I sponsored a poverty-stricken student for seven years. He finally graduated. He sent me a message saying he wanted to come to my city to “repay” me. On the day we met, he handed me a ten-page “repayment list” detailing every expense his entire family would need for the foreseeable future — and demanded that I marry him on the spot. I frowned and refused. He grabbed my wrist, looked me dead in the eye, and said: “Leah, you’ve been investing in me for seven years. I’m the interest you’ve earned. It’s time to collect.” Aaron graduated. He messaged me while I was stuck in a long cross-department meeting. My phone lit up with a SnapChat notification. It was him: “Leah, I graduated. I’m coming to your city in June. You’ve supported me for seven years — I have to find a way to repay you.” I stared at the screen and felt a quiet warmth in my chest. Seven years ago, I had joined a nonprofit program and was matched one-on-one with Aaron, who was in high school at the time. His family had very little money, but his grades were exceptional. For seven years, we kept in touch through emails and the occasional phone call. I watched him grow from a shy, awkward teenager into someone who earned a spot at a top university and made it all the way to graduation. It was one of the most genuinely satisfying things I’d ever done. I typed back: “Congratulations. Have you lined up a job yet? Let me know if you need any help.” Aaron replied quickly: “I’ve got a few offers, actually. I’d love to talk it over with you in person. Can I take you to dinner? I want to thank you face to face.” I didn’t think much of it and said yes. We agreed to meet at a nice restaurant I liked — upscale, the kind of place with white tablecloths and a wine list. I thought it might be a new experience for someone just out of college. A small way to welcome him into the next chapter. I arrived a few minutes early and waited. Then a young man in a crisp white shirt walked through the door. He was tall and lean, with something still a little collegiate about his face — but his eyes were more complicated than I’d expected. He walked straight toward me with a practiced smile. “Leah.” This was the first time we had ever actually met. I stood and smiled back. “Aaron. Congratulations on graduating.” He seemed a little nervous, his eyes drifting around the restaurant, taking everything in. I invited him to sit and handed him a menu. He waved it off. “You order, Leah. I’m fine with anything.” I ordered for us both. After the server left, a brief silence settled over the table. I broke it: “So — have you figured out what you want to do about the job offers?” He reached into the briefcase he’d brought and pulled out a thick stack of papers. He set them on the table deliberately, then slid them toward me. “Leah, before we get to the job stuff — I want to talk about something else first. About repaying you.” I was a little surprised. I looked at the papers. “What is this?” “It’s my repayment plan. Take a look.” His expression was completely serious, and beneath it, something almost expectant. Puzzled, I picked it up. The title on the first page read: “Aaron’s Family Financial Plan — 30-Year Budget Projection.” I went still. I turned to the second page, and what I found there left me genuinely speechless. It was a detailed, itemized list: “1. Parents’ retirement support: $10,000 per month for 20 years. Total: $2,400,000.” “2. Brother’s wedding costs and down payment on a home: $880,000.” “3. Renovation of family home in hometown: $500,000.” “4. Family emergency medical fund: $1,000,000.” The list went on for ten full pages. Every item had a specific figure attached. The grand total at the end was a number I had to count the digits of twice before I could believe it. I felt something close to absurdity rising in my chest. I looked up at Aaron. “What exactly is this?” My voice had gone cold. He didn’t seem to notice the shift in my tone. He leaned forward, his eyes bright and intent. “This is my plan for repaying you. You supported me for seven years, so you’re my investor. Now I’ve graduated, which means it’s time for your return. All you have to do is marry me. Then I’m yours, and my future is yours. And naturally, you’d be responsible for everything on that list.” He said it the way someone states a mathematical fact. Like it was simply obvious. I stared at him and felt like I was looking at a stranger. This was the student I had sponsored for seven years? The one with the glowing grades and the grateful emails? “Marry you?” I repeated the words slowly, because hearing them out loud made them somehow even more unreal. He nodded, then reached into his pocket and produced a small jewelry box. He opened it. Inside was a plain silver ring. “Leah, marry me. I bought this with my first paycheck from my internship. I know it’s not much right now, but I promise — someday I’ll replace it with the most expensive ring in the world.” I looked at the ring and felt nothing but a deep, uncomfortable revulsion. I took a slow breath and worked to keep my voice even. “Aaron, I think there’s been a serious misunderstanding. I supported you because I believed in giving back — not because I was making an investment. I don’t want anything from you. And I am absolutely not going to marry you.” I slid the ridiculous list back across the table toward him. “Your life is yours to build. That’s something you do with your own effort, not by expecting someone else to fund it.” The expression on Aaron’s face changed. The smile dropped. In its place was something stubborn and genuinely confused. “Leah, how can you say that?” He shoved back from the table and stood up, grabbing my wrist with a grip that was startling in its force. A few heads in the restaurant turned toward us. I pulled against his hand. “Aaron. Let go of me.” He didn’t. He held tighter, and he looked at me like he had every right to. “Leah, you’ve been investing in me for seven years. I’m the interest you’ve earned. It’s time to collect.” His voice was low, but each word landed with the weight of a fist. A wave of nausea moved through me. Seven years of genuine care — and in his mind, it had always been a transaction with a price tag. My patience was gone. I wrenched my arm free, grabbed the “repayment list” off the table, and threw it directly at his face. Pages scattered across the floor. “Let me be very clear. I am not your investor. You are not my return on investment. Take your disgusting logic, and stay the hell away from me.” I picked up my bag and walked out. He said nothing as I left. Outside, the cold air hit my face. I barely felt it. There was nothing in my chest but a slow, burning fury. I felt like a complete fool.

I got home and dropped onto the couch, my thoughts a total mess. Aaron’s face — so calm, so entitled — kept replaying in my head. And that line: I’m the interest you’ve earned. I was furious. But underneath the anger was something worse: the hollow, aching feeling of being betrayed. I picked up my phone to block him on everything. Before I could, his messages started coming in. One after another, rapid-fire. “Why are you upset? What did I say wrong?” “If we get married, I give you everything I am — you handle our finances. Isn’t that fair?” “Is it because you think I’m poor? That you look down on my family?” “You’re a successful woman. Why can’t you accept a man who loves you and wants to give you everything?” “You supported me for seven years. Doesn’t that mean you had feelings for me all along? Now I’m here — why are you turning me away?” My hands were shaking by the time I finished reading. I couldn’t process it. He had a college degree. He had spent four years in higher education. And somehow he’d arrived at this worldview — this grotesque, shameless entitlement — and thought it made perfect sense. I didn’t respond. I blocked his SnapChat, his number, everything. I thought that would be the end of it. I was wrong. I had no idea what he was capable of. The next morning, I pulled up outside my office building and spotted a familiar figure near the entrance. Aaron was standing at the front door in the same white shirt, holding a cheap bouquet of roses, drawing stares from people heading in for the day. When he saw my car, he rushed toward it. I locked the doors and looked at him through the window. He knocked on the glass, his expression a carefully arranged mix of hurt and devotion. “Leah, why did you block me? Are you seriously that upset?” “I’m not giving up. I know you have feelings for me. I know it.” I had absolutely nothing to say to him. I drove down into the parking garage. By the time I reached my office, I could tell from the looks people were giving me that he’d been out there a while. A minute after I sat down, the front desk called. “Ms. Leah?” The receptionist sounded uncomfortable. “There’s a man downstairs — an Aaron? He says he’s your fiancé and he’s insisting on coming up.” “My fiancé.” I almost laughed out loud. “Tell him you’ve never seen me before. And if he keeps this up, call security and then the police.” I kept my voice flat and hung up. I sat at my desk and stared at my screen and got absolutely nothing done. At lunch I stayed in, had my assistant bring me something. I figured Aaron would get bored when no one engaged with him and eventually leave. He didn’t leave. That afternoon, my assistant knocked on my door, looking genuinely concerned. “Ms. Leah — you might want to come downstairs. The man from this morning… he’s gotten into some kind of confrontation in the lobby.” I got up and took the elevator down. Aaron was in the middle of the lobby, arguing with the head of building security. The roses he’d been carrying were now thoroughly crushed, but he was still clutching them. “Who gave you the right to keep me out? I’m here to pick up my fiancée after work! You’re interfering with our plans — do you have any idea what you’re doing?” There were people everywhere — our employees, people from other companies in the building. Everyone was watching. When Aaron saw me step out of the elevator, his face lit up and he broke away from the security guard. “Leah! You came down! They wouldn’t let me up to find you!” The way he said my name — familiar, affectionate, like we were already something — made my skin crawl. I stopped walking and looked at him without any warmth at all. “Aaron. What do you think you’re doing?” He held up the ruined flowers with an expression of wounded sincerity. “I’m here to walk you out. We agreed — I’m picking you up every day from now on, remember?” The murmuring around us got louder. I caught pieces of it — fiancé, cougar, toyboy. My face burned. I turned to the security team leader. “I don’t know this person. He has been disrupting normal business operations on this property. Please remove him immediately. If he resists, call the police.” The security team moved in to escort Aaron out. Aaron hadn’t expected me to be this direct. He started struggling, his voice rising. “Leah! You heartless woman! You led me on! You called me all the way out here and now you’re throwing me away like I’m nothing?” “You think I’m still that naive kid from seven years ago? I’m telling you — it’s not going to be that easy!” The things coming out of his mouth got uglier. I’d seen enough. I nodded at the security team leader. It took a few of them, but they got Aaron moving toward the exit. In the last moment before they pulled him through the doors, he turned back and looked at me. His eyes were full of poison. He said each word like he was carving it into stone. “Leah. You are going to regret this. If I don’t get to be happy — neither do you.” That threat lodged in my chest like a splinter. I knew right then that this was nowhere near over.

Aaron’s threat turned out to be a promise. That same night, unknown numbers started calling my phone. Texts full of insults and threats began flooding in. Aaron’s work, obviously. But I hadn’t yet understood how far he was willing to go. The next morning, a post appeared on a popular online forum. The title read: A Cry for Justice: Seven Years of Sacrifice, and a Poor Scholar Discarded Like Trash by a Wealthy Woman Who Used Him for Sport. The account that posted it claimed to be a “fellow villager” of Aaron’s. The writing was feverish and self-righteous — a modern retelling of the fable about the farmer and the snake. In this version, I was the villain: a bored, wealthy executive who had preyed on a young man’s emotions. Aaron was the tragic hero — lured in by my money and false affection, strung along for seven years with promises, then tossed aside the moment I grew tired of him. The post claimed that under the guise of charity, I had spent seven years “emotionally grooming” him. That I had fed him ideas about us being together after he graduated. That when he finally showed up, full of hope, I had coldly rejected him because I’d already found my next target. Photos were attached. A few from my Instagram — carefully selected to make me look flashy and superficial. And screenshots of our messages, cropped to suggest something they weren’t. For example: his message, “Leah, I’ve been missing you,” and my politely neutral reply, “Study hard. Take care of yourself.” Presented as evidence of a secret romantic relationship. Most damaging of all — he had included my company’s name and my job title. The post went viral within hours. It hit every nerve: resentment of wealth, class conflict, emotional exploitation, a struggling young man crushed by someone with power over him. Every outrage button got pushed at once. The comment section became an open season on me. “This Leah person is disgusting. She treated a real person’s feelings like a toy.” “Just because you’re rich doesn’t mean you get to ruin someone’s life.” “Seven years. Seven years of that poor guy’s life. I can’t.” “Find out who she is. Let her feel what it’s like.” They did find out who I was. My phone number, my home address, everything — exposed and spread around within the day. My phone became unusable. Calls poured in constantly — harassment, threats, worse. The company was hit too. The PR line rang nonstop. The official Instagram account was buried in demands to fire me. The speed at which it escalated was something I had not been prepared for. The next morning, the CEO called me into his office. He set a printed media report on the desk in front of me. His face was tight. “Leah, this situation has done serious damage to the company’s reputation. The board has decided it’s best if you take a temporary leave of absence. Go home, take some time.” I looked at him. “Mr. Brown, this is defamation. Every word of it is a lie. I—” He raised a hand to stop me. “I’m not going to get into what’s true and what isn’t. What I know is that our stock price has already started reacting. Leah, handle your personal situation. Don’t let it become our problem any further.” Polite words. But the message was unmistakable. The company didn’t care about the truth. They cared about managing the story. And I was the piece being sacrificed to do that. I walked out of the CEO’s office with my suspension notice in hand. Down every hallway, people moved out of my path or found reasons to look the other way. Even the colleagues I’d always been friendly with acted like they didn’t know me. I went back to my office and packed up my things. Cyberbullying. Suspended from work. Abandoned by people I’d considered colleagues. Aaron had gotten exactly what he wanted. He’d used the most despicable tools available to him and dragged me down into chaos — and it had worked. I sat alone in my emptied office and stared out the window. Rage. Humiliation. Helplessness. Everything at once. It was the first time in my life I clearly understood: when someone has no floor to how low they’ll go, reason and restraint are weapons you can’t use. They don’t register as anything except weakness. My patience had run out. My goodwill had run out. And defending myself through the proper channels — the police, the lawyers — I knew what that would get me. A cyberbullying case is nearly impossible to move quickly. A cease-and-desist letter is just paper. Aaron was like a leech that had already latched on. You couldn’t fight him head-on without making things worse. So I stopped thinking about defense. I started thinking about something else. A plan began to take shape. I picked up my secondary phone and found Aaron’s contact. For the first time since my suspension, I reached out to him.

He picked up. His voice was warm with barely contained gloating. “Leah. What made you call? Finally come to your senses?” I didn’t take the bait. I let my voice go soft, tired, fragile. “Aaron. I got suspended.” Silence on the other end. Then a laugh he didn’t quite manage to suppress. “Is that so? What a shame. I did warn you not to push me.” “You win,” I said. “I can’t fight you. I give up.” Aaron was clearly enjoying every second of this. He took his time. “You’re surrendering now? A little late for that, isn’t it? Do you think your suspension makes up for what you put me through?” I let him have it. “I know. I know I was wrong. Aaron — can we meet? I want to apologize in person.” “Apologize?” He gave a short, cold laugh. “If apologies were enough, what would we need consequences for?” “I really mean it this time,” I said. I let a hint of tears into my voice. “Things online have gotten so big. My parents heard about everything. They were furious with me. They said I had no right to treat you the way I did.” I paused. “They want to meet you.” That was the bait. I felt the shift in him the moment the silence changed. “Your parents want to meet me?” “Yes.” I kept it vague, softened. “They think that… given everything that’s happened, maybe it makes sense to just — to go about this the way you wanted. They said they’d like to visit your family first. To pay their respects to your parents, make things official. Give everyone back home something to celebrate.” Everything I had said was precisely calibrated to land where I knew it would — his vanity and his family’s greed. Bringing home a wealthy city girl. Making it official in front of the whole village. That was Aaron’s dream of triumph, and I had just handed it to him. I could hear his breathing change on the other end of the line. “Really? Leah, you’re not messing with me?” “Why would I mess with you?” I let a tremor into my voice. “I’ve lost my job. My reputation is in pieces. If I don’t have you, what do I have left?” That did it. Every last shred of suspicion dissolved. “Okay! Yes! When are you coming? I’ll call my parents right now — they’ll want to get ready. We’ll give you the best welcome we possibly can!” “Next weekend,” I said. “I need a little time to put together some gifts.” “Perfect! I’ll be waiting! Leah — once you marry me, I promise I will spend my whole life making it up to you!” I ended the call. The fragile, defeated version of me I had been performing vanished the instant I lowered the phone. What was left was something quiet and very cold. Aaron. You wanted to see me ruined. Then I’m going to let you have your moment at the very top — before I pull the floor out from under you. I spent the next few days getting everything into position. First, I contacted a crisis communications firm with a strong on-the-ground execution team. I laid out the plan. They assessed it and confirmed it was workable. Then I met with my personal attorney and went through every legal angle, making sure every step I was about to take was clean. He drafted a formal legal notice and prepared a complete defamation lawsuit against Aaron — everything documented and ready to file. I also had my assistant put together the “gifts.” I bought dozens of the latest tablets to give out to the villagers as welcome presents. When everything was ready, I drove out to Aaron’s hometown on Saturday as planned, in the red sports car that had been specifically called out in his original post. It was a rural village a couple of hours out. By the time I reached the entrance to the village, the welcome party was already waiting. Aaron was in a brand-new suit, hair slicked back like a groom. His parents stood beside him — farmers who looked, in that moment, nearly incandescent with excitement and pride. The whole village had turned out to watch. When I stepped out of the car, Aaron moved immediately toward me, reaching for my hand. I stepped aside smoothly and handed him my keys instead. “Aaron — I brought some things for everyone in the village. They’re in the trunk. Can you have someone help hand them out?” He looked in the trunk, and his eyes went wide at the rows of tablets. “Leah, you didn’t have to do all this!” The gifts moved through the crowd quickly. The villagers lit up. Aaron’s parents held my hands and called me their dear daughter-in-law. Out in the courtyard, dozens of round tables had been set up. Aaron’s family’s modest two-story house had been strung with decorations for the occasion. Aaron and his father walked me around, introducing me to everyone with barely restrained pride. “This is my son’s future wife — she runs her own company in the city!” “Our Aaron is set for life now!” I smiled graciously through all of it and let them have their performance. The food came out. The drinks flowed. The mood rose to a full celebration. Then Aaron’s father climbed up onto a small raised platform that had been set up in the middle of the courtyard, took the microphone, and beamed out at the crowd. I knew exactly what was coming.

