Rumor has it that Carter Sterling, the notoriously aloof billionaire heir, never lets women get close to him. Yet, on the very first day of my return to the States, a distinct lipstick mark was plastered across his tailored suit. That same day, #SuitKissMark skyrocketed to the number one trending spot online. His face was thunderous. “Stella Vance! Look at what you’ve done!” I replied, the picture of innocence, “I was only trying to help you. Otherwise, your sexual orientation was going to be questioned by the press.” “Get out!” 1 I took off my sunglasses and dialed the pinned number in my contacts. It was picked up on the second ring. “What do you want?” His deep, familiar, and magnetic voice came through the line. I glanced at the busy traffic outside LAX and said, “I’m at the airport. I’m giving you a chance to show your devotion. Come pick me up.” “I don’t have time.” “Fine. Then I’ll call Mason and ask him to come.” I hung up before he could respond. Of course, that was a bluff. I didn’t want to bring unnecessary trouble upon myself. Walking out of the terminal, I hailed a cab and hopped in. But we hadn’t driven far before a sleek Rolls-Royce abruptly cut us off, forcing the cab to a halt. A figure I hadn’t seen in a long time stepped out of the luxury car. He tapped on my window. “Get out.” I rolled the window down, looking at him with a smirk. “Well, well, Mr. Sterling. Didn’t you say you didn’t have time?” He stared at me blankly. “My old man told me to come.” The underlying message: I didn’t want to come; I was forced. But from the moment my plane landed, I hadn’t contacted anyone but him. Aside from him, no one else in the world knew I was back. I raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? Should I call your dad to verify?” I picked up my phone. He snatched it right out of my hand. “Get in or don’t. Your choice.” With that, he turned and walked away, taking my phone with him. I opened the door, dragged my suitcase out of the trunk, and shouted at his back, “Mr. Sterling, the least you could do is pay my cab fare!” His hand paused on the door handle. In three quick strides, he marched over, didn’t even glance at the meter, and shoved a fifty-dollar bill at the driver. I smiled. “Thanks, Mr. Sterling.” He shot me a glare. “Get in the car.” 2 I was two years older than Carter Sterling, and we had known each other for twelve years. From the time I was just a struggling college student to my debut in Hollywood, all the way to my crowning as a Best Actress winner, he was there through it all. To say I didn’t have feelings for him would be a lie. I freely admitted it: I loved him. Three years ago, we were actually together. But on the day I went to the Sterling estate as his girlfriend, I overheard his father talking in the study. “The daughter-in-law of our family will absolutely not be one of those messy girls from the entertainment industry.” Hiding in the corner like a rat in the sewers, I felt utterly exposed and ashamed. That single sentence shattered me. I booked a flight out of the country that very night and hastily announced my retirement from acting. Since my parents passed away, the Sterling family had helped me out a lot, mostly on Carter’s account. I was incredibly grateful. But because they had always been my benefactors, I constantly felt that Carter and I were from two different worlds. I thought that as long as I made my own money, everything would be fine. So I threw myself into Hollywood, clawing my way to the top. But in the eyes of the Sterling family, my achievements meant nothing. With their wealth, they could effortlessly manufacture a dozen actresses just like me. The pride I had built up over a decade didn’t allow me to lower my head, ask why, or cling to a doomed relationship. After I went abroad, Carter called me endlessly. I didn’t answer a single one. Finally, he sent a text: Why did you leave without saying a word? You couldn’t even tell me? I replied: I’m just tired. At that moment, gripping my phone, I was sobbing uncontrollably. Ultimately, I wasn’t worthy of him. That was the last message between us. And just like that, we cut ties for three whole years. 3 In the car, I propped my chin on my hand, watching the scenery blur past the window. Carter suddenly asked, “Why did you come back now?” I snapped out of my daze. “I just wanted to.” He let out a scoff. “Couldn’t make it out there in Europe?” I turned my head and saw the faint, mocking smirk on his lips. I nodded enthusiastically. “Yep. How did you know? You’re so smart, Mr. Sterling. So amazing. I just love it.” His face instantly darkened. “Stop making me sick.” I looked at him with feigned disappointment. “Oh, fine. I guess my love is unrequited. “But that makes sense. You must be hiding a beautiful mistress somewhere. Keeping yourself free of scandals for years, letting the press think you’re gay—she must really be something…” “Shut up! One more word and you’re walking.” He sat on the other side of the spacious backseat, shutting me down without mercy. I wasn’t mad. I just nodded. “Okay. Shutting up now.” A moment later, he asked again, “Tell me the truth. Did you really come back because you couldn’t survive over there?” “No,” I replied. “Then why did you come back?” he asked, his brow furrowing. I met his gaze, smiled, and said, “Secret.” Why did I come back? Honestly, I didn’t know. Maybe it was because, even after three years, he still haunted my dreams every night. I was tired of waking up crying, full of regret. Since I couldn’t let it go, I had to face it eventually. Carter Sterling, long time no see. 4 Carter drove me to his mansion in Beverly Hills. I looked at the massive estate and teased him. “Bringing me here, aren’t you afraid your little girlfriend will find out and get mad? “This must be your cozy little love nest.” He was busy pulling my luggage out of the trunk. Without missing a beat, he said, “You’re sleeping on the street tonight.” I shook my head, laughing. “It’s rare for you to bring me here. I can’t just leave after being your hidden treasure for the night. Just thinking about it gives me a thrill.” He shot me a vicious glare. “If you don’t want to stay, go sleep on the porch.” I chuckled, trailing behind him. Right as we stepped inside, my sharp eyes caught sight of a pair of women’s slippers in the shoe cabinet. I smiled. “Mr. Sterling, these women’s slippers just exposed you. “Your little wife hasn’t even been gone a few days, and you’re already moving another woman in? Isn’t that a bit inappropriate?” He let out a cold humpf, pulled the slippers out, and threw them at my feet. “Why don’t you look at the shoe size first?” “Maybe we wear the same size,” I countered. “Heh. You’ve sure got a wild imagination. Why don’t you take a sniff and see if they smell like some other woman, or if they just reek of your own foot odor?” He said this while unlocking the inner door. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. He turned back. “What are you laughing at?” “Not telling.” He ignored me and pushed the door open, walking straight in. After touring the house, I realized Carter had prepared everything in advance. He had bought everything in pairs. Two toothbrushes, two mugs, and the bed in the guest room was already perfectly made. “Thanks,” I said genuinely. He gave a curt nod. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him drinking water from one of the mugs. In an instant, I noticed something. “Mr. Sterling, that mug… it looks an awful lot like a matching couple’s set with mine.” I leaned against the doorframe, giving him a knowing look. His hand paused, but his face remained perfectly neutral. “It was buy-one-get-one-free. I bought mine, they threw yours in.” I nodded slowly. “Got it. Mr. Sterling is learning to be frugal. A mug is what, ten bucks? And you still went out of your way to find a BOGO deal. Impressive.” I smiled at him. Hearing this, he practically sprinted toward his bedroom, not hesitating for a second before slamming the door shut with a loud BANG. Before the door clicked, he threw out one last sentence: “You talk too much nonsense.” 5 Once I was settled in, my agent, Tara, called me. “Stella,” she said. “The Foster family is hosting a gala tonight. They sent an invite. Do you want to go?” Lying on the bed, my first instinct was to text back: Not going. Just landed. Exhausted. But then I remembered Liam Foster was hosting it. He had helped me out immensely back in the day. I owed him. “I’ll go,” I told her. “RSVP for me.” She said okay and hung up. After the call, I got up and knocked on Carter’s bedroom door. “What?” came the muffled reply. “I have a gala to attend tonight. Just letting you know I’ll be heading out.” A moment later, he offered a brief “Hmm,” acknowledging me. With his response, I went back to my room to start my makeup and get ready. To my surprise, halfway through my makeup routine, there was a knock on my door. I opened it to find Carter already dressed in a sharp tuxedo. “Aren’t you going to change?” he asked. “Were you planning on walking there yourself later?” I paused, then smiled. “Seeing as Mr. Sterling is feeling so helpful, I suppose I can lower myself to ride with you.” An hour and a half later, I changed into my evening gown. When I opened the door, Carter was sitting in the living room, watching TV with immense boredom, waiting for me. The moment I stepped out, his eyes locked onto me. I saw a brief, undeniable spark light up his eyes, but he quickly looked away. “You’re slow, and you look ugly,” he muttered. Yet, the tips of his ears were burning red. I tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, walked up, and smiled. “Really? If this dress is so ugly, why did you keep it? Didn’t I tell you to throw it away?” He didn’t look back at me. “I packed it in a box and forgot to throw it out.” “Ah, I see. And here I thought you kept it just for me. Silly me, being so presumptuous.” Honestly, I could tell at a glance that he had never intended to throw it away. The gown had been hung perfectly in the closet, without a single wrinkle, and it even smelled faintly of expensive cedar and vanilla. Clearly, someone had taken meticulous care of it. But the man was just as stubborn as he was three years ago. 6 Actually, the Carter Sterling of today was vastly different from the Carter of three years ago. Back then, he used to follow me around like a lost, over-eager golden retriever, arrogant to the world but sweet to me. This cold, aloof, sharp-tongued persona was reserved only for strangers back then. But the blatant favoritism he used to show me had dissipated over time, leaving no trace behind. I climbed into Carter’s Rolls-Royce in my gown. As I ducked to get in, he stood behind me and muttered, “Next time you get in and out of a car, remember to cover your chest.” I slid into the seat, instantly knowing what he meant. Having been a star for years, I knew all the tricks to avoid wardrobe malfunctions. I was just so used to being comfortable around him that I hadn’t bothered. But I replied anyway, “Got it. I’ll be careful next time. Thanks for the tip, Mr. Sterling.” He didn’t answer. He just opened the door and slid into the seat on the opposite side of the spacious back row. Once he was in, the driver pulled away, heading for our destination. Familiar Los Angeles scenery flashed by the window, scene by scene. It was hard to believe that after three years, I was actually back here. I had fled in a panic back then, but now, I felt entirely fearless. I had nothing left to lose. If things went terribly wrong, I’d just leave the country again. I turned my head to look at Carter. He was leaning against the leather seat, his eyes closed, resting. After a long while, his lips twitched. “How much longer are you going to stare at me?” Hearing that, my eyes drifted to his ears. They were bright red. I leaned in close and whispered, “I didn’t want to stare. It’s just… this is the first time I’ve ever seen Mr. Sterling with his ears this red.” The moment the words left my mouth, I saw his body visibly stiffen. A second later, he hit the button to raise the privacy partition between us and the driver. He shifted as far away from me as possible and muttered, “It’s a natural physiological response.” And then, his ears turned even redder. In fact, a flush started creeping up his neck and cheeks. Realizing he was completely compromised, he turned his head entirely toward the window, hiding his face from me. I smiled softly and turned back to look out my own window. 7 Half an hour later, Carter’s car pulled into the Foster estate’s private driveway. Looking out, the red carpet entrance was already swarming with paparazzi and journalists. After Carter stepped out, he looked back at me, still dawdling in the backseat. “Are you coming or not?” “You go ahead,” I replied. “It wouldn’t be good if the press caught us together right now.” His expression instantly darkened. “Suit yourself.” He turned and walked away with long, angry strides. Watching his retreating back, I let out a helpless sigh. I wanted to stand beside him under the flashing lights too. I wanted to be his plus-one. But this was my very first day back. If I was photographed with Carter Sterling right now, God knows what kind of rumors would explode. If his family found out and grew disgusted with me again, it would be a disaster. I couldn’t rush this. I had to take it one step at a time. I waited a few minutes after Carter entered before smoothing my hair, lifting the hem of my gown, and stepping out into the spotlight. The moment I appeared, the relentless clicking of cameras abruptly stopped. In the dead silence, I heard someone ask weakly, “Is… is that the Best Actress winner, Stella Vance?” I lifted my chin, smiled flawlessly at the crowd, and said, “Yes. It’s Stella Vance.” The next second, the camera shutters went absolutely crazy, deafeningly loud. My sudden retirement three years ago had sparked endless debates, and then I had simply vanished from the face of the earth. Now that I was suddenly back, to them, I was the biggest headline of the night. Having survived in Hollywood for years, I knew exactly what the media wanted. “Miss Vance, why did you really retire three years ago?” “Why are you making an appearance now?” “Miss Vance, does this mean you’re planning a massive Hollywood comeback?” The questions fired at me like machine guns. I lowered my head, offering a polite, practiced smile. “I’m sorry, it’s not convenient to answer these questions at the moment.” Because honestly, I didn’t have the answers myself. Ignoring the clamoring voices behind me, I lifted my dress and elegantly glided into the gala venue. 8 As soon as I walked through the doors, I spotted Carter talking to Liam Foster. Carter turned his head toward me, and Liam’s gaze followed his. In an instant, Liam’s eyes lit up. “Well, well! Stella, you finally made it!” I smiled and stepped forward to give him a hug. “Liam, it’s been way too long.” He patted my back affectionately. “Way too long.” Ten years ago, it was Liam who gave me my first big break in the industry. The only reason I survived the shark-infested waters of Hollywood for so long was because of his protection. I owed him a lot. I pulled back, looked at him, and joked, “Liam, I came to your gala on my very first day back in the country. Doesn’t that show how much I respect you?” He nodded. “Absolutely. You’re much better to me than this guy. I asked Carter to come show his face, and he flat-out told me he wasn’t coming.” “Really?” I paused, slightly surprised. “Yeah,” Liam continued. “At first he said no. But then, out of nowhere, he texted me saying he was coming. “Tsk, tsk. You kids these days. I’m getting too old to understand you. “Especially you two. Showing up separately? I really don’t get the games you little couples play.” Liam’s teasing had me laughing uncontrollably. I quickly clarified, “Liam, you better be careful with those words. In the eyes of the public, Carter and I are completely unrelated. “If the media heard you say that, we’d be doomed. “Besides, we aren’t even together right now. Calling us a ‘couple’ is a bit premature. But I’ll take it as a blessing.” Right as I finished speaking, Carter, who had walked off to grab a glass of wine, returned. “What are you laughing about?” I smiled. “A secret between Liam and me.” He let out a cold scoff. “Whatever. Like I care.” He took a sip of his wine, turned on his heel, and walked off to mingle with the other guests. 9 Because my return was so sudden, many of my old industry friends were shocked and came over to chat. There were also a few bitter rivals who came over to throw some thinly veiled insults my way. It was all harmless, petty noise. I was thinking about this while taking a sip of my wine. When I looked up, I saw a familiar figure approaching. He clinked his glass gently against mine and offered a charismatic smile. “Stella Vance. Long time no see. You’ve been quite popular tonight.” I curled my lips into a polite smile. “Mason Wright. You haven’t been doing too badly yourself.” “Compared to you, I’m falling behind. I’ve been watching you all night, trying to find a window to come say hi. I had to sneak over just to get a word in.” “You’re joking, Mason. I saw you chatting up all those gorgeous young starlets all evening. You didn’t have time for me. “I’m practically ancient in Hollywood years. I can’t compete with these fresh, dewy new actresses. They’re so delicate and stunning; even I can’t take my eyes off them.” I laid the compliments on thick, but he just laughed dismissively. “What’s the point of a pretty face? They’re like empty vases. Ask them to do a crying scene, and they can’t even squeeze out a single tear. It’s a waste of my time.” I put a finger to my lips in a “shush” motion. “Mason, there are ears everywhere. Loose lips sink ships.” He understood my warning, smiled, nodded, and clinked my glass again. Right as our glasses touched, a third glass aggressively inserted itself between ours. I looked up. Carter had materialized out of nowhere. He was smirking, but his eyes were incredibly cold. “Mason. Stella. What are we chatting about? Mind if I join in?” I looked at Mason. “Mason, what were we just talking about?” Following my lead, he looked at Carter with feigned innocence. “Nothing really. We were just about to start catching up when you walked over.” Hearing this, Carter’s face darkened visibly. “If you haven’t started, then don’t.” He sounded like he was grinding his teeth. Then, he turned his piercing gaze on me. “Wait for me later. We’re going home together.” I shook my head. “No thanks. There are too many people watching. I already had Tara send a van for me. I’ll take my own ride back.” He gave a stiff nod, turned, and walked away. His expression was downright murderous. 10 After Carter left, Mason looked at me in shock. “Are you two living together?” I offered a dazzling smile. “Just like you heard.” “So… are you guys back together?” he asked again. This time, I shook my head. “Not exactly. He’s my sponsor. I’m his hidden little trophy.” After delivering that line with a laugh, I put my glass down and walked away, leaving Mason standing there, utterly bewildered. Hey, he paid my fifty-dollar cab fare. Doesn’t that count as being a sugar daddy? Let him interpret it however he wants. But before I headed home, I had one last piece of business to take care of. I pulled out my phone and sent Carter a text. Moments later, he appeared in front of me. “What?” he asked, his face still looking like a storm cloud. I grabbed his arm, pulled him into a quiet, secluded corner, and smiled. “Mr. Sterling, your suit is dirty.” He frowned, looking down at his chest. “No it’s not.” He turned to leave, but I quickly grabbed his arm and pointed to his back, where he couldn’t see. “It’s on your back. Let me brush it off for you. “You’re too handsome to walk out of here with a dirty suit. The paparazzi are going to take pictures, and we can’t have your flawless outfit ruined.” Seeing my entirely serious expression, he didn’t doubt me. He turned around, offering me his back. I pretended to dust off his jacket, giving it a few firm pats. Then, seizing the moment, I leaned in and pressed my lips firmly against the dark fabric of his shoulder blade. Stepping back, I said, “All clean. But your tie is a little crooked. Let me fix that for you too.” He turned back around to face me, his gaze dropping to my chest for a split second before darting away. I was wearing a strapless gown today. I adjusted his tie, smiled, and said, “Perfect.” Without a word, he turned and practically fled down the hallway. I called out to his retreating back, “Mr. Sterling, you’re going the wrong way. The exit is in the other direction.” His footsteps halted abruptly. He kept his head down and quickly pivoted, marching hastily toward the correct exit. Watching him, I couldn’t hold back a genuine laugh. 11 By the time I left the gala and made it to the underground parking garage, Tara was already waiting for me. I had specifically asked her to swap out the van I used three years ago for a new one the media wouldn’t recognize. I didn’t want my entire life completely dug up on my very first day back. The van drove out of the garage. As we passed the main entrance, I saw a massive mob of paparazzi still waiting. They had absolutely no idea I was sitting in the unremarkable black van that drove right past them. I made it back to Carter’s mansion without a hitch. But the moment I unlocked the door, I was met with Carter standing in the foyer, his face black with rage. He was holding his suit jacket, pointing a trembling finger at the lipstick mark on the back. “Stella Vance! Look at what you’ve done! You better give me a damn good explanation for what this is!” “Just what it looks like, Mr. Sterling. A lipstick mark.” “I’m asking you why you put it there!” “Do you have any idea that the number one trending topic online right now is this exact lipstick mark?!” Carter glared at me, absolutely furious. I calmly pulled out my phone, checked Twitter, looked up at him, and smiled. “Mr. Sterling, the number one trending topic just changed.” However… #CarterSterlingSuitKiss The popularity of that hashtag was neck-and-neck with #StellaVanceReturns. If you refreshed the page, they kept swapping between the number one and number two spots. Clearly, Carter wasn’t satisfied with my nonchalant response. He continued: “The point isn’t whether it’s number one or number two! I’m asking you why you did it!” I looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. “I was only trying to help you. Otherwise, your sexual orientation was going to be questioned. “Before I came back, I read the gossip blogs. The media was already starting to think you were into men. If I didn’t help you out, you were going to be permanently labeled as gay.” “Get out!” “OK.” I smiled, nodded politely, and walked straight to my guest room. 12 The truth was, that lipstick mark wasn’t just to tease Carter or generate cheap hype. My real goal was… I needed to know who had gotten close to him over the past three years, and who dared to manufacture scandals with him. I had been gone long enough for another woman to claim a place in his life. When you’re starting at a disadvantage, you have to play a little dirty. … I sat back and watched the trending topics explode, watching as the media dug up Carter’s past “scandals.” Soon, several new hashtags related to him shot up the trending list. #LipstickShade #LipPrintMatch Seeing those two hashtags made my heart skip a beat. Never underestimate the terrifying investigative power of the internet. Because Carter hadn’t had a lipstick mark when he entered the venue, it meant the kiss had to happen during the gala. Internet sleuths compiled a list of every woman at the event, analyzing their lipstick shades to cross-reference with the mark on the black suit. However, distinguishing red shades on black fabric is notoriously difficult. Several women’s lipstick shades were deemed “possible matches”—including mine. When they couldn’t definitively prove the shade, they started analyzing the lip print itself. Thank God I had the foresight to press my lips down twice, overlapping the prints, making it completely impossible to extract a clear lip pattern. I let out a breath of relief and kept scrolling. Then I saw… #CarterSterlingChloeDavis #BillionaireHeirSecretGirlfriend #MatchingCouplesOutfits The words “Matching Couples Outfits” caught my attention instantly. I clicked on the hashtag. Fans had pointed out that the sleek, modern cheongsam dress Chloe Davis wore to the gala shared an incredibly high design overlap with Carter’s suit. Not only were the color palettes identical, but the intricate embroidery patterns were shockingly similar. Furthermore, the lipstick Chloe wore tonight was a near-perfect match for the smudge on the suit. Piece by piece, the internet was building a bulletproof case: they were a secret couple, and they had worn matching outfits. But I absolutely refused to accept that. Because I designed the suit Carter wore tonight. It was my 18th birthday present to him. To me, it held immense sentimental value. Furious, I took a screenshot of the trending page and texted it to Carter. [Kiddo, I custom-designed that suit for you, and you turned around and gave the design to your little girlfriend to make a matching dress? Do you have any respect for me?] He replied instantly: [Stella, what kind of psychotic break are you having tonight? I don’t have a girlfriend! [And I had no idea about her dress. I’m taking care of it now.] [Okay then.] 13 After that, I sent him a barrage of voice memos. