The factory motor was literally smoking. I sprinted over with my toolbox, only to be stopped cold by the Production Supervisor. “Did you fill out the emergency work order?” I gritted my teeth, scribbled the form, and rushed the main breaker. Then the Safety Officer blocked my path. “Where is your lockout-tagout risk assessment?” I told him the machine was seconds from melting down; my apprentice was already bringing parts. But when my apprentice arrived, the Warehouse Manager intercepted him. “Where is the parts requisition slip? No slip, no parts.” My voice was hoarse. I screamed at them to let me fix the damn thing. He just sneered. “Protocol isn’t finished.” I stared at the three of them, asking one final time, word by word. “I am going to ask you one last time. Are you going to let me cut the power and fix this machine?” All three stepped forward. Not a single one moved. It finally clicked. They didn’t care about the problem. They just wanted to flex their tiny ounce of power. Prove nothing happens here without their nod. The fight drained out of me. I nodded. “Fine. Don’t regret this.” The words had barely left my mouth when a muffled explosion shook the concrete floor. The motor blew. The entire plant went pitch black. 1 My radio crackled to life. “Marcus, Motor 3 is smoking! Get down here!” I grabbed my tool bag and sprinted out of the maintenance room. My brain was locked onto one single thought. Cut the power, unhook the wiring, find the fault. By the time I hit the double doors of the production floor, the bitter stench of burning ozone hit my nose. The motor was tucked away at the very back of the assembly line. Through the gaps between the heavy machinery, I could see thin trails of toxic blue smoke rising into the air. I picked up my pace, power-walking toward the source. Suddenly, an arm shot out, blocking my chest. Victor Wallace, the Production Supervisor, looked at me with maddening slowness. “Where is the emergency work order?” I froze. “Victor, the motor is smoking. I need to get in there right now…” “Who gave you permission to touch the equipment without a ticket?” he asked, barely glancing at me. I swallowed my frustration and tried to explain. “I have not touched anything yet! I need to get over there and assess the situation!” “Assessing the situation is classified as a maintenance action. Any maintenance action must be preceded by a filled-out work order, signed by the shift supervisor. Those are the rules.” He recited the employee handbook without even blinking. My stomach dropped. Victor and his clique of middle managers had always been completely jealous of the electrical maintenance crew. When the machines were running smoothly, we sat in the breakroom on standby. To them, we were just lazy guys getting paid thirty bucks an hour to do nothing. So whenever a machine broke down, guys like Victor practically thrived on it. Protocols, signatures, approvals, audits. The red tape they completely ignored on a normal Tuesday suddenly became absolute law the second something caught fire. When you are sweating bullets, they take their sweet time flipping through clipboards. That smug little smirk hiding in the corner of their mouths says it all. They just love watching you panic. “Victor,” I said, forcing my voice to stay level. “The motor is smoking. Smell the air. That is not normal. If we delay this, it is going to cause a massive chain reaction.” “Then you should hurry up and fill out the ticket.” Victor did not budge an inch. He pulled a cheap ballpoint pen from his shirt pocket and handed it to me. “The blank forms are in the dispatch office. Fill it out, I will sign it, and you can get to work. It will only take you a few minutes.” A few minutes? I did the math in my head. A four-hundred-yard sprint to the office, filling out the paperwork, and sprinting back. Ten minutes minimum. In ten minutes, the core temperature inside that motor would spike from two hundred degrees to six hundred. Victor checked his watch. “If you run now, you can be back in six minutes. I am timing you.” I stared at him. He stared right back. The blue smoke behind him was getting thicker, turning into a nasty, toxic black cloud. I could not afford a staring contest with him. A minor burnout was about to turn into a total system failure. I gritted my teeth, spun on my heels, and sprinted back to the dispatch office. I grabbed the clipboard and scribbled like a madman. By the time I sprinted back to the production floor, my lungs were burning. Victor was still standing in the exact same spot. Panting heavily, I slapped the clipboard directly against his chest. He took it. He slowly smoothed out the paper. He held it up to the fluorescent lights, his eyes hovering over the ‘Safety Observer’ box. He stayed silent for about two excruciating seconds. My heart hammered against my ribs. He frowned. “Your handwriting is way too messy. You need to rewrite this later for the archives.” “You missed the cross on the ‘t’ in my name right here. Pay attention next time. Anyway, leave this ticket with me, I will get it filed with dispatch after I sign it, and you…” “Can I go now?!” I practically yelled. “You may proceed.” Victor took half a step back, clearing the path. I bolted past him. The motor was practically screaming now, a high-pitched metallic whine. I took one look and knew exactly what it was. If I cut the power right this second and swapped out the scorched bearings, the motor could still be saved. We still had time. I spun around and sprinted toward the main breaker panel, reaching out to yank the heavy red disconnect lever. “Hold it right there!” 2 A thick hand clamped down hard on my wrist. It was Paul Jenkins, the floor Safety Officer. “What do you think you are doing?” “Paul! The motor is catching fire! I need to cut the power!” I pointed wildly at the machine behind me. My voice cracked from the sheer stress. “Cut the power? Did you complete the lockout-tagout risk assessment? Are you blind? The safety regulations are posted right on the wall, or do you just use them as toilet paper?” He barked at me, stepping directly in front of the breaker box, using his entire body as a shield. I was losing my mind. “We are out of time, Paul! Get out of the way! Let me cut the power first, and we can do whatever analysis you want afterward! I will sign anything!” I tried to shoulder past him, aiming my right hand at the lever again. Paul shoved me back with both hands. “Are you trying to violate safety protocols on my watch?!” I stumbled backward, my boots slipping on the slick floor, and hit the ground hard. The veins in Paul’s forehead bulged. “I told you, no one touches that breaker until the risk assessment is done! Have you been pulling these reckless stunts the whole time? No wonder your safety audit scores were absolute garbage last month!” He pulled an iPad out from his belt holster and shoved the screen in my face. It was the digital assessment form. Dozens of mandatory checkboxes. “You see this? Thirty-one points! You want to pull that lever without checking a single one? Who takes the fall when someone gets killed? You?” I pulled myself up from the floor. My chest ached from the shove. I took a deep breath, swallowing the boiling rage in my throat, and forced myself to speak calmly. “Paul, listen to the motor. The bearings are grinding to dust. If I do not cut the power, the coils are going to short out. It will blow the end caps right off the casing! Look at those empty wooden pallets stacked next to the panel! One spark and the whole place goes up! The entire assembly line will go down!” He tilted his chin up, shouting right back at me. “That is not my problem! I am in charge of protocol! If you do not do the assessment, you do not pull the lever. If the motor burns out, that is a maintenance issue. If the building catches fire, that is a fire department issue. But on my floor, nobody breaks the rules!” Seeing that Paul was completely unmovable, I pulled out my phone and dialed my apprentice, Toby. “Toby, get down to the supply cage right now. Grab a replacement bearing for a Type-3 motor. You know exactly which shelf it is on. Run! Do not walk, run!” I hung up and glared at Paul. “Fine. The risk assessment. Thirty-one points, right? Let’s do it. You ask, I answer.” Paul nodded, looking incredibly smug. “Now that is more like it.” The motor had maybe thirty minutes left before it completely fused. If I played along with Paul’s little power trip, I could get the sign-off, kill the power, and wait for Toby. Once the bearing got here, it would be a quick swap. Paul cleared his throat and read the first line off his tablet. “Confirm the scope of the power outage.” I rattled it off instantly. “Panel 3, feeding three pieces of equipment…” Paul slowly tapped a green checkmark on his screen. The seconds ticked by. The grinding noise from the motor was getting louder, turning into a sickening crunch. But I could not rush Paul. If I pushed him, he would just throw another tantrum. I just kept praying in my head. Hurry up, Toby. Please, hurry up. Halfway through the checklist, I saw Toby sprinting across the factory floor, clutching a cardboard box to his chest. “Marcus!” Toby skidded to a halt in front of me, bending over and gasping for air. “I got… I got the bearings!” I snatched the box from him, ripping the tape open to check. Perfect. Right part. I was just about to let out a sigh of relief when another nightmare walked up. 3 Gary, the Warehouse Manager, came storming down the aisle, his face red with anger. “You little punk! Who told you to take that? You stand right there!” Gary pointed a fat finger at Toby. “Did you fill out the parts requisition slip? You think you own the damn supply cage? Do you have any respect for company policy?” Toby flinched, shrinking behind my shoulder. I quickly stepped between them, forcing a polite, apologetic smile. “Gary, listen, I told him to grab it. The motor is about to blow. It is an emergency rush job. I will backdate the slip for you as soon as…” “Backdate?” Gary practically threw a blank form into my face. “The warehouse operates on rules! If you do not hand me a properly filled-out slip right now, you are giving that part back! I will lock it back on the shelf myself!” Toby spoke up nervously. “Gary, please, it really is an emergency. Look at the machine, it is literally smoking…” He pointed at the toxic cloud billowing behind us. Gary barked a laugh. “I do not care if it is melting into a puddle! We follow the process!” The motor spat out a thick plume of black soot. Paul, still holding his tablet, tapped the screen impatiently. “Marcus, we are only on item fifteen. Can you focus? Stop wasting my time.” Caught in a crossfire of utter stupidity. I swallowed the urge to punch a wall and turned to my apprentice. “Toby, fill out the damn slip right now.” I shoved my pen into his hand and lowered my voice. “Write fast. Make it legible. Do not leave any blanks.” I spun back to Paul. “Keep going.” “Marcus…” Toby stammered, looking totally helpless. “The Department Head is in a summit meeting all day. I asked the front office. They said his phone is off and he will not be reviewing any requests until tomorrow…” Tomorrow? This motor would not survive the next twenty minutes. Gary heard him and let out a mocking snort. “You hear that? Without the boss’s signature, that piece of paper is trash. Hand over the bearing.” He reached out to snatch the box out of Toby’s hands. My reflexes kicked in. I slammed my hand down on top of the box, trapping it. “Gary,” I said, locking eyes with him. “Just wait a second.” My brain was running in overdrive. “Toby,” I spoke incredibly fast. “Go find Brenda in admin. Tell her the boss is unreachable, the factory is about to catch fire, and ask her to stamp it. She has the proxy stamp for emergencies.” Toby dropped the clipboard and took off running. Gary tried to step around me to chase him, but I grabbed his uniform sleeve. “Gary, let him go. He will be back in ten minutes. You will have your form, you will have your stamp. You will get everything you want. Just stand right here and wait. I need to start prepping the machine. Deal?” Gary scoffed, yanking his arm away. “No deal. We wait for the paperwork. You do not touch that machine until it is official.” Paul’s voice dragged from behind me, dripping with annoyance. “Marcus! Are we doing this safety analysis or not? If you refuse, I am reporting you to Corporate for gross insubordination!” “I am doing it!” I snapped, spinning back to Paul. I glanced at the tablet, scanning the rest of the list. “Item twenty. On-site safety monitor. That is you, Paul. Sign it.” Paul took the tablet back and spent an agonizing five seconds slowly tracing his signature on the screen with his index finger. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Toby. I pulled it out, and the blood in my veins turned to ice. 4 Toby: Marcus, Brenda says this form is the wrong format. Toby: She said they rolled out a new version of the requisition slip last month. The old ones are void. We have to print out the new one from the intranet and start over. When the hell did they roll out a new version? Nobody told maintenance. Our dispatch office was stacked with hundreds of the old forms. No one had ever rejected them before today. My thumb hovered over the screen. I had absolutely no idea how to reply. “Marcus.” I looked up. Victor Wallace was standing right in front of me again. He was holding a fresh stack of paper. “Replacing a bearing requires dismantling the equipment housing,” Victor said, his tone utterly relaxed, like we were discussing the weather. “You have not completed the teardown analysis. This is a separate form. Separate approval chain. Fill it out now, or you cannot start the repair.” “Victor,” I pleaded, sweat dripping down my forehead. “This packet is over forty pages long. How long is this going to take?” “Standard processing time is twenty minutes.” “Listen to me,” I begged, trying to reason with him. “Let me tear down the housing. Let me swap the part. Once the machine is stable, I will sit down and fill out every single page of this packet. I will write a formal incident report. I will take full responsibility. Just let me work.” Victor pushed the stack of papers right against my chest. “Protocol dictates that teardown analysis must be completed prior to physical labor. Proceeding without it is a severe safety violation. If you cause an accident, you are looking at criminal negligence.” Paul chimed in, his voice full of self-righteous anger. “Marcus, just fill out the damn paperwork! You are wasting everyone’s time! You fill it out, Victor signs it, I sign it, you fix the machine. Everyone covers their ass. Simple.” A massive, suffocating wave of exhaustion washed over me. If this motor burned out, the entire factory floor would shut down for three days. We were right in the middle of a massive rush order for our biggest client. Three days of downtime meant millions of dollars in losses, not to mention the breach-of-contract penalties. But it had been almost an hour since the first radio call. I had spent the entire hour filling out bullshit paperwork. And now, because some pencil-pusher changed the margins on a form, I could not even hold the spare part in my own hands. My hands started to shake. Pure, unfiltered rage. “Can you guys seriously not just let me fix the machine first?! We are completely out of time!” Paul glared at me. “You follow the protocol! What happens if someone dies?!” “I have been an industrial electrician for twelve years! I have torn down hundreds of these motors…” “Twelve years of experience means you should know better than to make amateur mistakes,” Victor interrupted smoothly. “Senior techs need to set an example. If you dive in there without authorization, it is reckless behavior. What happens when the junior guys see that? It completely undermines management.” Gary muttered from the sidelines. “Yeah, exactly. You maintenance guys always try to bend the rules. Not today.” Three men. Three mouths. Every single word was ‘protocol’, ‘rules’, and ‘compliance’. Their faces were glowing with petty triumph. They finally had the perfect excuse to put me in my place. They hated that my team operated outside their usual chain of command. Now that the building was practically burning down, they were using the flames to roast marshmallows. I took one long, deep breath. “I am going to ask you one last time. Are you going to let me cut the power and fix this machine?” Paul let out a condescending scoff. “You have not finished the protocol.” Behind me, the motor let out a sickening, metallic crack. It was a sound every electrician knows by heart. The death rattle. The final breath of a machine before total catastrophic failure. I took two steps back and let out a dry, hollow laugh. “Fine. Do not regret this.” Paul rolled his eyes. “Regret what? We are following company policy to the letter.” Victor chuckled, shaking his head. “Wow, Marcus. Listen to yourself. You are acting like we are the ones stopping you from doing your job. You are the one refusing to follow procedure.” Gary nodded eagerly. “Yeah. You think you can scare us? We have seen guys like you throw tantrums before.” The moment the words left his mouth, a massive, muffled explosion shook the concrete floor. The motor blew. The entire plant went pitch black.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “464476”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 A drunk man hunted me through dark, empty streets last night while I dialed Chazz Antoon five times. The first call, I screamed for help. The second, only trembling sobs escaped. The third, the fourth… they rang out unanswered. By the fifth, a notification lit up my screen—a new post from his social media. It was Daphne Lloyd, serene in sleep. The caption read: My ninety-ninth successful bedtime. While I ran for my life, my husband was across town tucking his patient into bed. I stumbled into a bright, fluorescent-lit convenience store. My reflection in the mirror was pathetic—disheveled clothes, eyes wide with terror, clinging to the hope he would save me. How incredibly foolish I had been. For five years, his psychiatric clinic and my botanical greenhouse sat barely three miles apart, yet he never once offered me a ride. On our wedding night, his phone buzzed for a single second before he snatched his keys and vanished, claiming psychiatric patients were unpredictable and his line must remain open 24/7. That always-on phone was never available for his own wife. A cold gust swept through the store. I stared at his post, unable to look away. After a long silence, a dry, mocking laugh escaped me. If he was sleeping elsewhere, there was no point keeping the porch light on. The botanical research project transfer list was finalized. It was time to pack up and leave. … “Ms. Barlow, do you remember any distinct physical features of the suspect?” At the precinct, my knuckles turned white as I tried to piece together the terrifying details of the previous night. Before I could speak, my phone buzzed on the metal table. The caller ID read Chazz Antoon. I offered a quiet apology to the officer and stepped aside to answer. “It’s the weekend. Are you not at home?” “No,” his voice was crisp. “Is everything alright at the greenhouse?” I swallowed hard. “Yes, it’s fine.” “Good.” “Chazz, I have something to tell you…” I closed my eyes, trying to find the words, but my voice was instantly drowned out by a soft, sleepy murmur from his end of the line. The rustle of bedsheets came through the speaker. “Chazz…” the woman cooed. “Go back to sleep, sweetie,” Chazz whispered back, his tone dripping with protective tenderness. The plea to ask him to come home and stay with me died in my throat. My chest felt as if it had been pierced by a cold needle. “What were you saying?” Chazz’s voice returned to the receiver, suddenly formal. I forced a weak smile. “Nothing.” “Your voice sounds strange.” I dug my fingernails into my palm, letting the sharp pain anchor me. Outside the station windows, the sky had turned a heavy, bruised grey. Rain began to patter against the glass. “I’m just tired.” I expected him to hang up, but he hesitated. “Get home early, then.” By the time the statement was finished, the rain had turned into a torrential downpour, roaring against the pavement. “Ms. Barlow, would you like us to give you a ride home?” the officer at the desk offered kindly. I shook my head and declined with a polite smile. I had already learned how to handle the storm on my own. I reached the house just as the water began to pool around my ankles. Before I could punch in the security code, the door swung open. Chazz stood in the hallway. “You’re back. Is it pouring out there?” I wiped the dampness from the tips of my hair. “A bit.” “Why didn’t you ask me to pick you up?” I kicked off my wet shoes, my voice entirely flat. “I called you last night. You didn’t answer.” Chazz’s hand paused on the doorknob. “I was exhausted last night. I fell asleep early.” Early sleep. Or perhaps, early bedtime stories for Daphne. I lined up my shoes neatly and caught sight of his damp trousers. The cuffs were soaked through. My gaze drifted up to his face. “Did you just get back too?” Chazz poured himself a glass of water, offering a casual nod. “The storm was bad. Daphne is terrified of thunder, so I went to check on her.” He could anticipate Daphne’s fears in a storm, but he never stopped to wonder if his wife was walking home in the downpour. “You really care about her, don’t you?” “She’s my patient, Iris. It’s my job to care.” Chazz didn’t look up as he opened a takeout container and handed me a pair of chopsticks. I didn’t take them. “She was discharged months ago, Chazz.” Chazz let out a heavy sigh, setting the chopsticks down. “Not this again. Daphne suffers from severe psychiatric trauma. Even after discharge, the threat of a relapse is constant.” He reached out, patting my head with a patronizing tenderness. “Be a good girl. You don’t need to wait up for me tonight.” “And what about me?” “You’re different.” Was I different because I was strong, or because I simply didn’t matter? I pushed the food aside as a massive crack of thunder rattled the windowpanes. I swallowed down the urge to beg him to stay, choosing a different approach