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My boyfriend Leon Finch was broke and cheating on me. I’d had enough. “You can’t even afford a house,” I snapped. “We’re done, you loser!” Leon blinked, then looked down. His voice was calm. “Okay.” I was still surprised by how easily he agreed when the comments suddenly appeared: [Niya is so stupid. Eve Anderson barely had to lift a finger and she’s already rushing to break up with Leon. Does she have any idea he’s actually the heir to a billion-dollar fortune?] [She dumps Leon, and the next day his biological parents find him and bring him home to inherit the family empire. She’s going to regret this so much.] [When Niya finds out she’s pregnant and tries to use the baby to force Leon into marrying her, she doesn’t even get to see his face before she gets hit by a car and dies. LOL.] I am Niya. And it turns out Leon wasn’t cheating. He’d been set up. Someone was deliberately trying to tear us apart. Leon looked at me, exhausted and at his wit’s end. “What do you want from me?” “What do I want?” I shot back, my voice cracking with rage. “I should be the one asking you that!” “I’ve stood by you through everything, and this is what you do behind my back. Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t wronged me?!” Leon stared at me with that infuriating expression, like I was throwing a tantrum over nothing. “I’m sorry, what exactly did I do behind your back?” “What did you do?” I laughed bitterly, grabbed his jacket off the chair, and dug into the pocket. I pulled out a red lace thong and threw it at his feet. “You better tell me who this belongs to, or we are not done here!” Leon looked down at it for a moment, then said with a completely straight face, “It’s not mine. I don’t have that kind of thing.” “…Are you serious right now?!” [Leon actually thought Niya was accusing him of wearing women’s underwear. It didn’t even occur to him that she thought he was cheating. His brain works in a completely different way.] [Leon is totally devoted to her. He genuinely didn’t think about cheating at all.] [That’s not the point though, is it? The point is Niya just blurted everything out. Can they even break up smoothly now?] Leon thought for a few seconds, and then it finally clicked. His expression shifted to something urgent. “I have no idea where that came from.” “I haven’t been near any other woman today. There’s no way I could have…” And then he slowed down. His eyes moved to me, and something changed in them. Suspicion. Cold distance. “I know things have been hard on you. If you want to break up, I won’t beg you to stay. But there’s no need to… do something like this.” It took me a second to understand what he was implying. I stared at him. “Do something like what?” Was he seriously suggesting I planted that underwear in his pocket and then pretended to find it? Leon closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were completely empty. “You’re young and pretty. You deserve better options. Let’s break up.” My eyes went wide. “What did you just say?” Leon looked away. His voice was steady. “Let’s break up.” My hand flew up before I could think. The slap landed hard across his face. I regretted it the second it happened. I opened my mouth to apologize, but Leon had already turned and walked away, his face completely unreadable. I was still burning with anger. “Fine! If you want to break up, then we’re done!” Leon’s steps faltered for just a moment. Then he walked faster, reached the front door, and slammed it shut behind him. I stared at the closed door. My nose stung. The tears came before I could stop them. [I thought Eve’s plan had failed, but somehow it all worked out in the end. What a twist!] [I mean, I kind of feel like what Eve did was wrong. Niya and Leon were happy together. She didn’t have to destroy that just to take his place.] [Are you forgetting that Eve was Leon’s actual fiancée? If Leon hadn’t been switched at birth, they would have been together all along.] [And Niya spent her last life making everyone miserable once she got pregnant with Leon’s baby. She went out of her way to provoke and humiliate Eve at every turn. Eve came back and got revenge. Seems fair to me.] Fine. It’s done. So what? I’m not going to fall apart over this.

That’s what I told myself. But it still hurt like hell. I went back to the bedroom and buried my face in the pillow and sobbed until I couldn’t breathe. I don’t know how long I cried. Then I heard the front door open. I stopped crying instantly and scrambled off the bed. I was halfway to the door before I made myself stop. Him coming back didn’t mean he was coming back to make up. He could just as easily be here to grab his things. The thought made it worse. I took a slow breath and tried to hold myself together. I turned to go back to the room. The bedroom door swung open from the other side. Leon stood in the doorway, looking unhappy and a little lost in that way that only made him more attractive. I forgot, for a second, to be heartbroken. Leon blinked. Then he held out a pizza box and two cups of coffee. “Eat something first. Then we can talk.” [I actually thought Leon was about to walk out for good. Turns out he just went downstairs, smoked a few cigarettes, and talked himself down.] [Leon has always been the responsible type. Niya doesn’t want to break up, and even if he’s upset with her right now, he’s not going to force the issue.] [It doesn’t matter. They’ll break up eventually.] I did my best to ignore the flood of spiteful comments and wiped my nose. “Okay.” I followed Leon into the living room. I sat down at the table and stared at nothing. He unpacked the food carefully, setting everything out. I looked up. “You’re not eating?” “Already ate,” Leon said flatly. I didn’t call him on the lie. I just put my head down and ate. Leon always reached for cigarettes when he was stressed. His hand found the pack, then stopped. He pushed it away. “You can smoke if you want,” I said. I hated the smell, which was why he never smoked in front of me. I used to take that for granted. I didn’t dare take it for granted anymore. “Don’t want to,” Leon said coldly. Fine. I didn’t push it. After a while, Leon spoke again, his voice slower, like he was thinking out loud. “I’ve been looking at the numbers. What I have right now is barely enough for a down payment on a small place.” “It wouldn’t be anything fancy. Old building, small square footage. But if you don’t mind, we could start there and trade up later.” I stopped chewing. Leon gave me a small, crooked smile. “Didn’t you always say the biggest dream of your life was to have a real home? Now you’re turning your nose up at square footage?” My throat tightened. Every wall I’d built up while he was gone came crashing down at once, and I burst into tears. Leon panicked immediately. “Okay, forget the small place, we’ll wait until we can afford something bigger—” That only made it worse. I cried harder. He looked more helpless by the second. I gave up trying to hold it together and threw my arms around him, crying against his chest. Leon held me tight and kept talking in a low, steady voice, over and over, patient in a way that broke me even more. “Hey. Don’t cry. We’re going to have that big house someday. I promise.” [She’s not completely unsympathetic, I guess. The reason she’s so fixated on having a home probably has everything to do with her childhood.] [Her sad backstory doesn’t justify the way she treated Leon and Eve. Let’s not make excuses for her.] [Exactly. She might seem pitiful right now, but the second a richer guy shows up, she’ll drop Leon without a second thought.]

When I was three, my parents separated. They both moved on quickly and started new families. For a while, I lived with my grandmother, and life was steady enough. But after she passed, I spent years being shuffled between relatives, sleeping in spare rooms and corners of houses that weren’t mine, constantly aware of how much I owed people just for being tolerated. That was my life, until I graduated college and met Leon. For the first time, things felt stable. I’d told him more than once that all I wanted, more than anything in the world, was a place that was truly mine. Buying a home in this city on two regular salaries wasn’t just difficult. It was almost impossible. I knew that. Leon knew that. I’ll admit that lately I’d let the housing thing consume me. But I never once thought about breaking up with Leon over it. I genuinely believed he had cheated on me. That’s why I said what I said. I was furious, and I reacted. And for the record — I don’t hold any bitterness toward the relatives who took me in. They weren’t my parents. They didn’t have to help me. That they did was already more than I had any right to expect. I cried for a long time before Leon finally calmed me down. He kissed my forehead gently and made a quiet promise. “Trust me. We’re going to have that house one day.” I pressed my face against his chest. “Yeah.” Leon pulled back just far enough to look at me, and then, without any warning, he kissed me. Things escalated quickly. We ended up in bed, and just before things went too far, his phone went off. We both froze. Leon grabbed it and checked the screen. A small frown crossed his face. “Who is it?” I asked. “My boss,” Leon said, sounding pained. “Probably another dinner thing.” I wasn’t happy about it either, but I gave him a nudge. “He doesn’t do this for just anyone. Go.” Leon’s situation with his adoptive parents had always been complicated. He’d been pushed out into the workforce before he even finished high school, expected to bring in money for the family. They’d taken from him for years. It wasn’t until he and I got together that he finally managed to put some distance between himself and their constant demands. Leon was sharp and a fast learner, but without the right credentials or connections, he’d been stuck. His current boss had built something from nothing, and he was willing to invest in Leon. The catch was late-night dinners and networking that bled into personal time. Leon rarely turned those down. I understood, and I supported it. He bit my shoulder lightly in frustration. “I’m coming back to deal with you later.” I kicked him in the shin. Leon laughed under his breath, pulled his clothes on fast, and was already on the phone with his boss as he walked out the door. After he left, it hit me. If Leon really is the heir to a billion-dollar empire, there’s no reason for him to keep playing nice with a small-time boss. But then again — I should probably act the same way I always have. If I suddenly start behaving differently, it’ll raise questions. Then another thought hit me. The comments mentioned I’d try to use a pregnancy to force Leon’s hand. Which meant I was probably already pregnant. I got dressed, walked to the pharmacy near our building, and bought three different brands of pregnancy tests. I used two of them. Both came back with two clear lines. So it was real. But would Leon’s parents accept me? If they didn’t, would he choose me anyway? And if he did, would he actually be in a position to fight them on it? I had no way of knowing. One step at a time. I was about to go to bed when the comments exploded. [Wait — Leon’s father is there too?! Is tonight actually the night Leon gets brought back into the family?] [It seems like it! Niya literally just broke up with him earlier and now — wait, didn’t they make up already? Was she supposed to stay broken up with him?] [Doesn’t matter. Leon’s already seen her true colors. In his heart, he’s probably already done with her.] Something cold settled in my chest.

I tried to reach Leon every way I could. Nothing went through. The comments went dark too. I paced the apartment in circles, wound tight with anxiety, and finally gave up and sat on the floor with my arms wrapped around myself, crying quietly. What was the worst case here? The worst case was exactly what the comments said. He’d decide I was shallow and materialistic, and cut me off completely. It wasn’t like he was going to have me killed. So why did it feel so terrifying? But then — what about the baby? Have it in secret and let the child spend their whole life as someone Leon never acknowledges? Or use the pregnancy to pressure him into paying me off? Some kind of deal where I disappear in exchange for enough money to last a lifetime? I didn’t think I could do either of those things. Which only left one option. Take care of it myself. Even though I’d already prepared myself for the worst, I couldn’t bring myself to act immediately. There was still some small part of me holding on to hope. So I waited. I told myself I was giving Leon time to finish whatever was happening with his family before reaching out. He never reached out. What I got instead was the news that Leon had hurt someone during a blackout and was facing serious time. His boss called me. He said Leon was looking at around ten years. He told me he felt terrible, and that he was giving me fifty thousand dollars as compensation. He said he hoped I’d wait for Leon. But the way he said it, the pauses, the careful phrasing — he was clearly telling me to take the money and go. I wasn’t planning to play along. Then the comments appeared: [If Niya’s smart, she takes the money and disappears. Otherwise Eve is not going to let this go.] [What can Eve actually do though? She can’t exactly have Niya killed.] [You seriously think the car accident in the original story was an accident? Ha.] Eve had money and power. What was I supposed to do? I took the fifty thousand and I left. I was on my way back to my hometown when something nagged at me. Something felt off. Eve had been through this all before. She knew about the baby. There was no reason she’d chase me out and leave the pregnancy untouched. It didn’t take long to figure out. Under normal circumstances, a woman like me — selfish, materialistic, no real attachment — would never keep the baby after Leon was arrested. Nobody would have to pressure me. I’d go straight to the clinic on my own. So if I didn’t do it voluntarily, what came next was probably a very carefully arranged accident. One that looked like bad luck. Fatal for two. I didn’t have a choice. If I wanted to survive, I had to do exactly what Eve expected. I had to be the woman they thought I was, and I had to end the pregnancy myself. I made the appointment. The morning of the procedure, I was sitting outside the operating room waiting to be called in when I felt it. A pressure. Like something dangerous pointed directly at me. I looked up. Leon was walking toward me. His face was dark. His eyes were red. How was he here? I scrambled to my feet, backing away without thinking. He kept coming, closing the distance, his voice shaking with controlled fury. “Niya. You couldn’t wait to take the money and run. And now you’re here to get rid of my child. Do you have even a shred of conscience left?” My back hit the wall. I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. I wanted to explain. I didn’t know where to start. [Eve is a genius. She engineered the whole thing — got Niya to take the money, run, and then show up here — so even if Leon still had feelings for her, there’s no coming back from this. Truly brutal.] [Exactly. Making Leon see her “true self” is so much better than anything physical. No laws broken, and Niya doesn’t become some tragic memory he can never get over.] — I thought Leon would be too angry to stop the procedure. He didn’t stop it. He reversed it. He said he wanted the baby born. Just not me. “Have the baby. I’ll give you ten million dollars. After that, we’re strangers.” I forced my face into something that looked like a smile and blinked the tears back. “Sure.” Ten million dollars. At my salary, I’d be working sixty years straight without spending a cent to save that much. Only a fool would say no. Leon looked angrier, his chest rising and falling hard. But he didn’t blow up.

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I’d worked for the Hainard family for ten years as their all-around house manager, pulling in fifty thousand a month. The first thing Laurie Hainard’s fiancée did after walking through the door — Laurie being the heir to the Hainard Group — was put me in my place. “A housekeeper making fifty grand? What did you do, put a spell on these people?” “Starting today, your salary drops to three thousand. You handle cleaning only. Everything else is none of your business.” The Hainard family said nothing. They just let her go at me. I didn’t argue. I smiled and signed the pay cut agreement. A few days later, the Hainard household completely fell apart. Laurie’s mother, Mrs. Hainard, had a depressive episode without my bedtime aromatherapy sessions and trashed the living room. Laurie’s father, Mr. Hainard, skipped the specialized meal plan I’d been managing for his gout and ended up in the emergency room. Laurie’s international video conference fell apart without me doing live interpretation, and he tanked a deal worth tens of millions. His fiancée came at me, furious. “Why did you stop doing your job?!” I held up the agreement. “A three-thousand-dollar cleaner clocks out when the floors are done.”

