The day of our engagement party, the bride’s entire family failed to show up. I stood in the lobby of the crowded restaurant, sweat pooling at my collar, dialing my fiancée’s number over and over. When she finally answered, her voice was light, airy, and completely devoid of warmth. “Sorry, babe,” she said, sounding as though she were discussing a change in dinner plans. “Your bride just got hijacked.” I froze, the noise of the banquet hall fading into a low hum. “What are you talking about, Tiffany?” She actually chuckled. “It means someone else is throwing me an engagement party right now.” I couldn’t breathe. “The other guy put down three hundred and eighty-eight thousand dollars cash,” she continued, her voice sharpening. “One hundred grand more than your family’s pathetic offer. What did you expect me to do? Your cheap family was holding me back. Honestly, stop embarrassing yourself. I have three words for you: lose my number.” The line went dead. That afternoon, my family was utterly humiliated, transformed into the local laughingstock. But I didn’t stay down. Later, I came back with eight hundred and eighty-eight thousand dollars to play her own game. I was going to hijack her back. I’d make her fall for me all over again, and then I’d drop her on her face. Some people believe in taking the high road. I don’t. 01 The banquet hall was dead silent. Even though Tiffany had hung up, her final words seemed to vibrate in the air. When the phone had rung, I’d put it on speaker, naive enough to believe she’d have a logical explanation for being late. I wanted my parents and the relatives to hear that everything was fine. Instead, she had taken my dignity, thrown it on the floor, and stomped on it. My face burned with a toxic mix of shame and rage. My father’s face went entirely white. He was a man who lived and died by his reputation, and Tiffany’s words were the equivalent of a public slapping. Beside him, my mother looked even worse. She collapsed back into her chair, her eyes wide and blank. She was a simple woman who spent her life cooking, playing neighborhood cards, and bragging about her family. To her, Tiffany had been an angel sent from heaven. The whiplash of this betrayal was so violent I thought she might faint. Then, the silence broke, and the room erupted. “This is disgusting!” my aunt shouted, slamming her napkin onto the table. “I’ve lived sixty years and I’ve never seen such shameless trash! Planning a wedding with us while secretly taking bids from another man?” “If she wanted out, she should have said so,” my cousin chimed in, red-faced. “This was designed to humiliate us.” My uncle walked over and placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Wyatt, look at me. A girl who can be bought for an extra hundred grand is a curse, not a wife. You’d have been miserable. This isn’t an engagement party anymore. We’re celebrating your narrow escape.” “He’s right, Wyatt. You’re better off.” “Forget her, man.” But their kind words did nothing to clear the fog in my head. Tiffany and I had met through a mutual acquaintance. During our three months of dating, she had been the epitome of sweet, gentle, and understanding. Once we decided to get serious, her family—who lived in a small, traditional town upstate—presented us with an endless list of financial demands. There were engagement tributes, maternal compensation fees, luxury jewelry gifts, and a massive cash down payment on a house in her parents’ name. It totaled nearly seven hundred thousand dollars. My father had sat in silence for a long time when he saw the list, but eventually, he nodded. If she’s the one you want, we’ll make it work, he’d said. My mother had quietly expressed her worries to me, but she still emptied her life savings to help cover it, all while continuing to paint Tiffany as the perfect future daughter-in-law to our neighbors. And what did I think back then? I believed Tiffany when she told me she hated all these transactional traditions, but that her family’s social standing in their hometown depended on them. I didn’t want to make things hard for her, so I agreed. I had a good degree and a corporate salary of fifteen thousand a month; I figured I could earn the money back. But the voice on the phone today belonged to a stranger. I looked around the room. A few relatives looked genuinely concerned, but many of them were biting their lips, struggling to hide their amusement. The embarrassment was a physical weight. After today, our family would be the subject of hushed whispers and mocking smiles for years. I couldn’t take it. I bolted from the hall, ignoring the voices calling after me. “Wyatt, wait!” “Don’t do anything stupid!” “Wyatt!” 02 It only took a two-hundred-dollar Venmo transfer to get the address of Tiffany’s other engagement party from one of her bridesmaids, Courtney. The ultimate insult? The venue was a luxury hotel just a block away from where my family sat waiting. I marched into the lobby, and through the glass doors of the grand ballroom, I saw her immediately. She was wearing a stunning crimson cocktail dress, her arm looped tightly around a man in his early thirties. He had a prominent beer belly and a thick gold chain hanging over his collar. I pushed past the double doors. Tiffany noticed me first. Her smile vanished, replaced by an icy, dismissive glare. “What are you doing here, Wyatt?” “What do you think I’m doing?” I demanded, my chest heaving. “Is this how your family operates? Standing us up without a single word of warning? I came for an explanation.” The beer-bellied man looked me up and down, a smug smirk spreading across his face. “Babe, who’s the kid?” Tiffany let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Just some guy who couldn’t afford me but keeps calling.” “Couldn’t afford you?” I laughed, the sound dry and bitter. “We agreed to every single one of your demands. The cash was sitting in our banquet hall today. And instead of showing up, you and your family sneaked over here to sell you to the highest bidder. If you wanted out, you could have told me. But treating my parents like garbage? I won’t let you get away with this. I’ll ruin this party before I let you walk out of here.” By the end of my rant, I was shouting. Guests began to turn, whispers rippling through the crowd. “You broke loser, shut your mouth!” A loud, shrill voice cut through the room. It was Glenda, Tiffany’s mother. Caked in heavy makeup and dripping in cheap rhinestones, she stepped between us, her eyes flashing with pure malice. “Let me tell you something, Wyatt. We didn’t tell you because we wanted to spare your feelings. You couldn’t afford our Tiffany, and any real man would have taken the hint and slunk away. Do we really need to spell it out for you? You’re too poor for my daughter.” She pulled Tiffany close, patting her shoulder like she was showing off a prize heifer. “Look at her. She’s a masterpiece. You thought you could have her for peanuts? Don’t make me laugh.” She pointed proudly at the man beside Tiffany. “This is Trent. He runs a massive logistics firm. When we asked for three hundred and eighty-eight thousand, he didn’t even blink. He’s got real money. Who would you choose in our shoes?” Trent puffed out his chest, sliding a possessive hand onto Tiffany’s waist. She didn’t flinch; she leaned into him. “Just go, Wyatt,” Tiffany said, her eyes filled with mock pity. “Don’t embarrass your parents any more than you already have. You and Trent are in different leagues. Standing here is just sad.” Trent shook his head, looking bored. “Look, buddy, her mom laid it out for you. It’s a free market. You didn’t have the capital, I did, and she came with me. Cry about it somewhere else. Security! Get this clown out of my venue.” Two burly guards appeared, grabbing my arms and dragging me toward the exit. I thrashed against them, but it was useless. Behind me, the jeers of their guests followed me out. “If you don’t have the cash, don’t play the game…” “Our Tiffany is the prettiest girl from our town, did he really think he could get her on a discount?” “Good riddance.” When they threw me out the front doors, I saw my parents standing by our car, having followed me there. I tried to push back inside, but my mother caught my arm. Her eyes were red, her face wet with tears. “Wyatt, please, just let it go. For me. Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking. The fight drained out of me. Looking at her, I finally stopped. I squeezed her hand tightly. “Okay, Mom. Let’s go home.” 03 In the weeks that followed, our house was suffocatingly quiet. The lively sound of my mother chatting with her friends on the phone disappeared. She stopped going to her weekly card games, claiming her back was acting up, and skipped her community dance classes because of her knees. Instead, she spent hours in the kitchen, washing the same vegetables over and over, staring blankly out the window. Her pride—the joy she took in showing off her family—had been completely shattered. She only left the house for groceries, terrified of running into neighbors who might ask about the wedding. My father’s quiet retreat was even harder to watch. He was a senior manager at his firm, a man who used to stand tall and speak proudly of his son’s future. Now, he came home, went straight to his study, and barely ate. At my own office, the whispers followed me everywhere. The story of the groom who got replaced on his wedding day had circulated online locally, turning us into a joke. I went through cycles of rage, numbness, and profound regret. But eventually, a single, sharp focus emerged from the depression. I wanted revenge. The thought took hold of me, growing stronger every time I saw my parents’ defeated faces. Tiffany, you and your family love money more than life itself, I thought. If you can be bought once, you can be bought again. And I am going to destroy you. 04 Three days later, I met Courtney at a quiet diner. “One thousand dollars,” I said, sliding a envelope across the table. “I need your help with Tiffany.” Courtney didn’t even hesitate. “Two thousand. I’m not risking my neck for cheap.” I smiled. “Fifteen hundred. Your friendship with her isn’t worth a cent more.” She snapped her fingers. “Deal.” That night, Courtney managed to lure Tiffany out to a high-end restaurant under the pretense of a girls’ night. When Tiffany saw me sitting at the table, her face hardened immediately. “Wyatt? What is this? Courtney, what’s going on?” She stood up to leave. Courtney smiled warmly and pulled her back down. “Sit down, babe. Don’t worry. Wyatt has a surprise for you.” Out of courtesy for Courtney, Tiffany reluctantly sat back, crossing her arms and legs, looking thoroughly annoyed. “Make it quick.” I stared at her, putting on my best performance of a broken, desperate lover. “Tiffany, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have caused a scene at your wedding. I was hurt, but I understand now. You had to make the best choice for your future. What girl wouldn’t want financial security?” Tiffany’s posture relaxed, a smug, self-satisfied look settling onto her face. I reached out to touch her hand, but she pulled away. I offered a sheepish, vulnerable smile. “I haven’t slept since that day, Tiffany. I keep dreaming about you. I… I still love you. I can’t let you go.” She let out a harsh laugh. “Love me? With what, Wyatt? Your middle-class salary? Trent has over five million in liquid assets. You can’t compete with that.” This was the exact opening I needed. I unlocked my phone, opened my banking app, and turned the screen toward her. The balance showed exactly $888,000. “I have the money now, Tiffany,” I whispered, my voice trembling with practiced emotion. “Eight hundred and eighty-eight thousand. That’s my new offer. I was stupid before, but I’ve corrected my mistake. Please, just give me one more chance.” Tiffany stared at the screen, her eyes widening slightly before she let out another scoff. “Are you joking, Wyatt? You put your parents’ entire retirement on one debit card to impress me? Or did you take out a massive predatory loan? You’re ridiculous.” She was sharp when it came to money. She had guessed the truth; the funds had indeed been pulled together from every resource my family had. I kept quiet, giving Courtney the cue. Courtney wrapped her arm around Tiffany’s shoulders, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Tiffany, you’ve got it all wrong. Wyatt’s not telling you everything.” Tiffany frowned. “What?” “You didn’t hear?” Courtney murmured, loud enough for me to hear but quiet enough to sound like a secret. “His family owned those two commercial lots in the South District. They just got rezoned for a massive retail development. My aunt works at the city planning office, and she saw the acquisition list. They’re getting a payout of over ten million dollars.” Tiffany froze. Courtney pressed on. “Ten million, Tiffany. Wyatt’s actually wealthy now. He’s not lying to you.” If this information had come from my mouth, Tiffany would have laughed in my face. But coming from her closest confidante, it was gospel. When Tiffany looked back at me, the coldness in her eyes was gone, replaced by a warm, familiar hunger. “Wyatt…” she murmured, her voice turning sweet. “Is Courtney telling the truth?”

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The day my mother conceived me, I became aware of the world outside. My parents were happy, or at least they seemed to be. I also had an older sister, Hannah. She was my father’s daughter from his first marriage. The day they found out about my existence, Hannah tore her bedroom apart. “You already have me!” she screamed, her voice muffled but sharp through the walls of the womb. “Why do you need another one? You have to choose right now—it’s either her or me!” My mother didn’t answer her. She only whispered to herself that a baby was a gift, a twist of fate meant to be. But to Hannah, it was a betrayal. She began to act out, constantly searching for ways to claw back their attention. It escalated until the day she emptied an entire bottle of concentrated weed killer into my mother’s prenatal herbal teas. When my father discovered what she had done, his fury was unlike anything the house had ever known. For the first time in her life, he hit her. Hannah didn’t cry. She only stared at my mother’s swollen belly with a cold, burning hatred. The day I was brought home from the hospital, she walked over to my bassinet. She reached in and poked my cheek, her finger hard and cold. “You’re their real daughter,” she whispered, her voice dangerously quiet. “With you here, they’ll never love me again.” “There’s only room for one of us, but I don’t want to lose my mom and dad.” “So… could you just leave?” 1 Before I could even register her words, Hannah’s hands found my neck. She squeezed. Slowly, deliberately. The air left me. The world began to dim into a terrible, bruised purple. I wanted to cry, but Hannah was the one who wept first. Her warm tears fell, splashing against my cold cheeks. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” she sobbed. Suddenly, the suffocating pressure vanished. There was a sickening crack, and I watched Hannah fly backward, crashing heavily against the hardwood floor. “Are you out of your mind, Hannah?!” my father roared, his eyes bloodshot as he stood over her. “She’s your sister! How could you do that to a baby?” He kicked her, hard, twice in the ribs, before gently scooping me into his arms. “She’s not my sister!” Hannah choked out, curling into a ball on the floor and clutching her stomach. “She’s yours and Laura’s! But I… I am…” She couldn’t finish the sentence. It was true. I belonged to both of them. But Hannah belonged to my father and a woman who had abandoned them years ago. It was a truth she couldn’t bear to voice. “You are completely insane!” my father yelled. “First you try to poison your mother, and now you try to strangle your sister? How did I raise such a monster?” On the nearby sofa, my mother, still weak from labor, struggled to her feet. She rushed over, panic written across her pale face. “My sweet girl, are you okay?” The moment my mother saw the angry red handprints bruising my tiny neck, her face contorted with grief. She marched over to Hannah and slapped her across the face. Hard. The sound cracked through the room. Hannah’s head snapped to the side. She looked up, her eyes wide with utter shock. “You… you dared to hit me?” My mother’s hands were shaking violently. “Since the day I married your father, I have treated you like my own flesh and blood. I gave you the best of everything. I let it go when you tried to hurt me, but today you tried to murder my baby!” “How am I supposed to ignore this? How? I carried her for nine months, Hannah!” My mother collapsed onto her knees, sobbing hysterically. But Hannah scrambled backward, her face flushed with rage. “Liar! You hit me because I’m not yours! You never would have touched me before she was born!” “It’s because of her! You hate me because of her! The moment a stepmother gets her own kid, the father turns into a stranger too!” She screamed the words, her voice cracking with hysteria. “Shut your mouth!” my father bellowed. “You’re going to terrify the baby!” With tears still drying on my eyelashes, I stared blankly at Hannah. Deep down, I knew she wasn’t entirely wrong. Ever since my parents had found out about me, their eyes had rarely drifted to her. When Hannah had a fever a few weeks ago, they had simply told her to take some aspirin and drink water. The night she ran away, they hadn’t even noticed she was gone until she crept back through the front door, crying. A heavy, instinctive guilt settled in my tiny chest. I forced my crying to stop. I looked at Hannah, stretched out my small, fragile hands, and tried to offer her a smile. “S… Sis…” The syllable was clumsy and slurred, but in the quiet room, it was unmistakable. My parents froze in surprise. Even Hannah went still, staring at me. “Did you hear that, Hannah?” my father whispered, stepping closer to her and holding me out slightly. “Your sister is calling for you. Look at her. Even after what you did, she’s smiling at you!” “See? Don’t be so petty. You’re the older sister.” Seeing Hannah’s bewildered expression, I smiled wider. I wanted her to know that my birth didn’t mean she would lose their love. It just meant there was one more person in the world to love her. But in the next heartbeat, Hannah lunged forward. Her fingers wrapped around my throat again, squeezing with terrifying strength. “Are you mocking me?! You think you’ve won because they love you more?!” 2 Before my parents could react, the front door flew open. My Grandma Ruth, who had been waiting outside, rushed in and violently dragged Hannah away from me. My father stumbled backward, cradling me against his chest, murmuring frantic comforts. “You ungrateful brat!” Grandma Ruth screamed, slapping Hannah across the face. “She is a baby! Her very first word was ‘sister,’ and you still tried to kill her?” My mother covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking. “What do I want?” Hannah shrieked, clutching her burning cheek. “I want her dead!” Slap! Another strike cut her off. I had already lost count of how many times she had been hit today. Grandma Ruth and several other relatives who had come to help with the baby stood blockading the doorway, glaring down at Hannah with pure disgust. “Hannah, you are nothing but a parasite,” Grandma Ruth spat, her eyes red with anger on behalf of her daughter. “Your real mother abandoned you like trash. Laura took you in, raised you, made sure you never felt second-best.” “And how do you repay her? By trying to poison her, and now trying to strangle her newborn? Is your heart made of stone?” My Aunt Rachel crossed her arms, looking at Hannah with deep aversion. “Exactly. Your father came into this marriage with baggage—you. Laura raised you like her own. You should be kissing the ground she walks on, not acting like a psychopath.” “I…” Hannah’s face burned a deep, painful red, but no words came out. From the corner of the room, my Grandpa George let out a heavy, tired sigh. “If we had known it would turn out like this, we never would have fought so hard for custody. We should have let you go with your gambling mother. At least then you wouldn’t be here, ruining this family.” A ruin. Hannah flinched as if she had been struck by lightning. She slowly raised her head, looking at the grandfather who used to buy her ice cream, then at the aunts and uncles, and finally at my parents. “Is that… is that what you all think of me?” The room fell into a suffocating silence. My mother looked away first. My father lowered his gaze, tightening his grip on me. Their silence was the loudest answer of all. But it hadn’t always been this way. Before they knew I existed, I knew they loved Hannah. My father used to lift her high above his head when he came home from work, laughing. “That’s my smart girl! Straight A’s again! I’m so proud of you, Hannah.” My mother used to sit her down every morning, gently braiding her hair with colorful ribbons before walking her to school. That warmth had been real. I had felt it through the quiet thrum of the house. I had looked forward to joining a family that possessed so much love. Until they found me. As my mother’s belly grew, she no longer had the energy to wake up early and braid Hannah’s hair. My father’s attention shifted entirely to nursery color swatches and baby monitors. He even made Hannah move into the smaller guest room so her bedroom could be converted into my nursery. And then there was the school field day. They had promised they