My best friend invited me and my boyfriend to an amusement park. While we were drinking water, my boyfriend, Ethan, naturally opened the bottle for Chloe first. Chloe smirked playfully. “Failing Boyfriend 101, are we? How could you not open your girlfriend’s first?” Ethan teased her back. “Rainey’s strong enough to twist your head off. She doesn’t need my help.” “Shut up! I’ll twist yours off first!” The two of them started messing around. When we were eating, my best friend accidentally spilled ice cream right onto her chest. Without even thinking, my boyfriend leaned down and licked it off her chest. Chloe was wearing a deep V-neck tank top, and her cleavage was practically spilling out. After carefully licking it clean, Ethan grabbed a tissue to wipe off the spit from her skin. “So clumsy. Be careful next time.” Chloe turned to me and complained: “Hey, Rainey, control your man. He acts like he owns the place. Is he my boyfriend or my dad?” I had been dating Ethan for seven years, and scenes like this had played out countless times. But now, I didn’t want to play along anymore.

After we paid for dinner, Chloe walked out of the restroom. Like a million times before, Ethan was already holding her purse. It was getting dark. Ethan turned to me. “Rainey, take the subway home. I’ll drive Chloe. She lives far away.” Before I could even say a word. Chloe had already opened the passenger door and hopped in. “No need to ask! Rainey worries about me more than you do!” Of course I worried about her. She had been my best friend for ten years. Back in college when we were broke, we even shared a single piece of expired bread. But now, the person who cared about her most wasn’t me. It was Ethan. “Bye, Rainey! We’re off!” Chloe’s cheerful voice faded as the car kicked up a cloud of dust. I got home. Ethan FaceTime-d me. “Rainey, the streets over here are flooded. The car might stall, so I’m not coming back tonight.” I let out a self-deprecating laugh. “So, are you sleeping in the car?” Chloe snatched the phone from Ethan’s hand, her face flushed red as if she had just showered. “He’s staying at my place! Don’t worry, Rainey, he’s totally not my type!” Only then did I notice she was wearing Ethan’s button-up shirt. I hung up. I called the moving company to schedule a time. In the corner of the bathroom, the laundry basket was giving off a faint, sour smell. I walked over with a frown. It was the shirt Ethan wore two nights ago, stained with vomit from when he drank for Chloe at a party. “Why are you guys picking on a young girl? Just because she doesn’t have a boyfriend? I’ll drink for her!” When our college internship ended. Ethan had changed the only full-time return offer on our team from my name to Chloe’s. He said the exact same thing back then. She didn’t have a boyfriend. So, because I had one, I was supposed to let her have everything. I threw the dirty shirt straight into the trash. Dirty clothes get thrown away. And dirty people? They get thrown away too. The next morning. Ethan FaceTime-d me again. “Rainey, bring me a change of clothes on your way to work.” Chloe popped her head into the screen, giggling. “Reporting in, Rainey! Nothing happened last night. But your man snores so loud, like a literal pig. I was in the next room and couldn’t sleep all night. How do you tolerate him? You must love him so much, haha!” “Shut up. Who was the one whimpering like a puppy because of the thunderstorm…” Ethan muttered. I simply replied: “Ethan is not my husband.” The R&D department needed to send two people to Africa for a project. Nobody wanted to go. After the meeting, I went straight to the general manager’s office. She was shocked. “Are you sure? You guys are planning a wedding. Long-distance isn’t great for a relationship.” I looked at the sunlight outside the window. The shadow over my heart cleared up a bit. “We’re not getting married anymore. A career is way more reliable than a man.” When I walked out of her office. The receptionist gave me a sly look and handed me a single rose. “Your boyfriend is so romantic.” I threw it into the trash can. A small card fell out. The familiar logo on it made me realize exactly where the rose came from. It was a freebie from the luxury birthday gift he bought for Chloe. Right on cue, a text from Ethan popped up on my phone. [Happy Birthday!] [Babe, I’ll pick you up tonight. Chloe keeps complaining that it won’t feel like a birthday without you!] My birthday was only one day apart from Chloe’s. Every year, Ethan and I would plan a huge birthday surprise for her. But after her party, he would always complain: “It’s so exhausting, Rainey. Doing this twice would kill me. Why don’t you just celebrate on the same day as Chloe?” But every joint birthday after that. Chloe was always the star of the show.

I didn’t reply to Ethan. I just focused on prepping for my move overseas. During a quick break. I scrolled past Chloe’s Instagram post. [So lucky to have people who remember me every single year! ❤️] It was a carousel of five photos. Each one showed a birthday gift Ethan had given her over the years. A Miu Miu dress, Dior sunglasses, a Chanel handbag… And this year’s gift—a limited-edition Cartier ring. That ring must have cost Ethan three months of his salary. How hilarious. In our seven years together. Ethan had given me plenty of gifts too. Hand-woven flower crowns, knitted scarves… A three-dollar necklace, a four-dollar canvas bag… He always said: “The price tag doesn’t matter, it’s the thought that counts.” “Besides, to keep up appearances for you, I have to buy Chloe the best and most expensive things.” “Don’t you care about Chloe the most?” Thinking about it now, it was just ridiculous. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. The receptionist walked past and smiled. “Getting married soon, huh? Look how happy you are.” I took a sip of my coffee. “I am happy. But I’d be happy even without getting married.” When work ended that evening. Ethan was waiting for me outside the office. Before I could say anything. He impatiently pulled me into the car. “Babe, what took you so long? We’re going to be late.” Before I even opened the passenger door. I saw Chloe sitting in the front seat, her feet propped up on the dashboard, scrolling through her phone. The “Wifey’s Seat” sticker on the dashboard had been half-peeled off by her. Chloe grumbled an explanation: “Don’t look at me, I definitely don’t want to be Ethan’s wife!” “Honestly, I’d rather be his dad!” Ethan shot back immediately: “Watch your mouth! Who are you calling son? Respect your elders, you should be calling me big brother!” He turned to me, completely unfazed. “It’s fine, babe. I can stick another one in the back seat. I’ll buy you a whole pack.” Chloe made a move to get up. “Rainey, are you mad? Fine, I’ll go to the back. Rainey is my favorite anyway!” Ethan pressed her leg down. “Forget it. Since we’re already here, you can just be our little third wheel.” My phone buzzed. It was the movers letting me know everything was packed and moved. I guess it was time to tell Ethan. Tonight, we were going to the place where we had our very first date. Good. Let’s end it where it all started. Looking at all the couples around us, Ethan grabbed my hand and sighed. “On our first date, I was too shy to even touch your hand. And now, we’re about to get married!” Chloe chimed in loudly. “You better thank me, your honorary mother-in-law! Without my master plans, Rainey would’ve never said yes so fast!” “Yeah, yeah. I’ll put you at the head table at the wedding! Happy now?” “Then buy me boba!” “The usual? Black tea with salted cream, 30% sugar, no ice? Don’t you get sick of it? Rainey, what do you want? Chloe and I will go grab it.” Just then, a couple of content creators with cameras walked up to us. “Hey guys! We’re filming a couples’ Q&A for National Couples’ Day. How long have you two been dating?” Ethan looked a bit awkward and pulled me from behind him. “Oh, you have the wrong person. Rainey is my girlfriend.” But Chloe suddenly grabbed Ethan’s hand, holding it tight, her smile brilliant. “Babe, I’m sorry! Don’t try to make me jealous with someone else!” Then, she whispered in a voice only the three of us could hear: “It’s just a TikTok video. I’m the birthday girl today, let me have some fun! Rainey won’t mind!” In front of the camera, their fingers were tightly locked. Chloe talked smoothly about their “relationship details.” Ethan looked at her with a gentle, adoring gaze. They looked so perfect together. The crowd of onlookers pushed me aside. I just smiled, pulled out my phone, and took a picture of their intertwined hands. Ethan. You found me in the crowd, and now you’re returning me to it. Thank God, I don’t love you anymore.

After the interview, Chloe clung to my arm, apologizing. “Rainey, I just thought it was fun. Please don’t be mad at me!” Ethan chimed in: “Yeah, you know how she is. She’s just a wild card. Don’t take it personally, Rainey.” I shook my head. “I’m not mad. In fact, I’m here to break up with you.” A firework exploded in the sky, and Ethan instantly covered Chloe’s ears. He turned his head and yelled over the noise: “What did you say, Rainey?” Before I could repeat myself. Chloe was already dragging him toward the drop tower. I have a massive fear of heights. Every time Ethan wanted to go, I refused. But this time, I suddenly wanted to push myself. Not for anything else. Just to find a bit of courage. The courage to completely walk away from these toxic relationships. There were only two seats left. Ethan smiled and placed Chloe’s hand in mine. “You two are the closest. Go ahead.” I closed my eyes. The next second, Chloe’s blood-curdling scream of “Help!” shattered the night. The operator slammed the emergency stop. Everyone saw it then—her safety harness wasn’t buckled. Chloe was sobbing, shaking violently in her seat. Ethan ran over, his face pale. He scooped Chloe up into his arms, bridal style, and glared at me. “Rainey, how can you be so cruel? You were sitting right next to her! How could you not check her harness? Were you trying to kill her?” Chloe seemed to snap out of it, pushing Ethan’s chest weakly. “Don’t blame her… you know hurting her hurts me too. Ethan, just go!” The hushed whispers of the crowd snapped me back to reality. Ethan sighed. “Fine, whatever you say.” “Rainey, go home first. Chloe’s in bad shape. I need to stay and watch over her.” I took a deep breath. I went home and pulled out the relationship journal Ethan used to write for me. I couldn’t remember the last time he wrote in it. But tonight, I wrote the final entry. “October 14th. We are officially over.” Chloe’s birthday. The day I cut her off. For the next week, I was fully occupied with my relocation paperwork. Ethan didn’t contact me once. Until one evening, he finally called. “Rainey, where’s that heirloom cross necklace my grandmother gave you?” “I’ve searched the whole apartment, and I can’t find it anywhere.” I asked him: “Are you at the apartment?” “Yeah. Chloe’s still having nightmares. I remembered that cross is blessed and brings peace. I want to give it to her to help her sleep.” I was stunned. His mind was entirely consumed by finding a cure for Chloe’s nightmares. He didn’t even notice that all my belongings were gone. That necklace was given to me the first time I met Ethan’s grandmother. She said it was reserved for her future granddaughter-in-law. I was going to return it, but I hadn’t had the chance. Ethan’s voice kept droning on. “Chloe says she’s scared, so I need to rush back to her place.” “Leave work early and go find the necklace. While you’re at it, do the laundry. The clothes in the basket are starting to smell.” “Oh, and don’t forget to grab those donuts Chloe likes from downtown. She’s too stressed to eat anything else.” I summoned the very last bit of my patience. “Ethan, we broke up.” There was a long pause on the other end. “Is this because I carried her at the amusement park?” “Rainey, she almost died! Can you stop making a mountain out of a molehill?” “She didn’t even blame you for not checking her harness!” Seeing that I remained silent, Ethan added: “Alright, Rainey, stop overthinking. Chloe and I love you the most.” Whether they loved me or not, I didn’t care. But I knew one thing: Ethan, you loved her. I hung up and blocked him everywhere.

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To pay off the heavy debts, I was forced to work as a maid at the Vance estate. Chloe, the spoiled, short-tempered heiress of the Vance family, threw hot water all over me during one of her tantrums. That night, Ethan Vance, the heir to the Vance empire, left a tube of burn ointment outside my bedroom door. For the next two years, Ethan cared for me in secret. He even carried me on his back to the hospital in the dead of night when I had a life-threatening fever. In the dimly lit pantry, I gave him my virginity. It hurt. He held my waist gently. “Hazel, I love you. I promise I will take you away from the Vance family.” But later, Chloe cornered him and demanded to know what I was to him. He just sneered. “Don’t take it seriously. She is just a maid to me.” In that moment, I finally understood. Ethan’s love only existed in the dark. Because in the light, there was his father, his sister Chloe, and the prestigious Vance family name. I handed all the evidence over to the federal investigators. Two years ago, I accidentally overheard Ethan’s father talking in his study. My dad had died in a mining accident at one of their sites. The Vances had forged the safety reports and blamed the entire tragedy on a dead man. I spent two years taking secret photos of their financial ledgers, meeting minutes, and forged signature pages, keeping them all in an encrypted folder. On the day of the raid, federal agents swarmed the Vance estate. Ethan stood under the old oak tree, staring at me. This time, he didn’t look away. But it was already too late. I took the pen from the agent and signed my name on the witness statement. My love for him was real. The evidence was real. And my desire to drag the Vance family to hell with my own hands was also absolutely real.

Hazel’s POV The day the SAT scores came out, I was completely calm. I sat in the school computer lab, staring at the monitor, and quietly confirmed my score. The room was packed and noisy, but this was the only place I could check my results. Because I was just a “charity case housekeeper” living in someone else’s mansion. My score was incredibly high. This score, combined with my AP credits, was my ticket out of this damp, suffocating mining town of Blackcreek. It was enough to finally shut the Vance family’s mouths. “What’s the point of a perfect score if you’re still a nobody?” A sharp scoff cut through the chatter. Chloe Vance walked over, flanked by her two loyal followers, her chin held high. She stopped right in front of me, looking at the faded sleeves of my hoodie with pure disgust. Then, she raised her voice, making sure everyone heard: “A parasite whose family is drowning in debt, living off our table scraps. Do you seriously think a test score can change your destiny? You sleep in the maid’s room. You eat what my dog leaves behind. No matter how smart you think you are, you are still just trash.” The computer lab fell dead silent. Countless eyes darted toward me, filled with curiosity and silent mockery. A few looked sympathetic, but most were just waiting to watch me break. I gripped the straps of my backpack so hard my knuckles turned white. For two years, I had heard these exact words in the Vances’ living room, in their kitchen, and in the school hallways. I didn’t say a word. Instead, my gaze drifted past Chloe’s shoulder, looking toward the old oak tree outside the window. Ethan Vance was standing there. He was holding his gym bag, his grip so tight his fingers looked blue. His eyes met mine, his throat bobbing nervously. I stared at him, a tiny, desperate flicker of hope still burning in my chest. In that hellhole of a house, he was the only one who had ever left burn cream at my door. He was the only one who had ever silently handed me a pair of work gloves to protect my hands. But now, under the watchful eyes of the entire school, Ethan looked at me… and slowly, deliberately, turned his head away. He didn’t take a single step forward. A bitter, self-deprecating smile touched my lips. The very last shred of hope in my heart was instantly crushed by that half-inch movement of his head. When it came down to the Vance family’s precious reputation and his sister’s spoiled tantrums, he was just like the rest of them. He could watch me get trampled into the dirt without blinking. Just as Chloe smirked, ready to spit more venom, the screech of tires echoed from the school gates. Two black government SUVs sped in, parking right outside the computer lab. The doors flew open, and several stern-looking agents in federal uniforms stepped out, carrying heavy folders. The Vances’ private chauffeur ran over to block them. “Hey. What do you think you’re doing? This is a private school. You can’t just…” The lead agent silently flashed his badge. The chauffeur’s voice died instantly. His face went completely pale. The crowd of students parted like the Red Sea. Under a hundred stunned gazes, the federal agents walked straight up to me, looking at a photo in their hands. “Are you Hazel?” I stood up straight. “Yes, I am.” “We have officially received your filed complaint regarding Vance Mining’s cover-up of the fatal mine collapse and their falsification of safety reports. We are here to verify your identity. Please sign this confirmation of delivery.” Those words were like a bomb dropping in the silent room. The smirk on Chloe’s face froze. Under the oak tree, Ethan’s head snapped up. His eyes filled with absolute disbelief, and the paper he was holding was crushed to dust in his fist. I remained perfectly calm. I took the pen and, under everyone’s stunned stares, firmly signed my name on the affidavit. Once done, I handed the pen back. The agent slipped the document into his folder. He looked at me, a young girl, with a mixture of sympathy and deep respect. He lowered his voice. “We have a team secured to ensure your safety from here on out. You did the right thing.” “Thank you.” As the black SUVs drove away, the computer lab erupted into absolute chaos. “A federal investigation? Against Vance Mining?” “Oh my god, Hazel has been working as their maid for two years just to gather evidence!” “No wonder she never said anything. She wasn’t their servant. She was their reckoning!” The girls who had been standing next to Chloe immediately took three steps back, terrified of being associated with her. Chloe’s face turned from red to white, then to a sickly green. She was shaking violently as she glared at me. “Hazel… you bitch! You’re insane!” I swung my backpack over my shoulder. Without giving her a single glance, I walked right past her. The sunlight streamed through the door, casting my shadow long and straight. My shoulders were square. I was finally standing tall. Under the oak tree, Ethan stood frozen like a statue. As the wind blew, the shredded pieces of paper slipped from his fingers, scattering into the dirt. By evening, I was back at my place. In the cramped maid’s room, my suitcase was already packed. My passport and my acceptance letter to the University of London were tucked safely inside my bag. My phone screen lit up with a Snapchat notification from my lawyer: The evidence has been officially submitted to the federal prosecutor. Keep your line open. I stared at it, then placed the phone face down on the desk. Two years of silent endurance and suffocating pain. Now, the storm was finally here.

