“Three years, Ethan. Isn’t it time this charade ended?” I heard the words from behind the partially ajar emergency exit door. “Pretty much. Her birthday is in ten days. I plan to make it unforgettable for her. Let her experience what it’s like to fall from heaven to hell at the peak of her happiness.” That was Ethan’s voice. He was my husband. The man who knelt beneath a sky of fireworks and told me his feelings for me were real. “The cruelest part is, you’re playing the loving husband while secretly teaming up with her ex-fiancé to dismantle the Davis Group’s foundation.” Blake was there too. My ex-fiancé who betrayed me, the same guy now having an affair with my husband’s sister, was casually chatting and laughing with Ethan. “Watching her treat her enemy as a savior, blindly devoted… Chloe, when you humiliated me back then, did you ever imagine this day?” I bit my lip hard, tasting blood. So from start to finish, I was just a pawn on their chessboard, waiting to be slaughtered. If that’s the case, then don’t blame me for being ruthless.

Chloe’s POV When I was twenty-three, I witnessed my fiancé’s betrayal firsthand. I didn’t yell or make a scene. I calmly gathered evidence and, the day before our families were set to merge through marriage, I publicly tore up the engagement contract, leaked a video of his infidelity, and made Blake and his family the laughingstock of our social circle. For the next three years, I stopped believing in any promises or genuine feelings. I poured all my energy into my family’s business, becoming a respected, even feared, figure in the corporate world. I thought my life would go on like this forever. That I would never have another weakness. That I would never fall for anyone again. Until Ethan appeared. The city’s most mysterious and low-key financial magnate. He patiently pursued me, a woman known for my cold demeanor and detached nature. He understood me, tolerated me, and slowly melted the icy wall around my heart. The day he proposed, he lit up the entire city with fireworks for me, kneeling before me with eyes only for me. He said, “Chloe, I can’t promise to heal all the pain you’ve suffered, but I will spend the rest of my life proving that my love for you is real.” I believed him. I carefully placed my long-sealed heart into his hands. It was a lavish, “wedding of the century” affair. The media said I must have saved the galaxy in a past life to have someone like Ethan devote everything to me. I transitioned from a powerful businesswoman to Ethan’s cherished wife. I gradually let down my guard, feeling incredibly fortunate that after freezing myself off, I could be enveloped by such fervent love. Until one day, Ethan took me to a charity auction. I had a headache from days of exhaustion, so I left early to wait for his driver in the underground garage. When I reached the car, I realized I had left my handbag, which contained my mother’s heirloom necklace, in the lounge. I went back to retrieve it, but as I passed the partially ajar emergency exit door, I heard hushed voices from inside. “Three years, Ethan. Isn’t it time this charade ended?” “Pretty much.” Ethan’s voice was as steady as ever, but it carried a coldness I had never heard before. “Her birthday is in ten days. I plan to make it unforgettable for her at the party I’m throwing. Let her experience what it’s like to fall from heaven to hell at the peak of her happiness.” I froze, my mind suddenly blank. Isn’t my birthday in ten days? Are they talking about me? “Heh, you spent three years setting this up. First, you secretly shorted the Davis Group’s overseas projects, causing her father to fall critically ill. Then, when she trusted you most, you had her sign that flawed betting agreement. The cruelest part is, while you played the loving husband, you teamed up with her ex-fiancé to dismantle the Davis Group’s foundation. Ethan, you have played a grand game to avenge your sister.” “She publicly broke off the engagement and leaked that video, ruining my sister’s reputation. It led to public humiliation and ultimately drove her to suicide.” Ethan let out a cold laugh. “How could I ever let her off easy?” Every word, like an ice pick, stabbed into my limbs, instantly freezing my blood. The woman my ex-fiancé cheated with was Ethan’s sister? And he approached me, married me, all to avenge his sister? While I was still in shock, the conversation in the emergency exit continued. I heard someone ask again, “And after that? Once the Davis Group is taken care of, will you finally rekindle your relationship with your little darling, Serena?” Serena… The dancer, so delicate and ethereally beautiful, like she didn’t belong to this world, whom I’d met several times at parties, always looking at Ethan with a hesitant, unsaid longing in her eyes? So, Serena was the woman he truly loved? “Of course.” Ethan’s answer held no hesitation. “I’ve made her suffer enough these past years. Once this is over, I’ll marry her.” “Right. If it weren’t for your sister, you and Serena would have been married long ago.” There was a pause. Then the accomplice turned to another person, a hint of playful mockery in his smile. “But Blake, aren’t you bothered by playing this act with Ethan, pretending in front of your ex-fiancée?” “Does it feel good, watching the woman who once rejected you now blindly devoted to her ‘current’ man?” Blake scoffed, the malice in his laugh undisguised. “Bothered? I’m loving it.” Blake said gleefully. “Watching her get played by Ethan and me, treating her enemies as saviors, as her redemption, loving him blindly, completely unaware that she is about to be devoured until there’s nothing left. Chloe, when you humiliated me back then, did you ever imagine this day?” I clenched my jaw, tasting the metallic tang of blood on my tongue, my nails digging hard into my palms. My entire heart felt like an invisible hand was squeezing it, mercilessly crushing it. I didn’t dare move until their conversation stopped, and their footsteps faded away, finally disappearing from the emergency exit. Only then did I slide down the wall, utterly drained. Unbelievable. My most trusted husband was the brother of the person I indirectly caused to die. He approached me, married me, to destroy me! He sabotaged my family’s business, causing my father to fall critically ill! He tricked me into signing a deadly agreement, making me personally bury our family’s legacy! He even involved my most detested ex-fiancé in his revenge, turning me into a complete joke! And I, utterly unaware, was immersed in the beautiful dream he wove for me, believing true love had finally found me. A chill enveloped my body and soul. I don’t remember how I left. I stumbled back to the parking lot, each step feeling like I was walking on knife-edges. I pulled open the car door and sat inside. “To the mansion.” My voice was hoarse. The driver acknowledged and started the car. However, just as the car was about to pull out of the parking space, the other car door was pulled open. A tall, upright figure got in, closed the door, and instructed the driver, “Drive.” “Yes, Mr. Kingston.” Seeing Ethan sitting beside me, my breath hitched, my hairs stood on end, and I instantly froze.

Chloe’s POV Ethan turned his chiseled face towards me, looking at me quizzically. “What’s wrong? Is there something on my face?” “The auction isn’t over yet,” I struggled to steady myself, pulling the corners of my lips into a slight smile. “Why did you leave too?” “You weren’t there, so I had no desire to stay.” Ethan’s eyes were filled with tender affection and obvious concern. “You look so pale. Are you feeling unwell?” As he spoke, he leaned closer, raising a hand to feel my forehead. His touch, at that moment, felt like a snake’s tongue licking my skin. I fought the urge to push him away, forcing out a strained smile, and lowering my gaze to avoid his scrutinizing eyes. “I’m fine, probably just tired from the past few days.” Ethan examined me closely. Just as I thought he was about to press for more, he suddenly spoke. “Let’s have a baby.” I looked up, startled, meeting his deep, unfathomable eyes. A baby? Before I could recover from the shock, Ethan suddenly lowered the car’s partition. The next second, he cupped my chin with one hand and leaned in to kiss me. His kiss was as forceful and tender as always, carrying his familiar possessiveness. In this moment, I knew exactly what he wanted. My hands instinctively pressed against his chest, pushing him away with repulsion. Ethan paused. “What’s wrong?” My breathing was a little unsteady. I turned my face away, hastily fabricating an excuse. “I’m a bit tired. I’m not in the mood today.” “You’ve never refused me like this before, no matter how tired you were. What’s gotten into you today?” Ethan’s deep eyes stared intently at me, his scrutinizing gaze making my heart skip a beat. He raised a hand, his fingertips gently tracing my lips. “Did I do something wrong to upset you?” He paused, then his gaze, sharp as a hawk’s, captured my dodging eyes. “Or… did you hear something?” My heart nearly stopped in that instant. He can’t find out! He absolutely cannot find out that I heard their entire conversation! If I confront him now, I’ll be utterly defeated, and the Davis Group will be completely ruined. I have to keep up the act. Just like him, I have to play it perfectly. I desperately suppressed all the churning emotions. When I looked up again, my face showed a thin layer of annoyance and embarrassment. “I just feel… doing this in the car isn’t quite right.” “After all, the driver is still up front.” Ethan chuckled. “Don’t worry, the partition is down; he can’t hear us.” Before his words finished, he lowered his head and kissed me again. My body stiffened for a moment, then I forced myself to relax, trying to respond to him as naturally and passionately as usual. Ethan seemed satisfied with my compliance. He kissed me deeper, more intensely. In the height of passion, his scorching lips pressed against my ear, his husky voice softly whispering my name. “Chloe… I really like you, I love you.” Every word was like poison-laced honey, pouring into my ears, seeping into my bloodstream. I closed my eyes, letting him take what he wanted. Like me? Love me? If I hadn’t heard his conversation with someone else firsthand, I might still have been deceived by his exquisite acting, drowning in this false affection, believing how genuinely and devotedly he loved me. My body temperature was rising, but my heart was chilling, inch by inch. My thoughts drifted back three years. At that time, I publicly tore up my engagement with Blake, trampling on the dignity of Blake’s family and that scoundrel couple. A month later, Blake seemed like a changed man, appearing remorseful, relentlessly pursuing me. He tearfully confessed that he had just been foolish and made a mistake, that he loved only me, begging for my forgiveness. But I only felt immense disgust and extreme annoyance. Just as Blake blocked me at a restaurant entrance yet again, Ethan appeared and rescued me from Blake’s persistent harassment. That was our first meeting. But back then, I only saw him as a helpful stranger. To my surprise, the next day at an important project collaboration meeting, I attended as the Davis Group’s representative, only to discover with astonishment that the mysterious, low-key major shareholder and decision-maker of the other company, who had never appeared in the media, was none other than him. In the meeting, he was composed and incisive, with unique insights, offering fair and strong support for my proposed plan. After the meeting, he specifically walked over to me and said, “Ms. Davis, I’ve heard much about you. I hope the previous incident didn’t cause you too much trouble.” He was courteous and charming, a stark contrast to the cold sternness he showed when he drove Blake away. Later, due to business dealings, we interacted more frequently. He gave me admiring glances, timely assistance, and concern that went beyond professional partnership. And Blake continued to haunt me. Every time Blake came to bother me, Ethan just happened to be there. For my sake, he didn’t hesitate to get into conflicts with Blake. Once, outside a club, two men of significant status even came to blows, disregarding their dignity. Ethan’s eye was injured, but he successfully made Blake much more restrained afterward, no longer daring to approach me easily. At the time, I thought Ethan and Blake were truly two completely different kinds of men. One was composed and powerful, offering me respect and protection; the other was despicable and shameless, only capable of harassment. My frozen heart was slowly pried open by Ethan, little by little. I began to believe that there might still be true feelings in this world, and someone worth trusting. I thought I had finally emerged from the shadow Blake cast, and found true salvation and love. But today I learned that everything, absolutely everything, was just a grand play they put on for me, together! One pursued me relentlessly, annoying me; the other appeared just in time, acting as my protector. All for the purpose of making me fall deeply for Ethan, winning my trust, so they could slowly devour the Davis Group.

Chloe’s POV In the car, Ethan seemed intent on devouring me whole, leaving me utterly exhausted. The car stopped steadily outside the mansion gates. Ethan scooped me up in his arms, carried me directly upstairs, and laid me on the large bed in the bedroom. “Still tired?” He leaned over, his hands braced on either side of my body, his thumb caressing my slightly swollen lips. I turned my head away, my voice a little hoarse. “I want to take a shower.” “Together?” He raised an eyebrow, his tone laced with a hint of seduction. My heart tightened. Just as I was about to find an excuse to decline, Ethan’s phone, tucked into his suit pocket, rang. He frowned, a fleeting look of annoyance at being disturbed crossing his face. “Hold on, I need to take this.” But as he pulled out his phone and glanced at the caller ID, I clearly caught the receding tide of desire in his eyes. “What is it?” Ethan turned and walked towards the floor-to-ceiling window, lowering his voice as he answered the call, his back to me. I don’t know what the person on the other end said, but he responded, “I’ll be right there.” He hung up and walked back to me. “Something urgent came up at the company. I’ll probably be back very late. Get some rest, don’t wait up for me.” He leaned down, pressed a kiss on my forehead, and then, without giving me a chance to speak, turned and left in a hurry. I pushed myself up on the bed, watching his retreating back coldly. When he answered the phone just now, that soft murmur was indistinct, but I heard it clearly. It was “Serena.” Serena. She was indeed the woman he cherished most; one phone call was enough to make him abandon me instantly, rushing impatiently to her side. Yet, just moments ago, he was still insatiably demanding on me. The aches in my body were everywhere, reminding me of what had just happened, and also reminding me what a meticulously designed deception there was between us. No, I can’t just sit here and do nothing. I have to do something. Otherwise, in ten days, an endless hell awaits me. The next day, I did three things. First, I went to the pharmacy and bought an emergency contraceptive pill. I absolutely could not get pregnant with Ethan’s child. Second, I retrieved the betting agreement from the safe in the study and went to a reputable law firm for consultation. The lawyer carefully reviewed the agreement, his expression grave. “Ms. Davis, the terms of this agreement are extremely unfavorable to your side, almost entirely predatory clauses. The other party clearly hired a top-tier team that cleverly hid all the loopholes.” “Is there still room to salvage it?” “According to the stipulated deadline, if the project’s profit targets are not met, the controlling stake in the Davis Group will automatically transfer to the other party of the agreement. As for the agreement itself, within the legal framework, it’s impossible to overturn or annul it.” My last shred of hope was extinguished, and my heart turned chillingly cold. Ethan had coaxed me into signing this betting agreement with sweet talk. What did he say back then? “This project has excellent prospects, but there’s a funding shortfall.” “Sign this agreement, and my funds will be immediately available. The Davis Group won’t just overcome its current difficulties, it’ll reach new heights.” “Don’t worry, with me by your side, you’ll never lose.” Looking at this agreement now, those hidden traps and harsh clauses embedded deep within the legal jargon were simply shocking. It seemed the Davis Group couldn’t be saved. I clenched my hands, trying hard to suppress my emotions. Then I proposed the third matter to the lawyer. “Please help me draft a divorce agreement.” Before Ethan realized the truth, while he was still playing the loving husband, I needed to escape this terrifying marriage as quickly as possible. Otherwise, when he finally closed his net, what awaited me might not just be bankruptcy and humiliation. After getting the divorce agreement, I went straight to the Kingston Corporation building. The receptionist recognized me as Mrs. Kingston and respectfully guided me to the CEO’s private elevator, taking me straight to the top floor. I walked to the office door. I raised my hand to knock, but through the crack in the door, I caught a glimpse of something that instantly froze my blood. Behind the desk, a woman in a white chiffon dress with flowing dark hair sat on Ethan’s lap. She was intimately wrapped around Ethan’s neck, her lips pressed tightly against his. They were kissing intensely and passionately, as if everything around them had ceased to exist. Just then, Ethan seemed to sense something. His gaze inadvertently swept toward the door. The next second, his movements suddenly stiffened. “Chloe?” Ethan almost instinctively pulled Serena off his lap, stood up, and hurried toward me, a rare look of panic on his face. “Don’t misunderstand. Serena just accidentally twisted her ankle and stumbled into my arms.”

Chloe’s POV Serena twisted her ankle and fell into his arms, and then they just happened to kiss? Was he trying to fool me with such a clumsy lie? Did he think I was an idiot? Well, in his eyes, I was probably already a fool blinded by love. And now, I had to continue playing that “fool.” “Really?” I nodded. “Oh, I see.” Ethan eyed my eyes suspiciously. “You don’t believe me, do you?” “I do.” I smiled and met his gaze sincerely. “Between a husband and wife, trust is the most important thing, so I trust you.” Ethan’s tense nerves relaxed, and he let out a silent sigh of relief. “Of course.” He stepped forward and took my hand, his touch so gentle it seemed to drip with affection. “It’s good that you understand. I would never do anything to betray you.” Listening to his utterly hypocritical words, my heart filled with cold mockery. Just then, Serena gracefully walked towards us. “You must be Mrs. Kingston? Ethan often mentions you.” She wore a flawless, sweet smile and extended a slender hand towards me. “I’m Serena, Ethan’s friend.” The kind of friend you kiss? I didn’t take her hand. Instead, I raised an eyebrow at Ethan and asked, “You have such a beautiful friend? Why have I never heard you mention her before?” A flicker of unnaturalness crossed Ethan’s face. “Serena is a dancer; she’s often on international tours and rarely comes back. We… haven’t seen each other in a long time, so I didn’t specifically mention her.” After speaking, he turned to Serena, signaling with his eyes. “Didn’t you say you have a rehearsal for your next tour later? If you have something to do, go ahead and take care of it.” His dismissal was obvious, and the smile on Serena’s face faded. But she didn’t say anything in the end, just let out a cold huff and left the office in her heels. Ethan’s gaze unconsciously followed her retreating figure, a quick flash of guilt and helplessness in his eyes. This subtle emotion did not escape my notice. I felt as if my frost-covered heart had been sharply pierced by an invisible needle again. I hadn’t expected that, to get revenge on me, he would even make the woman he loved suffer like this. He truly was a man with a deep and terrifying mind. Ethan resumed his gentle expression, turning back to ask, “Why did you suddenly come to the office to see me?” I lowered my gaze, concealing all emotions in my eyes. Just as I was thinking about what excuse to use to make him sign the divorce agreement, Ethan’s secretary rushed in, looking anxious. “Mr. Kingston, bad news! Ms. Serena was just hit by a car that suddenly swerved out at the parking garage exit downstairs!” “What?!” Ethan’s face changed drastically, filled with alarm and panic. He forcefully pushed me out of his way, like a gust of wind, and rushed out. Pushed unexpectedly, I stumbled sideways, hitting my forehead hard on the doorframe. A sharp, intense pain shot through me, accompanied by waves of dizziness. I held onto the doorframe, barely steadying myself. When I looked up again, Ethan had already vanished from outside the office. See, this is the man who swore his feelings were real, who would spend his life proving how much he loved me. This is the man who said he would never betray me. In front of the person he truly cared about, I, Mrs. Kingston, was nothing more than an obstacle to be casually pushed aside. I didn’t follow to check on Serena’s injuries. I figured Ethan wouldn’t be back today, so I didn’t linger. I drove back to the mansion. However, less than half an hour after I returned to the mansion, Ethan suddenly pushed open the door, radiating a chilling aura. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me out. “Come with me!” Forcibly put into the car, I was utterly bewildered. “Where are we going?” “Serena has a coagulation disorder. She’s bleeding uncontrollably after the car accident and urgently needs a blood transfusion to save her life, but the hospital’s supply for her blood type is critical.” Ethan’s face was ashen. He started the car and said in a deep voice, “I remember, you’re also AB negative.”

