1 On my hundredth attempt to propose, I never got the words out. Serena glanced at me before looking back at her phone. “Austin, just give me another six months.” Nolan’s name lit up her screen. I smiled and walked away. My phone buzzed. Serena’s post showed white roses from Nolan. Her caption read, “Some are worth the wait, others are just always there.” Someone asked where her shadow was. She replied, “Him? He’s used to it.” I was used to it. Used to waiting hours, being stood up, and watching Nolan come first. I had followed her from age six to twenty-one, from chauffeur’s son to shadow. I comforted her, took her blame, and drove across the city for midnight tacos. Once, I spent two weeks in the ICU after taking a beating for her; she visited for ten minutes, talking to Nolan the whole time. I pulled out a business card I’d kept for three years. Audrey Harrington, sole heiress of Harrington Group. At our first meeting, she’d asked if I wanted to marry her. I’d rejected her thirteen times. On the fourteenth, I called. “Miss Harrington, does your offer still stand?” Silence hung on the line. “Where are you?” “Across from City Hall.” “Wait for me.” … It took her exactly eight minutes. Her white Porsche slid sideways into a parking spot, nearly clipping a dumpster in the process. Audrey scrambled out of the car still wearing her pajamas, her hair hastily twisted up in a claw clip, and her feet shoved into slippers. She ran all the way to me, bending over with her hands on her knees, panting hard. “I didn’t… make you wait, did I?” I shook my head. “No. Did you bring your ID?” “Got it.” She fished a small zippered pouch out of her pajama pocket, unzipped it to make sure everything was inside, and then stood up straight. She looked me up and down, her brow furrowing. “You look awful. When was the last time you slept?” Instead of answering, I took her hand and led her inside. The office wasn’t crowded, so we took a number and sat down to wait. Audrey sat close beside me, constantly stealing glances at me. Every time I caught her looking, she would quickly pretend to examine the digital queue screen, though the joy on her face was impossible to hide. Seeing her like this, I spoke up. “Is there something you want to say?” She hesitated. “Austin, are you really sure about this?” “It… it all feels so surreal…” “Tell me the truth, you’re not just doing this to spite Serena, are you?” I shook my head. “No. Don’t overthink it.” She turned to look at me, her eyes shining. “Then why now, all of a sudden?” “Austin, I chased you for three years and got rejected thirteen times.” “Today is the fourteenth. But this time, you’re not getting away.” Soon, the clerk called our number. When it came time for the photo, the photographer told us to smile. I forced a tight, awkward tug of my lips. Beside me, Audrey muttered under her breath, “That looks incredibly fake.” Then she reached over and gave my waist a sharp pinch. I gasped at the sudden sting, and the tension in my face finally broke. The camera clicked twice. “Perfect, that’s the one,” the photographer said. By the time we walked out of City Hall with our marriage certificate in hand, dusk was settling over the city. Audrey carefully tucked the papers into her bag, looking thoroughly satisfied. “Come on, let’s get some dinner.” “And remember, today is our anniversary from now on!” I smiled. “Alright.” She took a couple of steps, then stopped abruptly. “Austin, you’re mine now.” “I can’t believe a Harrington had to chase you for so long. You aren’t allowed to leave me, understand?” Looking at her profile under the warm glow of the streetlamp, I suddenly remembered our first meeting. Three years ago, the Harringtons and the Sinclairs were negotiating a partnership. She had sat across the conference table, barely speaking the entire time. But after the meeting, she stopped me in the hallway and handed me her card. “Austin, I like you. Would you consider marrying me?” I thought she was playing a prank. After all, I was just the Sinclair family’s driver’s son. My monthly salary couldn’t even buy one of her designer bags. Later on, she sent me messages on every holiday. I never replied to a single one. Sometimes in the middle of the night, I would receive slurred voice messages from her after she had too much to drink. “Austin, what do you even see in her? What does she have that I don’t?” I had never answered. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know the answer myself. I nodded, speaking solemnly. “I know… Let’s go.” Just as the engine started, my phone vibrated. Serena’s name flashed across the screen. I glanced at it and chose not to answer. It buzzed again, this time with a text from her: “Austin, where are you? I’m outside the registry office. Come here.” I didn’t reply. I turned off the phone entirely. I didn’t see the rest of her messages until the next morning. Serena had sent over a dozen texts, transitioning from demands to threats, from threats to pleading, and finally to tears. The last one was a voice note sent at two in the morning. I didn’t play it. Audrey was sitting right across from me, enjoying her breakfast. She took a bite of her sandwich and looked up. “Will her family make things difficult for you?” “I don’t know.” “What do you plan to do?” “Nothing.” She set her sandwich down and stared at me. “Austin, my dad found out we got married. He’s actually very happy.” She paused. “But my mom isn’t.” “Why?” “She says you aren’t good enough for me.” She said it in a flat, matter-of-fact tone, as if she were relaying a piece of news that had nothing to do with her. I put down my fork and looked at her. “What do you think?” She smiled. “I think you aren’t good enough for me either.” I was caught off guard. “But it doesn’t matter. I can always lower my standards.” With that, she stuffed the rest of her sandwich into her mouth, stood up, and clapped her hands clean. “Let’s go. We’re heading to the office today. My dad wants to meet you.” I didn’t move. She turned back to look at me. “What is it?” I looked into her eyes. “Why did you want to marry me?” “Or rather, why do you like me?” She stood still, thinking about it for a long moment. “The first time I saw you, you were peeling shrimp for Serena.” “Everyone at the table was drinking and talking, but you just sat there peeling shrimp. You accumulated a whole plate of shells, but you didn’t eat a single one.” “Serena complained you were too slow, and then she dumped the entire plate of peeled shrimp into Nolan’s bowl…” “You didn’t say a word. You just wiped your hands, perfectly calm, showing no anger at all.” She looked at me, her expression softening. “I remember thinking, that man is so pitiful.” My chest tightened slightly. “And then?” She laughed. “And then I realized you’re actually incredibly handsome.” “A handsome, pitiful guy… I wanted to bring you home.” I laughed too. It was the first genuine smile I had cracked in the last three months. Before we even reached the Harrington Group headquarters, Serena’s call came through. I answered it. Her voice was raspy, sounding as though she had been crying. “Austin, what is wrong with you?” “Why aren’t you replying to my texts? Why aren’t you picking up my calls? Are you with that Audrey Harrington girl?” “Yes,” I replied, making no effort to hide it. The line went silent for a few seconds before her voice suddenly spiked with emotion. “Austin, don’t you dare forget that you promised to marry me.” I replied in a flat, even tone. “I promised ninety-nine times, and you rejected me a hundred times.” “On the hundredth time, before I could even speak, you pushed me away.” She scrambled to explain herself. “I didn’t reject you! I just asked you to wait!” “Just give me six months. Six months is all I need.” “Nolan’s mother is terribly ill, and her only wish is to see us get married… You’re a man, Austin. Can’t you show a little compassion instead of letting your petty anger dictate your actions?” I let out a soft, weary laugh. “Sure. Go ahead. I understand…” “But… I hope you can understand me too.” I hung up the phone. Audrey kept her eyes on the road, saying nothing. But she reached over, placed her hand on my knee, and gave it a gentle, reassuring pat. When we arrived at the Harrington estate, Serena’s mother, Eleanor Sinclair, called me. “Austin, get over to our house immediately. Serena needs to talk to you.” Her voice was cold, carrying the familiar tone of someone commanding a servant. “Mrs. Sinclair, there is nothing left for us to talk about.” “What is that tone?” her voice flared, rising in pitch. “Have you forgotten whose food you ate while growing up?” “Mrs. Sinclair, I haven’t forgotten.” “If you haven’t forgotten, then get your self over here! Serena has been crying all night, do you have any idea?” I was silent for a moment. “She is crying because she feels she has lost face, not because she actually misses me…” “Mrs. Sinclair, if she truly cared about me, she had fifteen years of opportunities.” “Two years ago on her birthday, I told her I wanted to marry her. She told me to wait.” “Last year on her birthday, I told her I wanted to marry her. She said she wasn’t ready.” “This year, before I could even ask, she told me to wait another six months.” “Enough!” Eleanor cut me off. “I don’t care about your complaints. You will come back right now, apologize to Serena, and we will put this matter behind us.” Without another word, I hung up the phone. Audrey walked out of the kitchen carrying two glasses of water and handed one to me. “Who was that?” “Serena’s mother.” “Making things difficult for you?” “Yes.” She sat down opposite me and took a sip of her water. “Austin, if you want to go back, you can leave right now.” “I won’t use our marriage license to hold you back or cause a scene. I can pretend this was all just an impulsive mistake… after all, you did reject me thirteen times.” She said it with an easy, casual air, but I could see her fingers trembling against the glass. I reached out and took her hand in mine. “I’m not going back, and I am never leaving you.” She looked up at me, and I felt my eyes grow slightly warm. “I spent fifteen years chasing Serena. I’m exhausted, and it’s time to stop.” “You spent three years chasing me. Now, it’s my turn to do the pursuing.” Her eyes welled with tears. “Are you serious?” “Completely.” She didn’t speak, but she squeezed my hand with all the strength she had. My phone buzzed again. It was a text from Serena. “Austin, let’s go look at wedding dresses tomorrow. Just the two of us.” I didn’t reply, and another message arrived shortly after. “I agree to marry you. Let’s get everything scheduled, okay?” I turned off my phone. Pulling Audrey into my arms, I closed my eyes and breathed in her warmth. It was a sense of absolute security that Serena had never once given me. The next day, I didn’t show up. Serena waited at the bridal shop all morning. She called repeatedly, but I didn’t answer, and her texts went ignored. Around noon, she posted a new update on her feed: “Some people forget their promises the moment they turn around. Thank goodness Nolan is always reliable, ready to show up whenever I call.” The attached photo showed Nolan wearing a sleek suit, standing in front of a mirror and smiling at the camera. I knew exactly what she was doing. She was trying to reel me back in. After all, this tactic had worked without fail every single time before today. In the comments, someone asked: “Where’s your shadow?” She replied: “Who knows, maybe he ran off with some other woman… Just kidding, he wouldn’t dare.” I stared at those three words. “He wouldn’t dare.” My eyes stung, not out of regret for my fifteen years of devotion, but because I felt a profound sorrow for the pathetic person I used to be. Audrey came out of the kitchen, carrying a plate of sliced fruit, and set it on the coffee table. “What are you looking at?” I handed the phone to her. She glanced at it, said nothing, and picked up a slice of apple, holding it out to me. “Eat some fruit.” I turned my head away to quickly wipe at my eyes before turning back to take the apple. That night, Serena got drunk. When she finally called me, it was already one in the morning. “Austin… are you really abandoning me?” Her voice was slurred, thick with tears. I remained silent, so she continued. “Come back… please… I want to see you right now…” My throat felt dry. “Serena, you’ve had too much to drink.” “I haven’t… I just want to ask you one thing…” “If I say I will marry you right now, will you still take me?”

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1 Warren Ashford was the graceful young gentleman of our circle, warm and polite to everyone. Everyone except me. He hated my fragile, pitiful appearance and said it looked like I was trying to seduce people. He also refused to let any boys come near me. I endured his isolation and petty cruelty for six whole years. In the seventh year, I escaped abroad to study. I never wanted to return to that circle again or live under his shadow. After finishing three years overseas, I married my childhood friend. On the third day after returning to North City, I went to a private club on the east side for my best friend Sophie Lane’s birthday party. Someone recognized me. “Is that Celeste?” “Looks like her. Haven’t seen her in years.” I walked forward through the crowd and saw Warren leaning by the bar. Our eyes met briefly. Three years had passed, but everything he had put me through still made me tense when I saw him. Fortunately, he soon looked away. His arm rested on the back of the chair beside a girl, and he was listening to her say something. When the girl laughed, he laughed too, lazily turning the wineglass in his hand. He treated me like air and didn’t look this way again. I still wasn’t used to occasions like this, so I went out to the terrace. I opened my phone. Nathan Reed hadn’t replied. The last message was from when I was on my way to the club. He had replied, Tell me when you arrive. Now there was only my lonely message in the chat. Arrived. He was handling work. We had just gotten our marriage certificate and were already living apart. But he had said that once his current project wrapped up, he would come to North City. I turned the screen off, then on again. Typed two words. Deleted them. Typed four more. Sent them. I kind of miss you. Behind me, someone pushed open the terrace door. I turned around. Warren stood at the entrance, the cigarette in his hand glowing and dimming. He glanced at me, exhaled a smoke ring, and said, “What, three years apart and now you won’t even greet me?” I leaned against the railing, my palm slightly damp. Warren stood three steps away, eyes fixed on my face. He was a little thinner than three years ago. The line of his jaw was sharper, his shirt collar open. Those eyes were still as dark as ever. When he looked at someone, it felt like being watched by a hunter. Warren lifted his hand and flicked the ash from his cigarette. It fell into a Hermès ashtray, a small scattering of gray-white. “Three years abroad, and you forgot how to speak?” “Warren,” I called softly. “Long time no see.” He looked at me, eyes narrowing slightly. I was fifteen that year. My mother had died a month earlier, and my father sent people to bring me from the south to North City. The day the car drove through the gates of the Kingston estate, the sky was gloomy. The living room was empty. The crystal chandelier above my head was so bright it hurt my eyes. A maid told me my room was at the end of the second-floor corridor. That room was huge. Bigger than my entire home in the south. From the window, I could see the rose bushes in the garden, trimmed neatly. The only legitimate son of the Kingston family, my half-brother, had died that summer. His mother had passed away long ago, and my father had spoiled him until he became arrogant and unruly. After he accidentally learned of my existence, people said he lost his temper that night, smashed things, then drove out. In heavy rain, he went racing on the mountain road. When he took a bend, he crashed into the guardrail and died on the spot. Later, I saw his photo in my father’s study. He and my father looked very much alike. High brow bones, and when he smiled, a tiny curve at the corner of his mouth. For some reason, seeing him so bright and alive in that photo filled me with guilt. The first time I met Warren was in the Kingston living room. He had been my brother’s best friend. They went to school together, played basketball together, skipped class to play in a band together. The Ashford and Kingston families did business together, and the children of both families had grown up mixing in the same circle. That day, the butler had taken me shopping. I had barely taken off my shoes when I saw him sitting on the sofa. He raised his eyes and looked at me for a long time. Only then did he look away and take a sip of tea. The next day at school, I heard someone call me “Kingston’s illegitimate daughter.” Later, someone spilled coffee on my uniform in the changing room. Gum was stuck to my chair. Filthy notes appeared in my desk. During running practice, someone shoved me from behind, making me scrape my knee bloody on the ground. The teacher said in class that classmates should respect one another. The room was quiet for a while. After class, everything was the same. In that circle, Warren was the leader. My father was grieving his son and had poured all his energy into business. Naturally, he wouldn’t pay attention to children’s games. I had once thought about trying to please Warren. But whenever I got near him, his disgust for me grew stronger. He said, “Celeste’s mother was a temptress, and so is she.” When he said it, he was standing by the hallway window, sunlight falling on him, making him shine. When my mother and father got together, my father’s first wife had already died. Warren wasn’t unaware of that. But he still said such cruel things. The boys beside him laughed along. Some people didn’t know my background and talked to me. A boy from the honors class upstairs saw that I had scored well on the monthly English exam and came over to discuss it with me. Warren saw it and told me he hated how I always looked delicate and pitiful, as if I was deliberately seducing someone. The next day, that boy came to class with bruises on his face. After that, no other boy dared to approach me. Because of him, my high school years were a nightmare. I had no friends. Everyone was afraid of Warren. Except Sophie. But I had also seen what he looked like when he turned his anger on her. So I could only stay away from her. I endured it like that until high school graduation. When filling out college applications, I sat in my room all night, repeatedly comparing past admission scores. My father wouldn’t let me leave North City. In the end, I chose the school farthest from Warren. I was on the east side, and he was on the west. Half the city lay between us. On the first day of school, red banners hung at the gate, and plane trees shaded half the sky. For a while, I thought I had left Warren’s shadow behind. One day, I was studying at the library, sitting by the window with a calculus textbook spread open before me. Sunset shone through the window and landed on the page in a small orange patch. My phone lit up. It was a message from a boy in Warren’s circle, asking which floor I was on. I didn’t reply. Two minutes later, my phone lit up again. He sent a photo taken from the library entrance. I saw your bike. It’s in the front row. I stared at that photo for a long time. Then he sent another message telling me to behave on campus. I turned my phone face down on the desk. The next semester, one of Warren’s friends joined the student union. That year, during scholarship evaluation, my application materials were returned because one certificate lacked an official stamp. On the day the scholarship results were posted, I stood in front of the bulletin board for a long time. The wind was strong, making the glass of the board buzz. My name wasn’t on the paper behind it. When I went to Academic Affairs to supplement the document, the teacher told me to come earlier next time. This time, the public notice had already been finalized and couldn’t be changed. Later, my roommate invited us to hotpot for her birthday. When I pushed open the door, I saw three boys from Warren’s circle at the next table. One of them recognized me and nudged the person beside him. The boy beside him turned back and looked me up and down. I knew that look. He said nothing, only whispered something to his companion, and they all laughed. My roommate asked what was wrong. I said nothing and sat with my back to them. That day, I ate a lot. The spice made tears come out. My roommate asked what was wrong, and I said it was just too spicy. Before my defense, a senior in my department added me and asked if I wanted to team up. I accepted. He messaged me for two days. On the third day, he suddenly deleted me. I didn’t ask why. Later, I ran into him once at the cafeteria. When he saw me, he hurriedly lowered his head and turned away with his tray. All those years, I didn’t even know who I was afraid of. Warren wasn’t beside me, but he was everywhere. Those people were the same as him. They didn’t need to truly do anything. One look, one sentence, one message, one group chat suddenly going silent, and every door would close. I spent all that time preparing to study abroad. I thought that if I went far enough, Warren’s hand couldn’t reach me. There were many exams required for studying abroad. While other classmates went out