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. I had no idea doing that would cause you so much trouble. It’s all my fault. Please don’t be mad. “Going to bed angry is bad for your health. “Goodnight. Sweet dreams.” I made my voice as soft and gentle as humanly possible, sounding as innocent as a lamb. After all, when you make a mistake, you have to own up to it. Even men need a little coaxing sometimes. Not long after, Carter sent me a screenshot. It was a text conversation. Carter had directly confronted Chloe Davis, demanding an explanation. He bluntly stated that if she didn’t issue a public apology immediately, he would ensure she was entirely blacklisted from the industry. Chloe instantly folded and begged for mercy. I opened the trending page again. #ChloeDavisApologizes It was hanging brightly at the very top of the list. Chloe’s official statement: “Thank you all for the love and attention regarding my dress tonight. However, I must sincerely apologize to Mr. Carter Sterling. My dress and Mr. Sterling’s suit were NOT matching couples’ outfits. I saw how stunning Mr. Sterling’s suit was in the past and commissioned a replica design for myself. I never expected it to cause such a massive misunderstanding and controversy. I am incredibly sorry. I promise not to make this kind of mistake again, and I hope you will all give me a chance to learn from this. Thank you.” I clicked on the comments. “Ahhh! They were so gorgeous together! I was shipping them so hard, and the ship sank in less than an hour! Sobbing!” “God! I really thought they were dating!” “This debunking happened way too fast. Did the real ‘Mrs. Sterling’ get mad?” Replies flooded in beneath that comment. “I think so too! The real girlfriend definitely laid down the law. Otherwise, Carter wouldn’t have been so ruthless.” “Do you guys think it could be Stella Vance? She comes back, and the exact same night Carter gets a kiss mark on his suit? That’s too much of a coincidence. He’s never had a scandal like this before.” “Are you insane? Anyone saying they’re together knows nothing about them. People investigated this years ago. The only connection they have is going to the same high school and the same university.” “I also feel like it’s Stella. Just a gut feeling.” The internet was in chaos, throwing around endless theories, but no one could prove a thing. Then, a new hashtag appeared. #HowTheInvisibleMrsSterlingControlsHollywood Seeing that, I couldn’t help but burst out laughing. The internet’s imagination truly was boundless.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “421034”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Silas Vance was the son of my father’s bodyguard. I spent ten years of my life hopelessly in love with him. When high school ended, I went to him, my heart overflowing with joy, and confessed: “Silas, marry me. I’ll give you the family you’ve never had.” He narrowed his eyes in pure disgust. “Get lost. Stay the hell away from me.” Later, my world crumbled. I, the princess of a golden empire, was dragged into the mud. I did exactly what he wanted. I got lost. I vanished without a sound. But now, he’s the one panicking. He looks at me with desperation in his eyes. “I’ll give you my body, my soul, my everything. Just stay.” I look back at him, my voice colder than ice. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit pathetic?” 01 Ten years. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve set foot in this city. The moment I stepped off the plane, my phone was bombarded with messages from Chloe. She was insisting that I attend the high school reunion organized by our old class president tonight. Ten years ago, my father’s company collapsed overnight. Scams, scandals, and debt collectors were all anyone could talk about. My father loved me. In the final, desperate moments, he managed to ship me off to London. I stayed there for a decade. Walking out of the airport, I pulled my sunglasses down. The crowd moved around me like a tide. On a massive billboard nearby, a man stood tall. His features were sharp, his gaze lethal. He was Silas Vance—now a world-renowned billionaire. Ten years. Everything has changed. I felt a bitter smile touch my lips. The proud red rose of the past had withered in the dirt, while the silent, lone wolf had fought his way to the highest peak. At 8:00 PM, I changed into a simple, modest outfit and headed to the reunion. I hadn’t wanted to go, but Chloe wouldn’t take no for an answer. In high school, I was the “it-girl.” I was the crown jewel of the Thorne family. I had been wealthy, well-educated, and genuinely kind to my classmates. Because of that, even when I showed up in my plain clothes, no one sneered at me. They were as warm as ever. “Oh my god, Elena! You’re finally back! We missed you so much!” “Exactly! As soon as Chloe said you were back, I must have called her twenty times to make sure she brought you!…” I was ushered to a seat in the center of the group. I took a sip of red wine and just smiled. I scanned the large private room several times, but I didn’t see him. Just then, someone in the crowd blurted out, “Hey, is Silas Vance skipping again this year?” The table went dead silent. A few people glanced at me, then quickly shifted the conversation back to other topics, pretending they hadn’t heard a thing. The question was drowned out like a pebble thrown into the ocean. 02 Twenty years ago, my father hired a new bodyguard. That bodyguard brought along a young boy with a fierce, handsome face that mirrored his father’s intensity. They moved into our guest house. That boy, Silas, went to the same private school as I did. I was only eight then. Spoiled by my father’s affection, I was bossy and arrogant. I demanded that Silas be my personal bodyguard at school. It was a status symbol. I walked through those hallways feeling like royalty because I had Silas trailing behind me. I don’t know exactly when my feelings for him shifted into something more. Maybe it was middle school. By then, Silas had grown into a strikingly handsome, rugged young man. He was already much taller than me. I was 5’6″, barely reaching his shoulder. Walking home together after school, I would watch our shadows in the sunset—sometimes close, sometimes drifting apart. I always found myself subconsciously leaning closer to him. … “Elena.” Chloe tapped my shoulder. I snapped out of it. “What?” “Silas hasn’t attended a single reunion since our high school graduation party,” Chloe whispered in my ear. I gave a soft “mhm” and stood up. “I’m going to the restroom.” I knew Silas hated me. He probably hated everything about high school. After all, I had used my family’s wealth and his tragic background to treat him like a servant for a decade. From age eight to eighteen, Silas never once refused me. Except for that one time. And if I hadn’t heard him say, “Get lost. Stay the hell away from me,” I might have forgotten that Silas had pride, too. The guilt weighed heavy on me as I walked toward the door. Just as I reached for the handle, it was pushed open with force. I gasped, my eyes widening as I looked straight into a pair of cold, dark eyes. Ten years. It really was long enough to change a person. The fierce boy had become a mature, imposing man. He was taller now. He wore a black suit that emphasized his broad shoulders and lean waist. His long legs stood firm, and his deep gaze was locked onto me. 03 “Elena Thorne? It really is you!” Another man at the door shouted in surprise. “Yeah.” I nodded and offered a small smile. “Liam, it’s been a long time.” I didn’t acknowledge the heavy, dark stare Silas was leveling at me. I stepped aside to let them pass. As I walked out, I heard Liam’s boisterous voice behind me. “Silas, Elena is back. Why are you acting like you’ve seen a ghost?” I gripped my napkin tightly, my lips curving into a hollow smile. What reaction was he supposed to have? I was just a reminder of a humiliating past when he was “lesser.” Seeing me probably only deepened his resentment. Silas’s arrival turned the lively reunion into a stiff, quiet affair. He sat directly across from me. People at the table kept sneaking glances at him, then at me, before returning to their food in silence. The power dynamic had completely flipped, and no one knew how to handle it. After all, I used to be the one on the pedestal. Liam, being the social butterfly he is, noticed the tension and smirked. “Hey, let’s play Truth or Dare.” The idea was met with immediate approval from everyone desperate to break the awkwardness. Even away from the table, Silas sat directly across from me. His long legs were stretched out lazily. He leaned back against the sofa, his eyes half-closed, his gaze flickering over me as if I weren’t even there. But every time I looked up, he was looking elsewhere. It made me feel like I was hallucinating. After a few rounds, the atmosphere finally lightened. Until… The beer bottle on the table spun and pointed its neck at me and its base at Silas. I looked up. Our eyes met. 04 “I’m first! I’m first!” Liam rubbed his hands together, grinning like a shark. “How many relationships have you both had?” The rules were that both people the bottle pointed to had to answer or take a penalty. The room went quiet again. The vibe turned weirdly electric. Chloe sat beside me, her grip on my arm tightening. I patted her hand and said softly, “It’s fine. Go grab me a glass of wine.” “Come on, what’s with the hesitation?” Liam prodded. “You either have or you haven’t. It’s not that deep.” He looked at me and added pointedly, “Unless the answer is ‘none’.” I tilted my head, feeling a sudden urge to laugh. I glanced at Silas. He had always been a masterpiece, but ten years had refined him into something dangerous. Under the dim lights, his jawline was a sharp blade, his features flawlessly carved. Once Chloe returned with my wine, Liam realized he couldn’t bully Silas into answering, so he turned his focus to me. “Are we continuing the game or what? You’re stalling the whole party!” “Three,” I said flatly. The man on the sofa snapped his eyes to mine. His gaze was heavy. I took a sip of wine and smiled at him. “One in high school, two abroad.” The room went silent. Liam looked like a stunned bird. I kept the smile on my face even though my palms were sweating. Silas’s eyes were a storm of emotions before they turned into a black abyss. He stared at me with a terrifying intensity. After a long pause, he rasped, “None.” Heh. I sneered inwardly. Keeping yourself pure for your secret lover? 05 Ten years ago, right after graduation, our class had a party. I was wearing an expensive gown my father had bought me for my 18th birthday. I was holding 99 deep red roses, and I ran to Silas with a heart full of hope. My smile was brighter than the flowers I was holding. “Silas, marry me. I’ll give you a real home.” A cool breeze swept through the evening air. Everyone was cheering and watching, even our teachers. The world had given me all the status I needed. And Silas gave me exactly what I deserved. He narrowed his eyes in disgust, his voice cold and hard. “Get lost. Stay the hell away from me.” The wind messed up my hair. It blew the petals off the roses. That night was the first time I didn’t go home with Silas. I stayed out late, wandering the streets in a daze. In the early hours of the morning, under the pale moonlight, I kicked off my heels and quietly pushed open the front door. A familiar voice drifted from a dark corner of the foyer. “Don’t worry. I’ll take you to New York with me later.” A girl’s voice chirped in surprise. “Really?!” The man’s voice was still cold, but softer. “Mhm.” I stood barefoot on the cold tile, feeling completely lost. My heart felt like it was drowning in a vast, dark sea. I couldn’t catch my breath. No wonder he told me to get lost. He already had Maya. I laughed a bitter, internal laugh. … The reunion ended as a heavy rain started to fall. People were calling Ubers or hopping into cars. Chloe pulled at me. “Elena, do you want a ride? My boyfriend can drop you off.” “No thanks,” I said with a smile. Silas walked out behind me, stopping about six feet away. Chloe asked, “Did you drive here?” I shook my head and waved my phone. “No, someone is picking me up.” “Oh…” Just then, a black Maybach pulled up through the rain. 06 A tall, elegant man carrying a black umbrella stepped out of the car. He walked over to me and complained in slightly broken English, “This weather is absolutely insane!” Something about his tone made me giggle. I naturally looped my arm through his. “You’ll get used to it.” A gaze as sharp as a cold blade swept over us from six feet away. I looked over, confused. Silas’s lips were pressed into a hard, thin line. Chloe gasped. “Elena, is this your billionaire boyfriend from abroad?” Silas’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening visibly. I looked at Joe and smiled, ignoring the question. “We’re heading out. Bye, everyone.” The walk from the door to the car was short, but I felt like a cold sword was pressing against my back, ready to run me through. “You’re using me as a shield again,” Joe grumbled once we were inside the car. I pressed my palms together. “Big thanks. Just one last time.” “Sure, sure,” Joe rolled his eyes and shrugged. I laughed. Joe was my business partner from London. The reason we were back was that the headquarters wanted us to scout some talent for the company’s upcoming global campaign. Maya was on that list. The rain got heavier. Exhausted from the flight and the reunion, I leaned against the window and slowly fell asleep. 07 Maya and I were nothing alike. Chloe once said I looked like a silver fox in a snowstorm—cold and beautiful. Maya was the opposite. She was pure, cute, and full of energy. She was the daughter of our old housekeeper, Mrs. Miller. Mrs. Miller had worked for my family since I was five. After her husband died in a drunk driving accident, my father brought her and her two-year-old daughter into our home and gave her a job. My mother passed away early, so Mrs. Miller practically raised me. We were very close, and I always treated Maya like a sister. Two years later, my father played matchmaker for Silas’s father and Mrs. Miller. They got married. Maya became Silas’s stepsister. When Silas and I were in middle school, Maya was in elementary. When we were in high school, Maya was just starting middle school. Back then, I blamed my own denseness. I never realized when something started happening between Silas and Maya… I remembered that suffocating morning again. The morning the Reaper arrived. Five hours after I got home, my father’s company was hit by a massive financial crisis. Three days later, they filed for bankruptcy. A week later, the scandals broke. I was on a plane leaving the country that raised me. My father was driven to his death. I saw the photos of his final jump on the news. “Elena!!” I woke up sobbing, seeing Joe’s worried face. I wiped my eyes with a tissue, my voice raspy. “I’m okay.” Joe handed me a bottle of water. I took a sip. “Joe, you should go to Skyline Entertainment alone tomorrow.” Skyline was the biggest agency in the country. Silas Vance had acquired it five years ago. Joe was confused. “Why?” I smiled faintly as I pushed the car door open. The rain muffled my voice. “Because I have a reputation to maintain.” 08 It turns out, even the proudest person has to bow for a paycheck. I was at the hotel researching talent when I found a promising young actor, and Joe called me. “Elena, you have to come down here.” I was a mess, huddled in my computer chair. “What happened?” “The people at Skyline said that if you aren’t here, our company isn’t showing enough ‘sincerity’.” Sincerity my foot! I rushed to the bathroom to get ready. “Give me thirty minutes.” Thirty minutes later, Joe and I were waiting in the CEO’s office at Skyline. The mission was simple: sign Maya. Ten minutes later, the CEO walked in. He was tall, confident, and moved with a purpose. I stood up and walked over, extending my hand with a professional smile. “Hello, Mr. Vance.” “Mhm.” The man’s dark eyes swept over me. “Sit.” “Mr. Vance, our company has already sent an invitation to your agency. We’re looking to—” Before Joe could finish, the man on the sofa crossed his legs and glanced at the files. He looked up at us and interrupted, “Business partners?” “Uh, yes…” Joe was completely baffled by the question. I frowned slightly. “Mr. Vance, we’re here because we want to collaborate with Ms. Maya on our upcoming campaign. If it’s convenient…” “It’s not.” His voice was cold and hard. “If your company wants to shoot a campaign, my agency has plenty of other talented stars. But Maya is off-limits.” “Then forget it.” I cut him off, my voice turning icy. I stood up to leave. “We look forward to a potential future collaboration with Ms. Maya.” I said it through gritted teeth as I dragged Joe out of the office. Anyone but Maya. Silas, you really are a devoted lover, aren’t you? I was so angry I could barely breathe. 09 A week later. I was wearing an expensive evening gown, attending a star-studded gala. Skyline wasn’t the only agency in town. I took a glass of champagne and walked toward a promising young actor I’d scouted—the one I’d found while researching at the hotel. Hollywood can be a shark tank. Before I could reach him, a greasy, balding man in a cheap suit blocked my path. His fleshy hand landed on my waist, his smile making my skin crawl. “Hey gorgeous, I haven’t seen you around before.” My expression went cold. “Let go.” “Oh, don’t be like that. Every girl here is looking for a sugar daddy, right?” “Didn’t you hear her? She said let go!” A perfectly tailored leg swung out with lethal precision. The greasy man slammed onto the floor on his ass. Silas stood there, his presence overwhelming, his eyes full of murderous intent. He walked forward slowly and stepped his polished dress shoe onto the man’s right hand. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” “Mr. Vance, please! Have mercy! I didn’t know!” The man was pinned to the floor, his face contorted in agony, begging for his life. Silas looked down at him with an icy stare. “Which hand touched her? This one? Or both?” He pressed down with his heel. A sickening crack echoed through the room. The man’s bones shattered. “AHHHH!!!” The man’s scream was blood-curdling. Silas looked exactly like the fierce, unyielding boy from ten years ago. I stared at him, dazed. A wave of conflicting emotions hit me. I felt bad for him, and I felt bad for myself. If it weren’t for me, he might have had a better life. And I… I was the one who had made his life a living hell. … While I was lost in thought, security dragged the man away. Silas turned to look at me. I snapped back to reality. I offered a polite, professional “Thank you.” Then I turned and started walking toward the young actor. “Elena Thorne.” A large hand suddenly clamped around my arm. 10 “You want him?” I turned back to find Silas’s gaze heavy and deep. I looked at his hand on my arm and smiled sarcastically. “Why? Mr. Vance, surely he isn’t one of your actors?” After a long silence, Silas’s Adam’s apple bobbed. His voice was hoarse. “Anyone at Skyline. If you want them, they’re yours. Except Maya.” “Let go!” I wrenched my arm away, my face flushed with anger. Maya, Maya. If I heard that name one more time, I was going to lose it! Silas’s eyes were a swirling vortex of emotion. He narrowed them, then finally compromised and let go. “Fine.” I gave him a dismissive look and walked away. The next second, the world spun. I was thrown over Silas’s broad shoulder. “Silas! What the hell are you doing?!” I was screaming and hitting his back, but it was like hitting a brick wall. Silas didn’t miss a beat. He carried me out, threw me into his car, and drove me to his house. As expected of the richest man in the city, his mansion was even more luxurious than the one I grew up in. “What do you want?” I was furious at being forced. I turned to confront him. But the moment I looked at him, I saw his face was deathly pale. I panicked. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He looked at me, cold sweat beading on his forehead. He didn’t say a word. The next second, his massive frame collapsed. I lunged forward and caught him just before he hit the floor. By the time I managed to drag him onto the sofa, I was panting for breath. Silas was slumped against the cushions, his brow furrowed in pain. Seeing him like this for the first time, a pang of worry hit me. My voice softened. “Silas, what is it?” He was in too much pain to speak. Just then, his phone started ringing. It rang for ten seconds, but he didn’t move. I didn’t care about his privacy anymore. I reached into his pocket and pulled it out. I swiped to answer. “Hello?” 11 “Holy shit!” That familiar, annoying voice. “Elena?” I felt a headache coming on. “Yeah.” “How do you have Silas’s phone? Are you guys together? Wait, since when are you two a thing? Also…” I cut him off. “Stop. I have one question: does Silas have a medical condition? He’s… not doing well right now.” I looked down at the man on the sofa. He was pale and shivering. It looked bad. “Oh crap, did he drink again?” Liam yelled. “That idiot has a severe stomach ulcer!” “Is it serious?” “Yeah! At the reunion last week, I looked away for one second and he drank until he had a stomach bleed. He had to be rushed to the ER.” I hung up. Liam’s words were echoing in my head. Joe’s FaceTime call came through while I was in the kitchen making honey water. Silas’s fridge wasn’t empty, which was a good sign. “Elena, where are you?” I walked out of the kitchen with the glass. “What’s up?” “Come to the club! I found a great guy for you!” Joe’s end of the call was a mess of flashing lights and loud music. He was clearly at a bar. I put the phone on speaker and set it on the coffee table. I sat down and helped the “fragile” man sit up. “Go have fun. I’m busy.” “Why?” Joe looked horrified. “Don’t tell me you’re using me as a shield again? My girlfriend is going to kill me!” I was confused. “Since when do you have a girlfriend?” After a few minutes of rest, Silas seemed to be feeling a bit better. He lazily opened his eyes, staring at me, then at the honey water in my hand. He didn’t say anything. “I just met her! She’s so cute, so beautiful…” Joe was rambling when his face suddenly changed. “Elena, don’t interrupt. Seriously, this guy I found for you… he’s very handsome!” I handed the honey water to the man on the sofa and reached for my phone. “Fine, just send me his contact info. I don’t have time today—” Crash! A sudden sound of breaking glass. I turned around, stunned. 12 In an instant, the man with the bloodshot eyes knocked the honey water out of my hand. He grabbed my wrists, flipped us over, and pinned me beneath him. He leaned down and bit my lip hard. It happened so fast I couldn’t move. I turned my face away and yelled, “Silas, you’re crazy!” “Yes, I’m crazy.” He grabbed my face and forced me to look at him. His voice was raw. “I’m crazy for you. I’m driving myself insane with jealousy over those men.” I froze. He took the opportunity to kiss me desperately. A few seconds later, my eyes were burning. I used every ounce of strength to push him away. “Silas, what are you doing? What about Maya?! Aren’t you afraid she’ll see this?!” “What does this have to do with Maya?” The man stopped. He stayed pinned above me, his brow furrowed as he stared into my eyes. “You’re literally with her…” I turned my head away, trying to hide the tears in my eyes. Silas didn’t let me. He forced my head back, his voice demanding. “Elena Thorne, look at me.” My voice was trembling. “What? You dog! You want your cake and you want to eat it too!” Silas let out a frustrated laugh. “Which idiot told you I was with Maya?” “…” I stayed silent. He pinched my chin and kissed me again, hard. “Who I love… you still haven’t figured it out?” I felt a mix of awkwardness and a strange, sour sweetness. I pushed him away in a panic and ran for the door. He caught my wrist, sat up, and pulled me back into his lap. “Where do you think you’re going?” I felt a bit ridiculous. Maya was the one he’d been hiding and protecting. And he was the one who told me to stay away from him. Even if he wasn’t with Maya, the damage was already done. I looked at him, my eyes clearing. “But Silas, I don’t love you anymore.” The man’s grip on my wrist tightened. I tried to pull away. Surprisingly, he let go easily this time. He sat there for a long time, his broad shoulders slumped, looking defeated. Finally, his voice came out raspy. “It’s late. You can stay in the guest room. I’ll take you back tomorrow.” 13 The next day was another rainy day. Silas drove me back to the hotel in total silence. When I tried to open the car door, it was locked. I looked at him, confused. The man’s sharp features were hidden in the shadows. His eyes were like a dark vortex, ready to swallow me whole. “Elena Thorne.” His voice was terrifyingly raspy. “Are you leaving again?” My heart skipped a beat. After a long silence, I listened to the rain and whispered, “Yeah.” “Two weeks,” Silas said suddenly. I looked up. “What?” “In two weeks, I’ll take you to see Maya. Just stay away from that prick Lucas until then.” Off-limits Maya. He really was keeping her hidden. I wiped my mouth aggressively, feeling a wave of disgust. Lucas was the young actor I’d scouted. Noticing my confusion and annoyance, Silas pressed the door unlock button. “He’s dirty,” he explained. I suppressed the discomfort in my chest, nodded, and opened the door. “Elena.” Silas frowned and called out to me again. “Did you hear me? Stay away from him.” I stepped into the rain with my umbrella. “I heard you.” Silas was a mature, stable man. If he said Lucas was dirty, I believed him. Joe had been sent by the company to find another star who was filming in another state. He left, and I was alone at the hotel. Since that day, Joe’s old room had been taken over by Silas. He was right across from me. Knowing that, I rarely went out. I didn’t want to run into him. One rainy day, I had a sudden craving for a bowl of spicy noodles. Even though I had no family here, I still missed home. I missed everything about this place. It was only 5:00 PM. Silas should still be at the office. I grabbed my umbrella and cautiously left my room. 14 As soon as I stepped into the elevator, a pair of long, elegant legs followed me in. I instinctively gripped the handle of my umbrella tighter… Silas followed me for a long time. To get my noodles, I had to cross a wide road. At the pedestrian crossing, the light turned green. Ignoring the person behind me, I started walking across. The rain got heavier, pounding against my umbrella. The road was flooding, and my sandals were soaked. Suddenly, a massive truck barreled toward me. It kicked up a huge spray of water in the torrential rain. I stood frozen under my umbrella. In the next second, a powerful force swept me up. A broad, warm body slammed into me, and we tumbled toward the curb. The rain soaked through our intertwined bodies. Rainwater mixed with bright red blood. I lay on the ground, my head ringing. I pushed myself up, feeling weak. Silas was lying in the street, blood pouring from his body. I frantically pushed my wet hair out of my face, my body shaking with cold. I fumbled for my phone in the water and dialed 911. “Elena, why are you crying?” the man on the ground opened one eye and offered a weak smile. “I’m not dead yet.” Rain mixed with my tears as I pulled him into my lap. “I’m not crying!” Silas smiled and tried to close his eyes. I was terrified he would drift off. I kept talking to him. “Silas, why did you run out there?” He let out a soft laugh, blood bubbling from his mouth. “Because… I’m your bodyguard.” I tasted the rain. It was salty.

