Back in college, I buy myself a boyfriend. The deal is simple. He stays with me, and I cover his grandfather’s medical bills. For four years, this broke genius tolerates me out of pure humiliation. Then my family goes bankrupt. When I break things off, his face stays carved from ice. Not a single word. Not even a flinch. Four years later, I’m carrying a fruit platter into a VIP lounge at three in the morning, and he’s the man on the leather couch in a five-thousand-dollar suit. I keep my head down. My baseball cap is pulled low. Please, God, don’t let him look up. Serena sits curled against his side, her manicured hand resting on his thigh like she owns him. She probably does now. She was the It-girl of our class, signed by a modeling agency junior year, and now her face is on three different magazine covers. They look perfect together. Untouchable. “Waitress.” Ethan’s voice cuts through the room. My spine locks. “Slice the oranges.” I turn my back to him and pick up the knife. A long time ago, whenever I wanted oranges, Ethan would slice them for me. Every piece the exact same size. Back then, I thought it meant he loved me. Later I figured out it was just a habit. When he sliced oranges, he thought about the whole universe. He just never thought about me. Some businessman in the corner laughs too loud, then leans toward Ethan with a slick grin. “I heard you had a serious girlfriend back in college, Mr. Yang. Four years, right?” My hand stops. “Mm.” That’s all Ethan gives him. “Four years, man. That’s the whole college experience. Must’ve been hard to forget her.” Silence. The kind that stretches like a wire about to snap. Then Ethan laughs softly. One short, cold sound. “Not really.” The knife slips. A bright line of red opens across my palm. “Oh my God.” Serena finally notices me, her perfect nose wrinkling. “Ethan barely tolerates her existence, and now this. Babe, we went to the same school as his ex. Honestly, if that girl hadn’t been in the way back then, you and I would’ve been together years ago.” “Right, right,” the businessman laughs, eager to please. “Miss Serena, you’re a star. No ex could ever compete with a star.” The room warms back up. The conversation moves on. I press my cap lower and try to disappear. “I’m sorry,” I manage. “I’ll get a clean plate.” I grab the tray and bolt for the door. “Wait.” Ethan’s voice. Quiet. Final. “Turn around.” My body freezes in the doorway. One second. Two. Then my shift manager sweeps in like a hurricane, all smiles and apologies. “So sorry, Mr. Yang, she’s new, still training. The whole platter is on the house tonight.” She shoots me a sharp look over her shoulder. “What are you waiting for? Go get a fresh one. Move.” I move. I almost cry from relief. In the kitchen, she grabs my wrist and lowers her voice. “Next time, use your head. We all started somewhere, but one complaint from that room and you work tonight for free.” “Thank you.” “Don’t thank me. Just be careful with that VIP room. The young one in the middle, the good-looking one? He owns some tech company. The kind of money we can’t afford to piss off.” She pauses. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” “Can you bring the new platter in for me? Please. I don’t feel well.” She studies my face for a long second, then nods. “Fine. Wrap that hand.” I exhale. If there’s one person on this planet I’ve already wronged beyond repair, it’s Ethan Yang. I’m the ex he hates. I’m the girl who ruined him.

I think back to freshman year all the time. Ethan stood in the crowd of new students in a faded gray hoodie that had been washed a hundred times too many. Visibly broke. Visibly gorgeous. I loved the cool, flat way he talked. I loved how his eyelashes lowered when he looked at me. He was drowning in debt. His full scholarship had been quietly handed to the financial aid officer’s nephew, and nobody did a thing about it. So one night after class, I cornered him in the hallway like a complete lunatic and grabbed his hand. “Ethan, I like you. Be with me. I’ve got money. We can share my allowance. And if that’s not enough, I’ll pay you for every kiss.” He said no, obviously. But back then my life was a smooth glide. I didn’t know what failure felt like. The more he refused, the harder I chased. Then his grandfather, the man who raised him, collapsed and needed emergency surgery. I paid the entire hospital bill without blinking. That’s when Ethan finally bowed his head. Stupid me. I thought I’d saved him. It took me years to understand. I got him. And I broke him at the same time. We started dating, and nothing got better. It got worse. He still worked three jobs. He barely touched my money. And the rumors started anyway. People said he was sleeping with me for cash. Some guys gave him a nickname I won’t even repeat. Professors started “checking in” about his moral character. I was too stupid to see any of it. I was a princess in a glass tower, holding his hand, telling him to ignore the haters. I never noticed he was fighting alone. Senior year, my family went bankrupt overnight. I didn’t tell him. I just called him out one cold afternoon and said the four words I’d been rehearsing for a week. “I’m bored. Let’s break up.” “Why?” “I’m just bored of you.” “Okay.” That was it. That was four years. I figured he was relieved. Finally free. The same day, I snapped my SIM card in half, deleted my socials, and got on a train heading south to start paying off my father’s debts. I came back to this city three months ago. Ethan is doing very, very well. He was always a genius. Four years out of college, he’s the face of a tech magazine, the founder of his own company, the kind of man other men quote at dinner. And Serena, the It-girl, is apparently his now. Good for them. Really. I press a hand over my chest and swallow the burn. Four AM. I clock out last. The cleaning crew already killed the lights and shut down the main elevator, thinking everyone was gone. I jab the button over and over, alone in the dim hallway. “Just call somebody,” a voice says behind me. My blood stops. I turn slowly. Ethan is leaning against the wall ten feet away, hands in his pockets, watching me like he’s been there a while. I make the call with shaking fingers. The elevator hums back to life. We step in together. Tight space. Too tight. “You guys close this late?” His tone is flat. Polite. The voice you use with a stranger. “We can’t leave until the guests do.” “Pay good?” “It’s fine.” I keep my chin down, the brim of my cap covering half my face. He doesn’t seem to recognize me. He glances at his Rolex and sighs. “This elevator is so slow.My girlfriend’s probably getting impatient waiting.She’s clingy. Cute about it, though.” He means Serena. The words land like a slap I’m not allowed to react to. “What about you?” he asks. “No boyfriend coming to pick you up at four AM?” “I live close.” The doors slide open. I rush out as fast as I can. Ethan, who has been calm for the past few minutes, finally erupts in this moment. “What are you running for?” “Where do you think you can run to, Chloe?” “Pulling a vanishing act, disappearing off the face of the earth—was that fun?”

I freeze with my back to him. “Phone disconnected. Socials gone. Even our professors couldn’t find you.” His footsteps come closer on the concrete. “Was it fun? Pulling a vanishing act like that?” I turn slowly. He’s the same boy I remember, just sharper now. The softness sanded off. “I’m sure you’ve already pulled the file,” I say quietly. “My dad got tangled up in something ugly. The debts aren’t paid off. We’ve been running.” “Then why didn’t you tell me?” I don’t answer. “Was it the pride thing? Princess Yu couldn’t admit she needed help?” “No, that’s not—” “Chloe? Oh my God, it really is you!” Serena clicks across the garage in six-inch heels, every strand of her hair somehow still perfect at four in the morning. She looks me up and down like she’s pricing a thrift-store haul. “Babe, I haven’t seen you in forever! Everyone from class has been asking. Four years and not a single post?” “I moved down south.” “That explains it.” Her eyes pin my coat. “Wait, isn’t that the puffer you bought junior year? The feathers are coming out of it. You’re still wearing it?” I used to throw clothes out after one season. She’s trying to humiliate me. I’m too tired to feel it. “It still works.” “Oh, honey.” Her voice goes silky-sweet. “Are you struggling? You should’ve said something. We’re old friends.” She slides a black credit card out of her clutch. “Take it. You don’t have to pay me back.” I look at her. Then at Ethan. And I smile, slow and calm. “Thanks, but I don’t need it. I’m getting married soon. You should both come.” Ethan goes completely still. The card freezes in Serena’s hand. The next morning, I drag myself to my day job. The lounge gig is just nights. By day I’m a junior analyst at a midsize tech firm downtown, which is a fancy way of saying I do whatever no one else wants to do. In the break room, two coworkers are buzzing over coffee. “Did you hear? The new client coming in? Total genius. He built his whole search platform to find someone.” “Find who?” “An ex-girlfriend, supposedly.” My eyelid twitches. “Did he find her?” “No clue. But the system’s still in development and investors are throwing money at him. Our boss wants in on the partnership.” I gather the prep folder and head to the conference room. Through the cracked door, I hear him. “About the partnership, I need more time to think it over.” I push the door open and set the folder on the table. Ethan’s eyes lock on mine and burn. “Why are you here?” “I work here.” This is my real job. The one I went to college for. My supervisor blinks. “Chloe, you know Mr. Yang?” I think for a second. “We’ve met.” “Just met?” Ethan’s voice sharpens. I have no idea what he’s mad about. He’s the one who walked away that day without looking back. He turns to my supervisor without breaking eye contact with me. “I’ll sign the contract. On one condition. Chloe gets transferred to my office as my personal assistant.” My supervisor agrees on the spot. Doesn’t even glance at me. They talk all day. At six sharp, I grab my bag and head for the door. Ethan blocks me. “Where are you going? I didn’t say you could leave.” “Mr. Yang, I can’t stay late tonight. I have somewhere to be.” “Where?” “I have a DoorDash shift.” He stares at me in disbelief.

Back in college, I was the kind of girl who wouldn’t even touch takeout. For four years, Ethan ran deliveries between classes. His dinner was usually whatever cardboard meal the delivery company handed out at shift end. I went to find him once. In a cramped little break room, he was squeezed between a dozen other drivers, shoveling rice out of a foam box. “Ethan, how can you eat that?” I said. “It’s not even clean.” His face tightened. “Does it matter if it’s clean?” “Come on. Let’s go get steak.” I dragged him to a brand-new French place, five hundred a head. He stood at the door for a long minute, then quietly stripped off his yellow delivery jacket before walking in. I finally understand what was going through his head that day. Because tonight is exactly the same. It’s snowing. The sidewalk is slick. My bike skids, and I go down hard. The bag bursts open. Pad Thai and curry spread across the wet pavement like a crime scene. I call the customer with shaking hands to explain. He cusses me out. “Don’t give me excuses. Late is late.” My palm is scraped raw and burning in the cold, but I keep saying sorry, sorry, sorry. Then a hand reaches down and lifts my bike off me. Ethan. I don’t know how long he’s been standing there. I yank my hand behind my back on instinct. “Don’t hide it.” His voice is rough. His eyes are red around the edges. “Go rinse it off.” “I have to finish the delivery first.” “Get in the car. I’ll drive you.” The customer lives on the ground floor. When I hand him the bag, he sneers, “Damn. Porsche girls are doing DoorDash now? That’s rough.” I check my phone for the next ping. “Don’t take another one,” Ethan says. “I have to. I didn’t make enough tonight.” “Then I’ll buy it.” “What?” The app chirps. A new order auto-accepts itself, assigned by him. “I’m buying your time. The whole night.” Ethan drives me back to his place. I stand frozen in the doorway. I won’t go in. “Serena’s going to be pissed.” “You think you have time to worry about her? Look at yourself.” Besides the scraped palm, I’m soaked in dirty slush from head to toe. “And Chloe.” He pulls me inside anyway. “Look around. Does this place look like a woman’s been here?” “You two aren’t living together?” “I was never actually with her.” He drops a contract in my lap. “Six months ago, she came to me with a deal. She didn’t want sleazy producers casting-couching her, so she asked me to play her boyfriend in public. In return, she’d run interference with the difficult clients on my end.” He pauses. He’s afraid I won’t get it. “Some of these guys think every man can be bought with a girl in his bed. It’s exhausting. Serena scares them off for me.” The contract is bulletproof. Clean lines. Zero interference with private lives. He pulls me to the bathroom and starts cleaning the cut on my hand. That’s when I see the shelf. A whole row of hand cream. Unopened. Still sealed in their cellophane. It’s the brand I used to use in college. He has the entire collection. “I asked around at your office today.” His voice goes low. “You don’t have a boyfriend. You told your coworkers at the team retreat last week that you were single. Chloe. You were lying to me on purpose, weren’t you?” “I wasn’t.” “Then show me a picture. You and that guy.” “We don’t have one.” “You’re the most camera-obsessed girl I’ve ever met, and you don’t have a single photo with your fiancé?” “Good point. I’ll take one next time and send it to you.” Ethan laughs. It’s not a real laugh. Suddenly his hand braces against the couch behind my head, caging me in. There’s no space left. Through my sweater, I can feel the heat coming off him. “I bought your time tonight. You know what that means, right?” “I’ll refund you. Ethan. I’m really getting married.” His fingers slide down my shoulder. They stop at my wrist. “You’re getting married, but you’re still wearing the bracelet your ex gave you. That doesn’t seem right, does it?”

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I had just gotten back from my best friend Chloe’s bachelorette party when a push notification pulled me to a post on a popular anonymous blog. The title was: “Need a birthday gift under $300 that will absolutely humiliate someone. It’s for my best friend.” The comment section flooded with vicious ideas. The blogger rejected every last one. Same response every time: “Not disgusting enough.” In the end, she pinned her own reply. “Thanks, everyone. But her boyfriend said he’d help me get even at her birthday party. He’s going to make her embarrass herself in front of everyone.” The internet caught the weirdness immediately. “Your best friend’s boyfriend is helping you go after her? What exactly are you two?” The blogger answered with pure arrogance, followed by several eye-roll emojis. “What are we? The first bite of every steak he cooks goes to me. Anything he wins at auction, I get first pick.” “His first kiss was mine. That whole night — every round, from first to fifth — mine.” “He delayed his proposal five times for me. That diamond ring worth over a hundred grand? It has our initials on it.” My heart clenched. For a second, all I could think was — who does this? I reached to flag the post. But something stopped me. Instead, I tapped her profile banner. In the photo, a man and a woman had their fingers laced together. A diamond ring caught the light on her hand, blazing. My heart sank. That was the ring my boyfriend, Alexander, and I had personally designed six months ago at Van Cleef & Arpels in Paris. … I sat there frozen for a long time. Long enough for my screen to go dark on its own. Just one hour ago, Alexander had looked down at Chloe, who was “dead drunk” in his arms, and frowned. “Bella, look at her. She’s completely wasted. I’ll have the driver take you home. And I’ll make sure she gets back safe” I hadn’t actually drunk that much. The second the New York night air hit me, I sobered up. Out of habit, I nodded. I even reminded him to text me once Chloe was settled. But during that thirty-minute ride home, every call I made and every message I sent disappeared into nothing. Now, staring at Chloe’s post, I finally understood. She was sober. Very sober. Even the drunken act had been carefully planned. My phone buzzed. A message from Alexander popped up. “Your Highness, your bestie is home safe.” “Your knight is on his way back to you. At full speed.”

