Flirting with Dax was the sweetest thing ever. Normally, I did not even use his real name. Whenever we were alone, I would playfully call him, “Husband.” He would immediately blush from his collar up to his hairline, muttering stiffly, “Don’t say that.” Sure, got it. I would absolutely do it again next time. Until I saw the comments. [Stop shouting, sister. The moment his childhood best friend gets back, he is going to tell you to stop joking like that in front of everyone.] [She is happily calling him husband now, but he is really just too polite to embarrass her.] I froze in my tracks. Dax was standing by the entrance of the corner store, holding the strawberry milkshake I had mentioned wanting. “Anything else?” I took the bag, the smile fading from my face. “No, that is it.” “Thanks, Dax.” 1 Dax visibly hesitated. He stood there holding the plastic bag from the store, the thin material rustling softly in the cool night breeze. Just minutes ago, I had casually mentioned wanting a strawberry milkshake. He had scoffed, saying, “You are not a kid,” but his feet had already carried him inside. In the past, I would have pressed my face against the glass window, beaming at him. When he walked out, I would have drawn out my words, teasing him. “Thanks, husband.” Then I would watch him turn red. Dax was incredibly shy. It was not a fake, performative shyness either. It was genuine. The first time I called him that was at the diner near campus. I had forgotten my wallet, and he swiped his student ID to buy us both burgers and fries. Holding my fork, I grinned and said, “Thanks, husband.” Dax nearly choked on his soda. His ears flushed so red they looked sunburned. “Sadie,” he muttered, lowering his voice, “don’t say that.” I blinked. “Should I call you babe instead?” He looked even more uncomfortable. “No.” “Mr. Dax?” “…” “Boss?” “Just eat your fries.” That was when I figured him out. Dax looked cold and distant, a quiet, straight A student with the kind of sharp, handsome face that regularly ended up on the campus confession pages. He was the classic untouchable heartthrob. But a little teasing, and he completely unraveled. It was adorable. I did not have any bad intentions. I just loved seeing him try so hard to keep his cool when he was actually panicking inside. And he never got truly angry. Every time he told me to stop, he would still bring me coffee the next day, save me a seat in class, and wait for my lectures to end. I thought it was a mutual flirtation. I thought we both knew what we were doing. But the comments said otherwise. They said he was just too polite to push me away. The wind outside the corner store felt cold. I pulled the milkshake out of the bag and tried to push the straw through the lid. My hand shook slightly, and I missed twice. Dax reached out. “Let me.” I instinctively went to hand it over. Halfway through, the comments flashed in my mind. My hand went rigid. “No, it is fine.” Dax looked at me. “You are going to spill it.” I looked down. He was right. Before, I would have pushed it into his hands without a second thought. Help me, husband. He would scowl, tell me to stop calling him that, and then carefully pierce the lid for me. Now, I pulled the straw back, lined it up, and forced it through myself. I pushed too hard, and a drop of pink liquid splashed onto the back of my hand. Dax’s forehead creased, and his hand moved toward his pocket for a tissue. I was faster. I pulled a napkin from my bag and wiped it off. “All set.” Dax’s hand hovered in midair. I pretended not to notice, taking a sip of the sweet milkshake. It was sugary, but a bitter taste settled in my mouth. “Is something wrong today?” Dax asked. I kept my teeth on the straw. “Nothing at all.” He watched me. “What did you just call me?” My chest tightened. “Dax.” “Why?” I looked up at him, forcing a smile. “Weren’t you always telling me not to call you those other names?” Dax was quiet for a few seconds. The streetlights cast long shadows from his eyelashes across his cheeks. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quietly. I wanted to ask him what he did mean. But the comments were already drifting across my mind again. [Of course he didn’t mean to be harsh, he is just too nice to say it track blankly.] [The worst part of being the side character is mistaking his politeness for affection.] [Once his childhood friend Isla gets back, he will start keeping his distance. She will realize then how embarrassing her wishful thinking was.] I swallowed the question. “Yeah, I know,” I said, keeping my tone light. “I won’t do it anymore.” Dax stared at me. “I wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea,” I added. His forehead creased instantly. “Who would get the wrong idea?” “Everyone,” I said. “Do you care what everyone thinks?” I wanted to say no. But as the words reached my lips, I realized there was no point in denying it. I did not want to get the wrong idea either. I did not want to be standing there like a fool when he finally told me to stop joking in front of a crowd. I took another sip. “Yeah.” Dax did not say another word. We walked back to the dorms side by side. Normally, I would fill this walk with useless chatter, complaining about homework, pointing out a cute dog, or joking about wishing the school would burn down before my 8 AM class. Dax usually did not say much, but he would listen. Sometimes he would look at me when my rants got too ridiculous. Even that quiet look felt sweet back then. Tonight, I was silent. It was so quiet that when we reached the steps of my dorm, Dax suddenly stopped. “Sadie.” I paused. “Yeah?” He pressed his lips together, looking like he wanted to say something. But in the end, he only managed, “Are we still going to the library tomorrow?” Before, I would have said, Of course, wait for me at our usual spot, husband. Now, I just nodded. “Sure. Thanks, Dax.” His face darkened completely. But I waved and turned away before he could say anything else. “See you tomorrow.” 2 When I got back to the room, my roommate Tessa was putting on a face mask. Seeing me, she immediately sat up. “Back so early? Didn’t your boy Dax keep you downstairs for another ten minutes of lingering goodbyes?” I set the milkshake on my desk. “No.” Tessa squinted. “Did you guys fight?” “No.” “Your face says otherwise.” I sat down and unzipped my backpack. “Really, we didn’t.” Tessa leaned closer. “Then what is up? Usually you come back grinning like you won the lottery. Tonight you look like you are about to fail calculus.” I let out a weak laugh, but my eyes quickly cast downward. “I was just thinking, have I been a bit too much lately? Like, crossing boundaries?” Tessa blinked. “You?” “Yeah.” “With Dax?” I nodded. Tessa ripped the face mask off. “Aren’t you guys literally flirting every single day?” My hands paused on my books. “Do you think so too?” “Duh,” Tessa said. “If he didn’t like you, would he save you a seat every morning? Would he run down to get you a milkshake just because you mentioned it? Would he just blush and tell you to behave when you call him husband?” “Maybe he is just really nice,” I murmured. Tessa stared at me in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?” I looked at her. “Dax? Nice?” she scoffed. “He doesn’t say more than three words to anyone else.” I did not answer. She did not know about the comments. She did not know his childhood friend was coming back. She did not know that one day, Dax would tell me to stop making those jokes in front of everyone. Seeing that I was genuinely upset, Tessa softened her tone. “Sadie, did someone say something to you?” I shook my head. “No.” “So you are really going to stop teasing him?” I pushed the milkshake a little further away. “Yeah. I’m going to stop.” Tessa sighed. “Well, Dax is going to lose his mind.” I smiled faintly. “No, he won’t.” The comments drifted across my vision again. [Of course he won’t lose his mind. It saves him the trouble of dealing with her.] [The worst thing in a situationship is when one person gets too ahead of themselves. It is smart of her to pull the brakes now.] [Isla comes back tomorrow. The school forum is going to blow up. They grew up together, who is this random girl compared to her?] Looking at those words, my heart took a slow, heavy dip. The next day, news of Isla’s return spread everywhere. She was Dax’s childhood friend and had been a prominent figure on campus before she took a year off to go abroad for medical treatment. Now she was back. People on the campus forum were digging up old photos of them. High school academic competitions, family dinners, and one incredibly blurry photo from a sports meet. In that photo, Isla was standing by the finish line, and Dax, looking exhausted after a run, was leaning over with his hands on his knees. She was handing him a bottle of water, and he was reaching for it. I stared at that photo for a long time. It was just a bottle of water. I had given him water before too. But the comments kept coming. [The classic childhood friend entry. High school memories always win.] [Dax was never the type to accept water from just anyone back then.] [A corner store milkshake really can’t compete with years of shared history.] I put my phone face down. Tessa muttered beside me, “People on the forum are so annoying. It is a bottle of water, and they are writing a whole romance novel about it.” I smiled. “Maybe people just like a good story.” “And you? Aren’t you mad?” I shook my head. “Why would I be mad?” I was not his girlfriend. I did not even have the right to be jealous. When I went to the library that afternoon, I deliberately arrived ten minutes late. Normally, Dax would be the one waiting for me, and today was no different. He was sitting by the window, a vacant chair saved next to him. On the desk sat an iced latte. Half sweet. No ice. Exactly how I liked it. My steps faltered. Dax looked up, and the tension in his eyes seemed to ease slightly when he saw me. “You’re here.” I sat down and pushed the cup back toward his side of the table. “You don’t have to buy things for me anymore.” Dax looked at the cup. “You’re not drinking it?” “I just had water.” He was quiet for a moment. “You said yesterday you wanted one.” I froze. I had indeed casually mentioned it because the classroom had been freezing during our late lecture. Before, knowing he remembered such minor details would have made me ecstatic. Now, it only made my chest ache. The more he remembered, the easier it was for me to get the wrong idea. I pushed the cup right to the center of the table. “Thanks, but you really don’t have to go to the trouble.” Dax’s grip on his pen tightened. “Sadie.” I kept my eyes on my book. “Yeah?” “Since yesterday, you’ve done nothing but thank me.” I blinked slowly. “It is polite to say thank you.” He watched me. “You never used to say it before.” I thought about it. Before, I would have said: You are the best, husband. How did you get so perfect, Dax? Are you secretly in love with me or something? And his ears would turn bright red. Now that I thought about it, I really had lacked boundaries. “I was being childish back then,” I murmured. The tip of Dax’s pen stopped on the paper. “Childish?” I nodded. “Yeah.” He let out a short, frustrated breath that sounded almost like a laugh. “Who told you that?” I shook my head. “No one.” The comments rolled by. [At least she is self aware now.] [Isla is almost at the library. Get ready for the drama.] [Backing off now keeps things graceful. Better than waiting for him to shut her down in public.] My chest tightened. Almost immediately, there was a quiet murmur near the entrance of the library. Someone whispered, “Isla’s here.” I looked up. Isla was wearing a soft blue sweater, her long hair falling over her shoulders. She looked a bit pale, but she was beautiful. As she walked in, several heads turned. She saw Dax and smiled. “Dax.” It sounded so natural. Unlike me and my ridiculous, teasing nicknames. Isla walked over, her gaze landing on me. “And who is this?” Before Dax could speak, I quickly smiled. “I’m Sadie. We are in the same department.” We are in the same department. Clean, polite, and distant. Isla nodded. “Nice to meet you.” She sat down across from Dax and pulled out a binder. “I just got back and I’ve missed so much. You mentioned I could borrow your notes?” Dax looked at me, not answering her right away. I began packing my books. He asked, “Where are you going?” “I’m going to study vocabulary over by the stacks,” I said. “You can’t study here?” I smiled. “You two should catch up. I won’t disturb you.” Dax’s brow furrowed deep. “Sadie.” But I had already gathered my things and walked behind the bookshelves. 3 I spent half an hour behind the shelves trying to memorize words, but none of them stuck. My ears kept straining to hear the quiet conversation from their table. Isla’s voice was soft, and Dax barely spoke, just giving brief answers. They really were just looking at notes. There was no flirting, no crossing of lines. But a heavy weight settled in my chest anyway. There was an effortless familiarity between them. Without needing much explanation, the moment Isla mentioned a topic, Dax knew exactly which textbook she meant. When she said, “You still have that old habit,” Dax paused before replying, “Can’t seem to break it.” I had no part in that history. I had only known him for six months. In those six months, I had used jokes and teasing to slowly chip away at his silence. I thought I had gotten close to him. But the moment Isla returned, I realized how shallow that closeness really was. The moment I took back the nickname, we were nothing more than ordinary classmates. My eyes grew hot as I stared at the vocabulary list. [Don’t look, it only hurts more.] [Isla didn’t even do anything, but the power of a childhood friend lies in how natural it is.] [She thought she was special, but she is realizing there is a line she can’t cross.] I closed the book. When I left the library that evening, Dax came running out after me. Isla was already gone. He stood at the bottom of the steps, holding the untouched latte. “Sadie.” I stopped. “What’s wrong?” He held the cup out to me, his lips parting as if to speak, but he hesitated. I did not take it. “It is fine, you drink it.” Dax looked down at the cup. “It is half sweet.” “Yeah.” “I don’t drink sweet things.” My heart gave a small squeeze. He did not like sweet things. This was meant for me, and I knew it. But I could not take it. Taking it would mean slipping back into old habits. I forced a smile. “Then throw it away.” Dax’s face darkened instantly. “What is wrong with you lately?” The evening wind swept up the library steps. I clutched my books, my fingers completely numb from the cold. “Nothing’s wrong.” “Yesterday you called me Dax.” “That’s your name.” “You didn’t use to call me that.” My chest ached. What did I use to call him? I wanted to ask, but I did not dare. Those nicknames were just my one sided jokes. Husband. Babe. Boss. No matter how happily I said them, they were never real. I lowered my eyes. “I didn’t have any boundaries before.” Dax stared at me. “Say that again.” My nose tingled. It was rare for him to speak in such a cold, sharp tone. But it only proved the comments were right. He had probably been tolerating me for a long time. Now that Isla was back, he finally had a reason to draw the line. “I won’t make those jokes anymore,” I said softly. Dax was silent. After a long pause, he asked, “Including those names?” I nodded. His grip tightened, slightly crushing the paper cup in his hand. “Why?” I tried to keep my voice steady. “Weren’t you always telling me to stop?” Dax froze. “I’m finally listening to you,” I added. [Damn.] [That actually hurts.] [He spent all this time telling her to stop, and now he is realizing she actually did.] Dax stared at me, the usual cold calm in his eyes completely shattered. He opened his mouth to speak. But from a distance, a voice called out, “Dax!” Isla was standing under a streetlight, holding her phone. “Did you leave your keys in my bag?” Dax looked back. I took a step backward. “Go ahead.” He did not move. I gave him a small smile. “My dorm is close by.” With that, I turned and walked away. This time, he did not follow. Behind me, I heard Isla catch up to him. I heard her ask, “Did you two have a fight?” Dax did not answer. I quickened my pace. At least I had walked away first. I had not let it reach the point where he would tell me to stop in front of a crowd. I had saved some of my dignity. 4 Over the next few days, I became an expert at keeping my distance. When we met, I called him Dax. My texts were strictly about coursework. When he saved me a seat, I said thank you. When he asked to get food, I told him my roommate was waiting. When he offered me a drink, I declined. At first, Dax would scowl. But as the days went on, he grew quieter and quieter. I figured he would get used to it soon. After all, having one less person constantly teasing him and calling him husband should have been a relief. But Tessa could not stand it anymore. While I was brushing my teeth, she snatched my phone. “What is going on with you two?” I wiped my face with a towel. “Nothing.” “Nothing? Dax sent you eleven texts, and every single one of your replies reads like an official university announcement.” I reached out. “Give me my phone.” Instead of handing it over, Tessa read aloud. “Dax: I can grab you breakfast before our 8 AM class tomorrow.” “You: No need to trouble yourself, I’ll get something on my way. Thanks.” “Dax: I thought you hated the dining hall eggs.” “You: I eat them now.” Tessa looked up at me. “Sadie, you eat dining hall eggs now?” I stayed silent. She scoffed. “Just yesterday you said those eggs smelled like a midlife crisis.” “…” Tessa kept reading. “Dax: Are we still going to the movie on Saturday?” “You: I can’t go, I need to work on my paper.” She slammed the phone onto the desk. “Didn’t you buy those tickets two weeks ago? You literally said you wanted to watch it with your future boyfriend.” “I said future boyfriend,” I mumbled. “I didn’t say it was him.” Tessa looked like she wanted to shake some sense into me. “Sadie, cut the crap.” I looked down, saying nothing. [The side character is officially exiting the stage.] [This is graceful. At least there is no big dramatic scene.] [But his mood has been terrible lately, even Isla noticed.] My chest tightened. Tessa suddenly said, “Isla came to find me today.” I froze. “To find you?” “Yeah. She asked if you were misunderstanding something.” Tessa leaned against the desk, crossing her arms. “She said she and Dax aren’t like that. She only came back to catch up on classes. She also said Dax looks like he is going through a devastating breakup.” My heart skipped a beat, but I quickly forced the feeling down. “She’s probably just joking.” “I don’t think so,” Tessa said. “And do you think he is enjoying the peace? He was watching you sit next to someone else in the library today, looking like he was about to snap his pen in half.” “I was sitting next to a project partner,” I protested. “A guy.” “It was schoolwork.” “You wouldn’t have cared about schoolwork before.” She was right. Before, if Dax had sat next to another girl, I would have slid right in next to them with a grin. Am I interrupting your chat with this pretty girl, Dax? He would blush and tell me to stop playing around, and I would sit right beside him anyway. Now, I did not play around anymore. I did not have the right to. I took my phone back. Dax’s latest message was still on the screen. “Are you free tomorrow? I want to talk.” I stared at the words for a long time before replying. “Sure.” I hesitated, then added: “Dax.” The screen immediately showed “typing…” but it took a long time before a single word came back. “Okay.”

