My parents wanted me to keep a low profile, so they swapped out my Maybach for a used station wagon. I didn’t think much of it — until the first day I drove it to work, and my boss snatched the keys right out of my hand. “Thomas, I need to take my girlfriend camping this weekend. Lend me the car. You’re single anyway — it’s not like you’re doing anything but sitting at home.” Before I could say a word, he added impatiently: “Fill up the tank first, and make sure it’s clean. Think of it as a chance to make a good impression.” The people around us craned their necks to watch. Even my girlfriend — who didn’t know we were together, as far as anyone at work was concerned — lowered her voice and nudged me: “Thomas, don’t make things difficult. He’s your boss. Just lend him the car and stay on his good side. It’ll help you at the end-of-year review.” I almost laughed out loud. It was my family’s company. What review did I need his help with? I looked at Mark — the department director who had been parachuted in from outside. I kept my patience. “Mark, this car is a limited edition. If it gets scratched, the parts are almost impossible to source.” “Maybe you could ask one of the other guys?” Mark rolled his eyes and scoffed. “It’s a beat-up used station wagon. What parts could possibly be hard to find?” “My new girlfriend has this thing about camping and needs a big car that can haul stuff. Otherwise, who’d bother with your junk.” A few coworkers exchanged glances and tried to smooth things over. “Come on, Thomas. Director Mark already asked — just let him borrow it for a bit.” “Getting face time with the boss is never a bad thing. It’s just a car. No need to be so stingy about it.” When I still didn’t answer, my girlfriend Aurora gave me a shove. “Thomas, stop acting up. Director Mark is talking to you. Get moving.” Mark glanced at Aurora, then turned back to me. “Alright, alright. You look like you can’t make up your mind, so clearly being generous isn’t in your nature.” “How about this — I’m not borrowing your used piece of junk for free. I’ll add two points to your performance review at year-end. Consider it me doing something nice for my subordinate.” Used piece of junk. That was rich. Sure, my dad had phased this car out of his rotation — but it cost enough to buy an apartment. Even a single scratch would run more than Mark’s entire annual salary. I was about to refuse when Aurora grabbed Mark’s arm and held on. “Thank you so much, Mark! Thomas just started and he’s still learning the ropes.” “Don’t worry — I’ll personally make sure the car is clean and the tank is full before you pick it up.” Mark looked pleased with himself, gave Aurora a pat on the hand, and headed back to his office. The coworkers around us started laying it on thick. “Thomas, aren’t you going to thank Director Mark?” “Seriously — two performance points for a used car? You’re coming out ahead.” Aurora exhaled with relief and came over to link her arm through mine. “There you go. You’ve got to be a little smoother about these things — especially as a man. Know when to play the game.” “If Mark’s happy, things will be a lot easier for both of us around here.” I stepped aside without a word, letting her hand fall. I glanced at her wrist. She was wearing a couples watch — the exact same one as Mark’s. “Aurora,” I said. “Are you working late again this weekend?” Her eyes shifted. She let out a dry laugh. “Yeah… the company suddenly has this urgent thing. I really do have to go in.” “You know how it is — I’m in a good stretch right now and I need to push.” I watched Mark’s back as he walked away, and smiled to myself. I wanted to see how far her “good stretch” would take her without my help. Monday morning, I was jolted awake by Mark calling my phone. “Thomas! Get your ass down to the lobby right now!” “Come see what your piece of crap car has done to me!” I took my time. Got up, washed my face, got dressed. By the time I got downstairs, Mark was standing next to the car with his hands on his hips, a crowd of coworkers gathered around him. I walked a full circle around the vehicle. The front bumper was caved in. One headlight was in pieces on the ground. The whole body was splattered with mud. The window had been left open, and inside there was a smell I couldn’t quite name — and a few used condoms sitting right there on the floor mat, out in the open. Mark saw me coming and immediately jabbed his finger at my face. “Thomas, what is wrong with this car?” “I was driving just fine and the brakes suddenly gave out! I went straight into a tree!” “You scared me half to death — and I want compensation for the emotional distress!” He caught himself mid-sentence. Aurora, standing off to the side, chimed in to pile on. “Thomas, how could you lend the boss a car with a safety defect?” “What if something had seriously happened to Director Mark? Could you even take responsibility for that?” This car had carbon-ceramic brakes — a limited-edition spec. And he was telling me they failed?

I fired back directly. “Director Mark, I never agreed to lend you this car. I’m guessing Aurora took the keys without telling me, didn’t she?” “But since the car’s already damaged, shouldn’t we talk about repair costs?” Mark’s voice went up an octave. “You’re asking ME for repair costs?” “Have you lost your mind?” The coworkers around us started whispering. “Thomas, you’re way out of line. The director drove your car — that’s him giving you the time of day.” “Exactly. It’s a secondhand car, it’s not worth anything. If it breaks, it breaks. Move on.” I almost laughed. This car was a limited-edition custom order my dad placed overseas. It cost five million dollars. My dad only changed the exterior so I could blend in at work. And these people were calling it a no-name secondhand car. Then Mark reached into his pocket and pulled out two bills. He flicked them at me like he was tipping a busboy. “Two hundred bucks. That’s more than enough to fix that heap of junk.” “Keep the change. Call it a bonus.” The bills drifted to the ground. Aurora scrambled to pick them up and pressed them into my hand. “Thomas, let it go. The director already paid you. What more do you want?” “We all work together — don’t make a big deal out of nothing. It makes you look petty.” I turned around and threw the money back at her. “Director Mark,” I said, “one headlight on this car costs a hundred and eighty thousand dollars.” “The front bumper replacement is another two hundred thousand. Add depreciation — this accident runs at least six hundred thousand total.” “How would you like to pay?” Silence. Then the whole crowd burst out laughing. Mark stared at me like I’d lost my mind. “Thomas, are you seriously trying to scam me?” “This random used station wagon — and you want six hundred grand? What are you smoking?” “Fine. If you can prove this car costs six hundred thousand to fix, I’ll not only pay you — I’ll get down on my knees and call you Grandpa, right here in front of everyone.” I let the corner of my mouth lift, pulled out my phone, and sent the damage photos to the overseas dealership. “Good. You said it.” “Director Mark, don’t come crying to me later.” Back in the office, Mark called an immediate department meeting. One agenda item only: workplace conduct. “Certain employees,” he announced, “have their minds on everything except their work. All they think about is how to cheat and extort their superiors.” “This department has zero tolerance for that kind of behavior.” “As a consequence, I’m moving Thomas’s project over to Aurora effective immediately.” “Aurora has been performing exceptionally well — putting in extra hours, showing real initiative. She’s got potential.” The room stirred. That project was a major account I’d been working for three months. We were weeks away from signing. Handing it over now was the same as giving away everything I’d built. Aurora stood up without a hint of humility. “Thank you for the trust, Director Mark. I won’t let you down.” She turned to me. “Thomas, don’t be discouraged. Even though the project is mine now, you’re still welcome to help with some of the smaller tasks.” “After all, we’re… colleagues.” She paused just long enough to imply something more. As if I’d ever want to go public with her. Did she actually think I was proud of this? Looking back, keeping things quiet was the right call. A woman like that — my family, the Edwards family — was better off not knowing she existed. Mark saw I wasn’t fighting back and pushed harder. “Also, given Thomas’s attitude and conduct issues, his year-end bonus is canceled entirely.” “In addition, a formal written warning will be issued company-wide. This goes on record.” “If anyone disagrees, you’re welcome to hand in your resignation right now.” The coworkers who’d been jealous of me for months looked over with barely concealed satisfaction. No one spoke up. They were all waiting to watch me slink out. I didn’t flinch. I pulled out a vehicle accident liability form. “Fine. I’ll drop the project.” “All I need is a signed acknowledgment that the car damage was caused by you. Once I have that, I won’t even involve the police.” Mark picked up the form and skimmed it. “Thomas, who do you think you’re threatening?” “Call the cops? Go ahead. You think they’ll actually arrest me?” But Aurora grabbed the pen before he could even finish. Her head was full of the commission she was about to earn, the promotion she could already taste. “I’ll sign!” “Thomas is just throwing one last fit. Like this project can’t run without him.” She scrawled her name across the form in quick, decisive strokes. Then, helpfully, she passed the pen to Mark. “Sign it too. Let him give up for good.” “This project is going to be the centerpiece of this department — and it’ll have nothing to do with Thomas.” Mark loved being fawned over. He took the pen without hesitation. “Fine. You want the formalities? I’ll give you the formalities.” “It’s just a used car. The damage is a thousand dollars at most. But once this deal closes, I won’t just be a director anymore.”

I watched these two practically trip over themselves to hand me the project transfer form. I signed it with a smile. These two confident idiots. I couldn’t wait for the day my dad — the company’s CEO — came in for his inspection. I wanted to see how they planned to present a project they couldn’t even open. Over the next few days, the two of them ran themselves ragged trying to prepare. They were too busy to bother harassing me. And on the morning of the CEO’s visit, the vehicle damage assessment landed in my inbox. Mark summoned me with his usual arrogance. “Thomas, go get everyone coffee. I want an iced Americano. Figure out the rest yourself.” “And stay outside once you’re done. A meeting at this level isn’t for someone like you.” Aurora, smoothing out the blazer she’d bought new for the occasion, added sweetly: “Thomas, be good. Stop sulking.” “Once I close this deal, I’ll throw you two hundred bucks as a reward.” I looked at these two clowns and gave a slow nod. “Sure. Though I’d skip the coffee — I have a feeling you won’t be in the mood to drink it.” Mark frowned and started to say something. Then the receptionist burst in, flustered. “Mark! The CEO is here! He’s already in the elevator!” Mark’s expression flipped instantly. A wide, eager smile spread across his face. “Move! Aurora, get the presentation ready. We need to make a strong impression.” “Thomas — get to the storage room and stay there. Don’t let the CEO see you looking like that. You’ll embarrass the whole department.” Aurora gave me a shove toward the corner. I laughed quietly and walked straight into the control room beside the conference room. The meeting began. Aurora opened her laptop with full confidence and connected to the projector. “Mr. Phillips, and distinguished leadership — I’ll now walk you through the core project strategy.” The screen lit up. A giant exclamation mark appeared. File encrypted. Please enter password. Aurora froze. She clicked frantically, sweat breaking out across her forehead. “What… what’s going on? It was fine yesterday…” Under the table, Mark kicked her hard. “The password! Type the password!” Aurora’s hands were shaking. “I don’t know the password! Thomas built this file!” “But I could open it yesterday when I was reviewing the presentation — why won’t it open now?” The air in the conference room turned heavy. My dad’s expression went cold. “This is what you call being prepared?” “You can’t even open your own presentation. Do you think this company is a playground?” “If this deal falls through, whoever is responsible will be personally liable for tens of millions in penalties.” Mark went white. He jumped to his feet and immediately pointed the blame. “Mr. Phillips! This is all that employee Thomas’s doing!” “He’s jealous of Aurora’s abilities. He deliberately locked the file to sabotage us!” “I’ll fire him immediately!” My dad raised an eyebrow slightly. “Oh? Is that so?” “In that case, bring this Thomas in.” “I’d like to see for myself who gave him the nerve.” Mark thought the CEO was going to back him up. He lit up. He shouted toward the door. “Thomas! Get in here!” “Come in here and explain what the hell you’ve done!” The conference room door opened slowly. Every eye in the room turned. I walked in holding the vehicle damage report, set a cup of tea in front of my dad, and said: “Dad. Have some tea. Take a breath.”

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The night before the wedding, I was trying on my wedding dress when my fiancé spoke up, his tone completely casual: “I helped make your mom’s dying wish come true, so I need you to do something for me — just deal with this clingy girl for a bit.” When he saw me freeze, he added, “I’m marrying her tomorrow. I want you there as the wedding artist.” “She knows we’ve been together five years and she’s not taking it well. She wants her moment, and I can’t talk her out of it.” I stared at him blankly, forcing a stiff smile onto my face: “What are you talking about… didn’t we already get our marriage license?” “The license was fake,” Mason André said without a trace of shame. “My identity was fake too.” “I’m actually the heir to the André family. The André family and the Carter family have arranged a union — my wife can only be Chris Carter.” “But Fiona, I do still like you. All that glamour gets boring after a while. Being with you is the best escape I have.” “As long as you behave, I can give you everything except the title of wife. We can keep things exactly the way they’ve been.” He gently wiped the tears from the corner of my eye, smiling with a cruelty that chilled me to the bone. “Fiona, choose wisely.” “I’ve got a wedding tomorrow, so I’m heading out now. She’ll throw a fit if I’m late.” So five years of love had been nothing more than a pastime to cure his boredom. Mason was right. I should choose wisely. Him and his child — I wanted no part of either. ……

I stood frozen before the full-length mirror. The dress on my body was supposed to symbolize happiness. In this moment, it felt like a sharp slap across the face — silently mocking my foolish heart. Before all of this, I had always believed Mason was someone who never wanted to get married. So for five years, I had been the understanding girlfriend who never once pressured him. Then, a month ago, my mother — the only family I had — fell gravely ill. Her one dying wish was to see me marry Mason before she passed. When Mason found out, he took me to get a marriage license without hesitation. He even got down on one knee and proposed to me in front of my mother. I thought he loved me. But it turned out this was just the leverage he needed to keep me in line — all for the sake of appeasing another girl. Lost in my thoughts, the shop attendant walked in with a warm smile: “Miss Fiona, your fiancé said these two dresses would look lovely on you. He asked me to bring them for you to try.” I slowly lifted my eyes and smiled, though it came out hollow. “That won’t be necessary.” “The wedding — it’s been called off.” I don’t know how I made it home. I thought I could handle this calmly. But the moment I stepped through the door — I saw Mason’s jacket still hanging on the balcony, and the half-finished puzzle we’d been working on together the night before, still spread out on the table. The ache hit me slowly, then all at once — a dull, suffocating pain I couldn’t hold back. I sank to the floor, and finally broke down completely. I cried until I had nothing left. Then my mother called. I wiped my face with the back of my hand and pulled myself together before picking up. Her voice was fragile on the other end, but full of warmth and anticipation. “Fiona, how did the dress fitting go? Show me — I just know my daughter is going to be the most beautiful bride.” “I’m fine, I’m just so happy. Getting to see you two get married before I go… it makes everything worth it.” I swallowed the sob rising in my throat and kept my voice steady: “Don’t worry, Mom. The dress fitting went great. Everything’s almost ready for the wedding.” After I hung up, every last bit of strength left me. I collapsed onto the cold floor. Mason had calculated this perfectly. For my mother’s sake, I surrendered.