Hazel’s POV Two years ago, I was sixteen. The Vances’ chauffeur picked me up from the mining barracks in an old sedan covered in coal dust. It was pouring rain. I stood in the middle of the Vances’ luxurious living room, dripping wet, clutching my frayed backpack. Richard Vance, the patriarch of the family, sat on the plush leather sofa. He puffed on a cigar, looking at me as if I were a cheap piece of property taken to settle a bad debt. “Your mother is sick, and the debt your father left behind won’t be cleared anytime soon,” Richard said smoothly, blowing a ring of smoke. “Staying here with us is the only way to keep what little dignity your family has left.” “Taking care of me” was a lie. “Debt labor” was the reality. “Take her to the back room. She’ll help with the chores around the house,” Richard’s wife, Victoria, said from the side. She took a sip of her coffee without even looking up. The “back room” was a cold, windowless space at the very end of the hallway. It smelled like damp mold, and the cot creaked loudly the moment I sat on it. “Six AM sharp. You vacuum and mop the entire first floor,” the head housekeeper told me, tossing my backpack onto the cot. “You help in the kitchen during meals. Don’t go near Chloe’s room on the second floor. In this house, whatever Chloe tells you to do, you do it.” I looked at the narrow cot and silently clenched my fists. Before I could even unpack, the sharp clacking of heels echoed from the stairs. Chloe Vance, dressed in a brand-new designer outfit, strutted down. The moment she saw me, her face contorted with disgust. “Mom, who is this?” Victoria replied casually, “That’s Thomas’s daughter from the mines. She’s going to live here and do some chores.” “Live here?” Chloe stormed over, pointing her manicured finger right at my face. “Why? Our house isn’t a homeless shelter! Why are we picking up trash?” A few of the Vances’ wealthy relatives and house guests were in the living room. Some sipped their tea, others pretended to look at their phones. Not a single person spoke up. Every gaze felt like a needle pricking my skin. But I stood there, keeping my spine perfectly straight. Chloe walked a circle around me, then reached out and yanked the faded sleeve of my school hoodie. “You wear this garbage and think you can stand in my living room? Your dad owed us money. Why did he dump his trash on us?” I met her eyes. My voice was steady. “I can work. I won’t take up your space, and I won’t cost you a dime.” “How dare you talk back to me?!” Chloe lost it. There was a mug of freshly brewed, steaming hot tea on the side table. Chloe snatched it. The heat burned her fingers for a split second, but in the next, she swung her hand and threw the boiling liquid straight onto my bare arm and hand. The scalding water hit my skin. A searing, blinding pain exploded. My entire body shuddered, my muscles convulsing from the shock. Hot water dripped from my fingers onto the hardwood floor. Within seconds, my skin turned a violent, blistering red. But I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper, forcing the scream back down my throat. My eyes welled with tears, but I refused to let a single one fall. Chloe clapped her hands in delight, looking down at me with a smirk. “Now you know your place, trash.” A relative nearby cleared their throat and covered their face with a teacup. The housekeeper quickly turned back into the kitchen, pretending she hadn’t seen a thing. Victoria frowned slightly, but there was no anger in her voice. “That’s enough, Chloe. Don’t make a mess. Hazel, clean up the floor.”

Hazel’s POV Those words hurt far more than the scalding water. To the Vance family, my pain didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the puddle on their expensive floor. Click. The front door opened. Ethan walked in, his school jacket slung carelessly over his shoulder. The moment he stepped inside, his eyes landed on me, standing in the middle of the room with a horribly blistered hand. He froze. Chloe immediately complained, “Ethan, you’re just in time! Dad brought this charity case home, and when I tried to teach her some manners, she actually glared at me!” Ethan didn’t look at Chloe. His eyes were locked on my hand. My skin was already turning purple, and blisters were rapidly forming. I stared at him, a tiny, desperate plea in my eyes. But Ethan just stood there. His throat bobbed, and his fists clenched in his pockets. In the end, he said nothing. He averted his eyes, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and walked past me up the stairs. His heavy footsteps on the wooden stairs sounded like a series of dull, final thuds. Chloe sniffed, pointing at the floor. “What are you waiting for? Clean it!” I lowered my eyes and slowly knelt down. The rag was dirty and rough. The moment it touched my blistered skin, the pain was so intense I nearly blacked out. I bit my lip until it bled, switched to my other hand, and wiped the tea from the floor, drop by drop. That night, my room was pitch black, save for the weak glow of a small desk lamp. I stood over the tiny sink, running cold water over my hand. The icy water hit the raw blisters, making me break out in a cold sweat. I turned the tap on full blast, hoping the sound of rushing water would drown out my quiet, pathetic sobs. Suddenly, I heard a very soft rustling in the hallway. The footsteps stopped right outside my door. There was a tiny thump, like something soft hitting the floor. I froze and quickly turned off the tap. Outside, the footsteps quickly retreated, followed by the soft click of Ethan’s door closing at the far end of the hall. Taking a deep breath, I pulled my door open. In the dim light of the hallway, a small tube of ointment lay on the floor. It was a standard burn cream from the local pharmacy, still sealed in its plastic packaging. I picked it up and instinctively looked down the hallway. But Ethan’s door was shut tight. No light escaped from underneath. I went back inside, sat on the edge of my creaking cot, and carefully broke the seal. The cream was cool and soothing. The moment I spread it over my raw skin, the agonizing burning began to fade. In this cold, heartless house, everyone had laughed at me during the day. Even Ethan had chosen silence and cowardice. But now, this tube of medicine was real. I stared at the white cream on my red skin and slowly closed my hand around the tube. The aluminum tube bent under my grip. For the first time, the smell of mold in my room was replaced by the faint, clean scent of eucalyptus. Someone in this house saw my pain. But he was too cowardly to show it. He only dared to help me under the cover of darkness. Eventually, the burn healed, leaving a faint, jagged pink scar on my hand. I learned to become a shadow in the Vance mansion. I kept my head down, worked silently, and tried to exist like air. I thought if I was quiet enough, I could survive here until I graduated high school. But then, on a chilly afternoon in autumn, that illusion of peace was shattered.

Hazel’s POV That afternoon, Victoria ordered me to carry a heavy stack of freshly washed drapes up to the second floor. I was holding a pile so high it blocked my vision. As I passed Richard’s study, I noticed the door wasn’t fully closed. Richard’s voice drifted out. “The collapse at Mine No. 3 can’t be delayed any longer. The official accident report must be submitted to the federal inspectors tomorrow.” The mine manager’s anxious voice followed. “But Thomas’s family is still making noise. His wife went to the mine entrance again yesterday. She’s claiming Thomas warned the supervisor about the rotting support beams before he went down.” Thomas. Hearing my father’s name, my feet felt like they were glued to the floor. My blood ran cold. “What can a dead man do?” Richard sneered inside the room. “Write the report. Put all the blame on him. Say he ignored safety protocols, went down without clearance, and bypassed the safety locks. Make it sound as bad as possible.” “But some of the guys on his shift actually heard him complain about the equipment…” “So what?” Richard slammed his glass onto the desk, his voice turning deadly cold. “He is buried under tons of rock. The living still need to eat. Change the report.” The manager paused, then whispered, “And what about his family?” “Give them a ten-thousand-dollar settlement,” Richard dismissed. “If she thinks it is too little, tell her to sue. A broke widow with a minor kid. What is she going to do? But keep an eye on the daughter living in our house. Make sure no one leaks this to her.” The heavy drapes pressed hard against my chest. The rough fabric rubbed against the fresh scar on my hand, making my fingers tremble. My father, an honest miner who had worked hard his entire life, didn’t die in an unavoidable accident. He was buried alive because of their greed, and even in death, they were framing him to cover up their own crimes. And the murderer was sitting right behind that mahogany desk, using ten thousand dollars to buy off a man’s life. Two silent, freezing tears rolled down my cheeks, soaking into the drapes. I bit my lip hard, pressing my back against the wall, holding my breath so tightly my lungs burned. “Should we use the old company seal for the signature page?” the manager asked. “Yes,” Richard replied. “Don’t give the other miners too much hush money either, or it’ll look suspicious. The Thomas family is the trickiest part. Keep a close eye on the girl.” Footsteps started moving toward the door. I snapped out of my shock and tried to scramble backward with the heavy drapes. In my panic, my shoulder collided with a warm, solid chest. The drapes slipped from my arms, but before they could hit the floor, a pair of strong arms caught them. I looked up in terror, meeting Ethan’s dark, intense eyes. I didn’t know how long he had been standing behind me. He looked past me at the slightly ajar study door. “What are you doing here?” I quickly forced my tears back, grabbing the drapes back into my arms, my fingers shaking uncontrollably. “Mrs. Vance asked me to bring up the drapes… I got lost.” Ethan stared at my red eyes. His expression was a storm of unreadable emotions. “This is my dad’s study,” he whispered. “I know now.” I kept my head down, not daring to look him in the eyes, and practically ran toward the stairs. Behind us, the conversation in the study stopped. That night, the entire Vance family went out to a charity gala. Even the head housekeeper was called to help. The entire mansion was as empty and silent as a tomb. I waited in my dark room until the sound of their cars faded into the distance. I opened my eyes, reached under my cot, and pulled out a thin piece of wire and a rusty screwdriver. My father had taught me how to use these to bypass simple locks when we lived in the old cabin. Like a cat, I slipped up to the second floor. The lock on Richard’s study was simple. With a soft click, the door swung open. I shut the door behind me. I didn’t dare turn on the lights. Using only the faint moonlight spilling through the window, I crept toward the mahogany desk and pulled at the third drawer on the right. The manager had mentioned that’s where the “special files” were kept. I wiggled the wire into the lock. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird, and my palms were slick with sweat. The lock clicked. The drawer slid open. Inside, there were several thick, leather-bound ledgers. I didn’t mess them up. Instead, I took a photo of how they were arranged with my phone first. Then, I pulled them out one by one. Hidden between the pages of the ledger, I found the accident report sheets with the old company seal. On the liability page, my father’s name, Thomas, was circled heavily in black ink. Right next to it, it read: Cause of death: Employee negligence. Bypassed safety protocols. Solely responsible for the incident. Staring at those words, my fingers dug into the paper. They buried my father in the dark, and then they threw their dirt onto his name. I forced myself to stay calm. I raised my phone and lined up the camera. The accident reports, the forged signatures, the off-the-books bank transfers. I photographed every single page, clear as day. The wind rattled the windowpane outside, and I froze, holding my breath for several agonizing seconds. Once I was sure the yard was empty, I finished taking photos of the last page. I put everything back exactly the way it was. As I locked the drawer back up, the wire caught slightly, almost making a sound. I pressed my palm hard against the wood, slowly easing the lock back into place. Back in my room, I plugged my phone into my laptop. The blue screen light illuminated my pale, cold face. As the photos imported, I created a new encrypted folder. I named it with just a date. The date appeared on the desktop. It looked completely harmless, hiding the explosive secrets within. Once the transfer was complete, I opened the first photo. My father’s name, Thomas, was enlarged on the screen. The black ink looked like a scar on the white paper. I closed the folder and backed up the files to a hidden cloud drive. The laptop fan whirred softly. The Vances weren’t back yet. From that day on, I had a new chore in the Vance house. I began tracking every time Richard entered his study. How many times the mine manager visited. Which way the key turned in the desk lock.

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The elevator cable snapped. The sudden weightlessness slammed me hard against the metal wall. Suffocating from my failing heart, I gasped for air. Instinctively, I dialed my boyfriend, Ethan’s, number. Busy. Then, he hung up. A second later, a photo popped up on my Snapchat: “Chloe sprained her ankle. I’m at the ER getting her checked out.” In the five years we lived together, my weak heart sent me to the ER fifty-six times. Every single time I called him in a panic, his response was always the same: “Chloe needs me right now. I’ll help her out first, then come find you.” But he never showed up. Not once. I went to the ER fifty-six times alone. And fifty-six times, he was by Chloe’s side. Even on the day I got my terminal cardiac arrest warning, I was hit by a delivery truck at an intersection. When I called him, Chloe was the one who picked up. “Nora, I’m so sorry, my arm is acting up again,” she had cooed. “Ethan is busy cutting up my steak right now. His hands are full, so he can’t take your call.” Now, sparks flew as the elevator plummeted from the thirtieth floor toward the basement. “Ding.” A message from Ethan popped up on my phone: “Chloe is fine now.” “Are you still working late at the office? I’ll come pick you up.” I clutched my agonizing chest, my tears finally spilling over. Five years. He was finally offering to pick me up. But with a deafening crash, the elevator slammed through the concrete basement floor. He had no idea. This free-falling elevator… …had buried my tomorrow forever. He would never pick me up again. And I didn’t need him to anymore.

“Ethan, you should leave me. Go check on Nora.” In the sterile corridor outside the hospital’s orthopedic ER. Chloe sat in a wheelchair, gently tugging at Ethan’s sleeve. Her voice was quiet. It was just loud enough for the passing nurses to hear, dripping with self-reproach and anxiety. “Nora isn’t answering your calls. It must be because of my ankle,” Chloe murmured. “I ruined your dinner plans.” “My ankle really doesn’t hurt anymore. Some ice will do. Go find her.” Chloe lowered her head, her eyes rimmed with red, her fingers nervously twisting the thin blanket over her lap. “I don’t want a minor injury like this…” “…to cause another fight between you and Nora. I’d feel so guilty.” Heavy rain pelting the windowpanes made a dull, depressing sound. My soul drifted beneath the pale fluorescent lights of the corridor, silently watching them. Just half an hour ago, I was crushed into a bloody mess of flesh and metal at the bottom of the Midtown office building. And now, in this bizarre form… …I was forced to watch my boyfriend dote on another woman. Ethan stared at his phone screen. Still busy. He ran a hand through his hair and tugged at his tie in frustration. He grabbed his car keys and started to get up. But he froze when he heard Chloe’s voice. Sitting back down on the bench, he tucked the slipping blanket around Chloe’s knees. “You can’t even walk. How are you going to get home?” “The doctor said it’s not broken, but a soft tissue injury is still serious.” His tone was gentle, carrying a natural protectiveness that brooked no argument. “Nora might be stubborn, but she has common sense. She won’t throw a fit over something like this.” Chloe bit her lower lip, making her voice even softer. “But Nora hasn’t been looking well lately. What if she really has an emergency?” Ethan let out a soft laugh and shoved his phone into his pocket. “What emergency could she possibly have?” “She’s just throwing a tantrum because I came out to help you in the middle of the night. She turned off her phone to scare me.” “Once we get your meds, I’ll drop you off. I’ll stop by that French patisserie on the way back and get her favorite raspberry mille-feuille.” “I know her. She’ll stop sulking once she sees the dessert.” I hovered in the air, staring at his smug, confident face. He was always like this. So sure I could never leave him. So sure that no matter how biased he was, a little sweet treat would make me wag my tail and forgive him. He wheeled Chloe to the pharmacy for her meds, then drove her safely back to her apartment. Afterward, his sleek car pulled up in front of the famous French patisserie. It was late, but there was still a long line inside. Ethan was a man who lost his temper if a red light took longer than a minute. Yet, he patiently stood at the very back of the line. The cashier smiled warmly as she boxed the last signature mille-feuille and handed it to him. “You’re such a wonderful boyfriend, sir. Waiting in line so late just to buy her dessert.” Ethan took the elegant pastry box, a faint, proud smile gracing his lips. “She’s been in a bad mood lately. Just getting something sweet to cheer her up.” I watched him cradle the pastry box like it was some priceless treasure. Once, a rare gesture like this would have made me jump with joy for a week. But now, I only found it deeply ironic. He had the patience to wait thirty minutes in line for a pastry. Yet, he completely forgot that three months ago… …my doctor had strictly banned me from eating high-sugar foods due to my severe heart failure. He got back in his car and placed the box carefully on the passenger seat. He even reached over to lower the car’s AC temperature by two degrees. He was terrified the cream might melt in the heat. Having done all this, he dialed my number again. Only the cold, mechanical voicemail greeted him. Ethan frowned, his fingers tapping impatiently on the steering wheel. “She actually turned off her phone. Her tantrums are getting worse.” He started the engine, the windshield wipers rhythmically sweeping away the rain. My dead phone… …was currently crushed alongside my broken fingers, buried deep in the concrete cracks beneath thirty stories of rubble.