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1 I had worked at Horizon Holdings for three years without a single late arrival on my record. This afternoon, the layoff notice went up. Right there on the third line was my employee ID. Fine by me. It took me exactly ten minutes to hand over my responsibilities, pack my things into a cardboard box, and walk out. But right at the main entrance, the CEO’s daughter blocked my path. She looked completely innocent. “Um, firing you was just a little show for my boyfriend. You can come back to work now.” I looked at the exit clearance papers in my hand, covered in official red stamps, and then looked back at her. “Miss Sinclair, do you think if I eat this piece of paper right now, we can pretend none of this happened?” … Monday, 11:40 AM. Twenty minutes before lunch. I was still debating whether to grab a turkey sub or some takeout tacos when Lily from Administration rushed over to my desk. “Luke! The bulletin board! Go look, quickly!” Her face was pale, like she’d seen a ghost. I let go of my mouse and walked down to the end of the hallway. A crowd of colleagues had already gathered around the board, whispering and buzzing with nervous energy. I squeezed through the gap and cast my eyes over the paper. Notice of Third-Quarter Personnel Optimization and Restructuring Underneath was a list of employee IDs and names. Third line. ID: HZ-20210315. Name: Luke Benson. Department: Technical Operations and Infrastructure. Oh. I stared at those words for three seconds. Then I turned around and walked back to my desk. The quiet murmurs of my coworkers followed me. “Luke is on the list?” “Isn’t he the guy who maintains the entire company system?” “It’s not like he’s the only one who can do that job, right?” Right. I wasn’t the only one. I sat back down in my chair and pulled open my desk drawer. There wasn’t much inside. A thermos, an unopened pack of wet wipes, and a thick LSAT prep guide, something I had bought on my very first day at Horizon and hadn’t opened once. I swept everything into a small cardboard box. Then I sent a quick message to Marcus, my department head: “Marcus, I saw the list. How do you want to handle the transition of my tasks?” Marcus replied instantly: “Wait, you’re on the list? I haven’t even looked yet… hold on, don’t pack up, let me ask around.” I didn’t wait. I opened my computer, updated the last-modified dates on my three main server maintenance documents, and saved them to the shared network drive. Then I composed a brief email to the department group. Subject: Ops Transition Memorandum The body of the email contained only one sentence: “All system admin credentials, server configurations, and third-party API documentation are saved in the shared drive under the folder ‘Luke Benson – Ops’. If you run into issues, refer to the documents.” Send. I checked the time. Exactly eight minutes had passed since I saw the notice. I shut down the computer, unplugged my flash drive, and unclipped my ID badge. The box wasn’t heavy, easily cradled in one arm. I stood up and took one last look at the cubicle where I had sat for three years. On the divider, there was a sticky note from last year: “Remember to swap out the backup hard drives in the server room on Friday.” I peeled it off, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it into the trash. My colleagues watched me in silence. No one spoke. No one came over to say goodbye. That was fine. When layoffs happen, the survivors are usually too busy feeling relieved and terrified of being next to offer any real sympathy. I walked to the HR office and knocked twice. Audrey, the HR supervisor, opened the door. She froze when she saw me. “That was fast.” “Let’s get the paperwork over with,” I said. Audrey gave a slightly awkward smile and handed me a stack of papers. Termination agreement, non-compete waiver, final payroll confirmation. I signed them one by one. “About the non-compete,” Audrey said quietly. “Standard protocol means we wouldn’t usually waive this for someone of your level, but since you were put on the list, management decided to release you from it directly to keep things simple.” I nodded. No non-compete meant I could go to a competitor tomorrow. I guess that was the only real perk of getting laid off. As I signed the last line, Audrey stamped the documents with the official corporate seal. “Thanks for your hard work, Luke. Your severance will be deposited by the end of the month.” “Sounds good.” All in all, ten minutes. Three years of my career, wrapped up and filed away in ten minutes. I walked out of the HR office with my cardboard box, crossed the lobby, passed the bulletin board, and stepped into the elevator. I was alone in the elevator car. I looked down at the box. The thermos, the wipes, the pristine LSAT prep book. It felt incredibly light. I wasn’t even sad. Three years at Horizon, earning eighty thousand a year, a perfectly average salary. My daily grind consisted of maintaining the company’s internal intranet, keeping the servers running, and dealing with various messy software integrations. To put it bluntly, I was just the IT guy. Firing the IT guy was a standard corporate move. The elevator doors opened on the first floor. The bright midday sun made me squint. A few people were bustling across the lobby, paying no attention to me. I headed toward the glass entrance doors. And then I stopped. Someone was blocking the exit. Specifically, a young woman wearing a cream-colored dress and high heels. Sienna Sinclair. The only daughter of our CEO, Arthur Sinclair. A mythical figure around the office. She rarely ever set foot in the building. But here she was today, standing right in front of me. She glanced at the box in my hands, then at the empty space on my shirt where my badge used to hang. “Are you Luke Benson?” she asked. I nodded. “Look…” She glanced around, dropping her voice to a whisper. “The whole firing thing? It’s not real.” I stared at her. “Excuse me?” “I had them add your employee ID to the list,” she said casually, as if she were talking about the weather. I didn’t say anything. She continued to explain, “My boyfriend, Zach, is a bit of a jealous type. He hates the idea of some guy constantly coming around to help me fix my laptop or whatever. I just wanted to put on a little show for him to make him feel secure, to let him see that you were gone.” “So you just…” “Yeah, it was just a little act. Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to my dad later, and you can just come back tomorrow like nothing happened.” She finished speaking and flashed me a sweet smile. It was so sweet that for a second, I thought I was losing my mind. “Miss Sinclair.” “Yes?” I shifted the box to my left arm and reached into my pocket with my right hand, pulling out a sheet of paper. My official termination letter. Complete with the bright red HR stamp and signatures. “The paperwork is already done.” Sienna’s smile faltered. “What do you mean?” “It means I’ve already signed the exit agreement, HR has stamped it, my severance is locked in, and my non-compete is waived.” I gave the paper a gentle wave in front of her face. “Legally speaking, once this is signed by both parties, the employment relationship is officially over. It’s binding.” “Why… why did you sign it so fast?!” “My name was on the list. Did you expect me to sit around and wait for a formal farewell party?” Sienna was stunned. She clearly hadn’t anticipated that anyone would execute their exit paperwork within ten minutes of a layoff notice. “Wait a second, let me make a phone call right now…” “Miss Sinclair,” I interrupted, stepping around her. “A piece of advice.” “Next time you want to put on a show, make sure you brief your actors first.” Then I walked out. Behind me, the sharp click-clack of her heels hurried after me. “Wait! Luke! Stop right there!” I didn’t look back. The security guard at the door looked at me, then at Sienna chasing after me, completely bewildered. I gave him a nod. “Take care, Gary.” “Take care, Luke,” Gary replied automatically. And then he watched the CEO’s daughter stand frozen at the glass doors, looking like a lost mannequin in her high heels. The sun was warm. And for my first day of unemployment, the sky looked incredibly blue. 2 First thing I did when I got home was draw the curtains. Second thing was toss the cardboard box into a dusty corner. Third thing, I collapsed onto the couch and turned on the TV. A food documentary was playing, focusing on slow-smoked Texas brisket. The bark on the meat looked perfectly dark, the fat glistening and rendering down. Perfect. I watched the screen for about ten minutes before my phone buzzed. It was a message from Marcus, my old boss. “Luke, did you really leave? I just talked to HR, and they said you signed the papers. Why didn’t you wait for me?” I replied with a simple “Yep.” My phone buzzed again. “Man, don’t panic. Let me see if I can get them to roll it back…” “Don’t bother, Marcus. The ink is dry, and honestly, it’s fine.” “But…” “All the handover documents are in the shared drive. The passwords are there too. Just have Pete take over.” “Pete? He barely knows how to install a printer driver…” “Then he’ll have to learn.” I flipped my phone face-down on the couch and went back to watching the brisket. Half an hour later, the phone started vibrating violently. It wasn’t Marcus this time. It was the departmental group chat. Messages were flying in one after another. Pete: “@All, uh… the internal payroll and HR portal Luke used to manage is down. Does anyone have the admin password?” Three minutes later. Pete: “Urgent! Anyone? I’m locked out.” Five minutes later. A guy from Marketing popped into the chat: “Our project tracking platform is completely inaccessible. It says the security certificate expired. Who’s running this?” Ray: “…That was Luke’s domain.” Marketing: “Where is he?” Ray: “He’s gone. Laid off today.” Marketing: “WTF??” I quietly left the group chat. Not my circus, not my monkeys. The brisket segment finished, followed by a piece on wood-fired Italian pizzas. My phone buzzed again. A direct message. From Ray. Ray and I got along well enough, occasionally grabbing beers after work. “Luke, I’m looking at your handover folder on the shared drive. Quick question…” “Yeah?” “The ‘Core Credentials Master List’ is password-protected. What’s the key?” I stared at the screen for three seconds. “It’s in the metadata tooltips.” A minute later… “I don’t see any tooltips?” “Hover your mouse over the file icon and hold it there for two seconds. A dialog box will pop up.” Two minutes later… “Luke, it popped up. But it says: ‘This master password is tied to the active administrator’s security token. Upon employee termination, access is automatically revoked. Please contact your IT Systems Architect to reset.’” “Then contact the IT Systems Architect to reset it.” “Who the hell is the IT Systems Architect?” “Up until ten o’clock this morning, it was me.” There was a long silence from Ray. So long that I thought his phone had died. Then he sent a single word: “Damn.” I locked my phone and went into the kitchen to boil some pasta. Before the water even reached a boil, there was a knock on my door. I walked over and peered through the peephole. A middle-aged man in a slightly rumpled suit stood there, clutching a briefcase and wiping sweat from his forehead. I didn’t recognize him. “Can I help you?” I called out. “Mr. Benson? I’m from Horizon Holdings’ administration department. My name is Mason.” I opened the door. Mr. Mason took a deep breath, trying to summon a professional smile. “Mr. Benson, look, regarding this afternoon—” “I’m not coming back.” His smile froze. “I haven’t even said anything yet—” “You’re here to ask me to come back to work, aren’t you?” The look of sheer panic on his face told me everything. “Well, Mr. Sinclair sent me personally. He said there was a massive clerical error in the layoff list. Your employee ID was never meant to be on there. It was all a misunderstanding…” “Mr. Mason.” I leaned against the doorframe. “You have a copy of the exit agreement I signed, right?” “Well, yes—” “Take a look at the stamp on it. Is that the official corporate seal?” “Yes…” “And the date? Is it today?” “Yes, but—” “Then do you really think a legally binding bilateral contract can be dissolved by calling it a ‘misunderstanding’?” Mr. Mason’s mouth opened and closed, opened and closed. He looked exactly like a fish gasping for air on dry land. “Mr. Benson, please. If you could just come back to the office, we can negotiate the terms of the agreement—” “I appreciate your hustle, Mr. Mason, but my pasta is on the stove. If I don’t get back to it, it’s going to turn to mush.” I gently closed the door. Through the wood, I could hear his muffled voice: “Mr. Benson? Luke? Please reconsider! I’ll wait out here!” I went back to the kitchen, drained the pasta, and tossed it with some garlic, olive oil, and red pepper flakes. Simple, clean, and perfectly al dente. It tasted infinitely better than anything from the company cafeteria. Eventually, the hallway went quiet. Mr. Mason had left. I finished my meal, washed the dishes, and decided to take a nap. My phone screen kept lighting up, notifications piling up on the lock screen. I glanced at them. One of them was an automated system-wide email from Horizon Holdings. Subject: Retraction of Third-Quarter Personnel Notice I clicked it open and read the first couple of lines. “Due to an administrative data entry error, Employee ID HZ-20210315 (Luke Benson) was mistakenly included on the list. The notice regarding said employee is hereby retracted…” Too late. I tossed the phone onto my nightstand. Time for a nap. I was a free man now. 3 At 3:30 PM, my landline rang, waking me up. Yes, I still had a landline. Usually, it was only used by delivery guys or telemarketers. I groggily picked up the receiver. “Hello?” “Luke Benson? This is the Office of the Chairman at Horizon Holdings.” The voice was deep, authoritative, and instantly recognizable. My sleepiness vanished. Arthur Sinclair. The big boss of Horizon Holdings. Sienna’s father. I sat up. “Hello, Mr. Sinclair.” “Luke, today was an absolute mess. I’ve already dealt with the people responsible. I want you to know that I value your contribution to this company very highly.” His tone was incredibly warm, almost apologetic. “Here’s what we’ll do. You come back to your position tomorrow. I’ll bump you up a grade, increase your base salary to a hundred and twenty thousand, and make sure your full performance bonus for this quarter is paid out. How does that sound?” From eighty thousand to a hundred and twenty thousand. A fifty percent raise. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted. But… “Mr. Sinclair, I have one question.” “Go ahead.” “Who authorized my name to be on that layoff list in the first place?” Silence stretched over the line for two seconds. “Well… it was processed through Administration.” “And why would Administration put my name on there?” Another three seconds of heavy silence. “Luke, I will launch an internal audit into this matter—” “Mr. Sinclair, I heard it was Miss Sinclair who requested my employee ID be added.” Silence fell again, thick enough to cut with a knife. Five full seconds. “Luke, regardless of the circumstances, I want to personally apologize on behalf of the company.” He didn’t confirm it, but he didn’t deny it either. That was all the confirmation I needed. “Mr. Sinclair, it’s a very generous offer. But I’ve already signed the termination papers. And,” I paused, letting the words hang, “your HR department officially signed my non-compete waiver.” The sound of Arthur Sinclair’s breathing grew noticeably heavier. “They did what?” A waived non-compete meant I could legally start working for their direct competitor this very afternoon. No garden leave. No cooling-off period. Audrey had simply followed the standard protocol for mid-level employees. The system wasn’t designed to catch the fact that the “mid-level” guy held the keys to the entire castle. I was the only one who understood Horizon’s system architecture, server setups, and third-party API keys. Allowing a person with that level of institutional knowledge to walk away with zero restrictions is what corporate risk managers call a catastrophic vulnerability. “Mr. Sinclair, I don’t bear any ill will. But from a legal perspective, I’m a free agent now. I have no obligation to Horizon.” “Luke—” “You should probably look into how your internal operations are being run. Have a good evening.” I hung up. Then I unplugged the landline. I lay back down and stared at the ceiling. To be honest, my palms were sweating during that call. Arthur Sinclair was a billionaire, after all. But every word I said was a fact. They had set their own house on fire. Why should I be the one to carry the water buckets? I rolled over to try and get back to sleep when my cell phone buzzed. It was an unknown number. I hesitated, then answered. “Mr. Benson? Hello, I’m Fiona, the VP of HR at Zenith Solutions.” Zenith Solutions. Horizon’s fiercest rival in the region. “Hi, Fiona. What can I do for you?” “Well, word travels fast. We heard you parted ways with Horizon today.” “You have good sources.” “It’s a small industry,” she said with a light chuckle. “We were wondering if you’re open to new opportunities. We actually have an opening for an Infrastructure Director. The base salary starts at three hundred thousand, plus equity. We’d love to discuss it.” Three hundred thousand. More than triple what I was making at Horizon. “Fiona, how did you even know who I was?” “To be frank, we’ve been watching the infrastructure setup at Horizon for a long time. Your work speaks for itself in our circles.” I remained quiet. “If you’re free, we’d love to grab coffee and chat.” “Let me think about it,” I said. I hung up. The day was starting to feel surreal. This morning, I was an eighty-thousand-a-year IT guy. Now, a competitor was offering me three hundred thousand to lead their team. And just eight hours ago, a wealthy girl had used my career as a cheap prop to play relationship games with her insecure boyfriend. Life is a weird, dark comedy. 4 The next morning, I grabbed a coffee and a croissant from the bakery down the street. I sat on a park bench to eat. The morning sun was pleasant, and nearby, an old man was walking a corgi. The corgi’s wobbly walk was surprisingly therapeutic to watch. My phone rang. Ray. “Luke, everything is burning down.” “Not my problem, Ray.” “No, listen to me. The entire intranet portal collapsed this morning.” I took a bite of my croissant. “How bad?” “The SSL certificates expired. Every single browser-based internal system is throwing security warnings. No one can log in. Pete spent the whole night trying to fix it, and now two hundred employees are sitting at their desks staring at blank screens. Nobody can do a damn thing.” “The renewal process is fully detailed in the handover docs.” “Pete says he can’t understand the script.” “Again, not my problem.” Ray sighed. “Look, there’s more. Do you know how much stuff the company realized you were managing only after you walked out?” “How much?” “I ran an audit. The internal portal, the mail servers, the shared drives, three external client APIs, the financial database, the security gate system, the timecard tracker, the conference room booking system, the VPN… seventeen core systems in total.” “Yeah. I built them.” “The issue is, when you built them, the company never officially classified them as separate assets. Your job description was literally just one line: ‘Responsible for general IT infrastructure maintenance.’” “So they thought firing me just meant getting rid of a guy who replaces keyboards.” “…Exactly.” I laughed. I actually laughed out loud. Right there on the bench, with half a croissant in my mouth, choking slightly on my coffee. The corgi got startled and trotted away. “And then what happened?” “Then Sinclair called an emergency board meeting this morning. He apparently ripped Administration and HR a new one. Audrey took the brunt of it because she signed your non-compete waiver.” “Audrey was just following standard procedure.” “Sinclair doesn’t care. He thinks she let the golden goose walk.” “I’m hardly a golden goose.” “Well, you are to Horizon right now. Zenith is already boasting that they’re recruiting you. Did you know that?” “I got a call yesterday.” Ray’s tone shifted, becoming more complex. “Luke, did you plan this?” “What do you mean?” “The ten-minute exit. Did you calculate that they wouldn’t react in time?” I took another sip of coffee. “Ray, do you really think an employee who gets casually discarded as a pawn needs to spend his time worrying about the company’s operational safety?” He didn’t reply. “And honestly,” I added, “I didn’t plan anything. I just didn’t care.” “A guy earning eighty thousand, treated like a ghost in the corner, gets laid off. So he signs the papers, packs his box, and leaves. That’s standard. They just forgot that the ghost was the one holding up the ceiling.” Ray remained silent for a long moment. “You’re cold, man,” he finally muttered. I smiled but didn’t argue. Finished my breakfast, threw the trash away, and heard my phone buzz again. A new contact request on my personal messaging app. The name: Sienna. The message: Mr. Benson, do you have a moment to talk? I stared at it for a few seconds. Accept. She typed back almost instantly. “Mr. Benson, I am so incredibly sorry about yesterday. I really didn’t think it through.” “Okay.” “My dad said we can offer you a promotion, a massive raise, whatever terms you want.” “Your dad already called me yesterday.” “Then why didn’t you accept??” Two question marks. I could picture the frustrated pout on her face. “Because I don’t see the point.” “What do you mean you don’t see the point?” “I don’t see the point in coming back.” A long pause. Then she sent a massive block of text. “Please let me explain. That layoff notice was truly just a stupid show for Zach. He’s been so insecure lately, constantly questioning why I had to contact you to troubleshoot things. I thought if he saw your name on the list, he’d drop it and feel secure. I was going to have HR quietly reinstate you this afternoon. I had no idea you’d sign everything and leave in ten minutes!” Reading her words, a profound sense of absurdity washed over me. Here was her logical chain: Boyfriend gets jealous -> Boyfriend is upset -> Put an innocent employee on a layoff list -> Pretend to fire him -> Reassure boyfriend -> Call employee back -> Act like nothing happened. In this entire equation, “Luke Benson” wasn’t a human being. I was a prop. A disposable tool. Something to be used and discarded without a second thought. “Miss Sinclair, I understand your reasoning.” “So you’ll—” “But did you ever consider a very simple possibility?” “What?” “That if you casually fire someone, they might actually choose not to come back?” “But why wouldn’t you—” “And yet, here we are.” She sent a sweating, awkward emoji. I couldn’t tell if she actually felt bad or was just out of arguments. “Mr. Benson, name your price.” “I’m not for sale.” “What??” “I said, I’m not for sale. I’m not a piece of inventory, Miss Sinclair. You don’t get to pull me off the shelf, use me, and then try to put me back when you realize you made a mess.” This time, the silence lasted so long I thought the conversation was over. Then, she sent one last message. “If you don’t come back, my dad is going to be furious with me. And honestly, it won’t look good for your reputation in this industry if you burn bridges like this.” Looking at the screen, a strange feeling washed over me. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t resentment. It was a clear sense of validation. Validation that leaving was the absolutely correct choice. “Miss Sinclair, is that a plea for help, or a threat?” She didn’t reply. I slipped my phone into my pocket, stood up, and brushed the crumbs off my jeans. The sky was still blue. Day two of freedom was turning out to be great. 5 Day three of unemployment. I spent the morning cleaning the apartment, dusting off the bookshelves, and setting up a folding chair on the balcony with a hot mug of coffee. The morning sun was warming my face. For three years, I had never realized how beautiful the morning light was on my balcony at 9:00 AM. Mainly because I was usually crammed into a crowded subway car at this hour. My phone rang. Fiona from Zenith Solutions. “Luke, have you had a chance to think about our offer?” “Fiona, let me ask you something first.” “Of course.” “How did you guys find out I was laid off so quickly? You called me literally half an hour after I signed the papers.” She let out a soft laugh. “To be frank, Luke, we have our eyes on Horizon. Word of your exit leaked within thirty minutes of you signing that waiver.” Thirty minutes. A major competitor knew about my termination within half an hour. Horizon’s internal security was practically a sieve. “Would you be open to dropping by our office tomorrow at two? It’s not a formal interview, just an informal chat with our leadership.” “Sure, I can do that.” I hung up and took a sip of my coffee. Before it could even cool down, a loud car horn blared from the street below. A moment later, my apartment buzzer rang. I got up and checked the security camera. Standing at my door was a young man in his early twenties, wearing a perfectly tailored navy suit, a luxury watch on his wrist, and hair styled with military precision. He was handsome in a generic, catalog-model sort of way. But there was an undeniable sneer playing on his lips. I opened the door. “Are you Luke Benson?” his voice was dripping with arrogance. “And you are?” “Zachary.” Sienna’s boyfriend. The jealous guy. The indirect catalyst for my sudden unemployment. I looked him up and down. “What do you want?” He tilted his chin up, looking down his nose at me. “I’m here to make things clear. Stay away from Sienna.” I blinked, momentarily speechless. It was fascinating how reality could sometimes be cheesier than a bad reality show. “Look, man,” I said, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m already unemployed. You know that, right?” “I do.” “Then coming to my apartment to tell me to stay away from your girlfriend seems a bit… unnecessary.” “I just want to make sure you don’t try to crawl back,” he said, stepping closer. “Guys like you get fired and then try to play the victim to get back in her good graces. I’m just setting boundaries early.” I laughed. Not a bitter laugh, but a genuine chuckle at the sheer absurdity of it. “Zachary, my entire relationship with your girlfriend consists of fixing her laptop twice. Once because her MacBook wouldn’t connect to a projector, and once because she spilled coffee on her keyboard. We’ve spoken maybe twenty words to each other. I have zero interest in her.” He frowned, clearly not believing me. “Then why did she put your name on the layoff list?” “You’d have to ask her that.” “I did. She said she did it to make me feel secure.” “And do you?” He didn’t answer. But his tense posture said it all. “So what is this?” I asked, tilting my head. “You came to a laid-off employee’s apartment to mark your territory? Are you living in a movie, Zachary?” His face flushed red. “Watch your mouth—” “I’m being serious. Did you tell your girlfriend you were coming here?” He stiffened. “No.” “So you snuck over here to threaten her ex-coworker.” I nodded slowly. “You know what that is?” “What?” “A psychological issue. It’s called pathological control.” I said it calmly. “Your girlfriend used an innocent man’s livelihood as a toy to appease your insecurities, and now you’re showing up at my door to puff your chest. The two of you deserve each other.” Zachary’s fists clenched tightly, a vein pulsing on his temple. But he didn’t swing. Whether it was to preserve his expensive suit or because he was calculating the legal cost of an assault charge, he held back. “You’ll regret this,” he spat out. “Doubt it.” “Horizon can blackball you from this entire industry with one phone call.” “Is that so? Someone else tried to warn me about that yesterday.” “Who?” “Your girlfriend.” Zachary’s jaw tightened. “You both have the exact same script,” I said, stepping back to close the door. “It’s actually kind of sweet. Match made in heaven.” “You—” “Have a safe drive back, Zach.” I shut the door. Through the peephole, I watched him stand in the hallway for a few seconds before kicking the wall in frustration. He winced, clearly hurting his foot, and limped away. I leaned against the door, reflecting on a simple truth. The worst part of being a regular guy in corporate life isn’t a lack of talent. It’s being treated as background noise while rich people play their games. They fight, they make up, they play power games, and they never once stop to think about the people they trample on. But that was fine. From now on, I wasn’t going to be anyone’s background prop.

