I didn’t understand what Noah meant by “together forever” until Chloe got her HIV diagnosis. In my past life, Chloe collapsed from anemia during the State Championship game. Her childhood best friend Noah insisted on giving her an emergency field transfusion. I fought like hell to stop him. Told her Noah had HIV. That if he transfused his blood, she’d get infected too. She didn’t believe me. Noah cried and said he’d never even hooked up with anyone. How could he possibly have it? He climbed onto the stadium roof and threatened to jump to prove his innocence. Then he slipped. Fell eighteen stories to his death. To avenge him, Chloe and our classmates kidnapped me. She strangled me with her own hands. Her final words still echo: “You LIED about Noah! You killed him! Now you’ll pay with your LIFE!” When I opened my eyes again, I was back. The day of the transfusion. I watched Chloe receiving Noah’s contaminated blood. And I smiled. HIV? No big deal. — “Ethan, I know you hate me. But this is life or death. Stop blocking me from saving Chloe!” Noah’s words hit me like lightning. I’d been reborn. I looked up and met Chloe’s furious glare. Anemia made her face ghostly pale. “Ethan, fine. You’re too selfish to give me blood. But don’t you DARE stop Noah from saving me!” “How was I ever stupid enough to date a selfish asshole like you?!” Her insults cut deep and made my heart go cold. In my previous life, Chloe collapsed during the State Championship. The blood bank’s emergency supply would take hours to arrive. To avoid missing her event, Noah offered to give her a field transfusion. I fought desperately to stop him. Because I’d overheard Noah talking to some sketchy guys in an alley weeks before. “I have HIV. If I can infect Chloe, she’ll be mine FOREVER!” I tried to stop the transfusion and told Chloe that Noah’s blood was contaminated with HIV. She didn’t believe me and accused me of making it up. Noah burst into tears and said I was slandering him. He climbed onto the roof to “prove his innocence” by jumping. Pretended to leap, then “accidentally” slipped. Fell from the eighteenth floor. Later, the autopsy confirmed it. His blood tested positive with a high viral load. I thought it was over. But at my birthday party, Chloe and our classmates kidnapped me. I still remember what she said while strangling me: “You LIED about Noah! Your slander killed him! Now DIE for him!” Snapping back to reality, I heard my classmates’ insults continuing. “Ethan, how can someone be as disgusting as you? Chloe’s anemia is severe. You won’t donate. Fine. But blocking Noah? Seriously?” “Yeah, Noah’s hot and kind. What gives you the right to compete with him?” “Ethan’s just jealous that everyone likes Noah. That’s why he’s blocking this.” This time, I took a deep breath and calmed myself. Then I stepped aside from the transfusion setup and smiled. “Go ahead. Give her blood. 400cc not enough? Take 600cc. Whatever you need for Chloe.” Let them taste the poison they planted themselves.

Noah held the syringe and frowned as he pushed the needle into his vein. Everyone praised him and called him selfless and noble. Chloe’s eyes filled with adoration. Only I noticed the tiny marks on his pale wrist. Scabbed-over needle tracks. Evidence of long-term unsafe injections and proof he carried the virus. After half a blood bag, Noah started swaying and looking dizzy. Chloe immediately pulled the needle from his arm and held him carefully. Noah insisted on standing with his voice full of false righteousness. “Don’t stop me. I HAVE to finish donating.” Then he swayed again. I watched his pathetic performance and knew exactly what he was planning. Sure enough, a male student spoke up. “We can’t let Noah do this alone! Chloe needs more blood anyway!” “Let’s ALL donate! ” The suggestion met instant approval. “Right! Use the SAME needle! We’re not selfish like SOME people!” “Yeah! If Noah’s not scared, why should we be? This is our Loyalty Blood Pact!” I listened to their passionate speeches and wanted to laugh. Good classmates. Sharing everything, including HIV-contaminated needles. This lifetime, they’d finally achieve their dream of “living and dying together.” The team medic walked in and saw students about to jab a used needle into their veins. She rushed forward to stop them. “Are you INSANE?! Stop! Multiple people using one needle? What about cross-contamination?!” The students didn’t even flinch. “What’s YOUR problem? You cursing us or something?” “We’re all clean. How could we get infected?” “Mind your own business! If Chloe misses the championship because of delayed transfusion, can YOU take responsibility?” “You’re probably working with Ethan! Trying to sabotage Chloe’s competition!” Their mockery made the medic’s face go red. She stomped her foot with wet eyes and ran out of the room. After she left, they continued. One. Two. Three… I stood outside the crowd and watched that lethal needle pierce skin after skin. Each puncture meant certain infection. The blood bag filled quickly. Then Noah brought the needle to me. “Ethan. Your turn.”

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Two years overseas, and I flew back to San Francisco for the product launch. The moment I stepped on stage, a seven-year-old boy threw a bucket of dirty mop water all over my Tom Ford suit. “Get off the stage! My dad designed this!” “Mommy, this bad man is trying to steal Daddy’s credit. Did I do good?” I froze, trying to figure out whose brat this was. Then my wife Chloe scooped the boy into her arms, her face glowing with affection I’d never seen before. “Mason, you’re amazing. That’s exactly how we deal with thieves.” She turned to face me, her eyes ice-cold. “Liam, Blake handled all the company business while you were gone. The credit belongs to him.” I laughed. Right there, in front of five hundred investors and tech journalists, I announced my resignation. Let’s see how they develop products without my family’s investment firm backing them. … “Blake carried this company for two years while this guy lived it up overseas.” “Now the product’s ready and he flies back to take credit? Shameless!” “The kid did the right thing. Pour it on him!” “Disgusting.” I looked up at Chloe, waiting. Waiting for her eyes to meet mine, for even a flicker of hesitation, a word of defense. But Chloe acted like she didn’t hear the vicious accusations. She kept adjusting Mason’s collar, tender and gentle. Since when did she like kids? Five years of marriage. Every time I mentioned having children, she’d wrinkle her nose and say her career came first. Kids were loud, messy, inconvenient. I respected that. Never pushed. I thought she genuinely didn’t want them. I’d even prepared myself for a childfree life. But now, watching her hold another man’s son—the movements so natural, so practiced— Two years. I’d been gone two whole years. To secure overseas channels and lock down critical partnerships, I’d drunk myself into the hospital three times with a bleeding ulcer. To beat our competitors to market, I’d flown to twenty-six countries, answering emails at 35,000 feet like it was normal. Once, I worked for thirty straight hours on connecting flights. When I landed, my vision went black. My assistant had to carry me to the ER for IV fluids. Mason tilted his cherubic face up at Chloe, his voice saccharine: “Mommy, why is the bad man still here? He smells gross!” He pointed at my soaked suit with theatrical disgust. Chloe’s smile deepened. She pulled out a tissue and wiped a water droplet from Mason’s cheek, then kissed him loudly on his soft little face. “Baby, ignore him. Let’s listen to Daddy talk.” She carried the boy over to Blake, who’d just walked onto the stage. Blake slid his arm around Chloe’s shoulders. His other hand ruffled Mason’s hair affectionately. “Everyone, please—let me say something!” He sighed, perfectly calibrated. “This project represents everyone’s blood, sweat, and tears. Seeing our work questioned, of course emotions run high.” “Mr. Sterling was once part of the team. Though he spent the last two years abroad, he may not fully understand the depth of everyone’s contributions.” “I get it. He was involved in the early stages, after all.” “Mason’s young and doesn’t know better. I hope Mr. Sterling won’t take it personally.” He paused, gazing at Chloe with practiced devotion. “And thank you, Chloe, for believing in me. For walking this road with me to the end.” A perfect family. Pressed together on stage in front of everyone. Blake’s words sounded supportive, but every sentence accused me of stealing credit. The crowd erupted in admiration. “Blake’s living the dream—success at work AND at home!” “Chloe and Blake are perfect together. And their son is so smart!” “That’s what a real family looks like. Through thick and thin!” Someone in the back yelled: “Get that thief out of here! Don’t let him ruin our launch!” A wave of agreement. Voices demanding I leave. Through the “Get out!” chants, I looked at Chloe one last time. She leaned into Blake’s side, didn’t even glance my way. My heart turned to ice. The anger evaporated. I pulled out my phone and submitted my resignation through the company app. I was done with this place. Watching the employees who used to kiss my ass now turn on me like rabid dogs—it was almost funny. The things people will do. I drove home, needing silence. In the living room, our wedding portrait was gone from the wall. In its place: a massive “family photo.” Blake holding Mason. Chloe leaning on Blake’s shoulder. All three of them smiling like they’d won the lottery. I pushed open the master bedroom door. My things were gone. Blake’s suits hung in the closet. Children’s books and Chloe’s skincare products covered the desk. On the nightstand, our wedding photo had been replaced by a picture of Chloe and Mason. My clothes, my photos—everything shoved into the storage closet. While I was overseas killing myself to provide, my home had become someone else’s home. I sat on the couch and smoked. One cigarette after another, until the ashtray overflowed. Chloe finally came home.

I checked my watch. 2:00 AM. “You’re… back?” Her voice softened. “The launch ran late. Have you eaten? I’ll make you some pasta.” I didn’t respond. Just stared at her coldly. She avoided my eyes, glancing at the family portrait on the wall, then at the wedding photo I’d pulled from storage. Awkward. She stepped closer, reaching for my hand. I jerked away. “Honey…” She lowered herself, trying appeasement. “Mason’s little. He doesn’t understand. Don’t blame him. And Blake… he’s been under so much pressure.” “Pressure?” Was my life easy? “He’s raising Mason alone while running the company… Blake’s applying for that international design certification. I wanted to help where I could.” “And Mason’s such a sweet kid. I made him my godson. It’s not what you think…” She paused, reading my face. Her voice went soft, coaxing. “I know you’re upset. People said awful things today. Blake’s presentation wasn’t great. But he never meant to steal your credit.” She moved closer again, her tone saccharine like she was soothing a child. “Don’t be mad, honey. Once Blake gets his certification and the launch buzz dies down, I’ll find a chance to explain everything to the team.” Watching her grovel, hearing her honeyed explanations—I had to admit, part of me wanted to believe her. Then I remembered the family portrait. My belongings erased from our home. That urge died instantly. “Explain?” My voice came out hoarse. “Explain how I became a stranger in my own house?” Chloe’s face went white. She opened her mouth to defend herself. “It’s not—” “Enough!” I cut her off. Suddenly, Chloe gasped and bent over, clutching her stomach. The color drained from her face. Her brow furrowed in pain. Blood bloomed across the couch cushion. “Ah… it hurts…” Cold sweat beaded on her forehead. Her body trembled. It looked real. My heart clenched despite everything. All my anger evaporated in the face of her sudden agony. “My stomach… hurts so much…” She leaned against me, voice weak and breaking. “I think… it’s my period…” Furious and panicked, I half-carried her toward the door. “Can you walk? I’m taking you to the hospital!” “Yeah…” She nodded weakly, practically hanging off me. I floored it the entire way. Every time I glanced over, she was curled in the passenger seat, eyes closed, hand pressed to her stomach. Blood soaking through her clothes. My chest knotted up. At the hospital, they wouldn’t let me into the gynecology exam room. I waited outside. An hour later, my wife emerged. She looked slightly better. I handed her a cup of hot water. “Rest. Tell me if you need anything.” She nodded, taking the cup. Her eyes darted away. Her phone rang. She checked the screen. Her expression shifted. “Honey, there’s an emergency at the office. I have to go handle it right now.” I frowned. What emergency happens at 3 AM? But looking at her face, I sighed. “I’ll drive you.” I dropped her at the office tower and watched her hurry inside before driving home. Back at the house, I parked and sat in the car, exhausted, rubbing my temples. Something caught my eye under the passenger seat. A medical report. I picked it up, frowning. It listed vaginal bleeding. When I saw the cause—”condom retained internally”—my brain went blank. Like I’d been struck by lightning. I sat there, the air suffocating. I’d been gone two years. Whose condom was it? I couldn’t process it. Couldn’t understand how my loving wife had become this. I drove back to the office. The top floor—the CEO’s office—had its lights on. Through the privacy glass, I could see two silhouettes. Couldn’t make out details. Thankfully, my fingerprint still worked on the elevator. I went up. Before I even reached the CEO’s office, I heard the sounds. Rhythmic. Unmistakable. Through the office glass, I saw Chloe half-lying across the wide desk. Blake leaned over her, both of them disheveled. Chloe’s breathy moans mixed with Blake’s heavy panting, echoing in the office. “Ah… Blake… not so hard… it hurts…” Chloe’s voice. “Mmm… Mason’s still home waiting… ah!” “Let him wait!” Blake’s breathing was ragged. “That little brat’s asleep by now! You should be worried about Liam!” “Ugh… don’t… don’t mention him…” Chloe’s voice grew more urgent. “That useless piece of shit… gone for two years and comes back causing problems. What the hell is he anyway…” Blake let out a contemptuous laugh. “Soon the money’s mine. The company’s ours. Even his wife… is mine now!” “Stop…” Chloe giggled coquettishly. The obscene words and flesh-on-flesh sounds kept assaulting my ears. This was the woman who almost made me soften. Straight from the hospital to her lover’s bed. Chloe. You couldn’t even wait. The last shred of feeling I had for her died.

