I stayed in this simulation, this constructed reality, for three long years. I stayed for one reason: to take care of Martin Pierce, the man who had supposedly suffered irreversible brain damage while saving my life. The System’s punishments were a constant, quiet hum of agony in my veins, but I endured them in silence. For him. Until the afternoon he drove his SUV straight into me, sending my body flying across the asphalt. As I lay bleeding, he walked over, his fingers perfectly interlaced with Evie’s—the fragile, tragic girl who had always haunted his heart. Looking down at me with cold, lucid eyes, he casually explained that he had been faking his mental deficit the entire time. He had been waiting for this exact moment. Once I bled out, he and his precious Evie would inherit my status as the System’s “Host,” granting them the one thing money couldn’t buy: immortality. I looked up at them. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, but inside, I felt an eerie, hollow calm. System, I thought, projecting my voice into the void of my mind. I have two new candidates willing to take my place. Can I finally go home now? 1. “So, you were faking it. Every single day.” I lay in a spreading pool of my own blood, staring up at Martin in disbelief. He pulled Evie tighter against his side. The dark depths of his eyes held nothing but frost. “Obviously,” he said, his voice smooth, devoid of the childlike stutter I had spent three years soothing. “How else was I supposed to make you pity me enough to stay?” He offered a tight, patronizing smile. “Though I suppose I should thank you. If you hadn’t spilled the secret about the System, I never would have found a way to save Evie.” Evie shrank against his chest, her pale, delicate face a portrait of practiced fragility. She was Martin’s first love, the girl who got away. She had leukemia. She had been fighting a losing battle against it for years. Martin used to tell me, with that vacant, innocent look in his eyes: I don’t care that she’s sick. She’s in the past, Jo. I only want you. Only now did I realize the depth of his long con. He had been orchestrating this for three years, all to save her. Suddenly, a tearing, white-hot agony ripped through my chest. It had nothing to do with the shattered ribs from the car hitting me. It was the System. The punishment protocol. Because my assigned mission was to win Martin’s love. And if he didn’t love me, I paid the price in pain. “God, it hurts…” The whimper slipped past my bloody lips before I could stop it. I had endured this sensation—the feeling of my joints being pulled apart, my nerves catching fire—dozens of times over the years. But a person never truly gets used to torture. “Is it really that bad?” Martin looked down at me, mildly amused. “I thought you Hosts could just ask the System to turn off your pain receptors.” His casual cruelty was dizzying. It brought back a sudden, sharp memory of our golden days. The days when he looked at me like I hung the moon. I had been so stupidly in love, so convinced I had found my soulmate in this artificial reality, that I confessed the truth about the System to him. But I never told him about the punishments. I hadn’t wanted him to worry. The invisible fire inside me flared higher. I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ground together. “Stop talking,” I gasped out. Every word he spoke, every confirmation of his lack of love, dialed up the System’s torture. Evie suddenly stepped forward, crouching just out of reach of the blood, and put her hands on her knees. “Joanne, does it really hurt?” she asked, her voice dripping with saccharine concern. She looked up at Martin. “Martin, maybe we shouldn’t do this. I don’t need to live forever. It’s okay if I die.” “Absolutely not.” Martin shot it down instantly, his gaze softening entirely as he looked at her. “Evie, it’s different for her. She’s a Host. Even if she dies here, she just wakes up in her original world. But if you die, I lose you forever. Don’t waste your pity on her.” Where Martin couldn’t see, Evie’s lips curved into a smug, triumphant smirk. Leaning in closer to me, she dropped her voice to a whisper. “Did you know I was the one who told him to keep saying he doesn’t love you? I figured out that’s what triggers your little punishments. He knows exactly what it does to you.” She stood back up, sighing dramatically. “He doesn’t love you, Joanne. He never did. He only loves me. I am the main character of his story, after all.” The moment the words left her mouth, Martin pulled her into his arms, kissing the top of her head. The look in his eyes was devastatingly tender. “I bought the estate in the Palisades,” he murmured to her. “The one you liked. It’ll be our home.” My breath hitched. I had told Martin once, late at night, that I grew up in the foster system back in my real world. I had no family, no roots. My only dream was to build a real home. He had bought that estate in the Palisades for me. I had spent the last year agonizing over the renovations, the paint colors, the kitchen tile, waiting for the day we could finally move in. And now, he was handing the keys to my executioner. I let my head fall back against the pavement, staring up at the smoggy sky. System, I thought. I found them. Two new Hosts, completely willing. Can I go now? Martin Pierce. You threw me away. So be it. I’m throwing you away, too. 2. [Acknowledged. Scanning for willing Host replacements… Match confirmed.] [Host, are you absolutely certain you wish to transfer your binding to these two individuals?] Listening to the sterile, echoing voice of the System in my mind, I dragged my eyes back to Martin and Evie. They were making out against the backdrop of the city skyline, entirely unbothered by my dying body on the ground. For a split second, an old memory superimposed itself over the horrific present. I saw the Martin from two years ago, the one who smiled at me with pure, unjaded devotion. Thank you for staying with me, Jo. I love you. He used to warm up milk for me when I couldn’t sleep. He used to wash my stained sheets when my period cramps were too bad to move. No one had ever loved me in the details before. I really thought he was my safe harbor. I was so profoundly wrong. I’m certain, I answered the System. The thought tasted like ash. [Understood, Host. Initiating transfer protocol.] “Why isn’t the System showing up?” Evie whined, pulling back from Martin. Martin stroked her hair. “She’s probably negotiating with it right now. Just give it a second. She always spaces out when she talks to the thing.” [Greetings, Candidates.] The System’s voice suddenly materialized into the open air, a metallic resonance that they could hear, too. [As of today, you will become my new Hosts. Please state your chosen targets for the affection-binding protocol.] “I choose Evie Lawson,” Martin said instantly. “I choose Martin Pierce,” Evie echoed. They spoke in perfect unison, their hands clasped tight. A picture-perfect portrait of true love. My chest tightened. I remembered when Martin had looked at me with that same unwavering certainty, swearing, I will choose my Jo, every single time, no matter what. But times change. People change. [Acknowledged. However, the transfer calibration requires a 72-hour gestation period. You must wait three days.] The ambient hum vanished, and the System’s voice retreated back into the privacy of my mind. [You will be extracted in exactly three days, Host. I will accelerate your cellular repair so you may spend this time saying your goodbyes to your loved ones in this reality.] The moment the transmission ended, the agonizing fire in my veins shifted into a cool, tingling sensation. The broken ribs knitted together. The lacerations sealed. Martin let out a breath of awe. “Look, Evie. I told you she could just have the System heal her. The System is incredible. Once we have it, we’ll never have to worry about sickness or death again.” I slowly pushed myself off the blood-stained pavement, looking at him with utter exhaustion. He had no idea. He thought the System was a god of miracles. He didn’t know it was a warden. 3. I took an Uber straight to the hospital to see Grandpa Joe. In this entire constructed world, outside of Martin, Grandpa Joe was my only anchor. He was the only family I had. He had treated me with a kindness I had never known in my real life. He had emptied his meager savings account to help Martin and me buy our first car. He would always save the best cuts of meat from his dinners, wrapping them in foil just for me. As I walked down the sterile hospital corridor, I froze. Martin and Evie were walking toward me. They were holding hands, swinging them lightly between them. In Martin’s free hand was a glossy sonogram printout. “I can’t believe it, Evie. I’m going to be a father,” Martin was saying, his voice thick with emotion. The words were a physical blow, a machete to the chest. I had begged Martin for a baby. When I thought he was mentally recovering, I had gently broached the topic of starting a family. He had pulled away, his face twisting in distaste. I don’t want kids, Jo. They’re too loud. They’re a burden. I had brushed it off, thinking it was just his condition talking. Now, standing in the harsh fluorescent light of the hallway, the truth was glaringly obvious. He didn’t hate the idea of children. He just hated the idea of having one with me. He had been sleeping with Evie while I was playing house, playing nurse, playing the devoted wife. [Host, I am permanently disabling your punishment receptors. You will no longer suffer physical repercussions tied to your target’s emotional state.] As the System spoke, an immense, suffocating weight lifted from my shoulders. It was as if I had been carrying a boulder for three years and someone had finally cut the straps. I was free. The emotional shackles were gone. I watched Martin and Evie walk past me without a second glance. And to my surprise, I realized I felt fine. 4. When I walked into his room, Grandpa Joe’s eyes lit up. He immediately reached for a plastic container on his bedside table. “Joanie,” he rasped, offering it to me with trembling hands. “The nurse gave me these dumplings. I saved them for you. Eat up.” The dam broke. Hot, stinging tears spilled down my cheeks. If I left this world in three days, what would happen to him? Who would pay his exorbitant medical bills? Who would sit with him? I had to secure his future before I vanished. I wiped my face, kissed his forehead, and practically ran out of the hospital, heading straight for the house I had shared with Martin. Every dime I had earned over the last three years—my flower shop revenue, my investments—was sitting in a joint account controlled by Martin. When I arrived at the townhouse, Maria, the housekeeper, was hauling garbage bags onto the porch. She jumped when she saw me. “Miss Joanne… Mr. Pierce told me to pack up all your things. He said… he said you wouldn’t be living here anymore.” I looked past her. Through the open bags, I could see my clothes violently shoved inside. I saw the shattered pieces of the plaster figurine Martin and I had painted together on our first anniversary. He was erasing me. With brutal efficiency. I didn’t care about the clothes, but I needed my debit card. I stepped up to the digital keypad on the front door and punched in my code. BEEP. Error. Maria looked down at her shoes. “He had me change the code this morning, Miss.” My heart gave a dull, hollow thud. I steadied my breathing. “What’s the new code, Maria?” She hesitated, terrified of being caught in the crossfire. “Maria, please,” I kept my voice even. “My wallet is inside. I just need to get it.” She swallowed hard. “08122018.” August 12, 2018. The day Martin and Evie first started dating. I took two steps back, a dark, cynical laugh bubbling up in my throat. Just yesterday, he had held me in bed, kissing the back of my neck, whispering that he loved me. Just this morning, he had asked me to get out of the car on a deserted stretch of road, telling me to cover my eyes because he had a “surprise” for me. I had stood there, heart pounding with anticipation, only to be hit by a two-ton vehicle. He wanted me dead so badly. He was so desperate to steal my power. But Martin Pierce had absolutely no idea the kind of hell he was inheriting. 5. I punched in the code and pushed the door open. Martin had Evie pressed up against the marble kitchen island. His hands were gripping her waist, his face buried in her neck, murmuring about how he was going to worship her forever. My purse slipped from my fingers, hitting the hardwood with a loud thwack. Even knowing I was leaving, even having let him go, seeing the man I had bathed and fed and loved for three years dry-humping someone else in our kitchen was a punch to the gut. “What the hell are you doing here?” Martin snapped, pulling back. His eyes narrowed with immediate hostility. “You aren’t welcome here.” His icy glare violently transported me back to a night three years ago. I had defied a direct order from the System to save him from a bad business deal. The punishment was the sensation of having my femur snapped in half. I had laid on the floor, biting a towel to keep from screaming, wishing for death. But I survived it, because I thought we were building a forever together. I was such a fool. “I came for my money,” I said, my voice dead flat. “The money I earned from the shop is in the joint account. I need it to pay for my grandfather’s surgery.” Martin didn’t even flinch. He just tightened his grip on Evie’s waist, dragging his thumb lazily over her hipbone, deliberately ignoring me as if I were a telemarketer on the phone. Bile rose in the back of my throat. I swallowed it down. Three days. Just three days. “Fine. I’ll get the card myself.” I started toward the master bedroom, but Evie’s voice stopped me. “Joanne, wait. Isn’t your grandpa doing better? Why would you need that much cash?” She blinked, all wide-eyed innocence. “Are you trying to embezzle Martin’s money so you can take it back to your real world?” Martin’s head snapped toward me, his jaw clenching. “Is that it? You’re just a parasite?” he sneered. “Let me make this crystal clear: even the money you brought in belongs to this world. You aren’t taking a single red cent with you.” The sheer audacity of it left me momentarily speechless. The gentle, devoted Martin was entirely dead. This man was a stranger. “Martin, I told you, it’s for my grandfather’s hospital bills. I’m not taking anything with me.” “I don’t give a damn. Get out of my house!” I balled my hands into fists. There was no reasoning with him. He had completely bought into whatever narrative Evie spun for him. 6. I turned on my heel to leave, but Evie suddenly lunged forward, grabbing my forearm. “Joanne, don’t leave mad! If you really need cash, I can loan you some of my allowance.” Before I could pull away, she suddenly let go, throwing herself backward. She crashed to the floor, intentionally cracking the side of her head against the edge of the glass coffee table. “Ah! Oh my god, it hurts!” she shrieked. “Evie!” Martin didn’t even think. He crossed the room in two strides and shoved me with all his strength. I stumbled backward, slamming into the tea station. The heavy, boiling-hot electric kettle tipped over, raining scalding water down my shoulder and chest. I screamed, dropping to my knees as the heat blistered my skin. “What is wrong with you, Joanne?!” Martin roared, kneeling beside Evie to check her head. “If you’re pissed at me, take it out on me! Don’t you dare touch her!” His voice was a violent physical assault. Could he really not see the steam rising from my soaked shirt? Did he not care that my skin was peeling? I didn’t have the energy to fight him anymore. I just needed to take care of Grandpa Joe and go home. “Martin,” I breathed heavily, clutching my arm. “Just give me the five hundred thousand. Half a million. That’s my share. Give it to me, and I walk out that door and you never see me again. If you don’t, I swear to God I will make Evie’s life a living hell.” “You bitch.” He stood up, his eyes black with rage. He lunged at me, his hand clamping around my throat. He pinned me to the cabinetry, his grip tightening, systematically cutting off my oxygen. “Why do you have to be so damn toxic? Why couldn’t you just let us have a clean break?” he hissed in my face. “I… wanted a… clean break,” I choked out, clawing at his wrist. “I just… want my money.” He stared at me with pure disgust, then let go, throwing me to the floor like trash. “Fine. You want the money? I’ll give it to you.” He adjusted his cuffs, breathing hard. “On one condition.” “What?” I coughed, rubbing my bruised throat. “Get on your knees and apologize to Evie.” I froze. I looked up at him, searching for even a flicker of the man who used to rub my feet after a long day at the flower shop. There was nothing. “Okay.” I forced myself up. I dragged my battered body over to where Evie was sitting on the sofa, clutching an ice pack. I dropped to my knees. “I’m sorry,” I said, bowing my head. Suddenly, Martin’s hand was on the back of my neck. He shoved my face downward, slamming my forehead into the hardwood floor. I bit down on my tongue so hard I tasted copper. “You made her hit her head,” Martin said coldly above me. “Now we’re even.” “Okay,” I whispered to the floorboards. “Can I have my card now?” He reached into his wallet, pulled out the black debit card, and dropped it onto the toe of his leather shoe. “Crawl over here and take it.” “Okay.” I heard him shift, genuinely surprised by my total submission. I used to be so proud. I used to demand respect. But what did pride matter now? I was a ghost in this world. I just needed to buy my grandfather some time. I dragged myself forward. As my fingers brushed the card on his shoe, he suddenly stomped down, pinning my hand beneath his heel. He ground his jaw. “It’s pathetic how low you’ll sink for a paycheck, Jo.” A hot tear finally broke free, tracking through the dust on my cheek. He didn’t care about me. He never did. I pulled the card free and scrambled to my feet. Just as I did, my phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from the hospital: Grandpa Joe coding. In resuscitation. Panic seized me. I bolted for the door, but Martin caught me by the back of my shirt, violently yanking me back. “Think you can just take the money and run? Nothing in this life is free, Jo.” He practically spat the words. “You’re staying right here. You’re going to be our maid for the next few days.” “Let me go!” I thrashed wildly against his grip, but he was too strong. “Martin, my grandfather is dying! Let me go to the hospital!” “You’re pathetic,” Martin laughed darkly. “The second you get the cash, suddenly your grandpa is dying. You’d use an old man’s life just to pull a scam.” “I’m not lying!” I screamed, tears blinding me. Suddenly, the cold, metallic voice echoed in my skull. [Host, the transfer matrix has initialized early. The 72-hour window is no longer required. Would you like to execute the transfer now?]