would be there. Hannah had waited by the school gates from morning until dusk, but they never showed up. All because that afternoon, I had kicked my mother’s stomach. Just a tiny, fluttery kick. But it was enough for them to panic, rush to the doctor, and completely forget about the daughter waiting in the schoolyard. When Hannah had finally walked through the door that night, she was shaking with rage and heartbreak. “You promised!” she had screamed, throwing her backpack at the wall. “Why didn’t you come? Do you have any idea how long I—” “It was just a field day,” my father had snapped, interrupting her. “You’ve had dozens of them. Your sister kicked your mother’s stomach today. We had to make sure she was safe. None of your school games are more important than your sister’s life.” Hannah had stood there, frozen, as if trying to translate a foreign language. And then, she had flipped the dining table. “You already have me! Why do you need another one? You have to choose right now—it’s either her or me!” But they hadn’t answered. They had only looked at her as if she were throwing a childish tantrum, too busy worrying about me. 3 Hannah’s crying and screaming went on for what felt like hours. Finally, Grandma Ruth lost all patience. She grabbed Hannah by the arm and began dragging her toward the door. “That’s enough! Your mother just gave birth. She’s weak, and you’re here howling like a banshee. Do you want to kill her? You’re coming with me.” But Hannah didn’t care about the physical pain. She dug her heels into the floor, desperately grabbing onto the doorframe. “Dad! Mom! Answer me!” she pleaded, her eyes searching theirs. “I’m not a ruin, right? Tell me I’m not!” My father opened his mouth, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face, but Grandma Ruth yanked her out before he could speak. The heavy front door clicked shut. The apartment fell into a profound, hollow quiet. My mother looked down at me, forcing a tired smile. “At least our little Gracie is good. Look at her, so quiet and sweet. Such a good baby.” She let out a long sigh. “If only your sister had half your temperament. They’re raised in the same house, so how can they be so different?” My father walked over, his fingers gently tracing the red marks on my neck. “That little psycho,” he muttered, his voice darkening. “She actually tried to hurt a baby. Why couldn’t she take it out on me? Why does she have to be so vicious?” His anger simmered, hardening into resentment. “When she comes back, I’m going to teach her a lesson she won’t forget. We’ve spoiled her. She’s starting to act exactly like her mother—wild, selfish, and unstable.” Vicious. Just like her mother. Even inside my blanket, my tiny heart flinched at his words. I was glad Hannah had been taken away. I was glad she hadn’t heard that. I squirmed in my swaddle, making soft cooing sounds, trying to tell them that Hannah wasn’t bad. She was just terrified of being erased. But I couldn’t speak. I could only make meaningless baby noises. My mother smiled, completely misinterpreting my efforts. “Look at Gracie, trying to make her mommy feel better.” Five days later, my mother was discharged, and we returned home. The moment we walked through the door, Hannah was there waiting. My parents instantly stepped in front of me, shielding me from her view. But Hannah only let out a hollow, dry laugh. She slowly rolled up her sleeves. Her arms were covered in angry, overlapping welts—some red and fresh, others dark purple and scabbing over. “Grandma ‘educated’ me,” Hannah said, her eyes fixed on my parents. “I won’t be jealous of the baby anymore. So… you’ll still love me like you used to, right?” She stared at them, begging for reassurance. But my parents only looked at each other, letting out a collective sigh of relief. My father stepped forward and patted her head. “Of course, Hannah. You’ll always be our sweet girl.” They were so happy that she had finally “learned her lesson” that neither of them asked a single question about the horrific marks on her arms. Hannah lowered her head, slowly pulling her sleeves back down. I remembered how, just a few months ago, if Hannah so much as scraped her knee, my parents would hover over her, kissing the scratch and comforting her until she smiled. Now, she was covered in bruises, and they chose to look right past them. Hannah seemed to have truly changed. She helped my father carry the heavy stroller, and she even washed my baby bottles without being asked. Standing in the kitchen, my father whispered to my mother, “I guess letting your mother handle her was the right call. She’s actually behaving now.” Hannah’s hands froze in the soapy water. Then, she slowly resumed scrubbing. So, my parents had authorized the beating. That was why they didn’t ask. Hannah dried her hands, turned around, and looked at my father. “I’m finished,” she said quietly. “I really won’t hurt Gracie again. I understand now.” My father took the clean bottle. “I’m glad you understand. Your mother and I won’t stop loving you just because of the baby. You’re both our children.” My mother smiled warmly from the living room. In my bassinet, I let out a soft gurgle. I thought that, despite everything, our family was finally going to be okay. I promised myself that when I grew up, I would explain everything to our parents so they would never misunderstand Hannah again. 4 Later that afternoon, my parents went into the nursery to organize my clothes, leaving Hannah and me alone in the living room. I wiggled, reaching my tiny hands out toward her, making soft “Sis, sis” sounds. Hannah walked over to the bassinet, her expression guarded and complex. “You don’t hate me? After what I did to you?” I shook my head as best as my little body could, continuing to reach for her, begging for a hug. Hannah froze. “You… you want me to hold you?” I blinked, letting out a happy coo. She hesitated, her bruised fingers trembling as she slowly reached down toward me. But just as her hand was about to touch my blanket, a heavy slipper flew across the room, striking her squarely in the face. Hannah stumbled backward, gasping as her head snapped to the side. “You liar!” my father screamed, rushing into the room. “You said you wouldn’t hurt her! I knew you were pretending! Were you trying to choke her again?!” “I wasn’t!” Hannah shrieked, her voice cracking as she collapsed into tears. “She was reaching for me! She wanted me to hold her! I was just trying to hold her!” “Don’t lie to me!” My father didn’t listen. He snatched me out of the bassinet, shielding me behind his back. “She’s a newborn! She doesn’t know how to ask for hugs! You almost killed her last time, and now you’re trying to finish the job!” His chest heaved, his lips trembling with rage. My mother emerged from the nursery. She didn’t yell. She just stood there, looking at Hannah with a profound, quiet disappointment. But that silent disappointment was far more lethal than any slap. I panicked. Why couldn’t they see? I began to squirm violently, crying out to stop them from hurting her. But my father only held me tighter. “Did she scare you, my sweet girl? Daddy’s here. You’re safe.” “I didn’t do anything! I didn’t hurt her!” Hannah screamed, taking a desperate step forward to explain. But my father instinctively took a step back, shielding me further. Just half a step. But it was enough to freeze Hannah in her tracks. The frantic energy drained from her body, leaving her completely hollow. “You don’t believe me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “You never believed me… All those promises about still loving me… they were all lies.” She turned and bolted out the front door. “Hannah! Don’t you dare walk out that door!” my father roared after her. But she was already gone, her footsteps echoing down the stairwell. My mother made a move toward the door, but my father grabbed her arm. “Don’t go after her. She has nowhere else to go. She’ll be back when she gets hungry.” But a week passed, and Hannah never came home. And my parents never went to look for her. “It’s been over a week,” my mother murmured one evening, staring blankly at the dinner table. “Do you think she’s okay?” My father didn’t lift his head, expertly taping a fresh diaper onto me. “What could happen to her? She’s probably throwing a tantrum at your mother’s place. She’s got a wild streak; nobody’s going to mess with her.” My mother didn’t reply. “I should call my mom just to check.” Before she could reach for her phone, the doorbell rang. My father smiled, picking me up. “See? What did I tell you? She ran out of steam and came back on her own. We worried for nothing.” My mother let out a breath she seemed to have been holding for days and rushed to open the door. But it wasn’t Hannah. Grandma Ruth stood on the doormat, holding a plastic bag filled with baby rattles and stuffed animals. “I came to see my little angel!” she smiled, stepping inside. “My, she’s grown so much in just a few days.” Then, her face turned serious. “Oh, by the way, you two need to lock your doors. The neighborhood watch said there’s a predator wandering around the West District—some sick monster targeting young kids. Keep Gracie close.” My father waved his hand dismissively. “We’re with Gracie twenty-four hours a day. No one is getting near her.” My mother, however, was still looking past Grandma Ruth into the empty hallway. “Mom… where’s Hannah? Didn’t she come with you?” Grandma Ruth frowned. “What do you mean? Why would she be with me?” The color drained from my mother’s face. “Hannah ran away a week ago… we thought she was staying with you.” Grandma Ruth sighed, shaking her head. “She’s run away before. She’s probably at one of her aunts’ houses. Just text the family group chat and ask. She’s just trying to scare you.” My mother’s hands shook as she unlocked her phone. But before she could open her messages, the phone began to ring. It was an unknown local number. My mother pressed answer, her voice trembling. “Hello?” “Hello, is this the family of Hannah Lynn? This is the precinct detective’s office. We have recovered the body of a young female matching her description. We need you to come in for an identification.”

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If you asked anyone in Manhattan, they’d tell you Troy Locke worshipped the ground I walked on. Why else would the city’s most ruthless, undefeated defense attorney agree to represent my brother, a man accused of a brutal sexual assault? And not just any victim—the accuser was Mia Jenkins, Troy’s own protégé, the golden girl he had mentored for years. The press had a field day. Everyone assumed Troy would pull his usual legal magic and get my brother acquitted. Troy never lost. But he did lose. In just two months, the trial and the subsequent appeal ended in total, catastrophic failure. Worse than that. The initial sentence was three years. After the appeal, the charges were escalated to federal kidnapping and aggravated assault. The new sentence? Life without the possibility of parole in a maximum-security prison. A guaranteed death sentence for someone like my brother. When the news broke, the media camped out, waiting for me to lose my mind. Waiting for Grace Croft, the fiery actress who had just wrapped a closed-set shoot in Europe and stormed the courthouse steps during the first trial, to put on a hysterical show. But on the day of the final sentencing, the vultures outside the courthouse waited in vain. I wasn’t screaming. I was standing in a quiet, sterile bathroom down the hall, calmly holding a phone to my ear. “Declan,” I said, my voice eerily steady. “I’ll marry you. Just get your legal team to file a motion for a retrial for my brother.” Silence hummed on the line for two seconds. “I have faster ways to handle this, Grace. The appellate courts are a nightmare. Sam will be locked up for a long time while we fight it.” “It won’t be a hard fight.” I lowered my eyes, tracing the grout lines on the floor. “When we were in the foster system, Sam was in a terrible accident. He doesn’t have male anatomy. It is biologically impossible for him to have raped anyone.” 1 “We grew up in the worst parts of the city. Sam is deaf and mute. To find work, to protect me, he took so many beatings. After one of those brutal attacks, he underwent emergency surgery. Everything was removed.” I gripped the edge of the sink. “If the men in that prison find out what he is… it will be a fate worse than death. I swore I would take that secret to my grave.” A long beat of silence. “Does Troy know?” Declan asked. I didn’t answer. Once Declan agreed to send his team, I hung up and pushed the bathroom door open. I caught my reflection in the mirror—pale, hollowed out, a ghost of the woman I was yesterday. I forced the corners of my mouth up in a dark, bitter mimicry of a smile. Troy didn’t know. But until today, I genuinely thought he did. It had been a month since the initial guilty verdict. Troy was Sam’s defense attorney. He had unlimited access. All he had to do was ask Sam, and Sam, desperate to clear his name, would have found a way to tell him. When I flew back from Europe in a panic, Troy had taken my face in his hands and apologized. He blamed a biased jury. He promised me he would win the appeal. For two weeks, I barely saw him. He was supposedly working back channels, meeting with judges, pulling every string. I was running myself ragged gathering security footage that proved Sam wasn’t even there. I thought we were in the trenches together. But an hour ago, in that courtroom, Troy had stood before the judge and offered practically no defense against Mia’s lawyers. Worse, the flash drive containing the security footage I had painstakingly tracked down—the footage showing Sam leaving the building immediately after arguing with Mia—was mysteriously “lost” from Troy’s briefcase. “Grace!” My assistant, Bella, jogged down the corridor, her face flushed with anxiety. “There you are. We need to go out the loading dock. The press is swarming the front.” She touched my arm gently. “Troy did his best. Mia hired Judge Davis’s old firm. Nobody beats them.” She hesitated, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Though, I heard Judge Davis retired from private practice years ago. I have no idea how Mia got him to take her case…” My footsteps faltered. I stopped dead in the middle of the hallway. “Yeah,” I whispered. “How could Mia possibly get him?” Mia couldn’t. But Troy could. Judge Davis was Troy’s old mentor. The man was like a father to him. Years ago, the Judge had despised me, viewing me as a D-list actress gold-digger. He forbade Troy from marrying me. Troy stood in the pouring rain outside the Judge’s estate for twenty-four hours to prove his devotion to me. The Judge never opened the door. Troy chose me, and the two hadn’t spoken since. If it weren’t for this trial, I would have forgotten the old man’s face entirely. And if it weren’t for this trial, I never would have realized that the person Troy truly wanted to save wasn’t me. Right before the hearing began, Troy had gently told me to wait outside, claiming my emotional state might prejudice the judge. But when the gavel fell, sealing Sam’s fate, I couldn’t breathe. I had run to the bathroom to muffle my sobs. And that was when I heard it. Through the thin walls, from the adjacent corridor. Mia’s voice. “Troy,” she was crying, her voice thick with relief. “Thank you. Getting Judge Davis to represent me… destroying that security footage… If you hadn’t been with me every single night this past month, I would have killed myself.” It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. My blood stopped moving in my veins. Then came Troy’s voice. It was the same cool, authoritative tone he always used, but laced with a tender indulgence I hadn’t heard in years. “He hurt you, Mia. Professionally and personally, I was never going to let him get away with it.” They talked for a long time. And standing in that bathroom stall, everything finally clicked into agonizing clarity. From Sam’s arrest, to the indictment, to today. Two months. Troy was the defense attorney, and he hadn’t visited Sam in jail a single time. He didn’t “lose” my evidence. He threw it in the trash. He insisted on taking Sam’s case, isolating me from the process, purely to guarantee I didn’t hire a competent lawyer. He engineered the entire defense to ensure the man who supposedly hurt his precious protégé was locked away forever. And why had Mia framed Sam? Because a week before the arrest, Sam had confronted her, signing furiously, warning her to stop trying to destroy my marriage. I closed my eyes, a wave of nausea rolling over me. I remembered casually complaining to Sam that Mia was too clingy with Troy, that it made me anxious. I remembered the day I flew back, my brain short-circuiting at the news of Sam’s arrest. I had been a hysterical mess, screaming, “Sam couldn’t do this! Mia is lying! She belongs in a cell!” “I’m going to her apartment! I’m going to make her tell the truth!” But Troy had caught me by the shoulders, his gaze steady and reassuring. “Don’t go near her, Grace. I know Sam isn’t that kind of man. I’ll win the appeal. You just need to trust me. Let me handle it.” And I did. God, I trusted him. But the “win” he was working for was Mia’s. The “trust” he spoke of was his blind, unquestioning faith in Mia’s lies. If he had done the bare minimum of his job—if he had bothered to interview his own client—he would have known Sam couldn’t have raped anyone. Bella was still urging me forward. I walked mechanically until I rounded the corner and nearly collided with Troy. He was still in his bespoke suit, his tie perfectly knotted. He radiated that untouchable, elite aura that owned every room he walked into. His eyes flicked over my pale face, pausing for a fraction of a second before settling back into cool composure. “Where did you go?” he asked. “The clerk needs a family member to sign the acknowledgment of the sentence.” I looked down at the paperwork in his hand. The words swam, stinging my eyes. I didn’t take the paper. I just looked up at the man standing in front of me. Five years. I had loved that face for five years. I met him when he was just starting to make a name for himself. We were at a gala, and a group of predatory executives were trying to drink him under the table. He took every shot without complaining, though his jaw was tight with strain. I thought it was charming. I stepped in and took three shots of whiskey for him. Later, he asked me why I did it. “Because you remind me of my brother,” I had said. “You’re at your breaking point, but you refuse to let anyone see you bend.” Later, he won the lawsuit that freed me from a toxic management contract. He became my husband. I will never let you down, Grace, he had sworn. I stared at him in the quiet of the courthouse corridor. Troy’s brow furrowed slightly under my scrutiny. Finally, I opened my mouth. My voice was completely, terrifyingly calm. “Troy. I want a divorce.” 2 Troy’s frown deepened by a millimeter. “A divorce?” His tone was flat, dismissive. “This isn’t the time for one of your tantrums, Grace.” A passing court official—one of the prosecutors—paused, giving me a patronizing sigh. “Ms. Croft, Troy’s reputation has already taken a massive hit just by representing your brother. Mia Jenkins has an airtight evidence chain, and she had Judge Davis. An appeal was a pipe dream. Just sign the acknowledgment. If he goes to maximum security, Troy might still be able to pull strings to get him into a safer block.” My hands balled into fists. Sam was deaf. He was mute. He had survived the horrors of the foster system, survived the streets, survived unimaginable pain, and now he was being sent to a place where he would be slaughtered. And these men were telling me to stop throwing a tantrum. I took a slow, deep breath, my fingernails biting into my palms until the skin nearly broke. I wanted to scream the truth. I wanted to tell the whole damn courthouse that Sam was biologically incapable of this crime. But I couldn’t. Not yet. Troy had deliberately tanked this case. He had thrown my brother to the wolves for Mia. I had no idea how deep their twisted relationship went, or how far Troy would go to protect her. If I played my hand now, Troy would just bury the medical records. He would find another way to crush Sam. I didn’t even know if Sam was being threatened in holding right now. I couldn’t afford to be impulsive. I couldn’t fight Troy on his home turf while I was utterly isolated. I needed to tear this self-righteous, untouchable lawyer down to his very foundations. Taking my silence for submission, Troy reached out and wrapped his hand around my wrist. “Let’s go home. We’ll discuss the next steps later.” As we pushed through the heavy doors toward the private parking garage, Troy’s cell phone rang. Through the earpiece, I could hear Mia’s voice, trembling and thick with tears. Troy’s face softened instantly. “Don’t panic,” he murmured. “I’ll be right there.” He hung up and looked at me, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. “Mia got ambushed by the paparazzi at the front entrance. She’s having a panic attack. I need to go handle it. Have my driver take you home.” I didn’t say a word. Troy studied me. I was being too quiet. But he didn’t have time to dissect my mood. He signaled his driver, turned on his heel, and strode away. Bella and I followed the driver to Troy’s black Porsche Cayenne. The driver pulled the passenger door open for me. As I bent to slide in, my peripheral vision caught something in the footwell of the passenger seat. A scrap of black lace. A pair of women’s underwear. Bella followed my gaze, her face flushing crimson. “What… what the hell is that?!” The driver froze, stammering. “It… it might be a rag? Ms. Jenkins leaves things in the car sometimes when Troy gives her a lift to work.” “A rag?!” Bella’s voice went up an octave. “Do you think we’re stupid?” Before anyone could say another word, the sound of shouting erupted behind us. A rogue group of protesters and paparazzi had breached the garage. “Have some shame! Defending a rapist!” Suddenly, something wet and heavy hit the side of my head. Rotting vegetables and cracked eggs rained down on us. “Your brother ruined that poor girl’s life! How dare you get in that car!” “You’re dragging Troy Locke’s name through the mud! Do him a favor and leave him alone!” Bella threw her arms around me, using her body as a shield. Slime dripped from my hair, the stench of sulfur running down my cheek. I didn’t flinch. I just looked at the lace underwear sitting in my husband’s car. A quiet, hollow laugh slipped past my lips. I turned around and walked out of the garage, leaving the car behind. 