A brutal rape-murder had rocked the city. As the crime scene doctor, I followed protocol, checking the victim’s genital area for evidence—while my wife, Captain Sophia Brightwell, head of Major Crimes, publicly tore into me. “Are there no female medical examiners left? Don’t you realize this violates the victim—inflicts secondary trauma?” Her voice cut through the crowd: “And your wife is standing right here. Are you really that shameless?” Within hours, I became public enemy number one. The department suspended me and demanded fines to keep working. I resigned on the spot. Without me, no one in Clearwater City could solve this case. “Ethan Chase, you’ve destroyed our year-end evaluation! The media’s outside demanding your head!” Chief Morrison slammed his fist on the desk, face red with rage. Outside, protesters held signs: “FIRE ETHAN CHASE,” “PERVERT IN A LAB COAT,” “NO JUSTICE, NO PEACE.” Online was worse. Thousands demanding I lose my license and go to prison. I kept my voice level. “Chief Morrison, I followed every protocol. The victim had severe genital injuries—immediate documentation was legally mandatory—” The door flew open. Sophia strode in, timing perfect. “Chief, the crowd’s out of control. We need a disciplinary statement now, or this becomes a full PR crisis.” She turned to me, eyes cold as ice. “Still think you did nothing wrong? Marrying you is the biggest mistake of my life.” I’d followed procedure. Every. Single. Step. She weaponized the public’s ignorance—deliberately destroying my career during a routine examination. Sophia slid a proposal across the Chief’s desk. “I recommend demotion to auxiliary staff, plus a two-thousand-dollar monthly fine for twelve months. Minimum to restore public confidence.” She held up a press release. “I’ve drafted the statement. Give the word.” Chief Morrison signed without reading. Done. Sophia’s lips curled. “Oh, and given the current… sensitivity, I’m transferring you where you can’t cause harm.” She tossed a security guard uniform at my feet. “Patrol outside the morgue. If anything goes wrong inside, you’re accountable.” She snapped her fingers. Her team swarmed my office, dumping everything into the hallway. My files. My credentials. Even the autopsy report I’d just completed—thrown in the trash. I pulled it out and smoothed the pages. “Listen carefully, Sophia. Without me, this case will never be solved.” “Back me into a corner, and you’ll regret.” She scoffed, but I saw the flicker of doubt. She should doubt. During my examination, I’d discovered something critical—the injury patterns were identical to an unsolved case from six months ago. This wasn’t random violence. This was a serial killer. And the previous evidence—body, specimens, autopsy report—had all burned in the evidence room fire last winter. Gone. Cremated. Ash. That analysis existed in one place now: my memory. I opened my mouth to warn them. But the station entrance erupted in noise. A man entered like royalty, surrounded by bureaucrats shaking his hand. Sophia transformed instantly. Her cold mask shattered. She rushed forward, looping her arm through his. “Adrian! Thank God. The Chief’s been asking about you all morning.” I finally understood why Sarah publicly accused me of being a pervert during the examination and gotten me demoted. Sophia destroyed a legitimate examination and torpedoed my career. All to clear a path for him. Adrian Kade’s eyes found mine. His smile was poison. “Ethan Chase. Long time.” He savored each word. “Thanks for keeping Sophia company these past years. Must have been… difficult.” He stepped closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “But I’m back now. Everything reverts to its natural order. The Chief ME position? Mine. Sophia?” His hand settled on her back. “Also mine. She always was.”

Adrian Kade was Sophia’s first love. For five years of marriage, his name had been the unspoken taboo between us. I’d convinced myself she’d moved on. I was wrong. Monday’s department meeting was a coronation ceremony in disguise. Chief Morrison smiled proudly. “Dr. Adrian Kade comes to us with a PhD from Cambridge, twelve years specializing in forensic pathology abroad. His expertise will be a tremendous asset to this department!” He shot me a withering glare. “Unlike some people who showboat their amateur skills and drag our reputation through the mud.” Sophia clutched Adrian’s hand, her smile radiant. “Chief, Adrian would never engage in such unethical behavior. His integrity is beyond question—everyone who knows him can attest to that.” They looked like the perfect power couple. Meanwhile, I stood outside the conference room in a security guard uniform, invisible. Adrian’s eyes found mine through the glass. He gathered a stack of old case files and stepped outside, dumping them at my feet with theatrical disdain. “Take me to see the body. Allow me to give you a lesson in actual forensic work. I don’t even need to examine the victim to profile the killer.” The arrogance was suffocating. Under Sophia’s threatening glare, I forced a cold smile and gestured toward the morgue. “By all means. Let’s see what you’ve got.” Inside the autopsy suite, Adrian circled the victim’s body twice. Based on two scratch marks, he launched into an elaborate theory about the perpetrator’s MO. My former colleagues and I exchanged knowing looks. As Sophia heaped praise on his “brilliance,” my assistant finally snapped. “Captain Brightwell, with all due respect, this is complete speculation. There’s no way to determine a profile without a proper examination—” “And Dr. Chase mentioned this case might be connected to the unsolved murder six months—” Sophia cut her off with an icy stare. “Dr. Kade has an internationally recognized PhD from Cambridge. What does Ethan have? A degree from some no-name state school?” She turned to me with contempt. “If the Chief and I hadn’t vouched for you back then, you’d have been fired for credential fraud years ago.” My education couldn’t compete with Adrian’s pedigree—that much was true. But I’d joined the force straight out of undergrad and worked my way up through real cases. I had more street experience than these academic types. My lack of advanced degrees was a minor weakness at best. It didn’t define my capabilities. I smiled without humor. “A fancy diploma doesn’t replace actual forensic experience. Everything he just said is textbook theory with zero grounding in reality.” I met Sophia’s eyes, my voice steady and final. “If you’re going to stake your career on covering for him, then let’s get divorced.” We’d threatened divorce before—plenty of times. But every time I saw Sophia in action, saw her dedication to justice, I’d fallen for her all over again. Her integrity had been the foundation of everything I loved about her. But now? That foundation had crumbled to dust. She’d handled hundreds of cases. She knew better than anyone how unreliable injury-pattern profiling could be without a full autopsy. Yet she was betting everything on Adrian’s reckless guesswork. Sophia’s jaw tightened. “Are you threatening me? What makes you think our marriage gives you any leverage over me whatsoever?” Adrian laughed, low and mocking. “Feeling insecure now that I’ve taken your job? Is this some pathetic attempt to reassert your masculinity?” He leaned in, his voice dripping with condescension. “Just admit you’re jealous, Ethan. Stop whining like a scorned housewife. Whether my assessment is valid or not—that’s for the Chief to decide, not some washed-up rent-a-cop.” Sophia didn’t say a word in my defense. Her eyes held nothing but disdain—as if she’d already decided I was exactly what Adrian described: a bitter, incompetent fraud. I smiled, finally seeing her clearly. “I’ll say it one last time. If you’re going to protect him, we’re done.” Sophia’s response was immediate, her voice sharp as a guillotine. “Fine. Let’s get divorced. Adrian’s back now—I don’t need you anymore.”

Sophia worked around the clock closing cases under Adrian’s name. I delivered the divorce papers. She signed without reading. “Finally. Now I can focus on what actually matters.” After filing at the courthouse, I went to submit my resignation. Before I reached the Chief’s office, another family burst in with a body. The victim’s position, the ligature marks—identical to the previous case. I stepped forward. “I need to examine—” Adrian grabbed my wrist and shoved it away. “Keep your filthy hands off her.” He turned to the family. “This man is the predator from the news—the one who violated a deceased woman. He’s been demoted to security.” The mother lunged at me. “You monster! You just wanted to violate my daughter!” “Get away from her!” Adrian placed a hand on her shoulder. “Ma’am, I’ll personally handle your daughter’s case with respect. Unlike certain people, I value the deceased.” The father spat at my feet. I turned toward the exit. “Ethan! Where do you think you’re going?” Sophia strode through with her team. “Adrian is going to performing a critical autopsy. You assist him. Hand instruments. Sterilize equipment.” She stepped closer. “I didn’t demote you to collect a paycheck doing nothing.” Adrian lifted his leg, letting a smear of dirt mar the toe of his shoe. “Actually, Ethan, start by cleaning these.” He gestured dismissively. “And bring two basins of sterile water. You remember basic protocol, right?” The officers snickered. I smiled. “Sure. I’ll clean them.” I grabbed a filthy mop rag from the janitor’s closet and shoved it into Adrian’s mouth. Then I punched him twice. Heard his jaw crack. “YOU PSYCHO! STOP!” CLICK. Sophia had her gun drawn, aimed at my head. “Adrian gave you a direct order. You assaulted him. That’s attacking a police consultant.” Her finger rested on the trigger. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t shoot.” Ice flooded my veins. Last year, when I was taken hostage, she’d told the suspects: “Shoot him if you want. One medical examiner is expendable. But fire, and you lose all leverage.” Now she’d drawn her weapon at me because of Adrian I slowly raised my hands and crouched down. Cleaned his shoes. He ground his heel into my hand until skin peeled away. “Know your place.” Two hours later, Adrian emerged from the morgue. The victim’s family waited anxiously in the lobby. Adrian approached them, expression grave and professional. “I’ve completed my examination. I’m very sorry to tell you this, but all evidence points to suicide by asphyxiation. Your daughter took her own life.” The mother collapsed into her husband’s arms, sobbing. “No… no, she wouldn’t… she was happy…” Adrian placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Depression can be invisible. Sometimes the people we love hide their pain.” I stood by the door, fists clenched. Suicide. He’d ruled it suicide. Just like the last three cases. This was the fourth victim in eight months. Four young women, all found with identical ligature patterns, identical bruising depth, identical positioning. And this idiot had just ruled the fourth one suicide. The only person who knew the truth was me.