The next day, I packed up my art supplies and showed up at Mason’s wedding. Mason looked at me with a satisfied smile on his face. “Fiona, you’ve always been such an understanding girlfriend.” My heart clenched sharply. Those words — understanding girlfriend — cut into me like a blade, leaving a wound I couldn’t close. Five years together, but we were apart far more than we were close. The time we’d actually spent in the same place barely added up to a year. Mason always said he was swamped with work — ten months out of the year, he was supposedly away on business trips. I never once complained. When he vented about his boss docking his pay and bonuses, I quietly transferred half my own income into his account. Once, I was hospitalized and needed surgery. I kept it from him the whole time so he wouldn’t worry. When he found out afterward, it was the first time I ever saw his eyes go red. “Fiona, you don’t have to be so strong all the time. You still have me.” I never forgot those words. But the person who said them seemed to have forgotten them completely. Mason reached out of habit and ruffled my hair. I kept my head down and stepped back without making a sound. He noticed the distance. I saw his chest rise and fall sharply. I didn’t have the energy to care. I quietly followed his assistant toward the wedding venue. The ceremony was held at Mason’s private estate. Under crystal chandeliers that blazed like daylight, a sea of flowers stretched in every direction. The reception hall was filled with nearly five hundred tables. The scale of it was breathtaking. And I suddenly felt like a joke. When we were planning our own wedding, Mason had said: “It’s just a formality. Let’s keep it simple.” “You know how I feel about marriage.” I understood. I gave in, over and over again. No flowers. Scaled-back everything. A small venue on the outskirts of the city. Five tables. But now I could see — his “anti-marriage” stance had been nothing but an excuse. The truth was simple: he never wanted to marry me. The deeper I walked into the venue, the larger the crowd grew, and the louder the whispers became. “Isn’t that the woman Mason keeps on the side? And she actually had the nerve to show up here?” “Shameless. She looked decent enough from the outside — never would’ve guessed.” “She’s the wedding artist? Some broke little painter. Like she’d ever step foot in a place like this if she hadn’t latched onto Mason.” My feet stopped moving. The air felt like it had been sucked out of the room. The murmurs slithered through the crowd and gnawed at my already shredded heart. I wanted to say something — to tell them I wasn’t the other woman, that Mason and I had been together for five years. But I opened my mouth, then pressed it shut again. Who would believe me? The bride today wasn’t me. That said everything. I endured the stares and the pointed fingers, quietly set up my easel and art supplies, and gripped my paintbrush tight, pretending I couldn’t hear a single word. Then the wedding march drowned out everything else. Every pair of eyes turned to the radiant couple at the altar. In front of everyone, Chris looked at Mason and said the words: “I do.” I steadied my trembling hand and painted the moment they kissed. Even though I had braced myself for this, a deep, helpless ache still bloomed in my chest, spreading through me like cracks in glass. Then came the toast. As I expected, Chris walked over on Mason’s arm. She raised her glass with a practiced smile. “You must be the artist. Thank you so much for capturing our happiness today.” I pulled together a faint smile. “I can’t drink.” Chris bit her lip, and tears welled in her eyes almost instantly: “Mason, I guess I’m just not important enough to her.” Mason pulled her close. “It’s your day, baby. Whatever you say goes.” He turned to look at me, his gaze heavy with pressure. I held his stare without flinching. The pregnancy test tucked in my pocket felt like a brand pressed against my skin. “Mason, do you really need to make me drink this?” His brow creased with impatience. “It’s just one drink.” I let out a quiet, bitter laugh and said nothing more. I took the glass and drained it. The liquor burned a trail from my throat straight down to my stomach, and a sharp cramp twisted through my lower abdomen. By the time I swallowed the last drop, the final ember inside me went cold.

The rest of the time, I got through it one agonizing second at a time. By the time the reception ended, I was drenched in cold sweat. I was about to leave when Mason’s assistant appeared and steered me into a dressing room without giving me a choice. Chris had already changed out of her wedding dress. She sat there with her legs crossed, watching me. I pressed through the cramping pain in my stomach and held out the painting. “This is yours.” She curved her lips into a slow smile, reached out, and tore it clean in half. “Fiona, right? I know who you are. My husband’s mistress.” “I’m not a mistress,” I said, forcing down the surge rising in my chest. “And you know that.” Chris’s expression shifted instantly, her face twisting with vicious jealousy. “Mason married me. You’re still clinging to him — what would you call that if not being a mistress?” “You saw it yourself today. Mason loves me. He married me. What does five years with you even matter now?” “I have no interest in fighting over anything,” I said, looking at her with complete calm. “Once I’ve handled the last thing he promised me, I’ll be gone.” I was exhausted. I had no fight left in me. I turned to leave. Chris lunged after me and dug her nails into my arm. I cried out in pain and pushed her away without thinking. But before I even used any real force, she went sprawling to the floor. At that exact moment, Mason shoved the door open, his face a picture of panic. I stood there, frozen. “I didn’t —” The rest of my sentence was obliterated by what came next. “Chris, are you okay?” Mason rushed in and pulled her up from the floor. “Mason, you’re finally here!” She flung herself into his arms. Then she tilted her tearful eyes toward me. “Fiona came to drop off the painting — and then she just ripped it apart herself.” “She said I’m a homewrecker. That I don’t deserve to marry you, and I don’t deserve to have our painting.” “That’s a lie!” The fury hit my chest so hard I could barely breathe. Mason snapped his head up, his gaze dark and heavy as it locked onto me. “Why would Chris make something like that up when she’s carrying my child?” “Fiona, if anything happens to her or the baby, don’t think for a second you’ll walk away from this.” They had a baby on the way too… The world went silent. A long, hollow ringing filled my ears. Chris leaned into Mason’s arms, the corner of her mouth curling into a quiet, triumphant smile. “Mason, my stomach hurts.” “I noticed the gemstone pendant Fiona’s wearing. It matches yours — they’re a pair.” “As an apology, why not let her give it to us? For the baby’s blessing.” My chest seized. That gemstone pendant set was my mother’s wedding jewelry — the gift she’d given me and Mason for our engagement. I reached up and clutched the pendant at my throat, then looked at Mason, silently pleading. But he only glanced at me, his tone carrying a quiet edge of warning. “It’s just a pendant. We’ll give it back when we’re done with it.” “Fiona, learn to pick your battles.” I swayed on my feet. The nausea twisting my stomach didn’t come close to the pain tearing through me right now. Mason stared at my pale face, momentarily distracted. Chris caught it. A flash of spite crossed her eyes. She shook his hand. “Come on, Mason, we still have our after-party tonight. We need to go.” As she brushed past me, she dropped her voice to just barely above a whisper: “Thanks for the pendant. And don’t worry — I left you a little gift too.” The next second, my phone rang. I nearly dropped it. “Miss Fiona, your mother’s condition has taken a turn. Please come to the hospital immediately.”

My mind went completely blank. The blood drained from my entire body. There was only one thought left in my head: I had to get to my mother. I bolted out of the room like a person possessed and threw myself in front of Mason’s car just as it was pulling away. “Mason, my mom’s condition suddenly got worse. Please — please take me to the hospital.” Mason hesitated. In all the time he’d known me, I had always been the strong one. The one who kept everything together and never let anyone see her fall apart. Seeing me now — sobbing outside his window, begging — something tightened in his chest in a way he couldn’t quite explain. He was about to tell the driver to unlock the door. Then Chris’s voice cracked through the moment like a whip: “Fiona, are you seriously doing this to me on purpose?!” “Mason has spent five years with you. The least you can do is let him be completely mine today. Why do you have to take him from me right now?” “If you want to ruin our plans, just say so. You don’t have to make up some excuse.” With each word from Chris, the warmth drained from Mason’s eyes. What was left was cold and flat. “I already checked with her doctors. Your mom has been stable lately.” “Fiona, using something like this to try to keep me here just makes me tired of you.” He ignored my cries. The car pulled away and disappeared into the dark. In complete desperation, I bit through the pain and walked. Three hours. It took me three full hours to reach the hospital on foot. When I finally got there, I understood what Chris had meant by her “gift.” She had posted about me online — spreading the story that I was Mason’s mistress. A headline was already trending: [André Family and Carter Family Unite in Matrimony — Mistress Fiona Causes Scene at Wedding!] My mother had seen it. The shock and distress sent her into a collapse. By some miracle, the doctors had been able to stabilize her. In the hospital room, my mother stroked my hair gently, her voice thin and tired: “Fiona, I believe you. I’m not falling for those rumors.” “But… did you and Mason actually break up? Did he do something to hurt you?” I blinked back the tide rising behind my eyes and smiled for her. “Those articles are all lies. The wedding is still happening.” “Everything’s fine between us, Mom. I promise. So you need to focus on getting better.” She nodded with relief and, as though the effort had used up everything she had left, drifted back into sleep. I walked out of her room and slid down the cold wall until I was sitting on the floor. In the quiet of the hallway, the only sounds were my tears hitting the tile and the muffled sobs I pressed behind my hands. The next morning, I sent Mason a message. I asked him, for the sake of everything we had shared, to help me one last time. I never got a reply from him. Instead, Chris showed up — furious and spoiling for a fight. She stood outside my mother’s hospital room, arms crossed, staring down at me with contempt. “You pathetic little thing. I knew you’d go crawling back to Mason behind my back.” “Let me ask your mother how she managed to raise a daughter like you.” I threw myself in front of the door, but her bodyguards seized me before I could stop her. My mother heard the commotion and forced herself up to open the door. “Let go of her! You have no right to treat my daughter like this!” Seeing me being held back, she rushed toward us with everything she had left. But a single sentence from Chris stopped her cold. “Your daughter broke up my marriage. Are you saying she doesn’t deserve what she gets?” My mother stumbled backward. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Then she fell. “No!” The scream tore out of me. I wrenched free and threw myself to her side. The medical team came running. After everything they tried, the doctor turned to me and shook his head. The strength went out of my legs. I crumpled to the ground. Then the doctor’s face went pale and he rushed toward me. That was when I felt it — a crushing weight low in my abdomen, and the warmth of blood spreading beneath me. That day, I lost the two most important people in my life at the same time. My mother, who had loved me more than anyone. And my baby — two months along. I was lying in the recovery bed after surgery when Mason’s message finally came through: “Fiona, what is wrong with you? Chris told me she went out of her way to bring a specialist to see your mother today, and you wouldn’t let her in — and then you hit her? You actually broke the skin on her hand.” “Look, she’s pregnant and she doesn’t need this kind of stress. I’m going to take her somewhere to decompress. I’ll be at the wedding on Saturday as agreed.” I didn’t reply. I blocked him on everything. Before I left, I arranged a simple funeral for my mother. Then I went home and packed. I picked up my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t touched in over a year. The next day, I boarded a flight to England. Toward the future I had once given up for him. Mason — this is my choice. We will not meet again.

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While we were out shopping, I stopped to tie my shoelace. When I looked up again, my boyfriend Robert and my best friend Nia were already ten feet ahead. I was about to step forward to catch up, but the space between them — the space that had always been mine — was slowly closing. They fell into step side by side, picking up a conversation I had no way of joining. As if there had never been a third person there at all. Back in school, Robert and Nia were the ones everyone called gifted. After graduation, Robert and Nia became the youngest attending physicians at the hospital. No matter how hard I pushed myself, I could only trail behind them — just another ordinary nurse. Robert would always ruffle my hair and say, “You’re adorable, even when you’re clueless.” Then he’d turn around and seamlessly perform one complex surgery after another with Nia. Watching their backs, I suddenly felt exhausted. This road I had been walking — always chasing after Robert — I didn’t want to walk it anymore.

We turned the corner, and Robert and Nia disappeared from view entirely. Not once, from start to finish, had either of them turned around to check if I was keeping up. I stood there quietly for a moment, then turned and walked away. Back at the hospital, a coworker raised an eyebrow and leaned over. “Didn’t you switch shifts to go on a date? That was fast.” “Yeah. It’s done.” I changed into my scrubs and sat back down at my station. The hospital kept us all busy. Over the course of a year, Robert and I had been on proper dates fewer than ten times. Today he had a rare day off, and I’d called in a favor with a coworker to swap shifts in advance. I thought that even just holding hands and walking around the neighborhood together would be enough. Then Nia showed up out of nowhere and threw everything off. Before we left, I’d made a point of telling them — with a straight face — not to talk about work. Not one word. Both of them had pinched my cheeks and nodded eagerly. “Okay, okay. We get it.” But halfway through dinner, someone brought it up, and before long the two of them were going back and forth about patient cases. I sat there beside them, pushing rice around my plate. I don’t even remember when the check was paid. Then the landline at the nurses’ station rang, snapping me back. My coworker had already picked up. A car accident up north — several people were being rushed into the ER. I was about to text Robert when a message from him came through first. “Patient came in. Nia and I are heading back to the hospital.” I turned the screen off and sat there, blank. He still hadn’t asked, not even once, where I had gone. After my last procedure of the day, I ran into Robert in the hallway. He looked worn out. I kept my eyes straight ahead and didn’t fall into my usual habit of fussing over him. But the moment we crossed paths, he caught my wrist. He buried his face in the curve of my neck — a habit of his. “What’s wrong? Don’t recognize your own boyfriend?” Every time he came home after a long shift, he’d do this. Said it was how he “recharged.” My mind told me to pull away. But there was a dull ache spreading through my chest that I couldn’t explain. It had taken me three years to go from quietly loving Robert to actually standing by his side. The day we got together, someone in our cohort immediately started a side bet on how long we’d last. Because honestly, the gap between us was hard to ignore. Robert had been at the top of his class every single year. Me? Since elementary school, I’d had teachers point fingers in my face and call me stupid. The one who’d stepped in front of me with open arms back then was Nia. I knew I wasn’t the smart one. I always needed Robert’s patience and Nia’s encouragement just to keep going. So even though I had made up my mind — the moment he leaned in close, all that resentment I had been holding onto began quietly dissolving. We sat together in an empty stairwell. It was a rare moment alone. In the silence, Robert finally spoke. “Maya.” “Yeah?” “Can you try to act a little more mature from now on?” I blinked, caught off guard. After a long pause, I slowly turned to look at him. “What?” His eyes were closed. His voice was flat — the way you’d talk about the weather. “This afternoon you disappeared without saying a word. You had Nia and me worried sick.” “We both finally had a day off. Even if you don’t care about me, you could at least consider Nia. She’s not your babysitter.” I didn’t move. But I felt like something inside me had cracked open, and cold air was rushing in. Worried about me? Then why wasn’t there a single call or text on my phone? Was it worry — or was I just ruining their day? “Look at you. I say two things and you’re already crying.” Robert’s expression was full of resignation. The way he looked at me was the way you look at a child who refuses to grow up. I dropped my head. Tears hit the front of my shirt, leaving a damp patch. “Okay. It won’t happen again.” He sighed and patted the top of my head. “Go home and get some rest. Nia and I still need to go over a treatment plan.” After Robert left, my phone rang. It was my dad. “Hey sweetheart, didn’t you say you were bringing your boyfriend over for dinner? Still at work?” I pressed my hand hard over my mouth so he wouldn’t hear me break. “Honey? Maya?” It took a while before I could speak normally. “Dad. He’s not coming.”

At dinner, my parents could tell something was wrong. They kept piling food onto my plate. When I set down my fork, I took a slow breath. “I don’t want to be a nurse anymore.” They both stared at me. “Didn’t you say you’d repeat a whole year of high school just to get into nursing school?” “Are you having a rough time at work? Don’t give up on your dream over a bad stretch.” I shook my head without saying anything. Medicine was Robert’s dream. It had never been mine. It started during a late study session in our senior year. He reached out his hand to me. “Maya, work a little harder. Let’s be together — always.” For that one sentence, I threw myself headfirst onto the road chasing after him. What followed were years of dense medical terminology, precise and unforgiving procedures, and nights that never seemed to end. Things that came easily to everyone else took me ten times the effort — sometimes a hundred. Once I started working, I had to stay alert every single hour, terrified of betraying a patient’s trust. And even then, all Robert would do was cup my face and say, “Watch how Nia does it. Stop being so scattered on the floor.” I was his girlfriend. But it had been a long time since he had looked at me like an equal. The next day at lunch, I submitted my resignation and went to the cafeteria to eat. Nia carried her tray over and sat down across from me. She slid half of her tomato scramble into my bowl and studied my face. “You were crying last night, weren’t you?” I looked up, not sure what she meant. Nia looked mildly surprised. “Nia and I worked so late we just got a room at the hotel for the night,” she said. “Robert just told me he forgot to let you know. He figured you’d be upset.” I had slept at my own place last night and had no idea whether Robert had come home. And honestly, it didn’t matter anymore. I kept eating. “Is that so.” Nia tilted her head, studying me with wide eyes. “Wait, you’re really not upset? Then — someone owes me a yogurt!” She spun around. Robert appeared from behind me, placed a yogurt in Nia’s palm, then sat down next to me. He frowned slightly. “Our Maya’s finally growing up. Normally this would’ve set you off for three days straight.” “Hey, Maya is not like that.” And just like that, the two of them launched into a debate about who knew me better. I sat between them, and everything became noise. My hands were shaking around my utensils. A wave of nausea rolled through me. The two people closest to me in the world were placing bets on my emotions. I turned to Robert slowly. My voice came out steady. “I want to break up.” The table went quiet. Robert stared at me. “You—” Before he could finish, Nia leaned over carefully. “Maya, are you mad at me? Last night was really just work. I didn’t ask him to stay.” Robert’s brow tightened. When he looked back at me, the surprise in his eyes had curdled into irritation. He took my words as a tantrum and spoke coolly. “It’s fine, Nia. You don’t need to explain yourself. She’s always like this — dramatic. It exhausts everyone around her.” Nia opened her mouth to say something, but Robert pulled her away. I was left alone at the table. I threw out most of my food and went to submit my resignation to the head nurse. She didn’t try very hard to talk me out of it. She just said the process would take at least a month.