3 When I got back to the penthouse, I stood under the scalding water of the shower for an hour. I stepped out just as Troy unlocked the front door. He wasn’t alone. Mia was tucked safely behind him, her face streaked with delicate tears. Troy’s eyes flicked to the pile of my soiled, egg-stained clothes on the floor, but he didn’t ask what happened. Mia shrank back, pressing herself against Troy’s shoulder as if my mere presence terrified her. Troy shifted his weight, subtly blocking her from my view. His tone was perfectly level. “Mia is highly traumatized right now. The press overwhelmed her. I brought her here to calm down.” I stared at them. I saw the way Mia’s fingers curled into the fabric of his suit. I saw the fleeting, venomous smirk that flashed in her eyes before she buried her face in his back. “Get out,” I rasped, my stomach violently churning. Troy’s brow instantly pinched in displeasure. Suddenly, Mia lunged forward, collapsing to her knees on the hardwood floor right in front of me. “Grace, I am so sorry!” she wailed. “It’s all my fault! I never should have gone to the police!” “Troy has mentored me for years, and now I’ve ruined your marriage! Please, hit me! Punish me!” She crawled forward on her knees. But as she got closer, the sobbing stopped. Her lips barely moved, her voice dropping to a vicious, microscopic whisper meant only for me. “Those protesters in the garage? Troy had security tip them off. He needed a distraction so he could sneak me out the front.” My entire body went rigid. Mia’s voice grew even softer, practically a purr. “Your freak of a brother cried like a baby when they dragged him away. But who can he blame? Who told him to play the hero and threaten me? Who the hell is he to tell me to stay away from Troy?” She paused, a sickening smile touching her lips. “Grace, Troy trusts me so implicitly. He personally made the calls. Skipped standard procedure and sent your mute brother straight to hell.” A high-pitched ringing erupted in my ears. Without a single thought, I raised my hand and swung. My wrist was caught mid-air. Troy held my arm. His grip wasn’t bruising, but it was absolute rock. He looked down at me, his face devoid of emotion—the hallmark of his rising anger. “Grace.” He used to say my name like that when I worked too many hours on set, or when he missed me. I stared back at him. My eyes were entirely devoid of warmth. I was looking at a stranger. My gaze was so dead, so freezing cold, that Troy actually flinched. He opened his mouth to say something, but Mia suddenly let out a bloodcurdling scream. “No! Stay away from me!” She curled into a fetal position on the rug, violently shaking, her eyes locked onto a framed photograph on the console table. It was the first picture Sam and I took together after leaving the foster system. We were grinning, faces pressed together. “He’s looking at me! He’s going to hurt me again!” Mia babbled incoherently. Troy instantly released my wrist and dropped to one knee, pulling Mia into his chest. “Make it go away! Please, Troy, make it stop…” she sobbed into his shirt. Troy reached up and laid the photo frame face down. “I’ll put it in storage,” he told me, his tone leaving no room for argument. But Mia shrieked louder. She scrambled out of his arms, grabbed the heavy silver frame, and smashed it against the edge of the table. Glass shattered across the floor. My heart felt like it fractured with it. I dropped to my knees, frantically trying to gather the pieces of the photo. Troy frowned. “Grace, stop, I have the digital backups—” But Mia was already moving. She went through the living room like a hurricane, grabbing every single photo that had Sam in it and hurling them to the floor. Troy didn’t stop her. He actually reached up to the high mantle to hand her a frame she couldn’t reach. She kept going until she pointed a shaking finger at a massive canvas on the wall. It was our wedding photo. “She looks just like him!” Mia shuddered, pointing at my face. “I’m terrified…” This time, Troy’s hand stopped in mid-air. In the photo, I was wearing a Vera Wang gown, smiling so brightly it hurt to look at. Troy reached out and gently covered Mia’s eyes. “Then don’t look,” he said softly. “I’m taking you out of here.” I let out a harsh, broken laugh. “Get out.” I stood up, walked over to the wall, ripped our wedding canvas off the hook, and threw it onto the pile of shattered glass. Troy’s jaw tightened. “There is no need to be vindictive to a victim of trauma, Grace.” “Get the fuck out!” I screamed, my whole body vibrating. “Both of you, get out of my house!” Troy scooped Mia up in his arms and walked out the door without looking back. I collapsed onto the ruined floor. My mind drifted to the first case he ever won for me. I was a nobody, trapped in a predatory contract. He went to war for me, making his name in the process. At the victory party, slightly drunk, he kissed my forehead in front of everyone. From now on, Grace, I protect you. No one in this world is allowed to bully you. I touched the cold glass on the floor, let out a dry breath, and walked into my study. 4 The next morning, I walked straight into Troy’s law firm. I pushed open the heavy oak doors to his private office. Mia was sitting on Troy’s lap, their lips locked together. Troy broke away instantly, his eyes snapping to mine. He hurriedly shifted Mia off his lap. “She’s having a panic attack. She was hyperventilating. It was grounding technique,” he said. For the first time in his life, Troy Locke sounded flustered. I didn’t care. I felt nothing. I walked to his mahogany desk and dropped a manila folder in front of him. Troy felt a sudden, suffocating wave of panic. In the past, if Mia even touched his arm, I would have thrown a fit. I would have demanded answers. Now? I didn’t even blink. “Sign it,” I said. “It’s the termination of your legal representation for my brother.” He looked down at the folder, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You want to file for a retrial? Grace, without new, exculpatory evidence, an appellate judge won’t even look at it.” I stared at him, the ghost of a smile pulling at my lips. “I had evidence. But you threw it in the trash.” Mia instantly started weeping. “Grace, why are you doing this?! Please don’t forge evidence just to make Troy’s life harder…” “Your brother destroyed me! Doesn’t he have to pay for what he did?” She clutched her chest, performing a flawless hyperventilation act. Troy gently rubbed circles into her back, but his eyes were locked on my dead, unyielding stare. He hesitated, then picked up his Montblanc pen and scrawled his signature across the documents. “I signed it. Now please leave. You’re triggering her.” He didn’t even read the pages underneath. He didn’t notice that the second document in the stack was a petition for divorce. The most meticulous, paranoid defense attorney in New York lost every ounce of his intellect the second Mia shed a tear. How pathetic. I turned on my heel and walked out. It was mid-April, but as I stepped onto the Manhattan pavement, snow had begun to fall. Unseasonal, bitter snow. I looked up at the grey sky. Maybe the universe felt the injustice, too. Snowflakes landed on my cheeks, melting and mixing with the hot tears I hadn’t realized I was crying. I wiped my face violently. I met Declan’s high-powered legal team at the federal courthouse. We submitted the backup files of the security footage and the sealed medical records proving Sam’s biological reality. “We’ll file the motion for retrial and push for emergency visitation,” the lead attorney told me. “Just wait for our call.” I submitted the signed divorce papers to the clerk. When I returned to the penthouse, I started packing. But after staring at my closet for ten minutes, I realized I didn’t want a single thing from this life. I slid the diamond ring off my finger, placed it exactly in the center of the coffee table, and walked toward the front door. I yanked it open, only to slam directly into a solid chest. Troy. His eyes were bloodshot, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. He grabbed my arm and practically dragged me into the elevator, hauling me out to his car and driving straight to the hospital. “Are you insane, Grace?!” he roared as he drove. “Do you have to torture her? Why are you so damn malicious? Why would you send those photos?!” “What photos?” I asked, my voice numb. “Mia received printed photos of the assault! Graphic, humiliating photos of her trauma. Who else would do that but you?” I shook my head. “I didn’t—” A piercing shriek echoed from the hospital room at the end of the hall as we stepped off the elevator. Troy dropped my arm and sprinted inside. Mia was huddled in the corner of the hospital bed. The second she saw me in the doorway, she scrambled backward like a cornered animal. “No! Keep her away from me!” Before anyone could react, she grabbed a silver fruit knife from her lunch tray and pressed the blade against her own throat. “Please stop torturing me, Grace! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Troy froze, his hands raised, his legendary composure shattering. “Mia. Put the knife down. Please.” Mia’s eyes were wild, locked onto my face. “Her face looks exactly like his! He’s the one who raped me! I can’t look at her! I want to die!” She pressed the blade harder. A thin line of blood welled up on her neck. Troy squeezed his eyes shut. A second later, his eyes snapped open. He looked at the two burly orderlies standing by the door. “Hold my wife down,” he ordered.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “460701”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My husband was the undisputed king of Manhattan’s venture capital scene. He also had an adopted sister—a petulant, genius hacker. For eight years, their dynamic was high-profile and exhausting: she broke things, and he swept up the pieces. Until yesterday, when she hacked my car’s braking system, sending me hurtling off a cliff. As he signed my emergency surgical consent form at the hospital, he only sighed: “Don’t blame Talia. She was just playing a game. She didn’t actually want to kill you.” “She knew I got you the best medical team. It was just a stupid prank to scare you.” Just as his pen left the paper, his assistant called. Talia was being harassed at some upscale lounge downtown. Damian dropped the pen and ran. He left in such a rush that he didn’t even notice he had checked the wrong box for my blood type. Then, the long-dormant System in my mind finally flickered to life: [Death by the male lead’s hand will instantly complete the mission. Hemolytic shock from mismatched blood transfusion will trigger terminal failure. Does the Host accept the process?] I stared at the dark red bag of blood the nurse was bringing over, and smiled. “Let’s begin.” … “Are you sure about this, Mrs. Wayne? This is Type A blood,” the nurse asked. She held the bag up, the veins on the back of her hand bulging slightly under the tension. Her eyes were filled with hesitation, even panic. “Give it to me,” my voice was impossibly calm. “My husband signed the consent form himself. How could he possibly be wrong?” The nurse bit her lip, let out a slow sigh, and tore open the sterile packaging of the IV line. The thick needle slid smoothly into the vein on the back of my hand. The dark fluid began its slow, rhythmic drip down the clear tubing, entering my bloodstream drop by drop. The System’s mechanical voice chimed in my mind right on time. [Host has accepted the incorrect blood type. Fatal hemolytic reaction countdown initiated. Time remaining: 72 hours.] I closed my eyes. I could feel the foreign cells waging war inside my veins. Within thirty minutes, a sharp, white-hot ache bloomed in my lower back, as if someone were methodically hammering a dull chisel into my bones. Shivers racked my body; I pulled the thin hospital blanket tight around me, but my teeth chattered uncontrollably. Then, the door was kicked open. Damian strode in, bringing with him the suffocating stench of expensive whiskey, stale smoke, and cheap club air. There were even a few tacky, iridescent sequins stuck to the collar of his bespoke Italian suit. Behind him was Talia, entirely untouched. She was wearing a provocative sequined slip dress, her eyes artistically rimmed with red. Like a startled fawn, she clung tightly to Damian’s sleeve. “What kind of tantrum are you throwing now?” Damian demanded, standing over my bed. His brow was furrowed, his eyes dripping with irritation. “The doctor said you only have minor abrasions. Who are you putting on this shivering act for?” I gritted my teeth, riding out a wave of agony in my kidneys. Cold sweat coated my forehead. “I’m cold,” I whispered through clenched teeth. He scoffed, loosening his tie with an aggressive tug. “Cold? The thermostat is set to seventy-eight degrees. You’re telling me you’re freezing?” He turned to Talia, his voice softening instantly. “Talia, go turn off the AC. Otherwise, your sister-in-law will just find another excuse to complain.” Talia nodded meekly and flicked the wall switch. Then she turned back, looking at me with wide, tearful eyes. “Gemma, I’m so sorry. I swear I didn’t mean to mess with your brakes.” “I just wanted to test my new exploit script. Damian already chewed me out. Please don’t be mad at me, okay?” She spoke softly, tears slipping down her cheeks. Damian stepped forward, shielding her from my view. “That’s enough. Why are you apologizing to her?” “She’s lying there perfectly fine, isn’t she?” He glared at me. “Gemma, Talia was almost assaulted at the club tonight.” “She’s traumatized, yet she still came all this way to apologize.” “And you can’t even offer a decent look? Don’t you think you’re taking this too far?” I looked at his righteous face and felt a sudden, hysterical urge to laugh. My car spun out of control on a mountain road, crashed through the guardrails, and nearly plunged into a ravine. I was pulled from the wreckage covered in blood. And all he cared about was whether his precious little sister had her feelings hurt at a bar. “She’s traumatized?” My voice was raspy, scraping against my throat. “She went clubbing, got hit on, and that’s trauma? What about me? I almost burned alive in that car. What does that count as?” Damian’s scowl deepened. “Do you have to constantly bring up death?” “I hired the best specialists in the city for you.” “Besides, your SUV has a top-of-the-line collision system. Talia calculated the impact—she knew you’d be fine.” Calculated. I looked up at the IV bag. The dark red poison was dripping steadily, systematically destroying my organs. Oh, yes. She calculated everything. She even calculated that today would be my last. “Damian,” I said, my voice as faint as a passing breeze. “What if I actually die?” He froze for a fraction of a second, before a look of utter disgust replaced his hesitation. “Are you really playing this card again?” “Every time Talia makes a mistake, you threaten me with your life.” “Gemma, do you have any idea how exhausting you’re being?” He pulled up a chair and sat down, crossing his long legs. “Stop acting.” “If you’re really in pain, I’ll have the nurse pump you full of painkillers.” “Talia is terrified tonight, so I’m staying with her. You can use this quiet time to reflect on your attitude.” I said nothing. My temperature was soaring, and my vision was beginning to blur. My chest felt like a furnace, every breath a searing inhalation of ash. The classic onset of acute hemolysis. My red blood cells were rupturing en masse. “Is Gemma really okay?” Talia asked, peeking out from behind Damian’s shoulder. “Her face is so red. Does she have a fever?” Damian didn’t even bother to look closely. “Fever? She’s just seething because I didn’t drop everything to hold her hand.” He stood up, looming over my bed with cold eyes. “Gemma, let me warn you one last time.” “Drop these pathetic, jealous mind games.” “Talia is my sister. I protect her—that’s the way it is.” “If you treat her like garbage again, don’t expect me to keep playing the doting husband.” I looked at him and forced a pale, bloodless smile. “Alright.” “Then you make sure… you protect her well.” He sneered, grabbing Talia’s hand. “Let’s go. Don’t waste your breath on a crazy woman.” The door slammed shut. I stared at the near-empty IV bag and closed my eyes. “System. Turn up the pain suppression to the maximum.” [Understood, Host. Pain block initiated at 100%. Safe travels.] The click of high heels signaled Talia’s return. Damian wasn’t with her. Her vulnerable, tearful facade dissolved instantly, replaced by a cruel, smug satisfaction. I ignored her. The fever had left my body weak, and my breath tasted of copper. Talia walked over, casually tapping the IV line. “Tsk, tsk. How pathetic.” “You know, Damian was just complaining in the hallway about how high-maintenance you are.” She leaned down, whispering mockingly. “He said you aren’t worth a single hair on my head.” I forced my eyes open and looked at her coldly. “Are you done?” “If you are, get out.” Talia only laughed. “Oh, Gemma, still so prideful. But don’t worry, you won’t be able to act tough for much longer.” She pulled a compact, hand-sized microcomputer from her designer bag. Her fingers flew over the keys, the screen casting a pale blue glow on her face. “Damian thinks you’re faking it, but I think you look a little too real.” “How about I make your medical charts look a bit more… authentic?” The moment her fingers pressed enter, the multi-parameter monitor beside my bed screeches. Beep! Beep! Beep! The red warning lights flashed frantically. My heart rate spiked to 180 on the screen, while my blood pressure plummets past the critical threshold. The shrill alarm echoed down the entire corridor. I watched her with flat, detached eyes. She wasn’t just a hacker; she was a sociopath with no boundaries. Frantic footsteps rushed down the hall. “What happened?!” Damian burst in first, his face pale. A swarm of panicked doctors and nurses followed. Talia, with practiced ease, had already slipped the device back into her bag. She cowered in the corner, covering her ears, trembling. “Damian! I don’t know! I didn’t touch anything!” “The machine just started screaming! I’m scared!” She buried her face in his chest, sobbing hysterically. Damian wrapped his arms around her, rubbing her back to soothe her. The doctor rushed to my bedside, checking the wires. “Strange. The patient’s physical state looks stable, why did the monitor go off?” He rebooted the system. Instantly, the vitals returned to normal on the screen. Damian’s expression darkened to a terrifying pitch. He calmed Talia down, then turned a murderous glare upon me. “Gemma, is there no end to your antics?!” he roared. “To force me to stay, you’re tampering with hospital equipment now?” “Do you have any idea how many critical patients actually need these resources?!” I lay there, looking at his furious face. “You think I did this?” I didn’t even have the strength to lift my arm, let alone hack a closed-circuit medical monitor. Damian laughed bitterly. “Who else could it be?” “You’re so consumed by jealousy that you’ll do anything to frame Talia!” He stormed over and ripped the blanket off me. “Get up!” “Apologize to Talia. Right now!” A wave of cold air hit my feverish skin. I broke into a violent fit of coughing, the metallic taste of blood pooling in the back of my throat. I swallowed it down and look up at him with the eyes of someone staring at a corpse. “Damian.” I whispered. “Are you out of your mind?” He froze. In our seven years of marriage, I had never spoken to him in this tone. I was always the gentle, accommodating, yielding wife. “Did you just call me crazy?” he snarled, his knuckles whitening. “I called you an idiot.” I calmly reached out and yanked the power cord of the monitor from the wall. The screeching alarm stopped. Silence descended. “The next time you two want to play victim, leave me out of it,” I said, turning my back to him. “It’s disgusting.” Damian fustrates, his fists cracking. “Fine. You want to be stubborn? Enjoy your own company then!” “Let’s see how long you can hold onto this pride!” He grabbed Talia’s hand. “Damian, does Gemma really hate me?” Talia whimpered as they walked out. “Ignore her. She’s lost her mind.” Their footsteps faded. I closed my eyes and swallowed another mouthful of blood. “System. How much time do I have?” [Remaining time: 60 hours.] “Perfect,” I whispered. “Soon.” The TV in the room was playing softly in the background. A breaking news report flashed on screen. “Wayne Group’s