I didn’t reply. Instead, I opened that post again and zoomed in on the profile picture. That ring was one of a kind. I had drawn dozens of drafts by hand before we finally settled on it. On the man’s wrist was a limited-edition Patek Philippe watch. The birthday gift I gave him this year. On the woman’s wrist was a Cartier LOVE bracelet. I had gone to the boutique and bought it myself. One for me. One for her. A symbol of our friendship. Someone asked under the post: “What exactly did your best friend do to you?” She replied: “She’s loaded, but all she gave me today was a brooch. She used to foot the bill for my entire party every single year.” Someone else asked: “You and your best friend’s boyfriend are cheating behind her back. Are you not scared she’ll find out?” She answered: “Back in sophomore year, when we went skiing in Aspen, I gave him advice on how to go after her. But my condition was that he had to spend seven nights with me first. He agreed.” “The next morning, my legs were so weak I couldn’t even get out of bed, so I lied and told her I wasn’t feeling well. And my sweet, clueless best friend felt so terrible for me, she asked her boyfriend to carry me down the mountain.” I stared at those words. Every line burned. My stomach turned. I remembered that day. I had rushed to hand her an oxygen can, worried out of my mind. “Chloe, if you don’t feel well, just stay at the hotel and rest.” Even Alexander spoke to her gently. “Don’t push yourself. If you really want to ski, Bella and I will bring you back another time.” But Chloe rolled her eyes at him. She insisted on going anyway. But barely two steps in, her face drained of color. I couldn’t bear to watch her suffer. So I asked Alexander to carry her. I blinked. My nose stung. A tear fell onto my phone screen. I switched back to the chat. My thoughts were so tangled I didn’t even know where to begin. Just last week, Chloe had held my hand and joked. She said that as our self-appointed “witness to the love story,” she was going to drag us at the wedding — call out every single time we’d made our single friends want to disappear. I laughed so hard I collapsed against her. And I promised her that my bouquet would only go to her. But I never saw this coming. The two people I had trusted without reservation— they joined forces to deliver the most complete betrayal of my life.

The three of us — me, Alexander, and Chloe — had known each other for twelve years, since our days at Columbia. When Alexander confessed his feelings to me at the freshman mixer, Chloe stepped in front of me, furious. “Alexander Thorne! Bella is the princess of the Vance family. You’re some broke scholarship boy. What, do you think she shines too bright for you? Are you trying to drag her off that pedestal with some cheap move like this?” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I pulled her back. “Chloe, I only got the top score in design class because Alexander helped me build the model.” “And you know I hurt my hand before. He helped me organize all my notes.” Back then, seeing the troubled look on Chloe’s face, I figured she just thought I’d fallen for the wrong guy. During college, everyone knew how good Alexander was to me. Every day, he drove that beat-up secondhand car to pick me up. He remembered my period better than I did. That old backpack of his, worn shiny from years of use, was always packed with my favorite snacks and every emergency item I could possibly need. By junior year, Alexander was already planning our future. On the back of a business proposal, he wrote out his entire life plan — every detail — trying to prove to me that he could become someone I could count on. Over the years, he kept every promise he made. The company he founded went public, and he became the youngest CEO in Wall Street history. He was steady, never volatile. No matter how busy work got, he still came home and cooked for me himself. He chose the diamond ring with me. He was going to propose at my birthday party this year. Then next year, we would have our wedding in the Hamptons. After that, we would have children of our own. Every part of his plan had me in it. But outside that plan… There was Chloe.

The post updated again. I tapped it open before I could stop myself. “Actually, I’ve sent her disgusting gifts before. Indirectly, but still. Like that antique cross bracelet she’s been wearing lately.” “I was in a bad mood back then, and things between me and him got a little too wild. The condom broke inside me. He was okay with that. Later, he still gave her that bracelet and claimed he’d gotten it blessed at the Vatican.” My eyes drifted on their own to the vanity. That bracelet was Alexander’s Easter gift to me this year. He told me he had stood in line for three days to have a bishop bless it for me. “And last Thanksgiving, he took me back to his family’s old house in the countryside to meet his parents.” “This little gold family locket on my wrist? His mother gave it to me.” “He said he couldn’t give me a marriage, but he would more than make up for it in every other way.” Boom. My mind went completely blank. His mother’s plain, honest face flashed before my eyes, along with the apologetic words she had said to me. “We don’t have anything of value to offer. This silver locket was passed down to me by his grandmother…”

By the time Alexander came back, it was already one a.m. He smelled like Chloe’s favorite Tom Ford perfume. He smiled at me, warm and indulgent. “Were you waiting for me to dry your hair?” I looked at him coldly and was just about to question him. Then Chloe’s video call came in. She blew me a kiss through the screen, her eyes bleary and glassy, still half-drunk. “Bella, you’re the best.” “I love the brooch you gave me.” Her voice suddenly dropped. “I just feel bad. I’m so broke, and tomorrow is your birthday. I can’t give you anything that expensive in return…” I cut her off, my voice flat. “Oh.” Chloe froze for a second when she saw my face. Then Alexander wrapped his arms tight around me from behind, burying his face in my neck — the same as always, competing with Chloe for my affection. “Bella, the person who loves you most is obviously me…” As he spoke, his lips moved toward my cheek. On the screen, Chloe let out a sharp scream — and her phone crashed to the floor. Alexander’s eyes snapped to my phone. In an instant, all the color drained from his face. Chloe wasn’t on the video. No sound, either. He rushed straight toward the entryway, his voice tight with an agitation and panic I had never heard from him before. “Bella, something’s wrong with Chloe. I have to go check on her!” The door slammed shut with a loud bang. But I heard it clearly. Right before the call cut out, I caught the faintest laugh. I opened that anonymous blog again. The newest post dripped with malice, all of it aimed straight at me. “She’s so stupid. She has no idea I called him away on purpose.” “Tomorrow is her birthday, and she definitely won’t figure out my gift is meant to disgust her. Boring.” My heart sank — cold, heavy, all the way down.

I lay on the couch all night, hair still wet, staring at the ceiling until dawn. One memory kept replaying in my head. That trip to Aspen. The day we climbed all the way to the top. Chloe shouted into the wind, “Alexander Thorne, you’d better love Isabella Vance for the rest of your life!” Alexander glanced at her, then shouted too, “Chloe Ryder and Isabella Vance, best friends forever!” At 8 a.m., my alarm went off right on time. I sent Alexander a message. “Alexander, let’s break up.” The smart lock clicked open. And Chloe’s voice came in first, snapping at Alexander like he was hers to boss around. “This is your fault. You woke up late, and now we couldn’t get Bella’s favorite French croissants.” “You’re the one who took forever,” Alexander shot back. “You had to put on makeup just to come see Bella.” “That’s because you kept me up all night—” They walked into the living room carrying several different kinds of breakfast, both of them smiling like nothing had happened. The second they saw me lying on the couch, their voices died. What they had just been talking about was obvious. Alexander calmly set the breakfast on the table, then gave a soft laugh. “Oh — special alert from my princess. Let me see what she sent.” He looked down at his phone. Then his face went pale. Chloe leaned in beside him. Their faces were so close. Then her eyes moved to me, who was sitting there with no expression. There was a hint of amusement in her voice. “Bella, come on. Just because Alexander didn’t come home last night?” “I should be mad at you. I fell by accident, and you didn’t even call once to check on me.” “And I still got up early to buy you breakfast.” All the little things I used to ignore suddenly stood out. Since when were croissants from that bakery across town my favorite? Chloe was the one who loved them. Alexander lined up for them every single time, no matter how much trouble it was. And after a while, I became the one who “loved” them. I looked at Chloe, my voice perfectly calm, without a ripple. “Didn’t you fake that fall just to lure him back to that little apartment of yours?” “Chloe, I heard that little laugh before you hung up.” “And I saw the hickeys. On both of you.” Chloe instinctively pulled her collar higher.

Alexander rushed toward me. He swallowed hard. “No, Bella. It’s not what you think.” “Chloe passed out last night. I stayed and took care of her, so I couldn’t come home.” “I swear. It won’t happen again.” The first day Alexander and I moved in together, we made one rule. No staying out all night. Everything we had been through… All the good memories… I still wanted this to end with some dignity. But looking at those two faces, something in me broke loose. My voice came out shaking. “Break up.” That was all I could say. Chloe shoved Alexander hard and snapped, “Apologize to Bella! Beg her forgiveness!” Then she dropped to her knees with a thud. “Whatever happened, I’m sure it wasn’t your fault. Bella, I’ll apologize first, okay?” But Alexander yanked Chloe back up. His eyes were full of pain. For her. Then he looked at me. There was no guilt. Only disappointment. “Bella. Apologize to Chloe.” “We’ve put up with your temper for so long. But we get tired.” “Can’t you grow up for once?” “Why can’t you trust us the way we trust you?” Something inside me snapped for good. I felt nothing. Just numb. “You cheated on me.” “And you still keep acting?” “If you don’t leave, I’ll have security walk you out.” Chloe pulled Alexander away. As they left, she leaned in close to him — but made sure I could hear every word. “Let her cool off first.” “Who knows who upset her this time? Now she’s taking it out on us.” “I bet she binged some soap opera and decided she’s the main character.”

I thought I had made myself clear enough. The people who set you up know exactly how wronged you are. And the people who betrayed you know exactly what they’ve done. I blew out the candles on my birthday cake. The lights in the banquet hall came back on. And there they were. Standing side by side. Smiling at me. Chloe acted like nothing had happened. She was holding a huge, tacky Swarovski crystal figurine in her arms. “Surprise!” She pushed it into my hands, all smiles and cheerful chatter. “I picked this out just for you, Bella. Do you like it?” Then Alexander dropped to one knee. He lifted that diamond ring toward me, his eyes full of tenderness. “Bella, marry me.” The diamond blazed with light, and the whole room burst into cheers. Someone shouted, “Say yes!” I looked down. Inside the crystal figurine was a carving of me. And Chloe had picked the worst possible photo. It was a shot from some party — me drunk, mouth hanging open, looking completely out of it. She had always loved snapping ugly photos of me, then showing them to Alexander and saying I looked “real” and “cute.” Our friends all raised their phones and started filming. Chloe stepped behind Alexander. Her phone was pointed right at me. Then I saw her smug little smile. I knew exactly how ridiculous I looked. There I was — dressed up for the night, holding that ugly crystal thing, cheap rainbow light glittering off it. Ridiculous. Alexander raised the ring a little higher, urgency creeping into his voice. “Bella, Chloe got you that gift to make it up to you.” “Everyone’s watching. Haven’t you been waiting for my proposal?” Make it up to me? I lowered my eyes. Alexander acted like he couldn’t see how cheap and ugly Chloe’s gift was. I wanted to laugh. But the tears came first. Alexander and Chloe thought I was crying because I was moved. I closed my eyes. I raised my hand — Suddenly, sharp laughter erupted all around me. Several bottles of champagne were shaken and aimed straight at me, spraying me from head to toe.

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At prom, in front of the entire school, Liam asked if he could give his first dance to Daisy. I didn’t fight him on it or cry. All I did was take a single step back. Liam froze, staring at me in complete shock. But he still took Daisy’s hand. The music started, and they walked to the center of the dance floor. I turned around and just walked away. I wasn’t even out of the building when my phone buzzed. “I told you Daisy is new to this, she was nervous to dance with anyone else. Chloe, can you please stop being so oversensitive all the time? Otherwise, how am I supposed to introduce you as my girlfriend at NYU, if you keep acting like this?” I just laughed. He had no idea that just yesterday… I had accepted my offer from Caltech and rejected NYU, our dream school. From now on, it was West Coast to East Coast. With the whole country between us. We would never see each other again. … Liam looked perfect in his tailored black tux. He wore a white rose on his lapel, one I’d pinned there myself. All eyes were on him the moment we walked in, my arm in his. As the star quarterback, Liam was always the center of the school. A couple of his teammates even whistled at me. “Chloe, you’re the luckiest girl!” But I didn’t feel lucky at all. The second we stepped into the stadium, his attention was gone. He kept glancing at his phone distractedly. The screen lighting up, then going dark again. I handed him a cup of punch. He took it, but never took a sip. He just set it on a table, his eyes still scanning the crowd. I knew who he was looking for. Daisy.

She transferred to our school a year ago on a scholarship. Rumor was her family was barely getting by. Her mom had a chronic illness, and her dad worked odd jobs on the docks. Out of nowhere, Liam volunteered for the school’s “buddy program.” He specifically asked to be paired with Daisy. At first, it was just showing her around, helping with her Literature homework. Then it became lunch in the cafeteria. Study sessions in the library. And throwing a football around on the field as the sun went down. My best friend, Jessica, tried to warn me. She said the way Liam treated Daisy wasn’t just friendly. It had crossed a line. I just laughed it off, telling her Liam had always been a helper. But the line between helping and falling for someone? Sometimes, it’s thinner than a spider’s web. Ten minutes before the dance started, Daisy finally arrived. She wore a dress that looked a little too big, probably from a thrift store. But it was clean, and she’d combed her hair. She looked so awkward, totally swallowed by the noise and energy of the prom. The second Liam saw her, his entire face lit up. I knew that smile all too well. It wasn’t his polite smile. This one was real, the kind that made his eyes sparkle. Like he’d just spotted the only star in a pitch-black sky. “Hey, I thought you got held up.” He walked right over to her, his voice full of a warmth he didn’t even notice. “Sorry, the bus was running late,” Daisy said with a shy smile. She pulled a small velvet pouch from her pocket. “A graduation gift for you.”

Liam unwrapped the gift. It was a handmade leather bracelet. A dark brown leather cord, braided in a simple pattern. A polished piece of sea glass sat in the middle, glowing a soft blue. The kind of thing you’d find at a flea market for a few bucks. But Liam absolutely adored it. “Oh my god, this is cool.” He immediately started unclasping the Tiffany bracelet on his wrist. The one I’d given him. I bought it for our three-year anniversary the year before. I’d saved for six months from my part-time job to afford it. A sterling silver chain with a simple charm. Engraved with a single letter: L. I remember putting it on his wrist for the first time. He’d hugged me so tight, whispering words I never forgot. “Chloe, I’ll wear this forever. Always.” And now, he was sliding it off like it meant absolutely nothing. He held up the cheap leather bracelet, admiring it under the light. A grin spread across his face. Like a kid who just got the one toy he desperately wanted. I watched him stuff the silver chain into his pocket. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. It didn’t hurt—I just couldn’t breathe. I had to look away. I just couldn’t watch anymore. “Chloe,” Liam said, his voice way too cheerful. Like he was just commenting on the weather. “I’m gonna give Daisy the first dance, alright?”

Before I could say a word, Daisy spoke up. “Liam, we really shouldn’t.” Her brows furrowed in that perfectly practiced expression of concern. “Chloe is your date. The first dance is supposed to be with her.” As she spoke, her eyes darted to me for a split second. Then snapped right back to Liam. Under her mask of concern lay a smug, petty triumph. She thought she was being subtle, but it was crystal clear to me. Liam didn’t look at her, his eyes locked on me, waiting for my reaction. He probably expected me to get upset and to make a scene. Like the cold war we had when he ditched our date for her birthday last month. “She just learned the waltz and is too shy to ask others to dance.” Liam added, as if granting me an excuse. “You know how she is, Chloe. We can’t just leave her standing there alone.” There was no argument. No dramatic scene. Just three seconds of dead silence as I stared at him. In those three seconds, so many memories flooded my mind. Seeing him for the first time at freshman orientation. Him, drenched in sweat, running to hug me after his first big football win. Lying on the grass, dreaming about our life together at NYU. We applied to the same school, the same major. He promised we’d see every show on Broadway. That we would walk through the autumn leaves in Central Park. The way he talked about it was full of energy. For a while, I really believed in his promises. The three seconds were up. I took a single step backward, silently clearing their path to the center of the dance floor.

Liam just froze. He clearly hadn’t expected that. The look in his eyes was pure shock, then confusion. Like I had just gone completely off-script. But the surprise lasted all of two seconds. His attention snapped right back to Daisy. He took her hand, leading her to the dance floor. The first notes of a slow waltz filled the air. And just like that, they were dancing. Liam moved with his usual easy confidence, patiently guiding her. Daisy was stiff and obviously a beginner, occasionally stepping on his feet. He didn’t seem to mind, looking down at her with a tenderness I’d never seen. Everyone’s eyes were on them. Whispers started, phones came out to record. Then all those eyes shifted to me. I could feel their stares—a mix of confusion, pity, and way too much satisfaction. I couldn’t watch anymore. Turning my back, I walked straight for the gym doors. The cool night air hit my face. Outside, my hand went to the necklace he gave me for my sixteenth birthday. The chain was worn, the little charm dull. looked down at it and smiled faintly, but didn’t take it off. Not because I couldn’t bear to. It just didn’t feel necessary anymore. My phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with his name. I opened the message, checking the time first. A song lasted three minutes. Add in time to comfort Daisy… Right on schedule for him to “lecture” me. “I told you Daisy is new to this, she was nervous to dance with anyone else.” “Chloe, can you please stop being so oversensitive all the time?” “Otherwise, how am I supposed to introduce you as my girlfriend at NYU if you keep acting like this?”

