After my husband beat me to death, I woke up back when I was twenty. Troy was riding his motorcycle, and we were on our way to a motel. Instinctively, my body recoiled. I slid back as far as the seat would allow, my fingers clawing into the cold metal grab-bar at the back. The boy turned his head slightly over his shoulder, the wind whipping his hair. “Hold on tight. Don’t be scared, Erin. I’ll take care of you.” In my first life, those words had been my undoing. I let them lull me. I let him take me to bed, got pregnant, had an abortion, dropped out of college, and eventually rushed into a marriage that became my coffin. It was only much later that I learned the truth: “Get Erin pregnant” was nothing more than a dare. A sick bet he’d made with my roommate, Fiona, during a game of Truth or Dare. …… The wind rushed down my collar, biting and cold. I looked down at my white floral sundress—the one my mother had scrimped and saved to buy me for my twentieth birthday. The vinyl of the motorcycle seat was stiff beneath me. In front of me, Troy’s shirt clung to his back in the wind, outlining the lean, muscular build unique to boys his age. In my past life, I was utterly blinded by him. Troy was the school’s resident bad boy from the rival department. A rich kid, an average student, a star on the basketball court, and devastatingly handsome. He was always surrounded by a loud, glittering crowd, half of them beautiful girls vying for his attention. Yet, he had chosen to look at me. With just one look, I had torn my heart out of my chest and handed it to him. A familiar red braided bracelet hung from his wrist, fluttering wildly in the wind. I stared at that red string, and a wave of pure nausea swelled in my stomach. In my past life, I’d asked him who made it. He told me he’d just made it himself, messing around. It wasn’t until later that I found out it was braided by Fiona, my roommate. All along, the girl Troy actually wanted was Fiona. Fiona was the golden girl—top of our class, poised, elegant. Even my own mother used to compare us, sighing, “Why can’t you be more like Fiona?” I had never resented her for it. I loved her. I thought she was my sister. I never could have imagined that the cruel, twisted idea of getting me pregnant was Fiona’s gift to Troy. The motorcycle veered into an alley, flanked by aging brick apartment complexes covered in overgrown ivy. About three hundred yards ahead stood a motel with a faded orange neon sign: The Oasis. In my previous life, I had followed Troy inside without a second thought. I had trembled all over when he first kissed me. It was my first time. He had whispered in my ear, “Don’t worry, baby. I’m going to treat you right.” And God help me, I believed him. Two months later, the test turned positive. I went to find him, terrified. I saw a brief, smug flash of triumph cross his face before it quickly hardened into sheer annoyance. “Erin, we’re still in college. This kid… we can’t keep it, right?” Soon after, his wealthy parents showed up at my mother’s tiny apartment. They sat on our cheap couch and said: “They’re both young, with their whole lives ahead of them. But we aren’t irresponsible people. Here is how we’ll handle this: we will pay for the procedure, and we’ll give you fifteen thousand dollars as compensation. Let’s just put this behind us.” My mother held me and sobbed. She and my father had divorced when I was small, and raising me alone on a cashier’s salary had nearly broken her. In a world where we had no power and no leverage, we had no choice but to swallow our pride and take the blow. Troy had stood by the front door throughout the entire conversation, silent, eyes glued to his phone. As I lay on that cold operating table, watching the anesthetic drip into my IV, I wasn’t thinking about the physical pain. I was thinking about the National Broadcast Championship. The winner of that competition got a direct path to a major network anchor job at NBC. I had spent over six months preparing day and night. But after the abortion, my body was wrecked. Worse, I couldn’t survive the vicious whispers on campus. My mental health shattered. I secretly saw a campus therapist, who diagnosed me with moderate depression. Every time I picked up a microphone after that, my throat closed up. The words died in my mouth. I missed the championship. The pressure grew too heavy to bear, and I eventually dropped out. Three years after dropping out, under pressure from my family to settle down, I was introduced to Derek Lawson. He ran a decent small business, and his family was comfortable. Before we married, he was the picture of a perfect gentleman—attentive, sweet, utterly flawless. I had my doubts. But my mother said, “Erin, you’re twenty-five, you don’t even have a college degree. You can’t afford to be picky.” So, I married him. Within days of the wedding, Derek shed his mask. I liked to read in the evenings. He’d sneer, “You didn’t even finish college. Stop pretending you’re some kind of intellectual.” When I cooked lighter meals, he’d bark: “This tastes like garbage. Stop wasting your time with books and learn how to actually feed your husband. That’s your only job.” Eventually, I grew too afraid to even speak. Every time I opened my mouth, he claimed I was talking back to him. And the price for talking back was his fists and heavy boots. The motorcycle screeched to a halt in front of the motel. Troy swung his long leg off the bike and looked back at me. “We’re here.” I didn’t move. He frowned, walking over and reaching his hand out to me. I played the part of the shy, hesitant girl. Just as his patience was about to wear thin, I slowly placed my hand in his. This time, I was going to play a very different game. The motel staircase was narrow, the walls plastered with sketchy flyers and ads. Troy walked ahead of me. When he looked back, his eyes were full of smug satisfaction. The room was on the fourth floor, at the very end of the hall. When he pushed the door open, a wave of musty air mixed with cheap lemon air freshener hit my nose. The curtains were drawn, plunging the room into shadow save for a single golden line of twilight slicing through the gap in the drapes. Troy tossed his keys onto the table the second we stepped inside. He stood in that narrow beam of light. His face was still so handsome it made my chest ache with phantom grief. But I was no longer the foolish girl who worshipped him. Inside this twenty-year-old body was a thirty-year-old woman who had watched her dreams die and survived five years of a brutal, soul-crushing marriage. “Where’s the wine?” I asked with a soft smile, pitching my voice to a sweet, delicate tone. Troy blinked, clearly surprised that I was taking the initiative. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a bottle of imported peach wine—a pink bottle with Japanese writing on the label. “You actually want to drink?” he asked, testing the waters. “Well, didn’t you say you wanted to try it?” I tilted my head, mimicking the naive innocence of a twenty-year-old. He grinned, poured the pink liquid into two plastic cups from the nightstand, and handed one to me. I took a small sip. Then, my eyes drifted to the nightstand. There was an unopened box of condoms, the silver foil packaging declaring Ultra-Thin in bold letters. In my past life, he had thrown that box straight into the trash. He had told me they felt uncomfortable. And I hadn’t protested. But this life would be different. I set my cup down, picked up the box, and looked up at him. I blinked, stealing the very lines he was about to say. “I don’t really want to use these. They’re uncomfortable.” A flash of surprise—and then triumph—crossed Troy’s face. “Why don’t you go grab the morning-after pill instead? You know, the emergency one. I saw a pharmacy just around the corner on the main street. I’ll wait here for you. No rush.” He stared at me for a few seconds, weighing his options. The sky outside was darkening fast. If he didn’t hurry, we’d lose the evening. He stood up, grabbed his jacket, and looked back at me from the doorway. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.” The door clicked shut. His footsteps faded down the hall. I opened the door, knelt, and picked up one of those sketchy cards featuring scantily clad women that had been slid under the door. I dialed the number. “Hi. Are you dispatching outcall services right now?” “Yes. Fourth floor, Room 420. Long hair, about five-foot-three.” “Right. As fast as possible. Money is not an issue.” She arrived remarkably fast. When the soft knock came, my hand trembled slightly. I opened the door to find a woman standing there. She looked to be in her late twenties. Her eye makeup was heavy, her lips painted a dark, bruised red, and she was wearing a tight, sequined halter dress. When she saw my bare, fresh face, she paused, visibly confused. She was probably wondering why a young college girl had called her. Without a word, I stuffed the cash directly into her hand. Three hundred dollars. I had swiped it from Troy’s wallet while he was in the bathroom earlier. Her eyes lit up as she quickly counted the bills. When she looked back up, her demeanor had shifted to total warmth. “So, what’s the plan, honey?” “Simple,” I said. “My boyfriend is on his way back. Put on my dress, turn off all the lights, and let him sleep with you. Just make sure he thinks you’re me.” She arched an eyebrow. “That’s it?” “That’s it.” The woman let out a dry, raspy laugh, the sound of a heavy smoker. She didn’t ask any more questions. She slipped into the room and shut the door behind her. In her line of work, discretion was a professional courtesy. You take the cash, you do the job—no questions asked. Three minutes later, we had swapped clothes. She wore my white floral dress, her long dark hair parted to cover most of her face. I pulled her sequined dress over my head; it was blindingly sparkly, and the fabric reeked of cheap, heavy perfume. Before leaving, I whispered, “Keep the lights off. If he asks, tell him you’re shy. Don’t be too loud, but don’t stay silent either. Just play along.” She stubbed out her cigarette and gave me a casual thumbs-up. I slipped out and ducked into the emergency stairwell at the end of the hall, keeping the heavy door open just a crack. The last glow of dusk vanished, and the hallway’s motion-sensor lights flickered on. Then came the sound of heavy footsteps. Troy was back. I heard the rattle of his keys, the squeak of the door opening and closing, and then a faint rustle of clothing. The room remained pitch-black. In the dark, Troy wouldn’t notice that her arms were a little thicker than mine, that her fingers were rougher, or that her breath carried the faint scent of menthol. He had never actually looked at me anyway. He didn’t know who I really was. The hallway lights died, then flared back to life as someone passed, then died again. I clutched my phone in my palm, its blue screen casting a cold glow over half my face. From the room, the woman’s shallow, practiced gasps drifted down the quiet corridor, accompanied by the rhythmic creaking of the cheap wooden bed. I closed my eyes. In another timeline, that was supposed to be me. It was me burying my face in the scratchy pillow, biting my lip to stay quiet, digging my nails into his back, unable to tell the difference between pain and pleasure. It was me resting my head on his shoulder afterward, gasping like a fish washed ashore, my mouth moving but finding no words to say. It was me discovering I was pregnant two months later, dialing his number with shaking hands while tears blinded my eyes. …… A sharp ache bloomed in my chest. But thank God, those were ghosts of a past life. In this life, I would never walk that path again. I counted down in my head: Three. Two. One. I pressed the call button. “911? Yes, I’d like to report illegal solicitation. It’s happening right now at the Oasis Motel on Jefferson Avenue, Room 420.”

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On Friday, I went to my mom’s office to wait for her to finish work, finding an empty desk to play some video games. Out of nowhere, the CEO’s personal secretary marched up to me, absolutely furious: “You have some nerve sitting here playing games! Because of your careless mistake, we missed a crucial client email, costing the company a twenty-million-dollar deal!” “Well? How do you plan to pay us back?” I blinked, shaking my head in sheer confusion. “Are you mistaken? I don’t work here. I’m just waiting for my mom to finish her shift.” He let out a cold, mocking laugh, raising his hand and slapping me across the face. “Still playing dumb? Call security! I bet he’s a corporate spy sent by our competitors!” My eyes watered as I pulled out my Vanguard Junior smartwatch to send a message. Mom, your secretary just hit me. …… My mom was in a high-level board meeting and didn’t reply right away. The secretary, Chase, stood over me with his hands on his hips, sneering. “Look at those designer clothes. I bet you paid for all that luxury by selling out this company, didn’t you?” “Spill it! How many of our accounts have you ruined?” With a violent shove, he sent me crashing onto the hard floor. My dad always taught me to be strong. I bit my lower lip, fighting back the tears. “Sir, I didn’t do anything. Why did you push me? My dad says pushing people is wrong.” Chase let out a sharp, hysterical shriek and grabbed me by the hair. “You little snake! How dare you talk back to me!” It hurt so much. I thrashed wildly, trying to break free. “Let go! You’re hurting me! I’m going to tell my mom, and she’ll fire you!” Chase laughed, a loud, ugly sound devoid of any restraint. “Your mom? Who does she think she is, getting me fired? I’m going to HR right now to have you kicked out of here, and you’re going to owe this company twenty million dollars!” Before I could say another word, he dragged me by the collar all the way down to the HR department. The crowd of onlookers grew with every step. A few employees looked uncomfortable, trying to quiet Chase down. But he raised his voice, shouting so the whole floor could hear: “Don’t let this pathetic act fool you! This brat’s incompetence just cost us a twenty-million-dollar contract. Our entire year-end bonuses are on the line because of him! I’m doing this for all of us!” Instantly, the atmosphere shifted. The pity in their eyes hardened into resentment. Nobody spoke up for me anymore. Under my breath, I kept whispering, “Mom, please help me.” Chase sneered, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Is she actually your mom, or just some wealthy benefactor who pays for your lifestyle?” “Disgusting! Look at that face—born to manipulate. A junior entry-level salary is barely five thousand a month. I’m sure your sugar mommy bought you that Balenciaga hoodie, and you have the audacity to parade around in Van Cleef & Arpels jewelry!” With a vicious tug, Chase ripped the necklace from my neck. It was a gift from my dad for my twelfth birthday, and the delicate chain snapped instantly. “You’re mean! Don’t touch my dad’s gift!” I struggled with everything I had, my flailing arm catching Chase on his shin. He kicked me twice in retaliation, hard enough to knock the wind out of me, before scooping up the broken necklace and shoving it into his pocket. “Keep crying, and I’ll shut your mouth for good!” I trembled, shivering in a corner. When we reached the HR suite, Chase knocked on the door with a sycophantic grin. “Luke, I brought you the idiot who threw away our major deal.” The HR director, Luke, looked up from his desk with an irritated sigh. “Where’s your badge? Which department are you in? Name?” I scrambled to find my voice, shouting, “I’m only thirteen! I don’t work for this company!” Luke squinted at me skeptically. “Chase, what is this?” Chase yanked me upward by my arm. “Luke, he’s lying to you! Look at him—he’s nearly as tall as I am, wearing thousands of dollars in designer clothes. How could he possibly be thirteen?” He leaned over, whispering something in Luke’s ear. Luke’s eyes widened, and he slammed his hand on the desk. “You’re the one who lost the Mercer Group account? The one that offended Giselle Mercer?” The Mercer Group? Wasn’t that my cousin Giselle’s family company? The Giselle Mercer he mentioned was my older cousin. But I hadn’t seen her since our family Thanksgiving dinner last month. I waved my hands frantically. “No, I don’t know anything about a contract! I was just waiting for my mom!” “Look at him play the victim. This kid is too good at it! I bet his parents are just as rotten. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree!” Chase sneered, tossing his head back in disgust. An overwhelming wave of anger washed over me. I charged forward, pushing Chase with all my might. “Don’t you dare talk about my parents like that!” As Chase and I scuffled, Luke jumped in, pulling us apart and glaring at me with a terrifying, predatory intensity. I shrank back. Chase grabbed Luke’s arm. “Cousin, you have to terminate his contract immediately! Keeping someone like this around is just a liability—he’ll probably try to seduce Ms. Ashford next!” Ms. Ashford! Was he talking about my mom? I cried out in protest, “I would never try to seduce Ms. Ashford! Ms. Ashford is my mom!” Both Luke and Chase froze. Then Chase stepped closer, studying my face before bursting into a cruel, mocking giggle. “Are you out of your mind? Everyone knows Victoria Ashford is the city’s most eligible bachelorette in her thirties. If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable. She isn’t even married, let alone having a kid your age.” “Besides, you look absolutely nothing like her. If you told me you were her housekeeper’s kid, I might actually believe you.” I felt a lump in my throat. “I don’t look like my mom, but I look like my dad! And the only reason my mom hasn’t made it public is because of my dad’s career—” Slap! Whatever I said must have hit a nerve, because Chase struck me across the face again. “Keep dragging Ms. Ashford’s name through the mud, and see what happens to you!” I clutched my burning cheek, sobbing quietly. Luke held Chase back, turning to bark at me with disgust. “Stop the waterworks. You’re not a baby anymore. Take some responsibility for your actions! Now, what is your name and department?” I kept my head down, too heartbroken to speak. “Luke asked you a question! Are you deaf?” Chase snarled, reaching into my pockets. “Where’s your ID badge? Where is it?” I panicked. “I don’t have one.” Luke’s brow furrowed deeper. “No badge? Are you an independent contractor? No, even contractors get temporary passes…” Chase violently tore at my pocket until the fabric ripped open with a loud pop. His fingers wrapped around something hard. “Found it! You little liar, you said you didn’t have a badge!” He pulled it out, but it wasn’t a corporate ID. It was a middle school student ID card. Emblazoned on the plastic were the words: Seventh Grade, Toby Knight. Chase threw the card straight at my face. “Sneaking around without a badge and using your younger brother’s student ID as a cover! Luke, what’s the company policy fine for this kind of violation?” Luke cleared his throat. “A five-hundred-dollar contribution to the office coffee and snack fund. Consider it an apology to the team.” Chase held out his hand. “Pay up. Now!” I looked down at my torn, empty pockets. “I don’t have any cash on me…” “Then scan the code! Double the penalty for digital pay—one thousand dollars!” Why was he being so incredibly cruel? Anger and frustration welled up inside me. My dad had invested all my allowance and holiday money to teach me about financial literacy, and my mom was always worried that carrying too much money made me a target. My weekly allowance was only a thousand dollars. He was demanding my entire week’s budget in one go. I didn’t want to pay, but his towering, threatening stance made him look like a monster straight out of a horror movie. “Pay, or else…” Chase raised his hand again, and I flinched. I reluctantly tapped my smartwatch against Luke’s payment terminal. Luke let out a patronizing chuckle. “What kind of fancy toy watch is this? Spending money like water—no wonder you had to sell out the company.” Before I could defend myself, Chase shoved a disciplinary form in front of me. “Sign this, and you can get lost.” I couldn’t understand most of the legal jargon on the page, but my dad had always warned me never to sign any document without reading it carefully. I stepped back, shaking my head in silent resistance. Chase grabbed my arm, twisting it painfully. “Sign it! And sign the promissory note on the next page too!” He was so rough. Why did he think it was okay to keep putting his hands on me? Luke flipped to the signature page, offering me a pen. “We’re only asking you to cover ten percent of the damages. Two million dollars is an incredibly generous offer from the company. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” I shook my head vigorously. “My dad says minors aren’t allowed to enter into financial contracts. It’s illegal. I won’t sign.” Luke rolled his eyes in sheer annoyance. “Who hired this kid? He’s completely disconnected from reality. If you don’t sign, expect a court summons!” “Why waste our breath, Luke?” Chase grabbed my hand, forcing my thumb into an inkpad and slamming it down onto the document. “There. Signed and sealed!” Suddenly, a voice echoed from the hallway. “Luke, I asked you to find me a new executive assistant. Why hasn’t anyone been scheduled yet?” The woman who walked in looked incredibly familiar. Wasn’t this Rachel, the vice president who had visited our house to deliver files last month? Her eyes locked onto mine. She gasped. “Master Toby? What on earth are you doing here?” Chase and Luke exchanged confused glances. I seized the moment to slip past them, hiding behind Rachel’s back. “VP Rachel, do you know this delinquent?” Chase asked. “He’s the one who ruined the Mercer account. We’re just having him sign his termination paperwork before we throw him out.” Rachel turned to look at me, her expression turning into pure dread as I gripped her sleeve, my hands trembling uncontrollably. She slapped her own forehead, her face pale. “What have you two done? Do you have any idea who he is?” Chase shrugged dismissively. “He’s just some new junior temp from the sales department. Apparently, he’s got a sugar mommy in the company. I honestly can’t stand these nepo babies.” Rachel slammed her hand on the desk, the sound echoing through the room. “You fools! You’ve got it completely wrong! He isn’t an employee—he’s Ms. Ashford’s son!” “That’s impossible. Everyone knows Ms. Ashford is single. Rachel, don’t talk nonsense!” Chase’s eyes lit up as if he had just solved a puzzle. “Oh, I get it!” He pointed a finger at Rachel and me. “You’re his sugar mommy, aren’t you?” Luke gave Chase a subtle thumbs-up, clearly impressed by his quick thinking. Cold sweat beaded on Rachel’s forehead. These two were digging their own graves. She would never dare to claim she was the benefactor of Victoria Ashford’s prized son. Luke sneered, mocking her. “Rachel, I never pegged you for the type to keep a young boy around.” Rachel was shaking with anger. “Luke, watch your mouth. If Ms. Ashford hears you say that, you’re finished.” She turned to comfort me, but when she saw my swollen, red cheeks and disheveled hair, her voice faltered. “Master Toby… who… who dared to lay a hand on you like this?” Before I could answer, Chase proudly raised his hand. “I did. What about it? I was protecting the company’s interests. Don’t try to cover for him. We can take this straight to Ms. Ashford if you want.” Rachel looked like she was about to faint. “You’ve ruined us all,” she whispered. “If Ms. Ashford finds out about this, none of us will survive.” She turned to me, her voice softening into a gentle, pleading tone: “Master Toby, please, they’re blind fools. Don’t listen to them. Let me take you home right now.” I nodded, tears finally spilling over. As Rachel began to guide me out of the office, Chase lunged forward, blocking the doorway. “He can’t leave! He stole the classified design files for our two-hundred-million-dollar development project!” His shout echoed down the corridor, drawing the attention of every employee on the floor. Rachel stamped her foot in frustration. “Chase, have you lost your mind? Why would Master Toby ever steal files?” Chase sneered. “I say he did, which means we search him!” He lunged forward, trying to grab my clothes. Terrified, I screamed, “Don’t touch me! Mom, help!” Rachel stepped in front of me, taking a hard slap to the face instead. Chase rolled up his sleeves, shouting to the surrounding staff: “What are you all standing around for? If we don’t find those project files, Ms. Ashford will fire every single one of us!” Using the CEO’s name as leverage, he panicked the employees into action. They swarmed forward, pulling at my jacket. Overwhelmed by fear, I curled into a ball on the floor, burying my face in my knees and sobbing loudly. Rachel tried her best to protect me, but she was overpowered and shoved to the ground. “Stop this! This is assault…” “They’re in on it together! They’re both corporate spies! Grab them!” Chase ordered. In the chaos, Rachel was struck repeatedly until she lost consciousness, bruised and exhausted. “Chase, we checked his pockets. There are no files,” one of the employees reported, panting. I huddled in the corner, shaking with fear. The employees looked around, their anger turning to doubt. “Chase, are you sure about this?” Chase stamped his foot. “He must have hidden them somewhere nearby to mess with us.” He knelt down, grabbing my jaw tightly. “Tell me! Where did you put the files?” I shook my head blindly, his sharp fingernails digging into my skin. Sting— Out of desperation, I bit down hard on his hand. “You little brat!” Chase raised his hand to strike me again, and I winced, bracing for the blow. Suddenly, the receptionist ran up, whispering urgently in his ear: “Ms. Mercer has arrived. She’s downstairs.” The elevator doors opened, and a familiar, booming laugh echoed down the hallway. It was indeed my cousin Giselle! I gathered every ounce of strength I had, running toward the sound and crying out, “Giselle!” Giselle paused, looking around.

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When my father, Charles, changed the name on my mother’s private maternity clinic registration to his widowed sister-in-law’s just to make her smile, my mother didn’t scream. She didn’t cry. She didn’t throw the porcelain vases against the hardwood floor of our Connecticut estate as she once had. Instead, when Lydia—his late brother’s fragile, demanding widow—looked at my mother’s swollen stomach and winced, my mother quietly picked up the rotary phone and scheduled an abortion. Everyone in our social circle whispered that the proud Mrs. Erica Vance had finally learned her place. She had finally “behaved.” Even my father nodded with cold satisfaction. “Lydia was entrusted to me by my late brother,” he told her, adjusting his tie without looking at her. “I have a duty to protect her. I’m glad you finally understand.” My mother didn’t argue. She simply slid her wedding ring and a signed divorce agreement across the polished mahogany table, offering to step aside and set him free. But instead of accepting it, my father flew into a violent rage. He tore the papers to shreds, scattering them like snow across the rug, and ordered the gates of the estate locked. He locked her inside, telling her to stay there until she “reflected on her selfishness.” At first, he had his driver deliver photographs of his outings with Lydia—sunlit picnics, broad smiles, cozy dinners—hoping to break her pride and force her to beg for his return. Eventually, the world forgot about Erica. People began treating Lydia as the true lady of the manor. It wasn’t until five years later, when Lydia fell ill and desperately needed a kidney transplant, that my father finally stepped through the heavy doors of the old estate again. “Erica, Lydia is my brother’s only legacy. You can’t just watch her die…” But no matter how much he pleaded, the house remained deathly quiet. No one answered. Slamming the door in a fit of frustration, he shouted, “Five years! Are you still nursing this petty grudge? You won’t even save a life just to spite me?” He had no idea. My mother had never belonged to this world. She was a traveler, bound by a cosmic System that required her to bear two children for a husband destined to have no heirs. And she was already gone. She had died on that cold operating table five years ago, during the abortion he forced upon her. … My father’s anger had burned hot and long. The day after she locked herself in, he ordered the gardener to tear up every single sunflower blooming in the backyard—sunflowers he had once planted for her—and replace them with blood-red roses, the flowers my mother hated most. I stood by the waste bins, helplessly watching the vibrant yellow petals wither and turn black in the trash. A memory of my mother drifted through my mind. When I was small, she loved to sit on the wooden bench by the sunflower patch, pulling me onto her lap to tell me how my father had planted each seed by hand, sweating under the summer sun just to see her smile. I still remembered the soft, glowing warmth in her eyes back then. But everything shifted the moment he brought Lydia home. The moment Lydia shed a single tear, my mother became the villain. The man who had once loved my mother as if she were his very breath suddenly became a stranger. He stood by, silent and indifferent, as Lydia chipped away at my mother’s dignity, constantly demanding that my mother “compromise” and “be reasonable.” He even took down their grand oil wedding portrait from the parlor wall, replacing it with a portrait of Lydia and her late husband, claiming it comforted her grief. That was when my mother’s spirit began to break. Their marriage devolved into a series of bitter, desperate arguments. Soon, the laughter vanished entirely, and I never saw my mother smile again. And then came the final blow: my father giving her hard-won private maternity spot and the family trust allocation to Lydia, claiming the widow’s fragile health required the premium care more. Overnight, my mother became the laughingstock of the county. But this time, she didn’t fight. She silently packed away the tiny, hand-sewn baby clothes she had spent months embroidering. She shut herself in her room and didn’t come out. And before Lydia could even gloat, my mother booked the abortion. Everyone said she had finally learned her lesson. But I was terrified. Because I was the only one who could see the glowing, translucent words floating above her head: [System Protocol: Integration Attempt Failed. Termination protocol scheduled in three days.] Three days. The exact day of her abortion. I wanted to beg her to stay, to plead with her not to leave me behind. But when I looked into her hollow, resigned eyes, the words choked in my throat. On that final morning, she held me close for a long time. She whispered soft, urgent instructions: I had to survive, I had to take care of myself… And then, she gave me a smile. A real, beautiful smile I hadn’t seen in years. “Lucy, my sweet girl. Mama will always protect you.” Hours later, when the bleeding wouldn’t stop, I ran to find my father. I screamed and banged on his study door all night, then begged the local clinic doctors to come. Only the next morning did I learn that Lydia had developed a mild cold and couldn’t sleep. My father had gathered every prominent doctor in the city to attend to her bedside. I pulled my gaze back to the present, clutching the small wooden urn containing my mother’s ashes. Only here, in this quiet corner, did I feel a shred of peace. That evening, my father returned. Lydia was clinging to his arm. “Your mother has spent five years harboring her petty spite, and she’s raised you to be just as undisciplined,” my father said, glaring down at me with cold disapproval. “You don’t even have the decency to greet us. Have you forgotten the rules of this house?” I averted my eyes, pretending I hadn’t heard him. What did he want me to call Lydia? Stepmother? She didn’t deserve the title. Seeing my silence, Lydia lowered her eyes, her lower lip trembling as if she had been deeply wounded. “Charles, please don’t blame the child. It’s my fault. I know my presence is an eyesore to Erica, and Lucy is just defending her mother. I understand, really.” A bitter laugh bubbled up in my chest. Even after all these years, Lydia’s tactics remained flawless. She was a master of casting herself as the tragic, long-suffering victim. My father frowned but said nothing more to her. He turned his harsh gaze toward the closed, dark bedroom door. “Erica, I’ve given you more than enough time.” His patience fully depleted, he strode toward the door. But before his hand could touch the brass doorknob, Lydia gasped, clutching her chest in apparent agony. “It’s fine, Charles… If Erica doesn’t want to see me, let’s just go. My life isn’t worth much anyway. No one would care if I died…” Panic instantly washed over my father’s face. He swept her into his arms. “Don’t speak like that! What do you mean, no one cares? I care! I won’t let anything happen to you!” Gravely anxious, he turned to his security guards and pointed at me. “Make her kneel,” he ordered coldly, his voice echoing toward the closed door. “Erica! If you want to hide in there forever, go ahead. But your precious daughter will stay right here. She won’t rise until you step out of that room. Let’s see how long your stubborn pride lasts!” I watched my father carry Lydia away, his back retreating down the long hallway. A profound, aching bitterness settled in my chest. He knew my mother loved me more than life itself. He knew she would do anything to protect me. But my mother had been gone for five years. How could she possibly come out? I knelt on the cold hardwood floor for two full days, until my vision went black and I collapsed. When I finally woke, my father was back. Standing beside him were my maternal grandparents, Richard and Martha. Looking at their faces—which bore a haunting seventy-percent resemblance to my mother’s—a tiny spark of hope flared in my chest. But before I could speak, they bypassed me entirely and warmly took Lydia’s hands. My grandmother smoothed Lydia’s hair, her eyes overflowing with motherly concern. “Lydia, sweetheart, you must be exhausted. Look how thin you’ve gotten.” My grandfather chimed in quickly, “I’ll make that pigeon broth you love tonight. We need to get some strength back into you.” I swallowed the cry that had risen to my throat. The silent ache in my chest throbbed like an open wound. Lydia had been their favorite student and teaching assistant back when they taught at the university. Growing up, all I ever heard from them were comparisons. “If only you were half as brilliant as Lydia…” “If only you were as sensible as Lydia…” They ignored the fact that Lydia had plagiarized my mother’s research to steal her fellowship at the institute. They ignored that when they fell gravely ill, it was my mother who stayed by their bedsides night and day, nursing them back to health. In the end, Lydia took credit for all of it. They had even informally adopted her as their goddaughter. These two stern, traditionally rigid academics were now smiling warmly at Lydia. Yet, my mother had once told me they despised public displays of emotion. It felt like an eternity before my grandmother finally glanced my way, her expression instantly hardening into cold aloofness. “Where is your mother? We’ve traveled all this way, and she can’t even bother to step out and greet us? Still throwing her childish tantrums, I see.” I lowered my head, my throat dry as dust. “Mama… she…” Before I could finish, Lydia cut me off. She released my grandmother’s hand, her eyes instantly welling with tears. “Erica clearly doesn’t want to see me. That’s why she’s hiding. Maybe I should just leave… After all, no matter how hard I try, I’ll always be an outsider here.” My grandmother immediately pulled her back, alarmed. “Lydia, don’t say such foolish things! How could you be an outsider?” She glared at me, her voice rising in anger. “Tell your mother to get out here this instant. It’s just a kidney. She’s enjoyed the privileges of this family for years; the least she can do is help Lydia now.” My grandfather nodded in agreement. “Exactly. Lucy, you need to talk some sense into your mother. It’s a simple procedure. If she had just agreed sooner, Lydia wouldn’t have suffered so much.” I stared at them, my heart heavy with a profound, suffocating sorrow. These were my mother’s flesh and blood. Yet, they hadn’t asked about her health once since they arrived. Instead, they treated a manipulative stranger like a precious gem. I raised my eyes, unable to stay silent. “Grandmother, Grandfather… do you even remember who your actual daughter is?” My voice trembled with tears, speaking all the unspoken grief my mother had carried. “You haven’t checked on her once in five years. And now that you’re finally here, it’s only to force her to give up a part of herself for someone else. Do you even care if she lives or dies?” My desperate, tearful defense of my mother did nothing to move them. Instead, my grandmother’s face contorted with rage, and she slapped me across the cheek. “You insolent child!” she hissed, her finger shaking as she pointed at me. “What a curse on this family. We already have one rebellious daughter to disappoint us, and now she’s raised you to be just as rotten. I told Charles years ago that we should have let Lydia raise you. Look at you—a perfect copy of your mother’s stubborn, ungrateful ways.” Lydia smirked, a brief flash of triumph crossing her eyes before she quickly adopted a saintly, soothing tone. She took my grandmother’s hand. “Please, don’t upset yourself. Don’t blame Erica or Lucy. A child only knows what she’s taught. If Erica forbade her from agreeing, Lucy wouldn’t dare say yes. It’s my fault for being so unlikable. I really should just go…” She took a fragile, swaying step backward, then suddenly clutched her head and collapsed. My father caught her in his arms, panic-stricken. “Lydia! Is it your heart again?” He turned to one of the servants, his voice sharp with urgency. “Go to the safe in the study. Bring me the silver locket. The warmth of the blessed metal will help soothe her chest.” The servant hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “Sir… the locket… the mistress broke it.” “What?” my father demanded, his eyes widening. “That day Miss Lydia was in severe pain and went to ask the mistress if she could borrow the locket for its blessing. The mistress said she’d rather smash it to pieces than let Miss Lydia touch it. And then she… she threw it against the hearth. Miss Lydia begged me not to tell you because she didn’t want you to punish the mistress.” My father’s face darkened with absolute disbelief. “She destroyed it?” That locket was a sacred relic. When he had been deployed as a diplomat to a dangerous war zone, my mother had climbed the rugged peaks of the Blue Ridge Mountains on foot, praying at every step, just to have a hermit abbot bless it with her entire life savings. “Charles,” Lydia whimpered, her voice dripping with sorrow, though her eyes remained sharp and calculating. “I saw her burning your old love letters, too. I thought she was just angry… I didn’t think she would actually destroy the locket.” The last thread of my father’s restraint snapped. With a roar of fury, he grabbed a heavy mahogany chair and smashed it against my mother’s locked bedroom door. “I am giving you forty-eight hours, Erica!” he screamed, his voice hoarse with rage. “If you do not show your face, I will have the doctors harvest Lucy’s kidney instead. You’d better think long and hard about that!” I instinctively reached into my collar, my fingers brushing against the cool silver of the locket. It was still there, hanging safely around my neck. My mother had never destroyed it. She had never burned his letters, either; they were safely preserved in a wooden trunk under her bed. Before she left, she had placed the locket around my neck to protect me. My father claimed to love her once, yet he believed Lydia’s transparent lies without a second thought. He didn’t even bother to check the room. My chest tight, I felt a strange sense of relief. Thank god, I thought. Thank god Mama left this place. Thank god she doesn’t have to endure this anymore. To watch the person you loved most tear you apart to protect the very person who ruined you… how much agony could one heart take? I stood there like a ghost, quietly watching them fuss over Lydia. As I tried to slip away unnoticed, Lydia’s hand shot out, grabbing my wrist with surprising strength. “Lucy, please,” she sobbed, her tears flowing freely. “What did I do wrong? Tell me, and I’ll fix it. Every time you look at me with those cold eyes, it reminds me so much of your mother. I don’t know what she told you about me, but… I swear I’ve never wanted to hurt her. I’ve tried so hard to make her accept me, but…” With a few delicate words, she painted herself as the innocent victim of a cruel mother-daughter duo. But I could never forget the stormy night he first brought her back. I had been burning with a