instead. “Can you drop me off at the greenhouse on your way out? The storm is getting worse, and I’m worried the roof might leak.” Chazz blinked, looking at me in surprise. “I can take you first thing tomorrow morning.” Tomorrow morning? If the roof leaked, all my rare orchids would be ruined by then. “Why not now?” Before he could answer, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and his expression instantly softened into a smile. “Alright, get some rest,” he said, already reaching for his coat. “Daphne is frightened. I have to go.” The door clicked shut, leaving me completely alone in the silent, dark house. A flash of lightning illuminated the room, followed by the sharp chime of my phone. Notification: The transfer assignment has been officially scheduled for seven days from now. Please ensure your personal affairs are in order before departure. I stared at the screen for a long moment before typing two words. Understood. Confirmed. The next morning, before the sun had even cleared the horizon, the front door opened. Chazz’s mother stood on the doormat, carrying several heavy grocery bags. She looked around the empty hallway. “Where is Chazz?” I took the bags from her hands, placing them on the counter. “It was pouring last night. He was worried…” Mrs. Antoon paused, then let out a knowing, soft chuckle. “Iris, dear, you have to understand. Daphne was the very first patient Chazz successfully cured. He’s bound to be a little overprotective. You must be patient with him.” I didn’t say a word. I hadn’t even mentioned Daphne’s name, yet she already knew. Mrs. Antoon hummed a cheerful tune as she unpacked the groceries in the kitchen. Soon, the sound of her dialing her phone echoed through the apartment. “Chazz, darling, it’s Mom. I’m at your place. Bring Daphne over for lunch. I’m making her favorite herb-crusted cod.” As she spoke, a fresh fish slipped from the counter, flopping wildly on the floor and splashing water everywhere. Mrs. Antoon quickly scooped it up, slamming it onto the cutting board to stun it before expertly scaling it. She caught me watching and smiled warmly. “We’re having a fish feast today, alright? I went to the harbor early this morning to get the absolute freshest catch.” She asked for my opinion, but she didn’t wait for an answer before returning to her work. As the kitchen filled with steam, Chazz walked through the door. Daphne peeked out from behind his shoulder, her eyes crinkling into a sweet smile. “Hi, Iris.” Chazz offered me a reassuring smile, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Are you still angry with me? Do you want me to take you to the greenhouse now?” “No need,” I replied quietly. “Good. Daphne brought you a little peace offering.” He handed me a gift bag containing a hand-knit scarf. Chazz knelt down to help Daphne slide into a pair of slippers, explaining on her behalf, “Daphne knit this herself. I remembered red is your favorite color. Do you like it?” “My favorite color is red?” Chazz looked up, a slight frown creasing his brow. “Isn’t it?” I suddenly lost all energy to correct him. After three years of marriage, he didn’t even know my favorite color. “Yes. I love red.” I looked down at the scarf. The stitching was uneven, loose in some places and tight in others. But it looked incredibly familiar. “The blue scarf you keep locked in your closet,” I murmured. “Did she knit that one too?” “Yes, she did,” Chazz replied casually. I finally understood why he had thrown such a massive tantrum when I accidentally touched it while folding his laundry. “Why are these slippers this color again?” Daphne pouted, wiggling her toes in disapproval. “I don’t like them. Didn’t I ask you to replace them, Chazz?” “My mistake,” Chazz said gently, without a hint of annoyance, as he slid a different pair onto her feet. “I’ll buy you those pink ones you wanted later today, okay?” I watched them, a suffocating weight settling in my chest. Last month, when I was burning with a fever, I had asked him to boil some warm water so I could take my medicine. He had promised he would, but when I finally dragged myself out of bed hours later, the kettle was ice-cold. Perhaps I should have gotten used to this a long time ago. “Daphne, you’re here!” Mrs. Antoon called out, bringing the steaming dish to the table. Daphne immediately rushed over, wrapping her arms affectionately around the older woman’s shoulders. They looked far more like a family than I ever did with them. Over the last three years, I had visited the Antoon household countless times. But every time I tried to get close, Mrs. Antoon would flinch away, avoiding my touch as if I were a threat. Chazz had always excused it, saying, “My mother just isn’t a physical person.” It turned out she was perfectly fine with physical affection. She just didn’t want it from me. The three of them sat down at the table, their laughter filling the dining room. “Iris, aren’t you joining us?” Mrs. Antoon finally noticed me standing by the door. I didn’t move. The doorbell rang, and I opened it to collect a takeout delivery I had ordered minutes before. “You guys go ahead. I’m having this.” I held up the takeout container with a polite smile. I sat down on the floor by the coffee table, peeling back the lid of my food. The laughter in the dining room died instantly. Chazz’s brow furrowed. “Iris, my mother spent the entire morning cooking a fresh meal, and you’d rather eat cheap takeout?” I ignored him, taking a quiet bite of my sweet-and-sour chicken. With a harsh scrape of wood against the floor, Chazz stood up, marched over, and grabbed my wrist. “Iris, I am speaking to you.” His grip was tight, sending a dull ache up my arm. The sweet taste of the food in my mouth suddenly turned to ash. “Chazz, I am severely allergic to fish.” Chazz froze, his grip loosening. Silence fell over the room. No one spoke, and no one asked why I had ordered takeout anymore. Mrs. Antoon patted her temple with a nervous chuckle. “Oh dear, look at my memory. I saw the fresh fish at the market and completely forgot Iris doesn’t eat seafood. My mistake, dear.” I looked down, offering a small, hollow smile. “It’s fine.” I had gotten used to this, too. On my very first visit to the Antoon home after our wedding, they had asked about my dietary restrictions. Yet, they had served an entire table of fish. It happened the second year, and the third. The only difference was that this time, I refused to play along. “Well, if you can’t eat the fish, you can still have some of the roasted vegetables on the side,” Mrs. Antoon tried to smooth things over. “Come, sit with us.” Chazz didn’t say another word. He grabbed my takeout box with one hand and pulled me up with the other, ignoring my silent resistance as he led me to the table. With me sitting there, the atmosphere turned incredibly tense. I didn’t care. I kept my head down, focusing entirely on my own food. “Daphne, isn’t your birthday coming up soon?” Mrs. Antoon asked, desperate to break the silence. Daphne smiled brightly, launching into her birthday plans. I finished my meal quickly, setting my chopsticks down. “I’m finished. I’ll leave you all to enjoy the rest of your lunch.” Before I could close my bedroom door, Chazz shoved his way in. “Iris, my mother is getting older. Her memory isn’t what it used to be.” “And Daphne is incredibly sensitive. If you just walk out like that, she’s going to think she did something wrong.” He didn’t care about my feelings. His only concern was protecting Daphne’s fragile ego. “Chazz,” I said, turning to face him. “Do I really have to walk on eggshells for another woman in my own home?” He let out a soft laugh, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Are you jealous, Iris?” “Daphne is my patient. Her mental state is still highly unstable, and as her doctor, I am legally and morally responsible for her safety.” And what about my safety? I looked down, keeping the words locked behind my teeth. “I’m not jealous. I’m just tired.” I brushed his hands off. As I did, the collar of my shirt slipped, revealing a dark purple bruise and a nasty scratch on my shoulder. Chazz’s eyes locked onto the injury. “What happened to your shoulder?” It was from the night I was followed, when the drunk man had thrown a glass bottle at me. I pulled my collar back up. “Just an accident at the greenhouse.” His fingers trembled slightly. “I’ll go get some ointment for you. Wait here.” I listened to him. I sat on the edge of the bed and waited for him all night. But Chazz never returned. I called his phone, but it rang out continuously. The next morning, Daphne posted a new photo online. It was a shot of the sunrise from a mountain peak, captioned: The sunrise is beautiful, and the person watching it with me is perfect. I locked my phone and smiled. For the next several days, Chazz didn’t come home. He merely sent a courier to drop off a bag of medical ointments at our door. He finally returned the night before Daphne’s birthday. “How is your shoulder?” he asked, walking into the bedroom. “It’s fine.” “Are you… packing a suitcase?” Chazz stopped, staring at the open luggage on the bed with a look of confusion. I nodded calmly, reaching into my purse to retrieve the divorce papers my lawyer had drafted. “My transfer has been approved, Chazz. Let’s sign the—” Before I could finish the sentence, Chazz took a step back, his elbow catching a glass on the nightstand. It shattered against the hardwood floor with a sharp crash. At the sound of the shattering glass, a sudden wave of panic washed over me, and my body began to shake uncontrollably. As Chazz knelt down to clean up the water and glass, his phone rang. In the midst of the chaos, the phone rang for less than a second before he swiped the screen. It was Daphne. His voice immediately turned soft and comforting, but as he spoke, he reached out and snatched the papers I had laid on the desk to wipe up the spilled water. Within seconds, the divorce agreement was soaked, ruined, and tossed into the wastebasket. When he hung up, he finally noticed the missed calls on his screen. “Did you call me last night?” “Yes.” “Don’t call so late next time. It might disturb…” He trailed off, but I knew what he meant. He was worried I would disturb Daphne’s sleep. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, Iris, tomorrow is Daphne’s birthday. I need you to prepare the floral arrangements, just like last year.” Every year, I made the bouquets for her party because Chazz said she loved flowers, and I happened to grow them. “This year, she wants white tulips,” he added. “And what about me?” I interrupted him. Chazz paused. “What?” “What flowers do I like, Chazz?” “Roses? Peonies?” He frowned, clearly annoyed. “Does it really matter right now?” For Daphne’s birthday, he remembered every detail. But my preferences were entirely insignificant. “I’ve prepared the bouquets,” I said flatly. I had made two. One was for Daphne’s party, and the other was a parting gift for Chazz, a final marker to end our hollow marriage. “Good. I’ll come by the greenhouse to pick them up later,” he said. “I’ll wait for you.” I checked my watch. My flight was in six hours. This would be the last time I ever waited for him. One hour passed. Then two. “When are you coming?” I messaged him. My flight was now three hours away. My message went completely unanswered. I closed the app, ordered a courier service, and had the bouquets delivered directly to the banquet hall. Then, I grabbed my suitcase and took a cab to my greenhouse. I had spent six years in this industry, and this greenhouse had been my sanctuary for five of them. Before I left this city forever, I wanted to say goodbye to my flowers. Just as I was about to arrive, a message popped up on my phone from Daphne. “Iris, your flowers are absolutely stunning! I took a bunch of them to decorate the main stage. Thank you so much for the birthday gift!” Attached were several photos. The moment I saw them, the blood in my veins turned to ice. I jumped out of the cab before it had even fully stopped. I rushed to the greenhouse doors and threw them open, only to be met with complete devastation. My sanctuary was in ruins. Rare orchids had been brutally ripped from their stems, delicate petals were crushed into the dirt, and soil was scattered everywhere. Five years of painstaking labor had been trampled into nothingness. My hands shook violently as I reached out to touch a broken stem. I dialed Chazz’s number. I wanted to scream. I wanted to ask him how he could let her do this, how he could walk into my private sanctuary and destroy my life’s work without a second thought. The phone rang once, twice, three times. Finally, he answered. “Iris?” I looked down at a rare white orchid, now crushed into the mud. “Why did you go into my greenhouse, Chazz?” Chazz let out a light laugh. “Oh, sorry, I meant to tell you. Daphne decided she didn’t want the tulips after all, and I knew you had plenty of other flowers, so I brought her over to pick some.” “To pick some? Chazz, those flowers were my entire life!” “Look, Iris, the party is starting and it’s really loud here. Let’s talk about this when I get back, okay?” The line went dead. I stared at the ruins of my life’s work. Without a single tear, I opened my settings, blocked Chazz’s number on every platform, and boarded the flight to the misty valleys of the Northwest. He didn’t care about the flowers blooming or dying. But someone else would. [Will Chazz realize his devastating mistake? Unlock the next chapter to see Iris find her true worth and leave him in the dust…]

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1 On the day Sebastian Hale proposed to me, he built me a rose garden made entirely of gold. A billion dollars, just because I once said roses were beautiful. I cried from happiness. The moment I threw my arms around him, I realized his gaze had passed over my shoulder. It landed on a maid standing in the corner. Her face was covered in scars. Only later did I learn her name was Naomi Reed. She was Sebastian’s childhood sweetheart. They had loved each other. They had hated each other. At their worst, she had cut off half of Sebastian’s finger with her own hands. And Sebastian had personally destroyed the face she had once been most proud of. This was their first reunion after seven years apart. Sebastian recovered quickly. He looked at Naomi, his voice cold. “My fiancée’s shoes are dirty. Come wipe them.” Naomi lowered her eyes and obediently knelt before me. Bit by bit, she wiped the dust from my shoes. In Sebastian’s eyes churned emotions I could not understand. He smiled through gritted teeth. “Naomi Reed.” “How did you become this pathetic?” At that moment, looking at the loss of control in his eyes, I suddenly felt exhausted. So painfully exhausted. I stood there with the blue diamond ring Sebastian had just placed on my finger. A billion-dollar rose garden. A priceless engagement ring. Sebastian Hale, the most arrogant prince in Manhattan’s old-money circle, had gone down on one knee and asked me to marry him. Yet in that moment, I felt like a joke displayed on a stage. Sebastian finally seemed to notice my silence. He turned to me, and all those dark, turbulent emotions disappeared from his eyes. “Lily, don’t look at her.” “She’s no one. Don’t dirty your eyes.” As he spoke, he tucked a strand of hair blown loose by the night wind behind my ear. The movement was gentle and practiced. If I had not seen him lose control a moment ago, I might have believed again that he only had eyes for me. Sebastian really was good to me. So good that everyone said I was the woman he held in the palm of his hand. I casually said I liked roses, and he truly built me an entire garden of gold roses. I said my hands got cold in winter, so he had a glass conservatory shipped back from Northern Europe, temperature-controlled at seventy-eight degrees, just so I could look at flowers on snowy days. His love was grand, dramatic, and also meticulous. But the better he treated me, the harder it became for me to understand what that look in his eyes had meant when he saw Naomi. Naomi swayed slightly when she stood. I clearly felt Sebastian’s fingers tighten around mine. But he did not step forward. He only said coldly, “What are you pretending for?” “When you cut off my finger seven years ago, you had plenty of strength.” Naomi lifted her head. Her face was terrifyingly pale. She did not argue. She only said softly, “Mr. Hale, may I leave now?” Sebastian laughed. “Leave?” “The show is over, so you want to walk away?” The moment his words fell, Naomi’s eyes suddenly went dark, and she collapsed straight to the ground. Everyone cried out. Before I could react, Sebastian had already let go of my hand and rushed over. He picked Naomi up too quickly. So quickly that my hand was still suspended in the air. The blue diamond flashed under the light. It seemed to remind me that the words he had just said about marrying me had not yet scattered in the wind. Sebastian carried Naomi out. Halfway there, he seemed to suddenly remember me and turned back. “Lily, she fainted.” “I’ll take her to the hospital. I’ll be back soon.” The guests still stood in the golden rose garden. Their whispers pricked my ears like needles. Some even quietly raised their phones, camera lenses aimed at my pale face. Sebastian’s assistant came over, forcing himself to clean up the mess. “Miss Morgan, Mr. Hale said you should rest in your room first.” “We’ll handle the guests tonight.” I did not return to my room. Silently, I followed. I wanted to see with my own eyes how far Sebastian would lose control for Naomi. When I found Sebastian in the hospital corridor, an hour had passed. As I approached, I heard Naomi’s weak voice from inside the ward. “I’ll pay back the medical bills later.” Sebastian sneered. “Of course you will.” “Did you think I’d still be like before, feeling sorry for you and paying every bill?” “Naomi Reed, your life is worth nothing to me now.” His tone was cruel. But standing at the door, I only felt a sour ache in my chest. Because his mouth said he did not care, yet he had personally waited outside the emergency room. When the doctor came out, Sebastian’s first question was: “Why did she faint?” The doctor glanced at the test results. “Long-term malnutrition. Severe anemia.” “And some old injuries that were never properly treated.” “Her family should pay more attention.” Family. The moment that word fell, Sebastian’s expression turned icy. “I’m not her family.” That was what he said. But when Sebastian stood, he still instinctively looked toward the ward. As if afraid she might really die inside. I suddenly felt tired. Sebastian saw me and froze. All that coldness vanished from his face at once. He walked to me and reached out as if to hold me. “Lily.” “I wronged you today.” His voice softened, carrying the guilt and tenderness I knew so well. “I was only afraid she would die at the proposal banquet and ruin your place.” “I don’t feel anything else for her.” “Trust me, okay?” I looked into his eyes. There was apology there. Concern. Care for me. All real. But the panic in him when he picked Naomi up was real too. I asked softly, “Sebastian, do you hate her?” He was silent for a few seconds. Then he smiled. “Yes.” “I hate her so much I want her kneeling before me for the rest of her life, never able to lift her head again.” “Lily, the person I love is you.” “I will marry you.” He held my hand, his thumb rubbing over the ring. “The dignity you lost tonight, I’ll repay tenfold.” “Tomorrow, I’ll have every media outlet pull their drafts.” “Anyone who dares say one word will disappear from this circle.” When he said these things, his tone was calm, powerful, certain. The same way he had defended me countless times before. But just then, something shattered inside the ward. Naomi’s panicked voice rang out. “Don’t touch that!” Sebastian turned back almost instinctively. A young nurse ran out of the ward holding a photo wrinkled with blood. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to help organize the patient’s bag.” “She reacted too strongly.” The photo fell to the floor. It slid right to Sebastian’s and my feet. In the picture was a little boy, about five or six years old. His brows and eyes looked exactly like Sebastian’s. Sebastian stared at that photo, his eyes turning red in an instant. “Whose child is he?” At last, a little moisture appeared in Naomi’s eyes. “Sebastian Hale, don’t you hate me?” “Don’t you hate me so much you want me kneeling before you forever?” “Now that you know there’s a child, why are you pretending to be so devoted?” Sebastian shoved her hard against the wall. “Why didn’t you just die?” “Naomi Reed, why didn’t you die out there back then?” “Why did you have to come back and disturb my life now?” The moment those words fell, I stood in the corridor, my fingertips turning cold bit by bit. So in Sebastian’s heart, everything between us could be disturbed so easily by Naomi’s name. Naomi looked up at him and suddenly smiled. “Then why were your hands shaking when you saw me?” “When you carried me to the hospital, why did you run so fast?” “Do you dare say you’re really over me?” Sebastian’s expression turned terrifying. “Shut up!” Naomi suddenly rose on her toes and kissed him. In that instant, Sebastian went completely stiff. I stood there and clearly saw his hand lift. As if he meant to push her away. But in the end, he did not move. Naomi slowly opened her eyes and looked past Sebastian’s shoulder at me. There was a nearly cruel challenge in her gaze. My stomach churned. I no longer had the courage to look for even one more second. I fled the hospital in a mess. When I got home, I started packing. My friend Paige stayed beside me, so anxious her eyes were red. “Lily, are you really leaving?” I placed my clothes into the suitcase one by one, my voice calm. “Yes. I’m tired.” Paige wanted to say something else. Then her phone suddenly buzzed. She looked down, and her expression changed instantly. On the screen was a video someone had sent from a bar. In the video, Sebastian sat in the innermost booth, eyes heavy with alcohol. A friend beside him sighed. “Sebastian, what the hell are you doing?” “You spent half a year preparing that gold rose garden.” “You clearly treasure Lily like she’s your life.” “But tonight, in front of everyone, you abandoned her and carried Naomi away.” Sebastian said nothing, only poured drink after drink down his throat. “Are you still not over Naomi?” Sebastian suddenly sneered. “Not over her?” “She cut off half my finger with her own hands.” “I ruined that face of hers myself.” “I want her to rot in the mud.” His friend was silent for a few seconds. “But when she kissed you, you didn’t push her away.” Sebastian slammed his glass onto the table. “I slapped her.” “I told her to get out.” “I told her the woman I love now is Lily.” His voice suddenly lowered. “I love Lily.” “I love her beyond saving.” “She wanted roses, so I built her a garden of gold.” “She’s afraid of pain, and I can’t even bear to see her frown.” “She is the woman I’m going to marry in this life.” His friend looked at him. “Then what about Naomi?” Sebastian lowered his head and laughed like a madman. “I don’t know.” “The moment I see her, I lose control for no damn reason.” “When she kneels, I get angry.” “When she obeys, I get angry.” “When she doesn’t hate me, I get even angrier.” “I clearly want her to hurt, but when she really fainted, I was afraid she’d die.” At this point, he suddenly covered his face. “Am I insane?” His friend tested, “Then what if Naomi has a new boyfriend too?” Sebastian lifted his head, his eyes blood-red. “I’ll kill that man.” The video fell silent there. I sat on the edge of the bed and suddenly smiled. But as I smiled, my eyes grew hot. So this was what Sebastian called hate. Maybe it was true that he loved me. It was true that he spent a billion on me, defended my dignity, and paved a glittering future for me. But all Naomi had to do was stand there. And he would lose control. He could say he loved me beyond saving. And at the same time, the thought of another woman having a new life could make him want to kill. I suddenly felt a deep sourness. Not jealousy. Not anger. Just bitterness. Like I had finally understood that no matter how much I was loved, I could never defeat the violent old wound between them. But Sebastian and I had also had three sweet years together. I closed the video and continued packing. Paige asked quietly, “Lily, are you okay?” I smiled. “I’m fine.” “At least I found out now, not after the wedding.” The video had not finished. In the last few seconds, Sebastian suddenly stood, his voice hoarse. “I’m done drinking.” “I’m going back to coax Lily to sleep.” “She’s timid. She can’t sleep without me.” I watched him stagger out of the bar on the screen. And suddenly remembered so many nights. I would wake from nightmares, and Sebastian would pull me into his arms, patting my back again and again. “Lily, don’t be scared.” “I’m here.” Back then, I thought he would always be there. Now I knew that his being there could vanish at any moment, as long as Naomi appeared. I zipped up the suitcase. “Paige, take me to the airport.” Before leaving, I looked one last time at the gold rose garden outside the window. Moonlight fell on the golden petals. It was beautiful like an expensive illusion. I did not look again. When Sebastian rushed back, the bedroom was empty. On the nightstand, only the blue diamond ring he had placed on my finger remained. Beneath it was a note I had left. There was only one sentence. “Sebastian, the rose garden is too heavy.” “I don’t want it.” “And I don’t want you either.” On the way to the airport, Paige held my hand the entire time. “Lily, once you’re abroad, don’t look back.” I watched the night scenery retreat beyond the car window and hummed softly. Sebastian’s calls came in again and again. I did not answer. But when the car reached the mountain road, a black van suddenly cut across in front of us. The next second, the car door was yanked open from outside. A sharp chemical smell covered my mouth and nose. When I woke again, the sound of roaring wind filled my ears. I was tied up at the edge of a cliff. Not far from me, Naomi was tied up too. There was no panic on her face. Instead, she looked at me calmly, with a faint mocking smile in her eyes. “Want to see who Sebastian really chooses?” “Haven’t you always believed he loves you?” “A billion-dollar rose garden. A blue diamond ring. The fiancée of Manhattan’s crown prince.” “Can any of those compare to this face he destroyed?” The wind stung my eyes. I looked at Naomi and suddenly asked, “So you deliberately let him see the child too?” Naomi smiled and did not deny it. Before long, the sound of a car came from afar. When Sebastian arrived, his tie was crooked, and his coat was half-thrown on. The moment he got out of the car, his gaze crossed over me first. It landed on Naomi. With just that one look, I suddenly laughed. So when a heart truly dies, it no longer hurts. It only thinks, of course. Sebastian quickly looked toward me, his voice tight. “Lily!” He took one step forward, and the kidnapper immediately pressed a knife to the rope. “Mr. Hale, don’t move.” “You can only choose one.” Sebastian’s expression changed. “I’ll pay you. Whatever amount you want.” The kidnapper laughed. “We don’t need money.” “Today, we only want to see Mr. Hale choose.” The wind at the cliff edge was fierce. Sebastian stood there, his eyes violently unsettled. He looked at me, then at Naomi. I saw him struggle. I saw him hesitate. I saw his throat move again and again. Naomi suddenly began to cry. “Sebastian…” “The water below is so fast. I can’t swim.” “I’ll die.” Sebastian’s face changed sharply. Naomi continued, “Do you remember?” “Back then, when I nearly drowned, you pulled me out with your own hands.” “You said that even if one day you hated me, you still wouldn’t let me die in water.” Her tears rolled down along her scars. “We also have a child.” “The child I gave you.” “He’s already spent five years without his father.” “Can you really bear to make him lose his mother now too?” Sebastian closed his eyes. In that moment, I finally knew the answer. He turned to look at me. His eyes were full of pain and apology. “Lily.” My chest was terrifyingly calm. Sebastian’s voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible. “You can swim.” “You won swimming competitions when you were little.” “I’ll save Naomi first.” “I’ll come back for you right away.” I looked at him and suddenly remembered what he said on the day he proposed. “Lily, from now on, whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.” It turned out all I wanted was to be chosen firmly, just once. And he could not give me that. I smiled faintly. “Sebastian.” “From today on, you never have to choose me again.” His face went white. “Lily…” But Naomi suddenly laughed. The sound was not loud, but Sebastian froze. She lifted her head, tears still hanging on her face, yet there was not a trace of fear in her eyes. “Sebastian.” “The kidnappers are mine.” “I only wanted you to see clearly.” “To see who is really in your heart.” “Look. You still chose me.” Sebastian looked as if he had been struck by lightning. “Are you insane?” Naomi looked at him, her voice light as a sigh. “Yes.” “I went insane seven years ago when you ruined my face.” “Sebastian Hale, if I can’t live well, neither can you.” Sebastian lunged forward. “Let Lily go!” But it was too late. Naomi suddenly leaned toward me. Her movement looked panicked, but her shoulder struck my arm with perfect accuracy. My feet were already at the cliff’s edge. That hit made me lose my balance. Wind rushed past my ears. As I fell, I saw Sebastian throw himself toward the cliff edge like a madman. “Lily!”

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1 At the party, my girlfriend lost a round of Truth or Dare. The crowd immediately started chanting, egging her on to list ten of my childhood best friend’s greatest qualities. Lyla didn’t even hesitate. “He’s outgoing, handsome, in great shape, and knows exactly how to charm people,” she said, her voice bright. “He’s always smiling, has high emotional intelligence, is incredibly capable, and has impeccable taste. Oh, and he really knows how to make people happy.” In the next round, Alan smiled and turned the question back to her. “What about Miles? What are Miles’s best qualities, Lyla?” Lyla looked at me, pausing for a few seconds. When she finally spoke, she only offered a single word. “Dependable.” Someone laughed to break the sudden tension. “And? What else?” Lyla frowned, looking as if she were thinking incredibly hard. But after a long silence, she couldn’t find a second thing to say. In the middle of that awkward quiet, a wave of exhaustion washed over me. Lyla and I had been together for seven years, and our wedding was scheduled for next week. Yet, after racking her brain, the only positive thing she could say about me was that I was dependable. This time, I didn’t want to be the dependable one anymore. … I stood up to leave, but someone slammed their hand on the table, laughing. “Don’t go yet, Miles! One last round!” “Let’s play something spicy. Let’s see who has the most chat history with whom on WhatsApp.” Alan chuckled, sliding his unlocked phone onto the center of the table. “Sure, why not? I’ve got nothing to hide.” But when the data popped up on the screen, the room went dead silent. The person Lyla messaged the most wasn’t me, her fiancé. It was Alan. Someone let out a forced, nervous laugh. “Well, look at that. Lyla and Alan sure talk a lot.” Alan blinked, his tone light and breezy. “Well, Miles is just so mature, you know? He handles everything on his own. Lyla gets stressed out sometimes and needs someone to talk to.” As he spoke, he carelessly scrolled through the screen, accidentally revealing a snippet of their chat history. Lyla’s text popped up: Miles is nagging about the wedding schedule again. He’s so rigid. Alan’s reply: He’s just too uptight. Unlike me. I think a wedding should just be fun and relaxed. Lyla: That’s why talking to you is so much easier. My fingers tightened around my glass. A second later, another exchange slid into view. Lyla: Miles is wearing that white shirt again today. Does he really think he looks good in white? Alan: Don’t be mean. But yeah, it’s not really his vibe. Too plain. Lyla: Yeah, you’d look much better in it. The room was completely silent now. I stood there, feeling as though something were choking me. A sharp, stinging ache spread through my chest, making it hard to breathe. All my quiet anticipation, all the nervousness I had felt while trying on my wedding suit, were nothing more than gossip for Lyla to mock with Alan. Alan walked over, casually putting an arm around my shoulder. “Don’t be mad, Miles.” “If Lyla were talking to anyone else like this, I’d yell at her for you. But I’m your best friend.” He tilted his head, his expression completely innocent. “I’m just keeping an eye on her for you. Isn’t that a good thing?” I stared at Alan’s hand resting on my shoulder. On his wrist was a sleek, silver watch. A few days ago, Lyla had sent me a picture of that exact watch while she was away on a business trip, asking if I thought it looked nice. I had stared at that photo for a long time, my heart bursting with joy as I typed back, It’s beautiful. I had assumed it was a surprise gift for our wedding. I had even planned to act surprised when she came home, pretending I didn’t know anything about it. I had waited days for that surprise. And now, there it was, sitting on Alan’s wrist. I slowly reached up and brushed his hand off my shoulder. Alan’s eyes immediately turned red. “Miles, do you not even trust me anymore?” Lyla finally frowned, her voice tight with irritation. “Miles, it’s just a game. Don’t be so sensitive.” When she said those words, any lingering sadness I had felt instantly vanished, replaced by a dull emptiness. I stood up, my voice barely a whisper. “I’m tired. I’m going home.” I made it all the way to the front door before realizing I had left my coat on the back of the sofa. When I went back to get it, the door to the private room was cracked open. “Lyla, are you seriously not going after him?” someone was asking in a hushed tone. “Miles looked incredibly pale.” Lyla was silent for a moment, but her voice was entirely dismissive when she spoke. “Miles won’t actually stay mad.” “He’s too dependable. Give him a night of sleep, and he’ll be fine.” My hand froze on the brass doorknob. “Alan’s the one who was embarrassed by the teasing,” she added. “I need to comfort him first.” My fingers grew cold against the metal. The word dependable felt like a blunt knife. It didn’t draw blood, but it slowly carved away at my chest. I didn’t go back into the room. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a message from our wedding planner. Mr. Barret, are you sure you want to cancel the wedding? You’ve spent over half a year preparing this. From the specific camellias to the soft lighting, the textured invitations, the seating cards… you personally approved every single detail. It would be such a shame to cancel now. I stared at the rendering of the venue she had sent. I remembered how, in the beginning, I had wanted a wedding filled with white camellias. But Lyla had taken one look at the design and sighed. Alan says camellias are too plain. A wedding should be lively and bright. So, the camellias were replaced with the red roses Alan preferred. I had wanted soft, golden lighting. Lyla had countered, Alan says warm orange makes for better photos. I had wanted simple, elegant invitations. Lyla had insisted, Let’s go with Alan’s idea. He has better taste. Eventually, the wedding I had spent six months planning had been systematically stripped away, replaced with everything Alan liked. And I, the groom, was reduced to nothing more than a name on the invitation. The planner sent another message: Are you absolutely certain about the cancellation? I looked at the unrecognizable rendering of the venue and let out a quiet laugh. Yes, I am certain, I replied. I will cover all the cancellation fees. When I returned to our apartment, I began packing my things. Lyla and I had chosen this place together. She had promised me that after a long day of work, the porch light would always be on, a pot of warm soup would be waiting in the kitchen, and the balcony would be lined with my favorite camellias. It had sounded like a dream. But looking around now, the apartment was filled with Alan’s presence. The fridge was stocked with his favorite peach soda, his jacket was draped over the back of our sofa, and the groomsman’s suit hanging next to mine looked far more tailored and exquisite than my own wedding attire. I stood in the closet, staring at the two suits. A bitter ache rose in my chest. Even before the ceremony had begun, the space that was supposed to belong to me had already been claimed by Alan. I didn’t cry. I simply packed my passport, my documents, and a few change of clothes into a small suitcase. Halfway through packing, the front door unlocked. Lyla was home. She carried a small designer bag, her tone carrying a hint of performative warmth. “Honey, don’t be mad anymore.” “I was walking past the store and saw these obsidian cufflinks. I remembered you saying you liked obsidian.” She opened the box, revealing a pair of dark, polished cufflinks. I did like obsidian. Years ago, I had stared at a pair through a shop window for a long time, but I couldn’t bring myself to buy them because of the price. Lyla had held my hand then, whispering, When we get married, I’ll buy you the best pair in the world. Now she had finally bought them. But they were cufflinks. And I never wore French cuff shirts. The only person who wore them was Alan. Lyla wrapped her arms around my waist from behind. “Let’s just put tonight behind us, okay?” I looked down at the box. Before I could speak, a paper receipt slipped from the designer bag, fluttering onto the floor. The amount listed was staggering. It was for a silk tie, costing ten times the price of the cufflinks. I recognized the brand instantly. Thirty minutes ago, Alan had posted a picture of that exact tie on social media. His caption had been: Groom’s gift from a certain someone. I’m going to be the most handsome groomsman next week. I stared at the receipt, and a hot tear slipped down my cheek, splashing onto the paper. The warmth in Lyla’s face vanished, replaced by irritation. “Why are you crying again?” “Miles, honestly, this is exhausting.” Her words hit me like a physical blow. I remembered how she used to react when I cried. She used to panic, clumsily wiping my tears away as she held me close, whispering, Miles, please don’t cry. My heart breaks whenever you do. Once, after a nightmare woke me up in tears, she had driven across three neighborhoods in the middle of the night just to buy me a bowl of hot soup. She had told me, You didn’t have anyone to comfort you when you were little. From now on, every time you cry, I’ll be here to hold you. Back then, she truly cared. But now, my tears were only met with a sigh of exhaustion. When your tears no longer touch a person’s heart, it’s time to dry your eyes. I wiped my face and said quietly, “I’m fine.” Lyla looked relieved. She leaned in to kiss me, but I instinctively turned my head away. Her expression turned completely cold, and she ran a frustrated hand through her hair. “Fine. Get some space and calm down.” With that, she turned and locked herself in the study. Later that night, as I was preparing to turn off the lights, the iPad on my nightstand lit up. Lyla’s accounts were still synced to it. I had only intended to turn the screen off, but the notification banner that popped up caught my eye. Alan’s name on the screen sent a dull ache through my chest. Alan: Did you make up with him? Lyla: No. He’s getting harder and harder to deal with lately. Alan: Did you give him a proper makeup session tonight? A few seconds passed before Lyla’s reply appeared. Lyla: Don’t ask. He rejected me. Honestly, we’ve been together for seven years. I’ve lost any physical spark with him anyway. I’m actually glad he turned me down, otherwise I would have had to force myself to touch him. I stared at the screen. My eyes burned, but no tears came. Even showing me affection had become a chore she had to force herself to perform. I shut down the iPad. I placed the obsidian cufflinks back into the designer bag, setting them next to my engagement ring on the entryway table. It felt like returning a dream that had finally ended. Right then, my phone buzzed with a confirmation email. My ticket was booked. Tomorrow at 3:00 AM, a one-way flight to Iceland. From this moment on, wherever I flew in the world, I would never land by her side again. The next morning, as I dragged my suitcase past the study, I noticed the door was slightly ajar. Lyla’s soft laughter drifted out. She was on a video call. On the screen, Alan was lounging in bed, holding a sheet of paper. “Lyla, this part of your wedding vows is way too formal,” he teased, reading aloud. “Miles, thank you for seven years of companionship…” He let out a scoff. “It sounds like a corporate speech.” Lyla laughed. “I’m just not good at writing that kind of stuff.” Alan propped his chin on his hand, looking at her through the screen. “You could say something like, ‘You are my spring, the only person who makes me feel truly light and alive.’ Doesn’t that sound more romantic?” Lyla was quiet for a moment, her voice dropping. “That sounds more like you.” The call fell silent. Alan asked softly, “Are you sure you want to say that to Miles?” Lyla didn’t answer right away. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet. “It doesn’t matter who I read it to at the altar.” “Just pretend I’m secretly saying it to you.” I stood outside the door, my chest feeling as though it were being slowly torn open. For my vows, I had filled three entire pages, editing them over and over to find the perfect balance between sincerity and love. I had asked Lyla if we could write them together, but she had dismissed it, saying, There’s no need for that kind of performance. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about vows. She just didn’t care about writing them for me. Alan leaned closer to his camera, his voice a whisper. “Then come closer.” Lyla didn’t turn away. She simply stared at the screen and let out a soft sigh. “Alan, stop. I’m getting married next week.” Alan looked down, his voice laced with artificial sorrow. “I know. That’s why I wanted to be selfish one last time before you belong to someone else.” Lyla didn’t scold him. Her silence was a quiet indulgence. My fingers turned numb. If she truly felt he was crossing a line, why hadn’t she hung up the phone? Alan quickly shifted to the designs for the wedding venue. “Do we have to display all your old relationship photos? It makes me sad to see how happy you two used to be.” Lyla looked at the screen and replied quietly, “Let’s just take them down then. Miles is dependable, he won’t mind.” I felt a sudden, sharp sting in my eyes. That photo wall was the only part of the wedding I had fought to keep. Photos of the first snow we watched together, of our very first vacation where she held my hand tightly, of the birthday cake she had baked for me… I had curated those memories so carefully because I believed they were proof of our love. But with a single complain from Alan, Lyla dismissed them entirely. When your heart is broken completely, the pain fades into a dull, hollow numbness. I quietly turned and dragged my suitcase toward the front door. My phone buzzed. It was the wedding planner. Mr. Barret, Ms. Barlow just confirmed that the photo wall is canceled and the vows have been updated by Mr. Ward. Are you absolutely certain you want to cancel the wedding? I stared at the text and typed a final reply. Yes. Cancel it. The cold morning air rushed into the hallway as I opened the door. I pulled my suitcase behind me, stepping out into the dawn. Lyla had deleted seven years of our memories with a single sentence. And now, I was leaving her behind. As I stood at the gate, waiting to board my flight, the official cancellation notice finally reached Lyla’s phone. She immediately called the planner, her voice trembling. “What is the meaning of this?” The planner sounded more shocked than she was. “Mr. Barret canceled the wedding himself. He said he accepted a job in Iceland and won’t be coming back.” “Ms. Barlow… did you not know?”