Every message was a condescending lecture. As if I were the crazy one. The one who was overreacting. The one who needed to apologize for my feelings. I read his texts twice, and then I laughed. He didn’t know that I had accepted my offer from Caltech the day before. It was the most final decision of my life. Back home, I started purging everything he’d ever given me. A shoebox full of movie stubs. A jar of paper stars he folded for me. Every birthday card from middle school to senior year. His handwriting on them went from boyish to confident. The sign-off changed from “My Chloe” to just “Chloe.” I swept it all into a giant black trash bag. Next, the wall. That photo of us at the beach when we were fifteen. Matching white t-shirts, him hugging me from behind, grinning like an idiot. I tore it down. On my desk, the lumpy clay dog he’d made in art class. He said it looked just like me when I was mad. I stared at that ugly little clay dog for a couple of seconds. And tossed it in with the rest. The bag was almost full, but I didn’t tie it shut. Every single thing in there held a memory. A ticket stub from “La La Land.” He cried at the end. He’d leaned on my shoulder and whispered, “We can’t ever be like them.” An amusement park ticket, from the time he dragged me onto the tallest drop tower. He was terrified on the way up, but he never let go of my hand. And the scarf he secretly took a knitting class to make for me. The stitches were a total mess, but he swore it was a unique design. That entire bag was filled with pieces of him. From fourteen to eighteen. My entire youth was in that trash bag. Suddenly, my phone lit up. It was an Instagram notification.

I tapped on it. Daisy had just posted a new Instagram story. It was a two-part story. The first photo: a dim hotel room, a black tux jacket lying on the bed. The second was a close-up of men’s dress shoes, carelessly tossed on the floor. One was on its side, the brand name on the sole clearly visible. I knew those shoes instantly. For Liam’s birthday last year, I’d saved up for three months from my coffee shop job. Just to buy him those exact John Lobb dress shoes. A perfect size 10. He was ecstatic, saying they were the most comfortable shoes he’d ever worn. Daisy’s caption was a masterpiece of fake innocence. “He said he drank too much and made me get him a hotel room… What am I gonna do with him?” His teammates flooded the comments. “Get it, bro!” “Those shoes ain’t cheap. Looks like you hit the jackpot tonight, bro!” I just stared at that picture for a few seconds. Then I walked back to the trash bag. I sealed the opening shut with duct tape, wrapping it around three times. I dragged the bag downstairs and hauled it straight into the community dumpster. It landed with a final, muffled thud. And the world went silent. In the days that followed, not a single call or text came from Liam. I was perfectly fine with the quiet.

A week later, Mike from the football team announced a farewell party. He sent a message to the group chat. Then he DMed me privately, telling me I had to be there. Mike and Liam had been best friends since they were in diapers. I knew exactly what he was trying to do. I said I had plans, that I couldn’t make it. “Serious? College applications are done. What plans?” “You have to come. Or you’re dead to me.” At five, I pulled up to Mike’s house. I raised my hand to ring the doorbell, but then I stopped. It wasn’t hesitation. My own name drifted out from a cracked-open window. “…that first dance with Daisy at prom. Weren’t you scared Chloe would flip out?” Liam’s voice was smug, laced with a laugh. “Scared of what? Please. That’s just her. You have to keep her in check sometimes. She’s way too possessive, gives me no room to breathe. All I did was dance with a friend. It’s not a big deal.” Another voice chimed in. “But what if she’s actually pissed this time? Dude, she’s a total catch. Other guys would line up for her.” Liam just laughed again. “Chloe and I grew up together. I know her better than anyone. Relax. She’s just throwing a fit. I’ll smooth it over in a few days. It’s like when I bailed on our date for Daisy’s birthday.” He paused, his voice softened. “Hell would freeze over before she ever breaks up with me. I can guarantee that one hundred percent.”

I stood outside the door without heartbreak or rage. Just… bone-deep exhaustion. It was like finishing a marathon—I could finally stop running. He was right. I’d argued, I’d yelled, but I never actually broke up with him. Every time he pushed my boundaries, every time he tested my patience… He’d just grin and say, “You’re not really mad, are you?” And I would always, always forgive him. Not because I was a pushover. But because I loved him. Now I finally understood. My patience wasn’t love to him. It was weakness. He saw my kindness as his guarantee that I’d never leave him. I was about to turn around and leave for good. A hand tapped my shoulder from behind. “Chloe, why aren’t you going in?” Daisy was smiling at me, her face dripping with fake sweetness. Before I could answer, she shoved the door wide open. Every head in the room snapped towards the entrance. Liam was sitting in the middle of the couch. An empty seat waited beside him. He was shocked for a second, then he went back to normal, even raising an eyebrow at me. Mike was the first to react, jumping to his feet. “Chloe’s here! Get in here, we were waiting for you!” Daisy practically herded me into the living room. Mike tried to pull me towards the empty spot next to Liam. I resisted. “I’m fine standing.” He wasn’t having it. “I’m the host. You gotta listen to me.” Then he practically forced me down onto the cushions. Liam leaned over, his voice a low murmur. “Hi.” As if nothing had ever happened between us at all.

On his wrist, the Tiffany bracelet was back. The silver chain shimmered, and the ‘L’ charm hung from his strong wrist. But right beside it, a faint line was pressed into his wrist. The ghost of that cheap leather band. The two marks sat side-by-side. One was priceless, the other was worthless. I said nothing, just grabbed a can of Coke. I sipped my drink mechanically. The party was a blur of noise. Mike playing host, a board game in the corner, dares and laughter. Liam and Daisy were talking, in their own private island of jokes. I didn’t look or speak. Eventually, the conversation shifted to college. “Which university have you all decided to go to?” Mike asked, passing around pizza. “I’m going to state. Staying local.” “Same. My parents would kill me if I left California.” Mike turned to Liam. “You, man?” Liam grabbed a slice of Hawaiian, not even looking up. “NYU, obviously. Set in stone.” He said it, then shot a casual glance my way. “Chloe and I have a promise. We’re going to New York together.” His tone was absolute, as if it were already settled. No one batted an eye. To them, we were a package deal. Mike looked across the room. “Daisy? What about you?” She lowered her cup, a slow, sweet smile spreading across her face. “I’m going to NYU, too.”

The room fell silent for a beat. Liam’s pizza slice froze mid-air. A single chunk of pineapple slid off, hitting the rug. He was staring at Daisy, his eyes wide with shock and delight. “Wait, Daisy… you’re going to NYU?” “Mhm.” She nodded, her smile never wavering. “NYU gave me a full ride. And I’ve always loved New York City.” She said it so casually, like it was nothing at all. But the expressions around the table had suddenly grown complicated. People suddenly became very interested in their phones. Or the bottom of their cups. Eyes darted between me and Liam, then quickly looked away. I didn’t look up. I just kept sipping my Coke. When the party wound down, Mike suggested an after-party. I declined. Liam was still on the couch, watching me. He shot me a long, searching look, but didn’t ask me to stay. Back home, Mom and Dad were watching the news in the living room. I sat down across from them. “Mom, Dad,” I said, my voice perfectly level. “I accepted my offer from Caltech. I’m not going to NYU. And I don’t want anyone in Liam’s family finding out.” The room was quiet for a few seconds. My dad muted the TV and turned to face me. My mom put down her knitting, a complicated look in her eyes. “I’m also going to their summer session early. I leave this Monday.”

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I woke up from brain surgery. The first thing I checked was Julian’s texts. “Julian, my surgery is tomorrow morning.” “The doctors say it’s serious.” “If you’re not here when I wake up, I think we’re done.” 24 hours later, there was still no reply. I scrolled up. Same pattern every time I went under. “Can’t make it. My assistant will sign for you.” “In a really important meeting.” “You don’t need to tell me about these things anymore.” Eventually, he just stopped reading my messages altogether. Instead, he assigned me a personal assistant. Her only job was to stand in for Julian, signing the life-or-death legal documents. And that man, the one who’s always “too busy”? He was all over Chloe’s Instagram carousel. A nine-picture post, set against the sunset and private yachts of St. Barts. He and Chloe, heads pressed together, smiling. The caption read: “He always finds a way to make me laugh, again and again.” And the timestamp? Two hours before I was wheeled into the operating room. I sent his assistant one last text: “You’re fired.” Then, I called my lawyer. “Draft the divorce papers.” … As the anesthesia wore off, a throbbing agony pulsed from the incision in my skull. The pain tore me from sleep, night after night. The doctors had warned me that the chances of this surgery succeeding were slim. On the edge of consciousness, one thought consumed me. If I didn’t make it through this, when would Julian find out I was dead? Probably when it was time to deal with my estate. After all, his time and energy were never wasted on a burden like me. That evening, my hospital room door creaked open. Julian walked in, carrying a ridiculously fancy insulated bag. “How are you feeling?” “Still breathing.” “Okay.” He completely missed the ice in my voice. He opened the bag, pulling out a glass container. “Brought you some cream of mushroom soup.” In the rich broth floated slices of mushrooms, a golden sheen of oil on top. I’m violently allergic to mushrooms. Chloe, on the other hand, adores them. “Chloe got a nasty sunburn on the yacht. I dropped her off at the hospital to get it checked out,” Julian explained, pouring a bowl for me. “It was pretty bad, her whole back was bright red.” I just gave a flat, “Hm.” “Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked and leaned closer. I caught a whiff of expensive cologne—citrus and wood. Completely avoiding his question, I asked my own. “You changed your cologne?”

He paused, a small smile playing on his lips. “Chloe recommended it. She said it suited me. If you like it, I’ll have her grab you a bottle.” We’d been together for nearly a decade. He should remember I don’t use scented products. Not perfumes, not even lotions. He should also remember that I shaved my head for this surgery. The shoulder-length hair I’d grown for three years, all gone. But he didn’t notice any of it. Then again, the last time he was actually home was six months ago. My hair was still resting on my shoulders then. Too much time had passed. He forgot. The room went quiet. Only the steady beeping of the heart monitor filled the air. Then, a notification from his phone shattered it. “Oh, my assistant mentioned you told her not to come back?” He asked, his eyes glued to his phone as he typed. “She won’t be needed anymore.” “Well, good. I’m glad you’re recovered.” My hand drifted to my bare, stitched-up scalp. My voice was calm. “I’m not better. It’s back. And I might need another surgery at any moment.” He didn’t look up. I took a deep breath, finally asking the question that had been haunting me. “Julian, do you still want this marriage?” A girl’s bright laughter suddenly erupted from his phone. It was on speaker, sharp and clear in the quiet room. “Julian, look at this video, it’s hilarious—” He instantly killed the volume and finally looked at me. “What did you say?” The beeping of the monitor felt like a countdown on our marriage. “So you went to St. Barts? The site visit is over?” I asked, changing the subject. His expression didn’t flicker. “Chloe was dying to go to the coast. An investment opportunity came up there, so I took her with me.” His head dropped, eyes glued back to the screen. Fingers flew across the glass one last time, and he stood up. His life was with Chloe, in a world of sunshine and laughter. While mine had become completely invisible. After the door clicked shut, my doctor handed me a folder. “Ms. Rodriguez, this relapse is more complex than we thought. I’d advise you to consider more advanced treatment options in Europe.” A surgery three years ago damaged my optic nerve. My left eye is already completely blind. I stared at the papers for a long time. My good eye strained to make out the words. “Set it up.”

Julian was supposed to pick me up on my discharge day. I sat on a bench by the hospital doors, waiting for him. Next to me was a canvas tote, holding my discharge report, medical records, and a bag of expensive targeted drugs. I pulled out my phone. Chloe had posted on Instagram again. Seven in the morning. A picture from a jog in Central Park, two figures from behind, one tall, one short. The caption: “Early birds get to see the sunrise kiss the city.” Less than half an hour later, she posted again. The picture: breakfast on a sun-drenched balcony, set for two. The caption: “Mornings are best when you’re being spoiled.” The man who promised to pick me up was off living his vibrant life with her. At ten, Julian’s black Porsche finally rolled up. The passenger-side window slid down, and there was Chloe’s face. “Ella! Julian was just giving me a ride to the office.” My legs were numb. The bag felt like lead. I swayed as I pushed myself to stand. Julian got out of the driver’s seat, walked around to the passenger side, and opened the rear door. “Traffic was bad,” he explained. I said nothing, just clutched my heavy bag of pills and walked over. Chloe leaned out the window, her gaze suddenly locking onto my left eye. “Ella, what happened to your eye?” she asked, tilting her head. “It’s like… not really focusing? It looks so weird!” She stuck her hand out, waving it right in front of my face. “Can you even see this? How many fingers?”

Julian finally cut her off. “Her eyesight is really bad.” “Oh…” Chloe pulled her hand back, looking awkward. I lost the sight in my left eye three years ago. A fact I’d told him at least ten times. He never remembered. Chloe hopped out of the car, leaning in with a curious smile. “Ella, what are all these medicines? Can I see?” Before I could answer, her hand was already reaching for my bag. I flinched back on instinct. The bag wasn’t closed properly. Her touch sent pill bottles and boxes scattering across the ground. Tiny white pills rolled everywhere, disappearing into cracks and under the Porsche’s tires. Julian’s brow furrowed. He shot a look of pure annoyance at the mess. “Why can’t you even hold a bag steady?” I crouched down, my head throbbing where the stitches had just been removed. My vision swam with black spots as I started picking up the pills one by one. Chloe knelt down too. “Ella, I’ll help you—” She fumbled, and her hand came down, crushing several pills into dust. “Oh no, they’re ruined! I’m so, so sorry, Ella…” Julian walked over, pulling her up from the ground, his voice suddenly gentle. “If they’re crushed, they’re crushed. Leave it. They’re not worth much anyway.” I slowly straightened up. “You’re right. They’re not worth much. Then she can go back and get the medication replaced.” He glanced at his watch, his frown deepening. “That’s not necessary. She meant well. Just go get another one yourself. Chloe’s going to be late. I’m taking her now. I’ll send the driver back for you.” Chloe was already back in the passenger seat, waving at me through the window. “Bye, Ella!” Julian didn’t even give me a second glance. He just got in the car. I thought I would cry. But my eyes were just dry and sore. My heart beat steadily and calmly. It was like watching a stranger walk away. And maybe, I realized, I really didn’t care anymore.