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “422544”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The door to my examination room swung open just as I was looking down, organizing the morning’s patient charts. A man walked in, his arm wrapped possessively around a young woman’s waist. His voice was a low, melting murmur, the kind reserved for intimate, quiet spaces. “I know, sweetheart. Blame me. I just couldn’t keep my hands off you. I promise I’ll be more careful next time.” At the sound of that voice, the pen in my hand froze. I looked up. It was Jonathan. My husband. The man who was supposed to be halfway across the country at an academic symposium in Chicago. He saw me in the exact same fraction of a second I saw him. The tender smile wiped from his face, replaced by a sudden, violent paleness. His pupils dilated in sheer panic. The girl leaning against his side didn’t notice a thing. She just pouted, her hands resting on her heavily pregnant belly. “Tell him, Dr. Foster,” she whined, her voice syrupy and petulant. “Tell him he needs to be careful in the third trimester. He never listens to me. Scold him for me, won’t you?” I stared at her swollen abdomen. My mind automatically pulled up her file. Isabella Rossi. This was her ninth visit in three months for high-risk pregnancy monitoring. A tidal wave of nausea and grief threatened to drown me, but I forced it down, locking it behind a ribbed cage of professional detachment. A cold, razor-thin smile touched my lips. “Jonathan,” I said softly. My voice was as calm as if I were discussing the weather. “Is this your wife?” He flinched as if I’d struck him. His lips parted, but no sound came out. I took a slow step from behind the desk, my eyes locking onto his, refusing to let him look away. “Then what does that make me?” … 1 The blood completely drained from Jonathan’s face. He instinctively broke eye contact, his jaw working as he struggled to form a single word. Smack. The sharp crack of a palm against my cheek echoed in the sterile clinic room. My head snapped to the side. Isabella glared at me, her pretty face contorted into something ugly and mean. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Dr. Foster?” she hissed. “Aren’t you a little too old to be playing the homewrecker? Trying to seduce my husband?” My cheek burned. The physical sting was nothing compared to the ice flooding my veins. I leveled a dead-eyed stare at her and raised my hand to return the favor. “Let’s get one thing straight,” I said, my voice dropping an octave. “Who exactly is seducing whose husband here?” Before my hand could connect with her face, Jonathan grabbed my wrist in a vice grip. He yanked my arm down, glaring at me with a warning so intense it made my stomach turn. “That’s enough, Mag. She’s pregnant. Don’t cross the line.” He stepped between us, shielding her. “She’s young. She doesn’t know any better. You’re a grown woman—are you really going to stoop to fighting with her?” The raw impatience in his eyes was a serrated blade, twisting right into my chest. Seven years. We had been together for seven years. We got married right out of grad school. The first six months were a dream; I got pregnant almost immediately. Then came the vacation three years ago. Jonathan, my mother, and I. The drunk driver who blew through the red light. In the fraction of a second before impact, my mother threw herself across the backseat, shoving me down. She took the brunt of the crushed steel. She survived, but was left paralyzed from the neck down. I lost the baby. The internal trauma was so severe that the doctors told me it would be a medical miracle if I ever carried a child to term again. When Jonathan found out, he collapsed to his knees beside my mother’s ICU bed. I can still hear the wet, choking sound of his crying. “Mom, if it weren’t for you, I’d be dead in that wreck,” he had sworn, his hands gripping her lifeless fingers. “I will take care of Marina for the rest of my life. Even if we never have kids, I will protect her. I swear to God.” For three years, he held me through the night terrors. He whispered into my hair that we were enough, just the two of us. But on the nights he thought I was asleep, I would find him sitting in the dark nursery, clutching the tiny, unworn onesies we had bought, staring at the wall. I knew then that the ghost of our unborn child was a splinter festering in his heart. Because of that, I put my body through hell. I couldn’t tell you how many hormone injections I’d given myself, how many rounds of IVF we had tried, chasing a miracle. And now, standing in this sterile room, I realized that while I was bleeding myself dry for him, he was out building a family with someone else. The sour taste of bile and heartbreak rose in the back of my throat. My eyes burned as I stared at him. “Is it because she can give you a baby?” I asked, my voice cracking. “Is that why you’re with her?” He couldn’t hold my gaze. He looked at the linoleum floor. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until he finally let out a single, barely audible word. “…Yes.” In a single heartbeat, my mother’s paralysis, my dead baby, my three years of agonizing, silent endurance—it was all reduced to a punchline. A pathetic joke. Smack. I wrenched my hand free and slapped him across the face with everything I had. “Fine,” I said, a bitter, broken laugh escaping my lips. “I want a divorce. You two deserve each other.” Panic flickered in his eyes. He reached out, trying to catch my hand. “Marina, wait—” “You bitch! Don’t you touch my husband!” Isabella lunged at me, her manicured nails aimed at my face. I took a quick step back on pure reflex. Before she even grazed my scrubs, she suddenly shrieked, clutching her heavy stomach, and collapsed onto the clinic floor. “It hurts…” she gasped, her face going stark white. “I… the baby is coming…” A dark stain of crimson began to pool on the pristine white tiles beneath her. My medical training overrode my shock. I instantly dropped to my knees to assess her, but she shoved me away with surprising force. “Get off me!” she screamed. “If you hadn’t pushed me, I wouldn’t be bleeding!” She clawed at Jonathan’s pant leg. “Jon… I’m so scared… save our baby… If anything happens to my son, I swear to God, I’ll make sure she never practices medicine again!” 2 Isabella went into premature labor. It was a boy. A few hours later, gripping the freshly printed divorce papers I needed Jonathan to sign, I walked down the maternity ward hallway. Before I even reached the door of her private suite, I heard the chatter. The room was packed. Looking through the glass, I saw a dozen of Jonathan’s university grad students crowding the space, carrying balloons and expensive floral arrangements. “Bella, Professor Mercer is practically obsessed with you! I can’t believe he pulled out of the tenure track review just to take a six-month paternity leave to be with you!” “Professor, you and Bella have been together for three years now. It’s about time we had a baby in the department!” “Bella graduates next spring, right? Once the wedding happens, we’re going to have to start calling you Mrs. Mercer!” Jonathan was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, holding Isabella close. The smile on his face was one of profound, unadulterated peace. “Yeah, it’s time we finally had a real wedding,” he said softly, kissing her temple. “I’ve made my Bella wait far too long.” They laughed. A picture-perfect, joyous family. I stood in the hallway, my feet cemented to the floor. The chill of the air conditioning seemed to seep directly into my bones. When I was pregnant, he told me he was trying to secure funding for his lab. He was too busy. My mother was the one who drove me to every single ultrasound. But for Isabella, he dropped his tenure review and took six months off without a second thought. They’ve been together for three years. My baby died three years ago. So, after the car crash—after my mother traded her mobility for his life, after I buried my child—while he was kneeling beside a hospital bed swearing to be my protector, he was already hunting for a younger, more fertile replacement. And I, like an absolute fool, had let doctors harvest my eggs over and over, bruising my stomach with needles, desperate to give him the family he had already started somewhere else. Tears of pure rage blurred my vision. A violent tremor took over my body. I pushed the heavy wooden door open, letting it bang against the wall. The laughter died instantly. Every head in the room snapped toward me. Isabella shrieked. She grabbed the heavy glass water pitcher from her bedside table and hurled it directly at me. “You psycho!” she screamed. “You caused my early labor, and now you stalk me here? Are you that desperate to steal my husband?” The pitcher shattered against the doorframe, shards of heavy glass exploding outward. A piece sliced deep into my calf. Hot blood immediately soaked into my scrubs. Jonathan didn’t even glance at my bleeding leg. He just tightened his arms around Isabella, stroking her hair. When he finally looked at me, his eyes were flat. Dead. “Get out,” he said, his voice freezing cold. “Isabella is my wife. I don’t even know who you are. If you keep harassing my family, I’m calling security and having you arrested.” A laugh clawed its way up my throat—a harsh, jagged sound. I pulled our marriage certificate from my bag and whipped it directly at his chest. “You don’t know who I am?” I demanded. “Then what the hell is this?” The room plunged into a suffocating silence. Jonathan stood up, his face an unreadable mask. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t try to defend himself. One of the grad students cautiously picked up the booklet from the floor. He opened it, frowned, and then let out a scoffing laugh. “Lady, are you serious?” he sneered, holding it up for the others to see. “This piece of paper doesn’t even have the county clerk’s embossed seal. It’s an obvious fake!” “Yeah,” a girl chimed in, glaring at me. “When Professor Mercer married Bella, we were all there! We went to City Hall with them.” “We literally took pictures of the judge signing their license!” They pulled out their phones, aggressively shoving screens in my face. There it was. Jonathan and Isabella, smiling under the fluorescent lights of the municipal building, holding a legally binding marriage license. The raised county seal on their document felt like a physical blow to my ribs. My vision swam. A sickening realization crawled over my skin. The quick “courthouse wedding” Jonathan and I had right after graduation. The paperwork he promised to mail in because I was starting my brutal residency hours. He never filed it. My marriage—the foundation of my entire adult life, the reason my mother was currently staring at the ceiling of a long-term care facility—had been a lie from the very first day. Tears spilled over my lashes, mixing with a hatred so venomous it tasted like copper. I stared dead into Jonathan’s eyes. “Jonathan,” I whispered, my voice shaking with fury. “How do you sleep at night? How do you face the memory of my dead baby? How do you face my mother?” For a fraction of a second, the mask slipped. His face went ashen, and a flash of raw, unfiltered guilt passed through his eyes. But before he could speak, a sharp wail pierced the tension. Isabella had picked up the newborn. She let out a bloodcurdling scream. “What is this?!” The students panicked, rushing to the bed. On the infant’s tiny, fragile arm was a stark, dark purple bruise. Isabella sobbed hysterically, her whole body shaking as she pointed a trembling finger right at me. “You monster!” she wept, clutching the baby to her chest. “If you hate me, come after me! How could you hurt an innocent newborn?!” 3 The sheer absurdity of the accusation left me momentarily speechless. “Are you insane?” I snapped. “I haven’t been within ten feet of that baby! Don’t you dare try to pin your own—” Smack. The blow came so fast I didn’t even see it. My head snapped back, a high-pitched ringing exploding in my left ear. Jonathan stood over me, his chest heaving, his eyes dark with a terrifying malice. “Since he was born, you and Bella are the only two people who have been alone in the delivery suite with him,” he snarled. “Are you really trying to suggest a mother would bruise her own flesh and blood?” He leaned in closer, his voice a lethal hiss. “You’re just jealous she gave me a son. This is your sick revenge.” He pointed toward the bed. “Apologize to Bella. Right now. Or I promise you, you won’t have a medical license by the end of the day.” The side of my face throbbed. I looked at the man I thought I had known for seven years, and I saw a total stranger. “I will never apologize for something I didn’t do,” I said, my voice eerily steady. “If you’re so sure, go pull the security footage from the hallway and the suite.” He didn’t even blink. He simply turned his back on me, scooped up his son, and walked out to find a pediatrician. Ten minutes later, standing alone in the hospital’s security office, the guard gave me an apologetic wince. “Sorry, Dr. Foster. The camera covering Suite 4 is down for maintenance. Has been since yesterday.” I stood frozen in the dim glow of the monitors. The buzzing in my head finally quieted, leaving behind a cold, crystalline clarity. It was a setup. She had orchestrated the entire thing. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was the Chief of Medicine. “Marina,” he started, his voice heavy with exhausted resignation. “We just got a formal complaint from a patient accusing you of assaulting a newborn. There’s no physical evidence tying you to it, but she has a dozen witnesses claiming you’ve been stalking and harassing her.” I closed my eyes. “Chief—” “It’s already all over Twitter and TikTok, Marina. The PR nightmare is escalating by the minute. The board had an emergency meeting. To protect the hospital’s reputation…” He sighed. “We need your resignation. Today.” Witnesses. The grad students. I remembered the ice in Jonathan’s eyes. I stood in the hallway, shaking from head to toe. He knew better than anyone what this job meant to me. Over the last three years, I had turned down fellowships in Boston and London, passing up incredible career opportunities just so I could stay at this specific hospital—because it was a ten-minute drive from his university. And now, to protect his new life, he was burning mine to the ground. I pulled my phone back out, my fingers numb, and scrolled to a contact I had ignored for years. I hit dial. “I just resigned,” I said the second the line connected. “Is that position in your department still open?” The voice on the other end erupted in immediate, undisguised relief. “Of course it is! I’ve been holding it for you, Marina. Just say the word. Actually, I’m in town right now, I can come pick you up—” Before the sentence finished, the phone was violently ripped from my hand. Jonathan stood there, his grip bruising my wrist, his jaw tight with anger. “Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded. “You’re trying to leave me?” His tone suddenly shifted, dropping into that manipulative, soft cadence he used to use when I was crying over negative pregnancy tests. “Look, I know I handled the Bella situation badly. I should have told you.” He stepped closer, trying to pull me into his chest. “But you went too far today, Marina. That’s my son. How could you hurt a baby?” I jerked my arm free with so much force my shoulder popped. I looked at him like he was a piece of trash stuck to my shoe. “Where I go is none of your business, Mr. Mercer. We aren’t legally married, remember? We’re strangers.” The words hit him. A flash of genuine pain crossed his features, and he softened his voice even more. “Marina, please. Do we have to make this so ugly?” he pleaded. “Bella was just a surrogate to me. You’re the woman I love. You’ve always been the one.” He reached for me again. “I’ll buy her a house in the suburbs. I’ll make sure she never comes near you again. You get to be the mother. Just… don’t leave me, okay?” The sheer audacity of his delusion left me breathless. But before I could even formulate a response, the sound of frantic footsteps echoed down the linoleum corridor. Three of his students came sprinting around the corner, looking terrified. “Professor Mercer! It’s bad!” one of them gasped. “Someone leaked everything on the university forum! They posted that Bella is the side piece and you manipulated your marriage documents… The Dean’s office just called her. They’re expelling her!” “She completely lost it, Professor! She took the baby and she’s threatening to jump off the parking garage!” I froze. Before my brain could even process the information, Jonathan lunged. He shoved me backward with a vicious, unthinking force. My back slammed against the concrete wall, and the back of my skull cracked sickeningly against the edge of a fire extinguisher cabinet. Pain exploded behind my eyes in a blinding flash of white. I crumpled to the floor. “Mag, how can you be so fucking evil?” Jonathan roared, standing over me. “Are you going to destroy both of us just to satisfy your own jealousy?!” Warm blood began to pool at the nape of my neck. My vision tunneled, the edges bleeding into black. The last thing I heard was the sound of his dress shoes sprinting away, and his voice echoing down the hall. “If anything happens to Bella or my son, I swear to God, I will kill you myself!” 4 The wound on the back of my head was bleeding freely, matting my hair. I pressed my hand to my skull, using the wall to drag myself upright. I stumbled blindly toward the exit. As I pushed through the doors to the adjacent parking structure, I heard the shrieks. Isabella was standing on the concrete ledge of the third floor, holding the infant, half her body leaning out into the open air. A crowd had already formed below, phones out, recording. “She ruined my life! I don’t want to live anymore!” Isabella screamed, making sure her voice carried to the onlookers. “The whole internet is calling me a whore! They’re calling my son a bastard! What’s the point of even being alive?!” She took a precarious step forward. Jonathan burst onto the scene, his face chalk-white. He threw himself onto the concrete, grabbing her leg. “Don’t do it!” he begged, his voice breaking. “Bella, please! Just step down. Whatever you want, I’ll do it. Just name it!” A flicker of pure, calculating malice flashed through Isabella’s tear-stained eyes. “Then I want her to tell the world the truth,” she demanded, pointing down at the crowd. “I want her to look into the cameras and admit that she is the mistress!” Jonathan didn’t hesitate for a single second. “Done! I’ll make her do it! Just step away from the ledge!” He scrambled up and whipped his head around, spotting me leaning heavily against the stairwell door. He didn’t care about the blood soaking my collar. He marched over, grabbed me by the upper arm, and dragged me toward his parked SUV. I fought him. I kicked and twisted, but my head was swimming, and I had no strength left. He shoved me into the passenger seat and slammed the door. “I told you that you were always going to be my wife!” he screamed, slamming his hands against the steering wheel. “Why couldn’t you just let it go?! Are you trying to force her into a coffin before you’re satisfied?!” He peeled out of the garage. “I’m calling a press conference right now at the hospital entrance. You are going to stand in front of those reporters and you are going to say that you made it all up. You are going to admit you’re the mistress.” He turned to look at me, his eyes dead and ruthless. “Or I call the nursing home and cancel the payments for your mother’s memory care unit. Today.” I stopped breathing. I stared at him, the man sitting in the driver’s seat, entirely unrecognizable from the boy I had loved. The memory of him kneeling beside my mother’s broken body, weeping, swearing on his life to protect us, overlaid with the monster sitting next to me now. He was willing to sentence the woman who had sacrificed her spine to save his life to state-run neglect, all to protect his lie. Hatred—pure, unadulterated, toxic hatred—snapped the last thread of my sanity. I threw myself across the console, grabbing him by the collar, clawing at his neck. “How could you do that to her?!” I screamed, my voice tearing my throat. “She saved your fucking life!” He didn’t flinch. He just held up his phone. He had already dialed the nursing home’s billing department. He looked at me, his finger hovering over the speaker button, an unspoken ultimatum hanging in the tense air. Do it, or she’s out on the street. A violent shiver ripped through my spine. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. The fight drained out of me, leaving only a hollow, cavernous void. I closed my eyes. The tears finally spilled over, hot and humiliating. “Fine,” I whispered into the silence of the car. “I’ll do it.” The moment the SUV parked near the hospital’s main plaza, a swarm of local reporters and internet livestreamers descended on us like locusts. “Dr. Foster! Are the rumors about Professor Mercer’s infidelity true?” “Is Isabella Rossi the homewrecker who ruined your marriage?” The camera flashes were physically painful against my concussed brain. The blood on my neck felt sticky and cold. I stood in front of the microphones. I dug my fingernails so deeply into my palms that they broke the skin. I forced a hollow, agonizing smile. “Jonathan Mercer and I… have no legal relationship,” I said into the barrage of microphones. “Isabella Rossi is not a mistress.” The crowd quieted, hanging on my every word. “The rumors online… I made them up. I was jealous. I fabricated the entire story.” For two seconds, there was dead silence. Then, the mob erupted. “You psychotic bitch! How could you be so selfish?!” “You physically assaulted a pregnant woman and a newborn baby? You tried to destroy an innocent family? You shouldn’t even be allowed near a hospital!” “Revoke her medical license!” “Get out of here, you freak!” The shouting turned violent. Someone threw a half-empty iced coffee. Then came the crumpled food wrappers and trash. I raised my arms to shield my face, but there was nowhere to run. I was trapped against the side of the SUV. Thwack. A heavy stone, hurled from the back of the crowd, struck me dead in the forehead. The impact knocked me off balance. Blood immediately blinded my left eye. Through the blur of red and the screaming mob, I looked up. Standing on the periphery of the crowd, safely tucked under Jonathan’s arm, was Isabella. She was looking right at me. The smug, triumphant sneer on her face was unmistakable. Suddenly, a sharp, agonizing cramp ripped through my abdomen. Someone in the crush of the mob shoved me hard, and I hit the pavement knees-first. Another foot clipped my stomach as the crowd surged. I collapsed onto the asphalt. A terrifying heat bloomed between my legs. Blood—so much blood—began to pool on the gray concrete beneath me, soaking through my pants. The pain was a living thing, tearing me apart from the inside. I curled into a fetal position, my face pale as death, clutching my stomach. “Help me…” I gasped, looking up at Jonathan’s shoes. “Please… I’m pregnant…” Jonathan looked down at me from his towering height. His eyes were filled with nothing but profound disgust and disappointment. “Stop putting on a show, Mag,” he spat. “We both know you’re barren.” He turned his back on me, wrapped his arm carefully around Isabella’s waist, and walked away. I watched his retreating back as the edges of my vision rapidly collapsed into blackness. The pain was dragging me under. Right as I was about to slip into unconsciousness, a deep, authoritative voice cut through the chaos of the screaming mob. “Who the hell gave you permission to touch her?!” A second later, strong arms scooped me off the pavement, pulling me into a warm, solid chest. That evening, Jonathan was sitting in the living room of his new suburban house, gently rocking the baby while Isabella dozed on the couch. A courier knocked on the door and handed him a thick manila envelope. Still holding the baby in one arm, he broke the seal and pulled out the paperwork. He froze. All the color drained from his face in a violent rush.

