The third year after my sister went missing, I finally found the man who had kidnapped  her. With the help of the police, we cornered him at an abandoned dock. After a standoff that lasted through the night, he ran out of strength and was successfully captured. The officer told me it was all over — that my sister would be rescued soon. But just as the suspect was being walked past me, he leaned close and said, in a voice only the two of us could hear: “She truly loved you. Until her dying breath, She begged me not to reveal that you were the one who planned all of this .” I had been searching for my sister Aurora Blackwood for three years. In those three years, I went from being an ordinary freelance illustrator to the most unusual “outside consultant” in the police department’s files. Everyone called me a hero — for the efforts I’d gone to in order to find my sister, and for the kind of sharp instincts I’d shown along the way, instincts that even the detectives found remarkable. The lead investigator was the deputy captain of the city’s criminal investigation unit. His name was Ethan. When he first met me, his eyes held that practiced look of sympathy and reassurance. But now, he called me directly whenever he hit a wall on the case. “Stella, we’ve run into another dead end.” That shift had come down to two small things. The first happened six months ago. The police had obtained an extremely blurry surveillance photo. It only caught the corner of the suspect’s vehicle — you couldn’t even make out the license plate. The case stalled for over two weeks. I zoomed in on the photo until the pixels completely fell apart, and I stared at it for an entire day. Finally, in a flash of reflection off the car window, I spotted a logo on a takeout box. It was a fast-food chain that only delivered to three districts on the west side of the city. I told Ethan. “We already searched the west side. Nothing turned up.” His voice was exhausted. “No — you only checked the main roads and residential areas,” I said. “Look into every abandoned factory and warehouse in that zone, especially any that a car could drive straight into.” Ethan was quiet for a few seconds. Then he said, “Understood.” Three days later, they found more discarded evidence near an abandoned printing plant — evidence linked to the suspect. The search area narrowed significantly. From that day on, Ethan started actually listening to me. The second thing happened about a month ago. I was going through my sister’s spending records — something I did every month, hoping to catch something unusual. For the first two-plus years, I found nothing. But this time, I spotted an easily overlooked record. A week before Aurora disappeared, she had purchased a fairly expensive set of printmaking inks. Everyone had glossed over it. Aurora was a painter — buying art supplies was completely normal. But I knew something no one else did: my sister hadn’t touched printmaking for five years. She thought it was too much work, and it always got her hands dirty. I immediately thought of a place. An arts village on the outskirts of the city. Back in college, Aurora had rented a small studio there specifically for printmaking classes. I sent the address to Ethan. “What’s significant about this place?” “My sister used to paint there in college. She never went back after she graduated. But those inks — they’re a niche brand that’s only sold at that arts village.” “You’re saying she went there before she disappeared?” “Go check it out,” I said. Ethan moved fast. They searched the long-abandoned studio and found traces left behind on the day my sister vanished. And one more thing — another person’s fingerprints. Those fingerprints belonged to a man named Vince. He had a prior record for theft and assault. At last, they had their suspect. When Ethan called to tell me, there was a hint of relief in his voice. “Stella,” he said, “your instincts and your intelligence have been the key to cracking this case. You’re sharper than a lot of people who went through the police academy.” I was standing at the window when he said that. The sky outside was gray — the same gray that had settled over my life for the past three years. “I just want to find my sister,” I said. “Soon,” Ethan said. “We’ve got a lock on Vince’s movements. He’s not going anywhere.” Last night, Ethan called again. “Stella, we’ve got him cornered — at an abandoned dock. It looks like he may have a hostage. It’s dangerous. Do not come down here.” I didn’t listen. I grabbed my jacket and ran out the door. I had to see it with my own eyes. I had to watch him get caught. That bastard I’d been hunting for three years. That monster who had taken my sister and destroyed my life. I had to watch them put the handcuffs on him. It was the only thing keeping me going.

The dock had been sealed off with police tape. Flashing blue and red lights turned the desolate area into something that looked like broad daylight. The air smelled of damp salt and sea wind, thick with tension. A young officer stopped me at the perimeter. “Ma’am, it’s not safe here. Please step back.” “I’m Stella,” I said. The young officer froze for a moment. He’d clearly heard my name before. Just then, Ethan came striding out from inside. His expression was grave, his forehead slick with sweat. “Why did you come anyway?” “I’m staying.” My voice was calm, but firm. Ethan looked at me for a moment, then stopped trying to talk me out of it. He just said, “Stay somewhere safe. Take care of yourself.” Then he turned and walked back behind the cordon. I stood on the other side of the police tape, staring at the crumbling two-story building in the distance. Vince was in there. And maybe my sister, too. My heart was pounding. I couldn’t tell if it was fear or something else. We stayed like that the entire night. I leaned against the car, eyes fixed on the building without blinking. The night was long and cold. One of the officers brought me a blanket and some hot water. I didn’t turn them down. As dawn began to creep in, the voice coming through the megaphone finally went silent. Everything went still. I watched a group of officers in tactical gear move toward the building in formation, slow and deliberate. My heart leapt into my throat. The seconds passed by. Just when I felt like I couldn’t breathe anymore, the door to the building swung open. A man walked out with both hands raised. It was Vince. I’d saw his photo so many times that I recognized him instantly. He looked completely ordinary — average height, nothing remarkable about his face. And yet this was the man who had taken my sister. The officers rushed him, forced him to the ground, and snapped the cuffs on his wrists. It was over. I felt every ounce of strength drain out of me. My knees buckled, and I nearly fell. Ethan walked toward me with long, quick strides. There was a look of pure relief on his face. “Stella, it’s over.” He caught me. “We got him.” I looked at him, and the tears came all at once. Three years of grief, of pain, of hopelessness — all of it released in that moment. “Where’s my sister…” I choked out. “Don’t worry. Our people are searching inside right now. Vince says she’s somewhere safe — no immediate danger.” Ethan tried to comfort me. “It’s all over. You can start new life now.” I nodded, crying too hard to speak. The officers walked Vince past me. He was wearing a filthy set of work clothes, his hair a mess, his face completely blank. I stared at him, burning every detail of his face into my memory. That’s him. This monster. Then, just as he passed me, he suddenly turned his head and looked right at me. The corner of his mouth curled into a deeply unsettling smile. In a voice barely above a breath — quiet enough that only I could hear — he said: “She really loved you. Right up until the end, she was begging me not to tell anyone that you were the one who planned all of this.” My crying stopped dead. It felt like the blood in my veins had turned to ice. I stood there in a daze as they loaded him into the squad car and watched it speed away. Every sound around me disappeared. Ethan’s voice, the officers talking, the sound of the waves — all of it gone. There was only one sentence left in my head. “You were the one who planned all of this.” What did that mean? What was he talking about? This couldn’t be real. “Stella? What’s wrong? Why do you look so pale?” Ethan’s worried voice pulled me back. I looked at him. My mouth opened, but no words came out. An overwhelming wave of fear and confusion closed around me like a net, pulling tight. My world — the moment we caught him — completely fell apart.

I was taken back to the station. But this time was different. This time, I wasn’t sitting on the couch in Ethan’s office. I was in an interrogation room, on a cold metal chair. The light overhead was harsh and bright. It made my head swim. In the span of just a few hours, my status had shifted — from hero and victim’s family member to suspect. Ethan was sitting across from me. His expression was complicated — confused, uncertain — but underneath all of that was the detached, professional look of someone doing his job. “Stella, Vince named you as the one behind all of this. What’s going on?” “I don’t know.” My voice was unsteady. “He’s lying.” “Why would he lie about you specifically? Why would he try to set you up?” Ethan pressed. “How should I know!” I was on the verge of breaking. “He’s the kidnapper. He’s the criminal. Why would anyone believe a word he says?” “But we need a reasonable explanation.” Ethan looked me in the eye. “Your reaction at the dock — after he said and how you reacted — it wasn’t normal.” I can’t explain that. I could only keep repeating the same words: “It wasn’t me. I don’t know anything.” The interrogation went on for a long time. I don’t know how I got through it. When they finally let me leave the interrogation room, I felt like I’d died and come back. Ethan didn’t take me home. He led me to an empty office instead. “You may need to stay here temporarily until the investigation is complete.” That meant I was being held. Just not officially. I looked at Ethan — the detective I had once trusted more than anyone. “You think I did it?” Ethan looked away. “I only believe in evidence,” he said. Whatever trust had existed between us shattered in that moment. I spent a full day and night in that tiny office. No one spoke to me. An officer stood guard outside the door. I felt like an animal locked in a cage. The following afternoon, Ethan came back. He looked worse than before. He didn’t say a word. He just set a clear evidence bag on the table in front of me. Inside the bag was a pen. A pen I recognized immediately — engraved with my initials. It was a gift from my father when I graduated from college. “This was found at Vince’s place.” Ethan’s voice was heavy. “Inside a locked drawer.” My mind went completely blank. “Why would my things be there?” I murmured. “That’s exactly what we’d like to know,” Ethan said. “Along with the pen, we also found some of your sketches. And… a photo. Of you and Vince together at a café.” He slid the photo across the table toward me. In it, I was sitting by the window. Vince was sitting across from me. I couldn’t make out my own expression, but the atmosphere between us didn’t look like two strangers meeting for the first time. “I don’t know him.” My voice started to shake. “I have never met him.” “The photo was taken three days before Aurora went missing.” Every word out of Ethan’s mouth landed like a hammer blow to my chest. “Physical evidence. A witness statement — Vince’s identification. And now a photograph.” “Stella, are you still going to deny it?” I had no answer. I stared at that photo and felt the room spin. I genuinely couldn’t remember. I had absolutely no memory of ever meeting Vince. It was as if someone had reached into my mind and carved out a piece of it. “It wasn’t me…” I could only repeat it, helplessly. Ethan gave me one deep look. Whatever warmth had remained in his eyes was gone. “We’ll be filing for a formal investigation.” He stood up and walked out of the office. The moment that door clicked shut, I knew with absolute certainty — my life had completely fallen apart. I was no longer the brave sister searching desperately for Aurora. I was a liar. A suspect. The prime suspect in my own sister’s kidnapping.

Because the evidence chain wasn’t complete, I was temporarily released. But that kind of freedom was more suffocating than being locked up. I was required to wear an electronic ankle monitor twenty-four hours a day and forbidden from leaving the city. Parked outside my building was an unremarkable black car. I knew someone inside was watching me day and night. My so-called “normal life” had become a cage with invisible bars. On my first day back home, my aunt Grace showed up at my door. She and Aurora were my only family. My parents had both died in an accident when I was in college. Grace had never liked me. She always thought I had ulterior motives — nothing like Aurora, who was bright and accomplished and beloved by everyone. The moment she walked in, she slapped me across the face. “You ungrateful wretch! After everything your sister did for you — how could you do this to her?!” My cheek burned. “It wasn’t me,” I said. “Still making excuses!” She jabbed her finger in my face. “The police are involved! It’s all over the news! They’re saying the kidnapper named you as the one who planned the whole thing! You’ve disgraced this entire family!” “None of that is true.” “Then how come your stuff found at his apartment, Why did you go meet him? You think I don’t know — you’ve been jealous of your sister your whole life! She’s prettier than you, smarter than you, everyone loves her! You just hate seeing her shine!” Grace’s words were like knives, driving into my chest one after another. Every old wound, every buried resentment — it all erupted at once. I stopped trying to explain. Because I knew it didn’t matter. In Grace’s mind, the verdict had already been decided. I pushed her out the door and locked it behind her. Even through the door, I could still hear her shrieking at me. I slid down against the door until I was sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around myself. I felt cold. On the other side of the city, Ethan’s interrogation of Vince had hit a dead end. Vince admitted to carrying out the kidnapping but insisted that Stella had planned the whole thing. Whenever Ethan pressed him for motives and details, he’d dodge the questions or give deliberately vague answers. “Miss Stella is a brilliant woman. Her plan was flawless.” “Why did I help her? Maybe I felt sorry for her.” “She paid me. A big amount of it that I couldn’t say no.” But when the police tried to trace the money, they came up empty. Something about Vince’s behavior didn’t sit right with Ethan. He didn’t act like a criminal who would rat out his accomplices just to get a lighter sentence. He acted more like a performer on a stage — someone who savoring the pleasure of manipulating everyone like puppets on a string. Ethan’s certainty began to crack. That evening, he called me. It was the first time he’d reached out since my release. “Stella, I don’t care what you’re thinking right now, or what you’re planning to do. I’m warning you — don’t make any moves.” His voice was dead serious. “Don’t try to investigate this on your own, and don’t go anywhere near anyone involved. You’re now under strict surveillance. One wrong step and you’ll be in far worse trouble.” His words sounded like a warning. But they also felt like a roundabout way of protecting me. Like he was trying to tell me not to walk into a trap someone had already set. But I couldn’t take it anymore. I wasn’t going to just sit there and wait for them to convict me of a crime. I had to get my memories back. I had to prove I was innocent. After I hung up, I slipped past the surveillance camera at my door and left through the fire escape. I had to go somewhere. Somewhere that might help me find the truth.

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Five years ago, my family went bankrupt. It was Julian Thorne who cleared our massive, crushing debts. I asked him how I could ever repay him. He looked at my face, a deep, lonely longing flickering in his eyes. “You don’t have to do anything,” he murmured. “Just stay by my side.” From that day on, I became a strange presence in his life. I wasn’t his maid, yet I managed every detail of his life. I memorized all his allergies and dietary restrictions, and I tied his silk ties every single morning. I wasn’t his girlfriend, yet we lived together, and we shared a bed. But whenever we had sex, he would blindfold me with a black silk ribbon. He also never allowed me to make a single sound. It wasn’t until the night Serena Croft returned to the country that I finally understood everything. Looking at her face, a face that was an eighty percent match to mine, the truth hit me like a slap. I was nothing but a cheap stand-in he kept on a leash. Gently, my hand trembled as I touched my flat stomach, where a tiny life was now growing. Since that was the case, it was time for me to disappear.

Valerie Vance POV I had been with Julian for five years. The most pathetic thing I ever did was stand outside his study door for an entire night, just waiting for him to utter three words: “You can enter.” Now, I stood outside the VIP lounge of the exclusive club once again, listening to the muffled conversation between Julian and his wealthy friends. “Julian, what’s the plan now? Serena is back. You can’t honestly keep both of them, can you?” Someone laughed, teasing him. “Valerie is gorgeous and incredibly sweet. If you aren’t going to make her your wife, break it off early and let her go.” The lounge fell into a heavy silence for a few seconds. Then, I heard Julian’s voice. It was cool, dripping with a lazy, post-drink nonchalance. Yet every single word pierced through the heavy oak door, crystal clear. “My family owed hers a debt from the past. Keeping her around is just my way of paying it back. She’s the one who insists on staying. I’ve never forced her. If I were going to fall in love with her, it would have happened years ago.” He paused, then added callously. “Besides, where would she go? She’s nothing without me, and she knows it.” Someone chuckled. “So, what about Serena? Are you really going to marry her?” Julian didn’t answer. But in our world, silence was the loudest confirmation. My hand froze on the doorknob. In the end, I didn’t push the door open. I turned around and walked away in silence. I couldn’t help but think back to five years ago. My father’s business had collapsed. Buried under a mountain of debt, he suffered a sudden, massive stroke. That was when Julian had approached me. “Come with me, and I’ll take care of your father’s medical bills.” Looking at my father hooked up to a dozen tubes in the ICU, I didn’t ask a single question. I packed a few clothes and left with him. Since then, I had lived in his shadow, an undefined shadow. I wasn’t a maid. Maids had salaries, days off, and clear boundaries. I wasn’t a girlfriend. He had never given me that title. I took care of everything. I knew exactly what would trigger his severe allergies, what he hated to eat, and how to handle the mundane tasks he found too tedious. The people in his elite circle called me Ms. Vance. Their tone was polite, but their eyes were always filled with mockery and pity. Everyone knew what my role was. I was the only one who played dumb, refusing to face the ugly reality. I even rationalized it to myself: he saved my family. Staying with him was just my way of paying off the debt. But gradually, my heart betray me. I remembered the time I had a high fever. Through my blurry vision, I felt someone carry me to bed. When I opened my eyes, Julian was sitting by my bedside. He had an entire medical team on payroll, yet he chose to watch over me himself. I remembered the night he was heavily drunk. When I went to pick him up, he grabbed my wrist in the back of the car, his voice raw as he whispered, “Don’t leave.” The next day, he remembered nothing, and I pretended nothing had happened. But I held onto those words for years. Eventually, our relationship shifted into the bedroom. We never talked about commitment. I didn’t dare to ask, and he never offered. I lived in this beautiful, pathetic delusion for five years. Sometimes, I foolishly thought that if I just held on a little longer, he would finally give me his name. Until the news of Serena Croft’s return broke. Everyone in high society knew Serena was the only girl Julian had ever truly loved. They grew up together. But then, she left for Europe without saying goodbye. Julian waited for her for three painful years before he stopped mentioning her name. I had pieced together these fragments of his past from the drunken whispers he let slip over the years. Whenever he drank too much, he would toss and turn in his sleep, murmuring one name over and over: Serena. When I got back to the apartment, I stood at the entrance for a long time. Before my eyes was a home covered in sticky notes. He is severely allergic to mangoes, peanuts, and buckwheat! He only drinks cold milk, but his stomach is weak. Never let him drink it on an empty stomach. Next to the medicine cabinet: Allergy pills are on the second shelf, left container. He only uses waterproof band-aids. Every single note was written in my neat handwriting. Some of the ink had faded with time; others were still fresh. Slowly, I reached out and peeled off the first note. When my hand reached the allergy list on the refrigerator, my fingers trembled. I had rewritten this particular list seven or eight times. On the bottom right corner of the latest version, there was a tiny, hand-drawn smiley face. I remembered that day. He had been in a rare good mood. He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind as I was writing, asking what I was doing. I showed him the note. He glanced at it, gave a faint “Hmm,” and let me go. Just that single, low grunt of approval had made me glow with happiness all day. I had doodled that little smiley face right after. Looking at it now, I realized how incredibly pathetic I was. I peeled the allergy list off. I didn’t throw it away. I folded it neatly and slipped it into my coat pocket. Then, I kept peeling. The living room, the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom, the balcony. Half an hour later, every single sticky note was gone. The apartment suddenly looked cold, bare, and painfully quiet. I stuffed the crumpled pile of notes into a trash bag, tied it tight, and set it by the door. Then, I walked over to the closet and looked at the suitcase standing in the corner. A thin layer of dust had settled on the zipper. I had packed it a week ago. At that time, I hadn’t even heard his conversation at the club yet. I had just felt a cold shift in the air. His sudden coldness, Serena’s abrupt return. All the warning signs pointed to a truth I didn’t want to face. Like I always did, I prepared for the worst. The only difference was, in the past, my worst-case scenarios never came true. But this time, I had heard the death sentence with my own ears. I sat down on the hardwood floor next to my suitcase, rested my back against the wall, buried my face in my knees, and wept. I cried silently, my shoulders shaking, without making a single sound. I had cried many times over the past five years, but it was always silent. Because Julian hated noise.