proprietary autonomous driving system, Odyssey, has experienced a severe security breach. Earlier today, multiple vehicles equipped with the software lost control on the interstate, causing a massive ten-car pile-up. No fatalities have been reported yet…” I leaned against my pillow, wiping the blood from my lip. My vision was doubling; my organs were actively shutting down. Damian was standing by the window, screaming into his phone. “What the hell is PR doing?! Bury the story! Spend whatever it takes!” “Find a scapegoat—blame a bug in the outsourced contractor’s code!” He ripped off his tie and hurled it onto the sofa. Talia was curled up in the corner, twisting her fingers with an innocent pout. “Damian, I’m sorry… I just thought their core logic was so boring. I only added a little backdoor program to give them a surprise. I didn’t think it would cause an actual crash…” Damian sighed, walked over, and stroked her hair. “It’s fine. I’ll handle it.” “Just don’t do it again. The media loves to sensationalize these things. It’s just a few fender benders; we’ll pay them off.” A wave of nausea hit me. Dozens of lives on that highway. To him, it was just a little mischief and a settlement check. Fighting the agony of organ failure, I pulled my laptop out from under my pillow. The familiar tactile feel of the keys helped me focus. My fingers flew across the keyboard, typing lines of script. Damian would try to wipe every trace of Talia’s digital footprint. I had to pack and encrypt her raw files before I went. The progress bar inched forward. My vision was nearly gone; I was typing entirely by muscle memory. “What are you doing now?” Damian asked, hanging up. He noticed the laptop, walked over, and slammed the lid shut. “The company is in crisis, and you’re playing on your computer? Gemma, do you even have a heart?” I looked up at his frantic, angry face. “A heart?” I let out a dry laugh and spit a bloody glob of phlegm onto the floor. “Damian, you’re harboring a criminal who actively endangered public safety, and you’re lecturing me on having a heart?” His face paled, his expression turning venomous. “Watch your mouth!” “Talia is just a girl—what does she know?” “Don’t think because you sat at home all these years you understand how business works!” Talia clung to his arm, looking at me. “Gemma, are you going to report me because you hate me? But you don’t have any proof.” She winked, her smile malicious. “Damian already had all my logs deleted.” “Even if you call the cops, they won’t believe a word.” I opened the laptop again. “Is that so?” I pressed enter. An encrypted package was sent to a cloud server. It contained not just her tampering with the Odyssey system, but seven years of corporate espionage, server breaches, and stolen proprietary trade secrets. “Gemma, I warned you!” Damian reached to snatch the laptop. I pulled back, looking at him with absolute detachment. “Relax. I didn’t call the police.” “I’m just writing my will.” Damian’s hand froze mid-air. He looked at my ghostly pale face, then scoffed. “A will? For a minor accident? You’re completely unhinged.” He grabbed Talia’s arm. “Let’s go, Talia. Let her play her crazy games alone.” The moment the door clicked shut, my strength evaporated. I collapsed back onto the pillow. The scheduled email delivery program was active. Timer set: three days after my death. “System,” I gasped, my breath shallow. “How long?” [Remaining time: 12 hours. Total organ failure has begun.] I looked out the window as night fell, and closed my eyes. “Let’s not wait.” The sterile room was quiet, save for my wet, struggling breaths. Hemolysis had reached its irreversible end. My kidneys had shut down, and my lungs were filling with fluid. Every breath felt like swallowing broken glass. Outside, a sudden burst of fireworks illuminated the night sky, their thunderous booms echoing through the double-paned glass. The System thoughtfully projected a virtual screen in my mind. On it, I saw Damian. He had rented out the entire private amusement park on the waterfront for Talia. Under the dazzling display of lights, Talia wore a diamond tiara, smiling like a princess. Damian stood beside her, looking at her with indulgent affection. “Congratulations on getting through this, Talia,” he said, handing her a glass of champagne. “Whatever system you want to play with next, I’ll buy you the company.” I looked at the screen and find I didn’t even have the energy to scoff. Suddenly, the hospital room door was thrown open. The night nurse took one look at me and screamed. “Doctor! Code blue in room three! The patient is in shock!” Chaos erupted. The crash cart was wheeled in; the bright surgical lights blinded my fading vision. “Heart rate dropping! No blood pressure!” “Push epinephrine, now!” The doctors’ desperate shouts sounded muffled, as if I were underwater. “Where is the emergency contact? Get the husband on the phone for the DNR and death notice!” A nurse frantically dialed Damian’s number. On my mental screen, Damian’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He frowned and pulled it out. The caller ID read “Mercy Central Hospital.” Talia glanced at the screen and pouted. “Damian, Gemma is playing the boy-who-cried-wolf again. She’s just mad because you’re with me.” Damian sneered and pressed decline. The nurse dialed again. This time, the call went straight to an automated message: “The number you have dialed is currently unavailable…” He blocked me. He blocked the hospital. “We can’t get through! He blocked us!” the nurse cried out, on the verge of tears. The doctor gritted his teeth, continuing chest compressions. “Keep going! Don’t stop!” I watched their futile efforts and issued my final command to the System. “System. Press enter for me.” [Command confirmed. Scheduled files locked. Release set for 72 hours from now. Host, your vitals are flatlining.] With my remaining strength, I looked out the window one last time. The final firework burst, then dissolved into pitch blackness. Just like our seven years of marriage. The monitor flatlines. Beeeeeeeeeeeeep— The long, unbroken tone cut through the panic. I felt my body grow incredibly light. [Congratulations, Host. Mission completed: ‘Death by the hand of the Male Lead’. Transitioning protocols initiating. Please stand by.] I opened my eyes and found myself floating above the room. Below, the doctors slowly stopped their compressions and pulled the white sheet over my face. “Time of death: 2:14 AM.”

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On my wedding day, my fiancé slid the diamond ring meant for me onto my sister’s finger right in front of my eyes. I stood there, frozen, watching Toby cup Daphne’s face and press a tender kiss to her lips. My mind went completely blank. Before I could even process the sight, Toby took Daphne by the hand and walked out of the bridal boutique. “Stop!” I lunged forward to chase after them, but my parents stepped in, blocking my path like a wall of cold stone. My father’s voice was devoid of warmth. “Toby’s heart has always belonged to Daphne.” My mother sniffed, her eyes scanning me with disdain. “You’ve barely been back with the Clifford family, and already you’re trying to steal your sister’s man?” I stared at them, the shock hollow out my chest. “Mom, Dad… I’m the one who’s engaged to Toby. I’m his fiancée.” “You flatter yourself,” my father countered coldly. “Only a true daughter of the Clifford bloodline is fit for a Dwight. Daphne is the only one who belongs with Toby.” A bitter laugh escaped me. “Are you saying I’m a fake?” “Daphne grew up under our roof, in our warmth,” my mother said, her chin tilting up. “The bond we share with her isn’t something that can be replaced by twenty years of you drifting out there in the world like a stray. You had better behave yourself. No tears, no scenes. The prestige of the Clifford name was given to you by us, and we can strip it away just as easily.” The silence stretched between us. Slowly, the tension left my shoulders. I smiled, letting the corners of my mouth curl upward. “Fine. Then I hope they grow old together and rot.” … I pulled off the tulle veil with an indifferent flick of my wrist and tossed it into the stainless-steel trash can beside the mirror. The boutique manager’s face twitched. She cleared her throat, her voice tight with anxiety. “Miss Clifford… that veil is a custom piece. It’s highly expensive…” “Bill them,” I said, pointing a lazy finger toward my parents. Perhaps pricked by a tiny, lingering shred of guilt, neither of them argued. My father simply gestured for the manager to put it on their corporate account. Stepping out of the air-conditioned boutique into the humid city air, I raised a hand to hail a cab. My father’s heavy footsteps sounded behind me. “We know this is hard for you, Flora. But it’s the reality of things. Even if you don’t want to accept it, you have to.” “Exactly,” my mother chimed in, catching up. “You probably think we’re just favoring Daphne, but the truth is, Toby never loved you in the first place.” I turned my head, looking at them through narrowed eyes. “No need to explain. And please, don’t waste your breath comforting me. I accept the outcome. I really don’t care.” They had expected a breakdown. They had expected me to scream, to tear at my dress, to lose my mind over the betrayal of my sister and my fiancé. They never could have anticipated this hollow, chilling silence. What they didn’t know was that I had lived this life once before. And more importantly… I didn’t even belong to this world. In my previous life, my soul had been inexplicably pulled into this parallel universe. I had woken up bewildered, only to be “found” and reclaimed by the wealthy Clifford family as their long-lost eldest daughter. But it was a trap. Under Daphne’s meticulous, cruel machinations, I had been tormented, isolated, and eventually driven to a painful death. That death, however, had triggered something unexpected: a “Vengeance System.” The system didn’t just bring me back to life; it gave me a mission. And this time, I had a cosmic shield. My parents stood on the sidewalk, staring blankly as I slid into the back of a black sedan and drove away. I gave the driver the address to my apartment, but the car didn’t head toward the city center. Instead, the streets grew narrower, the buildings sparser, until we were speeding toward a sprawling, half-abandoned construction site on the desolate outskirts of town. Looking out at the skeletal concrete structures overgrown with weeds, I didn’t panic. I merely frowned, meeting the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Why did you bring me here?” The driver let out a harsh laugh. “Miss Daphne’s orders. You’re taking a little vacation for the next week. Hand over your phone, Miss Clifford, and let’s make this easy. No need to get hurt.” I didn’t argue. I nodded, pulling my phone from my pocket and placing it in his outstretched hand. He had me step out of the car, then used a thick nylon rope to bind my hands and feet. I remained perfectly still, offering no resistance. Once I was secured against a concrete pillar, he dialed a number. “It’s done,” he said into the receiver. “She’s secure. Under complete control.” After hanging up, the driver hauled a large cardboard box out of his trunk. It was packed with instant noodles, bottled water, and canned goods—provisions meant to last. “I’ve got water and food here. If you get hungry, let me know,” he said, his voice dropping into a flatter, more professional tone. He dragged a folding chair over to the entrance of the unfinished room, sitting down to keep watch. For a long time, we simply stared at each other. Perhaps unnerved by my absolute calm, the driver shifted uncomfortably, looking away. “Look, Miss Clifford, as long as you cooperate and stay quiet this week, I won’t lay a finger on you. I promise.” “Thank you,” I replied softly. There was no anger in my voice, no trembling fear. I actually sounded grateful. The driver blinked, completely thrown off. “Your name is Frank Dolan, right? Your daughter is very sweet,” I said. Frank’s entire body went rigid. He snapped his head back toward me, his eyes wide and wild. “I met her once,” I continued, my voice steady, carrying softly through the empty concrete hall. “We talked for a bit. She told me her dad was the greatest man in the whole world. It’s a shame. She doesn’t know her hero is actually a kidnapper.” Frank scrambled out of his chair, lunging toward me until he was hovering inches from my face. “When did you see my daughter?” “Her name is Gracie, isn’t it?” “You…” Frank’s face drained of color. If he had any doubts before, the mention of her name shattered them. He knew I wasn’t bluffing. I really knew his little girl. “I know about her medical bills, Frank. I know you’re doing this dirty work for Daphne because you need the cash for her surgery. But have you thought about what happens when she gets better? What happens when she grows up and realizes her life was bought with the blood money that sent her father to a federal penitentiary?” My voice softened, dripping with quiet pity. “How is she supposed to live with that? She’ll carry that guilt like a stone in her chest. It’ll drive her mad.” “Stop it!” Frank roared, his voice cracking. “Enough! Don’t talk about her!” He slammed his hands over his ears, pacing back and forth, his face twisted in an agonizing struggle between desperation and morality. “I know it’s wrong!” he screamed at the empty walls. “But what choice do I have? I can’t just sit by and watch my little girl die in a hospital bed! Even if she hates me for being a criminal, even if she never wants to look at me again—if she’s alive, it’s worth it!” With a ragged breath, Frank turned and bolted out of the building, unable to bear the weight of my gaze. But less than ten minutes later, his footsteps echoed back into the concrete shell. He stood before me, his eyes bloodshot, his fists shaking. “You win, Flora. I can’t do this. I won’t let my daughter spend her life ashamed of me. I won’t let her be the girl whose father is in prison.” He knelt down, slicing through the nylon ropes with a pocketknife, then gestured toward his car. “Get in. I’m taking you back to the city. If you want to call the police, do it now.” He pulled my phone from his pocket and pressed it into my hand. I looked at his pale, trembling hands, then quietly slid the phone into my pocket. Frank stared at me, bewildered. “Miss Clifford… you’re not calling the cops?” “No need.” I paused, looking him dead in the eye. “You realized your mistake. I’m willing to give you a chance to make it right.” Frank’s brows furrowed. He wasn’t stupid; he knew mercy in this world always came with a price. “What do you want me to do?” I smiled. “Come with me to the wedding. Tell everyone exactly what Daphne made you do.” Frank immediately shook his head, stepping back. “No. Absolutely not.” “Why?” “Miss Daphne has been incredibly generous to my family,” Frank explained, his voice thick with conflicted loyalty. “She paid for Gracie’s first surgery out of her own pocket. I’ve already failed her by letting you go, and I feel sick about it. I can’t go on a stage and publicly destroy her. I just can’t. I’ll drive you back to the city center, but after that, I’m out.” He turned toward the driver’s side door, but before his hand could touch the handle, the roar of multiple engines shattered the quiet of the wasteland. Three dark SUVs tore through the dirt, kicking up clouds of yellow dust as they swerved to box Frank’s car in. The doors flew open, and a dozen rough-looking men armed with heavy metal pipes stepped out. The lead thug, a brute with a scarred jaw, dragged Frank and me out into the open. “Who the hell are you guys?” Frank gasped, clutching his bruised arm. Before the leader could answer, I looked at the pipes in their hands and whispered, “They’re Daphne’s cleanup crew. They’re here to make sure neither of us speaks again.” The leader chuckled, a cold, dry sound. “Well, aren’t you a clever girl, Miss Clifford?” He stepped closer, his boots crunching on the gravel. “But you know what they say about clever girls. They don’t live very long.” Frank’s eyes went wide. “No… Miss Daphne wouldn’t do this. She wouldn’t order a hit!” “Are you really that naive, Frank?” the leader sneered. “Miss Daphne knew you were soft. She knew a guy like you, acting out of desperate love for his kid, would eventually fold. That’s why she kept us on standby. Just in case you messed up.” Without another word, the leader raised a hand and gave a sharp, downward flick of his wrist. His eyes gleamed with a chilling finality. “Make it clean. No witnesses.” The thugs lunged forward. Frank reacted instantly. “Get in the car and lock the doors!” he screamed, throwing himself into the path of the nearest man. He fought like a wild animal, driven by pure survival instinct, but he was outnumbered and outmatched. Within seconds, a pipe caught him across the ribs, and he went down, coughing up dark blood as the boots kept coming. The leader turned his attention to me, walking with slow, deliberate steps. “Miss Clifford,” he sighed mockingly. “You spent twenty years living in the gutter. Why did you have to come back and try to take what belongs to Miss Daphne? You got nothing out of it. And now you’re going to lose your life. It’s almost tragic.” He reached out, his thick, dirty fingers aiming for my throat. But I didn’t back down. My arm, which had been hidden behind my back, swung forward with everything I had. Crack. The jagged, heavy concrete stone I had scooped up from the ground smashed squarely into his temple. He hadn’t expected me to fight. He certainly hadn’t expected a girl in a wedding dress to strike with lethal, calculated precision. With a sickening groan, his eyes rolled back, and his massive body crumpled to the dirt. A thick, crimson stream began to pool rapidly from the gash on his head. I didn’t hesitate. I dropped to my knees, grabbed him by the collar, and pulled his upper body up, holding the sharp, blood-smeared stone directly over his eye. “Tell them to stop!” I yelled. But the leader’s head lolled to the side. He was completely unconscious. The other thugs were still brutally kicking Frank. Seeing that their boss couldn’t call them off, I realized I had to handle this the hard way. I stood up, gripping the bloody stone, and threw myself into the fray like a woman possessed. I didn’t care about form or safety. I fought with the frantic, terrifying energy of someone who had already tasted death once. I lunged at the nearest man, smashing the stone into his face, then swung wildly at another who tried to grab my arm. After three of them fell to the ground, howling in agony as blood splattered across the dirt, the remaining men stopped. They took a collective step back, their eyes wide with sudden, gripping terror. “You’re just getting paid for this,” I panted, my voice low and trembling with adrenaline. “Is it worth your lives? Step forward. Try me. I will paint this concrete with your brains.” My once-white wedding dress was now ruined, stained with dirt and splattered with dark, fresh blood. Combined with the manic fire in my eyes, I looked less like a victim and more like a specter of vengeance. Without their leader to guide them, and facing a girl who looked ready to tear them apart with her bare hands, the remaining thugs hesitated. After a tense, breathless silence, they scrambled to drag their bleeding comrades and unconscious boss back into the SUVs. The engines roared to life, and they sped away, leaving a trail of dust in their wake. The moment they were gone, Frank collapsed onto the dirt, clutching his chest and gasping for air. I dropped the stone and ran to help him up, hauling him toward the passenger seat of his car. “Hang on. I’m getting you to an emergency room.” Frank shook his head weakly, spitting blood onto the dashboard. “No… no hospital. Take me to the Dwight Hotel. Take me… to the wedding.” I paused, my hand hovering over the gear shift. “Are you sure you can make it?” “I have to,” he wheezed, his eyes burning with a desperate, fatherly rage. “Just drive.” As the car tore down the highway toward the city, Frank leaned his head back against the headrest and began to speak. He told me a secret. A secret that I had never known, not even in my previous life. When we finally pulled up to the glittering five-star hotel, I helped Frank out of the car. He was coughing violently, the metallic scent of blood heavy in the air. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked, my brow furrowing as I looked at his pale, sweat-slicked face. “I’m fine,” he muttered, gritting his teeth. I didn’t waste any more time. Supporting his weight, I guided him through the polished glass doors of the lobby. The guests and hotel staff we passed froze, their conversations dying instantly as they stared at the two blood-drenched figures marching toward the elevators. We rode the elevator up to the 18th floor, where the grand ballroom was located. Through the double doors, I could hear the muffled sound of music and laughter. Toby and Daphne’s wedding was in full swing. As we approached, two security guards stepped forward to block us. “You can’t go in there without an invitation—” “This is my wedding!” I snapped, my voice cutting through the corridor. “Get out of my way.” I shoved past them, throwing the heavy oak doors open. My voice wasn’t exceptionally loud, but the sheer sight of me caused a ripple of silence to cascade through the room. One by one, heads turned. And just like that, the girl in the bloody wedding gown became the absolute, undeniable center of attention.

