That was the fourth time Chase denied holding any feelings for me in public. By then, I’d already learned to look away before the words even left his mouth. The music in the VIP booth was deafening, vibrating right through the soles of my shoes. He was slouched back in the corner of the leather booth, lazily flicking his Zippo lighter. “A girl like Sylvie?” He laughed as the flame flared up, casting a sharp shadow over his smirk. “Not a chance.” The stares of the people around us felt like tiny needles pricking my skin. At two in the morning, I was at the 24-hour convenience store, warming up a carton of milk in the microwave. Suddenly, the glass door rattled violently as someone threw it open. It was Chase. He was leaning heavily against the metal frame, his knuckles split and dripping fresh blood, the cuff of his jacket torn open. Outside, the yellow streetlamp stretched his shadow into a broken, stumbling line. “The guy who drove you home,” he rasped, his voice raw, a bead of blood rolling down the back of his hand and dripping onto the linoleum floor. “Who was he?” I kept my eyes on his raw knuckles, calmly unscrewing the cap of my warm milk. “You’re bleeding.” He lunged forward, grabbing my wrist with a desperate, suffocating grip. “I asked you a question, Sylvie.” I looked down at the tear in the skin near his thumb, oozing red. So the rumors were true. He really had gotten into a fight. And it was because of me. … Chase’s hand was still bleeding. I pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and held it out to him, but he didn’t take it. “You need to clean that,” I said quietly. Instead of letting go, his grip tightened, his dark eyes burning into mine. “Who drove you home?” Outside, under the amber glow of the streetlamp, his shadow seemed to tremble. I slowly spun the warm milk bottle between my palms. “A coworker.” I looked back at his bruised hand. “You were fighting.” He finally released my wrist, letting out a dry, raspy laugh that scraped against the quiet store. “Yeah.” “Why?” He averted his gaze, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “None of your business.” I turned away, scanning the shelves for a box of Band-Aids and a bottle of antiseptic. As I rang them up at the counter, his voice cut through the silence. “Sylvie.” I kept my back to him. “What if I said…” He choked on the words, the sentence dying in his throat. The only sound left was the low, electric hum of the store’s air conditioning. The next afternoon, his friend Luke was smoking on the fire escape when he saw me and called out. “Did Chase scare you last night?” I shook my head. He flicked the ash from his cigarette and laughed. “Don’t mind him. He’s always been like that. Some guy was hassling his childhood sweetheart, Chelsea, and Chase just lost his mind. He’s protective like a feral dog when it comes to her.” I nodded. The milk crate in my arms suddenly felt incredibly heavy. When I turned the corner of the stairwell, Chase was standing there. There was no telling how long he’d been listening. Luke cleared his throat awkwardly, muttered an excuse, and slipped away. Chase stepped down the concrete stairs, stopping right in front of me. The cheap Band-Aid on the back of his hand was already peeling at the edges. “Ask me,” he said. “Ask you what?” “What you didn’t finish asking last night.” I looked at him, watching the shadow of his long lashes cast over his cheeks. “Do you like me? Even just a little?” His throat moved. Then he smirked, the corners of his mouth turning up in a slow, infuriating curve. “I don’t like you at all.” I squeezed the box of milk tighter against my chest and brushed past his shoulder. “Fine. I don’t like you either.” The motion-sensor light on the second-floor landing was broken, forcing me to fumble for my keys in the dim gray shadows. His heavy footsteps followed me up, stopping on the step just below mine. In the darkness, his breathing sounded thick. “Sylvie.” “Yeah.” “Turn around.” I didn’t move. His hand reached out, brushing against my wrist. His fingertips were burning hot. “I really don’t like you,” he muttered, repeating the lie like a mantra. I turned around to face him. His eyes were wide, catching the faint light from the streetlamp outside. “I hear you,” I said softly. His fingers tightened around my skin, then slowly let go. “Stay away from that guy.” “You don’t own me.” He stepped closer, his warm breath fanning across my forehead. “Yes, I do.” A sliver of moonlight spilled through the dirty windowpane, highlighting a raw scratch near his collarbone. I reached out, my fingertips grazing the bruised skin. He went completely stiff. “Does it hurt?” I whispered. He didn’t answer, his quiet, ragged breath washing over my hand. The keys slipped from my fingers, clattering softly against the floor. He bent down instantly to retrieve them. When he stood back up, his forehead brushed against my chin. We were too close. I took the keys from his hand, turned around, and unlocked the door. He stood out there in the hall for a long time. By the time I finished my shower, my phone screen was glowing on the nightstand. A text from him: Goodnight. I didn’t reply. I bumped into him the next day in the dining hall. He was carrying a tray, a fresh Band-Aid neatly applied to his knuckles. As we passed each other in the narrow aisle, his hand grazed the back of mine. “It hurts,” he murmured suddenly. I turned to look at him. His eyes were fixed on the wall opposite us. “My hand, I mean.” “Oh.” I glanced down at his tray. His lunch was completely untouched. That afternoon, Luke cornered me again during study hall. “Chase was standing outside your building until two in the morning.” I kept turning the pages of my textbook, trying to appear unaffected. “Chelsea is leaving the country,” Luke added. My pen froze against the paper. “And?” Luke shrugged, leaning back. “And he’s been acting like a lunatic for the past forty-eight hours.” It was pouring by the time the final bell rang. Chase was waiting right outside my classroom, holding out a large black umbrella. “Take mine.” “What about you?” “I’ll run.” Drops of rain were already dripping from the damp tips of his dark hair. When I reached for the umbrella, our fingers brushed. He was freezing. “Let’s walk together,” I said. He blinked, caught off guard. The umbrella was small, leaving his left shoulder completely soaked as we walked. When we reached the convenience store, I stopped. “Let’s dry off inside.” Under the warm fluorescent lights, tiny water droplets clung to his long eyelashes. I grabbed a dry towel from my bag and handed it to him. As he vigorously rubbed his hair dry, his collar shifted, exposing a nasty purple bruise near his collarbone. “Another fight?” I asked. His hands froze. “Yeah.” “For her?” The towel slipped from his hands, landing on his shoulders. He looked down at me, his eyes dark and wet. “For you.” “Why would you fight for me?” I unscrewed the cap of a water bottle and handed it to him. He swallowed hard, his throat moving as he took a sip. “I didn’t like the way he looked at you.” “Was he another guy bothering your precious Chelsea?” He choked on his water, coughing violently. “Who told you that?” “Everyone’s saying it.” He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “It wasn’t about her.” “Then who?” He stared at the display of potato chips, refusing to meet my eyes. I took the towel and slowly folded it. “Fine. Keep your secrets.” I turned to leave, but his hand shot out, catching the edge of my jacket. “It was you.” I spun around. The tips of his ears were burning red. “That guy in the alley… he touched your hair.” I stared at him, dumbfounded. His grip on my jacket tightened. “So you beat him up over that?” “He shouldn’t have touched you.” A sudden urge to laugh bubbled up in my chest. “Chase.” “What?” “Is this your version of being jealous?” He let go of my jacket instantly, as if the fabric had turned to hot coal. “Don’t flatter yourself.” I placed a bottle of milk in the microwave, watching it spin behind the glass. He leaned against the tiled wall. “Sylvie.” “Yeah?” “What if…” The microwave dinged, cutting him off. I pulled the warm bottle out, and his words hung unfinished in the air. “What if what?” He took the bottle from me, our fingers lingering against the warm glass. “What if I said yes. What if I am jealous?” I looked up, searching his face, but he quickly looked away. “Just kidding.” The rain had stopped. He pushed the heavy glass door open. “Keep the umbrella.” “What about you?” “I’ll run.” He stepped into the wet glow of the streetlamp, then suddenly stopped and turned back. “That guy…” “He’s my cousin, Tyler,” I said. He froze. “What?” “The guy who touched my hair. My cousin.” I pointed to the bandaged hand. “You fought him for nothing.” He stared at his bandage, a slow, ridiculously boyish grin spreading across his face. “Worth it,” he muttered. He turned and bolted into the misty night, his damp white shirt clinging to his back. Later that night, my phone buzzed on my pillow. My knuckles hurt. I texted back: Good. You deserved it. Three seconds later: Cold-hearted. Then another: You still owe me for the milk. I sent him money through Venmo, but he declined it instantly. Pay me back tomorrow. In person. Between classes the next day, he slouched against the edge of my desk. “My hand hurts.” “Let me see.” He held his hand out obediently. The Band-Aid was peeling again. I pulled it off, revealing a scratch that was already mostly healed. “Liar,” I muttered. He immediately flipped his hand over, catching my fingers in his. “It hurts like this.” His palm was burning hot. The teacher walked in, and he let go of my hand, but not before brushing his thumb gently over my knuckles. It was a featherlight touch. He was waiting by the door after the final bell. “Time to pay me back.” “How?” He handed me a cold carton of milk. “A fair trade.” I took it, but he didn’t let go of the other side. “Sylvie.” “Yeah?” “I think I might…” Laughter erupted from the back door. Luke threw an arm around Chase’s shoulder, dragging him back. “Yo, Chase! Chelsea’s looking for you.” Chase’s face instantly hardened, his warmth vanishing. I pulled my hand back, the carton suddenly feeling icy in my palm. He was pulled away into the crowd. Chelsea looked back at me, offering a polite, soft smile. I turned and walked down the stairs alone. There was a massive line at the boba shop down the street. Someone pushed past me to cut in line, but I didn’t have the energy to fight it. “Let her go first,” a voice rasped behind me. Chase was panting, his chest heaving as if he’d run the entire way. The guy who cut in looked at Chase’s expression and quietly stepped back. “Aren’t you supposed to be catching up with your old friend?” I asked, placing my order. Chase pulled out his wallet before I could reach for mine. “Done.” “That fast?” “We didn’t have much to say.” Chelsea came running up behind us, her eyes red and puffy. “Chase…” Chase immediately stepped in front of me, shielding me from her view. “Go home, Chelsea.” He grabbed my wrist and pulled me out of the shop. “I didn’t pay for my drink,” I argued. “My treat.” “I don’t need you to buy me drinks.” Chelsea followed us outside, reaching out to grab my arm. “Sylvie, please don’t misunderstand.” Chase immediately knocked her hand away, his voice cold. “Don’t touch her.” Luke wandered over, a smirk on his face. “What’s this? A rekindled flame?” Chase kicked his shin. “Shut up and get lost.” Suddenly, Chelsea threw her arms around my neck, pulling me into a tight hug. I went completely rigid. “Take care of yourself,” she whispered, her voice muffled against my shoulder. Before I could process it, she let go, turned, and ran down the street. Chase and I stood there, staring at each other. “I think she hugged the wrong person,” I muttered. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. Maybe.” The barista handed over my drink. I struggled to poke the straw through the plastic lid. Chase took it from my hands, tore the tip of the paper wrapper off with his teeth, and poked it through perfectly before handing it back. “Gross,” I teased. “Clean as a whistle,” he laughed. His phone buzzed relentlessly in his pocket. He pulled it out and flipped it to silent. “Is it about her flight?” I asked. “Yeah.” “Aren’t you going to say goodbye?” “No.” He kicked a stray pebble across the pavement. “It has nothing to do with me.” Later that night, he sent a photo of the airport departure terminal. So you went after all? I texted. Dropping off my dad. Oh. A second later, he sent his real-time location. He was directly outside my building. I pulled back the curtains and looked down. He was standing beneath the streetlamp, waving up at me. Come down. Why? You haven’t finished paying me back for the milk. I threw on a jacket and headed downstairs. He was holding a plastic grocery bag packed to the brim with milk cartons. “How long is this going to take?” I asked, looking at the bag. “We have all the time in the world,” he murmured. His eyes were bloodshot. “Have you been crying?” “Just the wind,” he said, quickly turning his head away. The plastic bag rustled between us. “When she hugged you,” he said softly, staring at his shoes. “What did it feel like?” “Soft,” I replied simply. He made a strange, slightly disturbed face. “That sounds incredibly weird coming from you.” I laughed, and the tension broke as he smiled along. But then his smile faded, and his shoulders slumped. “Sylvie.” “Yeah?” “I actually—” Luke came skidding up on his motorcycle, the engine roaring. “Chase! Chelsea’s trying to reach you!” Chase swung his hand back and smacked Luke hard on the shoulder. “Can’t you see we’re talking here?!” Luke rubbed his shoulder, looking deeply offended. “What are you hitting me for? She just wanted to know what gate she was at.” Chase ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Can’t she read the giant screens herself?” Luke rolled his eyes and rode off. The plastic bag of milk was still dangling from Chase’s fingers. I reached out and took it from him. “Go,” I said quietly. He didn’t budge. “If I go, you’ll think there’s something between us.” “There’s already too many rumors,” I said. I turned around, clutching the bag of milk, and walked toward the entrance. He called out my name from the sidewalk, but I didn’t look back. A text arrived late that night: She boarded. I read it, but left it on read. The next morning, Luke showed up at my classroom door. “Chase told me to drive you home.” “I don’t need a ride.” “He’s terrified you’re mad at him,” Luke said with a grin. “Why would I be mad?” His motorcycle was parked at the end of the block. Luke tossed me a spare helmet. “Hop on. It’s on my way.” The engine rumbled loudly under us. As we sped down the street, Luke yelled over the wind. “Honestly, Chase is just like this.” “Like what?” “A coward.” I gripped the metal grab bars of the seat. “He’s crazy about you, he’s just too chicken to say it.” “He’s in love with Chelsea,” I shouted back. Luke let out a loud laugh. “How many years ago was that?” He pulled up outside the local convenience store and killed the engine, taking off his helmet. “Sylvie, you two need to stop playing these stubborn games.” I pushed the glass door open, and he followed me inside. “He sat at the gate all night,” Luke said, leaning against the counter. “What does that have to do with me?” “Do you really not get why he picked that fight?” “He said it was because of me.” “Exactly,” Luke said, tapping his cigarette pack against his palm. “Look, his parents divorced when he was a kid. Chelsea lived next door and used to bring him dinners so he wouldn’t starve.” My milk finished warming. “When her family moved away, he was devastated for a while. But that was a lifetime ago.” Luke took a sip of his own drink. “That’s in the past.” I unwrapped a pastry. “These days, you’re the only person he talks about,” Luke smiled. “It’s Sylvie this, Sylvie that. Honestly, it’s exhausting to listen to.” Outside, the streetlights were flickering to life one by one. Luke dropped me off right outside my door. “Get inside safely.” “Thanks, Luke.” “Don’t sweat it,” he waved. “See ya tomorrow.” The apartment hallway was pitch black. The moment I slid my key into the lock, the door swung open. My mother peeked her head out. “Who was that guy who dropped you off?” “A classmate.” “Another one?” she asked, her eyes scanning the street below. “That motorcycle looked expensive.” I brushed past her into the apartment. “Don’t start.” She followed me into the small kitchen. “What about the guy with the sedan last week?” “That was Tyler. My cousin.” “Don’t play dumb with me,” she said, rinsing an apple under the tap. “It doesn’t hurt to make friends with boys who have deep pockets.” I kept my mouth shut. She handed me the apple. “What’s his family do?” “He’s just a classmate.” “Just a classmate driving you right to our doorstep?” She smiled, a calculating look in her eyes. “Don’t waste an opportunity.” I retreated to my bedroom, locking the door behind me. My phone screen lit up. A text from Chase: You home? I didn’t answer. A minute later: Luke said he dropped you off. Then: Why are you ignoring me? The window was open, a cool breeze rustling the curtains. I typed a long reply, deleted it, and settled on a simple: Yeah. He replied instantly. Still mad? No. See you tomorrow? Yeah. The bubble indicating he was typing appeared, lingering for several minutes. Finally, he sent: Goodnight. In the middle of the night, a quiet knock rattled the front door. I unlocked it to find Chase standing in the dim light of the hallway, his hair messy. “Is your mom asleep?” he whispered. I nodded. He handed me a small paper bag. “What’s this?” “Band-Aids,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was just passing by.” I took the bag, noticing the scratch on his knuckles had split open again, leaking fresh blood. “Did you get into another fight?” “No,” he said, looking away. “Just clumsy.” “Are you twelve?” He leaned his shoulder against the drywall. “Too many guys are looking at you.” “What does that have to do with you?” He stared down at his sneakers. “I don’t like it.” “Why are you being so stubborn?” He snapped his head up, his dark eyes locked onto mine. “Because I am.” The paper bag crinkled in my hands. “Sylvie.” “What?” “I’m serious.” I looked down at the smear of red on his hand. “Let’s go to the clinic and get that cleaned.” He shook his head. “It’s fine.” He turned to leave, but I grabbed the edge of his jacket. “Wait. Let me get my keys.” He froze, staring at my hand on his sleeve. The neighborhood clinic’s neon sign was still buzzing. The doctor applied antiseptic, making Chase hiss through his teeth. “Get into a scrap?” the doctor asked, raising an eyebrow. “Just clumsy,” Chase muttered. The doctor chuckled. “Clumsy enough to split your knuckles open twice?” I remained silent, watching from the corner. It was past three in the morning by the time we stepped back out onto the quiet streets. “That guy with the bike,” Chase said, breaking the silence. “What about him?” “Don’t ride with him anymore.” “Why?” “It’s dangerous.” I stopped walking and looked at him. “Chase.” “Yeah?” “You are incredibly difficult.” He smiled, a soft, genuine look in his eyes. “Only with you.” The yellow streetlamps cast our long, overlapping shadows on the asphalt. When we reached my building, he paused. “Go on up.” “What about you?” “I’ll have a smoke and head out.” I watched him pull a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, flicking his lighter several times without success. “Don’t smoke,” I said. He paused, his thumb resting on the lighter. “Are you bossing me around?” “Yes.” He slid the pack back into his jacket pocket. “Fine.” He turned to leave, but I called after him. “You still owe me milk money.” His eyes lit up in the dim light. “I’ll pay you back tomorrow.” A guy with bleached blonde hair was lingering near the alley after school the next day. “Hey, beautiful, let’s hang out,” he sneered, blocking my path. I tried to walk around him, but he stepped in my way. Chase materialized from behind, pulling me back until I was shielded by his shoulder. “Back off,” Chase snarled. The guy laughed, sizing him up. “And who the hell are you?” Chase’s fist clenched so hard his knuckles turned white. I wrapped my hand around his wrist. “Don’t,” I whispered. The guy stepped closer, a smug grin on his face. “See? The lady has manners.” Before he could finish his sentence, I drove the heel of my boot straight into his kneecap. He let out a pathetic shriek, collapsing onto the pavement. I grabbed Chase’s wrist and bolted. We didn’t stop running until we were two blocks away. Chase was out of breath, a massive, disbelieving laugh escaping his chest. “You’re savage.” I let go of his wrist, catching my breath. “I had to be. I wasn’t going to let you get a police record over some creep.” He rubbed his wrist, looking at me with newfound respect. “That kick was incredibly precise.” “I took self-defense classes years ago.” He raised his eyebrows. “How much more is there to know about you?” “Plenty.” We walked side-by-side down the sidewalk. His fingers lightly brushed against the back of my hand. “Next time, let me handle it.” “Handle what?” “Protecting you.” I stopped and looked at him. “I don’t need protecting.” “Yes, you do.” “I really don’t.” He stopped in his tracks, his expression turning serious. “Sylvie.” “Yeah?” “Let me chase you.” I kept walking. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He caught up easily. “I am going to chase you.” “You think you can keep up?” “Let’s find out.” The bright lights of the convenience store welcomed us. He ran inside and emerged with a bottle of warm milk, his hands trembling slightly as he handed it to me. “Step one.” “What’s step one?” “First step of chasing you.” I took the bottle. “Chase.” “Yeah?” “Were you like this with Chelsea?” He froze. “Like what?” “Viciously persistent.” He shook his head. “No. Never.” “Really?” “I swear,” he said, scratching his head. “I was young back then. I didn’t know anything.” I took a sip of the milk. “And now you do?” “Yeah.” “What do you know?” He looked directly into my eyes, his gaze steady and intense. “I know exactly who I like.” I turned and headed into the stairwell. He followed me to the bottom step. “See you tomorrow.” “No, you won’t.” “Then the day after.” I looked back at him. He had a goofy, helpless grin on his face. “Goodnight, Sylvie.” My phone buzzed in my hand. How’s the milk? I replied: Average. I’ll get you something else tomorrow. Whatever. Another text: That blonde guy… I’ll be careful. I’m walking you home from now on. No. Yes, I am. I locked my screen and drifted off to sleep. My dreams were filled with the sound of the wind rushing past my ears as we ran. Finals week was creeping up, and my textbooks were giving me a massive headache. Chase slid into the seat next to mine. “What are you stuck on?” “Everything.” He took the book from my hands and flipped to the syllabus. “This part isn’t going to be on the exam.” “How do you know that?” “The teacher outlined the key chapters.” I stared at him. “When?” “Last week. When you were out sick.” He pulled a notebook from his backpack and tossed it onto my desk. “Copy mine.” His handwriting was incredibly messy. I flipped through the pages, squinting. “I can’t even read this.” He leaned in closer to point at the page. “Oh, that’s a mistake.” He pulled out a pen to correct it, his arm brushing against mine. “You’re warm,” I murmured. “Deal with it,” he said softly, continuing to explain the formula. His breath fanned against the side of my face. “Do you get it?” “A little.” He patiently started from the beginning again. After the final bell, he caught my arm. “We’re going to the library.” “Why?” “Tutoring.” “Are you going to charge me?” “Yes.” “What’s your fee?” He pretended to think about it. “A boba.” The library was dead silent, his voice dropping to a low whisper as he guided me through the chapters. I couldn’t stop yawning. “Focus,” he whispered. “I’m exhausted.” He lightly flicked my forehead with his finger. “Wake up.” I glared at him. He let out a quiet chuckle. “Don’t look at me like that.” “I’ll look at you however I want.” By the end of the session, my notebook was covered in circled formulas. He finished the last problem and closed the book. “Got it?” “Pretty much.” “What does ‘pretty much’ mean?” “It means I’ve got it.” He packed up his things. “Don’t cry when the grades come out.” “I’m not going to cry.” “We’ll see.” “Not happening.” After evening study hall, he shoved his notebook into my arms. “Keep it.” “I don’t want it.” “You have to take it.” “Why?” “Because I’m looking out for you.” The wind was blowing through his hair as we stood under the streetlamp. I clutched the notebook to my chest. “Chase.” “Yeah?” “Thank you.” The tips of his ears turned a shade of pink. “Don’t mention it.” He turned and walked away, then stopped after a few paces and looked back. “Same time tomorrow.” “Okay.” He trotted back to me. “Just ‘okay’?” “I understand.” He smirked. “Better.” My phone buzzed in my pocket. Text me when you’re home. I replied: I’m home. That was fast. I flew. Impressive. He stopped me right outside the classroom before the exam started. “Don’t stress.” “I’m not stressing.” “Your hands are shaking.” “I’m just cold.” He took my hands in his, wrapping his warm palms around my fingers. “How about now?” “Now they’re freezing,” I teased. He laughed, letting go of my hands. “Wait for me after the test.” “No.” “You have to.” The exam paper had several questions he’d spent hours explaining to me. I let out a massive sigh of relief as I handed it in. He was waiting in the corridor. “How did it go?” “It was fine.” “Which means you aced it.” He handed me a cold carton of milk. “Your reward.” “Just this?” “What else did you want?” As I reached for the carton, he suddenly leaned in close. A soft, warm pressure brushed against my cheek. I stood frozen in the middle of the hallway. He was already running down the corridor. “Chase!” I yelled. He looked back at the top of the stairs, a wicked grin on his face. “Now we’re even!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “463648”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On the day I was due to give birth, Dan’s clinically depressed ex-fiancée, Daphne, stormed into the maternity ward. A paring knife. Straight into my flank. By the time Dan arrived with the trauma team, I was sprawled in a pool of my own blood beside the delivery bed, the monitors screaming. But he didn’t run to me. Instead, he knelt before Daphne, who had been pushed to the floor by a nurse, her elbow slightly scraped. “Dr. Cooper, your wife is in critical condition! We need to get her to the OR immediately!” Dan looked up, casting a cold, professional glance over my body. “Her wound didn’t hit any major organs. She can hold on. Daphne has a severe coagulation disorder—even a minor scrape can cause her to bleed out. Her situation is more urgent.” “Give Daphne the two units of typed blood we had reserved for the delivery.” As they began to wheel her away, I gathered every ounce of my remaining strength to grab the hem of his white lab coat. He frowned, looking down at me. “Daphne didn’t do this on purpose, Hannah. She’s having an episode. You went to medical school—you of all people should understand.” With those words, he pulled a printed non-prosecution waiver from his pocket. He took my hand, slick with my own blood, and pressed my thumb firmly onto the signature line. “The next batch of blood will be here soon. Just hold on a little longer.” He carried Daphne out. The hallway was vast, sterile, and quiet. Nobody looked back. Inside my belly, my baby kicked. Once. Twice. A desperate, pleading flutter. 1 “Hurry! Get two large-bore IVs started! Run the fluids under pressure! Someone call the blood bank again!” “Dr. Gibson, her blood pressure is down to fifty! Estimated blood loss is over two thousand milliliters!” “Where the hell are those two units of packed red cells we reserved?” I was floating above the operating table, watching the frantic huddle around my own body. Dr. Gibson’s surgical gown was already soaked through with my blood. I wanted to reach down and touch my belly, but my hand passed through the empty air like mist. Daphne’s strike hadn’t been the shallow graze Dan assumed. She had slipped past the nurses’ station, the knife concealed in her sleeve. When she drove it into me, she had leaned close, whispering in my ear, Once you and this baby are gone, Dan will have no one left but me. And when she pulled the blade out, she twisted the handle. On purpose. “The blood bank just called back. Dr. Cooper personally signed out those two units of reserved blood five minutes ago.” The circulating nurse’s voice cracked, on the verge of tears. “Signed them out? Is he out of his mind? That was a high-risk delivery reserve!” Dr. Gibson’s knuckles turned white. “Dr. Cooper said Miss Bishop has a severe bleeding disorder and needed emergency blood on standby for an arm laceration.” The operating room went dead silent. Only the shrill, persistent beep of the monitor cut through the quiet. I watched Dr. Gibson desperately packing laparotomy sponges into my abdomen, trying to stem the torrent. I wanted to tell him to stop. To save his energy. I was never going to get the next batch of blood Dan promised. The rapid, frantic rhythm of the fetal monitor began to drag, slowing down beat by agonizing beat, until it flattened into a single, continuous tone. The child who had been kicking me just moments ago went completely still. “Fetal heart rate is gone.” “She’s in V-fib! Prep the defibrillator!” “Two hundred joules. Charging. Clear!” A dull thud. My body arched off the table, then fell back heavily. The EKG monitor gave a few erratic spikes, then flattened into a cold, horizontal line. “Dr. Cooper says the next shipment of blood from the regional center will be here in ten minutes,” the charge nurse said, pushing through the double doors, her eyes red. Dr. Gibson set the defibrillator paddles down. His voice was completely shot, hollowed out by grief. “Don’t bother. Record the time of death. 8:07 PM.” I watched the nurse pull the white sheet over my face. Covering my eyes, which were still wide, staring into nothing. Just a thin wall away, in a private luxury suite. Dan was gently dabbing an iodine swab onto the tiny scrape on Daphne’s elbow. “Dan? Did I… did I kill her?” Daphne huddled in the bed, her shoulders shaking. Dan tossed the swab into the biohazard bin, his voice steady, anchoring. “No. It was just a superficial scratch. You had an episode, Daphne. You weren’t in control of yourself. The law won’t hold you responsible.” “But there was so much blood. The way she looked at me… it was terrifying.” “Her water broke. It was mixed with blood, which made it look worse than it was. She’s a doctor; she knew how to protect herself from any real harm.” Dan leaned down, gently blowing on her scrape, which had already stopped oozing. “But look at you. You know your coagulation levels aren’t perfect. Why were you wandering around? What if this scratch hadn’t stopped bleeding?” Daphne leaned into his chest, her tears dampening his white coat. Just below his collar, near the hem, was the bloody print of my hand—the final mark I left before I died. “I was just so scared. I thought once the baby came, you wouldn’t want me anymore. I couldn’t stop myself.” “Don’t talk like that.” He stroked her hair. “I already got her to sign the waiver. Once she delivers and her hormones settle, I’ll have her come tell you herself that everything is fine.” He spoke with the casual, detached air of a man organizing tomorrow’s clinic schedule. Just then, the OR doors swung open. Dr. Gibson pulled off his blood-stained mask, his voice raspy and dead: “Both of them. Gone.” And in the next room, Dan was still leaning over, gently blowing on the shallow scrape on Daphne’s elbow. 2 “Dr. Cooper, we need you to sign off on the OB/GYN resuscitation records.” Nurse Lisa stood at the door of the VIP suite, holding a blue clipboard. Dan tested the temperature of a cup of water before handing it to Daphne. He didn’t even turn around. “Leave it at the nurses’ station. Can’t you see Miss Bishop needs me right now?” “But Dr. Cooper, this record is highly unusual. It’s about the patient from last night…” “What’s so unusual about it? People require resuscitation in maternity every day,” Dan cut her off. He pulled a tissue and wiped a stray drop of water from Daphne’s lip. “I was up all night keeping Daphne stable. I don’t have the bandwidth for paperwork. Have the clinical director sign it.” Lisa opened her mouth, her eyes welling with tears. She gripped the folder tight, but in the end, she said nothing. She turned and walked away. I followed her, watching as she slid my death certificate into a drawer. Along with the tiny pink identification band that my baby never got to wear. Both stuffed into a thick manila folder. The morgue was freezing. My baby and I lay inside a stainless-steel drawer, unclaimed. With nowhere else to go, I drifted back to Dan. Daphne finished her water and timidly tugged at Dan’s sleeve. “Dan, the way she looked at me last night… it was so full of hate. Like she wanted to kill me.” “Do you think she’s still angry? Is that why she’s hiding from you?” Dan pulled out his phone and stared at the empty iMessage thread. His brow furrowed. Normally, if he was gone for more than two hours, my texts would flood his screen. Asking when he’d be home, asking if Daphne was having another crisis. But since last night, there had been nothing. Just cold, gray silence. “She’s just stubborn,” Dan said, his fingers typing quickly across the glass. “She thinks I’m favoring you, so she’s throwing a tantrum.” I hovered over his shoulder, reading the words he sent to a dead woman. If you’re done throwing a fit, text me back. Daphne has been through enough. Stop punishing her. A baby isn’t a chess piece for you to win arguments with. Do you really think playing missing-in-action is going to make me back down? He locked the screen with a sharp snap. Daphne watched him, a tiny, smug spark lighting up the depths of her eyes. She bit her lip, letting a tear fall. “What if she calls the police? I’m so scared, Dan.” Dan pulled out the copy of the signed waiver. “With this, she can’t press charges. Besides, she’s a physician. She knows the consequences of making a scene.” “When she cools off, I’ll have her apologize to you. She shouldn’t have triggered you last night.” I watched him calmly, listening to him use his gentlest, most reassuring voice to convict a corpse. Down the hall, two nurses whispered as they passed. “Did you hear about the delivery last night? She bled out completely.” “I know. They couldn’t save the baby either. A beautiful little girl, fully formed.” Dan’s hand froze mid-air, holding his water glass. He suddenly remembered: today was my due date. He stood up, a sudden, inexplicable weight pressing down on his chest. “I’m going to check on maternity.” He took a single step before Daphne clutched her arm and shrieked. “It hurts! Dan, I’m so dizzy. Am I bleeding again? Is my wound opening?” Dan spun around instantly, sitting back down on the edge of her bed to hold her hand. Outside, a nurse muttered to her colleague: “The father listed on the deceased baby’s chart… I think his last name was Cooper, too.” Before Dan could turn his head to listen, Daphne cried out again, throwing her arms around his neck, burying him in her panic. 3 When Dan finally returned to our house, the nursery’s nightlight was still casting its soft, warm glow. The light pooled over the brand-new crib. I had washed and ironed the tiny sheets myself. The hospital bag sat open on the sofa, packed with neat rows of onesies and diapers. My prenatal chart lay on the entryway table. On the dining table, a handwritten note was held down by a glass—a meal plan I’d prepared for my postpartum recovery. Dan kicked off his shoes. Looking at the silent, empty living room, his scowl deepened. He probably expected me to be sitting on the couch, waiting to confront him with tear-swollen eyes, demanding to know why he chose Daphne first. But the house was dead quiet, save for the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock. He walked over to the dining table and picked up the note. On the back, I had written a contingency plan for the birth. If I hemorrhage, please prioritize the baby. Save her first. If I don’t make it off the table, tell Dan to keep Daphne far away from my daughter. Dan let out a cold laugh, crumpling the paper into a tight ball and tossing it into the trash can. “Always the dramatist,” he muttered. He pulled out his phone and dialed my number again. Only the cold, automated operator answered, telling him the phone was powered off. He opened our chat, typing furiously. You’ve made your point. It’s time to come home. Your due date is literally any day now. Don’t put your health at risk just to spite me. I’ve handled the situation with Daphne. She’s sick, Hannah. You don’t need to compete with a patient. Once the baby is here and you’re on maternity leave, you’ll have plenty of time. Maybe you can even help me monitor Daphne’s therapy. The messages sent, but there was no bubble, no reply. Dan tossed the phone onto the sofa and rubbed his temples. Just then, his phone rang. The caller ID showed Dr. Pierce—my medical school mentor, the woman who had treated me like her own daughter. Dan answered, his tone returning to its usual polished, professional distance. “Dr. Pierce. Good evening.” “Dan. Where are you right now?” Dr. Pierce’s voice was trembling, thick with a suppressed, toxic rage. Dan glanced at the crumpled note in the trash, assuming I had run to her to complain. “I’m at home. If Hannah sent you to play mediator, tell her it’s not going to work.” “If she wants an apology, she needs to walk through that door herself. She’s about to be a mother. She needs to grow up.” A heavy, ragged gasp came through the receiver. “Grow up? Dan… do you have any goddamn idea what happened last night?” “Of course I do,” Dan said, his voice dropping an octave, turning icy. “Daphne had an episode and accidentally scratched her. I already made Daphne apologize. What else does she want?” “If she feels slighted, I’ll buy her that diamond necklace she wanted once the baby is born. Consider it a peace offering.” “Are you completely soulless?” Dr. Pierce screamed into the phone. “You put that woman above your wife every single day, but last night was her due date! You—” Before she could finish, Dan’s work phone buzzed in his hand. A FaceTime call from Daphne. Without a second thought, Dan hung up on Dr. Pierce. He swiped to answer the video. On the screen, Daphne was hysterical, tears streaming down her face. “Dan! Dan, you have to come back! I saw her! She was in my room!” “She had a knife, Dan! She said she was going to kill me! I’m so scared!” Dan grabbed his car keys without hesitation. “Don’t panic. I’m on my way.” As he reached the front door, his eyes caught a beautifully wrapped velvet box on the console table. He had bought it on a whim last week during a medical conference—a sterling silver baby bracelet. Engraved on the inside was the nickname we’d casually picked: Gracie. He had clearly intended to use it to soothe my anger after the birth. He slipped the box into his pocket, shut the door, and locked it behind him. When Dan arrived at the VIP wing, Daphne was curled into a ball at the corner of the bed, pointing wildly at the window. “She was here! She was holding the baby, staring at me!” 4 The curtains in the room were drawn tight, blocking out any trace of daylight. On her nightstand, Daphne’s phone was playing a looped audio recording of a fetal heart rate monitor flatlining. On the floor lay the shredded pieces of a 3D ultrasound photo. It was the scan from my twenty-fourth week. I had waited in line for three hours by myself to get it. Daphne covered her ears, rocking violently on the mattress. “It’s her! She’s texting me! She’s cursing me!” “She said she and the baby will never let me go! She said she’s dragging me to hell with her!” Dan rushed to the bed, pulling her tightly against his chest. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s just a hallucination. You’re safe.” “It’s not a hallucination! Look at the phone!” Daphne pointed a shaking finger at the screen on the floor. Dan picked it up. On the screen was a text message from an unknown burner number: You stole my husband. My baby and I will haunt you until the day you die. Dan’s expression darkened instantly. He knew that desperate, broken tone. It was the same tone I used when I had finally reached my breaking point, pleading with him to see what he was doing to us. “She has completely lost her mind,” Dan hissed, his eyes flashing with disgust. “Using a child to terrorize a sick woman? Where is her medical ethics?” I drifted near the ceiling, watching Daphne bury her face in his chest, a cold, satisfied smile spreading across her lips. She knew I was dead. When she drove that knife into my waist last night, her eyes had been terrifyingly clear. She had even slipped the handle into my dying grip before the nurses arrived, creating the illusion of a struggle. Now, she was using a dead woman’s ghost to play the victim. Dan pulled out his phone and dialed the hospital’s administration office. “Chief Bradley? It’s Dan Cooper. Regarding my wife’s fellowship recommendation for next year… pull it.” “Her psychological state is highly unstable right now. She’s displaying severe paranoia and aggressive tendencies. She shouldn’t be near patients.” “Yes, I’ll submit a formal clinical assessment to back it up.” With a few words, he erased three years of my sleepless nights and grueling shifts. He used his clinical authority to brand me mentally unfit. Hanging up, he sent me one last text message. You have ten minutes to get to this hospital and apologize to Daphne face-to-face. If you don’t, I won’t let you raise this child with these toxic habits. I will legally petition to suspend your clinical privileges and keep you home. The message delivered. No read receipt. No reply. Daphne clung to his lapels, her breath hitching. “Dan… I can never have children of my own. Why is she doing this to me? Why is she flaunting her baby?” Dan looked at her pale, tear-stained face, a pang of guilt striking his chest. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small velvet box meant for my baby. He popped it open. The sterling silver bracelet gleamed under the harsh fluorescent light, the name Gracie etched sharply into the metal. “Don’t cry. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere,” Dan murmured. He took Daphne’s hand and pressed my daughter’s bracelet into her palm. “Keep this. Think of it as her paying penance to you.” Daphne’s tears vanished, replaced by a soft, victorious smile as she gripped the silver band. Then, the heavy wooden door of the suite was kicked open with a deafening crash. Dr. Pierce stood in the doorway, panting, her hair disheveled and her eyes bloodshot. She marched straight up to Dan, raised her hand, and slapped him across the face with everything she had. The crack of her palm echoed through the sterile room. Dr. Pierce’s voice shook with a rage so deep it sounded ancient. “She and the baby are dead, and you are using her child’s things to comfort their murderer?”