Valerie Vance POV The next afternoon, Julian returned to the apartment. The moment he stepped inside, his eyes swept over the walls. The colorful sticky notes that used to clutter the space were entirely gone, leaving only faint, clean outlines. He frowned slightly. “Where are the notes?” I kept my voice even. “They were getting old. I’m going to rewrite them.” I had already prepared a new batch, but instead of sticking them on the walls, I had organized them neatly in a folder on the dining table. Inside was a comprehensive guide: his allergies, dietary needs, medication locations, and daily schedules. Every single detail was meticulously written down. Julian flipped through two pages and tossed it back onto the table. “Serena is back. I’m planning to make things official with her.” He looked at me, his tone incredibly casual. “She’ll be coming over often from now on. Make sure you take good care of her. She’s been pampered since she was a child, so she doesn’t know how to manage a household.” I understood. He wasn’t breaking up with me. In his mind, there was never a “relationship” to break up from in the first place. I was nothing without him. I had no job, no savings, no social circle, and my father’s life still depended entirely on his financial support. I had no choice but to stay. I listened quietly and nodded. “Okay. I understand.” Julian waited for a few seconds. I knew what he was waiting for. He expected me to accept his arrangement meekly, just like I always did, and continue to be the obedient, invisible Ms. Vance who revolved entirely around him. And indeed, my quiet nod gave him exactly what he wanted. He looked relieved. He grabbed his car keys and left. Once the door clicked shut, I stood in the middle of the empty living room, staring at the folder he had discarded after barely glancing at it. Five pages. It had taken me all night to write. I walked over, straightened the crumpled edges of the paper, and placed it neatly back on the table. Then, I pulled out my phone and sent a message to the real estate agent: “How fast can we finalize the sale of my grandmother’s cottage?” The agent replied almost instantly: “Within two weeks.” … A few days later, Serena Croft indeed showed up. The moment she stepped through the door, she called out, “Julian!” her voice rising in a sweet, intimate lilt. In the kitchen, my hand holding the knife froze. I had been with Julian for five years, and I had never called him by his first name so intimately. Once, early on, I had tried calling him “Julian” in private. He had met my eyes with a chilling, warning glare. I never dared to do it again. Serena wandered around the apartment and eventually spotted me in the kitchen. She walked in with a sweet smile. “You must be Valerie. Julian mentioned you. He said you’re incredibly detail-oriented.” She opened the refrigerator, scanned the shelves, and said offhandedly, “You’ll have to put in some extra effort for our meals from now on. I’m quite picky. I’ll send you a list of my preferences later.” Her tone was so natural, as if I wasn’t just Julian’s kept woman, but her personal maid as well. Then, Serena stepped closer to me. She lowered her voice so only the two of us could hear. “Now that I’m back, you can just focus on managing the household for Julian and me. Don’t harbor any other… unrealistic ideas.” She smirked. “You know your own situation. Without Julian, you can’t even afford your father’s medical bills, right?” She patted the back of my hand with a mock-sweet smile. “So, let’s both do our jobs. It’ll save us both a lot of trouble.” I didn’t say a word. I simply sealed the last dish with plastic wrap and placed it in the fridge. At dinner, I set the dishes on the table and was about to retreat to my room when I saw Serena using Julian’s private crystal glass to pour him some water. My feet felt glued to the floor. Julian had severe OCD and germophobia. He never shared tableware or glasses with anyone. That was the very first rule I learned when I came to this house. On my first day, not knowing any better, I had used his personal glass to pour him water. He had looked at it with sheer disgust and poured the entire glass down the sink. For five years, I had never touched his personal crystal glass again. Not once. But now, Serena was not only using his glass, she even used her own fork to feed him a piece of foie gras. Julian accepted it. He took a sip of the water and ate the food, a soft smile actually gracing his lips. “Delicious,” he murmured. My mind flashed back to a winter when I had a terrible cold that wouldn’t go away. I had boiled a pot of hot milk and wanted to share it with him. The moment my fingers brushed against his mug, he had flinched and frowned in disgust. I had stood frozen in the kitchen for a long time, holding that hot pot of milk. In the end, I drank it all by myself. It turned out he didn’t have germophobia. He just had germophobia when it came to me. Serena was the only one for whom his rules simply did not exist. I walked back to my room and gently closed the door.

Valerie Vance POV Serena started coming to the apartment more and more frequently. Her silk shawl was left draped over the living room sofa. Her expensive perfumes cluttered the bathroom counter. A box of macarons, a jar of organic honey, and several bottles of yogurt appeared in the fridge. All of them were sweet. Julian detested sweets. Whenever I bought a small cupcake for myself, he wouldn’t even spare it a glance. Once, I had approached him while eating an ice cream cone. He had turned his head away in disgust, telling me it was too sweet and ordering me to stay away from him. But late that night, when I opened the fridge to grab some water, I noticed two macarons were missing from Serena’s box. He didn’t hate sweets. He just hated sweets bought by me. Serena knew exactly what my position was in this household, so she didn’t even view me as a threat. One afternoon, Serena brought a few of her wealthy socialite friends to the apartment. I was in the kitchen preparing afternoon tea. Serena was showing her friends around the place. When they reached the kitchen door, she stopped. “Valerie, could you brew a pot of Earl Grey and bring it to the living room?” She turned to her friends with a casual smile. “This is Valerie. She’s been with Julian for years. She can do absolutely everything and is incredibly hardworking. Julian and I honestly couldn’t live without her.” The women’s eyes instantly shifted as they looked at me. There was scrutiny, amusement, and blatant disdain in their gazes. One of them chuckled and whispered to Serena, “Is this the girl you told us about? The one who’s been clinging to Mr. Thorne for years?” Serena didn’t answer directly. She just offered a knowing, pitying smile. That smile was all the answer they needed. The women looked at me with mock sympathy. When I brought the tea tray into the living room, Serena was discussing her upcoming engagement party with her friends. “Julian said the engagement party will be next month. He’s already hand-picking the ring.” “Oh my gosh! Mr. Thorne is personally picking the ring? He adores you so much!” Serena giggled, casting a sideways glance at me. She didn’t say a word to me, but that look said everything. I set the tea tray down and quietly retreated to the kitchen. Leaning against the marble countertop, I closed my eyes and took deep, shuddering breaths. That night, after Serena and her friends left, Julian came home. I was tidying up the living room when he walked past me. Suddenly, he stopped. “Have you lost weight recently?” I froze, looking up at him. It had been a very long time since he had last noticed anything about me. Before I could answer, Julian walked over to the sofa, sat down, and pulled out his phone to reply to some emails. “Don’t overwork yourself. Serena’s friends might visit more often. If you can’t handle the housework alone, tell the maid to come more frequently.” His words didn’t stem from concern for me. He was just worried that if I collapsed, there would be no one to run the house. I nodded. “I will.” He glanced up at me again. “By the way, there’s a charity gala in a few days. It’s Serena’s first time attending this kind of high-society event. She’s not familiar with the protocols. I want you to come along and assist her.” He wanted me to act as Serena’s personal assistant. In front of Serena, in front of his entire social circle, in the role of a glorified servant. “Okay,” I said quietly. That night, back in my room, I locked the door and pulled out my phone. I texted the agent: “How is the paperwork for the cottage coming along?” The agent replied: “About ten more days at most.” I typed back a single word: Expedite.

Valerie Vance POV On the night of the gala, I wore a simple, elegant evening gown that I usually wore to these kinds of formal events. Serena glanced at me, raised an eyebrow slightly, but said nothing. When we arrived at the grand ballroom, Serena was clinging tightly to Julian’s arm. I followed a step behind them, quietly whispering into her ear about the guests at each table. Their names, their social standing, and their personal preferences. All this information was mapped out in my brain. After five years, I knew the temperaments of everyone in Julian’s circle like the back of my hand. Armed with my notes, Serena floated toward the guests with a radiant smile. The crowd raised their glasses in congratulations. Not a single person looked at me. Then, Serena led me over to a table of elite socialites. “Let me introduce you all. This is Valerie. She’s been by Julian’s side for years, taking excellent care of him.” She picked up a glass of champagne and forced it into my hand with a tight smile. “Valerie, why don’t you propose a toast to everyone? They are my friends now, so you’ll need to help me maintain these relationships in the future.” The women chimed in, laughing. “Yes, drink up!” I took the glass and downed it in one go. The alcohol burned my throat, making my eyes water, but I forced myself not to cough. One of the socialites scrutinized me from head to toe, then whispered to Serena, “Serena, you are way too sweet. If I were you, I would never keep such a pretty girl running around my fiancé.” Serena offered a sweet, calculated smile. “Valerie is practically family to Julian. Right, Valerie?” She stared straight at me, her bright smile demanding my cooperation. Clutching the empty glass, I forced the corners of my mouth up. “Yes. We are like family.” The women laughed, satisfied, and Serena beamed. Only I knew how bitter that drink tasted. Toward the end of the gala, I went to the restroom. On my way back down the dim hallway, one of Julian’s drunken business associates blocked my path. The man grabbed my wrist, his breath reeking of expensive whiskey. “Ms. Vance, you’ve worked so hard all these years. Now that Julian has a new toy, what’s your next move? Why don’t you let me take care of you instead?” Before I could react, his hands began to slide down my waist. I pushed against his chest with all my might, but I couldn’t break his grip. Emboldened by the alcohol, he pinned me against the wall, his flushed face looming closer. “Stop struggling, Valerie. In your position, you should be grateful someone still wants you.” I turned my head away, panic rising in my chest. “Let me go!” I screamed. Footsteps echoed from the other end of the hallway. It was Julian. The moment I saw him, tears almost welled in my eyes. For five years, no matter how cold he was to me in private, he had never allowed anyone else to touch me in public. Julian walked up and grabbed the man’s collar, pulling him back with an effortless yank. “You’ve had too much to drink,” Julian said, his tone flat. He sounded as if he were merely handling an untidy inconvenience. Then, he cast a cold glance at me. “What are you doing wandering around the hallway dressed like this?” This was the same gown I had worn to countless events before, and he had never complained. Back then, when I stood by his side, he found it elegant. Now, when I was being assaulted by another man, he found it to be my fault. Julian escorted his drunken friend away, never once looking back. I was left standing alone in the empty, silent hallway. My wrists were already bruised. He didn’t ask if I was hurt. He didn’t ask what that man had done to me. He didn’t care how I collapsed onto the floor. I curled up in the corner of the hallway, clutching my arms, my entire body shaking violently. In the end, I had to swallow all the pain and humiliation by myself.

Valerie Vance POV It would take a few more days to finalize the sale of the cottage. I endured it. I endured everything. I was waiting at a café near Julian’s corporate office to sign the final batch of paperwork with the real estate agent when Serena suddenly showed up. She had brought two of the socialites from the gala with her. The moment I saw her, I knew there was going to be trouble. Serena walked over to my table, pulled a thick white envelope from her Chanel bag, and slammed it down in front of me. “Valerie, Julian asked me to give this to you. You’ve worked hard all these years. Think of this as your severance package.” She didn’t shout, but her voice was loud enough for the surrounding tables to hear. Instantly, whispers broke out around us. “Is that his mistress?” “She’s definitely pretty enough. No wonder she was being kept.” I knew this couldn’t be Julian’s doing. But with Serena framing it this way in public, anything I said would sound like a weak excuse. I pushed the envelope back. “I don’t need this. Take it back.” Serena blocked my hand, pressing her fingers firmly onto my shoulder. Her manicured nails dug into my skin. Her smile remained sweet, but her voice dropped to a venomous whisper. “Valerie Vance, who do you think you are? Your father would have died in a ditch years ago if Julian hadn’t paid his debts. Your entire pathetic family would be begging on the streets. What right do you have to act so high and mighty in front of me?” My entire body went rigid. I could tolerate her insults directed at me. I could tolerate her humiliation. But I would never tolerate anyone dragging my father into the dirt. My father had been paralyzed in a wheelchair for five years. My mother had aged a decade trying to care for him. The main reason I had endured being Julian’s shadow for five years was to keep my father in that state-of-the-art care facility. In a blind rage, I grabbed my cup of iced coffee and splashed it directly into Serena’s face. Serena shrieked, taking two steps back. The dark liquid dripped down her forehead, ruining her expensive makeup. “Valerie Vance! Are you out of your mind?!” The two socialites gasped and rushed to wipe her face with tissues. Serena was shaking with rage. Just as she was about to scream at me, she spotted Julian walking through the café entrance. In a split second, her expression transformed, and tears welled up in her eyes. “Julian! I came here out of goodwill to check on her, but she rejected it and threw coffee in my face…” Julian took one look at Serena’s ruined clothes, then turned his gaze to me. His face was a mask of pure ice. “Apologize to Serena. Now.” He didn’t ask what happened. He didn’t care about the context. My eyes burned with tears. “She insulted my family first.” “I asked if you are going to apologize,” Julian cut me off, his voice dripping with cold, menacing authority. I bit my lip, standing my ground. Julian let out a cold, mocking laugh. He reached down, picked up a glass of ice water from the table, and without a second of hesitation, poured it directly over my head. The freezing water drenched my hair, running down my neck and shivering down my spine. My clothes clung to my skin, and my wet hair plastered against my face. The entire café fell dead silent. Everyone was staring at me. Julian looked down at me like I was dirt beneath his expensive leather shoes. “Serena is my fiancée. Humiliating her is humiliating me.” He wrapped his arm around Serena’s waist and walked out. As Serena passed by, she threw me a smug, triumphant look. I stood frozen in the middle of the café, water dripping from my hair onto the floor. I remembered my first year with Julian. We had been caught in a sudden downpour without an umbrella. He had taken off his custom coat, draped it over my head, and walked a mile in the freezing rain just to keep me dry. On that day, I had truly believed he was the kindest man in the world. Yet today, he was the one who poured ice water over my head. He didn’t even bother to ask why.

Valerie Vance POV I went back to the apartment in my wet clothes. I took a hot shower, changed, and sat on the edge of the bed in a daze for hours. My mind was filled with the memory of Julian’s lifeless, icy eyes. I should have given up on him long ago. How could I have ever believed that a man like him could possess even a shred of genuine affection for me? From beginning to end, I was just a fool living in a dream. Suddenly, a violent wave of nausea hit me. I rushed to the bathroom and collapsed over the toilet, throwing up until there was nothing left but bitter bile. I sat on the cold tile floor, completely drained of strength. Lately, I hadn’t been able to keep any food down, and my period was weeks late. I had assumed it was just stress. But a sudden, terrifying thought crossed my mind. I dragged myself up, put on some dry clothes, and walked to the nearest pharmacy to buy a pregnancy test. In the pharmacy’s public restroom, I watched as two bright red lines slowly but clearly appeared on the stick. My knees buckled, and I slid down the wall onto the floor. I was pregnant. Just when I was completely prepared to leave him forever, a new life, half-belonging to Julian, had taken root inside me. I placed a trembling hand over my flat stomach, tears streaming down my face. This baby couldn’t have come at a worse time. Julian would never want it. And if Serena found out, I wouldn’t even be able to leave this city in one piece. I had to leave before Julian found out. I had to leave immediately. I took a cab back to the apartment. But the moment I saw Julian’s black Maybach parked at the curb, my heart plummeted into a freezing abyss. I pushed the door open. The apartment was pitch black. Julian was sitting on the sofa, a lit cigarette smoldering between his fingers. On the coffee table lay a crumpled medical bill. It was the receipt from my OB-GYN visit last week when I went in for a checkup. Hearing the door, Julian slowly raised his head. Those eyes, usually so indifferent and cool, were now filled with a terrifying, murderous rage. He stood up, his voice dangerously low. “Valerie Vance, are you pregnant?” I instinctively took a step back, my blood running cold. “I…” Crash! Julian hurled the heavy crystal ashtray at my feet. Shards of glass exploded across the hardwood floor, cutting my bare ankles. He strode over in three giant steps, grabbed my jaw in a vice grip, and forced my face up. His grip was so tight I heard my bones protest. “I personally made sure you took your birth control pills every single time. How the hell did you get pregnant? Did you tamper with the condoms? Or did you spit the pills out?” He sneered, looking at me as if I were a disgusting stranger. “Valerie, I never realized you could be this calculating. You saw that I was getting engaged to Serena, so you decided to trap me with a bastard child?” His words stabbed straight into my chest, tearing my heart to shreds. “I didn’t…” Tears finally spilled over. Ignoring the pain in my jaw, I desperately grabbed his wrists, my voice cracking into a sob. “I only found out today… Julian, I don’t want anything. I don’t want your money. I’ll leave right now. I’ll go far away and never trouble you or Serena again…” “Go far away?” Julian let out a dark, mocking laugh. His eyes were cold and merciless. “And let a stain carrying half my blood exist in this world? Giving you a permanent excuse to blackmail Serena in the future? In your dreams!” He violently shoved me away. In my weakened state, I lost my balance and fell hard against the sharp edge of the dining table, hitting my abdomen. A sharp pain shot through my stomach, and I gasped, curling my body tightly to shield my womb. Julian loomed over me, looking down at me like a god delivering a sentence. “Only Serena has the right to bear my children. The thing inside your stomach doesn’t deserve to see the light of day.” I forced my head up, my eyes wide with utter despair. “Julian, this is your child too!” Five years. Even if you raised a dog for five years, you would have some affection for it. Yet he didn’t show a single ounce of hesitation. “So what?” Julian adjusted his tie, his voice entirely flat. “Tomorrow morning, my medical team will perform the procedure.” Without another look, he turned on his heel and walked toward the door. “If that thing inside her isn’t cleaned out by tomorrow, you’re all fired,” he barked at the bodyguards waiting outside. The heavy door slammed shut, crushing my very last hope. My suitcase was standing right behind that door. I was only one step away from escaping with my baby. I lay on the freezing floor, the blood from my ankles mixing with my tears on the wood.