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I was the ultimate ghostwriter for a billionaire’s daughter. Bianca got to look gorgeous and live her best life, while I spent my days and nights replying to her endless stream of suitors. The desperate simps? I’d ignore them for three hours, then hit them with a dry “cool.” The brooding, tragic boys? A two-hour delay, followed by a soft, “Sorry, been so busy.” The delusional narcissists? Instant block. I had my system down to a science. Until I ran into a guy who defied every category. Not only was he completely unbothered, but he randomly sent cash gifts, shirtless gym selfies showcasing a perfect eight-pack, and face drops that belonged on a high-fashion runway. Behind Bianca’s profile, I couldn’t resist. I fell deep into a thrilling, late-night exchange with him. But all good things come to an end. Bianca suddenly announced her engagement to a wealthy heir and demanded I clear out her roster and hand over the work phone. Swallowing my tears, I cashed out the hundreds of thousands of dollars in commissions I’d accumulated over the past six months. Then, I cleanly deleted and blocked my favorite mystery guy, whispering a silent prayer: May our digital thread burn, and may we never, ever meet in the real world. But fate is a cruel writer. Three days later, I was standing in a dim, exclusive VIP lounge with Bianca when we ran right into him. The second Bianca spotted him, she leaned in, her voice hushed and urgent. “That’s Dean Elton. His family just got back from London, and his standards are impossibly high. Keep your head down, Gwen. Don’t breathe his way.” As I watched the heir march directly toward us with a thunderous look in his eyes, desperation clawed at my throat. “Too late,” I whispered. “I already breathed his way…” 1 Bianca turned to glare at me, her eyes dripping with condescension. “Are you out of your mind, Gwen?” “Someone like you belongs in the gutter with the rest of the trash. Dean Elton? You couldn’t even dream of him in your wildest fantasies.” My mother was the Caldwell family’s maid, and as her daughter, I had spent my entire life under Bianca’s heel. In her eyes, I existed solely to serve her whims. She despised me. She had no idea that just a week ago, the untouchable Dean Elton—the man she claimed was lightyears out of my league—had sent me a string of frantic, pouty messages because I hadn’t replied in ten minutes, asking if I didn’t love him anymore. I swallowed the bitter irony rising in my throat and forced a meek, submissive smile. “I only meant… a man like him might find someone of my status offensive. I don’t want to get in his way and make him angry.” Bianca let out a mocking laugh. “At least you know your place. Stand behind me then.” She shoved me backward. In the brief seconds it took to reposition myself, Dean had already reached us. Bianca elegantly swept her freshly blown-out hair over her shoulder and offered him her most practiced, radiant smile. “Mr. Elton. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Bianca Caldwell.” Dean stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowing as he scanned her face. “Finally meet?” Bianca blinked, visibly thrown. “Have… have we met before?” Dean’s gaze darkened. Panic seized my chest. If this blew up right here, both of these powerful, ruthless people would destroy me. Thinking fast, I reached out and gently tugged at Bianca’s sleeve. “Miss Bianca, your fiancé is waiting for you in the private suite.” At the sound of my voice, Dean’s sharp gaze immediately whipped over to me. His eyes were intense, heavy with scrutiny and a quiet, probing curiosity. I didn’t dare meet his eyes. I kept my head bowed, staring at the polished floor, barely breathing. Then, he let out a cold, dry chuckle. “Excuse me.” He brushed past us, carrying a frigid aura that made it clear we were nothing more than a minor annoyance. He walked away as if he really had just been passing through. I watched his retreating figure, my heart hammering against my ribs. But before I could even draw a breath, a sharp sting exploded across my cheek. Bianca’s palm slammed into my face. “You useless bitch!” “Why did you bring up Wyatt in front of Dean? Are you blind? Couldn’t you tell I was trying to make a connection with him?” I cradled my throbbing, burning cheek. A sharp trickle of warmth told me one of the heavy crystals on Bianca’s manicured nails had sliced my skin. This pain was nothing new. Whenever Bianca was unhappy, her frustration was written on my skin. It had been this way since we were children. I took a deep breath, keeping my voice low and deferential. “I’m sorry, Miss Bianca. But you just got engaged to Wyatt. If rumors get out that you’re chasing Dean Elton, it could ruin your family’s reputation.” Bianca crossed her arms, her lip curling in disgust. “You idiot. If I could land Dean Elton, Wyatt Pendleton wouldn’t even be worth the dirt on my shoes.” She paused, studying me from head to toe with sudden, venomous suspicion. “Wait. You didn’t do that on purpose because you have a crush on him, did you?” “Let me warn you, Gwen. If you try to pull any pathetic little tricks behind my back, I will call the hospital and have them pull the plug on your mother’s ventilator by tonight.” A cold shiver ran down my spine. If Bianca ever discovered that I had been virtually dating Dean Elton right under her nose, my mother wouldn’t survive the week. I had only one path forward: I had to make Dean utterly loathe Bianca. I had to make her so repulsive to him that he wouldn’t even bear to look at her face. That night, sitting in the dark of my tiny room, I created a burner account on a messaging app. I typed in the phone number I knew by heart—Dean’s private number. I sent the friend request with just one word in the verification box: [Babe.] It was the pet name we used during our online romance. Simple, direct, and something he absolutely loved. Given how icy he had been at the lounge, I didn’t expect him to accept easily. But barely a second later, my phone vibrated. He was added to my friend list. He accepted! My heart leaped. I opened the chat box, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. After typing and erasing several drafts, I settled on a single, evocative line: [Babe, I haven’t stopped thinking about you.] If I was going to play the villain, the first step was to reel him back in with devotion. 2 I waited and waited, but the message remained unanswered, sinking into the digital void. I began to wonder if he had only accepted the request by accident. But before I could figure out a way to handle Dean, the next evening arrived—the night of the Caldwell family’s charity gala. As always, my role was to stand beside Bianca in the most plain, shapeless clothes imaginable. I was her contrast; my dowdiness made her shine brighter, and I was there to serve as her hands and feet. “Bianca, you brought your little stray dog again?” “Honestly, I’m so jealous. It’s impossible to find someone so obedient these days. The girl my dad hired for me is completely useless.” Bianca’s friends giggled, throwing superficial barbs at me right to my face, as if I were a piece of furniture rather than a human being. Bianca smiled warmly, basking in their praise. “Well, loyalty is something you have to train from a young age. You can’t just pick it up later.” The group erupted into quiet laughter. I kept my head lowered, pretending to be deaf and dumb. It was the only way to survive among these monsters. Finding his lack of reaction boring, they quickly drifted to a more exciting topic. “I heard Dean Elton is actually showing up tonight.” At those words, both Bianca’s eyes and mine flared with interest. “Really? Do any of you know him well? Introduce us!” Bianca said, her voice laced with desperate eagerness. Her friends shook their heads with sighs of disappointment. But out of their line of sight, I had already slipped my phone from my pocket and typed out a message to Dean: [Babe, are you coming to the gala tonight?] [It’s so wonderful that I’ll get to see you again.] [It’s my fault… I’m trapped by this family arrangement, unable to speak to you. I can only watch you from afar. Babe, I love you so much, but we have to pretend to be strangers. It’s breaking my heart.] This time, Dean replied almost instantly. But his words had none of their former warmth: [So, you want me to be your side piece?] My hand shook so violently I nearly dropped the phone. Before I could formulate a reply, gasps echoed from the grand entrance of the ballroom. “Dean is here.” He strolled in alongside a friend, wearing a relaxed, tailored suit, chatting casually with an easy, effortless air. Most of the room turned to watch him, but his eyes didn’t linger on anyone—until he approached our circle. His dark, piercing gaze landed directly on Bianca. Usually so arrogant and self-assured, she blushed instantly under his look. But a second later, Dean’s eyes shifted and locked onto me. The intense, probing look from the lounge was back, striking my chest like a physical blow. My heart hammered wildly. He and his friend soon headed up toward the private suites on the mezzanine, but that single look had already stirred up a storm. “Did you see that? Dean looked at me!” Bianca squealed, clutching her friend’s arm. “He definitely wants to get to know me.” But one of her friends smirked, casting a malicious glance in my direction. “Actually, Bianca, it looked like he was staring at Gwen for a solid few seconds.” Bianca’s smile vanished. She subtly reached out, digging her sharp, acrylic nails deep into the tender flesh of my upper arm. “Why weren’t you standing behind me like you were supposed to?” she hissed under her breath. “Do you honestly think a man like Dean Elton would ever look at a piece of garbage like you?” Wincing at the sharp pain, I forced my voice to remain even. “Miss Bianca, he definitely wasn’t looking at me because of that. Look at what I’m wearing. I stick out like a sore thumb. You all look beautiful. I look like a peasant. He was probably just confused by why someone dressed like this is even here. Please don’t misunderstand.” Bianca scrutinized my washed-out, oversized t-shirt and faded jeans. My face was bare of makeup, marred by the fake freckles and mock scars she forced me to wear to hide my features. I looked worse than the catering staff. Satisfied, she finally let go of my arm. “True. You look like a freak. It’s natural people would stare.” Ever since she found a love letter from a boy in my backpack back in high school, Bianca had forced me to make myself ugly. Even though she hadn’t cared about the boy, she couldn’t tolerate anyone preferring me over her. My arm was already beginning to bruise, but inside, a much darker storm was brewing. I pulled out my phone and sent a deliberately toxic reply to Dean: [Would that be so bad?] [Babe, you love me so much. Wouldn’t you be willing to be my secret for a little while?] [Don’t worry. Once I’m married, I’ll give you Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays. He can have the rest. Deal?] Asking a proud, old-money heir to be a secret side piece was perhaps the greatest insult he could ever receive. I didn’t have wealth or power, but from my dark little corner, I could chew away at the foundations of Bianca’s life like a mouse gnawing on a support beam. I would take away everything she ever wanted. 3 When the gala ended, Bianca lingered by the grand foyer, clearly waiting for someone. Finally, when most of the guests had departed, the man she was waiting for descended the spiral staircase. Bianca’s eyes lit up, and she took an eager step forward. But before she could utter a single word, Dean uttered a single, frigid command: “Move.” He didn’t even grant her a glance. Bianca’s hand froze mid-air, her face flushing crimson as a wave of sheer humiliation washed over her. I kept my head bowed, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing aloud. The insult had clearly stung Dean to his core, and it was working perfectly. But this was only the beginning. Later that night, I visited the hospital to see my mother. She lay motionless on the bed, deep in a vegetative state, unable to hear my voice. But I clung to the belief that she would wake up one day. She just needed time. I had saved enough money. I was just waiting for the right moment to slip away from Bianca’s grasp forever. My thoughts were interrupted by the harsh ring of my phone. Bianca’s name flashed on the screen. “Where the hell are you?” she demanded. Hiding my hatred, I kept my voice soft. “I’m at the hospital.” “Ugh, why do you waste your time on that vegetable? The Caldwell family pays for her room anyway. Honestly, it’s pathetic.” She tossed out the cruel words so casually it made my stomach turn. If it weren’t for her obsession with perfection, my mother wouldn’t be in this bed. Bianca had forced my mother to climb onto a high window ledge in the blistering summer heat just to wipe away a microscopic smudge. She had threatened to fire her if it wasn’t spotless, leaving my mother out there for two hours until she fainted from heatstroke and fell. Bianca treated the medical bills like a generous act of charity, completely ignoring that she was the architect of our tragedy. My lips trembled with suppressed rage. Bianca continued, completely oblivious. “Tomorrow is Wyatt’s birthday. Go to the Norton Hotel first thing in the morning. Book their top penthouse suite and decorate it. I want to give him a surprise.” She hung up without waiting for my reply. She knew I would obey like a well-trained dog. But she forgot that even the gentlest dog will bite when backed into a corner. The next day, Bianca didn’t make me tag along for her date with Wyatt. But I watched them from the shadows. I watched them arrive at the hotel, kissing passionately outside the door before disappearing inside. Once the door clicked shut, I stepped out from the corner, placed a spare room key on the hallway floor, and took a photo. I messaged Dean: [Babe, I was only joking yesterday. How could I ever let you be a side piece?] [I’ve decided to fight my family. Even if I have to give up my inheritance, I want to be with you!] [But before I do, can we please see each other? Without you, I don’t think I have the courage to go through with this. Please. I love you.] The message went through. I knew he wouldn’t block me. During our online relationship, Dean had never been this cold or aloof. It’s only when someone is genuinely invested that they reveal their softest, most vulnerable sides. I was betting that Dean still cared. I retreated back into the shadow of the corridor, waiting to see if my gamble would pay off. Thirty minutes later, the quiet ding of the elevator echoed through the hall. Someone stepped out. 4 I watched him walk down the hall toward suite 1880. He picked up the keycard I had left on the floor, swiped it, and pushed the door open. Immediately, the muffled sounds of passion spilled into the quiet corridor. He stepped inside. A moment later, Bianca’s terrified shriek pierced the air. “Ah! Who are you?!” “Dean?!” Hearing those words, a dark, victorious smile spread across my face. My gamble had paid off flawlessly. Dean emerged from the room moments later, his face dark with fury, looking like a volcano on the verge of eruption. He strode toward the elevator, but just before entering, he cast a sharp look toward the corner where I was hiding. My heart stopped. I shrank back into the shadows. Fortunately, it was only a brief glance, and he stepped into the elevator and disappeared. By the time Bianca ran out into the hallway, wrapped in a plush hotel bathrobe, Dean was long gone. She bit her lip, panic coloring her voice. “Why on earth was Dean Elton here?” Wyatt followed her out, adjusting his shirt. He looked at her frantic expression and frowned. “What are you so freaked out about? You look like we just got caught cheating.” Bianca stiffened, quickly forced a smile, and wrapped her arms around Wyatt’s neck. “I’m just worried about making a bad impression. Doesn’t your family have a major business deal with the Eltons coming up? I was just thinking of our future.” Wyatt’s suspicion melted. He pulled her close. “I didn’t know you cared so much about my business. Don’t worry, Dean’s a guy. He’s seen plenty of this stuff. He won’t care.” He pulled her back into the room. Seeing Bianca’s submissive expression, I felt a wave of disgust, recalling how she had sneered at Wyatt in the lounge. The Caldwell family’s finances were failing, and they desperately needed this marriage. Wyatt was her lifeline, which was why she had shut down her digital roster to focus on him. But now, with Dean in the picture, her greed had taken over. Could she really balance on two ships at once? Dean’s ship had already sailed, and I was going to make sure Wyatt’s ship sank too. As I walked out of the hotel, my mind raced with plans to expose Bianca’s infidelity to Wyatt. Lost in thought, I crashed straight into a firm, warm chest. “I’m so sorry,” I stammered, looking up. I froze. It was Dean. He stepped back, looking down at a cigarette that had fallen from his hand to the floor, his brow furrowed in annoyance. I knew he was in a terrible mood, and crossing him now would be dangerous. “Mr. Elton, I am so, so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going. What brand do you smoke? I’ll replace them right away.” Dean didn’t answer. He just stared down at me, his dark eyes deep and unreadable. I felt a chill run down my spine under his intense gaze. “Mr. Elton? Is that okay?” I whispered. His voice was low and cold when he finally spoke. “You’re Bianca’s shadow, aren’t you?” I swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes.” “And you want to make it up to me?” “Yes. If you don’t want cigarettes, I can do anything else.” A slow, dangerous smirk spread across Dean’s lips. “Anything?” He tilted his head toward the upper floors of the hotel. “Your boss just humiliated me by pretending to be my girl. If you help me ruin her, we’ll call it even. Can you do that?”