to eat and travel, I woke up at five every morning to memorize vocabulary. The library auntie recognized me and saved the same seat for me every day. One night, it rained heavily, and I didn’t have an umbrella. She shoved hers into my hands and said, “Go home quickly. Don’t get soaked.” I held that umbrella while walking along the campus road. The rain poured down as if someone had tipped the sky over. But I felt safe. When the offer arrived, I stared at the word Congratulations on the computer screen for a long time. I had received a full scholarship. I no longer needed to spend the Kingston family’s money. Then I printed the email, folded it, and put it in a drawer. The next summer, I dragged two suitcases to the airport. When the plane took off, I looked down from the window. North City grew smaller and smaller beneath the clouds, finally becoming a gray little patch. “Was life abroad good?” Warren asked. Evening wind blew by, carrying a chill. My thoughts returned. “It was good,” I said. He glanced at me and pressed the cigarette butt into the ashtray. Then he walked toward me and stopped in front of me. I had nowhere to retreat. He was more than half a head taller than me. I smelled faint tobacco on him, along with a trace of cedar. “For you.” He took a small object from his pocket and held it out. I looked down. It was a seal the size of a thumb, made from gray-green stone. A small crouching creature was carved at the top. There were fine cracks in the seal’s body, making it look quite old. “It’s not expensive,” he said. “I bought it from an old shop in Edo a while ago.” He turned the seal over. A character was carved at the bottom in seal script. I didn’t recognize it. “It says Celeste,” he said. “Your name.” I didn’t reach for it. He weighed it lightly in his palm. “Take it.” “No need.” “Sophie has one too.” He held it out again. “Take it.” I reached out. The seal landed in my palm, heavier than it looked, the stone cool against my skin. I closed my fingers around it and felt the raised and sunken strokes at the bottom. “Thank you,” I said. He looked at my clenched fist, his lips moving slightly. A burst of laughter came from the banquet hall. Someone was cheering for the cake cutting. The music changed from piano to jazz, and the sound of the saxophone flowed lazily out. I lit my phone and glanced at it. No message. “Waiting for someone?” Warren’s gaze followed mine to the screen. “No,” I said. I tucked the seal into the inner pocket of my clutch. Warren still hadn’t left. “You’ve changed a little,” he said. “Have I?” “You used to not dare look at me.” I didn’t answer. My phone vibrated. I turned it over. It wasn’t Nathan. It was a data reminder from the carrier. Warren’s gaze fell on my phone. His lips moved, as if he was about to say something. “Warren!” Sophie pushed open the terrace door and walked in. She wore high heels, moving quickly. The flush on her face was a little deep. “What are you doing here?” She glanced at me, then at Warren. “Miss Shaw is here, looking for you outside.” Warren didn’t move. Sophie added, “Your fiancée. Bianca Shaw.” Warren’s expression darkened. He frowned, voice low. “She isn’t my fiancée.” Sophie blinked. She tilted her head to look at Warren’s expression, then turned back to me. Her gaze paused between us. Then she reached out and linked her arm through mine. Her fingers were hot, carrying the smell of alcohol, and she leaned slightly against me. “Celeste,” she said. “I think I drank too much. My head feels dizzy.” She leaned on my shoulder. “Take me to the lounge to lie down for a bit.” She tugged my sleeve. I supported Sophie, and she draped her hand over my shoulder while waving at Warren. “You go entertain Miss Shaw yourself,” she said. “Don’t keep her waiting.” Then she leaned close to my ear and lowered her voice. “Go.” The lounge door was ajar. I pushed it open and helped Sophie onto the sofa. When the door closed, I turned around. Sophie sat cross-legged on the sofa, looking at me. Her eyes were clear. “What did Warren say to you?” “Nothing much.” “Stay away from him,” Sophie said, disgust flashing in her eyes. “He’s not a good person.” “Only you dare say that.” “I’m not afraid of him. My family doesn’t depend on his. He can’t control me.” She turned her head to look at me. “Are you afraid of him?” I didn’t speak. She took my hand. “I know these years were hard for you.” Her fingers tightened slightly. “Back then, I wasn’t firm enough.” “Don’t say that. You helped me a lot.” Only Sophie lent me notes. Only she dared to wait for me at the school gate and go home with me. “Celeste, don’t worry. I’ve grown up now, and I have ability. I’ll always stand on your side. If any of them dare bully you again, I’ll be the first to refuse.” Warmth rose in my chest. “Sophie.” “Mm?” “I’m married.” Her hand froze. “When did that happen?” “When I first came back.” She pulled her hand back and turned her whole body toward me. Her mouth opened and closed, then opened again. “To who?” “Not someone from this circle. You don’t know him,” I said. “His name is Nathan Reed. He was my childhood neighbor in the south.” “Where in the south?” “Suzhou.” “Suzhou.” She frowned and repeated, “Nathan Reed.” “Mm.” “What does he do?” “Research. Materials science.” Her brows didn’t loosen. She repeated his name slowly. When she reached the third word, she suddenly grabbed my arm. Her speech sped up. “Did he publish a paper on…” “Stability of perovskite photovoltaics.” “I’ve read that paper.” She became excited. “Last year he published a review in a Nature sub-journal. Our research group discussed it in a group meeting.” As she spoke, her voice changed. She wiped the corner of her eye and sniffed. “Why are you crying?” “Can’t I be happy?” She still clutched my arm. “Next time I go to Suzhou for a conference, you have to arrange for me to meet him.” “Okay.” “I’m not being polite.” “I know.” She still wanted to say something, but the lounge door opened. Warren stood at the entrance. His gaze swept around the room and landed on me. “Celeste, come out. I have something to say to you.” Sophie was still holding my arm. She glanced at Warren, then at me. I patted the back of her hand. “It’s okay.” The corridor was covered in thick carpet, making footsteps soundless. Warren walked ahead slowly. Then he stopped and turned around. I didn’t know what there was to say between us, so I casually brought up a topic. “Sophie said your fiancée came…” “There is a family marriage arrangement,” he interrupted. “The Shaw family is pushing it forward. The elders from both sides have met.” He pulled his hand from his pocket and leaned against the corridor wall. “Bianca Shaw is very proper. She graduated from a prestigious school, plays excellent piano, and handles social situations well. Our families have business dealings too. Everything fits.” He looked at my face. “What do you think?” I found it inexplicable. “Sounds good.” His brows shifted slightly. “Celeste, I didn’t come to talk about her.” He paused. “Your father is getting older. The Kingston family’s affairs are so vast, and they all rest on him alone. Have you thought about how many more years he can carry it?” I didn’t answer. “You studied abroad for three years. What are you planning now that you’re back? A woman can’t support such a huge family business alone. The Kingston family needs someone reliable.” He bit the word reliable very clearly. Ten years ago, he had loved manipulating me psychologically. How was he still doing this now?

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1 The day I went into labor, my mother stood outside the delivery room for thirteen hours straight. The nurse kindly offered her a chair, but she refused to sit, insisting, “If I sit, my heart won’t be at peace. Standing keeps the baby moving.” At four in the morning, when I was finally wheeled out of the delivery room, I saw my mother leaning against the wall. Her feet were so swollen she could barely keep her shoes on, yet she was still clutching my hospital paperwork. When she saw me, her face broke into a tremulous smile before she burst into tears. “My sweet girl, you’ve suffered so much…” “Where is Jordan?” I asked. My mother averted her gaze, waiting a long moment before murmuring, “Jordan… had an urgent matter at the office. He’ll be back soon.” It was only later that I discovered his “urgent matter” was flying to Miami because his assistant and childhood friend, Summer, had sprained her ankle during a company retreat and couldn’t get down the trail. He had flown out immediately to carry her down himself. Looking at my wrinkled newborn and my mother’s swollen, tear-stained face, I realized our marriage was nothing but a sham. The day I was discharged, I left the signed divorce papers on his desk. … My labor had lasted from three in the afternoon until four the next morning. For thirteen agonizing hours, my mother was the only person waiting outside. The nurse, seeing how pale she looked, had brought over a chair. “Ma’am, please sit. This is going to take a while.” My mother shook her head, her voice trembling. “No, no. If I stand, my daughter will have an easier time.” The nurse sighed and walked away. Later, I learned that my mother hadn’t dared to drink a single sip of water all night, terrified of missing the doctor’s call while in the restroom. Her feet, already prone to swelling, had ballooned so much that her shoes were cutting into her skin. When they rolled me out of the delivery room, the anesthesia was still wearing off, and I could barely keep my eyes open. Through the haze, I saw my mother leaning against the corridor wall, the crumpled paperwork clutched tightly in her hand. She smiled, the lines around her eyes deepening, before her tears began to fall. “My sweet girl… you’ve suffered so much…” My throat was parched. I licked my dry lips and whispered, “Mom… where is Jordan?” My mother’s smile froze. She turned her head, staring at the flickering light at the end of the hallway before whispering, “Jordan… had an emergency at the office. He’ll be back soon, sweetheart.” I forced a faint smile and stopped asking. My mother was notoriously terrible at lying; whenever she tried, the tips of her ears would turn bright red. As the nurse wheeled me to the postpartum ward, I held the wrinkled newborn in my arms. She was tiny, her mouth working as she slept, looking like a vulnerable little kitten. I looked down at her, and tears began to pool, spilling onto her blanket. I knew exactly what his “emergency” was. The emergency’s name was Summer, his assistant—the girl he called “the sister I grew up with,” the girl whose smiling face had been his phone wallpaper for three years. Right before I entered the delivery room, he had called to tell me Summer had sprained her ankle during their Florida retreat and couldn’t get down the trail, so he had to fly out to help her. I had told him I was in labor. He had paused for a brief second before replying, “Your mother is with you, right? The hospital is full of doctors and nurses. What could go wrong? Summer is all alone out there, and I can’t leave her.” Before hanging up, he added, “Don’t make a scene. I’ll be back to help you with the recovery.” I had clutched my phone, breathing through a contraction, and didn’t offer a single word in response. In the ward, my mother fed me warm oatmeal, blowing on each spoonful to cool it down. As she stood with her back to the window, the morning light catching her silver hair, I realized with a pang how aged she had become. “Mom, please sit down and rest.” She shook her head. “I’m not tired. Eat up, then get some sleep.” I took a couple of bites but couldn’t swallow anymore. My phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was a message from Jordan. “Summer’s ankle is severely swollen. I might have to stay in Miami for a couple of days. Is everything going smoothly on your end?” Just that. No question about the baby, no inquiry about my pain, no mention of the birth weight or whether it was a boy or a girl. It was the kind of message one might send to a distant colleague about a project. I stared at the text for a long time before turning the phone face down. My mother noticed but pretended not to, quietly peeling an egg for me. “Eat more, sweetheart. It’s good for your recovery.” Around noon, Jordan’s mother visited. She walked in carrying a generic fruit basket, and her first words weren’t for me. “Where is the baby? Let me see my grandson.” My mother carefully held out the bundle. “She’s a beautiful baby girl.” The smile instantly vanished from my mother-in-law’s face. She cast a brief glance at the baby, making no move to hold her. “Oh, a girl… Well, a girl is fine. A sweet little thing to pamper, I suppose.” My mother’s hands trembled slightly as she held the baby closer. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, utterly silent. My mother-in-law stayed for less than ten minutes before checking her watch. “Oh, I have a card game scheduled. I must run. Take care, Nell.” She left without even unwrapping the plastic on the fruit basket. My mother walked her to the door, returning with red eyes and a forced smile. “Don’t mind her, sweetheart. We don’t need her. I’m here to take care of you.” “I know, Mom,” I murmured, burying my face in the pillow. In the afternoon, another message arrived from Jordan. “Summer wanted to try this local key lime pie place, so I’m taking her to dinner. Flying back tonight. By the way, has the baby been born yet?” I let out a sudden, hollow laugh, tears streaming down my face. Hearing me, my mother rushed over. “What is it, sweetheart? Are you hurting? Should I call the doctor?” I shook my head and handed her the phone. My mother couldn’t read well, but she recognized the name “Summer”—it was a name she had seen far too often in our home. Her lips trembled as she whispered, “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have pressured you to marry him…” I stayed in the hospital for three days, and Jordan never showed up once. Instead, he posted a photo of the Florida sunset on his social media with the caption: “With the most important person, watching the most beautiful view.” Summer had liked it, leaving a comment: “Thank you, Jordan.” I took a screenshot and saved it to my album. On the third afternoon, I asked my mother to bring a document from our house—the divorce papers I had prepared six months ago. I wanted no alimony, no assets. I only wanted custody of my daughter, and then we would be completely done. My mother’s hands shook as she held the papers. “Nell… are you sure? The baby is so small. How can she grow up without a father?” I looked at her. “Mom, having no father is a hundred times better than having a father like him.” My mother fell silent for a long time before finally nodding. “Alright, sweetheart. We’ll do this together. Your mother will help you raise her.” On the day I was discharged, it was raining. My mother pushed my wheelchair out of the lobby, holding an umbrella in one hand and steering with the other. She tilted the umbrella completely over my daughter and me, leaving her own shoulder soaked by the rain. “Mom, tilt the umbrella toward yourself,” I said. She smiled. “I’m fine. I’m sturdy.” On the way home, I had the driver make a detour to Jordan’s office. I waited in the car with the baby while my mother went inside to leave the signed divorce papers on his desk. On the cover, I had written four words in red: Let’s end this cleanly. As my mother walked out, the receptionist ran after her. “Mrs. West, aren’t you going to wait for Mr. West to return?” My mother replied on my behalf. “No. He has someone more important to wait for.” Back at our apartment, I put the baby to sleep and began packing our lives into three large suitcases—clothes, documents, formula, and diapers. My mother helped me fold the clothes, her tears silent. I took our wedding portrait out of its frame and tore it down the middle. At eight that evening, my mother and I, carrying our bags and the baby, boarded the train back to our hometown. As the train pulled out of the station and the city lights faded into the dark, a profound peace settled over me. Goodbye, Jordan. Goodbye to this city. I deleted his contact information, our chat history, and every photo of him from my phone. It was like deleting an expired app—clean and final. The morning after we arrived in our hometown, I was awakened by my daughter’s cries before dawn. My mother had risen even earlier, and the kitchen was already warm with the steam of freshly cooked oatmeal. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. I’ve got her,” my mother said, gently taking the baby from my arms. I looked at my mother’s feet, still swollen and shoved into a pair of oversized slippers, making her limp slightly as she walked. My throat tightened, and I quickly turned to check the stove so she wouldn’t see my tears. “Mom, I’m going to take care of you from now on.” She smiled, chiding me gently. “Nonsense. I’m still strong enough to take care of both of you.” During breakfast, our neighbor Aunt Mabel pushed open the door, holding a bowl of warm custard. “Nell! Oh, my sweet girl, look how thin you’ve gotten!” She set the custard on the table, leaning in to look at the baby. “She looks just like you, beautiful!” Then, lowering her voice, she asked, “Where is Jordan? He didn’t come back with you?” My mother’s hand trembled, nearly dropping her spoon. I offered a calm smile. “Aunt Mabel, we’re getting a divorce.” Aunt Mabel’s mouth fell open. “Divorce? Since when?” “Yesterday.” She looked at me, then at my mother, before slapping her thigh. “Good for you! Why should a young woman endure that kind of misery? You and your mother will do just fine on your own.” She squeezed my hand. “It’s a good thing. Focus on your life now.” I nodded, swallowing a spoonful of warm oatmeal, though my tears made it taste salty. At ten that morning, my phone rang. It was the director from my former employer. “Nell, your request to transfer to our local branch has been approved. You can start next Monday.” I was stunned before realizing that this was the transfer request I had quietly submitted three months ago, right after I discovered Jordan’s phone was filled with photos of Summer—from their college days to recent photos of him picking out handbags for her. Our own photos together numbered exactly three, all taken on our wedding day. I had written the transfer request that very night. I had known our marriage wouldn’t last, though I hadn’t expected him to abandon me so completely during childbirth. My mother walked in carrying fresh laundry. “Who was that, sweetheart?” “The office. They want me to start next week.” My mother looked worried. “So soon? You haven’t fully recovered yet…” “The new role is much easier, standard nine-to-five,” I smiled. “You can watch the baby during the day, and I’ll take over at night so you can rest.” My mother’s eyes grew moist, and she nodded quietly. In the afternoon, I turned on my phone, which had been switched off. Immediately, a deluge of missed calls, texts, and notifications flooded the screen. They were all from Jordan. He had tried calling from several different numbers since nine that morning. The latest text, sent ten minutes prior, read: “Nell, where are you? What is this on my desk? There is a limit to these kinds of jokes.” I let out a cold laugh. A joke? While I was in labor for thirteen hours, he was sharing fresh coconut water with Summer on a Florida beach. As I was wheeled out of delivery, he was tying Summer’s shoes to help her down a trail. He didn’t know his daughter’s birth weight, and he couldn’t even remember her birth date. Now he was calling it a joke. Another message popped up. “Stop this now. I’m coming home this afternoon, and we can name the baby together. Are you angry because I didn’t make it to the hospital? I explained to you, Summer really couldn’t manage without me…” I turned the phone face down on the table. Explanation. He always had an explanation. Every time he hurt me, he had a polished speech ready. “Summer is alone,” “You’re his wife, you should be the bigger person,” “Why are you so petty?” He had said it so often that I had actually started to doubt myself, wondering if I was indeed being unreasonable. It was only when I lay on that delivery table, breathing through the agony, that I finally understood—the person who constantly asks you to be understanding is the person who doesn’t love you at all. In the evening, I took the baby to the porch to get some fresh air. The warm sunlight fell over her face as she slept peacefully. My mother sat beside us on a small stool, peeling peanuts and chatting happily. “Nell, I was thinking, the local schoolteacher’s son…” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Mom, are you already trying to set me up?” My mother’s face turned red. “I… I was just making conversation! I won’t pressure you, I promise.” Our shadows stretched long in the setting sun. I kissed my daughter’s cheek, feeling the heavy burden of the past three years finally lift. But our peace didn’t even last twenty-four hours. At six in the evening, just as dusk was falling, a sudden screech of tires echoed outside our gate. The car door slammed shut with a heavy thud, followed by the sound of hurried, desperate footsteps rushing toward the house. “Nell!” His voice was raw and unrecognizable. Jordan stood in the doorway, his tie askew, his hair a disheveled mess. In his hand, he clutched the divorce papers bearing my signature. The moment our eyes met, he rushed forward frantically and grabbed my hand with a death grip.