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1 Nicknames littered my childhood. Clumsy. Space cadet. Social disaster. My best friend and girlfriend claimed they were affectionate, reserved for those who loved me most. During a quarterly presentation, my girlfriend called me “Clumsy” before the whole office. Laughter erupted; the director frowned. My face burned as I stumbled through the slides. My friend just ruffled my hair. “Don’t mind her. You are a bit slow.” On a retreat, she mocked my nervous stutter. He laughed hardest, adding, “Stop, she’s sensitive,” even as he saved a video of it to his favorites. Last week, I closed a million-dollar deal alone. At dinner, she toasted, “Our little space cadet!” The client’s expression soured. Later, they killed the deal. In my car, crying, my friend tapped the window with a tissue. “Don’t cry. Just don’t let her drink next time.” I wiped my eyes, submitted my resignation on Slack, and tossed the tissue back. Eight years, from high school to now. I once thought we’d go far. I rolled up the window and started the engine. Congratulations, Agnes. You finally learned to walk alone. … “Who approved your resignation?” Owen’s voice came through the receiver, calm and casual, as if he were asking what I wanted for lunch. I wedged the phone between my shoulder and my ear, continuing to pack clothes into my suitcase. “HR did. Standard procedure.” “I told you not to do anything rash.” He paused, his tone softening slightly. “I can help you talk to the client about the deal. I still have some leverage with their manager.” I zipped up the suitcase and looked at the one-way ticket to London sitting on the desk. “No need, Owen.” “What are you even doing?” A hint of impatience finally crept into his voice. “You’ve known Susan since high school. You know she speaks without thinking. Is it really worth all this drama?” Is it worth it? A million-dollar account, three months of follow-ups, forty-seven emails, eleven draft revisions. And he was asking me if it was worth it. “I’m not dramatic,” I said, sliding the passport and ticket into the side pocket of my backpack. “I just want a change of scenery.” “A change of scenery? Your college English was barely conversational. Where are you even going?” I didn’t answer. He let out another sigh, that familiar, patronizing sigh I had heard a thousand times. “Fine. Cool off for a couple of days. Susan and I will take you out for dinner this weekend so we can talk things through.” “I won’t be here this weekend.” A brief silence followed on the other end of the line. “What does that mean?” “My flight is the day after tomorrow.” This time, the silence lasted much longer. I could hear him rustling around, probably looking for his lighter. “Where?” “London. A friend’s company has an opening, and I’m going to try out for it.” “Are you…” He sounded choked up. “Are you serious?” I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were still slightly puffy, my lips dry, my entire face washed out and tired. “I am.” “Agnes.” He used my full name, his voice dropping an octave. “Are you just trying to get a rise out of me?” I almost laughed. For eight years, he had always assumed every decision I made was just an emotional tantrum. “No.” “Then explain it to me. Why are you suddenly packing up and leaving?” Why? Because you and Susan teamed up to turn me into a running joke, and you didn’t even realize how much it hurt. Because every milestone I reached was easily brushed away by her casual, demeaning remarks, while you always took her side, telling me “she didn’t mean anything by it.” Because I was finally exhausted. But I didn’t say any of that. “I just want to see the world.” “By yourself? You get lost taking the subway in Chicago…” “I have to go,” I cut him off. “I still have packing to do.” “Agnes…” I pressed the end call button. The moment my screen went dark, a message from Susan popped up. “Agnes! I heard you’re quitting? What a joke, haha! What are you going to do without me and Owen? Stop playing around. Let’s hang out this weekend. I’ll buy you dinner to make up for it, okay?” She followed it with a string of cute, pleading emojis. I stared at the words What are you going to do without me and Owen for a long time. I didn’t reply. I tossed my phone onto the bed and dragged my suitcase into the living room. On the coffee table lay a shiny butterfly hair clip that Susan had left behind last week. I picked it up and threw it straight into the trash can. The doorbell rang. I opened it, and there she was. Susan stood on the doormat, wearing a cream-colored knit dress, her hair styled in loose waves, holding a bag of fresh fruit. “You’re actually packing?” She peered past me into the apartment, her eyes widening in exaggerated shock. “Oh my god, Agnes. Are you seriously leaving?” I stepped aside to let her in. She placed the fruit on the coffee table, turned around, and her eyes suddenly filled with tears. “Is this because of what happened at dinner? I told you I had too much to drink, Agnes. You wouldn’t really leave just because of that, would you?” Her voice trailed off as she looked down, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “What am I supposed to do if you leave?” That was Susan. She always knew exactly when to play the victim, making sure everyone else looked like the bully. “It has nothing to do with you,” I said. “I just wanted to go.” She looked up, her teary eyes wide. “Really? You’re not mad at me?” “No.” “Then… can you stay?” She grabbed my hand, her nails painted a soft cherry blossom pink. “Or at least wait until Owen gets back? He can definitely help you find a way to…” “Susan,” I gently pulled my hand back. “My flight is at six o’clock the day after tomorrow.” She froze. Something flickered deep within those pretty eyes, vanishing so quickly I couldn’t catch it. Then, she smiled and reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “Then I have to come to the airport to see you off.” “You don’t…” “I have to,” she insisted, looking at me with absolute sincerity. “You’re my best friend.” My best friend. As she said those words, I remembered her calling me “clumsy” in front of our key clients. I remembered her impression video being shared and laughed at hundreds of times. I remembered the exact moment Owen laughed the loudest. “Whatever,” I said. She gave me a tight hug, resting her chin on my shoulder. “Agnes, don’t you dare forget about me once you’re over there.” I kept quiet. As she let go, my phone buzzed on the bed. It was a message from Owen. “I don’t approve of this.” Five words. No punctuation. I stared at it for two seconds, then locked the screen. 2 After Susan left, I continued packing. I reached into the very back of my closet and pulled out a dusty metal tin. Inside were the scraps of the last eight years. A birthday card Owen had written for me in high school: Happy birthday, Agnes. I hope you grow braver and braver. A braided friendship bracelet Susan had made, a red cord with a tiny bead. She had told me it was a lifetime bond, something we’d never take off. And photos. Dozens of photos of the three of us. I was always standing on the very edge, smiling the hardest. I placed the metal box on the top shelf of the closet, a spot I could barely reach. I wouldn’t take it with me, but I wouldn’t throw it away either. At 11:00 PM, Owen called again. I didn’t pick up. He sent six messages, which I ignored. The seventh was a voice note. My finger brushed against the screen, and his voice filled the quiet room. “Agnes, you’ve ignored my calls six times now. Are you trying to start a fight? If you have something to say, just say it. Stop with the silent treatment.” Silent treatment. I let out a bitter laugh. Me quietly packing my bags was the “silent treatment.” But what did you call eight years of mocking me in public? Playful teasing? I turned off my phone and had the best night of sleep I’d had in months. The next day was my last day before the flight. I went to the office to finish my exit clearance. My desk was completely cleared, save for a sticky note left by the colleague sitting next to me. Agnes, wishing you the absolute best. Don’t look back (in a good way). I peeled it off, tucked it into my pocket, and headed to HR to sign the final papers. When I stepped out of the elevator, I ran right into Owen. He was standing in the lobby, dressed in a sharp suit, hands in his pockets, looking at me with a complicated expression. “What are you doing here?” I asked. “I came to pick you up.” “I don’t need a ride.” He blocked my path, looking down at me. “Agnes, can you please talk to me like a normal person?” “I am talking to you normally.” He frowned, reaching out to pat my hair, just like he had done for the last eight years. I stepped back, avoiding his touch. His hand froze in midair. “You’re actually furious,” he said, slowly lowering his hand. “I already told you, I can talk to the client again…” “The deal is dead, Owen,” I interrupted. “And that’s worth quitting over?” “Yes.” He took a deep breath, his tone softening into something gentler. “Agnes…” “Don’t call me that.” He choked on his words. In eight years, I had never cut him off like this. He was used to my mild temper, my absolute compliance. He was used to me nodding along to whatever he said. “Fine,” he said, taking a step back. “Let’s go find a place to sit down and talk, Agnes.” “There’s nothing to talk about.” “You’re flying to London tomorrow. Who do you even know there? You can’t even navigate a new city without getting lost…” “I’ll learn.” He had that look on his face again. Like he was dealing with an unreasonable child, stubborn and immature, someone who constantly needed his guidance. “Susan was crying all day yesterday,” he said suddenly. “She feels like she’s the reason you’re leaving.” I remained quiet for a moment. “Good. She should.” Owen’s face darkened. “What is that supposed to mean? You won’t even accept her apology now?” I looked at him. He was always defending her. When the deal fell through, it was my fault for not keeping her sober. When she humiliated me, it was my fault for being too sensitive. When I quit to start fresh, it was me being dramatic. And now that she was crying, his first instinct was to come and scold me on her behalf. “Owen,” I asked quietly. “Have you ever thought about one thing?” “What?” “If Susan had been the one humiliated in front of the clients that night, would you have told her to just ‘make sure Agnes doesn’t drink as much next time’?” He froze. His mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. I stepped around him and pushed through the heavy glass doors of the lobby. The bright afternoon sun made my eyes water. Behind me, his footsteps hurried to catch up. “Agnes, what time is your flight tomorrow? I’ll drive you to the airport.” “Don’t worry about it.” “I’ll drive you,” he repeated, a touch of authority slipping into his tone. I didn’t turn back. “Just drive Susan instead.” The moment I left the office grounds, I let out a long breath. For the first time in eight years, the road ahead didn’t feel so daunting. When I got home, a bouquet of sunflowers sat on my kitchen counter. They were my favorite. The card was written in Susan’s neat, loopy handwriting: Agnes, let us take you to the airport tomorrow. No excuses! Promise me we’ll be best friends forever. I picked up the bouquet and threw it straight into the trash. Right on top of her butterfly hair clip. 3 My alarm went off three times at 4:00 AM before I finally dragged myself out of bed. After a quick shower, I rolled my suitcase out into the dark hallway. The elevator doors slid open, and Susan was already standing inside. She was wearing a pink hoodie, her hair thrown up in a messy bun, completely makeup-free, with dark circles under her eyes. “Oh, thank god. I thought you might sneak down the fire stairs to avoid us,” she said with a bright laugh, reaching out to grab my suitcase handle. “Come on, Owen is waiting downstairs.” I looked at her. “I told you guys I didn’t need a ride.” “Oh, stop being like that,” she said, dragging me along by the arm. “You’re leaving, and we don’t even know when you’ll be back. Let us do this for you.” Downstairs, Owen’s car was idling under a streetlamp, headlights cutting through the early morning fog. He got out, quietly loaded my suitcase into the trunk, and opened the door for us without saying much. The ride was incredibly quiet. Susan sat in the passenger seat, and I sat in the back. Ten minutes into the drive, she turned around to look at me. “Agnes, make sure you eat properly when you get there. Your stomach has always been sensitive.” “I will.” “And don’t overwork yourself. You get stressed easily, and too much pressure keeps you awake at night.” “I know.” “FaceTime me whenever you miss me. What’s the time difference again? Five hours? When you’re waking up, I’ll just be getting off work…” “Susan,” Owen interrupted quietly. “Let her rest.” Susan pouted slightly and turned back around. In the rearview mirror, I caught Owen’s gaze drifting back to me for a fraction of a second. I shifted my eyes toward the window, watching the streetlights blur past. When we reached O’Hare, Owen pushed my luggage cart while Susan kept her arm linked through mine. Just like old times, the three of us walking together. Only this time, I was in the middle, not trailing behind. Because this was the last time. At the check-in desk, I grabbed my boarding pass. Susan threw her arms around me, holding me tight. “You absolute idiot,” she mumbled, burying her face in my shoulder. “Who’s going to go shopping with me now?” I patted her back gently. “You have Owen.” She let go of me, wiping a tear from her eye. She shot a look at Owen, giving him a subtle nudge. Owen stepped forward, holding a brown paper bag in his hands. “Some snacks for the flight, and…” He hesitated for a second. “Text me when you land safely.” I took the bag and nodded. Then I turned around and walked toward security. “Agnes.” His voice called out from behind me. I stopped, but I didn’t turn back. “If things don’t work out over there, you can always come back.” There was a slight tremor in his voice, a faint hint of worry. But only a hint. Because deep down, he still believed I’d return. He still believed I couldn’t survive without them. He had believed that for eight years. I didn’t say a word. I just dragged my carry-on bag into the security line. As the line moved forward, I glanced back one last time. From a distance, I saw Susan talking animatedly to Owen, gesturing wildly with her hands. Owen was looking down at his phone, typing away. They didn’t look particularly sad. It was the relaxed posture of two people who had just sent a friend out to grab groceries, fully expecting her to return shortly. I turned around. Gate B12. I found my seat on the plane, buckled in, and opened the brown bag Owen had given me. A sandwich, a bottle of water, a pack of mints. And at the very bottom, a sticky note. Written in Susan’s rounded, bubbly handwriting: Hey space cadet! The world out there is pretty scary. We know you won’t last long before you start missing us, but don’t worry, Owen and I will be waiting to welcome you home! (ᵔᴥᵔ) I stared at the words for a long time. As the plane began taxiing down the runway, I ripped the note in half and stuffed it deep into the seatback trash bag. Twelve hours later, I touched down at Heathrow. I turned on my phone, and a barrage of thirty-seven notifications popped up, mostly Susan’s emojis and frantic voice messages. Owen had sent just one: Let me know when you arrive. I replied with a simple: Arrived. Then I closed the app. My college roommate, Naomi, was waiting for me at the arrivals gate, holding up a cardboard sign with a funny, terrible drawing of a stick figure. “Agnes, welcome to your brand new life!” I dragged my suitcase toward her, feeling the cool, damp London breeze on my face. I took a deep breath. New air. And absolutely no one here was going to call me a space cadet. 4 During my first week in London, jet lag kept me awake at odd hours. Awake at 3:00 AM, I sat on the window sill of my rented room, staring at the streetlamps outside. My phone screen lit up. Susan had updated her social media, posting a gallery of nine photos, all of her and Owen. At a diner, a movie theater, a shopping mall. The caption read: Agnes leaving has made life so boring. Had to drag this guy out to keep me company. You’re responsible for my entertainment now, Owen! In the comments, mutual friends from back home were teasing: “Are these two finally going to make it official?” “The childhood sweethearts are over, is the best friend stepping in?” “Did Agnes leaving finally clear the path? lol.” Owen had replied to one comment: Don’t talk nonsense. Susan had reacted with a blushing emoji. I stared at the screen, trying to process the feeling. It wasn’t jealousy. It was a cold, quiet sense of finality. My departure hadn’t left a void in their lives; it had completed them. Without the clumsy third wheel hovering around, they could finally slide into place next to each other. Naomi walked in, holding two mugs of hot chocolate. “Why are you awake staring at your phone…” She glanced at the screen. “Is that your ex-friend and the childhood sweetheart?” “Yeah.” Naomi handed me a mug. “Turn it off. Tomorrow is your first day of work.” I took a sip of the sweet, warm drink, letting the heat burn the tip of my tongue. I put Susan’s notifications on mute. And Owen’s too. My first day at the new office was a blur of unfamiliarity. The fast-paced environment, new faces, and a completely different workflow. During the meetings, I took frantic notes, trying my best to keep up. But nobody laughed. Nobody imitated my nervous stutter. Nobody looked at a successful task I completed and said, “Wow, she actually pulled it off.” At lunch, a colleague complimented a specific detail in my marketing proposal. It was a simple, normal piece of professional feedback. But it almost made me tear up. I worked late that night, leaving the office around 9:00 PM. On the tube home, I received a message from Owen. “It’s been a week. How are you settling in? Is the work okay?” I replied: “It’s fine.” He quickly typed back: “Susan said you muted her posts. She’s really hurt by that.” I didn’t reply. He sent another: “Agnes, what are you still mad about? She already apologized.” Always the same script. She was hurt, so I had to be the one to soften. She apologized, so I had to be the one to forgive. But what about the million-dollar account I lost? What about the dignity I stripped away in front of my peers? What about the eight years of quiet humiliation? None of that mattered. Because I was Agnes. Agnes was slow, Agnes was sensitive, Agnes was easy to appease. Agnes would never stay mad. I closed the chat, opened my work email, and began preparing for the next morning’s presentation. Two weeks passed, then three, then four. I slowly found my rhythm in London. The work became second nature, and my turnaround time for strategy drafts cut in half. Naomi pointed out that I was smiling a lot more. Owen’s messaging patterns began to shift too. It went from once a day, to three times a day, to constant updates morning, noon, and night. It started as casual check-ins, but quickly grew invasive. “Who did you have lunch with today?” “Is your new teammate a guy or a girl?” “It’s the weekend. Why aren’t you replying to my texts?” I kept my replies brief, or ignored them altogether. By the fifth week, at 4:00 AM London time, my phone began to buzz with an incoming FaceTime call from him. 5 I let it ring, refusing to answer. Then came a text message: “Agnes, I need to talk to you.” “Talk tomorrow. I’m asleep.” “Now.” I let out a slow sigh, sat up in bed, and accepted the call. On screen, Owen was sitting on his balcony, the city lights of Chicago sparkling behind him. He looked exhausted, dark shadows under his eyes. His collar was unbuttoned, his hair messy, as if he had been running his hands through it all night. “Agnes.” “Yeah.” He stared at his screen for several seconds, just looking at me. “Are you ever coming back?” “I like it here.” “I didn’t ask if you liked it,” his voice dropped, turning sharp. “I asked if you’re coming back.” “Not anytime soon.” He closed his eyes for a brief moment. When he opened them, he said something I completely didn’t expect. “Susan confessed to me.” The air in my room seemed to freeze. “Last week,” he continued, his tone flat. “She said she’s always had feelings for me.” My fingers gripped the edge of my blanket tightly. “And… did you accept?” He didn’t say anything. And that silence was all the answer I needed. I felt a sudden wave of self-deprecation wash over me. The last lingering, foolish hope I had carried in my heart for years shattered completely. He wasn’t calling because he missed me. He was calling to tell me this, expecting me to play the role of the mature, supportive childhood friend who would offer her blessing. “Congratulations,” I said, forcing a small smile. Across the screen, he seemed to let out a breath he’d been holding. “You’re not upset?” I shook my head. “Agnes—” “Agnes,” I corrected him. He froze again. “Right. Well, Susan wanted me to apologize to you again. She hopes that when you come back, the three of us can still…” “I’m not coming back.” His expression hardened. “What is that supposed to mean?” “It means I’m not coming back, Owen.” Outside my window, the London sky was beginning to pale. I looked at the face that had been the center of my world for eight years, and smiled softly. “Goodbye.” I ended the call. His stunned expression was the last thing I saw before the screen went black. It wasn’t anger, and it wasn’t indifference. It was the look of a man who had suddenly realized that something he took entirely for granted was actually, truly gone. I couldn’t fall back asleep after that. The next morning, I dragged myself into the office with heavy eyes. Naomi noticed immediately and quietly handed me a double espresso. “The dynamic duo again?” “For the last time,” I promised. She nodded, letting the subject drop. The work week flew by in a blur of meetings and tight deadlines. My role in the cross-border e-commerce division required me to negotiate directly with international clients. My spoken English, hesitant at first, grew sharper and more confident with every call. During our weekly review, the director singled out my latest project proposal, praising its clear data and unique perspective. Nobody chimed in to say, “Wow, she actually managed to do that.” It was just normal, professional recognition. When I stood up to thank the team, my voice was steady and completely clear. Later that afternoon, I received an unexpected message. It wasn’t from Owen, and it wasn’t from Susan. It was from Tristan, our high school class president. “Agnes? I heard you’re in London. I’m heading there next week for a business trip. Free for dinner?” Tristan. He had sat behind me in high school before heading off to Cambridge for his master’s degree, eventually landing a job in the financial district. We weren’t incredibly close back then, but we weren’t strangers either. It was a refreshing, uncomplicated connection. No nicknames, no teasing, just a polite “thanks” whenever we shared study notes. “Sure,” I replied. On Friday night, he took me to a quiet restaurant overlooking the Thames. Dressed in a sharp suit, he was a head taller than he had been in high school, but his warm smile was exactly the same. “You’ve changed a lot,” he said, handing me the menu. “You seem much more confident.” “Do I?” “In high school, you barely made eye contact when you spoke. Now, you hold your head high.” I looked down at the menu, feeling my ears warm slightly. “I think it’s just the environment.” “What kind of environment?” “One where nobody calls me space cadet.” He paused, his fork hovering. “Who called you that?” “Nobody important,” I smiled. “Just old history.” The dinner was effortless. We talked about our careers, life in London, and old school memories. Not a single word made me feel small or self-conscious. When the bill came, he reached for it. “Let me know if you ever need anything while you’re here. You don’t have to carry everything on your own.” “Thanks, Tristan.” On the way back, I posted my very first photo of London on social media. It was a shot of the Thames at night, captioned: Dinner with an old friend. London nights are beautiful. Five minutes later, Susan’s comment appeared. “Oh wow, Agnes has a new friend! Is it a guy? Make sure you don’t get scammed over there, you’ve always been so terrible at reading people…” I stared at the comment for two seconds, then deleted it. Three minutes later, Owen called. I let it ring out. Then came his text: “Who did you have dinner with?” “A former classmate.” “A guy or a girl?” “How is that any of your business?” The chat remained silent for several minutes. Then he sent: “Agnes, Susan and I aren’t together.” I blinked. “Didn’t you say she confessed to you?” “She did, but I didn’t say yes.” “…You didn’t say anything when I asked last time.” “You asked if I accepted, and before I could explain, you hung up,” his text read, sounding slightly defensive. I leaned back against the taxi seat, watching the city lights blur outside the window. How typical. His silence was a “no” in his head, but to me, it was a default “yes.” Because he never bothered to explain himself. Because he always assumed I would just wait and understand. “What’s the point of telling me this now?” I typed back. He didn’t reply immediately. After a long pause, he sent: “Agnes, there are things I hadn’t figured out before.” “And have you figured them out now?” “I’m trying to.” “Take your time then.” I locked my phone. The taxi pulled up to my apartment building. It was 11:00 PM. The night wind was cold, but my mind was remarkably clear. It wasn’t that I didn’t care anymore. It was just that I no longer needed his answers. When I walked upstairs, Naomi was curled up on the couch watching a show. “Back from your date?” “It wasn’t a date.” “Right, right, not a date,” she said without looking up. “Your phone has been buzzing off the hook, by the way.” I checked my phone. Susan had sent a long voice message. I clicked play, listened to the first second, and paused it. “Agnes, did you seriously block me? What is your problem with deleting my comments? I was just trying to look out for you…” I marked the message as read and closed the app. That night, I slept peacefully, without a single dream.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “527596”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