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My father handed the company to his goddaughter right in front of the Board. “After careful consideration by the Board of Directors, effective immediately, Olivia Moore will assume the position of CEO, with full responsibility for the company’s core operations.” I sat in the director’s chair, head snapping up in disbelief. “Dad, you’re joking, right?” Three years ago, when I graduated and came back, I wanted to lead a team at our family company. He shot me down with one vote, and made me start as an intern. “You’re my biological daughter. If I just parachute you into leadership, what will the senior staff think?” “When you earn it, when you climb up with real results, then I’ll have something to be proud of!” I believed him. From coffee runs to all-nighters on pitch decks, three years. I took the East Coast division—bleeding money, on the verge of shutdown—and turned it profitable. Last month, I closed the year as the top performer. And now he was handing the CEO position to his goddaughter, Olivia. No experience required. Dad averted his eyes, voice hard. “Leah, you’re too ambitious. Too aggressive. You need a few more years to be seasoned.” “Olivia’s got a sweet temperament, she won’t fight you for power. For the greater good of the company, let her take the CEO first.” I stared at Olivia’s smug, self-satisfied face, and my heart went ice-cold. “She can’t even read a spreadsheet. That’s your ‘greater good’?” “Mr. Chairman, you really know how to play favorites. Your own daughter gets treated like dirt, while your foster daughter can do no wrong!” Dad’s face went purple. I ripped off my ID badge and slammed it on the table. “Well, starting today, I won’t stand in the way of your ‘greater good.’ You can pretend you never had a daughter.” As I walked out of the boardroom, Olivia’s fake-worried voice floated after me. “Dad, is Leah upset? Maybe… maybe she should be CEO instead. I really don’t mind…” “Nonsense!” My father’s voice was steel. “This position is yours. No one’s taking it away.” “She’s spoiled rotten. The way she is now, if we don’t make her pay her dues, she’ll cause real damage later.” He was working himself up, chest heaving. “LEAH! Get your ass back in here!” I froze. Behind me, whispers. “Leah’s brought in how much revenue these three years? East Coast used to hemorrhage money, now it’s our most profitable division.” “Shh, keep it down. You see Marcus’s face? The Chairman’s playing favorites so hard it’s embarrassing.” “But she’s his biological daughter.” “So what? Olivia knows how to play the game. ‘Daddy this, Daddy that,’ took the Chairman golfing last week. What’s Leah done besides work the last three years?” I listened to them talk, fingers curling tight. Yeah. What had I done besides work? Dad’s birthday—I was out of state, closing a deal. Olivia was there. Mom in the hospital—I was building the bid proposal. Olivia brought soup every day. Company gala—I skipped it to hit a deadline. Olivia sang on stage, making my mother cry with emotion. It was decided back then, wasn’t it? “Leah, don’t be mad.” Olivia walked up, eyes flashing with triumph under that earnest expression. “I know you don’t think much of me, but I’ll learn. If you really can’t stand me, I honestly don’t have to take this position.” Her eyes actually welled up. Dad immediately melted, yanked Olivia behind him, jabbing a finger at me. “Look how mature Olivia is! And then look at you! You social climber! All you care about is power, you don’t give a damn about family!” “I’m ‘social climber’?” I laughed. My chest ached. “Dad, East Coast—three years in the red. I took over, turned a profit in year one. Doubled it in year two. Year three, it became a company pillar.” “And all I get is you calling me ‘social climber’.” “Olivia lost the RFP documents last year—I stayed up all night cleaning up her mess!” Olivia’s face went pale. She tugged at Dad’s sleeve. “Dad, Leah’s right. I really messed up that project. I’m sorry. I let you down.” “You have nothing to apologize for!” Dad was even angrier now, glaring at me. “Everyone makes mistakes! Olivia’s only twenty-five, you need to give her room to grow!” I looked at him and felt nothing but disappointment. “When I was twenty-five, you sent me to China alone to break into new markets. Told me not to come back unless I succeeded.” “How come with her, it’s suddenly ‘room to grow’?” The conference room fell silent. A few of the old-guard directors exchanged glances. Some shook their heads. Some sighed. The VP Marcus spoke up. “Leah, the Chairman must have his reasons for this decision.” “Olivia may lack experience, but she’s good with people and builds team cohesion. That matters too.” “Exactly, exactly.” One of Olivia’s cronies chimed in. “Leah’s capable, sure, but sometimes she’s too controlling. People under her have complaints.” Just as the tide was turning in Olivia’s favor, Tom from Marketing suddenly stood, voice loud. “I have a complaint!” Everyone turned to look. Tom—one of mine, I’d brought him up myself—face red, voice shaking. “Mr. Chairman, seventy-eight employees from the East Coast signed a petition.” “If Leah doesn’t become CEO, we’re all resigning.” He pulled a thick stack of papers from his folder and tossed them on the table. The signatures covered every page. Dad looked stunned. Olivia’s eyes darkened, but she quickly rearranged her face into innocence. “Tom, don’t do this. It’s all my fault.” “I shouldn’t have accepted Dad’s offer. Leah, please—talk him down. The company can’t lose these people.” “Shut up.” I looked at Olivia, tearing off her mask in front of everyone for the first time. “Who gave you permission to speak? What even are you?” Dad’s eyes went wide. “LEAH!”

“What, did I say something wrong?” I turned to my father. “Someone who only got her bachelor’s degree through your connections, who has assistants ghost-write her project reports—she’s going to run core operations?” “Dad, are you trying to destroy the company you spent thirty years building?” Dad was shaking with rage. He grabbed the cup next to him and hurled it at me. I didn’t dodge. It grazed my temple. Warm liquid ran down the side of my face—tea or blood, hard to tell. Everyone gasped. Olivia shrieked—and rushed to grab my father’s hand, fussing over him. “Dad! Are you okay? Does your hand hurt?” Like he’d just thrown a boulder, not a cup. I was standing there with blood running down my face, and my biological father didn’t even glance my way. He was too busy comforting Olivia. “Leah, you’re bleeding!” Olivia acted like she just noticed. “Let me call a doctor!” “Don’t touch me.” I stepped back, looking at her. Looking at him. So this was what it felt like when your heart died. Not anger. Not pain. Just… flat calm. I pulled out my ID card, dropped it on the floor, and turned to leave. “Leah! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Dad barked behind me. “Nothing.” I didn’t turn around. My voice was level. “Just realized something. I’m too ambitious, too aggressive. I really don’t belong in such a harmonious company.” I paused, glanced back at Olivia. Caught the flash of contempt in her eyes. “The CEO job? Give it to whoever you want.” I wiped the blood off my face, smirked. “From now on, enjoy doting on your goddaughter. See if she can take the company public.” I walked. My father’s voice thundered behind me. “Leah! If you walk out that door, don’t even think about coming back!” I didn’t look back. Employees in the hallway scattered. Their eyes went wide when they saw the blood. Whispers followed. “Leah got hit with a cup by the Chairman.” “Why? Her numbers are the best, aren’t they?” “Olivia’s the new CEO. Leah didn’t take it well.” “But that’s his daughter.” “Daughter? Who cares when Olivia’s so good at sucking up? She bought me coffee once when I was working late. Leah? All she does is work, work, work. If I were on the board, I’d pick Olivia too.” I glanced at her. She shrank like she wanted to disappear. I couldn’t help but laugh. Turns out ass-kissing beats actual results. The elevator doors opened. My boyfriend Jasper stepped out. Saw the wound on my forehead. Froze. “Leah, your head—” He was cut off by Olivia rushing up, face full of fake concern. “Leah, where are you going? Dad didn’t mean it, just go apologize, and everything will be fine.” She spotted Jasper, lit up. “Jasper? Oh, good, you’re here. Please talk some sense into her—she and Dad had a fight.” Jasper looked at me, then at Olivia. Hesitated. Then spoke to Olivia first. “What happened? Are you okay?” I stared at him in disbelief. My heart shattered. Olivia bit her lip and shook her head lightly. “I’m fine, Jasper… really.”

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The night before Regionals, my roommate announced she was going to the abandoned camp by the lake with Jax to blow off some steam. I spent twenty minutes telling her it was a bad idea. The access road flooded after rain. The docks were rotted through. There was no cell signal past the tree line. I pulled her back into the dorm room and kept her there. She made weigh-in the next morning. The team took first at Regionals. Two months later her Penn letter came in. Mine came too. Yale, full ride, cheer recruit. But at the senior banquet that summer, she and Jax drugged my drink and drove me out to that camp. They walked me down to the old waterfront and pushed me into one of the storage pits behind the boathouse. The ones that used to hold equipment. Deep enough that I couldn’t pull myself out. Chloe stood at the edge and looked down at me. “You had to get involved,” she said. “Jax missed his connect that night because of you. You know what that cost him?” She crouched at the rim. Pulled out her phone and took a photo of me down there. “This is going in the group chat. I’ll caption it later.” Then she stood up and dragged the wooden cover halfway over the top with her foot. “Have fun, Carter.” Jax kicked the rest of it shut. I was in there for three days. No signal. No one came. By the time someone found me, my heart had already stopped. That’s how I died. In the dark. Twenty feet from a working road. Then I opened my eyes and the dorm ceiling was over me again. The clock on my phone said the night before Regionals. This time, I put down my pen and went to my dresser. Bug spray. A box of condoms. I set them on the edge of her bed while she was spraying dry shampoo into her hair, already wearing the black lace top she saved for Jax’s parties. “Have fun,” I said. “Watch out for the splinters on the dock.” She wasn’t my problem anymore. Chloe picked up the condoms and dropped them into her bag without looking at me. She grabbed the bug spray, twisted the cap and ran it up her shins twice. “Thanks.” She slung the bag over her shoulder, cracked the door, listened, and slipped out into the hallway. I heard her sneakers go quiet down the hall and then the stairwell door swing shut. I waited a minute. Then I unlocked the door and left it on the latch. She could go wherever she wanted. I picked up my phone and texted her: “I’ll leave the door for you.” She replied in under a minute. “don’t wait up lol, back before you know~” I screenshotted it. Last time I hadn’t kept anything. This time I wasn’t leaving gaps. I set my competition bag, my warm-ups, and my taped wrists by the door and checked everything twice. Outside, the insects were loud. June ran thick and close in this part of Ohio, the kind of heat that sat in your throat at night. I turned off the light. All I could see was dirt. Handful after handful, filling my mouth, my nose, the inside of my eyelids. Chloe at the edge of the pit, looking down. Still smiling. Phone up. “Ellie,” she said. “You should have stayed out of it.” Then the cover came down. I sat up hard. The dorm ceiling was white and flat. The clock on my phone said 1:42 AM. I got up and drank some water. It was fine. This time, I wasn’t the one going into the pit. My alarm went off at six-thirty. I looked at her bed first. Untouched. Pillow still centered. The morning came through the open window smelling like cut grass and lake water. Chloe hadn’t come back. I already knew she wouldn’t. I washed my face, pulled my hair into a high pony, taped my wrists, got dressed, went downstairs and bought a coffee and a muffin from the cart outside the dining hall. The bus to Regionals was already loading. Parents holding signs. Coach Daniels by the door with her clipboard, hair still wet from the shower. My mom didn’t come. She was on shift at the warehouse and couldn’t get the day off. She’d called the night before. “I believe in you,” she said. “Just do your best out there.” I told her I would. The team was on the bus. I climbed up the steps. Twelve girls in matching warm-ups. The empty seat was three rows back. Chloe’s seat. Bag still there from yesterday’s practice. No Chloe. Coach Daniels was on her phone, walking up and down the aisle, the muscle in her jaw working. “Chloe Crawford?” Her voice came down the bus. No answer. “Has anyone heard from Chloe Crawford?” Nobody had. She circled something on her clipboard, checked her watch, and told the driver to go. The bus pulled out. I sat by the window with my hands folded in my lap. Last time my hands shook the whole bus ride. I missed two stunts in the first round. Lost my spot on the pyramid. Came home with nothing. This time, my hands were steady. You don’t get nervous about a competition after you’ve already died once. We hit the floor at noon. I nailed every stunt. We took the regional title and I got the recruit packet from the Yale coach’s assistant in the parking lot before we even got back on the bus. Got home that night. Ran into Coach Daniels in the parking lot. She had her phone jammed between her ear and her shoulder and her lanyard was twisted sideways. She grabbed my arm when she saw me. “Ellie. Have you heard from Chloe?” “No. She wasn’t in the room when I got up this morning.” “You didn’t see her last night?” “I saw her leave. I texted her to check in.” I handed her my phone. The thread was right there on the screen. She looked at it for a second and her mouth went flat. Then she went back to her call. I picked up my bag and walked toward the dorms. The sun was on the front steps and I squinted into it. Last time, Chloe was on that bus. She nailed her stunts. The team won. She got her Penn letter in the mail. And I, the one who had pulled her back and kept her there, ended up at the bottom of a pit six weeks later. The team had a celebration dinner at the country club the next night. Chloe wasn’t there. I was walking out the front of the club when I saw Jax’s truck at the curb. Black, lifted, exhaust the kind you could hear from the other end of the block. Everyone at school knew that truck. Chloe was in the passenger seat. Her face was swollen on one side. Red scratches up her neck and arms. Her hair was tangled and the strap on her lace top had snapped and been tied back together with a hair tie. Someone’s old hoodie was thrown over her shoulders. Jax cut the engine and said something to her. She climbed down from the cab and her legs almost went out when her feet hit the ground. She caught herself on the side mirror and stood there for a second, getting her balance. She looked up. She found me across the lot. Her eyes were swollen and red. “Ellie.” She said my name like she was pushing it through her back teeth. I didn’t move. “You,” she started. She took a step toward me and her knee buckled. She went down on the asphalt. A girl from the team moved to help her. Chloe shoved her off. “Why didn’t you call me?” Her voice came out loud. Loud enough that the parents waiting by the curb all turned around. I looked at her on the ground. Last time, I was the one looking up at her from a hole in the ground. “I texted you,” I said. “That’s bullshit.” “Your phone died.” Chloe pulled her phone out of her jacket pocket. The screen was black. She stared at it. Her shoulders started shaking, all the way down to her hands. Jax got out of the truck. He was taller than me by a head, close-cut hair, a small silver hoop in his left ear. Quarterback shoulders. Those were the same hands that had kicked the cover shut over the pit. I took half a step back. Not because I was scared. I just didn’t trust myself if he got too close. Jax looked at Chloe, then at me, his eyebrows pulling together. “What happened?” I didn’t answer him. I turned and walked away. Behind me, Chloe was crying. The sound mixed in with the parents and the car doors and got smaller as I went.