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Seven years of loving Daniel. We had survived the chaotic college years, built a quiet life together, and finally made it to the day I had dreamed of—the day I would walk down the aisle in lace and tulle. But thirty minutes before the ceremony was set to begin, both the groom and his inseparable female “bestie,” Chloe Albright, vanished. I was frantically pacing the bridal suite, my heels clicking sharply against the hardwood floor, my heart hammering in my chest. And then, out of nowhere, a tiny, childish voice echoed in my mind. “Daddy is hiding in the dressing room, kissing Aunt Chloe!” I froze, the air leaving my lungs. Before I could even question my sanity, the voice rushed on, breathless and desperate. “Mommy, you can’t marry Daddy!” “He and Aunt Chloe secretly had a baby boy before me. He made me call her ‘Mommy,’ and I hate him.” My hands trembled. I whirled around, eyes scanning the empty suite, searching the corners, the closet, the heavy velvet drapes. There was no one. A soft, giggling sound reverberated deep within me. “Mommy, stop looking. I’m right here. Inside your tummy!” … I slowly lowered my gaze, staring in sheer disbelief at my flat stomach. “Mommy, it’s me, Serenity. Your sweet girl.” “I’m actually six years old, but somehow, I found my way back to you.” “We’re going to see each other again soon. Aren’t you happy?” A cold shiver ran down my spine. Serenity. We had chosen that name years ago, during a late-night study session in our cramped college dorm, whispering about the future. Daniel and I had promised that no matter what, our first child would be named Serenity—a wish for a peaceful, beautiful life. And just two days ago, a clinic test had confirmed I was four weeks along. My little Serenity seemed to sense my hesitation. Her voice grew urgent, pleading. “It’s true, Mommy. I promise. Go look for yourself. If you wait too long, they’ll leave.” My heart pounded like a war drum. I forced myself to walk out of the bridal suite and down the quiet, carpeted hallway toward the private dressing rooms. When my fingers wrapped around the brass handle, they were shaking so violently I could barely turn it. I prayed—deeply, desperately—that this was a cruel joke. A pre-wedding hallucination fueled by stress and sheer excitement. But as I cracked the door open a sliver, the sight of a white mermaid-hem skirt shattered my world. It was the bridesmaid dress I had picked out myself for Chloe. Last night, she had twirled in it, laughing, while Daniel teased her about her rare transformation from a tomboy into a lady. “Stop… let go of me,” Chloe whispered, her voice breathy. “I think someone’s coming.” Daniel reluctantly parted his lips from hers, his hands still lingering on her waist. “Why are you scared? Everyone’s in the main hall. No one’s coming back here.” He sighed heavily, leaning his forehead against her shoulder, looking utterly defeated. “Chloe, let’s just run away. Right now. We can leave all of this behind.” He looked at her stomach, his hand hovering over it. “I can’t let our baby be born without a father.” Chloe’s expression shifted instantly. She pushed him away with sudden force. “Don’t you ever say that again!” she hissed. “You proposed to Nora. Your parents, her parents, they’re all out there waiting. If you run away now, how is she supposed to face them?” Daniel let out a bitter, agonizing laugh. “If you hadn’t picked that fight with me, I would have never proposed to her out of spite! If I had known you were pregnant with my baby, do you think I would have been this reckless?” Chloe calmly adjusted the rumpled fabric of her dress, dabbing at her smudged lipstick. “I’m keeping this baby, and I will raise him on my own. He has nothing to do with you. Daniel, if you dare ruin things with Nora and break her heart over this, I will never forgive you.” Every woman has a boundary, and having a boyfriend with an inseparable female “bestie” is a minefield. In the beginning, I resented Chloe. I hated the private language she shared with Daniel, the inside jokes that flew over my head, and the way I always felt like an intruder in my own relationship. That resentment peaked during a weekend trip we took together. Daniel ordered a lavish seafood spread—all of Chloe’s favorites—completely forgetting my severe shellfish allergy. The years of built-up hurt and secondary status erupted. I snapped, threw my napkin down, and stormed out into the unfamiliar streets of the coastal town we were visiting. Wandering alone in the dark, I was targeted by a group of local thugs. Just as things were about to take a terrifying turn, Chloe appeared out of nowhere. She threw herself between me and the attackers, taking four stab wounds to protect me. She ended up in the ICU, fighting for her life. It was only after she woke up that she realized my anger that night had stemmed from jealousy. From that day on, she made a conscious effort to distance herself from Daniel. Because of her sacrifice, and the guilt I carried, we bonded. She became my closest confidante, my sister. Deep in my belly, Serenity’s voice flared with indignation. “That’s a lie! She didn’t stay away! Later, she moved into our house with Mason. Mason bullied me, and Aunt Chloe bullied you.” “Daddy felt so bad that Chloe didn’t have a legal title that he let her walk all over us. He never took our side.” “Mommy, you will never be happy with him!” The little voice paused, then perked up with a sudden idea. “Mommy, why don’t we run away right now, before they see you?” Just as the words faded, the door clicked open. Chloe stood there, freeze-framed. Her eyes widened, a flicker of raw panic crossing her face before she quickly masked it, stepping forward to loop her arm through mine. “Nora! What are you doing back here?” I didn’t pull away, but my body went rigid, my voice devoid of warmth. “I forgot my necklace. I came back to get it.” “You’re always so forgetful. Good thing I found it,” Daniel said, stepping out of the room with the delicate pearl necklace. He draped it around my neck, his fingers cold against my skin. “Beautiful.” He took my hand, pulling me toward the foyer. “The ceremony is about to start. We shouldn’t keep the guests waiting.” Inside me, Serenity was sobbing, her voice breaking with frustration. “Mommy, please run! Get away from him! He’s going to ruin everything. He’s going to kill us!” “I request you, Mommy, you have to believe me this time!” I closed my eyes for a brief second, my hand gently resting over my stomach. I believe you, my sweet girl, I whispered back in my mind. I do. But I couldn’t just run. Not yet. I refused to let them off the hook so easily, and I refused to let my aging parents bear the public humiliation of a canceled wedding in front of all our relatives and friends. So, the wedding proceeded. We walked down the aisle, exchanged vows, and slipped rings onto each other’s fingers. It was a bizarre experience, like reading a mystery novel when you already know who the killer is. When our pre-recorded love story video began playing on the big screen, I felt no warmth, no tears. Instead, I saw the cracks. I noticed the tiny details I had been blind to for years. A clip of us at the movie theater where, in the dim background light, Daniel’s hand was laced tightly with Chloe’s behind my seat. The subtle differences in the gifts he bought us. The way his umbrella always tilted toward Chloe on rainy days, leaving my shoulder soaked. Once the reception wound down and the last of the guests departed, I slipped away to find my purse, only to stumble upon them arguing in a quiet, shadowy alcove near the exit. “It’s your fault!” Chloe hissed, her voice trembling. “Nora was acting so strange during the vows. She must have heard us outside the dressing room.” Daniel dismissed her fear immediately. “If she knew, she would have burned the venue to the ground. You know how she is. Stop stressing—it’s not good for the baby.” He gently placed his hand over her stomach. “When our boy is born, I’ll put him under my name on the registry. He will inherit everything I own, legally. It’s the only thing I can do for him right now.” “Are you insane?” Chloe gasped, her eyes wide. “You just married Nora!” “The marriage certificate is fake,” Daniel said, his eyes shining with a chilling, desperate eagerness. “We didn’t actually register. If you say the word, we can go to the city hall tomorrow and get a real marriage license. I promise you, Nora will never find out.” Chloe shook her head, backing away. “No. I can’t do that.” Rage pulsed hot and heavy through my veins. My hands shook. And then, Serenity’s voice came soft and raw in my mind. “Oh… so that’s why my school teacher told the other kids I was a bastard and didn’t deserve to go to first grade.” “That’s why you always cried when you looked at that marriage certificate.” “Daddy was only Mason’s daddy. He was never mine.” I couldn’t see her face, but her sorrow washed over me in waves, cold and suffocating. But then, a sudden spark of childish joy lit up her tone. “But wait! This means you aren’t really married to him!” “You can be free, Mommy. You can just be yourself.” In the original timeline, they must have eventually registered their marriage, rendering my poor Serenity a second-class child, a secret kept in the dark. A toxic mixture of grief and fury hardened within me. Grief for the pain my little girl had endured, and fury at the monstrous betrayal Daniel was capable of. If they were willing to ruin my child’s life, I would ensure theirs never saw the light of day. After seeing my parents safely into a cab, I drove back to our new apartment. The living room was pitched in darkness. Daniel was sitting on the sofa, a shadow silhouetted against the window. “Are you pregnant?” he asked. His voice was unreadable, flat and cold. I remembered then. To avoid overshadowing the wedding, I hadn’t told a soul. I had left the positive lab report on the dining table, imagining his joyous reaction when he found it. It was supposed to be our perfect beginning. Now, it tasted like ashes in my mouth. “We’re having a baby. Aren’t you happy?” I flipped the light switch. Under the harsh yellow glow, Daniel quickly smoothed his features into a smile, rushing over to scoop me up and spin me around. “Of course! I’m thrilled, Nora!” He buried his face in my neck, his voice muffled. “I’m just worried about you. You’ve been running around all day in that dress.” Inside me, Serenity scoffed. “Liar. He’s not happy at all. Right now, he’s probably planning how to get rid of me.” “He always blamed me for stealing Mason’s things. But he spent every evening with Chloe and every weekend playing with Mason. He didn’t even have time to show up for my school play.” “I had nothing, Mommy. I only had you.” My chest ached with a profound, crushing sorrow for her. My fingers dug hard into the fabric of Daniel’s shirt as he held me, my knuckles turning white. He pulled back, looking down at me with an overly earnest expression. “Actually, Chloe is pregnant too. I was thinking… maybe she should move in with us. You two are practically joined at the hip anyway. You can keep each other company during the day, swap pregnancy tips. I have to work, and I can’t be here to look after you twenty-four-seven.” I pushed him away, keeping my voice incredibly level. “Chloe’s pregnant? I thought she was single.” Daniel’s face didn’t twitch; the lie slid past his lips with practiced ease. “It was a whirlwind thing. She eloped with a guy in the military her family set her up with. He’s deployed overseas, so she’s basically on her own. He can’t even get leave to come back for the baby.” He sighed, a picture of brotherly concern, and stroked my hair. “She only just told me. She probably didn’t want to stress you out before the wedding.” I let out a dry, silent laugh inside. “Alright,” I said slowly. “Tell her to pack her bags.” The very next day, Chloe arrived, her heavy rolling suitcase clattering up the steps. Her voice preceded her. “Nora! I heard the news! Oh my god, congratulations!” Daniel immediately dropped my hand and rushed to the door, snatching the suitcase from her. His face was a mix of intense worry and forced annoyance. “I told you to wait downstairs for me! Why did you carry this up yourself?” he scolded, his voice tight. “Did you forget what happened when you slipped on those stairs last month? You spent two weeks in the hospital! When are you going to learn to be careful?” I leaned against the kitchen counter, tilting my head. “Hospital? What hospital stay? How come I never heard about this?” Chloe’s smile faltered, a flash of awkwardness crossing her features. “Oh, you were so busy coordinating the florist and the venue, Nora. I didn’t want to throw my drama into your lap and ruin your mood.” Serenity’s quiet voice chimed in. “That was when she found out she was pregnant with Mason. Daddy stayed by her hospital bed for two whole weeks, feeding her and keeping her company.” I remembered those two weeks. Daniel had been leaving early and coming home late, exhausted. I had cooked him late-night meals, rubbing his shoulders, thinking he was working overtime to pay for our dream wedding. I had felt so guilty that he was losing weight from the stress. But the only person stressing over the wedding was me. He was playing husband in another hospital wing. Seeing my stiffening posture, Daniel quickly stepped closer, offering a placating smile. “Don’t be mad, honey. We just didn’t want to stress you out. It’s in the past anyway.” Chloe nudged him aside, wrapping her arms around my shoulders with familiar warmth. “Nora, you’ve always been fragile, and the first trimester is crucial. You have to take it easy. Leave all the heavy lifting and chores to Daniel. Make him work.” Daniel gave a soft, affectionate scoff. “Listen to you, giving lectures. If only you took half as much care of yourself.” Chloe rolled her eyes, swatting his arm playfully. “Shut up, Daniel. I’m built tough.” My frail health wasn’t a secret. When I was seven, I fell into a frozen pond during winter and wasn’t pulled out for nearly thirty minutes. Ever since, my immune system had been fragile, and my periods were so agonizing they often left me bedridden. Daniel and I actually met because of it; I had fainted on the track during a college gym class, and he had carried me all the way to the campus clinic without a second thought. That was the spark. Within weeks, we were inseparable. It was only after a month of dating that I found out about his “best friend” Chloe, a relationship so tightly knit there was barely room for me. I snapped out of the memory as Serenity spoke again, her voice small and trembling. “Mommy, you really do have to be careful.” “In the other life, you used to hold me and cry, saying you ate something bad while you were pregnant and almost miscarried. You said it made me born slower and sicker than the other kids.” “Mommy, I don’t want to be slow. I want to be smart for you.” A cold spike of adrenaline shot through me. I sat up straighter, every sense on high alert. A week later, after a prenatal checkup where the doctor advised me to get more calcium and rest, Daniel started a new routine. Every night before bed, he would bring two warm glasses of milk to the living room—one for me, one for Chloe. One evening, as I raised the glass to my lips, Serenity’s voice screamed in my head, raw with terror. “Don’t drink it!” “If you drink that, I’ll never get to see you!” My hand froze mid-air. I stared at the white liquid, my stomach turning. Taking a slow breath, I waited until Daniel walked back into the kitchen to rinse the pot. While Chloe was looking at her phone, I smoothly swapped our glasses. Serenity was hysterical, weeping softly against my mind. “Daddy is bad. He doesn’t want me, Mommy. He’s trying to hurt you.” At around three in the morning, a sharp, agonized groan cut through the quiet apartment, coming from the guest room. Within seconds, Daniel bolted out of bed, rushing to Chloe’s room. I sat up to follow, but as I swung my legs out of bed, a searing, white-hot pain bloomed in my lower abdomen. I gasped, doubling over. Why? I hadn’t touched the milk. Why was my body burning? Through the haze of pain, I saw Daniel carrying a pale, sweating Chloe out of her room. I reached out, grabbing the hem of his shirt with whatever strength I had left. “Daniel… my stomach. Something’s wrong.” He looked at me, panic flashing in his eyes, but his grip on Chloe didn’t loosen. “I’m so sorry, Nora. I have to get Chloe to the ER. I’ll carry her down to the car and come right back for you.” He pried my fingers off his sleeve, turned around, and ran. He never came back that night. Shivering on the cold floor, I dragged myself to my phone and dialed 911. By the time dawn broke, the pain had receded into a dull ache. I stepped out of my recovery room to use the restroom and ran right into Daniel in the hallway. His eyes were bloodshot, his clothes wrinkled. The moment he saw me, he lunged forward, wrapping his arms around me in a desperate, suffocating grip. “I’m so sorry, Nora,” he choked out, his voice cracking. “I failed you. I didn’t take care of you. But… we can try again. We’ll have another baby.” I pushed him off, looking at him with cool confusion. “What are you talking about? The baby is fine. I had acute appendicitis. They took it out last night, and the baby wasn’t affected at all.”