In the middle of the zombie apocalypse, I found myself a massive, dim witted bodyguard. He possessed the strength of a god and the obedience of a golden retriever. He spoiled me rotten, letting me play the absolute worst kind of pampered princess. Just as I threw away the dry ration bar he had risked his life to find, whining that I wanted a strawberry shortcake instead, a stream of floating text suddenly materialized in my vision. [Look at this chick treating the future Zombie King like a stray dog.] [Benjamin is just in his evolutionary phase. His mind is foggy, and he’s mistaking this toxic girl for the sweet kid who lived next door to him growing up.] [Joke’s on her. Benjamin has been secretly in love with the actual female lead for years. Once he finishes mutating tonight and gets his sanity back, he is absolutely going to tear this fake to pieces and feed her to the horde!] I stared at the floating text, my jaw practically hitting the floor. Right at that moment, Benjamin walked back in. He looked like he had taken a nasty fall. Crimson tracked down his forehead, and his jacket was shredded. Yet, his hands were carefully cupping a horribly smashed strawberry shortcake, offering it to me like a sacred relic. “Luna… eat the cake.” The catch? The campus beauty, my beloved sister, was the one named Luna. 1 I stiffly lowered my gaze to the hulking guy crouching in front of me. He was still holding out his prized possession. Because I was taking too long to react, a flicker of panic crossed his dark eyes. “Luna… you don’t like cake anymore?” “Tell me what you want… I will go find it.” My brain violently rebooted. The floating comments just said Benjamin was the Zombie King. And that he was getting his sanity back tonight. Thinking about how I had been acting like a total brat these past few days, demanding the impossible and treating him like dirt, a cold shiver crawled up my spine. I was a dead woman walking. My eyes slowly drifted down to the pulverized strawberry cake. I forced the corners of my mouth up into the most painful smile of my life. “I love it.” I reached out and took the cake, my voice coming out so sickly sweet it gave me goosebumps. “Benjamin, you are so good to me.” Survival rule number one. Stop the abuse immediately and start sucking up. Maybe if I buttered him up enough, he would be slightly less inclined to rip my head off when he woke up tomorrow. Benjamin lowered his head, the tips of his ears turning a bright, burning red. Even smeared with blood and grime, his face was absurdly handsome. Strong brow bone, straight nose. His cognitive fog usually made him look a bit slow, but right now, with his dark hair falling over his eyes, there was something wildly magnetic about him. I swallowed hard. But I snapped out of it a second later. Now was not the time to be thirsty. The man kneeling in front of me was the future ruler of the undead, and I was apparently on his menu. The text was still scrolling in front of my eyes. [Oh, now she’s scared? Too late.] [She’s been bossing him around all week!] [She made the literal Zombie King fetch water, wash her dirty laundry, make her bed, and she even uses his abs as a personal heater at night!] [Treating the apex predator of the apocalypse like a pool boy. Bold move.] I was speechless. Suddenly, the cake in my hands lost all its appeal. Seeing my hesitation, Benjamin asked cautiously, “Luna… is it too dirty? The blood didn’t touch the frosting.” That was when I noticed the back of his head. It was completely coated in blood, with thick red trails running down his neck. I set the cake down and immediately grabbed his wrist. “How did you get hurt this badly?” Benjamin stared at me blankly. He really wasn’t used to me showing actual concern. And to be fair, I had been awful to him. If I didn’t like the crackers he found, I tossed them on the floor and told him to try again. If I thought the tap water tasted weird, I made him risk his life navigating the infested administration building just to get me bottled water. Whenever I got cold, I ordered him to get into my sleeping bag and warm it up with his body. Sometimes I complained that his jacket smelled and forced him to take it off entirely. And Benjamin always listened. He would just blush, pull his shirt up, and let me press my freezing hands against his stomach. Looking back at my endless list of crimes, my vision actually swam. But this was my chance for redemption. I scrambled to find my meager stash of medical supplies and pushed him down into a chair. “Don’t move.” “I am going to patch you up.” Benjamin sat obediently. His massive frame hunched forward slightly, making him look like a very well trained mastiff. I soaked a cotton swab in iodine and gently cleaned the blood from his scalp. The terrifying part was that the wound was already closing. A thin, pale scab had already formed over what should have been a fatal gash. My eyes darkened. The floating comments were right. He wasn’t human anymore. 2 My mind raced, and on cue, tears welled up in my eyes. Benjamin instantly froze. “Luna?” I kept my head down, letting my voice tremble. “Today is my birthday.” I hugged the crushed cake to my chest, letting the tears fall thick and fast. “My family never celebrates my birthday.” “This is the first time I have ever had a birthday cake since I went back home.” “Thank you, Benjamin.” 3 I wasn’t actually lying. Everyone at school knew the campus sweetheart, Luna, and I were twin sisters. But the truth was, we shared no blood. When I was seven, I wandered off and got abducted. My mother wept day and night until her mind nearly broke. To save her sanity, my father adopted a girl from the local orphanage and gave her my name. Luna. The bright, beautiful moon. The fake Luna was naturally gorgeous, outgoing, and charming. She quickly smoothed over my mother’s grief and completely took my place. Eventually, no one ever spoke of the lost child again. Eight years later, the police brought me back to my family’s doorstep. I was dangerously skinny, tanned dark from working in the sun, and socially stunted from years of abuse. I was wearing a pair of filthy canvas shoes with holes in the toes. I stood in front of that beautiful suburban mansion, too terrified to take a step inside. My parents stared at me for a long time. It was as if they had suddenly remembered that the perfect, shining daughter standing beside them wasn’t actually theirs. The next day, the family released a statement. The twin sister who had been stolen at birth was finally found. They named me Niki. A star. Just a tiny, insignificant star meant to orbit the moon. Luna insisted on keeping the day she was adopted as her birthday. Naturally, as her supposed twin, my birthday had to be the exact same day. Whenever I mentioned wanting to celebrate my actual birthday, her eyes would well up with tears. “Does Niki not want to be my twin anymore?” she would ask. “If our birthdays are different, everyone will know I am a fake.” My parents hated seeing her upset. From that day on, my real birthday was strictly forbidden in the house. No cake. No flowers. I wasn’t even allowed to mention it to my friends. Eventually, I just stopped celebrating altogether. Honestly, I didn’t care that much. I bumped my head during the kidnapping and lost most of my memories before age five anyway. I didn’t remember what it felt like to be loved by them, so losing it didn’t hurt. Plus, my life now was infinitely better than when I was taken. I had food. I had warm clothes. Nobody beat me. I was satisfied. But right now, I needed to play the ultimate victim card. I needed Benjamin to remember I was a miserable, tragic little thing when he woke up, hoping it would dilute his murderous rage. I cried like my life depended on it. Which it did. “Benjamin.” “You are the very first person to ever buy me a birthday cake.” Benjamin’s heart practically shattered on the spot. He clumsily raised a hand, wanting to touch me but terrified of breaking me. Finally, he used the sleeve of his shirt to gently wipe a tear from my cheek. “Luna… please do not cry.” “I will get you one… every single year.” I buried my face in his chest and wailed even louder. Faking it, obviously. Benjamin held me awkwardly, his large palm patting my back as if I were made of glass. Pressed against his chest, I inhaled the crisp, cool scent of him. There was absolutely no rotting stench like the other zombies outside. Glancing up, I caught a glimpse of the sharp lines of his chest through his torn collar. Lower down, those abs were definitely still there. Lord have mercy. 4 To be fair, there was a reason I ended up relying on a dim witted guy for survival. The day the outbreak hit, the campus descended into absolute chaos. Students started awakening special abilities right and left. Some could throw fireballs. Some got x ray vision to see zombies through walls. Others got super strength and could punch through metal doors. And me? Nothing. Not a single spark. Luna was the center of attention. She had awakened a healing ability. Even though she could only fix minor scratches at the moment, it made her royalty in the apocalypse. She stood in the center of the classroom, comforting everyone with her gentle voice. “We cannot stay trapped in here forever.” “I think we should form a group and go look for rescue.” Everyone immediately agreed. Someone cast a sideways glance at me. “Niki doesn’t have any powers. It is a warzone out there. What if she drags us down?” Luna bit her lip, looking incredibly torn. “Niki… why don’t you stay here where it is safe? Once we find the military, we will come right back for you.” And just like that, they all left. They left me with a single pack of crackers and half a bottle of water. I waited for days. Nobody came back. By the third night, I swallowed the last crumb of my crackers. My stomach was cramping with hunger. I had to risk going out. I shoved aside the desks blocking the classroom door, gripped my baseball bat, and squeezed out into the hallway. The sounds of dragging footsteps echoed through the dark school. I didn’t dare waste time. I made a beeline for the campus minimart downstairs. But just as I rounded the corner, I heard a low, guttural snarl. Three zombies were hunched by the entrance, tearing into something on the floor. I panicked and spun around to run. My foot slipped, and I crashed right into a metal trash can. The noise was deafening. The zombies whipped their heads up. I froze, my body completely paralyzed by terror and starvation. Just as the closest one lunged at me, a wooden desk flew out of nowhere. It smashed into the zombie, sending it flying backward. It didn’t get up. I slowly turned my head. A tall man was standing at the top of the stairs. Broad shoulders, long legs, built like a fighter. His clothes were hanging off him in rags, exposing the dense muscle underneath. He stared at me, a low sound rattling in his throat. I gripped my bat, tears pricking my eyes. With those sounds, he had to be a zombie too. But he just stood there, staring holes into me. Then, very slowly, his ears turned red. “Found… Luna.” I tested the waters. “Can you understand me?” He gave a slow, delayed nod. Okay, so he was just a little slow. I pointed toward the minimart and the remaining zombies. “Then go get me some food.” He actually turned and walked right in. He grabbed a metal chair. One swing, one kill. The zombies dropped like flies. Clean, brutal, and efficient. I watched with my jaw unhinged. And that was the day I picked up my massive, brain damaged bodyguard, and officially began my life as the useless princess of the apocalypse. 5 Benjamin was incredibly useful. His strength was terrifying, and he mowed down zombies like he was cutting grass. And he was so obedient. If I pointed left, he wouldn’t dare look right. I didn’t know why he listened to me, but in the end of the world, you take what you can get. Mimicking the way Luna used to order our maids around back home, I started bossing Benjamin around. He brought me meals, fetched my water, and did whatever I asked. It was liberating. So this was how Luna felt all those years. Having someone wait on you hand and foot was an incredible rush. But a full stomach leads to wandering thoughts. Having a ridiculously attractive guy hovering around me 24/7 was distracting. Especially since his brain was currently offline and he had zero sense of personal boundaries. My inner demons started winning. I used the excuse that the blankets he found were too thin. I told him I was freezing. I ordered him to share my sleeping bag. Benjamin’s metabolism was insane. He ran hotter than a furnace, making him the perfect human space heater. Halfway through the night, I would unconsciously roll over and bury myself in his chest. He would go completely rigid, but he never pushed me away. Eventually, it became a routine. Every night, he would unbutton his shirt and slide into the blankets to preheat them. Once it was warm, he would look down submissively. “Princess Luna. Time for sleep.” 6 Night fell. Benjamin boiled some water for me, double checked the barricades on the windows, and then started hand washing my dirty clothes from the day. Resources were scarce, but thanks to him, I was living better than most billionaires. The floating text popped up again. [Look at him washing her clothes. When the Zombie King gets his memory back, he’s going to literally explode with rage.] [Enjoy it while it lasts, side character. This is your last night.] [Tomorrow, he’s going straight back to the female lead.] [He only loves the real Luna. He’s just confused right now.] Reading that made my stomach tie itself into knots. I just made you do some chores, buddy. Is that really worth a death sentence? I was young. I really didn’t want to die. Benjamin finished the laundry and hung it by the window. He walked over, slid into the sleeping bag, and started warming it up. As soon as he lay down, I instinctively rolled into his arms. I rested my hand on his waist. It was burning hot. I paused. His temperature was always high, but this was like touching a stove. His brow was furrowed in agony, his breathing ragged and harsh. Sweat soaked the fresh bandages on his forehead, and his face was terrifyingly pale. My heart dropped. He was evolving. The comments went wild. [Here it comes!] [The King is waking up!] [She is so dead tomorrow morning.] [I’ve been so mad watching her use him. Can’t wait to see her get what she deserves.] Benjamin let out a low, pained groan. His fingers curled tightly into the fabric of my shirt. “Luna…” “Sweet Luna…” He called the name over and over. His voice was hoarse, tearing from his throat like it physically hurt to speak. I looked down at him, feeling a sudden, strange tightness in my chest. My original plan was to wait until he fell asleep and sneak out into the night. But I couldn’t leave him like this. Whether he was going to kill me tomorrow or not, he had protected me. Without him, I would have starved in that classroom or been torn apart outside the minimart. I let out a heavy sigh. I got up, soaked a towel in cold water, and placed it gently on his forehead. I took another damp cloth and carefully wiped the sweat from his neck and collarbones. His fever kept climbing. His body felt like it was engulfed in invisible flames. But his hand never let go of my shirt. I tried twice to pull free, failed, and finally just sat on the floor next to him. His brows were locked tight in pain as he mumbled through the fever. “Luna…” “Cake…” “Don’t cry…” I lowered my eyes. Benjamin had been so incredibly good to me. I had never felt warmth like this from anyone, let alone during the apocalypse. Under the bridge effect of constant danger, how could I not develop feelings for him? But I also hated myself for catching feelings for someone who wasn’t in his right mind. So I overcompensated by acting like a demanding brat, trying to mask the flutter in my chest. And now, he was about to wake up. It was a shame. I wasn’t his Luna. This fairy tale was stolen. And the clock was about to strike midnight. 7 The sky was just starting to turn gray. Benjamin’s temperature had finally dropped, but he was still asleep. The innocent, vacant look was completely gone from his face. Even unconscious, his sharp features radiated a cold, dangerous edge. I watched him for a long time. Once I was sure he was deeply asleep, I carefully pried my shirt out of his grip. He had spent the entire night calling for his sweet Luna. Now that his mind was returning, the imposter needed to make her exit. I packed the crackers and water I had been secretly hoarding into my backpack. Hey, it was the apocalypse. Did you really think I wouldn’t squirrel away some supplies while I had a superhuman doing my grocery shopping? A girl needs a backup plan. Before I left, I looked at him one last time. He would never again be the sweet, blushing guy who called me his princess. “Benjamin,” I whispered into the quiet room. “The girl you are looking for is the other Luna.” “Thank you for everything. Goodbye.” I grabbed my baseball bat, pushed the door open, and walked out. 8 I had barely made it down to the second floor landing. A low level zombie was shuffling aimlessly at the end of the hall. Its school uniform was stained a rusty, unidentifiable color. Hearing my footsteps, it slowly turned its head. I gripped the bat so hard my knuckles turned white. I prayed to every god and spirit I could think of, and then I charged. My first swing missed the head and slammed into its shoulder. It stumbled, but immediately lunged at me again. I let out a terrified shriek, closed my eyes, and swung blindly. A sickening crack echoed in the hall. I hit the skull. The zombie collapsed and didn’t move again. I leaned heavily against the wall, gasping for air. My hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped the bat. I actually killed one. The first step is always the hardest. If I can do it once, I can do it again. Niki, you can survive this on your own! If the timing wasn’t so terrible, I would have given myself a standing ovation. But my triumph lasted exactly two seconds. The noise had been too loud. From the dark depths of the hallway, a chorus of snarls answered. One. Two. Three. The numbers multiplied rapidly. My scalp went numb. Without a second thought, I turned and sprinted down the stairs. These were basic zombies. Slow and clumsy. They didn’t catch me immediately. I vaulted over a knocked down cabinet by the exit, boots crunching over shattered glass as I burst out of the science building. The wind tore at my lungs like shards of glass. I didn’t dare look back. I just ran. Past the notice boards. Across the empty basketball courts. Out toward the food street by the campus gates. But my stamina was garbage. Back in gym class, a half mile run used to make me dizzy. Running for my life for fifteen straight minutes was my absolute limit. My legs finally gave out, and I slammed hard onto the pavement. The pack was right behind me. The closest one opened its rotting jaw, diving straight for my throat. My mind went completely blank. This was it. I should have just stayed in the room. Getting torn apart by the Zombie King sounded vastly more dignified than this. A split second later, a steel pipe shot through the air from my blind spot. It drove straight through the zombie’s head, pinning it to the asphalt. I stared in shock. Someone rushed forward, grabbing my arm and hauling me to my feet. “Niki?” “You’re actually alive?” I looked up into a familiar face. Griffin. Our class president. And the strongest ability user in our old group. He had awakened metal manipulation. He could control steel pipes, doors, knives, anything metallic. He was frowning at me. Behind him stood a group of our classmates. And standing perfectly safe in the center of the group, wearing a pristine white dress, was Luna. Clearly, she had been living very comfortably. The moment she saw me, a flash of genuine shock crossed her face. But a second later, her eyes went red, and she came running toward me. “Niki!” “Oh my god, you’re alive. I’m so happy.” 9 Luna hugged me tight, crying her eyes out. It wasn’t until the rest of the group stepped in to comfort her that she finally let go, dabbing at her red eyes. “I’m so sorry, Niki,” she sobbed. “We wanted to go back for you, but the campus was suddenly swarming. We couldn’t break through.” “The military rescue never came, so we had to set up a camp in an office building nearby.” “I spent every night thinking you were…” She broke off, choking on her tears. The guys in the group immediately swarmed her with sympathy. “It’s okay, Luna. Don’t blame yourself.” “It was a nightmare back then. Nobody could have saved everyone.” I kept my head down and said nothing. Griffin looked me over. “Any bites?” I shook my head. “No.” He jutted his chin toward the girls. “Check her.” After two girls took me into a nearby shop for a thorough inspection, I was allowed into the group. They had just finished their supply run for the day and were heading back to their base. I was shoved to the very back of the formation. I was assigned rear guard duty alongside two guys who had defensive earth abilities. One of them tossed a rock hard piece of bread at my chest. “Eat up. For someone with zero powers, you’re lucky you’re getting this.” I caught the bread. There was a patch of green mold on the crust. I silently picked the mold off and shoved the rest into my mouth. It tasted like cardboard. Worse than the dry rations Benjamin used to bring me. But I knew the reality. Aside from the sweet, confused Benjamin, nobody in this world was going to cater to me. I suddenly missed him. But I killed the thought instantly. He was awake now. He was probably out looking for Luna. Or maybe he was tracking me down to snap my neck. The floating text returned right on schedule. [Bet the side character realizes how good she had it now.] [Without the King, she’s literally trash.] [She was smart to run when she did, though. The King’s awakening is starting.] [Every zombie within a hundred miles is going to be drawn to his aura. In a week, this entire sector is going to be ground zero for a massive horde.] My boots stopped dead on the pavement. What? A hundred miles? Ground zero? I turned my head stiffly. Far in the distance, back toward the science building, a low, continuous roar was building. The sound was getting denser by the second. 10 I wanted to warn the group to evacuate immediately. Luckily, Griffin was already planning to move the camp to the Southern Sanctuary. They were just gathering the last of their road supplies before heading out. But the streets were getting worse. They would clear a block, and ten minutes later, a fresh wave of infected would flood in. They were moving with purpose. All heading toward the campus. The anxiety in the group was spiking. “What the hell is going on?” “This street was clear yesterday.” “Is someone bleeding? Are we attracting them?” As the guy said it, his eyes drifted accusingly toward me. I looked down at my clothes. Yeah, I was covered in dirt and dust. But there was no blood. The reason I was filthy was that Toby, the guy with the water ability, rationed out water every night for washing. Whenever it was my turn, he would just shrug. “Sorry. Tapped out for the day.” But every single morning, Luna walked out with freshly washed hair, smelling like expensive soap. One was the beautiful healer. The other was the powerless burden. Everyone knew exactly where the water was going. I hadn’t bothered complaining. I was used to this dynamic from back home. But maybe Benjamin had spoiled me a little too much, because my temper flared. “Why are you looking at me?” I snapped. “I’m not bleeding.” The guy’s face darkened. “Watch your tone, Niki. If Luna wasn’t so soft hearted, you think we’d let a leech like you tag along?” Luna immediately stepped in, her voice dripping with gentle concern. “Stop fighting, guys. Niki didn’t mean it.” “I’ll make sure she’s more careful next time so she doesn’t draw them to us.” With two sweet sentences, she perfectly pinned the blame on me. I pressed my lips together and swallowed my anger. Because Benjamin was mutating, the zombie density was skyrocketing. If they kicked me out now, I wouldn’t last an hour. Griffin stopped walking and threw a cold look back at us. “Save your breath. Incoming.” The group went dead silent. Griffin raised his hand. Several pieces of rebar ripped out of the concrete and shot forward, piercing the skulls of the approaching infected. Clean and fast. A bitter taste flooded my mouth. Having powers really was everything.

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The chart-topping pop star got dared on a live broadcast to call his first love. When the call came through, I was in the shower. My little brother picked it up by mistake. “Hello? You looking for my sister? She’s in the shower right now.” The pop star hung up instantly. When I finally called back, he answered on the first ring. A muffled, breathless sob came through the receiver. “Marguerite. Did I really have to wait until he left for it to be my turn?” “It’s fine. I don’t even mind.” I stared at my phone in absolute confusion. That night, Twitter absolutely exploded. #MuteTheWorldRowanIsHeartbroken #WhoCriesLikeABustedFireHydrantOnLiveTV #PopStarRowanBegsToBeTheSidePiece 1 A heavy knock hammered against the bathroom door. My brother Jim’s voice echoed over the sound of running water. “Hey Marguerite! Your phone is ringing. It’s an unknown number.” I didn’t think much of it and yelled back over the spray. “Just answer it for me!” “Got it.” By the time I wrapped myself in a towel and stepped out, Jim’s thumbs were flying across his own phone screen. He didn’t even look up. “That call was weird. I answered, no one said a word, and then they just hung up on me.” “Probably a wrong number.” I walked over, towel-drying my hair, and peeked over his shoulder at his screen. “Jim, are you using my gaming account to hit on girls again?” I reached out to snatch his phone away. “I gave you my password so you could grind levels. Use your own account to flirt. Get lost.” Jim dodged like a ninja. “Wait, wait! Come on, Marguerite, please! Just let me finish this match, and I’ll log off.” I grabbed my own phone off the nightstand. Scrolling to the call log, my thumb hovered over the screen and froze. That string of digits for the latest incoming call looked painfully familiar. The longer I looked at it, the more it looked exactly like the number belonging to my ex, Rowan. The same ex who had been dead to me for years. Was this a ghost calling? I hit redial. It rang for what felt like an eternity before someone finally picked up. “Rowan?” A wet, pathetic sniffle came through the speaker. “Marguerite. Did I really have to wait until he left for it to be my turn?” “Whatever. I don’t even mind being second.” “I miss you so much. Can I see you tomorrow?” I rubbed my temples. “Are you drunk, or did you just get amnesia?” What kind of nonsense was this? See him? We broke up ages ago. Calling me now, what, he wanted to dig up ancient history? On the other end, Rowan started whining loudly. “I… I just…” A loud, unmistakable sob. “Marguerite, I work out all the time now! I’m way better than those younger guys you like.” “Why won’t you just give me another chance?” Right. He was definitely wasted. Without changing my expression, I ended the call. 2 The moment I hung up, Jim started screaming from the corner of the room. “Marguerite! Marguerite, look at Twitter! Right now!” I covered my ears and glared at him. “Jim, I am standing right here. Stop screaming like you’re trying to wake the dead. Keep yelling and you’re sleeping in the hotel hallway.” We were supposed to fly back to New York today, but a massive storm grounded all flights out of Miami. By the time we tried to book a hotel, everything nearby was totally sold out. We barely managed to snag the last available room in a rundown motel, and it only had two twin beds. We had to make do. Jim defended himself wildly. “No, seriously, this is a massive deal! You’re trending. You and my favorite almost brother-in-law.” “I can’t believe that weird call was actually him. Are you guys getting back together? Crap, did I mess things up? Do I need to call him back and explain?” So, he wasn’t just drunk dialing me from his living room? I opened Twitter and checked the trending page. Good lord. He completely hijacked the top ten spots. #MuteTheWorldRowanIsHeartbroken #WhoCriesLikeABustedFireHydrantOnLiveTV #PopStarRowanBegsToBeTheSidePiece The two most liked videos at the top of the feed were screen recordings from a live broadcast. Rowan was currently starring in a hit travel reality show. This week’s location happened to be Miami. Caught in the same storm that grounded my flight, the celebrity cast had gathered on a covered patio to wait out the rain and chat. During the downtime, the bed and breakfast owner offered them some homemade local moonshine. Rowan took a few shots and completely lost his grip on reality. They started playing a drinking game. Rowan lost, and his penalty was a dare to call his first love. That led to the first phone call. The video showed the phone ringing on speaker for a long time. Finally, the whole cast heard a young guy’s voice filter through. “Hello? You looking for my sister? She’s in the shower right now.” On screen, Rowan’s face instantly went pale. His jaw locked, and he frantically mashed the end call button. The other celebrities tried to laugh it off, jumping in to save the mood. But a heavily intoxicated Rowan clearly had zero emotional regulation. He grabbed the nearest male celebrity, buried his face in the guy’s shoulder, and started wailing. Through loud, ugly sobs, he cried, “How could she? How could she just replace me with some new puppy?” The sound he made was identical to a boiling kettle screaming for help. In the second video, the moment he heard me say his name, his expression crumpled into pure misery. After delivering his unhinged, morally questionable speech about being willing to be my side piece, I ruthlessly hung up on him. The dial tone echoed on the live feed. Rowan cried even louder. The celebrity he had been using as a tissue couldn’t take it anymore. The guy hauled Rowan up by the arms and dragged him upstairs, completely out of the camera’s view. But even as the video ended, you could still hear Rowan crying hysterically off-camera. The comments section was an absolute goldmine. [Sister, I am begging you, please show this man some mercy. He is literally shattering into pieces.] [I am crying from laughing so hard. Who cries like that on national television?] [Drunk Rowan is a completely different species. The cool-guy persona is dead and buried.] [I don’t care, I love this version of him. Look at the sad little puppy!] [Rowan: Can I join your relationship? Marguerite: Hard pass.] I liked the comment about his persona being dead and buried. Back when we were together, I learned very quickly that Rowan had the alcohol tolerance of a toddler. Every time we drank, he morphed from a broody, intense musician into a clingy, crying mess. After I teased him about it one too many times, he refused to drink with me ever again. He insisted he needed to protect his edgy rockstar image. I used to joke with him back then. “You better treat me right, Rowan. If you ever get famous, I’m selling this dirt to the tabloids.” It was a shame we never got to see what that future looked like. 3 When I woke up the next morning, the sky had completely fallen. Before I went to sleep, I genuinely thought “Marguerite” was a common enough name. Surely the internet detectives wouldn’t trace it back to me. I underestimated them. In a single night, my TikTok account was completely overrun. My comment section was a synchronized chant. [Please have mercy on him, he’s falling apart.] My private messages were even crazier. Right at the top was an official invite from the director of Rowan’s travel show. [Hi Marguerite, I’m the director of ‘Wanderlust Diaries’. We’d love to know if you have any interest in joining us as a guest star for an upcoming episode?] I typed back quickly. [Are you just doing this to milk the gossip about Rowan?] The person on the other end must have been staring at their screen. The reply was instant. [Not entirely. I watched the videos on your page. As an action sports influencer, you fit the theme for our next location perfectly.] Right. I forgot to mention, I run a fairly popular TikTok account dedicated to extreme sports. So the next episode involved extreme sports? While I was still debating, the director dropped a bomb. A massive, ridiculous paycheck. I wasn’t exactly broke, but no one in their right mind turns down that kind of money. I accepted the offer on the spot. Good money, a fun trip, and a chance to get some premium footage for my own channel. It was a win-win. As for Rowan, I threw him entirely out of my mind. 4 Filming day arrived. We were at a famous coastal spot just outside of Miami. Given the weather and the ocean, it wasn’t hard to guess what the extreme sports theme would be. I arrived early. Only one or two other guests were lounging around the set. After some polite introductions, I started chatting with a guy named Carter, who was also in the extreme sports niche. Just as we were getting into a deep conversation about gear, a sudden chill crawled up my spine. I turned my head and locked eyes with Rowan. He was staring at me with a look of pure, toxic resentment. I gave him a look that clearly said, ‘What is your problem?’ considering there were cameras everywhere. But that only seemed to make him act weirder. I took a mental step back. Getting tangled up with Rowan again was a terrible idea. I leaned a little closer to Carter, effectively cutting off any chance for Rowan to join the conversation. Right then, the final guest arrived. It was Stella, an up-and-coming actress signed to the same label as Rowan. The moment she stepped on set, she completely ignored everyone else and made a beeline straight for him. “Rowan! So good to see you again.” Right as she was about to lean into his space, Rowan took a massive step to the side, dodging her completely. Then he looked straight at me. I could read the emotion in his eyes instantly. He was waiting for me to praise him like a good dog. I didn’t react. Rowan was great in a lot of ways, but his controlling, possessive nature was suffocating. Breaking up with him took everything I had. I was never going to walk back into that trap. 5 The director finally stepped out and announced the start of filming. He dropped the first task on us. Scuba diving. “You will pair up. Within thirty minutes underwater, the team that photographs the most unique species of fish wins.” “We will draw lots to determine your partners.” Hearing this, my eyes lit up. I was just complaining to Carter that my channel desperately needed some fresh underwater footage. Please, higher powers, let me draw Carter. We were perfectly matched for this. If I got paired with any of the actors, I’d have to jump through hoops with their agencies just to post my own TikToks. Too much hassle. The draw finished. I stared at the man walking toward me, and my eyebrows pulled into a tight knot. I was screaming internally. The universe absolutely hated me. Rowan stopped in front of me and held out his hand. “Marguerite. Looking forward to working with you.” I forced a polite, entirely fake smile and reached out to shake his hand. “Likewise.” Hopefully, it would just be a normal, professional partnership. I tried to pull my hand back after a brief second, but my fingers wouldn’t budge. Using the perfect blind spot away from the main cameras, Rowan shifted his grip, his long fingers wrapping entirely around my wrist. I gave my arm a hard yank. Nothing. I shot him a venomous glare. Was he losing his mind again? Didn’t he embarrass himself enough on Twitter a few days ago? Just before my patience entirely snapped, he slowly let go of my wrist. What I didn’t realize was that even in the camera’s blind spot, the eagle-eyed fans watching the live stream had caught the tension. [Look at those two in the corner. What is happening? Why did the vibe just get so intense?] [Camera guy, please zoom in! I need to know what they are doing.] [Look at his body language. Rowan is definitely up to something. I bet he just secretly grabbed her hand.] [I think you’re right. Did you see the way Marguerite just glared at him?] Underneath the flood of comments, a brand new hashtag started climbing the trending charts. #RowanAndMarguerite. When I went into the locker room to change into my wetsuit, Stella cornered me. Since we were the only two female guests on the show, the room was empty except for us. She leaned against the lockers, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Marguerite, I heard you and Rowan are a thing?” I paused zipping up my suit and looked at her. “Let me stop you right there. We are exes. We broke up a very long time ago.” Stella didn’t back off. She pushed further. “Oh. Why did you guys break up?” “That’s none of your business.” “Well, are you guys planning to get back together?” She waved her hands quickly. “Don’t get the wrong idea! It’s just that management wants me to fake a romance with him for the show to boost ratings.” “You know how it is, Marguerite. We’re just employees. I have to do what the agency tells me.” I grabbed my diving gear. As I walked past her toward the door, I finally gave her an answer. “Is that so? Well, you don’t need to worry about me. Rowan and I are never happening again.” “I make it a rule never to eat out of the recycling bin.” The moment I stepped out of the locker room, I slammed right into Rowan’s chest. I raised an eyebrow. He definitely heard all of that. Good. Let him hear it. Better to crush his hopes now so he stops acting insane. I sidestepped him and walked straight toward the beach. Heavy footsteps followed closely behind me. His voice was a low, tight growl. “Marguerite. That younger guy from the phone call. Is he really that amazing?” I stopped and looked back at him. A slow, ambiguous smile spread across my face. “Yeah. He’s actually incredible.” I mean, Jim was great at carrying all my heavy filming equipment when I needed a pack mule. He really was a good kid. Rowan’s face went completely dark. He opened his mouth to say something, probably something unhinged, but a crew member ran up and interrupted him, ushering us toward the boats. 6 Right up until we hit the water, I fully expected Rowan to sabotage the task. Back when we dated, whenever he heard something he didn’t like, his favorite revenge was purposely ruining things I cared about. During our junior year of college, I was performing a duet at a major campus showcase. My dance partner was a guy. Rowan threw a massive fit. “Marguerite, can you please just drop this routine?” I shook my head. “Rowan, I promised the senior choreographer I would do it. I can’t back out at the last minute.” He buried his face in my neck, his voice muffled. “Fine.” But the very next day, he went behind my back. He met with the choreographer and offered to perform an original solo song for the showcase. His only condition was that they cut my dance routine from the setlist. Rowan was the undisputed golden boy of the music department. The choreographer jumped at the chance and agreed immediately. When I found out, we had the worst fight of our entire relationship. I couldn’t understand how he could just casually erase weeks of my hard work, all because I had a male dance partner. He completely ignored the blood, sweat, and tears I poured into those rehearsals. He was entirely unapologetic. “Marguerite, I hate it. I hate seeing you pressed up against someone else.” “We belong to each other. We’re the only ones who make sense.” I stared at him, exhausted. “Rowan, I am not something you own.” “I think we need some space. Your need to control every aspect of my life is literally suffocating me.” “We’re done, Rowan.” That was the day I unilaterally ended the relationship. The cold splash of ocean water snapped me back to the present. To my absolute shock, Rowan was being the perfect partner. He took the underwater camera, gestured for me to get into position, and signaled for me to look at the lens. I pushed down the old memories bubbling up in my chest. I swam closer to him, pointing out rare fish, working in total sync as we snapped photo after photo. When we finally broke the surface and climbed back onto the beach, I couldn’t hold my tongue. “I really thought you were going to throw a tantrum and ruin the shoot today.” Rowan froze as he was unzipping his wetsuit. A bittersweet smile touched his lips. “People move forward, Marguerite. Everyone changes.” “How about you take some time and try getting to know this version of me?” The bustling noise of the crew seemed to fade away. We stood there staring at each other. The raw, burning intensity in his eyes was too much. I looked away first. 7 As the sun began to set, the broadcast moved into its final segment. The cast gathered around the patio of a beachfront villa provided by the production team. They drank beers, grilled food, and swapped stories. I leaned against the railing of the second-floor balcony, looking down at Carter and the others laughing around the fire pit. This late-night segment was basically a glorified interrogation. Last time, Rowan got publicly executed and exposed his first love. I had a strong feeling someone else was going to get thrown to the wolves tonight. To ensure I wasn’t the sacrificial lamb, I excused myself right after dinner and hid in my bedroom. I was just about to organize my GoPro footage when someone knocked on the door. It was Rowan. “What do you want?” “I told you. I’m here to be your dirty little secret.” Before I could process that sentence, his long leg stepped forward, forcing his way into the room. What the hell?

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My childhood best friend was cornered in the classroom, getting beaten half to death by the school’s resident mean girl. Just as I was about to step forward and stop it, lines of floating text suddenly materialized in the air right in front of my eyes. [Can the villainess just mind her own business? Doesn’t she know this is just foreplay for our main couple?] [If it wasn’t for this toxic third wheel interfering, the male and female lead would have gotten together ages ago. They wouldn’t have missed out on all those years!] [It is fine. The male lead gets his revenge later. After enduring the humiliation of marrying the villainess, he deliberately orchestrates multiple miscarriages for her and gaslights her into severe depression.] [I bet the villainess does not even know that when she finally commits suicide by jumping off a building, the male lead is in a hotel room, having crazy, passionate hate sex with our sweet baby girl!] I stared at the floating comments, turned on my heel, and walked away. These two toxic psychos deserved each other. They could rot together for all I cared. 1 I stood at a distance, watching Asher. Right now, he looked like a stray dog with a broken spine, slumped on the floor in utter humiliation. His faded school uniform was stained with dirt and blood, clinging to his trembling back. The girl bullying him, Blair, looked radiant and untouchable. She stood over him, grinding the sole of her designer shoe violently into Asher’s long, slender fingers. “Well, look at our genius scholar. You’ve got some tough bones, haven’t you?” Asher was pale as a ghost from the pain, but he clamped his jaw shut and refused to make a sound. If I had seen this exact scene one minute ago, my heart would have bled for him. But the floating text hovering in my vision was a blaring reminder to drop my savior complex and respect his destiny. [So annoying! Why is Sydney showing up to ruin the vibe again?] [The villainess is so stupid. Can she not see the sexual tension between our leads?] [If she hadn’t reported Blair and gotten her expelled, the male lead wouldn’t have lost so many years with his true love!] [Don’t worry guys, he gets payback for all of it later.] [This idiot Sydney definitely doesn’t know that the male lead is the one who swaps out her dad’s heart medication. Serves the old man right for always looking down on our female lead!] [When the villainess finally jumps off the roof to end her miserable life, the male lead is literally hooking up with our precious Blair in a penthouse suite!] [Hahaha she deserves it! That is what you get for tearing true love apart!] Every single word hovering in the air felt like a brutal, stinging slap across my face. So my self righteous attempts to save him would only cost me my family and my life. I looked back at the classroom. I looked at the utter despair in Asher’s eyes. He looked exactly like a beaten hound waiting for its master to show it a shred of pity. A cold smile broke across my face. Since this was their twisted version of romance, then as the designated “evil villainess,” it would be incredibly rude of me to interrupt. My face completely blank, I pulled back the foot I had just stepped forward with, turned around, and walked away without a second thought. I barely made it thirty feet down the hall before a sickening, brittle crunch echoed from the classroom. Immediately after, Asher let out a bloodcurdling scream. The floating comments instantly dissolved into mass panic. [Oh no! Because the villainess didn’t interfere, the female lead actually broke his right hand!] [This is insane! It is a comminuted fracture! He is completely ruined! How is the male lead supposed to take the State Placement Exams now?!] [Sydney, you are so evil! Why didn’t you turn around? If you just stopped her, the female lead would have backed off!] I scoffed under my breath. How was that my problem? 2 Half an hour later, Asher stumbled into my line of sight. His face was twisted in agony, and his uniform was covered in dusty footprints. But the worst part was his right hand, which was currently bent at a completely unnatural angle. I slapped a look of pure, exaggerated shock onto my face. “Oh my god, Asher! Your hand!” I reached out, pressed my thumb directly against his fractured bone, and pushed down hard. “Ahhhhh!” Asher’s shriek echoed through the entire corridor. He violently shoved me away, cradling his mangled hand against his chest as he screamed at me. “Sydney! Are you insane?! Are you trying to kill me?!” Oh, so that hurt? I pretended to lose my balance and grabbed his arm to steady myself, subtly driving my elbow straight into his eye socket. Asher shrieked even louder. The floating comments were weeping for him. [Is the villainess brain dead? Can she not see our male lead is severely injured?] [What a stupid bitch. She deserves to have her family destroyed later on!] I sneered internally, pulling my phone out of my pocket. “This is going way too far. I am calling the cops!” “No! You absolutely cannot call the cops!” Fighting through the blinding pain, Asher lunged forward and snatched my phone out of my hand. “Sydney, what is wrong with you? Are you trying to ruin Blair’s entire life?” I raised an eyebrow, genuinely astounded by the absolute absurdity coming out of his mouth. “She literally shattered your hand, and you are standing here blaming me for wanting to report her?” Asher’s eyes burned with a delusional, desperate need to protect her. “You don’t understand anything!” “Sure, she has a bit of a temper, but deep down she is a kind girl. She only acts out because she comes from a broken home and needs an outlet to vent! She is fragile and pitiful on the inside. She just needs someone to be patient with her.” “But you, Sydney… I never realized how cold blooded and selfish you really are.” I slowly clapped my hands together. “Beautifully said.” “Well, Asher, since you think I am so incredibly selfish, starting tomorrow, you can begin paying back all the sponsorship money my family has given you over the years.” Asher’s parents died in a car crash when he was young. I was the one who begged my wealthy parents to sponsor his education and living expenses. I never expected to be feeding a rabid dog that would eventually turn around and bite my entire family to death. Hearing my demand, Asher looked as if I had just spit in his face. “Sydney, do you honestly think I care about your money? Your family forced that charity on me!” “Great. Then pay it back.” By the end of the argument, Asher was forced to awkwardly use his left hand to scribble out a formal promissory note for his debts. I snatched the paper and flicked it with my fingernail. “From this day forward, our only relationship is creditor and debtor.” The comments completely lost their minds. [Is she crazy?! Using money to humiliate the male lead? Does she think having some cash makes her a god?] [Ten thousand dollars? Please. The male lead will make that in a heartbeat later in the story!] [I get it. The villainess is using debt to trap him. She thinks tying him down with money will get his attention. Keep dreaming, you psycho!] I had to admit, that last comment actually made me feel nauseous. Asher and I parted on terrible terms. I thought I could finally just focus on my studies, but the very next day, Blair cornered me by the bathrooms. 3 Blair blinked her big, watery eyes at me, a vicious smile playing on her lips. “Sydney. Want to guess what I did to your precious boy next door today?” “Why don’t you beg me? If you get on your knees and beg, I promise I won’t lay another finger on him. How about it?” The comments flooded my vision. [Hehe, our girl is so dark and twisted. I love it!] [Our sweet angel did nothing wrong. She just wants to force the villainess to submit.] [To be fair, this is all Sydney’s fault anyway!] [Yes, Blair! Teach her a lesson! Sydney totally humiliated the male lead yesterday and made him write an IOU!] While the comments debated exactly how I was going to tearfully drop to my knees and surrender, I raised my arm without a single warning sign and slapped Blair across the face. Smack! The entire world went dead silent. Blair cupped her cheek, her eyes wide with absolute disbelief. “Sydney. Did you just hit me?!” I raised my hand and slapped her again. “I hit you because I felt like hitting you. Did I need to check my calendar first?” Blair let out a furious shriek and lunged at me, raising her hands to fight back. I was entirely prepared. I grabbed her by the shoulders and slammed her hard against the tiled wall. She started screaming and kicking. I grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back, forcing her to look up at the ceiling. “Scream. Come on, scream louder. Let’s get the teachers in here so they can see exactly who the school bully is.” “Besides…” I gently patted her red, swollen cheek. “Besides, if the teachers do show up, who do you think they are going to believe? You, or the straight A valedictorian?” Blair was shaking uncontrollably from pure rage. “Sydney, you bitch! You just wait! I am going to make your little boyfriend’s life a living hell!” Hearing that, I intentionally paused my movements. I let a flash of fake panic cross my face. “Don’t you dare! If you keep bullying Asher, I swear I will never forgive you!” After delivering my completely hollow, pathetic warning, I released her and stumbled away down the hall, making my footsteps sound frantic and chaotic. Behind me, Blair slumped against the wall, gasping for air. Just as I turned the corner, I caught a glimpse of her eyes. They were shining with a sick, twisted excitement. She looked like a predator that had just found a massive weak spot in its prey. I prayed silently in my heart. Blair, please don’t let me down. 4 The female lead truly lived up to her title. Her efficiency was terrifying. In just a few days, Asher lost a massive amount of weight. Even though I didn’t witness the abuse with my own eyes, the floating comments gave me a play by play update on his misery. [The male lead got locked in a bathroom stall and drenched in toilet water! He is shivering so hard right now!] [Blair just pushed him down a flight of stairs! He totally twisted his ankle!] [Someone poured water all over his desk and shredded his textbooks into the trash can!] [This is entirely Sydney’s fault! If she hadn’t provoked the female lead, Blair wouldn’t be taking her anger out on him!] [The villainess is so evil. If she hadn’t cut off his allowance, he would have had enough money to go to the hospital and get his hand treated!] Right, right, totally my fault. I was the ultimate scapegoat. Everything that went wrong in the universe was clearly on my shoulders. These commenters genuinely seemed to lack basic brain development. I was busy rolling my eyes at the text when I turned a corner and saw Asher pinned to the ground. Blair was wearing heavy leather loafers, grinding her heel ruthlessly into his mangled, untreated right hand. She uncapped a bottle of water and dumped it directly over his head. “Come on, genius. Didn’t you say you were going to save me? Speak up.” Asher had dark, bruised bags under his eyes. His lips were a bloodless white, but his cheeks burned with an unnatural, feverish red. The exposed skin on his arms was littered with fresh scrapes and cuts. His eyes were totally unfocused. He kept muttering the same thing over and over. “Save me.” I turned around and walked away. Respect their destiny. Drop the savior complex. Asher, didn’t you want to be bullied by her? Then enjoy every single second of it. Three days later, Asher collapsed in the middle of gym class and was rushed to the emergency room. Because he delayed treatment for far too long, the bone in his right hand was severely infected. Necrosis had set in. To stop the infection from spreading and killing him, the doctors had no choice but to amputate his hand. I learned all of this from the frantic floating comments. That very afternoon, I packed a bag and headed straight to the hospital to visit him. After all, as the designated evil villainess, how could I pass up a golden opportunity to rub salt in his wounds? 5 I pushed open the door to Asher’s hospital room. He was lying flat on the bed. At the end of his right arm, wrapped tightly in heavy white bandages, was empty space. He had his eyes closed, but at the sound of the door opening, he turned his head to look at me. His gaze was dark, heavy, and full of calculation. Even though he was sitting there in a cheap hospital gown, he suddenly exuded this aura of deep, brooding maturity. It was a complete 180 from the pathetic boy he was yesterday. Just as I was trying to figure out what happened, the comments flooded in. [Hahaha! The villainess definitely doesn’t know our male lead has been reborn!] [Just an hour ago, the male lead suddenly got all his memories back from his previous life!] [This time around, he swore to fix all his past regrets and get together with the female lead early!] [Sydney is never going to get his love in this lifetime. She won’t even get to touch him!] Gross. Who wanted their recycled garbage anyway? Asher’s voice was rough and scratchy. “Sydney. You were reborn too, weren’t you? Why else would you just stand there and watch me die?” “You were supposed to rush out and shield me when she broke my hand.” Hearing that, I actually almost laughed out loud. Did he really think I was his personal meat shield? He literally gets a second chance at life, and instead of asking Blair why she tortured him, his very first instinct is to interrogate me for not saving him. First of all, I wasn’t reborn. Second of all, even if I was, I would rather die than admit it to him. I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at him with absolute freezing contempt. “Asher, did they amputate your hand or lobotomize your brain? What are you even talking about? Why don’t you accuse me of being an alien while you’re at it?” Asher narrowed his eyes, scanning me from head to toe with a razor sharp glare. “Then why did you stand there coldly and watch me get bullied?” I sneered. “Because you are a pathetic masochist who refused to let me call the police. That has absolutely nothing to do with me.” “You reap what you sow. Now you are a cripple, and you should be taking that up with Blair. Where do you get the nerve to sit here and interrogate me?” He stared at me in silence for a long time before finally looking away. “Fine. Losing an arm is a small price to pay if it means you stop obsessing over me in this life.” “The only woman I love is Blair. From today onward, we walk separate paths. I want absolutely nothing to do with you.” Watching him act so disgustingly arrogant and full of himself, I couldn’t hold back anymore. I cut him off. “Who said we have nothing to do with each other? You still owe me a ton of cash.” I reached into my pocket, pulled out the promissory note, and flicked the paper in his face. “And for the record, I am not blind enough to fall in love with a delusional cripple.” Watching Asher’s face turn the color of a charred frying pan brought me immense joy. 6 Asher collapsing on the track field turned into a massive scandal at school, but he absolutely refused to name the person who had been bullying him. I didn’t understand it, nor did I respect it. I immediately turned around and cornered Blair in the bathroom again. After giving her ten minutes of intense, physical “re education,” I grabbed her by the hair, forcing her to arch backward. “Blair, I warned you to stay away from Asher. Why can’t you just listen?” Despite my grip on her hair, Blair started laughing hysterically. “Sydney. I knew it. You are totally in love with him, aren’t you? Why else would you care this much?” I forced a look of flustered, humiliated panic onto my face, acting like she just exposed my deepest secret. “Who I like is none of your business!” “I am telling you right now, he is mine! Stay the hell away from him!” Blair laughed even harder. “God, Sydney, I can’t believe you are actually into a pathetic loser like Asher. Your taste in men is absolute trash.” I lunged forward, acting like a woman blinded by rage, and slapped her twice across the face. “Don’t you dare talk about him like that!” Blair clutched her stinging cheeks, looking at me with pure, intoxicating triumph. “Sydney, it doesn’t matter how much you love him. Asher told me himself. He feels absolutely nothing for you. In fact, he thinks you are annoying.” “You are just his pathetic little stalker. No matter how hard you beg, you only make him sick.” I screamed back at her. “So what?! He will fall in love with me eventually!” “As long as he doesn’t have a girlfriend, I still have a chance!” After delivering that final, agonizing line, I put on a heartbroken expression and stumbled out of the bathroom, looking entirely defeated. But right as I stepped through the door, I heard Blair whisper to herself. “As long as he doesn’t have a girlfriend?” A few days later, news broke that Asher and Blair were officially dating. 7 I walked past an empty corridor and caught them. Asher had Blair pinned against the wall, gripping her wrists, kissing her aggressively. The wet, suggestive sounds of their tangled bodies echoed in the hallway. Suddenly, a loud slap shattered the heavy romantic tension. Blair wiped her mouth furiously and slapped him across the face again. “Who the hell do you think you are, putting your hands on me?!” Asher ran his tongue over the inside of his cheek, staring down at her with dark, obsessive eyes. “Kneel.” Asher only hesitated for a fraction of a second before dropping obediently to his knees in front of her. Blair pressed the toe of her shoe against his chest. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked hard. After hearing him suck in a sharp breath of pain, her demeanor instantly softened. She reached down and gently scratched him under the chin like a pet. “Good boy.” “Now tell me. Who is prettier? Me, or Sydney?” Asher looked up at her with utter devotion. “You, of course, baby.” The floating comments were losing their collective minds. [Yes! This is exactly what I came for! The toxic angst! The enemies to lovers tension!] [Blair is a little harsh, but when they are sweet, they are SO sweet.] [She abuses him a thousand times, and he still treats her like his first love! Sydney must be dying of jealousy!] [The villainess can stay mad. The male lead only has eyes for his queen!] [Queen Blair and her loyal dog! I am eating this up!] I legitimately almost threw up my breakfast. It was burning my retinas. Even though the comments had thoroughly spoiled the plot for me, seeing Asher act like a total masochistic sub in real life still gave me full body chills. How could a human being have zero self respect? As a normal, functioning member of society, I needed to stay as far away from these two lunatics as physically possible. But just because I wanted to avoid them didn’t mean the plot was going to let me go. Because my grades were flawlessly at the top of the class, the school nominated me for the Stanford Early Admissions Exam. Somehow, my direct competition for the sole scholarship spot was Blair. I genuinely didn’t understand how someone with her academic record even qualified to sit for the test, but whatever. On the day of the exam, I arrived at the testing center early. Just as I was about to walk into the building, a shadow blocked my path. Asher stood there, staring at me with dead, cold eyes. “Sydney. You already have everything in life. Give this admission spot to Blair.” “Your grades are fine. You can get into a good college on your own without this scholarship.” I was so baffled I actually laughed. “Asher, did you get dropped on your head as a baby? Do you seriously believe the entire planet revolves around you?” “Get out of my way.” I turned to walk past him. Suddenly, a flurry of red text exploded in my vision. [The villainess actually thinks he is just going to ask nicely.] [There are plenty of ways to disqualify her from a written exam. Like shattering her right hand!] [It is perfect. There are no security cameras in this alleyway anyway.]

