I scored a vintage iPod on Depop. Plugging in my cheap wired earbuds, I expected to hear some nostalgic Lana Del Rey. Instead, a low, husky male voice filled my ears: “Avery forgot her umbrella today. So stupid.” I flipped through the photo gallery. It was entirely filled with candid shots of me from high school. Turning my head, I saw the top trending topic on Twitter: #JudeSinclairPolice #AssistantTheft. Two minutes later, the Depop seller sent me a private message: [That belongs to me. Fifteen grand. Give it back.] I sneered and let my fingers fly across the keyboard: [Meet me in person, or I’m turning this over to the cops.] The next afternoon at a coffee shop, I stared at the fully disguised Jude Sinclair sitting across from me and hit the send button right in front of his face. “Ding.” The crisp notification sound erupted from his pocket. 1 Opening that package was a heart-stopping experience. Here is what happened. I had recently gotten into the retro aesthetic and spent thirty bucks on Depop for a vintage iPod Classic. The seller’s description read: “Battle-scarred condition. Powers on. No returns.” I figured thirty bucks for a piece of nostalgia was a steal. The second I got it, I plugged it into the charger and shoved in my two-dollar bargain bin wired earbuds. The screen lit up, lagging for three seconds before loading the main menu. There was no Coldplay. No Taylor Swift. There was only a single hidden folder named “A”. Curious, I clicked on it. It contained a few abrupt audio files and dozens of blurry photos. I casually tapped the first audio track. A crackling static noise hissed through the earbuds, followed instantly by a deeply low, slightly youthful male voice. “Avery wore her hair in a ponytail today. Kinda want to tug it.” My scalp tingled. I nearly dropped the iPod on the floor. What the hell? I swallowed hard and with a trembling finger, tapped the second track. “Avery got a C on her Calculus mid-term. Idiot. I explained that exact equation to her three times.” “It is pouring. Avery forgot her umbrella again. Dummy.” Fuck. I would recognize that voice anywhere. I hastily backed out to the main menu and opened the photo folder. A grid of photos flooded the screen. The pixel quality was laughably bad, but the subject of every single picture was me. There was a side profile of me drooling on my desk during study hall. A shot of my back as I sprinted across the track field in an oversized hoodie. There was even a candid of me hiding in the stairwell, secretly stuffing a breakfast burrito into my mouth. It was a total creepy-secret-admirer POV. My coworker Zoe walked by with her coffee, caught a glimpse of my screen from the corner of her eye, and immediately leaned in. “Whoa, Avery, who took these crusty photos? From high school? The quality looks deep-fried.” My brain was buzzing. I brushed her off with a random excuse. “No idea. Probably just bought some creep’s secondhand junk.” Zoe did not pay much attention. She pulled out her phone to slack off, but a second later, she slapped my thigh hard. “Oh my god! Huge drama!” “Look at the number one trending topic!” I gasped from the stinging slap and leaned over to look at her screen. The top hashtag had a dark red “Trending” icon next to it. #JudeSinclairPolice #AssistantTheft The timeline was in absolute chaos. “Holy shit, Jude actually snapped! Called the cops on his own assistant?” “Word is the assistant listed a super personal, beat-up item he has carried for years on a secondhand app. Jude literally smashed a glass on set!” “What kind of item is that precious? Bypassing PR to call the cops directly? That assistant is dancing on a minefield.” Zoe scrolled through the comments, clicking her tongue in amazement. “Assistants these days are wild. Jude is famous for being an untouchable, arrogant ice king. He never even has dating rumors. For him to blow up like this is insane. Avery, what do you think he lost? A love token from his secret girlfriend?” I said nothing. Because my phone just buzzed. A new notification popped up from Depop. It was a message from the seller who sold me the iPod. [That belongs to me.] [I did not sell it willingly.] [Fifteen grand. Give it back.] I stared at the words on the screen, a massive question mark forming in my head. Fifteen grand? I paid thirty bucks for a piece of junk, and it costs fifteen grand to ransom it back? Are scammers getting this brazen nowadays? I scoffed, my fingers flying across the screen. [Nice scam. I am the Queen of England. Send cash.] He replied instantly: [I am not joking. That item is extremely important to me.] [As long as you return it, name your price.] I raised an eyebrow. Judging by his tone, the guy was anxious enough to crawl through the internet connection. I wanted to see exactly what kind of trick this scammer was trying to pull. [Fine. Meet in person. Tomorrow at 3 PM, Starbucks on the third floor of the Galleria mall.] [If you do not show up, I am calling the cops and handing this over as stolen property.] After sending that, I closed the app and locked the burning-hot iPod in the bottom drawer of my desk. His reply came quickly. Just one brief word. [Okay.] Right after lunch, my department manager Valerie stormed into the office, her heels clicking aggressively against the floor. “Everyone, drop what you are doing!” “We just landed the promotional campaign for Jude Sinclair’s new album. His team will be downstairs in ten minutes. Avery, print three copies of this brief and come with me to Meeting Room One!” I was mid-sip of my water and nearly choked to death on my keyboard. “Cough… Valerie, me? Am I not just the administrative assistant?” “I told you to go, so go! Stop whining, look sharp, and do not embarrass the company!” I reluctantly gathered the stack of documents and followed Valerie toward the meeting room. Truth be told, Jude Sinclair and I were not complete strangers. We had shared a homeroom for two years in high school. The Jude Sinclair back then was a completely different person from the dazzling superstar on today’s billboards. He was dirt poor. His father was a deadbeat gambler. Jude always wore a washed-out, oversized hoodie, kept to himself, and had the gloomy aura of a lone wolf ready to bite anyone who got too close. Nobody in class dared to mess with him, and nobody wanted to talk to him either. I was the class president. The thankless job of collecting homework always fell on me. Every time I stood at his desk, tapping on the wood to ask for his assignment, he would not even lift his eyes. He would just spit out two cold words: “Didn’t do it.” How did we end up getting familiar? It was probably that one day after school. I was cutting through the alley behind the gym and saw him cornered by a group of loan sharks. He was bleeding from his lip, yet he did not make a sound, fiercely protecting a broken Walkman in his arms. My brain short-circuited. I screamed “Cops are here!” and grabbed his wrist, dragging him away as fast as I could run. Since then, I would occasionally find a strawberry Starburst sitting in my desk drawer. And I made a habit of conveniently leaving an extra umbrella on his desk on rainy days. But right after our senior year started, he abruptly cut all ties with me. With a frozen expression, he threw the umbrella back into my arms and told me to mind my own business. A few days later, he vanished from school completely. He did not even show up for graduation. The next time I heard his name was years later. He exploded in popularity after an indie film and became the globally adored Jude Sinclair. A click of the meeting room door snapped me out of my memories. I followed Valerie inside and immediately spotted the man sitting at the head of the table. Jude wore a minimalist black windbreaker and a baseball cap. The brim was pulled low, but it still could not hide his immaculate bone structure. He leaned back in his chair, radiating a chilling, do-not-approach aura. His manager was pacing beside him, aggressively barking into his phone. “Find it! You know how many years he has carried that thing? If that leaks, you and I are both finished!” My footsteps faltered, and I guiltily tightened my grip on the folders. “Mr. Sinclair, it is a pleasure.” Valerie instantly plastered on a bright smile and approached. “I am the director for this campaign. Here is the preliminary proposal we prepared.” She turned and shot me a look. I quickly took two steps forward and offered the documents. “Mr. Sinclair, your files.” Jude had been looking down, twisting a plain silver ring on his thumb. Hearing my voice, his movements abruptly stopped. He slowly looked up. Our eyes met. The air in the room seemed to freeze for a split second. His dark pupils shrank sharply. A flash of extreme shock and poorly concealed panic crossed his eyes. But in the span of a breath, he forced it down, replacing it with a perfectly calm, unreadable facade. “Thank you,” he said, without looking at me. His voice was freezing cold. I cursed his arrogance in my head. Pretending we do not know each other? Fine. “You are welcome, Mr. Superstar.” I deliberately emphasized the last two words. Jude’s back noticeably stiffened. As he reached out to take the files, his fingertips accidentally brushed against the back of my hand. They were freezing. And they were trembling slightly. With my sharp eyes, I noticed the tips of his pale ears turning a violent shade of red right in front of me. The meeting lasted thirty minutes. Jude barely spoke the entire time, leaving his manager to do all the talking. His gaze seemed locked on the projector screen, but I constantly felt a heavy stare sweeping over the top of my head. When the meeting ended, I escorted them downstairs. Reaching the lobby, I realized a torrential downpour had started. Sheets of rain crashed against the glass doors with a deafening rattle. I did not have an umbrella. The manager’s car was already waiting at the entrance. Jude put on his black mask and prepared to step out into the storm. Suddenly, he stopped, turned around, and cast a deep look at me. It was such an intense look I almost thought he was going to say something. But ultimately, he stayed silent and ducked into the SUV. I stood by the lobby doors, sighing, preparing to wait out the rain before making a run for the subway. Two minutes later, the building’s security guard walked over with a massive black golf umbrella, handing me a brand-new clear umbrella. “Miss, the gentleman who just left asked me to give this to you,” the guard said with a warm chuckle. “He also told me to remind you not to stand around looking dumb when it rains.” I gripped the handle of the clear umbrella, slightly stunned. The handle still held a faint trace of body heat. That bastard. So much for playing it cool. That evening, I went to a high school reunion. Mr. Harrison, our old homeroom teacher, was retiring this year, and everyone got together for a farewell dinner. The private room was loud and smoky. After a few rounds of drinks, the conversation inevitably drifted to the most successful person from our class: Jude Sinclair. “Who would have thought the poorest, quietest kid in our class would end up as an A-list celebrity?” The old sports captain yelled, letting out a drunken burp. “Yeah, remember when he got publicly shamed at assembly because he could not pay his tuition?” A girl sitting nearby lowered her voice, looking secretive. “Do you guys remember why he actually dropped out senior year?” I paused with my fork halfway to my mouth, listening closely. “I heard his deadbeat dad borrowed from a loan shark and ran off. The debt collectors came and trashed his apartment. His grandma already had a bad heart, and the shock killed her that very night.” “Holy shit, that is awful.” “Right? He could not even afford a proper burial. He went to work at a construction site hauling cement for half a month straight just to survive. How could he possibly take his final exams?” The atmosphere in the room suddenly grew heavy. Mr. Harrison sighed, lifting his glass for a small sip. “That kid had a hard life. He was bright. It was a damn shame.” Sitting in the corner, my throat felt like it was blocked by wet cotton. I could not swallow, and I could not speak. The sports captain turned to look at me, slurring his words. “Avery, you did not know? The night before he dropped out, it was pouring rain. I saw him standing outside your apartment building for half the night with my own eyes. He was soaked like a drowned rat, just staring up at your window.” “I asked him why he did not just go up and knock. His eyes were red, and he told me his life was pure garbage now, and he could not drag you down into the mud with him.” With a loud clatter, my glass hit the table. Water spilled everywhere. My brain was buzzing. So, his sudden coldness back then. Throwing the umbrella back at me. Telling me to mind my own business… It was all an act? He thought he was not good enough for me, so he chose to shoulder his ruined life alone and quietly roll out of my world? I bit my lower lip hard, taking a deep breath to force myself to calm down. Jude Sinclair, you self-righteous bastard. The next day, at 2:50 PM. I arrived exactly on time at the Starbucks on the third floor of the Galleria mall. The weekend crowd was massive, and the coffee shop was nearly packed. I ordered an iced Americano and found a secluded booth near the window. My mind was still replaying the words I heard at the reunion last night. A fire was burning in my chest. Just then, from the corner of my eye, I spotted someone strange. Sitting in the furthest booth of the cafe was a man in a black hoodie. Not only did he have the hood pulled up over his head, but he was also wearing oversized thick-rimmed glasses and a black medical mask. He was bundled up tightly, only his eyes visible, looking around nervously. Dressed like that in the middle of the summer, he was either a celebrity or an armed robber. And that posture. That build. I would recognize him anywhere. I squeezed my iced coffee cup tightly, condensation dripping through my fingers. Taking a deep breath, I stood up and marched straight toward that corner. The man seemed to sense someone approaching. His body tensed, and he instinctively pulled the brim of his hood lower. I stopped at his table, pulled out the chair opposite him, and sat down without hesitation. He jumped, his head snapping up. Through his glasses, I locked eyes with those familiar, deep pupils. “Excuse me, miss, this seat is taken,” he said, deliberately lowering his voice, trying to play it off. I ignored him. Expressionless, I pulled out my phone, opened the Depop app, and navigated to the chat with the seller who thought he could scam me. I typed. [I am here.] [Where are you?] [Look up.] Staring dead into the man’s eyes, I pressed my thumb down hard on the send button. “Ding.” The extremely crisp system notification sound erupted from the phone sitting on the table in front of him. The noisy chatter of the coffee shop seemed to fade away completely in that instant. The man’s pupils violently trembled. Those eyes that were always so calm and unbothered finally revealed a stark, unmistakable panic.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “459947”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Noah and I grew up absolutely unable to stand each other. He always said I was a firecracker, bursting into flames at the slightest spark. I told him he had a venomous tongue, never knowing when to let things go. We bickered like that for over a decade. That was until our senior year of high school, when the new transfer student, Kitty, confessed her feelings to him. He cast a careless glance my way, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “Sorry about that. You just aren’t my type.” The crowd around us immediately started hooting and hollering. “Don’t tell me you’re actually into a girl like Scarlett?” Noah let out a soft chuckle, his tone dripping with a relaxed drawl. “Yeah, I like a girl who gives it to me straight. Got a problem with that?” Later on, we went to college together, got married, had kids, and spent a lifetime loudly arguing our way through love. Right before he passed away from his illness, he held my hand, his eyes crinkling with a peaceful smile. “Look at you. Your temper is so awful, and you always put too much salt in the food. In my next life, I am definitely finding someone gentle and sweet.” My eyes stung with tears as I lightly punched his shoulder. “Fine. You go find someone gentle, and I will find a guy who doesn’t argue with me every single day.” When I opened my eyes again, I was standing right back in the middle of our senior year. Right on the very day Kitty confessed to him. 1 “Noah, I really like you. Could you give me a chance?” Noah lifted his gaze, sweeping his eyes over me for a split second before looking away. The corner of his mouth tipped up into a relaxed, easy smile. “Sure, let’s give it a shot.” Kitty’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief, the edges of them turning a soft, teary pink as she stared at him. “Are… are you serious?” Noah hummed in agreement. “You have a really sweet personality, and you look nice and clean. I appreciate that.” I dug my nails into my palms, my fingertips trembling slightly. The sound of mocking laughter erupted from the students surrounding us. “Wow, Noah, so you actually go for girls like Kitty! We all thought you were secretly pining after Scarlett.” Noah lazily lifted his heavy eyelids, that careless smirk still resting on his face. “Who would ever like her? Her temper is a nightmare. She throws hands over nothing. A grown bull couldn’t survive one of her punches.” The classroom exploded into louder laughter. “I mean, Scarlett is gorgeous, but she goes off like a landmine. Who could deal with that?” “Exactly. Guys just want a girl who is gentle and actually knows how to behave.” I stood frozen in the middle of the room, an icy chill seeping into my bones. At this exact moment in our past life, Noah had rejected Kitty without a second thought. He had stood in front of everyone and declared that he liked girls who were straightforward. My heart had beaten so fast that day I thought it might leap right out of my throat. I had spent that entire night tossing and turning in bed, completely unable to sleep. The next morning, I had stumbled downstairs with massive dark circles under my eyes, only to find Noah leaning against the porch railing, waiting for me. He had looked me up and down, clicking his tongue in amusement. “Scarlett, were you out robbing banks last night?” I had snapped at him, but he just laughed. After graduation, he finally asked me out. He told me that even though I had a terrible temper, he was pretty crazy about me, and he wanted to know if I would be his girl. I remembered lightly punching his arm, telling him no one in their right mind would want to be his girlfriend. He had just grabbed his shoulder and laughed, teasing me for acting tough when I clearly felt the same. He said I had been using that same stubborn defense mechanism since we were kids. Then came college. We were just like any other ordinary couple. We took walks in the pouring rain and kissed under golden sunsets. We got married right out of school and had a son and a daughter. Through all those years, we bickered constantly, but we never truly crossed a line. The worst fight we ever had resulted in a month-long cold war where we flat-out refused to speak to each other. People around us started whispering, assuming we were finally heading for a divorce. But whenever someone brought it up, Noah would just glare at them. He would tell them to mind their own business, claiming that fighting was just how he and his wife showed affection. Then he would turn right around, flash me a cheeky grin, and start sweet-talking me into forgiving him. He kept bickering with me right up until his dying breath. He told me he was going to find a sweet, gentle woman in his next life. I thought he was just trying to rile me up one last time. I never expected him to actually mean it. I pulled myself out of my chaotic memories, forcing my gaze up to meet Noah’s. I steadied my voice the best I could. “You say that like anyone actually wants you. Your mouth is pure poison. Just listening to you speak is exhausting.” Then I shot a glare at the boys who were laughing the loudest. “You guys have a lot of nerve judging other people. Have you ever considered looking in a mirror?” Without waiting for a response, I spun on my heel and stormed out of the classroom. If I stayed in there for even one more second, I knew I was going to cry in front of everyone. Once I reached the restroom, I aggressively splashed freezing water onto my face. Drops of water slid down my chin, soaking the collar of my shirt and resting cold against my collarbone. I stared at the eighteen-year-old face looking back at me in the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot. This was not a dream. Both Noah and I had come back to the year we turned eighteen. Only this time around, he had no intention of choosing me. 2 When I walked back into the classroom, Kitty was sitting in my seat. My voice came out like ice. “Get up.” She bit her bottom lip, looking up at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Noah told me I could sit here.” Right on cue, Noah strolled into the room holding a thermos filled with hot water. “I told her to sit there. She is my girlfriend now, so naturally, she should sit next to me.” He casually pointed toward the empty desk where Kitty used to sit. “You can take her spot.” When the teacher had assigned seats at the beginning of the year, Noah had begged and pleaded until they let him sit next to me. He had joked that my temper was so bad I would definitely bully anyone else, so he had to sacrifice himself for the greater good. I didn’t say a single word. I walked straight to Kitty’s old desk, grabbed my backpack, and hoisted it over my shoulder. Under the shocked stares of the entire class, I walked all the way to the very last row in the back corner. “What is she doing? Is she really going to sit next to Rowan?” “She can try, but there is no way Rowan will let her.” Even Noah furrowed his brows, shooting a displeased look in my direction. I knocked my knuckles against the desk in the back row. The boy sleeping with his head buried in his arms slowly lifted his face. His eyes were cold and distant, laced with heavy irritation at being woken up. “Can I sit here?” He stared at me for a long moment, completely silent, before closing his eyes and dropping his head back down onto his arms. I pulled out the chair and sat down. Whispers erupted all around us. The chatter didn’t die down until the bell finally rang for class to start. I pulled out my textbook, but my mind was a total mess. My eyes kept drifting toward the front of the room, drawn to Noah against my will. He had his chin propped on his left hand, his gaze fixed entirely on the side of Kitty’s face. The corner of his mouth was curved up into a soft, genuine smile, and his features were completely relaxed. He used to stare at me exactly like that during class. He used to tell me that I looked the most beautiful when I was intensely focused on a lecture. When we finally started dating, he kept doing it. He would whisper that I looked so pretty he just wanted to lean over and kiss me. Even after we got married, nothing changed. He would look at me with that same soft expression and promise that he wanted to be with me in this life, the next life, and every life after that. A small pack of tissues suddenly landed on my desk. I looked down, realizing for the first time that a dark, wet patch had spread across the pages of my textbook. Rowan had already pulled his hand back. He was leaning casually against his chair, deliberately looking away from me. His voice was a low, raspy drawl. “People are going to think I’m the one making you cry.” If you added my two lifetimes together, I was almost a hundred years old. Yet here I was, crying in front of an eighteen-year-old boy. The sadness instantly vanished, replaced by an overwhelming wave of embarrassment. I genuinely wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. When the final bell rang that afternoon, Noah walked over, carrying Kitty’s backpack in one hand. His tone was completely flat. “Walk home by yourself today. I am taking Kitty home.” He took two steps away before pausing and looking back over his shoulder. “And don’t tell my parents I have a girlfriend.” With that, he looked down at Kitty. The bright smile on his face was impossible to hide. “I am taking you to this amazing food truck. They have the best spicy street tacos in the city.” Noah loved those tacos more than anything. In our past life, he dragged me there every single day after school. But now, he had someone else to share them with. I had spent the entire afternoon wallowing in misery, but I had finally made up my mind. Even if he had treated me like a queen in our past life, that was all in the past. I needed to let it go. I needed to move forward. I turned my head to look at the brooding, untouchable boy sitting next to me. “Do you want to go get some ghost pepper wings? I know a dive bar that makes them perfectly.” Rowan gave me a weird look, grabbed his bag, and walked right past me. He dropped a single, freezing sentence as he left. “Are we supposed to be friends or something?” 