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After I barely survived a horrific car crash, my husband brought his pregnant mistress to my hospital room to demand a divorce. That was what broke me. Stripped of every ounce of hope, I dragged my battered body up to the hospital roof. The wind whipped my hospital gown around my bruised legs. I just wanted it all to end. But right as I stepped up to the concrete ledge, ready to let gravity take me, a voice screamed from deep within my own abdomen. It was frantic. Familiar. It was Gemma. She yelled at me, her voice echoing right into my brain, furious that I would even consider throwing my life away. She told me she hadn’t died in that crushed metal of our car just so I could jump off a building. At first, I thought my grief had finally fractured my mind. The auditory hallucinations of a shattered woman. The thought that I would never see my best friend again twisted the knife in my chest, and the sorrow threatened to pull me over the edge. I shifted my weight forward. Then, that familiar, sharp voice rang out again. It wasn’t a hallucination. Gemma had been reborn, carrying all her memories, straight into the tiny, unborn life growing inside me. She told me things she couldn’t possibly know unless she had lived a life I hadn’t. She told me that in her previous timeline, Marvin, my cheating bastard of a husband, abandoned us for his mistress, leaving us with nothing. And then, he struck it rich. Seventy million dollars, won on a lottery ticket. Gemma remembered the exact numbers. She told me to get down from the ledge, buy that ticket, and focus on bringing her safely into the world. But she didn’t stop there. She told me Marvin had been embezzling from his own company. He’d hidden solid gold bars and stacks of hundred-dollar bills in the soil of the massive, imported planters on our balcony. She told me to clean him out before I signed any papers. Hearing that, the cold wind on the roof suddenly didn’t feel so chilling. The urge to die evaporated, replaced by a white-hot, diamond-hard resolve to live. I was going to survive. And I was going to ruin him. … I practically ran out of the hospital against medical advice, arriving back at our sprawling suburban house pale and out of breath. The housekeeper took one look at my bruised face and made herself scarce. I went straight to the master bedroom and locked the glass balcony doors behind me. I slipped on a pair of gardening gloves, grabbed a heavy metal trowel, and looked down at the slight bump of my stomach. “Gem, which one?” I whispered, my voice trembling. “That bastard is going to be home any minute. If I dig up the wrong one, we’re screwed.” From inside me, her voice bubbled up—crisp, sassy, and wonderfully alive. Maddie, swear to God, you have to trust me! The gold is buried under the two giant Fiddle-leaf figs in the far corner! Stop overthinking. Start digging. I drew in a sharp breath. I gripped the trowel. My hands were shaking. Not from fear. From pure, unadulterated adrenaline. Marvin had frozen my credit cards weeks ago to force my hand in the divorce. After the crash, he hadn’t spent a single night by my bedside, and he’d fought the hospital billing department over my emergency surgery. Now, he was openly parading his new girl through our life, trying to throw me out on the street with absolutely nothing. Did he really think Madeline Hayes was a doormat he could just wipe his expensive Italian shoes on? He was dead wrong. I knelt beside the massive, thriving Fiddle-leaf fig. I drove the trowel violently into the expensive potting soil. The stitches in my side pulled and burned. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead, but I didn’t care. Because an inch down, the metal of my trowel scraped against something dense and unyielding. Gemma wasn’t lying. I dug frantically, tearing up the roots. One. Two. Three… Ten bars in total. Small, heavy ingots, probably a hundred grams each. That was easily eighty thousand dollars right there. Jackpot. I moved to the largest planter, stabbing the soil until I hit metal. A lockbox. I pried it open to find tightly banded stacks of crisp US dollars. “How much is this?” I breathed. Roughly half a million, Gemma’s voice echoed. He skimmed it from his company’s offshore accounts. He was planning to take his little influencer girlfriend to Europe. Maddie, in the other timeline, you never even knew it existed. After he threw us out, you bounced between cheap motels with a newborn. You worked yourself to death. I had to grow up starving. Meanwhile, those two sociopaths lived like royalty on this cash and the seventy million from the lottery. My chest tightened, a suffocating heat rising in my throat. Marvin. You absolute monster. I gave him my best years, from college dorms to our wedding day. I worked three jobs to support him when his startup was bleeding money. When he broke his leg skiing, I bathed him. When I nearly died in a car crash, he brought his mistress to my hospital bed and hid half a million dollars in dirt so I would starve. Carefully, I transferred the heavy gold bars and the stacks of cash into a large leather backpack I’d pulled from the closet. “The box is empty,” I whispered, looking at the mess of spilled soil and exposed roots. “What about the holes? He’s going to know the second he steps out here.” If he caught me now, divorce would be the least of my worries. I probably wouldn’t make it out of this house alive. Mads, are you kidding me? Gemma scoffed in my mind. Take the soil from the Monstera plant next to it. Fill the holes, pack it down, arrange the decorative moss over it, and water it so the dirt settles. He’s so obsessed with his new girl right now, he’s not inspecting his houseplants! By the time he figures it out, we’ll be ghosts. Right. Panic was making me stupid. I moved fast, burying the empty lockbox at the very bottom of my backpack, moving the soil, smoothing it out, and wiping the rim of the ceramic pots with a damp towel. When I was done, I leaned against the brick wall of the balcony, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Standing on the edge of the hospital roof hadn’t terrified me this much. But stealing my own life back? It was the most intoxicating, terrifying thrill I had ever felt. Just then, I heard the heavy thud of the front door downstairs. Then came Marvin’s irritated voice, followed immediately by a sickly-sweet, high-pitched whine. “Marvin, babe, where did she go? She’s all banged up. You don’t think she actually jumped, do you?” It was Marvin and his shiny new toy, Brittany. My spine stiffened. My hand instinctively dropped to cradle my stomach. Breathe, Mads, Gemma commanded. Play the victim. Look like a woman who has completely given up. Make him think he’s won. Lower his guard. I quickly shoved the heavy backpack deep into the balcony storage bench and zipped it shut. I ran a hand through my hair, purposely tangling it. I rubbed at my pale face, letting my shoulders slump under the weight of an invisible defeat. Dragging my bruised leg, I limped slowly into the living room. Marvin looked up. There wasn’t a flicker of relief in his eyes when he saw I was alive. Only disgust. “Oh, you’re back,” he sneered, loosening his silk tie. “I honestly thought you might have actually had the guts to jump.” He picked up a manila folder from the glass coffee table and tossed it onto the floor at my feet. “Maddie, don’t make this harder than it has to be. Sign the papers. You leave with what you came with: nothing. Keep the kid, get rid of it, I don’t care. I’ll cover the hospital bills, but after this, we’re done.” Get rid of it? I stared at my stomach. Inside was not just my child, but the soul of the woman who died trying to save me. Even an animal protects its young, but Marvin… he was something entirely soulless. The hatred in my chest felt like swallowing glass, but I knew I had to swallow it down. Now was not the time. I slowly lifted my head, making sure my eyes looked entirely hollow. I channeled every ounce of grief I had felt on that roof. “Marvin,” I whispered, my voice breaking perfectly. “Seven years of marriage. Are you really going to leave me with nothing?” Marvin scoffed. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it right there in the living room, not even glancing at my pregnant belly. “We’re adults, Maddie. Don’t make a scene. Seven years? So what? We haven’t loved each other in years. Brittany is young, she’s vibrant, and she’s giving me a son. I need to do right by them.” He blew out a plume of smoke. “Who knows what you’re having. If it’s a girl, I’d just be losing money.” Oh, hell no. I am your worst nightmare, buddy! the little tenant in my womb raged. Mads, ignore him! Brittany isn’t even carrying his kid! It’s her personal trainer’s! In the other timeline, Marvin didn’t find out until the baby was born and looked nothing like him. They destroyed half the house fighting over it! A hysterical, bubbling laugh almost escaped my throat. I had to quickly drop my head, burying my face in my hands, letting my shoulders shake. To Marvin, it looked like I was sobbing uncontrollably. “Fine…” I choked out. I looked up, letting a single tear track down my cheek. “I’ll sign.” Marvin perked up, his eyes narrowing. “You want a payout? Because I’m telling you right now, the company is entirely illiquid. You’re not getting a dime.” “I don’t want your money.” I cut him off, my voice dead and flat. “I just want to pack my clothes. My skincare. I don’t want anything else from this house. I just want… to be completely done with you.” Marvin exhaled a long breath, a smug, contemptuous smile spreading across his face. “Smart girl. Go pack. I want you out by tonight. We’ll finalize everything at the courthouse tomorrow morning. Don’t keep us waiting.” I didn’t waste another breath on them. I turned and limped into the bedroom. I took the heavy backpack from the balcony, shoved it into the bottom of an old Samsonite suitcase, and piled my sweaters and expensive face creams on top of it. When I rolled the suitcase out into the living room, Marvin and Brittany were making out on the expensive leather sofa. Marvin pulled away, stood up, and reached for my suitcase. “Hold on. Let me make sure you aren’t walking out with the silverware.” My heart vaulted into my throat. Every muscle in my body tensed, preparing to bash his head in with a lamp and run. But Marvin unzipped the top, saw a pile of folded wool sweaters and half-empty moisturizer bottles, and curled his lip in disdain. “This is it? You’re taking this garbage? Don’t come crying to me later saying I didn’t let you pack.” I gave him a pitiful, broken smile. “No. Everything else here feels dirty now.” Marvin’s face darkened. “Get the hell out.” I dragged that impossibly heavy suitcase out the heavy oak door I had once thought would protect me forever. The second I hit the sidewalk, I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address for the Four Seasons downtown. Mads! You are a literal Oscar winner! Gemma cheered in my head. They are sitting on that couch thinking they won the lottery. Wait until he checks the dirt and realizes his golden egg is gone! His face is going to melt off! But listen, we have to move fast. Tomorrow, after the judge signs off, we go straight to the gas station. Seventy million dollars. We cannot miss that draw! I leaned back against the leather seat of the cab, watching the suburban streets blur past the window. My ribs ached, my head pounded, but the suffocating weight that had been crushing my chest for months was gone. Marvin thought he was taking out the trash. He had no idea he had just handed me the keys to the kingdom. That night, in a plush suite overlooking the city skyline, I ordered a ridiculous amount of room service—everything I used to deny myself to save money for Marvin’s business. As I ate, I listened to Gemma recount the nightmare of the previous timeline. After I jumped off the hospital roof in that life, Marvin hadn’t shed a single tear. Instead, he hired a PR firm to spin my death, claiming the grief of losing my best friend in the crash had driven me to severe depression. He played the tragic, devoted widower. His company’s stock skyrocketed. Brittany had taken my life insurance payout and bought herself limited-edition Birkin bags. They hadn’t even given me a proper funeral; they’d had me cremated and dumped the ashes somewhere off the highway. And Maddie… Gemma’s voice dropped, losing its usual snark. Before I died in the other timeline, I found out the car crash wasn’t an accident. Marvin tampered with the brakes. The silver fork in my hand snapped in half under my grip. “Gemma,” I whispered, resting my hand over my stomach. “I promise you. In this life, I will never let you down. I will never let you suffer. Everything Marvin and Brittany owe us, I will extract it from them, a thousand times over.” Damn right you will, Gemma replied fiercely. Tomorrow at the courthouse, they’re going to try to humiliate you. Just swallow it. The second we have that seventy million, we own them. Oh, and by the way… Brittany’s wearing a fake Chanel jacket tomorrow. If you bump into her, it literally leaves a dye stain. Just a heads up. I let out a wet, startling laugh. Death had apparently made my best friend even more savage. The next morning, the courthouse steps were bathed in sunlight. Marvin looked like a man who had just conquered the world, his hair slicked back, wearing a bespoke suit. Clinging to his arm was Brittany, her pregnant belly pushed out as far as it could go against a tight, beige designer-knockoff dress. When she saw me arriving alone, she immediately put a hand over her mouth in mock sympathy. “Oh, Maddie. You came all by yourself? No one to hold your hand? That is just so sad.” Marvin patted her waist, giving me a patronizing look. “Leave her alone, Brit. We don’t want her having another breakdown and finding a bridge to jump off.” He checked his Rolex. “Do you have your ID? Let’s get this over with, I have a board meeting.” I didn’t say a word. I just walked past them through the metal detectors. Signatures. Stamps. The cold finality of the judge’s gavel. The moment the divorce decree was handed over, Marvin let out a massive breath, as if shedding a physical weight. He looked down at Brittany. “You’re officially the new Mrs. Hayes.” Brittany giggled, going up on her tiptoes to kiss him, making sure I was watching. “Take care of yourself, Maddie,” she cooed. “If things get really desperate, give us a call. Marvin might be able to find you a job answering phones or something.” Marvin pulled his wallet out, extracted three crisp hundred-dollar bills, and casually dropped them onto the marble floor at my feet. “Here. For an Uber. Consider it severance pay. I don’t want anyone saying Marvin Hayes doesn’t take care of his exes.” The bills fluttered to the ground. People in the lobby turned to stare. Marvin and Brittany smirked, waiting for me to kneel and pick up his scraps. I looked down. Slowly, I bent over. Their smiles widened. I ignored the money, calmly retied my shoelace, and stood back up. Then, I planted the heel of my boot directly onto the bills and ground them into the dirty marble floor. “Keep it for your medical bills, Marvin,” I said softly, meeting his eyes. “You look a little pale. I’d watch my back if I were you.” Marvin’s face flushed red. “You ungrateful bitch!” Brittany shrieked, “Are you threatening him? You psycho!” I just smiled, turned on my heel, and walked out into the sunlight. Sitting in the back of my rideshare, my palms were sweating. “Gemma, what if he checks the planters today and realizes I took it?” Let him find out, she hummed. You signed the division of assets. It clearly states ‘personal effects belong to their respective parties.’ You packed your ‘personal effects.’ Can he prove the gold was his? It was embezzled, Maddie. It’s dirty money. Is he going to call the cops and report that someone stole the half-million dollars he hid from the IRS? I slapped my thigh. She was right. He couldn’t say a damn thing. He had to choke on it. Now, the most important task. I had the driver pull over at a rundown gas station on the edge of town. I walked up to the bulletproof glass. “Five Quick Picks for the Powerball, please.” NO! Maddie! Stop! Not a Quick Pick! Gemma screamed in my head. I know the numbers! Write them down! 03, 09, 17, 22, 30. Powerball 11. I blinked, quickly correcting myself. “Sorry, no. I have my own numbers.” When the clerk slid that thin strip of paper under the glass, it felt heavier than all the gold in my backpack. Seventy million dollars. “Gemma, are you absolutely sure?” I murmured as I walked back to the car. I would bet my soul on it, she said. In the other life, a construction worker bought those exact numbers and lost the ticket on the street. Marvin found it. That’s how he built his empire. We are not letting him have it this time. I was just opening the car door, a smile finally breaking across my face, when a hand violently snatched the ticket from my fingers. I spun around. It was Marvin.