Back at my station, a coworker hesitated before sliding up next to me. “Maya — did you and Dr. Robert break up?” He hadn’t agreed to it, but as far as I was concerned, we were over. I nodded. She exhaled slowly. “That explains it. A patient got aggressive earlier and shoved Dr. Nia. Dr. Robert picked her up right away and rushed her to the ER himself. I was watching — she barely even fell, but he completely panicked.” My brow pulled together. “Did she hurt her hand?” The resentment hadn’t gone anywhere, but my legs were already moving toward the ER before I’d made the decision. Back in school, Nia used to throw an arm around my shoulder and announce to no one in particular: “I’m going to be the best cardiothoracic surgeon in the country.” “Maya, I’ve got your back once we’re both at the hospital.” If her hand was injured, how would she ever operate again? Every bad possibility tangled together in my head as I walked. By the time I got there, Nia was lying on the exam table, eyes red. “Nia, are you okay?” I crossed the room quickly. She spotted me and managed a small smile. “I’m fine. Just twisted my ankle.” I had barely breathed in relief when Robert’s voice cut through, flat and cold. “Satisfied, Maya?” I had no idea what he meant. “If you hadn’t thrown a fit, Nia wouldn’t have come after you to smooth things over. She wouldn’t have been in the way of that patient.” His words pinned me to the floor. I couldn’t think straight. Nia was already pushing at his arm. “Why are you blaming Maya? That’s not fair.” But Robert kept his eyes on me. “Why haven’t you grown up after all these years? You always make everyone adjust around you. Who do you think you are?” Silence. Something hot was slipping out of the corners of my eyes again. As if he’d finally noticed how sharp his words had been, he softened — slightly. “Just try to be calmer going forward. Okay?” He reached out to wipe my tears. I turned my head and stepped back. “Dr. Robert, we’ve already broken up. Please don’t speak to me like that.” Robert let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Maya. Enough.” Even Nia looked at me with disapproval. “Stop being stubborn.” Honestly — they were more alike than either of them knew. Neither of them could ever really see what I said, what I felt, or who I was. I pulled up a bitter smile and walked out. The days that followed, Robert gave me the silent treatment. Between that and my own efforts to avoid him, we somehow went half a month without exchanging a single word. But he was the hospital’s golden boy, and gossip about him never stopped. Word was that he brought Nia a fresh-cut steak every single day while she recovered. Word was that they co-authored a paper published in a major journal and got recognized by the chief of staff. When coworkers asked me for updates, I just shook my head. I didn’t know anything. One afternoon, Nia stopped me in the hallway. She caught my sleeve like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Maya, did you really stop talking to me just because you and Robert fought? Come on.” “You two are both impossible. Let me be the bridge here — just meet him halfway. Please?” I looked at my best friend of so many years. And felt something cold and unfamiliar wash over me. We had known each other longer. I hadn’t done anything wrong. So why did she always take his side?

“Dr. Nia, I have work to get back to. If there’s nothing else, please excuse me.” The color drained from Nia’s face in an instant. “Nia. Come here.” Robert was standing a short distance away. The glance he gave me was the kind you’d give a stranger. That was fine. I pulled my sleeve free and walked away. Not long after, the three of us ended up in the same OR. A colleague had called in sick, and I was filling in. The patient’s case was complicated. The hospital was taking it seriously. Robert was the lead surgeon. Nia was assisting. I took a slow breath, geared up, and triple-checked every sterile instrument before we started. Halfway through the procedure, I was still tightly wound, checking every move twice. Both of them were focused, expressions serious. “Hemostat.” I passed the hemostat to Nia. Then her hand slipped. It hit the floor with a sharp clatter. Before I could bend down, Robert’s voice came through, clipped and cold. “Get her out. Jessica, step in.” Coming out of the OR, I noticed cold sweat soaking through my scrubs. It had only been a small hiccup. The surgery went fine overall. After the shift, Nia left looking shaken and distant. Then Robert’s shadow fell over me. His eyes were tired, his voice heavy with disappointment. “A mistake like that — what kind of nurse are you?” I looked up at him in disbelief. “You saw what happened. That wasn’t my fault.” “So you’re saying it was Nia’s?” Robert’s expression went cold immediately. “Maya. Since when do you pass the blame?” I understood then. He had decided, in that moment, to make me take the fall — for Nia’s sake. My fingers drifted to my chest without thinking. No wound there. But it hurt so much I thought it might kill me. I don’t know what Robert said to the head nurse. The next day, I was reprimanded in front of everyone — and a patient’s family member happened to overhear. It spread fast. “That nurse Maya can’t even hold a scalpel steady. She has no business in an operating room. One of these days she’s going to get someone killed.” To contain the fallout, the hospital suspended me for a week. The head nurse sighed. “Administration is pushing hard on this. I put a rush on your resignation paperwork. Let’s get your things today.” At three in the afternoon, I changed into my street clothes and packed everything into a cardboard box. Robert spotted me in the hallway and frowned. “They’re letting you go over something this minor?” “Suspended,” I said. He visibly relaxed and reached over to ruffle my hair. “Then take it as a vacation. Rest up. I’ll take you somewhere fun next week.” I said okay and walked out of the hospital. He didn’t know I was never coming back.

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On my thirtieth birthday, I walked out of prison. Waiting for me were three letters — written by three men a decade ago. The first was from Ethan: Ten years from now, I’ll have married the only woman I’ll ever love. That woman will be you. The second was from Sebastian: If you choose him, I’ll throw everything away to stop that wedding. I can’t stand the thought of you belonging to someone else. The third was from Caleb: Even if you don’t love me, I’ll spend my whole life protecting you. That’s the one thing I’ll never give up on. I’d barely finished reading the opening lines when I looked up. All three of them were standing right there. They stared at me with cold, hard eyes, surrounding me like I was some kind of dangerous criminal. “Two years ago you fabricated lies to hurt Yvonne, left her disabled, and got yourself thrown in prison. Have you learned your lesson?” I looked up at the three men who had once sworn they would love me forever. Slowly, I rolled up my pant leg and revealed my prosthetic. “Yes. I’ve learned my lesson.” What they didn’t know was that Yvonne’s legs were perfectly fine. The one who was truly disabled now was me. Whatever love they once had for me had died the moment Yvonne appeared. And now, I didn’t need any of them anymore. A voice rang out inside my head — the system’s voice. Task complete. Do you wish to leave this world?

Before I went to prison, I had shown them the prosthetic, just like I did today. They hadn’t believed me then either. “You’re a dancer. If you were really an amputee, you’d have nothing to live for — you’d be better off dead. You don’t have the guts for that. It’s fake.” To get back at Yvonne, Ethan pulled strings and deliberately arranged for me to share a cell with a convicted killer. The woman didn’t dare take my life inside those walls, but she found every other way to make me suffer. A dislocated jaw. A broken nose. Patches of scalp torn away. That was just a normal week for me. Doctors would treat my wounds and keep me alive. Then they’d send me right back. The cycle never stopped. But the official report always read the same: Inmate #44 — status: satisfactory. The fact that I made it out of there breathing was nothing short of a miracle. Sebastian grabbed me by the hair — right at the spot where my scalp had never fully healed. The pain was blinding. Tears burst from my eyes before I could stop them. He startled and quickly let go, but a second later his brow furrowed again. “What, do you think you’re royalty? I barely touched your hair. Don’t be so dramatic.” I could feel the scalp slowly seeping blood, the pain settling into a deep, numbing ache. I didn’t want to waste another second on them. I just wanted to find a clinic, get the wound treated, and then do what the system had set out for me — leave this world behind. I’m a traveler. I move between parallel worlds, completing missions. And these three — Ethan, Sebastian, and Caleb — were the strangest targets I’d ever been assigned. I didn’t have to chase them down or strategize. The moment they met me, they flipped the script and came after me instead. Thinking back on those absurd, almost comical memories, I let out a dry, self-mocking laugh. I’d traveled through so many worlds. I’d met men far better than these three. So how on earth did I end up getting burned by them? But clearly, the three of them had no intention of letting me walk away. Caleb grabbed my wrist, his eyes flat and cold. “Yvonne knows you’re out today and she’s not doing well. Come with us to apologize to her. Get down on your knees and make it right.” A sharp crack cut through the air. My wrist had just fractured. Ethan looked mildly confused. “Why didn’t you hold back?” Caleb pulled his hand away in a panic, his expression equally baffled as he stared at me. “I barely used any force.” He really hadn’t. The problem was that the killer in my cell had already snapped that wrist once before. Even after it healed, it never fully recovered. One wrong move and it broke all over again. “It’s just a fracture. It’ll heal.” Ethan waved it off like it was nothing. “Let’s take her to Yvonne first.” At that point, Sebastian reached over and snatched up the three letters. He skimmed them quickly, exchanged a glance with the other two, then dropped all three into the trash. The love letters they had written to me with their own hands — apparently the sight of them made these men sick. “If I could do it over, I wouldn’t waste a single second on you. Only Yvonne deserves that.” My scalp was still bleeding. My thoughts were starting to blur at the edges, and my vision wasn’t far behind. Caleb was the first to notice something was wrong. “Why is there blood on her forehead?” Blood from my scalp was trickling down my face in a slow, steady stream, dripping onto the floor — each drop hitting the concrete and blooming into a small, dark flower. My body swayed. I was relieved they’d finally noticed. Maybe now they’d take me to a clinic first. But instead, Ethan let out a cold laugh. His voice dripped with contempt. “That trick’s already been used once. We’re not falling for it again.” “Kayla, you’re not the same person you were at twenty.” “All these years, under our protection — and instead of staying the person we knew, you just got crueler with every passing year.”

Ethan’s mention of my twenty-year-old self pulled me straight back into the past. At twenty, I was the kind of girl other women envied. My family had money, and I’d been told more than once that I was beautiful. On top of that, I had three remarkably good-looking men who never left my side. Ethan, Sebastian, and Caleb — lifelong best friends who had grown up practically joined at the hip. Maybe because their lives had always run on the same track, their taste in women ended up nearly identical. All three of them fell for me at the same time. Strangely enough, they didn’t fight over it. Instead, they made a pact — fair competition, no dirty moves. They each had their own way of pursuing a girl. At twenty, I was obsessed with those over-the-top romance novels about powerful, possessive men who swept women off their feet. I couldn’t resist Ethan’s bold, unapologetic approach. So I chose him. The whole campus assumed that once I was taken, Sebastian and Caleb would finally shift their attention to other girls. They didn’t. They stayed by my side as they always had. If Ethan ever slipped up even slightly, neither of them needed me to say a word — they’d handle him themselves. The four of us existed in a dynamic that was complicated, but somehow it worked. That life lasted until I was twenty-six. That year, my family’s business collapsed. My parents moved back to their small hometown. The pampered girl I used to be was gone. I turned down all three of their offers to help and found work on my own — performing as a dancer at a local theater. At a dinner one evening, I crossed paths with a young woman named Yvonne, who was being harassed by her boss. She was four years younger than me, fresh out of college, and she looked completely lost. I had never been able to stomach watching someone get pushed around. And having been sheltered and spoiled my whole life, I had a tendency to act first and think later. I grabbed a bottle off the table and smashed it over the man’s head. He let go of Yvonne — but then turned his attention to me. The situation dissolved into chaos. I fought back, and by the end of it my face was bruised and swollen. Fortunately, Ethan and the others showed up in time. Dealing with a paunchy middle-aged man was effortless for the three of them — like handling a child. Once the man was gone, Yvonne dropped to her knees in front of me. She pressed her forehead to the floor, her eyes full of tears. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry you got hurt because of me.” I couldn’t bring myself to be angry with her. I thought that would be the end of it — a brief encounter, nothing more. But while I was recovering at the hospital, Yvonne showed up with fruit she’d bought on sale. I was in the VIP suite Ethan had arranged. Yvonne looked visibly out of place, fidgeting with her hands. “Kayla… that night, if you hadn’t stepped in, I don’t know what would have happened. I asked Ethan what you liked, and he said durian, so I bought some. I really hope you feel better soon.” The durian she brought had gone partially bad. I didn’t want to make her feel worse, so I ate it anyway. The spoiled fruit wrecked my stomach. I was sick for days. Ethan and the others scolded me first for being too soft-hearted, then went and yelled at Yvonne. The poor girl had never been on the receiving end of anything like that. She sobbed so hard she could barely breathe. Between tearful apologies to me, she vented about being let go from her internship. Back then, I just thought she was sweet and a little naive. I liked her. I wanted to help her. So I got her a position at the theater and took her on as my personal assistant. It was the decision I would regret most in my entire life.

“Hey. Stop spacing out.” Ethan snapped me back to the present and pushed me into the car. All four of us in one vehicle — it felt strangely like those old days when there was no tension between us, when everything was easy. I felt exhausted. I leaned against the window, closed my eyes, and tried to rest through the pain. The car was sealed. The thick, metallic smell of blood spread quickly through the enclosed space. Caleb’s brow furrowed slightly. He spoke carefully, like he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer. “Is that… blood I’m smelling?” Ethan, behind the wheel, frowned hard. “Ask her,” he said. Caleb nudged me. I nearly blacked out. But I forced my eyes open and looked at him, not quite focused. Caleb lightly pressed his fingertip to the blood on my forehead, then studied it. “Since when do they make stage blood this realistic?” Looking at his expression, I couldn’t help but let out a small, humorless smile. “What’s funny?” he asked. I shook my head and said nothing. I was laughing at how stupid they were. No — that wasn’t right. All three of these men were intelligent. Highly intelligent. They had simply decided, before they ever looked at the facts, that I was the villain. I stayed quiet, and they didn’t push. They figured the blood was fake and left it at that. The car pulled up in front of a sleek high-rise apartment building not long after. The moment I saw the building, it hit me like a physical blow. I had grown up here. My family lived here — before everything fell apart, before my parents were forced to sell the unit to pay off the debt, before we had to leave. From the passenger seat, Sebastian offered a flat explanation. “Don’t look so surprised. Yvonne said she loved this place, so we bought it for her. A gift.” A bad feeling settled over me. Standing at the door of the home I had grown up in, I finally couldn’t hold it back. I looked at the three men who had once promised to protect me always. “You knew I was saving up to buy this place back. That was the whole point — I wanted to give it to my parents. And you gave it to Yvonne as a birthday present?” My parents had never really let go of that apartment. Too many memories lived inside those walls — the three of us, back when life was whole. That was why I had refused to take their money at twenty-six. I wanted to earn it back on my own terms. The place wasn’t cheap. I didn’t want it handed to me by a man. I had almost saved enough when they put me in prison. And sometime during those two years, the apartment went to Yvonne. Something small and aching stirred in my chest. The three of them exchanged a glance. Something shifted in their eyes — not quite guilt, just a kind of settled certainty. Then they answered me, as if the matter were perfectly obvious. “It was Yvonne’s birthday wish. Of course we made it happen.” “There are other units available in this building. If you want one that badly, just buy a different one.” “Besides, you’re the one who put Yvonne in a wheelchair two years ago. Giving up a little for her is the least you can do. Think of it as making amends — we were actually doing you a favor.” And what — I was supposed to thank them for that? It was almost funny. Just then, the front door opened. A girl appeared in the doorway, her face pale and delicate as porcelain. She was wearing a long white dress and sitting in a wheelchair. When she saw me, Yvonne let out a soft, startled sound and turned her face away. “She’s… why did you bring her here…” The tears came right on cue, sliding silently down her cheeks. Two years, and nothing had changed. Yvonne could still cry on command. If I had known how this would all unfold, I never would have made her my assistant. I should’ve pointed her toward acting — she clearly had the talent for it. Maybe none of this would have happened. Yvonne’s distress flipped a switch in all three of them. They turned to look at me with hard, watchful eyes, as if they expected me to lunge at her any second. The crying made my head throb even worse. I looked at Yvonne’s legs — completely hidden beneath the long hem of that white dress. Those supposedly ruined legs. I spoke first. “Why don’t you lift your skirt and show them the prosthetics?”