dangerously high fever. Terrified, my mother had carried me through the pouring rain to the diplomatic compound, begging the medical staff for help. Instead of a doctor, we were met by Lydia, draped in my father’s dry coat. I remembered the sheer malice in her eyes as she whispered to my mother, “Surprised to see me, Erica? Did you really think you could keep my stolen fellowship, my adoptive parents, and live happily ever after? I don’t believe in fate. Everything you have, I’m taking it all.” Then, she ordered the guards to shut the gates, forbidding my mother from entering without her permission. My mother had carried me through the torrential rain all night until she finally found a local clinic. When my father returned the next day after hearing the news, I thought he would demand justice for us. Instead, he blindly swallowed Lydia’s lies and forced my mother to kneel in the drafty family chapel for two full days as punishment for “inciting drama.” “Lucy, what did I do to deserve this?” Lydia cried, her eyes red and swollen. “You can hate me, you can hit me, but please don’t look at me like that.” Nauseated by her hypocrisy, I tried to pull my arm free. Before I could even exert any force, she collapsed backward like a broken doll. A split second later, my father’s hand cracked across my face. “Lucy!” he roared. “I thought staying near your mother all these years would teach you some humility, but you’ve only inherited her toxic jealousy! Today, I will teach you the meaning of respect.” “Bring me the crop,” he barked at the guards. “If your mother won’t raise you right, I will.” I was pinned to the floor. The heavy leather crop rained down on my back, tearing through my clothes. The sharp tang of blood filled the air, and my face drained of color as the agonizing pain tore through my senses. Lydia whimpered from the sofa, “Charles, please stop… It’s just a scratch, I don’t blame her. It’s natural she hates me; I’m a stranger to her. If only I hadn’t lost my own baby back then… maybe things would be different.” My father paused, his eyes softening with deep pity as he looked at her. “If you want, Lucy can be your daughter. From today on, we are moving back into the main house together.” Lydia’s eyes flared with a triumphant joy she could barely mask. She knew what this meant. Moving into the estate meant she was only a marriage license away from officially becoming Mrs. Charles Vance. With a mouth full of blood, my vision finally went dark, and I drifted into unconsciousness. When I woke up, the familiar estate had been completely stripped of its soul. The elegant, custom furniture my mother had carefully designed was gone, replaced by flashy, modern pieces currently trending in the city. Stumbling frantically into my room, I only breathed a sigh of relief when I found my mother’s wooden urn and clutched it tightly to my chest. My father pushed the door open. He froze for a moment when he saw my face. I looked so much like my mother. Sometimes, even I gasped when I looked in the mirror. For once, his tone softened. “Lucy… did you drink the medicine the doctor left?” I nodded numbly. “Don’t hold a grudge against me,” he said quietly. “I only did it because I didn’t want you to grow up as stubborn and bitter as your mother. About the transplant… I thought about it. If you really don’t want to…” Before he could finish, Lydia’s weak voice drifted from the hallway. “Charles… my pills… where are they?” He immediately abandoned his sentence, rushing to pull the medication from his pocket and administer it to her. “If you’re not feeling well, don’t walk around. Rest.” Lydia nodded, her eyes sliding past his shoulder to land on me. “Lucy, what are you holding? Why does it have Erica’s portrait on it?” My father’s gaze snapped to the box in my arms. His brow furrowed, and he snatched it away. When he realized what it was, his face turned completely white. Lydia gasped, horror-struck, covering her mouth. “Is that… ashes? Lucy, how could you?” She looked at my father with tears streaming down her face. “No wonder my condition keeps worsening… Erica must hate me so much that she’d fake her own death just to curse me.” She clutched her heart, groaning in simulated agony. His face contorted with fury, my father threw the wooden box out the open window. I tried to scream, to run, but I was too late. I watched the urn plunge into the dark depths of the estate’s pond. My world shattered. “Erica, you’ve lost your mind!” my father bellowed. He kicked open her bedroom door, expecting to find her hiding, but the room was completely bare. A sudden, cold dread seemed to flicker in his eyes at the emptiness of the space. But Lydia was weeping loudly. “She did this to curse me… she’s been hiding just to torture us… let her have her wish. I’ll just die.” Lydia closed her eyes and went limp. Panicking, my father scooped her up and roared at the guards outside: “Get the car! We are going to the hospital right now. If Erica won’t show her face, we will use Lucy’s kidney. I will not let Lydia die!” I kept my eyes fixed on the ripples in the pond as they dragged me into the car. At the hospital, my father’s furious demands echoed down the hallway: “I don’t care what it takes! Just save her!” A sharp, blinding pain soon tore through my abdomen. No anesthesia. No sterile care. The corrupt private doctors my father hired exchanged a nervous glance, then left me bleeding on the cold metal table. “Don’t blame us, kid,” one whispered. “Miss Lydia ordered it this way.” Dragging my failing body, I slowly crawled toward the open window of the operating room. Gradually, the agonizing pain began to fade. The cold air felt like a gentle caress, and in the distance, I saw my mother’s warm, beautiful smile waiting for me. Without a single doubt, I reached out and let myself fall toward her.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “476196”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On June first—International Children’s Day—my twenty-nine-year-old sister-in-law, a grown woman suffering from a severe case of self-diagnosed “baby-brain,” blocked the doorway of my office. She was wearing a puffy pink tutu, sucking noisily on a giant lollipop. “Charlotte, today is Baby’s day! Baby wants to be the President and Registered Corporate Owner as her Children’s Day present!” I stared at her, completely dumbfounded. “Are you out of your mind? The registered corporate owner bears all the personal liability and debt!” My husband, Daniel, gave me a cold, dismissive look from behind her. “Charlotte, don’t be ungrateful. Since Daisy wants it, you—an outsider—can step down and let her have it.” I pinched my thigh as hard as I could, barely keeping myself from laughing out loud. A quarter-billion dollars in toxic debt. I had been losing sleep trying to figure out how to escape this sinking ship without drowning, and here they were, handing me a golden parachute. “If you’re forcing my hand, don’t regret it later,” I said, my voice trembling with faux-distress as I quickly signed the transfer agreement. The moment the corporate seal pressed down on the paper, Daisy clapped her hands, squealing with delight. “Yay! Baby has her own big company today!” Oh, Baby Daisy. I hope you laugh just as sweetly when you’re making license plates in a federal penitentiary. … 1 Daisy was ecstatic. Clutching a pacifier between her teeth, she waddled into the executive suite, threw herself into the leather office chair, and spun around exactly eight times. “Starting today!” she announced, pulling the pacifier from her mouth with a dramatic pop. “This company belongs to Baby! Everyone has to listen to Baby!” “And if you don’t listen, Baby will fire you all!” The executives in the room, people who had bled and sweated alongside me for three years, kept their heads bowed, refusing to make eye contact. My husband—and the company’s CEO—Daniel, swept a freezing gaze across the room. “You all heard her,” Daniel said. “Daisy is the new registered owner. If anyone has a problem with that, pack your bags and get out.” Silence fell over the room like wet cement. I didn’t look at them. I kept my head down, packing my personal belongings into a cardboard box. The box bumped against the edge of the desk, making a sharp, hollow thud. It wasn’t a loud noise, but in that suffocating silence, it sounded like a gunshot. Daisy’s head snapped toward me. “Charlotte…” she whined, dragging out the syllables of my name. “What are you doing? Baby is speaking. Why aren’t you listening?” I ignored her and kept packing. Her face twisted. And then, right there in front of a dozen senior executives, a twenty-nine-year-old grown woman slid off the executive chair and threw herself onto the carpet. Thud. She began to roll. Kick. Scream. Her legs thrashed against the floor in a full-blown toddler tantrum. “Ugh! Charlotte is ignoring Baby! Charlotte is being mean to Baby!” Wailing, she scrambled up from the floor, tears and snot smearing her face. She pointed a trembling finger at me. “You only look down on Baby because you were the boss, right?!” “Everyone knows you only ran this place to hook up with male clients! The whole company knows!” A few of the executives winced, their eyes darting nervously. I kept my expression entirely blank, continuing to file away my papers. My silence drove her over the edge. She lunged forward, snatching the silver picture frame from the corner of my desk. It was the only photo I had left of my parents before they passed away. Smash. She raised it high above her head and hurled it onto the hardwood floor. The glass shattered into a thousand glittering shards. Clapping her hands, she giggled, looking at me with pure malice masked as innocence. “Hehe! Baby doesn’t like this toy!” I knelt down, carefully picking the photo out of the broken glass, and slipped it into my coat’s inner pocket. Then I stood back up and continued sorting the remaining files on the desk. From start to finish, I never once looked at her. Daisy’s giggles died out. She had clearly never encountered anyone who refused to react to her infantile theatrics. Suddenly, she stepped directly into my space. She grabbed the stack of project files right out of my hands, spun around, and stuffed them directly into the shredder in the corner. Whirrrr. The white pages were instantly sliced into thin, meaningless ribbons. She sucked her thumb, tilting her head to smile at me. “The shredder was hungry! Baby was just feeding it some yummy paper!” I stopped what I was doing. “Daisy,” I said, my voice flat, empty of emotion. “The picture frame you just smashed was my personal property. The files you just destroyed were reference materials I purchased with my own money, along with my personal work logs.” “Deliberate destruction of property is a civil offense, and depending on the value, it can escalate to a criminal misdemeanor.” As I spoke, I pulled out my phone and switched on the video camera. “I am recording everything you do as evidence.” Daisy froze. Behind us, someone let out a muffled snort. She whipped around, glaring at the executives. They immediately fell silent, though their lips were visibly twitching. Flushed with embarrassment, Daisy stormed back to the desk, climbed onto the leather chair, and spun herself around in a fury. “Fine! Whatever! Baby is here to audit the accounts today anyway!” She yanked open a drawer, pulled out a stack of expense reports, and slammed them onto the desk. “You old employees are nothing but leeches! Always reimbursement, reimbursement, reimbursement!” “From now on, Baby is only going to approve payouts for people who make Baby’s baby bottles and fold Baby’s blankets!” With a dramatic tear, she ripped several receipts to shreds. A few of the yes-men—Daniel’s useless relatives who had been hired through blatant nepotism—immediately began to clap and cheer. “Brilliant, Daisy!” “About time someone cleaned house!” Daisy kept flipping through the pile. Suddenly, her hand stopped. On the very last page, the amount column read: $100,000. She held up the invoice. “Whose is this? Who has the nerve to claim a hundred-thousand-dollar reimbursement?” The room fell dead silent for three seconds. I calmly raised my hand. “It’s mine.” 2 Daisy stared at my raised hand, momentarily stunned. “Ha! I knew it!” She slammed her hand on the desk, stood up, and pointed a finger directly at my nose. “Charlotte! I knew you were stealing!” “You thought just because you were the registered agent for a few years, you could treat this company like your personal piggy bank?!” The room erupted in whispers. Daniel’s relatives leaned in toward each other, their eyes turning hostile. “Did you actually bother to read the report?” I asked. Daisy blinked. I pointed to the bottom half of the invoice she was clutching. “Look down. What does it say under ‘Purpose’?” Suspicious, she glanced down, her lips moving silently as she read. But she didn’t speak. So, I read it aloud for her. “Purpose: Personal advance for Apex Logistics, July inventory final payment. Funding source: Personal account of Charlotte Cross.” I looked her dead in the eye. “Last month, the suppliers were threatening to halt deliveries. The corporate account was empty. I used my own personal savings to cover the gap.” “The bank transfer records, the supplier receipts, and the internal accounting logs are all on file. Anyone can verify them.” Daisy’s face hardened. Three seconds later, her voice shrieked: “Liar! You’re a discarded wife about to be kicked to the curb! Where would you get a hundred thousand dollars?!” “Personal savings? Your money is my brother’s money!” She worked herself into a frenzy, her finger practically poking my eye. “You stole money from the company, fabricated a fake loan agreement, and then played the hero pretending you paid it! It’s fraud! You’re committing financial fraud!” I took a slow, deep breath. “Daisy, every single transaction in this company is audited. If you don’t believe me, you can call the bank right now.” She stared at me for a few silent seconds before plumping back into her chair, her voice growing even louder and shriller: “I don’t care! Baby is the owner! What Baby says goes!” She grabbed the hundred-thousand-dollar invoice and ripped it cleanly in half. “Baby doesn’t recognize this debt! If you paid it, that’s your problem! The company doesn’t owe you a single penny!” I watched the torn paper flutter to the carpet. I said nothing. Daisy stood up, addressing the entire room with theatrical grandeur. “This hundred thousand dollars is now Baby’s Playground Fund! It’s going to be used to reward the people who support Baby!” She scanned the room, looking at the sycophants and relatives. “What do you all think of that?” “Amazing!” “Daisy is the best!” “We love you, Baby!” Amidst the cheers, the few loyal employees who had actually built this company with me kept their heads down, too terrified to speak up. I took one last look at them. “Daisy,” I said quietly. “What you just tore up was a photocopy. My lawyer has the original.” Daisy’s face twitched. “Lawyer? Who are you trying to scare! This is my company! Baby is the boss!” Her voice pitched higher. “You think Baby won’t get Big Brother to teach you a lesson?!” The relatives chimed in instantly. “Exactly. Why is a grown woman bullying a kid?” “She just became the owner and you’re already hounding her for money. Have some shame, Charlotte.” “Don’t push it, Charlotte. Play nice, or you won’t get a dime.” I looked around the room and decided to stay silent. Seeing my silence, Daisy turned to the secretary at the door and screamed, “Go! Get my brother in here! Tell him there’s a crazy woman bullying Baby!” “Tell him to get his butt in here right now!” 3 Looking at Daisy’s smug, untouchable face, a quiet, soaring joy bloomed in my chest. Nobody knew how long I had been waiting for this exact moment. Three years ago, when Daniel pushed me into the role of registered agent and corporate representative, the company was already drowning in over two hundred million dollars of debt. Back then, Daniel had put his arm around me and whispered, ‘Honey, it’s just a formality. We just need your name on the paperwork. Just sign here.’ It wasn’t until I gained access to the actual ledger that the truth hit me. I wasn’t his partner. I was his human shield. For three agonizing years, I had scrambled to keep the wolves at bay, pouring nearly three million dollars of my own inheritance and savings into the black hole of his company’s liabilities. I had wanted a divorce. But my lawyer warned me that without airtight proof of Daniel’s personal asset diversion, the courts would likely rule the business liabilities as joint marital debt. I had to bide my time and gather evidence. The heavy oak door swung open. Daniel strode into the room, looking imposing and severe. Daisy instantly launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his sleeve and pouting. “Daniel! Charlotte is being so mean to Baby!” “She brought a fake invoice to extort a hundred thousand dollars from Baby! When Baby said no, she started threatening Baby with her phone camera!” Daniel’s eyes went cold as he locked them onto me. “Charlotte, what the hell are you doing now?” Before I could even open my mouth, Daisy kicked her performance into overdrive. She scrambled back onto the desk, dangling her legs in the air, kicking them back and forth as she let out loud, dramatic wails. “Daniel! Do you know why she wants that hundred thousand dollars so badly?” “It’s because she’s using it to fund her little toy boy on the side!” A collective gasp rippled through the room. “Baby heard people talking!” she sobbed, wiping fake tears on her pink sleeve. “Charlotte’s been seeing someone else for months! A young, hot guy!” “She’s just trying to drain the company dry before she runs off with him! She’s making a fool out of you!” Daniel’s face turned an ugly, bruised shade of purple. He marched over to me and grabbed my wrist. Before I could react, his other hand clamped onto my ring finger, catching the band of my diamond wedding ring and pulling it hard. The sharp metal claws of the setting scraped brutally against my knuckle. A thin, stinging line of crimson welled up from the base of my finger to the tip. Blood began to drip onto the polished floor. I trembled from the sudden, sharp pain. Daniel ripped the ring free and tossed it onto the desk in front of Daisy. “Here. Baby likes shiny things, right? You can have this as a toy.” Daisy snatched up the ring, her eyes lighting up as she held it to the fluorescent lights. “Oh, so shiny! Thank you, Daniel!” “Daniel, Baby doesn’t want this bad woman in our company anymore!” “Kick her out! Divorce her! Baby hates her!” Daniel took a deep, steadying breath. He reached into his leather briefcase and pulled out a thick document. “Charlotte.” He slammed the divorce papers onto the desk in front of me. “Sign it. You walk away with nothing. As of today, you are completely dead to the King family.” I looked down at the paperwork. Under Division of Assets, it read: The Wife voluntarily waives all claims to marital assets. I looked up at his face. There was no guilt in his eyes. Not a flicker of hesitation. I lowered my gaze, picked up the pen with my bleeding hand, and signed my name on the dotted line. It took every ounce of my strength to keep my face from splitting into a wide, triumphant grin. I bowed my head, pretending to weep into my hands. But in reality, I was biting my lip raw to stop myself from laughing out loud. 4 A month later. I was sitting in my newly rented apartment. The phone on the kitchen counter buzzed. It was a package delivery notification—a physical invitation sent by Daisy. The envelope was sealed with a pink glittery heart sticker. I opened it. Daisy’s One-Month Anniversary Gala Written in her bubbly, rounded handwriting below: “Dear Ex-Sister-in-Law, Baby has been the boss for a month now! Under Baby’s brilliant leadership, the company is absolutely soaring! Tonight, Baby is throwing a massive celebration on board ‘The Oasis’ yacht. You are cordially invited to witness what a real business mogul looks like. Dress nice, try not to embarrass Baby!” I stared at the invitation for a long time. Then, I pulled up the calendar on my phone to check the note I had marked a month ago. Bank’s final grace period deadline: Tonight, 10:00 PM. I set the phone down. I walked over to the closet and pulled out a stunning, deep-emerald silk dress. Tonight was a show worth dressing up for. The Oasis was docked at the marina, glowing like a floating palace of neon and glass. The deck was carpeted in plush cream, adorned with giant balloons that read Baby is the Best! and Long Live President Daisy! In the center of the deck stood a massive, ten-tier cake, topped with a small flag: Happy 1-Month Anniversary to Baby Daisy! Daisy stood near the bow in a custom designer tulle dress, practically glowing with self-importance. My ex-husband, Daniel, stood beside her, his arm wrapped around a young, beautiful woman I had never seen before. Surrounding them were the same parasitic relatives and bootlicks. “With Daisy at the helm, we’ll be ringing the bell at NASDAQ by next quarter!” “Absolutely! Once we go public, we’re all buying beach houses!” The moment my heels clicked onto the deck, the laughter died down slightly. Daisy spotted me. Her eyes lit up, and she gestured to two beefy security guards in suits. They immediately escorted me to a far corner of the deck, effectively quarantining me. Daisy grabbed a wireless microphone. “Look, everyone! Our former owner is here!” The crowd erupted into mock applause and snickers. “Ex-sister-in-law, are you dying of regret? Look at how amazing Baby is doing with the company!” “When you were in charge, this place was a morgue. Now that Baby is here, it’s a party every day!” Daniel tightened his grip on his new girlfriend’s waist. “It took a divorce for me to realize what a drag you were on this business, Charlotte.” The new girlfriend let out a high-pitched, mocking giggle. I sipped my champagne, offering no reply. Daisy stepped up to the massive cake, holding a long silver knife. She looked over at me with a tilted, mock-innocent smile. “Oh, by the way, Charlotte. Baby wants to give you a chance!” She cooed into the microphone, “If you get down on your knees and bark like a dog three times, Baby will give you a big slice of cake. What do you say?” A roar of laughter swept across the deck. “Do it!” someone shouted. “Bark! Bark! Bark!” Every eye on the yacht was fixed on me. I stood quietly in my corner, glanced down at the gold watch on my wrist. 9:59 PM. One minute left. “Five,” I whispered. “Four.” Nobody noticed my lips moving. “Three.” Suddenly, a sharp vibration echoed from Daniel’s suit pocket. He frowned, pulling out his phone. Before he could even look at the screen, the CFO’s phone went off. Then the legal counsel’s. Then, the phones of every single executive on board began to chime, ring, and buzz in a deafening, discordant symphony. The laughter on the yacht vanished instantly. Daniel stared at his caller ID, his face draining of color. He answered. Within three seconds, his skin turned a sickly, translucent white. Clatter. The phone slipped from his hand, bouncing uselessly on the deck. At that exact moment, a piercing, wailing siren cut through the night air from the marina entrance. Massive, blinding searchlights swept across the water, pinning the yacht in their bright glare. The silver cake knife slipped from Daisy’s fingers, clattering loudly against the deck. The entire yacht fell into a frozen, petrified silence. I looked at the twenty-nine-year-old ‘baby’ standing there, shivering and pale, and raised my glass. “Happy one-month anniversary, President Baby.”