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The ninety-ninth time he postponed our wedding. That was when I called the coordinator and told them to swap my name out for his childhood sweetheart’s. “Miss Delia, I understand what you’re asking, but are you absolutely sure?” the planner’s voice crackled through the line, heavy with hesitation. “It actually seems like Mr. Keith isn’t planning on pushing it back this time.” I stared at the PDF proof on my laptop screen. Groom: Keith. Bride: Delia. But down in the designer’s notes, a single line of tiny text read: “Adjust the floral arrangements to the champagne-gold palette Fiona prefers.” Fiona. Keith’s childhood best friend. He had assured me she was only offering a second opinion. Yet, every detail of this wedding—from the floral selection to the party favors, down to the walk-in track—had been decided by her. Even when it came to my wedding dress, she had merely glanced at it and offered a dismissive, “A mermaid cut would suit her better.” I dragged the design file into the trash bin on my desktop and replied, my voice flat and even: “I’m sure. Change the bride’s name to Fiona.” This wedding was so saturated with her presence that it was never mine to begin with. I was simply handing it over to them, fully intact. And in doing so, I was finally pulling myself out of this farce. From here on, the world was wide. Let him cling to his old memories; I was going to find my own horizon. 1 “Understood. We’ll make the adjustment immediately,” the coordinator replied, her tone careful, almost tip-toeing. “But… should we notify Mr. Keith beforehand?” I stared at the dark screen of my laptop. “No need.” I hung up, and the silence of the empty house settled over me. I looked around the three-story townhouse in Brooklyn that Keith and I were supposed to move into next month. Every square inch of it was pristine, tailored, and expensive. But the French crystal chandelier hanging in the living room was only there because Fiona had deemed it “tasteful.” The silk sheets in the master bedroom were chosen because Fiona said they were “better for the skin.” Even the reed diffuser in the foyer was scented with Wild Bluebell—Fiona’s signature fragrance. I felt like an intruder who had accidentally wandered into someone else’s private sanctuary. Walking into the master bathroom to wash my face, my eyes caught a used Tom Ford lipstick sitting on the marble vanity. The shade was a deep, vintage crimson—the exact color Fiona always wore. Right next to it lay a delicate pearl earring. I stared at that smudge of red on the gold casing. I knew exactly whose it was. My phone vibrated, and a voice memo from Keith came through. “Delia, the coordinator mentioned you called them a few times today. Is everything okay?” I typed a quick reply: Nothing. Just checking on a few small details. It’s handled. A few minutes passed before his brief reply came back: K. Then, he sent a photo. In it, Fiona was standing in front of a tri-fold mirror, wearing a stunning champagne-gold couture gown, looking back over her shoulder. Fiona is trying on her bridesmaid dress, but the zipper got stuck. Just helping her with it. The shop has great pieces, but she’s having trouble deciding. Want to come over and help her look? My hands grew cold as I stared at the message. Just last week, I had gone to try on my wedding dress entirely alone. Locked in the dressing room, suffocating under the heavy, complex laces of a gown that didn’t fit, I had called him in tears. His background had been loud with traffic and chatter. “Delia, just ask one of the shop girls to help you. Fiona’s car broke down on the highway, and I need to go get her.” I had stood there in that ill-fitting mermaid dress—the one Fiona had picked out—under the pitying gaze of the boutique staff for thirty minutes before quietly changing back into my clothes. And now, he was carefully adjusting the hem of her gown. He even wanted me there to play the appreciative audience. I dialed his number. “Are you on your way?” he asked as soon as he picked up. “No,” I said, my voice remarkably steady. “Keith, let’s call it off. The wedding—” Before I could finish, Fiona’s playful, sweet voice drifted through the speaker. “Keith, look at this one! Does it look good? Oh, stop staring at your phone and help me choose!” Keith’s usually detached, cool tone softened instantly into something warm and indulgent. “Beautiful. Honestly, Fiona, anything you pick looks beautiful on you.” Then, seemingly remembering I was still on the line, he spoke back into the receiver. “What were you saying about the wedding? It’s already set, Delia. Stop trying to change things at the last minute.” “It’s nothing,” I said, a dry smile touching my lips. I didn’t even have the energy to feel disappointed anymore. “Take your time helping her.” “Good. Fiona is the bridesmaid, and her dress represents my family’s image today. I need to make sure it’s right. Don’t be so sensitive.” He paused, perhaps sensing that his tone had been too sharp. “I just bought Fiona a ruby necklace, and the jeweler threw in a small diamond pendant as a promotional gift. I was going to refuse it, but Fiona thought it would look nice on you. I’ll bring it back tonight.” “Delia!” Fiona’s voice cut in clearly. “Keith is such a typical guy, don’t mind him. The freebie isn’t anything spectacular, but I know you usually dress so simply, so I figured it would suit you perfectly. On the wedding day, we can both wear our necklaces. Think of it as my little blessing to you guys.” She wanted to stand beside me at the altar, parading the masterpiece while I wore the scrap, silently declaring to everyone in attendance who actually held Keith’s heart. It had been like this ever since she returned from Canada a year ago. When he traveled for business, he bought Fiona limited-edition handbags worth tens of thousands, but would only toss a discounted bottle of duty-free perfume onto my nightstand. Later, he postponed our wedding date again and again just to fly across the country to secure some rare art piece she wanted for her gallery. When I confronted him, his defense was always entirely logical to him: “Fiona grew up accustomed to the finer things. You don’t really care about fashion anyway, so why does it matter? Besides, the wedding delays were accidents. Next time, I promise we won’t push it.” And Fiona would always laugh, adding, “Oh, don’t be so hard on her, Keith. Actually, Delia, I have some of the old gifts Keith gave me. If you want them, I can send them over.” “Thank you both,” I said softly, and hung up the phone. When disappointment reaches its absolute limit, even words feel like a waste of breath. I went into the bedroom and opened the closet. More than half of it was filled with “status-appropriate” designer pieces Keith had purchased for me to wear to corporate events. The tags were still attached. I reached for my old, battered suitcase—the one I had brought with me when I first moved in. I packed a few casual outfits, some daily essentials, and my laptop. My phone lit up with a message from Victoria, my editor-in-chief at the magazine. Delia, the transfer to the Paris bureau has been officially approved. Are you certain you want to leave tomorrow? Isn’t tomorrow your wedding day? I looked around the room, breathing in the faint scent of wild bluebells, my eyes resting on the vintage red lipstick on the counter. Yes, I’m sure, I wrote back. Because there’s going to be a different bride. 2 At ten in the evening, the front door clicked open, and Keith walked in, with Fiona trailing a step behind him. “Here, Delia,” Keith said, sliding a plain black velvet box across the kitchen island toward me. The lid popped open, revealing a tiny, thin silver chain with a speck of a diamond. Fiona was standing right beside him, the dazzling pigeon-blood ruby necklace already resting against her collarbone. The deep, blood-red stone caught the light, sending sharp glints of crimson across the room. My fingers stilled. On our first anniversary, I had stopped in front of a jeweler’s window, admiring a very similar ruby necklace. Keith had pulled me away immediately. “It’s tacky,” he had said. “You’d look like new money wearing that.” It wasn’t that the rubies were tacky. It was just that they were tacky on me. “Look at him, Delia,” Fiona giggled, touching the ruby at her throat. “He didn’t even bother to ask for a gift box. But honestly, that little diamond really does suit you. You don’t go out to events much anyway, so anything larger would just go to waste.” I quietly closed the cheap box. “You’re right. It would be wasted on me.” Keith blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. He looked at me a little longer than usual, as if finally noticing how quiet I was being. But Fiona had already bypassed us, settling onto the sofa with a stack of wedding itineraries she pulled from her designer bag. “Oh, Delia, by the way,” she called out, her tone light and airy. “I swapped the main wedding car for a Porsche convertible. I get terribly car sick, and Keith agreed that the open air would be better for me. You don’t mind, do you?” My wedding. But the lead car had to be changed for the bridesmaid. I lowered my eyes, my gaze falling on the suitcase parked by the foyer. “Do whatever you want.” Keith’s eyes followed my gaze, freezing when they hit the suitcase. It was the same one I had used the day I moved in with him. “Are you going on a trip?” His brow furrowed. “The wedding is tomorrow.” I looked at him, preparing to tell him the truth. “Oh—” A sudden gasp cut me off. Behind us, Fiona’s water glass slipped from her hand, shattering against the hardwood floor. “Keith, I’m so sorry…” she murmured, pressing a hand to her chest, her face pale. “I suddenly felt so lightheaded.” Keith’s expression transformed instantly into sheer panic. “Is it your heart? Did you catch a chill outside?” His voice was thick with desperation as he rushed to her side. The explanation I had prepared died in my throat. I looked down at the broken glass on the floor. It was one of our couple mugs. Last year, Keith had gifted Fiona a complete set of handmade Italian porcelain. When I asked him if we could have something that belonged only to us, he had dismissed me as petty. Later, he had lazily ordered a pair of custom photo mugs. It was the only time he had ever tried to appease me. The mug with my face on it was now in pieces. It felt poetically timed. “I told you not to drink cold water. Why don’t you ever listen to me?” Keith was murmuring, his voice stern but laced with an undeniable tenderness. He didn’t even notice the shattered porcelain by his shoe. Last winter, when I ran a fever of 104 and could barely stand, Keith had only spared a moment to say, “Drink some water, take some Advil, and go to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.” Yet, Fiona merely dropped a glass, and he treated it like a medical emergency. Fiona leaned heavily into his chest, looking up at him with weak, pleading eyes. “Keith, are you still going to dance the first dance with me tomorrow? Won’t Delia be upset?” Keith rubbed her back, speaking as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ve wanted a chapel waltz since we were kids. I promised you, and I don’t break my promises to you. Delia is sensible. She’s not the type to get jealous over something like this.” At my own wedding, the groom’s first dance was reserved for the bridesmaid. I watched them, wrapped up in each other, and a small, genuine laugh escaped my lips. Keith saw the curve of my mouth and assumed I was agreeing to play along. “I’m glad you understand,” he said, looking relieved. “I’ve always looked out for Fiona like a sister. It’s just second nature to me now.” Fiona snuggled deeper into his arms. “Don’t get the wrong idea, Delia. I still remember when we were kids and I wanted to see the fireworks—Keith climbed over the school wall to take me, and his dad made him kneel on the cold floor all night as punishment. And the first time I fell in dance class, he carried me all the way home on his back. We really are just like siblings.” She sighed, a delicate, wistful sound. “I’m so jealous of you, though. After tomorrow, you’ll officially be Mrs. Keith.” Keith looked down at her, his eyes soft with indulgence. “Alright, let’s get you off your feet. Are you feeling any better?” Fiona wrapped her arms around his neck, pouting. “A little bit. But only a little.” Keith gave a helpless, affectionate laugh. “Okay. Let me carry you up to the guest room so you can rest.” He paused, finally remembering I was standing there. “We have a long day tomorrow. Go to sleep early. Once Fiona is settled, I’ll come back down.” He carried her up the stairs without looking back once. The bedroom door clicked shut, muffling their quiet laughter. I didn’t go to bedroom. I walked back to my suitcase, zipped my passport and documents into the side pocket, and closed the lid. As the zipper clicked shut, a sharp, violent spasm tore through my stomach. The pain was so sudden and intense that I collapsed onto the floor, cold sweat instantly soaking through my shirt. It was the chronic ulcer I had developed over the last three years—the result of countless late-night dinners where I drank myself sick to secure capital for Keith’s startup when his company was on the brink of collapse. Trembling, I pulled out my phone and dialed his number. “Keith,” I gasped, clutching my stomach. “My ulcer… it’s flaring up. I can’t move. Can you take me to the ER?” 3 The line went quiet for a beat. Then, Fiona’s soft, nasal whimper drifted through the phone. “Keith, my chest still feels so tight…” A second later, Keith’s voice returned, hushed and strained. “Delia, Fiona’s heart rate just stabilized. Her condition is fragile, and I can’t leave her side right now.” I curled tighter on the floor, the pain in my stomach feeling like a blade twisting repeatedly. “Keith, please. I’m really hurting.” There was another silence. Then Fiona’s voice rose slightly in the background. “Keith, maybe you should go check on Delia?” Before she could finish, Keith cut her off. “Don’t push yourself, Fiona.” He spoke back into the phone, his tone clipping. “Delia, don’t let your imagination run wild. Heart issues are critical; your stomach ache is just a flare-up. I’ll call an ambulance for you right now.” The call ended. I stared at the closed door at the top of the stairs. From the kitchen island to the staircase was barely fifteen paces. Yet, he wouldn’t come down. Ten minutes later, the flashing lights of the ambulance cast red and blue shadows across the living room windows. The doorbell rang. He still hadn’t come down. I had to drag myself off the floor, using the wall for support, and slowly make my way to the door. When the paramedics saw how pale I was, they immediately rushed forward to support me. “Where is your family?” the medic asked, looking around the empty hallway. I forced a weak smile. “Upstairs. Busy.” By the time I woke up, the sky was still dark. The sharp scent of antiseptic filled my nose, and the cold drip of an IV was slowly running into the back of my hand. Chelsea, my close friend and colleague from the magazine, was sitting by my bedside, her eyes red, clutching my travel document folder. “Are you out of your mind?” she demanded, her voice shaking. “An acute stomach bleed, and you were planning on boarding a flight to Paris tomorrow?” My throat felt like sandpaper. “Did you manage to reschedule the ticket?” Chelsea let out a dry, angry laugh. “Yeah, I got it moved to tomorrow night. But what about the wedding? Are you seriously telling me the bride is changing? Delia, tell me this is a joke.” I looked out the window at the graying sky. “It’s not a joke. I changed it myself.” Chelsea froze. I handed her my phone. On the screen was a confirmation email from the wedding coordinator sent at 2:00 AM. Groom: Keith. Bride: Fiona. Chelsea stared at it for a long moment, then let out a sharp curse. “Does he know?” I shook my head. “No. And he doesn’t need to.” Before she could reply, the door to the room swung open. Keith walked in, with Fiona close behind him. She was wearing a delicate white silk dress, with Keith’s designer suit jacket draped over her shoulders. The ruby necklace around her neck was blinding under the harsh hospital fluorescent lights. Seeing that I was awake, Keith let out a breath that sounded more like irritation than relief. “The doctor said it’s nothing serious,” he said. “Since you’re awake, let’s get things moving. We don’t want to fall behind schedule.” Before I could ask what he meant, Fiona clapped her hands with a bright smile. A crowd of people filed into the small hospital room—the bridesmaids, the photographer, the makeup artists, and several of Keith’s extended family members. They were carrying champagne-colored balloons, silk ribbons, and decorative signs. Within minutes, the sterile white room was draped in wedding decor. A “Just Married” banner was hung directly over my bed, and a massive floral arrangement was placed right next to my IV stand. It looked less like a wedding prep and more like a bizarre wake. Chelsea stood up so fast her chair scraped loudly against the floor. “She’s literally hooked up to an IV! What do you think you’re doing?” Keith’s brow furrowed. “Since she’s stuck in the hospital, we’re bringing the morning-of prep to her. Delia is sensible; she isn’t going to mind.” Fiona immediately reached out, tugging gently on his sleeve. “Delia, I know this was my idea, but if you’re really uncomfortable, we can stop. We can wait.” Even as she said the words, her eyes were darting toward the photographer’s lens, adjusting her posture. Keith’s face darkened. “Don’t ruin the mood, Delia. Fiona spent hours organizing this backup plan.” I watched him. The IV needle in the back of my hand throbbed slightly, and a thin line of dark red blood was beginning to back up into the clear plastic tubing. Keith’s mother walked over, patting Fiona’s hand with a warm smile. “Fiona is always the thoughtful one. Out of everyone in Keith’s life, you’ve always understood him best.” One of the bridesmaids laughed in agreement. “Seriously, we always thought Keith and Fiona would end up together. If Fiona hadn’t insisted on keeping him in the brother-zone, there wouldn’t have been room for anyone else.” As if suddenly remembering I was in the room, she added a quick, insincere smile. “Just kidding, Delia! Don’t take it personally. Oh, by the way, the bridal games today were all planned by Fiona’s friends. Since you’re not feeling well, you can just watch. We’re all family here anyway, so it doesn’t matter if the bride can’t fully participate.” Family. Everyone in this room was connected to Fiona. Keith’s relatives adored her, his friends knew her inside out, and even the bridesmaids were her inner circle. And I, the actual bride, was lying in a hospital bed like an uninvited guest who had been handed a program at the last minute. Keith finally stepped closer to the bed, reaching up to adjust the flow rate on my IV drip. He didn’t say anything at first. I looked up at him, the dull ache in my stomach still throbbing in waves, but my mind had never been clearer. “Keith,” I said quietly. “Do you truly believe that I am the one marrying you today?” His hand paused, his brow drawing together in a tight line. “What kind of nonsense is this now?” He checked his Rolex. “We have seven hours before the ceremony. I’m coming back to pick you up. Can’t you just be happy for once?” I smiled. “I am happy. In fact, I’m really looking forward to the surprise I have waiting for you at the venue.” 4 “What surprise?” Keith asked, and for a split second, a genuine look of anticipation crossed his face. It was an expression I hadn’t seen in years. When we first started dating, I had baked him a birthday cake from scratch. The frosting was lumpy and the writing was crooked, but he had stared at it like it was a work of art. “If it’s from you, Delia, I’ll love it,” he had told me back then. Once, he had truly seen me. I hadn’t been wrong about him in the beginning. He had just changed along the way. As I looked at that fleeting glint of warmth in his eyes, Fiona stepped between us. “What surprise, Delia? Did you get him a gift too?” I didn’t answer. The nurse came in to remove my IV. As the needle slid out, a small bead of blood welled up on my skin. Keith looked at it, a brief shadow of concern passing over his face. “The ceremony is starting soon. Get some rest,” he said softly. “I’ll be back to get you.” I held the cotton ball against my hand and looked up at him. “Keith.” “What if I told you I don’t want this wedding anymore? What if I want to just run away and elope? Today. Right now.” I held his gaze. “Would you walk out of this hospital with me and never look back?” The room fell dead silent. The photographer slowly lowered his camera, looking incredibly uncomfortable. Keith’s expression hardened, the warmth vanishing instantly. “Delia, today is not the day for your tantrums.” Fiona’s eyes welled with tears on cue. “Is this because of me? If I’m causing trouble, I can just leave… I can book a flight back to Toronto tonight…” Before she could finish, her knees buckled slightly. Keith’s hand shot out instinctively, catching her by the waist. “Fiona!” He pulled her against him, looking back at me with sharp accusation in his eyes. “You see this? She’s barely holding herself up, yet she’s been running around making sure our wedding goes smoothly. Can you stop being so incredibly selfish?” “I told you—” “I know,” I interrupted him, my voice barely a whisper. “She’s your sister. You have to take care of her.” I looked down at the cotton ball in my hand. It was entirely soaked in red. I smiled. “I’m not angry anymore, Keith. I finally understand.” Keith let out a long breath, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “I’m glad you’re finally seeing reason. I’ll take Fiona back to get some rest, and the car will be here for you shortly.” He guided her toward the door, his arm securely around her waist. The door clicked shut behind them. I looked at the drop of blood on my knuckles. I had given him one final chance. And as always, he chose her. Only Chelsea and I remained in the room. Her face was flushed with anger. “Are you really going to that venue?” I peeled the tape off my hand, letting another drop of blood bead up, and pressed it down carelessly. “No.” “Take me back to the townhouse.” Half an hour later, I stepped back into the house in Brooklyn. The scent of wild bluebells hit me like a wall, cloying and suffocating. The kitchen counter was piled high with wedding favors and floral arrangements that had arrived yesterday. Champagne-colored silk ribbons draped gracefully along the banister. Every single corner of this place belonged to Fiona’s vision. I dragged my suitcase up the stairs. The guest room door was slightly open. The house was empty; I didn’t know where Keith had taken her to “rest.” Fiona’s cashmere wrap from last night was tossed carelessly over the arm of the chair. Her lipstick and earrings still sat on my vanity. My home had been treated like her personal hotel. I didn’t look at them again. I opened the drawer of my nightstand and pulled out the ring box. The band was incredibly thin. When he gave it to me, he had said, “A wedding ring is just a symbol, Delia. There’s no need to be ostentatious.” But the ruby necklace around Fiona’s neck could have bought fifty of these rings. I took the ring out and set it on the kitchen island. Beside it, I placed the cheap promotional diamond pendant, my house keys, the security fob, and the master wedding itinerary. Finally, I picked up the official wedding invitation. The bride’s name had already been reprinted as Fiona. In the blank space at the bottom, I wrote a single line with a black pen: Wishing you both a lifetime of happiness. I capped the pen. The click sounded final, like a lock turning in a door. My phone buzzed in my hand. Keith: The bridal car is outside. Where are you? A second message followed immediately: Stop playing games. Everyone is waiting at the hotel. I didn’t reply. Chelsea helped me wheel my suitcase out to the waiting car. “I have your passport, visa, and ticket right here. The Paris office is expecting you.” I nodded. Before stepping into the car, I looked back at the house one last time. The crystal chandelier was shining, the diffusers were active, and the wedding decorations were pristine. But it had never been my home. I closed the car door, sealing out the scent of wild bluebells. Chelsea took my hand. “Let’s go. Don’t look back.” The drive to JFK, security, and boarding went without a hitch. I sat in my seat and switched my phone to airplane mode, ready to sever every tie to my past. But before the plane could push back from the gate, the overhead speaker crackled to life. “Apologies for the delay, ladies and gentlemen. Due to an emergency security request from the authorities, all departing flights on this corridor have been temporarily held. Is passenger Delia Smith currently on board?”