Coach Daniels called me into her office. Door closed. She sat. I stood. “Chloe says you encouraged her to go.” “No. She decided to leave on her own.” “She says you gave her condoms. To take with her.” I nodded. Coach Daniels’ mouth opened and closed. She took a while to find words. This was probably above her pay grade. “She’s also saying it was deliberate. That you let her go on purpose so she’d miss Regionals.” “Coach. She’s 18. She wanted to go see her boyfriend in the middle of the night. It wasn’t my job to tie her to the bed.” She was quiet for a long time. She opened her desk drawer and touched a pack of gum, then seemed to remember I was still there and pushed the drawer shut. “You know her mother called the school board.” “About what?” “Said the dorm should have stricter sign-out rules. Said you didn’t stop her.” “Chloe has her own key card. She can come and go whenever she wants. That’s not on me.” She went quiet again. “Okay. You can go. The school will handle it.” Chloe was waiting at the end of the hallway when I came out. She’d changed into clean clothes. The scratches on her face were covered in ointment, pink and white in patches. I walked past her. She grabbed my backpack strap. “Ellie. Did you do it on purpose.” I stopped and looked at her. I’d been looking at this face for three years. Locker neighbors freshman year. Roommates for two years after that. I used to spot her on her tumbling passes. I used to stay after practice and run her routine with her until she got it. Last time I did everything for her. She paid me back with three days in the dark. “What do you think, Chloe?” She stared at me. Her lips were shaking. “You look different.” “I’m not different. I just don’t want to look after you anymore.” I pulled my strap out of her hand and walked away. The weeks waiting for the rest of the recruiting calls were quiet. During the day I helped my mom sort inventory at the warehouse. At night I sat at the kitchen table and went through college brochures. Last time I played it safe and stayed in-state. This time I wanted out. The official Yale offer came through on a Thursday evening in July. Full athletic scholarship. Cheer recruit. Pre-med track if I wanted it. My mom came home from her shift and saw the screen and sat down on the kitchen floor and cried. She kept saying, “Your dad has to hear this, he has to hear this.” She called him right there. The construction site was loud. My dad’s voice came through the phone at full volume. “What does it say? Read it again.” “Full ride, Dad. Yale.” A few seconds of quiet on his end. Then he said something I hadn’t heard in eighteen years. “That’s my girl.” My eyes stung. I looked down at my bowl. At ten o’clock that same night, Chloe’s mom called.

It came through on speakerphone. My mom thought it was the warehouse calling and picked up without checking. Chloe’s mom’s voice hit the kitchen like something breaking. “Is this Karen? Your daughter cost mine her shot at Penn, do you understand that?” My mom flinched and nearly dropped the phone. “What? What happened?” “The night before Regionals your daughter handed mine condoms and sent her out the door. On purpose. To get her benched. You people owe us an explanation or I’m calling the school board.” My mom hung up and looked at me. Her face moved through surprised, confused, scared, all in a few seconds. “Ellie. What actually happened?” I put down my fork. “Her boyfriend invited her out the night before Regionals. She wanted to go. I couldn’t stop her.” “And the other thing?” “She was going to spend the night out there. I didn’t want her to be stupid about it.” My mom opened her mouth and closed it again and didn’t say anything else. She hadn’t finished high school, but she knew where the line was. The next morning Chloe’s mom pulled up in a silver SUV. We lived in a small house on the edge of town, one story with a front yard, the kind of fence you could see over from the sidewalk. I was washing dishes in the kitchen when she pushed through the gate. Floral dress, blow-dried hair, white heels that caught in the gap between paving stones the second she stepped in. She yanked her foot hard. The heel snapped off. That doubled her anger. “Ellie.” I looked up. Chloe was behind her, head down. The scratches on her face had mostly faded but there was a fresh scab at the corner of one eye. “Get your mother out here.” My mom came out of the house wiping her hands on a dish towel. Chloe’s mom didn’t wait. She got her finger in my mom’s face. “Do you have any idea what your daughter did. The night before Regionals she hands my daughter condoms and sends her out the door. So she’d miss the bus.” My mom stepped back. “Let’s just calm down for a second—” “Three years. Three years of 5 AM practices. Three years of summer camps and physical therapy bills. Penn was locked in. Locked in. And your daughter ruined it.” The neighbors across the street were already watching. Chloe’s mom turned the volume up another notch, making sure the whole block could hear. “Karen. I’m giving you two options. One, your daughter gives up her Yale spot. Two, you pay eighty thousand dollars. Recruit consultant, retake fees, emotional damages. Pick one.” My mom went white. Eighty thousand. My dad worked a full year at the construction site and barely cleared that. “Pick one.” Chloe’s mom stood in the middle of the yard with her hands on her hips, her foundation cracking in the heat. She reached over and grabbed something off the porch table. My acceptance letter. It had arrived two days ago. My mom had put it in a clear sleeve and set it in the center of the dining room table with a bowl of fruit next to it. She squeezed the sleeve and the plastic made a sound. “You don’t pay, I tear this up right now.” My mom moved. Fifteen years on a warehouse floor will do something to a woman’s hands. She grabbed Chloe’s mom by the wrist, knuckles white, yanked the letter out of those pink-polished nails, and held it behind her back. “Try it.” My mom’s voice was shaking but her hand wasn’t. She looked straight at the other woman. “My daughter earned this herself. Whatever happened with yours has nothing to do with us.” Chloe’s mom just stood there. Two red lines pressed into her wrist. She didn’t move. I walked over and put my hand on my mom’s shoulder. “Mom. I’ve got it.” I turned to face Chloe’s mom. “If you want to go to the school board, go. I have three copies of everything.” I took out my phone and opened a video. I turned the screen toward her. Chloe’s mom leaned in to look. Chloe’s face went still.

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“I’m sorry, Maeve,” my coach said. “But the final roster has been confirmed. There wasn’t a mistake.” I stood outside the office for almost five minutes, staring at the sheet taped to the board. My name was gone. Under the Skating Training Grant, where Maeve Sullivan should have been, was Lyla Voss instead. My first thought was that there was something wrong with the roster. Then I realized Silas did that. When I found him, he was leaning against his car, scrolling through his phone. He saw me but didn’t even straighten up. Just flicked the ash off his cigarette and squinted at me through the smoke. “Lyla’s family is broke,” he said, before I could even open my mouth. “If she doesn’t get the grant, she’s done.” “You’re strong. You can fight your way through Sectionals.” “That grant comes with a full ride to the Olympic Training Center,” I said. My voice came out steadier than I felt. “You know what that means for me.” “You’ll figure it out.” I stared at him. He was looking everywhere except at my face. Then he sighed, reached into his wallet, and pulled out a black card. He held it out between two fingers like he was tipping a valet. “Fine. Look. I’ll cover your training. Coaches, ice time, gear — all of it. Consider it me buying the spot off you. Are we good now?” The rain started. I looked at the card in his hand. Then at his face. He used to tell me that as long as I trained hard, I could leave my terrible family. And realize my dream of competing in an international skating event. So to get better training, I practiced hard and worked part-time at the skating club in my spare time. But ironically, he was putting a price tag on my dream now. I turned around and started walking. His voice cut across the parking lot, flat and cold. “Are you serious now? You bust your knuckles in that club’s shop. You’ve been hustling for money your whole life.” “I’m handing you more than you’ll ever see, and you want to play noble?” I stopped and turned my head, just enough to see him through the rain. Many years of something I’d thought was untouchable. And it had rotted through all at once. I gave him a small smile. “Sure, Silas. Think whatever you want.” By the time I got back to the skating club’s shop, my phone was buzzing. Bree. “Maeve. Tell me I’m reading the roster wrong. Tell me Lyla’s name is not where yours should be.” “You’re reading it right.” “That’s Silas. That has to be Silas. Did you talk to him?” “I just came from him.” I leaned against the back counter, looking at the row of skates lined up for sharpening. My hands were still wet. “He offered to pay for the rest of my skating career. Said he was buying the spot off me.” The line went quiet for a long beat. “That entitled piece of shit,” Bree said finally. “Tell me you threw it back in his face.” “I walked away.” “Maeve, you have to fight this. That grant is yours. Do you have any idea what you went through to earn it? The all-night training, your dad — ” “It won’t do anything.” “What do you mean it won’t?” “His family, the Kensingtons, endowed the training grant, Bree. They built this rink. If they pull my name once, they’ll pull it again.” She was quiet again. “Oh, I saw Lyla’s Instagram story just now. Silas booked out the whole restaurant to celebrate her nomination. Maeve.” “Fine.” “Fine? That’s it?” “I have to go. Customer just walked in.” I hung up before she could say anything else.

The next morning, I went to the training center to file the Skating Sectionals paperwork. I was halfway down the corridor when I saw them. Silas with Lyla on his arm. Lyla spotted me first. She flinched and ducked behind his shoulder. “Silas, I’m scared.” He stepped in front of her like a wall. “Maeve. Don’t start.” I went to walk around him. He caught my wrist. “What is your problem? Lyla didn’t do anything to you. None of this was her call. Why do you have to make a scene?” I yanked my arm back. “Let me go.” People in the hall were starting to look. Lyla’s eyes filled up right on cue. She slipped out from behind Silas and took a step toward me. “Maeve. I’m so, so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. If you need to hit someone, hit me. I deserve it.” She came closer with her chin raised. Silas grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back against his chest. “Look at her,” he said to me, low and furious. “Look at what you’re doing to her. I never thought you could be this cruel, Maeve.” The whispers started. “That’s her. The skating club’s part-time girl.” “Wait, isn’t she the one who lost the grant?” “Lost it to Lyla, yeah. Honestly, look at her face. Total ice queen. No wonder he got tired.” “Lyla’s literally an angel. I’d pick her too.” I didn’t look at any of them. I kept my eyes on Silas. “I said, let me go.” He didn’t move but shoved me. I stumbled back and hit the row of lockers behind me. My shoulder blades cracked against the metal. I stayed there for a second, my back against the lockers, looking up at him. He was looking right back at me. There was nothing in his face. No flicker. Nothing. We grew up together. He was ten when his family sent him out from New York. His first week in the town, he picked a fight with three older boys behind the rink and was getting his teeth kicked in when I came around the corner. I held up a sharpened blade in my hand. They ran. After that, he followed me everywhere. When a boy at school bullied me, Silas put him on the ground. “Maeve. I’ve got you. Always.” “We’re getting out of this town. Both of us. Training Center, Olympics, the whole thing. You and me.” And now he was in front of me with another girl tucked against his ribs, and he had just put me into a wall. Lyla started to cry harder. “Silas, please, let’s just go. It’s my fault. All of this is my fault.” He turned his head and kissed her hair. “It’s not your fault. None of it is.” He gave me one last look — a warning, and walked her past me down the hall. I stayed against the lockers until I could breathe again. The office was at the end of the corridor. On the way I passed the Featured Athletes wall. Lyla’s photo was right in the center, bigger than the others. Underneath, in clean black letters: Promising young talent overcoming hardship. A story of resilience. I looked at it for a second and laughed bitterly. I remembered one night, I came back to the skate shop after a late training session. My dad was waiting in the parking lot. He smelled like whiskey from ten feet away. “Where’s the money?” I didn’t answer. I tried to walk past him to the door. He grabbed my hair and slammed me face-first into the side of the building. “I’m talking to you. Are you deaf in both ears now?” “There isn’t any money.” “Bullshit. That Kensington kid throws cash around like it’s nothing, and you’re up his ass twenty-four seven. You telling me you can’t squeeze a few hundred out of him for your old man?” He hit me across the face. “You holding out on me? Hiding it somewhere? Huh?” He started patting me down, yanking at my pockets. I shoved him off. That was the wrong move. He kicked me in the stomach so hard I went down on the asphalt. “You ungrateful bitch. You’re just like your mother. Trash, both of you.” He went looking for something heavier. A tire iron, a piece of pipe, I didn’t see what. That was when Silas’s car pulled into the lot. He was out before the engine stopped. He put my dad on the ground in two moves and pulled me up off the asphalt. His hands went over my face, my arms, my ribs, checking. “Where did he hit you. Maeve. Where.” I couldn’t answer. He took off his own jacket and put it around my shoulders. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you.” He didn’t go home that night. He sat on the busted couch in the back of the shop until morning. The next day he walked into the police station and didn’t leave until they had my dad in a holding cell. When he came back, he sat down next to me and said, “I’m taking care of you from now on. You don’t have to worry about anything. Ever.” I’d actually believed him.

