Two months ago, I received a massive batch of blood samples for a DNA paternity test at the lab. My coworker gossiped that the applicant had absolutely no idea who the father of her child was, so she brought in a sample from every single potential candidate. There were exactly sixty-six vials. Peeking through the blinds of my office, I realized the applicant was none other than my ex-husband’s new wife. It brought my mind back to the day he handed me the divorce papers. “Mary consulted an astrologer. She says a spring baby brings ultimate wealth to a family, so she wants to give birth next spring. We can’t wait any longer,” he had said smoothly. “I waited until your day off to tell you. I didn’t want you getting distracted at the lab,” he added, as if doing me a favor. “You can’t conceive anyway. Just sign the papers. When the baby is born, you can be the godmother.” That sentence pierced me like a physical blade. I didn’t argue. I simply signed my name in silence. The truth was, I already knew everything. On New Year’s Eve, while I was pulling a graveyard shift at the clinic, Archer had taken my then-best friend to an exclusive midnight wishing ceremony at a cathedral to pray for a speedy marriage. Throughout the holidays, he took that woman shopping at luxury boutiques in Paris, booked a ski resort in the Alps, and even maxed out my credit card buying her astronomical gifts. 1 Mary’s belly was already showing. She was at least five months along. The margin of error for her conception window was barely a week. I looked down at the tray of samples in my hands. I couldn’t even fathom the logistics behind gathering sixty-six different vials from sixty-six different men. When we divorced, Archer swore that what he loved most about Mary was her absolute purity. I honestly thought he had found some innocent, untouched little flower. Turns out, this was his idea of pure. When I first got pregnant during our marriage, I woke up in the middle of the night with blinding cramps. Blood soaked the sheets. I reached for the other side of the bed, only to find it completely cold. Panicked and terrified, my hands shook violently as I dialed his number. The phone rang for an eternity before a woman’s voice finally answered. “Hello?” I pulled the phone back to check the screen. It was definitely Archer’s number. Ignoring everything else, I desperately pleaded into the receiver. “Where is Archer? Put him on the phone, my stomach is killing me.” Then, Archer’s muffled voice drifted through the speaker from the background. “Babe, get in bed. I just finished my shower.” My heart plummeted into an abyss. The pain radiating through my body turned into a paralyzing numbness. In my panicked state, I quickly hung up the phone. By the time I woke up from the emergency surgery, I was lying weakly in a sterile hospital bed. Archer finally strolled into the room, entirely unhurried, only because his parents had nagged him into coming. There was no pity in his eyes. No worry for the baby. He just stood coldly at the foot of my bed, staring at my pale, sickly face. “A woman is a man’s ultimate accessory. How am I supposed to take you out to events looking like a walking corpse?” I gripped the bedsheets, my voice hoarse. “Don’t you want to know what happened to the baby?” “I know. You just had the scraping procedure. The kid washed out.” I froze. He thought I had just gone in for a routine, elective abortion. He thought the baby was simply gone. There wasn’t a single trace of regret on his face. I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper. All the grievance and agony bubbling in my throat was forcefully swallowed back down. Archer casually tossed a high-end spa gift card onto my blanket. His phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and his entire demeanor instantly brightened. “Artie, why aren’t you back yet?” a sickeningly sweet voice whined through the speaker. “I have insomnia. I can’t fall asleep without you holding me.” That sugary tone worked like magic on him. He smiled, his voice dripping with affection. “Be good, Mary. I’m visiting a patient at the hospital. I’ll be back a little later.” The woman on the other end clearly wasn’t happy. “That woman again? She is so annoying. I heard she miscarried. She can’t even keep a baby safe, how embarrassing. If you want a kid, Artie, I can give you one.” Archer’s smile deepened. “I knew my Mary was the best.” “I’ll be back a bit late tonight. I’m going to grab a hotel room to shower first. Hospitals are full of germs, and I don’t want to bring anything back that might affect your health.” “Wait for me, babe.” Archer hung up the phone and didn’t spare me another glance. He simply tossed the divorce papers onto my lap and walked out the door. Watching his retreating back, the very last thread holding my heart together completely snapped. I pulled out my phone and typed a quick text to the Medical Director. “I accept the fellowship program in Germany.” Archer didn’t know the hospital board had been trying to send me overseas for an elite training program. Taking it meant I would officially be next in line for the Director’s position. It was a monumental leap in my medical career. I had hesitated for months, purely because I wanted to prioritize our marriage. The board had urged me multiple times to look at the bigger picture, but my brain had been entirely consumed with rushing home to cook him dinner. It took this absolute betrayal for me to finally wake up and realize what truly mattered in a woman’s life. 2 Mary leaned heavily over the reception counter, looking frantic. “When do I get the results?” “Three days, at the earliest,” the receptionist replied. “What? Three days!” Mary’s face warped with rage, her eyes bulging. “I want to expedite this!” “Go get your manager right now! I am not communicating with a lowly receptionist.” The young girl flushed red, completely overwhelmed. I secured my medical mask and walked out of the double doors. “Ms. Mary, you submitted an incredibly large volume of samples. Three days is already a miracle.” Mary slammed her manicured hand on the desk, her voice shrill. “What is that supposed to mean? Are you mocking me?” “I’m filing a formal complaint against you!” I frowned. “Ms. Mary, if you continue to cause a scene and disrupt our laboratory workflow, we won’t even be able to guarantee the three-day window.” Mary kept hurling insults. “You people better speed it up! If this delays my inheritance and the signing of the equity transfer, I will destroy your lives!” I paused. Archer really did value having an heir. He was actually going to transfer family equity to her. I looked down at the requisition forms in my hand and smiled thinly. “If you feel our processing time is inadequate, you are welcome to take your business elsewhere.” Our facility had the fastest turnaround time in the entire metropolitan area. Mary had definitely done her research. Just as I expected, Mary’s face paled, and her arrogant fire instantly extinguished. I didn’t say another word, turning on my heel back into the lab. My phone dinged in my pocket. I checked the screen. It was an unsaved but deeply familiar number. Archer. “Are you back in the States yet? Find some time so we can transfer the property deed.” When Archer first demanded the divorce, his mother fiercely opposed it. But the second she heard I had miscarried, her attitude flipped completely. Afraid I would drag out the legal process, she promised to give me our ten-million-dollar luxury penthouse as compensation. I had signed the papers and left the country immediately. Now, the moment I landed, his texts started coming in. Archer claimed Mary had fallen in love with the penthouse. “You can’t have kids, and honestly, no man is going to want to marry you now anyway. The place is way too big for just you. Plus, I’d hate for you to live there and be depressed looking at all our old memories.” Reading those texts made me want to laugh out loud. Archer had always been this pathologically narcissistic. He was absolutely certain I was still hopelessly in love with him. I simply typed back one word. “Fine.” I didn’t want a single thing tainted by Archer’s presence. I never wanted to cross paths with him for the rest of my life. I spent the entire day processing Mary’s ridiculous batch of samples. After my shift, a coworker dragged me to a high-end mall for dinner. As fate would have it, we bumped right into Archer and Mary. Mary was clinging to Archer’s arm, looking up at him with a sickeningly sweet blush. “Hubby, the baby is kicking me again.” Archer’s eyes melted with affection. “You’ve worked so hard for us, Mary.” “Once the paternity results come out and I hand them to the board of directors, you’ll officially receive fifty percent of the family conglomerate’s shares.” “You are so good to me, Archer.” Mary leaned into his chest, the picture of a devoted wife. “By the way, about the penthouse…” “Don’t worry about it. I already made it very clear to Nora. That property is my compensation to you.” I stood a few feet away, my thoughts a swirling mess. Archer and I had met through a blind date set up by family friends. People in our circle used to say that when a rich playboy like Archer finally agreed to blind dates, it meant he was done partying. Men like him played hard in their youth, but when it came to marriage, they strictly looked for a quiet, honest woman to anchor them down. The implication was clear. I was the boring, safe anchor. I had never been in a real relationship before. Despite my friends’ warnings, Archer’s aggressive romantic pursuit swept me off my feet entirely. But once the ring was on my finger, the only things I received were apologies and compensations. He bailed on our anniversary. Apologized. He missed my birthday. Apologized. He skipped every prenatal checkup. Apologized. The apologies were given to me, but the compensations were always spent on other women. And like an idiot, I forgave him every single time. I genuinely believed that if I just loved him a little harder, he would eventually turn around and choose me. Looking back now, it was utterly pathetic. Noticing I had spaced out, my coworker nudged my arm. “Nora, what are you zoning out for? Our table is ready.” Her voice echoed in the quiet corridor, catching the attention of the happy couple. Hearing my name, Archer turned his head. His gaze slowly dropped, landing directly on my rounded, pregnant belly. He stood completely frozen. 3 Archer marched over, his expression a chaotic mix of emotions. “You are pregnant?” I didn’t answer. “When did you remarry? The doctors told me you couldn’t…” Archer stammered, losing his composure. Mary’s face darkened. She stepped up, hooking her arm possessively through his, and shot me a triumphant, vicious glare. “Got knocked up the second the divorce papers were signed?” Mary rolled her eyes. “Or maybe you were already pregnant before the divorce?” Right on cue, Archer’s face turned thunderous. “You cheated on me, Nora? And here I thought you were this pure, innocent victim. I treated you so well.” “You are such a disappointment.” He put on a flawless performance of a deeply betrayed, heartbroken man. Anyone watching would think he had loved me to the ends of the earth. One month into our marriage, Archer was caught by the paparazzi hooking up with a supermodel in his sports car. I had gone to a VIP club to confront him, face pale and hands shaking. Standing outside his private booth, I heard his frat brothers teasing him. “Archer, you’ve barely been married a month. Aren’t you worried the little wife will find out and lose her mind?” “Her? She’s as naive as a daisy. I just spin a basic lie and she eats it right up.” The entire room erupted in laughter. “That’s the kind of girl you marry. Easy to manage.” That single sentence nailed my feet to the floor. That was how he repaid my innocence. That was his version of treating me well. I looked at Archer now and let out a cold laugh. “Archer, we are legally divorced.” “My pregnancy has absolutely nothing to do with you.” I grabbed my coworker’s arm to leave, but Mary shoved herself in front of us, blocking our path. “Since we’re officially divorced, isn’t it time you handed over the penthouse?” A crowd of onlookers was quickly forming around us. Mary deliberately pitched her voice higher. “You cheated on him during the marriage, and now you’re trying to steal a ten-million-dollar property? You’re nothing but a gold-digging scammer!” The crowd ignited instantly. Whispers and pointed fingers surrounded me from all sides. “Have some shame!” “Women like her ruin society.” “Sue her! Make her give the house back!” Phone cameras flashed blindingly in my face. The insults lashed at me like physical whips. Humiliated, I glanced at Archer. He stood right across from me, his face carved from ice. He didn’t have the slightest intention of clearing my name. The crowd surged forward, and someone shoved me hard from behind. I lost my footing and crashed onto the hard marble floor. In the chaos, my coworker desperately grabbed my hand to break the fall. As I looked up, I caught a fleeting, venomous smirk on Mary’s face. A sharp, dull ache bloomed in my abdomen. My coworker shrieked and dialed 911. When I woke up in the hospital, the internet was flooded with viral posts destroying my reputation. People called me a cheater, a scam artist, and even a home-wrecker. I calmly called my lawyer, gave him full power of attorney over the penthouse, and ordered him to finalize the transfer to Archer immediately. I rested in the hospital for a day before returning to the lab. My assistant met me with Mary’s remaining requisition forms. They couldn’t finish the last batch. Mary hadn’t provided enough amniotic fluid. “Call her. Tell her she needs to come in.” Suddenly, the laboratory doors were pushed open. “Archer, I’m bringing the report directly to the board tomorrow. We really don’t need to check on it today.” Archer walked in, practically dragging a reluctant Mary behind him. “Are the results out yet?” He looked up and our eyes locked. He frowned, but before he could speak, Mary gasped. “What are you doing here, you bitch?” A split second later, sheer panic washed over her face. I curled my lips into a smirk. “We ran out of amniotic fluid. We need to extract a little more.” “That’s impossible! I gave you so much!” I kept my eyes locked on her and stayed silent. Mary’s guilty conscience was suffocating her. She didn’t dare say another word. “Go,” Archer commanded. “This facility is the only one authorized by the board of directors. We must secure this specific report.” Visibly trembling but unable to defy Archer, Mary followed my assistant into the examination room. A few minutes later, a blood-curdling scream pierced the air. “Ah!” Archer burst into the examination room. Mary was writhing on the medical bed, the lower half of her dress completely soaked in blood. The stark white sheets were stained a blinding, horrifying red. “Hubby, Nora did this… my baby.” Archer spun around, his eyes bloodshot with rage. He raised his hand and delivered a brutal, full-force slap across my face. My cheek swelled instantly, and the metallic taste of blood seeped from the corner of my mouth. “Nora, you harmed my child. Today, I am going to make you pay.” 4 My assistant broke down in terrified sobs. “Director, I swear I don’t know why she started hemorrhaging! I didn’t even do anything yet!” “It’s okay. I believe you.” I wiped the blood from my lip and gently patted her shoulder. “Archer, her bleeding has absolutely nothing to do with us.” Acting as if she had been deeply triggered, Mary shrieked at the top of her lungs. “It was you!” “You’re jealous! You’re jealous that I took Archer away from you, so you planned to murder my baby!” The veins in Archer’s neck bulged as he glared at me like a mortal enemy. “Nora, how long are you going to haunt my life?” “I told you, I stopped loving you a long time ago.” “I haven’t even settled the score with you for cheating on me, and now you cross the line and try to kill my heir?” He lunged forward, his large hand clamping violently around my throat. “Let me make this crystal clear. If anything happens to my kid…” He dropped his gaze to my pregnant belly, his voice dropping into a lethal threat. “…you won’t be keeping yours either.” Real panic set in. “Archer, I’m telling you, we didn’t touch her.” Archer ignored me completely. The OBGYN team rushed into the room. They managed to stabilize Mary and save the baby. She was ordered to remain on strict bed rest for several weeks. Hearing the news, the murderous tension drained from Archer’s face. “Mary, you terrified me. Thank God our baby is safe.” He wrapped his arms around her, his eyes shining with tears. “Archer, I was so scared. I thought I was never going to see you again.” Mary’s tears flowed perfectly on cue, twisting Archer’s heart into knots. “Archer, you have to get justice for me.” My expression hardened. I turned around to leave the room, but Archer sprinted ahead, slamming the door shut and blocking my exit. “Think you can just walk away?” His eyes were dark and venomous, radiating a chilling cruelty. A shiver ran down my spine. “What do you want?” “I want you to apologize to my wife. On your knees. You will kneel there until she decides she is satisfied.” I didn’t answer, pushing my weight against him to move him aside. He didn’t budge an inch. “You better think about the baby in your belly, Nora. It would be a tragedy if something happened to it.” I instinctively wrapped my arms protectively around my stomach. My due date was rapidly approaching. My body couldn’t handle physical trauma. “Be a good girl and kneel. If we’re in a forgiving mood, maybe we’ll let you walk out of here intact.” Looking at their ruthless, utterly devoid-of-empathy faces, a suffocating despair washed over me. Tears burned the back of my eyes, but I bit the inside of my cheek to keep them from falling. Slowly, I bent my legs, the cold tile biting into my knees as I lowered myself to the ground. The sheer humiliation drowned me like a tidal wave. I knelt there for an entire night. By morning, my knees were entirely numb, and the agonizing strain on my lower back was unbearable. It was time for the board meeting. Mary opened the door, her makeup flawless. Before she left, she leaned down and whispered in my ear. “I know exactly what you’re plotting. But guess what? I don’t need your lab report anymore.” With a victorious smirk, she strutted away. My assistant rushed into the room, tears streaming down her face as she helped me off the floor. “Director, are you okay?” she sobbed. I staggered to my feet and took the finalized DNA report she handed me. I flipped it open. The probability of paternity was absolute zero. The child was definitively not Archer’s. I rested a hand on my belly and a cold smile touched my lips. At the corporate headquarters, the Chairman reviewed the independent appraisal Mary had handed in. “Board members, the conglomerate has a strict tradition. Any woman carrying the direct bloodline of the family is entitled to fifty percent of the shares. It is our law.” “You have all reviewed the documentation. If there are no objections, let us proceed with the signing.” A radiant, greedy joy illuminated Mary’s face. Archer took her hand and gently guided her to the signing podium. “Mary, you are the greatest blessing to this family. This equity is a symbol of my devotion to you.” Overcome with emotion, Mary leaned up and kissed him. “Thank you, my love.” She stepped up to the podium and picked up the solid gold fountain pen. Just as the nib was about to touch the parchment, the heavy mahogany doors of the boardroom violently burst open. “I object.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “421697”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