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I had always brought cosmetics and designer bags back from Europe for my friends at cost. I absorbed the exchange rate fluctuations myself, maxed out my luggage allowance, and occasionally got pulled aside by customs to pay heavy duties. Everyone got used to it. Once in a while, someone would offer a lukewarm “Thanks for your help,” but that was it. Until my cousin added a new friend to our group chat. After looking at my spreadsheet of prices, this girl posted a hand-over-mouth laughing emoji. “Oh my god, you guys actually let her buy at retail price? That’s such a rip-off. I used to live in Europe—buying without a discount is just exploiting an information gap. You can find any college student on resale apps who’ll do it cheaper.” Silence fell over the chat. She followed up immediately: “Next time you guys want anything, just let me know. My classmate is still in Paris. With tax refunds and outlet discounts, she can get everything at least thirty percent cheaper than the counters. She doesn’t do this for a living; she just wants to save us some cash.” I quietly muted the group. Thank God for this new friend. I could finally say goodbye to covering exchange rates out of my own pocket, paying overweight baggage fees, and hauling suitcases stuffed to the brim. … Nina’s college roommate, Amber, had joined our girls’ group chat last month. Her Instagram feed was a curated stream of geo-tagged flexes—from Galeries Lafayette to Printemps, always captioned: “Scouted more goodies for my girls.” At the time, I was packing for my upcoming flight back home. Thirty-seven items. Orders for five different people. Everything from La Mer cream to a Gucci belt, crammed into two twenty-eight-inch suitcases. My own clothes were squeezed into a tiny carry-on. Amber dropped three screenshots into the chat, showing prices her classmate sent from a Paris outlet. A Louis Vuitton bag that I had quoted at the retail price of $1,800 was listed on her end for only $1,350. “Grace, I didn’t mean anything by it,” she wrote, adding an innocent blinking emoji. “But none of us are trust-fund babies. We should save where we can. Charging retail is basically just pocketing the difference from an information gap, isn’t it?” My fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then, slowly, I drew them back. Nina was the first to chime in: “Amber actually has a point. I never really thought about that before. Grace, you’ve been in the UK for six years—haven’t you built up any discount channels?” I had spent six years studying in Manchester. This shopping arrangement had started because of Nina. In the beginning, it was just baby formula and skincare for her. Then her coworkers joined, then her friends, and then her friends’ friends. I had never charged them a single dime. I calculated the exchange rates based on the exact day I swiped my card, absorbing the loss if the pound surged before they wired the money. During sale seasons, I passed the discounts directly to them, never keeping the tax refunds. To grab a limited-edition Christmas advent calendar, I once stood in line outside Harrods for three hours. The Manchester winter wind cut like a knife; I went home and ran a fever for three days. I had never mentioned any of this in the chat. “I just looked, and Amber’s friend is definitely cheaper,” Megan texted. She was Nina’s coworker and usually the one who ordered the most. “Grace, not to be blunt, but you must have made a fortune off us these past few years. We’re all friends here. Enough is enough.” Made a fortune. I stared at those words, then turned my phone face down on the desk. Amber sent another message: “Just let me know if you guys need anything from now on. My classmate has been a personal shopper for years. Her suppliers are rock solid. I’m just playing middleman to help out—I don’t make a single cent.” A chorus of “Amber, you’re a lifesaver!” and “So reliable!” quickly filled the screen. Nina tagged me: “Grace, if you haven’t shipped our pending orders yet, can you just cancel them? We’ll have Amber buy them for us instead.” I picked up my phone and typed, letter by letter: “Sure. I’ll compile a list of what I’ve already bought. If you want to cancel, just DM me.” After sending it, I archived the chat. It wasn’t even anger. It felt more like a sudden, hollow release—as if a heavy stone I’d been carrying on my back for three years had suddenly been lifted by someone else. She didn’t know how heavy it was. But she was eager to carry it. Good for her. That night, I put all the purchased items into an Excel sheet, noting down the order numbers and return deadlines, and sent it to the group. Megan replied instantly: “Cancel the La Mer treatment lotion. Amber said she can get it for $110.” That was ten dollars cheaper than what I had paid. “Sure,” I replied. Nina messaged me privately: “Grace, Amber is a sweet girl, she’s just very blunt. Don’t take it personally. But honestly, you never mentioned discounts before, so everyone just assumed you were making a profit.” I leaned back against the sofa, staring at the screen for a long time. She was my first cousin. The year she got married, I brought her an entire bridal skincare set. It cost over nine hundred dollars. I told her it was my wedding gift to her. She had hugged me back then, crying, telling me how lucky she was to have me. I typed back: “I didn’t have access to those discount channels. That was on me. I’m glad Amber can get them for you guys now.” Nina sent a pat-on-the-shoulder emoji. “I’m glad you see it that way. We’ll still hit you up if we need anything else in the future.” I didn’t reply. I unwrapped a Lindt dark chocolate truffle I’d bought for Megan. It tasted bittersweet. The phone buzzed. A friend request from Amber. Once accepted, she sent a cute waving cat sticker: “Hey Grace! Nina probably told you.” “Yeah.” “Your Excel sheet is so organized! Did you always keep track of things like this when you were selling?” Her tone was sweet. “Oh, by the way, could you share the logistics company you use? And maybe some tips on getting tax refunds? I’m still learning the ropes and wanted to ask for your advice.” I moved the phone away, then pulled it back. She had just accused me of exploiting an information gap, and now she was asking me for my information. “My shipping company has been having customs issues lately—lots of packages getting held up, so I wouldn’t recommend them. As for tax refunds, your classmate in Paris probably knows the system better.” Amber took a while to reply: “Oh, okay~ I just figured since you’ve been in the UK for so long, you’d have some solid connections.” I let out a dry laugh. But the best part was yet to come. Zoe, my old classmate and the only one in the group who hadn’t joined in on the snark, sent me three screenshots of a private conversation between Amber and Nina. Nina: “She definitely pocketed a ton of cash. Why else would she never mention the discounts?” Amber: “Right? I asked her for her shipping contact and she refused to give it to me. She probably wants to keep the channel to herself so she can keep ripping other people off.” Nina: “Whatever. We’ll just buy through you from now on anyway. I won’t recommend her to anyone else.” Then, Amber accidentally forwarded those exact screenshots directly into our main girls’ group chat, followed by: “Oh my god, wrong chat! Grace, please don’t be mad, I didn’t mean to post that here.” The group chat went dead silent. Two minutes later, Megan DMed me: “Grace, did you return my La Mer yet?” “In progress.” “Great, thanks.” Not a single word of apology. I muted Megan and stared out the window at the Manchester night. In the distance, the lights of Old Trafford glowed against the dark sky. I had lived in this city for six years, moved seven times, worked three jobs at my lowest point, and spent an entire month eating toast with near-expired peanut butter. Back then, Nina used to FaceTime me every week, cooing about how hard I was working and promising she’d take me out for a massive feast once I returned. But she had never once asked if I was tired. She never asked what it was like to drag two oversized suitcases through airport security, pleading with the gate agents in a quiet, embarrassed voice when my luggage was overweight. Because of the time difference, I didn’t see Amber’s overnight messages until the next morning. “Hey girls! My classmate just sent over the price list. Almost everything is at least 30% off retail!” Below was a long, detailed price comparison spreadsheet. LV bags, Gucci belts, La Mer creams, serums… Beside each item, she had listed my previous quotes, labeling them “Old Price,” and placed them next to “Amber’s Price,” with the difference bolded in red. At the very bottom, a line of small text read: Based on our average spending over the past three years, we’ve been overcharged by at least $3,000. Amber tagged everyone: “No offense to anyone, just wanted to give you guys a heads-up. Money doesn’t grow on trees, and getting played by someone close to you is the worst feeling.” Nina replied with a “my poor wallet” emoji. Megan wrote: “Sigh. I guess buying through actual international students is the only way to go.” I stood in the kitchen, coffee mug in hand, slowly reading through her list. Every single price she attributed to me was wrong. For the bag, she claimed I charged $1,850. I had actually charged $1,750, passing along a mall loyalty discount without keeping a dime. For the La Mer cream, she wrote that I charged $280. I had charged $210, taking absolutely zero commission after the tax refund. The “differences” she highlighted in red were either comparing last season’s outlet stock to current retail items, or comparing tax-free base prices to tax-inclusive totals. I set my mug down and typed out: “I have the receipts and bank statements for every single item I’ve bought for you over the last three years. If anyone wants to audit them, feel free to message me.” The chat went quiet for about three seconds. Nina replied: “Oh, come on, Grace. Amber is just trying to save us some money. Don’t take it so personally.” Megan chimed in: “Yeah, what’s done is done. It’s not like we’re asking you to refund us.” “Exactly, we’re all still friends here,” Lauren added. She was usually the quietest, but her orders were always the most expensive. Amber sent a tearful emoji: “Is Grace mad at me? I really just wanted to share a cheaper option with everyone. If you think I’m overstepping, I’ll stop posting.” Nina immediately replied: “Don’t worry, Amber. You did the right thing.” I left the group. I didn’t mute or archive it. I clicked “Leave Group.” Seconds later, Nina was in my DMs: “Grace, what is your problem? Amber was just trying to help us save money, and you’re throwing a tantrum?” Trying to help. I stared at those words, put my phone aside, and began clearing out my desk drawer. Invoices, receipts, shipping slips—three years of physical paper stuffed into a single drawer. Every single slip of paper represented a memory of me running through an airport terminal, hauling heavy baggage. Last Christmas, Megan had placed a last-minute order for a Chanel bag, saying it was a gift for her mother-in-law and the timing was tight. I had worked until 8 PM that night, then sprinted through the freezing rain to the boutique, arriving ten minutes before closing to buy it, before rushing it to the shipping depot overnight. When she received it, she texted: “Grace, you’re the best! Definitely hitting you up next time.” Hitting you up next time. Probably the cheapest promise in the world. I swept all the papers into a large manila envelope and sent Nina one last message: “Every single purchase I made for you guys over the last three years has a paper trail. I never made a single cent of profit off any of you. Believe what you want.” Nina’s reply came instantly: “Fine, if you say so. But Grace, if you really weren’t making money, why didn’t you ever explain that? If you don’t say anything, of course people are going to assume.” Staring at the screen, a sudden wave of relief washed over me. She was right. Why hadn’t I explained? Because I thought friends didn’t need explanations. But they had never wanted a friend. With me out of the group, Amber became even more vocal. Zoe forwarded me screenshots from other group chats they shared: “Grace is just used to making easy money off people she knows,” Amber had written. “Once I called her out, she threw a fit and left. Classic guilty conscience.” “She claims she did it at cost, but who actually believes that? She’s been in the UK for six years. There’s no way she doesn’t have some secret discount codes.” Zoe sent a long, furious voice memo: “Is she out of her mind? I literally watched you break your back doing this for years. Do you want me to go in there and drag her?” “Don’t bother,” I replied, typing with one hand while skimming my work emails. “Honestly, I’m glad someone took over. You have no idea what a relief this is.” Zoe went quiet for a moment before typing: “Actually, that classmate of Amber’s… I think I’ve seen her in other shopping groups. Last year, she got exposed for mixing real items with high-end fakes. She changed her account handle and popped up again.” I raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” “Eighty percent sure. Do you want to warn them?” I thought about it seriously. In the past, I would have panicked, dug up chat history, searched for evidence, and laid it all out to protect them from getting scammed. And what would I get in return? They’d probably say I was bitter. “No,” I told Zoe. “Right now, they think Amber is an angel sent from above. Anything I say will just sound like jealousy.” Zoe sent a sighing emoji. She probably thought I was being weak. But she didn’t know that I had been waiting for exactly this moment. Over the last three years, the hidden costs I’d absorbed easily amounted to over ten thousand dollars. When the exchange rate fluctuated, I kept my prices flat. I used my own credit card points and airline miles to secure limited-edition items for them, while I booked the cheapest, two-layover economy flights for my own trips home. Who was I going to tell? If I told Nina, she’d just say: “Well, why didn’t you charge us a fee then? That was your own choice.” Exactly. It was my choice. And now, I was choosing to walk away. That evening, I met my coworker Emily for dinner at a French bistro. She was an architect who had started at the firm around the same time I did. She raised her wine glass to mine. “You look… lighter today. Did something happen?” I smiled, clinking my glass against hers. “Let’s just say I finally dropped a weight I’ve been carrying for too long.” Emily didn’t pry, but she kept my glass full. On the way home, Zoe texted again: “Grace! Amber is collecting money now. She’s asking for a $300 deposit from everyone, claiming it’s her classmate’s policy. Megan paid, Lauren paid, and your cousin paid. She’s got over $1,500 already.” I stared at the screen and let out a quiet laugh. A deposit. In three years of buying things for them, handling incorrect shade matches myself, and absorbing canceled orders on my own dime, I had never once asked them for a deposit. I slipped my phone back into my pocket. The Manchester wind was cold as I walked through Piccadilly Gardens, but my chest felt remarkably warm. Amber’s “classmate” was in Paris. If customs caught a commercial shipment from Paris, the import duties and fines would run into the thousands. If she was selling at thirty percent below retail without charging a sourcing fee, what was the classmate getting out of it? Was she running a charity? Under the yellow glow of the streetlamps, my shadow stretched out ahead of me. My steps felt lighter than they had in years. Some things didn’t need to be explained. Time would do the talking. After collecting the deposits, Amber went quiet for two days. On the third morning, she kicked off a “live buying session” in the main chat. Her first message was a blurry photo of a dimly lit warehouse. Shelves were packed with cosmetics and designer boxes, resembling a shadowy parking garage conversion. Her caption: “My classmate is at the supplier’s warehouse early this morning! Everything is ready to go for my girls~” Nina was the first to comment: “Amber is so fast! Way better than some people who take a whole month to get anything done.” Megan replied with a thumbs-up. Zoe forwarded me the screenshots. I took one look at the warehouse photo and nearly choked on my coffee. The metal shelving layout, the blue plastic pallets on the concrete floor, the yellow fire hydrant peeking out from the corner… It was incredibly familiar. It was a replica wholesale showroom in Guangzhou. A post exposing fake luxury sellers in a UK student forum had used that exact same photo months ago. “Do you want to warn them?” Zoe asked. I set my coffee cup down and typed back: “Find that old fraud exposure post with the warehouse picture. Post it anonymously in a local buyer-beware group. Make sure it’s a burn account, not yours.” Zoe caught on immediately. A few minutes later, she replied: “Done. Posted it in the local city luxury blacklist group. Megan and Lauren are both in that group.” I leaned back in my chair, a small smile playing on my lips. By afternoon, things in the chat began to fracture. Zoe forwarded the leaked messages. Megan had written: “Did you guys see that warning post? That warehouse photo looks identical to the one Amber sent.” Lauren replied: “Maybe it’s just a coincidence? Don’t all warehouses look the same?” Megan hesitated: “What if her classmate is the scammer from the post?” Nina jumped in to shut it down: “Amber said her classmate is renting a temporary storage space in Paris. That’s how things are done over there. Stop being paranoid, guys. We already paid our deposits anyway.” Silence followed. I scrolled through the messages and sent Zoe a short reply: “We don’t need to do anything else.” Zoe sent back a smirking emoji. “That was brilliant. You didn’t even have to start a fight; you just planted a seed of doubt.” I locked my phone. Confrontation was always the loudest, least effective way to handle things. People only care about the truth when they start doubting it themselves. A truth forced upon them has no value. But a truth they unearth on their own becomes an undeniable reality.