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1 My twin brother Ollie and I got into our sister’s alma mater. On move-in day, she drove him to campus and left me hauling my own heavy suitcases. I gripped my Finance acceptance letter tight, heart pounding with anticipation. My sister had always been my idol, and now I was finally catching up. When I reached the dorms, she had already unpacked for Ollie. They sat together on a bench in the campus quad. She told him she had spoken to the dean and moved him into my spot in the Finance program. She promised to introduce him to her old professors and pave the way for his future. That look of pure, easy affection had never once been aimed at me. Ollie smiled brightly and suggested I take his place in Vocal Performance instead. Years ago, I had thrown myself over my sister to shield her from a collapsing beam in a house fire. The damage left me reliant on a hearing aid for daily conversation. Studying music was impossible for me. She reached out and ruffled his hair, agreeing without hesitation. At that moment, the straps of my backpack felt like they were crushing me. If my entire future was worth less than a casual joke from my brother, then I no longer wanted this family. I pretended I hadn’t seen them and walked straight to the Finance department’s registration desk. The academic advisor took my acceptance letter, scanned it, and handed it back. But when he typed my ID into the system, his brow furrowed. “Your name isn’t in this cohort.” “Let me check the general directory. Ah, here you are. You’re registered in the Vocal Performance program. You need to head over to the Arts building to sign in.” I shook my head. “I’m not an arts student. My medical records clearly state I have a severe hearing impairment. It’s literally impossible for me to be admitted into Vocal Performance.” “Besides, my acceptance letter clearly says I am enrolled in the Finance department.” Growing up, I couldn’t even count the number of times I had to give things up for Oliver. When he decided he liked the floor-to-ceiling windows in my bedroom, my sister knocked down the wall to give him a massive master suite and moved me into the cramped maid’s quarters. When he wanted my limited-edition sneakers, my sister forced me to hand them over, even though I had worked double shifts all summer just to buy them. She always used the same excuse. “Felix, you used to be such a good, selfless kid. You literally saved my life in that fire. What happened to you? Why are you so bitter about sharing with your own brother?” Jasmine was the person I looked up to most in the world. I didn’t want her to look at me like I was a monster, so I swallowed the unfairness. Again and again. But this time was different. To get into this university’s Finance program, I studied from five in the morning until midnight for three straight years. While Jasmine took Oliver on a luxury vacation to the Maldives this summer, I stayed home teaching myself advanced calculus. I sacrificed too much for this. This time, I refused to back down. The advisor gave me a long, sympathetic look. “Give me a second. Let me call the admissions office.” Just as he picked up the phone, Jasmine and Oliver walked up. Jasmine instantly assessed the standoff. “Hi, I’m Felix’s older sister. He’s at the wrong desk.” “Oliver is the one in your Finance program. Just sign him in.” Jasmine clamped her hand around my wrist, dragging me backward. She lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. “Come with me right now. Stop making a scene and embarrassing us. I’ll explain everything later.” Embarrassing us. I repeated those words in my head. That was exactly how she had viewed me for years. Oliver got to attend high-society galas and corporate board meetings with her. I was told to stay home. On our shared birthday, Oliver got a massive, lavish party with hundreds of wealthy guests. I sat alone in the dark living room until midnight, waiting for them to bring back a half-eaten slice of leftover cake. “Felix, you can’t hear well in crowded rooms anyway. You never catch what people are saying. It’s better for you to just stay home.” I used to pretend I didn’t see the disgust hiding in her eyes. I convinced myself she was just being protective. But today, she finally shattered that pathetic little fantasy. I forcefully yanked my wrist out of her grip. “You and Oliver literally stole my university admission. Aren’t you the ones who should be embarrassed?” I took a few steps back, pulling out my phone to call the dean myself. I was going to fight for what was mine. The line connected. My heart pounded against my ribs. My lips trembled as I opened my mouth to explain what was happening. Suddenly, the entire world went violently silent. A sharp, tearing pain ripped through my ear. Jasmine had snatched my hearing aid right out of my ear. A drop of fresh blood smeared across the plastic casing in her hand. The seconds on the call timer ticked by, but I couldn’t hear a single sound. The person on the other end eventually hung up. Jasmine furiously typed something on her phone and shoved the screen into my face. [I bought that hearing aid with my money. You are coming with me right now, and I will give it back to you.] [If you don’t, I am confiscating it. You won’t be attending any classes at all. You can go work a minimum-wage job until you can afford a new one yourself.] 2 I stared at her for a few agonizing seconds, then turned around and walked away. She didn’t care about my future, and I was done begging for scraps of her love. I wrote a simple message on a notepad. [Are you hiring? I am a hard worker and I will do anything.] I walked into every single store, cafe, and restaurant near the campus. I pointed to my ear, then handed the notepad to the managers. Every single one of them shook their heads. By nightfall, the storefronts went dark. I hadn’t eaten a single bite of food all day. Blisters had ruptured on my heels, making every step excruciating. Exhausted, I collapsed on the concrete steps of a closed diner, leaning my head against the cold brick wall. Suddenly, the warm, savory smell of fresh food wafted over me. I looked up. It was the woman who ran the breakfast cart down the street. I had shown her my notepad earlier that afternoon. She pressed two warm breakfast sandwiches into my hands, followed by her glowing phone screen. It was a text thread with Jasmine. [My brother, Felix, is deaf. If he comes looking for a job, turn him away immediately.] [Do not serve him food, do not rent him a room, and do not offer him any help.] The woman typed a new message for me to read. “Your sister owns the commercial real estate on this entire block. She sent that warning to every single business owner. We are all just trying to make a living, kid. No one dares to cross her.” “I waited until it was completely dark to sneak you this food. Please, don’t let your sister find out.” I nodded slowly. Terrified of being seen, the woman hurried away. I took a slow, mechanical bite of the sandwich. When my sister stole my college admission, I didn’t cry. When she ripped out my hearing aid and forced me to wander the streets in silence, I didn’t cry. But right now, reading a few words of kindness from a total stranger, my eyes burned. The tears spilled over, and I couldn’t stop them. Eventually, I curled into a tight ball on the concrete and fell into an exhausted, feverish sleep. I didn’t know how much time had passed when a heavy fist slammed directly into my cheekbone. I jerked awake. A group of street thugs stood over me, cruel grins twisting their faces. Their mouths were moving, but I couldn’t hear a word they were saying. I scrambled to my feet and tried to run. But my blistered feet betrayed me. Before I made it ten yards, a hand grabbed the back of my collar and violently hurled me to the pavement. They pinned me down. Fists rained down on my face and stomach, blurring my vision. Just as I was about to pass out from the pain, they suddenly stopped and backed away. I dug my nails into my palms, forcing myself to stay conscious. I forced my swollen eyes open. Jasmine was standing right in front of me. She was wearing a sleek, tailored black trench coat, looking utterly immaculate and aristocratic. She stared down at me with a faint trace of disgust in her eyes. A suffocating wave of humiliation washed over me. I felt like an absolute clown. Jasmine waved her hand, and the thugs immediately lowered their heads and scurried away into the alley. I understood instantly. She hired them to beat me. Jasmine sighed heavily. She pulled a silk handkerchief from her pocket and wiped the dirt and blood off my cheek. Then, she pushed a new hearing aid into my ear. “I accidentally broke your old one this morning. I bought you a replacement. It’s a top-tier import.” “I didn’t know your exact ear mold measurements, so I just used Oliver’s. You guys are twins anyway.” The earpiece didn’t fit. It was too big, digging painfully into the cartilage of my ear. But it worked well enough for me to hear her voice. “Look at yourself. You’ve been gone for twelve hours and you already look like a stray dog.” “Come home with me, Felix. Tomorrow, you are going to register at the Arts building.” “I will pull some strings and explain your disability to the professors. They won’t make things too hard on you.” 3 She thought I was finally broken. She thought I was ready to submit. Instead, I tilted my head up, looked her dead in the eye, and spoke clearly. “And what if I say no? Are you going to hire more thugs to beat me?” Her eyes darkened. She didn’t say a word. Her silence was a yes. I let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. “Jasmine, I never understood why you played favorites.” “Oliver and I are both your brothers. I literally saved your life in that fire…” “Enough.” Jasmine cut me off, her face turning ice-cold. “Stop bringing up ancient history like I owe you my life. It was years ago.” “Oliver is bright, cheerful, and he knows how to make me laugh. He brings life into our house. Of course I favor him.” “Unlike you. You just skulk around the house wearing that hearing aid, trying to make me feel guilty. You are so manipulative for your age.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. Our parents moved overseas to expand the business right after we were born. To me, Jasmine was my only real family. During the fire, I didn’t hesitate for a single second before throwing my body over hers. When the doctors told me my hearing was permanently gone, I was so terrified of making her sad that I voluntarily moved to a boarding school. I only called to share good news, hiding all my struggles. I only went home during winter and summer breaks. I never imagined she despised my presence that much. She harbored a deep, irrational resentment toward me. No matter what I said, she would only see it as a manipulation tactic. I nodded, accepting the reality. “Fine. I understand.” “I’ll buy a bus ticket out of state tomorrow. I’ll get as far away from you as possible.” “Felix, why do you have to be so incredibly unreasonable?!” Jasmine snapped. She opened her mouth to yell at me again, but her phone suddenly rang. The moment she looked at the screen, the ice in her eyes melted into pure warmth. “Hey, Ollie. How was your first day? Are you settling in okay?” “If any of your classes are too hard, just call me. I can help you.” Oliver’s voice chirped happily through the speaker. “Don’t worry, Val! Everyone knows I’m your brother. Nobody dares to mess with me.” “I just got to the penthouse you bought for me near campus. Can you bring me a slice of strawberry shortcake? I want a midnight snack.” Jasmine laughed, the sound dripping with affection. “You greedy little pig.” “Give me ten minutes. I’m on my way.” Oliver continued to whine and act cute, and Jasmine happily indulged him. I sat on the cold pavement, completely alienated from this picture-perfect family dynamic. I started to push myself up to leave, but then I heard Oliver casually drop a question. “By the way, how is Felix doing in the Vocal Performance program?” Jasmine frowned and glared at me. “He isn’t nearly as obedient as you. He threw a tantrum and ran off this morning.” Oliver had always been perfectly obedient to Jasmine. Because everything she ever demanded of him only benefited him. Oliver let out a theatrical sigh. “I just wanted to build his character and test his resilience.” “If he actually manages to become the deaf Beethoven of our generation, at least he won’t be a total embarrassment to the family anymore.” Oliver’s grades were terrible. He had to rely on Jasmine’s money just to get accepted into the Arts program. But he desperately wanted the prestige of the Finance industry. Yet he spun his selfish theft into a noble sacrifice for my own good. A cold laugh escaped my throat. “I have zero musical talent.” “I got into the Finance program based on my own academic merit. If you actually cared about my future, you would give me my rightful spot back.” 4 “Felix!” Jasmine roared. She hung up the phone, her eyes blazing with absolute fury. “Are you doing this just to spite us?!” “Fine. Great. Since you think you can fly on your own, I will personally blacklist you from every single university in New York. I will blacklist you across the entire country.” “Let’s see how far an uneducated, deaf high school graduate can make it in the real world.” She held out her hand, her palm facing up. “If you have any backbone at all, give me back everything I bought you.” I didn’t hesitate. I pulled the oversized hearing aid out of my ear and dropped it into her palm. The world plunged back into dead silence. But I didn’t regret it. She had already stolen my university admission. If I stayed, she would slowly strip away everything else I earned just to feed Oliver’s ego. Being deaf and broke was better than being their personal blood bag. I turned to walk away, but Jasmine stepped in front of me, blocking my path. She furiously typed a sentence on her phone. [The clothes on your back were bought with my money too, weren’t they?] They weren’t! Every time I came home for the holidays, she would give Oliver a massive allowance. “Felix is finally home! Go buy whatever clothes you want,” she would say. “But Felix, your hearing makes it hard for you to talk to the cashiers, and Oliver has a much better fashion sense. Just let Oliver buy things for you.” But the second Oliver walked into a mall, he spent every last dime on designer sneakers for himself. He completely forgot I existed. Or rather, he knew that even if he ignored me, Jasmine wouldn’t punish him. So he did whatever he wanted. I was so terrified of being a burden that I never complained. I just used my academic scholarship money to buy my own cheap clothes from thrift stores. I raised my hands to sign the truth to her. But she refused to look. She rolled her eyes impatiently, looked down at her screen, and typed one word. [Strip.] Every ounce of strength drained from my body. Jasmine shot a look to her bodyguards, and two massive men stepped out of the shadows, cornering me. Her message was clear. Strip, or don’t leave at all. My hands trembled as I took off my shoes. Then my jeans. Then my t-shirt. I stood in the alleyway in nothing but my boxer briefs. The cold night wind bit into my exposed skin. A sudden icy sensation ran down my cheeks. I raised a hand and realized I was crying. Silent, uncontrollable tears were streaming down my face. I reached for the waistband of my underwear, but Jasmine suddenly lunged forward and grabbed my wrist. Her entire body was shaking. Her eyes were bloodshot. She ripped off her own designer trench coat and threw it over my bare shoulders. Her lips formed a single, harsh word. I couldn’t hear it, but reading her lips, it looked a lot like “Leave.” I didn’t argue. I pulled her long coat tight around my body and walked away. The coat fell past my knees, hiding enough so that people wouldn’t think I was a naked lunatic escaping an asylum. I walked all the way to the bus terminal, leaving bloody footprints on the concrete. Jasmine had already frozen every single bank account tied to my name. So I downloaded a predatory payday loan app on my phone, borrowed a thousand dollars at an insane interest rate, and bought a one-way ticket to London. It was an ocean away. Jasmine couldn’t touch me there. I was going to build a new life with my own two hands. That night, Jasmine didn’t sleep a wink. She kept checking her phone, desperately hoping for a text from me. She couldn’t understand why her perfectly obedient, docile little brother had suddenly rebelled. With their family’s wealth, she could have guaranteed both her brothers a life of luxury, regardless of their majors. After hesitating for hours, she finally called her head of security. “Find my brother immediately. He can’t hear, which makes him incredibly vulnerable. Put eyes on him, but stay in the shadows.” “Yes, ma’am.” But five minutes later, the security chief called back. His voice was laced with panic. “Ms. Jasmine, Felix is no longer in the United States. We are still trying to track his final destination…” “What?!” Jasmine shot up from her chair, the blood completely draining from her face. 5 After a grueling international flight, I landed in London. The city was damp and freezing, the air thick with the smell of the River Thames and exhaust fumes. After paying for a cheap hostel, my payday loan left me with exactly thirty pounds. If I ate nothing but instant noodles, it would last me two weeks. Without a hearing aid, my world was completely silent. But there was a deep safety in that silence. There were no harsh lectures from Jasmine, no manipulative whining from Oliver. The toxicity had receded like the tide. I spent three days looking for a job. I walked down street after street, getting rejected by every single pub and retail shop. No one wanted to hire a deaf teenager. Eventually, I saw a flyer pinned to a community board. A wealthy family was looking for a private A-Level math tutor. Thirty pounds an hour. I went to a local library and printed ten copies of my high school transcripts. Top 0.1% in the state. Perfect scores in advanced mathematics. A mother texted me almost immediately. Her daughter, Chloe, was failing math right before her university entrance exams. The mother typed a question on her phone when we met. “You can’t hear. How are you going to teach her?” “I write fast,” I typed back. “I will write out every single step until she understands the core concept.” She agreed to a one-week trial. Every morning at seven, I took the Tube to their flat in Camden and sat in their living room for six hours. I used a pencil and blank printer paper. I broke down complex calculus equations line by line. I derived the formulas, erased them, and wrote them again. I didn’t stop writing until Chloe smiled and gave me a thumbs up. One afternoon, her mother recorded a video of our session and posted it in a parent group chat. That night, I received forty new messages requesting my services. My schedule exploded. I went from tutoring one kid to three kids a day. I took the train across London, from Soho to Greenwich. I carried a bottle of tap water and a pack of plain biscuits in my backpack for my daily meals. In two weeks, I saved up twelve hundred pounds. I went straight to an audiologist clinic in Central London and bought a mid-range hearing aid. It wasn’t a luxury import like the one Jasmine bought, but it worked perfectly. The world flooded with sound again. I felt like a whole human being. The next morning, I walked onto the campus of London University. I didn’t have an appointment. I just sat on a bench outside the admissions office for four hours. Eventually, an older man in a tweed jacket noticed me and asked what I was doing. I handed him my portfolio and clearly explained my situation. “I don’t have the money for international tuition. But I have perfect test scores. You can test me right now if you want.” The man was Professor Chen, the Vice Dean of the Mathematics department. He looked over my transcripts, then read my audiology report. He was quiet for a long time. Finally, he asked me why I traveled across the ocean all by myself. I thought about it for a second. “Because my family didn’t want me anymore.” Professor Chen didn’t pry. He took me inside and spent the entire afternoon discussing my case with the admissions board. The next morning, I received an email. “Given Felix’s exceptional academic record and extenuating circumstances, the university board has unanimously agreed to grant a full-tuition scholarship for the four-year program, alongside guaranteed on-campus employment.” I stared at the glowing screen. Tears spilled over my eyelashes, hitting the keyboard and blurring my vision.