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Ever since my little brother died of a high fever while my mother was busy keeping her precious college junior company, I started cutting her out of all our family photos. When my teacher called my dad, deeply concerned after hearing me say my mom was dead and that I wanted my desk mate’s mom instead, my dad just paused. Then he agreed with me. “Yeah. She passed away a long time ago.” At the school’s family sports day, my dad saw me hand the janitor a ten-dollar bill, asking her to be my mom for the afternoon. He did not stop me. Instead, he quietly slipped the woman another two hundred bucks to attend my parent-teacher conference. Whenever I needed a mother to show up, my dad would just let me buy one. It took my mother a long time to realize she hadn’t heard from us. She finally canceled her endless meetings to pick me up from school, only for my teacher to frown and shut the classroom door in her face. Confused and irritated, she went straight home. The moment she opened the front door, she heard me talking to our building superintendent. “My mom is dead. Do you want to be my new mom?” … Our living room wall was covered in framed photos of my award ceremonies. But the woman standing next to me and my dad in every single picture was a complete stranger. “Kyle. Who the hell are these women standing next to you?” Phoebe’s voice was absolute ice. Her glare could have burned a hole straight through the glass frames. I didn’t understand why she was so angry. I panicked, waving my little hands, trying to explain. The building superintendent wiped the sweat off her forehead. “Sweetie, why would you say such things? Your mother is clearly still alive!” She let out an awkward laugh and practically ran out of the apartment. Hearing that, Phoebe’s mouth twitched with sheer rage. She did not even notice the expensive bakery cake she had brought slipping from her hands and smashing onto the hardwood floor. “I haven’t been home in two months, and you two are telling people I am dead?” “Kyle! Is this how you raise our child?!” Terrified, I rushed forward to shield my dad. “Nobody taught me! Don’t blame Daddy! I said it myself!” Phoebe’s face turned completely black. She began yanking the picture frames off the wall, raising her arm to smash them. Then she paused. Her eyes caught the engraved golden plaques on the frames. First Place. Regional Champion. Her hands froze in mid-air. She looked down at me, her expression unreadable. I held my breath, waiting for her to explode. Phoebe had no idea that ever since she “died” in that other man’s house two months ago, my dad had been secretly paying women to act as my mother for every single family event. Hearing the commotion, my dad walked out of the master bedroom. In just two months, he looked like a walking skeleton. His eyes were hollow, his steps unsteady. Seeing Phoebe, he didn’t scream. He didn’t cry and demand a divorce. He didn’t grab a kitchen knife and threaten her to choose between her family and her precious junior. He just stared at her with a gaze so cold it felt like looking at a corpse. Phoebe’s rage instantly evaporated. Her beautiful eyes darted away, flashing with a brief moment of guilt. Remembering something, she nervously reached into her designer bag and pulled out a brand-new camera, offering it to him with a gentle smile. “Kyle, look. This is the new model you’ve wanted for so long.” “And I know you want to get back into photography. I already submitted your portfolio to the International Lens Competition.” My dad stared at it with zero emotion. There was not a single trace of joy on his face. I recognized it immediately. It was the camera my dad had kept saved in his online cart for two years. To pay the household bills, he had refused to buy it. When he finally swallowed his pride and asked Phoebe for it, she blew him off. Again and again. What Phoebe didn’t know was that the model she just bought was already outdated. My dad had already purchased the newest one himself. Watching his abnormal reaction, Phoebe’s eyebrows knit together. She let out a long sigh, pressing the camera into his hands with a patronizing, indulgent tone. “Alright, honey, it is my fault. I know you’ve been heartbroken since Noah passed away, and I shouldn’t have argued with you.” “Just be patient, okay? Things with Oliver are almost settled. Just give me a little more time…” A little more time. I clenched my tiny fists, looking at my mom with a breaking heart. Two months. My mom was a liar. She had said that exact phrase fifty-two times, and she never kept her word. My dad waited for her. He waited while my little brother coded in the emergency room. He waited while his clinical depression spiraled so badly he started self-harming. He waited until he was completely broken, and she still never came home. Instead, she would just scold him over the phone. “Kyle, I told you! She is my late mentor’s child. Oliver is my junior. Stop being so incredibly insecure!” Right then, Phoebe’s ringtone pierced the quiet room. She quickly answered it on speakerphone. A little girl’s desperate sobbing echoed through our apartment. “Auntie Phoebe, come back! Daddy’s head is burning up, and he collapsed on the floor! He won’t wake up!” Then, a man’s weak, scolding voice came through the line. “Sophie, why did you call her?! We cannot keep burdening her!” I scowled, opening my mouth to scream. That is not your mom! She is my mom! But Phoebe’s eyes instantly went red. Her voice trembled with sheer panic. “Oliver, what are you talking about? I would beg you to burden me for the rest of my life!” She frantically threw the expensive camera onto the sofa. “Kyle, Oliver might have overworked himself. I need to go check on him. I will explain everything later!” Phoebe ran out the door without looking back. My dad and I stood there, staring at the empty doorway. We both knew she was not coming back tonight. My dad picked up the camera she left behind and turned it on. The memory card was full of photos. Phoebe, Oliver, and Sophie. Smiling at theme parks. Eating at expensive restaurants. I saw a photo of Phoebe and Sophie laughing on a Ferris wheel. The timestamp was the exact same day my little brother died in the hospital. I saw a photo of them watching a beautiful fireworks display. That was the night my dad had a depressive episode and ended up bleeding in the bathtub. My chest hurt so badly I couldn’t breathe. I burst into tears. Mom always had time. She just never gave any of it to us. My dad’s entire body shook. He pulled me into his arms, his voice hoarse but terrifyingly resolute. “Jessica. Mommy is dead. Right?” I nodded my head vigorously. Something permanently shifted behind my dad’s eyes. He stood up, grabbed the camera, and hurled it violently against the wall. Crash. The expensive device shattered into a hundred plastic and glass pieces. I knew his heart had just shattered exactly the same way. That night, right before I fell asleep, I heard my dad talking on the phone in the dark. “The lead photographer position in Los Angeles. I accept.” “I will be there in exactly seven days.” Through my sleepy haze, I suddenly remembered something. My dad used to be a globally renowned photographer. Every time he released a print, billionaires and celebrities would get into bidding wars over it. But he gave up his entire reputation for Phoebe, hiding in New York, working a miserable, underpaid job where his boss treated him like garbage. I couldn’t help but smile into my pillow. In seven days, my shining, brilliant dad was coming back. Five days until we leave. I walked into the apartment after school and heard a massive clatter. Phoebe, who hadn’t been home in two days, was holding all the trophies and medals my dad and I had won. She was tossing them into a cardboard moving box. The princess dresses my dad saved up to buy me, and my limited-edition dolls, were all being stuffed into the box without a second thought. My brain short-circuited. I looked nervously at my dad. His face was frozen in absolute disgust. His fists were shaking at his sides. “Phoebe. Are you even human?!” “You don’t come home to see your own daughter for two days, and the first thing you do is steal her things to give to that parasite and his kid?!” Phoebe didn’t even look guilty. She casually inspected one of my gold medals, a dismissive smile on her lips. “Kyle, I don’t want to do this either. But if you hadn’t posted those passive-aggressive photos on Facebook, Oliver and Sophie wouldn’t be so depressed right now.” “Besides, Jessica is incredibly spoiled. What is the big deal about giving some toys to a child who doesn’t even have a mother?” My dad let out a dark, breathless laugh. His eyes instantly turned red with overwhelming disappointment. “I never showed off. Only a filthy mind sees filth in everything.” “Jessica and I worked hard for those trophies. While you were busy playing playing house with another man and his daughter, did you ever stop to think about your own child?!” I stood there, completely numb, unable to understand why my mom had turned into this monster. A year ago, when my dad and I wanted a specific type of traditional pastry, Phoebe drove three hundred miles just to learn how to bake it for us. Now, she was ripping our achievements off the walls to give to strangers. My dad took a deep breath. He seemed to see right through her. He pulled out his phone and sent a voice memo to a local journalist who had been begging for an interview. “Mr. Davis, I accept your offer for the ‘Champion Father and Daughter’ feature interview. Tomorrow morning at seven. 302 Silverlake Drive.” “Kyle! What the hell are you doing?!” Phoebe lunged forward and snatched the phone out of his hand. My dad tilted his head, looking down at her like she was a pathetic bug. “If they want the champion’s trophies, they better be ready to play the part.” “As long as Oliver and his kid can handle a live press interview about winning these awards, they can keep them.” Phoebe ground her teeth together, letting out a furious laugh. “Do you really have to make things this ugly?” “Kyle, what happened to you? You used to be so generous. So understanding.” She suppressed her temper, shooting a dark glare at the movers she had hired, ordering them to take the last box away. Before walking out the door, she gave my dad a look of sheer, unadulterated disappointment. “I am just borrowing them to cheer Sophie up. I will bring them back when we are done. Call the journalist and cancel it right now!” Used to be? I stared at my sneakers, my chest aching. My mom used to be different, too. “You are not taking a single thing out of this house…” my dad started. “Daddy!” I yelled, cutting him off. I turned to Phoebe and gave her a sweet, obedient smile, shaking my head. “It is okay, Daddy. I don’t want them anymore. Let Mommy give them to my new sister.” A flash of joy crossed Phoebe’s eyes. She walked over and patted my head, completely oblivious. “See? Our Jessica is such a good, mature girl.” After she left, I looked at the empty, stripped living room. I walked over to my piggy bank, pulled out a ten-dollar bill, and took my dad’s hand. His eyes were completely bloodshot. We walked downstairs to the college student living on the second floor. “Excuse me, miss? Can I give you ten dollars to be my mom for tonight?” “It is my daddy’s birthday.” The girl looked at us, her voice thick with pity. “Did Phoebe…” “She’s dead.” My dad and I said it at the exact same time. The girl seemed to understand immediately. She followed us back to our apartment. While I was singing Happy Birthday, right before my dad blew out the candles, his phone lit up with a notification. My dad stiffened. His fingers trembled as he opened it. I peeked at the screen, and the blood in my veins turned to absolute ice. Oliver had updated his social media. The caption read: Whenever I get angry and break things, she never gets annoyed. She just smiles and hands me more to throw. The attached photo showed my dad’s and my trophies shattered into a hundred pieces on their marble floor. My limited-edition dolls, the ones I loved so much I barely even took them out of the box, had their faces violently scribbled over with black permanent marker. Ping. Phoebe sent a message. It was a money transfer for fifty thousand dollars. My dad tapped the voice memo underneath it. Through the speaker, we could hear the chaotic sound of glass shattering in the background. “Kyle, there was a little accident with the trophies. Just take the money and buy Jessica some new ones. Stop making a big deal out of nothing.” Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. But Mom. Money can’t buy the love Daddy and I put into winning those. My dad squeezed his eyes shut. He immediately took a screenshot of the post and forwarded it to his lawyer. “Mr. Davis, these are photos proving Phoebe’s long-term infidelity with Oliver, along with the massive financial transfers she has been making to him.” “All the evidence is there. Fast-track the divorce proceedings.” My dad didn’t reply to Phoebe for the rest of the night. Her phone calls came in back-to-back, ringing endlessly. “Kyle, I am sorry I forgot your birthday, okay?” “Kyle! Why aren’t you accepting the transfer? Why are you throwing another tantrum?!” “Are you out of your mind?! The journalist actually showed up at Oliver’s house this morning! Do you have any idea how humiliated they were? Are you happy now?!” My dad read the frantic texts lighting up his screen. For the first time in two years, he didn’t shed a single tear. He just calmly hit the block button. Mom. You will never receive another message from Daddy again. Three days until we leave. The city was hosting a massive family track-and-field day. Phoebe had sworn up and down that she would be there. I sat on the competitor’s bench, my tiny hands sweating, waiting for her. Five minutes passed. Thirty minutes passed. She never showed up. My dad’s phone rang. It was her. “There was an absolute emergency at the corporate office. I have to be there. Tell Jessica I owe her one.” Before she could finish her excuse, my dad hung up and blocked her number. I tried to force a smile to make my dad feel better. But then, a sickeningly familiar voice drifted over from the VIP bleachers. “Auntie Phoebe, you are the best! With you here, we are definitely going to win!” My brain completely blanked out. I slowly turned my head. Phoebe was standing by the starting line, hugging a little girl in a matching athletic outfit. I looked up at my dad, completely lost. “Didn’t Mom say she had to work?” My dad shot up from the bench, his face pale with fury, ready to march over and demand an answer. I grabbed his sleeve with both hands, shaking my head. “Daddy, don’t. The race is starting.” My dad forced himself to sit back down, his jaw tight enough to crack teeth. It was a parent-child relay. As long as I ran the first two hundred meters and passed the baton to my dad, we would easily take first place. The grand prize was a fully paid family vacation package. Hope sparked in my chest. The starting pistol cracked. I ran like my life depended on it, clutching the red baton tightly in my fist. Fifty meters. One hundred and fifty meters. One hundred and ninety meters. Sweat was stinging my eyes. I reached my arm out, my heart pounding with excitement, ready to pass it to my dad. Suddenly, a violent shove hit my shoulder. I was thrown completely off balance, crashing hard onto the synthetic track. The rough surface tore the skin right off my knees. Blood instantly pooled down my legs. I bit my lip, tears streaming down my face from the burning pain. Right next to me, Sophie—the girl who pushed me—suddenly started screaming at the top of her lungs. “Why did you push me?! Mommy! It hurts!” She threw herself onto the ground, crying so loudly it made my ears ring. My dad sprinted onto the track like a madman, dropping to his knees to shield me. But Phoebe and Oliver reached us first. Phoebe pointed her finger right in my face and screamed. “Jessica! Why the hell would you push Sophie?!” I choked back my sobs, screaming from the sheer injustice. “I didn’t do it!” Sophie pointed her little finger right at me, wailing. “She did! She did it on purpose, Mommy!” A fireball of pure rage exploded in my chest. I was hyperventilating, completely unable to defend myself. My dad finally snapped. He stood up, his voice dripping with lethal venom. “Check the cameras! Since you are calling your own daughter a liar, let the security footage speak for itself!” But Phoebe just scooped Sophie up into her arms, turning her back on us. “Cameras? You’ve raised Jessica to be so utterly manipulative, checking the cameras is only going to humiliate her more!” They rushed off toward the medical tent. I lay there, my face totally drained of color. I reached up and gently touched my dad’s cheek. “Daddy. It doesn’t hurt…” Then the world went dark, and I passed out. When I woke up in the infirmary, I could hear the loud cheers echoing from the podium outside. “Congratulations to Sophie and her family for winning the relay championship!” I lowered my head. Fat tears fell onto my bloody bandages. I ran way faster than her. Why was she the champion? Did Mom… Before I could finish the thought, my dad stormed out of the infirmary, walking straight toward Oliver with a face like thunder. “Oh, hey Kyle. You really didn’t need to come all the way over here to congratulate my daughter.” Oliver leaned in, lowering his voice into a mocking whisper. “But really, thank you so much. If Phoebe hadn’t stepped up to take care of us, I have no idea where we would be right now. “Oh, and you guys totally would have won the race! But Phoebe is just too kind-hearted. She just can’t stand seeing us cry…” Smack. My dad’s fist connected perfectly with Oliver’s jaw. He grabbed a handful of Oliver’s styled hair and yanked him backward, throwing him to the ground. “I warned you to stay the hell away from my daughter!” Oliver’s pathetic shrieks instantly drew Phoebe running from the crowd. “Kyle! Have you completely lost your mind?! Just because you lost a stupid race, you resort to physical assault?!” My dad’s eyes were bloodshot, practically glowing with hatred. “Yeah! And I am going to make sure both of you disgusting parasites burn in hell!” Without a second of hesitation, Phoebe shoved my dad hard in the chest. He stumbled backward, clutching his throat, his face turning a terrifying shade of gray. My heart stopped. Dad’s severe panic attacks. His depression was triggering a physical collapse! I frantically dug into my pockets, pulling out his emergency medication. Dragging my bleeding, bandaged leg, I hobbled toward him as fast as I could. “Daddy!” I was just five feet away when someone’s foot intentionally hooked my ankle. I fell flat on my face, the plastic pill bottle flying out of my hands. Sophie stepped forward and slammed the heel of her sneaker directly onto the bottle, crushing it. “No!” I screamed until my vocal cords physically tore. That was his only emergency medication! His doctor had warned us that if he didn’t take it within twenty minutes of an episode, his heart could stop! Tears streamed down my face. I scrambled onto my hands and knees to grab the crushed pills. Suddenly, Oliver yelled out, “Jessica! Don’t push Sophie!” Before I could even process the lie, Phoebe lunged forward and shoved me out of the way without even blinking. Right behind me was the park’s ornamental lake. In a split second, my dad threw his body in front of mine to take the impact. Splash. My dad plunged backward into the freezing water. He thrashed wildly, his face turning purple as he struggled for air. I lost my mind. I grabbed Phoebe’s leg, sobbing hysterically. “Mommy! Daddy can’t swim!” “Mommy! Daddy is having an episode!” Phoebe’s pupils dilated in panic. She immediately turned toward the lake, ready to jump in. But Oliver let out a dramatic, terrified wail. “Sophie! Oh my god, Sophie, what’s wrong?!” Phoebe’s entire body froze. She completely completely changed direction. She scooped up a perfectly fine Sophie and ran toward the parking lot, shouting at her personal assistant over her shoulder to fish my dad out. I sat on the concrete, staring blankly at her retreating back. It felt like someone had reached into my chest and ripped my heart entirely in half. Mom. Are you really throwing us away? After my dad was rescued and rushed to the hospital, I sat in the waiting room. I pulled a crumpled ten-dollar bill from my pocket and handed it to a young nurse. “Excuse me, miss? Can you be my mom for today and help take care of my daddy?” The nurse looked at me, her eyes full of pity. “Sweetheart, where is your real mom?” My voice was completely dead. “My mom is dead.” My mom died the exact second she turned her back on my drowning father. One day until we leave. My dad had packed our suitcases and finalized our visas. For the past few days, Phoebe had come to the hospital every single afternoon to visit my dad. When she saw the nurse I had hired acting as my “mom”, her face twisted in absolute disgust. “Jessica has a mother! Are you so sexually frustrated you just have to hire random women to play house?!” My dad and I didn’t say a word. The nurse simply cursed her out and told her to leave. Later, Phoebe came back with bags of expensive designer clothes for my dad and high-end toys for me. We took every single bag and gave them to the kids in the pediatric oncology ward next door. Phoebe never knew. Five hours until our flight. My dad checked himself out of the hospital early and took me to the massive amusement park I had been begging to visit for years. “Jessica, I know you have always wanted to come here. I am so sorry my illness kept making me delay it.” I smiled so wide my front teeth showed. Just then, my smartwatch buzzed. It was a text from Phoebe. “Jessica, tell Daddy that I sent Oliver out of the country today. He is gone.” “I am going to take you guys out to a fancy dinner tonight to make up for the birthdays.” A tiny ripple of emotion hit my chest. But then, I looked across the plaza. Standing right outside a luxury boutique, I saw Phoebe walking arm-in-arm with Oliver, laughing and carrying shopping bags. I didn’t tell my dad. I just hit the block button on my watch. Mom is a liar. Again. My dad and I were just getting in line for a ride when the park’s emergency sirens started wailing. A wave of screaming people rushed past us. Four massive, rabid dogs with bloodshot eyes and foaming mouths had broken through a security fence and were charging straight into the crowd. My dad grabbed my hand, trying to pull me toward an exit. But the panicked mob shoved us violently apart. “Jessica!” Pure terror glued my feet to the pavement. My legs completely gave out. Suddenly, I heard Phoebe screaming from the upper balcony of a nearby restaurant. “Jessica! Run! Come to Mommy! Up here!” Tears of relief flooded my eyes. I pushed myself up and started running toward the stairs where she was standing. But Oliver screamed from the other side of the balcony. “Phoebe! Sophie is trapped down there! You have to save her!” Phoebe looked at me running up the steps, then looked back at Sophie, who was frozen near a food cart. My dad’s voice was completely shredded as he roared from the crowd. “Phoebe! Grab Jessica! Sophie’s bodyguard is right next to her!” Phoebe’s face twisted in agony. She looked right into my eyes. “Jessica, just wait right there!” Wait right there. Wait. Again. She spun on her heels, sprinting in the opposite direction to grab Sophie, disappearing into the restaurant. The four rabid dogs locked their eyes on me, surrounding me in a tight circle. My heart died completely. Right as the beasts lunged at me, my dad burst through the crowd like a maniac, wielding a shattered wooden broom handle. He threw himself over my body. The vicious dogs tore into his legs, their teeth sinking deep into his flesh. Hot blood soaked right through my clothes. Even as they tore him apart, he just held my head against his chest, smiling through the unbearable pain. “Don’t be scared, baby. Daddy is right here…” I was sobbing so violently I was convulsing. The dogs pulled back for another strike. Suddenly, a dozen heavily armed private security guards swarmed the area. They used high-voltage stun batons to neutralize the animals in seconds. They rushed my dad and me to a secure medical facility. After my dad received his rabies shots and got his legs heavily bandaged, he refused to stay in a bed. Suppressing the agonizing pain, he grabbed our passports and dragged us straight to the international airport. “Jessica, we are leaving. I cannot stay in this city for another second.” As the plane’s wheels lifted off the runway, pushing us up into the clouds, I only had one thought. Mom. This time, you will never find us again.