3 After being ruthlessly rejected, I walked out of the school gates all by myself. It felt incredibly strange. Ever since kindergarten, Noah and I had walked home together every single day. In college, he always walked me to the door of my dorm before heading to his own. When we were married, he would wait outside my office building so we could commute back to our house together. How could a man who loved me that deeply change so fast? The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I swung my foot and violently kicked a loose rock on the sidewalk. “Two-timing bastard!” The rock flew through the air and hit the guy walking in front of me directly in the back of the head. He stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned around. My heart dropped straight into my stomach. Rowan stared at me, his eyes as cold as absolute zero. “Who did you just call a bastard?” I opened and closed my mouth like a fish, my brain scrambling for an excuse. I pointed a stiff finger at a stray dog loitering near the alleyway. “Him.” The large yellow dog rested its chin on its paws, giving me a deeply innocent look while lightly wagging its tail. A smirk tugged at the corner of Rowan’s mouth, though the amusement didn’t reach his eyes. “You curse at dogs by throwing rocks at them?” “My foot just slipped.” He took a few slow steps toward me until he was standing right in my personal space. He was a full head taller than me, forcing him to tilt his head down to meet my eyes. His voice dropped to a low, dangerous whisper. “Scarlett, are you sure you weren’t talking about me?” I waved my hands frantically. “No, no, I swear! I was cursing out Noah.” He stayed silent for a few seconds, his gaze turning thoughtful and slightly amused. “What were you calling him?” “A… two-timing bastard.” Rowan raised a single eyebrow. “Let me get this straight.” “Noah dumped you, you called him a bastard, and somehow the rock ended up hitting my head?” I completely choked on my words. From an outsider’s perspective, I suppose it did look exactly like I had been dumped. The moment I realized I had been reborn, I had wanted to jump for joy. I thought I had been given a miracle. A chance to see Noah again and spend another lifetime loving him. Who could have predicted this? The love of my life was currently feeding street tacos to his sweet, gentle new girlfriend! I took a deep breath to steady myself. “I was not dumped. We were never even dating. Besides, he is a fickle, promise-breaking, backstabbing jerk who ruined our friendship. I wouldn’t like a guy like that if he were the last man on earth!” Rowan let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Right. Well, you still owe me an apology.” I dropped my head in defeat. “I am really sorry. I genuinely didn’t mean to hit you. Do you need to go to the nurse or a clinic?” “No.” He turned around and started walking away. Without thinking, my feet moved on their own, trailing right behind him. “How about I buy you dinner to make up for it? Those ghost pepper wings I mentioned earlier are seriously amazing.” He stopped walking. He didn’t turn around, but two icy words floated back to me. “Lead the way.” We destroyed a massive platter of insanely spicy wings, followed by fries and shakes. The heavy, suffocating anger that Noah had planted in my chest finally began to melt away under the sheer comfort of junk food. When I finally turned onto my street, I spotted Noah immediately. He was sitting on the stone bench near my driveway. A white takeout bag from the taco truck was resting next to him. The moment he saw me, he stood up. His face was thunderous. “Scarlett, did you forget how to walk home? Why the hell did it take you so long?” I rolled my eyes, stepping around him to head toward my front door. I kept my voice incredibly casual as I brushed past him. “I went out to eat with Rowan. It took a little longer than expected.” A hand clamped down hard on the strap of my backpack. Noah’s explosive voice rang out behind me. “What did you just say? You went out with Rowan?” He forcefully spun me around. His face was a mask of pure disbelief. “You don’t even know the guy! Why the hell are you eating dinner with him?” I yanked my strap out of his grip, my voice dripping with ice. “Is that any of your business?” “My business?” Noah let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “Wow, Scarlett, you are really feeling yourself today, aren’t you?” “When have I ever not made your life my business? When we were kids and you were still hungry, I gave you half my lunch! When you lost that fight in the first grade, I was the one who went back and beat the kid up for you!” He was practically shouting, venting all his chaotic frustration. I watched him lose his temper, and for a second, I found it almost funny. “Who I eat with is my choice. You are just my neighbor, Noah. You are overstepping.” “If you have this much free time, you should be on the phone with your sweet, gentle girlfriend.” Noah ground his teeth together. “You are just being stubborn, Scarlett.” “I only agreed to date Kitty because…” “…I know. Because she is sweet and gentle.” I cut him off before he could finish. “I only went out with Rowan because he is gorgeous, and it looks good having a guy like that walking next to me.” “Oh, and he has broad shoulders and an amazing waist. Not like you. You’re built like a beanpole.” Noah’s face turned so dark he looked like he might actually spontaneously combust. I ignored him, turning my back and walking straight up to my house. I only made it two steps before the familiar burning sensation returned to my eyes. Moving on was obviously going to be a lot harder than I thought. 4 The next morning, I walked into the classroom to find an iced latte and a toasted bagel sitting on my desk. They were exactly how I liked them. Kitty was standing next to my desk, flashing me a soft, timid smile. She spoke with an apologetic sweetness. “Scarlett, Noah accidentally bought too much breakfast this morning. You can have this one.” Before I could even open my mouth, Noah’s voice drifted over from the row behind us. “Kitty, don’t waste your breath on her. Just leave it there. If she starves, she starves.” He walked over, grabbed a second iced latte, popped the straw in, and held it right up to Kitty’s lips. His eyes were overflowing with affection. “Drink this one. I added extra syrup. It’s as sweet as you are.” Kitty blushed violently and took a sip. The rest of the class immediately started catcalling them. “Damn, Noah, you got moves!” “Since when were you the romantic boyfriend type?” Noah raised a brow, his gaze flicking toward me for a fraction of a second. A smirk played on his lips. “Depends on the girl.” I reached out, grabbed the latte and the bagel, and dropped them straight into the trash can. The smug smile on Noah’s face completely shattered. When lunchtime rolled around, I grabbed my tray and sat down at an empty table. Almost instantly, two people sat down directly across from me. Kitty pressed her shoulder right up against Noah’s. He was picking the best pieces of chicken from his plate and placing them gently onto hers. His voice was disgustingly tender. “You are way too skinny. Eat more.” Kitty shook her head, her cheeks flushed pink. “It’s too much. I can’t finish all of this.” Noah just laughed. “If you can’t finish it, I will eat it for you. It’s not like I haven’t eaten your leftovers before.” That sentence caught the attention of the surrounding tables. “Noah, you guys are moving way too fast!” “Seriously, get a room. We’re trying to eat here.” My grip on my fork tightened until my knuckles turned stark white. In our past life, Noah was always the one eating my leftovers. I was an incredibly picky eater, and he constantly lectured me about wasting food. He would complain endlessly while reaching over, taking my plate, and finishing every last bite. I dropped my head, shoveling food into my mouth as fast as I could. I stuffed my cheeks full, swallowing hard to force down the bitter lump rising in my throat. Noah suddenly looked up at me, a mocking edge to his voice. “Why are you eating all by yourself, Scarlett? Where is your broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted desk mate? Why isn’t he keeping you company?” “None of your damn business.” I didn’t even look up. “Wow, still got that terrible temper, I see.” He chuckled, turning his attention back to Kitty. “See? I told you she was vicious. She doesn’t have half your manners.” The second the words left his mouth, a tray slammed down onto the table. Rowan slid into the seat right next to me. Mutters and whispers broke out across the cafeteria. “Since when does Scarlett hang out with Rowan?” “I have no idea. Didn’t they just become desk mates yesterday?” Rowan acted like the whispers didn’t exist. He calmly picked up his fork, took a bite of his food, and chewed at an agonizingly slow pace. His broad frame completely blocked my view of Noah. I had no idea what expression my former husband was making. All I heard was the loud, violent clatter of silverware hitting a plastic tray. “I lost my appetite.” Noah grabbed his tray, turned around, and stormed off. Kitty scrambled out of her seat in a panic, chasing after him as fast as her legs could carry her. Half the cafeteria was staring at our table. I kept my face completely blank, finished the rest of my meal, and finally looked at Rowan to say thank you. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, his voice as aloof as ever. “You owe me a meal.” “Didn’t I just buy you wings yesterday?” “One favor equals one meal.” I stared at him in sheer disbelief. Who the hell kept score like that? But honestly, he had just saved me from a deeply humiliating situation. “Fine. I will buy you food some other time.” He stood up, grabbing his tray. “Don’t go back on your word.” When school let out, I bumped into Noah at the main gates. He was leaning against the brick wall holding a bottle of water. The moment he saw me, he stood up straight. “Scarlett.” I didn’t break my stride. I kept walking. He caught up to me in three long strides, stepping right into my path to block my way. “What do you want?” He looked down at me, his lips parting and closing a few times before he finally squeezed out a sentence. “Why aren’t you taking the bus today?” “I am walking. I need the cardio.” “Then I am walking with you.” “I don’t need you to. Shouldn’t you be walking your little girlfriend home?” He choked on his words, averting his eyes. “She had something to do today. She left early.” I didn’t reply. I just stepped around him and kept walking. He followed right behind me. It took less than three seconds for him to start running his mouth. “When did you and Rowan get so close? You have sat next to him for exactly two days, and he is already sitting with you at lunch?” “Scarlett, don’t tell me you actually have a crush on him.” His tone was starting to sound incredibly frantic. “Guys like him are a nightmare to deal with. He walks around with that freezing look on his face like the whole world owes him money.” I stopped so abruptly that he almost crashed right into my back. “Noah, what exactly are you trying to say?” He stood there in the fading twilight, looking deeply uncomfortable. It took him a long time to finally mutter his next words. “Stay away from him.”

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Before she turned four, my daughter was a total daddy’s girl. Every evening when he walked through the front door from work, she would launch herself at him like a little torpedo, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck and refusing to let go. But I have no idea when it started. My daughter completely changed. She stopped letting him hold her. She refused to hold his hand. Eventually, if he even walked near her, she would scream and hide behind my legs. I brushed it off as a difficult developmental phase. That was until I woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. As I passed my daughter’s room, I heard my husband trying to coax her to sleep. His voice was incredibly soft. Almost like a whisper. Like he was terrified of being overheard. I pressed my ear against the crack in the door and held my breath. Finally, I caught the words. In that exact moment, the blood in my veins turned to absolute ice. 1 Mark’s voice was as light as a feather, but every word was dripping with venom. “Go to sleep, Sophie. Be a good girl.” “Your mommy doesn’t want us anymore. She is going to bring a new baby brother home soon, and then she will never hold you again.” “So you have to listen to daddy. Daddy is the only one in the whole world who truly loves you.” I grabbed the freezing plaster of the hallway wall just to keep my knees from buckling. My stomach violently turned over on itself. So this was it. This was the reason Sophie had suddenly grown terrified of Mark while simultaneously acting aggressively hostile toward me. She was just a toddler. She had no concept of lies or manipulation. All she knew was that the father she trusted most in the world was sitting in the dark, whispering this horrific nightmare into her ear over and over again. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug painful crescents into my palms. I pushed the door open. Mark was sitting on the edge of Sophie’s bed with his back facing me. Hearing the click of the door, he turned around. His face instantly settled into his usual, gentle smile. “Sarah. Why are you out of bed? Did we wake you up?” He stood up and walked toward me, reaching out to take my hand. I instinctively took a step back, dodging his touch. His hand froze in midair. The warm smile on his face dimmed just a fraction. “What is wrong?” I stared at him. I had slept in the same bed as this man for five years, yet standing here right now, he looked like a total stranger. There was not a single ounce of panic in his eyes. Just the perfect, calculated amount of husbandly concern and confusion. He was a phenomenal actor. If I hadn’t heard those words with my own two ears, he could have kept me in the dark for the rest of my life. “What were you just saying to Sophie?” My voice was trembling. Mark blinked in surprise before letting out a soft chuckle. “I was just putting her to sleep. What else would I be saying? I told her a story about a little bunny.” He looked at me with total confidence. His eyes were wide, innocent, and completely sincere. “Sarah, have you been too stressed out at work lately? You are acting a bit paranoid. Sophie is just going through a clingy phase. She will grow out of it.” He stepped forward, gently rubbing my back as if he were soothing an unreasonable child. “Alright, let’s get you back to bed. I will be right there as soon as she falls asleep.” My entire body was stiff as a board as I let him guide me out of the room. He softly pulled the door shut behind us. Back in the master bedroom, I lay flat on my back, staring blindly at the ceiling. In the dead silence of the dark, the only thing I could hear was the heavy, thudding rhythm of my own heartbeat. It didn’t take long for Mark to come back. He slid into bed and wrapped his arms around me from behind, just like he always did. His warm breath brushed against the back of my neck. “Goodnight, beautiful.” I closed my eyes and forced my breathing to slow down, pretending to be asleep. But my body felt like a block of solid ice. I finally understood the truth. I was married to a monster. A monster who knew exactly how to use the softest, sweetest tone to deliver the most psychological damage imaginable. And I needed to fight back. For Sophie’s sake, and for my own. I opened my eyes in the dark. There were no tears left to cry. My vision was clouded with nothing but absolute, freezing resolve. I could not let this house operate like this for another day. I quietly slipped my phone out from under my pillow, opened a shopping app, and typed in a single search term. Hidden voice recorder. 2 The next morning, I got out of bed and made breakfast just like any other day. Mark was sitting at the dining table scrolling through the news on his phone. Sophie was strapped into her high chair, keeping her head down as she poked at her oatmeal with a plastic spoon. “Eat up, sweetie. We don’t want to be late for daycare,” I said, keeping my voice light and soothing. Sophie peeked up at me, didn’t say a word, and buried her chin closer to her chest. Mark put his phone face down on the table and frowned at me. “Sarah, could you try having a little patience with her? If she doesn’t want to eat, stop forcing it down her throat.” As he spoke, he reached over to affectionately pat Sophie on the head. Sophie flinched like a startled deer, violently dodging his hand. Her high chair rattled against the floor. “Don’t touch me!” she shrieked. The color instantly drained from Mark’s face, leaving behind a dark, ugly scowl. I quickly walked over and unbuckled Sophie, pulling her tightly into my chest. “Okay, okay. You don’t have to eat it. Mommy will take you to school now.” Sophie squirmed in my arms for a second, but she didn’t push me away. I grabbed my keys and walked out the front door. Mark didn’t follow us. As I pulled out of the driveway, I checked the rearview mirror. He was standing in the doorway, glaring at our car with a deeply unsettling expression. After dropping Sophie off, I didn’t drive to the office. I drove straight to an electronics store across town and bought the exact audio recorder I had looked up the night before. It was tiny. It looked just like a black shirt button. You could hide it absolutely anywhere without drawing attention. When Mark came home from work that evening, he was holding a massive stuffed bear. “Look what daddy brought you, Sophie!” Sophie’s eyes lit up the second she saw the bear. But she stayed glued to the back of my legs, refusing to step out into the open. The light in Mark’s eyes died. He tossed the bear onto the living room sofa and let out a heavy, dramatic sigh. “Sarah, we need to talk.” He grabbed my elbow and pulled me out onto the back patio. “I think we need to put Sophie in child therapy. Something is seriously wrong with her head lately.” I let out a cold, mental laugh. “You think so? I agree that someone in this house needs a psychiatrist, but it certainly isn’t Sophie.” Mark’s face shifted. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?” “Nothing.” I turned around, brushing past his shoulder. “I am exhausted. I am going to take a shower.” Before stepping into the bathroom, I walked into Sophie’s room and pressed the tiny, adhesive-backed microphone to the underside of her nightstand. When I walked out of the bathroom with my hair wrapped in a towel, the living room was empty. I tiptoed toward Sophie’s room. The door was cracked open just an inch. Mark’s hushed, secretive voice drifted out into the hallway. “You ignored daddy again today. You broke daddy’s heart.” “Do you think just because mommy bought you new toys, you don’t need me anymore?” “Let me tell you a secret, sweetie. Mommy sneaked out of the house today to buy baby clothes for the new little boy. She is getting ready to throw us away.” I could hear the muffled, broken sound of Sophie starting to cry. “Daddy… I’m scared.” “Don’t be scared. Daddy is right here. As long as you listen to me and stay far away from mommy, I will protect you forever.” I stood frozen in the hallway, my blood running cold. But I didn’t kick the door open. I just stood there in the absolute silence, waiting until his whispering finally stopped. I knew that after tonight, the rules of the game were completely different. I finally had a weapon. It was just one tiny piece of plastic, but it was the start of a war. I went back to my bedroom, got under the covers, and stared at the dark ceiling until the sun came up. The next morning, while Mark was in the shower, I slipped into Sophie’s room and retrieved the microphone. I put my earbuds in and hit play. The audio was crystal clear. It was a complete, undeniable recording of a conversation that would drag him straight to hell. I saved the file three times. One copy on my phone, one on my laptop, and one uploaded to a secure cloud drive. Once it was done, I walked into the kitchen and started making pancakes. The morning sunlight poured through the window, but inside my chest, there was nothing but a cold, pitch-black void. The war had officially begun. 3 Over the weekend, my mother-in-law, Barbara, and my sister-in-law, Jessica, came over for a visit. The second Barbara walked through the door, she grabbed Sophie and looked her up and down with intense scrutiny. “Oh, look at my poor granddaughter. Why are you so skinny? Is your mother starving you?” Sophie hid behind my legs, looking completely terrified of the loud woman. Barbara’s face darkened. She shot a nasty glare in my direction. “Sarah, how on earth are you raising this child? She acts like a stray dog!” Before I could even open my mouth, Jessica chimed in with her usual sarcastic drawl. “Mom, didn’t you hear? Mark told me Sarah has been a total nightmare lately. Throwing tantrums and taking her stress out on Sophie.” Mark stepped forward, playing the role of the perfect peacemaker. “Mom, Jessica, drop it. Sarah is just tired from work.” “Tired? Who isn’t tired? She acts like she is royalty!” Barbara dropped her heavy frame onto my sofa, crossing her arms. “My son breaks his back providing for this family, and she stays home to ruin the kid!” In the past, whenever they verbally abused me, I would just swallow my pride, walk into the kitchen, and cook them a massive dinner to keep the peace. But today, I was entirely out of patience. I pulled a dining chair out and sat down directly across from them. “Barbara. Jessica. Have a seat. I have a few things I need to clear up.” The dead, emotionless tone of my voice made both of them freeze. I pulled out my phone and opened my notes app. “Barbara, when you were hospitalized last month for gastroenteritis, the medical bills came out to seven thousand eight hundred dollars. I paid that out of my pocket.” “Jessica, that designer handbag you bought two months ago? Twelve thousand dollars. I was the one who transferred you the money.” “As for this house. The mortgage is six thousand a month. Utilities and groceries are another thousand. Sophie’s daycare is three thousand, and her gymnastics classes are two thousand. To keep this family alive, excluding my personal expenses, it costs at least twenty thousand dollars every single month.” I looked up from my screen, staring dead into their eyes. “My take-home pay after taxes is fifteen thousand. Mark makes more than I do, but every month he gives you three thousand, Barbara. He gives Jessica two thousand. He claims the rest of his salary goes into his private investment accounts. That means I am the one single-handedly funding the daily survival of this entire household.” “So, considering I work a full-time job, raise a child, and pay for almost everything you people touch, I would love to know exactly what makes me such a terrible wife.” The living room fell into a deathly silence. Barbara’s face cycled rapidly between bright red and stark white. Jessica opened her mouth, but not a single sound came out. Mark looked the worst out of all of them. He clearly never expected me to air out his financial secrets in front of his family. “Sarah, what the hell is wrong with you? We are family. Why are you counting pennies like this?” he snapped, his voice sharp with panic. “Nothing is wrong with me.” I stood up, keeping my posture completely relaxed. “I just realized that since I am so incredibly spoiled and terrible at raising a child, I should let you guys take over the heavy lifting.” “Starting today, I am taking full control of Sophie. As for the household expenses, we are splitting them fifty-fifty. Mark, you cover the mortgage and her school tuition. I will handle the rest. And as for you, Barbara, and Jessica. The next time you want a handout, ask Mark.” Without giving them a second glance, I walked straight to Sophie’s room. “Come on, sweetie. Mommy is taking you to the park.” I grabbed her tiny hand and walked right past the three of them. Sophie glanced over her shoulder, her eyes wide with fear, but she gripped my fingers as tight as she could. I could hear Barbara start screeching the second the front door clicked shut, followed by Mark shouting in frustration. But I didn’t look back. I knew the second I sat down in that chair, this family was broken beyond repair. And honestly? Good. If a house is rotting from the inside out, the only way to fix it is to tear it down to the foundation. Stepping out of the apartment building, the bright afternoon sun hit my face. I took a deep breath, feeling a wave of absolute, unadulterated relief wash over me. This was my very first counterattack. I was finally laying down the law. It was a small victory, but it was the start of something beautiful. It was the death of the weak, compliant Sarah they loved to walk all over. 4 That night, Mark and I got into the most explosive screaming match of our entire marriage. “What the hell was that today, Sarah? Humiliating me in front of my own mother and sister?” He slammed the bedroom door so violently the picture frames on the wall rattled. I was sitting at my vanity, wiping my makeup off with a cotton pad. I looked at him through the reflection of the mirror. His face was contorted with pure rage. His eyes looked like they were literally on fire. “I just recited the facts. Is the truth humiliating?” I replied, my voice completely flat. “Facts? Families don’t keep score like that! Talking about money destroys relationships, do you understand that?” “If you don’t want to talk about money, let’s talk about relationships.” I spun my chair around to face him directly. “Why don’t you explain the kind of relationship that makes a father whisper those things into his daughter’s ear every night?” Mark’s furious expression instantly froze. The raging fire in his eyes was completely extinguished, replaced by the sheer, naked panic of a man who had just been caught. But he recovered quickly. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” he said, shifting his gaze away from mine. “You don’t?” I let out a dry, mocking laugh, pulled out my phone, and tapped play on the audio file. “Go to sleep, Sophie. Be a good girl. Your mommy doesn’t want us anymore…” Mark’s crisp, gentle voice echoed clearly through the quiet bedroom. Every single word hit the walls like a sledgehammer, completely shattering his pathetic facade. All the color drained from his face. He stared at me in total disbelief, his lips trembling so badly he couldn’t form a coherent sentence. “You… you recorded me?” “What did you expect?” I locked my phone screen, stood up, and walked right up to him. “Did you really think I was stupid enough to keep falling for your terrible lies?” “Tell me, Mark. Why? She is your own flesh and blood. How could you systematically destroy a toddler’s mental health?” I backed him up until his shoulders hit the wall. He had nowhere left to run. “I… I didn’t mean to hurt her,” he stammered. “I just… I was just terrified you were going to leave me.” “Terrified I was going to leave you?” I laughed out loud like I had just heard the funniest joke on earth. “So your grand solution was to brainwash our child so she would hate me and depend entirely on you?” “No… it is just because I love you so much, Sarah.” He desperately reached out, trying to grab my wrists. His eyes were wide and pleading. “I messed up. I know I messed up. Just forgive me this one time. I swear on my life I will never do it again.” “It’s too late, Mark.” I slapped his hands away in disgust. “The second you poisoned her mind, we were done.” I opened the top drawer of my nightstand, pulled out a stack of printed papers, and threw them onto the bed right in front of him. “These are divorce papers. I don’t want a single dime of your money. I just want full custody of Sophie. Sign them.” He stared at the bold letters spelling out Divorce Settlement Agreement. His eyes immediately went bloodshot. “No. Absolutely not. I will never agree to a divorce!” he roared, snatching the papers off the bed and ripping them to shreds. “Let me make this perfectly clear, Sarah. Sophie is my daughter, and you will never, ever take her away from me!” “Is that right?” I watched his unhinged meltdown with absolute, freezing calm. “Then I guess I will see you in court. I cannot wait to see a judge’s face when I play that recording. Let’s see who gets custody then.” The mention of the audio file instantly killed his momentum. He glared at me, his eyes practically vibrating with toxic, venomous hatred. “You think one little recording makes you bulletproof?” he sneered. “Sarah, you are so incredibly naive.” He took a slow, deep breath, smoothing out the wrinkles in his dress shirt to regain his composure. “Fine. You win this round. I won’t go into her room at night anymore, and I won’t say those things to her.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice into a dangerous, raspy whisper. “But do not think for one second you are getting an easy divorce. The game has just begun.” With that, he yanked the bedroom door open and walked out. I looked down at the shredded pieces of paper scattered across the hardwood floor. I knew he wasn’t going to go down without a brutal fight. But I wasn’t backing down either. This was a war, and I was going to win.