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The boyfriend I had been dating for a year turned out to be a married father! When his actual wife came crashing into my life, the realization hit me like a slap to the face, leaving me completely stunned. If you deceive me, you have to pay the ultimate price. 01 I had been dating Carter for a year. He traveled out of town for work frequently, but when he was around, he treated me like gold. Even my parents said he was a reliable man I could trust my future with. But lately, I noticed something was off. His “business trips” were getting longer and more frequent. He’d only come to see me every two or three days, and whenever we did meet, all he wanted to do was sleep. At first, I didn’t think much of it. I just assumed work was stressful and wanted to be an understanding girlfriend. But tonight, I accidentally spotted a scratch on his arm. A woman’s intuition told me it wasn’t just a normal scratch. Carter didn’t notice my suspicion. The moment he walked through the door, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “Mia, I missed you so much these past few days.” I played the part of the sweet girlfriend, massaging his shoulders while casually asking, “How did your arm get scratched?” He clearly hadn’t expected the question. His eyes darted away for a second before he quickly pulled me toward the bedroom. “Oh, it’s nothing. Accidentally scraped it on a pen at the office. Let’s go to bed.” He practically lunged at me. I put a hand to his chest to stop him. “It’s my time of the month. I’m not feeling well.” I thought he would be concerned, but instead, a flash of annoyance crossed his face. “Then when can we? Mia, we’ve been dating for over a year.” “When we get married, of course,” I answered with a playful smile. It was true. Despite dating for a year, I was very traditional. Carter and I hadn’t actually crossed that final physical line yet. But Carter always seemed incredibly impatient about it. Today, it looked like he had reached his limit. A dark cloud of anger settled over his features. “Mia, I respect you, but you need to be a little considerate of me too, right?” I was appalled. He had been disappearing on “business trips” constantly, yet no matter how late he came back, I would force myself to stay awake and cook for him. Whatever he needed, I provided. Wasn’t that considerate enough? Seeing he was genuinely upset, I tried to lighten the mood. “Then how about you take me to meet your parents in a few days? Let’s make things official.” Carter’s expression instantly shifted. His anger vanished, and he just put his arm around me and lay down to sleep. But my gut was screaming that something was terribly wrong. 02 Carter and I met through work. His office was close to mine. One night, after a brutal shift of overtime and a harsh scolding from my boss, I walked out of my building feeling miserable, only to be met with a torrential downpour. That was when Carter appeared with an umbrella, a warm smile on his face. “Careful, miss. You don’t want to catch a cold.” Later, as we walked toward the subway, I twisted my ankle in my heels. He actually offered to carry me all the way home. I was fresh out of college, struggling alone in a big city. Working late every night was draining, and Carter was one of the few people who genuinely seemed to care about me. Maybe that was the moment my heart fluttered. Later, he got my number, asked me out, and we naturally fell into a relationship. His monthly income was pretty low, so I basically paid for all of our living expenses. But throughout the year, he took such meticulous care of me that he even won my parents’ approval. I still remembered what Carter said to me early on, looking a bit embarrassed. “Mia, don’t worry. I promise I’ll give you a great life in the future.” He told me his job was demanding and that we might not have much time together. I told him I understood. But lately, that time was shrinking to almost nothing. And every time we met, all he wanted was to get into my pants. Ding. My phone lit up with a message from my best friend, Chloe. It was a photo. In the picture, Carter was holding hands with a strange woman at a shopping mall. They were laughing and chatting intimately. Chloe: “Mia, I just took this at the mall. I think Carter is seeing someone else. You’re being played!” Fighting the sickening feeling in my chest, I texted her back, trying to comfort myself. “Carter told me he has an older sister. Maybe it’s just her.” 03 The next day, Chloe dragged me out for tacos and margaritas. The restaurant was right near that same shopping mall. As soon as we ordered, Chloe activated her inner detective. “Seriously, Mia, aren’t you worried he’s scamming you? That woman looked absolutely nothing like him.” Meaning, it definitely wasn’t his sister. I took a bite of my taco, the spicy salsa hitting my tongue as I mumbled, “Don’t worry. Carter treats me so well. He doesn’t seem like the type to cheat.” Chloe sighed heavily. “Tsk. Women in love are blind.” But I was slapped with reality very quickly. Maybe the salsa was too spicy, because my stomach suddenly cramped. “Chloe, my stomach is killing me. I’m gonna run to the restroom.” I grabbed my phone and hurried out. About fifteen minutes later, I washed my hands and walked out of the restroom. Suddenly, I felt a slight bump against my leg. I looked down. A toddler, maybe two or three years old, had fallen onto his bottom and was staring up at me with tearful, pouty eyes. He was wearing an adorable cartoon onesie, looking like a little dumpling. I squatted down to help him up. “Auntie, I can’t find my daddy,” he sniffled, getting ready to burst into tears. I quickly patted his back. “Don’t cry, sweetie. I’ll help you find your daddy.” The little boy stopped crying and looked up at me blankly. In that split second, I froze. There was something incredibly familiar about this kid’s face, but I couldn’t put my finger on who he looked like. I mentally scrolled through everyone I knew, but drew a blank. Just as I took two steps with him, a woman blocked my path. “Excuse me, miss. This is my son.” Even though the woman was wearing heavy makeup, it couldn’t hide the exhaustion and the toll life had taken on her face. But I recognized her instantly. She was the exact same woman from the photo Chloe sent me yesterday. “Miss?” The woman waved a hand in front of my face. I swallowed the strange, sinking feeling in my chest and forced a smile. “Your son wandered off. We were just talking about going to find his dad.” Hearing that, the little boy threw himself into the woman’s arms and started whining again. “Mommy, why isn’t Daddy here yet?” The woman hastily thanked me and hurried away with her son in her arms. Driven by a gut instinct I couldn’t explain, I followed them. I watched the woman strap the child into a family SUV, but I couldn’t catch any other clues. Two days later, Carter returned from his “business trip.” 04 He had clearly been drinking. The stench of alcohol hit me the moment he opened the door. I walked over to help him onto the couch. He immediately started complaining, “Mia, you’re the best. You never lose your temper with me.” It was true. Carter and I rarely fought because I always tried to be understanding about his work stress. I paid for our rent and daily expenses, and I even gave him cash gifts on holidays. But as I leaned in to adjust his collar, I noticed something damning. There was a very faint trace of perfume on his collar. It was the exact same scent the mother at the mall had been wearing yesterday. Faint, but undeniable. Chloe’s warning echoed in my mind, and my heart sank to the floor. Even with all my patience, I couldn’t ignore this. I linked my arm through his and asked as casually as I could, “Carter, do you have any sisters or anything?” He frowned and answered without hesitation. “No. I’m an only child. You know that.” My suspicions locked into place. Thanks to the alcohol, Carter quickly passed out on the couch. Suddenly, his phone screen lit up with a notification. Curiosity drove me to grab his phone. Client A: “Hubby, why aren’t you home yet?” My heart slammed against my ribs. Hubby? Wasn’t Carter my boyfriend? My hand froze around the phone. Carter was sleeping heavily. My first instinct was to unlock the phone and dig deeper, but I didn’t know his passcode. Throughout our relationship, Carter rarely got this drunk, and because he had always been so attentive, I never had a reason to suspect him of cheating. Could it just be a crazy client harassing him? Another message popped up from Client A: “Leo says he misses you.” It was followed by a photo. The truth was screaming at me. Trembling, I quietly crept closer to Carter, took his thumb, and pressed it against the phone’s sensor. It unlocked instantly. The chat with Client A opened right up. I stared at the photo. It was the exact same little boy I had helped at the mall yesterday. In that instant, my blood turned to ice. With shaking fingers, I clicked on Client A’s social media profile. Her last post was from yesterday. Client A: “Out shopping with hubby and the baby today~” My brain exploded. The white noise was so loud I couldn’t hear anything else in the room. The man in the photo was my boyfriend, Carter. The location was the same mall I was at yesterday. The comment section was filled with friends congratulating their happy family. So yesterday, while I was eating tacos with Chloe, Carter was out playing house with his wife and child. I felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. I was paralyzed. So Carter was really married? With a kid? Then why the hell was he with me? Staring at that picture-perfect family portrait, a dull, agonizing ache spread through my chest. Suddenly, the phone buzzed again. It was a text from Derek, a buddy from his office. Derek: “How’s it going, man? Your wife came to me asking questions again today. Did she find out you’re sneaking around with your mistress?” I started shaking uncontrollably. I couldn’t breathe. If I was looking for excuses for him a minute ago, now I had absolute, irrefutable proof. I was the other woman! What was the last year of my life even for? I had spent all my savings on Carter, covering all his living expenses. And now I find out he’s a married man, and I’m the home-wrecking mistress! Everything Chloe said was true. Carter had been playing me from day one. My fists clenched involuntarily. Anger washed over me like a tidal wave. I was going to make him pay. Maybe sensing the cold phone, Carter shifted on the couch. His eyes fluttered open groggily. I quickly backed out to the home screen and turned the display off. “Mia, what are you doing?” My heart was pure ice, but I forced a sweet smile onto my face. “I was just about to help you into bed.” Carter nodded and sluggishly pushed himself up. In the bedroom, he habitually wrapped his arm around me and fell fast asleep. I wanted to vomit. Every fiber of my being was repulsed by his touch. All I could see was that photo. Even in his drunken sleep, Carter was mumbling, “Mia, working is so hard… I had to take clients out to dinner, and now I’m broke for the rest of the month…” Normally, I would have made him a hangover remedy and handed over my paycheck with an aching heart. But right now, the man lying next to me was the most repulsive thing on earth. My skin crawled. From the day we met to now, Carter claimed he was constantly traveling to build a better future for us. Looking back, there was no future. He was just a married cheat living a double life. It was incomprehensible to me. My loving, attentive boyfriend of one year was legally bound to another woman, with a kid old enough to run around. The thought made me physically sick. But I wasn’t going to just roll over and take it. A flawless revenge plan was already taking shape in my mind. 05 The next day, I spilled everything to Chloe. She was absolutely furious. “That is so disgusting! Wait right there, I’m grabbing my bat and we’re going to break his legs!” I quickly stopped her. “No. I have a better way to teach him a lesson. Can you get me his wife’s phone number?” “You’re asking the right person. I know everyone in this city.” Thanks to Chloe’s wealthy background and massive network, getting the number was a breeze. Contacting Sarah, the wife, was a bit rockier. I called three times. The first two were rejected. On the third try, it took her a few minutes to answer. She sounded exhausted and annoyed. “Who is this?” Before I could speak, I heard screaming in the background. My gut told me it was Carter. “Do you have any proof?! Why do you always accuse me of cheating? Can you stop being so damn paranoid?!” A child’s crying mixed into the background noise. It was definitely the kid from the mall. Carter’s voice was getting closer to the phone. A flash of panic hit me. Thankfully, I had used a burner app to make the call. But to be safe, I hung up. I waited three hours before calling Sarah again. This time, she answered quickly. “Who is this?” I kept my voice as calm as possible. “Sarah, your husband is definitely cheating on you. And I have the proof.” I could hear Sarah’s breath hitch. Her voice trembled with suppressed emotion. “Don’t lie to me. How do you…” “Sarah, it’s hard to explain over the phone. We need to talk in person. I’ll be at the Starbucks on 5th Avenue tomorrow at 3:00 PM.” I hung up without giving her a chance to argue. I knew with absolute certainty she would show up. The next afternoon, I arrived at the cafe right on time. From a distance, I spotted Sarah sitting in a corner booth, staring anxiously at her phone. She was desperate for the truth. I walked over. “Hi, Sarah.” She looked up sharply. Recognition flashed across her face. “Aren’t you the woman from the mall the other day?” I nodded and got straight to the point. “The other day, you left your perfume on Carter’s clothes. The next day, I sprayed a different perfume on him. And the night after that, a new lipstick mysteriously appeared in his laundry.” “Obviously, you were trying to mark your territory.” Smack! Sarah finally processed what I was saying. A dark cloud of fury overtook her, and she slammed her coffee cup onto the table. “So you’re the tramp who’s been seducing my husband?!” I grabbed a napkin to wipe the splashed coffee off my shirt. “Sarah, I only just found out Carter has a wife and kid. When he pursued me, he swore he was single.” Sarah wasn’t buying it. Her anger escalated. “Is that your excuse for being a homewrecker?! Do you have any idea how miserable my kid and I have been? It’s all because of you!” The word “homewrecker” stung, but I looked at the hysterical woman in front of me. Knowing her husband was cheating had taken a massive toll. She didn’t have the polished makeup from the mall; she just looked deeply, painfully exhausted. This broken marriage was driving her insane. I waited for her to finish venting before sliding a glass of warm water toward her. “Sarah, I genuinely didn’t know he was married. He told me he was single and had never even been in a serious relationship before.” Sarah stared at me blankly. Suddenly, she let out a bitter laugh. “Right. You’re young and gorgeous. You wouldn’t knowingly throw yourself at a married man with no money. I was the blind idiot who married him.” “How long have you been together?” she asked. “A year,” I replied. Sarah laughed again, a harsh, self-deprecating sound, but the fire in her eyes burned brighter. “When we got together, he was dead broke. I gave him a child, and he’s out there telling people he’s single!” I offered a sad smile. “For the past year, I’ve paid his rent and his living expenses. He always claimed he was working hard and traveling to build a better future for us. Now I know he was just juggling multiple women.” The revelation pushed Sarah past her breaking point. “I’m going to go home and kill him right now!” I quickly grabbed her arm. “Sarah, I hate Carter just as much as you do. That’s why we need to make him pay. Just exposing him isn’t enough.” My words seemed to ground her. She took a deep breath. “Tell me, Mia. What’s your plan?” I hesitated for a second. “Are you planning on staying married to him?” She had a child with him, after all. I couldn’t blindly push her into a trap. But Sarah answered without skipping a beat. “I kept telling myself he wasn’t cheating, living in denial until you told me the truth today. I’d rather have a clean divorce than live every day fighting with a man who doesn’t love me, terrifying our child in the process.” She sighed. “My family actually has a lot of money. But I stubbornly insisted on marrying Carter. My parents were so furious they didn’t even come to the wedding. After we got married, his attitude toward me completely changed. It’s been four years, and I regret it every single day.” I stayed quiet. Carter really was a parasitic gold-digger, preying on women for their money. Thank God I saw his true colors early. “Sarah, is it possible Carter is hiding other secrets?” She frowned. “What secrets?” “We just have to push him a little to find out,” I said slowly. “You’re an only child, right? You haven’t seen your parents in years. They must miss you terribly.” Sarah looked confused, so I explained. “You can’t just divorce him now. We have to make sure he leaves with absolutely nothing. Especially since you want full custody.” “How do we do that?” “Make him sign a postnuptial agreement. Doesn’t he constantly deny cheating? Now that we have proof, you just need him to sign a legally binding document stating that if he’s ever caught cheating, you get full custody and all the assets, and he leaves penniless.” Sarah frowned. “But you know how he is. We’re fighting constantly. Getting him to sign something like that will be almost impossible.” “That’s why we have to offer him a little bait first,” I smirked. 06 Three days later, Sarah texted me: “It’s done.” She attached a photo of the signed and thumb-printed postnuptial agreement. The terms were clear: if he was caught committing infidelity, he would leave the marriage with nothing, and all assets and custody would go to the wife. Soon after, my phone rang. It was Sarah. She called while Carter was out. “Mia, I did exactly what you said. I reconnected with my parents and borrowed $80,000 from them. I told Carter my parents gave it to us to help out. You should have seen him—his attitude did a complete 180! He immediately started sweet-talking me into transferring the money to his account. “I used the opportunity to say I was feeling insecure lately and wanted him to sign an agreement for my peace of mind. He agreed instantly!” I laughed. He took the bait hook, line, and sinker. Sarah snorted coldly. “Men like him are absolute garbage.” I gave her some reassurance. “Don’t worry, he won’t get to keep a dime of that money. He’s going to pay for what he’s done very soon.” Sure enough, probably high on his newly signed contract and Sarah’s lingering suspicions, Carter ghosted me for three straight days. I played dumb and texted him: “Carter, where are you?” It took him half a day to reply. “Baby, I had to fly out for another work trip. I’m so exhausted.” I sneered at my screen. Exhausted my ass. You’re just terrified of getting caught cheating, and you’re probably rolling around in that $80,000 right now. Fighting back my nausea, I replied: “Make sure you get lots of rest. Come back to me soon.” He didn’t text back. Meanwhile, Sarah pressed Derek about Carter’s whereabouts. At first, Derek tried to cover for him. But when I told Sarah about Derek sexually harassing female colleagues at work, Sarah used it to blackmail him. Derek folded instantly. My guess was right. Carter did have another secret. On top of a long-suffering wife and a one-year girlfriend, Carter was tangled up with Lexi, a girl who worked at a sketchy massage parlor. According to Derek, Carter had been visiting that spa for the last six months, hooking up with Lexi. After he got his hands on that $80,000, he started acting like a high-roller, visiting the spa every day to get pampered. Lexi threw herself at him, and Carter happily soaked it all up. A trash bag will always be a trash bag. Give him ten thousand choices, and he’ll still choose the garbage. But this actually made Sarah and my plan much easier to execute. A week later, Carter showed up at my apartment. As soon as he walked in, he looked exhausted and reeked of alcohol. I put on my best act and went to support him. “What’s wrong? Why was the trip so long this time?” Carter immediately started spinning lies. “Mia, I’m just so tired. But it’s all for our future, right? Oh, by the way, how much was your paycheck this month? Did you get your commission bonus?” I sneered internally. This leech always came to me for money. I used to be so blinded by love that I handed it over, thinking we were saving for a house. In reality, he was using my money to play around behind my back. “Don’t even mention it. Not only did I not get a bonus, but my base pay got docked,” I lied smoothly. “Since your trip was so long, your boss must have given you a raise, right? Hand over your debit card, let me check.” Hearing the words “debit card,” Carter’s drunken haze vanished, replaced by instant panic. “No way. You know how my boss is. I’m totally broke right now…” Heh. The second I mention money, he dodges like I’m the plague. And to think I was the one paying for his dinners out! I nodded understandingly. “Okay, sit down and relax. I’ll go heat up some hangover soup for you.” After he slumped onto the couch, I went into the kitchen, heated the soup, and played the perfect, dutiful girlfriend as I handed it to him. Under the dim living room lights, Carter took the bowl, looking incredibly satisfied. “Mia, you really are the best to me.” “Drink up before it gets cold,” I reminded him with a smile. Did he think he was an emperor choosing concubines? ‘You’re the best to me’? Oh, buddy, the best is yet to come. He must have been incredibly thirsty because he gulped down every last drop. I smiled to myself. Soon enough, the drugs took effect. Carter passed out cold. Yes, I had crushed up sleeping pills and mixed them into the soup. Given how “exhausted” he had been lately, the pills knocked him out effortlessly. As his loud snores filled the living room, I frowned in disgust, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and expertly pressed his thumb against the sensor. I opened his texts. Sure enough, there was a new contact: Client C. The messages were incredibly explicit. This had to be Lexi. And my contact name? Client B. He really was running a whole harem out here. I scoffed, using a tool I prepared earlier to pry open his phone case. I slipped a microscopic GPS tracker and listening device inside, snapped the case back on, and slid the phone back into his pocket. Everything was in place. Now, all we needed was a little spark. 