A stack of financial statements hit the table with a dull thud. “Brina, I went through the Hainard family’s old accounts. You’re a housekeeper pulling fifty thousand a month. Do you think that makes any sense from a market standpoint?” I looked up. Laurie’s fiancée, Anita Jones, stood with her arms crossed, eyes fixed on me. Rumor had it she had a master’s from Cambridge and was a high-level finance executive. I hadn’t expected her first move in the Hainard household to be going after me. “Miss Anita, my salary was set ten years ago by Laurie’s grandfather himself. That fifty thousand covers everything I do as a full-service house manager.” I kept my voice even. “Full-service house manager.” Anita let out a sharp laugh. “You mean a fancy maid. Pouring water, sweeping floors, cooking meals. You could hire someone off the street for three thousand and get the same thing. So what exactly justifies fifty?” I didn’t respond to her. I turned to Laurie instead. “Laurie, is this what you want too?” Laurie locked his phone screen and looked away. “Brina, Anita and I are getting married next month. She’ll be the lady of this house, and it makes sense for her to take over managing things. The business hasn’t been doing great lately and the household expenses are high. I hope you can be understanding.” Mrs. Hainard blew a bit of powder off her nails, unhurried. “That’s right, Brina. You’ve been with us for ten years. We’ve always thought of you as family. Let’s not make this about money. You’re a woman on your own out there — fifty thousand really is too much.” Mr. Hainard set down his coffee cup. “Brina, young people need to be grateful. The Hainard family gave you a roof over your head. You can’t just think about the paycheck. Three thousand isn’t bad — there are plenty of college graduates out there who don’t even make that.” I looked at the people I’d spent ten years serving. Something cold settled in my chest. Henry Hainard had only been gone six months. And they were already this eager to push me out. “Fine.” I nodded. Anita blinked. She hadn’t expected me to agree so easily. She’d had a whole speech ready. Every sharp word stuck in her throat. “Bring me the pay cut agreement. I’ll sign it.” Anita pulled out a document. “Read it carefully. Starting today, your salary is three thousand. You handle cleaning only. Anything else is not your concern.” I picked up the pen and signed without hesitation. Laurie’s brow furrowed slightly. “Brina, Anita has a background in finance. She’s applying forward-thinking principles to optimize how this household runs.” “Don’t be resistant about it.” I almost laughed. “Laurie, so ‘forward-thinking’ means paying someone three thousand to do the work worth fifty?” “That’s a distortion!” Laurie’s voice rose. “Anita calls it cost optimization. You were making fifty thousand because no one in this house knew enough to keep tabs on you. You exploited that.” I didn’t reply. I turned to look at Mr. Hainard instead. Gout had drained the color from his face. “Brina, don’t get worked up.” Mr. Hainard spoke first. “Laurie has an international video conference tonight. There’s a financing deal worth tens of millions on the line.” “Get the interpretation done first. We can sort out the rest later.” I pointed to the antique clock on the wall. “Mr. Hainard, it’s six o’clock.” “The going rate for live interpretation is three thousand an hour. If you need it on short notice, that requires a separate contract.”

Anita gave a cold laugh. “It’s just interpretation. You think the world stops without you?” “I got Laurie the latest AI interpretation earpiece.” “The underlying logic runs circles around someone like you, and it doesn’t come with attitude.” I nodded, untied my apron, folded it neatly, and set it on the table. “Then I wish you great success with your AI.” I turned and walked toward the door. Mrs. Hainard was holding a cup of soup that had gone completely cold. “Brina, you’re really just going to leave like that?” “You’ve given ten years to this family. We’ve never treated you badly. Just bend a little, and I’ll have Anita bump your pay up to four thousand.” I stopped and turned around. “Ma’am, four thousand won’t cover my bedtime aromatherapy.” Mrs. Hainard’s expression went stiff. “Ungrateful girl.” Anita called after me loudly. “Let her go! We’ve been spoiling her!” “Tomorrow I’ll go hire three cleaners. Together they won’t even cost five thousand, and they’ll be more thorough than she ever was!” I pushed open the front door and walked slowly back to the small studio I rented on the street behind the Hainard estate. It was the first time in ten years I’d gotten off work at six in the evening. No medicinal broths to simmer. No business documents to translate. No endless complaints from Mrs. Hainard. I boiled myself a simple bowl of pasta, curled up on the couch, and turned on the TV. My phone buzzed constantly. It was the Hainard family’s group chat on WhatsApp. Anita was in there issuing orders. “@everyone Starting today, the household runs on a KPI check-in system.” “Mr. Hainard’s medication schedule and Mrs. Hainard’s sleep cycle will both be tracked in spreadsheets.” “We are building a high-performance health optimization loop!” I stared at the wall of corporate-speak and muted the chat. After dinner, I took a hot shower and lay down in bed. As I closed my eyes, I thought back to ten years ago. My grandmother was lying in the ICU. Laurie’s grandfather, Henry Hainard, pressed a bank card into my hand. “Take this, girl. Get her the help she needs. If you ever make something of yourself, look after the Hainard family for ten years in return.” Tomorrow would be the last day of that ten-year promise. I rolled over and fell into a deep sleep. The next morning at seven, I was standing in the Hainard kitchen right on time. The cheap cook Anita had hired was scrambling around, barely keeping up with the prep work. Mr. Hainard took one bite of what was on his plate and immediately spat it out. “What is this slop?” Anita shuffled downstairs in her slippers. “Mr. Hainard, this is the clean-eating meal plan I ordered for you. It’s designed for optimal health.” Mr. Hainard’s face went dark. “I have gout! You’re serving me seafood salad?” Anita froze, then whipped around to glare at me as I wiped down the counter. “Brina! Did you do this on purpose?!” “Mr. Hainard has gout — why didn’t you tell anyone when you handed things off? What are you playing at?” I kept wiping the table without looking up. “Miss Anita, the agreement is pretty clear. I’m here as a cleaner now.” “Three thousand covers wiping tables and sweeping floors.” “A client’s medical history, dietary restrictions, and health management — that falls under a private nutritionist or a senior house manager.” “You wanted a flat management structure. That means each role does its own job.” Anita sputtered, her face red with frustration. “Don’t give me that! How do you think this worked before? Mr. Hainard ate seafood before and nothing happened!” I straightened up. “Before, I was making fifty thousand. Mr. Hainard’s gout was managed through a custom meal plan I developed myself.” “Now that my pay has been cut, that meal plan is my personal work product. It’s not part of a three-thousand-dollar cleaning contract.” Anita’s jaw tightened. “When you were making fifty thousand, everything in this house belonged to the Hainard family!” “Taking that plan with you is theft of company assets!” I looked at her coolly. “Miss Anita, if you’d like to treat this as a business dispute, you’re welcome to file a lawsuit.” “Would you like me to get you the number for the Hainard Group’s legal department?”

Laurie came downstairs with dark circles under his eyes. He looked worn out. His tie was crooked. “That’s enough.” He pressed his fingers to his temple. “Laurie, how did the international call go last night?” Anita hurried over to him. “Did the AI earpiece knock it out of the park?” Laurie’s expression said everything. “That piece of junk translated ‘core technology’ as ‘apple core.’” “The guys on the other end thought we were joking. They cut the call.” Anita’s smile froze. “How is that possible? I paid two thousand for the latest model.” She scrambled for an excuse. “It must still be in the deep learning phase. You have to feed it more data.” “And the other party probably had a heavy accent. That would throw off the algorithm.” Laurie waved her off, irritated. “Fine. The deal’s dead. Move on.” “As long as we still have the exclusive license to Brillano’s core algorithm, one lost project isn’t going to sink us.” Mrs. Hainard walked in, hair a mess. Her eyes were sunken, red all the way through. Without my aromatherapy session, she clearly hadn’t slept a wink. “Brina, go light my calming diffuser.” She said it out of pure habit. I picked up the mop and started on the floor. “Ma’am, managing the diffuser is part of house management services.” “I’m a cleaner now. Cleaners handle floors.” Mrs. Hainard’s temper snapped. “How dare you talk back to me! I’m paying you!” Anita quickly stepped in and grabbed her arm. “Mrs. Hainard, don’t beg her. Those aromatherapy tricks of hers are all smoke and mirrors.” “I brought you high-dose melatonin from abroad. It’s far more scientific than anything she’s been doing.” Mrs. Hainard hesitated. “Does it actually work? My head is pounding.” “Absolutely. It goes straight to the central nervous system and rebuilds your sleep cycle.” Anita pressed a bottle of pills into Mrs. Hainard’s hand. By noon, I’d finished mopping the entire ground floor. I rinsed out the mop and checked the time. “Twelve o’clock. I’m on my lunch break.” I untied my apron and headed for the door. Laurie stepped in front of me. “Brina, stop making a scene.” He kept his voice low. “There’s an important dinner in a few days. Anita’s parents are coming to talk about the wedding and a potential investment.” “This is tied to the Hainard Group’s entire strategy for next year.” “I need you to handle the cooking. Same standards as always. You know what to do.” I looked at him standing there like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Laurie, that’s a separate rate.” “You’ve got your head stuck in your wallet!” Laurie snapped. “You ate at this table for ten years. Now I’m asking you to cook one dinner and you’re going to be difficult about it?” I ignored him, stepped around him, and pushed open the door. Anita gave a short, cold laugh and pulled out a stack of invoices. “Laurie, don’t bother asking her.” “I went through the household accounts today and found something interesting.” She dropped the stack on the table. “Brina, you’re not going anywhere until we sort this out.”

The invoices scattered across the table. Anita tapped one with the toe of her shoe. “Brina, your monthly budget for groceries was twenty thousand.” “But I checked the market prices for the premium sea cucumber and wild abalone you used to buy.” Her eyes were sharp with accusation. “Twenty thousand wouldn’t even cover a fraction of those ingredients.” “Were you buying fakes and pocketing the difference?” The room went silent. Mrs. Hainard pressed a hand to her chest, her face going pale. “No wonder my skin hasn’t been right lately. You’ve been feeding us imitations this whole time?” Mr. Hainard’s brow furrowed. “Brina, I want the truth. Where did those ingredients actually come from?” I looked at that stack of invoices and almost laughed. Twenty thousand? The premium ingredients the Hainard family went through daily — one hundred thousand wouldn’t have covered it. For ten years, every shortfall had come out of my own pocket. Because Henry Hainard had once saved my grandmother’s life. I had promised him I would keep the Hainard family comfortable and well-provided for, at the highest standard, for ten years. Every meal, every detail. “Did you contact the supplier?” I asked calmly. “Why would I need to? This doesn’t add up on a basic level.” Anita looked pleased with herself. “I already blacklisted that supplier.” “From now on, all household purchases go through my discount links. Better value, better reach.” I nodded. “Good luck with that.” Anita thought she had me cornered. “Since you’re basically admitting it — out of respect for your ten years here, we won’t call the police. But you’re paying back every cent.” “And you’re fired. Pack your things and get out today.” Laurie frowned. “Anita, maybe we give her another chance?” Anita turned on him immediately. “Laurie, are you taking her side? She stole from this family!” Mrs. Hainard chimed in from the side. “Exactly. We raised her for ten years and she turned around and stole from us. If we let her stay, who knows what else she’ll pull.” I had been planning to mention the Brillano licensing issue before I left, as a last courtesy to Henry’s memory. There was no reason to now. “Fine. I’ll go.” I turned and walked to the housekeeper’s room. Anita followed right behind me like an overseer. “Hurry it up. Don’t drag this out.” “Everything in here belongs to the Hainard family. You’re not taking a single thing.” I stepped inside and pulled my suitcase out from under the bed. I didn’t have much. A few changes of clothes. Some books on herbal medicine. And my grandmother’s belongings, which she had left me. Anita wrinkled her nose. “These old books are moldy. Throw them out. I don’t want them contaminating my space.” She kicked my suitcase over. Everything spilled across the floor, and among it all, a pale white jade pendant rolled out. It was flawless. Anyone could see it was real. Anita’s eyes lit up. She snatched it off the floor. “Nice piece. The replica work is impressive.” “Where would a housekeeper get something like this? Did you steal it from Mrs. Hainard?” “Put it down.” My voice dropped completely flat. “Miss Anita, that is not something you should be touching.” Anita scoffed. “A thieving servant with attitude? Really?” Her fingers loosened. The pendant slipped from her hand. It hit the floor with a clean, sharp crack. I stared at the pieces on the ground. There was a ringing in my ears. That pendant was what my grandmother had placed around my neck with her own hands before she passed. It was the only thing I had left of her in this world. For ten years, no matter how late I’d worked myself, no matter how many times Mrs. Hainard had screamed at me, I had kept that pendant safe. Not a single scratch. “Oops.” Anita didn’t look sorry at all. “Not my fault.” “You shouldn’t have left it where it could fall. It was probably a cheap knockoff anyway. Not a big deal.” Laurie heard the noise and came in. “What happened?” “She dropped some rock and now she’s glaring at me.” Anita tucked herself against Laurie’s arm. “Laurie, the way she was looking at me — it was scary. Like she wanted to hurt me.” Laurie’s expression tightened. “Brina, it’s just a piece of jade. I’ll pay you for it.” “Apologize to Anita. You’re frightening her.” I crouched down and gathered the broken pieces into my pocket. “She broke my property and you want me to apologize?” My voice was flat. “What else? You’re the help. Know your place.” Laurie said it like it was obvious. I slowly stood up. “Don’t bother paying me back.” My voice was quiet. Laurie went still anyway. “Because you can’t afford it.” I picked up my suitcase and walked out of the room I’d lived in for ten years without looking back. Henry Hainard, we’re even now. I’ve repaid what your family did for my grandmother. I walked straight out the front door of the Hainard estate. And dialed a number I hadn’t called in ten years. It picked up after one ring. “Uncle Rick.” An excited, older voice came through on the other end. “Miss Brina? You’re finally calling?”

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At the victory banquet, Ethan knelt on one knee and slipped a diamond ring onto Cassandra’s finger. The whole room erupted. Looking straight into the camera, he said this was something he had owed her all along. I was still in the car on my way to the party, the light from my phone screen cutting through the dark. I had planned to surprise him tonight. Five years. He had promised to make our marriage public. When the banquet hall doors swung open, the first thing Ethan did when he saw me wasn’t guilt. It was a frown. “What are you doing here?” I slammed the marriage certificate down on the table. “I’m taking my husband home.” Cassandra pressed herself against his chest. “Ethan, who is she?” He pulled her closer without even glancing at me. “A delusional woman. The documents are fake.” My father shoved through the crowd and tore the certificate apart right in front of everyone. The pieces drifted down around my feet. Ethan wrapped his arm around Cassandra and walked away. That was the first time I truly understood how the people who are supposed to love you most can make the world decide you’re crazy.