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During the most flamboyant years of our youth, Karl paraded around holding his first love’s hand for everyone to see. But when he finally got together with me, we kept our relationship a total secret. I genuinely thought he had just matured. Until the night of his birthday party. I overheard him talking on the phone to his first love. “Lily, if you don’t come back right now, I am going to marry someone else.” There was a heavy pause on the other end of the line. “Pick me up at the airport tomorrow afternoon.” The entire room erupted into cheers and whistling. I quietly tucked the engagement ring and my positive pregnancy test back into my bag and pushed the door open. The cheering instantly died down. I looked at Karl and offered a bright smile. “Congratulations.” The room slowly returned to its lively atmosphere, but Karl’s face had darkened completely. 1 Karl drank an insane amount of alcohol that night. When we finally got home, he kept me awake until the early hours of the morning. At the absolute peak of it all, he covered my mouth with his hand to keep me quiet, bit down hard on my earlobe, and viciously whispered, “Congratulations.” It was as if those two words had deeply offended him. The next morning, he made breakfast acting like absolutely nothing had happened. He slid a porcelain plate across the counter toward me and casually asked if I had any plans for the afternoon. “I have a check-up at the hospital. Do you want to come with me?” He stared straight into my eyes, a cryptic smile playing on his lips. “I have to pick someone up at the airport. Didn’t you hear me say that last night?” I nodded, instantly losing all interest in continuing the conversation. He changed his clothes and walked toward the door. Just before he left, he turned back to look at me. “Wait for me at the hospital. I will come pick you up after I leave the airport.” The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting a soft glow across the side of his face. His long eyelashes cast shadows over his light brown eyes. Every single feature on his face looked as if he were God’s absolute favorite creation. I suppose being hopelessly blinded by a face like that was a somewhat acceptable excuse. I was just trying to justify my own stupidity. But I had finally hit a brick wall. It was time to turn around. “Are you absolutely sure you want to do this? Twins are incredibly rare. I highly recommend discussing this with the father first. We are going to need his signature on the paperwork anyway.” The doctor looked at my ultrasound results, her voice heavy with deep regret. I stood in the hallway outside the clinic, my hand resting softly against my lower abdomen. After zoning out for a long time, I finally dialed Karl’s number. “Hello…” The second the call connected, there was a loud rustling noise, like someone was fighting for the phone. “Hey! Why are you answering a call from an unsaved number? Are you trying to dodge my question? Listen here, whoever is on the phone! Karl’s entire afternoon belongs to me. Nobody is taking him away!” Lily’s sweet, playful voice echoed clearly through the speaker. “Stop messing around!” Karl’s voice sounded helpless, but there was an unmistakable layer of indulgence in his tone. After another burst of rustling noises, the call disconnected. I stared at the black screen of my phone for a very long time. I stared until my eyes physically burned, but the screen never lit up again. I let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh, wiped away my tears, and stopped hesitating. I booked the surgical abortion and formally submitted my application for the company’s long-term deployment to South America. The sharp, sterile smell of the hospital was giving me a massive headache. I called an Uber, went straight home, pulled the covers over my head, and slept. 2 I woke up in a haze to the sound of my ringtone blaring. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand. I had dozens of missed calls. Every single one was from Karl. Suddenly, my bedroom door violently slammed open. I jumped out of my skin. Karl was standing in the doorway, his face stark white, chest heaving as he gasped for air. He instantly started screaming at me. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?! Why didn’t you wait for me?! I was about to call the police!” Karl had the kind of face that naturally looked a bit intimidating, but he almost never lost his temper. This was the first time I had ever seen him lose control and shout like this. I pressed my lips together. “I fell asleep. Did you pick up your person?” He didn’t answer. He braced both hands against the edge of the mattress, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself. “Why didn’t you wait for me?” I could smell a faint, unfamiliar perfume clinging to his clothes. A heavy ache settled in my chest. “I didn’t want to wait anymore.” Karl didn’t move an inch. His dark eyes remained locked onto me, demanding an explanation. He could completely ignore my questions. But he expected me to answer his with absolute transparency. A sudden, overwhelming wave of exhaustion and grievance washed over me. The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them. “I don’t want to do this anymore. Let’s break up.” Karl let out a dismissive scoff, reaching out to lightly pinch my cheek. “Are you still sleep-drunk?” He straightened his back, shrugged off his jacket, casually tossed it onto the bed next to me, and walked out toward the kitchen. Karl played basketball regularly. He had broad shoulders and a narrow waist. I leaned against the doorframe, watching his back as he moved around the kitchen. My mind involuntarily drifted back to what he looked like when we were teenagers. My parents used to work crazy hours and were never home, so I would constantly go over to his house to steal food. One day, his parents weren’t home either. He had been in the middle of opening a cup of instant ramen. When he saw me practically drooling, he let out a dramatic sigh of defeat, opened the fridge, and pulled out tomatoes and eggs. He had been tall and lean back then. His movements in the kitchen had been clumsy. He dropped pieces of eggshell into the pan and carefully tried to fish them out with the tip of his chopsticks. Even back then, Karl had been incredibly popular at school. He received love letters on a daily basis. Watching the boy that every girl in school obsessed over cooking a meal just for me… A secret, foolish sense of vanity had bloomed in my chest. I couldn’t help but wish he would only ever cook for me for the rest of his life. The very next day, the rumors of his relationship with Lily spread like wildfire. He held her hand and walked through the crowded hallways, entirely unfazed by the countless eyes staring at them. The image of their intertwined fingers still made my eyes sting, even just as a memory. That was a level of public devotion I had never experienced. Karl made my absolute favorite dish—spicy garlic shredded pork. I took one bite and immediately started dry heaving. Karl furrowed his brow. “Sarah, did you get your period this month?” “Yeah.” I answered instantly, without a single second of hesitation. Watching his brow relax, I couldn’t resist testing the waters one last time. “Would you ever marry someone just because they got pregnant?” The corner of his mouth curled upward. “No.” He reached over and ruffled my hair. “Don’t go getting any crazy ideas. A baby doesn’t trap a man.” My hand trembled. Half the soup in my spoon spilled back into the bowl. Karl took the spoon from my hand and served me a fresh bowl. “Why did you say you wanted to break up earlier?” I kept my head down, sipping the soup to hide my red eyes. “I regret doing this.” “It’s good timing anyway. Lily is back, and nobody knew about us in the first place.” The second I mentioned Lily’s name, his eyes darkened. “Let’s just end it here, Karl.” I hadn’t called him simply by his first name like that in years. Not since the day I realized I was hopelessly in love with him. It was the first time he had heard me say it like that. He froze for a long time before reaching out to lightly flick my forehead. “Think you’re a grown woman now? You used to call me ‘Karl baby.’” His thin lips curved into a lazy, intoxicating smile. My heart automatically beat a little faster. I rubbed my forehead. It didn’t hurt, but my skin felt a little numb. “You regret getting together with me?” I nodded, absolutely refusing to look him in the eyes. He let out a long, heavy exhale. “Fine!” He stood up, grabbed his jacket, and turned back to look at me one last time. “Sarah, never use a breakup as a threat against a man.” The front door clicked shut. A tear fell silently into my soup. I genuinely did regret it. I never should have dated him. If we hadn’t crossed that line, I could have used our childhood history to remain the girl next door he always looked out for. When I got sick, he would cancel his plans to take me to the doctor. When he went on trips, he would wait in massive lines just to buy me limited-edition gifts. When we eventually started our own families, we would have naturally drifted apart, turning into old friends who only saw each other during the holidays. We would have laughed about our childhood memories and lived happily ever after. Instead of living like this. Hiding a secret relationship in the dark. Forcing ourselves to act like totally normal friends whenever we were in public, no matter how awkward it felt. Could I truly stand by and watch him marry someone else and start a family while acting like nothing happened? I didn’t think I could. Just the thought of it made it physically difficult to breathe. A notification popped up in my inbox. My deployment application had been approved. Five years. That would be enough time. 3 After that day, Karl and I never saw each other again. We completely stopped talking. Karl wasn’t the kind of guy who would ever lower his pride to coax a woman. He was used to women revolving around his orbit. He had poured every last drop of his passionate, burning love into his infamous first relationship. Everything he had left over was cold, rational, and detached. Every now and then, a post from Lily would pop up on my social media feed. Things change, but I am so glad you are still here. The photos attached always featured a subtle glimpse of someone’s sleeve or a masculine arm. I stopped looking at my feed. I drowned myself in my work, finishing up my final projects and handing over my accounts as I prepared to leave the country. That was until Lily created a massive group chat, saying she wanted to get the old high school crew back together for a reunion dinner. Everyone in the chat started tagging Karl, spamming the group with wedding ring emojis. My best friend, Chloe, joined in on the joke. I didn’t want to look like the bitter outcast, so I sent a laughing emoji too. Karl, who hadn’t said a single word in the chat, immediately replied with a question mark. Chloe texted me privately: Karl is being so dramatic! He is probably grinning like an idiot right now! Come on, let’s go watch this tragic romance finally get its happy ending. When we arrived at the restaurant, Karl was standing right next to Lily, greeting everyone as they walked in. One of our classmates had brought her little girl along. The kid instantly took a liking to Karl and threw herself into his arms. He held the little girl with one arm while using his free hand to pull Lily out of the way of a passing waiter. They looked like the absolute picture-perfect family. Even random strangers in the restaurant were turning their heads to look at them. Chloe tugged on my sleeve and whispered, “They are so perfect for each other!” I lowered my eyes and forced a smile onto my face. They had always been perfect for each other. Back in the day, if you checked the high school message boards, the most popular couple in the entire school had always been Karl and Lily. At the dinner table, Karl patiently spoon-fed the little girl sitting on his lap. “Karl looks like a natural dad! Stop wasting time, you two! Just get back together, get married, and have one of your own!” The entire table turned to look at Lily. Her face immediately flushed a deep shade of crimson. A sharp, heavy ache suddenly pulled at my lower abdomen. I set a fake alarm on my phone and practically sprinted out of the room. The night air on the outdoor terrace was freezing. I leaned against the railing, letting out a long, shaky breath. Suddenly, a warm body pressed against my back. I spun around. Karl trapped me against the railing, his arms wrapping tightly around me. I shoved against his chest, but he didn’t budge an inch. “Karl!” I could feel his chest vibrate against my palms as he let out a low chuckle. “Not calling me ‘Karl baby’ anymore?” Before I could say anything else, he grabbed my chin, tilted my head up, and kissed me hard. The bitter, burning taste of alcohol flooded my mouth. He had always known exactly how to manipulate people. And I had shown him my entire hand on day one. “Sarah, let’s have a baby.” He was just saying things on a drunken whim, but my heart skipped three beats anyway. The question slipped out before I could stop it. “Are we going to make our relationship public?” The smirk on his lips grew wider. “Of course. But not today. Lily’s family is going through some drama right now. Once that blows over, we…” “I don’t want to wait anymore, Karl.” Even now. Even when we were talking about our own future and a potential child, we still had to step aside and make room for Lily’s feelings. The bitter taste of the alcohol on my tongue seeped straight into my heart. If I could never win against her, then I didn’t want to compete anymore. I pushed him away and started walking back inside. “Sarah!” Karl’s voice was laced with anger. He reached out to grab my arm, but I dodged his hand. This time, I didn’t look back. 4 When I got back to the table, people started teasing me, asking if I had run away to avoid taking shots. They poured me a penalty drink. After a few glasses of wine, the fake smile on my face finally felt natural. Across the table, Lily raised her glass toward me, flashing a deeply meaningful smile. By the end of the night, almost everyone was completely wasted. I was still mostly sober, though my legs felt a little unsteady. Lily wasn’t doing much better than me. I sat in the back of an Uber, watching Karl support Lily’s staggering weight as he walked her up to her apartment building. Right under the streetlamp, Lily suddenly stopped walking. Karl looked down at her. She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him dead on the lips. The scene looked as beautiful as a shot from a romantic movie. An indescribable, agonizing pain pierced my chest. My vision began to blur. I felt like I had been transported back to senior year study hall. I had sneaked out to the courtyard to get some fresh air, only to find Karl and Lily making out against a wall covered in blooming roses. The aggressive, possessive way Karl had kissed her made me realize for the very first time that he wasn’t just a boy anymore. All those selfish, reliant, and vain thoughts I had harbored for him suddenly melted away into a quiet, heavy rain inside my heart. It took me entirely too long to realize that what I was feeling was love. After that day, I kept having the exact same dream. I was standing under a trellis of roses, kissing a man. The man’s face slowly came into focus. It was Karl. The dream felt so shameful I couldn’t even bring myself to tell Chloe about it. Meanwhile, Karl and Lily’s relationship was iconic. They were both incredibly smart and ridiculously attractive. The entire student body gossiped about them, and even the teachers looked the other way. He created a dedicated photo album for her on his social media. He wrote long posts cataloging her favorite things. They wore matching outfits to school… I started actively avoiding Karl. I felt like a thief who had fallen into a trap, trapped inside a dream I had no right to be in. Eventually, Lily went overseas for college, and they broke up. At a party years later, Karl got incredibly drunk and refused to let go of my hand. “Sarah, do you have feelings for me?” The secret I had buried deep in my heart for years was casually ripped open by a drunk man. For the very first time, I gathered all my courage and nodded. “Do you want to date me?” Getting exactly what you have always wanted is the greatest temptation on earth. I nodded almost immediately. The drunk man leaned in and kissed me. It turned out that my first kiss tasted incredibly bitter. The car door suddenly ripped open. A blast of freezing wind rushed into the backseat, snapping me back to reality. Karl leaned in and kissed the corner of my mouth. A wave of intense nausea hit my stomach. I pushed the door open and violently threw up onto the pavement. Karl patted my back, his voice completely flat. “You saw that? Lily was just drunk. Don’t make a big deal out of it. Honestly, I…” Don’t make a big deal out of it. Wait until later. Those were the phrases I had heard the most during our entire relationship. Whenever someone brought up his history with Lily, I wasn’t allowed to make a big deal out of it. We couldn’t hold hands, hug, or kiss in public. Whenever we went out with friends, people would constantly try to set him up with other girls. He would play along out of “politeness,” occasionally throwing me a reassuring glance from across the room. The tears wouldn’t stop falling. I violently slapped his hand away from my back. “Stop talking. I don’t want to hear it. We are already broken up, Karl. Just let me go.” Karl’s face blurred in the shadows of the streetlamp until my entire world faded to black. Before I lost consciousness, I thought I heard a freezing, detached “Fine.” 5 The handover for my domestic projects was almost complete. I was still trying to figure out how to break the news of my relocation to my parents. My mom called me, her voice practically bubbling with joy. She said Aunt Mary had invited us over for dinner because Karl was finally bringing his girlfriend home to meet the families. “Sarah, you knew about this already, didn’t you? I heard it’s that same girl he used to date back in high school. You young people are so dramatic…” The glass in my hand slipped, shattering into pieces on the kitchen floor. It was a custom souvenir from my dad’s company. There had been two in the set. One for me, and one for Karl. It felt like a sign. A reminder that it was time to cut ties with the past. I told my mom I had an emergency at work and couldn’t make it to the dinner. The truth was, it was time for my surgical appointment. The idea of going into the operating room alone terrified me, so I called Chloe to come with me. She didn’t ask a single question. She ditched work immediately. The second she saw me, she grabbed my shoulders and started screaming in a panic. “Sarah, have you lost your damn mind?! You are making massive life decisions in total silence! Who the hell is the guy?! Is he just refusing to take any responsibility?!” “He doesn’t know. I never planned on telling him.” Chloe spent the next ten minutes screaming at me for being a brain-dead romantic while walking me through the pre-op bloodwork. But as we walked into the main lobby, we ran into two very familiar faces. Lily had a bandage wrapped around her forehead. Karl had his arm tightly wrapped around her waist, supporting her weight. The second he saw us, he froze. His brow furrowed deeply as his eyes swept over me from head to toe. “What are you doing here?” Chloe immediately threw her head onto my shoulder, acting incredibly weak and exhausted. “It’s a women’s health issue. Mind your own business.” Karl whispered something to Lily, then suddenly took massive strides toward me. He reached out, aggressively trying to snatch the medical chart out of my hands. Chloe slammed her hand down on his wrist, physically blocking him. “What the hell are you doing, Karl?! This is my private medical information! Back off!” As they were struggling over the paperwork, Lily let out a sharp gasp of “Karl!” and collapsed onto the tile floor. Karl shot me one last look, let go of the chart, and turned around. He scooped Lily up into his arms and sprinted toward the emergency wing. The massive spike of adrenaline in my chest slowly faded, leaving my legs feeling like jelly. In that exact moment, I honestly couldn’t tell if I felt more heartbroken or relieved.