A week before Sectionals, our club ran a final mock competition. Full panel of judges, full scoring, the works. I took first. Highest combined score in the group field by almost twelve points. Lyla came in last. She picked the score sheet off the boards, balled it up, and tossed it into the trash on her way off the ice. “Doesn’t matter. I got the training grant.” Silas was waiting at the boards with two coffees. He handed her one. She lit up at him like she hadn’t just bombed in front of the club. “You were beautiful.” She pressed up onto her toe picks and kissed him on the cheek. I walked past them toward the locker room. “Maeve.” I did not stop. “Maeve. Hey.” He came around in front of me, blocking the path. “You still mad about the training grant?” I didn’t answer. “I get it. But come on. Look at her situation. She needs this more than you do. You’re going to win Sectionals in your sleep.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “That card I offered you. It’s still on the table. Anything you need — coaches, off-season camps… It’s covered.” He thought money was the answer. He thought money could buy back what he’d already broken. “I don’t need it.” “There you go again.” His jaw set. “How long are you going to keep doing this. You know how much you make in a month? I’m offering you more than you could pull out of that place in your entire life.” Lyla skated up behind him and put a gloved hand on his arm. “Silas, don’t. She’s just not used to it yet.” She gave me a small, sad, practiced smile. “Maeve. I know you hate me right now. But I was really, truly out of options. My stepmom has been awful since my dad lost everything. I had nowhere else to turn.” Her eyes welled up. I’d watched her do it for a year now. In every conversation, she was the victim. In every room, I was the one making her cry. “Silas said he’s going to take care of you,” she went on, with the soft, generous tone. “Whatever you need, just tell us. Both of us.” Us. Like she’d already moved into my life. The corner of my mouth pulled up. I couldn’t help it. Silas frowned. “What’s funny?” “Nothing. Just appreciating the matchup. You two deserve each other. Hope it lasts.” His face changed. “Maeve — ” I walked past him to the locker room. “Maeve, get back here.” I ignored all his words. That night, Bree sent me a photo. Lyla’s Instagram, screenshotted before it could disappear. Lyla and Silas were in the bar, Silas holding a bottle of champagne, Lyla draped across his lap. Their friends were in the background, raising glasses, shouting “CONGRATS LYLA!” Bree: Stop looking at it. She’s not worth your serotonin. I closed the app and tossed the phone aside. Then picked up my training journal off the nightstand, opened it to the next blank page, and started writing out my Sectionals program. As long as I kept training, I didn’t have to think about anything else.

A week before Sectionals, the club cut training to taper hours. Most of the teammates took the time off to rest. I took extra shifts at the skating club’s shop. Wednesday afternoon, Silas’s car pulled up outside. He got out and leaned against the driver’s door. Music thumping from the speakers, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. “Maeve. Come here.” I kept working, ignoring his words. “I’m talking to you.” He frowned and walked over. He reached for my arm, saw the dirt on my hands, and pulled his fingers back without touching me. “Go wash up. You’re coming with us.” “Where?” “Cabin. Up the mountain. Lyla wants a few days off the ice. You’re coming.” I straightened up. “I’m not going.” “Don’t start with this again.” He let out a sharp breath. “I drove all the way down here. Lyla wants to make peace. Don’t be difficult.” “I have nothing to make peace about with her.” “Maeve.” “I’m training.” He laughed, short and ugly. “Training. Right. Like you need to. You could skate Sectionals hungover and still take the podium.” “Just come. Get out of this dump for a weekend. Lyla actually wants to fix things with you.” “I’m not going.” His patience snapped. He stared at me for a second. Then he laughed again, this time with no humor in it at all. “Suit yourself.” He pulled his wallet out, thumbed off a stack of hundreds, and threw them on the floor at my feet. The bills fanned out across the concrete. “Here. Your wages for the month. I covered your boss for it. Take the money, keep your pride, and stay out of my face.” I didn’t move. “Not enough?” He pulled out another stack and threw it down on top of the first. “How about now?” Coach Miller came out from the back office, took one look at the cash on the floor, and walked over fast. “Mr. Kensington. What is going on here? We don’t need any of this.” Silas didn’t even look at him. His eyes stayed on me. “Pick it up.” I still didn’t move. Lyla had been waiting in the car. She got out now, all wide eyes, and came running over in her white shearling boots. “Silas, please, stop. You’re scaring her.” She crouched down and started gathering up the bills, one by one. “Maeve. Don’t be mad at him. He’s just looking out for me. He doesn’t mean it.” She held the stack up to me with both hands, eyes wet. “Please. Just come with us. I don’t want to be the reason you two aren’t talking.” I looked at her and Silas. He wasn’t sorry. He thought he was being generous, so I should be on my knees thanking him. I walked past both of them, into the back of the shop, and shut the door. Through the wall I heard him. “See? That attitude. You try to help her and that’s what you get.” The car engine started up. The music pulled away down the street. Coach Miller came in a minute later. He set the stack of cash down on the workbench in front of me. “Take it, kid.” “No.” “Maeve.” He pushed it closer. “Your dad. Your situation. You need this.” I stared at the bills. They smelled like Silas’s cologne. I walked to the utility sink in the corner, turned the water on as hot as it would go, and started washing my hands. Soap, scrub, rinse. I kept going until my skin was raw. That night, my dad came back. He was drunker than usual, and he’d seen the cash through the front window. He took it, then he started taking everything else. Even put a chair through the front glass. I called the cops. When they got there, he was still going, swinging a hockey stick at the lights. It took two officers to put him in cuffs. He spat at me on the way out, blood and saliva down the front of my work shirt. “You called the cops on me. On your own father. I hope you know what you are. I hope you rot in hell for this.” I watched the cruiser pull out of the lot. So this was what it felt like. To have nobody left around me.

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My husband’s housekeeper killed his mother, and he made me kneel and apologize for it. The new housekeeper was a pretty little idiot. She poured drain cleaner into Dominic’s mother, Mrs. Beatrice’s washbasin. The acid hit instantly and Beatrice’s face went first, skin and flesh, and she screamed and went down. When Dominic rushed in, Melanie threw herself into his arms sobbing. “I saw it online. The formula was supposed to brighten skin and reduce wrinkles. I was just trying to help her, sir. This is all my fault…” He pulled her closer. “That’s just her bad luck. She couldn’t handle nice things. How is that your fault?” He swept a contemptuous look my way. “Get your mother cleaned up. Can’t you see you’re frightening Melanie?” “Take your grievances outside. Nobody wants to look at your face.” Melanie pulled herself up all fragile and trembling and pressed a slip of paper into my hand. A $10 funeral expense form. “The sir already said this had nothing to do with me,” she said softly. “But she was still your mother. The Bouchard household should cover a proper burial. Please, ma’am, just take it.” I laughed and threw the form in Dominic’s face. “That’s yours to keep.” His face went cold and he roared at me. “Your mom’s a nobody. A patch of dirt is more than enough for her. Melanie’s being generous. Seraphina, don’t push it.” He was already flushed with rage and then he saw the number on the form and his face twitched. Melanie scrambled to fix it. “I grabbed the wrong form. I’m so sorry, ma’am, let me get you another one. Please don’t fire me.” She rifled through her bag but I was done waiting. “You idiot. The woman still has a pulse and you’re handing me her funeral bill.” “Get out of my way. Both of you.” I called 911 with one hand and waved over Higgins, our driver, with the other to help carry Mrs. Beatrice to the car. Before I could get the door shut, Melanie grabbed the keys and dove into the driver’s seat. “I’ll drive.” She hit the gas and the car slammed into a utility pole. Mrs. Beatrice was thrown fifteen feet and the back of her head cracked against something sharp and blood came fast. The one who caused it sat crumpled on the ground crying like a lost child. “I only wanted to help. I’m so sorry, ma’am. I’m just so stupid…” I looked at Mrs. Beatrice covered in blood and my fists went tight. “No license. No permit. Melanie, that’s not stupidity. That’s attempted murder.” “Seraphina, shut your mouth.” Dominic shoved past me without a glance at his mother and crouched next to Melanie and cupped her hand where a small scratch had formed and blew on it gently, then looked back at me. “Melanie was trying to help and you’re going after her? Get over here and apologize. Now.” I stared at him. “Dominic, your mother is lying on the ground.” He didn’t hear me. His eyes were only on Melanie. The ambulance got there in time and Higgins and I waved the paramedics over. When they saw Mrs. Beatrice they rushed the stretcher out. Dominic grabbed them and stopped them cold. “Turn around.” He swept Melanie up in his arms and laid her on the stretcher meant for his mother. “Go. Now.” I threw myself in front of the ambulance doors. “Dominic, your mother is dying. How do you not see what matters here?” He stood beside Melanie and his voice didn’t waver. “You’re the one who can’t see clearly.” “Melanie is my personal housekeeper and she’s exceptional at what she does. Your mother was a nobody. She doesn’t get to take up resources meant for people who matter.” He waved his hand and two bodyguards dragged me back. Something bitter spread through my chest. That’s what she was to him. Nothing. I watched the ambulance pull away and fought against the grip on my arms and screamed. “Dominic, that is your mother.” “She drove hours to get here. Just to see you.” He went still and the look in his eyes went hollow. Dominic lost his father when he was young and it had always been just the two of them. Three years ago when the company finally took off, the first thing he did was bring Mrs. Beatrice to the city. She never fully settled in and preferred the life she knew back home and rarely stayed with us. A few days ago when the pressure at work got to him, Dominic called her just to talk and told her he missed her cooking, and the next morning she got in the car without telling anyone wanting to surprise him. What she got instead was Melanie mocking her clothes and telling her the drain cleaner would “get rid of that farmhouse smell.” Dominic’s mouth moved but before he could speak Melanie cut in, tears already forming. “It’s all my fault. I know that. But you can’t blame Dominic for something I did.”

Whatever hesitation had been in his eyes was gone. Replaced with fury. “Seraphina, are you out of your mind?” “Your mother raised a daughter like you? She deserved what she got.” The ambulance left and dust settled behind it. I drove alone and ran every red light and got Mrs. Beatrice into surgery. Then I went to pay and found the account empty, worse than empty, a million dollars in debt with my name flagged as a defaulter. The account was linked to Dominic’s. I already knew who had done it. I went straight to the top floor and found Melanie in the VIP suite. Dominic was sitting beside her hand-feeding her soup. I kept my voice level. “Melanie. Where is my money?” She shook like she’d been caught and her voice came out small. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I thought I could grow it for you so I took the savings and put them into investments but I lost everything…” “Investments. You have a nursing degree, Melanie. Not finance.” Dominic stepped in front of her. “It’s just money. I’ll transfer it right now. Leave her alone.” He sent fifty thousand on the spot. Before I could leave, Higgins stumbled into the room, face white, voice cracking. “Ma’am. Mrs. Beatrice’s organs failed. She’s gone.” My mind went blank and my legs nearly gave out. Dominic didn’t even look up. “Good. Now stop hovering and get out. You’re upsetting Melanie.” He turned to the bodyguards. “Get rid of the body before she wakes up. I don’t want her seeing that.” They moved for the door and I blocked them. “You’re not touching her.” Mrs. Beatrice wasn’t my mother by blood but she was a good woman and she treated me like a daughter from the start. I wasn’t going to let her be destroyed and do nothing. “Illegal chemicals. No license. Melanie, you are not stupid. You are a killer.” “You are going to answer for what you did.” Melanie buried herself in Dominic’s arms and wept. “That’s not true, sir. I didn’t want to hurt anyone…” He looked at me like I was something on the bottom of his shoe. “It was her time. Stop trying to drag Melanie into this.” A snap of his fingers and the bodyguards closed in and locked me in a basement with no windows. Hours later Dominic came down and stood in the doorway and looked down at me. “Melanie flew out to arrange a proper burial. She didn’t have to do that.” “The least you can do is thank her.” I looked up and he was holding his phone out, video call running. On screen Melanie was picking her way along a muddy path outside a church and pallbearers struggled behind her with the casket. Then she tripped and took two of them down with her. The casket hit the ground and caught the slope of the churchyard hill and rolled and didn’t stop until it dropped into the drainage ditch at the bottom. I had nothing left. “Dominic. You are worse than nothing.” He didn’t even look at me, just kept calling into the screen. “Melanie! Are you okay? Don’t be scared. I’m coming right now.” He turned and walked away. I let my eyes close. I wondered, when Dominic found out whose body had been desecrated, whether he’d still feel so easy about it. After they let me out I called the attending physician. “Doctor, I need a signed statement.”