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My boyfriend, Todd, insisted on dragging me to the bank to handle the wire transfer. He adamantly demanded that Gigi, his precious childhood friend who was working as a junior teller, process the transaction. He claimed he wanted to help her get some hands-on experience so she could settle into her new job. But the moment I inserted the security key, Gigi did something unfathomable: she dumped the entire capital pool into a failing penny stock called GreenTerra Solutions, which was hours away from being delisted. She turned to me, blowing a mock kiss with a grating, childish lisp. “Don’t be so grumpy, Gwenny! My horoscope said I have massive financial luck today.” “Look at that little stock, it’s so sad and green. Once Gigi doubles the money, I’ll give it all to you to spend, okay?” I was shaking with rage, demanding she cancel the trade immediately. But Todd didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the physical authorization form and signed his name to back her up. “Don’t worry about her petty lecturing, Gigi. Even if you lose every single cent of her pocket change, I can cover it ten times over!” But that wasn’t “pocket change.” That was the hundred million dollars in emergency state funding just released for the Canyon Lake Dam reinforcement project. In my past life, I had literally smashed the glass barrier and ripped the ethernet cable out of the wall to stop the transaction. Because of my desperate intervention, the company secured the materials in time, reinforced the dam, and survived the devastating summer floods. But Todd? He was fired because his precious childhood friend almost caused a catastrophic disaster. He hated me for it. He spun a web of lies, accusing me of embezzling company funds, and eventually locked me inside the archive room before setting the building on fire. “Gigi is so innocent, Gwen. How dare you terrify her? You can turn to ash right along with these records.” Now, I opened my eyes. I was right back to the exact second before Gigi clicked “Confirm Purchase.” I stepped back, folding my arms across my chest. Go ahead. Buy it. Since you, the regional project director, have personally authorized this madness. Let’s see if your horoscope can predict the absolute ruin waiting for both of you. 1 “Ding—Transaction Successful.” The massive capital pool on the screen instantly drained to zero. One hundred million dollars of emergency infrastructure funding had just been converted into shares of “GreenTerra Solutions,” a toxic, frozen stock. Gigi squealed with delight, clapping her hands. “Yay! It went through!” “Todd, look, look! It’s all green! It looks so pretty and full of life, like little grass!” She bit her thumb, spinning around to throw herself into Todd’s arms. She cooed, her voice dripping with a nauseating, high-pitched sweetness. “Todd, isn’t Gigi clever?” “Gigi did some wealth management for her big brother today!” Todd’s eyes softened with absolute adoration. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, stroking her hair. When he turned to look at me, however, his face hardened into a sneer of utter contempt. “See that, Gwen? Gigi is just naturally gifted at this.” I took a sharp step forward, reaching for the mouse, my voice cold as ice. “Todd, this is the emergency infrastructure funding the State Treasury just transferred to our firm. It’s the material procurement budget for the Canyon Lake Dam—exactly one hundred million dollars. If anything goes wrong, the criminal liability falls squarely on your head!” Todd waved me off dismissively, looking at me like I was a hysterical child. “Stop being such a fearmonger. The peak flood season doesn’t start for another month. What’s the rush? Once Gigi doubles the money in a few days, we’ll pull it out and put it back. No harm, no foul.” Looking at his arrogant, clueless face, a strange, freezing calm washed over me. I had already resigned from any active role in the company weeks ago; today, I was only here because he had begged me to accompany him. Since some people are hell-bent on digging their own graves, why should I stop them? “Fine,” I said, my voice completely level. “Since the funds have been moved, you’d better keep the original signed authorization paper safe. That’s your neck on the line.” I needed to make sure the physical evidence remained intact. He had to burn with no way out. Todd let out a harsh laugh, reaching for the official document on the desk. But Gigi’s eyes darted to it, and her restless, destructive fingers got there first. She snatched the authorization sheet, crumpling it in her fists with a childish pout. “This paper is too rough! I hate the texture! Gigi doesn’t like it!” And then, she did something unbelievable. She pulled a designer lipstick out of her Chanel bag. With aggressive, chaotic strokes, she scribbled right over the official state seal. “Look, Todd! I drew a big fat turtle!” She giggled, but she wasn’t done. With a sharp tug, she ripped the document in half. Rip— The legally binding document that held the safety of hundreds of thousands of lives was shredded into tiny pieces. “Oh, that felt so good! Total stress relief!” She laughed, tossing the shredded paper into the air. The white scraps rained down around her like cheap snow, covering the marble floor. Todd noticed me staring at her, and like a rabid guard dog defending its bone, he stepped in front of her. His face twisted in fury as he barked at me: “What are you looking at? Lose the attitude, Gwen!” “I’m the director of this project! How we manage the cash flow is my decision!” “If Gigi wants to rip up paper, I’ll order a truckload of it tomorrow for her to shred. Don’t you dare glare at her like she’s done something wrong!” Gigi peeked from behind Todd’s broad shoulder, sticking her tongue out at me. “Exactly! It’s just some stupid paper. Todd will protect me!” Right then, the stock market opened. The penny stock didn’t even put up a fight. It plunged in a vertical, straight line. Limit down. Frozen at the bottom. One hundred million dollars, instantly locked in a death spiral. Within seconds, ten million dollars of the principal simply evaporated into thin air. Gigi looked at the plummeting numbers and slammed the mouse down in frustration. “Ugh! What’s wrong with this stupid stock? It’s so annoying!” “The green turned to ugly red! Gigi wants to punish it!” Her fingers grabbed the mouse again, switching back to the bank’s internal portal. “I’m going to take the rest of the bank’s vault reserves and buy more to average down! I’ll force it to go back up!” She was actually trying to tap into the bank’s federal reserve liquidity to double down on a delisted stock. Instead of stopping her, Todd grinned, looking incredibly proud. “That’s my girl. Bold move.” Suddenly, the phone on the desk erupted into a violent vibration. The caller ID flashed in bold, urgent letters: CANYON LAKE DAM SITE – EMERGENCY COMMAND Todd reached out to grab it. But Gigi was faster. She snatched the phone away. 2 “So loud! Shut up!” Gigi pouted, tapping the screen to answer. The moment the call connected, a hoarse, panicked scream blasted through the speaker. “Todd! Where is the hundred million? Why hasn’t the wire cleared?!” “The main wall of the dam is already showing structural fractures! Our thirty-day reinforcement window is incredibly tight. Without the funds, the suppliers are refusing to release the steel rods!” “The dam could fail at any minute! Wire the money now! People’s lives are on the line!!” The voice was raw, frantic, on the verge of tears. But Gigi only made a face of deep disgust. She held the phone away from her ear, yelling back: “Why are you screaming? You’re hurting Gigi’s ears!” “What dam? What steel? It’s just a few thousand dollars, stop nagging! Wait until our stock bounces back!” “Don’t call back, you’re so annoying! Bye-bye!” Click. Without a shred of hesitation, she hung up. Then, with a few quick swipes, she added the emergency command center’s number to her block list. Finally, she held the phone by its edges with two manicured fingers, grimacing. “Ugh, this phone smells like dirt and mud. It’s covered in gross germs!” Right next to her sat a massive, ornate saltwater aquarium filled with exotic fish. She flicked her wrist. Splash! The phone plunged straight to the bottom of the tank, the screen flickering out as water seeped into the casing. Todd didn’t even blink. Instead, he pulled a silk pocket square from his suit and tenderly wiped Gigi’s fingers. “You did the right thing, sweetie. Those vultures from the site don’t know when to shut up.” I watched them both, feeling as though I were looking at two ghosts. “The man you just hung up on,” I said, my voice eerily calm, “is the Chief Emergency Engineer of the state.” Todd scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Keep acting, Gwen.” “I’m the director of this project. So what if the funds are delayed by a couple of days? Is the dam made of cardboard? The flood season isn’t supposed to start until next month. You’re always crying wolf.” “Keep pushing me, and I won’t approve a single dime of their budget.” Right at that moment, the heavy glass doors of the VIP suite were violently kicked open. The branch manager, drenched in cold sweat, practically crawled into the room on his hands and knees. His eyes locked onto the computer monitor, where the crashed stock was displayed. Thud. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the carpet, shaking violently. “Who did this? Oh my god, who did this?!” “That was a hundred million dollars of protected state emergency funds! You absolute lunatics!!” The manager lunged at the keyboard like a rabid animal, desperate to reverse the trade. But the clearing system had already locked. The funds were gone. No one could save them now. Gigi jumped back, letting out a dramatic shriek. “Ah! Mr. Manager, what is wrong with you? You scared Gigi!” Todd flared up, pointing an angry finger at the manager’s face. “It’s just a hundred million! Whatever we lost, I’ll write a check for it! Do you think the Caldwell family is short on cash?” The manager slumped to the floor, clutching his head and sobbing hysterically. “That was life-saving money for the steel supports! If we don’t have those, the dam will not hold!” Gigi frowned at the sight of the weeping man. She walked over, looking down at him with immense superiority. “Gigi is a princess. Princesses don’t make mistakes. It’s just a little stock market trade, why are you making such a big deal out of it?” The manager didn’t even hear her; he was tearing at his hair in pure despair. I looked at the digital calendar on the wall. The money was trapped in a dead stock. Retrieving even a fraction of it would take a miracle. The workers at the dam had already lost their window to reinforce the structure. And these two fools were still living in their delusion of absolute power. 3 The manager was dragged out of the VIP room by security. The doors clicked shut. Gigi sank into the velvet sofa, crossing her arms and pouting. “I was just trying to help, and everyone is being so mean to Gigi!” Her eyes lit up, and she quickly dug her personal phone out of her bag. “No, Gigi is the victim here. I need my internet family to set things straight!” Gigi was a mid-tier influencer with a couple hundred thousand followers. Her entire brand relied on acting like a helpless, infantile baby to milk donations from lonely men online. She went live on her streaming app. Within seconds, thousands of viewers flooded the stream. Gigi instantly put on her signature tearful face, big watery eyes blinking at the camera. “Hi guys… Gigi is having a really, really bad day. I’m being bullied so hard right now.” The live chat went wild: Who dared to make our princess cry?! Give us names! Don’t cry, baby girl! We’re here for you! Gigi sniffled, turning the camera to point directly at me, her voice dripping with artificial sorrow. “It’s my brother’s mean girlfriend… and a scary old man from the bank.” “Gigi was just trying to help her with some investing, using some leftover money that was just sitting around. I wanted to make her a little extra pocket money.” “But she screamed at me! And the old man tried to hit Gigi!” “They’re ganging up on me… Gigi’s heart hurts so bad…” The comment section exploded with vile, vitriolic abuse targeted at me. Who is this bitch? She looks like a total nightmare. Gigi tried to make her rich and she gets mad? What an ungrateful snake! Dox her! Destroy her life! Seeing the support, Todd stepped into the camera frame. He wrapped his arm around Gigi’s shoulder, adopting the posture of a protective, wealthy CEO. “Hey everyone, I’m the lead director of the regional infrastructure project here.” “I can personally assure you all that Gigi is the sweetest, most innocent girl in the world.” With Todd’s endorsement, the chat went into a frenzy. Gift donations started filling the screen, users spending hundreds of dollars to show their support. Gigi smirked at me, tilting her chin up in triumph. “Hear that, Gwen? The world knows who the bad guy is.” “You need to apologize to Gigi right now, or my fans will ruin you.” I sat quietly in my chair, watching her perform like a cheap circus animal. “Apologize?” I let out a soft laugh. “Gigi, why don’t you tell your fans exactly what kind of ‘leftover money’ you used to buy those stocks?” Gigi rolled her eyes, scoffing directly into the camera. “It was just that stupid hundred-million-dollar flood fund!” “It was just sitting in an account collecting dust anyway! Gigi bought some stocks to double it, and once we make the profit, we’ll build them an even bigger dam! They should be thanking me on their knees!” The chat froze for a split second. Then, the comments began to scroll at a dizzying pace. One hundred million? Flood funds?! Holy shit, you can’t touch that! Wait, what stock did Gigi buy? Gigi proudly turned the camera to face the monitor. “Look! GreenTerra Solutions! See how pretty the green is?” The financially literate users in the stream immediately lost their minds: Is she fucking insane?! That stock is getting delisted today! It’s flatlining! Embezzling $100M of public emergency money into a dead stock? That is federal prison territory! Call the police! This girl is literally brain-dead! The tide turned in an instant. The adoration evaporated, replaced by a wall of sheer panic and disgust. Gigi stared at the screen, her face pale as comments like “felon,” “idiot,” and “enjoy prison” flashed by. “You’re lying! Gigi didn’t do anything wrong! Gigi is a princess!” She abruptly shut down the stream and slammed the phone onto the sofa. “Todd! They’re all bullying me! Do something!” Todd’s face had gone pale, but his arrogance kept him from admitting defeat. He glared at me, his eyes filled with a sudden, vicious malice. “Gwen! You set us up!” “You’re going to write a statement for the press right now. You’ll tell them you forced Gigi to buy those shares. You’re the mastermind behind this!” It was almost laughable. The ship was sinking, and he was still trying to play the heroic protector. 4 Todd’s face was contorted with desperation as he snatched a notepad from the desk. He scribbled a confession in frantic, messy handwriting and slammed it down in front of me. “Sign it! Now!” I sat back, not even glancing at the paper. Instead, I pointed to the four corners of the room. The tiny, blinking red lights of the security cameras glared back at us. “Todd, you are the director of this project.” “The cameras recorded who stole the security keys, who clicked the mouse, who tore up the authorization documents, and who hung up on the emergency line.” “Everything is backed up to the cloud in real-time.” “Even your little attempt to blackmail me just now is fully recorded. You want me to take the fall? In your dreams.” Todd’s hand froze. His face drained of color, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. Hearing the word “cameras,” Gigi panicked. She looked up, tracing my gaze to the blinking red dot in the corner. True to her destructive nature, her hands moved before her brain did. “Stop filming Gigi!” With a shrill scream, she broke away from Todd, grabbed a heavy metal stapler from the counter, and hurled it at the camera lens. Smash! The camera shattered, plastic and glass raining down. Gigi clapped her hands, looking incredibly pleased with herself. “Yay! No more evidence! Nobody can catch Gigi now!” I checked my watch. “Go ahead, break them all. It doesn’t matter.” “Even if you deny it, the money is gone.” The terror Todd had been suppressing finally broke through. He was shaking, but he kept trying to save face. “Don’t play mind games with me!” “Dams don’t just collapse! The floods aren’t due for weeks!” “Even if this money is frozen, my family has billions. I’ll have my dad transfer a hundred million this afternoon to plug the hole.” “And once this is sorted, Gwen, I will destroy you.” The words had barely left his mouth when the massive TV screen on the wall flickered violently. Every major broadcast was interrupted by a national emergency alert. The anchor’s face was bloodless, her voice trembling: “We have an emergency update from the State Weather Service. Due to unprecedented, catastrophic rainfall upstream, the projected flood crest has arrived early!” “The Canyon Lake Dam is showing severe structural failure!” “An evacuation order is now in effect for all downstream residents! Leave your homes immediately!” Boom. Todd’s world shattered. The flood was here… early? The dam was failing. His legs gave out, and he fell to his knees on the cold floor. Even Gigi’s permanent mask of childish innocence finally cracked, revealing a deep, hollow terror.