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The gloomy, poverty-stricken girl in our class received an anonymous love letter. Everyone whispered that the handwriting belonged to me. I was just about to deny it when floating comments suddenly flashed across my vision. [Here we go! The female lead gets healed by a love letter during her school days, gets into MIT, and eventually becomes the richest tech billionaire in San Francisco.] [It takes her years to find out the male lead wrote it, and she falls madly in love.] [Ugh, why is the annoying side character getting involved? He doesn’t even know how badly he’s going to get destroyed later.] Wait. MIT? I immediately stepped forward and nodded. “That is right. I wrote it. To be honest, I have had a massive crush on you for a long time.” The moment those words left my mouth, the entire classroom went dead silent. Hazel Brooks was known for her dark, unapproachable aura. She always hid behind thick black frames and a heavy, suffocating fringe, isolating herself in the very last row. No one usually dared to speak to her. When people saw her holding the pink envelope, a wave of teasing and jeering had erupted. No one wanted to claim the letter. After all, associating with the social outcast meant you would become an outcast yourself. Just as Hazel was being mocked, with people sneering that the letter was a cruel prank, those weird floating comments had appeared. I did not care about the gibberish they were spouting. I only saw three letters. M. I. T. 1 Hazel stared at me unblinkingly. Her irises were pitch black, the whites of her eyes showing just a bit too much beneath them. When her face lacked expression, she looked genuinely intimidating. Her tone was thick with suspicion. “You wrote this?” “Yeah. That is totally my handwriting.” Whoever actually wrote the letter clearly wanted to stay hidden. They had used rigid, blocky print, every letter perfectly squared off. I took calligraphy classes when I was a kid, so I was used to writing in precise block letters too. [Oh my god, the evil side character is making his move! So shameless, stealing the male lead’s credit.] [Whatever. Once his lies are exposed, the main couple will crush him so hard he will have to flee the state.] I am the evil side character? How evil could I possibly be? I just wanted to get into a good college. Come on. We are talking about MIT here. If this future billionaire could drag my grades up to Ivy League standards, my parents would probably build a statue of me in our hometown square. I propped my chin on my hands, sitting right in front of her desk, my eyes practically sparkling. “So, Hazel. I have liked you for ages. Want to give us a try?” “I am not interested in dating.” She casually slid the letter back across the desk, lowering her head to stare intensely at her AP Calculus worksheet. The classroom erupted in a chorus of mocking “oohs” and laughter. I could not care less. Not interested in dating? That just meant she was not saying a flat out no to me. Yep, us evil side characters are just built with this kind of blind confidence. Since my secret crush angle failed, I decided to go all out. I started delivering breakfast to Hazel’s desk every single morning. Usually, to save money, she only drank a cheap carton of soy milk. I brought her something different every day. Fresh bagels, warm lattes, toasted paninis. She would look at me with helpless frustration, but she hated wasting food too much to throw it away, so she always accepted it. During a passing period, she brushed past me in the hall. “Stop bringing me food. I have nothing to give you in return.” “I do not need anything back. I like you. I just want to treat you right.” “…” She furrowed her brows and walked away quickly. But the tips of her ears were flushed pink, just like a rabbit. After school, I trailed behind Hazel, clutching the love letter I had supposedly written. The floating comments were going wild, cursing me for being a shameless creep harassing the female lead. I pretended I was blind. Pride was not going to get me an acceptance letter. I kept pestering her, asking about her favorite foods, her hobbies, her favorite colors. “Hey Hazel, I wrote you another letter. Want to read it?” She ignored me. Finally, annoyed to her breaking point, she stopped and glared at me. “Rowan Pierce, what exactly do you even like about me?” “I like that you are insanely smart.” She lowered her eyes. The fire left them, replaced by a hollow exhaustion. “My family is broke. My parents are gone. My grandmother is sick. Being with me is nothing but a burden. I do not have the time or energy to play these stupid games with you. Just go home.” “I do not care about any of that. You did not choose your background.” The things you are born with do not define the places you will go. A sudden, sharp light flickered in Hazel’s usually dead eyes. She stayed quiet for a long time. I thought I had pushed too far and made her mad. “Look, if you really hate the idea, that is fine. I will just…” come back and ask tomorrow. Before I could finish the sentence, Hazel snatched the letter right out of my hand. “I will think about it. Stop writing these stupid letters and focus on your grades.” I immediately leaned in closer, grinning like an idiot. “Does that mean you are going to tutor me?” Hazel looked visibly uncomfortable under my intense stare and turned her face away. “Yeah.” Gym class. The volleyball net was set up, but one team was short a player. Hazel stepped onto the court. I rarely saw her participate in anything involving other breathing humans. But once she was in the game, she was fiercely focused, serving three consecutive aces. As she jumped for a spike and landed, the wind caught the hem of her gym shirt, lifting it slightly. I caught a glimpse of her waist. Pale as moonlight. And incredibly narrow. Her team won. I immediately jogged over to hand her an iced water bottle. The guys around us started whistling. The team captain laughed. “Give it a rest, Rowan. She already rejected you. Stop being a simp.” One of the guys smirked. “Hey, persistence breaks down resistance. Let the man work.” Hazel took the water, completely ignoring their noise. Instead, she fixed her dark eyes on me. “Did you finish memorizing the vocabulary list?” “…” 2 Yeah. She had basically become my drill sergeant. She micromanaged everything, from my overall syllabus down to exactly how many practice equations I needed to finish during a five minute break. “Almost. I got a little distracted watching you play.” “I was only on the court for fifteen minutes. Who were you staring at for the other thirty?” Hazel looked down at me, her gaze unblinking and heavy. The pressure radiating from her was intense. I actually had not been looking at anyone. I was just zoning out on the bleachers. But somehow, it felt like she was jealous. “Are you mad?” “No.” She looked down and took a sip of water. I let a smirk tug at the corner of my mouth and deliberately leaned in close to her ear. “Hazel, I found another thing I like about you. Your skin is really soft, and your waist is gorgeous.” “If I break into the top twenty on the next mock exam, can I put my arm around it?” “Cough, cough… You…” she choked on her water. “Going to study my vocab now!” I laughed and bolted toward the shade of the bleachers. When I glanced back, her entire face was burning red. Teasing Hazel was just too easy. When we were studying side by side in the library, if my knee accidentally brushed against her leg under the table, she would blush furiously. When the mock exam results came out, I actually made it into the top twenty of our class. I immediately went to claim my prize. She refused to look at me, her cheeks flushed. “You were not specific enough. I assumed you meant the top twenty in the entire school.” I pouted. Guess I was not getting that hug anytime soon. Hazel was a strict taskmaster. If I did not finish my assignments, she would coldly demand I redo everything from scratch. She constantly calculated the gap between my current GPA and MIT’s admission requirements, pushing me relentlessly. Honestly, she acted like we were already a couple planning to move to Boston together. One night at the library, I stayed up so late I passed out right on the desk. I had a dream. In it, I saw Hazel standing next to another guy. She had found out I was a fraud who stole someone else’s love letter. She was a ruthless, untouchable CEO, using her power to blacklist me from every job in the city. I was driven to total despair. I jolted awake in a cold sweat. Hazel was sitting perfectly straight beside me, meticulously grading my practice test. She had single handedly dragged my math scores from the gutter to the top tier. She finished marking the last page and her frown relaxed slightly. “Not bad. You only messed up one of the long form questions.” “Do I get a reward for that?” I was still shaken by the nightmare and desperately needed some comfort. She suddenly stammered. “W-what kind of reward do you want?” “Something I do not usually get.” Hazel pressed her lips together, glancing nervously around the quiet library, the tips of her ears glowing pink. “There are too many people here.” “Who cares if there are people?” “You…” She hesitated, her fingers nervously hovering over the hem of her shirt. I stood up and started packing my bag. “Since I am improving, my reward is going home early. I have not had a full night of sleep in weeks.” She looked at me, bewildered. “That is the reward you wanted?” “Yeah.” “Oh.” Hazel lowered her head, looking weirdly disappointed. Under Hazel’s iron fist, my grades skyrocketed. The whispers mocking me slowly died out. People were shocked by my academic comeback, but they were even more shocked that the gloomy outcast was actually giving me the time of day. They did not understand the power of bribery. Over the past year, I had spent every single cent of my allowance buying Hazel premium food. Her face was finally losing that sickly, sunken look. When the finals finally hit, I performed completely out of my mind. The night of the senior class graduation dinner, I bought a gift. I wanted to thank her properly for dragging me out of the academic trenches. But I waited until the restaurant closed. Hazel never showed up. I was just about to call her when the floating text exploded across my vision. [Oh wow! The female lead met the true male lead at her summer job! Yes!] [He is so gorgeous. Way better than that annoying side character. Can the side character just vanish already?] [The chemistry is insane! They are going to fall in love while working together!] I slowly locked my screen. I looked down at the gift box in my hands. Inside was a brand new smartphone. Guess she would not be needing it. 3 I had tested the waters with Hazel before, asking her in a half joking tone. “So, Hazel. Have you thought about making it official? When are you going to accept my confession?” Whenever I asked, she would just lower her head and stay perfectly silent. No response is a response. I scrolled through our chat history. Just yesterday, we had been estimating our final test scores together. I typed out one final message. [Hazel, thank you for everything you did for me this year.] Then, I blocked her number. She was never going to like me anyway. As the designated evil side character, it was best I got out of the way before I became a stepping stone. Miraculously, I actually got the acceptance letter from MIT. The day the email arrived, my dad practically threw a parade down our street. The class group chat was blowing up with notifications. Hazel had gotten in too. But she never sent a single message in the chat. She was probably too busy falling for the actual male protagonist. I racked up a ton of cash from relatives over the summer. When fall arrived, I strutted onto campus with a top tier laptop and the latest phone. Freshman Orientation Week. The late summer sun was baking my face, but I spotted Hazel instantly in the crowd of the neighboring group. She was tall, her skin porcelain bright, her features delicate and striking. She was impossible to ignore. She looked so much better than in high school. She must have switched to contact lenses. Without those ugly frames, her cold, beautiful face was fully on display. Her gaze was still intense and slightly dark, like a dangerous heroine from a comic book. I guess meeting the right guy really changes a person. Lunch break. Everyone flooded the dining halls. A tall, incredibly handsome guy walked over to greet Hazel. They chatted and laughed naturally. I noticed they were holding matching water bottles. That had to be him. Liam Crawford. The male lead from the comments. He was undeniably good looking, built like an athlete, and carried himself with effortless confidence. Suddenly, Hazel’s eyes locked onto mine across the quad. I froze, caught off guard, debating whether I should wave or pretend I did not see her. She had already looked away, turning back to Liam as they walked off together. It was like I was a complete stranger. Had she already figured out I lied about the letter? My heart pounded against my ribs, leaving a suffocating, heavy feeling in my chest. That night, the orientation groups merged around a massive bonfire. We all sat in a giant circle facing each other. Just my luck. Hazel was sitting diagonally across from me. We were playing a ruthless game of Truth or Dare. When the bottle pointed at Hazel, she chose Truth. The guys around her instantly started howling, pressuring the group leader to ask the ultimate question. “Do you have a boyfriend?” Hazel stayed quiet for a moment. “Yes.” She said it with absolute certainty. She never even glanced in my direction. A sharp ache pierced my chest, swelling uncomfortably. A collective groan of disappointment echoed from the guys. The dude sitting behind me muttered, “Of course the pretty ones are always taken.” Yeah. She is the literal protagonist of this world. NPCs like us just need to stay in our lanes. The floating comments were screaming again, theorizing that Hazel had secretly fallen for Liam during their summer job and waiting for the grand reveal. Had Liam still not confessed to writing the letter? My stomach churned in panic. Should I just confess and get it over with? Suddenly, the music stopped. I was holding the dreaded hot potato. I had lost. I chose Dare. The challenge: Pick a girl in the circle and make her blush. That was actually pretty easy. I scanned the crowd. I barely knew anyone here. And I definitely could not ask Hazel for help. She would just stare a hole through me. As I debated my options, I caught Hazel quietly looking at me, a strange light flickering in her dark eyes. I pointed randomly in her general direction. “I pick her. Is that cool?” The leader nodded. “Go for it.” Hazel shifted, preparing to stand up, but a senior girl suddenly stepped in front of her. “Rowan, looks like you need an expert.” Linda smiled, leaning in close. She was the very first person I met on campus. She had helped me carry my luggage on move in day. She was aggressively friendly, mostly because she was obsessed with recruiting me for the Debate Team. I had turned her down repeatedly. I could not even win an argument with a wall. Linda stood right in front of me, tilting her head with a challenging smirk. “Let us see what you have got, freshman. Make me blush.” I thought about it. How did I make Hazel blush back then? Right. Her ears were hyper sensitive. I deliberately stepped into Linda’s space, lowering my head so my lips were right next to her ear, and dropped my voice to a whisper. 4 “Linda, I am taller than you. With that loose top, I can see straight down.” The very next second, Linda gasped, slapped a hand over her chest, and her face turned the color of a stop sign. Gotcha. Honestly, the tank top she was wearing was skin tight. Even from a high angle, there was absolutely nothing to see. It was entirely covered. It was just a cheap, slightly sleazy bluff. I felt a little guilty. It was a trashy joke, but she was the one who wouldn’t leave me alone… whatever, I would apologize to her properly later. The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter, everyone dying to know what I whispered. I played mysterious and kept my mouth shut. Halfway through the night, I slipped away to use the restroom. The portable toilets near the edge of the athletic field were pitch black and creepy. I finished up as fast as humanly possible. As I stepped out, a shadow detached itself from the trees. “Linda, seriously, could you please stop…” trying to recruit me. Before I could finish, I realized it was Hazel. Her naturally intense face was currently dark as a thunderstorm. I instinctively tried to step around her to escape. Hazel blocked my path, her voice dripping with ice. “Rowan Pierce. Have you decided to move on to your next target?” 5 The night breeze had a sharp bite to it, rustling the leaves in the dark grove next to the field. Hazel stood right in front of me. Even dressed in an oversized orientation t-shirt, she carried an aura of cold, untouchable elegance. She looked up at me, her dark eyes churning with a storm of emotions I could not decipher. My heart skipped a beat, and I instinctively took a step back. “Hazel, what are you talking about? I do not get it.” I let out an awkward, dry laugh, trying to play it off. “Next target? We are all just classmates. It was just a game.” “A game?” Hazel took a step forward. Despite her smaller frame, it felt like she was casting a massive, terrifying shadow over me. “Rowan. The second finals ended, you blocked my number on everything. Is this what you meant when you said you had a massive crush on me?” She gritted her teeth, her voice dropping dangerously low, laced with a vulnerability she tried hard to hide. I shifted my eyes guiltily. Taking credit for that letter was a massive jerk move. Now that the real main character, Liam, was in the picture, if I did not back off gracefully, this future billionaire could ruin my life with a snap of her fingers. “Look… Hazel. I just thought I had bothered you enough during senior year. We are in college now. We should start fresh.” I took a deep breath, deciding to rip the bandage off. “Besides, did you not just tell everyone you have a boyfriend? It would be weird if I kept following you around.” Hearing the word “boyfriend,” Hazel froze. The dangerous storm in her eyes slowly dissolved, replaced by a look of sheer, baffled exhaustion. “Rowan, are you actually an idiot?” She raised her hand, looking like she wanted to aggressively poke me in the forehead. But halfway there, she stopped herself, her hand dropping to her side and curling into a tight fist. “When I said I have a boyfriend, I was talking about—” “Hazel!” A bright, cheerful voice sliced through the tension. I turned my head to see Liam jogging toward us, waving a bottle of water. “The orientation leader was looking for you! He needs you to double check the attendance sheet.” Liam stopped beside her. When he noticed me, he paused for a second before flashing a perfect, friendly smile. “Hey man, you must be Rowan, right? Hazel talks about you all the time.” My brain short circuited. Hazel talks about me? What did she say? Did she tell him how a shameless fraud harassed her for an entire year? [Here it comes! The main character and the side character face off!] [The male lead is so sweet and mature. The side character must be sweating bullets right now.] [Hazel was definitely complaining to him about how annoying Rowan is. Lol.] The comments were floating across my vision again. I swallowed hard and forced a stiff smile. “I will let you guys talk. I am going back to the dorm.” Without daring to look at Hazel’s face, I turned and practically sprinted away. That night, I had nightmares until the sun came up. I dreamed of Hazel wearing a sharp, tailored black suit, looking at me with absolute zero warmth, telling her security to throw me out on the street. Liam stood right beside her, smiling his perfect smile. I woke up drenched in cold sweat. MIT is great, but staying alive is better. I made a vow. Starting today, I was staying miles away from Hazel Brooks. My schedule was packed, and since I was actively dodging her, I managed to avoid her completely for days. Until Friday’s massive lecture class. The auditorium was packed. I finally found an empty seat in a dark corner in the back row. The second I sat down, a shadow fell over the empty desk beside me. I turned my head. Hazel was casually taking the seat, completely ignoring the stares of the guys around us. In her hands, she was holding my favorite water bottle. The one I accidentally left in the dining hall that morning.

