I have a bad temper. Every time Hugo Vance does something that upsets me, the word *divorce* flies out of my mouth. And every time, on the last day of the divorce cooling-off period, he always bows his head and begs me to stay. The first time, I complained that our villa wasn’t grand enough. I casually mentioned divorce. He had me moved into Harbor Manor the next day. The second time, someone posted about an eighty-million-dollar piece of jewelry. I threw a fit because he didn’t buy me the same one. He rushed to contact an overseas auction house and put the exact same piece in my hands on time. The third time, I said the fertility medicine was too bitter and I wanted a divorce again. He brewed the medicine himself and fed it to me, then worked around the clock without rest. My friends all say I’m Hugo’s one weakness. His one exception. I thought his favoritism would always be my safety net. Then his first love-Luna Lane came back to the country. He came home thirty minutes late. And I mentioned divorce once more. Even my best friend tried to stop me. “Know when you can stop. Don’t be unreasonable.” I looked at the dark circles under Hugo’s eyes. For once, I held back my temper. I told myself this would be the last time I threatened divorce. But this time, the last second of the divorce cooling-off period passed. And Hugo still didn’t come home. The living-room light clicks on and he freezes when Hugo sees me sitting in the dark. “Still up.” His voice is quiet. “Waiting for you.” I’m calm. He loosens his tie and walks past without a word toward the kitchen. I stand and follow him. “Hugo.” He’s pouring a glass of water with his back to me. “This time, the cooling-off period,” I say, looking at his back, “is over.” “Hm.” He takes a sip. Just one “hm.” Seven days of waiting for an explanation—anything, even a perfunctory “don’t be silly”—and nothing. Anger flares inside me. I turn around, grab the vase off the entryway table, and smash it to the floor. *Crash—!* It shatters across the floor. He watches me, shock and anger in his eyes, but not the panicked rush he used to make to check if I’d hurt myself. “What are you doing?” Hugo’s face hardens. “Divorce.” I cover half my face and laugh, “Isn’t this how it always goes? I break things. You clean up. I say divorce, you bow. Every single time.” I step forward, my bare feet crunching on the broken porcelain. “Why aren’t you performing this time? Because the audience has changed? Your first love is back! Isn’t she?” “Is she waiting downstairs? Waiting for us to finish shouting so she can come upstairs and comfort you?” I press. “Hugo, tell me!” “Enough!” He barks. The doorbell rings the next second. His brothers and my friends flood in as if on cue. They take in the mess on the floor. The standoff between us. They wear the same expression: oh, not this again. “Sia, calm down!” Cade Foster (His best friend) steps between us. “Hugo’s been under a lot lately, The company stuff—” “Under a lot?” I cut him off, pointing at Hugo. “He has time to pick someone up from the airport, sit through a three-hour dinner, and come home half an hour late without so much as a word to me?” “Sia!” A friend grabs my arm and hisses, “Don’t keep on… we all know you’re hurting, but this is embarrassing.” “So what if that woman is back? You’re still his wife.” “Wife?” I fling her off. But tears are streaming down my face. “I’m like a child who throws a tantrum when she can’t get candy! And you—every one of you—” I point at each of them. “You all help him hold me down, telling me, ‘Be good, stop making a scene, candy tomorrow!’ But where’s the candy?!” I turn to Hugo. My voice shreds. “Where’s my candy?!” The candy that always comes after I threaten divorce. Why isn’t it here this time?

The living room tightens into a silence so dense I can hear my own breath. The tension stretches tight as a wire. Cade finally takes a step forward. “She knows Hugo has a bad stomach. She only asked me to bring him some medicine. She knows where the line is. What about you?” His chest heaves. Then he finally spits out the words that have been sitting on his tongue. “Besides asking for things, breaking things, and threatening divorce—what have you ever done for him? You can’t even give him a—” “A what?” I scream, cutting him off. Years of resentment and pain explode out of me. “You want to talk about children?!” “Cade, You can ask him! Ask Hugo why I can’t get pregnant!” I turn to Hugo. Tears and hatred crash down my face. “Tell him! Tell him about the flood five years ago! Tell him how you could have taken me first, but you stayed behind to save Luna’s damn cat! Tell him how you left me alone in waist-deep freezing water for five hours!” Cade freezes. I laugh, my whole body shaking. I point at Hugo. I point at all of them. “Those bitter fertility medicines—I threw up every time I drank them. Every time I make a scene, do you think it’s because I want to?” Cade is stunned by my outburst. He opens his mouth but can’t find the words. Hugo closes his eyes. When he opens them again, there’s nothing but raw, breaking pain underneath. His voice is hoarse as he tries to step closer. “Sia, that incident was an accident. I later—” “Later you made up for it, right?” I step back, avoiding him. “Fine. Make up for it. Send Luna away right now. I don’t want to see her in Harbor City. Or—divorce.” Divorce. I don’t know what else to say anymore. Silence swallows the room. Cade snorts and turns to Hugo. “Hugo, since she’s raised divorce, why not—” “Get out!” Hugo roars. I don’t know if he’s shouting at them or at me. But everyone is used to this scene by now. They exchange glances and file out. The huge space empties. Just Hugo and me. I stand in the middle of the wreckage. I wait. Like I have a hundred times before. I wait for him to walk over, pull me into his arms, and say in that helpless, indulgent voice: “Sia, stop it.” Or even just a lie. An explanation for why he secretly went to the airport to pick up Luna. An explanation for why, when I texted him that I felt like my heart was dying, he only sent an assistant with a bottle of painkillers. I would take anything. Even a lie. Seconds pass. At last he moves—but not toward me. He stoops and, silently and methodically as after every argument, begins to pick up the broken porcelain. As if sweeping up the pieces is the only salvageable thing left in our relationship. I watch his expressionless face. The place where my artificial heart sits in my chest—it tightens. Slowly I walk to him and crouch at his feet, forcing him to meet my eyes. “Look at me. Answer me one question.” He can’t look away. “All these years—when you held me, when you kissed me, when we were intimate…” I lean closer. “Was the person you’re thinking about me?” His Adam’s apple bobs. But no words come out. A silent admission. I nod. I stand up. The world tilts but I hold on. “…I won’t let her stay in Harbor City!” The words come out sharp. The last bit of stubbornness I have left. He finally looks up at me. His voice is thin with exhaustion. “Don’t do this, Sia. This is her hometown. What right do I have to make her leave?” Of course he has the right. He just won’t tell me that he paid for every cent of Luna’s art studies in Paris. That the venue for her exhibition, the promotion, even her clothes—every single expense went through his accounts. I saw it a month ago in a “casual” finance brief someone left on my desk. The numbers were crystal clear. When she wasn’t here, I could be his [line in the sand]. His [whole world]. With her back, the boundary shifted and his world found a new center. Between us, he couldn’t even be bothered to maintain the illusion of being torn. The fire that has been burning in my chest for so long—it suddenly goes out. I don’t say *divorce* again. I just turn around. One step at a time, I walk upstairs. My phone buzzes. I think it’s a text from him—An apology. But it’s my doctor, Dr. Lee. “Mrs. Vance, your artificial heart is long overdue for replacement. You cannot wait any longer. We advise that you forego the pregnancy.” I laugh. My hand drifts to my lower stomach. All these years, Hugo hired the best medical team to care for me. They made it possible for me to try for a baby even with an artificial heart. What he doesn’t know is that three months ago I refused to replace the failing artificial heart. I had a feeling I couldn’t explain—a fierce, animal certainty. Now I’m pregnant. And my heart is failing.

I go to the art gallery on the west side of the city. Luna looks surprised to see me. “Sia? What are you doing here? Hugo, he—” “He’s busy.” I cut her off. My eyes scan the paintings on the wall. “I heard your exhibition is opening. I came to take a look.” She’s the same as ever—always in that plain white dress. Sunlight pours through the glass roof and turns her into something unreal. “Sia, you and Hugo… are you… okay all these years?”” “Better than okay.” I lift my hand, making sure she sees the huge diamond on my ring finger. The one Hugo forced onto my hand this morning before he left. “He’s just so worried about me. I throw a little tantrum, and he spends hours making it up to me. So annoying.” “He insisted this ring suits me. Such a tacky taste man. Bad taste.” Luna’s eyes flick over the ring and a deeper smile curves her mouth. “Hugo’s always been careful with people he cares about.” She tilts her head slightly. “Just like back then… because my heart condition was bad, Hugo moved me to Harbor Manor to recuperate and even bought anther separate new house for you two as your home.” “You must have been so disappointed then,” she adds slowly. A chill skates across my fingertips. She keeps going, her voice full of fake apology. “Hugo was just worried about me living too far from the hospital. He said the manor was quieter, better for my recovery.” “So sorry for the trouble, Sia.” “I know you loved that manor,” she continues, “But you’re living there now. I guess that makes up for it?” “Back then, he came to see me every day. He said I was the only one who could make him forget his worries.” “Then I got better and went abroad to study.” She looks at me. “If I hadn’t, maybe I’d still be living in the manor.” She looks up at me, waiting for me to break. Am I supposed to collapse? Of course I should. How could I not? But the collapse happened long ago. Back then, I was drowning in grief over my mother’s death. I was recovering from my artificial heart surgery. I didn’t have the energy to notice anything else. Then Luna celebrated her recovery with a party at the manor. She posted a Moments update—deleted quickly but she had explicitly tagged me. The location was Harbor Manor. In the corner of the photo, I saw Hugo’s silhouette. All his friends were there. I drove straight to the manor. Through the iron gate, I could see lights. People moved and laughter leaked through. I heard someone joking: “Luna, Hugo’s kept you so well hidden in this manor for two years. what, not planning on finding a boyfriend?” A soft, teasing laugh followed. Then I heard Hugo murmur something indistinct. And a servant called out, “Mrs. Vance, your tea.” Mrs. Vance. No one in that room corrected her. I stood there in the dark. And suddenly I understood. Those nights when he said he had business trips, or late meetings—he spent them here, with another woman called “Mrs. Vance”, living in what was supposed to be our home. I stood there for a long time. Then I drove home. I waited for him to come back at dawn, I put a divorce agreement in front of him. No drama. Just the paper. “Hugo. Let’s get a divorce.” It was the first time I meant it. He looked panicked. “What happened? What are you talking about?” I laughed bitterly and made up a childish and petty lie. “This villa isn’t grand enough. I want to live in Harbor Manor. If not, divorce.” He stared at me for a long time. I took out my phone and applied for the divorce online in front of him. In a sense, I think waiting was a very agonizing process. On the last day of the divorce cooling‑off period, he put the keys to Harbor Manor in my hand. “Sia,” he said. “This is your home now.” Back then, I thought he had chosen me. I gave him one more chance. But really, he only gave me the manor because she was leaving. Becausa she has to pursu her dreams. The place she had lived was just something he could throw my way. “Sia?” Luna’s question pulls me back to the present. Luna is looking at me. Her eyes look curious. My heart lurches. My phone screen lights up by itself. It’s the app connected to my artificial heart. The heart rate graph spikes and dips. Alerts flash: “Abnormal emotional fluctuation detected. Please calm down immediately and avoid sustained stimulation.” I pause, dark the screen. “Really,” I hear my own dry voice. “I never knew there was a whole story behind it.” “Sia, you look so terrible… I heard from Hugo that you have an artificial heart. You can’t handle strong emotions. Should I call him to come get you?” “No!” My voice comes out too loud. A few people in the gallery turn to look. Luna reaches for my arm. “Sia, don’t get so worked up…” Her face is full of worry. Then she leans close to my ear. “You should take care of yourself. After all, your heart is still beating in my chest. ” “Healthy, and warm.”

Her last words fall into my ear, as a stone. Time seems to stop. The air in the gallery, the distant murmur of laughter, the riot of color on the walls—all of it drains away in an instant. I only hear the sudden, frantic thrum of the artificial heart inside my chest. That face—played so innocent, flickers with a flash of satisfaction. I clamp my hand down on her wrist. “How dare you—!” Luna lets out a soft *ah* of pain but doesn’t pull away. Then a tense voice cuts in from behind me. “What are you doing?” Hugo strides through the gallery doors. Every stride a burst of rare panic and anger. I watch him come forward. His eyes find Luna’s red-rimmed ones first. Then they land on me. His frown deepens. “Let her go.” Several people rush over, forming a circle around Luna. Protecting her. Luna’s voice is hoarse. “Hugo, don’t misunderstand. Sia just came to look at the paintings—” “Does she look like she’s here to see paintings?!” Cade shoves me aside. “This is exactly what Hugo’s spoiled out of her!” “If without Hugo and see who’ll bother with her then. Society will put her in her place in no time!” I grit my teeth and stay locked on Hugo’s face. He’s looking down at Luna’s wrist, cradling her hand like it’s fragile. That look—so focused, so full of concern—cuts into me, slicing away the last of whatever shaky sanity I have left. “Hugo—” I force the name out one syllable at a time, my throat raw, “My mother…was it really an accident? Was my heart really dead?” He falters and presses a thumb to his brow. “Sia…” he starts. “How many times are you going to drag this up? I told you. It was an accident. Who can guarantee a surgery is a hundred percent—” “I want the truth!” My voice rises. “Hugo, look at me. Look me in the eye and tell me—what really happened?!” “Enough!” His anger finally snaps free. I want to scream. I want to lose my mind. I want to demand the truth in front of everyone… But the artificial heart in my chest buzzes like a hive about to burst. My vision blurs. *Beep. Beep. Beep.* Hugo’s face—full of worry for her, was floats in front of me. How cruel. Even the right to go insane is being stolen from me because someone else wears my heart. Hugo grabs my arm. “Let’s go home.” I try to pull away. But I can’t move anymore. Fatigue closes my eyes for a beat. “Divorce,” I whisper, the last of my defiance. “This is the last time.” “Crazy. You’re absolutely crazy.” There’s nothing but disgust in Hugo’s eyes now. In the chaos, my bag gets knocked over. The divorce agreement falls out. The one I drafted long ago. The one I drafted so many times and never signed He bends, snatches up the papers, pulls a pen, and signs with a hard, precise stroke. He slams the pen and the signed document back at my feet. “As you wish.” — The madness drains out of me. I pick up the papers, brush off the dust, and without a word, walk out of the gallery.