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I stood by the railing of the Tobin Bridge, the night wind cutting through my coat like a dull blade. It was the night before the wedding. Tomorrow was supposed to be the beginning of my “happily ever after” with Debby. Instead, the echo of her parting words still rang in my ears, sharp as shattered glass. She had slammed the door ten minutes ago, shouting that I wouldn’t be satisfied until I’d driven everyone to their graves. She didn’t realize that I was the one who couldn’t breathe anymore. My world had tilted on its axis the moment the man who spent years ruining my life—Steward—returned. He was the “prodigal son,” the foster brother who had bullied me into a shell of a human being. But ever since he came back from his “rehabilitation” with a supposedly new soul, the world had decided he was a saint. My parents took him back with open arms, telling me I needed to learn the “grace of forgiveness.” Even Debby, who had seen the bruises he left on my skin years ago, now claimed he had changed into someone “gentle and reliable.” The girls he once tormented now looked at him with adoration. My oldest friends called him innocent and kind, whispering that I was the one being petty, holding onto a past that no longer existed. They saw a refined, soft-spoken gentleman; they saw me as a volatile, broken paranoiac. The weight of being abandoned by everyone I loved was heavier than the trauma itself. Maybe the fall would finally be light. I took a deep breath and let go. 1 Even as a ghost, I could still feel the cold. The river water in the middle of the night bit into my phantom bones, the smell of silt and salt clogging a nose that no longer breathed. I found myself hovering near Debby. She was in the back of a car, thumbs flying across her phone screen. I tried to lean in to see what she was typing, but a voice pulled my attention away. It was my mother. “He actually skipped out on his own wedding just because we asked him to let Steward be the best man? How did I raise such a spiteful creature?” My father sighed, his face a mask of exhaustion. “We spoiled him. We sent him to London for years to ‘heal,’ and he comes back even more dramatic. If I’d known he’d be this much trouble, we never should have brought him home.” Five years ago, Steward had been sent away—not to a monastery, but to a juvenile facility after a string of crimes. I was sent across the Atlantic, fueled by Xanax and therapy, trying to piece my mind back together. Debby had been my lifeline then. She flew to see me every month. She studied psychology just to understand me; she learned to cook my favorite meals; she walked through parks with me when I was too scared to speak. It lasted until New Year’s Eve, a month ago. Debby had proposed. I had panicked and fled. She sat outside my apartment in the freezing rain all night, sending apology after apology. She ended up with pneumonia. After three days of hiding, I decided to be brave for her. She had cried, holding me tight. “As long as I’m here, Adrian, no one will ever hurt you again.” Now, Debby gripped her phone, her eyes cold and impatient. “Give him thirty more minutes,” she said, her voice devoid of the warmth I’d died for. “If he doesn’t show up, we find a replacement.” Her gaze shifted to Steward, who was sitting across from her. My parents exchanged a look of relief. “Then let’s get Steward ready,” my father said. “We can’t afford a delay.” “What if he comes back halfway through the ceremony?” my mother asked, her voice hovering between worry and annoyance. Debby offered a sharp, mirthless smile. “He made his bed. Let him sleep in it.” “No,” Steward whispered, his eyes reddening as he shook his head. “Adrian already hates me. If he sees me taking his place, he’ll have another breakdown. He’ll… he’ll try to hurt himself again.” His words acted like a trigger, pulling everyone back into a shared, bitter memory. The day Debby and I returned to the States, my parents brought Steward to the airport to meet us. Seeing that face—the face of my five-year nightmare—sent me into a catatonic state. I collapsed right there in the terminal, losing control of my bladder. I woke up in a hospital bed to the sound of my parents’ disappointment. “We spent hundreds of thousands on his treatment, and he still has zero resilience?” “Steward suffered far more in that facility than Adrian ever did in London, and you don’t see him acting this fragile. The wedding is in three months—if Adrian has an episode like that in front of our investors, it’ll be a disaster for both families.” Debby had held my cold hand then. “Don’t worry. I’ll take him through exposure therapy. We have three months.” Exposure therapy meant forcing me to be near my “allergen.” She knew how much I feared him, yet she made the choice for me. I had been so terrified that I pretended to sleep just to avoid their eyes. When they left, I climbed to the hospital roof. I remember the wind howling, my toes hanging over the ledge. But the moment I closed my eyes to jump, a searing jolt of electricity surged through me. I collapsed backward, my body convulsing in pain. Steward had tackled me, sobbing, slapping his own face as he begged for my forgiveness. My parents had arrived and called me an embarrassment. Debby didn’t even come close; she just stood there, her brow furrowed in a look of pure, clinical exhaustion. Amidst the chaos, through my own screams of pain, I had heard something. It wasn’t a voice. It was a mechanical thought inside Steward’s head. [System, what’s the progress on the ‘Redemption’ meter?] [I’m so sick of this pathetic protagonist. Let’s hurry up and finish the mission so the original host can come back and deal with this mess.] 2 “He’s too cowardly to actually do it,” Debby said, her voice snapping me back to the present. “Every time he ‘jumps’ or ‘swallows pills,’ it’s a cry for attention. He’s being reckless because he thinks I’ll chase him.” She turned and walked toward the smoking lounge. My parents were already ushering Steward toward the dressing rooms, their faces bright with a joy they hadn’t shown me in years. It seemed I was tethered to Debby. I followed her like an invisible shadow. She lit a cigarette and refreshed her phone obsessively. When no message appeared, she slammed the phone onto the marble counter. The screen shattered. I floated closer. Before the screen went black, I saw a news alert. [Body found near Charles River. Police investigating. Identity currently unconfirmed…] “You have twenty minutes, Adrian,” Debby whispered to the empty room, her voice trembling with a mix of rage and something that sounded like grief. “Show up, and we’ll move to Europe the day after the ceremony. I’ll take you away from all of this.” I tilted my head, watching her. I thought about the fight we had last night. Debby had unilaterally changed my wedding suit. She had also agreed to my parents’ suggestion that Steward be my best man. In the bridal suite, a stunning, backless silk gown hung on a mannequin. Next to it was a suit she had chosen—it was high-fashion, sure, but it was cut in a way that exposed far too much skin. “Steward has great taste,” she had said with a smile. “This shows off your frame much better than that boring tuxedo you picked.” I had turned pale. Debby took my hand and forced me to touch the diamond-encrusted cufflinks on the new jacket. They felt like ice. Since I’d been back, they had orchestrated countless “meetings” between Steward and me. Every time, I reacted violently. I tried roofs, pills, traffic, wrists. Every time, I was “saved.” Because Steward had a “System.” He used “points” to keep me tethered to a life I didn’t want. But to my parents and Debby, it just looked like I was throwing tantrums. They thought my suicide attempts were “the boy who cried wolf.” “I told you the wedding could be moved up,” Debby had snapped during the fight. “I told you we’d leave the country afterward. If you hate him so much, you won’t ever have to see him again. Why can’t you just cooperate on the small things? The suit, the best man… it’s just one day.” “Everyone else has moved on, Adrian. You’re the only one clinging to the dirt.” “This suit… it’s too open. I can’t wear it.” I had tremblingly lifted my shirt then, showing her the map of scars on my torso. Debby’s pupils had shrunk. Her expression was unreadable. When I reached for my pant leg to show her the rest, she grabbed my wrist. “Enough,” she said. I forced a smile, my voice shaking. “Did you forget? In that warehouse? Steward used a curling iron on every inch of my body. You were the one who found me, Debby. You were the one who drove me to the ER.” She flinched as if she had been burned, pulling her hand away. 3 “That was a lifetime ago,” she said, her voice hardening again. “He knows what he did. When you were sick, he walked to that cathedral in the rain and stayed on his knees all night praying for you. He makes you soup every day and leaves it at the door so you won’t be scared. He’s trying, Adrian.” “You’ve been away too long. You don’t want to believe people can change. I’m not asking you to love him. I’m asking you to stop being a child on our wedding day.” I had one last shred of hope. “I’ll wear the suit. Just… don’t make him the best man. Please.” Even now, looking at his face made my heart stop. Debby avoided my eyes. “It’s already settled. I’m doing this for your own good. To prove he can’t hurt you anymore.” “Then there is no wedding,” I said. My eyes were red. I pushed the mannequin over, watching the expensive silk crumple on the floor. If I couldn’t even choose what I wore or who stood beside me at my own wedding, what was the point? “The wedding is tomorrow! You’re going to blow everything up over this? Think about the families, Adrian! Think about the bigger picture!” The blood in my veins went cold. I realized then that she had waited until the last minute to tell me about the changes specifically so I couldn’t say no. She was bankrolling my “recovery,” and this was the interest. “So because he’s ‘better’ now, I’m supposed to delete my own history?” I asked, lost. Debby’s face twisted into a mask of fury. “You are being completely irrational!” She left shortly after. My parents and Steward arrived minutes later. “When are you going to grow up?” my father yelled. “We haven’t had a moment of peace since we brought you back!” “Families have friction, Adrian. Get over it,” my mother added. “We’ve all accepted Steward. Your friends have accepted him. Why must you be the one to make everything difficult?” I tried to speak, but the words died in my throat. Steward had once sold my father’s company secrets to a rival, nearly bankrupting us. He had drugged my mother and left her in a dangerous neighborhood to be humiliated. He had broken the limbs of my classmates. He had filmed my friend Becca in the locker room and posted it online. And yet, they forgave him. Steward dropped to his knees, his forehead hitting the floor with a sickening thud. “Adrian, hit me. Scream at me. Just don’t cancel the wedding because of me. I shouldn’t have picked the suit. I shouldn’t have agreed to be the best man.” “I know I don’t deserve to be in your sight, but I can’t leave Mom and Dad! Take your anger out on me, just don’t hurt the innocent people who love you!” He kept banging his head until blood smeared the floor. My parents tried to pull him up, their anger turning toward me. My father shoved me hard. “Are you satisfied? Say something!” “Are we having a wedding or not?” I stumbled, falling against the sharp edge of a side table. A dull thud echoed in my skull, and suddenly, a strange electronic pings sounded in the air. [Host, well done! Family favorability is at 95%!] [At this rate, once the wedding ends tomorrow, the mission will be complete. You’ll be able to leave this world forever!] 4 My parents spent the next hour threatening me. If I didn’t show up, they’d have me committed to a private asylum for life. Then they rushed out to take a “fainting” Steward to the clinic. Shortly after they left, I received two texts. The first was from Steward’s number: [Debby took me to the fitting personally. The suit is sexy, Adrian. Fits me like a glove. She said the one you picked made you look like a mummy—embarrassing to even look at.] The second followed immediately: [She promised me that after the wedding, she’s taking me to Europe with you guys for ‘grad school.’ Are you excited?] Thinking back on it as a ghost, my chest still felt like it was being crushed. A sudden, panicked shout broke the silence in the smoking lounge. “Ms. Sterling! Something’s happened!” Debby’s assistant ran in, drenched in sweat. “The hotel security footage from 3:00 AM shows Mr. Miller getting into a taxi. The GPS tracker shows he ended up at the bridge—” “Debby! Forget about him. He’s not coming.” A calm, male voice cut through the assistant’s panic. It was Justin, my “best friend.” Debby looked up, her eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?” Justin sighed, looking disgusted. “He called me at 3:00 AM. Begged me to help him run away. When I told him to stop being a drama queen, he bought a ticket to Bali. Haven’t you seen his Instagram?” He pulled out his phone and showed her my profile. I floated over to look. There was a photo of a beach. A location tag for a luxury resort. But I wasn’t in the photo. Debby believed it instantly. Her face turned a sickly shade of gray, then purple with rage. “Fine. He wants to play games? Fine. Tell the planners. The wedding goes on. We’re swapping the groom.” She stormed out. The assistant tried to follow, but Justin grabbed his arm. “This is a merger between two dynasties,” Justin whispered. “Think about the stocks. If this wedding fails, who’s going to take the fall? You?” The assistant froze. Justin let out a breath and sent a quick text. I looked over his shoulder. It was to Steward. [Handled.] Steward appeared a moment later, wearing the suit he had “picked” for me. He looked radiant, his makeup perfect. I could hear his internal monologue cheering. [Favorability is maxed out! System, get me out of here. Let the original host have this body back!] Debby looked at him, her eyes vacant. Suddenly, the air was sliced by the sound of police sirens. Within seconds, the ballroom was surrounded. “Nobody move!” an officer shouted through a megaphone. “We have reason to believe a suspect involved in a homicide is present. Everyone stay where you are!”

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When I finally drifted back into consciousness, the world felt cold. Evie, the girl I had spent my entire life protecting, was drowning in a sea of corporate betrayal and public scandal. Worse, her heart was failing—a ticking clock that threatened to end her story before it truly began. Then, a voice flickered in the back of my mind, cold and mechanical. “System online. Host, do you choose to save Evie Pierce?” I didn’t hesitate. I never did when it came to her. To save her life, I gave her my own heart. Or rather, I traded my healthy one for an experimental, mechanical replacement that left me a ghost of the man I used to be. While I was still recovering, I spent every waking hour—and every cent of my savings—building the empire she’d always dreamed of. I drank myself into stomach ulcers and internal bleeding at high-stakes galas just to secure the Series A funding that put her company on the map. But on the night her company went public on the NYSE, Evie didn’t stand by my side. Instead, she announced her engagement to Jasper Knight—the man who had shattered her heart years ago. When I confronted her, heart heavy with a betrayal I couldn’t breathe through, she just brushed me off. “It’s just a strategy, Adrian,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “I’m just playing him. I want him to feel exactly what I felt when he left.” But then my mechanical heart began to fail. I needed a second surgery, a desperate fix. And as I lay outside the operating room, I heard her hushed, frigid command to the surgeon: “Don’t prioritize him. Let him go. Once he’s gone, his kidneys will be a perfect match for Jasper.” 1. I stared at the peeling paint on the hospital ceiling, my breath so thin it barely fogged the oxygen mask. The room was old, crumbling at the edges, much like my own body. “Connection levels dropping below 30%. Mission failure imminent.” My dry, cracked lips twitched into a phantom of a smirk. Failure? No, this wasn’t a drop. This was a total collapse. I remembered two months ago. Her “affection meter”—or whatever the hell this voice in my head called it—had been at 98%. I had spent eight years of my life, minute by minute, sacrifice by sacrifice, building that number. I actually thought she loved me. I guess I was the only one buying into the lie. “Host is urged to re-engage. Failure results in permanent cessation of life.” The mechanical voice was as indifferent as the woman standing in the hallway. “How much longer does he have?” I heard Evie ask. Her voice was low, clinical. “At least a month, if we manage the symptoms,” the doctor replied. I closed my eyes, a bitter laugh rattling in my chest. She was already calculating my expiration date. She wasn’t looking for a miracle; she was looking for a timeline. “Fine,” Evie said. “Keep him stable. Don’t waste the premium meds on him. We need to save the resources.” I whispered into the void of my mind, “Can I end this? I don’t want to play anymore.” The voice paused, a rare glitch in its processing. “Option available. Do you wish to terminate the mission?” The suffocating weight that had been crushing my lungs for years finally lifted. I actually smiled. “End it,” I rasped. “Termination request accepted. Seven-day countdown to cessation begins now.” The moment the words echoed in my skull, a metallic sweetness flooded my throat. I coughed, a violent spray of crimson blooming across the pristine white duvet. The heart monitor beside me began to shriek, a high-pitched alarm that tore through the silence of the ward. Through the haze, the door burst open. Evie rushed in, her face a mask of panicked concern. Her breathing was ragged, her eyes wide. “Doctor! Get in here!” she screamed, playing the part of the grieving, devoted partner to perfection. I struggled to keep my eyes open, watching her. It was strange. Even now, at the very end, she still looked like the girl I’d loved since we were kids. But as the darkness pulled at the edges of my vision, I realized her panic wasn’t for me. It was for the donor she wasn’t finished with yet. I let go. The world went black. When I woke up again, Evie was nowhere to be found. Two nurses were quietly moving around the room. “The guy in the VIP wing is so lucky,” one whispered, her voice tinged with envy. “Just a bit of a stomach ache and his girlfriend is losing her mind.” “You don’t know who that is?” the other replied. “That’s Evie Pierce. The tech mogul. She’s been at his bedside for twenty-four hours, hand-feeding him soup. It’s like something out of a movie.” I licked my lips, the simple movement sent a jolt of pain through my throat. My mind drifted back. I remembered the nights I’d spent vomiting blood after business dinners I attended in her place. She’d stand by the bed, tossing a pack of over-the-counter pills onto the nightstand. “I ordered some meds on UberEats, Adrian. Just hang in there. This contract is too important for me to miss the meeting.” The memories were like glass shards in my brain. The questions I had spent years suppressed suddenly began to cut deep. It wasn’t that her love had faded. It was that it had never existed. I wasn’t from this world. I’d died in another life and ended up here, reborn into this story with no memory of my past until the “System” woke up. I’d fallen for Evie because she was the girl next door who had “saved” me from bullies when we were kids. I was just a foster kid living with a distant aunt, and she was the sun I orbited. When her parents died and her family’s company was gutted, she was the one dying in a hospital bed. That was when the System kicked in, telling me I could save her. I thought my devotion would be enough. I thought if I gave everything, I’d get a sliver of her heart in return. The door creaked open. Evie walked in carrying a thermos. “Adrian? You’re awake.” She set the thermos down and reached out, pressing her palm to my forehead. “You’ve still got a fever. Why aren’t you resting?” I looked at her. It was the same face, but she felt like a stranger. She took my hand, her eyes rimmed with red. “You were out for a day and a night. You scared me to death.” For a second, a tiny, pathetic part of me wanted to believe her. Maybe she wasn’t that heartless. “The doctors said there isn’t a compatible mechanical heart available for the swap yet,” she said softly, her voice dripping with artificial sympathy. “You just have to wait a little longer.” I stared into her eyes. They were beautiful, filled with a mimicry of worry. But I knew the truth. A high-end replacement was a phone call away for someone with her net worth. She wasn’t waiting for a heart. She was waiting for me to die so she could harvest what was left of me for Jasper. Her phone buzzed. she glanced at it, and immediately started to stand up. “Can you stay?” I asked, my voice cracking. “Just for a bit. My chest… it hurts.” She froze. She didn’t even look up from her screen as she typed a reply. When she finally turned to me, the mask slipped. The impatience in her eyes was sharp enough to draw blood. “Adrian, don’t be difficult. If it hurts, call the nurse. I have things to take care of. I’ll be back when I’m done.” The pain in my chest flared, sharper than any mechanical failure. She didn’t notice. She was already halfway out the door. What were those eight years? What was any of it? Maybe it was just the lingering ghost of the man I used to be, but I couldn’t stop myself from calling out one last time. “Evie.” She stopped, her body already leaning toward the hallway. She looked back over her shoulder. “What?” “Do you love me?” She went still. A beat of silence stretched between us. Then, she spoke. “Of course I do.” In my head, the mechanical voice chimed in, colder than ice: “Warning. Connection level -10.” I gripped the bedsheets until my knuckles turned white. Even her lies were starting to cost her. 2. Midnight. Outside the window, fireworks erupted, casting flickering shadows across the sterile walls of my room. Evie’s Instagram updated. “He told me he was hurting, so I wanted to bring a little light into his world. 99 fireworks for the man who deserves the moon.” The photo showed Jasper sitting up in a VIP hospital bed, the sky behind him exploding in gold and violet. The shot was intimate. He was looking at the camera, a smirk playing on his lips. The comments from her inner circle—the people who had always looked down on me—were already rolling in. “Jasper is so lucky. Evie, you’re the best.” “Finally, the power couple is back together!” “Matches made in heaven. So happy for you two!” My hand shook as I scrolled. My finger slipped, accidentally hitting the ‘like’ button. I panicked, trying to undo it, but the post vanished instantly. A second later, a text from Evie popped up. “Adrian, why are you still up? That post was just PR to keep Jasper’s investors happy. Don’t overthink it. And don’t be jealous.” I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I didn’t know what to say. Then, another message arrived. Not from Evie. From Jasper. It was a screenshot of Evie’s private story—the one I was blocked from seeing. It was a montage of them. Candid photos, wine nights, them laughing in the back of a limo. Jasper: “Know your place, Adrian. Stop clinging to a woman who doesn’t belong to you.” Jasper: “She’s the one asking me to marry her now. Just thought you should know.” My vision blurred. A dull roar filled my ears. Whenever Evie talked about Jasper to me, it was always with “hatred.” They had been the “it” couple in college, engaged and everything. Then her family went bankrupt. Jasper hadn’t just left; he’d run. He found a wealthy heiress and dumped Evie with a two-hundred-dollar check and a slap to the face. “You’re a charity case now, Evie. Don’t call me again. You’re beneath me.” On the day of our engagement, Jasper had sent a cake. Evie had smashed it on the floor, her face twisted in disgust. And yet, here she was. Deleting posts the second I saw them, curating a private world for him while keeping me in a box. The “hatred” was just a cover for the fact that she could never let him go. I felt the last of my strength drain away. I went to my profile and changed my avatar—a photo of us together—to a blank white square. I looked at the date. Five days left. The fireworks were still going off outside. They sounded like gunshots. Being sick is a slow, heavy process, but the time seemed to bleed away. Evie didn’t come back. Jasper, however, made sure I was kept in the loop. Every two hours, he sent a new update of their “domestic bliss.” He sent a photo of their living room. A massive, blown-up portrait of their “wedding shoot” was already hanging on the wall. When we got engaged, I’d suggested taking photos. I’d spent weeks researching studios. Evie had just rolled her eyes. “I hate stuff like that, Adrian. It’s performative. It’s meaningless.” Apparently, it wasn’t meaningless when it was Jasper. With one day left on my clock, Evie finally showed up. She looked exhausted but moved with a cold, relentless authority. “Tomorrow,” she said, not looking at me. “You’re coming to my wedding.” I didn’t need the System to tell me there was no love left in her voice. Just a command. “I don’t want to go.” She bit her lip, that familiar flash of annoyance crossing her features. “Jasper wants you there. You have to come. You told me once you’d do anything for my happiness, didn’t you?” I looked at her, truly looking at her, wondering how I’d ever seen a soul in those eyes. She claimed this was all revenge, but I was the only one being punished. A violent coughing fit seized me. Blood flecked my chin. She didn’t move. She didn’t even flinch. She just glanced at her watch. “The doctor says you’re stable enough. Stop the drama, Adrian. I’ll have a car pick you up tomorrow.” She left, and the silence of the room felt like a tomb. “System. Can I choose the exact moment?” The voice was flat. “Yes.” “Good.” I closed my eyes, a strange sense of peace settling over me. The next day, I was escorted to the venue. The decorations were breathtaking—and hauntingly familiar. It was the exact design I had put together for our wedding, three years ago. Jasper appeared behind me, his voice dripping with smug triumph. “I found these plans in a box of your stuff when we were clearing out the villa. I thought they were decent, so I used them. You should be flattered.” I turned to look at him. He was wearing a suit that cost more than my first car. He leaned in, whispering so only I could hear. “See? The moment I came back, she came crawling. She doesn’t care about you, you pathetic lapdog.” I felt a surge of revulsion and stepped back. He took the opportunity to throw himself backward, collapsing onto the floor with an exaggerated cry. “Adrian! I know you hate me, but you can’t just push me!” My eyes widened. Before I could speak, Evie charged out from the wings, shoving me aside so hard I hit the wall. She knelt by Jasper, her voice frantic. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Then she turned to me. Her eyes were like shards of ice. “How dare you? Who gave you the right to touch my husband?” Jasper clutched his chest, shooting me a wink from behind her shoulder. I looked down at my shaking hands. “I didn’t push him.” “Jasper wouldn’t lie about that,” Evie said, her voice thick with disappointment. “I didn’t realize you were this pathetic. Sit down and stay quiet for the ceremony. Don’t make me regret bringing you.” She led him away. I was forced into the front row by her security team. I could feel the eyes of her friends on me—pity, mockery, amusement. The ceremony was a blur of expensive flowers and hollow vows. Then came the toasts. Jasper took the mic, looking every bit the victor. “I want to thank one person specifically,” he said, looking directly at me. “Adrian. Thank you for taking such good care of Evie while I was gone. You kept her warm for me. I’d love for you to come up here and share in our joy. Tell everyone how happy you are for us.” The guests cheered. Evie looked at me, her expression dead. “Get up there, Adrian. You heard him.” I stood up. My legs felt like lead. As I walked toward the stage, I spoke to the voice in my head. “System. Now. Let me go.” “Initiating self-destruct sequence. Countdown: 5… 4…” I reached the stage and took the microphone. I smiled. It was the first real smile I’d had in years. “3…” The room went silent. I couldn’t hear the crowd anymore. I could only hear Evie and Jasper whispering to each other a few feet away. “Look at him, Evie,” Jasper snickered. “He looks like a stray dog waiting for a scrap.” “He is,” she whispered back. “2…” “Do you still love him? Even a little?” Jasper asked. “No,” she said, her voice clear and cold. “I never did. He was a foster kid with a savior complex. I used him. That’s all.” “1…” I looked her in the eye. “Evie,” I said, my voice steady through the speakers. “I hope you get exactly what you deserve. And I hope we never meet again—not in this life, or any other.” “Mission failed. Host deceased.” A torrent of blood erupted from my mouth, splashing across her white designer gown. I saw the flash of pure, unadulterated horror in her eyes as my knees gave out. The world screamed, and then, finally, there was nothing.