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1 My mother was a maid for the Diabys. A drunken accident left her pregnant with me. They discarded her and kept me, treating me as their lifelong shame. The legitimate daughter saw me as a thorn, leading her clique to bully me daily. Derek, the eldest son, beat and cursed me at will. On my eighteenth birthday, he tried forcing me to marry an old man. When I refused, he personally dragged me to that man’s bed. Wayne Ashford kicked the door open. He shielded my trembling body with his coat and fought the entire Diaby family for me. He bought me fine clothes and took me to see the ocean. Whenever I cried about my mother being forced that night she simply passed my father’s room, he kissed my tears away, swearing he believed me. I thought I’d found salvation. With nothing else to give, I offered myself as his birthday gift in the dark. As he coaxed me closer, the lights snapped on. My siblings, classmates, and wealthy heirs all pointed at my disgrace. Wayne tore away the blanket I clutched. “You claimed your mother wasn’t a slut who seduced men,” he sneered. “But you are, aren’t you?” His favor was only a trap to grind me into filth. After crying until I was hollow, I called overseas. “Mom,” I whispered. “I’ll come home.” The glaring white light fell over me, pinning my naked body in place. I was like a cheap product stripped of its packaging, exposed for everyone to inspect. Flashes kept going off. Shutter clicks mixed with filthy laughter. “Oh, isn’t this the Diaby family’s illegitimate daughter? You sure know how to play.” “Wayne, impressive. You could actually stomach this kind of goods?” “Hahaha, the sounds she made just now were so dirty my bones went weak.” Those obscene words pierced my ears like burning needles. I curled up, trying to grab the blanket Wayne had taken away, but my fingers caught only cold air. He stood by the bed, looking down at me. His face held a sarcasm and coldness I had never seen before. I trembled, not from the cold, but from betrayal that had sunk into my bones. “Why?” My voice was dry, like sandpaper scraping my throat. “Wayne Ashford, didn’t you say you would protect me?” He let out a soft laugh. It was colder than winter wind. “Protect you?” He bent down, and with the hands that had once gently stroked my hair, he gripped my chin hard. “A maid’s child thinks she deserves protection?” “Get this straight, Tina. Using someone like you as a toy doesn’t cost anything.” A lazy voice came from the doorway. “Tsk. My dear sister, how are you still so naive?” Derek Diaby leaned against the doorframe, a champagne glass swaying in his hand, his face wearing the smile of someone enjoying a show. That face, which looked somewhat like our father’s, was now full of undisguised malice. “You didn’t really think Wayne went against me for you, did you?” My mind went blank. I could only stare at him. Derek walked in and paced around the bed like he was admiring a trophy. “That’s right, we used to be enemies. Couldn’t stand the sight of each other.” He paused and handed his glass toward Wayne. The two of them clinked glasses softly. The crisp sound of glass against glass rang in my heart like a funeral bell. “But now, Wayne is my real sister’s fiancé. We’ve long since turned from enemies into allies. Strong joined with strong.” Derek’s smile grew worse. “As for you…” He pointed at me from a distance. “You were just a bet between Wayne and me.” “A bet on how long it would take a naive country bumpkin like you to treat her ‘savior’ as her one true love.” “Looks like I won.” Louder laughter burst from the crowd. A girl I remembered from high school, who always followed Sylvia Diaby around, pointed at me and shrieked, “I remember her. That’s her. Back in high school, she wore that washed-out old uniform every day. So ugly.” Someone else immediately joined in. “Right, right. I once saw her hiding in the corner of the cafeteria, eating leftovers. I thought she looked poor and pathetic back then. I didn’t expect she’d dare dream of marrying into wealth.” “Wasn’t her mother that maid who crawled into a man’s bed? Like mother, like daughter. Cheapness runs in the bones.” “Exactly. She really thinks she’s something.” One sentence after another. Every humiliating thing about my past and present, everything I never wanted to look back on, was torn open bloody and spread in front of everyone. Those self-conscious, embarrassing memories I had desperately tried to forget had become their most entertaining jokes. I looked at Wayne. The man who had once told me, I don’t care about your past. I only care about your future. Now, he was laughing with those people, enjoying my collapse. So it wasn’t that he didn’t care about my past. He was simply enjoying the process of personally forcing me back into it. Tears burned in my eyes. But I bit my lip hard and didn’t let them fall. I couldn’t cry here. I couldn’t let them see my final humiliation. Supporting my weak body, I climbed off the bed. Ignoring their probing, contemptuous gazes, I picked up the clothes scattered on the floor and put them on one by one. The laughter in the room gradually quieted, replaced by an eerie silence. Perhaps they hadn’t expected me to remain so calm. I smoothed the last wrinkle from my clothes, straightened my back, and walked step by step out of the suffocating room. The hallway was empty. It was as if it belonged to another world from the debauchery inside. I leaned against the cold wall, took out my phone, and dialed a number I knew by heart with trembling fingers. The call rang for a long time before it connected. A gentle female voice came from the other end. “Tina?” It was my mother. Years ago, she had married overseas. Her husband was a wealthy man who treated her with respect, and she became his lawful wife. More than once, she had offered to bring me to her, even to have me adopted under her husband’s name so I could become a legitimate daughter. But I had refused. I didn’t want to burden her. I didn’t want to make her life difficult in her new family because of me. Back then, she had only sighed and said, “All right. Mom respects you. But remember, whenever you want to come back, Mom will come take you home.” I had once thought I would never make this call. But now, I truly couldn’t hold on anymore. “Mom, I agree to come back to you.” The moment I spoke, my voice broke. The other end was silent for a few seconds. She didn’t ask what had happened. She didn’t ask why I was crying. She only said in a voice so steady and reassuring, “Okay.” One word. Yet it was like a pair of warm hands reaching across the ocean, holding up the version of me that was about to collapse. “Tina, send me your address.” “I’ll have your brother pick you up.” I ended the call. That last okay was like a lifesaving straw dropped into the deep sea where I was drowning. Just as I put away my phone, the door behind me opened. Sylvia Diaby, my so-called half-sister, stood leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. Her exquisitely made-up face was filled with undisguised mockery. “Oh, isn’t this our family’s little pitiful thing?” “What, couldn’t help crying to your maid mother?” Her voice was sharp and thin, like nails scraping glass. I gripped my phone tightly. I didn’t want conflict right now. I only wanted to leave. Immediately. Seeing that I didn’t speak, she grew more interested and walked toward me step by step in her heels. “Why aren’t you talking? Cat got your tongue?” “Let me tell you, crying is useless. What can a lowborn thing like your mother teach you besides climbing into men’s beds?” She stopped in front of me and looked me up and down condescendingly, as if looking at garbage. “Oh, right.” As if suddenly remembering something, she covered her mouth and laughed. “She can teach you how to seduce men harder.” “After all, that’s the ancestral craft of you mother and daughter, isn’t it?” My knuckles turned white around my phone. A metallic taste rose in my throat. But I held it back. I told myself I was about to leave this hell. There was no need to argue with a mad dog. I turned sideways, wanting to walk around her. But she had no intention of letting me go. Smack. With a crisp sound, she slapped my phone out of my hand. It hit the wall and fell to the floor. The screen instantly shattered into cracks, like my already-broken heart. “I’m talking to you. Are you deaf?” Her voice suddenly rose, sharp and piercing. I looked at the black, dead object on the floor. It was the first smartphone my mother had bought me after saving money for a long time. I bent down, wanting to pick it up. Even if it was broken, I wanted to take it with me. Just as my fingertips were about to touch the remains of the phone, a rhinestone-studded pointed heel kicked my shoulder hard. The force made me lose balance, and I tumbled awkwardly onto the floor. The cold marble pressed against my cheek. I looked up. Sylvia stood there, looking down at me from above, a proud, cruel smile on her face. This scene was exactly like all those times in childhood when she and her friends pinned me to the ground and bullied me. So after all these years, I was still the pitiful worm lying on the floor, looking up at her. “Oh, sister, what are you doing? Such a grand bow?” Derek’s voice came from not far away, carrying his usual nauseating frivolity. A group of men and women surrounded him, all watching the show. They looked at me lying on the floor like a monkey in a zoo. “Still haven’t left? Thick-skinned, aren’t you?” Derek raised his brows and sauntered over. Someone in the crowd whistled obscenely at me. “What, not going to lift your skirt and let us see again?” “Tsk. Only letting Wayne see? That won’t do.” Filthy teasing rose one after another. Sylvia exaggeratedly covered her ears, full of disgust. “You’re dirtying my ears.” Then she turned and intimately hooked her arm through Wayne’s, who had appeared behind her at some point. “Wayne, let’s ignore this dirty thing. Where do you want to eat tonight?” Her voice instantly turned sweet and coquettish. The crowd immediately began cheering. “Candlelit dinner! Candlelit dinner!” “Kiss! Kiss!” Amid the noise, I saw Wayne smile. He lowered his head and looked at Sylvia, tenderness almost spilling from his eyes. He said, “Whatever you want.” Those three words were like three poisoned blades thrust into my heart. They left arm in arm, followed by the jeering crowd, leaving only a beautiful and cold silhouette behind. The vast hallway soon held only me, Derek, and a few of his followers who hadn’t left. Derek clearly had no intention of letting me go. He walked up to me and kicked my arm with the tip of his shoe. “See that?” “Only someone like my sister is worthy of Wayne Ashford.” He crouched down, gripped my chin, and forced me to look up. “What are you? A bastard born from a maid, and you dare dream?” His eyes were cold, like a snake flicking its tongue. “Behave yourself from now on.” He let go of my face, stood, and brushed off nonexistent dust. Before leaving, he casually waved at the remaining men like he was ordering servants. “She’s yours.” “Play as you like.” The men immediately revealed malicious smiles. They closed in on me step by step, like hyenas that had smelled blood. I struggled to get up, but one of them stepped on my back and pinned me to the floor. “Why run? Your brother gave you to us.” “Let us have some fun.” A hand shoved me roughly. Flashes lit up, accompanied by shutter clicks and excited howls. Cold, sticky hands wandered. I fought desperately, only to be met with harder punches and kicks. “Bitch. Still moving?” “Ungrateful trash.” Curses and beating sounds mixed together. I felt like my bones were about to break. My consciousness blurred beneath endless pain and humiliation. I didn’t know how long passed before they seemed to get tired of playing. I was dragged like a broken rag doll. My hands and feet were tied roughly, and some unknown cloth was stuffed into my mouth. Finally, the wardrobe door opened. I was shoved inside heavily. Bang. The door shut. The world sank into complete darkness and silence. I didn’t know how long I had been locked inside the wardrobe. When the door opened and blinding light rushed in, I could barely open my eyes. The first thing I saw was my father’s dignified face. Derek and Sylvia stood behind him, waiting to enjoy the show. I rarely saw my father. In this family, he was a symbol, a representation of power, not a father. I didn’t hold much hope that he would punish his precious children for me. But surely he would at least scold them a little. After all, I was his child too. But he only calmly swept his gaze over my miserable state, then turned to Derek and Sylvia. “You went too far.” There was not a trace of warmth in his voice. “If the photos get out, the family’s reputation will be affected. Be more restrained next time.” Then he glanced at me. His eyes were full of undisguised disgust. As if I were a filthy object that brought him shame. Then he turned and left. He didn’t look at me again. My heart sank completely. So he didn’t not know. He knew everything. He had merely allowed it. No. He had indulged it. My father’s support became Derek and Sylvia’s strongest backing. The smugness on their faces could no longer be hidden. Sylvia grabbed me out of the wardrobe with so much force that I staggered. She took out her phone and opened the album in front of me. Inside were photos of me being humiliated yesterday. “Don’t want these photos spread, do you?” Her smile was sweet and vicious. I looked at those humiliating images and nodded in shame again and again. “Sure.” Sylvia sneered. “Then curse your mother in front of us.” “Each curse, I delete one photo.” “No repeats.” I bit my lower lip hard and refused to speak. Seeing this, Derek said nothing and simply swung his fist. Bang. One punch landed on my face. The taste of blood instantly filled my mouth. A tooth mixed with blood fell onto the floor. “Ungrateful thing. Are you going to curse or not?” They continued pressing me. I shook my head. Then fists and slaps rained down on me. Again. And again. Only when they got tired did they finally stop. I lay on the floor, my whole body in pain, my consciousness beginning to drift. Under my hopeless gaze, Sylvia uploaded the photos one by one to social media. As if that wasn’t enough, she shoved the phone screen in front of me and read the filthy comments beneath them one by one. “Haha, look at this one. Says you must be good in bed.” “This one is even better. Asking how much for one night.” “Tsk, tsk, Tina, you’re famous now.” Those filthy words hurt me more than their fists ever could. “Had enough?” A cool voice sounded from the doorway. It was Wayne. He leaned against the doorframe, his expression faint. “Uncle just warned you, and you’ve already forgotten?” “When he comes back, I’m afraid he’ll be unhappy.” Derek and Sylvia looked at each other. Their excitement finally faded a little. Only then did they stop. But before leaving, Sylvia still unwillingly found rope and tied my hands and feet. “Before we come back tonight, stay here obediently.” “If you dare run, I’ll break your legs.” With that, the three of them left together, laughing and harmonious. The door shut. The room returned to dead silence. Only I remained, bound and abandoned on the cold floor. I didn’t wait to die. I wriggled my body little by little toward the desk. Using the sharp corner, I began grinding the rope around my wrists. Once. Twice. My skin tore, blood seeping out, burning painfully. But I didn’t stop. Five whole hours. Just as I thought the bones in my wrists would be ground apart, the rope finally snapped. I broke free. I had to leave this hell. I stumbled out of the house. After so much torture and blood loss, my consciousness had already started to blur. Just as I reached the entrance, my legs weakened, and I was about to fall. But I fell into a warm embrace. “Don’t be afraid.” A gentle male voice sounded above my head. “I’m taking you home.” I struggled to raise my head and saw his face clearly. It was Everett Lin. My stepfather’s eldest son, the publicly acknowledged sole heir of the Lin family. At that moment, a sharp female voice tore through that brief warmth. “Oh, Tina, found another man to seduce already?” Sylvia and Wayne had returned. She looked Everett up and down. Seeing that he was unfamiliar, she naturally assumed he was some lowly nobody. “Where did you find this lover? He looks decent enough.” She spoke with contempt. “Two lowborn things together. What a perfect match.” But beside her, the moment Wayne saw Everett’s face clearly, his entire body went stiff.