The words had barely left my mouth before Ethan’s hand came across my face. My ears rang. His expression was full of disgust. “Do you have to keep pushing her? What happened to you?” It would’ve been almost funny, if my ears hadn’t been ringing so badly I could barely make out what he was saying. Yvonne didn’t have to do anything. All she had to do was sit in that wheelchair and cry, and these three men would march into battle for her without a second thought. When she first came to work for me, Yvonne was practically glued to my side — twenty-four hours a day, diligent and eager. Whenever I spent time with Ethan and the others, Yvonne was always there too. The balance the four of us had built over the years began to crack. My dance career was going well. Within a year, I was headlining solo tours. That meant I spent more and more time away from the city. Yvonne always found a reason to stay behind. She never came on tour with me. I wasn’t happy about her work ethic, but I let it go. Then, little by little, I noticed the group chat the four of us had shared for years going quiet. It didn’t take long to figure out why. Yvonne had started a separate group chat with all three of them. They were more active in that one than they’d ever been in ours. I could accept Yvonne becoming part of our circle. What I couldn’t accept was being the one pushed out of it. Especially when one of those three people was my boyfriend. I picked a fight with Ethan. Desperate and furious, I pulled a stupid stunt — fake blood, trying to scare him into paying attention. When he saw through it, the look in his eyes was like looking at a stranger. “Funny. I never noticed how unhinged you were until now.” After that, Ethan and I fell into a cold war. I stopped talking to Sebastian and Caleb too. Then came another tour. Yvonne refused to come, as always — but this time I didn’t give her a choice. I made her come with me. That rehearsal was when everything went wrong. My opening number required me to descend on a wire harness from nearly fifty feet up. When Yvonne helped me check the rigging, something felt off. I told her multiple times to tighten it. She kept insisting it was fine. The rest of the crew had left for their dinner break. It was just the two of us in the theater. “Kayla, if you’re scared, I’ll go up with you,” she offered, her voice sweet. She strapped into a harness, but she never actually rose with me. I went up alone. At the top, the rigging gave way — exactly as I had feared. The safety lock had come undone. I fell from that height — five stories up — and hit the stage. I didn’t die. But it felt like every bone in my body had come apart. My screams echoed through the entire theater. Yvonne called a cab and dragged me into it, taking me to a hospital on the far end of the city. The fall was severe. The delay made it worse. My legs couldn’t be saved. The amputation happened on my twenty-eighth birthday. The only person with me that day was Yvonne. She told me Ethan and the others were busy. That they couldn’t make it. I was devastated, but I was too far gone in grief to dwell on it. Two days before I was discharged, Yvonne disappeared. I came home on prosthetics, and the police were waiting for me. Ethan, Sebastian, and Caleb had turned me in — together. Their story: driven by jealousy, I had attempted to kill Yvonne. The attempt failed, but left her permanently disabled. I was drowning in grief and had no way to prove anything. Before they took me away, I showed them the prosthetics one last time. They weren’t moved. They mocked me instead. My head was spinning now. My vision was going white at the edges. Blood loss. A body that had never really recovered. I passed out on the spot. As the darkness closed in, I heard Ethan’s voice — lazy, contemptuous.

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Five months into my pregnancy, I received a letter from my past self — written five years ago. The pages were filled with hope for the future. “Dear Serena, have you married Ethan, the one who loves you most?” “Are you two happy now? Do you have children?” “Do you still remember your most important promise to each other?” I stood there in a daze, unable to recall what that so-called promise even was. The sounds from the bedroom grew unmistakably clear. Ethan walked out with his arms around his secretary, her skin covered with marks. “Kiki doesn’t like the peach-flavored ones. Go downstairs and buy a new box.” He paused, his gaze dropping to my swollen belly. When he spoke again, there was something almost charitable in his tone. “Stop playing games. After you have the baby, you can still be Mrs. Whitmore.” I glanced down at the letter in my hand, picked up a pen, and wrote my reply to the girl I used to be. “Loving him was enough. There’s no reason to hold on to how it ends.” After all, the Ethan who had once emptied his savings to pull me back from the edge of death — that man had died the day he first cheated, two years ago.

“Ethan, my sister is still pregnant. Besides, something like this — how can you ask her to go buy it…” Chelsea wound herself around Ethan like a vine, her cheeks flushed, playing the picture of shy innocence. “It’s not like it’s the first time. Since when did you get modest? You weren’t exactly shy five minutes ago.” Ethan gave her a squeeze, his words growing uglier by the second. “I’ll go get them.” A wave of sickly-sweet perfume mixed with the smell of sex hit me in the face. My stomach turned. I swallowed the urge to gag, answered quietly, tucked the letter into my pocket, and started toward the door. His gaze snagged on the letter in my hand. A flicker of suspicion crossed his eyes. He crossed the room in a few long strides and snatched it from me. When he read what was written inside, his expression softened. His voice took on a rare gentleness. “Serena, if you just behave, I’ll make time to come to your next prenatal appointment…” I cut him off before I could stop myself. “Don’t bother.” The warmth on Ethan’s face vanished. “Serena, don’t push your luck.” Chelsea caught the shift in his voice. Her eyes darkened for just a moment before she drifted to my side, her tone turning sweeter. “Serena, are you still upset with me? I genuinely have feelings for Ethan. I don’t even care that I’m not his wife…” “And you’re pregnant right now. Ethan just doesn’t want to hurt you or the baby. But men have needs — that’s all this is between him and me…” Her face wore a pitiful expression, but her eyes held something sharp. Without warning, her manicured nails drove hard into my palm. The pain drained the color from my face. I yanked my hand away on instinct. Chelsea let out a sharp cry and stumbled backward, landing on the floor. Her eyes went red immediately, and she looked utterly helpless. “Serena, apologize to Kiki. Now.” Ethan gathered Chelsea into his arms with careful hands, eyes full of concern as he studied the scrape on her palm. When he turned back to me, his face held nothing but cold indifference. His stare cut right through me. Without thinking, I started to explain myself. “She was the one who —” The words died in my throat under his deepening glare. Of course. Ethan hadn’t believed me in a long time. The day I found out about his first affair — the day I bit that woman badly enough to leave scars — that was the day he stopped believing me. Thinking about it now, I felt something hollow settle in my chest. So I said nothing. “Ethan, it’s okay, it doesn’t hurt. Serena was probably just upset. Please don’t fight with her because of me…” Chelsea’s voice floated up again, and Ethan’s expression went completely cold. He pressed his lips gently to Chelsea’s forehead, his eyes full of tenderness. “Kiki, I know you’re easygoing, but you don’t have to put up with everything she does. She owes you an apology, and she’s going to give you one.” “Serena. Last chance. Are you going to apologize or not?” I stared at Chelsea, smug and satisfied in Ethan’s arms, and felt the man I’d spent ten years with become a stranger. “I didn’t do anything wrong.” “Unbelievable.” “Take Serena to the isolation room. She can stay there until she’s ready to apologize.” My eyes flew open. The color drained from my face.

“Ethan, I’m pregnant!” I stared at him in disbelief, my voice shaking. He stood there, expression completely blank. He knew I had claustrophobia. He knew — and he was still doing this. “Don’t want to go? Then apologize to Kiki.” His tone was flat. Non-negotiable. The memory of those days in the isolation room — the despair, the dark — flooded back all at once. Every muscle in my body went rigid. I searched his face, looking desperately for any trace of hesitation, any hint of mercy. There was none. I forced a small, hollow smile. My nails bit into my palm. And slowly, I lowered my head. “Ethan, please — don’t force her if she doesn’t want to go…” Chelsea’s voice wavered softly. “It’s too late for an apology now. You’re still going to that room. Think of it as a lesson. Next time, maybe you’ll remember to behave.” Ethan delivered his verdict without even looking up. Ten minutes later, two security guards dragged me down the hallway to the door of the isolation room. The darkness of that heavy door made me start shaking before I even touched it. Whatever composure I’d been holding together crumbled completely. I begged and struggled, but Ethan and Chelsea just stood to the side and watched with cold eyes. “It’s just being sent to your room. Why are you making such a scene?” Until I broke down completely, sobbing, and screamed: “Ethan, I want a divorce!” He laughed. He walked over, tilted my chin up, and gently wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes. Something almost like pity moved across his face. “Serena, I gave you your life back. What exactly gives you the right to talk about divorce?” Then he let go of my chin, shook out his hand like he’d touched something unpleasant, and turned away. “Take her inside.” In the last second before the door of the isolation room slammed shut, I saw Ethan reach over and tuck a loose strand of hair behind Chelsea’s ear, his eyes soft and full of warmth. The heart that had already been broken a thousand times finally shattered for good. Ethan. Loving you is exhausting. I don’t want to do it anymore. As my consciousness faded, I found myself drifting back to five years ago. I had just graduated college. My parents had never paid much attention to me, but I had Ethan — a long-distance boyfriend who loved me fiercely. I thought we’d just keep walking forward together, happy and steady, for the rest of our lives. Then a routine check-up changed everything. I was diagnosed with stage-two lung cancer. Cancer. At twenty-three, it felt like a word that belonged to someone else’s life entirely. When my parents found out, they blocked my number. The last thing they said to me was: “Your brother still needs money for a wedding and a house. We don’t have anything left for your medical bills.” I gave up. I was ready to let go. It was Ethan who came back for me. He quit his job at a top firm, drove across the country, sold the condo his parents had bought him, and spent every dollar he had to drag me back from the edge. Watching his face grow more exhausted and hollow with every passing week, I couldn’t bear it. I tried to talk him into letting me stop treatment — more than once. He just pulled me close, quietly, and held on. “Serena, I’m going to get you better. We’re going to be together for a long, long time.” “Please don’t give up. Please.” His voice trembled. There was something almost like begging in it. His tears soaked through the thin fabric of my hospital gown.

That night, I cried under the covers until morning. There was still someone in the world who loved me like that. I had to keep living. Maybe the universe took pity on me. The cancer cells slowly stopped spreading. A year later, I walked out of the hospital. It felt like a miracle. To make sure I had the best possible care, Ethan had started a company with a few friends while I was still in treatment. He got busier. But he still cooked for me every day, reminded me to take my medication, and drove me to every follow-up appointment without fail. Everyone around me said I was lucky to have found someone like him. I believed them. His company kept growing. He proposed. We got married in front of the people we loved most. In our second year of marriage, I got pregnant. When he found out, he spun me around and around in his arms, laughing, his eyes bright with a happiness that made my own eyes sting. I thought there was probably no one in the world who could love me more than Ethan did. Then, in my third month of pregnancy, he cheated. I drove over and walked in on the woman climbing off him, her skin marked all over. In that moment, my mind went blank except for fury and devastation, and I threw myself at her. I bit her badly enough to scar her face. And the price I paid for it was — My three-month-old baby. Gone. Kicked out of me by Ethan in his rage. Afterward, Ethan apologized again and again. He made promises, over and over. But I had already changed. I became anxious, suspicious, unable to tolerate any woman near him. I would spiral even when he went to meet a business partner. The final straw came when I threw coffee in a client’s face. Ethan reached his limit. He locked me in the isolation room. “Serena, you need to calm down.” The darkness warped something inside me. I came out of that room with claustrophobia that never went away. A month later, I was finally let out. And, just as he’d wanted, I had become quiet. Obedient. After that, the women in Ethan’s life rotated in and out. I learned not to see them. No arguments. No scenes. “Why hasn’t this patient woken up yet? That doesn’t seem right.” Voices cut through the haze. I opened my eyes. I was in a hospital bed, surrounded by doctors and nurses. “Ms. Reed, we couldn’t reach any of your family members. The security guard who brought you in paid the deposit and then left…” “Doctor, just tell me directly. I can make my own decisions.” My voice came out rough. The ache in my abdomen told me why they were all standing there. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Reed. The baby’s heart has stopped beating. Your own body isn’t in a suitable state to continue the pregnancy, and we need to perform a procedure to remove the fetus.” The doctor hesitated, choosing his words carefully. He understood how painful it would be to deliver this news. “Okay. I understand. Please schedule the procedure.” “…Are you sure you’ve thought this through?” “I have.” “Your file shows you’re married. Would you like to discuss this with your husband first?” “No.” After the doctors and nurses left, the room went quiet. I pulled back the blanket and found myself reaching down, touching the curve of my belly without thinking. Even though I had no choice, a dull, deep pain kept moving through my chest in slow waves. This was my baby. It should have been born safe. It should have grown up healthy. But now… The tears came before I could stop them. The evening before I was discharged, Ethan called. His voice was measured, almost soothing. “Things have been hectic at the company this week. I’ll come pick you up when you’re discharged.” I answered the way he liked. “Okay.” But discharge day came and went. I waited from sunrise to dark. He never showed. I should have known. But there had still been that small, stubborn thread of hope I couldn’t quite cut. I took a cab back to the estate. As I reached the front door, the housekeeper met me with a complicated expression and handed me a small stack of envelopes. The sender: myself. The recipient: also myself. I knew immediately. Letters from the girl I had been five years ago. I folded each one carefully and tucked them into my pocket, then walked toward the door. I hadn’t even made it inside when I heard the sound of shattering glass. My chest tightened. I moved quickly toward the noise. Chelsea was standing at the wooden display cabinet. A crystal urn lay in pieces at her feet. And the ashes I had once gathered, piece by piece, with my own hands — my baby’s ashes — were now ground under her heel. I went completely still. My eyes locked on the floor. My vision went red.

“Who told you to touch that?” “Ethan said he needed the cabinet cleared out for my shoe collection. You might want to find somewhere else for your stuff, Serena.” Chelsea’s eyes were full of contempt. “You’re going to pay for this.” The hatred rose up so fast I couldn’t contain it. I thought of that baby who never got to take a single breath. My hand came down hard across her face. She staggered back and fell onto the floor covered in broken glass. By the time Ethan rushed in, I was on top of Chelsea with my teeth sunk into her wrist. Blood ran down the corner of my mouth. “Serena! Are you insane? Let go!” “Ethan! She’s going to kill me! She’s going to kill me — help me, please!” Chelsea was too terrified by the look in my eyes to even scream properly. She held her voice in until she saw Ethan, and then she completely fell apart. In the end, I bit down and didn’t stop. Chelsea passed out from the pain. I didn’t pay attention to the chaos erupting around me. I just walked slowly to the cabinet and began carefully picking up what remained of the ashes scattered on the floor. That was my first child. Half an hour later, Chelsea’s wounds were finally under control. Only then did Ethan seem to remember I existed. He looked at me — still kneeling on the floor, still gathering ashes one by one — and his expression darkened further. “Serena. Give me a reason.” Silence. “Tell me why!” Still nothing. He grabbed the small urn from my hands. I spun around instantly, my face changing, panic breaking through. “She destroyed our baby’s ashes!” “Ethan… that was our child…” How could he expect me not to hate her? Tears were running down my face. I couldn’t form words anymore. Ethan froze. The urn was still in his hand. For a moment, his expression went completely blank. After a long pause, he slowly crouched down and placed the urn back in my hands. “Serena… we can still have another child. You need to let yourself move forward…” I looked down at the urn. The doctor’s words came back to me. My tears fell without a sound. Ethan. We won’t have another child. Not with you. Not ever. After that day, Ethan’s attitude toward me softened. With his tacit approval, I was given more freedom than I’d had in years. I kept writing back and forth with my past self. Ethan caught a glimpse of the letters a few times and said nothing about it. He probably assumed it was just some personal journaling habit — harmless and odd. I told my younger self everything. Every detail of the five years that had passed. “Ethan is going to change. He’s going to stop loving you.” The last letter I received from her asked a single question: “Why doesn’t Ethan love you anymore?” Why doesn’t he love me anymore? “That’s a question you’ll have to ask him yourself.” Half a month later, I went to the hospital alone for the procedure. Just before they wheeled me through the doors, I heard urgent footsteps in the hallway, and then Ethan’s voice, sharp and breathless. “Doctor, I don’t consent. I am Serena’s husband — I do not consent to this procedure.” He grabbed my hand. His grip was tight, his voice running fast, with an edge of fury underneath it. “Come home with me. We can talk about this. The baby is innocent in all of this.” He looked like he genuinely cared about the child. But it was already too late. The baby had no heartbeat. “Ms. Reed, a procedure like this does require a family member’s signature. Is there someone who —” “I’ll sign.”