While scrolling on my phone to kill time during my lunch break, a post titled “To My Ex” abruptly caught my eye. The post reeked of a condescending superiority complex: “I know you’re still hung up on me. Stop secretly stalking my stories. We’re very happy now.” The poster even had the audacity to write, “When I take her to see the guys, I never demand she wear a full face of makeup. I’ll go out of my way to buy her favorite gift just because she took an extra bite of a certain dessert. Everything I didn’t do with you, I’ve experienced with her.” At the very end of the post, he left a soul-crushing final thought: “Maybe you weren’t wrong back then. I really never loved you.” Reading this wall of text, a wave of inexplicable anger rushed straight to my head. I thought to myself, why is everyone on the internet so full of themselves these days? I was just about to click into the comment section to leave a sarcastic remark. But the next second, when I caught a glimpse of the initials “SW” in the pinned comment, my blood instantly ran cold. Sierra Winters. Those were my initials! My heart sank heavily. I immediately clicked on the poster’s profile picture. It was unmistakably a back-facing solo portrait I had taken for my ex eight years ago. Frowning deeply, I forced down the nausea churning in my stomach and typed out a harsh reply: “I’ve been married for five years, and my son is almost three. I had no idea I still had an ex I couldn’t get over.” 1 Before I could even hit send on that comment, a friend request popped up at the top of my screen. Tapping into it, that familiar profile picture stung my eyes once again. It was a cartoon avatar I had hand-drawn based on a portrait I took for Nolan, back when my wrist was still intact. My heartbeat inexplicably skipped a couple of beats. Taking a deep breath, I pushed down the irritation building in my chest and hit accept. That old muscle memory of always replying to his messages instantly was apparently still lingering. But after all the toxic garbage we had been through, there was absolutely nothing left to say between us. Still, out of basic human decency, I sent a message over. [Please stop feeding the photos I took of you into AI generators to make your avatars. And take that picture off your main page so people don’t get the wrong idea.] The moment the message went through, a barrage of rapid-fire replies flooded the blank chat box. [I knew you weren’t over me. Nobody else would get the wrong idea but you.] [I made that video specifically for you to see. Stop stalking all my socials like a ghost. My girl will get jealous if she sees it.] It felt like an invisible hand had tightly gripped my heart. I had expected a rational conversation between two adults. Clearly, I was being too naive. Flashing back to that malicious video, I gritted my teeth, my fingers flying across the keyboard to type “You’re really overthinking this”. But before I could finish typing, his messages poured in like a flood again. [I’ve been with her for years now, and she was never the awful person you made her out to be.] [Can you stop acting like a bitter ex and badmouthing her behind her back?] [I know you’re still waiting for me, but no matter how many pointless things you do, we are never getting back together. She is the only woman I love now!] Seeing that last line, my temples throbbed wildly. The sheer absurdity of it made me laugh out of pure anger. With trembling hands, I violently mashed a question mark. [?] [Who has the free time to care about your pathetic drama? I’m married. Get back together? Are you completely delusional?] As soon as that last message was sent, a red exclamation mark popped up on the screen. He had blocked me. I immediately switched back to the social media app. Sure enough, in the latest comment section, he had posted heavily censored screenshots of our chat, only revealing my message telling him to change his avatar. He paired it with a highly inflammatory caption. [I hope a certain someone knows when to stop.] The comment section was instantly swarmed by netizens demanding justice for this “devoted ex.” [This guy has it so rough. Why is this woman using such underhanded tricks? All she did was look at his stories, it’s not like she committed murder.] [Have the people above never seen female jealousy in action? The poster was clearly forced to speak up by his current girlfriend. Otherwise, who would make a whole video calling out an ex just for looking at a few updates? This is just flexing their relationship and rubbing salt in the wound.] [Tsk tsk, this ex-girlfriend is incredibly unlucky. Getting publicly executed years after a breakup. Bet this guy still has feelings for her, got caught by his current girl, and had to post a video to prove his innocence.] Faced with these cynical remarks, Nolan’s reply was unusually calm and certain. [Say whatever you want, it won’t matter. I know her.] Those simple words felt like an incredibly fine needle plunging into my chest without warning. How long had it been since I heard someone talk about me with such unquestionable certainty? Undeniably, he really was once the person who knew me best in this world, the person closest to me. But so what? The deepest understanding is no match for the fickle nature of the human heart. Nolan and I met when we were eight. Until we went our separate ways, we had accompanied each other through sixteen long years. Back then, because my features looked completely different from my wealthy adoptive parents, I was treated like a freak at school. The kids mocked me, calling me a feral child picked out of a dumpster. Nolan, on the other hand, was a boy raised in a loving middle-class family, radiating a naive kind of heroism. He would always show up when I was at my lowest yet stubbornly refusing pity, standing in front of me like a little adult to strike back at the bullies. I actually told him many times that for a kid who grew up in the foster system, those empty insults meant absolutely nothing. But he was paranoid, believing I was just scared and bottling it up. So he volunteered to be my personal guardian angel. He even bugged his parents into transferring him to my class and shamelessly pestered the teacher to seat him next to me. Because our houses weren’t on the same route and he couldn’t walk me home easily, he threw massive tantrums until his parents actually moved to a neighborhood closer to mine. I was completely bewildered by his exaggerated actions. In my mind, kids’ enthusiasms always came and went in a flash. In the foster system, I had seen too many orphans unceremoniously returned because the adoptive family’s biological kids decided they “weren’t fun anymore.” I figured that once he lost interest in a boring playmate like me, he would naturally go find new friends. But I never expected him to stick around like an unshakeable shadow for eleven solid years. From elementary through high school, I went from intensely resenting someone breaking my isolation, to gradually getting used to seeing his bright smile whenever I turned my head. A teenage girl’s secret crush always takes root and sprouts quietly in those fragmented moments. The year we graduated high school, I asked him a question with a probing smile. If the girl being bullied back then had been someone else, would he still have followed her around like a fool every single day? He sharply caught the extreme lack of security hidden behind my smile, and with an almost reverent posture, he firmly supported my vulnerability. “Funny thing is, ever since I started hanging around you, I often felt that blindly protecting people just to play the hero was really stupid,” he said, looking into my eyes. “It’s like it was destined. All my heroism was meant just for waiting for you.” At that time, I carved those words deep into my soul. So much so that later, when he ran off to play hero for another woman, that vow became the most ironic joke. By the first year of my Master’s program, we had been together for five years. Our parents had even started discussing the details of our post-graduation wedding. Everything was running on a perfect trajectory, right up until our engagement dinner. Gemma, a girl who came out of the same foster home as me, tore all that beauty to shreds with her own hands. God knows what methods she used to drag the old director of the foster home out to give false testimony. In front of all the guests, she tearfully claimed that the person my wealthy parents were originally supposed to adopt was her. She claimed the person who was supposed to be cherished by Nolan should have been her too. She accused me, weeping bitterly, of sneaking sleeping pills into her milk on the day my adoptive parents came to choose a child, causing her to miss her chance to change her destiny. Back then, we were the only two girls who fit the criteria. By taking her out of the picture, I became the only choice. She blamed my selfishness and cruelty for the hellish life she had endured when she turned sixteen. I originally thought anyone with a brain would instantly see through such a clumsy lie born of extreme jealousy. After all, in college, she used the banner of being my friend to stab me in the back countless times. When she couldn’t scrape together enough living expenses from her part-time jobs, I stepped up and fought to get her financial aid back from a rich kid pretending to be broke. But she turned around and spread rumors that I hated the rich and was intentionally targeting that student. Right before finals, she had neglected her studies for work. I not only organized all the review materials for her and stayed up until 3 AM helping her study, but during the exam, I even risked passing her notes so she wouldn’t fail. Yet she turned right around and reported me to the professor for attempting to cheat. Countless times when I complained to Nolan about this garbage, he would grind his teeth in anger, telling me to stay away from that ungrateful viper. Yet at the engagement dinner, Nolan actually believed her nonsense, even announcing the cancellation of our engagement on the spot. My adoptive parents stood by my side at first, gently comforting me, telling me to wait for Gemma to calm down and for the truth to come out. But that wait lasted a full year. During that year, terrified of being abandoned again, I walked on eggshells. I followed their arrangements, yielding to Gemma at every turn, only to watch helplessly as they drained the love they had for me drop by drop. Until finally, I read it in their disgust-filled eyes: they had already convicted me in their hearts, deciding I was a scheming bitch who stole someone else’s life. My thoughts were interrupted by a sharp ping from my phone. It was a direct message from Gemma. [I know you saw the post. Stop acting so high and mighty. We’ve been incredibly happy all these years. You better kill any thought of ruining our relationship right now!] Staring at the provocative text on the screen, I let out a cold laugh, losing any desire to even reply. I casually clicked into her profile. It was filled with so-called high-end photography, but her pathetic follower count and the kind of bogus photographer certification you could just buy with cash completely exposed her true colors. I couldn’t hold back and mockingly typed out a line. [Back then, Nolan threw away his basic human decency to pave the way for you. How is it that after all these years, you’re still a useless piece of trash that can’t hold herself together?] Back then, under their cold, indifferent gazes, I relied on my own merit to secure an exchange spot at a top art academy in Paris. I naively thought that as long as I was excellent enough, I could win back their approval. But just a week before my flight to Paris, Nolan secretly took all my raw negatives and reported me to the competition committee under his real name, claiming I plagiarized Gemma’s work. The university and the organizers stripped me of my qualifications without hesitation. Seeing Gemma trailing behind Nolan with that victor’s smile mixed with hypocritical pity, I felt the blood in my veins freeze over. “Why?” I heard my own dry voice ask. The look in his eyes was a hundred times colder than the first time I rejected him when we were eight. “Her talent really isn’t as good as yours, but she works harder. She needs this chance to rise up more than you do. Besides, if you hadn’t played dirty back then, all of this would have been hers today anyway.” “You’re just giving back what you stole.” At that moment, every vow he made to me when we were eighteen crumbled into dust. Overcome with violent rage and grief, I passed out on the spot and was rushed to the ER. When I woke up, the air smelled of antiseptic. Nolan sat by the bed, letting out an incredibly hypocritical sigh. “You didn’t need to make such an ugly scene. She promised me she only wants a career; she won’t take anything else from you. I will still keep my promise to marry you, but on one condition.” “From now on, you absolutely cannot publish any photography under your own name. But in private, whenever she needs it, you must fully cooperate with her.” The implication in his words wrapped around my neck like a venomous snake. Trembling all over, I stared at him dead in the eye. “You’re telling me to be her ghostwriter?” He gave a muffled hum of agreement. “It’s what you owe her. With her own skills, she could never shoot an award-winning piece like that in her lifetime. So as compensation, you’re going to keep shooting for her until she gets bored of this industry.” That day, I acted like an absolute lunatic, smashing everything in sight inside that hospital room. Yet it still couldn’t shake his cold heart. The day before Gemma flew to Paris, holding my trophy, taking my spot, and even clutching the offer from the top magazine meant for me, she came in arm-in-arm with my boyfriend to look down on me and say thank you. Taking advantage of the moment Nolan stepped out to take a call, I secretly turned on my phone’s voice recorder and baited her into talking. She was completely unguarded, even showing a flaunting smile. “Honestly, I just couldn’t stand the sight of you, so I made up a story. Who knew that bunch of idiots would swallow it whole.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted the rusty flavor of blood in my mouth. After she left, I immediately took the recording to appeal to the university and leaked the audio on the campus forum. I thought the truth would finally come to light. But what I got wasn’t my adoptive parents coming to their senses. Instead, Nolan hired someone to produce a technical report accusing my recording of being an AI-generated forgery. He even spread rumors that I suffered from severe paranoia. He thoroughly wiped thousands of gigabytes of precious raw files I had accumulated since I started photography. Included in them were every single moment I had captured of him. He said that as long as those files existed, they were a ticking time bomb threatening Gemma’s future. I became a rat crossing the street, spat on by professors and classmates alike. When the university handed down my expulsion notice, he spoke to me in a tone reeking of charity. “She’s too pitiful, her mental state has always been unstable. I couldn’t just watch her last hope get shattered, so I had to sacrifice you.” My throat was as hoarse as if I had swallowed crushed glass when I desperately asked him: “Did you forget how she bit the hand that fed her? So, you don’t love me anymore, do you?” He reacted like a cat getting its tail stepped on, instantly raising his voice. “Of course I love you! But can you stop dragging up the past? Who hasn’t made mistakes when they were young? It’s not like she’s some unforgivable murderer!” It wasn’t until that moment that I completely woke up. The boy who once kept claiming he would be my personal hero had long since draped his cape over someone else’s shoulders. An hour before Gemma boarded her flight, I was locked inside a psychiatric ward, watching her being interviewed on the TV screen. She smiled so radiantly, without a trace of that gloomy girl from the orphanage. And the man standing next to her, looking at her with eyes full of deep affection, was Nolan. The picture-perfect couple they made slashed me into a thousand pieces like sharp blades. Even my adoptive parents came to the hospital, earnestly pleading with me to let go, telling me to stop being evil and just consider it building up some good karma for myself. I lay despairingly on the cold hospital bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. In my mind appeared the seven-year-old girl who had nothing but could run wildly under the sun. Using every ounce of strength I had left, I smashed the window and jumped from the fourth floor. Maybe I just wasn’t meant to die. As I fell, I snapped several thick branches, which cushioned the fatal impact. I didn’t die. But the severe abdominal trauma led the doctors to conclude that it would be incredibly difficult for me to ever have children of my own. During the days I spent drifting in and out of consciousness, I groggily heard my adoptive parents in the hallway urging Nolan to stop tying himself to a lunatic like me and just get together with Gemma. He rejected the idea extremely harshly. “Absolutely not. The only way I can completely control her is by marrying her and tying her to my side, forcing her to be Gemma’s stepping stone for the rest of her life.” The moment I heard those words, I didn’t shed a single tear. The very first thing I did when I was fully awake was find an opening, grab a sharp shard of glass, and without hesitation, slash the tendons in my right hand. That was the hand I used to press the shutter. Since they wanted to squeeze out every last drop of my value, I would rather destroy it with my own hands than let them get what they wanted. After realizing I had become completely useless, they avoided me like the plague, never appearing in my hospital room again. And after I recovered, I unilaterally severed all ties with my past and bought a one-way ticket to the East Coast alone. The second year after I left, I heard they finally got together without any reservations. And it was there that I met Justin. Sunlight finally pierced back into my life. As for the so-called “stalking” Nolan accused me of online, I had just randomly seen a post on my feed, thought the back profile looked familiar, and clicked in for a glance. Who would have thought these people were like unshakeable parasites? No matter how many times you block them, they still crawl through the internet to make you sick. I gripped my phone tightly, my brows locked in a dead knot. Suddenly, a tiny hand carrying the scent of baby lotion gently smoothed out my frown. “Mommy! What are you thinking about?” Before I could answer, another warm, broad palm covered my forehead. “What are you zoning out for? Finn’s been calling you forever and you didn’t even blink.” I looked up, meeting the man’s deep, gentle eyes, and handed him the chat logs on my phone directly. He scanned it rapidly, letting out a cold, oppressive laugh. “The world really has changed. Any random piece of trash dares to label themselves a ‘devoted ex’ now. Wait for it, baby. Tomorrow night, your husband is personally going to get your payback.” Justin directly contacted my old class president under my name, had his assistant book out a top-tier restaurant, and set up a so-called “class reunion.” He even specifically instructed the class president to ensure that Nolan and Gemma would definitely attend. In the private dining room the next evening, I sat in the seat of honor, casually making small talk with my old classmates. Suddenly, suppressed sounds of arguing drifted in from outside the door. I stood up and pulled the door open. Gemma, who had a face full of hostility a second ago, instantly switched to a fragile expression the moment the door opened. She was clinging tightly to Nolan, whose face looked stiff. “Long time no see, Sierra. Where’s this legendary husband of yours? Weren’t you supposed to bring him out to meet us today?” I opened the door fully and made a “please” gesture. “He had a last-minute overseas conference call. He’ll be here shortly.” The words had barely left my mouth when Gemma let out an ear-piercing sneer. “Sierra, you really don’t have to invent a fake husband just to save face in front of us. Even if you never get married in your life, for old times’ sake, we wouldn’t laugh at you.” She paused, her eyes turning venomous. “But you better pack up those dirty, shady thoughts. My fiancé already made it perfectly clear to you online yesterday, you two are over. The only reason we took pity on you and showed up tonight was to crush your hopes for good!” The air in the room instantly froze. A few classmates awkwardly exchanged glances. Nolan’s face looked absolutely terrible. He looked at me with a condescending mix of charity and guilt. “She just speaks her mind. Don’t take it to heart.” “She’s just worried that you’re still living in the shadows of the past and ruining yourself just to prove a point. She’s kindly reminding you, there’s no malice.” “Marriage isn’t a game, and it’s certainly not a tool for you to act out of spite. You don’t have to settle for just anyone just to act tough in front of us. If you haven’t met the right one, take your time.” “Please don’t make a joke out of the rest of your life.” His earnest, patronizing tone was truly nauseating. I curled my lips into a faint smile. “Haven’t seen you in years, and your habit of lecturing people has only gotten worse. But thanks for your ‘good intentions’ anyway. My head is perfectly clear. I know exactly what I’m doing.” I picked up the wine glass in front of me and toasted him from across the massive dining table. Nolan’s Adam’s apple bobbed violently. He picked up his glass and downed the red wine in one gulp. When he looked at me again, his reddened eyes surged with some incredibly complex, even slightly fanatic emotion. I was just about to say something to end this disgusting segment. BANG! Gemma suddenly grabbed the heavy glass water pitcher from the table and hurled it violently at me. “You shameless bitch! I’m standing right here, and you dare make eyes at my fiancé right in front of me!” “And you dare say you don’t have feelings for him? This hard-to-get act of yours is sickening! You just want to ruin us and steal him away from me!” “Keep dreaming! He’s mine!” The shattered glass shards ruthlessly slashed across my forehead. A warm liquid with a strong metallic scent instantly flowed down my brow bone and into my eye. I winced in pain, Nolan’s near-hysterical roar ringing in my ears. “Sierra! Are you okay?!” He tried to rush over like a madman to check my injuries. But before he could even touch me, a tall, commanding figure brought a blast of cold air, stepping ahead of him and pulling me tightly into a protective embrace. “Baby, what happened? Let me see!” Justin’s voice suppressed a terrifying fury as he wiped the blood from my face with gentle but trembling hands. Leaning against his solid chest, I shook my head slightly to show I was holding up. But when I raised my head, I caught sight of Nolan’s face, drained of all color, veins popping. He stared dead at us holding each other so tightly, his voice trembling beyond recognition. “You… you really got married?”