Back at our penthouse in Manhattan, I pulled out the divorce papers. I signed my name on the final page: Ella Rodriguez. Then, I started to pack. Ten years of my life with him fit into a single 24-inch suitcase. On the nightstand sat a photo of Julian and me. It was from a charity gala three years ago. I had long hair that reached my waist, with an elegant bun on top of my head. He wore a Tom Ford suit, his smile devastatingly charming. I picked up the frame and flipped it over. A line of neat, almost taunting handwriting met my eyes: “Chloe was here.” I stared at the words, then flipped the frame back over. I placed it face down, right on top of the divorce papers. His smile was frozen three years in the past. So was my long hair. My phone rang. It was Julian. He rarely called first. I answered. Loud music pulsed through the line. It sounded like some rooftop bar. I spoke first. “Julian, about the divorce papers—” He cut me off. “Chloe saw that painting of yours from the Venice Biennale.” Of course. It was always for Chloe. I paused. “It’s not for sale.” “She really wants it. I’ll pay a million dollars.” “I don’t like her. So I won’t sell it to her.” Two seconds of silence on his end. “Just name your price, Ella.” I let out a soft laugh and set the phone face down on the table. The nightstand drawer was ajar. I slid it open, and there was our marriage certificate. A sticker photo of Chloe had been pasted right over my face. She was smiling, sweet as candy, flashing a victory sign. My face was completely covered. I remembered the day we got it. My hair was still thick and full. Julian stood next to me, smiling like a teenager in love. I remembered showing him what Chloe did, my voice cracking with tears. He’d given it a passing glance, brushing me off with a vague promise to replace it. “It’s just a picture. Is it really that big of a deal? She’s just young. Cut her some slack.”

Three years. He never found half a day to replace it with me. His voice, cold and sharp, crackled from the phone I’d forgotten to hang up. “Chloe’s not mature. She throws a tantrum when she doesn’t get her way. Can’t you just give in? If you won’t sell, then maybe you don’t need that studio after all. We’ll talk when you’ve come to your senses.” A bitter smile touched my lips. “Suit yourself.” The sharp buzz of the dial tone echoed in the empty penthouse. In my left eye, there was only a permanent, unshakeable gray fog. And that old, familiar heartache washed over me like a slow tide. Everyone thought Julian was insane for wanting me. My diagnosis was a ticking time bomb. I had a moody artist’s temperament and a cold, distant heart. I was hardly wife material. But he swore none of it mattered. He said he loved all of it—the quiet, the distance, everything. For the first time, I let myself believe I could actually love someone. But then what happened? He was always busy, always promising he’d be there “right after this project.” Watching me wheeled into surgery, his look of pain turned to pity. And then, finally, to complete numbness. Eventually, he just stopped showing up at all. He missed so many appointments. Each time, I told myself he’d be there for the next one. Until the time I almost died in the operating room. As my consciousness faded, I thought I might never see Julian again. Never again see the boy who had been like moonlight in my dark life. When I woke up, only one thing mattered. I had to see him. I flew for twenty hours, connecting through cities to get to him in Paris. I pushed open the door to his hotel suite… And saw him gently blow-drying Chloe’s hair, the two of them laughing. In that instant, I understood everything. He was neither too busy nor lost his passion for sharing his life. He was just sharing it with someone else. And for the first time in my life, I completely shattered.

I stormed over, yanked the plug from the wall, and slapped her hard across the face. Then I started smashing everything in that hotel room I could get my hands on. “How could you do this to me?! I almost died, do you even get that?!” Shattered glass sliced into my leg, warm blood trickling down, but I felt nothing. “Do you think I’m some kind of joke?! Is that it?!” He watched me like a spectator at a freak show, then scooped up the terrified Chloe and turned to leave. “Are you done? You need to calm down. This whole display… it’s pathetic.” I stood there, panting, trembling in the middle of the wreckage. The twenty-hour flight, the desperate need to see him after escaping death… In that one single moment, it all turned to ash. After that day, Julian stopped coming home. My calls and texts were silenced. I had to piece together his life from Chloe’s Instagram stories. But when you were starved for love, you clung to the tiniest crumbs from the past. It was like clutching a melted piece of old candy in your fist. The wrapper fused to your palm, sticky and disgusting. But you couldn’t bring yourself to throw it away. You remembered being hungry for so long, and you remembered how sweet it had once tasted. So you just kept squeezing it tighter. Squeezing until the syrup ran out from between your fingers. Until one day, you realized you didn’t even have the strength left to make a fist.

Three days later, a text from Julian lit up my screen. “Be at the gala tonight. Eight o’clock.” He never read my messages. The divorce papers were still unsigned. But I decided to go. I would end this face-to-face. I put on an elegant wig and slipped the signed papers into my clutch. The ballroom was a sea of glittering chandeliers and soft music. A blur of designer gowns and expensive perfume. I spotted Julian the moment I stepped inside. He was on the dance floor with Chloe nestled in his arms. Her steps were clumsy, and she kept stepping on his feet. But he just leaned in, whispering something with an indulgent smile. I watched them for a moment, then moved closer. Chloe pressed against his ear, her voice a perfect stage whisper. “You put Ella’s gallery deal on hold for me. Isn’t she going to be furious?” Julian didn’t miss a step, just gave her waist a reassuring pat. “She’s needy. A few empty words and she’ll be fine.” I stood at the edge of the dance floor, my blood turning to ice. Whispers started rippling through the crowd. Eyes darted from me to the intimate couple on the floor. “Isn’t that his wife? Haven’t seen her for a long time. Is she here to cause a scene?” “The way he dotes on that girl… it makes you wonder who the mistress really is.”

The music faded. Julian finally looked up, letting go of Chloe. “What are you doing here?” She immediately laced her arm through his, a sugary smile aimed right at me. So that’s how it was. She sent the text from his phone. I held Julian’s gaze. “We need to talk.” Chloe tugged at his sleeve, pouting. “Julian, the next dance is about to start—” He waved me off with a frown. “Whatever it is, it can wait until the gala’s over.” Suddenly, the chandeliers flickered and died. The ballroom was plunged into total darkness. A wave of startled gasps went through the crowd. In the darkness, a hand shot out, grabbing, yanking. A sharp, tearing pain ripped across my scalp. The lights flared back to life a second later. I looked down. My wig was on the gleaming marble floor. My shaved head, covered in nothing but dark stubble, was exposed. The scar, an angry pink gash from my forehead to behind my ear, was exposed for everyone to see. A dead silence fell over the room. Hundreds of eyes locked onto me, pinning me in place like spotlights. “Oh my god, how horrifying…” “No wonder Julian never brings her out. I’d be sick just looking at that.” “What disease does she have? It’s not contagious, is it…?” Then the flashes started. Phones raised, capturing my humiliation. A triumphant smirk played on Chloe’s lips, though her voice was laced with fake concern. “Oh, Ella, I am so sorry… It was just so dark. I didn’t mean to…”

She knelt down, picked up the wig, and offered it to me with fake concern. I just stood there, frozen. I didn’t take it. Julian seized my wrist and started hauling me towards the exit. With my bald head exposed, he dragged me through the entire ballroom like a criminal. The whispers and camera flashes washed over me, a drowning tide of shame. The ride home was dead silent. Streetlights blurred past the window, casting flickering shadows on his stone-cold face. My mind was a complete blank, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. For so long, I had buried the memory of those dark, sunless days. The chemo, the vomiting, the bald stranger staring back from the mirror. People whispered, “Stay away from her.” Then Julian appeared. He shaved his head too, shielding me from all the pitying stares. He said, “Don’t be afraid. I’m right here with you.” And now, he was the one shoving me right back into that same hell. Back at our apartment, he poured me a glass of water. “The PR team is already handling it. None of the photos or videos will get out.” I said nothing. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll make sure no one talks.” I blinked my dry eyes. “Does that include Chloe? She’s the one who sent the text.” He frowned. “The lights were out. She couldn’t see anything. She’s not like that.” Silence. A button on his cuff was loose, and from his collar peeked a red, woven bracelet. Was that a matching one? The same kind Chloe wore? “Are you really this blind, or are you just choosing not to see?” I asked. “A Wall Street genius can’t see through a pathetic little trick like that?” The living room was silent for a few seconds. Then his phone rang. Her voice, thick with crocodile tears, echoed through the quiet space. “Julian… Is Ella mad at me…? I really didn’t mean to… I can apologize tomorrow, okay…? Please don’t be angry with me… I’m so scared…”

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On the night of the Blood Moon Ritual, Clara, the pack’s sweetheart, stole the Heart of Fenrir. It should have been mine. That legendary totem held the wolf spirit said to create the strongest Alpha. In my last life, I got the Heart of Fenrir. But during a battle with vampires, Gideon, the wolf spirit bound to me, pushed me directly into their fangs. Just to protect Clara. That was when I realized. He was never truly loyal to me. When I opened my eyes again, I picked up the nameless stone Clara had dismissed and thrown aside. One of the pack elders tried to stop me. “Selena, that is just an ordinary stone. The wolf spirit inside is weak. It will only weaken you.” He had no idea. When the wolf spirit inside that stone finally showed itself… Every wolf would bow. … Just like the nightmare from my previous life, Clara reached out from behind me. Among the ancestral totems, she snatched the Heart of Fenrir. The one carved with the mark of the great wolf. The young wolves around us froze. They surrounded her and called her out. “Clara, these totems were brought back from the Forgotten Lands by Selena’s father, the former Alpha, who gave his life for them. The Heart of Fenrir should belong to Selena. You can’t just take it!” The Moonfang Pack prided itself on bloodline and strength, but the wolf spirit’s power ultimately determined a wolf’s future potential. The wolf spirits sealed inside these totems were ranked as Dormant, Awakened, Warrior, Elder, and Legendary. Werewolves shared their bonded wolf spirits’ power, so obtaining a Legendary totem was the ultimate guarantee on the path to Alpha. My father, the former Alpha, died last month in the Forgotten Lands. He was defending our pack from a vampire lord. He sent these totems back before he fell. The Alpha Elder wanted me to inherit the strongest totem. That was his promise to my father. But Clara stole it from me first. Facing everyone’s anger, Clara looked at the Alpha Elder with tears in her eyes. “Elder… I want to become stronger and serve the pack too. Selena grew up here. She knows these things far better than I ever could. I’m sure she’ll find a wolf spirit that suits her even better…”

The Alpha Elder frowned, but he still tried to keep his voice calm. “Clara, powerful wolf spirits are rare. We may not see another one like this for a hundred years.” “And you’re new in our pack. Your bloodline power is not yet stable… A Legendary wolf spirit is not something you can control.” “Give it back to Selena.” Clara bit her lip, hesitating. Then she held the totem and dropped to her knees. “Elder, Selena was born with unstable wolf blood. Can’t shift properly. Giving the Heart of Fenrir to her would be a waste.” “The most powerful wolf spirit deserves a better master…” My wolf blood? I almost laughed. The pack had pitied me for years. But no one had said it to my face. “Enough!” The elder finally snapped. “Selena’s father gave his life to bring these totems back. How dare you touch them before Selena?!” Tears filled Clara’s eyes. She clutched the Heart of Fenrir. Suddenly, she sliced open her palm, letting her blood drip onto the totem. A gust of wind swept through. Clouds swallowed the moonlight. A tall, powerful man appeared out of thin air. He looked proud. Cold. Untouchable. He glanced at me with disdain, then spoke. “As a Legendary wolf spirit, I have the right to choose my own master.” “And I choose Clara.” An unbound wolf spirit only obeyed the person who brought it back. But my father was dead. So no one could command him. A Legendary wolf spirit was too rare to risk. Forcing the ritual to stop could damage his spirit core. Everyone fell silent, faces darkened.

Gideon looked around at everyone. Then he spoke again. “If you don’t let Clara be my master, I’ll destroy my spirit core. And no one can ever bond with me!” The elder saw how stubborn he was. Looked at me. Torn. I gave him a smile. Then picked up the last stone totem. A Dormant totem forgotten in the corner. “Thank you, Elder. But my bloodline has never been stable. Since nobody wants this one, I’ll take it. At least I’ll have some company.” The elder looked at me like he wanted to shake some sense into me. “Selena, you silly girl. You… ah…” A few of my friends tried to talk me out of it. “Selena, you carry the former Alpha’s blood. How can you choose a Dormant wolf spirit?” “This was brought back by the Alpha. He died for these totems. The best one should go to you.” … I shook my head. “I can’t even shift properly. Even if I had a powerful wolf spirit, I couldn’t control it. Clara wants him that badly. Who am I to stand in her way?” Someone whispered. “Clara only joined our pack a few years ago. She’s pretty and talented, sure. But arrogant as hell. Why would Gideon choose her?” I watched Gideon and Clara leave together. Their figures side by side until they disappeared from sight. And I knew. Gideon had chosen Clara from the very beginning.

My name is Selena. My mother was the Moon Priestess of our pack. Her bloodline was pure. Pure enough to calm even the most violent wolf spirits. My father was the strongest Alpha our pack had ever known. Never lost a fight. And then there was me. Born with unstable wolf blood. Every time I tried to shift, I failed. Sometimes, it almost killed me. My mother loved me more than anything. She said I didn’t have to become some great warrior. A quiet life, far away from war, could be a good life. My father agreed. “Selena, remember this. Stay alive. That matters more than anything.” So he taught me Shadow Step. The footwork that made him famous. He wanted me to have at least one way to protect myself. They did not need me to become strong. They just wanted me to survive. As the leaders of our pack, protecting our people was their duty. They spent most of their lives at the borders. Fighting vampires, and dark creatures that tried to cross into our land. My mother vanished on a mission. Her fate unknown. And now, my father had died in a fight too. After his death, the pack treated me kindly. I knew they were doing it for my parents. It was the same in my last life.

In my last life, with the elders backing me, I chose Gideon. I hoped he could help with my unstable wolf blood, and make me a real werewolf warrior. Strong enough to protect myself, and avenge my parents. But Gideon looked down on me. He liked Clara. Pretty, lively, perfect Clara. To me, having a powerful wolf spirit meant I might have a chance at revenge. And Gideon was Legendary. One day, he could even become Mythic. So I couldn’t let him go. I put all my hope in him. The moment Clara touched the Heart of Fenrir, I shoved her away. Then I held the totem tight. Clara was heartbroken. She stormed off and took the nameless stone no one wanted. After I got Gideon, I gave him everything. I wanted him to grow stronger as fast as possible. A Legendary wolf spirit needed a lot to survive. He wouldn’t touch ordinary moon essence. He wanted rare herbs. And the blood and flesh of powerful beasts. So I fed him the rare herbs my father had left for me. But herbs run out. So does money. I had no real skills. I had to go into the Darkwood. A place full of danger. I gathered herbs there and traded them for more resources. The Elder running the herb garden saw me risking my life every day, only to give everything to Gideon. He started to worry. “Selena, I know a Legendary wolf spirit is powerful. But you’re giving him too much.” “You need to take care of yourself too. If the master is too weak, the wolf spirit won’t respect them.” I smiled and nodded, still willing to take the risk and return to the Darkwood.

The Darkwood was full of thorns. Every time I went in, I came back covered in cuts. Healing potions were expensive. So I never used them on myself. I just let the wounds heal on their own. Gideon wore the enchanted leather armor I bought him. He looked at my patched-up clothes with pure disgust. “Dull, weak, and pathetic. How could someone like you ever be worthy of me?” But the rare resources I brought back? He took every single one. “Giving them to you would be a waste. Only a wolf spirit like me—one that can truly evolve—deserves them.” I didn’t care what he said. As long as he grew stronger, I could use his power to stabilize my wolf blood. That was all I wanted. Three years passed like that. I searched through every old pack record. At last, I found out. Gideon was close to ascending. From Legendary to Mythic. I was so excited that I hunted for ten straight days. Finally, I found a rare two-headed chimera. I gave it my all, breaking my left arm in the process. With my packmates’ help, I finally took its heart. Still bleeding, barely feeling my wounds, I rushed back to Gideon—eager, almost giddy with excitement. But then I heard his voice coming from inside my cabin. “That useless Selena? She could never fight beside me!” “You’re the only one who can.” I froze. Through the narrow crack in the window, I saw him holding Clara’s hand— his gaze burning with a fierce tenderness.