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The day my brother was reclaimed by his wealthy biological family, he knelt before them, eyes red and brimming with tears. “My sister is the only family I have. If she doesn’t come with me, I’m not going back.” Mr. and Mrs. Stone had no choice but to bring me to the estate. Upon arrival, Chloe—the fake heiress who had stolen my brother’s identity for eighteen years—was insufferable. Spoiled and arrogant, she constantly targeted us. Initially, my brother found her annoying, snapping back whenever our parents told him to accommodate her. “Susan is my only sister.” But he stopped saying that. Eventually, he started comparing us. “I wish you were as outgoing as Chloe. You’re always so quiet. It’s boring.” Then, he forgot my birthday. Again. I didn’t protest, quietly baking a small cake in the kitchen. The moment I finished icing it, he snatched the plate and carried it to Chloe. “Her custom cake was ruined in delivery. Give this to her.” Heartbroken, I stayed silent for the rest of the night. Seeing my silence, impatience filled his eyes. “Are you seriously throwing a tantrum over a cake? If you didn’t want to give it to her, you should have just said so.” Chloe pouted against the counter. “I told you your sister was petty, but you didn’t believe me. I don’t understand why you dragged this dead weight into our house.” This time, my brother didn’t defend me. I realized then that even he now saw me as a burden. … It took me four entire hours to bake that cake. And now, it was completely destroyed. Mashed to pieces by a silver fork. The letter “L” for Susan, which I had painstakingly spelled out using dried blueberries, had been aggressively scooped out. It was smeared together with the plastic “Happy Birthday” topper, completely coated in ruined frosting. Chloe grabbed it with a paper napkin and tossed it straight into the trash can like a piece of garbage. Her voice rang in my ears, dripping with disgust. “What is this gross stuff? It tastes awful! It’s nothing compared to what our Michelin-star chef makes!” “You’re just a picky eater,” my brother teased. His words sounded like a complaint, but his eyes were full of pure adoration. “If you don’t want it, just throw it away. I’ll have the chef make you a new one.” “Deal! But tell him to use icing to write ‘Liam Stone will be Chloe’s servant forever’ on top! That’s what you get for stealing Mom and Dad’s love the second you got here, and for always taking this dead weight’s side!” In the past, my brother and Chloe were like oil and water. He used to hate it when anyone called me “dead weight.” Now, he didn’t even blink. He just chuckled, affectionately ruffling Chloe’s hair, his voice full of helpless indulgence. “Alright, alright. I’m terrified of you. It’s all my fault, okay?” They flirted openly, completely ignoring my presence. It made me feel like I was the intruder in this house. And honestly, I was. My brother was the biological son the Stones had lost eighteen years ago. Even though Chloe was the child swapped at birth, she had grown up surrounded by luxury and wealth. She already had a deep, unbreakable bond with Mr. and Mrs. Stone. The day they brought my brother home, they couldn’t bear to let Chloe go, so they officially adopted her. From start to finish, they were a real family. I was the only extra piece. When I woke up this morning and saw my brother’s social media post—a photo of him and Chloe smiling at a theme park—I knew he had forgotten my birthday again. I had already stopped hoping he would spend my birthday with me. But why couldn’t I even keep a single, stupid cake? The tears I had been fighting back finally slipped out, falling heavily onto the expensive marble floor. My brother frowned. Out of habit, he reached out to wipe my tears away like he used to. “What are you crying for?” Chloe suddenly let out a cruel, mocking laugh. “You ate one piece of her cake and she’s acting like the world is ending? She’s been sulking all night! I bet her ‘good girl’ routine is completely fake.” “Liam, you spoil her way too much. That’s why she acts like such a drama queen.” My brother’s hand froze in mid-air. He pulled it back, the warmth completely draining from his face. “This isn’t your old house anymore. You live under the Stone roof and eat Stone food. It’s just a cake. Don’t act so petty and embarrass everyone.” Seeing the cold impatience in his eyes, my heart turned to ice, inch by inch. The day Liam was reclaimed by the Stone family, I stayed awake all night. I was incredibly happy for him, but I was also terrified of being left behind in the slums. Sensing my fear, he held me tight and promised me over and over again. “I will never abandon you, Susan. Wherever my home is, your home is.” But now, he was standing here telling me… This isn’t your old house. I didn’t know when it happened, but in his heart, I had already become a burden. “I understand.” I nodded numbly, hearing my own voice tremble. “Liam. I think I’ll just move out.” Chloe rolled her eyes dramatically. “You make it sound like living in a mansion is some kind of torture! You have no royal blood, but you sure have princess syndrome! Are you really using the ‘runaway’ card for attention?” Liam’s face darkened. “What kind of tantrum are you throwing now?” I spoke softly. “I’m not throwing a tantrum. I just think living in the school dorms will be better for my studying.” But Liam’s frown only deepened. “Don’t I know you? You wait until right now to say you want to move out? You’re just doing this to spite me over that stupid cake!” “Enough. If you want a cake so badly, I’ll have the kitchen bake you one right now.” He didn’t spare me another glance. He turned to Chloe, a fond smile returning to his face as he used a tissue to wipe a smudge of frosting off the corner of her mouth. “You’re acting like a toddler. You got frosting all over your face.” “Mom and Dad say I’ll always be their baby! Do you have a problem with that?” “Okay, okay. You’re our forever baby.” I couldn’t stand being in that room another second. I turned around and walked silently up the grand staircase. After texting my teacher to apply for a dorm room, I sat on my bed, staring blankly at my carefully decorated bedroom. The expensive, handcrafted teddy bear on the bed. The rare orchids on the windowsill. The custom bookshelf perfectly designed so I could reach the top shelf. The soothing nightlight on the nightstand. Every single item had been meticulously chosen by my brother when we first moved into the Stone estate. Even the layout of the room had been specially designed to match my tiny bedroom in our old slum apartment, just so I wouldn’t feel homesick. He had said… “This is our home now. We used to be so poor I couldn’t even afford to buy you a decent bookshelf.” “Now I have the money. I want to give you the best of everything. I will never let you suffer again.” I was so happy back then. We had moved into a mansion I couldn’t even dream of. We didn’t have to stress over water and electricity bills anymore. I didn’t have to lie awake during storms, terrified the roof would leak and flood the apartment. And my brother didn’t have to work three grueling jobs, starting before dawn, just to scrape together enough money for my tuition. I thought everything was finally going to be okay. I never imagined that the price for this perfect life would be losing him completely. A sudden knock on the door pulled me out of my thoughts. When I opened it, a beautifully wrapped cake box was shoved right into my face. Liam popped his head out from behind it. “Happy birthday, Susan!” Seeing my red, swollen eyes, a flash of genuine guilt crossed his face. “I’m sorry. I just remembered it was your birthday today.” For a split second, I thought I saw the old Liam—the brother who used to put me first. I held the heavy cake box in my hands. It felt like finding a warm fire in the middle of a freezing blizzard. I stepped back, letting him walk into the room, my heart wavering. But that wavering hope was completely shattered the second I opened the box. The cake was entirely covered in freshly sliced mangoes. My lips parted, and I managed to choke out a single sentence. “Liam. Did you forget? I’m highly allergic to mangoes.” Liam’s eyebrows immediately snapped together. For a very long time after that day, I could never forget the look in his eyes. It was the look you give a piece of trash that’s in your way. He clicked his tongue, his tone instantly turning hostile. “If there are things you can’t eat, you should have told me earlier. Now you’re just wasting food.” As he spoke, he grabbed a fork and aggressively scraped every single piece of mango off the cake, then shoved the mangled dessert back toward me. “Chloe specifically told the chef to make this for you to apologize. She knows you like orchids, so she asked him to pipe buttercream flowers. She thought you’d love it.” “She can be a little blunt sometimes, but she has a good heart. You need to eat at least one bite, or she’s going to be very upset.” My throat tightened. I dug my fingernails so hard into my palms that they bled, but I didn’t even feel the pain. I just repeated myself, numbly. “But I’m allergic to mangoes.” Liam snapped back. “That’s why I scraped them off! You can eat a little bit, it won’t kill you.” Just then, Chloe pushed the door open and strolled in. “Does Susan hate the cake I ordered? I’ve been trying to cheer her up forever. Why is she so hard to please?” Before I could even open my mouth, Liam spoke up for her. “It’s the thought that counts. Even if she hates it, she has to accept it.” “Good! Now that you’re done babysitting, hurry up and come downstairs! I hate the designs the chef did for the first few cakes. Come help me eat them so we can throw them out!” My brother laughed, shaking his head. “Are you treating me like a human garbage disposal?” “No way! You’re my favorite brother in the whole world, okay?” Liam stiffened for a second. “You only ever call me ‘brother’ when you want something. I swear I owe you from a past life.” He complained, but his eyes were shining with absolute joy. So it was true. He had simply run out of patience for me. When it was Chloe, throwing away entire cakes wasn’t a “waste.” When it was Chloe, just hearing her call him “brother” made him ecstatic. Now, no matter what I did, I was nothing but an annoyance. The very next day, I quietly packed my bags and moved into the school dorms. I barely slept. Every waking second was spent aggressively studying for exams or working part-time jobs around the city. The exhausting, non-stop schedule kept my brain completely occupied, leaving me no time to think about anything else. Until the day my brother finally called me. The second I answered, he immediately started screaming. “Susan! Why haven’t you come home yet?!” “You used to be so well-behaved, and now you’re staying out all night?!” I answered him calmly. “I told you before. I moved into the dorms.” “Who gave you permission?! Are you feeling brave now? Is this your late rebellious phase? Get your ass back to this house right now!” I stayed completely silent. When I didn’t answer, he let out a dark, furious laugh. “Fine. Then don’t ever come back! Let’s see how long you survive out there on your own!” For the next few weeks, I stuck to my routine. Classes, studying, working. As the national college entrance exams drew closer, I started to feel a sense of peace. The dust was finally settling. Until three days before the exams, when Liam suddenly called me again. His voice was hoarse and incredibly exhausted. “Susan. I’m at the hospital.” “You haven’t been home in so long. I want to see you.” My grip tightened on my phone. Ever since his heart started leaning toward Chloe, this was the first time he had ever softened his tone and reached out to me. I thought about the early admission letter I had just received from a prestigious university up north. I thought about the money I had saved up from my jobs—enough to leave this city and start over. I hesitated for a long time, but eventually, I answered. “Okay.” This would probably be the last time we ever saw each other. I didn’t want to leave with any regrets. I wanted to tell him that I got accepted early. That I was moving up north. That I would never be his burden again. That I would never bother him again. But I had no idea what was waiting for me. When I rushed into the hospital room and pushed the door open, I was instantly met with a vicious slap across the face. A stranger—a middle-aged woman—lunged at me like a wild animal. She punched me, kicked me, and grabbed a handful of my hair, yanking me downward. “You’re the one who hid the needles in her pencil case! You sliced her hand open!” “The exams are in two days! If she hadn’t noticed the blood, my daughter’s entire future would have been destroyed because of you!” “You’re only eighteen! How can you be so evil?!” I shoved her away, totally disoriented and in shock. “I didn’t do anything! I don’t even know who your daughter is!” “Susan, stop lying! I saw you shoving the needles into her pencil case with my own eyes!” Chloe stepped out from behind the angry mother, pointing directly at me with absolute certainty. My face turned to ice. “Why would I put needles in a stranger’s pencil case? You have zero proof. How dare you accuse me?” “Who says we don’t have proof?” The second I heard Liam’s voice, the blood in my veins completely froze. He held up his phone, playing a video clip. Because of the terrible camera angle, the footage showed me sneaking up to a student’s desk and slipping something into their pencil case. Suddenly, I remembered. The teacher from the neighboring class had asked me to drop off a reward pen on the desk of their top-ranked student. It was a pen. Not needles. But before I could even explain, the furious mother screamed. “Chloe saw you do it! We have witnesses and video evidence, and you’re still denying it?!” I turned my head and looked directly at Liam. I gritted my teeth and asked him one question. “Did you see it with your own eyes too?” Liam avoided my gaze. He stayed completely silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. “Susan. I know you’re jealous, and I know you target Chloe at home. But I never thought you would actually attack a classmate. I am so disappointed in you.” I stared at him in sheer disbelief. With that one sentence, he had officially labeled me a violent criminal. “I can’t believe the school let a monster like you walk the halls! I’m going straight to the principal! I’m going to make sure the entire city knows what kind of psycho you are!” The furious mother stormed out of the hospital room, slamming the door behind her. I looked at Liam, my entire body violently shaking. “Why?” His fists clenched tightly at his sides. His eyes were a chaotic storm of emotions. He lowered his voice. “Susan. Chloe didn’t mean to do it. She just wanted to play a prank. She didn’t think it would escalate this far.” “If Mom and Dad find out, they’ll be completely devastated. Chloe is used to being the perfect daughter. This is the first time I’ve ever seen her cry this hard. She’s terrified.” By the time he finished speaking, his voice was dripping with pure heartbreak—for Chloe. I stared at him, pronouncing every single word with lethal precision. “So you played the victim over the phone just to lure me here, so you could force me to take the fall for Chloe?” His breathing hitched. He forced the words out of his throat. “I already secured a backup plan for you. I won’t let your life be ruined.” The absolute last shred of hope in my heart was ripped to shreds. I don’t even remember how I made it back to the school campus. All I remember are the disgusted glares from the other students, and the toxic whispers following me down the halls. “That’s her. She’s the one who hid the needles. It’s so dangerous having someone like her at this school!” “Why isn’t she in jail? She belongs behind bars. Fucking psycho.” Before I even made it to my classroom, I was called into the principal’s office. The principal slid a formal document across his desk. “The victim’s family is threatening to go to the press. They are demanding immediate action. Your early admission status has been officially revoked.” “Furthermore, the board has unanimously decided to expel you.” I stood there, frozen in place. My blood ran completely cold. I couldn’t understand it. I worked so incredibly hard to protect the tiny sliver of a future I had built for myself. But ever since I followed Liam to the Stone estate, all I had done was lose. I lost my brother. I lost my home. I lost my early admission. And now, I had lost my right to graduate high school. All I wanted to do was leave quietly. Why was it so hard? My phone buzzed in my pocket. Liam had sent me a file—a transfer agreement—and two plane tickets. “The Stone family helps fund a private academy in Los Angeles. I already pulled some strings. They are ready to accept your transfer.” “It’s too late for you to take the exams this year, but with your grades, you can easily retake your senior year and still get into a top-tier college.” “Once the exams are over here, I will fly to LA with you to help you settle in.” So he knew. He knew exactly what the consequences would be. He knew I would be completely destroyed. And he still chose to sacrifice me to save Chloe. I held the expulsion papers in my hands, walking like a zombie to the front gates of the school. I stood there for hours, until the security guard finally told me to leave. Two weeks later, the national exams were over. I was standing on the train platform, pulling my cheap suitcase behind me, about to board the bullet train. A text from Liam popped up on my screen. “I’m at the airport. Where are you?” I sent him one final message. “I am not going to LA with you. We are officially done.” The second the message delivered, Liam’s calls started flooding my phone, back to back. I didn’t answer a single one. I blocked his number. I blocked his social media. I completely erased him from my life. Then, I turned around and stepped onto the train. Goodbye forever, Liam.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “464471”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Stepping out of the terminal after a brutal five-year stint out of state, my chest hummed with a foolish kind of hope. I thought Christopher would finally drop to one knee and keep the promise he made before I left. Instead, he stood by the baggage claim with his hands in his pockets. His face was a mask of absolute indifference. “Margo. I’m sorry.” Before the shock could even register, he kept talking. “That transfer order. I was the one who pulled the strings.” “I deliberately shipped you off to that godforsaken mining project in the Mojave. I needed to clear the board so Lily and I could figure things out.” “She got pregnant back then. I didn’t have a choice.” A suffocating silence stretched between us. I bit the inside of my cheek until the metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. Five years. Five years of swallowing sand in the desert, enduring blistering heatwaves, pulling sixteen-hour shifts until my bones felt like lead. It wasn’t a stepping stone for my career. It was a cage he built from scratch. “You were always so intense, so relentless. I was terrified you’d do something to hurt her.” “I’m not telling you this to beg for forgiveness. I just need you to process this now, so you don’t make a scene later.” His tone was heavy with a sickening kind of pity. I took a step back, dodging the hand he reached out toward me. A broken laugh clawed its way up my throat, bringing hot tears to my eyes. “Christopher, you just took something that could have ended with a shred of dignity and burned it to the ground.” 