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1 My husband bought a pair of black-rimmed glasses, claiming they were high-tech. He wore them while cooking, while reading the paper, and he even fumbled to put them on in the dark when he got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. I told him, “You don’t even need glasses, Arthur. Why do you keep wearing those things?” He just smiled, keeping his mouth shut, but when he looked at me, there was a softness in his eyes that I hadn’t seen in years. I wondered if the old man was going through some late-life spring awakening. So, while he was asleep that afternoon, I slipped them off his nightstand and put them on. The world looked exactly the same. Until I walked past the hallway mirror. Standing in the mirror was a young woman. I froze. The girl looking back at me was Vivian. His first love from forty years ago. I pulled the glasses off, and my own sixty-two-year-old face reappeared. I put them back on, and there she was again. Standing before the glass, I took them off, put them on, off, on. Before I knew it, hot tears were streaming down my cheeks. I cried in silence until the middle of the night. Once my chest stopped aching, I quietly placed the glasses back on his nightstand. The next morning, I went about my usual routine of making breakfast. Arthur leaned against the kitchen doorframe, studying me. “Why aren’t you wearing that white silk blouse today?” He asked, those new black-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. My hand holding the spatula froze for a fraction of a second. “It’s too tight, Arthur. It constricts my shoulders when I’m working in here.” “Go put it on,” he said, stepping closer. His voice was incredibly tender, a tone he hadn’t used with me in decades. “You look beautiful in it.” I turned my head to look at him. Behind those dark lenses, his eyes weren’t focusing on the deep crow’s feet framing my eyes, nor were they looking at my soft, aging waistline. His gaze was level, but it felt empty, as if he were looking right through my physical form to see someone else entirely. He was looking at the twenty-two-year-old Vivian. “Fine,” I murmured, turning off the stove and untying my apron. In the bedroom, I reached into the very bottom of the closet to pull out the white lace-trimmed blouse he had insisted on buying for me last week. A sixty-two-year-old woman squeezed into a style meant for a twenty-something girl. The intricate lace collar pressed against my sagging neck, looking entirely ridiculous. I looked in the full-length mirror. A thin, aging woman stared back. But I knew that through Arthur’s high-tech lenses, I was a radiant, ponytail-wearing girl in the prime of her youth. I walked back to the kitchen. He was still leaning by the door, and as my footsteps neared, he spun around. A massive, delighted smile spread across his wrinkled face. “Absolutely beautiful,” he whispered, reaching out to gently smooth the lace on my collar. “Just like when you were twenty.” I stared at the deep lines around his own eyes. “Arthur,” I said softly, testing the waters. “Do you even remember what I looked like at twenty?” He stiffened, his eyes darting away behind the lenses. “Of course I do. You were so bright and full of life back then.” “We didn’t meet until we were twenty-three, Arthur,” I said, my voice completely flat. His hand froze in midair. The kitchen went dead silent. After a tense couple of seconds, he let out a dry cough, withdrew his hand, and adjusted his glasses. “Old age is getting to me, I guess. Mixing up the years. Either way, you’re always young in my heart.” He was lying. Forty years ago, when he was twenty-two, the girl by his side was Vivian. She was his first love, the one who had allegedly drowned in a tragic accident after moving out West for work. I turned back to the stove and lit the burner to fry the eggs. “Arthur, I woke up late and couldn’t get any green onions. I put cilantro in your noodles instead.” Arthur despised cilantro. He always said it tasted like soap and stink bugs. But Vivian loved it; I had learned that years ago from reading his old diaries. “That’s fine,” he said with a chuckle behind me. “Cilantro adds a nice kick. Go ahead and put more in.” I stared at the hot oil sizzling in the pan, a cold shiver running straight up my spine. So that was it. No wonder he hadn’t been picky about his food lately. No wonder he looked at me with that sickeningly sweet adoration. He was using those AR glasses to superimpose a dead woman’s face, body, and habits onto mine. I scooped the noodles into a bowl and brought them to the table. He sat opposite me, greedily slurping down the cilantro-filled broth, even closing his eyes to savor every bite. “Is it good?” I asked. “Incredible,” he replied, looking up and smiling through his lenses. “Honey, your cooking is tasting more and more like the old days.” Whose old days? I didn’t ask. I already knew. I set my fork down, staring at the faint blue glow flickering along the edges of his frames. “Arthur, those frames look heavy. Why don’t you take them off while you eat? You’ll hurt your nose.” “No need,” he said, instantly putting a hand over the frame, his posture stiffening defensively. “I’m used to them. I can’t see right without them.” “You don’t have vision problems.” “They’re blue-light blockers! Everything has radiation these days. You wouldn’t understand.” His voice flared with irritation before he quickly forced a gentle tone, dropping a piece of egg into my bowl. “Eat up. It’ll get cold.” Looking at the egg, my stomach turned violently. “I’m not hungry.” I pushed my chair back and walked out to the balcony. Behind me, the sound of his wet, satisfied chewing echoed through the quiet apartment, filled with a grotesque greed. Forty years of marriage. I had believed that even if the romantic spark had faded, we shared a deep, unbreakable bond of companionship. But now, I saw the truth. I was merely a physical vessel, a convenient prop to keep his house clean and cook his meals while he wrapped me in a digital skin. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from our daughter, Lily: Hey Mom, David and I are coming over this weekend. Dad said he’s going to cook for us! I stared at the screen and typed back: Sounds wonderful. Let me know what you want to eat. Just as I hit send, Arthur’s voice drifted from the balcony door. “Who are you texting?” He had crept up quietly, those black frames still glued to his face. “Lily. She says they’re coming over this weekend.” “Ah,” he nodded, his gaze lingering on my white blouse. “Wear this outfit when they come. Don’t change out of it.” That weekend, Lily and her fiancé, David, arrived carrying bags of groceries and gifts. “Mom, Dad! We’re here!” Arthur poked his head out of the kitchen, wearing my floral apron with those black-rimmed glasses resting firmly on his nose. “Lily, sweetheart! Make yourselves at home. Dinner is almost ready.” David set the bags down and walked over to the kitchen with a warm smile. “Hey, Mr. Cooper, what’s with the glasses? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear them before.” Arthur didn’t stop chopping. “Just getting old, son. My eyes aren’t what they used to be.” I quietly set the table, refusing to call him out. The man could thread a needle without straining his eyes; his vision was perfectly fine. During the meal, Arthur did something completely out of character: he opened a bottle of expensive red wine. He raised his glass, his cheeks flushed with a happy glow. “David, you and Lily are taking the plunge soon. Let me give you a piece of advice from forty years in the game.” David raised his glass respectfully. “I’m all ears, sir. Hit me.” Arthur looked at me through his lenses. “The secret to a long marriage is accommodation.” He took a slow sip, his eyes glazing over with nostalgia. “Take your mother-in-law, for instance. She has a wild streak. Whenever it rains, she loves to run barefoot across the hardwood floors, and I have to chase her down with a pair of slippers.” My hand froze holding my fork. Lily stopped chewing, looking bewildered as she turned to me. “Mom, you have severe arthritis. When have you ever run barefoot on the floor?” Arthur seemed entirely deaf to our daughter’s voice, continuing to drift through his own memories. “And she’s terrified of the dark. We always have to keep a nightlight on, or she’ll wake up sobbing like a little girl.” David let out an awkward laugh, trying to keep the mood light. “Wow, I didn’t know you were such a romantic at heart, Mrs. Cooper.” I set my fork down and stared at my husband. I wasn’t afraid of the dark. In fact, I was an incredibly light sleeper; even a sliver of light would keep me tossing and turning. For forty years, I had insisted on the thickest blackout curtains money could buy. The girl who ran barefoot in the rain and couldn’t sleep without a nightlight was Vivian. Arthur’s glasses hadn’t just replaced my face; they had rewritten his entire memory of our forty years together. Here he was, in front of our future son-in-law, fondly reminiscing about another woman’s quirks while I, his actual wife, sat there like a transparent prop. “Dad,” Lily finally interrupted, her tone sharp. “You’re getting things mixed up. Mom has never used a nightlight. Just last month, you complained that she kept the room too dark after you stubbed your toe in the middle of the night.” The smile vanished from Arthur’s face. It was as if he had been violently yanked out of a dream, his expression momentarily blank. Then, waving his hand dismissively, he snapped, “What do you kids know? I’m talking about back in the day.” “Not back in the day either,” I said, my voice ice-cold. The temperature at the dining table plummeted instantly. David quickly tried to patch things over. “Well, I’m sure Mr. Cooper is just remembering some fond memories from when they were dating. Anyway, this food is delicious! Mrs. Cooper, these baby back ribs are incredible.” “I made those ribs,” Arthur chimed in, a strange note of pride in his voice. He turned to me, practically begging for approval. “Go on, try one. Isn’t it exactly how you like it?” I looked at the sweet-glazed ribs. They were bright red, glistening with a sticky, sugary sauce. I hated sweet meat. More importantly, I had been diagnosed with type-2 diabetes five years ago, and I never used sugar in my cooking. He knew this perfectly well. I picked up my fork, grabbed a rib, and dropped it straight into the trash can beside the table. “Too sweet. It’s practically pure sugar.” Arthur’s face turned a violent shade of purple. He slammed his hand on the table. “What is wrong with you? I spend hours in the kitchen cooking for you, and you throw a tantrum?” “I’ve had diabetes for five years, Arthur,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “Did you really make these for me?” His breath caught. His lips parted, but no words came out. Lily scrambled to her feet, rubbing my back. “Mom, please don’t get upset. Dad probably just had a slip of the mind.” “Yeah, Mrs. Cooper, I’m sure he meant well,” David added quietly. He meant well. Those words pierced my ears like needles. For forty years, everyone thought Arthur was the perfect husband. He didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, handed his paychecks over, and never looked at another woman. Every anniversary, he would bring home a massive bouquet of lilies. Even though I was severely allergic to lily pollen and would sneeze uncontrollably every single time, he would just chuck me under the chin and laugh, saying, “My bad, I’ll remember next time.” And the next year, it would be lilies again. Because lilies were Vivian’s favorite flower. He used the guise of being a loving husband to mourn his first love, while I was painted as ungrateful whenever I showed even a hint of frustration. I stood up, ignoring my daughter’s pleas. “I’m full. Enjoy your dinner.” I walked down the hall, went into our bedroom, and locked the door behind me. Sitting in the dim room, I could hear Arthur’s muffled voice grumbling from the dining area. “I swear, your mother’s going through a late menopause. Her temper gets worse by the day.” “Dad, honestly, you know Mom has diabetes. Why would you make something so sweet?” Lily chided him. “Well, I just… I was…” He stammered, unable to come up with a decent excuse. I leaned against the heavy wooden door, letting out a soft, bitter laugh. After Lily and David left, Arthur pushed the bedroom door open. He looked thoroughly annoyed, those black-rimmed glasses still resting on his nose. “Did you really have to humiliate me like that in front of our daughter and her fiancé?” I sat on the edge of the mattress, my eyes fixed on him. “Arthur, when you wear those glasses, what do you see when you look at me?” He faltered, his gaze shifting nervously. “What do you mean? I see you, of course.” “Is that so?” I stood up and walked right up to him. Suddenly, I reached out and grabbed the edges of his glasses. “Then take them off. Look at my real face and tell me that.” He slapped my hands away, stumbling backward as he clutched the frames like they were his lifeline. “What the hell are you doing? Don’t touch my things!” “What are you so afraid of, Arthur?” I demanded, locking eyes with him. “Are you terrified that if you take them off, you won’t see Vivian anymore?” The room fell into a suffocating silence. His pupils dilated behind the lenses, his face turning ghostly pale. “You… you’re losing your mind.” “I don’t wear white lace blouses, I don’t eat cilantro, and I don’t sleep with a nightlight,” I said, taking step after step toward him. “Look at me. I’m Mary, not Vivian.” “Shut up!” he roared, pointing a trembling finger in my face. “You’re completely hysterical! Who said anything about Vivian? You’re sick, Mary!” Furious, he spun on his heel, stormed out of the bedroom, and slammed the door shut with a deafening bang. I stood alone in the quiet room, staring at the closed door. He was guilty. But I knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. Over the next few days, a cold war settled over our home. Arthur stopped asking me to wear specific clothes, and that sickeningly sweet smile disappeared from his face. But he never took off those glasses. In fact, things grew worse. He began spending hours locked away in his study, speaking softly into the empty air. “Yes, that little Italian bistro is still there… Of course, I’ll take you there sometime… You look beautiful in that dress today.” Standing outside the locked door, listening to his hushed tones, the blood in my veins turned to ice. If before he was just using the glasses as a visual filter to pretend I was Vivian, who was he talking to now? Was it an AI? Or some pre-programmed virtual girlfriend app? That Tuesday afternoon, Arthur left to play pickleball at the local recreation center. In his rush, he left his phone on the coffee table. For the past month, he hadn’t let that phone out of his sight for a single second. I walked over and picked it up. I tried entering his usual passcode, his birthday. Incorrect. I frowned. After a moment’s thought, I entered Vivian’s birthday. Click. The screen unlocked. I felt as though a heavy fist had punched me in the chest. Forty years of marriage, and he had changed his password to the birthday of a dead woman. Taking a deep breath, I opened the app on his home screen. It was called Mirage AR, the software linked to his high-tech glasses. As soon as it opened, the interface showed the device was connected. I tapped on the user profile and history. I expected to see some kind of AI avatar builder or custom image filter settings. Instead, I found an active online messenger. There was only one contact in the list. The display name read: Vivian. The status indicator said: Offline. My fingers began to tremble. Offline? This wasn’t an offline AI program. This was a real, live user account on an active network. I tapped on the chat history and call logs. There were daily voice calls lasting four to five hours, perfectly matching the exact times he spent locked in his study. I scrolled down. In a message sent a month ago, there was a photo of a street corner in some European city, accompanied by a voice note. I tapped play. A slightly raspy, aging woman’s voice came through the speaker. “Arthur, do you still remember the taste of those lemon lavender scones from the old bakery? I can’t find anything authentic in the shops over here.” It wasn’t a synthesized AI voice. It belonged to a real, breathing, sixty-something woman. The phone slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the glass coffee table. Vivian wasn’t dead. The woman who had supposedly drowned forty years ago, whose body was never recovered, was very much alive. She was living her life, and through this Mirage AR social app, she and Arthur had found each other again. Finally, I understood the true purpose of those black-rimmed glasses. It wasn’t just a filter to make me look younger. It was a real-time, interactive augmented reality communication device. When Arthur looked at me with those glasses, he wasn’t just superimposing Vivian’s youthful face onto my body; he was using me as a physical proxy while having a live, intimate roleplay with the real, aging Vivian across the ocean. I was nothing but a physical prop for their long-distance trysts. The front door clicked open. Arthur walked in, his eyes immediately landing on the phone on the coffee table, then on me. His face fell. He lunged forward in three quick strides and snatched the device. “Who gave you permission to touch my phone!” He shoved it into his pocket like a paranoid thief, his chest heaving. Looking at his panic-stricken face, I let out a sudden, mocking laugh. “What are you laughing at!” he barked, his voice cracking with defensive rage. “Arthur, Vivian never drowned forty years ago, did she?” The color drained from his face instantly, making those high-tech glasses look incredibly foolish. “What… what did you see?” he stammered. “I saw how you’ve spent the last forty years treating your wife like an absolute fool,” I said calmly. “Is life not going so well for her abroad? Is that why she suddenly remembered you exist?” He gritted his teeth, his jaw working for a long moment before he managed to spit out, “It’s none of your business.” “It wouldn’t be,” I nodded. “Except you’re using my pension to fund your little long-distance romance. That makes it very much my business.” I had seen the transactions in the app’s billing history. Every month, Arthur converted nearly twelve hundred dollars of our joint pension funds into the app’s tokens to send to her account. For years, he had been the one managing our finances. “That’s my money! I earned it, and I’ll spend it however I damn well please!” He finally ripped off his polite facade, revealing the raw selfishness beneath. “And don’t forget, my name is the only one on the deed of this house! If you don’t like it, you can pack your bags and get out!” He pointed a stiff finger toward the front door, his voice booming. He was absolutely sure I wouldn’t leave. A sixty-two-year-old woman with no independent income and no savings, in his eyes, I was a helpless dependent who had nowhere else to go. I stared at the man I had shared a bed with for four decades. The very last trace of affection I had for him dissolved into nothing but ash. “Fine,” I said quietly. “Just wait right here.” “For what?” he sneered. “If you’re going to apologize, don’t bother. It’s too late.” I walked into the kitchen, picked up the heavy meat cleaver from the chopping block, and walked back out. Arthur’s eyes went wide. He scrambled back two steps, his voice shaking. “Mary! Don’t do anything crazy! Murder is a life sentence!” Ignoring him, I walked over to the coffee table and slammed the cleaver down onto his most prized antique porcelain tea set. With a loud crash, the delicate cups and teapot shattered into a hundred pieces. “You’re insane!” he shrieked. I tossed the cleaver onto the sofa and brushed the dust from my hands. “Arthur, your former department is hosting your retirement gala the day after tomorrow.” I looked him dead in the eyes, speaking with absolute clarity. “I’ll see you at the party.” The day after tomorrow was Arthur’s sixty-fifth birthday, marked by a massive retirement celebration thrown by the engineering institute where he had worked his entire life. He had spent decades building his reputation there; he was a man of high standing, with a massive social circle. The gala was booked at the most luxurious hotel downtown, with over a hundred guests attending. Early that morning, he spent over an hour preening in front of the mirror, even using hair gel for the first time in years. He polished those black-rimmed glasses until they shone and slid them onto his nose. “Hurry up and get dressed,” he called out from the living room. “The Director is going to be there. Put on something decent.” I stepped out of the bedroom. I wasn’t wearing any of the cheap lace dresses he had bought to feed his fantasies, nor the white blouse. I wore a simple charcoal wool coat over a black turtleneck. It was elegant, understated, and perfectly appropriate for a woman of sixty-two. Arthur frowned. “It’s a celebration, Mary. Why are you dressed like you’re going to a funeral?” “If you don’t like it, you can always turn off your glasses,” I replied flatly. He choked on his words, glared at me, and shut his mouth. By the time we arrived at the hotel ballroom, most of the guests had already gathered, old colleagues, relatives, friends, as well as Lily and David. Everyone showered Arthur with compliments on how young he looked and praised us for our long, happy marriage. “Arthur, your greatest achievement in life wasn’t your research awards, it was marrying this wonderful woman!” Director Henderson laughed, patting Arthur on the shoulder. Arthur, wearing his glasses, beamed with pride. “You’re absolutely right, Director. Mary has been my rock through everything. I couldn’t have done any of it without her.” He turned to me, his eyes dripping with a sickening display of affection. I knew exactly what he was seeing through those lenses: a twenty-year-old Vivian in a white dress, smiling back at him. He was using this public tribute to me to declare his love to the dead girl in his eyes. Midway through the dinner, the massive projector screen lowered. This was Arthur’s grand surprise. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, taking the microphone as he walked up to the stage. “Today isn’t just my retirement; it also marks the fortieth anniversary of the day my wife and I first met.” A thunderous round of applause erupted. Lily was filming him excitedly on her phone. I sat at the head table, completely expressionless, watching his performance. “Forty years ago, I had nothing to my name. She stood by me through the hardest times of my life.” The screen began playing a slideshow. It was a series of landscape photos, interspersed with shots of us from behind, cooking, walking in the park. Oddly enough, every photo of me was either taken from the back or heavily blurred. There was only one clear photo of Arthur in his youth, with a long-haired, AI-generated silhouette superimposed beside him. “I know her greatest regret in life was that we never took a proper, beautiful photo together back then,” Arthur’s voice cracked, sounding choked with emotion. “So, with the help of some tech-savvy friends, I used the latest AI technology to recreate her voice and likeness from her youth. Consider this my special gift to her tonight.” The guests swooned, whispering about how romantic he was. My fingers tightened around my water glass. The screen flickered. From the ballroom speakers, a soft, youthful female voice echoed. “Arthur, congratulations on your retirement. You’ve worked so hard these past forty years. I will always love you.” The voice echoed throughout the hall. It was Vivian’s voice. It had been run through an AI filter to remove the age, restoring the bright, melodic tone of a twenty-something girl. Arthur stood on the stage, his eyes red. He closed them, completely lost in the delusion. In front of his family, his lifelong friends, and his colleagues, he was publicly broadcasting his first love’s voice, boldly claiming to everyone that it belonged to me. The room reached a fever pitch of sentimentality. His old buddies began shouting from their tables, “Come on, Arthur! Get your lady up on stage to say a few words!” Arthur opened his eyes and looked at me through those black frames. He extended his hand to me, like a gracious king granting an audience. “Mary, come on up.” I stood up. Every eye in the room followed me as I made my way to the stage. Arthur reached out to take my hand, but I smoothly stepped past him, walking straight to the microphone. The crowd wore warm, expectant smiles, waiting for a tearful response. I scanned the room. I saw the eager look in my daughter’s eyes, the nodding approval of his old boss. Finally, I turned to look my husband in the eye. “That isn’t my voice,” I said clearly into the microphone. The chatter in the grand ballroom died instantly. Arthur froze. The color began to slip from his face, and he muttered under his breath, “Mary, don’t do this now. It’s an AI recreation, of course it sounds a little different…” “It’s not just the voice,” I interrupted, raising my voice to carry over the speakers. “The silhouette on that screen isn’t me, either.” Whispers rippled through the audience. Beads of cold sweat broke out on Arthur’s forehead. He stepped forward, reaching desperately for the microphone. “You’ve had too much wine, dear. Come on, let’s get you sat down.” I shoved his hand away. “Arthur, who is standing on this stage in those high-tech glasses of yours right now?” I pointed a finger directly at his face, my voice as cold as winter stone. “It’s Vivian, isn’t it? The woman who supposedly drowned forty years ago?”