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To pay off my family’s eight-million-dollar debt to ruthless loan sharks, I married Garrett Vance, an uneducated coal mining tycoon. He wanted me because I was a beautiful, Ivy League-educated girl. I wanted him because his bank account was a bottomless pit of cash. I despised his lack of culture. I hated the way he smacked his lips when he chewed. Armed with his black card, I ruled his mansion like a tyrant. Yet, whenever I maxed out his credit cards, he would just smile warmly and say, “You look so beautiful, Chloe. The boys just pulled another truck of coal out of the shaft. It’s all yours to spend.” The night before Christmas Eve, Garrett went back to the West Virginia mines to hand out year-end bonuses. There was a cave-in. He didn’t make it out. Honestly? I felt a wave of relief. I was finally free of him. I put on my best makeup, ready to board a flight to Los Angeles for a solo vacation. But right before I left, his lawyer arrived with the key to Garrett’s private safe. Inside was a debit card containing fifty million dollars, resting on a crumpled note with messy, uneven handwriting: “Chloe, this money is for you. Take it to LA. Go live the life you’ve always wanted.”

Mr. Lawson, the attorney, placed the heavy brass key onto my marble dining table. Next to it lay a sleek bank card. “Before Mr. Vance passed,” Mr. Lawson said quietly, “he made it very clear that every single dollar of this fifty million has gone through a rigorous, legal audit.” “It’s completely untangled from any high-risk shadow lending or unlicensed mining profits.” “He wanted me to tell you… this money is clean.” I picked up the card. It felt ice-cold in my hand. Even in death, Garrett remembered my neuroses. I had always complained that his cash smelled like coal dust. I hated the physical bills, swearing they were covered in his spit from counting them. So, he had washed this fifty million dollars spotlessly clean, just for me. I slid the card into my designer bag and looked up at the lawyer. “Is there anything else?” Mr. Lawson blinked, seemingly caught off guard by the fact that there wasn’t a single tear on my face. “No, ma’am. The remaining real estate and mining rights are caught up in complex legal disputes.” “Mr. Vance’s instructions were that if dealing with those messy assets became too much of a headache for you, you should just walk away. Just take this fifty million in cash and run.” I nodded. “Understood. Please show yourself out.” Suddenly, the front door of the mansion was kicked open from the outside. The heavy, custom-made copper door slammed against the wall with a deafening crash. A crowd of people barged into my foyer. Garrett’s relatives. Leading the pack was his Uncle Silas, wearing a cheap suit splattered with dried mud. His boots were clearly a size too big, leaving dark, wet streaks across my pristine Persian rug. Behind him were seven or eight men and women from his hometown. Silas pointed a thick, dirty finger right at my nose. “Hand over the money, Chloe! Now that Garrett is dead, the Vance family fortune isn’t staying in the hands of some outsider bitch like you!” A woman next to him spat right onto my hardwood floor. “Cold-hearted gold-digger! If Garrett hadn’t paid off your father’s debts, you’d be selling your body on the streets by now!” “Now that he’s gone, you think you can just pack up and run with his cash? No way in hell!” I sat on the velvet sofa, unmoving. My eyes drifted to the wet puddle on my cream-colored wool rug. It was sickening. When Garrett was alive, as rough and uncultured as he was, he never dared to spit inside the house. He knew I was a germaphobe. Every time he had to cough, he would run out to the backyard. Now that he was dead, these people were ruining my home. Seeing my silence, Silas assumed I was terrified. He marched toward me, reaching out to grab the designer bag on the table. “I’ll take that!” I picked up my steaming cup of black coffee and threw it directly at him. The scalding liquid splashed over the back of Silas’s hand. He shrieked, clutching his hand as he stumbled backward. “You crazy bitch! You burned me! Trash the place! Smash everything! Find where she hid the rest of the money!” The group raised their crowbars and iron pipes, ready to tear the living room apart. I calmly pulled out my phone and dialed a number on speakerphone. The dispatcher’s voice echoed through the room: “911, what is your emergency?” I spoke clearly into the receiver: “I am at 101 Aspen Heights Drive. There is an active home invasion. A mob has forced entry into my residence with weapons and is attempting an armed robbery. I am the homeowner, Chloe Vance. I have active security cameras recording everything.” The room fell dead silent. Silas’s eyes widened in shock. “Robbery? I’m his uncle! Taking my own nephew’s money isn’t robbery!” I hung up, pulled a stack of documents from my bag, and tossed them onto the table. “Garrett’s will is legally registered with the state probate court. I am his sole primary beneficiary. None of you have any blood relation to me under civil law.” “Forcing your way into a private residence with dangerous weapons to seize property is a Class A felony.” “Under state law, armed home invasion carries a minimum of ten years in federal prison.” I stood up, smoothing the creases of my silk dress. “As for the coffee, you attempted to assault me. It was self-defense.” I looked at the head of my estate security, who had just rushed in. “Block the exits. No one leaves until the police arrive.” My security team immediately moved into position, blocking the shattered doorway. The relatives, who had been shouting so boldly just moments ago, instantly panicked. Silas, clutching his red, blistering hand, hissed at me, “Chloe! You are heartless! Garrett’s body isn’t even cold yet, and this is how you treat his family?” I stared at him with cold, dead eyes. “Is his body not cold, or are you just eager to pick his bones? When Garrett was alive, you leeched off his blood.” “Now that he’s dead, you want to tear his corpse apart and sell it.” The police arrived minutes later. As Silas and his crew were led out in handcuffs, they were still screaming curses at me. Finally, the house was quiet. I pointed to the stain on the rug and looked at my housekeeper. “Throw it out. And sanitize every single spot they stepped on. Three times.” The housekeeper nodded, trembling as she began to clean. I sat back down on the empty sofa, staring at the vast, silent mansion. Garrett was dead. The man who snored like a chainsaw, smelled of cheap tobacco, and chewed with his mouth open was gone. No more rough, sandpaper-like hands trying to touch my face. No more soot-covered heavy jackets hanging next to my expensive designer coats. Even the faint scent of his cheap cigarettes had dissipated. I traced the cold edge of the black card in my bag. “Garrett,” I thought, “you died a messy, dirty death. But you sure kept your money clean.” “I suppose that’s the most dignified thing you’ve ever done.”

10:00 PM. The mansion was so quiet I could hear the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. I had sent the housekeeper home early. I walked over to the mahogany liquor cabinet. On the very top shelf sat a bottle of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti. Garrett had bought it two years ago. He didn’t know anything about wine; he just knew it was incredibly expensive. He had brought it home to please me, only to be met with my biting sarcasm. I had told him, “Someone who drinks cheap draft beer like water would only ruin a wine like this. Don’t touch it. You’ll get your dirty hands all over my bottle.” Since then, he had never touched that cabinet again. I uncorked the bottle and poured the deep red liquid into a crystal decanter. Holding my glass, I took a slow walk through the mansion that no longer held Garrett. It was far too quiet. Usually, around this time, Garrett would just be getting back from the mines. He would open the front door with extreme caution, standing at the entryway to change his shoes. He would leave his mud-caked work boots outside on the porch, walking in on his socks, terrified of leaving a single mark on my spotless floors. Then, he would call out in his booming voice, “Chloe! I’m home!” “The cafeteria at the mine had some great garlic bread today, but don’t worry, I didn’t eat any. Didn’t want to gross you out.” Then he would disappear into the bathroom, scrubbing himself raw with heavy soap, washing at least three times before he dared to even stand near me, asking sheepishly: “Chloe… can I sleep on the bedroom floor tonight?” But tonight, there were no muddy footprints in the foyer. There was no sound of running water from the master bath. No pleading, gentle voice. I took a sip of the wine. It was silky smooth, with notes of dark berries and oak. This was the life I wanted. No coal dust, no loud, uncouth noises. I pushed open the door to his study. This room had always been Garrett’s private space, a place I rarely entered. But I knew he kept a locked drawer in his desk. I had always assumed he kept a secret stash of cash in there, or maybe photos of some girls he met at the local bars. After all, isn’t that what all rich rednecks did? Now that he was dead, there was nothing left to hide. I grabbed a crowbar from the utility closet and pried the lock open. The drawer slid out. There was no cash. No photos of other women. Just a pile of random, bizarre junk. Hundreds of broken, blunt pencil stubs of varying lengths, piled up in a corner. And a thick stack of crumpled, cheap yellow legal paper—the kind miners used to keep inventory. The sheets of paper were covered in messy, dark charcoal smudges. They were caked in black coal dust. I frowned, picking up one of the pages. The black dust instantly stained my fingertips. With a grimace, I shook my hand. The paper showed a messy, dark sketch. The lines were chaotic and thick; I couldn’t even make out what it was supposed to be. Garrett was basically illiterate. He could barely write his own name. Why on earth was he trying to draw? The drawer smelled heavily of damp earth and sulfur. “A leopard never changes its spots,” I thought bitterly. “Even living in a multi-million dollar mansion, he couldn’t leave his coal behind.” I scooped up the papers along with the broken pencil stubs and threw them all into the trash can. A cloud of black dust billowed into the air. I held my breath, took a few steps back, and used a wet wipe to scrub my fingers. The black soot was stubborn, lodged deep in the ridges of my skin. A wave of irritation washed over me. I unlocked my phone and opened Snapchat, wanting to find someone to talk to. I remembered a young artist I had met at a gallery downtown. He was clean, soft-spoken, and refined. I scrolled past a contact pinned near the top of my chat list—a contact I had labeled “The Coal Dust.” My finger hovered over the screen. His profile picture was a dark, grainy photo of a mine shaft entrance. Whenever I used to ignore his calls, he would send me endless messages… “Hey Chloe, I’m just at the entrance of the shaft. Got some signal here. Did you eat dinner yet?” I locked my phone. I tossed it onto the sofa. Looking at my half-empty wine glass, the rich taste suddenly felt incredibly bland. I looked out into the empty living room and whispered, “Garrett, you are so annoying. Even dead, you leave your trash for me to clean up.”

On the third day, the morgue called me to identify the body. I did a full face of makeup. I wore a black haute couture dress, pairing it with four-inch Louboutins. To block out the smell of death and decay, I practically bathed myself in expensive French perfume. The hallway outside the cold room was packed with people. Aside from me, they were all families of the other miners who had died in the cave-in. They wore dusty, oversized winter coats, kneeling on the dirty linoleum floor, sobbing hysterically with tears and snot running down their faces. I stood there amongst them like a peacock that had wandered into a chicken coop. An assistant walked up and offered me a blue surgical mask. “Mrs. Vance, please prepare yourself. Mining accidents… they aren’t pretty.” I took the mask, looked at the cheap, disposable fabric with distaste, and tossed it aside. “I don’t need it. Just take me in.” The assistant pushed open the heavy steel door of the cold storage room. A sharp, overpowering wave of chemical disinfectant mixed with a sickening, metallic stench hit me instantly. I reflexively covered my nose with a silk handkerchief. The assistant pulled out one of the metal drawers and unzipped a yellow body bag. “This is Garrett Vance.” I looked down. In that fraction of a second, my chest tightened. It wasn’t the goofy, sunburned face I was used to seeing. It was a horrific, unrecognizable mess of torn flesh and bone. His face was caked in thick black coal dust—soot that had been ground so deeply into his skin during the collapse that it had become one with his flesh. Half of his skull was completely caved in. His lips were split wide, exposing teeth stained with dark residue. The expensive Italian suit he had bought specifically to wear around me was reduced to bloody, shredded rags, stuck to his body by dried, black blood. Dirty. It was so incredibly dirty. It was the most grotesque thing I had ever seen in my life. My stomach violently turned. It wasn’t grief. It wasn’t heartbreak. It was pure, visceral physical revulsion. I pushed the assistant aside, bent over, and retched. I threw up my morning coffee right onto my eight-hundred-dollar designer heels. The sobbing families outside stopped, staring at me in absolute shock. Someone muttered under their breath, “Look at her. Her husband is dead and she doesn’t even cry. She’s just disgusted by him.” “Typical. Rich girls have no souls.” I heard them. But I didn’t care. I stood up straight, wiping my mouth with my silk handkerchief. Then, I tossed the stained handkerchief into the biohazard bin. My eyes fell on the hand peeking out of the body bag. Two of his fingers were broken, and the nails were packed with black dirt. I suddenly remembered that very hand reaching out to hold the train of my wedding dress so it wouldn’t touch the wet ground, only for me to kick him away. “Don’t touch me, Garrett. You’re filthy.” At the time, he had slowly pulled his hand back, wiping it nervously against his trousers, smiling his usual goofy smile. “Right. Sorry, Chloe. I’m dirty. I won’t touch.” And now, he had finally become nothing more than a pile of broken, discarded flesh. I turned to the morgue worker. “It’s him. Creamate him.” “Would you like to hold a viewing or a memorial service first, Mrs. Vance?” “No. He didn’t care for formalities when he was alive, and looking like this, there’s no point in putting on a show. Just burn the body and hand me the ashes.” I turned and walked out. My heels clicked sharply against the cold concrete floor. In my mind, I spoke to him: “See, Garrett?” “Even in death, you never learned how to be clean.” “You made such a mess of yourself. How do you expect me to cry for you?”

The moment I got home, I kicked off my stained designer heels and threw them straight into the outdoor trash bin. I walked barefoot into the silent living room. My phone rang. The screen lit up with the caller ID: “Dad”. I answered it. My father’s anxious, greedy voice immediately filled the line. “Chloe! I saw the news! Is that dirtbag Garrett really dead? Did the insurance money kick in yet? What did the lawyers say?” I sat on the sofa, staring at the small, black urn resting on the coffee table. “It’s taken care of,” I said flatly. My father’s voice jumped an octave. “How much? Is it over ten million?” “Your brother needs a down payment for that penthouse in Manhattan, and his fiancée is demanding a massive wedding. You need to wire us five million right now! No, make it ten!” I didn’t say a word. My mind was suddenly pulled back to five years ago. Back then, I was the golden girl of UPenn, holding a full scholarship, standing proudly in my white dress outside the library. But my father had shown up with a group of angry bookies, grabbing me by my hair and dragging me toward a car. “Who cares about your stupid degree! I owe eight million dollars! Selling you to that coal miner is the only way to save my neck!” I had screamed, cried, and begged for help. No one dared to intervene. Until a mud-splattered Range Rover came speeding in, ramming straight into the bookies’ car. Garrett had jumped out of the driver’s seat, holding a heavy duffel bag. He slammed the bag onto the hood of his car, the zipper bursting open to reveal stacks of hundred-dollar bills. He pointed a finger at the men dragging me and roared: “Take the cash! The girl comes with me!” On our wedding night, I had locked myself in the master bedroom, holding a pair of heavy scissors to my throat. I screamed at him, “Don’t you dare come near me! You’re a kidnapper! I’d rather die than let you touch me!” Garrett stood in the doorway, looking incredibly awkward in his ill-fitting tuxedo. “I… I didn’t mean to force you, Chloe. Your dad told me you wanted to marry me.” “He lied to you! You’re nothing but an uneducated, backwood brute! You make me sick!” Garrett scratched his head, his face turning bright red with embarrassment. “Then… I won’t touch you. You’re a smart girl, a college graduate. I’m just a dumb worker. Having you in my house is enough to make me happy.” That night, he actually took a blanket and went to sleep on the living room sofa. The leather sofa was far too small for his six-foot-three frame; he had to curl his body up like a giant, clumsy bear. My father’s voice was still screaming through the phone. “Are you listening to me, you ungrateful brat? It’s a blessing that redneck died! Our family is finally free!” “Get the money and bring it home. Don’t you dare keep it all for yourself!” “Free?” I whispered the word. I looked at the cold, black urn on the table. Suddenly, a suffocating tightness gripped my chest. For the first time in my life, I screamed back at my father: “He wasn’t a redneck! His name was Garrett Vance!” My father went quiet for a second, then exploded into a rage. “Why are you defending a dead man? He was a dirty, worthless miner! His life wasn’t worth a single hair on your brother’s head!” “He was cleaner than anyone in our goddamn family!” I slammed the phone down, ending the call, and immediately blocked his number. I threw the phone onto the couch. And then, without warning, tears began to stream down my face. I touched my wet cheeks in confusion. Why was I crying? Was it out of joy for finally being free of my parasitic family? Or was it because the shield that had always stood between me and those monsters had finally crumbled? The doorbell rang. It was Mr. Lawson again. He held another thick Manila envelope in his hand. “Mrs. Vance, this is the second document Mr. Vance left for you.” “He instructed me to give this to you only after you had dealt with your family’s… complications, and your mind was at peace.” I wiped my tears and took the envelope. “What is this? More money?” Mr. Lawson shook his head, his expression incredibly solemn. “No. It’s Mr. Vance’s medical records.” “Medical records?” I pulled the documents out. At the very top was an X-ray of a pair of lungs. The lung tissue was almost entirely black, covered in dense, spiderweb-like shadows and massive fibrotic nodules. Below it was the official diagnosis: “Late-stage Black Lung Disease (Coal Workers’ Pneumoconiosis), with severe respiratory failure.” The date on the report was from three years ago. My hands began to shake violently. Three years ago? But three years ago, Garrett was as strong as an ox. He could eat a whole steak in minutes. The lawyer spoke softly. “Mr. Vance was diagnosed three years ago. The specialist told him that if he didn’t retire from the high-dust mining environment immediately, he wouldn’t survive another five years. But…” The lawyer paused, looking at me with pity. “But right around that time, you two had a massive argument. You told him his money smelled like filthy coal dust.” “You said you wanted ‘clean’ money. Money that could be moved offshore, money that didn’t feel dirty.” A loud ringing filled my ears. I remembered. I had been mocked by my old college classmates for marrying a crude “dirt-money” miner. I had come home in a rage, smashing expensive vases. I had pointed at his chest and screamed, “Your money is blood money, Garrett! I feel disgusted just spending it!” Garrett had knelt on the floor, quietly picking up the shattered porcelain. After a long silence, he had looked up and said, “Don’t be mad, Chloe. I’ll figure something out. I’ll get you clean money.” Mr. Lawson continued: “To clean his assets and accumulate fifty million dollars in completely audited, legal cash, Mr. Vance took on several highly dangerous deep-well extraction projects.” “Those were high-yield, high-risk shafts that only desperate workers would ever touch due to the extreme dust density. But they paid the most.” “He was literally trading his remaining breath for that clean cash.” I stared at the black shadows on the X-ray. I remembered how, over the last two years, he would always slip down to the basement late at night. I had assumed he was sneaking cigarettes down there and had yelled at him for it. He wasn’t smoking. He was suffocating. I remembered finding blood-stained towels in the laundry machine. He had laughed it off, claiming it was just dry weather causing nosebleeds. He was coughing up blood. He was terrified of waking me. He was terrified I would find his blood dirty. So he would press a towel to his mouth, hiding in the dark basement, coughing his lungs to pieces in silence, never making a sound. Because I was the beautiful, delicate swan, and he was just the mud on the ground. How could the mud dare to stain the swan’s feathers? I gripped the plastic X-ray sheet so hard the sharp edge sliced into my finger. A drop of bright red blood dripped onto the black image of his ruined lungs. “Garrett.” “Are you completely stupid?” “The money you bought with your dying breath is sitting in my purse right now.” “But why does this fifty million feel so much hotter than the coal dust you lived in?”