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My husband and I hadn’t spoken a word to each other in a year. When he finally returned to the States and tried to initiate a truce, he reached out to take my hand right in front of his subordinates. I instinctively flinched, pulling away. When he tried to slide his arm around my waist, I shoved him off entirely. Later, a friend asked me why I wouldn’t just give him another chance. I couldn’t help but vent. “Devin and I are basically strangers now,” I told her, swirling my drink. “Being in the same room as him gives us absolutely nothing to talk about. The silence is so suffocatingly awkward I want to dig a hole through the floorboards and bury myself.” My friend’s expression suddenly contorted. Her eyes darted frantically to a spot just over my shoulder. I turned around. There he was. Devin stood frozen a few feet away, his face completely drained of color. Well. If it was awkward before, it was a full-blown catastrophe now. I could have dug a trench straight to the earth’s core. 1. Devin Frost and I had been locked in a bitter stalemate for twelve months. For the entirety of that year, he had been in Switzerland, accompanying his ex-girlfriend and her parents while her father sought experimental medical treatments. He had played the devoted proxy-son perfectly. Now that he was back in Chicago, he was the one lowering his head, asking for peace. Before he left, he hadn’t said a word of goodbye. But a year is a long time. The blinding, white-hot rage I used to feel had mostly burned out, leaving only a cold pile of ash. When we fell apart, things had gotten incredibly ugly. I had just lost our baby. My hormones were crashing, my heart was shattered, and I was bleeding out my grief in the form of cruel, jagged words. “I don’t care that Ella’s father is dying, Devin,” I had screamed at him. “She spent years trying to ruin other people’s happiness. This is just karma catching up to her.” I remember the way Devin’s features had hardened. The usual calm, detached elegance he carried himself with vanished. He narrowed his eyes, and the look he gave me was absolute ice. “Joyce,” he had growled, his voice dangerously low. “How can you be so vicious?” That was the last time we saw each other. The very next day, he boarded a private flight to Zurich with Ella and her parents. Since returning a month ago, Devin had been playing the role of the attentive, perfect husband to a terrifying degree. My friend leaned in, whispering. “Jo, he’s been back for weeks. Are you really going to keep icing him out? He’s gorgeous, he’s a tech billionaire, and trust me, there is a line of women waiting for you to drop the ball.” She wasn’t wrong. Devin came from old money and built his own empire on top of it. The line of women wanting to date him probably stretched all the way to Paris. But he had been gone for a year. A whole year. So much had happened in the empty spaces he left behind. During that first month, I used to stare at my phone, desperately hoping for a call, a text, a sign. It never came. Over time, I had reflected on my own behavior, too. I knew what I said about her dying father crossed a line. I forced a stiff smile now, looking at my friend. “But I’m serious. Being around him is just… agonizing. We have nothing to say to each other. It’s so awkward I can’t breathe.” That was when she looked past me, her eyes widening, telegraphing disaster. “What?” I asked. “Is there something in your eye?” She just blinked harder. I turned. Devin’s tall, imposing frame was rigid. His skin was pale under the dim lighting of the venue. My mouth twitched in a grimace of sheer mortification. His dark eyes locked onto mine, a storm of turbulent emotions swirling in their depths. Without a word, he closed the distance between us and wrapped his hand around my wrist. I tried to twist away. I couldn’t. His grip was an iron vise. He marched me straight to the elevator, down to the parking garage, and practically folded me into the passenger seat of his Aston Martin. I watched him from the corner of my eye. His jaw was clenched so tight I thought it might shatter. A year ago, our marriage was a well-kept secret. The media didn’t know the CEO of NovaTech was a married man. But they certainly knew about his storied, dramatic past with Ella. The moment the engine purred to life, the Bluetooth synced to a local celebrity gossip podcast. “…recent sightings of NovaTech’s Devin Frost strolling through a scenic village in the Swiss Alps with his former flame, Ella, and her parents. Frost has spent the better part of the last year abroad, reportedly funding her father’s treatments. Sources close to the couple say the old spark is definitely back…” Devin slammed his hand against the console, killing the audio instantly. I didn’t yell. I didn’t demand an explanation the way I would have a year ago. There was simply no point anymore. 2. A year ago. The first snowstorm of the season. I was walking to the train after work. The drop in temperature had been sudden, catching the city completely off guard. The sidewalks were a sheet of black ice beneath a dusting of white. I slipped. It was just a fall. But the sheer volume of blood that followed was terrifying. Against the pristine white snow of the pavement, the bright, violent red was blinding. Bystanders and a coworker who had been walking behind me panicked. I laid there, entirely numb, save for a heavy, agonizing pulling sensation in my lower abdomen. The ambulance took me to Northwestern Memorial. The ER doctor looked at me with a mix of clinical detachment and pity. “You’re miscarrying,” she said. “Did you know you were pregnant?” I shook my head, the room spinning. I tried to call Devin. It went straight to voicemail. My parents had retired to Florida. Devin’s parents were on a cruise somewhere in the Mediterranean. When the nurses told me I needed a family member to sign the consent forms for the D&C procedure, I dialed Devin’s number again. And again. And again. Nothing. In the end, with a shaking, bloodless hand, I signed the surgical forms myself. Hours after the surgery, as I lay staring at the ceiling of my recovery room, my phone buzzed. A single text from Devin. On a business trip. Three days later, I was discharged. While waiting for the elevator, I overheard two nurses whispering at the station. “Did you see the guy in the VIP oncology suite? What’s his name?” “Oh, he’s a big deal,” the other replied. “CEO of some tech firm. Devin Frost.” “He is incredibly handsome. Does he have a ring?” “He’s got a girlfriend. That older man he’s pushing around the courtyard in the wheelchair? That’s his future father-in-law.” I felt the floor drop out from under me. When I walked out into the main lobby, I saw him. Devin was standing near the entrance, flanked by the hospital’s chief of oncology and a team of specialists. Standing right beside Devin, looking up at him with tearful gratitude, was Ella. He hadn’t been on a business trip. While I was bleeding out our child on an operating table, he had gone completely off the grid to secure top-tier medical care for his ex-girlfriend’s parents. 3. The night I got home from the hospital, I waited for him in the dark. When he finally walked in, I asked him point-blank why he was at the hospital with Ella. He frowned, loosening his tie. “Are you having me followed?” I dug my nails into my palms to keep my voice steady. “You lied to me, Devin. You said you were out of town.” “I saw you with Ella this morning. She’s your ex. Do boundaries mean absolutely nothing to you?” Devin looked at me, his expression infuriatingly calm. “Jo, yes, she’s my ex. But she isn’t my enemy.” He spoke to me with the slow, measured cadence of someone explaining a math problem to a child. “I was at the hospital because her father is critically ill. When you called me, I was genuinely out of state meeting with a medical board on his behalf. I didn’t lie to you.” But for the entire month leading up to that day, I had noticed the shift. I’d wake up at 2 AM to find the space beside me empty, Devin pacing the hallway with his phone pressed to his ear. Once, walking past his home office, I heard muffled, panicked crying coming through the speaker. I saw my husband’s broad silhouette standing in the dark, his voice a soft, intimate murmur. “I know. I’m here. Don’t be scared. I’ll come over first thing tomorrow.” He hadn’t come back to our bed that night. He left before the sun came up. I knew the voice on the other end was Ella. “Devin,” I said, my chest tight. “She’s been texting you for a month. You come home past midnight. You’re always with her. She knows you are a married man, so why does she keep pulling you away? This is an emotional affair, and she knows exactly what she’s doing.” Devin’s eyes turned glacial. “Joyce. Stop. She is not trying to ruin our marriage.” The immediate, defensive way he shielded her was the spark that ignited my breaking point. “Her father was just diagnosed with stage four lung cancer,” he said sharply. “Can you stop being so relentlessly cruel for one second?” A wave of intense, suffocating grief crashed over me. I had laid in an ICU bed alone. I had signed the papers to remove our dead child from my body alone. And he had been holding her hand, moving mountains to find doctors for her father. “I don’t care, Devin!” I screamed, tears finally spilling over. “It’s karma! It’s what she deserves!” The second the words left my mouth, I saw the exact moment I lost him. A dark, terrifying fury settled over his features. His voice was a whip of cold air. “Joyce. How can you be so vicious?” He didn’t say another word to me. He just looked at me—a look of profound alienation and disgust. Then he walked out. That one screaming match birthed a silence that lasted a year. When Ella’s father took a turn for the worse, she decided to seek alternative therapies in Europe. Devin went with them. The day he packed his bags, he glanced at me one last time. His eyes were devoid of any warmth. Just a barren, freezing indifference. I knew right then that we were over. We didn’t file for divorce. We just stopped existing to each other. Months later, when I heard through the grapevine that her father’s condition was deteriorating, a pang of guilt actually hit me. I sent Devin one single text. I’m sorry for what I said. It was out of line. I shouldn’t have spoken like that. He left me on read. 4. The radio broadcaster bringing up the Swiss Alps had just sucked all the oxygen out of the car. I didn’t really care about the specifics of his time with Ella anymore. Over the past year, Ella’s Instagram had been a carefully curated exhibition of her life abroad. I saw the photos of Devin consulting with world-renowned surgeons. I saw the discreet snaps of his expensive watch resting on a cafe table in Zurich. Over the holidays, she posted a snowy landscape from a luxury ski lodge in Chamonix. Two mugs of hot cocoa on the balcony rail. Devin finally spoke, his voice slicing through the heavy silence. His gaze was fixed dead ahead on the road, unapologetic. “Jo.” “Her father is stable now.” I gave a short, jerky nod. “Oh. Okay. That’s good.” The car descended into the underground garage of our condo building. Devin threw it in park, unbuckled, and turned his body to face me entirely. “Do you have anything you want to ask me?” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “I will explain everything. I don’t want you making assumptions.” I forced the corners of my mouth up into a bright, brittle smile. “Nope. No assumptions here.” His eyes darkened instantly. 5. Devin’s sudden reappearance had completely derailed the fragile peace I’d built in my routine. Living alone, I had gotten used to wandering the apartment in just a flimsy silk slip after my evening shower. It was the middle of July. When I walked out of the bathroom that night, he was standing in the hallway. His eyes dropped, lingering on the thin fabric clinging to my chest. My face caught fire. I grabbed my robe from the hook, darted back into the bathroom, and aggressively tied it around my waist. When I re-emerged, fully covered, I cleared my throat and suggested we officially sleep in separate rooms. “Devin, I’m dealing with a massive project at work right now. Early mornings, late nights. I don’t want to wake you.” “I told the housekeeper to make up the guest suite for me.” He frowned, the line between his brows deepening. He stared at me in silence for a long time before speaking. “What time do you leave tomorrow? I’ll drive you.” I waved my hands frantically. “No, no. It’s fine. We work in opposite directions.” His gaze grew heavy. “It’s on my way. I have a meeting near your corporate park tomorrow.” I blinked, desperately searching for a lie. “Oh, well, I actually have off-site client meetings first thing in the morning, so I won’t be at the office.” It was a flimsy excuse, but it got him to drop the subject. 6. I woke up at the crack of dawn. Devin was a creature of intense habit. He worked out every morning at the exact same time. To avoid him, I had to either leave the house before the sun rose or wait until he was in the shower. I couldn’t be late today, so I was up at 6:00 AM. When I tiptoed into the kitchen, a tall, broad-shouldered silhouette was standing by the espresso machine. Hearing my footsteps, he turned his head. “You’re up,” he noted smoothly. “Eat breakfast.” We hadn’t been alone like this in ages. He had only been back in the condo for three days. In the old days, we managed breakfast and lunch on our own, but dinner was sacred. We always ate together. For the past 72 hours, we hadn’t shared a single meal. Being in this sprawling kitchen with him made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. The social media algorithm is a cruel, psychic beast. Even though I didn’t follow Ella and had never met her in person, my Explore page faithfully delivered every single one of her posts to my screen. To anyone looking at her grid, they didn’t look like two people who broke up years ago. They looked like star-crossed lovers who had finally found their way back to each other against all odds. After a year of total silence, Devin and I had deteriorated to the point where I felt like an intruder in my own home. Standing in the kitchen, under his intense scrutiny, I felt like the mistress. I felt like I was the one encroaching on Ella’s man. Even though I was the one wearing his ring. Our eyes met. I quickly snatched a piece of dry toast from the rack and speed-walked toward the foyer. I kept my head down as I shoved my feet into my heels. Suddenly, the scent of cedarwood and cold morning air washed over me. He was standing right next to me. “Sit down and eat,” he commanded softly. I shook my head. “I’m in a rush.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I’ll dri—” Before he could finish the word, I ripped the door open and sprinted down the hall. 7. I wasn’t actually in a rush. I walked two blocks to a cozy corner diner we used to frequent. It was a gritty, local spot. I always thought it was funny that a guy who grew up on a sprawling Hamptons estate, who wore bespoke Italian suits, would sit on a cracked vinyl stool and eat pancakes with plastic syrup dispensers. But Devin was the one who found this place. After he left for Europe, I kept coming here alone. Maria, the owner, had asked me a few months back, “Honey, where’s your handsome guy? Haven’t seen him around.” I had panicked and lied. “We decided to part ways.” Maria, naturally, assumed we were divorced. Today, out of nowhere, Maria decided it was time for me to move on. “Jo, sweetie, since you’re single now, I’ve got a guy for you. My nephew. Post-doc, works over at Rush Memorial. A doctor!” I forced a polite, pained smile. “Thank you, Maria, really, but I’m not looking to date right now.” “Oh, come on! He’s tall, gorgeous. Much better looking than your ex-husband!” A shadow fell over the counter, blocking the morning light. I looked up and locked eyes with Devin. It had to be Mercury in retrograde. Every single humiliating thing I said, he magically appeared to overhear. Devin’s face was thunderous. “Maria,” he said, his voice dangerously smooth. “She has a husband.” Maria gasped, dropping her rag. “Oh my god! You two reconciled? You remarried?” Devin didn’t break eye contact with me. “We never got divorced.” Maria looked at me in absolute horror. “Oh, lord. Honey, I am so sorry. I thought you guys signed the papers!” Devin’s jaw clenched so hard I thought a tooth might crack. 8. I walked out of the diner and, utterly defeated, climbed into the passenger seat of his car. He didn’t even try to hide his amusement at my misery. He just stared at me, a low, mocking chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Joyce. The firm your team is pitching to today? It’s NovaTech.” My stomach dropped to my shoes. “And if my memory serves me right,” he continued, leaning slightly closer, “you don’t have any off-site client meetings this morning.” It was him. He was the client. He knew I was lying to his face in the kitchen, and he just stood there and watched me perform like a clown. I choked on my own spit and offered him a deeply pathetic, awkward smile. 9. We pulled up to my corporate building right at peak rush hour. The plaza was swarming with my coworkers. I practically tumbled out of his car, keeping my head down, praying to any deity listening that no one would see me. “Mr. Frost!” The voice echoed across the courtyard. My spine locked into a block of ice. A massive group of executives was walking toward us—a mix of senior partners from my firm and VPs from NovaTech. Devin stepped around the hood of the car, stopping right beside me. Half a dozen pairs of eyes shifted between me and the billionaire CEO. Without breaking stride, Devin raised his arm and casually, possessively, placed his hand on the small of my back. The executives stared, their mouths slightly open. I panicked. I violently shoved him away and let out a loud, obnoxious laugh. “Oh, wow, these heels are a nightmare! I almost wiped out completely.” I patted my chest dramatically. “Thanks for the catch, Mr. Frost.” The rejection was so blatant, so aggressively public. The faint smirk on Devin’s lips vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, stunned rigidity.

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On the third day of our silent treatment, my fiancé deliberately agreed to his assistant’s suggestion for a road trip. He thought I’d get jealous and make a scene, like always. But when he came back a month later, he found I’d changed. He helped his assistant steal my project, but instead of quitting in a huff, I eagerly helped her write the proposal. He ruined my carefully crafted design so his assistant could win the year-end bonus, but I no longer tried to prove myself. Instead, I took all the blame and accepted his punishment. He even wanted to promote his assistant to company general manager, skipping all the usual steps. I didn’t get angry; I even offered to give up all my shares for him to freely distribute. The assistant was smug. “See? I told you. You can’t be tough with Alice’s personality. You have to give her the cold shoulder. This trip definitely worked. She’s scared of losing you, that’s why she’s being so good.” My fiancé believed her completely, praising his assistant’s intelligence. Later, he found me alone, promising me a promotion, a raise, and an unforgettable wedding, something he’d never offered before. But he seemed to have forgotten that during his trip, he’d already signed my resignation. And I had already broken up with him. From then on, we were completely done, no longer connected.

“Alice, Mr. O’Malley needs this project proposal urgently. I know it’s a lot, but please make sure it’s done before you leave the office today.” Liam’s assistant, Chloe Williams, smiled sweetly as she dumped a thick stack of files onto my desk. I took them, used to it by now. “Okay.” Chloe, seemingly not satisfied, chuckled again. “Liam and I have an engagement later. Just finish it and put it on Liam’s desk, Alice. Oh, and remember to clean Liam’s office before you leave.” With that, she clicked away in her high heels, in a great mood. My colleagues looked at me with pity, not even knowing how to comfort me. Everyone knew that our CEO, Liam O’Malley, was my fiancé, but he was incredibly biased towards his assistant, Chloe Williams. He hadn’t just gone out of his way to poach Chloe from another company and promote her to Project Department Director. He’d even given her a multi-million dollar project that I had spent a month securing and another month staying up late to almost finish. I protested, so Liam decided to settle the project ownership with a public vote. He thought everyone would back him, but the results showed everyone voted for me. Chloe only had his single, pathetic vote. Liam immediately blew up, accusing me of forming cliques in the company. He didn’t give the project back to me. Instead, he publicly announced my dismissal and docked the pay of all my colleagues who supported me. Everyone was furious but dared not speak out. Afterward, Liam apologized, explaining he wanted to avoid suspicion and prevent Chloe from being ostracized. At first, I believed him. Now, I just find it laughable. Chloe’s professional skills are worse than our newest intern. Whether it was avoiding suspicion or pure favoritism was clear to all our colleagues. Only he refused to admit it. Noise came from upstairs. I looked up and saw Liam’s tall figure appear at the stairwell. He merely glanced in our direction, then walked out without looking back. He had changed into a casual suit, and I could faintly smell his cedar cologne from here. Liam didn’t like wearing cologne, but this bottle was a gift from Chloe. I knew he was doing it on purpose. It had been like this for years. It started when I found his SnapChat messages with Chloe, where they were exchanging goodnight texts, and I couldn’t help but question him. Liam thought I was petty. In a fit of anger, he used the excuse, “Since you’re already suspicious, why not just make it official?” and brought Chloe to work directly by his side. The angrier I got, the more he deliberately favored Chloe. He took her to various social events, and even publicly wiped her mouth at company dinners. If I argued with him, he’d give me the silent treatment. If I apologized, he’d use it as an opportunity to team up with friends to lecture and reprimand me. Because of this, I often reflected on whether I was not magnanimous enough, leading us to this point. But it wasn’t until the third day of our silent treatment, when I was too sick to get out of bed, and he ignored me, deliberately packing his bags to go on a trip with his assistant, that I completely gave up. I finally understood. He was just using my “jealousy” as an excuse for “desensitization therapy” to shamelessly justify his immoral behavior. Even if I hadn’t seen his messages, Liam would have found another excuse to be with Chloe. After they returned from a business trip together a while ago, even though they still went out for dinner, drinks, and played sports frequently, I could sense their relationship had become subtly different. But thankfully, I didn’t care anymore. Five years of dating were ending. This farce had to stop. After I finished the proposal, I was the only one left in the office. I checked my phone and saw Chloe had posted several updates on Ins. The background was a fancy restaurant, with a romantic candlelit dinner on the table in front of them. Liam was elegantly cutting Chloe’s steak with a knife and fork. The caption read: “Steak cut by the CEO himself, it must taste extra delicious.” Many partners commented, praising how sweet they were. Those who didn’t know our relationship asked when they could attend their wedding. Liam replied with three dots, while Chloe sent a “playful” emoji. As usual, no clarification. But this time, I wasn’t angry about their ambiguous relationship like before, nor did I call Liam only to be scolded by him for “losing it over someone else’s comment.” I sent him a message telling him the proposal was done. Then I placed the file in his office, refilled the water cooler as requested, and drove home. Just as I arrived, Liam’s call came in. “Alice, it’s Chloe. Thanks so much for the project. I’ll treat you to dinner sometime.” As soon as I picked up, Chloe’s gentle voice came through. Before I could react, Liam’s voice chimed in from the background, “What’s there to thank her for? It’s her job.” “Liam, Alice is your fiancée, you should be nicer when you talk to her,” Chloe chided playfully. Their familiar interaction made it seem like they were the couple. I scoffed. Liam, who always had his phone glued to his hand and would get angry if I even checked the time on it, accusing me of invading his privacy, was now handing his phone to Chloe without a second thought. The closeness between them was obvious. But at that moment, my heart was unusually calm. What once felt like the end of the world now seemed trivial. After a few more playful exchanges with Chloe, Liam must have realized I was still listening. He said dismissively, “I’ll be home soon. Don’t wait up, get some rest.” Then he hung up. His “soon” meant at least four or five hours. In the past, I would get agitated and anxiously wait for him. But this time, I ignored him and calmly went to my study. I looked at the calendar on my desk. Not long ago, Liam and Chloe went on a trip under the guise of a business trip. I used that opportunity to submit my resignation. As expected, with Chloe around, Liam’s attention was entirely on her. He approved it without even looking. Now, there were three days left. Just three more days until my work handover was complete, and I could leave for good. Thinking about it, I made a FaceTime call to my former mentor at the research institute abroad. After graduation, I joined the institute as an outstanding student, enjoying a top-tier position. But when Liam said he needed help starting his company, I didn’t hesitate to quit. My mentor tried to dissuade me repeatedly, but I still resolutely returned to the country to help him build his business from the ground up. Looking back now, I was truly foolish. Emotions are always fleeting. Only hard work never betrays you. When the call connected, I explained my intentions. I expected a scolding, but instead, my mentor sighed, telling me he had actually known about my situation for a while and had already considered having me return. “But, have you truly thought it through this time?” I nodded. “I have. All my resignation matters are sorted.” “Resignation? What resignation?” A startled voice came from behind. I turned around to see Liam pushing the door open and walking in.