I handed the documents straight to my lawyer. I was barely out of the office when something hit the back of my skull and everything went dark. When I came to my hands were bound and I was kneeling on the floor in front of Melanie. “You were going to have her arrested? Seraphina, when did you get so vicious?” Dominic glared down at me and threw a document in my face. A divorce agreement. He wanted me to walk away with nothing. The anger that rose in me was almost choking. “You’re the one who cheated, Dominic. What right do you have?” His voice came out flat and cold. “I told you to disappear. Instead you went after Melanie.” “Everything you own in this marriage goes to her. Call it damages.” He snapped his fingers and bodyguards materialized from every corner and grabbed my hands and forced them toward the signature line. I knelt on the cold floor, knees grinding against the tile. Melanie peeked out from behind him, voice soft. “She looks so pitiful, sir. I don’t need that much money…” Dominic cut her off. “Don’t. This is what she owes you. And the dowry from her family, that’s yours too.” Melanie blinked at him all wide eyes and innocence. “Thank you for standing up for me, sir.” I was gritting my teeth when the assistant walked in and said something close to Dominic’s ear. The TV clicked on. It was the attending physician. He stood in front of the camera, composed. “Seraphina’s mother-in-law died of natural illness. Seraphina is attempting to exploit that death to extort Ms. Melanie. As a physician, I will not be party to fraud.” Each word landed like something sharp. The fight went out of me and I sat on the floor. Dominic turned the TV off. “Seraphina. I told you. You can’t win against me.” The door burst open and a mob pushed in, phones out and recording. “That’s her. Cashing in on a dead woman.” Someone shoved a camera in my face and someone else threw a cup of soda and a carton of eggs came from the back. “Disgusting. She has no shame.” “Bet her mother-in-law died just to get away from her.” I got hit and went down and someone poured a drink over my head and the crowd kept filming. Dominic watched from across the room, Melanie under his arm. “This is what you get for what you did to Melanie.” He left and at the door Melanie glanced back at me, satisfied. In half a day I had become someone the whole city wanted to bury.

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My sister racked up $3 million in debt before dying in a sudden accident. At her funeral, my parents sobbed as they grabbed my hands. “We may be poor, but we aren’t soulless. Death doesn’t erase debts.” “Clara, help us out here,” Dad begged. “A soul that dies in debt can never rest!” Just like that, I handed over every penny I’d saved. Starting the next day, I worked three jobs—mornings, nights, weekends. I didn’t stop. Not even the night I miscarried my second pregnancy. Blood still fresh between my legs, I dragged myself back to work. This went on for years. Until my daughter turned thirteen. I worked late one night. Couldn’t pick her up from school. She was raped and murdered in an alley three blocks from home. My husband Marcus got the news and dropped dead from a heart attack. He wouldn’t even look at me before he died. “Thirteen years,” he gasped. “Thirteen years, and Lily and I combined still couldn’t compete with your dead sister.” “Clara, if there’s a next life, I pray I never meet you again.” The night we buried Lily, I paid off the final 30 grand. Guilt crushing my chest, I jumped from a high-rise. But just before I hit the ground, I saw them. My sister—alive, glowing, draped all over Marcus’s shoulder. “Useless,” she spat, checking her nails. “Took her ten years to scrape together three million. We had to wait this long just to be together openly.” Marcus kissed her temple. “Forget it. At least she earned us the money. We wouldn’t have this kind of life without it.” “Mother and daughter are both dead now. Bad luck.” Vivian wrinkled her nose. “Let’s go. Tomorrow we’re taking this cash straight to the Maldives.” I died with my eyes wide open. When I opened them again, I was back at Vivian’s funeral. “Vivian, sweetheart, how could you leave us so soon? You’ve ripped our hearts right out!” “How are we supposed to pay back all that debt you left behind?” That shrill, familiar wailing hit me like a slap. I hadn’t even processed what was happening when Victor, the debt collector, strutted into the living room and slammed the loan contract onto the coffee table. “Save the tears,” he said, cigarette dangling from his lips. “Your daughter owed me three million before she croaked. Now she’s dead, so what happens to the money?” He was a mountain of a man—six-foot-something, built like a linebacker, with seven or eight muscle-bound goons flanked behind him. The entire room of relatives went dead silent. My brain jolted. I understood. I’d been reborn. Right back to the day of Vivian’s funeral. Mom’s face was streaked with tears, her graying hair hanging limp over her shoulders. She stared at the contract and sobbed like she couldn’t breathe. “I know about this debt,” she choked out. “Vivian told us—she wanted to buy us life insurance, but didn’t have enough money. That’s why she borrowed. Who knew it would spiral into this much…” Dad wrapped his arm around her shoulders. When he opened his mouth, tears poured down the deep grooves in his face. “Vivian was such a good girl. By third grade, she was already cooking for us. How could she just… leave like this?” He stared at the contract. His gaze hardened. “No matter what, this family doesn’t dodge debts. She’s gone, but the money still needs to be paid.” “We’ll pay it. Every cent.” His bloodshot eyes turned and locked onto me in the crowd. “Clara, from now on, we’ll handle this three million together. We’ll get through this as a family, okay?” “If we don’t pay, your sister’s soul will wander lost forever.” They collapsed into each other’s arms, sobbing. Relatives swarmed around them, eyes glistening. “David’s always been a man of his word!” “Don’t worry—with Clara helping, you’ll pay it off in no time.” “Stop crying. You’ve still got one daughter left. You can’t fall apart now.” “Exactly. Vivian would be heartbroken seeing you like this.” But I wasn’t looking at them. My eyes were locked on Marcus, standing in the corner. His face was twisted in grief as he stared at the casket. Perfect performance. But I knew the truth. He and Vivian had been together for years. The three million? A con job they’d cooked up with my parents. Victor was just the enforcer they’d hired to play the heavy. I crouched down, pretending to tie my shoe, and followed Marcus’s line of sight. The mahogany casket had several air holes drilled into the side. Through them, I could see fabric shifting slightly inside. Of course. Vivian wasn’t dead at all. I stood up. Marcus immediately rushed over, concern painted all over his face. He took my hand firmly in his. “Clara, we’ll shoulder your sister’s debt together. I don’t care how many years it takes. I’ll be right beside you.” In my past life, I’d believed him. Believed them all. I’d worked myself to the bone for ten years and never bought a single new outfit. But this time? I yanked my hand free and laughed—cold and sharp. “Why the hell should I pay off debts my sister racked up?”

The moment those words left my mouth, my parents’ sobbing stopped on a dime. Every single person in the room stared at me like I’d grown a second head. Mom pulled herself out of Dad’s arms. She pointed a shaking finger at me and exploded. “You ungrateful brat!” “Your sister died protecting you! And this is what you say?!” Dad’s eyes were bloodshot. “That’s your own sister! Her body isn’t even cold yet, and you’re already trying to wash your hands of this?” Marcus didn’t say a word. He just glanced over at Victor. Victor’s massive palm slammed down on the table like a gunshot. “Debts are debts! Pay up or I’ll crack open that casket and drag her corpse through the streets!” He grinned—a predator’s grin—and moved toward the casket, shoving it like he was about to pry it open. “Don’t you dare—!” Dad lunged forward like a madman, blocking Victor with his entire body. Mom pounded on my chest, her fists wild and desperate, gasping for air between sobs. “You’re a monster! Vivian loved you so much, and for a few dollars, you’ll let them desecrate her body?” “We gave you everything growing up! Paid for your Ivy League tuition, put the house deed in your name, and this is how you repay us? You’re a wolf in sheep’s clothing!” The relatives couldn’t take it anymore. “Clara, your parents spent so much on you. The least you can do is help them out.” “She’s already gone. What’s the point of hoarding money now?” “Your sister went out of her way to drive you to work every day. Don’t be so selfish!” They didn’t know the truth. Vivian didn’t “drive me to work.” That car was mine—I bought it. She said she’d be my chauffeur, took the keys, and never gave them back. I even had to pay for gas. And the whole “sacrificed her education for me” story? A total lie. The truth? Vivian took the college entrance exam twice and scored under 200 both times. I got into an Ivy League school on a full ride. My parents had been bragging for years about their “smart eldest daughter.” When the scores came out, they panicked. So they spun a new story: the family could only afford to send one kid to college, and Vivian “selflessly” gave up her spot for me. They threw me a graduation party, but handed Vivian all the gifts and money people had given me in cards. I had to work a summer job just to pay for my own textbooks. “Your sister doesn’t have a degree. Life’s harder for her out there. You really want to fight her over a few bucks?” “We’ve always been fair. You got the fancy education. Naturally, your sister gets more financial support.” And that house “in my name”? They bought it for Vivian—using up my first-time homebuyer benefits in the process. They claimed they treated us equally. But every single decision had been rigged in Vivian’s favor. No wonder she had the guts to fake her own death and scam me. “That car was mine to begin with! She never—” Crack. Mom’s hand whipped across my face before I could finish. Then, still crying, she pulled out her phone and transferred $70,000 to Victor on the spot. “Take this seventy thousand for now! We’re not deadbeats. No matter what, we pay our debts!” “Clara won’t own up to it? Fine. We will!” At the exact same moment, my phone buzzed. Account balance: $0.00. My brain went white. I remembered—a few days ago, Mom said she didn’t have money for online shopping and insisted I link my card to her account. That seventy thousand? That was every dollar I had saved. “That’s MY money!” I shrieked, lunging forward to stop her. But Dad grabbed me by the arm and flung me backward. My forehead cracked hard against the lacquered edge of the casket. “You’re obsessed! That money came from your mother’s phone! We’re paying your sister’s debt with our money!” “You’ve always been a schemer. Now you’re even claiming your parents’ money as your own?” “You heartless leech! You cost us our jobs when you were born, and now you’ve killed Vivian! I wish I’d never had you!” My head throbbed. White noise filled my ears. But I heard it. A faint, muffled laugh coming from inside the casket. Vivian was laughing at me. Just like she always had. This family had never wanted me. I looked up, red-eyed, ready to blow the whole thing wide open—to scream that Vivian was faking it. But then my gaze landed on something. Dad’s wrist. A leather bracelet engraved with Vivian’s initials. I’d seen that design before. Marcus used to have one exactly like it. And now, as I stared, the two of them exchanged a look. Then both turned to stare at me. Boom. It hit me like thunder splitting fog. My parents had known all along. They were in on it from the start—co-conspirators with Marcus, bleeding me dry from every angle.

The memory of my daughter’s broken body in that alley flashed through my mind. Then the image from my past life—Vivian and Marcus wrapped around each other after I jumped, laughing about the Maldives. Rage exploded behind my eyes. My throat made a grinding, animal sound. But the fury burned so hot it turned ice-cold. I understood them now. The Smith family and Marcus—greedy, ruthless, and desperate to keep up appearances. They wanted my money and to be hailed as saints. Exposing them outright would be too easy. No. I wanted them destroyed. I forced my hands to stop shaking and pulled out my phone. My thumb hovered over three numbers. Then I looked up at the casket. My voice came out soft, almost gentle. “How exactly did Vivian die? Which hospital? Do we have a death certificate?” “What are you implying?” Dad snapped back immediately, eyes flashing with suspicion. “It was your fault! You overslept and were late. She was driving you to work when the crash happened!” “She threw herself over you right before impact. Died protecting you till her last breath!” “Is that so?” I stared him down. “But I remember falling asleep out of nowhere that day. When I woke up, you were all crying. I never even got to see her body. Doesn’t that seem strange?” The room of relatives froze. Then murmurs started. “Yeah, now that you mention it… I didn’t see her either.” “They brought her straight from the hospital into the casket.” “Isn’t that kind of rushed?” “Who buries someone the same day they die?” Marcus’s expression darkened. His stare could’ve drilled holes through me. Dad raised his voice, scrambling. “That’s because your sister’s body was mangled! I didn’t want to traumatize everyone!” “She’s right there in the casket! How could we fake that?!” The relatives nodded along. “True. Who would joke about a dead body?” “I helped close the lid myself. There’s definitely someone in there.” “Clara, you’re overthinking this.” I smiled—slow, cold, sharp. “I never got to say goodbye properly to her.” I turned toward the casket. “So right now—I’m going to see my dear sister one last time.” I reached for the lid.