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1 The system chime echoed for the third time in my mind as I stood in the center of the Prescott family’s luxurious living room. They were going to brainwash me again. This would be the ninth time. My three brothers brought out a glass jar filled with wooden lots, forcing me to draw a new identity. I had three choices: the fake heiress, the maid’s daughter, or the charity case. My oldest brother, Liam, let his face darken first. He warned me to stop having delusional dreams of taking Vivian’s place. My second brother, Silas, furrowed his brows and coldly reminded me that Vivian had a severe heart condition and needed the family’s undivided attention. Then there was Asher. He wore a face identical to mine, yet it was twisted in pure disgust. He sneered and declared that he only recognized Vivian as his sister. I stood frozen in place. My heart had gone completely numb a long time ago. Suddenly, the System broke its silence. It told me the capture mission was officially canceled. It advised me to just pick a way to die and leave this wretched world. A genuine smile crept onto my lips. I could finally go home. But what I didn’t expect was that after my death, those three heartless brothers would actually shed tears. … My original mission was painfully simple: win the affection of my brothers and be acknowledged as the true biological heiress of the Prescott family. Yet in the five years since I returned to this house, I had been subjected to memory altering hypnosis eight times. I had been a maid, a nanny, a poor relative begging for scraps, and an orphan taken in by the butler. The only thing I was never allowed to be was the actual daughter of the Prescott family. Every single time Vivian squeezed out a few pathetic tears, my three brothers would choose her without a second thought. They were absolutely certain that as long as they erased my memory of being the true heiress, I would never dare to compete with Vivian for their love. With every hypnosis session, the System had to burn massive amounts of energy to forcibly awaken my true consciousness. But the dosage of the mind altering drugs increased every time, and the duration of my memory loss grew longer and longer. It wasn’t until the eighth time, after I had worked as a lowly servant in my own home for three entire years, that the System finally managed to drag me back to reality. I had had enough. The System was at its breaking point too. It canceled the mission and offered me a ticket home. Wild joy erupted in my chest. My eyes frantically darted around the room, searching for any sharp object that could grant me sweet release. Seeing my shifting gaze, my twin brother Asher instantly pulled a long face. “Don’t even think about trying any of your dirty tricks. We will strap you to that chair today even if we have to tie you down!” As he spoke, he casually pulled a wooden slip from the jar. The words “Fake Heiress” were glaringly etched into the wood. Asher let out a cruel scoff and threw the wooden slip right at my face. The sharp edge sliced across my cheek, leaving a stinging trail of blood. “Well, look at that. You got lucky.” “We are actually letting you play the role of the Prescott heiress this time.” He turned his head to look at Liam, Silas, and Vivian, carelessly proposing a sick wager. “Care to make a bet? The dosage is ten times stronger this round. How long do you think it will take for her to remember?” “I’ll go first. The last round lasted three years. I bet she stays under for five years this time.” Silas leaned back against the leather sofa and spoke in a chillingly flat tone. “Eight years.” Liam tapped his fingers rhythmically against the mahogany table, his eyes devoid of any warmth. “Ten years.” Vivian walked over and affectionately clung to Asher’s arm. She shot me a smug, triumphant look before pouting her lips in a sickeningly sweet manner. “Asher, I think it will take her twenty years.” Asher affectionately ruffled her hair and smiled. “Alright, my little princess. I will have the doctor increase the dose by another ten times. I definitely won’t let you lose your bet.” These scenes used to pierce right through my soul, but looking at them now, I felt nothing but absolute tranquility. I calmly bent down and picked up the bloodstained wooden slip from the floor, my voice coming out in a soft whisper. “No. This time, it will last a lifetime.” After all, dead people never remember anything, do they? The next second, under their shocked and horrified gazes. I gripped the wooden slip tightly and plunged it brutally into the carotid artery of my own neck! 2 Blood sprayed out in a violent arc, splashing directly onto Vivian’s face. A piercing scream tore from her throat. Right before I lost consciousness. I saw Vivian shrieking in terror, Silas bolting up from the sofa, and Liam’s face draining of all color. And Asher was just standing there completely paralyzed, clutching his own neck in horror as he stared at me. I forgot. We were twins. We shared a telepathic pain connection. When I woke up again, I was lying in a hospital bed with thick layers of bandages wrapped tightly around my neck. I actually didn’t die? The slightest movement sent a dull, tearing agony radiating from my throat. [Host, detecting extreme pain levels. Would you like me to activate the pain blocker?] [Yes, please!] The pain vanished instantly. My entire body relaxed into comfort. It was only then that I noticed a vicious glare pinning me down, looking as if it wanted to flay me alive and rip my bones apart. I turned my head and met Asher’s face, which was black with rage. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” He violently grabbed the collar of my hospital gown and dragged me straight into the adjacent room. He pointed at Vivian, who was lying pale and fragile on the bed, and fiercely demanded answers. “You know her heart is weak! You deliberately triggered an episode! Did you think that if she died, you could just waltz in and become the true heiress?” “Keep dreaming! Let me make this crystal clear. We will never acknowledge a venomous snake like you as our sister!” I tried pulling my collar out of his grip but failed. I had no choice but to maintain the awkward posture and speak to him with absolute sincerity. “I didn’t try to harm her. I genuinely just want to die.” Asher acted like he had just heard the funniest joke in the world. He leaned in close, his eyes brimming with mockery. “Want to die? Sienna, cut the pathetic act!” “Did you think faking a suicide attempt would get you out of the hypnosis? You are going to be the fake heiress, and that is final! I will never let you threaten Vivian’s place in our family!” He then glanced at the bandages wrapped around my neck and spoke in a deeply sarcastic tone. “If you really wanted to die, you wouldn’t have used a flimsy piece of wood to put on a show!” Silas, who was sitting by the bed using a surgical scalpel to peel an apple for Vivian, paused his movements. A cold glint flashed across the silver blade. The apple peel snapped. “Sienna, if you pull another cheap stunt like this, don’t blame me for disregarding our blood ties.” My eyes immediately lit up. That was a truly excellent blade! Staring intently at the scalpel in Silas’s hand, I looked at him with eager, starry eyes and made a polite request. “Um, could I borrow that knife you have there?” “Asher is totally right. A wooden stick can’t kill a person. If I want to commit suicide, I really need to use a blade.” The air in the room froze solid. Asher let out a furious laugh, pointing his finger right at my nose and cursing. “Playing this game again? Sienna, how long are you going to keep up this act?!” “Here! Take the knife! Let’s see if you actually have the guts to die!” Before Silas could even react, Asher snatched the scalpel from his brother’s hand and threw it right at my feet. I picked it up frantically, like I had just found a priceless treasure. Without a single ounce of hesitation, I raised the blade and slashed it ruthlessly across my own throat. Asher’s eyes blew wide open in sheer terror. Remembering the phantom agony he had experienced just hours ago, his body moved on instinct, and he reached out to grab the descending blade barehanded. Drops of crimson blood slowly trickled down the silver handle and splattered onto the white tiles. My hand gripped the handle tightly, pausing mid air. I looked up and met Asher’s eyes, which were blazing with a monstrous, apocalyptic fury. He stared at me, his lips trembling violently, his voice completely cracking. “Sienna! Have you lost your goddamn mind?!” 3 The sharp edge of the blade had sliced deep into Asher’s palm. The flesh was torn open, exposing a gruesome, bloody mess that made my scalp tingle just looking at it. Yet he kept his fingers clamped around the metal, refusing to let go. Silas’s expression changed drastically when he saw the blood. He lunged forward and brutally twisted my wrist. The force was so immense I felt like my bones were going to shatter into pieces, forcing me to release my grip. The scalpel clattered onto the floor. He kicked the knife far away before turning his darkened face to me with a low, menacing growl. “Are you done throwing your tantrum?” I just felt an overwhelming wave of exhaustion. It was so hard to simply die these days. Seeing Asher bleeding because of me, Vivian’s face turned ghastly white. She bit her lower lip so hard it almost bled, and tears began falling without any warning. She struggled to sit up from her hospital bed, clutching her chest, crying out to me. “Sister, if you want to hurt someone, just hurt me! Don’t hurt Asher!” “It’s all my fault. I never should have been swapped at birth and stolen your life. Take all your anger out on me!” “If my death is the only thing that will satisfy you, then I’ll go die!” Vivian threw off the blankets, stumbled out of bed, and ran toward the stairwell outside the ward like a madwoman. “Vivi!” Silas’s face contorted in panic, and he immediately chased after her. Asher didn’t even care about his profusely bleeding right hand. Ignoring the pain, he sprinted right behind them. A dramatic Titanic style scene quickly unfolded at the top of the stairs. Silas wrapped his arms tightly around Vivian from behind, while Vivian spread her arms wide, crying and shivering uncontrollably. “Silas, let me go. Only if I die will my sister stop torturing you all!” The more she struggled, the tighter Silas held her. Asher stood closely by, nervously shielding both of them. The three of them pulled and pushed in a chaotic, tangled mess. I slowly walked over to the edge of the railing and glanced down. We were over a dozen floors up. The height was definitely sufficient. “Alright, you won’t actually jump even if we wait twenty years. I’ll just do it myself.” With those clean and decisive words, I vaulted over the metal railing and threw myself headfirst into the abyss. In that split second, it was as if Asher sensed something through our twin connection. He looked toward where I was falling and charged over like a lunatic. “Sienna!” He threw himself onto the floor, the veins popping on his right arm as he desperately clamped his bleeding hand onto the hem of my hospital gown. My entire body was suspended in mid air. Drops of his blood fell directly onto my face. Hearing the commotion, Silas whipped his head around, staring at the scene in absolute disbelief. It was as if he had just been jolted awake from a nightmare. He shoved Vivian aside, strode over, and dropped to his knees to help Asher pull me back up. Realizing I was about to be dragged back to safety, I panicked. I thrashed my body wildly, trying to slip out of my outer gown. But I was no match for the combined strength of two grown men, and I was forcefully hauled back onto the landing. Asher was panting heavily. He stared at me, his eyes hiding a lingering terror he hadn’t even realized himself. “Do you not care about your own life?!” “If you want something, just ask! But can you please stop trying to kill yourself every five minutes?!” Silas wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, his voice still shaking noticeably. “Don’t you just want to come back to the family? Don’t you just want to be the true heiress? We will go talk to Liam right now!” “Just please stop putting us through this!” I froze for a moment. If I had heard those words just a few days ago, I probably would have been ecstatic. But right now, my only desire was to die quickly so I could go home. Hearing their desperate promises, Vivian’s face turned as pale as a sheet of paper. Her already red eyes filled with fresh tears. A barely detectable glint of jealousy and pure malice flashed through her eyes, vanishing in an instant. “Sister, I don’t know how much longer my broken body can hold on. Please, just wait a little longer. Once I’m dead, you can…” Before she could finish her sentence, she violently clutched her chest, her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed stiffly onto the floor. “Vivi!” 4 Asher instantly let go of me and rushed forward like a madman to catch her. His face was covered in undisguised heartache and intense frustration. Silas also hurried over. After doing a quick preliminary check on Vivian’s vitals, his expression turned gravely serious. “Get her to the resuscitation room, now!” The two men carried Vivian and rushed away in a panic. Neither of them even spared a single backward glance at me. I silently walked back to my room and found the sharp, cold scalpel lying in the corner. Asher’s blood was still smeared across the metal. The System suddenly chimed in my mind. [Host, detecting that the capture mission progress has reached 60%!] [Would you like to continue the strategy?] [I quit.] I shook my head, grabbed a tissue to carefully wipe the scalpel clean, and then hid it securely in my pocket. I just wanted to find a quiet place where no one would bother me so I could leave in peace. Just as I stepped out of the ward, I ran right into my three brothers, who were rushing over. Liam’s gaze fell on the blood seeping bandages around my neck. A complex emotion flickered in his eyes. “They told me what you did.” “I can let you return to the family and restore your identity as the true biological daughter.” I said nothing, waiting for him to finish his sentence. “But,” Liam paused, his voice turning heavy. “To the outside world, Vivian and Asher will remain twins. Her identity cannot be changed.” “And you… you will be the newly found, adopted child of the Prescott family.” I let out a cynical scoff in my heart. To put it bluntly, they wanted me to hold the title of the true daughter internally, but live publicly as an illegitimate, unacknowledged child. That was a hundred times more nauseating than just being the fake heiress. Before I could even open my mouth to refuse, he sharply changed the subject. “There is one condition.” I looked up at him and spoke flatly. “What condition?” “Vivian suffered a severe shock today. She is in heart failure and urgently needs a transplant.” Silas, standing behind him in his white doctor’s coat, suddenly spoke up. “Your tissue matching is a perfect, flawless fit.” I was genuinely stunned. “And so?” “You don’t need to be afraid. Medical technology is highly advanced now. We will install an artificial heart to keep you alive. Your life won’t be in danger. Afterward, the family will use every single resource at our disposal to find a suitable donor heart for you.” I laughed out of pure, unadulterated anger. “If artificial hearts are so great, why don’t you just give one to her?!” Asher immediately lost his temper. His tone was laced with intense anxiety and harsh accusation. “Vivian has a special constitution! Her body rejects metal implants! She can’t use an artificial heart!” “You are the one who caused her to end up like this! Her life is hanging by a thread right now. If you refuse to save her, you are forcing her to die!” I pressed my fingers against my throbbing temples, taking a deep breath. I had finally reached the absolute limit of my tolerance. “Fine! Great! You just want a heart, right?” “I will donate it. Happy now?” Hearing my words, relieved and gratified smiles appeared on all three of my brothers’ faces. “Once you finish the surgery, we will publicly announce…” But in the very next second, without the slightest hesitation, I pulled the scalpel from my pocket, aimed the blade ruthlessly at my own chest, and plunged it directly into my heart. Then, with brutal force, I sliced downward! Hot blood splattered across their utterly terrified faces, and I let out a soft, airy laugh. “Here is the heart you wanted.” “Come and get it!” The moment my body began to fall, three figures stumbled wildly toward me.

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The holiday weekend was officially over, and I was driving my family back to the city. My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing in the cup holder. Kitty, sitting in the passenger seat, finally glanced over and asked what was going on. I put it on speaker. The panicked, breathless voice of my childhood best friend filled the car. He told me my parents, my wife, and my daughter had all been slaughtered in our home. He said the scene was a slaughterhouse. Most of their organs were gone, and Kitty… Kitty had been decapitated. I chuckled, thinking it was a sick joke, and told him to lay off the booze. After all, my family was sitting right here in the car with me, alive and well. A second later, a video popped up on my screen. It showed my parents and my little girl lying in a massive pool of blood. And right there on the floor was Kitty. Her limbs were severed, her head nowhere to be found. A bucket of ice water washed over my spine. My hands violently jerked the steering wheel, forcing the SUV onto the emergency shoulder. 1 “Ahhh!” The grotesque, mangled image of that severed head flashed behind my eyes. I screamed, violently shoving Kitty away as she leaned in to check the screen. “Don’t come near me!” I roared. The shove sent her crashing against the passenger window. Her hair fell wildly over her face as she whipped around, her eyes blazing with fury. “Harry, have you lost your damn mind? Did you just put your hands on me?” Before her words even settled, a heavy smack landed on the back of my head. My mom leaned forward from the backseat, her face tight with anger. “Exactly, Harry! What the hell is wrong with you? Is this how we raised you? You never, ever lay a hand on your wife. Now speak. What kind of psychotic break are you having?” I couldn’t hear them. My brain was trapped in the loop of that video. Crimson blood dripping down the familiar oak staircase. Mom and Dad’s lifeless bodies sprawled across the steps, soaking in their own gore. My little Anna, a hunting knife buried in her chest, lying right in front of them. And Kitty. Unrecognizable. Her head severed from her body, tossed somewhere out of frame. Impossible. I refused to believe it. It had to be a deepfake. A sick, twisted prank. They were right here in the car, breathing, yelling at me. How could they be butchered on a staircase? I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the suffocating panic, and forced them open again. The horrific video was still playing on my screen. Joshua sent another clip. This one was outside my house. Dozens of cops in shoe covers and latex gloves were swarming the lawn. His voice notes kept playing automatically. [Where are you, man? You need to get back here. It’s a freaking nightmare. There’s blood everywhere.] [They can’t even find Kitty’s head.] [Who the hell did you cross, Harry? Whoever it was, they didn’t plan on leaving anyone breathing.] Before I could even process the words, another message chimed in a minute later. [No, wait. Don’t come back. Whoever did this wants your whole bloodline wiped out. If you come back, you’re a dead man. Run, Harry. Drive as far away as you can and never look back.] 2 I leaned against the side of the car, sucking hard on a cigarette. My mind was a chaotic mess of static. My legs felt like wet cement. Anna rolled down the back window, her sweet, high-pitched voice piercing the cold wind. “Daddy, why aren’t we moving?” My mom stared at me with deep concern. “Harry, what is going on? Who was on the phone? You’re acting like a lunatic.” I looked at them. They were so vibrant, so incredibly alive. Then my mind flashed back to the blood-soaked corpses on my screen. I grabbed my phone, ready to dial 911. It had to be fake. Joshua was losing his mind. We grew up together, but over the years, my tech firm took off while he drowned in gambling debts. He was broke. His wife took the kids and left him. Just before the holidays, he begged me for fifty grand. I said no. He was probably doing this to punish me. Using some cheap AI generator to mess with my head. But right as my thumb hovered over the keypad, an incoming call took over the screen. It was the local police precinct. “Is this Harry?” a gravelly voice asked. “I’m incredibly sorry to inform you, but we’ve found the bodies of your parents, your wife, and your daughter at your residence. We need you to return immediately for questioning.” I stood frozen, gripping the phone, unable to force a single syllable past my throat. Joshua might play a twisted joke, but the police wouldn’t. Were my family members actually dead? Then who were the people sitting inside my car? Pure, unadulterated terror hijacked my brain. Before I could spiral further, Kitty slammed her door open and marched up to me. “Harry, you were driving perfectly fine. Why are you having a meltdown? Talk to me right now.” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. “You’re dead. You’re all dead… There was so much blood.” “You son of a…” Kitty slapped me across the cheek, her face flushed with rage. “The holidays literally just ended and you’re wishing death on me? I am standing right in front of you, breathing, and you’re telling me I’m dead?” My mom got out next, smacking the back of my head again. “Stop spouting this nonsense!” I waved my hands frantically. “I’m not making it up! Mom, Joshua sent me a video. He said Kitty is dead. He said you, Dad, and Anna are dead too. I swear to God…” This time, it was my dad. He shoved me so hard I stumbled back into the guardrail. “Are you hallucinating? So our whole family gets wiped out, and you’re the sole survivor? Is that the fantasy here?” “Yes!” I clutched my stomach, nodding desperately. I reached out to grab them, to drag them to the screen so they could see it for themselves. But Kitty had already stormed over to the driver’s seat. “Mom, Dad, get in. We’re leaving. Let the ‘sole survivor’ freeze out here until he gets his head screwed on straight.” Before I could utter another word, Kitty slammed the door, gunned the engine, and merged back onto the highway. Leaving me completely alone in the biting winter wind. 3 My phone rang again. It was the precinct, demanding my location. “Can you get back here immediately? If not, stay exactly where you are. We are sending a cruiser to get you.” Ten minutes later, flashing red and blue lights cut through the bleak afternoon. Detective Carter stepped out of the cruiser. His eyes were like a hawk’s, scanning me, dissecting me. “My condolences. Right now, our priority is finding the bastard who did this. I need your full cooperation.” I grabbed his heavy winter coat, desperate. “Detective, this is a prank, right? Tell me this is some kind of sick joke! My parents, my wife, my kid, they were just here. We were in the same damn car. They can’t be dead. It’s impossible.” Carter’s expression remained carved from stone. “I know trauma does strange things to the mind, but the reality is what it is. Pull yourself together and get in the car.” I practically begged him. “Check the traffic cameras! I swear to you, I’m not lying. How else would I end up stranded on the shoulder of the interstate?” Carter didn’t waste another breath on me. He grabbed my arm and shoved me into the back of the cruiser. The sirens wailed as we sped down the highway. Suddenly, I saw Kitty’s SUV up ahead in the right lane. I slammed my hands against the wire mesh separating the seats. “There! Look! That’s my car! My whole family is in there. Pull them over! I swear to God, they are alive!” Carter glanced out the window, then glared at me through the rearview mirror. “Stop making a scene. This is an interstate. I can’t just run a random vehicle off the road.” The cruiser blew right past Kitty’s SUV. No matter how raw my throat got from screaming, they completely ignored me. “Call her!” I pleaded. “Call my wife. She’s alive.” Visibly annoyed, Carter pulled out his phone. “Give me the number.” I rattled off the digits. He put it on speaker. It rang and rang, straight to voicemail. Of course. She was driving. She hated highway driving, it terrified her. She was already furious at me, she wouldn’t answer an unknown number right now. “She’s driving,” I said quickly. “Call my mom.” Carter dialed my mom’s number. Voicemail again. Panic clawing at my chest, I pulled out my own phone and called my dad. Nothing. Just endless ringing. Carter ended the call and turned slightly, shooting me a look usually reserved for serial killers. “Anything else you want to add?” 4 What else could I say? I had been screaming that my family was alive, but to them, I was just a madman. We drove in agonizing silence until we reached my hometown. When we turned onto my street, my heart plummeted into my stomach. The entire block was barricaded with yellow crime scene tape. Neighbors clustered in tight groups, whispering. Flashing lights painted the suburban houses in a sickening neon glow. This wasn’t a prank. Joshua didn’t have the money or the brains to stage something this massive. Carter opened the door and hauled me out. “Let’s go. Take a look.” He treated me like a suspect being walked to the gallows. It made my skin crawl. I planted my feet and refused to move. Desperate, I dialed my mom’s number one last time. Before it even connected, my phone buzzed. It was her. I answered it so fast I almost dropped the device. “Mom! Where are you?” “We pulled over at the rest stop to wait for you. Did you honestly think we’d just abandon you on the highway? But seriously, Harry, what is wrong with you today?” Tears blurred my vision. I shoved the phone toward Carter. “Listen! Detective, listen to her! It’s my mom!” Carter narrowed his eyes and took the phone, hitting the speaker button. But the line was completely dead. Silence. Before I could comprehend what just happened, Joshua broke through the police line and sprinted toward me. His eyes were swollen red, his whole body violently shaking. “I told you not to come back! Why are you here? You’re going to get yourself killed!” Carter stepped between us, his gaze locking onto Joshua. “What exactly do you mean by that? Sounds like you know something we don’t.” Joshua threw his hands up defensively. “I don’t know anything, Detective! I swear! I’m just terrified that Harry crossed the wrong people and they came for payback.” “What makes you say that?” Carter pressed. “It’s just a guess,” Joshua stammered. “Harry made a ton of money recently. You don’t get that rich without stepping on a few toes. Right, Harry?” 5 I ignored his passive aggressive bullshit. I pushed past them and walked toward my front door. The whispers from the crowd hit my ears like poison darts. “Look at him. All that money, and for what? His whole family is wiped out.” “Exactly. Coming back for the holidays, acting like a big shot. Promising to fund the new community center, fix the roads. I knew his money was dirty.” “Yeah, probably trying to buy some good karma because of the shady crap he does.” I tuned them out. My chest was tight, my lungs burning. As I approached the porch, the metallic stench of blood hit me like a physical blow. It was so potent my stomach violently heaved. Carter was right behind me. He whispered darkly, “Scared?” Of course I was scared. The video was seared into my brain. But a stubborn part of me still believed the family I left on the highway was real. They couldn’t be inside this house. But reality shattered my delusions the second I stepped into the foyer. It was exactly like the video. Blood had seeped into the hardwood, drying into dark, sticky pools. The air tasted like pennies and terror. My parents were lying on the staircase. They were locked in a desperate embrace, their faces frozen in absolute horror. And their abdomens… they were hollowed out. Jagged, empty cavities where their organs used to be. My knees gave out. I crashed onto the floor, screaming until my vocal cords tore. “Mom! Dad! What did they do to you?” They couldn’t answer. And then I saw her. Little Anna. Her tiny body was crumpled on the rug. One of her eyes was just a dark, empty socket. A heavy hunting knife was buried to the hilt in her chest. The silver blade caught the harsh police lights, reflecting Carter’s predatory face standing just over my shoulder. He didn’t speak. He just waited. My skin turned to ice. “Harry,” he finally said. “Are you sure you don’t have anything to confess?” Confess what? I spun around and grabbed his coat again. “They aren’t dead! Detective, please! Check the highway toll cameras. We left this morning, all of us together. They are sitting at a rest stop right now. Look at the cameras, you’ll see them! I’m begging you!” Carter’s face darkened. He grabbed me by the collar and dragged me out of the house, pulling me toward the detached garage. “You’re still lying,” Carter growled. “Open your damn eyes, Harry. Look at what’s in the driveway.” 6 My brain short-circuited. I blinked hard, trying to clear the illusion. My SUV. The exact same car I had been driving on the highway two hours ago, was sitting right there in the garage. If my car was here, what the hell was Kitty driving on the interstate? Who was inside that vehicle? Carter called Joshua over. “Harry, why are you lying to the cops?” Joshua asked, his voice shaking. “I saw you leave alone this morning. I asked you where everyone was, and you said they wanted to stay a few extra days to enjoy the country air. But ten minutes after you left, I smelled the blood.” Joshua took a step back, looking at me like I was a monster. “Harry… did you…” “Shut the hell up!” I roared, lunging at him before a cop held me back. “That’s my family! What is wrong with you?” Joshua muttered, “You’re the only one left breathing. The math doesn’t add up.” I knew nothing added up. But my truth was entirely different from theirs. Carter dragged me back into the living room. He pointed to a plastic evidence tent in the corner. Beneath it lay Kitty’s severed head. It was a nightmare made flesh. I turned my face away, gagging. But Carter grabbed my jaw and forced me to look. “Open your eyes, Harry. Your family is butchered. Their bodies were harvested. And you’re acting like a man who already knows the script. How are you so calm?” “I’m not calm!” I screamed. “I know these bodies aren’t my family! My real family is in my car, and in a few hours, they’ll be back at our house in the city. Call the city precinct. Send a unit to my house. You’ll see I’m telling the truth!” Carter had had enough. With a sharp click, cold steel clamped around my wrists. He shoved me down so I was eye-level with the tarp. “We know you were a foster kid. We know her parents took you in, and you ended up marrying their daughter to secure your place in this family. So drop the act and tell me why you slaughtered them.” What the hell was he talking about? Why would being an adopted kid mean I’d butcher the people who loved me? And my daughter? Why would I kill my own flesh and blood? I was suffocating under the weight of the accusations. I wanted to grab the knife from the floor and plunge it into my own chest just to prove my innocence. But then, my eyes locked onto Kitty’s ear. A delicate, golden charm dangled from her lobe. A vintage, custom-made lamb. The air left my lungs. I understood. I finally understood everything.

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Valentine’s Day rolled around again. Just like the past five years, my husband, Simon, wasn’t home to celebrate with me. He always claimed this day was the anniversary of his parents’ death and that he needed to be alone to mourn them. I had always been completely understanding of his devotion. Every year on this day, I would quietly stay home, too afraid to even send him a text in case it interrupted his grief. My best friend, Regan, always told me I was suffering in silence for nothing. She said I deserved better. But I would always jump to his defense, telling her how deeply he valued family and loyalty. The day after Valentine’s, I was tidying up the house and decided to take the black trench coat he wore yesterday to the dry cleaners. As I emptied the pockets, a crumpled receipt fell out. It was from a high-end French bistro. I picked it up. The date printed at the top was glaringly obvious. February 14th. It was a receipt for their Valentine’s Exclusive Tasting Menu for Two. It even included a complimentary bouquet of roses and signature cocktails. Seeing that piece of paper, my brain simply short-circuited. I don’t even know what possessed me, but my hands were shaking as I unlocked my phone and tapped on Regan’s Instagram story from last night. She had posted a picture of a candlelit dinner. The caption read, “Our special spot. Another year with you.” The location tagged at the top of the photo was that exact same French bistro. … The world blurred out of focus right in front of my eyes. I have no idea how I managed to walk back into the living room. The house felt just as suffocatingly cold as it had been yesterday. Memories of every past Valentine’s Day flashed through my mind like a twisted movie reel. The first year we were married, I had booked a romantic dinner weeks in advance. He had looked at me with such sorrow and said, “I’m so sorry, babe. Today is the anniversary of my parents’ passing. I just need to go for a drive alone.” I had canceled the reservation immediately, drowning in guilt for being so insensitive. From then on, every February 14th, he went out alone. I never asked questions. I never complained. It turned out he wasn’t avoiding Valentine’s Day because of his parents. He just didn’t want to spend it with me. My phone vibrated in my palm. It was a text from Regan. “Audrey, did you spend last night all by yourself again? Sending you the biggest hug!” “Ugh, you spend it alone every single year. If you ask me, you shouldn’t let a man walk all over you like this.” “But then again, you always say Simon is just being a good son. You have a big heart.” I stared at the screen. Taking a shaky breath, I forced my trembling fingers to type a reply. “It’s fine, I’m used to it. I understand him. How was your night?” “Oh my god, my boyfriend took me to that French place! The one we walked past while shopping last time. Crazy coincidence, right?” “He’s been so sweet lately. He’s actually sitting right next to me while I get my nails done. After this, we’re going to a penthouse suite he booked downtown. It has these gorgeous floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bay. So romantic.” I read her messages line by line, my fingers shaking so violently I could barely hold the phone. Shortly after Simon and I got married, Regan told me she had started dating someone. But for five years, she kept him completely hidden. She never posted his face. She never brought him around. I used to wonder if her boyfriend was somehow unpresentable. It turned out I saw him every single day. I grabbed my coat, hailed a cab, and headed straight to the luxury nail salon at the Plaza, the one Regan frequented every week. The moment the elevator doors slid open on the third floor, my eyes locked onto the window seats. Regan was sitting in a plush velvet chair, extending her hand to the nail technician. My husband, Simon, was sitting right beside her. He was holding a cup of iced coffee, pushing the straw right up to her lips. Regan took a sip, frowned, and muttered something. Simon chuckled, picking up a cherry from a nearby fruit platter and gently feeding it to her instead. She smiled brightly, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. The way Simon looked down at her was filled with a tender, raw affection I hadn’t seen directed at me in years. I stood frozen by the elevators, rooted to the spot like a stone statue. My heart felt like it had been plunged into an ice bath, the pain so intense it morphed into total numbness. I pulled out my phone. Standing behind the frosted glass partition, I snapped over a dozen crystal-clear photos. Then, I turned around and stepped back into the elevator. As the metal doors slid shut, I leaned heavily against the wall. Fragments of the past rushed back to me. Back in college, he would run across the basketball court, flashing a huge, goofy grin in my direction every time he scored. After graduation, he got down on one knee, swearing he would make me the happiest woman alive. My father had always admired his ambition. Before my dad passed away, he slowly handed the reins of his entire company over to Simon. At my father’s funeral, Simon had held me tight, whispering into my hair, “Audrey, I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you, and I’ll take care of the business.” Right now, my father’s life’s work was entirely in his hands. And the golden son-in-law my father had trusted so deeply was out feeding cherries to my best friend. I unlocked my phone and uploaded every single photo to a secure cloud drive. For the next week, I played the part of the blissfully ignorant wife perfectly. Simon must have sensed something was slightly off. He started acting far more attentive than usual, bringing home pastries from my favorite bakery after work. “Audrey, have I been neglecting you lately?” he asked one evening, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind, his tone dripping with fake guilt. “Work has been crazy. And with the anniversary of my parents passing, my head has just been in a dark place. I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you.” Using his dead parents as a shield again. A wave of pure nausea hit me. “It’s fine,” I replied softly. “You value family. You’re a good son. I understand.” The weather was beautiful the day Regan invited me out shopping. She linked her arm through mine, acting as chummy and sweet as if she hadn’t stolen a thing in the world. “Audrey, look at this dress! Isn’t it stunning?” She spun around in front of the boutique’s full-length mirror. The neckline was plunged low, perfectly framing the faint, reddish bruises scattered across her collarbone. “My boyfriend was way too passionate last night. I kept telling him to take it easy, but he just wouldn’t listen.” She smiled at her reflection, her voice laced with deliberate bragging. I looked at her through the mirror, suddenly remembering exactly how we met. When Regan first moved to this city, she was scammed out of her life savings. I was the one who took her in and let her crash in my guest room. Five years ago, her abusive ex put her in the hospital. I was the one who sat with her in the ER, helped her file the police report, and paid the deposit on her new apartment so she could hide. On the day Simon and I got married, she stood beside me as my maid of honor, crying so hard her mascara ran. She told me that having a friend like me was the greatest blessing of her life. And this was how she repaid me. “Audrey? What are you thinking about?” “Nothing.” She dragged me over to the jewelry counters, pointing at a pair of diamond wedding bands. “Say, if I just randomly announced I was getting married, would it completely shock you?” I heard my own voice reply, dead flat and eerily calm. “Marriage is a happy occasion. Why would that shock me?” She seemed a little disappointed by my lack of reaction. She awkwardly put the ring down and clung to my arm again. That night, when I got home, Simon was in the shower. His phone was sitting on the nightstand, plugged into the charger. Driven by a dark, magnetic pull, I picked it up. His text threads were scrubbed entirely clean. But he couldn’t erase his bank statements. For the past five years, there was a fixed monthly wire transfer. The memo read “Living Expenses.” The recipient was Regan. But it didn’t stop there. I dug deeper and found several massive, untraceable offshore transfers. Furthermore, I pulled up some of the company’s tax filing drafts from the last few quarters. The numbers were drastically different from the financial reports he had shown me at home. He was siphoning assets. Worse, he was committing corporate tax fraud. My fingers turned to ice, but my heart felt like it was roasting over an open flame. I thought his betrayal was limited to his heart and his body. I never imagined he was actively hollowing out the legacy my father built, brick by brick. A week later, a text from Regan popped up on my screen. “Audrey, I’m pregnant!” “My boyfriend is out of town on a business trip and I feel awful. You’ve been through this before, could you come keep me company?” I stared at those words, my stomach churning violently. During our third year of marriage, I had gotten pregnant. I was five months along. I could already feel the baby kicking against my ribs. Simon took me to my anatomy scan. On the ride home, the car was suffocatingly silent. When we walked through the front door, he handed me a lab report, his eyes red and brimming with tears. He held me tightly and choked out, “Audrey, the doctor said the baby’s development is severely compromised. Even if he survives the birth, he’ll be in agonizing pain his whole life. We’re still young. We can try again.” I had cried until my throat bled. I didn’t want to believe it. But he acted even more devastated than I was. He blamed himself, weeping into his hands, saying he had failed to protect me and our child. Eventually, under his relentless, tearful persuasion, I lay down on the operating table. Right before the anesthesia pulled me under, I felt one last, gentle flutter in my stomach. When I woke up, I was left with an empty womb and an endless, crushing void of grief. Regan was right by my side through all of it. She held my hand, crying with me, cursing the universe for being so cruel, promising me that I would be a mother someday. Now, staring at the word “pregnant” on my screen, a horrifying, sickening realization struck me. If they had been sleeping together for five years, there was absolutely no way they would have allowed me to give birth to the heir of my father’s company. I bolted upright, grabbed my car keys, and rushed out the door. I dug up my old hospital patient ID and drove straight to the maternity ward I visited three years ago. I waited for three agonizing hours until a nurse finally emerged from the medical records basement with a yellowing file. “Audrey Caldwell, right? Found it.” I flipped it open. The ink was perfectly clear. Fetus developing normally. No anomalies detected. I stared at those words, my hands shaking so violently the paper rattled. “Nurse… is this the exact same report that was given to me back then?” I heard my own voice ask. It sounded shredded, alien. The nurse glanced at it. “This is the original medical file. What you received back then would have been a photocopy. Is something wrong?” I shook my head, silently taking crystal-clear photos of every single page. By the time I walked out of the hospital, the sun had set. I crouched by the curb and dry-heaved until my ribs ached, but nothing came up. My baby. My baby who had already started kicking me. The baby I let them kill. I sat in my car, zipped all the photos, bank statements, and hospital records into a single encrypted folder, and emailed it straight to my corporate lawyer. Then, I put the car in drive and headed straight for the company headquarters. Simon. Regan. I hope you’re ready to pay the price.

