure out why you keep pulling these disgusting little stunts.” “Since you like my boyfriend so much, I’ll break up with him. He’s all yours.” Chloe bit down hard on her lower lip, tears welling up in her eyes. “How can you say that, Serena?” She reluctantly removed her bracelet. “You’re totally misunderstanding. My hometown is so remote. It takes three days by bus and train to get there. I couldn’t possibly make it home for Christmas.” “I don’t have anyone here. If Carter hadn’t been kind enough to take me in, I’d be stuck in my dorm eating ramen.” “If you’re bothered by me, I’ll just leave.” She placed the bracelet on the table and ran out crying. Carter shot me an irritated glance. “If you’ve got a problem, take it out on me. Why are you bullying her?” “You want to break up? Fine. But don’t drag her into it.” He grabbed the bracelet and chased after her. Suddenly, I realized this relationship was absolutely rotten.

After ten years together, I never imagined our breakup would be this casual. That afternoon, Carter’s cousins were organizing a poker game in the group chat. I didn’t want to ruin everyone’s holiday mood, so I forced myself to go. Just as I reached the billiard room door, I heard them talking about me. “Is Serena not coming today? Are you two fighting again?” “Yeah, because he saved a seat for Chloe at lunch but not for her.” Someone laughed mockingly. “She’s throwing a fit over that? How old is she? If there’s no seat, find one yourself. Serena’s so damn dramatic.” “Right? Remember that hiking trip? Carter and Chloe hiked ahead without waiting for her, and she got pissed. We couldn’t even eat together on the way down because of her tantrum.” “When I get married, I’m definitely not picking someone this jealous. Honestly, someone easygoing like Chloe seems way better.” Carter sighed. “What can I do? That’s just her personality. I spoiled her since we were kids. I’ll deal with it.” Someone laughed. “Keep spoiling her, and soon you won’t be able to say a single word to another girl.” A soft, gentle voice chimed in. “Serena’s so lucky to have such a great boyfriend like Carter. I could never be that fortunate.” Chloe hadn’t left at all. Carter’s friends immediately started egging them on. “Well, tonight your Carter can spoil you for once.” “Really? Then you won’t take my Pocket Queens, will you, hubby?” She used a playful tone when she said it. I heard Carter’s voice, tinged with amusement, respond to her. “Fine. I won’t.” Everyone laughed. Then Carter spoke again. “Don’t go spreading this around as a joke, or I’ll have to spend the next few days apologizing to my girlfriend and won’t have time to play poker with you guys.” I let go of the door handle. Laughter continued to drift from inside the room. Carter knew damn well how much I hated the ambiguous relationship between him and Chloe. He claimed he was afraid of making me angry, yet he didn’t stop Chloe from calling him “hubby.” At the end of the day, it was because he was absolutely certain I could never leave him. But this time, he was wrong. Shortly after, Chloe posted on Instagram. [First time playing poker with the big bros and sisters during the holidays. Lost so bad!] In her selfie, her forehead was covered with sticky notes, and a large hand was affectionately pinching her cheek. That familiar engagement ring stung my eyes. I scrolled through and saw Carter’s comment underneath. [Who’s bullying you? I’ll get revenge for you. LOL] I turned off my phone and called my dad. “Dad, I’m coming to spend Christmas with you in Silverpine. I’ll be there around midnight.” He paused, sounding surprised. “What made you change your mind?” I fought to keep my voice steady, hiding the sadness. “I miss you. I’ve spent the past few years with the Harringtons. I want to come home.” My dad immediately picked up on my distress. “Of course, sweetheart. I actually already washed your sheets and made up your bed.” “Should Dad come pick you up right now?” Hearing the warmth in his voice, my chaotic emotions began to settle. “No need. Someone’s picking me up. Just leave the door unlocked for me.”

When Carter came home with Chloe, I was making Christmas cookies with his relatives. His aunt glanced at Chloe, hesitating before speaking. “Serena, you two should get married this year, right? Marriage and a baby will stabilize the relationship.” Carter’s mother came over with a bowl of cookie dough, smiling. “That’s what I keep telling her. Serena was running that bakery studio before, and those ovens give off so much radiation.” “This year she finally listened and sold the business. We’ll have the wedding in the spring, and I’ll probably be holding my grandson by fall.” Everyone could see how close Carter was with Chloe, but they all thought the problem was me. I glanced at Carter. He acted like he hadn’t heard a word. Familiar music suddenly played, and the kids rushed to the TV. “It’s Mason!” I looked up sharply. That familiar face appeared on the screen. At the Christmas Eve live concert venue, he was holding a vinyl record and signing it. He waved at the camera with a warm smile. The host asked, “Mason, this is your first time performing on Christmas Eve, right? How are you planning to spend tonight?” “Of course with my most important family. As soon as the show ends, I’m going to see my family.” The host continued, “Let’s see what Mason wrote on that vinyl!” He playfully held it up to the camera. On the record sleeve, the dedication read: “To new beginnings and bright futures – with Serena.” I stared at my name, my heart pounding. Carter’s mother couldn’t help but comment, “These young male celebrities are so handsome nowadays.” Chloe immediately jumped in. “Mrs. Harrington, he’s this year’s hottest pop star. I’ve been dying to see his concert, but I can never get tickets.” Everyone chatted and laughed, but all I could think about was the word “family” he’d said. Once upon a time, Carter had also said I was his family forever. The winter I turned eight, my mom died after a long illness. My dad was in a daze for months, sometimes sitting at home in silence for entire days. He barely had the energy to take care of me. That year, we had to write an essay called “My Mother” for class. I turned in a blank page. The teacher made me stand at the front of the class. A classmate said, “Serena’s mom is dead. Of course she can’t write it.” Carter threw that kid’s book on the floor and threatened to beat anyone who said that again. After school, he walked me home. When we got to my building, he flicked my forehead. He said, “Serena, be brave. Don’t let anyone bully you.” From then on, he always walked me home after school. When my dad couldn’t take care of me, Carter would bring me to his house for dinner. I hated the holidays, so every year Carter made sure to include me in his family’s celebrations. He said he was my family. Forever. Later, my dad got transferred to Silverpine for work. After college, I stayed in this city because of Carter. But last Christmas, he broke that promise. On Christmas Eve, the pipes in Chloe’s dorm burst, and the water was shut off. He got the call and rushed out without even finishing dinner, frantically helping her find a place to stay. After he found her a hotel room, he took her out to dinner to comfort her. I waited until after midnight for him to come home. That was the first time we ever fought. From then on, the friction between us only grew. He kept telling me, “Chloe’s had it so rough. Do you know how hard it is to get out of poverty and make it to college? We need to help her.” “Stop being so jealous. If you had even an ounce of compassion, you wouldn’t go after her like this.” But then I found bikini selfies Chloe had sent him in his messages. He deleted them right in front of me and said coldly, “She’s just a kid messing around. Don’t take it seriously.” Maybe he just loved being pursued. But I was done living like this. My phone buzzed, pulling me back to reality. Someone in our college group chat had posted a screenshot, asking if the person in the photo was me. I opened it. It was a post Mason had just made on Twitter. He’d written just four words: [My family.] Attached was a photo from a volunteer event at a children’s shelter. I was standing right next to Mason. In front of us were kids learning to decorate gingerbread cookies. Before I could respond, Carter replied in the group chat. [No way. Just someone who looks like her.] [How the hell would Serena know a pop star? Absolutely impossible.] Seeing him panic like that, I almost found it funny. After he finished typing, he slammed his phone down on the coffee table, accidentally knocking over a glass of juice that spilled onto his pants. Chloe immediately grabbed several napkins and, without thinking, knelt down and started gently wiping his thigh. Carter cleared his throat awkwardly, and only then did she stop. I laughed softly. “You two look way more like a couple.”