I looked down and saw that my mentor’s call had already disconnected. I calmly turned off my phone. As I was wondering how to explain, his phone suddenly buzzed. It was a message from Chloe, saying she’d found a stray kitten on her way home and had gone to a store specifically to buy some ham for it. “So cute,” Liam said. Chloe replied instantly: “Is the kitten cute, or am I cute?” A selfie of Chloe holding the kitten and pouting with a peace sign followed. Liam’s lips curved into an involuntary smile. “The kitten is cute, but you’re cuter.” Perhaps sensing I was still there, Liam suppressed his smile, frowned, and looked at me. “Didn’t I tell you to get some rest? Why are you still standing here?” His cold tone was completely different from when he spoke to Chloe, and he had entirely forgotten my mention of resigning. I let out a small laugh, saving myself the explanation. “I still have some things to finish.” “It’s so late, what chores haven’t you finished yet? Why can’t you arrange your time better? Alice, I don’t want to criticize you, but your procrastination is really bad.” Liam frowned deeply, complaining a few times. I didn’t explain that my procrastination was due to his frequent sudden demands, nor did I argue with him until I was red in the face, explaining my helplessness. Seeing my silence, Liam didn’t say much more and walked straight into the bedroom. Soon after, his joyful laughter came from the room. I rarely saw him laugh like that; only when he was with Chloe did he seem so genuinely happy. Ignoring it, I sat at my desk and pulled out the English study materials I hadn’t finished. After five years, the research institute’s focus had changed. To go back, even with my mentor’s help, I needed to be strong. But thankfully, my fundamentals were solid, and picking it back up wouldn’t take too long. “Are you reading an English magazine?” As I was concentrating on my studies, Liam suddenly walked in, I hadn’t even heard him. He reached out, took the magazine, casually flipped through a couple of pages, and then tossed it back. He scoffed lightly, “Why are you reading these? Do you even understand them?” “Just casually looking.” I put away the materials, my tone indifferent. “Did you come for something?” In the past, when Liam actively came to chat, I would be incredibly flattered. Perhaps he didn’t expect me to be so cold, and he paused for a moment. His expression was a bit unnatural. “Yes, there’s something.” “Chloe just completed a big project. I’m planning to promote her, and it’s also a good way to encourage other employees. What do you think?” Liam looked at me. He asked for my opinion, but I knew this was just an announcement, not a genuine request for my input. I still nodded. “I have no objection.” “But there should be punishment alongside rewards; otherwise, it’s hard to manage a team.” “You haven’t completed a project in so long, so I want you to temporarily transfer to a junior position. I’ll transfer you back later.” “Don’t worry, it won’t be for too long. I’m doing this for the overall good. You’re my fiancée, you should support me, right?” I scoffed internally. So, he still didn’t know I had resigned. He could interpret Chloe’s mood from tiny clues and know what she liked from small details. Yet, here I was, his fiancée, and he had personally signed my resignation letter, completely oblivious. Indeed, whether one cares or not can be seen in just a few words. Seeing my silence, Liam assumed I was going to argue with him as before, and his face immediately darkened. “Even if you don’t agree, it’s no use. I’ve already sent out the documents, and your office has already been given to Chloe.” “Either you accept the transfer, or you leave.” He threatened, “But I advise you, the company is preparing to go public. You should think carefully before you leave.” His tone was confident that I wouldn’t leave. This had happened too many times. In just one year, my position in the company had dropped repeatedly because of a few words from Chloe. I had endured it then, and Liam was sure I’d be even more reluctant to leave now. I gave a bitter smile. “I didn’t say I disagree.” “Alright, then it’s settled.” Liam’s mood lightened. I didn’t say no, which meant yes. Just as he was about to leave, he sensed something and walked back. “I remember you used to have our photo on your desk. Why is it gone now?” That’s when I realized. In fact, it wasn’t just on my desk. My phone wallpaper, the wall in my room, my wallet—they all had our photos. Liam used to complain that my head was full of these silly little thoughts, unaware that I was constantly reminding myself that no matter what Liam did to me, he loved me. But later, I realized how ridiculous I was. Each of these photos mocked me, showing what a clown I had been. I didn’t want to explain much, so I said flatly, “The photo frame accidentally broke, so I put it away.” “Why are you so clumsy with everything you do?” Liam frowned in disgust, immediately looking down to check if there were any glass shards under his feet. “Remember to clean up thoroughly sometime so no one gets hurt.” Perhaps seeing that I was no longer tense, his tone softened slightly. He finished speaking and then got up and left the study. Watching his retreating back, I couldn’t help but laugh at myself. He certainly wasn’t concerned about me. His comment was clearly about not hurting Chloe. This was our home, and I managed everything in it. It wasn’t until a few months ago, when I found a small hair tie on the floor of his study and noticed the pillow in the bedroom had been moved, that I realized he had brought Chloe home many times. I couldn’t help but question him. He seemed to guess what I would ask and immediately produced evidence, proving they were only there for work. He then seized the opportunity to accuse me of being jealous and small-minded. To spite me for my suspicions, he defiantly and openly brought Chloe home. I could vaguely sense Chloe’s provocation and hostility towards me. But their interactions seemed normal, with no obvious crossing of lines. Over time, I fell into self-doubt. Every day, I’d reflect on whether I was wrong. Looking back now, with that much time spent dwelling, I could have succeeded at anything. The next morning, Liam announced Chloe’s promotion and my demotion to the lowest level. When he made the announcement, he was a bit wary, but when he saw that I remained unfazed, as if nothing had happened, he finally believed I had truly accepted it. He was in high spirits, and so was I. In the following days, while Liam held a celebration party for Chloe, I was processing my visa. While they went to an amusement park to relax, I was clearing out my belongings. In the end, what I needed to take with me barely filled one suitcase. While they attended a social event at a club, being egged on to drink “cross-armed” (intertwining arms) drinks, I was completing all my work handovers. … Two days later, on my last day at the company, I finished the final procedures with HR. “Go to the CEO’s office before you leave, Mr. O’Malley wants to see you.” HR said without looking up. I was about to refuse, but then I thought, I’m leaving tonight. If Liam goes out with Chloe as usual and doesn’t come home, this will be the last time we see each other. After all, we’d been together for five years; a farewell should have some kind of ceremony, right? Thinking this, I went upstairs to the CEO’s office. Just as I was about to push the door open, I saw Liam leaning back on the sofa through the glass wall. Chloe, wearing a long dress, was lying with her head on his lap, their posture intimate. Liam said something, and Chloe covered her mouth, laughing non-stop.

I paused. Just as I was wondering if I should step away, Chloe saw me first, letting out a surprised gasp, and quickly sat up. “Alice, what are you doing here?” A trace of nervousness flashed across Liam’s face. He hastily tugged at his slightly disheveled suit, then snapped at me, “Alice, who allowed you to come in?!” “Didn’t I say not to disturb me upstairs without my permission?” Liam had made that rule before. But the original rule was that *everyone except Alice* was forbidden from going upstairs to disturb him without permission. Before, I just thought Liam treated Alice specially. Now I understood what he really meant. But anyway, since I was leaving, I wasn’t surprised. I said calmly, “HR said you needed me.” Liam scoffed, strode to his desk, and angrily pressed the intercom. Less than two minutes later, HR came upstairs. “Did you tell Alice I needed her?” Liam asked coldly. HR sensed the tense atmosphere. Looking at Liam’s icy face, and then at a seemingly wronged Chloe, they were so nervous they couldn’t speak for a moment. After a pause, they finally said, “I don’t remember.” “Ha.” Hearing this, Liam, like a general who’d won a battle, cast a cold glance at me, speaking sarcastically. “Is this fun, Alice?” “I thought you’d finally matured, but I guess you’re still playing games. If you’re so worried about me, why don’t you move upstairs and watch me all the time?” “Or put a camera on me, to satisfy your curiosity.” I was speechless. “Liam, don’t be angry. I believe Alice is just worried because she cares, not doing it on purpose.” Chloe gently patted Liam’s back, then looked at me and said, “Alice, don’t misunderstand. I was just tired earlier and had a headache. Liam was just trying to help me relax so I could keep working.” “We’re doing everything for the company. Don’t overthink it.” I looked at her triumphant eyes, which seemed to wish I would overthink it. Although I didn’t know the full story, I was sure Chloe was behind this. HR was savvy and knew Chloe was Liam’s favorite. So, sensing the awkward atmosphere, they didn’t dare tell the truth. However, even if they had, Liam probably wouldn’t have believed it. I remained silent, but Liam’s anger hadn’t subsided. He fumed. “No need to explain to her.” “Personal matters are personal, company matters are company matters. Since we’re at the company, we follow company rules!” “Alice didn’t follow company regulations. Her bonus for this month is completely docked, and half her salary is also docked.” HR hastily said, “Liam, Alice, she already…” They probably wanted to say I had resigned, but before they could finish, Liam glared coldly. “I don’t want to hear any of her excuses! Do as I say!” HR didn’t dare say another word and turned to go downstairs. I thought for a moment, then also prepared to leave. But just then, Liam suddenly called out to me. Perhaps having vented his anger, he seemed much calmer now. He said earnestly, “Alice, I’m not deliberately targeting you, but these are the rules I set. If I don’t punish you, it’ll be hard to command respect in the future.” Chloe, standing nearby, nodded in agreement. “That’s right, Alice. Next time, if you’re unsure about something, you should ask Liam. If not, you can ask me, too!” Liam nodded approvingly. “Chloe is entirely dedicated to the company. She knows company matters better than anyone.” Then he glared at me again. “Unlike you, what do you do all day besides getting jealous? Can’t you learn from Chloe?” Learn what? Learn how she deliberately interfered in someone else’s relationship, how she provoked me subtly and overtly? Or how she intentionally stole others’ credit and tripped them up? I scoffed, but was too lazy to call him out. Seeing my silence, Liam thought I realized my mistake. He took two steps towards me, adjusted my collar which wasn’t even messy, and said earnestly. “I know why you’re causing all this trouble, and I am indeed very disappointed in you.” “But I have to say, since you came back this time, you’ve certainly matured a lot. To commend you, we’ll go take wedding photos tomorrow and get the wedding plans underway. But don’t get too carried away, marriage is just…” “Marriage?” Before he could finish, I let out a light laugh. I brushed his hand away. And handed him the prepared resignation letter. “Liam, we’re over.” “Also, I’ve resigned. From now on, we have nothing to do with each other.”

Liam’s body stiffened slightly. Chloe’s eyes, however, lit up. A triumphant smile immediately curved her lips. Although she quickly regained her composure, I saw it clearly. “Alice, those words are a bit much. You two are, after all…” “Alright, Chloe, you can go out now.” Before Chloe could finish, Liam calmly interrupted her. Chloe’s remaining words caught in her throat. She then feigned concern, advising Liam not to be angry and to talk things through, before leaving downstairs, satisfied. After she left, Liam glared coldly at me. “Alice, are you pushing your luck? I’ve already agreed to marry you, what else are you stirring up?” “Take back what you said about breaking up. And I won’t sign your resignation letter. Tear it up now, and I’ll pretend I didn’t see anything.” Seeing Liam’s confident expression, I just found it amusing. But also pathetic. I knew he had become this way largely due to my past indulgence. This kind of thing had happened many times before. But each time, Liam would offer an olive branch, and I would obediently take it, continuing our pretense of an affectionate relationship. I wanted to maintain our relationship peacefully, but I forgot that constantly backing down would only make him push his boundaries further. He cared about Chloe’s every move, but ignored everything about me. To this day, he didn’t know he had already signed my resignation letter. I let out a soft laugh and handed the resignation letter to him. “But you already signed it.” “All the procedures and handovers are done. I can leave today.” Liam was initially dismissive, but when he saw his signature on the resignation letter, his face changed. “Alice, did you forge my signature?” His words made me laugh. “You signed it yourself.” “Impossible! I don’t remember signing this!” “Alice, do you know that forging a signature is against the law? If I wanted to pursue it, I could call the police.” He took out his phone, pretending to dial the police. This was his trump card. In the past, whether it was because of Chloe or other reasons, whenever things got out of hand at the company, he would threaten me with calling the police. He thought I was afraid of the police. But he didn’t know that when the company was small and morale was low, I was afraid that calling the police would make everyone overthink and lose faith in the company. And at that time, I loved him, and didn’t want to get into a big fight with him over it, so I always thought it was better to compromise. But now, I was leaving soon. And we had already broken up. What did I have to be afraid of? “Fine, then call the police.” Seeing that my expression was calm, and I wasn’t pleading with him as he expected, Liam’s hand, poised to dial, paused. “You’re really not afraid?” “What’s there to be afraid of?” Hearing me say that, Liam moved his lips, and couldn’t help but examine his name on the resignation letter again. I kindly reminded him. “This resignation was approved while you were on a business trip.” Liam’s shoulders stiffened, as if he finally remembered, his face instantly turning pale. His thin lips trembled, and it took him a long time to squeeze out a sentence: “Is this why you’re making a fuss and threatening to resign?” “Well, I’m telling you, I was busy then, and I didn’t pay attention when I signed this. It doesn’t count.” I was amused. “Why not? I followed all the proper procedures, every step was fine. Why shouldn’t it count?” “Because I said so.” He tried to smooth things over, just like before. This time, I wasn’t speechless with anger. Instead, I took out my phone. “Then you can tell that to the police.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “417548”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