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My best friend and I gave birth at the same time. I joke about setting the two kids up together. My husband’s face darkens instantly. He looks at me, dead serious. “They’re siblings. They can’t get married.” I freeze. I must’ve heard him wrong. Ethan smiles, light and easy, like he’s talking about the weather. “On our wedding night, after we were done, I drugged you. She covered your face with her bra, and we did it right next to you. All night long.” “That’s the night you both got pregnant.” “Funny how you two ended up in labor at the same time. Must be fate.” My mind goes blank. I slowly turn toward the next bed — Sienna, my best friend, fast asleep. When I was twenty, I took fifteen stab wounds to save her life. She told me she’d owe me forever. Ethan shifts, blocking my view. His tone is casual, almost bored. “Relax. Sienna won’t fight you for anything. We’ll all just live together. To the public, you’ll still be Mrs. Foster.” Every drop of blood in my body turns to ice. The System’s voice cuts through my head, flat and mechanical: **[Do you wish to abandon the mission to redeem the Villain and exit this world immediately?]** …… My eyes land on Sienna’s wrist. She’s wearing a rosary bracelet. The same one I got for Ethan when he was in that car accident, barely clinging to life. I spent hours on my knees at the chapel, praying he’d pull through. He never took it off. Not once. But when Sienna and I went into labor at the same time, he gave it to her without a second thought. Ethan quietly tucks her hand under the blanket, then turns to me. He wipes the tears off my cheek with his thumb. “You’re a mom now. Why are you still such a crybaby?” I slap his hand away. “Why? Why her? She had a boyfriend! And you just threw yourself at her like some desperate side piece — are you that pathetic?” Ethan shakes his hand out, then looks up at me, genuinely surprised. “You still think her so-called boyfriend is someone else?” Something amuses him. He actually laughs. “There were times you called me — and we were right in the middle of it.” “She’d be shaking all over, biting her lip, trying so hard not to make a sound. So damn hot.” He sighs, almost wistful. “Probably won’t get that thrill again.” I bite down on my lip so hard I taste blood. My throat closes up. I can’t get a word out. It takes forever before I manage to speak, my voice cracking. “You could’ve just told me the truth. I would’ve walked away!” If I’d known sooner, I could’ve left before it destroyed me. Ethan lets out a soft sigh. Something like pity flickers in his eyes. “Well — we did feel guilty about you.” “Remember when you got attacked trying to save Sienna? Beaten, violated until you lost the baby? I was hooking up with her in the car, right around the corner.” “She was freaking out. I had to calm her down. We got so caught up we forgot to call 911.” Something inside my skull snaps. That night. Sienna and I were walking home from a movie. We ran into those guys in the parking garage. I fought them off with everything I had so she could run. I was dead sure she’d get help for me. I held on, gritting my teeth, waiting. When I came to, I was in the hospital. Ethan was holding me, shaking, swearing he’d make them pay. And he did. But now, looking at how calm he is, how unbothered — I realize every bit of that was an act. If it weren’t for some random stranger passing by, I’d be dead. I grab the soup bowl from the nightstand and hurl it at him. It smashes on the floor. Soup splatters everywhere. He made that soup himself last night. He put peanuts in it — Sienna’s favorite. He forgot I’m allergic. The signs were always there. I just never wanted to see them. Ethan stands there, not moving. Soup drips from his hair. He looks pathetic. But he’s not angry. He actually lets out a long breath, like he’s relieved. “Hate me. Resent me. That’s fine. Just don’t blame Sienna. She cares about you so much. She just had a baby — she could get postpartum depression. Cut her some slack.” I dig my nails into my palms until I feel blood. It’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart. The stitches down below are screaming — a constant reminder that he knows damn well a new mother needs rest, needs peace. He just doesn’t give a damn. Not about me. The System’s voice returns, cold and flat: **[Do you wish to abandon the mission to redeem the Villain and exit this world immediately?]** **[If no choice is made within 24 hours, you forfeit and will remain in this world permanently.]** **[Countdown begins…]**

Tears pour down my face. I whip around toward Sienna and scream. “Sienna! How long are you gonna keep faking it? Does screwing my husband feel that good?” Sienna opens her eyes. Her face is ghost white. She won’t look at me. She grabs the pillow and hurls it at Ethan. “How could you tell her? How dare you do this to her?” “I told you I don’t need a title! I was gonna disappear after the baby!” Ethan rushes over and pulls her into his arms, holding on tight. His voice shakes. “I can’t let you go. That’s why I had to come clean. Please, Sienna. Don’t leave me.” “This is all on me. Stay still — you’ll rip your stitches.” Those exact words. He used to say them to me. His mom died when he was little. His dad was never home. All he had was the nanny. And the nanny was a monster. She’d beat him when nobody was looking. She almost beat him to death once. I broke into his house and pulled him out. That’s how I dragged him out of the dark. Later, the nanny came for revenge. She had me kidnapped. But Ethan wouldn’t let go of me. They beat him until he was covered in blood, and he still wouldn’t let go. The adults finally showed up. Got us both out. At the hospital, he held my hand so tight his knuckles went white, whispering over and over: “Don’t leave me, Lily.” Like I was the most precious thing in the world. That’s exactly how he’s holding her right now. Only I’m not the one in his arms anymore. I’ve thought about it before — what I’d do if we hit that seven-year itch. I always figured, worst case, I’d drag Sienna out, get blackout drunk for a few nights, cry it all out, then go right back to loving him. But why — why did it have to be her? Who am I supposed to ugly-cry with now? Sienna shoves Ethan off and stumbles over to my bed. Tears running down her face. “Lily, please. Don’t cry. I’ll leave tomorrow. You two can go back to the way it was.” My jaw aches from clenching. My heart is being ripped in two. Sienna used to come from money. Old money. When she was five, her whole family died in a wreck. She was the only one left. Relatives picked the estate clean. Then they dumped her in the system. She went through hell. When I met her, I begged my parents to take her in. Mom and Dad treated her like she was theirs. No difference. She cried over her first birthday cake at our house. I told her, laughing — everything I have, you get half. Half my snacks. Half my fun. Half my mom and dad. Never thought she’d want half my husband too. I grit my teeth. “Get out. I never wanna see you again. You’re nothing but a homewrecker.” The babies start screaming, spooked by the yelling. Their little faces are beet red. I scoop mine up and rock her, shushing. Tears hit the blanket before I can stop them. Sienna buries her face in her hands, choking on sobs. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…” Ethan picks up the other baby, jaw tight, barely holding it together. He rounds on me. “Sienna’s been covering for you this whole time. She couldn’t stand to hurt you. She was my fiancée from the start. You’re the one who came in between us.” I go rigid. Ethan did have a fiancée. But he told me himself — she died in a crash. The first time he and Sienna met in front of me, they acted like strangers. Even faked not being able to stand each other. More than once, I begged him to be nicer to her. For my sake. I was so damn proud of myself for smoothing things over between them. Turns out I was the idiot the whole time. What a goddamn joke. I laugh until the tears spill over. I grab Sienna’s wrist and rip the rosary bracelet off. Beads go flying, clattering across the floor. “This is mine. You don’t deserve it.” I pick up my baby and stand. My legs are trembling. Every step feels like walking on shattered glass, but I don’t stop. Not once. Behind me — Sienna’s wailing. Ethan cussing me out. The System chimes in: **[18 hours remaining. Please make your choice soon.]**

I drift down the hallway holding my baby, numb. Frozen from the inside out. I should hate Ethan for the betrayal. I should hate Sienna for the knife in my back. But what kills me most is losing them both at once. I pull out my phone. Open the photo album. Picture after picture. Memory after memory, hitting me like a freight train. Watching the sunrise at four a.m. with Ethan, standing on top of a mountain. Kissing in the lavender fields. Scuba diving in the Maldives. And in every single photo — Sienna’s in the background. What I thought was just the two of us — it was always three. And I never once noticed. I delete over ten thousand photos. I stare at the System panel floating in front of me and let out a bitter laugh. Honestly — what did Ethan even do wrong? He just doesn’t love me. That’s all it is. I hold my baby tighter. My vision blurs again. I’m so sorry, baby girl. I can’t take you with me. Just let me hold you a little bit longer. Ethan’s designer shoes step into view. I look up. He’s watching me, guilt and heartbreak all over his face. Next second, I’m in his arms. That familiar warmth. I break down. I hate myself, but some stupid, desperate part of me thinks — maybe he still cares. Even just a little. “I’m sorry, Lily. I lost my temper. Said stuff I didn’t mean.” “You gotta believe me — I never wanted to hurt you. I was just scared Sienna would take off with the baby.” “Don’t be like this. She hasn’t stopped crying since you walked out…” Sienna. Sienna. Always Sienna. That last little flicker of hope — he kills it himself. Every breath feels like swallowing glass. After a long silence, I cut him off. “Promise me one thing. Take care of the baby. No matter what.” Ethan blinks. Relief floods his face. He cups my cheeks, voice suddenly brighter. “Lily, I promise. I’ll take care of you. Take care of the baby. You just gave birth — look after yourself too…” His phone rings mid-sentence. He picks up. His entire face changes. “Don’t move — I’m coming!” He hangs up. The warmth is gone. His eyes are ice. “Sienna’s baby has a congenital heart defect. There’s no donor match. She was already losing it — and then you went and deleted every photo on Instagram. She thinks you’ll never forgive her. She’s on the roof. She’s about to jump. Are you happy now?” “Come with me. Now.” He grabs my arm and hauls me toward the stairwell. The stitches rip. Pain tears through me so hard I can’t breathe. Warm blood runs down my thighs. The hallway spins. I bite the inside of my cheek raw — just to stay standing. Up on the roof, Sienna’s standing on the wrong side of the railing. Wind whips through her hospital gown. She looks like she could vanish any second. She spots me. Something lights up in her eyes for half a second — then dies. Her face is wrecked with tears. “Lily, my baby’s dying. And you’re never gonna forgive me, are you?” “I have nothing. I have absolutely nothing left.” She sways at the edge. Before I can even open my mouth, Ethan’s drenched in a cold sweat. “Sienna, don’t. Lily knows she was wrong. She came here to say sorry.” I stare at Ethan in total disbelief. This is beyond insane. Sienna doesn’t buy it. Her eyes are glazed, somewhere far away. “You’d never forgive me. Not if you knew. Those men that night in the parking garage — I sent them. If you knew that, you’d want me dead.” Something inside me cracks wide open. I snap. I throw myself at her. Hands grab me from behind and yank me back. I spin around — Ethan. Eyes cold as stone. “She was young. She did it out of jealousy. She nearly killed herself over the guilt — more than once. If I hadn’t pulled her through all that, you’d never have seen her again.” I can’t breathe. He knew. He knew this whole goddamn time. I was drowning, and he just stood there watching. But Sienna — the one who threw me in — he felt sorry for her.

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The night before my wedding, someone mailed me a VIP hotel keycard. Same room number where Liam proposed. I figured it was some romantic surprise he’d planned. I pushed open the door and caught him tangled up in bed with another woman. When he finished, he shoved her off him without a second thought. Lit up a cigarette, smirking like it was nothing. “No point hiding anymore—figured I’d let you catch us now so I don’t have to deal with it after we’re married.” He flicked ash on the nightstand and added one more thing. “Relax, you’re still gonna be my wife.” “You’ve been with me ten years, made enemies with half the old money families doing business for me—nobody else would touch you even if I dumped you.!” “Tomorrow happens exactly as planned, just—” “You get the wedding, she gets the marriage license.” He probably expected me to ask why. I didn’t say a word. Just slipped off my engagement ring, set it down, turned around and walked out. Next day, Liam stood at the church steps in his tux waiting for me. I didn’t bail, didn’t hide. Walked straight up with my biggest rival’s arm locked in mine and waved a marriage license in his face. “The wedding’s all yours—but the marriage license? Already gave it to him.” *** “Here she comes, here she comes—bride’s finally out.” Reporters swarmed the hotel entrance when I came downstairs. Camera flashes going off like crazy. “Miss Aria, how’s it feel on your big day?” “Miss Aria, any thoughts on this insane wedding Mr. Liam put together for you?” I kept my mouth shut and let security walk me to the car. Wedding was set for Sacred Heart Cathedral on the east side. Liam stood on the steps in his white tux wearing that smug-ass smile like he’d already won. Called me this morning saying he went seven rounds last night, body’s wrecked, needs sleep. Can’t pick up his own bride. He was dead certain I’d still show. His best man let out a whistle first. “She actually showed!” Elbowed Liam with this nasty grin plastered on his face. “Our boy’s got her trained right—out screwing around the night before and she still rolls up in her wedding dress. Now that’s what I call well-trained!” Another groomsman jumped in. “For real though, the way he was going at it last night would’ve put anyone else in the hospital, but here he is standing tall ready to get hitched—mad respect.” They all cracked up. Liam’s mouth twitched up. Voice flat as hell. “Aria’s been mine ten years—who the hell else would take her?” Glanced down at the ring I ditched last night. “She’s throwing a fit, that’s normal. But at the end of the day—” Paused, voice rock solid. “She’s still gonna walk right up and put her hand in mine.” His buddy threw him a thumbs up. Car door swung open and I stepped out in white. Sunlight hit the dress and scattered light everywhere. Something flickered in Liam’s eyes. Actually, it sounded genuine for once. “Damn, my wife looks hot in that dress.” Before he could even touch me, his phone buzzed. He checked the screen. Lips curved up like he couldn’t help it as he stepped away to answer. “What’s up? Told you to call later.” Some breathy, whiny voice came through. “Liam, I’m flying abroad this afternoon… so I booked us at Clerk’s Office in ten minutes—can you come real quick? I want the marriage license before I leave.” “Ten minutes?” Liam chuckled low. “That desperate?” … Liam hung up and his buddy walked over. “Who was that?” “Ivy.” Liam shoved his phone away, eyes lighting up. “She’s flying out this afternoon, won’t leave without getting the license first. Whined at me till I caved.” His buddy raised an eyebrow. “What about the wedding?” “What’s the rush?” Liam shrugged it off. “Wedding takes like an hour or two. I’ll hit Clerk’s Office first—ten minute thing. You know how Ivy gets. Don’t keep her happy, she’ll cry at the damn airport.” His buddy knew better than to push. Liam walked over, threw his arm around my shoulder and told the photographer to get ready. “Get a shot of this, something for the memories.” Click. Done. Checked his watch. “Alright, that’ll do. Gotta bounce or I’ll miss the appointment.” Turned and headed for another car. “Liam!” I stayed put and called his name. He stopped mid-step and looked back. Still had that cocky look like he controlled everything. “You walk out that door today,” I said every word clearly, “and I’m swapping out the groom.”