Serena’s POV On our fifth wedding anniversary, I watched my own husband drop to one knee in front of another woman and slip a diamond ring onto her finger. Ethan and I had been secretly married for five years. For five years, he had kept me hidden like something shameful that couldn’t be brought into the light. His excuses never changed. Year after year, the same lines. “Serena, the company is in a critical funding stage right now. I have to keep up the image of a wealthy, unattached man. I can’t afford any missteps.” “Be patient. The moment this round closes, I’ll tell the whole world about you.” “Serena, I know I’m asking too much of you. I owe you the most magnificent wedding, and I promise I’ll make it up to you a hundred times over.” I believed him for five years. I endured it for five years. Then came tonight. The victory gala celebrating the company’s latest funding round. I had ordered his favorite lisianthus flowers days in advance. I had pressed my couture gown myself. I had even tucked both of our marriage certificates into the hidden pocket of my clutch, my heart full, ready to walk in and bring my husband home to celebrate. Then my phone lit up on the car seat. A social media post from Cassandra hit me like a slap. The banquet hall was blazing with light in the photo. Ethan, wearing the custom suit he had made just for tonight, was down on one knee in front of Cassandra, cradling a brilliant diamond ring with both hands, his eyes full of something I used to believe was only for me. Cassandra had her hand pressed over her mouth, tears shining on her cheeks, surrounded by the applause and cheers of the city’s elite. The caption was only one line. “He said this is something he has owed me all along.” I stared at that ring on my screen until my fingertips went white and I forgot how to breathe. For five years, he told me he owed me a wedding. Tonight, he took everything he had promised me and slid it onto another woman’s finger. I don’t know how I made it to the venue. When I pushed open the heavy doors, Ethan had just risen to his feet after putting the ring on Cassandra. She leaned into him, her eyes soft and red-rimmed, the diamond scattering sharp light across the room under the spotlights. Someone recognized me. The laughter in the hall went strangely quiet. The warmth on Ethan’s face froze the instant he saw me. His brow pulled tight with something close to disgust. “What are you doing here? Who told you to come?” I ignored every pair of eyes watching for a scene. I walked to the main table, reached into my clutch, and pulled out the certificate. I brought it down hard on the table. “I’m here for my husband. I’m taking him home.” My voice wasn’t loud. But it landed. Every eye in the room swung toward me. Cassandra’s face went pale. She shrank against Ethan like a startled deer, clutching his sleeve with both hands. “Ethan, who is she?” Ethan didn’t push Cassandra away. He pulled her closer. I watched that hand settle over another woman’s shoulder, and something in my chest tore open. But I kept my spine straight. “Serena Walsh. Ethan’s legal wife. He committed bigamy in front of this entire room tonight. I can call the police right now.” The room exploded. Camera flashes started firing from every direction. Ethan’s face went ashen. He crossed the stage in a few strides and reached for the documents on the table. I pressed my hand down over them. “Touch it, and I will make sure every journalist in this room photographs every word and every official seal on that certificate.” The look in Ethan’s eyes turned dark and cold. His jaw worked. “Serena, have you lost your mind?” “You went to the registry yourself. You signed it with your own hand. You were smiling when they took the photo for it.”

Serena’s POV I stared at this man I had loved for five years. “Ethan, you’re standing in front of your mistress and asking me if I’ve lost my mind?” “Ethan…” Cassandra suddenly pressed a hand to her chest, gasping. “Maybe I shouldn’t be here right now…” “She looks at me like she hates me…” “Cassandra!” Ethan’s expression shifted in an instant. He turned and gathered Cassandra into his arms before she could fall. When he looked back at the room, his voice was winter. “I apologize for the scene, everyone. Ms. Walsh has been struggling with her mental health for some time. She has a severe delusional disorder. The documents she’s holding are forged.” The sound went out of the room for me. Delusional disorder. Forged. One sentence. Casual as brushing dust off a sleeve. Five years of marriage, five years of my life, reduced to the punchline of a crazy woman’s delusion. Then my father pushed through the crowd. His palm connected with my face so hard I stumbled sideways. The taste of blood flooded my mouth. “You disgrace!” he roared. “Haven’t you done enough damage to this family?” My mother stood just behind him, eyes red. She didn’t look at me once. “Serena, get down on your knees and apologize to Mr. Hartley and Ms. Cassandra right now. How dare you bring something like this and drag their names through the mud.” I stared at my own mother, and the tears I’d been holding finally came. “Mom… the day I came home from the registry five years ago, you made me soup yourself. You said happy marriage…” My mother looked away. She couldn’t meet my eyes. My father seized the opening. He snatched the certificate off the table. In front of the entire room, he tore it in half. Then into pieces. Then into nothing. The sound of tearing paper was so small. It destroyed me. He threw the scraps at my feet like trash, then turned to Ethan with a fawning smile. “Mr. Hartley, please don’t give this another thought. I’ll take this foolish girl home and deal with her myself. She won’t bother you or Ms. Cassandra again.” Ethan looked down at me. He said nothing. Cassandra gave a soft cough against his chest. He immediately bent toward her, rubbing her back with quiet urgency. My father’s security team moved in and seized my arms. I struggled. My knee caught the sharp edge of the table and the pain nearly took me down. Only then did Ethan finally look at me. “Take her.” The man I had loved without reservation for five years sentenced me with two words. The front door of my parents’ house closed behind me with a heavy thud. Outside, the party continued, celebrating that couple long into the night. The cane came down across my back. First the numbness, then the split of skin, then the burning. My father’s voice was low and vicious. “Do you have any idea what the Cassandra family’s backing means? This company cannot survive without their investment. You ran in there tonight and made a scene. Were you trying to take down this entire family with you?” My mother dabbed at her eyes beside him. “Why can’t you just cooperate? You’re talented, you’re capable, a little hardship won’t break you. But Cassandra has a heart condition. She cannot handle any kind of stress.” I dug my fingernails into my palm until the blood came. The cane fell again. I bit down and didn’t cry out. Didn’t beg. Because I already knew. No one here would feel sorry for me. Late that night, the door finally opened. Ethan walked in, suit jacket draped over his arm, bringing with him the scent of champagne and Cassandra’s perfume. He crouched in front of me and tossed a small tube onto the floor between us. Expensive scar treatment cream. “Put that on. Don’t let it scar. It’ll look bad.” I looked up at him. “The marriage is fake?” His fingers stilled for a fraction of a second. His tone was matter-of-fact. “Every major media outlet was there tonight. Cassandra’s family too. I had no choice. The bigger picture had to come first.” “And the proposal? Was that the bigger picture too?” Ethan was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice carried something that almost sounded like tenderness. “Cassandra has a weak heart. She was so happy tonight. I couldn’t humiliate her in front of everyone.” I laughed. I laughed until my whole body shook, and the movement pulled at the torn skin on my back, and the cold sweat came pouring down my forehead. Ethan frowned at the sight of me. He softened his voice slightly, the way someone might when handing a coin to a stranger. “Serena, stop making this harder than it needs to be. You took a beating tonight, you’ve suffered for it, Cassandra’s temper has been vented. We can put this behind us.” Put it behind us? Before I could process those words, Ethan had already pulled a document from a folder and laid it across my knees. I looked down. My family’s shares. The company’s marital assets accumulated over five years. The projects I had built with my own hands. Every single thing I was owed, listed under the heading: Unconditional Waiver. Ethan held out a pen. “Sign it.” I didn’t take it. “You want me to hand over my place as your wife to your mistress, and now you want me to walk away with nothing?” Ethan’s jaw tightened. He looked at me as though I were the unreasonable one. “Serena, you’re strong. You’re capable. You don’t need me to get by. But Cassandra isn’t like you. She’s fragile. Without me, she won’t survive.” I stared at that pen. Five years ago, on the day we registered, he had held a pen just like this one and signed his name like it meant something. His eyes were wet then. He told me: Wherever I am, that’s your home. Now, with that same hand, he was offering me a tube of scar cream and a document that said I had never existed. And I finally saw it clearly. What Ethan had given me was never a home. It was a cage. One he could unlock at any moment to sweep me out like something that no longer served a purpose. Ethan lost patience and forced the pen into my bleeding hand. “Sign tonight and I’ll have someone take you upstairs to rest.” I gripped the pen and looked up at him. “And if I don’t?” Ethan stood. The last thin layer of patience drained out of his expression. He looked down at me like a verdict. “Then you stay on your knees in this room until you do.” The door closed without mercy. The tube of cream rolled into the dust beside the table leg. The document sat open across my knees, the first page already stained dark from the blood still falling from my palm.

Serena’s POV The next morning, I had barely reached the bedroom doorway, the one Ethan and I had shared, when I saw the housekeeper throwing books and a laptop into the hallway like garbage. The books’ spines cracked against the tile floor. The laptop casing split open with a sharp crack. The welts on my back hadn’t even started to scab. When I bent down to pick them up, the movement pulled the dried blood from my shirt against the wounds and my vision blurred. The housekeeper looked down at me with cold detachment. “Ms. Walsh, Mr. Hartley has given instructions. This master bedroom needs to be cleared out by this morning.” I snapped my head up. “This is my bedroom.” The door was half open. From inside came the scrape of a wall scraper at work. I shoved past her and walked in. The sharp smell of pink paint hit me immediately. The soft grey walls I had spent weeks choosing had already been half stripped away. Ethan was standing by the window, directing one of the workers toward the south-facing wall. “Keep the pink lighter over here. Cassandra likes it bright. Too dark and it’ll feel oppressive to her.” I stared at those wide, garish swaths of pink spreading across the wall. The books slipped from my hands. I had lived in this room for five years. The desk by the window was where I had pulled all-nighters for the company’s projects, more nights than I could count. My silk robe was still hanging in the closet. And now, without a single word to me, Ethan had handed over every inch of this space to be repainted in Cassandra’s favorite color. I walked up to him, trembling. “You’re giving my room to Cassandra?” He turned, his face showing nothing close to guilt. “Cass just got out of the hospital. The doctor said she needs a bright, sunny environment to recover. This room faces south. Best light in the house.” “Then where am I supposed to sleep?” My voice cracked. “There are guest rooms. It’s not like you’d be sleeping on the floor.” I stared at this cold, hollow man. “Ethan, my father caned my back last night and it’s still bleeding.” His gaze moved briefly to the stain seeping through my shoulder before shifting away without interest. “You went there last night and made a scene. You brought that on yourself.” I stepped forward and yanked the dust sheet off the nearest piece of furniture. “Everyone out. Now.” Ethan’s expression hardened in an instant. He grabbed my wrist. “Serena. Stop embarrassing me.” “You called me delusional in front of every camera in the city last night. Today you’re rushing to paint over my life so your mistress can move in.” My fingers were going numb from his grip, but I held his stare. “What exactly would it take, Ethan, for you to be embarrassed?” “Let go of me.” He didn’t. He tightened his grip and turned toward the door. “Get her out of here.” Two broad-shouldered security men came through the door and seized me by both arms, hauling me toward the hallway. My heels dragged two long marks across the floor. I kept my eyes on the half-painted wall. I watched that sickening pink creep over every trace of the five years I had lived here. Ethan stood where he was and never turned around. At ten in the morning, I pushed through the pain and went to the office. I swiped my access card at the lobby turnstile. Three times. Three red lights. A receptionist hurried over, her smile the particular kind that carries contempt underneath it. “I’m sorry, Ms. Walsh. All of your access credentials have been revoked by upper management.” I kept the card pressed tight in my hand. “On whose authority?”

Serena’s POV The receptionist glanced down at her screen and raised her voice just enough to make sure the lobby could hear. “HR just sent a company-wide notice. Ms. Walsh is under investigation for allegedly leaking confidential company information. All duties are suspended effective immediately.” She paused, letting her expression do the work her words couldn’t. “There’s also a note in the system. Due to Ms. Walsh’s unstable mental state, she is prohibited from entering any core work areas.” I looked through the glass doors toward what used to be my office. Cassandra was sitting at my desk. Ethan stood slightly over her, one large hand covering her small one, guiding her through signing her name on the bottom of an extremely important document. Cassandra seemed to struggle with some of the terms. She wrote a character wrong, then tilted her head up at him with a delicate, helpless expression. Ethan showed not one flicker of impatience. He murmured something soft to her, gently took an eraser to her mistake, and turned the page with the same steady patience. I was done waiting. I couldn’t get through the main turnstile, so I went around to the visitor entrance, pushed past the security guard, and walked straight into the office floor. The door hit the wall. Everyone froze. Cassandra let out a sharp cry and dropped her pen, stumbling behind Ethan. He moved in front of her instantly, his eyes flat and dangerous. “What are you doing here now, you crazy woman?” I pointed at the leather chair where Cassandra was sitting. My hand was shaking. “That is my seat.” “Not anymore,” Ethan said. “It’s Cassandra’s.” “I spent three months on that project. My files are still on that computer.” My voice was coming apart. “You suspend me, you revoke my access, you put a leak investigation on my name. Where is your proof?” Ethan’s eyes were flat and without temperature. “The legal team will handle the investigation.” “The legal team. You mean the investigation that will turn up evidence that you handed my work to a third party? That she is sitting in my chair right now, signing documents I wrote on nights I didn’t sleep?” Cassandra’s eyes went red. Tears spilled over. “Please don’t do this… I only wanted to help Ethan because he was working so hard… I didn’t know this was your seat… please don’t blame him for this…” Seeing her cry, Ethan moved to her immediately, head dipping toward hers. “You don’t need to explain anything to someone like her, Cass.” I looked at the documents on the desk. “Ethan, she can’t even read half the terms in that acquisition contract. You let her sign it? Are you out of your mind?” A ripple of sharp silence moved through the room. Ethan’s face closed completely. “Cassandra has a real instinct for business. She never had the opportunities she deserved. That’s all.” The last flicker of warmth left in my chest went out like a candle in the wind. Three years ago, when I had handed Ethan my first funding proposal, the one that stunned the room, he had said the same thing to me. Serena, you just needed someone to open the door for you. One day everything I’ve built will be ours. Urgent footsteps in the hallway. My father came through the door with a cluster of security behind him, face rigid, pointing at me. “You reckless girl. Wasn’t last night humiliating enough?”

Serena’s POV I looked at my own father. “You already knew they suspended me. You came here to help him throw me out.” He didn’t answer. He turned to the security team and barked, “Get her out. Now. She’s disrupting Mr. Hartley’s workplace.” They came at me from every side. Hands grabbed both arms. I fought back. In the struggle, my clutch hit the floor. Everything inside scattered. Lip gloss. A packet of tissues. And a small, navy blue velvet box, worn soft with age. The lid popped open on impact. A ring rolled out and came to rest directly at the toe of Ethan’s custom leather shoe. The ring he had proposed with, five years ago, when he had nothing. Not a single diamond in it. He had promised me then, eyes full, that the moment the funding came through, he would replace it with the largest pink diamond in the city. I had believed him. I had kept that simple, unadorned band against my skin for five years. I hadn’t even taken it off to shower. Until yesterday, when he put a pink diamond on Cassandra’s finger in front of the whole world, and I quietly tucked it away in its box so no one would see what a fool I had been. Ethan looked down at it. Something moved in his eyes, just barely, just for a second. Then Cassandra’s fingers curled around his sleeve. “Ethan… my chest feels so tight… I feel dizzy…” Whatever had been in his eyes disappeared. He turned without hesitation and gathered her up, carrying her toward the back room. From the moment the ring had rolled out until now, he had not looked at it again. He had not said one word to me, still pinned under the hands of his security team. “Take her out.” The head of security didn’t need to be told twice. I was dragged out of the building. At the bottom of the steps, a hard shove sent me rolling down onto the rough concrete. My knees hit and split open. Blood soaked through my stockings immediately. My clutch was thrown down beside me like refuse. The old velvet box landed near my hand. I stretched out my scraped fingers toward it. Above me, the massive LED screen on the outer wall of the building flickered on. A breaking news chyron pulsed from the business channel, filling the street. On screen, Ethan stood in the lights of a press conference. Cassandra sat beside him in a tailored designer suit, poised and composed. The anchor’s voice rang out clean and clear. “Breaking news. Hartley Group today officially announces that Ms. Cassandra Hayes will assume the role of Executive President of the group. Mr. Hartley praised the groundbreaking project proposal that has stunned the industry as the product of Ms. Hayes’s visionary and forward-thinking genius.” The screen cut to the cover of the project proposal. Three months. My three months. I was kneeling on cold concrete, blood from my knees mixing with grit from the ground. The box was right there. I looked up at the screen. The man I had loved for five years was leading the applause for her, his hands moving together with something that looked like pride. My hand stopped in the air. For a long time, I didn’t move. Then, slowly, I picked up the ring. I put it back in the box. Closed the lid. And buried those five years of blindness along with it. Ethan had reached far enough into my life to take even that from me. The right to check into a hotel. At the first one, the front desk attendant scanned my ID and looked up at me with a changed expression. “Ms. Walsh, there’s a flag on your ID. It shows as reported lost.” At the second, I tried a different credit card. Declined. At the third, the attendant slid the card back across the counter. “This account has been frozen. Would you like to try another method of payment?”

