The day I went with my mother to pay our respects at her friend’s funeral was the day I ran into my grown-up self. I was only eight, but there she was, standing in the gray, damp chill of the alleyway behind the chapel. I stared at her, my heart hammering against my ribs, and began pepper-spraying her with questions about the future. “Did we finally pay off all the family debts? Does Dad still have to work out of state?” “Is Mom not having to work so hard anymore?” “What about me? Did I grow up okay? Did I get into the college of my dreams?” The older version of me didn’t smile. Instead, a sudden, violent fury flashed across her face, tightening her jaw. “That man doesn’t deserve to be called a father,” she spat, her voice a harsh, low whisper. “You and Mom have been completely blind. He never owed a dime to his company. He was living across the state, playing cozy family with his mistress while she carried his baby. Every time he called us, that woman was right there next to him, whispering and laughing in the background.” “And we were the fools, working ourselves to the bone to send him money, funding their happy little family of three while we waited by the door like loyal dogs.” “When the truth finally broke, it destroyed Mom. She died of a broken heart. And you—you worked yourself to death trying to pick up the pieces, leaving yourself with a terminal illness and less than six months to live. You have to wake Mom up, Sadie. You have to save her before it’s too late.” … The words cut off sharply, leaving a ringing silence in the narrow brick alley. I stood frozen, staring at the woman who possessed my exact eyes, my exact features. My mind scrambled for footing, and my voice cracked as I tried to push back against her words. “That’s not true. He wouldn’t.” For as long as I could remember, Dad had been the anchor of our home. He was the one who took care of everything. He cooked elaborate, three-course dinners from scratch every single night, never repeating a recipe. He hand-washed Mom’s delicate clothing. He was like Santa Claus, always pulling little surprise gifts and trinkets out of his coat pockets to make us laugh. Then, two years ago, the nightmare started. Dad was supposedly framed by a colleague, leaving him with a massive corporate debt. To pay it off, he had to take a grueling, low-paying relocation assignment in a remote town halfway across the country. Before he left, terrified that Mom and I would struggle, he sold his condo—the only property in his name—and transferred every single dollar of the sale into Mom’s bank account. How could a man like that have another family? I opened my mouth to demand answers, but a soft, familiar voice drifted from behind me. “Sadie, sweetheart? Why are you standing out here by yourself?” “The service is about to start. We should get inside.” I grabbed Mom’s hand, my fingers icy, and refused to budge. “Mom, I just saw someone. She looked exactly like me, but older. She said Dad is lying to us. She said—” Before I could finish, Mom looked toward the end of the alley where I was pointing. It was completely empty. The grey afternoon mist had swallowed any trace of another person. Mom sighed, a look of profound pity washing over her face as she reached down to stroke my hair. “Oh, Sadie. Are you missing your father that much? You’re starting to see things.” “Anyone in this world might lie to me, sweetheart, but never your father. You can rest easy on that. He even called this morning just to make sure our drive was safe. Don’t let your imagination run wild.” A warm, gentle smile spread across Mom’s face. But as I stared at her, a tiny chill prickled the back of my neck. Her smile was beautiful, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. I fell silent. Deep down, I wanted to believe she was right. They had known each other since they were teenagers, loving each other for nearly two-thirds of their lives. How could I doubt my own father just because of a stranger claiming to be my future self? “Yeah. You’re right, Mom,” I muttered, squeezing her hand. “Let’s go. We need to be there for Aunt Evelyn.” Within minutes, the strange encounter in the alley was pushed to the back of my mind. But that night, after the funeral service had ended and we had checked into our hotel room, Dad’s FaceTime call came through. His face appeared on the screen, looking as exhausted as always, though he managed to force a warm smile. “How are you guys holding up? Is Evelyn okay? I know she was my friend, but it means the world that you went in my place. Thank you both so much for making the trip.” Mom smiled, her voice light with a teasing edge. “Why so polite all of a sudden, Daniel? Don’t tell me you’ve got a guilty conscience.” For some reason, her words hung in the air, heavy with a double meaning I couldn’t quite grasp. But she quickly changed the subject. “Anyway, when are you coming home? Next month is Sadie’s birthday. She really misses you.” Hearing this, Dad let out a long, heavy sigh through the speaker. “I’m still buried under this debt, Claire. The company keeps me on a tight leash; they’re terrified I’ll run if they let me take time off. But don’t worry, I’ll find a way to make it back for her birthday. I won’t disappoint her. Just make sure you two take care of yourselves.” Mom handed the phone over to me. I chatted with him for a minute, telling him to stay safe, just like I did every week. But right as I was about to say goodbye, a woman’s voice cut through the background, clear and intimate. “Dan, can you grab me a towel, would you?” Dad’s screen shook violently. My breath caught. My fingers went completely numb, the phone slipping from my hand as I abruptly ended the call. “What’s wrong, Sadie?” Mom asked, looking up from her book with a puzzled frown. My mind was a complete blank. A wild, desperate urge rose in my chest to tell her exactly what I had just heard. But I had no proof. She would never believe a child’s ears over her husband of twelve years. I forced a tight nod, trying to steady my breathing. “Nothing, Mom. I’m just really tired. Can we turn off the lights?” Mom switched off the lamp and climbed into bed, wrapping her arm around me. But as she slept, I lay wide awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling until dawn. The next morning, I made up an excuse about wanting to play in the courtyard and slipped back to the alleyway. Sure enough, she was there, waiting. Her expression was hollow, as if she already knew. “Now you believe me,” she said quietly. I didn’t answer. I just leaned my head against the cold brick wall, my chest aching. It took a long time before I could find my voice. “What do I have to do to help Mom?” She stepped closer, placing a gentle, sympathetic hand on my shoulder. “You’re only eight, Sadie. You shouldn’t have to carry this weight. But I’m out of options. You have to get Mom’s phone. We need evidence. We need to show her the truth.” When I returned to the hotel at noon, I sat silently at the table, picking at my lunch. Mom noticed my quietness and reached across the table to touch my hand. “What’s wrong, sweetie? Is it too boring here? Aunt Evelyn is going through a terrible tragedy, and we need to stay and support her. Just two more days, okay?” I nodded quietly. “Mom, can I play a game on your phone?” As expected, she didn’t hesitate. She unlocked her phone and handed it to me. Once I had it in my hands, I slid onto the hotel bed and opened Dad’s Instagram profile. It was completely empty—the settings were locked to only show posts from the last three days. Next, I opened her TikTok. In their direct messages, Mom’s side of the conversation was a vibrant, endless stream of photos and videos of our daily life. Dad’s replies, however, were cold, one-word text messages. Okay. Nice. Sure. My fingers trembled as I navigated back to his main profile. I searched through his page but found nothing out of the ordinary. Just as I was about to give up, I tapped on his “Profile Views” history. There, among the list of users, was a profile picture that made my blood run cold. It was an image I had seen once before, tucked away in the hidden leather compartment of Dad’s glove box. The day I had accidentally discovered it, Dad had panicked, snatching it away before quickly masking his fear with a warm smile. He had knelt down and held my shoulders. “Sadie, what did you see?” I had told him the truth, and he had remained quiet for a long time before speaking. “That’s just a photo from a very important friend of mine, so Daddy keeps it safe. You have good friends at school who give you gifts, right? Don’t you keep them safe too?” I hadn’t understood what he meant back then, so I had simply nodded. But that night, Mom and Dad had a massive, screaming fight over that photo. It was the first time I had ever seen my mother cry so bitterly. “Daniel, are you still not over her? Have you ever thought about how this affects me and our daughter?” Dad had dropped to his knees, clutching her hands. “Claire, I swear you’re overthinking this. There is nothing going on. I cut things off with her years ago. It’s just you and Sadie now. Please, let’s just live our lives. Sadie is still so young—you don’t want this to affect her, do you?” Mom had eventually yielded, letting him pull her into a tight embrace. “I’m so sorry, Claire. I promise I will never do anything to make you doubt me again.” Mom had stayed quiet for a long time, staring into the dark. “Is it really over?” she had whispered, almost to herself. Remembering that night, I tapped on the woman’s profile. Her feed was filled with dozens of videos. Though her face was always cropped out or obscured, a man’s arm was constantly visible in the frame—pouring her drinks, holding her hand, cradling her stomach. And on that wrist was a familiar silver watch, right next to a distinct mole. It was unmistakably Dad. My hands shook violently, the screen blurring. But the warning from my future self echoed in my mind, drowning out the urge to cry. Screenshot everything. Save the proof. Three days passed in a blur of silence. On the drive home, I stared out the window, watching the highway lines blur. Mom noticed my distant mood and reached over to squeeze my hand. “What’s wrong, baby? If you really hate trips like this, I won’t drag you along next time. Nothing is more important to me than how you feel.” My eyes welled with tears. She was such a good, kind woman, yet in the original timeline, she had spent her final years trapped in a miserable, exhausting marriage before dying of cancer. No, I thought, blinkering away the tears. I have to wake her up. Before I could say a word, Mom’s phone rang. The caller ID flashed: Dan. “Claire, I’m home,” his voice boomed warmly through the car speakers. “What do you guys want for dinner? I’ll whip something up.” Mom’s tone was flat, completely devoid of its usual warmth. “Anything is fine. Why don’t you ask your daughter? She’s been in a mood all day.” She handed the phone to me, but I couldn’t bring myself to say his name. Seeing my silence, Mom didn’t force me. She rattled off a few of my favorite dishes and hung up. For the remaining three hours of the drive, neither of us spoke a word. But Mom’s grip on my hand only grew tighter. When we finally pulled into our apartment building’s parking lot, I saw Dad waving at us from the entrance. “You must be exhausted,” he said, pulling a bouquet of red roses and a porcelain doll from behind his back like a magician. “Do you like them?” Mom took the flowers, though she gave him a light, reprimanding look. “We have debts to pay, Dan. Why are you wasting money on things like this?” Dad looked at her with pure devotion. “I’m young, Claire. We’ll pay it off. Besides, I can’t let my wife suffer.” To anyone else, we looked like the picture-perfect, happy family. But I refused to touch the doll, walking right past him without saying a word. Mom sighed, turning to him with a helpless look. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She’s been acting strange ever since we left.” A flicker of panic crossed Dad’s eyes before he quickly brushed it off. “Just tired, probably. Let’s go up. I kept dinner warm.” The apartment was spotless. Because Mom had a mild dust allergy, Dad was always meticulous about deep-cleaning the place whenever we were gone for more than a few days. “Go wash your hands. I’ll plate the food.” It was a beautiful four-course meal, but I couldn’t look at it. My mind was flooded with the videos I had seen on that woman’s TikTok. She loved fish, but she was incredibly picky about it—no fishy smell, not too soft. And of all the things Dad cooked, his absolute specialty was pan-seared sea bass. Now I knew exactly who he had perfected that recipe for. A wave of hot, suffocating anger rushed through me. In a single, swift motion, I swept my arm across the table, sending the plates clattering to the floor. Both of them froze. But instead of yelling at me, they immediately rushed forward, terrified I had been burned. Dad dragged me to the kitchen sink, running cold tap water over my hands, frantically calling out to Mom to find the first-aid kit. He looked so genuinely concerned, so incredibly loving. And yet, this was the man who would ruin our lives. I yanked my hands away, ran to my room, and slammed the door. Mom followed me inside a moment later. “Sadie, sweetheart, what is going on? Talk to me. Did something happen?” Through the door, I heard the click of the lock as Dad went downstairs to take out the trash. The moment he was gone, I grabbed Mom’s arm. “Dad is lying to us!” I cried, my voice trembling. “He doesn’t have any debts—he has another family! I heard a woman’s voice on his phone the other night. And I took screenshots on your phone. Mom, please, don’t let him fool you anymore!” Mom didn’t move. She just sat on the edge of my bed, gently wiping the remaining water from my hands with a soft towel. “Mom, don’t you believe me?” I begged, tears streaming down my face. “I’m not lying! It’s all—” Mom let out a long, quiet sigh, her hand reaching up to stroke my hair. “Sadie… I know. I know everything.”