07 The next evening, Sarah and I met at a cafe. I pulled out the receiver and handed Sarah an earbud. According to Derek, Carter was hyper-excited lately because of his frequent dates with Lexi. But to play it safe, they always chose different locations to hook up. I planted the bug specifically for this moment. Soon, we heard Carter and Lexi talking on the phone. “Daddy, I miss you so much. When can we see each other again?” A sickly sweet, high-pitched voice pierced our eardrums. Carter sighed, sounding burdened. “Ugh, I miss you too, baby. But you know the old hag at home has been keeping a tight leash on me lately. Otherwise, do you really think I wouldn’t come see you?” Lexi whined in response. “Boo hoo, you don’t love me anymore! How am I worse than your wife? Waahhh…” Sarah and I exchanged looks of pure disgust. Carter, however, seemed to be loving it. “Pfft, what are you talking about? After that hag had a kid, I don’t even want to touch her. She’s nothing compared to how sweet and gentle you are.” Lexi sniffled. “Really? Then when are you going to divorce her? You promised you’d marry me…” “Okay, okay! She’s still got some money left, right? Give me two months. I’ll drain her accounts, divorce her, and marry you!” Lexi stopped crying instantly, her voice bubbling with excitement. “Really?! Then where should I meet you tonight?” “It’s a promise. Alright, meet me tonight at 9 PM at The Grand Monarch Hotel. Couples Suite 1039. Make sure no one sees you.” Carter’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. I chuckled darkly. Carter sure knew how to live it up. The Grand Monarch was the most expensive luxury hotel in the city. A little bit of cash and he was living like a king. He chose that hotel because it was luxurious, but also because they had ironclad privacy policies. But what he didn’t know was that my best friend’s family owned it. Lexi got the hint, letting out a shy “Mhm.” “Make sure you get there early and wait for me.” The call ended, and Sarah and I pulled out our earbuds. Sarah looked at me, worried. “Mia, what do we do now?” “We go catch them in the act, obviously,” I replied like it was the most natural thing in the world. “But The Grand Monarch won’t just let us waltz into a guest’s room.” I smiled confidently. “I have my ways. You go home and watch the kid. Wait for the good news.” Sarah’s imagination ran wild. “Mia, you aren’t going to do anything crazy, are you? I know you hate him as much as I do, but you can’t murder him! Murder is illegal…” I almost died laughing. I patted her shoulder. “Relax. I’m not throwing my life away for a piece of trash.” After finally convincing Sarah to go home, I immediately called Chloe. Hearing that it was time to destroy the scumbag, Chloe was vibrating with excitement, swearing she was going to chop him into a million pieces. We met up at The Grand Monarch. Chloe marched right up to the manager, claiming she needed to perform a surprise VIP inspection on behalf of her father. The manager happily escorted us straight to Room 1039. Chloe waved a hand dismissively. “You can wait out here. We’ll go inside and check the standards.” The manager happily obliged. After all, Chloe was the sole heiress to the hotel empire. Once inside, Chloe and I locked the door. The hotel security was top-notch, and the privacy was absolute. Aside from the hallways and elevators, there were no cameras. So whatever we did in this room, Carter would never know. I walked swiftly toward the bedside table. It was a Couples Suite. Translation: a romantic fantasy room. It was stocked with all the “essentials.” And that was exactly what I was counting on. Chloe watched in absolute shock as I picked up the bottle of premium personal lubricant. “Holy sh*t! Mia, you’re not going to tamper with that, are you?” I nodded. Under Chloe’s horrified gaze, I unscrewed the cap and dumped my special-grade, time-delayed industrial superglue inside. I had visited multiple specialty hardware stores to find this exact glue. When freshly unsealed, it looked and felt exactly like water. The adhesive properties only activated after an hour of exposure to air and friction. Once it set, ten bulls couldn’t pull it apart. It was currently 8:05 PM. Carter told Lexi to meet him at 9 PM. To be absolutely foolproof, I also swapped out the bedside condoms. I replaced them with a batch I had specially prepped at home—laced with the same industrial glue. They looked identical to the hotel’s standard issue. The whole process took barely three minutes. Chloe and I walked out of the room with pleasant smiles. The manager was waiting outside. Chloe played her part perfectly. “Alright, we’ve finished inspecting this room. Hygiene standards are perfect.” The manager breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Miss Chloe.” Step one complete. Chloe and I went to a restaurant across the street, put our earbuds in, and started monitoring Carter’s movements. It was 8:17 PM. Lexi was probably on her way. About forty minutes later, the bug picked up a woman’s flirty voice. “Daddy, what took you so long? I’ve been waiting for you forever.” A loud thud followed. Carter had probably thrown Lexi onto the bed. “Little vixen, I’m here now, aren’t I? Let me teach you a lesson! Tsk, this hotel has great service. They’ve got everything we need right here.” Hearing that, I leaned forward in anticipation. Sure enough, Carter’s frustrated voice muttered, “Hold on, let me put some of this on. Why is this cap so hard to unscrew?” A brief wave of panic hit me. Did the glue set too early? Thankfully, Lexi urged him on. “Hurry up, Daddy.” Caught up in the heat of the moment, neither of them stopped to question if there was something wrong with the “lubricant.” Carter quickly poured the liquid out. “Ah! It hurts!” Lexi suddenly shrieked. Carter was still excited at first. “Don’t be scared!” The next second, his entire body must have frozen. “What the f*ck?! What’s happening?!” “AH! HOLY SH*T! MY JUNK!” Carter suddenly started screaming in pure agony. “Stop moving, Carter! It hurts so much!” Lexi started sobbing. “What did you do?!” Panic erupted. The earbuds were instantly filled with chaotic crying and screaming. “You bitch! What did you do to this?! What the hell is going on?!” Carter started screaming profanities. Lexi was furious. “What do you mean what did I do?! You’re the one who put it on! What the hell did you use?! You psycho! What do we do now?!” “How the fck should I know?! Fck my life!” “Call 911! I’m dying!” Lexi sobbed. Her delicate, flirty persona was completely gone. Carter snapped back, “We can’t call! If the old hag at home finds out, I’m dead!” “Waahhh, then what do we do?!” “I don’t f*cking know! It hurts like hell!” Lexi cried even harder. “No, I can’t take it anymore!” The next second, a loud, shrill alarm started blaring. Ding-dong! Ding-dong! It was a special feature of The Grand Monarch. Every bed had an emergency panic button installed on the headboard in case guests experienced medical emergencies. “Don’t press it!” Carter tried to stop her, but it was too late. He could only curse under his breath. Seconds later, the door to Room 1039 was violently kicked open, followed by a chorus of shocked screams from the hotel staff. Because Carter and Lexi had been so focused on arguing about how to hide the situation, they completely forgot they were still stark naked. I took out my earbuds and dialed a number. “You guys can head to the lobby of The Grand Monarch now. There’s about to be some massive breaking news.” I had arranged for a swarm of paparazzi to wait near the hotel specifically for this moment. I hung up. Chloe looked at me, bewildered. “What are you doing?” I smiled. “Sending them to the front page.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “421032”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When I opened my eyes, the first thing I smelled wasn’t the sterile, cold scent of a hospital room. It was high-octane fuel and burnt rubber. I was back. Back to the day the official race circuit was announced. In my past life, the supercar I had spent three years meticulously engineering was a carbon copy of Beau Montgomery’s. Even though I’d released a time-lapse of the entire build to prove my innocence, all it took was one tearful video from Beau. He’d looked into the camera, playing the martyr, and told his millions of followers, “Just let Jamie have the design. He clearly needs it more than I do. I’ll just have to rely on my raw talent to win.” That one sentence branded me a thief in the eyes of the world. The next day, as I turned the ignition, a rigged component turned my masterpiece into a bomb. I didn’t die—not then. I spent years in a persistent vegetative state, a “locked-in” ghost watching the world through a haze. I watched Beau’s fans celebrate my “divine retribution.” I watched my career, my reputation, and my fiancée all slide into Beau’s pocket as if they had always belonged to him. Then, my fiancée pulled the plug. But this time? This time, I wasn’t going to play his game. Twenty-four hours before the qualifiers, I stood in my garage, watched my life’s work go up in flames, and announced my withdrawal from the season. The internet exploded. My fan club dissolved in hours. The casual observers turned into a lynch mob. And Beau, my “sole rival,” posted a status dripping with fake sympathy: “Without him, the summit feels a little cold. Whatever happened, I hope Jamie finds his way back to the track. I was looking forward to proving who the better man really is.” I stared at my phone and felt a cold, sharp laugh bubble up in my chest. 1 “Test run number fifty. We’re still clocking the fastest lap in the country, Jamie!” Coop slapped me on the back, the force of it nearly sending me stumbling forward. My legs moved. My spine didn’t scream in phantom pain. I wasn’t a paralyzed shell in a bed. I was alive. “You earned this, man,” Coop cheered, oblivious to the fact that I was vibrating with the shock of a second chance. He gestured toward the paddock. “Get some rest. Tomorrow, we show the world.” “Wait!” I barked, my voice raspy. “Don’t submit the telemetry data yet. I need to check the car one last time.” I sprinted toward the garage, my heart hammering against my ribs. As I ran, I pulled up Beau Montgomery’s social media feed. He had just posted his preliminary specs. In my first life, our cars had been identical, but I hadn’t noticed until it was too late. I assumed we had just followed the same logic of physics. But as I reached my car, my screen refreshed. “Jamie! What the hell?” Coop ran in after me, his face pale as he stared at his own tablet. “Beau just updated his public specs. They’re… they’re a mirror image of ours. Every decimal point. Every gear ratio.” I felt a sickening sense of déjà vu. “The submission window closes at midnight,” I said, my voice deathly calm. “We have time.” In my previous life, Beau had “accidentally” leaked both sets of data simultaneously, framing me as the one who had hacked his servers. The harassment had been instantaneous. When I posted my build videos, his fans swarmed: “Deepfakes are getting scary. Nice try, Jamie.” “Everyone knows Beau is a visionary. Why don’t you just steal his DNA while you’re at it?” “Beau is betting his entire legacy on this race, and Jamie is trying to bury him with his father’s money. Disgusting.” My team had been harassed out of their homes. My parents were doxxed. And I, stubborn and proud, thought I could prove them wrong on the track. I thought the car would speak for itself. It did. It spoke in fire. Even the forensic investigators couldn’t find a reason for the explosion. The narrative was perfect: I had committed a sin against the sport, and the universe had punished me for it. I deserved to die. I laid in that hospital bed for years while my parents spiraled into a depression that ended with them jumping from the fourteenth floor of their apartment building. I couldn’t even attend their funeral. And then there was Ivy. Ivy St. Claire, my fiancée of eight years. She had walked into my room, hand-in-hand with Beau, pretending to be a grieving fan as she reached for the oxygen line. “Jamie would want this,” she had whispered to the nurses. “He can’t live with the guilt of what he did.” I died with my eyes wide open, unable to blink, unable to scream. But the universe made a mistake. It let me back in. And this time, the guilty would be the ones to burn. 2 “This race only happens once a decade, Jamie! You’ve spent your whole life waiting for this. You can’t just quit because Beau is a lying prick!” Coop tried to grab my phone, but I shoved him back and locked myself in the basement workshop with the car. I gritted my teeth, inspecting every inch of the chassis. Even if there was a mole in my team, even if someone leaked the blueprints, a car is more than a drawing. If a single bolt is tightened a fraction too much, the data changes. How could Beau have identical telemetry? And more importantly, if the cars were the same, why did mine explode while his took the checkered flag? I closed my eyes, forcing myself to remember the day of the crash. Beau was a master of the “pouty influencer” look, always surrounded by a phalanx of fans and cameras. He never got near my car. But his “plus one” that day… It was Ivy. My heart felt like it was being crushed by a cold, iron fist. Eight years. I thought we were building a life; she was just scouting the target. I didn’t have time for the heartache. I stood up, grabbing a wrench. I began to strip the car. I had spent three years on these parts. I loved them like they were my own flesh and blood. But as I looked at the sleek carbon fiber, all I saw was the image of my parents’ bodies on the pavement. My hands moved faster. Once the “perfect” version was dismantled, I dragged a crate out from the back of the warehouse—the original prototype. It was raw. It was brutal. It was the design I’d dreamt up before I started overthinking, before I tried to make it “marketable.” It was a beast of a machine, devoid of the delicate refinements Beau had stolen. In two hours, I had it rebuilt. It wasn’t as polished, but its output was terrifying. It was a predator, crouched and ready to kill. I sent the new data to Coop. Beau couldn’t have this. Nobody had seen this version except me in the middle of a fever dream three years ago. I finally let myself breathe. Then Coop walked back in. He didn’t look happy. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. “Jamie… Beau just posted his ‘early concept’ thoughts on his vlog. The data… it’s a match. Again.” “That’s impossible!” I snatched the phone. On the screen, Beau was looking wistfully at a sunset. “Honestly,” he said to the camera, “I almost went with my first draft. It was perfect, in its own rugged way. But someone broke into my trailer and stole the primary drive. I had to pivot to the new design just to stay in the race.” I refreshed the official site. Beau’s specs had changed. They were identical to the prototype I had just finished twenty minutes ago. My blood ran cold. The parts I used for this version weren’t even on the market anymore. I’d salvaged them from an old junkyard in the Midwest and spent months hand-polishing them. One specific gear had been weathered by rainwater in a way that made it fit the housing with a unique, imperfect seal. It was a one-in-a-billion fluke of physics. And Beau had the exact same specs. I opened the hood and pulled that gear out. It was still warm from the test fit. Was this it? The source of the fire? I remembered the years of silence in the hospital. The sound of Ivy’s laughter as she told Beau how easy it was to fool me. I walked over to the industrial furnace we used for heat. Under the confused gaze of my mechanics, I threw the gear into the flames. I wasn’t going to play fair. I was going to survive. 3 Coop watched the metal melt, tears pricking his eyes. I had just destroyed the only two viable setups we had. “What now, Jamie?” I looked at my phone. The comment section on my page was a war zone. Beau’s fans were emboldened. “If you’re so great, why are you hiding your data? Just admit you’re a fraud and quit.” “I used to think Jamie was a legend. Turns out he’s just a copycat who realized he can’t keep up.” Then, a message popped up from Ivy. She hadn’t spoken to me in three days. “Stop playing with those greasy parts. Come out and have a drink with me tonight. You need to relax.” I hadn’t told her I was in the garage. She knew I stayed in total isolation before a race. She had never asked me to go out the night before a qualifier in eight years. Then came another text. A voice note. Her voice was trembling, sounding like she was on the verge of tears. “Jamie, please. Just give it up. If you keep going like this, you’re going to die.” I locked the phone and looked at Coop. “There’s still time,” I said. “I’m building one more.” I put the phone on Do Not Disturb. I sat at the bench and started from scratch—no blueprints, no memories of old designs. I designed a “Rich Kid’s Entry Level” car. It looked like something a trust-fund brat would buy for a weekend track day. It took me two hours. It looked mediocre on paper. But I changed one fundamental thing: I used a high-risk, high-reward cooling bypass I’d spent ten years “theorizing” while I was paralyzed in that hospital bed. It was a design that looked like a mistake to any normal engineer, but at top speeds, it turned the car into a rocket. Beau hadn’t spent a decade in a mental prison dreaming of fluid dynamics. He wouldn’t see it. But the moment I hit “upload” to send the data to the organizers, Beau’s team posted a “Fan Special.” “We know some of you want to get into racing like Beau! So, he designed this ‘Beginner’s Build’ just for the fans. Check it out!” My hands started to shake. I didn’t even want to look. I clicked the link. The cooling bypass. The “amateur” frame. The exact weight distribution. Everything. It was a perfect mirror. How? I had been alone. No cameras. No microphones. Then I saw the official race website. The leaderboard for telemetry was flickering. Suddenly, it went black. “UNDER MAINTENANCE,” the screen read. Coop punched the wall, his knuckles bleeding. “That son of a bitch! He’s got the organizers in his pocket! They’re letting him see your uploads in real-time and then back-dating his posts!” I looked up from the scrap metal on the floor. “No,” I whispered. “It’s bigger than that. And I’m going to go talk to the organizers myself.” 4 10:24 PM. I had ninety-six minutes to fix this and register, or I was disqualified. I needed to prove Beau was stealing my life. I needed to see the man behind the curtain. But I knew the race wouldn’t wait for “justice.” I sat in the driver’s seat of the “beginner” car and turned the key. I had to test one thing. I had to know if the “fire” was already in this car, too. I slammed the pedal down. The car roared, flying out of the garage like a bullet. Something was wrong. I knew this machine. I knew every vibration. The car was pulling left—only a few millimeters, but at these speeds, that was a death sentence. It was dragging toward the driver’s side. I looked out the side mirror. Sparks were flying from the front left wheel, even though the tire pressure was perfect. “Damn it!” I didn’t hesitate. I kicked the door open and threw myself out of the cockpit, rolling across the asphalt as the car drifted. The moment my weight left the seat, a deafening explosion rocked the air. A wall of heat slammed into my back, tossing me another ten feet. I tumbled, skin tearing against the road, until I came to a halt. I gasped for air, looking back through the smoke. The car was a fireball. 5 It took me a long time to stand up. My left side was a mess of road rash and blood, the pain searing into my nerves. But then I saw it. The fire died down as quickly as it had started. And there, sitting on the pavement, was the car. Intact. Not a scratch on the paint. Only the open door proved I had ever been inside. My heart hammered. Ivy’s voice echoed in my head: “You’re going to die.” This wasn’t just corporate espionage. This was something supernatural. Something impossible. I called Coop to patch me up, then ignored his pleas to go to the hospital. I limped toward the hotel where the race officials were staying. 10:50 PM. The lights were on in the official suite. I could hear the sound of laughter and the clinking of glasses. Beau was in there. I knocked. No answer. I knocked again. Nothing. I pulled out my phone and went straight to Beau’s latest post. I commented: “Hey Beau. Your data has changed three times in four hours. Which sponsor is paying the tech team to let you cheat? Or should we just give you the trophy now?” The internet went nuclear. Even as his mods deleted the comment, screenshots were already flying. “Aww, is Jamie having a breakdown? Poor baby can’t handle the competition.” “Look at this clown trying to stay relevant. Beau doesn’t even know you’re alive, dude.” The door finally opened. The lead official, a man with a greasy smile, looked at me. “Beau’s data was submitted once, Jamie. On day one. You’re the one who hasn’t submitted a final build. Maybe you’ve just run out of ideas? It happens to the best of us. Go home, kid.” He was recording me. Beau was behind him, holding a phone, live-streaming the encounter. “Jamie,” Beau said, his voice dripping with faux concern. “You look… rough. Is the pressure getting to you? Attacking me won’t make you faster.” I looked at the official’s screen. The website was back up. There was only one entry for Beau Montgomery. And the timestamp said it was from three days ago. But the data… the data was my latest “beginner” build. My stomach dropped. I looked at the live stream. The comments were a blur of hate. “He looks like a crackhead. Is that blood?” “Jamie has lost it. Ban him for life.” I looked the official in the eye. “What is Beau giving you? To kill the site, to rewrite the timestamps? People want a fair race.” Beau stepped forward, smiling for his fans. “If it makes you feel better, Jamie, why don’t we just wait for the site to finish its ‘update’? Let the fans see the truth.” I didn’t trust him. But I didn’t have a choice. “Done!” a tech shouted from the back, turning a laptop around. Beau’s data was there. It was my latest version. The timestamp? Three days ago. 6 “Look at it!” I screamed, my voice cracking. “He changed it three times tonight!” The official looked at me with pity. “Jamie, do you even know the rules? Each driver can only submit one car. Beau has had his locked in since Monday.” The comments section turned into a firing squad. Beau’s smile was razor-sharp now. The official signaled Beau to kill the stream. Once the “cameras” were off, the official leaned in close to me. “You saw the contract, Jamie. A driver of your ‘stature’ can’t withdraw without paying a massive liquidated damages fee. You’re on that track tomorrow. Whether you have a car or not.” I didn’t say a word. I turned and walked away. I knew how this worked. The organizers didn’t care about the sport; they cared about the “Golden Boy” narrative. Beau was their cash cow. I lit a cigarette, my hands finally steady. Coop called. “I’m out,” I told him. “And I’m getting a new car.” Before Coop could respond, a shadow fell over me. A woman threw her arms around my neck, sobbing. “Jamie! No! You have to race! You can’t withdraw!” “Ivy?” I detached her arms, my eyes cold. “What are you doing here?” She looked at me, her eyes red, her face a mask of desperation. “Jamie, we’re supposed to get married. I just want you to be safe.” I looked at her, and for a split second, I saw the truth in her eyes. She remembered, too. She was a “regressor,” just like me. But she wasn’t on my side. I had given her everything. I had delayed our wedding for two years because she said she was “worried about the stress.” I had been a perfect partner. And she had killed me. I shoved her away. She scrambled back, grabbing my sleeve. “Jamie, you can’t destroy that car! You have to use it!” I lost it. I swung my hand and slapped her, the crack of it echoing in the empty hallway. She gasped, clutching her cheek, shock written all over her face. “You told me to stop,” I hissed. “Then you told me I had to race. Which is it, Ivy? What game are you and Beau playing?” I didn’t wait for an answer. I ran back to the garage and slammed the heavy iron doors shut. Ivy hammered on the metal from the outside. “Jamie! Open the door! You don’t understand!” I ignored her. I stood in the darkness of the garage and pulled out my lighter.