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I was born with a glitch. My brain processed the world slower than other kids, and I had a rare condition that made me a stranger to physical pain. Because of this, I became the family’s designated shock absorber. For sixteen years, I was the human shield for my brother’s mistakes. Every time Ben messed up, I was the one who took the blow. I remember when Ben got caught cheating on a history test. When the school called, my mother spent the entire afternoon lashing me with a leather belt. Even as the skin on my back split and burned, I kept a vacant smile on my face. It didn’t hurt, so I didn’t cry. Then there was the time Ben stole money from her purse for snacks. She grabbed me by the hair and slammed my head against the drywall. My scalp tore; blood slicked down my neck. I didn’t make a sound. Every time Ben saw me battered and bruised because of him, he would collapse into my arms, sobbing, promising he’d be better, promising he’d never get into trouble again. My mother always watched these scenes with a grim sort of satisfaction. She truly believed this was the most effective way to parent—to teach the “good” child through the suffering of the “broken” one. Everything changed during the last round of midterms. Ben’s ranking dropped by exactly one spot. My mother called him over, her face a mask of cold fury. Then, out of pure habit, she swung her hand at me. That single slap sent me reeling. The back of my head clipped the sharp, brass corner of the sideboard. I hit the floor, and a dark, warm pool began to spread across the hardwood. Through the hazy veil of my vision, I saw her grab Ben. He was screaming, his heart breaking, but she just nodded, satisfied. “That’s enough,” she told him. “Stop crying. She’s had her punishment. Let’s go out and get something nice to eat. It’ll settle your nerves.” I watched their retreating figures, my eyelids growing heavy. For the first time in my life, I thought I felt something. A dull, throbbing thrum. I told myself I had to get better quickly. Because the next time Ben messed up, he was going to need me. … 1 When I opened my eyes again, I was hovering near the ceiling. Below me, a cold, stiff version of myself lay on the floor. A dark, dried crust had formed beneath the back of my head. I knew then. I was dead. The strange thing was, even as a ghost, I still couldn’t feel any pain. I floated toward the front door just as my mother was leading Ben back inside. Ben’s face was a ruin of tears and snot, his eyes darting back and forth. My mother gave his arm an impatient tug. “Stop looking over there. She’s fine. It was one slap, for God’s sake. Come on, let’s go get that dessert.” The door clicked shut. I followed them out. She took him to the boutique bakery downtown, the one with the expensive window displays I’d always peered at. The place was packed. She found a corner table and pushed the menu toward him. “Order whatever you want. It’s on me.” Ben stared at the table, his eyes vacant. My mother sighed, her voice softening into a tone she never used at home. “Benny, I know you’re upset. But you have to understand me. Your father ran off with that woman and took every cent we had. Do you have any idea how hard it is for a woman alone?” Ben remained silent. “You’re all I have to show for my life,” she continued. “You’re the man of the house. If you don’t succeed, who’s going to give me a reason to hold my head up? Look at your sister—can she be counted on for anything? If you make something of yourself, you’ll get your fair share of your father’s estate one day. I lost his heart; I refuse to lose the money, too.” She paused, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t blame me for being tough. You two are twins. You’re the same blood. I do this so you’ll remember the cost of failure. It’s the only way you’ll stay hungry for success.” Ben gripped the edge of the menu so hard his knuckles turned white. Watching from the air, a lump formed in my non-existent throat. All these years, since the divorce, she had been our everything—mother, father, provider. I was a burden, a slow-witted girl with a medical anomaly. I had cost her so much. I didn’t hate her for hitting me. In a twisted way, I was glad I could be useful. If I couldn’t make her proud with grades, at least I could be the whetstone that sharpened Ben’s ambition. The waitress brought two drinks. My mother took them, then glanced at the glass display case. “Give me a slice of that strawberry shortcake to go,” she called out. She fumbled through her wallet, checking her change, looking relieved when she had enough. She muttered to herself, “I might have gone a bit too far this time. I’ll give her the cake, apologize, and it’ll be fine.” Ben snapped his head up, his eyes bloodshot. He opened his mouth as if to scream, but no sound came out. I watched her carefully tuck the cake box into a paper bag. Strawberry. My favorite. She remembered. A pang of longing hit me. I wished I could still swallow, just to taste the ghost of that sugar. When we got back to the house, my bedroom door was still closed. My mother stood in the hallway, clearing her throat. Her voice took on that performative, “sweet” quality. “Daisy? You still pouting? I bought you that strawberry cake you like. Come on out.” 2 Seconds ticked by. Silence. She waited, her patience thinning. “Look, tomorrow is your and Ben’s birthday. I know I was a little rough yesterday, but you know how I get. I’m leaving the cake by the door. Come out and eat it when you’re done acting like a martyr.” Nothing. The house felt unnervingly still. She sighed, set the box on the floorboards, and disappeared into the kitchen. Ben stayed in the hallway. He stared at the closed door for a long time. I floated right next to him, wanting to tell him, I’m right here, Ben. I’m okay. But he couldn’t see me. He couldn’t hear me. That night was a slow torture. I spent it hovering over that strawberry cake, watching the cream start to sink. The next morning, the front door burst open. It was my father. He was carrying two wrapped gifts, a forced smile on his face. “Daisy! Ben! Happy birthday, kids!” My mother walked out of the kitchen, her face instantly hardening. “What are you doing here?” “It’s my kids’ birthday. I’m allowed to be here.” He set the boxes on the coffee table and looked around. “Where’s Daisy?” She pointed vaguely at my door. “In there. Throwing a tantrum.” My father frowned. “What happened this time?” She didn’t answer, turning back to the stove. My father’s eyes wandered to the coffee table, landing on Ben’s latest report card. His expression shifted from annoyance to cold realization. “Did you hit her again?” My mother stuck her head out, a sneer on her lips. “None of your business.” His voice was low, vibrating with a dangerous heat. “I asked if you hit her.” “So what if I did? I’m raising them. You checked out years ago.” “Ben screwed up, so you took it out on Daisy? Again?” The fire was lit. She stormed out of the kitchen, hands on her hips. “You don’t get to judge me! You’re the one who called her a ‘liability’ during the mediation. You didn’t want the slow kid, remember? Now you’re playing Father of the Year?” “I was trying to—” “I know exactly what you were doing,” she spat. “You’re just terrified I’ll actually raise Ben to be successful enough to claim his inheritance over your other brat.” My father’s face went scarlet. “That is bullshit!” They descended into a screaming match, a familiar soundtrack to my childhood. Ben shrunk into the corner, clutching the gift my father had brought, staring at his feet. I hovered between them, trying to bridge the gap, but I was air. I was nothing. As I drifted, my eyes caught a sliver of movement at the bottom of my bedroom door. A thin, dark-red stain had begun to seep out from under the wood, soaking into the hallway carpet. Ben saw it too. He froze. His face went from pale to ghostly white. “Enough!” My father slammed his hand onto the table, rattling the coasters. “I’m taking Daisy with me. Right now. You aren’t fit to be a mother.” He turned and reached for my door handle. 3 My heart—the ghost version of it—leapt. I tried to block him. If they saw me like that, it would break them. I didn’t want them to know. But my mother grabbed his arm. “Don’t you dare!” “Watch me!” They scrambled, a mess of limbs and shouting. My father was stronger; he shoved her back and gripped the handle. Suddenly, Ben lunged forward, throwing his body against the door. His voice was cracked, trembling. “Stop it! Just stop!” Both parents froze. Ben’s shoulders were shaking violently, but he kept his voice steady through sheer will. “She’s probably just sleeping. Let her sleep.” My mother frowned. “In the middle of the day?” Ben wouldn’t look at her. He just stood there like a sentry. My father looked at my mother, then at Ben. Finally, he let go of the handle, his expression icy. “Fine. I won’t fight you today. But if anything is wrong with her, Margo, I will ruin you.” He slammed the door on his way out. My mother spat a curse, her anger still simmering. She walked over and pounded on my door. “Daisy! Get out here! Stop playing dead! You won’t eat your cake, you won’t open the door—what the hell do you want from me?” Silence. “Fine! Stay in there forever for all I care!” She huffed, turning to Ben. “And you? Go do your homework. Now!” Ben walked slowly to his room. Before he closed his door, he gave my room one last, haunted look. The house went quiet. My mother sat on the sofa, scrolling through her phone, probably venting to someone on Facebook. I drifted through the ceiling, trying to scream, trying to cry. But ghost tears don’t fall; they just dissolve into the ether. I wished I were alive. I missed feeling nothing. Now, I felt everything but the touch of the world. The next afternoon, Ben came home from school. He looked ill. He pulled a graded quiz from his backpack. My mother heard the zipper and emerged from the kitchen. She took the paper, and her face fell. “Another drop? Ben, what is wrong with you?” Ben didn’t say a word. He looked like he was made of paper. She slammed the quiz onto the table and marched toward my door. “Daisy, out. Now. Same old story—your brother failed again.” Silence. “Daisy!” Still nothing. I was frantic, circling the door, trying to manifest enough energy to turn the lock, to do anything. If she opened the door, she’d see the horror. But if she didn’t, who would take Ben’s punishment? Her temper finally snapped. “You think you’re special now? You think you can just ignore me? You think a closed door protects you from a licking? I’ll show you!” She backed up, bracing herself to kick the door in. 4 “Enough, Mom.” Ben’s voice was eerily calm. “Daisy’s done enough for me. This time, take it out on me.” My mother blinked, stunned. This wasn’t the script. Ben was the compliant one. Ben was the prize. Then, she let out a sharp, jagged laugh. “Oh, playing the hero now? You think I’m the villain? You think I’m biased?” Ben didn’t move. His silence was the final spark. Her face twisted. She went to the laundry room and grabbed the heavy plastic drying rack pole. “Fine. If you want to know what it’s really like, I’ll show you!” The first blow landed across his shoulders. Then another. And another. Ben gritted his teeth, refusing to make a sound. Blood began to seep through his school shirt, spotting the floor. I screamed. I lunged at her, trying to grab the pole, but my hands passed through it like smoke. Ben just stood there, taking it. After a dozen strikes, she threw the pole down, panting. “There. You happy now?” Ben didn’t answer. He was vibrating with pain, but he remained upright. I was sobbing, hovering inches from his face, begging him to hear me. She grabbed her purse and slammed the front door as she left the house. Ben stood in the silence for a long time. Then, he slowly knelt, picked up the pole, and put it back in the laundry room. I thought he was going for the first-aid kit. Instead, he went to the kitchen. When he came back, he was holding a paring knife. He walked to my door. He hesitated for a long beat, his hand on the knob, then he pushed it open. The smell hit the hallway immediately. A heavy, sweet, metallic rot. I looked at my body in the corner. It was beginning to change, the skin darkening, the air around it thick. Ben flinched, but he stepped inside anyway. The room was dim, the curtains drawn. Only the small desk lamp cast a weak glow. He looked at me—the real me—lying on the floor. He sat down beside my corpse. “Daisy,” he whispered. I couldn’t answer. His shoulders began to heave. “I’m so sorry.” “I knew. I knew you were taking the hits for me. I wanted to help, but I was so scared. It hurts so much when she hits.” “Every time you got hurt, I told myself I’d be better. But I couldn’t get the perfect score. I couldn’t be the person she wanted…” “Am I a failure, Daisy?” I shook my head violently. No, Ben. You’re just a boy. You’re just a kid. He couldn’t hear me. “When she hit you yesterday… I saw you go down. I thought you were just mad at us. Until I saw the blood under the door.” “I killed you. So I’m coming to pay the debt.” He smiled, a heartbreaking, shattered expression. I tried to grab the knife, but my fingers were mist. He looked at the framed photo on my nightstand—the two of us at the county fair three years ago. “Wait for me, Daisy.” The knife dragged across his wrist. The red was sudden and bright, blooming across his white sleeves. He winced, a small frown of discomfort, and then he leaned his head against my cold shoulder. “It hurts,” he whispered. “Daisy… I never knew it hurt this much for you.” I knelt beside him, trying to hold him, trying to tell him that for me, it hadn’t hurt at all. I tried to plug the wound with my ghostly hands, but the blood just flowed through me. I watched until his breathing became a shallow flutter. Then, silence. Hours later, the front door opened. My mother came in carrying shopping bags and a fresh cake box. She kicked off her shoes, sounding almost hesitant as she called out into the dark house. “Daisy? Ben? Come on, let’s have a real birthday. I bought treats.” No one answered. She frowned, setting the bags on the counter. “Daisy? Do you hear me?” When the silence persisted, her irritation returned. She walked to the hallway and pushed the door open. It wasn’t locked. It swung wide. The light from the hallway spilled in, hitting the floor. Her face turned to stone.