Chloe’s POV The car sped, running several red lights, finally stopping at the city hospital entrance. Ethan pulled me without explanation, heading straight for the emergency blood transfusion unit. “Doctor, I’ve brought her. Give her a transfusion immediately!” The nurse quickly prepared the equipment, motioning for me to sit in the blood collection chair. I looked at the needle and finally spoke. “I had a physical a few days ago, and I haven’t been feeling well recently. My doctor advised me to get more rest and said I wasn’t suitable for blood donation.” Ethan frowned tightly. “It’s just a little blood; it won’t kill you. Serena is in critical condition. You’ll have to bear with it for now.” “A little blood?” I looked up, meeting his gaze calmly. “Are you sure it’s just a little blood? She has a coagulation disorder; she’ll likely need a significant amount.” “Whatever amount can be saved!” Ethan was filled with anxiety and urgency. “Chloe, when did you become so heartless? This is a human life!” I almost scoffed. Heartless? Who was more heartless? “What if I say no?” I asked faintly. Ethan’s eyes instantly turned cold. He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “Don’t throw a tantrum now. Donate blood this one time, and I’ll compensate you. You can have anything you want.” “Anything I want?” I repeated. “Yes, anything.” “Okay.” I changed my attitude. “Then I want a three-month extension on the Davis Group’s betting agreement.” Ethan’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing me. “Why bring that up suddenly?” “The company project hasn’t been going smoothly lately. I need more time.” I said, “If you agree, I’ll donate blood now.” Ethan was silent for a few seconds, seemingly weighing his options, then finally nodded. “Okay, I agree.” I scoffed inwardly. Sure enough, for Serena, he would agree to any condition. “Then you sign first. I have the agreement all ready.” I slowly took out the agreement from my bag. “Once you sign, I’ll donate blood immediately.” Ethan had always been cautious, meticulously reviewing every contract, big or small, before signing. But today, perhaps anxious to save Serena, he only roughly skimmed the first few pages of this betting extension agreement before signing his name without hesitation. Ethan handed me the signed contract. “Done. Now, donate the blood.” He didn’t know that I had secretly tucked our divorce agreement into this contract beforehand. He had signed not only the betting extension agreement but also our divorce papers. After putting away the contract, I sat in the blood collection chair and extended my arm. The nurse began to draw blood. As the blood slowly flowed from my body, I watched the crimson liquid pass through the tube into the blood bag, and suddenly found the scene utterly absurd. I was his wife, the woman he had meticulously plotted to deceive and relentlessly pursued for three years. But now he needed my blood to save the woman he truly loved. He had played the role of a loving husband for so long in front of me, but with Serena facing life and death, he couldn’t keep up the act any longer. The moment the needle was pulled out, I felt a wave of dizziness. The nurse asked with concern, “Mrs. Kingston, are you alright? Do you need to rest?” I shook my head, pressed the cotton ball to my arm, and stood up. Ethan’s attention was no longer on me; he was anxiously asking the doctor about Serena’s condition. “Don’t worry, Mr. Kingston, Ms. Serena is out of danger. The transfusion was very timely.” The doctor’s words visibly relieved Ethan. Only then did he remember me. He turned to look at me. “I’ll have the driver take you home to rest.” “No need.” I refused curtly. “I can manage myself.” I turned and left, my steps steady, my back straight. Only when I reached outside the hospital and sat in the car did I allow myself to lean back against the seat, close my eyes, and take several deep breaths. The weakness after drawing blood began to set in, but my mind was racing. Three months. I exchanged a blood donation for three months’ time. It wasn’t much, but at least it was a breathing room. I had to find a way to preserve the Davis Group’s assets as much as possible within these three months, to secure a fallback for my father and myself.

Chloe’s POV I contacted my assistant, gave him the signed divorce agreement, and asked him to expedite the process. After that, I drove back to my father’s place. Mr. Davis, my father, had been recuperating at home almost exclusively since his recent critical illness; his health was not what it used to be. “Why are you here?” Mr. Davis looked surprised to see me. “Your complexion looks terrible.” “I have something to tell you.” I sat opposite him. Mr. Davis sensed something serious was amiss and dismissed all the household staff. I handed him a document. Mr. Davis put on his reading glasses and flipped through a few pages, his face growing increasingly grim. “This is…” “This is the betting agreement Ethan made me sign. He tampered with it, intending to swallow the entire Davis Group.” Mr. Davis was utterly shocked. “Why would he do that?” “Because he is the brother of the woman Blake once cheated with.” I said, word for word. “He approached me, married me, all to avenge his sister.” Mr. Davis was struck as if by lightning, looking significantly older in an instant. After a long while, he asked in a trembling voice, “What are you going to do now?” I leaned forward, lowering my voice. “First, you must pretend to know nothing, continue to recuperate, and not let Ethan become suspicious. Second, I will secretly contact a reliable legal team to divest the Davis Group’s core assets as much as possible. Third…” I closed my eyes, then opened them again. “I need to investigate the truth behind his sister’s incident back then.” I never knew that because I exposed the video of Blake cheating with his sister, she actually committed suicide due to depression. I had a feeling something was off about that. “Also, I’ve already figured out a way to divorce him. We can’t stay in this city anymore, or he definitely won’t let us go.” I said seriously, “So, before my birthday, we’ll leave together.” Mr. Davis nodded approvingly. “Okay, I’ll listen to you.” In the following days, I behaved as if everything was normal. I continued to go to the company to handle affairs, continued to attend social events, and continued to play the role of Mrs. Kingston. At the same time, I was also looking for someone to investigate the truth behind Ethan’s sister’s death, and secretly contacting lawyers and accountants to carry out asset transfers and property preservation. Ethan was often not home due to Serena’s injuries, which gave me a lot of room to operate. But I knew Ethan wouldn’t completely let down his guard. Sure enough, that evening at dinner, Ethan casually asked, “What have you been busy with lately? The people at home say you’ve been leaving early and coming home late every day; they rarely see you.” I had already prepared an excuse, responding smoothly, “I’m in talks for an overseas project, so I’ve been quite busy.” “Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “Is it going smoothly?” “Not very. The other party’s conditions are very harsh, and I’m still considering it.” “Do you need my help?” “No, I can handle it myself.” I looked up and gave him a faint smile. “Didn’t you always say you hoped I could stand on my own?” Ethan gazed at me for a moment, then smiled too. “Yes, my wife is becoming more capable.” His smile was still gentle, but I caught a hint of scrutiny deep within it. I tried my best to maintain a normal, natural demeanor, not letting him see any hint of a clue. After a moment, Ethan seemed to finally dismiss his suspicions and suddenly said, “By the way, Serena has recovered and been discharged. She’s very grateful that you donated blood to save her life that day and said she would like to invite you to dinner tomorrow night to thank you.” He paused, then added, “If you find it troublesome, I can decline for you. After all, you’re not very familiar with her.” I could tell he didn’t want me to have any contact with Serena. He was only relaying Serena’s invitation because she had asked him to. I originally felt there was no need for this dinner. But after a moment’s thought, I smiled and accepted. “No, I should go. Ms. Serena is your friend, and if she has extended such a gracious invitation, I shouldn’t disappoint her.”

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The office door was slightly ajar. I stood there holding the bouquet of bellflowers I had specially arranged for him, my hand raised to knock. Then I heard it. A woman’s soft, breathless voice drifting through the gap. “Ethan… it hurts. Be gentle…” Through the narrow crack in the door, I saw the most bitter thing I had ever witnessed in my life. The man I had been married to for three years, the man who would tear off his own shirt and throw it in the trash if I so much as brushed his sleeve, was holding a woman in a white dress tightly in his arms. He was kissing her. He didn’t stop. “Easy now. It’ll only hurt for a second. You’ll feel better soon.” The bellflowers slipped from my hands. Petals scattered across the floor. He looked up. The moment he recognized me, every trace of warmth drained from his eyes. What replaced it was cold, pure contempt. “Who let you up here?” His first instinct was to straighten the woman’s clothes. I pulled the corners of my mouth into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I’m just a flower delivery girl, right?”

Summer’s POV When the rose thorn pierced my finger, a bright bead of blood surfaced instantly, vivid red against pale skin, impossible to ignore. I didn’t give it much thought. I grabbed a paper towel, pressed it down, and kept working on the enormous floral arch in front of me. Today was the ten-year anniversary gala for Gordon Capital. As New York’s largest investment firm, the celebration was nothing short of lavish. I was a florist here, the one in charge of all the floral arrangements for tonight’s event. I also had a secret identity: the wife of Ethan Gordon, CEO of Gordon Capital. Three years of marriage. Five years of knowing each other. I stared at the lush red roses in front of me and felt my mind drift. For five years, I had spun like a top that never got to stop, always orbiting Ethan. Ethan had severe haphephobia. How severe? He wore gloves whenever he went outside. If anyone touched even the hem of his clothing, he’d strip it off on the spot and throw it away. Three years of marriage. Three years of sleeping in separate rooms. No hugs. No kisses. Certainly nothing more. I had tried not to believe it once. I tried approaching him. I got two weeks of silent treatment in return, plus the sight of him washing his hands until they were raw and peeling. After that, I stopped trying. As long as I could be near him, I told myself a platonic marriage was still something. Still enough. He was cool, untouchable, like a god on a pedestal. And gods were never meant to be stained by ordinary things. “Summer, did the exclusive bouquet for the top-floor executive suite get sent up yet?” My assistant Mia came jogging over. I snapped back to the present and wiped the blood from my fingertip. “I’ll take it up myself.” It was a bouquet of bellflowers I’d put together specifically for Ethan. The meaning of bellflowers: hopeless love. And eternal love. I wanted to give him a surprise on this special day. I took the private elevator to the top floor. The hallway was perfectly quiet. Ethan didn’t like crowds. His floor was always off-limits. I carried the flowers to the slightly open door of the executive suite. I was about to knock when a sound through the gap froze my hand in midair. “Ethan, I’m scared.” The woman’s voice was soft, thick with tears. My heart clenched. I peered through the gap. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, Ethan, who always kept everyone at arm’s length, who would frown if someone even breathed too close, was holding a woman tightly against his chest. She was wearing a white dress, slender and fragile, her whole body buried in him. And Ethan wasn’t wearing his gloves. His long, lean fingers moved slowly through her hair, stroking it over and over again with a gentleness I had never once seen from him. His chin rested on top of her head. His voice was low and soft in a way I didn’t recognize. “Don’t be afraid, Wendy. I’m here. As long as I’m here, no one can touch you.” Wendy Shaw. Something detonated inside my head. Like a bomb going off and leaving nothing behind. Wendy Shaw was Ethan’s first love. The girl he had supposedly loved to his bones, and who had left him behind to study abroad. I had always known that name. But I thought she was the past. Turns out the untouchable god could come down from his pedestal after all. His haphephobia was selective. He was allergic to the entire world. But not to Wendy. I stood outside that door as the blood slowly drained from every part of me. Like something vital was being pulled out all at once. The bellflowers in my arms turned impossibly heavy. I could barely breathe under the weight of them. It hit me then. Every version of myself over the past five years had been a complete joke. I’d folded in every sharp edge I had, terrified of touching him, terrified of annoying him. I’d kept the house spotless every single day. I’d been afraid to even breathe too loudly around him. I had told myself he was just a block of ice that hadn’t thawed yet. But right now, that block of ice was melting, pouring itself out for someone else. The bellflowers fell from my hands. Petals spread across the floor. The small sound was enough. Ethan raised his head. His sharp gaze cut straight to the doorway. The instant he recognized me, every drop of warmth left his eyes. What filled them instead was ice and suspicion. He instinctively moved Wendy behind him, like I was something dangerous. “Who let you up here?” Ethan’s voice was cold enough to cut. I watched that protective gesture. My heart felt like an invisible hand had reached in and crushed it. The pain was so complete I could almost taste blood. I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. My throat was too dry. Wendy peered out from behind him, eyes red-rimmed, like a startled doe. “Ethan, who is she…?” “The florist.” He cut her off without a second’s hesitation, his cold gaze fixed on me. “Drop off the flowers and get out. From now on, no one steps onto this floor without my permission.” The florist. I pulled the corners of my mouth up. I was trying to smile. Instead, tears fell first. Three years of marriage, and in his mouth, I was just the flower delivery girl. “Okay.” I heard my own voice, dry and hollow, echo down the hallway. I didn’t pick up the flowers. I didn’t look at either of them again. I turned and walked toward the elevator, one step at a time. Every step felt like walking on the edge of a blade. When the elevator doors closed, I finally gave out. I pressed my back against the cold metal wall and slid to the floor. So that’s how it is. No love means no love. No psychological condition. No haphephobia. The only reason was simple: I wasn’t her.

Summer’s POV By the time the gala ended, it was deep into the night. I was in the flower shop reconciling the last of the accounts when the rain outside picked up. Hard, driving rain. The kind New York gets in late autumn, cold straight through to the bone. A black Maybach pulled up in front of the shop. The window slid down, and there was Ethan: sharp jaw, frost-cut features, expression carved from stone. “Get in.” It was a command. No room for question. I stood under the awning, watching the car through the rain, and didn’t move. In the old days, I would have run to that car without a second thought. Just sitting in the passenger seat, watching him from across the console, that alone would have felt like happiness. Now I just felt tired. “I’ll get a cab.” My voice came out even. Ethan’s brow pulled tight. Impatience flickered across his eyes. “Summer, I don’t have time for this. Get in the car.” I looked at him quietly for a moment. Something about it almost made me laugh. A tantrum? In his mind, I didn’t even have the right to be hurt. Every emotion I had was just making a scene. I opened my umbrella and walked straight to the curb, flagging down a passing cab. Ethan watched the taxi pull away. His expression darkened like a storm rolling in. He pressed the accelerator and followed. By the time I got back to the house, I was soaked through. I walked past Ethan, who was already sitting on the couch radiating cold fury, and went straight upstairs to shower and change. When I came back down, towel-drying my hair, he was standing with a glass of water, watching me with that familiar icy stare. “Would you care to explain that little performance at the office today?” He opened with an attack. His tone carried the weight of someone who’d already decided he was in the right. I paused, then met his eyes. “I’m just the florist. Who exactly do you think I was performing for?” Ethan’s expression shifted. “Wendy just got back. She’s not stable right now. She’s been through trauma. I was only comforting her. Stop making this into something it isn’t.” “Comforting her?” A short, quiet laugh escaped me. Nothing warm in it. “Ethan, weren’t you the one with severe haphephobia? Weren’t you the one who used hand sanitizer three times if I accidentally brushed your sleeve?” Ethan’s face changed. He’d been hit somewhere real. He shot to his feet. “Summer! What exactly are you trying to say?” “I’m saying your condition is apparently very selective.” I held his gaze. Every word deliberate. “You don’t have a problem with being touched. You just find me repulsive. Isn’t that right?” “Shut up!” Ethan’s voice cracked through the room. His chest heaved. “Wendy is different. She’s sick!” “I’m a living person too!” My voice rose to meet his. “Ethan, for five years I treated you like something sacred. You hated mess, so I cleaned this house three times a day. You couldn’t stand being touched, so I made myself small enough that I barely existed near you. I thought you were sick. I felt sorry for you. But you, you gave every last bit of warmth you had to her, and left nothing for me but cold shoulders and locked doors.” The room went dead quiet. Ethan looked at me. “Calm down.” His voice slid back into its usual detachment. “Wendy and I are just friends. If you insist on being this unreasonable about it, I don’t know what to tell you.” He turned and walked into the study. The door clicked shut. I stood there staring at that closed door until the last of my energy drained away. Unreasonable. Five years of my life, and that’s what I got in return. Unreasonable. You can’t wake someone who’s pretending to sleep. And you can’t warm a heart that was never open to you. I turned and went back to my room. It was quiet in there. Sparse. No sign that Ethan had ever set foot inside. He never did. He said I had a smell he couldn’t stand. I sat down at the desk and opened my laptop. I created a new document. The sound of keystrokes was sharp in the silence. Divorce Agreement. I typed the words. My fingertips were trembling slightly. Under the asset division section, I wrote: No claims. I leave with nothing. I hadn’t married him for money. And now that I was letting him go, I didn’t want any of it. The printer whirred. Two thin pages slid out. I picked up a pen. In the space marked Wife’s Signature, I signed my name without hesitating. Every stroke of every letter cut through five years of blind, stubborn hope. Ethan. You’re free now. So am I.