I never wanted Gideon to overwork himself. So I always hunted by myself. The second I walked in, Clara let go of Gideon’s hand. Before I could even say a word, tears were already filling her eyes. “Selena, I know I shouldn’t have trained with Gideon behind your back. But my wolf spirit is weak, and Gideon is so powerful… I just couldn’t help myself.” I heard Clara had thrown away that nameless stone the day she took it. By now, whatever spirit was inside it was probably long gone. Gideon saw Clara crying. His face softened. He turned to me with irritation. “Why can’t you just be kinder to Clara? Am I not even allowed to have friends now?” I looked at Clara’s tear-streaked face. My heart softened. And I nodded. I forgave her. Clara’s sad little face immediately lit up. “Selena, you’re the best.” Then she clung to Gideon’s arm. Her voice turned sweet and soft. “Great. Selena said yes, I can come see you every day now.” Something felt wrong. I was about to speak, but before I could, Gideon smiled—softly, almost tenderly. “You can come whenever you want. Maybe my so-called master can learn something from you.” I had never seen Gideon smile like that before. I just stood there. Stunned.

Clara laughed softly and threw herself into Gideon’s arms. Her eyes stayed on me. Full of mockery. After that, Clara came to my place all the time. Trained with Gideon. Day by day, they moved better together. And they grew closer. I had to gather resources for Gideon and prepare food for Clara. I was exhausted. When Gideon saw me worrying over money, he sneered. “It’s just one extra plate. What? You can’t even afford food now?” But when I asked to train with him, he refused. “I heard your shift is unstable. What if you lose control during training and hurt me?” Clara spoke in that timid little voice. “Gideon is a Legendary wolf spirit. If anything happens to him, no one can take that risk.” Then she looked helplessly at Gideon. “Don’t blame Clara.” Gideon stepped in front of her, as if she were the one who had spent years feeding and keeping him alive, not me. Then came the Blood Moon Hunt. It only happened once every ten years. Clara suggested that the winner would get to decide who Gideon really belonged to. That was when I realized. Gideon and I had never sealed our final bond. He said he would only do it after he reached Mythic level. And I believed him. I thought that once he became Mythic, he could stabilize my bloodline for good. My packmates were furious. “Selena can’t shift properly. Her Shadow Step is barely enough to keep her alive in the hunt. How is she supposed to beat you?” “You’re just stealing from her! That’s shameless!”

Clara shook her head like everyone had wronged her. “No, you’ve got it all wrong. Gideon and I are meant for each other. Selena, why can’t you just let us be happy?” Gideon wiped the tears from Clara’s face. Then he looked at me. Frowned. “I know you’ve been trying so hard these past few years. You have feelings for me. But I don’t feel the same way. Stop fooling yourself.” I watched them, lost in each other. It was almost funny. I had never loved Gideon. I only wanted his power to stabilize my bloodline. Gideon was a Legendary wolf spirit. I gave him everything I had. Now he thought he could just walk away from me? Not happening! During the hunt, our team found a nest of rare blood bat pups. Clara wanted to catch them. And that brought the Blood Bat King straight to us. At the last second, I used Shadow Step, pulled Clara away from the Blood Bat’s fangs. But Gideon was afraid the Blood Bat would go after them again. So he and Clara shoved me toward its claws. Dark energy tore through my body. And in that pain, the truth finally hit me. Gideon and Clara—they had always belonged to each other. In this life, I refused to be their stepping stone again. I would not be the price of their love. Late that night, in my room, I awakened the wolf spirit inside the nameless stone. A tiny white wolf came running out. He looked happy. Great. I’ll guard the pack border with this little… watchdog? Its fur was pure white. I looked at it for a moment. “Hey, little one. I guess I’ll call you Ash.”

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Every time Kieran brought a new fling back to the castle, he made a point of bringing home a male Beta for me too. “I need something fresh. You need company. Everyone gets what they need. No one has the right to complain.” That was his refrain these past three years, delivered with all the righteousness in the world, as though he weren’t the Alpha and I weren’t his Luna. The last time, he miscalculated. He brought yet another male Beta before me, his tone flat, as if discussing some trivial domestic matter: “We tried, but she’s pregnant anyway. Vera won’t keep the pup unless I give her a proper title, so we’ll dissolve the Mate Bond for the time being.” “Until we re-bond, you’re welcome to spend time with him. I won’t interfere.” Just when everyone in the hall expected me to do what I’d always done—turn cold, fling money at the Beta, and have him driven out— I looked up and smiled. “All right. Whatever you say.” … Kieran’s hand froze on the ivory pendant he’d been turning between his fingers. The hall fell silent for a heartbeat. Even the crack of logs in the fireplace sounded shrill. His expression didn’t shift much. The careless little curl at the corner of his mouth was still there. But Vera, nestled against him, tightened her grip on his arm. “Kieran.” Her voice was soft and sticky, like velvet steeped in honey. “Leona’s come around. You should be happy.” Kieran said nothing. He set the pendant down, rose slowly, and walked over to the Beta. He clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder, looking down at him from above. “Take good care of Leona.” Then he wrapped his arm around Vera and headed for the master bedroom on the second floor. I didn’t watch him go. I simply withdrew my gaze and turned to the Beta, who was still standing where he’d been left, the tips of his ears flushing a suspicious red. “Will you be staying outside the castle, or here?” His throat bobbed. His voice came out low and hoarse. “Either… either is fine.” “Stay, then.” I turned and walked toward the corridor. Behind me came the whispering. They thought I couldn’t hear—or perhaps they simply didn’t care whether I could. “No way. Is the Luna actually going through with it?” “Every other time something like this happened, she’d lose her temper. We’d all catch hell for it.” “Come on—have a little faith in the Alpha. When has the Luna ever not stuck her nose in the air, slapping money at those outsiders like even touching them would dirty her?” “That last Beta—she didn’t even bother with the money. Just told the guards to drag him out.” “My guess? She knows Vera’s carrying a pup now. She’s putting on a show, trying to rile Kieran up.” I kept walking. The corridor ended at my bedroom. Moonlight slanted in through the castle’s arched windows, stretching my shadow long across the floor. They weren’t wrong. I had been excessive before. Excessively aloof. Excessively proud. Excessively convinced of “the purity of the Mate Bond.” Every time Kieran had paraded a Beta in front of me, I’d turned my face to ice and driven the man out with the sharpest look I owned, then ordered the steward to escort him from the grounds. I’d thought that was winning. I’d thought that, at the very least, I was cleaner than he was. At least before the Moon Goddess, my purity, my Mate Bond, remained unblemished. And in the end? Vera’s belly was swelling. What had the Mate Bond, what had purity, preserved for me? A dissolution petition lying on the nightstand, still unsigned? A bed I’d slept in alone for three years? The mocking glances downstairs in the hall? I pushed open my bedroom door, lifted my hand, and let my fingertips brush the mark at the side of my neck—long scabbed over, yet still faintly burning. Kieran thought I was still the Leona he’d always known. That I wouldn’t dare. That I wouldn’t do it. That I’d guard that mark forever, guard that absurd notion of purity, live out my days alone and wait for him to come home. He was wrong. I lowered my gaze to the parchment spread open on the nightstand—*The Petition for the Dissolution of the Mate Bond*, the ink still wet, lacking only one last signature. I picked up the pen. And I signed. *Leona Fenn.* When I was done, I rolled the parchment up and tied it with a dark crimson ribbon. Tomorrow it would go to the Council of Elders. And then, under the witness of every wolf in the pack, the bond of purity Kieran had spoken of, the vigil I had kept all these years—all of it would be severed for good. “Um… may I come in?” Wren’s voice, slightly stiff, came from beside me. I looked up at the doorway and only then realized he had actually followed me. He was standing just inside the corridor. He was young. Six foot three, tight-built, with beautifully drawn shoulders. The moonlight caught half his face and lit it bright. The scent of cedar. Pleasant. This wasn’t some stranger Kieran had picked up at the tavern. Nor some wretch bought off the black market, still bearing the marks of silver chains. Kieran had actually put thought into this one. I gave a silent, bitter laugh. “Selling yourself for money?” I asked. The Beta didn’t defend himself. He simply nodded. Once, I might have thought him filthy. But now I saw it clearly— which of these men was filthier than Kieran? “Tell me if you need anything.” I turned and walked out onto the terrace. He followed. “Luna. My name is Wren.” “I know,” I said, without looking back. “Kieran told me.” I stood on the terrace and watched the figures below recede into the distance. I’d lost count of how many times they’d watched me become their spectacle. Three years ago— something happened that drove Kieran and me apart. After that, his behavior grew more and more outrageous, outrageous enough that he was willing to perform a dissolution ceremony with me. But I had my own reasons for keeping silent. I turned and looked at the signed petition. If you want it severed, then severed it shall be. “Luna, I’m done washing up.” Wren had slipped off to bathe at some point, and his voice broke my thoughts.

I had just turned toward him when the crystal communication stone at my waist flared. A rare message from Kieran: *Get some rest.* I stared at it and found it almost funny. He’d never once sent me a message like that before. But today he had. Was it because I’d kept Wren? Or because he’d finally realized that the Leona who “would never touch them” might actually be ready to? I didn’t reply. The lamps outside the window went out. The whole castle fell quiet. Vera had moved in. Wren had moved in. The castle had finally turned into a cheap inn. Anyone could stay. I crooked a finger at Wren, then turned off the light. A smile curved at my lips—one I couldn’t even see myself. Kieran thought I would guard my purity forever? He really was wrong. … Early the next morning, the ache in my lower back was still there. When I came downstairs, Wren was in the kitchen helping the servants prepare breakfast. When he saw me, he flushed so deeply he nearly dropped the spatula. I smiled. Where had last night’s seductive prowess gone? I had just sat down at the table when Kieran came down. “Up so early?” He took the seat across from me, that unreadable smile still tugging at his mouth. “How was last night?” Before I could answer, the front door swung open. Griffin charged in first. “Alpha! Who won the bet?” Griffin was one of Kieran’s most trusted pack members. Several werewolves followed at his heels, each shouting over the others: “I bet she wouldn’t last till noon—two hundred thousand on the line!” “I bet the Luna threw the Beta out last night. Three to one, Alpha holding the bank!” The voices died abruptly. They’d just spotted me. The grins curdled into awkwardness. “Luna… morning,” they offered. Kieran lifted the wine at his elbow and took a sip. His face was relaxed. As though this wager weren’t his pack members using his Luna for sport, but rather some triumph he ought to be proud of. “Want some breakfast?” I said. “It’s just ready.” I rose, walked toward the kitchen, and said to Wren, “You should go.” Wren paused, then untied his apron and walked out. The castle door shut behind him. The hall went quiet for two seconds. One of the pack members deliberately lowered his voice. “See? She sent him off after all.” Griffin laughed. “What did you expect? You think the Alpha can’t read the Luna’s little schemes?” “The Alpha really knows how to break her in,” another said, all admiration. “A mate has to be like the Luna—pure, clean, devoted to her Alpha alone.” Kieran sat at the table, breakfast finished. He listened to all of it with a faint smile on his lips. He looked thoroughly gratified. I exhaled and stepped out of the kitchen. Kieran and I started speaking at almost the same instant. “Come with me to old Alpha’s for supper tonight—” “This afternoon, let’s go to the Council of Elders to dissolve the Mate Bond—”

The room went still. I set the signed petition on the table. “Let’s go to the Elders first and have the ceremony done.” Kieran froze for a moment. His gaze settled on my signature. He didn’t move. I knew what he was thinking. In the past, I would have torn the parchment to shreds with red-rimmed eyes. I would have wept and demanded, *”Kieran, how dare you decide this on your own?”* Without a long, drawn-out struggle, the matter would never have been so simple. Kieran lifted his eyes to mine. That same lazy drawl. “What’s the rush? I thought we agreed to wait until Vera’s pregnancy was stable?” “I can’t wait.” My voice was level. “Two o’clock. Don’t be late.” His eyelid twitched. “Leona.” He pushed the petition back toward the center of the table and frowned. “Are you still half-asleep?” “You wouldn’t want to wait for me to wake up either,” I said, rephrasing. “You’d rather not give yourself the chance to change your mind and tear it up, would you?” The air between us froze for a few seconds. Then Vera came down from upstairs. “Leona, don’t be in such a hurry. I only didn’t want my pup born and called a bastard.” “The dissolution… you could wait until my pup is born.” Tears rimmed her eyes as she spoke. She looked sorrier to lose this rotten bond than I did. Kieran glanced at her. That pitiful, fragile expression—paired with that *don’t be in such a hurry*—was a needle straight into his fragile pride. When had it become Kieran’s place to be *urged* into a dissolution ceremony? Ridiculous. “Leona, you think I don’t dare?” He let out a sudden laugh. “Two o’clock. Council of Elders. I’ll see you there.” Griffin shifted nervously at his side. “Alpha—” “Shut it.” Kieran cut him off, his trademark smile back in place. “I’ll do what I said. Everyone here can bear witness.” “Once Vera’s pup is born, Leona and I will re-bond.” He leaned in close to my ear, his voice intimate, certain. “You’re the Luna I dragged back from hell. None of these other women can compare to you.” “Once this pup is born, it’s yours to raise. Only you have the right to raise it.” I let out a quiet laugh. So this was how he “doted” on me. I said nothing. I dragged the suitcase I’d already packed out of the castle. Vera’s voice drifted softly behind me. “Alpha… Leona—will she really not come back?” Kieran was toying with the ivory pendant again. He didn’t answer. In the original plan, even after the dissolution ceremony, I would have retained the right to live in the castle. That I’d chosen to leave had genuinely caught him off guard. “You sly little thing.” He tipped his head and looked at Vera. “Leona’s gone. You’re pleased, aren’t you?” “Of course not!” Vera pouted. “You’re teasing me again… my upbringing would never allow me to break up someone’s Mate Bond…” She bent her head and touched her belly. “Everything is for the pup.” That wronged, grieving look melted whatever temper Kieran had left. “All right, all right. Don’t cry. I won’t tease you anymore.” Vera was cleverer than the rest. She didn’t goad me with rambling diatribes. She didn’t bombard my crystal stone with messages claiming her territory—no *he’s with me right now!* She wore the air of someone who’d come to *join* us. Naive. Sweet. A single sharp word from me, and Kieran would feel she’d been deeply wronged. I’d met younger, prettier, more interesting girls than her. But they had all been too impatient. Impatient for him to declare himself. Impatient for me to step aside. Only Vera was patient—no fuss, no fight, no fight for position. She’d simply moved in with her belly out. Every other word out of her mouth was *Leona*, spoken more intimately than any of the others ever had. She’d done what none of the would-be usurpers had managed. … At one fifty in the afternoon, I stood outside the Council of Elders. I tried Kieran on the crystal stone for the ninth time. The first eight calls had gone nowhere. This one connected at last. “Where are you?” His voice came through, careless. “I’m with Vera at her prenatal checkup. Can’t get away. Wait a bit—I’ll come once I’m done.” “I told you, the dissolution is at two o’clock!” “What’s the rush?” he soothed, as though I were a fractious child. “We’ll do it after Vera’s seen the doctor.” The line cut off. Wait. Wait again… If this had been the old me, I might have been relieved to have won my mate back once more. But today, that wasn’t what I wanted. Calmly, I sought out the elder in charge of dissolution ceremonies. “I want to perform the dissolution unilaterally. The petition will be brought to you shortly.” The elder was visibly shocked. “Luna! A unilateral dissolution will cause you tremendous pain. Are you certain?” He clearly knew about the troubles between Kieran and me. “I’m certain.” My voice didn’t waver.