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I had been married to Tracy for exactly three years. It happened on a Tuesday night. I was reaching for a glass of water when I saw words floating above her head. They were white, semi-transparent, and scrolled slowly from left to right like a live feed of subtitles on a streaming site. The text read: Why is he still awake? God, he’s so annoying. I froze. Tracy was propped up against the headboard, her eyes fixed on a stack of legal documents. Her expression was the same as it always was—composed, professional, and utterly cold. Her lips hadn’t moved. She hadn’t breathed a word. But I felt it. I knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that I was seeing her inner monologue. I rubbed my eyes, hard. When I looked back, the words were gone. Taking a shaky breath, I leaned in and gently rested my hand on her shoulder. “Hey, babe,” I whispered, testing the silence. “Do you think we could grab dinner together tomorrow? Just the two of us?” Instantly, a new line flared into existence above her perfectly groomed hair: Clinging to me every single day. Doesn’t he ever get tired of it? But the voice that came out of her mouth was smooth and indifferent. “We’ll see.” My hand slid off her shoulder, falling limp at my side. 01 My name is Adrian. I have been Tracy Montgomery’s husband for three years and four months. That was the first time the subtitles appeared. It was also the first time I realized that “we’ll see” didn’t mean “let’s check the schedule.” It meant: Stop bothering me. I didn’t try to touch her again that night. I stayed on my side of the king-sized bed, staring at the ceiling. Tracy flipped a page of her brief, and another line drifted by. [Finally, some peace and quiet.] Those four words hurt worse than if she’d screamed them. I pulled the duvet up to my chin, feeling my heart constrict as if a sharp fingernail were slowly digging into the muscle. The next morning, I got up at 6:00 AM, just like I always did. I prepared a gourmet breakfast: soft-poached eggs over avocado toast with a side of smoked salmon and her favorite micro-batch coffee. Tracy came downstairs, looking sharp in her charcoal power suit. She sat down and began to eat. Above her head, the text scrolled by: [Avocado toast again. Can’t he find something new to do?] She didn’t say a word out loud. I pushed a small bowl of fruit toward her. “Tracy, I picked up the berries fresh this morning. They’re much sweeter than the last batch.” “Mhm,” she grunted. The text: [Like I care.] I looked at the breakfast I’d spent forty-five minutes perfecting and suddenly lost my appetite. For three years, I had been the perfect “house husband.” I got up at dawn every single day. I curated menus, I tracked her favorite roasts, I made sure her life was seamless. One thousand mornings of devotion. And for one thousand mornings, she hadn’t cared. Not once. At 10:00 AM, my father-in-law arrived. Richard Montgomery walked into the house wearing a cashmere overcoat, carrying two boxes of high-end supplements. “Where’s Tracy?” “At the office, sir.” I took the boxes from him and moved toward the kitchen to make tea. Richard sat on the sofa, and a line of text hovered over his head. [Calling me ‘sir’ like he actually belongs here. Pathetic.] My footsteps faltered. Richard scanned the room with a critical eye. “Adrian, the water in those lilies needs changing. It looks stagnant.” “Of course, Richard. I’ll do it right away.” [All he does is hover around Tracy. Look at him—no career, no ambition. If it hadn’t been for his father saving my life in that crash years ago, my daughter would never have looked twice at a man like him.] A long, dense paragraph of text scrolled across his brow. I stood at the kitchen sink, the cold water running over my fingers until they went numb. So, that was it. This marriage was a debt repayment. Years ago, my father had been the first person on the scene of a horrific car accident. He’d pulled Richard from the wreckage and stayed with him until the paramedics arrived. I had always believed the Montgomerys welcomed me into their family out of genuine gratitude. Now I knew the “kindness” was just a cage made of “obligations.” I changed the water in the vase and set it back on the coffee table. Richard glanced at me. [At least he’s useful for chores. That’s about the extent of his value.] I sat across from him and poured his Earl Grey, the same polite smile on my face that I’d worn for three years. Only now, I knew the smile was a mask. And I knew exactly how thin it was. That afternoon, Tracy’s assistant called. “Adrian, Ms. Montgomery asked me to let you know she has a late client dinner. Don’t wait up for her.” “I understand,” I said. I hung up and sat alone at the dining table. I’d already prepared her favorite—lemon-herb roasted chicken and garlic broccolini. I took a bite of the chicken. It tasted like ash. 02 By the third day, the “bullet chats” were becoming sharper, more vivid. It was as if someone had installed a transparent screen in front of my eyes. Anyone within five yards of me revealed their darkest, pettiest thoughts. The cashier at the grocery store: [Another one of these stay-at-home trophy husbands. Must be nice to spend all day spending someone else’s money.] The security guard at our complex: [This guy is always grocery shopping while his wife is out running an empire. Wonder how long until she trades him in?] Even the security guard saw it. It took everyone else five minutes to realize what I had spent three years ignoring. On Saturday, Tracy was actually home. She was in the study, buried in emails. I brought her a fresh cup of coffee. “Tracy? Your dark roast. Just the way you like it.” She took the cup without looking up. The text: [Again? Can’t he go five minutes without interrupting me?] I smiled, stepped back, and quietly closed the door. In that moment, I felt something inside me click shut as well. At 2:00 PM, the doorbell rang. I opened it to find a man standing there. He wore a perfectly tailored white linen shirt, his hair styled into that effortless “I just woke up in the Hamptons” look. In his hand was a signature Tiffany-blue gift bag. Thomas Thorne. Tracy’s college sweetheart. The Creative Director at Montgomery Holdings. And, according to everyone who knew them, Tracy’s “one that got away.” “Adrian! Long time no see, man.” He flashed a brilliant, white smile. But the text above his head told a different story. [Three years later and you’re still squatting in this house? Give it up already.] I kept my voice level. “Thomas. Come on in.” He walked in as if he owned the place, his eyes surveying the decor. [Nice place. Pity it’s occupied by someone so… mid.] “I brought a little something for Tracy,” he said, handing me the bag. “A silk scarf I picked up while I was in Milan. I saw it and immediately thought of her.” The text: [Let’s see if you can even afford the tax on this.] I took the bag. “Thanks, Thomas. Her birthday isn’t until next month, though. You’re quite early.” He gave a playful shrug. “We’ve known each other for twelve years, Adrian. I don’t need a calendar to remember what she likes.” The text: [You’ve only known her for five. You’re a blink of an eye in her life.] Tracy heard the commotion and came out of the study. When she saw Thomas, her face remained neutral, but the text appeared instantly. [He’s here. That shirt looks incredible on him.] She had never once commented on what I wore. Whenever I asked her, Does this look okay? her answer was always a distracted It’s fine. The three of us sat in the living room. Thomas and Tracy started talking shop—new projects, market trends, high-level strategy. Tracy was actually engaging, speaking more in ten minutes than she had to me in a week. Thomas’s subtitles were scrolling at lightning speed. [See this, Adrian? She actually has things to talk about with me. What do you have? Recipes?] [Once I land the ‘Whale Fall’ contract, you’ll be completely irrelevant.] Whale Fall. That name hit me like a physical jolt. “Whale Fall” was the hottest name in the contemporary art world. Over the last two years, this anonymous illustrator’s work had exploded globally. Their prints sold out in seconds; their collaborations were the gold standard of the industry. Montgomery Holdings had been desperate to land an exclusive licensing deal with Whale Fall for months, but the artist was a ghost. They only communicated through a high-profile agent. Thomas was the lead on the project. What Thomas didn’t know—what no one knew—was that the artist behind Whale Fall was me. I took a sip of my tea, my hand trembling just slightly. It wasn’t fear. It was a strange, cold fire rising in my chest. Three years ago, when I married Tracy, I had put down my brushes. She had told me, “We have more than enough money. You don’t need to work. Just take care of us.” I thought it was a gesture of love. Protecting me. The bullet chats told me the truth: She just thought my work was beneath her. My agent, Paige, had kept my secret faithfully. We used the pseudonym “Whale Fall,” and she handled the business. In three years, the price of my original canvases had jumped from a few thousand to half a million dollars. The licensing fees in my private account totaled over twenty million. Tracy didn’t know. Thomas didn’t know. Nobody knew that the “house husband” they mocked was the very genius they were currently begging for a meeting. When Thomas finally left, he gave me a condescending pat on the shoulder. The text: [Enjoy the last of your days here, Adrian.] I waved him off. “Safe travels, Thomas.” I closed the door and leaned my back against the foyer wall. I closed my eyes. I’m done, I thought. Three years of playing the devoted, clinging husband. It ends today. 03 The change began the very next morning. The alarm went off at 6:15 AM. I didn’t get up. I rolled over, hit snooze, and went back to sleep. When Tracy went downstairs at 7:00 AM, the dining table was empty. No eggs. No artisanal toast. No perfectly brewed coffee. She stood there for a few seconds, the text above her head appearing: [No breakfast today? Well, saves me the calories, I guess.] She grabbed her keys and left. She didn’t even ask if I was okay. I watched her car pull out of the driveway from the upstairs window. Usually, I would have run to the door to say “Have a good day!” or “Drive safe!” Today, I stayed in bed. At noon, I didn’t text her. Usually, I sent at least five messages throughout the day. Did you eat lunch? How’s the meeting going? Thinking of you. Her replies were always: K. Fine. Busy. I opened my phone and texted Paige instead. “Hey. Schedule a meeting with Lawrence at the Vanguard Gallery. I want to talk about a solo show.” Three seconds later, Paige replied with twenty exclamation points. “ADRIAN! Finally!! Lawrence has been begging for this for a year! I’m on it!” I smiled. A real smile. Not the one I used for Tracy. That afternoon, I went downtown. I didn’t go grocery shopping. I went to a real estate office. “I’m looking for a loft in the West End,” I told the agent. “One bedroom, lots of natural light. Something private.” The agent was eager. “What’s your budget, sir?” “Let’s keep it under five thousand a month for now.” “I have three perfect spots to show you.” When I walked out of the office, the March sun felt warm on my face. The wind was still a bit chilly, but for the first time in three years, I felt like I could breathe. When Tracy got home that evening, it was 7:30 PM—earlier than usual. She walked into the kitchen. The stove was cold. There were no delicious aromas. “Adrian?” I walked out of the bedroom, holding a book. “Yeah?” She looked at the empty table. The text: [No dinner? What is this, a tantrum?] “You didn’t cook?” she asked aloud. “No. I had a long day. I’m pretty tired,” I said, my voice flat. “There’s some frozen pasta in the freezer if you’re hungry.” Tracy stared at me. The text: [Fine. One lazy day. Whatever.] She went into the kitchen. I heard the tap run, the clatter of a pot hitting the stove. For the first time in our marriage, she was boiling her own water. I turned a page in my book. I didn’t feel guilty. I didn’t feel bad. I just felt… light. 04 A week passed. I stopped the 6:00 AM wake-up calls. I stopped the mid-day texts. I stopped meeting her at the door to take her bag and pour her wine. The change was massive, but Tracy’s reaction was almost nonexistent. For the first three days, her subtitles read: [Quiet for once. Nice.] [Finally, he’s stopped clinging to me. It’s a relief.] [He probably read some article about ‘giving your wife space.’ Whatever.] She was actually relieved to be rid of me. I looked at those words and felt a sharp, bitter laugh bubble up in my throat. Fine, I thought. Let’s see how much you enjoy the quiet. Wednesday evening, Richard Montgomery showed up again. This time, he wasn’t alone. He brought Thomas. “Adrian, Thomas said he’s been craving your signature steak, so I told him we’d drop by!” Richard announced, walking in. The text: [Thomas and Tracy belong together. If I didn’t owe his father, this seat would already be Thomas’s.] Thomas walked in, acting like he lived there. The text: [I’m going to show Tracy today exactly why I’m the better man.] In the past, I would have scrambled. I would have rushed to the kitchen, apologized for the mess, and whipped up a five-course meal while smiling through their insults. Not today. “Sorry, Richard,” I said, staying on the couch. “The fridge is pretty empty. We should probably just order out.” Richard froze. The text: [What? Every time I come over, there’s a feast. What is this kid doing?] “Order out?” Richard frowned. “We’re in a home with a professional kitchen. Ordering out is for people who can’t manage their households.” I shrugged. “I can pull up DoorDash. What are you in the mood for?” “DoorDash?” Richard’s face went purple. The text: [Is he losing his mind? What kind of house-husband is he?] Thomas stepped in smoothly. “Don’t be upset, Richard. Why don’t I cook? I picked up a great recipe for scallops in butter sauce recently. I’d love for you to try it.” He headed for the kitchen. Richard’s scowl turned into a beaming smile. “Thomas, you’re a gem. Truly.” The text: [Look at Thomas. Then look at Adrian. Night and day.] I sat on the sofa, watching Thomas rummage through my kitchen for spices. In the past, this would have gutted me. I would have hidden in the bedroom and cried. Now, I just watched his subtitles. [I’m using his favorite apron. I’m going to drink out of Tracy’s favorite glass while he watches.] When he served the food, he used the fine china I had spent months collecting. The text: [Beautiful plates. I’ll keep these when I move in.] Tracy arrived home then. Seeing Thomas in an apron in her kitchen made her pause. The text: [Thomas’s here?] Followed immediately by: [He actually looks good in that.] Then she looked at me. The text: [Adrian is just… sitting there? That’s not like him.] “Hey,” I said. Just ‘hey.’ No ‘babe,’ no smile, no getting up to take her coat. Tracy’s brow furrowed. The text: [What is wrong with him?] But she didn’t ask. She never asked. The four of us sat at the table. Thomas’s food looked good, I’ll give him that. Richard took a bite and practically moaned. “Thomas, this is better than any restaurant.” The text: [If Thomas were my son-in-law, I’d be the happiest man alive.] Thomas smiled modestly. “You’re too kind, Richard.” The text: [Keep praising me. Do it right in front of her.] I ate slowly, in silence. Usually, I would have tried to jump into the conversation, saying, “I’ll have to learn that recipe, Richard!” Today, I said nothing. Richard noticed. “Adrian, you’re awfully quiet.” “Just eating, Richard.” Richard huffed. The text: [Look at that attitude. If you’re so jealous, go cook something better.] After dinner, Thomas insisted on doing the dishes. I went to the living room to drink water. Richard followed me, lowering his voice. “Adrian, we need to talk about your attitude lately.” “My attitude?” “Don’t play coy. You’re cold, you’re quiet, you’re not even cooking. You married my daughter to take care of her, not to be a pampered prince.” The text: [Know your place. If it wasn’t for your father, you wouldn’t be fit to shine Tracy’s shoes.] I looked him in the eye. Usually, I’d look at the floor and whisper, “I’m sorry, I’ll do better.” Today, I just nodded. “I hear you, Richard.” The tone was the same as always. But I knew the meaning was different. Before, “I hear you” meant “I’ll obey.” Now, it meant: I’m done arguing with a ghost. 05 Day ten. The shift was finally too big for Tracy to ignore. It started with an Instagram post. In the past, my feed was a shrine to her. Dinner Tracy made! So lucky! (I made it). Flowers from my wife! So romantic! (I bought them for myself and staged the photo). So grateful for us. (A photo of us where she was looking at her phone and I was beaming). Pathetic? Yes. On day ten, I posted something new. A painting. A watercolor I’d done in secret—a whale breaching from a dark sea, its back covered in blooming flowers. The caption was just two words: Whale Fall.