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All of New York was talking about it — Lucas Hale, the guy who once won an international gold medal on the piano, was now nothing more than Serena Caldwell’s pet. The day the Hale family went bankrupt, I signed a three-year contract and sold myself to my ex-girlfriend, Serena Caldwell. Everyone assumed we’d rekindled our romance. Only I knew the truth — I was a servant she’d bought for three million dollars. She went through seventeen boyfriends, and every single breakup, she took it out on me. Slapping me across the face. Pouring champagne over my head. Leaking photos of me on my knees scrubbing her heels to the media. Spreading rumors that I’d sleep with anyone, that I’d clawed my way up by using my body. I fell from the top to the gutter and became the laughingstock of all New York. I endured all of it. Until one night, drunk and reckless, she made a bet and lost me to the girl next door — the one I’d watched over since we were kids, the one I loved like a little sister. Three days and three nights. The fingers I’d spent eighteen years training on the piano were broken, one by one. A deep, permanent scar was carved across my cheek from one side to the other. When I finally crawled out, Serena was sitting on the couch touching up her makeup, smiling like nothing had happened. “It was just a little joke. Don’t tell me you can’t take a joke.” Then she held the rest of the Hale family’s debt over my head, just like she had on every one of the previous one thousand and ninety-five days. I didn’t say a word. I just lifted my eyes to the clock on the wall. Seventy-two hours until the three-year contract expired. Serena Caldwell. Game over.

“Lucas, why the hell are you walking around with that look on your face?” A hand with dark red nails hooked under my chin and tilted it up. I met her eyes. The sting behind mine threatened to break through, but I forced it back down. Serena paused for just a moment. Then a thin, mocking smile curled at the corner of her mouth. “Oh, playing victim again? You think you’re still that precious little heir everyone used to fawn over?” I said nothing and turned my face away. Serena let out a cold laugh and wrenched my face back toward her. “Drop the tough-guy act. Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been up to with those men. I’ve seen the photos.” The words landed with a sick kind of pleasure behind them. My whole body went rigid. Photos? What photos? Serena unlocked her phone and held up the screen. There I was — dazed, barely conscious, surrounded by a group of men. The memory of those three days came rushing back like a wave of filth. I clenched my fist until my nails bit into my palm. Serena grabbed my collar and let her eyes drag slowly over me. “Funny thing, Lucas. All those years with me, you acted like you couldn’t be bothered. But with them, you couldn’t wait.” Disgust flickered across her face. She raised her hand and cracked it across my cheek. The sting bloomed instantly, sharp and hot. I opened my mouth but nothing came out. “Miss Caldwell, Mr. White is here.” The butler’s voice cut through the room. One second ago Serena’s face was full of fury. The next, she softened completely, like someone had smoothed out every hard edge. She let go of me and turned to head downstairs. A cheerful male voice floated up from the entryway. “Serena, I missed you so much. You promised to take me somewhere good yesterday. How could you forget? I had to come all the way here myself.” Through the gap in the railing, I watched Serena’s expression shift into something warm and indulgent. There was a time she used to look at me that way. That time was long gone. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Want me to take you now?” Ryan White laughed softly. “No way. I want to eat here. I heard you’ve got a live-in servant who’s been around for three years and actually cooks pretty well. Why don’t we have him make us something?” Ryan’s gaze cut straight through the railing and landed on me, taking in every bit of the mess I was. Everyone in New York knew I was Serena’s ex — the one she kept locked up in her house just to have someone to punish. This was nothing more than Ryan planting his flag. Showing me who had the power here. Sure enough, Serena agreed without a second thought.

Fighting through the dull ache in my body, I walked into the kitchen and tied on an apron. Laughter drifted in from the living room. I glanced over. Ryan was draped against Serena’s shoulder on the sofa, his voice all soft and playful. “So when are you finally going to marry me? I can’t wait anymore.” Ryan wasn’t like the others Serena had cycled through. He was the only son of New York’s mayor. And by far the longest-running relationship she’d ever had. “When do you want?” “I don’t care, I just want it to be soon!” “Okay, okay. I’ll come to your parents’ place tomorrow. Happy?” “Now we’re talking!” Something clenched in my chest. The knife slipped. The blade caught my finger before I could pull back. Blood welled up immediately, a sharp, bright sting. I held my hand under the running water until the pain faded to a low throb, then pulled it back. I carried the food out, set everything on the table, and moved to leave. “Hey. Stop.” Ryan’s voice caught me at the doorway. He was smiling, just slightly. “Would you mind serving the rice?” I glanced at Serena. She gave nothing. I nodded and stepped forward. I set the bowl in front of him. He took one bite. Then, without warning, he swept the bowl off the table. Scalding rice scattered across my hand. “Are you trying to burn me?” His voice was flat and cold. “Taste it yourself. Tell me if that’s edible.” The back of my hand was already red and blotchy. I turned toward the kitchen. “Did I say you could go? Get back here.” I stopped. I bit down hard, then turned back around. “The rice was just cooked. It’s going to be hot right off the stove, Mr. White.” “So now you’re blaming me?” His face was expressionless. The look in his eyes treated me like something he’d scraped off his shoe. “No.” “Then apologize.” “I’m sorry.” Three years of this life had sanded down every sharp edge I used to have. But Ryan wasn’t done. He let out a short, dismissive laugh. “That’s it? One sorry and we’re good? Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to get on your knees and pick up every grain of rice off that floor with your mouth. Do that, and I’ll let it go.” I went rigid. My head snapped toward Serena. She had no intention of stepping in. If anything, something like amusement had crept into her eyes. Her silence was the worst thing she could have done to me. I set my jaw. I bent my knees and lowered myself to the floor. “No hands. Head down. Eat it.” Ryan’s order made me freeze. I pulled my hands back. I bent forward, and one by one, I picked up each grain of rice from the floor with my mouth. The rice mixed with the grit from the tile. It scraped rough against my teeth. “God, this is exhausting. Can’t even enjoy a meal in peace. Serena, let’s just go out.” “Fine.” “You’re not upset that I put your guy in his place?” “Why would I be? He’s just the help.” The words drifted over me, light and unbothered, growing fainter as they moved toward the door. I slowly raised my head. I watched Serena walk out with her arm around Ryan’s, until they disappeared. Then I swallowed what was in my mouth.

Serena didn’t come home until late into the night. I went back to the servant’s room — barely a hundred and fifty square feet — and reached up to tear the page off the wall calendar. After tonight, two days left. Two days, and I could walk out of here. Somewhere between sleep and waking, a sound jolted me awake. My eyes flew open — someone was on top of me, pulling at my clothes. I shoved them off and scrambled to turn on the light. The moment the room lit up, I saw her face. “Vanessa!” “Caught me, huh?” She stepped toward me slowly, eyes fixed on me with something unsettling and obsessive. The memories crashed back in, dull and grinding, like a blade dragged slowly across skin. I lunged for the door. Locked. She’d locked it from the inside. “Save your energy. I made sure everyone else is gone. Your precious Serena is out there right now on a romantic date with the mayor’s son.” Vanessa Caldwell — Serena’s younger sister — spoke without hurry. “What do you want?” I forced my voice steady. She walked toward me, the smile on her face making my skin crawl. “What do I want? I’ve been in love with you for years. Why won’t you ever look at me?” “Tell me honestly — aren’t I better than Serena? At least I haven’t traded out a boyfriend every few months.” Her eyes were red at the corners. The obsession there was frightening. “Just be with me instead.” While she was talking, I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and called Serena. Vanessa didn’t try to stop me. She just stood there and watched. The line rang for a long time. Then Serena’s voice came through, slightly breathless. “Hello.” Right after, faint in the background — a woman’s voice. “…softer…” The hand holding the phone locked in place. Then Vanessa plucked it out of my grip. She leaned close to my ear and lowered her voice. “Let me be honest with you. Tonight was Serena’s idea. How do you think I just walked in here without any trouble?” The words hit like a fist to the chest. Vanessa’s hand rested on my shoulder. She kept going. “There’s something else you probably don’t know. You ever wonder why your family went bankrupt so fast? Why your father killed himself in prison?” My head snapped toward her. “That was all Serena. She went to the prison herself and used your future — your whole life — as leverage against your father. He chose to end it so he wouldn’t drag you down with him.” My mind went blank with a sudden roar. The last thing that had kept me going through these three years — the final thread of belief I had held onto — snapped completely in that moment. I stared at her. “What did you just say?” “This has been an open secret in our circle for a long time. You’re the only one who was never told.” I thought of the way Serena’s expression would flicker — just barely, just for a second — every time my father came up in conversation. And suddenly the cold sank all the way through me.

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In my life, I’ve been someone’s mistress twice. The first time, I was young and naive. I got involved with a ruthless mob boss. Back then I was soft and foolish. I thought if I was good enough, he’d give me his heart in return. When I realized he only saw me as a toy, I walked away without looking back. The second time, I wised up. I got with Julian Rhodes, a legendary figure in high finance. In the three years we’d been married, Julian spoiled me rotten. Wherever I went, he had bodyguards shadowing my every step. I told myself I’d finally earned real love on my own terms. Then came a vacation earlier this year. I went with Julian to visit his grandmother at her estate in Harbor City. Standing outside on the villa terrace, I heard his grandmother let out a long, heavy sigh. “Years ago, the eldest daughter of the Churchill family looked down on you for being illegitimate. She nearly got you killed. You swore then that you’d never love her again.” “And yet here we are. Isn’t your current wife just a copy of what Chelsea Churchill looked like before her surgery?”

Julian went quiet for a long moment. “Grandma,” he finally said, “don’t let Nora hear you say that.” I was standing on the other side of the terrace. My fingers gripped the railing so hard my knuckles went white. “Why are you out here alone in the wind? You’ll catch a cold.” Julian’s warm voice came from behind me. He draped a jacket over my shoulders and slipped his arms around my waist from behind. My whole body went rigid. His grandmother’s words kept echoing through my head. Julian took my hand. “Nora, why are your hands so cold?” He brought my fingers to his lips and breathed warm air against them. I turned around and pulled my hand back, keeping my face blank. “Julian,” I said, “who am I to you?” Looking into his tender eyes, I couldn’t stop the memories of the past three years flooding back. Every single night, without fail, he’d bring me a warm glass of milk before bed. When my cramps were bad, he’d cancel billion-dollar deals just to stay home and rub my stomach all night. And all of it had been for another woman? He reached up and touched my hair. “Silly girl. Do you really have to ask? You’re my wife. The love of my life.” I opened my mouth to speak, but his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. His expression didn’t change. “Nora, something’s come up in Europe. I need to take a video call in the study.” He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “Be good. Go to sleep without me.” I stood there, numb, watching him disappear. I went back to the bedroom alone. On the nightstand, the tablet Julian used to read financial news suddenly lit up. A chat window popped open. No name saved for the contact. A photo came through. The background was a high-end hotel somewhere in Harbor City. In the photo, a woman was wearing a black lace slip dress, her eyes soft and liquid. Her features were sharp and carefully sculpted. But even so, I could see it. The shape of her face carried an echo of mine. Chelsea Churchill. The eldest daughter of the Churchill family. Before I could even react, the chat log vanished. Julian had wiped the messages from his end. Less than a minute later, I heard footsteps in the hallway, deliberately quiet. Then the sound of an engine fading into the distance. I pressed both hands flat against the bedsheets. After a moment, I took a slow, deep breath. I used the hotel logo barely visible in the background of the photo to track down the location, and called a cab.

I didn’t storm in and cause a scene. Instead, I did something almost like self-punishment. I checked into the room right next door. The walls were thin. Or maybe they just didn’t bother to keep quiet. The sounds coming through the wall were unlike anything I’d ever heard from him. That kind of intensity, that abandon. With me, he was always gentle. Always restrained. Chelsea’s voice came through, thick with tears. “Julian, three years ago you were furious at me for what I did. For leaving you out there in the water…” “Tonight, I’m giving myself to you. Does that make it even?” Whatever she said next was swallowed up by the sounds that followed. I bit down on my lower lip until I tasted blood. I pushed down every instinct screaming at me to act. I pulled out my voice recorder and saved everything. Nausea clawed its way up my throat. I pocketed the recorder and stumbled out of there. I walked alone through the streets. Cold wind mixed with a light drizzle hit me full in the face. My phone screen lit up. A message from Julian. “Nora, this case is getting complicated. I’ll be late. Get some rest. Don’t wait up.” I tilted my head back. I tried to hold the tears in, but my vision blurred anyway. I had believed I was the luckiest woman alive. The evidence in front of me had just slapped that belief clean off my face. I don’t remember how I made it home. I picked up the wooden carving by the entryway and walked to the display shelf in the living room. The whole shelf was lined with small female figures, carved in wood. For three years, I’d seen them as proof of his love. I used to be obsessed with wood carving. So Julian had cleared his entire schedule to take classes with me. He’d wrap his arms around me from behind, guide my hands, and carve stroke by stroke. He said he wanted to capture every moment of me. I walked to the centerpiece, the figure I loved most, a half-length portrait. Something in my chest told me to move it. I did. There was a hidden compartment underneath. I opened it, and my hands started shaking before I even fully understood what I was seeing. Inside was an old photograph, yellowed at the edges. A girl with a wild, defiant smile. Something melancholy in her eyes. It was Chelsea Churchill. Before the surgery. I held the photo up next to the carving. The eyes. The expression. The shape of the face. It wasn’t me. I was never the subject. I was just a reference point. A stand-in for what Chelsea used to look like. That’s when I heard the front door unlock. Julian was home. “Still awake? Were you scared being here alone without me?” He came toward me, reached up out of habit to touch my hair. I couldn’t hold it together anymore. I stepped back from his hand and threw the photograph at his face. “So everything you did for me these past three years was a lie?” “You were just looking at her through me?” Julian glanced down at the photo. A flicker of annoyance crossed his eyes. He bent down, picked it up, and brushed the dust off it carefully. Not a trace of panic. No guilt. No shame. “Nora, your place as my wife is permanent. That will never change.” “Chelsea is just something I need to work through. A fixation from when I was young. I need a little time to put it to rest.” I let out a cold laugh. “Put it to rest? In her bed?” Julian looked up at me, eyes narrowing. “You followed me?” He crossed one leg over the other. “She has severe depression. I’m not going to stand by and watch someone fall apart. You of all people would understand that. You care about every stray cat and dog you come across. This is a human life.” Then his phone lit up on the table. A voice message from Chelsea. Julian didn’t even flinch. He hit play on speaker.

Chelsea’s voice came through lazy and satisfied. “Thanks for remembering I love pink diamonds. Oh, and I prefer strawberry flavored. Don’t mix it up next time.” The pink diamond bracelet. The one he’d bid an outrageous price for at an auction last year. He’d said he bought it for me. It had been for her all along. He extended his hand toward me. “That bracelet was low quality anyway. I’ll have my assistant find a better one tomorrow. Consider it an apology.” I stood up. “Julian. I want a divorce.” The moment the words left my mouth, his hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. He didn’t squeeze hard, but the warmth in his eyes was completely gone. “Stop making a scene. I don’t like you like this.” “Where exactly do you think you’d go without me? Back to that mob boss?” “Let go of me. Where I go is none of your business.” I stared coldly at his hand wrapped around my wrist. Julian’s expression darkened. Slowly, he loosened his grip. He exhaled, and his face shifted into something patient and tired, like he was indulging a child throwing a tantrum. “Nora, you’re being emotional. I promise I’ll see her less from now on.” Then the private cell phone in his pocket rang. The special number. The one he’d set up just for me, so I could always reach him in an emergency. Julian’s brow creased slightly. He answered. Chelsea’s voice, on the verge of tears. “Julian, I’m scared.” Julian’s whole body tensed. “What? You cut yourself?” He turned around without a second’s hesitation. “I have to go. Get some rest.” “Julian.” A sharp pain hit me low in my stomach. I pressed my hand over it on instinct and reached out to grab the edge of his sleeve. He looked back at me with barely concealed impatience. “Nora, don’t play games right now. This isn’t the time for jealousy.” “She’s in a dangerous state. I have to go.” One by one, he pried my fingers off his sleeve. He didn’t look back at me again. He was out the door in three strides. I sank down onto the floor, cold sweat soaking through my shirt. I got myself to the hospital alone. I lay in a narrow bed under the fluorescent lights. I held the thin slip of paper from the test and ran my fingers over my still-flat stomach. Baby, I’m sorry. Your timing couldn’t be worse. I curled my hand into a fist. But you’re here. And I’m going to take you with me. I’m going to raise you. I called my lawyer. After sending over the evidence, I got up to leave. That’s when I saw them. Julian was carefully guiding Chelsea out of the private ultrasound suite, one hand steadying her elbow. Chelsea had a cartoon bandage on her finger. Julian was leaning close, saying something soft to her. His face was gentle in a way I recognized. Chelsea looked up and her eyes found mine. She stopped walking. She reached over and tugged on Julian’s sleeve. Julian followed her gaze. Something shifted in his expression. Chelsea pulled free of his hand and walked straight toward me. She studied my face. “Strange, isn’t it. Even I almost forgot what I used to look like. And here you are.” That light, breezy sentence hit me like a slap across the face. She raised her hand and reached toward my cheek. I turned my head away. “Don’t touch me. I’m not you.” When I pulled back, she swung her palm across my face. The sting blazed across my cheek. I raised my hand and hit her back. Julian crossed the space between us in seconds and stepped in front of Chelsea. “Nora, she’s unwell. Let it go.” I turned and hit him across the face instead. He didn’t react with anger. His eyes dropped to the test results still in my hand. He reached over and took the paper. He scanned it.