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Late at night. The exhausted voice of my wife, Deborah, drifted from the bathroom. “Babe? Have you seen my old phone anywhere?” I sat on the sofa, paralyzed. My fingers trembled as I stared down at the screen of that very phone in my hands. It had lit up, displaying the recent query history of her AI assistant app. “A three-year-old accidentally eats cashews and goes into anaphylactic shock. What is the emergency treatment besides an EpiPen?” “What are the admission requirements for Beacon Hill Academy?” “How do I securely transfer marital assets without my husband knowing?” Staring at the glowing screen, my blood ran cold. The air felt sucked out of the room, and a sharp, blinding pain pierced my chest, making it hard to draw a breath. We had been married for five years. Deborah was the one who had insisted on us being child-free. I still remembered her wrapping her hands around mine, looking at me with eyes full of tenderness. “Elliot, giving birth is so painful. I’m terrified of it. If we don’t have kids, I can give all my love to you. We’ll be closer that way, just the two of us.” Back then, I was so deeply moved, believing I had found the one woman who loved me unconditionally. Until I saw these search queries. … Just then, the bathroom door clicked open. Deborah walked out, towel-drying her hair, heading toward me. “Babe? What are you staring at?” I swiftly flipped the phone face-down on the coffee table. “Nothing,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady and natural. “Your phone’s right here on the table.” Deborah walked over and picked it up. “Why do you look so pale?” She reached out to touch my forehead. “Didn’t sleep well last night?” I subtly leaned back, evading her touch. “Maybe a bit of low blood sugar.” I looked into her eyes. “How late were you working last night?” Her hand paused on the towel. “Around three, I think.” She sighed, her shoulders slumping with fatigue. “The tech department is full of idiots. They couldn’t get the server patch to deploy, so I had to stay and oversee it myself. I’m absolutely exhausted.” “Is that so?” I stood up. “But when I got up in the middle of the night, I thought I heard you on the phone. Something about… anaphylactic shock?” Deborah let out a forced, dry chuckle. “You must have been dreaming.” “I said the servers went into shock—crashed. Anaphylactic? Elliot, you’re definitely hallucinating.” She slipped her old phone into her pocket and turned toward the walk-in closet. “I need to change. I have an early meeting this morning.” Watching her retreat, my stomach churned with a sudden wave of nausea. The second her car pulled out of the driveway, I opened my laptop. I logged into her car’s toll-tag account. Last night at eleven, she hadn’t gone anywhere near her downtown office. Her Mercedes had taken the outer loop, heading straight for Riverwood Estates—a luxury gated community in the eastern hills. Over the past six months, her car had entered Riverwood Estates at least five nights a month, only leaving the following morning. That night, sleep evaded me entirely. Around two in the morning, unable to bear the tossing and turning, I slipped out to the bathroom. When I returned, I noticed a glass of warm water on my nightstand. Next to it was a blister pack of ibuprofen. I froze. Deborah rolled over, her voice thick with sleep. “Babe… is your ulcer acting up again? You looked so pale today. I left some medicine out just in case…” She drifted back to sleep before she could finish. I stood by the bed, staring at the pills in my hand. My throat tightened, a sudden, burning ache rising behind my eyes. She remembered. She remembered my stomach ulcers, a chronic pain I often forgot to manage myself. Could those search history queries really just be a bizarre coincidence? I crawled back under the covers. Deborah instinctively nestled into my chest, her forehead resting against my chin. “Don’t overthink things,” she mumbled. “Your wife’s got you.” I closed my eyes, letting a silent tear slip into the pillow. The next morning, the bed beside me was cold. A sticky note was pasted onto the nightstand. “Babe, breakfast is warming in the oven. I made your favorite cinnamon apple oatmeal. Don’t go into the office today; I called in sick for you. I’ll come home early tonight to keep you company. — Love, Deborah.” I held the note, sitting on the edge of the bed in a daze for a long time. In the kitchen, a bowl of warm oatmeal, a small plate of berries, and a peeled hard-boiled egg were waiting for me. As I took one slow bite after another, a quiet, desperate voice in my head grew louder: What if she really didn’t do anything? What if I’m just being paranoid? Right then, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Deborah, accompanied by a photo. She was in a sleek boardroom, surrounded by thick binders, her brow furrowed in exhaustion. The caption read: “Meetings all morning, pounding headache. Wish you were here to rub my temples. Miss you.” Staring at the photo, a heavy wave of guilt washed over me. She was working so hard, and here I was, digging through her toll records… I clenched my jaw, deciding to test her one last time. I dialed her number. “Hey, babe. About that phone call last night… I swear I heard you say ‘anaphylactic shock.’ Was I really just dreaming?” The line went quiet for a beat. Then, she laughed, her voice melting into its usual warmth. “Oh, honey. You are definitely working too hard. Remember when Diane brought her kid over last week while you were home?” “The little girl has a severe peanut allergy and accidentally ate a peanut butter cracker. Her face swelled up instantly.” “I was terrified, so I looked up emergency first aid. Why? Did you think I had some secret love child?” Her tone was teasing, tinged with a playful pout. My heart squeezed. “Diane’s kid?” I managed to ask. “Yeah! When we had Diane and her husband over for dinner last Friday. The chubby little girl, remember?” Deborah’s tone was incredibly natural. “Sweetie, are you under too much pressure at work lately? How about I take you away for a weekend retreat?” My mouth opened, but no words came out. Diane and her family had come over last week. The little girl was chubby. I hadn’t noticed if she had an allergic reaction… “Maybe I just overanalyzed it,” I murmured. “Of course you did. But it just shows how much you care about me.” Deborah chuckled. “Anyway, I have to run. See you tonight. Love you.” The line went dead. I leaned against the kitchen counter, my phone slipping from my fingers onto the floor. So the search history was because of Diane’s kid? But what about the toll records? Why was she at Riverwood Estates in the middle of the night? At seven that evening, Deborah walked through the door right on time. She was carrying a bag from a high-end designer toy boutique I loved. “Babe! Look what I got you. The limited-edition designer figures you wanted.” She kicked off her heels, walked over, and pressed a kiss to my cheek. “Have a good day at home?” Looking at her bright smile, the guilt in my chest deepened. She cooked dinner herself. A three-course meal, entirely composed of my favorites: braised short ribs, garlic sautéed greens, and a creamy potato leek soup. There was even a small jar of homemade dill pickles on the side. “When did you learn to make these pickles?” I asked, genuinely surprised as I sat down. “Last month, when you kept complaining about how much you missed your mom’s recipe. I snuck around and learned how to do it.” Deborah ladled some soup into my bowl. “Try it. Does it taste like home?” I took a bite of the pickle. A lump immediately formed in my throat. It was exactly the way my mother used to make them. “Deborah…” I put my fork down, my voice thick. “What’s wrong?” She looked up, her eyes wide with concern. “You’re so good to me.” She reached across the table, gently ruffling my hair. “Silly. You’re my husband. If I’m not good to you, who else would I be good to?” After dinner, she cleared the table and drew a warm bath for me. As I soaked in the tub, the hot water easing the tension in my shoulders, my resolve began to melt. Maybe I really was just being too sensitive. I got out, wrapped a towel around my waist, and walked into the bedroom. Deborah was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a small velvet box. “Come here, babe.” She patted the spot next to her. I walked over and sat down. She opened the box. Inside lay a car key. “You stood outside the dealership and stared at this Jeep three times.” She took the key out, leaning in close to press it into my palm. “The first time was on our anniversary. You said it was too expensive and impractical.” “The second time was when you got promoted. You said you’d save up your bonus first.” “The third time was last month. You stood on the sidewalk for a solid two minutes, just looking at it.” I stared down at the key, my vision blurring. “Deborah… I… sometimes I get paranoid. I doubt you… I haven’t been a good husband,” I choked out, a sob catching in my throat. Deborah wrapped herself around me, burying her face in my shoulder. “Don’t talk nonsense,” she whispered, kissing my cheek. “Marrying you was the best decision of my life. Once the company goes public, everything I have is yours anyway. If you keep doubting yourself, I’m going to get mad.” Resting my forehead against her shoulder, the last remnants of my suspicion dissolved. How could I have doubted her? How could I be so ungrateful? That night, she held me close as we slept. But right before we drifted off, her phone rang. She slipped out to the balcony, her voice hushed. “I already transferred the funds. Make sure the paperwork is finalized first… Yes, we’ll talk next week.” When she came back inside, she offered a quick explanation. “Work stuff. We’re acquiring a small boutique studio, and the administrative hurdles are endless.” I nodded, pushing any lingering doubts aside. On Saturday, Deborah had to go in for an emergency weekend shift, leaving early in the morning. I decided to tidy up her study to surprise her, organizing the loose files she usually left scattered around. Her heavy winter coat was hanging on the rack, and I decided to take it to the dry cleaners. As I checked the pockets, my fingers brushed against a piece of stiff cardstock. I pulled it out. It was a tour reservation confirmation for Beacon Hill Academy. The date on it was yesterday. Registered name: Deborah Jeffrey. Accompanying family: Two adults, one child. My hands began to shake. Yesterday, she told me she was stuck in meetings at her office all day. I pulled out my phone, opened the toll-tag app, and typed in her license plate. Yesterday at 2:00 PM, her car left her office. By 3:00 PM, it was parked near Beacon Hill Academy. It left at 4:00 PM, and she was back at her desk by 4:40 PM. A two-hour round trip. I stared at the screen, my ears ringing. Why would Diane’s child need Deborah to tour an elite preschool? That evening, Deborah took me to our favorite high-end sushi spot. She ordered the expensive toro sashimi and opened a bottle of premium Stag’s Leap Cabernet. “What’s got you in such a celebratory mood?” I asked, trying to sound casual as I picked up a piece of salmon. “We landed a massive client today.” Deborah raised her glass. “To our future.” I clinked my glass against hers. The wine tasted like ash. When we got home, she took a shower, and we lay in bed together. “Babe, do you know why I work myself to the bone?” she asked, her hand gently tracing patterns on my back. “Why?” “Because I want to give you the best life possible.” Her voice was soft, laced with affection. “Once this crazy launch season is over, let’s fly out to Maui. Just the two of us.” I didn’t say a word. I just buried my face in her shoulder and closed my eyes. In the dead of night, a soft rustling woke me. Deborah was talking in her sleep. She rolled over, draping her arm over my chest, mumbling incoherently. I held my breath, leaning my ear closer to her lips. “…Don’t worry, sweetie… Mommy’s here…” I froze under the weight of her arm. She wasn’t talking to me. In five years of marriage, she had never called me “sweetie” in her sleep. The next morning, I got into a cab and drove to a destination I had hoped I would never have to visit.