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The crystal chandeliers of the Grand Plaza Hotel glittered like fallen stars. Asher Vance adjusted his custom Tom Ford cufflinks, preparing to announce his engagement to Serena Sterling. Then she grabbed Derek’s hand. “I can’t do this anymore,” Serena declared, her voice ringing across the marble floors. The crowd went silent. She pulled Derek—Asher’s foster brother—to the center of the room, their fingers intertwined like a slap across Asher’s face. “Derek and I are in love,” she announced. “He’s the real Dalton heir. The one who actually matters.” Derek’s face flushed red. “Serena, wait—this isn’t how we—” “Shut up.” She squeezed his hand harder. “I’m not marrying some trust-fund baby who coasts on his dead mother’s name.” The whispers erupted immediately. “Did she just dump him? At their own engagement party?” “Poor Asher. He never stood a chance.” “I heard he doesn’t even work. Just parties in Monaco.” Asher took a slow sip of his Cristal. His father, Mr. Dalton, looked like he’d swallowed glass. “Serena, you can’t just—” “I can.” Serena turned to Asher, her smile venomous. “You understand, don’t you, Ash? I need a real man. Not a boy living off his mother’s corpse.” Derek tried to pull his hand away. “Serena, please, Grandfather Sterling is watching—” “Good. Let him watch.” Asher set down his champagne flute. The crystal rang like a bell. “Are you finished?” His voice was arctic. Serena blinked. She’d expected tears. Rage. Anything but this calm. “I—yes. We’re done. Derek is my fiancé now.” “Congratulations.” Asher’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. He turned toward the shadows at the edge of the ballroom. Everyone followed his gaze. A woman stood alone by the service entrance, holding a tray of champagne flutes. Dark hair. Sharp cheekbones. A server’s uniform that somehow looked like haute couture on her frame. “Sienna Sterling,” Asher called out. The room gasped. Serena’s illegitimate sister. The bastard child Old Man Sterling kept around out of guilt. Sienna set down the tray slowly. Her expression was unreadable. “Me?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous. Asher walked toward her, ignoring the three hundred pairs of eyes burning into his back. He stopped three feet away. “Marry me.” The crowd exploded. “Is he insane?” “She’s a bastard!” “He’s just trying to save face—” Serena shrieked. “You can’t be serious! She’s a nobody!” Asher didn’t turn around. His eyes stayed locked on Sienna’s. “I’m very serious.” Sienna tilted her head, studying him like a chess piece. “You don’t know anything about me.” “I know enough.” Asher stepped closer. “I know you’re smarter than your sister. I know you actually graduated top of your class at Wharton, not through Daddy’s donations.” Serena’s face went white. “I know you’ve been running shadow projects for Sterling Group for two years,” Asher continued. “Three acquisitions. All profitable. All credited to other people.” Sienna’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in her eyes. “And I know,” Asher said quietly, “that you want what she has.” The room held its breath. Sienna looked past Asher to where Serena stood, clinging to Derek like a drowning woman. Then she looked at Old Man Sterling, seated at the head table. The old man’s face was carved from stone. Finally, Sienna looked back at Asher. “You’re right.” She stepped forward and extended her hand. “I do.” Asher took it. Her grip was firm. Confident. “Then let’s make a deal,” he murmured. Serena screamed. Actually screamed. “Grandfather! You can’t allow this! She’s—she’s trash!” Old Man Sterling rose slowly from his seat. Everyone fell silent. He walked toward Asher and Sienna, his cane tapping against marble. He stopped in front of them. Studied them. Then he smiled. “At least one of you has a brain,” he said to Asher. He turned to Sienna. “And you. Finally decided to stop hiding?” Sienna’s jaw tightened. “I was waiting for the right moment.” “Smart girl.” Old Man Sterling looked back at Serena with pure disgust. “You just made the worst mistake of your life.” Serena clutched Derek’s arm. “But—but Derek is the Dalton heir! The company—” “Is worth forty billion,” Old Man Sterling finished. “Impressive.” He turned back to Asher. “The Vance family fortune is worth four hundred billion. But I’m sure you knew that, Serena. Since you’re so smart.” The color drained from Serena’s face. Derek looked confused. “Wait, what? Vance? But Asher’s last name is—” “His mother’s name,” Old Man Sterling said coldly. “Because his mother is Eleanor Vance. The Eleanor Vance.” The whispers became a roar. “Oh my God.” “The Vance Dynasty?” “She’s the invisible trillionaire—” Mr. Dalton looked like he might faint. Asher smiled. Still holding Sienna’s hand. “Grandfather Sterling,” he said politely. “Would next Thursday work for the engagement party?” Old Man Sterling laughed. Actually laughed. “Perfect.”

The private room at Le Bernardin was worth more than most people’s yearly salary. Asher sat across from Sienna, a bottle of 1947 Cheval Blanc between them. She hadn’t touched her glass. “You could have chosen anyone,” Sienna said. “Why me?” Asher leaned back. “Because you need me.” “Presumptuous.” “Accurate.” He slid a folder across the table. “I had you investigated.” Sienna’s expression didn’t change. She opened the folder. Inside were financial statements. Project proposals. Emails. All her work. All the deals she’d secretly orchestrated while Serena took credit. “You’ve been sabotaged at every turn,” Asher continued. “Your father gives Serena the spotlight. Your stepmother poisons every opportunity. Old Man Sterling knows you’re capable, but he won’t hand you the company unless you prove you’re untouchable.” Sienna closed the folder. “And marrying you makes me untouchable?” “Marrying me makes you legitimate.” Asher’s eyes were sharp. “The Sterlings care about alliances. Right now, Serena thinks she won by taking Derek. But Derek is nothing.” “And you’re everything.” “Correct.” Sienna finally picked up her wine glass. Swirled it. “What do you get out of this?” “Expansion into Europe,” Asher said simply. “Sterling Group has infrastructure I need. You give me access. I give you power.” “A business arrangement.” “Exactly.” Sienna sipped her wine. “And if I say no?” Asher smiled. “You won’t.” She studied him for a long moment. Then she extended her hand across the table. “Deal.” He shook it. “One rule,” Asher added. “No betrayal. If you screw me over, I bury you.” Sienna’s smile was razor-sharp. “Likewise.” — The door to Asher’s penthouse slammed open. His mother swept in like a hurricane. Eleanor Vance was fifty-three and looked thirty-five. Hermès scarf. Cartier diamonds. Eyes that could cut steel. “Explain,” she demanded. Asher looked up from his laptop. “Hello, Mother.” “Don’t ‘hello Mother’ me.” Eleanor threw her clutch on the couch. “You were humiliated in front of three hundred people, and you proposed to someone else?” “Yes.” “Are you insane?” “No.” Asher closed his laptop. “I’m strategic.” Eleanor paced like a caged lioness. “That Sterling brat embarrassed you—” “She did me a favor.” “Asher—” “Mother.” His voice was calm. “Serena Sterling is incompetent. Marrying her would have been a liability. Sienna is not.” Eleanor stopped pacing. “The illegitimate daughter?” “The competent daughter.” His mother stared at him. Then she laughed. “My God. You actually planned this.” Asher poured himself a scotch. “I’ve been planning this for six months.” “And the sister?” “She agreed. We have an understanding.” Eleanor sat down slowly, her expression shifting from fury to calculation. “Old Man Sterling knows?” “He approved the engagement at his birthday party. Next week.” His mother’s smile was predatory. “Good. Because I’m going to destroy the Daltons for raising a son stupid enough to think he could compete with you.” Asher raised his glass. “That’s the spirit.” Eleanor’s expression softened slightly. “Are you sure about this, darling? Marriage is—” “A contract,” Asher finished. “I’m aware.” “And the girl?” “Knows exactly what this is.” Eleanor studied her son for a long moment. Then she stood, smoothing her skirt. “Fine. But if she hurts you, I’ll ruin her.” “She won’t.” “How do you know?” Asher smiled. “Because she’s exactly like me.”

Old Man Sterling’s birthday party made the engagement party look like a backyard barbecue. Swarovski crystal. Dom Pérignon fountains. A string quartet flown in from Vienna. Asher arrived exactly on time. Alone. The whispers started immediately. “Where’s his fiancée?” “Maybe she backed out—” “Wouldn’t blame her. He’s still yesterday’s news.” Asher ignored them all. He handed his gift—a first edition of The Art of War—to the butler and walked into the lion’s den. Serena and Derek were already holding court. Serena wore a red Valentino gown that cost more than a car. Derek wore a suit that almost fit. And around Derek’s neck was a platinum chain with a diamond pendant the size of a quarter. Asher recognized it immediately. The Sterling Dragon. The family heirloom. Old Man Sterling’s most prized possession. “Asher!” Derek called out, waving like they were old friends. “You made it!” Asher walked over slowly. “Derek. Serena.” Serena’s smile was poisonous. “We were just telling everyone about our engagement gift from Grandfather.” She gestured to the pendant. “The Sterling Dragon,” she purred. “Only given to the family heir.” The crowd murmured appreciatively. Asher looked at Derek. “Congratulations.” Derek beamed. “Thanks, bro. I know this must be hard for you—” “Not particularly.” Serena’s smile faltered. “Where’s your little charity case?” she asked sweetly. “Did she realize what a mistake she made?” “She’s running late,” Asher said calmly. “Work.” “Work?” Serena laughed. “Please. She’s a glorified secretary.” “Actually,” a voice said from the entrance, “I’m the new VP of International Acquisitions.” Every head turned. Sienna stood in the doorway. And she was devastating. Midnight blue Dior. Hair swept up. Diamonds that made Serena’s jewelry look like costume pieces. She walked in like she owned the place. Because, Asher thought, she soon would. Sienna stopped beside him, slipping her hand into his. “Sorry I’m late,” she murmured. “Board meeting ran long.” Old Man Sterling appeared from the crowd, grinning like a shark. “Sienna! Come, come. Let me introduce you properly.” He pulled her toward the center of the room, leaving Serena and Derek on the sidelines. “Everyone,” Old Man Sterling announced, “this is my granddaughter, Sienna Sterling. And in two weeks, she’ll be Mrs. Vance.” The room exploded with congratulations. Serena looked like she might vomit. Derek touched the pendant nervously. “Grandfather, about the Dragon—” “Take it off.” Derek froze. “What?” Old Man Sterling’s voice was ice. “I said. Take. It. Off.” “But—but you gave it to me—” “I didn’t give you anything.” Old Man Sterling’s eyes blazed. “Serena stole it from my safe. Didn’t you, sweetheart?” Serena went white. The crowd gasped. “I—I thought—” “You thought you could manipulate me.” Old Man Sterling held out his hand. “The pendant. Now.” Derek fumbled with the clasp, his hands shaking. He dropped the Dragon into the old man’s palm. Old Man Sterling turned to Sienna. And placed it around her neck. “This,” he said clearly, “belongs to the heir of Sterling Group. And that heir is Sienna.” The room went silent. Then erupted in applause. Serena grabbed Derek’s arm, her nails digging in. “This isn’t over,” she hissed at Asher. Asher smiled. “Yes,” he said quietly. “It is.” Sienna squeezed his hand, her expression triumphant. “Let’s get a drink,” she murmured. They walked away together. Leaving Serena and Derek in the dust.