His brow furrowed. “Nora, we can’t keep this baby. Not right now.” “Chelsea is pregnant too. Her depression is severe. Any kind of stress could push her over the edge.” I stared at the man in front of me like I was seeing him clearly for the first time. She was pregnant too? So they’d been together long before any of this. A wave of nausea hit me and I couldn’t hold it back. He rubbed my back. I shoved him off. “This is my child. This has nothing to do with you.” Julian reached up and wiped the involuntary tears from the corners of my eyes. “Be reasonable. We’ll end this one.” He sighed, the way you do when you’re trying to calm down someone who doesn’t understand the situation. “We can have more later. I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you.” I stepped back out of his reach. “I told you. I want a divorce. And this baby is mine.” Behind me, Chelsea pressed a hand to her chest right on cue and let out a soft, pained gasp. Julian’s expression went cold. He turned and signaled to the bodyguards behind him. “Take my wife to the surgical suite. Get the best doctor on staff.” Several bodyguards stepped forward immediately and seized my arms. I fought with everything I had. It made no difference. In the end, I was locked inside a private room to wait for the procedure. Tears ran down the sides of my face. Fear and helplessness swallowed me whole. The door opened. Chelsea. I glared at her with everything in me. She smiled at me, slow and cold. “Did you really think a woman like you, a mistress who got thrown away by a crime lord, was going to carry on the Rhodes family line? Keep dreaming.” “If you hadn’t been born with a face like mine, you never would have gotten near Julian in the first place.” Before the last word left her mouth, she swung at me again. This time I sank my teeth into her hand and didn’t let go until I tasted blood. She screamed for a doctor. “No anesthesia.” The procedure began. I screamed. I felt my child being taken from me. The pain was beyond anything I’d known, body and soul torn apart at once. I choked up blood and went dark. When I came to, cramps were tearing through my lower stomach in waves. I stared up at the ceiling as tears ran silently into my hair. My baby was gone. Through the wall, I could hear Julian and Chelsea laughing together, talking about the new life they were expecting. I wiped my face dry. I made a phone call. “I’m ready to work with you. Meet me at the beach.” I went home feeling hollowed out and walked straight to Julian’s study. I pulled a small USB drive from my pocket and plugged it into his private computer. I thought for a moment, then typed in a number. Correct password. It was the date Chelsea had nearly gotten him killed in the water. But there was a second password. I tried several combinations. None of them worked. Then, on a strange impulse, I typed in our wedding anniversary. The screen unlocked. I laughed despite myself. What a pathetic kind of devotion. The progress bar ticked through the Rhodes Group’s most sensitive files. I drove out to the beach on the edge of the city alone. That’s where I always went when things got to be too much. Then I heard footsteps nearby. “Knew it was you, Nora. My contact wasn’t lying.” A man’s voice, oily and too familiar. I turned around, and my blood ran cold. Rex Fowler. The crime lord. The man I’d left. The one who’d treated me like I was nothing. My body moved before my mind caught up. “How are you here? Why are you here?” Rex looked me over slowly, a predatory smile spreading across his face. “Nora. It’s been a while. Leaving me clearly agreed with you.” “Word is Julian tossed you out. Why not come back to me? I’ll make sure every single day is worth your while.”

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The day we moved into our marital home, Rodriguez asked me to set the door lock code. I typed in our wedding anniversary: 052 He glanced at it, then casually changed it to a different string of numbers — 0912. “This one’s easier to remember.” I didn’t think much of it at the time. It was only later that I started noticing 0912 everywhere. The door lock, the safe, his phone, delivery payments — all 091

Eventually I found out: that number was his ex-girlfriend Hector’s birthday. And on my own birthday, he stumbled home in the middle of the night reeking of alcohol. “Sorry, work thing ran late tonight. Forgot it was your birthday.” While he was in the shower, I saw his phone light up. A message from Hector’s mom: Thank you so much for coming to Hector’s birthday party. She had the best time. I let out a cold laugh. Every lock in this house needed to be changed. 1. My phone buzzed. A voice message from Ellis. “Joel! Happy birthday! What did your husband get you? Spill everything!” I stared at that 59-second voice message for a while. I typed back: All good, I’ll tell you tomorrow. Sent it, then flipped my phone face-down on the kitchen counter. The shower turned off. The blow dryer hummed from the bedroom. I picked up my phone and read the message again. Rodriguez — thank you so much for coming to Hector’s birthday party tonight. She was so happy. — Hector’s Mom. I turned off the living room lights and went upstairs. Rodriguez was propped up against the headboard scrolling through his phone, hair still damp, blanket pulled up halfway. My instinct was to grab a towel for him. My hand touched the edge of the bed. I stopped. I sat down beside him. “Rodriguez.” “Mm.” “Today is my birthday.” His finger paused on the screen. “I know. Didn’t I say I’d make it up to you?” He hadn’t said that. I remembered clearly. “You never said that.” “Well, I’m saying it now. I’ll take you somewhere nice this weekend.” “You went to Hector’s birthday party today.” He locked his screen and turned to look at me, brow furrowing. “Her mom called three times. I’ve known their family for over ten years. I couldn’t just blow them off.” “You could’ve come home for dinner first and gone after.” “Do you know what time it is? You were already asleep.” “I wasn’t asleep. I had four dishes on the table from six o’clock to eleven. I was waiting for you the whole time.” He didn’t respond to that. A few seconds passed, then: “Okay. I get it. I’ll make it up to you next week.” I watched his phone screen light up again. “All your passwords are 0912.” “I told you, I just typed something easy to remember.” “My birthday is September twelfth.” His finger went still on the screen. The second hand on the wall clock in the living room ticked through several beats. “Well then that works out perfectly — it’s the same day. It’s not like I don’t know that.” “You know. But you went to celebrate hers. You didn’t come home to celebrate mine.” Rodriguez set his phone down on the nightstand with a sharp thud. “Joel, what do you actually want from me? You’re going to keep bringing up one birthday? I said I’d make it up to you — what more do you want?” I looked at him for a moment. The crease between his brows was deep, like he’d been putting up with me for a long time. I didn’t say anything else. I turned off the light, lay down, and turned my back to him. He rolled over. Two minutes later, his breathing was steady. I lay there in the dark with my eyes open, completely still, counting to a hundred and twenty. Then I picked up my phone, turned the brightness all the way down, opened the browser, and searched for nearby rentals. I scrolled for twenty minutes and saved three listings. Then I went to my contacts and found a number I’d saved last month. Osman. Attorney. Too late to call. I’d do it tomorrow. I put the phone down and closed my eyes. Every lock in this house still had the same set of numbers. It’s the same day, he’d said. It’s not like I don’t know. But when two women share a birthday, he only remembered to celebrate one of them. The next morning when I came downstairs, he was already putting on his shoes. “Running late.” He pulled the door open. The lock screen flashed. “Wait — you said you’d make it up to me. When?” “Saturday, maybe. I’ll book somewhere.” “Not French food. I won’t eat it.” He glanced at me. “Fine.” The door closed. The lock screen glowed for two more seconds. I called Attorney Osman and made an appointment — tomorrow at three in the afternoon. He told me to bring the property deed, the marriage certificate, and bank statements. I texted Ellis: Are you free the day after tomorrow? I need to see you. Ellis messaged back immediately with a string of questions. I replied: I’ll explain in person. I sat down at the kitchen table and drank a glass of water. At the bottom of the glass, barely visible, was a faded letter — H. I looked at it for a moment. Then I put the glass back, grabbed my bag, and went to work. 2. Attorney Osman flipped through the documents and jotted a few notes. “Ms. Joel, I’ll be direct with you. From a financial standpoint, this marriage offers you very little protection.” “Are you certain you want to proceed with a divorce?” “Yes.” “If this goes to litigation, we’ll need evidence of irretrievable breakdown. Would you be comfortable sharing the grounds?” I thought for a few seconds. “Every password in our home is his ex-girlfriend’s birthday. The door lock, the WiFi, the safe, his phone, payment accounts — all 0912.” Attorney Osman looked up. “How long has this been going on?” “Three years. From the first day we moved in.” “Did you ever bring it up with him?” “Twice. He said it was just easy to remember, and that I was being too sensitive.” Attorney Osman drew a line across his notepad. “Good. I’ll have a preliminary draft of the agreement to you within three to five business days.” “Thank you.” I left the office at four in the afternoon. I walked past a bakery. There was a small cake in the display case, nine dollars and ninety-nine cents, with a single thin candle on top. I looked at it for a few seconds. I didn’t buy it. When I got home, Rodriguez wasn’t back yet. I changed into my slippers and stood in the middle of the living room. For the first time, I really looked at this place. The sofa was dark gray. I liked warm tones. The curtains were cool white. I liked linen. The bookshelf had a row of French novels, never opened. I didn’t read French. When we moved in, the whole apartment was already furnished. Rodriguez said there was no point redoing everything. I knelt down and pulled the safe out from under the bed. Typed in 0912. It clicked open. Inside: the marriage certificate, the property deed, a few insurance documents. And at the very bottom, pressed down under everything else, a small black jewelry box. I took it out and opened it. A silver ring. On the inner band, engraved in small letters: 0912. Our wedding rings, Rodriguez kept off his finger and on the nightstand year-round. But this ring was in the safe. Locked away. Buried at the bottom. I closed the box, put it back, shut the safe, and pushed it back under the bed. I opened Rodriguez’s side of the closet. In the far corner was a canvas tote bag. I unzipped it. Inside: a stack of postcards and a few letters. The top postcard had neat, delicate handwriting. Rodriguez — Paris is beautiful. Come back with me next time. Signed with a single letter: H. I went through them one by one. Paris. London. Iceland. Every one signed the same: H. The last postmark was four years ago. They’d broken up five years back. He hadn’t thrown out a single one. I put them back in order, zipped the bag, and pushed it into the corner of the closet. Ellis had sent another voice message. Answer me or you’re not sleeping tonight. I typed back: The safe password is 0912. There’s a ring inside. His ex’s name and birthday, engraved on the band. Ellis replied with a voice message. “What the actual fk.”

At lunch I met Ellis at the noodle place near my office. She grabbed my hand the second she sat down. “Don’t say a word yet. Eat first.” She ordered me a bowl. I pushed it to the side and told her everything — 0912, the ring, the postcards, and that whole night on my birthday. She didn’t say anything the whole time. “He didn’t change a single thing before you got married?” “Said it wasn’t worth the hassle.” “The couch, the curtains — do you even like any of it?” “No.” Ellis leaned back in her chair. “This apartment was decorated when he was still with Hector, wasn’t it?” “He finished the renovation the same year they broke up.” “So the passwords are hers, the furniture is hers, the safe has her ring, the closet has her letters.” “You didn’t marry Rodriguez, Joel. You moved into a shell that Hector left behind.” I squeezed the crumpled napkin on the table. “I know.” “You know?” “I’ve known for a while. This isn’t new.” Ellis studied me, her expression complicated. “Then why did it take you this long to get here?” “I kept thinking it would get better with time. But it’s been three years and he hasn’t changed a single password.” Ellis’s eyes went glassy. “What did the lawyer say?” “Draft agreement in three to five days.” “What about the apartment?” “He bought it before we were married. It’s his.” “So you get nothing.” “I don’t want anything.” She pressed her lips together hard. “You’re moving in with me.” “Not yet. There’s one thing I want to do first.” “What?” “He said he’d make up my birthday this weekend. I want to see where he books.” Saturday at five, Rodriguez sent me a pin — a Japanese izakaya in the city center. When I arrived, he was already looking over the menu. “You pick — get whatever you want.” I ordered two dishes. Rodriguez added a carafe of sake and a salmon sashimi platter. When the food came, I picked up my fork. “Have you been here before?” “A few times. Food’s good.” “With who?” His hand paused on the carafe. “Work dinners.” I pulled out my phone and searched the restaurant’s review page. The top review had six photos. The last one was a selfie — Hector. At the end of the review: We come here every anniversary. The owner knows us by now. Thank you for bringing me, Rodriguez. Four years ago. Username: Cat On The Moon. I turned my phone screen toward him. Rodriguez’s face shifted. “You dug that up on purpose?” “It was the first review. I didn’t have to dig.” “That was a long time ago.” “So you brought me here to make up my birthday, and ordered the same things you used to order with her.” He set down his fork. His voice dropped. “Joel, are you ever not exhausted by this? I came here because the food is good. What does it matter who else I’ve been here with?” “Name one thing I like to eat.” He looked at me. “What?” “Just one. What do I like?” The tables around us hummed with conversation, the clink of glasses, laughter. Our table was the quietest corner in the room. Rodriguez’s mouth opened slightly. “You’re not picky.” “Okay, different question. What don’t I eat?” He didn’t answer. “I don’t eat anything raw. No sashimi. I told you that the first month we moved in. You just ordered the salmon sashimi.” “You never really emphasized it.” “I did. You just didn’t remember. Your memory is reserved for 0912.” His jaw tightened. “What exactly are you trying to say?” I set down my fork, picked up my bag, and stood. “I’m done.” “Joel.” I didn’t look back. “Do you need to make a whole scene before you’re satisfied?” I walked out. A light rain was falling outside. I stood under the awning and waited for my ride. My phone lit up. Rodriguez. Such a bad attitude. It’s just dinner, was it really that serious? I muted his notifications and got in the car. Rain slid down the window in long, slow streaks. I texted Ellis. I have all the confirmation I need. Can you make up the guest room?