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For as long as I could remember, I was the girl who wanted nothing. No matter how bare our cupboards were, no matter how cold the radiator got in the winter, I possessed a pathologically flatlined desire for money. When I was five, a modeling scout knelt on our cheap linoleum floor with a contract, begging to launch my career. I didn’t even look at it. At fourteen, my roommate swapped my financial aid forms with her own. I knew what she’d done, but the energy required to expose her felt heavier than the hunger in my stomach. I simply packed my bags, went home, and went to sleep. My quiet, stoic detachment was my defining trait. Until the night before the National Merit Scholarship Exam—the high-stakes test that was my only ticket out of this town—when the billionaire Davenport family pulled up to our run-down porch. They told me I was their biological daughter. “Here is five million dollars,” the elegant woman said, tossing a black card onto the floorboards. “This buys out whatever blood connection we have. The only daughter of the Davenport house is, and always will be, Tiffany.” Looking down at the card resting near my dirt-streaked sneakers, my usual pride flared. I was about to walk away from their pity money. I was about to let my quiet, dignified indifference carry me out the door. Then, neon lines of glowing text flashed right before my eyes. Like a live chat feed hanging in the air. [You idiot! The apocalypse is coming in two days, and you’re still trying to act like a saint?] [In your last life, you were so damn proud. You ended up starving to death on exam day, without even a single cracker to your name!] A cold shiver ran down my spine. Under the sudden, silent cheer of the floating text, I bent down and picked up the card. I forced a cheap, eager smile. “Any chance you could make it ten?” 1 When the text first appeared, I rubbed my eyes hard. I figured I was finally hallucinating from hunger. My foster mother, Bernice, always said I was a stubborn girl who could handle skipping a few meals. I had spent the last two days quiet and compliant, waiting for the high school graduation banquet so I could finally eat a proper meal. But the floating chat didn’t disappear. The letters pulsed in a soft, warning blue. [Hailey Cross, quit playing dumb. Have you forgotten when you were five and tore up that modeling contract? Bernice beat you so bad you couldn’t get out of bed for three days.] [She has a tiny red birthmark right on her left collarbone. We aren’t being creeps—that’s just how we saw her body when she died in the ruins of the shelter in the first timeline.] [Doomsday hits on the day of the exam. Last time, you acted like you were above it all and walked away without a dime. You died with an empty stomach in a ditch. It was brutal.] In that single, terrifying second, the fear of the unknown overpowered my pride. I bent my knees. To the virtual applause of the text in my eyes, I snatched the black card off the floor. I looked up, meeting Mrs. Davenport’s stunned, icy gaze, and smiled. “So… is ten million on the table?” The woman froze, clearly unprepared for her long-lost daughter to be so shameless. But it was Tiffany, the fake heiress, who reacted first. She whipped out her phone, her camera lens aiming straight at my face. “Hey guys,” she whispered into her screen, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “I’m live. I honestly can’t believe the sister I was so excited to meet is just a gold-digger. She played the quiet, noble victim for eighteen years, but the second she sees cash, she shows her true colors.” She was streaming. In her screen’s reflection, I could see myself: wearing a faded, oversized secondhand school uniform, a cheap, desperate grin plastered on my face. A wave of intense humiliation washed over me. For a split second, I wanted to fling the card right back at Tiffany’s manicured face. But the chat stopped me. [Don’t do it! Don’t let her bait you! You’ve already died once. Do you really want to repeat history?] [When the world ends, these rich snobs will be begging you on their knees for a moldy piece of bread!] I took a slow, deep breath, shifting my gaze to the stern, middle-aged man standing beside them. “Mr. Davenport, is your biological bloodline really only worth five million to you?” His face turned a deep, angry purple. He snatched a secondary card from his wallet and threw it at my feet. “Ten million,” he spat. “Take it and rot. Don’t you dare tell a soul you have a single drop of Davenport blood in you.” I nodded. I didn’t care about their name. I just knelt, picked up the second card, and turned my back on them. Behind me, Tiffany let out a soft, mocking giggle. “Well, at least she’s consistent. Talk about a sellout! Give her a galaxy on the stream, guys, let’s send her on her way!” Her laughter followed me out—bright, sharp, and cruel. I squeezed the cards tightly in my palm as the chat scrolled rapidly before my eyes. [Don’t sweat it. This time, you’ll build a fortress. When the storm hits, we’ll send her a ‘galaxy’ straight to hell.] [Exactly! Your only priority right now is hoarding. You need supplies. Now.] 2 I stood on the street corner, my thumb tracing the embossed numbers on the cards, completely lost. Was any of this real? Was the world actually ending in forty-eight hours? Before I could even voice the question in my head, the chat responded, reading my mind. [Hailey, you like to pretend you’re Zen and above the drama. But when you were fourteen and that girl stole your scholarship, didn’t you go home and draw voodoo dolls in your diary, cursing her to lose her hair?] My breath hitched. No one in the world knew about that diary. I had burned it years ago. That was the moment I stopped doubting. Under the chat’s chaotic but precise instructions, I ran across the city. I didn’t waste money on gourmet food. Instead, I ordered a thousand cases of military-grade MREs and canned meats. Then came the heavy-duty generators, water filtration systems, and barrels of diesel fuel. I tracked down the owner of the logistics warehouse where I used to work part-time, sorting packages for pocket change. When I told him what I wanted to buy, he stared at me through a cloud of cigarette smoke. “You’re a kid. What do you need a reinforced, off-grid warehouse space and industrial machinery for?” I didn’t offer an explanation. I just wired him two million dollars on the spot. [Man, thank god this isn’t our world’s banking system. A teenager moving two mil would have triggered ten different fraud alerts by now.] [Shh, don’t ruin the moment. Let the girl buy her survival.] I ignored their bickering. The warehouse owner, suddenly very cooperative, handed over the keys to a secluded brick facility on the edge of town. I hired a specialized construction crew, paying them triple to work through the night. We boarded up every window with three-inch-thick steel plates. We welded the back exits shut. The main entrance was replaced with a thirty-centimeter-thick vault door equipped with a mechanical lock, a keypad, and a biometric fingerprint scanner. Triple redundancy. During a break, one of the sweaty welders wiped his brow and looked at me. “Hey, kid. Who are we trying to keep out? The Russian army?” I didn’t answer. I just kept my eyes glued to my clipboard, crossing off completed tasks. Two days until the exam. Two days until the end. But before the apocalypse arrived, Tiffany did. She was a micro-influencer who built her brand on aesthetic wealth and petty drama. Having tasted the high engagement from her last stream, she tracked me down and started broadcasting live outside my fortified warehouse. “Hey everyone! You won’t believe this, but Doomsday Sister has officially lost her mind. She spent ten million dollars on literal trash.” She pointed her camera at me as I dragged a crate of MREs into the entrance, my old school uniform covered in grey construction dust. “She’s hoarding all these weird supplies. People in the comments are actually asking if the world is ending. Honestly, people like Doomsday Sister need to be locked up in an asylum for spreading public panic.” Tiffany laughed so hard she dropped her phone onto the gravel. Within hours, I was viral. The internet dubbed me “Doomsday Sister,” turning screenshots of my exhausted, dirt-smudged face into memes. When Bernice saw the videos, she nearly had a stroke. She called me, her voice shrieking through the receiver. “Hailey Cross! Have you lost your mind? Where did you get that kind of money? You didn’t give a single cent to me, and instead, you spent it on a pile of scrap metal and garbage? Cancel the orders! Transfer that money to my account right now! The moment you finish your exam, you’re getting a job. I won’t have you embarrassing me!” I hung up without saying a word. Looking at the towering shelves of canned peaches, dried beef, and clean water, a profound sense of peace washed over me. I had known I was adopted since I was old enough to understand words. Bernice never hid it. She treated it like a twisted badge of honor. “If I hadn’t been smart enough to swap you two in the hospital cradle,” she would boast whenever she was drunk, “my sweet Tiffany would be living in this dump with me. I wonder what kind of luxury my real baby is living in right now. I hope she remembers me when she’s older.” I hated her. I hated the unfairness of the world she had built around me. My detachment hadn’t been a virtue; it was a survival mechanism. If I wanted nothing, they could take nothing from me. But now, for the first time in my life, I had something to protect. 3 The next morning, my phone rang. It was the local police precinct. “Hailey Cross? We have a report against you for inciting public anxiety and disrupting public order. We need you to come down to the station for questioning.” The chat feed went completely blank for a second. Then, the messages flooded back in. [Don’t panic! In twenty-four hours, the police station won’t even exist.] [You didn’t spread any rumors anyway. Since when is buying groceries a crime?] I cleared my throat and spoke into the receiver. “I’ll come. But can it wait until after tomorrow? The National Merit Exam is extremely important to me.” There was a long pause before the officer sighed. “Fine. Show up the morning after.” I hung up, checking my lock systems one last time. According to the chat, the end of the world was scheduled for tonight. Just past midnight, I locked the vault door from the inside. Three heavy steel deadbolts slid into place. The security monitors hummed, showing the empty, dark street outside the warehouse. Everything was quiet. The early morning streets of the suburbs were still. Occasionally, a stray cat darted across the asphalt. The chat was quiet too, holding its collective breath with me. One o’clock. Two o’clock. Three o’clock. The night remained perfectly, agonizingly normal. [Wait… did we get the date wrong?] [No way. One of us misremembering is possible, but all of us?] [Stay alert. Don’t let your guard down.] I gripped my aluminum baseball bat, my palms slick with sweat. I closed my eyes and began reciting physics formulas and historical dates to keep my mind sharp. If morning came and the world didn’t end, I had to take that exam. It was still my only legitimate ticket out of this life. At 5:00 AM, a sudden, loud clatter outside the warehouse door made me jump. The chat went wild. [It’s starting! It’s finally starting!] [Oh thank god, I thought we looked like total clowns there for a second.] [Hailey, remember: the first rule of the apocalypse is to bury your inner bleeding heart. No charity. No exceptions.] I nodded at the floating text, feeling a surge of adrenaline. I turned to the security monitors, expecting to see monsters, or perhaps a burning sky. Instead, I froze. The disruption wasn’t a natural disaster. It was Tiffany. She had brought her entire production team—about twenty people—complete with professional lighting rigs, cameras, and a folding table. They had set up a portable stove right outside my warehouse door. Tiffany was wearing a pastel pink designer dress, her hair in perfect pigtails. She waved at her camera. “Hey guys! We are live at the Doomsday Countdown. Let’s see if our resident crazy sister actually comes out to take her exam today, or if she’s going to stay huddled in her little rat trap waiting for the aliens to land.” Her chat stream was already flooded with thousands of viewers. She dipped a piece of beef into a boiling pot of soup, chewing happily for the camera. “Hailey! You want a bite?” she yelled toward the steel door. “You’re going to need your strength if the zombies show up!” Inside, my screen flickered with panicked comments from my own chat. [What the hell is going on? Is this a parallel universe?] [No! Today is definitely the day! Hailey, you have to believe us. You have to stay inside!] I didn’t answer them. I slowly began packing my pens, calculators, and admission ticket into a plastic ziplock bag. There were three hours left before the exam started. Maybe there was still time. 4 By 7:00 AM, Tiffany’s crew packed up their gear. Before getting into her luxury SUV, she smirked at my security camera. “Well, unlike my dear sister, I don’t need a test to define my future. But hey, it’s the national exam. Might as well show up for the participation trophy.” She climbed into the back seat, her silk dress trailing behind her, and the car sped away. I didn’t check the internet. Instead, I turned on the battery-powered emergency radio I had purchased. The morning news broadcast was playing. “Today marks the start of the National Merit Exams. Over a million students across the state are heading to testing centers this morning. Local officials wish everyone the best of luck…” The announcer’s voice was warm, professional, and entirely calm. [Maybe… we were really wrong.] [We ruined your life, Hailey. I’m so sorry.] I sat on a wooden crate, my head in my hands. What was my life even worth? I had spent eighteen years trying to fade into the background, trying to make myself invisible so Bernice couldn’t hurt me. I remembered my first day of elementary school. Bernice had marched into the principal’s office, screaming that I had stolen ten dollars from her purse. She stood on the edge of the school roof, threatening to jump if the school didn’t suspend me. I hadn’t stolen anything. But she couldn’t bear to see me succeed, to see me grow. So, I built a wall around myself. I made sure I had no friends, no desires, no dreams. I sighed, grabbing my plastic bag of exam supplies. The apocalypse wasn’t coming. I had to go face my reality. I had to take this test. The chat was silent. I didn’t even know if they were still there. I grasped the heavy lever of the vault door and pushed. It didn’t move. I threw my weight against it. Nothing. The door was completely jammed from the outside. My heart hammered against my ribs. I tried again, straining until my muscles screamed, but the door remained dead. Then, the chat flared back to life. [That absolute snake! Tiffany locked the vault door from the outside! They jammed a steel rod through the external hinge mounts!] [She’s a literal sociopath! In the original timeline, she survived to the very end by stepping on everyone else’s corpses!] [Stop talking about the past! How do we get Hailey out? The exam is going to start!] I took a deep, shaky breath, scanning the warehouse. I had reinforced this place so perfectly. I had turned my sanctuary into my own tomb. The minutes ticked away. 8:30 AM. The exam started at 9:00. Even if I got out now, I’d never make it to the high school in time. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Tiffany. “Are you having fun in there, sister?” “It’s a shame, really. I locked it tight. Unless you crawl out and beg me on your knees, no one is ever going to find you in that dump.” Beg Tiffany? I’d rather rot. I grabbed a thick tow strap, wrapping it around the internal locking mechanism, utilizing a crude pulley system against one of the structural steel pillars, just like my physics teacher had demonstrated in class. I pulled with everything I had. Slowly, painfully, a tiny crack of light appeared at the seam of the heavy door. It was working. But before I could celebrate, the concrete floor beneath my feet shuddered. I stumbled, gripping the pillar. I looked through the tiny gap in the door. The bright morning sky had vanished. In its place was a bruised, terrifying shade of dark violet, as if the atmosphere itself had been torn open. Then came the rain. It didn’t fall; it crashed. A solid wall of water slammed into the earth, accompanied by a low, rumbling roar that shook the very foundations of the warehouse. The world went black. Inside, the chat erupted in a frantic, blinding crawl of text. [OH MY GOD! IT’S HERE! IT’S FINALLY HERE!] [Hailey! Lock the door! Now!] [Do not open it! No matter who screams, do not open that door!]