The night my father died. I grabbed some food and headed downstairs to bring it to my husband, who was keeping watch at the funeral home tonight. But at the service, I walked in on two bodies tightly intertwined. The moment Ethan saw me, after a brief flash of surprise, he pulled the woman closer with obvious reluctance to let go, pressing her head against his chest. “Sophia, you’re five months pregnant. Why aren’t you resting?” “Be good. Go back upstairs. I’ll explain later.” Despite his attempts to hide her face, I recognized her immediately. The woman in his arms was Lorelei Hart, my father’s former mistress. She was only seven years older than me. He didn’t want me to see her face. He was afraid I’d make a scene, stress the baby, and end up dead on a cold operating table like my mother. But what he didn’t know was this: when someone’s heart turns cold enough, they don’t make scenes. **1** “Ugh, stop pressing me like that. I can’t breathe~” Lorelei twisted out of his embrace, playfully hitting his chest with a coy pout. “What are you worried about? It’s not like Sophia hasn’t seen this before.” “She didn’t make a fuss when she was a kid. Now that she’s grown up, she definitely won’t.” Yeah. I’d seen this scene before. Except back then, the man tangled up with her was my father. And the photo hanging in the memorial hall? That was my mother, who died from complications during labor after discovering Dad’s affair. Ethan knew all of this. Every detail. Seeing that I truly showed no major emotional reaction, Ethan hesitantly released Lorelei’s hand. Lorelei skipped over and grabbed my hand. “Don’t blame Ethan. You’ve been pregnant for months now, and he’s been so pent up, the poor thing.” Her cheeks flushed pink as she thought of something. “Besides… we fell in love at first sight. The chemistry was so intense we just couldn’t help ourselves.” Nausea rose in my throat. I yanked my hand away and turned to Ethan with an accusing stare. He gazed at Lorelei with tender eyes. No explanation came. His silence confirmed everything Lorelei had said. Love at first sight. Love at first goddamn sight! My clenched fists trembled uncontrollably. Before I could say the word “divorce,” a sharp, twisting pain tore through my belly. I slumped against the wall and slid to the floor. Ethan rushed over in a panic, pulling me into his arms, his voice shaking. “Sophia, what’s wrong? Don’t scare me.” Lorelei crouched down, pushing him aside to hold me instead, her eyes full of concern. “Leave this to me. Call 911! And grab the hospital bag—I think she’s going into labor.” Ethan frantically pulled out his phone and stumbled away. The moment his back disappeared from view, Lorelei’s gentle, caring expression vanished. Her face twisted into something cruel as she leaned close to my ear. “You look just like your mom did back then. Like mother, like daughter.” “Think you’ll end up dead like her too? Killed by anger, just like she was?” “If I can reunite your whole family of three, wouldn’t that make me practically a saint?” I stared at her coldly, forcing out a single word through the pain. “Get. Lost.” She covered her mouth, laughing, triumph written all over her face. “You don’t know this yet, but your dad? I killed him too. That day at the hospital, we did it right in front of him.” “Come to think of it, I basically avenged your mother for you. You could at least be nicer to me.” I struggled to control my body, to get away from her. “Revenge? You don’t deserve to say that word.” She reached out, brushing away the hair plastered to my face with cold sweat, laughing softly. “They say judge people by their actions, not their hearts. So tell me—didn’t I make your dad experience exactly what your mom went through?” “Your mom just couldn’t handle it back then. If she’d lived till now, she’d probably thank me.” My dad got what he deserved! But she had no right to talk about my mother. No right to claim my mother would thank her! “Lorelei Hart, you’re delusional!” Looking at her smug expression, I couldn’t take it anymore. I raised my hand to slap her. But the searing pain in my belly left me with no strength. Then, the next second, a loud slap rang out. Lorelei’s face instantly swelled red. “Sophia, I was trying to help you! Why did you hit me?” She clutched her face, tears welling in her eyes, looking at me pitifully. “Sophia! What are you doing?” Ethan dropped the hospital bag and rushed to her, pulling her into his arms with both concern and anger. “She was trying to help you. How could you hit her?” **2** Cold sweat poured down my face from the pain in my belly. I didn’t even have the strength to speak. Seeing my condition, a flicker of sympathy crossed Ethan’s eyes. He held Lorelei, gently stroking her in comfort, while saying to me in a soft voice: “Hang in there. The ambulance is almost here.” He helped Lorelei sit down nearby to rest, then just stood there watching me suffer on the floor, waiting for the ambulance. The moment the paramedics arrived, he rushed over in two or three steps, frantically pulling the doctor toward Lorelei. “Doctor, check her face! It looks serious!” The doctor glanced at Lorelei sitting in the chair, then at me on the floor. He brushed off Ethan’s hand and came toward me. “She’s fine. Let’s see to the pregnant woman first.” Ethan grabbed the doctor’s sleeve desperately, blocking his path to me. “How can she be fine? Her face is so swollen!” Seeing my ashen face, the doctor had no choice but to call a nurse to check on Lorelei. Even as they loaded me into the ambulance, Ethan never looked at me once. When I woke up again, I was in the hospital. Ethan sat by the bed, stirring a bowl of soup he’d brought for me. Our eyes met. He reached out to help me sit up. “Don’t worry. The baby’s fine.” I dodged his hand and turned away, refusing to look at him. “Since you and her are in love at first sight, I’ll make it easy for you both.” Ethan withdrew his hand with a sigh. “Sophia, yes, I slept with her. But I’m not a heartless bastard.” “I married you. We have a child together. How could I just abandon you?” “Besides, I’m all you have left now. I won’t divorce you.” A knock came at the door. Lorelei walked in carrying a fruit basket, draping her hand over Ethan’s shoulder. “I’ll take it from here. Your assistant is outside—says it’s urgent.” Ethan grasped Lorelei’s hand, looking at her still slightly reddened face with heartache. “I’m sorry you have to deal with this.” After Ethan left, Lorelei sat by the bed and started peeling an apple. “You’re lucky to be alive.” “I was hoping once you died, I’d get your inheritance too.” A flash of resentment crossed her eyes. “That old bastard screwed me over one last time before he died. I was barely twenty when I hooked up with him, and he left you ninety-nine percent of everything.” Watching her resentment, I found it almost laughable. “If he developed feelings based on how long you were together, he never would’ve cheated on my mother with you in the first place.” And my mother never would’ve discovered Dad’s affair and gone into premature labor. I never wanted anything to do with him again. But when his people found me and made that offer, saying half of it had belonged to my mother anyway, I agreed to meet him. Lorelei bit into the apple and suddenly laughed. “You’re right. But it doesn’t matter now. I’ve latched onto another meal ticket, haven’t I?” “You and your mom have the same taste in men. Both so easy to make fall in love with me.” She leaned down, raising her eyebrows in mock gratitude. “Thanks for that.” As she spoke, she forcefully grabbed my hand and pressed it against her lower abdomen. “I’ve got good news for you. I’m pregnant too.” “Should my baby call your mom Grandma? Or Mom?” I yanked my hand away forcefully, disgusted. “Your baby has no right to have anything to do with my mother!” She clutched her belly, suddenly showing an expression of pain. “Sophia, what did you do?!” Ethan rushed into the room, grabbing me by the collar. “I didn’t do any—” Before I could finish, Lorelei cut me off. She crouched on the floor, grabbing his pant leg with a pained expression. “Ethan, it’s okay. She’s just upset that we’re having a wedding. I don’t blame her.” “After all, the island wedding was what she always wanted most.” “It’s just… my belly…” She suddenly collapsed on the floor. **3** “Lorelei!” Ethan panicked, scooping her up and rushing toward the door. At the doorway, he turned back with cold eyes. “Sophia, I won’t divorce you, but what you did yesterday and today crossed the line.” “I was planning to bring you to the wedding, but now I don’t think that’s necessary.” “I’ll continue handling your father’s funeral arrangements. Just stay in the hospital and behave.” After he left, security guards quickly appeared outside my hospital room. They confiscated my phone, and someone followed me everywhere, even when I went downstairs. I thought he just didn’t want me following them to ruin his wedding with Lorelei. But I was wrong. Three days later, on the wedding day, they locked my door early in the morning, preventing me from leaving. Then two people came in carrying a tablet streaming the wedding live, and positioned it in my hospital room. The wedding setup in the video was exactly what I’d always dreamed of. I found it absurd, but I didn’t feel sad. Until after their grand wedding ceremony ended, Ethan publicly announced he was going to bury my father in my mother’s grave! “Mr. Blackwell is such a good man, thinking of everything!” “I know, right? How many sons-in-law would consider something like this?” … Watching the crowd’s enthusiastic praise in the video, and Lorelei’s deliberately provocative look toward the camera, I trembled with rage and lunged for the phone like a madwoman. But they grabbed me, pinned me to the bed, and I couldn’t move. A day after the wedding ended, Ethan called specifically to ask, his voice dripping with superiority. “Are you satisfied with my arrangements?” On the screen, he stood on the balcony of an island villa, wearing a white suit, his posture upright and utterly cold. He knew how much I resented my father. He absolutely did this on purpose! I screamed in fury. “Ethan Blackwell! If you actually do this, I’ll kill you!” Ethan raised his wine glass and swirled it, his voice merciless. “Sophia, you should’ve known when to quit. Do you understand that concept?” A familiar female voice came from nearby, giggling. “You’re so ungrateful. Your mom and dad haven’t seen each other in years. Now they can finally be reunited. Shouldn’t you be happy for them?” She draped herself over Ethan’s arm, leaning on his shoulder. “Forget it, honey. Let’s ignore her. She’s killing the mood.” Ethan glanced carelessly at the camera, stroking her head gently. “Mm.” The call ended abruptly. Massive rage clogged my chest. I felt like I was going to explode. After taking two deep breaths, a thread of rationality briefly returned, and I suddenly felt something was terribly wrong. “The baby!” I frantically touched my belly. “My baby isn’t moving! She’s not moving!” Tears poured uncontrollably down my face. I sobbed, screaming at the guards: “Get a doctor! Get a doctor now!” The whole group panicked and scattered. In the chaos, one of the guards quietly approached from behind and whispered. “Don’t worry. Everything’s arranged.”After being pushed into the operating room, the doctor my people had arranged asked me again. “Miss, your baby is quite far along. Are you sure you want to induce labor?” I struggled to control my trembling hands and touched my belly, nodding. “Yes. I’m sure.” I’m sorry, baby. This time, Mommy has to choose herself. Mommy doesn’t want to be tied to your father who doesn’t love you, and Mommy doesn’t want you growing up in a loveless environment. If you can forgive Mommy, come find her again in the next life. During the surgery, Ethan called me countless times, but no one answered. He frowned, scrolling through his phone, growing increasingly irritated. Threatening to bury my father with my mother was my breaking point. I shouldn’t be this calm. After another call went to voicemail, he laughed coldly. So… she’s trying to manipulate me with this tactic? He tossed the phone aside and picked up company documents to review, but couldn’t concentrate. Something felt unsettled in his chest, restless. Even during company meetings, he kept spacing out, his mind uncontrollably conjuring the look in my eyes that day. It felt like more than just hatred. “Ethan? Ethan?” Lorelei came over with freshly made soup, tapping his shoulder lightly before sitting beside him, reaching to massage his temples. “Have you been working too hard lately?” Ethan raised his hand, blocking hers, sounding tired. “Any news from there?” Lorelei froze, quickly realizing he meant news about me at the hospital. Her nails dug into her palm as she swallowed her anger and spoke softly. “What news would there be? Same as before. She’s still making a fuss, refusing to agree.” She turned and tugged at Ethan’s sleeve, shaking it playfully. “Come on, don’t keep talking about her when you’re with me. I’ll tell you if there’s any news.” “Will you take me to that restaurant later? The food there is amazing!” Ethan took her hand, gently caressing it. “Alright. Once I finish work, we’ll go.” Hearing this, Lorelei smiled and held the soup out to him. “You won’t be done for a while. Eat something first.” Looking at the greasy chicken soup, Ethan took a perfunctory sip. “Not bad.” Then he made an excuse about another meeting and sent Lorelei away. A few hours later, the surgery ended. I was wheeled out of the operating room. Lorelei happened to be holding Ethan’s arm, about to leave for dinner. Ethan had just gotten into the car with a smile when he received a message. **[Mr. Blackwell, something’s wrong. Mrs. Blackwell was so stressed that the baby stopped moving. She’s already gone in for induced labor.]**

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At the dinner table, my wife Maya’s guy best friend Derek was flushed red from drinking. He threw his arm around Maya’s shoulders, his eyes hazy with alcohol as he reminisced about the past. “Maya, do you ever think about it? If we hadn’t broken up back then, our kid would probably be in school by now, right?” My fingers tightened around my glass. Derek noticed the change in my expression. Not only did he not back off, he actually made a “tsk” sound and pulled Maya even closer. He looked at me provocatively. “Oh, Ethan, bet you didn’t know Maya and I used to date, huh?” “Look at her being all secretive about it. Could it be… she still has feelings for me?” Before Maya could explain, I laughed. I cut off his drunken rambling, my voice not loud, but clear enough to carry through the entire private room. “How about we wait until Maya and I finalize our divorce, then you can shoot your shot?” “After all, jumping straight from one relationship to another looks pretty bad.” **[Chapter One]** The air in the private room instantly froze. The music, the laughter, the drinking games—everything stopped abruptly. All eyes turned to me, filled with shock, confusion, and a trace of excitement at the drama. Maya’s face turned deathly pale in an instant. She shoved Derek away violently, staring at me in disbelief. “Ethan, have you lost your mind? Do you even know what you’re saying?” Derek was stunned too, sobering up considerably. He dropped his arm, his eyes full of bewilderment. I smirked, drained the rest of my drink in one gulp. The liquor burned like fire from my throat down to my stomach. I stood up, looking down at them. “Was I not clear enough?” “Divorce.” “Tomorrow morning, nine o’clock. Meet me at the courthouse.” With that, I grabbed my jacket from the back of my chair and walked out without another glance at her. Maya’s shrill voice followed me. “Ethan! Stop right there! Explain yourself!” “It was just a joke! Are you seriously overreacting like this?!” I didn’t stop. Didn’t turn around. Overreacting? When she said she wanted “our own place in the city,” I worked myself to the bone, juggling three jobs until I landed in the hospital with a bleeding ulcer. When she said she wanted “a wedding to remember,” I took every penny my parents had saved for retirement and gave her the ceremony she called “the day of my dreams.” Because of this so-called “guy best friend” of hers, we’d fought countless times. I compromised again and again, believing her every time she said, “We’re just friends.” Now I could see—I’d been lying to myself all along. Outside the restaurant, the evening breeze hit me, and that burning sensation in my chest finally started to fade. My phone began vibrating frantically. It was Maya. I declined the call. She called again. I declined again. After several rounds, my phone went quiet. A SnapChat message popped up. Maya: “Ethan, what the hell is wrong with you? All because of Derek’s drunk comment? Since when did you become so petty?” I stared at those words and let out a cold laugh. A drunk comment? If I hadn’t installed that hidden camera in the private room beforehand, if I hadn’t received those photos from the private investigator this afternoon, I might actually have believed it was just a “drunk comment.” I opened my photo album, looking at picture after picture of the two of them kissing outside a hotel, making out in a car. My eyes stung. I sent her a message back. “Tomorrow. Nine o’clock. Court-house.” “Don’t be late.” “Oh, and here’s a little something for you.” I selected all those photos, packaged them up, and sent them at full resolution. On the other end, complete silence. **[Chapter Two]** The next morning at 8:50, I arrived at the courthouse right on time. The sunlight was a bit harsh. I lit a cigarette and waited quietly. At exactly nine o’clock, a taxi pulled up by the curb. Maya got out, her eyes red and swollen, her face heavy with exhaustion and haggardness that even her carefully applied makeup couldn’t hide. She rushed up to me, her voice hoarse. “Ethan, we need to talk.” “The photos… the photos are photoshopped! Derek was just messing around with me!” I exhaled a smoke ring, watching her pathetic performance. “Oh? Really?” “So the hotel booking records were also a joke? And the $5,200 he transfers to your bank account every month—that’s a joke too?” Maya’s face went ashen. Her lips trembled, unable to form a single word. I crushed the cigarette butt in the trash bin and pulled out the documents I’d prepared from my briefcase. “Divorce agreement. I had a lawyer draft it.” “You committed adultery during our marriage and misappropriated marital assets. By law, you should leave with nothing.” I paused, looking at that face that once made my heart race. “But for old times’ sake, I’ll be fair. The condo we bought after marriage is worth $300,000. I paid the down payment, we split the mortgage. The condo goes to me, but I’ll reimburse you for your portion of the mortgage payments in cash.” “You keep the car. We split the savings fifty-fifty.” “Pretty generous of me, don’t you think?” Tears immediately streamed down Maya’s face. She grabbed my arm, crying and begging. “No! I don’t want a divorce! Ethan, I was wrong, I was so wrong!” “It was a moment of weakness! You’re the one I love!” “Give me one more chance, please? I’ll cut Derek off completely!” Gently but firmly, I pried her fingers off one by one. “Maya, it’s too late.” “When I found out you used the money we’d been saving for a car to buy him the latest phone—it was already too late.” “When I found out you lied about working overtime but were actually celebrating his birthday—it was already too late.” “When I saw that hickey on your neck and you told me it was a mosquito bite allergy—it was already too late.” With each statement, her face grew paler. By the end, she was trembling all over, as if all the strength had been drained from her body. “Sign it.” I handed her the pen. “Don’t make me make this any uglier than it needs to be.” Her gaze fixed on the words “marital infidelity” in the divorce agreement. Her body swayed, nearly collapsing. Maya eventually signed. She knew that what I had on her was enough to destroy her reputation completely. Walking out of the courthouse, our marriage certificate replaced by divorce papers, I felt an indescribable mix of emotions. Relief, but also a hint of emptiness. Three years of my life, all fed to the dogs. I’d just gotten in my car when an unknown number called. I answered. An arrogant male voice came through. “Is this Ethan? It’s Derek.” I said nothing, waiting for him to continue. “So you and Maya got divorced?” “Well, well. Got some balls, I’ll give you that. But hey, you actually did us a favor.” “Maya’s at my place right now, crying her eyes out. Breaks my heart to see her like this.” “Come on, man, why be so petty? She just made a mistake that all women make, you know?” Listening to his twisted logic, I was so angry I laughed. “Done?” Derek paused. “Huh?” “If you’re done, I’m hanging up. I don’t have time to listen to dogs bark.” With that, I hung up and blocked the number. I hit the gas, merging into traffic. This wasn’t the time for wallowing in self-pity. The revenge had only just begun. Did Maya think that once we divorced and split the assets, this was over? How naive. **[Chapter Three]** I pulled out another phone and dialed a number. “Hey Ryan, how’s that thing I asked you to look into coming along?” Ryan was a private investigator I’d met while working on a project. The guy had connections everywhere. “Ethan, my man, it’s all handled. That Derek guy—looks all respectable on the outside, manager at some investment firm, but his ass is dirty as hell.” “He’s been using his position for insider trading. Made about two hundred grand illegally. I’ve compiled all the evidence and emailed it to you.” “Oh, and he’s not just messing around with Maya. He’s got several girls on the hook, including one who’s his boss’s daughter.” My eyes went cold. “Thanks, Ryan. I’ll transfer the money to you right away.” I hung up and opened my email. An encrypted file sat there waiting. Derek. Maya. Your “good days” are just beginning. I didn’t release the evidence right away. Bullets should be saved for the most critical moment. First, I called Maya’s parents. The phone had barely connected when my mother-in-law—well, former mother-in-law now—blasted through with her familiar booming voice. “Ethan? What’s going on with you and Maya? Why aren’t you answering her calls? Are you bullying her?” I spoke calmly. “Ma’am, Maya and I are divorced.”Silence on the other end for a full ten seconds. “Di… divorced? Why?! Weren’t you two doing fine?” “You’ll have to ask your wonderful daughter about that.” “You can also ask her who Derek is.” With that, I hung up. I could imagine the chaos erupting in the household right now. Next, I printed out hundreds of copies of the intimate photos of Derek and Maya, along with screenshots of their hotel booking records. All anonymous. Then I drove to the school where Maya worked. She was a dance teacher at a private elementary school. She’d always been most concerned about her “gentle and refined” image. I didn’t go inside. I just stood at the school entrance, distributing these printed “evidence” copies to the parents picking up their kids. “Free entertainment. No need to thank me.” The parent chat groups exploded. “Oh my God! Isn’t this Miss Maya who teaches our kids?” “Holy crap, she looks so innocent, but she’s playing these games?” “Who’s this guy? He doesn’t look like her husband!” “Tsk tsk tsk, you really can’t judge a book by its cover. How can someone like this be a teacher? Don’t want her corrupting my kid!” Public opinion can be a knife that kills. I wanted her most precious reputation to rot completely. After finishing all this, I drove away, my mission accomplished. Halfway there, I got a call from my mom. “Son, you and Maya… you really divorced?” I made an affirmative sound. On the other end, my mom sighed. “It’s for the best. That kind of woman doesn’t deserve my son.” “I always felt something was off about the way she looked at you, like she had ulterior motives. But you wouldn’t listen.” “Come home. Mom will make you your favorite dishes.” Warmth flooded through me, my eyes getting a bit hot. “Okay.” **[Chapter Four]** When I got home, my mom had indeed prepared a whole table full of my favorite foods. My dad sat to the side. Though he didn’t say a word, the concern in his eyes was impossible to hide. “Mom, Dad, I’m fine.” I pushed the rice around in my bowl, my voice a bit muffled. My mom served me some braised pork. “Good that you’re fine. There are plenty of good girls in the world. We’re not worried.” “Do you have enough money? If not, Mom has some.” I shook my head. “I’m good. The company has a project coming up. If it goes well, I’ll get a nice bonus.” After dinner, I shut myself in my room and opened my computer. I divided the evidence Ryan had sent about Derek’s insider trading into several portions. One portion, I anonymously sent to the Securities and Exchange Commission’s reporting email. One portion, I anonymously sent to Derek’s company compliance department’s reporting email. And the most explosive portion—the chat records and photos of him with his boss’s daughter and several other women—I sent directly to his boss’s private email. Also anonymous. For the email subject line, I made it bold and enlarged. **[A cuckold’s crown for Mr. Williams. Please accept delivery.]** After finishing all this, I let out a long breath. Now, time to sit back and watch the show. Early the next morning, I got a call from my childhood friend Kyle. “Ethan! Holy shit! Dude, you’re a legend!” “That whole thing with your ex-wife is blowing up at her school! I heard she’s been suspended!” I smiled. “That’s just the appetizer.” “There’s more?!” Kyle’s voice was bursting with excitement. “Wait for the news.” I hung up and scrolled through the local financial news. Sure enough, one story had shot to the top of the headlines. **[XX Investment Company Executive Derek S. Suspected of Insider Trading, Taken by Police for Questioning]** The accompanying photo showed Derek being escorted out of the company by two police officers, his face ashen with despair. The comments section was already exploding. “Holy crap, isn’t this my classmate? He always seemed so successful!” “You never really know people. He’d do anything for money.” “I heard he was also two-timing multiple women and even cheated with his boss’s daughter. Is that true?” I read these comments, feeling a surge of satisfaction. Derek, this is just the beginning. Prison time—that’s your true destination. With Derek arrested, Maya completely fell apart. The private school where she worked valued teacher ethics and reputation above all else. After such a huge scandal, her termination was guaranteed. She called and texted me frantically. The content went from cursing at first to desperate pleading later. “Ethan, I’m begging you, please let me go!” “I know I was wrong, I really know I was wrong!” “Can you please delete those photos? The school is going to fire me! I can’t lose this job!” “As long as you help me, I’ll do anything you want!” Looking at these messages, I only felt the irony. If you knew this day would come, why did you do it in the first place? I didn’t reply to a single message. Mercy to your enemies is cruelty to yourself. Two days later, an unexpected person found me outside my company building. My former mother-in-law. She wasn’t as arrogant as she’d been on the phone last time. Her face was plastered with an ingratiating smile, and she carried a basket of fruit. “Ethan, look at you, acting like we’re strangers.” “Even if you and Maya are divorced, we’re still family, aren’t we?” I leaned against the wall, looking at her with a half-smile. “Ma’am, if you have something to say, say it.” Her smile stiffened for a moment, then she continued. “Well… about Maya’s job situation… do you think you could talk to the principal? Didn’t you have dinner with them before?” “If she loses her job, it doesn’t look good for you either, does it?” I was almost amused by her twisted logic. “First, Maya and I have no relationship anymore. Her affairs have nothing to do with me.” “Second, you know exactly why she’s being fired, don’t you? She did something wrong. I didn’t make her lose her job.” “Third, whether it looks good for me or not isn’t your concern.” “If there’s nothing else, please leave. I have work to do.” My former mother-in-law’s expression immediately soured. “Ethan! Don’t be so ungrateful!” “So what if she cheated? It’s not that big a deal! Maya’s young and didn’t know better. What’s wrong with making a mistake?” “Can’t you be the bigger person? Do you have to push her to the edge like this?” I looked at her coldly. “Be the bigger person?” “When she despised me for being poor and ran off with Derek, why didn’t you tell her to be the bigger person?” “When she used my card to buy things for Derek, why didn’t you tell her to be the bigger person?” “Now that she’s in trouble, you want ME to be the bigger person? Too late!” “Get lost!” That last word, I practically shouted. My former mother-in-law was so frightened by my intensity that she stepped back twice, pointing at me and sputtering “you, you, you” for a while before slinking away in defeat.

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On our fifth wedding anniversary, I came out of hiding behind Holden’s back to make my comeback. I wanted to surprise him. But on the massive billboard at Lincoln Center, my spot had been given to Serena Miles, the woman who destroyed my voice with corrosive chemicals three years ago. Through the half-open dressing room door, I heard her saccharine voice. “Darling, you gave me your wife’s most precious stage. What if she makes a scene?” Then came Holden’s low, familiar voice. “She will never know. She is a broken has-been now who can’t even hit the high notes. Where else would she go except stay home and wait for me?” I stood outside the door, trembling all over. So the “psychiatric facility” was a lie. He had been keeping my lifelong enemy as his mistress for three years. All my desperate rehabilitation, and all I got was. “Only by breaking her wings will she stay obediently by my side.” Lily’s POV On our fifth wedding anniversary, I went to Lincoln Center without telling Holden. Three years ago, my vocal cords were severely burned by a corrosive chemical. I could never sing soprano again. After more than a thousand days and nights of agonizing rehabilitation, from being completely unable to make a sound to finally speaking full sentences, the top medical team in England finally told me my voice had recovered. I could sing again. I wanted to reclaim my principal position at tonight’s fifth anniversary special performance and surprise Holden. But when I walked up to the theater entrance full of anticipation, I froze in place. On the massive electronic billboard outside, the spot that should have been mine now showed a face both familiar and nauseating. Serena Miles. My breath caught instantly. I felt like I’d plunged into ice water. How could Serena be here? How dare she show her face here! Three years ago, Serena had been jealous of my status in the opera world. She put a corrosive agent in my throat spray and personally destroyed my voice, broke my wings. The day we learned the truth, Holden’s eyes were bloodshot. He grabbed Serena by the throat and said he’d make her wish she were dead. To avenge me, Holden said he’d sent Serena to the most remote underground psychiatric facility in New York, where she’d endure inhuman torture every day. He said anyone who dared harm his woman would pay a price worse than death. For three years, whenever I had nightmares, Holden would hold me gently, kiss the scar on my neck, and repeat: “Don’t be afraid. The person who hurt you is atoning in hell.” But now, the woman who was supposed to be atoning in hell was wearing a gorgeous haute couture gown, appearing on a billboard at New York’s most prestigious theater! What the hell was going on?! I trembled all over as I rushed into the theater in my heels. Using my familiarity with the place, I avoided the staff and walked straight to the principal’s dressing room backstage. The door was ajar. Muffled voices came from inside. “Holden, is this dress too tight? I’m afraid I won’t be able to hit the high notes tonight.” It was Serena’s saccharine voice. My footsteps stopped abruptly. My nails dug into my palms. Holden? In all of New York, who else would dare call the cold, ruthless heir to the Chase fortune by his first name so intimately? No one but me. Then came Holden’s low, familiar voice, the voice that used to be gentle only for me. “Tight looks good. If you can’t hit the high notes, it’s fine. The sound engineer will adjust it for you. Tonight you just need to stand on stage looking beautiful and enjoy everyone’s applause.” “But…” Serena sounded uncertain. “Tonight is your fifth anniversary with Lily. You gave me the stage she cares about most. What if she finds out and makes a scene?” “She won’t know.” Holden’s tone was certain and cold. “She’s a broken has-been who can’t even hit the high notes anymore. Where else would she go except stay home and wait for me?” My mind went completely blank. So this was how he saw me. I’d fought desperately through rehabilitation, breaking into cold sweats from pain every day, just to be worthy of him again. And all I was to him was a has-been. “Darling, you’re so good to me.” Serena giggled, her voice dripping with smugness. “Three years ago I destroyed her voice, and not only didn’t you send me to a psychiatric facility, you hid me in a villa in LA to live in luxury. Now you’re letting me take her place for a comeback. Have you grown tired of her?” The dressing room went quiet for a few seconds. I pressed my hand over my mouth, tears streaming down my face. My heart felt like it was being sawed back and forth with a dull knife. The pain nearly knocked me off my feet. So the psychiatric facility, the suffering worse than death, it was all lies. He had kept the enemy who destroyed my life as his mistress for three years. “Don’t talk nonsense.” Holden’s voice was emotionless. “I love her. But she used to be too dazzling, flying all over the world, never coming home. Only by breaking her wings would she stay obediently by my side and be a Mrs. Chase who depends entirely on me.” “As for you, you helped me keep her. This is your reward.” I staggered back a step. My heel accidentally knocked against a prop box, making a dull thud. “Who’s out there?!” Holden’s sharp voice instantly pierced through the door. I didn’t run. I stood there rigidly, watching the dressing room door get yanked open. Holden wore a perfectly tailored black suit, his posture straight, his eyes still carrying their usual coldness. But when he saw it was me outside the door, panic flashed in his eyes, though he quickly masked it perfectly. “Lily? What are you doing here? You didn’t hear anything just now, did you?” He strode toward me, instinctively reaching to pull me close, his tone gentle but unable to hide his tension. I stepped back, dodging his hand. I looked at this man I had loved for five years, at his seemingly devoted face, and felt nothing but disgust.