1 Christopher’s BMW tailed my cab the entire ride into the city, flashing its headlights twice. The cab driver caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “Hey miss, that Beemer’s been riding my bumper for miles. A friend of yours?” I wiped a smudge of dried blood from the corner of my mouth. “No.” “You want me to lose him?” “Don’t bother. He knows exactly where I’m going.” The downtown apartment complex looked exactly the same, right down to the faded flyers in the elevator. I dragged my suitcase down the hall and jammed my key into the lock. The cylinder wouldn’t turn. The mechanism felt entirely wrong. Then the door swung open from the inside. Lily stood there in a silk slip dress, balancing a toddler on her hip. She blinked in surprise when she saw me, but the shock quickly melted into a sugar-sweet smile. “Oh. You’re back.” The little boy wrapped his arms around her neck, staring at me with wide eyes. “Mommy, who’s that lady?” “Just someone who used to live here, sweetie.” Lily smoothed the boy’s hair and looked back at me. “Want to come in for a bit? Christopher mentioned you were flying in today, but I didn’t think you’d be here this fast.” My eyes drifted past her shoulder into the living room. A massive wedding portrait hung above the fireplace. The leather sofa I bought was gone, replaced by a plush sectional. Tiny clothes were draped over a drying rack on the balcony. “This place…” “Is my home.” Lily cut me off. Her voice was soft, perfectly modulated. “It has been for five years. The second Christopher got the deed, he moved me right in.” The wheels of my suitcase jammed against the threshold. “He told me that as soon as you hit the desert, we were getting married.” The toddler started squirming, whining to be put down. Lily set him on the hardwood, and he immediately bolted toward a toy chest in the corner. She leaned against the doorframe, her eyes doing a slow, evaluating sweep of my body. “You’ve lost a ton of weight. The outback must have been brutal, huh?” My knuckles turned white around the handle of my luggage. “Is Christopher coming up?” “Hard to say.” She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “What exactly are you looking for here? A payout? An apology?” “I don’t want anything from him.” “Then why did you even show up?” Looking at her flawlessly pampered face, a wave of pure nausea hit me. “I came back,” I said, keeping my voice dangerously level, “to get my things.” Lily let out a soft, mocking laugh. “What things? I tossed your clothes ages ago. Christopher said your books were just collecting dust, so we donated them. Oh, and those stupid potted plants you left behind? Dead.” She paused, tilting her head. “I made sure not to water them.” I turned on my heel and hammered the elevator button. Her voice drifted down the hall. “Margo, don’t make this ugly. You’ve got absolutely nothing left. You’re out of your league here.” The metal doors slid shut. I rested my forehead against the freezing steel panel and closed my eyes. Five years. I thought I was climbing the corporate ladder. I was just funding their honeymoon. 2 The next morning, I walked into the corporate headquarters to process my return. Brenda, the HR manager, looked like she had seen a ghost when I sat at her desk. “Margo, regarding your position…” “I know. Lily took it.” I shoved my bag into the corner of the cubicle. “It’s fine. Just put me on a standard engineering desk.” Brenda let out a heavy sigh and pulled up my file on her monitor. “Your record for the past five years just says you volunteered for a remote deployment, overcame hostile environments, and completed your quota.” “Because I did.” “But,” she lowered her voice to a harsh whisper, “those three massive tech projects you spearheaded? The patent filings list Lily as the lead architect.” The air left my lungs. “That’s impossible. I wrote every line of that code…” “You signed off on it.” Brenda clicked open a PDF and spun the monitor toward me. “Look right here. It’s an agreement from five years ago. You authorized the IP to be shared as a collaborative team effort.” The signature was definitely mine. But I had zero memory of ever putting a pen to that paper. “You were rushing to catch your flight. Christopher handled a lot of your exit paperwork for you.” Brenda looked away, her face tight with pity. “Margo, look… just go find an empty desk for now.” They put me at a cramped table next to the industrial printer. It was piled high with broken keyboards and junk mail. Colleagues walked past me. Some practically snapped their necks looking the other way. A few offered tight, awkward nods. Only Rachel walked over, leaning in close. “What are you even doing here?” “My deployment ended.” “Yeah, but…” She flicked her eyes toward the glass corner office. Lily’s office. “Watch your back. She’s the department head now, and she’s married to the CEO.” I dropped my notebook onto the desk. “I know.” That afternoon, my phone buzzed. Christopher’s name flashed on the screen. I let it ring out. He called again. Three times in a row. On the fourth ring, I picked up. “Margo, we need to talk.” “We have absolutely nothing to discuss.” “Lily is pregnant with our second. The doctor said her blood pressure is spiking. She can’t handle stress right now.” His voice sounded incredibly tired, as if he were the victim. “Could you just… steer clear of us for a while?” In the background, I heard the kid screaming. “Daddy, Mommy is throwing up!” “I’m coming, buddy.” Christopher rushed his words into the receiver. “Just lay low. I’m begging you.” The line went dead. I stared at the black screen, remembering the day I got my transfer orders. I had called him, sobbing in the stairwell. He told me to wait right there. He rushed over, pulled me into his arms, and kissed my forehead. “Go out there and crush it,” he had whispered. “I’ll be right here waiting. The second you get back, I’m putting a ring on your finger.” That day, his shirt had smelled like a faint, expensive perfume. Not the cologne I bought him. Now I knew. It was Lily’s perfume. 3 I scheduled a full panel at the clinic the next day. The specialist stared at my chart, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Margo, looking at these numbers…” “Give it to me straight.” “Severe endometriosis, coupled with advanced ovarian decline.” She pushed her glasses up her nose. “The chances of you conceiving naturally are practically zero.” I gripped the edge of the printed report so hard the paper sliced into my thumb. “Is it because of the desert?” “Chronic stress, severe sleep deprivation, physical exhaustion, and exposure to extreme temperatures…” The doctor offered a sympathetic smile. “You’re still young. If we start aggressive hormone therapy now, there might be a sliver of hope.” Walking out of the clinic, the hallway felt suffocatingly long. It was lined with pregnant women. They were rubbing their bellies, glowing with a soft, quiet kind of joy. One husband was kneeling on the linoleum, pressing his ear against his wife’s stomach to listen for a kick. I turned my shoulder, slipped past them, and pushed open the heavy fire door to the stairwell. It was empty and echoing. I sank to the concrete steps and buried my face in my knees. Don’t cry. If you cry, they win. Three days later, the company hosted its annual gala. I planned to skip it, but Rachel practically dragged me out of my chair. “You’re a senior engineer. Skipping makes you look like a coward.” I threw on a plain black slip dress and stood in the darkest corner of the ballroom. The bass from the speakers thumped in my chest. The chandeliers were blinding. Christopher and Lily made their entrance, and the crowd swarmed them like royalty. “Mr. Reed! Lily! Congratulations!” “Number two on the way! You guys are truly blessed!” Lily beamed, her manicured hand resting protectively over her slight bump. Christopher had his arm locked around her waist. He looked down at her with a gaze so soft and devoted it made my stomach turn. A few people noticed me lingering in the shadows. Whispers rippled through the crowd before they went back to clinking glasses. Lily spotted me. She wove through the crowd, her bump leading the way. “Margo. Long time no see.” I took a slow sip of my champagne. “Congrats.” “Thanks.” She stroked her stomach. “We did the early genetics test. It’s a girl. Christopher is over the moon. He keeps saying he wants her to look exactly like me.” She took a step closer, dropping her voice so only I could hear. “You know what’s funny? Christopher told me that if he hadn’t shipped you off, he would have dragged his feet for years trying to choose between us.” “What’s your point?” “My point is,” she smiled, showing perfectly white teeth, “thank you for stepping aside. If you hadn’t made that little sacrifice, we wouldn’t have this beautiful life.” My hand started to shake. A drop of champagne spilled over the rim, soaking into my black dress. “Lily,” I locked eyes with her, “do you have any idea what happened while you were carrying your first kid? I was out in the Mojave. It was freezing at night. I was running a hundred-and-four-degree fever in a metal trailer, completely delirious. I almost died.” She blinked, utterly unfazed. “And?” “I called him. Seventeen times. He never picked up.” “Oh, that was our anniversary.” Her smile deepened. “He was helping me pick out my wedding dress.” I took a sharp breath, the air burning my lungs. “It was an Oscar de la Renta,” she added casually. “The limited edition one with the pearl embroidery on the bodice.” I had tried that exact dress on five years ago. Christopher had stood outside the fitting room and told me, “When we get married, that’s the one.” He just never meant we. I slammed my glass down on a passing waiter’s tray and headed for the exit. Christopher materialized out of the crowd, blocking my path. He looked at me, his jaw tight. “Margo…” “Don’t say my name.” My voice was dead. “You make me sick.” I pushed through the revolving doors. It was pouring outside, the city lights bleeding into a blurry mess of rain. I stood under the awning, letting the cold air hit my face. Footsteps echoed behind me. Christopher had followed me out. He held out a sleek black umbrella. “Take it. You’re going to freeze.” “Why do you care?” He went quiet for a second. “I know you hate me.” “I don’t hate you.” I looked at him, feeling nothing but a vast, hollow emptiness. “I just feel stupid for wasting five years of my life on a stray dog.” “Those five years…” “Those five years,” I cut him off, my voice slicing through the sound of the rain, “I was working sixteen-hour shifts in the dirt. My periods stopped for months at a time. My hair was falling out in clumps. I survived every single day by telling myself I was coming home to marry you.” The color drained completely from his face. “And you,” a dark laugh escaped me, “spent those five years getting married, playing house, and knocking her up twice.” “I’m sorry.” “What is that word supposed to do for me?” I took a step toward him. “Christopher, you are so pathetic I can’t even muster the energy to hate you. You just make me feel like a joke.” The rain was coming down in sheets now. He opened the umbrella, trying to step closer to shield me. I smacked his hand away and walked out from under the awning, straight into the storm. The water was freezing, soaking me to the bone in seconds. 4 A week later, my phone rang. It was my mother. She was hysterical. “Margo, your father is in the ICU!” I booked the first flight home. My dad, who already had a fragile heart, was lying in a hospital bed looking like a ghost. My mom grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin. “Someone mailed your father a package. They said… they said you were a homewrecker. That you slept your way through the company and tried to ruin a married man’s life.” “Mom, that’s a lie!” “They sent photos!” She was sobbing uncontrollably. “Chat logs between you and that Christopher guy. Statements from people at your office!” I snatched the manila envelope off the bedside table. The photos were deepfakes. The text threads were fabricated. But they looked terrifyingly real. “Dad, you have to listen to me, none of this is real…” My father slowly opened his eyes and looked at me for a long time. “I believe you, kid.” He forced a weak smile. Then his eyes rolled back. The heart monitor flatlined, a shrill, piercing scream filling the room. Doctors flooded in. I was shoved out into the hallway. Christopher was standing by the elevator banks. He was holding a ridiculously expensive floral arrangement. “I came to check on your dad.” He looked incredibly uncomfortable. A passing nurse murmured to her colleague, “That Mr. Reed is such a class act. Coming to see his crazy ex’s dying father.” I stared at him. Something inside me simply snapped. I lunged forward and slapped him across the face with everything I had. The sound echoed down the corridor like a gunshot. The flowers crashed to the floor, glass shattering everywhere. “You did this!” “Margo, I have no idea what you’re talking about…” “Don’t lie to me!” I grabbed him by the lapels of his custom suit, shaking him. “Those photos. Those fake texts. Who else had that kind of access? Who else wants to destroy me?” He gripped my wrists, trying to peel me off. “Margo, calm down!” “How the hell am I supposed to calm down!” I was screaming now, my throat burning. “If my dad dies, I swear to God I’ll kill you!” The doors to the ICU swung open. The lead surgeon walked out, slowly pulling off his surgical mask. “I’m so sorry. We did everything we could.” My entire universe collapsed into dust. The funeral was three days later. My mother wouldn’t even let me inside the chapel. “Get out,” she hissed through the cracked door of the vestibule. “Your father wouldn’t want you here.” I knelt on the wet pavement outside the church doors from sunrise to sunset. In the late afternoon, a black town car pulled up. Christopher and Lily stepped out. They arranged a massive wreath of white lilies by the entrance. The ribbon read: In deepest sympathy. Christopher Reed and Lily Harper. Lily looked down at me, her face a picture of pious sorrow. “My condolences.” I looked up at Christopher. If looks could physically eviscerate a man, he would have been gutted on the church steps. He went pale and looked away. Lily tugged at his sleeve. “Let’s go, honey.” They got back in their car and drove off. Finally, my mother pushed the doors open. She looked down at me, her eyes hollowed out with absolute hatred. “Are you happy now? He’s dead. Is this what you wanted?” I dragged myself forward on my knees, trying to grab her hand. “Mom…” “Don’t touch me!” She shoved me back hard. “I don’t have a daughter anymore.” I collapsed onto the concrete, pressing my forehead against the cold, damp stone. On the seventh day after my father’s death, HR called. “Margo Brooks, your employment is terminated effectively immediately.” Brenda’s voice was pure ice. “The board found you guilty of severe ethical violations. We have evidence that during your deployment, you engaged in inappropriate relationships with multiple male subordinates.” I sprinted to the corporate tower and barged straight into the HR department. “Where is the proof?” The HR director tossed a stack of glossy photos onto the conference table. They were candid shots of me and my male colleagues working late at the desert site, looking exhausted, drinking beers on the hoods of trucks. But someone had added filthy, suggestive captions to every single one. “This is slander!” “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.” The director crossed her arms. “Reed Enterprises does not tolerate this kind of liability.” I took the elevator straight to the executive floor to find Christopher. His assistant physically blocked the door. “Mr. Reed is in a board meeting.” I sat in the lobby until the sun went down. When he finally walked out, he froze when he saw me. “I know why you’re here.” He loosened his tie, looking exhausted. “The board made a decision. My hands are tied.” “Christopher, you set me up.” “It wasn’t me.” He frowned. “Lily told me…” “You just swallow whatever poison Lily feeds you?” I backed him into the glass wall of the boardroom. “She murdered my father. Now she’s trying to erase me from the industry. And you’re just going to hold the door open for her?” He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Margo, you need to get a grip.” “I have a grip.” I whispered. “I just want to know how you sleep at night.” He didn’t answer. I turned and walked away. When I stepped out of the lobby into the street, a small crowd was waiting. A dozen people, holding up camera phones and makeshift signs. Internet trolls who had eaten up whatever PR spin Lily had leaked online. “Homewrecker!” “Corporate trash!” “Get out of our city!” Someone threw a heavy paper cup. It exploded against my chest. Red paint. It dripped off my chin, soaking through my shirt, splashing onto my shoes. I stood paralyzed on the sidewalk, dripping red. Christopher’s car pulled out of the underground garage and braked sharply. He threw the door open, yelling at the security guards to scatter the crowd. He walked over to me, looking at the mess, and let out a long, frustrated sigh. “Margo, why can’t you just walk away with some dignity? Why do you have to push things to the brink?” I slowly wiped my face. The red smeared across my cheek, dripping from my fingertips. “Dignity?” I looked at him and laughed. “What dignity did you leave me?” He didn’t have an answer. He got back in his car and drove away. When I got back to my apartment, the locks were changed again. My suitcase was sitting in the hallway. The landlord poked his head out of the adjacent door. “I packed your stuff. Grab it and get lost.” “Are you serious? Why?” “People have been calling the management office all day. Saying you’re a degenerate, that you’re ruining the building’s reputation.” He waved me off like a stray dog. “Lease is terminated.” I sat on the floor next to my suitcase. It was the exact same bag I had dragged out to the desert five years ago. Nothing had changed. And yet, I had lost absolutely everything. I spent the night sitting on a plastic chair inside a 24-hour diner. Through the greasy window, I watched the city wake up in the morning light. It was a beautiful skyline. But I never wanted to see it again.