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My wife biased with her lover and stole my work achievements, so I showed up at the celebration party with two gifts: a divorce agreement and a lawyer’s letter. Seven years. Seven years I spent developing this software from scratch, starting back in college. And just as I’m about to launch it, I get an anonymous email. That’s when I learn my program has already hit the market—with Liam’s name listed as the lead developer. Liam. My wife’s college sweetheart. Her golden boy. I confront Claire, my wife, the CEO of the tech company we built together. I show her the launch certificate, demand an explanation. She barely glances up from her phone. “Liam needs this for his grad school application overseas. It’ll look good on his portfolio.” “Besides, it’s all company IP anyway. Does it really matter whose name is on it?” I lose it. I demand she change the credit back to my name immediately. Her response? She suspends me on the spot. Tells me to cover the night shift at the security desk. That night, Liam posts on Instagram. The photo shows a woman asleep, her back to the camera. I recognize the mole on her shoulder blade instantly. Claire. The caption reads, “Still tosses and turns in her sleep. Just like the old days.” I like the post. I comment: “Congrats, you two. Hope you’re locked in forever. Maybe start working on that baby.” Later, Claire throws Liam a launch party for “his” software. I show up with two gifts: divorce papers and a lawyer’s letter. Then I walk out and slide into the Bentley waiting for me—sent by the rival company that’s been courting me for months. When they launch my real software internationally, Claire loses her goddamn mind. — I turn off my phone after posting that comment, staring at our wedding photo on the wall. The bitterness is almost funny. I lie down on the couch and pass out from exhaustion. 2 AM. Claire’s call jolts me awake. “Ethan, are you out of your fucking mind? I fell asleep at Liam’s place discussing work specs!” “Delete that comment right now. What will people think?” She’s bold enough to sleep over at another man’s house, but she’s worried about optics? My phone buzzes. It’s a check-in reminder for tomorrow morning’s flight to Hawaii. Oh, right. We were supposed to go on that trip. The one we’d planned to celebrate the software launch—the honeymoon we never had. Well, I already paid for it. And I haven’t taken a vacation in years. Might as well go alone. Clear my head. On the drive to the airport, my phone won’t stop vibrating. At a red light, I glance at it. The company Slack is exploding. Liam posted a three-minute video—red-rimmed eyes, voice breaking: “Ethan, I’m so sorry for the misunderstanding… Claire only fell asleep at my place because we were finalizing launch details late into the night… Nothing happened, I swear…” He’s wiping away tears like a kicked puppy. Then Claire chimes in on the thread: “@Ethan, happy now? You had to make a scene in front of the whole company. Liam apologized. What more do you want?” The sycophants immediately fall in line. “Ethan really crossed a line this time. Liam’s such a good guy.” “Seriously. Claire and Liam work their asses off for this company, and some people just nitpick everything.” “People with dirty minds see dirt everywhere.” I laugh—cold and sharp—and leave the group chat. Funny how these same people used to kiss my ass when I was indispensable. Now that Liam’s the golden boy, they’re all on their knees for him. I barely exit the Slack channel when my phone rings again. It’s Sarah from the tech team. She’s the only junior engineer I personally trained. The only one who hasn’t thrown me under the bus. I hesitate, then answer. “Ethan…” Her voice is strained. “Claire wants me to tell you… you need to come back to the office immediately. Liam’s keynote speech for the launch event needs your edits.” My hands tighten on the steering wheel. “She wants me to write Liam’s speech?”

I can’t believe they have the audacity. They steal my work, and now they want me to write the speech celebrating it. “Yeah…” Sarah stammers. “Claire said you’re the only one who really understands the system’s architecture… and if you don’t come back, she’s marking you as absent without leave. She’ll freeze your building access and your bank card.” “Why can’t they write it themselves?” I ask, my voice icy. Sarah hesitates. “Claire… Claire took Liam on a business trip to meet potential partners. They’ll be gone for three days.” I slam on the brakes. The car stops smoothly at the red light. “So the company doesn’t have a single person capable of writing a technical keynote, and I’m the only option?” Sarah sighs. “Ethan, do what you think is right. I’m putting in my resignation the second I hang up. Claire said if I don’t get you back, she’s firing me. But honestly? I’m done. The people in this company are disgusting. They’ve been targeting me ever since I didn’t join the group chat pile-on against you… Thanks for everything you taught me. See you around.” Sarah hangs up. My hands are shaking on the wheel. Impressive. Really impressive. Claire. Liam. What a power couple. Clear out everyone loyal to me, and suddenly there’s no dissent left in the company. I land in Hawaii and check into a boutique resort hotel. I booked it months ago, back when I thought Claire and I would finally take that trip we never had time for during the software grind. “Excuse me, sir,” the front desk clerk says politely, scanning my ID. “When will your wife be arriving? I’ll make a note for check-in.” I freeze. My throat tightens. “It’s just me.” The clerk glances up, confused. “You booked the couple’s suite—” She catches the look on my face and stops mid-sentence. “Right. Of course, sir. Let me get you checked in right away.” I swipe my keycard and step inside. Rose petals scattered across the king-size bed. Two towel swans twisted together in an embrace at the center. The weather outside is perfect. But for some reason, I have zero desire to go out. Next door, I hear the faint click of a lock. Then the sharp staccato of heels on tile. I frown. The walls here are thinner than I thought. “This trip was worth it, wasn’t it, Claire?” a male voice says. “We avoid prying eyes at the office, and we get to… relax properly.” I freeze. That voice. I’d recognize it anywhere. So their “business trip” was just a vacation to Hawaii. To screw around.

Liam murmurs something I can’t quite make out. “Oh, stop,” Claire’s voice drifts through, lazy and indulgent. Not stern. More like… permissive. “Am I wrong?” Liam’s tone sharpens, smug and triumphant. “Seven years of his life’s work, and it’s nothing but a stepping stone for me now. You’ve been so good to me, Claire. Come here—give me a kiss.” Rustling fabric. Then Claire’s breathy moan. And then sounds I really, really don’t want to hear. Something metallic and sour surges up my throat. I grab the phone and call the front desk. They pick up instantly. “Front desk, how can I assist you?” The noise next door continues. I take a deep breath. “Hi, this is the guest in Room 1808. The noise from Room 1807 is excessive. It’s disturbing my rest. Please send someone to handle it.” The clerk apologizes profusely and promises to send staff immediately. The wait feels endless. The obscene sounds keep bleeding through the wall, intermittent but persistent. Finally, I hear footsteps in the hallway. A polite knock. “Excuse me, guests in 1807. We’ve received a noise complaint. Your room is disturbing other guests. Could you please keep it down?” The noise stops abruptly. A few seconds of dead silence. Then the door is yanked open. “A complaint? Who complained? What kind of petty bullshit is this? We’re a couple in our own room—who are we bothering?” “Ma’am, please understand. This is a reasonable request from another guest, and it’s hotel policy to ensure all guests can rest comfortably—” The staff member is doing their best to stay professional, but clearly struggling. Then someone knocks on my door. I take a deep breath and yank it open. Standing there—hair tousled, wearing a silk robe—is Claire. Her expression of righteous fury freezes the instant she sees me. “Ethan… what are you doing here?”

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I am the most feared litigator on the East Coast. The day I walked into my own firm to celebrate closing a quarter-billion-dollar merger, my husband’s charity case fired me. Her reason? I was wearing black, like a mourning dress. “Bad luck,” she said, blowing smoke in my face. I thought she didn’t know who I was. I smiled and asked, “Who the hell do you think you are?” She didn’t flinch. Just flicked ash onto the marble floor of Bennett & Associates and said, “The boss gave me permission.” I pulled out my phone and texted Eleanor Sterling—CEO of Sterling Holdings, Fortune 10 tech giant, and the most powerful woman in America. Also known as: Mom. [Victoria Sterling: I’ve been terminated. I can’t represent you anymore.] — I opened WhatsApp and typed a message to my husband, Liam Bennett. [Get to the office. Now. Sophie Miller just fired me.] Sophie saw me typing and laughed—actually laughed—then lit another cigarette. I watched her, already writing her obituary in my head. Liam had a zero-tolerance policy for smoking in the office. He was obsessive about it. No exceptions. But no one stopped her. In fact, three associates practically tripped over themselves to offer her a light. I frowned. Had I been gone that long? Had Liam really let things slide this much? No. That wasn’t possible. I knew Liam. He was rigid. Principled. Anal-retentive to a fault. Sophie caught my expression and smirked. She took a long, deliberate drag and blew the smoke directly into my face. “What’s the matter? Surprised?” Her voice dripped with false sympathy. “Rules are meant to be flexible. Liam knows how hard I work. He made an exception for me. You got a problem with that?” She glanced around the room. The associates who’d been lighting her cigarette immediately chimed in. “Yeah! Sophie’s the backbone of this firm. She can smoke if she wants.” “Some people have no talent and still think they can throw their weight around.” I realized, standing there in my Dior suit, that I didn’t recognize this place anymore. The firm I’d built from nothing had rotted from the inside out. I locked eyes with Sophie and said, slowly, “Let me make something very clear. I am Liam Bennett’s wife. I am a founding partner of this firm.” Sophie tapped ash onto the floor. “Wife?” She laughed. “So what? You’re a trophy. A pretty face who married well. You think that gives you the right to talk down to me?” She straightened up, chest puffed out like a peacock. “I’m a Yale Law graduate. Liam personally sponsored my education. He paid a million dollars to bring me back here as Head of Litigation. I’m the future of this firm.” She stepped closer. “You? You’re just some ambulance chaser who got lucky a few times. You think you can compete with me?” Then she smiled. “Tell you what. I’ll let you stay. But first, take off that black dress. It’s bad luck. Do it now, or you’re done.” The room fell silent. Then someone started clapping. “Damn, Sophie’s a savage!” “Make her change! Make her change!” “Who does she think she is, wearing black to Sophie’s event? So disrespectful.” “And she has the nerve to say she brings in eighty percent of the firm’s revenue? What, we all just sit around doing nothing?” The jeering got louder. I took a deep breath. My hands curled into fists. I wanted to flip a table. I wanted to scream. Instead, I said, calm as ice: “Eighty percent of this firm’s income comes from my cases. That’s a fact. Without me, Bennett & Associates would’ve folded years ago. There wouldn’t be a million-dollar salary for you to collect.” One of my former associates—a kid I’d mentored—stepped between me and Sophie. For a second, I felt relief. Finally. Someone who remembered. Then he turned to face me. “Victoria, stop embarrassing yourself. You’re a kept woman. You live off Liam’s money. You have no right to question Sophie.” He jabbed a finger at me. “Sophie told you to change your dress. That’s a gift. Don’t be ungrateful.” “Yeah! Change it!” “Do it now!” The office door slammed open.

The sound of dress shoes echoed across the marble. I exhaled. Liam was here. Finally. He’d fix this. He had to. I turned to him, relief flooding through me. “Liam, Sophie just—” CRACK. The slap came so fast I didn’t see it. My head snapped to the side. Pain exploded across my cheek, white-hot and sharp. My ears rang. I stood there, hand pressed to my face, staring at him in disbelief. Liam’s face was twisted with rage. “Victoria Sterling, you’ve disappointed me.” His voice shook. “Who the hell do you think you are? You think you can disrespect me like this?” He stepped closer, his voice rising. “Sophie is the Head of Litigation. I personally recruited her. I spent five years and a million dollars getting her through Yale Law. She is the future of this firm. And you—you—have the audacity to insult her?” He looked at me like I was garbage. “It’s a dress, Victoria. Sophie doesn’t like black. Apologize to her. Tell her you’ll never wear it again. That’s it. That’s all you have to do.” I blinked. My vision blurred. “Yale Law?” I said quietly. I looked at Sophie. Something clicked. I knew her. Not as a Yale grad. As a high school dropout who got arrested for shoplifting and assault when she was seventeen. When the hell did she become my alma mater sister? Liam turned to Sophie—who was still smoking, by the way—and his tone went soft. Gentle. Almost loving. “Why aren’t you smoking the ones I bought you? Those cheap ones are bad for your lungs.” He smiled at her. Actually smiled. “And babe, you can’t just fire people. I know she upset you, but… let’s talk about it first, okay?” Sophie pouted and leaned into him. “Liam…” Her voice went small and wounded. “Maybe I should just leave. Victoria clearly doesn’t want me here. She humiliated me in front of everyone. How am I supposed to lead a team after this?” Liam’s face darkened. He turned back to me, furious. “You heard her. Apologize. And from now on, you keep your head down. You do your work. You stop causing problems. If I hear you’ve gone after Sophie again, we’re done. Do you understand me?” The office went silent. Whispers started up around me. “Sophie’s his favorite. She’s a Yale grad.” “Yeah, and Victoria? She’s just a trophy wife who doesn’t know her place.” “Liam’s so hot when he’s protective.” I stared at the man I’d spent seven years building a life with. The man who now looked at me with nothing but contempt. Liam wasn’t done. “You’ve been coasting, Victoria. You got lucky on a few cases and you think you’re untouchable. You think you can talk down to the people I bring in?” He crossed his arms. “Effective immediately, you’re no longer a senior partner. You’re reassigned to the break room. You’ll work as Sophie’s assistant. Coffee runs. Dry cleaning. Starbucks orders. Whatever she needs.” My mouth went dry. “And one more thing,” he added. “Sophie’s promotion party is in two days. You’re going to plan it. Make it perfect. If you screw it up, you’re fired for real.” Sophie smiled. It was the smile of a predator. “Don’t worry, Liam. I’ll make sure Victoria learns her place.” — I stood there, numb, as the weight of it all crashed down on me. I thought about the all-nighters. The trial prep. The cases I’d won that put Bennett & Associates on the map. I thought about the years I’d spent on planes and in hotels, away from home, away from him, because he’d said: “Vic, this firm is ours. We’re building it together.” But it was never ours. It was always his. And now, after I’d just closed the biggest merger of my career—a deal worth billions—I was being demoted to a glorified intern. For a fake lawyer. I looked at Sophie, draped over Liam’s arm like a cheap scarf. I looked at Liam, gazing at her with something I’d never seen him give me: tenderness. Something inside me shattered. I lifted my chin. “I want a divorce.”