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I am Ethan’s wife. He stole me from his best friend Ryan. A man who took another man’s woman watches every male around her. When I started feeding a stray on our block, he confirmed the dog was female and that its owner was also female before he relaxed. Then a new intern started at the office. Some kid who brought me coffee for a few days. Ethan said he didn’t care. That night he scrolled through my phone until three in the morning and broke out in hives. On the way to the ER, face flushed and burning, he pulled up the intern’s Instagram and shoved it in my face. “Those pecs are obviously photoshopped.” “And this height? He’s five-eight in lifts, max. No way he’s six feet.” The doctors around us were biting back laughter. I squeezed his mouth shut and pushed him into the exam room. On the way to pick up his prescription, the doctor mentioned it casually. “For contraception, we recommend the pill or condoms. This male contraceptive just hit the market and the side effects are severe. The rash is the least of it.” “He’s taken it three times in one week. I understand not wanting to put the burden on his partner, but this is reckless.” I stopped walking. I was three months pregnant. … He was asleep when I picked up his phone. The passcode was my birthday. His photo gallery was all me. His search history was all me too. “How to get your wife’s attention back” “Wife thinks I’m too clingy. Does she have someone else?” “How to help wife who misses her dead mother” His notes app. All me. “March 20. She had a nightmare about her mom again.” “March 21. She can’t keep anything down. Morning sickness getting worse.” “April 1. Tracked down her old nanny. Learned her mother’s pot roast recipe. She cleaned her plate.” My eyes burned. I told myself it was the hormones. Then a notification popped up from the navigation app. “Based on your frequent routes, we’ve planned your trip home. Estimated arrival: 30 minutes.” The destination was Unit 7B, 280 Park Avenue. We lived in Unit 3A. My fingers opened the route history before my brain caught up. For the past three months, every day at noon, he drove to that address and stayed for roughly two hours. The morning sickness had hollowed me out. Fifteen pounds gone in three months. The only food I could keep down was whatever Ethan cooked. The office was far. Between taking care of me and dealing with the sharks at the company, working until two in the morning was normal for him. I felt bad. I told him to eat lunch at the office and rest. He took it as me not needing him anymore. We had a huge fight. No matter what I said, he refused to stop making me lunch. I had to pretend the morning sickness was getting better and swear I’d take care of myself before he finally agreed to stay at work. Except he hadn’t stayed at work. Every day, for three months, he’d been one door down in another unit with someone else. My hands shook around the phone. A message came in. “Babe, I left a pair of panties at your place yesterday. She didn’t find them, did she? I left them on purpose. Unwashed.” “They’re my favorites. Bring them for my birthday?” I stared at the profile picture. My hands were trembling when I tapped it open. Bianca. My father’s bastard daughter. The girl whose mother drove my mother to her grave and moved into our house before the funeral flowers had wilted. She spent her whole life grabbing everything I had. My clothes, my jewelry, my father’s love. Even my ex-husband. I caught them in our bed. That’s how that marriage ended. The day the divorce went through, I wanted to die. Ethan held me and said it word by word. “Babe, I will only ever love you. I don’t care what she does. I won’t give her a second look. Believe me.” And he’d proven it. When Bianca sent him nudes, he went straight to the police. She got seven days in a holding cell. He made sure her university found out. They expelled her. Her future, gone. I thought leaving that swamp and finding Ethan was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me. So why her. Why was it always her. I opened their messages. Ethan calling her babe. Bianca threatening to tell me everything and Ethan shutting her down cold, blocking her, punishing her, taking the punishment to bed. Me in the hospital, crying over a bad prenatal result, and the two of them in the room I’d decorated with my own hands, Bianca wearing my pajamas… My whole body shook. Nausea hit the back of my throat. Behind me, the bed shifted. “Babe?”

He saw my red eyes and reached for me. I smelled it on him. Something faint and sour. I shoved him back and ran to the bathroom, doubled over the sink. “Babe!” He was right behind me. The second his hand touched my back I flinched, grabbed the glass ashtray off the counter and hurled it at him. “Get away from me!” The ashtray caught him on the temple. Blood ran down along his brow. He didn’t touch it. He just looked at me, eyes full of panic. “Is it the baby acting up again?” “Or does something hurt?” I sat on the floor and watched him bolt out of the bathroom. He came back with water and pills. Blood dripped onto his white collar and spread into a small red bloom. He didn’t notice. He just held out the pills. “Open up, babe.” “Why?” I looked into his eyes. The tears came before I could stop them. Days ago we were picking out names. We were talking about the future. The three of us. Taking her to the coast and the mountains and every place we’d been when we first fell in love. Minutes ago he was raging jealous over some kid bringing me coffee. “Why did you betray me?” I stared at him through the blur. Ethan froze. His hand tightened around the pills. “You know.” I waited for him to explain. I told myself I would believe anything he said. As long as he said it, I could forgive him. “I’m sorry.” He stepped closer, voice shaking. “I know having the intern fired behind your back will upset you. But I can’t stand another man being near you every day, seeing you smile.” He crouched down and looked up at me. “You have no idea what it took to take you from Ryan. How hard I fought just to stand beside you. And some nobody gets to walk in and hand you coffee like it’s nothing.” “I know I’m obsessive. I know I’m not normal. But I don’t regret it.” “Babe, hit me, scream at me, punish me however you want. Just don’t hurt yourself. Don’t leave me. I’ll die.” He looked up at me with red eyes, like an abandoned dog. I looked at him and knew I should turn around and walk out. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t give up his tenderness. I couldn’t give up these happy days. So as long as I didn’t see it with my own eyes, I could pretend none of it was real. As long as I didn’t see it. I looked at him and smiled. “I want pot roast.” His eyes lit up and he turned toward the kitchen. But his phone rang. He glanced at it, face apologetic. “Sorry, babe. Something urgent at the office. I’ll make it for you when I’m back.” He was out the door before I could answer. I got in my car and followed him. 812 Sutton Place. I stood under the trees and watched Bianca take his arm and walk him through the front door. The second it closed, I took out my phone and called him. Through the living room window I saw him stand up and reach for his jacket. Then Bianca rose on her toes and pressed her mouth to his. Through the phone I heard wet sounds and his breathing. My grip on the phone turned my knuckles white. “Ethan. My stomach hurts.” He shoved Bianca away and grabbed his coat and headed for the door. “Babe, don’t be scared. I’m coming right now.” Then a muffled sound came through the line. Bianca doubled over. The call went dead. Ten seconds later, a text came in. “Babe, emergency meeting at the office. I have to be there. I’ve already called the doctor, he’ll be at the house any minute. Don’t be scared.” I looked up. Through the window, I watched him carry Bianca toward the bedroom. Something in my chest died. I took out my phone and called the clinic. “I need to schedule an abortion.”

I was pulling out when I saw someone standing in front of my car. My father. We looked at each other. Then I followed him into the house I’d grown up in. The living room was the same room. But nothing in it was mine anymore. The photos of me and my mother on the wall had all been replaced with Bianca and her mother. My mother’s orchids were gone. Stiff red roses in their place. I stood in the middle of the room like I’d walked into the wrong house. My father pointed at the sofa. I sat down and he got straight to it. “Leave Ethan.” “No. Ethan can’t live without me.” Once, when I found Bianca’s number in his phone, I packed a bag and headed for the door. He got there first. Didn’t say a word. Just grabbed a knife from the coffee table and drove it into his own stomach. Blood poured out and he didn’t move. He just stood there between me and the door. “You want to leave? Then I die first.” My father said nothing. He just looked at me. Then he pointed at the wall behind me. A photo wall. All Bianca and Ethan. Cuddled on a gondola in Venice. Holding hands under cherry blossoms in Kyoto. Kissing beneath the Eiffel Tower. “He wasn’t on a business trip last week. He took her around the world.” He stood up and walked to the wall and pointed at the photo in the center. A wedding photo. “They got married overseas. Had a ceremony. Invited everyone.” “Including his parents.” “To get his parents to accept her, he knelt outside their door for seven days.” “Remind me, did anyone come to your wedding?” My mouth opened but nothing came out. Ethan’s parents despised me. They thought I’d seduced their son and made him break up a friendship and ruined his reputation. They didn’t come to the wedding. They refused to see us after. But in the photos, they were smiling and accepting tea from Bianca’s hands. “I heard you had a car accident a few days ago.” “You didn’t tell Ethan because you didn’t want him to worry.” My father let out a short laugh. “You know where he was?” “Right down the block from you. Shopping for a diamond ring with her.” My skull buzzed. “He watched the whole thing. Watched the other driver get in your face. Watched that man shove you to the ground. Watched you lock yourself in your car and cry. Watched them bang on your window and scream at you. Watched you sit there shaking and call the police.” “He didn’t move. Because she was thirsty and he wanted to get her a drink.” “That’s a lie!” I was on my feet, shaking. I refused to believe that the man who agonized over a scratch on my finger could watch me get pushed to the ground and do nothing. “You’re making this up because you want me away from Ethan.” My father looked at me in silence. The look in his eyes made my skin crawl. After a long time, he spoke. “Bianca’s pregnant.” “The baby’s name is Julian.” Julian. Something inside my head snapped. That name. Ethan and I spent a whole month on it. We went through every baby name book and argued and laughed and finally agreed. It was our baby’s name. Only our baby’s name. “A man knows a man.” My father’s voice came again. “All he has left for you is obligation. Keep going like this and you’ll end up exactly like your mother.” My mother. When she found out about the affair, she refused to leave. My father brought the other woman into our home and kissed her in front of my mother. My mother couldn’t take the humiliation. She killed herself. Would I end up the same way? I didn’t know. I just felt tired. I stopped listening to the man in front of me. I pushed the door open and walked out. The sun hit my skin and I couldn’t feel it.