The smart lock beeped, and Ethan pushed open the door to our dark, quiet apartment. There were no lights on, and none of the usual warm aroma of dinner waiting for him. He stood at the entryway, staring at my flats neatly lined up by the shoe rack, looking utterly baffled. He had assumed that, as always… …no matter how angry I was, I would leave a reading lamp on by the couch to welcome him home. “Nora?” He called out tentatively. Only the sound of the rain outside answered him. Ethan changed into his slippers and flipped on the living room lights. Just then, his phone vibrated in his pocket. It was a long voice note from Chloe. “Ethan, did Nora get home? You guys aren’t fighting, right?” “It’s all my fault. I’m so clumsy for slipping on the stairs and making you run to the hospital in the middle of the night.” “If Nora is still mad, I can come over tomorrow and apologize to her in person.” “Even if she slaps me or yells at me, I just want you two to be happy.” Ethan unbuttoned his collar with one hand and sat down on the couch. He pressed the voice message button, his tone filled with weary reassurance. “She’s not home. Probably staying at a friend’s place.” “She’s just insecure and loves going off the grid to get attention.” “Don’t worry about it. Just keep icing your ankle.” “Tomorrow is our fifth anniversary. I booked a restaurant. She’ll show up.” I stood right by the coffee table, watching him finish the voice note and set the elegant pastry box down. The bottom of the box pressed directly onto a face-down hospital document. It was the “Critical Heart Failure Warning” I had received yesterday afternoon, which I hadn’t had the chance to show him yet. He didn’t even wonder what the paper was. He casually pushed it aside to make room for his car keys. Ethan stood up, tossed his tie aside, and walked into the bathroom. In front of the vanity mirror sat my usual toiletries. He turned on the faucet, his eyes drifting lazily across the marble counter. In the corner lay an empty, discarded bottle of my emergency heart medication. Ethan paused. He picked up the empty bottle, glanced at the worn label, and shook his head. With a flick of his wrist, he swept it into the trash can under the sink. “Always trying to scare me with her meds. She needs a new trick.” He muttered his low grumble, but it wasn’t malicious. He was simply exhausted by what he assumed was a desperate plea for attention. My translucent fingers drifted through the plastic bottle in the trash. Yesterday morning, he had been in a rush to drive Chloe to a job interview. My chest had been painfully tight, and I tried to hold him back, only for him to shove my hand away. “Chloe’s interview is extremely important! Stop causing drama right now, will you?” In the commotion, I had knocked over my water glass. My last three emergency pills spilled into the sink, washing down the drain before I could grab them. After his shower, Ethan dried his hair and walked into the bedroom. He lay down on our king-sized bed, taking his usual spot on the left. He unlocked his phone, opened our chat, and typed: “I’m picking you up from work tomorrow. Stop playing games. I bought you a gift.” After hitting send, he tossed his phone onto the nightstand. He closed his eyes, his breathing soon becoming steady and deep. He fell fast asleep without a single worry, utterly convinced that when the sun rose tomorrow, everything would go right back to normal, just like it always did.

The next evening, for the first time ever, Ethan left his executive office early. He wore the dark, custom-tailored suit that I had painstakingly ironed for him two nights ago, ignoring my racing heart. He adjusted his cufflinks in the elevator mirror, a smile playing on his lips as he drove toward the high-end jewelry boutique downtown. “Mr. Vance, the custom diamond ring you ordered last month is ready.” Wearing white gloves, the store manager respectfully presented him with a sleek velvet box. Ethan opened it. Resting inside was a flawlessly cut pink diamond. “Your girlfriend is going to be thrilled with this fifth-anniversary gift.” The manager added with a polite smile. Ethan stared at the ring, a confident smirk touching his lips. He walked out of the store, got into his car, and instinctively dialed my number to see if I was still mad. Once again, the only response was: “The user you have dialed is currently unavailable.” The smile faded slightly from his face, and his grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Still acting up.” Grumbling under his breath, he started the engine, intending to drive straight to my office and corner me. Right then, Chloe’s caller ID flashed on his screen. The moment Ethan pressed answer, a deafening crash of shattering glass echoed through the speaker. Following it was Chloe’s stifled, agonizing cry and sharp gasps for air. “Ethan… help me.” Ethan’s face went pale. He sat bolt upright. “Chloe? What’s wrong? What happened!” “I… I accidentally knocked over the boiling kettle. My legs… they’re covered in blisters.” Her voice grew fainter, sounding incredibly vulnerable yet trying to remain brave. “I’m sorry, Ethan. I forgot today is your fifth anniversary. Go find Nora.” “I can call 911 myself. It’s really fine.” Ethan glanced at the velvet ring box on the passenger seat and blurted out: “Don’t move! Burns are serious. Stay right there, I’m coming with first-aid ointment right now!” “But Nora will be furious.” Chloe sobbed softly on the other end. “Ethan, I don’t want to be the reason you two fight.” “She didn’t come home last night. If you don’t spend tonight with her…” This calculated, fragile show of selflessness instantly obliterated the last shred of Ethan’s logic. He spun the steering wheel wildly, making an illegal U-turn across the double yellow lines. The car sped like an arrow toward Chloe’s neighborhood. “I’ll explain it to her! She’s not that petty!” “This is an emergency. She knows how to prioritize.” My soul sat in the backseat, watching his tense profile. I watched him, once again, abandon me without a second thought, all because of another woman’s delicate “thoughtfulness.” He actually believed his endless favoritism was a sign of “trusting my maturity.” Stopping at a red light, he grabbed his phone and shot me a quick message on Snapchat: “Chloe got badly burned by boiling water. She’s alone and severely hurt.” “I’m going to help patch her up first, then I’ll meet you at the restaurant.” “Give me half an hour. I’ll make it up to you with the ring tonight.” He hit send and tossed the phone back onto the console. He was absolutely certain that as long as he had this multi-million-dollar ring… …it wouldn’t matter how late he was, or whom he was late for. I would be sitting in the corner of that restaurant, waiting for him without a single complaint.

At 8:40 PM, soft cello music echoed through the upscale French restaurant. Ethan burst through the entrance, slightly out of breath, his dark suit jacket draped over his arm. On the cuff of his white shirt… …was a faint water stain from cleaning up Chloe’s floor. The host greeted him politely and led him to a prime window seat. “Mr. Vance, your table has been kept for you. Shall we start serving the dishes?” Ethan looked at the empty, candlelit table. My chair was vacant. A sudden wave of unease hit him, but it was quickly overridden by sheer irritation. He tossed his jacket onto the back of the chair and pulled the velvet box from his pocket. With a sharp “thud”, he slammed the custom ring box onto the table. “Serve what? She isn’t even here! Am I supposed to eat with a ghost?” Startled by his sudden outburst, the host quickly bowed and backed away. Ethan angrily unbuttoned two more buttons on his shirt, his chest heaving. “I rushed over as fast as I could! Chloe was practically skinned by that boiling water!” “Was I supposed to leave her home alone to rot?” He gestured to the trembling server, his voice harsh. “Bring me some ice water. Now.” I drifted opposite him, quietly watching him stab the pristine white tablecloth with his silver fork in frustration. I watched him unleash his petty anger over my absence. He felt wronged. He thought that since he was giving me a priceless diamond ring, I had no right to punish him with this silent treatment. The ice water arrived, condensation pooling at the base of the glass. Ethan took a huge gulp, grabbed his phone, and held down the microphone button. “Nora, I’m giving you exactly ten more minutes.” “If you’re going to hold our anniversary hostage and act this immature, I’m done with you!” He released his thumb, and the voice message sent. The little bubble sat lonely at the bottom of the chat. There was no instant “Typing…” indicator popping up. Only dead silence. Thirty seconds later… …the phone on the table vibrated violently. The ringtone shattered the quiet restaurant atmosphere. Thinking I had finally caved, Ethan checked the screen—but it was an unknown landline. The caller ID read: NYPD Precinct. His finger hovered for a second before he frowned and answered. “Who is this?” His voice still carried traces of lingering irritation. A serious, professional male voice replied on the other end. “Is this Ethan Vance?” “Yes.” “This is the precinct. There was a fatal elevator crash at the Midtown office building last night. While clearing the scene, we recovered a female body.” Ethan’s grip on his water glass tightened so hard his knuckles turned white. “The victim’s phone was completely crushed, but we managed to recover the SIM card. Your number was the only emergency contact listed.” “Please come to the Forensic Medical Center immediately to identify the body.”

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To prepare for our Valentine’s Day date, I loaded ten thousand dollars onto my VIP house account at a three-star Michelin restaurant. But my boyfriend stood me up at the last minute, claiming he had to work overtime. So, I took my best friend instead. Only to see my “hardworking” boyfriend down on one knee, offering a diamond ring to another girl. He didn’t just bring his new side-chick; he also brought a whole crowd of his parasitic friends. “I’m proposing today! Eat and drink whatever you want, guys—it’s all on me!” He held the mic, looking like the king of the world. That was when I realized the black VIP card in my purse was missing. Stealing my prepaid card to fund a grand proposal for his mistress? Did he really think I was that big of a fool? When it was time for the bill, he slapped the card on the table to show off. But the manager smiled politely and handed it back: “Sir, the cardholder just reported this card lost. It has been deactivated. How would you like to pay this hundred and thirty thousand dollar bill?”

For tonight’s date, I cancelled all my important meetings at the company and left early. I spent three hours getting ready. This was supposed to be our fourth Valentine’s Day together—mine and Tyler’s. I was full of anticipation, waiting for him to come home. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was a Snapchat message from Tyler. “Stella, something urgent came up at the office. I have to work overtime. I won’t make it tonight.” Looking at the screen, all my excitement evaporated into cold disappointment. My best friend, Chloe Bennett, called me. Hearing the sadness in my voice, she drove over immediately. “Stella Vance, get a grip! You are not going to cry over some guy!” Seeing me looking so miserable, she scolded me but dragged me off the couch anyway. “Let’s go! If he won’t take you out, I will! You look too gorgeous to waste this outfit!” Our destination was the three-star Michelin restaurant where I had just loaded ten thousand dollars onto my VIP account last week. I had thought it would be our special romantic spot. But as soon as our car pulled up, I froze. In the main lobby, there was a massive rose arch. It was tacky and loud. And standing right beneath it was none other than Tyler Sterling. He was wearing the custom $15,000 bespoke suit I bought for him. I had imagined him wearing it to propose to me a thousand times. But now, he was down on one knee, holding a massive diamond ring, looking up adoringly at another girl. I recognized her. Bambi Miller, the new intern at Tyler’s company. Just two days ago, Tyler was complaining to me. “These Gen Z interns don’t know how to do anything. I have to hold her hand through every single task. It’s exhausting.” Yet here he was, looking at Bambi with eyes so tender they could melt. “Bambi, before I met you, I never believed in marriage.” “But now, I can’t picture my life with anyone else.” That cheesy line. He had used the exact same words on me three years ago. Bambi blushed, holding out her hand to let him slide the ring on. His group of freeloading friends cheered wildly around them. “Kiss her! Kiss her!” “She’s beautiful, Tyler! You’re a lucky man!” My blood ran cold. Anger and betrayal choked me. Three years ago, when he started his company, he couldn’t even afford a tiny office space. I was the one who gave him $150,000 as seed money. When his cash flow dried up and he was evicted for not paying rent, I took him in. I let him live in my downtown luxury penthouse. I did everything to pave the way for his success.

And yet, he was using my money to throw a party for his friends and promise his life to another woman. Chloe was so furious she rolled up her sleeves, ready to storm in. “I am going to rip that bastard and his side-piece apart!” I grabbed her arm. Tyler’s personal credit cards were completely maxed out. Where did he get the confidence to throw such a lavish party? I looked down and opened my designer handbag. Sure enough, the black VIP card for this restaurant was gone. I looked back up, narrowing my eyes at Tyler under the flower arch. Ha. Tucked into the left pocket of his custom suit jacket was a familiar sliver of black and gold. The host led Chloe and me upstairs to a private booth with a perfect, hidden view of the lobby. Just as I sat down, a Snapchat notification popped up. “Stella, this client is being super difficult. I don’t think I’ll make it back tonight. Go to sleep, don’t wait up.” And then, another one. “I ordered your favorite takeout to the penthouse. Eat it while it’s hot. Love you!” Through the one-way glass of the booth, I watched him. One hand was typing the message on his phone, while the other was wrapped around Bambi’s waist, his fingers tracing her skin. My stomach churned. I felt like throwing up. Chloe shoved her phone in front of my face, her eyes burning with rage. Bambi had just posted on Instagram. It was a photo of her hand with the diamond ring resting against Tyler’s cheek. The caption was incredibly bold: “An old woman’s money is so easy to spend. But he still loves me the most ~” “Old woman?” He was using my money to play the rich gentleman, while his little mistress insulted me. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. I pressed the button to page the restaurant manager. In less than two minutes, a well-dressed, middle-aged man walked in. “Good evening, ma’am. How can I help you tonight?” I pulled up my ID and the electronic receipt of my VIP account registration on my phone. “My name is Stella Vance. I am a Black Card member here. I’ve lost my physical card, and I need to report it stolen and lock the account immediately. Please issue me a new one.” The manager quickly verified my identity on his tablet. “Of course, Ms. Vance. I will process that right away.” Five minutes later, a brand-new black VIP card was placed in my hand. Out of professional courtesy, the manager leaned in before leaving. “Ms. Vance, I should inform you. Our system shows that your old card is currently being used downstairs.” “As of right now, the pending charge is thirty-eight thousand dollars.” He paused, checking my expression. “Would you like us to call the police, or have security escort them out?” I picked up my glass of 1982 Château Lafite and swirled the dark red liquid. “No need for the police.” “From now on, my account only authorizes my signature and this new card.” The manager was a smart man. He understood instantly, bowed politely, and left. Downstairs, the cheering grew louder. “Tyler! I heard Vanguard Capital is officially signing the contract with you tomorrow? That’s a multi-million dollar investment! You’re going to be filthy rich!” “Yeah! Don’t forget about your day-ones when you make it big, Boss!” Tyler was drunk on the flattery. He stepped onto a chair, raising his voice so the whole restaurant could hear him.