Liam didn’t even blink. He walked to his office and came back with a thick manila envelope. He tossed it on the table in front of me. Two documents slid out. The first: Divorce Agreement. The second: Postnuptial Asset Division Agreement. He’d been ready for this. Liam slapped both documents on the conference table. “Sign them, Victoria. Then get the hell out of Bennett & Associates. Oh—and before you go, transfer Eleanor Sterling’s merger case to Sophie.” I stared at the papers. “The firm is half mine.” Liam laughed. Actually laughed. “Half? Are you delusional?” He jabbed a finger at the postnup. “Read it. You signed this. Bennett & Associates, all assets, all equity, all future earnings—it’s mine. Premarital property. You have no claim.” My blood turned to ice. I looked down at the document. My signature was right there. Ink on paper. I remembered that day. We’d just started the firm. Money was tight. Liam came to me with this document, tears in his eyes, looking so vulnerable. “Vic, you know how risky startups are. This is just to protect you—if the firm goes under, your assets are safe. And my parents… they need reassurance. You understand, right?” He’d smiled at me. That soft, puppy-dog smile. “It’s just a formality. You and me? We don’t need paperwork. You know how much I love you.” And I—I, Victoria Sterling, one of the sharpest litigators in the country—signed it without reading the fine print. I’d reviewed thousands of contracts. I’d saved clients from bankruptcy, from fraud, from predatory agreements. But I didn’t protect myself. Because I trusted him. The irony was suffocating. I heard laughter around me. Low. Mocking. “She really thought she owned half?” “Poor thing. She got played.” Liam’s voice cut through the noise. “Victoria.” His tone was sharp. “Sign the papers. Then get out.” I picked up the pen. My hand didn’t shake. “Fine.” I signed both documents. “As you wish. I’ll leave with nothing.” I turned toward the exit. “Stop.” Liam’s voice froze me in place. I didn’t turn around. “You think signing those papers means you’re done?” His voice was cold. “You’re still an employee here. According to your contract, you owe us two weeks’ notice. You’re going to work every single day.” I spun around, staring at him in disbelief. He wanted me to stay? “And since Sophie just got promoted,” he continued, “she needs an assistant. Someone who knows the business. Congratulations, Victoria. You’re it.” He smiled. It was cruel. “Your main job? Plan Sophie’s promotion party. Make it flawless. If it’s anything less than perfect, you’ll regret it.” Sophie stepped forward, her smile saccharine. “Don’t worry, Liam. I’ll take good care of her.” — The next two days were hell. Sophie made it her mission to humiliate me. Every task was designed to degrade. Every order was delivered in front of an audience. “Victoria, this coffee’s cold. Make me a new one.” “Victoria, my dry cleaning. Now.” “Victoria, I don’t like how you folded my scarves. Do it again.” And Liam? He watched. Sometimes he even laughed. The associates who used to look up to me now whispered behind my back. The day of Sophie’s promotion party arrived.

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The Research Claim for the Anti-Feral Serum I spent five years developing had someone else’s name on it. Theo. My fated mate Seraphina’s novice. I walked straight into her office and slapped the document on her desk. Seraphina, Head Healer of the Ironveil Pack Infirmary, barely glanced up. “I told him to put his name on it. So what? Theo is young. He needs this win.” “Can you stop being so petty? Give a newblood a chance. Is that so hard?” I told her this was formula theft. Academic fraud. A Pack Law violation. She stripped my title as Senior Healer on the spot and assigned me to Omega Duties—cleaning the kennels. That afternoon, Theo posted a photo on the Pack social feed. Two hands locked together on a bed. I recognized the bond ring immediately. The one I had custom-made. One of a kind in the entire world. The caption read: My leader and my mate. I liked the post and commented: Congratulations to you and Head Healer Sera. May your bond be eternal. The next morning, Theo was announced as Senior Healer. I walked in, threw the Council Decree and the Bond Severance Papers on the table, and walked out. On my way out, I sent my father a message. Withdraw the Pack Alliance resources from the Infirmary. — Later, I left for the Bloodmoon Pack in Europe. Seraphina lost her mind. — I had just posted the comment when Seraphina’s messages started flooding in. “Leo, are you insane? That’s not me!” “Delete that comment right now. People are going to think I’m cheating!” I almost laughed. That bond ring was designed exclusively for her. There was no other like it anywhere. And she wanted to deny it. My phone rang. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration dinner. Two seats reserved. Mine and Seraphina’s. Not anymore. “Sir, I’m calling to confirm your private booth for two at seven o’clock.” I paused. “Change it to a table for one.” I hung up. The Pack group chat pinged. Theo had posted a video apology. His voice cracked, eyes wet:”I’m so sorry, Leo. There’s a misunderstanding. That’s my girlfriend in the photo. She loved Seraphina’s bond ring so much that I had one made just like it. I should have told you first. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” Seraphina added one line below it: It’s fine, Theo. Don’t apologize. A dirty mind sees dirt everywhere. The moment the Head Healer spoke, the chat erupted. “No one here is confused. Some people are just too small-minded.” “Exactly. We’ve all seen Seraphina and Theo’s character. Sounds like someone is just too sensitive.” I read every reply and felt nothing but contempt. Every wolf in this Infirmary knew exactly what Seraphina and Theo were. And here they were, lying through their teeth. Then again—I was just a kennel-cleaner now. How could I compete with the Head Healer and her favorite? I didn’t reply. I opened my desk drawer and took out the Bond Severance Papers. She had signed them a month ago. She was rushing off to take Theo’s parents’ blood pressure that day, barely home five minutes, and signed without reading a single word. I couldn’t remember when Theo’s schedule started outranking mine. But it didn’t matter anymore. There was nothing left to hold onto. My phone rang again. Seraphina. Again. Nearly ten calls. For a moment, I thought—maybe she knows she crossed a line today. Maybe she’s calling to apologize. I took a breath. I picked up. I was wrong. “Leo!” Seraphina’s voice was sharp with anger.

“Where are you? Do you know what time it is? You’re abandoning your post. Get back here. Now.” I leaned back in my chair, fingers tracing the edge of the Severance Papers. “Abandoning my post?” I laughed once, short and flat. “Seraphina. You personally reassigned me to kennel duty. I’m not Senior Healer anymore, remember? Tonight’s shift belongs to the new Senior Healer. Theo.” Silence on the other end. She hadn’t expected pushback. “Theo has a family emergency tonight. He can’t cover the shift. I need you to come in.” So she had already forgotten about our celebration dinner. Or she never listened when I told her about it. “Theo has an emergency? Find someone else. Or cover it yourself. After all—you are his leader and his mate. Isn’t that your responsibility?” “Leo, you—” I hung up. Then I blocked her. I checked the time. The reservation was now. I drove to the restaurant. — I sat alone at the table for one, staring at a full spread of food I couldn’t eat. Maybe five years just couldn’t compete with something new. I used to believe we were untouchable. That nothing could come between us. Then Theo arrived, and everything changed. I kept telling myself it was just a phase—that the excitement would fade and she’d come back to who she was. I was wrong. They only got worse. I lifted my fork. Put it down. The food had no taste. From the private booth next door, I heard cheering. “Congratulations to Healer Theo for completing the Anti-Feral Serum!” I gripped the fork. The voices next door filled my empty booth like a tide. “Theo is so young and already this accomplished! Incredible!” “Seraphina has such an eye for talent! Without her championing Theo, none of us would be celebrating tonight!” “Wait—is Leo not here?” “I heard Seraphina reassigned him to… kennel maintenance?” Someone dropped their voice, but the mockery was intact. “Probably too jealous of Theo’s talent. Too embarrassed to show his face.” “Don’t mention that bad omen. Come on—a toast to Seraphina and Theo!” Then a voice I knew better than any other. Soft, warm, the tone she hadn’t used with me in years. “Theo. Don’t feel any pressure. This serum’s success—you earned it.”

“Thank you, Seraphina. Thank you, everyone!” Theo’s voice, smug beneath the false humility. “Without Seraphina’s guidance and your support, I wouldn’t be standing here. This achievement belongs to all of us!” The food in front of me looked perfect. My stomach turned. I put my fork down hard. It cracked against the table. One more second in this place was too much. I pushed out of my booth and headed straight for the exit. I was almost at the corner when the restroom door swung open. Seraphina walked out. Her cheeks were flushed from drinking. The second she saw me, she stopped. “Leo?” She frowned, voice carrying its usual authority. “What are you doing here? Did you follow me?” Follow her. I almost laughed. “Your imagination is something, Seraphina.” I turned to face her. “You forgot. Tonight. This place. This was supposed to be my celebration dinner. Ours.” Her expression froze. A flicker of guilt crossed her face and vanished fast. “I’ve been busy. I forgot.” She waved it off. “Look—Theo needed this formula claim to establish himself. The Infirmary needed a young symbol of success. Whoever the formula is credited to, it still benefits our pack. What does it matter whose name is on it? I know the truth. That’s enough.” She stepped closer. Her voice softened to something almost patronizing. “Here’s what I’ll do—in a few days, once the attention dies down, I’ll reinstate your title. You go back to being Senior—” “No.” I cut her off. My voice was flat. No anger. No grief. “Keep the position. Keep the formula. Give it all to you and your prized man.” She blinked. A flash of surprise. She had assumed I would fold. That a little softening, a small concession, and I’d swallow it all again. Like always. “Leo! Stop being so impulsive. I’m giving you a way out of this. You—” Her phone rang. The moment she saw the name, her face transformed instantly. Every trace of irritation vanished. Her voice dropped to something gentle and indulgent. “Theo? I’m just outside. Coming back right now…” She couldn’t quite hear whatever he was saying, but the tone on the other end was whiny. Dependent. “Okay, okay, don’t worry.” Her voice softened even further, like coaxing a pup. “I’m right here. Coming back now. You can’t settle down without me there? Silly boy… be good. I’m on my way.” She was already moving as she spoke. She glanced once toward the private booth—and walked away. She didn’t look at me again. “Wait for me. Almost there.” The hallway went quiet. Just me. I looked once at the closed booth door. Then I walked out of the restaurant without a single hesitation. My phone buzzed. A message from my research mentor. “Leo—you haven’t submitted the Research Claim yet, have you? Don’t. There’s a problem with the compound.”