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At our friend’s wedding, my boyfriend stretched out his leg and tripped me so I wouldn’t compete with his assistant for the bouquet. The three-month-old baby in my womb couldn’t survive the impact. I miscarried. Blood spread across the floor in an instant. My whole body shook violently. Shock flashed through Mason Hart’s eyes, but he pretended nothing had happened and smiled. “Enough. It’s someone else’s wedding. Why are you lying there like that?” “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just wanted you to run slower so you wouldn’t fight Ruby for the bouquet.” While I fell, Ruby Bell had already caught the bouquet in her arms with a smile. Seeing my shoulders tremble, Mason grabbed my arm and yanked me up as if I were an object. “Enough. Get up already. How long are you going to keep pretending? What’s wrong with you? Did your period come?” Only when blood had pooled across the floor and even stained the edge of Mason’s clothes did he finally seem to realize something was wrong. Looking at my pale face, he asked in disbelief, dazed, “Ava Vale, where is all this blood coming from? Don’t tell me… you…” I had planned to catch the bouquet and then tell Mason about the surprise I had hidden for three months. But none of that mattered anymore. I forced out a smile and answered coldly. “I was pregnant. You killed your own child with your own hands. Are you satisfied now?” Mason sat beside my hospital bed. Only after replying to Ruby’s messages did he finally have time to look at me with blame. “Didn’t you know you were pregnant?” “You’re an adult. Can’t you even take care of your own body?” While I was in surgery, he had gone home to change clothes. There was no blood left on him now. He said the second half of the wedding had gone badly because something happened to me and ruined the atmosphere. “When you’re discharged, I’ll host a dinner. You can apologize to Paige and her husband.” I stared blankly at the ceiling and asked him, “Mason, was it my fault? Did I fall on purpose?” “Did I want to miscarry?” When he saw how pale my face was, he fell silent for a moment. “You shouldn’t have run so fast.” “I just wanted to stop you so you’d give the bouquet to Ruby.” “You know she got divorced and still hasn’t really moved on.” “She only wanted a little good luck. Why did you have to fight her for it?” It was the wedding of our mutual friends, Paige and her husband, who had been together for years. When Paige was about to toss the bouquet, she spoke playfully. “Get ready to catch it. Whoever catches it will be the next to get married.” Before the ceremony started, she had pulled Mason and me aside. “When I throw the bouquet, I’ll throw it in your direction.” “Mason, I don’t mind if you propose at my wedding. Double happiness would be perfect.” She winked at both of us. Everyone wanted the blessing of that happy couple. I wanted it too. I thought Mason and I had both understood Paige’s hint. So I tried hard to run to the front and catch the bouquet that represented marriage. Ruby and I were both just about to touch it. Then Mason suddenly stretched out his leg. The moment I tripped, the bouquet bounced from my hand and fell into Ruby’s arms. Seeing that I had quieted down, Mason leaned closer and patted my hand. He brushed it all aside lightly. “Okay. Let’s not talk about this anymore.” As if he were being considerate, he said, “If you don’t want to apologize, then don’t.” “The baby was still in your belly. It was only an embryo. If an accident took it, then it’s gone.” “Don’t be too sad.” “Take care of your body. If you want children, we’ll have more.” I pulled my hand away and closed my eyes. Suddenly, I remembered the checkup only a few days earlier, when the doctor had smiled and told me, “In a little while, you’ll slowly start feeling fetal movement.” I gently placed my hand back on my lower abdomen. But now, there was nothing there. Empty. Only hollow breathing remained in the ward. Perhaps thinking I was asleep, Mason lowered his voice while speaking to Paige on the phone. “I hired someone to take care of her.” “If you have time, come visit her more and cheer her up.” “Me?” “I still have work at the company. I can’t stay here every day.” “And seeing her so lifeless puts pressure on me too.” “She doesn’t really want to talk. Staying beside her makes me irritated. It’s suffocating.” The door opened, then closed. Mason’s voice faded gradually until I couldn’t hear it anymore. I stayed at the recovery center for another two weeks. Mason came only twice. Each time, he stayed less than ten minutes before leaving. “I can’t help much anyway. I still have things to do. I’ll go first.” He couldn’t help much, and he was indeed busy. Messages kept flashing on his phone, Ruby’s name appearing again and again. He replied to every one of them without missing a beat, not even lifting his eyes. “When you’re discharged, I’ll come pick you up.” But he didn’t remember the day of my discharge. The caregiver called him. He didn’t listen to what she said, only gave two perfunctory hums and hurried to hang up. “I’m busy right now. Whatever it is, you can arrange it.” In the background, Ruby’s sweet voice called his name. The caregiver held the disconnected phone and looked at me awkwardly. At home, it was lively. When I pushed open the door, an unfamiliar woman was bringing the last dish out of the kitchen. She was still muttering, “Mason, you must try this. It’s my specialty.” “Ruby loves it most.” Mason smiled, perfectly skilled at making people happy. “Ruby loves it? Then I’ll definitely love it too. Ruby has always told me your cooking is amazing.” Ruby covered her face shyly, cheeks flushed red. When I came in, it was like two worlds at either end of the room. As if I had disturbed them. Ruby’s mother hesitated before speaking. “And this is?” Mason stood, intending to take me outside. As he pushed my shoulder, he comforted Ruby’s family. He searched for a while and finally chose a suitable identity for me. “She’s my assistant. She came to deliver something.” The exhaustion in my body spread into my heart. Mason held my hand. “After Ruby’s divorce, her parents kept pressuring her.” “She had no choice, so she told them she already had a new boyfriend.” “She didn’t expect them to suddenly come from their hometown this time, so she asked me for help.” “She wants me to pretend to be her boyfriend for a few days until her family leaves.” He shook my hand as if this were nothing. “Mason, when did her parents arrive?” He seemed not to expect that question and froze before giving a date. It was the day I had surgery. I slowly smiled. “No wonder you’ve been so busy lately.” Seeing me smile, Mason seemed relieved. “You know Ruby has been by my side for years, sharing so much of the burden.” “She’s my assistant and also my friend. I have no reason not to help with something like this.” “I spend a little time, and her parents think their daughter is doing well. Then they can go back without worrying so much.” He had considered everything. From the bottom of my heart, I sighed. “Mason, you’re really considerate to her.” I pressed a hand against Mason and pushed him away when he tried to lean closer. Ruby followed us out, rushing forward to stand in front of Mason as if I were some villain. “Ava, don’t hit him.” “I was the one who begged Mason to help. If you want to blame someone, blame me.” “My place is too small. Mason thought about how hard it was for my parents to visit, and since you happened not to be here, he offered to let us stay.” I happened not to be here. That was good for them. It wasn’t just a meal or a dinner. They were living together. “I’ll take my parents and move out right now. Don’t fight because of me.” She said she would leave, but her feet didn’t move at all. Mason pulled her behind him and explained gently, “Don’t worry about me. We’re not fighting.” “Your parents are leaving soon. Don’t overthink it. Stay here properly.” Ruby looked anxiously at me. “Ava, you don’t mind, do you?” I looked at the light falling on their still-touching hands and hummed faintly. “I don’t mind.” “It’s Mason’s house. If he wants you to stay, then stay.” I thought about many things. Mason and me. Mason and Ruby. Myself. In the end, I thought, there was nothing to mind. I was going to break up with Mason. My phone kept ringing. In our friends’ group chat, someone posted a photo. Mason was accompanying Ruby and her family around a shopping mall, carrying many shopping bags in his hands. He looked every inch the good boyfriend and good son-in-law. “Mason, what is this?” Someone finally seemed unable to watch anymore, and their words were less carefully chosen. “Ava, I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time.” “I’ve run into Mason and this good assistant of his together outside work more than once.” “I was afraid you’d think I was stirring up trouble between you two, so I kept holding back.” “But at Paige’s wedding, he insisted on bringing someone extra, and it had to be this woman.” “You miscarried. He’s not home taking care of you? But he has time to shop with another woman?” “If someone didn’t know better, they’d think they were the couple.” My lower abdomen seemed to ache in response to that question, throbbing faintly. My friend had held back. So had I. From the moment Ruby said she was divorcing until the whole process was finished. Mason helped a lot in the middle. He helped her deal with her ex-husband’s harassment, helped her find a powerful lawyer to fight the divorce case. Seeing that she was in a bad mood, he extended their business trip. After the project discussion ended, he accompanied her around the local city on walks. When he helped me choose gifts, Mason would unconsciously say, “This actually suits Ruby.” When Ruby got drunk, he went to pick her up and personally took care of her. He listened to Ruby drunkenly ask why other men couldn’t be as good as Mason. Mason made her hangover tea and fed it to her while answering, “Then next time, meet me earlier.” I had accompanied him in the middle of the night for that trip. Hearing that, I frowned. “Mason, don’t you think you and Ruby have crossed a line?” He stared at me for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed. “You’re getting jealous over nothing?” “She’s been running around with me since the company first started and never complained once.” “This divorce has hit her hard. Whether emotionally or logically, I have to take extra care of her.” If I asked again, he brushed me off with the same kind of words. If I asked too many times, he told me to calm down and stop thinking of that kind of thing every time I saw a man and a woman together. The worst fight we had nearly ended in a breakup. It was at his company’s annual party. The first prize was a voucher for a couple’s island vacation. I hooked my finger around Mason’s. “If either of us wins, we’ll go when you take a break.” I was number six. Ruby was number nine. When it was time to draw, Ruby played along with the atmosphere. “Pick me. Pick me.” Mason was in charge of the draw. In the noisy room, he and Ruby looked at each other through the crowd. Then he smiled and read out the winning number. “Congratulations, number nine.” I looked at the number in my hand. I was a little disappointed, but it was fine. Until I saw the winning card that had been cleared away. The number written on it was clearly six. Mason admitted he did it on purpose. “It’s just a small thing. If you want to go, I can take you.” “Ruby is at a low point right now. She wanted it, and it just happened to be you who won, so I thought we could let her have it and make her happy. Isn’t that nice?” “How many times have you thrown tantrums over things like this? Can you be more mature?” “Stop being so petty.” “No. No.” I cut him off sharply. “That was mine. And you’re my boyfriend. Why did you give away my things without asking me?” Mason didn’t want to argue and walked away. It made me look like a hysterical, resentful woman. Watching his back, I suddenly threw the number card at him. “If you want to give things away, then give yourself away.” “I’ll give you to her too.” “Mason Hart, we’re breaking up.” I had walked far away before Mason seemed to react. He hurried after me and grabbed me. His breathing was unsteady. The criticism he had been about to say died when he saw that I wasn’t pretending. He panicked. He held me tightly and kept coaxing. “Okay, okay.” “I’m sorry, Ava.” “I’ll make her return it right now. I won’t do it again.” When my struggling weakened, he nuzzled me affectionately. “I knew it. When have you ever truly been willing to leave me?” He said he would be more mindful of boundaries. But when Ruby said at the wedding that she no longer believed love would come to her, Mason naturally wanted me to give her the bouquet that represented happiness. Only this time, what I lost was not just a free travel voucher. I stopped thinking about those things. In the boiling group chat, I replied with one message. “It’s fine. I’m going to break up with Mason.” Neither my family nor Mason’s knew about the miscarriage. They complained lightly and dragged me out for afternoon tea. “Ava, what have you and Mason been busy with lately? We wanted to visit, but you kept saying you couldn’t and it was inconvenient.” Mason’s mother pretended to be displeased. “I called him so late last time and even heard his assistant’s voice beside him.” “You both need to take care of your health. Don’t work so late.” I smiled. Words lodged in my throat, but I couldn’t say them. Mason noticed us first. He clearly didn’t expect to run into us at the mall. He directly pulled me aside. “Ruby and her parents are here too. If we run into each other, it’ll be hard to explain.” “Can you take my mom and yours somewhere else?” Mason rubbed my earlobe. “Mm?” Soft music played in the mall, but for no reason, it irritated me. I stepped back, not wanting to be too close to him. Mason’s hand missed, then he withdrew it as if nothing had happened. “I originally thought you were too busy to deal with things between us, so I would wait until Ruby’s parents left.” “But right now, I really can’t wait another second.” He didn’t understand what I meant. Perhaps displeased that I had avoided his touch, he bent down and tried to kiss me. I turned my head, and the kiss landed only on my cheek. “Wait for what? I know. Once they leave, I’ll properly spend time with you.” “Be good.” I rubbed hard at the side of my face where he had kissed me, wanting to erase the sticky feeling. My voice wasn’t loud, but my eyes were cold. “Mason, don’t make this feel as disgusting as an affair.” “We’re brea—” Before I could finish, my mother and Mason’s mother came out of the shop and saw us. They were pleasantly surprised. “Mason, why are you here too? Didn’t you say you were busy?” Mason behaved flawlessly. “I’m meeting a client nearby, Mom.” My fingers curled almost imperceptibly. I suddenly remembered that after he promised me he would pay attention to boundaries with Ruby, the time we spent together had actually decreased. He always said the company was busy. Ruby had once posted a photo. In the corner of the picture was Mason’s distinctive hand. When I asked him what it meant, he said he was meeting a client. The exact same tone. As he spoke, Mason casually handed me a card. “All expenses for the three ladies in my family today are on me.” “Consider it my apology.” Both mothers immediately laughed. They teased that I was the richest person in the family. Looking at their smiles, I swallowed the sigh I couldn’t let out. Mason was anxious for me to leave, so he pushed the card toward me again, about to put it directly into my hand. But just as he turned around, footsteps thundered closer, loud enough to shake the building. Someone behind me suddenly grabbed my hair. The hand was rough from hard labor, gripping and yanking me. Then a heavy slap landed across my face. My cheek swelled instantly, five clear finger marks appearing. My eardrum buzzed as if ruptured. The scene was chaotic and ugly. Ruby’s mother had been held back, but she was still trying to rush forward as if she wanted to tear me apart. “The last time you came to my son-in-law’s house, I could tell you weren’t decent.” “You mistress, trying to take her place. You chased him all the way here to ask for money.” Her hair had come loose, and she threw herself toward the ground as if ready to make a scene. “Everyone, come judge this.” “This woman is a mistress. She claimed she was my daughter’s boyfriend’s assistant, using work as an excuse to chase him into his home.” “What kind of thoughts do women like you have? You think others can’t see?” “And today I caught them pulling at each other, with her trying to take my daughter’s boyfriend’s bank card.” “My daughter told me too. This mistress just had a miscarriage.” “So shameless, so cheap, and still trying to cling to my daughter’s man.” “Don’t even dream of it.” Her voice was loud, sentence after sentence. Many people stopped, their gazes falling on me, their faces full of contempt.

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1 For my sake, Marcus, a brilliant and renowned cardiothoracic surgeon, turned down a prestigious fellowship abroad. He had taken my hand in front of the entire hospital staff, declaring to everyone that I was the only woman he would ever love. Back then, everyone whispered that an unremarkable resident like me had somehow managed to capture the heart of the youngest Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery at Apex Medical Center. That night, he held a bouquet of white roses and proposed to me on the hospital rooftop, with a sky full of fireworks exploding behind him. But when I woke up, everything changed. I had suddenly traveled three years into the future. The thirty-one-year-old Marcus stood before me, tossing a reassignment notice stamped by the HR department onto the desk. “Sienna, stop slitting your wrists just to beg for my sympathy. I stopped feeling anything for you a long time ago.” “This transfer to the ER to do grunt work is entirely your own doing.” The man standing in front of me wore a pristine, spotless white lab coat. His eyes were cold, completely devoid of the tenderness that had once filled them on that rooftop. A sharp ache hit the back of my throat, and my eyes stung. “Marcus, are you snapping at me?” Marcus froze. The next second, his brow furrowed even deeper. I could not wrap my head around this. Just last night, he had been on one knee on the hospital rooftop, handing me those white roses. “Sienna, let’s get married.” He was such a proud, ambitious man, yet he had turned down a spot at Harvard just to stay by my side. He had even stayed up for three consecutive nights to help me edit my research paper so it could be published sooner. I still remembered the dark circles under his eyes. How could a single night turn the man who once cherished me into someone who looked at me with nothing but sheer disgust? Marcus obviously had no patience for my confusion. He stared at me, his lip curling slightly. “Time travel? Sienna, you’re a medical professional. Do you honestly expect me to believe that ridiculous excuse?” He scoffed, yanking off his surgical mask. Unwilling to spare me another glance, he turned on his heel and walked out. Panic seized me. Without thinking, I rushed after him, reaching out to grab his sleeve. “Mar—” Suddenly, Marcus stopped dead in his tracks. Caught completely off guard, my nose slammed hard against his solid back. The sharp pain made me gasp, and tears instantly flooded my eyes. But Marcus did not seem to hear me, let alone care to turn around. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his vibrating phone. He answered it. A soft, melodic female voice slipped through the receiver, clear enough for me to hear every word. “Hey, Marcus. I just emailed you the final draft of the new review. Don’t forget to take a look when you have a moment.” Marcus offered a quiet, gentle hum. His voice softened into a tone I had not heard all morning. “Got it. I’ll review it tonight.” I stood frozen in place, staring at him in disbelief. “Who is she?” The voice sounded incredibly familiar, but my mind was in such a chaotic mess that I could not place it. “Have you had enough of this drama?” Marcus slid his phone back into his pocket, his brief moment of tenderness vanishing instantly. “Be grateful, Sienna. If I hadn’t vouched for you in front of the Chief of Medicine, you wouldn’t even have a job as a clerk.” His gaze flicked to my red, swollen nose, his expression icy. “You are no longer the promising doctor I once thought was worth mentoring.” The heavy thud of the door closing shook me out of my daze. I fumbled with my phone, scrolled to the very top of my contact list, and pressed dial. The line rang for what felt like an eternity before a voice finally picked up. “Sienna?” My best friend, Jenna, sounded hesitant, as if receiving a call from me was the last thing she expected. But I was too overwhelmed to notice her strange tone. The moment I heard her voice, the tears I had been holding back finally spilled over. Jenna remained quiet, listening to my frantic, rambling explanation. After a long pause, her voice spiked in disbelief. “Are you telling me Marcus proposed to you on the rooftop yesterday?” I squeezed the reassignment notice tightly in my hand. “Yes. But now he’s transferring me to the ER to do grunt work.” I sniffled, my voice trembling. “Jenna, can you come pick me up?” Another long silence stretched over the line before she softly replied, “Okay. I’m on my way.” Inside the quiet cafe, Jenna stared at my face for a long time, as if trying to find a stranger hidden beneath my features. “So, you’re saying you fell asleep, woke up, and three years had passed? You don’t remember anything that happened during this time?” I did not know whether to nod or shake my head. “Sienna, to be honest, this isn’t the first time Marcus has tried to push you out.” Jenna spoke slowly, choosing her words with extreme caution. “And frankly, you and I haven’t spoken in a very long time.” I stared at her, stunned. Jenna let out a long sigh before explaining the nightmare my life had become over the last three years. Less than six months after that grand, romantic rooftop proposal, Marcus began to change. My eyes widened. “He fell in love with someone else?” “Yes. It started about two years ago,” Jenna said, taking a sip of her coffee and watching me closely. “It was Brooke, the junior resident you used to mentor.” According to Jenna, once I found out about the affair, I completely lost my mind. I began doing desperate, reckless things. “You crashed the National Cardiothoracic Conference. In front of the entire medical community, you screamed that Brooke had plagiarized your research data, causing a massive scene. Later, you broke into her office and smashed her newly won award. Marcus called security on you himself and even had the psychiatry department come down to evaluate you.” Jenna took another slow sip. “I couldn’t watch you destroy yourself like that, so I tried to convince you to let him go. But you were hysterical, and you ended up shoving me down a flight of stairs.” After that, everyone turned their backs on me. The once-promising resident who had captured the heart of Apex Medical’s star surgeon had become the biggest laughingstock in the entire city. “I accused her of stealing my paper, and Marcus just decided I was insane?” Jenna remained silent, but she gave a slow, somber nod. I looked down, smoothing out the crumpled transfer notice on the table. In a way, Marcus had been merciful. Even though he despised me to this extent, he had not officially requested the board to terminate my contract. He had simply relegated me to the chaos of the emergency room. I pulled a pen from my bag, ready to sign the document. “Are you actually going through with this?” Jenna’s hand shot out, gripping my wrist. Deep concern swam in her eyes. “You’ve pretended to agree to transfers before, only to turn around and storm the administration office to cause another scene.” I looked at her, utterly bewildered. Had the future version of me really become so pathetic? “Sienna,” she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Do you really not love him anymore?” My fingers tensed around the pen. Love? A flood of memories rushed into my mind. The truth was, Marcus had been right about one thing. It was his recommendation that had allowed me to secure a permanent residency at Apex. It was his guidance that had given me access to top-tier research resources. But three years ago, he had promised to help me refine my research paper so I could submit it to a prestigious international journal. Yet shortly after, Brooke had published a paper with almost identical data. When I confronted him, Marcus had smoothed it over, claiming that Brooke’s research direction had simply overlapped with mine. He told me that with my skills, I could easily write a better one. He told me he loved me, so I worked twice as hard, desperately trying to be someone worthy of standing by his side. I had agreed to climb to the peak of the medical field with him, believing we were partners. But now, he had chosen someone else to walk that path with him. The debt of gratitude I owed him for his mentorship had been paid in full with my broken heart. Wasn’t it time for me to reclaim my own life and chase my own dreams? Jenna’s eyes welled with tears, her voice cracking. “Sienna, I am so, so glad to hear you say that.” Standing before the towering building of Apex Medical Center, I looked up. The grand, modern glass facade remained unchanged. Yet, it felt completely different from the place I remembered. “Isn’t that the crazy girl from Cardiothoracic?” “Why is she back? Didn’t she embarrass herself enough last time?” “Shh, keep your voice down. Last week, a nurse tried to talk to her, and she nearly scratched his eyes out.” The hushed whispers of passing staff drifted into my ears. I pulled my gaze away, tightening my grip on the signed transfer form. Before coming here, I had tried calling Marcus. It rang once before he hung up. When I tried again, the call went straight to voicemail. He had blocked me. Since I was leaving the department anyway, there was no point in dragging this out. I wanted to hand the paperwork directly to him and close this chapter. Jenna had tried to stop me before we parted ways. “I have a court hearing this afternoon, are you absolutely sure you can handle this alone?” She was a busy corporate lawyer now. She clearly did not believe I was fully sane yet, thinking I was just using the paperwork as an excuse to cause another scene. But seeing my quiet determination, she had finally relented, looking back at me with worry as she walked away. Clearly, she was not the only one who expected the worst. The moment I stepped into the Cardiothoracic wing, the nurse at the front desk was so startled she knocked over a bottle of disinfectant. Several residents nearby instantly went on high alert, surrounding the desk as if a threat had entered the room. I could not blame them. Jenna had told me that during my worst breakdown, I had completely trashed the Chief’s office, a scene that someone had filmed and posted online. Marcus had used that incident to suspend several colleagues who had dared to speak up for me. I understood their hostility. I looked at the nurse, forcing a polite, calm smile. “I’m here to see Chief Marcus. I need to hand in my transfer slip.” The nurse hesitated, looking highly uncomfortable. “Dr. Sienna, Dr. Brooke left strict instructions. Non-department personnel are not allowed in the administrative offices.” Dr. Brooke. My former junior, who was now Marcus’s golden child. “The transfer paperwork requires the Chief’s personal signature,” I said smoothly, stepping past her. The nurse panicked, and two residents moved forward to block my path. Suddenly, a commotion broke out near the entrance of the wing. A crowd of doctors was walking in. Before I could turn around to see what was happening, someone shoved me hard from behind. Losing my balance, I stumbled forward, my forehead slamming violently against the sharp metal corner of a supply cart. A sharp gasp of pain escaped my lips. Clutching my throbbing forehead, I spun around, only to meet Brooke’s wide, innocent eyes. “Oh! Dr. Sienna, it’s you! I am so, so sorry. I didn’t see you standing there.” I rubbed the blooming bruise on my forehead, my voice dropping to a cool, dangerous register. “Your eyesight is remarkably poor for a surgeon, Dr. Brooke. No wonder you mistake other people’s research papers for your own.” Ignoring her gasp, I turned toward the Chief’s office, but she stepped in front of me, blocking the door. “Sienna,” Brooke said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness, though her words cut deep. “You don’t belong to Cardiothoracic anymore. Prowling around our offices is highly inappropriate, don’t you think?” I tilted my head, studying her. Jenna had mentioned that the surgical techniques I pioneered had helped put this department on the map, nearly earning me a major national award. But Brooke had swept in and claimed all of my research as her own. “Until the transfer paperwork is finalized, I am still legally a doctor in this department. Who do you think you are to stop me?” I stared directly into her eyes. “A thief who builds her career on stolen data?” Her face paled, and tears immediately welled in her eyes. “Sienna, I know you’re bitter about the transfer, but you can’t just throw wild accusations at me.” She stepped closer, leaning into my space as if begging me to strike her. The whispers around us grew louder, the onlookers’ expressions turning from caution to outright disgust. “This is ridiculous. She has no talent of her own, so she resorts to slandering Brooke.” “Brooke works herself to the bone every single night. How could she possibly plagiarize?” “Exactly. Chief Marcus is incredibly strict. If there were any issues with her paper, do you think he would have let her publish it?” Looking at her pathetic, victimized act made my stomach churn. I stepped back, revulsion clear on my face. “Get out of my face. You make me sick.” That single sentence seemed to detonate a bomb. Brooke covered her face, sobbing hysterically. “What did I ever do to deserve this, Sienna? Why do you hate me so much?” “That is enough!” A thunderous voice boomed from the end of the corridor. Marcus was walking back from rounds, flanked by a dozen doctors. He strode forward, immediately wrapping a protective arm around Brooke’s trembling shoulders. When he looked up at me, his face was flushed with fury. “Sienna, what kind of psychotic episode are you having now?” Before I could speak, Brooke clutched his coat, her voice shaking. “Marcus, please don’t yell at her. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have argued with her.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “You are far too kind for your own good, which is why she thinks she can walk all over you.” Marcus gently wiped her tears, then glared at me, his eyes burning with disgust. “Sienna! Is this what you came here for today? Do you find this amusing?” He looked at me as if I were a piece of trash. “Stop playing these desperate games. It won’t work.” I realized then what he was thinking. In his eyes, my presence today was just another pathetic stunt to get his attention and delay the transfer. He truly believed I was willing to humiliate myself just to stay near him. “You’re right. It isn’t amusing at all,” I said, a calm smile spreading across my lips as I pulled the paper from my folder. “That’s why I came to finalize the paperwork.” Marcus froze. He stared at my face, then down at the paper in my hand. His eyes locked onto the signature block at the bottom, narrowing in confusion. With a sudden, violent sweep of his hand, he knocked the paper out of my grip, sending it fluttering to the floor. “Are you mocking me?” he hissed, his voice rising dangerously as the veins in his temples pulsed. “Are you really so desperate that you’d resort to this kind of reverse psychology just to cling to me?” Slap. The sharp crack echoed down the sterile hallway. Marcus’s head snapped to the side, his words cut short by the sheer force of my palm against his cheek. Ignoring the gasps of the surrounding staff and his murderous glare, I calmly knelt down and picked up the paper. “Take a good look, Marcus.” He ground his teeth, staring at me with pure venom for several seconds before taking a sharp, angry breath and snatching the paper. He looked at the signature line. There was no frantic “I refuse to sign,” nor was it a blank space designed to buy time. Written in clear, elegant print was my signature. Directly above it was a single sentence: I consent to the transfer to the Emergency Department. He stood completely frozen.