He froze for a second, then laughed—contemptuous and way too sure of himself. “Swap the groom? With who? You think this is some Netflix drama?” “Everyone in this city knows you’re mine.” “I mean… if you actually manage to find some idiot willing to marry you, sure, I’ll let you go—” Pulled open the car door and tossed back one last patronizing line. “Quit playing games. Be good, wait for me. Those other guys don’t mean shit, yeah?” The groomsmen behind me traded awkward looks. His buddy chased after him. “Liam, you’re seriously leaving—” “Cover for me, I’ll be back.” Liam slammed the door, voice urgent. “That girl’s a pain in my ass. Don’t need the drama.” Car peeled out. I just stood there. Wind catching my veil. Photographer stood there awkwardly holding his camera. Nobody said a word. I stared down at my bare ring finger. Slowly smiled. Liam, go ahead. Go get your license. This million-dollar wedding— I’m keeping it. I grabbed my dress and walked into the church. Guests seated, officiant ready, wedding march playing. Everything is perfect. Except no groom. Liam’s buddy caught up, forcing a smile. “Hey Aria, Liam had something come up, he’ll be right back. Just chill for a sec.” Another one jumped in with excuses. “Yeah yeah, our boy always knows what he’s doing. Your big day—he’ll show for sure.” “Totally, Liam never flakes on the important stuff.” They all talked over each other, making “groom ditched” sound like he ran out for coffee. I glanced at the church clock—10:40. “Fine. I’ll wait.” His buddy visibly relaxed and started getting people to bring me tea and dessert. I waited. But who I was waiting for—none of their damn business.

This wedding had three months of hype behind it. Pretty much every important relative on the groom’s side showed. I looked around, taking in every detail. White rose waterfall by the windows, crystal beads hanging from the vaulted ceiling… Even the font on the place cards was custom designed. Liam was like that—when he did something, he went all out. Chasing me was like that, planning this wedding was like that too. He turned this wedding into the talk of the town, made it the dream of every girl… Hell, even his cheating was that extreme. No wiggle room, no excuses. In his twisted logic, treating someone right and destroying them never conflicted. And me? I only had one option: suck it up. In the dressing room, my best friend Lily flew in from Australia to be my maid of honor, pissed as hell. “Is Liam out of his damn mind? Running off to get the license with another chick on his wedding day? Is his brain broken?” She huffed and dropped into the chair next to me, yanking at her bridesmaid dress. “I thought he was full of shit, but even if… why today?” Her voice burned with that secondhand rage. “When you guys planned this wedding together, he hit up every flower shop in the city just to pick your bouquet, and when you tried on dresses his eyes got misty before yours did.” “I was so jealous back then I went home and smacked my useless boyfriend!” She paused, voice dropping. “Who could’ve seen him pulling this?” I didn’t answer, just scrolled my phone. Ivy just posted on Instagram. Picture showed men’s dress shirt and women’s lingerie all over the floor. [Someone said he’d only stay ten minutes but couldn’t leave~] She geo-tagged it on purpose—wasn’t Clerk’s Office. Mutual friends already commenting: [Ivy, who are you trying to piss off?] Ivy replied: [Whoever’s in a wedding dress waiting on nobody!] I screenshot it, face blank. “Aria, stop waiting!” My friend snatched my phone. “Look at these trash people!” “You came running back from England right after graduation for him—you know how pissed your parents were?” “Liam was a nobody back then and you had the nerve to bet ten years with your parents! Now you’ve lost everything.” “If it weren’t for you busting your ass all these years doing his proposals, pulling investors, quietly flexing your shipping heiress status to get his projects funded, would he even have what he has today?” “And he turns around and screws the investor’s daughter!” “I had no idea he could fake it this good, kept the act up right till the night before the wedding to finally let you catch him cheating!” The more she talked the madder she got, eyes going red. “Aria, stop waiting. Live for yourself for once!” “Thanks for flying out today. As for my parents, after this wedding’s done, I’ll go home and take the L.” A bet’s a bet. Today’s the day I pay up for losing.

Lily and I headed to the balcony at the end of the hall for some air. About to push the door when I heard voices inside— The groomsmen, hiding out here smoking. “So like, is Liam actually not coming back?” “He said Ivy’s all over him, can’t get away, told us to stall.” One of them took a drag. “How long you think Aria’s gonna put up with this?” “You see her today? Wedding dress on, red carpet walked, groom bailed—and she didn’t even blink.” “Man’s lucky as hell to have a wife like that.” Another one sighed. “For real though, Liam’s got it good and doesn’t even know it.” “Liam’s not thinking about that right now. Ivy’s got him wrapped around her finger, man’s completely gone.” They all laughed. Then his buddy video-called him. “Liam, you finally picked up. Aria’s still waiting, you not coming back is kinda messed up, man.” Some sketchy sounds came through the phone. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” Liam’s voice came out irritated and rough with that post-sex rasp. “Not gonna make it. Just keep the guests happy.” “Got it, got it, you do your thing.” His buddy grinned. “Aria’s way easier to handle anyway…” Before he could finish, I shoved the balcony door open. Their smiles froze instantly. His buddy tried hiding his phone behind his back. “A-Aria…” I looked at them. “Wedding starts in three minutes.” “What are you guys doing hiding out here?” “Three hundred guests sitting out there—you gonna make them wait? Or let them watch this trainwreck?” Soon as I said it, they all snickered. “Aria, come on.” One of them waved me off, still laughing. “Three minutes? Our boy Liam doesn’t finish that quick. He can’t make it back in—” “He’ll make it.” I cut him off and turned to leave. That’s when his buddy remembered the video call was still going and glanced at the screen. “Liam, Aria says the wedding starts in three minutes, better hurry your ass up.” Liam’s low laugh came through the phone— Voice lazy, still riding that high. “Three minutes?” “Does this woman not know me or something?” Some girl’s giggle came through, saying something soft and breathy. “Liam…” His buddy’s voice got quieter. “So… what do we—” Phone went silent for two seconds, then Liam’s annoyed voice cut through. “Go ahead without me, hold it down. I’ll be there when I’m done.” When he said “done,” some girl moaned in the background. His buddy quickly killed the call. The groomsmen scrambled to put out their cigarettes, straightened their suits, and filed out. His buddy caught up to me and said quietly, “Aria, after all these years, we all know what’s up with you and Liam. He does care about you, it’s just… guys, you know?” I didn’t look at him, didn’t say anything back. Truth is, up until yesterday I still didn’t want to believe he’d turned into the type who gets bored and trades up. Ivy’s some investor’s only daughter, just graduated college. Ever since he met her at that celebration dinner, something changed in his eyes. Back then I thought I was being paranoid. After ten years together, if I didn’t know him by now, I wouldn’t have stuck around this long. So all those sketchy moments, all those late-night texts he ignored—I chose to believe him. I refused to believe that us, right on the edge of making it, about to finally settle down— Would lose to some girl fresh out of college. But he got more and more reckless tearing off the mask. Stopped hiding it, even started making sure I’d notice. Then packaged his betrayal like some kind of gift. “A guy like me, how could I only have one woman? But my heart’s yours, and the wife spot? No one but you can have it.” Expected me to be grateful. Lily was right—he played me too well. Kept up the act right until the day before the wedding to finally rip off that last layer. Used the cruelest way possible to make me see it, hear it—what I really meant to him. Played me so good I had nowhere left to run. “Aria, when you walk down the aisle, take it slow, we’ll back you up from behind.” “Yeah yeah, Liam said once he’s done he’ll head over. Just go through the motions for now.” They thought I was just going through the motions. Thought I’d walk down that aisle alone in my wedding dress, stand in front of the priest, wait for a groom who might never show. Then smile and say “I do” to an empty spot where the groom should be. That’s the script Liam left for me. The groomsmen lined up on either side of me, still wearing those smug grins like they had it all figured out. The church doors slowly opened and someone stood there backlit. Then every single smile froze.

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At the Manhattan’s elite gala, Father told me to lead the opening dance. The three childhood friends who’d promised me weeks ago—all of them avoided my eyes and walked straight toward the fake heiress, Fiona Foster. “Fiona’s position is awkward. If no one picks her, it’d be humiliating.” I stood there, watching Xavier—heir to the Sterling family—approach. I thought he’d finally announce our engagement publicly, but he leaned in and whispered an apology. “You’re calculating, Evelyn. You have means. You’re the Foster family’s true heiress—you don’t need my protection. But Fiona’s different.” I grabbed his hand. He pulled away, walking toward Fiona anyway. When Fiona looked past everyone else and took Xavier’s hand, the crowd started their commentary: “So she was waiting for Mr. Sterling all along. No wonder she ignored everyone else.” “The Foster heir and the Sterling heir—two future powerhouses. A match made in heaven!” Everyone congratulated my father. But his face went black. They didn’t know—everyone in the Foster family was hoping I’d fall in love, so they could hand my inheritance to the fake heiress without a fight. … This opening dance represented the Foster family’s reputation. I’d been lost for twenty-two years. Found and brought home only three years ago. This was the first time the Foster family hosted a gala where I was asked to lead—a recognition of my identity. Xavier knew exactly how much this meant to me. But he still walked toward Fiona without looking back. The atmosphere turned strange. I stood rooted, throat tightening. Watching Xavier take Fiona’s hand and step into the center of the dance floor. The spotlight followed them. The mockery chased after me: “I heard the Sterling and Foster families were planning an alliance. Guess we know who the real match is now. We all thought it’d be the noble true heiress…” “Looks like Mr. Sterling came tonight to back his future fiancée…” The music started. Xavier lowered his head slightly, listening to something Fiona was saying. His gaze—tender in a way I’d never seen before. Turns out when someone truly cares about another person, even their eyes soften involuntarily. And me? I only ever got to see the ruthless business king side of Xavier Sterling. After all, in his eyes, I was the daughter who clawed her way back into the Foster family halfway through— Scheming. Calculating. Even my sadness looked performative. My aunt swayed over with a wine glass, half the ballroom watching. “Well, well. Our legitimate Foster heiress standing all alone?” “Some people just aren’t born with that kind of luck, you know.” “Your grandfather gave you the best of everything the second you came back, but Fiona—she’s naturally blessed. Even after you pushed her aside, she still manages to take everything.” Aunt’s words scraped past my ears like blades. I tightened my grip on the wine glass. Before the gala, Xavier had told me—his position was delicate. Every move he made sent a signal for his family. Unless the Sterling elders gave a clear stance, he wouldn’t dance with me publicly. I was anxious, but I understood his difficulty. After all, in Manhattan, the balance between the Sterling and Foster families was fragile. If he asked me for the first dance, it would be picking a side. So I’d prepared ahead of time. I’d asked each of my three childhood friends separately to dance with me at this gala. They’d all agreed. No hesitation. But when the lights came up, they all walked toward Fiona instead. I’d guessed the beginning. I just didn’t guess the ending. Xavier did avoid dancing with me, the Foster heiress. He just walked toward a different member of the Foster family instead. Turns out there was no family signal. He just didn’t want to protect my dignity. He wanted to give someone else security.

Applause erupted. The first dance ended. Xavier’s hand rested naturally on Fiona’s waist. The three childhood friends who came for me were now busy crowding around them with champagne glasses. Xavier crossed through the crowd toward me. He lowered his head to look at me: “Fiona’s had it rough these years. You came back and easily slid into the heir candidate pool. She worked for years—lost everything because of bloodlines.” “It’s just one dance. You’ve always been generous.” “If tonight gets out,” I cut him off, “what will people say? That the Foster heiress is a joke who can’t even hold her own event?” His brow furrowed. “You overthink everything. Who’d dare laugh at you?” Seeing my silence, his voice dropped. “Evelyn, you’re strong. You can stand on your own. But Fiona’s different!” “If I don’t choose her tonight, if I don’t show I value her, she becomes the Foster family’s abandoned child.” I looked down at the wine swirling in my glass. He didn’t know—the Foster inheritance battle had reached a life-or-death point. Father’s message was clear: Either marry someone from a family equal to the Fosters, like Xavier Sterling, and let Grandfather kick me out of the running. Or he’d “arrange” me to some borderland upstart and eliminate the problem permanently. I’d wanted to stay outside the game a little longer. But this one dance shattered all my room to maneuver. Fiona trotted over, eyes hopeful as she looked at Xavier: “Xavier, could you introduce me to some of the guests?” “I’m not as thorough as Evelyn.” “She always keeps this little notebook—records which young heirs are rising, which uncles control rare resources…” She covered her mouth, frowning with self-reproach. “I—I don’t mean she’s opportunistic. She’s just… diligent.” Nearby, two ladies’ smiles faded. “Recording everyone’s value? This Foster heiress… quite the schemer.” “No wonder she made heir candidate in just three years.” Whispers drifted over. My blood ran cold. That notebook was homework assigned by Grandfather. When I first entered the circle, he told me to study the merits of each family’s elders… Xavier had even coached me on it. But he didn’t say a word in my defense. Let me become the center of the storm instead. Fiona looked at Xavier regretfully: “Did I say something wrong again? I just admire how capable Evelyn is…” He patted her hand. “It’s fine. Evelyn has a big heart—she won’t be mad at you.” Then he led Fiona away to greet others. “Xav—” Surrounding whispers drowned out my voice: “I felt bad for her getting her spotlight stolen, but ugh… turns out she’s that calculating.” “…” I stood in place, freezing from the inside out. Suddenly remembering that rainy day three years ago when I first returned to the Foster family. My adoptive parents were considered upper class. But compared to top-tier families like the Fosters, they weren’t truly seen as equals. The day I was brought back to the Foster estate, Manhattan was drowning in rain. I stood alone outside the ancestral home. Grandfather deliberately tested me, refusing to let anyone open the door. That’s when I met Xavier. He walked over with an umbrella and said: “Just got home? I’ll protect you from now on.” Now, his umbrella was over someone else’s head. I set down my glass and turned toward the terrace. The night wind was cold against my face. The composure I’d forced earlier cracked at the edges. Grandfather returns in seven days. If tonight’s events spread, it would definitely cost me points in his eyes. … After standing there for a while, I walked back into the ballroom. Caleb suddenly hurried toward me. “Evelyn, don’t go over there.” I followed his gaze. Those two were still spinning in the dance floor. He thought I was going to make a scene. Can’t blame him. Of the three childhood friends, he was the only one who’d survived years with me at the orphanage before I was adopted. Back then, whenever they handed out apples, I’d fight for the biggest, reddest one. Once I got it, I’d shove it at him first. Because he was slow at everything, and I was afraid he’d starve. Later, my adoptive parents took me in. I saved every bit of allowance, begged them to pull strings. Sponsored his expensive art school tuition. Did everything I could to lift him up into the influential appraiser he is today. But I was just a wild vine that clawed out of the mud alongside him. No matter how much support and nourishment I gave— I’d never compare to that untouchable sun high in the sky. I stepped around him to leave. He grabbed my wrist from behind. “Evelyn, if Xavier already chose, going over there now will just humiliate you more.” “Let go!” I tried to pull my hand back. He gripped tighter. In the struggle, my already-injured ankle twisted. I lost balance and fell backward. My back slammed against a pillar and I dropped to my knees, the impact echoing dully. Searing pain exploded. Caleb froze. “Why are you doing this? You’ve had everything at the Foster house these three years. What does Fiona have left?”