That evening, after the old Alpha pressed me several times, I did go to his home. The whole way there I kept thinking: how should I explain this to him? Tell him that the Alpha had gotten another woman pregnant? That he was forcing me into a dissolution? Or that I’d already prepared to undergo it unilaterally? When I arrived, I was alone. The old Alpha paused. “Where’s Kieran?” “He’s busy,” I said. “Busy?” He set his wine cup down on the stone table with a thump, his tone darkening. “What could be more important than his own mate?” I said nothing. The old Alpha and my father had been brothers-in-arms who crossed the Silverfire Forest together in their youth. My father had once saved his life. He had been determined to see Kieran and me bonded, but the old Luna had not approved. She thought my family beneath them. Especially after I fell gravely ill—she decided I’d been forsaken by the Moon Goddess, that I would bring misfortune to Kieran. It was Kieran who refused to let go. Alone, he crossed the Bonepass and knelt for nine days and nine nights at the altar of the Moon Goddess, his knees raw to the bone. He had knelt there and said, *”I can give up being with Leona, if only she lives.”* When I learned of it, I wept. Between us, it had always been him charging ahead, while I shrank back, weighed down by my own self-doubt. After that, I took his hand and said, *”I won’t run anymore. If you’ll have me, I’ll be your mate. Your Luna.”* And then I truly did recover. I went home with him of my own will. The old Alpha was overjoyed. He carved off a third of the family’s territorial holdings into my name and sealed it with a Moon Oath. He said it was for all the pack to see—he wanted every wolf to remember that, on these lands, my word, Leona’s word, carried the same weight as Kieran’s. In those days I thought the biggest obstacle between Kieran and me was the old Luna. Now I understand: outsiders were never the barrier to a Mate Bond. I was still searching for how to begin when the door opened. Kieran came in with Vera tucked under his arm. When he saw me, he stilled. The old Alpha’s face darkened. “You wretch—dragging just anyone into our home!” Kieran settled into a chair with Vera, his tone as easy as ever. “Father, it’s only dinner. What’s the harm?” Then he glanced at me. “Leona, head home first.” As though he felt obliged to soften it, he leaned closer and murmured, “I didn’t think you’d come, so I brought her. Tonight’s her night, understand?” I laughed once, short. I had once thought he was merely amusing himself with Vera. That when the novelty wore off, he’d move on to the next. It seemed I’d been mistaken. The old Luna came downstairs, her gaze grazing me before settling on Vera. “So this is the woman from outside who’s carrying a pup? It’s a wonder what gutter trash this house keeps inviting in.” One sentence, two insults. In years past, Kieran would have stepped in front of me and said, *”Leona is the one I chose.”* Today, he frowned and pulled Vera closer. “Mother, she is the one I chose. You’ve no right to interfere.” His voice was harder than when he’d once shielded me. Vera leaned into him, eyes rimmed red. She always wore the look of a woman trampled by the world. Unlike me, who could take a beating and still look as though I could carry the sky on my own back. I rose without interest. “I’m leaving.” The old Alpha couldn’t keep me. Kieran had no time for me. The moment I stepped out the door, I thought again of those nine days and nights he’d knelt at the Moon Goddess’s altar. He had knelt and said, *”I can give up being with Leona, if only she lives.”* Well. He had what he asked for. … The dissolution went more smoothly than I’d expected. There was no pain—because once the Council of Elders had notified him, Kieran finally rushed over. In the end, he did not let me bear the wound of a unilateral dissolution alone. Kieran, I imagine, believed that once Vera’s pup was born and our Mate Bond was renewed, everything would simply slot back into place. “Under the witness of the Moon Goddess, I, Leona of the Blood Moon Pack, formally reject you, Kieran of the Blood Moon Pack, as my mate henceforth.” “Under the witness of the Moon Goddess, I, Kieran of the Blood Moon Pack, formally reject you, Leona of the Blood Moon Pack, as my mate henceforth.” When it was over— I felt the mark that had wound between us for years dissipate. He leaned in, his tone unusually coaxing. “You always wanted a grand bonding ceremony, didn’t you?” “When we re-bond, I’ll throw one for you myself. The cedar grove you love. The silver-white Moon Oath robes, the lilies of the valley, everything you’ve ever wanted—all of it, yours.” I lifted my eyes to him. “Kieran, there’s no need.”

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Lyra’s Maiden Moon ceremony had just ended. Back in my room, I opened The Den — our pack’s private forum. A post was blowing up. The title read: Looking for a gift to completely destroy someone. Budget: 200 bones. For my so-called best friend’s ceremony. Two days from now. The comments flooded in — poison-laced daggers, plants that stank like death. But the OP shot every single one down. The reason? Not vicious enough. Then the OP pinned their own reply. “Thanks, everyone. Her mate offered to help. We’re going to humiliate her in front of the whole pack at her Ascension Ritual.” Someone in the comments immediately called it out. “Her bonded mate is helping you go after her? What exactly is going on between you two?” The OP fired back with a row of eye-rolling wolf emojis. “After every hunt, he gives me the heart — the first and finest cut. Not her.” “When it’s time for ceremonial moonstones, I get first pick. Not her.” “His first embrace was mine. Every single one of his seven full-moon rampages? Also me.” “He’s delayed their Mating Bond three times. For me. And that priceless Bonding Amber they have? It doesn’t carry their fur. It carries ours.” It felt like an invisible hand had reached into my chest and closed around my heart. I zoomed in on the OP’s profile picture. Two hands. Clasped together. And on one wrist — a Bonding Amber, glowing in the moonlight. My heart dropped. That amber. Kyle and I had traveled to the Oracle’s Grove together, six months ago, to get it made. One of a kind. … I sat there, frozen, long enough for the moon to drift across my window. Just an hour ago, the ceremony had barely ended. Kyle was already holding a “blackout drunk” Lyra in his arms. He frowned at me. “Selene, she drank way too much Moon-daze wine. I’ll have the guards walk you home — I need to get her back to her den.” I’d barely had anything to drink. The night air had already cleared my head. I just nodded, like I always do, and told him to ping me on the pack-link once she was home safe. It’s a half-hour walk, tops. But every time I reached out to him through the link since then… nothing. Just silence on the other end of the link. And now, reading Lyra’s post. She was completely sober. The whole thing had been an act. Just then, my wrist crystal pinged. A message from Kyle popped up. My Moonlight Goddess She’s home safe lol Omw back

I didn’t reply. I just went back to the post and zoomed in on the profile picture. That amber… I designed the pattern myself. The Pack Oracle sealed it. There’s nothing else like it out there. The man’s wrist in the photo — he was wearing a limited-edition Patek Philippe. Kyle’s Coming-of-Age gift. From me. And the woman’s wrist? A moonstone bracelet. I carved those stones myself, from gems I mined in the Frostfang Peaks. A symbol of our sisterhood. We had matching ones. Someone in the comments asked, “What did she ever do to you?” Lyra’s reply was pure venom. “It was my birthday today. She’s literally pack royalty, and all she gave me was some stupid enchanted dagger instead of picking up the tab for the whole party like she always does.” Another user pressed, “Aren’t you scared of getting caught?” “Please. During the Trials at Shadow Peaks, I came up with the whole plan myself. Use an Illusion Bloom to cloud her mind — so she’d never think to question him.” “But first, he had to spend seven full moons completely unhinged… with me. He didn’t even hesitate.” “The next day I could barely walk. And my sweet, stupid friend just assumed it was post-shift exhaustion. She felt so bad for me she made Kyle carry me all the way to the summit.” I stared at the screen. My stomach turned. I remembered that day. I kept pushing my own strength into her through the pack bond, worried sick. “Lyra, if you’re not feeling well, just stay at the base camp,” I told her. Kyle’s voice went uncharacteristically soft. “Don’t push it. If you really want to see the eclipse from the summit, Selene and I will bring you back next time.” She rolled her eyes and insisted on going. But after two steps, her face went pale — and she collapsed. That’s when I told Kyle to carry her. I blinked. My throat tightened. Hot tears dropped onto my comm crystal. I switched back to Kyle’s messages. My mind was just… static. I didn’t even know how to confront him. Just last week, Lyra was grabbing my hand, putting on this whole dramatic bit. She said as the wolf who’d witnessed every single moment of our love story, she had exactly one job at our Mating Ceremony — to get up on that stage and roast us for every single wolf we’d ever left feeling like a Steve. I laughed so hard I fell into her arms. I promised her she’d be the one to catch my bouquet. But I never saw it coming. These were the two wolves I trusted the most. And together, they handed me the most complete betrayal I had ever known.

I’d known Kyle and Lyra for twelve years. From our Pack Academy graduation to our Coming-of-Age ceremony, the three of us were always together. I still remember the day Kyle told me he was in love with me. Lyra snarled at him. Fangs out. A warning. “Kyle. Selene is about to ascend to her Alpha bloodline. Are you seriously trying to sabotage that? Out of jealousy?” I had to pull her back, laughing. “Lyra, relax. He’s the reason my bloodline is stable enough for Ascension. He trained with me through every single Blood Trial.” “And remember when I shattered my leg on that hunt? He went out alone to find the healing herbs.” Lyra had this look on her face I couldn’t read. I thought she was disappointed in me for getting distracted right before my Ascension. After we got together, Kyle was the perfect mate. The whole pack knew it. He escorted me to every Council meeting and training session. He had my Waning Cycle schedule memorized better than I did. His go-bag was basically a care package built for me. Restoration potions. High-energy jerky. All of it. For three years, Kyle had been mapping out our entire future. A written plan. He presented it to my father — the Alpha of the Silver Moon Pack — as proof he was worthy of me. And he hit every single benchmark. Made Beta. Came home after brutal days and still groomed my fur and made me dinner. We journeyed together to get our Bonding Amber. The plan was locked in — Mating Ceremony after my ascension this year. An heir by next year. Every single line of that plan had my name in it. But outside the plan… there was Lyra.

The post updated. My finger clicked on it before I could even think. “Honestly? I’ve already given her some disgusting gifts. Indirectly, of course.” “Like that guardian rune bracelet she never takes off.” “I was in a bad place. Her mate and I got a little wild one night. One of my fangs snapped — still wet with my blood — and got lodged inside one of the stones. He didn’t even care. He just had it set into the bracelet and gave it to her anyway.” My eyes shot to my vanity. The bracelet Kyle gave me for the Winter Solstice. He told me he’d traveled three thousand miles alone through a frozen forest, and prayed to the Spirit of the Mountain to have it blessed for me. But Lyra wasn’t done. “Oh, and the Solstice this year? He didn’t go on any spirit quest. He took me to the Blackstone Pack. To meet his parents.” “This silver family crest I’m wearing? His mother gave it to me.” “He said since he couldn’t give me the Mating Bond, he had to make it up to me in other ways.” My mind just went blank. His mother’s face flashed in my head. Warm. Apologetic. I remembered her exact words from when Kyle brought me to meet her last year. “Sweetheart, it’s a Blackstone Pack tradition. This wolf-fang crest is passed down to our son’s future mate. To our future daughter.”

Kyle came back past midnight. He reeked of Lyra’s signature scent — that sickly sweet rosemary perfume. Completely overpowering his own. He gave me that same doting smile. “Waiting up for me to brush out your fur?” I stared at him. Face completely blank. I was about to let him have it. But right then, Lyra’s face popped up on my comm crystal. Video call. She was slurring her words, blowing a sloppy kiss at the screen. “Selene, you’re my bestie, I love you.” “This dagger is so gorgeous,” she said, her voice dropping into a pout. “I just feel so bad. I’m so broke. I’ll never be able to afford something this amazing for your Ascension tomorrow…” I cut her off. “Right.” She caught the look on my face and froze. Kyle swooped in without missing a beat. Wrapped his arms around me from behind, buried his face in my neck. Just like always, competing with her for my attention. “Selene, I’m the one who loves you most,” he murmured against my cheek. Through the screen, Lyra let out a sharp, sudden scream. Then the sound of her comm crystal hitting the floor. Kyle’s head snapped toward the screen. All the color drained from his face. The call went dead. He pulled away and bolted for the door, his voice cracking in a way I’d never heard before — frantic. Panicked. “Selene, something’s wrong. I have to go check on her!” The door slammed behind him. But right before the call disconnected — I heard it. A soft little laugh from the other end of the line. My hands were shaking as I opened The Den again. Straight to her post. New update. “She’s so dumb it’s actually painful. Couldn’t even tell I faked that whole thing just to get her mate to come running.” “Tomorrow at her Ascension? She won’t even know what hit her until it’s too late. It’s almost too easy. Kinda boring, tbh.” My heart dropped into ice. A chill crawled through my entire body.

I just lay there on the couch, hair still wet, eyes wide open until the sun came up. My mind kept looping back to that day at the summit. The Shadow Peaks Trials. I can still see Lyra, screaming into the wind in the Old Tongue. “Kyle and Selene! Mated for life! A bloodline that will never end!” And Kyle glanced over at her, then howled back. “Lyra and Selene! Friends and allies, forever!” The eight o’clock bells snapped me out of it. I grabbed my comm crystal. Typed one message to Kyle. “The engagement is off.” A second later, I heard a key in the lock. Lyra’s voice, loud and teasing. “See? This is your fault we’re late. Now Selene’s favorite Sunrise Glaze Rolls are sold out.” “Excuse me? You’re the one who spent an hour preening just to walk over here,” Kyle shot back. “Well, maybe if you hadn’t kept me up all night—” They walked in. Arms full of breakfast bags. Huge grins on their faces. Then they saw me. Just lying there on the couch. The smiles died. The chatter stopped. I knew exactly what that little argument meant. Kyle kept his expression neutral, setting the food down on the table with a casual laugh. “My heart-link just buzzed. Let me see what my moonlight goddess sent me…” He looked down at his comm crystal. His face went white. Lyra leaned right over his shoulder to read it. Close enough that their faces were nearly touching. Then her eyes shifted to me. My face still completely blank. Her voice came out soft. Sweet. Almost playful. “Selene, are you serious right now? All this drama just because Kyle didn’t come home last night?” “If anyone should be upset, it’s me. I took a nasty fall last night and you didn’t even check on me.” “And I still dragged myself out this morning to get you breakfast for your Ascension day…” That’s when every detail I’d never thought to question came rushing back at once. Since when were Sunrise Glaze Rolls from the East Side shop even my favorite?

No. Lyra is the one who loves them. He just buys them for her, every time. I was just the cover story. And eventually, everyone, including me, just started believing the lie. I stared at Lyra, my voice dangerously calm. “You faked the fall. Didn’t you?” “You wanted him to come over. To spend the night at your den.” “That little laugh you let out before the call dropped? I heard it.” “And your scent all over him? The bite marks on his neck? I see them.” Just like I knew she would, Lyra’s hand flew to her collar, pulling it higher. Kyle strode towards me, swallowing hard. “Selene, no. You’re getting the wrong idea.” “Lyra’s bloodline went haywire after she fell. She passed out. I had to stay and watch over her all night, that’s all.” “I swear, it won’t happen again.” The first day we moved in together, we made one rule. One promise. As promised mates-to-be, neither of us would ever spend a night away without the other. Every good memory we shared just made me want to end this clean. But looking at their faces — faces I’d known for twelve years, now suddenly foreign to me — the emotion hit me all at once, and when I opened my mouth, I couldn’t stop the crack in my voice. “The engagement is off,” was all I could force out. Lyra shoved Kyle forward. “Get on your knees and apologize to her. Now.” But then, she was the one who dropped to the floor with a thud. “Look, whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not your fault, Selene. I’ll apologize first, okay? Can we just be done with this?”