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1 Three years of marriage, and Ava despised any form of romantic gesture. Even buying her a single rose was enough to get me locked out of our home. So, we never celebrated anything. Until I was hospitalized with an acute stomach hemorrhage, only to scroll through her social media. She had rented out the entire Coastal Cove Amusement Park, setting off a million-dollar display of fireworks for her depressed male subordinate. I didn’t lose my temper right then. Instead, at her company’s annual investment summit the next morning, I lit those multi-million-dollar contracts, which I had secretly signed on her behalf, on fire, page by page. “You always did love a grand gesture,” I said. “How does a ten-million-dollar firework look?” She stayed silent, but her subordinate lost it. “Mr. Ashford, you’re just a househusband living off Ava’s hard work. You know nothing. How dare you make a scene here!” “You just ruined everything she worked for. You’ve crossed the line!” I didn’t get angry. “You’re fired.” My wife, who always prided herself on being rational, slammed her glass down and screamed at me. “Jack, what right do you have to fire my people?” I just shook my head. Once a woman stops listening, there is no point in keeping her around. Worst case, I’d just fund another company and build up someone who actually knows how to behave. … At one in the morning, I was curled up on a hospital bed, cold sweat dripping from the agonizing pain in my stomach. The doctor said it was acute stomach bleeding. I needed to be admitted immediately. I called Ava for the fifth time. It went straight to voicemail again. The nurse adjusting my IV sighed, her brow furrowing. “Where is your family? You shouldn’t be handling this alone.” “She’s busy,” I managed a weak smile. “Extremely busy.” The nurse shook her head and walked out. Staring at the sterile white ceiling, my mind drifted back to our wedding day. Standing outside the courthouse, Ava had grabbed my sleeve and said, “Jack, I absolutely despise useless, superficial gestures. Don’t buy me flowers, don’t plan anniversaries, and don’t do surprises. That’s garbage only brainless, show-off rich people care about.” I believed her. For three years, I didn’t even dare buy her a birthday cake. Last Valentine’s Day, I made the mistake of bringing home a bouquet of roses. She didn’t even let me in, her voice cold through the door: “Leave them outside. The petals will mess up my clean floors.” The next morning, those roses were in the trash. I genuinely thought I had married a career-driven, low-maintenance woman. Until, out of sheer boredom, I opened my phone. The top post on my feed was from Ava, posted thirty minutes ago. A grid of nine photos, filled with brilliant fireworks exploding over the city’s largest amusement park, Coastal Cove. The caption read: May the rest of your life be free of shadows, burning as bright as these fireworks. I tapped the first photo. Ava was laughing like a carefree teenager, her arm wrapped around a slender, pale young man. He had delicate, almost fragile features, looking up at the sky with a melancholic, sickly beauty. Tristan. Her new executive assistant, hired barely a month ago. Just a few days back, Ava had casually mentioned him to me: “The kid suffers from severe depression. Be patient with him.” The comment section was already flooded. “Wow, Ava is so generous to Tristan! Rented out the entire Coastal Cove!” “A half-hour firework show… how much did that even cost?” Someone in the comments posted the exact figure: rental fee plus custom fireworks, three point eight million dollars. Staring at those numbers, the burning in my stomach suddenly vanished. Instead, my chest tightened so hard I could barely breathe. I scrolled through my chat history with Ava over the last three years. Me: Let’s have dinner together tonight. Her: Busy. Me: Want to catch a movie this weekend? Her: No time. Stop wasting energy on pointless things. Me: It’s our anniversary today. Her: Jack, how many times do I have to tell you to stop bringing up these useless dates? And yet, here she was, spending three point eight million dollars on fireworks for an assistant she had known for less than a month. Just to make him “burn bright.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips, sending another sharp spasm through my gut. The nurse rushed back in, holding me down. “What are you doing? Don’t move!” I ignored her, my eyes glued to the photo. “It’s fine,” I muttered. “I’m just done being the perfect, supportive husband.” The nurse stared at me, thoroughly confused. I ignored her and dialed my best friend, Justin. He picked up after two rings. “Jack? Man, it’s the middle of the night…” “Justin, first thing tomorrow morning, bring all the original investment contracts Ashford Group holds in Aura Financial to the International Convention Center.” A long silence stretched over the line. “Jack… you’re finally waking up?” “Yeah,” I said, staring at the ceiling. “I’ve played the part for three years. I’m done.” “Also, have the market research team look for new targets. Within three months, I want a company that can completely replace Aura Financial.” “Understood.” I hung up and closed my eyes. Ava, did you enjoy the fireworks? Tomorrow, I’ll show you a much bigger show. 2 The next morning, I discharged myself against medical advice, signing the waiver form before the doctor could protest further. Today was Aura Financial’s annual investment summit, an event Ava had spent over six months preparing for. The biggest players in the financial sector would all be there. And the highly praised “star projects” Aura had secured over the past two years, totaling nearly thirty million dollars in investments, were actually funded by me through the Ashford Group, channeled through seven layers of offshore shell companies. She had no idea. She genuinely believed she had married an average guy who relied on her for financial support. At last year’s company gala, she had raised her glass and joked to the crowd, “My husband’s greatest talent is knowing how to cook.” The room had erupted in laughter. I had sat there in the audience, smiling and clapping for her. What a pathetic fool I was. At the International Convention Center, crystal chandeliers cast a brilliant glow over flowing champagne. The staff at the registration desk recognized me instantly. As the CEO’s husband and the punchline of last year’s gala, I was let in without a single question. Ava stood on the stage in a sharp red blazer, looking radiant and confident. Standing right beside her was Tristan, the delicate young man from last night’s post. Tristan, dressed in a tailored suit, was eagerly handing her documents, occasionally leaning in to whisper in her ear. The crowd murmured in approval. Holding a glass of champagne, I walked up the side stairs and onto the stage. Every eye in the room immediately locked onto me. Ava’s face darkened instantly. “Jack, what are you doing here? Who let you up?” “I brought you a gift.” I signaled to Justin. He immediately stepped up and handed me a thick stack of original contracts. With the entire audience watching, I pulled a silver lighter from my pocket. The click of the ignition echoed as a flame flickered to life. I lit the first contract. “Jack! Are you insane?!” Ava’s voice cracked, her composure shattering. “Those are company contracts! The originals!” Ignoring her, I set the second one on fire. “Didn’t you say you hated superficial gestures?” The third one caught fire. “Didn’t you say only brainless, show-off rich people throw money away?” The fourth one turned to ash. “Does a three point eight million dollar firework show count as brainless?” The flickering flames illuminated Ava’s face, turning it incredibly pale. I spoke directly into the microphone, my voice so calm it even surprised me. “Tell me, Ava. Was the multi-million-dollar show beautiful?” The room fell into a dead silence. The contracts burned to ashes, fluttering down onto the crimson carpet. Ava’s chest rose and fell rapidly. She was a businesswoman first and knew she couldn’t lose her temper in public. But Tristan couldn’t help himself. His eyes welled with tears. He pushed past Ava and rushed in front of me, pointing a trembling finger at my face. “Mr. Ashford, who do you think you are?” “You’re just a kept man living off Ava’s hard work! What do you know about investments? What do you know about business?” “Ava poured six months of her life into this! This is the livelihood of hundreds of employees! Can you even begin to pay for the damage you’ve caused?!” “You are incredibly out of line!” His spit practically flew in my face. I tilted my head, looking down at him coldly. “And who are you? Did I speak to you? Know your place.” Tristan froze. I turned my gaze back to Ava. “By the way, your beloved assistant is fired.” Tristan’s face flushed red. “Fired by you?! You think you have the authority? Who do you think…” A sharp crash cut him off. Ava slammed her crystal glass onto the stage, sending shards flying everywhere. She marched over, shielding Tristan behind her, her eyes icy as she glared at me. “Jack.” “What right do you have to fire my people?” 3 I stared at her. This was the woman I had protected and cherished for three years, the woman whose favorite shampoo brand I still memorized. And here she was, in front of the city’s most prominent investors, smashing a glass to defend an assistant who had been with her for less than a month. A soft chuckle escaped me. “Ava, are you sure you want to make a scene here?” “You started this!” she hissed, her teeth clenched. “You will apologize to Tristan. Right now, in front of everyone!” An apology. While I was lying in a hospital bed with internal bleeding, she was setting off fireworks for him. And now, she wanted me to apologize. “Ava, you are the one who needs to apologize today.” “Me?” Ava let out a mocking laugh. “Jack, you just burned thirty million dollars worth of contracts and ruined a summit I prepared for six months. And you expect me to apologize?” She looked me up and down, as if examining an ungrateful stranger. Tristan immediately put on a display of fragile vulnerability, tugging gently at Ava’s sleeve. “Ava, it’s fine… it’s my fault. Mr. Ashford, I’m sorry. Please don’t be angry.” He kept his head low, his shoulders trembling slightly as tears pooled in his eyes. “Quite the actor, aren’t you, Tristan?” I said. Tristan snapped his head up, his expression instantly shifting to wounded innocence. “Mr. Ashford, I’m a diagnosed depression patient who has been with this company for barely a month. Your constant targeting… I really can’t take much more of this.” As he spoke, real tears began to stream down his cheeks. The whispers in the crowd grew louder. “Ava’s husband has a terrible temper.” “I heard the assistant is sick… why is he bullying him like that?” “Well, that’s what happens when a guy lives off his wife for too long. He gets insecure.” I didn’t look at them. I kept my eyes on Ava. “Ava, do you hear that? Everyone thinks I’m the one picking on your little assistant.” Ava’s lips curled into a cold, contemptuous sneer. “Jack, you aren’t just insecure from living off me. You’ve gotten so used to it that you actually think you’re someone important.” Her voice wasn’t loud, but every word felt like a blade. The crowd chuckled in agreement. Despite the sharp pain in my stomach, I smiled. “Good.” I gestured to Justin, who handed me another document. I slammed the paper onto the podium. “Tristan, you are fired.” Tristan let out a sharp laugh. “Mr. Ashford, you’re firing me? You don’t have the authority.” “Whether I do or don’t,” I looked at Ava, “is up to her.” Every eye in the room turned to Ava. She stared back at me, her eyes locking onto mine for three long seconds. Then, under the watchful gaze of the entire room, she slowly reached out, picked up the paper, and tore it in half. The shredded pieces drifted to the floor. “Jack,” her voice was like ice. “Tristan’s employment is none of your business. In this company, I make the decisions.” “Who are you? You’re just my husband.” A mocking smile touched her lips. “I let you come today out of respect. Don’t push your luck.” A collective gasp echoed through the room. Tristan kept his head lowered, his shoulders shaking, but I caught the smug, victorious grin stretching across his face. Looking at this woman who had just publicly stripped away the last shred of my dignity, the pain in my stomach intensified, yet my smile only widened. “Excellent, Ava. Very well.” Without another word, I turned and walked off the stage. Behind me, Ava was already smoothly explaining to the investors, “Apologies for the distraction, everyone. Just a minor domestic dispute. The summit will proceed as planned.” Her tone shifted back to professional efficiency so quickly, as if the entire incident had been nothing more than a minor, irritating blip. And I was barely even that. As I reached the corridor outside, the frantic click of high heels sounded behind me. Ava caught up, grabbing my arm with a tight grip. “Jack, have you had your fun today? Just tell me what you want. Name your price.” Name your price. She wasn’t trying to resolve things. She was dismissing me like a pet throwing a tantrum. “I don’t want your money, Ava. I want a divorce.” Ava froze for a split second. Then, she laughed. It was a laugh of disbelief, mockery, and ultimately, relief. “A divorce? Are you serious, Jack?” “Completely.” “Fine.” She let go of my arm, shaking me off as if I were a piece of dirty laundry. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that for a long time.” She pulled out her phone and dialed her lawyer right in front of me. “Robert, draft a divorce agreement and have it delivered to my place tonight.” “Yes, Jack leaves with nothing. No house, no car, no savings. If he refuses to sign, we’ll see him in court.” She hung up and looked down at me coldly. “Jack, don’t think for a second that today’s stunt will make me regret this. If anything, you’ve saved me a payout and a very awkward conversation.” “I can’t wait to get you out of my life.” “Oh, and make sure your things are out of my house by tonight.” With that, she took Tristan’s arm and walked away without looking back. 4 I didn’t go back to the house we shared. Justin drove me to my private penthouse in Riverview, owned by the Ashford Group. No one had lived here for three years, but a cleaning service maintained it weekly. The mahogany floors were polished to a mirror shine. After a hot shower, I walked into the living room, where Justin had already laid out a file on the coffee table. “Jack, I ran the background check you wanted on Tristan.” His expression was deeply unsettled. “You might want to sit down for this.” I picked up the file and flipped it open. Page one: Tristan’s resume. Flawless, with a master’s degree from a prestigious European university. Page two: Family background. His mother was Ava’s high school classmate; the two families had been close for decades. Page three. My fingers froze. Tristan and Ava had been legally married three years ago. They had divorced exactly one month before Ava and I were set up on our blind date. “Are you sure about this?” I asked, my voice dropping to a dangerous chill. “Absolutely,” Justin said quietly. “I pulled the records directly from the city archives myself.” “Also, that luxury riverfront condo Ava bought two years ago? The deed is in her name, but Tristan has been living there the entire time. Ava pays for everything; utility bills, HOA fees, even Tristan’s personal training sessions.” I closed my eyes. Three years. Every time she claimed she was working late, every business trip, every client dinner. It turned out that every single time she said she wasn’t coming home, she was with her ex-husband. And while I was lying in a hospital bed with acute internal bleeding, she was throwing him a three point eight million dollar firework show. Me, the heir of the massive Ashford Group, spent three years playing the doting, domestic husband, only to be a placeholder for her ex-husband’s transition period. A dry, mocking laugh escaped me, triggering another spasm in my stomach. What a joke. My phone vibrated. An unknown number. It was a screenshot of a wire transfer: fifty thousand dollars. A message followed. “Mr. Ashford, Ava asked me to send you this. She said you worked hard these past three years, and this fifty thousand should help you get by. Please don’t harass her anymore, and don’t try to interfere with the company.” Sender: Tristan. A second message popped up almost immediately. “Let me be frank with you, Mr. Ashford. Ava looked into the funding of those contracts. They came from the Ashford Group.” “She doesn’t know what low-level job you have there; running errands or pouring coffee, but you’d better know your place.” “The real owners of a conglomerate like Ashford could crush you with a single finger.” “You used your position to embezzle Ashford funds to get back at Ava. If this gets out, you’ll be the first one they throw under the bus.” “Out of pity for your time together, Ava gave you fifty thousand dollars to run. She expects you to be smart, show up at the courthouse tomorrow to sign the papers, and leave quietly.” “As for your threat to fire me today? Ava told me to tell you: an outsider trying to play these petty games is just pathetic.” I stared at the screen, completely dumbfounded for three seconds. Then, a loud laugh burst from my chest, causing my stomach to ache all over again. So, in Ava’s mind, the mysterious investor behind her success couldn’t possibly be me. She had traced the funds to the Ashford Group and assumed I was just some low-level employee who had embezzled company money to make his wife look good. A useless husband trying to play savior. And she had generously had her little lover send me fifty thousand dollars as a pittance to skip town. I typed back two simple words. “Sounds good.” I tossed the phone onto the sofa and walked into the study. I spun the dial on the safe, and the heavy door clicked open. Inside lay a single document: the true ownership structure of Aura Financial, controlled by the Ashford Group. Fifty-one percent of Aura Financial’s shares, held through seven layers of offshore companies, ultimately belonged to one name. Jack Ashford. Which meant that the CEO seat Ava had occupied for three years belonged to me. The entire company belonged to me. And that three point eight million dollar firework show was paid for with my money, thrown for her ex-husband. I picked up the file, a slow smile spreading across my face. Ava, you want me to sign the divorce papers tomorrow? Fine, I’ll show up. But the man signing those papers won’t be your penniless, useless husband. It will be the actual owner of Aura Financial.