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For five years, I spent every major holiday visiting my mother’s killer in prison. Year after year, I showed up. I brought him the chicken sandwich he loved, and I even sneaked in a bottle of fine Macallan whiskey. I treated him better than my own father. Watching him shovel the food into his mouth like a starving animal, I quietly slid a photo album across the cold metal table. “I still looked after your mother,” I told him, my voice flat. “She stayed in that old house on Elm Street, waiting for you. She never touched a dime of the money you gave her. The cancer… they couldn’t cure it. She passed away last month.” He stopped chewing. Then, he broke. Tears spilled over his calloused cheeks, and bits of food tumbled from his mouth as he sobbed with a raw, agonizing regret. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice cracking. “I’m so sorry… Your mother, she died of an asthma attack. But I had already let her go by then. A nurse—she had already arrived. She took the rescue inhaler right out of my hands. I only took her for the money…” I already knew the rest of the story. My mother’s death had been ruled an accidental acute asthma episode. He had been charged with involuntary manslaughter and grand larceny. I quietly slid another photograph from the album. The woman in the picture was my mother’s best friend. My godmother. And now, my stepmother—the woman my father cherished above all else. Lydia. “The nurse,” I whispered, holding his gaze. “It was her, wasn’t it?” He nodded. … Listening to his tearful confession through the scratched plexiglass, my own tears finally spilled over. I hated him. Of course I did. He played a hand in my mother’s death, and he was serving fifteen years for it. But I hated the woman who had actually killed her even more. Because she had paid absolutely no price. Ever since my mother died, Lydia had wrapped herself in the armor of severe depression, claiming her mind was fragile, shattered by grief. She played the guilt-stricken victim perfectly. “I could have saved her,” she would sob, her voice trembling with theatrical remorse. “If only I had run a little faster.” She even went as far as self-harming to prove her agony. And so, my father banned the subject entirely. He couldn’t bear to see his beloved Lydia triggered by the past. He paid off the kidnapper’s associates, securing their silence about Lydia ever being at the scene, and fabricated a false alibi for her. All to spare her from police interrogation. I was just a teenager then, unable to comprehend his betrayal. “Are we just going to sweep Mom’s death under the rug?” I had screamed at him. My father looked down, a flicker of shame crossing his eyes before he hardened his gaze. “The living matter more, Maeve. Your mother wouldn’t want to see her best friend suffer like this.” On the night of my mother’s funeral, during the final, quiet moments of the service, my father slipped away. Because Lydia was having another hysterical episode, threatening to end her life. So, it was just me, holding my weeping grandmother as we watched my mother’s casket lower into the cold earth. I never believed Lydia’s story. Because right before the end, Mom had texted me. The moment the kidnapper grabbed her, her chest had tightened. She was having an attack. She needed her inhaler, and the kidnapper used that to terrify my father into paying quickly, warning him not to call the cops. My father agreed immediately. After relentless begging, Mom convinced them to let her send a text so I wouldn’t panic. Maeve, sweetheart, I’m okay. Tell Nana not to worry. I just saw your godmother running toward us. They only want money. We’ll be home soon. I remember the wave of relief that washed over me. I sat in the kitchen with Nana, cooking Mom’s favorite dinner. I had even laid out my latest report card, eager to show her my straight A’s, hoping she’d surprise me with the plush toy she’d promised. Nana and I waited. We watched the clock. But Mom never came home. Instead, she ended up on a metal slab in the morgue. My father claimed that by the time Lydia reached her, Mom was already gone. But the timeline didn’t make sense. There was a thirty-minute gap between Mom’s text and Lydia’s alleged arrival. It shouldn’t have taken more than two minutes to cross that distance. In the visiting room, the kidnapper bowed his head, his shoulders shaking. “Please… please help bury my mother. I was wrong to go down that path, but I swear to God, I didn’t want your mother to die. She was breathing when I left her.” I nodded slowly. “I’ll take care of her.” For five years, I had kept my promise, looking after his frail mother. She refused to believe her son was a cold-blooded killer and apologized to me every time she saw me. As I stepped out of the prison gates, my phone began to vibrate. It was my father. A contact I barely touched these days. I pressed accept, but it was Lydia’s soft, sweet voice that drifted through the speaker. “Maeve, sweetheart, come home for dinner tonight.” She loved playing the doting mother on holidays. It was her favorite performance. This time, I let out a soft laugh. “Sure. I’ll be there.” After Mom died, I rarely set foot in my father’s house. I wanted the truth. We fought about it constantly. “Have you lost your mind?” my father would roar, his face turning red. “Lydia went there to save your mother! The guilt of failing is eating her alive, and you want to drag her through the mud? Do you want to destroy everyone who’s left?” I had stared at him, holding up my phone with the archived text messages. “But look at the timing—” Slap. A heavy hand struck my cheek, leaving my ears ringing. “Stop this madness!” he barked. Over the years, he tried to patch things up. I ignored him. When I reached the front door of my childhood home, I tried typing the security code. Access Denied. I tried again. Nothing. It seemed that in my absence, even the locks had been changed. The door clicked open from the inside. Lydia stood there, beaming with warmth, gesturing for me to come in. “Maeve! You’re finally home. I made all your favorites.” She used to be so genuinely kind. I used to cling to her side, calling her Auntie Lydia with absolute devotion. How sickeningly ironic that she was now my stepmother. My father had married her under the guise of “taking better care of her.” I could never understand how a woman could crawl into the bed of her dead best friend’s husband. I sidestepped her reaching hand and walked into the house. At the dining table, my father placed a piece of roasted chicken onto my plate. I left it untouched. “About Mom…” I began. Before I could finish, my father slammed his fork down. The atmosphere instantly turned ice-cold. After Mom died, my father established a strict set of rules. The golden rule: Never mention Mom. Because it would trigger Lydia. Every trace of my mother had been systematically erased from this house. The nanny who had raised me was fired. My mother’s hand-designed interior decor was torn down. Everything had to be brand new. I remember throwing myself in front of the workers, screaming, “No! You can’t do this! This is Mom’s work!” But my father had pried my fingers away, one by one. “Keeping these things only prolongs the pain, Maeve,” he had said, his voice dripping with practical cruelty. “We have to move forward. We are all grieving, but drowning in the past won’t bring her back.” He always had a rationalization. The house became a pristine, sterile gallery of their new life. If it weren’t for Nana and me, my mother would have been completely wiped from this world. He claimed he was in pain, that he spent sleepless nights wondering if he could have driven faster that day. Yet, his solution to grief was erasure. The living mattered; the dead were just ghosts to be exorcised. They even threw away the baby clothes. My mother had been pregnant with my little sister when she died. We had spent months dreaming of her arrival. My father and I had even hand-painted a crib together—a welcome gift for the baby. All of it, gone. Are the dead meant to be forgotten so easily? I couldn’t do it. Looking at him now, a sudden, dark thought crossed my mind. Maybe it was better this way. He didn’t deserve to keep her memory. He didn’t deserve a single piece of her. Seeing the tense silence stretching across the table, Lydia stepped in to play the peacemaker. “It’s alright, Robert. Let Maeve speak. I’ve worked hard to heal, and I can officially accept my sister’s passing. It was simply her time. Fate is fate.” I looked at her and let out a slow, deliberate smile. Five years. She truly believed she had covered her tracks. I was going to burn her world to the ground. When my father found out I had visited the prison, his face turned livid. “You just won’t let this go, will you?” he hissed. “It’s been five years! What are you trying to pull? Your mother wanted you to have a normal life, not turn into some obsessed psychopath. Do you want me to put you back in that facility?” I shrugged, completely unfazed. “Go ahead. Try.” It wouldn’t be the first time. Back when I was a teenager, after I intentionally triggered Lydia into a hysterical fit, my father had committed me to a psychiatric hospital. I wasn’t even eighteen yet. But the doctors found nothing wrong with me and discharged me. My father had then threatened to send me to one of those strict, abusive behavioral modification camps for “troubled teens.” He believed Lydia blindly, refusing to look at Mom’s final text, refusing to see the gaping holes in the story. He chose to be her accomplice. In the end, it was Nana who had intervened, standing like a shield between me and his madness. “Nobody is taking my granddaughter to a place like that!” she had roared. The memory faded, leaving only the quiet hum of the dining room. The dinner was ruined. I stood up and left, heading straight to Nana’s house. Nana was fragile now, blind in one eye. She was a survivor of too much tragedy, having raised my mother alone, only to outlive her. What made our grief unbearable was the knowledge that Mom didn’t have to die. The kidnapper hadn’t wanted her dead. She had her rescue inhaler with her. If someone hadn’t deliberately taken it away, she would have saved herself. The kidnapper had sworn he gave it back to her. Lost in my thoughts, I unlocked Nana’s front door, only to find her collapsed on the living room floor. Panic seized me. I rushed her to the hospital, my chest tightening with a suffocating terror. Fear and grief tangled in my throat, making my entire body shake. I stayed by her bedside all night. When she finally opened her eyes the next afternoon, she gave me a weak, reassuring smile. “I’m alright, sweet girl. Just a little dizzy.” My tears broke. “Nana, please don’t scare me like that.” Later that afternoon, my father actually showed up at the hospital. “Mom, are you hurt? How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice laced with superficial concern. Nana remained silent, refusing to look at him. She had never forgiven him for his choices. Not wanting him to stress her further, I nudged him toward the quiet hallway outside. “I’ll keep you updated. She needs to rest right now.” My father hesitated, shifting his weight. “Maeve… it’s about your mother’s grave. Lydia and I were talking, and we think we should relocate her. The energy at that cemetery isn’t right. It’s… bad luck.” My jaw clenched so hard it ached. I stared at him, utterly disgusted. Was he even human? Before I could voice my fury, a sharp scream echoed from Nana’s room. I bolted back inside. Nana was clutching her chest, gasping for air, her face pale as she pointed a trembling finger at Lydia. Tears streamed down her wrinkled cheeks. Lydia stood nearby, looking like a wounded lamb. “Mrs. Hayden, I only wanted to pour you some water. I’m the child you watched grow up… I’m so sorry. I only asked Robert to take care of me because…” Nana couldn’t breathe. Ignoring Lydia entirely, I screamed for the nurses. The room erupted into chaos, and Nana was rushed into the emergency operating room. Standing in the sterile hallway, I stared at Lydia’s tear-streaked face. The anger that had simmered for five years boiled over. I stepped forward and slapped her across the face. “What did you say to her? Who gave you permission to come here?” A second later, a heavy blow struck my own face, sending me stumbling back. “Maeve! What is wrong with you?” my father roared, stepping between us. “She came here out of respect! How dare you lay a hand on her?” I glared at him through a haze of pain. Nana wasn’t just his mother-in-law; she was his mentor. When he was a broke college student, Nana had paid his tuition out of her own pocket, launching his entire career. And this was how he repaid her. “I am going to find out the truth,” I whispered, my voice trembling with a cold, absolute certainty. “For everything.” Lydia sobbed, burying her face in my father’s chest. “Maeve, I only wanted to see if she was okay. I was just trying to help her drink some water. I don’t know why she reacted like that… I understand you hate me, but I hate myself too. I wish I could have saved her.” I didn’t even bother responding. If she truly felt a shred of remorse, she wouldn’t have crawled into my mother’s bed. I turned on my heel and walked straight to the hospital security office to demand the surveillance footage. My father grabbed my wrist, pulling me back. “Maeve, stop. It’s been five years. Let it go. You’re destroying yourself.” I wrenched my arm free. “I will never let it go.” My mother and my unborn sister deserved justice. I wasn’t going to let a fake diagnosis of depression protect a killer. In the security room, we watched the tape. Lydia was clever. She had positioned her body perfectly to block the camera’s view of Nana’s bed. And because the camera was mounted far down the hall, there was no audio. Lydia let her head drop, looking meek and vindicated. My father sighed, as if he had just won an argument. “See? You always jump to conclusions. Lydia has carried this guilt for years. She was terrified to see Nana, but she came anyway because she cared.” “Now, apologize to her.” “No,” I said flatly. Lydia gently touched my father’s arm. “It’s fine, Robert. It’s my fault.” Her martyrdom only fueled his anger toward me. But as she leaned against him, I saw it—the briefest, coldest flash of triumph in her eyes. A chill ran down my spine. The image of Nana in the operating room, of my mother dying alone in the dirt, flashed in my mind. I lunged forward, grabbing Lydia by the collar. “What did you do to her, Lydia? My mother loved you like a sister! How could you do this to her?” My father tried to pull me off, but I was no longer a helpless child. I had the strength of five years of fury. I yanked her hair, forcing her to look at me. She shrieked, terrified by the sheer violence of my rage. My father finally managed to tear me away, shoving me back hard. “Maeve, you’ve completely lost your mind!” he screamed. My back slammed against a heavy metal cart, a sharp pain radiating through my spine. He turned to help Lydia up, guiding her toward the exit. “Nana is still in surgery,” I called out, my voice cracking. “You’re going to leave her here, in critical condition, because of a scratch on Lydia?” I didn’t need his help. I just wanted to see him make the choice. He knew how much Nana meant to my mother. If he had a shred of love left for his late wife, he would stay. My father hesitated, looking back at me, then at Lydia’s tear-stained face. “I’m taking Lydia to get bandaged. I’ll be right back.” I bit my lip until I tasted blood. “If you walk out that door, you are dead to me.” He didn’t stop. As I watched his retreating back, the last remaining piece of my childhood died. But before they could reach the elevators, two plainclothes officers stepped out, blocking their path. They flashed their badges. “Lydia Hayden? You’re under arrest in connection with the homicide of Isabel Hayden. Please come with us.” I let out a slow, cold breath, a bitter smile touching my lips. The wheels of justice were finally turning. The kidnapper’s new testimony had been officially processed. The case was reopened.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “476192”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My nervous system has always lived on a time delay. If someone yelled at me, I just nodded and said, “Okay.” If someone shoved me to the ground, I still just said, “Okay.” When my parents abandoned me in the foster system, I accepted it. When the other kids held my head down in the gritty water of the playground, I accepted that, too. My world existed in a vacuum, completely devoid of immediate pain. Until I met Mia and Dean. One was my fiercely protective best friend; the other was my devoted boyfriend, a boy who looked at me like I hung the moon. Mia used to poke me right between the eyebrows, letting out a dramatic, exasperated sigh. “You little slowpoke. If someone ever came along and snatched Dean right out from under you, would you just stand there and say ‘Okay’?” I would just give her my usual, delayed, dopey smile. “That won’t happen. No one could ever snatch Dean away.” I believed that. Right up until the week before the spring semester of my sophomore year, when I came back to the dorms early and found the two of them tangled together in the shadows of the stairwell. Through the dim light, I saw Mia crying, slapping him hard across the chest. “Dean, how can we do this to Grace? How can we?” She choked on a sob. “I’ll go to a clinic. I’ll get rid of the baby. We just… we have to pretend this never happened.” Dean’s eyes were rimmed with red. He pulled her fiercely against his chest, burying his face in her hair. “No, Mia, don’t! I’ll talk to Grace. I’ll end it. I’m going to take responsibility for our baby!” I stood out in the freezing hallway draft, watching the two most important people in my entire world. For the very first time in my life, I realized that my sensory delay didn’t make me immune. It just meant that when the pain finally hit, it was going to tear me apart. … 1 I looked down at my phone, my thumb hovering over the screen, and finally sent the text to him. I’ll go with you. To Europe. For the treatments. A reply flashed across the screen almost instantly: Good. I’ll come pick you up in three days. I wanted to laugh, but the tears fell first, hot and heavy, blurring the glowing letters on my screen until they were nothing but jagged streaks of light. I rubbed the heels of my hands roughly against my eyes, shoved the phone deep into my coat pocket, and drew in a long, shuddering breath. Then, pretending the world hadn’t just shattered at my feet, I shuffled forward at my usual, sluggish pace. “Dean. Mia.” I smiled, my voice carrying its typical slow cadence. They jumped apart like they’d been burned. All the color drained from Mia’s face, leaving her chalky and terrified, while Dean’s jaw tightened in sheer panic. But when they turned and saw my face—my perpetually blank, a-beat-too-late expression—the collective exhale between them was almost audible. I had a processing delay. They were absolutely certain I hadn’t noticed a thing. In a matter of seconds, they rearranged their features, expertly slipping on masks of casual surprise, acting as if they’d merely bumped into each other in the lobby. But the smell of his cologne on her skin, the heavy, guilty gravity between them—that couldn’t be faked. “What are you guys… doing back on campus so early?” I asked softly. Instinctively, Dean stepped toward me. It was muscle memory; he always closed the distance between us, always reached for my hand. But half a step in, he caught the flash of wounded jealousy in Mia’s eyes. He froze. His foot retreated. He stepped back, aligning his shoulders squarely with Mia’s. I stared at the toes of their sneakers, perfectly parallel, and a microscopic needle of acid pierced the lining of my stomach. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. To cover the awkwardness, Mia suddenly lunged forward, grabbing the handle of my oversized, battered suitcase. “Wow, this looks heavy! Let me get it for you, slowpoke!” she chirped. Her voice was too loud. Too bright. Too hollow. I blinked, staring at her, terrified that if I closed my eyes, a tear would slip. I was even more terrified that if I blinked, the memory of the eighteen-year-old Mia I had loved so much would vanish forever. Freshman year. Move-in day. I hadn’t met Dean yet. While all the other kids had parents renting U-Hauls, carrying boxes, and making their beds, I had arrived alone, lugging a ridiculously heavy trunk up a three-story walk-up. The kids behind me in the stairwell were rolling their eyes, groaning at my agonizingly slow pace. I was dripping with sweat, paralyzed by the sensory overload. That was when a girl with a radiant, sunflower smile came bounding down the stairs. She grabbed the other end of my trunk without asking. “You alone? Come on, I got you!” She had hauled my entire life up to our dorm room. From that day on, Mia was my roommate, my fierce protector, my sister. “Put that down!” A sharp reprimand snapped me out of the past. Dean strode forward and aggressively batted Mia’s hand off the suitcase handle. He pulled Mia behind him, shielding her with his body, and glared at me with a coldness I had never seen before. “Grace, Mia has… she hasn’t been feeling well lately! Why on earth are you making her carry your luggage?” I stood frozen. I didn’t know what my face was supposed to do. My condition meant everything was slow. My reflexes, my speech, my feelings. Dean knew this better than anyone on the planet. He used to laugh that gentle, adoring laugh, plucking grocery bags and heavy textbooks from my hands before I even realized they were heavy. But now, his voice was coated in frost. “Mia is your best friend, Grace. Not your maid.” His eyes darkened with self-righteous anger. “Can you stop hiding behind her for once? You have a neurological delay, Grace, not a princess complex!” The blood drained from my face. My lips parted, but no sound came out. Mia’s expression fractured. With red-rimmed eyes, she shoved Dean hard in the back. “Shut up, Dean! What I do is my own business! Back off!” Ignoring his panicked, hovering hands, she turned and grabbed my wrist. “Come on, slowpoke. Ignore him. Let’s go upstairs.” I let her pull me forward like a lifeless ragdoll. As we walked through the dim, concrete corridor, that infinitesimally slow needle finally pushed all the way through my heart. It was the first time I realized that tenderness wasn’t permanent. It could be transferred. 2 That evening, the three of us went to our favorite off-campus seafood diner to break the afternoon’s icy tension. Dean specifically ordered the whole roasted branzino, my absolute favorite. Usually, when we ordered fish, he would spend the first ten minutes meticulously dissecting the filet, pulling out every single microscopic pin bone before sliding the pristine meat onto my plate. He did the same today. Head bowed, brow furrowed in concentration, picking the bones clean. I sat with my fork resting in my hand, waiting quietly. But mid-air, his fork took a detour. The most tender, perfectly cooked piece of fish landed gently on Mia’s plate. “You’re too thin,” he murmured, his voice thick with an uncontrollable, naked ache. “Eat up.” Mia stiffened. Her head snapped up, her eyes darting to me, wide with a sickening cocktail of guilt and sheer panic. Dean seemed to wake up. He went pale, hurriedly stabbing another piece of fish, clumsily scraping the bones away, and dropping it onto my plate. “You eat too, Gracie.” He cleared his throat, a pathetic attempt to cover his tracks. “Mia’s just… her stomach’s been off lately. I’m just looking out for her.” I looked down at the mangled piece of fish on my plate. I gave a slow, empty nod. “Okay.” I lifted the fish to my mouth and chewed, methodically. It tasted like ash. It was so bitter I could barely force my throat to swallow. Suddenly, Mia clapped a hand over her mouth. Her face turned the color of parchment. She shot up from the booth, knocking her knees against the table, and sprinted toward the restrooms. Dean shot out of his seat like a loaded spring. He stood in the aisle, his eyes agonizingly fixed on the hallway leading to the women’s room. His feet twitched. He wanted to go to her. He was fighting every primitive, biological instinct in his body to run to the woman carrying his child. His fists were clenched white at his sides. I forced down the bitter bite of fish. I looked up at him, offering that same, slow, dopey smile I always gave. “Go check on her, Dean. She seems really sick.” The permission was a pardon. Relief washed over his face, so intense it was almost grotesque. “Stay right here, Grace. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” He didn’t wait for my answer. He sprinted toward the bathroom. I sat alone in the clattering, noisy diner. I watched the broad line of his back as he desperately banged on the bathroom door, pleading with her through the wood. I pulled my phone out and looked at the calendar. Two more days. The next morning, Mia smothered me with affection. She bought me a slice of the absurdly expensive strawberry shortcake from the artisanal bakery downtown. She held both of my hands, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Slowpoke,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “No matter what happens in this life, we are best friends forever. Right? Promise me.” She stared at me, begging for absolution from a crime she thought I didn’t know about. I looked at her. I thought of that bright, beaming girl carrying my trunk up the stairs. I gave a slow, heavy nod. “Yeah.” Mia let out a sob of relief and threw her arms around my neck, burying her face in my shoulder. I didn’t hug her back. My arms hung dead at my sides, my fingers curling, inch by inch, into fists. 3 The day I was scheduled to leave, the sky opened up. It was a miserable, freezing rain. Mia had insisted we walk to a specific pastry shop off-campus to get my favorite chestnut tarts. She claimed sugar always fixed a gloomy mood. Dean walked beside us, holding the large black umbrella. By default, he kept the center of the canopy hovering directly over Mia’s head. My outer shoulder was entirely exposed to the downpour, completely soaked through to my skin. I didn’t say a word. That was the convenience of my condition; they assumed the cold rain hadn’t registered with my nerves yet. What used to be an inseparable, lively trio was now a suffocating graveyard of unspoken words. Mia kept her head down. Dean cleared his throat, his voice tight and raspy with nerves. “Grace… there’s something I need to come clean about…” He leaned forward slightly over the wet pavement, finally preparing to vomit up the secret he had been hiding for months. At that exact second, we stepped off the curb into a crosswalk. A delivery guy on a motorized scooter, swerving wildly to avoid a massive pothole, lost control. The heavy bike hydroplaned, careening straight toward us at terrifying speed. Time seemed to warp. I saw the bike coming for the outside edge—Mia’s side. My brain fired the command to push her out of the way, but my body, as always, lagged. I stumbled clumsily, my feet tangling as I pitched toward Mia. Dean’s face twisted in absolute terror. He threw his hands out and violently shoved me backward. “Mia!” The sheer force of his shove launched my already unbalanced body directly into the path of the skidding scooter. CRACK. The impact launched me into the air. I hit the rough, degraded asphalt, rolling violently across the pavement until I came to a stop in a filthy puddle against the curb. Dean had wrapped himself entirely around Mia, shielding her. Still trembling with adrenaline, he whipped his head around and screamed at me. “Grace, what the hell is wrong with you?! Were you trying to push Mia into the bike?!” His words hung in the air. Then, he finally met my gaze. He froze. I was lying in the murky water, thick, dark blood pouring from a gash on my forehead, running over my eyes and staining the puddle a sickening crimson. Dean’s arms loosened around Mia. He took a mechanical half-step toward me. “Grace… I…” A faint, breathy gasp came from his chest. Mia’s eyes fluttered shut, and she went entirely limp, fainting dead away in his arms. Dean stopped dead in his tracks. “Mia! Oh my god, Mia, wake up!” I lay flat on the pavement, watching it all. The freezing rain hammered against my open wounds, and an agonizing, piercing fire shot through my limbs. For the first time in my life, my sensory delay failed me. The pain was instantaneous. I forced my head up a fraction of an inch, looking at the boy I had loved for two years, standing merely feet away from me. My lips moved in a pathetic, trembling whisper. “Dean… it hurts…” But the rain was deafening. He didn’t hear me. He couldn’t see anything but the unconscious woman in his arms. I don’t know how long I lay there before the wail of sirens cut through the storm. Paramedics leaped out, pulling stretchers through the rain. I forced my eyes open as a shadow moved over me. I thought it was Dean. But the frantic, scrambling footsteps weren’t running to me. They were running away. He scooped Mia up in his arms and sprinted to the first ambulance, shoving his way past the EMTs. A medic grabbed his shoulder. “Sir, you need to back up! The girl in the street took the impact—she’s bleeding out!” Dean clung to Mia like a madman, his voice raw and hysterical as it sliced through the rain. “She only has scratches! Grace can wait! She has a neurological delay, she doesn’t even feel pain! She can take the second ambulance!” he roared. “But Mia can’t wait! She’s pregnant! She passed out from the blood! She can’t wait!” His words echoed against the concrete buildings, raining down on me like shrapnel, tearing whatever was left of my heart into a thousand bloody pieces. 4 By the time the second ambulance rushed me into the ER trauma bay, my body was turning to ice. It felt like someone had shattered glass inside my chest; every panicked gasp I took bubbled up with pink foam. A doctor sprinted over, holding up a fresh scan, his face grim. “Ruptured spleen! Massive internal hemorrhaging. We need her in the OR, five minutes ago!” He looked at the nurses. “Patient has no next of kin on file. Who is her emergency contact? Get them on the phone for consent, now. If we don’t open her up, we lose her.” A nurse rummaged through my wet belongings, pulled out my phone, and tapped the number pinned to the top. It rang. And rang. Finally, the line clicked open. In the background, I could hear the muffled, pathetic sound of Mia sobbing. “Yeah?” Dean’s voice was laced with utter exhaustion and deep irritation. “Sir, are you Grace’s emergency contact?” the nurse demanded, practically shouting. “She has severe internal bleeding. We need to perform an emergency laparotomy right now. I need you down in the ER lobby to sign the consent forms!” The line went dead silent for a fraction of a second. Then, Mia’s wails amplified. “Dean, my stomach is cramping… is our baby okay… I’m so scared…” Dean’s tone instantly shifted into a frantic, soothing purr. “Shh, I’m right here, baby. I’m not going anywhere.” Then, the phone shifted. His voice returned, cold and utterly devoid of humanity. “Look, don’t let her play you,” he told the nurse. “She has a processing delay. She doesn’t even know what pain is. She’s just jealous that I’m taking care of Mia, so she’s putting on a show to pull the doctors away and force me to leave Mia’s side.” The nurse’s eyes widened in horror. “Sir! I am telling you, this patient is in critical condition! She will die if you don’t sign these papers!” I heard him let out a long, disappointed sigh. “Tell Grace that Mia is carrying my child,” he said, his voice flat. “And since she can’t feel pain anyway, she can lie on a gurney in the hallway and think about what she did today. When Mia is stabilized, I’ll come down and discharge her.” Click. The line went dead. The nurse stood frozen, the phone still pressed to her ear, staring at the screen in disbelief. She looked down at me, her eyes brimming with a profound, helpless pity. I lay there, staring blindly at the blinding white fluorescent lights on the ceiling. Tears finally breached my eyelashes, rolling hot and fast down my temples, mixing with the blood in my hair, soaking into the sterile white paper of the stretcher. And in that exact moment—it hit. Eighteen years of delayed pain, hoarding itself up for a lifetime, crashed over me like a premeditated tsunami. It swallowed me whole. The agonizing twist of a ruptured spleen. The jagged, breathless stabbing of broken ribs. The dull, sickening throb of torn skin. It all detonated at the exact same second. But none of it hurt as much as my chest. I opened my mouth, gasping like a fish thrown onto the dock, trying to suck in air, but only managing to choke up mouthfuls of bloody froth. “She’s crashing! Hang on, honey, hang on!” Doctors and nurses swarmed me. I bit down on my bloodless bottom lip until I tasted copper. Just as the doctor turned, shouting at a nurse to call hospital administration for a legal bypass on the consent, a hand reached out. Long, elegant fingers plucked the clipboard and pen smoothly from the doctor’s hand. A voice, low, steady, and achingly familiar, rang out above the chaos. “I am her fiancé. I’ll sign.” The moment that deeply anchoring voice registered in my brain, the darkness finally pulled me under.

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The “blindfold test.” That was what the bridesmaids called it. Just a little pre-wedding game to liven up the bridal suite before the ceremony. The rule was simple: the groom had to identify his bride blindfolded. Only then could he take her to the altar. In the first round, he had to recognize me by touch alone. Wyatt closed his eyes, his hands sliding over mine. He gripped my fingers for a split second, then let go. Without a single beat of hesitation, he pointed to Cassidy. For the second round, Cassidy and I lay side by side on the bed, buried under a heavy duvet, leaving only our feet exposed. I purposefully wiggled my toes, a playful hint. But when the blanket was pulled back, the room erupted into laughter. The bridesmaids teased Wyatt for losing again. He had pointed straight at Cassidy’s feet. Cassidy laughed, a little sheepish. “Your luck is seriously tragic, Wyatt. How did you manage to pick me twice?” Wyatt let out a soft sigh, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “Getting stuck with you twice—I’m the one who’s cursed here.” I looked down at my right hand. The pinky finger was missing half its nail, a jagged scar cutting through the skin. Then I looked at my shoes. They were the custom heels Wyatt had spent weeks picking out for me. My gaze drifted to the two of them, lost in their shared laughter. And then, with a slow, crushing delay, the truth finally sank in. He didn’t want to marry me. 1 The bridal suite was loud, filled with the clinking of champagne flutes and bright chatter. I stood in the corner, fading into the wallpaper. I listened to Wyatt and Cassidy fall into their usual rhythm, bickering back and forth like they always did. Suddenly, Cassidy seemed to remember I was there. She walked over to me, her expression a mix of guilt and playful exasperation. “Rachel, seriously, Wyatt’s intuition is absolute garbage. He had two chances and blew both of them. You’re not mad, are you?” I didn’t say anything. Cassidy patted my shoulder, her tone gentle. “Today is your big day. Don’t let a stupid game ruin your mood.” She sounded so comforting, so rational. But I didn’t miss the split-second shadow of sadness and longing that crossed her face. My throat felt incredibly dry, like it was lined with sand. I couldn’t squeeze out a single word. Wyatt let out a dry laugh from across the room, his eyes fixed on her. “You think Rachel is like you, Cassidy? Throwing a three-day tantrum over nothing?” The blood drained from my face. Whenever Wyatt and I fought, he would apologize for maybe a day or two. If I didn’t let it go by then, he would simply leave me alone until I quieted down on my own. I never knew he spent three days coaxing Cassidy. Cassidy noticed how rigid I had become. She pressed her lips into a thin line, shooting a warning look at Wyatt. The rest of the room picked up on the sudden shift in temperature. The laughter died down, leaving an awkward, heavy silence. Fortunately, one of the groomsmen stepped in with a quick joke, and the suffocating tension slowly dissipated. Cassidy’s face returned to its usual bright expression, and the small hiccup was swept under the rug. Taking advantage of a moment when the others were distracted, Wyatt slid closer to me. “Are you actually mad?” he murmured. I remained silent. I didn’t miss the way his eyes instinctively darted toward Cassidy, who was now huddled with the other bridesmaids. It was a fleeting glance, but I saw it. He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Give me a hint for the next round. I swear I won’t get it wrong this time.” My hand subconsciously traced the scarred, half-nail of my pinky. The shoes I wore were completely different from the bridesmaids’ heels. Not to mention, I had literally wiggled my feet to guide him. What other hint did he possibly need? Cassidy and the girls finished whispering. I sat there quietly, waiting for the third round. Cassidy had slipped into an identical white veil and a matching dress, her silhouette nearly indistinguishable from mine. This round was about identifying me by posture and frame. Someone laughed. “Alright, we’re making this easy. No way the groom messes up now, right?” Cassidy was slightly taller than me. Even with the veil covering her face, anyone who paid attention could easily tell us apart. Yet, Wyatt stepped forward, paused, and reached out. He chose Cassidy. Again. The tiny, pathetic shred of hope I had been clinging to shattered completely. The room went dead silent. “Wyatt, man, what are you doing?” a groomsman asked, his voice laced with genuine confusion. “It’s so obvious. Stop messing around and pick your actual bride.” “Seriously, do it over.” The festive, playful energy of the room had vanished, replaced by a cold, clinical dread. Cassidy looked furious. “Wyatt, what the hell are you doing? Why are you picking me?” Wyatt simply shrugged, his expression blank. “I just got confused. My mistake.” I felt numb, as if my ears had been stuffed with cotton. Slowly, I reached up and pulled off my veil. I looked at Wyatt and forced a small smile. We had been together for seven years. We knew the contours of each other’s bodies better than anyone. And yet, he dismissed it all as a simple “mistake.” Cassidy rushed over, her face pale. “Rachel, listen to me—” I didn’t look at her. My eyes stayed locked on Wyatt. “Let’s call it off,” I said, my voice steady. “We’re not getting married today.” 