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“I told you to SEDUCE Prince Alaric, not let him fuck you!” The whole kingdom knew Lycan king’s only son, Prince Alaric, was savage, bloodthirsty and coldly indifferent to women. Alpha Rowan feared his precious Seraphina would suffer if she married Alaric, so he forced me to pretend to be Seraphina and seduce him. “Just act slut enough, and Alaric will be so disgusted and dissolve the arrangement. Then I’ll come bring you home.” The morning after that one feral, ruinous night, I walked out of the Lycan Prince’s palace with one hand pressed flat against my lower back just to stay upright. Rowan rushed up to check my neck—no claiming mark, but covered in dark red bruises—and he exploded in rage. “I told you to perform,” he snarled, shaking where he stood. “Who told you to actually give yourself to him?!” “Are you that desperate for a male? You’d bait a man who kills without blinking?!” I met his fury with quiet, smoothing my collar back into place. “Alpha Rowan, you are wrong.” “Prince Alaric was…” I held his gaze. “…quite gentle.” Rowan lunged. His hand locked around my throat, grip designed to crush. “Gentle?” His voice cracked apart. “The man who put three Fated Mates in the ground—and you call him GENTLE?” “I sent you there for Blackwood Pack’s future. Not so you could offer yourself like some willing sacrifice!” “You belong to me. How DARE you let him touch you?!” I was forced to tilt my head back, face flushing red from the pressure building at my throat. But I didn’t fight him. I simply lowered my lashes and watched the rage consuming his face. “Alpha Rowan…” My voice stayed level. “Since the task is complete… the money you promised me…” He released me like I was something rotten, a sharp fling of his wrist. My legs buckled and I stumbled backward, colliding hard with the storage shelves behind me. He pulled a cloth from his pocket and wiped his fingers. Then dropped the cloth into the fire basin at his feet—watched the fabric curl, blacken, dissolve. Three years ago, when my family was convicted of treason, it was him who had knelt in the snow outside the Council Hall for three days and three nights, begging his father to spare my life. He had promised—no title, no formal bond, none of that mattered. He would protect me for the rest of my life. And now he had sent me into another male’s bed—and wouldn’t honor the money he’d promised. He stared at me, pain and jealousy churning raw in his eyes. “If Grandfather hadn’t demanded the Alliance, and if Seraphina hadn’t been too terrified of Alaric to go herself, I never would have—” He caught the blankness on my face. Saw I was looking only at the purse at his belt. The guilt in his expression curdled immediately into rage. He ripped the purse free and hurled it at me. “You only want money? Fine. Consider it a reward.” Coins exploded across the floor, rolling into the dust at the room’s edges. “Take it and go scrub yourself clean.” “Alaric is dangerously perceptive. If he suspects the deception, don’t come crying to me.” He turned to leave. I braced against the shelves and slowly lowered myself to the floor. My fingers moved across the cold stone. One coin. Two. I gathered each coin, blew the dust from them, and pressed them carefully against my chest. Rowan stopped at the door. Looked back. The contempt on his face sharpened into something vicious. “Of course. A traitor’s daughter—even if it’s money earned from selling yourself, you still treasure it.” It does. Because this gold keeps Caden breathing. I looked at him steadily and said nothing else. “Alpha Rowan. The birth control pill—” Rowan went still. He turned. Something complicated moved through his eyes. Fleeting. As if remembering the ghost of the girl I used to be—who once dazzled the kingdom at banquets with a single look. Then my poverty stabbed him, and the flicker hardened into deeper revulsion. “What—afraid you’re carrying the Lycan Prince’s pup?” He almost laughed. “Relax. The pack healer said your body ran cold too long in captivity. You’ll never carry a pup. Not in this lifetime.” “Stop worrying about impossible things.” The den curtain slammed shut behind him. Cold wind flooded in. I clutched the gold tighter against my chest. This amount—added to what I’d saved before—was just enough for one month of Caden’s medicine. I pulled myself to the small table, poured a cup of tea that had long gone cold, pressed a pinch of cheap pain-dulling herbs to my tongue, and swallowed both together. Bitterness spread across my throat. I didn’t care what Rowan thought of me. As long as Caden survived, I would gladly spend the rest of my life as Alaric’s unseen slave.

Before dawn had even broken, rough hands were dragging me off my bed. “Leah. Alpha Rowan’s orders—there’s a Royal Banquet at the Royal Palace today. You’re to attend as the Miss Seraphina.” The servant’s grip was steel. It bruised. I held down the discomfort rising from yesterday’s injuries and let them paint my face. Seraphina was Rowan’s treasured childhood sweetheart—delicate and easily overwhelmed. She couldn’t endure the pressures of a Royal Banquet. Rowan had long used me as her stand-in—we were close enough in build that behind a veil, no one looked twice. In the carriage, Rowan sat with his eyes closed and gave me nothing—not a look, not a word. Only when we reached the royal palace’s gate did he speak, cold and precise. “Alaric will be there. Keep your head down and your mouth shut.” “If you let him see through the deception, you can start preparing a grave for your father.” At the mention of my father, my body went rigid. Father had been dead in prison for half a month—Rowan knew it, yet still used it to threaten me. I couldn’t tell him the truth. Caden still needed medicine. The fiction had to hold. “Yes,” I said quietly. The royal banquet was a sea of wine and conversation. I sat beside Rowan, eyes downcast, peeling grapes from the plate. A burning gaze never left my skin. I didn’t need to look up to know whose it was. Lycan Prince Alaric sat at the hall’s head—black robe, dark hair, an untouchable ferocity that his handsome did nothing to soften. He turned his goblet in slow circles. His eyes tracked every inch of me, without shame and without apology. He raised the goblet toward Rowan in a languid toast, but his gaze dragged across my body like a slow deliberate touch. “Alpha Rowan has excellent taste,” he said, faintly amused. “Your female companion may be fragile—but this figure…” “I feel as though I’ve encountered it before. Quite… memorable.” Rowan’s jaw turned to iron. He raised his cup and drank anyway, smiling through the humiliation. Under the table, his fingers drove a brutal pinch into my thigh. The pain jolted through me; my hand jerked and the grapes scattered to the floor. “Useless,” Rowan hissed under his breath. Three rounds of drink in, Lycan Prince Alaric rose from his seat. When he passed our table, his steps slowed almost imperceptibly. A jade pendant slipped from his sleeve—smooth, warm-toned, carved with a wolf sigil—and dropped precisely at my feet. Rare jade. Worth a year of medicine. The surrounding guests were all engaged in pleasantries, no one paying attention. I bent without thinking. The moment my fingertips touched the pendant, it was still warm from his skin. Alaric hadn’t moved on. His fingers lifted my chin, his thumb traced ambiguously across the corner of my lips. “These hands know exactly how to please a man.” “Keep this as your reward. Take it back and practice well.” Rowan’s grip on his goblet shattered the stem. Wine bled down his wrist. I kept my eyes down and said nothing. That jade could cover three years of Caden’s medicine. On the ride back, I tucked the pendant into my sleeve with care. “Hand it over.” Rowan’s voice cracked the silence. I stilled. I had no choice. I placed it in his open palm. Rowan held the jade pendant, then let out a cold laugh. “A jade pendant? Alaric’s being generous.” He glanced at me sideways. “You think this is a declaration? It’s how he collects females. A trick. You’re naive enough to treasure it.” He flicked his wrist. The pendant arced through the open carriage window and vanished into the dark drainage channel below the road. “No—that was—” I lurched for the window before I could stop myself, and Rowan caught me, yanking me back against his chest. “Shut up! It’s just a broken stone. Now it’s in the gutter where it belongs.” I pressed against the window frame, staring at the dark below. Cold flooded from my feet straight up through my skull. That wasn’t jade. That was Caden’s medicine. That was Caden’s last thread—the rope he was white-knuckling at death’s door. Rowan watched my devastation with something that looked like satisfaction. “Remember what you are,” he said quietly. “you’re just a substitute.” “Alaric wants Seraphina—the Pack Princess, the Alliance contract. Not you, Leah.”