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The day my Harvard acceptance letter arrived, everyone expected me to frame it. Mount it on the wall like a trophy. Proof that Ethan White had finally made it. Instead, I declined the offer and enrolled at MIT. It wasn’t impulse. It wasn’t rebellion. It was survival. Because I reborn. In last life, accepting Harvard meant becoming the perfect husband for Sarah. It meant watching her, six months pregnant with my child, stand over me with a smile. “If you hadn’t gone to Harvard,” she’d whispered, rope cutting into my wrists as I hung from the ceiling beam, “my family never would have chosen you. And my love wouldn’t have drowned his heartbreak at that club. They wouldn’t have found him dead in some backroom, servicing strangers for pills.” Her voice had been so calm. So rational. “You stole his place. So you’ll pay with your life. Piece. By. Piece.” She deliberately had a miscarriage that night. The reason was that she didn’t want to have a child with me. She felt disgusted. I died at the same night… And then I woke up. Eighteen years old. Acceptance letters scattered across my desk. The same day. My phone buzzed. Mr. Kowalski, my guidance counselor. “Ethan, the deadline’s tonight. Harvard’s waiting. You’re really going to make them sweat?” I ended the call and stared at the MIT enrollment form on my laptop screen. Different path. Different future. No Sarah. The door flew open. “Ethan.” My mother swept in. Her hands fluttered. “Tell me you’ve confirmed Harvard. Please. I need to hear you say it.” Seeing mom now—alive, whole, not beaten to death by Hawthorne security—made my throat close. In that other life, she’d found my body. Seen what Sarah had done. And she’d lunged at the woman who’d butchered her son. The Hawthorne guards hadn’t hesitated. I reached for her hand. “I’m going to MIT, Mom. The research programs align better with my focus. Cybersecurity architecture, AI ethics, systems integrity—” “No.” She yanked her hand back. “You’re going to Harvard. Do you understand me? When you fall, you get back up where you fell. I taught you that.” My blood went cold. She remembers. She reborn too? “Mom—” The front door slammed. My father’s voice boomed through the house, followed by a second set of footsteps. Lighter. Deliberate. “Sebastian! Come on in, son. Let me grab you something to drink.” Sebastian Vance. Not my brother by blood. Not really. But my father—decorated veteran and self-made businessman—had adopted him at thirteen after his father, Dad’s Army buddy, died in combat. Except Sebastian’s father hadn’t died in combat. He’d died of a heart attack in a motel with his mistress, but my father had needed a redemption arc more than he’d needed the truth. I watched Sebastian glide into my room, all easy smiles. “Ethan.” He clasped my shoulder. “Dad wants to talk to you about Harvard. He’s really proud, man.” My father appeared behind him, already talking. “Two spots. Harvard only takes two from Riverside Prep, and this year it’s a miracle we got that many. Ethan—” He looked at me the way you’d look at a stain. “You’re going to withdraw your acceptance.” My mother stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“Sebastian needs this.” Dad’s voice carried the weight of absolute authority. “His father gave his life for this country. For me. The least we can do is make sure his son has every advantage. Ethan’s smart—he’ll land on his feet. MIT, Stanford, whatever. But Harvard?” He put his arm around Sebastian. “That’s Sebastian’s spot. And the Hawthorne family is looking for a Harvard man to marry their daughter. That’s his future. Not Ethan’s.” “He earned his acceptance—” “And Sebastian earned our loyalty!” My father’s face flushed. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to owe someone your life? His father took a bullet meant for me. So yes, Elena. Sebastian gets the girl, the school, and the life. That’s not negotiable.” My mother looked at me, and I saw it again—that flash of something ruthless beneath her beauty queen mask. She remembered Sebastian sitting outside while I bled out. She was trying to weaponize me against him. I pulled out my phone and opened the photo album. Found last night’s graduation party. There. Sebastian and Sarah Hawthorne, tucked into a corner booth at The Dorset Club. Her hand on his thigh under the table. His mouth at her ear. The angle of the shot made it clear—this wasn’t friendly. This was ownership. I held up the phone. “They’ve been together for months.” My voice came out flat. Clinical. “So it doesn’t matter where I go. I’m not in the running.” Sebastian’s smile never wavered. “Ethan.” He sighed, wounded. “I know you had feelings for Sera. But she sees you as a friend. A brother, even. You need to let her go.” He checked his watch. “Actually, I’m late. We’re catching a movie. Dad, you coming?” My father was already grabbing his keys. “I’ll drive you.” The door slammed. Silence. Then my mother’s hand cracked across my face. “You coward.” I tasted blood. “I thought getting a second chance meant you’d be smarter. Faster. But you’re still the same pathetic boy who let them walk all over him.” Her voice shook. “Do you have any idea how hard it is for me in this house? Your father worships Sebastian. Your grandmother thinks I’m worthless because I can’t control you. My entire future depends on you marrying into the Hawthorne family, and you’re just going to—what? Run away to MIT and play with computers?” The same script as before. Always the same. In last life, I’d internalized it. Believed I owed her my success. My sacrifice. My life. I’d studied until I couldn’t see straight. Married a woman I didn’t love. Let myself be reshaped into the perfect Hawthorne son-in-law because I thought it would finally be enough. It never was. “I’m going to MIT,” I said quietly. “And this time, I’m living for myself.” She opened her mouth, but I was already walking out.

I should’ve known it wouldn’t be that simple. That night, I woke to the sound of my bedroom door clicking open. My father stood silhouetted in the hallway light. Behind him—Sarah. I lunged out of bed. “What the hell—” But they were already at my desk. My laptop glowed, enrollment page still open. Sarah’s finger hovered over the keyboard. “Don’t you dare—” My father caught me in a bear hug, pinning my arms. “She’s doing you a favor, son. Trust me.” “That’s my MIT enrollment—” Sarah clicked DELETE. The page refreshed. Application Withdrawn. I went numb. “Sarah—why?” She didn’t even look at me. Just reached down and unplugged the laptop, lifting it by the screen. “What are you—” “If I leave the computer intact, you’ll find a way to re-enroll.” Her voice was ice. “I won’t make that mistake.” She raised the laptop above her head. “No no no—please—” It shattered against the hardwood. Glass and circuitry exploded across the floor. I stopped fighting. My father released me, and I collapsed to my knees, staring at the wreckage. “You knew I picked MIT,” I whispered. “I told you this morning.” Sarah crouched in front of me, and for the first time, I saw her eyes. Empty. Flat. She’d reborn too. “You said a lot of things last time,” she murmured. “You said you didn’t want me. You said you weren’t interested. But the first night we were together, you were in my bed before I’d even finished unpacking.” My stomach lurched. “That wasn’t—Sera, your roommate drugged me. You know that. She wanted to humiliate me at the party, and I came to you because I trusted—” “Liar.” The word landed like a slap. She stood, smoothing her skirt. “You manipulated me from day one. Played hard to get so I’d chase you. And the moment you had me, you ruined everything.” She turned to Sebastian, who’d appeared in the doorway. Her voice went soft. Tender. “It’s done, baby. He can’t threaten you anymore.” Sebastian’s smile was small. Satisfied. “Wait—” My mind raced. “Sera, I’m not trying to come between you two. I want you to be together. Just let me go. I’ll transfer schools, move across the country, whatever you need—” “You really think it’s that simple?” She leaned close, her breath cold against my ear. “Did you think I’d forget what you did to Sebastian in last life? How you let him die?” “I already paid for that. I died—” “Not enough.” Her whisper was a blade. “I’m going to make you watch Sebastian and me build the life you stole from him. And you—” Her lips curved. “You’re going to spend every day in hell.” She straightened. “Oh, and before I deleted your enrollment? I submitted a formal withdrawal letter to MIT on your behalf. Citing personal reasons and a commitment to Harvard.” She tilted her head. “Congrats, Ethan. You’re going to be a Hawthorne after all.”

They locked me in my room after that. Took my phone. My laptop. Even the old iPad I kept in my desk drawer. For three days, I was a prisoner in my own house. But they didn’t know about the backup phone taped under my bed frame. The one I’d bought with cash the day I woke up reborn, because some paranoid part of me knew they’d try this. I powered it on and opened my email. One unread message. From: MIT Admissions Subject: Enrollment Confirmed Dear Ethan White, Welcome to MIT. Your enrollment in the Computer Science and Engineering program has been finalized. We look forward to seeing you at orientation on September 1st. I closed my eyes, exhaling for what felt like the first time in days. The system Sarah had accessed wasn’t real. I’d built a dummy server the day I got the acceptance letter—a perfect replica of MIT’s enrollment portal, hosted locally on my laptop. If anyone tried to tamper with my decision, they’d be deleting a ghost. The real enrollment had gone through the morning I woke up in this timeline. I texted my best friend Marcus: Need you to grab my dorm stuff and meet me at South Station. Day before move-in. I’ll explain later. His reply came in seconds: Dude. What did you DO? Escaped. — Move-in day. I waited until my mother left for her book club and my father took Sebastian shopping for his dorm at Langford College—the private liberal arts school Sarah’s family had paid to accept him after his 140 SAT score. Picked the bedroom lock in twenty minutes. Walked out the front door. Took the subway to South Station and didn’t look back. The train to Boston pulled away from the platform, and I watched my childhood disappear through the window. For the first time since I’d woken up in this nightmare, I let myself breathe. — I dozed off somewhere around Providence. When I woke up, something felt wrong. The train had stopped. But we weren’t at South Station. I looked out the window—and my blood turned to ice. We were at a private rail platform. Sleek. Modern. The kind of place you only accessed with a keycard and a seven-figure bank account. And standing on the platform, arms crossed, was my mother. She smiled when she saw me. “Ethan. You’re awake. Perfect timing.” The train doors hissed open, and two men in black suits stepped aboard. “Mrs. Vance.” The taller one nodded. “We’ll take him from here.” “Wait—Mom—what is this?” She leaned into the train, her smile bright and terrible. “The Hawthornes are very excited to meet their future son-in-law, sweetheart. Sarah’s been asking about you.” “I’m not—I don’t want—” “You’re eighteen. You’re brilliant. And you’re exactly what the Hawthorne family looks for in a match.” She stepped back as the men hauled me to my feet. “Oh, and I have wonderful news. They’ve agreed to let you and Sarah get engaged today. Isn’t that romantic? The wedding will be right after her graduation.” “You can’t do this—” “I can. And I am.” She waved as they dragged me onto the platform. “The Hawthorne estate is lovely this time of year. You’ll see.”

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The day I left the Frank family, Godfather Fabian drove through three border checkpoints trying to stop my car from reaching the airport. He didn’t succeed. His texts came in like a barrage of gunfire: “What the hell are you doing? All because Nydia was joking around and your hand got broken?” “I’ve told you a hundred times—Nydia’s father died saving my life. She grew up with me. I know she doesn’t mean any harm. You’re my wife. You’re the Godmother of the Frank family. Can you please act like it?” “Michelle, stop throwing tantrums like a child. You have one hour. Get back here. Now.” For days, every time I blocked a number, he’d find a new one to call from. Eventually I had no choice but to swap out my SIM card entirely, severing every last thread connecting me to the Godfather. Two years later, I returned to New York for a friend’s birthday. I’d barely stepped out of the airport when I ran into a member of the Frank family. He asked me, “Godmother, it’s been two years. Surely you’ve cooled off enough to come back and make up with the Godfather?” “After you left, he never looked at another woman. He’s been waiting for you this whole time.” … I listened to all of it and felt nothing. Because in the three years I was married to Fabian, I was sick for every single one of them. By the third year, a sudden neurological episode caused me to fall—my arm dislocated, my fingers shattered in multiple places. Forget my dream of becoming a pianist. I couldn’t even feed myself. When I was at my most wretched, ravaged by pain and illness, Fabian did stay by my side day and night, taking care of me. That much was true. Then I heard that a brilliant surgeon was visiting New York, and for the first time in a long while, a spark of hope flickered in my chest. I wanted Fabian to take me, but he was swamped with work, so I went to the consultation alone. After reviewing the thick stack of medical records I’d brought, the surgeon looked puzzled. “Ms. Michelle, your reports indicate that your current inability to move your hand isn’t caused by the fractures. Nor is it neurological.” “Rather, it appears that prolonged use of psychiatric medication impaired your judgment, leading to the accidental fall. After the injury, you were administered a drug that suppresses recovery over an extended period, compounded by improper rehabilitation.” His fingertip came to rest on the attending physician’s signature at the top of the most recent file. The look he gave me was loaded with meaning. “I’d suggest you switch doctors. Better yet, switch hospitals entirely.” I stared at the name of the attending physician—Nydia—and felt as though I’d been struck by lightning. She was Fabian’s adopted sister. No blood relation. For three years, she had been treating me at my husband Fabian’s request. My vision went black in waves. I stumbled out of the clinic, and my first instinct was to tell Fabian—Nydia was trying to destroy me. I went straight to the administrative building in the city center. I was about to go in when I heard an old lieutenant’s voice just inside the door: “If the Godmother keeps taking the medication Nydia prescribed, she may never be able to pursue her dream again. She’ll be half-crippled for life. Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Fabian’s voice followed, tinged with resignation: “Nydia probably saw me doing rehab with Michelle and got jealous again. The wrong medication—that’s just her throwing a fit. If Michelle’s hand ends up useless, I’ll take care of her for the rest of her life. She’s my Godmother. I can protect her.” He paused, as if trying to justify himself: “Nydia’s father died saving me. Back then, I promised I’d marry her when we grew up. But then I fell in love with Michelle at first sight and couldn’t keep that promise. I already owe Nydia more than I can repay.” “As long as it makes her feel better—whatever treatment plan she writes, I’ll go along with it.” Fabian’s words were a blade, and they shredded my heart to pieces. All this time, I’d thought I was simply unlucky—injured the day before my performance, then taking medication for so long, doing rehabilitation for so long, only to get worse instead of better. I’d felt guilty for burdening Fabian. Felt bad for troubling Nydia. But it had all been their doing. Together. I slammed the door open. The moment my eyes met his, scorching tears spilled down my face. “Why?” Fabian flinched, then quickly regained his composure. “Michelle, knowing about this isn’t going to help your recovery.” “Besides, as long as I’m here, even if you end up disabled, you’ll never be mistreated. I promise you that.” I could barely believe what I was hearing. My dream of playing piano—gone. My hand—useless. I could barely manage to eat on my own. From a golden girl to a broken woman, pitied and mocked by everyone around me. And he dismissed it all with a few easy words? I said nothing. I just turned around on instinct. I had no doubt—damn Fabian would sacrifice everything I had, my future, even my life, for his so-called “promise,” his so-called guilt. But the moment I turned to leave, his man Jack stepped into my path. “Enough, Michelle. Everyone in the Frank family knows how important Nydia is to me. No matter what you say or do, they’ll just think the medication’s gotten to your head and you’re talking nonsense.” “Just cooperate, and our life together will stay as happy as it’s always been. I’ll even tell Nydia to ease up—it won’t hurt as much anymore. Okay?” “Oh—and leave the examination report you’re holding. That kind of thing could hurt Nydia’s reputation.” Jack stepped forward on cue to grab it. I fought back with everything I had. No matter how I begged, Fabian didn’t move. He even gave Jack a look that said hurry up. When I wouldn’t let go, Jack pried my fingers open one by one. The sickening crack of bone echoed through the room alongside my screams. Because of the drugs I’d been given, my bones hadn’t healed the way a normal person’s would. And my hand had only just begun to show the faintest signs of improvement. This kind of second injury would destroy it for good. But Fabian only cared about the report now in his hands. He fed it straight into the office shredder without hesitation. I lifted my head with what strength I had left and met Fabian’s gaze—faintly disgusted, as if I were the one being unreasonable. My chest felt stuffed with cotton, swelling until I could barely breathe. Fabian sighed, then scooped me up gently into his arms. “Sweetheart, you understand, don’t you?” “I just owe Nydia too much.” He leaned in to kiss me. I turned my head away. Before I could say another word, the surge of emotion and pain dragged me under, and I blacked out. My last conscious thought was drenched in despair: So this is what he calls love. — That night, I spiked a fever and slipped into a coma. Half a day of emergency treatment. Another day in the ICU. When I finally opened my eyes, the doctor exhaled slowly and shook his head. “Godmother, your hand had just started to improve. After this… I’m afraid conventional treatment won’t be enough anymore.” I closed my eyes. All that remained inside me was a vast, dead silence. With the nurse’s help, I dialed the number of Fabian’s grandfather—the former Godfather, Keith. “Grandpa Keith.” My voice was raw, but perfectly calm. “I accept your deal. I’ll divorce Fabian and leave him. For good.”