Summer’s POV The next morning I went to the flower shop as usual. When you finally make the decision to let go, even the pain goes quiet. It just goes numb. At ten o’clock, a familiar black sedan pulled up outside. Ethan’s assistant came through the door, looking visibly uncomfortable. “Ma’am…” “Summer is fine.” I cut him off, polite but distant. He cleared his throat and pressed on. “Ms. Summer, Mr. Gordon would like to place an order. The finest Ecuadorian white roses available, delivered to the Champs-Élysées apartment on the south side of town.” The Champs-Élysées apartment. One of Ethan’s properties. My hand paused mid-trim. The pruning shears slipped and caught the webbing between my thumb and forefinger. A thin line of red. White roses. Wendy’s favorite. So he did know how to be romantic after all. He just never aimed any of it in my direction. “Got it.” I blotted the cut with a paper towel and made a note on the order form. “Delivered before two o’clock.” The assistant looked at me like he wanted to say something. In the end, he just exhaled and left. That afternoon, I had a run to a greenhouse out past the city limits, a shipment of rare moth orchids coming in. The greenhouse was hot and thick with humidity. The air smelled like wet soil and blossoms. I was up on a stepladder, carefully transferring a high-shelf orchid down, when the greenhouse door swung open. I turned. Ethan and Wendy walked in side by side. Wendy was in a long floral dress, her hand looped through Ethan’s arm, smiling like a girl who’d fallen completely and willingly in love. “Ethan, the orchids in here are gorgeous. I want a few for my balcony.” Her voice was all soft edges. Ethan let her hold his arm. His expression was something I had never seen him wear for me, easy, indulgent. “Take whichever ones you want.” I stood on the ladder and watched. My stomach turned. I forced my eyes away and went back to moving the planter in my hands. Maybe I shifted too fast. Maybe the rack had been loose for years. The stepladder suddenly swayed. The heavy metal shelving unit beside it lost its balance and started to fall, straight down toward Wendy. Wendy screamed. I didn’t think. My body moved before my brain did. I lunged forward and grabbed for the shelving unit, trying to catch it. I’d overestimated myself. The metal rack came down hard, taking a row of ceramic planters with it. In the same instant, a dark shape threw itself across the room. Ethan grabbed Wendy and pulled her in, taking the impact on his back as they rolled together onto clear ground. And I was left behind entirely. The rack came down on my arm. The force of it knocked me flat. Ceramic pots exploded across the floor. Sharp shards drove into my forearm and shin. Blood came fast. The pain hit like a wave. I gasped. My vision went dark at the edges. I lay face-down in the broken pottery and dirt, and somehow managed to lift my head. A few feet away, Ethan was checking Wendy over frantically, his voice completely undone. “Wendy! Are you hurt? Tell me where it hurts.” Wendy was sheet-white, clutching his shirt, crying. “Ethan, I was so scared. I thought I was going to die…” “You’re okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you.” He held her tightly, whispering it over and over. I lay in the wreckage and watched them. Blood dripped from my arm into the dark soil beneath me, spreading red in a slow, wide ring. My body was in agony. It felt like something had broken. But it wasn’t the worst pain I was feeling. It was like being stabbed with thousands of needles at once, a pain so complete it made even breathing feel like a luxury. “Ethan…” I forced the word out through clenched teeth, barely a sound. Ethan heard it. He turned. He saw me lying in the blood. His eyes widened for just a second. But he didn’t let go of Wendy. Wendy caught sight of me and screamed, pressing deeper into his chest. “Ethan, the blood. There’s so much blood.” Ethan’s jaw locked. He looked at me, covered in blood and soil, and what crossed his face wasn’t concern. It was disgust. “What are you standing around for? Call an ambulance.” He shouted it at the greenhouse owner, then lifted Wendy in his arms and started walking toward the door. When he passed me, he stopped for just a moment. His voice had no warmth at all. “Get yourself a cab to the hospital. You’re covered in blood. You’ll ruin the car. Wendy’s had a shock. I need to take her now.” Then he was gone. I lay on the cold ground and watched him go. And then I started to laugh. The laughter kept going. Tears cut through the mud and blood on my face. You’ll ruin the car. At the moment I was closest to dying, what he was worried about was his upholstery. I closed my eyes and let the darkness take me.

Summer’s POV The hospital smelled like disinfectant. Cold and clean and clinical. I sat on an ER bed and watched the doctor work a pair of forceps through my forearm, pulling out slivers of ceramic one by one. No anesthesia. The doctor said the wound was too deep. Numbing it would compromise the stitches. The forceps dug through torn flesh and I didn’t flinch once. I just stared at the white wall. “Hang in there, sweetheart. Almost done.” The older doctor glanced at me, something like pity on his face. “Where’s your boyfriend? How’d you end up going through this alone?” I turned the corner of my mouth up. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” Just a man who’s about to be my ex-husband. Might as well be a stranger. Twelve stitches. My forearm disappeared under a thick wrapping of gauze. I thanked the doctor and made my way out of the ER, dragging my feet. My shin had been treated too, and every step came with a limp. I was heading to the payment window when I passed the VIP ward. Through a half-open door, I recognized the silhouette. Ethan was sitting beside the hospital bed, holding a small cup of warm water, carefully guiding it to Wendy’s lips. “Slow down. The doctor said you’re fine, just shaken up.” His voice was so gentle it could have melted something. Wendy was propped against the pillows, pale and soft-eyed. “Ethan, I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have to deal with all this because of me. Is Summer okay? She was right there when the rack fell.” Ethan’s hand paused. Something went cold in his expression. “Don’t worry about her. She’s tougher than she looks. You, on the other hand, stay away from places like that from now on.” Tougher than she looks. I stood outside the door and listened to those four words and felt something inside me being sawed apart very slowly. I looked down at the gauze around my arm. Then I pushed the door open and walked in. The room went quiet. Ethan looked up. His expression collapsed into a tight scowl. “What are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you to go take care of yourself? Why are you in here bothering us?” He didn’t ask how I was. Not once. I didn’t answer him. I walked unevenly to the bedside, reached into my bag with my good hand, and pulled out two neatly folded sheets of paper. I held them out to him. “What is that?” He didn’t take them. Just looked at them with barely-contained impatience. “Divorce papers,” I said evenly. “I’ve already signed. Take a look, and if everything’s fine, sign yours.” The room went still as a held breath. Wendy’s hand flew to her mouth. But behind the shock in her eyes, there was something else, a flash of something she couldn’t quite hide. Relief. Ethan stared at me. “Summer. What is this, another scene?” He stood up and knocked the papers out of my hand. “Wendy is in the hospital. You’re really going to do this right now?” The pages drifted to the floor. I looked at the anger on his face, and found it almost funny. I bent down slowly, one-handed, and picked them up. Then I held them out again. “I’m completely calm, Ethan. I’ve been tired for a long time. I don’t want to keep pretending anymore.” “You don’t want me near you. You can’t stand to be touched. Fine. I’m stepping aside. You can have the life you actually want. So what’s the problem?” Ethan stared at me, something dangerous in his eyes. Then he laughed, short and sharp, and snatched the papers from my hand. He didn’t read a word of it. He pulled a pen from his pocket and signed his name in the husband’s signature line. He pressed hard. Like he wanted to go through the page. “Take your papers and get out.” He threw them at me. I caught them. I looked at his signature. And whatever last small light had been living somewhere in my chest went out completely. I turned around. I walked out on my injured leg, one step at a time. Behind me, I heard Ethan’s voice, certain, almost bored. “Don’t worry about her. She just wants money. She’ll be back in a few days.” But he didn’t know. Some walks away are forever.

Summer’s POV I didn’t go back to the flower shop after leaving the hospital. I went straight to the house where I had lived for three years. It was big and empty and had never felt like a home. The whole place ran cold. I pushed the door open and stood there looking at the living room, all black and white and grey, minimalist to the point of sterility, and felt suddenly like I couldn’t breathe. For three years, I’d tried to make this place feel like home. I’d brought in warm-toned throw pillows, a hand-woven rug, a dozen different green plants full of life. Ethan had taken one look and said it annoyed him. He had the housekeeper throw everything away. I was the clown in a beautiful cage, performing a one-woman show for an audience that had already left. I went to the guest room, pulled out a large suitcase, and started packing. There wasn’t much, honestly. The card Ethan had given me access to over these three years, I had barely touched it. My clothes were all simple, comfortable, cheap. Once I had packed my things, I walked into Ethan’s study. In the corner there was a large storage box. It was full of five years’ worth of gifts I had given him. A cashmere scarf I had knitted by hand. He said the fibers irritated him. Never wore it once. A limited-edition pen I had had a friend bring back from overseas. He said the grip felt wrong. Tossed it aside. A three-dimensional architectural model I’d stayed up for several nights building piece by piece. It was covered in dust. I stood there looking at it all and smiled a little. I found some large black trash bags and started putting everything in. One by one, every last thing I’d given him with everything I had. No hesitation. No grief. I was about to drag the bags downstairs when the front door opened. Ethan walked in, expression dark. He stopped when he saw me, suitcase at my feet, trash bags in both hands. “What are you doing?” His eyes landed on the luggage. “Moving out,” I said flatly. “We signed the papers. There’s no reason for me to stay.” Ethan crossed the room in a few quick strides and tore open one of the black bags. Things spilled across the floor. “Why are you throwing all of this away?” “It’s clutter. And you love things clean, don’t you? I’m just helping.” My tone was mild. Ethan’s gaze swept over the pile. And then something shifted in his face. He dropped to his knees and started digging through the trash bag frantically. His pristine suit jacket picked up dust and grime. Those hands of his, the ones he sanitized if anyone so much as breathed on them, were plunging into garbage without a second thought. “Where is it? Where’s the box?” His voice was fast, edged with something almost panicked. I watched him lose it. I didn’t move. Then he shot to his feet, eyes bloodshot, locked on me. “The pen Wendy gave me. Where is it? What did you do with it?” I went still for a moment. Then I remembered. An ordinary Parker pen, the barrel slightly chipped. Wendy had given it to him before she left for abroad. Ethan had kept it in his desk drawer like it was a relic. He wasn’t looking for anything I’d given him. He was looking for her broken little keepsake. “I didn’t touch it.” I almost wanted to laugh. “Maybe the housekeeper threw it out by mistake.” “You’re lying!” He completely snapped. He closed the distance between us in two steps, grabbed my wrist and caught the injured arm. I sucked in a sharp breath. The color left my face instantly. The wound split open. Blood soaked through the white gauze. “Let go! I told you I didn’t touch it!” I pulled hard. Ethan looked at the blood spreading through the bandage. And didn’t let go. He actually laughed. “Save the act, Summer. You make me sick.” He shoved me away. I couldn’t catch my balance. I stumbled back into the display shelf behind me. The shelf shook hard. Something on the top fell. It hit the floor with a clean, sharp crack. Everything stopped. I forgot about my arm. I stared at what was on the floor. Broken glass. And inside the ruins of it, a single dried rose. My grandmother had made it for me. Before she died, she spent her last good days building that glass dome by hand, a preserved red rose inside. Her final gift to me. Her blessing. It was the most precious thing I owned in the world. And now it was gone. Glass and dried petals mixed together on the floor, the same way my five years of love had been crushed and scattered without a second thought. Ethan blinked. Then his expression hardened. “It’s just a glass case. It broke. I’ll have my assistant order you ten more tomorrow. Now tell me where Wendy’s pen is.” I got up slowly from the floor. I didn’t look at him. I crouched down and started picking up the pieces with my good hand. The glass cut my fingers. Blood dripped onto the withered rose petals. It was almost too vivid to look at. “Ethan.” I didn’t raise my head. “We’re done now.” You broke what mattered most to me. I don’t owe you anything anymore. I stood up, picked up my suitcase, and walked out into the rainy night without looking back.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “415476”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

Eight months into my pregnancy, Jason’s first love, Mia, shot me in the stomach. Blood spread from beneath me. Jason called in the best doctors he knew. The anesthesia had barely worn off when I struggled to sit up — and caught the tail end of his conversation with the doctor. “Captain Jason! Caitlin is hemorrhaging. She needs surgery now!” Jason glanced over at me, barely conscious, and spoke in a voice that was completely calm. “Caitlin’s organs weren’t hit. She’s not in immediate danger. Mia is injured — she has a congenital clotting disorder. Even a minor scrape could be fatal for her. Her case is more urgent.” He gave the order on the spot. Every unit of blood reserved for my delivery was transferred to his first love, Mia. On the edge of death, I used the last of my strength to grab the hem of his jacket. He frowned down at me, his voice cold. “Mia has depression. She was in the middle of an episode. You studied medicine — you know she didn’t mean it.” Then he pulled out a pre-written liability waiver, seized my blood-soaked hand, and pressed my fingerprint onto the signature line by force. “Hang on a little longer. I’ll have the doctors take care of you after.” The moment the words left his mouth, he gathered Mia in his arms and walked out of the operating room. The empty hallway filled with nothing but cold wind. No one looked back. The baby inside me kept kicking. Once. Then again. —

“Move! Get two IV lines in, pressure infusion — get on the phone with the blood bank!” “Doctor, the patient’s blood pressure just dropped to fifty. Blood loss is over two thousand milliliters!” “Where are those two units of packed red cells we had on reserve?” I drifted above the operating room, watching a team of people work frantically around my body. Dr. Brown’s surgical gown was soaked through with my blood. I tried to touch my stomach. My hand passed through the air. Mia’s shot was nothing like the graze Jason thought it was. She had timed it between the nurse’s rounds and slipped the handgun into her sleeve. After pulling the trigger, she pressed her lips to my ear and whispered: “Once you and the baby are gone, Jason will only have me.” “The blood bank just called back. Those two reserve units — Captain Jason signed them out five minutes ago.” The nurse’s voice cracked. “Signed them out? Is he out of his mind? That blood is for a high-risk delivery!” The veins on the back of Dr. Brown’s hand stood out sharp against his skin. “Captain Jason said Miss Mia has a severe clotting disorder. A scrape on her arm. He said she needed the blood as an emergency precaution.” The operating room went still. Only the monitor kept screaming. I watched Dr. Brown pack gauze in desperately, trying to find the bleeding. I wanted to tell him: “Don’t bother.” I never got the next shipment of blood Jason had promised. The fetal heartbeat on the monitor slowed from frantic — to sluggish — to a single, unbroken tone. The baby who had been kicking me just minutes ago went completely quiet. “Fetal heart rate: absent.” “Patient in ventricular fibrillation — prepare to defibrillate!” “Two hundred joules. Charging. Clear.” A heavy thud. My body jolted off the table, then dropped back down. The ECG line flickered a few times, then went flat. “Captain Jason said the next blood shipment from the city blood bank is ten minutes out.” The head nurse pushed open the door, eyes red. Dr. Brown set down the defibrillator. His voice came out barely recognizable. “We won’t need it. Time of death: 8:07 PM.” I watched a nurse lift the white sheet and draw it over my face, covering the eyes that would not close. Just on the other side of the wall, in the VIP room, Jason was dabbing antiseptic on the scrape at Mia’s elbow. “Jason — did I kill someone?” Mia curled up on the hospital bed, shoulders trembling. Jason tossed the cotton swab into the waste bin, his voice steady. “No. She just had a surface wound. You were in an episode — you couldn’t control yourself. There’s no legal liability.” “But she bled so much. The way she looked at me was terrifying.” “That was amniotic fluid mixed with blood. It looked worse than it was. She has a medical background — she knew how to avoid the vital areas.” Jason leaned down and blew gently on Mia’s arm, which had already stopped bleeding. “You’re the one I’m worried about. You know your clotting is bad — why were you running around? What if that scrape hadn’t stopped?” Mia leaned into his chest, her tears soaking into his jacket. On the hem of that jacket, the bloody handprint I had left in my last moments was still there. “I was scared that once the baby came, you wouldn’t want me anymore. I couldn’t stop myself.” “Don’t think like that.” Jason ran his hand over her hair. “I already had her put her fingerprint on the waiver. Once she delivers and her emotions settle down, I’ll have her come tell you herself that everything’s fine.” He spoke as though he were scheduling a meeting for the next morning. The door to the trauma room swung open. Dr. Brown pulled off his blood-covered mask, his voice scraped hollow. “We lost them both. The mother and the baby.” And in the room next door, Jason was still bent over Mia, gently blowing on that shallow little scrape on her elbow. —

“Captain Jason, the emergency record from the maternity ward needs your signature.” Nurse Maggie stood at the door of the VIP room, clipboard in hand. Jason tested the temperature of a cup of water and handed it to Mia. He didn’t turn around. “Just leave it at the nurses’ station. Can’t you see Miss Mia needs someone with her right now?” “But sir, this record is different — it’s about last night’s patient, the one who—” “Different how? The maternity ward has emergencies every day.” Jason cut her off. Then he tore a tissue from the box and wiped a drop of water from the corner of Mia’s mouth. “I was up all night with Mia. I don’t have the energy for anything else right now. Have the deputy director sign it.” Maggie opened her mouth. Her eyes went red. She clutched the clipboard and said nothing. She turned and left. I followed her out and watched her slide my death record into a drawer. The little pink ID anklet — the one that never got put on — went in with it, tucked into my patient file. The morgue was so cold. I lay in the refrigerated drawer beside my baby, whose eyes had never opened. No one had come to claim us. All I could do was drift back to Jason’s side. Mia finished her water and reached out to tug at Jason’s sleeve. “Jason, the way she looked at me last night — it was so hostile. Like she wanted to kill me.” “Is she still angry with me? Is she hiding somewhere on purpose to avoid you?” Jason pulled out his phone and looked at our empty Instagram chat. His brow creased slightly. Normally, if he was gone for more than two hours, my messages would come in one after another. Asking when he’d be home. Asking whether Mia was having another episode. But from last night until now, there was nothing. “She’s just stubborn. She thinks I favor you, so she’s pouting.” Jason’s long fingers tapped against the screen. I drifted closer and read what he’d typed. “When you’re done throwing your fit, respond. Mia’s been through enough. Stop making it worse for her.” “The baby isn’t a bargaining chip. Did you really think going silent would make me cave?” He hit send and locked the screen. Mia watched him, a flicker of satisfaction crossing her eyes. She bit her lip, and the tears started again. “What if she calls the police and has me arrested? I’m so scared.” Jason pulled out the copy of the liability waiver. “With this, she can’t touch you legally. And she’s a military doctor — she knows when to let things go.” “Once she cools down, I’ll have her apologize to you. She did provoke you last night, after all.” I watched him quietly. Listened to him use his most measured voice to pass judgment on a dead woman. Two nurses walked past in the hallway, speaking in low voices. “That poor woman last night — she just bled out completely.” “I know. And the baby didn’t make it either. A little girl, they said. Fully formed.” Jason’s hand paused on his water cup. He suddenly remembered — today was my due date. He stood up, a strange heaviness settling in his chest. “I’m going to check on the maternity ward.” He’d barely taken a step when Mia suddenly grabbed her arm and screamed. “It hurts! Jason, I’m so dizzy — am I bleeding again?” Jason turned immediately and sat back down beside her, pressing his hand over hers. A nurse murmured nearby: “That woman who died last night — the name on the baby’s ID anklet, listed as the father… it was Jason, wasn’t it?” Jason had just started to turn when Mia let out a sharp cry and threw herself against his chest. —