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My mom’s face fell instantly. Her hands shook with anger as she forced the vintage, million-dollar diamond heirloom ring back into her purse. She turned to look at me, her lips pale with rage. “That Julian guy is doing this on purpose! I knew he was trouble from the start. Who keeps changing a house design this many times?” “Mom,” I whispered, cutting her off. “Chloe’s parents are still in the room.” Everyone’s attention had been drawn to Chloe and me because of that cheap pipe fitting. Then, their eyes shifted to Julian Brooks, our interior designer. Julian pushed up his glasses and gave Chloe an approving nod. Chloe was completely absorbed in her discussion with him, pointing out several other things she wanted to change. Marcus, the general contractor, was a smart guy. He cracked a few jokes about imported materials, instantly breaking the tense silence in the room. My mom didn’t say anything else. She just walked over to discuss something with my dad. The inspection ended in a blur. I barely paid attention to the rest of it. I could feel the apologetic, helpless stares coming from Chloe’s parents. Meanwhile, Chloe was still in the bathroom with Julian, passionately debating some minor layout adjustment. The chemistry between them had long crossed the line of a normal client-designer relationship. Originally, Julian was only hired to handle the basic utility and plumbing layouts. But Chloe had insisted on handing the entire interior design over to him. She kept saying he was a genius and needed room to unleash his creativity. She even insisted that he attend today’s walkthrough, despite it being an intimate event meant only for our families. Once we left the house, my mom found a moment to whisper to me. She grabbed my hand tightly, her voice dripping with suppressed fury. “That designer has been playing games since last year. I did some digging, Ethan. He and Chloe went to college together in London. He’s actively trying to ruin your wedding. And Chloe is letting him—” “Mom,” I said, gently squeezing her hand. “I’ve got this. Let’s not talk about it right now.” She sighed and dropped the subject. The others had already left the driveway. Chloe walked over slowly. “Ethan, we found a lot of issues today.” She naturally slid her arm through mine, acting as if nothing had happened. I quietly pulled my arm away. “I need to help our parents to their cars.” She didn’t seem to notice my coldness. “Okay, sounds good.” After sending them off, we drove back to our apartment. The car merged into the heavy rush-hour traffic. The rearview mirror caught my expressionless face. The man in the reflection looked incredibly exhausted. “About today,” Chloe suddenly started explaining, “that pipe really was substandard. Julian has an incredible eye. We’re lucky he caught the issue.” “Since it’s our dream home, we can’t have any flaws. Don’t overthink it.” “Julian is already contacting a British supplier to see if we can get a rush delivery.” I remained silent, staring at the red taillights of the traffic gridlock ahead. She waited for a response. When none came, she finally looked up from her Snapchat chat with Julian. “Are you mad?” She leaned closer to me. “Didn’t we agree to build the most perfect home together?” She rested her hand on my arm and leaned her head against my shoulder. She spoke to me like she was soothing a toddler. “Our home is going to be better than everyone else’s. Everything inside must be imported. Just be patient.” A wave of utter exhaustion washed over me. It was always like this. She used the excuse of “perfection” to keep pitching a future that would never arrive. And she expected me to put my entire life on hold for it. “Chloe,” I said, keeping my eyes on the red light ahead. “Yeah?” “My dad’s health is failing.” My voice was dead calm. “When he was hospitalized last time, I promised him he’d see me get married this year.” “I want him to watch me start my family. I want him to have peace of mind.” The car fell dead silent. She sat up straight, pulling away from my shoulder. “That was your promise to your dad. Why didn’t you discuss this with me first?” Her tone grew irritated. She picked up her phone again, her fingers tapping the screen with impatience. “The house isn’t even finished yet! How can we get married? What, are we going to invite all our friends to this tiny apartment?” “We need to take our time to make it perfect. Why are you in such a rush?” Her excuses were getting lazier and lazier. I suddenly remembered my dad using all his connections to book our wedding venue for Labor Day weekend two months ago. When I had excitedly shared the news with her back then, a flash of anxiety had crossed her eyes. “That’s great!” she had said. “I’ll tell Julian right away. I want him to design the wedding hall!” Then, she had immediately gone back to scrolling through her phone. Back then, I was just happy we finally had a date. Now, I realized how incredibly foolish I had been. The car pulled up to our apartment building and stopped. Chloe unbuckled her seatbelt. Assuming the conversation was over, she leaned in to kiss my cheek. I turned my head away. She froze. “I’m tired, Chloe.”

She stared at me, silent for a few seconds. Finally, she reached out to adjust my collar. “Renovations are stressful. Go upstairs and get some rest.” “Julian said he got some new inspiration. He wants me to go over and look at the blueprints. Poor guy is pulling an all-nighter for us.” “Okay,” I replied flatly. She didn’t get out of the car immediately. She seemed to be waiting for me to act like my old self—to tell her not to stay out too late, or to complain about her meeting a guy this late. But I just pushed the door open, stepped out, and walked away without looking back. Behind me, I heard her engine rev as she drove off. Back in the apartment, I collapsed onto the sofa. It took me a long time to finally drag myself into the study. As I passed the filing cabinet, I stopped. We bought this cabinet together five years ago when we first decided to buy a house. We had promised each other that it would be filled with blueprints of our future. I pulled open the bottom drawer. Hidden beneath a thick stack of renovation contracts and invoices was a yellowed piece of paper. It was our hand-drawn floor plan. It had our scribbled ideas, her dream walk-in closet, my gaming setup… At the bottom were our signatures side-by-side. Her neat, elegant handwriting next to my bold strokes. [Chief Designer: Ethan Vance. Chief Planner: Chloe Carter.] Next to the signatures, I had written: “Building our dream home. A promise is a promise.” The warm light of the desk lamp hit those words, making them look like a cruel joke. My phone rang. It was a FaceTime call from Chloe. I didn’t answer right away. I just watched the screen light up. The phone rang relentlessly. Finally, I swiped to accept. Her excited voice blasted through the speaker. “Ethan! We made a new decision. Look at this rendering!” She pointed her camera at a computer screen. “Sure. Whatever you think is best.” I didn’t look at the screen. My eyes were still fixed on our old hand-drawn sketch. Chloe noticed the paper through the camera. “Why did you dig out that old drawing?” she asked, laughing. “Feeling nostalgic?” I ignored her question and asked quietly, “Does the new plan require major changes again?” She hesitated. “Just a few. Julian’s mind works differently. His vision is on another level.” “I see.” I slowly and carefully folded the paper and put it back in the drawer. “We have a few more details to go over. I’m going to hang up,” she said, ready to end the call. I didn’t hang up. I pushed myself up from the desk. My back felt stiff from sitting too long, and I had to steady myself. “Chloe.” “Yeah?” Her background was noisy. “Let’s call off the engagement.” The line went quiet for a second, and then she let out a soft laugh. “Are you seriously still throwing a tantrum over some pipes? Don’t be childish.” Her tone was condescending, like she was dealing with a stubborn kid. “Alright, fine. I’ll have him order the parts overnighted from the UK, okay? Go to sleep. You have work tomorrow.” She was about to end the call. “Next month,” I said clearly to the camera, “the wedding is happening.”

She went dead silent. A few seconds passed before she spoke again. The sweet, patronizing tone was entirely gone. “Ethan Vance, stop playing games.” She took a sharp breath. “Marriage is a life event, not a tool for you to throw tantrums.” “Labor Day weekend.” I gave her the exact date. “The venue and the caterers are already confirmed.” She let out a cold scoff. “Did your dad pressure you again today? Is he really that desperate? He doesn’t even care that our house isn’t finished?” “Ethan, grow up. Stop letting your family run your life. We are the ones living in that house—” “Chloe, let me make this clear,” I interrupted. “The invitations are going out tomorrow. This is happening. I’m not asking for your permission. I’m letting you know.” I could hear her breathing getting heavier on the other end. “Who do you think you’re talking to, Ethan? Did I give you too much leeway? You think you can force me into this? This just proves you’re an insecure, controlling jerk!” “I am trying to build our perfect home. Any flaw is a desecration of that dream, and it ruins Julian’s entire design!” “Are you really that desperate for a stupid ceremony?” Her words cut like ice. In the past, accusations like this would make me anxious. I would have rushed to explain myself and apologize. But right now, I felt absolutely nothing. Sure, the designer’s “inspiration” was sacred. More importantly, Chloe was the only one who understood Julian’s art, and Julian only had Chloe as his client. Their late-night brainstorming sessions, their weekend trips to museums, and their “material sourcing” trips abroad… All that was left for me, the fiancé, was an endless pile of bills. I met the silence on the other end of the line and admitted it. “Yes. My parents are getting old. I want to start my family now.”

With that, I hung up. My laptop was still open on the side table. The screen showed the wedding planner’s portal. The header was clear: [Wedding Details Confirmation: Mr. Vance & Miss Carter]. I had been so excited to send this to her weeks ago, but she had brushed me off with a “let’s wait a bit.” I hadn’t opened the tab since. The night dragged on, and I couldn’t sleep. My phone lit up again. It was a text from my dad. He was still awake too. [How did it go? What did Chloe say? Your mom was so upset she barely ate dinner.] [Both families already agreed on the date. We can’t change it now, Ethan. It would make us look foolish in front of everyone.] What did she say? She didn’t say much of anything. In this world, not every plan comes to fruition. Not every renovation gets finished. A moment later, another text from my dad popped up: [Sigh. If Chloe is really being difficult, don’t force it. I’ll figure something out. Son, I know you’re stuck in the middle.] [Never mind. I understand your situation. Let nature take its course.] My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long time. Finally, I typed back: [Don’t worry, Dad. I won’t let you down.]

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I was a complete pushover. I let myself get bullied by the school’s queen bee, and treated like a disposable toy by my trash ex. But then, a freak car accident happened. I swapped bodies with Asher, the most dangerous, unstable psycho at school. Trapped in his fierce, ruggedly handsome body, I finally learned what it felt like to be a total badass. Meanwhile, he was in my body—living even more lawlessly and ruthlessly than he ever did in his own. When the school’s queen bee cornered me in the pool locker room, trying to rip my swimsuit and film it for Snapchat, I didn’t even have time to panic. Through the steam, I watched “myself” kick the heavy locker room door off its hinges. “I” grabbed the queen bee by her perfect blonde hair, slammed her face-first into the deep end, and stared down at her with eyes like cold, poisoned daggers. “Touch her again, and I’ll make you drink this entire pool dry.” The sharp smell of chlorine mixed with warm, heavy steam, filling the indoor pool area. Asher, who was currently occupying my body, was cornered against the edge of the pool by Chloe, the school’s reigning queen bee. Chloe wore an expensive designer bikini that showed off her perfect curves. But in her hand, she was casually spinning a pair of sharp metal scissors. Her face, painted with flawless waterproof makeup, twisted into a cruel, smug sneer. “Oh, Hailey. A cheap, twenty-dollar swimsuit from Wish? You really think you belong in a place like this?” “You’re literally polluting our pool.” The group of minions surrounding her burst into high-pitched, mocking laughter. The sound echoed off the high tiled ceilings, grating on my nerves. “Chloe is way too nice,” one of them snickered. “She just wants to help you redesign it.” “A broke charity case like Hailey probably doesn’t even know how to swim.” “Let’s help her cool off today. Maybe she’ll finally learn her place.” Standing in Asher’s body just fifteen feet away, I felt the blood rush to my head. My ears rang. I wanted to charge forward. I wanted to rip that fake, pretty smile right off Chloe’s face. But this body belonged to Asher. I had no idea how to control this six-foot-one frame of explosive, heavy muscle. My legs felt like lead. I could only watch. But then, my own familiar, fragile, usually slouched body moved. Without warning, and without saying a single word, Asher took a sudden step forward. He was lightning fast. Before anyone could react, “I” grabbed Chloe by the wrist—the one holding the scissors. Snap. A sickening crack echoed through the air. Chloe’s arrogant smile instantly shattered. Her face contorted in agony as she let out a blood-curdling shriek. “Ah! My wrist! You crazy bitch, Hailey! Let go of me!” “I” didn’t answer. With a swift flick of the wrist, “I” snatched the scissors and tossed them into the deep end of the pool. Then, in one fluid motion, “I” grabbed Chloe by her carefully styled blonde hair. Without a shred of mercy, “I” dragged her like a dead dog toward the six-foot-deep water. Chloe’s scalp looked like it was about to rip off. Her screams pierced the entire facility. “Let me go! Hailey, you psycho! I’m going to kill you! My dad will have you expelled!” My actual arms were thin and pale, with blue veins clearly visible under the skin. But right now, they possessed a terrifying, absolute force. Splash! “I” didn’t hesitate. “I” planted a foot firmly into Chloe’s lower back and kicked her straight into the deep end. Water splashed everywhere, sending massive ripples across the pool. “Help… gulp… he—” Chloe thrashed wildly, her hands clawing uselessly at the water as she let out choked, desperate cries. She didn’t know how to swim. The onlookers stood frozen. The air in the room turned to ice. That included my trash ex-boyfriend, Tyler, who had just walked out of the locker room in his swim trunks. Tyler froze for a second before rushing over like a madman. He grabbed “my” shoulder, his face red and veins bulging in his neck. “Hailey! Have you lost your mind?!” “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?! Pull Chloe out right now!” “I” slowly turned my head. Using my own face—the one that had always looked timid, submissive, and eager to please—”I” looked at Tyler. But the eyes belonged entirely to Asher. It was the look of a predator staring at a corpse—filled with violence, contempt, disdain, and unmasked killer instinct. It was like an apex beast looking down at an insect. “Get lost.” The voice was low, carrying Asher’s signature gravelly, suffocating pressure. The temperature in the room felt like it dropped twenty degrees. Tyler actually flinched. A flash of pure terror crossed his eyes, and he instinctively let go of my shoulder, stumbling back two steps. “I” turned back to the pool, where Chloe was still flailing, her eyes rolling back after swallowing several mouthfuls of chlorinated water. “I” casually picked up a long-handled metal pool skimmer from the deck. With perfect precision, “I” hooked it under her bikini strap and yanked her upward just enough so her nose and mouth cleared the surface. Chloe gasped desperately for air, water streaming down her face. Her waterproof makeup was ruined, mascara running down her cheeks. Smudged, weeping, and shivering, she looked like a drowned rat. There was no trace of the proud queen bee left. The second she caught her breath, she opened her mouth to scream curses. But “I” flicked my wrist, pressing the metal pole down, shoving her head right back under the water. “Apologize.” “I” didn’t shout. The voice was calm, almost quiet, but it carried a chilling authority that cut through the silence of the room. “Gulp… bubble…” Chloe’s voice was muffled as a trail of desperate bubbles rose to the surface. “I” let go of the pole, watching her sink again, completely indifferent. “Apologize.” “I” slowly raised my hand, pointing directly at me—at the real Hailey standing inside Asher’s towering body. Every eye in the room instantly locked onto me. Their expressions were a mix of confusion, dread, and utter disbelief. Hailey was forcing Chloe to apologize to… Asher? What kind of twisted movie was this? Those two had never even spoken a word to each other before today! Tyler finally found his voice again, pointing a trembling finger at “me” and screaming hysterically: “Hailey, are you mentally ill?!” “You’re doing this to Chloe over a piece of trash like Asher?!” “Do you know who her dad is? He’s on the school board! You’re dead at this school!” “I” ignored him completely, not even throwing a glance his way. “I” just kept staring at Chloe, who was on the verge of passing out in the water. “I… I’m sorry… help… I’m sorry…” Chloe finally broke. In the face of actual drowning, her pride crumbled into dust. She wept and begged, her voice barely a whisper. Only then did “I” use the skimmer to drag her to the edge, hoisting her onto the wet tiles like a sack of garbage. Chloe collapsed on the floor, shivering violently and coughing up water, shaking like a leaf in the wind. “I” grabbed a clean white towel from a nearby lounge chair. Slowly, methodically, “I” wiped my hands. “I” cleaned every single finger with extreme care, as if I had just touched something deeply contaminated. Wiping finished, “I” tossed the towel aside and walked straight over to “Asher.” “Asher” looked at “me.” I looked at “myself.” Our eyes met, carrying a heavy, silent understanding. “I” suddenly reached out and grabbed “Asher’s” wrist. The grip was tight, almost rough, but there was a subtle, reassuring squeeze in the touch. “Let’s go.” “I” pulled “Asher” along. Under the terrified, silent stares of everyone in the pool, we turned and walked out. Our silhouettes looked defiant and untouchable.