Lily’s POV I laughed coldly and asked instead of answering. “What do you hope I heard?” Holden’s hand froze in mid-air. His brow furrowed. “This isn’t a place you should be. We’ll talk at home.” I ignored him and looked past his shoulder into the dressing room. Serena wore a midnight blue velvet gown that had originally belonged to me, a custom piece from a top British designer made for my comeback performance. Now it was on the body of the woman who destroyed my voice. Serena looked at me, her eyes full of provocation. Her smugness stung me. Fighting back the ache, I demanded: “Holden, why is she wearing my dress? Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?” Holden saw my reddened eyes and sighed, stepping forward to forcibly take my hand. “Lily, you’re misunderstanding. I put her on that stage to humiliate her.” I laughed bitterly. “Humiliate?” “Yes.” Holden’s expression didn’t change, his eyes terrifyingly sincere. “She destroyed your dream years ago, so I’m going to make her humiliate herself in front of everyone. She doesn’t have your talent. Tonight during the performance, I’ll have the sound engineer cut her microphone and let her lose face in front of all of New York’s elite. That’s worse than locking her in a psychiatric facility. It’ll make her wish she were dead.” He said it so matter-of-factly, so devotedly. If I hadn’t just heard him promise the sound engineer would help adjust her audio, I might have actually believed this bullshit. “Really?” I pulled my hand away and looked at him coldly. “Fine. Then I’ll watch from the audience and see how you make her wish she were dead.” With that, I turned and walked away, spine straight. At eight PM, the performance officially began. I sat in the most secluded box on the second floor, watching the glittering stage lights. Serena made her entrance. She wore that midnight blue gown and a diamond necklace worth a fortune, looking like a noble queen. The music started. Serena began to sing. The microphone wasn’t cut. Not only that, but the sound engineer used top-tier equipment to embellish her mediocre voice, making it sound ethereal and graceful. The entire hall erupted in applause. My gaze cut through the crowd, fixed on the man in the center of the front row VIP section. Holden sat there, posture lazy and refined. He watched Serena on stage, the corners of his mouth curving in appreciation. When the song ended, Serena took an elegant bow. Holden stood up and, under everyone’s envious gazes, personally walked onto the stage and handed Serena a bouquet of vibrant blue roses. Blue roses. Those were my signature. Holden had once reserved an entire flower field just to cultivate the purest blue roses. He’d said: “Lily, only this one-of-a-kind blue is worthy of you.” But now, he’d personally given that uniqueness to Serena. Serena accepted the flowers and lowered her head shyly. The two smiled at each other on stage like a loving couple. I sat in the dark box watching this scene, suddenly finding it a bit funny. I laughed out loud. As I laughed, tears fell in large drops onto the back of my hand. I used to think Holden was my only salvation when I fell into the abyss. After my voice was destroyed, I developed severe depression and attempted suicide several times. Each time, it was Holden who held me all night, eyes red, begging me to live. He’d said: “Lily, you still have me. Even if you can never sing again, you’re still my life.” Turns out, he never wanted a brilliant opera singer. He wanted a broken thing that could only cling to him, unable to leave him. He personally built a cage called love, locked me inside, then turned around and gave the stage and glory I craved most to another woman. After the performance, I didn’t wait for Holden. I took a cab back to the villa alone. In the empty living room, I didn’t turn on the lights. I sat on the sofa like a soulless puppet. I don’t know how much time passed before I heard the fingerprint lock at the front door. Holden walked in carrying a faint smell of alcohol. He turned on the light and saw me sitting on the sofa. He paused for a moment, then walked over and pulled me into his arms. “Lily, why didn’t you turn on the lights? Were you waiting for me?” He lowered his head to kiss my cheek, but I smelled Serena’s perfume on him. “Didn’t you say you were going to humiliate her on stage?” I didn’t dodge, just spoke woodenly. Holden’s movements froze. His eyes darkened, his tone apologetic. “Lily, I’m sorry. There was a change of plans. The organizers had some issues. If I’d let her humiliate herself on the spot, it would have damaged the theater’s reputation. Don’t worry, I’ll have plenty of ways to torture her later.” “Really?” I turned my head and looked straight into his eyes. “And the blue roses? Were those to torture her too?”

Lily’s POV Holden’s eyes turned cold. His face showed impatience, but he still placated me. “I was just respecting the organizers and helping them complete tonight’s performance. No matter who was on that stage, I would have done the same thing.” “Lily, stop being upset with me. Today is our fifth anniversary. Let’s not waste it…” As Holden spoke, his hands began wandering restlessly over my body, his breath hot against my neck, his tone suggestive. My heart grew colder. “Holden, you disgust me. You put the woman who destroyed my voice on that stage, gave her my flowers, and now you think a few words can brush it all aside.” Holden’s movements stopped abruptly. His tone turned cold: “Lily, since when did you become so petty?” “Fine. You want the truth? I’ll tell you. Serena has depression. Her doctor said she needs the stage to build her confidence, or she’ll die! Lily, you’ve always been kind. Are you really going to watch someone die?” I froze. I looked at the man in front of me as if I were looking at a complete stranger, a monster. “She has depression?” My voice shook badly. “Holden, when my voice was destroyed and I couldn’t sleep for three years, when I was losing handfuls of hair, when I was slitting my wrists, why didn’t you say I might die? Now you’re accusing me of not being kind enough for the sake of a criminal?” Holden took a deep breath, suppressing his anger, trying to take my hand. “Lily, don’t be so angry. I just don’t want you living in hatred forever. Aren’t you fine now? You have me with you. We have a whole lifetime together.” I yanked my hand back forcefully, finding the hand that had touched Serena unbearably filthy. “I’m tired. I want to rest.” I stood up and walked upstairs without looking back. The next morning when I came downstairs, Holden had already left for the office. A maid was putting away the suit he’d changed out of. I walked over. My eyes fell on the jacket pocket, where a corner of white card stock peeked out. I don’t even know why, but I reached out and pulled out the card. It was an access card. It had the One57 logo on it. That was New York’s most exclusive luxury high-rise, with only one unit per floor. Non-residents couldn’t get in at all. Holden owned many properties, but he never stayed in them. I gripped the card tightly, my knuckles turning white. That afternoon, I put on sunglasses and a mask and took a cab to One57. I swiped the card at the main entrance and took the private elevator straight to the top floor. When the elevator doors opened, I saw a solid white oak door. I took a deep breath and used the access card to unlock it. The lock beeped softly. I pushed the door open. When I saw what was inside, I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. The decoration style, the furniture layout, even the custom shoe cabinet by the entrance, everything was identical to the home Holden and I shared. The only difference was that these walls were covered with photos of Serena. Serena on stage. Serena on vacation at the beach. And… photos of Serena with Holden. In the photos, Holden wore casual clothes, looking down at Serena with an expression of relaxation and affection I’d never seen! I couldn’t breathe. It felt like an invisible hand was choking my throat. I walked step by step into the living room. On the table sat two overlapping wine glasses. On the sofa lay a carelessly tossed men’s shirt. It was the shirt Holden had worn last night. So when he said the company had an emergency and left in the middle of the night, he’d come here. I felt ice cold all over as I walked into the bedroom. The bedroom layout nearly broke me completely. The sheets were champagne-colored silk, my favorite. The vanity was covered with expensive skincare products. And the walk-in closet was hung with row after row of haute couture. Half of them were pieces I’d admired but been told by the brands had already been purchased by a mysterious buyer. Turns out that mysterious buyer was my husband, and these clothes were worn by the woman who destroyed me. Click. The sound of a lock opening suddenly came from outside. I snapped back to attention, my heart pounding. I quickly looked around and hid in the spacious walk-in closet, peering out through the slats of the louvered door. Footsteps grew closer. “Holden, why did you come over so early today?” Serena’s sweet voice rang out. “I missed you.” Holden’s voice was low and husky, carrying obvious warmth. The two walked into the bedroom embracing, falling onto that champagne silk bed. I pressed my hand hard over my mouth, tears flowing uncontrollably, my body shaking violently beyond my control. I watched my husband of five years, in this house that was a complete replica of our marital home, making love to another woman with total abandon. Overwhelming nausea crashed over me! Their every gasp and moan was like a sharp awl drilling viciously into my skull!

Lily’s POV I don’t know how much time passed before the commotion outside finally quieted. “Holden…” Serena’s voice carried satisfied laziness. “You ran out in the middle of the night to be with me. Didn’t Lily make a scene?” “What would she make a scene about?” Holden lit a cigarette. The lighter made a crisp click. “She can’t live without me now. As long as I sweet-talk her a little, she’ll obediently do what I say.” “Aren’t you afraid she’ll discover the truth?” Serena laughed lightly, her tone full of undisguised malice. “What if she finds out that I deliberately put that stuff in her water years ago, and you not only knew all along but helped me destroy the security footage and even used it as an excuse to keep her caged… Do you think she’d go insane?” In the closet, my eyes flew wide open. Even my breathing stopped completely in that moment. What did I just hear? Holden knew all along? He helped Serena destroy the surveillance footage?! “Shut up.” Holden’s voice instantly turned cold, carrying a warning. “Take that to your grave. If she ever finds out, I won’t forgive you.” “Oh, I’m just talking.” Seeing him angry, Serena quickly pressed herself against him coquettishly. “I just think you’re too cruel to her. You knew how much she loved that stage, but you personally broke her wings.” “Cruel?” Holden laughed coldly and exhaled a smoke ring. “She was too proud. If I didn’t pull her down from her pedestal, she’d never stay obediently by my side. I gave her the identity of Mrs. Chase and more money than she could spend in a lifetime. What more could she want?” “Right, right, you love her most.” Serena’s tone carried a hint of jealousy. “What about me? I did such a huge thing for you. Are you planning to keep me hidden here forever?” “What’s the rush.” Holden stubbed out his cigarette. “When the time is right, I’ll arrange for you to enter the most famous opera house. The fame and fortune you want, I’ll give it all to you.” “Thank you, darling!” Serena cheered and kissed him again. I leaned against the cold wall, gasping for breath. My tears had run dry. All that remained was desolation and death in my heart. So that’s how it was. It had all been an elaborate, carefully planned deception. What I thought was an accident was Serena’s deliberate sabotage. What I thought was salvation was a cage Holden built with his own hands. The love I treasured was, in Holden’s eyes, nothing more than a game to satisfy his twisted need for control. He enjoyed my dependence and pain while having his fun with the real culprit. How terrifying. This man I’d shared a bed with for five years was a complete monster… I escaped from that penthouse while they went to shower together. I wandered the bustling streets of New York like a corpse. The early autumn wind cut into my skin, bone-chillingly cold. I didn’t go back to the villa. Instead, I went to an inconspicuous café and used a public phone to dial an international number. “Hello, Dr. Bennett? This is Lily Hart.” A delighted voice came through from the renowned British vocal specialist: “Ms. Hart! Your voice has recovered beautifully. As long as you continue with the final medication regimen, you can absolutely return to your peak! Have you decided about auditioning for the Royal Opera House?” “I’ve decided.” My voice carried the calm that comes after complete despair. “Please arrange an audition for next month. Also, I’m running low on my medication. Could you send me another treatment cycle?” “No problem! Looking forward to seeing you in England!” I hung up and watched people come and go outside the window, my eyes gradually turning cold. I wouldn’t make a scene. I wouldn’t confront Holden. Reasoning with a monster would only get me killed more miserably. I had to escape. I had to completely leave this nauseating cage and take back everything that belonged to me. At ten PM, I returned to the villa. Holden wasn’t home yet. I took a shower, changed into clean pajamas, and sat at my vanity, slowly covering my pale face with makeup. At 11:30, I heard a car engine downstairs. Soon after, the bedroom door opened. Holden walked in holding an exquisite velvet gift box. He saw me sitting on the bed. His eyes softened. He walked over and pulled me into his arms. “Lily, still awake?” I suppressed my nausea and didn’t push him away, just hummed softly. “Still angry about last night?” Holden opened the gift box. Inside was a pink diamond necklace worth a fortune. “I specially had someone buy this from England. It’s my fifth anniversary gift to you. Do you like it?” I looked at that dazzling necklace, but what flashed through my mind was the equally expensive diamond around Serena’s neck. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.” I forced out a stiff smile. Holden personally fastened the necklace around my neck, his fingertips deliberately or not grazing the shallow scar where my vocal cords were. “Lily, I’m taking vacation next week. How about I take you to England to relax? You’ve always wanted to see the scenery there, haven’t you?” I lowered my eyes, hiding the coldness in them. “Sure,” I said softly. Going to England. Perfect.

Lily’s POV Over the next few days, I was unusually obedient. I stopped mentioning the theater. I stopped asking why Holden came home late. I took the medication Dr. Bennett sent on schedule every day. When Holden wasn’t home, I’d lock myself in the soundproof practice room, slowly recovering my vocal techniques. Holden was very satisfied with my transformation. He thought I’d finally accepted reality and fully embraced my fate of being kept. To reward my compliance, Holden cancelled many business commitments and came home early every day to have dinner with me. He even cooked my favorite dishes himself. Watching him bustle around in the kitchen, I only felt irony. If I hadn’t heard those words with my own ears, I really would have been fooled by his performance as a devoted husband for the rest of my life. Two days until the England trip. I’d secretly packed my important documents and Dr. Bennett’s letter of recommendation, hiding them in the lining of an inconspicuous old suitcase. Once I got on that plane to England, I’d find a way to break free. However, the night before departure, Holden took a phone call and his expression changed slightly. He walked onto the balcony and said a few things in a low voice, then returned to the bedroom and looked at me apologetically. “Lily, I’m sorry.” He came over and took my hand. “One of the company’s major overseas projects suddenly hit a snag. I have to fly to LA tomorrow to handle it personally. The England trip might have to be postponed a few days.” I looked into his deep eyes and laughed coldly inside. LA? Just this afternoon, I’d seen a post on Serena’s unblocked private social media account: “Looking forward to tomorrow’s birthday party. Having the person I love most by my side is the greatest happiness.” Tomorrow was Serena’s birthday. Holden wasn’t going to LA on business at all. He was going to celebrate his precious mistress’s birthday. “Is it serious?” I withdrew my hand and asked with feigned concern. “Yeah, a bit tricky.” Holden smoothly stroked my hair, his tone gentle but unable to hide his tension. “Just stay home and wait for me. I’ll come back to be with you as soon as I’m done.” “Okay.” I lowered my eyes. “Work comes first.” Early the next morning, Holden left with his suitcase. I stood at the second-floor window, watching his car drive out through the villa gates, my eyes turning completely cold. That afternoon, Serena’s private account started updating frantically. The photos showed an extremely luxurious private club suite. Flowers, balloons, champagne towers, and mountains of expensive gifts. One photo showed Serena wearing a birthday crown, hands clasped in a wish. At the edge of the photo, a man’s hand accidentally appeared. That hand wore a limited edition Patek Philippe watch. It was the birthday gift I’d given Holden last year. I stared at that photo for a long time, then suddenly picked up my phone and called Holden. The phone rang for a while before being answered. The background noise was somewhat chaotic. I could faintly hear music. “Lily? What’s wrong?” Holden’s voice sounded tense. “Where are you?” I asked. “In LA, about to start a meeting.” Holden lied without even pausing. “It’s a bit noisy here. Can I call you back later?” “Okay.” I hung up directly. I changed into a simple black trench coat, put on sunglasses, and took a cab to the high-end private club from the photo background, Eclipse. The club operated on a strict membership system, but I used to be a top-tier VIP here. I used facial recognition to get through the main entrance and walked straight to the luxury suite on the top floor where Serena was. The suite door wasn’t fully closed. Laughter and chatter came from inside. “Serena, Holden is so good to you. This is such an elaborate setup!” a woman’s voice said flatteringly. “Of course.” Serena’s tone was smug. “He said that woman is useless now. He’s going to divorce her sooner or later. When the time comes, I’ll be the real Mrs. Chase.” I stood outside the door listening to these grating words, then pushed the door open. Bang. The suite instantly went silent. Everyone’s eyes focused on me in the doorway. Holden sat in the center of the sofa holding a glass of red wine. The moment he saw me, his wine glass shook violently, red liquid spilling onto his expensive suit pants. “Lily?” He shot to his feet, his face instantly darkening. “What are you doing here?” I ignored him and walked straight up to Serena. Seeing me, Serena showed no panic. Instead, emboldened by Holden’s presence, she thrust out her chest deliberately. “Lily, what are you doing here? You’re not welcome.” I looked at her meticulously made-up face and suddenly raised my hand. Smack! A resounding slap landed hard across Serena’s face.

Lily’s POV I put all my strength into that slap. Serena’s head snapped to the side. Five clear red finger marks instantly appeared on her pale face. She covered her cheek, eyes wide with disbelief, then tears immediately welled up and spilled over. “Holden…” She turned to look at Holden, her voice trembling with grievance. The suite fell deathly silent. Holden’s expression was dark enough to freeze over. He strode forward, yanked Serena behind him, and stared at me with piercing eyes. “Lily, have you lost your mind?!” I watched him protect Serena and felt the last warmth in my heart go completely cold. “I’ve lost my mind?” I laughed coldly, pointing at Serena. “Holden, didn’t you say you were in LA for a meeting? Your meeting is at this woman’s birthday party?” “This is my private business. It’s not your place to interfere! Apologize to Serena right now.” “Apologize?” I sounded like I’d heard the world’s biggest joke. “She destroyed my voice, stole my stage, and now wants to take my place. You want me to apologize to her?” “Lily!Holden suddenly raised his voice, his eyes terrifyingly cold. “I’ll say this one last time. Apologize. Otherwise, you’ll never see Dr. Bennett again for the rest of your life.” My whole body shook. I looked at him in disbelief. Dr. Bennett was my only hope for rehabilitation. Holden was actually using this to threaten me? “You’ve been investigating me?” My voice trembled slightly. “You think you could contact a doctor privately without me knowing?” Holden looked down at me from above, his eyes full of cruel possessiveness. “Lily, I gave you a chance. You chose not to be obedient. Since you want so badly to fix your voice and leave me, I’ll personally cut off all your hope.” I felt like I’d fallen into hell. I finally understood that I had no secrets from this man. He was like an airtight net, trapping me inside, watching me struggle, watching me despair. I saw Serena hiding behind Holden, a smug, cold smile at the corner of her mouth. She suddenly stepped forward and reached out to grab my sleeve. “Miss Hart, don’t be angry. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have let Holden come celebrate my birthday. You can hit me or yell at me, just please don’t fight with Holden…” As she spoke, she deliberately stepped backward. The instant her hand touched my sleeve, Serena suddenly screamed and fell straight backward. “Ah!” Serena hit the floor hard. Her forehead struck the edge of the table, instantly drawing blood. “Serena!” Holden’s expression changed drastically. He immediately crouched down and pulled her into his arms. “Holden, it hurts…” Serena leaned weakly against him, looking at me with tearful eyes. “Lily, I just wanted to apologize. Why did you push me?” I stood there, coldly watching Serena’s poor acting. “I didn’t push you.” “Enough!” Holden suddenly looked up. “Lily, you’ve disappointed me so much. I always thought you were just willful. I never imagined you’d become so vicious!” Vicious? I looked at this husband who was accusing me for the sake of his mistress and suddenly felt utterly exhausted. “Think whatever you want.” I turned around, ready to leave this suffocating place. “Stop!” Holden’s cold voice rang out behind me. “Escort Mrs. Chase back to the villa. Without my permission, she’s not allowed to step one foot outside!” The bodyguards outside immediately rushed in, blocking my path on both sides. I didn’t struggle. I knew that in New York, as long as Holden didn’t want me to leave, I couldn’t. I looked back at Holden. For the first time, my eyes held no emotion, just desolate, deathly calm. When Holden met my gaze, he said nothing. He just picked up the injured Serena and strode out of the suite.

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