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1 Waiting in line at the pharmacy, my phone buzzed with a text from my husband. “Babe, the doctor said it’s late-stage. There’s no coming back from this.” “Maybe we should just… stop the treatments.” “I’m terrified of losing you and ending up with absolutely nothing left.” My finger hovered over the screen for a long time before I finally typed back a simple agreement. He had spent nine years living in a damp basement apartment with me, working five jobs a day just to pay my medical bills. I couldn’t drag him down anymore. Dragging my wrecked body to my shift at the coffee shop, I noticed a girl decked out in designer labels chatting loudly on speakerphone. “I told you she was faking the terminal illness to drain your bank account. Who just agrees to stop treatment that easily?” I was about to walk over and ask her to take it off speaker when a terribly familiar voice drifted from the phone. It was my husband. Michael. “I honestly thought her love was pure. Turns out even when I pretend to be dead broke, I still attract gold diggers.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. The girl’s sugary laugh grated against my ears. “Well, are you ready to come home and marry me now?” “No rush. She told me she’s at death’s door. I want to see exactly how she plans to fake her own funeral.” I stood perfectly still, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. The poverty was a lie. He never believed in me. But it didn’t matter. I would be gone soon anyway. The girl rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re so hung up on. You willingly lived in a moldy basement for nine years. There is no way she’s prettier than me.” A soft chuckle came through the speaker. “She’s just a haggard mess now. But her acting totally fooled me back then. I really thought she loved me for me. You have no idea… she literally starved herself, eating one meal a day just to buy me a pair of hundred-dollar sneakers.” “I never wore them, obviously. They were cheap garbage. But I did enjoy the thrill of having someone from the bottom of the barrel sacrifice everything for me. I just never expected she’d use that exact same dedication to fake stomach cancer.” My arms hung limp at my sides, my fingernails biting into my palms. Those sneakers he said he was saving for a special occasion were just too cheap for him. Every drop of blood I bled for him was nothing but a pathetic parlor trick in his eyes. I forced my face to remain blank and walked over to her table. “Miss, please turn off your speakerphone.” Tiffany bristled like a cornered cat. “This place is completely dead! Who am I bothering? Do you have any idea who I am, or are you just blind?” I kept my eyes pinned to the floor and stayed quiet. My silence only fueled her rage. “I swear to God, I will have you fired before your shift ends.” She killed the call and stormed out, but not before I caught Michael’s gentle voice coaxing her. “Easy, babe. Don’t waste your breath on trash like her.” Trash. To him, I was always just a bottom-feeder. A sharp pain clawed at my stomach. I doubled over, coughing violently until a mouthful of hot blood splattered onto the floor. Michael, when you met me, you played the part of a struggling kid perfectly. We went to the same college. He was the golden boy everyone knew, and I was a ghost. Walking back to my dorm after a late-night shift, a group of guys backed me into an alley. They whistled, boxing me in. “Hey sweetheart, just getting off work? Why don’t you come clock some overtime with us?” I was shaking so hard I couldn’t feel my legs. That was the exact moment Michael crashed into my life. Wearing a threadbare jacket, he chased them off. I didn’t care about looking tough. I grabbed his sleeve and sobbed until I couldn’t breathe. He walked me all the way back to my building. Maybe it was just the adrenaline, but I fell for him completely. When he finally asked me out, his face was flushed red. He told me his family was drowning in debt and he couldn’t give me the life I deserved. I looked at him with stars in my eyes. “It doesn’t matter. As long as I have you, I have enough.” He hugged me so tight I thought my ribs would crack. I thought he was moved by my words. Now I realize he was probably just laughing at how incredibly easy I was to manipulate. Another coughing fit hit me, loud enough to bring my manager rushing out of the back room. “Stella, honey, what’s going on? You sound awful.” I waved her off, forcing a smile. She rested a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Look, don’t hate me for this. But you don’t need to come in tomorrow.” I stared at her, the cough dying in my throat. “Some big shot named Michael made a call. He said you disrespected the wrong person.” I gave a slow, numb nod. So this was his gift to his real girlfriend. He was cutting off my only lifeline. If that was the game, fine. He called me a gold digger, so I was going to dig. I needed to leave something behind for Nana before I died. My manager slipped me two days of extra pay and told me to focus on getting better. I smiled and took the cash. I didn’t tell her that getting better was entirely off the table. Michael didn’t get home until after midnight. He was wearing his usual delivery uniform, but the fabric was pristine. I had been so blind. He blinked in surprise when he saw me sitting on the edge of the bed. “You’re home early. Doesn’t the shop close at ten?” “I got fired.” He took off his helmet and ruffled my hair, the same familiar gesture he always used. “What happened? You always bust your ass there.” I tilted my head, subtly dodging his hand. “I offended the wrong person, I guess.” His hand froze mid-air. He didn’t push it. I cut straight to the point. “Michael, I need thirty grand.” He had just started pulling off his jacket. Hearing the number, his brow furrowed. “What do you need that kind of money for?” Thirty grand. That wouldn’t even cover the cost of one of his designer watches. “I want to live. I want to pay for the treatments.” He walked over and set a crushed piece of cake on the table. He bought it on the way home. It looked exactly like how I felt. He reached for my hand, his voice dipping into that soft, persuasive tone. “Stella, we talked about this. The doctors said it’s pointless.” “It’s a bottomless pit. Thirty grand won’t even make a dent. Let me use that money to buy you nice things, take you places. Let’s just enjoy the time we have left.” I pulled my hand back. “But I want to survive, Michael.” Seeing I wasn’t backing down, a flash of genuine anger crossed his face. He stood up. “What is your problem, Stella? Haven’t we burned enough cash on this phantom illness of yours? Are you trying to bleed me dry?” “I bet you’re not even sick. If you were really dying, you wouldn’t be sitting here perfectly fine without so much as a cough! You just want my money!” He kicked the table violently and stormed out of the apartment without looking back. He didn’t notice the table crashing into my leg, leaving an ugly, purple bruise on my shin. I never coughed in front of him because I was terrified of worrying him. I was terrified he would drop his shifts to take care of me. Once, when I was bedridden with a bad flu, he was out of state for work. He finished his shift and rode a Greyhound bus for sixteen hours straight just to put a cold towel on my forehead. I never imagined that my desperate attempt to protect him would become the exact reason he doubted my cancer. I set the table upright and rubbed my aching leg. The cake had splattered across the floor. I knelt down and scooped up a bit of frosting that hadn’t touched the dirt, letting it dissolve on my tongue. It was so sweet. So sweet it brought tears to my eyes. It was a shame I’d never get to taste it again. After cleaning up the mess, I wandered out of the basement and into the city. I ended up standing outside a high-end bridal boutique, pressing my hands against the freezing glass. Michael promised me a wedding once. I had lost three pregnancies for him, and I still never got to wear a white dress. Footsteps clicked against the pavement. I turned around and froze. Michael and Tiffany were walking right toward me. She spotted me first. “Babe, look. It’s that barista who mouthed off to me today.” Michael didn’t even look at me. “Don’t worry about it, Tiff. I already had her fired.” “It’s weird though. My gold-digging wife actually asked me for…” He finally looked up and saw me standing by the window. All the color drained from his face. I kept my composure and took a step forward. “I heard everything at the cafe today.” “You’re actually rich. Aren’t you?” I stared straight into his eyes. He shifted his gaze, refusing to meet mine. Tiffany gasped, covering her mouth in mock horror. “Oh my god, you’re the wife? Sorry I interrupted your little chat earlier.” “Since you obviously recognized his voice, why didn’t you stick around and listen to the rest? You might have heard something really juicy.” Michael’s panic faded, replaced by a cold, arrogant calm. “Since the secret’s out, there’s no point pretending.” “I faked being poor because girls in my tax bracket don’t know how to love. I wanted to see if I could find something real.” His upper lip curled in disgust. “I thought you were different. Turns out you’re worse than the rest of them. I’m literally living in a basement, and you’re still trying to scam me.” I gave him a hollow smile, a single tear slipping down my cheek. If I was really a gold digger, I wouldn’t have starved with him for nine years. “You’re right. I’m a gold digger. So since you’re loaded, wire me thirty grand.” I had to get that money. My body was rotting from the inside out, but Nana still had a chance. She had a tumor and was waiting for surgery. She was the only family I had left. Tiffany nudged Michael with her elbow, a nasty smirk on her face. “See? I told you. The broke ones are the greediest.” Michael looked at me like I was something he scraped off his shoe. “You want the money? Fine.” He didn’t finish the sentence. He just crooked a finger, motioning for me to follow them inside. I couldn’t hear what he was whispering to Tiffany. But I knew if I walked through those doors, I could save Nana. They led me right into the center of the bridal shop. It was packed with customers. Tiffany sat in a velvet chair and pointed her phone camera right at my face. I instinctively threw my hands up to cover my eyes. I was terrified of cameras. Back in high school, the rich kids bullied me because I wore hand-me-downs. They dragged me into the locker room, tore my clothes off, and dumped freezing water on me while recording the whole thing. The video went viral around the school. They branded me as trash. I told Michael all of this in the dark of our basement. He had pulled me into his chest and held me so tight. He told me I was safe now and promised he would never force me to take a photo if I didn’t want to. Now, he stood perfectly still, watching Tiffany shove a lens in my face without saying a word. Tiffany giggled. “Get on your knees. Tell the camera you’re a homewrecker who tried to steal my fiancé. Bow your head to the floor three times and apologize. You do that, and Michael will wire you the cash. Deal?” My throat felt like it was packed with glass. I looked at Michael, begging him silently. He looked away. “Do what she says.” I stared at the glowing red recording light, feeling the eyes of a dozen strangers burning into my back. I clamped my jaw shut and dropped to my knees. The entire store went dead silent. I choked out the humiliating script she demanded, but my body physically wouldn’t let me bow my head. Tiffany scoffed. “Let me help you out.” She grabbed the back of my hair and slammed my forehead into the marble floor. Three times. Blood dripped into my eyes. Just as I managed to stand up, my phone started ringing. It was the hospital. My heart stopped. “What? What happened to her?” I bolted out of the store. They trailed right behind me, but I didn’t care. The doctor said Nana was refusing the surgery unless I was there. With blood streaking down my face, I burst into her hospital room, tears streaming down my cheeks. Nana weakly lifted a hand, her trembling fingers brushing my hair. “My sweet girl… what happened to your forehead?” Before I could invent a lie, Tiffany strolled into the room. “Oh, she got that bowing to me, ma’am.” “Did you know your precious granddaughter is a scam artist? She just begged for thirty grand, admitted on camera that she tried to ruin my relationship, and kissed the floor at my feet!” She shoved the phone directly into Nana’s face, playing the video. My vision went red. I shoved her backward with everything I had. “Turn it off! Shut up! It’s all a lie! Nana, please…” Before I could finish, the heart monitor flatlined, letting out a shrill, continuous scream. Doctors flooded the room. They started chest compressions. I stood in the corner, praying to a God I didn’t believe in. Minutes dragged like hours. The green line on the screen never spiked again. My legs gave out. I collapsed onto the linoleum, slowly turning my head to look at Tiffany. “This is your fault. You killed her.” I lunged at her, fingers curled into claws. Michael stepped in front of her, shoving me back with brutal force. My hip slammed into the metal corner of the hospital bed. I hit the floor, vomiting a massive pool of dark blood. Michael looked down at me in absolute disgust. “Are you seriously still trying to pull this sick stunt?” But a searing, tearing agony ripped through my abdomen. Hot blood soaked through my jeans, pooling on the white floor. Something was leaving me. Something small. I started laughing. I laughed until tears washed the blood off my cheeks. I looked up at him, my voice lighter than a feather. “Michael. We are entirely done.” Right before the darkness swallowed me, I heard a sound I had never heard before. Michael screaming my name, his voice tearing at the seams. “Stella!!”

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Vincent was the industry’s hottest visionary director, his cinematic genius matched only by his notoriously venomous tongue. When news broke of his new film, fanbases swarmed his comments, pitching their idols for the lead. Amid thousands, he replied only to one of my fans: [Plastic, overacting, shallow. Keep her off my set. Do not desecrate my art.] Instantly, I was thrust into a media bloodbath. Gripping my phone, my voice trembled as I pressed it to my ear. “Why would you do that?” Vincent frowned, his gaze sweeping over me in a slow, clinical evaluation. “You make a living playing eye candy. Did your delusional fans’ compliments actually go to your head? Look at the casting call. Which part of you fits my leading lady? Viv, don’t force yourself into circles you don’t belong in.” Seeing my silence, his tone softened a fraction. “Enough. We’ll talk next time there’s an opportunity. You know the rules. Don’t contact me while I’m shooting.” Secretly married for five years, the only thing he ever left me was “next time.” He gave me that empty promise knowing full well I’d cleared my schedule and turned down every job offer for his film. My phone vibrated with a news alert. The hottest rising starlet clung to his arm, radiant at his film’s launch ceremony. Staring at the screen, at the faint, satisfied smile on Vincent’s face, I opened a different chat and typed. “That script you mentioned. Send it to me again. I want to read it.” 1 The livestream of the launch ceremony was still rolling. A reporter seized a brief lull in the crowd to shove a microphone forward. “Rumor has it that Director Vincent is incredibly demanding on set. Gemma, are you nervous about working with him?” Gemma tilted her head, glancing up at Vincent before flashing a coy, ambiguous smile. “Demanding? I think he’s perfectly fine. Maybe the people who claim he’s hard to work with just fundamentally don’t fit his vision.” The underlying dig was so blatantly obvious that even the drama-hungry entertainment reporters froze for a second. Vincent stood right beside her, entirely silent. He didn’t defend me. Gemma turned back to the cameras, her posture brimming with confidence. “Vincent actually sent me this script six months ago. Our creative wavelengths are perfectly aligned. I know we’re going to deliver an absolute masterpiece. See you all at the box office.” I gripped my phone, completely stunned. Six months ago, I had just returned home from a grueling three-day commercial shoot. The living room floor was buried under crumpled drafts and storyboards. Vincent had looked up from the chaos, his eyes burning with absolute, unfiltered ambition. “Just watch, Viv. This film is going to sweep the Silver Reel Awards.” Back in college, he had looked at me with that exact same burning intensity. He had held my hands, making a solemn vow. “Viv, before your thirtieth birthday, I promise I will direct the film that puts a Silver Reel trophy right in your hands.” I had been so overwhelmed with joy, foolishly believing he was honoring his old promise. That was why I rejected every single contract for the second half of the year. It took until today for me to finally understand. From the very beginning, I was never his choice. My manager, Valerie, was furiously typing on her tablet, trying to do damage control on the negative press. She snatched my phone out of my hands and let out a merciless scoff. “Vivian, is that man really your husband?” A bitter, self-deprecating laugh escaped my throat. When Vincent was still an unknown indie director, he refused to make our relationship public. He claimed he wanted to build his empire first so he could stand beside me proudly. Now he was at the absolute top of the world. Yet every time I brought up going public, he would just frown and say we’d do it “next time.” What was his excuse now? “You are turning thirty. You’re stuck in this awkward middle ground, constantly mocked by the internet as a brainless porcelain doll. Are you planning to spend the rest of your life bouncing around stupid reality shows?” Valerie glared at me, exasperated by my passive loyalty. The sudden ringing of my phone cut her lecture short. Through the screen, Vincent looked at me with a cold, businesslike expression. “Director Campbell is shooting a new blockbuster. I pulled some strings and got you a cameo. The script is in your inbox.” I opened the file and skimmed the first two pages. It was another lifeless, decorative role. A pretty object to stand in the background of a men’s club. I took a deep breath, trying to steady the tremor in my chest. “Vincent, I don’t want to take this. I…” His expression instantly darkened. “Then what exactly do you want? The lead? Vivian, take a good look at your image. Can you stop living in this delusional fantasy?” The words died in my throat. With my sharp, glamorous features and hourglass figure, the media had crowned me the “Hollywood Rose.” But because of that exact image, every single script that came my way was exclusively for a superficial seductress or a tragic beauty. Once, I had swallowed my pride and personally begged a casting director for a gritty dramatic role. He had laughed right in my face. “Vivian? You’ve got to be kidding. That face of hers is just an exquisite porcelain centerpiece. You don’t put a centerpiece in the mud.” I let out a soft, mocking chuckle. “Vincent, in your eyes, am I doomed to be a prop forever? I’m almost thirty. If I don’t land a real role soon, my career is over. Have you forgotten? I am an actress. My dream…” He cut me off without a shred of mercy. “Then stop acting. There is a very clear line between having a dream and being delusional.” Gemma’s sweet voice drifted from the background of his video feed. “Vincent, they’re ready for us on the red carpet.” He reached for the camera, leaving me with one final order. “I got you the role. Take it or leave it, it’s your choice. Do not bother me again.” The screen went black. Valerie took the phone, glancing at the script file. She hesitated. “Campbell’s movies always crush the box office. Maybe just go show your face? It’s better than nothing.” When I didn’t respond, she threw her hands up in frustration. “Well, what else are you going to do? You turned down a whole season of work for him. Are you really just going to sit in this apartment and rot?” I glanced at the framed wedding photo sitting on the coffee table. I took a deep, shuddering breath, exhaling the last remnants of my naive devotion. I pulled up the indie script I had requested earlier. “No. I’m taking this one.” 2 Valerie sat across from me in a quiet corner of an upscale cafe. For the sixth time, she opened her mouth and closed it again. “A 1940s WWII espionage thriller. A heavy, complex female lead. Vivian, are you sure this isn’t some kind of elaborate scam?” Just as she spoke, a young woman timidly poked her head around the partition. Defying every industry stereotype, the director was a girl. Nora placed the bound script gently on the table and offered a shy, apologetic smile. “My film professors used to look at my storyboards and sigh. They told me it was a shame I wasn’t born a man. They said the director’s chair is too brutal for a girl. I just refused to buy into that garbage. Anything they can do, I can do. And I can do it better.” I looked down at the script, a heavy silence washing over me. It wasn’t just the director’s chair. The entire entertainment industry operated on that exact logic. Cinema was a man’s kingdom. Female characters were just the beautiful lace trimming the edges of the narrative. They were never allowed to be the spine. Even Vincent had sneered at the idea more than once. He claimed true art had predefined boundaries, and certain roles were naturally gendered. Back then, I had wanted to open my mouth and tell him he was wrong. Humans are the creators of art. It shouldn’t be suffocated by archaic cages. Art becomes whatever you have the courage to mold it into. Nora looked up at me, her eyes shining with careful reverence. “You are my absolute idol, Vivian. In my mind, you are the one and only Scarlett.” Valerie immediately slipped into her PR persona. “Well, our Vivian definitely has a very diverse portfolio! Which of her pieces is your favorite, Director Nora?” The second the words left Valerie’s mouth, she winced. I was famous for