2 Wyatt didn’t want to marry me. He was good at pretending, but a person’s instinctive reactions don’t lie. Cassidy’s eyes welled with tears, her voice trembling. “Rachel, please. Whatever is wrong, can we talk about it after the ceremony? You’ve been waiting for this wedding for so long. Please don’t do this.” Wyatt frowned, looking at me with a mixture of shock and annoyance. He didn’t argue. In fact, I caught the split-second flash of profound relief in his eyes before he masked it. Cassidy grabbed my hands, her grip tight and pleading. “Rachel, we’re going to be late. Let’s just go to the venue first.” I quietly pulled my hands from her grasp. “Would you really want that, Cassidy?” I asked softly. “Do you really want Wyatt to marry me?” Every word I spoke felt like a needle, thin and sharp. She flinched, the color completely draining from her cheeks. Wyatt stepped in front of her, his gaze turning accusatory. “Rachel, I’m the one who made a mistake. There’s no need to take it out on her. This has nothing to do with her.” Bitter? Well, the truth usually sounds bitter. “It’s not her fault,” Wyatt added. If it wasn’t Cassidy’s fault, then whose was it? Mine? Cassidy and I had grown up in the state foster care system. We were all each other had, surviving on a bond that felt thicker than blood. She was the outgoing one, always throwing herself in front of me to shield my timid self from the world. When our high school graduation rolled around, she told me she didn’t get into college. She insisted that I go, promising she would work to support me. My tuition, my rent, my food—she paid for all of it. “I’m not cut out for school anyway,” she used to say with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’d rather start earning money early.” To keep me from feeling guilty, she’d laugh it off. “You can just pay me back after you graduate and get rich.” Years later, I found out she had been accepted to a decent state college. She just chose not to go so I could. If she had only told me she loved Wyatt… I would have stepped aside. I would have let him go. I would have walked away with my dignity intact. Instead, they chose to humiliate me on the day of my wedding. Three rounds. Three opportunities. And Wyatt chose Cassidy every single time. Everyone in that room saw what was happening. Everyone except the groom. My scarred pinky finger suddenly began to throb with a sharp, phantom pain. My voice shook. “Wyatt, do you think I’m an idiot?” His jaw tightened into a rigid line. He said nothing. After seven years, I knew him too well. He didn’t want to explain himself. Or perhaps, he had been waiting for a moment like this to force a confrontation he was too cowardly to start. Cassidy grabbed my arm again. “Rachel, I never wanted to take anything from you. I swear. I’m begging you, let’s just go to the church.” I let out a cold, hollow laugh, staring at her tear-stained face. “No, Cassidy. I’m giving him to you. You two should get married.” I pushed past her and walked out of the room. The bridesmaids and groomsmen stood frozen, staring at each other in stunned silence. The sudden cancellation of the wedding left them entirely blindsided. I walked out of the hotel and hailed a cab. Cassidy called my phone repeatedly. I rejected every call. Wyatt called next. I ignored him too. Eventually, I turned my phone off entirely. Looking out the window at the passing city lights, I realized my vision had gone completely blurry. I blinked, and a heavy tear rolled down my cheek, landing on the back of my hand. I looked down at my right pinky. The jagged, half-missing nail looked ugly and out of place next to the others. I had crushed it in a heavy metal door years ago, protecting Cassidy from a group of neighborhood bullies. I had screamed and cried from the pain back then. It had been so long since I thought about that scar. But sitting in the back of that cab, the pain returned, sharper than ever. 3 The wedding was a disaster. With hundreds of guests already seated at the venue, the families couldn’t simply call it off. So, Cassidy did exactly what I told her to do. She stepped into my place, put on the ring, and married Wyatt. When I woke up the next morning, I walked into my living room to find Cassidy sitting on the sofa, looking utterly hollowed out. She had the keycode to my apartment. I had even designed a bedroom specifically for her. When I made my first real commission in the city, the very first thing I did was buy this small condo. I wanted to make sure Cassidy and I would never have to drift from place to place again. I wanted us to have a home. My eyes were swollen and sore. No matter how coldly I had walked away the day before, the grief was a physical weight crushing my chest. The moment I got back to the empty apartment last night, I had broken down, sobbing until my ribs ached. My best friend—the sister of my soul—was in love with my fiancé. And they loved each other. Behind my back, they had built a quiet, secret universe. Cassidy scrambled to her feet, her expression frantic. “Rachel… I’m so sorry. I swear, I never meant to steal Wyatt from you.” Her eyes were bloodshot. “I never wanted this. I never wanted to ruin your wedding.” But the wedding was ruined anyway. Last night, Wyatt’s mother had sent me a barrage of furious texts, accusing me of being selfish and disrespectful. Wyatt’s parents had always looked down on me because I was an orphan. They treated me like a social climber. But they had tolerated me because Wyatt loved me—loved me enough to fight his family for years. People used to say Wyatt was completely under my spell, that he would never look at another woman. Back then, hearing those rumors made me angry, but a small, foolish part of me felt cherished. Now, I knew the truth. I looked at Cassidy, my voice dry and raspy. “When did it start?” Wyatt and I had started dating during my freshman year of college. I had introduced him to Cassidy shortly after. Initially, Cassidy claimed she couldn’t stand him. She complained that a rich, pampered guy like Wyatt wasn’t good enough for me. “Three years ago,” Cassidy whispered, her eyes dropped to the floor. “The time you asked him to check on me…” My mind went blank for a second. Then, the memory slotted into place. It was during my first year of corporate work. I was away on an intense business trip and couldn’t get ahold of Cassidy for hours. Fearing the worst, I swallowed my pride and texted Wyatt, asking him to check her apartment. Cassidy had collapsed from a severe, neglected stomach ulcer. Because I was miles away, Wyatt stayed at the hospital, managing her admission and keeping her company. “Rachel, I tried to fight it,” she sobbed, her voice laced with agony. “I didn’t want to feel this way. I hated myself because of what it would do to you.” “But Wyatt confessed to me on Christmas Eve.” “Rachel… he loved me.” A loud ringing echoed in my ears, drowning out her voice. A sudden wave of nausea hit me so hard I had to press a hand to my stomach to keep from gagging. “So that’s what it was,” I murmured. “No wonder he told me he had to work late that Christmas Eve. He was with you.” I let out a soft, bitter laugh. I had been so incredibly stupid. I had lived in the dark for years, celebrating when Cassidy finally stopped complaining about Wyatt, thinking they were finally getting along for my sake. They had spent years flirting and bickering right in front of me, and I had smiled through it all. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” I asked, staring at her. My chest felt like it was being crushed by a vice. Cassidy looked up, a miserable, broken smile on her lips. “And what would you have done, Rachel?” “Would you have just handed him over to me?” 4 By the time Wyatt arrived, Cassidy was sitting numbly on one end of the sofa, and I was on the other. We hadn’t spoken another word. Wyatt stormed into the apartment, but the name on his lips wasn’t mine. “Cassidy…” She looked up, her eyes instinctively darting to me in fear. The raw worry in Wyatt’s eyes was unmistakable. He immediately stepped between us, shielding Cassidy from me. His tone turned cold and defensive. “Rachel, if you’re angry, take it out on me. She didn’t do anything wrong.” Watching him play the protective hero to my sister-soulmate made me want to laugh. It was pathetic. I had believed Wyatt’s warmth was reserved solely for me. I had believed I was his exception. It turned out he was fully capable of shielding someone else. When I didn’t reply, Wyatt softened his tone slightly, though his posture remained rigid. “Rachel, I’ll make this up to you. Ask for anything—financial support, the apartment, whatever you want. Just… not the marriage.” We ended up standing on the small balcony alone. He remained silent for a long time, staring out at the city skyline. “I never wanted to break up with you,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I never wanted to betray you.” “But I couldn’t control my feelings.” “Rachel, you mean everything to Cassidy. She didn’t want to hurt you, so she tried to keep her distance. I was the one who kept pushing. If you want to blame someone, blame me.” I stared at him, feeling a sudden, terrifying sense of detachment. He looked like a complete stranger. “I’m sorry, Rachel,” he repeated, looking down at me. “I’ll compensate you.” The corners of my mouth twitched. Compensate. How do you compensate for seven years of devotion? How do you pay someone back for the prime of their youth? “Wyatt, the name on your marriage license is still mine,” I said quietly. “It’s not Cassidy’s.” His face darkened instantly. “Rachel!” I ignored him, turning on my heel and walking back inside. As soon as I crossed the threshold, a violent fit of coughing seized me. It felt like my lungs were trying to tear themselves out of my chest. Tears pricked my eyes as I gasped for air. Cassidy immediately rushed over, pulling tissues from her bag to wipe my face. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I’m so, so sorry,” she wept, her hands shaking violently. Her eyes were filled with a deep, suffocating guilt. I remembered when she was eighteen, working at a brutal distribution warehouse because she had no degree. It was backbreaking, exhausting labor, and she was constantly bullied by the older shift managers. But she never complained. Every time she got paid, she kept barely enough to buy cheap ramen and sent every remaining dollar to my student account. I had visited her once without telling her. I watched her running across the concrete floor, being yelled at by a supervisor, nodding and smiling through the humiliation. On that day, I promised myself I would spend the rest of my life making things easy for her. Whatever she wanted, I would give her. Cassidy’s eyes were red and swollen. “Aside from you, no one had ever been good to me. Wyatt was the first person who ever looked out for me.” She looked up at me, her voice trembling. “Rachel… since you don’t want him anymore…” “Can you let me have him? Please?” A terrible, cold peace washed over me. I smiled. “Sure.” “Cassidy, consider this my final payment to you. We’re officially even.” Before Wyatt took her away, he hesitated at the door. “If you need anything, Rachel… you can still call me.” I didn’t bother to look up. The very next day, they registered their marriage and posted the certificate on social media. I scrolled through my feed and liked the post. Then, I left a comment: Congratulations. I hope you two get exactly what you deserve.

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The golden boy failed his college placement exams again, and I got dragged right back into the loop. As a mere background extra in this universe, this was my third time sitting through senior year. And yet, he still couldn’t score high enough to get into the same elite university as the female lead. The moment I blinked open my eyes back in the homeroom, I marched straight over to his desk and smacked him across the face. “It’s C! The answer to number fourteen is C! How do you miss a correct option that’s staring you right in the face?” 01 The entire classroom went dead silent. You could have heard a pin drop. I shoved the practice sheet in front of his face, practically vibrating with rage. “We’ve done this exact same paper. Even Pavlov’s dog would have learned to salivate by the fourth run. Why are you still bubbling in B? You look like a B. You’re a walking, talking, capital B!” The brave kids kept staring; the smart ones looked away. After all, everyone at our high school knew my reputation: Naomi West—quick-tempered, sharp-tongued, and more than willing to take a guy down if he pushed me. But no one expected the resident bad boy, Wyatt, to react the way he did. Normally, he’d scowl and kick a desk. Instead, his eyes welled up. “Wait… you too?” He reached out, grabbing my hand like a lifeline. “It’s too hard. High school is too hard. I can’t do this anymore!” 02 From the first moment I saw Wyatt, I knew he was special. Mostly because I have zero tolerance for stupidity, and he was a very special breed of stupid. He still got the same math formulas wrong after the teacher explained them three times. He couldn’t memorize a simple stanza of poetry to save his life. He even managed to leave his English listening comprehension sheet completely blank. He was lazy. He was useless. And yet, half the girls in school had an absolute crisis over him. The school’s anonymous confession page was basically a daily shrine to his name, and they’d even voted him Homecoming King. I’m a sapiosexual. I have zero interest in anyone with an IQ lower than mine, so for three years, I never spoke a single word to him. When graduation finally came the first time, I got a perfect score on my exams. I was the state’s top scholar. But before my acceptance letter to Yale could even get warm in my hands, I blinked and woke up back in this classroom. It took me a while to figure out what was happening. Eventually, I realized I was trapped in a young adult romance novel. The male lead was Wyatt—the wealthy, failing rebel. The female lead was Becca Collins—the pristine, straight-A transfer student. According to the original plot, Wyatt was supposed to fall in love with her at first sight after she transferred, pursue her relentlessly, and after enough dramatic angst, they would end up together. But because high school romances face strict censorship regulations nowadays, the author had hastily changed the setting to a college campus right before publishing. That meant they couldn’t meet until university. The adjustment made sense on paper. The only problem? Wyatt was an academic disaster. He couldn’t get into college, which meant he could never meet her. 03 Behind the school, in the courtyard garden. Wyatt sat on a stone bench, crying so hard he was practically hyperventilating. “We just finished. And now we’re back. Four times. Four goddamn times.” He looked on the verge of a total breakdown. “I’m a trust-fund kid! I was supposed to barely graduate, take over my dad’s packaging plant, and sit in my custom gaming chair all day. My dad even put the chair in my new office, and I haven’t even gotten to sit in the damn thing yet!” I stared at him, exhausted. “Did you even try to find a solution?” Like hiring a tutor, perhaps. Mentioning this only made Wyatt angrier. “Of course I tried! I memorized last year’s exam answers, but the state changed the entire test curriculum the next year! I tried to get my dad to send me to a boarding school in Switzerland, but the moment I stepped onto the plane, I woke up right back in homeroom. Nobody stays seventeen forever, Naomi. I’ve been seventeen for three years. Is that fair?!” I suspected the universe was forcing the plot because he was the protagonist. Before I could ask anything else, a flashlight beam cut through the darkness. “Who’s out there?” It was the campus security guard. The administration had been cracking down on public displays of affection lately, threatening to suspend anyone caught. Before I could even process the light, Wyatt bolted like a rabbit. “I’m the dumb one, I’m out!” He kicked up gravel, leaving nothing but a blur in the night. Seriously. How did this guy get cast as a male lead? That evening, right after my study session, I received a friend request on social media. Avatar: A golden retriever. Username: An Old Dog. Message: It’s Wyatt accept me now. He was loud even in text. The moment I accepted, his messages started flooding in. Hey, genius. What are you doing? Honestly, if I weren’t desperate to escape this endless loop of senior year, I wouldn’t have bothered. Reading. An Old Dog: (Surprised cat meme) An Old Dog: You’ve been the state’s top student three times and you’re still reading? I didn’t want to reply to something so obvious. He kept typing: Did the guard catch you tonight? No. Good thing I run fast. Otherwise, we’d have been caught together and everyone would think we’re dating. He seemed incredibly proud of himself. I didn’t bother reminding him that even if the dean caught us together, they would assume Wyatt was extorting my lunch money. No one would ever suspect us of dating. I was the school’s star pupil, heavily protected by the faculty. Apparently tired of typing, he initiated a video call. I hesitated for a second before tapping the green button. Instantly, his ridiculously handsome face filled my screen. I spared him a flat look before returning my eyes to my AP calculus sheet. “What do you want, Wyatt?” “I’ve been analyzing the situation, and I have a major breakthrough.” I raised an eyebrow, letting him continue. “Is there a chance this loop is actually your fault?” He sounded entirely convinced of his own theory. “In these kinds of books, the female lead is always the brilliant valedictorian. But you keep taking that spot. Maybe her character arc is broken because you keep winning. What if you bomb the next exam on purpose?” “Absolutely not.” I would rather rot in this loop than let anyone else take my spot. “Why don’t you try failing your way into community college with her?” I countered dryly. “You can date there. Why does it have to be an Ivy League?” “That actually makes sense!” He started contemplating the idea seriously. I rolled my eyes and hung up on him. I had to admit, when I first realized I was just a nameless extra in someone else’s story, I went through a bit of a dark phase. I couldn’t accept that someone like me—the hardest worker, the smartest girl—was just background noise. Eventually, I made peace with it by looking at Wyatt. He wasn’t worthy of me anyway. But my number-one spot? No one was taking that from me. 04 I had my suspicions about who the real female lead was. Wyatt was too busy failing to notice the class rankings, but I monitored them obsessively. I always tracked the margin between myself and second place. During the first loop, I beat the runner-up by thirty points. The second loop, the gap closed to twenty. The third loop was terrifying; the margin shrank to a mere thirteen points. That was when I memorized her name: Becca Collins, from Oakridge High. Could she really be the one? 05 On Monday, the results of our first mock exam were posted. Unsurprisingly, I was first. Our homeroom teacher’s voice practically trembled with excitement as she stood at the podium. “This was a statewide assessment, and our Naomi West didn’t just place first in our school—she placed first in the entire state, ten points ahead of second place!” The classroom erupted into scattered applause, but I couldn’t bring myself to smile. Ten points. The gap was shrinking again. The female lead was a fast learner; I had to give her credit. After the results came our seat reassignment. Students got to choose their desks and partners based on their rank. As I prepared to take my usual spot in the center of the front row, my phone buzzed. It was Wyatt, standing at the very back of the line. When it’s your turn, choose me as your partner. Why would I do that? Seeing my lack of response, he typed furiously. We are the only two self-aware characters in this paper world. Are you really going to ignore your only ally? Shouldn’t we work together to figure out how to break the curse and get out of here? I had briefly considered tutoring him to get him into college just to end the loop, but the thought evaporated quickly. I hated wasting time on losing battles. Helping Wyatt would only slow down my own studies. And if I lost my top ranking because I was busy hand-holding him, it would be a disaster. His next message popped up immediately. I have a premium university library card. You can borrow whatever you want, and use their online databases. My dad’s empty office at the plant? You can use it as your private study lounge. All year. No distractions. That actually got my attention. My mother had remarried after her divorce and had a three-year-old son. He was at the age where he was constantly screaming and throwing toys. I could only study in peace after he went to sleep, and weekends were a nightmare. My stepfather was a long-haul truck driver, and our finances were tight. Beyond basic school supplies, I rarely asked my parents for extra test prep materials. I typed back: Deal. The second I sent it, I heard a loud whistle from the back of the room. The teacher snapped instantly. “Wyatt! Do you find placing dead last amusing? Come up here to the front so everyone can see you.” Wyatt, completely shameless, strolled to the front of the room and stood right next to me. His friends started snickering from the back. “First and last make a perfect pair, Mrs. Gilbert. Why don’t you just let them sit together?” Mrs. Gilbert’s face flushed with anger, but before she could yell, Wyatt grinned. “Honestly, I’m down.” I gave it a brief thought and nodded. “I don’t mind.” The entire room stared at us in shock. 06 Within days, two major rumors took over the senior class. First, the school rebel had been slapped by the star student. Second, they were now desk partners. The school’s online forum went wild. Who even is Naomi West? Why is she getting close to Wyatt? I didn’t even know she existed before this. That slap was definitely a cry for attention. She knew she was plain, so she used a cheap trick to get him to sit with her. I looked up Naomi’s record. She’s actually insane. She was the top student in the district in middle school, and she’s literally never lost her first-place rank. It’s weird. I never really noticed her before, but honestly, Wyatt might be the one punching above his weight here. I stared at the phone screen Wyatt kept shoving in front of my face, completely unfazed. Of course they hadn’t noticed me before; this world wasn’t written for me. The main characters drew everyone’s attention simply by existing. The only reason people were looking at me now was because I was standing next to Wyatt. Wyatt grinned, scrolling through the thread. “I leaked your academic record to the board. Who do these people think they are, saying a state scholar isn’t good enough for me? Idiots.” As he spoke, a new comment appeared on the thread. I refreshed the page. It was a brand-new account. Just an NPC trying to act like a main character. Do you honestly think cheap effort can beat natural talent? A side character will never compare to the real female lead. 07 “Who is this? They’re trash-talking on my turf,” Wyatt muttered, cracking his knuckles. “I’m a moderator on this forum. I’m banning them right now.” He paused, staring at the screen. “Wait. They said ‘NPC’ and ‘female lead’… Could it be…?” I had already told him my theory about Becca Collins. We looked at each other, the same realization dawning on us.

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