When Jason got home, the small nightlight in the nursery was still on. Soft light fell across the brand-new crib, made up with sheets I had washed and dried myself. The hospital bag sat open on the couch, folded with tiny onesies and diapers. My prenatal file was still on the entryway shelf. A sticky note was pinned to the kitchen table — a list of postpartum meals I had written out in advance. Jason changed his shoes and stood in the silence of the apartment, frowning. He probably expected to find me on the couch waiting for him, eyes red, demanding to know why he had saved Mia first. But the only sound in the apartment was the ticking of the wall clock. He walked to the kitchen table and picked up the sticky note. On the back, in my handwriting, was an emergency birth plan. “If I hemorrhage, please prioritize saving the baby.” “If I don’t make it off the table, please tell Jason — don’t let Mia anywhere near our child.” Jason let out a cold laugh, crumpled the note, and dropped it in the trash. “Always with the dramatic threats.” He took out his phone and tried my number again. A recorded voice told him it was out of service. He opened Instagram and typed hard. “You’ve made your point. Come home. The due date is any day now — don’t do this with your body.” “I handled the situation with Mia. She’s just a patient. Let it go.” “Once the baby’s here, you can take your maternity leave at home. Actually, it would be a good time to spend some time with Mia — help her with some of her anxiety.” He sent the messages. No response. Jason tossed his phone on the couch and pressed his fingers to his temple. His other phone rang. The caller ID showed Dr. Helen — my mentor from medical school, the woman who had always treated me like a daughter. Jason answered and slipped back into his usual formal tone. “Dr. Helen. What can I do for you?” “Jason, where are you right now?” Dr. Helen’s voice was shaking. She was holding something back. Jason glanced at the crumpled note in the trash and assumed I had put her up to this. “I’m home. If she sent you to plead her case, there’s no need.” “If she wants me to come to her, she can walk back here herself. She’s about to be a mother — she’s too old for this kind of thing.” A sharp intake of breath on the other end. “Too old for this? Jason, do you have any idea what happened last night?” “Of course I do.” His voice dropped. “Mia had an episode and accidentally hurt her. I made sure Mia apologized. What more does she want?” “If she feels wronged, I’ll buy her that jewelry set she’s been looking at once the baby’s born. Consider it made up.” “You have no heart.” Dr. Helen’s voice broke into a shout. “I look the other way when you favor that woman — fine. But last night was her due date! You—” Before she could finish, Jason’s second phone lit up. A video call from Mia. Jason didn’t hesitate. He ended Dr. Helen’s call and switched over. Mia’s face filled the screen, streaked with tears. “Jason, come quick! I dreamed about her!” “She had a knife — she said she was going to kill me! I’m so scared!” Jason was already on his feet, keys in hand. “Don’t be scared. I’m on my way.” At the door, his eyes landed on a small velvet box, wrapped neatly on the side table. He had picked it up the week before at a medical conference — a sterling silver baby bracelet, an impulse buy. Engraved on it was the nickname he’d offhandedly chosen: “Annie.” He had probably meant it as a peace offering for after the delivery. He dropped it in his pocket and pulled the door shut behind him. By the time Jason reached the hospital room, Mia was pressed into the corner of the bed, pointing at the window and screaming. “She’s here! She’s holding the baby and she came for me!” —

The curtains were drawn shut. On the nightstand, her phone looped the sound of a fetal heart monitor alarm on repeat. Scattered across the floor were several torn ultrasound photos — the ones I had waited alone in line for, at six months. Mia pressed her hands over her ears and thrashed across the bed. “It’s her! She texted me a curse!” “She said she and the baby are never going to let me go. She said she’s dragging me to hell with her!” Jason crossed the room in a few long strides and pulled her tight against him. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s just in your head.” “It’s not in my head! Look at the phone!” Mia’s hand shook as she pointed to the floor. Jason picked it up. On the screen was a text from an unknown number. “You took my husband. Me and my baby will haunt you.” Jason’s expression darkened instantly. He knew that tone too well. When I’d been pushed to the edge, I had used that same desperate register before. “She’s lost her mind.” He said it through his teeth, eyes full of disappointment. “Scaring a sick person with the baby — is this what kind of doctor she is?” I hung in the air above them and watched Mia bury her face against his chest, the corner of her mouth curling into a quiet smile. She knew, of course. She had known since last night that I was dead. When she fired the shot, her eyes had been frighteningly clear. She had even pressed the gun handle into my hand afterward, calm and deliberate, staging the scene to look like a struggle. And now, using a dead woman’s name, she was still playing the victim in front of Jason. Jason raised his phone and dialed the medical administration office. “Dr. Carter, it’s me. About Caitlin’s fellowship placement next year — put it on hold for now.” “She’s been emotionally unstable throughout the pregnancy. Paranoid tendencies, signs of aggression. She’s not in a position to work with patients.” “Yes. I’ll submit a psychiatric evaluation form.” In a few sentences, he had erased three years of my work and labeled me mentally unfit. He hung up, then sent me an ultimatum. “You have ten minutes to get to the hospital and apologize to Mia in person.” “Otherwise, after the baby’s born, I’m not letting you behave like this anymore. I’ll pull you from the military hospital and have you stay home with the baby.” Message delivered. No response. Mia clutched his sleeve, crying so hard she could barely breathe. “Jason, I’m never going to have children. Why would she use the baby to hurt me like this?” Jason looked at her pale face, and something flickered across his eyes — a trace of guilt. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the velvet box he had meant to give me. It clicked open. The silver bracelet caught the light. The name “Annie” engraved on it looked suddenly unbearable. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not going anywhere.” Jason took Mia’s hand and placed the bracelet — the one that belonged to my daughter — into her palm. “This is for you. Call it her way of making it up to you.” Mia’s tears gave way to a soft smile as she closed her fingers around it. Then a crash shook the room. The door slammed open from the outside. Dr. Helen stood in the doorway, out of breath, hair loose, eyes so red they looked raw. She stormed across the room and swung her hand hard across Jason’s face. The crack of the slap rang through the hospital room. Dr. Helen’s voice broke as she said it: “Caitlin and the baby are dead — and you’re giving her daughter’s bracelet to the woman who killed her?”

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When my fiancé Ethan was picking out wedding jewelry, he bought two pieces — and let my sister Ava choose first. One was a pink diamond necklace he’d tracked down across three cities, paying a fortune at auction. The other was a cheap black brooch that came free with the necklace. It clashed completely with my wedding dress. For once, I pointed at the necklace. “This time — can I choose first?” Ethan ruffled my hair. “Ava’s always been picky. She has to have the best of everything. You’re not like that — whatever’s left is still fine.” I didn’t respond. I just felt hollow inside. Twenty years of growing up side by side with Ethan, and in his eyes, I would always be the one picking up what Ava left behind. Eventually, even love was no different. He’d had feelings for Ava. But Ava chose to chase her career. Heartbroken, Ethan turned to me and confessed. I stared at that black brooch, and suddenly reached out and gave it a small push. “Keep both. I don’t want to choose.” I was done choosing leftovers.

Ethan let out a helpless sigh. “Olivia, this brooch could never suit Ava.” I looked at him steadily. “Then why does it suit me?” Ethan froze for a moment, then smiled. “When you two were little and stood next to each other, everyone said you looked like her scrawny little sidekick.” “Pink diamonds aren’t your style. Black is good — understated, suits anyone.” Sidekick. Ava and I were twins. But I couldn’t match her in a single thing. At school, Ava was always number one. I’d pull all-nighters until my eyes were red, and still only hovered somewhere in the middle. Mom would press a finger to my forehead and sigh. “Same womb, same family — how are you this slow? Oh well. One smart kid is enough.” I trailed behind Ava everywhere. Carrying her bag, peeling her fruit. Ten years of being called her sidekick. I’d told Ethan more than once that I hated that nickname. He kept using it anyway. I looked at him calmly. “Ethan, let’s break up.” Ethan stared at me, laughing like he was humoring a child. “Alright, if you don’t like the brooch, just pick something else. You don’t need to say things like that.” “We’ll go to the mall right now. You pick until you’re happy. Deal?” Ava slid the pink diamond necklace across the table toward me. “Olivia, take my necklace. You’re practically married — you’re an adult now. Stop acting out.” But Ethan stopped her. “That one was specially picked for you. It wouldn’t suit Olivia — it’d be wasted on her.” So it wasn’t a choice at all. He’d always intended it for Ava. Ethan put his arm around my shoulders and steered me toward the door. But the moment we reached the ground floor of the mall, Ava said she wanted to check out a new perfume. Ethan nodded immediately. “Then we’ll go with Ava first. We can pick your gift after. There’s no rush.” Again. Ava spent a long time at the counter, testing different scents. She narrowed it down to two and couldn’t decide. Ethan noticed her hesitation. “Just get both. You pick one to use now, and the other one goes to Olivia. When you want it back, just swap with her.” He paid, then turned and handed a bottle to me. “See? Now you don’t even have to choose your own gift. Ava has great taste. You should be happy.” I didn’t take it. I stared at that bottle and almost laughed. Wasn’t I supposed to be choosing for myself today? “I’m going back to your place to get my things. I won’t be coming back after this.” Ethan’s hand froze mid-air. For the first time, he looked genuinely serious. “Olivia, stop this.” That same evening, he called my parents over. Mom walked in and immediately went for my temples with her finger. “Are you out of your mind? Breaking up? Over what?” “You tell me — what do you think you have that’s good enough for Ethan? You’re average-looking, you’re not the sharpest. If Ava weren’t busy with her career, you think you’d even be in the picture?” My temples throbbed with every word. I’d heard all of this so many times. Not a single word was new. I was slow. I was plain. I wasn’t Ava. Ethan stepped in front of me then, smiling, smoothing things over. “Don’t say that. Olivia is the sweetest — she’s more than good enough for me.” Mom immediately turned to Ethan with an approving look. “See? He’s defending you. Where are you going to find someone like him again?” “If you break up with him, don’t bother coming home.” Right. Such a wonderful man. I should be grateful. I breathed in slowly. “Okay.” Everyone let out a quiet breath of relief, like a difficult child had finally come to her senses. I went to my room. I called my friend and let the tears fall without a sound. “Lily, is there still room for me at that pottery studio?” On the other end, she was careful with her words. “Aren’t you about to get married? Will your family even let you go?” I looked out at the dark night beyond the window, and a small smile crossed my face. “Lily — what would you say if I told you I was going to skip the wedding?”

Lily couldn’t believe it. In her eyes, I was the good girl — obedient, easygoing, never pushed back. Eloping was the last thing she’d expect from me. But if I wasn’t good, no one would love me. Growing up, Ava blazed with a light that made everyone run toward her. I stretched onto my toes as hard as I could. Being obedient, being agreeable — that was the only way to make Ethan and my parents notice me at all. But I was tired of being good. The next day, Ethan took me to see how the new house was coming along. I moved toward the passenger seat, but he pulled me back. “That’s Ava’s seat.” Ava had just come in. Ethan stepped around me and opened the passenger door for her. “Ava’s thinking about buying a place too — might as well check this one out.” I sat down in the back without a word. “Sure.” It was a small standalone house. The moment Ava stepped into the master bedroom, her eyes lit up. “The light in here is amazing. The humidity is just right — perfect for the bacterial cultures I’m growing for my research.” Ethan stood beside her. “If you like it, this room’s yours whenever you want to stay.” “I’ll get our best designer in to set it up for you.” I stood in the doorway. When we were choosing this house — from the location to the layout to every design detail — Ethan had never once got involved. He always said, “It’s just a house. As long as it works, it works.” But now he stood shoulder to shoulder with Ava in front of the window, talking about how to redesign the room. Like a couple planning their own home together. Ava turned and gave me a playful look. “Olivia, would you mind if I took this room?” I looked at Ethan. “Do you remember this is the main bedroom? The one we set aside for the two of us?” Ethan’s expression was unbothered. “A bedroom label doesn’t mean anything. It’s not a lab experiment that needs special conditions. Pick another one.” I unclenched my hand — the one I’d been digging my nails into. “You’re my sister. Stay in whatever room you want.” Ethan patted my head. “That’s my girl.” After the house visit, we got a call from the bridal boutique. The three gowns for the wedding had been finalized. Ava linked her arm through mine. “Olivia, let me come help you choose.” It really did look like something a caring older sister would do. But while I was trying on the gowns, she got a phone call and came back with a pained expression. “There’s been a problem with the dress I was supposed to wear to an important event tonight. I can’t find anything suitable on such short notice…” Ethan’s eyes swept the boutique. “Then find something here.” Nothing caught his eye — until he looked at what I was wearing. “Ava’s fair-skinned. This one would look great on her. Why don’t you let your sister have this one?” The stylist stepped in on my behalf. “Sir, Olivia came in over thirty times for this dress. She designed it herself, made sketch after sketch to get every detail right. It was custom-made specifically for her.” “Besides — you can’t just lend out a wedding gown.” Ethan glanced at me like it was a perfectly reasonable request. To him, it probably wasn’t even a question. But strangely, my chest didn’t hurt the way I expected it to. I stepped out of the gown and handed it to Ava. “It’s fine. You’ll look beautiful in it.” Ethan looked mildly surprised for a moment, then softened. “Olivia, you’re so sweet. Come on, I’ll take you to find something even better.” But his eyes were already fixed on Ava in my dress. He knelt down and carefully smoothed out every fold of the skirt around her feet. I had imagined this scene once. I’d come to this boutique over thirty times. He had come with me exactly once. The stylist smiled and said something about how romantic it was to have your partner fix your dress for you. He hadn’t even looked up. He’d said: “That’s not romance, that’s fuss. They’re being paid to do exactly that.” Now I watched his back as he knelt at Ava’s feet, and I finally understood the price of that fantasy. Everyone had always liked Ava more. My parents. Ethan. Everyone. And still, I couldn’t stop loving him. Because there was only him — when Mom and Dad would grab my ear and call me slow, say I didn’t seem like their child at all — who would quietly slip a strawberry candy into my hand. “Being a little slow is kind of cute, you know.” I kept that love folded up somewhere small. Until the day he told Ava how he felt, and Ava said her heart only had room for her work. He was lost after that. Then he turned and confessed to me. I knew it was out of heartbreak. I said yes anyway. I put aside what I actually loved — art — and stayed by his side as his assistant. I taught myself to read dense data sets and technical reports the way Ava could. But I could never become Ava. And he would never love me the way he loved her. My phone buzzed. The pottery studio is all set up. When are you coming? Ava had already changed out of the dress. Ethan picked up a black gown from the rack without much thought and held it out to me. “Olivia, just grab one — we’re keeping Ava waiting.” “This one’s fine. Simple, classic. Very you.” Black again. My least favorite color. I looked down and typed back a reply. Wedding day. I said I was going to skip it. I meant it.

That night, when we all went to my parents’ house for dinner, I suddenly remembered — today was mine and Ava’s birthday. The cake had been chosen by Ethan. “You two share the same birthday. One cake does the job. So much easier.” It was a beautiful cake. But when I looked closer, I could see thick slices of mango tucked between the layers. Ava loved mango. I was allergic to it. Nobody seemed to notice anything wrong. Ethan was busy with the candles. He placed the birthday crown on Ava’s head. “Ava, make your wish first.” I sat looking at that mango cake, looking at the crown on Ava’s head, looking at the warmth on Ethan’s face — and something in me snapped loose. “Ethan.” “You always buy two of everything. How come there’s only one cake?” “And why is it always me who goes last?” The room went quiet for a moment. Ethan frowned slightly. “It’s been like this for years. What’s gotten into you tonight?” Mom shot me a look. “She’s Ava. And Ava is better than you in every way — of course she goes first. If you were half as capable as her, I’d let you blow them out first.” The words dried up in my mouth. Ava began to make her wish. The whole family gathered around her and sang. By the time it was my turn, the candles had burned almost all the way down. Ethan glanced over. “There aren’t any extras. A birthday wish is just a birthday wish — you can make yours next year, it’ll be the same thing.” Twenty years. Every year, next year. And next year never came. Do children who aren’t exceptional really not deserve to be loved? I sat quietly while they cut the cake, my mind drifting somewhere far away. Somehow the conversation turned to the wedding. Mom looked up and asked me: “How are the reception arrangements going?” I opened my mouth to answer, but she had already turned to Ethan. “Actually — Ethan, most of the guests on your side are from business circles, right?” “Ava’s new research product just launched. The wedding reception would actually be the perfect place to introduce it.” Ethan didn’t even hesitate. He smiled and nodded. “Sure, no problem. We can cut the part where the MC talks about our love story — have Ava present instead.” Ava smiled and said, “We don’t have to cut it. I’ll just say a few words. I don’t want to take over Olivia’s wedding.” Ethan looked at her seriously. “No, if we’re doing it, we do it properly. Don’t worry about that — I’ll take care of everything.” The three of them talked excitedly — where to set up the display table, when she should take the stage, whether they needed a banner. It was supposed to be my wedding. And it was turning into a product launch. Not once did anyone ask what I thought. It didn’t matter. The wedding wasn’t going to happen anyway. I couldn’t breathe in that room. I slipped back to my old bedroom. Out in the living room, Ethan and my parents were gathered around the TV. Ava was competing in a national competition tonight. The results were being announced live. Everyone stared at the screen, too tense to speak. I moved through the old house, quietly collecting my things. There wasn’t much to take. I only wanted one thing — a sketchbook buried in the back of the drawer. Drawings I’d made as a kid. Then the result came in. Ava won first place. The living room erupted. I heard cheers, applause, screaming. Then I heard Ava’s voice, a little playful, a little wistful. “The awards ceremony is on the same day as Olivia’s wedding. You won’t be able to come with me. Such an important moment — and I’ll be there alone.”