“Of course! Tonight, order whatever you want. Get the most expensive things on the menu—it’s all on me!” He looked down at Bambi’s adoring eyes and playfully pinched her nose. “Babe, next month, we’re flying to Paris to pick out your haute couture wedding dress. My woman deserves nothing but the absolute best!” Hearing this, his leech-like friends exchanged looks. Eager to take advantage of his “generosity,” they snatched the menus and started ordering frantically. They didn’t spare anything with gold leaf or extra zeros on the price tag. Chloe watched with pure amusement. She pulled out her phone, logged into a burner Snapchat account, and easily slipped into their group chat. She pretended to be a wealthy heir who knew his luxury wines. She started sending photos of high-end bottles into the chat, adding fuel to the fire. “Today is Tyler’s big day!” “How can you celebrate without Romanée-Conti? Anything less is an insult to the bride!” The freeloaders downstairs saw the message and immediately chimed in. “Holy crap! The king of wines!” “Tyler! We need this! Pop a bottle of Romanée-Conti!” Tyler’s face froze for a second. But he tapped the black card in his pocket. He figured the VIP card had unlimited credit anyway, and the bill would go straight to Stella Vance. With that safety net, he stood tall again. “Open it! We’re celebrating tonight. Let’s drink!” The server soon brought out two vintage bottles of Romanée-Conti. With a loud pop, the expensive wine was poured, pushing the party to a whole new level of hysteria. Bambi clung to Tyler like a koala, whispering sweet nothings. “Tyler, you’re so good to me.” Tyler was practically floating. He pulled a blue velvet box from his pocket. “Do you like it? It’s yours.” Inside was a Cartier diamond necklace, sparkling under the chandeliers. My eyes narrowed. That necklace was from my private collection. I hadn’t even worn it yet! Then, my gaze drifted to the limited-edition Hermès Birkin bag sitting next to Bambi’s chair. On the handle, there was a custom-tied Alice in Wonderland silk scarf. I had tied that knot myself! No wonder I felt like things had been going missing from my closet lately—bags I rarely used, jewelry I only wore once or twice, expensive perfumes. Whenever I asked, Tyler would lie right to my face. “Babe, you’re just working too hard and forgetting where you put things. Check the drawers again.” It turned out this leech had been treating my closet as his personal free-gift shop! Unbelievable. Stealing from me to impress his mistress. Bambi squealed in delight, letting Tyler fasten the necklace around her neck before taking dozens of selfies. At that moment, Tyler excused himself to go to the restroom, walking toward the stairs. A second later, my phone rang. “Stella, are you asleep?” Tyler’s voice came through, thick with fake exhaustion. “I’m still out drinking with the client. My head is spinning. But hey, I have to grind for our future.” I forced down my disgust and replied quietly. “Sounds tough.” Tyler didn’t notice the coldness in my voice. He kept making promises.

“Just wait for me, Stella. Once we close the deal with Vanguard Capital tomorrow, we’ll get our marriage license.” He hung up, put on his smug smile, and walked back to the party. The server handed him the updated bill. The pending charge had climbed to ninety-four thousand dollars. Downstairs, the proposal had devolved into absolute chaos. A tipsy Bambi kicked off her heels and stood right on the expensive dining chair. She raised her champagne glass high. “Thank you everyone for witnessing our love!” The freeloaders lined up to toast them, spewing shameless flattery. “Congrats, Boss! You got the beauty and the money!” “You’re a genius, Tyler! Success in career and love!” “Exactly! Tyler’s new girl is so young and hot. Way better than that stiff, boring ex-girlfriend of yours!” When someone brought me up, Tyler didn’t stop them. He laughed even harder. His face was red with alcohol as he waved a dismissive hand. “Stella Vance? Please.” “She’s an old woman pushing thirty. How can she compare to my Bambi? Bambi is young, fresh, and actually knows how to treat a man.” Tyler hiccuped, continuing his drunken rant. “If she didn’t have those industry connections, I would’ve dumped her long ago.” “Once I sign the deal tomorrow, I’ll take over all her clients.” “Then I’ll kick her to the curb and tell her to get lost!” Bambi giggled, leaning in to give him a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “You’re amazing, babe. I knew I was the only one in your heart.” She looked around the room, pointing at a few tables of random diners in the corner. “Babe, I’m just so happy today!” “Why don’t we buy a round for everyone in the restaurant? Let them celebrate with us!” Drunk on ego, Tyler didn’t even look at the menu prices. He waved his hand and roared to the room. “No problem!” “Tonight, everything is on Tyler Sterling!” His friends cheered, raising their glasses. “Now that’s a real boss!” Applause broke out across the restaurant. I glanced at my Patek Philippe watch. 9:30 PM. Perfect timing. I leaned back against my chair, waiting for the show to start. Downstairs, the noise began to die down. A tipsy Tyler, surrounded by his entourage, walked over to the hostess stand. He pulled out my black VIP card, pinching it between two fingers, and slammed it onto the counter. “Charge it.” The manager looked at the card. Then, he smiled politely and pushed it back. “Sir, the cardholder reported this card lost an hour ago. It is deactivated. How would you like to pay this hundred and thirty thousand dollar bill?” Tyler’s smug smile cracked, piece by piece. He grabbed the card, stared at it, and slammed it down again. “Stolen? This is my card!” “Is your machine broken? Run it again!” The manager remained calm and professional. He turned the screen toward Tyler. “Sir, our system shows that the owner, Ms. Stella Vance, verified her identity and reported the card lost in person one hour ago.”

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My mother-in-law, Helen, dragged a four-year-old boy in front of me and claimed he was my husband’s love child. She sobbed hysterically: “My son made a mistake, but the child is innocent. Just accept him, Chloe.” The mistress stood beside her, cradling her pregnant belly, wiping away tears. “Chloe, I don’t want to steal your husband. But a child needs a father…” I remained silent, looking at my husband. Ethan’s face was pale with anger. “No way! I don’t even know her!” The mistress sobbed and threw a paternity test on the table. It showed a 99.99% match. Overnight, the internet branded me as the “evil, barren wife holding onto a marriage that isn’t hers.” In court, the judge asked me if I had anything to say. I smiled, pulled out a medical file, and tossed it on the table. “Your Honor, take a look at this, and then tell me if this child could possibly belong to my husband.” The entire courtroom gasped. “That’s impossible!” …… “Chloe, look who’s here.” I turned around. My mother-in-law, Helen, stood there with a young woman holding a little boy. Helen’s eyes were red, and her voice trembled. “This is Ethan’s child.” The kitchen knife slipped from my hand, clattering loudly against the floor tiles. “Helen, what did you just say?” I stared at the boy, my mind going completely blank. Helen gently pushed the boy forward. “His name is Leo.” Leo. He shared my husband’s family name, Carter. My heart sank. I stood up. “You can’t just claim things like this. Ethan has been home every single day. How could he have a secret child?” “Why not?” Helen’s voice rose. “Five years ago, right after you two got married, Ethan had a business dinner and drank too much. He ended up with Vanessa… just that one time.” Tears began to stream down her face. “I didn’t know either. I only found out two days ago. Vanessa raised this boy all by herself. Do you have any idea how hard it has been for her?” The woman she called “Vanessa” stepped out from behind her. She looked to be about twenty-five, with swollen, teary eyes. She spoke in a voice so quiet it was barely a whisper. “Mrs. Carter, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to disrupt your life. But my boy… he needs a father.” I stared at her for a few seconds. “You claim he’s my husband’s. Do you have proof?” Helen immediately pulled a sheet of paper from her purse and slapped it onto the coffee table. “This is a DNA paternity test! Black and white!” I picked it up and scanned it. It was issued by the state general hospital. The “alleged father” was listed as Ethan Carter, and the child was Leo Carter. The conclusion: Paternity probability 99.99%. My hands shook slightly. This was absurd. “Does Ethan know?” I asked. Helen’s expression flickered. “Not yet. I was afraid he wouldn’t be able to handle it…” “So you came to me first?” Helen wiped her tears. “You’re his wife. Of course I had to talk to you first.” “Chloe, I know this is hard for you. But what’s done is done. The child is already here. You have to take a stand.” I looked at the little boy. He hadn’t cried once. He just stared at the adults with big, confused eyes. He didn’t even realize he was being used as a weapon. Vanessa spoke up again, her voice soft as cotton. “Mrs. Carter, I’m not here to take anything from you. I just want Leo to have a father. He gets bullied at preschool. The other kids laugh at him because he doesn’t have a dad…” She wiped her nose, sniffing miserably. “I don’t want your family’s money, I swear. I’m just an ordinary girl with no college degree and no skills. Raising a child alone is just too hard…” Hearing this, Helen cried even harder. “Look at how hard she has it! Chloe, do you have a heart? Where is your sympathy?”

I took a deep breath. “Helen, let’s wait until Ethan gets home.” “Wait for what?” Helen snapped. “The proof is right here! Are you still doubting it? Are you just afraid this boy will take a cut of your inheritance?” “I never said anything about money.” “Then you just refuse to accept him!” Helen pointed a finger at my face. “Let me tell you, Chloe. I am accepting this boy as my grandson, no matter what! If you try to stop me, you’ll have to go through me!” Vanessa gently tugged at Helen’s sleeve. “Please don’t fight… She has her own worries. I can wait…” She said she could “wait,” but her tears fell even faster. Watching this little show, I let out a cold laugh inside. Not in a hurry? Then why did you bring the child right to my doorstep? I pulled out my phone and sent a message to my husband on Snapchat: “Your mom brought a kid to our house. She says he’s your love child. She even has a paternity test. Get home now.” Ethan arrived in twenty minutes. He looked incredibly pale, sweat dripping down his forehead. “Mom, what is going on?” Helen grabbed his hand, her voice cracking. “Ethan, I know this is a shock, but this boy is really yours. Look at his face. He looks exactly like you did when you were little…” Ethan yanked his hand away and glared at Vanessa. “Who are you? I don’t even know you.” Vanessa’s eyes welled with tears again. “Ethan, you don’t remember me? Five years ago, at your company’s annual gala…” “What gala? I never went to any annual gala!” Ethan’s voice cracked with rage. “Since we got married, I’ve come straight home every single day. When did I ever go out drinking?” “Ethan!” Helen chided. “How can you say that? She’s a young woman who raised your child alone! Even if you don’t want to accept the boy, how can you pretend you don’t know her?” “Mom, I don’t know her! What do you want me to admit?” Vanessa covered her face and sobbed. She cried quietly, shoulders shaking, tears slipping through her fingers. The little boy hugged her, starting to cry too, whimpering, “Mommy.” Anyone watching this would feel their heart break. But my heart was as cold as stone. Because I knew my husband. He couldn’t have cheated on me. Because… After a moment, Vanessa looked up, her face streaked with tears. “Ethan, I know you don’t want to admit it, and that’s fine. I didn’t come here to force you. I just wanted Leo to see you, to know he has a dad…” She pulled an envelope from her bag and handed it over with both hands. “These are Leo’s photos, from when he was a baby until now. Keep them. If you don’t want them, you can just throw them away.” Ethan didn’t reach for them. Helen snatched them, tearing open the envelope to reveal a stack of photos. The first was a newborn photo, the second at three months, the third from his first birthday… On the back of each photo, there were handwritten notes: “Leo is one month old, he smiled today,” “Leo called me Mommy today, I’m so happy.” Helen flipped through them, her body trembling with tears. “Ethan, look at him. He’s so sweet. He’s your flesh and blood…” Ethan’s expression was dark as thunder. “Mom, I told you. This is not my child!” “How can you say he isn’t?” Helen suddenly turned on me, her eyes vicious. “Chloe, did you say something to him? Are you forbidding him from accepting his own son?”

“Helen, I didn’t say anything.” “It must be you!” Helen pointed her finger at my nose. “You’re just terrified of this boy taking your inheritance! Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. You’ve been married to my son for six years, and you haven’t even given him a single child. Now you won’t even let him have his own?” Those words were like a dagger thrust straight into my chest. Barren. I had heard that whispered behind my back for six years. Every Thanksgiving dinner, every family reunion, when relatives asked, “When are you starting a family?” Helen would always be the first to chime in: “Oh, who knows? Maybe her body just isn’t up to it.” Later, she didn’t even bother to hide her disdain. She would say right at the dinner table: “I don’t know what cursed fate brought us a woman who can’t even get pregnant.” Ethan always defended me. But he couldn’t shield me forever. And today, she threw that insult right in my face in front of an outsider. “Mom,” Ethan’s voice was ice-cold. “If you want to blame someone, blame me. Do not talk to Chloe like that. I am the one who decided not to have kids. It has nothing to do with her.” Vanessa spoke up again, her voice trembling and weak. “Mrs. Carter, please don’t fight… It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have come…” “No, you were right to come!” Helen held her hand tightly. “In this house, the innocent shouldn’t be the ones bowing down!” The days that followed were a living nightmare. A post went viral on a local Facebook group with a sensational headline: [Barren High-Society Wife Denies Husband’s Secret Son His Birthright]. The post was written with agonizing detail. “My name is Vanessa. I’m a single mother. Four years ago, I gave birth to a boy. His father is a prominent business owner in this city.” “He was already married, and because I didn’t want to ruin his family, I raised our boy alone.” “But now, my son is sick and needs his father’s medical history. I had no choice but to find him.” Below the post was a photo of the little boy crying outside our front door—obviously taken in secret. The comments section exploded. “Is this wife insane? Keeping a sick kid away from his dad?” “The poor boy is sick! He just wants to see his father. How cold-hearted can you be?” “The husband is trash too. Sleeping around and refusing to take responsibility!” “Single moms unite! Expose this toxic couple!” Soon, someone doxxed me. My phone blew up. Hundreds of threatening text messages from unknown numbers poured in. “Are you the monster keeping a sick child from his dad? Have some shame!” “Can’t get pregnant yourself, so you won’t let anyone else have a baby? What a psycho!” “I hope you stay barren forever!” Every single text sliced into me. Even Ethan’s company was targeted. Protesters showed up outside his office building holding signs: “Ethan Carter, Face Your Son,” and “Deadbeat Dad, Give Your Child a Father.” His business partners called him. “Ethan, what is going on with this internet scandal?” Ethan spent hours explaining, but even though they sounded understanding, their tones had shifted. That’s how these things go. Once you’re accused, the truth doesn’t seem to matter. You will always be “the guy with the secret kid.” One evening, Ethan came home from work looking completely drained. “What happened?” I asked. “A major client just backed out of our contract,” he said, leaning back on the couch and closing his eyes. “They said they can’t do business with someone of ‘questionable moral character’.” I sat beside him and took his hand. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I dragged you into this.” “You didn’t drag me into anything,” I replied. “Someone is targeting us.” A week later, we received a court summons. Vanessa was suing us. She was demanding legal recognition of paternity, retroactive child support, medical expenses, and emotional distress damages—totaling three million dollars. Her lawyer told the local news: “Three million is a perfectly reasonable cost to raise a child. If the other party is willing to cooperate, we can settle out of court.” Three million. She knew exactly how much our family was worth. She chose a number that would hurt, but not enough to make us fight to the death. This woman was incredibly calculating. On the day of the hearing, it was raining. I wore a simple black coat and light makeup. Ethan held my hand, his palm soaked in sweat. “Don’t worry,” I whispered. He let out a dry laugh. “I’m not worried. I just find this whole thing incredibly absurd.” Absurd. That was an understatement for the circus our lives had become. A crowd had gathered outside the courthouse—reporters, onlookers, and internet trolls. Someone spotted me and yelled, “That’s her! The cold-hearted woman keeping a father from his sick son!”