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My daughter and I were in a terrible car accident that left us with total amnesia. Instead of staying to care for us, my wife, a psychiatrist, traveled the world with her depressed ex and his son. Slowly, we started to remember. My wife noticed we had become quieter, more independent, and well behaved. She thought her life was perfectly balanced. But on Christmas Eve, she left us again to be with her ex. When she finally came home, she overheard us talking. My daughter asked, “Dad, is that woman really my mom?” She said calling her “Mom” never felt right. I agreed. I said she wasn’t my type and I didn’t know why I’d married her. My daughter smiled. “You like Ms. Finnerty, right? She blushes when she sees you.” Before I could reply, she whispered loud enough to be heard through the door, “Dad, how about we just get a new mom?” 1 For dinner, I ordered two portions of suicide hot buffalo wings. My daughter and I were eating them, sweating bullets and breathing heavy. A voice, both familiar and incredibly foreign, suddenly echoed from behind us. “You didn’t wait for me?” We both jumped in our seats. Turning around, we saw a beautiful woman standing in the doorway. Her facial features were strikingly similar to my daughter’s, but she radiated a freezing, unapproachable aura. It was Madison. My wife, and my daughter’s mother. She walked closer, her eyes locking onto our grease smeared mouths and the basket of blazing red wings. Her brows knitted together in deep disgust. “We have been married for six years. Do you not know I have a severe stomach ulcer and can’t eat spicy food?” Sophie sucked the meat off a chicken bone and blurted out, “We didn’t order this for you. This is what we wanted to eat.” Madison froze dead in her tracks. I let out an awkward chuckle, scrambling to smooth things over. “Well… I saw your Instagram story. You were at the amusement park with Nathan and his son, so I just assumed you guys would grab dinner together.” “Oliver,” she cut me off. Her tone carried her usual, heavy impatience. “I have explained this to you. Nathan’s wife abandoned them, and it triggered severe clinical depression in both him and his boy. I am a medical professional. I am simply fulfilling my duty.” “But what about you?” she continued, her voice turning ice cold. “As a husband and a father, you not only caused a massive scene at my clinic, but you also taught Sophie to be petty and jealous.” She paused, staring down at us. “Did getting into that car crash finally teach you a lesson?” A tidal wave of memories crashed into my brain. I remembered finding out that the patient she had been doing round the clock care for was actually the guy she never got over from high school. I remembered dragging our daughter to her office to catch them in the act. She had just pulled us into a corner, looking utterly exhausted. She told me she kept it a secret because she knew I would overreact. She said abandoning a suicidal patient was medical malpractice. She told me to stop acting like a lunatic in front of her traumatized patient. Her cold, clinical tone always made me and my daughter look like hysterical maniacs. So, I had paid people to hold up massive signs outside her clinic, exposing her for having an affair with a patient. Sophie had taken a megaphone to kindergarten, chasing Nathan’s son around, screaming that his dad was a homewrecker and telling the other kids not to play with him. After that, Nathan and his son stood on a rooftop, crying and threatening to jump. To force me to back down, Madison pulled strings to get me fired from my job. She made sure Sophie was completely isolated and bullied at her preschool. I had suffered a total mental breakdown and threatened her with divorce. She finally compromised, promising to keep strict professional boundaries with them. Sophie and I had believed her. We had even booked our fifth anniversary trip months in advance, counting down the days until she finally took some time off. On the day of the trip, we went to the hospital with beaming smiles to pick her up. Instead, we received a freezing phone call. “Emergency business trip. The vacation is postponed.” We were walking out of the hospital lobby, completely crushed, when we overheard two nurses chatting and laughing by the corner. “Dr. Madison is so dedicated to Mr. Nathan. She actually took a six month leave of absence just to travel with him and his son for therapeutic healing!” “I know, right? I heard she’s already in a cab escorting them to the airport.” My ears rang violently. It felt like a massive chunk of my chest had been carved out with a rusty knife. Before the tears could even fall from my eyes, I looked down and saw Sophie’s pale little face. Huge tears rolled down her cheeks as her voice trembled. “Daddy… does Mommy really not want us anymore?” That single sentence shattered whatever was left of my sanity. I grabbed Sophie’s hand and ran toward the street, desperate to chase Madison down. We needed an answer. We needed her to look us in the eye and tell us if she still wanted this family. But before we ever caught up to her, the truck hit us. When we woke up in the hospital, our world had been wiped clean. Aside from each other, we had no idea who she was. And she used our amnesia as the perfect excuse to put us on a shelf and forget about us. The memories receded. Sophie and I exchanged a highly awkward glance. Even though our memories were back, the emotions attached to them were completely dead. Honestly, we couldn’t even comprehend why our past selves had acted so psychotic over this woman. We immediately swore to her that we wouldn’t cause any more trouble. We promised we would never bother her and her patients again. Madison’s face darkened even more. It took her a long time to regain her signature, controlling composure. “I am taking them to the national park tomorrow for nature therapy. Make sure you prep three lunchboxes for us.” “Sophie, make sure you copy an extra set of your class notes for Toby.” She turned toward the hallway, tossing one last cold remark over her shoulder. “You better keep your word. Don’t do anything… humiliating again.” The bedroom door clicked shut. Sophie and I looked at each other and shrugged at the exact same time. Then, I pulled out my phone and ordered us a massive, luxury breakfast delivery for the morning. Sophie texted her teacher, politely asking for a digital backup of the class materials. As for tomorrow? We already promised Ms. Finnerty we were going hiking with her. Nobody had time to worry about Madison. 2 Early the next morning, Nathan’s soft, gentle voice drifted in from the living room. “Madison, is it really just going to be us? Maybe… maybe we should invite Oliver and Sophie? I really don’t want them getting the wrong idea. I can handle the stress, but Toby is so little. He can’t take any more bullying…” Toby chimed in with a tiny, pitiful voice. “Dad, I’m okay. Sophie didn’t… she didn’t mean to be mean to me.” Madison’s voice immediately softened into a warm hum. “Be a good boy, Toby. Don’t worry about them. If I bring them along, God knows what kind of scene they’ll cause. It would ruin your therapy.” I sighed, rolled over in bed, and drifted back into a groggy sleep. The next time I opened my eyes, a brutal force was yanking me up by the collar of my shirt. Madison literally dragged me out of the bedroom and threw me into the living room. “Look at what your precious daughter did!” she hissed, her voice vibrating with rage. “Look at what she did to Toby!” Nathan was sitting on the floor, his eyes red and teary, cradling Toby. The boy was covered in mashed potatoes and gravy, shivering like a wet stray dog. My daughter was sitting on the floor in the middle of the mess. Her small hands were fiercely guarding three insulated lunchboxes. Her face was flushed bright red, and heavy tears were hitting the hardwood floor. “I didn’t push him!” she cried out, her voice cracking. “He’s a thief! He stole the lunch my dad made for me! I just wanted to get it back!” Madison didn’t even spare her a glance. She was entirely focused on using wet wipes to carefully clean Toby’s jacket, whispering comforting words to Nathan. Only after she finished did she turn around. Her eyes held a look of profound exhaustion, as if she was watching a pathetic, predictable reality show. “Oliver. Just because I asked you to make a few extra portions of food, you hold a grudge and teach your daughter to pull these disgusting stunts?” “You promised me last night you would behave. Did you really break your word that fast?” I took a deep breath, trying to explain rationally. “I didn’t teach her anything. And I believe Sophie is telling the truth. I left your three lunchboxes on the kitchen island hours ago. Toby probably just grabbed the wrong one by mistake…” “Enough.” Madison cut me off with absolute disgust. “Drop the act. I haven’t forgotten the psycho things you two used to do. The apple clearly doesn’t fall far from the tree. You need to take a long, hard look in the mirror and figure out how to be a real father.” Every word I wanted to say died in my throat. When we had our massive fallout in the past, we agreed to compromise. If she kept her distance from Nathan, we would keep the peace. After that, Madison did come home on time. She texted me her location. But the second Nathan’s son got a tiny scrape on his knee at kindergarten, she would drop everything, rush to the school, and force Sophie to apologize. Whenever Sophie cried and tried to defend herself, Madison would just glare at me with eyes made of ice. “Oliver, does your word mean absolutely nothing? Stop throwing tantrums. Do not drain the last drop of patience and love I have for you. Because if you push me to the edge, there will be nothing left to salvage.” The worst incident was when she looked down at Sophie and said, “If my daughter is this malicious and toxic, I don’t want her.” How could a little girl handle hearing that from her own mother? She had chased Madison’s car down the street barefoot, her feet bleeding on the pavement, desperately grabbing onto Madison’s coat and taking the blame for things she never did. “Mommy! I’m sorry! It’s all my fault! I’ll never do it again! I apologized to Toby!” “Please don’t abandon me and Daddy!” Since that day, my daughter never dared to defend herself again. I let out a very quiet sigh. What was the point of explaining? In her eyes, we were already convicted criminals with a long rap sheet. I pulled Sophie tightly into my chest. My voice was low and steady. “Sophie, give them the lunchboxes.” Sophie’s body went completely rigid. A second later, she aggressively wiped her face with her sleeve. She didn’t argue. She just quietly pushed the insulated containers across the floor. Madison didn’t even look at us. She bent down, scooped Toby into her arms, placed a protective hand on Nathan’s back, and walked toward the door. SLAM. The heavy thud of the front door echoed through the house, leaving behind a suffocating, dead silence. It was just me, my daughter, and a ruined floor. I quietly grabbed some paper towels and started cleaning up the mess. Sophie crouched down next to me, helping me pick up the spilled food. After a long time, I asked her softly. “Sophie. If one day, Daddy and Mommy don’t live together anymore…” “Who do you want to stay with?” I had asked her this exact question back when the drama with Madison was at its absolute worst. Back then, she had sobbed uncontrollably. “I don’t want Mommy and Daddy to separate! I want our family to be together forever!” But right now, there was zero hesitation. She looked up at me, her big eyes clear and remarkably determined. “I’m staying with you, Dad.” “No matter what happens, I only want you.” I looked at her, and a genuine smile broke across my face. The last trace of freezing cold in my chest melted away completely. I gently ruffled her hair. “Okay.” If she was with me, I had absolutely nothing to fear. 3 Just as I tossed the last paper towel into the trash, the doorbell rang. “Oliver? Sophie? Are you guys home?” Sophie’s eyes instantly lit up. “It’s Ms. Finnerty!” She bolted down the hallway to open the door. Outside stood a beautiful young woman with soft features. She immediately bent down to catch the little girl launching into her arms. Noticing Sophie’s red, puffy eyes, Finnerty’s voice instantly melted into worry. “Sophie, what’s wrong? Were you crying?” The little girl buried her face into Finnerty’s shoulder, whining pitifully. “The lunch Daddy made for me… got taken away…” “It’s okay,” Finnerty said, gently rubbing the girl’s back, her voice incredibly soothing. “I made a fresh batch. It has all of your and your dad’s favorites.” She had a magical way with kids. Within three sentences, she had Sophie giggling through her tears. Finnerty finally looked up at me, offering an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry for dropping by unannounced, Oliver. You weren’t answering your phone, and I got a bit worried.” “Please, don’t apologize,” I said quickly. “You literally saved my and Sophie’s lives. You’re always welcome here.” Half a year ago, Finnerty was the one who pulled us out of the mangled wreckage of our car. She ran every red light to get us to the emergency room. When she found out we had memory loss and were struggling with basic cognitive functions, she practically took over. She brought us home cooked meals every day and drove Sophie to and from school. Once our memories fully returned, she gracefully stepped back, keeping a perfectly polite and professional distance. But shortly after she found out the truth about our car crash, she mysteriously transferred to Sophie’s kindergarten as a new teacher. Finnerty’s ears turned a faint shade of pink. She spoke softly, “Oliver, I have the whole hiking trail mapped out. Ready to go?” Just as she promised, the day was perfectly organized. When Sophie got tired of walking, Finnerty naturally crouched down. “Hop on, kiddo.” I felt incredibly guilty. “Don’t spoil her too much, Finnerty. You’re already carrying the heavy backpack.” She just laughed, casually walking by my side. “It’s fine. I hit the gym all the time. I’ve got plenty of stamina.” For some reason, looking at her beautiful side profile in the sunlight, my heart skipped a weird beat. Even after we reached the rest area and she took Sophie to buy water, that strange fluttering in my chest didn’t go away. Right at that moment, a familiar, childish voice echoed from down the trail. “Mommy! Let’s race!” Followed by Nathan’s laughing voice. “Slow down, Toby! You’re going to trip.” And finally, Madison’s warm, affectionate response. “Sir Toby, your mother is going to catch you!” I turned around. My eyes locked directly with the three of them standing just a few yards away. The air instantly froze. Nathan’s face went completely pale. He yanked his son into his chest, his voice violently shaking. “Oliver… are you… are you stalking us again? I swear, Madison and I are just friends! Toby just misses having a mother, he doesn’t mean anything by it… take your anger out on me, just please don’t hurt my boy…” Madison instantly stepped forward, shielding the two of them behind her body like I was a rabid bear about to attack. Her jaw clenched, her eyebrows pulling together in fierce anger. “Oliver. I told you, this is a therapy session. Their mental state is incredibly fragile. How many times do I have to spell it out for you to stop acting like a paranoid psychopath?” I looked at her familiar yet alien face. I looked at the exact scenario that used to make me scream, cry, and lose my absolute mind. But standing here now, my chest was a lake of total calm. Honestly, the whole thing just felt comical. It’s crazy how you can’t even empathize with your past self. Looking at her, I genuinely couldn’t figure out what I ever saw in her. If I loved her, I would be furious right now. But I just waved my hand dismissively, my tone incredibly relaxed. “I know. It’s your job as a psychiatrist. You really don’t need to explain yourself to me.” “We’re just here to hike. Total coincidence. You guys keep doing your thing. Just pretend we don’t exist.” Madison clearly didn’t expect that. She stared at me intensely. “Toby just called me Mom. You aren’t mad?” I looked at her, genuinely confused. “Why would I be mad?” She analyzed my face, desperately searching for any crack in my composure, any sign that I was faking it. She found absolutely nothing. Her expression turned incredibly dark. The air around her grew even colder. After a long, agonizing silence, she seemed to reach a conclusion in her own head. She spoke with a cold, absolute certainty. “Drop the act, Oliver. I know you’re just throwing a tantrum. I will sit down and have a serious talk with you tonight. But right now, you need to go home. I’ll let this incident slide.” I was just about to tell her she was delusional when a clear, melodious voice chimed in from behind me. “Oliver, is everything okay?” Madison whipped her head toward the voice, her entire body freezing in place. “What’s going on?” Finnerty walked up to my side, carrying my daughter. Sophie’s face was covered in sticky sugar dust. I naturally stepped toward them. “What took you guys so long? Did Sophie beg you for junk food again?” Catching Sophie’s desperate, pleading look, Finnerty laughed smoothly to cover for her. “I just got her a tiny cotton candy for an energy boost. And this one is for you.” Like a magician, she pulled a massive, fluffy cotton candy from behind her back and handed it to me. I couldn’t help but smile. I reached out to take it. “Oliver,” Madison’s voice sliced through the air like a razor blade. “Who is she?” Hiding behind Madison’s legs, Toby peeked his head out and muttered, “Why is Ms. Finnerty here?” I blinked, suddenly realizing something. Ever since Nathan and Toby walked into our lives, Madison hadn’t dropped Sophie off at kindergarten a single time. She hadn’t even bothered to ask who helped us after the car crash. This was the very first time she was laying eyes on Finnerty. “This is Ms. Finnerty,” I introduced her simply. “If it wasn’t for her pulling us out of the wreck half a year ago, Sophie and I wouldn’t be here.” When it was time to introduce Madison, Finnerty already had a polite, gorgeous smile on her face. She extended her hand gracefully. “You must be Toby’s mother. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

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At our company gala, Felix, the three-year sales champion, stood stunned under the spotlight. The prize he had just drawn left the room in shock: the boss’s wife. Panic flooded his face. He insisted it was a sick joke and shot me a desperate look. I walked on stage, patted his shoulder, and told him it was a gift I had prepared just for him. A heavy silence fell. Felix stood frozen, trembling. He begged me to stop joking, saying it would kill him. I calmly straightened his tie, feeling his racing pulse. I said I wasn’t joking. He was my best employee, and that was why I was rewarding him with my wife. Long before the gala, my wife Serena had already prepared his bonus: a villa, a Porsche, and a million in cash. When I joked if she wanted to give him the company too, she just frowned and told me to be more generous. I smiled and said nothing. 1 The suffocating silence in the room was suddenly sliced open. “Victor… Blackwood…” The sharp clatter of Serena’s stiletto heels parted the crowd like Moses parting the sea. She wore a stunning crimson evening gown, looking like a violent spark of fire burning its way straight toward the stage. “There is a limit to your twisted sense of humor!” She raised a hand, pointing a trembling finger so close to my face it almost grazed my eye. “Apologize to Felix. Apologize to me. Right now!” I lowered my gaze, landing on the emerald bracelet wrapped around her slender wrist. I had won it at a Sotheby’s auction for our anniversary last year. The piece was called Eternity. I used to believe that the love between us would live up to the name of those jewels. I thought we would grow old together. But yesterday, when I discovered the little “bonus” Serena had prepared for our top salesman behind my back, I realized that our marriage had long been shattered beyond repair in the places I couldn’t see. “I wasn’t joking.” I shifted my weight, taking a half-step back to let the spotlight fully illuminate Serena. “A luxury villa, a Porsche… I can afford to give away all of that. So why not throw in the boss’s wife?” A collective gasp rippled through the hall. Dozens of people subtly pulled out their phones. “Wait, hasn’t Mr. Blackwood always treated his wife like royalty? What’s going on…” “Is the boss actually joking, or is he just trying to put Felix in his place?” Felix took a stumbling step backward, his eyes clouded with raw, unfiltered fear. Serena’s pupils dilated. The vivid red of her dress only made the sudden, sickly pallor of her face more obvious. “Victor, have you completely lost your mind?” I chuckled softly. I reached out and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, my voice as tender as if I were coaxing a child. “Don’t worry about the logistics. The divorce papers will be waiting on your desk right after the gala.” “From today on, you belong to him.” “And the company belongs to me.” Standing under the harsh glare of the stage lights, the last trace of color vanished from Serena’s face. When she spoke again, her voice was absolute ice. “Are you done putting on a show, Victor?” She took a step forward, the heavy thud of her heels echoing over the plush carpet. “If you don’t want to pay out the year-end bonuses, just say it. Using me as a human shield? Do you think everyone in this room is stupid?” The crowd blinked in collective realization. A murmur of agreement swept through the room, as if my dramatic stunt was genuinely just a billionaire’s cheap trick to avoid writing checks to our hardest worker. Whispers erupted into open chatter. “Yeah, Felix single-handedly brought in more than half the department’s revenue this year. Anyone else would get a massive payout.” “The boss promised performance-based bonuses for everyone. Is he backing out now?” “Using his own wife as a lottery prize is insane. He’s obviously just trying to humiliate Felix to save a buck.” I let my gaze sweep across the room. It was like dragging the dull edge of a blade over their throats. The whispers died instantly. But at that exact moment, Felix dropped to his knees with a loud thud. “Boss!” He pressed his forehead to the stage floor, the absolute picture of a broken, desperate man. “If I messed up a contract, if I offended a VIP, just tell me! I’ll take any punishment you dish out. But please, don’t make jokes about Serena!” “If you don’t want to pay my bonus, keep it. I don’t want a dime. Just please don’t humiliate me like this.” “I have elderly parents to take care of, Mr. Blackwood! I can’t afford to lose this job!” Serena immediately seized the moment, her voice ringing out loud and clear. “Listen to that, Victor. Even your employees know more about loyalty and gratitude than you do. You’re afraid of paying them? Fine. Sign over your shares. I’ll pay them out of my own pocket. From this moment on, you don’t deserve to sit in the CEO’s chair.” She spun around to face the massive crowd of employees. “Listen to me, everyone! Whoever wants to follow me, stand on this side of the room. Your year-end bonuses? I’ll double them.” The banquet hall plunged into a deathly stillness. Then came the chaotic scraping of chairs. A few junior girls from the marketing department stood up first. The Director of Operations hesitated for a fraction of a second before kicking his chair back and walking over. Even Gary, the incredibly laid-back night security guard, let out a heavy sigh, unclipped his ID badge, and gently set it on his table before crossing the floor. The crowd slowly pooled behind Serena like a rising tide. I did the math in my head. Two-thirds of the company. The remaining third consisted of the core veterans from the tech and supply chain departments. I felt a flicker of genuine warmth knowing they were standing their ground for me. I looked down and let out a soft laugh. “Serena,” I said, casually brushing a speck of imaginary dust off my tailored suit cuff. “Are you seriously trying to stage a corporate coup right now?” A cold, calculating smirk touched the corners of her lips. “Victor, you’re a greedy, penny-pinching tyrant. You have zero appreciation for the blood and sweat these people pour into your company. All you want is to bleed them dry.” “You don’t deserve to be a leader.” Thunderous applause broke out from her side of the room the second she finished. “We stand with Serena!” I leveled a freezing glare at the traitors cheering behind her. “Do you honestly believe I’ve treated you poorly? Who do you think signed the checks for the bonuses you’re already holding?” “You’re going to bite the hand that feeds you for this woman?” Felix was still trembling on his knees. Serena reached down and gripped him firmly by the wrist. “Get up.” Her tone wasn’t loud, but it carried the manufactured authority of a queen holding court. “From today on, you work for me. I always keep my promises. The villa, the Porsche, the cash bonus… you’ll get every single penny.” Focus slowly returned to Felix’s terrified eyes. He stole a quick, calculating glance at me from the corner of his eye to make sure I wasn’t going to physically stop him. Then, using Serena’s grip for leverage, he straightened his spine inch by inch. The moment he was standing tall, it was as if Serena had injected him with pure adrenaline. His voice boomed loud enough to rattle