Old Godfather Keith was overjoyed. For the first time, there was a smile in his voice when he spoke to me: “Once you’re gone, Fabian will settle down and come back to take over the family from me. He’ll stop wasting his days poring over useless medical textbooks for your sake.” “I’ll have the dissolution agreement sent over right away. One month from now, as we agreed, I’ll arrange for you to go to a rehabilitation center in Europe—and you’ll receive one hundred million.” It wasn’t long before Keith’s butler arrived and handed me a document. I signed without hesitation. The next day, Nydia had Fabian bring me to the operating room under the guise of an “experimental treatment.” When I drifted back to consciousness, I saw Nydia’s true face for the first time—stripped of its gentle mask. “What the hell did you do, you bitch! Fabian says he’s going to keep his distance from me from now on!” I could only marvel at the absurdity. Three years of marriage, and now Fabian decided to put some distance between them. I was about to speak when I met Nydia’s eyes—half-crazed, unhinged. She glared at me through gritted teeth, her gaze burning with a jealousy so fierce it frightened me. She turned around and rummaged through something on the table. When she turned back, one hand held a thick syringe filled with silver liquid and a scalpel; the other gripped a hammer. She looked deranged. “I’m going to teach you a lesson today, you worthless whore.” I tried to run, only to realize I couldn’t move. I was a fish on a cutting board. That’s when it came back to me—when I’d first been brought in, still groggy, Nydia must have injected me with something. She walked toward me, smiling, step by step. First, she drove the thick needle into my arm again and again until blood ran freely. Then she took the scalpel and carved lines across my entire body. Finally, she picked up the hammer, aimed it at my hand—the swelling had only just gone down—and brought it crashing down. I didn’t even have time to scream before the pain dragged me into darkness. When I woke again, my wounds had been neatly treated and both hands were back in casts. I spent three more days in the ICU. Fabian sat vigil at my bedside, guilt and heartache written all over his face. But before I could get a word out, he handed me a phone. “This is an apology video Nydia recorded.” “What she did this time was admittedly a bit much. I’ve already talked to her about it—she knows she was wrong. She’s still young, that’s all. Too impulsive. You’re her sister-in-law and the Godmother. Be the bigger person and forgive her, won’t you?” Watching Nydia’s radiant smile and smug eyes in the video, listening to a voice devoid of any real remorse, I felt as though a bucket of ice water had been poured over my head, chilling me to the bone. I lifted my gaze to Fabian, dazed. I wanted to raise my hands. I wanted him to see my wounds, to understand that Nydia’s hollow “apology” meant nothing—nothing—compared to the agony wracking my entire body. But he couldn’t read the devastation in my eyes. He assumed I was simply being difficult. His brow furrowed, his tone edged with irritation. “Michelle, can you grow up? Stop being unreasonable!” I looked up in disbelief. He knew perfectly well that Nydia had done this to me, and yet he still took her side, blamed me, and demanded I forgive her. I couldn’t hold it back any longer. “You two conspired to torture me! Why should I forgive—” Fabian cut me off, his voice cold as steel. “Michelle! Making accusations like that is not how a Godmother behaves. Jack—enforce house rules.” Jack hauled me upright, and his open palm struck my face. Then a second time. A third. As the fourth blow was about to land— Fabian raised his hand to stop it. He cradled my face gently in both hands, slipping back into his usual tenderness. “Michelle, I’ve told you before—you’re the Godmother now. You can’t keep acting out like this. Consider this a lesson. And an apology to Nydia.” He pressed a soft kiss against my reddened, swollen cheek and sighed with what sounded like genuine weariness. “Let me go check on Nydia. The poor girl’s probably still scared you’re angry with her.” I wanted to laugh—a cold, bitter laugh—but I couldn’t even manage that. The twin torment of body and soul had stripped me of every last word. I watched Fabian hurry away, my eyes frozen over. Fabian, we’re done. — I spent another week in the ICU. After I was discharged, Nydia sent me a message: “Fabian’s throwing me a birthday party. You’re invited too!” “Make sure you come—I’ve got a surprise for you~” On the day of Nydia’s birthday celebration, Fabian dressed me in a gown, clasped the family heirloom bracelet around my wrist, and personally trimmed my disheveled hair. An outsider watching would have been certain the Godfather adored his Godmother. But I had already seen the photos Nydia posted on Instagram: the gown she wore had been commissioned from a master tailor by Fabian over a year ago, and the jewels draping her body were worth at least ten times mine. Fabian bent down and lifted me into his arms. I flinched, struggling instinctively. He turned uncharacteristically forceful. In the struggle, the wedding ring slipped from my finger and went clattering down the stairs, pinging against each step. A passing maid didn’t notice and stepped right on it. That ring—from the selection of the stone to every detail of its crafting—had been Fabian’s doing. It was supposed to be proof of his love. Now it lay crushed beneath a careless foot. Fabian barely glanced at it, his voice impatient. “Hurry up. We can’t keep Nydia waiting.” So that was where I stood. The symbol of our marriage couldn’t even compete with a few seconds of Nydia’s patience. A bitter ache filled my chest, and I had no strength left to fight. We arrived at the banquet hall shortly after. Nydia’s gaze fell on my plaster-bound hands, her eyes brimming with contempt. “Fabian, is Michelle’s hand getting any better?” Her tone dripped with concern; the malice underneath didn’t even try to hide. “Oh—I know this amazing dessert. Come with me to get some for Michelle.” She latched onto Fabian’s arm, cooing sweetly. Before I could open my mouth, Fabian was already setting me down with an indulgent smile, rushing off after Nydia without a backward glance. I stood there alone. Dozens of gazes landed on me—some startled, some mocking, some dripping with disdain.

“Look—the Godmother really is out of favor.” “I heard from a few people in the Frank family that Nydia seems more like the Godmother than Michelle does.” “Obviously. You could tell just from Fabian’s attitude earlier.” “I mean, who’d want a cripple for a wife?” Malice came at me from every direction. I stood there trembling, my face burning. This kind of humiliation—I’d already endured it once, three years ago at my own wedding. Back then, Nydia deliberately hid my wedding dress, and I had to walk down the aisle in a plain white sundress. And through three years of illness, through every mortifying moment, I’d survived. Now, hearing these whispers, all I felt was numb. Not far away, Nydia was tugging Fabian along as she unwrapped birthday presents. I silently clenched my fists. The man who had sworn to protect me countless times had abandoned me long ago… The banquet was lavish and extravagant—less like a birthday party and more like a celebration fit for a Godfather and Godmother. With a grand wave of his hand, Fabian presented Nydia with three gifts: A nomination for a prestigious medical award. A private hospital with her installed as director. And a totem ring—the symbol of the family’s matriarch. The ring he’d told me he would place on my finger himself once I recovered. Now firmly on Nydia’s hand. I couldn’t suppress a bitter, self-mocking curl of my lips—but I hadn’t meant to provoke Nydia. She couldn’t make a scene in front of everyone, so she waited until the intermission and cornered me as I came out of the restroom. “What are you smiling at! All you have is a marriage certificate! I’m telling you—Fabian will marry me sooner or later and cut you off for good!” I remained perfectly calm. “I think so too.” But my composure only enraged her further. Her brow knotted, her face flushed red in an instant, and she lunged at me like a madwoman, trying to shove me down the stairs. I took a wary step back, but she grabbed my arm viciously. The stabbing pain in my arm made me struggle on instinct. In the middle of the scuffle, Fabian happened to appear. Nydia’s eyes filled with tears instantly. She cried out, “Michelle, I’m sorry—please don’t push me!” Then she gritted her teeth and threw herself down the staircase. Pathetic acting. A clumsy frame job. But Fabian—clever as he was—believed it. “Nydia!” Shock and fury twisted his face. He flew down the stairs without a single glance at me—half my body already dangling over the railing, pulled outward by her momentum. “Fabian…” Helpless. Desperate. My voice echoed through the stairwell. No one answered. Minutes later, my strength gave out, and I fell from the third floor. I don’t know how long I was unconscious this time. When I finally opened my eyes again, there was no one at my bedside. Three days later, Fabian finally came to see me. He walked in and immediately launched into accusations: “Nydia just wanted to enjoy her birthday and share the happiness with you. Not only did you refuse her kindness, you deliberately pushed her down the stairs and made her bleed. That was completely out of line!” Out of line? The only thing out of line was marrying him in the first place. I turned my face away. I didn’t want to speak to him anymore. Perhaps the sight of me—wretched, wrapped head to toe in bandages—finally stirred something in him. Fabian sighed and sat down beside me. “I neglected you a little, and you got so jealous you pushed her down the stairs. That’s not how a Godmother carries herself… Nydia’s being gracious about it and doesn’t blame you. Once you’re feeling better, go apologize to her.” “I won’t.” The words came out before I could think. Fabian’s expression shifted. A flash of anger crossed his eyes. It settled into reproach: “You’re practically her elder. A young girl throws a tantrum—you rest for a few days, let your body heal on its own, and it’s no big deal.” Rest for a few days and it’s no big deal? I’d fallen from the third floor. Multiple compound fractures throughout my body. My arms devastated yet again. I could barely eat, could barely move—and he dismissed it with a single offhand sentence. I had no doubt that even if I’d died right in front of him that day, his only concern would have been that my blood had ruined Nydia’s birthday party. A man who had long since stopped loving me—no amount of suffering on my part could earn even a scrap of his attention. I didn’t want to waste my energy anymore. I swallowed the cold laugh rising to my lips. “Fine. I’ll go later. Now get out—I need to rest.” But Fabian didn’t stand. After a moment’s hesitation, he tightened his grip on my hand and spoke gently: “Michelle, there’s something I need your consent for…” “Nydia wants me to give her a child. To carry on the bloodline.” I froze for a moment, then spoke: “Whatever’s between you and her—you don’t need my permission.” As if my refusal would have stopped him anyway. Fabian, thinking I’d misunderstood, patiently explained: “Don’t worry, I won’t let you be wronged. The technology is very advanced now. Artificial insemination will allow Nydia to conceive without any issue.” I felt dizzy, disoriented. The man before me had transformed into someone I no longer recognized. “Fine.” My voice was flat. A person who has truly given up doesn’t have emotional ups and downs anymore. “That’s my girl.” Fabian nodded with satisfaction. “Now this is more like it. At least Nydia’s all-night effort preparing your new treatment plan wasn’t wasted on you.” He clapped his hands, and Nydia walked in. When I saw the medical equipment she wheeled in behind her, my eyes went wide with horror. I shrank back instinctively—but Fabian caught me.

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I was Mafia Don’s most beloved little princess. However, a glass of orange juice got me sold to an underground strip club. Vincent Rosario is the most powerful mafia don in New York. My parents, the Colombos, died in a car crash. Vincent raised me for fifteen years, spoiled me rotten. When I was twelve, I fought a senator’s daughter over a limited-edition diamond necklace. Vincent bought the entire jewelry company and reopened the production line just for me. At a charity gala, someone called me Vincent’s caged canary. The next day, he and his father’s company vanished from New York. Once, a boy tried to hold my hand at the school dance. The next morning, his right hand was delivered to his family in a box. Vincent would also kneel by my bed after nights of dancing, removing my heels and massaging my calves. Then Serena Moretti arrived. She walked into the Long Island estate in a crimson gown. Her eyes were cold. I heard her on the phone in the garden. “I want the full Cartier ruby set. Vincent owes me. So what if he’s doting on that little brat right now? His money will all be mine eventually.” She hung up. A tortoiseshell cat trotted over. It had wandered into the estate months ago. I called her Pudding. Pudding brushed past Serena’s feet and dirtied her satin heels. “That filthy thing,” Serena said to the bodyguard. “Kill it.” The bodyguard hesitated. “Miss Moretti, this is—” “I said kill it.” He drew his gun. Attached a silencer. One muffled shot. Pudding collapsed in a pool of blood. Serena stepped out of her heels and walked away barefoot. That night, I knocked on Serena’s door. “Leave Vincent.” “Why?” “Because you don’t love him. You just love his money and power.” “Little girl, what do you know? You just a spoiled child. You could never understand.” “I saw what you did. You killed that cat.” “Jenna, you’re not Vincent lover. But I am. You think he’d give me up for you?” “He would.” “Alright. I’ll leave.” The next morning, a helicopter roared overhead. Black SUVs poured through the estate gates. The butler, Antonio, told me Serena had slipped away without telling anyone. Vincent was looking for her. Vincent growled into his phone. “Find her! ” “Maybe Serena just needed some air—” “Jenna. Go to your room.” He was gone. For three full days, he didn’t come back.