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I was the Harrington family’s designated bride. But at eighteen, forced to choose between the brothers, I was paralyzed. Christian was ice-cold; Ashton was pure wildfire. Ready to flip a coin, glowing text suddenly invaded my vision: [Why is this annoying side character hesitating? Both brothers despise her.] [She only throws her weight around because of that ‘chosen bride’ title. Nothing like our sweet female lead.] [The main trio would be perfect without this stupid side character ruining it.] [At least she dies in childbirth. Main characters get their happy ending. Otherwise, I’d puke.] Gasping, I looked up at my childhood friends. Beneath their calm masks, I saw it—faint, repressed disgust. Aunt Beatrice urged me gently. Chaos reigned in my mind until new text appeared: [Forget the brothers! Look at the incubus uncle!] [He hides his feelings because of the age gap.] [Pick him, and you skip the tragic death. You’ll be living your best life in his bed!] Panicked, I glanced toward the quiet corner. There sat the man with hawk-like eyes, staring intently right at me. 1 “Sisi, Christian and Ashton both grew up with you. Their feelings for you are unquestionable.” “But this is about your lifelong happiness. Who do you want as your future partner?” Aunt Beatrice’s gentle voice cut through the silence, and instantly, everyone’s eyes locked onto me. They were holding their breath, waiting for my decision. Because this decision would determine the future heir of the Harrington empire. I was originally the daughter of the Harringtons’ housekeeper. When I was five, my mother died saving Aunt Beatrice’s life. On her deathbed, her weak, sorrowful gaze had lingered on me. “Ma’am, I don’t regret saving you,” she had whispered, struggling to speak. “I just… I can’t bear to leave my little girl behind.” Aunt Beatrice had immediately clasped her hands, tears streaming down her face as she promised: “Do not worry. From this day on, Sisi is my own daughter. She will be my future daughter-in-law.” “The Harrington family will cherish and protect her for the rest of her life.” With those words, my mother closed her eyes in peace. And just as Aunt Beatrice had promised, I became the jewel of the Harrington household. From that day on, I lived a life of luxury, showered with affection. Aunt Beatrice’s twin sons willingly became my knights, shielding me from the world. The three of us were inseparable childhood friends. But now, I had to choose one of them to be my partner for life. Choosing one meant hurting the other. It was an impossible choice. I hesitated, my gaze shifting between the two brothers. Just as I was about to suggest a round of rock-paper-scissors to let fate decide, dense rows of glowing comments erupted before my eyes. 2 [Wait, why does this annoying girl look so conflicted? Is she seriously picking between them?] [Does she actually think the male leads are head over heels for her? If Mrs. Harrington hadn’t forced them into this, they wouldn’t have pretended to tolerate her for so many years.] [Exactly. She’s been acting like she owns the place just because of her mom’s sacrifice. She’s not half as cute or endearing as our female lead.] [I’ve been waiting forever to see the relationship between the three main characters, and she’s ruining it.] [Thank goodness she dies during childbirth in the end. Otherwise, I would have lost my mind!] The floating comments were vicious and biting, filled with nothing but hatred and contempt for me. I pinched my arm hard. It stung. This wasn’t an illusion. If this was real, then according to these comments, I was merely the villainous side character in a reverse-harem romance novel. A girl who used her mother’s sacrifice to force an engagement on one of the male leads. A girl who, after marriage, would be neglected by her husband, eventually dying a miserable death on the operating table during childbirth. Nothing but a tragic stepping stone in the sweeping romance of the main characters. I couldn’t believe it; my tragic end, and the revelation that my two childhood friends actually loved someone else. We had spent over a decade together. I had felt their genuine care and protection. How could it all be a lie? But when I turned to look at the brothers, my confidence shattered. 3 The older brother, Christian. The younger brother, Ashton. They shared identical, striking features, yet their vibes were entirely different. Christian was cold and reserved; Ashton was wild and untamed. But right now, without exception, both of their dark eyes held a deeply buried flicker of annoyance. Yes, it was disgust. A cold chill washed over me. Seeing my prolonged silence, Aunt Beatrice couldn’t help but urge me again: “Sisi? Have you made up your mind?” [Oh my god, the dark moment is finally here!] [Who is this annoying girl going to choose? Don’t tell me she wants both of them?] [She’ll probably choose the older brother. That’s what happened in the original story.] [And then Christian completely ignored her after the wedding. She kept lying to herself, thinking he was just being considerate because of her weak health, while he was actually hooking up with the female lead behind her back.] [Hahaha, talk about a clown!] Staring at the glowing words, my eyes widened in shock. In my memory, Christian was always steady and calm, rarely showing extreme emotions. Was he really that wild with the so-called female lead in private? And what about Ashton? [As for the younger brother? With Christian taking one for the team, Ashton was free to be with the female lead.] [But the female lead missed Christian so much she kept waking up from nightmares. To comfort her, Ashton actually agreed to act as Christian’s stand-in, letting his brother slip in to meet her.] The details in the comments grew more bizarre and shocking by the second. Ashton was incredibly proud, and he had hated being compared to his brother since we were kids. Yet, for his beloved, he was willing to become his brother’s body double. 4 “Sisi?” Aunt Beatrice’s gentle voice called me back to reality. I shook off the shock, looking at the brothers one by one. The moment Ashton met my gaze, he quickly looked away. He was terrified of being chosen. Christian was more subtle. He simply lowered his eyes without a word. But his complete, quiet rejection stung my heart. So, our engagement was nothing but a burden to them. I took a deep breath, trying to suppress the bitter ache in my chest. I turned to Aunt Beatrice, biting my lip as I spoke hesitantly: “Aunt Beatrice… can I… choose neither?” Aunt Beatrice froze. “Why, sweetheart?” Then, seeing the conflict and struggle in my eyes, she seemed to have a sudden realization and lightly tapped her own forehead. “Oh, how silly of me. I should have realized.” “The three of you grew up together. You care for both of them equally. Forcing you to choose one over the other must be so difficult.” “In that case, let’s leave it to fate.” “Butler, bring the drawing straws!” Throughout my life, Aunt Beatrice had perfectly filled the role of my mother. Even now, she was trying to find a way to spare my feelings. But vicious comments began to flood my vision: [Is this girl for real? She can’t even make a choice, so she’s forcing Mrs. Harrington to play the bad guy?] [No matter who draws the short straw, they’re going to resent their mother for it.] [Seriously, the girl’s mom was just as annoying. Saving a life is fine, but using it to guilt-trip a wealthy family for generations is just cheap.] [If her mom hadn’t dumped this burden on them on her deathbed, the brothers wouldn’t be in this miserable position.] They weren’t just insulting me anymore; they were dragging my late mother into it. That crossed the line. 5 I swallowed the tears threatening to spill over and raised my voice: “Aunt Beatrice, there’s no need!” “Actually, I don’t love Christian or Ashton. I’m already in love with someone else!” My words were like a sudden thunderclap, shocking everyone in the room. But to my surprise, the strongest reaction came from the twins. Ashton snapped his head toward me, his eyes locking onto mine as he snarled: “You’re lying!” “You spend every single day with us. You don’t even have the chance to meet outsiders.” “How could you possibly be in love with someone else?” Ashton’s presence was always intense, and his current fury genuinely startled me. I shrank back slightly, my voice trembling with a hint of tears. “I… the person I like… is also a Harrington…” Hearing this, the harshness in Ashton’s eyes softened into a mocking sneer. “A Harrington, huh?” “I’d love to hear who this is.” “Who could possibly have more charm than my brother and me to make your heart flutter like this?” His eyes were filled with amusement, completely convinced I was making it up. Even Christian, who had remained silent, slowly raised his eyes to stare at me, demanding: “Who is it?” Suddenly, the pressure in the room felt suffocating. I clenched my hands tightly, my eyes darting around the room as I desperately searched for a suitable candidate. 6 The Harrington family was an absolute empire, controlling a massive portion of the country’s business landscape. But because of the immense wealth, the different branches of the family fought viciously behind closed doors. As a result, the younger generation had been competing since childhood. They didn’t dare target Christian or Ashton, so they chose me, the easy target, to bully. Almost every cousin in my age group, boy or girl, had secretly mistreated me at some point. Because I was timid, I never said a word. Eventually, the twins discovered the bruises on my arms and, defying family rules, fought back on my behalf. From then on, everyone knew one absolute truth: the quiet daughter of the housekeeper was the twins’ red line. Cross it, and you pay. So Ashton knew I would never be foolish enough to fall for any of the cousins who had bullied me. But now… [What is she doing? Playing hard to get? Is she trying to use this pathetic method to get the twins’ attention?] [Using such a cheap trick to make them jealous? How pathetic.] [Can the person above shut up? I’ve tolerated you for so long. If she chooses a male lead, you complain. If she doesn’t, you still complain.] [Wait, does she really not like the twins anymore? Then look at our gorgeous incubus uncle!] [He heard her say she likes someone else, and now he’s practically dying to confess to her!] [Oh my god, he’s actually been in love with her for years, but he was too insecure because of the age gap, and because she was supposed to be his nephews’ girl, he never dared to say a word.] [If she picks him, she won’t end up on an operating table; she’ll be thoroughly spoiled in his bed.] As the side character, even doing nothing was considered a crime. I expected another round of insults from the comments. Instead, a few strange comments defending me popped up. But the direction of these comments was getting incredibly wild. The seductive uncle was in love with me? Spoiled in his bed? Each comment was more scandalous than the last. And the only person in the family who fit the description of “uncle” was Gideon Harrington, my grandfather’s youngest son. He liked me? Was that even possible? Highly skeptical, I turned my head toward the corner. There, sitting elegantly on the sofa, was the refined and handsome man. His dark, intense eyes were fixed on me like a hawk. Deep within those dark depths, a storm of repressed, burning passion was swirling, threatening to break free. 7 [This is the burning, silent love of our incubus uncle.] The floating comment summarized it perfectly. In an instant, my heart skipped a beat. It was as if I could actually see the molten lava of his love rushing toward me from his deep eyes. Unable to handle the intensity, I hurriedly looked away. Meanwhile, Christian pressed on, his voice dripping with cold authority: “Sisi, tell me. Who is it?” I didn’t understand. Since he and Ashton already loved someone else, wasn’t it a good thing that I didn’t want to marry them? Why were they pushing me so hard? Seeing my hesitation, Aunt Beatrice spoke with deep concern: “Sisi, did someone threaten you? Just tell me, and I promise I’ll handle it.” As she spoke, she swept a warning, dangerous gaze over the cousins from the other branches of the family. I quickly shook my head. “No! Aunt Beatrice, it’s not that.” “I was just… too afraid to say it because the person I like is far above me in both age and family rank!” I clenched my teeth, throwing caution to the wind. I closed my eyes, preparing myself for the worst, too terrified to see anyone’s reaction. In the dead silence that followed, a sweet, innocent voice suddenly shattered the quiet: “Oh my goodness! Sisi, you don’t mean… you’re in love with Mr. Harrington, are you?” I opened my eyes. A slender, beautiful girl was standing at the entrance of the villa. She looked utterly shocked, as if she had just stumbled upon a scandalous secret, her hands covering her mouth, her eyes wide with surprise.

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After a drunken night with my best friend’s older brother, I became his secret, off-the-books girlfriend. For eight long years, I lived in the shadows. Finally, my family handed down a harsh ultimatum: I had to marry this year, or they would arrange a match for me. “Austin,” I told him, as we lay in the quiet dark of our bedroom. “My parents gave me an ultimatum. I need to get married this year.” He paused, his body tensing, before he pressed a soft, distracting kiss to my forehead. He gave me the same old line he always did. “Just wait a little longer.” But the very next day, I opened my social media and saw a post from our new office intern, Lily. It was a photo of her and Austin holding up a fresh marriage license outside the city courthouse. Her caption read: Got the handsome CEO locked down. Eight years of begging for a crumb of commitment, and she got the whole damn loaf in three months. Swallowing the bitter lump in my throat, I tapped the heart icon. Then, I left a comment: Congratulations! Wishing you a lifetime of happiness. Within the hour, I called my mother and accepted the match they had arranged for me. My phone rang almost immediately. For the first time in eight years, Austin’s voice sounded panicked. “Sydney, don’t get the wrong idea. It was just a stupid dare. I lost a bet with the guys, and Lily and I went to the courthouse as a joke…” I cut him off. “Austin, I’m getting married.” 1 There was a sudden, heavy silence on the line. Then, Austin’s voice returned, laced with his usual irritation. In the background, I could hear a girl’s soft, playful giggles. “Here you go again,” he sighed. “Are you really that desperate to walk down the aisle? The company’s cash flow is practically dry right now, Sydney. Can you please stop making a mess of things?” I stood on my balcony, watching the city lights flicker in the cool evening wind. My voice was flat, empty of the warmth I used to give him. “I’m not making a mess. I’m actually getting married.” He let out a sharp, mocking laugh, as if I had just told the most ridiculous joke. “You don’t even have a guy in your life. Who are you marrying? The wind?” I opened my mouth to say Nate’s name, but he was already in a hurry to end the call. “Look, I have to take this. I’m telling you, the license was just a stupid dare at a party. Don’t overthink it.” The line went dead, replaced by the cold drone of the dial tone. Eight years. He had spent eight years telling me to “don’t overthink it” while I quietly withered away in his shadow. The next morning, I walked into the office carrying two boxes of luxury, imported wedding chocolates. The open-plan office was buzzing with noise. A crowd of colleagues had gathered around Lily’s desk, and her face was flushed a deep, self-satisfied pink. “Lily, you are unbelievable! Austin is always so cold, and you managed to lock him down in three months?” “Does this mean we have to start calling you the boss’s wife? You have to look out for us now!” Lily covered her face with her hands, giggling. Her voice was just loud enough to carry across the entire room. “Oh, stop it, guys! It’s not like that. We just got hitched on a silly dare during a game. Please don’t spread it around.” I felt a cold sneer tugging at my lips. She had already broadcasted the marriage license to her entire social network, yet she wanted people to “not spread it around”? Her sharp eyes caught sight of the chocolate boxes in my hands. She practically bounded over in her designer heels, wrapping her arm tightly around mine. “Sydney! Are these the wedding chocolates Austin asked you to prepare for us? Thank you so much for the hard work!” Before I could open my mouth to correct her, she snatched the boxes right out of my grip. She tore open the expensive gold packaging and began stuffing the truffles into our coworkers’ hands. “Everyone, try some! Austin went out of his way to get these imported chocolates for the celebration!” The office erupted into cheers, praising Austin for being a romantic, attentive husband. Right on cue, Austin stepped out of the elevator. The crowd immediately started chanting, “Thanks for the wedding chocolates, Boss!” Lily looked up at him, her eyes wide and glittering with girlish adoration. Austin froze for a fraction of a second. Then, his lips curved into a smooth, easy smile. “I’m glad you all like them.” “The chocolates are mine,” I said. My voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the room like a blade. The entire office fell into a dead, suffocating silence. Every single pair of eyes pinned themselves to my face. Austin’s expression darkened instantly, a flicker of panic darting through his eyes. “Sydney, this is a place of business,” he muttered, his voice dropping into a harsh warning. “Don’t start acting out here.” “I’m not acting out,” I replied, looking him straight in the eye. “I bought those chocolates. I am getting married next Saturday.” His face turned so dark it looked like a thundercloud. He took a predatory step toward me, his voice a low, furious hiss. “Do you really have to push me like this?” Beside him, one of the junior marketers scoffed under her breath. “Honestly, Sydney, we’ve never even seen you with a guy. Who are you marrying? Are you just so jealous of Lily that you’re losing your mind?” Lily’s eyes welled with tears on command. She bit her lower lip, looking incredibly wronged. “Sydney, I know you used to have feelings for Austin. But he never felt that way about you. He even cleared up those rumors privately, telling us that you two were strictly professional colleagues.” The moment those words left her mouth, the collective gaze of the office shifted. They were looking at me like I was a desperate, pathetic side-piece who had tried and failed to home-wreck her way to the top. I looked at Austin. He turned his head away, staring out the window, refusing to offer a single word of defense. During our eight years in the shadows, I had ruined my liver drinking with clients to secure his contracts. I had pulled his company back from the brink of bankruptcy more times than I could count. When people whispered that I was desperately throwing myself at him, he had stayed silent. And now, he wouldn’t even grant me the dignity of the truth. “Seriously, Sydney,” another coworker chimed in, eager to please the new boss’s wife. “Austin and Lily are legally married now. If you keep throwing yourself at him, you’re just a homewrecker. If clients hear about this, it ruins our reputation.” “Exactly. Trying to steal your own intern’s husband? Have some self-respect.” I looked at these people, most of whom I had personally trained and mentored. A bitter laugh bubbled up in my chest. I had originally planned to invite them to my wedding, but now I realized they didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as my fiancé. I squeezed my phone in my hand and swept a cold glance over the room. “Since everyone is so desperately curious, I suppose I should introduce my fiancé.” I tapped my screen, preparing to pull up the photo of Nate and me. Suddenly, a hand clamped down on my wrist. Austin snatched the phone out of my hand, his face pale and twisted with rage. “Everyone, get back to work!” he roared. He gripped my arm tightly, dragging me toward his private office. Behind us, I could hear the team instantly whispering comfort to Lily, paired with the disgust they threw at my back. 2 He slammed the office door shut, aggressively loosening his tie as if he were suffocating. “I told you the courthouse was a stupid game!” he snapped. “Do you really have to make a scene and embarrass everyone?” “If it was just a game,” I said, staring at him with eyes as cold as stone, “why didn’t you clear the air? Why did you let them brand me a homewrecker?” He choked on his words, his jaw tightening. When he spoke, his tone carried that familiar, infuriating entitlement. “Lily is a young girl. She’s sensitive. I couldn’t just humiliate her in front of the entire company, could I?” So her feelings were precious, but my dignity was fair game to be dragged through the mud. I reached out, snatched my phone back from his grip, and turned toward the door. With my hand on the brass handle, I paused. I didn’t turn around. “My wedding is next Saturday. You and Lily are more than welcome to attend.” I walked down to the parking garage, my heels clicking sharply against the concrete. Before I could unlock my car, my phone buzzed. It was the executive recruiter who had been trying to poach me for months. “Sydney, about that director position at the multinational firm we discussed. They are willing to bump the starting salary by another twenty percent. Will you please reconsider?” The offered figure was at the absolute ceiling of the industry standard. “I accept,” I said, my voice steady. “Furthermore, I will be bringing a ten-million-dollar account with me. I expect the standard commission structure to apply.” The recruiter sounded like she was about to scream with joy. “Absolutely! I will have the contracts drafted immediately!” After hanging up, I sat in the driver’s seat. My thumb hovered over Nate’s name on my contact list. I sent him a quick text: Hold off on signing the contract. Wait for my word. Austin had complained about how hard things were for the company, telling me not to add to his stress. But for eight years, which of his crises hadn’t I personally resolved? This multi-million-dollar deal with Vanguard Group was something I had secured by swallowing my pride and pleading with Nate three separate times. It was the very lifeline Austin’s company needed to survive. As I drove out of the dark garage, the city blurred past my window. It felt like a metaphor for the last eight years of my life, a fast-forward reel of wasted youth. I met Austin outside my college dorm. He was Brooke’s older brother, arriving in a crisp white shirt to pick her up for summer break. He had stood under the shade of an oak tree, smiling, a tiny mole catching the light near the corner of his eye. My heart had skipped a beat. Later, at a graduation party, we both drank too much and ended up in bed. It felt natural to join his startup, beginning at the very bottom as a low-paid intern. At first, he said we couldn’t go public because he didn’t want people thinking I got promoted through favoritism. I believed him, so I waited. Once I became the top-performing manager in the marketing department, he said he was worried it would ruin my friendship with Brooke. I believed him again, so I waited. I foolishly believed that if I just kept quiet and worked hard, he would eventually give me a ring. It wasn’t until I saw Lily’s post that the fantasy shattered. He didn’t hate the idea of marriage. He just hated the idea of marrying me. 3 I drove back to the apartment we had shared for the last five years. My resignation would take a few days to process, but I wanted my personal belongings out of his space immediately. I dragged my suitcase out of the closet and opened the wardrobe. His clothes occupied more than two-thirds of the rack. In the past, I had complained that his style was too stiff and corporate. I had bought him bright, casual hoodies, but he had always shoved them to the back, claiming a CEO needed to look serious. Yet, hanging in the most prominent spot of the wardrobe were several brand-new, expensive designer hoodies in vibrant colors. He wasn’t incapable of changing. He just hadn’t wanted to change for me. I began folding my dresses into the suitcase. The sound of the front door unlocking cut through the quiet apartment. Austin walked in. Seeing the open suitcase and the bare hangers, his brow furrowed. “Sydney, there is absolutely nothing going on between Lily and me. Can you please stop throwing a tantrum?” He walked over, reaching out to grasp my hand. “The marriage license was a mistake. I’ll take her to the courthouse to file for divorce this afternoon.” “Once the Vanguard contract is signed and the company is stable, we can go public. Okay?” I parted my lips to say We are over, but he cut me off, scanning the room. “By the way, where did you put the keys to the Maple Heights townhouse?” I paused. “In the bottom drawer of the nightstand.” I looked at him. “Are you selling it to cover the company’s debts?” He blinked, then offered a casual, dismissive shrug. “Why would I sell it? It’s just sitting empty. Lily’s lease is up, so I told her she could stay there for a bit.” My chest tightened, a dull, throbbing ache spreading through my ribs. He had bought the Maple Heights house last year on my birthday, whispering in my ear that it would be our future home. And now, he was handing the keys to another woman. Before I could process the sting, he continued, entirely oblivious to my pale face. “Also, once you finish up the Vanguard contract, transfer the account details over to Lily. Her probation period is ending, and this deal will secure her permanent position. Don’t worry, I’ll still make sure you get the full commission.” My phone remained silent as his began to ring. He glanced at the screen and answered immediately, his voice instantly softening into a tone I hadn’t heard in years. “Yeah, sweetie. I’ll text you the address. Just have the movers head straight over…” He walked out toward the balcony to finish the call, never once looking back to see the expression on my face. The heavy thud of the glass door closing echoed in the quiet room. I stood in the center of the apartment and let out a soft, humorless laugh. Eight years of my youth, my sweat, and my devotion. In his eyes, it wasn’t even worth more than a three-month intern. I zipped my suitcase and walked out, never once looking back. I went straight to my parents’ house. Ever since I had agreed to the marriage with Nate, my mother hadn’t stopped smiling. The moment I walked through the door, she rushed to take my bag. “I always knew Nate was the one,” she beamed. “We watched that boy grow up. He’s decent, polite, and his family is wonderful. Your father and I can finally sleep easy.” Nate and I had been inseparable since childhood. Our mothers were best friends, and they used to joke about arranging our marriage when we were still in diapers. If I hadn’t met Austin in college, I probably would have married Nate