A second of silence in the living room. Then Ethan’s voice. “You won’t be alone.” A knock at my door. Ethan stood in the doorway, his tone careful. “Olivia — an award like this only comes once in a lifetime for Ava. It really is a big deal.” “What if we moved our wedding to the evening?” I almost wanted to laugh. As if a wedding only comes around more than once. One of the housekeepers muttered under her breath: “Who has a wedding in the evening?” Mom immediately snapped at her. “Don’t talk nonsense. And you — don’t go believing old superstitions like that.” Ethan looked at me with that soft, certain expression. “Olivia — what do you say? You’ve always been the understanding one.” I looked at him. And I thought of something from a long time ago. I had won a small art competition — the first time I’d ever placed. I was so proud, I counted the days until my parents could come see me collect the award. They told me Ava’s speech competition was more important, and went there instead. Ethan saw how crushed I was. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there. I promise.” But in the end, he went to Ava’s competition too. I stood on that stage alone. In the audience, every face belonged to someone else’s family, and the applause belonged to someone else. And here I was, still alone. “Fine. Move it to the evening. I don’t mind.” There was no point. A wedding without its real center — it didn’t matter when it was held. The moment they had their answer, the celebration started back up. Laughter rolled through the living room, one wave after another. By the end of the night, Ethan had drunk too much. They say people tell the truth when they’re drunk. I looked at his unfocused eyes and, before I could stop myself, I asked: “Ethan — are you looking forward to our wedding?” He didn’t answer. The wind passed between us, cold and thin. “Then why did you confess to me? Why did you ask me to be with you?” I knew the answer. I needed to hear him say it. His voice came out thick and blurred. “In this life… you aim for the top, and you settle for the middle. Finding someone five percent like her… that’s already the best I could do.” “And you’re her sister. Being with you, I still get to be close to her…” The wind stung my eyes. I didn’t know when the tears had run out. There were none left. The truth was crueler than I had imagined. The morning of the wedding. Before dawn, the whole house was in motion — but not for my wedding. Everyone was choosing outfits, doing hair and makeup, mapping out the route to Ava’s awards ceremony. I came out of my room, fully dressed and ready. “I’ll skip the ceremony. I need to get to the venue and make sure everything’s in order.” Ethan didn’t look up. He was helping Ava run through a last-minute checklist. “Okay, go ahead. Don’t keep the guests waiting.” I picked up a small bag and walked out the front door. Then I headed to the airport. As the car pulled away, I caught a glimpse in the rearview mirror — Ethan’s car, the whole family climbing in, laughing, heading off toward Ava’s ceremony. The awards show ran four hours. Four hours later, I landed in Millhaven. My phone buzzed. A message from Ethan. Olivia — the wedding’s in the evening anyway. Skip the reception prep for now. I’ll be there later. Ava needs me here. Go wait at the hotel. Be good. I stared at those words for a long time. Then I blocked his number and locked my phone. Lily wrapped her arms around me. “Let’s go.” Meanwhile, back at the venue. By the time Ethan’s group finally arrived, the wedding hall was chaos. A friend grabbed his arm. “Wasn’t the bride supposed to be here already? Where is she?” Ethan went still. The wedding coordinator spotted the groom and rushed over. “Mr. Carter — we’ve been trying to reach the bride all evening. She’s not picking up. We can’t get hold of her.”

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At the police station, my husband Ethan’s mistress sobbed like she was the victim: “She attacked me, Ethan. It hurts so bad.” Ethan didn’t say a word in my defense. He just wrapped his arms around her and walked out. I was held for three days. The first text I got when I got out was: “Stay away from Wendy. You’re still my wife.” I couldn’t accept it. For six months I kept fighting back, and he personally had me sent to the station nine times. Then came the tenth time. He came to pick me up himself. He saw the bruises and cuts covering my body, and the corner of his mouth curved up in a smirk. “Learned your lesson yet, Jess? Your family’s bankrupt. You’re not daddy’s little princess anymore.” He even took a few steps back like he was disgusted, bracing himself for me to throw my arms around him and cry like I used to. But I felt nothing. I just calmly slid into the back seat. The front passenger seat belonged to Wendy now. That was just how things were. A flicker of surprise crossed Ethan’s face, then settled into a satisfied smile. “When we get home, apologize to Wendy properly. I’ll get that nursery set up like you asked.” My body went stiff. My hand drifted to my stomach without thinking. He didn’t know. The baby was already gone — lost the day I was locked up. A dead baby has no use for a nursery. And I had no more use for him.

Seeing me stay quiet, he reached into his pocket and tossed a jewelry box onto my lap like it was nothing. “Your anniversary necklace. Got it back for you.” “Isn’t that what you were throwing a fit about? Wendy just wanted to borrow it for a couple days. Don’t be so petty.” I slowly raised my eyes, and it took me a long moment to remember that a month ago had been our wedding anniversary. That same day, he’d taken me up the mountain to watch the sunrise. It was well below freezing. The middle of the night. And he left me there alone — all because Wendy had a bad dream. He abandoned me on that mountain. Didn’t come back for the entire night. The anniversary gift meant for me ended up around Wendy’s neck instead. Even now, I could still feel that bone-deep cold crawling up my spine. And he thought I was upset over a necklace. I opened the box. The ruby that had once glowed with a deep, rich red was dull and lifeless now. The chain was spotted with rust. It was obvious. This was a fake. I pushed the box back toward him. “Keep it. She can have it if she likes it.” My tone was distant, and Ethan’s expression darkened. He started to say something, then glanced down at the cheap knockoff in his hand. A brief flash of embarrassment crossed his face. “Wendy must have grabbed the wrong one by accident. I’ll get you a new one.” Then he let out a fond, indulgent little laugh. “She grew up without much. Doesn’t know the difference between a real one and a fake. Don’t be too hard on her.” The way he defended her was so obvious it was almost insulting. The old me would have flipped out right there in the car. But I just smiled along and nodded. “Right. Hard to know better when you’ve never had much to begin with.” Ethan blinked, caught off guard by how calm I was. Then he turned and reached back to ruffle my hair. “Why are you being so reasonable today? Finally coming around?” “As long as you stop going after Wendy, I’ll get you whatever you want.” “Everything in this family will be yours and the baby’s someday. You don’t need to fight with her. Learn to be the bigger person.” “I’ll have the nursery done by next month. This week’s just a little busy.” I turned my head slightly and let his hand fall away without making it obvious. This weekend was Wendy’s birthday. No matter what, her things always came first. “Forget the nursery. Just drive. I’m tired.” We’d been on the road for a little while when Ethan’s phone went off. Loud and shrill — the ringtone he’d set just for Wendy. My brow tightened before I could stop it. My stomach turned. For the past six months, that ringtone had been the sound of my nightmares. At all hours, without pause, filling the house — never letting me rest. Wendy was like a grown child who couldn’t function without Ethan. Power went out in the house. Thunder rumbled outside. A delivery driver glanced at her a second too long. She’d dissolve into tears and beg Ethan to come be with her. It was such a cheap, obvious act. And Ethan ate it up every single time. How many times had I cried and begged him not to go? He’d just give me that flat, cold look and say: “Grow up. Wendy’s not like you. She’s sensitive. She gets scared easily.” He’d forgotten that this “sensitive little thing” he was always making excuses for was six years older than me. Through the phone, Wendy’s crying came through loud and clear. “Ethan, I was trying to make a welcome-home dinner for Jess tomorrow. I’m so clumsy — I cut my hand while I was prepping.” “Don’t cry. I’m on my way.” His voice went tight with urgency. “No, take Jess home first. I’ll be fine on my own. It’s just — there’s so much blood. I’m scared.” The word blood made him slam the brakes. The sudden stop threw my body hard into the seat. The impact hit my injuries. I clenched my teeth against the pain. He was already starting to turn the car around. Then he remembered I was in the back seat. “Jess, maybe you could—” “Go. I’ll get a cab.” I didn’t wait for him to finish. I pulled the door open and stepped out. I walked to the curb and raised my hand for a ride, unbothered. Ethan hesitated, watching me for a moment, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Then Wendy’s crying pulled at him, and he pressed the gas and drove away.

I got home, showered, and changed. My phone lit up. A text from Wendy. “Jess, what do you want to eat tomorrow? I’ll make it for you.” “Don’t worry — I definitely won’t mess it up this time. After all, it’s not like you have a baby to lose anymore, right?” “No matter how much you fight back, Ethan always takes my side. Pathetic.” “If I were you, I would’ve asked for a divorce a long time ago.” My fingers hovered over the screen. The memories hit like a wave. A month ago, I came down from the mountain and walked through our front door. Wendy was sitting on the living room couch. She was wearing my silk pajamas. Around her neck was the ruby necklace that was supposed to be mine. Something snapped in me. I flew at her and grabbed a fistful of her hair. I never landed a single blow. My arm was wrenched back, and Ethan’s palm cracked hard across my face. “What the hell is wrong with you, Jess!” I hadn’t even touched Wendy, and they locked me up for three days. On the other side of the wall, every night, I could hear her. She was doing it on purpose. Loud enough to make sure I heard every sound. No matter how hard I pounded on the door. No matter how I screamed. Ethan ignored it. He would change positions just to make her louder. That was his punishment for me. Three days. I came close to losing my mind. When I pushed open the window and thought about stepping off the ledge, the baby moved inside me. It was the only thing that brought me back. I still had my baby. I wasn’t going to give up. But what I didn’t expect was that the very next day after I was let out, Wendy slipped abortion pills into my breakfast. I hemorrhaged. By the time I understood what was happening, it was already over. The baby was gone. I completely fell apart. I grabbed a knife and went straight to the small restaurant Wendy ran. I destroyed the place. I stood out front and told every neighbor, every passerby exactly what she was — the other woman who’d been tearing apart a marriage. I faced her with tears burning in my eyes and screamed, “Was it you? Why did you do this? Why did you kill my baby?” She just stood there shaking and kept repeating: “I didn’t mean to… don’t accuse me of something I didn’t do.” The knife was still in my hand, not yet raised, when the police arrived and pinned me down. Ethan showed up minutes later. He didn’t look at me once. He went straight to Wendy, gathered her in his arms, and kept murmuring comfort into her hair. He never asked her a single question about what she’d done. When he finally looked at me, his face was full of disappointment, his eyes like ice. “You hate her that much? You won’t stop until you’ve completely destroyed her?” “You can sit in a cell for a month this time. Learn some self-control.” While I was locked up, he arranged for a few of the other inmates to give me special attention. I was beaten every day. Fresh bruises layered over old ones. Through every blow, through every sleepless night, something inside me quietly went out. I stopped wanting his love. I stopped wanting anything from him. The memories faded. The taunting texts on my screen meant nothing to me anymore. I tossed my phone aside and didn’t reply. — I slept, and when I woke up, the smell of food was drifting through the house. I stepped into the hallway. Wendy was sitting in Ethan’s lap in the living room, holding a spoon to his lips, feeding him soup with exaggerated sweetness. They were sharing bites, making a whole show of it. Disgusting. The sound of my door caught their attention. Wendy jumped up like she’d been startled, putting on a look of wide-eyed alarm. “Jess! We were just goofing around. Don’t take it the wrong way.” Ethan watched me like he was waiting for me to explode and go for Wendy. The old me would have upended that soup on both of them. But my calm reaction unsettled him in a way he couldn’t explain. “You two continue. Pretend I’m not here.” I stepped around them and poured myself a glass of water. After I finished, I turned to head back to my room. Ethan caught my wrist. He searched my face like he was looking for something — some flicker of the emotion he expected to find. “When did you get home last night? Why didn’t you text me?”

I pulled my hand free. The question struck me as almost absurd. There was a time I couldn’t stop texting him. Fifty messages a day, easily a hundred. Our whole chat history was a wall of green — all from me. Messages he’d answer when he felt like it and ignore when he didn’t. And now he had the nerve to ask why I hadn’t texted. I let out a short, flat laugh. “Didn’t you tell me to stop bothering you unless it was important?” He went quiet. A little guilty. He had said that. He just hadn’t expected me to actually listen. And now that I had, something about it didn’t sit right with him — though he couldn’t say what. “That’s different…” Wendy slipped her arm through his and cut through the moment. “Ethan, Jess just got back. She’s probably not in the best mood. Don’t pile on with all the questions.” “I made food. Jess, come eat something.” She turned toward the kitchen, picking up a piece of fabric from the counter and bunching it in her fist to use as a pot holder. The fabric unfolded at one corner, and I recognized it instantly. It was my mother’s embroidery. My eyes went wide. I crossed the room in three steps and yanked it out of her hands. The tug made Wendy lose her grip on the pot. Hot soup splashed across her hands. She let out a sharp cry. Her eyes welled up immediately, tears spilling over. “Jess, even if you don’t want my food, you didn’t have to do that.” “I’ve already apologized for everything. Why won’t you just let it go?” Ethan rushed to her side and cradled her reddened hands in his, his voice low and worried. “Does it hurt?” Wendy leaned into him and kept crying. “I don’t understand why she keeps treating me like this. My hands are just good for cooking — I’m not some pampered heiress like her. But that doesn’t mean I deserve to be humiliated.” He soothed her in low tones. Then he turned to me, and the warmth in his face disappeared. “Jess, have you lost your mind? Are you trying to seriously hurt her?” I didn’t answer him. I was looking at the embroidery in my hands. It was ruined. Stained through with grease, the fabric fraying in pieces. There was no fixing it. I made myself breathe. Steadied myself. Then I held it out flat in front of Ethan, my voice not quite steady. “Do you remember what this is?” He glanced at it. His tone was impatient. “It’s an old piece of needlework. You seriously hurt Wendy over that?” I laughed, and it came out cold. He’d forgotten. This was the last piece my mother ever embroidered before she passed. Two swans. Her final blessing for our marriage. She had held my hand at the end and said: “Jess, Ethan is a good man. I can see how much he loves you.” “After I’m gone, he’ll take care of you. I can rest easy knowing that.” After she died, my family fell apart. My father ran off with his girlfriend in the middle of the night, taking everything with him. I was alone. An orphan with nothing. Ethan was the one who took my hand and walked me out of that cold, empty house. He said, “Don’t be scared, Jess. You still have me. I’ll give you a home.” What we had back then was so vivid, so warm — that I couldn’t let go even as it rotted away around me. But now, the two swans had been torn apart. Split by damage that couldn’t be undone. He and I had finally reached the end of the road. “Are you just going to stand there? Apologize to Wendy.” The embroidery was ripped from my hands. I came back to the present. I looked at the mess on the floor. Then at Wendy, still performing her tears beside him. Her hands were barely pink. The soup had been warm, not scalding. I met his eyes. My voice was flat. “Why should I apologize?” “She’s been the other woman in this marriage for years. Has she ever once apologized to me?” “And you — you’ve been cheating on me with someone who worked in our home. Have you apologized?” “Or is this where you tell me that if I don’t say sorry, you’ll have me arrested again? Go ahead. How long this time?” The directness of it stopped him cold. Even Wendy forgot to cry for a moment.

“You — you never change! You’re completely unreasonable!” “I’m taking Wendy to get checked out. Clean this place up. We’ll talk when I get back.” That was all he managed to say before he picked Wendy up and carried her toward the door. I got to my room before he could say anything else and shut his voice out. My phone lit up with a new email notification. My application for the Antarctic biological research expedition had been approved. At the same moment, my phone rang. A friend. “So? Did you get in?” “Yeah. I got in.” “Yes! We’re going to see penguins in Antarctica together! I kept trying to get you to join the overseas research team before and you always said no. What a waste of your talent. What finally changed your mind?” I laughed at myself a little. Seven years of marriage, and I’d almost forgotten that I used to be a serious biologist. A good one. Back in college, I had a strong record — several opportunities to work abroad came my way, but I turned them all down for Ethan’s sake, every time. In his eyes, I was always just a spoiled, stubborn girl with no real substance. He never saw my work. Never acknowledged what I was capable of. I used to tell myself he was just too busy. Now I understood the truth: he just didn’t love me enough to look. “Tell me everything when we meet up. See you at the airport tomorrow.” I hung up and bought a seat on the same flight as my friend. Then I stopped by a law office and had a divorce agreement drawn up. I hadn’t even had a chance to bring it to Ethan before his call came in. “Where are you? Come to my office. We need to talk.” I took a cab to his building. He was already sitting behind his desk with a document in front of him — a divorce agreement. “Jess, this weekend is Wendy’s birthday. The things you said about her — calling her what you called her in public — it’s affected her life.” “People in the neighborhood look at her differently now. You’ve done real damage to her emotionally.” “I’ve decided to have a small ceremony on her birthday. A symbolic wedding, just to counter the rumors.” “After one month, I’ll end it, and we’ll remarry. You’ll always be my real wife. That will never change.” I nearly laughed out loud. He’d just saved me the trouble. I picked up the pen and signed without a second thought. Out of guilt, maybe, he’d been generous with the asset division. My decisiveness made his own hand hesitate over the signature line. “Jess… you’ve changed so much lately.” “I haven’t given you enough attention. I know that. Once this is settled, let’s go to the Maldives — just the two of us before the baby comes. You used to always say you wanted to go.” Before I could respond, his phone rang again. “Ethan, the dress just arrived and I don’t know how to put it on. Can you come help me?” “I’ll be right there, sweetheart.” He paused at the door and looked back at me. “One month, Jess. Wait for me.” I said nothing. He signed the paper and left in a hurry. I went home, packed everything that mattered to me into a single suitcase, and headed straight for the airport. Inside the terminal, my friend Lisa spotted me and waved from across the crowd. The plane lifted into the air, and everything below it fell away. Ethan. I’m done waiting.

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The day I was set to leave the country with a full Ivy League scholarship, customs officers stopped me in front of everyone and declared my passport invalid on the spot. The officer coldly informed me that not only did I have a million dollars in overdue online loans under my name, but I was also involved in fraud lawsuits, listed as a debtor in default, and banned from leaving the country. My world collapsed. I rushed home like a madwoman, demanding answers. My mother, Brenda Hayes, was carefully feeding expensive imported cherries to my ten-year-old twin stepbrothers. When I confronted them, my stepfather, Richard Stone, leaned back in his chair and sneered, “So what if I used your ID to register a company and take out some loans? What’s the point of a girl studying so much? She’ll just get married eventually. This money is for your brothers’ private school tuition. You should be grateful.” Brenda nodded in agreement. When I threatened to call the police, she locked me in the basement and planned to sell me off to a sixty-year-old man to pay off the debts. They were clinking glasses and laughing in the living room, unaware that I had an old tablet in my hands, containing solid proof that my stepfather had a mistress and a five-year-old illegitimate son.