We walked in silence across the noisy courtyard, avoiding the main paths until we reached the rooftop of the abandoned old science building. No one ever came up here. The wind was howling, making the weeds growing through the concrete rustle loudly. The air was chilly, but Asher’s body felt like a furnace, blood pumping hot through my veins. Asher leaned against the rusty iron railing. Using my hands, he habitually patted his pockets. Realizing there were no cigarettes, he clicked his tongue in annoyance and violently kicked an old wooden desk nearby. It was surreal. My face—usually looking down, quiet, timid, and plain—was now painted with arrogance, rage, and impatience. The raw intensity in his eyes made my gentle features look strikingly fierce, almost beautiful in a dangerous way. “Hey,” he spoke. The voice was high and feminine—my voice—but the tone was incredibly sharp and dominant, like he owned the world. “Are you always this much of a spineless coward? You just let people walk all over you?” I looked down. Using his large, calloused hands, I unconsciously scratched at the peeling paint of the railing. “I… I’m used to it.” “Used to it?” He let out a harsh laugh, as if he’d just heard the funniest joke in the world. His eyes pierced through me. “Is your spine made of jelly? Someone steps on you, and you ask them if their foot hurts? Are you a masochist?” His blunt words stung. A wave of intense frustration and hurt washed over me. My eyes burned, and my vision blurred. “What else was I supposed to do?!” I snapped, my voice cracking as tears threatened to spill from his eyes. “Chloe’s dad is a major donor and sits on the school board! Tyler always protects her!” “I’m just a scholarship kid. I can’t even afford a hospital bill if I get sick. How am I supposed to fight them?” “I just wanted to keep my head down, graduate, and get into college!” The floodgates opened, and memories of every humiliation I had endured rushed back. It started shortly after Tyler and I began dating. That was the first time Chloe targeted me. She had cornered me in the girls’ restroom stall and poured a bucket of ice-cold water over my head. Then she laughed as she threw my backpack and the study guides I had stayed up all night writing straight into the trash can. “Hailey, let me tell you a secret,” she had said, looking down at my shivering, soaked self. “Tyler told us that dating you is just a little charity project.” “A country bumpkin like you doesn’t even deserve to wipe my shoes.” “You think he actually loves you? Keep dreaming.” My face had flushed red back then. Shaking with anger, I had yelled, “You’re lying! Tyler isn’t like that! He loves me!” Chloe’s laughter had grown louder, sharp and mocking. “Oh, really? Hear it for yourself.” She pulled out her phone and played an audio clip. It was Tyler’s voice, surrounded by the loud music and chatter of a bar. His voice was incredibly clear. “Tyler, are you really dating that Hailey girl?” “She’s so plain. She probably doesn’t even know what Chanel is. Isn’t it embarrassing to be seen with her?” “Come on, guys, don’t roast me too hard,” Tyler’s voice laughed. “She’s naive. Easy to play. Think of it as charity—giving her a taste of what it’s like to be wanted.” “I’ll dump her when I get bored. Besides, Chloe’s been giving me attitude lately. I’m just using Hailey to make her jealous.” Those words had felt like a rusty blade, carving away my self-respect piece by piece, leaving me bleeding. Later, Tyler had found me. He held me close, his eyes dripping with sweet, fake tenderness. “Hailey, don’t listen to Chloe. She’s just jealous of us.” “I was just drunk and talking big in front of the guys. You know how guys are—we have egos.” “You’re the only one I care about. Please believe me.” And I had believed him. Like a pathetic, desperate fool, I had brainwashed myself over and over, choosing to trust him. Until today, when he pointed at my face and called me crazy, all to protect Chloe. Only then did I finally wake up. I was nothing but a toy to relieve his boredom. “What are you thinking about? Who are you crying for?” Asher’s rough voice snapped me out of my memories. I looked up at him, tears finally spilling over Asher’s sharp cheekbones. “Asher, why did this happen to us? How did we even swap?” He walked over to me. Using my short body, he had to look up to meet my gaze in his six-foot-one frame. “How the hell should I know? I crashed my bike into a guardrail last night. When I woke up, I was you.” He ran a hand through my long hair in frustration. Halfway through, he paused, as if worried about pulling the roots, and gently patted it down instead with a clumsy tenderness. “Alright, suck those tears back in. I hate crying girls.” He paused, looking at his own face on me with deep disgust. “And even though you’re wearing my face, seeing a guy cry is still repulsive.” Silence fell over the rooftop. The distant hum of the city drifted up to us. After a long moment, he zipped open my worn-out canvas bag, pulled out a battered notebook and a pen, and slapped them against my broad chest. “From now on, we write notes. Don’t talk to yourself in public unless you want people to think we’re schizophrenic and throw us in an asylum.” He tore a page out, pressed it against the brick wall, and scribbled furiously. When he finished, he slapped the paper onto my chest. The handwriting was sharp and chaotic, radiating pure arrogance: `[Starting tomorrow, you do exactly as I say.]` `1. Do not speak a single word to that idiot Tyler. Even looking at him makes me sick.` `2. If Chloe touches you again, beat her to a pulp. I’ll take the fall.` `3. Most importantly: Don’t embarrass my body. Stand up straight!` Looking at the note, my heart swirled with fear, confusion, and a tiny, hidden spark of comfort. I took the pen, my hand trembling as I wrote underneath his words: `[I don’t dare to.]`

He took the paper, and his brows instantly knitted into a tight knot. Using my face, he made an incredibly fierce expression that looked like he wanted to bite someone. He snatched the pen back, crossing out my words so hard the paper almost tore, and shoved it back into my hands. `[You don’t dare, but I do.]` My heart skipped a beat, my blood pumping a little faster. Apparently feeling that wasn’t enough, he grabbed the paper again and aggressively added one more line: `[Starting tomorrow, I’m teaching you how to be a monster.]` The next morning, golden sunlight filtered through the trees, casting shadows along the pathway of Silverwood Academy. I walked side-by-side with Asher into the classroom, currently occupying his towering body. This was the honors class. The students here were either ultra-wealthy heirs or top-tier scholarship geniuses like I used to be. Asher was the only anomaly—a “cancer” who got in solely because his family paid a massive donation fee, and who consistently occupied the very bottom of the grade. The moment we walked in, the noisy classroom fell dead silent. Every eye turned to us like searchlights. Whispers broke out immediately, like a swarm of buzzing flies. “Holy shit, look! Asher and Hailey walked in together!” “Did you hear about the pool yesterday? Hailey looked possessed. She almost drowned Chloe!” “I heard Chloe had nightmares all night.” “Seriously? Pussy Hailey dared to touch Chloe?” “Hasn’t she been following Tyler around like a lost puppy? Did getting dumped finally break her brain?” “Who knows? But look at her eyes now… they’re so cold. It’s creepy. She’s like a different person.” I felt “Asher” shoot me a warning glare. I could only steel myself, pull my shoulders back, and walk over to his seat—the permanently empty desk in the back corner by the window. My original seat was just diagonal to his, which he now claimed. He propped his legs up on the desk, looking incredibly relaxed and arrogant. Soon, the bell rang. In walked Mr. Vance, the most obnoxious teacher in the department. Mr. Vance had always hated me because despite how hard I studied, my physics grades were mediocre. Plus, I was quiet and easy to pick on, making me his favorite target whenever he wanted to make an example of someone. Today, he clearly wanted to reassert his authority in front of the class after the pool drama. He slammed his thermos onto the podium with a loud thud, his eyes locking onto “me” in the back row. “Hailey, stand up.” Asher stood up slowly, keeping his hands casually shoved into his pockets. His face was blank, his posture relaxed and dripping with a bad-boy attitude. “Look at your posture! You got the lowest grade in the class on yesterday’s physics quiz again.” “Stupid is one thing, but your attitude is unacceptable. Go to the board and solve this problem.” Mr. Vance pointed to a highly complex electromagnetic field problem on the blackboard, a smug smirk playing on his lips. It was an advanced challenge question. Forget about me—even the top student in AP Physics would need at least fifteen minutes of scratch work to solve it. The class turned to look at “me,” many wearing eager grins, waiting for the trainwreck. Chloe sat in the front row, wearing heavier makeup than usual to hide her pale face. She turned around, her eyes filled with spite and anticipation. My palms started sweating inside Asher’s body. I sat on pins and needles, terrified he would lose his temper and smash the podium. But Asher just glanced at the board, a trace of pure disdain flashing in his eyes. Then, under everyone’s gaze, he stepped out of the row and walked up to the board. His steps were steady, carrying an effortless, natural confidence. He picked up a piece of chalk. Without even reading the prompt twice, he began writing. No hesitation. No pausing to think. Lines of incredibly elegant, highly simplified formulas flowed onto the board. The clicking of the chalk against the slate sounded like a fast-paced battle march. He didn’t even use the standard curriculum method. Instead, he utilized college-level calculus, introducing a gradient equation for the non-uniform distribution of the Lorentz force, completely breaking down the complex electromagnetic motion. In less than two minutes, he tossed the chalk aside and brushed the dust off his hands. “Done.” He spoke using my voice—usually quiet and soft—but now it rang out clear, carrying an undeniable, absolute authority. The entire classroom went so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Mr. Vance’s smug grin froze, replaced by utter shock and disbelief. He pushed his glasses up his nose, staring at the steps on the board. His lips trembled, but no words came out. “Mr. Vance,” Asher said using my voice, his tone polite but dripping with subtle mockery. “This problem was taken from the AP Physics C tournament two years ago. But you left out a crucial premise in your given conditions—the non-uniform distribution of the Lorentz force.” “If we went by your uniform magnetic field condition, the particles would escape in the third quadrant, making a closed loop impossible.” “I took the liberty of adding a gradient condition where the magnetic induction changes with the coordinates, solved it with a second-order ordinary differential equation, and found the terminal velocity.” “Also, your textbook formula-stuffing method is incredibly clumsy. It’s a waste of time and lacks any mathematical beauty.” He finished speaking, and the entire room felt like it had entered a vacuum. Mr. Vance’s face turned red, then white, like a watercolor palette. He sputtered for a few seconds, unable to find a single argument. Because he knew “Hailey” was absolutely right. In fact, his solution was far more elegant than the official answer key. “Go… go back to your seat!” he barked, trying to salvage the last shred of his dignity. “Sure,” Asher replied casually, putting one hand in his pocket as he strolled back. As he passed Chloe’s desk, he paused for a fraction of a second, letting out a soft, mocking laugh. The students looked at “me” with completely different eyes now. The mockery was gone, replaced by awe. Tyler’s expression was the most complex. His eyes scanned “me” up and down, as if seeing me for the very first time, a predatory spark of conquest lighting up his eyes. Sitting in the back, I looked at “my” own back from Asher’s body. For the first time in my life, I realized that my own body could look so bright, so radiant, and so utterly untouchable.

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I had always played the role of a quiet, ordinary stay-at-home mom at my daughter’s elite private school. That was until the day I found a hidden micro-camera disguised as a vent in the girls’ restroom. My daughter Chloe’s teacher scoffed at me, saying Chloe was too flat for anyone to care about anyway, and that being recorded was practically a blessing for her. The principal tried to bribe and threaten me with Ivy League recommendation letters, telling me to be the bigger person and let it go. The school board trustee’s wife was even more arrogant, trying to completely ruin Chloe’s life with a deepfake AI-generated explicit video. They all thought we were just helpless, penniless nobodies they could easily crush. What they didn’t know was that my “useless” husband, who was always too busy to even show up for parent-teacher conferences, was actually Adrian Vance—the most feared, undefeated defense attorney in New York City. The moment he stepped onto the campus with a fleet of elite lawyers, those high-and-mighty hypocrites finally learned the true definition of despair.

Finding that camera was a complete, spine-chilling accident. It was Lincoln High School’s annual Parent Volunteer Day. As a parent volunteer, I was assigned to deep-clean the hidden corners of the academic building. When I walked into the girls’ restroom at the end of the third floor, I caught the faint, chemical scent of cheap air freshener. I looked up. My eyes fell on the ventilation grate in the very last stall. At the edge of the vent’s metal slats, there was a tiny, highly unnatural black bump. If I hadn’t been standing on the edge of the toilet seat to wipe the upper wall, it would have been impossible to spot from below. My heart skipped a beat. A cold, sickening feeling crawled up my spine like a venomous snake. I reached out and pried off the tiny black plastic cover. Click. A micro-camera, barely the size of a fingernail, popped out. Attached to the back of it was a wireless transmitter card, blinking with a faint, mocking red light. At that moment, the blood in my veins froze. This was the girls’ restroom. This was where Chloe came every single day. I gripped the warm camera so hard that my fingernails dug deep into my palms. I didn’t make a scene. Instead, I immediately slipped out of the school under the pretense of running an errand and drove straight to a nearby computer repair shop. “Extract everything from this memory card. Now. Please,” I told the technician. My voice was shaking violently. Seeing how pale I was, the shop owner didn’t ask questions. He quickly plugged the card into his reader. As the folder loaded, rows upon rows of video files flooded the screen. Sorted by date, there were hundreds of them. With trembling hands, I clicked on the most recent video. The camera shook a bit—clearly, someone was adjusting the angle during installation. Then, a face covered in acne, wearing a disgusting, smug grin, filled the screen. I knew him. Stephen Howard. The untouchable golden boy of the elite class, son of the school board trustee, Victor Howard. He was also Chloe’s classmate. The video continued, angling directly toward the toilet. What came next made my stomach churn. Dozens of girls in high school uniforms, completely unaware, were recorded in their most private moments. And then, I saw Chloe. She was looking down, reciting her biology notes, completely oblivious to the demonic eyes watching her from above. “My God… this is a major felony! Should we call the cops?” the shop owner gasped, his face turning pale. “Make two backup copies of everything on a flash drive. Give me the original card,” I said, inhaling deeply to suppress the blinding rage threatening to consume my sanity. I couldn’t just go to the police yet. The Howard family practically owned this city. If I just handed the evidence over to the local precinct, they would easily pull strings to bury it, or worse, turn it against us. I had to go to the school first and see where they stood. Holding the flash drive tightly, I ran back out into the bright, blinding sunlight. The war had just begun.

I marched straight into the faculty office. Chloe’s teacher, Ms. Gable, was sitting at her desk, sipping artisanal coffee while browsing designer bags on her phone. When she saw me burst in, out of breath, she frowned. An undisguised look of annoyance flashed in her eyes. “Chloe’s mom? Parent Volunteer Day is over. Why are you running into my office instead of helping outside?” I walked up to her desk, slammed my hands on the surface, and stared directly into her heavily powdered face. “Ms. Gable, I just found a hidden micro-camera in the third-floor girls’ restroom.” I kept my voice low, but every word was laced with steel. Ms. Gable’s hand froze over her phone, but she quickly put it down, completely unbothered. There was no shock, no anger, no concern. Instead, she let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “And here I thought the sky was falling.” She grabbed a tissue and slowly wiped her lips. “Listen, Eleanor. Midterms are next week, and the boys are under a lot of academic pressure.” “A few mischievous boys pulling a prank to blow off steam is perfectly understandable. We shouldn’t overreact.” I could not believe my ears. Spying on the girls’ restroom and violating the privacy of dozens of underage girls was just a “prank to blow off steam”?! “Ms. Gable, this is a sex crime!” My voice rose, drawing stares from the other teachers in the room. Ms. Gable’s face darkened. She stood up, crossing her arms, and looked down her nose at me. “Watch your mouth! Let’s not use such dramatic words to scare people.” She looked me up and down, her eyes dripping with condescension. “Besides, even if there was a camera, they’d only be filming the pretty girls with actual figures.” “With Chloe’s flat, boyish body and those oversized sweaters she wears, even if she was caught on camera, who would even want to watch that?” “If you want attention, find a better excuse. Stop making a scene just to get noticed!” I laughed out of sheer shock. It was utterly absurd. This was a teacher at a prestigious private academy? It turned out Ms. Gable wasn’t just a social climber—she was completely devoid of human decency. “Since you think it’s such a minor issue, I wonder if you’ll be just as forgiving when you see this.” I smiled coldly, pulled out my phone, and played a video right in front of her face. The video didn’t just show the girls. It showed Ms. Gable herself. In the footage, she walked into the restroom, climbed onto the toilet seat, and carefully adjusted the camera’s angle. She even looked directly into the lens and flashed a sickening, sycophantic smile. Ms. Gable’s face turned instantly white. Even her thick makeup couldn’t hide the ghostly pallor of her skin. She lunged forward, trying to grab my phone. I stepped back swiftly, slipping the phone back into my pocket. “What’s the matter? Nervous now?” I sneered. “As a teacher, you didn’t just cover for a predator—you actively helped him adjust his lens.” “Ms. Gable, your lack of morals is truly a work of art.” Ms. Gable glared at me, her eyes filled with venom. She didn’t look like a teacher anymore; she looked like a cornered snake. “Eleanor, don’t you dare push your luck!” “You think you can threaten me with a cheap video?” “Let me tell you something. The boy who installed that camera is Stephen Howard!” “His father is the school board trustee, a very powerful man!” “If you expose this, not only will your daughter become the laughingstock of the entire city, but she’ll also lose her enrollment. She won’t even be allowed to take her midterms!” “The Howards have a hundred ways to make sure you and your daughter can never show your faces in this state again!” She was trying to use raw power and victim-blaming to shut me up. If I were just a regular, helpless single mother, her words might have terrified me. But looking at her twisted, ugly face, I only felt deep disgust. “Chloe is the victim here. The ones who should be hiding in the dark are rats like you!” I had no interest in wasting more breath on this trash. I turned on my heel. “Since you refuse to do your job, I’ll go straight to the principal.” “Let’s see who really runs Lincoln High School!” Behind me, Ms. Gable shrieked in rage: “Go ahead! Let’s see if the principal sides with the school’s biggest donor, or a broke, hysterical housewife like you!”

The door to Principal Higgins’ office was slightly ajar. When I pushed it open, Higgins was sitting behind his massive mahogany desk, casually enjoying a cup of freshly brewed espresso. When he saw me enter, his relaxed smile instantly vanished. Clearly, Ms. Gable had already warned him on WhatsApp. “Eleanor, Ms. Gable has already briefed me on the situation,” Higgins said, pointing to the leather sofa across from him. His tone was warm, but it carried the heavy, unyielding weight of authority. I didn’t sit. I stood right in front of his desk, looking down at him coldly. “Since you already know, how does the school plan to handle this disgusting criminal act?” Higgins sighed, putting on a show of deep sorrow as he took a sip of his coffee. “Eleanor, you’re using very extreme language.” “Kids nowadays are just overly curious. They lack proper boundary education.” “I’ve already called Stephen into my office and given him a very stern warning.” “He deeply regrets his actions and has assured me that all the videos have been permanently deleted.” “Midterms are next week. These kids’ futures are what matter most.” “For the sake of Chloe’s reputation, I think we should handle this quietly and internally.” Handle it internally? I slammed the flash drive onto his mahogany desk with a loud thud. “Principal Higgins, this drive contains crystal-clear footage, and that camera had a cloud-upload feature!” “Your simple ‘he deleted them’ doesn’t guarantee these videos aren’t already circulating on the dark web!” “It doesn’t guarantee the safety of those innocent girls!” “This is a felony. You cannot just sweep this under the rug!” Higgins’ expression went cold. He set his coffee cup down, his mask of warmth slipping away to reveal the ruthless businessman underneath. “Eleanor, don’t be so stubborn. You need to know when to let things go.” He stood up, walked over to me, and lowered his voice. “Stephen’s father just donated a ten-million-dollar science center to this school.” “Stephen himself is on track for an Ivy League admission.” “If you insist on making a scene, what does Chloe gain? Nothing.” “If the Howards decide to use their influence, Chloe’s three years of hard work here will go down the drain in a second.” It was a blatant, shameless threat. They wanted to trade my daughter’s future for a predator’s safety. Rage surged through me, hot and suffocating. “Principal Higgins, you are actively protecting a criminal! Aren’t you afraid of what happens when I go to the media?” Higgins let out a dry, mocking laugh, looking at me like I was an idiot. “Go ahead. Try.” “Lincoln High’s PR team is world-class, and the Howard family’s legal department is even better.” “Think about how the media will spin Chloe’s story. The public doesn’t care about the truth; they care about drama.” “How does this headline sound? ‘Climbing the Social Ladder: Schoolgirl Tries to Seduce Billionaire’s Son, Invents Fake Slander After Rejection.’” “You’d be driving your own daughter to the edge of a cliff, Eleanor.” Every word was designed to cut a mother’s heart. He knew exactly what a mother feared most. He opened his desk drawer, pulled out a pre-prepared non-disclosure agreement, and slid it toward me. “Sign this NDA. The school will guarantee Chloe’s graduation with top honors, a stellar recommendation letter, and $100,000 in cash for ‘mental distress.’” “Take the money, let your daughter focus on her exams, and everyone wins.” I looked down at the agreement. Every clause was written to protect the predator, demanding that we waive all rights to sue. This was their version of justice. Using wealth and power to step on the dignity of ordinary people. I grabbed the agreement, looked Higgins dead in the eye, and ripped it to shreds. Rip. The paper confetti drifted to the floor, like a eulogy for the school’s dead conscience. “Go to hell with your win-win deal!” I pointed a finger straight at Higgins, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “I see this place for what it is now. This prestigious school is nothing but a dumpster of filth.” “You won’t handle it? Fine.” “We are nowhere near done. Just watch me.” I turned and stormed out, slamming the door on his furious shouts.