Serena’s POV I stood under the lobby lights. My clutch held only the velvet box and a phone nearly out of battery. I turned my ID over in my fingers and pressed my thumb over my own photo. This card used to tell the world who I was. Now it only told me that Ethan had decided I wasn’t allowed to be anyone. After dark, I sat on a bench outside. The fabric of my pants rubbed against the cuts on my knees. The welts from the night before pulsed with heat across my back. I had nowhere to go. I scrolled to the bottom of my contacts and stopped on my best friend’s name. I didn’t call. She had built that flower shop from nothing, dollar by dollar. White roses in the window year-round. If Ethan could freeze my ID and my bank accounts, he could reach a flower shop. A black Bentley pulled up in front of me. The window came down. Ethan sat in the back. His expression was colder than the night air. “Get in.” I didn’t move. His security man climbed out of the front seat and took hold of my arm. I struggled. My knee hit the car door. Ethan’s brow creased. “Don’t hurt her.” I looked at him. “You couldn’t say that last night?” He turned away. The car door closed. The city lights disappeared behind tinted glass. Half an hour later, the car stopped in front of a luxury apartment building. The elevator went straight to the top floor. The door opened into warm light. Slippers set neatly side by side. A bowl of hot soup just delivered, still steaming on the dining table. Ethan dropped his jacket on the couch and handed me a mug of hot water. “Drink something.” I looked at the mug. I didn’t take it. “What is this place?” “You’ll live here from now on.” “Locked up?” Something passed briefly across his face and was smoothed over. “Don’t make it sound worse than it is. Serena, as long as you stay out of Cassandra’s way, this is your home.” I let out a short laugh. “My home just got repainted pink.” His hand tightened around his mug. “I’ll make it right. The apartment. Money. A position at the company. Whatever you need.” “What about being your wife? Publicly?” Ethan said nothing. I watched him. “Acknowledging me openly. Is that really so much harder than giving me real estate?” He set the mug down and kept his voice quiet. “What we have is real. I can give you everything except that one thing. The public recognition.” Those words settled into the apartment and turned every light into a lock. I grabbed his hand and bit down, hard. Ethan yanked back with a sharp sound. I lost my footing. My lower back hit the coffee table. My temple caught the glass edge. A line of warmth moved down along my brow. Ethan’s expression shifted. He reached toward me. I shoved his hand away and ran for the door. “Serena.” I didn’t look back. Before the elevator doors closed, I caught one last glimpse of him standing in the living room light, the back of his hand dark with the marks I had left. Half an hour later, I pushed through the door of an internet café. I found a seat at the back, powered up a computer, plugged in my phone, and began compressing the files I had saved into a single archive. I opened my email. The screen went black. Not a power outage. The computers around me were still running. Someone nearby was yelling into a headset about a game. Only mine went dark. My phone buzzed once on the desk. Unknown number. One line of text. Don’t waste your energy. I stared at those words. The back of my neck went tight, one vertebra at a time. Footsteps at the café entrance. Two police officers walked up to where I was sitting. “Serena Walsh?” I looked up. “Yes.” They showed their badges. “You are suspected of misappropriating funds from Hartley Group. Please come with us.” My hands were still resting on the keyboard. The draft email waited behind a dark screen. Not one word had been sent.

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Before my mother passed, she left me three matches — each one capable of taking me back in time. I used the first match to return to the night Miller was drugged. I knocked over his spiked drink before he could touch it. He never slept with his secretary, Scarlett. I saved our marriage. But then, not long after, we were in a car accident. Miller threw himself over me, shielding my body with his. His injuries were too severe. He didn’t make it. Without a second thought, I struck the second match. We went back to before the crash, and this time, we walked away without a scratch. I thought I would never need the third match. Then Miller set a sonogram down in front of me, and I went completely still. His voice was ice. “Scarlett is four months pregnant. The baby is mine.” A ringing filled my ears. Everything felt distant, like a dream. Miller kept talking. “The fact that I survived that accident means God gave me a second chance — a chance to go after what I really want.” “You can keep the title of Mrs. Miller. Just stay out of Scarlett’s way.”

I couldn’t figure out how Miller still remembered the accident. But surely he didn’t think he was the one who had traveled through time? The hospital air conditioning sent a chill crawling across my skin. “When did it start?” I asked. Something in his expression softened. “That doesn’t matter anymore. Scarlett isn’t like you. She grew up with nothing — no stability, no security.” “The baby is her anchor. And my proof.” “Besides, we’ve been together too long. What I feel for you now is more like family. The love is gone.” I had found out about him and Scarlett on our tenth wedding anniversary. By then, the baby was already five years old. He had cut open his own wrist and written me a letter in blood. He confessed that someone had drugged him, that he had slept with his secretary Scarlett, and that he intended to take responsibility for her. He transferred everything — every asset — into my name. In a moment of desperation, I had used a match to go back to our fifth year of marriage. I forced down the trembling in my chest. “So you remember everything. You really did fall in love with Scarlett?” Miller answered without any particular emotion. “Yes. I know it sounds unbelievable, but every time I come close to death, I end up back in the past.” “You’ve always been strong. You don’t need security the way she does.” “After the SATs, you were the one who wanted to run away with me. But Scarlett — she’s different from you.” I pressed my hand to my chest. A sudden, sharp pain shot through my ribs and bent me forward. After the SATs, we had made a promise to run away together. But that night, I waited and waited — and it was my parents who showed up, not him. I confronted him. I demanded to know why. Miller looked at me with red-rimmed eyes, his voice gentle. “Samantha, your dad was right. We’re both too young.” “Give me a little more time. I’ll do this properly. I’ll come for you in the open, the right way.” I was furious. I gave him the cold shoulder, and even when we ended up at the same university, I treated him like a stranger. But in our second year, he teamed up with some friends on a gaming project, and it actually made money. He took every dollar he’d earned and came to ask my father for permission to marry me. My father still said no. He called Miller an orphan with a broken character. Miller just smiled, said nothing, and went back to work. I gritted my teeth, defied my father, and married him anyway — quietly, without anyone’s blessing. Now Miller looked at me with cold, flat eyes. “You can always file for divorce. Of course, your mother’s medical bills would become your problem to handle alone.” He answered a call and walked out. I stood there with my hand over my heart. When someone falls out of love, can they really become this cruel? My mother had taken Miller in after she learned he had no parents. She’d treated him like a son. She lived with us in the house and looked after us both. Once, someone called him a bastard with no mother. My mom grabbed a spatula and chased them down the street. And yet, no matter how many times I went back, she still got cancer. Every time. I stood up and went after him. I was the one who gave him the ability to go back. I was the one who saved his life. What gave him the right to betray me again? The smell of rain and wet earth hit me before I even reached the door. Scarlett was outside wearing Miller’s dress shoes, her arms looped around his neck. “The baby and I have been waiting forever!” “You’re so late! You have to buy me something to make it up to me!” Miller smiled at the corner of his mouth. “There’s a Sotheby’s auction coming up. I saw some jewelry pieces that would suit you perfectly. I’ll have someone bid on them for you.” My feet stopped moving. I watched Miller kiss Scarlett, and when she pulled back, he leaned in and kissed her again. It hit me then — we hadn’t been that close in years. We hadn’t actually kissed since our honeymoon. Not once. The most affection I ever got was a peck on the cheek. I pulled out the last match. Even the cold rain couldn’t cut through the fog in my mind. What moment could I even go back to now? Miller’s affair was already set in motion — but my mother’s cancer was under control. She wouldn’t have to suffer through the pain she went through the first time I went back. Did I even need to go back again?

A nurse nearby sighed, her voice full of admiration. “Apparently, to make Scarlett feel secure, they sleep together every single night — just trying to have a baby as soon as possible.” “And last time, Scarlett said she thought he was unclean, so Miller dragged in several doctors to run tests on him. He even booked cosmetic treatments.” “That’s not even the half of it. Apparently Scarlett fell in love with the house where Miller’s wife lives, so he’s been telling people the company needs financing and he has to sell the place — he’s moving his wife to some apartment near the hospital.” A wave of cold went through me. A year ago, Miller told me the company needed capital to expand. He borrowed from the bank, but it still wasn’t enough. I couldn’t stand watching him get pressured and drunk at business dinners just to close deals. So I suggested selling our house myself. We rented a smaller place near the hospital to make it easier to visit my mother. That house had been our first home as a married couple. Letting it go wasn’t easy. Miller held me and promised that once the money came back, he would get us an estate — something even better. I didn’t want him to struggle. I used the inheritance my father had left me to cover our living expenses. And I went back to work. The nurses’ voices drifted in from down the hall as they walked. “Apparently he even set up a flower shop across from the hospital just for her.” I looked through the rain at the little shop, still open, its lights on. I laughed, but it came out wrong. The tears fell before I could stop them. Every morning, I stopped by that shop on my way in. Bought a fresh bouquet. The staff told me the owner was an old friend of Miller’s, and that was why they always gave me a discount. When Miller found out, his eyes flickered. He gave a vague, noncommittal answer that I took as a yes. I pushed open the door. The girl at the counter clearly recognized me. “You were just here this morning. Another bouquet already?” I looked around the shop. The lighting, the layout of the sink, the placement of the display cooler — all of it was impossibly familiar. Early in our relationship, Miller asked me what I would do if money didn’t matter. I said I wanted to open a flower shop. I’d pulled out a thick stack of design sketches I’d been working on since middle school. It was the dream I’d held onto for years. My father called it a waste of time. Miller sat with me and helped me refine every drawing. But after we married, my time was swallowed whole — attending events with other executives’ wives, managing the household staff, playing the role of the perfect hostess. On top of all that, I had my own job. There was nothing left for dreams. The anger sat in my throat, hard and immovable. The counter girl spoke suddenly. “Did you do something to our manager?” “Honestly, I’d apologize if I were you. A sick person breathing in flowers grown with those special nutrients every single day — that can’t be good for you.” I dug my nails into my palm. “What do you mean?” What nutrients? What was she talking about? The girl glanced up at the security camera, then pulled me into the corner. “Those flowers just cause allergies. It’s nothing serious.” “But the manager told us — you tried to drug her husband and get pregnant by him, and luckily he was smart enough to trick you into signing a fake marriage certificate.” “She said someone helped her get rid of your baby too.” “I don’t know, though. You seem like a decent person to me. You even bring us homemade pastries.” The sonogram. It rushed back to me. I grabbed the girl’s hand. “Last May — was your manager in Switzerland?” She nodded. “Yeah, her husband takes her abroad every month because she loves to travel.” “I heard that after college, he found her working at a club and brought her home. Took care of her ever since.” Black spots flickered at the edges of my vision. I steadied myself against the wall. Last April, I was in a car accident. I had gone through round after round of hormone injections. IVF. It finally worked. And then the baby was gone. I called Miller a hundred times. He was in Switzerland. He said the deal was difficult, that the other party wouldn’t budge. When I finally saw him again, I was crying so hard I could barely speak. I asked him why he wasn’t there when I needed him most. I fell apart after that. He was the one who stayed, who walked me back from the edge, who refused to leave my side for even an hour — as though he were atoning for something. Now I understood what he was atoning for. He had already been with Scarlett. The whole time. And I never suspected a thing. I took out my phone and sent the photo of our marriage certificate — the one pinned to the top of my Instagram — to a friend. The reply came back fast. Fake. Who still counterfeits documents in this day and age? That was it, then. Settled. Every time I’d gone back — it had all been for nothing. I had done it to myself. I’d hoped for something that was never real. The last small piece of hope I’d been holding onto finally went out. I knew now exactly which moment I needed to return to.

I sat beside my mother until the sky went dark and the first light of morning came through the window. In the bed beside me, my mother opened her eyes — the pain had been too much to sleep through. My own eyes burned. It was only after pulling myself out of that love that I could see clearly. They had all been suffering because of me. “Mom, if I go back again — will you have to go through all of this again?” It was as if she already understood. She didn’t ask why. She just said softly: “When you go back next time, I’ll finally tell you where the matches came from.” I went back to the house that had been sold. I needed to ask Miller why. I loved him fully, and I was going to leave with the full truth. The old housekeeper was still there, working as she always had. My throat felt tight, like something lodged deep. A quiet pain that kept coming. Everyone had known. Everyone except me. I had been the last to find out — the punchline of a joke I wasn’t in on. I set the photograph of our marriage certificate on the table in front of him. “Why?” Why hold on to me, knowing it was false? Why not just tell me the truth? Why arrange for our baby to be taken from me? Why let Scarlett send chemically treated flowers to my mother, month after month, and say nothing? Every question was there, jammed in my throat. Miller’s eyes narrowed slightly. He hadn’t expected me to find out. His knuckles curled. “You were always good at being a wife.” “What I wanted for Scarlett was different. I wanted her to be free. To never have to worry about anything — just love me.” “When we stopped talking in college, she was the one who came to comfort me. She helped me think of ways to win you back.” “The flowers, the jewelry, the things I said to you — all of it came from her.” “By the time we were ready to get married, I found out she had feelings for me all along. She was just too insecure to say anything. And then her family sold her to that club.” “The night of our wedding, when I said I was busy — I was going to bring her home. She was more careful with herself than you. She never chased after anyone.” “The divorce papers — I had you sign them the day we finalized the sale of the house.” Nausea rose in my chest. I remembered the night he had come to find me during our long silence. He was crying, really crying — but he hadn’t made any grand promises. He spent every dollar he had on a diamond ring for me. And the way he looked at me then — there had been real love in his eyes. I was sure of it. I pressed my brows together hard. The insults dissolved into something quieter. “That’s disgusting.” Miller sighed. He reached out and took my hand. “Samantha, I always thought you were the capable one. I won’t shortchange you on what’s yours.” But what I got was pain. Deception. Betrayal. The face I had known for fifteen years slowly became something monstrous in my eyes. I took back my phone and stood to leave. There was nothing left to ask. A hollow exhaustion settled over me. Miller looked startled. He stood quickly, and I felt my wrist caught in his grip. His expression shifted — irritable, unsettled. “Why are you playing the wounded victim?” “You think I don’t know what you’ve done?” A stack of photographs hit me in the face. They scattered across the floor. I looked down at them. They were AI-generated images. Obviously fake. Me, with different men. But Miller’s voice came down hard. “You went behind my back during our fight. You were sleeping around.” “If it weren’t for Scarlett, I’d still have no idea. I loved you enough to marry you without questioning your past — and this is what I get.” I almost laughed out loud. I had loved this man for that long. I had been that blind. I had burned two matches for him. I had made my mother suffer through it twice. I closed my eyes. “Miller, are you actually that stupid? Have your IT people run a forensic check on those images. You’ll see they’re fake in five minutes.” “You just couldn’t wait to throw dirt on me. You need to make your cheating look like a reaction. Like you were forced into it. Like you were the devoted one.” My phone rang. A nurse, her voice urgent and scared. “Samantha! Scarlett came into your mother’s room — your mother has gone into shock!”