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I gave my Naga three babies — and he told me he wished he’d never brought me home. Naga are known for low fertility.Most females are lucky to carry one. I gave him three. But the man who once guarded me with an almost obsessive possessiveness now looks at me with cold, distant eyes. “Honestly? I regret it.” I look up at him, confused. His gaze sweeps over my full breasts, my curved waist, my hips. “I never should’ve let my fight with Aria push me into taking you. Looking back, you’re just another empty-headed female who’s only good for breeding.” “Meanwhile, my Aria has suffered for years because of me.” My whole body goes rigid. My eyes sting red. I whisper back — tell him he can’t live without me. But Caspian doesn’t flinch. If anything, he gets more animated, already scheming to bring his true love home. He shoots me a look of disgust. “You think I stayed for you? If it weren’t for that body of yours, I wouldn’t have looked twice.” “Relax. You gave me snakelings, so I won’t throw you out. My brother still needs a female. When he gets back, you’ll move into his room.” Naga males are driven by primal need. Once they’ve had a mate, they can’t go without one. And that brother of his? He’s been sneaking around, trying to get his hands on me for longer than I can count. … “You’re sure you want to transfer your female’s registration to your brother’s name?” The clerk at the Bonding Registry thinks he’s heard wrong. He stares at me — curves, full-figured, soft in all the right places. Then he stares at the woman in Caspian’s arms — bony, frail, like a stiff breeze could snap her in half. “Once the record’s changed, you can’t reverse it without the other male’s consent.” Caspian doesn’t even seem to hear him. He frowns impatiently. “Obviously. Could you hurry it up? My female just got here. She’s still adjusting. I need to take her home and get her settled.” The clerk chokes on his words. With a grunt, he scratches out the name next to Caspian’s and writes in a new one. My name gets filed under a different Naga — someone called Caelen. “Done. When’s your brother coming back? He just needs to press his mark on it.” Caspian is too busy soothing the woman in his arms to care. “Tomorrow,” he says absently. Outside the Registry, I stand alone. I watch Aria pout and press herself against Caspian, whining about how he abandoned her all those years ago — how he bought another female right in front of her face. Caspian coos and comforts her. When he’s done, he glances back at me. In the cold wind, I must look small. Thin. Hollow. He hesitates. Something catches in his throat. Before he can speak, I do. “Do I need to move out today?” Caspian frowns. “You don’t have to rush—” “Your name’s Amber, right?” Aria cuts in, her jealous eyes raking me from head to toe. “I remember you. The most popular female at the Auction.” “Shifters just love your type — big chest, big hips. But seriously, aren’t you embarrassed walking around with those two watermelons strapped to you? If I had those, I wouldn’t even leave the house.” She turns to Caspian with a pitiful little pout. “Caspian, you like that kind of thing too, don’t you?” Caspian tenses immediately, rushing to deny it. “Who said that? I think it’s disgusting.” I freeze. My eyes burn. Disgusting? Every single night, he coiled his tail around me and pulled me into his arms, pressing against me, wanting more. When the heat took over, his scales would drag slow and heavy down my spine. Sometimes once wasn’t enough. Twice. Three times. Until my body went limp — only then would he stop. And now he calls that disgusting. Aria smirks and hooks her arm through his, gazing at me with pity. “Don’t be upset. If Caspian hadn’t bought you, could you have lived this well? You should be thanking me, really. If I hadn’t had that fight with him, you’d never have had a chance.” I glance at Caspian. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t react. A bitter sound escapes my throat. “Mm.” When Aria sees I won’t fight back no matter how hard she pushes, she loses interest and tugs at Caspian to leave. He smiles — soft, indulgent — and lets her pull him forward. After a few steps, he turns back. “Amber, since you want to move, go ahead.” “Don’t take it to heart. We’re still family.” Family. Right. We’re still family. I’m just not his anymore. I belong to his brother now.

Aria drops the act the moment she walks in. She barges into the bedroom Caspian and I share and starts hauling everything that smells like me out into the yard. The little woven rings I braided myself. The protection charm I slipped under his pillow. I spend weeks on that damn charm — every stitch counts. Now she crushes it under her heel like it’s garbage. I stand there frozen, watching her rip my life apart like she’s gutting a bird. Caspian stands right beside her. He doesn’t stop her. He laughs softly and helplessly, like he thinks this is just some cute tantrum that means nothing. Then he glances at me, casual as breathing. “Let her blow off steam,” he says. “I owe her. If she breaks something, I’ll replace it.” My throat tightens. “…Don’t bother. It’s nothing.” My voice is thin. For a second he actually looks at me — really looks. Irritation flickers across his face, but he can’t name why. He says nothing else. Outside, the little row of vegetables I planted sits trampled. He used to tease me about the garden, told me it was silly to spend time on dirt when we could just buy food. Still, he goes out one morning and quietly puts up a low fence around it to keep deer and kids from wrecking it. Aria stomps right over the seedlings. She snatches my bra off the clothesline and holds it up between two fingers like it’s something disgusting. “You actually hang this out?” she snarls. “You want the whole settlement to see what you’re packing?” She drops it in the dirt and grinds her heel into it. Caspian laughs. He watches her like a man watching a favorite toy. He never looks at me. I pull my shoulders up without thinking. For the first time, I feel ashamed of my own body. She’s still not finished. Aria prowls the yard again, hunting for the last piece of evidence that I exist. Her eyes land on the wicker basket in the corner — the one I bring out so the snakelings can nap in the sun, because I’m afraid it’ll be too stuffy inside. My stomach drops. I shout before my brain catches up. “The snakelings are in there — don’t—!” She already has it over her head. I lunge. Too slow. Aria flinches, trips backward, about to fall — A dark shape flashes past and catches her. The basket tips. My snakelings tumble out like fruit shaken from a branch. They are so tiny. So small they make no sound when they hit the ground. Only the biggest one — startled awake — lets out a thin, scared hiss. “My snakelings!” I drop to my knees. I’m scooping them up, fingers shaking, pulling all three into my arms. They’re shaking too. Tiny tails curl around my fingers like lifelines. The biggest one has a scrape on his forehead. A bead of blood seeps through his skin. I can’t breathe. Caspian was closer to that basket than me. He could have gotten to it first. He could have stopped her. But he doesn’t. He reaches for Aria. He catches her. He lets our snakelings hit the dirt. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even blink. Until now, I keep telling myself the nights matter. The hunger. The way he wraps his tail around me. I cling to those memories like a life raft. I think they’re proof of love. But now my hands are shaking, my snakelings’s blood warm against my skin, and I can’t pretend anymore. Maybe I was wrong about everything.

My voice trembles and my eyes blur when I look up. “Caspian, please,” I say, my voice cracking. “Don’t let her throw everything away. I’ll pack it all. I won’t leave a single thing.” For a beat he doesn’t move. Then his arm loosens around Aria, like something inside him finally gives. The snakelings are still hissing — small, wounded sounds that slice through the air. They look at him with those bright, wet eyes, the same ones that used to make him come running. They want him to scoop them up the way he used to, to press their little scaly heads between his hands. Before he can answer, Aria’s face snaps shut. Her eyes go red. Her voice sharpens to a knife. “So you feel sorry for her, then? You feel bad for her and those snakelings — admit it!” She spits the words at him. “I knew it. You say you think it’s disgusting, but you can’t let her go.” Caspian’s jaw tightens. He starts to say something, but Aria cuts him off. “You promised to take me home. What happened to that?” Her tears come fast and ugly. “You bid on her in front of everyone. They laughed at me for months. Said I was delusional. Said a male like you would never pick me.” She sobs into his chest. Her fists thump weakly against him. Her voice drops to something small and desperate. “Caspian, we’ll have snakelings too. I’ll give you a whole nest of them.Just stop looking at other females. Please?” He goes rigid, then slowly lets go. He looks away from me and the snakelings like turning a page. Then he reaches up and wipes her tears with the back of his hand. “Don’t cry,” he tells her. “I’ll do whatever you want, okay?” The snakelings watch him. Their hisses quiet down into tiny, confused murmurs. One of them nudges my finger with his little snout. His eyes reflect my face — bright, black, and searching. Why isn’t Daddy looking at us? Their question lands in my chest like a stone. I stand there like a statue. My face won’t move. My mouth is stuck. I put my hand on the smallest one’s head because the motion steadies me. Because if I stop moving, I will break. “It’s okay,” I whisper, forcing a crooked smile that tastes like ash. “It’s okay, little ones.” I bend down and start picking things up. I scoop a bundle into my arms. It slips. I pick it up again. It falls. Over and over. My hands are clumsy, thick with tears. The sun hits the dirt and my hot drops disappear like nothing. Aria fusses at Caspian in that syrupy, triumphant voice she saves for winning. “I want a brand-new bedframe,” she coos, her nails raking the air. “I am not sleeping where you slept with her. Pull up those ugly plants — I want flowers. And take down that fence, is disgusting.” Caspian follows her finger out of habit. His eyes pause on the little green patch I planted — the seedlings I watered with my own hands, the ones he used to pretend to mock. He looks at me for a long, frozen moment. Then he tucks his chin against Aria’s head like the choice was never really his. “Okay,” he says, voice quiet and flat. “Whatever you want.”

I move into Caelen’s room and it smells like mildew and old straw—the kind of place that’s been closed up too long. I clear a small patch of floor and lay down old clothes over dry hay. It’s ugly and quick, but it’ll do. The snakelings curl into the nest and I tuck them in like they’re the whole world. Night air slides in through the cracked window, sticky and heavy. There’s a sickly-sweet flower scent riding it—Caspian ripped out my vegetable beds and planted blooms for Aria. The smell should be pretty. It tastes like betrayal. The babies whimper against my chest, restless. Their little bodies tremble. From the day they were born, their father has never been this cold to them. I lean down and kiss each tiny forehead. My eyes sting before I can stop them. Somewhere outside, a muffled crying starts. I cover my ears, but then—there’s a loud crash. Footsteps pounding. Everything tightens. The door slams open. Caspian fills the doorway, all coiled muscle and that terrible, slit-pupiled green stare. His eyes burn into me, slow and hungry. Then they drop to the loose edge of my shirt. I know that look. I know it like I know my own heartbeat. A dozen nights of him watching me, then dragging me into darkness, tail wrapping my waist, taking and taking until there was nothing left. He’s in heat. I back into the corner before I even realize I’m moving. His jaw tightens like a trap. He doesn’t know why he’s angry, exactly—just that something animal in him is roaring. Thought narrows to a throatless, simple command: She’s his. No one gets to take her. I shake my head hard. “No—no, I don’t want this.” My voice is thin. Whatever I say seems to burn him. He stops, hurt splitting his face. It’s almost comical—like I’m the one who ruined him. “Don’t look at me like that,” his face says. “You’re the one who left me.” “I won’t—” I try to speak, but the word dies. His hands clamp around my wrists and pin them over my head before I can finish the sentence. A sharp hiss cuts the air. The biggest snakeling scrambles forward, tiny tail braced, and plants himself between us. He trembles so hard his whole body shudders, but he raises his head and bares his baby fangs at Caspian. The little mouth is a furious, ridiculous, brave thing. The other two snap awake and copy him. Three snakelings—no bigger than my palm—line up like a wall. My tears fall hot and fast. “Babies, no—stay back!” I lunge for them, but Caspian’s grip is iron. I can’t move. Caspian’s face has gone somewhere cold and sharp. The heat fogs his brain. He reaches with slow, ugly purpose. The little snakeling thrashes, tail whipping, trying to bite free. “Don’t! Caspian, let him go! You’re hurting him!” I scream. I claw at his arm like a wild animal; my nails rip his skin. He frowns, annoyed, and then—throws the snakeling like he’s nothing. The tiny body bounces off the wall and slides down crumpled on the floor. “No!” The sound tears out of me. “My baby!” The pain is white-hot in my chest. I can’t breathe. My hands shake so hard I can’t stand. For a moment, Caspian blinks—like someone hit him. He looks at the snakeling curled in the corner, then at his own hand. For a second his eyes clear. Then something darker pulls the line back over his face. He mumbles my name, the sound broken: “Amber…” A shout from the doorway cuts through everything. “What the hell are you doing?!” Caspian snaps his head. Aria stands there, barefoot, eyes wide as saucers. He shoves me away like I burned him. His face twists, guilty and frantic. The words spill out of him before he can stop them. “She—she seduced me.”

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Serena’s POV: Fifty couples, one live broadcast, and my fiancé is about to swap me out for his dead brother’s wife. I don’t hear it from him. I hear it from a stairwell. The grooms are downstairs doing their challenges — bridal party games, the usual. All fifty brides are in their separate rooms, waiting to be picked up. I sneak out early because I want Ethan to find me first. I want to see his face light up when he spots me before anyone else. I duck behind the stairwell door — and that’s when I hear them. “Ethan, man, this isn’t right.” Jake’s voice. Ethan’s best man. “This is a city-wide event. It’s on live TV. You’re seriously gonna switch brides in the middle of all this? Serena’s gonna be humiliated.” My breath catches. Then Ethan’s voice comes through — low, tired, like he’s explained this a hundred times already. “I don’t have a choice. Vivian’s been widowed for three years. My parents still treat her like garbage. If I marry her, they’ll finally have to accept her.” “As for Serena — she and I have always been more of a platonic thing. She doesn’t need a ring or a certificate. She won’t care.” My fingers go numb against the wall. Jake’s still pushing back, though. I can hear the hesitation cracking through his voice. “Dude, have you forgotten what happened when your brother dumped her? She almost jumped off a bridge. You spent three years pulling her out of that. If she finds out the same woman took her man — again? She’s gonna lose it.” Ethan cuts him off like it’s nothing. “There are fifty couples out there, all in matching outfits. No one can tell who’s who. I’ll just say I got confused in the crowd.” “Besides — you guys know why I went after her in the first place. It was so Vivian could marry Dylan without any drama. Now Dylan’s gone. It’s on me to take care of her.” He turns to the other two groomsmen, voice flat and cold. “Go to room 302. Keep the door shut. Don’t let Serena out. Once the vows are done and the certificates are signed on live TV, my parents won’t be able to say no.” I stand there behind that door. I don’t cry. I don’t scream. I just laugh — once, quietly — and walk back to my room. I pull out my phone. The screen’s still bright. I scroll through the wedding registry and find the groom paired with Vivian today. I type out a message: “Room 302 needs a groom. You in?” I put the phone down. “Serena! Come help block the door! Ethan’s team already passed the first round!” Nora’s grabbing my arm before I can blink. I don’t move. She tugs harder. “Come on! He’s almost at round two — what are we gonna make him do when he gets up here?” “Don’t bother.” I pull my arm free. Nora freezes. “What do you mean?” I look right at her. “This wedding might not be happening.” She stares at me, confused. “What? You two waited months for this. You fought to get a spot. What do you mean it’s not happening?” I don’t answer. Yeah. Fought to get a spot. Three months ago, Ethan handed me the registration form. A city-sponsored mass wedding. Fifty couples, all signing their marriage certificates live on the local news. He said he’d stayed up two nights straight to get us in. Said he only planned on getting married once, and he wanted the whole world to see. I hesitated. Because at the time, my mom had just been moved into the ICU. The biggest regret of her life was never having a real wedding ceremony. Grandma died young. They were too poor. She signed a piece of paper at a courthouse and that was it. She always told me — when it’s your turn, I want to watch you walk down that aisle. I want to hand you off to your groom with my own two hands. I wanted her to see it. I brought the form to her hospital room. Showed her the fine print: “Due to venue limitations, no family processional will be included.” She said it’s okay. Just being alive to see me get married is enough. She didn’t need the walk. But then she turned to the ceremony schedule and went quiet for a long time. “So I won’t even get to see you walk through the door in your dress?” I didn’t make it past the hallway before I broke down crying. That night, I told Ethan — can we skip the mass wedding? Let’s do something small. Just us. Let my mom sit in her wheelchair and hand me off to you. Ethan held me and said the spot was too hard to get. Don’t be selfish. The mass wedding has cameras, he said. Your mom can watch the livestream from her bed. Same thing. I said it’s not the same. He said — after I come get you, we’ll video-call her together. Same thing. I didn’t push it. Because when he said all that, his eyes were red. He said he just wanted to give me the biggest wedding he could. I believed him. Then my mom got worse. They moved her to the respiratory unit. On her last lucid day, she held my hand and said, “I won’t get to see you in your dress.” I said you will. Livestream, Mom. Just remember to open the link. She said okay. But today — he said: “She doesn’t need a ring or a certificate. She won’t care.” My mom is lying in that hospital bed, glued to a screen, waiting to watch her daughter get married — and she doesn’t even know no one’s coming to marry her daughter. Heavy footsteps echo down the hallway. Nora peeks out the door, suspicious. “That’s weird — there’s only two groomsmen out there. Where’s Ethan?”