By the time we returned to the Blackwood packhouse, it was the dead of night. Before I’d even reached my room, I heard it—the low, suppressed coughing from inside. Caden. My chest seized. I pushed the door open and was at his side in four steps. He was curled into himself on the narrow cot, his frame skeletal, cheeks blazing with fever-flush. “Leah…” he whispered, half-conscious, reaching for nothing. I pressed my palm to his forehead. Burning. The medicine was gone. The healer had been clear—without Moonflower to sustain him, he would not survive the winter. I turned out every pocket, every fold of my clothing. Only the few coins Rowan had thrown at me. Not enough to buy even a shred of Moonflower. I stood up, set my teeth together, and walked directly to the main house. Seraphina’s chambers blazed with lamplight. I knelt on the cold stone outside, forehead toward the door. “Alpha Rowan. I beg you. Caden won’t last the night—” “You promised me. You said if I followed your orders and went to Prince Alaric, you would keep Caden safe.” “Please. One Moon flower. Just enough to keep him breathing.” “As long as Caden lives, I will do whatever you ask of me—without a word of complaint.” Laughter and conversation drifted from inside the room. After a long silence, the door finally opened. Rowan walked out with Seraphina on his arm. Seraphina wore a thick fur cloak, her face rosy—where was there any sign of illness? “Leah. What scene are you making now?” I moved forward on my knees and caught the hem of Rowan’s coat. “Alpha Rowan. My brother is critical. He needs Moon flower to survive.” “I beg you—for the sake of how many times I’ve taken Miss Seraphina’s place—please save him!” Rowan’s brow creased faintly. “The storehouse does have several stalks of moonflower…” Seraphina cut him off with a soft, well-timed cough, pressing one hand to her chest. “Alpha Rowan, the healer said I must keep the moonflower tonic for my own strength.” Rowan’s attention snapped to her immediately. His hand steadied her elbow. “Seraphina’s health comes first. Naturally those Moonflower are reserved for her.” He looked back down at me, his tone turning almost gentle—the cruelty pressed beneath reason. “Caden’s illness is a bottomless pit, Leah. Moon flower only delays it. It’s a bottomless well.” I stared at him, unable to speak. I stared at him in disbelief. Seraphina only had a few coughs, while Caden was dying. “Alpha Rowan—Seraphina only needs the moonflower for recovery. My brother needs it to stay alive—” Rowan waved one hand without looking at me. “Seraphina’s worth cannot be weighed against your brother’s cursed life. Not one Moonflower—even if it’s the entire pack’s supply of medicine, as long as Seraphina needs it, she gets priority!” Seraphina leaned into his arm, tilting her gaze down at me. That small, winning smile. “Leah. it’s not that I won’t help you, but I truly cannot go without the moonflower tonic.” “How about this—I’ll have the kitchen save the used herb dregs for you, they should still have some medicinal properties.” Humiliation. Cold, deliberate, total humiliation. I pulled myself to my feet and wiped the tears from my eyes. “Don’t bother.” Rowan wouldn’t give me a way to survive—someone else would.

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My dead mother’s necklace showed up as the grand prize at tonight’s street race. Marcus promised he’d win first place and get it back for me. He broke his promise. He deliberately slowed down before the finish line to let Cole Montgomery win, just so he could take second place—and that Valentino gown. Charlotte had been eyeing it for months. Marcus looked at me, helpless but indulgent. “Charlotte’s twenty-first birthday is coming up. She only wants this gown. I promised I’d get it for her.” Charlotte twirled in the Valentino, smug and sweet. “Ophelia, isn’t it bad luck to keep a dead woman’s things?” Marcus tried to smooth things over. “When I propose, I’ll have a custom necklace made for you at Cartier. Better than your mother’s. How about that?” Too late. Because I’d sworn—whoever won back that necklace for me, I’d marry him. Three days from now, I’ll be Cole Montgomery’s wife. …… “Second place—Marcus Ashford. Prize: one Valentino limited-edition gown.” The crowd roared. Engines still rumbling. Tire smoke hung in the night air. I stood behind the crowd, watching someone hand Marcus the Valentino gown. My hands went cold. He’d actually done it. Broken his word. The scene before the race kept replaying in my head. Charlotte had cornered Marcus by his car at the starting line, dressed in a tight crop top and short skirt. Her eyes were wet, pleading. “Marcus, my birthday’s in three days. Could you win me that Valentino?” “Ophelia’s the legitimate heir—she got this huge party for her twenty-first. I’m just the stepdaughter. I can’t compete with her. But I want something beautiful too.” “My mom’s just her father’s mistress. Everyone looks down on us. But if I wear a beautiful gown won by you, people will finally respect me.” “I’m only asking this once. Please, Marcus.” Tears slid down her cheeks, landing on Marcus’s hand as he reached to brush them away. “Don’t cry, Charlotte. I’ll do it.” “But I promised Ophelia I’d win back the necklace. She said it was her mother’s.” Charlotte wiped her eyes fast, smiling. “It’s fine. The other racers all know you. We can buy it back for her.” “I’ll use all my savings to buy it for Ophelia.” She looked so small and careful it made Marcus ache. “Alright. I’ll win you that gown.” I closed my eyes. Hands in fists. I’d heard them talking before the race but couldn’t stop it. I’d held onto hope. Marcus and I grew up together. Our families had a verbal agreement about marriage. Three days from now, the Ashford Family were supposed to come propose. I thought—being his fiancée—he’d do this one thing for me. I was wrong. He threw the race to Cole Montgomery for Charlotte’s gown. “Oh no, Ophelia. Marcus lost. Cole Montgomery got your necklace.” “Wasn’t that your mom’s? What are you going to do? Cole hates Marcus—he’ll never sell it back.” So she knew. She’d suggested buying it back, already knowing Cole would refuse. I looked at her. “Charlotte, does Marcus know how vicious you are?” Her face changed. Before she could speak, Marcus walked up with people carrying the gown. Charlotte threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Marcus.”

The racing girls and other racers swarmed them. “That Valentino is limited edition. Can’t believe Marcus won it for you, Charlotte.” “Marcus is so good to you.” “I heard the Warren and Ashford Family are family friends. They’re arranging a marriage.” “So Marcus is marrying Charlotte? Lucky girl.” Charlotte smugly took the gown and headed to one of the cars to change. Marcus watched her go, indulgent, then turned to me. “Ophelia, I know I let you down. Charlotte said she only wants this gown for her birthday. I had no choice.” “You want the necklace—Cole won’t budge for some reason. But it’s fine. When I come to propose, I’ll have Cartier make you the same one. Better than your mother’s.” I blinked back tears. “I don’t think you’ll get the chance.” Marcus looked regretful, mumbling, not knowing what to do. Charlotte came back in the Valentino, tugging his sleeve and laughing. “Thank you, Marcus. This is the best birthday gift.” Then she tilted her head at me. “Ophelia, why hold onto the past? That necklace is pretty, but isn’t it creepy to keep a dead woman’s things?” “You wouldn’t actually make Marcus order a replica of a dead woman’s necklace for the proposal, would you? Isn’t that bad luck?” Marcus played mediator. “Alright, this is my fault. It’s just a necklace. I’ll get you several more. I’ll bring them when I propose. That should make up for it.” Marcus saw me staying quiet. His patience snapped. “How long are you going to sulk over a dead woman’s jewelry?” “Is your mother’s old necklace more important than Charlotte’s birthday? She’s your sister. Aren’t the living more important?” “You’re acting like a spoiled child. Where’s the grace of a Warren heir? Think about it.” “If you keep being this petty, you’re not fit to be a Marcus’s wife. I’ll have to reconsider this marriage.” After saying that, he opened the car door for Charlotte and drove off, tires screeching down the street. …… Three days later was Charlotte’s twenty-first birthday. Victoria had been planning it for months. After my mother died, Dad’s mistress Victoria moved into Mom’s bedroom. Charlotte was treated just like the legitimate heir. If it weren’t for my Grandfather, Dad would’ve made Victoria his official wife years ago. Charlotte’s birthday party had invited every socialite and heiress in New York. And this was also the day the Ashford Family were supposed to come to discuss the wedding date. Guests filled the house. Someone joked about when they’d get to attend our wedding. Marcus looked at me, uncomfortable, forcing a smile. “There will be a wedding. Just… the timing is a bit complicated.” A family friend spoke up. “Complicated? Wasn’t it supposed to be in one month? Is something wrong?” Marcus lowered his head, looking embarrassed. “Ophelia, we have discussed this. Your grandfather won’t let Victoria become your father’s official wife unless Charlotte marries well.” “Charlotte’s had it rough. I feel for her.” “So… I’ll marry Charlotte first. In one month.” The room went silent. Someone gasped. “Wait, you’re marrying Charlotte? What about Ophelia?” I stared at Marcus. “Is this the Ashford Family’ decision? And my father’s? You marry Charlotte instead?”