I didn’t call the police right away. I knew that against a powerhouse like the Howards, if the evidence wasn’t airtight and absolute, they would easily slip away. I called Chloe out of school for three days and kept her at home. The moment we got home, I contacted an old friend from my journalism days—a highly skilled ethical hacker. I sent him the IP address of the cloud transmitter card and asked him to track where the uploaded videos were going. But while I was frantically gathering evidence, a muffled scream came from Chloe’s bedroom. I burst inside. Chloe was staring at her phone, shaking like a leaf in autumn, tears streaming down her pale face. “Chloe, what’s wrong?” I asked, grabbing the phone from her hands. It was her class Snapchat group. Stephen had posted a heavily pixelated screenshot. Even though the critical areas and her face were blurred, the tear on the school blazer in the photo was unmistakable. Chloe had accidentally torn it a few days ago, and everyone in class knew it. Stephen: [Wow, someone acts like a saint in class, but turns out she’s quite the wild one in private. ] Boy A: [Damn, Stephen! You got the good stuff! Send the unblurred version!] Boy B: [Honestly, she’s so flat. Waste of data.] Girl C: [Omg, disgusting. I always knew she was a fake.] The group chat exploded with vulgar jokes, disgusting comments, and malicious rumors. Ms. Gable, the group administrator, did absolutely nothing to stop the cyberbullying. Instead, she posted a cold, formal announcement. Ms. Gable: [Everyone, focus on your midterms. Do not discuss non-academic matters here.] [Also, certain students need to reflect on their own behavior. There is no smoke without fire. Don’t bring shame to our class reputation.] On the surface, she was telling everyone to stay focused. In reality, she was throwing Chloe to the wolves. Chloe stared at the screen, her face completely drained of color. She couldn’t even cry anymore. She looked entirely broken, sitting on the edge of the bed with hollow, empty eyes. “Mom… why are they doing this to me?” “I didn’t do anything wrong. I just went to the restroom…” “How am I ever going to show my face again?” My heart felt like it was being ripped apart and thrown into boiling oil. I grabbed her phone and recorded a voice note straight to the group chat. “Stephen Howard, this is cyber harassment and distribution of explicit material of a minor. I have documented everything. Get ready to go to prison!” The group chat went dead silent. A second later, a direct message from Stephen popped up. [Who do you think you’re scaring? My dad plays golf with Deputy Chief Paul of the city police. Go ahead and report it, see what happens.] [If you go to the cops or say another word to anyone, the unblurred, high-def version of Chloe will be on every site in this state by tomorrow morning.] [Get Chloe ready to be famous! ] Pure, unchecked arrogance. This was the power his family’s wealth gave him—the belief that he could stomp on anyone’s dignity without consequence. I took a deep breath, turned off the phone, and looked at Chloe. I walked over, cupped her cold cheeks, and forced her to look me in the eyes. “Chloe, listen to me.” “You did nothing wrong. The ones who are wrong are that predator, the disgusting bystanders, and the corrupt teacher covering it up.” “The more you hide, the more they laugh. The more you fear them, the worse they will get.” “We are not running away.” Chloe shook her head violently, her eyes filled with terror. “No! Mom, please, I don’t want to go back there!” “They’ll laugh at me! I’d rather die!” I pulled her into a tight embrace, my tears finally slipping down. “Don’t worry. Mom is here. Even if I have to tear the sky down, I will not let them hurt you.” “Go change into your uniform. We are going to school right now.” “We are going to take back your dignity, proudly and publicly.”

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I was born without a uterus. It was a secret I kept from everyone, even my parents. On my eighteenth birthday, my parents found their biological daughter. At her welcome-home gala, the real heiress, Melody, held her champagne glass and clinked it against mine. The moment our glasses touched, a cold, mechanical voice rang clearly in my head: [Ding! Target detected: Seraphina Vance. Level: Top-tier beauty. Initiate plunder?] Melody screamed in her mind: [Yes! Plunder it all! Why does she get to enjoy my life so effortlessly?! I want it all back! Her face, her grace, everything!] [Command confirmed. Plunder initiated. Irreversible.] A moment later, a strange warmth bloomed deep in my lower abdomen. And Melody suddenly looked radiant, her skin glowing under the chandelier. She looked at me, a sweet, triumphant smile playing on her lips. “Sera, I hope we get along.” I met her eyes and curled my lips into a gentle smile. “Welcome home, Melody.” It was as if she had been digitally enhanced. Her features softened, her skin turned translucent, and standing under the light, she was breathtakingly beautiful. The guests began to whisper. “Was the real Vance daughter always this gorgeous?” “The Vance genetics are insane.” “Sera used to be the star, but tonight she looks… a bit faded, doesn’t she?” I heard it all. I looked at myself in the full-length mirror. My features were the same, but the sharp, captivating allure was gone. I looked like a porcelain vase that had lost its glaze. Still clean, but no longer priceless. Richard Vance quickly recovered, pulling Melody to the center of the room to introduce her to the crowd. “This is Melody. Our biological daughter. The true heiress of the Vance empire.” Melody stood in the center of the crowd, soaking in the admiration. Occasionally, she glanced at me, the smugness in her eyes barely concealed. I ignored her, set my glass down, and walked out onto the balcony. The night breeze brushed against me, but the warmth in my lower abdomen hadn’t faded. It felt completely foreign. When I was fifteen, I realized I was different from other girls. While they complained about period cramps and whispered about tampons, I had nothing. I secretly went to the hospital. The diagnosis was cold and absolute: Congenital absence of uterus and vaginal aplasia. MRKH Syndrome. From that day on, I locked that secret away. The Vance family arranged annual physicals for me, but I always paid a private clinic to falsified my gynecological records to avoid deep exams. I knew my family too well. If they found out I was sterile, my engagement to Julian Sterling would be instantly terminated. I would go from being the Vance family’s most exquisite ornament to their most embarrassing piece of trash. Halfway through the party, I went to the restroom to touch up my makeup. Just as I reached the corner, I heard Melody’s muffled, ecstatic laughter. She was hiding behind the terrace door, tracing her face with trembling fingers. “System, did it work?” The robotic voice rang again. [Top-tier beauty plunder complete.] [Transfer progress: 100%.] [Target Seraphina’s aesthetic aura has been significantly weakened.] Melody’s voice shook with excitement. “It’s irreversible, right? She can never take it back?” [Once the command is executed, it cannot be undone.] “Perfect.” She let out a low laugh. “Sera actually has a day like this. She occupied my spot for eighteen years. Why did everyone love her? Now, her face is mine. Next, I want her fiancé, her poise, and that high-and-mighty attitude she always has in a crowd.” I stood silently behind the wall, listening to every word. So, she was that happy. When a prey willingly bites the hook, the last thing you want to do is startle it. I gently placed my hand over my lower abdomen. A trace of that warm sensation still lingered there. It felt like a crack was being pried open in a place that had been frozen for eighteen years. Melody thought she was stealing my face. But she didn’t know. Once you start taking things that don’t belong to you, you can’t stop. And what I wanted was never just that face.

The next day, I went to the hospital alone. Eleanor Vance was too busy taking Melody to Tiffany’s to care about me. No one in the family had time for me anymore. Dr. Avery stared at my scan results for a long time. She pulled up my records from three months ago, comparing them side by side. Her professional composure cracked, replaced by utter disbelief. “Sera, have you undergone any experimental treatments recently?” “No.” She pushed the scan toward me. “This is medically impossible.” “What changed?” I asked. Dr. Avery lowered her voice. “Your previous diagnosis was clear: congenital absence of uterus. But today’s pelvic ultrasound shows… the formation of a uterine-like structure.” My fingertips tightened. “Is it fully developed?” “Not yet. It’s like a shadow, an outline. And the vaginal canal shows signs of lengthening.” She stared at me. “In medical history, a spontaneous reversal like this is practically nonexistent.” I looked down at the black-and-white scan. My eyes stung, but my abdomen felt warm. When I walked out of the hospital, my fiancé, Julian Sterling, was leaning against his car, holding a cup of warm water. “Why didn’t you call me to pick you up?” “Don’t you have to accompany Melody today?” He frowned. “Why would I do that?” I smiled and took the cup. “Just asking.” He studied my face, concern in his eyes. “You look pale.” “Just tired from the exams,” I replied softly. He opened the passenger door for me. “Let’s get you home.” As the car pulled away, I caught a glimpse of a figure in the rearview mirror. Melody was standing behind a concrete pillar in the hospital lobby, glaring at us. She looked even more beautiful today than yesterday. But the jealousy in her eyes was also far heavier. Once Melody got her new face, she was desperate to prove herself. She began showing up around Julian constantly. Eleanor played along perfectly. One day, she’d claim Melody was new to the high-society circle and needed Julian to guide her. The next day, she’d say Melody was feeling down and ask Julian to drop her off. Julian refused most of the time. His rejections were cold and direct. “I’m busy.” “Have your driver do it.” “Ask Mrs. Vance.” Every time, the smile on Melody’s face grew stiffer. I watched it all unfold and said nothing. At the end of the month, Julian’s mother, Victoria Sterling, hosted her birthday charity gala. Eleanor took Melody to pick out gowns three days in advance. They chose a haute couture silver gown for Melody, making her look like a rare winter rose. When it was my turn, Eleanor casually pointed at a plain, muted grey dress. “You shouldn’t wear anything too bright lately, Sera.” I nodded. “This is fine.” Melody stood in front of the mirror, smiling sweetly. “Sera looks elegant even in plain colors.” I met her gaze. “Thank you, Melody.” She hated how calm I was. She wanted to see me break. She wanted to see me lose my mind because I was losing my beauty. But the calmer I remained, the more anxious she became.

At the gala, Melody presented Victoria with a rare, vintage Cartier brooch. It was incredibly expensive. Victoria accepted it with a polite, polite “Thank you, how thoughtful.” When it was my turn, I handed over a modest, velvet box. Inside was a rare, first-edition sheet music folio of Chopin. At last year’s gala, Victoria had casually mentioned that her late grandmother used to play these exact arrangements. I had remembered. Victoria opened the box, and her eyes instantly softened. “Sera, how did you find this?” “I got lucky at an auction.” She pulled me down to sit next to her, asking how I had been. Melody stood a few feet away, her face darkening by the second. She had the perfect face now. But Victoria still wouldn’t look at her. Halfway through the dinner, I went to the terrace for some fresh air. Through the half-open glass door, I heard Melody cornering Julian. “What does she have that I don’t?” Julian’s voice was deadpan. “Melody, you don’t need to compare yourself to Sera.” “Why not? I am the biological Vance daughter! She is just an imposter! Even her face isn’t as beautiful as mine now. Why are you still looking at her?” A few seconds of silence followed. Then Julian spoke, his tone chillingly indifferent. “Because she is Seraphina.” That one sentence crushed Melody’s pride into dust. A second later, I heard her calling her system in her mind. [I want whatever it is that keeps Julian obsessed with her.] [I want her sexual allure. Her feminine attraction.] The system’s voice warned: [Warning. This attribute is deeply bound to the target’s intimate relationships, reproductive expectations, and physical costs. Plundering will result in an irreversible transfer of these physical conditions.] Melody grit her teeth. “Do it.” A sharp, electric sting spread from deep within my lower abdomen. I gripped the terrace railing. It wasn’t painful. It felt more like a heavy, suffocating lock was finally being clicked open. When Melody stepped out from behind the door, her face was slightly pale, but her eyes were manic. She saw me and smirked. “Sera, what are you doing out here?” “Getting some air.” She stepped closer, whispering, “Don’t you think the wind is freezing tonight?” I smiled gently. “Is it? I actually think spring is coming.” The next day, I fainted in the campus library. Melody immediately rushed over to hold me, her eyes red as she sobbed, “Sera, we are family. Please stop pushing me away.” The moment her arms wrapped around me, the system initiated the final phase of the extraction. My vision went black, and my ears buzzed. When I woke up in the clinic, the doctor said it was just low blood sugar. Melody was sitting by my bed, holding my hand. “Sera, you scared me to death.” She put on a flawless performance. Several classmates around us were visibly moved. “Melody is actually so sweet to her.” “Yeah, there’s no need for the adopted sister to be so hostile.” I pulled my hand back. “I need to use the restroom.” The moment the stall door locked behind me, I looked down. There was a spot of blood on my underwear.

I stared at it, frozen. For eighteen years. I was seeing my very first period. My throat tightened, and tears hot and fast blurred my vision. An overwhelming wave of ecstasy flooded my chest. I had a uterus. I gently touched my abdomen. I could finally be a normal woman. I could fall in love, get married, and carry my own child without carrying the weight of being “defective.” My phone buzzed. It was Julian. He called me by his usual nickname. “Sera.” But his next words were completely different. “Melody was crying for hours.” I said nothing. His voice dropped, carrying a hint of frustration. “She genuinely wants to make peace with you. Why do you have to humiliate her?” I gripped the phone. “I humiliated her?” “Sera, stop acting clueless,” he snapped, accusing me for the first time. “She just came back to the family. She’s insecure. You’ve enjoyed the Vance lifestyle for eighteen years, and you’re engaged to me. You took so much from her. Do you really have to play the victim now?” I listened to his voice—once so familiar, now so cold. It was like watching a cherished photo get splattered with mud. “So?” I asked. “I’m coming over to your house tonight,” he said. “The engagement was always an alliance between the Vance and Sterling families. Now that the real daughter is back, the engagement should be returned to her.” Returned to her. He said it so casually. As if my eighteen years of life were just a coat I was keeping warm for Melody. “Is this your decision?” I asked quietly. “Yes.” He paused, delivering the final blow. “It’s only fair to everyone.” I let out a soft laugh. “You change fast, Julian.” He was silent for a few seconds. When he spoke again, his tone was icy. “Don’t use that tone with me, Sera. You used to be reasonable.” I hung up. When I returned to the Vance estate that evening, Julian was already there. Melody was sitting next to him, his jacket draped over her shoulders. Eleanor looked relieved. Richard looked pleased. Seeing me walk downstairs, Julian stood up. “Sera, we need to talk.” “No need,” I said. “I heard you on the phone.” He frowned. “Good.” In front of my parents, he placed the Sterling family engagement ring on the coffee table. “Mr. and Mrs. Vance, I’d like to officially transfer the engagement to Melody.” Eleanor gasped, her face lighting up with joy. Melody’s eyes welled with tears. “Julian…” Julian looked at me. His eyes no longer held any warmth, only a condescending pity. “Sera, you need to understand your place. Melody is the true Vance. You’ve enjoyed eighteen years of a life that didn’t belong to you. Don’t stand in her way now.” The living room fell into a suffocating silence. I looked at him. He was completely under the system’s influence. I smiled faintly. “Okay.”

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I worked my butt off for three years to become the Design Director. But today, the General Manager handed the position to his newly graduated college mentee. He looked me in the eye and said, “Harper, you’re getting older. Your creativity and energy just can’t compete with the younger crowd. It’s time to step aside.” I fought back, my voice trembling. “But I led the team to complete every single major project in this company!” “That was because the company gave you the resources! It doesn’t prove your personal capability!” “Ethan! You know damn well—” “Harper! Call me Mr. Vance! At work, I am your superior, not your husband! Please cooperate with the company’s transfer!” Chloe chimed in, trying to play the peacemaker. “Ethan, maybe I should just give the position back to your wife. I don’t want to cause trouble.” Ethan didn’t even bother to correct her familiar way of calling his name. Instead, his voice softened significantly when he spoke to her. “Business is not a game, Chloe. I’ve already notified HR. It’s official.” “Just focus on your new role. I’ll personally teach you anything you don’t understand.” But when he turned his gaze back to me, his eyes were freezing cold. “You will continue to work on your current projects. When they’re done, just submit them to Chloe for approval.” So, I was supposed to do all the heavy lifting, while Chloe took all the credit. I looked at the face of this man—the man I had been married to for five years and worked with for eight. Suddenly, I laughed. “No need. I’m resigning right now.” I didn’t want the Design Director position anymore. And I didn’t want to be Mrs. Vance either.

When I walked back to my desk to draft my resignation letter, Ethan followed me. “You’ve been here for eight years, Harper. Don’t throw away everything you’ve worked so hard for just because you’re throwing a tantrum.” “You’re not a fresh graduate. Do I really need to teach you how the real world works?” So, he did know how hard I had worked to get everything I had. Yet, he chose to hand the fruits of my labor to another woman. My eyes burned, but my fingers didn’t stop typing. “Mr. Vance, this is working hours. Please do not micromanage your employee’s personal decisions.” His breathing turned heavy. Sensing the curious glances from the surrounding cubicles, he lowered his voice. “Do you have any idea how hard it is for someone your age to find a job? If you go out for interviews now, you’ll get filtered out in the first round!” “Stop being so naive!” I pulled the resignation letter from the printer and signed my name without a second thought. “Mr. Vance, will you sign it?” He snatched the paper, his face darkened with rage. “Harper, do you really have to push things this far?” “I’m not pushing anything. I just don’t want to work here anymore.” “There are still several projects that need your final touch. If you leave like this, what is Chloe supposed to do?” Finally, the truth came out. He didn’t care about me leaving; he just wanted me to pave a smooth road for his precious mentee before I vanished. I opened my laptop, uploaded the resignation letter, and hit send, CC’ing both Ethan and HR. “Can you approve it now?” “I don’t think you want me to personally explain to HR that you’re holding up my resignation because of our personal relationship, right?” I knew he hated mixing business with pleasure more than anything. In our eight years of working together, he never let me step into his office alone. If there was work, he would come to my cubicle to brief me. Even when I was sick, he never let me carpool with him to work. When I worked late and forgot to eat, he would rather send me a Snapchat message telling me to pick up takeout at the front desk than bring me a bite of food himself. I used to think there was nothing wrong with that. Keeping business and personal life strictly separated was our mutual rule. But since Chloe arrived, I realized that rules weren’t unbreakable. It just depended on who they were being broken for. She could eat with him in the cafeteria, and she could leave her personal belongings in his office. He would proudly introduce her to everyone: “This is my college junior, please take good care of her.” Yet, he never let anyone in the office know that I was his wife.