years ago. I knew he loved me. He had always loved me. When Austin’s company was bleeding cash and on the verge of ruin, I had swallowed my pride to beg Nate for a lifeline. He had stayed silent for a long time before finally agreeing to the deal. Now, I realized just how incredibly foolish I had been. After dinner, I retreated to the study to organize my client files. My phone vibrated. A text from Austin: I’ll be late tonight. Don’t wait up. I stared at the screen for a moment, then deleted the chat thread entirely. By the time I finished organizing my files, it was past ten. I lay in bed, aimlessly scrolling through my social feed. The very first post on my timeline was from Lily, posted thirty minutes prior. The photo showed the living room of the Maple Heights townhouse. Austin was laughing, his arm slung over a friend’s shoulder as they played a drinking game, surrounded by empty beer bottles. Her caption read: He called me ‘kiddo’ in front of all his bros. Does he think I’m too childish? The comment section was filled with squeals and teasing, everyone gushing about how sweet and protective Austin was. I stared at the screen, then closed the app. There was no anger left, no tears. Whatever love I had carried for him for eight years had been burned to ashes the moment he let his employees call me a homewrecker. A new message popped up. It was from Nate. Are you free tomorrow? The bridal shop finished the alterations on your dress. Want to go try it on? I typed back a single word: Yes. The next morning, Nate arrived early to pick me up. My mother sent us off with a warm smile, stuffing two boxes of his favorite pastries into his hands. As we drove, I cleared my throat, feeling a bit self-conscious. “Nate, about that Vanguard contract… could you hold off on signing it? I’m moving to a new firm, and I’d like to use that account to make a strong first impression.” He glanced at me, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “Why don’t you just come work for Vanguard?” “I think it’s better if we keep our professional and personal lives separate,” I replied, smiling back. At the bridal boutique, the consultant welcomed us warmly, presenting a stunning, elegant mermaid-cut gown. “Mr. Nathaniel insisted on having the measurements adjusted three times to ensure it fits you perfectly, ma’am,” she said. When I stepped out of the dressing room and looked at myself in the mirror, I froze. Years ago, whenever Austin and I passed a bridal shop and I lingered at the window, he would pull me away, promising he would hire a world-class designer to make me a one-of-a-kind gown when the time was right. I waited eight years for that promise. Instead, I was standing in a custom gown Nate had quietly prepared for me. “Do you want to take a photo and post it?” Nate asked, standing behind me, his eyes full of warmth. I nodded and handed my phone to the consultant. “Could you take a photo of us, please?” Nate seemed slightly taken aback, but a brilliant, genuine smile quickly spread across his face. He stepped up beside me, gently placing his hand near his waist without fully touching, a gesture of pure respect. The photo was breathtaking. I uploaded it to my social media with a caption: Next Saturday, at the Apex Hotel. We would love for you to join us as Nathaniel and I celebrate our wedding. Within a minute, the comment section exploded. Oh my god! Is that the Nathaniel from Vanguard Group? Sydney, you’ve been holding out on us! And people actually thought she was chasing after Austin? Talk about a reality check! Nate makes Austin look like a boy playing dress-up! While I was scrolling through the comments, my phone rang. It was Austin. I picked up, and his voice came through, thick with alcohol and dripping with bitter sarcasm. “Nice move, Sydney. Dragging Nate into your little game just to force my hand? You really are desperate for a ring, aren’t you?” Before I could answer, Nate reached out, took the phone from my hand, and pressed the speaker button. His voice was calm, steady, and filled with an undeniable authority that echoed through the room. “Austin, we are actually getting married.” “She waited for you for eight years. I have been waiting for her for twelve.” “Thank you for letting her go.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “459938”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My husband always told me he loved me enough to buy me a one-carat diamond ring. But whenever our family actually needed money, his love came with a discount. When our son started preschool, the tuition was $4,800. He only transferred me $3,000. When the $3,500 rent was due at the end of the month, he sent $2,500. I put up with it until the night our three-year-old son spiked a massive fever and went into convulsions. The emergency room demanded a $5,000 deposit before they would admit him to the pediatric ICU. Like clockwork, my husband only transferred $3,000. “Figure out the rest yourself,” he told me. I broke down, begging him over the phone. All I got in return was a cold sigh. “Sarah, you are being completely unreasonable.” The line went dead. There was no further response. He left me alone in the sterile hospital corridor, holding my burning, seizing child, drowning in absolute despair. 1 “Ma’am! If you don’t pay the deposit right now, I have to take him off the monitors!” The nurse’s voice echoed down the empty, fluorescent-lit hallway. I looked down at little Noah in my arms. His lips had faded from a terrifying purple to a sickly, ashen gray. His tiny fingers weren’t even gripping my shirt anymore, and his seizures had grown weaker. That weakness was far more terrifying than the violent shaking. Instinctively, I glanced down at my left ring finger. That one-carat diamond caught the harsh hospital lights, glittering blindingly. He always said this was the absolute best thing he could ever give me. I ripped the ring off my finger, hoisted my son higher against my chest, and sprinted out the sliding doors of the ER. Two blocks east of the hospital, the neon sign of a 24-hour pawn and jewelry exchange was still buzzing. I crashed through the doors, holding my fever-hot boy. The owner barely looked up from his phone. “Please, how much can I get for this ring? It’s an emergency.” He took it, screwed a jeweler’s loupe into his eye, flipped it over for maybe five seconds, and tossed it onto the glass counter. “Look, lady. This isn’t a diamond.” I froze. “That’s impossible. It’s a full carat. My husband paid ten thousand dollars for it.” “It’s moissanite,” the owner said flatly. “Synthetic. Wholesale price is about thirty bucks. Factor in the cheap 18-karat gold-plated band, and the whole thing is worth maybe fifty dollars on a good day. You don’t believe me, take it to any appraiser in town.” I stood perfectly still in front of that counter. My baby was burning up with a 105-degree fever against my chest, and I just stared at the ring. Fifty dollars. He said he loved me. He said he spared no expense for my ring. A thirty-dollar piece of wholesale glass. Even his grandest gesture of love was heavily discounted. “Hey, lady? You okay? Your kid’s color looks really bad.” The owner’s voice snapped me back to reality. I shoved the useless metal into my pocket, turned around, and ran back into the night. By the time I reached the ER lobby, my legs were giving out. It wasn’t physical exhaustion. It was the feeling of being hollowed out, completely scraped clean from the inside. My phone buzzed. It was my mother. “Mom, can you please Zelle me two thousand dollars? Noah is having febrile seizures. We’re in the ER and I’m short on the deposit.” A two-second pause on the line. “Where’s Carter?” “He sent three thousand. It’s not enough.” “Sarah, your husband makes a great living. He bought you that huge diamond, and you’re telling me you don’t have enough money?” “Mom, please…” “Your brother’s wife has been married for three years and hasn’t asked us for a single dime. Look at you. Calling me in the middle of the night just to beg for cash.” “Mom, Noah is convulsing! I’m not making this up!” “Every kid shakes a little when they get a fever. When you were little and got a fever, I gave you some Tylenol and chicken soup and you were fine. You mothers today are just too dramatic.” I hung up on her. The plastic chairs in the ER waiting room were mostly empty. In the corner sat a woman in her early thirties, holding a sleeping boy about four years old. She was using a wet cotton swab to moisten her son’s cracked lips. She had been watching me the entire time. I ignored her and opened my contacts. I scrolled from A to Z, making three calls. The first went straight to voicemail. The second friend said things were tight this month. The third listened to me panic, muttered that two grand wasn’t exactly pocket change, and made an excuse to hang up. “Excuse me. Are you short two thousand for the deposit?” I looked up. It was the woman from the corner. “I… I don’t even know you.” “My name is Rachel,” she said softly. “Give me your Venmo. I’ll send it right now.” “I can’t take your money.” “If you waste time being polite, your kid might not make it.” Right on cue, Noah’s tiny body seized against mine again. I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper, and pulled up my app. Two thousand dollars hit my account three seconds later. I rushed the billing window, slamming down my debit card to pay the exact five-thousand-dollar deposit. Three thousand from a husband I had known for years, and two thousand from a stranger I had known for ten minutes. The nurses immediately swarmed Noah, rushing him through the double doors into the pediatric intensive care unit. Before the doors swung shut, one nurse looked back at me. “A few minutes later and there would have been brain damage.” The doors locked with a heavy click. I stood at the glass window, watching them hook my baby up to a maze of tubes. The green line on the EKG monitor spiked and dipped. In my pocket, that fifty-dollar piece of fake jewelry dug into my thigh. Rachel appeared beside me quietly. She crouched down slightly to meet my eye level and handed me a bottle of cold water. “Thank you,” I whispered, my hands shaking as I took it. “I will pay you back as soon as humanly possible.” She waved off the promise, staring intently into my eyes. Then she asked a question that made my blood run cold. “Your husband… does he always give you a discount whenever he sends you money?” 2 “How could you possibly know that?” Rachel didn’t answer immediately. She stood up, brushed the dust off her jeans, and glanced through the glass at Noah. “Let them stabilize him. Keep your phone charged. If you need anything, call me.” She pressed a business card into my palm, scooped up her own sleeping child, and walked toward the exit. I looked down at the card. Rachel Dawson, Administrative Assistant at Bennett Legal Group. On the back, written in blue ink, was a single sentence: You are not alone. Before I could even process what that meant, my phone vibrated in my hand. It was the family group chat. Carter had just posted a message, accompanied by a selfie of him standing outside the hospital entrance. He had put on a grim, concerned expression. The caption read: Got the terrifying call at 1 AM. Dropped everything and rushed to the ER for my boy. A father’s heart is breaking right now. Please pray for Noah’s speedy recovery. The replies flooded in instantly, full of sympathy. His mother was first. My poor Carter. Working so hard to provide, and now you have to deal with this exhaustion. His aunt chimed in. Where is Sarah? How does a mother let a child get that sick before going to the doctor? His mother replied to the aunt. Exactly. Some people just don’t know how to be mothers. I gripped my phone so tightly my knuckles turned white, my fingernails digging sharp crescents into my palms. Then, Carter’s reply popped up. Don’t blame Sarah. It’s hard for her to manage him alone. I’m already here at the hospital handling things. Don’t worry, everyone. He said he was already at the hospital. I looked up and down the desolate, echoing corridor. It was 3:30 in the morning. He was nowhere to be seen. That photo… I remembered taking that picture of him outside this very hospital last month when we brought Noah in for his vaccines. He had just slapped a dark, moody filter on it. Twenty minutes later, he finally showed up. He was wearing a rumpled t-shirt, his hair sticking up at odd angles. “How is he?” But those weren’t his first words. Instead of asking about his son, he glanced toward the ICU window, pulled out his phone, and snapped a picture through the glass. I watched him adjust the lighting, type out a caption, and post it to his Instagram story. The whole performance took less than thirty seconds. Only after sliding the phone back into his pocket did he finally look at me. “Did you figure out the money?” “I did.” “How?” “I pawned the ring.” All the color drained from his face instantly. “Where did you pawn it? Which shop?” “The gold exchange two blocks down.” “How much did they give you?” I stared dead into his eyes. For the first time in my life, I felt like I was looking at a complete stranger. “Take a guess.” “Sarah, don’t play games with me. That ring… you need to go buy it back right now.” “Why?” “That is the symbol of our marriage! You just pawned it like it meant nothing? Do you have any sentimental value in your bones at all?” He completely avoided the topic of the price. He didn’t ask what they appraised it at. He went straight for the emotional guilt trip. A dry, bitter laugh bubbled up in my throat. “I couldn’t pawn it.” “They wouldn’t take it?” His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously. “Why not?” “The owner said…” I paused, ultimately deciding to swallow the truth for a moment. “He said it was too late and the appraiser wasn’t in until tomorrow.” Carter visibly deflated, his tense shoulders dropping two inches. “Okay. Good. Don’t go back tomorrow. I’ll take it to the boutique this weekend to get it professionally cleaned and polished instead.” He had never once mentioned getting it cleaned. I had worn it for three years straight without him bringing it up. Tonight, he was suddenly terrified. Because he knew an appraiser would expose him. “What did the doctor say about Noah?” he asked, changing the subject. “They need to keep him under observation for at least three days.” “Three days? How much is a day in the ICU?” “About two thousand dollars a day.” “Two grand? So three days is six thousand? Plus the deposit… that’s over ten grand!” “Carter, he almost died tonight.” “I know, but look at him, he’s sleeping peacefully now! Kids bounce back fast. There’s no reason to bleed money staying in a hospital when he can rest at home.” He let out a loud yawn, slumped onto the vinyl waiting room bench, and pulled out his phone to start scrolling. I stood by the glass door, watching Noah’s little chest rise and fall faintly. My phone lit up. It was Carter’s mother. “Sarah, Carter told me the baby was admitted?” “Yes, Maggie. He had severe febrile seizures.” “I’ve told you before, you coddle him too much. If a kid has a fever, you put them in a lukewarm bath. Why do you insist on running to the hospital and burning through Carter’s hard-earned money?” “Maggie, his temperature was a hundred and five. He was convulsing.” “Don’t exaggerate. Carter ran a fever of a hundred and four when he was a toddler. I gave him some ice water and Motrin, and he was running around the next day. Look at how much stress you’re putting on my son. Dragging him out of bed in the middle of the night when he has to work tomorrow.” Carter was sitting five feet away. He heard every single word echoing from my phone speaker. He didn’t say a syllable to defend me. “Next time the boy gets the sniffles, just watch him at home. Carter is under a lot of financial pressure. You need to be a more supportive wife.” “Okay,” I said quietly, and ended the call. When I turned around, Carter had already fallen asleep on the bench. His phone screen was still illuminated, showing a lock screen photo of him and Noah. A stack of unread notifications piled up at the bottom. I didn’t snoop. Not because I trusted him, but because I was terrified of what else I might not be able to handle tonight. But Rachel’s question kept looping in my mind like a broken record. Does your husband always give you a discount? How could she possibly know our private financial dynamic? I reached out toward his glowing phone, then pulled my hand back. On the other end of the bench, Carter shifted in his sleep and mumbled something into his jacket collar. “Seventy percent… is enough.” 3 “What did you say?” I leaned over, bringing my ear close to his face. Carter just let out a muffled groan and rolled over. His phone slid off his chest and fell into the crack between the cushions. I left it there. At 7:00 AM, the attending physician did his rounds. He told us Noah’s inflammatory markers were dangerously high and he needed a heavy course of IV antibiotics for three full days. The moment Carter heard “three days,” he started nervously rubbing his fingers together. “Doc, can’t you just write a prescription for some oral antibiotics we can take home? It’s the same stuff, right?” The doctor shot him a look of absolute disgust, ignored him entirely, and turned to me. “Mom, the child had three consecutive severe seizures last night. I highly advise we keep him monitored until his bloodwork clears. As parents, you cannot put a price tag on your child’s life.” “You’re right, doctor. We will do whatever you recommend.” As soon as the doctor walked away, Carter’s face darkened. “Three days of IV meds is going to be another four grand easily. Plus the bed fees, the nursing fees… we’re looking at fifteen thousand dollars out of pocket.” I said nothing. “Sarah, how much money do you actually have left in your checking?” “Nothing.” “What about the money from your Etsy store?” “I spent the last of it covering the rest of Noah’s preschool tuition.” He stood up and began pacing the small corridor. “Well, you need to figure something out. You’re resourceful, right? You figured out the deposit last night.” I gripped Noah’s medical chart so hard my fingernails nearly pierced the plastic cover. Carter left for work at 8:00 AM. Before he walked out, he transferred me $1,500, claiming it was for the three days of hospital food and miscellaneous expenses. I did the math in my head. Three days of three meals from the overpriced hospital cafeteria, plus Noah’s liquid diet, was at least $120 a day. That’s $360. Diapers, baby wipes, and a change of clothes from the gift shop would be another two or three hundred. The remaining thousand was a drop in the bucket against the medical bills. Even with this, he was applying his discount. At 10:00 AM, Rachel walked through the sliding doors. She was holding a basket of fresh fruit. She sat quietly next to me on the vinyl chairs, studying the EKG numbers through the glass. “Has his fever broken?” “It’s down to a hundred. A little better than last night.” “You haven’t slept a wink, have you? Your eyes are completely bloodshot.” I shook my head. I stared at the floor for a long time before finally finding the courage to speak. “Rachel… that question you asked me last night. How did you know my husband always discounts the money he gives me?” She paused, the small pairing knife halting mid-air as she peeled an apple. “Because my ex-husband did the exact same thing.” “He…?” “Everything was discounted. Rent money, grocery money, pediatrician copays. He always gave me exactly seventy percent. He forced me to figure out the remaining thirty percent on my own.” She handed me a slice of apple. “I was a stay-at-home mom with no income. Every single time a bill came, I had to swallow my pride and beg him to cover the gap. I thought he was just struggling at work. I lived like a monk for three years, feeling guilty buying myself a five-dollar coffee. Until one day…” She stopped and looked at me. “Until what?” I asked. “I was doing laundry. A receipt fell out of his jeans pocket. It was an annual subscription fee for a private online community. Two thousand, nine hundred and eighty dollars.” “He lectured me over buying a twenty-dollar bottle of face wash, but dropped three grand on an online course.” “What kind of course?” Rachel put down the knife, unlocked her phone, and scrolled through her photos. She handed it to me. It was a screenshot of a Discord community landing page. The background image was a man in a tailored suit holding a heavy bag of cash. Bold letters across the top read: The 70% Principle: Mastering Financial Dominance in Your Marriage. The subheadline beneath it made my stomach churn: Give her seventy percent. Keep your leverage. Control the household. I stared at the glowing screen for what felt like hours. “What exactly does this group teach?” “It teaches husbands how to strictly cap their household contributions at seventy percent. If preschool is $4,800, give her $3,000. If rent is $3,500, give her $2,500. No matter what the wife asks for, multiply it by 0.7. Then, feed her a generic excuse: the economy is bad, work bonuses got cut, business expenses are too high.” “The goal is to condition the wife. Make her used to scrambling to cover the difference. Make her afraid to ask for money. Make her feel ashamed for being a financial burden.” My fingertips started to go numb. “How many men are in this group?” “When my ex was in it, there were over a hundred. That was two years ago. There are probably way more now.” She swiped to the next photo, showing the community’s ‘About’ section. “Look closely at the profile picture of the founder.” The avatar was a photo taken from behind. A man in a dark blue button-down shirt, standing in front of floor-to-ceiling office windows. He had a slight slouch in his shoulders, his head tilted just a fraction to the right, his left hand shoved casually into his pocket. I knew that posture. I knew that shirt. I bought it for him. It was Carter. “This guy…” Rachel said softly, “goes by the handle Mr. Markdown. He posts a new module every week, and it’s always based on a real-life case study. How he applied the 70% rule, how his wife reacted, and how she eventually panicked and solved the deficit herself.” “He repackages your misery into a curriculum and sells it to hundreds of men. The yearly fee is $2,980. The lifetime VIP membership is $9,800.” I heard my own voice trembling. “Are you saying… I am his course material?” Rachel didn’t nod or shake her head. She just pocketed her phone, looked me dead in the eye, and said, “Sarah, I think you need to read it for yourself. See if his ‘case studies’ match your life.” 4 “Can you send me the link to that community?” She sent it immediately. Sitting in the echoing hospital corridor, I pulled out an old burner phone I kept in Noah’s diaper bag for emergencies. I created a fake email, registered a new profile, and paid the $2,980 entry fee using money Rachel advanced me. My hands shook as the loading wheel spun. The pinned post at the very top of the forum read: Mandatory Reading for New Members: The Core Philosophy of the 70% Principle. The Harder She Works, The Easier Your Life Gets. I scrolled down. The posts were arranged chronologically, dating back three years. The founder, Mr. Markdown, had a gold verified badge next to his name. His bio read: Married, father of one. The pioneer and preacher of the 70% lifestyle. I clicked on his very first post. Gentlemen, a quick tip for you today. The Engagement Ring Hack. The wife wanted a one-carat diamond. Market rate starts around ten grand. I found a wholesaler online, bought a fake moissanite stone, slapped it on a cheap gold-plated band. Total cost: under a hundred bucks. Looks identical to the naked eye. She’s been wearing it for three years, bragging to all her friends about how much I spoiled her. Boys, this is the power of information asymmetry. Below it were hundreds of replies. “Legendary.” “Bro, teach me your ways! My girl wants two carats, what do I do?” Mr. Markdown had replied: “A two-carat moissanite is literally forty dollars. Be bold, brother.” I swallowed the bile in my throat and scrolled down to the second post. Preschool Tuition Execution. Wife told me the kid’s preschool was $4,800. I transferred $3,000. My excuse: ‘The company missed its quarterly targets.’ She went silent for three minutes and didn’t push it. When I went to bed, her phone was still glowing under the covers. I peeked. She was on Etsy, looking up how to sell handmade bracelets… Gentlemen, are you taking notes? This is the essence of the 70% Principle: You give her a number that is just out of reach, and she will pave the rest of the road herself. Comments: “Brilliant! My wife started walking dogs on Rover yesterday. Made four hundred bucks this month.” Mr. Markdown replied: “A woman’s true potential is unlocked by desperation. If you provide 100%, she becomes lazy and useless.” I kept scrolling. Third post: The Rent Stress Test. Rent is $3,500. I sent $2,500. The excuse this time: ‘Client dinners ate up my budget.’ When she asked what we were going to do about the missing thousand, I didn’t answer directly. I just hit her with, ‘What do you think we should do?’ She shut down completely. The next day, she came home from the grocery store with nothing but discount ramen and wilted spinach. Boys, when your wife starts actively starving herself to save your money, the conditioning is working. My fingernails dug into the cheap plastic case of the burner phone. I scrolled to the very top of the feed. The newest post. Published twelve hours ago. It had a bright red tag that read: ULTIMATE STRESS TEST. Gentlemen, we hit a milestone tonight. At 1 AM, my son spiked a massive fever and had severe convulsions. Wife was in the ER panicking, needed a $5,000 deposit. As always, I stayed disciplined to the 70% rule. I transferred $3,000. First came the begging. Then the crying. Then the accusations. Finally, the submission. The whole cycle took about forty minutes. After I hung up on her, she didn’t call back. When I casually rolled into the hospital this morning, the deposit was miraculously paid. What does this prove, brothers? It proves the 70% Principle holds up even in life-or-death scenarios. A woman’s breaking point is always much lower than you think. You assume she’ll shatter, but she won’t. She will find a way. Because you’ve trained her to believe she has no other choice. The comment section was exploding. “All hail the master!” “Dude, you held the line while your kid was in the ER? That’s ice cold. I don’t think I have it in me.” Mr. Markdown’s response was pinned right beneath that comment. If you can’t do it, it’s because you’re weak. Remember this: Empathy is the enemy of financial dominance. If you show weakness and pay the difference today, tomorrow she’ll ask for more. You have to be ruthless. Was I worried about my kid seizing in the ER? Of course I was. But you never break the rules of the system. I slowly lowered the phone to my lap. People were talking in the hallway. Doctors were walking by. The machines in the ICU were beeping rhythmically. But I couldn’t hear any of it. Everything had gone completely, utterly silent.

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