Marcus waved his hands quickly. “Charlotte needs me. She can’t survive without support. I have to marry her.” He stepped forward, urgent. “But Ophelia, you can still be with me. You’re the Warren Family’s heir. You’re Abel Sterling’s granddaughter. You don’t need a title to prove your worth.” “Charlotte said she won’t fight you for anything. She knows her place. She just needs the protection of being Mrs. Ashford.” “You’ll have everything you want. My love, my resources, everything. The only difference is Charlotte will have the legal title.” He said it like he was being generous. Like I should be grateful. The guests’ faces were priceless. “Is he suggesting she be his mistress?” “How could Robert Warren agree to this? His daughter becoming the mistress?” “If Abel Sterling finds out, he’ll tear the Ashford Family down.” Marcus’s face went red and white. Charlotte walked up in the Valentino, voice soft. “Ophelia, please forgive me.” “I need Marcus. I can’t make it on my own. But I promise I won’t take anything from you. You’ll always be special to him.” I laughed. “You’ve had it so hard, Charlotte? Victoria moved into my mother’s bedroom three days after she died. She took all of Mom’s jewelry.” “And you claimed my room because you said it had the best natural light. You live in the best suite in the Warren Family.” “Your clothes cost more than mine. You get first pick of jewelry and designer clothes. Where exactly have you suffered?” Everyone looked. Charlotte’s Valentino gown was from the street race—Marcus had won it for her. The worth of that gown spoke for itself. The crown on her head was from Cartier’s vault collection. Worth $500,000. Her shoes were Manolo Blahnik with rare pearls embedded in them. Compared to her,I wore something simple. Hearing this, the guests started whispering. “That outfit costs over a million dollars. Not even the heiresses in this city dress that extravagantly. How dare you say you are unloved?” “Just that crown is worth $500,000.” “That mistress’s wearing designer too. Those two dress better than most of us.” “Ophelia doesn’t even look as expensive as them.” Charlotte’s eyes filled with tears. She stepped back, looking at Marcus. “It’s not like that, Marcus. Today’s my birthday. Dad said I couldn’t lose face in front of everyone. That’s why I’m dressed like this.” “This crown and jewelry—Dad ordered them for Ophelia, not me.” I smiled slightly. “Dad ordered them for me? Pearl, make a note. After the party, go get all this jewelry and the crown from Charlotte’s room and bring it to mine.” My maid Pearl suppressed a smile. “Yes, Miss Warren.” Marcus snapped. “Enough, Ophelia. It’s just a crown. Why are you pushing your sister this far? You’re being petty. Where’s your grace as the Warren Family’s heir?” “I didn’t believe you’d treat Charlotte badly, but now I see it. When I’m not around, you must bully her constantly.” He stepped in front of Charlotte, gripping her hand tight. “She’s going to be Mrs. Ashford. She doesn’t need these things.” “Besides, when Charlotte marries me, your father said he’d transfer her share of the Warren assets—company stocks and cash worth a hundred million dollars. She won’t care about one or two pieces of jewelry.”

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Three years after our divorce, my ex-husband shows up at my door with roses — smiling like he’s already won me back. “Babe, I kept my promise. Three years on the dot. I’m here to remarry you.” Three years ago, he lost a game of Truth or Dare to his childhood best friend, Sophie. Sophie’s dare: “I want to see if you and Claire are really in love.” “So you divorce — and you don’t see each other for three years.” “If she takes you back after that, I’ll admit it’s real.” He and Sophie never had boundaries. The flirting was constant — sometimes subtle, sometimes not. We fought about it all the time. I thought he’d say no. Instead, he agreed without blinking: “Deal! A bet’s a bet!” His friends tried to talk him down. “Think about this — divorce isn’t a joke!” He looked right at me, completely sure of himself: “I trust what we have. My wife would never leave me — not in this lifetime.” “She’ll take me back. I know it.” I said nothing. What he didn’t know was that I was giving him one last chance. I snap back to the present. He pushes the roses toward me. I don’t take them. I step back and say calmly: “My husband doesn’t let me accept flowers from other men.” … Ethan’s lips curl into that confident little smirk. “You mad?” “Come on, I’m here now, aren’t I?” “Don’t be like that, babe.” His voice is soft, coaxing , like he thinks I’m just throwing a tantrum. He moves toward me, arms open, the way he used to. I take another step back. My face hardens. “Back off, Ethan.” His hand freezes in air. His eyes stay locked on my face, gentle, searching. “Oh, so you’re really mad this time?” “Tell me what I have to do. I’ll do anything to make it up to you.” He still thinks a few sweet words will fix everything. Just like before. He steps closer. Every step he takes forward, I take one back. The look in his eyes grows hungrier — like he’s enjoying the chase. “Ethan, three years is enough to change everything.” He nods, almost amused. “True.” My back hits the wall. Nowhere left to go. He plants both hands on either side of my head, caging me in. He used to do this when we were dating — pin me against the wall and kiss me under the moonlight. “So — did you have a boy? Or a girl?” He strokes my cheek with one hand, feather-light. The memory of that baby hits me like a knife to the chest. Three years ago, he knew I was pregnant. He knew — and he still divorced me over a stupid dare. Because Sophie asked him to. Three years. Not a single call. Not one text. And now he stands here, so sure of himself, assuming I carried his child and waited like a good little wife for him to come collect me. A bitter smile pulls at my lips. I’m about to tell him I lost the baby — but his phone rings. He pulls it out. The screen lights up with a contact name: My Princess 👑 That’s Sophie. I’ve seen it a hundred times before — him petting her hair, calling her his princess since they were kids. Never once caring how that made me feel as his wife. He picks up immediately. “Ethan—” Sophie’s whiny voice crackles through the speaker, half-crying. “Come back, please, my cramps are so bad, I’m dying—” Worry floods his eyes instantly. “Hey, hey — don’t panic. I’m coming right now.” He hangs up. Then he reaches over and pats the top of my head — like I’m some docile cat with no feelings. “Let me go check on Sophie. I’ll come back later, okay?” And just like that, he’s gone.

Sophie does what she always does — posts on Instagram like clockwork. In the photo, she’s drenched in sweat, curled up in Ethan’s arms. His hand rests on her lower belly, rubbing gently. Her caption: He’s been the one who loves me most since we were kids. No matter what’s going on — no matter who he’s with — the second I’m not okay, he drops everything and comes to me. He gives me all his care and love. He is literally the best man in the world!!! I hit “like.” Not just once. Every single day for three years, Sophie has posted couple content. Three years. 1,095 posts. I liked every single one. She flaunts it in a different way each time. Like the fact that she doesn’t work — Ethan gave her his black card, no spending limit. Like how she lives in the house that used to be mine and Ethan’s. My things — she uses what she wants, throws away what she doesn’t. For three years, she and Ethan did everything a couple does. I know she posts it all for me to see. Every ‘like’ I leave is a warning she’s too dumb to read. ‘I see you. Sleep well — while you still can.’ But Sophie? She thinks I’m jealous. Seething. Desperately trying to stay relevant. The next time I see Ethan, he walks into my coffee shop with Sophie. They’re wearing matching brown outfits. Ethan — a man who only ever wore classic, buttoned-up suits , is dressed in something trendy and casual today. I used to suggest matching outfits. Every time, he’d say he was too used to suits. Didn’t want to change his style. Sophie looks around my shop, scanning it up and down. She seems surprised. Ethan frowns at me, confused. “I gave you all that money. Why are you working yourself to death like this?” When we divorced, I asked for half. He handed it over without blinking. I set down the coffee I’m making. I look at him, expressionless. “Because I want to. And it’s none of your business.” His expression doesn’t change. He still thinks I’m throwing a tantrum. Sophie smiles at me — fake as ever. “Claire, it’s been three years! How have you been?” “Fine.” My calm catches her off guard. Ethan’s phone rings. He steps outside to take the call. The second we’re alone, her mask drops. That sweet smile twists into something smug, taunting. “Relax, sweetie. You’re not his type. And don’t get too excited — it’s embarrassing.” She looks down at me like I’m beneath her, a smirk pulling at her lips. “Even if Ethan takes you back — so what?” “His mother can’t stand you. She’s always wanted Ethan to end up with me.” “The only reason he’s here is obligation.” “He even asked my permission before coming to find you.” “Oh — and you’ll have to sign a prenup.” “One I wrote myself, by the way.” She pulls a document from her bag and slides it in front of me. I glance down, barely interested. First line: All Graves family assets are excluded from the marriage. After marriage, I’m not allowed to take the Graves name. Legally, socially — I stay Claire Bennett. In public, I cannot introduce myself as his wife. If anyone asks, I’m to say I’m his ex. At family events, I’m a guest , not a member of the family. I actually laugh. It’s that insulting. I push it back toward her. “If his mother loves you so much — how come you’re still nobody to him?” “Three years, Sophie. He slept with you and still won’t claim you. That’s just sad.” Her face goes scarlet. Humiliation, fury — her hand flies up instinctively, about to slap me. Then — footsteps. Ethan’s, getting closer. She flips like a switch. Tears streaming, voice trembling — wounded but gracious. “Claire, I really do hope you’ll remarry Ethan.” “As his oldest friend, I just want him to be happy.” “The prenup is just a formality. Please don’t be upset, okay?” Same act. Three years later, and she hasn’t changed. The second Ethan sees her crying, his brain turns to mush. He can’t tell right from wrong when she’s in tears.