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The new transfer student claims she’s a “challenge player,” forcing my childhood best friend to help her complete all kinds of explicit tasks. I saw through her act. Tried to warn him to stay away. He turned on me instead. “Ivy’s doing a challenge. If I don’t help her, she’ll be punished. Sera, you’re so selfish.” I stopped warning him. Then her sex toy fell on the floor in class. And he blamed it on me. My reputation was destroyed. The delinquents dragged me into an alley. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day Ivy brought her toy to class. — The vibrator rolled across the floor. Ms. Romano’s face went black as coal. She ground out the words. “Whose is this?!” The class erupted. Shocked gasps everywhere. No one expected someone to use a sex toy in class. Especially in Ms. Romano’s class. Ivy, sitting in front of me, turned bright red. Her head dropped. She was always wild. But getting caught like this was humiliating. Just as she was about to cry, her seatmate Julian shot to his feet. He pointed directly at me. “Ms. Romano, I noticed Sera acting weird all period. Her hands kept going under the desk. It’s definitely hers.” His voice was full of righteous anger. “Sera, I never thought you’d sink this low. Using that in class? During a lecture? Have you no shame?” The room exploded. Curious stares. Disgust. Mockery. Revulsion. Every eye in that room landed on me. I started shaking. Not from fear. From rage. Because I’d lived this moment before. — In my previous life, this is where everything went to hell. Julian’s accusation blindsided me. I cried. Denied it. Begged everyone to believe me. No one did. From that day on, I went from honor student to school slut. Every guy felt entitled to undress me with their eyes. Every girl whispered behind my back. When I tried to fight back, they laughed. “Your own best friend said you’re a whore. Stop playing victim.” The rumors followed me everywhere. Bathrooms. Cafeteria. My DMs. Then the delinquents dragged me into an alley after school. My parents tried to get justice. Ms. Romano told them I “asked for it.” I dropped out. Two months later, I jumped off a building.

Thinking about that ending, I dug my nails into my palms. Forced down my rage. This time, I wouldn’t let Julian throw me under the bus. I shot to my feet. “Ms. Romano, my hands have been on my desk taking notes all period. The girl sitting next to me can confirm.” My seatmate nodded furiously. “That’s right! Julian, which eye saw Sera’s hands under the desk? Stop making shit up.” Julian didn’t even flinch. “Maybe I was mistaken about that. But that doesn’t change the fact the vibrator is probably Sera’s. Why else would she be so defensive?” I was shaking. Trying so hard to stay calm. But my face was red. Flushed with anger and humiliation. Julian was going to throw me under the bus. Again. To protect Ivy. Again. Fine. I narrowed my eyes. “I’m wearing jeans. Ivy’s wearing a skirt. If we’re talking about easy access, suspicion falls on her.” The room went dead silent. “Here’s what we’ll do,” I continued. “I’ll strip down in front of all the girls in this class to prove my innocence. But Ivy has to do it too.” Ivy’s eyes went wide. She looked at Julian like a drowning person reaching for a life raft. Julian’s face twisted. “Sera, you’re disgusting! Trying to frame Ivy when you know she’s innocent!” I crossed my arms. “You can accuse me all you want. But I’m proposing a fair solution. If Ivy’s got nothing to hide, she shouldn’t be afraid to prove it.” Ms. Romano looked tempted. Julian panicked. “Ms. Romano, we can’t do this. Think about how this would look if it got out. For the school’s reputation, we should just drop it.” Julian was the star quarterback. The golden boy whose father donated the new football field. Ms. Romano loved him. She sighed. “Fine. This time, I’ll let it go. But if I catch anyone with something like this again, I’m calling parents immediately.” — After class, Julian grabbed my wrist. Dragged me to an empty classroom. “Sera, I know you don’t like Ivy. I know you’re jealous we’ve gotten close. But trying to ruin her over this? That’s evil.” “If people found out that vibrator was Ivy’s, her reputation would be destroyed. Don’t you have any empathy?” I laughed. Actually laughed. “Empathy? You tried to frame me for something I didn’t do, and I’m the one who needs empathy?” Julian’s jaw clenched. “You don’t understand. Ivy has to complete these tasks. She’s part of an exclusive challenge. If she doesn’t finish, there are consequences.” I glanced at Ivy. She wasn’t crying anymore. She was leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette, smirking at me. Only an idiot like Julian would believe that Ivy—who smoked, drank, got into fights, and had a back tattoo—was just a “good girl forced to do bad things by an online challenge.” Julian grabbed my shoulders. “The task isn’t complete yet. Go tell Ms. Romano the vibrator was yours. Then get it back for Ivy.” My mouth fell open. “You have perfect grades. Ms. Romano will just scold you. She won’t actually call your parents.” He smiled. The kind of smile you give a dog when you want it to sit. “We’ve known each other our whole lives. I know you’re a kind person, Sera.” That’s when I knew. Any affection I’d had for Julian died in that moment. I smiled back. Sweet as poison. “Ms. Romano loves you, Julian. You’re the star quarterback. Why don’t you go tell her the vibrator is yours? I bet she won’t even scold you.” Julian’s face went black. “Sera!” “Believe whatever fantasy you want about Ivy’s ‘challenge.’ But leave me out of it.” I shoved past him and walked out.

I knew they wouldn’t give up. So I hired a hacker online. Had them break into Julian’s phone. Gave me access to everything. Two days later, I was reading their text conversation. I saw Ivy crying to Julian about how scared she’d been. Their conversation got flirty. Then Ivy changed the subject. Mentioned her next “task.” She had to plant her underwear in another guy’s desk. I almost choked. This girl had balls of steel. Looked like the last incident hadn’t taught her enough. Julian was clearly reluctant. Then he said: “Does it have to be yours? What about someone else’s? I’m going to Sera’s house this weekend. I’ll use hers. That way, we can also get you off the hook for the vibrator thing.” “With her underwear involved, Sera won’t be able to accuse you so easily anymore.” Watching them casually plan this out, I smiled coldly. Waited for the weekend. Julian and I were neighbors. We’d grown up together. Actual childhood friends. Both of us were top students with Ivy League dreams. Our parents loved that we were close. But ever since Ivy transferred in six months ago, Julian and I had drifted apart. He hadn’t come over in months. So when he showed up at my door that Saturday, my parents were thrilled. “Sera! Julian’s here!” They welcomed him warmly. “Come in and study with Sera. I’ll make you both lunch.” Julian smiled at me. Ruffled my hair like old times. I pulled away. My parents laughed. “Did you two have a fight?” Julian smiled so sincerely it made me sick. “I’m sorry, Sera. I was wrong the other day. Forgive me?” I studied his face. Behind the smile, I could see the impatience. The irritation. “You really know you were wrong?” He forced a laugh. “I was wrong, I was wrong. Now let me in.” The last shred of nostalgia I had for him evaporated. I stepped aside. After lunch, Julian said he had to go. The second he left, I checked my room. The new pack of underwear I’d just bought? Gone.

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Half a year after I died filled with hatred and resentment, my ex-girlfriend Sophia and her childhood friend Chris both died one after another and arrived in Hell. Chris shielded Sophia’s trembling body behind him, screaming hysterically at the Gates of Hell. “How could we have fallen to a place like this?” “All these years we’ve helped the poor, donated to schools, contributed to disaster relief. We’ve done countless good deeds! After death, we should have ascended to Heaven!” “It must be that bastard Julian playing tricks! Even in death, he’s dragging us down with him! Call him out here-I want to confront him face to face!” The Wardens flipped through the Book of Judgment and laughed mockingly. “Julian? He ascended to Paradise long ago. He’ll never enter the cycle of reincarnation again!” “Julian is in Paradise? How is that possible? That beast didn’t go to Hell?” “Your Honor, the records in this Book of Judgment must be wrong!” Sophia, nestled in Chris’s arms, cried tears streaming down her face. “We were devoted to charity in life and never committed evil deeds. You must investigate this thoroughly!” The surrounding thousands of dead souls were drawn by the commotion, and discussions rose one after another. One ghost glared with wide eyes. “I know Julian! To embezzle his parents’ inheritance, he personally murdered his own biological parents!” “He was jealous of his younger brother Chris’s successful career, so he bribed hackers to alter company accounts and spread rumors that Chris had fled with the money, causing a thriving enterprise to nearly go bankrupt overnight!” “Sophia funded the elderly and orphans, and founded Hope Elementary Schools-she’s a well-known philanthropist!” “Good people are wrongly punished while evil people roam free in Heaven-is there any justice left in this world? We must get justice today!” In hell, I was also quite the notorious villain, so these newly arrived ghosts all knew about my deeds. Seeing the crowd growing increasingly agitated, the Wardens sighed softly. “Since you all claim injustice, then let’s watch Julian’s testimony left behind in Hell.” As light and shadow shifted, a mirror suddenly appeared before everyone. The skeletal, emaciated me sat quietly in the judgment seat, playing with the faded red cord wrapped around my wrist. What follows is my testimony. Sophia and I had known each other since childhood-everyone acknowledged us as childhood sweethearts. In middle school, when thugs cornered Sophia in an alley, I grabbed a wooden stick from the roadside and charged forward. The stick eventually broke, leaving a deep gash on my hand. On my eighteenth birthday, she personally wove me a red cord bracelet, saying she would always stay by my side. In college, when she had acute appendicitis, I set up a cot in the hospital corridor and stayed by her side day and night. When she was afraid of injections, I’d tell her jokes in every way I could think of to coax her. When her business venture failed, I secretly sold my beloved car and rushed the money to her overnight. Those days were hard, but just seeing her smile made everything worthwhile. Speaking of these memories, a hint of a smile appeared on my originally dim face. We used to be so beautiful, so happy. We were a model couple that made others envious. Everyone was certain we would be together forever, until we grew old together. Outside the mirror, Sophia seemed to also sink into those beautiful times, her eyes reddening as she watched the scene. Chris’s face grew increasingly ugly. He gripped her hand tightly and forced a smile. “Sophia, if I’d known you two were this close, I shouldn’t have confessed to you. I should have buried this love in my heart.” “It’s all in the past. Besides, I fell in love with you first. You did nothing wrong. Don’t take all the blame on yourself.” Sophia leaned into his embrace, comforting him with heartache. They kissed recklessly, while I continued narrating my short-lived life.

That year in late autumn, Father brought home a young man, saying he was an illegitimate son who had been separated from the family twenty years ago. His birth mother had died last month in a small town. The boy inherited the family’s asthma condition and came looking for us as a last resort. Mother smashed the cup in her hand, hysterically questioning him about years of deception. But when she saw the boy’s paper-white face as he curled up in the entryway coughing violently, she eventually softened. She turned and silently prepared the guest room. This young man named Chris became my brother from that day on. When he first arrived, he always wore a T-shirt washed until it was nearly white. He always kept his head down when speaking. I felt pity for him and shared half of everything I owned with him. Even when servants spoke harshly to him, I would stand up for him. Later, I brought Chris to meet Sophia for the first time. He accidentally knocked over a coffee cup. The coffee splashed onto Sophia’s skirt. Chris frantically wiped it with his sleeve, his eyes welling up with mist as he kept apologizing. Seeing his pitiful appearance, Sophia didn’t know what to say. Later, the three of us often went out together, and Sophia gradually grew accustomed to it. She would proactively bring Chris limited edition snacks. When we hiked mountains, she’d carry his backpack for him. She even prepared matching couple’s watches for both of us on my birthday. I watched her gentle profile as she tied Chris’s shoelaces, and my heart felt like it was stuffed with damp cotton. Sophia laughed helplessly. “You petty. you’re jealous even of this? We’re taking care of a sick person, isn’t that okay?” Until Mother suddenly died from a heart attack due to overwork. On the night, I held Mother’s portrait and sobbed uncontrollably. Sophia held me in her arms, softly comforting me. But when I went to get Mother’s favorite silk scarf, I stumbled upon a suffocating scene in the storage room- Sophia had Chris pinned against the wall, her burning kiss falling on his pale lips. “Sophia… Julian is still outside…” Chris’s hoarse voice trembled. “I can’t wait anymore.” Sophia gripped the back of his neck. “Tomorrow I’ll tell him. What I’ve always wanted… is you…” The bronze lamps in Hell flickered bright and dim. The Judge’s gavel fell heavily. “Breaking vows, cheating, defilement before the deceased-three crimes combined!” Sophia raised her head, her eyes defiant. “A promise from ten years ago was just childish talk! Meeting Chris made me realize what soul mate is. Should I trap three people’s lives for the sake of so-called responsibility?” Chris also began defending himself. “Why should people who truly love each other suffer this punishment? Your Honor, have you ever experienced the pain of loving someone you can’t have?” The spectating ghosts began whispering among themselves. “It’s normal for young people to change their hearts. Life is so long-who can be certain the person in front of them is the one they’ll spend their life with?” “Moreover, Sophia loved the wrong person to begin with. If she’d kept loving Julian, who knows how he would have abused her!” “Right, cheating is wrong, but compared to the unconscionable things Julian did later, this little mistake is nothing.” In the dim underworld, the sounds of condemnation gradually drowned out the Judge’s reprimands.