Sunday morning, Rodriguez left to play basketball. I pulled a suitcase out of the closet, unzipped it, and started packing. Clothes, skincare, a few books — not even half a suitcase. In my jewelry box: one pair of earrings and a necklace. Both things I’d bought myself. I scanned the bedroom one last time. That was everything that belonged to me. Three years. Half a suitcase. I wheeled it to the front door, put on my shoes, and looked back one more time. The wedding photo on the coffee table — I left it. I walked to the door and opened the lock panel. Found the password change option. Old password: 0912. I looked at the blank input field and paused for a second. Then I typed four digits. The password I’d set the first day we moved in. Our wedding anniversary. The one he changed right in front of me. I changed it back. Confirm. The lock beeped. The screen flashed. I wheeled my suitcase out, and the door clicked shut behind me. I took a car to Ellis’s place and rolled the suitcase into the guest room. Ellis helped me make the bed. Halfway through, she stopped. “You okay?” “I’m okay.” “Do you need to cry?” “No.” She finished pulling on the pillowcase and smoothed it flat. “Are you hungry? I made soup.” “That sounds good.” I was sitting at Ellis’s kitchen table drinking soup when my phone started buzzing. Rodriguez called three times. I didn’t pick up. Then texts. Where are you? Why won’t the code work? Joel, answer me. I picked up the last call. “What the hell are you doing?” He was loud. He’d probably been standing at the door for a while. “I changed the password.” “Changed it to what?” “I’m not telling you.” “This is my apartment. You changed the lock and you’re not going to tell me?” “You’re right. It is your apartment.” Silence on the line. “Where are you?” “I moved out.” “Stop this and come home. Change it back.” “I’m not coming back.” “Over one dinner you’re really going to do this?” I held my bowl. The soup was still steaming. “It’s not about the dinner.” “Then what is it about?” “Because that was never my home.” “You lived there for three years.” “The passwords were her birthday. The safe had her ring. The closet had her letters. You took me to dinner at your place with her. I lived there for three years and never once felt like I’d actually moved in.” He went quiet. “Call a locksmith. I won’t give you the new code.” I hung up. Ellis sat across from me and didn’t say a word. After a while she said, “Your soup’s getting cold.” “Right.” I drank it. My phone buzzed a few more times. I put it on silent and flipped it over. About half an hour later, the screen lit up again. Rodriguez. He’d gotten a locksmith. The door was open. I changed your password too. I took a screenshot and saved it to a new folder. “Changed it back?” Ellis glanced over. “Probably back to 0912.” She sighed. “He can change the number. He can’t change what he lost.” Outside, the sky was going dark. The light in Ellis’s living room was warm yellow. I sat on the couch and noticed it for the first time. Three years in Rodriguez’s apartment, and I never once registered what color the lights were.

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A passerby’s blurry cellphone video just nuked the internet. In the clip, Cole Hudson, a B-list actor famous for being universally hated, snatches a massive stick of cotton candy right out of a little boy’s hands. Right in front of the kid’s face, he takes a huge bite. The boy unleashes a deafening, heartbroken shriek. Cole doesn’t even blink. The entire internet is screaming for me to be canceled and permanently blacklisted. Then, a gossip blog digs up the kid’s identity. He is the only son of Sloane Sinclair, the ruthless billionaire CEO of the Sinclair Group. The public consensus is unanimous. I am completely, utterly dead. But there is one tiny detail nobody knows. That screaming kid calls me Dad. I bought that cotton candy with my own fifteen bucks. The kid just had two cavities filled and the dentist banned him from sugar. Was I really in the wrong here? 1 My name is Cole Hudson. I am a B-list actor with a bizarrely toxic reputation. I trend on social media every other week, and it is almost never for a good reason. The last time I trended, I sneezed at an award show and accidentally sprayed the back of an A-list actress’s head. The time before that, my belt snapped right in the middle of a movie premiere. My manager, Marty, says my astrological chart is permanently cursed. He strongly advised me to start wearing a paper bag over my head in public. I told him to wear a paper bag. But I never in a million years expected this latest trending topic to be more explosive than the last two combined. Here is what actually happened. Saturday afternoon, Sloane had a board meeting. I picked up our son Finn from pre-K. On the walk home, he demanded cotton candy. I said absolutely not. You just got two cavities filled last week, and the dentist said no sweets for a month. Finn refused to accept that reality. When a four-year-old boy decides to rebel, his destructive power rivals a tactical nuke. First, his lower lip quivered. Then, his big eyes welled up with tears. Finally, his mouth stretched wide open. The dramatic wail took exactly zero point three seconds to detonate. “Daaaaad! I want to eat the cotton caaaaaandy!” The acoustic blast radius was easily fifty yards. An old guy selling pretzels on the corner turned around and glared at me. His eyes clearly spelled out the word “Monster”. I crouched down and tried to reason with the tiny terrorist. “Finn, do your teeth hurt?” “No!” “Who was crying in the dentist’s chair last time?” “…” “Was it you?” He stopped talking. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and glared at me. He has his mother’s eyes. It was the exact same icy glare his mother uses to win boardroom negotiations. But I am Cole Hudson. That trick doesn’t work on me. I have been a father for four years. I am completely immune to that look. “No means no.” I grabbed his little hand and dragged him forward. We passed right by the cotton candy cart. Finn planted his sneakers into the concrete like tree roots. “Dad.” “Walk.” “Dad!” “Walk!” Then, this little brat executed a flawless heist. While I was distracted, he reached into my coat pocket, pulled out my wallet, slipped out a twenty-dollar bill, and handed it directly to the vendor. “Mister, I want the biggest one.” Four years old. My own flesh and blood. Four years old, and he already knows how to buy things. With my money. Before I could stop the transaction, the vendor was already spinning the sugar. I watched that neon-pink cloud of sugar get bigger and bigger, and my blood pressure spiked right along with it. When the vendor handed it to Finn, the thing was bigger than his entire head. He hugged the massive pink cloud and flashed me a bright, triumphant, incredibly punchable smile. I took a slow, deep breath. Then I snatched the cotton candy right out of his hands and took a massive, savage bite out of the top. “You said I couldn’t eat it!” Finn’s smile shattered instantly. “I said you couldn’t eat it.” I chewed the sticky pink sugar aggressively. “I never said I couldn’t eat it.” “You” He froze in pure shock for two seconds. Then he started bawling his eyes out. The sound was tragic, devastating, and pierced right through the eardrums. I swear on my life, every single pedestrian within a three-block radius stopped to stare at me. Picture this. Me, Cole Hudson, six-foot-one, wearing a black mask and sunglasses, ripping a giant cotton candy away from a sobbing toddler and eating it myself. Visually, it was not a great look. But I had no idea someone was recording it. And I definitely had no idea that two hours later, that blurry footage would hit the number one spot on the trending page. The headline read: “SHOCKING! Toxic Actor Cole Hudson Steals Cotton Candy From Innocent Child on the Street! Toddler Devastated!” The thumbnail was a freeze-frame of me taking that aggressive bite. The angle was terrible. I looked like a comic book villain. You couldn’t tell it was a father disciplining his stubborn kid. It just looked like a grown man bullying a helpless child. My phone vibrated. It was Marty. I answered it. “Marty.” “Cole, you listen to me right now.” Marty’s voice was physically shaking. “Did you or did you not rob a child of their cotton candy on a public sidewalk?” “It wasn’t a robbery, it was my s” “Number one trending topic!!!” Marty’s voice shrieked, jumping an entire octave. “You are number one! Two hundred million views! Your broken belt only got eighty million! You doubled it! Are you happy now!” “…” “Say something!” “Are you done yelling?” “No! The comment section is a warzone! Verified influencers are quoting it! Child advocacy groups are releasing statements! You are going to be on CNN tomorrow morning!” I looked down at Finn. He had already stopped crying. He was squatting by the curb watching a line of ants, his cheeks coated in pink sugar dust. He had secretly licked the cotton candy while I wasn’t looking. This kid’s acting skills are way better than mine. “Marty, calm down.” “How the hell am I supposed to calm down! Get your ass back to the agency right now. We need a crisis plan!” “What crisis plan? I ate my kid’s cotton candy. Is that a federal crime?” “It is not a crime, but you just pissed off the entire internet! You can’t even tell it is your kid in the video! Everyone just sees a grown man terrorizing a toddler!” “So I’ll just explain it. Problem solved.” Marty went dead silent for three seconds. “Explain? How exactly are you going to explain? You are going to tell the world that is your son? You are married? Who the hell are you married to?” I went silent too. Right. I am married. But the world doesn’t know. Because my wife is Sloane Sinclair. The Sinclair Group. The three-hundred-billion-dollar corporate empire. Sloane Sinclair is the CEO. When we got married, we signed a brutal non-disclosure agreement. Neither of us was allowed to publicly announce the marriage. Her reasoning: It would cause unnecessary fluctuations in the stock market. My reasoning: It would alienate my fanbase. Looking back now, my reasoning was pure delusion. What fanbase? “Alright, I get it. I will figure something out.” I hung up the phone. Finn looked up at me. “Dad, an ant bit me.” “Karma.” “You are karma. You stole my cotton candy.” “I bought it with my money.” “Mom gave you that money.” I opened my mouth to argue. I had no counterargument. 2 When we got home, I opened my social media app. The hashtag wasn’t just number one anymore. It had a blood-red “Explosive” tag next to it. The comments underneath the video made my skin crawl. “What kind of trash human steals food from a little kid?” “Isn’t this the guy whose belt snapped on the red carpet? His morals are as loose as his pants.” “The poor baby is crying so hard and he is just chewing it! Get this psycho out of Hollywood permanently!” “Cole Hudson needs to be blacklisted!” “Can we please tag Child Protective Services to look into this?” I scrolled for five straight minutes and didn’t find a single positive comment. Not one. Even the moderate takes like “Maybe there is context we are missing” were downvoted straight to hell. Marty texted me a draft for an official PR statement: “Cole Hudson Studio Official Statement: The circulating video is a severe misunderstanding. Mr. Hudson is a family friend of the child. Due to the child’s recent medical restrictions regarding sugar, Mr. Hudson intervened out of concern for the child’s health…” I read it once and texted back two words: “Too fake.” Marty: “Then what do you want to do?” I thought about it for a second, then opened my own official account. I have 3.2 million followers, and at least half of them are dedicated haters. I drafted a new post: “The spun sugar was actually pretty sweet.” I attached a photo I took of the massive pink cotton candy with a huge bite taken out of it. Send. Three seconds later, my phone started ringing. It was Marty. “COLE!!! What the hell did you just post!!!” “The truth.” “You” I heard a heavy, wheezing sound through the speaker. I genuinely thought Marty was reaching for an oxygen tank. “You just poured gasoline on a raging house fire!” “I didn’t lie. It was actually really sweet.” “You…” Marty let out a sound like a dying animal. “Just wait. Your comments are about to implode.” He was right. Within five minutes, the post hit a hundred thousand comments. “Is this guy completely mental???” “Who is he trying to provoke?” “Getting canceled and still acting arrogant. That is a new low.” “Cole Hudson: I didn’t just steal it, I enjoyed it. Come at me, bro.” “Hold up… why is this actually kind of hilarious?” That last comment got eighty thousand likes. Then the vibe in the comment section started to shift. People started turning it into a meme. “Cole ‘The Candy Snatcher’ Hudson.” “This man robbed a toddler, refused to apologize, and posted a review of the stolen goods. Honestly, respect the villain arc.” “We are the clowns here. He literally does not care.” “Help, why do I think he is kind of cool for this…” The comments went from pure, unfiltered hatred to a solid seventy-thirty split. Thirty percent were still cursing my name, but seventy percent were just there for the chaos. Marty called back. He sounded slightly calmer. “Did you do that on purpose?” “Do what?” “That post. Was that calculated?” I tossed Finn’s muddy socks into the washing machine, pinning the phone to my ear with my shoulder. “Yeah.” It wasn’t. I honestly just thought the cotton candy tasted good and wanted to put it on my private story, but my thumb slipped and posted it to my public feed. But I couldn’t let Marty know that. It was better if he thought I was an evil PR genius. “Alright,” Marty sighed heavily. “You muddied the waters for now. But this isn’t over. Jace Montgomery is making his move.” My hand stopped on the washing machine dial. Jace Montgomery. A clout-chasing pop idol signed to my agency. He has a face that looks like it was generated by AI and the acting skills of a wooden plank. But he has millions of rabid teenage fans and a ruthless marketing team. He has hated my guts for a year. The reason is simple. He was supposed to get the lead role in a major streaming series, but the director saw my audition and gave me the part instead. He has been gunning for me ever since. “What is he doing?” “He quote-tweeted the video of you and the kid. His caption says, ‘My heart breaks for this little guy. I hope the people involved can give the public a proper explanation.’” “…” “Now his fan army is trending the hashtag ‘Jace Montgomery Spreads Positivity’. They are stepping on your neck to make him look like a saint. The engagement numbers are insane.” I let out a dark laugh. That is a textbook maneuver. Using my cancellation to boost his own public image. Flawless execution. “Also,” Marty lowered his voice to a whisper. “The agency is holding an emergency meeting tomorrow morning. Arthur’s direct order is that you issue a public, groveling apology.” “Apologize for what?” “You” “I ate my own kid’s cotton candy. Who am I apologizing to? The American people? Am I supposed to write a formal apology to the sugar?” “You can’t tell them it’s your kid!” “I know.” “Then you have to apologize.” “No.” “Cole!” “I said no.” I hung up. Finn trotted out of his bedroom holding a piece of construction paper. “Dad, look. I drew you.” I took the paper. It was a stick figure with a massive circle for a head, holding a scribbled pink blob. Underneath it, in messy, jagged letters, were two words: Bad Dad. “Who taught you how to spell that?” “Mom.” I went silent. Unbelievable. A coordinated strike from my own family. 3 By the next morning, the situation had escalated to a catastrophic level. A major pop-culture blog dropped a massive article. The headline read: EXCLUSIVE: Identity of the Child Robbed by Cole Hudson Revealed. I clicked the link, and my soul left my body. “Multiple inside sources confirm the young boy in the viral video is the son of Sloane Sinclair, CEO of the Sinclair Group. The conglomerate controls major assets in real estate, finance, and tech, boasting a valuation of over three hundred billion dollars. Insiders report Sloane is fiercely protective of her only child and has never allowed media exposure. Cole Hudson has effectively signed his own death warrant.” The comment section immediately turned into a digital funeral service. “He is dead. He is actually, literally dead.” “Boys, Cole doesn’t just want out of Hollywood. He wants a VIP ticket to the morgue.” “The Sinclair Group??? THAT Sinclair Group??? And he stole her kid’s food???” “Cole Hudson: Other celebs get canceled. I get erased from existence.” “Honestly, if Sloane Sinclair makes one phone call, Cole’s entire talent agency will be liquidated by lunch.” “Someone set up a GoFundMe for Cole’s casket.” I was reading these comments while eating breakfast. Finn was sitting across the kitchen island, furiously stirring his oatmeal like a cement mixer. “Dad, why are you smiling at your phone?” “I’m looking at your mother.” “Mom is inside the phone?” “Yeah. The internet is basically worshipping her right now.” Right on cue, my phone rang. It was Sloane. I answered it and put it on speaker. “I saw the trending page,” she said. Her voice was perfectly calm, using the exact same tone she uses to close corporate mergers. “Yeah.” “Fascinating.” “You think this is fascinating?” “They said you signed your own death warrant.” “…” “Technically, you just extracted a cavity. The one your son got filled last week.” “Can you please not make jokes right now?” “I’m not joking.” She paused. “What is your PR team planning to do?” “The agency wants me to issue a public apology.” “And you don’t plan on apologizing.” “Obviously. Why the hell would I apologize?” “Alright. Then I will back your play.” “How are you going to do that?” “I’ll have my legal department issue a press release.” “What kind of press release?” “The Sinclair Group is aware of the incident and will reserve the right to pursue full legal action against the individual involved.” I choked on my coffee. “You call that backing my play?” “Yes.” “You are nailing the lid of my coffin shut!” “I think the comment section is going to be highly entertaining.” “Sloane.” “Yes?” “Do you actually enjoy watching the entire internet cyberbully your husband?” The line went dead quiet for two seconds. Then she said, “A little bit.” I hung up the phone. Finn looked up at me. “Dad, your face is really red.” “Eat your oatmeal.” Two hours later, the official corporate account for the Sinclair Group dropped a statement: “The Sinclair Group is aware of the viral video involving the son of our CEO. Our legal team has been dispatched to investigate the matter and will pursue all available legal action against the offending party. The public can rest assured that the Sinclair Group has the absolute capability and obligation to protect the rights of our family members.” The internet exploded. “It is happening! The coffin is sealed!” “Cole Hudson: ‘Wait guys let me explain.’ Sinclair Legal: ‘See you in court, buddy.’” “The Sinclair Legal Department has fifty elite corporate lawyers. Mobilizing them to destroy a B-list actor is the wildest overkill I have ever seen.” “Cole, run for the border. It is your only hope.” “Guys, his social media accounts are still active. He is currently still breathing. Let’s observe.” I held my phone and texted Sloane. “If you ‘help’ me one more time, my career is actually over.” Sloane texted back an emoji. A smiley face. That cold, corporate, customer-service smile that radiates three parts polite warmth and seven parts murderous intent. I suddenly realized a hard truth. The biggest mistake of my life wasn’t snatching that cotton candy. It was marrying Sloane Sinclair. 4 2:00 PM. The agency conference room. Marty grabbed my arm outside the glass doors, whispering frantically. “Don’t lose your temper in there. Arthur is in a terrible mood.” “When do I ever lose my temper?” “You lost your temper three days ago.” “When?” “When you posted that the cotton candy was sweet.” “That wasn’t losing my temper. That was stating a culinary fact.” Marty’s left eye twitched violently. I pushed the glass doors open and walked in. There were about eight people sitting around the long mahogany table. Arthur, the head of the agency, sat at the head of the table. He looked furious. Brenda, the PR Director, had deep black circles under her eyes. She clearly hadn’t slept a wink. And then there was Jace Montgomery. He was sitting quietly in the corner, wearing a crisp white button-down shirt. He looked pristine, polished, and wore a sickeningly perfect smile. When he saw me, he gave a polite little nod. “Hey, Cole.” His tone was steady and smooth. It carried three parts fake sympathy and seven parts pure satisfaction. I ignored him. “Sit down,” Arthur barked. “You know the situation. The hashtag hasn’t dropped from the top spot. Total views just passed 1.5 billion. Do you understand what that means? The last time a hashtag broke a billion, a global pop star got married. You are a B-list actor who stole a piece of candy, and your traffic eclipsed a royal wedding. You are an absolute piece of work, Cole.” “Arthur” “I talk, then you talk.” Arthur slammed his hand on the table. “The brand sponsors are already calling. You have three active endorsements. Two want to terminate your contract immediately. One is waiting to see what happens. The network just suspended all your variety show appearances for next month. Brenda, walk him through the strategy.” Brenda opened a manila folder. “The only viable option is a highly publicized, groveling apology. It needs to look sincere. I drafted a statement. ‘Mr. Hudson feels deep remorse for his actions. He realizes his behavior was completely inappropriate and has formally apologized to the child and their family…’” “No,” I said. The conference room went dead silent. “Cole,” Arthur stared daggers at me. “Do you have any idea that the Sinclair Group just issued a corporate threat? Their elite legal team is coming for your throat. If you don’t apologize right now, you are going to get sued into oblivion.” “I am not apologizing.” “You” “I ate a piece of cotton candy. It was a fifteen-dollar stick of sugar. I didn’t hit anyone. I didn’t curse anyone out. I didn’t break a single law. Who exactly am I apologizing to? The candy? ‘Dear Cotton Candy, I am deeply sorry for digesting you’?” Someone at the far end of the table stifled a laugh. Arthur’s face turned a dangerous shade of purple. That was when Jace decided to chime in. “Cole, don’t take this the wrong way.” I turned to look at him. He cleared his throat, his face a mask of sickening sincerity. “Cole, at the end of the day, this isn’t about right or wrong. It is about public sentiment. The public saw a grown man snatch something from a helpless child. It makes people uncomfortable. That is just human nature. If you just bow your head and apologize, you calm the storm. It benefits everyone. Why burn your career to the ground over pride?” Beautifully said. Every single word sounded entirely reasonable, yet every single sentence was meticulously designed to force me off a cliff. You weren’t using this gentle tone when you quote-tweeted the video to step on my throat, were you? “Jace,” I stared right into his perfect eyes. “Yeah?” “When you quoted that video yesterday, did you type that caption yourself, or did you make your assistant do it?” His perfect smile glitched for a fraction of a second. “Cole, I only posted that out of concern” “You are concerned about me? Last month on set, I got heatstroke and laid on a cot for three hours. You walked past me three times and didn’t even offer me a bottle of water.” The conference room plunged into a suffocating silence. Jace’s smile completely dissolved. The corner of his mouth twitched in anger. Arthur slammed his fist on the table. “Enough! Both of you shut up. Cole, I am asking you one last time. Are you going to apologize?” “No.” “Then give me one good reason why.” I stood up. I looked around the room at every single face staring back at me. I thought about it for a moment, then delivered one simple sentence. “Because I bought that cotton candy with my own fifteen bucks.” Then I turned around and walked out. I could hear Marty’s frantic footsteps chasing after me, followed closely by the sound of Arthur violently shattering his coffee mug against the wall.