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The system glitched at the worst possible moment—right as I was fleeing in disgrace, chased out by the return of the “rightful” Santiago heiress. In a jagged tear of space and time, I was spat out six years into the future. But there was a catch: my body had shrunk, reverted to the small, soft frame of a six-year-old child. When I finally looked up, blinking through the haze, I collided with a pair of eyes that held nothing but frozen steel. It was Benson Wilder. He looked down at me, his gaze calculating and sharp. “Where did you come from, kid?” he asked, his voice a low, dangerous rasp. Out of sheer, terrified instinct, I stammered my old name. “I’m Cassidy Santiago…” The words hadn’t even fully left my lips when neon-red lines of text began to scroll across my vision—the digital feedback of the system, a spectral commentary only I could see. [Oh my god! Is that the villainess? Why is she a toddler?] [She actually dared to show her face again? After what she did?] [Poor Benson. Back then, he treated her like she was his entire world. He worked himself to the bone for her while she treated him like a dog.] [And then she just vanished. He spent six years looking for her, probably wanting to grind her bones to dust.] [The name ‘Cassidy Santiago’ is a death sentence in this town now. Is she suicidal?!] A paralyzing chill crawled up my spine. Benson’s eyes had shifted. The cold indifference was gone, replaced by a sudden, murderous intensity. Survival instinct kicked in. Before he could react, I added a trembling postscript: “…I-I’m your daughter! Yours and Cassidy’s!” 1. The cigarette dangling from Benson’s lips hit the pavement with a quiet thud. A full minute of suffocating silence followed. Time seemed to liquefy, then freeze. It took him a while to find his voice again. “What?” He looked at me as if I’d just told the most absurd, cosmic joke in history. His gaze dropped from its heights, no longer just cold, but tangled with a dark, complex confusion. “What did you just say?” It wasn’t just Benson who was stunned. The digital comments were losing their minds. [Classic Cassidy. Even as a kid, she’s a manipulative masterpiece.] [You’ve gotta have a black belt in sociopathy to come up with that on the fly.] [I see. This must be the ‘Detective Conan’ defense strategy.] [Just accept it, Benson. Being her ‘daddy’ isn’t much different from being her ‘dog’ like you used to be.] I looked up at him properly then. Six years had transformed the Benson Wilder I knew. Gone was the lean, hungry boy; in his place stood a man with a raw, predatory edge. He was six-foot-one of broad shoulders and lean muscle. He looked like he’d just stepped out of the shower—drips of water traveled from the tips of his hair, tracing the line of his jaw before disappearing into the collar of his black T-shirt. His tan skin had a damp, healthy sheen. He pushed his dark, messy fringe back with a careless hand, revealing brows as sharp as blades. Benson’s looks were never in question. If they had been, I probably wouldn’t have stayed with him as long as I did back in the day. Under different circumstances, this would have been a beautiful scene of a man in his prime. If only his eyes didn’t look like they wanted to commit a felony. But what choice did I have? I’d begged the system to transport me away to escape Benson’s wrath, only to be dropped right on his doorstep six years later. Outside, a torrential downpour was turning the night into a blurred, black mess. I was a six-year-old girl. I had no money, no ID, and no coat. As the saying goes: the safest place is the most dangerous one. Welcome to the lion’s den. I tilted my head back and said with practiced earnestness, “I said… I’m Cassidy’s daughter. She told me my father’s name was Benson Wilder. That’s you, right?” During those years with Benson, I’d developed many skills. My greatest was the ability to lie with a straight face and an innocent heart. Benson fell silent again. His gaze swept over me, his eyes darkening. He opened his mouth, his voice sounding oddly hoarse. “You…” He probably wanted to ask my name. Or how I found him. But in the end, a thousand questions condensed into a single, low command. “Get inside. The rain’s picking up.” He turned on his heel, his long strides taking him into the foyer. He glanced back at me once, then grabbed a thick wool throw from the sofa and tossed it over my head. His voice softened, though it still had that jagged edge. “You’re covered in goosebumps. Wrap yourself up.” 2. Benson and I sat facing each other. Because I was so small, he had to lean forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, to meet my eyes. “So… you’re saying you’re my daughter. With Cassidy Santiago.” He let my name linger on his tongue for a second, a bitter taste. Then he looked at me again. “What’s your name?” The suspicion hadn’t left his eyes. I paused, my hand tightening around the glass of water he’d given me. Right. A name. I needed something that wouldn’t trigger his alarms. I remembered a rainy afternoon years ago. We were curled up on a lumpy sofa. He was massaging my legs, feeding me strawberries, his expression a mix of adoration and exasperation. “If you ever have a little monster exactly like you to torment me, I’ll be completely helpless,” he’d muttered. I had yawned, teasing him. “Oh? You already have names picked out?” Benson hadn’t hesitated. It was as if he’d been reciting them in his head for months. “Sophie,” he’d said, his ears turning a bright, embarrassed red. “Sophie Santiago. Or Sophie Wilder. Either works.” I hadn’t taken him seriously then. I thought it was just a daydream. But now? Now it was a lifeline. “Sophie,” I whispered. “But people call me Soph.” Benson’s entire demeanor fractured. It was as if he’d been struck by a physical blow. He went rigid, the air leaving his lungs in a sharp hiss. He leaned back into the sofa, looking like a man whose ghost had just left his body. He reached for a cigarette, then stopped, glancing at me before shoving the pack back into his pocket. When he looked at me again, his voice had changed. It was dry, raspy. “How old are you?” I bit my lip, looking down at my small, chubby fingers. “Six.” I wasn’t avoiding his gaze because I was shy. I was avoiding it because I was afraid he’d see the grown woman hiding behind my eyes. Benson didn’t notice. He was lost in his own mental math. “Six years,” he murmured to himself. “When did… I don’t remember… Was I that drunk?” He ran a hand through his hair, staring at me as if trying to see through my skin. “Dammit. You have her eyes. Her nose. Even that mouth. Why don’t you look a damn bit like me?” Realizing he shouldn’t be swearing in front of a child, he went quiet for a moment. He stood up and headed for the kitchen, his tone awkward but intentionally gentle. “Do you want milk? Fruit? And… don’t repeat that word I just said.” Wait. Was he actually buying this? I was stunned. I gripped the edge of the sofa, looking toward the kitchen. “You… you aren’t worried I’m lying?” Benson didn’t look up as he warmed the milk, his movements practiced as he pulled cereal from the cupboard. “You look exactly like her. I’m not an idiot.” I fell silent. The digital comments followed suit. [He sees the face of his ghost, and he’s done for. He’s a goner.] [Benson, for the love of God, get a DNA test!] [She’s playing him like a violin, and he’s just leaning into the music.] [Poor guy. He went from being her dog to being her ‘daughter’s’ servant. Some things never change.] Benson brought over a mug of warm oatmeal milk. “I don’t have juice. Drink this.” There was a long pause before he asked the question I’d been dreading. He tried to sound casual, but his voice betrayed him. “Where is she? Where’s your mother?” 3. Here it was. The moment of truth. The comments were more nervous than I was. [The million-dollar question. If she messes this up, it’s game over.] [Benson is holding his breath. Look at his knuckles.] [One wrong word and she’s out in the rain.] I felt my eyelid twitch. Benson stood there, waiting with surprising patience to take my empty mug. I handed the glass back and lowered my eyes. “She’s gone.” It was the answer Benson expected. He let out a sharp, cynical bark of a laugh. “Of course. Typical Cassidy.” He took the mug back to the kitchen. I could hear the rush of the faucet, a sound that masked the tremor in his voice. “Where to this time? Japan? London? I figured she’d fled the country the second she realized the walls were closing in. That’s why I couldn’t find her for six years. But she didn’t take you? Just dumped you on my doorstep because she knew her ‘baby daddy’ was rich now?” I looked down at the coffee table. It was covered in a delicate, hand-crocheted lace cloth—something Benson and I had found at a flea market years ago. I scanned the room. This was a two-bedroom apartment. Benson had kept it impeccably clean, and to my shock, it looked exactly the same as the day I left. Even my favorite ceramic vase was still on the windowsill. By now, Benson should have been back with the Wilder family, living as their crown prince. Why was he still keeping this little apartment? Why keep the ghost of a woman he supposedly hated? My nose began to sting. Maybe I was catching a cold from the rain. I rubbed my face with the back of my hand and spoke quietly. “She didn’t go on a trip, Benson. She’s gone. To a place far away.” I wasn’t lying. I added in a whisper, “She might never come back.” The sound of shattering glass echoed from the kitchen. Benson spun around, his face drained of color. “Never come back? What the hell does that mean?” He walked toward me, his steps slow and heavy. He knelt on the floor in front of me, his hand coming up to gently cup the back of my head, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were rimmed with red. “And then?” His voice was a series of broken notes. “Are you saying… she’s dead? She just left, and then she just died? Just like that? Leaving me with another one of her messes?” He searched my face, his expression agonizing. “Are you the only thing she left behind? The only thing I have left of her?” 4. Hey, stop wishing me dead! I’m right here! I wanted to scream. But I couldn’t. If I told the truth, I’d be dead for real. I kept my head down and gave a tiny, miserable nod. The comments exploded. [Holy shit. One sentence and his hate-meter just dropped to zero.] [This is the ultimate ‘villainess’ move. Pure purification by death-hoax.] [Benson’s internal monologue: Great, she left me a kid but didn’t leave herself.] I ignored them. I looked at Benson and asked softly, “I don’t have anywhere else to go. I don’t know anyone else. Can I stay with you?” Benson looked down, his thoughts unreadable. Finally, he stood up and headed for his office. His voice was thick. “Where else would you live if not with your father? Go watch cartoons for a bit while I get the room ready. I’ll sleep in the office. You take the bedroom.” He paused at the door. “It’s late. Kids shouldn’t stay up. We’ll talk tomorrow.” An hour later, I was tucked under the covers, pulled tight against my chin. The rain outside had settled into a rhythmic patter. The sheets were fresh, smelling of sunlight and lavender detergent. He’d changed everything, leaving no trace of himself. I thought back to when I first met Benson. He was eighteen. It was raining then, too. He was hunched in an alleyway, clutching his stomach in pain, soaked to the bone. That was when the comments first appeared in my life. [Here we go! 18-year-old Benson! Six months until he hits the jackpot!] [Waiting for the heroine to show up!] [Wait, who is this rando? Cassidy Santiago? She’s hijacking the plot!] [This isn’t the story I signed up for!] From those comments, I’d pieced together the “original” story. Benson was the protagonist, a “tragic-yet-beautiful” hero. The heroine was supposed to be a girl named Isabel. Benson had grown up in the shadow of his parents’ screaming matches in a damp, moldy house. Isabel was a blurry shadow from his childhood—a girl who had lived next door to his grandfather one summer. She’d given him a bowl of noodles and some iodine when his father had beaten him nearly to death. The comments said Isabel was his “Saint”—the one who would later save him. In six months, the wealthy Wilder family would find him and realize he was their long-lost heir. I had stood there in the rain, holding my umbrella, my hand trembling. Money. So much money. This boy was a ticking time bomb of wealth. And right then, he didn’t even know his “Saint’s” real name. I looked down at the shivering boy. Fate was a funny thing. I knew the “heroine” Isabel. She was my cousin, currently studying in London. She wasn’t due back for a year. That was more than enough time for me. “Hey? Are you okay?” I’d asked, leaning over and shifting my umbrella to cover him. I made sure my smile was perfectly calibrated—kind, concerned, and just a little bit magical. “There’s a clinic nearby. Let me help you?” Benson had looked up at me, his eyes cold and defensive. “I’m fine.” He looked like a stray cat—cornered, wet, and trying to hiss his way out of a trap. I’d feigned a moment of realization, frowning slightly. “Wait… I think I know you.” I leaned in closer. “Did you live next door to my grandfather? Mr. Santiago?” The comments were right; Benson was a loyal dog at heart. His eyes had widened, his entire body going still. “Mr. Santiago was your grandfather? You… you were there?” I’d helped him up, leaning the umbrella further over him, letting myself get wet. “Yeah,” I’d said casually. “I stayed there a few summers.” I was a siren, singing a song he desperately wanted to hear. “We’ve met before. Don’t you remember?” … The rain had stopped, but sleep wouldn’t come. I stared at the ceiling. Same bed. Same room. For me, it had been a blink of an eye. For Benson, it had been over two thousand days. I rolled over, burying my face in the pillow. In his eyes, I was just a woman who used him and then discarded him like trash. Whatever happens, happens tomorrow. From the office next door, I heard a strange sound. It was the sound of someone trying, and failing, to stifle their sobs. I closed my eyes, feeling a sudden heat behind my lids. Fine, Benson, I thought. You’re probably just so happy to hear I’m dead that you’re crying tears of joy.

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On the eve of my wedding, Kael, the Alpha of Shadowfen Pack, took me to his hunting celebration. His deputies whistled and hooted: “Alpha Arthur’s eldest daughter from Frostveil Pack is truly pure. Our Alpha Kael is so lucky.” Kael lowered his head and kissed my hair, his pride impossible to hide. “My Elara is, of course, the best. Not like those wild sluts out there.” I went to the woods to clear my head after drinking too much. As I walked back to the door, I heard Kael’s mocking voice from inside the room. “Purity? What’s that worth? She’s stubborn as a rock, like a dead fish in bed. If she couldn’t help me take over Arthur’s territory, and if she didn’t have the same face as Sera, I wouldn’t even bother touching her.” My blood instantly froze, and I felt my wolf howling wildly. Sera, my twin sister, Alpha Arthur’s youngest daughter from Frostveil Pack. The next day, my wedding to Kael proceeded as planned. All members of Frostveil Pack and Shadowfen Pack gathered at the ceremony altar. I wore a gown embroidered with white wolf totems, waiting to complete the ceremony with him. Just as we were about to exchange rings, Sera, with her visibly swollen belly, walked towards us, surrounded by a group of wolf guards. Kael stepped forward to shield her, his eyes devoid of any guilt as he looked at me. “Elara, Sera is carrying my heir. Shadowfen Pack needs her as my Luna. This engagement ends here. Please, let us be.” I looked at my own sister, my flesh and blood, and at the fiancé I had loved with all my heart, and then I smiled. I brutally tore off the necklace around my neck, which symbolized the alliance between our two Packs. Holding up the hem of my gown, I walked step by step towards the man sitting in the shadows. Killian, the Beta of Shadowfen Pack, a broken wolf who couldn’t shift, his hind leg injured by silver seven years ago. The entire Pack gossiped that this crippled wolf had watched over me for seven years. I knelt before him and whispered, “They all say you like me. Now, I’m single. Do you dare marry me?”

“Elara’s lost her mind!” “She actually chose a cripple? A broken wolf who can’t shift!” “Frostveil Pack’s reputation is ruined because of her! The Alpha’s daughter, marrying a crippled Beta who can’t shift!” Piercing laughter erupted from all directions, each sound like a claw tearing away my last shred of dignity. My mother, Eleanor, rushed down the aisle like a madwoman, gripping my arm tightly. “Are you insane? Spiting Kael isn’t worth ruining your entire life over a Beta?!” On the altar, Kael wrapped an arm around Sera’s waist, a sneering smile on his face as he watched the drama unfold. “Tsk, I underestimated Elara. She’s certainly got guts.” Sera let out a delicate chuckle, deliberately caressing her pregnant belly, her eyes brimming with provocation. “Guts? I think she’s gone mad. Elara, are you really going to spend your life with a broken wolf who can’t even stand properly? He can’t even protect you.” My heart felt like it was being ripped apart by wolf claws. I thought tearing up the engagement would free me from my cage, but instead, it led to even more profound humiliation. Just then, Killian stood up. His right leg was weak, and he stumbled as he rose. Every step he took showed he was enduring immense pain. Compared to the triumphant Kael on the altar, Killian was in the mud, Kael in the clouds. I suddenly regretted it. Impulse is a devil. Why did I choose a broken wolf who couldn’t even walk normally? Was I really going to marry him and be mocked by the entire North American wolf community for the rest of my life? Killian stopped in front of me and pulled a ring from his pocket. The band was polished from one of his own shed wolf claws, with only a small, dull moonstone embedded in it. It couldn’t even compare to a fraction of the diamond earrings Kael casually gave Sera. The laughter from the crowd grew louder. “Hahaha, even the wedding ring is pathetic!” “Elara, are you truly willing? Following him, you’ll even lose your inheritance rights to Frostveil Pack!” My eyes almost welled up with tears. I was Alpha Arthur’s eldest daughter of Frostveil Pack, born at the top of the pack. When had I ever suffered such humiliation? But the next second, Killian reached out and gently took my hand. His hand was warm, steady, calloused from years of holding weapons, yet incredibly gentle. “I do.” Two words, deep and firm, without a hint of hesitation. Those two simple words instantly calmed my restless heart. My throat tightened. “Are you sure? Right now, I’ll only bring you endless trouble.” “I’m not afraid.” He looked into my eyes, not flinching. The laughter from below turned into furious growls. Someone bared their fangs at Killian. “Two failures, a perfect match!” “A cripple with a madwoman, truly a match made in hell!” Kael strode down from the altar, looking down at me with an air of condescension. “Elara, don’t be childish. Come back. The child in Sera’s belly needs a father, and you need an Alpha who can protect you.” Listening to his words, a coldness spread through my heart. Kael played with my feelings, got my sister pregnant, and this philandering man still had the nerve to say he’d protect me? I looked at Killian. His leg might be broken, but his heart wasn’t rotten. “Yes, I will.” I extended my hand, and Killian slipped the smoothly polished wolf claw ring onto my ring finger. The ring fit perfectly, as if it had been custom-made for me seven years ago. The crowd erupted in an uproar, wolf howls echoing everywhere.

The sneering expression on Kael’s face instantly vanished, replaced by pure fury. He lunged forward, grabbing my wrist with a force that almost crushed my bones. “Elara, you’d rather choose a cripple to spite me than lower yourself to beg?” Before I could struggle free, my father, Arthur, rushed over. I thought he was coming to pull Kael away, to protect me. But he raised his hand and slapped me hard across the face. “Slap!” The sharp sound echoed piercingly in the quiet woods, silencing all whispers. My cheek instantly swelled and turned red, and I staggered back two steps from the force of the blow. The entire scene fell silent for a moment, then erupted into even louder murmurs. “You’ve brought utter disgrace upon Frostveil Pack! Get back here immediately!” Father’s eyes held no hint of tenderness, only raging fury and undisguised disgust. I covered my face, tears nearly spilling out. Not from pain, but from the bone-chilling disappointment. My own father would rather watch his daughter be betrayed by her fiancé than jeopardize the alliance between the two Packs, to preserve his ridiculous reputation. Sera then came over, pretending to intervene, reaching out to pull us apart. “Daddy, please don’t be angry. Elara is just acting on impulse.” As she spoke, she deliberately bumped me hard with her shoulder, and I stumbled and fell to the ground. The wolves below began pointing and scoffing disdainfully. “This Frostveil Pack’s upbringing, tsk tsk…” “The elder daughter is a lunatic, but the younger one is much more sensible.” “Good thing Alpha Kael chose the right person, otherwise Shadowfen Pack would be in chaos with that madwoman.” Sera proudly caressed her pregnant belly, her eyes filled with the triumph of a victor as she looked at me. Killian tried to rush to my aid, but Kael’s two guards held him back firmly, pinning him in place. “What are you? A broken wolf, daring to touch the future Luna of Shadowfen Pack?” Kael sneered, looking down at me. I lay on the ground, watching Killian’s anxious but helpless face, a despair deeper than any physical pain welling up inside me. Was this the man I chose? He couldn’t even get close to me, couldn’t protect me. Kael knelt down, reaching out to help me up, his voice laced with false tenderness. “Do you see now? This is your choice. How can a broken wolf who can’t even stand protect you? Come back. I can let bygones be bygones, as if none of this ever happened.” This man, who just last night mocked me as a “dead fish” in a separate room with his friends. Now he was acting all tender and loving. Disgusting. I used all my strength to violently swat his hand away. “Get lost!” Kael’s face instantly darkened, the killing intent in his eyes almost overflowing. “You’re ungrateful.” He stood up and kicked the hem of my gown by my side, tearing the fabric instantly. “Since you’re so cheap, go live with your cripple. But don’t you dare regret it!” Seeing this, Arthur rushed forward again, raising his hand to strike me once more. “Why aren’t you apologizing to Alpha Kael?!” Eleanor also rushed over, weeping, pulling my arm and shaking it. “Elara, are you mad? Are you going to ruin your whole life just to spite him?”

The laughter from the crowd never stopped, like they were watching a meticulously choreographed farce. “Elara really is crazy.” “To choose a broken wolf out of spite, she must be really desperate.” “Frostveil Pack truly is cursed, to have a daughter like that.” Sera opportunistically walked over, proudly displaying her belly, looking down at me, her words full of false concern. “Elara, calm down. Even if we had a misunderstanding, Kael truly cared for you. Look at Killian, he can’t even protect you. Is he truly worth entrusting your life to?” Every word she spoke stabbed at my heart. I lay on the ground, feeling the malice surrounding me. Had I, indeed, made the wrong choice? Just then, Killian suddenly burst out. He used all his strength to break free from the two guard wolves’ hold. Even though he trembled with pain, he limped towards me. He knelt down and carefully helped me to my feet. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to suffer like this.” Then he turned his head and looked at the triumphant Kael. “You’re right, I can’t protect her right now.” My heart instantly sank to the bottom. Even he, was he going to abandon me? But the next second, he looked up, his gaze sweeping over all the wolves present. “But at least, I won’t hurt her.” “You mock her for being crazy, mock her for choosing me, a broken wolf, out of spite. But have you considered? What exactly pushed an Alpha’s daughter of Frostveil Pack to tear up her own engagement at her wedding ceremony with her own hands?” The entire crowd fell silent instantly. “It was betrayal. It was deceit. It was harm from her own flesh and blood.” “My leg was injured by silver, I can’t fully shift into my wolf form, but my heart isn’t rotten. I can’t give her the position of Luna of Shadowfen Pack, I can’t give her countless treasures, but I can give her absolute loyalty. Not like your Alpha, who got Elara’s twin sister pregnant before the wedding.” Kael’s face turned ashen, and his full Alpha presence instantly erupted, pressing down on Killian. “Stop being so dramatic! What right do you, a broken wolf, have to speak here?!” “What right do I have?” Killian interrupted him, meeting his dominance without an inch of retreat. “I have the right to love her and protect her. What about you? What right do you have?” “Stop talking nonsense!” Kael roared furiously, ordering the guards behind him. “Throw this broken wolf out! Never allow him to step foot into the territories of our two Packs again!” Several guard wolves swarmed over, grabbed Killian, and, ignoring his struggles, dragged him forcibly out of the venue.