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Growing up, I was always my twin brother’s shadow, the quiet repository for all his sins. When he stole cash from our mother’s purse, my father beat me until my ribs bruised. When he left marks on kids at school, my parents forced me to my knees, shoving my head against the floor until I begged for forgiveness in his place. On the eve of the State Merit Scholarship Exam—the only ticket out of this house I would ever get—he slipped sleeping pills into my tea and shredded my admission voucher. I fought through the haze, dragging my leaden limbs to the testing board’s local office, begged for a replacement, and somehow pulled a 740. A near-perfect score. The highest in the entire state. But when the scores went public, Tyler—who had never scored higher than a miserable 250 in his life—held up my printed score report to the local press and claimed the crown. In the kitchen, my parents cornered me, their whispers like venomous snakes. “Tomorrow, we’re putting you in the Pinecrest asylum. This glory, this future—it belongs to your brother. Not you.” As my chest hollowed out with despair, a sharp, metallic ding echoed in my mind: [Out-of-Context System Activated.] Outside, Tyler was dabbing at his eyes for a reporter’s lens. “My sister lost her mind after she got caught cheating on the exam…” But the words that actually echoed from his mouth were: “I lost my mind after I got caught cheating on the exam…” 1 “I lost my mind after I got caught cheating on the exam.” A suffocating silence fell over the yard. The reporter’s microphone froze mid-air. The cameraman peered out from behind his lens, his brow furrowing as he looked at Tyler. Tyler froze. His mouth was still puckered in a pathetic sob, his eyes wide and vacant. Five seconds. Ten seconds. Slowly, the color drained from his face, replaced by a mottled, furious red. He lunged forward, grabbing the cameraman’s collar and shoving him backward. “What the hell did you play? Is your station trying to screw with me?!” The reporter ripped Tyler’s hands off the cameraman, taking two quick steps back. “Get off him! What did you just say? Did you just admit to cheating?” “I said it was my sister! Her! Not me!” Tyler’s voice cracked, turning into a screech. The other reporters immediately raised their phones, aiming them directly at him. Out on the sidewalk, the whispering neighbors began recording on their devices too. Mrs. Higgins leaned over the fence, her phone pointed straight at Tyler’s face, the little red recording light blinking steadily. “Wait, who actually cheated?” someone whispered. “Sounds like he just admitted it himself.” I lay on the cold concrete, my hands still bound behind my back, every inch of my body screaming in pain. But it worked. The system actually worked. “Stop filming!” my mother shrieked, bursting out of the front door with my father hot on her heels. She threw herself in front of Tyler, blocking the lens with her hand while pointing accusingly at me. “Don’t listen to this nonsense! Our daughter is mentally unstable! She’s baiting my poor boy into talking crazy!” My father glared down at me. Without a word, he grabbed a heavy wooden stool from the porch and swung it high. “Lindsay! Get inside! If you ruin this, I’ll break your legs!” “She hasn’t moved a single inch,” the lead reporter noted dryly. My father ignored him. As the stool came crashing down, I threw myself to the right. The wood splintered against the concrete, bouncing off and flipping a nearby folding table. Everything on the table clattered to the ground, including the celebratory plaque they’d ordered. It cracked clean down the middle. Tyler stared at the ruined plaque, the veins in his neck bulging. He violently shook off our mother’s hand and lunged at me, thrusting a finger right between my eyes. “Don’t think playing crazy is going to save you, Lindsay! I saw you sneak those cheat sheets into the exam room with my own eyes!” The system screen flashed brilliant blue in my mind’s eye. And Tyler’s voice echoed through the yard, sharp and crystal clear: “I sneaked those cheat sheets into the exam room with my own eyes!” Instantly, every camera, phone, and live-stream feed in the yard pivoted to lock onto Tyler’s terrified face. 2 Tyler’s knees buckled, and he hit the dirt hard. Every drop of blood drained from his face. His voice was barely a whisper. “I didn’t… I didn’t say that…” When no one answered, he suddenly slapped himself across the face. Slap. Slap. Slap. By the third blow, a thin line of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He yanked at his own hair, screaming frantically. “I’m cursed! I’m possessed! Someone is doing this to me!” Our mother rushed forward, wrapping her arms around his head. “Tyler! Tyler, don’t be scared! Mom’s here!” Tyler shoved her off with a sharp elbow, his hair wild as he pointed a shaking finger at me. “It’s her! Lindsay! She drugged me! She poisoned my dinner! Why else would I say those things?!” I pushed myself up from the concrete, wiping a smear of blood from my lip with my sleeve. “There are dozens of cameras recording us right now. The words came out of your own mouth. Do you want to watch the playback?” My Aunt Beatrice looked away. Uncle Donald was already backing toward the gate, one foot in the yard and one foot out. My cousin Logan, who had just been bragging while helping Tyler hang up the celebratory banner, had vanished entirely into the shadows. Only Mrs. Higgins remained perched on the fence, her phone still recording, but her mouth was clamped shut. Desperate, Tyler reached into his bag, pulling out a kraft-paper notebook with the word Journal written on the cover. He held it high above his head. “Look! This is my sister’s confession journal! Black and white! She wrote it herself!” He flipped it open, stabbing his finger at the pages. “Look, it’s right here in plain English! I bought the answers! I cheated!” The system flashed again. And Tyler’s voice boomed across the yard, carrying over the fence: “Look! This is my confession journal!” “Look, it’s right here in plain English! I bought the answers! I cheated!” Tyler’s arm froze in mid-air. He stared at the notebook, then blinked up at the sky. The surrounding crowd took a collective step back, murmurs of unease rippling through them. With a guttural shriek, Tyler slammed the notebook onto the ground. He stamped on it once, twice, then dropped to his knees, ripping the pages into shreds with his bare hands. His voice turned into a high-pitched wail. “There’s a ghost! This place is haunted!” I took a slow step forward. “Is there anything else you want to confess? The cheat sheets, the journal… what other tricks did you use?” “Stay back!” Tyler curled into a ball, pressing his hands hard over his ears, rocking back and forth. “Get away from me!” The wail of a siren echoed from the end of the street. Everyone turned to look. A white van squeezed through the crowd, the words Pinecrest Wellness Center painted on its side. The van screeched to a halt, the side door sliding open. Nurse Henderson stepped out, flanked by four burly orderlies in scrubs. The crowd parted automatically to let them through. 3 Nurse Henderson marched into the yard, scanning the wreckage. “Well, this is a spectacular mess.” Tyler’s hair looked like a bird’s nest, and he was shivering in the corner. My cheek was badly bruised, the blood still tacky on my lip. My mother was frantically shoving my father, both of them red-faced and screaming at each other. The orderlies fanned out, looking highly confused, their eyes shifting back and forth between me and Tyler. Nurse Henderson slammed a plastic tray onto the overturned table and barked, “Quiet down, all of you!” She pulled out a syringe—thick as a thumb—tapped the barrel twice, flicked off the plastic cap, and pushed a tiny squirt of liquid into the air. “We received a dispatch call about a highly aggressive, non-compliant psychiatric patient at this address.” She scanned the broken wooden stool and the shredded paper littering the ground. “Our protocol is simple: sedate first, transport second. I don’t care who it is.” I spoke up, keeping my voice level. “Nurse Henderson, under state law, an involuntary psychiatric hold requires an in-person evaluation by a licensed psychiatrist. Doing this without a petition is illegal confinement.” She didn’t even look at me. “The law? Listen to me, girl. Once you’re behind our doors, you’re whatever we say you are. Don’t talk to me about the law.” Holding the syringe, she stood in the center of the yard and snapped, “Now, who is the patient? Point them out so we can get this over with!” Before our mother could speak, Tyler scrambled up from the corner like a feral cat. His face twisted in pure malice. “My mom is losing her mind because of this psycho! Give my sister the shot!” My fists clenched, but the system reacted faster than my reflexes. “My mom is the psycho! Give her the shot!” Nurse Henderson looked at Tyler, then turned her gaze to my mother. My mother was clawing at my father’s shirt, her face contorted in a screaming match, while my father raised an angry fist. They looked like two rabid animals tearing each other apart. She nodded slowly. “Right.” She waved a hand, and two burly orderlies lunged at my mother. Before she could even process what was happening, her arms were pinned. They lifted her off her feet, her legs kicking wildly in the air. Before she could even scream, Nurse Henderson bent down, yanked up her pant leg, and plunged the needle deep into her calf. Five milligrams of Haloperidol. My mother’s shriek peaked within three seconds, warped into a choked gurgle by the seventh, and by the tenth, she went entirely limp, as if her bones had dissolved. My father stood frozen. Then, with a gutter-raw roar, he threw a heavy punch at the nearest orderly. “Who the hell did you just inject?! Who?! I told you to take the girl!” The orderly staggered back, clutching his bleeding nose. The other three immediately swarmed my father, tackling him to the ground. The yard dissolved into absolute chaos. In the scuffle, Nurse Henderson was shoved backward, her forehead clipping the corner of the broken table. Blood started oozing down her temple. She clutched her head as she stood up, her face livid. “This entire family is clinically insane! Every single one of you!” She ripped her torn pocket off her scrubs and screamed at the orderlies, “Abort! Get the hell out of here! We’re leaving!” The orderlies gladly retreated, grabbing their gear and scrambling for the gate. Before slamming the van door, Nurse Henderson kicked the post. “The Pinecrest Center is done with this circus! Next time you call, the dispatch fee is a thousand dollars cash up front!” The heavy door slammed shut, and the siren faded into the distance. Leaning against the rusty outdoor faucet, I looked down at my wrists. The rope binding them had loosened during the fracas. Using my teeth, I pulled the final knot loose and shook out my hands. Dark red rings encircled my wrists, and my scraped knees bled slowly onto the gravel. All that remained was a yard littered with shattered glass, splintered wood, torn paper, my mother twitching on the ground, and my father huddled beside her. Tyler slumped against the brick wall, his eyes fixed on the blinking red recording lights of the reporters’ cameras at the edge of the driveway. 4 Suddenly, he lunged into the cluster of reporters and snatched the microphone right out of the local news anchor’s hand. He dragged me by my bruised arm right back to the center of the frame. I tried to pull away, but his grip was frantic and tight. “Don’t you dare run,” he hissed under his breath. “We’re finishing this now.” He shoved me directly in front of the lens, standing tall beside me. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, squeezing out a fresh wave of tears. “To everyone watching this stream, I didn’t want to air our family’s dirty laundry like this. But you deserve the truth. My sister is no scholar. She’s been running illegal online poker and sports betting rings at school. She’s drowned in thousands of dollars of debt. This whole breakdown today? It’s nothing but a desperate cover-up because she knows she’s caught!” The live chat exploded. Gambling? No way. Does he have receipts? The neighbors began muttering among themselves. A voice shouted from the back, “A gambling addict trying to steal her brother’s glory? Shameless!” A plastic water bottle sailed through the air and bounced near my feet. Tyler paused, letting the anger simmer, before pulling a manila folder from behind his back. He slipped two documents out and held them directly up to the lens. First, he displayed a stapled packet. The header read: Confidential Exam Proxy and Score Transfer Agreement. Next was a printed screenshot of a wire transfer—five thousand dollars, with the sender’s name blacked out. Tyler flipped to the signature page on the third sheet, holding it inches from the camera lens. “Look closely. This contract has my sister’s signature and her thumbprint in red ink. To pay off her gambling debts, she sold her ID and her exam credentials to a black-market cheating ring. She planned to cheat her way to a perfect score, but she panicked under pressure and bombed it with a miserable 250. Now she’s trying to steal my score to fulfill her end of the deal!” He tapped the wire transfer paper. “This five grand was her advance deposit. But she was flagged by the proctor before she could finish, leaving her with a 250. Now she’s trying to claim my 740 to save herself from the black-market brokers!” The stream’s chat section went wild. Exam fraud??? That’s a felony! Some guy got prison time for this last year! Investigate them both! This girl is insane! I stood silently before the cameras, offering no defense. My mother, still groggy from the sedative, staggered back into the frame. She grabbed my collar, tugging me down, and pointed a trembling finger at my face, sobbing hysterically. “You ungrateful little wretch! Your father and I starved ourselves to put you through school, and this is how you repay us? Gambling? Hiring proxies? You’ve dragged our name through the mud!” My father flanked her, shouting directly into the microphone. “Officers, reporters—we disown her! Lock her up! Throw away the key! We fully support the law!” The chat surged again. Even her parents disowned her. It’s definitely true. Man, poor parents. She got what she deserved. Siren wails cut through the air once more. Two police cruisers and a sleek black SUV pulled up, blocking both ends of the driveway. Four officers stepped out of the cruisers, securing the perimeter. Then the door of the SUV opened. Dr. Mercer, the State Commissioner of Education, stepped out wearing a simple blazer and loafers. Behind him was Chief Davis of the State Police Department in full dress uniform. They were followed by six staff members carrying laptops and investigative folders. Dr. Mercer lingered at the edge of the yard. His sharp eyes scanned the splintered wood, the shredded paper, the frantic boy clutching the folder, and finally, me—battered, bloodied, and standing in rags. The Commissioner’s voice was quiet but carried absolute authority. “Can someone explain to me what is going on here?” Tyler’s eyes lit up. Seeing the Commissioner and the heavy police presence, his confidence surged. Clutching his “confidential agreement,” he rushed forward. “Commissioner Mercer! Thank God you’re here! I’ve been waiting for this moment all day!” He thrust the document into Dr. Mercer’s hands. “Look! Here is the ironclad proof!” He turned back to the cameras, raised the microphone, took a deep breath, and bellowed at the top of his lungs: “Commissioner! This filthy score-selling proxy agreement was signed by my sister—I watched her press her thumbprint on it myself!” The system screen flashed brilliant blue in my mind’s eye. And Tyler’s voice, amplified by the microphone, carried clearly into every single live stream: “Commissioner! This filthy score-selling proxy agreement was signed by myself—I pressed my own thumbprint on it!”

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In my past life, I was known as the most vicious, unhinged wife in our high-society circle. Any woman who dared breathe too close to Christian was met with my fury. I tracked them down to their pristine brownstones, slapped them in their own entryways, and dragged their names through the mud. If any of them were foolish enough to accept his penthouse keycard for a late-night rendezvous, I was always there, kicking down the door, turning their polished lives into a public circus. At first, Christian actually enjoyed it. He loved the ego stroke of watching me claw other women’s eyes out for him. Until I went after Daisy, his newly hired personal assistant. In a fit of rage to protect his precious little muse, he bribed witnesses and framed me for attempted murder by poisoning. I was sentenced to twenty years in a maximum-security prison, where I met a bitter, miserable end. Even my funeral portrait and ashes were tossed into a dumpster like yesterday’s trash. But now, I am back. This time, my vision is clear, and my hands are steady. I have absolutely zero interest in playing the scorned wife or fighting over a garbage man. This life, I’m only here for the money. … In my previous life, it all started falling apart when I went to the office and slapped Daisy. The catalyst was simple: I found her black lace thong tucked neatly into the inner pocket of Christian’s bespoke suit jacket. When I confronted her, she made a grand spectacle of running to the roof of the corporate tower, threatening to jump. She sobbed to the gathering crowd below about how her dignity had been stripped away, how death was preferable to the public humiliation I’d caused. The moment Christian got the call, he abandoned a multi-million dollar merger and sped to the scene. Instead of comforting his hysterical wife, he stood before the entire board of directors and slapped me. Hard. Ten times, twenty times, until my lip split and blood dripped onto my Chanel collar. Only then did he stop. He rushed over to Daisy, gently lifting her from the ledge and pulling her into his arms, cooing like she was a fragile bird. “Don’t be afraid, Daisy,” he whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Anyone who hurts you will pay a thousand times over.” Just like that, I became the laughingstock of Manhattan’s elite. “Helena finally hit a wall,” they whispered over mimosas. “She touched Christian’s golden girl. She’s done for. Let’s see how loud she barks now.” “Good riddance. She had it coming.” “For someone born into the Hastings dynasty, she has zero class. Chasing down mistresses like a stray dog. It’s embarrassing to the rest of us.” “Honestly, if I were her, I’d rather drown myself than live with that level of pathetic desperation.” When I opened my eyes again, I was standing in the exact moment Daisy confessed her affair to me. “Mrs. Harrington, you’re getting older, and frankly, you can’t keep your husband happy,” she said, looking at me with wide, mock-innocent eyes. “Why shouldn’t you give younger girls a chance? Do you have any idea how brutal the job market is right now?” My muscle memory flared. My arm tensed, preparing to swing a heavy leather handbag right across her cheek. But a sudden jolt in my brain stopped me. Don’t make the same mistake twice. Daisy’s eyes were already glassy, her tears primed and ready to fall. When my hand dropped to my side, her expression crumbled into utter confusion. She didn’t know whether to cry or speak. My best friend, Paige, who had marched into the office with me as backup, frowned. “Helena, are you okay? Or did you just think of a slower, more painful way to destroy her?” “Right,” Paige muttered, glaring at Daisy. “We can’t let this little leech run to Christian and play the victim. We don’t touch the face. Let’s have the security detail take her down to the basement pool and hold her under until she remembers how to respect a married man.” Paige signaled the security team we’d brought. But I stepped in. “Let it go,” I said quietly. Daisy, who had clearly rehearsed her entire routine of collapsing into Christian’s arms to sob about my cruelty, panicked. Seeing me refuse to play my part, she tried to bait me. “The one who isn’t loved is the real intruder, Helena,” she sneered, dropping the sweet act for a split second. “Christian told me he feels absolutely nothing when he’s with you. I’m the only one who satisfies him.” Paige practically vibrated with rage. She grabbed a hot cup of coffee and stepped forward. “You miserable little bitch!” Before she could throw it, I caught her wrist, pulling her back with surprising force. In my past life, Paige had thrown that coffee right into Daisy’s face to defend me. Christian never forgot it. On her next birthday, he hired men to lace her drink at a club, leading to a brutal, orchestrated assault by a dozen men. They took photos and leaked them across the dark web. Paige’s spirit was entirely broken. Three months later, she jumped from her apartment balcony. This time, I was going to protect her. At all costs. “Paige, don’t,” I murmured. “That’s imported Kona coffee. It’s fifty dollars an ounce. Wasting it on her face is a crime.” Paige’s brow furrowed. “Since when do you care about fifty dollars? We used to charter a private jet to Paris just to catch him in a hotel room. And what about last month? You threw a row of antique Chinoiserie vases off the mezzanine, and you didn’t even blink when only one of them managed to clip that sales associate.” That was the old me. The me who didn’t realize that a man is never worth more than cold, hard cash. I leaned in, whispering in her ear, “I’m done with the violence. It takes two to tango. Why should I waste my energy and bank account on a dirty, stray dog? It’s bad for business.” Paige stared at me like I’d grown a second head. “So you’re just going to let her walk? She’s standing here gloating, she literally just spilled orange juice on your custom Givenchy dress, and tomorrow she’ll be whispering in Christian’s ear to divorce you so she can take your place.” I looked up, my eyes sweeping over Daisy’s youthful, plump face. “She is fresh, isn’t she? No wonder Christian forgets he has a home.” I turned back to Daisy. “Since he likes you so much, I won’t stand in your way…” Before I could even finish my sentence, Daisy dropped to her knees, weeping beautifully. It was a masterclass in performative vulnerability. “Mrs. Harrington, I know you’re consumed by jealousy. I know what happens to the women Christian smiles at. If you want to use your influence to fire me, I can’t stop you. But please, I beg of you, take better care of him. He works so hard to provide for you. We women shouldn’t be so selfish, only thinking about shopping and spending his money.” She sniffled, wiping an imaginary tear. “And please, remember he likes soy milk in the morning. Don’t just give him regular dairy because it’s easier—he’s lactose intolerant. He might look like a strong, six-foot-two man, but he kicks his blankets off at night and catches cold easily. It breaks my heart.” “Oh, and he’s at a critical point in his career right now. He doesn’t have time for domestic drama. When you… force him into bed, please make sure you use protection. He doesn’t need a child stressing him out.” I let out a soft, dry laugh. “Are you quite finished?” In my past life, this exact monologue had sent me into a blind, screaming rage. I had torn her hair out, giving Christian the perfect ammunition to lock me away. But right now, I could hear the faint click of leather shoes in the hallway. Christian was at the door. I looked down at her calmly. “Since you care so deeply for my husband, I think it’s only fair you stay close. I won’t fire you. In fact, I’m promoting you to his personal executive assistant. And I’m doubling your salary.” “You… you’re doing what?” Daisy stared up at me, frozen on the floor. This wasn’t the script she had written. She remained glued to the carpet until Christian cleared his throat from the doorway. “Helena is rarely this understanding, Daisy,” Christian said, stepping into the room with a smooth, patronizing smile. “It seems the two of you actually get along. Stand up and thank her.” Once we cleared the lobby and walked out onto the bustling Manhattan street, Paige let out a frustrated groan. “Why are you playing nice with that little leech? We should have dragged her out by her hair, let the whole office see her for the home-wrecker she is. Instead, you basically paved a golden runway straight to Christian’s bed!” I offered her a sad, quiet smile and shook my head. “Paige, don’t you see? Christian is actually infatuated with her this time. If I kept screaming and throwing fits like I used to, he would have found a way to quietly dispose of me. I like being alive too much to play his game.” Paige studied my face, her anger softening into deep concern. “So what’s the plan? You can’t just let her parade around in front of you forever. The Helena Hastings I know doesn’t lay down and take a beating.” She was right. In my first life, I cared too much. I put a man at the center of my universe, and it destroyed me. That evening, Christian did something unprecedented: he came home early and handed me a small gift box. It was a sterling silver bracelet—a complimentary freebie given to high-tier clients who purchased custom jewelry. I knew this because Daisy had already posted the actual prize on Instagram hours earlier: a flawless five-carat diamond necklace and matching ring, paid for with Christian’s primary black card. Her caption had been a masterclass in passive-aggressive gloating: ‘So sweet to be young and adored by a gentle protector ten years older. True love doesn’t care about age. Honestly, I’d rather die than grow old, bitter, and ignored by my husband.’ I played my part flawlessly. I smiled, thanked him, and let him clasp the cheap silver around my wrist. But the moment he left, claiming an urgent late-night board meeting required his presence at the office, I unclasped the bracelet and threw it straight into the kitchen trash chute. “Trash belongs with the trash.” The next morning, I traded my usual loud, logo-heavy designer dresses for a sleek, tailored pantsuit and flat leather loafers. I packed a thermal lunchbox with warm soup and headed to Christian’s office, playing the doting wife. The moment I stepped into the marble lobby of the Kerwin Group, the air felt charged. The HR director, whom I had quietly put on my payroll months ago, rushed over to whisper in my ear. “Daisy arrived in Mr. Harrington’s car this morning. They were wearing matching designer suits. Half an hour ago, they had a courier deliver a box of condoms to his private office.” “Got it. Thank you.” The entire floor was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable explosion. I walked toward his office suite, and before I even reached the door, the muffled, unmistakable sounds of giggling and heavy breathing drifted from his private lounge. Daisy’s voice was unmistakable, pitchy and breathy. “Stop it, Christian… you know I’m sensitive there…” I stood at the secretary’s desk. Across the room, two junior analysts were already whispering, making bets. “Five bucks says Daisy is dragged out of there naked in under five minutes, getting her face clawed off.” “Are you new?” the other whispered back. “That’s Helena Harrington. Five minutes isn’t even a warm-up for her. It’ll be ten minutes minimum. She’ll take photos first, throw a vase through the window, and we’ll have to call NYPD to pull them apart.” Instead of storming the door, I turned on my heel, walked into the communal breakroom, poured myself a cup of black coffee, and sat down to wait. Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. Suddenly, the elevator doors chimed open. The sharp, rapid clack-clack-clack of stilettos echoed down the corridor, moving with frantic urgency. Right on cue. Just like in my past life, she had arrived. Isabelle. The gorgeous, untouchable first love Christian had spent his twenties mourning. When Isabelle kicked open the office door, a high-pitched shriek tore through the suite. Inside, Christian was frozen in shock. “Isabelle? What are you doing back in New York?” A loud slap echoed, followed by another. Isabelle’s voice cracked with tears. “If I hadn’t come back, were you going to let this cheap little receptionist take over my life? You promised me, Christian! You swore on the phone that I was the only woman you ever loved! It was all a lie!” Within seconds, the office turned into a war zone. Objects were flying, glass shattering, screams multiplying. At one point, a torn black lace thong flew out of the doorway, landing perfectly over the frame of Christian’s corporate portrait. I sipped my coffee, listening to the employees around me mutter in disgust. “Jesus. Does he think this is a brothel or a hedge fund?” “Typical. Don’t look, just get back to work before HR sees us.” As the crowd dispersed, I heard a quiet whisper. “Wait, where’s Helena? Why isn’t she in there?” I closed my eyes, remembering the horror of my previous life. In that timeline, I had been the one inside that room, locked in a feral claw-fight with Daisy. Christian had stepped in—not to protect me, but to shield Daisy. He had kicked me off her so hard that two of my ribs fractured. I spent weeks in the hospital while he cut off my allowance to punish me for “embarrassing” him. And Isabelle? In that timeline, she had stood quietly in the hallway, waiting for me to be wheeled out on a stretcher before sliding back into Christian’s life as his comforting, elegant savior. But this time, I was the spectator. Seeing the moment was ripe, I gave a subtle nod to the HR director. A crew of tabloid journalists, armed with heavy cameras and blinding flashbulbs, burst through the glass doors of the executive suite, pushing past the weak protests of the secretary. Christian panicked, shielding his face. “Who let you in here? Get out! Delete those photos! Now!” But the photographers didn’t stop. The shutters clicked rapidly, capturing every angle of the chaos. “This is gold,” one reporter muttered. “The golden boy of Wall Street having a three-way with his assistant and his ex. This is front-page news for a month.” Daisy, completely naked, tried to burrow into Christian’s chest, sobbing hysterically. This only enraged Isabelle further, who lunged forward to scratch at her face. “You pathetic little leech! Still posing for the cameras? You’re disgusting!” By the next morning, the Kerwin Group was trending globally for all the wrong reasons. The scandal cost the firm several major international mergers, resulting in an immediate loss of nearly a billion dollars in market value. At the Harrington family estate in Connecticut, Christian’s grandfather, Franklin Harrington, was livid. He threw the morning papers directly at Christian’s face. “You useless fool!” the old man roared. “I spent forty years building this legacy, and you drag it through the mud for a cheap thrill!” Christian, pale and trembling, noticed me sitting quietly beside his grandfather, pouring the old man a cup of chamomile tea. He immediately pointed a finger at me. “Grandpa, Helena set this up! You know how insane she is. She’s been looking for a way to ruin me because of my personal life. She tipped off those reporters!” I let my shoulders tremble. I squeezed my eyes shut, and within seconds, tears began to stream down my cheeks.