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1 After our reconciliation, I became the perfect, docile partner. No jealousy, no tracking his location, no probing his private life. When I found a strange man’s tie draped across our bed, I didn’t blink. I simply folded it neatly on his nightstand. McDonald, reviewing documents against the headboard, went rigid. Color drained from his face. In the suffocating silence, he pinched his nose, exhausted. “Last night’s gala,” he explained. “I borrowed Silas’s tie for my suit. Forgot to return it before coming home.” He looked away. “No outsiders were in our bedroom.” A lie. I’d chosen every scent in this house. Last night, before he entered, a heavy wave of unfamiliar cologne had hit me. I retched, throwing open windows until I could breathe again. For years, I’d endured this. Whenever he spent hours locked with Silas, that scent clung to him, leaving me vomiting through the night. Disgust, jealousy, humiliation—it all festered. But confronting him only earned cold rebukes about being unreasonable. We’d broken up over Silas countless times, yet he remained by McDonald’s side. It didn’t matter anymore. I lowered my eyes. I was leaving soon anyway. My silence only made the air in the room heavier. McDonald let out a heavy sigh, offering a rare, unsolicited explanation. “How many times do I have to say this before you get it through your head? Silas is my uncle’s stepson. Our families were close back in the day, and we practically grew up together. That’s the only reason I look out for him at work.” “Other than that, there is absolutely nothing going on between us.” I had heard this excuse a thousand times. In the past, I would have lost my mind, screaming and dripping with sarcasm about his perfectly crafted corporate excuses. This time, I just gave a slight nod. “Okay. I believe you.” I was agreeing with him, yet he looked as if I had just punched him in the gut. His expression darkened. “You really don’t care?” Before I could nod again, his phone rang. It was a custom ringtone Silas had recorded on McDonald’s phone himself. A soft, acoustic hum of a sugary pop song, sung in Silas’s clear, bright voice. No matter how you listened to it, it dripped with an unmistakable, teasing seduction. I had gotten into physical screaming matches with McDonald over that ringtone at least five times. Now, looking at his tense, furrowed brow, I spoke with total calm. “Answer it. Don’t keep him waiting.” McDonald froze. He hesitated for a long moment before swiping to answer. I didn’t care what they were talking about. I turned to walk out of the room, but his hand shot out and caught my wrist. Whatever the person on the other end said, McDonald murmured a few gentle agreements, his brow softening. He hung up and looked at me. “Let’s go to The Zenith in a few days. You know, that starlight restaurant you’ve been wanting to try.” When I just stared at him blankly, a rare smile broke across his face. “I promised you, didn’t I? I told you I’d never neglect you again.” “Don’t worry. For our sixth anniversary this time, I’m going to make it perfect for you.” I stood rooted to the spot. It wasn’t until he changed his clothes and left the house that the strength vanished from my legs. I collapsed onto the floor and started laughing. It was absolutely hilarious. The very first anniversary we were actually going to celebrate properly was already our sixth. Did he honestly believe that a fancy dinner could compensate for five years of neglect? A shattered mirror can never be put back together. 2 I really should have noticed the rot much earlier. The cracks in this miserable, twisted relationship showed their ugly faces during our very first year together. We were fresh out of college back then. His startup was just beginning to find its footing. I wanted to share his burden, so I spent nights studying business management and operations, hoping to surprise him. I hid my identity and secretly submitted my resume to his HR department. But on the day of my interview, the HR manager apologized to me. They said a new executive assistant had just been appointed directly by the CEO, so the position was closed. Before leaving the building, I stood at a distance and looked through the glass walls of McDonald’s office. A handsome, bright-eyed young man was leaning closely against McDonald’s side, his head tilted down, laughing at something McDonald had said. The air inside that office was thick with a rising, undeniable intimacy. From that day on, the unfamiliar scent of men’s cologne on McDonald’s clothes never faded. My hatred probably took root right in that exact moment. We were all adults. I refused to believe McDonald was completely blind to Silas’s deliberate flirting and blatant seduction. But you can never wake a man who is only pretending to be asleep. For the next three solid years, I collected everything. Photos of their secret dinners, auction house receipts for jewelry, hotel check-in records. When I threw all the evidence onto the table in front of McDonald, my reward was a stinging, merciless slap across the face. “You’re stalking me?” I was completely broken. “What exactly is going on between you and Silas! Does a boss and an assistant really need to go to these extremes?” McDonald was furious. “You’re insane. How many times do I have to tell you? It’s strictly business. How far are you going to take this psychotic behavior?” “If you seriously think there’s something going on between us, then I have nothing left to say to you.” “Suit yourself.” No comfort. No guilt. No explanations. He slammed the door and left. That same night, I saw a post on social media from Noah, the HR manager I had added years ago. [Oh my god. The boss just booked a thousand drones and set off fireworks for Silas’s birthday. Talk about dedication!] I stared numbly out the window. Sure enough, the distant night sky was exploding in a breathtaking shower of silver and gold sparks. And right there, bathed in that brilliant, distant light, my heart finally and completely died. I suddenly remembered complaining to my friends back when McDonald and I first started dating. I told them he was just too cold, too pragmatic, completely incapable of romance. My friends had comforted me, saying it was just his nature and that I needed to be more forgiving. Looking back on it now, it wasn’t that he didn’t understand romance. He just hadn’t met the person he wanted to put the effort in for. 3 We plunged into a bitter cold war. I refused to accept defeat. I staked out McDonald’s corporate building every single day, desperate to corner Silas and talk to him face-to-face. But McDonald protected him flawlessly. I waited in the cold for five days and didn’t even catch a glimpse of Silas’s shadow. Just as I was contemplating a different approach, reality hit me from a blind spot. One of McDonald’s aggressive business rivals had men tailing me. While I was walking home alone, they dragged me into a pitch-black alleyway. I was terrified to the point of sobbing. I fought back with every ounce of strength in my body, managing to rip my arm free just long enough to dial McDonald’s number. The steady, rhythmic dial tone felt like the final countdown to my death. They grabbed me again. This time, they didn’t leave any openings. They raised a heavy metal baseball bat and brought it crashing down. If a clerk from a nearby convenience store hadn’t called the cops, I genuinely would have died on that dirty concrete floor. When I finally woke up in a hospital bed, wrapped in stiff gauze, a police officer was standing beside me, frowning deeply at my cracked phone. He looked at me, confused. “Why is your emergency contact completely unreachable?” “You have him saved as ‘My Love.’ You two must be close, right?” He dialed it a few more times, shaking his head when the call was repeatedly killed. Finally, he used his own phone to dial the number. McDonald answered on the first ring. Before the officer could even speak, McDonald’s voice dripped with icy irritation over the speaker. “What is it now? What kind of stunt are you pulling this time? I told you I’m slammed at work. Do you have to be this relentlessly clingy?” The officer’s face shifted into an uncomfortable grimace as he explained the bloody reality of the situation. McDonald just let out a cold scoff. “How much did he pay you to play this little role? Tell him to cut the crap. I don’t believe a single word coming out of his mouth.” I bit my pale lip, leaning back against the sterile hospital pillows, drowning in an ocean of absolute humiliation. I eventually took my phone back, thanked the officer, and paid back the medical fees the precinct had fronted for me. I couldn’t bear to stay in that room another second. Ignoring the doctor’s loud protests, I signed myself out and left. When I dragged my battered, bruised body back into our apartment, McDonald was already sitting on the couch. It was the very first time we saw each other without screaming, without demanding answers, without even exchanging a single word. McDonald just stared at the fresh blood slowly seeping through the white bandages wrapped around my head and arm. His lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. With his wealth and connections, finding out the truth was effortless. Not to mention, that police officer had been so disgusted by McDonald’s reaction that he had requested a copy of the alleyway security footage and emailed it directly to McDonald’s office. He undoubtedly knew exactly what had happened to me. But I had nothing left. My energy, my physical strength, my soul were utterly depleted. I didn’t have a single drop of fight left to give him. I slept incredibly deeply that night. Brushing shoulders with death hadn’t just taken away my obsession. It had taken away my resentment. For the first time in years, I slept in peace. The next morning, his private doctor was waiting in the living room. I knew this was McDonald’s silent white flag. I didn’t reject the care. First, I was seriously injured. Second, I needed a buffer period to get my affairs in order. And so, during the year following our reconciliation, I began to slowly dismantle my attachment to him. I systematically lowered my expectations to zero. Humans aren’t machines. You can’t just flip a switch and turn off love. But time proved to be a ruthless, effective cure. I went from faking my forgiveness to genuinely not caring. I went from pretending to be unbothered to actually feeling nothing at all. Until three days ago. I woke up, looked at his empty side of the bed, and realized I hadn’t even noticed he didn’t come home the night before. I smiled. A deep, satisfied smile. I knew it then. It was time to go. I didn’t breathe a word of my plans to McDonald. Lately, he seemed oddly on edge about my complete lack of interest in his life. But I wasn’t delusional enough to think he actually cared about my feelings. He probably just realized I was becoming useless to him. In the past, I would cook elaborate hot meals for him. Now, I couldn’t even be bothered to order his delivery. On the exact night I finalized my flight out of the country, McDonald came home unusually early. Out of nowhere, he pulled me into a tight embrace, burying his face in my shoulder. His voice came out muffled. “You didn’t take that bracelet. Why didn’t you defend yourself?” I blinked, taking a moment to process his words. He was talking about an incident from two days ago. He had complained of severe stomach pains, so I grabbed some soup from a deli on my way to the visa office and dropped it off at his firm. Before I could even reach the elevator to leave, security surrounded me. Silas was in tears, claiming his family’s heirloom jade bracelet was missing, and I was the only outsider who had stepped foot in the executive suite. Surrounded by the sneers of the employees, McDonald’s furious demands for an explanation, and Silas’s perfectly timed sobs, I just stood there. It felt like watching a bizarre, poorly written comedy. I couldn’t believe my very first face-to-face meeting with Silas was under such pathetic circumstances. Nobody wanted to hear my side of the story. Eventually, the drama only ended when I took off the million-dollar jade bracelet and ring set McDonald had won for me at an auction years ago, handing them over as compensation. I had cherished that set. It was the only genuine, thoughtful gift McDonald had ever given me. My heart pinched for exactly one second before I slid the cold stone off my wrist and dropped it into Silas’s waiting hands. Maybe McDonald and I were just destined to be entirely incompatible. Whatever. It was fine. This was the perfect way to cement us as complete strangers. Listening to McDonald mumble into my shoulder now, I learned that the cleaning crew had found Silas’s “stolen” bracelet shoved deep under the cushions of the office sofa. Exactly as if someone had deliberately hidden it there. His voice carried a slight tremor he didn’t even seem to notice. But I just patted his back, comforting him in a hollow voice. “I’m sure Silas just misplaced it. Don’t overthink it.” 4 That night, he held me in bed and talked endlessly about our past. About the good old days. I offered vague, noncommittal hums. Beneath the blanket, my phone screen lit up with an automated alert. Less than ten hours until my flight departed. I would be completely free. Before leaving for work the next morning, McDonald turned around at the door and pulled me into another tight hug. “Karl, don’t forget our anniversary dinner tonight.” He looked at me with a strange hesitation in his eyes. In previous years, I would have been dropping hints for months. Today, I was so quiet it seemed like I had forgotten the date entirely. I nodded, letting a soft smile touch my lips. The second the door clicked shut behind him, I walked into the spare room, grabbed my packed suitcase, and ordered a cab to the airport. McDonald, these six years were a catastrophic mistake. Since you threw away the first five years, we really don’t need a sixth, a seventh, or any year after that. I hope we never cross paths again, not in this lifetime, not in the next. [Hidden Ending] McDonald only noticed something was wrong right before the workday ended. He had intentionally cleared his entire afternoon schedule just to get to The Zenith early and oversee the private room decorations. Before leaving his office, he habitually checked his phone to see if Karl was on his way. The chat log was dead silent. The location pin and reservation details he had sent hours ago remained unread. A sudden, inexplicable wave of anxiety clawed at McDonald’s chest. He had never changed Karl’s contact name. It was still the same sickeningly sweet pet name from their college days. But as McDonald scrolled up through their chat history, his thumb suddenly froze over the screen. The last time Karl had initiated a conversation was nine days ago. Before that, eleven days. He had to scroll up violently, spinning the screen for a long time, before he hit the era of Karl’s overwhelming desire to share his life. A stray cat on the sidewalk. A new billboard outside his office. A dumb joke he found online. Random, sappy paragraphs sent at 2 AM saying how much he missed him. Every tiny, insignificant detail of his day, offered up like treasure. McDonald had barely replied to any of them. Karl would send seven or eight messages in a row, and McDonald would reply with a single word: “Busy.” Karl would ask what time he was coming home for dinner, and McDonald would reply the next morning: “Worked late.” Going back even further, there were the times Karl threw tantrums over the radio silence. Long strings of crying emojis, missed calls, soft, trembling voice notes asking if McDonald had stopped loving him. McDonald used to find it so incredibly suffocating. He thought Karl was too needy, too sensitive, too paranoid. But now, staring at a chat history that had been surgically clean for nearly half a year, McDonald suddenly realized something terrifying. He actually missed the relentless bombardment of messages he used to despise. His phone buzzed in his hand. He practically snapped his neck looking down. It was a breaking news alert. Not Karl. McDonald scowled, slamming the phone face-down on his oak desk. He stood up and paced to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The Chicago skyline was bathed in a brilliant gold sunset. He lit a cigarette, but with every drag, the hollow panic in his chest only expanded. He forced himself to rationalize. Karl just forgot his phone. Karl was stuck in traffic. Or maybe… Karl was setting up a surprise. After all, every past anniversary, Karl had spent weeks preparing. Hand-written cards, elaborately baked cakes, hand-strung fairy lights. McDonald had just never shown up for a single one of them. A knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts. Silas pushed the glass door open, holding a stack of folders. He smiled, his tone soft and inviting. “McDonald, the marketing team is going out for drinks tonight. Everyone’s heading over. You should come.” McDonald didn’t even turn his head. “No.” Silas took a few steps closer. “But I already told them you might drop by, and since everyone is…” “I said I’m not going.” McDonald finally turned around. His voice wasn’t loud, but the weight behind it was crushing. Silas finally registered the look on his boss’s face. It was a heavy, volatile mix of dread and agitation he had never seen before. Silas tightened his grip on the folders. His eyes grew slightly red, but he forced a sympathetic smile. “Is it because of your anniversary?” McDonald remained silent. “But you always came out with us on your anniversary,” Silas murmured, his voice dropping into a register of subtle grievance. “Last year, the year before, the year before that. You always spent it with us. I thought this year would be the same…” McDonald’s pupils contracted sharply. He had spent every single anniversary with Silas and the team. Last year’s departmental dinner. The year before that was Silas’s birthday party. The year before that was a project milestone celebration. Every single time, Karl had confirmed the date months in advance. McDonald had promised he would be there, but when the day arrived, there was always something “more important” to do. He suddenly remembered one specific year. Karl had waited up the entire night, cooking a massive feast. Around midnight, Karl sent a text: “The food got cold. I microwaved it three times, but you still aren’t here. I’m going to eat first.” Attached was a selfie. Karl was smiling brightly at the camera, but his eyes were swollen and bloodshot. McDonald had been sitting in a VIP club booth, surrounded by coworkers doing shots. Silas had been pressed against his side, singing a sweet love song into a microphone. McDonald had glanced at the photo, typed “Sorry, tied up here,” and locked his screen. After that night, Karl never cooked a massive dinner for him again. “McDonald?” Silas’s voice yanked him back to the present. McDonald lowered his eyes, his voice turning deadly flat. “Not tonight. Tell the team the drinks are on me, but I won’t be there.” Silas parted his lips, but swallowed whatever he was about to say. He turned and walked out. But the split second before the heavy door clicked shut, that usually sweet, innocent face twisted into an ugly, unmasked scowl of pure jealousy. McDonald grabbed his phone again. Still nothing. He crushed his cigarette into the ashtray, grabbed his keys, and walked out of the building. 