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Fifteen years ago, my mother was dying. To scrape together the fifty thousand dollars for her emergency surgery, I did the unthinkable: I sold a piece of myself. I sold my kidney. The moment that blood money—the price of my future health—hit my account, my husband swept it clean. He didn’t use it for the surgery. He used it to buy a three-carat diamond ring for his brother’s widow, a woman he’d been sleeping with behind my back for years. Because I couldn’t pay the hospital, my mother passed away that very night. While I was drowning in grief, my husband showed up at the hospital with his sister-in-law on his arm, coldly demanding a divorce. My father’s heart couldn’t take the shock; he collapsed right there, and even the trauma nurses were screaming at my husband, calling him a subhuman monster. I didn’t scream. I didn’t fight. With a terrifying, hollowed-out calm, I signed the papers and walked away with nothing. My father disowned me for my “weakness,” and my relatives branded me a spineless traitor who let her mother’s killer walk free. For fifteen years, I let them whisper. I never defended myself. Not once. Until yesterday. I found out through the grapevine that my ex-husband’s son—the boy he raised with that woman—just got accepted into the State Police Academy. I picked up the phone and dialed the Background Investigation Unit. I’ve waited fifteen years. My moment has finally arrived. … 1 “Background Investigation Unit, Sergeant Miller speaking. How can I help you?” The voice was crisp, professional. I pressed my hand against my racing heart, my voice thin and trembling. “I’m calling to report a candidate.” The line went sharp. “A report? Ma’am, please state the name of the individual and the nature of the information.” I took a shaky breath. “I’m reporting a recruit in this year’s class. Tyler Vance. His father is a man of documented moral turpitude—a man who committed financial fraud and abandoned his family during a medical crisis. There are outstanding debts and a history of extreme ethical violations.” The sergeant sounded surprised. “Are you certain about these allegations? This call is being recorded for the official record. You will be held responsible for the veracity of your statement.” “I am certain,” I whispered, the words tasting like iron. “I stake my life on it.” How could I not be certain? I’d rehearsed this speech in the dark for over five thousand nights. I’d polished every syllable until it was sharp enough to draw blood. “Stay on the line, Ma’am. I’m bringing my commanding officer into this conversation. One moment.” I waited, listening to the muffled sounds of a busy office. “What? A formal complaint against Vance?” “Yes, Lieutenant. She’s on the line now.” “Damn. Vance is at the top of the class. His PT scores were off the charts…” “The whistleblower is waiting.” “Fine. Patch her through to me.” I picked at the peeling wallpaper of my cramped apartment. The cheap drywall crumbled under my fingernails, leaving a fine white dust on my skin—a pale shroud for a life that had been covered in ash for fifteen years. “Hello, Ma’am. This is Lieutenant Rodriguez. Can you identify your relationship to the candidate’s family?” I pulled my lips into a bitter line. “I was Tyler’s father’s first wife. The woman he robbed to fund his life with Tyler’s mother.” There was a heavy silence on the other end. “Go ahead. Tell me everything.” I closed my eyes, the ghost of a phantom pain radiating from the scar on my side. I let the memories drag me under. “Fifteen years ago, my mother was diagnosed with acute liver failure.” We were a typical middle-class family. My father and I were blindsided by the cost of the transplant. We begged, we borrowed, we took out predatory loans, but it was a drop in the bucket. In those weeks, it felt like my father and I had cried ourselves dry. I learned that when you hit the bottom of despair, the tears stop. You just become a machine. We sat in that hospital hallway, night after night, watching the light fade from my mother’s eyes. One night, I saw my father hitting his head against the brick wall of the hospital, sobbing that he was useless. That was the moment I made my choice. I went through a series of shaded contacts until I found a broker for the underground organ trade. He was a cold man who looked at me like a piece of USDA Choice beef. He offered me fifty thousand for a kidney. Fifty thousand. Exactly what we needed for the down payment on the surgery. I lay down on a rusted operating table in a basement clinic. I will never forget the smell of stale bleach or the way the cheap anesthetic failed halfway through. I bit my tongue until it bled to keep from screaming as they took a part of me. I crawled out of that clinic, clutching my side, and staggered to the hospital to pay the bill. But when I got to the cashier, the card was declined. Panic seized me. I called the bank. The teller told me the entire balance had been transferred out two hours after the deposit. The recipient? My husband, Rick. I couldn’t breathe. I called Rick over and over. On the twentieth try, someone finally picked up. It wasn’t Rick. It was Lydia, his brother’s widow. 2 “Oh, it’s you,” Lydia said, her voice dripping with a smug, honeyed cruelty. “Why are you calling? Rick is busy helping me pick out jewelry. He doesn’t have time for your drama.” My blood turned to ice. I’d suspected something was going on between them. Rick and I had been fighting for months, and I’d even brought up divorce, but then my mother got sick. I’d been so focused on the hospital that I hadn’t realized they’d stopped even trying to hide it. “Put Rick on the phone! That money—that’s for my mother! It’s her life!” Lydia let out a light, airy laugh. “What ‘life’? Rick said that money was just sitting there, rotting. He thought we should use it for something beautiful, something permanent. I’m looking at a three-carat princess cut right now. It’s exactly fifty thousand.” “It’s fate, really,” she continued. “Your mother was going to die anyway. Why waste good money on a lost cause when you can invest in our future? Rick always promised me a real ring. Consider it a gift for our engagement.” In the background, I heard Rick’s impatient voice. “Stop talking to her, babe. The jeweler’s waiting for the wire to clear. Let’s get the ring and head back to the hotel.” Lydia giggled, a sound that made my skin crawl. “Don’t be so impatient, you naughty boy.” Then, she hung up. I called until my battery died. I called every friend we had. I finally found out they’d flown to Chicago that morning for a ‘romantic getaway.’ It was a six-hour flight. My mother didn’t have six hours. I don’t remember walking back to her room. I just remember my father’s face, bright with hope. “Maggie! Did you get it? The doctor says if we pay now, they can prep the OR!” I looked at him. I looked at the frail, yellowed woman in the bed. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. The physical trauma of the surgery combined with the crushing weight of the betrayal was too much. I collapsed on the hospital floor. When I woke up, my father was sitting by my bed. He looked like he’d aged a decade in a single night. “She’s gone, Maggie.” Because of the delay, my mother never woke up. My father had to watch her slip away while I was unconscious in the next ward. He asked me, “You said you had the money. What happened?” I told him everything, except the part about the kidney. I told him Rick took the money. My father’s face went from pale to a ghostly, translucent white. I struggled out of bed, trailing my IV stand, desperate to see her one last time. But when I reached the morgue entrance, I saw the last people on earth I expected. Rick and Lydia were there. They hadn’t come to mourn. They hadn’t come to apologize. They stood there, arms entwined, looking down at me like I was something they’d stepped in. On Lydia’s finger, the diamond caught the harsh fluorescent light, mocking me with its brilliance. Rick looked at my mother’s body through the glass and scoffed. “Well, she’s dead now. At least you don’t have to worry about the bills. Anyway, I brought the papers. I want a divorce. I’m marrying Lydia.” My father started shaking. He pointed a finger at Rick’s chest. “You animal! You stole her life! How dare you show your face here—” He couldn’t finish. He clutched his chest, his face turning a terrifying shade of purple, and he hit the floor. “Dad! Dad!” I screamed, throwing myself over him. The hospital staff swarmed in. A nurse who knew our situation recognized Rick and Lydia. She turned on them, her voice shaking with rage. “Get out! You stole that woman’s surgery money for a ring? You’re not even human! Get out before I call security!” In the chaos, as they carted my father away to the ICU, I looked at my husband’s cold, indifferent eyes and Lydia’s triumphant smile. Something inside me snapped. The pain vanished, replaced by a cold, hard vacuum. I stood up, wiped the tears from my face, and looked Rick in the eye. “Fine. I’ll sign.” Rick blinked, surprised by my sudden compliance. “Good. Smart girl. But don’t think you’re getting a dime of that fifty thousand back. It’s gone.” “I don’t want it,” I said, my voice dead. “I’ll walk away with nothing. No alimony, no assets. Just give me the papers.” “Maggie, are you crazy?!” My father had regained consciousness as the medics stabilized him. He looked at me with pure horror. “Your mother isn’t even cold yet! You’re just going to let him go? You coward! I don’t even know who you are anymore. Get out! If you won’t fight for her, you aren’t my daughter!” The relatives who had gathered in the hall looked at me with disgust. I heard them whispering. Weak. Pathetic. She’s so obsessed with him she’ll let him kill her mother and still crawl back for more. Lydia leaned into Rick, smirking. I didn’t explain. I didn’t tell them I was too weak to fight because I was literally missing an organ. I just signed the name ‘Maggie Vance’ for the last time. My father disowned me on the spot. Rick and Lydia walked out like they’d won the lottery. I was escorted out of the hospital by the very people who had tried to save my mother. I left that city like a ghost. I moved to a different state, rented a windowless basement, and started a life of silence. That was fifteen years ago. 3 Life hasn’t been kind. Without a kidney and with a heart full of lead, I couldn’t hold down a high-stress job. I worked temp roles, lived in the shadows of the city, and spent my nights in a bed that felt like a coffin. I never blocked Rick on social media. Maybe it was because I’d made the divorce so easy for him that he never felt the need to hide his “happiness.” For fifteen years, I’ve been a silent witness to their life. They got married in a lavish ceremony months after I left. They had a son—Tyler. Rick’s profile was a shrine to the boy. Every trophy, every honor roll, every football win was documented. Rick was so proud. Yesterday, I saw the post that changed everything. It was a gallery of photos. In the center was a young man in a crisp uniform, his jaw set with pride. Rick’s caption read: “So proud of my son, Tyler! Passed the physical and the interview for the State Police Academy! Top 10% in the state. He’s going to be a hero. The Vance legacy starts here. Our ancestors are smiling down on us!” I stared at that screen all night. When the sun finally began to peek through my basement window, I started to laugh. It wasn’t a normal laugh. It was a jagged, hysterical sound that tore through the silence of fifteen years. I hadn’t cried since the night my father kicked me out. I’d let the world believe I was a spineless “love-brain” who didn’t care about her mother’s death. I’d let my own father die in his heart thinking I was a traitor. I didn’t care. I had waited fifteen years for this specific moment. “That’s the whole story,” I said into the phone. My throat felt like it was filled with glass. I hadn’t spoken this many words in a decade. I lived like an insect in the dark, fueled only by the singular goal of survival. Lieutenant Rodriguez was silent for a long time. I almost thought the line had dropped. Finally, he spoke. “Ma’am, we have recorded your statement. Can you swear that everything you’ve told me is the truth, and are you willing to testify to these facts?” “I am,” I said, my voice like iron. “Thank you for coming forward. We will be launching an immediate internal investigation. Until the veracity of these claims is determined, Tyler Vance’s enrollment will be suspended indefinitely.” I hung up and collapsed onto the floor. The strength I’d been hoarding for fifteen years evaporated in an instant. Fifteen years. I’d been a bug under their boots. But even a bug can trip a giant if it waits for the right moment. Mom, can you see me? The bug found her stiletto. Now, I’m becoming the monster they deserve.

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They say I’m a bottom-feeding defense attorney, a parasite who specializes in losing cases. But the strange thing is, I’ve never received a single bad review. I remember the day it all shifted, standing in a sterile courtroom during a horrific murder and dismemberment trial. The defendant took one look at me and let his arrogance off the leash. He jutted his chin out, his voice dripping with venomous privilege. “You have absolutely zero evidence. You can’t touch me!” Then, he pointed a manicured finger right at my chest and burst into a jagged fit of laughter. “Hiring a garbage lawyer like this? What, is the prosecution trying to get me acquitted?” I didn’t flush. I didn’t yell. I just offered a calm, slow shake of my head and turned to address the room. “He’s right. As it stands, the evidence is purely circumstantial.” The gallery exploded. The air in the courtroom grew thick with outrage, a chorus of voices branding me a failure, a sellout, a waste of breath. I waved a hand, letting their vitriol wash over me, entirely unbothered. I turned back to the defendant, letting a slow, knowing smile stretch across my face. “But I’m entirely too tired to argue the minutiae of the law with you today,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise like glass. “So.” “I’d like to call the victim of this case to the stand, so she can say a few words herself.” The defendant’s smirk vanished. He stared at me, completely paralyzed. 1 My name is Simon. Simon Carmichael. I am a highly renowned attorney in my specific… circle. Though, looking at me, my new client clearly had his doubts. “Mr. Carmichael… why is your office door covered in paint?” I didn’t look up from the file. “Oh, a former client threw that on there. He was wishing my business a booming, fiery success.” “The paint is pitch black.” “Darkness absorbs the most heat,” I replied smoothly. “It’s a metaphor.” The client stared at me, hopelessly lost. He hesitated for a long, agonizing moment, the silence thick with his grief. Then, he gritted his teeth and slid the envelope of cash—his retainer—across my desk. “I don’t care,” he whispered, his voice cracking at the edges. “You are the only lawyer in the city who hasn’t slammed the door in my face. I have to believe in you.” I stared down at the meager stack of bills, plunging into a rare moment of introspection. The client shifted nervously. “Is there a problem?” I shook my head, snapping back to reality. “I’m just going to put this out there right now: my final bill is going to be significantly higher than this retainer.” He looked down, doing some silent mental math, before his jaw set in a hard line. “If it means making that animal pay for what he did, I don’t care what it costs. I’ll give you everything I have.” Just then, my phone buzzed against the wood of the desk. A text from an old colleague. You’re really taking the Trent Montgomery case? Are you out of your mind? You know what his family does to people who cross them. My client saw the notification light up on the screen. He lifted his head, a profound, hollow sadness settling into his eyes. “Mr. Carmichael…” I waved a dismissive hand, trying to inject some levity into the heavy air. “Relax, Thomas. Don’t worry about it. These billionaire types, their revenge tactics are so predictable. Bribes, threats, maybe a little extortion. Besides, my entire family is already dead and gone. If they want to kill me, they can get in line.” Thomas just stared at me. 2 “Trent Montgomery. Twenty-seven years old. Only son of the Chairman of Apex Enterprises. Former high school classmate of the victim, Sophie.” I read his list of sins with an utterly blank expression, letting the sterile legal jargon clash against the horror of his actions. “On the night of November 7th, the defendant, Trent Montgomery, stalked the victim, Sophie, to her residence. He assaulted her, and in an effort to cover his tracks, he murdered her, dismembered the body, and disposed of the remains in a municipal landfill…” Trent slouched in his chair, wearing a bespoke suit that cost more than my life. He raised a hand, looking thoroughly bored. “Objection, Your Honor. They don’t have a single shred of evidence proving I was the one who did that.” I didn’t miss a beat. “The victim’s phone contained a photograph of you two together, alongside other individuals, time-stamped on the day of the incident. Care to explain?” “Yeah. Like you just said, we went to high school together.” He rolled his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. “We ran into each other at a reunion thing, snapped a pic. Is taking a photo a crime now?” I let out a low, cold laugh. “Then perhaps the defendant can tell the court exactly what he was doing between the hours of 10:00 PM on November 7th and 3:00 AM the following morning? Do you have an alibi? A witness?” Trent picked at a stray thread on his cuff, pretending to think about it. “After the reunion, I went home. Slept like a baby until the sun came up. And no, obviously I don’t have a witness. I like sleeping alone. Though, if you’re offering to join me, counselor, I’m pretty open-minded.” I fired off a few more pieces of circumstantial evidence. Every single one was effortlessly batted away by Trent’s high-priced defense attorney, Hughes. But it was the exchange that followed that truly shattered the fragile air in the room. Trent leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the defense table. The malice in his eyes was bright and venomous. “What’s the point of all this talking?” he sneered, looking directly at me. “Let me ask you one simple question: do you have any actual proof that I killed her? Hmm?” Beside me, Thomas’s face drained of color, turning the shade of old ash. He clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles went white, his entire body trembling violently. Trent could afford to be arrogant. He could afford to be cruel. Because his father’s money had ensured that every tangible piece of evidence had been scrubbed clean from the earth. 3 I requested a recess. Hours of relentless verbal sparring hadn’t so much as chipped Trent’s psychological armor, nor had we produced a single smoking gun. Next to me, Thomas looked like a man standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to collapse into the abyss. But honestly, the most pressing issue was the gallery. The spectators had already begun rummaging through their bags, fully prepared to hurl whatever rotten garbage they had brought. They didn’t throw anything while court was in session, but the moment I stepped out into the hallway, an entire row of people synchronized their disgust, spitting at my shoes. Thomas watched, entirely bewildered. “Why do they hate you so much?” “If you were them,” I said, wiping my shoe on the carpet, “and you watched a lawyer lose case after case, yet keep showing up with absolute confidence only to lose again, you’d hate me too.” “But… aren’t you a famous attorney?” I reached into my briefcase and pulled out a small, rolled-up pennant that an angry mob had crowdfunded for me last year. I unrolled it. It read: BOYCOTT THE SCUMBAG. “I am famous,” I corrected him. “I am the industry’s most renowned, one-hundred-percent-loss-rate attorney.” Thomas just blinked. 4 As soon as Thomas returned to his empty house, he found an anonymous package waiting on his porch. Inside was a thinly veiled death threat. I had no choice. I packed him into my beat-up sedan and drove him to my place. Thomas sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window for a long time. Finally, the silence broke. “Mr. Carmichael… I know I don’t have the kind of money the Montgomery family has. If you need to drop my case to save yourself, I understand. I won’t hold it against you. But you don’t need to drive me out to the middle of nowhere to murder me to keep me quiet.” I scratched the back of my neck. “Who’s murdering anyone? I’m just bringing you to my place to crash for a few days.” Thomas looked out the windshield, profoundly horrified. “Wait. This… this underpass is your house?” “…” I coughed, a little embarrassed. “Underpasses are great real estate. Keeps you cool in the summer, freezing in the winter. Very open-concept.” Thomas tried to be polite. “Mr. Carmichael, if things are tough, you could just sleep on the couch at your law firm.” I waved him off. “I was secretly renting that office space. The landlord finally caught me yesterday, so I can’t sleep there anymore.” Thomas stood perfectly still under the concrete bridge for a long time before he finally sighed and walked in. I gave him the cot tucked against the farthest concrete pillar and took a seat near the edge of the shadows, watching the moonlight bleed through the smog. Around 2:00 AM, the quiet of the night was broken. It was a small, fractured sound. The muffled, suffocating weeping of a father whose heart had been entirely hollowed out. “Sophie… God, Sophie, I’m so useless.” “If I had just stayed home… If I hadn’t gone to the hospital that night…” I leaned my head back against the concrete and let out a long, quiet sigh. That night had been Sophie’s birthday. Thomas had spiked a severe fever, and a neighbor had rushed him to the ER. Sophie had just gotten off her shift at a local diner, walking her usual route home, when she was intercepted by some old high school “friends” who dragged her to their reunion. That was where Trent Montgomery locked eyes with her. She had screamed for help. But there was no one left to hear her. The neighbor was gone. Her father was gone. Thomas had passed Trent on the street that night, brushing shoulders with the monster in the dark. But he couldn’t prove it. When the police asked around, every single business owner on that street repeated the exact same, heavily compensated line. “The security cameras were broken.” 5 When the tears finally stopped and Thomas’s breathing leveled out into exhausted hitches, I walked over and placed a hand on his trembling shoulder. “I’m sorry,” I said softly. Thomas’s eyes were swollen, red, and raw. He shook his head frantically. “Mr. Carmichael, I know you tried. You gave it your all. Every other lawyer laughed me out of their office. You were the only one who tried. I’m grateful.” I couldn’t help but smile a little. “Thomas, I’ve never won a single case in my entire career, yet I have a flawless five-star rating online. Do you want to know why?” “Why?” I didn’t answer him directly. I just gently wiped a smudge off the corner of the photograph he was clutching to his chest—a picture of Sophie, smiling and radiant. “I’ll show you when we go back to court. But for the next few days, you cannot leave this spot under any circumstances. Can you promise me that?” He hesitated, just for a second, before nodding with fierce determination. “Okay.” As soon as I secured his promise, I turned and left into the night. It took me about thirty minutes to reach the outskirts of the city. I walked into an abandoned auto-shop, dropping to my knees right on the grease-stained concrete. “Walter. I need you. My twisted little heart is having a crisis of faith.” Walter, an old man who looked like he’d been dragged backward through a hedge, shuffled out from the back office, stifling a yawn. He didn’t say a word, just kicked me squarely in the shin. “What did you do this time? Help an old lady cross the street?” “No,” I rubbed my leg. “She tried to fake an injury to sue me, so I threw myself on the ground first and extorted her for cash.” Walter narrowed his eyes. “Did you give money to a homeless guy?” “I felt bad for him, so I used his brand-new smartphone to take out a fifty-thousand-dollar loan in his name.” “Only fifty?” “It’s from a loan shark. The interest compounds by fifteen percent daily.” Walter seemed to accept this, looking down at me with mild approval. “Alright then. What’s this crisis of faith you’re whining about?” I pressed my lips together. “This time… I actually want to help someone win their case.” “…” 6 Walter didn’t look thrilled. “Just handle it off the books like you always do. A life for a life. Blood for blood. It’s much cleaner.” I stayed on the floor, slowly walking him through every grueling detail of Thomas and Sophie’s tragedy. When I finished, Walter didn’t say a word. He just pulled a pack of Lucky Strikes from his flannel pocket, lit one, took a drag, and immediately lit a second one off the cherry of the first. “Kid.” “Yeah, Walter?” His voice was rough, like gravel scraping over rusted iron. “If your dark little heart breaks… let it break.” I asked the question that had been eating at me. “Can I still practice the craft if I do this?” Walter looked at me like I was an idiot. “Why wouldn’t you be able to?” “Because you explicitly told me that our lineage practices the art of the ‘Scumbag.’ You said if I ever showed genuine moral integrity, I’d lose all my abilities instantly.” Walter didn’t even blink. “I lied.” “?” I stared at him, absolutely incredulous. “Why the hell would you lie about that?” “One,” he ticked a finger, “because I’m a scumbag and I enjoy lying. Two, because I have zero moral compass, and I wanted to make damn sure my apprentice had even less of one than I do.” “…” I ground my teeth together. “Walter, do me a favor and take a trip out to the Mojave Desert.” “Why would I go there?” “Because it’s empty, desolate, and isolated. Just you and the dirt, right where you belong.” “…” 7 When I returned to my cozy little concrete bridge, I was practically buzzing with the good news I had for Thomas. But one glance at the shadows told me everything I needed to know. Thomas wasn’t there. I frowned, pressing two fingers against my temple, tapping into the tether I’d subtly placed on him. Damn it. He hadn’t left on his own. He’d been taken. Meanwhile, eight miles away, on the top floor of a private, members-only club owned by Apex Enterprises, a raucous celebration was in full swing. “Trent, my man, you are a legend. Slipping right through the cracks again!” Trent stood in the center of the room, casually swinging a bottle of expensive champagne, a wicked, jagged grin on his face. “What can I say? It pays to have a father who owns the city.” One of his buddies took a long drag from a cigar, shaking his head in mock sorrow. “Gotta admit though, isn’t it kind of a shame? You were obsessed with Sophie for years, and you only got to play with her once.” Trent’s smile slowly decayed. A dark, ugly shadow crossed his features as a memory flickered behind his eyes. “It’s her own fault for not knowing her place.” The buddy laughed nervously, desperately trying to change the subject. Trent shoved the bottle into a bucket of ice and headed for the private restroom down the hall. As he stepped out of the loud, thumping bass of the club, he paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “Why the hell is it so freezing out here?” A pair of long, impossibly pale hands draped over his shoulders. The voice that whispered in his ear was flat, devoid of any human warmth. “Trent.” “Who the hell—” Trent spun around, annoyed, throwing a blind kick that connected with absolutely nothing but empty air. A second later, his pupils dilated to the size of saucers. “Sophie?! You… you… how the hell are you here?!” Sophie tilted her head, offering him a sweet, terrible smile. “I’m dead, Trent. You strangled me with your own hands. Did you forget?” 