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By the time Victoria realized I was slowly fading out of her life, she had already demoted me to the janitorial crew to appease her young assistant, Adrian. She thought she was just teaching me a lesson, but soon, the cracks began to show. When she had to attend high-stakes business dinners, there was no one there to drink for her, forcing her to curse under her breath as she fumbled through her purse for hangover pills and antacids. When she stayed up until the early hours of the morning reviewing contracts, there was no one to gently force her to rest or quietly finish the paperwork for her. I even caught her coming out of a cheap, hourly-rate motel on the edge of town with Adrian, but I didn’t say a word. I didn’t demand answers. I simply turned and walked away. Eventually, Victoria swallowed her pride and came looking for me. She found me on my knees on the cold marble floor, scraping away at a piece of hardened chewing gum. “You don’t have to humiliate yourself just to get back at me,” she said, her voice carrying a mix of irritation and sigh. “Making you do janitorial work was just for show. Once Adrian cools off, I’ll put you back in the Vice President’s office.” I stood up, my aching legs protesting the sudden movement, and picked up my dirty mop bucket in silence. Today was the thousandth day I had spent chasing after Victoria Westwood. It was also the last. Another firm had already offered me a executive role with a competitive salary, and my plane ticket was already booked. … Seeing my silence, Victoria’s lips pressed into a tight, thin line. She was treating me like a sulking child, slapping me first and then offering a piece of candy, fully expecting that all of our history could be easily swept under the rug. “Don’t be mad on your birthday, birthday boy,” she said, trying to soften her tone. “I have a surprise waiting for you tonight.” Seven years together, and Victoria had never remembered my birthday once. Every time I bought a cake and set it on our dining table, she would look surprised and ask what special occasion we were celebrating. Yet Adrian had only been with the firm for two weeks, and she knew his birthday and his exact number of days on the payroll by heart. Now that I had stopped loving her, she suddenly cared. She reached her hand out, intending to ruffle my hair, but froze when a soft cough echoed from the corridor. Adrian stepped into the lobby, pulling a bottle of hand sanitizer from his designer bag. Without warning, he pointed it at my face and sprayed. “Jude, you’re a janitor now. You’re absolutely filthy,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “Ms. Westwood is delicate. Please sanitize yourself before you get too close to her.” He was too fast, and I couldn’t duck in time. The harsh chemical mist sprayed directly into my eyes, causing a stinging burn that made me instinctively reach up to rub them. My foot caught the edge of the heavy mop bucket. It clattered to the floor, sending gray, soapy water splashing across the pristine tiles. Adrian let out a dramatic, high-pitched shriek. “Call security to disinfect this area! The dirty water got on Ms. Westwood’s trousers! What if she catches some horrible bacteria and falls ill?” Victoria let out an indulgent laugh, nudging him playfully. “I’m not as fragile as you are, Adrian.” Adrian pouted, stepping forward to cup her face in his hands. “Who says I’m fragile? Last time you got acute gastritis from those extra-spicy diner fries, I was the one who practically carried you into the ER.” They flirted openly, completely ignoring me as I sat in the cold, dirty puddle, the sting in my eyes bringing back the memories of the slap that had ruined everything. It had been the night we finally closed a massive international deal. Victoria’s stomach had been tearing her apart from the stress and alcohol. I had run to the nearest pharmacy to buy her medicine, panting as I raced back to the restaurant, only to find her gone. The local news had been warning about a violent fugitive active in that very neighborhood. I had panicked, called the police, and searched every dark alleyway, sobbing her name. I couldn’t find her. Until the hospital called. I flew to her room, thinking that if she was gone, I would go with her. But when I pushed the door open, I saw Victoria holding Adrian, comforting him. Adrian was crying, blaming himself for taking her to that greasy diner for spicy fries. Out of sheer panic and exhaustion, my mind had snapped, and I slapped Adrian across the face. Victoria’s expression turned ice-cold. Right then and there, she called HR and demoted me to the cleaning staff. I remember screaming at her like a madman, asking if she had stopped loving me. She was too busy soothing Adrian to answer. But I had my answer. Now, the security guards arrived with heavy-duty chemical backpacks. Under Adrian’s orders, they pointed the spray nozzles directly at me. Victoria frowned slightly, grabbing Adrian’s hand. “Jude is highly allergic to industrial disinfectants. Just have them clean the floor.” Adrian winks playfully. “Don’t worry, Victoria. I made sure they used the organic, non-irritating stuff. Even if Jude gets a little on him, he’ll be fine.” He pressed the trigger. A harsh, chemical mist drenched my collar. “See? He’s perfectly fine.” Victoria glanced at me. Seeing no immediate rash on my neck, she affectionately pinches Adrian’s cheek. “You little troublemaker.” I staggered to my feet, digging my nails into my palms to resist the desperate urge to scratch my burning skin. Out of Victoria’s line of sight, Adrian smirks and made a face at me. He knew I won’t ask Victoria for help. Or rather, he knew that even if I did, she would side with him. Just like last week, when Adrian accidentally fed a month’s worth of crucial project data into the paper shredder. He had thrown himself into Victoria’s arms, crying, claiming I had ordered him to do it. The entire team glared at me, their hard work destroyed. I begged Victoria to check the security cameras to prove my innocence, but she simply covered Adrian’s ears and called me an incompetent fool who couldn’t even manage basic files. The chemical fumes sting my throat, making it hard to breathe. I press a hand to my stomach, praying my chronic ulcer won’t flare up from the stress. Victoria doesn’t notice my distress. But when Adrian coughs from the fumes, she quickly takes his hand and leads him away. A female security guard watches them walk off, then turns to look at my damp, clinging shirt with a sneer. “Thought sleeping with the boss made you untouchable, huh? Look at you now, thrown out like trash.” “Mr. Adrian said you have a certain scent on you. Said we need to scrub you clean with the good stuff.” Seeing the malicious glint in their eyes, I step back. “What are you doing?” They grab my arms, dragging me toward the stairwell, tearing at my shirt. Terrified, I sink my teeth into the closest guard’s ear, fighting like an animal. “Ah! You little bastard, let go!” A hard blow lands on my face, and a heavy boot kicks me squarely in the ribs, sending me crashing down. Ignoring the pain, I scramble backward, clawing at the concrete. “Help! Someone help me!” My screams echo through the concrete stairwell. Realizing things are getting out of hand, the guards swear, kick me one last time, and bolt. I huddle on the floor, gasping through the agonizing pain in my back, slowly dragging myself up. Before I can catch my breath, a hand grips my wrist with bruising force. Thinking the guards are back, I lash out blindly. “Get off me!” A cold sneer sounds from above. I look up and meet Victoria’s freezing gaze. “Jude, I didn’t think you could be this malicious.” Before I can comprehend her words, she drags me toward the elevator. Muffled sobs echo from the executive office. Victoria shoves me against the wall, pointing at the espresso machine. Inside the glass water reservoir floats a bloody, mangled dead rat. “Are you going to pretend you didn’t do this?” she roars. “Apologize to Adrian. Now.” The rat’s lifeless, bulging eyes stare back at me. The sight of the dark blood makes my vision spin. When my parents died in a car fire, I was sent to a state orphanage. A boy there wanted the pocket watch my father had left me—my only keepsake. I refused. He brought older kids from the street who threatened to cut me open. I held the watch to my chest, refusing to let go, and they plunged a knife into me. Victoria, who lived in the neighborhood, ran out and took the second blow for me. Her warm blood soaked my clothes, looking exactly like the blood my parents spat out in their final moments. I had screamed until my throat bled before passing out. Ever since, I have suffered from severe, paralyzing hemophobia. I slide down the wall, my knees giving out as the memories of my parents lying in a pool of blood crash over me. “It’s my fault… I shouldn’t have asked to go to the carnival…” Victoria notices my trembling, her eyes widening in sudden panic. She takes a step toward me, but Adrian lets out a sharp whimper. Instantly, she pivots, pulling Adrian into her arms and stroking his back. “Victoria, I’m so scared…” Adrian weeps, clutching her collar. “Why does Jude hate me so much? Is it because I took his job? I’ll give it back… I’ll leave…” Victoria wipes his tears, her gaze turning venomous as she looks back at me. “Jude! Apologize to him!” Curled in the corner, I let out a hollow, broken laugh. She doesn’t believe me. She never will. Her heart belongs entirely to Adrian now. My fingernails bite deep into my palms. I close my eyes, despising my own weakness. I promised myself I wouldn’t care, that I wouldn’t shed another tear for this woman. Yet the tears keep spilling over. Losing her patience, Victoria grabs my wrist, her grip so tight I feel my bones grind. She drags me to Adrian’s feet, then reaches into her drawer and hurls a leather-bound document at my face. It is the deed to my parents’ house. “I bought back your family’s estate. I was going to give it to you tonight for your birthday,” she says coldly. “But since you refuse to apologize, I guess you don’t want it.” She steps forward, grinding her heel directly onto the deed. Seeing the dirty footprint mar the pristine cover, my chest tightens. I throw myself forward, desperately clutching the document. “I’ll buy it from you! At market value! You promised me, Victoria—you promised that once we made it, you’d help me get my parents’ house back. I want you to honor that promise. Now!” Victoria hesitates for a fraction of a second, but Adrian snatches the document from my hands. Rip. The sound is clean and sharp. The deed is torn into pieces, and Adrian throws the shreds out the open window, watching them scatter into the wind like snow. The final string in my mind snaps. I stare blankly at the falling white pieces. Victoria rubs her temples, turning to scold Adrian, but he looks up at her with wide, watery eyes. Her anger dissolves. She turns to me, her voice indifferent. “You put a dead rat in his coffee to terrify him. He tore up your paper. Consider it even.” The tears feel cold on my face. I let out a quiet laugh. She thinks Adrian only tore up a piece of paper. No. He tore up her promise. He tore up the last thread of love I had left for her. A metallic taste rises in my throat. In a whisper, I say, “Victoria, I don’t love you anymore.” She steps closer, leaning down. “What did you say? Speak up.” Seeing her attention drift back to me, Adrian clutches his chest, groaning. “Victoria, my head is spinning. How am I supposed to help you welcome the VIP guest like this?” A cruel smirk plays on his lips. The office door knocks. “Ms. Westwood, Mr. Jeff has arrived in the lounge.” A chill runs down my spine. Jeff is the only son of our largest investor, and an obsessive, violent stalker of Victoria. Every time he visits, he brings his trained Doberman, Kaiser, to sniff her clothes, searching for the scent of any man who has dared to get close to her. Once, Kaiser tore open the leg of a junior analyst who had simply shared an elevator with Victoria. Because Victoria needed his mother’s backing, she had to swallow her anger and sweep it under the rug. To keep me safe, Victoria used to give me the day off whenever Jeff came to the office. The heavy thud of boots echoes in the hallway, accompanied by the low, guttural growl of a dog. The private office closet is only large enough for one person. Victoria looks between me and Adrian, torn. Adrian gasps dramatically, collapsing into her arms. “Go ahead, Victoria. Let me handle the guest. I’m just your assistant. Even if I get mauled, it’s my duty.” A sharp pain shoots through my stomach. I lean against the desk for support, accidentally knocking my phone to the floor. The screen lights up, displaying a photo of Victoria and me laughing, holding Casper, our late Samoyed. Victoria’s eyes light up. She grabs my shoulders. “Jude! You used to raise Casper. Dogs always loved you. Maybe Jeff’s dog will like you too.” My heart freezes. I look at her, unable to comprehend her words. Kaiser is a trained attack dog. Years ago, Casper was killed by a stray mastiff while trying to protect me. The trauma left me with severe, recurring nightmares. Without waiting for my reply, Victoria gently ushers Adrian into the private closet. There is a small gap left—enough for me to squeeze in. But when I try to follow, Victoria blocks the door, her face hardening. “He needs air to breathe, Jude. If you crowd him, he’ll have a panic attack.” The knocking at the main door grows louder. Weak and trembling, I look around for anywhere else to hide. Suddenly, the door is kicked open. Jeff stands there, holding a thick leather leash connected to a massive, snarling Doberman. I instinctively shrink behind Victoria. Jeff’s eyes flash with murderous rage. He pats the dog’s head. “Kaiser, tear this parasite apart.” The Doberman lunges, teeth bared. I run, but the dog corners me, its claws slicing deep gashes into my calves. Victoria watches in horror, but when I try to crawl toward the closet, she grabs a heavy glass mug from her desk and smashes it right in front of me, cutting off my path. Through the crack in the closet door, Adrian smiles. Trapped in the corner, I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for the worst. Just as the dog lunges for my throat, Jeff’s phone rings. He barks a command, pulling the dog back. “You got lucky today,” Jeff snarls, pointing a finger at me. “If I see you hovering around Victoria again, I’ll let him finish the job.” As Jeff’s footsteps fade down the corridor, the crushing tension in my chest finally eases. Victoria walks right past me, her boots stepping through my blood, and throws open the closet door. Seeing that Adrian is completely unharmed, she finally deigns to look down at me. “Go get patched up. I’ll come home tonight and we’ll celebrate your birthday.” I limp out of the office, heading straight to the hospital. The doctor cleans the deep lacerations, administers a tetanus shot, and warns me to rest. I go back to the apartment, pack my single suitcase, and head straight to the airport. As the office hours draw to a close, Victoria calls HR. “Reinstating Jude to the VP position tomorrow morning.” The HR manager hesitates. “Ms. Westwood… Jude submitted his formal resignation and signed his exit papers last week.” Victoria’s heart skips a beat. She drops her keys, sprinting to her car and driving like a madwoman back to our apartment. But when she throws open the door, the rooms are dark and empty. Only a cheap, dull diamond ring sits on the bedside table.

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