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After the Mafia Council’s memory-stripping procedure, I forgot Damian Moranti— the Don, my husband, the man I’d loved for seven years. I forgot the parents who had branded me a disgrace. With a body torn raw by ninety-nine lashes, I walked out of the Mafia world for good. Everyone assumed I was just throwing a tantrum. They thought I’d come crawling back soon enough, unable to give up the privileges of being a Donna, begging the family for shelter. Until the day a convoy of black sedans surrounded my wedding venue, and armed Mafia enforcers locked down the entire area in seconds. A secretary from the Moranti family pushed through the crowd to me and demanded. “All these years—why have you never once contacted Don Damian? Do you have any idea he’s waited five years for you?” I tightened my grip on my husband’s arm and asked, genuinely puzzled, “I’m sorry. Who is… Damian?” The air froze. A short distance away, a man in a black suit stood absolutely still. His eyes rimmed red, staring at me as though I might vanish if he so much as blinked. … … The day I discovered my husband Damian was sleeping with my cousin Isabel, our wedding had only just ended. The guests hadn’t even left, and I couldn’t find my new husband anywhere. I gathered up the train of my dress and went from one empty guest room to another, until I finally found him on the terrace of our bridal suite. Beneath the moonlight, Damian Moranti—heir to the Moranti family, the next Don—had my cousin Isabel pressed up against the railing. Isabel’s gown was shoved up around her waist, her legs locked around him. Most of the buttons on Damian’s shirt were undone. One of his hands gripped the railing; the other cupped the back of her neck as he kissed her, deep and frantic. Their breathing carried sharp and clear on the night wind. I stood in the shadow of the French doors, and somehow my heart slowed instead of racing. So here it was again. Everything in my life eventually ended up in Isabel’s hands. Isabel was my uncle’s orphaned daughter. Her parents had taken bullets meant for my father during an arms deal. From the time she was twelve, she’d lived under our roof. I sent her to the best schools, brought her into my social circle, arranged a respectable, comfortable office position for her in the family business. She was bright, sweet, charming with everyone—a soft, blooming rose. My friends, the elders of the family, even my own parents—their attitude toward her had shifted from polite acceptance to genuine, undisguised favoritism. “Isabel is so much more likable than you.” I’d been hearing that since I was a child. And now, even my husband of seven years was no exception. I stepped out of the shadow. My heels rang sharp against the marble tiles, and at last they heard me. Damian whipped his head around. I walked up to him, raised my hand, and slapped him across the face. What happened next happened very fast. I just heard Isabel scream and lunge forward, grabbing my arm. “Victoria—don’t hit Damian, it’s all my fault—” Then something shoved me backward, hard. My back struck the railing, and my whole body pitched over the edge. Wind howled past my ears. When I woke up, I was in the family’s private medical center, and Damian was sitting beside my bed. He looked like he’d been in that chair a long time. But the moment my eyes met his, I knew—he wasn’t here to ask after my injuries. “Victoria, what happened tonight… it was an accident. I had too much to drink. I mistook her for someone else. It will absolutely never happen again.” He paused, weighing his words. “Don’t blame Isabel. It was all my fault. And you know she’s struggled with depression ever since she lost her parents. She’s been through enough. Don’t hold it against her, all right?” I looked at him, and a small, bitter laugh almost escaped me. “Damian, the only reason you’re saying any of this is because you’re afraid I’ll make a scene. Afraid it’ll affect Isabel’s standing in the family. Right?” His face darkened. His fingers clamped around my wrist—not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to remind me, very precisely, who held the authority in this room. “Victoria, you’re the Donna now. Every move you make reflects on the family.” “This ends here. Don’t drag everyone into something uncomfortable.” The warning was naked in his eyes. Once, I would have agreed without hesitation. Now I just turned my gaze quietly away. He looked like he had more to say, but at that moment his second-in-command Carlo pushed open the door and murmured something near his ear. I caught the words Isabel and too distraught. Damian stood at once, tugged his cuffs straight, and slipped back into that clipped, professional tone: “There’s a problem with a shipment at the border. I have to handle it. Get some rest. And this matter—it ends here.” He emphasized it once more, then turned and walked out fast, without looking back. He didn’t return for the rest of the night. I lay there for I don’t know how long, watching the sky begin to lighten at the edge of the window. Then I picked up my phone and dialed the family Council. “I’m petitioning to leave the family.” The voice on the other end registered surprise. “Victoria? You’re the Donna. Do you have any idea what leaving the family means?” “You don’t get out without having your skin flayed off by the lash and surviving the agony of the memory-removal procedure!” “I know.” “Then you—” “I’ve made up my mind.” My voice was steady and clear. “I’m leaving.” A silence. Then the voice resumed its customary chill. “The Council will accept your application through confidential channels. In seven days, if you survive, you’ll be free to go.” “Good.” I hung up the phone and slept better than I had in years. On the third evening, I came back to the estate alone from the medical center. I pushed open the door of the great room and stepped into a party in full swing. “Beautiful work, Isabel—three new clients at the arms expo!” “Made the family proud!” Isabel stood in the center of the crowd, wearing a perfectly calibrated smile of modesty. Damian stood beside her, posture relaxed, an unmistakable look of approval in his eyes. The atmosphere chilled the moment they noticed me. A flicker of discomfort crossed Damian’s face. He stepped forward. “Vic? Why did you come back on your own? You should’ve called—I would’ve sent someone.” He reached out by reflex to support me. I stepped sideways to avoid him. “What? Am I disturbing you all by coming home?” The air turned awkward. “Of course not.” Damian recovered, and pressed an elegantly wrapped little box into my hand. “Perfect timing. This is a gift we got for Isabel to celebrate. She’s done so much for you—it should come from you.” I didn’t want to argue. I simply held the box out. Isabel reached for it. But the moment our fingers touched, the box dropped, and the jade ornament inside shattered into pieces on the floor. Isabel’s eyes brimmed instantly with tears. “Victoria… you still won’t forgive me, will you? I really didn’t mean to that night… I’ve been so worried about you…” Every gaze in the room swung onto me. “Victoria, that’s enough. Think how hard things are for Isabel.” “She saved your family. Today is her celebration. Can’t you let her enjoy one peaceful day?” I looked at them. My eyes settled, last, on the face full of disappointment. The husband I had loved for seven years. “Enough.” Damian’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried that weight that didn’t need to be raised to make a room go silent. He came over to me, leaned down, and spoke low—just for the two of us. “Victoria, stop making a scene. We’ve talked about this. It’s over. Even if you’re upset, look at where we are.” His hand pressed down on my shoulder, the gesture intimate on its surface, but the pressure increasing steadily, pushing me down without a word. I drew in a breath, turned my body, and shrugged his hand off. “That won’t be necessary. I came back to pack. I’m moving out.”

The words were barely out of my mouth before Isabel burst into tears. “Victoria, what does that mean… are you trying to drive me away?” She turned to Damian, the tears spilling down her cheeks, her voice thin and helpless. “Damian, you promised me…” Damian’s brows pulled into a deep furrow. When he looked at me, the thin layer of patience in his tone had vanished entirely. “Victoria, do you really have to push this to this point?” I opened my mouth to explain. I didn’t get the chance. “Victoria! You’ve gone too far!” “You’re throwing Isabel out? How is she supposed to survive on her own?” “Her parents died saving your father, and this is how you treat her?” The voices came at me from all sides, pinning me where I stood. And my personal secretary, Natalie—the woman I’d thought of as a sister—stood there with one hand patting Isabel’s back, giving me a pained, reluctant look. “Victoria, please stop targeting Isabel… she’s already suffered enough.” I looked at Natalie. Three years ago, she’d been bound to a chair as a hostage, covered in blood. I had crept alone into that abandoned warehouse, taken out two guards, and carried her on my back for three city blocks. Afterward she had clung to me, sobbing, swearing she would never forget what I’d done for her as long as she lived. Now she stood across from me, taking the side of the woman who’d slept with my husband. “Natalie, this is a private family matter. And what I said was that I’m the one moving—” “That’s enough, Victoria.” Damian’s voice cut me off. One arm wrapped around Isabel’s shoulders; the other extended in front of her, shielding her like something fragile and precious. “Natalie’s only speaking up for Isabel out of fairness. The truth is, you’re still holding a grudge over that night. But Isabel has suffered enough. If you have a problem, take it out on me. There’s no reason to take it out on her.” His eyes were ice, fixed on me. In that instant, it struck me that explanation was the most pointless thing in the world. I swallowed back what I’d been about to say and turned to leave. Isabel suddenly lunged forward and seized my arm, her nails biting into my skin. The tears came harder. “Victoria, please don’t be angry… I promise I’ll never speak to Damian again from now on…” I jerked my arm on instinct, trying to shake her off. I really hadn’t used much force. But Isabel went stumbling backward and crashed onto the carpet. I reached out to help her up. Damian shoved me away. The force of it sent me staggering two steps back. “Don’t touch her!” He crouched at once and gathered Isabel up like a piece of porcelain that might fall apart in his hands. It was the first time I’d ever seen him so undone, and a dull pain bloomed in my chest. “Damian, my ankle… I think I twisted it…” Isabel’s voice trembled, her weakness pitched at exactly the right note. Damian lifted her and stood. When his eyes turned to me, there was nothing in them but cold and disappointment. “You knew her health was fragile, and you still did this.” He carried Isabel toward the door. As he passed me, he didn’t look back. “Victoria, you are a disgrace to both families.” A disgrace to both families. Those words went through me like a knife, from sternum to spine. Once they were spoken, every other person heading for the door turned to look at me with mocking amusement. I stayed where I was, spine ramrod-straight, refusing to bend. The last young man to pass me deliberately raised his voice. “Some people just can’t stand to see anyone do better than them. Grown woman, jealous of the person who saved her family. No conscience at all.” My lashes trembled, just barely. Then it was quiet, as if the entire world had been emptied out and only I was left. No—maybe a long, long time ago, I had only ever had myself. The light was failing. I picked up my coat and walked out. The Council’s chamber was on the east side of the city, three stories beneath an unremarkable gray building. Iron doors, code locks, signal jamming—it was the coldest heart of the Mafia world. The man receiving me was an older Council member, hair neatly combed, every strand in place. His eyes were a cold, washed-out white, like a machine wearing the shape of a person. “As Donna, you should know what’s in your head—the family’s dealings, networks, contacts up and down the chain. None of it can leave with you.” “I know,” I said. “The memory-removal procedure is scheduled for three days from now. But before that—” He opened an iron door behind him. Inside was a dim cell. Cement floor. A single iron post, with newly-replaced leather restraints around its base. In one corner sat a bucket of saltwater and a soaked rawhide whip. “Ninety-nine lashes.” His voice was without inflection. “This is the price every member who chooses to leave must pay.” Then, finally, he raised his eyes to mine. “You still have the right to choose.” I didn’t answer. I walked to the post, and without hesitation took off my coat. Two large men in black suits stepped out of the dark, and a moment later I was lifted off my feet, my wrists bound to the post above my head. Behind me there was only the whoosh of leather slicing through air as they warmed up. Then— “Begin.” Crack. The first lash came down. I bit through the wooden block in my mouth. The saltwater-soaked rawhide tore into my skin like red-hot wire being driven into flesh, then ripped out again. The second lash. The third. The pain spread from my back through my whole body, blackness pulsing across my vision. My blouse soaked through with blood, plastered to my back, the fabric tearing free of the wounds with every new strike. I didn’t make a sound. I closed my eyes, and the images rose behind my lids—Damian’s open shirt, Isabel’s legs locked around his waist, his back as he carried her away without a single look back. By the time the ninety-ninth lash landed, there wasn’t an inch of unbroken skin left on my back. Blood ran down past my waistband and pooled in a small dark puddle on the cement. The old Council member tossed the keys to the man beside him and stamped a document without lifting his head. “Three days from now, eight a.m., come back here for the memory extraction. After that, you’ll have forgotten everything connected to this world.” “Then you’ll be free.” I lay face-down on the freezing concrete, shaking from head to foot, unable to tell anymore whether it was pain or cold. But there was only one thought in my head. Three days. Just three more days. I would forget everything about Damian, and then I would be gone from him—completely.