I ignored them and walked straight into the courtroom. Vanessa was already seated at the plaintiff’s table. She wore plain, worn-out clothes, no makeup, and clutched an old cardigan. She looked exactly like a victim of a harsh world. Beside her sat a man in his late write-forties, sharply dressed in a suit—her attorney. Helen sat in the very front row of the gallery. She was dressed elegantly, her makeup done perfectly. She looked radiant, as if she were here to take her grandson home rather than attend a lawsuit. When she saw me, a flicker of guilt crossed her face, but she quickly looked away. The judge banged the gavel, and court was in session. The plaintiff’s lawyer stood up first. “Your Honor, my client, Vanessa, met the defendant, Ethan Carter, five years ago. The defendant hid his marital status and engaged in an intimate relationship with my client, resulting in pregnancy. After the child was born, the defendant refused to acknowledge him, leaving my client to raise him alone.” “The child has recently been diagnosed with an autoimmune disease and urgently requires the genetic history of both parents. My client requests this court to establish Ethan Carter’s legal paternity and order the defendant to pay three million dollars in child support, medical expenses, and damages.” As soon as he finished, Vanessa began to weep silently. Her shoulders trembled. It was a heartbreaking sight. Whispers erupted from the gallery. “Poor girl, raising a child alone for four years…” “The husband is absolute trash!” Helen sighed loudly right on cue, making sure everyone around her could hear: “Oh, what a tragedy…” The judge banged the gavel to restore order, then turned to us. “Does the defense have a response?” Ethan stood up, his voice steady but cold. “I do not know the plaintiff. Five years ago, I did not have an affair with anyone. This child is not mine.” Vanessa’s lawyer sneered. “Mr. Carter, we have a certified DNA paternity test right here showing a 99.99% match. Do you really think a simple denial is going to work?” The gallery gasped. “The proof is right there!” “He still denies it? How shameless!” “And his wife is just as bad, helping him cover it up!” Vanessa cried harder, burying her face in her arms on the table. Her lawyer spoke up. “Your Honor, my client is highly distressed. We request a five-minute recess.” Before the judge could rule, Helen stood up from the gallery. “Your Honor, please let me speak!” She wiped her eyes, her voice shaking. “I am the defendant’s mother, Helen Carter. I am here to tell the truth.” “This child is indeed my son’s. I didn’t believe it at first, but after seeing the DNA test, I had to accept the truth.” She turned toward the spectators, tears streaming down her face. “As his mother, I am deeply sorry to Vanessa and the boy. For four years, this child had no father, and Vanessa suffered alone…” “I stand here today because I want justice for this mother and child!” A few people in the gallery actually clapped. Someone shouted, “Now that is a righteous mother-in-law!” Another yelled, “Unlike that cold-blooded daughter-in-law!” Every eye in the room turned to glare at me. Those looks were filled with disgust, contempt, and hatred. I slowly stood up. “Your Honor,” my voice wasn’t loud, but it carried clearly across the quiet room. “I have evidence to submit.” I pulled a manila folder from my bag. Every eye locked onto the envelope. The judge opened it, his brow furrowing instantly. “This is…” The judge paused. I cleared my throat and spoke clearly, emphasizing every single word: “This is an official surgical record from five years ago, dated November. The procedure was a vasectomy.” “The patient’s name is Ethan Carter.” The entire courtroom fell dead silent.

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Eight years of love. He quit smoking and drinking for me. He even sent his childhood best friend abroad, just to beg for my forgiveness. I thought I was the exception in his life. Until that sudden multi-car pileup. At the critical moment of life and death, he yanked the steering wheel hard, keeping the passenger seat where Olivia sat in the safest angle. He shielded her with his own body, leaving me trapped in the back seat, crushed inside the mangled car. At that moment, floating bullet comments appeared in the air, telling me that I was just a vicious villainess, while Olivia was the reborn female lead. Watching him carry Olivia away without once looking back, I finally realized that our eight years of devotion was nothing but a joke. I wiped the blood from my face, threw my engagement ring into the snow, and turned to marry the man who would always put his body on the line to protect me. The mountain pass was freezing, the wind cutting like a knife. The moment the multi-car pileup happened, an out-of-control heavy truck slammed straight into our SUV. Nicholas, in the driver’s seat, made his most instinctive choice in that split second. He spun the steering wheel hard to the left. The car tail-spinned violently, exposing the back seat—where I was sitting—directly to the oncoming truck. Meanwhile, he unbuckled his seatbelt and threw himself over the passenger seat, using his broad back to shield Olivia. “CRASH—” The deafening roar shattered the silence of the snowy mountain. The windows shattered instantly. Shards of glass rained down on me, stabbing deep into my arms and forehead. The crushing weight came from all sides. I was pinned inside the mangled frame, the metallic taste of blood filling my throat. It hurt. A gut-wrenching, agonizing pain. But through the pain, my vision was terrifyingly clear. I watched Nicholas kick open the warped door, carrying a completely unharmed Olivia in his arms as he stumbled out. He didn’t even look back at the back seat. Not a single glance at his fiancée of eight years, whom he had just personally pushed to the brink of death. “Olivia, don’t be scared. It’s okay, I’m here.” His voice trembled with a mix of relief and sheer panic. He had never used that tone with me. Right then, a faint blue glow flickered in the air. Lines of glowing text materialized out of nowhere, floating right above Nicholas and Olivia’s heads like ghosts. 【The reborn Olivia is brilliant!】 【She purposely damaged the brake pads to cause this accident, forcing Nicholas to choose in a life-or-death moment.】 【See? Nicholas’s body is the most honest.】 【Subconsciously, he has always loved Olivia. Who does that toxic Catherine think she is?】 【Catherine always uses breakup threats to manipulate him. This time, he finally sees his true heart.】 【Next, Catherine will definitely throw a massive tantrum at the hospital, pushing Nicholas completely away and ruining her own reputation.】 I stared blankly at the floating screen. Blood trickled down from my forehead, dripping onto my eyelashes and blurring my vision. Reborn? Vicious Catherine? Ignoring the agonizing pain, I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. It was the written promise Nicholas had signed on his knees in front of both our families just two weeks ago, begging for my forgiveness for the ninth time. Bold black ink on white paper: “I, Nicholas Vance, swear to never see Olivia again. If I break this vow, I will gladly accept any consequences.” At the time, his eyes were bloodshot. He held me tight, saying he would cut off everyone else just for me. He said, “Catherine, you are the only exception in my life.” And I believed him. I thought the playboy had finally changed. I thought our eight years of history had finally paid off. But now, this written promise was soaked in my own blood. The glaring crimson felt like a vicious slap to my face. The sirens of the rescue team echoed from a distance. As the hydraulic rescue tools cut open the deformed door, the paramedics carefully lifted me onto a stretcher. When they wheeled me past Nicholas, he was kneeling in the snow, wrapping his heavy winter coat tightly around Olivia. Olivia huddled in his chest, shivering. Yet, her eyes secretly darted toward me, flashing a smug, victorious smile. Nicholas finally noticed me. He saw my blood-covered face. He saw me strapped to the stretcher. A flash of panic crossed his eyes. He instinctively tried to stand up. “Nicholas, my head hurts so much… Am I going to die…” Olivia cried out right on cue, clutching his coat. Nicholas froze instantly and squatted back down. He looked up at me, his brow furrowed with a touch of impatience and self-righteousness: “Catherine, it happened so fast. Olivia was in the front seat. I couldn’t just watch her die.” “Your injuries aren’t that bad. Be mature for once. Don’t start throwing a tantrum now.” *Be mature. Don’t throw a tantrum.* I looked at him, then at the floating comments: 【Nicholas chose Olivia as expected!】 【Catherine got what she deserved!】 It was laughably absurd. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just let go of my hand. The blood-stained promise slipped from my fingers, swept up by the cold wind, and landed right under Nicholas’s boots, crushed into the muddy snow. “Okay,” I said, my hoarse voice sounding incredibly clear against the howling wind. “I won’t throw a tantrum.” The stretcher was pushed into the ambulance. The moment the doors slammed shut, I closed my eyes, completely cutting off my eight years of foolish devotion.

The smell of disinfectant in the hospital was cold and sharp. In the ER, the doctor was pulling glass shards from my forehead and arms with tweezers. Every tug was excruciating, but I didn’t even flinch. Compared to the dead numbness in my heart, this physical pain was nothing. Once bandaged, I sat alone on a plastic chair in the hallway, waiting for my concussion test results. From the end of the hall, Nicholas rushed over. He was still wearing his snow-dampened sweater, holding a thermos of soup. Seeing the white gauze wrapped around my head, he paused, a fleeting look of guilt crossing his face. But he quickly masked it, walking up to me and holding out the thermos. “The doctor said it’s just superficial cuts and a mild concussion. You just need a few days of rest.” He looked down at me, his tone softening slightly. “I had the chef make some creamy clam chowder. Drink it while it’s hot.” I didn’t reach for it. My eyes bypassed him, landing on the floating screen hovering behind his head. 【Nicholas is still too soft-hearted. He actually brought Catherine soup.】 【Catherine will definitely use this to pick a fight, throw the soup, and scream at him.】 【The reborn Olivia already saw this coming. She had the chef add crushed peanuts—which Catherine is highly allergic to—into the soup. 】 【The moment Catherine throws a fit, Nicholas will be completely disgusted by her.】 I looked back and stared quietly at the thermos. “Where is Olivia?” I asked. Nicholas immediately frowned, his voice turning defensive. “She’s traumatized. The doctor said she needs absolute peace and quiet.” “Catherine, do you really have to pick a fight over petty things right now? She almost died.” “So, she was the one who asked you to bring me this soup?” I looked him straight in the eyes. Nicholas’s eyes flickered, avoiding my gaze. “I wanted to bring it. Olivia felt guilty, so she specifically asked the chef to add your favorite peanuts.” *My favorite peanuts.* We had been together for eight years. And he had no idea I was severely allergic to peanuts. Even a trace of it would give me hives and make it hard to breathe. Back then, to accommodate his tastes, I had forced myself to swallow peanut butter sandwiches, sneaking allergy meds afterward. He actually thought I loved them. And Olivia, of course, knew the truth. She had intentionally added peanuts to watch me make a fool of myself, to watch me go crazy. Looking at Nicholas’s face—a face I used to adore—I felt nothing but cold detachment. He felt like a total stranger. “I don’t want it.” My voice was flat. I didn’t throw the thermos like the comments predicted. I just leaned back, putting distance between us. Nicholas’s face darkened. “Catherine, are you done with this tantrum?” he muttered, his voice laced with annoyance at having his ego bruised. “I’ve already swallowed my pride to come apologize. What else do you want?” “The crash was an accident. It’s human instinct to protect whoever is closest. Was I wrong?” “You weren’t wrong.” I looked at him, my eyes as still as a stagnant pool. “Weighing the pros and cons, protecting the weak… you did the right thing.” He froze. He was used to my hysterics, my tears, and my accusations. My absolute calm made his heart skip a beat with sudden unease. “You…” He opened his mouth, trying to find words. Just then, his phone rang. The custom ringtone was Olivia’s voice: “Nicholas, pick up the phone~” It sounded incredibly grating in the quiet hospital corridor. Nicholas glanced at the screen and answered immediately. “Olivia? What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?” His voice instantly became tender and frantic. Olivia’s weak, tearful voice came through the line: “Nicholas, I’m so scared in the ward alone… It’s thundering outside. Can you come back and stay with me?” Nicholas gripped his phone, shooting a quick look at me. “I’m on my way.” He hung up, setting the thermos heavily on the empty seat next to me. “Olivia is emotionally unstable. I need to go check on her. Drink the soup, and stop making me worry.” With that, he turned and walked off toward the VIP suites without a second thought. The floating comments flashed frantically. 【Catherine was abandoned again!】 【Nicholas chose Olivia after all. Catherine must be crying her eyes out in the hallway right now.】 【Serves her right for being so toxic.】 Watching his back disappear around the corner, my lips curled into a cold, mocking smile. I stood up, picked up the thermos, and walked to the trash can at the end of the hall. With a flick of my wrist, I tossed the soup and the thermos straight into the bin. A heavy thud. Along with the eight years of my wasted youth, it was thrown into the trash. I didn’t look back as I walked out of the hospital. The snow had stopped. Breathing in the icy air, my mind had never been clearer.

Three days later, I unlocked the door to our penthouse. I had spent a whole year personally designing and supervising the renovation of this place. Every corner, every piece of furniture held my highest hopes for our future marriage. But now, the air was thick with the suffocating scent of cheap perfume. A pair of rhinestone-studded heels sat carelessly kicked aside by the entryway. A few lace bralettes were scattered across the leather sofa in the living room. Nicholas was in loungewear, carrying two plates of sliced fruit out of the kitchen. Seeing me at the door, he paused, his brow furrowing. “Why didn’t you tell me you were being discharged? I would have picked you up.” He walked over, reaching for my bag. I dodged his hand and walked straight toward the master bedroom. “No need. I’m just here to pack my things.” Nicholas’s face immediately darkened. He strode over and grabbed my wrist. “What kind of drama are you playing now? I was busy taking care of Olivia the past few days and couldn’t visit. Do you have to act out like this just to get my attention?” I stared coldly at his hand gripping my wrist, my gaze ice-cold. “Let go.” My voice wasn’t loud, but it carried an absolute, chilling finality. Nicholas flinched under my gaze and instinctively let go. “The heating in Olivia’s apartment broke, and she’s too weak to handle the cold. I let her stay here for a few days.” He tried to explain, his tone dripping with self-righteous justification. “Can’t you show a little basic compassion?” I ignored him, walked into the bedroom, and pulled out my suitcase. In the closet, my clothes had been shoved into a dusty corner, while most of the space was taken up by Olivia’s dresses. On the vanity, my expensive skincare products had been carelessly pushed aside to make room for her cluttered bottles. I didn’t touch anything she had contaminated. I only packed my documents, a few everyday outfits, and my most important personal belongings. Light footsteps pattered from the living room. Olivia stood at the bedroom doorway, barefoot, wearing my brand-new silk pajamas. Those pajamas were custom-made for our honeymoon. She had intentionally pulled the collar low, revealing a few suggestive red marks on her collarbone. “Catherine, please don’t blame Nicholas. I was just so scared, I begged him to bring me here.” Olivia looked at me with wide, innocent eyes, looking as if she were the victim. Holding a glass of water, she slowly walked over to the vanity. “Catherine, are you mad at me?” As she spoke, she fake-stumbled, deliberately bumping against the edge of the vanity. “CRASH—” The pendant sitting right in the center of the vanity was swept onto the floor along with her glass. The sharp sound of shattering glass and jade echoed through the room. The beautiful pendant was smashed to pieces. That was the heirloom my grandmother had left me on her deathbed. I had kept it safely on the vanity, terrified of losing it. I stopped packing and stared fixedly at the shattered fragments. The floating comments exploded again. 【Brilliant! Destroying the things Catherine cares about most is the way to go!】 【Catherine will definitely hit her now. The moment she does, Nicholas will despise her forever.】 【Can’t wait for the drama!】 Hearing the noise, Nicholas rushed in. Seeing the broken pieces on the floor, his frown deepened. “Olivia didn’t do it on purpose. Don’t look at her like you want to murder her.” He instinctively shielded Olivia behind him, blocking my view. “It’s just a pendant. It’s not worth much. I’ll have my assistant bid on ten better ones at the auction house tomorrow to make it up to you.” With one careless sentence, he dismissed the emotional anchor I had cherished for twenty years as worthless junk. Three years ago, to buy this penthouse, Nicholas had drunk himself to gastric bleeding while entertaining clients in a heavy rainstorm. Clutching my hand from his hospital bed, his face pale, he had promised: “Catherine, this home will only ever belong to you.” Back then, even a tiny frown from me would make him panic. Now, he thought my precious treasure was just a cheap object that could be bought with cash. I looked at him and suddenly laughed, tears stinging my eyes. “Nicholas, you can’t afford to replace this.” I zipped up my suitcase, lifted it, and walked out. “Catherine! If you walk out that door today, don’t ever think about coming back!” Nicholas roared in embarrassment and anger behind me. I paused at the entryway, pulled out my house key, and quietly placed it on the shoe cabinet. “The house is yours. Enjoy it.” I opened the door and stepped out into the freezing wind, never looking back.