Serena’s POV: Nora turns back to me, completely lost. “The games are over. Shouldn’t he be the first one running up here?” I let out a small laugh. “Nora — when the groom shows up, go easy on him.” She blinks. Then she covers her mouth and grins. “Oh my God, I knew it. You’re too soft on him.” “Fine, fine — since he chased you for three whole years, I’ll tell the girls to take it easy. Twenty push-ups max.” She’s already typing in the group chat: “Bride says chill out. Don’t wear the groom out. The bride will feel bad for him.” I almost smile. Almost. This was supposed to be such a sweet moment. Nora finishes texting and loops her arm through mine. “Seriously though — three years together, and he’s barely even held your hand. Now you’re signing the papers today. You nervous?” “No,” I say. “Liar.” She grins. “Your lips are white.” Right on cue, my phone buzzes. Mom. Video call. She’s just finished a round of chemo. Her hair is gone. Her skin is the color of old paper. But she’s smiling — eyes crinkled, warm, alive. “My baby looks so beautiful today. I’m watching the stream — Ethan was working so hard on those games to get to you. Don’t be too tough on him, okay?” I force out a laugh. Nod. “I can’t wait to see you two sign those papers.” The nurse walks in to change her IV. Glances at the screen. “Oh — is your daughter one of today’s brides?” “She is. Fifty couples, all on TV.” Mom’s voice is thin as a candle in the wind. “My girl found herself a good man. Three years, never gave me a reason to worry. Treats her like she’s the most precious thing in the world.” I grip the phone so hard my nails dig into my palm. She doesn’t know. The man who chased me for three years, who loved me for three years, who moved heaven and earth to get us into this wedding — He did it all so he could marry his dead brother’s widow in the chaos. So he could force his parents into accepting a marriage they never would’ve agreed to. I take a deep breath. Smile at the camera. “Okay Mom, the signal’s bad. I’ll call you back after we sign.” I hang up. Nora adjusts my veil. “You know, a mass wedding isn’t so bad. No stress, everything’s taken care of, and it’s on live TV.” She smiles again. “Your mom’s probably so happy right now, it’s healing her faster than any medicine.” Then she walks to the window and looks out for a while. When she comes back, she’s frowning. “Why isn’t Ethan here yet?” “Every other room’s been picked up already. The host just announced couple number twenty-eight.”

Serena’s POV: Nora turns around, grabs a chocolate wedding favor off the table, unwraps it and pops it in her mouth. “Honestly though — three years ago, who would’ve guessed you’d end up marrying him?” I don’t respond. She chews slowly, eyes going distant. “You were so wrecked after Dylan. I was terrified.” “That man was something else. Made you believe he’d give you the whole damn sky. We all thought you two were a done deal.” Her voice drops. “Then Vivian showed up.” My fingers curl, just slightly. Vivian. I haven’t heard that name in a long time. Ethan and I had been together six months before he brought me home to meet his family. That’s when I found out. Dylan was his older brother. And Vivian — the woman who’d destroyed my engagement — was already his brother’s wife. I was shaking so hard I couldn’t stand. I turned to leave. Ethan grabbed my hand. His voice was barely a whisper. “Serena, give me a chance. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. What happened before — let it stay in the past. Please.” I fought it for a long time. Every time I saw Dylan and Vivian at family dinners, my stomach turned inside out. But Ethan — he was so good to me. He made sure I barely had to see them. At every gathering, he kept them away from me. He said, “You don’t have to deal with her. She’s nothing to you.” But I didn’t want to make things hard for him. He was a Moore. Vivian was his brother’s wife. Holidays, birthdays — they’d always cross paths. The better he treated me, the more guilty I felt for holding onto the past. After months of fighting myself, one night at dinner, I picked up my glass, looked at Vivian, and smiled. “To family.” Under the table, Ethan squeezed my hand. His eyes went red. From then on, I played nice. Every single time. Then Dylan died. Construction accident. There one day, gone the next. Vivian became a widow. “I wasn’t gonna bring this up on your big day,” Nora says, cutting through my thoughts with a bitter little laugh. “I’m just so mad — I couldn’t even get a spot in this wedding for me and my boyfriend, but somehow Vivian’s here too?” “And the guy she’s paired with? Some college buddy of Ethan’s who just got back from overseas — Lucas Caldwell!” “What is it with men? Do they all fall for the same type of two-faced woman?” She’s getting angrier by the second. The candy box in her hand is crushed. “Back when you and Dylan got engaged, he literally left you in front of both families — said Vivian wasn’t feeling well and needed him. And what happened? He took care of her all the way into his bed!” Her voice cracks now. “That night, you went to the bridge alone—” I lower my eyes. My lashes tremble. “If Ethan hadn’t jumped in after you—” She can’t finish. She swipes hard at her face. I hand her a tissue. “Ethan…” Nora takes it, forces a shaky smile. “He was soaking wet, shivering, lips turning blue, and he just knelt down in front of you and said, ‘Don’t be scared. I’m here.’ You didn’t even know him. Why would a total stranger do that for you?” Her voice picks up again, lighter, that survivor’s relief. “He said he understood you. Said he’d been lied to before too. Said he’d spend a lifetime helping you heal.” “You know how bad it was? You were down to nothing — barely eating, wouldn’t talk to anyone. He was the only person you’d eat for.” Nora crumples the tissue into a ball. “We all thought God sent him to save you. Three years of chasing you and he never even touched your hand. We used to joke behind his back — like, does this guy even work? But looking at it now, what kind of man can do that? He really loves you.” Her eyes are red again on those last two words. I lift my head. Look out the window. Then I laugh. Just once. “He doesn’t love me.” Nora goes still. “What did you just say?”

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Mom and Dad emptied their savings,every dollar from the last twenty years,to buy me a condo in Los Angeles. They did it over my brother Jason’s objections. I moved in with my heart full. One month later, the SCE app pinged with a new bill notification. The amount due: $15,000. I’m cooked. I drove straight to the SCE customer service center in Rosemead and asked them to pull a Usage Report. The woman behind the counter looked at the printout and shook her head. “Ma’am, your bill is system-generated. All usage data comes directly from the Smart Meter assigned to your unit. There’s no error.” To figure out what was going on, I unplugged every single appliance in the place. Fridge. Microwave. Washer-dryer combo. AC unit. Everything disconnected. I even started charging my phone at the office in Culver City. The second month’s bill came in. $15,000. I graduated from UCLA a few months ago. I’m a junior product manager at a tech startup, barely clearing six figures a year. Fifteen thousand dollars a month in electricity is more than most people’s mortgage. There’s no way I can pay this. SCE sent an Overdue Notice first. Then a Collections Warning. Then they reported it straight to the credit bureaus. My score cratered overnight,780 down to 520. With a lawsuit breathing down my neck, Mom and Dad borrowed money to bail me out. They went to a small storefront lender on Vermont Avenue. I found out later it was a predatory lender charging over 400% APR. I tried to sell the condo. But the electric bill situation had already spread through the building. Listed on Zillow for two months,not a single showing. What realtor would touch a unit with a $15,000 monthly electric bill and no explanation? Especially in a market as cold as LA’s. The bills kept stacking. I pulled every breaker in my panel. Refused to use a single watt. Sat in the dark eating cold food. Went downstairs to the 24 Hour Fitness to shower. Third month’s bill arrived. $15,000. Jason didn’t buy it. He drove over an hour from Rancho Cucamonga and stood at my door, ripping into me. “Emily, you’re nothing but an ungrateful leech. Using your electric bill as a scam to bleed Mom and Dad dry.” “They spent their entire lives getting up before dawn to run that laundromat. And this is how you repay them?” Mom and Dad gave up on me after that. Changed the locks at the house in Boyle Heights. Left me to fend for myself. Within months, the predatory loan’s compounding interest plus the SCE debt snowballed past $150,000. The collectors stopped calling. They showed up in person. In the parking structure of my own building, they beat me to death. — I open my eyes. I’m standing in the lobby of the condo building. Sunlight pours through the glass doors. The security guard at the front desk scrolls through his phone. This is moving day. After graduating from UCLA, I spent three months searching Zillow. Studio apartments at $2,200 a month. One-bedrooms at $2,800. Buying was out of the question,a fixer-upper in Boyle Heights starts at $600K. So when Mom and Dad said they wanted to buy me a condo outright, I thought it was the only shot I’d ever have at owning a home. How could I possibly say no? And now, here I am again. Dad dangles a set of keys in front of my face, that familiar warmth crinkling around his eyes. “Emily, what are you spacing out for? Don’t tell me you’re so touched you short-circuited.” “Our Emily finally has her own place! Get up there and check it out!” The memories of my death slam into me all at once. The concrete floor of the parking structure. The taste of blood in my mouth. The sound of ribs caving in under someone’s boot. A violent shudder rips through my body. I force the words out fast. “Dad! Jason just got married last month. You guys already helped him buy a house in Rancho Cucamonga.” “And now a condo for me the very next month? That’s way too much money!” “Maybe we should… return it?” Dad blinks. Then bursts out laughing. “Sweetheart, you think this is Costco? You can’t return a condo.” Mom laughs too, takes the keys from Dad’s hand, and presses them into my palm. Her hand is warm. Her grip leaves no room for argument. “Emily, whatever your brother gets, you get too.” “We don’t play favorites. That’s our bottom line. Non-negotiable.” “Your dad and I need to get back to the shop to close out the books. Go on up and see your new home.” We don’t play favorites. I push open the door with a weight sitting heavy on my chest. The condo is brand new. Dark hardwood floors. White quartz countertops. Stainless steel appliances. Even the bathroom tile is this year’s trend. The air smells like fresh paint and new furniture. Mom and Dad clearly spent serious money. They said if they were going to do it, they’d do it right. Turnkey. Move in and enjoy. I scan every inch of the unit. One bedroom, one bath, living room, kitchen. I check each room carefully. No high-draw appliances. No space heater. No server rack. No mining rig. Even if you added everything together, there’s no way it hits $15,000 a month. I open my phone. Pull up the SCE app. My brain goes white. The screen shows that since the account activated, this unit has consumed 237 kilowatt-hours. 237 kWh is what a normal American household uses in an entire month. I’ve had the keys for one hour. “That’s impossible… What the hell is going on?” I tear through everything I can find. SCE’s FAQ. Reddit’s electrical forums. Every Google result about abnormal electric bills. Anything. Any explanation at all. Then something catches my eye. A news article: “Man’s Electric Bill Triples Overnight , Turns Out His Neighbor Was Stealing Power Through the Walls” It hits me like a freight train. Of course. Last time around, I searched my own unit inch by inch. Every outlet, every wire,nothing wrong. I even pulled every single breaker in my panel, and the Smart Meter kept spinning. But if someone tapped into my electrical system from outside my unit… everything would make perfect sense. I get on Yelp and find the highest-rated licensed electrical inspection company in all of Los Angeles. A guy named Mike, runs his own firm out of Pasadena. Been in the business for decades. Mike shows up, takes one look at the building, and his expression darkens. “Ms. Rivera, auditing the electrical system of an entire building is no small job.” “I’ll need access to every single unit, which means you need written authorization from the HOA board first. And the cost,a full-building audit runs eight to ten thousand dollars, minimum. You sure you want to do this?” I check my banking app. Balance: $487.32. I clench my jaw, open Capital One, and max out my credit card. Then I download Affirm and finance the rest through Buy Now Pay Later. If I can’t spend this money now, what I’ll pay later is my life. After putting down the deposit, I spend two solid days going door to door. Knocking. Explaining. Pleading. Practically begging every neighbor to let Mike’s team in. Then I track down the HOA president,Mrs. Patterson, a woman in her sixties with hair dyed an aggressive blonde,and sweet-talk her into signing the authorization letter. Mike’s team begins the full-building audit. My heart is in my throat. Unit by unit. Floor by floor. Panel by panel. When Mike finishes the last unit on the top floor, I’m waiting for him in the hallway, eyes wide, desperate for an answer. Any answer. A mislaid wire. An illegal splice. A neighbor secretly running a grow house. Anything. As long as it explains this. But Mike just stands there. His face is grim. He lets out a long breath. “Ms. Rivera… nobody’s stealing your power. Every unit in this building is clean.” He pauses. Something close to pity flickers in his eyes. “All the usage is coming from your unit. I’m sorry… I honestly can’t explain it.” —