the chandeliers. “Listen up, everyone! I’ve been at Blackwood Corp for five years. I went from a street-level cold-caller to a three-time champion. And I didn’t do it on luck. I did it because Serena gave me the resources. She had my back!” “Today, the boss treated his own wife like a carnival prize to make a fool out of me. I can take the hit. But you all saw it… even his wife can’t stomach his behavior anymore.” “Who in their right mind wants to keep working for a man who goes back on his word and uses his own family as bargaining chips?” He aggressively pointed a finger at me, leaning in so close I could smell the stale wine on his breath. “I’m putting it all on the line right now. Anyone who follows Serena, step over here. She’s signing the checks tonight, and they’re doubled. Anyone who stays behind with this cheapskate can stick around and see what kind of twisted lottery game he plays with your lives next year!” It was like he had tossed a live grenade into the crowd. The team leader of Sales Division Two slammed his wine glass onto the table, shattering it, and marched over. A young girl from accounting hugged her folders to her chest, jogged halfway across the room, then stopped to bow deeply to me before joining the defectors. Even the stoic manager of the supply chain sighed, his fingers lingering on his name tag before he finally pulled it off. Serena watched her new empire rapidly expand, her red lips curving upward like a drawn blade. She raised a hand, calling for silence. The applause, the footsteps, the nervous whispers were instantly snuffed out. “Victor…” She looked at me from a place of absolute, condescending superiority, staring down like I was an animal trapped in a snare. “Do you see it now? Once people lose faith in you, you can never buy it back.” I shrugged, not even bothering to offer a verbal response. Assuming she had won my submission, she pushed her advantage, stepping right up to the very edge of the stage. The harsh lighting stretched her shadow across the floor, making it look like a spear pointed directly at my throat. “I’m giving you two choices.” “Choice one. You hand over the company seals, the corporate legal documents, and the equity transfers. Right now. If I’m in a good mood, I might leave you five percent so you can at least afford a decent tie with your annual dividends.” “Choice two…” She paused, relishing her victory. “I call an emergency shareholder meeting tomorrow morning. I initiate a special resolution and strip you of your Chairman and CEO titles.” “Oh, and while we’re at it, sign the divorce papers. I’ll make sure it explicitly states that the husband committed major marital faults. Don’t worry, I won’t let you keep a single dime.” “So, Victor. Pick one.” Down in the crowd, her newly formed army chanted in perfect, deafening unison. “Step down! Step down! Step down!” The sound vibrated so hard the crystal fixtures above us shook. I looked down, slowly and methodically unfastening my cufflinks. When I looked back up, I raised a single finger, wagging it gently in her direction. “Serena, I think you’ve fundamentally misunderstood how this works.” My gaze drifted past her, past Felix’s smug face, past the sea of traitors chanting for my head. “I built this company from the ground up with my own two hands. I’m not begging anyone to stay. I’m the one who decides who gets to stay, and only those people get a slice of my pie.” Serena’s face twisted with disgust. “You’ve lost the entire room, Victor. Are you seriously still trying to act tough?” I didn’t answer her. Instead, I smiled, reaching into my suit pocket and pulling out a sleek black USB drive. “Ladies and gentlemen, weren’t you all dying to know why I decided to give my wife away to an employee?” I casually spun the flash drive between my fingers. “Everything will make perfect sense once you watch this.” “He’s bluffing!” Serena’s face darkened as she screamed at the crowd. “Victor, if you dare project whatever fake garbage you’ve doctored onto that screen, my legal team will sue you into oblivion for defamation and slander tomorrow morning. I will see you rot in a cell.” Her followers nodded in fierce agreement. Felix stepped up beside her, his eyes rimmed red, playing the part of the tragic victim pushed to the brink. “Don’t let him fool you with that flash drive, everyone!” He bowed deeply to the audience, then spun around to point at me, his voice choking with perfectly acted emotion. “Three years ago, I accompanied Mr. Blackwood to Miami to close a massive client. At eleven at night, he called me up to deliver an urgent contract to his penthouse suite. When the door opened, a woman walked out. And it wasn’t Serena. I was so terrified of what he would do to me that I bought a red-eye flight back that very night. The next day, he slashed my entire annual commission, claiming I had ‘mishandled client relations’.” “And that’s not all. Last September, I saw him with my own eyes making out with an Instagram model in the underground parking garage. I kept my mouth shut because I was terrified of retaliation. The man is willing to use his own wife as a lottery prize tonight! Is there anything he isn’t capable of?” The moment his speech ended, a hundred camera lenses zeroed in on my face. I looked down, smiling to myself as I re-buttoned my cuff. “Felix, it’s a genuine tragedy you aren’t writing screenplays in Hollywood. You have quite the imagination… It’s just a shame every word of it is garbage.” I held up the USB drive, pointing it toward the media console at the front of the stage. “Give me three minutes. I guarantee every single one of you will look at me very differently when it’s over.” “Don’t you dare!” Serena stomped her heel so hard it sounded like the stage floor cracked. “My grandfather is on his way right now! If you play that, you’re dead!” “Your grandfather?” I raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. “Didn’t you tell me the old man was resting at a clinic in the Swiss Alps until next week?” She choked on her words, her face flashing between sickly green and pale white. I sneered, turning my back to her and pressing the USB drive against the port. “Stop right there!” An old, raspy, yet overwhelmingly authoritative voice echoed from the fire exit at the very back of the hall. The crowd parted as if pushed aside by an invisible force, creating a perfectly straight path. Arthur Garrison. Sixty-eight years old. The absolute patriarch and founding pillar of the Garrison Group. He leaned heavily on a blackwood cane, dressed in a sharp, slate-grey tailored suit. I paused my hand and offered the old man a brief, respectful nod. “Arthur. You’re a bit early. We’re just getting to the climax of the show.” Serena looked like a drowning woman who had just been thrown a life raft. She rushed toward him, her voice melting into sickening sweetness. “Grandpa! Why are you here? Your health…” “If I didn’t come, you two would have burned the Garrison name to ash tonight!” The old man cut her off ruthlessly. But his eyes bypassed her entirely, locking directly onto me. Or more accurately, onto the flash drive in my hand. “Victor,” he said, his voice quiet but carrying the heavy grit of a man who had survived decades of corporate warfare. “Do me a personal favor. Don’t play it.” I smiled politely. “Arthur, I’m more than happy to give you the respect you deserve. But did either of them ever show me an ounce of respect?” “If you hit play right now, you are declaring war on the entire Garrison family.” “If the Garrison family is willing to be reasonable, I’ll gladly play nice.” I met his gaze dead on. The tension in the air was so thick it was hard to breathe. Suddenly, the old man handed his cane to his massive bodyguard. He raised his empty hands and clasped them together, bowing his head slightly toward me. It wasn’t a gesture from an elder to a junior. It was an equal-to-equal show of surrender. “Victor, I know exactly what is on that drive. Better than you do.” The entire room erupted into shocked whispers. Serena’s head whipped around, her eyes wide with terror. “Grandpa?” Arthur ignored his granddaughter, keeping his eyes fixed on me. “Give me ten minutes. I will tell everyone in this room the real story. When I’m done, if you still want to play the video… I will click the mouse myself.” He paused, his voice dropping into a register of old, unhealed grief. “Half the sins on that drive… belong to me.” I stayed silent for two long seconds. Then, I pulled the drive away from the port and slipped it into my pocket. “Fine. Ten minutes. But when the time is up, if anyone tries to stop me again, I’m burning this whole place to the ground.” I waved a hand at the tech booth, signaling the spotlight to shift onto the old patriarch. Arthur Garrison walked slowly to the center of the stage, taking the microphone. His shadow stretched long across the room, looking like a crumbling mountain. Serena tried to grab his arm to support him. He shoved her away. Felix opened his mouth to speak. Arthur silenced him with a single, lethal glare. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Arthur’s raspy voice boomed over the speakers. “Ten years ago, the Garrison Group’s supply chain collapsed. We were bankrupt. I was the one who practically gift-wrapped my own granddaughter and handed her to Victor Blackwood.” “Grandpa!” Serena cried out. He raised a hand, ordering her to shut up, and continued. “I told her to secure Victor’s affections by any means necessary, to get her hands on the capital we needed to survive. The money came through. Garrison Group lived. But from day one, this marriage was nothing but a transactional farce.” “I owe Victor. The Garrison family owes Victor. Tonight, he humiliated my granddaughter by offering her up as a prize. It’s a slap in the face to the Garrison name. It’s a slap to my face.” “But to be entirely honest, I threw my own dignity away ten years ago.” In the massive hall, even the clicking of smartphone cameras had stopped. I stood in the wings, my thumb running over the smooth metal casing of the USB drive. Suddenly, it felt incredibly heavy. When the old man finished speaking, he turned to face me. His eyes were like a stagnant pool of dead water. “Your ten minutes are up, Victor. The mouse is yours. Click it or don’t. It’s up to you.” “But remember one thing.” “If you tear her down tonight, you aren’t just destroying Serena. You’re destroying the very company you personally saved ten years ago.” I looked down. I pulled the drive from my pocket and jammed it securely into the media port. The tiny blue indicator light pulsed to life. I hovered my finger over the ‘Play’ icon. “Arthur, don’t blame me for not giving you face. Blame Serena for crossing the line.” “Victor!”

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The border conflict had been raging for two years. My husband, Colonel Dominic, had been missing in action for three months. Then, without any warning, he walked right through our front door. The moment I saw him, shock and overwhelming joy flooded my chest. I rushed into the kitchen to bring out a steaming bowl of his absolute favorite homemade beef stew. He sat at the dining table in complete silence for a long time. Suddenly, he looked up and spoke. “Candy, I need you to go out to the old oak tree and dig up that metal lockbox. I need what is inside.” My hand froze in midair. The spoon I was holding nearly clattered to the floor. There was no lockbox. Dominic and I had completely fabricated that story years ago just to coax our five year old son into going to sleep. It never existed. 1 I stared dead into the eyes of the man sitting across from me. It was a flawless replica. The deep set eyes, the sharp bridge of the nose, even the faint shrapnel scar grazing his left cheek. Everything was perfectly identical. “What metal box?” I forced my racing heart to slow down, squeezing out a natural looking smile. He wiped his mouth with a napkin. His eyes were perfectly calm, even tinged with a familiar warmth. “Did you forget? When Sam was five and throwing those night tantrums. We buried it under the tree together to calm him down.” Cold sweat instantly drenched the back of my shirt. Seven years ago, Dominic had just been promoted to major. Sam was going through a phase where he would cry all night. Dominic spun a tall tale, telling the boy that a magical metal box was buried beneath the old oak tree in our yard, guarding a very important secret. He said if Sam was a good boy and went to sleep, the box would magically produce endless candies. Sam bought it and went right to bed. The next morning, we took out some sweets we had hidden in the cupboards and claimed the box had conjured them as a reward. But we never actually buried anything. Besides Dominic and me, absolutely no one knew about this. Even Sam had long forgotten the childish fantasy. There was never a third person in on the secret. Who in the hell was this man wearing my husband’s face? “Right, look at my terrible memory.” I lowered my head, taking a bite of food to hide the absolute ice forming in my eyes. “It is pitch black out there. I will go dig it up for you first thing in the morning.” “Let us do it tonight.” His voice dropped half an octave. “You are in that much of a rush?” I asked. “The military needs it immediately.” He locked eyes with me, his gaze dark and bottomless. “It concerns highly classified frontline intelligence. We cannot afford to wait a single minute.” I met his stare, my palms slick with sweat. “Alright. Finish your food and I will grab the shovel.” He nodded in satisfaction and picked up his bowl to finish the stew. I stood up and walked toward the back room. The second I turned my back to him, my expression hardened into stone. If this man was not Dominic, then where was my real husband? Three months ago, the Defense Department sent an officer to my door. They told me Dominic went missing during a classified black ops reconnaissance mission. No body was ever recovered. I had washed my face with tears every single day since, truly believing he was gone forever. And now, a counterfeit was sitting at my dining table wearing his skin, demanding a fabricated metal box containing “classified intelligence.” There was only one logical conclusion. Dominic had been captured. He had endured horrific torture. Enemy operatives had broken him down, demanding the location of vital military secrets. He must have held out as long as he could before feeding them this exact lie about the old oak tree, sending them directly into a trap. I just did not know if he was still breathing. The thought of the agony he must have suffered made my chest ache violently. I took a deep breath, stepping into the back room and forcing myself to remain collected. “The water is hot. Do you want to wash your face first?” I called out, feigning casual domesticity. “Sure.” He stood up and walked over to the washbasin. I handed him a towel. He took it and instinctively pinched the back of his own neck to stretch his muscles. My pupils constricted. Even the way his ring finger slightly curled outward when he rubbed his neck was an exact, chilling replica of my husband’s habit. He shrugged off his worn military jacket, revealing the thin white undershirt beneath. Through the sheer fabric, I could clearly see the nasty, coin sized exit wound scar on his left shoulder. I could even see the jagged red burn mark on his ribs, right where Dominic had spilled boiling water years ago. The disguise was terrifyingly flawless. If he had not mentioned that imaginary lockbox, I never would have suspected a thing. How much time, money, and surgical precision had the enemy poured into crafting this perfect clone? They were truly desperate for whatever intelligence Dominic was guarding. 2 “Why are you staring at me like that?” He finished drying his face and turned to me with a half smile. “Just looking at how much weight you lost.” I let my eyes redden. My voice choked up naturally, the tears coming on command. “It is rough out there on the frontlines.” He walked toward me, reaching out to pull me into a hug. I subtly took a half step backward. “We should really wait until tomorrow to dig that up.” His outstretched arms froze midair. “Candy. You are not listening to me.” He stared me down, his voice completely void of warmth. I forced myself to hold his gaze. I pulled a heavy black metal flashlight from my pocket and flicked the switch. Nothing happened. “The flashlight is busted. Bulb must have burned out.” I shook the heavy metal casing, keeping my voice perfectly even. “It is too dark out by the oak tree. I will not be able to see a thing.” He took a step closer, crowding my space. “Do we not have a kerosene lantern?” “Wind is too strong tonight. It will not stay lit.” I stared right back into his suffocating glare. “Why are you acting so frantic? The thing is buried in our own backyard. It is not going to grow legs and run away.” “Fine.” He suddenly smiled, though the warmth never reached his eyes. “We will dig it up in the daylight.” I let out a breath I had been holding, but the cold sweat had already glued my shirt to my spine. I needed to find a way out of this house to alert the authorities. But nearly every able bodied man in the county was deployed. The only two armed reserve deputies stationed in our rural town had been sent to the city to escort supply trucks. They were not scheduled to return until the day after tomorrow. What the hell was I supposed to do against a highly trained enemy operative? My biggest fear was that he would lose his patience in the middle of the night and simply slit my throat. I was not afraid to die. But our twelve year old son, Sam, was coming home from boarding school tomorrow afternoon. I had to protect my boy. “What are you thinking about? You are spacing out.” He suddenly spoke, shattering my train of thought. “Nothing at all.” I turned around to clear the dishes. “Where is Sam?” He sat heavily on the wooden dining chair, asking the question far too casually. My heart skipped a beat. “He is at his boarding school. He comes home tomorrow afternoon.” I tried my hardest to keep my voice flat and unremarkable. “Perfect.” He tapped his fingers rhythmically against the wooden table. “We can dig up the box tomorrow morning and have a proper family reunion.” A violent shudder ripped through me. I realized right then that if I failed to produce that box tomorrow, I was not the only one who was going to die. Sam would be murdered right alongside me. After washing up, he sprawled out arrogantly on the bed in the guest room. He patted the mattress next to him. “Come to bed.” He looked at me with a predatory smirk. I tightened my grip on the sewing scissors hidden up my sleeve. “It is my time of the month. I am a mess, and I do not want to ruin the sheets.” I kept my tone icy. “Plus, your shoulder is injured. I toss and turn in my sleep. I do not want to hurt you.” He narrowed his eyes, openly analyzing me. “Candy. It feels like you are avoiding me.” I squeezed the cold steel hidden in my sleeve until my knuckles ached, but managed to force a bitter, miserable smile onto my face. “Avoiding you?” I grabbed a blanket and pulled it over my lap. “You vanish for two years without a single letter. I have been raising our son alone, living like a widow, dealing with all the vicious gossip in this town. And now you just waltz back in. You do not ask how we survived, you do not care about the hell I have been through. All you care about is some stupid metal box!” A tear dropped perfectly onto the back of my hand. He blinked, taken aback. A fraction of the suspicion bled out of his eyes. “I was just anxious, that is all.” His voice softened into a practiced apology. “Get some sleep. We will take care of it first thing in the morning.” I kept my eyes open until the sun came up. 3 The sky was just beginning to turn grey. The rooster in the neighbor’s yard had just started to crow. He abruptly rolled out of bed, his eyes sharp as daggers. “Sun is up. Let us go get the shovel.” My palms were drenched. I frantically racked my brain for another excuse to stall him. Loud, aggressive pounding suddenly rattled our front door. “Candy! Is it true? Did Dominic really make it back alive?” It was the booming voice of Mrs. Higgins from next door. A massive wave of relief crashed over me. I practically ran to the front door and threw it open like it was a life raft. A massive crowd was gathered outside. Half the town had shown up. A dozen men and women were crowded on my porch, holding fresh eggs, homemade pies, and two massive clay jugs of high proof moonshine. “Dominic is a goddamn local hero! Thank the Lord he made it back in one piece!” The crowd surged into the living room, instantly swarming the imposter. A violent twitch rippled near the corner of his eye. But a second later, he plastered on a flawless, humble smile, shaking hands and greeting the locals. When Mrs. Higgins patted his scarred shoulder and started crying, he comforted her with the exact words my husband would use. This operative had been trained in psychological manipulation. It was terrifying to watch. Seeing my opening, I quickly dragged the large wooden table into the center of the room and set out a dozen heavy ceramic mugs. “Surviving the war calls for a celebration! Nobody is leaving today! We are drinking to Dominic’s safe return!” I cracked the wax seal on the moonshine. The harsh, eye watering smell of cheap, raw alcohol instantly filled the room. It was one hundred and thirty proof homemade liquor. Three glasses of this stuff could knock out a full grown horse. “Dominic, these good people came all this way to see you. You have to give them a proper toast.” I poured a mug to the brim and shoved it right into his chest. He stared down at the alcohol, a flicker of pure malice flashing in his eyes. “Candy, I am still recovering from my injuries. Plus… we still have that chore out by the oak tree.” He lowered his voice so only I could hear. I immediately raised my volume. “Oh come on! What chore is more important than drinking with the folks who kept this town running while you were gone? You are going to break their hearts!” The local men immediately started jeering and cheering. “Yeah! Come on Dominic, do not act like you are too good for us country folks now!” “Drink! Drink! Drink!” Trapped under the eager stares of a dozen locals, he had absolutely no way out. He gritted his teeth, took the heavy mug, and downed it in one long gulp. The harsh liquor instantly flushed his face with an unnatural, burning red. Just then, a voice called out from the front yard. “Mom! I am home!” My heart stopped beating entirely. The crowd parted. A twelve year old boy in a faded school uniform stood in the doorway, a heavy canvas backpack slung over his shoulder. Sam. It had been two years. Ever since Dominic deployed, we sent Sam to the boarding school in the county capital. The boy had not seen his father in twenty four months. Sam stared blankly at the man sitting at the table. The spy froze for a fraction of a second before his training kicked in. His eyes lit up. He threw his arms wide open, his voice thick with fake emotion. “Sam? Look how big you have gotten! Come here and give your old man a hug!” Sam did not move an inch. He stared intently at the face that perfectly matched his memories. He furrowed his brows, then shifted his gaze directly to me. I gripped my apron, looking at the child I carried for nine months with eyes full of absolute, silent pleading. Maybe it was a mother’s intuition connecting with her son. Sam’s furrowed brow suddenly relaxed into a bright grin. He dropped his backpack, marched straight up to the table, and grabbed the second mug of freshly poured moonshine. “Dad! I missed you every single day you were gone!” Sam raised the heavy mug with both hands, his voice ringing loud and clear. “You made it back alive today. I am giving you this toast on behalf of Mom! If you do not drink this, you do not love me!” A flash of extreme, violent irritation crossed the spy’s eyes. But he could not blow his cover in front of the whole town. He took the mug with a forced, painful smile. “Good boy. I will drink to that.” He swallowed it down. Then came the third mug. Then the fourth. The local men took turns stepping up, and Sam stood right beside him, sweetly calling him ‘Dad’ while pouring pure poison down his throat. The operative’s eyes finally began to glass over. He stumbled to his feet, trying to shove his way toward the backyard and the old oak tree. “Candy… the box… go get it…” he slurred, blindly swiping at the air. “Drink up, Dad! One more for the road!” Sam grabbed the man by the shoulder, using his leverage to force another half mug of burning liquor straight into his mouth. The spy coughed violently, staggering backward. Finally. He collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, his upper body crashing heavily onto the wooden table. He did not move another muscle. The living room was still loud and chaotic, but to me, the entire world went completely silent. I stared at his slumped back. I reached out and gave his shoulder a hard shove. Dead to the world. The cold sweat on my back had completely dried, leaving me freezing in my own clothes. Sam walked around the table, stepping close to me and gently tugging on the hem of my shirt. “Mom,” the twelve year old whispered, his eyes suddenly cold and sharp. “Dad swore off alcohol two years ago right before he deployed. The town does not know, but he made a promise to me.” A violent shudder ran through my entire body. I grabbed my son’s hand and squeezed it tight. The tears I had been faking earlier were replaced by real, burning emotion. He was unconscious. It was time for us to strike back.