“Sophie? What happened?” Ethan pulls Sophie into his arms, eyes swimming with concern. Sophie shakes her head, all wounded innocence. “It’s nothing. It’s my fault. Don’t blame Claire.” The more she says that, the more convinced he is that I’m the bully. “Claire!” His voice goes cold. Commanding. “Apologize.” He says it like he’s ordering a servant. A bitter smile tugs at my lips. He frowns, irritated. “Sophie’s been in my life way before you. She’s family. You need to get over yourself and stop acting so threatened by her.” “If not for her sake, then for mine. Just be nice. Is that so hard?” I keep my face blank. I’ve seen this exact scene a hundred times before. I’m so over it. I’m about to tell them both to get out — when my phone rings on the counter. Video call. The screen lights up: My Baby Boy 💙 Ethan sees the name. His eyes go wide, electric. His hand shoots out to answer it before I can. I grab the phone first. My two-year-old’s round little face fills the screen. “Mommy, I miss you.” The second Ethan hears that word — Mommy — he’s buzzing. Certain now. Absolutely certain I gave him a son. I say a few quick words to Leo. The moment Ethan reaches for my phone, I hang up. “Let me see my son!” He’s grinning ear to ear. All that anger from a minute ago — gone, like it never happened. Sophie’s face darkens behind him. “He’s not your son.” I look Ethan dead in the eye, voice flat and final. “Stop coming here. Both of you. You’re delusional, you know that? Completely out of your mind.” He doesn’t even flinch. Still smiling, still coaxing. “Come on, don’t be mad.” “I really missed you and our boy.” And just like that, I realize — a man this deluded won’t believe I’ve moved on until he sees my husband with his own eyes. Then he shifts gears, casual as anything: “Mom’s birthday is coming up.” “You’re a great cook. Make a few of her favorites.” “Use it as a chance to patch things up between you two.” “Now that you’ve given her a grandson, she won’t give you a hard time anymore.” So he knows. He’s always known. Three years of marriage — and his mother tormented me the entire time. Mrs. Graves looked down on me because I didn’t come from money. Even though Ethan married me properly, she never let me attend a single family dinner. If she was in the room, I wasn’t allowed at the table. I didn’t like her either. Our relationship was ice — we simply pretended the other didn’t exist. And through all of it, Ethan stayed silent. Never once took my side. A mocking smile pulls at my mouth. I ask deliberately: “Ethan, hypothetically speaking —” “What if I cook her an entire five-course dinner and she still won’t say a single word to me?” He hesitates before answering: “Just say something nice to her. Butter her up a little. You know how she is — her bark’s worse than her bite.” Sophie chimes in, voice dripping with fake sympathy: “Claire, there’s no shame in a younger woman showing respect to her elder. You know what really works on her? When someone swallows their pride and apologizes. On their knees, even.” She’s telling me to kneel. With a smile on her face. I let out a dry laugh. Then I look Ethan straight in his dark eyes, dead serious. “Ethan. Three years changes everything.” “I’m married. And the child isn’t yours.” I turn to Sophie. “Maybe you should try kneeling. Might be your only shot at getting through that door.”

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Five years later, I returned to Harbor City. The invitation to Mrs. Shaw’s birthday gala had arrived at my hotel three days prior—cream-colored card stock, the Shaw family crest pressed into the seal. I almost threw it away. But Julian had raised an eyebrow when he saw the name, and something in his expression told me he already knew I’d go. Because can not hide forever. But also not for Adrian Shaw’s shameless love acting. So I went. — The Shaw estate hadn’t changed. Crystal chandeliers, white roses, the same old money perfume that clung to the drapes.Every major family in Harbor City was in attendance. I stood near the terrace doors, a glass of champagne in my hand. I recognized most of the faces. They recognized mine. The whispers started before I’d made it past the foyer. I ignored them. Then Adrian Shaw walked toward me. He was still handsome. He wore a charcoal suit that fit him like a second skin. His jaw was sharper than I remembered. In his hands, he held a garment bag. And even before he unzipped it, I knew what was inside. The wedding suit. The one I had designed for him with my own hands, twenty years of love stitched into every seam. The one he had ripped off and ground beneath his heel on our wedding day—in front of cameras, in front of reporters, in front of every person who had ever watched me love him. The room went quiet. “Elara.” His voice was low. Controlled. The voice of a man who’d rehearsed this. “I know I have no right to stand here. But I’ve carried this with me for five years, and I need you to hear what I have to say.” He held the suit out like an offering. “Marry me.” A gasp rippled through the crowd. Then whispers. I looked at the suit. At his face. At the tremor in his hands. And I felt—nothing. “Oh my God. He’s proposing. Adrian Shaw is proposing to Elara Su.” “After everything that happened? After the scandal? He must be losing her mind right now.” “Are you kidding? She loved him for twenty years. She’ll say yes. Of course she’ll say yes.” They remembered. Everyone remembered. This is the woman who spent ninety million dollars on a fireworks proposal over Harbor Bridge. The drones that spelled his name across the night sky. The LED screens on every building in the financial district—*I love Adrian Shaw*—for an entire month. Twenty-five-year-old Elara had loved with her whole chest. I had wanted the entire world to witness our love story. And the entire world had watched it burn. I set down my champagne glass. The clink echoed in the sudden silence. “Thank you for the kind gesture, Mr. Shaw,” I said. My voice was calm. Almost bored. “But I was young and foolish back then. I don’t have those feelings anymore.” The crowd went absolutely still. Adrian’s face flickered—shock, then disbelief, then something that looked almost like panic. “Elara, don’t joke with me. I know you’re still angry about what happened, but I can explain—” “There’s nothing to explain.” I smiled. Not warmly. “Five years is a long time. People will change. And I don’t have a habit of recycling trash.” He stepped closer, the wedding dress still hanging from his hand. ““You don’t mean that. You loved me. You followed me everywhere. You—” “I also forgave you once for wearing my wedding dress on someone else,” I cut in. “And I forgave your sister calling me a fraud. And I forgave you choosing her over me on our wedding day.” His jaw tightened. “Lily was my family. I had to protect her.” “You had to protect her from what? The truth?” The whispers turned sharper. “She’s really saying no. Elara Su is saying no to Adrian Shaw.” “After all that?” “Maybe she may has love another man.” Adrian’s expression hardened. He lowered the dress. “You’re still angry. I understand. But Elara, we had something real. You can’t just—” “I can,” I said. “And I did.” He stared at me for a long moment. Then, slowly, he lowered himself to one knee. The room gasped again. “Elara Su,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “I love you. Five years I’ve regretted what I did. I know I don’t deserve a second chance. But I’m asking for one anyway.” He held up the wedding dress. “Elara Su—will you marry me?” I opened my mouth and ready to refuse. And then a small voice cut through the silence like a bell. “Mommy!”