I yanked my wrist free and ran. Miller caught up and shoved me toward his car. “You think you can wait for a cab? Can your mother?” I didn’t argue. My heart was pounding so hard I could barely breathe. I pushed through the door. Scarlett was kneeling on the floor in front of me, her face a performance of distress. “Samantha! I only said a couple of words to your mom, and she started screaming at me — calling me names, trying to hit my stomach!” I stepped past her and went straight to my mother’s side. “That’s impossible. Pancreatic cancer patients don’t have the strength to fight or scream.” Scarlett crumpled to the ground, both hands clutching her abdomen, her face pale. Before I could say another word, pain exploded across my cheek. Miller’s voice was merciless. “You go sleep around and lose your own baby, and now you want to take mine too?” I had only walked past her. I hadn’t touched her. Was everything Scarlett’s fault now mine? The heart monitor began screaming. Fear froze me where I stood. I watched Miller scoop Scarlett up off the floor and call every available doctor out of the room. I stepped in front of him. “My mother hasn’t been stabilized yet. Don’t you dare forget — she took care of you every single day. She got up in the middle of the night to make you soup when you were hungry.” Miller glanced at the hospital bed. Something moved across his face briefly. Then Scarlett let out a pained cry in his arms. “The baby — it’ll be okay, right?” He caught a doctor’s eye and gave a quick, loaded look. “Samantha, your mother’s cooking was never that good. And I never asked for her help.” “A woman who raised a daughter like you — maybe the illness is karma.” Those two sentences landed like a blow to the head. I stood there, stunned and dizzy. While the doctor began resuscitation, a nurse pulled him away. The last trace of hope I’d held for Miller — the thought that maybe, at least, he cared about my mother — dissolved completely. The line on the monitor went flat and stayed there. I couldn’t tell anymore if it was numbness or grief. My spine wouldn’t hold me upright. My knees hit the floor. With shaking hands, I pulled the matchbox from my pocket. The flame kept going out. My tears put it out again and again. When it finally caught, a hand seized my hair and yanked. “Scarlett’s baby almost didn’t make it. Mr. Miller sent us to teach you a lesson.” I stopped fighting. I just looked at the match still burning on the floor. The cold seeped into my skin. From the next room came Scarlett’s voice, soft and playful. “The doctor said the baby is stable. We’re cleared, baby. Come here — I’ve been waiting.” “Don’t you think it’s kind of a thrill? Samantha and her mother right next door, listening to us?” The blood rushed to my head all at once. I kicked the man in front of me as hard as I could. I grabbed everything within reach and threw it at them. Why? Why, even now, did they have to do this to us? The noise brought Miller in from next door. His shirt was half-open, red marks visible on his chest. Scarlett pressed a hand to her lips, eyes wide with mock horror. “Samantha — don’t tell me you had someone in here with you? Did you actually get your mother so worked up she — ” I picked up the fruit knife from the table. I smiled. I pushed off the floor with everything I had and closed the distance to Scarlett in a single motion. Miller’s instinct took over — he threw himself in front of her. The knife went into his chest. Scarlett’s scream tore through the room. The match flame died. “Miller. I’m the one who can go back in time.” “This time — let’s go back to before the SATs.” Miller stared at me, the color gone from his face, his eyes full of something he couldn’t name.

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At a college reunion, my wife Brittany ran into her first love, Leonardo. What I never expected was that after the party, all three of us got kidnapped. When I opened my eyes again, we were locked inside an abandoned warehouse, with several countdown bombs strapped to my body. They tried dozens of times and still couldn’t disarm them. With nothing left to hope for, I sat bound to a chair, ready to face death alongside my wife. But instead, she and Leonardo were clinging to each other in tears. “Leonardo,” she sobbed, “if we’d both been a little braver back then, we’d already be married by now. I never got you out of my heart. I’m still a virgin because of you.” “Brittany, stop crying. If this is our last day, I want to make up for everything we lost.” With those words, Leonardo pulled my wife into a deep kiss. Then the two of them walked to the corner of the warehouse and started having sex. My heart felt like it was being torn apart. I sat there, waiting for death with nothing but grief and despair. Half an hour later, they stood before me with their clothes in disarray. The countdown on the bombs reached zero, but nothing exploded. Then the door swung open, and a group of friends walked in. “Brittany, you finally let go of all that baggage.” “If we hadn’t staged the whole kidnapping, would you two have ever opened up to each other?”

Brittany went rigid. The flush in her cheeks slowly drained to white. “A… a prank?” Someone noticed how lost she looked and walked over with a grin, giving her cheek a playful pinch. “Yeah!” “At the party, you kept staring at Leonardo with this heavy look on your face. As your best friend, of course I knew what was weighing on you.” “But that kind of thing doesn’t just go away on its own. If you never dealt with it, you’d never really be happy.” “Now seeing you and Leonardo holding hands, I’m genuinely so happy for you!” “Exactly, Brittany. How else were we supposed to help you get past this?” “Wait — what’s that smell??” Before the words even landed, the whole group erupted in a wave of knowing gasps and laughter. “You two didn’t waste any time, did you? Already went all the way.” “Nice work.” “Wedding! Wedding! Wedding!…” Cheers and blessings filled the abandoned warehouse. And I, Brittany’s lawful husband, sat there watching it all with a face drained of color. My nails had dug into my palms hard enough to draw blood. It hurt. The drops fell onto the rope binding my wrists. But somehow, my chest hurt worse than my hands. She was my wife. And yet, not even thirty minutes ago, she had slept with another man in that very corner, all to make up for what she said she’d missed. Their breathless whispers, their confessions, their tragic love story — somehow all of it made me feel like I was the one who had no right to be there. I slowly closed my eyes. A single tear slid from the corner of one eye, and quietly, I made my decision. Across the room, Brittany was still in Leonardo’s arms, letting him kiss her. He didn’t know I was her husband. Neither did any of our classmates. Because Brittany never wanted to make our relationship public — probably because she cared too much about what Leonardo would think. Maybe the grief was written too plainly on my face, because someone finally noticed me tied up in the corner. “Wait — isn’t that Brooks?” “What were you guys thinking, dragging Brooks into this prank too?” The moment those words landed, everyone finally turned to look at me. “I didn’t mean to pull Brooks into it. But he kept following Brittany around, and I was afraid of missing the timing, so I just grabbed him too.” “Brooks, I’m so sorry!” “Let me untie you right now. Please don’t be mad, and please don’t come after me for this.” “We did do something good here, didn’t we? We helped two people who were meant to be find their way back to each other.”

Brittany’s eyes stayed fixed on me — guilt, shame, and unease all tangled together in her expression. Once I was free, I stumbled to my feet. The pain inside me was overwhelming, but Brittany kept shooting me desperate, pleading looks. She was begging me not to say a word about our marriage, to save everyone the awkwardness. I managed a small smile and held the tears back. “Meant to be?” “Ha. Sure, you did them a favor. But what about me?” “Do you have any idea who she is to me?” “She’s the girl you’ve always had a crush on!” Afraid of what I might say next, afraid someone would find out we were married, Brittany practically shouted over me to cut me off. The room went quiet. Everyone stared at me with strange, searching looks. “Wait, what’s going on here?” “Oh, I think I get it, you poor guy.” “Classic love triangle situation.” “Brooks has been pining after Brittany, but Brittany only ever loved Leonardo.” “And you people dragged Brooks into all of this. He had to sit here listening to Brittany and Leonardo go at it — how is that not messed up?” A beat of silence, and then the whole room burst out laughing. “I am so guilty. Brooks, I’m really sorry, man.” “I owe you drinks. A lot of drinks.” They were too busy laughing to notice what was underneath my expression. If watching and hearing Brittany and Leonardo together had destroyed whatever hope I had left, then her refusing to acknowledge me as her husband right now was what finally made me give up on her entirely. After a long moment, I parted my lips — dry and bitter — and forced out a few words. “Relax, everyone. I’m actually seeing someone. The reason I followed Brittany here was the same as you — I was worried something would happen to her.” “Seeing the two of them finally together makes me genuinely happy for her.” The moment I said it, Brittany — who had been wound tight the whole time — finally let out a slow, quiet breath. She looked at me with eyes full of relieved gratitude, not knowing I had already let her go for good. I was just an extra in this story now. Nobody had any reason to keep their eyes on me. I turned and walked out, my heart hollow, and behind me I could already hear people calling for a toast. “Brittany, you saved yourself for Leonardo — Leonardo, you better never let her down.” “Wedding! Wedding! Wedding!!!” Leonardo swept Brittany up into his arms. She didn’t respond the way you’d expect. Because I hadn’t left yet. I suppose she did care, just a little, about how I felt. I didn’t want even that small amount of her consideration anymore. And now I finally understood why, in three years of marriage, she had never once let me close to her. She was saving herself for the man she truly loved. I was never that man. This was always going to end in tragedy. Outside, a heavy rain had started to fall. I had no umbrella, and no cab would stop. It felt like the sky had timed this on purpose — washing away everything that had led to this moment. Strangers hurried past me, tossing glances and quiet commentary over their shoulders. “Another guy done in by loving too hard.” “And he’s got nothing to show for it.” “How do you know it went wrong?” “Look at his face. It’s obvious.” “What’s the big deal? It’s just a breakup. No need to look like the world ended.” They weren’t wrong. I had no business falling apart like this. I pulled out my phone and called a ride. When I got home, Brittany was already there. She didn’t say sorry. She just stood there looking at me, her neck and collarbone covered in marks that weren’t mine.

“About what happened in the warehouse — that was just fate being cruel.” “It already happened. Best to just forget it.” She paused, then took a step toward me. “You got rained on?” Something shifted in Brittany’s face — the guilt finally surfacing. She rushed to the bathroom, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around me. “Brooks, don’t do this to yourself.” “He’s in my past, I know that. But that doesn’t mean I can just switch it off.” “I know I hurt you and I hate myself for it. I’m only asking for one thing — just play along with me for a few days. Let me close this chapter with him, and then I’ll end it. I promise. Can you do that for me?” She looked up at me, tears balancing on the edge of her eyes. I looked past her at the wedding photo on the wall. I thought about the day we took that photo. She wasn’t smiling. There was only regret on her face. I knew now that in that moment, she was probably wondering why the man standing beside her wasn’t Leonardo. I pressed my nails into my palm one more time — and then I let go. “Fine.” Brittany’s tears turned into a smile. She looked like a kid who’d just been handed a piece of candy. Her phone buzzed. My agreement had given her all the permission she needed. She stepped out to the balcony and spent the next hour talking to Leonardo in a low, sweet voice. The things she said were not meant for my ears. I moved to the balcony of the adjacent room and smoked an entire pack, one cigarette after another. The smoke stung my eyes. By the time the last cigarette was done, Brittany’s phone was almost dead. It didn’t matter anymore. It was time to make this a clean ending. I picked up my phone and made a call. “Mom. I’m ready to sign the divorce papers and come home. Set up the arrangement you talked about — I’ll go through with it.” My mother was stunned. She hadn’t expected me to call her, let alone agree. We talked briefly before I hung up. Then I texted a friend and asked him to draw up the divorce paperwork. After that, I showered, got out, and didn’t give a second thought to what Brittany was doing. I put my head down and slept. Then she came bursting in, looking frantic. “Brooks, get up!” “Leonardo is on his way over right now. You can’t be here. Go.” She was shoving me with one hand and tearing down the wedding photo from the wall with the other — along with anything else that was mine. She lost her grip on the frame and it shattered on the floor. She didn’t even look at it. Before I could say a word, I was being pushed out the front door. She pressed her hands together, giving me her most desperate look. “You’re the best. Please just work with me on this.” “I saved your life once. The scar is still on my wrist.” “You said you owed me. I’m calling that in right now.” I remembered what I’d said. I had no reason to refuse. And because of what she’d done for me — taking a knife meant for me across her wrist — I had spent years giving her everything she asked for. I didn’t say anything. I just left. She didn’t come after me. Because the moment I stepped into the elevator, Leonardo stepped out of the one beside it. In the split second before the doors closed, I saw them fold into each other. I didn’t remember until I reached the street that I had no change of clothes and no phone. I stood under the dark sky with no idea where to go. I sat alone in the little covered pavilion in the courtyard, cold all the way through, and didn’t move until morning. The next day, I was woken up by one of the building’s staff. “Mr. Brooks? Why are you sleeping out here?” “That look on your face — you had a fight with your wife, didn’t you?” I smiled, but it didn’t reach anything. I didn’t answer the question. What I hadn’t expected was that I — heir to an entire company — would ever end up sleeping on a bench outside my own building. As I stood up, I spotted Leonardo leaving the complex, looking deeply satisfied with himself. This time, I felt absolutely nothing.

My friend Dixon showed up right then. “Brooks — here.” I took the papers from him. He gave me a strange look. “Never seen someone this calm about a divorce before.” Dixon wasn’t the type to pry. He left without another word. Back upstairs, I knocked for a long time before Brittany opened the door. She was covered in marks again, barely able to keep her eyes open — clearly she hadn’t slept. She didn’t bother explaining herself. She dropped onto the couch and was out before I could say anything. Clothes were scattered all over the floor. A pair of underwear that wasn’t my size lay among them. I set the divorce papers on the table and cleaned the apartment. Once, twice, and then again. I’d already decided I was done with her — and yet something kept twisting in my chest, something that hurt more than it had any right to. By the time I finished, Brittany had woken up. I put the papers in front of her. She blinked at them, not quite understanding. “Brooks? What… what is this?” Her face went slightly pale. She didn’t reach for them. “You said you didn’t mind. You said to treat it like I’d been with someone before we ever got together, right?” She grabbed my wrist, panic in her eyes. She was the one who didn’t love me. And yet she was also the one who couldn’t let go. I felt nothing — no anger, nothing. If anything, I just felt tired of her. But I was going to play this through to the end. So I pulled my hand away without any heat behind it. “Don’t panic. This isn’t a real divorce. It’s just a legal formality.” “What do you mean?” I kept my voice steady. “I don’t want people calling you names. If we’re officially separated on paper, what you do on your own time isn’t anyone else’s business.” “Once you’ve had your closure, we’ll remarry.” The way I said it — calm and gentle — finally got to her. She walked into my arms, eyes red. “Brooks, you’re the only person in this world who really loves me.” “I hate myself. Why can’t I just let go of the past?” She still had his smell on her. I couldn’t help it — I stepped back. Brittany flinched. I caught myself and reached over, tapping her nose lightly. “It’s nothing. I stood outside in the cold all night and I think I’m coming down with something. I don’t want to get you sick.” “Come on. Sign it.” She didn’t question my explanation. She signed with a smile. The moment the pen lifted from the page, something in me finally unclenched. I was done. Whatever came after, it would be without her. I folded the papers away. Brittany, already moving on, reminded me one more time. “Brooks, remember — when this is over, we go file together to make it official again.” I smiled. I said nothing. Before she could ask again, her phone rang and took her somewhere else entirely. She lit up the way someone does at twenty, talking to their very first love — nervous and glowing and completely absorbed. We were already divorced. Whatever she did now had nothing to do with me. I went to my room and started packing. She talked on her phone; I sorted through my things. Anything I couldn’t take, I left. The expensive gifts she’d given me, I set aside to return. Brittany never once looked my way. If she’d bothered to glance in for even a moment, she would have seen I was leaving for good. She didn’t. She got dressed and walked out, and she didn’t come back. The next day, my friend Dixon called. “Brooks, you need to come. Brittany and Leonardo are having a wedding today.” “They want to make it official that fast.” “I’m going to have to skip it. I’m leaving the city tonight.” “What? Where are you going?”