5 The Starlight Room at The Zenith was nestled on the top floor of a high-rise, boasting a panoramic view of the sparkling city grid below. It was the place Karl had mentioned a hundred times over the years. McDonald had secured the best table by the glass. He had instructed the staff to arrange a massive bouquet of white roses—Karl’s favorite—and placed a velvet box containing a pair of diamond cufflinks on the pristine tablecloth. He sat down and sent his second text of the day. “I’m here. Drive safe.” No reply. McDonald began checking his phone compulsively. Unlock. Swipe. Lock. Unlock again. He opened a tracking app to check Karl’s location, only to find the signal completely dead. Karl’s phone was turned off. A hard knot formed in his jaw. He dialed the number. Straight to voicemail. He dialed again. Voicemail. The coiled anxiety in McDonald’s gut finally snapped into outright panic. He was just about to call his building’s concierge to check the apartment when a loud burst of laughter echoed from the restaurant entrance. Silas walked in, trailing seven or eight employees from the firm. He stopped dead, feigning perfect, wide-eyed surprise. “McDonald? What are you doing here?” McDonald narrowed his eyes, saying nothing. “Wow, what are the odds we booked the exact same place?” Silas laughed, turning to wave the hesitant employees forward. “Come on guys, since we’re all here, let’s just grab a table near the boss.” The employees exchanged nervous glances, but Silas was already boldly pulling out a chair at the table right next to McDonald’s. They awkwardly shuffled into their seats. McDonald’s voice was ice. “I have plans tonight.” “Oh, no worries at all. We’ll just be right here. We won’t bother you,” Silas smiled innocently. “Who are you waiting for? Karl? When is he getting here?” McDonald ignored him entirely, staring down at his screen as he dialed for the fifth time. Still voicemail. The waiters began bringing out appetizers for the group. Silas enthusiastically poured wine, quickly warming up the atmosphere. A few employees awkwardly walked over to toast McDonald. After rejecting them twice with a hard glare, Silas himself walked over, holding a crystal glass, his tone soft and pleading. “Come on, McDonald. It’s rare we all get to unwind. Just have one drink with us. It won’t stop you from waiting.” McDonald stared at him in heavy silence, then snatched the glass from his hand and downed it. One glass. Two glasses. Three glasses. Silas was an expert at pouring drinks. He always found the most irrefutable excuses to toast. A successful quarter, a junior staffer’s workiversary, even the clear weather outside. McDonald could hold his liquor, but the rapid-fire shots, combined with the suffocating dread boiling in his chest, began to blur his vision. The room started to spin slightly. McDonald stood up abruptly, needing to splash cold water on his face in the restroom, and needing an excuse to call Karl again away from the noise. As he squeezed past the table, his gaze accidentally swept over Noah, the HR manager. Noah was staring down at his phone, his thumb hovering over the social media posting page. McDonald had already looked away when his brain suddenly registered what he had just seen. He violently snapped his head back. The photo on Noah’s screen. It was of him and Silas. The angle of the shot was dangerously intimate. Silas was leaning heavily against McDonald’s shoulder, and McDonald’s arm appeared to be wrapped firmly around Silas’s waist. They looked exactly like a deeply in love couple. McDonald remembered that exact moment clearly. It was from the company holiday party a year ago. Everyone was grouping up for a massive team photo. Out of nowhere, Silas had shoved his way to McDonald’s side. Someone yelled to look at the camera, and Silas practically threw his weight against him. McDonald had been too drunk to push him away in time. But that wasn’t what made the blood freeze in McDonald’s veins. The horror was right below the photo. Under the privacy settings for the post, a specific tag was highlighted in bright green. Visible only to: Karl. McDonald’s mind went completely blank. The next second, he lunged forward and snatched the phone directly out of Noah’s hands. Noah flinched so hard his chair scraped against the floor. The color drained from the HR manager’s face in an instant. “M-Mr. McDonald…” McDonald didn’t even look at him. His thumb swiped rapidly up the screen, tearing through Noah’s post history. Photo after photo. It was a gallery of him and Silas at various events. A perfectly angled shot in a glass boardroom. A cropped photo from a late-night dinner that made them look alone. Creepily taken candid photos where their proximity looked vulgar and illicit. And under every single photo, the exact same tag glared back at him. Visible only to: Karl. The oldest post was from three years ago. Three. Years. The phone began to shake violently in McDonald’s grip. He slowly looked up, his eyes locking onto Noah. His voice sounded like metal grinding against bone. “Who told you to post these?” Noah’s lips trembled uncontrollably. He was so terrified he couldn’t form a coherent word. “I… I…” Silas’s face had turned ash white. He hurried over, reaching out to grab the phone back. “Noah, did you forget to change your group settings? This is such a stupid mistake. McDonald, please don’t be mad, I’ll make him delete it right now. Noah, pack your desk tomorrow. You’re fired.” “No, no, no! Mr. McDonald, please don’t fire me! I just got married, I have a mortgage…” Noah broke down completely, tears streaming down his face. McDonald didn’t speak. He just slowly turned his dead, terrifying gaze onto Silas. Silas shrank back under that stare, offering a stiff, panicked smile. “McDonald, it’s totally unacceptable for staff to make mistakes like this. I’ll thoroughly discipline the department tomorrow…” “Mistakes?” McDonald’s voice was a whisper, but it sliced through the restaurant, silencing the entire room. “Three years. Dozens of staged photos. Every single one specifically targeted to be seen only by Karl. You call that a mistake?” The dam broke. Knowing his career was already dead, Noah sobbed hysterically, spilling everything. “Mr. McDonald, I didn’t want to do it! Silas forced me! He told me if I posted these for him, he’d give me a bonus and secure my promotion! I swear I didn’t want to…” “Noah shut your mouth!” Silas’s voice shrieked, instantly losing its polished veneer. But Noah was already drowning and intent on dragging his killer down with him. He wiped his face aggressively. “And that’s not all! The jade bracelet from the other day! Silas handed it to me and ordered me to shove it under your sofa cushions! He said it was the perfect way to make you hate Karl! I tried to say no, but he threatened to destroy my career…” The air in the room completely solidified. McDonald stood frozen. Everything he had dismissed. Everything he had rolled his eyes at. Everything he had labeled as Karl’s psychotic paranoia suddenly came crashing down on him like an avalanche of broken glass. Karl screaming in the living room, begging for the truth. Karl slamming printed photos and hotel receipts onto the table. Karl sobbing until he threw up, asking, “What exactly do you want from me?” And Karl’s eyes. Over the years, McDonald had watched them shift from burning with love, to desperate expectation, to crushing disappointment, and finally… to the dead, hollow abyss of absolute despair. And every single time, McDonald had chosen to protect Silas. “McDonald, I swear I don’t know what he’s talking about! He’s just lying to get back at me for firing him…” Silas’s voice trembled. His eyes filled with large, glistening tears, looking exactly like a fragile flower battered by a storm. McDonald slowly turned his head to look at him. Looking at that face, he suddenly remembered the little boy trailing behind him at his uncle’s house all those years ago. A violent wave of pure nausea hit him. The disgust clawing up his throat was a thousand times more potent than the alcohol burning in his stomach. He had allowed himself to be manipulated by this pathetic creature’s tears for years. He had ripped Karl’s heart to shreds to protect this monster’s “feelings.” He had let a cheap actor perform a three-year-long tragedy right inside his own home. McDonald shoved past him without a single word, striding out of the restaurant as if the devil himself were at his heels. “McDonald!” Silas cried out behind him, his voice cracking. McDonald didn’t look back. He threw himself into his car and tore down the highway, his foot heavy on the gas.

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1 On our fifth wedding anniversary, I suddenly developed a bizarre ability. I could see exactly how many times people had slept together. I looked just above Tristan’s head. A dense, hovering cluster of crimson threads floated in the air. One thread equaled one time. My face flushed hot as I carefully counted them. Ninety-nine threads. They were all one-way, pointing exclusively to me. I was sitting in a local cafe waiting for my best friend, planning to tell her all about this crazy hallucination. But my phone suddenly vibrated, blowing up with a barrage of texts. “Who are you out with? A guy or a girl?” “Why did you wear sandals out of the house?” … “It’s been five minutes. Why aren’t you replying?” “Hello?” Blair leaned over the table, catching a glimpse of the screen. She scoffed, her face twisting with indignation. “It’s been five years, Rose. He literally dictates what you wear on your feet. How do you put up with this?” “If you ask me, you should just divorce him and stay with me.” She stared at me with big, pleading eyes. Out of pure habit, I immediately defended Tristan. “You love controlling me just as much. When I got married, you literally held a pair of scissors to your own throat, crying and begging me not to leave you.” “Besides, I can actually see it now. His heart and his body belong entirely to me.” Before I could even finish my sentence, a single, glowing red thread suddenly sprouted from the top of Blair’s head. Blair, who claimed to have never dated anyone in her life. I froze. I followed the glowing line across the room. It connected straight to Tristan, who was walking through the cafe doors with a dark, stormy expression on his face. … I rubbed my eyes hard, convinced I was losing my mind. But no matter how many times I blinked, that brilliant red line remained suspended in the air, firmly connecting Blair and Tristan. “Why didn’t you check in with me?” Tristan’s cold voice snapped me back to reality. He knelt right in front of me, taking off my sandals and replacing them with a pair of enclosed leather flats he had brought with him. “The reception is bad in here. The video I took of the cafe wouldn’t send.” The explanation spilled out of my mouth as a pure conditioned reflex. Tristan accepted the excuse with a slight nod and sat down next to me. He draped his arm over the back of my chair and pulled me firmly against his side, marking his territory. Blair rolled her eyes. “If you’re going to stick to her like glue, why don’t you just shrink her down and keep her in your pocket?” Tristan didn’t argue. He just raised an eyebrow and smoothly grabbed the latte sitting in front of me. He took one sip and frowned. “Didn’t I tell you to cut out sugar?” Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed a shot of plain espresso from the side and dumped it straight into my cup. “Are you blind? Rose has a massive sweet tooth.” Blair fired back, instantly grabbing a sugar packet and dumping the whole thing into the mug. “She can’t have sugar.” “Yes she can!” They went back and forth, entirely ignoring my presence, never once asking what I actually wanted to drink. They were always fighting over me. It applied to everything. From screening the friends I was allowed to make, all the way down to picking my major in college. They orchestrated my entire life. But this time, I noticed something sickeningly different. They were arguing loudly. But under the table, the tip of Blair’s foot was sliding smoothly up Tristan’s inner thigh. And Tristan, while gripping my hand tightly with his left hand, was using his right hand to catch her ankle, gently caressing her skin. A sudden, dizzying wave of nausea hit me. Before that ruined cup of coffee could spill over the rim, I abruptly stood up and grabbed my bag. They were too busy arguing, faces flushed, to even notice me walking out the door. I went straight home, locked myself in the bathroom, and splashed freezing water on my face. The woman staring back at me in the mirror looked deathly pale. When Tristan finally came home, I watched them from the second-story window. Just an hour ago, they looked ready to rip each other’s throats out at the cafe. Yet here they were, pulling into the driveway in the exact same car. As Blair stepped out of the passenger side, her legs seemingly gave out. Tristan caught her effortlessly, sweeping her up into a bridal carry. Blair had bought the house right across the street from ours just to be closer to me. When they walked up the steps and saw me standing perfectly still in the doorway, they both froze. Tristan recovered instantly. “It’s getting dark. I couldn’t let a woman walk home alone, so I just gave her a ride.” Blair pouted, her eyes wide and innocent. “Rose, why did you run off so fast? You didn’t even wait for me.” “Tomorrow is your birthday. Let me plan the whole day for you, okay?” I quietly stared at the second, brand-new red thread that had just materialized above their heads. I offered a soft smile. “Okay.” Tristan quickly swatted Blair’s hands away from me. “Alright, that’s enough. Rose needs to rest.” “You’re just terrified I’m going to steal her away from you, aren’t you?” Blair glared at him playfully. Tristan simply shut our front door right in her face. He picked me up, carried me to the living room sofa, and wrapped his arms around me. He pressed soft kisses to my ankles. He had always possessed this strange, obsessive quirk. Whenever he wanted to be affectionate, he loved playing with my feet. Normally, I would lean into his touch. But then I smelled it. The faint, undeniable scent of freesia on his collar. It was incredibly familiar. It was the exact matching perfume Blair and I had bought together. But I wasn’t wearing any perfume today. It could only belong to Blair. My stomach violently churned. I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm, “Tristan, what do you actually think of Blair?” His answer was the same rehearsed line he had used for years. “I wish you would cut her off. She consumes way too much of your time. You belong solely to me.” Blair had told me the exact same thing about him. Yet these two people, who supposedly fought tooth and nail over me, had secretly pushed me out of the picture to sleep together. I shoved Tristan off my lap and flicked off the living room light. “I’m tired.” It was the very first time I had ever rejected Tristan. Unsurprisingly, it ignited his temper. For the first time in five years, he didn’t wake me up to demand a kiss before leaving for the office. But he still laid out my clothes and breakfast just like a strict schedule. The exact same oatmeal and eggs I had eaten every single day for a week. He claimed it was a nutritionist-approved diet. He said it was good for me. But I was absolutely sick of it. The clothes were a long, ankle-length dress. I didn’t want to wear a dress today. I pulled open my closet, only to find that every single piece of clothing had a neat little label pinned to the hanger, dictating exactly which day of the month I was allowed to wear it. It wasn’t just my clothes. Every breath I took was strictly controlled. It had been this way since the day Tristan became my financial sponsor. I grew up in the foster system. I had nothing. Initially, I didn’t hate Tristan’s possessiveness. On the contrary, it gave a terrified, abandoned girl a desperate sense of security. But his control slowly derailed into madness. At first, he just made me a daily schedule. Then, he demanded real-time location tracking. Every month, he would confiscate my phone, auditing my text messages and every single social media account. He quietly blocked and deleted every single male contact on my list. When it was time to pick my college major, he logged into the portal behind my back and changed my applications. “Going to school out East is too far. Just go to the local state college. Being a nurse is a nice, quiet job for a girl.” With grades high enough for the Ivy League, I was forced into a mediocre local program. Once I started college, his paranoia only amplified. I would be sitting in the middle of a lecture hall when my phone would ring. “Go back to your dorm and change. That pink sweater is too bright. It attracts too much attention.” I had snapped my head around, staring wildly at the crowded lecture hall. I was terrified. I was suffocating. I couldn’t tell which of the students or professors was secretly on Tristan’s payroll, watching my every move. People used to whisper about us, calling Tristan a control freak. They couldn’t understand why I stayed with him. But Tristan was my only light in the dark. Back when I was starving, working three jobs just to afford textbooks, he was the one who pulled me out of the gutter. Yes, he monitored me, but when I caught a bad flu during midterms, he abandoned a multi-million-dollar tech deal overseas. He flew eight hours straight just to get to my dorm. When campus security wouldn’t let him in past curfew, he stood out in the freezing rain from midnight until dawn, just to hand me a bag of medicine and check my temperature. A ringing phone yanked me out of my memories. “Rose, Mr. Tristan is throwing a huge birthday gala for you tonight, but his phone is going straight to voicemail.” “Is he with you? Can you ask him what flavor the cake should be? And does he want the dress to be silk or heavy embroidery?” It was my birthday. They were my friends on the planning committee. Yet their first instinct was to bypass me entirely and ask for Tristan’s approval. I told them Tristan was at the office, but the girl on the phone begged me to go find him, terrified to make a decision without his green light. I finally gave in. I put on the pre-selected dress and took a cab to his corporate headquarters. The receptionist blocked my path in the lobby. “I’m sorry, you can’t go up without an appointment.” I had been locked in my house for so long, I had practically severed all ties with the outside world. I hadn’t worked a single day since I got pregnant the first time. At the hospital where I worked, there was an unspoken, toxic rule that nurses had to schedule their pregnancies to avoid staffing shortages. Tristan deliberately poked a hole in the condom. The moment the test came back positive, he secretly called the hospital board and reported my pregnancy. I was immediately fired. I still remember the look on the face of the girl competing against me for the Head Nurse promotion. She smiled so hard her cheeks almost split. “I really thought you had me beat, Rose. I didn’t realize you were such an angel, getting knocked up just to hand me the promotion.” I frowned at the receptionist. “How do I make an appointment?” “You need to clear it with his executive secretary, Blair.” Blair? Since when did Blair become Tristan’s secretary? Right at that moment, Tristan’s personal driver walked through the lobby doors. He looked shocked to see me. “Mrs. Rose? What are you doing here?” He shot a glare at the receptionist. “This is the CEO’s wife. Are you blind?” The receptionist instantly turned a sickly shade of gray. She panicked, stepping in front of the elevator banks, desperately trying to block my path. “But Mr. Tristan is in the middle of something highly confidential right now!” My eyes turned freezing cold. I shoved her aside. I marched into the elevator, hit the button for the top floor, and navigated the sleek hallways straight to the CEO’s suite. Just as my hand touched the brass handle, I heard Tristan’s voice bleeding through the heavy wood. “Are you trying to kill me?” “I wish you were dead. That way, Rose would only have me.” The receptionist hadn’t been fast enough to warn them. I slammed the heavy door open. The two figures on the leather sofa jumped violently, instantly freezing in place. Tristan panicked, frantically pulling his dress shirt over his chest. “Rose, it’s not what it looks like!” Blair, however, took her sweet time. She didn’t even bother covering her bare chest as she strolled right up to me. “See? Men are all pigs.” “Rose, leave him. He doesn’t deserve you.” “Isn’t having me enough for you?” She looked back at Tristan with a sickeningly triumphant, competitive smirk. I looked up at the space above their heads. A third red thread had materialized. “So, this is the birthday present you guys prepared for me.” Tristan’s voice was physically shaking. “Rose, this was just a stupid mistake.” “When did this start?” I cut him off completely. “Was it that time I came back from my business trip down South, and I was completely wasted?” “Or was it May 8th? The day I lost my baby.” I accurately pinpointed the dates based on the sudden shifts in their behavior. “Neither of you is drunk today, but here we are.” Tristan fell dead silent. Blair, however, furrowed her brows in deep annoyance. “Rose, are you seriously