The entire room froze. A tiny figure in a white lace dress broke through the forest of adult legs, dark hair bouncing, eyes locked on me with the single-minded determination that only small children possess.She crashed into my legs and wrapped her arms around my knees. Sienna. I caught her automatically, my body responding before my brain caught up. She smelled like baby powder and strawberries. “Mommy, Mommy! Daddy said to wait in the car, but I missed you!” Every eye in the ballroom was locked on us. On her. Adrian stared at my daughter like he had seen a ghost. His face went from white to gray. The wedding dress slipped from his fingers and pooled on the floor. “You… you have a daughter?” His voice was barely audible. I picked up my daughter and settled her on my hip. “She’s four,” I said calmly. “Born in April 2020.” Whispers exploded like a bomb. “A daughter? Elara Su has a daughter?” “Who’s the father? She never announced any wedding.” “She’s bluffing. Probably hired a child actress—” Adrian heard them too. Something desperate shifted behind his eyes—the first flicker of real fear. He squared his shoulders, and for the second time that night, lowered himself to one knee. “Elara Su.” His voice rang out—pitched deliberately for the room, for the witnesses, for the record. “I was wrong. I lost you through my own stupidity. But I am asking—in front of every person here tonight—for one more chance.” “Will you marry me?” The hall held its breath. I looked down at him. At the suit I had once stitched with trembling, lovesick hands. At the face I had once believed I would grow old beside. I didn’t answer right away. I felt Sienna’s small fingers curl into my collar. Her weight on my hip—warm and real. I kissed Sienna’s forehead, then looked at him. “March 2020. I held the ceremony overseas.” Adrian rose slowly to his feet. Whatever remained of his composure lay in ruins. His jaw was locked tight, his knuckles white around the wedding suit’s fabric. He stepped closer. His voice dropped—as though lowering the volume could somehow erase the audience of two hundred. “Elara, whatever game this is—whoever you married to punish me—it doesn’t matter. I’ll wait. However long it takes.” He lifted the suit again. The gesture that had seemed grand fifteen minutes ago now looked desperate. Fraying at the edges. “This was made for me. By your hands. That means something. That doesn’t just easliy disappear.” Sienna chose to look up at Adrian with the kind of withering disdain only a four-year-old could deliver with total sincerity. “Mommy,” she announced, loud enough for the nearest fifty guests to hear, “why is that man still talking? He’s very annoying.” A strangled laugh escaped someone nearby. Adrian’s jaw clenched. “Elara, I don’t believe you’ve moved on. I know you. I know what we had.” The crowd was watching us like a tennis match—heads swiveling, breaths held, waiting to see who would break first. Before I could respond, another voice cut through the murmur. “She doesn’t want to.” Every head turned. The crowd parted. Julian Sinclair walked through the gap like he owned the room. Navy suit. Cufflinks gleaming. His face was calm, but his eyes were cold—radiating the kind of cold fury that made people instinctively step aside. He came to my side and wrapped an arm around my waist. Possessive. Unapologetic. “Julian Sinclair.” He extended his hand toward Adrian, but his voice perfectly polite and perfectly lethal. “Her husband.” A collective gasp. “Apologies for the interruption, butI believe my wife already said no.”

Julian’s presence hit the room like a cold front. The whispers didn’t just die—they evaporated. Two hundred guests stared at the man who had materialized beside me, his arm around my waist, his gaze fixed on Adrian Shaw with the kind of quiet contempt that didn’t need volume to be devastating. Adrian was still stood there. The wedding suit pooled across his arms. His face had gone from white to gray. “Sinclair?” someone breathed. “Julian Sinclair is her husband?” ““Heir to the Sinclair Group?—that’s who she married?” “How is that possible? He’s been off the radar for years—” Julian didn’t acknowledge any of it. His attention shifted to Sienna, who was tugging at his sleeve with practiced urgency. “Daddy.” She pointed at Adrian with one small, accusatory finger. “That bad man tried to steal Mommy. He got on his knees and everything.” Julian crouched to her level. His expression was grave—the kind of seriousness he reserved exclusively for their daughter’s reports on injustice. “Did he scare you?” “No.” Sienna crossed her arms. “But he’s very annoying. And he made Mommy talk to him for a really long time.” “I see.” Julian straightened, one hand still resting on my waist. He looked back at Adrian. Adrian rose slowly. He stared at Julian—not with the hostility of a rival, but with the bewilderment of a man whose entire reality had shifted beneath his feet. “You—” Adrian’s voice was hoarse. “You’re her husband?” “And also the father of her daughter, her legal husband” Julian said smoothly. “Would you like to see the certificate? I carry it everywhere.” He reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a small booklet. He set it on the nearest table with a sharp *clap* that echoed through the silent hall. Adrian’s face went gray. Sienna—clearly sensing the moment required her participation—climbed down from my arms, marched to the table, and patted the marriage certificate with her small palm. “See?” she announced to the room at large. “Mommy and Daddy. It’s real. It has stamps and everything.” The tension fractured. Nervous laughter rippled through the crowd—disbelieving, unable to look away. Adrian stood frozen in the wreckage of his grand gesture. The suit lay at his feet like a shed skin. “This is—” His voice cracked. “This isn’t possible. You left the country and immediately—” I said flat. “Julian proposed. I said yes. It was remarkably uncomplicated.” “But—twenty years.” Adrian’s composure was in free fall. “Twenty years, Elara. The fireworks, the billboards, the chapel—everything we promised each other. You don’t just erase that.” Julian’s arm tightened around my waist—barely perceptible, but I felt it. I glanced up at him. His face hadn’t changed: cold, composed, utterly controlled. But his jaw was set in that particular way that meant he was approximately two sentences away from doing something that would require legal counsel. I turned back to Adrian. “The past,” I said. “It’s the past.” “Mr. Shaw, I designed that suit when I was twenty-four years old and very much in love with someone who no longer exists in my heart.” My voice was pleasant. Almost conversational. “If you’d like to keep it as a souvenir, you’re welcome to. But proposing with it in front of my husband is rather tasteless, don’t you think?” Adrian flinched as if the words had physical weight. Julian heard it. Something flickered at the corner of his mouth—not quite a smile, but close. He picked up the marriage certificate from the table, slipped it back into his pocket, and turned to me. “Ready to go?” I nodded. He offered me his left hand. His right scooped up Sienna, who immediately wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his collar. On the whispers, the staring eyes, on Adrian Shaw standing alone in the center of a room that had, five years ago, watched him destroy me. We turned toward the exit. My heels clicked against the marble. Julian’s stride matched mine—unhurried, deliberate. Sienna hummed tunelessly against his shoulder. Behind us, Adrian’s voice followed—cracked, desperate: “Elara—” My footsteps didn’t falter. Julian’s hand found mine. Very Warm. We walked out together. The night air hit my face—cool, salt-edged, carrying the distant scent of the harbor. The valet had already brought the car around. Julian helped Sienna into her car seat with the practiced efficiency of a man who had done it a thousand times. Then he held the passenger door open for me. “You okay?” I nodded and slid in. He closed the door, rounded the hood, and settled into the driver’s seat. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The engine hummed. City lights blurred past the windows—amber and white, streaking through the dark like falling stars. Then Julian reached across the console and took my hand. His thumb traced slow circles across my knuckles—a gesture so familiar, so achingly gentle, that something in my chest unclenched. “Elara,” he said quietly. He didn’t look at me. His eyes stayed on the road, on the lights. “Those things—everything that happened back then.” His thumb paused on my knuckle. “Those things… from before…” He paused, searching for words. “You really let them go?” I didn’t answer right away. I looked at his profile—the sharp jaw, the dark lashes, the faint tension at the corner of his mouth that he thought he was hiding. “I don’t know,” I whispered. I looked down at our joined hands. “Tonight, when he knelt in front of me with that dress, I didn’t feel anything for him. Not love. Not hate. Just… tired.” He was quiet for a moment. Then he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles. “It will be fine,” he said. “I’m not asking you to delete them. I’m just suggesting if you’ve buried them deep enough that they can’t hurt you anymore.” I met his gaze. The sincerity there made my chest ache—not from pain, but from gratitude. “Yes,” I said. “I think so.” He smiled. “Good girl.”

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I lay on the delivery bed in the private clinic, each contraction threatening to rip my body apart. My husband, Dante Corsetti, held my hand, his eyes so tender they could melt. “Just a little longer, Valentina. We’re about to meet our baby.” I was drenched in sweat from the pain, but I still managed to squeeze out a smile for him. Then the nurse walked in carrying a syringe. I assumed it was the epidural. But Dante suddenly let go of my hand and stepped back. The instant the needle pierced my skin, I heard him give the order: “Eleanora wants her baby born first. Get the dosage right—she has to wait until Eleanora delivers.” I stared at him wide-eyed, but he simply glanced down at his watch. “Eleanora’s already six centimeters dilated. Just stall for two more hours.” I wanted to scream, to fight back, but the drug was already flooding my bloodstream. The violent contractions in my abdomen were suddenly strangled— Cut dead. …… …… I was wheeled into a makeshift cell converted from the clinic’s basement. Dante’s sister, Bianca, stood in the doorway, toying with a scalpel. “Valentina, don’t blame my brother.” “The baby in Eleanora’s belly is my eldest brother’s child—the only male heir of this generation of the Corsetti family. The future Don.” “No matter how early you deliver, it’s just a girl. Useless.” I clutched my stomach. A new wave of contractions was battling the drugs, and the pain was blinding. “Get the doctor. I’m about to deliver, I really am—” Bianca let out a soft laugh, walked over, and crouched in front of me. “Deliver what?” “The drug’s good for another three hours. Eleanora’s already gone into the delivery room.” “Just sit tight like a good girl. Once her son is safely born, you can push all you want.” She stood up and called to the guard at the door: “Keep an eye on her. If she starts screaming, gag her.” The door slammed shut. I lay on the freezing concrete floor, the blood beneath me already soaking through my skirt. My phone had been taken the moment I entered the clinic. Dante said the radiation was bad for the baby. Now I realized it was just to stop me from calling for help. I curled into myself, trying to breathe through the pain, but all I could see was the look in Dante’s eyes. Cold. Calculating. Like he was appraising a tool. Not a wife. Not the woman about to bear his child. Three months ago, his older brother Nico had died in a car accident, leaving behind a widow three months pregnant—Eleanora. At the funeral, Dante’s father, the old Don, had clutched Eleanora’s hand, tears streaming down his weathered face. “You must carry this baby to term safely. The Corsetti bloodline cannot end.” I’d felt sorry for Eleanora then. I’d stepped forward and offered: “Dad, don’t worry. My baby with Dante will protect this family too.” The old Don had looked at me once and said nothing. So from that moment on, my child had already been written off. “Ahhh—” Another contraction hit, fiercer than the last. The drug was wearing off. The baby was coming. I clawed my way upright and pounded on the door with everything I had. “Someone! I’m in labor! Save my baby!” Dead silence on the other side. I screamed until my voice gave out before the guard’s irritated reply finally came: “Shut up. The young miss said to wait.” “But the baby—” “If it dies, that’s fate. Shouldn’t have been a girl. A daughter can never be the Don’s heir.” I slid to the ground, cold to the bone. But someone wanted my child dead. Death should not be this baby’s destiny.