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The day my mother was diagnosed, I called my husband seventeen times from the hospital corridor. He was the Deputy Director of Cardiothoracic Surgery at the provincial hospital. He finally picked up on the eighteenth call. “Ethan, Mom’s scan came back with a pulmonary nodule. Can you arrange a specialist consultation?” He answered with barely concealed impatience: “Three centimeters isn’t necessarily malignant. Have her get a regular outpatient appointment and wait in line.” My mother was sitting on the metal bench outside the CT room, trying to comfort me. “Don’t put Ethan in a difficult spot. I’ll wait in line, that’s fine.” She was sixty-two years old. Her hands shook as she clutched the envelope of CT films, yet her eyes were soft with reassurance. I didn’t cry. Not until that evening, when I got home and found an express delivery package on the dining table. It was a multi-department consultation request form from the provincial hospital. Patient name: Sandra Hayes. His college sweetheart’s mother. His own signature on it, with three departments co-signed. Consultation time: tomorrow morning at eight.

When I dragged my suitcase back into the outpatient lobby, my mother was still sitting on the metal bench outside the CT room. She saw the suitcase in my hand. She didn’t ask why I had it. Her first instinct was to stand up and take it from me. Her legs had gone numb from sitting so long. She stumbled. “Is the hospital too far? Don’t keep running back and forth. I’m fine waiting here alone.” “It’s not far.” “Is Ethan busy?” “Yeah, he’s in surgery.” I lied. I didn’t even have the courage to tell her the truth. My mother let out a quiet breath of relief. She bent down and dug through her worn canvas tote bag, pulling out a glass jar. The jar was wrapped in three layers of plastic bags. She worked through each knot one by one. “Don’t blame him. Doctors have lives to save. Here, take this back to him.” She pressed the glass jar into my hands. The bottom was warm from her body heat. It was a homemade pear syrup she’d cooked herself. A crooked handwritten note was taped to the side: For Ethan when his throat hurts — one spoonful. “You mentioned he’s always in surgery and his throat gets sore. I simmered those pears for three days. I didn’t dare check it as luggage. Carried it in my arms the whole way so it wouldn’t break.” My mother rubbed the calluses on her hands and smiled, a little carefully. “Take it back to him. Tell him not to mind that it’s homemade.” Looking at that jar, I felt something collapse quietly inside me. I tucked it into my bag. “Mom, wait here. I’m going back to get your bank card and your old medical records.” When I pushed open the front door, the living room lights were on. Ethan was sitting on the couch with a tablet. Sophie was beside him, her shoulder nearly brushing the sleeve of his white coat. “Don’t worry, Aunt Hayes. A 1.2-centimeter nodule has a very high chance of being benign.” His voice was warm and unhurried. “I’ll personally walk you into the consultation room first thing tomorrow morning. All three department heads will be there. You’ll be fine.” Across from them, on the other sofa, sat Sophie’s mother. A cashmere throw was draped over her shoulders. I had bought that blanket last month for two thousand dollars. I’d been saving it for when my mother came to the city for her appointment — something soft to put behind her back in those hard waiting room chairs. Now it was wrapped around a stranger. The sound of my suitcase wheels rolling across the floor cut through the warmth in the room. Sophie stood up. “Oh, Lily’s back. Ethan mentioned your mom is sick too — is it serious?”

Her voice was full of concern. Her eyes were fixed on my suitcase. Ethan frowned. “Why are you back now? I told you to take your mom to the outpatient clinic. What are you doing here?” “I came back for her bank card.” I let go of the handle and walked to the coffee table. I took the glass jar out of my bag and set it down beside a bowl of cherries. “My mom made this for you.” I looked at Ethan. “She said you’re always in surgery and it wears on your throat. She simmered it for three days and carried it the whole way herself.” Ethan glanced at the jar. Rough glass, handwritten note. It looked out of place next to everything else in the room. “Homemade things have unknown ingredients. Don’t leave it in the house.” “Mrs. Hayes just had her results done. Her immune system is compromised. She can’t be around random substances.” He picked up the jar and walked into the kitchen. I stood still and listened. The sound of a lid being unscrewed. I walked to the kitchen doorway. Ethan was pouring the pear syrup down the drain. “Stop acting like the sky is falling every time something happens with your mother.” “The hospital isn’t a private club. Everything has a process. Waiting in line is just how it works.” His back was to me. I watched the last amber trace disappear down the drain. “Ethan. My mom’s nodule is three centimeters.” He turned off the tap and turned around. “I’m a doctor. I know more about this than you do. A 1.2-centimeter nodule in the wrong position carries just as much risk. Are you really going to make a scene over this right now?” Sophie’s voice floated in from the living room. “Ethan was just worried about Aunt Hayes eating something she shouldn’t. Lily, don’t take it the wrong way. If your mom really can’t get an appointment, I’ll give her my priority slot tomorrow.” Ethan walked out immediately. “That won’t be necessary. Your mom’s consultation is a multi-department session. It can’t be delayed.” He turned to look at me. “Get the bank card and go back to the hospital. Stop creating problems here.” I said nothing. I went to the bedroom and pulled open the drawer. I took out my mother’s bank card and old medical records. On my way through the kitchen, I dropped the empty glass jar into the trash. It shattered with a clean, sharp sound. My phone buzzed. A message from my mother: Did you give Ethan the pear syrup? I stared at the screen and put the phone in my pocket. I grabbed my suitcase and walked out the door. As it swung shut behind me, I could hear Ethan’s voice inside: “Mrs. Hayes, eat while it’s hot.” At four in the morning, cold air cut straight through the outpatient lobby. I turned off my phone screen. My mother was slumped in a plastic chair. When she heard what I said, a smile spread across her face. “Good, good. Next time I’ll buy a few more pounds of pears and make him a bigger batch.” I took the hard-boiled egg from her hands. The shell had gone soft from being held so long. I looked up at the display board. The general respiratory clinic still had over seventy numbers ahead of ours. My mother’s three centimeters was just a number here. By eight in the morning the lobby was filling up. I helped my mother walk to the imaging department on the first floor to get additional films printed. We had just turned the corner of the corridor when we walked straight into a group of people coming the other way. At the front was Ethan, white coat on, Deputy Director badge on his chest. The Head of Imaging, the Deputy Head of Anesthesiology, and the Head Nurse of Cardiothoracic were with him. In the middle of the group were Sophie and her mother.

Mrs. Hayes was in a wheelchair. Sophie was pushing her. Ethan was giving instructions to the Head of Imaging. “Dr. Reynolds, the edges on that 1.2-centimeter nodule are slightly blurred. I’d like you to personally oversee the contrast CT.” My mother went still. She rubbed her eyes and took a step forward. “Ethan?” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it landed awkwardly at the entrance to the VIP corridor. Ethan stopped walking. He turned his head. My mother was wearing her faded cotton-linen shirt. There were still yellow mud stains on the hem of her pants. She held her canvas tote of CT films tightly in both hands. “It really is you, Ethan.” She gave a slightly nervous smile and moved toward him. “Have you eaten breakfast? I still have a warm egg right here—” The department heads all stopped. The hospital administrator, Dr. Collins, looked at my mother, then at Ethan. “Dr. Smith, is this a family member of yours?” One beat of silence. “No.” He turned to Dr. Collins. “A general patient’s family member who has mistaken me for someone else. Could you ask security to maintain order? We can’t have the consultation disrupted.” My mother’s outstretched hand froze in the air. The egg rolled out of her grip. She lost her hold on the canvas tote. It hit the floor with a crash. Dozens of CT films scattered across the tiles. Security stepped forward immediately. “Ma’am, this is the specialist corridor. Please step back behind the yellow line.” My mother snapped back to herself and crouched down in a hurry, nodding repeatedly. “I’m so sorry, so sorry, I’m getting old, I must have mistaken him for someone else. He just looks so much like — I’m so sorry.” She kept apologizing to the security guard as she picked up the films. Sophie was standing beside Ethan. She tugged lightly at his sleeve. Ethan didn’t look at the floor again. He walked into the consultation room and took everyone with him. I stood at the corner of the corridor and watched my mother bent over, picking up her films one by one. Patients waiting in line were staring at her. She gathered the films back into the canvas tote and wiped her face with her sleeve. I didn’t rush out. Because that would have only made it worse for her. She was working so hard to cover for Ethan. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to know that her own son-in-law had humiliated her in public. I walked over and crouched down to pick up the last film. My mother saw me and quickly turned away to wipe her face. “Lily, how did you get here? Did our number come up?” I looked at her red-rimmed eyes and the rough, swollen knuckles of her hands. “Mom. Let’s go.” I took her hand. “Go where? We’re not waiting anymore?” “We’re done waiting.” I tucked the films back into the canvas tote, took her hand, and turned toward the hospital exit. “We’re not treating this here.” I didn’t give her time to hesitate. I half-led, half-pulled her through the revolving doors of the provincial hospital. The cold air hit her and she shuddered. Her feet stopped on the front steps. “Lily, don’t be childish.” She grabbed my hand, her voice uneasy. “Ethan was working. All those department heads were standing right there. If I went over looking like this, I’d just embarrass him in front of everyone.” She was still making excuses for him. “He wasn’t wrong. I am just a regular patient’s family member. Let’s go back and wait in line. We can’t miss the appointment.” I looked at her face — apologetic, small, desperate to smooth everything over. It hurt to look at. “Mom, he didn’t owe you dignity. He just refused to give it to you.” I walked her across the street to a noodle shop and set a bowl of hot soup in front of her. “Eat. When you’re done I’m taking you somewhere else.” My mother didn’t pick up her fork. She looked around to make sure no one was watching, then slipped her hand inside her jacket. She worked at something for a long moment, unclasped a safety pin, and pulled out a small cloth bundle wrapped in three layers of plastic.

She slid a bank card across the table toward me. “Eighty-three thousand, six hundred dollars.” “This is what I saved. Selling grain, raising chickens, folding boxes for the factory in town. The PIN is your birthday.” She looked at me. “If it comes to surgery, we don’t ask Ethan for anything. I have money. I’m not taking anything from him.” Eighty-three thousand, six hundred. One week ago, the local clinic had recommended an urgent contrast CT and tumor markers panel for my mother. It came up eight thousand short. I called Ethan and asked if we could transfer eight thousand from our joint account. You know what he said? “Don’t rush into every test. The standard process is enough. Hospital resources aren’t for wasting.” Eight thousand dollars and he acted like it was too much to ask. But last night, when I’d gone home to get some documents, I’d checked the joint account transaction history on my way out. The very next day after he said it was wasteful, three hundred thousand dollars had been transferred out. Recipient: Hospital Finance. Note: Special care unit deposit and pre-surgery assessment — Mrs. Hayes. I pushed the card back to my mother. “Mom, keep it. Your treatment is my responsibility.” After I settled her into a budget hotel to rest, I went back to the apartment. Ethan had just gotten off his shift. He shrugged off his jacket and headed to the study without even glancing at me. “Did your mom get her appointment sorted? I looked at a few three-centimeter films today. Almost all benign. Stop scaring yourself.” I followed him into the study and slapped the printed transaction records on his desk. “My mom. Three centimeters. Eight thousand short for an urgent test. You told me to use the regular process.” “Sophie’s mom. 1.2 centimeters. You wired three hundred thousand for a private suite.” “Ethan. What am I to you? What is my mother to you?” He looked at the printout. Something shifted in his expression for just a moment. Then he leaned back in his chair. “Mrs. Hayes has severe anxiety. A 1.2-centimeter finding is a huge psychological burden for her. Sophie couldn’t handle it alone. I was just helping stabilize the situation.” He met my eyes. “The three hundred thousand is just a deposit. It’ll be refunded when she’s discharged. Are you really going to fight with me over a deposit?” “And my mother? She sat in a hospital corridor all night. She couldn’t even get an urgent test done. You don’t think she was scared?” Ethan picked up his glass and took a slow sip. “Your mother grew up hard. She’s used to it. She’s tougher than you think.” “That wasn’t the right setting to make exceptions. If you’re going to hold your mother’s minor condition over my head like some kind of leverage, then I really don’t know what to say to you.” I looked at the man I had been married to for five years. The neat shirt. The thin-framed glasses. The fluent medical vocabulary wrapped around what passed for principles. Rotten to the core underneath all of it. “Minor condition.” I nodded once. No shouting. No asking why anymore. I turned and walked out of the study and closed the door behind me. There was no point reasoning with someone like that. That was my mistake. I didn’t go home that night. I sat on the hotel bed until morning, photographing all of my mother’s imaging files with my phone and sending them through the online consultation portal at a hospital in New York. The consultation fee plus express surcharge came to twelve hundred dollars. I put it on my credit card. Three days later, the specialist called. “Is this the family of Susan Jones?” A pause. “I’ve reviewed the scans.” Another pause. “The nodule is three centimeters, with pronounced spiculated margins and pleural traction. The probability is strongly in favor of malignancy, with early signs of peripheral infiltration.” I went rigid on the edge of the bed. “We recommend surgery as soon as possible. No delays. When can you get here?” “Tomorrow. First thing tomorrow morning.” I hung up and went straight home for my mother’s ID. I stepped out of the elevator and found the front door wide open. Moving men were hauling things inside.

The guest room had been mostly cleared out. The hallway floor was covered in scattered belongings. The pillowcase my mother had sewn for me. The old bedding she’d used when she stayed. The nebulizer I’d bought. And the worn canvas tote full of her CT films. One of the movers stepped right on it. A black boot print pressed into the fabric. Ethan was in the living room directing everything. “Move that therapy bed in there. Put it by the window.” He saw me and spoke as if nothing had happened. “Good timing. Mrs. Hayes needs a quiet environment to recover after her tests. Sophie can’t manage on her own, so I’m letting them use the guest room for a few days.” I looked at the canvas tote on the floor. Inside were my mother’s handwritten symptom notes. And a hospital receipt from when I was a child, running a fever. She’d carried me through the dark to the town clinic that night. She’d kept that receipt all these years. “Those are my mother’s things.” Ethan glanced at them. “Stop carting all this old paperwork around. It’s easy to lose. The guest room’s been sanitized. Be considerate when Mrs. Hayes moves in.” Sophie’s voice came from the other end of the apartment. “Ethan, I really can’t thank you enough. Giving up your only free room and letting my mom stay here — she would have been so frightened otherwise.” His tone softened. “Don’t mention it. Just let her focus on getting better.” My phone rang. A nurse from the hospital admissions department. “Is this the family of Dr. Ethan Smith? The cardiothoracic bed you’d been waiting for — Dr. Smith signed the transfer today. It’s been reassigned to another patient. You’ll need to re-queue.” I didn’t respond. I ended the call. I crouched down and picked up the canvas tote. I brushed off the boot print and folded the scattered papers back inside one by one. Then I went to the study and pulled open the drawer. The divorce agreement. I’d printed it out a long time ago. I laid it on his desk. I pulled the ring off my left hand and set it on top of the papers. I took the house key off my keychain and tucked it into the canvas tote. I picked up my bag and walked out the door. No argument. No goodbye. Downstairs, I sent my mother a message. Mom, pack your things. I’m taking you to New York. Early train tomorrow morning. She replied almost immediately: Is Ethan coming too? I don’t want to take him away from work. I stood outside in the cold wind. It slipped under my collar. I looked up once at the window of the apartment I’d lived in for five years. Warm light. Voices. Laughter. I typed back: No. He won’t be part of this anymore. On the train, my mother hugged the old canvas tote to her chest. She sat curled against the window and didn’t touch her water. “Does Ethan know?” “Mom, stop worrying about him.” I pressed the cup into her hands. “I’ve got everything arranged with the specialist in New York. We go straight to admissions when we arrive.” She didn’t respond. She just looked down and ran her thumb over the black boot print on the canvas. Four hours later. New York Cancer Center. Admission paperwork. Blood work. Pre-surgical assessment. No hassle. No queue. No night spent shivering in a corridor. When I paid, I swiped my credit card. The balance hit zero. Somehow I felt steadier than I had in weeks. At eight o’clock that evening, my mother fell asleep in her hospital bed. I was sitting on the bench in the corridor when my phone started going off. Ethan. I picked up. “Where the hell have you been?!” He didn’t even take a breath before he started. “Mrs. Hayes is about to be discharged and move in. Why haven’t you made the bed in the guest room? There’s nothing fresh in the refrigerator. What have you been doing all day?!”