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I had to tag along to my brother’s business dinner. I never expected the man sitting across from us to be the city’s most ruthless billionaire heir. When I hesitantly raised my glass to toast him, he scoffed. Not once, not twice, but three times. Then, halfway through the night, someone brought up his mysterious, mute fiancée from the wrong side of the tracks. Gideon lazily raised his eyelids, his cold gaze sliding down the curve of my tight, custom designer dress. He let out another dark chuckle. “Why don’t you answer them? Is two years of playing mute still not enough for you?” 1 I was at a high-stakes business dinner. Sitting directly across from us was the massive client our family company was desperate to land. Dressed in a flawlessly tailored charcoal suit, his expression was colder than ice. This was Gideon, the legendary heir whose name dominated every financial headline. In our social circles, he was notorious for his mercurial temper and absolute ruthlessness in negotiations. Right now, his piercing gaze was locked onto me. The polite smile on his lips didn’t reach his eyes. His sheer presence suffocated the room. My brother, Christian, was still busy pitching me. “This is my little sister, Nicollette. I’m bringing her around to learn the ropes so she can eventually take over the family business.” The man across the table raised an eyebrow, slowly testing the weight of my name on his tongue. “Nicollette.” “The heiress of the Su empire?” He paused, letting out a dark, mocking laugh. “Fascinating.” I silently adjusted my hair, pulling the loose curls forward to shield my face as much as possible. Seeing me shrink back, Christian gave my shoulder a gentle nudge, his voice a low whisper. “Don’t just sit there with your head down. What are you hiding for? It’s your turn to toast him.” My stomach did a violent flip. I slowly forced myself to stand. When I raised my glass toward Gideon, my hand froze mid-air. The silence in the private dining room was deafening. Christian waited for me to speak, but when I remained frozen, he lost his patience and hissed under his breath, “What are you doing just holding your glass? Did you suddenly go mute? Say something!” He didn’t know the half of it. For two years, Gideon had genuinely believed I was mute. Even during our most passionate nights, when his hands would pin mine to the sheets, he would whisper with wicked amusement: Sweetheart, if it’s too much, just say the word and I’ll stop. Even when I was completely out of my mind with sensation, I had bitten my lip until it bled, refusing to make a single sound. Was it because I didn’t know how to speak? No. It was because I was absolutely terrified of what would happen if I did. My lips parted, and with agonizing effort, I managed to squeeze out a few quiet words. “Um, Mr. Gideon…” The moment the words left my mouth, the man across the table let out a sharp, frigid laugh. My heart sank into my chest. My cover was blown. “Mr. Gideon, it is a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to our future partnership.” “A pleasure to meet you?” Gideon repeated, his lips curling into a frigid, mocking smirk. “Right.” 2 I sank back into my seat, my fingers trembling as I unlocked my phone and immediately started searching for the earliest flight out of the state. I needed to run. Fast. Before I could even select a departure time, my brother’s voice drifted back into my ears, casually launching into another topic. “By the way, Gideon, rumor has it you’re getting married soon. When do we get to meet the lucky lady?” My eyelids twitched. Christian was literally digging his own sister’s grave. Gideon didn’t answer immediately. He slowly swirled the amber liquid in his glass. After a long, agonizing silence, he finally looked up. His icy gaze dragged slowly over the tight, provocative lines of my designer dress. He let out another cold laugh. “Why don’t you answer him? Is two years of playing mute still not enough for you?” The entire room went dead silent. Christian froze, his jaw practically hitting the table. He had absolutely no idea. According to the rumor mill, Gideon’s fiancée was a destitute, pitiful girl. Her brother was a degenerate gambler, her father was abusive, and her mother was terminally ill. She was a quiet, fragile mute whom the billionaire heir sheltered from the world out of sheer pity. He never could have guessed that his own pampered, billionaire sister was that very same girl. You have reached the end of the free preview. To unlock the next chapters and see Nicollette’s ultimate fate, please complete your payment to continue reading. 3 Although I had been pampered and spoiled by my family since childhood, Christian had warned me several times before I started dating. He gave me a strict list of men in our social circle whom I should never, under any circumstances, touch. Gideon was at the very top of that list. Not only did he have a notoriously volatile temper, but he was also rumored to be deeply obsessed with a tragic first love, a woman who had broken his heart and left the country. He was a walking red flag. But when I saw him at a high-society party two years ago, I was completely captivated. I was starstruck by the sheer, devastating beauty of him. Another woman had tried to throw herself at him, accidentally splashing red wine all over his chest. As the dark liquid dripped from the tips of his hair, sliding down his collarbone and over his sharply defined abs, Gideon had merely looked up with absolute indifference. His profile was as sharp as a carved statue. He slowly took a napkin to wipe his face, casually shedding his incredibly expensive jacket and tossing it into the trash. Every movement was slow, dripping with the effortless arrogance of a man born to rule. I had practically salivated on the spot. I couldn’t help but whisper to my best friend, “What do you think would happen if I took a little part-time job as his distraction?” My best friend, a classy, high-maintenance heiress, rolled her eyes with practiced grace. “Don’t tell me you want to humiliate yourself by acting as a substitute for his lost love. See that girl who spilled the wine? She fell in love, demanded a title instead of just cash, and got discarded in two months. That will be your fate.” I nodded thoughtfully. “Two months is a bit short. Two months isn’t enough time to really get a taste of him.” My friend stared at me, speechless. Before I set my sights on Gideon, I did try to spare my brother’s reputation. I went to great lengths to hide my identity. I used a fake name and created a completely fabricated background. Because my voice was somewhat distinctive and I was terrified of being recognized, I chose not to speak at all. I bought a VIP membership at the luxury hotel he frequented and spent two months pretending to be tipsy, waiting for the perfect moment. Finally, I staged a perfect, delicate collapse right into his arms as he walked through the door. He paused, his gaze lingering on my bare, makeup-free face. He caught me by the waist, a low chuckle escaping him as if he saw right through my little act. “You look a bit like her. Want to come with me?” I lowered my head with mock shyness, pulled out my phone, and typed on the screen: [Sure. My name is Felicity.] For two years, Gideon genuinely believed I was a mute girl named Felicity. And for two years, I assumed we were both just playing a mutually beneficial, temporary game. Until last month, when Gideon suddenly proposed. I was utterly blindsided. 4 I suspected Gideon might have suffered some sort of amnesia that made him forget his tragic first love. On the night he proposed, he was out drinking with his inner circle. I was sitting beside him, completely lost in thought as I stared at his jawline. Someone at the table casually mentioned a name. The atmosphere in the room immediately dropped. Someone muttered, “I heard she got engaged last month.” Gideon’s hand paused on his glass. He gave a quiet, indifferent shrug, then suddenly turned to look at me. He pinched my cheek with lazy amusement, waiting for me to snap out of my daze. “Let’s get married,” he said. My heart nearly stopped. Who? Married to who? This wasn’t part of the deal. I was supposed to be a temporary substitute, a pretty distraction. How did we get to marriage? I was terrified. That night in bed, I was trembling so violently that he noticed. He let out a low growl, murmuring, “Sweetheart, why are you so sensitive tonight? You’re soaking the sheets.” The moment the storm cleared and my body finally stopped shaking, I quietly gathered the scraps of my torn stockings from the floor, desperate to slip away before sunrise. “Damn it,” a low curse came from the shadows behind me. Gideon rarely swore, but before I could take a step, a heavy arm wrapped around my waist, dragging me back into the mattress. My freshly donned stockings were torn to shreds once again. Gideon never let women stay the night at his villa, but that night, he held me tightly against his chest until morning. I didn’t sleep a wink. I watched the sky slowly turn from gray to gold, my heart growing colder with every passing second. When he woke up, he gently ruffled my hair. “Pack your things and move in here. From now on, you live with me.” “And remember to bring your ID.” Gideon propped his chin on his hand, looking down at me with a rare, soft warmth in his eyes. “Felicity, I’ve had someone pick out a date. We’re getting married next month.” Hearing him call me by the fake name I’d used for two years made my stomach violently churn. I finally realized this wasn’t a game to him. Gideon was serious. 5 Gossip travels faster than light in our circle. My best friend messaged me the second she heard rumors of Gideon’s impending wedding. Are you out of your mind? I heard his first love got engaged last month. He’s obviously using you to spite her. If you actually marry him, you’re going to end up looking like a clown. I knew she was right, but my concern was far more practical. I was afraid of getting sued or worse. Gideon absolutely loathed being lied to. The second we stood in front of the clerk and he saw my real ID, I would be completely ruined. So, under the pretense of going back to my shack to retrieve my ID, I ran. I booked the earliest flight out of the state. As I boarded the plane, my heart was hammering against my ribs. Fortunately, I made it out. I figured that to a man of Gideon’s immense power, I was just a disposable toy. He didn’t even bother to verify my background during our two years together. Why would he waste his energy chasing me down when he could easily find another quiet girl to marry out of spite? Gideon’s family was based on the East Coast. My family was based on the West Coast. My name was fake, my identity was a lie. If I stayed away, we would never cross paths again. Even though I hadn’t quite had my fill of the gorgeous billionaire, I had enjoyed the ride. It was time to grow up, accept the business match my family had arranged, and learn to run the empire. 6 I just never expected we would meet again so soon, let alone in a corporate setting. Gideon’s company was based thousands of miles away, yet somehow, our family business had landed them as our primary client. “Why don’t you answer him? Is two years of playing mute still not enough for you?” Gideon’s voice snapped me back to reality. By the time he finished speaking, I had already made it to the door of the private dining suite. I turned around to face the stunned stares of the entire room, including my brother’s pale face. I cleared my throat, trying to sound casual. “Excuse me for a moment. I need to use the restroom.” I tried to make a run for it. But the moment I stepped into the hallway, two of Gideon’s massive bodyguards blocked my path. We stared at each other in a tense standoff. Finally, one of them cleared his throat politely. “Miss, there is a private restroom inside the suite.” I slowly marched back inside and took my seat. A second later, Christian let out a harsh, freezing laugh. Across the table, Gideon echoed him with an equally chilling chuckle. I sat there, frozen. Were they trying to harmonize their anger? After a few minutes of agonizing tension, Christian stood up. “I have an urgent matter to attend to. I must excuse myself.” Gideon rose smoothly. “I also have some business to take care of. I’ll head out as well.” I quickly chimed in, “Oh, I’m fine. I’ll just sit here for a bit longer.” Christian grabbed my arm, practically hauling me out of my chair. “Ow, ow! Lighten up on the grip, Christian!” “Oh, now you know what pain feels like?” Christian sneered, dragging me out of the suite and shoving me right in front of Gideon, who was waiting by his sleek sedan. “My sister has been spoiled rotten since she was a kid. For the sake of our families’ business relationship, deal with this quietly. I’ll be back to pick her up in an hour.” 7 The second Christian’s car pulled away, Gideon pinned me against the door of his sedan and kissed me. The kiss was fierce, desperate, and possessive, stealing the breath straight from my lungs. I thought he was overreacting. Sure, I was beautiful, but did he really have to be this intense the moment we reunited? When he finally let me go, there was no explosive anger, no furious demands about my lies. He gently pressed his thumb against my swollen lower lip, his eyes dark and swirling with unspoken emotion. “You lied to me. But why did you run?” “Um,” I muttered, looking anywhere but at him. “I heard your family already arranged a fiancé for you last year,” he whispered, his voice dangerously low. “Don’t tell me you never actually planned on marrying me.” “Well,” I squeaked. “Finding you was exhausting. Next time you decide to run, at least don’t block my number, okay?” “Oh,” I said. He tilted my chin up, a warning edge to his smile. “If you keep giving me these lazy, one-word answers, I won’t hesitate to show you exactly what we can do in the back of this car.” I shut my mouth immediately. We were out in public, for heaven’s sake. But looking up at him, under the silver glow of the streetlights, I felt a familiar, dangerous flutter in my chest. He had chased me down. He hated being deceived, yet he had forgiven my massive web of lies without a second thought. Over the past two years, his tenderness and absolute devotion had been real. I had tried so hard to keep my guard up, but looking at his face now, I felt myself slipping. It wasn’t just a physical craving anymore. I was genuinely falling for him.

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