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The cold rain had already soaked through my thin coat, gluing my dark hair to my forehead, by the time Zach finally showed up. He wasn’t alone. There was someone else tucked under his umbrella. At six-foot-two, Zach’s broad frame completely shielded her from the wind. He had tilted the canopy so far over her that his own left shoulder was entirely drenched, yet he didn’t seem to mind. He just stood there, a soft, private smile playing on his lips. When his eyes met mine, that smile stiffened. “Fiona, I’m so sorry we’re late,” he said. The girl under his arm quickly chimed in, her voice dripping with sweet apology. “Fiona, it’s totally my fault. I’ve gotten so used to hitching a ride under Zach’s umbrella that I practically begged him to walk me. Honestly, being tucked under his arm like this? The sense of security is absolutely unmatched.” How many times does it take to get used to something? To make it a habit? I didn’t ask. I just forced a polite smile, stepped back into the downpour, and followed them toward the restaurant. Water dripped from my bangs, trickling cold down my collar, but the umbrella above them never once shifted in my direction. I sat through dinner with them. I drank the wine. I listened to their laughter echo through the restaurant all evening. Late that night, after Zach had fallen into a deep sleep beside me, I got out of bed. I opened that same umbrella in the living room, took a photo of it, and texted it to her. Since you love it so much, you can stay under his arm for the rest of your life. … When I walked back into the bedroom, Zach was still fast asleep. Suddenly, his arm twitched, brushing against the sheets. He mumbled, “Tiffany… stop playing…” Tiffany. His new assistant. They shouldn’t have been on a first-name basis in his dreams, yet there it was. I stared at his sleeping face in the dim light for what felt like hours. Finally, I grabbed my pillow, walked into the guest room, and stared at the ceiling until dawn. At five in the morning, the door was flung open with a sharp crash. “Fiona, did the rain rot your brain yesterday? What kind of crazy shit did you text Tiffany?” The overhead light flicked on, piercing my eyes like a blade. I squinted, my voice dry and hoarse. “Did I say anything wrong?” “I was late yesterday, okay? I admitted that, and I apologized—” “Zach,” I cut him off, sitting up. “How many times did you share that umbrella with her for it to become a habit? How close are you two that you’re calling her name in your sleep?” His aggressive posture faltered. He looked as if someone had suddenly choked him. The bedroom went dead silent for a few agonizing seconds. Then, he cleared his throat, a subtle, defensive flicker of guilt crossing his face. “She’s fresh out of college, Fiona. I’m her mentor. What’s wrong with looking out for her? I delegate a lot of tasks to her, so I’m used to calling her name. I muttered it once in a dream, and you’re turning it into a federal case?” Used to it. Another habit. I wanted to ask him how many other couple-like habits they shared. But the exhaustion in my bones won. I simply turned over, turning my back to him, and closed my eyes. “Dream about whoever you want from now on. Call her name as many times as you like.” “Fiona!” His voice rose, the weight of his stare pressing heavily onto my back. “Can you stop being so paranoid? Your mother has only been dead for a year, but you’ve already managed to inherit every single one of her psychotic traits.” The moment the words left his mouth, I snapped my eyes open. I turned around and stared at him as if he were a complete stranger. Zach and I had known each other since we were children. Our families lived across the hall from one another. When my mother, in a manic episode, stabbed my father to death, it was Zach’s parents who helped clean up the blood and handle the police. When my mother was committed to the asylum, I became a permanent fixture in Zach’s home. His mother bought two of everything—one for Zach, one for me. Years later, when my mother took her own life, Zach acted as the grieving son-in-law, organizing the funeral. He had knelt before her grave, eyes red and swollen, swearing he would protect and cherish me for the rest of his life. When you grow up starved for love, you cling to vows like they are lifesavers. We had lived together for ten years. We shared a bed, a kitchen, a life. But the engagement ring never arrived. Instead, I got an umbrella tilted over another woman, and a whispered name in the dark. Before I followed Zach to Boston for his career, my best friend, Georgia, had warned me: “When a relationship goes on this long without a commitment, men get bored. Keep your eyes open, Fiona.” I had laughed it off. Zach is different, I told her. But looking at the man standing in the doorway now, screaming at me to defend a girl he barely knew, I realized he wasn’t different at all. Realizing he had crossed a line, Zach’s expression softened slightly, but only for a fraction of a second. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, muttered a stiff “I’m sorry,” and walked out of the apartment. Fifteen minutes later, the front door opened again. The warm, sweet scent of hazelnut coffee and fresh apple turnovers drifted into the guest room. Zach walked in, took my hand, and gently guided me to the kitchen table. He began setting out the breakfast with awkward, deliberate care, forcing a warm smile. “I’m sorry, Fiona. I lost my temper earlier…” I didn’t answer. I didn’t reach for my phone to take a picture of the spread, nor did I post it on Instagram with a caption like, “Perks of dating your childhood sweetheart. He always knows how to make it up to me.” Instead, I looked at him, my expression entirely flat. “You bought these for her before, didn’t you?” The pastry in his hand froze mid-air. When he finally set it down, all warmth vanished from his face. “Can you please stop acting like a lunatic? I explained myself. I apologized. What more do you want from me?” He dragged out his words, letting his irritation seep out like poison, desperate to prove that I was the sole source of our misery. Slowly, I reached into my pocket and slid a small clump of hair onto the table. I looked up, locking eyes with him. “How do you explain this?” He opened his mouth to speak, but I spoke over him. “It’s wavy and honey-blonde. My hair is short and black. If that’s not enough, whose lace gloves are sitting on the entryway table? Whose fluffy slippers are in our master bathroom?” “Fiona…” “Are they Tiffany’s? Let me guess. She didn’t just ‘hitch a ride’ in your car, did she? She’s been in our home. More than once. It explains why my expensive skincare bottles are suddenly half-empty, and why I found this hair in the guest bed.” “Enough!” Zach slammed his hand on the table. The silence that followed was heavy, filled only with his ragged breathing. His handsome features twisted into a frown, and the look he gave me was cold, sharp, and laced with disgust. Yes, disgust. It was the exact look my father used to give my mother before everything fell apart. For a long time, that memory had lived in my head like a rusted nail. It hurt to look at. When I was a child, too afraid to ask my mother about it, I had asked Zach. He had taken my hands in his, his bright eyes shining like stars. “Fiona, your dad was blind. He couldn’t see how wonderful your mother was. I’m not like him. I see your worth. You’re my whole world.” The boy’s sweet promise echoed through the halls of my memory. But looking at the man in front of me now, the pain of that memory tightened around my chest, pulling so taut that I could barely breathe. “So what if she stayed here?” Zach sneered, his voice hard. “She’s not just some stranger. She needed a place to sleep, and it was entirely reasonable. Why do you have to be so viciously territorial?” “You work a dead-end receptionist job with zero ambition, zero friends, and zero social life. Do you expect me to limit myself to your pathetic little bubble and become a nobody too?” My eyes widened. “A nobody?” Zach’s eyes flickered with a brief flash of regret, but he quickly doubled down. “Look at yourself in the mirror, Fiona. Aside from being suffocating and paranoid, how do you even compare to Tiffany? She is brilliant, driven, and cultured. All you do is hide in the kitchen, wasting your life baking pastries. Why can’t you learn a thing or two from her?” He stood there, perfectly justified in his mind, unleashing a decade’s worth of built-up resentment. I quietly pressed a hand to my chest. I thought if I held it tight enough, it wouldn’t hurt as much. Twelve years ago, this same boy had held my flour-dusted hands and told me I was an artist, that my pastries could bring joy to the world. Twelve years later, he called me a useless nobody and told me to emulate the girl who was slowly taking my place. What was I supposed to learn from her? How to slide into another woman’s bed? How to claim an umbrella that didn’t belong to me and parade it in front of the rightful owner? How to make myself at home in another woman’s apartment and leave physical proof of my presence? No. I wouldn’t learn that. Before she died, my mother had whispered to me in a rare moment of lucidity: “Fiona, the world is vast. Don’t be like me. Don’t destroy yourself over a man.” She had paid for that lesson with her life. I wasn’t going to ignore it anymore. I laid my fork down, stood up, and looked directly into Zach’s eyes. I even managed a small, quiet smile. “Since Tiffany is so wonderful, you should have her. Let’s break up.” Zach’s immediate reaction wasn’t anger; it was sheer disbelief. It was the look of a master watching a well-trained dog refuse to come when called. Then, he chuckled. “Is this some new game? A little reverse psychology to make me chase you? I’m telling you right now, Fiona, it won’t work.” He pulled on his coat, adjusted his cuffs, and looked down at me with cold amusement. “Tiffany comes from an influential family. I expect you to treat her with respect and civility. You’re an adult, Fiona. Stop acting like a spoiled child.” I couldn’t comprehend his logic. Why was I, the long-term girlfriend, required to be respectful to the woman who was sleeping in my bed behind my back? But I didn’t argue. I remained silent. Thinking I had finally submitted, Zach nodded in satisfaction. “I have a business dinner tonight. Don’t wait up.” Which meant he might not come home at all. And I knew exactly who he’d be with. I didn’t bother to ask. “I’ll be moving out today,” I said quietly. The only response was the loud, echoing slam of the front door. I stared at the closed door for a long time. The sound of the slam felt as though it had landed directly on my chest, shattering something deep inside me. Maybe I was just getting older, or softer. I hadn’t shed a single tear when my mother died, but now, the tears flowed down my cheeks in hot, uncontrollable streams. I leaned against the table, slowly gathered the beautiful breakfast Zach had bought, and threw it all into the trash. That was when my phone buzzed. Ding. Ding. Ding. A barrage of photos flooded my screen. They were pictures of beautifully crafted marzipan animals—little rabbits, horses, and delicate pink kittens. My heart froze. “Fiona, look at how talented Zach is! He actually skipped his morning meetings to come over and carve these marzipan kittens for me. You really trained him well! They say one woman plants the tree and another enjoys the shade. I’ll make sure to give you a shoutout when we make things official!” The blatant malice of the text stared back at me. A thousand venomous replies flashed through my mind, and I began typing furiously, my hands shaking so badly I could barely hit the keys. But I didn’t send a single one. Instead, I remembered. “Fiona, does this little marzipan rabbit look like you? You’re always crying, just like a little bunny.” “Fiona, you were born in the year of the horse. I carved this little pony for your birthday. Do you like it?” Years ago, to win my heart, Zach had spent weeks learning how to sculpt marzipan, his fingers raw and bandaged from the carving tools. Today, those same hands were sculpting animals for someone else. He bought me store-bought pastries to save time, but he had hours to spare to carve delicate gifts for her. He wanted me to treat Tiffany with respect because he loved her. It was that simple. Even when we had first started dating, he had never once instructed his friends to treat me with such careful deference. My fingernails dug into the kitchen table, cracking against the wood. I felt a warm stickiness on my fingertips, but the physical pain didn’t register. The room seemed to tilt. I unlocked my phone, called my supervisor, and told her I was resigning. She was stunned. “Are you finally getting married?” Everyone at the office knew about my decade-long relationship. I swallowed the lump in my throat. “No. We broke up.” There was a brief, sympathetic pause on the other end. “If you ever want to come back, the door is always open.” Zach was right about one thing: my job was easily replaceable. The exit paperwork was simple, taking only a few minutes online. But he had forgotten why I had taken that receptionist job in the first place. I remembered him curled up on our bathroom floor years ago, clutching his stomach in agony, groaning, “Fiona, my stomach is burning… it hurts so bad…” Because of his chronic ulcers, I had chosen a mindless, low-stress nine-to-five job. A job that guaranteed I would never have to work overtime, so I could always be home to cook him fresh, gentle meals. Now, his stomach was fine, and I was just a “nobody.” I dragged my suitcase out of the closet. As I pulled the zipper, a small cardboard box fell out from the side pocket. Condoms. Crème Brûlée & Vanilla. A flavor we had never used. My blood ran entirely cold. With shaking hands, I took a photo of the box and sent it to Zach. Is she so irresistible that you had to leave these in my suitcase to flaunt your affair? The silence lasted exactly eight seconds. I counted every single one. Then, a text popped up. Come to this address. I’ll explain. It was a pin dropped at a lakeside park. I clutched the box of condoms, got into my car, and drove toward the coordinates. When I arrived, a lively outdoor cookout was underway. Tiffany was sitting comfortably among Zach’s close friends, laughing and handing out drinks like she was the hostess of the party. I stood at the edge of the lawn, looking like a ghost haunting their perfect afternoon. The laughter died down when they noticed me. “Come here,” Zach said, waving his hand dismissively, his brow furrowed. The casual arrogance in his gesture made my stomach turn. I didn’t move. But Tiffany did. A smug smile played on her lips as she walked briskly over to me. She grabbed my arm, feigning a welcoming gesture, but as she leaned in, her voice dropped to a venomous whisper. “I heard your mother stabbed your dad to death, and then hung herself in the madhouse. Doesn’t that make you the daughter of a psycho? Don’t look at me like that—Zach told me all about it in bed. He said—” Slap! The force of my hand striking her face silenced the entire park. I was the one who had delivered the blow, yet my entire body was shaking with an excruciating, violent pain. Zach. The boy who had once covered my eyes and told me to forget all the horror of my childhood. How could he take my deepest, most bleeding wounds and turn them into pillow talk to amuse his mistress? When Tiffany recovered from the shock, her eyes flared with rage. She lunged forward, shoving me back with all her strength. I lost my footing on the damp grass, stumbling backward. My arm caught the edge of the hot charcoal grill, knocking the entire metal structure over with a loud, clattering crash. Hot coals and searing metal collapsed directly onto my bare arm. Pain exploded across my skin like a physical flare. I let out a sharp, strangled scream. But Zach, the boy who had spent his entire life protecting me, didn’t even look my way. He rushed past me, throwing his arms around Tiffany, who had collapsed into tears, clutching her cheek. “Are you okay? Does it hurt?” his voice cracked with genuine panic. Tiffany sobbed, shaking her head. “Zach, I didn’t mean to… she hit me first, and I just reacted…” Zach pulled her tightly against his chest, then turned his head to glare at me with eyes full of absolute ice. “Fiona, when are you going to stop this psychotic behavior? You put your hands on her—if you’ve scarred her, do you have any idea what the consequences will be?” I looked at the sheer coldness in his eyes. Then I looked down at my own arm, where the skin was already blistering and turning a sickening white. He couldn’t smell the scent of my singed flesh. He couldn’t see that I was trembling from the sheer agony of the burns. He only saw that I had slapped his precious Tiffany. I pushed myself up from the grass, my body shaking violently. I pointed a trembling finger at the woman in his arms. “Zach… do you know what she said to me? She talked about my mother—” “Isn’t it the truth?” he interrupted, his voice sharp and dismissive. The chatter of the crowd faded into a dull, roaring ring in my ears. I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear him apart. But in the end, all I could do was clutch my burnt arm, swallow my tears, and turn away. Behind me, someone snapped a photo. Someone else let out a cruel, quiet laugh. Tiffany’s soft whimpers sounded like a victory lap. As I stumbled toward the parking lot, Zach’s voice boomed after me. “I’ll give you until tomorrow morning to apologize to Tiffany, Fiona! If you don’t, the position of my wife is going to someone else!” I paused, but I didn’t turn around. “We’re done, Zach.” The wind bit into my fresh burns, feeling like a thousand tiny needles. But none of it compared to the wound he had just carved into my chest. Sitting in the back of a taxi, my hand brushed against a small, faded object in my coat pocket. It was the little paper ring Zach had folded for me when we were teenagers. The tears finally spilled over. Not because of the physical pain. But because the very last person who had promised to love me had finally abandoned me, just like my father, and just like my mother. At the hospital, as the nurse bandaged my arm, my phone buzzed. There was no apology. No “Are you okay?” or “Does it hurt?” Only a single text from Zach: Apologize to Tiffany first. We will talk about the rest later. I stared at the screen for a long time, watching the words until the display timed out and went black. In the dark reflection of the screen, I saw my own face—pale lips, bloodshot eyes. I popped the SIM card out of the tray, threw it into a trash can, and walked toward the boarding gate without looking back.

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As a spy, I spent three years undercover in the Golden Triangle — and finally, the extraction signal came from my handler and boyfriend. Five minutes. That’s all it would take for us to go home together. Then his voice cut through my earpiece, cold as ice: “Plan B. I have to go save ‘Nightingale’ — she’s been compromised. She’s my ex-girlfriend.” “Stay under. Your cover’s still intact. You’re safe.” I snapped the earpiece in two, walked over to the drug lord I’d just hog-tied, and spoke to him in a language he’d understand. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll take out your competition.” The air was thick with the smell of blood and wet earth. My name is Vivian. I’m a top operative for The Apex intelligence organization. Codename: Mockingbird. I’d been undercover for three full years in the most dangerous stretch of rainforest in the Golden Triangle. Today was the day it all came together. Spread across the clearing in front of me were a dozen of Hector’s men. All of them dealt with. And Hector himself — one of the three most powerful drug lords in the Golden Triangle, my primary target — was bound tight against a tree with specialized rope. The look in his eyes was pure terror and confusion. He couldn’t understand it. The woman he’d trusted most, who’d been by his side for a year, had turned on him without warning — and done it with terrifying precision. I ignored his stare and glanced at my watch. Five minutes until the scheduled extraction. My boyfriend, Zane — also the commanding officer on this operation — would arrive at the rendezvous point in five minutes with his team. He’d take me and Hector out together. Then we’d go home. I ran my thumb over the plain steel band on my ring finger, feeling calm. Zane had given it to me three years ago. He said once I finished this mission, he’d replace it with a real ring. Static crackled in my earpiece. Then Zane’s voice came through. “Vivian, do you copy?” “Copy,” I answered. My voice was rough from years of keeping it in check. “Nice work. Stick to the original plan — meet at Point A in five minutes.” “Understood.” I watched Hector. He seemed to catch something from my earpiece. The despair on his face was immediate. Everything was going exactly as planned. But just as I reached up to cut the comm, Zane’s voice came back. There was something in it I’d never heard before — hesitation. Conflict. “Wait — Vivian.” My stomach dropped. “Headquarter just sent through an emergency alert. Nightingale’s cover is blown. She’s in danger, trapped inside Victor’s territory.” Nightingale. Roxie. Zane’s ex-girlfriend. I didn’t say anything. I just listened. The air felt like it had stopped moving. “I have to go get her.” Zane’s voice went cold and flat. “She’s my ex. I owe her.” I laughed. Silently, to myself. So being an ex-girlfriend outweighed the life of a current one. “What about us?” I asked. My voice came out quiet. “Vivian, listen to me.” There was an edge of impatience in his tone now. “You’re safe right now. Your cover hasn’t been blown. Hector’s already neutralized. All you have to do is stay under and wait for new orders.” Safe? I looked around at the bodies scattered across the ground, then back at Hector, who was glaring at me with pure hatred. He was telling me I was safe — here, in the middle of a drug lord’s compound, seconds after a firefight. “This is an order.” All emotion drained from Zane’s voice. “Execute Plan B.” Plan B. A plan he’d never once mentioned to me. A plan built around rescuing his ex-girlfriend — with me as the acceptable loss. I didn’t give him the chance to say another word. I reached up and pulled the tiny earpiece free, inch by inch, slow and deliberate. Then, while Hector watched in stunned silence, I took that small device — the one that had carried every order, every promise, every piece of my loyalty — and snapped it clean in half. The line went dead. I walked over to Hector, crouched down, and met his wary, searching eyes head-on. I spoke in the local dialect — the one he’d grown up with, the one that left no room for misunderstanding — one word at a time. “Hector. Let’s make a deal.” “I’ll take out your competition. Victor.”

The look on Hector’s face was something else. It moved through shock, then suspicion, then — just barely visible beneath the surface — a flash of wild excitement. “What makes you think you can?” he asked. His voice came out rough, strained from the ropes cutting into him. “Because I’m The Apex’s top agent — and you’re my leverage.” I said it straight. I didn’t give him time to think. I grabbed the knife from his belt and sliced through the ropes binding him. “Your men will figure out something’s wrong soon and come looking. We don’t have much time.” I stood up and dusted off my hands. Hector rolled his wrists, working out the numbness where the ropes had cut in. He looked at me with an unreadable expression. “What do you want?” Direct. That was one of the things I liked about him. “I want to survive. And then I want revenge.” My voice was calm, but only I knew what kind of rage was burning inside me. “Deal.” That was all Hector said. He was smart. He knew the situation — working with me was his only way out. It didn’t take long before Hector’s men followed the sound of gunshots and found us. When they saw Hector standing there unharmed, with me at his side, everyone froze. “Clean this up.” Hector pointed to the bodies on the ground and gave the order to his right-hand man. “Nothing happened here today.” “Yes, boss.” I followed Hector back to his base — a fortified compound hidden deep in the rainforest. He gave me the cleanest room available and told me to rest first. I didn’t argue. After three years undercover, it had been a long time since I’d slept properly. But just as I was about to lie down, there was a knock at my door. It was Hector’s right-hand man — a guy named Felix. “Madam, the boss asked me to give you this.” Felix handed me an encrypted satellite phone. “We’ll use this to reach you when there’s news.” “You already have something?” I asked. Felix nodded, his expression a little off. “Our people dug up some information about Nightingale. Turns out her so-called cover being blown was nothing — just a minor skirmish during an arms deal with Victor’s crew. She barely got scratched.” Barely got scratched. I repeated those words in my head. It felt like a sick joke. Over a scratch. Zane had thrown away a three-year operation — and thrown me away with it — over a scratch. “Also,” Felix continued, “The Apex’s Deputy Director, Silas, just got off a call with Zane.” My stomach tightened. Silas was Zane’s direct superior — and one of the most cunning operators inside The Apex. “What did they say?” “Silas told Zane he fully supported the decision to cut you loose. His exact words were…” Felix paused. “‘Sometimes you have to sacrifice one to protect the whole.’” Sacrifice one to protect the whole. How noble. So that’s all I was to them — the “one” they could throw away whenever it was convenient. I gripped the satellite phone so hard my nails were nearly digging into my palm. “Got it.” I shut the door and leaned back against it. My legs gave out, and I slid slowly to the floor. This wasn’t abandonment. This was a setup. A complete and total setup. One that my lover and my own organization had built together — just for me.

I stayed at Hector’s compound for three days. I didn’t do anything during those three days. I just ate, slept, and let my body recover. Hector didn’t bother me either. He gave me space and treated me with respect. On the fourth day, Felix came back with the latest intel. “Madam, we intercepted an encrypted exchange between Zane and Roxie.” He handed me a tablet. On the screen was the decrypted transcript. I skimmed through it fast, and with every line, I felt something inside me sink a little deeper. Zane: Vivian might not be dead. Nothing’s come out of Hector’s side. Roxie: She has to die. She knows too much. A living Mockingbird is a massive liability for us. Zane: I know. But I didn’t think you’d actually go through with meeting Victor’s people just to make my Plan B look convincing. Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? Roxie: If it means getting rid of her and having you back — it was worth every risk. I couldn’t read any further. So even the so-called “cover blown” had been Roxie’s own doing — a scheme she’d staged herself. And Zane — my lover, my partner — hadn’t just known about it. He’d been part of it. What chilled me even more was the conversation that came next. Zane: “I’ve already reported to the higher-ups that Vivian leaked part of the operation route during the mission to capture Hector, which caused the mission to fail. Now everyone inside the organization believes she’s a traitor.” Roxie: “So when is she going to die?” Zane: “I’ve already arranged it. I tipped off Victor’s people in advance about one of the possible routes Vivian might take during the capture operation. If Hector doesn’t kill her, Victor’s people will.” So that rainy night — those cold shots that nearly took my life — they weren’t an accident. They were a trap. Set by the man I loved, with his own hands. He didn’t abandon me. He wanted me dead. I switched off the tablet and handed it back to Felix, my face completely blank. “Thank you.” “Madam, are you…” Felix looked at me, stopping himself before he could finish. “I’m fine.” I forced the corners of my mouth into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I just want to kill a few people.” My existence had become a threat they couldn’t ignore. They would stop at nothing to get rid of me. And I couldn’t just sit here and wait to die. I went to find Hector. He was cleaning his gold-plated AK when I walked in. He didn’t look surprised to see me. “Come to a decision?” he asked. “I want to know what Victor’s been up to lately.” I got straight to the point. Hector paused what he was doing and looked up at me. “He’s been swallowing up several of our operations, and he cut into one of our supply lines with the South American buyers. What — you thinking about going after him?” “Know your enemy, and you’ll never lose a battle,” I said. Hector smiled. “I like the way you think. Alright — whatever you want to know, I’ll tell you.” “I want to know what kind of connection he has with The Apex.” Hector’s expression shifted. “You think Victor has someone inside your organization?” “Not think,” I said, holding his gaze, each word deliberate. “I know.” The fact that Zane could so easily leak my operation route to Victor meant the two of them had already built a secret line of communication long before any of this. And Roxie — walking straight into Victor’s territory, getting into “danger,” and then slipping out completely “unharmed”? That was no coincidence. There was something much bigger buried underneath all of this. And I was right in the middle of it — a pawn they could sacrifice whenever it suited them.