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1 Ever since I was a kid, I could see people’s second shadows. It was a reflection of the soul. The shadows of deeply devoted lovers would entwine seamlessly, while the shadows of couples on the verge of divorce would slowly drift apart. On the day my parents finalized their divorce, the shadow of the man who married my mother completely consumed hers. On the day my older brother finally walked away from a toxic ex, his shadow severed all ties with hers. And as for me and Sylvia, our shadows were always perfectly and tightly overlapped. I used to count my blessings every single day. I thought I had found the perfect woman. We were childhood sweethearts. Ten years of history. An unbreakable bond. That was, until the afternoon she dropped by my office with my favorite ice cream. Under the blinding afternoon sun, I looked down and noticed a terrifying glitch. Our shadows were slightly misaligned. It felt like a magnifying glass was focusing the scorching sun directly onto my heart. For weeks, I drove myself insane searching for clues, checking her phone, analyzing her schedule. I found absolutely nothing. I was just about to convince myself that I was being paranoid, that my eyes were playing tricks on me. Then came the camping trip. We had gone out of our way to pick up my best friend, Carter, for a weekend in the mountains. When we stepped out of the car, the sunlight hit the pavement. My breath hitched. Right there on the asphalt, Sylvia and Carter’s second shadows were overlapping. The sweltering summer heat could not chase away the ice invading my veins. So this was the root of the sickness. … A few yards away, the two of them were setting up a camping tent together. Whenever their hands accidentally brushed, Sylvia would politely and distantly pull away. That was typical Sylvia. To any guy other than me, she was an iceberg, completely restrained and aloof. Even to Carter. To avoid any misunderstandings, she didn’t even have his phone number saved. If it weren’t for the meteor shower tonight, a once-in-a-lifetime celestial event that happened to be Carter’s birthday wish, Sylvia would never have agreed to a three-person camping trip. Yet, watching them pitch that tent, their unspoken chemistry was so fluid it made my stomach churn with jealousy. “Rowan? Hey, man, what’s wrong? Why are you shivering in this heat? Let me get you to a doctor…” Carter’s voice snapped me back to reality. His eyes were filled with genuine concern. He grabbed my arm, trying to guide me toward the car. He had been like this since we were kids, always looking out for me like an older brother. When we arrived, he absolutely refused to let me lift a finger to help with the tent. But in that moment, his touch felt like crawling maggots. Nausea hit me like a freight train. I violently shoved his hand away. Carter lost his footing. He let out a yelp, stumbling backward and dragging me down to the dirt with him. A sharp pain shot up my leg, and a muffled groan escaped my lips. But when I looked up, the rest of my cry died in my throat. Sylvia had thrown half her body under Carter to break his fall. The raw, unfiltered panic on her face was impossible to fake. And on the ground, her second shadow leaned even deeper into his. It wasn’t until she felt my eyes on her that she jumped up like she had been burned. She rushed over to check on me. “Honey, are you okay? Carter twisted his ankle last week, and I panicked thinking he might have re-injured it. That’s why I checked on him first.” I met her gaze. Her eyes were clear and completely unapologetic. The midday sun beat down on us, making the world spin, but the chill inside me seeped all the way into my bones. Last week, when I heard Carter had twisted his ankle, I was frantic. I wanted to drop everything and take him to the ER. But he brushed me off over the phone, laughing and saying he already had company. I remember the sweet, secretive tone of his voice. I had smiled, thinking my chronically single best friend had finally found a girl. I just never expected that girl to be my wife. “I thought you guys didn’t have each other’s contact info. How did you know he twisted his ankle?” Carter’s face instantly drained of color. Sylvia, however, barely blinked. “I was leaving a client meeting near his office and saw it happen on the sidewalk. I couldn’t exactly leave him stranded.” “He’s your best friend. I couldn’t just walk away.” I didn’t say a word. I just stared at the ground, watching their shadows inch closer together. My ankle throbbed, but it was a dull ache compared to the shredding of my chest. “Can you stand?” I thought she was talking to me. I opened my mouth to answer, only to realize her eyes were locked onto Carter. “I think so. Just landed right on last week’s sprain. It burns a little…” Carter muttered. Sylvia’s voice took on a sharp, scolding edge, but it was dripping with undeniable affection. It was the exact tone she used on me whenever I did something reckless. “Stay put. Let me go to the car and grab the first-aid kit.” She let go of me, jogging to the SUV. She brought back the medical ointment and carefully, meticulously massaged it into Carter’s ankle. Only after she confirmed he was fine did she let out a long breath and turn her attention to me. Under the blazing sun, their entwined shadows looked like a gaping maw ready to swallow me whole. I sat there, numb, letting Sylvia apply the ointment to my leg while my brain frantically scanned the past ten years of memories. When did the cracks start? How could I have been so blind? My head felt like it was going to split open until Sylvia’s voice dragged me back. “Looks fine. Nothing swollen. Rowan, just tough it out for today, okay? The meteor shower is a big deal, and we drove all the way up here. If it still hurts tomorrow, I’ll take you to the clinic.” She didn’t ask for my input like she usually did. With a dismissive “tough it out,” she bulldozed over my pain to pave the way for Carter’s birthday wish. Carter mumbled something about feeling guilty, but his eyes were pleading with me to stay. “It’s settled then,” Sylvia declared. “Otherwise you’ll just keep bugging us to bring you camping. My husband and I barely get a weekend off, and we still have to drag a third wheel along.” “You guys rest up. I’ll finish the tent.” She walked away, her footsteps crunching on the dry grass, but her second shadow twisted unnaturally, desperately clinging to Carter’s. I squeezed my eyes shut, letting the pain wash over me. Night fell over the mountains. The meteor shower arrived right on schedule. Sylvia played the perfect, attentive wife. She set up the telescope and adjusted the camera settings to capture the night sky perfectly. At the stroke of midnight, Carter pressed his palms together, whispering into the dark. “I wish for Rowan and me to be brothers for life. Nothing will ever tear us apart.” He sounded so sincere, yet my stomach violently convulsed. I used to think he truly cherished our brotherhood. Now I realized it was just his VIP pass to stay close to my wife. Sylvia also closed her eyes, playing along with the ritual. “I wish for my husband to stay handsome forever. And for us to live happily ever after.” Under the starlight, she looked at me with eyes that seemed to hold the entire Milky Way. But on the dirt floor, her shadow and Carter’s shadow were writhing together, carving a fresh nightmare into my mind. “You guys enjoy the show. I’m not feeling great. I’m going to turn in.” I crawled into the dark tent, curling into a ball. A few minutes later, a blanket of suffocating warmth wrapped around me. “What’s wrong? You seem completely out of it today.” “Nothing. Just the mountain wind. I’m a bit cold.” Usually, I’d be clinging to her like a koala right now. Seeing me turned away, she frowned, gently rolled me over, and pressed the back of her hand against my forehead. “You probably caught a chill. Good thing I packed cold medicine and melatonin. Get some sleep. I made sure to buy the best windproof tent on the market.” She fetched the pills and a bottle of water, watching me swallow them. Then, she began slowly rubbing circles on my back, letting out a soft chuckle. “Look at you, babe. You really can’t survive a single minute without me.” She buried her face in the crook of my neck. But instead of comfort, an icy dread wrapped around my throat, suffocating me like a tightened noose. Ten years together. Married for five. Sylvia had always been fiercely protective and attentive. I never even had to speak for her to know what I was thinking. Just like now. Noting my silence, she let out a heavy sigh. “Is this because I didn’t take you to the hospital right away? Relax. I checked your ankle myself. It’s just a bruise.” She placed her burning palm over my injured ankle. “Don’t tell me you’re getting jealous over Carter?” She let out a low, amused laugh and raised a hand in a mock oath. “Rowan, it’s been a decade. You know you’re the only man in my heart.” In the pale moonlight filtering through the canvas, I stared at the floor. Her second shadow stretched endlessly, slipping straight into the adjacent tent where Carter was sleeping. Tighter. Closer. Bitterness crashed into me wave after wave. Her guilt and her overcompensation were just a byproduct of her deepening bond with him. “It’s fine.” I shifted my weight, putting a few inches of distance between us. “I think I’m coming down with something. Give me some space, I don’t want to get you sick.” Sylvia didn’t say anything else. The medicine kicked in, dragging me into a foggy, restless sleep. My dreams were flooded with their tangled shadows. I woke up drenched in cold sweat. Blindly, I reached out to the space beside me. The sleeping bag was empty and stone cold. My eyes shot open. My heart slammed against my ribs. With trembling fingers, I peeled back the tent zipper just a fraction. A few yards away, bathed in silver starlight, Sylvia and Carter stood shoulder to shoulder. I crept closer, hiding behind a pine tree. Sylvia’s voice was low, almost husky. “Do you like your birthday present?” Carter’s fists were clenched at his sides. His voice shook when he finally spoke. “Do you remember that night we…” “I want your wish to come true. I want both our wishes to come true,” Sylvia interrupted, her voice entirely flat. Carter dropped his head, his shoulders slumping in defeat. She had clearly chosen me, yet my mouth tasted like ash. They were standing two feet apart, but their shadows were practically devouring each other on the grass. I snapped a twig under my boot. Sylvia’s head whipped around. I turned and bolted back to the tent before she could spot me in the dark. A few minutes later, the tent flap opened. A pair of cold lips pressed against my forehead. Soon, the sound of her steady breathing filled the small space. At some point, tears had soaked straight through my pillow. Sylvia kept her promise. As soon as we drove down the mountain the next morning, she insisted we drop by the local clinic. The doctor took one look at Sylvia and chuckled. “Well, look who’s back. Didn’t I say come back in two weeks? And you brought your husband this time?” The doctor adjusted his glasses, completely oblivious. “You rarely see couples this devoted anymore. Last week you were in here every single day with your boyfriend, even bringing him home-cooked meals in those little Tupperware containers…” Both Sylvia and Carter froze, their faces turning a sickening shade of gray. So it wasn’t just a one-time encounter. No wonder Sylvia had been working so much overtime last week, sneaking into bed long after midnight. She was busy playing housewife for my best friend. The funny thing was, Sylvia nearly burned our kitchen down during our first year of marriage and swore she would never touch a stove again. When did she overcome her trauma just to cook for my buddy? “Rowan…” Sylvia reached out, her voice cracking as she tried to spin a lie. I ignored her completely, asking the doctor a few calm questions about my ankle, cutting off whatever excuse was brewing in her throat. Sensing the sudden, suffocating tension in the room, the doctor quickly wrote a prescription and excused himself. Sylvia practically sprinted to the pharmacy counter to get away from us. Leaving just me and Carter in the stark white hallway. “Rowan, please don’t get the wrong idea. You were so swamped with that project last week, and I thought since you were busy…” He frantically pulled out his phone, his hands shaking. “If it bothers you, I’ll delete her number right now. Right in front of you. Don’t listen to that doctor, he’s just confused…” I stared at him. This was the same guy my father had sponsored out of a rundown Appalachian town. The guy who cried tears of gratitude and swore on his life he would always protect his little brother. Growing up, whatever I wanted, Carter would move mountains to get it for me. The limited-edition gaming consoles. The courage to talk to my high school crush. On the day Sylvia and I got married, with my parents already gone, it was Carter who walked me down the aisle. He had solemnly handed my hands over to Sylvia, threatening to break her legs if she ever made me cry. And now, they were plunging the knife into my back together. The concept of the shadows was too insane to explain, but even without it, the sheer weight of their betrayal robbed me of the energy to yell. I glanced at the phone he was shoving in my face, and my heart stopped. Wrapped around his wrist was a woven leather band. A very specific leather band. Sylvia had sent me a picture of it months ago. I had been working eighty-hour weeks while nursing Sylvia back to health after she developed an ulcer from stress. I ended up collapsing from exhaustion and was hospitalized for days. While I was unconscious, Sylvia, a woman who despised religion and believed in nothing but hard logic, flew to a spiritual retreat in Sedona. She hiked miles barefoot to a local shrine to get that exact leather band blessed for my safe recovery. But when I finally woke up, she told me she lost it at the airport on her way back. I spent hours comforting her as she cried over her clumsiness. Today, I realized I was the only one in the room who needed comforting. I stared blankly at his wrist until their overlapping shadows crept across the linoleum floor. “You’re back… Watch Rowan for a second, I need to… I have an errand to run…” The moment Sylvia walked back, Carter looked like he had been handed a pardon from the governor. He threw out a pathetic excuse and bolted toward the exit. Sylvia’s eyes tracked his every step until he disappeared behind the sliding glass doors. “Why is the bracelet you lost on his wrist?” My voice was dead. Sylvia flinched, pulled back from her trance, and sighed heavily as she sat next to me. “It’s just a lucky charm, Rowan. You woke up, you were perfectly fine, so you didn’t need it anymore. He got hurt, so I passed it along. That’s it.” I let out a dry, hollow laugh. “You told me it was lost.” Sylvia pinched the bridge of her nose, her patience wearing thin. “It’s just a piece of string. Stop being so petty. If it bothers you that much, I’ll fly back out and buy you a new one, okay?” “And the meteor shower yesterday? I couldn’t walk, and you still insisted on staying up there…” “Rowan.” A flicker of guilt finally cracked her composed mask. “He is your best friend. Are you really going to be this harsh on the guy who’s had your back for twenty years? What is the point of this?” Harsh. Petty. Carter was gone. Sylvia and I were sitting side by side on the waiting room chairs, yet on the floor, our second shadows were violently tearing themselves apart. I smiled softly. So this was the truth. She may have chosen me on paper, but her soul had already evicted me. I took a deep breath and stood up. “You’re absolutely right. There is no point.” From that day on, a thick, suffocating silence settled over our house. We had an unspoken agreement never to mention Carter’s name. Even though I knew the sports injury ointment in the trunk of her car was steadily running out. I spent my days quietly packing up my life. We kept up appearances well enough, but a few mutual friends started picking up on the cold war. “Rowan, what’s going on? Sylvia’s been completely zoned out at work lately. Did you guys have a fight?” “You two are the golden couple. Whatever it is, just talk it out. Don’t let it fester.” I had made my decision. I was ready to lay all my cards on the table. Then, Sylvia suddenly texted me. “Honey. Eighth anniversary today. I booked our favorite restaurant downtown. I really need to talk to you.” I typed a quick “Okay” and hit send. I sat at the corner booth, waiting. Thirty minutes. An hour. Two hours. Sylvia, a woman who considered being five minutes early a sign of disrespect, was nowhere to be found. My texts went unread. My calls went to voicemail. Above me, the mall’s PA system kept blaring the same urgent warning. “Attention shoppers. A severe hurricane warning has been issued for the area. The storm is making landfall earlier than expected. The mall will be closing immediately. Please evacuate the premises.” The restaurant manager came by with a sympathetic smile, gently asking me to leave. The entire dining room was filled with roses, candlelight, and expensive champagne. The only thing missing was my wife. I walked out into the deserted concourse. The mall lights flickered and died. I hadn’t driven. Outside, the wind was howling like a cornered beast, snapping tree branches in half and throwing debris across the flooded parking lot. The rain felt like needles against my face. I managed to sprint to the awning of a closed convenience store down the block, shivering violently. I have hated the dark and thunderstorms since I was a kid. Panic set in. My knuckles turned white as I dialed Sylvia’s number one last time. This time, the call connected. “Sylvia… where are you?” My voice broke. I sounded pathetic, even to my own ears. “You promised we were going to talk tonight. It’s our anniversary…” “Rowan.” Her voice cut through a wall of background noise. But beneath the static, I heard something else. A man crying. Carter. “Please don’t leave me. I’m terrified… Just this one last time. If you walk out that door, I swear I won’t make it through the night…” Finally, with a heavy sigh of forced pity, Sylvia delivered the final blow. “A massive crisis just hit one of my major projects. I have to stay and fix it tonight. I’m so sorry. Can I order you an Uber?” In a split second, the hurricane outside paled in comparison to the wasteland inside my chest. Every last drop of hope evaporated. I hung up the phone. I sat on the cold concrete step, pulling my knees to my chest. Out of nowhere, my brain supplied a memory. A private burner Finsta account Carter used back in college. The one he used to vent about things he couldn’t say in public. My frozen fingers fumbled with my phone. I typed in the old handle. The grid was entirely different now. It was filled with intimate photos. A woman’s hand resting on a steering wheel. A silhouette on a balcony. A familiar coffee order. I recognized Sylvia in every single pixel. The latest post was a blurry photo of two wine glasses. The caption read: “Just going to be selfish this one last time.” I scrolled down, torturing myself. That time Sylvia told me she was on a business trip to Chicago? She was in a cabin in Vermont with Carter. That time she missed her flight due to a “schedule mix-up”? Carter had begged her to stay another night in his apartment. My hands shook violently as I screenshot every post. I laughed until I choked on a sob, crouching in the dark alleyways of the city. By the end of it, I couldn’t tell if my face was soaked with rain or tears. I buried my face in my arms and waited out the storm. The next morning, the rain finally slowed to a drizzle. I stretched my stiff, freezing limbs and began the agonizing two-mile walk back to our empty house. Sylvia wasn’t home yet. I peeled off my ruined clothes, walked straight into the bedroom, and pulled out my suitcase. One single suitcase. That was all it took to pack up ten years of my life. The divorce papers I had drafted earlier were soaked and ruined from the rain. I printed a fresh stack. I signed my name on the dotted line, placed the pen down, and left the manila folder dead center on the dining table. I walked out the front door and pulled it shut. … “Why the hell did you insist on following me here?” Sylvia rubbed her temples, glaring at Carter as he trailed behind her up the driveway. “I don’t want Rowan to hate us. I want to explain things to him…” Hearing that, Sylvia’s frown softened slightly. She unlocked the door and stepped inside. “Honey. I’m home.” She took a deep breath, forcing a bright, apologetic smile, but the house was dead silent. She walked into the living room, her eyes scanning the sterile, perfectly clean space. Then, her gaze landed on the dining table. On the thick stack of papers. On my signature. The air vanished from the room. Sylvia gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. Behind her, on the hardwood floor, the shadow she shared with Carter finally, violently, ripped apart.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “527591”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 After seven grueling years long-distance, I quit my job and returned to the apartment I shared with Monica. I entered the passcode three times, each attempt flashing bright red error lights. The door opened, yet my girlfriend wasn’t there—only my best friend Cameron. He wore Monica’s silk robe, its collar slipping open to reveal his bare chest. “Gav? You’re home?” He leaned casually against the doorframe with an easy smile. “I fought badly with my roommate, so I’ve been crashing at your place for a while.” Monica stepped out from the bathroom, toweling damp hair, drawn by the noise. “Stop blocking the door.” She shot me an annoyed glance. “Cameron’s using the master bedroom. You’ll take the guest room tonight.” Her expression turned icy, yet her inner thoughts echoed sharp in my mind. [Did you grow fond of another person after all this time apart?] [Gav, tell him this is our home. He can’t stay here.] [Fight with us. Prove you still love me.] She’d acted this way all seven years. If I texted her back late, she’d grab dinner with Cameron. If I couldn’t fly home for weekends, she’d let him spend the night. Before, I’d question them, shout, act out the jealousy her mind craved. Now I spotted a men’s towel slung over her shoulders, men’s briefs hanging on the balcony rack to dry. I lost all desire to argue. I stepped backward and gripped my suitcase handle. A two-person home couldn’t fit three. I was finished…. Cameron reached out and grabbed my luggage handle. “Gav, it is just a locked door. Are you seriously mad about this?” “Don’t overthink it, man. I just couldn’t remember the old passcode, so Monica changed it to my birthday to make it easier.” Monica let out a mocking scoff. “He is just being overly sensitive. It is just a string of numbers. Why couldn’t I change it?” She looked entirely dismissive, but her telepathic voice was growing increasingly frantic. [Say something! Tell him that was the date of our anniversary. Tell me I am never allowed to change it!] [Gavin, why aren’t you reacting?!] I did not say a single word. Cameron leaned against the wall and faked a yawn. “Are you coming in or not? We are going to sleep.” I reached into my pocket, pulled out my physical copy of the apartment key, and set it on the shoe cabinet by the door. “No thanks. You two get some sleep.” Monica froze. “If you are not coming in, then get the hell out!” She violently slammed the door in my face. I stumbled backward from the force of it. My bag slipped from my shoulder, hitting the floor. A stack of faded train tickets spilled out across the hallway tiles. The one sitting right on top was dated exactly seven years ago. On the day I was transferred to another state, Monica walked me to the station. The final boarding call echoed three times before she finally let go of my waist. “Go, Gav. Don’t look back.” She said it with a brave smile. But in that exact second, I heard her inner voice for the very first time. [I cannot bear to let you go.] [But I cannot hold you back.] [I love you. You have to wait for me.] I stopped right at the ticket gate, tears instantly blurring my vision. After we separated, I took that exhausting five-hour train ride over and over again. Even if I had to work until midnight, I would rush to the station just to see her face. That was until the month I worked two days straight without sleep, collapsed in the office, and missed my train to see her. When I woke up in the hospital, my first instinct was to call her. It took seven tries before she finally picked up. “I am eating with Cameron.” Her tone was exceptionally freezing. “Why are you crying? You didn’t have time for me, so I am not allowed to hang out with him?” “He is your best buddy, isn’t he? With him watching over me, what are you so worried about?” That night, Cameron posted two photos on his social media. Korean BBQ, neon signs at a dive bar, and the empty city streets at three in the morning. Meanwhile, I lay entirely alone in a sterile hospital bed, an IV dripping into my arm all night. A tear fell onto the old ticket in my hand. I tried to wipe it away, but the ink just smeared. The apartment door suddenly clicked open again. “If you are so reluctant to leave, then drag yourself inside.” Seeing the tears on my face, Monica’s expression softened considerably. “How many days are you staying for this vacation?” I did not tell her that I had already quit my job. There was no point anymore. I had given up my career, my promotions, everything, just to end this brutal seven-year long-distance run. But she and Cameron were already playing house. Cameron walked out of the bathroom holding a dry towel. He naturally draped it over her head and began drying her hair. Monica did not dodge him. She just lowered her head and let him do it. Her inner voice constantly screamed that she loved me. But her body was completely accustomed to Cameron’s presence. There was no place left for me in this house. The stack of tickets remained scattered on the floor. I did not bother picking them up. I just turned and walked straight toward the elevator. Monica let out a cold laugh. “Gavin, if you walk out of this building today, we are officially done.” I pressed the elevator button without looking back. Her inner voice instantly spiraled into chaos. [Gav, don’t go. I just wanted to see you get jealous.] [Just turn around, and I will make it up to you.] The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped inside. [Please, don’t walk away.] I heard her. But this time, I did not stop. The metal doors slowly slid shut, entirely blocking out her face and cutting off the sound of her thoughts. Right at that moment, my phone buzzed in my pocket. “Gavin, your position at headquarters is still open. Have you made up your mind?” I wiped my face and cleared my throat. “I will be there to report tomorrow morning, Ms. Morgan.” I booked a cheap hotel room for the night. Early the next morning, a call from the property management office woke me up. “Mr. Davis, the large shipping boxes you mailed over are piling up in the lobby. We already have residents complaining. Please come handle them immediately.” When I packed up my life, I genuinely believed I was coming home for good. Seven years of my belongings had been boxed up and shipped ahead of time. Now, they had arrived. But just like me, those boxes no longer had a home. I rushed back to Monica’s apartment complex in the pouring rain. When I got to the lobby, the space was completely empty. Cameron was walking toward the elevators in a pair of casual slippers. “Gav? What took you so long?” “Those boxes were blocking the whole entrance. They were in the way.” He casually pointed a thumb toward the outdoor dumpsters. “Monica told me you two broke up. She said your stuff was just garbage now, so I did you a favor and threw it all out.” A loud ringing exploded in my ears. I spun around and sprinted into the storm toward the trash collection area. The cardboard had completely dissolved in the rain. My clothes, my books, my entire life was scattered across the wet asphalt, soaking in filthy puddle water. I fell to my knees, digging frantically until I found my small plush dog. It was bloated with dirty rainwater, and one of its button eyes had fallen off. It was the very first gift Monica had ever given me. For seven years, whenever the distance became too much to bear, that little dog was the only thing keeping me company. Last year, I was in a terrible car accident and fractured my leg. She had already booked her flight to come see me. But the night before her flight, Cameron sprained his ankle. Over the phone, she only gave me one rushed sentence. “I will come see you when he is fully recovered.” The pain in my leg kept me awake for three straight days. I could only sit in the dark, clutching that little dog until the sun came up. I pulled the ruined toy into my chest, and my eyes landed on a pair of cracked leather shoes nearby. I bought them six months ago. That was the day a coworker deliberately deleted my entire project presentation. I had crouched in the garden outside my office building, my eyes completely red. I called Monica over and over, but she never picked up. She finally called back at two in the morning. “What is your problem now?” “Cameron got into a fight with his roommate, and I just finished driving him back to my place to calm him down.” The very next day, I walked into a mall and bought those leather shoes. I told myself, Stand firm, Gavin. If no one is coming to walk you home, you have to walk yourself. For seven years, I hustled back and forth, surviving entirely on my own. These items were the only things that kept me grounded. And now, they were rotting in a dumpster. “Cameron, what gave you the right to touch my things?!” Monica’s voice echoed from behind me. “Gavin, why the hell are you screaming at him?!” She stood in front of Cameron, shielding him with an umbrella. “It is just a few boxes of junk. Who cares if he threw it out?” Cameron looked at me, his eyes turning perfectly red and misty. “I thought you didn’t want any of this anymore.” Seeing the total devastation scattered across the pavement, Monica’s face darkened significantly. Her inner voice smashed into my brain. [Why are there so many boxes?] [I thought Gav was only coming back for a weekend trip?] [That little dog… he actually kept it all these years?] Her gaze dropped to the muddy plush toy in my arms. Yet, the words coming out of her mouth were dripping with pure venom. “We broke up, and you still shipped your junk to my house. If your stuff isn’t garbage, then what is it?” I held the dog tighter and slowly looked up at her. “My things are not garbage, Monica.” “You are.” The rain heavily blurred my vision as a crowd of neighbors began gathering under the awning. A few of them whispered loudly. “Hey, isn’t that the young couple from the sixth floor?” “Yeah, they have been living together for like six months now. I always see them grocery shopping together.” Someone pointed a finger at me, their voice laced with absolute disgust. “Then who is that guy? Some crazy ex-boyfriend causing a scene?” “Probably the other man. Got kicked out and now he is digging through the trash. How pathetic.” My already numb heart violently seized in my chest. So they had been living together for half a year. For six entire months, they bought groceries together, walked home together, and shared an umbrella. They were the picture-perfect married couple in the eyes of everyone in this building. Meanwhile, I was the one who had been in a legitimate, public seven-year relationship with her. Yet I was standing here in the rain, labeled as the homewrecker. Monica’s face turned incredibly ugly, but she did not say a single word to defend me. Cameron gently tugged at the sleeve of her jacket. “Let’s just go upstairs, Monica.” She remained silent for a few agonizing seconds. Then, holding the umbrella over his head, she escorted him through the glass lobby doors. I stood in the freezing rain, watching their figures disappear. Her telepathic voice grew fainter and fainter. [Gav is not the other man.] [He is the love of my life.] I stopped listening. The storm intensified. I crouched back down beside the dumpster. I tore through the soggy cardboard, desperately searching for the antique pocket watch my grandmother had left me before she passed. But even after tearing every box apart, I could not find it. The freezing rain finally took its toll. My vision suddenly went completely black. When I regained consciousness, I was lying in a somewhat unfamiliar guest bedroom. Cameron was sitting by the edge of the mattress, his eyes puffy and red. “Gav, you passed out out there.” “Monica and I had to carry you upstairs.” He reached out and tucked the blanket around my shoulders. “Don’t worry about what those neighbors said. I already went down and cleared everything up for you.” “I told them you were not the other man.” “I told them we were brothers, and you were just moving in to live with me.” “But since this is Monica’s apartment, and she is my girlfriend now, the whole thing just caused a big misunderstanding.” He spoke with such profound sincerity, looking like a devoted friend trying to save my reputation. But my mind instantly flashed back to our college days. When my financial aid grant was stolen by a manipulative classmate, Cameron marched straight into the Dean’s office with me. I despise people who steal what isn’t theirs and then play the innocent victim! Back then, he was even angrier than I was. But looking at him now, claiming Monica was his girlfriend with that exact same innocent look on his face, made my stomach churn. Cameron used to hate Monica. Whenever her name came up, he would curse her out without hesitation. But somewhere along the line, that hatred vanished. He started calling her by sweet nicknames. He started taking her out to dinners and going on weekend trips alone with her. It wasn’t that I was completely blind to his boundary-crossing. But he was my best friend. And Monica constantly gaslit me, telling me I was just being paranoid. Her telepathic voice would constantly echo in my mind. [Gav, you are the only one I love.] So I forced myself, time and time again, to swallow the sickening knot in my stomach. But today, I was done pretending to be blind. “Drop the act, Cameron.” I gripped the edge of the mattress and forced myself to sit up. “Where are my degree certificates?” I had to report to headquarters today. But all my backup photocopies had been destroyed in the rain. I used to treat this apartment as my true home, so I kept all my original, official documents locked in a drawer here. Cameron blinked in surprise. “I have no idea. You should look around.” I ignored him, threw off the blanket, and stood up. I walked straight into the master bedroom. It was his room now. But hanging inside the closet were several of Monica’s expensive dresses. My few remaining clothes had been shoved into the darkest corner, wrinkled beyond repair. Cameron trailed behind me, offering a quiet, timid explanation. “Sometimes she has a little too much to drink, and she ends up falling asleep in my bed.” I did not want to know what they did in this room. I only wanted my certificates. But when I pulled open the nightstand drawer, there were no document folders inside. There were only a few boxes of condoms. And one of the boxes was missing a foil packet compared to the last time I was here. My hand froze on the drawer handle. I forced myself to look away. On the small desk by the window, there was an uncleaned greasy takeout container. Cameron suddenly let out a small gasp, as if he had just remembered something. “Gav, is this the certificate thing you were looking for?” He lifted the plastic takeout box. Sitting directly underneath it was my original university degree. The thick leather cover was entirely coated in red chili oil. Cameron bit his bottom lip, looking incredibly guilty. “I am so sorry. I was eating spicy noodles in my room last night, and the cover looked sturdy, so I just grabbed it to use as a coaster.” I snatched it out of his hand and ripped it open. The actual diploma paper inside was completely saturated with grease. Even the official embossed seal was ruined, reeking of stale garlic and chili oil. “Gavin, stop being such an ungrateful prick!” Monica stormed into the bedroom, immediately stepping in front of Cameron to protect him. “Cameron was nice enough to bring you inside so you wouldn’t freeze to death. It is just a piece of paper. Are you seriously going to hit him over that?” I didn’t bother defending myself. I just stared down at the completely voided document in my hands. My mind was racing with one single thought. How was I going to fix this in time? Suddenly, a familiar ringtone broke the silence. It was my phone. But the sound was coming directly from Cameron’s hand. By the time I ripped the phone away from him, the call had already been disconnected. Glowing on the screen was a text from Ms. Morgan, sent exactly ten minutes ago. The deadline is here. Why aren’t you at the office? I had never even seen that message. But right below it was a reply sent from my number. I voluntarily withdraw from the transfer. I snapped my head up and glared at Cameron. “Who gave you the right to send messages from my phone?!” There was not a single trace of apology on his face. “Gav, I was doing it for your own good.” I didn’t have time to interrogate him. I immediately dialed Morgan’s number. “Morgan, I didn’t send that message. I am not withdrawing.” The line was dead silent for a few terrifying seconds. “The HR department is already processing the runner-up.” “Gavin, if you really want to fight for this, you have exactly thirty minutes to get to my office.” I hung up the phone, turned around, and sprinted for the front door. Cameron chased after me. “Gav, stop being so impulsive!” “If you go see that Morgan woman right now, Monica is going to get the wrong idea!” Hearing that, Monica’s expression instantly darkened. She followed us into the hall. “What Morgan woman?” Cameron faked a terrified shudder. “It is that female director who kept the headquarters position open for him.” “She promised him that if he came to headquarters, she would personally arrange his title, his housing, and his bonuses.” “I rejected the offer for him because I didn’t want him falling for a scam!” Monica’s face turned violently pale. She lunged forward and blocked the front door. “Gavin, are you throwing away all your pride just to get a free apartment?” “Why are you rushing out of here? Are you trying to prove how much you can sell yourself for? Going to sleep with your boss to get ahead?” I glanced at my watch. Twenty-seven minutes left. “Get out of my way.” I shoved past her and ran for the elevators. But the digital display showed the elevator was under maintenance. I cursed under my breath and bolted for the emergency stairwell. Cameron started fake crying at the top of his lungs. “Monica, stop him! What if he gets manipulated and something terrible happens to him?!” I had barely made it down two steps. Monica lunged down the stairs and clamped her hand around my wrist like a vice. “Gavin, you are not going anywhere today.” I violently yanked my arm, trying to break her grip. “Monica, you have absolutely no right to control me!” Her face twisted in anger, and she dug her nails into my skin, pulling harder. The sharp pain made me instinctively step backward. But there was nothing behind me except empty air. My foot slipped off the edge of the concrete step. A split second later, my body violently smashed onto the landing below, my back colliding heavily with the cinderblock wall. My vision exploded into white noise. An excruciating, blinding pain completely shattered my consciousness. Monica froze at the top of the stairs, paralyzed. [Gav!] [I didn’t mean to do that!] I couldn’t even tell which part of my body was bleeding. It hurt. It hurt so incredibly much. But the sharpest pain wasn’t coming from the broken bones. It was the realization that I had dragged my luggage across the country, thinking I was coming home, only to find another man living my life. It was the memory of kneeling in a dumpster, digging out a rotting plush dog. I lay there, my eyes wide open, completely unable to force a single word past my lips. Monica stumbled down the stairs, dropping to her knees beside me. “Gav…” [Get up. Please don’t scare me. Don’t just lie there like that.] [I really didn’t mean it. I was just terrified you didn’t love me anymore.] [If you don’t love me, I would rather die.] She reached out, her trembling fingers hovering over my bruised face. But the very next second, her entire body went completely rigid. For the first time in seven years, my inner voice transmitted directly into her mind. [Monica.]