8 “Ahhhhh—!!!” Trent scrambled backward, losing his footing and crashing onto the expensive carpet. His blood-curdling scream pierced through the heavy oak doors. His buddy rushed out into the hall, looking frantic, and hauled Trent up by the armpits. “Bro, what is wrong with you? How much did you pre-game?” The buddy looked down and wrinkled his nose. There was a sharp, distinct smell of urine. Trent was completely unhinged. He grabbed his friend by the lapels, shaking him violently. “It’s Sophie! It’s her! She came back!” The friend panicked, slapping a hand over Trent’s mouth. “Dude, shut up! You’re hammered. Do not say that name out loud here. Let’s just get you inside.” “She was right there! Right in front of my face! Didn’t you see her?!” His friend looked up and down the opulent hallway. Nothing. Not even a waiter. “Trent, you’re having a bad trip, man. This is my fault. I shouldn’t have brought her up.” Trent’s eyes were completely unfocused, darting frantically around the empty corridor. He muttered, his voice trembling. “Her hands were like ice… She’s back. She came back to drag me to hell…” “It was her! I swear to God, you have to believe me!” The buddy nodded frantically, just trying to placate him. “I believe you, man, I believe you. You’re just exhausted. The trial took it out of you. Let’s get you home.” As he practically dragged Trent toward the private elevator, he was already typing furiously on his phone, calling Trent’s private concierge doctor. As the ping of the elevator faded into silence, I stepped out from the blind spot of the security cameras. I looked at the empty air beside me, my voice low. “I didn’t pull your soul back across the veil just so you could play haunted house, Sophie.” 9 Sophie materialized, looking down at her translucent hands, suddenly looking very small. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just… I saw him, and I couldn’t control it.” I didn’t reprimand her further. Instead, I bypassed the elevators and slipped into the emergency stairwell, descending deep into the bowels of the building. After a few minutes of navigating the damp, concrete labyrinth, I found what I was looking for: a heavy, reinforced steel door. I didn’t hesitate. “Sophie. Phase through. Tell me what’s on the other side.” She melted right through the solid steel. When she phased back out seconds later, her ethereal face was twisted in genuine horror. “There’s so many of them…” “What?” I frowned. “So many of what?” “Kids! There are so many kids down there!” I immediately pulled a small, ash-colored talisman from my pocket, slapping it against the doorframe to mute any sound. I took a deep breath, channeled a surge of kinetic force into my palm, and blew the heavy steel door off its hinges. The scene inside was sickening. On the left side of the cavernous basement, about a dozen children were huddled together, terrified and dirty. On the right side, tied to a chair, was a single adult. It was Thomas. His hands and feet were bound with zip-ties, and a greasy rag was shoved deep into his mouth. When he saw me step through the ruined doorway, he began thrashing wildly. I crossed the room in three strides and yanked the rag out. I rubbed my temples, exhaling a long, exhausted breath. “Thomas. I specifically told you not to leave the bridge.” Thomas looked up at me, his eyes brimming with desperate apology. “I know, Mr. Carmichael, I’m so sorry. I just… I kept thinking about Sophie being all alone in the dark. I just wanted to go home and burn some of her favorite things so she’d have them on the other side. But when I got there…” When he got there, the Montgomery family’s fixers had been waiting. I shook my head, my gaze drifting over to the huddled mass of children. “Where did you all come from?” The kids looked at each other in sheer terror. Finally, the oldest—a girl who couldn’t have been more than twelve—found her voice. “We’re… we’re from Saint Jude’s Foster Home.” Thomas spoke up, his voice hoarse. “Mr. Carmichael… I heard the guards talking. They’re running an auction down here tonight. They’re going to sell them. Please, you have to—” I shot him a withering look. “Do I look like a superhero to you? How the hell am I supposed to smuggle fourteen people out of a billionaire’s fortress?” Thomas shrank back, looking thoroughly defeated. Thirty minutes later. Walter slowly opened his eyes from his nap, blinking against the harsh light of the auto-shop, to find a baker’s dozen of traumatized children staring at him. Walter stared back. The silence stretched. “Kid.” “Yeah, Walter?” “I taught you how to lie, cheat, and steal. At no point in your curriculum did we cover human trafficking.” “Sue me,” I replied flatly, dropping a bag of convenience store sandwiches on the table. “…” 10 Once Thomas was safely stashed away in Walter’s back office, I forced him to set up a new social media account. Leaving out the parts that involved the supernatural or things that would get us killed instantly, I had him record a video detailing exactly what Trent Montgomery had done, laying out the timeline, the destroyed evidence, and the intimidation tactics. Sophie hovered near the ceiling, slowly shaking her head. Her voice was an echo. “Apex Enterprises controls everything. The moment he posts that, they’ll have it scrubbed from the internet.” I looked up from my work, my face a mask of righteous indignation. “No, they won’t. I believe that justice always finds a way in this world.” Sophie stared at me. “Okay. Then what exactly are you doing right now?” I didn’t stop chanting under my breath. “Weaving a digital-metaphysical warding hex into the server architecture to block their IP scrubbers.” “?” The hashtag about the only son of Apex Enterprises murdering a girl and laughing in court caught fire almost instantly. It was a digital wildfire. [This animal needs to be locked under the jail!] [That poor girl. She was so young. Is the justice system really this broken?] But soon, the PR machine woke up. The comments supporting Thomas began to vanish, replaced by a flood of highly coordinated skepticism. [Fake news. Look at who he hired. Simon Carmichael? This whole thing is a grift for clout.] [Wait, who is Simon Carmichael?] [He’s the lawyer who is so bad, he once turned his own client from the plaintiff into the defendant, and turned a parking ticket into a life sentence.] [The first one is funny, the second one takes actual talent.] [Wait, he turned a parking ticket into a life sentence?] [?] From that moment on, the entire internet’s focus aggressively derailed, entirely fascinated by my catastrophic legal track record. Apex Enterprises deployed their million-dollar bot farms, and they barely made a ripple against the sheer meme-power of my incompetence. Sophie floated down, looking genuinely awestruck. “You’re sacrificing your entire professional reputation to protect my dad’s video. Aren’t you worried you’ll never get another client?” Walter, who was lighting his fourth Lucky Strike of the hour, overheard her. He let out a bark of laughter. “Why would he care? He litigates for dead people, too.” “?” 11 The day court reconvened, the media circus had reached a fever pitch. Due to the overwhelming public pressure and internet virality, the judge had allowed the trial to be live-streamed. [Here for the legend. I just want to see how this Carmichael guy manages to lose this one.] [I hate rich kids as much as the next guy, but let’s be real. If Carmichael is on the case, this whole thing is probably a scam.] At the defense table, Trent looked exhausted, the bags under his eyes dark and bruised, but his arrogant sneer was still firmly in place. “You don’t have evidence,” Trent said to the camera, his voice dripping with condescension. “You can accuse me a million times, and it won’t change a thing.” Next to him, his attorney, Hughes, offered a cold, satisfied smile. After all, during the last session, I had been completely helpless against him. I stood at the plaintiff’s table, resting my hands on the wood. I let a long, heavy silence build in the room. “It’s true,” I said finally, my voice echoing in the microphone. “I have no further earthly evidence to present.” The courtroom erupted. Someone in the back row completely abandoned decorum, screaming out, “You absolute failure! My dog could argue a better case!” “Whoever hired Simon Carmichael is cursed!” Thomas sat beside me, his head bowed, completely silent. Even the live-stream chat was giving up. [Is this guy a comedian or a lawyer?] [I am fully convinced Carmichael took a bribe from the defense.] [How do I report a lawyer to the bar association? Watching him makes my blood boil.] But just as the judge reached for his gavel to restore order, I raised my voice, cutting through the chaos like a knife. “But I do have one question for you, Trent. Are you willing to swear an oath? Right here, right now. Swear to God that you did not kill Sophie.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “421029”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After the holidays, I took on an unusual gig. For fifteen thousand dollars, I was hired to play the role of a doting boyfriend to a wealthy heiress. The job was simple: accompany her to her family’s estate and survive one night. The moment I stepped through the grand double doors of the house, her twin sister made her disdain violently clear. Her eyes, cold and sharp, dragged over me from head to toe. “He’s completely out of his depth,” she said. “He’s clearly here for the money.” “He is absolutely not good enough for my sister.” Her words were like glass shards, but I kept my head down, swallowing the sting, offering no defense. It wasn’t until the sister explicitly demanded that we break up right then and there that the heiress I was hired to protect finally snapped. “Catherine, that is enough,” she snapped back. “You’ve known him for five minutes. You’re acting like you’re his ex-girlfriend or something.” At those words, her sister slowly lifted her gaze, her eyes locking directly onto mine. My fake girlfriend didn’t know it, but her flippant, sarcastic remark had hit dead center. Years ago, Catherine and I had been together. We dated for three years. She just never let me see the light of day. 1 The air in the drawing room turned to ice. Crystal, my “girlfriend,” waited for a response to her outburst, but none came. When she looked up, she saw her sister, Catherine, frozen in place. “Cathy?” Crystal leaned forward, her brow furrowing. “Wait, do you actually know him?” Catherine had just flown back from Europe today, and the Griffith estate was packed with extended family. At Crystal’s question, several heads turned our way, curiosity sparking in their eyes. Catherine twisted the Cartier ring on her index finger. She didn’t say a word. It was their mother, Diana Griffith, who broke the silence with a soft, dismissive laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous, Crystal.” She adjusted her cashmere wrap, her voice smooth and dripping with old-money condescension. “Your sister isn’t like you. She’s always had impeccable taste. She wouldn’t look twice at an ordinary man.” The subtext wasn’t subtle. On paper, I didn’t even meet the financial requirements to stand on the Griffiths’ front porch. Everyone in the room understood the insult. Everyone except Crystal, who played her part flawlessly. “What do you mean, ordinary?” Crystal frowned, her fingers interlacing with mine. She squeezed my hand, her voice ringing out clear and defiant. “Camden is incredible. Mom, I’m going to marry him.” The words hung in the air. Suddenly, Catherine, who had been completely silent, seemed to snap back into her body. Her dark eyes dropped to our intertwined hands. She let out a hollow, mocking laugh. “Incredible?” Catherine’s voice was laced with pure venom. “Is that what we’re calling thieves and liars these days?” 2 Those two sentences dropped like bombs, suffocating the sprawling room in a dead silence. Every eye turned to me. Crystal had been reining in her temper since we walked through the door. This was the match in the powder keg. She stood up, voices raising as she and Catherine plunged into a bitter, shouting argument. The room dissolved into chaos. I took a slow sip of my club soda, the icy liquid tracking down my throat. The moment I had walked in and seen Catherine standing by the fireplace, I knew this weekend was going to be a disaster. But this was just a job. We were playing a part. Catherine dragging my name through the mud with ancient history shouldn’t hurt me anymore. Using the screaming match as cover, I slipped out of the room and retreated to a first-floor guest bathroom. I locked the door, leaning against the marble sink, trying to ground myself in why I was here. Crystal was really dating a guy from a working-class background, and her mother was doing everything in her power to destroy it. So, Crystal hired me—a guy with an even bleaker financial resume—to parade around the estate as a decoy to shock her family. Survive the weekend, piss off the Griffiths, take my fifteen grand, and leave. Catherine’s viciousness was actually helping me earn my paycheck. I turned on the faucet, letting the cold water run over my wrists. Looking at my reflection, I put the pieces together. Crystal and Catherine didn’t look identical—fraternal twins—but there was an undeniable echo in the slope of their cheekbones, the shape of their eyes. The Griffith family. For three years, that was the name Catherine had scrubbed from her existence when she was with me. I stayed in the bathroom for a while, letting the silence settle my racing heart, guessing the argument outside had burned itself out. But the moment I opened the door, I walked straight into Catherine. She was standing in the middle of the quiet hallway, perfectly still, her eyes locked on me. They were pitch black, unreadable, and terrifyingly familiar. She used to look at me exactly like this whenever some other girl hit on me at a bar. A possessive, suffocating darkness. I suddenly realized that when I walked in, her demand that Crystal and I “break up” hadn’t been an act of sisterly protection. I broke eye contact and started walking past her, pretending she was made of glass. I only made it two steps. “Three months, Cam,” Catherine said softly. A chilling, humorless scoff escaped her lips. “I’ve been waiting for you to come crawling back. I didn’t realize you’d already found my replacement.” 3 The club soda churned in my stomach. I didn’t stop walking, but my mind was violently pulled back in time. Catherine had never talked about her family. It wasn’t until our first month together that I realized she wasn’t just well-off; she was untouchable. I had been working entry-level at a corporate firm, and a senior manager had blatantly stolen credit for a project I’d bled over for a month. I came home exhausted and vented to her over cheap takeout. The very next morning, the project, the credit, and the bonus were officially back in my name. The senior manager actually came to my cubicle to apologize, sweating through his shirt. I stood in my boss’s office in a daze, listening to her tell me with a nervous smile that if I ever needed anything, I should bypass her and go straight to “the top.” The top. I didn’t know exactly what strings had been pulled, but I knew Catherine’s hands were on them. When I brought it up that night, Catherine just smiled, tracing the rim of her wine glass. I remember staring at her, realizing she possessed a kind of wealth I couldn’t even conceptualize. Slowly, the reality of our dynamic set in. She never claimed me in public. She never introduced me to a single friend. Once, we were having dinner at a quiet, upscale bistro. Halfway through the meal, she got a text. She abruptly stood up, had her driver pack up our food, and sent me home in the back of her SUV. I ate my cold steak alone in my apartment. I found out later that her socialite friends happened to be in the neighborhood and wanted to grab a drink. “Am I a secret?” I asked her later that night, the humiliation hot in my chest. “Are you ashamed of me?” Her fingertips had felt so cold as she wiped a stray tear from the corner of my eye. She whispered that she wasn’t. After that night, she finally took me to meet her inner circle. That was the night I found out about Brooks Harrington. Her childhood best friend. Old money, devastatingly arrogant, and looking at Catherine like he owned her. Dinner was agonizingly quiet. I was a ghost at the table. Just before we left, I accidentally glanced down and saw Brooks’s phone light up with a text in their group chat. Must be tough for you, having to rent out the entire restaurant just to hide him. Let’s not do this again. A drop of hot tea spilled onto my fingers. I flinched, snapping back to the present. 4 Back then, Catherine swore she was just keeping a low profile because the board of directors was watching her personal life closely. But after that dinner, we didn’t go out together for a long time. A few days before my birthday, I noticed a new dress hanging in her closet. It was a striking, unmistakable emerald green. On the night of my birthday, she never came home. I sat curled up on the sofa, a movie playing on mute, watching my phone screen stay dark. She wasn’t answering. Instead, I got an unexpected text from Brooks Harrington, asking me to come down to the lobby of my building. When I walked out, the first thing I noticed was his tie. It was an unmistakable, striking emerald green. Perfectly matched to the dress I’d seen in her closet. My brain short-circuited for a second. Brooks and I weren’t friends. I had no idea how he even knew it was my birthday, but he held out a beautifully wrapped, obscenely expensive watch box. “I didn’t have anything prepared when we met last time,” Brooks said, his smile perfectly polite, perfectly cruel. “Happy birthday.” I didn’t take it. He didn’t push. He casually lowered his hand and looked around. “Is she not keeping you company tonight?” I shook my head. “She’s working late.” Brooks just smiled. He didn’t say another word. Our brief, agonizing exchange ended. When I stepped out of the awning, it had started to snow. I checked my phone. Two notifications: a news alert and a spam email. Nothing from her. The snow was coming down harder, the Chicago streets slick and quiet. I looked up just in time to see Brooks crossing the avenue and climbing into the back of an idling black Bentley. The car roared to life, disappearing into the flurry of white. I stood in the freezing wind, blinking slowly. I recognized that Bentley. It sat in Catherine’s private garage. She strictly used it for VIPs. In three years, she had never once let me sit in it. 5 I stood in the snow until my limbs went completely numb. Catherine didn’t come home until the next morning. She told me there had been an emergency at the firm. “But I saw Brooks getting into your car last night,” I said quietly. Catherine smiled smoothly. “You saw Brooks?” I didn’t answer. Her smile widened just a fraction. “I was tied up with work, Cam. I just drove back into the city this morning.” She even pulled out her phone, swiping through timestamped photos of a corporate retreat in the suburbs. The times and locations lined up perfectly with her story. But I just looked at her. I couldn’t tell what was real anymore. She gave me so little of her actual life. Everything I knew about her was strictly what she allowed me to know. If she wanted to hide something, she had the resources to bury it so deep I’d never find it. For my birthday, she gave me a vintage Rolex. She fastened it around my wrist, kissed me softly, and murmured that I should stay away from Brooks. A month later, I found out why. I was forced to attend a charity gala as her “plus one”—though we arrived separately. Halfway through the night, Brooks stood in the center of the ballroom and loudly accused me of stealing his watch. That was the night I fully grasped who Brooks Harrington was. Heir to a real estate empire, worth hundreds of millions. When he spoke, the room listened. And everyone immediately took his side. “Funny how you both went to the coat check at the same time, and right after his goes missing, you suddenly have the exact same model?” one of his friends sneered. “Yours? Where’s the receipt, Camden? With your salary, you couldn’t afford the clasp on that watch if you worked for a decade.” The judgmental stares of Chicago’s elite pinned me to the floor. I stood in the center of the hostile circle, looking at Brooks like I was seeing a monster for the first time. It took me a long time to find my voice. “I didn’t buy it. My girlfriend gave it to me,” I said, my voice trembling but loud enough for the room to hear. I looked dead at Brooks. “You know exactly who she is, Brooks.” Brooks tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Do I? What’s her name?” “Tori,” I said. “Tori Ellis.” Brooks’s eyes lit up. He had laid the trap, and I had walked right into it. He repeated the name slowly, tasting it, before letting out a loud, echoing laugh. “Tori Ellis,” he chuckled, looking around at the wealthy crowd. “I know a lot of people in this city, Camden. I have never, in my entire life, met a Tori Ellis.” I froze. A physical blow to the chest wouldn’t have hurt more. The blood drained from my face. A coworker who had sneaked me a plus-one ticket rushed over, whispering frantically for me to call her. To prove I wasn’t crazy. To prove I wasn’t a thief. My fingers were ice-cold as I fumbled with my phone and dialed her number. It rang. And rang. And rang. The hollow tone echoed from my phone speaker into the silent, waiting ballroom. She didn’t pick up. My coworker panicked, asking if I knew where she lived, if we could drive there right now to get her. Her frantic voice mixed with the relentless ringing of the phone, piercing my eardrums. I was so cold. A deep, bone-rattling chill was spreading through my veins. Standing in the middle of that glittering, hostile room, the horrifying truth crashed over me. I knew nothing about her. Other than that apartment and this phone number, I had absolutely no way to reach the woman I loved. I stood there like a ghost as one of Brooks’s security men stepped forward and forcibly unlatched the Rolex from my wrist. “Mr. Harrington is a generous man. He’s not going to press charges,” the man said smoothly. “But next time you want to invent a sugar mommy to cover your tracks, pick a better fake name. The Griffiths are close friends of the Harringtons. They have two daughters. Neither of them is named Tori Ellis.” I was shoved backward, my hip slamming hard into the corner of a cocktail table. Through the haze of pain and humiliation, a memory surfaced. All those times I had sat quietly at dinners with her friends. Not a single one of them had ever called her “Tori.” 6 She didn’t call me back until I had left the gala and was walking numbly down an empty street. “I want to see you,” I whispered into the receiver. She was silent for a few seconds. Then, she sent a black car to pick me up. It didn’t take me to our apartment. It took me to a sprawling, glass-walled penthouse downtown that I had never seen before. That was when I realized she owned dozens of properties like this. The apartment I cherished as our “home” was just one of her many empty boxes. When I arrived, a team of assistants and executives were filtering out of the penthouse. She looked like she had just wrapped up a boardroom meeting. We stood in the cavernous, hyper-modern living room, just looking at each other. Catherine was endlessly patient. When I didn’t speak, she just watched me, perfectly composed. Finally, my voice cracked the silence. “Aren’t you going to introduce yourself? What’s your real name?” Her brow twitched. A microscopic frown. And in that moment, my heart plummeted into my stomach. On the ride over, I had a hundred burning questions. I wanted to scream. I wanted to ask why she lied. Why she approached me just to keep me in the dark. I wanted to ask when this “right time to go public” she always talked about was actually going to happen. I wanted to know if, in three years of lying to my face, she ever felt an ounce of guilt. But looking at her cold, perfect face, only one question clawed its way out of my throat. “Was it a lie from the very beginning? When you said we’d get married… you never meant it, did you?” She looked genuinely surprised that I was asking. She let the silence stretch out, heavy and suffocating. Then she said, “I thought you understood.” I stared at her. “Understood what?” “Do I really have to spell it out?” She looked at me, the silence in her eyes shifting into a quiet, crushing pity. “This is how my world works, Cam. Your background, your financial standing… you were never going to be my husband on paper.” The penthouse was dead silent. Then, a broken sound tore out of me. A laugh that choked on a sob before it could fully form. I closed my eyes. A single, heavy tear broke free, splashing hot against the back of my hand. … When I walked out of the lobby of her building, Brooks was waiting. He leaned against the marble pillar, taking in my shattered, hollow expression with the grace of a king looking at a peasant. He offered me the truth like it was charity. He filled in the blanks. The text message that ruined our dinner months ago? That was him. The only reason she finally introduced me to her friends wasn’t because she felt bad about my tears; it was because Brooks had found out about me and demanded to see her little pet. On my birthday, she really was in the Bentley with him. And tonight, at the gala? She ignored my calls on purpose. Because she was never going to walk into a ballroom filled with her peers to claim a charity case. Every little detail wove together into a suffocating net, pulling tighter and tighter until I couldn’t breathe. My entire body ached. “She didn’t even give you her real name,” Brooks said softly, buttoning his cashmere coat. “But that’s the price of being a secret, Camden. You have to swallow the indignity and keep your mouth shut.” 7 I went back to the apartment that I thought was ours. It took me exactly one hour to pack three years of my life into a single suitcase. When I opened the front door to leave, Catherine was standing on the other side. “Where are you going?” she asked. I didn’t answer. I gripped the handle of my suitcase and tried to push past her, but she slammed her hand against the doorframe, blocking me. “Cam, this is your home. The lease is in your name,” she said, her voice dropping an octave. “Where do you think you’re going to go?” A wave of pure, visceral nausea hit me. I violently shoved her shoulder, trying to break free, but she caught my wrist in a vice grip. “The only reason you have a career right now is because I made a phone call,” she said, her tone dripping with dark authority. “I gave you that life, Cam. And I can take it away just as easily.” She yanked me closer, her fingers digging painfully into my skin. “You will never find anyone better than me. And you can’t survive without me.” … The memories flashed through my mind like a fever dream. I pulled myself back to the present, standing in the opulent hallway of the Griffith estate. All that was left echoing in my skull were the final, venomous words she had thrown at me the night I left: You’ll come begging back to me, Camden. 8 “You look like hell. What’s wrong?” When I made it back to the living room, the crowd had thinned out. Crystal was looking at me, her arms crossed. “Don’t let my sister get into your head. She’s been acting like a rabid dog for the last few months.” She paused, then muttered, “I’m adding an emotional distress bonus to your paycheck.” The tension in my chest eased slightly. By nightfall, the sky broke open, and heavy rain began to batter the windows. Most of the extended family had gone home. Catherine picked up her trench coat, preparing to leave. “Oh, by the way, Mom,” Crystal called out casually from the sofa. “I forgot to tell you. Cam is staying in my wing tonight.” Catherine froze halfway to the door. She turned around, her dark eyes drifting slowly over to Crystal. “Crystal,” she said, a tight, terrifying smile playing on her lips. “I told you, he is beneath you. Stop playing these childish games.” Crystal stared back, momentarily taken aback by the sheer hostility. She clearly wanted to say something sharp, but settled for a defiant, “Mind your own business, Cathy.” Catherine’s smile vanished. Without a word, she dropped her coat onto a chair and sat back down in the parlor. Crystal blinked. “Didn’t you have a board meeting tonight?” “I canceled it,” Catherine said softly, her eyes locked on me. It was Crystal’s turn to go quiet. She looked at her sister, her eyes narrowing slightly, gears turning in her head. Late that night, the storm worsened. The rain lashed violently against the glass of my guest bedroom. I was lying in the dark, staring at the ceiling, when I heard the footsteps. Soft. Deliberate. Moving down the hallway. They got closer and closer, until they stopped dead outside my door. I held my breath, every muscle in my body tensing. I watched the brass handle of the door begin to slowly, agonizingly turn. Suddenly, a voice echoed from down the hall. “Cathy?” It was Crystal. “What the hell are you doing standing outside my boyfriend’s door?”