Zane and Roxie came for me faster than I expected. On the fifth day, Felix brought news. “Madam, The Apex has sent a six-person elite squad into the Golden Triangle. The one leading them is Zane’s most trusted man — codename: Bloodhound.” I let out a cold laugh. The Apex’s resources were supposed to be used against enemies. Instead, Zane was turning them on one of his own — his current girlfriend. It was like someone stealing your house and then beating you with your own furniture. The irony was almost impressive. “You’re their target.” Hector sat across from me, his expression serious. “I know.” “What’s your plan?” “They think I’m the prey. I’ll show them who the real hunter is.” I met Hector’s eyes, my gaze steady. “Hector, I need full intelligence support from you — and your best team.” He didn’t answer right away. He just watched me, like he was weighing something. I knew what he was thinking. The intel I’d given him before had impressed him, sure — but it wasn’t enough to make him go all in on me. I needed something bigger. Something that would make him willing to walk through fire for me. I took a slow breath and spoke. “I know where Victor keeps his core ledger.” Hector’s pupils shrank. In the Golden Triangle, drugs and weapons were currency — but what could truly make or break a drug lord was the ledger. It held records of every illegal transaction, every name in the web of protection behind him. If that ledger ever got out, it meant total destruction. Victor’s ledger was the ultimate card — the kind that could flip the entire balance of power in the Golden Triangle. “How do you know that?” There was a faint tremor in Hector’s voice. “Three years ago, when I first came to the Golden Triangle, I spent three months working for Victor as an accountant. That ledger — I built it myself.” It was the last card I’d been holding in reserve, kept for exactly this moment. I never thought I’d use it to make a deal with a drug lord. But right now, I had no other choice. Hector looked at me, his eyes burning with greed he couldn’t hide. He knew exactly what this ledger was worth. With it, he could not only destroy “Victor” once and for all — he could follow the trail all the way up, getting his hooks into the politicians and warlords who’d been protecting “Victor,” and swallow every underground operation in the Golden Triangle whole. “Why should I trust you?” Hector asked. But his tone already gave him away. “You don’t have to trust me.” I stood up and walked toward him, looking down at him from where I stood. “You just have to choose — keep playing these little games with me, testing each other, or work with me and win the whole Golden Triangle.” In that moment, I was no longer Vivian, the agent who’d been thrown away like garbage. I was the woman who held Hector’s life in her hands. The woman who would decide the future of the entire Golden Triangle, a queen.

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Liam, Kingsley University’s undisputed campus heartthrob, had just landed himself in a massive mess. The Prom Queen had gone live across every platform, calling him out for using her and throwing her away — and now millions of viewers were demanding he get kicked out of Kingsley University. The thing was, he and the Prom Queen had only ever crossed paths once. He hadn’t said a single word to her the entire time. Just as Liam was settling in to watch the drama unfold from a safe distance, a hundred helicopters suddenly descended on the campus quad. Black-suited bodyguards from the Hayes family — the wealthiest family in the country — dropped to their knees in unison: “Welcome home, Young Master!” Turns out he was the long-lost heir of the Hayes family, missing for eighteen years. Great. So it was finally his turn to have absurd wealth fall out of the sky. But there was one thing he’d never quite gotten around to mentioning: That “fuckboy” everyone was calling out? Was a girl. The quad at Kingsley University was today’s hottest entertainment. In a livestream pulling tens of millions of viewers, the chat was absolutely flooded with “die, you player.” On camera, Blair — the campus sweetheart from the Dance Department — was sobbing her eyes out, holding up what she called a “certified psychological trauma assessment.” “Guys, I literally can’t even! I am so done! Liam isn’t just a fuckboy—he’s emotionally manipulating me! Waaah, didn’t you promise I was your only one? Now you’re not only cheating, but you’re letting your new girl cyberbully me! You are completely heartless! I’m going to expose your true colors to the entire internet!” Every word Blair spoke dripped with raw pain, and the bullet comments erupted. 【OMG?? LIAM?? The guy who’s so hot it should be illegal??】 【I’m literally shaking rn. He looks so cold and untouchable but he’s out here doing THIS??】 【DUMP HIM. DUMP HIM. DUMP HIM. Fuckboys don’t deserve rights. Get OUT of Kingsley University!!】 Out on the quad, at the center of all that fury, the so-called “villain” of the story — Liam — was leaning against the basketball hoop, face completely blank, grinding ranked matches on his phone. Here’s the thing about Kingsley’s legendary campus heartthrob: she — Liam — was actually a girl. She’d been raised as a boy by her mother since childhood, after their family was targeted by enemies who wanted them dead. Watching Blair’s spectacularly bad acting, Liam felt absolutely nothing. If anything, she kind of wanted to laugh. Emotionally manipulating? Cheating? Girl, do you have some fundamental misunderstanding about my sexuality? She and Blair had crossed paths exactly once — and that was when Blair had deliberately walked into her and spilled a bubble tea all over her, trying to start something. Liam hadn’t spared her a single word in response. And from that… she’d spun an entire award-worthy tragic romance? Honestly, the talent. She was wasting it not being a screenwriter. “Liam, you are so done for. You’re basically public enemy number one right now,” her pudgy roommate said beside her, sweating bullets. Liam calmly secured a pentakill. “Hm.” “They’re saying you only look good on the outside and there’s nothing worth seeing underneath!” Liam put her phone away. “Sure.” Just as Blair was gearing up for her grand emotional finale — rallying the entire campus to boycott Liam — a deafening roar split the sky. The wind surged. Dirt and debris went flying everywhere. Every student and faculty member on campus looked up in stunned disbelief as ten massive helicopters — each one bearing the Hayes family crest — circled overhead like a storm rolling in. The cabin doors swung open. Dozens of men in black, fully armed and wearing dark sunglasses, rappelled down on ropes, radiating pure authority — straight out of a Hollywood action film. At the front was a man with a deep scar cutting across his face. He swept his gaze across the crowd, and it locked onto Liam with laser precision. Then, with tens of millions of livestream viewers watching in stunned silence, the entire group of suited-up enforcers dropped to one knee in unison. “Young Master! We’re here to bring you home!” The words rang out like thunder. Every student and teacher on campus: ??? Blair: ??? Liam: … Scarface pulled out a yellowed photograph. “By order of the head of the family — the missing young master bears a crescent-shaped scar on the collarbone. We confirmed your identity through the DNA from your school enrollment physical. You are the Hayes family’s long-lost heir — missing for eighteen years!” The Hayes family？ The richest family in the country. Those two phrases hit the livestream chat like depth charges. The whole thing crashed. Blair’s expression froze solid. The grief on her face dissolved into barely-concealed ecstasy in an instant. She’d started this trying to take down the campus heartthrob — and she’d accidentally stumbled into the heir to the most powerful family in the country? She lunged forward, putting on her most pitiful face. “L… Dorian, I didn’t know you were — I didn’t mean any of this—” Scarface didn’t even glance at her. He raised one hand. “Young Master, this way, please.” Liam — a combat prodigy with ten years of boxing under her belt — was nevertheless “escorted” onto the helicopter by two of the men. She looked down at the crowd below, every single one of them standing there completely dumbstruck. One thought ran through her mind: This world has officially lost the plot in a way I no longer recognize.

When Liam was airlifted onto the Hayes family estate by helicopter, she felt like she’d accidentally logged into a pay-to-win whale’s private server. The estate stretched across a thousand acres. A gleaming castle stood at its center. Even the stone lions flanking the entrance were studded with diamonds. “Young master, welcome home.” The butler bowed at a perfect ninety-degree angle, precise as a programmed AI. Mr. and Mrs. Hayes had been waiting for some time. Mrs. Hayes pulled Liam into a fierce embrace, sobbing hard enough to shake her whole body. “My baby! Mom finally found you!” Liam went completely rigid. Ma’am, squeeze any tighter and I’m going to pass out. Mr. Hayes’ eyes were faintly red. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’re home now. That Blair from Kingsley University — I’ve already had people take care of it. Anyone who messes with the Hayes family is signing their own death warrant.” Pure, unfiltered money talking. Liam was just about to say something when a faint sound drifted down from the spiral staircase on the second floor — the soft roll of wheelchair wheels. “Dad, Mom, he just got back. Don’t scare him.” Liam looked up. The man was strikingly handsome. He wore a pure black silk shirt, his face paper-pale, with a deep red flush at the corners of his eyes that made him look beautifully, dangerously sick. He sat in his wheelchair, looking down at her with an expression that hovered somewhere between a smile and something else entirely. The Hayes family’s adopted son — Dorian Hayes. “Liam, welcome home.” Dorian steered his wheelchair toward her and extended a hand — pale, long-fingered, graceful. Dorian narrowed her eyes. His gaze was like a snake’s — sharp, probing, not even bothering to hide it. She reached out and took his hand. His skin was ice-cold. “Hi,” she said. Short and simple. Dorian let out a quiet laugh. His thumb moved almost absently across the back of her hand, sending a shiver through her. “Such soft hands, Liam. Not very manly at all.” Liam yanked her hand back. Her eyes went cold in an instant. Was he testing her? “You should worry less about other people when you’re not exactly in perfect health yourself,” Liam shot back without missing a beat. “Thinking too hard tends to shorten a person’s life, you know.” The air went still. Mrs. Hayes startled. “Liam! Is that any way to talk to your brother?” But Dorian raised a hand to stop her, his smile growing wider, a wild light flickering deep in those dark eyes. “It’s fine, Mom. This attitude of his… I like it.” Mr. and Mrs. Hayes were determined to make it up to Liam — and they were not holding back. To give Liam the kind of presence befitting a Hayes heir, Mr. Hayes arranged eight personal bodyguards, each standing six-foot-three, on 24-hour watch. Mrs. Hayes, meanwhile, had gone all out decorating Liam’s room — an all-black color scheme, various bladed weapons mounted on the walls, and a bed shaped like a race car. Liam stared at the bed for a long moment. Someone please help me. Mom’s version of love is a little too intense. “Liam, do you love it? I did so much research — guys your age are all into this dark, edgy aesthetic!” Mrs. Hayes looked at her expectantly, practically begging for praise. Liam forced a smile that looked worse than a grimace. “…Love it. Absolutely love it.” Just then, Dorian was wheeled in by his nurse. He glanced around the room and laughed under his breath. “Mom, are you sure this is for our little brother and not for some hardcore edgelord?” Liam took a slow breath. Does this guy ever drop the sarcasm for even five seconds? “I think it’s great.” Liam shoved her hands in her pockets and looked at him coldly. “Better than certain people who are stuck in a wheelchair and can’t even afford to be edgy.” The light in Dorian’s eyes dimmed. He waved for the nurse and Mrs. Hayes to leave. The two of them were alone in the room. The air shifted — sharp, coiled, ready to snap.

Dorian steered his wheelchair toward her, closing the distance until the footrest pressed against the tips of her shoes. He tilted his head back slightly, gazing up at Liam’s cool, unreadable face. “Liam.” He said her name — voice low and rough, with a thread of something that felt almost obsessive. “What exactly are you hiding?” Liam looked down at him, then slowly leaned in — both hands braced on the armrests of his wheelchair, caging him in place. Their noses nearly touched. Their breath mingled. “You want to know?” Liam’s mouth curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “Then beg me.” Dorian’s breath caught. The wildness in his eyes nearly spilled over. He reached up in one swift motion and grabbed her tie, yanking her down hard. Liam was pulled forward, her lips grazing his ear. “Patience,” Dorian murmured against her ear, his voice low and intoxicating. “The best hunts… are the ones you take your time with.” Liam shoved him away and straightened her tie, eyes cold as ice. “Who’s the prey here? That’s still up for debate.” Push and pull. The tension between them had been pushed to its absolute limit. A frenemy had been right by my side all along. To formally introduce their recovered heir to the world, the Hayes family decided to throw the gala of the century. Liam was planted in front of a mirror and forced to endure the torture of a top-tier stylist. A perfectly tailored white haute couture suit traced every line of her lean, upright figure. Her hair was swept back, revealing a smooth forehead and sharp, striking eyes. She stared at herself in the mirror. Way too much corporate drone energy. Dorian sat nearby, red wine in hand, his gaze roaming over her without the slightest attempt to hide it. “Your waist is too small,” Dorian said suddenly, a barely perceptible roughness in his voice. The stylist blinked. “Dorian, this is already the smallest size we carry.” “I said—” Dorian kept his eyes fixed on Liam, the way someone studies a piece of art they consider exclusively theirs. “Her waist. Is too small. Not exactly… manly.” Liam’s heart skipped a beat, but her expression didn’t crack. “Are you jealous of my figure? I mean, spending all that time in a wheelchair does cause muscle atrophy. Totally understandable.” Instead of getting angry, Dorian let out a low, quiet laugh. “Is that so? Then tonight, I’ll make sure to get a good, long look at my little brother’s ‘great figure.’” The gala was held at a seven-star hotel owned by the Hayes family. Politicians, executives, and power players from every corner of society had gathered under one roof. Liam moved through the crowd on autopilot, champagne in hand — a hollow smile plastered on her face as she dealt with wave after wave of people trying to get close to her. Just as Hayes Sr. was about to step up to the podium for his speech, the doors to the banquet hall burst open. A woman with wild, disheveled hair and torn clothes came charging in, a fruit knife clutched in her hand. It was Blair. After being blacklisted by the Hayes family, she hadn’t just been expelled from school — she’d been buried under a mountain of debt. She had completely lost it. “Liam! You destroyed my life! I’ll take you down with me!” Blair screamed, her voice unhinged. The room erupted into chaos. Before security could move in, Blair pressed the knife to her own throat and screamed at the press cameras: “You’ve all been fooled by him! He’s not some heir to a powerful family! He’s a monster! He’s a rapist!” Camera flashes fired like machine guns. Blair’s sobs came out raw and ragged. “Back at school, he dragged me into the men’s bathroom and assaulted me! I still have the scars he left on my body! The Hayes family covered it all up to protect their reputation! Someone has to stand up for me!” The room erupted. Sexual assault? Rape? This was the scandal of the century. Hayes Sr. was shaking with rage. “Get this lunatic out of here!” “Anyone who touches me — I’ll die right here!” Blair’s emotions had spiraled completely out of control. The blade had already nicked her throat, and a thin line of blood trickled down her neck. No one dared move. Dorian sat in the corner, watching the scene coldly. But his eyes stayed locked on Liam, as if he was waiting to see how she’d play this. Liam let out a slow breath. Fine. Let it all burn. She set down her champagne glass and, under the stunned gazes of every person in the room, walked toward Blair — one step at a time. “You’re saying,” Liam’s voice was quiet and ice-cold, “that I assaulted you in a men’s bathroom?” “That’s right! You animal!” Blair spat through clenched teeth. Liam smiled. It was a wild, wicked smile. Almost dangerous. The next second, she did something that short-circuited every brain in the room. She raised her hand, grabbed the lapel of her suit jacket, and yanked it off — letting it drop to the floor without a second glance. Then her fingers found the first button of her white dress shirt. “What — what are you doing?!” Blair panicked. Liam ignored her. Click. The first button came undone. The entire room fell dead silent. The only sound was the collective sharp intake of breath. Click. The second. Click. The third. When the shirt fell fully open, the room exploded in a roar that could have blown the roof off. There was no flat chest beneath. Under a fitted black sports bra were unmistakably feminine curves — and a waist so slender it looked like it could fit in the span of two hands. Her pale skin practically glowed under the lights.

Liam stared at the completely frozen Blair, her voice cutting through the entire banquet hall: “Have you ever heard of a rapist… who’s a woman?” A woman?! The Hayes family’s long-lost son, missing for eighteen years… was actually a woman?! Camera flashes lit up the room like broad daylight. The entire banquet hall descended into a madness unlike anything it had ever seen. The knife slipped from Blair’s hand and clattered to the floor. Her eyes rolled back, and she dropped like a stone. Mr. and Mrs. Hayes stood frozen, like they’d been struck by lightning. Their whole understanding of reality shattered into pieces. And in the corner of the room. Dorian watched the girl on the stage — half her shirt undone, wild and untamed — as the madness and possessiveness in his eyes finally broke loose completely. He crushed the wine glass in his fist in one sudden motion. Blood seeped through his fingers, but he didn’t even notice. He just stared at Liam, a sick, burning smile curling at the corner of his lips. “Caught you… Liam.” The dinner party scandal wrapped up in the most chaotic way possible. The Kingsley University forum crashed again. Liam had gone from “scumbag playboy prince” to “the queen every girl would kneel for” without missing a beat. [First I doubted her. Then I got it. Now I’m literally her dog. Step on me!] [Girl in disguise exposes a two-faced snake — wait, is this an actual girlboss power fantasy or real life?!] [I always said she was too pretty to be a guy. Turns out she’s a girl! I’m officially declaring it — Liam is my one and only wife!] Inside the Hayes family, though, it was like a magnitude-8 earthquake had just hit. After the initial wave of shock, disbelief, and full-blown existential crisis, Mr. and Mrs. Hayes bounced back at impressive speed. “Honey! We have a daughter! We finally have our sweet little girl!” Mrs. Hayes cried, slapping her thigh in excitement. “Exactly! We have to make up for everything we missed! Get that racing car bed out of here — tear it down and replace it with something pink!” Mr. Hayes declared, waving his hand. And so began Liam’s personal hell. Her room was transformed into a sea of pink. Lace, bows, Barbie dolls — everything you could imagine. Her wardrobe was stuffed with designer princess dresses, every single one screaming cute. Liam lay sprawled across the pink princess bed, feeling like a tough guy who’d been forcibly squeezed into a tiny frilly dress. She had absolutely zero will to go on. Knock knock. A rap on the door. Dorian wheeled himself in. He was wearing a white knit sweater today, looking completely harmless — but Liam knew that if you cut this guy open, he’d be rotten on the inside. He glanced around at the sea of pink and let out a soft laugh. “Looks like my little sister is very pleased with her new room.” Liam rolled her eyes. “Which eye of yours sees me being pleased? And by the way — who exactly is your sister?” Dorian maneuvered his wheelchair to the side of the bed, then suddenly leaned in, planting both hands on either side of her, caging her between himself and the mattress. He was dangerously close. Liam could even catch the faint, cool scent of him. “If not that, then what do I call you?” Dorian’s voice dropped, low and rough, laced with a thread of dangerous playfulness. “How about… elder sister?” Liam’s heart stuttered, but her expression didn’t crack. She grabbed him by the collar and yanked him toward her until their noses nearly touched. “Dorian, don’t play games with me.” Her eyes were sharp as a blade. “You’ve known I was a girl this whole time, haven’t you?” From the first time he’d said her hands were too soft, to the comment at the dinner party about her waist being too slim — this guy had been watching her little act the entire time! Dorian didn’t deny it. He let her grip his collar, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Yeah, I’ve always known. So what? What are you going to do to punish me?” He drew the word out deliberately, his voice warm with something tender and unsettling. Liam let out a cold laugh and released him, shoving his wheelchair back with her foot. The chair rolled backward, but Dorian stayed perfectly composed in his seat, his smile only deepening. “Go get help if something’s wrong with you.” Liam climbed off the bed. “Don’t come here losing your mind.” “But you’re the only one who can cure me.” Dorian watched her walk away, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. Push and pull. Tension cranked all the way up. Liam knew — she’d just been zeroed in on by a mad dog.