So, I was absolutely sure he wouldn’t let me go to HR. Sure enough, he loosened his tie, glaring at me as he spat out through his teeth: “Fine. Don’t regret this!” “I will personally oversee Chloe’s upcoming projects. Don’t think this company can’t run without you!” “You have one month to hand over all your work to Director Chloe. After that, I won’t stop you.” He turned and stormed back into the General Manager’s office before I could reply. Before the door slammed shut, the last thing I saw was him gently draping a blanket over Chloe, who was fast asleep on his office couch. My stomach churned. Even though I tried to act like I didn’t care, I couldn’t ignore the dull ache in my gut. But that didn’t stop me from grabbing my phone and sending a text to a contact: “I’ll resign in a month. Let’s meet to discuss the package.” It was late when I took two subway transfers and finally made it home. Ethan wasn’t back yet. Usually, he drove and I took the subway, so he was always home before me. I sat on the couch in the dark, quietly looking around the apartment we had lived in for five years. Back when we bought this place, Ethan wasn’t the General Manager yet. We were just ordinary designers. We saved every penny for a long time to afford the down payment on this condo. Even though it was far from downtown and had a terrible layout, I felt it was all worth it because it gave me a sense of belonging. But sitting here tonight, for some reason, it felt incredibly foreign. At 10:00 PM, Ethan walked through the door holding a cake box. I was slightly stunned. We didn’t have the habit of celebrating anniversaries. Maybe today’s fight made him feel uneasy, and he wanted to use this to smooth things over. Seeing me on the couch, he looked surprised. “You’re still awake?” I stood up and walked over. But my hand froze in mid-air. Half of the cake was gone. The heart-shaped center had been scooped out and eaten. I stared at it for a few seconds, making sure it wasn’t just some weird artistic design. He tossed the box onto the dining table carelessly. “I bought it to celebrate Chloe’s promotion, but she only took a few bites and said she was worried about the calories.” “I remembered you said you wanted cake the other day, so I brought the rest back for you.” My throat felt like it was blocked by a rock. I couldn’t make a sound. Years ago, to pay off the mortgage, I never bought any nice clothes. I wore hand-me-downs from my older sister. When I went to the grocery store, I only bought the bruised, discounted vegetables. But from the day we finally paid off the house, I told him: I, Harper, will never take anyone’s leftovers again. And now, he wanted me to eat a leftover cake that he had bought for another woman. As the sound of the shower started running in the bathroom, I unlocked my phone and began drafting a divorce agreement. The next morning, Ethan and I stood at the elevator door together. I looked at him, confused. This wasn’t his usual time to leave. He was smiling, texting on his phone, and said casually, “Chloe is having her period today and isn’t feeling well. I’m going to pick her up.” “If I remember correctly, her apartment is a forty-minute detour, right?” “It’s just forty minutes. Just a press on the gas pedal.” The elevator mirror reflected our faces. One was pale and exhausted, even with full makeup. The other was glowing, staring happily at his screen. My mind drifted back to a rainy day when I was shopping with my friend. It was pouring, and I called him to pick me up from the subway station. He had said, “Just Uber back. Driving out in this weather is too much trouble.” A ten-minute drive was “too much trouble,” but forty minutes was just “a press on the gas pedal.” When the elevator reached the lobby, he hesitated for a second. “Do you… want a ride?” I shook my head and stepped out. He looked relieved as he pressed the close button.

When the elevator indicator showed he had reached the parking garage, I pulled out my phone and called Chloe. “I’m taking the morning off.” “Reason?” she asked, sounding entitled. “Buying a car.” “Did you tell Ethan?” “No need.” By the time I hung up, I was already in a cab heading to the dealership. Browsing, test-driving, signing, paying, and taking the keys. It took less than half a day to get everything done. When I pressed the key fob and my new SUV beeped in response, a sense of liberation washed over me. That was when Ethan finally called. I picked up. “Harper! Buying a car is a huge deal! Why didn’t you discuss it with me?” “I used my own money.” “That’s not what I mean! Do you even know how to pick a good car? Come back now, I’ll go with you when I have time.” “You’ve been saying that for two years.” “But I still took the subway for two years.” The line went dead silent. When I parked the car at the company garage, Ethan was already waiting there. “You drove back alone? How long has it been since you last drove? Do you know how dangerous that is?” Looking at his anxious face, I almost laughed out loud. When the heavy rain flooded the subway station and I had to walk two miles home in the storm, he wasn’t worried. When I sprained my ankle and limped to the subway every day, he wasn’t worried. When I worked until 2:00 AM and took a cab home alone, he wasn’t worried. But now that I had my own car, he suddenly cared about my safety. “Ethan, I hired a driving instructor. I’ll be fine after a few laps.” He froze. In the past, if he scolded me like this, I would have argued back. I would have stayed up all night just to prove him wrong. But now, I was as calm as if I were answering what I had for breakfast. His expression hardened. “Harper, you… seem different.” A delivery guy interrupted us, running toward Ethan. Ethan stepped forward to take the paper bag. “Chloe didn’t eat lunch. It took me forever to convince her to drink a cup of coffee. Kids these days,” he mumbled, shaking his head with a fond smile. “Not like us back then…” I cut him off. “Yeah, not like us back then, when we couldn’t even afford a single cup of Starbucks.” His smile froze on his face. I didn’t stop. I walked straight past him and went to the office. At 4:00 PM, I was doing the handover with Chloe. Ethan walked in with two cups of iced coffee. I frowned. In eight years, this was the first time he had ever brought anything to my desk. I knew I was just benefiting from Chloe’s presence. She squealed with joy and threw her arms around his neck. Ethan instinctively caught her, but when his eyes met mine, he quickly pushed her away. “I was just worried you guys… might be thirsty.” Chloe took a sip, giggling. “Thanks, Ethan! You’re the sweetest!” “Since you cover all my meals, I’m saving so much money!” Ethan saw that I hadn’t touched my cup. “Why aren’t you drinking? Try it.” I pushed the cup away. “No thanks, Mr. Vance. Did you forget I’m highly allergic to caffeine?” His face turned sour. Seeing no one was looking, he lowered his voice. “This is exactly why I hate buying you things. You never give any positive feedback.” “Have you ever bought me anything?” I asked flatly. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He muttered something about “just trying to be nice” and walked away. I thought the handover would go quickly so I could leave early. But Chloe was way more difficult than I anticipated. I had already organized all client folders by industry standards and archived all design drafts.

She looked at the screen and sneered. “Your file formats are a mess. I don’t understand them.” “And you only have digital copies. What if the server crashes? I need you to handwrite the project sources and client contact details for every single account.” After two weeks of her constant rejection and nitpicking, I finally lost my patience and slammed my hand on the desk. Ethan, who had been playing deaf and dumb for days, immediately summoned us to his office. “Harper, what is your problem?” “Chloe is the Design Director now. You do what she says. I won’t sign your resignation until Director Chloe is completely satisfied!” Chloe gave me a smug look. Before leaving, she turned to me and said, “Oh, and bring a vanilla latte to my office, will you?” I crossed my arms and looked at Ethan. “Ethan, is this what you call keeping business and personal life separate?” “Harper, whether you like it or not, she is the Director now. If you embarrass her in public, how is she supposed to lead the team?” “If you’re done venting, get out. It doesn’t look good for us to be alone in here.” For the first time in five years of marriage, I felt suffocated standing in the same room with him. “According to labor laws, I am leaving in exactly thirty days. She can deal with it.” Before starting at my new job, I needed to pack, move, and sell the condo. I didn’t have time to play games with them. On my last day, my desk was completely cleared except for a coffee mug and my personal laptop. Since Ethan had to attend a conference at the headquarters today, he had signed my release forms yesterday. My offboarding was officially complete. After saying goodbye to some colleagues, I picked up my box, ready to walk out. But Chloe and a couple of security guards blocked the exit. “Harper, we suspect you have confidential company data on your personal laptop. We need to seize it for our IT department to inspect.” That laptop contained all my hard work from the past few years. I took it home with me every single day. There was no way I was letting them touch it. “I can show you the files here, but you are not taking my property.” Chloe let out a cold laugh. “You have a lot of new design templates and custom fonts on there, don’t you?” I froze. Those were the templates I created after deciding to resign, meant for my upcoming portfolio. I hadn’t told a soul. The only person who had access to my laptop password was Ethan. Chloe raised her voice, making sure the entire office could hear. “Some people have zero professional ethics. The company spent so much money training her, yet she refuses to hand over core materials.” “If everyone acted like this, how is our department supposed to function?” I had tried to leave peacefully, but that didn’t mean she could walk all over me. “This is my personal laptop. The templates and fonts are my original creations, developed in my own time. They have nothing to do with this company.” “You have no legal right to confiscate my work!” A few colleagues nearby started whispering in my defense. “Yeah, everyone knows Harper did most of the work here. Her drafts are always original. Why would she need to steal anything?” “Exactly. Someone’s just throwing their weight around.” Chloe’s face flushed with anger. She snapped at the guards, “What are you waiting for? Grab the laptop!” “If the company loses precious data, can you guys afford the damages?” She pointed a finger at the whispering staff. “Anyone who wants to follow her out the door is welcome to help her!” Everyone quickly looked down, pretending to be busy. Two guards grabbed my arms. Chloe easily unlocked my laptop using Ethan’s birthday. She clicked through a few folders, smirked, and said, “Well, nothing special anyway.” She held the laptop out to me. But my arms were pinned back by the guards. I couldn’t reach it. She smiled, opened her hand, and let the laptop drop. Crash. Then, she stepped on the screen with her sharp stiletto heel. The LCD screen shattered into webbed cracks.

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Because of a pet custody battle, my lawyer husband, Ethan Vance, was suing me for the eighth time. During the trial, Ethan finally compromised and sent me a Snapchat message: [Name your price. Just give Peaches to Chloe.] He used to be a man of absolute integrity. To avoid a conflict of interest, he had watched my dad get framed and sent to prison without lifting a finger. But now, to help Chloe steal a dog we raised together, he had forged twenty-six pieces of evidence. He forged Peaches’ birth certificate and purchase records. I had refused to back down, fighting him through seven bitter court battles. But to everyone’s shock, this time, I remained silent. “Your Honor, I yield. I won’t fight anymore.” Then, I sent Ethan a message: [My only condition is that you appeal and reopen my dad’s embezzlement case.] Across the courtroom, Ethan let out a sigh of relief. But what he didn’t know was that hidden inside the custody transfer papers he just signed was a set of divorce papers. “Give me the password to the pet’s Instagram account. I’m deleting it,” Ethan ordered, catching up to me outside the courtroom. He always thought I ran that account just for clout and views. But he failed to see that my camera was always pointed at him. It was a record of our happiest moments. I handed him my phone and watched him tap “Delete” without a second thought. An account with nearly a million followers vanished in an instant. “If we kept it, your crazy fans would definitely harass Chloe. It’s better to avoid the drama.” Ethan waved the forged evidence in my face before tossing it into the trash can. A smug, victorious smirk played on his lips. He looked like a man who had just won a war. Except I was the casualty. Chloe cuddled into Ethan’s arms, holding Peaches’ leash. She looked cute, innocent, and utterly pitiful. “Ethan, I promise this is the last time I’ll be selfish.” Then she blinked her big, watery eyes, looking at me with a pleading expression. “I just love Peaches so much. Stella, you won’t blame me, right? Please forgive me.” She tilted her head, her triumph barely concealed. There wasn’t a shred of genuine remorse in her eyes. Peaches was a Samoyed that Ethan and I had raised since she was a puppy. She had witnessed our entire journey—from our first date to our wedding, spanning eight long years. Ethan once told me, “Stella, we’re going to raise her forever. You’re her mom, and I’m her dad.” I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. Yet Ethan just gently ruffled Chloe’s hair, his voice dripping with tenderness. “You get whatever you want, Chloe. It’s just a dog.” The sudden deletion of our million-follower account sent shockwaves through our online community. [Peaches has been Stella’s dog since day one! How could she belong to someone else?] [Is this some cheap publicity stunt?] [This girl literally stole the dog, and her lawyer husband is helping her do it?] As the backlash grew, Chloe looked visibly humiliated. Ethan immediately went online to defend her. He posted on Instagram: [My wife lost her mother at a young age, and her father is currently in prison. It’s natural for her to seek attention, which is why she’s been hoarding my adoptive sister’s dog.] My painful past, the shame of my family, was dragged into the spotlight for millions of strangers to see. My phone blew up with a torrent of hateful messages. Ethan wrapped his arm around Chloe as they walked ahead, laughing and chatting. “Peaches is so white and fluffy, just like you.” “Are you calling me a dog? You’re the Golden Retriever here!” Their voices faded into the distance. Ethan didn’t notice me pulling out my phone to text the hospital. “Hi, I’d like to book an appointment for an abortion.”

The next day, Ethan and I were supposed to meet to discuss my dad’s appeal. I waited outside his office for three agonizing hours. Finally, his secretary walked out with a conflicted expression. “Mrs. Vance, Mr. Vance is tied up with something urgent and won’t be back for a while. Maybe you should…” Holding a stack of evidence half my height, all the strength drained from my body. The papers slipped from my hands, scattering all over the floor. The statute of limitations for my dad’s case was expiring in just three days. I got down on my knees, desperately scraping the papers together. Just then, my phone buzzed with a notification. It was Chloe’s Instagram story. The background was a veterinary clinic. Ethan was right beside her, helping her deworm Peaches. [I told him I could handle this alone, but he insisted on skipping work to be with me. Is this what it feels like to be cherished? Last year, when my appendix ruptured, Ethan refused to set foot in the hospital. He had simply messaged me: “I hate the smell of disinfectants.” My fingers gripped the phone so hard they turned white. I tried calling other lawyers, but they all politely turned me down. “Mr. Vance made it clear that since you’re his wife, helping you would be seen as a personal favor, which would compromise our professional ethics…” I carried the heavy files I had spent sleepless nights preparing and walked all the way home through the freezing wind. It was evening by the time Ethan finally returned. I was sitting on the sofa. “You promised to fulfill my condition. Help me appeal my dad’s case.” Ethan took off his coat and pinched the bridge of his nose wearily. “Even if he was framed, the prosecutor’s evidence is airtight. Even if it’s fabricated, it’s flawless.” “Besides, I’ve been drowning in work lately. Can you at least give me some breathing room?” The words caught in my throat like a shard of glass. Just minutes ago, I had stumbled upon a new joint pet account he had created with Chloe. The videos showed them riding bikes with Peaches by the lake, watching the sunset together. The comment section was filled with adoration. [Ethan looks so happy here! Unlike in those old videos where he looked so miserable. Now this is a real couple!] [The previous account felt like a business partnership. So fake.] [They look so good together! I’m glad he cut ties with that old influencer.] … He didn’t look like a man “drowning in work.” I slammed the heavy stack of files onto the coffee table. Swallowing the bitterness in my throat, I said, “You can focus on your work for the next two days.” “Just show up at the courthouse the day after tomorrow.” His rejection was instantaneous and cold. “I can’t make it the day after tomorrow. It’s Chloe’s birthday.” Before I could argue, he added, “Tomorrow doesn’t work either. Chloe and I are shooting a video, and I need to write the script tonight.” Tears finally spilled over. “My dad can’t wait! He has a severe heart condition!” Ethan closed his eyes, exhaling a sigh of utter exasperation. “Stella, I’m going to be blunt.” “Your dad’s case is just a financial dispute. He’ll be out in a few years anyway. There’s no need to waste our time on this.” I stared at him in absolute disbelief. I couldn’t believe those words had come out of his mouth. Before I could speak, his phone rang. He answered it, and his expression instantly twisted into panic. “What? Your gastritis is acting up again?” “Hold on, I’m on my way.” Ethan spun around to leave, but I grabbed the edge of his coat. “Ethan, I need to tell you… I’m preg—” In the next second, he violently shook me off. “We’ll talk tomorrow! Chloe is in so much pain she can’t even speak. It’s an emergency!” He slammed the door shut without looking back. My stomach slammed hard against the sharp corner of the coffee table. A searing pain shot through me, and a dark, warm wetness began to spread across my pants. It was blood. Blinding, crimson blood. “Ethan…” My cry for help was cut short as the heavy front door slammed shut, echoing through the empty house.

When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. “Ms. Miller, thank goodness your housekeeper found you and got you here in time. We had to perform an emergency D&C. You need to rest.” The doctor looked at my chart, her brow deeply furrowed. “Also,” she lowered her voice gently, “your body was already quite weak, making it hard to conceive. After this trauma… it’s highly unlikely you’ll ever be able to get pregnant again.” I clutched the hospital sheets, my chest tight with agonizing pain. The little life I hadn’t even had the chance to welcome had turned into a nightmare before it even started. The doctor hesitated. “Where is your husband? I need to speak with him.” I shook my head silently. I had tried calling him three times earlier, but his phone was completely switched off. That evening, I discharged myself and went home. The moment I stepped through the door, Peaches broke free from her leash and lunged straight into me. Chloe gasped, feigning shock as she covered her mouth. “Oh my gosh, Stella, I am so sorry!” “I was just training Peaches to guard the house. I didn’t expect you to walk in.” I leaned heavily against the wall, gasping from the sudden wave of pain. My unhealed surgical wound felt like it was tearing open, and a sharp, stabbing sensation ripped through my abdomen. Ethan didn’t even look at me. He just patted Chloe’s head. “It was the dog’s fault, not yours. Don’t worry about it.” White dog hair was flying everywhere in the living room. Ethan used to be an extreme clean-freak. He used to force me to keep Peaches locked in a crate. “If I find a single dog hair in this house, she’s gone,” he used to threaten. Now, the house was a mess, and he didn’t seem to care at all. Ethan looked at me, frowning. “You spilled ketchup all over the floor and didn’t even bother to clean it up. Chloe almost slipped. Where have you been anyway?” Looking down at the bloodstains on the floor—the blood he assumed was ketchup—I clutched my stomach. “None of your business.” His face stiffened, but he quickly cleared his throat. “Chloe wanted to film some TikToks at home. I’ve been busy shooting and editing for her, so I couldn’t check on you.” While my father’s case was driving me to the brink of insanity, and while I was losing our child, he was at home editing TikToks for Chloe. He used to tell me he hated video editing and didn’t have the time to learn. Yet now, he was staying up all night to edit every single frame of Chloe’s videos. I didn’t argue. I didn’t shout. I just slowly, painfully dragged myself to the bedroom to grab my father’s legal files. Ethan followed me inside. “If it can wait, the court date can be pushed to next week. I’ll have time then.” I didn’t even look up. “It can’t wait.” There were only two days left. If the deadline passed, my dad would have to spend another three years in prison. With his heart condition, three years was a death sentence. Ethan’s face hardened. “Can you stop being so difficult for once?” “Chloe is young and depends on me. I’m her brother; is it so wrong for me to take care of her?” My voice cracked. “My father is an old man in a prison cell. He needs to be taken care of too!” Ethan completely lost his patience. “To be honest, since he’s so old, staying in prison might actually be quieter for him. It saves us a lot of trouble.” I froze. Before he could even realize the cruelty of his words, I grabbed my things and turned to leave. Chloe stepped in front of me, raising three fingers playfully. “Stella, I swear, next week I won’t bother you guys even if the sky falls. Even if Ethan insists on staying with me, I’ll turn him down.” I let out a bitter laugh. “No need.” “I refuse to believe that in this entire city, I can’t find a single lawyer who isn’t intimidated by you, Ethan.” I turned and walked away. “Stella Miller!” Ethan yelled after me, but I didn’t look back. As I stepped into the elevator, my phone rang. It was Officer Carter, my contact at the prison. “Stella… the man who framed your father just added another five years to his sentence through false testimonies. Your father… he just had a massive heart attack!”