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Five years of marriage, and I finally had the piece of paper that proved I was enough. A normal sperm count. My heart hammered a frantic, joyful rhythm against my ribs as I calculated exactly how I was going to surprise my wife. Giselle was a surgical attending; I was pediatric, but today, the long corridors of the hospital felt entirely like mine. I had spent half a decade swallowing bitter pills, enduring humiliating exams, and weathering the quiet, suffocating disappointment in her eyes. Today, everything changed. Just as I rounded the corner toward the surgical wing, my phone buzzed in my scrub pocket. A text from Giselle. Hey baby. You must be exhausted after a full day in peds. Go home and get some rest. Then, a second bubble popped up. I’ve got an emergency op tonight, so don’t wait up for me. I smiled, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard to type back a playful refusal. But as I glanced up, the movement at the end of the hall caught my eye. Giselle. She wasn’t prepping for an emergency. She was grabbing a young surgical intern by the collar of his scrubs and yanking him into Operating Room 3. The lab report slipped from my fingers. It hit the linoleum with a soft, pathetic slap. My entire body went rigid. Through the heavy double doors, which hadn’t fully clicked shut, the muffled but unmistakable sound of a woman’s breathless groan bled into the hallway. “In the middle of the day? Can’t you just hold on?” It was Giselle’s voice, laced with a breathless urgency. “My tenure review is coming up. What if someone catches us?” Then came the boy’s voice, raspy and demanding. “I don’t care! Last time, you had me pressed against the instrument tray before you’d even finished suturing the patient. You want it now, so you do what I say.” A wave of pure, unadulterated nausea crashed over me, so violently I thought my knees would buckle. I stared at the metal doors. The woman I had worshipped, the family I was so desperately trying to build, shattered into a million jagged pieces right there in the sterile hallway. The grief lasted exactly three seconds. Then, a cold, surgical anger took over. I pulled out my phone, bypassed our private messages, and opened the hospital-wide staff channel. My fingers flew across the screen. Code Security. Someone is actively stealing surgical equipment in OR 3. Need all available staff and security immediately. Stop the thieves. Replies flooded in instantly. On my way! I knew it! We’ve been missing inventory all month, even the new ultrasound probe covers! I locked my screen and let out a hollow laugh. If they wanted the thrill of a forbidden rush, I was going to give them a blockbuster audience. … 1. The staff chat was blowing up, notifications pinging like a heart monitor going into tachycardia. Inside the OR, Giselle’s muffled moans were suddenly interrupted. I could hear the intern—Dylan, that was his name—speak up, his voice tinged with confusion. “Giselle, why are our phones going crazy?” “Check it. Maybe it’s an emergency.” Giselle’s response dripped with the heavy irritation of being interrupted mid-climax. “Are you seriously thinking about that right now? Ignore it!” she snapped. “It’s probably just the Chief of Staff calling another pointless administrative meeting. She’s obsessed with the upcoming hospital accreditation. The old bitch won’t let anyone breathe.” The old bitch. She was talking about my mother. The CEO and Chief of Staff of this hospital. The woman who had dedicated her entire life to saving people. Good. Perfect. I pulled up my contacts and found my in-laws. Gary and Donna had texted me earlier; they were downstairs in the lobby, bringing a Tupperware of Donna’s heavy homemade stew. They were five minutes away. I fired off a text: Gary, Donna! Emergency! Giselle collapsed in the OR! Get up here right now! While the filthy, wet sounds of their betrayal resumed behind the door, I turned and walked calmly toward the nurses’ station. “Send a copy of the security feed for OR 3 to my tablet, please,” I said, my voice eerily level. The charge nurse grimaced, tapping her pen against the maintenance log. “Dr. Foster, the camera in OR 3 has been down since last week. Facilities hasn’t gotten around to it yet.” She lowered her voice, leaning in with the practiced intimacy of hospital gossip. “Haven’t you noticed? We’ve been diverting all non-critical surgeries to the other rooms. But Dr. Giselle keeps specifically requesting OR 3. She says she doesn’t want to monopolize the good rooms. Such a team player, your wife.” I see. That was why she was so brazen. Why she felt untouchable in there. The sound of heavy boots and jingling keys echoed down the corridor. I turned slowly, watching the cavalry arrive. Giselle, I thought, you care about your reputation and your tenure more than breathing. Let’s get you the spotlight you deserve. The head of hospital security rounded the corner, flanked by four guards and a trail of nosy nurses. “Where’s the breach? Which room?” I pointed a steady finger at the heavy doors. “OR 3. I walked by and heard a struggle. Sounded like equipment being knocked over. Could be multiple suspects.” The VP of Medical Affairs, Dr. Aris, happened to be walking by. His face flushed with administrative rage. “Block the exits! Breach the door! We are not losing another dime of hospital property!” Two burly security guards exchanged a nod and threw their weight against the double doors. With a deafening crash, the doors burst open. And there was Giselle. Scrub top half-unbuttoned, bra exposed, practically throwing herself in front of the lead guard. “What the hell is wrong with you people?!” she shrieked, her voice cracking. “I am trying to take a nap! Are you insane?” But there was no hiding the chaotic flush of her skin, or the violent, blossoming purple hickeys scattered across her collarbone. She caught my eye over the shoulders of the guards, the color draining from her face as she frantically clawed at her scrub top, trying to cover herself. 2. Dr. Aris let out a heavy sigh of relief, though his eyes darted uncomfortably around the room. “What on earth is going on? We got a Code Security. A theft.” The head of security stood there, red-faced and awkwardly lowering his radio. Behind him, the nurses began to whisper, a few of them stifling nervous laughter. “God, Dr. Giselle, you nearly gave us a heart attack.” “Look at her neck… Looks like Dr. Foster was trying to get lucky on his lunch break and she locked him out, so he called a fake code to get back at her!” A couple of the braver surgical techs tried to peek around Giselle’s defensive stance. “Damn, Giselle, that must have been one hell of a nap,” one joked. “You look like you went twelve rounds. Is Cam hiding under the surgical table?” Giselle’s expression morphed from panic to sheer, desperate fury. She planted her feet, using her body to physically block the sightline into the room. “This is completely inappropriate!” she yelled, her voice vibrating with panic. “This is a sterile environment! Everyone get back to work immediately!” She shoved forward, pushing a young scrub nurse so hard the girl stumbled and fell hard onto the tile. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. The playful mood vanished, replaced by a sudden, sharp tension. I stood at the edge of the crowd, watching her unravel. The quiet moments in a tragedy are always the most telling. The way her hands shook. The way she couldn’t look me in the eye. I stepped forward, my voice cutting through the silence like a scalpel. “Giselle,” I said, the syllables tasting foreign on my tongue. “Why are you so frantic?” I paused, letting the silence stretch. “Is there something… or someone… hiding in there that you don’t want us to see?” My voice wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be. Every pair of eyes in the hallway snapped to Giselle’s rapidly paling face. She lunged forward, grabbing my forearm, her nails digging into my skin. “Cam, stop it. Just stop,” she hissed, her eyes pleading. “Make them leave. I’ll go home tonight and explain everything.” I looked down at her hand on my arm. It felt like a contaminant. I ripped my arm away, stepping back as if she were infectious. Before she could reach for me again, the frantic ding of the elevator echoed down the hall. “Giselle! Oh my god, my baby!” My mother-in-law, Donna, came sprinting down the hall, practically dragging Gary behind her. She threw herself at Giselle, patting her down, her face twisted in theatrical agony. “Cam texted us! He said you collapsed! Look at how pale you are!” Gary flanked her, breathless. “Giselle, what happened? Is it your heart?” Giselle looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her whole. “Mom? Dad? What are you doing here?” She shot me a look of pure, venomous hatred. “I’m fine! I didn’t collapse!” I met her glare with dead, hollow eyes. Yes. I called them. Once Donna realized her daughter wasn’t dying, the matriarchal concern instantly calcified into rage. She rounded on me, jabbing a finger into my chest. “What is wrong with you, Cam?! Texting us garbage like that! You nearly gave Gary a heart attack!” “Exactly,” Gary grunted, adjusting his belt. “She’s perfectly fine. Why the hell are you cursing my daughter, saying she passed out?” 3. The murmurs among the hospital staff grew louder, the whispers turning into outright speculation. “Why is she guarding the room like that?” “Do you think she actually is the one stealing the equipment? Is she fencing it?” Gary and Donna grabbed Giselle’s arms, trying to pull her away from the door. “Come on, let’s go. We brought you lunch,” Gary muttered. But Giselle planted her feet, immovable. Her eyes darted wildly around the room behind her. “No. Mom, Dad, go home. I have… I have administrative things to finish here.” Donna yanked harder. “What is more important than your health? Get away from these gawkers and come eat!” “I am not leaving!” Giselle screamed, her voice echoing off the linoleum, sharp and hysterical. The entire corridor went dead silent. Even Donna stepped back, stunned. Everyone knew, in that exact moment, that something was horribly wrong. And then, the crowd parted. My mother, Dr. Evelyn Foster, Chief of Staff, walked through the corridor. She moved with the quiet, devastating authority of a woman who held hundreds of careers in the palm of her hand. “Why is my surgical wing blocked?” she asked, her tone conversational but laced with absolute zero chill. “Has everyone forgotten we have patients?” Giselle seemed to shrink three inches. “Dr… Dr. Foster.” My mother ignored her entirely, turning her sharp gaze to Dr. Aris. “Report.” Aris quickly and quietly summarized the security code, the broken door, and Giselle’s erratic behavior. As he spoke, my mother’s expression darkened, the planes of her face settling into something glacial. She turned to Giselle. Every word she spoke was a meticulously placed strike. “Giselle,” my mother said softly. “Look me in the eye and tell me there isn’t someone hiding in my operating room.” A bead of sweat tracked down the side of Giselle’s face. She let out a strained, unnatural laugh. “Evelyn, please. That’s ridiculous. I was just… I was exhausted. I took twenty minutes between surgeries to close my eyes.” Donna, ever the defensive bulldog, stepped between them. “Now listen here, Evelyn. Don’t you go listening to whatever crazy lies Cam is spinning. You know how hard my Giselle works! She’s saving lives every day, she’s so tired she barely comes home to your son! Is it a crime to take a nap?” Donna shot me a desperate, heavy-lidded glare, practically begging me to play along and de-escalate. My mother didn’t blink. “If the room is empty, then step aside. Let security clear it. The safety of hospital inventory is non-negotiable.” It wasn’t a request. Giselle looked at me. For the first time in five years, the superiority in her eyes was gone, replaced by a naked, pathetic plea. She mouthed the word: Please, Cam. I didn’t hesitate. I shoved past her and kicked the already-broken door wide open. The OR was a disaster zone. I stared at the wreckage, my voice echoing off the sterile tiles. “You took off your underwear to take a nap?” I asked, pointing to the lacy scrap of fabric kicked beneath a surgical stool. “You put your scrubs on inside out? And you took a nap surrounded by… what exactly is this?” The staff crowded the doorway. Gasps rang out. Scattered across the floor were half a dozen torn wrappers for ultrasound probe covers. Mixed in with them were crumpled wads of sterile gauze, soaked in fluids that didn’t come from a surgery. Giselle shuffled forward, her face the color of ash, trying to kick a wrapper under a cart. “This… this is just medical waste from the last procedure. The janitorial staff hasn’t come yet.” I ignored her pathetic lie. My eyes locked onto the massive, stainless steel sterile supply cabinet in the corner. It was big enough to hold a person. As I walked toward it, Giselle lunged at me, grabbing my waist. “Cam, stop! What are you doing?!” she screamed. “Those are imported sterile instruments! If you open that door, you contaminate everything! You can’t take that responsibility!” The more frantic she became, the colder I felt. “Do whatever you need to do, Camden,” my mother’s voice rang out from the doorway, steady as a rock. “I will handle the fallout.” I grabbed a heavy IV pole and swung it like a baseball bat directly into the glass doors of the sterile cabinet. The glass shattered into a thousand glittering pieces. Trays of expensive surgical instruments crashed to the floor with a deafening metallic clatter. The cabinet was empty. Instantly, Giselle’s posture shifted. The terror vanished, replaced by a surge of indignant, righteous fury. “I told you!” she shrieked, pointing at the wreckage. “I told you I was just sleeping! But you have to be a paranoid psychopath! You just destroyed hundreds of thousands of dollars of equipment! Are you happy now?” Donna immediately piled on. “Look at the son you raised, Evelyn! Throwing a psychotic tantrum in public!” Gary puffed up his chest, stepping toward me aggressively. “Giselle breaks her back every day, and instead of taking care of her, you throw dirt on her name? How is she supposed to show her face in this hospital after her own husband humiliated her like this?” 4. Doubt began to ripple through the crowd at the door. “Maybe Dr. Foster really did jump to conclusions?” “I mean, she could have just been a really messy sleeper…” “But what about all those wrappers on the floor?” Hearing the tide of opinion shift, Giselle walked over to my mother, her face arranged in an expression of long-suffering martyrdom. “Evelyn, you see what I have to deal with. Cam has been under so much pressure lately. I think he’s having a psychotic break. We should suspend him. Let him rest at home. I will personally pay for the contaminated equipment out of my own pocket so the hospital doesn’t suffer. Let’s just clear the hall and forget this happened.” My mother looked past her, her eyes locking onto mine. “Camden. Are you certain there is someone else in this room?” I didn’t answer. I just looked around. The cabinet was empty. Where the hell could he be? Then, I noticed the way Giselle was standing. She was talking to my mother, but her body was rigidly angled, subtly shielding the corner of the room. Shielding the biohazard waste compactor. It was a new piece of machinery the hospital had installed last month. A heavy-duty hydraulic press designed to compress medical waste into dense, sanitized disks before disposal. You hit the green button, and a steel plate inside crushed whatever was in the chamber with thousands of pounds of force. I let out a low, dark chuckle. Giselle really was brilliant. A masterful misdirection. I walked right past her, making a beeline for the compactor. A fresh layer of cold sweat broke out across Giselle’s forehead. “What are you doing now?!” I looked at her, my face a mask of absolute calm. “Since the janitors haven’t cleaned up your ‘medical waste,’ and the room is a mess, I’m just going to run the compactor. It’s protocol to compress and sanitize the waste, right?” I reached out, my finger hovering over the heavy green start button. Giselle lunged, grabbing my wrist with a grip like a vice. “No!” she roared, the sound tearing from her throat like a wounded animal. “Giselle! Release him!” my mother barked, her voice echoing like a gunshot. “Have you lost your mind?!” Giselle’s legs were physically shaking. But behind her, Gary let out an exasperated groan. “Oh for God’s sake, it’s just a damn trash machine! Press the button if it makes him feel better!” Before anyone could react, Gary shoved past his daughter. “My daughter has nothing to hide! Run the damn machine so we can go home and eat the soup your mother spent all night making!” Giselle hit the floor hard. She scrambled toward her father, screaming, “Dad, NO!” But Gary’s hand had already slammed down on the green button. Donna, annoyed by the delay, reached over and slapped the yellow ‘Accelerate/Compress’ button right next to it. “There! Are you done throwing your tantrum, Cam? Now we—” Donna didn’t get to finish her sentence. Because over the mechanical hum of the hydraulic press, a sound erupted from inside the machine. A piercing, agonized, inhuman scream.