My eyes go wide. That’s impossible. Last time, I stripped the place bare. Not a single appliance left. Not even a USB charger. There was nothing left to draw power. This time around I haven’t gone that far, but all I’ve got running is a fridge, a washer-dryer combo, and a few LED lights. That’s 30 to 40 kWh a month, tops. There’s no universe where it hits 237 in a single hour. Mike packs up his Fluke meter and shakes his head. “Ms. Rivera, I’ve been doing this for twenty years. Never seen anything like it. I’d recommend you contact SCE and have them send a field engineer to check your Smart Meter.” He signs the invoice on his iPad and walks out without looking back. I sink to the floor. Last time, I called everyone I could think of. SCE customer service,at least twenty calls. The LA Department of Building and Safety came out twice. I filed reports with LAFD and LAPD. When I had nowhere left to turn, I called the State Attorney General’s consumer complaint hotline. Every single person told me the same thing: “We don’t see any irregularity in your account, ma’am.” Nothing. Nobody found anything. Ding-dong. The Ring doorbell chimes. A push notification lights up my screen. Jason stands in the hallway. His tie is loose, his face like a storm cloud. He must have driven over an hour from Rancho Cucamonga to get here. The second I open the door, his eyes sweep the freshly renovated interior. Every detail registers as resentment and rage. “Emily, congrats. You finally won one.” “I’ve still got twenty-eight years left on my mortgage. Four grand a month just in principal and interest. But Mom and Dad? They drop cash on a condo for you. No loan. No payments. Just here you go.” “Must feel pretty damn good, huh?” I crack a bitter smile. I don’t feel good. I feel like crying. Growing up, Mom and Dad always said “We don’t play favorites.” But Jason got Sylvan Learning Center. I taught myself at the public library. The college fund only had his name on it. Even the laundromat’s succession plan was quietly decided at the dinner table,all his. Me? I walked into the Financial Aid Office alone to figure out my student loans. The one time they actually give me something better than my brother, and it turns out to be this. SLAM. I shove the door shut. The deadbolt clicks twice. Jason kicks the door from the outside, curses his way down the hall. The elevator dings somewhere at the end of the corridor. I stare at my phone. The numbers on the SCE app are still climbing. Fast. Anger. Injustice. Hurt. Confusion. Every emotion hits at once. I dig through the coat closet by the door and pull out the sledgehammer I borrowed on moving day. CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. I swing like I’ve lost my mind. The quartz countertop. The hardwood floor. The IKEA PAX wardrobe. The Casper mattress and its frame. Mike says it’s my power? Fine. I’ll smash everything to pieces. I’ll find whatever’s pulling electricity if it kills me. Shrapnel bites into my skin. Sharp, searing pain. I don’t feel it. I just keep swinging. When there’s nothing left to break, I pull out my phone with trembling hands. The SCE app reads: 2,500 kWh. “How is this possible?” The place is destroyed. Everything reduced to rubble. But the number keeps climbing. I refuse to accept this. I post an emergency ad on Craigslist,$500 cash for someone to tear out the walls. Two hours later, three day laborers show up. Two Mexican guys and a young Guatemalan, picked up straight from the Home Depot parking lot. They brought their own tools. Nothing left in the apartment. Electricity still surging. Maybe the answer is inside the walls. They work the entire day. Kitchen. Bedroom. Bathroom. Every partition wall demolished. The unit is gutted. Nothing remains but bare wooden stud frames and four load-bearing walls. Shredded drywall hangs in strips. Wires dangle from gaps in the ceiling like a nest of dead snakes. I stand in the wreckage, hands shaking, and open my phone. This time. It has to stop. The SCE app number is still climbing. Ice floods my veins from the base of my spine to the top of my skull. —

This time, it isn’t just me. All three day laborers are staring at the screen, passing my phone between them. One of the Mexican guys mutters in Spanish,”Esto es imposible”,then switches to English. “Lady, there’s literally nothing left in here. How the hell is it still pulling juice?” The Guatemalan kid crosses himself, barely above a whisper. “Señorita… tal vez este lugar está maldito.” Maybe this place is cursed. He doesn’t finish the sentence. The other two are already packing up their tools. No invoice. They don’t even collect the full $500. All three file out single-file. The last one through the door makes the sign of the cross on the doorframe. I stare at the hollow shell of the condo. Bare studs. Dangling wires. Debris everywhere. Nothing but despair. I grew up in America. I studied engineering at UCLA. I have never believed in the supernatural. But right now, I can’t think of another explanation. What am I supposed to do? Am I going to drown in six figures of debt all over again? Ding-dong. The Ring doorbell. This time it’s Mom and Dad. They’re standing at the door holding two Whole Foods bags, all smiles. Inside: my favorite avocados and a box of Porto’s guava cheese pastries. “Emily, it’s been crazy at the shop. A new employee ruined a customer’s Armani suit in the wash,cost us two grand. We just now got a chance to come see you.” “So? How’s the new place? Feeling settled in?” I let out a hollow laugh. Don’t answer. They peer past me into the unit. The smiles freeze on their faces. Dad pushes through the door. He takes in the rubble, the exposed stud frames, and goes rigid. “We paid for turnkey! How did it end up like this? It looks worse than a fixer-upper!” I pull out my phone, open the SCE app, and hand it to them. The color drains from both their faces. Dad kicks a half-broken IKEA chair across the floor. “That goddamn realtor! I knew we shouldn’t have trusted him! Emily, don’t worry,Dad’s going to handle this. I’ll report him to the BBB myself!” Mom doesn’t say a word. She quietly pulls a roll of Bounty and some Hefty trash bags out of the grocery bag, kneels down, and starts picking up debris. Watching her small frame bent over that wreckage, I can’t hold it together anymore. Last time, I dragged them down with me. Pushed them straight into the arms of a predatory lender to cover my debts. I will not let that happen again. I pick through the bedroom rubble until I find a pen and a blank sheet of printer paper. I start writing my Last Will and Testament. If I can’t figure out the cause, the condo goes to the LA County Public Administrator after I die. Donated to Habitat for Humanity. That way, no matter how high the bills climb, none of it touches Mom and Dad. I’m halfway through when something catches my eye under the remains of the desk. A length of Romex wire. Yellow sheathing. 12-gauge. This wire has no business being here. The condo’s circuits all run from the breaker panel through the ceiling and down into the walls. There is no legitimate wiring path under a desk. My heart slams against my ribs. Could this be it? The source of everything? I grab the wire and pull, trying to trace where it leads. No matter how hard I tug, I can’t reach the end. “Emily, what are you doing?” Mom’s voice. Right behind me. I spin around. Her eyes are locked on the yellow wire in my hand. That warm, Whole-Foods-bag-carrying mother expression is gone. Replaced by something cold. Something I’ve never seen on her face before. A knot tightens in my gut. A terrible thought, still shapeless, begins to form. I force a smile. Keep my voice light. “Just tidying up the bedroom, Mom. Didn’t want you doing all the cleanup by yourself.” Mom studies me for a long beat. Then she snatches the wire from my hand, shoves it back into the rubble, and grabs my arm to pull me out of the bedroom. “You need rest, Emily. You’ve been running yourself ragged.” I try to circle around her, back toward the wire. She’s faster. She plants herself between me and the rubble, both hands clamping around my wrists like a pair of vice grips. Her strength is terrifying,way more than a woman her size should have. The look on her face. The way she’s blocking me. The panic inside me swells. Why does she keep stopping me from checking that wire? What is she hiding? The memories of my death crash through me again. Concrete floor. Blood in my mouth. The wet crack of bone under someone’s heel. Something in me snaps. I wrench free of her grip, grab the yellow Romex wire, and yank with everything I have. The next second, my pupils shrink to pinpoints. —

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I spent two years as a human guinea pig for three pharmaceutical companies while selling my blood three times a week at a private blood bank. I finally scraped together the 800,000 dollars for my daughter’s bone marrow transplant. But on the day the hospital tried to deduct the surgical deposit, my account balance read zero. At the same time, a new post appeared on the Instagram of my husband’s first love, Tiffany. Thanks to a certain someone for buying me this ruby bracelet~ It’s a one-of-a-kind piece from the auction house worth $800,000, but all I have to do is show the slightest interest and he’ll buy it for me~ That day, I called Abner ninety-nine times. He didn’t pick up. All he sent was one cold message: Tiffany had a heart episode. I was just comforting her. Angel’s not going to die from waiting a few more days. I’ll have the hospital schedule the surgery next month. But Angel didn’t make it to next month. At three in the morning, she died in my arms. I held my daughter’s body and sent him one final message. Abner, I want a divorce. … It was already dark by the time I walked out of the private blood bank. The crook of my arm was riddled with needle marks—ugly, angry, grotesque. Two years. Between selling blood and enrolling in high-risk clinical trials at three different pharmaceutical companies, I had finally scraped together the 800,000-dollar deposit for Angel’s bone marrow transplant. My fingers trembled violently as I transferred the money into the designated account. The pain and weakness from chronic blood loss crashed over me in waves, but in that moment, the only thing I felt was hope. Yet the first call that came wasn’t the hospital telling me Angel’s surgery was a success. It was a nurse on the line: “Mrs. Anna, the deposit deduction failed. Insufficient account balance.” I froze. Fumbling, I opened my banking app. The number on the screen was a clean, merciless zero. Then I saw the new post on Tiffany’s Instagram. Thanks to a certain someone for buying me this ruby bracelet~ It’s a one-of-a-kind piece from the auction house worth $800,000, but all I have to do is show the slightest interest and he’ll buy it for me~ In the photo, a blood-red bracelet sat delicately against her slender wrist. I nearly lost my mind. The money I’d earned selling my own blood—my husband had taken it, without a word to me, to buy jewelry for his mistress. That was my daughter’s lifeline! I called Abner. He picked up quickly, his voice tired and impatient: “It’s Tiffany’s birthday. She’s been running herself ragged over the merger acquisition for the group, and today she worked herself into another heart episode. The least I can do is show some gratitude. Angel’s condition isn’t new—a few more days won’t kill her. I’ll arrange the surgery next month.” The hatred inside me drove me to the edge of collapse. I needed an explanation—I refused to let this go. I screamed at him, demanding to know why he’d touched that account. His tone was righteous, unapologetic: “You’re my wife. What’s yours is mine. What’s the big deal if I use it? You—” I hung up before he could finish. I had no strength left to fight. Angel lay in her hospital bed, every strand of hair long gone, her small fingers tugging at my sleeve, her voice full of expectation. “Mommy, when is Daddy coming? He promised to bring me that talking bunny doll…” I held her, burying my face against her tiny shoulder, breathing in the smell of disinfectant and IV fluid and, underneath it all, a faint trace of warm, milky sweetness. My eyes betrayed me and filled with tears. They were the only answer I could give. Just then, a text from Abner came through: Anna, if Tiffany’s father hadn’t saved me and my dad back then, the Byron family would have been finished. I can’t be ungrateful. You’re my wife—why can’t you just be understanding? Tiffany’s message followed right behind it— Anna~ Abner says you’re upset? I actually told him not to buy anything that expensive, but he insisted. You know how stubborn he is. How about I ask him to return the bracelet? Oh wait, I don’t think jewelry can be returned lol. Don’t be mad~ Worst case I’ll just give you the bracelet, though I’m not sure you’d still want it after it’s been on me~ The double meaning was impossible to miss. After all—wasn’t Abner himself a man she’d already had her hands on? I closed every message. A notification from the clinical trial center popped up: Mrs. Anna, the Phase III drug trial you enrolled in enters its final stage next week. Based on your current health indicators, continued participation poses severe risk. We advise withdrawal. I closed that too. At three in the morning, Angel’s cardiac monitor erupted in a shrill, piercing alarm. When I rushed in, she managed a smile for me, slowly lifting her hand as if trying to reach for mine. I knelt on the floor outside the resuscitation room, praying with every shred of my being, tears pouring down my face, my heart fracturing with every second. They worked on her for forty minutes. The doctor pulled down his mask and shook his head. My world collapsed entirely. I gathered my daughter’s still-warm body into my arms and sat motionless until dawn, as though my soul had been hollowed out completely. Every last trace of warmth inside me had gone cold. I shifted my numb body and sent Abner one final message— Abner, I want a divorce.

After sending the message, I used the last bit of money left in my pocket to purchase a double burial plot for me and Angel. Without Angel, I had no reason to go on living. When I stepped out of the morgue after finishing the paperwork, I ran into Abner in the corridor. He was helping Tiffany out of the elevator. She’d twisted her ankle, and he was crouching down to massage her foot, his expression focused and tender. I had just come from the morgue. The smell of that place clung to me, mingled with the chemical stench that seeped from my pores after years of drug trials. My hair was a tangled mess. I was gaunt beyond recognition. I watched the scene in front of me in silence and found, miraculously, that it didn’t hurt anymore. Perhaps my heart had already died alongside Angel. When Abner walked past carrying Tiffany, he brushed against me, frowned, and stepped aside. He didn’t recognize me. He even muttered something disgusted under his breath. It was Tiffany who recognized me. “Abner, I think the person you bumped into is Anna. You should apologize to your wife.” There was a subtle condescension laced through her tone. “Put me down, quick—before Anna gets jealous and throws another tantrum at you.” Abner said nothing. He didn’t put her down. He glanced back at me, his brow furrowed tight. “Anna, what happened to you? You look like—” His frown deepened. Tiffany finished his sentence for him: “Anna, why do you look like some stray dog that’s been thrown out? And what is that smell?” “Abner is a man of status, you know. Walking around like this—are you trying to embarrass him on purpose?” Tiffany’s words made Abner’s expression turn ice-cold. “If you’re doing this to disgust me, then congratulations. You’ve succeeded.” The revulsion on his face was unconcealed. The smell on me was from holding Angel’s body through the entire night. But Angel’s own father found it repulsive—sickening, even. A nurse passing by glanced at me curiously, then caught sight of Abner and Tiffany and let out a small gasp. “Isn’t that Mr. Byron! I’ve always admired the love between you and Miss Tiffany!” All these years, Abner had never once acknowledged my or Angel’s existence in public. He said the Byron family was in a critical period of expansion, that there were many enemies, and that we needed to pretend we had no connection to him—for our own protection. Yet he openly doted on Tiffany, took her to parties, brought her to family dinners. When people called Tiffany “Mrs. Byron,” he never corrected them. Not once. I looked into his eyes. He hesitated for less than a second. “Oh, thank you. I’m sure you’ll find a love of your own someday.” So he had never been afraid of any enemies. He was simply ashamed of me and Angel. We were an embarrassment to him. After the nurse left, he finally set Tiffany down and leaned in close, lowering his voice: “Anna, I didn’t mean it. But look at yourself—how could I possibly tell anyone you’re my wife?” “You know the company is expanding right now. This—this is humiliating.” Tiffany stood beside him with her hand over her mouth, laughing theatrically. “Anna, look at you, dressed like a homeless person. If people found out you were Abner’s wife, they’d probably pull out of their deals.” My gaze fell to the ruby bracelet on her wrist. Eight hundred thousand dollars. My blood. My life. My daughter’s life—traded for that eight hundred thousand. My eyes went red. I lunged toward her. But before I even touched her, she shrieked, clutching her chest and stumbling backward. “Abner! She’s going to hit me! My heart can’t take this—” Slap. Abner struck me across the face almost instantly, so hard that I slammed into the fire hydrant mounted on the wall. The back of my skull cracked against it and blood began to trickle down. He pulled Tiffany into his arms, then grabbed a fistful of my hair and dragged me into the corner. “Have you lost your mind! You know Tiffany has a heart condition! Do you just have to bully her! Is that it!” My phone slipped from my pocket. The screen was lit—a confirmation text from the cemetery: Your daughter’s double burial plot has been confirmed. Plot number C-0237. Abner glanced at it. The color drained from his face. He shoved me hard against the wall. “Anna, what the hell are you up to now! To compete with Tiffany for my attention, you’d actually use your own daughter as a curse! Have you no shame at all!”