The men in black suits dumped me at the gates of the estate. The night air was thick with dew. No servant came out to ask whether the unimportant Donna had returned safely. Certainly none of the people gathered around the traumatized Isabel. I didn’t have the strength to climb the stairs. I sank sideways onto the great-room sofa and wrapped a throw blanket around myself. My back stuck to the fabric, and every breath tugged at fresh wounds. I don’t know how much time passed before the click of the front door turning startled me awake. Footsteps—soft, the muffled tread of dress shoes on carpet. A lamp clicked on, and in its yellowish light, Damian was standing in front of the sofa. He was still in his suit. Stubble had darkened his jaw. He didn’t look like he’d slept either. “Why are you sleeping out here?” He sat down on the arm of the sofa, and only then did I see the long box in his hand. Inside lay a silver chain holding a polished bullet, its surface gleaming, set in a platinum mount. “Came to see you. Brought this with me.” I glanced at it and didn’t move. “You didn’t have to make a special trip.” He shook his head. “This chain isn’t like the others.” He set the box on the coffee table and absently brushed his fingers across the pendant, his gaze going somewhere far away. “It makes me think about the years we’ve had together… that ambush in the south district warehouse, seven years ago. You took that bullet for me. Half an inch from your heart. Do you remember?” Of course I remembered. After they’d dug it out, he’d had the bullet polished into a pendant and put it around my neck himself. He had taken my hand and said— “From this day on, my heart belongs only to you.” But now, the words stirred nothing in me at all. “We’ve been through so much together.” He lowered his voice, deliberately gentle. “We’ve survived so many close calls. To freeze each other out over something like this… Victoria, it really isn’t worth it.” Something like this. “Vic—” He leaned closer. The lamplight fell across my face. “You look terrible. What’s wrong?” He reached out to touch my face. I flinched away on instinct. His hand froze midair. And just like that, the small flicker of real concern in his voice was gone. “Things have been hard for Isabel in the family lately. There’s gossip everywhere—saying she seduced your husband, that she traded on her debt to your father. Her depression was bad enough to begin with. Now she’s worse. She can’t even function at work.” He looked at me, his gaze steady, expectant—as if what he was about to say was the most natural thing in the world. “Have a word with the Council. Get the rumors shut down. Say you were mistaken about that night at the wedding. Get her back to her position.” I looked at him. The lamp threw his shadow against the wall, his profile sharp and beautiful as ever. But every expression on his face was one I knew intimately—he wasn’t asking. He was assigning. “Damian, in what capacity am I supposed to do this? As your wife?” He raised an eyebrow, as if it were a stupid question. “You are my wife.” “But I don’t want to be anymore.” The air froze for half a second. Confusion shifted to anger on his face, fast. “Victoria, would you stop with this.” “How many times do I have to explain that what happened that night was an accident? How many more childish things are you going to say before you’re satisfied?” I didn’t argue. Argument requires hope, and mine had drained out with the ninety-nine lashes. He must have read my silence as surrender. His tone softened a little. “Get some rest tonight. Take care of the situation with Isabel as soon as you can.” He stood up and smoothed the wrinkles from his shirt. “I’m going to the hospital to check on Isabel. She needs someone with her.” The door closed. His footsteps faded. I reached out and pulled the jewelry box toward me. The silver bullet pendant glinted coldly in the lamplight. But on the side of the mount, etched into the platinum, was not the V I remembered. It was a tiny line of script: LOVE ISA. I turned the pendant over three times to be sure. Then I got up, walked into the bedroom, and opened the safe. My own necklace was lying inside, untouched. Engraved on the back of its bullet pendant was a single V. The one he had brought me wasn’t mine. It was the one he had given Isabel. I stared at those two small words for a long time. Then I laughed once, softly. And as I laughed, the tears came. So a long, long time ago, he had already given his heart to someone else. I returned both necklaces to the safe and locked it. Then I started packing. I didn’t have much. One suitcase, a few changes of clothes, my passport, my own gun. Before sunrise, I’d submitted all the transfer paperwork, and I was checked into a motel in town. The motel room was small. Nothing like the perfectly climate-controlled air of the estate. But I had never felt so at peace. The day before the procedure, my phone rang. It was Damian. I hesitated three seconds, then answered. “Get to the family medical center. Now. That’s an order.” His voice was hard, edged with the tone of a man who expected obedience. I hadn’t yet completed the formal departure. Legally, I was still under Moranti jurisdiction. I had no right to refuse. But the moment I stepped onto the inpatient floor, I saw a row of people lining the hallway, and the air was deadly. Damian saw me, and his face caught fire. He crossed the space in three strides and grabbed my upper arm. The lash wounds on my back—still raw beneath the black fabric—exploded into pain. “Tell me! Why did you do this?” “You knew Isabel lost her parents young. You knew about her depression. And you sent someone to terrorize her?” “Victoria, when did you get so vicious?” It was about Isabel. Always Isabel. “It wasn’t me. I haven’t seen her this entire time.” The next instant, a slap landed across my face. It was my mother, Helen, whom I hadn’t seen in months. The day of my wedding, she had told me family business was too pressing for her to attend. But here she was now, ashen, eyes red-rimmed, looking at me with pure hatred—on Isabel’s behalf. “Victoria! Are you even human?” Her hands were shaking. So was her voice. “Isabel is your sister! I treated Isabel like my own daughter! How could you do this?” My father, Vincent, stood behind her. What he said cut deeper than any slap. “The greatest regret of my life is bringing a monster like you into this world.”

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Rayna Shaw and Ethan Chase were the famous couple who most hated each other in the entire Shaw mafia. Not because they were madly in love. But because they had spent eight years of marriage trying to kill each other. She put poison in his whiskey. He hid needles under her pillow. They spat venom with every breath and cursed each other to an early grave every single night. She hated him for being a stone she could never warm—a man whose heart had always belonged to another woman. He hated her for using her father’s power to foce him into marriage, for shoving her way in, for being the reason his beloved had been driven away. But when a deal went wrong and capture became certain, he did something she never expected. He took off his only bulletproof vest and shoved it into her arms. “Run, Ray!” Then he turned and ran the opposite direction, gunfire tearing after him. She watched him look back one last time, his lips moving. *I’m going to see Mia now. Next life… let’s not meet again. My heart only has room for one.* By the time she returned with reinforcements, all she found was his shattered body. She spent the next six months alone—luring the Vossberg soldiers, destroying their command center from the inside, and finally becoming nothing more than a name carved into the Shaw family mausoleum. Then she opened her eyes. She was back in her father’s office. The date on the wall told her everything. She reborned. Without a word, she found the current mafia don her father, and said the words she had never spoken before: “I want to cancel the engagement to Ethan Chase,” Rayna repeated. Her voice did not shake. “Mine and Ethan’s. And I want to take the undercover assignment in Mia’s place.” —

Don Shaw stared at his daughter for a long time. “You want to take Mia’s place? You’re not marrying Ethan?” “Rayna.” Her father took off his glasses. “Do you know what you’re saying.” “I know exactly what I’m saying.” He didn’t believe her. No one in the compound would. Rayna had spent years declaring to anyone who would listen that she would marry Ethan Chase or no one at all. She had shoved Mia into walls, screamed at her in hallways, and made it absolutely clear that she would burn the world down before letting her sister touch the man she loved. For her to give up the engagement and walk into enemy territory in Mia’s place — impossible. “Your wedding is in ten days,” her father said slowly. “Are you sure about this?” Rayna paused. Then she smiled—a small, tired thing. “You’re always telling me that Mia lost her father and I should let her have things. Isn’t that what you want?” Her father’s expression shifted through something complicated. Guilt, maybe. Or surprise that his headstrong daughter had finally listened. She didn’t wait for his answer. She turned and walked out. Ever since he had remarried, he had made a habit of telling her to rein in her temper, to be kinder to Mia, terrified she might feel unwelcome under their roof. In her last life, if she hadn’t thrown her dead mother — the woman who had died saving him — across his desk, he would have simply rewritten the drawing of lots and put her name on the slip. This time, she was saving him the trouble. So finally he added her name to the infiltration file instead. The hallway outside the Don’s office was cold, She had barely taken three steps when someone slammed into her shoulder hard enough to bruise. Ethan Chase. He looked frantic. His uniform was stained with mud, as if he had just dropped to his knees somewhere. She knew exactly where—in her past life, she had found him begging her father to take Mia’s name off the mission roster. She had dragged him to a priest that same day and forced him to sign the engagement contract. Now she just rubbed her shoulder and stepped aside. Ethan shot out an arm to stop her. Anger and confusion flashed through his eyes. “Rayna.” She pulled free. “The mission was decided by lottery. Those are the rules.” His jaw tightened. “If the Don just gave me more time, I could find another way. We don’t have to send a woman into his bed.” She almost laughed. Time? How much time did he think they had? The war between the families had been bleeding men for three years. Every day they delayed, more of their people would end up in the river. Right now, putting one woman — her or Mia — into Silas Price’s house to lift the ledger was the path with the fewest losses, the highest chance of success. “One of us is going,” she said quietly. “Mia or me. You can beg on your knees all day, Ethan. It won’t change anything.” His grip tightened on her wrist. His voice dropped. “”As long as you don’t go running to the Commander to make things worse, there may still be another way.” She pulled away again. This time, she didn’t look back. “Have it your way. The application’s already in. You’ll be satisfied when the day comes.” She walked off, leaving Ethan standing there, stunned. Behind her, she heard him call her name once. Twice. She kept walking. She had meant to tell him the truth. Now she didn’t want to. In her last life he had wished her dead. A few more hours of his hatred wouldn’t make much difference. When the wedding day came and he saw the bride wasn’t her — he’d probably be a little happier, even. But remembering how he had buckled his only vest onto her, shoved her out of the encirclement, and taken every bullet and shell himself — her throat still tightened. She had spent eight years believing that if she just kept him close, the bitterness would eventually turn sweet. But he had only left her the chance to live, and chosen to die in the dirt beside Mia. *Ethan Chase. You saved my life once. This time, let’s call it even.*

When back home, the first thing she did was spread out the Vossberg files across her desk. The target’s name was underlined in red: **Silas Price**. Silas Price held a ledger the Shaw family had been hunting for three years — the full record of his alliances, his foreign accounts, the names of every made man on his payroll. They had never gotten close. Now the head of the German Vossberg Cartel. Her mission was simple in theory: get close. Extract intelligence. Don’t get killed. In practice? No one had ever come back from an operation against him. In her last life, Mia had been exposed within three months and tortured to death. They hadn’t gotten the intel. They had exposed their own positions instead. The war had reignited from there, and the casualties had been catastrophic — until, in the end, Ethan had died under enemy fire shielding her. She sat at her desk and thought it through, hour after hour, without sleeping. At dawn, she changed into a simple black dress and headed for the door. The second she pulled the door open, the cold metal pressed against her forehead. A gun. “Why can’t you just leave your sister alone?” Ethan’s voice was raw, nearly shaking. For half a second she froze. She reached up to knock the gun away — and Ethan twisted her arm, locking it across her chest. The strength behind it forced a hiss through her teeth. “Ethan — let go!” She kicked back hard. He pressed her tighter. “You think I don’t know what you did? You went to your father and made sure Mia got the dangerous mission so you could keep me for yourself?” “You’re so selfish and cold—how can you expect anyone to love you?” She went still. Those words. She had heard them before. In a marriage that lasted eight years too long. In fights that left her bleeding on the inside. She came back to herself, drove her heel into his stomach, snatched up the pistol he dropped, and turned the muzzle on his forehead. “You want to shoot me, Ethan? On Shaw property?” The pain knocked the heat out of him. His eyes dropped to her trembling hand, still red where he’d twisted her wrist, and the anger in his face folded into regret. His voice came out softer than he meant. “I’m sorry…” “I lost my head.” She didn’t answer. She threw the gun at his feet. “It’s an assignment. Someone has to go. You don’t need to take it out on me. Maybe things will turn out exactly the way you want. Go home — focus on your wedding. You’ll be happy with the outcome.” He didn’t catch the bitterness in her voice. He bent down and picked up the pistol, gave a small, self-mocking smile. “You think everyone’s as cold-blooded as you, calm enough to plan a wedding at a time like this…” She drew a long breath and walked away, face carefully blank, her molars ached from clenching her jaw. *Ethan Chase. This life, I’ll give you everything you want.*