going to ruin our friendship over some stupid guy?” “Just like how you deliberately pushed me toward that abusive foster family when we were kids, just so you could keep Tristan all to yourself later?” Blair and I grew up in the same group home. We met when we were three. We were inseparable, two halves of the same soul. But when we were kids, a wealthy couple came to adopt. They only wanted one girl. The night before the meeting, I swallowed a bucket of crushed ice and sat in a freezing bathtub for hours. When the prospective parents saw me shivering and sickly, they thought I was a burden. I did it on purpose. I made sure they picked Blair. But nobody knew the husband of that family was a violent, abusive monster. When Blair finally ran away and found her way back to the group home, her tiny body was covered in black and purple bruises. Because of that, I had carried a crushing, unbearable guilt my entire life. It dictated everything I did. Even in high school. Blair had cornered my new best friend in the locker room, stripped off her clothes, and poured bleach all over her belongings to humiliate her. When I found them, Blair fell into my arms, sobbing hysterically. “I was just so jealous! Why does she get to hang out with you? I’m supposed to be your only best friend!” I protected her. I took the fall for the bullying. I was completely ostracized by the entire school. People wrote “psycho bitch” in sharpie on my locker. Nobody dared to come near me. And just like she wanted, Blair became the only friend I had left. And all this time, she believed I had manipulated that adoption so I could get sponsored by a billionaire, while I spent those years working three grueling shifts a day just to keep a roof over my head. “I let you have Tristan back then. Honestly, I didn’t care, because you’re my best friend.” “If I can sacrifice that much for you, why can’t you do the same for me?” Tristan joined the interrogation, stepping closer. “Rose, who are you going to choose?” I stared at the two of them. The two most important people in my entire world. The same two people who had systematically isolated me, destroyed my social life, and stripped away my independence until I had literally no one else to choose. A suffocating wave of grief hit my chest. I tilted my head back, trying to stop the tears, but they spilled over my cheeks anyway. Seeing me cry sent them both into an instant panic. “Rose, please don’t cry! It breaks my heart when you cry!” “I swear to God, from now on, I am entirely yours. I messed up.” They stood in front of me, swearing on their lives that it would never happen again. Right in front of me, they deleted each other’s contact information. Blair even handed in her resignation on the spot. They promised me the world. But as the days went on, I watched a new red thread appear above Tristan’s head every single day. The threads stretched across the street, leading directly into the house across from ours. Until May 8th rolled around again. On that day, the glowing red threads between Tristan and Blair officially outnumbered the ones pointing to me. Blair kicked our front door open, waving an ultrasound picture in the air, screaming at the top of her lungs. “I’m pregnant!” My foot froze mid-step in the hallway. Then, I heard Blair drop her voice into an annoyed whisper. “This is all your fault. If you hadn’t messed with the pills, Rose’s baby would have been born, and my kid and her kid could have been best friends just like us.” Tristan snapped back. “Rose was completely obsessed with that baby. I couldn’t just stand there and watch her heart be divided.” “Besides, you’re the one who crushed the abortion pill and dropped it into her water glass. I just handed the cup to her.” Blair suddenly remembered, letting out a bright, airy laugh. “Oh, right! Rose only needs me anyway. A kid just gets in the way.” “Exactly. She has us. That’s all she needs.” They spoke with such casual, horrifying entitlement. It hit me like a bullet to the chest. It wasn’t my weak body that had failed my baby. They murdered my child. For weeks after the miscarriage, I walked around like a ghost. I spent nights curled up on the bathroom floor, clutching the tiny, blood-stained clothes I had bought, completely broken. They had held me while I cried. They had acted even more devastated than I was. It was all a sick, twisted performance. I leaned heavily against the hallway wall, trying to keep my legs from collapsing. My fingernails dug into the drywall, leaving bloody crescent marks. My heart felt like a sponge soaked in acid. With one tight squeeze, all the bitter rot poured out. When Blair finally walked into the living room and shoved the ultrasound into my hands, she was vibrating with excitement. “Rose, I’m carrying Tristan’s baby! You’re going to be a godmother!” “But don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you in public.” “I’ll just hire some random guy to play the dad. No one will ever know the baby actually belongs to your husband.” Tristan didn’t say a word. He just stared down at the ultrasound picture, a look of absolute fascination and pride on his face. They were so completely drowned in their sick joy that neither of them noticed the dead, hollow look in my eyes. Blair moved fast. A few weeks later, she paraded a man into my living room. The poor guy looked blissfully happy. I just felt a deep, overwhelming pity for him. He was rubbing Blair’s swollen belly, genuinely believing he was the father. “Rose, you’re going to get me an amazing gift for the wedding, right?” I forced the corners of my mouth to twitch upward. “Of course.” I had prepared her gift the exact second I realized they were my baby’s murderers. On the day of the wedding, Tristan looked happier than the actual groom. His wedding gift was an absurdly expensive collection of imported baby gear from France. When it was my turn, Blair looked at me with glowing anticipation. I just stared at the dense, horrific web of red threads floating above their heads. There were three new threads today alone. Over three hundred more than when this all started. I looked at Tristan with dead eyes. “Do you have any idea how many times you two have slept together?” On the other side of the room, Blair had eagerly ripped the wrapping paper off my gift box. When she pulled the contents out, the entire ballroom gasped in collective, horrified silence.

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1 After the car crash scrambled my husband’s brain, he lost the ability to speak. Well, almost. He was left with exactly two words in his vocabulary: “Yes” and “No.” But the real kicker? Every time he answered a question, he physically could not tell a lie. It felt like a twisted gift from the universe. I sat across from him one morning and asked, “Are you sleeping with my best friend?” The color drained from his face. His jaw trembled, but his mouth moved entirely against his will. “Yes.” “Have you been hiding money in secret accounts?” “Yes.” “Is your bank pin your high school sweetheart’s birthday?” “Yes.” Armed with his bizarre new condition, I ruthlessly dismantled his life. I sent his mistress packing, secured every last penny of his assets, and watched him sit there, completely incapable of even cursing me out. Life was perfectly peaceful. Until this afternoon. A ridiculously attractive food delivery guy dropped off my lunch and brazenly asked for my number. I flirted back, deliberately glancing over at my husband, who was staring blankly at the wall like a wooden doll. “Are you even my husband?” I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “Another guy is hitting on me right in front of you and you don’t even care?” Without missing a beat, he blurted out, “No.” My smile vanished. I froze, my eyes locking onto his dull, vacant pupils. The silence in the room stretched out until it felt suffocating. Finally, I whispered, “Then is my husband, Nolan, dead?” “Yes and no.” A violent chill shot down my spine. I leaned in, staring into his eyes with absolute focus, and asked again. “Are you Nolan?” The man sitting in front of me maintained a perfectly serene expression. “No.” My lips started to tremble. “Then who are you?” He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The rules of his brain damage dictated he could only answer yes or no questions. And now, apparently, “Yes and no.” I grabbed his face, examining every single inch of skin. It was Nolan’s face. It was identical. I traced the jagged scar near his temple. Three years ago, some idiot dropped a glass bottle from a high rise. Nolan had shoved me out of the way and taken the glancing blow to the head. It took seven stitches to close. This was Nolan’s scar. There was no mistaking it. I sat back, my mind racing in total chaos. Since the accident, this man had been a living crystal ball. He had answered every question with one hundred percent accuracy, even things completely unrelated to his life. He accurately predicted the exact scores of soccer matches. He confirmed insane celebrity scandals before they leaked. I had made a small fortune betting on his answers, and I trusted his “Yes” or “No” with my life. I knew for a fact that if I asked him, “Is an earthquake going to hit in five minutes?” and he said “Yes,” I would grab my emergency bag and sprint out the door without a second thought. But just now, he told me he wasn’t Nolan. And when I asked if Nolan was dead, he gave me a paradoxical answer. The cold terror in my chest began to spread. If this man wasn’t Nolan, then who the hell had I been living with for the past three months? Where was the real Nolan? How could someone be “Yes and no” dead? Was he in a coma somewhere? I was seriously debating whether to tie him to a chair and interrogate him when a sharp, aggressive knocking rattled the front door. I walked over and pulled it open. Two police officers were standing on my porch. “Riley? We’re with the City Police Department. What we’re about to tell you might be a shock, so please try to stay calm.” The older detective pulled out a notepad. “At 9:30 this morning, we received a call. A highly decomposed body was pulled from the riverbed. We found an ID on the remains belonging to your husband, Nolan. We’re here to ask if you know anything about this.” My knees went weak. I grabbed the doorframe. “That’s impossible!” The two officers exchanged a sharp, vigilant look. “Why is it impossible?” I dug my fingernails into my palms, forcing myself to breathe. “Because Nolan isn’t dead. He’s sitting right there.” I pointed toward the living room couch. The man who looked exactly like Nolan was sitting there, his head bowed, completely silent. The officers froze. The older one stepped past me, walking straight into the living room. He pulled out the recovered ID card and held it up to the man’s face. Seeing the exact same features staring back at him, the detective fell dead silent. I hurried over, waving my hands. “My husband is incredibly careless. He loses his wallet all the time. Someone must have stolen his ID and ended up in the river. It’s just a horrible coincidence.” The detective ignored me. He leaned down and looked the man in the eyes. “Excuse me. Are you Nolan?” The man blinked slowly and muttered, “No.” The air in the living room turned to lead. The way the officers looked at me instantly shifted from sympathetic to deeply suspicious. I panicked and scrambled to grab the medical files from the coffee table. “Please, let me explain! Three months ago, my husband was in a severe car crash. His hippocampus was destroyed. He lost his memory, and his speech center is permanently damaged. He can only say ‘Yes’ and ‘No.’ Watch, I’ll prove it.” I stepped in front of the man. “Nolan, do you love eating garbage?” “No.” “Nolan, are these police officers bad guys?” “No.” “Nolan, are you Nolan?” “No.” I turned to the cops with a helpless, exhausted smile. “See? His cognitive function is basically that of a seven year old. You can’t take anything he says literally.” The two officers exchanged another look. They carefully reviewed the official medical reports from the neurology department and stepped outside to make a verification call. When they came back, their shoulders had dropped a fraction. “It seems this might just be a massive misunderstanding,” the older detective said. “But we still need you to come down to the station to give a formal statement.” I asked if I needed to bring Nolan. The detective thought about it. “Bring him. You probably don’t want to leave him home alone in his condition anyway.” So, I brought the man with me to the precinct. Back at the house, I had played a calculated game. I purposefully asked three questions that required a “No” answer. The second question proved the cops were good people, which meant I wasn’t in any immediate danger. But just as I finished signing my statement and prepared to leave the station, the interrogation room door swung open. A female detective walked in, her face like a sheet of ice. “Hold on. I have a few questions.” She signaled the younger cop to leave the room, then sat down directly across from me. “I think you’re lying.” My fingernails dug into my palms again. “What is that supposed to mean?” The female detective stared right through me. She reached over and clicked off the recording camera. Her voice dropped to a low whisper. “Didn’t recognize me, Riley? It’s Harper.” I flinched. I honestly hadn’t recognized her. Harper. We went to high school together. The girl who had been desperately, obsessively in love with Nolan. We used to hate each other. She chased him for years. After Nolan finally rejected her, she dropped off the map. I had no idea she became a cop. “The DNA results from the corpse aren’t back yet,” Harper said coldly. “We can’t confirm if the body is Nolan, which means the man sitting next to you could easily be a hired actor.” She shifted her gaze to the man beside me. Her tone instantly softened. “Nolan? Do you remember me?” He glanced at her for a split second before dropping his head back down. I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it, but a flash of deep pain crossed Harper’s eyes. I spoke up immediately. “His brain is fried. He can’t answer anything outside of a yes or no.” Harper tapped her pen against the metal desk, her eyes narrowed in thought. “Tell me, Riley. Why was Nolan in a car crash to begin with?” My body tensed. The memories flooded back. When I first found out Nolan was cheating, I completely lost my mind. He had started getting sloppy about a year ago. A smudge of lipstick on his passenger seat. A long strand of unfamiliar hair tangled in his coat button. The endless excuses about working late, followed by nights where he just never came home. The signs were blaring like sirens. But he was smart. He physically ripped the dashcam out of his car. He wiped his phone clean every single day. I couldn’t find a shred of hard evidence. When I hysterically confronted him, all I got was his impatient, vicious yelling. “Enough! Do you have any idea how psychotic you look right now?” “You want to check my phone? Check it! But when you find absolutely nothing, you’re going to get on your knees and beg for my forgiveness!” I was completely dead inside. I had the divorce papers drafted. And then, the crash happened. He fell asleep at the wheel and drifted into an oncoming freight truck on a mountain road. I let out a bitter sigh. “Should I thank God for the karma? He crashed his car on his way to see his little mistress and turned himself into an idiot. Go pull the traffic reports. The accident is entirely documented.” Harper nodded slowly. She typed something into her phone. A moment later, a message popped up on her screen. She read it, and her face grew completely rigid. “Everything you just said checks out. But it still doesn’t prove the man sitting next to you is Nolan.” I finally snapped. “Are you insane? Look at his face! You’ve stared at him enough in high school to know what he looks like.” Harper cut me off. “Riley, I think you murdered Nolan.” I let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. “If you keep talking like this, I’m filing a formal complaint against you.” “A body gets pulled out of a river, bloated and rotting, and you’re claiming it’s Nolan just because you found his wallet nearby?” “It’s not just the wallet,” Harper said. “The height and weight of the corpse perfectly match Nolan’s last physical exam.” Her voice suddenly dropped to a fragile whisper. “And there’s a tattoo.” “The face might be decayed, but the tattoo on the inner wrist is pristine. It’s totally unique.” She swallowed hard, closing her eyes. “Because I inked it on him myself.” The interrogation room fell completely silent. The man beside me hadn’t made a sound. But the second Harper mentioned the tattoo, his fingers twitched. Without hesitation, I grabbed his arm and violently shoved his sleeve up to his elbow. Right there, on his inner wrist, was an incredibly ugly, amateur tattoo of a small dog. Harper’s face lost all its color. “Don’t tell me you gave that exact same tattoo to two different people,” I sneered. “I always wondered why a guy like him had such a pathetic piece of ink. Now I know it was your handiwork.” “Does your face hurt yet, Harper? Still want to accuse me? What is my motive for killing him?” Her brows knitted together tightly. “A tattoo can be copied…” I cut her off aggressively. “Copied? So you’re telling me I found a guy who looks identical to my husband, matches his exact physical build, and then forced him to get a matching tattoo? Why would I go through that kind of psychotic effort?” “He cheated on me, and karma turned him into a drooling idiot who relies entirely on me. If I play the role of the devoted, heartbroken wife, his wealthy parents treat me like royalty. I have total control over every cent he owns.” “If he dies, his parents swoop in and freeze his assets for probate. What exactly do I gain from him being dead?” The older detective suddenly opened the door and stepped in, coughing loudly. “Detective, watch your line of questioning. Stick to protocol.” I leaned back in my metal chair, crossing my arms with a cold smile. I wasn’t worried. Because I had never killed anyone. No matter how deep they dug, my hands were clean. What terrified me was why the dead guy had Nolan’s ID. And who the hell the dead guy actually was. I had to protect the secret of this man’s “Yes/No” truth-telling ability. If the cops found out he was a human lie detector, things would spiral out of control. Harper grilled me for another hour, but she got nowhere. Based on the estimated time of death of the river corpse, the security cameras around my house proved I had a rock-solid alibi. When Harper and the older detective stepped out to check on the DNA rush order, I leaned in close to the man beside me. “Is the real Nolan dead?” He stayed silent for a second, then whispered, “Yes and no.” “Everything you say is a hundred percent true, right?” “Yes.” My racing heart finally settled. I couldn’t help but mock him. “Nolan, you really are a piece of work. Cheating with some random girl, and keeping your pathetic high school stalker hung up on you for years.” “Wait. If the real Nolan is ‘Yes and no’ dead… is he a vegetable?” He thought about it. “No.” I frowned, but decided to drop it. The only thing that mattered right now was getting out of this police station. Harper walked back in. Her eyes were burning with deep, bitter frustration. “The DNA results are back. The body in the river is not Nolan. We’re running it through the national database now.” I smirked. “Great. Then we’re leaving.” She threw her arm out, blocking the door. “The dead guy isn’t Nolan, but the guy standing next to you is even weirder.” “My gut tells me he isn’t Nolan. I think you’ve hidden Nolan somewhere, and this guy is a body double.” I stared her down. “Your gut? Is this how you conduct police work, Harper? Making up conspiracy theories?” “Just a gut feeling,” she muttered with a bitter smile. “Forget it. You’re free to go.” I grabbed the man’s hand and started walking toward the exit, my heels clicking sharply against the tile. Just as we reached the hallway, Harper called out. “Wait. You said earlier he can only answer yes or no questions. Right?” A sudden, sharp spike of dread pierced my chest. Before I could react, Harper sprinted forward and grabbed the man by the wrist. “Did Riley kill the real Nolan?” I froze. And then, the man standing next to me opened his mouth, his voice crystal clear.