With that, he turned away in disgust, tossing back a single sentence: “Deal with Angel’s situation yourself. As punishment, I’ll wait until Tiffany is stable before I come see you two.” I leaned against the wall, blood trickling down from the back of my skull. Angel’s last words echoed in my ears, over and over. “Mommy, don’t cry. Angel doesn’t need Daddy anymore. I just need you, Mommy…” I couldn’t afford even the cheapest painkillers. All I could do was clench my teeth against the agony radiating through my body and drag myself to handle Angel’s arrangements. I’d scraped together just enough for the remaining balance on the burial plot, but when I reached the counter, the bank card was declined again. I opened my banking app. Another zero. I called Abner. His voice was all fury: “You scared Tiffany into nearly having a heart attack yesterday. I brought in a specialist for a consultation. The fee came out of the family account. Do you have a problem with that?” I had no tears left. “Give me the money back. That was Angel’s—” “I told you I’ll handle Angel’s affairs!” He cut me off, then his tone suddenly shifted. “What about you, though—why did you stop going to that research institute job? They contacted me, said they recommended terminating your contract, but expected me to pay the penalty.” I went rigid. The clinical trial center had reached out to him. “They said the pay was quite good, but that your body couldn’t handle it anymore.” He paused, a note of mockery creeping into his voice. “But you look fine to me. And since you love money so much, I put in a word for you—told them you’d show up next week as scheduled.” My lips began to tremble. If I went back there, it would kill me. But I didn’t say it. In two years, I had never once told him what “clinical trials” actually meant. High pay meant high risk. Human testing for high-risk experimental drugs was, in essence, selling my life for money. The side effects had already hollowed out my liver and kidneys. My bone density had plummeted. My clotting function was in chaos. But I knew that even if I explained, he wouldn’t listen. He would only think I was making it up to compete with his precious Tiffany for attention. “Be a good girl. Go to the institute, cooperate with the tests. Might do you some good—clear out all that nonsense in your head.” His tone softened. “Once Tiffany’s condition stabilizes, I’ll come see you and Angel.” The line went dead. A message from the trial center followed immediately: Mrs. Anna, Mr. Abner has confirmed your continued participation in the Phase III project on your behalf. Please note: given your current liver and kidney indicators and overall health status, the risk level for this round of trials has been elevated to the highest category. The morgue attendant was pressing me too: “Ma’am, your daughter’s remains can only be preserved for seventy-two hours. Please complete the arrangements as soon as possible.” I checked the compensation for continuing the drug trial. It was exactly enough to cover the remaining balance on the double burial plot—enough to let me and my precious Angel be laid to rest together. So I replied to the trial center’s message. Received. I’ll be there on time. Then let this body—already rotted through by chemicals—buy me and Angel a place where we can finally sleep in peace.

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“Stop! I said stop… I’m old enough to be your mother, you insufferable—ahh…” “Then teach me, my lady.” He pins my wrists above my head with one hand, my own Rosary beads tangled between his fingers and mine, and tilts my chin up with the other, forcing me to look at him. Twenty-five years old. Jaw carved from marble. Eyes dark with fever and want. *Want.* For me. A woman of forty-nine with aching knees and grey at her temples. “Blessed Virgin… this is a mortal sin… I’m going to burn in Hell for this…” “Then we burn together.” His pace is relentless. “I hate you,” I whimper. “You’re dripping down my thighs.” “I *hate* you!” “I’m not stopping until you scream.” I scream. Three times. — I am the Dowager Countess of Everwood. I came to rescue my granddaughter from an abduction. Instead, I ran headlong into the Lord Protector of the realm—drugged out of his mind and burning alive with poison. He pinned me down. One catastrophic night later: Me: ??? The Lord Protector: ??? — In my previous life, my granddaughter Eleanor was violated before her wedding. After the marriage, her husband bled her dry—funneled her entire dowry into his debts and made her raise his mistress’s bastard as her own. In the end, she was sent to a convent. She spent the rest of her days behind those cold stone walls, watching the man who destroyed her live a respectable life with another woman, raising children that should have been hers. No one came to visit. No one came to mourn when she died. Then I wake up. And I’m back. Back to the weeks before Eleanor’s wedding. I can’t stand by and watch history repeat itself. My legs ache—they always ache—but I grab my walking stick, and in the dead of night, I climb the stone steps up the hill to the abbey. I shove open the heavy oak door of the guest quarters. “Eleanor! I’m here, my child. I won’t let that beast lay a finger on you!” I remember it clearly. Last time, Eleanor went to St. Andrew’s Abbey for Mass, and the Lord Protector’s wretched attendant snatched her, dragged her to his master’s chambers, and threw her to him like medicine for a fever. Except—I’m early. The attendant hasn’t taken Eleanor yet. I’m the one the Lord Protector catches instead. A bare, scorching torso presses against me from behind. “So hot… help me…” God have mercy. I lost my husband at thirty. Nearly twenty years without a man’s touch. And now a boy barely past twenty-five has his arms locked around me like a vice. I grip my walking stick. My voice shakes. “Un—unhand me! I am the Dowager Countess of Everwood!” “Let go of me this instant—I’m old enough to be your *grandmother* in rank!” Roland of Leonhart. The Lord Protector of the realm. Forged in military campaigns, built like a battering ram, a face all hard angles and sharp authority. He commands the kingdom’s armies, controls the Privy Council, holds more power than any man alive. My words don’t make him let go. They make him tip my chin up with his fingers and seal his mouth over mine. “Shh… what are you mumbling about…” “Mmm… the scent on you… it’s… calming. Makes me feel safe…” Of course it does. Years of kneeling in chapel have soaked frankincense into my very skin. The rest is parchment and iron-gall ink from copying scripture. Naturally calming. But that is *not the point.* The point is: my name day is next month, and I will be *fifty years old.* I probably smell like dust and old lavender sachets. And he’s still kissing me? Blessed Virgin, how long has this man been starved? “Let… let go of me…” I thrash. My walking stick clatters onto the stone floor. But what chance does a woman pushing fifty have against a young man built like a warhorse? He scoops me up with one arm and sets me on the oak table. A heartbeat later, my flailing hands are bound—with my own Rosary. His voice, low and raw, rumbles against my ear. “Be good. Give yourself to me. I’ll take responsibility…” Holy Mother of God, that makes it *worse.* If he takes responsibility, how do I explain this to Henry—dead twenty years? To my thirty-two-year-old son? To my sixteen-year-old grandson and fifteen-year-old granddaughter??? What am I supposed to say? *Children, Grandmother found you a new grandfather. He’s twenty-five.* “I’d rather you just killed me.” His breath drops an octave. “My little witch… that can be arranged…” He rips the lacing clean off my kirtle. Strips of linen chemise fly everywhere and I—I lose my mind. “THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT!” —

So. A woman of nearly fifty, ravished by the Lord Protector of the realm. All night long. Thank God I’ve taken care of myself. Tisanes, hippocras, regular walks up the hill to the abbey for Mass. Decades of discipline. Otherwise, he truly would have killed me. Somewhere around midnight, a knock sounds at the door. “Your Grace, the girl’s here. To help you break the fever.” What he hears in response is… not conversation. The sounds coming from inside that room are deeply, profoundly improper. Roland doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down. Just turns his head and snarls: “Get out!” The attendant’s voice brightens with understanding. “Ah—Your Grace already has… company. I’ll return the young lady at once.” I try to call for help. “S-save… save me…” Roland clamps a hand over my mouth. “Don’t scream. I’ll have you begging soon enough.” He is… formidable. More formidable than Henry was on our wedding night thirty-four years ago. And Henry had been a young man then. We married at sixteen. By twenty-five, Henry was already flagging. By thirty, he left me altogether—went to meet his Maker. This kind of vigor? I’ve only ever read about it in those courtly romances. Lancelot, Tristan—none of them hold a candle. The pleasure is like nothing I’ve ever known. “How… how is this even possible???” Roland’s voice, husky and amused, brushes my ear. “You’re enjoying it too. Aren’t you?” That night, we are utterly shameless. The Rosary snaps. Beads scatter across the linen sheets, clicking softly, catching the firelight. That Rosary—my most treasured possession. Blessed by Father Benedict’s own hand. I used it every single day in prayer. At first, I can’t fight him. Later, I don’t want to. It is… magnificent. I never imagined—not at my age, with one foot already in the grave—that I could feel something like this. But beneath the bliss, a cold thread of worry coils in my chest. This man controls the kingdom. The Everwoods are respectable, yes, but we are no great house. If Roland decides to destroy us, it takes nothing more than a stroke of his pen. I can’t drag my family into this. So when he finally falls asleep, I peel myself free of his arms and slip away. The damage he’s done to my body is… considerable. I can barely stand. My walking stick trembles against the flagstones with every step. The stone stairs down the hillside are a special kind of torture. My legs buckle. My hips scream. The stick skids on the steps three separate times, and each time I nearly pitch forward into empty air. Somehow—somehow—I make it to the bottom. Agnes, my lady’s maid, waits by the carriage. “Milady, Lady Eleanor was returned safely. I’ve been waiting ages. You look dreadful—did something happen?” Eleanor is safe. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Agnes is still staring at me. I wave her off. “Nothing happened. I dozed off in the guest quarters, that’s all. Lost track of time.” “Eleanor’s safe. That’s what matters. Take me home.” In the carriage, I clench my hands together, close my eyes, and pray. *Holy Mary, have mercy on me… Holy Mary, have mercy on me…* Let no one ever learn of this. Not in this life. Not ever. But my mind won’t cooperate. It keeps replaying—his face, the breadth of his shoulders, the relentless way he moved— Henry. I try to summon Henry’s face. My husband. We were betrothed as children, married at sixteen, parted by death at thirty. I never remarried. Nearly twenty years. I swore at his coffin that no man would ever touch me again. Twenty years, I kept that vow. I thought Henry would be the only man I’d ever have. And now—practically in my grave—twenty years of faithfulness, shattered in a single night. “Henry… God rest your soul… I’m so sorry…” —

Back at the manor, I order the servants to fill the wooden tub with hot water in my bedchamber. No one stays in the room. I want to scrub this night off my skin. If I scrub hard enough, maybe it never happened. But the marks on my body tell a different story. They’re everywhere. Vivid proof of just how… vigorous he was. At my age. Nearly fifty years old. Handled like that. Heat crawls up my neck. My cheeks burn. I cross myself quickly and hiss under my breath: “Margaret Everwood, *shame on you.* You’re practically ancient. Stop thinking about it.” That night, I dream of Henry. He has his hands around my throat. “Margaret, you broke your vow!” “You swore on my coffin! You said there’d be no other man! You said we’d be buried together in the family crypt!” “I’ve been waiting for you in Heaven for twenty years. You won’t come down, fine—but you found yourself a twenty-five-year-old *lover?*” I grovel. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Henry—I didn’t mean to break my vow.” “He was too strong! I was forced, I swear—” Then Roland appears out of nowhere, wraps an arm around my waist, and pulls me upright before I can bow again. He kicks Henry square in the chest. Henry vanishes. “You’re a dead man. The living are none of your concern.” Then Roland covers my ears with his palms. Gently. Like I’m something fragile. “Margaret. Ignore that old ghost. Everything he said is nonsense. You deserve the finest man in the world.” I stare up at him, stunned. “The… finest man in the world?” That’s clearly himself he’s talking about. The audacity. I punch his chest. “Shameless! Absolutely shameless!” He tilts my chin up. Forces me to meet his eyes. “You love it when I’m shameless.” He kisses me. I wake drenched in sweat. Burning up. It’s barely spring. There’s no reason for this heat. “Agnes—draw a bath. Now.” The marks Roland left on my neck are impossible to hide. I lock myself in my chambers for days, waiting for them to fade. The official story: I caught a chill climbing to the abbey and came down with a fever. Eleanor is a good girl. Even when I refuse visitors, she comes to the door of my private chapel every morning to ask after me. Days pass. Agnes knocks gently. “Milady, Lady Eleanor came to see you again at first light. Shall I still turn her away?” I glance at the window. Pale light. Quiet grounds. No strangers at the gate. No one has come looking for me. Maybe it’s over. “Let her in. Tell her I’m much better.” Agnes beams. “Right away!” A moment later, Eleanor bursts through the door and throws herself around my legs. “Grandmother! You’re finally seeing me!” “I thought—I thought you were angry because I snuck out that day and you had to come all the way up the mountain to find me!” “I’m so sorry! It was my fault—I nearly got taken by those awful men! If you hadn’t come for me—” “Geoffrey would have been so upset!” Geoffrey Montfort. Eleanor’s betrothed since childhood. Heir to the Montfort duchy. A young knight who just earned his spurs before the king last year. The kind of man who rides off to the northern front the morning after his wedding. Leaving Eleanor alone to manage a crumbling estate. While he keeps a mistress across the border. Gets her pregnant. And the worst part? The entire Montfort household knows. They blame Eleanor for failing to produce an heir, then force her to raise the bastard under the polite fiction of a “ward.” —