playing arm candy. But Nora sat up perfectly straight, her expression completely serious. “Amber.” My breath hitched. I was seventeen when I got accepted into the acting conservatory. Vincent was already the golden boy of the directing department. He had approached me in the courtyard, his eyes bright. “Vivian, I want you to be the soul of my graduation thesis film.” Amber was the place where Vincent’s dreams began. It was my first ever leading role. It was the undeniable proof that we were once madly in love. I thought that film was the dawn of our legendary partnership. I didn’t know it was the first and the absolute last time he would ever look through a lens and truly see me. During my sophomore year, a vintage photoshoot of me went viral, earning me millions of superficial fans overnight. Meanwhile, Vincent graduated and lost the protective halo of the university. He slammed face-first into the brutal reality of the industry. Making movies was like burning cash in a furnace. So I took the jobs. I played the brainless seductress. I played the tragic mistress. I went on trashy variety shows and let hosts humiliate me for laughs. I endured endless think pieces mocking me as a talentless hack who only knew how to look pretty on a red carpet. I did it to buy him time. To build him a financial fortress so he could protect his artistic integrity. Eventually, his breakout film shattered box office records. And his reward to me was a merciless sneer. “Viv, surely you don’t actually believe you still qualify as an actress?” I pulled myself out of the memory, offering Nora a bitter, grounded smile. “I love this story. It’s brilliant. But I have to warn you, my public reputation is completely toxic right now. And it has been years since I anchored a serious dramatic role. Are you absolutely certain you want to gamble your debut on me?” Nora shook her head, her gaze completely unwavering. “Anyone who has the depth to play Amber can do absolutely anything.” When the studio officially announced my casting, the internet exploded. The backlash from my own fanbase nearly drowned my social media accounts. [Are you out of your mind? We’ve been fighting Gemma’s fanbase in the trenches for months, and while she gets cast in Vincent’s new masterpiece, you sign on to this no-name garbage?] [Girl, you are almost thirty! Stop throwing tantrums! Taking a role from a rookie director is just handing your rivals free ammunition to humiliate you!] Late that night, my phone rang. It was Vincent. “Vivian, what the hell is going through your head? Call them and quit right now. I will wire you the money to cover the breach of contract fee. I’ll make a call to Campbell, and you’ll be on his set by Monday.” I took a slow, deep breath. “No. I am making this movie.” A harsh, condescending laugh echoed through the receiver. “I practically hand-delivered you an opportunity, and you throw it in the trash. When this blows up in your face, do not come crying to me about how unfair the industry is.” A few days later, during a press junket for his film, a reporter deliberately brought up my new project. Vincent stared dead into the camera, his eyes arctic. “Some people are so desperate for the spotlight they’ll stoop to anything. I have absolutely zero interest in working with an actor who lacks basic artistic dignity.” The tabloids had a field day. [VINCENT SHREDS HOLLYWOOD ROSE: THE RIVALRY IS OVER.] [GEMMA EYES THE SILVER REEL WHILE VIVIAN BECOMES A PUNCHLINE.] That evening, Gemma accidentally “liked” a post calling me washed up. She unliked it a minute later, blaming a slip of the finger. Once again, I was the internet’s favorite punching bag. But I found that I didn’t care at all. I sat in my quiet apartment, running a highlighter over my dialogue. Valerie walked into the room, looking incredibly uneasy. “Viv… our filming location got finalized. We’re shooting in the exact same backlot as Vincent’s crew. Right next door.” 3 The production team booked a block of rooms at the local hotel. The second Valerie handed me my keycard, her face contorted in annoyance. “It’s bad enough we’re sharing a backlot, but we’re in the exact same hotel?” I just smiled tiredly, dragging my heavy suitcase toward the elevator doors just as they were about to slide shut. “Thanks for holding—” The words died on my tongue. Standing inside the velvet-lined elevator were Vincent and Gemma. Vincent pulled his finger off the open button, his eyes staring straight ahead. He didn’t offer me a single glance. Gemma, however, let a smug, overly sweet smile bloom across her face. “Vivian, what a crazy coincidence. I can’t wait to learn a few things from a veteran like you.” The second the elevator dinged at their floor, Vincent strode out without looking back. Gemma trailed right behind him. Right as the steel doors closed, I caught a snippet of their conversation. Gemma whispered something, and Vincent let out a low, genuine laugh. At ten-thirty that night, I was sitting on my bed in pajamas, immersed in my script, when a sharp knock startled me. Vincent let himself in without an invitation. He dropped onto the velvet armchair, his eyes doing a critical sweep of the standard room. “Accommodations aren’t completely terrible, I suppose.” I didn’t say a word. The silence stretched until the air grew thick with tension. He let out an irritated sigh. “Drop the movie, Vivian.” “You’re shooting a period piece aiming for the fall blockbuster window. Do you honestly believe some fresh-out-of-college girl can stand toe-to-toe with my premiere?” My fingernails dug into my palms. Vincent rubbed his temples, softening his voice to a patronizing murmur. “Viv, your aesthetic just fundamentally clashes with serious cinema. What is so wrong with Campbell’s set? If you’re throwing a fit over screen time, I can talk to him and add a few scenes…” He reached out, attempting to pull me into his chest the way he always did when he wanted to pacify me. I dodged his hand. “You changed your cologne.” Vincent was a brilliant, obsessive visionary, which meant he was utterly helpless at basic survival. For five years, I had curated every single aspect of his life. His clothes, his meals, his schedule. I noticed the foreign scent the second he crossed the threshold. Vincent frowned, bringing his collar to his nose. “It’s the brand Gemma endorses. I’m just trying it out. Is that a crime?” I took another step back, completely out of his reach. A hollow, self-deprecating smile touched my lips. “No crime. I’m not quitting the movie. It’s getting late, Director. You should head back to your own room before someone gets the wrong idea.” “After all, you’re the king of the box office now. I wouldn’t want anyone thinking I’m trying to leech off your clout.” His face darkened like a thundercloud. “You are doing this again. Am I wrong? Vivian, do you honestly even remember how to act? Did you really convince yourself that staring blankly into a camera in pretty dresses counts as a performance? Look at Gemma. Look at the raw talent she brings at your exact age, and then look at…” I swallowed the sharp, burning lump in my throat and cut him off. “I had opportunities. Do you really not know why I ended up playing those roles?” Vincent’s jaw clenched. His face was livid as he turned on his heel and slammed the hotel door behind him. I wiped a stray tear from the corner of my eye and picked my script up off the floor. Once principal photography began, the two sets were separated by nothing more than a narrow, brick alleyway. Walking out of the makeup trailer, I could easily spot Vincent and Gemma sitting shoulder-to-shoulder behind the main monitor. He leaned in close, whispering instructions into her ear. She giggled, playfully shoving his shoulder. Valerie rolled her eyes so hard I thought she’d hurt herself. “If he had a shred of decency, he’d be struck by lightning.” I didn’t spare them a second glance. I turned my back and walked straight to my mark. For the next few weeks, I practically bled into my character. On the other side of the alley, Vincent and Gemma were generating endless headlines. The tabloids were flooded with suspiciously high-quality candid shots. Director Vincent Personally Coaches Gemma, Unstoppable Chemistry on Set. I didn’t click on a single article. On the rare occasions we crossed paths in the hotel lobby, I offered a polite, mechanical nod and kept walking. I heard a lighting tech whisper one afternoon. “Vivian must really hate him after that interview. It was pretty brutal to trash her on national TV.” I just smiled to myself. No one in this entire crew had the slightest clue that the man ignoring me was my husband of five years. Everything was quiet until Valerie kicked my hotel door open one night, her face completely drained of color. “We have a massive problem.” She shoved her tablet into my hands. The number one trending hashtag glared back in bold red letters. [BREAKING: DIRECTOR VINCENT AND GEMMA SPOTTED ENTERING HOTEL ROOM TOGETHER. MIDNIGHT ROMANCE CONFIRMED?]

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William fell in love with my roommate at first sight. He took a photo of her and sent it to the university’s notorious trust-fund group chat. Anyone know this girl? Ten grand for her Instagram handle. A reply came almost immediately. I do. But the guy made a typo and sent my handle instead. And so, William and I ended up in an online relationship for the entire winter break. It was only when the spring semester started and he saw me in person that he realized the mistake. After a long, agonizing silence, he offered a compromise. “Let’s break up, and you help me get Seraphina. Once it’s done, I’ll give you a blank check. Write whatever number you want, deal?” 01 William’s tone was incredibly sincere. Though we went to the same college, this was the first time he had ever looked at me in person. But I had secretly stared at him hundreds of times before. In my memories, he was always detached, carrying an air of effortless indifference as if nothing in the world could ever truly catch his eye. Yet now, for Seraphina, he was being shockingly generous. He had laid down a blank check. “Don’t worry,” he said. “The second I get back, I’m going to have a little talk with Nate.” I knew who Nate was. One of the most notorious trust-fund playboys on campus. He was the one who had given William my contact info by mistake. I clenched my fists, forcing my racing heart to quiet down. “It’s fine.” “I’ll do it.” There was nothing to hesitate about. I loved William, yes. But I was also desperately, agonizingly broke. Still, I never imagined that my very first romance would end in such a humiliating, pathetic way. A sudden gust of icy wind swept over us, and I instinctively pulled my knitted scarf tighter around my neck. William glanced down at me, his eyes dark as midnight. He let out a soft sigh. “I’m sorry.” Suddenly, I remembered the day he added me. It had been a snowy day just like this one. I had just stepped off the train back home, standing in the freezing cold, reading his request over and over again. We had gone to the same high school. Long ago, I had memorized his profile picture and username. And now, we were already juniors in college. Six whole years of quiet, invisible yearning. My hands had been trembling when I finally accepted his request. His first message came through almost instantly: Hey, I’m William. I saw you this afternoon, and I really wanted to get to know you. That single moment was the happiest of my entire life. Only now did I realize that from beginning to end, it had been nothing but a beautiful, cruel illusion. 02 After getting Seraphina’s permission, I handed her contact info over to William. She wasn’t strikingly beautiful, but she was bright, bubbly, and always laughing. Ever since the semester started, she had no shortage of admirers. But obviously, none of them could compare to William. Clutching her phone, she chatted with him while looking at me in confusion. “How do you even know William?” I remained quiet for a moment. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth. “We just happened to have each other’s contacts. We’ve never actually talked.” Seraphina relaxed, letting out a breath. “I’m so nervous. I don’t even know what to say to him. Do you really think he likes me?” I nodded. “Yeah.” With that, I grabbed my textbooks and left the dorm. But when I reached the library lobby, my phone buzzed with a text from William. I want to ask her out for dinner tomorrow. Do you know if she has any allergies, or what she likes to eat? I took a deep breath. I unlocked my screen and scrolled upward. Not long ago, he used to call me “sweetheart.” During those two months, we talked from morning till night. He knew every little detail about me. Before we met, knowing I had a sweet tooth, he had even spent hours learning how to bake those fancy French pastries I loved. But Seraphina’s tastes were the exact opposite of mine. She hates sweets. She loves spicy food. A long silence stretched before his reply came. Got it. Looking at that single word, I locked my screen. Sometimes, life feels incredibly fickle. Just a few days ago, he was whispering sweet nothings to lull me to sleep, saying things that made my heart race. I’m no gentleman, Benjamin. You’ll find out soon enough when we finally meet. But when we finally met, all he had for me was a quiet apology. 03 William didn’t text me often anymore. He only asked occasionally about Seraphina’s preferences. I played my part dutifully. As long as I knew the answer, I told him the absolute truth. One evening, I returned to the dorm to find Seraphina lying in bed, her face pale and flushed. I pressed my hand to her forehead. She was burning up. Right then, my phone buzzed with a message from William. Is Seraphina in the dorm? I’ve been calling her, but she isn’t picking up. I quickly texted back, telling him she had a high fever. William replied almost instantly. Help her downstairs. I’m driving over right now. I agreed. But I was small, and she was heavy. Dragging her down the stairs took every ounce of my strength. By the time we reached the lobby and I saw William, my grip slipped. My wrist slammed hard against the heavy door frame. Seraphina stumbled, nearly crashing to the floor. Seeing this, William rushed over, his face pale with worry. He frowned, his voice cold and sharp. “Benjamin.” “You almost dropped her.” Numbing pain shot through my wrist, but I forced myself to whisper, “I didn’t mean to.” William didn’t even look at me. He scooped Seraphina into his arms and carried her to his car. I stood there in the cold, watching his taillights fade into the night. I stood in the exact same spot for a long, long time. So this was what it felt like to watch the boy you loved cherish someone else with everything he had. 04 For a while after that, William didn’t contact me at all. Once Seraphina returned from the clinic, she spent every evening on FaceTime with him. Our other two roommates would occasionally pop into the frame or chat with him in the background. Only me. I always kept my distance, never making a sound. Yet he used to call me like that too. Back then, I truly believed we were going to write a beautiful story together. One night, Seraphina was in the shower, leaving her phone on her desk. It rang repeatedly. She called out from the bathroom, “Benjamin, can you grab that for me?” I looked at the screen. William’s name flashed across it. He had called several times already, likely worried that she was sick again. After a brief hesitation, I swiped to answer. William’s voice came through the receiver, incredibly gentle. “Seraphina?” A bitter ache swelled in my chest. I bit my lip and said, “She’s in the shower.” The line went quiet. Then, his voice shifted, absolute and certain. “It’s you.” There was no way he wouldn’t recognize my voice. “Yeah,” I murmured. Silence stretched between us. I had delivered the message. I was about to hang up when he suddenly spoke again. “I didn’t mean to snap at you the other day.” I held the phone, the plastic cold against my ear. I didn’t know what to say. After what felt like an eternity, I managed to squeeze out two words. “It’s fine.” He probably didn’t expect such a flat response after all that waiting. He let out a soft, dry laugh. “Okay.” That night, a new message from William appeared on my phone. It felt almost like an olive branch. Thanks for the help the other day. William’s devotion to Seraphina was flawless. He showered her with gifts. Flowers, designer bags, jewelry. So many that her closet could barely hold them all. Yet Seraphina still seemed frustrated. “He’s incredibly sweet to me,” she complained to our roommates. “But it’s been over a month, and he still hasn’t made us official. Am I supposed to make the first move?” Our other roommates asked curiously, “Have you guys kissed or hugged yet?” Seraphina shook her head. “No.” She paused, looking troubled. “Honestly, we haven’t even held hands.” I sat in my corner, listening quietly, saying nothing. In the silence, one of the roommates spoke up. “I heard William’s never been in a relationship before. He’s rich, gorgeous, and he’s never pursued anyone like this. You need to lock him down, girl. Make it official.” But I remembered. During the winter break, we had only been talking for two weeks before he confessed his feelings to me. I figured he had probably learned his lesson after getting burned by his mistake with me, so he wanted to take things slow this time. Still, they would be together soon. I didn’t expect to run into him the very next evening. 05 William and a few guys were playing basketball on the campus courts. I was just passing by when a stray ball slammed hard into my forehead. The guy who threw it came running over, breathless. Seeing the bruising swelling on my forehead, he grabbed my arm. “Damn, I am so sorry. Let me take you to the clinic.” I looked up. The afternoon sun was blinding. As the guy got a clear look at my face, he froze. Right then, William walked up from behind him. His face was incredibly dark as he called out, “Nate.” It clicked. The guy who had hit me was Nate. The one who had given William my contact info by mistake. William’s gaze fell on Nate’s hand gripping my arm. His expression was cold, devoid of any warmth. “You’re just taking her to the clinic. Is it really necessary to grab her like that?” Nate let go of me instantly. In the end, both of them walked me to the campus clinic. Fortunately, it was nothing serious. The entire time, Nate kept asking me questions. Does it hurt? Do you want some water? William simply stood aside, silent and brooding. When we were about to leave, Nate pulled out his phone, acting casual. “Can I get your Instagram? Just in case you feel dizzy later and need anything.” I blinked, caught off guard. Before I could answer, William let out a cold, mocking laugh. “She’s Benjamin. The girl you accidentally set me up with over the break. You already have her contact info.” Nate swore under his breath. “Holy crap, that was you? I completely forgot when I added you.” “You and Seraphina both have the last name Somers, I got you two mixed up. I thought your name was Seraphina Somers.” I bit my lip. “A few weeks ago, I helped coordinate that campus event. You were supposed to be featured, so I reached out to you online.” The event had been canceled, so we never actually met in person. Nate’s face lit up with a grin. “Ah, right! I remember now.” “Well, I guess we were fated to meet after all.” 06 That night, not long after I got back to the dorm, I received a text from Nate. Are you feeling any better? I typed back, Yeah. The screen immediately showed “typing…” It stayed like that for four or five minutes. Finally, his message came through. William almost beat the crap out of me for that mistake. I wanted to apologize to you earlier, but he wouldn’t let me. Said it was in the past and told me to keep my mouth shut so I wouldn’t upset you. But now that we’ve finally met, I figured I really owed you a proper apology. I thought about it for a moment, then replied. Don’t worry about it. After sending it, I went to take a shower. When I came back out, there was a box of expensive pastries sitting on our shared table. The packaging looked incredibly high-end. Seraphina, who was applying a face mask, looked up. “William bought them, but I don’t really do sweets. Feel free to have some, they smell amazing.” I glanced over. The other two roommates already had portions sitting on their desks. Maybe it was because of the hot shower, but my throat felt incredibly dry, my voice sounding raspy. “I’m on a diet. No thanks.” 07 Things progressed smoothly between Seraphina and William. But it wasn’t long before she found out about the mix-up. It started at a party they went to. Someone got drunk and let it slip. “Hey, we heard you and that fake girl share a dorm. What’s she like? No way she’s as pretty as you, right?” “But who knows, Nate’s been talking about her nonstop lately…” Seraphina came back to the dorm absolutely fuming. In front of everyone, she slapped me hard across the face. She warned me to stay far away from William. I opened my mouth to defend myself, but my phone buzzed with a text from William. Seraphina found out. She has a temper. Just let her have her way this once, okay? Consider it a favor to me. During winter break, while we were on a voice call, my grandmother had suddenly fallen and hit her head. In my absolute panic, William had stepped in. He immediately contacted the hospital and arranged for a top specialist. He had been so apologetic: I’m out of town and can’t get back. I wish I could be there with you. He didn’t know that just having his help was enough to make me endlessly grateful. And now, he wanted me to return that favor. I stared at the screen, then quietly typed back. Okay. Then I turned to Seraphina and apologized. After the lights went out, the other two roommates were still whispering comforts to Seraphina. “Some people look so innocent, but they’re doing dirty things behind your back.” “Seriously. How can anyone try to steal someone else’s guy?” Seraphina let out a small, self-satisfied laugh. “Well, he’s not my boyfriend just yet.” I lay in bed, my cheek burning painfully. It would definitely be swollen tomorrow. Yet none of that hurt half as much as William’s text.

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