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1 My father, a celebrated author, filled a 400,000-word memoir with tales of my younger siblings. My name never appeared. Mother insisted it was for his image. I was too average, too clumsy, a stain on our perfect family. Brother skipped grades; sister topped every class. Thanksgiving brought a news crew to interview Father. Mother shoved me out the back door before they arrived. Inside, she glowed praising my brother’s brilliance. Father softened describing my sister’s vibrancy. Even their golden retriever was named a vital family member. I stayed hidden for three hours. As the crew left, a reporter found me shivering on the porch. Mother gestured wildly behind the camera. I bowed politely. “I got lost,” I said. Across the street, warm lights blurred through my tears. This was never my home. It was time to leave. … “Why didn’t you hide better? Did you do that on purpose?” The moment the news van disappeared down the street, my mother yanked the door open, her voice dripping with irritation. For three hours, their perfect family of four had enjoyed a massive Thanksgiving feast in front of the cameras. Meanwhile, I had been crouched on the freezing porch, shivering in the wind. Three hours had passed, yet my mother didn’t even ask if I was cold. My father sat on the plush sofa, turning a page of his book. “Let it go, Eleanor. The reporter didn’t recognize her anyway.” Let it go. His tone wasn’t just stating a fact; it was absolute certainty. What he meant was that I was so painfully average, so disconnected from this family, that even if I was caught on camera, no one would ever believe we shared the same blood. He didn’t care that his daughter had been sitting outside in the freezing cold for three hours. He didn’t care that it was past nine o’clock and I hadn’t eaten a single bite of food. With one dismissive let it go, my entire existence was swept under the rug. When I finally walked into the dining room, the table was littered with cold leftovers and dirty plates. Just as I pulled out a chair, my sister, Chloe, leisurely wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Hey, you haven’t fed Buddy yet today. With the interview taking so long, he must be starving.” Buddy was Chloe’s purebred Golden Retriever. A show-quality dog with a coat that felt like spun silk. As I poured imported, premium kibble into Buddy’s ceramic bowl, I glanced out the window at the mutt tied up in the backyard. A stray rescue dog I had found on the street. Just like me. Because it was too ordinary, no one in this house cared if it lived or died. While the golden retriever lounged on a velvet bed eating gourmet canned meat, my dog quietly huddled inside a damp cardboard box, chewing on stale table scraps. A sharp burn prickled behind my eyes. Remembering the sudden urge I felt earlier to run away, I dug my nails into my palms. Should I leave? I couldn’t leave just yet. For my dog. For the only “family” member who didn’t look at me with disgust. If I was going to be a stray, I had to take my dog with me. When I returned to the dining room, my mother was already clearing the table. Seeing me, her hands paused in mid-air, as if she had just remembered I existed. “Why does feeding a dog take you so long? There is some plain white rice left in the cooker. Go serve yourself.” The bowls my mother had neatly stacked in her hands were a perfectly matched set of four. They bought them on their last family vacation to Hawaii. Because I wasn’t invited on the trip, no one naturally remembered to buy a fifth bowl. I silently scooped three spoonfuls of cold rice onto a mismatched plate. Chloe gave me a weird look. “Not hungry? Why are you just eating plain rice?” “I’m not hungry,” I lied. For this interview, my mother had been prepping the menu for an entire week. The table had been covered with Chloe’s favorite garlic butter shrimp and my brother’s favorite honey-glazed ribs. But my mother completely forgot that I was deathly allergic to shellfish. And the plate of ribs was nothing but stripped bones. My brother, Julian, walked out of his room holding a massive box of artisan chocolates. He ruffled Chloe’s hair. “Dessert time!” “Since Mom and Dad are watching their sugar, let’s just split one piece to celebrate the family being together!” Chloe took the small knife my mother handed her and sliced the chocolate truffle. She accidentally cut it into five pieces. My heart did a pathetic, hopeful flutter, and I clenched my fists under the table. But Julian just flicked Chloe’s forehead. “Are you an idiot? You cut one extra piece!” His eyes were full of affectionate exasperation. “Buddy is a dog, Chloe. He can’t eat chocolate!” The siblings burst into laughter, playfully shoving each other while my parents watched them with adoring smiles. No one mentioned me. No one even realized I hadn’t been offered a piece. They weren’t doing it on purpose to be cruel. It was just that I was never categorized as “family” in their minds. So being ignored wasn’t an insult; it was just the natural state of things. I silently retreated to my bedroom. My phone buzzed. It was an email from my university advisor. “The results for the European exchange program are out. The department only had one fully-funded spot, and you got it.” “Congratulations, Maya! I heard you’ve been working incredibly hard in the lab. Hard work truly makes up for a lack of natural talent. I’m so proud of you!” Hard work makes up for a lack of natural talent. My parents used to say that too. Unfortunately, I was just too inherently dull. No matter how hard I tried, I could never catch up to my prodigy siblings. Sensing my silence over the phone call that followed, my advisor gently added: “You don’t need to worry about the finances. The university covers tuition, and the stipend will cover your living expenses…” Right then, a sharp knock hit my bedroom door. My mother’s muffled voice filtered through the wood. “Maya, are you okay? Why did you lock yourself in your room so early? Are you feeling sick?” I frantically lowered the volume on my phone. I looked at the door in absolute disbelief. Was she actually checking on me? But then I heard her continue. “Oh, you’re fine, right?” “You haven’t washed the dishes yet. Your brother and sister are going to sleep soon, and the water running in the sink will wake them up.” I dropped my head. The moonlight sliced through the window blinds, pooling like frost on the hardwood floor. As a scalding tear hit the ground, I spoke into the phone. “Professor, I’ve made up my mind.” “I accept the offer.” The next day, my parents hosted a massive graduation party for Julian and Chloe. It was a delayed celebration because the perfect family of four had spent the entire summer backpacking through Europe. No one remembered to invite me. Just like no one remembered that since my siblings skipped two grades, we had all graduated high school in the exact same year. The massive banner hanging across the banquet hall was painfully bright. “Congratulations to Julian and Chloe, beloved children of Richard and Eleanor, on their acceptance to Ivy League universities!” And I was merely the invisible “et cetera” attached to the end of their names. Even the red envelopes filled with cash from our relatives were exclusively handed to Julian and Chloe. The only envelope I received was one where the relative had forgotten to write a name on the front. I stood in the corner, staring at the blank envelope for a very long time. “Hey, what are you doing?” My mother marched over, her heels clicking aggressively on the marble floor. She stared at the envelope in my hands. Her eyes held suspicion, and a brief hesitation on whether she should publicly accuse me of stealing. The only thing missing from her gaze was the natural, unconditional trust a mother should have for her child. “Look, I know you’ve been working hard logging the gifts at the reception desk. Just keep that envelope for yourself as a tip.” “Mom, that’s not what I was doing.” “If you want allowance money, just ask me. Why do you have to be so sneaky about it? You’ve always been so difficult, ever since you were a kid.” My mother didn’t explicitly call me a thief, but her exhausted, condescending tone felt like needles under my skin. She didn’t give me a single second to defend myself against the unspoken accusation in her eyes: Who knows how much cash you’ve already pocketed today? Julian walked over, flanked by a group of his popular friends. The disgust on my mother’s face instantly vanished, replaced by a radiant, welcoming smile. “Oh, you boys made it! Welcome, welcome! Please grab some food.” As they walked past the reception table, Julian’s gaze swept right through me, exactly as if he were looking at empty air. One of his friends leaned in and whispered, “Hey, who’s the girl at the desk? She looks kind of familiar.” “Is she your family’s maid?” Julian gave a flat, indifferent “Yeah,” and the word exploded in my ears like a gunshot. Growing up, my mother always treated me like a glorified delivery service for my siblings. I was the one bringing them umbrellas in torrential rain. I was the one sprinting across campus to deliver their forgotten lunches in the blistering heat. The heavy umbrellas and bulky lunchboxes weighed down my backpack, making my every step feel like a chore. Yet, my mother never remembered to pack a lunch for me. I was like a thin wisp of air. No one truly needed me, and no one ever consciously realized I existed. All the warmth and light in this house simply passed straight through me to shine on someone else. At the dinner table, my father beamed as he handed Julian a pair of limited-edition sneakers. Julian slammed his hands on the table. “Whoa! Dad, I love you man! This is incredible!” My mother playfully covered Chloe’s eyes before clasping a stunning diamond necklace around her throat. Chloe teared up instantly. “Oh my god… thank you so much, Mom! I love you!” I sat shrunk in the corner of the booth, completely silent. Suddenly, my mother reached into her purse and handed me a simple plastic hair clip. I froze. I felt like a dying man in a desert being offered a single drop of condensation from a glass of ice water. My eyes burned violently. “Thank you, Mom!” She waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t mention it. Your birthday is coming up soon, right? Consider it an early gift.” My birthday had actually passed three months ago. But she didn’t remember. Every year, my parents would order a massive feast and two custom cakes for the twins’ birthday. No one ever remembered mine. “Alright, enough staring at it. Eat your food before it gets cold.” My mother turned her head and noticed Chloe’s hair dipping dangerously close to her plate of pasta. Without a second thought, my mother reached over, snatched the hair clip out of my hands, and pinned Chloe’s hair back. She let out a small sigh. “Well, you already took plenty of cash from the reception desk earlier. Let your sister have the hair clip for now.” “I understand.” Tears shattered the chandelier light above me into a million blurry fragments. The second I lowered my head and let the tears fall, I pulled out my phone. I replied to my advisor, finalized my exchange program application, and booked the earliest flight out of the country. The meager savings in my bank account were only enough to cover the flight and my first month of rent. I had absolutely no idea how I was going to survive after that. But I knew it couldn’t possibly be worse than this. Just one more day, and I would be gone forever. My father was proudly showing off to a table of relatives. “These two have been brilliant since the day they were born. I barely had to teach them a thing.” “And look at their SAT scores! One got a 1580, the other got a 1570. Honestly, they make me look bad!” I gripped the tablecloth beneath the table, debating with myself for a long time. Should I remind my father that I scored a 1550? No one had even bothered to ask. I had researched and applied to colleges entirely on my own. I played out every possible reaction my parents could have if I spoke up. Best-case scenario: They would say, “That’s nice,” and then casually ask, “Wait, what school are you going to again?” Average scenario: They wouldn’t even process what I said, give me a dismissive nod, and immediately go back to bragging about Julian and Chloe. Worst-case scenario: They would say, “Well, it’s still lower than your siblings.” My entire life, I was always just a few points behind. It was like trying to fill an ocean by dropping pebbles into the water. The sea remained vast and indifferent, leaving me to drown quietly in the shadows. The boy sitting next to me suddenly set down his soda and looked at me intently. “Hey, I remember now. You actually scored really high too, didn’t you?” It was Liam, a boy from my AP Calculus class. He was the quintessential golden boy, radiating warmth and effortless charm. He was the only person in this entire room who had ever patiently reviewed study notes with me and sincerely told me: “You know, you’re actually really smart.” A refreshing breeze seemed to blow through my suffocating, sweaty palms. “Actually, I wanted to ask you a massive favor. Could you pass a message to Chloe for me? I wanted to see if she’s free for dinner sometime.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking incredibly awkward. “But I accidentally forgot your name. I’m so sorry…” The tiny breeze that had just entered my lungs vanished instantly. Of course. When you have the sun and the moon in the sky, no one gives a damn about the spark of a dying matchstick. People who aren’t valued don’t even deserve the dignity of a name. They are just Background Character A. When we got home, I grabbed a bowl of kibble to feed my dog. I searched the front yard. I searched the backyard. I couldn’t find him anywhere. Panic seized my throat, and my eyes turned entirely red. “Mom! Where is Buster? He’s always tied up by the fence!” My mother looked at me like I was insane. “Who the hell is Buster?” Buster was the name I gave my dog. He was my only family. My mother let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s just a filthy mutt. Why are you so obsessed with a stray?” “That thing was always growling at Buddy anyway. It’s a menace. I told the housekeeper to take it down to the shelter and get rid of it.” My dog was a “filthy mutt,” but my sister’s dog was “Buddy,” a beloved family member. My dog, exactly like me, had absolutely no right to exist in this house. I was the one dragging Buster down. “You got rid of him?! Which shelter?!” I was hyperventilating, tears streaming down my face. Chloe walked over and patted my shoulder sympathetically. “I think I saw the housekeeper heading toward the animal control center downtown this morning.” “Don’t panic, Maya. I’m sure you’ll find him.” When we were kids, Chloe and I didn’t get along at all. But now, she was the only person in this house who offered me even a shred of pity. In a multi-child household, siblings quietly compete for their parents’ affection. But over the years, Chloe realized something fundamental: Her older sister was completely invisible, unloved, and posed absolutely zero threat to her status. Unfortunately, the pity she offered me was like a popsicle melting on the asphalt in July. It was a brief moment of sweetness before it melted into a dirty puddle. When I finally tracked Buster down at the overflowing city pound, he was crammed into a tiny steel cage. Just like me, he was suffocating in the cracks of a hostile environment, barely clinging to life. I dropped to my knees in front of the cage and wailed. I pulled every crumpled dollar bill out of my pockets and shoved them at the shelter worker. “Take it all! Please, just give me my dog back.” The worker looked at me with a mixture of pity and annoyance. “It’s just a stray. Why are you crying like someone died?” “Alright, fine, keep your money. Just get him out of here.” By the time I walked back to the house with Buster on a makeshift leash, my eyes were swollen shut. The rain was lashing against my face, mixing with a fountain of bitter tears. Julian opened the front door, not even bothering to look up from his phone screen. “Where the hell were you? Didn’t you see it’s pouring? You didn’t even bring the laundry in from the line.” “Okay,” I whispered. Without grabbing an umbrella, I turned around and walked straight back into the storm. When I finally carried the damp laundry basket through the living room, my father lowered his newspaper, glanced at me, and immediately raised it again. “Why are you dripping wet? You’re ruining the hardwood floors.” “Go get the mop right now, before you track mud everywhere.” My father completely failed to notice that I had sprinted so fast in the rain that I had wiped out on the concrete. Muddy water was dripping down my jeans, mixed entirely with dark red blood from my scraped knees. My mother opened her bedroom door, glaring at me in annoyance. “Why are you making so much noise this late? Chloe is trying to sleep.” “Tie that mutt up outside if you found it. I don’t know why you’re having a meltdown over a stupid dog.” I nodded slowly. “I know.” “It won’t happen again.” When I dragged my suitcase into my bedroom, my father didn’t even look up from his paper. The entire house fell dead silent. Everyone was asleep. No one cared about me. As the plastic wheels of my suitcase clattered over the doorframe, it sounded like a fragile glass bridge finally shattering. I quietly clicked the bedroom door shut. I didn’t have many belongings. Buster was practically the only thing of value I owned. When I opened my closet, it was packed entirely with Julian and Chloe’s old winter coats. Whenever my mother took the twins shopping for expensive new wardrobes, she would always give me the same speech: “When I have time next month, I’ll take you shopping for something nice.” Next month always turned into three months later, when she would carelessly toss Chloe’s discarded, out-of-season clothes onto my bed. “You two are the same size anyway. Just make do with these so we don’t waste money.” I had been “making do” for eighteen years. I felt exactly like those discarded, wrinkled clothes shoved into the dark corner of the closet—surviving strictly on leftovers. As the moonlight illuminated my packed suitcase, my phone lit up with a notification from the family group chat. My mother had tagged me. “Maya, make sure you take your sister to the mall tomorrow to buy some new sweaters.” “Pick thick ones. The weather is dropping, and I don’t want Chloe catching a cold.” I didn’t reply. It didn’t matter anymore. I pulled a rusted tin box out from under my bed. Inside was my diary. When I was little, I watched my father meticulously document every milestone of my siblings’ lives in his journals. He wrote about taking them to Disneyland, to the movies, to buy ice cream on hot summer days. I was never invited on those trips. I was never in any of the polaroid photos taped into the margins of his memoir. My existence was just a stain on his perfect manuscript. I was so incredibly jealous. So, when I was eight years old, I started writing my own secret diary. The very first entry read: If I disappeared one day, would Mom and Dad be sad? I quietly folded the newspaper clipping of our Thanksgiving family interview and slipped it inside the back cover of the journal. The eight-year-old me never found the answer to her question. The eighteen-year-old me finally had. At 3:00 AM, while the entire house was deep in a dream, I rolled my suitcase out the front door. No one heard a thing. But my dog was already waiting for me on the porch. His fluffy tail happily brushed against my ankles. My eyes burned, and I softly hummed an old nursery rhyme to myself. “The little chick paints bamboo leaves, the little dog paints plum blossoms in the snow.” “Remember this, Buster. Our real home is out there.” I pointed toward the dark, empty street. I had never been to Europe, but it was where I was heading. I was a girl without a family, but my dog wasn’t. I was about to become a stray, but as long as we were together, Buster had a home. By the time I boarded my flight, my mother was blowing up the family group chat, taking breakfast orders. Chloe wanted a blueberry muffin. Julian wanted a breakfast burrito. No one asked me what I wanted. Only after the orders were finalized did my mother tag me. “Maya, go pick up the breakfast.” “Hurry up. Don’t make everyone wait for you.” Julian and Chloe kept spamming the chat with their drink orders, while my parents sent follow-up texts demanding I leave immediately. They were all sitting in the dining room, starving. Yet not a single one of them noticed that my bedroom door was wide open, and the room was entirely empty. My shelves were cleared, my suitcase was gone, and the stray dog was missing. I was already thousands of miles away. I didn’t reply to a single message. I powered down my phone. The plane accelerated down the runway and breached the clouds. Looking down from thirty thousand feet, the city I grew up in looked like a meaningless, disconnected grid of lights. For the first time in my life, the path ahead belonged entirely to me.

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