Outside her window, the long black cars came and went through the Shaw gates the way they always did, headlights sliding across the wallpaper. That night, someone left a small box outside her door. Inside was a tray of butterfly pastries—her favorite. The kind you couldn’t buy inside the compound. He must have driven all the way into the city to get them. She didn’t eat a single one. She knew why he did it. Not because he loved her. Because her mother had taken him in when he was an orphan boy, fed him, raised him like a son. He was only trying to repay a debt. She had always been a burden he tolerated out of gratitude. *I’m done being that burden.* The mission approval came through quickly. But her engagement cancellation was kept quiet—at her request. She had asked the Don for that herself. She told her father to inform Mia privately, let Mia sign her own marriage contract with Ethan’s name on it.The rest of the family — the Consigliere, the Capo, the gossiping wives in the long-island houses — would not find out until the morning of the wedding itself, when Ethan Chase lifted the veil and saw the wrong face under it. Every file the Shaw lawyers had built on Silas Price, every dossier on the Vossberg Cartel, every floor plan of his estate — she read once and burned in her own fireplace. Consider it her wedding surprise to him. Ethan, for his part, knew none of it. He moved through the compound like a man with a stone tied to his chest. He pulled men off the rotation just to corner her father in his study. He took up smoking again, the way he hadn’t since he was sixteen, and stubbed half the cigarettes out before they were done. He went to the Don’s office every day, argued with anyone who would listen, begged for more time, another solution. *Let me trade in for her. There has to be another way at Price.* Rayna heard about it from the maids. She did not look up from her tea. — It was a clear, cold afternoon when she came out of the canteen and meet them in the garden pavilion. Mia was sitting on the stone bench in a pale blue dress, her hands folded in her lap, the way she always sat when she wanted to look small. Ethan was bent over the table opposite her, sleeves pushed to the elbow, fingers working a tangle of dried grass into shape. Mia was glowing. She had been told, then. She had been told she was going to marry him. “Ethan.” Mia asked, leaning over his hands. “What are you making? I’ve never seen you do that before.” Ethan’s fingers moved without looking. Loop, twist, tuck. “Nothing,” he said. “Just some scrap.” Rayna stopped at the edge of the gravel path. *Scrap.* Her mother had taught him that *scrap.* On the long summer afternoons before the war between the families had bled into their own house, on the back porch of the old place, Rayna’s mother had sat with a teenage boy who had come in off a Brooklyn curb with a black eye and no last name, and had pressed a handful of dried grass into his hands and shown him, slow, how to braid. *Make her something pretty, Ethan. She’s still half a child.* After her mother had died, the only person who had still made those little woven things for Rayna had been Ethan. Until Mia came along. Rayna had hated that. She had thrown tantrums over it. She had ordered Ethan, with all the petulance of a Don’s daughter, not to weave a single thing for the new stepsister. And Ethan, calm and cool, had told her she was being unreasonable. He had told her that a great many times, in eight years of marriage. “What do you want?” Ethan asked Mia now, gentle. Mia’s eyes slid sideways. She found Rayna at the edge of the garden, and the corner of her mouth lifted, just a little. A smile only Rayna would catch. “A rabbit,” Mia said, sweet as syrup. “Make me a rabbit.” Ethan’s hands stopped. He didn’t say no. Rayna turned and walked away. A woven straw rabbit. Of all the things. Her mother had made her one, the last summer before the war took her — a small, lopsided thing with one ear bent. After the warehouse fire had taken their old house down to the studs, that rabbit had been the only piece of her mother Rayna had managed to dig out of the ash. It sat now on the top shelf of her wardrobe, in a velvet-lined box, where only one person in the world besides her knew to look. Mia had never cared about woven grass in her life. She was not asking for a toy. She just want to put her thumb on Rayna’s pain, because she saw her. Rayna did not hide. She did not duck down a side path. She walked straight back across the gravel with her chin up, and at the moment she passed the pavilion, she felt Ethan’s eyes lift and follow her. She did not turn her head. “Childish,” Rayna said aloud, to the empty hallway. Her voice was steady. She stepped over the box and shut her door. The next morning, the rabbit was still there. Untouched. The dew had not even gotten to it; someone had set a sheet of waxed paper underneath the box. She stared at it for a long moment, the cold tile under her bare feet. Then she bent down, picked the rabbit up, and slipped it into the inside pocket of her jacket, against her ribs.

The Don Shaw threw her a quiet send-off in the family ballroom. Quiet, for the Shaws, meant fifty people and a string quartet. Black suits, cigars, the smell of old whiskey and gun oil clinging to the men’s lapels even in their Sunday best. The big chandelier had been polished. The capos’ wives wore their second-best pearls — first-best was for funerals — and watched the door like hawks. By the time Rayna came down from the training wing, Mia was already in the center of the room, surrounded. A handkerchief in her hand. Eyes very wet, very bright. The picture of a brave young woman about to walk into the lion’s mouth for her family. “I didn’t think the draw would land on you, sweetheart.” One of the older wives was patting her wrist. “Rayna’s the Don’s blood daughter — she should have been the first to step up. Instead she’s running around the city forcing poor Ethan to marry her. Our Mia’s the one paying for it.” “That’s the truth of it,” another woman sniffed. “And Mia is the one risking her life, and she can’t even come say goodbye?”” Rayna watched Mia’s eyes shine through the tears — and underneath the shine, the small, satisfied glint of a girl who had spent her entire childhood learning exactly how to be pitied. Then Mia looked up, saw Rayna in the doorway, and froze. She had not expected her to come. Rayna smiled — a small, amused thing — and walked across the floor as if she had been invited. The whispers changed pitch around her. “What is she doing here —” “Showing off. What else.” “Don’t look at her like that. Mia’s just better than she is. Spoiled little thing — won’t even lift a finger while her own sister goes into Vossberg territory. God knows how the Don raised a daughter that cold.” Rayna did not break stride. She did not answer. She took a glass of champagne off a passing tray, sipped it once, and set it down again, untouched. After a while the chatter and the laughter began to bore her. She turned for the door. “Rayna.” Mia’s voice, behind her. Soft. Rayna stopped. She did not turn until Mia had crossed the floor and slid an arm through hers, easy, intimate, the way sisters did in photographs. “Dad told me,” Mia murmured against her ear. Her perfume was something light and floral; up close it smelled cheap. “He told me you gave up the engagement on your own. But Ethan’s always loved me, you know. So I can’t really say I stole him from you, can I?” Rayna let her arm be held. “The draw came up my name,” Mia went on, “but I gave you this once-in-a-lifetime chance to make your name in the family. Surely I’m allowed a few words with the soldiers before I go.” Rayna laughed. It came out short, low, genuinely amused, and Mia’s smile faltered for the first time. “Make your name,” Rayna repeated. She tilted her head, studied her stepsister like a curious specimen. “You think you could make a name on this chance .” Mia blinked. “Mia, sweetheart.” Rayna’s voice did not rise. It didn’t need to. “You can’t shoot. You can’t take a punch. You have never run a mile in your life. You think Silas Price’s bedroom is a tea party? You think a Vossberg house is somewhere a girl like you survives a week?” “The only reason you’re even in this life is because my dad protects you.” Her smile thinned. “I stepped in to clean up the mess that would have been you. I didn’t realize you were stupid enough to mistake that for a favor.” Mia’s face drained of color. For one long second they stood there, arm in arm, smiling for the room, while underneath the smiles something cold passed between them.

Then Mia’s eyes shifted. Just a flicker. A look past Rayna’s shoulder, toward the doorway behind her. Rayna saw the calculation land. Mia gripped her wrist tighter — and yanked Rayna’s own hand up and slapped herself across the face. The slap rang through the ballroom. “Rayna —” Mia’s voice broke beautifully. Tears spilled. “Why would you —!” Rayna opened her mouth to say something cutting about — And a body slammed into her from the side. She didn’t see him coming. She felt the shove — hard, deliberate, no half-measure in it — and then her back hit the carved stone edge of the fireplace mantel, low against her spine, and pain blew white through her whole body. The whole ballroom had gone quiet. Fifty pairs of eyes. The capos’ wives had even stopped pretending not to listen. Rayna saw, with a small distant part of her mind, that the string quartet had stopped playing. “You’ve been like this your whole life,” Ethan said. Quiet now. Cold. Each word landing exactly where he wanted it. “Spoiled. Cruel. Proud. I told myself for years there was something good underneath it. And now I see is a jealous, spiteful woman” Rayna stared at him. Her back throbbed. Her vision blurred. “Two girls raised under one roof,” he said over her, “and Mia comes out loyal, comes out brave, comes out willing to die for this family — and you come out this.” He drew a breath. “I don’t know who taught you to be this person,” he said. “But I’ll tell you what I think. I think your mother died of you.” The world went silent. Then her hand connected with his face. Eight years. Eight years of marriage, in another life. Eight years of curses across the breakfast table, eight years of pins under his pillow and his arm thrown across her in his sleep anyway, eight years of every cruel thing two people could find to say to each other. He had never crossed this line. Not once. Not even at the end. The slap was clean. It rang. His head jerked half a degree to the side, and a red bloom rose at once along his cheekbone. “You,” she said. Her voice was perfectly level. “Of every person in this room, are the one with no right to speak about my mother.” She did not wait to see his face. She turned, set her hand against the stone for balance, and started walking — slow, even, one foot in front of the other, because her lower back was screaming and she would die before she limped in front of any of these people. She made it ten steps before her knees buckled. Ethan was there before she went down. He caught her without a word. He swept her up off her feet — one arm under her knees, one behind her shoulders — the way he had carried her exactly once in their first life, on the night of the last mission, after he had buckled his vest onto her. His hands were shaking. Behind them, Mia called after him—“Ethan, wait!”—but he didn’t stop. He did not turn his head. He did not slow down. He carried Rayna all the way to the estate’s infirmary without another word. The family doctor patched up her back. Bruised, not broken. Ethan stood in the doorway, hands hanging at his sides. When the doctor had gone, he opened his mouth. “I didn’t mean it,” he said to the floor. Rayna did not look at him. She rolled onto her side, away from the door, and pulled the blanket up to her shoulder. “Get out. I’m sleeping.” A long silence. “I’m sorry, Rayna.” She did not answer. After a moment, the door clicked shut. She lay still in the dark, listening. A moment later, a muffled smack came from the hallway—the sound of a palm hitting a face. Ethan had hit himself. Rayna closed her eyes. Two more days. Then I leave. Then he marries Mia. Then everyone gets what they want. Everyone except me.

The morning of her departure arrived before dawn. She had laid everything out on the bed — the false papers, the fake jewelry, the small velvet box of pearl earrings that were a parting gift from her father and also, she suspected, a tracker. And the last one, the most important, the one that had survived fire and betrayal. But when Rayna reached for it, the drawer was empty. She knew, without needing to think, who had taken it. She knew, without needing to think, who had told her. She found Mia in the side garden. Mia was sitting on the low stone bench in a pale dress, the sun in her hair, a small pile of dry grass on her lap. “Mia.” The name came out of Rayna’s throat low and shaking. Mia’s hand jerked. The last of the woven body came apart in her fingers. The straw fell into her lap in a small, dead heap, and there was nothing recognizable left of it at all. Mia looked up with wet eyes. “Rayna—” The word was small, watery, prettily broken. “Please don’t be angry. I wanted to make Ethan something to remember me by — just a little keepsake — I didn’t think you’d —” She rose to her feet as she spoke. Apologetic. Trembling. Both hands lifted, palms out, as if she were the one being threatened. And as she rose, the toe of her shoe came forward — perfectly aimed — and ground down on what was left of the straw on the gravel. Carefully. The way a woman crushes out a cigarette. The last of the rabbit’s shape disappeared under her shoe. Rayna’s vision went white at the edges. She moved before she thought. Her hand went to the small holster at her hip, and the pistol came up, and she took two steps forward with the muzzle already rising. A hand closed around her wrist from behind and twisted hard. She knew that grip before she saw the face. Ethan locked her arm across her own chest, pinning the gun against her ribs, and his voice was low and tight against her ear. “It’s a straw rabbit, Rayna. You’re going to pull a gun on family over a straw rabbit?” She turned her head. Her eyes were burning. “You gave it to her,” Rayna said. Not a question. “You told her where I kept it.” He didn’t answer. Ethan’s silence was the only answer she needed. “Let me go,” she whispered. He didn’t. “Ethan. Let. Me. Go.” He held on tighter. “Because of you, Mia might die on that mission. Does a pile of straw really matter more than her life?” “A pile of straw.” Rayna repeated it, very quietly. “You know exactly what that was. You know who made it.” His jaw clenched. “It was my mother’s.” Ethan flinched. His grip loosened—just a fraction. “I’ll make you another one,” he said. “A better one.” Rayna wrenched her wrist free and lunged for Mia. “I don’t want anything from you.” In a single motion Ethan drew his sidearm and leveled it at her chest.“Stop, or I’ll shoot!” She stopped. She looked at the gun. She looked at the man holding it. The second time, now. The second time he’d put a gun on her under this roof. She laughed—a thin, wild laugh—and she kept walking. Ethan saw something in her face and flinched. His arm jerked. The pistol kicked in his hand before he could catch it. The crack of the shot rang off the marble. The bullet tore past her shoulder, grazing skin. Blood soaked through her sleeve. Time stopped. Rayna looked down at her own hand—still holding the training pistol she had grabbed. Ethan’s gun clattered to the ground. His face went gray. He had just realized. The pistol in her hand was a training replica. It couldn’t have fired a round if she’d begged it to. “You weren’t going to shoot,” he breathed. “You never… you never had bullets. Why didn’t you shoot me, Rayna? You hate me. Why didn’t you pull the trigger?” She didn’t answer. Her legs gave out. She fell into his arms before she could stop herself. Ethan caught her. She felt his arms close around her, felt how badly his hands were shaking. She had held back tears for two days. Now one slipped down and broke against the back of his hand. He flinched as if she’d burned him. “Sorry,” he said. “God, I’m sorry.” She weren’t even armed. Why was he so certain she’d kill him? She tried to speak. Her eyelids were too heavy. Something was rising in his chest that he couldn’t name and couldn’t swallow, something that locked his throat shut. In Ethan Chase’s arms, in the wreckage of a straw rabbit, Rayna closed her eyes.

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