The Judge paid no attention to them, merely having the Wardens continue playing my testimony. It was a dusk of pouring rain. I had not only lost my only support-Mother-but was also personally pushed into the abyss by my most trusted girlfriend, Sophia. Despair rose like a tide, flooding over my head. I became volatile and obsessive. Facing Father who had suddenly brought home his illegitimate son Chris, I sneered and mocked him all day long. When Chris shed crocodile tears in front of me, I directly overturned the tea table and told him to get lost. Even Sophia, who once said she would protect me forever, had now become a traitor in my eyes. The chaotic scenes at home quickly became known to everyone. Neighbors pointed at my spine, saying the Sterling family had produced a arrogant devil who thought himself above everyone. Looking back now, Sophia’s words really hit a nerve-I was indeed like a beast raised in an iron cage. I’d never even stepped onto a real battlefield, yet thought baring my fangs and claws made me fierce. I was nothing more than a tiger with its claws pulled out, floundering pathetically in the mud. Mother’s seventh day memorial had barely passed when Father grandly held a recognition banquet for Chris at a luxury hotel. That day, Chris wore an Italian custom suit and greeted to the guests holding champagne-every bit the most proper heir of the Sterling family. I was locked in the attic, watching the brilliant lights outside the window, smashing every piece of porcelain I could get my hands on. Just then, Chris appeared leisurely. He dangled the jade signet ring Mother had left for me, sneering that I was just lucky to have been born well. “If it weren’t for your mother interfering back then, my mother and I should have walked through the Sterling family’s front door openly long ago.” He suddenly released his grip. The crisp sound of the ring hitting the floor startled me back half a step. Then he staggered and rolled down the spiral staircase, his pale face flushing with an unnatural redness. He clutched his chest, gasping violently, calling out intermittently: “Julian… stealing the ring is one thing, but why… why did you push me! My asthma medication… is upstairs…” When Father rushed in, I had no way to defend myself. He gripped my wrist until his veins bulged, saying Chris had suffered from severe asthma since childhood-this was deliberate murder of my own brother. Sophia, her eyes red, pinned me against the wall, her nails digging deep into my arm. “Julian Sterling, if Chris die today, I’ll make you pay with your life!” That night, Sophia somehow gathered a group of thugs and cornered me in a dark alley. They pressed my head against the wall, fists and feet raining down on me like hail. Sophia stood under the streetlight watching coldly, occasionally kicking me twice. “That’s for bullying Chris! Do you know how much he suffers when his condition flares up? Beat him to death-I’ll take responsibility if anything happens!” I curled up on the ground, feeling like my ribs were about to be kicked in. Warm blood flowed from the corner of my mouth down my throat. They only left cursing when I passed out. Lying in the hospital, I stared at the fluorescent lights on the ceiling and suddenly remembered what Mother had said: The most terrifying thing in this world isn’t demons-it’s the human heart. Your Honor, if there’s truly justice in this world, can you see the buried truth?

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I’m a research scientist at Ares Biotech, one of the most prestigious defense contractors in the country. When the Principal Scientist promotion committee convened, my wife Lydia-a voting member-struck my name from the candidate list. Again. After five consecutive rejections, I was forced out under the company’s “up or out” policy. I refused to quit science. I leased a private lab and continued my work independently. Six months later, the lab caught fire. I was trapped inside with a young intern named Parker Stone. Through the smoke, I saw Lydia burst through the door. For one desperate second, I thought she’d come for me. She ran straight past me. She grabbed Parker by the arm and dragged him toward the exit. I reached out, my hand closing on empty air as flames licked closer. She looked back once. Her eyes were cold, clinical. “Parker’s a Principal Scientist. His work is classified. He’s more valuable than you.” The ceiling collapsed. Fire swallowed everything. When I opened my eyes again, I was standing in our apartment. Lydia was leaning against me, pouting prettily, her fingers playing with my collar. “Arthur, baby, just withdraw from the promotion round this year. Do it for us.” I recognized this moment. This exact conversation. Three years ago. The first time she’d asked me to step aside. I shoved her away so hard she stumbled. “You want me to withdraw? So you can take my spot?” I looked at her like she was a stranger. “Not a chance in hell.”

Lydia froze, shocked and confused. “Arthur Vance, is waiting one more year really so hard? Why are you competing against your own wife?” I stared at the candidate roster on her tablet. Arthur Vance. Marcus Smith. Lydia Sterling. Only three spots available for Principal Scientist this cycle. “There are only three openings,” she continued, her voice with that insufferable self-righteous edge. “We can’t both make it. If you wait a year, you can focus on your research instead of this political nonsense. Why are you being so selfish?” “You claim to love science, but all you care about is climbing the ladder. I’m disappointed in you.” Her words yanked me back to reality. The same script. Word for word. In my first life, I’d believed her. I withdrew my application. She got promoted. She’d promised it was temporary. “You’re young, talented, respected. You’ll get your turn next year.” But ten years later, she was still saying: “You’re aging out, Arthur. Science needs fresh blood. It’s time to make room for the next generation.” Past and present overlapped. I saw both versions of her face-the manipulative wife and the woman who’d left me to burn. Lydia grabbed my arm, her voice rising. “I don’t care what you think. We’re going to the committee right now, and you’re withdrawing your application!” I jerked away from her touch. “My qualifications exceed every requirement. My publication record is flawless. Why the hell would I withdraw?” “You talk about ambition like it’s a disease. What’s your excuse for wanting the promotion, Lydia?” She hesitated, then her voice went shrill. “Because of you!” “You publish constantly, but you never add my name to your papers. Do you know how that makes me look? People whisper that I’m riding your coattails. If I get this promotion, no one will dare question my credentials again!” “So are you withdrawing or not?” I looked at her face, twisted by jealousy and ambition, and shook my head firmly. “No. I’m staying in the race.”

Lydia slammed the door on her way out. Watching her leave, I saw another image superimposed-her walking away from the fire, leaving me to die. In my previous life, we’d been married for twenty years. The only real fight we ever had came in my final year of eligibility-my last chance before mandatory retirement from research roles. By then, she’d clawed her way onto the promotion committee. For nine consecutive years, she struck my name from the finalist list. She called it integrity. “I’m on the committee. I have to avoid any appearance of favoritism.” But when I asked the other committee members, they all said the same thing: my publication record and project impact scores were the highest in the cohort. I should have been promoted years ago. By that point, Lydia had become Committee Chair. She wielded veto power. I tried reasoning with her one last time. “This isn’t about prestige. If I don’t get promoted this cycle, I’m out. Forced retirement. I won’t be able to do research anymore, Lydia. This is my life’s work.” She threw her coffee mug at the wall. “So you’re asking me to pull strings for you? Is that it, Arthur?” “No. I’m asking you to recuse yourself from the vote. Let the decision stand on its merits.” She ignored that completely. “Principal Scientist is just a pay bump and a better pension. You don’t care about money. Why are you so obsessed with a title?” “Besides, these positions are limited. We’re married. It would look bad if we monopolized two spots. I won’t let you guilt me into approving your promotion!” My last opportunity died with her veto. I was forced out of Ares Biotech. Twenty years of research, gone. But I couldn’t just stop. I rented a small lab downtown and continued working independently. Lydia opposed it viciously at first, accusing me of “stealing proprietary research for personal gain.” She came by twice to trash the equipment. Eventually I agreed to mentor a junior researcher. She backed off. The junior researcher was Parker Stone. Lazy attitude. Mediocre skills. Constant attitude problems. One afternoon, I asked him to sterilize the workbench with ethanol. He “accidentally” knocked over an open flame. The entire lab went up in minutes. We were both trapped. Lydia arrived with the fire department. I heard her shouting orders outside. “Prioritize Dr. Stone! He’s a Principal Scientist working on classified defense contracts! He cannot be lost!” “Ma’am, your husband-” “He’s just a family member. He knew the risks when he married into this field.” I gripped my lab notebook, my knuckles white. When she kicked down the door, I felt hope flare in my chest. We’d been together for twenty years. Surely- She kicked my outstretched hand away. She grabbed Parker by the shoulders and hauled him toward the exit. She didn’t look back. Her voice was flat, mechanical. “You’re expendable. He’s not.” That was Lydia Sterling. The woman who’d stolen my promotion. The woman who’d let me burn. This time, I’d make sure she never got the chance.

I knew Lydia would fight dirty. I didn’t realize how low she’d sink. Within two days, rumors spread through every department at Ares Biotech. Even members of my own research team started looking at me with contempt. “Dr. Smith, this data point looks off. Can you double-check the calculation?” I held out the report. My junior researcher, Sarah Smith, just stared at me, arms crossed. “Sorry, Dr. Vance. I’m not qualified for such important work. You should do it yourself.” “Excuse me?” She sneered. “Don’t play dumb. We all know what kind of person you are.” My jaw tightened. “If you have an accusation, take it to HR. But while you’re on my team, you’ll do your job.” Sarah threw her tablet down. “Who wants to be on your team? I heard you steal research from your wife and force her to commit academic fraud. Then you beat her when she refuses. You’re a fraud and an abuser. Why should we respect you?” The lab erupted in whispers. “I saw them arguing once,” someone said. “Lydia was begging him to credit her on a paper. Now it makes sense-she did all the work, and he took the glory.” “I heard he tells people women can’t do real science. That’s why he never collaborates with female researchers.” Every woman on my team was glaring at me now. So this was Lydia’s play. Before I could respond, the lab door opened. Lydia walked in. I moved toward her. “Lydia, we need to-” “No! Don’t hit me! I’ll do whatever you want!” She screamed and cowered, throwing her arms over her head. Every eye in the room locked onto me. One of the female researchers rushed over. “Oh my God, Lydia, your arms-what are those bruises?” “And your lip is split!” Instantly, the entire room turned on me. Lydia threw herself at my feet, the perfect picture of a battered wife. “Arthur, please, I’ll be good. I’ll listen. Just don’t hurt me anymore.” “I’ll do anything you ask. Please don’t be angry.” She started sobbing, angling her face so everyone could see the injuries clearly. “Please… don’t misunderstand. This isn’t his fault. I… I fell. That’s all.” The more she defended me, the more guilty I looked. “I always thought Dr. Vance seemed so professional,” someone muttered. “I can’t believe he’s a wife-beater.” “God, I actually found him attractive. Turns out he’s a monster.” In my first life, I thought her obstruction was about ethics. About maintaining her impartiality. I never imagined she’d stoop to character assassination. “We should report this to the Ethics Committee,” someone said loudly. “Or Security. Get this abuser fired.” Lydia immediately threw herself into my arms, shaking her head. “No, no. I love him. He only hits me sometimes. The rest of the time, he’s… he’s fine.” Everyone looked at her with pity. Several male researchers glared at me with obvious jealousy. Lydia pressed against me and whispered, so quietly only I could hear. “Everyone believes I’m the victim. No one cares if it’s true.” I tried to push her away. She let out a theatrical scream and collapsed. Immediately, two male colleagues grabbed me and slammed me face-first against the lab bench. “You’re attacking her in front of witnesses?” My cheek pressed against cold steel. Through the corner of my eye, I saw Lydia smirking. An hour later, I was sitting across from the Division Chief. “Dr. Vance, effective immediately, you’re suspended from all active projects pending investigation.” I looked him in the eye. “So I’m out of the promotion cycle.” “Your file won’t be reviewed during the suspension period. After the investigation concludes… we’ll see.” It didn’t matter that my research record was stronger than Lydia’s. With domestic violence allegations hanging over me, the committee would never approve my promotion. In a high-security defense contractor, even a hint of scandal was disqualifying. I left his office and walked straight to the Academic Integrity Committee. “I’m filing a formal complaint against Dr. Lydia Sterling for academic misconduct, falsification of research, and plagiarism.”

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