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1 It was my seventh year sick and I was flat broke, unable to afford tomorrow’s painkillers. My best friend, Poppy, returned to VIP clubs, auctioning herself to the highest bidder. When I arrived, muffled sounds leaked from the lounge. “Wilson, we can’t. If Five finds out—” Then his low breathing. “Something was slipped into your drink. How else do you purge it?” My nails bit into my palms until my vision blacked. Poppy later shoved crumpled bills at my bedside. “Enough for your meds.” Wilson stared at her scraped knees and bruised wrists, his eyes reddening. He turned to me, his gaze no longer loving but exhausted, resentful. “Haze, why won’t you just die? How much longer will you drag us down?” Yet after screaming, he used his blood plasma donation money to buy me soup and pills, sat gnawing a stale bagel, and draped a blanket over Poppy like she was fragile treasure. A sharp pain spread through my chest, like blades scraping bone. Tears soaked my pillow. It was okay. I was dying soon. Very soon, I’d stop being their burden. … After Wilson shouted those words, the apartment stayed quiet for a long, long time. Quiet enough for Wilson to finish choking down that stale half-bagel. He brought the hot soup over to my bed, his voice choking up as he apologized. “I am so sorry, Five. I am just… so tired.” I did not have the courage to look at him. I just kept my eyes squeezed shut, pretending to be asleep. Right before dawn, Poppy sat up on the worn-out sofa. She poked a straw into a carton of sweetened almond milk and pressed it into my hand. “Here, Five. Less sugar.” “You can’t have things too sweet right now.” Her routine was as natural and practiced as always. But when I glanced down and saw the dark purple bruises circling her wrists, my fingertips could not help but tremble. The almond milk was sweet enough. Yet it burned going down, leaving a bitter, agonizing taste in my throat. Wilson was prying the lid off the takeout soup. His hands used to be breathtaking, like they belonged to a sculptor. They were hands made for playing the piano. He used to promise me that when I finally got better, he would play a song for me with his own two hands at our wedding. But now, those hands were clumsy even just opening a plastic lid. His palms were covered in thick, yellowish calluses from blisters that had burst and healed a dozen times over at the construction site. When Wilson handed the soup to me, he blew on it out of pure habit. But a second later, as if in a complete daze, he shifted his hand and brought the plastic spoon right to Poppy’s lips. The air in the room went so still it was suffocating. All the color drained from Poppy’s face. Wilson snapped out of it. His wrist jerked, nearly spilling the broth everywhere. He awkwardly redirected the spoon back to me. I took it from him and lowered my head to take a sip. The soup was scalding. It burned the tip of my tongue. But I did not flinch. Because compared to the words Wilson had thrown at me last night. This little bit of physical pain was absolutely nothing. The three of us huddled around the tiny folding table for breakfast. Just like we had done a thousand times before. Except our breakfasts used to be loud and full of life. Poppy would try to steal the bacon off Wilson’s plate. Wilson would put on a cold face and swat her fork away. I would sit right between them, laughing so hard it triggered a coughing fit. And then Poppy would instantly snap at Wilson. “Stop making her laugh! You know her lungs can’t take it.” Back then, I always thought I was the luckiest girl in the entire world. My absolute best friend sat across from me. The love of my life sat right beside me. One on the left, one on the right. They shielded me from everything dark in the world. But now, it was the exact same table. The exact same three people. Poppy refused to look at Wilson. Wilson refused to look at her. Yet their eyes would inevitably collide in the spaces between seconds. And then they would instantly, guiltily tear their gazes apart. My throat suddenly felt tight and dry. Not because of my failing lungs. But because the fog had finally cleared, and I could see the truth. It wasn’t that they didn’t love me anymore. It was that they had fallen in love with each other. And this love had taken root and blossomed in the absolute filth of trying to buy my medicine, trying to raise my money, trying to keep me breathing. I did not even feel like I had the right to blame them. A sudden, sharp metallic taste surged up the back of my throat. I bit down on the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted copper, forcing myself not to cough up blood right in front of them. After we finished eating, Poppy stood up to clear the empty containers. As she leaned over, her collar shifted, revealing a fresh, dark hickey right beneath her collarbone. Wilson saw it. His expression shifted instantly. He took a subconscious step toward her. But he forcefully rooted himself to the spot. I pretended to be deeply engrossed in my phone, staring blankly at the screen. On the display was the hospice care DNR agreement I had signed digitally last night. Once I stopped taking the medication. My body would not last more than three days. It felt like thousands of fire ants were chewing on my bones. I was constantly in so much pain that I had to curl myself into a tight, trembling ball. When she finished cleaning, Poppy came over and sat beside me. “Five.” “When you are feeling a little better, the three of us should go get a real portrait taken.” My mind drifted back to a memory from many years ago. We had taken a picture together once. Poppy insisted on standing dead center, declaring she was the older sister and needed to protect me and Wilson. Wilson refused to accept it. He shamelessly squeezed himself right next to me. Just before the shutter clicked, he secretly laced his fingers through mine behind my back. When the photo was printed, I stared at it and smiled for days. I thought I held the whole world in my hands. Now, I looked at the two exhausted, hollowed-out faces in front of me and managed a weak smile. “When I feel better, we will go.” Tears instantly spilled from Poppy’s eyes. She quickly ducked her head to wipe them away. “It is a promise then.” I lowered my head and swallowed the last spoonful of cold soup. Inside, my heart was completely quiet. I am not going to get better. And we are not going to take that photo. Because very soon, I am going to disappear from their world entirely. When that happens. I will give them their freedom back. And I will finally release myself from this humiliating, suffocating love. That night, I woke up to the sound of fighting in the living room. Poppy sounded like she was crying. “Years ago, Five went to work at that chemical processing plant just to pay for our tuition!” “She got pulmonary fibrosis because of us! We cannot betray her like this!” A second later, I heard the rustling of clothes being roughly pulled. Wilson’s breathing grew heavy. “I know we owe her a debt we can never repay. But can you look me in the eye and say you don’t love me?” “This has nothing to do with her. This is about us.” Poppy choked out a sob. “I don’t love you.” “Listen to me, Wilson, I don’t love you!” “I don’t feel anything for… mm!” The next second, all her desperate denials were swallowed up. I lay frozen in the dark, my eyes wide open. The ceiling blurred into a shadow above me. I listened to them kissing in the living room. I listened to Poppy crying, her hands weakly pushing against his chest. And I listened as her struggles eventually faded into nothing. In that exact moment, I finally understood. Some betrayals do not start with the body. They start with pity. With one moment of weakness, one desperate urge to protect. One uncontrollable gravitational pull toward someone who understands your pain. Until slowly, you cross a line you can never come back from. A violent wave of nausea suddenly turned my stomach inside out. My chest constricted with a crushing, suffocating agony. It felt like an invisible hand had reached inside my ribcage, twisting my lungs like a wet rag. I tried to suppress it. But this illness had ravaged my body for far too long. A split second later, hot, coppery liquid erupted into my throat. I panicked, reaching out wildly to grab the tissues on the nightstand, but my limbs went completely slack, and I crashed heavily onto the hard wooden floor. The noises in the living room stopped dead. Wilson and Poppy bolted into the bedroom at the exact same time. Poppy’s hair was a mess. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and the collar of her shirt was pulled down, hanging loosely off her shoulder. When they saw me collapsed on the floor, all the blood drained from their faces. “Five!” Poppy lunged forward to hold me up. The sweet scent of her nightclub perfume mixed with the stale, cheap tobacco clinging to Wilson’s clothes. It made the nausea violently churn in my stomach again. Wilson dropped to his knees, trying to scoop me into his arms. “Five, where does it hurt?” “I am calling an ambulance. Let’s go to the hospital.” I shook my head, using every last ounce of energy I had left to force out three words. “I’m fine. Sleep.” The next morning, Poppy’s eyes were horribly swollen. She carefully took my fragile hand into hers. “Five.” “Let’s go take that photo today.” “You promised me yesterday.” Hearing this, Wilson frowned deeply. “She coughed up blood last night. Do not drag her outside today.” Poppy’s eyes immediately filled with fresh tears. “I just want one good picture of the three of us.” “Just in case…” Her voice cracked and died in her throat. I forced a faint smile. “Let’s go then.” It would be the perfect photo to use for my funeral. They both stared at me. I pretended I could not see the crushing guilt swimming in their eyes. Poppy picked the photography studio. The photographer positioned us in front of a clean, neutral backdrop. Wilson stood on my left, Poppy on my right. But the photographer looked through the lens for a few seconds, then lowered the camera with a bright smile. “Could the couple step a bit closer to each other?” He was talking about Wilson and Poppy. The oxygen instantly vanished from the room. The fake smile on Poppy’s face shattered. Wilson instinctively denied it. “We are not together.” His denial came out fast. Too fast. And the moment the words left his mouth, his eyes did not dart to me. They darted to Poppy. As if he was terrified she would be hurt by his rejection. Standing right between them, I smiled warmly and broke the silence. “It is okay. The three of us are family.” When the word ‘family’ left my lips, Poppy’s eyes instantly flooded with red. Wilson went completely rigid. But my smile was flawless. Natural. As if I truly had not noticed the overflowing, desperate love they were trying to hide from me. In the final printed photo, I stood directly in the center. Wilson and Poppy flanked my sides. But their shoulders were subconsciously angled inward, tilting toward each other. I was the only one standing perfectly straight. Looking exactly like someone who had finally learned how to bow out with grace. I slipped the photo into my bag. Right then, my phone vibrated in my pocket. An email notification popped up from the Hospice Care Center. “Miss Hazel, your application to terminate life-sustaining treatment has been confirmed.” Wilson leaned over, trying to see what I was looking at. My thumb fumbled. I could not lock the screen fast enough. But before his eyes could focus on the words, Poppy suddenly covered her mouth and let out a violent, wretched gag. Wilson’s attention snapped away from me instantly. “Poppy?” Poppy leaned against the studio wall, dry-heaving, her face the color of chalk. I stared at her pale, sweaty forehead, and a sudden thought pierced through the fog in my brain. She had not bought tampons in a very long time. An absurd, terrifying realization began to float up from the darkest corner of my mind. But before I could even process the thought, a catastrophic, tearing pain ripped through my chest. I doubled over, vomiting a massive puddle of dark red blood onto the white studio floor. Wilson whipped his head around. For a fraction of a second, absolute panic flashed in his eyes. But Poppy let out another agonizing gag, her knees buckling as she collapsed weakly into his chest. Wilson’s hands froze in mid-air. On one side, I was choking on my own blood, seconds away from passing out. On the other side, Poppy was pale, trembling, and entirely possibly carrying his child. Poppy gripped his shirt sleeve like a lifeline, sobbing hysterically. “Wilson, take Five to the hospital right now!” “Her lungs are failing!” My consciousness was already fraying at the edges. A high-pitched ringing echoed in my ears. But I still saw Wilson squeeze his eyes shut, his face twisting in absolute mental collapse. Suddenly, he opened his red-rimmed eyes and screamed at me. “Haze, why won’t you just fucking die?” “If you were dead, we wouldn’t have to be drowning in this misery anymore!” “Poppy wouldn’t have to suffer like this! Why won’t you just die!” Those words were a rusty knife, plunging repeatedly into my bleeding heart. I opened my mouth to speak, but only more blood spilled out over my chin. So this is it. The person who loved me most in the world. Was finally begging for me to die. Poppy slapped her hand over his mouth, sobbing uncontrollably. “Wilson, are you out of your mind?!” “How could you say that to her?” Wilson looked like he had just shocked himself. He stared down at me, profound agony and terror rapidly pooling in his eyes. But a second later, Poppy went completely limp against him. Wilson finally made his choice. He bent down and scooped Poppy into his arms. His voice was terrifyingly hoarse. It sounded like he was trying to justify it to me, but mostly trying to justify it to himself. “Five. Just this once.” “I have to take care of Poppy first.” “Just this once.” I lay crumpled on the cold floor, the world around me melting into a dark blur. All I could hear was the frantic sound of Wilson’s footsteps running toward the exit. Just before the darkness took me completely, I heard his trembling voice echo down the hall. “Poppy, that night three months ago…” “I gave you the cash. Didn’t you go to the clinic for the pill?” Poppy was crying so hard she could barely breathe. “Five was so weak after her chemo that day.” “I took that clinic money… and I bought her two hot meatball subs.” The tears finally broke free and slid down my bloody cheeks. So even this child. Was my fault. The agonizing pain in my organs crashed over me like a tidal wave, drowning me from the inside out. I lay on the freezing tile, watching their blurry silhouettes disappear. Suddenly, a thought echoed in my fading mind. Haze. Look at you. You really are the root of every horrible thing that has ever happened to them. I thrashed on the floor for a long time, waves of hot blood endlessly bubbling up my throat. At first, I tried to cover my mouth. Eventually, I did not even have the strength to lift my arm. The blood ran down my chin, pooling onto the studio floor, slowly blooming into a dark, terrifying crimson stain. The freshly printed photo slipped out of my pocket. In the picture, all three of us were smiling. But looking closely through my half-closed eyes, I could see Wilson and Poppy’s hands, secretly locked together behind my back. Just like how Wilson had locked his fingers with mine, all those years ago. I coughed up another mouthful of blood. This time, my breathing became incredibly shallow. So faint, it felt like the very next breath would simply refuse to come. The most beautiful memories of my life began to flash behind my eyelids. Back when we were stuck in the foster home, the summer nights were so brutally hot we couldn’t sleep. Poppy would sit next to my bed, fanning me with a piece of stiff cardboard. She would fan me and scold me at the same time. “Five, why are you always so damn fragile?” “When your big sister gets rich, I’m going to buy you ten air conditioners.” Wilson would sit by the open window, practicing. He didn’t have a piano, so he drew black and white keys on a long strip of paper. His fingertips struck the paper silently, over and over again. He said, “When I finally make it to the biggest concert hall in the city…” “The dead-center seat in the front row belongs to Five.” Poppy immediately kicked his shin. “What about me?” Wilson kept a straight face and replied, “You can stand by the door and tear the tickets.” We laughed until our stomachs hurt. Back then, I really believed it. I believed the bitter days would eventually end. And I believed the three of us would never, ever be torn apart. But later, to scrape together the tuition money to send them to college, I took that night-shift job at the toxic demolition site. The hazard pay was massive. Enough to cover both their tuitions in cash. I was so happy. Because ever since we were kids, Wilson and Poppy were always so much brighter, so much smarter than me. I willingly became the stepping stone. I hoisted them up toward a better life. And then, one medical report shattered every beautiful dream we had. They dropped out of college. They started working themselves into the ground. Love and ambition were aggressively ground into dust by an endless mountain of hospital bills. Suddenly, my body felt weightless. So light, as if all the agonizing pain, the IV needles, the crushing guilt of the last seven years… Had finally detached from my soul. My life was actually very short. Too short to ever put on a wedding dress. Too short to see Wilson walk onto a grand stage. Too short to see Poppy buy those ten air conditioners. But it was also so incredibly long. Long enough that the torture after every chemo session felt like walking through hell with no exit. Long enough to watch the two people who loved me most drag themselves into the gutter just to keep me breathing. They used to be so good. They really were good people. It was just that fate was too cruel. It squeezed us until we morphed into monsters we didn’t even recognize. I remembered the day the three of us went to get our legal IDs. I was supposed to be named Hazel, but the social worker messed up the paperwork and wrote Haze. Poppy was furious. She almost threw a chair at the worker, screaming that ‘Haze’ sounded like fading away, like disappearing into nothing. Wilson just smiled, gently rubbing the top of my head. “Then I’ll be the wind,” he said. “I’ll always be there to clear the sky for our little Haze.” What a sick joke fate played. He couldn’t clear the sky for me, and he ultimately lost himself in the dark, too. Looking back on it now, my life really was just like a patch of fog. Nobody asked for it to be there, and everyone was just waiting for it to finally dissipate. How fitting. As the very last drop of energy left my broken body, I closed my eyes for a long, long time. … Wilson carried Poppy all the way back to their cramped apartment. The second he kicked the door shut, Poppy finally broke down and sobbed loudly. “Tomorrow morning, I am going to the clinic. I’m getting rid of it.” “From now on, we dedicate everything to Five. We can never, ever cross that line again…” Wilson’s eyes were bloodshot. It looked like he couldn’t physically handle hearing another word. He violently yanked her by the waist and crashed his lips onto hers. He shoved every apology, every ounce of self-hatred, right back down her throat. Tears were still streaming down Poppy’s cheeks. But the hands she used to push against his chest slowly, inevitably, wrapped around his neck. The heavy, tangled sounds of their breathing entirely drowned out the quiet buzz of a cell phone on the table. Neither of them saw the text message lighting up the screen. “Are you the registered family member of Haze?” “Please come to City General Hospital immediately to sign the remains release forms.”

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