By the time I reached the prison gates, my entire body was shaking so violently I could barely stand. Officer Carter ran out to meet me, his face grim. “He’s stable for now, and the prison doctors are treating him. But the real issue is his mental state.” “If he has to serve another five years for a crime he didn’t commit, I don’t think his heart can take it…” Instantly, the blood in my veins ran cold. There was no time to find another lawyer. I had to swallow my pride and call Ethan. “My dad was framed again. You know every detail of his case. Please, just represent him in court this once. I’m begging you…” Ethan’s voice on the other end was icy. “The moment you run into trouble, you run back to me. Didn’t you say you could find plenty of other lawyers?” “And here I thought you were finally growing up and learning to be independent.” My fingers trembled as I gripped the phone, my voice cracking with desperation. “Just this once… I’ll owe you for the rest of my life…” There was a long pause on the line before he finally spoke: “I’m not being cruel, Stella. But what if your dad actually did embezzle that corporate money? I don’t want us getting dragged into his mess.” The line went dead. The sterile dial tone felt like the final nail in my coffin, crushing the very last shred of hope in my heart. I collapsed onto the curb, dialing number after number. I called every single law firm in the directory. “I’m sorry, Ms. Miller.” “We aren’t familiar with the case files. Reviewing everything would take at least a week, and with the court date tomorrow, we just can’t do it.” Just as I was about to completely break down, a Snapchat message from Ethan popped up: [Send me your location. I’ll come find you.] An instant rush of relief and joy washed over me. I quickly sent him my location and politely declined the couple of lawyers who had slowly started calling me back. I prayed silently, over and over, that the appeal would succeed. But I waited. For three hours, Ethan never showed up. I called him twice, but both times he hung up on me. Then, a message popped up: [Peaches accidentally bit Chloe. I’m at the clinic with her getting her a rabies shot. I can’t make it.] My brain went completely numb. Right after, another text arrived: [I’m sending you the contact info of a few good attorneys. You should reach out to them.] After sending a few phone numbers, his side went completely silent. The blood in my body turned to ice. At that moment, Officer Carter called from the prison. “Ms. Miller… your father suffered another sudden cardiac arrest. The doctors did everything they could, but… he didn’t make it.” “I am so incredibly sorry for your loss.” My father’s pale, lifeless face was covered by a white sheet. He lay there, cold and still. The air left my lungs, and my knees hit the floor. A guttural scream tore from my throat as the tears finally came. My only family left in this world was gone. Once my tears ran dry, I pulled out the divorce papers Ethan had unknowingly signed, penned my signature at the bottom, and blacklisted his number on everything. It wasn’t until Ethan returned to his law office days later that he finally remembered my father’s case. He called his assistant into the office. “Retrieve my father-in-law’s case files. Let me see if there’s any ground for an appeal.” The assistant lowered his head, stammering nervously. “Sir… Mr. Miller couldn’t survive the stress of the new charges. He suffered a massive heart attack and passed away in the prison hospital.” Ethan froze, suddenly standing up. “Also,” the assistant handed him a medical document, “Mrs. Vance left this for you.”

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1 On our wedding anniversary, Zach sent a voice note claiming he was stuck at a business dinner, but the background audio betrayed him. I could clearly hear another woman’s sweet, demanding voice ordering him around. Five minutes later, his close female friend posted a cozy photo of the two of them holding sparklers on her feed. Her caption was a thinly veiled swipe at me, mocking how I could not even uncork a bottle of wine and was only good as a passive ornament in his life. In the past, I would have immediately called him to demand answers, only to be branded as hysterical and unreasonable. This time, I did not shed a single tear. I calmly tapped the heart icon to like her photo, opened a chat with a headhunter, and officially accepted a job offer in Chicago. During my final seven days before leaving, I behaved exactly as usual. I cooked his meals and accompanied him to social events, but behind his back, I quietly transferred my savings, booked a moving truck, and threw away all my old belongings. Zach was smug, genuinely believing he had finally tamed me into the perfect, silent wife. He had no idea that the moment I liked that photo, I had already checked out of our marriage. Seven days later, when he walked into an apartment stripped down to the bare walls, he completely lost his mind, racing toward an airport for a flight that would never wait for him. On the night of our wedding anniversary, the dining table was a quiet tragedy. The lobster I had stood in line for three hours to buy had gone completely cold. The red wine in the decanter had oxidized for so long that it now carried a sour, sharp smell. To prepare this meal, I had turned down my own department’s promotion dinner and rushed home two hours early. My phone screen lit up on the dark mahogany table. It was a voice message from Zach. “Summer, the dinner with Jared’s clients isn’t wrapping up anytime soon. I can’t slip away. Go ahead and eat without me, okay? I’ll buy you that designer bag you wanted next week.” The background was loud, filled with the crashing of ocean waves and heavy electronic music. A familiar, high-pitched female voice cut through the noise, calling out, “Zach, stop sending updates to the boss! Get over here and drink this shot for me!” It was Phoebe’s voice. I did not reply. I simply stood up, picked up the plate of lobster, and dumped the entire elaborate meal straight into the trash can. With a wet splash, all my carefully planned romance became nothing but garbage. I sat back on the sofa and opened social media. Just a minute ago, Phoebe had updated her feed with a grid of nine photos. The location tag showed the rooftop terrace of the most exclusive oceanfront hotel downtown. In the center photo, Phoebe was smiling brightly with a sparkler in her hand. In the background, Zach was shielding the wind with his body, leaning in close to light it for her. Under the warm glow of the sparkler, they stood incredibly close. The look in Zach’s eyes carried a relaxed tenderness I had not seen in years. In the comments, Zach’s friends were already teasing them. Zach is really playing the perfect white knight tonight. Is Summer keeping tabs on you? Phoebe had replied to one of them: Don’t be silly, Summer is very open-minded. Not like me, I can’t even open a bottle of wine without Zach’s help. Looking at the text, I only felt a dull sense of irony. I did not take a screenshot to confront him, nor did I call him in tears. I simply tapped the little heart icon, leaving a quiet like on the post. Then, I closed the app and opened my chat with Mr. Henderson, the recruiter who had messaged me two weeks ago. I had been hesitating on his offer until now. My fingers did not tremble as I typed: “Mr. Henderson, I accept the offer for the Operations Director position at the Chicago branch. I will finalize my resignation here this week and can start next Monday.” He replied almost instantly, clearly thrilled: “That is fantastic news, Summer! The team in Chicago desperately needs a strong leader like you. Monday works perfectly. Welcome aboard!” “Thank you,” I typed back. “Could you also help me apply for the corporate apartment? I will be releasing my lease here.” After sending the message, I set my phone face down on the table and went to the balcony to fold the laundry. Five minutes later, my phone began to vibrate violently. It was Zach. He had probably seen the notification for my like, and guilt, or perhaps irritation at my quiet reaction, had driven him to call. “Hello,” I answered. “Summer, what is your problem?” Zach’s voice was laced with alcohol and annoyance. “Everyone was having a great time. What was that passive-aggressive like supposed to mean? You made Phoebe so uncomfortable she almost cried, asking if she did something to offend you.” “The photo was nice, the composition was great,” I said in a flat voice. “And it’s my account. I can like whatever I want.” “Can you stop being so incredibly petty? I already told you this is for work! Phoebe has two major accounts in her hand right now, and I have to keep her happy. You work in operations, you should understand how business networking works.” “I do understand,” I replied, watching a stray firework streak across the night sky outside. “That is why I didn’t make a scene, and I didn’t ask you to come home.” “You…” Zach was silenced by my complete lack of emotion. His tone softened slightly, carrying a patronizing sigh. “Fine, stop throwing a tantrum. I’ll come home early tomorrow and take you out for sushi.” “No need.” “What do you mean, no need?” “There’s no need to come home early, and no need for sushi.” I glanced at the open suitcase sitting by the bedroom door, empty and waiting to be filled. “Summer, you’re just determined to pick a fight tonight, aren’t you? Fine, I won’t come home at all. Cool your head!” The line went dead. Listening to the dial tone, I tossed the phone onto the sofa. I walked into the bedroom, opened the closet, and took down the dresses Zach had bought me over the years, the ones I had treasured but never actually liked. One by one, I threw them into a donation box. 2 The next morning, a pounding hangover woke Zach in a foul mood. He rolled over in the hotel bed, calling out out of habit, “Babe, get me some water.” Only silence answered him. Zach sat up abruptly, finally remembering that to teach me a lesson, he had slept at a friend’s place the night before. He checked his phone. It was ten in the morning. There were no notifications. I had not sent a single message asking if he had drank too much or reminding him to take his medication. “Still acting out,” he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair before heading home. When he unlocked the front door, the apartment was eerily quiet. I was sitting at the dining table, typing away on my laptop with an iced Americano beside me. Zach threw his jacket onto the sofa, bringing the stale smell of tobacco and alcohol into the room as he approached. “Is there anything to eat? My stomach is killing me. Make me some ramen with a couple of eggs.” My fingers did not stop moving across the keyboard. On the screen was a detailed hand-off document for my current job. “The kitchen is right there, and there are eggs in the fridge. Make it yourself.” Zach froze, looking at me as if I had spoken in a foreign language. “What did you say? My head is splitting, and you want me to cook?” I finally stopped typing, closed my laptop, and turned to look at him as if he were a giant toddler. “Zach, your hands are not broken. If you don’t want to cook, the food delivery apps are on the second page of your phone.” “Summer!” Zach snapped, kicking his slipper aside. “Is this really necessary? Over a silly anniversary? I already told you Phoebe is a business partner. Why are you acting like a child?” “Acting like a child?” I stood up, smoothing down my shirt. “Zach, the clothes in the washing machine are from two days ago. The shirts in the dryer have been sitting there for three. If you don’t want to go to work naked tomorrow, I suggest you iron them yourself.” Zach stared at me in disbelief. For the past three years, I had kept his life running like clockwork. His clothes were always pressed and organized by color, his toothpaste was squeezed, and even his business trip bags were packed by my hands. “Are you losing your mind?” Zach stormed into the closet, the sound of hangers rattling loudly. “Where is my navy tie? And my cufflinks? Summer, where did you hide my things?” I leaned against the doorframe, watching him fumble through the racks in frustration. “The tie is in the second drawer on the left. The cufflinks are at the bottom of the jewelry box.” My voice was completely devoid of emotion. “They have always been there. You just never bothered to look.” Zach hurriedly grabbed his things, his fingers fumbling with his tie as he muttered under his breath. “Fine, you want to play this game? Let’s see who breaks first. I have a busy week ahead. Don’t bother me.” I walked back into the living room, picked up a stack of printed papers from the drawer, and placed them on the entryway table. They contained all our login credentials, utility account numbers, and the contact information for the property manager. Zach glanced at the papers as he put on his shoes, letting out a cold scoff. “What is this? A demonstration of your hard work to make me feel guilty?” “It is to make your life easier in the future,” I said quietly. “The future?” Zach’s hand paused on the doorknob. He sneered, brushing it off. “What, are you threatening to move out now? Summer, stop. My patience has its limits.” “It certainly does.” As the front door slammed shut behind him, the final thread of attachment I had held onto for three years snapped completely. I unlocked my phone, opened our family group chat, and tapped “Leave Group.” I was done arguing, because I no longer cared about winning. 3 By Friday, I was only two days away from my departure. My friend Chelsea was helping me seal the moving boxes, cursing under her breath. “That absolute jerk really hasn’t noticed that you’re packing up the entire apartment?” The living room was bare. The paintings, ornaments, and plants had all disappeared, leaving only the basic furniture. Several heavy cardboard boxes were stacked in the corner, labeled with shipping tags destined for Chicago. “He comes home past midnight, crashes on the bed, and leaves before I wake up,” I said, cutting a strip of packing tape with a sharp snap. “To him, the details of this home don’t matter. As long as I’m physically breathing in this space, he thinks everything is normal.” “What about your joint account? Did you move the money?” Chelsea asked. “Yes.” I pulled up my banking app to show her the transaction history from the previous night. I had calculated our joint savings down to the last decimal point, separating my exact salary contributions and investment returns over the past three years, and transferred them to my private account. The transaction memo read: Asset Division. “We split the rent and utilities down the middle, but I paid for all the groceries and household supplies for three years,” I said, my voice light. “I didn’t bother charging him for that. Consider it charity.” Chelsea looked at me, a proud smile on her face. “Summer, you are being incredibly cold, and I absolutely love it.” Just then, my phone buzzed with a message from Zach. Jared’s engagement party is tonight at the Victoria Hotel. Get dressed. I’ll pick you up at six. It was immediately followed by a digital transfer of two thousand dollars. Go buy a decent dress. Don’t wear your cheap clothes. Respectable people will be there tonight. Looking at the notification, I felt a wave of dark amusement. For years, I had bought affordable clothes to help us save for a house, and he had simply assumed I had terrible taste. “Are you going?” Chelsea asked. “Going there feels like giving him exactly what he wants.” “I am going,” I said, my eyes turning cold. “Why wouldn’t I? It is my final appearance with that crowd. I should give them a proper curtain call.” I walked over to the closet and pulled out a black, backless designer gown I had bought with my own money but had never found the occasion to wear. It was sharply tailored, elegant, and commanding. By five in the afternoon, I was fully made up, sitting in the quiet of the empty living room. I opened my cloud storage, navigated to the folder labeled “Us” containing over three thousand photos of our relationship from college onward, and hit select all. Delete. Empty trash. With a brief loading icon, three years of shared history vanished into digital dust. The front door opened, and Zach walked in. When his eyes fell on me, a flash of genuine admiration crossed his face, quickly replaced by his usual smug, self-satisfied grin. “See? You look beautiful. Why couldn’t you put in this effort before?” He walked over, reaching out to wrap his arm around my waist. “Still angry? You accepted the money, so drop the attitude. Phoebe is going to be there tonight, she’s Jared’s cousin. Don’t make things awkward for her.” I stepped sideways, smoothly avoiding his hand, and picked up my clutch. “Let’s go. We don’t want to be late.” Zach’s hand remained frozen in mid-air. He frowned, sensing a strange shift in my behavior, but he could not quite put his finger on it. He was still looking for a compromise, but I had already found the exit. 4 The silence in the car was heavy and suffocating. Zach gripped the steering wheel, casting frequent glances at me through the rearview mirror. I kept my head turned toward the window, watching the city lights blur past, my expression completely neutral. During the drive, I had casually mentioned my job relocation. “About this transfer…” Zach broke the silence, trying to find a casual opening. “If you really want a change of scenery, I can talk to some people and get you a transfer locally. There’s no need to relocate. Aren’t we supposed to be planning for a baby? A long-distance relationship is just unrealistic.” I did not turn my head. “Don’t worry about it.” “Why do you always have to be so difficult?” Zach’s patience snapped. “I’ve already apologized. Can’t you just give me a break? We’ll talk about this properly after the party.” Suddenly, the car’s Bluetooth system rang, the name Phoebe flashing on the dashboard screen. Zach shot me a quick, nervous glance, intending to decline the call, but his finger slipped and pressed answer. Phoebe’s whiny voice immediately filled the car. “Zach, where are you? Help me! The zipper on the back of my dress is stuck, and the hotel staff are too clumsy to fix it. If it bursts, I’m going to be completely exposed! Can you please come up and help me? I’m in Room 1206.” The air in the car turned freezing. Zach began to stammer, “Summer, she just…” “Go ahead,” I interrupted, my voice perfectly calm. “A broken zipper is a major issue. You wouldn’t want her exposed in public.” “Summer, don’t get the wrong idea, Phoebe is just…” “Drop me off at the next intersection,” I said, pointing to the traffic light ahead. Zach gripped the wheel, the veins on his forehead bulging. “Summer!” “Stop the car!” I raised my voice, my tone sharp. “I have something to take care of. Go do what you need to do.” The car jerked to the curb. I opened the door and stepped out into the cool night air, my heels clicking sharply against the pavement as I walked away without looking back. Half an hour later, I arrived at the venue. Chelsea had sent me a brief video clip from inside the ballroom. In the crowded room, Zach was standing close to Phoebe, holding a glass of champagne in one hand while his other hand casually hovered near her waist. His friends were laughing, teasing him: “Zach, did Phoebe dress up just for you tonight? Where is Summer?” Zach looked slightly distracted, but he still defended her. “Drop it, she got caught in traffic.” Phoebe stood beside him, her face glowing with triumph. I closed the video and put my phone away. I texted Chelsea: Tomorrow morning at ten, bring the movers. He always goes to the gym at that time. She replied instantly: On it. The truck is booked. I took a deep, steadying breath and pushed open the doors to the ballroom. The room fell quiet, and all eyes turned to me. Zach’s eyes lit up, and he immediately stepped away from Phoebe to greet me. “What took you so long? Why weren’t you answering my calls?” I sidestepped his reaching hand, maintaining a flawless, polite smile as I nodded to the guests. “Apologies, I had some personal matters to attend to.” There was no anger, no jealousy, and I did not even take the seat next to him. Instead, I found a quiet corner and watched the party unfold. His friends and Phoebe looked bewildered. They had been anticipating a dramatic confrontation, or at least a tense cold war. Instead, they got nothing but absolute, dead silence. At eleven that night, we were in the car heading home. Zach finally snapped, unable to bear the quiet any longer. “Summer, what was that display tonight? I already told you Phoebe is just…” “Zach,” I interrupted. “What?” “You asked me earlier when I was leaving.” Zach froze, his hands tightening on the wheel as a sudden look of dread crossed his face. The car pulled up to our apartment building. The yellow streetlights did not reach the darkness in my eyes. I opened the passenger door, stepping out into the cool spring breeze, leaving him with a final, cold silhouette. “Next Monday,” I said. He finally panicked.

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