“Elara Reed, I’m sorry, you cannot board this flight.” The harsh fluorescent lights of the airport customs office glared in my eyes, making it hard to keep them open. The officer typed my passport information into the system, then declared it invalid without any expression. “Why?!” I lunged at the counter, my voice hoarse and unrecognizable. “My visa is legal! I have a full Ivy League scholarship! I have to leave today!” I had worked myself to the bone for four years for this day. For four years, I slept only four hours a night, juggling the library and my restaurant job, all to escape that leeching family, that suffocating swamp. Now, I was one step away. The officer looked up coldly and slid a printed sheet across the glass. “Why? See for yourself.” “You have a shell company registered under your name, involved in multiple cases of contract fraud. You also have a total of one million dollars in overdue loans across twelve online lending platforms.” “You are currently a debtor in default. Not only are you restricted from leaving the country, but you’re also banned from flying or taking long-distance public transport.” “Ms. Reed, please leave immediately, or we’ll have to call security.” One million dollars? Shell company? Fraud? I stared at the paper. Name: Elara Reed. ID Number: … The photo was mine. But I couldn’t even bring myself to buy a twenty-dollar milkshake. How could I start a company? How could I borrow a million dollars?! “Impossible… this is absolutely impossible! You’ve made a mistake! Someone stole my identity!” I pounded on the glass, tears streaming down my face. Other passengers stopped and whispered. “Look at her, dressed so shabbily. Turns out she’s a fraudster.” “A million in debt and she wants to run abroad?” “You never truly know a person.” Every word felt like a knife twisting in my heart. My Ivy League dream. My new life. All gone. I sank onto the cold marble floor, shaking uncontrollably. Then something from six months ago flashed through my mind. Brenda had shown up at my college, crying that she’d lost her ID and needed to borrow mine to complete some paperwork. I was busy with finals and gave it to her without thinking. She returned it the next day. No one else had touched my ID but her. I scrambled up, grabbed the crumpled credit report, and ran out of the airport like a madwoman. Home. I had to go home and get to the bottom of this.

The rain poured down. My spending was restricted. I couldn’t even get a ride-share, so I braved the downpour and squeezed onto the oldest, most dilapidated bus. I was soaked to the bone, shivering so hard my teeth chattered. Memories of my years in that house flooded back. Ten years ago, my biological father died in a car accident, and my mother, Brenda Hayes, took all the insurance money. She immediately married Richard Stone, a worthless man. Soon after, she gave birth to twin sons, Liam and Noah. From then on, I was treated worse than a dog. The twins ate imported seafood and wore designer clothes, while I wore hand-me-downs and ate their leftovers. I paid for my tuition and living expenses by collecting recyclables, handing out flyers, and earning scholarships. I thought that if I worked hard enough, if I flew high enough, I could escape them. But I never imagined they could be this cruel. Bang! I kicked open the front door. Inside was a stark contrast to my drenched, pathetic state outside. In the warm living room, a huge crystal chandelier cast a soft glow. Brenda Hayes sat on the leather sofa, carefully peeling expensive imported cherries and feeding them to Liam and Noah. My stepfather, Richard Stone, lounged in his massage chair, a glass of red wine in his hand, humming along to the TV. They both turned at the sound of the door crashing open. “Are you crazy?! If you break the door, can you pay for it?!” Richard’s beady eyes widened, and he started swearing. Brenda frowned, looking at my dripping clothes with disgust. “What the hell is wrong with you? Weren’t you supposed to leave for school today? Why are you back? You’re getting dirt all over your brothers’ rug!” Liam and Noah threw their toy cars at me, laughing and making faces. “The loser’s back! The loser couldn’t leave!” A toy car hit my forehead, raising a large bump. But I felt no pain. I strode forward and slammed the rain-soaked, crumpled credit report onto the expensive coffee table. My chest heaved as I glared at them. “Brenda Hayes! Richard Stone! Explain to me what this one-million-dollar loan and the shell company involved in fraud are all about?!” My voice was a raw, ghostly shriek that echoed through the living room.

The air froze for a second. Richard glanced at the paper on the table. Guilt flickered in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by arrogance. He calmly took a sip of red wine, then crossed one leg over the other. “What are you yelling about? Is someone dead?” Brenda didn’t even look at the paper, continuing to wipe her precious son’s mouth. “Oh, that? Richard used your ID for it.” Boom— Even though I’d suspected it, hearing her admit it made my brain explode. “Why?!” My eyes burned with rage. I lunged forward and swept the fruit bowl off the table, sending cherries flying everywhere. “How dare you use my ID for loans?! How dare you use my name to register a fraudulent company?! Do you even realize customs stopped me?! My education is ruined! My entire life is ruined!” Smack! Brenda shot up and slapped me hard across the face. The slap was full-force, and I tasted blood immediately. “Elara Reed! How dare you knock over your brothers’ fruit bowl?! You’re out of control!” She pointed at my nose, swearing self-righteously. “So what if I used your ID? You eat my food, wear my clothes! I gave birth to you and raised you, so isn’t it only right that I use your things?!” I clutched my burning cheek, staring in disbelief at the woman in front of me. Was this really my biological mother? “Eat your food, wear your clothes? I haven’t taken a dime from you since junior high! Even when I had a fever of 104 degrees, you wouldn’t buy me medicine!” I screamed, my voice raw. “That’s one million dollars! And a fraud record! You’re breaking the law! I’m going to call the police and have you arrested!” At the mention of “calling the police,” Richard sprang out of the massage chair. He rushed over, grabbed my hair, and slammed me to the floor. “You little bitch, you dare call the police?!” He kicked me in the stomach, and I curled up in pain. “Let me tell you! This money is for your two brothers to go to private school! What’s the point of a loser like you studying so much? You’ll just get married and serve some man anyway!” “So what if your credit is ruined? Your husband will provide for you! But your brothers are the future of the Stone family. They must go to the best schools!” Richard’s face was twisted in a sneer, spit flying onto my face. Sweat poured down me from the pain. I turned to Brenda, my eyes holding one last plea. “Brenda… that’s my entire life… you’re a woman too, how could you do this to me…” Brenda looked down at me, her eyes devoid of warmth, filled only with disgust. “Stop playing the victim. Richard is right. Girls like you, with big dreams but fragile fates. What’s the point of going to America? I’ve already found you a good match.” She coldly delivered my death sentence. “Mr. Henderson from the East side. He’s sixty, and his previous three wives passed away, but he’s rich! He’s willing to pay a five hundred thousand dollar dowry to marry you.” “You’ll pack your bags tomorrow and marry him. That five hundred thousand will cover your brothers’ private school tuition, and Mr. Henderson can slowly pay off the rest of your online loans.”

I felt like I’d fallen into an ice pit. Sixty years old. Three deceased wives. They weren’t just ruining my future. They wanted to drain me dry and sell me off to some perverted old man. “Dream on!” I found a surge of strength, shoved Richard away, and scrambled toward the front door. “I’m going to the police station! I’m going to report you for fraud! I’m going to put you in jail!” “Grab her! Don’t let that little bitch escape!” Richard roared. Brenda, with surprising speed, grabbed the back of my dress and yanked hard. I fell heavily, hitting my chin on the doorframe, blood gushing out. Richard rushed up and started punching and kicking me again. “Liam! Noah! Get the rope!” Brenda shouted at her two sons. The two ten-year-old devils weren’t scared at all. Instead, they clapped their hands excitedly and ran to the balcony to fetch a thick nylon rope. “Tie her up! Tie up the loser!” they shouted, spitting on me. With my own mother and stepfather working together, I was tied up tightly, and a foul-smelling rag was shoved into my mouth. “Throw her in the basement! Starve her for three days, let’s see if she’s still so defiant!” Richard dragged me by my hair like a dead dog toward the dark, damp basement. Slam! The heavy iron door was locked tightly. I was thrown onto the cold concrete floor, surrounded by endless darkness. Faintly, I could hear the happy chatter of the four of them upstairs. “Richard, you always know what to do. Once Mr. Henderson pays the dowry tomorrow, Liam and Noah’s private school tuition will be settled!” “That’s right! That little bitch thinks she can cause trouble? I’ll mess her up for good!” “Brenda, I want lobster!” “Alright, alright, I’ll buy it for you tomorrow!” Listening to those voices, my tears silently streamed down, mixing with the blood from my chin, dripping onto the dirty floor. Even a tiger doesn’t eat its own cubs. But my own mother, to please my stepfather and her two precious sons, was skinning me alive. Despair drowned me like a surging tide. Was my life, Elara Reed’s life, truly destined to rot away in this dark, sunless basement? No. I wouldn’t accept it. I gritted my teeth, struggling frantically in the dark, trying to saw through the ropes on my wrists. The coarse nylon rope bit into my wrists, making them bleed, but I felt no pain. A fire of hatred raged in my chest. I had to get out. I had to make them pay.

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The night I had drunken sex with Aaliyah, she’d just broken up with her boyfriend Logan. In the end, she married me. My marriage was quiet and happy. I once thought we’d be together forever. Until Logan died of illness, and she went to his funeral. That’s when she found out Logan had originally wanted to get back together with her—but he’d walked in on us having sex, so he gave up. Aaliyah hated me to the bone after that. She insisted on divorcing me and humiliated me in every way she could. As I lay dying, she leaned in and whispered in my ear: “Your love disgusts me.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the night she and Logan broke up. This time, when she tried to seduce me, I grabbed my coat, ran out of the room, and knocked on her ex-boyfriend’s door. Logan froze when he saw me. His eyes were red and swollen—he’d clearly been crying. “Charles? What are you—” “Logan.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “Can I come in and talk?” The living room was a mess. Half a birthday cake sat on the table. I gave him a small smile and got straight to the point: “I came to apologize for my sister. She forgot your birthday—that was her fault.” Logan pressed his lips together, silent. “It’s not that she doesn’t love you. She’s just never been good at expressing herself. After you said you wanted to break up, she went to a bar to drink alone.” I paused. “Logan, go find her.” In my last life, even after Aaliyah married me, she’d drink alone every year on Logan’s birthday. She never got over him. Logan looked at me, then suddenly smiled—though his tears fell harder. “Aaliyah’s so cold and distant. How did she end up with such a sweet brother like you?” “I’m going right now.” “Thank you, Charles.” After I told Logan which bar Aaliyah was at, he changed clothes and headed out. I watched him leave and let out a long breath. In this life, that night would never happen. When I got home, I dug out the diary I’d hidden in the back of a drawer. I’d been on the streets at ten years old, when eighteen-year-old Aaliyah found me. She was cold to outsiders, but gentle with me. When I first started understanding love, I knew—I was in love with her. But it was a feeling I could never speak aloud. I took out the diary and tore it apart, page by page. The shreds dropped into the toilet, and I flushed them down myself. About two hours later, the door opened. Logan helped a very drunk Aaliyah inside. She was clinging to him, mumbling: “Logan… don’t break up with me… I was wrong… I really was…” Logan sighed helplessly, agreeing over and over: “Okay, okay, we won’t break up.” When he saw me, he looked relieved. “Charles, could you pour her a glass of milk? Let me get her to her room first.” “Sure.” Logan helped her into the bedroom. I stood in the kitchen waiting for the water to boil, listening to the sounds drifting from the bedroom. She was being playful. He was laughing. The first time Aaliyah brought me to meet Logan in my last life, I knew—they were perfect for each other. Logan was gentle and thoughtful. Good family, good upbringing. He’d always been kind to me too. He was a good man. If it weren’t for me, he wouldn’t have died. They would have been happy. In this life, I’d make it right.

Logan stayed the whole night taking care of Aaliyah. The next morning, when I went downstairs, Aaliyah was busy in the kitchen. She’d fried eggs, warmed milk, and cut toast into triangles, arranging them neatly on a plate. Then she carried it over to Logan, her voice soft: “Eat up while it’s hot.” Logan grinned and poked her. “Since when did you become so good at taking care of people?” Her eyes settled on his face. She didn’t reply, but her lips curved up. In my last life, after we got married, she used to cook for me too. When I was sick, she’d clumsily make me plain rice porridge. I stopped at the foot of the stairs. “Charles, come have breakfast.” Logan waved me over. Aaliyah glanced up at me, her gaze flat. No extra words. No expression. I sat down at the table, and she got up, leaving an empty seat between us. She looked at me like I was a stranger. It reminded me of the cold cruelty in her eyes when she forced me out of our marriage with nothing. After I shoved a piece of bread into my mouth, I stood up. “I’m full. I have class. I’m heading out.” Logan said, “Already? You haven’t even finished your milk—” “I’m running late.” I grabbed my backpack and escaped out the door. I spent the whole day at the library, researching study-abroad programs and filling out applications. In my last life, I’d given up the chance to study abroad just to stay near Aaliyah. This time, I was going far, far away. I’d live for myself. That night, I’d planned to stay at the dorm, but Logan called. “Charles, come home for dinner! I have big news!” When I got home, Aaliyah opened the door. She frowned when she saw me. “Why are you back?” Clearly, she hadn’t been the one to invite me. “Logan said he had something to tell me,” I said quietly. Logan poked his head out of the kitchen. “Charles is back!” He pushed me onto the couch and shoved the remote into my hands. “Watch some TV—dinner’s almost ready!” Aaliyah was helping him in the kitchen. Through the glass door, I could see her tilting her head down to listen to him talk, the corners of her lips lifted slightly, her eyes so soft they could melt. She’d cooked for me before, too. On my birthday, she’d canceled her work plans and made an entire spread of dishes for me. “What are you spacing out for?” Logan caught me staring and pushed Aaliyah out of the kitchen. “Go keep Charles company. I’ll handle the soup.” Aaliyah wiped her hands and sat down on the single armchair across from me. There was a wide gap between us. The silence stretched. Some boring variety show was playing on the TV. The canned laughter sounded grating. “Charles.” Aaliyah suddenly spoke. I looked over. She met my eyes, her gaze heavy. “Focus on your studies. Stay grounded. Don’t think about things you shouldn’t.” My heart clenched hard. Things I shouldn’t think about. In her eyes, my feelings for her were something I shouldn’t even have. In my last life, when she found my diary, she’d said: “Charles, you really disgust me.” She thought I’d schemed against her, that I was greedy for what wasn’t mine. But I’d only loved her. I never said a single word to Logan to come between them. She didn’t believe me. “I understand,” I heard myself say calmly. “I won’t.” At dinner, Logan announced excitedly: “Aaliyah proposed to me today!” He held out his hand—the engagement ring sparkled under the light. “Congratulations,” I said with a genuine smile. “I hope you two are happy.” Aaliyah’s hand paused mid-air, fork hovering. She looked up at me. I kept my head down and pretended not to notice. After dinner, I volunteered to clean up. Faint laughter drifted from the living room. Logan was talking about his vision for the wedding, and Aaliyah’s voice answered low and indulgent. After washing the dishes, I dried my hands and went to tell them I had to head back to school. Just as I reached the living room doorway, I heard Aaliyah’s voice: “…After he graduates, let’s have him move out. I’ll buy him an apartment near his school. He’s a grown man—it’s not really appropriate for him to keep living with us.” Logan disagreed: “But it’s not safe for Charles to live alone.” “And you’re his sister—what’s wrong with him living with us?” Aaliyah’s voice was flat. “He’s grown. He should have his own life. We need our own space too.” I stood frozen for a moment, then didn’t listen to any more. I turned, slipped quietly upstairs, grabbed my bag, and left. After I’d walked far enough away, I sent Logan a message: “Logan, something came up at school, I had to head back. Goodnight.” I took a deep breath. Moving out was for the best. The farther away, the safer.

Three days later, while researching at the library, something hit me like a thunderbolt. In my last life, Logan had died of bone cancer. By the time it was found, it was already terminal. Which meant—right now, the cancer cells might already be in his body. I shot to my feet, knocking over my chair. People around me turned to stare. I didn’t bother apologizing. I rushed out of the library, calling Logan as I ran. “Logan, are you free this afternoon? I want to take you out for coffee.” At the café, when I told him I wanted him to come with me for a physical, he laughed. “Charles, why the sudden interest in a checkup? Are you not feeling well?” I made up a reason. “School’s organizing it. Logan, I’m scared to go alone—will you come with me?” He looked at me skeptically. “Really?” I tried to look as sincere as possible. “Really. And I’d like you to get checked out too. Think of it as… a pre-marriage physical? You’re going to marry my sister, after all.” Logan’s ears turned red. He sighed helplessly. “You…” Just then, his phone rang. It was Aaliyah. “Where are you?” “Having coffee with Charles.” There was silence on the other end. “Come home soon.” After hanging up, Logan teased her, “She’s so clingy.” I forced a smile, made an excuse about class, and arranged to see him on the weekend. Just as I reached the school gate, I saw Aaliyah’s car parked there. She got out, grabbed my wrist, and dragged me to the corner. Before I could react, she shoved me away. I stumbled, fell to the ground. My knee and elbow burned. I looked down—the skin was scraped raw, blood oozing out. She stood over me, eyes cold as ice. “Charles, I’m warning you. Stay away from Logan.” “Don’t say things you shouldn’t say. Don’t do things you shouldn’t do.” I pushed myself up, my voice trembling slightly. “I didn’t.” “I just wanted him to come with me to a physical.” She paused. “Are you sick?” The words slipped out almost without thought. I blinked, stunned, then shook my head. “No. School requires it.” She stared at me for a long time, her expression slowly shifting. Like she’d remembered something. Or was trying to confirm something. After a moment, she crouched down and looked at the cut on my knee. “Get in the car.” She took me to a pharmacy, bought iodine and bandages, and crouched on the curb to clean my wound. She wasn’t gentle, but she was careful. Her voice was low. “This weekend, I’ll take both of you for the checkup.” I stared at the tip of my shoe, my vision blurring. The day the results came in, Logan cried so hard his whole body shook. Early-stage bone cancer. The doctor said, “We caught it just in time. The cure rate is very high.” Aaliyah hugged Logan, her hands trembling with delayed fear. Logan looked at me with red eyes. “Charles, thank you… really, thank you.” I shook my head and patted his back. Aaliyah’s gaze passed over Logan’s shoulder and landed on me. Deep. Heavy. I remembered the day Logan died in my last life. It had been pouring rain. After Aaliyah found out he’d left her because he saw us spend a night together, she stood at his grave for an entire day, soaked through. When she got home, she smashed everything she could—then found the diary I’d hidden at the bottom of my drawer. She decided I’d told Logan on purpose. I tried to explain. She didn’t believe me. She divorced me, kicked me out with nothing, made sure I couldn’t find a job anywhere. In the end, I died of illness in a rented room. With no one beside me. Now, there was still time. Logan would live. Aaliyah wouldn’t blame me. And me—I’d leave. A weight finally lifted from my chest. By the time we left the hospital, the sun was setting. Aaliyah went to handle the admission paperwork. Logan and I sat in the lobby waiting. Logan whispered, “Charles, I’m scared.” I patted his shoulder. “Don’t be. My sister’s here. She’ll stay with you.”