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For seven years, Theodore gave all his love and attention to Audrey. I spent three agonizing years waiting for my big moment at the perfume awards, only for him to walk the red carpet with her instead. He even stole my exclusive fragrance formula and gave it to her. He always said, “Audrey lost her parents when she was young. She’s sensitive. You’re my girlfriend, Amber. You need to be the bigger person.” Until the day I threw the non-disclosure denial in his face and walked away. Later, the flawed formula Audrey stole caused widespread skin burns and allergic reactions, pushing Vance Group to the brink of bankruptcy. The once-mighty Theodore knelt at my door in the pouring rain, his eyes bloodshot as he begged: “Amber, I was wrong. Please, come back to me.” I wrapped my arm around the world’s most eligible billionaire and smiled down at him. “Mr. Vance, your late regrets are worth absolutely nothing.” The air conditioning backstage at the awards ceremony was freezing. I held the custom-made black suit I had personally designed for Theodore, my fingertips already numb from the cold. There were only ten minutes left before the red carpet started. When Theodore’s phone finally went through, it was Audrey’s whimpering voice on the other end: “Amber, I’m so sorry. I suddenly had a panic attack in the car.” “Theodore was trying to calm me down, and I accidentally wrinkled his suit…” Theodore took the phone, his voice laced with exhaustion and impatience: “Amber, Audrey is in a really bad state. I need to walk the red carpet with her first to calm her down.” “I can’t wear that suit anymore. Just walk the red carpet on your own.” I looked at my dressed-up reflection in the full-length mirror and asked softly, “Theodore, do you even remember what day it is today?” There was a brief silence on the other end. Today was the launch day of “Azure Veil,” the perfume I had spent three agonizing years developing. Today was also the day he had promised to propose to me in front of the entire industry. “Amber, can you not throw a tantrum right now?” Theodore’s voice sank, annoyed. “Audrey is a rookie. It’s her first time at an event like this, and she’s terrified.” “You’re already a famous perfumer in the industry. What’s the big deal with walking the red carpet alone?” I didn’t say another word and hung up. I raised my head. On the dressing room monitor, the red carpet live stream had already begun. Theodore stepped down from a black Maybach. He wasn’t wearing the suit I had prepared. Instead, he had changed into a pure white tuxedo that perfectly matched Audrey’s white gown. They looked like a perfect match. Audrey held his arm, her eyes still red and teary, looking like a helpless little deer. The host smiled and handed them the microphone. “Mr. Vance and Miss Audrey look stunning together today.” “May we ask what fragrance you two are wearing? The scent is incredibly unique.” Theodore looked down at Audrey, his eyes dripping with warmth. “It’s a new scent Audrey developed herself, called ‘Frost Kiss’.” “She was very nervous today. As her mentor, it’s only right that I give her some support.” The cameras flashed wildly. Looking at his tender expression on the screen, my heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand. “Frost Kiss.” That was a rejected base formula I had mixed in the lab three months ago after pulling several all-nighters. I had discarded it because the top note was too sweet and lacked depth. I had carelessly left it on the waste shelf. Now, it had become Audrey’s “Frost Kiss,” and the tool Theodore used to show his public favoritism. I tossed the custom suit into the nearby trash can. Theodore, since you chose Frost Kiss, you will never touch my Azure Veil again.

The awards ceremony ended, and I walked away with the Perfumer of the Year trophy. But the launch of “Azure Veil” was completely overshadowed by the hype surrounding “Frost Kiss.” By the time I returned to Theodore’s villa, it was already past midnight. The living room lights were on. Theodore was sitting on the couch, a velvet jewelry box resting on the coffee table. Hearing me come in, he looked up, his brow furrowed. “Why are you back so late? Why didn’t you answer my calls?” I took off my heels, my voice flat. “I had to do a few interviews after winning.” He stood up, walked over to me, and handed me the velvet box. “I’m sorry I couldn’t walk the red carpet with you today. This is a makeup gift. See if you like it.” I opened the box. Inside was a brilliant diamond necklace. But near the clasp, there was a tiny, barely noticeable scratch. Moreover, the box still smelled faintly of that cloyingly sweet “Frost Kiss.” I looked up at him. “You originally bought this necklace for Audrey, didn’t you?” Theodore’s face stiffened for a second, replaced quickly by irritation. “Audrey said the necklace was too expensive and didn’t suit her.” “I thought it matched your style, so I brought it back. Amber, do you really have to be this petty?” “You’re giving me something someone else rejected?” I tossed the box back onto the table. “Theodore, I don’t take leftovers.” “What is your problem?” His voice rose. “Am I not here with you now?” “Audrey has no parents, and she’s new to the company. What’s wrong with me looking out for her a little?” “As my future wife, can’t you show a little more grace?” “Future wife?” I laughed, tears practically pricking my eyes. “Theodore, when you stood on that red carpet today and told the cameras that Frost Kiss was Audrey’s original creation, did you think of me as your future wife?” Theodore’s eyes flickered with guilt, but his tone remained defensive. “It was just a discarded base note. You weren’t going to use it anyway.” “Audrey needed a solid release to establish her career. What’s wrong with me letting her borrow it?” “If it makes you feel better, I’ll have accounting transfer a million dollars to your account tomorrow to buy out the formula.” A million dollars. Three years of my hard work, countless nights of boiling and extracting, was worth only a million dollars to him. Looking at the man I had loved for seven years, he suddenly felt like a complete stranger. Years ago, to help him build the Vance Group’s fragrance line, I had smelled hundreds of raw ingredients a day until my nose almost lost its function. He had held me close with teary eyes, swearing he would never let me down. Now, for the sake of another woman’s career, he casually erased all my efforts. “I’m not selling,” I said, staring straight into his eyes. “Theodore, the formula for Frost Kiss belongs to me. I’m releasing a public statement tomorrow.” “Amber!” He grabbed my wrist, his grip painfully tight. “Do you have to take things to such an extreme? If you release that statement, Audrey’s career will be ruined!” “She’s so young. Why are you trying to destroy her?” Looking at his face, twisted with anger, I pried his fingers off my wrist, one by one. “I’m not destroying her. You are.”

The next morning, I went to Vance Group with my prepared statement. As soon as I stepped out of the elevator, I saw a crowd gathered outside my private lab. Audrey was standing in the center of the hallway, wearing a thin white shirt. Her eyes were red, and she looked like she might faint at any moment. Theodore shielded her behind him, barking at my assistant, Leo: “Is this how Amber taught you to behave?” “Audrey just wanted to borrow the centrifuge from the lab. What right do you have to block her?” Leo looked on the verge of tears. “Mr. Vance, Miss Amber gave strict orders. No one is allowed inside her lab.” “The final formula for ‘Azure Veil’ is in there…” “What final formula!” Theodore sneered. “The entire Vance Group belongs to me. I decide who goes in!” As he spoke, he reached for the keypad lock. “Theodore, don’t you dare touch that.” I pushed through the crowd, my voice icy. Seeing me arrive, Audrey immediately shrank further behind Theodore, her voice trembling. “Amber, please don’t blame Theodore. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have been greedy and wanted to use your high-end equipment… I’ll leave right now…” She turned to go but “accidentally” tripped, falling straight into Theodore’s chest. Theodore caught her steadily. When he looked up at me, his eyes were full of resentment. “Amber, look how terrified you’ve made her!” “It’s just a lab. What’s the password?” Looking at his self-righteous face, I found it utterly absurd. “Theodore, this is my private lab. Every piece of equipment in here was bought with my own money.” “It has nothing to do with Vance Group.” I stepped in front of the door, blocking the keypad. “If you want to get in, go get a warrant.” Theodore’s face completely darkened. “Amber, don’t push your luck.” “You are currently the chief perfumer of Vance Group. Your assets belong to this company!” “Is that so?” I pulled the statement and my resignation letter from my bag and slammed them against his chest. “Well, I’m not anymore.” Theodore froze. He stared down at the resignation letter, seemingly unable to believe his eyes. “You… you’re resigning?” He looked up, a flash of panic in his eyes, though it was quickly masked by anger. “Amber, don’t think you can threaten me with a resignation! Do you really think any other company will hire you if you leave Vance Group?” “That is none of your concern, Mr. Vance.” I shot a cold look at Audrey. “Furthermore, regarding the copyright of ‘Frost Kiss,’ I have already retained legal counsel.” “Mr. Vance, expect a lawsuit.” With that, I unlocked the door, walked into my lab, and began packing my things. Theodore stood outside, his face pale with fury. Audrey tugged at his sleeve, whispering timidly, “Theodore, is Amber really mad?” “Maybe I should just give Frost Kiss back to her. I don’t want it anymore…” “No need,” Theodore’s voice hissed from the hallway. “She’s just playing hard to get. Once she’s threw her tantrum, she’ll crawl back on her own.” My hand paused as I packed my files, and a cold smile spread across my face. Crawl back? Theodore, you will never understand. The moment you trampled on my hard work to please another woman, we were completely finished.

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My father has complete face blindness. To him, the human face is a shifting puzzle he can never quite solve. Forty years ago, someone drugged him at a high society gala, and he spent a passionate night with my mother, Rose. But unable to distinguish her face from any other, he ended up marrying the calculating mistress who stole her place. Over the decades, they became the golden couple of the New York elite, a shining example of high-society marriage. Meanwhile, my mother, pregnant and unwed, was branded a fallen woman in her small upstate town. She lived in quiet exile, never marrying, never escaping the shadow of that shame. Forty years later, I married Charles Whitman, securing my place in the wealthiest family in the city through my own merits and grace. The day my son brought his girlfriend home, I sat in the high-backed wing chair in our parlor, the undisputed matriarch of the house. The girl sitting across from me was bright, fragile, and thoroughly spoiled—the kind of girl who had never known a single day of hardship. I knew exactly who she was. She was the granddaughter of my father and the woman who stole my mother’s life. I looked at her face—she shared my father’s sharp nose and hazel eyes—and refused to accept the gift she held out. “You want to marry into the Whitman family? Over my dead body.” 1 “Mom, this is Serena,” Wyatt said, his voice laced with the eager anxiety of a young man in love. “My girlfriend. I wanted you two to meet.” I focused my gaze on Serena Duncan. She was beautiful, undeniably so, carrying that effortless, expensive grace that only generational wealth can buy. She held out a beautifully wrapped Tiffany-blue box, her smile sweet and rehearsed. “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you, Mrs. Whitman. I brought a little something for you.” I didn’t reach for it. The silence in the parlor stretched, heavy and cold. Wyatt looked between us, his brow furrowing. “Mom?” I kept my eyes on Serena. “Wyatt, go upstairs for a moment. I’d like a few minutes alone with Miss Duncan.” He hesitated, looking at Serena’s widening eyes, then nodded. “Okay. I’ll be upstairs.” The moment the door closed behind him, Serena’s sweet demeanor evaporated. She tossed the gift onto the mahogany coffee table and slowly looked me up and down, her posture shifting from polite guest to predatory socialite. “Mrs. Whitman,” she said. Her voice was still melodious, but the warmth was gone, replaced by a cutting superiority. “Sending your son away so you can give me a lecture? Really?” I remained silent, slowly sipping my tea. “Fine. Let’s lay our cards on the table,” she said, crossing her legs. “I know your story. Out-of-towner, no family pedigree, married Charles Whitman purely out of luck. Women like you—women who climbed their way up—are always threatened by girls like me. You’re terrified I’ll come in here and steal your spotlight, aren’t you?” She leaned forward, her eyes scanning my face with clinical detachment. “You know your only real asset has always been your looks. But beauty fades, Mrs. Whitman. What happens then?” “But I’m different.” “My grandfather is Richard Duncan. I grew up in a historic estate in Greenwich, went to the most exclusive boarding schools, and my family’s name is practically carved into the foundation of this city.” She paused, letting the weight of the Duncan name hang in the air. “I did my homework on you. You have no living family, no connections. You survived in this house because Charles Whitman fancies you. But how long does a man’s fascination last? You’re what, forty-five now? In a few years, when you’ve aged out, what will keep you at the table? I have the Duncan empire behind me. Even if Wyatt and I don’t work out, I’ll still be who I am. But you? Without the Whitman name, what are you?” She looked at me with a patronizing pity. “Be smart, Mrs. Whitman. If I want to marry Wyatt, you can’t stop me. Instead of making an enemy out of me, why not play nice? Do me this favor, and I’ll make sure you keep your dignity when I’m running this household.” 2 My expression didn’t change. I set my teacup down, the porcelain clinking sharply against the saucer. “Are you finished?” Her smug smile flickered. “You boast about being the cherished granddaughter of the Duncans,” I said softly. “But do you have any idea how your grandmother managed to secure her place in that family?” Serena frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?” I offered her a cold, thin smile. “You want to marry into this family?” “In your dreams.” Serena stood up abruptly, her chair scraping against the hardwood floor. “Mrs. Whitman, I’d think very carefully if I were you. If you treat me like this now, don’t expect me to be a dutiful daughter-in-law later.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t worry. As long as I am drawing breath, you will never carry the Whitman name.” She snatched her designer handbag from the table and spun on her heel. “You’ll regret this!” Regret? The only regret I carried was that I hadn’t torn these people’s masks off while my mother was still alive to see it. She wasn’t here to witness it now. But that didn’t matter. I would do it for her. The next afternoon, our housekeeper tapped on the library door. “Mrs. Whitman, there is a lady here from the Duncan estate.” I closed my book and set it aside. The housekeeper ushered in a woman. The mistress who had stolen my mother’s life. The reigning matriarch of the Duncan family, Victoria Duncan. She wore a tailored navy Chanel suit, large emerald drops hanging from her ears, radiating an oppressive aura of wealth. “Mrs. Whitman,” she said, her voice smooth and practiced. “I’m Serena’s grandmother. I think it’s time we had a conversation about our children.” She reached into her Hermès bag, pulled out a thick document, and slid it across the table. “This is the development deed for the Hamptons commercial waterfront project. I believe your husband, Charles, has been trying to secure it for years.” “Give your blessing to the children, and the deed belongs to the Whitmans.” I looked down at her hands. They were pale, soft, untouched by labor. On her ring finger sat a cabochon emerald larger than my thumb. These were hands that had never known a day of hard work. My mother’s hands were never like this. Her skin had been permanently raw from cheap detergents, the skin around her nails cracked and stained with dirt she could never scrub away. They stayed that way until the day she died. “Mrs. Duncan,” I said, looking up to meet her cold eyes. “My son’s marriage is not a transaction, and it is certainly none of your business.” Her face hardened, the polite facade slipping away. “Mrs. Whitman, the Duncan family may not have the liquid assets of the Whitmans, but Serena is our pride and joy. She was raised for high society.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Your son is lucky to have her. A woman like you… a woman who married into wealth halfway through her life… shouldn’t get above herself.” Halfway through. A precise choice of words. “Not enough?” She glanced at the document. “Then name your price.” I looked at her tight, surgically lifted face. “Mrs. Duncan,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “When the Whitmans choose a daughter-in-law, we look for character and class. Two things that seem entirely absent from your family.” “Excuse me?!” 3 Victoria Duncan’s eyes locked onto mine, burning with venom. “Mrs. Whitman, do you honestly believe that marrying Charles Whitman makes you royalty?” She stood up, looming over me. “You’re a woman from nowhere. No pedigree, no family background. Do you really think you got here on merit?” Her gaze swept down my body, sharp as a blade. “Richard and I have spent forty years building our network in this city. You cannot buy that kind of social capital, no matter how many years you spend serving your husband. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.” I looked at her, utterly unfazed. People who build their lives on a lie can never change who they are at their core. No matter how expensive the Chanel suit or how large the emeralds, the moment they are threatened, the ugly, bitter truth slips out. “Are you done?” I stood up, picked up the deed from the table, and shoved it back into her manicured hands. “Please leave, Mrs. Duncan. The matter is closed. There will be no wedding.” As she turned toward the door, I caught her parting murmur: “Low-class trash.” I smiled. Forty years ago, when my pregnant mother went to the Duncan estate seeking my father, she was thrown out of the gates with those exact words ringing in her ears. Some things never change. That evening, Wyatt knocked on my bedroom door. “Mom? Can I come in?” He sat across from me on the sofa, staring at his hands in silence for a long time. “Mom… about Serena. I just… I need to understand why.” I looked into his eyes. They were filled with confusion, but there was no anger, no accusation. He had always been like this—thoughtful, gentle, never wanting to cause me pain. “Mom,” he whispered. “If you’re against this, I know you must have a good reason. I just want to know what it is.” My hands clenched in my lap, then slowly relaxed. It wasn’t time yet. “Wyatt,” I said. “I can’t tell you everything right now. But do you trust me?” He didn’t hesitate. “Of course I do.” He stood up, walked to the door, and then paused, looking back. “I called Serena. I told her we need some space. Until you give us your blessing, I won’t bring her here again.” The door clicked shut. I sat in the quiet room, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. He was such a good boy. He had never made me worry, not even when he was a toddler. While other kids threw tantrums, he would just hold my hand and whisper, It’s okay, Mommy, I’ll be good. I wasn’t trying to destroy his happiness. But his grandfather and Serena’s grandfather were the exact same man. By blood, by law, by every moral standard, I could never allow this marriage to happen. The next morning, the housekeeper returned, her face pale. “Mrs. Whitman… Mr. Richard Duncan is here.” My hands tightened inside my sleeves. “Show him in.” When he walked into the room, my heart stopped. I recognized him instantly from the photos my mother had kept hidden in her jewelry box for decades. My biological father. His hair was completely white, but perfectly coiffed. He wore a tailored charcoal three-piece suit, the gold cufflinks catching the morning light. Two assistants followed closely behind—one carrying his leather briefcase, the other holding a flask of hot tea. He had the grand, untouchable air of a patriarch. He glanced at me as he entered, his eyes scanning my face with polite indifference. He didn’t recognize me. He had no idea that I even existed. 4 “Mrs. Whitman.” He gave a polite nod. His voice was measured and calm, possessing the effortless authority of a man who had been catered to his entire life. “I apologize for the unannounced visit. I am Richard Duncan.” “Mr. Duncan. Please, sit.” He sat down, his gaze shifting to meet mine. “Mrs. Whitman, I’m here regarding our grandchildren.” He paused, offering a patronizing smile. “Serena is my granddaughter. She is a bit spoiled, yes, but she has a good heart. If the children love each other, we, as elders, should do what we can to support them.” He clasped his hands over his knee, leaning forward slightly. “I know you built your own path, Mrs. Whitman. It is admirable. Coming from nothing, without family backing, to marry into the Whitman estate—it takes a certain strength. I respect that.” “But because you know how difficult it is to rise, you should also understand that some opportunities only come once in a lifetime.” He reached into his briefcase, pulled out a document, and slid it toward me. “This is a blueprint for a three-year strategic merger between Duncan Enterprises and the Whitman Group. Once the children’s engagement is announced, we can sign this tomorrow.” He looked at me with absolute certainty. It was the look of a man who had never been refused in his life. I didn’t touch the paper. “Mrs. Whitman,” he continued, his tone smooth. “You are still young. The Whitman family is wealthy, yes, but your foundation in high society is still fresh. With Duncan backing, your position in the family—and in this city—will be untouchable.” He was trying to advise me. He was telling me that because I was an outsider, I needed his family’s prestige to secure my own standing. He had no idea. He didn’t know that the woman sitting across from him was the daughter he had abandoned. Forty years ago, he had cast my pregnant mother out of New York. Forty years later, he sat in my home, patronizing me, asking me to grant his granddaughter a favor. “Mr. Duncan,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “My son’s life is not up for negotiation.” His brow furrowed, a shadow of irritation crossing his face. “Negotiation?” His voice cooled. “Mrs. Whitman, do you think you are in a position to dismiss me?” “I came here personally out of respect. In this city, the list of people who get a personal visit from Richard Duncan is very short.” He stood up, his posture cold and rigid. “If you choose to be uncooperative… remember this day. You are the one who rejected this alliance. Do not blame me for whatever consequences follow.” Within twenty-four hours of his departure, the rumors began circulating through the elite social circles of New York. “Evelyn Whitman refused the Duncan alliance? Who does she think she is?” “I heard she’s a nobody from upstate. Married Charles for his money.” “Richard Duncan personally went to her, and she turned him away? Talk about social suicide.” I sat in my study, reading the blind items and whispers on my phone. An anonymous text popped up: Who do you think you are? Without the Whitman name, you’re nothing. A comment on the Whitman Group’s public page read: Mr. Whitman, please put your wife on a leash before she ruins our stock value. Someone even dug up an old photo of me from my twenties, claiming I had undergone extensive plastic surgery and had worked as a high-class escort to climb the ladder. Thousands of strangers liked and shared the lies. I didn’t delete them. I didn’t respond. A week later. The annual Metropolitan Charity Gala. The Duncan family was one of the primary sponsors. Inside the grand ballroom, Serena clung to Richard Duncan’s arm, glowing under the crystal chandeliers. When she saw Wyatt enter, her smile faltered. She hurried over, grabbing his arm. “Wyatt! Why haven’t you been answering my texts?” Wyatt glanced at me, then gently but firmly removed her hand. “Serena, until my mother approves of us, I think it’s best if we keep our distance.” Serena’s face drained of color. She whipped her head around to glare at me, her eyes burning with pure hatred. “Are you happy now, Mrs. Whitman?” I walked past her without a word. As the dinner began, Richard Duncan took the stage to give the opening remarks. “Thank you all for being here tonight,” he said, his voice echoing through the microphone, warm and confident. “Tonight, in addition to our charitable goals, I have a wonderful personal announcement to make.” The room fell silent. “My granddaughter, Serena Duncan, and Wyatt Whitman, son of Charles Whitman, are deeply in love. Their engagement is imminent. Our two families will soon be united.” Polite applause rippled through the room. Richard looked toward our table, his eyes shining with a smug, victorious satisfaction. He believed he had won. He believed the Whitman family was his for the taking. I stood up. “Mr. Duncan.” The applause died instantly. All eyes turned to me. I walked up the steps of the stage, stopping right in front of him. “Mr. Duncan, who gave you permission to announce an alliance?” His smile faltered for a fraction of a second. “Evelyn, the children are in love. As their family—” “I do not give my consent.” A collective gasp echoed through the ballroom. Richard’s expression darkened. “Mrs. Whitman, we can discuss family matters in private. There are hundreds of guests here—” I turned around, facing the crowd, looking directly into the sea of cameras and elite faces. “Richard Duncan, do you have any idea what you are doing?!” “You are attempting to arrange a marriage between your own granddaughter and your biological grandson. Do you want to make a mockery of us all?!”