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I faked my own death to slip away, spending three months at a secret facility working on a classified medical project. The day the project wrapped up, the entire city was tuned in to watch a lavish wedding broadcast live. On the screen, the meek little nanny’s daughter — the one everyone thought they could push around — was wearing a one-of-a-kind wedding gown I had designed with my own hands. On her head sat the heirloom crown my mother had left for me. She was nestled in the arms of my fiancé, blushing as she announced she was about to inherit the Astor family’s hundred-billion-dollar fortune. And my mother — who was supposed to be resting quietly at a care facility — had been smeared as a lunatic by these people. They had her locked in a basement, eating spoiled food. I stormed straight to the wedding venue and gave them all a show they’d never forget: a woman rising from the dead. The iron gates of the Astor family estate had a new passcode. I was dressed in a plain gray work uniform, cap pulled low, blending in with the temp workers hauling in floral arrangements for the wedding. Head down, I walked through the gates of the home where I had lived for twenty-two years. The courtyard was blanketed in Bulgarian white roses, flown in from overseas. My fiancé, Elias Vance, had once bought out an entire estate just to grow this very variety — all to win my favor. Now, these same roses had become Hannah Higgins’s stepping stones. “Move it, people! These flowers were specially flown in by Elias for Hannah. Damage a single petal and you won’t be able to pay it off for the rest of your lives!” A sharp voice cut through the air from the top of the steps. I looked up, tugging my cap lower. Standing there was Martha Higgins — the woman who used to be our family’s nanny. She was wearing a Chanel haute couture suit that had once belonged to my mother. Around her neck hung a strand of deep imperial green jade, the color rich and flawless. She was barking orders at the workers like she owned the place. That jade necklace had been my grandmother’s wedding gift to my mother. “Hey — you! Yes, you, the one in the cap! Take that planter to the side hall. Don’t block the main entrance!” Martha’s fingers, tipped in bright red nail polish, pointed straight at my face. I kept my head down, wrapped my arms around the heavy planter, and made my way to the side hall one step at a time. In the corner of the side hall, an old man with a full head of white hair was kneeling on the floor. It was Charles. Thirty years with the Astor family. The head butler who had watched me grow up. Right now, he was on his knees with a rag in his hands, slowly wiping mud and water off the marble floor. Hannah was wearing heels encrusted with tiny diamonds, and she was deliberately stepping across the spots Charles had just cleaned, leaving one muddy print after another. “Charles, you’re getting old. You can’t even clean a floor properly anymore.” Hannah’s voice was soft and sweet, but the cruelty underneath it was impossible to hide. ” Hannah…” Charles’s voice was hoarse, his hands trembling slightly. “I’ve already wiped this floor ten times. It’s you who keeps—” “How dare you talk back?!” Hannah snapped her foot up and drove the sharp heel of her shoe hard into Charles’s shoulder. Charles let out a muffled groan and crashed to the ground. “In this house, I make the rules now. I tell you to clean, you clean. Do you think you’re still some high-and-mighty head butler? Grace is dead — dropped dead in some lab. Mrs. Astor has lost her mind. This house belongs to us now!” My fingers tightened around the planter. My knuckles went white. The dirt pressing into my skin kept the pain sharp enough to hold me together. Grace is dead? Mrs. Astor has lost her mind? I had faked my death to take part in a top-secret government project. To cut off all outside contact, I had signed a classified agreement for three months of complete isolation. Before I left, I had entrusted everything at home to Elias. I thought he was my fiancé. I thought he was the one person I could trust completely. I never imagined he would betray me — and not just that. He had teamed up with this mother-daughter pair to swallow my family’s fortune and abuse the people I loved. “What are you staring at?” Hannah noticed me standing in the corner. Her eyes sharpened. “New hire? No manners at all. Get over here and lick up the mess this old man made on the floor.” She pointed at the muddy water on the ground, looking at me the way you’d look at a stray dog. I set down the planter. Slowly, I raised my head and took off my cap. The hallway was dim, and she hadn’t gotten a clear look at my face yet. I walked toward her, one step at a time, until I was standing right in front of her. I looked at that face — twisted with jealousy and greed — and let a cold smile curl at the corner of my mouth. “Hannah. Three months, and you’ve grown a lot bolder. Thicker-skinned, too.” My voice was quiet, but it rang out through the empty side hall like a crack of thunder. Hannah went rigid. Her eyes went wide, like she’d seen a ghost. “You… who are you? Your voice…” She stumbled back a step. Her heel twisted, and she dropped onto the sofa in a heap. I ignored her and bent down to help Charles up from the floor. “Grace…” He looked up at me, and the moment his eyes found my face, tears spilled down his weathered cheeks. His lips trembled violently. “You’re alive… you’re really alive…” “Charles. I’m back.” I patted his dust-covered shoulder. My eyes were cold as ice. “I’ll take it from here.”

“Someone! Security! Get this lunatic out of my house!” Hannah finally snapped back to reality and let out a shriek that could shatter glass. Several men in black suits came rushing in. I didn’t recognize a single face. Clearly new hires — brought in after Martha and Hannah took over. “Throw her out! Now!” Hannah jabbed a finger at me. Her hand was shaking. I gave the guards one slow, cold look, then reached into my pocket, pulled out a black keycard, and slapped it against the control panel on the wall. Beep — Highest clearance confirmed. Welcome home, Grace. The mechanical voice rang through the hall like a verdict. Every one of the guards froze. They exchanged glances. No one moved. “The Astor estate security system’s highest clearance,” I said. “Only my iris and this card can unlock it.” I watched the color drain from Hannah’s face as I walked toward her, one step at a time. “Did you really think swapping out a few guard dogs would make this estate yours?” “You — you’re supposed to be dead!” Hannah screamed, backing against the wall. “Elias told us you died in the explosion!” Something darkened behind my eyes. So it was Elias who made it up. To swallow the Astor family whole without any pushback, he’d told everyone I was dead. “Where’s my mother?” I grabbed Hannah by the throat and shoved her down onto the sofa. “Let — let go — you’re insane—” Hannah clawed at my hand, her manicured nails dragging deep scratches across my skin. “I’ll ask you one more time. Where is she?” The veins in my hand stood out as I pressed harder. “The — basement — ” Hannah’s eyes rolled back. She finally choked out the words. I shoved her away and ran. The basement had always been used for wine storage and odds and ends — damp and cold year-round. The moment I reached the top of the stairs, a sharp, sour stench hit me in the face. My stomach lurched. I forced the nausea down and pushed open the rusted iron door. In the dim light, a skeletal woman lay curled up on a shredded mattress in the corner. She was wearing a thin nightgown. Her hair was a tangled, brittle mess. She clutched a filthy cloth doll against her chest with both arms. “Mom…” The tears came before I could stop them. My legs gave out. I sank to my knees on the floor. Three months ago, my mother was still Mrs. Astor — elegant, composed, a powerhouse who commanded boardrooms without raising her voice. Now she was locked in this godforsaken place, wasting away like she’d been forgotten by the world. At the sound of my voice, the woman flinched. She pressed herself further into the corner, shaking. “Don’t hit me… I ate… I ate the food… don’t hurt my Grace… don’t hurt her…” She held the doll tighter and mumbled the words over and over, barely coherent. It felt like something was cutting through my chest. I couldn’t breathe. I moved toward her slowly and pulled her into my arms. “Mom. It’s me. It’s Grace. I’m here.” She went still. Her vacant eyes drifted to my face, gradually focusing. She lifted a thin, trembling hand and touched my cheek. “Grace? Is it really you? You’re not dead?” “I’m not dead, Mom. I’m okay.” I held her hand in both of mine. My tears fell onto her skin. That’s when I saw it. In the corner of the room — a dog bowl. Inside it, spoiled leftover food. A few flies crawled across the surface. A loud ringing filled my head, and an unprecedented murderous rage surged straight to my brain. Martha!Hannah! Elias! You absolute monsters. “Grace, run! They’re going to hurt you! That soup — there’s something in that soup!” My mother suddenly grabbed my arm with both hands, her nails digging in almost hard enough to break skin. “What soup?” I latched onto it immediately. “The herbal tonic Martha keeps giving me… after I drink it my head hurts… I see things that aren’t there… they keep saying I’ve gone crazy…” She rambled on, her eyes going distant and frightened again. I drew a slow breath and forced myself to think clearly. A neurotoxin. They actually used a scheme this vile — deliberately driving my mother to the brink of madness, framing her as mentally ill, just so they could waltz in and seize control of the Astor family. I slipped off my coat and draped it over my mother’s shoulders, helping her to her feet. “Mom, don’t be scared. I’m getting you out of here. Starting today, no one will ever hurt you again.” I guided her out of the basement. Charles was already waiting outside the door. “Grace,” Charles said, lowering his voice, “I’ve contacted the private medical team you arranged. The car is at the back entrance.” “Good. Charles, go with her. Get her settled in the safe house and run a full toxicology screening.” I pressed a card into his hand. “And you, Grace?” Charles looked at me, worry etched across his face. I turned back toward the main house, blazing with light, and let a cold, razor-edged smile cross my lips. “Me? I’m staying. I have a wedding to attend — one that was so thoughtfully prepared in my honor.”

Once my mother was safe, I changed back into the gray work uniform, pulled my cap low, and slipped silently back into the second floor of the main house. The master bedroom on the second floor — that used to be my room. Now, it was filled with sounds that turned my stomach. “Elias, does this wedding dress look good on me?” Hannah’s voice dripped with a sweetness that made me sick. Through the half-open door, I watched the scene inside, cold and still. Hannah was wearing my wedding dress — the one I’d spent six months designing by hand, a one-of-a-kind piece worth millions — and she was striking poses in front of the full-length mirror like she owned the place. Elias was sprawled on my leather sofa, a glass of red wine in his hand, gazing at her through half-lidded eyes. “Beautiful. My Hannah looks good in anything. A thousand times better than that cold, workaholic Grace.” He got up and walked over, wrapping his arms around Hannah’s waist from behind. My heart went completely numb. This was the man I had loved for five years. While I was working around the clock on a national project, he was in my bedroom, holding the nanny’s daughter in his arms, trampling everything I had built. “But Elias, the waist is a little tight. Grace is way too skinny — no curves at all. Why don’t we just cut it and let it out a bit?” Hannah pouted, tugging at the fitted waist of the dress with a frown. “Sure, whatever you want. As long as you’re happy, I’d tear this whole house down if you asked.” Elias nuzzled her nose with an indulgent smile. “Besides, after tomorrow, everything that belongs to the Astor family — including Astor Group — will be ours.” “That’s why you’re so smart, Elias. Using that drug to make the old woman lose her mind — otherwise, how would we have gotten her to sign the proxy share agreement so easily?” Hannah laughed, pleased with herself. “Shh, keep it down.” Elias pressed a hand over her mouth, a flash of cold cruelty crossing his eyes. “Not a word of this to anyone. Grace may be gone, but the old guard at Astor family is still watching. The equity transfer ceremony at tomorrow’s wedding cannot go wrong.” “What’s there to worry about? Grace is ash. The old woman is locked in the basement. The Astor family is an empty shell right now. Once you sign the transfer papers tomorrow, it all belongs to the Vance family.” Hannah leaned back into Elias’s arms, laughing freely. Standing in the hallway, I quietly pressed stop on the voice recorder in my pocket. The first gift was ready. I didn’t burst through that door. Right now, I had nothing — no leverage, no backing. Storming in would only tip them off. What I wanted was to watch them soar to the very peak of their triumph, drunk on victory — and then drag them straight down to hell, with no way back. I turned and walked toward the study at the end of the hall. That was where the Astor family’s true secrets were kept. And that was where I would find everything I needed to fight back. The study door had a fingerprint and passcode lock. I entered the code from memory and stepped inside. The room was a wreck — papers scattered everywhere, shelves rifled through. Hannah and her mother and Elias had clearly torn through this place more than once. But they didn’t know. The Astor family’s real secrets were never kept anywhere obvious. I crossed to the bookshelf, pulled out a thick copy of Das Kapital, and pressed hard on the panel at the back of the shelf. A soft click — and the shelf slid slowly aside, revealing a hidden safe. I entered the twelve-digit code that only my mother and I knew. The safe opened. Inside, lying perfectly still, were several documents — and a black seal engraved with the Astor family crest. The Astor Family Trust — Supreme Control Authorization. As long as this seal was in my hands, any transfer of equity or movement of funds within Astor Group required my approval. The so-called proxy agreement Martha had gotten her hands on? Nothing but a worthless piece of paper. I tucked the documents and the seal safely against my body, then reached into the hidden compartment of the safe and pulled out a small USB drive. This was the backup plan I’d left for myself before I faked my death. Inside were the access keys to every one of Astor Group’s hidden accounts — and a Trojan program capable of severing Astor Group’s entire financial network in one move. Elias. You want Astor Group so badly? Fine. I’ll give it to you. Let’s see if you can swallow it whole.

By the next morning, the Astor family estate was buzzing. Every politician, business mogul, and socialite worth knowing in the city had shown up. Camera crews had their equipment lined up along the estate gates, flashbulbs going off in waves. “Elias, CEO of Vance Group, set to marry the Astor family heiress in the wedding of the century!” “Astor Group on the brink of a major shakeup — new heiress makes her debut!” Headlines like these were already flooding every corner of the internet. I was dressed in a server’s uniform, moving through the glittering crowd with a tray of champagne flutes. “Martha, congratulations! Hannah is so lucky — marrying a man like Elias!” A cluster of wealthy socialites had gathered around Martha, tripping over themselves to flatter her. Martha was dressed in a crimson haute couture gown, the imperial green jade pendant at her throat catching the sunlight with every move she made. She was smiling so wide, the fine lines on her face had crinkled into full bloom. “Oh, please — our Hannah and Elias have been inseparable since they were children. That Grace is just a bookworm. Rigid as a plank of wood. What made her think she was ever good enough for a man like Elias?” Martha made no attempt to lower her voice. She clearly wanted to be heard. “Exactly,” someone nearby chimed in. “I heard Grace was unlucky from the start. Died in some lab explosion overseas. A family legacy like the Astors’ deserves to go to someone like Hannah — someone blessed.” The others murmured in agreement. I carried my tray over to Martha and dipped my head slightly. “Madam. Your champagne.” Martha didn’t even glance at me. She reached out and grabbed a glass without looking. “Move faster,” she hissed under her breath, her smile never wavering for the guests nearby. “If anything goes wrong today, I will end you.” Then she turned away, snapping back into her gracious hostess act as the next group of guests approached. I watched her go, a cold smile pulling at the corner of my mouth. Enjoy it, Martha. Savor every last second of this. At ten o’clock sharp, the ceremony began. An extravagant crystal stage had been erected on the estate’s lawn. Elias stood at the center of it, dressed in a white custom-fitted suit, looking every bit the part. As the first notes of the Wedding March rang out, Hannah appeared at the end of the aisle on Martha’s arm, moving slowly toward the altar. She was wearing the one-of-a-kind wedding gown — the one that had been altered beyond recognition — and my mother’s heirloom tiara rested on her head. Her face was radiant with the pride of someone who believed she had already won. “Today, I want to thank everyone for joining Hannah and me on this special occasion.” Elias took the microphone, his gaze warm and full as he looked at Hannah. “And today marks something else as well. Given Mrs. Astor’s declining health, the family cannot remain without clear leadership. By unanimous decision of the Astor board of directors, sixty percent of Astor Group’s shares will be officially transferred to Hannah — effective today.” The crowd erupted in applause. Hannah trembled with excitement from head to toe. She was finally going to become a billionaire heiress in her own right — everything she’d ever wanted. A lawyer in a black suit stepped onto the stage, carrying a thick stack of documents. “Hannah and Elias, please sign the transfer agreement.” Hannah snatched the pen before he’d even finished speaking. Her hand was shaking. The moment she signed, everything the Astors had built would belong to her. The tip of her pen hovered over the signature line— “Stop.” A voice cut through the air — clear, calm, and completely certain. It came through the estate’s hidden sound system, carrying into every corner of the grounds. The entire crowd went still. Hannah’s hand jerked violently. The pen dragged a sharp black line across the agreement. Elias’s expression darkened in an instant. He spun toward the direction of the broadcast room. “Who is that?!” Martha shrieked. “Who the hell is playing tricks?!” I slipped off the waitress uniform, revealing the sharp black blazer I had on underneath. From the back of the crowd, I walked toward the stage — one step at a time. The crowd parted for me automatically. When everyone finally saw my face, the room filled with sharp gasps. “G… Grace?! Isn’t she dead!” “Oh my God, it’s really the Astor heiress! What on earth is going on?” The guests erupted. I kept walking in my heels, each step steady and deliberate. I stopped in front of the stage and stared up at the two pale-faced figures standing on it. “Elias. Hannah.” My voice was ice. “Did you really think you could put your hands on anything belonging to the Astor family?”

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Seven years into my relationship with Julian Croft, when the fire broke out, he put the only gas mask on the face of his sweetheart. “Sophie has asthma. Hold your breath a little longer — rescue is almost here.” I watched the burning beam crash down from above, and looked at the countdown panel on my wrist ticking to zero. Then I pressed the button labeled Terminate Host Body. Three days later, firefighters pulled a charred corpse from the rubble. Julian broke through the police cordon like a man losing his mind — only to find the body with its hands pressed tightly over its heart, clutching the little paper ring he’d once folded on a whim. And me? I was sitting on a private jet bound for Wall Street, swirling a glass of red wine. Across from me sat his uncle — the one everyone said had died young. The unhinged, unpredictable one. The fire inside the abandoned chemical plant spread faster than anyone had anticipated. Acrid chemical fumes mixed with thick smoke, clawing their way into my lungs with every breath. Julian held Sophie tightly against his chest, his other hand locked around the single gas mask he’d just wrestled away from the security station. There was only one mask. And the fire escape leading up to the rooftop had already been swallowed by flames. A helicopter circled outside the plant, its rotors thundering — but the smoke was too dense. There was no way to land. A piece of shrapnel from an exploded steel rod had torn straight through my left arm. Blood soaked through my white shirt, dripping from my fingertips onto the scorching concrete floor, evaporating the instant it landed. “Julian. Help me.” I used the last clean breath left in my lungs to call his name. He turned and looked at me. Something flickered in those dark eyes — a flash of conflict. Then Sophie broke into a violent coughing fit, her whole body going limp in his arms. “Julian… I can’t breathe… it hurts so much…” She clutched the front of his shirt with both hands, tears streaming down her face, her skin pale as paper. The hand holding the gas mask tightened. Julian didn’t look at me again. He turned away and pressed the mask firmly over Sophie’s face. “It’s okay. Don’t be scared. Just breathe.” “But what about you and Audrey?” Sophie’s voice came out muffled through the mask, thick with tears. Julian’s hands didn’t pause for even a second as he adjusted the straps. “She’s trained in diving. Her lung capacity is fine. She can hold on until the firefighters get in.” But he’d forgotten — my left arm was already destroyed. The pain and blood loss made it hard just to stay standing, let alone hold my breath in a room full of toxic fumes. The helicopter dropped a rope ladder. The moment Julian lifted Sophie up and she began climbing, she turned and looked back at me. Those eyes — the ones that had been filled with suffering just moments ago — were now sharp with triumph and mockery. She mouthed the words at me: You lose. The smoke had completely swallowed my vision. My lungs felt like they were being shredded by a hundred blades. Julian turned back, searching through the wreckage for anything wet he could use to cover my mouth and nose. “Audrey, hang on. The fire crew is almost through.” There was an edge to his voice — subtle, but unmistakable. Impatience. “Sophie has asthma. She can’t handle this. Just wait a little longer.” Right on cue, a flat mechanical voice sounded in my head. [Host. Affection level for target has stalled at sixty percent. Mission deemed a failure.] [System countdown initiated. Ten. Nine. Eight…] The virtual panel on my wrist — visible only to me — flashed red, frantic and relentless. Seven years together. Over two thousand five hundred days and nights. All of it, not enough to outweigh Sophie saying she couldn’t breathe. I stared at the man still searching through the debris not far from me. He never knew. I had claustrophobia too. I was afraid of pain too. [Three. Two. One. Countdown complete.] [Terminate Host Body and dissolve binding — confirm?] My fingers trembled as I raised my hand and pressed confirm. Above me, a load-bearing beam — burned red-hot — came crashing down. Julian finally panicked. He lunged toward me through the sparks and flames. “Audrey, move!” The fire swallowed me whole. Before I lost consciousness entirely, I pressed the little ring he’d once folded out of a candy wrapper hard against my chest, over my heart. The heat warped the air around me. The last thing I heard was Julian’s voice — raw, breaking, screaming my name.