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For the first three years of our marriage, my husband suddenly developed a profound interest in playing mahjong with his boss’s daughter. Whenever I confronted him about it, his defense was always the exact same script. “You’re an orphan. You don’t have a family to back me up, no connections, nothing. You can’t help me with my career at all.” He would follow it up with, “I’m playing cards to keep my boss happy. Isn’t that for the good of our family?” Then, after delivering those crushing blows, he would wrap his arms around me and sigh, playing the victim. “If you ever left me, you would truly be all alone in this world. Because honestly… who else would ever want you?” Eventually, I stopped arguing. I started pulling all-nighters, staying out late, and refusing to come home, telling him I was out playing mahjong too. At first, he thought I was just throwing a childish tantrum, waiting for me to break and come crawling back. Until one morning, we ran into each other at the front door—both of us returning from a night out. Panic finally set in. He begged me to stop leaving, promising he would stay home and keep me company every single night. Instead, I looked him in the eye and demanded a divorce. Because at the mahjong table, I hadn’t been wasting my time. I had found my biological father. He was a billionaire. And for the first time in my life, I finally had a real family. 1. It was past International Women’s Day. At 1:00 AM, I was sitting alone in the dark living room, staring blankly at the framed wedding photo on the wall. Gary still wasn’t home. Every year on this day, he used to buy me a bouquet and take me out to a nice dinner. This year? He wasn’t answering my texts, and my calls went straight to voicemail. I scrolled mindlessly through Instagram. My thumb suddenly stopped. Garyia Schwimmer, the daughter of Gary’s department director, had just posted a new story: “Luck is on my side tonight! Thanks for feeding me the winning tiles, Gary~” The photo was a selfie taken at a luxury mahjong table. Gary’s arm was draped casually over the back of her chair. Garyia was smiling so hard her eyes were practically squeezed shut. Someone had commented, “The chemistry between you two is insane.” Garyia replied with a blushing emoji. I locked my phone, tossed it face down onto the couch, and didn’t look at it again. At 6:00 AM, I heard the deadbolt click. Gary walked in reeking of cheap cigarettes and stale whiskey. The top three buttons of his dress shirt were undone, and his hair was a mess. I stood up from the couch. “You stayed up all night playing cards with her again?” He kicked off his shoes, not even bothering to look up at me. “Yeah.” “You’re spending seven nights a week playing games with another woman. Do you think that’s normal?” He finally lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot and filled with absolute irritation. “Whether it’s normal or not is none of your business. Do you know who her father is? My next promotion completely depends on him liking me!” My throat tightened. I couldn’t speak. Seeing my reaction, he walked over. His tone suddenly shifted, softening as he draped a heavy arm over my shoulders. “Aria, I know you feel neglected. But look at it logically. You grew up in an orphanage. You don’t have a family, you don’t have a dime to your name. You’re lucky I even married you.” “If you left me, who else would ever want you?” He had been repeating that exact phrase for a solid year. Every single argument we ever had ended with those exact words. It was like a dull, rusted knife sawing back and forth over the exact same wound. I didn’t say a word. Assuming I had surrendered like always, Gary kissed my forehead. “I’m taking a shower and going to bed. I’m exhausted.” I stood frozen in the middle of the living room, listening to the water running in the master bath. My mind drifted back to five years ago. We were still in college. He pursued me relentlessly. When I told him I grew up in the foster system and aged out of an orphanage, his eyes welled up with tears. He promised me he would give me a real home. During our senior year, he got down on one knee in front of my dorm building and proposed. He told me he had secured a great corporate job. He promised he would bring in ten grand a month, and that I’d get six thousand of it as my personal allowance. He told me I would never have to work a day in my life. I could just stay home and be happy. From the day I was old enough to work, I had been constantly hustling. Waiting tables, handing out flyers, working multiple shifts just to survive. He was the first person in my entire life who looked at me and said, “You don’t have to work anymore. I’ll take care of you.” So, I said yes. For the first two years of our marriage, he really was wonderful. Flowers on every holiday, dates every weekend. But during our third year, Garyia Schwimmer returned from a study abroad program. During a corporate dinner, Garyia tagged along. She wanted to play mahjong, and they needed a fourth player. Gary happily volunteered. The very next day, his salary—which had been stagnant for two years—was miraculously increased. From that day forward, whenever Garyia called for a game, Gary was at her beck and call. It started with Sunday afternoons. Then weeknights. Then all-nighters. I spent more and more nights sleeping alone in an empty house. At first, I fought him. I screamed and cried. But he always weaponized the same twisted logic to shut me down: “You can’t help my career. Is it a crime that I’m trying to climb the ladder myself?” “If you leave me, how are you going to survive?” “Who else is going to want you?” I walked into the guest bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. The reflection in the mirror made my stomach drop. My hair was greasy and flat. My skin was a sickly, sallow yellow. My eyes were puffy, with dark, heavy bags dragging down my face. Three years ago, I was known as one of the prettiest girls in my graduating class. Gary wasn’t the only guy begging to date me. And now? I stared blankly at the hollowed-out woman in the glass. My eyes suddenly began to burn. Is this what I had let myself become in just three years? I was Aria Sterling. I survived the orphanage, paid my own way through college, and made it to twenty-four without relying on a single soul. How did getting married turn me into such a pathetic, helpless loser? 2. The next day, Garyia set up another game. Shockingly, Gary insisted on bringing me along. “I’m taking you so you can see that our relationship is completely professional. I want you to stop making up paranoid fantasies in your head.” He said the words confidently, but his eyes briefly darted away from mine. I didn’t argue. I actually put effort into my appearance that day. I wore a nice dress, tied my hair up neatly, and put on some light makeup. He drove us to an incredibly exclusive, private mahjong parlor. The decor was dripping in luxury. The second we walked in, I heard the crisp clatter of the tiles. Garyia was sitting at the head of the table. When she saw me, her eyes curved into a condescending crescent moon. “Oh wow, the wife actually showed up?” Gary chuckled nervously. “I brought her out to see the real world.” Garyia casually gestured to an empty chair. “Does the missus know how to play?” I shook my head. She let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Makes sense. Growing up in an orphanage, it’s not exactly a high-society hobby, right?” The other two players at the table suddenly found their phones incredibly interesting, refusing to make eye contact. Gary actually laughed along with her. “She had a rough childhood. She doesn’t understand this kind of culture.” My fingernails dug so hard into my palms they almost drew blood. I kept my mouth shut. The game started. I sat next to Gary, watching in silence. Halfway through the night, Garyia hit a losing streak. Her face grew visibly darker with every hand. She looked up, glaring directly at me. “Ugh. Having some people sitting right across from me is completely ruining my luck.” Gary immediately panicked. “Aria, go sit somewhere else.” He pointed to a plush sofa in the far corner of the room, leaning in to whisper urgently. “Aria, please. Just go sit over there and relax for a bit.” I gave him a long, dead look. Then I stood up and walked over to the corner couch. They resumed their game, laughing and joking as if I wasn’t even there. Every time Garyia lost a hand, she would playfully lean her weight against Gary’s shoulder. He never once pulled away. I sat in the dark corner, watching them. They finally called it quits at 1:00 AM. Garyia stood up, naturally hooking her arm through Gary’s. “Gary, drive me home? The streetlights in my neighborhood are out, and it’s too dark.” Gary glanced back at me. “Order an Uber and go home.” Without another word, the two of them walked out the door together. I stood alone on the curb outside the club, waiting for my ride. The night breeze cut right through me, and I pulled my jacket tighter. My phone buzzed. Garyia had posted a new story: “Thanks to my exclusive chauffeur~” The photo was a selfie taken in the passenger seat of Gary’s car. She was making a cute pouty face at the camera, and Gary’s profile was clearly visible in the rearview mirror. I didn’t sleep at all that night. I opened the photo gallery on my phone and stared at our wedding photos for a very long time. Then, I opened the camera app and took a selfie right there in the dark. I put the two images side by side. One was me three years ago, glowing in a white dress, my eyes full of life and hope. The other was me now. Wearing a cheap, pilled sweater, looking like a dead, dried-up flower that had all the moisture sucked out of it. I asked myself… is this really the comfortable life I had signed up for? Sitting alone every night, waiting for him to come home so we could scream at each other. After the fight, he would sleep like a baby while I laid awake staring at the ceiling. The next day, he went to work, and I sat alone in an empty house. A vicious, unending cycle that had lasted an entire year. My body, my emotions, my absolute core—none of it was being nurtured. I was rotting away. Once the realization fully hit me, I picked up my phone and bought a premium gym membership. I booked a personal trainer, committing to five days a week. I scheduled a manicure, eyelash extensions, and finally chopped off the long, dead hair I had been growing out for three years, styling it into a chic, bouncy bob. The woman in the mirror was slowly starting to look human again. Then, I opened a local social forum and posted a thread: “Looking for girlfriends to teach me how to play mahjong. Located in the city center. I have plenty of time and money. Once I learn the rules, I’ll gladly pay to play~” I hit post and tossed my phone onto the bed. For the first time in years, I genuinely felt like tomorrow might actually be interesting. 3. I got a direct message the very next morning. “Hey girl! I’m a regular at this super high-end private parlor by the river. The vibe is amazing. I can teach you the ropes if you’re down?” “I’m down,” I replied. We agreed on a time and place. I arrived early. It was a gorgeous, exclusive club right on the waterfront, the parking lot packed with luxury imported cars. I walked up to the front desk and paid for a private room. Just as I got the key, my phone buzzed. The girl texted me saying something came up and she had to cancel. I felt incredibly awkward as I walked back to the receptionist to ask for a refund. “No problem at all, miss. We hope to see you next time,” the receptionist smiled professionally. I turned around, ready to walk out the front doors. “We’re short one player. Do you know how to play?” I stopped and looked over my shoulder. It was a middle-aged man, probably in his early fifties. He was dressed in casual designer clothes, but he carried an aura of quiet, immense authority. He clearly wasn’t an average guy off the street. I shook my head. “No, I don’t. I came here today to find someone to teach me, but I just got stood up.” He offered a warm, genuine smile. “Perfect timing. I’ll teach you.” I immediately took a half-step back, my guard shooting up. A strange, wealthy older man randomly offering to teach a young woman how to gamble in a private room? Red flags everywhere. He immediately sensed my hesitation and gestured toward the open door of a nearby VIP suite. “My son and daughter-in-law are in there waiting for me. We won’t be alone. You don’t have to worry.” I still didn’t move. He fell silent for two seconds, his expression softening into something incredibly vulnerable. “To be completely honest with you… you look exactly like my daughter.” I frowned. He kept speaking, his voice quiet. “My daughter passed away the day she was born. When I saw you standing at the desk just now, I actually froze. I apologize if I’m being forward. If you aren’t comfortable, just pretend I never asked.” I looked at him closely. There wasn’t a single trace of malice or creepiness in his face. He just looked… sad. I thought about it for a second. It was broad daylight, the club was packed with staff, and there were security cameras everywhere. Why not? I followed him into the VIP suite. There were indeed two other people waiting. A young man, roughly my age, with sharp features that strongly resembled the older gentleman. Sitting next to him was a stunningly elegant young woman, clearly the daughter-in-law. The second I walked through the door, the young woman gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. Her eyes went wide as saucers as she stared at me. The young man froze entirely, staring at my face in complete, stunned silence. The older man cleared his throat, taking control of the room. “Don’t be nervous, this is my family. This is my son, Julian. And his wife, Clara.” He turned to me with a kind smile. “My name is Wayne Schwimmer. What should we call you, young lady?” I offered a polite nod. “Aria Sterling.” Clara was still staring at me. Her lips parted slightly, and her eyes suddenly welled up with tears, but she quickly looked down at her lap to hide it. Julian also broke eye contact, staying entirely silent. Wayne acted as if he hadn’t noticed their bizarre reactions, warmly gesturing to the empty chair. “Come, sit. We needed a fourth anyway.” As I sat down, Clara kept glancing at me, her eyes still rimmed red. I offered an awkward, apologetic smile. “Is something wrong?” She quickly shook her head. “No, nothing! It’s just… you look exactly like…” “Don’t overwhelm the poor girl,” Wayne interrupted smoothly. “Come on, let’s show her the ropes.” They were incredibly patient. They actually spent the next few hours teaching me the game. How to draw, how to call, how to meld tiles, and how to calculate the scoring. Clara had the patience of a saint. Even when I kept forgetting the basic rules, she explained them over and over again without a hint of frustration. Julian didn’t say much, but every time I was about to discard the wrong tile, he would gently tap the table and explain the strategy behind keeping it. Wayne barely looked at his own tiles. He spent the entire game watching my face, as if he were searching for something specific. As we played, we kept up casual conversation. They asked where I was from. I told them I grew up here in the city. They asked what I did for a living. I told them I was a stay-at-home wife. They asked my age. I said I was twenty-six. When they asked about my parents, I told them I was an orphan. Wayne’s hand stopped mid-air over the table. Clara shot him a loaded look, but didn’t say a word. I tried to flip the script. “What about you guys?” “Small business owners,” Wayne smiled warmly. “Construction and engineering,” Julian added smoothly. We played until 10:00 PM. I finally checked the time and said I needed to head home. “Will you come back and play with us again?” Wayne asked, his voice entirely sincere. I thought about it for a second. “I will.” As I was leaving, Clara walked me to the lobby. Right before we parted ways, she suddenly grabbed my hand. I froze, caught off guard. Her eyes were red again. “Aria… please. Please come back and see us.” I was a little bewildered, but I nodded and gave her a reassuring smile. I walked out of the lobby and headed toward the elevators. As I passed by a VIP suite with its door cracked open, I subconsciously glanced inside. I stopped dead in my tracks. Gary was sitting at the table. Garyia was leaning heavily against his shoulder, giggling as she fed him a slice of fruit off a silver platter. I didn’t stop walking. I didn’t turn back. A month ago, seeing that would have broken me. I would have run to the bathroom and cried until I threw up. Tonight? I didn’t feel a damn thing. 4. Gary finally noticed the shift in my behavior. I started leaving the house before he woke up and coming back long after he was asleep. Whenever he was home, I was out. He asked where I was going. I told him I was out playing mahjong. He asked who I was playing with. I told him I had new friends. His face instantly darkened. The breaking point hit one morning when we literally ran into each other at the front door. We had both been out all night. He blocked the entryway, his face twisted with pure, irrational anger. “Starting today, you are not allowed to leave this house.” I stared blankly at him. “Excuse me? On what authority?” He pulled out his phone and shoved his banking app in my face. “I’ve cut off your monthly allowance. I’m not transferring another dime. You’re going to sit in this house and rot. You aren’t going anywhere.” I blinked, genuinely stunned. It was true that he gave me six grand a month. I had managed to put a little bit away in savings over the years, but I absolutely relied on that money to survive. He let out a cold, venomous laugh. “Aria, do you think I’m an idiot? You’ve been acting completely insane lately. Are you sleeping with someone else?” I looked at the man I married, and suddenly, I found the entire situation absolutely hilarious. “Gary, when you started staying out all night playing cards, I asked you that exact same question. And you told me I was a paranoid, hysterical bitch.” He choked on his words, his face flushing red. I stepped closer, my voice completely dead. “I go out to play mahjong. I’m not sleeping around. Can you look me in the eye and say the same?” “My situation is entirely different!” he spat defensively. “I’m doing it for my career! I’m networking!” I didn’t waste another breath on him. I stayed home that night, but I didn’t sleep a wink. My mind was finally, crystal clear. This man was entirely worthless. When he proposed, he promised he would take care of me. He promised he would give me a safe, loving home. I bought every single lie. And now? He cuts off my money to starve me out, treating me like a prisoner in my own home, demanding absolute obedience. Who did he think he was? Was I a stray dog he had adopted? Was I a pet he could lock in a cage when he got bored of me? I needed a divorce. The next morning, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Clara: “Hey Aria, are you free today? My father-in-law said he wants to teach you some advanced strategies.” I stared at the message, hesitating for a long moment. Fine. I’ll go. One last time. Once I filed the divorce papers, I was going to have to work three jobs just to keep a roof over my head. I wouldn’t have the luxury of playing mahjong ever again. I arrived at the club and walked up to our usual VIP suite. I pushed the heavy mahogany door open, and instantly froze in my tracks.