Logan was admitted to the hospital. The surgery went well. Next came chemotherapy. Aaliyah cleared her entire work schedule, staying at the hospital with him every day. I was running between school and the hospital, while also preparing my study-abroad applications. I barely had time to breathe. One day, after coming back from the hospital, Aaliyah stopped me. “Charles.” I paused and turned to look at her. She held out a key. “I bought an apartment near your school. Two bedrooms, already furnished. You should… move in as soon as possible.” I froze for a second, then took it and nodded. “Okay.” No questions. No hesitation. She watched me, like she was searching my face for something. But I just calmly pocketed the key and turned to go upstairs. The next day, I started packing. Most of my stuff, I planned to donate or throw out. In the new apartment, I’d buy everything new. Start a brand new life. I came home later and later. I was barely at the dinner table. Things in my room dwindled day by day. The bookshelf empty. The closet empty. Only a single jewelry box left on the desk. That night, I didn’t get home until past ten. Aaliyah was sitting on the living room couch, no lights on. In the dark, the tip of her cigarette glowed and faded. “You’re back late,” she said, voice cold. “Where were you?” My hand paused as I changed shoes. “Something at school.” After putting my shoes on, I walked straight to my room. Behind me came the sound of a glass hitting the table. Logan’s chemo went smoothly. Three months later, the doctor said he was recovering well and could go home, with regular checkups. The day he was discharged, I went too. He’d lost a lot of weight, but he was in good spirits. Aaliyah went to handle the discharge paperwork. Logan and I waited in the room. “Charles.” Logan suddenly said. “Did you and Aaliyah… have a fight?” I froze. Logan sighed. “She’s been in such a bad mood lately.” “People at the company complain to me—they avoid her whenever they see her.” I didn’t say anything. Logan took my hand. “I know about her making you move out.” “I gave her hell for it. Don’t worry—as long as I’m here, that’s still your home.” I gripped his hand back, looking at him seriously. “Logan. I’ve grown up. I should have my own life. And I’m already filing my study-abroad paperwork. I might leave next year.” Logan’s eyes went wide. “Study abroad? Where? For how long?” “England. Grad school. Probably two or three years.” His eyes welled up again. “Then… you’ll be alone over there. Take good care of yourself. Tell us if anything comes up, okay?” “Mm.” Logan wiped his eyes, then suddenly grinned. “Charles, let me set you up with a friend of mine. She’s a junior from my old school, an architect, super sweet.” I shook my head. “It’s okay, Logan.” “What do you mean it’s okay? You’ll be so lonely all by yourself.” I hesitated, then told him the truth. “Actually… I’m already seeing someone.” “What?” Logan’s eyes went wide again. “We met when I was filing my paperwork. We’re applying to the same school.” Logan’s eyes lit up, and he clapped his hands. “That’s great! I have to tell your sister! We’d better check this girl out first—can’t have anyone playing you!” “You don’t need to—” I tried to stop him, but he’d already picked up his phone. “Oh, she’s back.” Logan put his phone down and looked at the door. Aaliyah pushed the door open, discharge papers in hand. When she saw the two of us getting along so well, her gaze darkened. “What’s got you two so happy?” She walked over and naturally hooked her arm through Logan’s. Logan tilted his head up at her, his eyes shining. “I was just saying I should set Charles up with someone. Guess what?” She glanced at me, her tone certain. “He turned you down.” “You’re right—he didn’t agree.” She gave a flat little hum. “He’s been clingy to me his whole life. He didn’t even want to live in the dorms in college. You think he’d want a girlfriend?” Logan chuckled and added, “But he says he already has a girlfriend! And he’s going abroad with her!”

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After enduring three years of bullying from Christine, the most popular girl in school, I used her photos to start an online relationship with a powerful CEO. He was gentle and generous, his only flaw being how clingy he was. Soon, with my quick wit, I managed to get a considerable amount of living expenses from him. The day I decided to disappear, I casually asked, “What would you do if I suddenly vanished?” He fell silent for two seconds, then said in a low voice, “You really shouldn’t try.” I didn’t think anything of it. I just blocked him and deleted his contact. Later, Christine and I both got internships at a multinational corporation. The day I reported for duty, the Chairman of the corporate headquarters happened to be on an inspection tour. I stood at the back of the crowd, looking up, and saw a face that shouldn’t have been there. My mind went blank for about three seconds. Then I saw his gaze fall on Christine. He paused for a moment, then strode towards us. His name was Maximilian. Maximilian, 32 years old, was the current CEO of the Maximilian Group, with a net worth exceeding ten billion dollars. He was wearing a dark gray suit I’d picked out for him myself. His broad shoulders were straight, cuffs meticulously folded, steps steady and controlled. He was like an unsheathed blade. I lowered my face slightly, my heart pounding a bit too fast. Mr. Davies, our manager, whispered to us, “Mr. Maximilian rarely visits. Just act normal; he won’t bother with interns.” Before he could finish, Maximilian slowed his pace. A cufflink suddenly came loose from his sleeve, bounced twice on the floor, and rolled to Christine’s feet. Maximilian stopped. More accurately, he stopped right in front of Christine. They stood face to face, one cold, one captivating, no more than an arm’s length apart. His secretary, Mr. Stone, was already bending down to pick it up. Maximilian raised a hand to stop him. Christine’s eyelashes fluttered. She understood, bent down, picked up the cufflink, and, blushing, handed it over. “Mr. Maximilian, your…” Maximilian wasn’t in a hurry to take it. He lowered his eyes and took a small step closer to Christine. A fragrance that blended oud and citrus wafted over. I knew that scent. Last fall, I’d tried it bottle by bottle at a duty-free counter, eventually bought it, and sent it to him by mail. I pursed my lips, subtly averting my gaze. Maximilian stared at Christine’s face for a long time. Something churned in his eyes. It was hard to tell, like rediscovery mixed with a hint of hurt. Christine held out the cufflink, waiting for a while, then couldn’t help but softly call out, “M-Mr. Maximilian?” Maximilian snapped out of it, took the cufflink, his fingertips brushing her palm, and said in a low, slightly hoarse voice, “Christine.” Christine’s face turned completely red. “Yes, I’m Christine, Mr. Maximilian…” Maximilian didn’t speak, just stared at her face for a moment longer before turning and walking away. Only then did I dare to exhale, my back drenched in sweat. I slumped back into my desk chair, pulled out my phone, and searched “Maximilian.” My screen filled with financial news. I slowly took a breath. I’d been in an online relationship with Maximilian for two whole years, using Christine’s photos and name. In high school, Christine had loudly spread rumors that my mom, who worked as a housekeeper for her family, had stolen things from them. It caused a huge stir throughout the school. My mom lost her job too. I hated her guts. So, I stole Christine’s photos and started messing around online using her name everywhere. Got caught cursing someone out? I’d say my name was Christine. Reported for idling in an online game? I’d say my name was Christine. Basically, if anything went wrong, I’d throw Christine under the bus. But Maximilian was an unexpected twist. By the time he found me, I was already deeply involved. For two years, he’d call every night. His voice was deep, and he spoke slowly, able to sweet-talk anyone into submission. Many times, his voice changed, and he’d say things that made my ears burn, and I’d call him shameless. He’d just chuckle softly and sweet-talk me. Later, when he suggested we meet, it suddenly hit me: I was using Christine’s name and Christine’s face. I scrolled through our SnapChat messages, finding that first “My name is Christine.” I couldn’t sleep that night. Tossing and turning, I eventually pulled the blanket over my head and cried for a long time. After crying, I looked at my swollen eyes in the mirror and realized something. I was plain-looking, from an ordinary family. I didn’t have Christine’s face or her background. Someone like Maximilian could never be interested in someone like me. I sent a “Sorry” and deleted him. On the third day of no contact, he sent an email: “Christine, don’t leave me.” But I wasn’t Christine. I closed the email and didn’t reply. A colleague next to me tapped my shoulder. “Hey, what are you thinking about?” I snapped back to reality. Christine had already come over to my side, her voice soft. “Kaitlyn, everyone wants coffee from that new place. Could you run out and get it?” “It’s just three blocks away. You can bike there, it won’t take long.” It was standard for senior employees to pick on interns. Christine had managed to get the senior employees on her side on the very first day, no doubt because of Maximilian’s obvious attention to her earlier. I looked at her, then at the others behind her, all watching expectantly, and nodded. “Okay.” Christine smiled, satisfied, and turned to everyone. “Don’t be shy, guys.” “Kaitlyn’s mom used to be our housekeeper, and Kaitlyn’s been with her mom since she was little. Running errands is second nature to her.” “If you need anything later, just ask her.” I didn’t say anything. I stood up to grab my bag and bumped into someone. I looked up. It was Mr. Stone, Maximilian’s secretary. He impatiently shoved me aside. I wasn’t prepared, and my knee hit the corner of the desk, making me gasp in pain. He didn’t apologize. He strode over to Mr. Davies. “Which one is Ms. Christine? Mr. Maximilian needs to see her.” Christine rushed forward. “I am! I’m Christine. What is it?” Mr. Stone sized her up, becoming a little more polite. “The CEO’s private office needs a temporary assistant. Mr. Maximilian wants you to fill in for a while.” Christine froze for a second, her voice rising. “Me? Mr. Maximilian sent you for me? He said it himself?” “Yes. Pack your things and come with me.” Christine covered her mouth, then couldn’t help but walk around me in a circle. “Kaitlyn, move aside. I’m going up to the thirty-sixth floor!” “You keep working hard. Maybe in another ten years or so, we can be colleagues on the thirty-sixth floor.” I moved aside, my knee still throbbing with pain. Christine walked away in her high heels, and the colleagues behind me erupted in chatter. “Could this Christine be the future CEO’s wife?” “Hey, Kaitlyn, you came with Christine. Do you know what her relationship is with Mr. Maximilian?” I shook my head. “No idea.”

By the time I returned with the coffee, it was almost eleven. My knee had scraped raw, and my pants rubbed against it when I biked, causing a searing pain. I went in and handed out the coffees one by one. Not a single person said thank you. I returned to my desk, lifted my pant leg for a look, and saw a patch of blood seeping through. I casually pulled a bandage from my bag, put it on, and lowered my head to continue organizing files. At two in the afternoon, Mr. Davies assigned a task. Organize five years of supplier interaction records into a table, due before closing today. Skylar, the intern sitting opposite me, rolled her eyes. “That’s too much work. One person can’t finish it.” Mr. Davies glanced at me. “Kaitlyn, you do it.” There was no room for discussion. I nodded, opened a folder, and started flipping through. The data was messy, the timelines all wrong, and some files were scanned images, impossible to directly copy. I bent my head, typing it in, word by word. Nothing played in my headphones; all I could hear were my colleagues chatting in the office, occasionally punctuated by talk of Christine being moved to the thirty-sixth floor. “I heard Christine went to a meeting with Mr. Maximilian this afternoon.” “Really? How could an intern understand anything sitting in there?” “Well, Mr. Maximilian is clearly interested in her. What she understands isn’t important.” I didn’t look up, continuing to input data. Around six, the table was done. I sent it to Mr. Davies, who didn’t reply. I shut down my computer and walked out. When I reached the elevator, the doors opened, and Maximilian stood inside. Two assistants were with him, holding files, heads bowed as they spoke to him. My steps paused for half a second. Maximilian looked over too. The moment our eyes met, I lowered my head, quickly stepped in, and stood in the farthest corner, my back to him. The elevator was silent for a few seconds, then the assistants resumed their report. Maximilian’s voice resonated: “Mhm.” Low, concise, a tone I knew so well. I stared at my reflection in the elevator doors, unmoving. Seventeenth floor, thirteenth floor, ninth floor. “Stop.” Maximilian spoke. An assistant pressed the stop button. My back tensed. “What’s your name?” I didn’t move until an assistant nudged me. Only then did I realize he was asking me. I turned around, not looking at him. “Kaitlyn.” Maximilian was silent for two seconds. “Which department?” “Operations, intern.” “Look up.” I pursed my lips, looked up, met his gaze for a second, then immediately looked down. In that single second, I saw his expression clearly: he hadn’t recognized me. His eyes showed no ripple of emotion, just the ordinary gaze one would give a stranger. It made sense. I had used Christine’s face, Christine’s voice, Christine’s name. He had never known what I looked like. “Mhm.” Maximilian retracted his gaze. “Continue.” The elevator resumed its descent. On the first floor, he walked out first. I stood in the elevator for a few more seconds before stepping out. When I reached the company entrance, the night breeze swept over me. I stood there for a while, pushing down that heavy feeling in my chest, then got on my bike and rode back to the dorm.

The next day, Christine came back to get her things, looking like a completely different person. She was wearing a new light pink dress, her hair freshly styled, makeup more elaborate than yesterday. Standing next to her desk, she made the surrounding female colleagues fade in comparison. “Where did you all go for dinner last night? Why didn’t you invite me?” she asked, her tone sweet, as she sat down in her chair. “You’re on the thirty-sixth floor now. How could we dare invite you?” Christine smiled, a hint of restrained pride in her voice. “Oh, I was just helping out. Mr. Maximilian’s schedule is too packed, and the secretary’s office is understaffed.” “You attended a meeting with Mr. Maximilian yesterday?” “Mhm. I was sitting outside taking notes, and Mr. Maximilian came out, looked at me, and told me to come in and observe for a while.” “Wow…” I didn’t look up, continuing to organize the files in my hand. Christine’s voice came closer. “Oh, by the way, Kaitlyn, Mr. Davies said that table you made yesterday had the wrong format. Could you redo it today?” I stopped and looked at Mr. Davies. He nodded. “Refer to last quarter’s template for the format, and redo it.” I didn’t ask what was wrong with the format. I had checked that table three times yesterday; there were no issues. But Mr. Davies had already averted his gaze. I closed the file and reopened yesterday’s table. Christine was happily chatting with someone next to me. At ten in the morning, she took a call, stepped out, and returned with a smile on her face, tidying her desk. “I’m going up now. I probably won’t be back this afternoon, so don’t wait for me.” “Mr. Maximilian called you?” “Mhm. He’s going to discuss a contract and he’s taking me with him.” She turned and left after that. I watched her retreating figure, then brought my gaze back to my work. After redoing the table, I sent it again. This time, Mr. Davies replied, “Okay.” I saved and closed the file, then took a sip of water. My phone vibrated. It was a new email, sender: MO. My finger paused on the screen. MO was Maximilian’s old email alias. I knew it because I had sent him dozens of emails. But I had a new email address; he couldn’t possibly know my new address. I opened the email. The content was short. “Yesterday in the elevator, you had a small mole behind your left ear when you looked down.” “Christine doesn’t.” My phone almost fell to the floor.

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I was Mom’s favorite. The one she spoiled rotten. On her deathbed, she lay propped up against the hospital pillows, surrounded by my older sister, my brother, and a room full of relatives. With trembling hands, she pressed a bank card into mine. “Quinn, you’re the one I worry about most. There’s a million dollars in this account — everything your father and I saved over a lifetime. I’m leaving it all to you.” I stared at that card, my face drained of color. I couldn’t bring myself to take it. It felt less like a gift and more like a death sentence. The next second, in front of everyone, I slapped her hand away. “Drop the act,” I said, my voice cold with disgust. “You think I want anything from you?” “You hand me an empty card and expect me to fall for it? Save the performance.” The card hit the floor. Mom scrambled, dragging her frail body to the edge of the bed, reaching down to pick it up. She dusted it off, blowing on it like it was something precious, then looked up at me with frightened eyes. “Quinn, what’s wrong with you?” “Is it not enough? Honey, this is everything I have. Please don’t be angry with me…” My brother Liam was the first to snap. He crossed the room in two steps and slapped me across the face. “Quinn! Have you lost your mind?!” “That’s our mother. She has given you everything since the day you were born — treated you like you were made of glass. Grace and I together don’t add up to half the love she’s shown you. And this is how you repay her?” From across the room, my sister Grace stood with her arms crossed, watching with a cold smile. “Quinn, don’t play the victim when you’re the one who won.” “Everyone in this family knows Mom’s world revolves around you. Every time she came to visit me, she’d leave with something — my son’s school supplies, my husband’s briefcase, my jewelry. And she’d bring it all straight to you, like some kind of offering.” She rolled her eyes. “She wants to give you the money? Fine. Take it. I’m not going to fight over it.” “Honestly, after all these years of watching her play favorites, I’m used to it.” I stared at Grace’s sneering face. She wasn’t wrong. Every time Mom visited Grace’s place, she’d find something — an expensive pen set, a designer bag, a gold necklace — and carry it back to me like a prize. Grace never talked back to our parents, so she just swallowed the resentment and aimed it at me, greeting me with barely concealed hostility every time we were in the same room. I kept my expression flat. “Fine,” I said. “If you all think it’s such a valuable gift, then you can have it. I don’t want it.” Grace looked up, surprised. Liam’s throat moved. He watched me carefully. “Quinn, what exactly are you trying to say?” Before I could answer, Mom grabbed my sleeve. She tilted her head back, tears streaming down her face. “Quinn… do you not love me anymore?” “Please don’t push me away. I don’t have much time left. Don’t do this to me…” She was crying so hard, this frail old woman working herself into a state over me, and the whole room shifted. Nobody could watch it without feeling something. “Quinn.” Aunt Patricia had reached her limit. “Today I’m going to say what needs to be said — for your mother’s sake.” “When you were three years old, your mother went out to run errands and left Liam home to watch you. He ran off to play, and you fell. You could have been seriously hurt. Not a scratch on you — but when your mother came home, she punished Liam so severely that people thought she’d gone too far.” “When you were twelve, your sister got married. The groom’s family gave a substantial dowry contribution — over two hundred thousand dollars. Your mother held onto every cent of it. Didn’t let Grace take a single dollar back to her new home. Said she was saving it for your future wedding. Grace started her marriage with nothing but a few sets of bedsheets.” “I truly don’t understand what got into my sister-in-law. She put that ungrateful child on a pedestal and neglected two perfectly good kids in the process.” The room went quiet after that. Liam exhaled slowly, his jaw tight. Grace’s eyes glistened — not quite tears, but close. Mom sat red-eyed and silent, crying without making a sound. I let out a short, humorless laugh and looked at her. “So I’m supposed to thank you for all of that?”