Three days later. Forensic Identification Center in Oakhaven. A suffocating, sickening reek of formaldehyde hung heavy in the hallway. Julian’s eyes were red and bloodshot. His designer suit had been burned through in several places, the edges singed black. He shoved past the officers trying to hold him back and stumbled toward the cold examination table. The white sheet was yanked away. The body had been exposed to temperatures exceeding two thousand degrees for far too long. What remained was barely recognizable as human — a deeply charred mass, curled in on itself, blackened beyond distinction. Julian stared at it, his whole body shaking uncontrollably. “That’s not her… You’re lying to me!” “Audrey couldn’t stand pain. There’s no way she would’ve burned like that!” The forensic examiner on duty let out a quiet sigh. “Mr. Croft, we found this at the victim’s chest — her hands were clutching it tightly, even in death.” An evidence bag was held out in front of him. Inside was a crumpled, half-melted piece of foil candy wrapper. Seven years ago, when Julian had nothing to his name, he’d folded it into a makeshift engagement ring for her. It had been shielded by flesh and bone, buried at the very deepest point — which was the only reason even this small remnant had survived. Julian stared at the twisted scrap of foil, his knees buckled, and he crashed down hard onto the cold tile floor. A sound tore from his throat — raw and broken, like a dying animal. Sophie rushed in from the doorway and reached out to steady him. “Julian, don’t do this. Audrey wouldn’t want to see you like this—” She never finished the sentence. Julian shoved her away with enough force to send her stumbling to the ground. She hit the floor with a sharp cry. He didn’t even glance at her. He just pressed the evidence bag against his chest and wept like a man who had lost everything — like a man who had lost his mind. At the same moment, thirty thousand feet above the earth. Inside a private jet bound for Wall Street, the climate control system hummed along in perfect silence. A flight attendant approached and presented a glass of chilled Romanée-Conti. “Madam, your wine.” I took the crystal glass and murmured a quiet thank-you. After the system severed its bond with me, my soul had been recast into a new body. My memories remained intact, but this body carried no trace of burns. Even my left arm — the one that had been impaled by a steel rod — was smooth and unmarked, as if nothing had ever happened. Beside me, the man turned a page of his book — a German-language original — and his low, slightly hoarse voice drifted through the quiet cabin. “You seem quite pleased with your new skin.” I turned my head toward him. He was wearing a black silk shirt. Pale complexion. Almond-shaped eyes with a faint teardrop mole at the corner. He shared maybe half of Julian’s features, but where Julian ended, this man went somewhere darker — something cruel and unhinged ran all the way down to his bones. Elias Croft. The true power behind the Croft family. The youngest son, and the one Julian’s grandfather had always loved most. The same man Julian had been guarding against for ten years — the uncle he’d dreamed of destroying. Five years ago, during the Croft family’s internal power struggle, Elias had been caught in an explosion on a yacht in international waters. He was never found. Everyone assumed he was dead — swallowed by the sea. Only Julian knew the truth: until there was a DNA confirmation, that CEO chair he sat in would never feel like solid ground. I took a sip of the wine. The cold liquid slid down my throat. “A body is just a tool. As long as it works, that’s enough.” Elias closed his book. His heavy gaze settled on my face, sharp and probing — the way a snake sizes up its prey. “Audrey is dead. From now on, your name is Blair Sterling.” “Blair — it’s time to prove what you’re worth.” I met his gaze without flinching, a cold smile pulling at the corner of my lips. “You’ve been hiding for five years. Wasn’t that exactly what you were doing — waiting for the perfect moment to strike?” “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” “You need someone who knows Julian’s weaknesses. Someone who can help you take back everything.” “And I want to make his life a living hell.” The pressure inside the cabin dropped to something glacial. Elias let out a low laugh. His long fingers tapped a slow, idle rhythm against the leather armrest. “I look forward to working with you, my accomplice.”

Three years passed in the blink of an eye. Tonight, every light blazed in the Park Hyatt — the grandest hotel in Oakhaven City. Julian, the current CEO of Croft Group, was hosting a charity gala, and nearly every name in the city’s elite social circle had been invited. I stood at the entrance to the ballroom in a striking black backless couture gown, my hand resting on Elias’s arm. The noise of the room died the instant we appeared. Every eye in the place locked onto my face, as if they’d seen a ghost. Somewhere in the crowd, someone sucked in a sharp breath. “Is that… Audrey?” “Didn’t she die in that chemical plant fire three years ago? She was cremated. They buried her ashes!” The whispers spread like wildfire. I ignored every stare and walked straight toward the center of the room. Julian was standing with a champagne flute in hand, only half-listening to whoever was flattering him at the moment. Sophie was nestled close to his side, carrying herself with the quiet ease of someone who had already settled into the role of Mrs. Croft. The commotion reached him. Julian turned. The moment he saw me, it was like he’d been struck by lightning. The champagne flute slipped from his fingers and shattered against the marble floor. Deep red wine splashed across his expensive dress pants. “Audrey…” His voice was trembling so badly he could barely get the words out. His eyes went bloodshot in an instant, and he forgot how to breathe. Julian — always so untouchable, so above it all — could barely keep himself on his feet. He stumbled forward, shoving through the crowd, trying to get to me. Sophie grabbed his sleeve and held on for dear life, her nails digging into his arm. “Julian, get a grip!” “Audrey is dead. You carried her ashes yourself!” “This is just some woman who looks like her!” Her sharp voice cut through the eerie silence like a knife. Julian stopped dead in his tracks. He stared at my face, searching desperately for any sign that this was some kind of trick. I reached over and plucked a glass of red wine from a passing waiter’s tray, raising it toward him from across the room. “Nice to meet you, President Croft.” “I’m Blair Sterling — Executive President of North America Region at Apex Capital.” The system had reshaped my body, but it couldn’t touch my face. Still, under Elias’s careful arrangements, I now had a new identity — airtight, unassailable. The shock in Julian’s eyes slowly curdled into something obsessive. Suspicious. He suddenly strode toward me, his gaze locked onto my left arm. “If this is really our first time meeting,” he said, “then maybe you can explain why you’re wearing my dead wife’s face.” Three years ago, in that fire, a steel rod had torn straight through my left arm. He had watched that wound bleed with his own eyes. Now he was using it as a test. I let out a soft laugh. Right there, in front of everyone, I slowly slipped the silk shawl from my shoulders. My left arm was bare — smooth, pale, flawless. No puncture wound. No burn scars. Perfect. Like something sculpted from marble. Julian’s pupils contracted sharply. Whatever last shred of hope had been living behind his eyes — it was gone. Sophie saw her opening. She immediately shifted into her helpless, pitiful routine. “Ms. Sterling just looks so much like a dear friend I lost.” “Julian has been grieving. Please don’t take it personally.” She slipped her arm through Julian’s and pressed herself against him — a quiet, deliberate claim. “I’m curious, though — are you here tonight representing Apex Capital, or someone else?” Sophie’s eyes slid warily to Elias, standing at my side. Elias was wearing a silver half-mask that left only his sharp, angular jaw exposed. No one recognized him — the man who had once held the reins of the entire Croft family empire. I took a slow sip of wine. My smile didn’t reach my eyes. “Who I represent isn’t the interesting part.” “What’s interesting is that I’m holding something President Croft is going to want very much.” I pulled a document from my clutch and slapped it down on the champagne tower beside us. The crystal glasses swayed. President Croft’s eyes dropped to the cover page. The color drained from his face. It was a share acquisition proposal — targeting the core new energy project at Croft Group. And the name of the acquiring party, printed right there in black and white: Blair Sterling.

Sophie’s expression curdled instantly. She reached out to snatch the document. A hand in a black leather glove got there first. Elias calmly pulled the document away and handed it to the assistant beside him. “Blair’s things,” he said, his voice low and deliberately quiet, “aren’t for just anyone to touch.” The cold edge in his tone made Sophie flinch. She shrank back and ducked behind Julian. “Julian, they are out of line!” “This is a charity gala — they came here just to start trouble!” Julian didn’t even glance at her. His eyes never wavered from my face, holding a kind of bone-chilling insanity. “Who are you, really?” “The reserve price on that project is Croft Group’s most classified information. How could you have hit it so precisely?” That data — Julian had encrypted it himself, specifically to keep the board in the dark. And I was the one who had written the code logic behind it, line by line, over seven years. No one in the world knew his algorithm patterns. No one except him. And the dead Audrey. I watched the vein pulse at his temple and idly brushed my nails against my fingertips. “President Croft must have a short memory.” “Business is war. Apex Capital is simply better at playing the game.” Julian lunged forward and seized my wrist. His grip was crushing — like he wanted to grind the bones to dust. “Impossible!” “The backdoor to that algorithm — only Audrey knows it!” “Are you even her?!” The familiar flutter in my chest never came. Instead, a wave of deep disgust washed over me. I watched him lose his mind, my expression cold as ice. The day of the fire, he hadn’t hesitated for a single second before strapping that gas mask onto Sophie’s face. Had he spared even one thought for me? “Please conduct yourself with dignity, President Croft.” I wrenched my hand free and, in one smooth motion, threw what was left of my wine straight into his face. The dark red liquid trickled down his sharp nose and bled into the white of his shirt. A wave of sharp gasps swept through the hall. Sophie shrieked and lunged forward, fumbling with her handkerchief as she frantically dabbed at him. “You crazy woman! Security! Get her out of here!” Several broad-shouldered guards closed in immediately. But Julian just stood there, hollow-eyed, letting the wine drip. He stared at his own empty palm, murmuring to himself. “The temperature’s wrong…” “Audrey’s hands were always cold. Yours are warm.” A body rebuilt by the system wouldn’t carry the perpetual chill that years of anemia had left behind. I didn’t bother wasting even a glance on him. I turned and slipped my arm through Elias’s. “It seems President Croft isn’t in any shape to talk business tonight.” “Let’s go.” I’d barely taken a step when a thunderous crash exploded behind me. I turned. Julian had collapsed straight down, hitting the floor hard, shattering glass in every direction. What had been a perfectly elegant dinner party dissolved into chaos in an instant. The wail of an ambulance cut through the night sky over Oakhaven. On the ride back, sitting in the Rolls-Royce, Elias pulled off his mask to reveal that hauntingly beautiful face beneath. “You provoked him on purpose.” Not a question. A statement. I leaned back against the leather seat, closed my eyes, and pressed my fingers to my temple. “I just wanted him to get a taste of what he lost.” “Compared to everything he’s done, that barely counts as an appetizer.” Elias turned the black onyx ring on his finger and let out a quiet, dry laugh. “When a woman decides to be ruthless, men really don’t stand a chance.” The cabin fell silent, nothing left but the low hum of the engine. Then my phone screen lit up. A text from an unknown number — no name, no contact saved. “Tomorrow night. Eight o’clock. Abandoned warehouse, west side of the city. Come alone. Don’t, and you’ll regret it.” A photo was attached. In it: a gas mask, burned completely black. The same one Julian had put on Sophie’s face three years ago.

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“How’s the water temperature, honey?” Caleb Rivers stared at the woman in the bathtub — she had stopped struggling — and laughed like a man who had lost his mind. For a $300 million inheritance. To marry his pregnant mistress. Caleb had held his wife’s head underwater with his own hands until she stopped breathing. But when he turned to dispose of the body, he realized the woman he had just killed was his mistress. At that same moment, a high-definition video landed on his phone. His wife — who was supposed to be dead — was sitting on the deck of a cruise ship, swirling a glass of red wine, smiling at him with cold amusement: “Darling, are you happy with the little gift I left you?” Water splashed across the bathroom floor. Caleb pressed the back of the woman’s head down hard, the veins on his hand bulging. The water in the bathtub churned violently. The woman thrashed beneath the surface, her hands clawing desperately at Caleb’s arms. Her nails dug deep into his flesh, dragging long, ragged scratches across his skin. Blood ran down his forearm and dripped onto the pure white edge of the bathtub — a sight that turned the stomach. But Caleb didn’t let go. He pressed harder, forcing her head deeper underwater. “Don’t blame me, Veronica.” He spoke through gritted teeth, his face twisted with the effort. “Blame yourself for refusing to step aside. Blame yourself for being barren — for standing in the way of my son!” The struggling beneath the surface grew weaker. Bubbles rose from the bottom of the tub, fewer and fewer, until there were none at all. The woman’s hands went limp and drifted in the water like strands of seaweed. Caleb stood there, breathing hard, eyes locked on the blurred shape of her face beneath the surface. He held on for a full five minutes before he finally let go. His legs gave out. He slid down onto the wet tile floor, gulping in air thick with steam. His head was buzzing. Not with fear. With euphoria — three years of suppressed rage finally set free. Veronica Rose was dead. That cold, untouchable woman who had always looked at him like she was doing him a favor — she was finally dead. Starting today, the New Energy Technology Company in her name — valued at $300 million — belonged to him. Not only would he have the money, he could finally bring Monica Bennett‌ home without hiding a thing. Monica was carrying his child. A boy. “Sir… are you in there?” Mary, the housekeeper, spoke from outside the bathroom door, her voice small and trembling. Caleb’s whole body went rigid. A flash of cold violence crossed his eyes. He shot to his feet, grabbed a bath towel, and threw it over the bathtub, covering the pale body beneath. “What is it?” He kept his voice low, forcing it to sound calm. “Ma’am… ma’am isn’t picking up her phone. The office called — they said there’s an urgent document she needs to sign…” Mary’s voice came through the door, edged with unease. “She’s in the bath. She can’t come pick up he phone. Leave the document in the living room — I’ll bring it to her.” “But… I thought I heard something — a really loud noise coming from in there…” The door handle turned. Caleb’s pupils shrank. The bathroom door swung open a crack. Mary pushed her head through. Her gaze moved past Caleb and landed on the bathtub covered by the towel. One corner of the towel had slipped. A pale, stiff arm was showing. Dark bruises from the struggle still marked the skin. The color drained from Mary’s face. Her knees buckled, and she nearly hit the floor. “Ma’am… ma’am…” “Shut up!” Caleb lunged at her. He grabbed her by the collar, hauled her into the bathroom, and slammed the door behind them, twisting the lock. “What are you doing?! You killed her! I’m calling the police!” Mary fought back hard, reaching into her pocket for her phone. Caleb was faster. He ripped the phone from her hand and hurled it at the wall. The screen shattered. “Call the police?” Caleb let out a cold laugh. He reached back and grabbed the marble candle holder sitting on the vanity. Without a moment’s hesitation, he brought it down hard on the back of Mary’s head. Thud. A dull, heavy sound. Mary didn’t even have time to scream. Her eyes rolled back, and she crumpled into a heap on the floor, blood pooling around her. Caleb dropped the bloodied candle holder and looked down at the two bodies on the floor. A slow, cruel smile spread across his face. “Anyone who gets in my way dies.” Then — a fist hammering against the door from outside. “Caleb! Open up! Why is this door locked in the middle of the day! Where’s that little bitch Veronica? Tell her to come out here and make me something to eat!” It was Caleb’s mother. Brenda Rivers. Caleb took a deep breath, grabbed a towel to wipe the blood from his hands, and opened the bathroom door. Brenda was standing right outside, muttering curses under her breath, a bag of live fish from the market still dangling from her hand. She took one look at Caleb covered in blood, then at Mary lying on the bathroom floor — and her hand jerked in shock. The fish slipped free and flopped around on the tiles. “What… what the hell happened?!” Brenda’s eyes went wide, her voice shaking uncontrollably. Caleb grabbed her arm and pulled her into the bathroom, pointing at the bathtub. “Mom, Veronica’s dead.” Brenda sucked in a sharp breath. Her legs gave out and she collapsed onto the toilet seat. “You… you actually killed her? Weren’t we supposed to stage a car accident next month? How could you do this at home!” “She started going through the company accounts today. I can’t keep the embezzlement hidden much longer. Next month is too late.” Caleb’s jaw tightened. “Mom, stop talking and help me get rid of the body.” Brenda stared at the pale hand hanging over the edge of the bathtub and shook her head frantically. “I can’t… I can’t handle blood… Son, this is murder — we could get the death penalty!” “Death penalty?!” Caleb grabbed Brenda by the collar and yanked her up, his eyes bloodshot. “She’s dead, which means three hundred million in assets is ours. You’re always going on about wanting a big house and grandkids, aren’t you? If we clean this up, all of that is ours!” The words three hundred million and grandkids hit Brenda like a switch. The fear in her eyes vanished, replaced instantly by greed. She bit her lip and pushed herself to her feet. “You’re right! For my grandkids! The bitch died well!” Brenda rolled up her sleeves, exposing her thick arms. “So what do we do, son? Chop her up and flush her down the drain?” “No time for that. Get her into the chest freezer in the basement for now. Tonight I’ll drive her out to the incinerator outside the city.”