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The night before our wedding, I saw the photo on my fiancée’s phone. It was a mock wedding portrait of her and her male best friend, Chase. Ruby quickly swiped it away, her face flushing as she offered a rushed explanation. “Chase was just messing around,” she said, her voice breezy but defensive. “He photoshopped it as a joke. Don’t take it to heart, Alex.” But the next day, at our wedding reception, Ruby was blindfolded for the “Find the Groom” game. The groomsmen and a few male guests sat in a neat row, and she was supposed to touch their ankles and feet to identify me. She paused, her hands lingering on one particular ankle, and then gripped it tightly. “Found him! This is my husband!” She pulled off her blindfold, a triumphant grin on her face. But she was holding Chase. The bridesmaids, always eager for a spectacle, immediately began to whisper and snicker. “Well, Ruby, are you planning on taking two husbands home today?” Chase laughed, leaning his head against Ruby’s shoulder with shameless ease. He waved a hand in my direction. “Come on, kiddo. I know you love your favorite guy, but you got the wrong man. Your actual groom is standing over there.” I stood a few feet away, feeling the cold weight of the room press down on my chest. A bitter, empty smile pulled at my lips. Slowly, I slid the platinum band off my finger and let it drop into a nearby trash can. “She didn’t get the wrong man,” I said, my voice quiet but perfectly clear. “Her groom was never going to be me.” 1 At my words, Ruby’s face darkened. She stood up, her wedding gown rustling loudly in the sudden silence of the hall. “Alex, seriously? I made a silly mistake in a party game. Is that really worth calling off the entire wedding?” “Hey, don’t get mad at her, man. She didn’t mean it.” Chase stood up, playfully tugging Ruby’s ear and nudging her toward me with a wide, easy grin. “Come on, sweetie, apologize to your man.” My chest tightened. I took a step back, avoiding his touch entirely. “There’s no need to apologize,” I said. “Since you’re the one she chose to hold onto, you can be her groom today.” Ruby knitted her brows, her impatience finally breaking through. “Chase and I are basically brothers. Why would I marry him? Besides, Alex, if I actually wanted to be with him, do you really think you’d even have a chance?” A dry, painful laugh escaped me. We had fought about Chase more times than I could count. Once, when Chase had a mild cold, she left me sitting alone in a dark movie theater for hours. Another time, because Chase said he was terrified of thunderstorms, she abandoned me at the clinic while I was running a high fever. Even on our fifth anniversary, she walked out on our dinner to take care of Chase’s dog because it had overeaten. And now, on our wedding day, after humiliating me in front of everyone, her explanation was still the same dismissive script. The whispers among the guests were growing louder, turning into a steady hum of gossip. Chase noticed, quickly stepping in to cup his hand over Ruby’s mouth. “Alright, it’s a big day. Stop making it worse,” he murmured. Then, he turned to me, his eyes wide and pleading. “Alex, I swear there’s nothing going on between us. Today was just a stupid accident. If it really bothers you, I’ll step back. I promise I’ll stay away from her from now on. Here, let me make it up to you.” He grabbed a full bottle of whiskey from a passing waiter’s tray, popped the cap, and began to chug it. Ruby gasped, panic throwing her into motion. She ripped the bottle from his hands. “Are you insane? You’re severely allergic to alcohol! Do you want to kill yourself?” She cupped Chase’s face in her hands, inspecting him like a priceless, fragile heirloom. Once she was sure he wasn’t breaking out in hives, she whirled around and glared at me, her voice dripping with resentment. “Alex, this has gone too far. You forced him to do this.” I looked at her, the last embers of my hope quietly dying out. I didn’t say another word. I turned on my heel and walked toward the exit. Ruby rushed after me, grabbing my wrist. “If you walk out now, what about the guests? What about our families?” I yanked my hand back, tears finally burning in my eyes. “Do you even care that today was supposed to be our wedding? You’re marrying me, yet you’re putting on a show of star-crossed lovers with another man right in front of me!” Perhaps the sip of whiskey was already hitting him, or perhaps he just couldn’t help himself. Chase leaned back against a table, his face flushed, a mocking glint in his eyes. “You’re such a drama queen, Alex,” Chase sighed, his voice taking on a childish, whiny lilt as he looked at Ruby. “Honestly, babe, you’re too popular. If your husband is this insecure over a game, how is he going to handle all the other guys who look at you? Maybe we really shouldn’t see each other anymore. I need to save myself for my future wife, anyway. I don’t want people talking dirty about me.” Ruby didn’t even hesitate. “Don’t say that. If no one wants you, I’ll take care of you forever.” 2 I let out a cold laugh, turned my back on them, and walked out of the venue. Behind me, the whispers of the guests drowned out whatever Ruby was shouting. When I got back to our apartment, I didn’t waste time. I gathered every photo, every souvenir, and every little token of our relationship and threw them into a heavy black trash bag. Then, I dragged my suitcase out and began to pack my clothes. The bedroom door clicked open, and Ruby walked in. She stopped, staring at the mess on the floor, and cleared her throat. Her voice was softer now, trying to sound reasonable. “I’m sorry about earlier. I know I messed up.” She walked over, trying to touch my shoulder. “But Chase and I really are just friends. If it makes you feel better, I’ll tell you every time we hang out from now on.” I didn’t stop packing. I zipped the suitcase with a sharp, definitive snap. “I’m tired, Ruby. It’s over. Let’s break up.” I had spent seven years building a life with her. We started in a damp, moldy basement apartment with nothing but instant ramen and big dreams. I had poured every ounce of my youth, my energy, and my soul into supporting her career. Now, I was completely empty. I just wanted to go. As I reached for the doorknob, Ruby’s voice dropped, cold and laced with a quiet threat. “If you walk out that door, Alex… what happens to your mother?” She paused, letting the silence stretch. “Her specialized nursing facility, her physical therapy, her upcoming surgery… I’m the one paying for all of it.” My heart stopped. I turned around, staring at her in utter disbelief. I couldn’t comprehend that she was using my mother to blackmail me. My mother was paralyzed because of a car accident—an accident that happened because she threw herself in front of a skidding truck to save Ruby’s life. Back then, Ruby had knelt by my mother’s hospital bed, sobbing, swearing to God and to me that she would protect me and care for our family forever. Now, she was using that very tragedy as a leash. Tears spilled over my cheeks, hot and bitter. My hands shook so violently I could barely stand. “Ruby… what do you actually want from me? What will make you happy? I’m willing to walk away and leave everything to Chase. Isn’t that enough?” “I don’t want anything,” she murmured, her expression softening into something almost smug as she stepped closer. “I just don’t want you to leave me.” She reached up to wipe a tear from my eye. But before her fingers could touch my skin, her phone vibrated. The screen lit up with Chase’s name. She answered, and though she didn’t put it on speaker, the loud, drunken music and Chase’s slurred voice leaked into the quiet room. “Babe! Where are you? The party’s dying without you!” The warmth drained from Ruby’s eyes, replaced instantly by that familiar, restless distraction. She looked at me apologetically. “Alex, I have to go handle something. I’ll be back soon.” She reached out, trying to coax a smile from me. “We didn’t get to finish the wedding, but we still need to get our marriage license. I’ll take you to City Hall tomorrow morning, okay?” She left without waiting for my answer. Not long after the front door clicked shut, my phone screen flashed. It was a message from Chase—a photo of a crowded bar table covered in expensive bottles, followed by a video. I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering, before I finally tapped play. In the video, Ruby was laughing, raising a glass. Her voice carried over the music, sharp and full of disdain. “Alex is just so exhausting lately. He throws a tantrum over the smallest things.” My hand froze in mid-air. In the background, Chase’s voice chimed in, mock-scolding her. “Now, now, babe, what did I tell you? You can’t talk about your man like that. He only acts crazy because he loves you so much.” “Oh, shut up,” Ruby laughed, shoving his shoulder. “Who are you calling ‘babe’? Call me daddy.” The rest of the table burst into cheers, someone yelling, “You two seriously look more like newlyweds than the actual couple!” I sat in the dark, the phone glowing cold against my skin, feeling a pain so sharp in my chest I could barely breathe. I didn’t sleep a single wink that night. 3 The next morning, Ruby came home looking bright and refreshed, as if she had spent the night sleeping on a cloud rather than drinking with her friends. Without asking how I was, she grabbed my coat and pulled me out of the apartment. I let her drag me. My eyes were sunken, dark circles bruising the skin beneath them, my mind entirely numb. We sat at the marriage registry desk. The clerk took our documents and prepared the heavy steel seal to stamp our marriage license. Just as the metal was about to hit the paper, Ruby’s phone rang. She swiped it open, putting it on speaker as she signed her name. Immediately, Chase’s frantic, sobbing voice filled the quiet office. “Ruby… please, tell Alex to stop. I’m sorry if I made him mad, I’ll do whatever he wants… Ruby, help me! I’ve been kidnapped! They have me in some warehouse…” The line went completely dead. Ruby’s pen snapped against the table. Her face turned pale, then instantly contorted into pure rage. She grabbed my collar, pulling me up from the chair so violently that the pens and paperwork scattered across the floor. “Alex! Where did you put him?” she screamed, her grip tightening. “I told you a thousand times we are just friends! Why would you go this far? Why would you kidnap him?” The sheer, blind accusation felt like a physical blow. A bitter sob caught in my throat. She didn’t ask if I was okay. She didn’t think for a single second. She just assumed I was a monster. “It wasn’t me,” I whispered, my voice cracking. Seeing my face pale from pain, she shoved me away. I lost my balance and fell hard against the edge of the desk, tumbling onto the cold tile floor. “Don’t lie to me!” Ruby didn’t even look down at me. She whipped out her phone and began barking orders to her head of security. “Mobilize everyone. I want Chase found today!” Outside, the sky broke, and a torrential downpour began to slash against the windows. I dragged myself up from the floor, ignored the stares of the registry staff, and walked out into the rain. I walked all the way back to the apartment, my clothes soaked through, my body shivering. But when I pushed the door open, I froze. There, sitting on our living room sofa, was Chase. He was damp, wrapped in one of my softest blankets, weeping hysterically. The moment he saw me, he flinched, burying his face in his hands. “Alex… why did you do that to me? If you hate me that much, just tell me. I’ll pack my bags and leave the city. I’ll never speak to Ruby again.” Ruby, who had clearly just arrived, rushed over and wrapped him in a tight hug. Her heart broke visibly at his tears. “You did nothing wrong, Chase. Why should you have to leave?” She turned to me, her eyes burning with fury. “Alex, apologize to Chase right now. If I hadn’t found him in time, do you have any idea what those thugs would have done to him?” I stood in the entryway, water dripping from my hair onto the hardwood floor. My chest heaved as I looked at the two of them. “I did nothing wrong. I am not apologizing.” Ruby’s expression turned utterly cold. “You are completely delusional.” Without another word, she scooped Chase up in her arms and carried him up the stairs to the guest bedroom. I stood downstairs in the silence, biting my lip so hard the taste of copper filled my mouth. I dragged my exhausted, aching body to my own room and collapsed onto the bed. My forehead felt like it was on fire, my vision blurring into darkness as I drifted into a feverish unconsciousness. Hours later, I woke up to a cool sensation on my forehead. Ruby was sitting on the edge of the bed, gently pressing a cooling gel patch to my skin. Her expression was tired, almost gentle. “Chase decided not to press charges,” she murmured, smoothing my hair. “Let’s just put this behind us, Alex. Don’t try to hurt him again.” I didn’t answer. I just stared blankly at the ceiling, my mind as cold and empty as the room. In the middle of the night, my throat felt like sandpaper. I sat up, shivering, and quieted my breath to get a glass of water. But as soon as I slid the door open, a sound caught in my ears. From the guest room down the hall, came the rhythmic, unmistakable creaking of a wooden headboard, accompanied by hushed, breathless whispers. “Ruby… slower… what if he hears us?” “Let him hear,” Ruby’s voice came, thick with desire. “I don’t care anymore. I’m not losing you.”