Those seven words detonated something in the room. Liam lunged forward and knocked me to the ground. Aunt Patricia grabbed a broom from the corner and came at me with it, striking me across the back. “You ungrateful little — after everything she’s done for you!” “Today I’m doing what your father would have done if he were still here!” The broom came down again and again. My back burned. Grace watched from a few feet away, arms still folded, and turned to Mom with a bitter smile. “See that? That’s what you raised, Mom.” “I genuinely don’t understand you. How can you be so blind? Am I not your daughter? Is Liam not your son? Why does every good thing in this family go to her, and we’re invisible?” Mom shoved herself upright and pushed Grace aside, her face set. “Back off. Your sister is being attacked and you’re standing there making comments?” She pushed past everyone and threw herself over me, arms outstretched. “Stop! Stop it!” “My baby — my baby…” Aunt Patricia froze mid-swing and let the broom drop to the floor. “What are you doing? I was trying to help you! If she were my daughter, I would’ve done a lot worse!” Mom held me against her chest, crying, rubbing my back. “Are you hurt, sweetheart… let me see…” I sucked in a sharp breath and shoved her away. She went down hard. “Get off me. You miserable old woman. What’s taking you so long to die? Don’t act like you care about me.” “You—!” Liam went ballistic, trying to get to me, but Mom grabbed his leg and held on. “Son.” She was sobbing. “Don’t hurt her. She’s my heart. She’s my heart…” I pulled myself to my feet, scanning the room. “What is this?” I said. “What are all of you doing?” I turned to Mom. “Your performance is impressive. I mean it. Academy Award level.” Then I looked at my brother. “And you, Liam. Between the two of us — who’s really playing the victim here?” “You’ve all been at this long enough. Don’t start believing your own act.” I looked straight at him. “Of everyone who’s ever come at me, you’re the last person who gets to.” Liam went still. Then his face darkened. “What does that mean? Mom just gave you her entire life savings and you treat her like this. Am I wrong about you?” “You know exactly why I’m acting this way,” I said. “You just don’t want to admit it.” He hesitated. Something flickered in his expression. “Quinn. What are you saying?” I smiled, reached over, and took the bank card from Mom’s hand. I pressed it into Liam’s palm. “You’re the man of the family, right? Mom said she wanted me to have this. But I’m just her daughter — I shouldn’t be the one making these decisions.” “So why don’t you handle it? Right here, in front of everyone. Split the money three ways between the siblings. Fair and square.” Liam stood holding the card, his face cycling through shades of pale and red. Grace stirred. Her eyes locked onto the card with barely disguised hunger, though her voice came out slow and casual. “He’s right, Liam. If Quinn’s offering, then let’s divide it properly.” “We’ve got the whole family here as witnesses. Better to settle it now, so there’s no confusion later.” Mom sank back against the pillow, weeping softly. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault… I haven’t left enough for my children. And now I’m watching you all turn against each other…” Uncle Robert, who hadn’t said a word this whole time, finally had enough. He drove his cane against the floor with a crack. “Enough. All of you.” “Your mother is still alive. She’s right there in that bed. And you’re already negotiating her estate?”

“Grace. Quinn. I’ve seen a lot in my years, but today takes it.” “The old saying holds true — when it matters, it’s the son you can count on.” Grace’s jaw tightened, but she looked down and said nothing. I smiled. “Uncle Robert, that’s an interesting take. Mom just handed me this card in front of everyone and named me specifically.” “And now I’m the one voluntarily offering to hand it to Liam and split it fairly between the three of us — and somehow that makes me the ungrateful daughter while Liam’s the reliable son?” Uncle Robert sputtered, clutching his chest. “Quinn, stop this!” Aunt Patricia rushed to steady him, then turned on me. “Everyone can see what you’re doing. You came in here to start a fight.” “Yes,” I said. “I did.” I turned to Mom. “But the reason I did — you know better than anyone. Why don’t you explain it to them?” Mom looked up. Her eyes were red. “My darling, I know I haven’t done enough. I know I can’t give you more than this.” “But I put that money in your hands because I was worried about you. You’re not married yet. Your sister has a husband, a family — she’ll be okay. Your brother has a wife, they just had their second child.” “You’re on your own. I was afraid that after I was gone, you’d have no one in your corner. That you’d get pushed around. That you wouldn’t get your fair share…” She dabbed at her eyes. “I did it because I love you…” A murmur moved through the room. Heads shook. Tongues clicked. “She pours everything into that girl, and this is what she gets back—” “Honestly, it would’ve been better if—” I tuned it out. I watched my mother cry her practiced tears, listened to the chorus of condemnation around me, and felt nothing. “Okay,” I said. “Mom — I’m sorry. I was out of line. The way I spoke to you was wrong, and I apologize.” Mom blinked. She looked at me like she didn’t recognize me. Like she couldn’t figure out why I’d suddenly softened. Aunt Patricia sniffed. “First sensible thing she’s said all day.” I turned to Uncle Robert. “But Uncle, it isn’t fair. Mom handing everything to me leaves Liam and Grace with nothing.” “When Dad passed, he said his estate should be divided equally among the three of us. I have no right to take it all. That’s why I wanted to settle this clearly, in front of the family.” “So that after Mom is gone, there’s no room for conflict.” Uncle Robert went quiet. Aunt Patricia murmured, “She’s not wrong, actually…” He cleared his throat. “Well then. Perhaps it would be best to—” “No.” Mom sat straight up. The word came out sharp and final. The whole room turned. She caught herself. Smiled awkwardly. “Quinn, you…” “Mom.” I cut her off. “I love you, and I love Liam and Grace. So why won’t you let me share this with them?” The color drained from her face. She opened and closed her mouth several times. “Because… because, Quinn, wait until after I’m gone, and then you can divide it however you want. If you do it now, I won’t be able to rest…” It was a weak excuse. Even Uncle Robert and Aunt Patricia, who’d been firmly in Mom’s corner all afternoon, looked uncertain. I let out a short laugh, stepped forward, and grabbed the phone off Mom’s nightstand. She lunged for it. I caught her wrist and forced it unlocked. “Quinn!” The room erupted. “What are you doing?” “Aren’t you curious?” I said. “Why does Mom need to wait until she’s dead before I divide this money?” I held the screen out toward them. “That’s why.” Everyone leaned in. And the moment they saw it, the room went silent — and then exploded.

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I’d spent a lifetime eating fish heads. My son actually believed I loved the damn things — all bones, no meat. Every time the family sat down to a nice dinner, they’d pick through the tender fish flesh together, then shove the bony scraps and the head across the table to me like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Mom, this is your favorite part. It’s all yours.” Watching my husband and son wear those smug, unbothered expressions, I suddenly thought: I can’t keep doing this to myself. So this time, I tipped the fish head into the trash. Right in front of them, I pulled out my phone and ordered sashimi delivery. When it arrived, I looked at my two stunned men and smiled, dabbing my mouth with a napkin. “That little blessing is all yours from now on, boys.” This family — whoever wants to wait on the others can knock themselves out. I’m done. They both stared as I dumped the fish head in the trash. My husband, Gary, frowned and froze with his fork halfway to his mouth. “What the hell’s gotten into you now?” “That fish cost over thirty bucks. You’re just throwing it away?” My son, Marcus, rolled his eyes and flipped his phone face-down on the table. “Mom, is it that time again? The mood swings?” “If you want attention, at least come up with something new.” In the old days, I would have fished it out of the trash and rinsed it off. No matter how hurt I felt, I’d have laughed it off — “Oops, slipped right out of my hands” — then snuck into the kitchen to cry where no one could see. But today, I just wiped my mouth and looked at my sashimi. I’d bought it with my own money. Money I’d quietly set aside for myself. For the first time, I hadn’t saved a single bite for them. “Buy your own fish heads from now on,” I said. “And if you want what’s in that trash can, help yourself.” I didn’t wait for a response. I walked to the bedroom and shut the door behind me. Bang. Through the door, I heard Gary’s lowered voice. “Ignore her. She’s just bored.” “Give her a couple days with nobody fussing over her and she’ll come crawling back.” “Seriously, Dad, don’t baby her.” “I’ve got an interview tomorrow. I’m not dealing with her drama.” I stood with my back pressed against the door and slowly slid down until I was sitting on the floor. A cramp twisted through my stomach. With trembling hands, I reached into the back of the nightstand drawer and pulled out an unlabeled pill bottle. I shook out two pills and swallowed them dry. The bitterness spread down my throat. That night, I didn’t go out to make peace the way I always had before. The next morning, I woke to the sound of Gary ransacking the apartment. “Laura! Where’s my blue dress shirt? Why didn’t you iron it last night?” “Mom! Where’s my phone charger? Did you move it when you cleaned?” I lay in bed and listened to every word. I didn’t move. I didn’t even open my eyes. I used to have breakfast ready by now, shirt ironed and laid out flat. I would have even put the toothpaste on their toothbrushes. But this morning, I just watched the light come through the window. After a good while of banging around, the front door slammed. The two of them left cursing under their breath. I got up and walked to the window. Down on the street, I watched them stop at the breakfast place on the corner and buy buns and juice. That greasy little diner with its thick dough and stingy fillings — they used to love it. I remembered the day I was diagnosed with stage four stomach cancer. I’d been watching them walk into that same diner. I had just come from the hospital. I was clutching the papers, my mind completely blank. I went home hoping for something — some comfort, some warmth. Instead I saw them through the window, laughing over breakfast. Marcus had just landed a job at his dream company. Gary had gotten a promotion. The two of them were celebrating. Through the glass, I watched Gary pick the meat out of his bun and put it on Marcus’s plate. And I stood on the sidewalk, holding those papers in both hands, watching them. My phone buzzed, pulling me back. It was a notification. I opened it. Marcus had posted on Instagram. The photo was a stray cat on the side of the road. “Living with a drama queen is exhausting.” “Woke up to attitude this morning for absolutely no reason.” Gary had liked it. A few relatives had commented. “Women just can’t be spoiled — give them an inch and they take a mile.” “Probably just hormones. Ride it out, she’ll be fine.” I read every word and felt nothing. No anger. If anything, I almost laughed. I liked the post from my secondary account, then saved a screenshot. It would probably be the last time I checked in on them.

That evening they came home from work and dropped two takeout containers on the coffee table without breaking stride. Gary loosened his tie as he talked. “Alright, enough of the attitude.” “Brought you some braised pork — your favorite. Still warm.” I opened the boxes. A few pieces of meat. Half a container of leftover rice. These were clearly what they hadn’t finished at some dinner out. And they’d brought it home like they were doing me a favor. Old me would have reheated those leftovers and eaten them for lunch the next day. But instead, I picked up both containers, walked to the front door in full view of them, and dropped everything — containers and all — straight into the hallway trash. “Leftovers belong in the trash. Simple as that.” Gary’s face went red. His pointing finger was shaking. “Laura! Have you lost your mind?” “If you want out, just say so. Stop playing these little games!” I looked at him, and I let the corner of my mouth curl. “You’re right. I do want out.” “I don’t want any of this. Not for one more day.” My throwing out the food must have actually rattled them, because the next two days were quiet. Gary seemed to realize this was different from my usual complaints. He softened a little. On the third evening, he came home carrying a gift box. “Honey, I was out of line this past week. Work’s been brutal.” “Don’t take it to heart.” He set the box on the table and slid it toward me. “Had a buddy track this down. Latest model. A peace offering.” Looking at that ribbon-tied box, I felt something stir inside me. All these years, he had never once given me a real gift. He couldn’t even remember our anniversary. Was this it? In what might be the last chapter of my life, had he finally changed? Had he finally learned to care? My hands trembled as I pulled the ribbon loose and lifted the lid. Maybe a scarf. Or perfume. But when I saw what was inside, my fingertips went cold. A blender. A high-end one, gleaming under the light. Gary was already explaining its features. “High-powered motor. Perfect for smoothies, soups. Doesn’t even leave chunks.” “Make our morning routine so much easier.” “And you can make Marcus fresh juice.” Of course. This was his peace offering. This was him caring about me. It was just a way to make me — this machine he lived with — run more efficiently. I stared at that blender, and then I started laughing. And then I started crying. Gary watched me with unease, brows pinched. “What’s funny? You don’t like it?” “Like it? Why wouldn’t I like it?” I wiped my eyes and pushed the blender back into his arms. “But it’s way too nice for someone like me.” “A worn-out housewife who only knows how to cook? I don’t deserve it.” “Why don’t you save it for that new intern at your office.” Gary’s expression collapsed. He jumped to his feet. “What are you talking about?! There is nothing going on between me and Lily — nothing!” “Stop making things up!” Honestly, I didn’t know any Lily. I was fishing. But the way he reacted told me my instincts were right. Not that it surprised me. A woman who was aging and always sick — I’d stopped being interesting to him a long time ago. Gary shoved the blender onto the couch, ego bruised. “You’re unbelievable.” “Sitting at home all day has scrambled your brain!” He grabbed his jacket and slammed out the door, leaving behind nothing but silence. Not long after, Marcus came home lugging a dry-cleaning bag with his interview suit. He didn’t ask why the apartment felt like a cold front had moved in. Didn’t ask what happened between me and his dad. First words out of his mouth: “Mom, where’s my white dress shirt? I need it for my second-round interview tomorrow.” I sat on the couch without moving, the unlabeled pill bottle in my hand. “In the laundry hamper.” My voice was flat. Marcus stared at me like I’d said something absurd. “In the hamper? Mom, you know that shirt can’t go in the machine. It needs to be hand-washed!” “My interview is first thing tomorrow. If you don’t wash it tonight, you expect me to show up in a dirty shirt?” He was scolding me. I looked up at my son — this boy I had spent twenty-four years protecting from every sharp edge in the world — and felt my heart split open. “You have two working hands. You’re twenty-four years old.” “You can’t wash one shirt?” “It’s your interview, not mine.” “If you want clean clothes, wash them yourself.” Marcus grabbed his bag off the floor and hurled it down again, pointing at me. “Mom, are you seriously losing it?” “You’ve been making everyone’s lives hell for two days straight — isn’t that enough?” “It’s one shirt. One. Why does everything have to be such a big deal with you?” Something turned over in my stomach, and a hot, metallic taste rose in my throat. I didn’t want him to see me fall apart. I pressed my hand over my mouth and lurched into the bathroom.

I locked the door. Blood slipped between my fingers and dripped into the white sink basin. I turned on the tap and watched the red rinse away. Marcus knocked on the door from the other side. “Mom, what are you hiding in there? Don’t think you can just disappear and get out of this!” “Hurry up! I need to shower! I swear, you are unreal!” I looked at myself in the mirror. There was still blood at the corner of my mouth. Tears and water ran down my face together. I wiped away the blood. They can’t know. They can’t know I’m dying. If they knew, I’d just become a heavier burden to carry. I wouldn’t even be allowed to die in peace. I took the folded papers from under my pillow — the diagnosis — and slipped them inside an old book on the shelf. One of the fairy tale books Marcus had loved as a little boy. He hadn’t touched it in fifteen years. Then I started packing. The inexpensive jewelry. The pair of gold earrings from our wedding day. I put them all in a bag. Tomorrow I’d sell them. The money would go to a children’s charity — or I’d simply throw it all away. Either way, I wasn’t leaving a single cent to these two. I suppose Gary and Marcus finally decided I was too much trouble to push around, because on Friday night, Marcus came home with a girl. “Mom, this is Sophie. My girlfriend.” He was wearing a proud little grin. Sophie looked nervous and gave me a polite smile. Before I could react, Marcus had already steered her to the couch, then leaned down and murmured in my ear: “Mom, this is her first time here. Don’t embarrass me.” “Make the braised fish, the sweet and sour ribs — all your good stuff.” “I want to impress her.” He knew I’d been sick for days. That I could barely stand up straight. But for his pride, for the image he wanted to project, he didn’t care what it cost me. “I’m not feeling well. Just order in tonight.” I leaned against the wall, too weak to stand on my own. Marcus’s face hardened. He dropped his voice to a tight, controlled hiss. “Mom. Can you read the room?” “You’re pulling this right now? On purpose?” “I’m asking you. Just this once. Please.” “Don’t make me look bad in front of Sophie.” I looked at his face, and despite everything, something in me softened. Maybe that’s the curse of being a mother. Still crawling back, even at the edge of everything. I forced myself through the pain to the grocery store. The smell of raw fish hit me so hard I nearly vomited on the spot. Back in the kitchen, I worked through the haze. My vision kept blurring. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the knife. The blade slipped and caught my left index finger. Blood welled up immediately. It dripped onto the cutting board and mixed with the fish. Gary walked in just then to grab a beer from the fridge. He glanced at my bleeding hand without stopping. “How can you be so careless?” “Run it under water. And don’t get blood in the food. That’s disgusting.” I put on a bandage and kept cooking. Eventually, the meal was done. I carried a pot of fish soup out to the table. My stomach seized without warning. My vision went black at the edges. My knees buckled. The pot slipped from my hands and hit the floor with a crash. Scalding soup flooded across the tiles, splashing up onto Sophie’s dress. She screamed and jumped back from the table. The whole room smelled like fish. Marcus leapt up and shoved me hard. “Mom! What is wrong with you? You did that on purpose!” The push sent me stumbling backward into the sideboard. Pain cracked through my lower back. But I had nothing left — I could only slump against it, gasping. “If you didn’t want to cook, you didn’t have to! Who are you trying to gross out?” Marcus shouted, his eyes red. Sophie looked at my face — whatever color had drained from it — and seemed to hesitate. She touched Marcus’s arm. “She didn’t mean to — I think she just lost her grip—” “Lost her grip! She’s just mad I brought you home!” Gary stepped in from the side. He tossed a pack of tissues to Sophie for her dress and didn’t look at me once. “I spoiled her rotten. Gets worse every year. Just ignore her.” Father and son flanked Sophie on either side, sheltering her from the drama. “Come on, Sophie. Dinner’s ruined. Let’s go out.” Marcus grabbed his keys, and without a backward glance, walked out the door with his girlfriend and his father. The door slammed shut. The noise went with them. The apartment was quiet now, except for the mess on the floor. The overturned pot. The fish head lying in the spilled soup. I slid down slowly until I was sitting on the floor beside it, in that spreading puddle going cold. I picked up a piece of fish — dusty, soaked — and put it in my mouth. The piece they always fought over. I chewed it and tasted nothing. Only bitterness. And that thick, clinging, nauseating smell. So this was the family I had given my life to. This was the love I had nearly destroyed myself to protect.

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