The basement was cold and damp. Together, Caleb and Brenda dragged the body — stuffed inside a black plastic bag — across the floor to the oversized chest freezer against the wall. Veronica had bought that freezer herself, to store imported seafood. Now it was going to be her coffin. “Open it.” Caleb ordered, breathing hard. Brenda’s hands trembled as she lifted the freezer door. It was packed full of frozen meat. Caleb didn’t care. He shoved the bag in anyway. There wasn’t enough room. The legs stuck out over the edge. “Push them in!” Caleb snapped at Brenda, his eyes wild. Brenda gritted her teeth, pressed both hands down hard on the knees, and forced them down. Crack. The lower leg bones snapped. Brenda flinched at the sound, but Caleb didn’t stop. He folded the legs in and jammed them into the gap along the side of the freezer. Then he grabbed the frozen pork sitting nearby and layered it on top of the body, piece by piece. Thud. The freezer door slammed shut. Caleb pulled out the plug and let out a long, slow breath. Then, from upstairs — the doorbell. Ding-dong. Ding-dong. It rang fast and sharp, echoing through the empty house like an alarm. Brenda flinched so hard she nearly fell, clutching Caleb’s arm with both hands. “Who is that? In the middle of the day!” Caleb’s brow furrowed. He pressed a finger to his lips. He crept up the stairs and into the living room, lifting the edge of the curtain to peer outside. Two uniformed cops were standing at the front gate. One of them is pressing the doorbell. “Co— cops!” Caleb’s breath caught. Cold sweat soaked through his shirt instantly. Brenda had followed him up. The moment she heard the word cops, her eyes rolled back and she started to crumple. Caleb grabbed a fistful of her hair and hauled her upright. “Shut up,” he hissed, glaring at her. “swallow it!” “It had to be Mary, that old woman!” He remembered now — Mary was timid by nature, but completely loyal to Veronica. She’d been right outside the bathroom door earlier. She must have sensed something was wrong and set up a scheduled emergency text in advance, or sent a message to her daughter away at college. “What do we do, son? The cops are at the door, we’re done!” Brenda slapped herself on the face in a panic. “Calm down! Go to the kitchen and wash the dishes. Act like nothing happened!” Caleb took a deep breath, scrubbed his hands furiously with soap to get rid of the smell of blood, then arranged his face into an expression of mild annoyance and walked to the front door. He pulled it open. Two officers stood on the front steps, their sharp eyes scanning him. “Caleb?” The younger cop’s hand rested on the body camera clipped to his belt, his tone hard. “We received a call reporting a violent assault at this address.” Caleb blinked, then let out an exaggerated laugh. “Officers, what are you talking about? A violent assault?” “The caller gave her name as Mary. She said she works here as your housekeeper.” The older cop fixed his gaze on Caleb’s eyes. “Where is she?” “Mary?” Caleb rubbed his temple and sighed. “She stole some of my wife’s jewelry this afternoon. My wife caught her and quit her. She’s probably holding a grudge and filed a false report just to mess with us.” The older cop said nothing. His nose twitched. “Strong smell of disinfectant.” He lifted his head sharply, his gaze cutting past Caleb’s shoulder into the interior of the house. “Scrubbing floors in the middle of the day?” Caleb’s heart skipped a beat. He forced himself to stay calm. “We have a dog. Goes wherever it wants. My mom’s a clean freak — she’s been disinfecting.” “We’ve been standing at the door for five minutes,” the younger cop said coldly. “Didn’t hear any dog bark.” “It’s at the pet shop.” Caleb didn’t flinch. The older cop stared at him for a full ten seconds. “Alright. A report was filed, so we need to do a routine check. Where’s your wife? please have her come out.” “She’s on a business trip. Left this afternoon.” “Where to? What’s her flight number?” The older cop pressed. “She… she went to San Francisco. Drove herself there.” The older cop nodded, then suddenly stepped forward into the house. “Show us around.” Caleb had no way to stop him. He had no choice but to follow. The house was eerily quiet. Brenda was standing in the kitchen doorway, a dish rag in her hand, her legs trembling so badly she could barely stand. When she saw the officers, the color drained from her face. Her lips quivered. She couldn’t get a single word out. “Ma’am.” The older cop narrowed his eyes. “Why are you shaking?” “I’m… I’m not. I’m just cold.” Brenda stammered. The older cop ignored her and walked straight into the kitchen. His eyes swept the room and landed on the door leading down to the basement. Caleb’s heart shot into his throat. He clenched both fists so hard his nails dug into his palms. “What’s down there?” The older cop pointed at the door. “Storage. Just junk.” Caleb managed a thin smile. “Let’s take a look.” The older cop reached for the door handle. He can’t go down there. The basement didn’t just have the chest freezer with the body in it — Mary was down there too, knocked out and chained to the heating pipe. Out of the corner of his eye, Caleb spotted a pot on the kitchen counter. A fresh batch of bone Broth , still boiling hot. He didn’t hesitate for a second. He lunged forward, grabbed the pot, and let his foot slip out from under him. “Whoa—!” The entire pot of bone broth came down squarely on Brenda’s arm and back. “AHHH—!!” Brenda let out a bloodcurdling scream and collapsed to the floor, writhing and clutching her arm. The skin turned red and blistered almost instantly. It was brutal. “Mom! Are you okay!” Caleb threw himself toward her, his face twisted in exaggerated horror. The sudden chaos caught both officers off guard. The older cop immediately let go of the door handle and rushed over. “Quick — run it under cold water! She needs to get to a hospital!” The kitchen erupted into pandemonium. Caleb seized the moment. He scooped Brenda up and bolted for the door, shouting as he ran: “Officers, my mom’s burns are serious — I have to get her to the ER right now! The whole report was a misunderstanding, I swear. I’ll have my wife come to the station first thing tomorrow morning to withdraw the case!” The older cop frowned and see blistering burns covering Brenda’s skin. Finally, he waved them off. “Go. But tomorrow, ten a.m. — your wife comes in. In person.” “Absolutely. We’ll be there!” Caleb shoved Brenda into the car and floored it out of the neighborhood. He watched the police cruiser shrink in the rearview mirror until it disappeared. Then he let out a long, slow breath.

He dropped Brenda off at an urgent care clinic — she was wailing the entire way — and left her there to get her burns treated. Then he drove back to the house alone. Night had fallen. The house was dead silent. Down in the basement, the unplugged chest freezer sat in the dark, still radiating a faint, cold chill. Caleb sank into the couch and light up three cigarettes back-to-back. His fingers still wouldn’t stop shaking. He owned an abandoned medical waste processing plant on the outskirts of the city. Inside sat a compact, ultra-high-temperature incinerator. Toss a body in, and within a few hours, there’d be nothing left — not even bone fragments. His mind made up, he crushed out his cigarette and strode down into the basement. He threw open the freezer lid. A wave of thick, metallic blood smell hit him, mixed with the raw stench of frozen pork. Caleb shoved aside the frozen cuts of meat on top, revealing the body crammed inside — twisted and folded into an unnatural shape. “Veronica, don’t blame me for being heartless. Blame yourself for being too pushy.” He let out a cold laugh, grabbed the body by the shoulders, and hauled it toward him. The body was heavy, and it had been packed in too tight. It took everything he had to drag her down onto the floor. Under the harsh white light of the basement ceiling, he finally got a clear look at the face. The skin was unnaturally pale and bloated — waterlogged, then frozen. Tangled hair was plastered across the face like something out of a nightmare. Disgusting. Caleb grabbed a nearby towel and wiped at the face, clearing away the moisture so the body bag wouldn’t soil his car later. He pressed the towel down and scrubbed twice. The water was gone. And with it — accidentally yanked free — came a black wig. A cascade of chestnut-brown, long wavy curls spilled out beneath it. Caleb froze. Veronica never permed her hair. She always wore it straight and black. The towel hung motionless in his hand as his eyes locked onto the face he’d just wiped clean. His pupils shrank to pinpoints. His heart felt like an invisible fist had just crushed it. The features were slightly distorted from asphyxiation, but there was no mistaking them. Delicate. Pretty. A faint beauty mark at the corner of one eye. This was… “M… Monica?” A broken, inhuman sound crawled out of Caleb’s throat. His legs gave out, and he dropped straight to his knees. How could it be Monica?! The one who was supposed to die was Veronica! He had held her down with his own hands! Right then. His phone, still in his pocket, erupted into violent, frantic vibrations. The screen blazed with harsh white light in the dark basement. Incoming video call. Contact name: [My Wife Veronica] Caleb’s hands were shaking as he scrambled backward, nearly crawling. His fingers trembled as he hit accept. The call connected. On the screen — no hell. No ghost. Veronica was draped across a leather sofa, wearing a deep wine-red silk slip. Relaxed. Unhurried. She swirled a half-glass of red wine in her hand, her eyes sharp and cold. She looked straight into the camera, and the corners of her lips curved into a smile Caleb had never seen before — slow, deliberate, and deeply unsettling. “Hey, honey.” Her voice was soft. Gentle as a blade dipped in poison. “Did you enjoy the little surprise I prepared for you?” “AHHH——!!!” Caleb hurled the phone at the ground like a man losing his mind, clutching his head and letting out a raw, ragged scream. The screen shattered — but the call stayed connected. Veronica’s quiet laughter drifted out through the cracked speaker, floating through the empty basement like a whisper from something that shouldn’t exist. “What’s wrong? Can’t bring yourself to look at your precious girl?” Caleb lunged forward, snatched the phone off the ground, and screamed into the broken screen. “Veronica! You sick, twisted — what did you DO?! Why is it Monica?! WHY IS IT HER?!” “Keep your voice down. You’ll wake the neighbors.” Veronica took a slow sip of wine, looking at him the way someone looks at a pile of trash. “Already falling apart? Caleb, you held her underwater yourself. You watched her struggle and go still. You were smiling.” “Bullsh*t! That was YOU! YOU were the one who was supposed to die!” Caleb shrieked, his face a mess of tears and snot. “Are you blind?” Veronica let out a cold laugh and tilted the camera closer. “Monica showed up at the villa this afternoon. Said she was carrying your son. Told me to step aside.” “All I did was slip a little something into her tea — just a sleeping pill — and then I called in a special makeup effects Artist. Hollywood-level work. Put my silicone face mask on her. Added the wig.” “Then I changed her into my clothes and put her in the bathtub.” Veronica paused. When her eyes came back to the camera, they were glacial. “Caleb, you couldn’t even tell your own wife had been replaced by someone else. Just how badly did you want me dead?” The cold hit Caleb all at once, like he’d been dropped into ice water. Special effects makeup?A mask? He stared at the body on the floor — and finally understood why, when he’d wiped her face just now, a thin, filmy layer had peeled away with the towel. “You… you set me up!” Caleb hissed through clenched teeth, wishing he could reach through the screen and strangle her. “Set you up?” Veronica burst out laughing, laughing so hard tears nearly streamed down her face. “Caleb, you’re the one who pushed her underwater with your own hands. What exactly did I set you up to do? All I did was give you a stage to show your true colors.” “You’re insane! I’m calling the police! I’m going to tell them everything — this was all your doing!” Caleb grabbed his car keys and made a dash for the door. “Go ahead. Call them.” Veronica calmly picked up a tablet and tapped the screen a few times. Ding. A file landed on Caleb’s phone. “Open it.” Caleb’s hands trembled as he tapped it open. It was a crystal-clear security footage clip. The video showed him, face twisted with rage, holding “Veronica” underwater. Then he smashed a vase over Mary’s head. And finally, he and his mother huddled in the living room, plotting how to dispose of the body. Every move. Every word. Even the sick grin on his face — all of it captured in perfect detail. “So tell me — when the police see this footage, do you think they’ll believe you were set up? Or do you think they’ll believe you murdered a pregnant woman carrying your child, just to steal her assets, and then tried to destroy the evidence?” Veronica’s voice coiled around his throat like a viper, squeezing tight. Caleb’s legs gave out completely. He crumpled to the floor, his phone slipping from his fingers. “What… what do you want from me?” he asked, his voice hollow with despair. “Simple.” Veronica’s smile vanished. Her eyes turned to ice. “Tomorrow morning at nine o’clock, bring every company seal and all shareholder certificates. You’re going to sign a full transfer agreement — no compensation, nothing.” “Walk away with nothing and get out of my sight.” “Otherwise, I’ll personally hand this footage over to the homicide unit.” The call ended. Caleb sat motionless in the blood-soaked floor, staring at Monica’s pale, lifeless face. Transfer his shares? Walk away with nothing? No. That was money he had spent three years swallowing his pride to get his hands on. If he burned the body tonight and dealt with Mary, there would be no evidence. What could Veronica possibly use against him? Yes. No body, no case. A flash of cold, desperate madness crossed Caleb’s eyes. He reached down and grabbed the woven bag off the floor.

3:00 a.m. An abandoned medical waste incineration facility on the outskirts of the city. The air reeked of scorched, acrid smoke. Caleb worked like a machine that didn’t know how to stop, forcing Monica’s body into the high-temperature incinerator. He watched the roaring flames swallow the body of the woman he had once been obsessed with. Tears rolled silently down his face. “Mon, I’m sorry. Baby, I’m so sorry.” He bit down on his lip until it split open. Blood seeped into his mouth, metallic and sharp. “I swear I’ll make her pay. I’m going to make Veronica’s life a living hell.” Hours later, nothing remained in the incinerator but ash. Caleb swept the ash into a black plastic bag and dumped it into the drainage ditch behind the facility. When it was done, he drove straight back to the city, showered, and changed into a tailored suit. At nine o’clock sharp, he was seated in the chairman’s office on the top floor of the company. There was a board meeting today. He planned to announce that Veronica had suffered a sudden mental breakdown and had been sent abroad for intensive psychiatric treatment — and that he would be taking full control of the company. Once he had a firm grip on the finances, he’d hire someone to take care of Veronica for good. “Caleb, all the board members are here.” His assistant knocked and stepped inside. Caleb straightened his tie, satisfaction spreading across his face, and pushed open the conference room door. “Everyone, I’ve called this emergency meeting to share some unfortunate news.” He arranged his expression into something appropriately somber and made his way to the head of the table. “My wife, Veronica, has been suffering from severe depression for some time now. Last night, she had a sudden manic episode and was rushed to a psychiatric facility overnight…” BANG! The heavy double doors of the conference room exploded open from the outside, kicked in with a single blow. Eight bodyguards in black suits and dark sunglasses filed in and lined up on either side of the entrance. Veronica walked in behind them. She wore a sharp white blazer, four-inch heels clicking against the floor, commanding the entire room without saying a word. Dead silence fell over the conference room. Every board member stared at her, stunned. The muscles in Caleb’s face locked up instantly. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. “How… how are you here?” The words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them. Veronica didn’t even glance at him. She walked straight to the head of the table. “Caleb.” Her voice was quiet, but it hit him like a slap. “How does it feel, sitting in my seat?” “Security! Where’s security? Get this woman out of here!” Caleb exploded, his composure shattering completely. Nobody moved. Veronica reached into her bag and pulled out a thick stack of documents, slamming them onto the conference table with a sharp crack. “Ladies and gentlemen of the board — this is the complete evidence of Caleb’s embezzlement, kickback schemes, and off-the-books accounts over the past two years. All carried out using his position in this company.” “The total amount involved is twenty-five million dollars.” The room erupted. The board members grabbed the documents and passed them around, their expressions growing darker by the second. “You’re lying! These are all fake!” Caleb lunged forward, trying to snatch the papers. Two bodyguards stepped in and pinned him to the table like he weighed nothing, pressing his face against the cold surface. “Fake?” Veronica looked down at him. “The CFO gave us everything last night. He’s sitting in a room with financial crimes detectives right now.” Something exploded in Caleb’s head. He went completely blank. The CFO was his most trusted man. How could he have turned on him?! “Caleb, did you really think burning a body in an incinerator in the middle of the night would make all of this disappear?” Veronica leaned down and whispered in his ear, low enough that only he could hear. “You knew I had cameras installed at the house. Did it ever occur to you to check the waste disposal facility?” Caleb’s entire body seized. The blood drained from his face. “Throw him out.” Veronica straightened up and dusted off her hands. “I don’t want his mess on the company’s carpet.” Caleb was dragged out of the boardroom like a stray dog — hauled into the elevator, then tossed out onto the street in front of the building like a bag of trash. Office workers streamed past him on the sidewalk, stopping to stare and whisper, looking at him the way you’d look at someone begging for change. He lay there on the ground, staring up at the floor-to-ceiling window at the top of the building — the one that belonged to the chairman’s office. It was over. He was screwed.

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At the godparent announcement gala, Lily’s son was wearing the heirloom emerald pendant my mother had left for my future child. I lunged forward to grab it back, but Ethan shoved me away hard. “Chloe, are you seriously stealing from a toddler?” My father’s hand came down in a sharp slap across my cheek. “Your mother died when you were young. Did no one teach you decency?” My stepmother, Eleanor, supported Lily, letting out a soft sigh. “Your sister didn’t grow up with the privileges you had, Chloe. Why can’t you just let her have this one thing?” My younger brother, Leo, sneered. “Chloe, you look pathetic right now. Like a psycho.” With tearful eyes, Lily shrank back into Ethan’s embrace. “If Chloe really wants it back, I’ll give it to her. I don’t want any trouble.” Ethan ripped the emerald pendant off the boy’s neck and threw it onto the floor. He looked down at me coldly. “You’re acting like a lunatic over a dead woman’s cheap trinket?” My head buzzed. I reached out to pick it up. But before my fingers could touch the jade, my foot slipped. My stomach slammed violently against the stone steps. Blood quickly soaked through my dress. Ethan looked down at me, his eyes filled with nothing but impatience. “Playing dead on the floor like a drama queen. Who are you putting this show on for?” The guests around us couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Get up already,” Victoria, my mother-in-law, frowned, looking at me as if I were a piece of garbage. “The gala isn’t over yet. Do you have to make us the laughingstock of high society?” I opened my mouth, but only a raspy whisper escaped my throat. “Ethan…” “I’m… I’m pregnant…” The grand hall fell dead silent for a second. My brother, Leo, was the first to burst out laughing. “Chloe, you really know how to pick your timing,” he sneered. “Just because you couldn’t steal the pendant from a kid, now you’re lying about being pregnant? Do you honestly think Ethan will crawl back to you just because of a fake baby?” My father’s face turned completely black. “Chloe, haven’t you embarrassed this family enough?” Eleanor gently patted Lily’s back and mocked, “Your sister came here today to celebrate Ethan becoming her son’s godfather, not to steal your husband. Your little stunt is humiliating. How is she supposed to face anyone after this?” Lily’s eyes grew redder. “Chloe, please don’t be like this. If my presence makes you uncomfortable, I’ll just take my baby and leave.” She made a show of walking away, but her body swayed weakly, and she collapsed right into Ethan’s arms. Ethan immediately held her tight, his voice softening. “You’re not going anywhere. You stay right here.” I stared at them, realizing I was nothing but a complete joke. Ethan turned back to me, his voice freezing cold. “Today, you will accept this godfather arrangement, whether you like it or not…” Under his threatening gaze, the surrounding guests gradually fell quiet. *Smack!* Before Ethan could finish his sentence, I whipped the pregnancy test out of my pocket and threw it right at his feet. Two distinct red lines were staring back at everyone. “Oh my god! Ethan… Chloe is actually pregnant!” Lily picked up the pregnancy test, her face pale with horror. Looking at the test, Victoria’s voice trembled, her eyes filled with disgust and disbelief. “That’s impossible. You two have been living apart for three years!” I looked straight into Ethan’s eyes. “Ethan, did you forget what you did that night?” That night, he was the one who pinned me down on the bed, his eyes bloodshot as he kissed me over and over. *“Chloe, you will always be the only Mrs. Carter.”* I had endured this hollow marriage, waiting for him for three long years. I thought my patience had finally paid off. Over those three years, in order to expand the Carter Group’s empire, he had personally moved to Europe to oversee operations. I stayed behind in this empty mansion, counting the days, looking forward to the day he would return. But today, he not only wiped out the warmth of that night, but he also wanted to become the godfather of Lily’s son. For a moment, Ethan was stunned, a flicker of guilt crossing his eyes. Seeing the change in Ethan’s expression, Lily’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Ethan, don’t blame Chloe…” Lily leaned into his chest, looking at me timidly. “Maybe… maybe Chloe just made a mistake. Even if we don’t know whose baby it is, please don’t get angry…” The slight guilt in Ethan’s eyes vanished instantly upon hearing Lily’s “thoughtful” excuse. “It was just a drunken mistake. One night doesn’t change anything.” *A drunken mistake.* *One night doesn’t change anything.* These words effortlessly turned my three years of devotion into a hilarious, pathetic joke. Ethan looked down at me like a king looking at a peasant. “Lily has had a hard time raising her child alone. You need to be more understanding. As for that bastard in your womb, don’t even think about pinning it on the Carter family.” The moment Ethan finished speaking, Victoria covered her nose in disgust and barked: “Security!” “Drag her out of here! Don’t let her filthy presence ruin the joy of our gala!” Hearing Victoria’s command, I looked desperately toward my father and brother in the crowd, begging for help. But my father turned his face away in disgust, and Leo just sneered and looked away. “Don’t worry, sweetie, we won’t let her ruin this. Let’s sit over there,” Ethan comforted Lily gently, and she followed him toward the center of the hall. “Excuse us, Mrs. Carter.” Two burly security guards rushed over, grabbed my arms roughly, and dragged me toward the exit. “Let go of me! Don’t touch me!” I struggled with all my might. “The gala continues!” Victoria raised her champagne glass to the guests, and everyone raised theirs in return, pretending nothing had happened. The guards threw me violently onto the cold stone steps outside. My stomach slammed against the concrete. In the tearing pain, warm blood began to wash away in the pouring rain. The cheerful laughter from inside the hall completely crushed my last shred of hope. The very last second before I lost consciousness, a deep, cold male voice echoed above me: “Quick, get her to the hospital!”