Eleanor pours her dowry into the duchy’s debts. She raises her husband’s illegitimate child with patience and grace. She waits seven years. When Geoffrey finally returns from the wars, the first thing he does is petition the Ecclesiastical Court for an annulment—citing consanguinity, some thread of distant cousinship—so he can marry his mistress. And in open court, he announces that the child Eleanor raised as her own is his bastard. Always was. By then, the Everwoods are nothing. Our influence has withered, our halls stand empty, and not a single soul bothers to pay a courtesy call. Eleanor has no protector. She can’t fight a man riding the crest of military glory. She endures it in silence. Then she collapses. No one visits. No one sends for a physician. She lies alone in an empty room and closes her eyes for the last time. And I—her grandmother—live long enough to watch her buried. Every time I think about Geoffrey kneeling at the altar, playing the pious knight, when he was calculating how to strip us bare from the very beginning—every vow he made before God, a lie—my hands shake so badly I want to wrap them around his throat. But the Eleanor standing before me right now doesn’t know any of this. She doesn’t know her betrothed is a devil wearing a saint’s mask. I can’t tell her. Not yet. So I take her hands and smile. “Ellie, you’re still so young. And you’re my only granddaughter. I can’t bear to let you go just yet.” “Stay with me a little longer. Two more years. Can you do that?” Here’s what I know from the last life: the Montforts are drowning. That’s why Geoffrey pushes for the wedding. Once Eleanor arrives with her dowry, he’s free to ride north and chase glory. If I delay the marriage by two years, the Montforts won’t last six months. Their rot will show through for the whole world to see. Let’s see them come knocking on our door then. Eleanor blushes and nods, sweet as ever. “I want to stay with you too. If you hadn’t come for me that night, I don’t know what would’ve happened!” “Dear Grandmother, you saved my life. I’ll do whatever you say. I’ll write to Geoffrey right now and tell him the wedding is postponed!” I pull her into my arms. “My dear girl. I haven’t loved you for nothing.” As long as Eleanor never sets foot in that den of wolves, she’ll never suffer what she suffered before. And if that nest of vipers goes bankrupt in the meantime? That’s not our problem. My son Thomas and his wife Catherine are thrilled when they hear the news. They come to see me together that evening. Thomas sits down and gets straight to the point. “Mother, did you hear something? Everyone’s whispering that the Montforts are practically ruined. The old duke’s war reputation is the only thing keeping up appearances. Their estate income can’t even cover household expenses—apparently the servants haven’t received their wages or livery allowances in months, and the pantry’s nearly bare. Eleanor insists on honoring the betrothal, but she’d be walking straight into misery.” Catherine nods, her brow creased with worry. “Eleanor is my only daughter. I won’t watch her suffer.” “This is perfect timing, Mother. Give it a couple of years, once Eleanor’s gotten over her stubbornness, we’ll find her a family that actually deserves her. She can stay right here by your side. Wouldn’t that be better?” Seeing them both on my side warms my old bones more than any fire. “Good. I’m glad we’re all in agreement.” Henry and I only had Thomas. I adored him from the day he drew breath. When his father died, Thomas was twelve. I raised him alone. His wife Catherine is a distant relation of mine—a merchant’s daughter, yes, but from a wealthy house. She’s gentle-natured, pious, well-mannered. A perfect match for my honest, upright son. In the previous life, Catherine and I nearly bankrupted ourselves for Eleanor. My dower. Catherine’s remaining dowry funds. We poured everything we had into keeping that girl afloat in the Montfort household. That’s the real reason the Everwoods fell so fast. This time, we will *not* let those leeches bleed us dry. —

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My husband and my three brothers dug out my heart for their favorite sister. I drink the prenatal supplement Jade gives me. Seconds later, my stomach folds in on itself, as if someone’s twisting a rope inside me. “C-section. We have to do a C-section,”Dr. Ethan Hart—my oldest brother, also　the best cardiac surgeon in Fairmont—says I need an emergency C-section. My husband Julian Price screams, “Save her! I only want my wife!” My three brothers crowd around me. Their eyes are red. “Just sleep, Ivy, it’ll stop hurting. We have the best doctors, the best medicine.” When the pain is at its worst, I feel ridiculously lucky that the people who love me are right here. Until I overhear them outside the door while I’m waiting for anesthesia. Ethan’s voice carries a note of excitement I don’t like. “Ivy’s healthy, her blood type and age match. It’s a rare chance—let’s harvest her heart and transplant it to Jade.” Marcus agrees—my second brother. “I’ll arrange people to destroy the evidence. Ivy will never find out.” Oliver chimes in—my third brother. “I’ll formulate a targeted medication. Even if Ivy gets a bad heart, she won’t suffer.” After a beat, My Husband Julian exhales like a man unburdened. “Jade really needs a good heart to fulfill her dance dreams. As for Ivy… we’ll compensate her later. I’ll sign the consent now.” It’s like a bucket of ice dumped over me. My heart already feels like someone is carving it out of my chest with a dull knife. Then a voice rings inside my head—familiar and utterly foreign—a cold electronic chime: [ALERT: Host life at risk.] [FINAL CONFIRMATION: Do you wish to forfeit all rewards and remain in this world?] I laugh through my tears. This time, their counterfeit love can’t chain me anymore. — I try to roll off the bed. But a nurse shoves a tube down my throat and into my nose. Anesthesia floods my body. Before the darkness swallows me, I see Jade—accentuated and rehearsed in her pity—being wheeled in. The foster sister they adore now, and the one who poisoned my baby. Ethan holds his scalpel. He speaks coldly to the nurse: “Don’t bother with the dead fetus. Take her heart out and transplant it into Jade.” I feel the blade slice through my skin, layer by layer. Right before I lose consciousness, I hear him whisper. “Hold on, Jade. When you wake, you can shine on stage.”

When I come to, the first thing I do is ask *The System* what it said. “As long as my body dies,” I ask, “I can go back to my original world. My heart disease will be cured. And I’ll get a hundred million dollars. Correct?” [Correct.] How ridiculous—when I first agreed to come this world to redeem four men, it was because I couldn’t afford treatment for my heart disease.Fifteen years later, those same four men repay me back a bad heart again. I don’t hesitate to rip the oxygen tube out. To make me die faster. Breathing becomes harder. My throat clamps shut. My face turns purple. I am moments from suffocating. A small, humorless smile lifts my lips. Good. I won’t have to stay here and face their fake love anymore. The heart monitor explodes into red lights and a keening alarm. My three brothers and Julian burst into the room with a pack of nurses, bellowing, “Ivy!!” Ethan does CPR, he wants to save me. He puts the tube back in. Then he roars with bloodshot eyes. “Are you insane?! Why did you pull out your tube? It’s just a lost baby—don’t give up on your life!” I clutch at the hollow ragged pain where my heart should be and scrape out a voice. “I only lost a baby?” Julian collapses to his knees and keeps slapping his own face. “It’s my fault. I asked Jade to give you that medication. thought it would help the pregnancy. I didn’t know you were allergic…The toxins hit your heart. But Ethan’s the best cardiac surgeon in the country—he can fix you. We can have more children.” Julian crawls toward me on his knees. His eyes are wet. He grabs my hand. “I already punished the pharmacist who made the mistake. She’ll never work again. Don’t blame Jade, don’t blame yourself. we love you.” When I don’t answer, Marcus speaks. His voice is hoarse. “I’ve contacted hospitals overseas. We’ll find a matching heart.” Oliver pats my shoulder gently. “I’ll prepare the targeted medication. You’ll breathe like a normal person again. You’ll run and jump.” I feel nothing but so cold. They want to sweep it all under the rug. Jade poisoned me. Killed my baby. And now they’re planning to steal my heart. I let out a bitter laugh. I look at the four men surrounding my bed. “Where’s Jade? I’ll go see her myself.” Ethan frowns. “You’re still blaming her? She had a heart attack from the guilt. Lucky we found a donor just in time.” Oliver, the brother who used to spoil me the most, quickly adds. “Darling, Don’t cause trouble. Ethan will fix Jade, and he’ll fix you too.” I snort. “Really? Both surgeries, at the same time? My heart breaks, and Jade just happens to find a donor?” The room goes silent. “Ivy…”Ethan opens his mouth and closes it again. I’m tired of their lies. “Go check on Jade if you want. I’m glad she’s well.” They freeze, looking for something to say; I pull the blanket over my face. When I peek out again, they are gone. But Julian hesitates at the door and then stays. His shame is thick in his eyes. I smile at him. “Go see her. Come back and tell me how she’s doing.” Then he leaves without another word. When the house is finally empty, I breathe out and fumble for my phone. *The System* promised me one wish if I helped it meet its KPI. Right before I went into surgery, I traded my System wish for two video clips. I watch the videos until my vision blurs—over and over— I watch them plan how to steal my heart. How my eldest brother methodically stripped it out and painstakingly placed it into Jade. A chill runs through me. And then I am glad I didn’t die just now. Because leaving so easily would have been too kind for them.

During my hospital stay, one of them stays with me every day. But they always leave in a hurry. I think they are busy. Then one day I need to use the bathroom. No one is around. I drag my IV pole and slowly make my way down the hall. I pass a room. Through the window, I see Julian Price—the man who said he had an urgent meeting—feeding a dumpling into Jade’s mouth. My three brothers are in the room too. They watch her with soft, doting eyes. Ethan’s voice is helpless but fond. “Jade, you can’t go stuffing yourself just because you’re better. Those dumplings are too greasy.” Jade bats at his white coat and pouts. She complains with the exact touch of a spoiled child. “But Marcus made them for me. They’re too good to resist.” Then she complains again. “You guys crowd around me every day. It’s so annoying. I can’t even sneak a snack without someone catching me.” My nails dig into my palms. I laugh at myself. For days my meals have been nothing but plain rice porridge I’ve ordered myself. No one noticed. No one asked. Jade, meanwhile, has hot dishes hand-delivered by Marcus. I turn around. My legs feel like lead. Then I hear two nurses whispering outside the break room. “The patient I’m taking care of? I think this one is the real sister. Dr. Hart was explicit—just give anther one IV fluids and keep her alive. If Miss Jade has severe rejection, that one be ready to replace her whole blood.” My body clamps shut. The scar lines across my chest and belly feel like they’re tearing open; pain crawls through my limbs. How did it come to this? When I first came to this world, my body was weak. I was sick all the time. Another critical condition notice. Another brush with death. I remember being the child who if I so much as bumped my knee. Ethan learned medicine to take better care of me. Marcus and Oliver were the same. Marcus hustled to build businesses so we could afford treatments; Oliver buried himself in pharmaceutics to make my medicines less bitter. When I was on the edge of death, they prostrated themselves at famous temple and pray for a protective charm to me. To bring me good karma, they even saved an orphan named Julian Price from the snow. Everyone in Fairmont knows the Hart family’s daughter is blessed: three brothers who dote on their fragile little sister, and her fiancé is the CEO of a tech giant. I was an orphan. I craved that love more than anything. After I finished the mission I even refused the reward—I just wanted to stay and be loved by them. Then Jade arrived. The day they brought her home, the brothers swore over me. “She looks so much like our mother. She has the same heart condition. We can’t ignore her.” “Don’t worry. Adopting her will bring you more good karma. You’re still our love and only.” I believed them. I really tried to accept her. To be kind I gave up my room. Every time my brothers came back from a business trip, I reminded them to buy her a gift too. I felt sorry she couldn’t go places because of her heart. So every time Julian and I went on a date, I brought her along. Slowly, Jade sank into the family. She learned to whine for gifts. She play-fought with Julian. She fit right in. But somewhere along the way, something shifted. When Jade fell in front of me, Ethan’s first question was, “Did you push her?” One time Marcus cooked, he made all of Jade’s favorite foods. Oliver’s research goal became—develop a targeted drug for Jade’s heart. Even Julian, when we argued, would throw out, “Why can’t you be more like your sister? Learn to be softer!” And then… they plotted to steal my heart. All for her. The emotions surge back. My heart feels like someone is ripping it out again. I try to move faster. I want to leave this place. But I’m too weak. My legs give out. I fall. The wounds on my chest and abdomen split open. Pain so sharp it blots out thought folds me into a ball. I go limp, fog swallowing me, and whisper, “Ethan, Oliver and Marcus …” Just as I am about to pass out, I see them. My brothers and Julian. Running toward me. Ethan is the fastest. He scoops me up. His voice is harsh. “Ivy Hart! Because you saw us all with Jade, you hurt yourself again? Just to get attention?”

I am sent home from the hospital. Nurses watch me around the clock. They won’t let me hurt myself again. My body is too weak. I sit in a wheelchair. I can’t even use the bathroom without help. Jade, on the other hand, runs and jumps like nothing happened. She wears a pink chiffon dance dress and twirls in the garden, light on her feet. Julian holds his phone, recording her. My three brothers watch without blinking. Their lips curl into soft, adoring smiles. I feel boring. I turn my wheelchair around. I want to leave. “Oh!” Jade suddenly trips and falls with a small thud. “Jade!” The four men rush to her side. I look back. Jade points at a loose latch that fell from my wheelchair. Her voice wobbles with tears. “Ivy, I know you blame me for the wrong medicine and for losing the baby, and you must be jealous my heart got fixed and yours didn’t, but—” She bursts into sobs. “I can finally dance. How could you do this on purpose and make me fall?” Ethan kneels to check her leg, rubbing it gently. Marcus’s face darkens. Veins bulge on his forehead. “Ivy Hart! What happened to the way we raised you? How did you become so cruel?” The other three glare at me. Disgust in their eyes. My ruined heart feels like someone just stabbed it again. “I didn’t,” I rasp. “That part fell off yesterday—” “Still lying! We really spoiled you too much.” Marcus raises his hand. He is about to slap me. The blow is inches from my face before Julian steps between us. “Marcus, Ivy has been through a lot. She needs time.” Oliver also tries to calm him down. “Forget it. Jade mentioned wanting to try that new private restaurant. Let’s take her out to celebrate.” He turns to me. his eyes are cold now. “As for you. Stay home and think about what you did.” Julian hesitates. He wants to stay with me. but Jade rushes forward and grabs his hand in front of me, shaking it like a child claiming a toy. “Julian, come with me! You promised you’d buy me dinner if I was good during surgery.” Julian’s face stiffens. “I should stay with your sister… she—” I stare at their intertwined hands until my throat goes dry. “Just go. She wants you to.” Julian pats my head. “All right. Wait for me at home. I’ll bring back your favorite seafood porridge.” — I sleep until three in the morning and wake to an empty bedside. Julian never came home. The whole house is dark; only Jade’s room is lit. The door is ajar. As I closer, I hear the soft, syrupy sounds of her crying. Julian’s voice, huskier than I’ve ever heard it, murmurs, “Shh. We have to stop. You just got better…” Jade’s voice trembles. “Now that my heart’s fixed, when will you divorce her? I met you first. You were mine from the beginning.” Julian answers, low and warm, “You’re my favorite, baby. But Ivy saved my life. I can’t abandon her. Besides, if you reaction after the surgery was very strong, we might need her blood to save you.” “Julian…” Jade coos. A cold basin of water is poured over my head. All night I listen to them whisper and laugh, their sweet nothings spilling through the thin door. My hands shake as I grip my phone. I lean against the wall. I close my eyes. — Morning comes. My three brothers leave for work and find me propped beside Jade’s door. “Ivy, what are you doing here?”they ask. I give them a quick wave and then push my wheelchair inside Jade’s room without warning. In the stunned silence on their faces, I throw back the covers. Two bodies are tangled under the sheets—naked and breathless. I raise my phone and start taking pictures.

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