But Kyle just yanked Lyra to her feet, his eyes full of… tenderness. For her. Then he looked at me. No guilt. Just disappointment. “Selene. Apologize to Lyra.” “We’ve put up with your moods for so long. We get tired too. When are you going to grow up?” “Why can’t you just trust us? Like we’ve always trusted you?” And just like that, something inside me broke. What was left was nothing — just numbness. “You both betrayed me.” I said. “Are you done pretending otherwise?” “Get out. Both of you. Right now. If you don’t leave now, I will invoke my birthright as the next Alpha and have you both exiled.” Lyra grabbed Kyle by the arm and pulled him out the door. But not before she stage-whispered — making sure I caught every single word. “Let’s just give her some space.” “Guess we’re just her punching bags today.” “It’s probably just Ascension stress. She’ll get over it.”

I thought I’d been clear enough. But I suppose only the ones being lied to ever see the full picture. And a cheater always knows exactly what they did. When I blew out the sacred Embers of Ascension, the ceremonial hall’s moonstone lights flared to life. And standing right in the center of that glow, side by side, were Kyle and Lyra. Smiling. Lyra walked toward me like nothing had happened. Carrying this massive, hideous statue carved from obsidian. “Surprise!” she chirped, pushing it into my arms. “I picked it out just for you! Do you love it?” At the same time, Kyle dropped to one knee. Held up the Bonding Amber, eyes overflowing with fake tenderness. “Selene. Bind your life to mine. Be my mate, forever.” The amber pulsed with light. The whole pack burst into cheers. One of the Elders shouted from the crowd. “Accept him, child! Say yes!” I looked down at the statue in my hands. It was a carving of me. In my wolf form. The angle she’d chosen caught me right after a fight — mouth open, gasping for air, eyes completely vacant. Like a dumb, hollow Omega.

She always loved catching me at my worst. Always had to show Kyle. Said it made me look “real and adorable.” Every single guest had their phone out. Recording this whole thing. Lyra slipped back behind Kyle. Her own phone aimed right at me. I caught the smirk. She knew. She knew exactly how stupid I looked — standing there in my ceremonial robes, holding this hideous, cursed-looking thing like an idiot. Kyle pushed the amber higher. His voice dropped. Urgent. “Selene, come on. Lyra even got you a gift. That’s her apology.” “The Elders are watching. Everyone’s watching. Isn’t this literally everything you’ve ever wanted?” Apology. I looked back down at the statue. He genuinely could not see it. How cheap it was. How ugly it was. I almost laughed. But a tear came out instead. They both saw it. They probably thought I was happy-crying. I closed my eyes. I raised my hand. And then the whole room just — exploded. Thick, slimy liquid and silver glitter shot out from every direction, all at once. All over me. My face. My hair. Everything. White confetti floating down around me like I was at a funeral. It was all over my gown. Soaked in. A complete disaster. Every flash in the room went off at once. Kyle shot Lyra a soft, adoring look. Then turned back to me, grinning. “Selene, we lost at Truth or Dare, you can’t actually be—” WHACK. I moved before I even thought about it. My hand came down hard across his face. The Bonding Amber flew out of his grip and skidded into the corner. Lyra screamed at me. “It was just a joke! Who do you think you are, hitting Kyle?”

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My biological family brought me back to their multi-million dollar mansion, only to assign me the broom closet. But what they didn’t know? My adoptive parents are some of the richest people on this planet. So I turned around and bought the estate right next door to theirs. I’m Evelyn Astor. Born in Boston, raised on Martha’s Vineyard. Old money, only child, and the kind of girl who was taught at age five that tears are tacky but a good lawyer is forever. So when the Vance family shows up claiming I’m their long-lost daughter, swapped at birth twenty years ago, I don’t cry. I pack a Goyard duffel, kiss my adoptive parents on the cheek, and tell them I’m just going to “audit the situation.” Day one. The Vance estate in Greenwich. Marble floors, gold Roman columns, a fountain in the driveway that looks like Versailles threw up. And my “room”? A converted broom closet with a twin mattress on the floor. Chloe Vance, the girl who lived my life for twenty years, stands in the doorway dabbing at fake tears. White sundress. Doe eyes. The whole performance. “Sister, if you really hate it, I can move up to the attic. I don’t mind, really.” I press a silk handkerchief to my nose because the dust is genuinely offensive, and turn to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Higgins, what’s this property valued at?” She blinks. “Approximately… twenty million, miss.” “Lovely.” I pull out my phone and text my dad. Daddy, the accommodations here are rough. Can you buy the house next door for me? Thanks, love you. Thirty minutes. That’s all it takes. The doorbell rings, and in walks the neighbor, two attorneys, and a real estate agent with closing documents already drafted. Eleanor Vance, my so-called biological mother, goes pale. “Evelyn, what is this? You just got home and you’re already trying to live separately?” “Live with you people and rot from the inside out? No thanks.” Julian, my new “older brother,” slams his palm on the console table. “Do you have any sense of family at all?” I drop the guest key card on the marble. “Sure I do. But I’m allergic to favoritism. Toxic households require an appointment.” Chloe’s lower lip wobbles right on cue. “Sister, please. I knew you’d hate me. You think I’m a gold digger, don’t you?” I tilt my head and smile. “Sweetie. Where I come from, girls are taught three things. Love yourself. Love your money. And don’t waste either on people who don’t deserve it.” Charles Vance, the patriarch, finds his voice. “Evelyn, this is hysterical behavior. What will people say?” “They’ll say your real daughter has standards.” I sign the closing papers with a Montblanc, hand them back to the agent, and slip my Amex Black card into my wallet. “And that the Vance family put her in a closet.” Eleanor’s eyes shine with tears. Julian looks like he wants to throw something. Chloe is openly sobbing into her hands now, the performance reaching its third act. I walk toward the door, heels clicking on imported marble. “Oh, and Mrs. Higgins?” I pause. “Have my things sent next door. The good linens. I’ll be sleeping somewhere that doesn’t smell like mothballs and resentment.” I don’t look back. Because here’s the thing nobody warned the Vances about: I wasn’t raised to beg for a seat at anyone’s table. I was raised to buy the whole damn restaurant.

Two hours earlier, I’m sitting on the wraparound porch of our Vineyard house, peeling a fresh fig while my mother arranges peonies in a crystal vase. The Vance family’s lawyer is perched on the edge of a wicker chair, clearly uncomfortable. My adoptive dad, in khakis, boat shoes, and a forty-year-old Patagonia fleece, is watering the hydrangeas and pretending not to listen. “Miss Astor, Mr. and Mrs. Vance would very much like you to come home.” I bite into the fig. “Is the food good there?” He stalls. “I beg your pardon?” “The food. At their house. Is it good? Because I’m not going if it isn’t. Girls like me have delicate stomachs and zero tolerance for mediocrity.” My mother sets down the vase and gives a small, polite laugh. The kind that has buried entire careers. “What my daughter means,” she says, smoothing my hair, “is that she’ll visit. Briefly. To assess.” Dad walks over, dripping watering can still in hand, and slides an envelope into my bag. “Here. Copy of your trust documents. The deed to the Beacon Hill apartment. And Robert’s direct line. He’ll have a team on the ground in twenty minutes if you so much as raise an eyebrow.” Mom adjusts the collar of my linen dress. Her voice goes soft in that way that always makes my chest tight. “Sweetheart. If their house isn’t warm, you come home. Astor girls don’t beg anyone to love them.” I almost cry. Almost. Instead I smile. “Relax. I’m just going to check the quality of their parenting. If they fail inspection, I’m returning the merchandise.” The driver loads my bag. As the car pulls down the gravel drive, my mother stands under the wisteria and waves. The sky is impossibly blue. A sailboat drifts past on the sound. I think: no matter how much money the Vances have, they can’t buy back the twenty years that built me. Two hours later, the car stops in front of their Greenwich monstrosity. The driver opens my door. I stare up at the gilded columns and fountain and pause for exactly three seconds. “Did your decorator have a personal vendetta against Versailles, or…?” The driver coughs to hide a laugh. I walk in. Before I even reach the living room, I hear it. Soft, breathy, theatrical weeping. “Mom, Dad, now that she’s back, I should probably leave, right? I don’t want to be in the way…” My heels stop on the marble. Oh. So this is the flavor. Wet doe eyes and weaponized fragility. Amateur hour. Four people sit in the formal living room. Charles. Eleanor. Julian, scrolling his phone like I’m an inconvenience. And Chloe, perched on the loveseat in white, dabbing her eyes with a monogrammed handkerchief. She springs up the moment she sees me, lip quivering. “Sister.” “Hi.” She falters. Clearly expected more drama. Eleanor squeezes Chloe’s hand and looks at me with that complicated mother-of-two expression I’m sure she practiced in the mirror. “Evelyn. We’re so glad you’re home. But I need to say something first. Chloe may not be biologically ours, but she’s been our daughter for twenty years. You can’t expect us to just…” “Understood.” She exhales, relieved. Charles jumps in. “So don’t come in here trying to take her place. We won’t shortchange you, but you will not bully Chloe.” “Got it.” Julian finally looks up, jaw tight. “I hope you really do get it. Chloe has anxiety. She doesn’t handle stress well.” Chloe’s lashes flutter downward. “Please don’t talk to her like that, Julian. She just got here. If she wants my bedroom, she can have it. I’ll move to the attic, I really don’t mind…” I finally meet her eyes. “Which room is yours?” She brightens. Bingo, her cue. “The south-facing suite on the second floor. The one that… should’ve been yours.” Eleanor clutches her hand. “Don’t say that. It’s your room.” Julian’s voice drops cold. “Evelyn. Don’t even think about it.” I blink slowly. “Did I say I wanted it?” The room goes silent. Chloe’s face flickers. Just a half-second crack in the porcelain. “I just thought you’d be upset, sister.” I smile. “Honey, you preemptively absorb other people’s feelings so hard, you should be charging a consulting fee. Did anyone ask you to perform?” Julian’s nostrils flare. “Does everything you say have to come with a knife in it?” “No,” I say, voice perfectly sincere. “You all keep insisting on performing a soap opera in front of me. I can’t follow the plot. You can slow down if you’d like.” The housekeeper, Mrs. Higgins, materializes to escort me upstairs. Chloe trails behind us all the way to the end of the second-floor hallway, where Mrs. Higgins pushes open a narrow door. Dust billows out. Inside: stacked picture frames, a broken lamp, cardboard boxes, and curtains so gray you can’t tell the original color. Chloe covers her mouth, eyes wide and wet. “Sister, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it hadn’t been cleaned. Please, take my room tonight.” I glance at the bare mattress, then turn to Mrs. Higgins. “This is the room you prepared for the biological daughter?” Mrs. Higgins shifts. “The Vances said, temporarily—” I raise a hand to stop her, then pull out my phone and snap a few photos. Julian smirks behind me. “What, posting a sob story online?” “No. Sending them to my mother. She loves fresh gossip material on dysfunctional rich families.” Eleanor hurries up the stairs, flustered. “Evelyn, don’t blow this out of proportion. The room can be cleaned. Chloe is already upset. Don’t push her.” I look her dead in the eye. “Mrs. Vance. I haven’t said a word yet, and your whole family has already convicted me. Efficient. Just not very smart.” Julian explodes. “Evelyn!” I slip my phone back into my bag, calm as a Sunday morning. “You don’t have to shout. My hearing is excellent. So is my allergy to favoritism.”

Dinner is served at seven sharp in a dining room the size of a small chapel. The table is set with Hermès china and crystal that probably costs more than a Tesla. Chloe sits at Eleanor’s right hand, leaning into her shoulder like a kitten. Julian sits across, occasionally passing Chloe a napkin and never once looking my way. Fine. I serve myself a slice of the wagyu and take a bite. I chew. I stop chewing. I set the fork down. Charles notices. “Not to your taste?” Chloe pipes up sweetly, “Maybe sister prefers more, um, casual food? Our private chef trained in Paris. It might be a little refined for her palate.” “It’s not refined,” I say. “It’s bad.” Silence drops like a guillotine. Eleanor stiffens. “Evelyn. Our chef has been with us for fifteen years. No one has ever complained.” “Then everyone in this house has been very generous.” I take a sip of water. “The wagyu is overcooked. The reduction is too sweet. The acid sits on top instead of cutting through. It tastes like this family looks. Pretty on the outside, hollow underneath.” Julian’s jaw locks. “You grew up outside this family. What would you know?” “I grew up on the Vineyard, Julian. Not in a cave.” I dab my mouth. “Is your entire understanding of the outside world divided into two categories? The Vance estate, and Naked and Afraid?” Charles slams his palm flat on the table. “Enough! It’s one meal. Do you have to make a scene?” I lower my fork carefully. “Mr. Vance. You brought me here. You gave me a closet. You gave me zero respect. And now you want me to compliment a bad steak. Is your family reunion process outsourced to a gaslighting manual? Because it’s not exactly five-star service.” Eleanor’s face drains. Chloe’s tears spill on cue. “Sister, are you saying this because you hate me? Even the food?” I turn to her slowly. “Chloe. Not everything is about you. The food is bad because the chef is bad. You’re dramatic because you’re dramatic. Two unrelated facts.” She sobs harder. Julian shoots to his feet. “Apologize to Chloe. Now.” I glance at my watch. “Sorry. Astor women don’t engage in low-quality emotional disputes after nine p.m. Union rules.” “You…” “Also.” I gesture at the table. “Starting tomorrow, I’m having all my meals catered in. My expense. Don’t trouble yourselves. And please don’t try testing my breeding with food like this again.” Charles turns purple. “You think the Vance family needs your money?” “Hope not. I’d hate to think you were freeloading.” Right on cue, a server appears with dessert. She sets a delicate crystal coupe in front of Chloe. Caviar service with mother-of-pearl spoons. In front of me, she sets a single scoop of vanilla ice cream. Her smile is just a little too thin. “Miss Evelyn. This is also very nourishing.” I look at the dish. Then at hers. Then back. “Why does she get caviar and I get Häagen-Dazs?” The server smiles. “Miss Chloe has delicate health. Mrs. Vance gave specific instructions.” Eleanor flushes. “Evelyn, if you want some, we can bring it out tomorrow…” “That’s fine.” I turn to the server. “What’s your name?” “Higgins, miss. Mrs. Higgins.” “And how long have you worked for the Vance family, Mrs. Higgins?” “Twelve years.” “Wonderful.” I pull out my phone. “Please email me your employment contract, twelve years of pay stubs, and every household purchase reimbursement on record. By tomorrow morning.” Her smile slips. “Excuse me?” I keep mine warm. “Just curious whether someone who distributes desserts based on family ranking deserves twelve years of full benefits.” Charles cuts in. “Evelyn. Mrs. Higgins is an old member of this household.” “Then she should especially know better. Old money runs clean books. Wouldn’t you agree, Mrs. Higgins?” Her eyes flicker away. Chloe leans in, eyes wet and wide. “Sister, please don’t make things hard for her. She takes such good care of me.” “Oh?” I tilt my head. “Then I should definitely audit her. Because she’s spending Vance money taking care of you, and that’s coming directly out of my inheritance pool.” Julian chokes on his water. Eleanor stares at me like I’m a creature she’s never seen before. “Does every sentence out of your mouth have to be about money?” I think about it, genuinely. “Yes. Because so far, money is the only value you people have demonstrated.” I push back my chair, drop my napkin on the plate, and walk out without another word. Behind me, I hear Chloe start to cry again. Bless her heart. The girl has stamina.