I didn’t know how much time had passed before I woke up in a hospital room. The harsh white fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and my lower abdomen felt as if a piece of my flesh had been violently carved out. Seeing me stir, the nurse sighed. “You’re finally awake. The gentleman who brought you here paid your bills and left. We found your phone in your bag and called your family. They should be here soon.” My heart trembled. A moment later, familiar footsteps echoed outside the door. It was my biological father, Arthur Miller. “Dad…” Seeing my own flesh and blood, a tiny spark of hope flickered in my chest. Hearing my voice, Arthur’s eyes shifted nervously. He stood a few paces away from the bed, refusing to come closer. “Chloe…” He opened his mouth but said nothing else. Looking at his reaction, I instantly understood. He hadn’t come to seek justice for my lost baby. “You’re just going to stand there and watch the Carters abuse me? Have you forgotten what Mom told you before she died?” My eyes burned with tears as I stared at him. He seemed stung for a second, but his expression quickly hardened. “I haven’t forgotten your mother’s words. But didn’t you always want Ethan back? Now he’s back. What more do you want?” Hearing his ridiculous words, my body shook violently. My voice turned hoarse from anger and weakness. “He was the one who said I would always be the only Mrs. Carter! Now he is parading Lily and her son around, and they forced me to miscarry! And you have the nerve to ask me what more I want?” “Look at you. You’re making a scene over nothing. You’ve completely embarrassed the Miller family.” Arthur pulled at his tie, clearly annoyed. “Lily is your sister. Ethan supporting her is beneficial for our business partnership. As Mrs. Carter, you should be generous enough to accept her. Do you have to ruin everything?” Staring at my father’s greedy, calculating face, my heart fell into an icy abyss. To him, my life and the life of my unborn child were completely worthless compared to business deals. “Get out,” I pointed at the door, my voice cold and final. “Take your calculations and get the hell out!” “You are completely unreasonable!” Arthur slammed the door and left. In the empty hospital room, all my strength drained away. I curled up on the bed, letting the tears soak my pillow. … *Bang!* The hospital room door was suddenly kicked open. Ethan walked in, followed by Lily. She was holding a thermos, her eyes red. “Chloe, what kind of tantrum are you throwing now? You even managed to chase your own father away!” Ethan’s face was filled with disgust. His instant accusation felt like sharp knives stabbing into my bleeding heart. Lily walked forward cautiously, holding out the thermos. “Chloe, don’t blame Ethan. I was worried about your health, so I made some homemade chicken soup for you…” “Get lost!” With the last bit of my strength, I whipped my arm out. *Crash!* The piping hot soup and the thermos shattered onto the tiled floor, sending hot liquid and broken ceramic flying everywhere. “Ah!” Lily screamed, immediately diving into Ethan’s arms, trembling. Ethan snapped. He shoved her behind him, pointing a finger at my face, and roared: “Chloe! How can you be so vicious? Lily came here out of the goodness of her heart, and instead of being grateful, you tried to burn her!” “Goodness of her heart? She’s a snake!” I glared at them. “Ethan, I lost my baby because of you two! You bring this murderer to parade your love in front of me, and you expect me to be grateful?” “That was an accident! Stop pointing fingers!” Ethan’s face turned red with anger. “You are nothing but a hysterical madwoman! If you can’t tolerate Lily, then you don’t deserve to be Mrs. Carter. Sign the divorce papers and make room for her!”

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For our graduation trip, I spent weeks planning a cozy, rustic getaway to the Silverwood cabin retreat. But Chloe, the class princess, mocked me in front of everyone, calling me a pathetic, uncultured loser who had never seen the real world. Then, she dropped a bombshell in our Snapchat group: she was taking the entire class to “The Velvet Mirage”—a ultra-exclusive, private estate hidden deep in the mountains. Private helicopter transfers, Victoria’s Secret models as personal hosts, Michelin-starred chefs serving custom French dinners, and best of all, completely free! The group chat instantly exploded into a frenzy. Even Mr. Miller, our notoriously strict and cheap academic advisor, approved this ridiculously lavish trip. I watched silently as they went wild over this free lunch, offering a word of warning. Instead of listening, the entire class turned on me, calling me jealous, a buzzkill, and kicked me out of the group. They had no idea that there was no paradise in those dark, isolated woods. It was a dark web slaughterhouse that devoured people alive. Since sweet words couldn’t save idiots bent on dying, I decided to take a front-row seat and watch exactly how they would walk themselves straight to hell.

“Amber, did you drop your brain in a toilet or what?” Chloe’s voice message exploded in the quiet Snapchat group, dripping with blatant contempt and mockery. Right after, as if flaunting her war trophies, she began spamming the chat. Dozens of high-definition panoramic photos and an incredibly lavish aerial Vlog instantly took over everyone’s screens. In the video, nestled deep within an untouched forest, stood a massive Gothic-style mansion. Its luxurious European-style domes reflected golden light, and a heated infinity pool featured giant pink flamingo floats. Senior English-style butlers in tuxedos and white gloves stood in perfect lines, while a long circular table covered in hand-woven Caucasian rugs was filled with expensive liquors that normal people couldn’t even name. “Open your eyes and look closely! This is The Velvet Mirage! This isn’t some cheap farmhouse Airbnb you guys are thinking of. This is a top-tier private estate that is absolutely closed to the public!” Chloe’s voice message came again, her tone oozing with superiority. “They have Michelin three-star French chefs, a private Dolby Atmos cinema, and even the water for washing your hands is imported Evian! The best part? The estate has professional models and private maids providing round-the-clock butler service!” “If it weren’t for my stepbrother being the Executive Director for East Coast Operations there, a bunch of broke, fresh graduates like you wouldn’t even know which way the front gate opens in this lifetime! And you want to go to Silverwood? Amber, what is there to do in that trashy place besides looking at some old rocks and drinking well water? We’ve worked ourselves to the bone studying for four years. Now that we’re graduating, what’s wrong with letting loose and experiencing the high life?” The moment the photos and videos dropped. The group chat, which had just been discussing how to split the gas money for the Silverwood rental, fell dead silent before completely exploding. Several guys who usually came from average backgrounds and had to save up for weeks just to buy a pair of Nikes started spamming rows of bowing and drooling emojis. “Oh my god! Holy shit! Chloe, your stepbrother is a literal god! This is insane!” “If I post these on my Instagram and TikTok, my high school friends will die of jealousy!” “Queen Chloe, please accept my worship! From today on, you are my one and only savior!” Even a few of the most introverted girls in class, who usually didn’t dare to speak up, shyly started asking what kind of designer dresses they should wear to a place like this so they wouldn’t look cheap, and if they should rent one from Rent the Runway right now. I sat in front of my laptop, staring at the rapidly scrolling, crazed messages on my screen, my brows furrowing tightly. The Velvet Mirage. Not only had I heard of this name, but it had also left a deep impression on me. It was located in a lawless border zone between three states, hidden deep in the mountains. It branded itself as an ultra-private, high-end sanctuary, luxurious to the extreme. But its prices were ridiculously high. Rumor had it in my social circle that even multi-millionaires who went there would have to pay an arm and a leg to get out. As for Chloe’s so-called “stepbrother,” I had seen him once at the campus gate. He wore a thick gold chain, had yellow teeth, and his eyes lingered filthily on the college girls’ legs. He was the textbook definition of a shady, fast-talking street thug. A guy like that was the Executive Director for East Coast Operations? And he could sponsor a free wild party for over forty broke college kids at a high-end money trap like that? “But… will Mr. Miller agree to us going to a place like this? It sounds a bit too extravagant,” the class treasurer typed hesitantly. Mr. Miller was our class advisor, nearing retirement age. He was usually extremely rigid, stingy, and always preaching about morality. He hated extravagance. If we spent a few extra dollars on bottled water for a class event, he would lecture us for hours. If he found out our graduation trip was to a private club filled with “maids” and “models,” he should, by all accounts, blow his top and tear Chloe to shreds. “Put your heart at ease,” Chloe sent a smug, winking emoji. “I’ve already spoken to Mr. Miller privately.” Right then, Mr. Miller, who had been silently lurking in the chat, actually popped up. “Class, Chloe just had a long phone call with me and detailed the itinerary.” “She said her stepbrother secured a free slot for our class under the ‘International High Society Etiquette and European Classical Culture Study Seminar.’ This will not only broaden your horizons but also won’t put any financial burden on anyone. I believe this is a rare social practice opportunity. We should go.” “Everyone should be grateful and thank Chloe for her thoughtfulness.” Mr. Miller’s high-sounding endorsement was the final straw that crushed all remaining logic. The group chat was instantly flooded with “Thank you, Goddess Chloe,” “Mr. Miller is the best,” and endless praise. I stared at Mr. Miller’s righteous words on the screen, a bizarre sense of unease creeping up my spine like a poisonous snake. In this world, there is no such thing as a free lunch, let alone a free luxury estate. A bunch of twenty-year-old college students with zero real-world experience, who didn’t even know how dangerous society could be. Plus a hypocritical old man who loved free perks. Going to a private club with a shady background hidden deep in the mountains. This was literally a flock of fat, white sheep lining up to deliver themselves to a pack of hungry wolves! I couldn’t suppress the anger in my chest. My fingers flew across the keyboard as I sent a long paragraph: “Chloe, the point of a graduation trip is to celebrate our friendship. Even if we split the bill to hike and stay in a cheap cabin, it’s a hundred times better than going to an unknown private club deep in the mountains with zero security clearance.” “If it’s completely free, what do they want from us? Do they want our empty wallets? Or do they just like charity?” “Besides, that place is in the middle of nowhere. We don’t even know if there’s cell service, let alone what the security is like. We are just students. If something goes wrong, who takes responsibility? How do we guarantee our safety?” The moment the message was sent. The wild carnival in the chat came to a brief halt. I had hoped that these words would wake up at least a few classmates who had half a brain. But what I got wasn’t reflection. It was a direct mention from our class president, Austin. “@Amber, can you stop being so bitter and toxic? Are you trying to ruin this for everyone?” Austin loved playing the perfect, selfless gentleman in front of Mr. Miller, but now his words cut like knives. “Chloe went out of her way to use her valuable personal connections to get us this perk. If you’re not grateful, fine, but why are you spreading rumors and smearing her? What is your problem?” “Amber, are you just mad because someone else has better connections than you? You hate that you’re not the center of attention, don’t you?” “I bet she just wanted to make a commission off the Silverwood trip!” the sports rep jumped in to fire shots. “Didn’t she push that Silverwood cabin so hard earlier? It was fifty bucks per person! Who knows how much kickback she was going to get? She probably made a deal with the local agents!” “Exactly, she acts so pure and cold, but she’s greedier than anyone! What a buzzkill!” “She’s psycho. Go or don’t go, who cares! We’ll have more fun without her anyway! She really thinks she’s someone special!” A barrage of mockery, insults, and dirty accusations slammed into me. I stared at the screen expressionless, watching classmates who usually called me “Amber” sweetly now show such vicious, ugly faces just for a fleeting “free luxury experience.” Sweet words can’t save idiots bent on dying. Mercy cannot rescue those who choose to jump. “Fine.” I didn’t write a long essay to prove my innocence, nor did I scream back in rage. I tapped the top right corner, left the group, and cleared the chat history in one smooth motion. Then, I dialed the number of the Silverwood cabin host. “Hey, Uncle Dave, that cabin block I reserved? Cancel it. Keep the deposit as a cancellation fee.” Since they chose to treat deadly poison as sweet rain and a one-way ticket to hell as a VIP pass. Then I would sit in the audience and watch exactly how they ruined themselves.

After hanging up, I ripped the reservation sheet filled with itineraries and plans into shreds. I tossed it into the trash can. Finally, some peace and quiet. Around evening, the doorbell rang. The president of the Foreign Language Class, Ethan, stood outside, dripping with sweat. “Amber, save me! The beach resort our class booked got shut down by the health department today, and our graduation trip tomorrow is ruined! Everyone is literally crying!” “I heard you booked the best cabin block in Silverwood? If your class isn’t going, can you transfer the reservation to us at original price? Please!” Looking at his anxious and sincere eyes, I pointed at the shredded paper in the trash. Then, I called the host right in front of him and transferred the highly sought-after cabin block to his class. Ethan was so thrilled he almost bowed to me, leaving with endless thanks. In contrast, the ugly faces of my classmates who rushed to get a “free dinner” and bit the hand that fed them seemed even more pathetic and laughable. The next night at 8:00 PM. The city lights were turning on outside. This was the exact time my class was scheduled to arrive at “The Velvet Mirage” to start their party. I was sitting on my couch, wearing a face mask and reading a book, when my phone screen suddenly started flashing wildly. Although I had left the group, my deskmate Maya was a highly socially anxious gossip addict. She was too scared to join the party, so she stayed home, but she couldn’t resist her curiosity and had been getting secretly recorded videos from someone there, which she forwarded to me. “Amber, you missed out big time. This place is seriously insane! I feel like I walked into a movie!” In the first video. The estate ground level was magnificent, so golden and bright it made one dizzy. Mr. Miller, wearing his faded old collared shirt, sat extremely stiffly on an imported Italian leather sofa, looking up at the glittering crystal chandelier, nervously rubbing his hands. But his eyes held an uncontrollable greed. Chloe wore a deep-V sparkling tight dress, holding a cocktail that glowed with a strange pale-blue fluorescent light and bubbled with dry ice steam. She laughed and leaned close to him. “Mr. Miller, this is a special non-alcoholic mocktail called ‘Dreamy Nebula.’ My brother had the bartender make it just for you. It’s very healthy, try it.” Mr. Miller had zero defense. He even smiled with pride and appreciation, took the glass, and downed a huge gulp. Then the camera panned to the classmates playing around the infinity pool. The guys were excitedly taking photos with several tall, hot models in bikinis, while the girls were tasting delicate French pastries. On the surface, everything looked like a high-end, intoxicating party. I frowned, my fingers tapping the table. Was I really overthinking? Was there really a billionaire doing charity in this world? But then, the second and third videos came in quick succession. The vibe began to turn incredibly creepy. The background music was no longer smooth, elegant piano. It had turned into a heavy, oppressive, deafening death-metal electronic beat. The lighting had also shifted from warm yellow to an intimate, dim, reddish-purple, oozing a sinister energy. “Amber, things feel weird… Chloe said we’re playing an immersive escape room game! She separated the guys and the girls!” In the voice message Maya sent, her initial excitement was gone, replaced by a slight tremble. In the background, I could hear a few girls gasping in fear. In the video, the classmates were led by several expressionless servers into a long, narrow corridor with no windows, its walls hung with bizarre oil paintings. And in a panoramic photo of the corridor that Maya accidentally captured. I noticed a detail that made my skin crawl instantly. At the dark end of the hallway stood several incredibly bulky security guards in black suits. One of them was smoking, his sleeve rolled up slightly, revealing a hideous, blood-red scorpion tattoo on his wrist. More terrifyingly. The waist of his suit was bulging. That was definitely not the shape of a walkie-talkie or a baton. That was a taser, or even… the outline of a real gun! Why would a cultural seminar experience require elite, armed-to-the-teeth thugs with mob backgrounds? Cold sweat instantly drenched my back. I finally realized where that overwhelming sense of dread was coming from! A free luxury experience, fresh graduates with no life experience, deliberately separated genders, and an isolated mountain forest. This wasn’t a party. This was a perfectly designed trap for prey! Just as I grabbed my phone, intending to call Maya and tell her to call the cops and run immediately. My phone vibrated violently. It wasn’t Maya. It was a photo and a voice message from Chloe. In the photo, under the harsh red ambient lights, the scene looked like a living hell. Mr. Miller was collapsed on the dirty carpet of a VIP room, his eyes tightly shut, his face flushed with an extremely abnormal deep red. His faded shirt was mostly torn open, and his hands were clawing at the air unconsciously. Beside him, three of the most introverted, pure-looking girls from our class were huddled in the corner of a sofa. They were shaking and crying, their eyes unfocused, their jackets gone, leaving only thin camisoles. And Austin, our proud class president, was being pinned to a coffee table by two massive thugs. He held a piece of paper, his hand shaking like a leaf, as he pressed a blood-red thumbprint onto it. “Amber, it looks like your high-and-mighty attitude couldn’t save these idiots, after all.” Chloe’s voice message played. Her voice no longer had her fake, sweet “green tea” disguise. It was filled with sickening malice and triumph. “Old Miller and these pure little sluts are currently in the VVIP room on B2.” “The ‘Dreamy Nebula’ mocktail has a pretty strong kick. They seem to have lost all control of their bodies. Any minute now, some big clients are coming in to ‘inspect’ them.” “Oh, by the way, your dear class president Austin just ‘accidently’ shattered a pair of antique French urns worth three million dollars in the hallway. He just signed a three-million-dollar loan shark contract. My brother said, if no one pays up, the guys stay to have their limbs fed to the dogs, and the girls stay to shoot high-definition videos for the internet.” “I heard your family is loaded? Didn’t you love acting like the big sister of the class? Why don’t you bring some cash over and save your beloved teacher and dear classmates?” The trap was sprung! The snake had finally bared its poisoned fangs! She knew that even though I left the group, I could never watch Mr. Miller—who, despite being stingy, had genuinely helped me apply for financial aid during my freshman year when I was struggling—have his life ruined. Nor could I watch those innocent girls get destroyed. She was forcing me into the game, trying to drag me into the same bottomless abyss! Staring at Mr. Miller’s unconscious face and the girls’ hopeless eyes. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. When I opened them again, there was nothing but freezing cold killing intent. “Send me the passcode to your B2 room.” I typed back, my fingers steady without a single tremble. “I’m coming now.”