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Three years of long-distance, a solid month of overtime just to scrape together enough vacation days to see my girlfriend, and then—she went completely radio silent. I waited alone in a freezing, unfamiliar train station for ten agonizing hours before she finally sent a casual, slow reply. On the phone, my best friend’s voice bubbled up, teasing and carefree: “Logan, surprise! I got to explore Chicago first. It’s amazing here, and Serena is literally the perfect tour guide!” He babbled on, sharing little inside jokes and stories as if he hadn’t noticed the thirty missed calls lighting up Serena’s phone screen. I listened in silence until he casually complained about the cold. That was when Serena finally took the phone. Her words were brief and clipped: “I’m dropping him off at his hotel first. Wait a little longer.” Before she could hang up, the words slipped out of me: “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting?” A brief pause. Then her voice turned icy. “He’s your best friend. Do you really have to be this petty?” The blatant blame in her tone stripped away any desire I had to explain myself. My defenses crumbled into nothing. I hung up. Just then, my rideshare back to New York pulled up. The driver glanced at me, his brow furrowed with concern. “Hey, buddy, it’s past midnight and this neighborhood gets pretty rough. How could your family just leave you out here like this?” I looked down at my shoes, soaked through by the melting slush and snow, and whispered, “Yeah.” Then, forcing a small smile, I added, “They won’t. Never again.” 1 It took Serena another two hours to realize I was gone. Her ringtone was a loud, grating indie-rock track that had been trending everywhere. I hated it. I’d once asked her to change it to some soft instrumental music I liked. Serena had bristled instantly. Her cold, defensive tone still echoed in my mind: “Do I have to do absolutely everything your way?” Embarrassed and hurt, I had apologized immediately. But just moments ago, Tyler posted a new update on his feed: “Annoyed. Recommended this track to a certain dummy three months ago, and I’m totally sick of it now, but she’s still using it.” Serena had replied three minutes prior: “Who are you calling a dummy?” “You!” Tyler shot back almost instantly. My phone kept buzzing with her incoming calls. I wanted to laugh. How many compartments did Serena have in her heart to keep two men dangling at the same time? Seeing that I wasn’t picking up, she switched from calls to a barrage of texts. “Where on earth did you go? Stop throwing a tantrum, okay? It’s late, and I’m exhausted.” The complaints kept rolling in. As if sensing the tension, the driver spoke up again, snapping me out of my thoughts. “You know, just two nights ago, there was a stabbing right at that station. The guy didn’t make it. The whole city’s been on edge.” “Honestly, when I saw your request pop up, I was shocked. If you were my kid, I wouldn’t have been able to close my eyes tonight.” My fingers twitched. My eyes drifted back to the screen. “Why are you being so unreasonable? So I was a little late picking you up. Big deal.” “Tyler is a guest, and he’s your brother. Can’t you just show a little grace?” My hand shook against the cold glass of my phone. A sharp, physical ache bloomed in my chest, like a rusted blade scraping against my ribs. But looking at those words with raw, bloodshot eyes, I suddenly felt a strange wave of relief. The cage was opening. A moment later, Serena sent one last text: “Whatever. I don’t have the energy to baby you right now. Let me know when you’ve calmed down.” Twenty-eight messages. Twenty-seven and a half spent blaming me. And ending with her telling me she didn’t have the energy to baby me. Exhaustion rolled over me like a heavy tide. I powered off the phone, closed my eyes, and let the darkness take me. When I finally woke up, we were back in New York, parked outside my apartment. Before I got out, the driver offered a warm, parting word. “Get inside and change those shoes, kid. They’re completely soaked.” A genuine warmth touched my chest. “Thanks. I will.” 2 While waiting for the shower water to run hot, I opened my social feed. Tyler had updated again. “My bestie waited in line for an hour just to get me this. It’s honestly mid, though. Took one sip, packing up the rest for someone special.” The “someone special” was Serena, caught in the background of the frame, smiling softly at the camera. I never knew that my girlfriend—a woman so fiercely germaphobic she refused to share a water glass with me—would happily share a drink with another man. I let out a soft, tired sigh, tapped the “like” button on the post, and then dialed my boss. “Mr. Crawford, I’ve had a change of heart. Is that overseas transfer still open?” He sounded surprised, but his voice quickly warmed with relief. “You’ve finally come to your senses. You handle this project well, Logan, and you’ll return with a double promotion. It’s only a year in Paris. Trust me, if it’s real love, a year is nothing.” I smiled quietly, offering no argument. The truth was, the moment I decided to take the job, our relationship was already over. I took a long, hot shower, letting the steam burn away the chill of Chicago. When I got out, Tyler’s post had vanished. A flicker of amusement touched me. So Tyler wasn’t as bulletproof as he liked to pretend. Suddenly, Serena’s name flashed across my screen. A familiar dread settled in my stomach, but I swiped to answer. “Who are you trying to humiliate?” she demanded, her voice sharp and breathless, carrying a frantic edge of protectiveness I’d never heard her use for me. “You ignore my calls, ignore my texts, and then you go perform some passive-aggressive stunt on Tyler’s feed?” An overwhelming fatigue washed over me. I had worked thirty days straight of grueling overtime just to clear my schedule to see her, and this was the prize. “Serena,” I asked quietly, “whose girlfriend are you, exactly?” The line went dead silent. She struggled for words before finally sighing, her voice thick with disappointment. “Do you really have to blow everything out of proportion?” “Serena? Hey, let me talk to him…” Tyler’s anxious voice bled through the receiver. I checked the time. 11:00 PM. Which meant they had been together continuously since 8:00 AM. “Don’t bother,” Serena told him, though she was still talking into the phone. “The more you coddle him, the worse he gets.” “But he’s still my boy…” Their voices faded into a low, intimate murmur as they conferred. Then, without another word to me, the line went dead. The casual intimacy of their exchange, the easy rhythm of their shared space—it hit me then. The boundaries between them hadn’t just blurred recently; they had been dissolved for a very long time. After a restless, brief sleep, I woke to find my frostbitten foot swollen and throbbing. Using an old umbrella as a makeshift cane, I hobbled down to hail a cab to the clinic. The doctor cleaned and dressed the raw, damaged skin. I gritted my teeth against the stinging pain, gathered my prescriptions, and headed home. But the moment I unlocked my apartment door, I nearly collided with someone. The air filled with her familiar, clean scent. Seeing me freeze, Serena offered a gentle, tentative smile. “Since you wouldn’t talk to me, I had to come to you.” For a second, my throat tightened. I opened my mouth to speak, but Serena reached out and casually took the bag of medication from my hand. “What’s this?” “Frostbite.” “Oh,” she murmured, setting the bag down on the entryway console. She didn’t ask how it happened. She didn’t ask if it hurt. Her phone suddenly blared with that same irritating indie-rock ringtone. I didn’t hear Tyler’s side of the conversation, but Serena laughed loudly, throwing her head back. “You told me to come over, didn’t you? As if I’d dare say no.” My chest hollowed out. The tiny spark of warmth that had flickered when I saw her at my door vanished entirely. I limped past her to the kitchen counter, popped two of the pills, and swallowed them dry. Serena hung up and slid up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Don’t be mad,” she cooed, her cheek pressing against my back. “My phone was on silent that night. And after you left, I was miserable the whole evening.” A grim smile touched my lips. Her bright, smiling face on Tyler’s social media the next morning didn’t look like a woman who had spent the night in misery. “Besides,” she continued, “he’s visited Chicago a few times now. I just wanted to get him out of my hair quickly so I could focus entirely on you…” I froze, the glass halfway to my mouth. “He visits you often?” She excelled at playing it off, squeezing me tighter. “Jealous? Don’t worry. He’s not exactly my type, anyway. I’d never go there.” “We’re just travel buddies occasionally. It’s only because you’re always so busy.” Sensing my rigidity, she let go and announced she was going to take a shower. Before she stepped into the bathroom, she made sure to take her phone with her. 3 A few minutes later, her voice drifted through the steam, asking me to bring her a fresh set of loungewear. I grabbed a clean set and pushed the door open. Serena instantly flipped her phone face-down on the counter, flashing me a wet, brilliant smile. “Thanks, babe.” The door clicked shut in my face. But I didn’t walk away. Within seconds, Tyler’s voice echoed through the thin door, loud and mocking. “Man, you make it feel like we’re having an affair or something.” Serena’s reply was languid, amused. “You know how my boyfriend is. Total control freak.” Tyler snickered. “Show me those legs again. I didn’t get a good look earlier.” Serena scoffed playfully. “Pervert.” I walked away, unable to listen to any more. An hour later, Serena finally emerged. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright and searching, burning with a restless, physical energy. Before I could even reach for the light switch, she threw herself onto me. I placed my hands on her shoulders, gently but firmly pushing her back. “We don’t have any protection,” I said flatly. Serena blinked, caught off guard. The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them: “Tyler said it’s fine if it’s my safe window.” I stared at her, disgust rising hot in my throat. “You discuss your cycle with him?” “No!” Serena immediately tried to backtrack, running a hand through her damp hair. But under my level gaze, she knew she couldn’t lie her way out of it. Her voice turned defensive. “It’s not like he’s a stranger.” I looked at her, really looked at her. Her tone, her posture, her protective instinct for him—everything about her screamed where her loyalty lay. It was clear. In this relationship, I was the third wheel. The thought of sharing a bed with her made my skin crawl. “Go sleep in the guest room,” I said. Serena stared at me, dumbfounded. “Because of that?” “I drove all this way to see you, and you’re banishing me to the guest room?” “Is that all I am to you? A physical release?” Serena glared at me, her jaw clenched in anger. I realized this was probably the cleanest moment to say the words “we’re over,” but before I could speak, she slammed the guest room door shut. I kept my mouth shut, turned off the lights, and went to sleep. I slept surprisingly well. When I woke up, there was an email from Mr. Crawford with my flight itinerary to Paris attached. “Tomorrow at noon. Don’t be late.” I sent a quick confirmation, got out of bed, and walked over to the bathroom. But when I pushed the door open, a sharp gasp echoed from inside. I froze, reaching to pull the door closed, but a hand clamped onto the handle from behind me, slamming it shut with jarring speed. “Do you not know how to knock?” Serena snapped, her eyes flashing. For a second, I felt like a trespasser in my own home. “What is Tyler doing here?” I asked, my voice deadly quiet. Serena shrugged casually. “He missed you.” In the two years I had rented this apartment, Tyler had never set foot in it. But the moment Serena arrived, suddenly he was overcome with nostalgia. I said nothing. When Tyler finally stepped out of the bathroom, he gave me a brief, awkward nod and slid onto a chair at the dining table. Serena placed a plate in front of him first—a single fried egg. Tyler took a bite, his eyes lighting up. “You always know exactly how I like it. Perfect runny yolk.” Serena smiled, clearly pleased with herself, and then slid a second plate toward me. “See? I didn’t forget you. I made one for you, too.” I stared at the fork in my hand, unable to bring myself to touch the food. I don’t eat runny yolks. I never have. We had been together for six years, and she still didn’t know. “Hey, Serena, let’s play a few rounds later. I’ll carry you,” Tyler said, nudging her leg with his foot under the table. “Please, you’re terrible. I’m the one who carries you,” she teased. “Who’s terrible? I’m literally ranked top tier in the state!” Tyler’s voice grew louder, excited, as he slid his chair closer to hers. Their thighs pressed together. As Serena leaned over to laugh, the loose collar of her shirt shifted, revealing a wide, unobstructed view of her chest. My head throbbed. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Tyler’s ears flushed pink, and he subtly leaned back, though his eyes lingered. A wave of physical nausea hit me. The fork clattered against the plate. I turned my gaze directly to Tyler. “Did I fail to mention that we are no longer friends?” 4 He froze, his face burning with humiliation. He clearly hadn’t expected me to strip away the polite facade so brutally. Serena’s brow furrowed. “You guys fought? When?” I kept my eyes on him. “Four days ago. When he tried to tag along on my trip to see you, and I told him no.” So, out of spite, he had gone to Chicago ahead of me. “Just because of that?” Serena looked exasperated, that familiar dismissive expression returning to her face. But it wasn’t just that. For the past year, Tyler had systematically sabotaged every piece of quality time Serena and I had tried to plan. Every time I set aside a weekend to visit her, Tyler would miraculously fall ill, or drag me into some crisis, or insist on a spontaneous trip. When I bought a promise ring for Serena, he went out and bought an almost identical band to wear on his own hand. I wasn’t blind. I had cut him off as cleanly as I could. But I hadn’t realized a person could be quite this shameless. Tyler slowly stood up, his eyes welling with performative tears. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’ll just leave.” With a loud scrape, Serena stood up so fast her chair nearly tipped over. She stepped firmly between Tyler and me. “If you’re throwing him out,” she said, her voice dropping, “then I’m leaving too.” “Then leave,” I replied instantly. My voice was flat, devoid of any anger. Serena’s face went completely blank for a fraction of a second. I had never told her to leave before. In every argument we’d ever had, I was always the one to bow my head and apologize. But I was just so incredibly tired. Serena stood her ground, her jaw tight, staring at me as if waiting for me to break. Tyler snorted, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the door. “Come on, Serena. Let’s go. Why do we have to stay here and take this?” “The more you let him walk all over you, the worse it’s going to get!” He dragged her out, and the door clicked shut. A profound sense of relief washed over me. I walked over to the kitchen, scraped the runny egg into the trash, and went to my room to pack my bags. That night, as I was winding down, another close friend of mine sent a barrage of texts. “Holy shit, Logan, look what I just saw!”

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