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1 The blood feud between the Monroe family and the Norton family had raged for generations. My father was killed by a conspiracy orchestrated by the Monroes, and Peter Monroe’s father was murdered by my uncle. We were born into a legacy of violence. Our families were sworn, mortal enemies. But absolutely no one knew that for the past eight years, Peter and I had been secret lovers in this very cabin. When we were intimate, he would wrap his hands around my throat and squeeze tight. I would bite down hard on his shoulder. We wouldn’t stop until the heavy, metallic taste of blood filled our mouths. He would lean in close to my ear and aggressively whisper that he truly wanted to kill me. I would whisper back that we should just die together. That even if we went to hell, we wouldn’t let each other go. I used to be incredibly naive. I actually believed that our love could wash away the hatred, that it could conquer the impossible circumstances of our reality. But today, everything changed. Peter walked into our cabin with his arm wrapped tightly around a strange girl. He looked me dead in the eye and introduced her as Chloe. And then he told me that she was his future wife. … I paused my hand mid-stroke as I cleaned my handgun. I didn’t stand up. Peter guided the girl to the sofa directly across from me and sat down. The girl kept her hands tightly clenched around the cuff of his suit jacket. Her wrists were incredibly thin, pale, and delicate. Completely soft. A stark contrast to my own hands, which were covered in callouses and old, jagged scars. I looked up. Click. I flicked the safety back on and set the heavy black pistol onto the coffee table. “Peter. Did you ask my permission before bringing trash into my house?” Chloe’s face instantly went chalk white. She shrank back, pressing herself deep into Peter’s chest. Her voice trembled, sounding incredibly pitiful and wronged. “Peter, let’s just go. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have insisted on coming…” “What are you afraid of?” Peter looked down at her. His eyes held a terrifyingly soft warmth that I had never seen in our eight years together. But when he looked back up at me, that warmth instantly shattered into razor-sharp ice. “I own half this property. If you can sit here, so can she.” He reached out, gently pinching the girl’s chin, and tilted her head up. Right in front of my face, he kissed her. Chloe offered a weak, symbolic push against his chest before completely giving in. As she closed her eyes, I caught the smug, victorious glance she shot me from the corner of her eye. I sat perfectly still, my fingers crushing the gun-cleaning cloth in my lap. The slick, dark gun oil seeped through the fabric and coated my skin, making my stomach churn with disgust. When they finally broke the kiss, Peter gently wiped the corner of Chloe’s mouth with his thumb. “Chloe is clean. She’s gentle. She’s never had blood on her hands, and she hasn’t taken any lives. Not like you. You reek of violence. You look like a vengeful ghost.” “Aria, a man doesn’t want a partner who swings a machete next to him in a turf war. A man wants a woman who can speak softly, who acts cute, and who can stay safely at home.” “And that is something you will never be able to learn.” “Is that right?” I laughed. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, staring him down across the coffee table. “Eight years. It took you eight years to figure out what kind of person I am?” “I knew from the start.” Peter’s Adam’s apple bobbed. His gaze drifted back down to Chloe. “I was just blind before. But now, I finally understand what I actually want.” He stood up, wrapping his arm around Chloe to guide her out. As they walked past my chair, her sharp stiletto heel deliberately stepped on the gun cloth I had dropped on the floor, grinding it viciously into the hardwood. The absolute second the front door clicked shut, I stood up and violently kicked the coffee table. It flipped through the air and crashed. The whiskey bottle, the crystal glasses, everything shattered into a million jagged pieces. For the next two weeks, Chloe’s presence became a suffocating shadow over my life. She showed up at the exclusive club where I was hosting a major business negotiation. She “accidentally” bumped into me while holding a glass of red wine. The dark liquid soaked my silk blouse. Before I could even react, her eyes welled up with tears and she threw herself into Peter’s arms. I was furious and tried to confront her. But Peter stepped in, shielding her behind his back in front of all my business partners. He stared me down, his face a mask of absolute coldness, and delivered a ruthless threat. “Aria, if you touch a single hair on her head, I will personally destroy your primary supply line.” I looked at him, smiled coldly, and didn’t say a single word. The very next day, he made good on his threat. He brought his men and intercepted my shipment. Three tons of product. He didn’t leave me a single scrap. She printed out dozens of intimate photos of her and Peter and mailed them to every single department in my corporation. She sent me text messages in the middle of the night, attaching pictures of Peter sleeping next to her. The background of the photos was the silk sheets we had picked out together. The lighting was from the Nordic chandelier we had installed together. I never replied. I just ordered my men to dig up every single detail of her past. 2 An orphan. No parents. No family. Peter supposedly picked her up while she was working as a bottle girl at a local dive bar. She was as clean as a blank sheet of paper. And she was as fake as one, too. My lieutenant asked if I wanted him to make her disappear. I didn’t answer right away. I lit a cigarette, took a drag, and slowly exhaled the smoke. “No rush. If you want to know what the enemy is plotting, you have to let the prey strike first. Then, you kill them with one blow.” To her, my silence was proof of weakness and surrender. She didn’t disappoint me. A few days later, she ambushed me right in the lobby of my corporate headquarters. In front of dozens of my employees, she placed a protective hand over her flat stomach. Her eyes were bright red as she bowed deeply to me. “Miss Norton, I’m begging you, please let me go! I’m pregnant with Peter’s child. I just want to live a quiet life and have my baby.” “Please, I’m begging you! The baby is innocent! Don’t hurt him! This is Peter’s only bloodline!” The lobby immediately erupted into shocked, furious whispers. My fingernails dug violently into my palms, but I didn’t lose my temper in public. Instead, I leaned down and gently patted her on the shoulder. “Chloe. If you want to play a game, I will play with you until the bitter end. Just don’t regret it.” That exact night, I had her dragged to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. She was thrown onto the concrete floor. Tears streamed down her face like a broken necklace. “Miss Norton, I’m sorry! I was wrong! I’ll never do it again, please let me go!” I squatted down in front of her, casually flipping open a tactical folding knife. The sharp, metallic click echoed in the massive room. The cold steel caught the dim light, reflecting onto her terrified face. “Your mistake wasn’t messing with me. Your mistake was taking something that didn’t belong to you and parading it around like a trophy.” I raised my hand and slapped her across the face with everything I had. Her head whipped to the side. She was completely stunned, clutching her cheek as she stared at me in absolute disbelief. “That was for the rules. Don’t touch my man.” My hand came down a second time. Blood instantly welled up in the corner of her mouth. “That was for basic human decency. Never mistake someone’s tolerance as permission to act like a bitch.” I didn’t stop. Again. And again. The sharp cracks of my palm hitting her face echoed rhythmically. I counted every single one. At first, she tried to act tough and begged for mercy. Then, she started screaming Peter’s name at the top of her lungs. By the end, she couldn’t even make a sound. Blood dripped heavily from her chin onto the concrete. When I hit one hundred, I finally stopped. I grabbed the collar of her shirt, wiped the blood off my knuckles, and stood up, looking down at the broken mess on the floor. “Those hundred slaps were to jog your memory. If you cross me again, I won’t be taking your face. I’ll be taking your life.” It was just beginning to get light out when I finally pulled up to the estate. The moment I pushed the heavy oak doors open, the suffocating stench of stale cigarette smoke hit my face. Peter was sitting on the sofa in the dark. Dozens of crushed cigarette butts were scattered around his boots. Before I could even open my mouth, he stood up and closed the distance between us in three massive strides. He violently grabbed my jaw, his fingers digging into my cheeks, his teeth gritted in pure, homicidal rage. “Aria. You actually dared to touch her.” I looked up, staring dead into his eyes. My jaw was throbbing in agony, but I smiled. “I touched her. So what? If she has the guts to get in my face, she better have the guts to take a beating.” He raised his hand and struck me across the face with terrifying force. My head snapped to the side. The skin of my lip split open, and the heavy, metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. I slowly turned my head back, looking him right in the eye. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t show a single ounce of weakness. “You brought this on yourself, Aria.” “She took a hundred hits. You’re going to take two hundred.” “Try me.” I opened my mouth to shout for my guards outside. But Peter was faster. He kept his brutal grip on my jaw and violently twisted his wrist. My jaw loudly dislocated, instantly locking into a sickening, crooked angle. Immediately, the lieutenant he had brought with him rushed forward, expertly pinning both of my arms behind my back. The second slap landed. The entire right side of my face instantly went numb. He didn’t stop. Again. And again. The heavy, brutal blows rained down on my face, alternating left and right. I didn’t try to dodge. I didn’t beg for mercy. I didn’t even try to take a step back. I stood perfectly rigid, keeping my eyes locked dead onto his face. By the time he hit fifty, my vision started to swim with black spots. A high-pitched ringing echoed in my ears. The blood pooled heavily in my mouth, spilling over my lips. A thick drop of my blood splashed onto the back of his hand. It was so hot that he actually flinched and pulled his hand back. 3 Seeing his boss hesitate, the lieutenant’s grip on my arms loosened slightly. I immediately seized the opening. I twisted my body, driving my elbow brutally into the lieutenant’s temple, knocking him out cold. I reached up, grabbed my own jaw, and violently snapped it back into place. I spat a mouthful of bloody saliva onto his expensive shoes and smiled at him. “What’s wrong?” “Hand getting tired? Didn’t eat breakfast?” He ground his teeth together, raised his hand, and delivered another brutal slap. This one hit harder than all the rest combined. Two hundred times. Not one more, not one less. When the final blow landed, he violently yanked his hand back and turned his back to me. I could hear the knuckles in his hand popping as he clenched his fists. I had to grab the wall just to stay on my feet. My face was so swollen it had entirely lost feeling. I reached up with a shaking hand and wiped the blood from my chin. I took a slow step toward his back. My voice was a rasping whisper. “Peter. We are even.” “If she ever steps foot in front of me again, I will carve a piece of meat off her bones. You are more than welcome to pay me back double.” “Unless you plan on killing me right now, I swear to God she will end up in a body bag long before I do.” He whipped around, staring at the horrific, bloody mess he had made of my face. His lips trembled. He opened his mouth to say something. But in the end, he just clenched his jaw and spat out a single threat. “Don’t think for a second that I wouldn’t do it.” He spun on his heel and stormed out. The heavy front doors slammed shut behind him with explosive force. I stood completely alone in the massive foyer, staring at the scattered cigarette butts on the marble floor. Slowly, my legs gave out, and I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the ground. The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed. It was exactly 8:00 AM. Eight years ago, at this exact hour, we had moved into this house together. For the next two weeks, Chloe completely vanished from my life. Half a month later, it was time for the annual syndicate charity gala. My makeup artist had to apply three heavy layers of industrial concealer just to hide the lingering, dark bruises on my face. I stood near the edge of the ballroom, wearing a custom haute couture gown, holding a crystal champagne flute. I listened to the quiet, vicious whispers of the city’s elite. They were all laughing about how Peter Monroe had turned on the Norton heiress and declared war, all over some cheap bar girl. I heard footsteps approaching from behind. I turned around to see Peter walking toward me, his arm wrapped tightly around Chloe’s waist. Chloe was wearing a flowing, angelic white gown. The bruises on her face had completely healed. Her makeup was flawless. She rested a delicate hand protectively over her slightly rounded stomach, leaning her entire body weight affectionately against Peter. She walked right up to me and politely asked the other guests standing nearby to give us a moment. Once we were alone, she dropped her voice to a vicious, gloating whisper. “Do you see this, Miss Norton? I am three months pregnant with Peter’s child. He promised me that the second the baby is born, we are getting legally married.” “He said that I am the only woman he will ever marry in this lifetime.” “Honestly, I should be thanking you for the little stunt you pulled last time. If you hadn’t done that, I never would have realized just how much weight I hold in his heart—” My grip on the crystal flute suddenly tightened with terrifying force. The glass cracked loudly under my fingers. Blood mixed with the expensive champagne and ran down my wrist. I didn’t even look at her. I raised my eyes and stared directly at Peter. He was standing right next to her. He clearly heard every single word of her gloating, venomous speech, but he didn’t do a damn thing to stop her. He just stared at me with a dark, heavy gaze, as if he was waiting to see how I would react. I smiled. I opened my hand and casually set the shattered glass onto the railing next to me. I reached out and gently patted Chloe on the cheek. My touch was feather-light, and my voice was equally soft. “Congratulations.” Without another word, I turned my back on them and walked away. I didn’t look back once. Two hours later, my men dragged Chloe into a sterile, underground operating room. She was strapped to the surgical table, fighting like a wild animal. She screamed, crying hysterically, calling me a venomous bitch, and screaming Peter’s name at the top of her lungs. I stood next to the surgical lights, staring down at her. I turned to the underground doctor and gave a single order. “Terminate it. Clean her out completely. No anesthesia.” The procedure was over in less than thirty minutes. I had just turned around to leave when the heavy steel doors of the operating room were violently kicked open. Peter charged into the room, his eyes bloodshot and completely feral. He lunged at me, his hands wrapping brutally around my throat. He slammed me against the tiled wall with terrifying force, instantly cutting off my air. “Aria!” “Are you completely insane?! That was my child! How could you do this?!” I was suffocating, my vision going black at the edges, but I actually smiled. I forced my arm up, reached into the pocket of my blazer, and pulled out two crumpled, faded ultrasound printouts. I slammed them directly into his face. 4 “You want to talk to me about children?” “Look at those papers. The first one is from when I was twenty. The second is from when I was twenty-two.” “Two children. Both of them were yours.” “The first time… you told me the Monroe family civil war wasn’t over. You said you couldn’t afford to have a weakness. I laid on a freezing operating table entirely alone, passing out from the agony, while you were busy fighting for control of your syndicate.” “The second time… the Nortons and the Monroes were in an all-out street war. You said bringing a child into that crossfire was a death sentence. I got on my hands and knees and begged you. I told you I would take the baby and disappear, that we would go somewhere no one knew our names. And you told me absolutely not. You said Peter Monroe’s child would not be raised like a rat in the gutter.” “And now, you want to scream at me about your child?” “Peter, you have no right!” My voice was dead calm, but every single syllable was laced with a decade of suppressed, venomous hatred. The hands crushing my windpipe instantly lost their strength. He looked down at the faded ultrasound papers scattered on the bloody floor. His body violently swayed as if he had been shot. He took a stumbling step backward, crashing heavily into a surgical tray. Metal instruments clattered to the floor in a deafening crash. “Aria…” It had been three months since he had called me by that name. I pushed him aside and smoothed the wrinkles out of my jacket. All the emotion, all the hatred, all the rage slowly drained out of my eyes, leaving behind nothing but a stagnant, dead pool of water. “Peter. Everything between us rotted away a long time ago.” I didn’t look at him again. I didn’t look at Chloe whimpering on the operating table. I turned around and walked out the door. Three days later, Peter trapped me in my private safehouse in the old district. He allied himself with the traitors within the Norton family. In a single night, he violently took over every single one of my territories and severed all my supply chains. My men were either slaughtered or bought off. By the end of the night, I was entirely alone in the safehouse. He had his men weld thick steel bars over all the doors and windows. The only way in or out was the heavy steel front door. The digital keypad code was still set to my birthday. But I couldn’t leave. That night, a massive thunderstorm rolled in. The rain came down in absolute sheets, and lightning violently illuminated the sky. It felt exactly like the night we turned eighteen. The first night we ever spent together in this house. The heavy steel door clicked open. Peter walked inside. He brought the freezing chill of the storm with him. In his right hand, he was gripping a heavy, matte-black handgun. It was the gun I had given him for his twentieth birthday. He walked slowly across the living room and stopped directly in front of me. He slowly raised his arm, leveling the barrel directly at my chest. I was sitting on the sofa. I looked up at him. I didn’t move a muscle. I didn’t say a word. “Chloe is dead.” “Aria, you destroyed my child. You destroyed Chloe. Tell me, do you think you should pay for that with your life?” I stood up. I took a slow, deliberate step toward him. His entire body instantly went rigid. As I stepped forward, the gun barrel slowly began to shake, inching backward. “Don’t move! I told you not to move!” I didn’t stop. I kept walking until I was standing right in front of him. I was so close I could smell the stale tobacco and the cold rain soaking into his coat. I reached up and firmly grabbed his wrist, the hand holding the gun. I pulled it forward, pressing the cold steel muzzle violently against my own chest, right over my heart. The heart that had beaten for him for eight years. Those eyes, the eyes I had loved for eight years, were bloodshot and completely feral. “If you want revenge, pull the trigger.” His hand was shaking violently. He desperately tried to yank the gun away, but I gripped his wrist with terrifying strength, refusing to let him move an inch. Tears spilled over his eyelashes, dropping heavily onto the back of my hand. They were shockingly hot. “Aria. Let go of my hand.” “I don’t blame you anymore. We can stop fighting now, okay?” I smiled. The tears finally spilled from my own eyes. “Peter. Eight years. All the blood spilled between the Nortons and the Monroes. The two hundred times you struck my face. The three children I bled out on a table. How exactly are we supposed to settle that?” “We’ve fought for so long. We’ve hated each other for so long. And we’ve loved each other for so long. I’m so tired.” I looked into his eyes. My fingertips reached up and gently traced the line of his jaw, as tenderly as I had done a thousand times before. “Peter. Since we can’t afford to love each other anymore, and we don’t have the strength left to hate each other… let’s just end it.” The sheer, absolute terror in his eyes reached its breaking point. He fought like a madman to rip the gun out of my grip. “Aria! Stop! Put the gun down!” “I forbid you from dying! Do you hear me?!” I ignored him entirely. I brought my other hand up, wrapping my fingers over his index finger, which was still resting on the trigger. I took one final look at his face, permanently burning the image of his complete, utter breakdown into my memory. When we were eighteen, I took a knife to the gut for him. He held me in his arms, his eyes just as red as they were now, sobbing uncontrollably like a little boy. And then, I squeezed his finger. I pulled the trigger. Bang— The deafening gunshot was entirely swallowed by a massive crack of thunder.

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