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To love someone for six whole years… in the end, it just leaves you hollow. Today was supposed to be our engagement party. The guests had been waiting for hours, their murmurs growing from polite whispers to an unbearable, pitying hum. But he never showed. I called his phone until my battery bled red, met only by the sterile, mocking tone of his voicemail. I was on the verge of collapsing when a notification popped up. An Instagram post from her—the childhood best friend he’d spent a lifetime making exceptions for. It was a selfie of them by a shimmering pool, their faces pressed intimately together. The caption read: “Someone’s been working crazy hours on his business trip, but I missed him, so he came to swim with me.” But that wasn’t the part that stopped my heart. In the blurred background of the photo, draped carelessly over a plastic lawn chair, was my engagement dress—the bespoke vintage silk gown my late grandfather had spent hundreds of hours hand-stitching for me before he died. Looking out at the sea of our friends and family, I took a slow, deep breath, letting the final fractured pieces of my six-year delusion settle. I picked up the microphone. My voice didn’t shake. “Thank you all for coming,” I announced into the quiet room. “But this engagement is officially canceled.” 1. The ballroom was completely empty, the last of the pitying glances gone, when Ternence finally called. A wave of exhaustion washed over me, yet, driven by some lingering phantom reflex, I answered. Ternence’s voice was clipped, coated in an arrogant impatience. “Come pick Bella and me up from the Azure Club.” I looked down at my hands. “I’m nearby,” I said, my voice shockingly flat. The club was barely two blocks from the hotel where our banquet was held. “Why the hell are you nearby?” A beat of silence. Then, a sharp intake of breath as reality seemed to briefly graze him. “Oh, right. I forgot about today. We’ll just do the engagement thing another time. Just come pick us up first.” I didn’t respond. He sighed into the receiver. “It’s just an engagement, Carol. Stop throwing a tantrum and bring the car.” Just an engagement. To him, my absolute devotion, my compromises, the irreplaceable heirloom he’d stolen to play dress-up with another woman—it was all just a minor inconvenience. He’d insisted on a business trip right before the party, promising he’d be back the day prior. Instead, he flew back early just to play pool boy for Bella. I hung up the phone. The silence in my car was suffocating. I opened Instagram. Ternence had just posted a story. “My girl loves to stay active,” the text read, superimposed over a video of Bella flaunting her bikini body at the edge of the water. A visceral wave of nausea crawled up my throat, followed by a dry, hollow laugh. It took six years and a canceled party to finally see the absolute truth: in my own relationship, I was nothing but a third wheel. The obsession that had tethered me to him for the better part of a decade evaporated into the cool night air. 2. It was 2:00 AM when Ternence finally strolled into the apartment. The living room was an obstacle course of his luggage. I hadn’t unpacked it; I had packed it. I barely glanced at him, but my eyes caught the disheveled line of his collar and the unmistakable, bruised hue of a hickey blooming on his jawline. He frowned, his tone laced with exasperation. “Carol, what the hell kind of stunt are you pulling?” I stopped folding my sweater. I didn’t yell. I didn’t cry. “We’re done. You’re moving out.” “Are you serious right now?” he scoffed. “I forgot the date, okay? You know how swamped I’ve been with the merger.” I looked at him, truly looked at him, and felt nothing but ice. “Too swamped to remember your own engagement, but not too swamped to take another woman swimming?” My voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Where is my dress, Ternence?” A flicker of genuine guilt crossed his face, but he quickly masked it with annoyance. His lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t know where I left it. Probably by the pool. I’ll just pay you for it.” He pulled out his phone, his thumbs tapping aggressively. “Is two grand enough?” A lifetime of swallowing my pride, of pushing down my anger to keep the peace, shattered right then and there. “Not enough!” The scream tore from my throat, raw and ragged. “You know exactly what that dress meant to me! It was my grandfather’s final work! You can’t put a price tag on it!” He rolled his eyes, a sharp, dismissive sound escaping his lips. “So what? I’ll make it three grand. Happy?” Ding. My phone screen lit up. A Zelle notification for $3,000. He rubbed the back of his neck, entirely unaffected. “Look, I’m exhausted. Let’s just cool off tonight.” He brushed past me, walking into the guest bedroom, and slammed the door shut. I stared at the heavy oak door. The very last, pathetic ember of warmth I held for this man died. I picked up my phone and dialed a number I’d saved weeks ago during a fleeting moment of clarity. “Hey, Stan? It’s Carol. I need a moving crew. First thing in the morning.” 3. Maybe the guilt had finally caught up with him, because he was up at dawn, standing in the kitchen. He waved a plate at me, flashing that boyish, devastating smile that used to melt my resolve. “Bacon, egg, and gouda. Your favorite.” It was his signature move. The cheap, calculated performance of domesticity meant to sweep his betrayals under the rug. In the past, I would have caved. I would have eaten the sandwich and pretended my heart wasn’t breaking. Not today. “I’m not hungry,” I said, my voice deadpan. “I’m going to work.” I was barely out the door when I heard his footsteps pounding behind me in the garage. “Let’s ride together to the office.” I stopped, my hand hovering over the door handle of my sedan. I raised an eyebrow. “I thought we needed to ‘maintain professional boundaries’?” Ternence was a major shareholder at Onyx Marketing; I was a senior project manager. He had practically drafted a gag order about our relationship, keeping me at arm’s length in the office as if my proximity was a disease. He caught the contradiction, shifting his weight awkwardly. “The garage is empty. No one will see.” I didn’t have the energy to argue. I walked over to his SUV and pulled the passenger door open. It was entirely filled. Stuffed animals, fluffy keychains, a customized pink tumbler. Slapped on the dashboard was a sticky note with a heart: Bella’s VIP Seat. He lunged forward, his face flushing dark red as he frantically swept the plushies into the backseat. “Bella catches rides with me sometimes. You know how she is, always leaving her junk everywhere.” A bitter, acidic taste coated my tongue. Once, I accidentally dropped my ID card between the seats of this very car. Ternence had lost his mind. He threw the plastic card at my chest and warned me that if I ever left “clutter” in his pristine car again, he’d throw it in the trash. Yet, he let another woman turn his passenger seat into a teenage girl’s bedroom. I watched him struggle with a massive teddy bear and felt entirely detached. “Don’t bother. I’ll take my own car.” As I turned away, his hand clamped down on my wrist. “Let me drive. We haven’t spent any time together lately.” I caught the frantic, almost desperate look in his eyes. I glanced at my watch. I was going to be late, and fighting him here would just drain me further. I slipped into the seat, shoving the remaining stuffed animal to the floor. 4. He tried to fill the silence on the drive, tossing out meaningless conversational life rafts that I let sink. We had barely merged onto the interstate when the Bluetooth system chimed. Bella’s voice instantly filled the cabin, thick with tears. “Ternence… I feel so sick…” My pulse hitched. The familiar, suffocating dread settled over me. Ternence’s demeanor shifted instantly. His voice cracked with genuine, breathless panic. “Bella? What’s wrong? Where does it hurt? Just hold on, okay? I’m coming to get you!” He whipped his head toward me, his eyes wild and commanding. “Get out at the next exit! I have to turn around!” We were on the interstate. Cars were flying past us at seventy miles an hour. I stared at him, bewildered. “Are you insane? We’re on the highway—” His eyes darkened, flashing with a chilling impatience. I swallowed my words. This wasn’t new. It was the defining rhythm of our relationship. Whenever we were together, if Bella so much as sneezed, he would drop me without a second thought to play her savior. There was no point in arguing. He seemed to realize how deranged he sounded and offered a flimsy, rushed justification. “We’re close to the office anyway. I don’t know how bad she is. She doesn’t have family in the city, Carol. It’s just me. Try to have a little empathy!” He slammed on the brakes, pulling onto the gravel shoulder. I stepped out into the roaring traffic without a word. He peeled away instantly, leaving me in a cloud of dust. The crisp morning air bit through my blouse, making me shiver. I pulled out my phone, opening the Uber app, my thumb hovering over the screen. I didn’t see the incoming sedan until it was too late. The side mirror clipped my hip, the impact spinning me violently. I hit the asphalt, the world blurring into a chaotic smear of pain and screaming tires. 5. I sat on a hard plastic chair in the ER waiting room, the harsh fluorescent lights buzzing above me, waiting for my name to be called for X-rays. My legs were scraped raw, my hip throbbing with a sickening pulse. My phone vibrated in my bruised hand. Ternence. “What the hell is your problem?” he barked before I could even breathe. “You’re skipping work out of spite? I heard you didn’t even show up for the big client pitch today!” He didn’t pause for a breath. “Grow up, Carol! Stop mixing your petty personal drama with business. If you pull a stunt like this again, just hand in your resignation!” I opened my mouth. I wanted to tell him I was bleeding. I wanted to tell him I got hit by a car because he left me on the side of a highway. But he didn’t give me the chance. The line went dead. I stared at the black screen, the icy reality of my life seeping into my bones, freezing me from the inside out. I slowly lifted my head. Through the double doors of the triage wing, I saw them. Ternence, his arm wrapped tightly around Bella’s waist, supporting her weight as she leaned dramatically against his chest. His face was a portrait of pure, unadulterated devotion, whispering soothing words into her hair. It was a tenderness I had never, not once, received. I closed my eyes and let out a long, shuddering breath. Let it go, I told myself. I’m done. I’m so incredibly done. 6. By the time I limped out of the hospital, my body felt like shattered glass held together by bandages. I directed the movers to pack up everything Ternence owned and deliver it to Bella’s address. I sat alone in the center of the echoing, empty living room, letting the silence wrap around me. The front door flew open with a violent crash. Ternence stood in the threshold, vibrating with rage. “Carol! What is wrong with you?!” he screamed, stepping over the threshold. “You blow off work, and then you send all my shit to Bella’s house? Have you completely lost your mind?!” I slowly lifted my gaze to meet his. He froze. His eyes dropped to the thick white gauze wrapping my leg and the dark purple bruise blooming on my cheekbone. “You’re… you’re hurt?” he stammered, the fury deflating. “Yeah,” I said, my voice dead. “I got hit by a car on the highway today.” Guilt flashed across his features, but his ego was a fragile, defensive thing. He couldn’t apologize. Instead, his jaw tightened. “Well, it’s not like I drove the car that hit you! That doesn’t give you the right to throw me out!” “Ternence,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “We’re breaking up.” He scoffed, though his eyes darted nervously. “Stop saying things you don’t mean just to get a reaction.” I let out a soft, tired sigh. “I’m not looking for a reaction. I’m entirely serious.” I looked at the man I had built my twenties around and felt nothing but an overwhelming urge to sleep. “It’s over. You and Bella can have each other. I’m out.” A flush of humiliated anger crept up his neck. His ego couldn’t handle the rejection. “You’re just being insanely jealous again! God, you are so suffocating!” He pointed a finger at me. “Fine! If we’re done, we’re done. Just don’t come crawling back on your knees begging me to forgive you!” For three years, every fight we had about Bella ended with him threatening to leave. And every time, I was the one who broke. I was the one who cried, who compromised, who begged him to stay. He was waiting for me to do it again. “You can leave now,” I said, my voice resolute, holding his gaze without a single tremor. “I won’t regret this. We’re done.” His face contorted in an ugly, wounded sneer. He glared at me one last time, turned on his heel, and slammed the door so hard the walls shook. I stared at the closed door, making a mental note to call a locksmith in the morning. 7. The moment I limped into the Onyx offices the next day, the HR director pulled me aside. “Carol,” he said, avoiding my eyes. “There’s been a… shift in organizational structure.” He proceeded to tell me that my title had been revoked. The flagship account I had spent months nurturing—the massive contract with The Maxwell Group—was being handed over to Bella. He patted my shoulder, his face a mask of corporate sympathy. “You’re a brilliant strategist, Carol. The board knows that. But… did you step on someone’s toes recently?” Who else but Ternence? He had always hated my success at the company. He thought my ambition cast a shadow over Bella’s mediocre performance. He’d dropped subtle hints for years that I should quit, claiming that working in the same office was “unprofessional” and sparked rumors. Now, he was just openly slaughtering my career. I kept my face perfectly smooth. I forced a polite, terrifyingly bright smile. “I understand perfectly. Thank you.” But inside, a fire was roaring to life. The sheer humiliation of it burned in my chest. I walked back to my office. Bella was already there, directing two junior associates to move her things in. She turned, her eyes lighting up with a venomous, triumphant glee. “Oh, hey Carol,” she cooed, oozing fake sympathy. “Sorry about all this. But this office is mine now.” She pointed a manicured finger toward a cardboard box shoved into the corner. “I packed your desk up for you. You can take it and go.” I stared at the box. My personal belongings—things I’d accumulated over years of late nights and weekends—tossed in like garbage. I didn’t say a word. I walked over, ignoring the shooting pain in my leg, and picked up the box. It was light. Just a few marketing textbooks and a crystal paperweight engraved with To Success, a gift Ternence had given me years ago. As I carried the box toward the door, Bella leaned in, her voice dropping its sweet facade, dripping with malice. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, Carol.” I stopped. I turned my head slowly, meeting her smug gaze, and let a cold smile touch my lips. “Bella,” I said softly. “You better pray you never end up working for me.” The Maxwell Group only signed with Onyx because of my data models. With me gone, that account was a ticking time bomb. 8. I had been planning to quit anyway. A premier headhunting firm had been relentlessly courting me for months, offering packages that made my current salary look like a joke. I had kept them at bay, entirely out of a misplaced, pathetic loyalty to Ternence’s company. Looking back, I was a colossal idiot. I had sacrificed my own ceiling to protect a man who wouldn’t even give me the floor. As I walked down the main corridor, my boot caught on something hard. I pitched forward, gravity taking over. The box flew from my hands, its contents scattering across the hardwood floor. The crystal paperweight shattered into a dozen glittering pieces. Searing pain ripped through my bandaged leg as my stitches tore open. “Oops! Are you okay, Carol?” Bella’s voice floated over me, laced with a sickening delight. “You really need to watch where you’re going. Maybe get your eyes checked?” I knew she had stuck her foot out. Several colleagues gathered around, their eyes wide, whispering frantically. Not a single person reached out to help me up. I let out a low, dark laugh. I pushed myself up onto my good knee, looking up at Bella’s gloating face. “Don’t celebrate just yet, Bella,” I spat, my voice echoing in the quiet hallway. “Nothing is uglier than unearned arrogance.” Her face hardened. “Excuse me?!” Ternence materialized from the boardroom, drawn by the commotion. He took one look at me—on the floor, bleeding through my slacks, surrounded by broken glass—and his face twisted in anger. But not at Bella. “Carol!” he snapped, his voice booming. “If you aren’t going to do your job, what the hell are you doing causing a scene out here?!” I forced myself to stand, the room spinning slightly as the blood dripped down my shin. Ternence finally noticed the bright red stain expanding on my pants. His eyes widened, and he reached a hand out to steady me. I slapped it away with a sharp crack. “Don’t touch me with your fake concern,” I hissed, my voice shaking with pure adrenaline. “Stay away from me. Both of you.” Ternence’s jaw dropped, his face draining of color. He stood frozen, unable to formulate a single word. I limped away, leaving a trail of blood drops on the pristine floor, and walked straight into the HR office. I slammed my resignation letter on the desk. 9. The moment the glass doors of Onyx closed behind me, I pulled out my phone and dialed the recruiter. “David? It’s Carol. That VP position you mentioned? I’m ready to talk.”

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I stood in the center of the stage, the champagne flute trembling just a fraction of an inch in my hand. Three hundred and twenty pairs of eyes snapped simultaneously from the massive line-array speakers flanking the stage, straight to me. I didn’t move. Because I was the one who had turned that microphone on. A woman’s voice, laced with a familiar, airy laugh, suddenly drifted through the state-of-the-art sound system. “How much did you actually spend on her ring?” Carlton’s voice followed immediately. “Twelve thousand.” “Only twelve thousand?” May’s laughter was amplified three times over, bouncing off the vaulted ceilings of the ballroom. “The one you bought me was twenty-five.” “It’s not the same thing,” Carlton said, his voice dropping lower, but the wireless lavalier mic faithfully carried every single syllable into every corner of the room. “Yours was bought with my bonus. Hers… I just pointed at something in the display case.” All three hundred and twenty guests in the ballroom went dead silent. 01 The silence lasted for exactly four seconds. After four seconds, my mother was the first to stand up. “Where is that coming from?” She looked at my father, then turned her sharp gaze toward the head table where Carlton’s mother, Diane, was sitting. The color drained from Diane’s face in an instant. The flushed, radiant joy of a proud mother-of-the-groom vanished, replaced by an expression I had come to know intimately over the last three years: calculation. She was assessing the damage. Fast. The conversation over the speakers kept going. May’s voice grew softer, as if she were leaning in to whisper directly into someone’s ear, but the microphone picked up every breath. “Did you notice today… how fat she looks in that dress?” Carlton didn’t answer. May pressed on. “It’s squeezing her waist so hard it’s giving her a roll. Standing next to her up there, I actually felt embarrassed for her.” And then, Carlton laughed. It was a soft sound, the kind of laugh meant to be shared in secret, but the soundboard broadcasted it without mercy. The crowd began to murmur. A low, panicked hum swept through the tables. One of Carlton’s college buddies—a guy in a slick grey suit—was the first to break from the paralysis. He sprinted toward the soundboard at the back of the room, waving his arms frantically at the audio engineer. “Cut it! Cut the feed!” Ben, the audio guy, looked up at the groomsman. Then, his eyes met mine across the room. I gave him a fraction of a head shake. No. Ben didn’t touch the console. The guy in the grey suit screamed again, his voice cracking with panic. “Are you deaf? Turn it off!” Ben stared at him, his face perfectly blank. “The bride told me to leave it on.” The ballroom erupted. “She told you to leave it on?!” The groomsman froze, staring at me in horror. I stood on the stage, slowly lowering my champagne flute to the sweetheart table. Three hundred and twenty people were staring at me. Some looked horrified. Some were entirely lost. More than a few already had their phones out, hitting record. My father’s face was made of granite, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. Diane finally couldn’t take it anymore. She practically vaulted out of her chair at the head table, the sharp clack-clack-clack of her heels echoing over the murmurs as she marched toward the back. “Ben! I am paying for this venue! I am telling you to cut that audio right now!” Ben looked at me again. I still didn’t nod. He sat behind his mixing board, hands folded in his lap, unmoving. Diane pivoted toward me, plastering on a manic, desperate smile. “Caroline, sweetie, it’s just a technical glitch. Stop this nonsense.” I looked down at her. “Diane. Have a seat.” My voice was terrifyingly calm. “The best part hasn’t even started yet.” 02 Twenty-one days ago, I had been just this calm. The bridal boutique was a high-end atelier downtown, the kind of place where you couldn’t even walk through the door without a five-figure budget. It was 2:00 PM. I was trying on my third dress. In the floor-to-ceiling mirror, I looked suffocated. The corset was laced too tight, and two yards of heavy white silk pooled around my feet. May was just outside the fitting room, allegedly fetching the consultant to find a longer veil. I bent awkwardly, trying to reach the zipper on my back. When I couldn’t reach it, I pushed the heavy velvet curtain aside to call for her. That was when I heard her voice. She was standing on the other side of a rack of sample gowns, her back to me, her phone pressed to her ear. “Yeah… she’s trying it on now. It’s honestly hideous.” She let out a soft, conspiratorial laugh. “She doesn’t even realize she’s gone up a whole dress size. I don’t have the heart to tell her.” I stood completely still behind the rack of tulle. “Alright, alright, you book the restaurant. I’ll suffer through the rest of this shopping trip and meet you there.” She hung up. I stepped backward, letting the velvet curtain fall shut. My heartbeat was deafening, hammering against my eardrums. My first reaction wasn’t anger. It was total, disorienting confusion. Who was she talking to? Three minutes later, May swept back in, holding up a delicate lace veil. “Caroline, try this one! It’s going to look absolutely stunning on you.” I took it from her. I smiled. “Where did you run off to?” “Just tracking down the stylist for the veil,” she said, her big, warm eyes entirely clear. Not a ripple of guilt. I didn’t push it. But that night, sitting in the dark of my apartment, I opened the billing portal for Carlton’s credit card. He was an authorized user on my American Express account. The statements went straight to my email, but I had never bothered to check them. I trusted him. That night, I audited six months of his transaction history. I found three charges that made no sense. One for $8,500. A charge from Cartier. One for $4,200. A boutique hotel in the city. One for $25,000. A diamond wholesaler. Twenty-five thousand dollars. The exact number May would later boast about over the speakers. I sat on my living room sofa, the cold blue light of my laptop screen washing over my face. The hum of city traffic drifted up from the streets below, waves of distant, indifferent noise. In that quiet moment, it hit me. For the last three years, I had been sitting in the audience of a play. And I was the only person in the theater who didn’t have the script. 03 I didn’t confront Carlton when he came home. I didn’t call May and scream at her. The next day, I took a half-day off work and drove to the financial district, parking near Carlton’s office building. I wasn’t there to see him. I was there for the FedEx print shop across the street. Carlton worked on the 14th floor of a massive corporate high-rise, and every day, he came down to street level for lunch. I wanted to see who he was eating with. I slipped the print shop manager a hundred-dollar bill, claiming someone had hit my parked car, and asked to view the security camera footage that faced the street. Day one: Carlton walked out alone, grabbing a sandwich at the deli next door. Day three: Carlton walked out of the revolving doors. A woman was waiting for him. I paused the video. Zoomed in. May. She was wearing the beige trench coat I had bought her for her birthday last year. She linked her arm seamlessly through Carlton’s, and together, they walked into the upscale bistro down the block. I kept scrolling through the archives. In one month, they had eaten lunch together eleven times. Eleven times. Carlton and I had been dating for three years. We were engaged to be married. The number of times he had managed to leave the office to have lunch with me could be counted on one hand. I’m just too swamped, babe, he always said. I have to eat at my desk. I used to pack him high-end meal prep boxes so he wouldn’t eat garbage from the vending machines. He’d kiss my forehead and say, You’re too good to me, Caroline. What would I do without you? What happened to those meals? I didn’t know. But I did know that all eleven of those bistro lunches had been charged to his American Express. My money. I took photos of the screen with my phone. I exported every credit card statement. I put them all into a hidden, encrypted folder on my phone. I named the folder: Wedding Assets. From that afternoon on, I began living a double life. By day, I was the blushing bride-to-be. I debated bridesmaid dress swatches with May, went to cake tastings with Carlton, and politely agreed with Diane about the seating chart. By night, I was a ghost, hunting down the truth. On the third day of my investigation, I found a pattern in Carlton’s location-sharing app history. Every Thursday evening, he was parked at a luxury high-rise development in the West End. The Emerson. Units started at a million dollars. I ran a property records search for the building. Unit 1402. Owner: May. Date of Purchase: Eleven months ago. Down Payment: $150,000. A hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Carlton’s year-end bonus last year had been exactly $160,000. He had sat on our couch, looked me dead in the eye, and told me that after taxes and restructuring, his net payout was only $80,000. The missing money, combined with the slow, methodical bleed of the credit card over the last year, perfectly covered her down payment. I stared at the digitized public records for a long, long time. Then, I closed my laptop. I walked into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. When I looked in the mirror, my eyes were completely dry. Not a single tear. It wasn’t that my heart didn’t hurt. It was that I refused to let it break for him. My tears were too expensive to waste on a man like this. 04 On the seventh day, I went to Diane’s house. My goal was simple: test my mother-in-law. Diane was a former real estate broker. She was sharp, calculating, and controlled every aspect of her son’s social life. She even picked the restaurant for Carlton’s and my very first date. He’s just shy, she had told me back then. He needs his mother to help him shine. That afternoon, Diane was in her sprawling kitchen slicing fruit while I flipped through floral arrangements on the island counter. “Diane, do you think we should upgrade to the tiered dessert station for the reception?” I asked casually. “Whatever you want, sweetie. You have wonderful taste.” I shifted gears, keeping my voice light. “By the way, May mentioned she wanted to give a little toast to me during the reception. What do you think?” “May?” Diane’s paring knife paused mid-slice. “Yeah. She’s my maid of honor, after all. My best friend.” Diane didn’t turn around. She resumed slicing the melon. “I suppose… you can arrange that however you like.” Her tone was a fraction too tight. I pushed gently. “Diane, do you know if May is seeing anyone lately? She’s been so secretive.” The knife stopped completely. Diane finally turned to look at me, a tight, artificial smile stretched across her face. “How would I know that, honey? You girls keep your own secrets.” Her right index finger tapped nervously against the back of the knife blade. I had known Diane for three years. I knew her tells. Tapping meant she was cornered. “Caroline, the fruit is ready. Why don’t you take the platter out to the patio?” She smoothly changed the subject. But her micro-reactions had already given me the answer. She knew. That night, I left Diane’s house early. I sat in my car in her driveway, the engine off, and dialed Christine. Christine was my college roommate, brilliant and ruthless, and now a junior partner at a top-tier corporate law firm. “Christine, I need a massive favor,” I said. “Name it.” “I need you to pull the title deed for the townhouse Carlton and I just bought.” “You don’t have a copy?” Christine’s voice dropped, instantly shifting into lawyer mode. “I paid the entire $300,000 down payment from my personal savings. But on closing day, Diane took the folder of documents. She said she was putting it in her safety deposit box for us so we wouldn’t lose it in the move.” Christine was dead silent for three whole seconds. “Caroline. Give me twenty-four hours.” The next afternoon, Christine sent me a PDF. There was only one name on the deed. Carlton. I had transferred three hundred thousand dollars out of my savings account for that house. But I owned absolutely nothing. I had watched Carlton sign my name on the initial purchase agreement. But what had Diane done with those papers after she “took them for safekeeping”? I didn’t know the exact mechanics, but I knew the result. I didn’t sleep that night. I wasn’t shaking with rage. I wasn’t drowning in grief. I lay in the dark, staring at the shadows on the ceiling, turning one terrifying question over and over in my mind. How long have they been planning this? Since the beginning? Since the day Carlton met me… through May?

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