I don’t know how long I lasted in that basement. The blood kept coming, pooling beneath me until everything was soaked through. Just as consciousness began to slip away, the iron door swung open. It wasn’t Bianca. It wasn’t the guard. It was the family’s private physician, Dr. Bianchi. One look at me and the color drained from his face. “Valentina? What are you doing here?” “The Don told me you were resting in the VIP suite, ready for delivery—” I tried to speak but couldn’t produce a sound. All I could do was point at my belly, tears streaming endlessly. Dr. Bianchi rushed over and knelt to examine me. The moment his hands touched my abdomen, he sucked in a sharp breath. “Fully dilated! Her water’s broken! And she’s hemorrhaging!” “We need surgery immediately!” He tried to lift me, but the moment I moved, a hot surge gushed between my legs. Blood. So much blood. Dr. Bianchi’s hands were shaking. He shouted toward the door: “Help! Someone help! The patient is hemorrhaging!” The corridor was empty. Not a soul answered. This private clinic was wholly owned by the Corsetti family. Tonight, for Eleanora’s delivery, the entire building had been cleared—every last nurse and doctor reassigned to the third-floor delivery suite. Dr. Bianchi pulled out his phone to call for help, only to find there was no signal in the basement. He gritted his teeth. “I’ll carry you upstairs. Hold on!” He heaved me into his arms and staggered toward the exit. The stairwell was steep and dark. Every step jolted through me like a knife. I could feel the baby descending, but the drug’s lingering effects made the contractions erratic—surging one moment, vanishing the next. That agonizing limbo made me want to die on the spot. “Dr. Bianchi…” I clutched his collar, barely a whisper. “Save my baby. Please.” “Don’t worry—you’re both going to be fine!” He finally reached the first floor and sprinted toward the operating room. But at the door, we both froze. The operating room stood wide open—and completely empty. The surgical lights, the operating table, the monitors, the oxygen machine—every piece of medical equipment was gone. Nothing remained but a bare room and a few power outlets on the walls. Dr. Bianchi stood rigid. I heard a strangled sound rise from his throat, like someone had seized him by the neck. “How is this possible…” “I checked the equipment this afternoon…” Footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor. Bianca approached with two nurses in tow. Spotting us, she raised an eyebrow. “Dr. Bianchi, what are you doing down here?” “Eleanora is on the third floor, about to deliver. Why did you wander off?” Dr. Bianchi pointed at the gutted operating room, his voice trembling: “The equipment—where is the equipment?” Bianca’s expression was pure innocence. “Moved to the third floor.” “Eleanora’s carrying the family heir. She needs a C-section—only the best equipment will do. What if there’s an emergency? A standard OR would never cut it.” Her gaze drifted to me, and she smiled. “Oh, is Valentina in labor?” “She’ll have to wait. Eleanora isn’t finished yet.” “Just hang in there a bit longer. It won’t kill you.” I stared at that perfectly made-up face and suddenly remembered how, six months ago, she’d looped her arm through mine while shopping, cooing: “Valentina, you’re so wonderful—even better than a real sister. I’m going to take such good care of you.” I’d felt sorry for her then, growing up without a mother. I’d bought her a custom bracelet worth over a hundred thousand. Looking back now, what a colossal joke.

Dr. Bianchi tore into the adjacent nurses’ station like a man possessed, ripping open cabinets in search of emergency supplies. Every shelf was bare—not even a basic hemostat or roll of gauze. “The medications! Hemostatics! Oxytocin!” He roared at the two nurses. One of them answered in a near-whisper: “They’ve all been sent to the third floor.” “Mr. Dante ordered that all medical resources be prioritized for Ms. Eleanora.” Dr. Bianchi slammed his fist against the cabinet. He looked at me with bloodshot eyes, his lips quivering: “I’m sorry, Valentina. I’m so sorry…” “There’s nothing I can do…” Bianca strolled over and patted his shoulder. “Relax, Doctor.” “Valentina hasn’t actually delivered yet, has she? Once Eleanora’s done, we’ll bring the equipment and meds right back down.” She glanced at the blood still streaming between my legs and added: “Even if it does come out, it’s just a girl. Lose it and move on.” “The Corsetti family is not short of heirs.” I fixed my eyes on her. On this woman I’d loved like a little sister for three years. Then, with every ounce of strength I had left, I forced out two words: “You’re. Vile.” Bianca’s expression hardened. She bent down, brought her lips close to my ear, and dropped her voice low: “Go ahead and curse. Knock yourself out.” “Once you’ve delivered and your body’s wrecked, I have plenty of ways to shut you up.” “When that happens, the title of Donna will belong to Eleanora.” “As for you—” She straightened up, flashing a smile so radiant it was blinding. “For my brother’s sake, we’ll let you keep your life. You can serve the household as a maid.” Dr. Bianchi couldn’t take it anymore. “Bianca! This is murder!” “Murder?” Bianca scoffed, her eyes like ice. “Watch your mouth, Doctor.” “Women die in childbirth all the time. It’s perfectly ordinary.” “Besides, which member of this family hasn’t seen a dead body?” She turned to the guards at the door and waved her hand. “Escort Dr. Bianchi to the break room.” “I’ll look after Valentina myself.” Two guards stepped forward immediately, seizing the struggling doctor and dragging him away. Dr. Bianchi fought against them, shouting: “Valentina! Press the pressure point below the carotid artery! And the median nerve on the inside of your wrist! Press them repeatedly! It can stimulate contractions!!” “Don’t give up! You have to hold on!” His voice faded into the distance. Bianca shut the nurses’ station door. She turned, pulled out her phone, and placed a video call. “Hey, big brother. Valentina’s about to give birth. She’s bleeding a lot—want to take a look?” Dante’s face appeared on screen. He was standing outside the third-floor delivery suite, medical staff bustling behind him. “Valentina, stop making a fuss.” His voice was thick with irritation. “Eleanora’s in trouble—the fetal heart rate is dropping. I can’t leave.” Bianca angled the camera at the blood pooling beneath me and deliberately zoomed in. “Look at Valentina like this—think she might die?” Dante glanced briefly, then quickly looked away. “Tell her to wait.” “Once Eleanora’s delivered, the doctors will go down.” “Bianca, just keep an eye on things for now. I really can’t step away.” The call ended. Bianca shrugged and tucked her phone away. “You heard him.” “In my brother’s heart, there’s only Eleanora and the heir in her belly.” “You? You’re just a breeding tool.” “And once the tool’s served its purpose, it gets tossed.” I closed my eyes. I refused to look at her anymore. My hand crept silently behind me, finding a button-sized metal device sewn into the lining of my skirt. A gift from my father. He’d told me: “Valentina, the waters in the Corsetti house run deep. If anything ever goes wrong, press this.” I’d laughed at him then, called him paranoid. Told him Dante treated me beautifully and the whole Corsetti family had been nothing but kind. Looking back, I’d been an inexcusable fool. I pried open the device’s protective cover with my fingernail and pressed down. No sound. No light. But I knew the distress signal had been sent. My father had promised: once I pressed it, someone would come within thirty minutes. But thirty minutes… Could my baby last that long?

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