After sending the message. I didn’t act like some hot-headed, brainless idiot, grabbing my bag and running downstairs to hail a cab into the mountains. That wasn’t rescuing. That was delivering takeout to the wolves. I turned and walked into my bedroom, opening the secret compartment at the bottom of my desk drawer to pull out a black, burner satellite phone with zero call history. I dialed a highly classified, encrypted number that I knew by heart. The phone rang for half a second before it was picked up. “Hey, Derek.” “Last month at our family dinner, you got a bit drunk and mentioned that the state and city police have been dead-set on tracking a dark web syndicate operating in the tri-state border forest, called ‘The Velvet Mirage.’” “You suspected it was a transit station for dark web human trafficking and illegal live streaming. But their perimeter security was too tight, they had too many lookouts, and the B2 blast door system was unhackable. You guys were afraid of tipping them off, so you couldn’t get the core evidence, right?” On the other end of the line, my cousin Derek—the head of the city’s homicide and major crimes unit, a man who remained unshaken even if the sky fell—suddenly breathed heavily, his voice tightening to the limit. “Amber! How do you know about this classified intel?! What are you planning? Don’t you dare do anything reckless!” “No time to explain. Chloe’s stepbrother is one of the ringleaders. Under the guise of a graduation trip, they set up a death trap and lured my advisor and my entire class into the estate.” “Right now, the guys have been forced to sign multi-million dollar predatory loans, and the girls and the advisor have been heavily drugged, prepared for blackmail videos and dark web streams.” I spoke rapidly but with crystal-clear pronunciation, while simultaneously packing the photos Chloe sent, Maya’s videos, and the cell tower location data I had just reverse-tracked, sending them all to Derek’s encrypted email. “Derek, I just got the passcode to the B2 core area. Chloe is using my classmates’ lives to force me there to ‘pay the bill.’” On the other end of the line, Derek slammed his steering wheel, his car horn letting out a sharp wail, followed by a fierce curse. “Those sick, soulless monsters! They won’t even spare kids fresh out of school! Do they think the law is a joke?!” “Amber, listen to me! Lock your doors and windows right now and stay put! Our unit already had an operation planned tonight around their perimeter. Now that we have your specific room number and the internal layout, I can assemble the SWAT and tactical teams within ten minutes and fly a chopper straight there to breach the doors!” “It’ll be too late, Derek.” I looked up at the ticking clock on the wall, my voice terrifyingly calm. “Since The Velvet Mirage has been operating so boldly, B2 must have military-grade blast doors and an automated evidence-destruction system.” “From assembly to breaching, even if you use C4, it will take time. By the time you get in, those videos will have been shot and uploaded, and the evidence will be wiped clean.” “Mr. Miller’s reputation and the lives of those girls will be completely destroyed. The buyers are overseas; you’ll never track them down.” I took a deep breath, my tone brook no argument. “I need to go in. I’ll be your eyes. I’ll be the bait.” “Equip me with a micro-audio transmitter, a military-grade GPS tracker, and a strong anti-jamming device. I’ll help you secure the final, most crucial piece of the evidence chain. As long as I keep them busy and stabilize the situation inside, you’ll have enough time to complete the perimeter.” The line went dead silent for a full ten seconds. Only Derek’s heavy breathing could be heard. He knew my personality too well. I had trained in MMA since I was a kid and won a state championship. I was stubborn as a mule; once I made up my mind, nothing could drag me back. “Five minutes. Go downstairs. There’s a black, unmarked sedan parked at the back gate of your apartment. My guy will hand over the gear.” Derek’s voice was hoarse, carrying a trace of an undetectable tremor. “Amber, remember this: your life comes first! No matter what horror you see, do not react rashly. Just drag out the time!” “The second you send the signal, even if I have to level that damn mountain, I’ll blow that blast door open for you!” After hanging up. I quickly changed into a black, tight-fitting tactical athletic outfit that allowed maximum movement, tying my long hair into a tight, neat bun. Downstairs, I got in the car. The driver was an undercover cop with sharp eyes. Without a word, he handed me a black tactical pouch. I expertly put on a micro-audio transmitter disguised as a necklace pendant and slipped the GPS tracker into the hidden lining of my shoe sole. Before getting out, I thought for a moment, pulled a compact windproof lighter from the bag, and tucked it into my inner pocket. An hour later. The black sedan sped up the winding mountain road, finally stopping before the ridiculously luxurious brass gates of “The Velvet Mirage.” The air here was thick with a sickening mix of cheap perfume, cigar smoke, and the stench of decaying wealth. A bald man with a blood-red scorpion tattoo on the back of his neck walked swaggeringly out from the shadows of the gate. He sized me up, his gaze shamelessly sweeping across my chest and legs, letting out a filthy smirk. “Miss Amber, right? You really are a beauty. No wonder Manager Chloe kept talking about you. Boss Ryker has been waiting downstairs for a long time. Please.” The bald man didn’t take me to the brightly lit scenic elevator that led to the lobby. Instead, he led me through a series of twists and turns, passing through the dark kitchen hallways, before pushing open a heavy iron door that read “Staff Only.” A freight elevator, smelling heavily of machine oil, mold, and a faint hint of blood, appeared before us. I walked in without expression. The elevator doors slammed shut, plunging us downward. B1, B2, B3. As the elevator descended, the signal bars on my phone screen vanished one by one until it turned into a glaring red ‘No Service’ icon. The moment the elevator doors opened again. It felt like stepping straight into a twisted, chaotic demon’s den. Unlike the fake, classical luxury of the ground level, the air here was thick and suffocating. Deafening heavy metal EDM blasted, mixed with the crude laughter of men, the desperate screams of women, and the sound of breaking glasses, rushing over me like a tidal wave. Under the flashing red and purple lights, the hallway was lined with half-open VIP rooms. From time to time, girls dressed in extremely skimpy outfits with hollow eyes were dragged by their hair into the rooms by burly men, before the doors slammed shut. This was Chloe’s so-called “study seminar of European high society.” The bald man led the way, looking back at me occasionally, seemingly waiting to see me cry in terror. But my face remained as still as water, my breathing completely steady. He sneered, bringing me to the very end of the hallway. Before a heavy, solid bronze blast door. The bald man entered a long, complex passcode, followed by a retinal scan. With a long beep. The heavy blast door slowly swung open.

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Victoria was once the most ruthless queen of New York’s venture capital scene. I spent ten years building her empire from scratch, surviving the cutthroat corporate wars just to watch her ring the NASDAQ bell. I thought that was our happily ever after. But at our engagement press conference, she abandoned me under the flashing lights of the paparazzi, all because of a text from another boy. “He’s afraid of the dark. I have to go to him.” Ten years of loyalty couldn’t match a single tear from her toxic obsession. Later, I handed over the darkest secrets of her empire to the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) and vanished without a trace. She went mad searching the world for me, eventually kneeling before my new bride, begging me to come back. I just handed her a tissue. “Victoria, don’t ruin my wife’s red carpet.” Victoria was famous in New York for being an iron-fisted CEO. She was ruthless, cold, and never left any room for mercy. Tonight was the IPO gala for her core tech company, and it was also the night we were supposed to announce our wedding to the world. The spotlights beamed down on us. I stood there in a custom haute couture suit she had personally designed for me, holding a pink diamond ring worth millions. Just as the host smiled and invited Victoria to give her speech, her phone on the podium vibrated. The screen lit up. There was no contact name, just a short message: “It’s thundering. I’m so scared.” I watched Victoria’s usually calm, expressionless face instantly flash with panic. Without even grabbing the microphone or looking at me, she lifted her heavy gown, stepped down from the stage in her high heels, and ran out. The entire hall went into chaos. Countless cameras from the paparazzi instantly turned to me, standing all alone on the stage. I froze, listening to the whispers from the crowd. They felt like sharp needles piercing my ears. “Why did Victoria leave?” “Leaving Logan all by himself… is the wedding off?” I forced a smile, grabbed the mic, and used every ounce of my strength to cover for her. “Victoria had a sudden medical emergency. Please, everyone, enjoy the dinner.” The moment I stepped off the stage, my back was drenched in cold sweat. Back in the dressing room, I took off my suit jacket. But then, inside the purse Victoria had left behind, I found a burner phone I had never seen before. The password was the date we first met. I unlocked it easily. There was only one contact in the chat history, and the avatar was a cute Samoyed dog. I didn’t try to lie to myself. My hand trembled as I scrolled through the messages. There were no explicit photos or dirty texts. But it was filled with the details of their daily lives. “Victoria, the medicine today is so bitter.” “Victoria, the clouds today look just like you.” “Victoria, I’m scared to sleep alone.” And Victoria, who was known for being a ruthless monster in the business world, replied with infinite patience and warmth: “Sweetheart, I’m on my way.” “Eat a piece of candy, and it won’t be bitter anymore.” “Don’t be scared. I’m here.” Looking at those messages, my stomach churned, and a wave of nausea hit my throat. At 3 AM, Victoria finally returned to our penthouse. She smelled faintly of hospital disinfectant. Seeing me sitting on the sofa in the dark, she froze for a second. I threw the burner phone onto the coffee table with a heavy thud. “Explain this,” I said, my voice hoarse. Victoria didn’t panic like an ordinary woman would. She just frowned and looked down at me. “Logan, did you go through my things?” “I asked you who he is!” I stood up abruptly, my eyes bloodshot. Victoria was silent for a long time. She walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and lit a cigarette. Through the smoke, her voice was freezing cold. “That’s Julian. Years ago, his older brother died in a car crash to save me. Before he died, he asked me to take care of Julian. Julian has severe depression and claustrophobia.” “And?” I stared at her. “So you humiliate me at our engagement gala, turning me into the biggest joke in New York, just because he’s scared of a little thunder?” Victoria turned around, her frown deepening. “Logan, be reasonable. You’re an adult. You can handle a crowd like that. But Julian can’t. He self-harms when he has an attack. I only see him as a younger brother. I owe his family.” Ten years. From the days we stayed up all night in a damp basement coding on takeout and cheap coffee, to now, where she was worth billions. I had blocked beer bottles for her, taken the blame for her mistakes, and even had a third of my stomach removed due to stress ulcers. And yet, she expected me to swallow this humiliation just because she “owed” his family. I couldn’t do it. “Victoria, tomorrow is our wedding,” I said, taking a deep breath and pointing at the door. “If you abandon me for him again tomorrow, we are done forever.” Victoria put out her cigarette, walked over, and hugged me. Her tone softened a bit. “Stop overreacting, Logan. The wedding will go on as planned tomorrow. I promise you, I’ll keep my distance from him in the future.” I closed my eyes and didn’t hug her back. Because beneath the smell of disinfectant, I could smell the faint scent of another man’s citrus cologne on her coat.

The wedding the next day was grand and luxurious. Half of New York’s elite society had gathered at the venue. I watched Victoria, dressed in a pure white wedding gown, walking toward me step by step. For a split second, I even had the illusion that last night was just a bad dream. We were still the power couple who had fought our way up from the mud. The priest smiled and spoke into the microphone: “Victoria, do you take…” *BANG!* The heavy doors of the chapel were slammed open. Natalie, Victoria’s chief assistant, rushed in, drenched in sweat. She ran up to the altar, her voice cracking with sheer panic: “Victoria! Something terrible happened! Julian somehow found out you’re getting married today… he climbed onto the hospital rooftop! He says if you don’t pick up his FaceTime, he’s going to jump!” The entire chapel fell into dead silence. My hand, which was hovering in the air ready to slide the ring onto her finger, froze. Victoria’s face turned deathly pale. She snatched off her wedding veil and turned to run without a second thought. “Victoria!” I screamed, my eyes burning with tears, using every ounce of strength in my lungs. “If you walk out that door today, we are done forever!” My voice echoed through the massive chapel, carrying a desperate finality. Victoria’s footsteps paused. She turned and looked at me. In her eyes, there was conflict and guilt, but mostly, there was a cold, unyielding hardness. “Logan, a human life is on the line. Don’t be so selfish.” With that, she ran out of the chapel without looking back. The custom diamond ring slipped from my hand, rolling across the expensive marble floor. It made a sharp, mocking sound as it stopped. The guests below started whispering. Their staring eyes felt like poisoned needles stabbing into my back. I didn’t even know how I managed to walk down the stage. Our parents rushed up. My mother was crying hysterically, and my father was shaking with rage. “What is this?! What does she think our son is?!” I bent down and slowly picked up the ring. The sharp edge of the diamond was so fine it cut my palm. Blood seeped out, but I couldn’t feel any pain. For ten long hours. I called her 199 times. Victoria didn’t answer once. When I tried for the last time, the call finally connected. But the voice on the other end belonged to a young man. “Logan, I’m so sorry… Victoria was so tired, she just fell asleep next to my hospital bed. I’m really sorry for ruining your wedding today. Please don’t blame Victoria. If you want to blame someone, blame me.” The voice sounded timid, carrying a cruel, innocent tone. I didn’t say a word. I just hung up. Suddenly, the world spun around me. Everything went black, and I collapsed straight onto the floor of our empty bridal suite. The last thing I heard was my mother’s terrified screams.

When I opened my eyes again, the room smelled strongly of disinfectant. I was lying in a hospital bed with an IV drip in my hand. Seeing me awake, the nurse walked over with a clipboard and sighed. “Your stomach ulcers are extremely severe due to your terrible eating habits. Combined with the emotional shock, your body just gave out. Oh, by the way…” The nurse pulled a slip of paper from her folder and handed it to me. “Your fiancée left this pregnancy report in our department last week. She was in such a rush she forgot to take it. Since you’re awake, you can take it home.” I froze and took the paper. It read clearly: *Early intrauterine pregnancy, 7 weeks.* Looking at those words, I suddenly found it incredibly hilarious. I burst into laughter, and as I laughed, my tears fell right onto the paper, smudging the ink. She was pregnant. But for the past month, she had spent almost every single night at the hospital with her “brother.” We had barely even seen each other. This child really chose the worst time to come. At 11 PM, Victoria, who had been missing for a whole day, finally appeared at the door of my ward. She hadn’t even changed out of her wedding dress. The hem was covered in dust, and her eyes were bloodshot. Seeing me awake, she quickly walked over and tried to hold my hand. “Logan, how are you feeling? I’m so sorry. Julian’s mental state was too unstable, I really couldn’t leave him…” I coldly pulled my hand away, avoiding her touch. “He didn’t jump?” My voice was terrifyingly calm. Victoria paused, clearly not expecting me to be this cold. Her eyebrows knitted together. “Logan, what is with your attitude? He’s a sick patient! Do you really have to force him to death to be satisfied?” “Am I forcing him, or is he forcing me?” I looked at this woman I had loved for ten years. She felt like a complete stranger. “Victoria, let’s call off the wedding.” Victoria snapped her head up, panic flashing in her eyes, but she quickly suppressed it with her usual commanding tone. “Logan, I know you feel hurt. We can postpone the wedding. In three months, once Julian’s condition stabilizes, we’ll fly to Bali and have an even bigger ceremony. But he just got saved from the edge. I have to stay by his side for now.” She wasn’t negotiating with me. She was giving me an order. Just like she did with every business project in our company over the last ten years. I looked at her, my chest aching. “Victoria, when I first met you, you couldn’t even make a simple pitch deck. I stayed up for nights to fix it for you. When you got alcohol poisoning from drinking with clients, I carried you on my back for three blocks to the hospital.” “I took so many bullets for you over the last ten years. I never complained once because I thought we were in this together.” I pointed at the IV in my hand and let out a self-deprecating laugh. “But today, I finally realized… it’s not that you don’t know how to care about someone. You just don’t care about me.” Victoria choked up, a flash of pain crossing her eyes. She softened her voice. “Logan, don’t be like this. You’re different from him. You’re strong. You can take care of yourself. But Julian… he’ll literally die without me.” Those words felt like a sledgehammer, completely shattering the very last piece of hope I had for her. It turned out that in love, being strong was a crime. “Fine,” I nodded and closed my eyes. “Go take care of him then. And don’t ever come back.” Victoria thought I was just throwing a tantrum. She sighed and tucked the blanket around me. “Calm down first. I’ll come see you tomorrow.” Then, she turned and left the room. She walked out so easily, never once noticing the crumpled pregnancy report sitting on my nightstand.

On the day I was discharged, I handled the paperwork myself. As I walked into the hospital lobby, I ran straight into Victoria and Julian. Victoria was carefully holding him, her eyes so gentle they could melt ice. Julian was wearing an oversized hospital gown. He looked pale and fragile, possessing a face that was highly deceptive. The moment he saw me, Julian shrank back like a frightened deer, hiding behind Victoria and grabbing the hem of her jacket. Victoria’s face darkened when she saw me. She walked over quickly, her voice filled with accusation. “Why did you discharge yourself? Didn’t I tell you to wait for me? And why are you staring at Julian like that? You’ve already terrified him so much he hasn’t slept all night!” Looking at her protective stance, I only found it hilarious. “Well, you are a busy CEO, Victoria. You don’t even know when your own fiancé is being discharged.” I glanced coldly at Julian. “And I didn’t do anything. If Julian is that easily scared, I suggest you take him to the psychiatric ward instead of wasting a bed in cardiology.” “Logan!” Victoria yelled. “Do you have to be so bitter and malicious?” Julian’s eyes turned red, and he tugged at Victoria’s sleeve. “Victoria, don’t yell at Logan. It’s all my fault… I ruined your wedding. It’s only natural that he’s angry at me.” What a textbook guilt trip. I didn’t even want to look at them anymore. I walked right past them and headed out. When I got back to the penthouse we had shared for five years, I pulled out a suitcase and started packing. Honestly, I didn’t have many belongings. Every corner of this apartment was filled with Victoria’s things. I had lived here like an optional accessory. I packed a few changes of clothes and grabbed my laptop. That laptop was my life. While I was packing, the electronic lock on the door beeped. My parents walked in. Seeing me pack, my mother started crying again. “Logan, what are you doing? Couples fight, but you can’t just pack up and leave!” My father didn’t say anything, but his tight frown showed he didn’t agree either. Just then, footsteps came from the hallway. Victoria was back. And she had brought Julian with her. Julian was wearing Victoria’s oversized trench coat, looking like a fragile porcelain doll as he stood timidly at the doorway. The moment my mother saw this, her blood pressure spiked. She pointed at Julian, her hand shaking violently. “Victoria! What is the meaning of this?! You abandoned my son at the altar, and now you bring this home-wrecking trash into his house?! Do you think our family is dead?!” Victoria frowned, stepping in front of Julian to shield him. “Logan’s mother, don’t get the wrong idea. Julian was terrified at the hospital, so I brought him here to stay for a few days. Besides, this penthouse is in my name. I have the right to decide who lives here.” Those words felt like a hard slap across my face and my parents’ faces. Right. The penthouse was hers, the company was hers. What was I? Julian peeked out from behind her, squeezing out a couple of tears. “Mrs. Miller, please don’t blame Victoria. I can just sleep in the guest room. I promise I won’t get in Logan and Victoria’s way.” Looking at his pathetic, manipulative act, my mother snapped. She rushed forward, swung her arm, and hit Julian hard across the face! “Ah!” Julian let out a sharp cry, falling to the floor and clutching his cheek as he wept. “Logan’s mother!” Victoria screamed. She violently shoved my mother away, holding Julian tightly in her arms. My mother stumbled backward and almost fell. I rushed over just in time to catch her. Victoria’s eyes were bloodshot as she glared at me. “Logan! Have you had enough?! Julian is a sick patient! Is your entire family trying to drive him to suicide?!” Looking at this hysterical woman, my heart completely died. I let go of my mother and walked over to Victoria, step by step. “Victoria, you think we are the ones pushing you?” I unzipped my backpack, pulled out the crumpled pregnancy report, and threw it right in her face. “Look closely at who is actually killing who!”

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