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I texted my older brother Mason for $20 and suddenly the entire internet dragged me as his mistress. It’s the first month of summer break. I’m already broke, and there’s no way I’m calling Mom and Dad about it. So I send a voice note to Mason. Me: Mase, can you spot me $20? Five minutes later, my phone buzzes. I grin, expecting his usual eye-roll emoji and a money transfer notification. Instead, I get this — Mason: Stop hitting up random guys with that baby voice. Have some self-respect. I stare at the screen. My thumbs hover, frozen. Random guys? I’m his sister! Same parents, same house, same everything! I don’t know what crawled up his ass today, but fine. Me: Got it, Mason. I toss my phone on the bed. He’s probably in a mood. Whatever. I’ll figure out the twenty bucks myself. I don’t think about it again. Until the next morning. Riley, my best friend, sends me a link. I tap it. It’s a TikTok. A girl with bleach-blond hair and lash extensions thicker than my eyelids is crying into the camera. Behind her, in giant red letters, is a screenshot of my messages with Mason. My name. My selfies. My Instagram handle. All of it. “Ladies, I need y’all to be careful out here,” the girl sobs, dabbing fake tears. “This is the kind of girl who slides into taken men’s DMs with that fake baby voice, begging for cash like a little gold digger. Twenty dollars? That’s all you’re worth? No shame, no morals—what kind of parents raised you?” I scroll down. A hundred thousand likes. The comments are a bloodbath. “$20 a pop?? Sign me up for ten.” “Aren’t you scared of catching something?” she replies. Encouraging it. “Disgusting. Her parents should disown her.” “Pretty face, rotten soul. Classic.” My hands start shaking. I tap her profile. @BellaKnoxOfficial. 2.3M followers. Relationship & lifestyle creator. And then I see the pinned post. A photo. Kissing Mason. Captioned: My everything! She is Mason’s new girlfriend. That’s how she got the screenshots. That’s how she got my face. I can’t breathe. I screenshot everything—Bella’s video, the comments, her profile, the kiss photo. Every receipt. Then I open the Reed family group chat and dump it all in. My fingers are trembling so hard I have to retype the message twice. Me: Look what Mason’s girlfriend did to me. If she sets foot in this family, I’m done. Done. Send. I wait. Three seconds later, the messages vanish. Every. Single. One. Mason—the group admin—deleted them. Then a system notification pops up: You have been removed from “Reed Family.” I let out a laugh. A short, ugly, disbelieving laugh. I open Mason’s contact and type fast. Me: ??? The message doesn’t go through, because he blocked me. I try calling. Straight to voicemail. “Are you kidding me?” I hiss at the empty room. My own brother. Blocked me. Over a girl he’s been dating for, what, two months? Fine. Fine. I’ll call Mom. I’ll call Dad. I’ll call every single person in that family chat one by one if I have to— Ding-dong. The doorbell. I freeze. Mom and Dad aren’t supposed to be back from their trip for another week. But maybe they saw the post. Maybe they came home early. I jump off the bed, wipe my face on my sleeve, and run for the door. I’m already half-smiling when I pull it open. Then a hand cracks across my face so hard my vision goes white.

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On the eve of our wedding, my fiancé, Dante Valenti, brought Bianca—the mistress he had hidden for three years—back to the Valenti estate. When I neither cried nor made a scene, Dante visibly relaxed. “Elena, since you don’t mind, Bianca can stay here for the time being.” Dante was the sole heir to the Valenti family. Everyone assumed that once his father handed control of the family over to him, Dante would become the next Don, and I would become his wife and the lady of the Valenti household. But then he continued, “Tomorrow is only the ceremony. We won’t file the marriage registration right away. Bianca has been emotionally unstable lately, so I’m going to humor her for now. You’re still the woman I’ll ultimately marry. Once she’s had her fun, I’ll hold a proper wedding with you.” I pressed my trembling palm closed and said nothing. Dante took my silence for consent. He took Bianca by the hand and led her away to choose a wedding gown without looking back. I took out my phone and sent one message to our private group chat. Tomorrow’s wedding is missing a groom. Who’s available? The chat exploded at once. The heirs who had grown up with Dante and me began volunteering one after another. They asked what ring size I needed, what color suit I preferred, and what time the ceremony would begin. I smiled. See, Dante? If you won’t marry me, someone else will. … Before I could choose tomorrow’s fiancé, the butler approached with a complicated expression. “Miss Marlowe, Mr. Valenti would like you to bring out the wedding gown you planned to wear tomorrow.” He paused before adding in a low voice, “He said that since you won’t be holding your ceremony tomorrow after all, Miss Russo might as well wear it first.” I had spent six months designing that gown and another full year traveling between Paris, Milan, and New York, personally overseeing every stitch of embroidery. No one knew better than Dante how much of myself I had poured into it. Now, simply because Bianca said she liked it, he expected me to hand it over—and had even ordered the bridal atelier to alter it to her measurements overnight. “Tell him that if he wants my wedding dress, he can come and beg me for it himself.” Half an hour later, the estate doors were thrown open from outside. Dante entered with more than a dozen senior bridal consultants, each carrying two or three custom gowns in different styles. He sat down on the sofa and idly wound a strand of my hair around his finger. “Elena, our wedding can wait. Bianca is younger than you, and this is the first time she has ever asked me for anything. Let her have this one.” He tipped his chin toward the consultants. “Do you like any of these? If not, I’ll have new ones flown in from Paris overnight.” “Of course, you can still wear your original gown after Bianca is done with it. I don’t mind.” He did not mind. I did. Bianca laughed beside him, threw herself into Dante’s arms, and traced a finger along the opening of his shirt. “Dante, you’re awful. Everyone in New York society knows Elena would never touch a gown another woman had worn.” “And now you want her to wear a wedding dress after me. She’s going to hate me.” Dante stroked her hair indulgently. “She isn’t that petty.” “Besides, she’s been with me for ten years. Who else could she possibly marry?” I lowered my eyes and said nothing. On my phone, the men in the group chat were competing to send me photographs of themselves at their most presentable. One posted the black tuxedo he had just tried on. Another ordered his private tailor to deliver cuff links overnight. Someone else displayed the heirloom wedding ring his grandmother had left him. Every one of them seemed genuinely nervous about tomorrow. Then Adrian Bellandi’s name appeared on the screen—the current Don of the Bellandi family, a man no one in New York’s underworld dared provoke lightly, Dante included. The stream of messages stopped almost at once. Adrian wrote: Me. Leave every detail of the wedding to me. Tomorrow, all you have to do is walk toward me. An image of Adrian rose in my mind—his tall, powerfully built body encased in immaculate black suits, his broad back and solid chest suggesting the strength concealed beneath the severe fabric, strength capable of trapping someone completely in his arms. I replied with a single word. Okay. “Elena, what are you looking at?” Dante’s impatient voice sounded beside me. I came back to myself and turned off the screen. Dante had Bianca in his arms and had shifted into a more comfortable position. He held out one hand to me carelessly. “Where do we keep the protection? Bianca is clingy, and she’s younger than you. She has far too much energy in bed.” I answered coldly, “The butler knows where it is. Ask him.” “Look at you, getting jealous.” He laughed. “Relax. I promised you that the future heir of the Valenti family would come from you and no one else.” My lips curved in a cold smile. Ten years earlier, when Dante was twenty, he had sworn beneath a sky full of fireworks that I would be the only woman he ever married. Ten years later, there were more and more women around him. Those old vows had long since been discarded, and in his eyes I seemed to have become nothing more than the vessel expected to produce his heir. When he saw me smile, Dante paused and looked at me properly for the first time in a long while. “You should smile more, Elena. You smiled all the time in your early twenties. Now you always look so cold. It doesn’t suit you.” I let the smile fade and told the butler to send an entire box of condoms to Dante’s room. Dante was pleased by my obedience. He did not realize that I was not yielding for his sake. I simply no longer cared about him, so none of it mattered. He still believed I was as compliant as ever, that I would continue cleaning up every mess he made. He lifted Bianca into his arms and started upstairs. “Oh, and you’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.” “The wedding is tomorrow, and Bianca insists I spend the night with her. She’s irritable when she wakes up, so tell the hair and makeup team to wait outside my bedroom. They can start whenever she gets up.” “Dante.” I called after him from the sofa. He stopped at the foot of the stairs and turned, brow furrowed, signaling for me to speak quickly. I looked directly into his face and enunciated every word. “My wedding will go ahead tomorrow. If you replace the bride, I’ll replace the groom.”

Dante clearly did not believe me. He scoffed and shook his head. “Elena, this isn’t the time to compete for my attention. I’ll make Bianca happy first. If she’s in a good mood tomorrow, she may even let you be her bridesmaid.” Bianca pouted from his arms. “I don’t want her.” At her urging, Dante carried her upstairs without looking back. Before long, suggestive sounds began drifting from the master bedroom. The butler hesitated several times before finally forcing out the words. “Miss Marlowe, Mr. Valenti has never intended for Miss Russo to become the true mistress of the Valenti family.” I glanced at the box of contraceptives in his hands and tilted my head toward the stairs. “Take it up.” The true mistress of the Valenti family? I no longer wanted the title. That evening, my friend Claire called me, her voice full of shock and confusion. “Elena, what is going on? Why did Dante suddenly notify everyone that the wedding was canceled?” “You’ve been planning this for a year. The estate and hotel decorations alone cost tens of millions, and you personally designed everything from the silverware to the floral arrangements. What gives him the right to cancel it on a whim?” I sat up, rubbing my ear, fully awake now. I was about to tell her that my wedding was not canceled when her voice suddenly rose. “Wait! He just sent another invitation. The ceremony is still happening, but the bride has been changed to Bianca Russo. Who is this mistress? Has Dante lost his mind?” Dante had always been like this. When he loved someone, he gave her everything—power, money, and all his favor. When he stopped loving her, he withdrew it all without hesitation. Headlights swept past the window, briefly illuminating the room before darkness returned. “Claire, don’t worry about any of this. Be at the venue on time tomorrow. If Dante can replace the bride, why can’t I replace the groom?” The other end of the line went silent for several seconds. Claire had clearly understood what had happened. Her voice shook with anger. “Replace him. Of course you should replace him! That bastard acted more devoted than anyone before the wedding. He traveled through more than twenty countries with you for engagement photos, rented an entire coastline, and used drones to announce your wedding date to the whole city. And now he betrays you just like that? He’s a complete bastard!” By the end, tears had entered her voice. “Elena, wait there. I’m sending my husband to deal with him right now.” I laughed helplessly. I was about to tell her things were not quite that bad, and that every one of my prospective grooms was reliable, when someone knocked at the door. The butler stood outside, looking pained. “Miss Marlowe, Mr. Valenti requests that you come to the master bedroom.” I knew that if I refused, Dante would take his anger out on the butler. I told Claire to change into her bridesmaid dress and wait for me directly at the venue tomorrow, then went upstairs. The half-open bedroom was in disarray, the air still thick with the unmistakable scent of sex. They had obviously just finished. Water dripped from the ends of Dante’s wet hair into the collar of his robe, sliding over a neck covered in kiss marks. I dug my nails into my palm and forced myself to ignore the dense ache spreading through my chest. “Elena, I know how much work you put into this wedding.” He pointed carelessly at a soiled bridesmaid dress on the floor. “Wear that tomorrow and stand beside Bianca. That way, your year of preparation won’t be completely wasted.” Bianca lay wrapped in the sheets, malice curling at the corners of her mouth. She leaned toward Dante and deliberately spoke loudly enough for me to hear. “Dante, Elena is a top jewelry designer. The wedding rings she designed for you must be beautiful. I want them too.” I looked at them without expression. Like the gown, those rings had been created by my own hand. I had drawn the designs, chosen the stones, and supervised the craftsmen myself. Dante could not possibly have forgotten. Yet he said lightly, “Elena, they’re only rings. If Bianca likes them, let her use them first.” “We haven’t set a new date for our wedding. You’ll have plenty of time to design another pair.” His entitlement extinguished the final trace of attachment I still felt for him. I looked into his eyes and said, one word at a time, “I told you. Tomorrow’s wedding will continue.”

Dante paused, then laughed under his breath. “How? I won’t be there as the groom. Who exactly do you plan to marry?” His voice softened as if he were coaxing a stubborn child. “Elena, you’ve never been the kind of woman who clings or makes scenes. I said I would marry you, and I will keep my word. You only need to be patient for a few more years. Be a good girl and serve as Bianca’s bridesmaid tomorrow, all right?” Wait. Again, he wanted me to wait. I had waited ten years for him and had finally reached our wedding day. Then, just before the ceremony, I discovered that he had been betraying me for three entire years. Now he wanted me to wait again—to stand there and watch him hold a ceremony with another woman, then wait until he tired of her and condescended to return and marry me. “I’m not waiting for you anymore, Dante.” He either did not hear me or simply did not care. He glanced at his watch, pulled Bianca back beneath the covers, and tossed out a careless remark. “It’s still early. We can sleep a little longer.” “Don’t worry. The true heir to the Valenti family will come from your body and no one else’s.” I lowered my eyes, calmly threw the bridesmaid dress back onto the floor, and returned to the guest room. My phone vibrated. It was a message from Adrian. I’m ready. A photograph followed. A black suit lay perfectly arranged on a bed, beside an antique wedding ring engraved with the Bellandi family crest. The marriage license has been handled. The waiver of the waiting period will be delivered before dawn. You don’t need to prepare a gown or a ring. My people will take everything directly to the hotel. I stared at the screen for several seconds before replying. Are you certain you want to marry me? Adrian answered at once. Elena, I never joke about marriage. Tomorrow, all you need to do is arrive on time. Leave everything else to me. … The next morning, the hair and makeup team waited awkwardly outside the master bedroom. Dante and his mistress were obviously still asleep. I walked toward them from the far end of the corridor. “I’m today’s bride. Get me ready.” I had personally handled every pre-wedding discussion, fitting, and detail with them. Of course they recognized me. My makeup was nearly finished by the time Dante and Bianca finally came downstairs. Morning light poured through the tall windows, making my brown hair gleam. Dante stopped when he saw me. For a moment, he simply stared. The stylist secured the final layer of my veil. I rose, gathering my skirts, and turned my face toward him. He finally recovered and sighed helplessly. “Elena, I told you I’ll make the wedding up to you later. Let Bianca have this one. Be good and take off the dress. She’ll be upset when she sees it.” Rapid footsteps sounded from the stairs. Bianca rushed down and clung to Dante’s arm. The moment she saw my wedding gown, her expression changed. “Today is supposed to be my wedding. Why is she still wearing a bridal gown?” “My mother was a mistress. I swore as a child that I would never become a woman like her. But for you, I’ve carried that shame for three years.” Tears quickly filled her eyes, making her look pitiful. “And now you want me to share even my wedding with her?” Dante immediately bent his head to comfort her. His helpless panic reminded me of ten years earlier. After the explosion, he had pulled me from the ruins. When he learned that I had lost both my parents, he had held me just as anxiously and sworn with awkward sincerity, “Don’t be afraid. I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life.” Memories were always the sharpest knives. I gave a soft laugh and tossed a small, worn booklet onto the floor. “Dante, I don’t want this anymore.” If he had bothered to open it, he would have recognized the wish book we made together ten years ago. Back then, he said that once we completed one hundred wishes, we would never separate. Ten wishes remained unfinished. I no longer wanted to complete them with him. “Elena, perfect timing.” Dante bent down, picked up the pink booklet, and handed it to Bianca. “Babe, this is a couples’ wish book. If we complete one hundred wishes together, we’ll never separate. The dress is yours. The wedding is yours too.” Bianca finally smiled through her tears. She leaned against Dante and looked at me with open provocation. “Make her take off the dress. What right does a bridesmaid have to wear the bride’s gown?” Dante crooked one finger. Several maids immediately approached me. “Elena. Take it off.” The makeup artists looked embarrassed and tried to speak for me, but the guards stopped them and forcibly escorted them to another room. The gown was heavy. Beneath it, I wore nothing but lingerie. I looked around at the room full of people, then finally met Dante’s eyes. “Are you sure you want me to undress here?”

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