At that moment, my mother, Eleanor, clutched my arm tightly, pulling me up from the ground. “Let go of me! What are you doing!” I struggled desperately, but her grip was too strong, making me powerless. “Shut up! You’ve embarrassed us enough!” She dragged me, pulling me towards Frostveil Pack’s underground silver cage in the woods. I was thrown into the underground cage, crafted from pure silver. Just getting close to it brought an agonizing burning sensation. “Bang!” The heavy iron door slammed shut, followed by the sound of a key turning in the lock. I rushed to the door like a madwoman, pounding on the silver bars. “Open the door! How dare you lock me up! Open it!” Kael’s voice drifted from outside. “Ladies and gentlemen, please excuse the little interruption earlier.” “Now, my discarded ex-fiancée is reflecting in the silver cage downstairs. How long do you think it will take for her to come to her senses and beg me?” A deafening roar of laughter erupted from the crowd. “Alpha Kael is truly amusing!” “This is more exciting than watching wolves fight!” “That woman deserves it! Serves her right for being so ungrateful!” I became the publicly displayed joke of this grand ceremony. My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw a SnapChat from Mom. “Elara, stop making trouble. The child in Sera’s belly is the future of our alliance. Her happiness is what matters most. Kneel and apologize to Kael, and this whole thing will blow over.” I stared at the words on the screen, feeling a chill run through me. Sera’s happiness matters most. What about me? Doesn’t my happiness matter? Doesn’t my dignity matter? Do I deserve to be betrayed, humiliated, and locked in a silver cage, made a laughingstock for the entire Pack? Music started playing outside. Kael and Sera were dancing at what was supposed to be my wedding, the applause from the guests growing louder and louder. And I, like trash, was locked in this dark, cold silver cage. My phone buzzed again. This time, it was a SnapChat from Sera. “Elara, I know you’re angry right now. But think about it, Kael is so amazing, what’s wrong with him having a few people he likes? Just be magnanimous, give me the Luna position of Shadowfen Pack, and I’ll ask Daddy to let you out.” I slid down the cold silver bars, curling into a ball on the ground. The burning pain in my body, my family’s betrayal, my lover’s humiliation, Everything, like a tide, engulfed me, pushing me into a bottomless abyss. The sound of a key turning came from outside. The iron door opened, and dazzling moonlight streamed in. Kael stood at the doorway, followed by a group of curious pack members, all holding their phones, their cameras pointed at my disheveled self. “Elara, what have you decided? Ready to apologize?” I looked up at his hypocritical face, about to speak. Suddenly, from the direction of the ceremony grounds, a thunderous wolf howl erupted, Followed by dense, murderous howls, one after another, growing closer and closer.

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My Omega stepsister, Rebecca, suddenly got pregnant, but no one knew who the father was. I was furious and about to send people to investigate, but my father, Alpha Arthur Hayes, stopped me. “Ava, this is your child too!” My Mate, Jason Miller, the Alpha of the Stoneclaw Pack, stood silently beside my father, tacitly agreeing with his words. I understood. Rebecca’s child was Jason’s. Seeing my silence, Jason defended himself: “You don’t want to have children anyway. Rebecca is your sister, just an Omega. Her having a child won’t threaten your position as the Luna of the Stoneclaw Pack.” In their eyes, I never said no to them. But they didn’t know I had already fulfilled my promise to my mother. Now, I was returning to my grandfather, the Alpha King. Jason’s hand was still resting on Rebecca’s swollen belly. The sight stung my eyes. “Ava, don’t be mad at Jason.” Rebecca lay on the bed, a harmless smile on her face. “The doctor said I’m not well. Alpha Jason was just afraid something might happen to me and the baby, which is why he kept it from you.” “We’re both doing this for your own good. You’ve been Luna for so many years without a child; many people are already unhappy about it.” She said this, then intimately patted the back of my hand. “When the baby is born, you can be his stepmother and let him call you Mom, okay?” My father, Alpha Arthur Hayes, cleared his throat, adopting the stern, authoritarian posture expected of Silverfang’s Alpha. “Ava! Once this child is born, we’ll merge the two Packs! He’ll be our heir! Your sister is unwell, yet she’s helping you and your Mate. Aren’t you grateful? Why the sour face?” Jason finally took his hand off Rebecca’s stomach and walked towards me. He tried to take my hand, but I pulled away. His arm froze in mid-air. “Ava, after all these years as Mates, don’t you understand me? Everything I’m doing is for you, for our two Packs. I can’t let others say you’re a Luna who can’t bear children. And I certainly can’t let our two Packs be without an heir.” I looked at him, unable to say a word. When I considered the current situation of both Packs, I had once suggested merging them. But they both disagreed. Alpha Arthur Hayes said that since I was already the Luna of the Stoneclaw Pack, I shouldn’t be greedy for the Silverfang Pack. And Jason said he was responsible for revitalizing the Stoneclaw Pack and couldn’t merge. So, I handled the affairs of both Packs by myself. Those two Alphas, however, only cared about indulging in parties and leisure, and spending time with Rebecca. Now that Rebecca was pregnant, they suddenly agreed to merge the Packs. It turned out there was no other reason from beginning to end; it was simply because I was an outsider. Seeing I was unmoved, Jason’s patience wore thin, and he tugged impatiently at his tie. “Alright, stop this. I’ve already had David Lee prepare dinner to celebrate. As Luna, you should at least make an appearance.” He turned to help Rebecca, his movements more gentle than I had ever seen him with me. “Becca, what do you want to eat? I’ll have the kitchen make it for you.” Rebecca leaned weakly into his embrace, whining, “I want caviar, and I want you to feed it to me yourself.” “Okay, anything for you.” Before, they had kept their secret relationship from me because they were worried about Rebecca. Now that Rebecca was pregnant, they no longer cared about my feelings. The pain of my Mate’s infidelity made it hard for me to stand. I leaned against the sofa, watching them flirt openly, as if I weren’t even there. Just then, the Pack doctor walked in, carrying his medical bag. He smiled broadly and pulled a check-up report from his bag. “Alpha Jason, Alpha Arthur, good news!” He handed the report to Jason, his voice booming. “Miss Rebecca’s fetus is very stable. The examination shows it perfectly inherited the powerful Alpha bloodline! Congratulations, Alpha Jason, you have an heir!” Jason kissed Rebecca hard. Alpha Arthur Hayes was also flushed with excitement. The doctor turned to me, a hint of pity in his smile. “You shouldn’t be too sad. Since you can’t get pregnant, having Miss Rebecca help you have one is the same. After all, she also has Silverfang Pack blood.” The room filled with laughter, like sharp needles, piercing my ears again and again. I clutched my phone, my nails digging into my flesh. Jason held up the report and walked towards me. “Ava, look how adorable he is. From now on, he’ll be our child.” Alpha Arthur Hayes quickly added, “But Ava, even though the child will be registered under your name, he’ll still call Becca ‘Mom.’ We can’t forget the birth mother.” They were as persistent as ever, believing I would agree to all their requests. Just like soon after my mother’s funeral, my father brought home a stepsister who was only half a year younger than me. He said she was the daughter of a deceased friend, but her face was ninety-nine percent like his—I later found out she was the daughter of his Omega mistress. Just like when Jason said he wanted a child, I tried countless methods. Even though I had told him before we Mated that it would be difficult for me to have children. This was because seven years ago, I had made a solemn vow at my mother’s deathbed. I swore to help my weak father support the Silverfang Pack and to pave the way for the declining Jason. At that time, our two Packs had just formed an alliance. My mother hoped that my Mate Bond with Jason would solidify the fragile alliance and bring prosperity to both families. For my mother, my father was her love, and Jason’s father had saved her life. But for me, my father never treated me like his daughter, and Jason disliked my strong-willed nature. They desperately wanted a new heir. A powerful Alpha bloodline that had nothing to do with me. Especially my father, Alpha Arthur Hayes. He thought my powerful strength came from his bloodline. But he forgot that my mother was the Alpha King’s daughter. Now, the seven-year agreement was up, and it was time for me to leave.

I turned, shutting the room full of family joy behind the door. Walking to the deserted balcony, I dialed Marcus Collins, the Alpha King’s assistant. “Marcus, seven years are up.” The other end of the line was silent for a moment, then a sigh came through. “Miss Ava, the Alpha King has prepared everything. With just your word, all funds injected into Arthur Hayes’s and Jason’s companies will begin to withdraw within twenty-four hours. We expect all funds to be pulled out in six days. Afterwards, the Alpha King will send warriors to reclaim most of the Silverfang Pack and Stoneclaw Pack territories.” “Good, begin.” Hanging up the phone, I felt the shackles that had bound me for seven years finally loosen. Jason had walked over at some point, frowning as he looked at me. “Who are you on the phone with so mysteriously? Ava, I’m warning you, don’t take my money and waste it outside.” He lectured me as if it was his right, completely forgetting that I was the one managing all his companies. I ignored him and walked straight to the dining room. The long dining table was laden with dishes, all of them Rebecca’s favorites. Jason meticulously deboneed fish for Rebecca, completely oblivious that I hadn’t even touched my forks. Alpha Arthur Hayes was red-faced from drinking. “Ava, transfer all the company shares under your name to Rebecca’s child. Consider it a welcoming gift for the future Alpha.” I looked up at his calculating face. I nodded. “Okay.” My immediate agreement surprised them all. Jason was the first to react, a satisfied smile on his face. “I knew Ava was the most reasonable. The shares in my company that you hold, transfer those too. For our child, I’m sure you’ll be willing.” Rebecca leaned into Jason’s embrace, feigning worry as she tugged on his sleeve. “Jason, don’t be like that, Ava will be unhappy.” Alpha Arthur Hayes scoffed. “How could she be? She’s very happy! Right, Ava? Come on, propose a toast to Becca and say a few words of blessing.” Jason picked up a glass of red wine and handed it to me. “Propose a toast to Becca and say a few words of blessing.” His tone brooked no argument. I looked at the glass of wine but didn’t take it. Jason’s face instantly darkened. “You don’t want to? Before, to fight for territory, you led the charge, how many scars did you get, how long were you unconscious? Why didn’t you say ‘no’ then?” Alpha Arthur Hayes chimed in, his tone mocking: “Exactly. Back then, when you were carried back gravely wounded, we thought you were done for. Now, for the continuation of the bloodline, we ask you to say a few words of blessing, and you’re unwilling?” All these years, one of them, though weak in character, tried to maintain an Alpha image, while the other, though weak in strength, still projected an Alpha’s authority. Tasks that required risking one’s life to defend the Pack naturally fell to me. Six days left, I counted in my mind. Then, I took the wine glass Jason had practically shoved against my mouth, and turned to Rebecca. Her face held an ill-concealed triumph. I raised the glass, speaking each word clearly. “I wish you, may all your wishes come true.”

That night, faint sounds came from the next room. I lay in bed, staring into the darkness. The subtle noises, like sharp stings, pierced my ears again and again. Rebecca’s delicate laughter, Jason’s low responses, and the faint creak of the mattress. But even sharper was the blurred sensation transmitted through the Mate Bond—ripples of pleasure, the intertwining of their scents. The spot where Jason had left his Mark began to burn with excruciating pain. I clutched the sheets, my nails digging into my palms. A sharp agony erupted from the depths of my soul, instantly spreading through my limbs. My Alpha, my Mate, was at this moment, in my house, next door, entwined with another woman. I rushed into the bathroom, dry-heaving, but nothing came up. In this vast mansion, they were just a wall away. I grabbed my jacket and drove to the lakeside villa. It was a home my mother had left me. I wasn’t sure if this distance would stop the pain from the Mate Bond, but at least here, I wouldn’t feel sickened by their affair. Sitting by the cold lake, the night wind made me shiver, but it brought a slight relief to the burning in my chest. I felt a little dazed. Once, if I merely turned over in bed, Jason would immediately wake up, pull me into his arms, and ask, “What’s wrong? Had a nightmare?” If I said I couldn’t sleep, he would get up to warm me a glass of milk, or simply chat with me until I felt sleepy again. I also remember the year my mother first died, my wolf soul was often restless. He would wrap me in his scent, patiently comforting me. He truly loved me then. But that love had still vanished. Perhaps I was too busy, too busy to respond to his every approach. I remember the last time Jason and I argued. It was when I had worked for several days straight on a project and missed a long-planned trip. He lashed out at me for the first time, calling me a cold-blooded work machine, saying I only cared about work, didn’t need a partner, and wasn’t worthy of being his Mate. I was somewhat bewildered then. I was just trying to make things better for them, to make our two Packs stronger, just like my mother did. What was wrong with that? Isn’t that what a competent Luna does? Supporting two Packs was busy and exhausting. Everything left no room for me to overthink. By the time I came back to my senses, everything had become like this. My phone vibrated; it was a message from Jason: “My father and I took Rebecca on vacation to relax. Transfer six million over to me.” I replied “Okay,” as I always had. Then I messaged Sarah Jenkins, the financial assistant for the company, giving them unlimited spending authority. Since I would no longer be the company’s manager, whether they spent all the money was no longer my concern. The night wind was cool. I hugged myself. From now on, I would only live for myself.

I stayed at the lakeside villa for a few days. Jason didn’t call once. Only Sarah Jenkins, the financial assistant, called me cautiously. “Luna Ava, Alpha Jason… their spending at the Kingdom’s overseas resort has already exceeded ten million. If this continues, the company’s cash flow will be cut off.” That resort was the Alpha King’s property. They wouldn’t dare default, so they had to use company money to cover it. This was the Alpha I’d been loyal to for years. Stupid, incompetent. I leaned against the headboard, looking out at the gray lake. “Let them be.” Sarah Jenkins on the other end grew anxious: “But Luna Ava, the first payment for the southern project is due soon. If that money is touched, we’ll default on the contract! According to the rules, we might lose the mining rights to that territory!” “Do Alpha Jason and Alpha Arthur Hayes know about this?” Sarah Jenkins spoke with difficulty: “They said it’s fine, that with you around, you’ll take care of it.” I chuckled softly: “Then let them default.” I hung up the phone and started packing. Today marked the seventh anniversary of my mother’s death. It was also the last day of my promise. I bought a bouquet of white roses, my mother’s favorite, and went to the cemetery on the west side—the traditional family burial ground of the Silverfang Pack. But standing before that familiar headstone, I froze. The photo on the headstone was unfamiliar. The name carved on the epitaph was Lillian Wright. Rebecca’s biological mother. All the blood in my veins instantly solidified. Behind me, I heard Jason and Rebecca’s laughter. “Ava, you’re here so early.” Jason carefully pushed Rebecca’s wheelchair, afraid of even the slightest bump. I pointed at the cold stone tablet, my voice trembling. “Where’s my mother?” Jason frowned, seemingly displeased with my attitude. “Ava, keep your voice down, don’t scare Becca.” He shielded Rebecca behind him before slowly explaining: “Becca dreamed a few days ago that Lillian said she was lonely on her own there.” “I had someone check, and your mother’s grave site has good feng shui and energy, so I had Lillian moved here. After all, your mother has been gone for so many years.” Alpha Arthur Hayes followed behind, his expression one of complete justification. “Your mother never liked these formalities when she was alive. A grave is a grave, it’s all the same. Now it’s perfect, giving it to Lillian gives her a good final resting place.” I looked at the three of them as if watching an utterly absurd scene. “So where is my mother?” I asked, enunciating each word. “Her ashes have been moved to the public cemetery in the back,” Jason said dismissively. “Don’t worry, I arranged everything, your mother won’t be without a place.” Rebecca peeked out from behind him, timidly saying, “Ava, don’t be angry. My mom is also your elder, and now she’s my baby’s grandmother. She’s part of both our Silverfang Pack and the Stoneclaw Pack. Taking care of her fulfills your mother’s last wish.” “That’s right, Ava.” My father, Alpha Arthur Hayes, tapped his cane on the ground. “You promised your mother you’d protect both the Silverfang and Stoneclaw Packs. Now Lillian is part of our family too; you can’t play favorites.” They used the promise I had upheld for seven years to force me to accept this outrageous act. I looked at the unfamiliar headstone for a long time, and then, suddenly, I laughed. I didn’t argue with them anymore. I turned and walked towards the public cemetery in the back. Following the administrator’s directions, I found my mother’s small niche, so small that her name hadn’t even been carved on it yet. I cradled the cold urn and walked out. As I passed them, I didn’t stop. Jason probably thought I had finally given in. His tone softened. “Ava, stop acting like a child. Come home tonight, we’ll have a nice family dinner.” “Becca even brought you a gift.” What a grand blessing. I walked faster. Leaving their sickening voices behind. I placed the signed divorce papers on the bedside table in the master bedroom. Ensuring that I had no further legal ties to the Silverfang and Stoneclaw Packs. Then I returned to my grandfather’s—the Alpha King’s—territory. They didn’t know that my grandfather had disowned my mother because she insisted on marrying my father. But he adored me. He promised me that if I was willing to cut ties with them, he would appoint me as the Alpha Female of the powerful Moonshadow Pack. This meant I would become the only female Alpha in the Kingdom. … Back home, Jason suddenly felt uneasy. He frowned and asked Alpha Arthur Hayes: “Father, isn’t today Ava’s mother’s death anniversary?” Alpha Arthur Hayes replied indifferently: “It’s just missing one memorial. I’ll have the servants make it up tomorrow.” But just then, David Lee rushed in. “Alpha Jason, Alpha Arthur, it’s bad! The company’s cash flow is gone, and a dozen projects have all defaulted!” “Our partners on the projects have all sent notices, saying if we can’t produce the money, they’ll take Pack territory in exchange!” Alpha Arthur Hayes frowned and yelled: “Where’s Ava! Tell her to get over here and deal with this immediately!” David Lee cried urgently: “Luna left a message and then became unreachable.” Jason grew even more uneasy: “What did Ava say?” “Ava said, Your problems are no longer my problems!”

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