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The day I tried on the wedding dress, my fiancé Ethan called out the wrong name. He was looking at my back when the words slipped out of him. “Clara, you look beautiful.” Clara was my sister. She was also Ethan’s first love. She died in an accident during the year they loved each other most. From that moment on, she carved a place in his heart that could never be erased. Every year on Clara’s anniversary, I would go with Ethan to lay flowers at her grave. Ethan promised me they were in the past. One day a year, he allowed himself to grieve. The rest of his days belonged to me. But clearly, he broke that promise. Clara had never left his heart. Not for a single moment. And I understood — the living can’t compete with the dead. If I couldn’t win, then I was done trying. A man who can’t let go of the past — I don’t want him anymore. Soft morning light drifted through the window and settled over the white wedding dress. It cast a kind of sacred glow over a dress that was never really mine. Ethan recovered quickly. He smiled and walked over to me like nothing had happened. “You look beautiful in that dress.” “More beautiful than Clara?” My smile didn’t waver. Ethan looked at me the way you’d look at a child throwing a small tantrum. Gentle. Composed. Nothing like love. “We agreed not to bring her up.” Some people are meant to stay buried in your heart. I nodded quietly and let it go. I went back into the dressing room and slipped off the dress that had never really belonged to me. When I came back out, the saleswoman’s smile turned syrupy. She handed me a glass of water and poured on the flattery. “Ma’am, you’re so lucky — your fiancé is handsome and so generous.” “A wedding dress that costs over a million, and he didn’t even blink.” Ethan came from a very particular kind of family. Wealthy, but allergic to excess. In the weeks leading up to the wedding, he reminded me constantly. Stay composed. Keep a low profile. Don’t give people anything to talk about. And yet here he was, spending a small fortune on a dress this extravagant. For Clara, I thought. It had to be. For that one moment when he looked at my back and saw her instead. A wedding is supposed to be a happy thing. And I was marrying a man who looked perfect on paper. I should have smiled back at the saleswoman’s well-wishes. But for some reason, my face just wouldn’t cooperate. I looked up. Ethan had already walked outside. He was holding a cigarette. Seven years he’d been clean. This was the first time he’d broken that. A small flame flickered at his fingertips, stuttering in and out. I wondered if he was lost in the past again. I didn’t walk over to interrupt that moment. I waited until his brow finally relaxed before stepping back to his side. “It’s getting late. Let’s head home.” “Your grandmother’s waiting for us for dinner.” The lighter clicked rhythmically in Ethan’s hand. After a brief silence, he let out a quiet sigh. “Let’s go.” He had accepted his fate. Marrying a woman he didn’t love — all for the sake of his family. We got in the car. Out of habit, Ethan reached toward the breast pocket of his jacket. His calm expression shifted into something frantic. He got out of the car and rushed back into the store. I was pretty sure I knew why. He’d left a necklace in the dressing room. The necklace he and Clara had exchanged as a promise. When we first got together, Ethan stood in front of me and buried every one of Clara’s belongings in the ground. He swore to me, over and over, that he had moved on. That our life together was what he wanted now. But he lied.

That necklace had been with him every single day, pressed close to his skin. Tucked away with all the love he still carried for Clara. I hesitated for a moment, then pulled out my phone and sent a message to my best friend. She replied fast, a string of shocked reactions following close behind. “Abroad? Are you insane???” “You and Ethan are literally about to get married — you want to go study overseas now? What about your future husband?” “A catch like him isn’t going to wait around for three years.” “Wait, something happened, didn’t it?” “Did Ethan do something? Did he cheat? Did he change his mind?” Not exactly. His heart had never belonged to me to begin with. I filled my best friend Zoe in on what happened at the bridal shop. She called me immediately on FaceTime. “Yvonne, you need to think this through.” “Your two families have been tied together for years. Missing someone from the past isn’t exactly a deal-breaker.” “We’ve all watched how well he treats you. You can’t throw that away over one moment.” I knew all of that. But the thing that breaks a camel’s back is never just one straw. And my decision to leave Ethan wasn’t about this one thing either. By any reasonable measure, I had no business marrying Ethan at all. He was the heir to one of the most powerful families in the city. I was just the illegitimate daughter of the Shaws. A secret. An afterthought. The family’s real daughter was Clara. And we couldn’t have been more different. Clara was the product of two great families coming together in love. She was the princess everyone adored, raised in warmth and admiration. Following the path life had laid out for her, she would have married into the most prestigious family in the city. She would have gone from the cherished Shaw daughter to the celebrated Mrs. Crawford. And I would have spent my life in some quiet, forgotten corner. Invisible. But life doesn’t follow anyone’s plan. An accident. A car crash. Clara was gone. Her father’s hair turned white overnight. Ethan aged ten years in what felt like moments. Ethan swore he’d never remarry. But the Shaw family wasn’t ready to let go of the connection — or the power that came with it. Using my mother’s life as leverage, they pressured and maneuvered until they managed to send me in Clara’s place. I was living under someone else’s roof. I didn’t have a choice. I had to do what I’d always done since arriving at the Shaws’. Walk carefully. Make myself useful. Keep everyone satisfied. I paid close attention to Ethan’s preferences. I showed up exactly when he needed someone. I quietly imitated the way Clara used to speak and move, hoping to earn even a fraction of his sympathy. Ethan was sharp. There was no way he hadn’t noticed. But he never once called me out for it. And unlike the Shaws, he never looked at me with that cold, dismissive stare — the kind that reminded you exactly how little you mattered. Instead, he’d gently suggest I change out of something that didn’t suit me, his voice easy and unhurried. “Yvonne, you don’t have to do this.” “You’re a good person. But my heart already belongs to Clara.” In the end, he agreed to let me stay. On one condition: he would never love me. That was fine. Staying was enough. I had no way to escape the Shaw family’s grip on my life. And Ethan had no way out of the grief that still followed him everywhere. I needed his protection. He needed someone to take care of things. And so, in this strange and distant kind of arrangement, we held each other up and walked through seven years together. In those seven years, my mother’s health stabilized, and I earned a place at a university abroad. The day I received my acceptance letter, I said goodbye to Ethan — politely, calmly, like it was nothing. But in the second before my flight was supposed to take off, Ethan appeared. He got every plane on the tarmac grounded. And then he searched that airport for me. For a long, long time.

When he finally found me, he broke down. He stood there and cried. “Yvonne, please don’t go.” “Since you left, my whole world has felt empty.” “I think I’ve been falling in love with you — and I didn’t even realize it until now.” “I’ve already lost someone once.” “I can’t lose you too.” How could a girl who had never been loved turn down a confession like that? Especially when she had been quietly in love with him for years. So I gave up my spot. I stayed by his side. An illegitimate nobody, suddenly becoming Mrs. Crawford. For a while, I was genuinely happy. I thought I had finally found something good. I thought that even someone like me deserved to be loved. But fate doesn’t stay kind for long. While I was decorating our new home, I found a letter. It was something Ethan had written to Clara. A confession, tucked away and forgotten. “Clara, I miss you so much.” “My family keeps pushing me toward this arranged marriage. How am I supposed to forget you?” “The woman they want me to marry is Yvonne — your stepsister, the one you always said you couldn’t stand.” “When she and I get married, do you think you’ll be so annoyed you’ll come back to haunt me in my dreams?” “Honestly, I hope you do.” “At least then I’d get to see you one more time.” Tears had blurred parts of the writing. Some of the middle was unreadable. But the last line came through perfectly clear. “Clara, I promise you — no matter who’s beside me, you are the only one I will ever love.” His feelings for me were a lie. His feelings for Clara were the truth. He confessed to me out of defiance. Out of distraction. To fulfill a family obligation and find someone presentable enough to stand beside him. Love had nothing to do with it. Everything I had built my life around collapsed in an instant. My world went back to rubble. Even my voice, when I finally spoke to Zoe, came out broken. “I spent the whole night trying to convince myself to pretend I never found it. To keep going like nothing happened.” “I had everything I used to dream about. I told myself I should be grateful.” “But today — the moment Ethan said Clara’s name out loud — I realized I can’t do it.” Silence on the other end of the line. Then, a screenshot appeared. A flight booking. “Go. Don’t come back.” “I’ll figure out how to cover for you with Ethan.” “Safe travels.” My vision blurred. Then the car door opened. Ethan hadn’t noticed my tears — his eyes went straight to my phone screen. “Why are you looking at flights? Honeymoon planning?” “Rome or Paris? Your pick.” Neither. I wanted somewhere without Ethan. Somewhere without any of this. I was afraid he’d read my face. So I smiled and steered the conversation elsewhere. “Just browsing. Oh — can you stop at the light up ahead?” “I want to grab some macarons. Your grandmother loves them.” Ethan smiled. The kind of smile that came from finding a lost necklace. And from having a fiancée who remembered his grandmother’s favorite treat without being asked. “You’re so thoughtful. I really did find the perfect daughter-in-law for this family.” For the family. Not for himself. After all this time, I finally heard what had always been hiding inside that joke.

The line at the macaron shop was long. By the time we got back, the dinner had already started. The elders were deep in conversation, trading drinks and talking about things I had no part in. I pushed my steak around on my plate. And found myself thinking about the night Ethan and Clara got engaged. Gifts had filled more than a dozen rooms. Everyone had gathered around her — fussing over her, asking if she was warm enough, if she needed anything. But at my engagement dinner, the conversation was about business. Strategy. What the alliance between two families was worth. Not a single person had asked whether I was happy. Ethan noticed. Under the table, he quietly took my hand. “Bored? Let’s step outside for a bit.” “I’m here. They won’t say anything.” He was always like this. Attentive. Considerate. Three parts genuine, seven parts performance. Just enough to keep me off balance. I was about to answer when his phone buzzed. He glanced at it. His expression shifted fast. “Something urgent came up at work. I have to go handle it.” “Yvonne, stay and keep the elders company for me.” As Ethan hurried out, his grandmother’s face tightened. She never let her displeasure show in front of him. That was reserved for me. “Your husband has to leave and you can’t do a thing about it.” “You’re nothing like your sister.” Mrs. Shaw clicked her tongue in agreement, adding her own twist of the knife. “What do you expect? She’s just a bastard. No class.” The table turned on me. Back and forth, one comment after another, each one designed to remind me exactly where I stood. Before, I would have smiled through all of it. Too afraid of making things difficult for Ethan. But not anymore. None of that mattered now. I pushed back my chair and left the table. I soaked in the bath until the tension of the day started to loosen. When I got out, my phone had a new message. A video. And it wasn’t subtle. In it, Ethan had his arm around a young woman, whispering against her ear. “You little troublemaker — faking sick just to get me over here on a night like this.” “You’re going to pay for that.” The girl curled into him, laughing and pouting. Ethan smiled and kissed her harder. The sounds echoed in the room. The ease between them — loose, flirtatious, completely at odds with the composed, controlled man I knew — hit me like a stranger wearing his face. I stared at the screen. Then the girl turned toward the camera. Her face. Her expression. She was the image of Clara. Down to the smallest detail. My vision blurred. My chest pulled tight, a dull throb that wouldn’t let up. It was all fake. Everything. The marriage. The love. Ethan had betrayed what we had. And in doing so, he had betrayed even the love he claimed to carry for Clara. At least Clara was gone now. And I would be gone soon enough. Less than twenty-four hours until my flight. One more sunrise. That was all I had to get through. After that, I’d be free of all of it. Morning came, and Ethan still hadn’t come home. His grandmother, worried, kept nudging me to go check on him. I figured I could use one last look at his face anyway. Ethan hadn’t expected me to show up. He looked caught off guard. On instinct, he tugged his collar up to hide the marks on his neck. Then, with a trace of guilt in his voice: “What are you doing here? Did someone give you a hard time last night?” I shook my head. “No.” I had long since gotten used to being looked down on and talked over.

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After witnessing my parents’ deaths, I lost the ability to shift. Even the smell of another werewolf made me throw up violently. The only person I could bear to be near was my adoptive brother, Alpha Alexander. So he kept me by his side for ten years, forbidding anyone from gossiping about me or insulting me. Everyone said he loved me. Until he brought in that “therapist,” Chloe. She said I was too weak, that I needed exposure therapy. The first time, she dumped me into a chaotic Rogue camp. I almost got killed by those lunatics. The second time, she forced me to watch slaves fight to the death. The smell of blood sent me into shock right there on the spot. The third time, she dangled my parents’ urns outside a 28th-floor window and made me climb a rope ladder to retrieve them. I froze for a single second, the memory of my parents’ deaths flashing through my mind—the urns plummeted from the sky and shattered into pieces right in front of me. I broke down sobbing. Alexander gave me a hard slap across the face. “That was flour! Are you done with your tantrum yet?” I knelt on the ground, staring at that smug woman, and finally understood. He wasn’t doing this for me. He just wanted to be rid of me—the burden who’d brought him shame. That night, I sent a message to the Alpha of Frostmark Pack, far away in the north: “Uncle William, that offer you made before, about coming to live with your Pack? I accept.”

Seraphina’s POV Everyone in the werewolf world knew that Alpha Alexander of Dusklight Pack had a “glass rose” he’d been pampering for ten years. That was me. Because I’d watched my parents die brutally in battle, I’d developed severe PTSD. It made shifting completely impossible. Just seeing another werewolf shift, or witnessing any kind of fighting, would trigger violent physical and psychological reactions—mild cases meant nausea and dizziness, severe ones meant suffocation and fainting. For my sake, Alexander had built a special mansion that blocked out almost all outside sounds, sights, and smells. No werewolf was allowed near the property. Even our maids and housekeepers were human. If anyone in the Pack dared discuss my condition, he punished them harshly. If gossip from another Pack reached his ears, he’d launch a brutal attack and kill the gossipers without mercy. Everyone assumed Alexander would protect me like this for the rest of my life. Until that therapist Chloe showed up. She was human, but bright and bold, like a wild rose blooming under blazing sun. Even an iceberg like Alexander melted for her. Because Chloe said one sentence—”She’s just spoiled and too weak. She needs strong stimulation”—I was forced into so-called “exposure and shock therapy.” The first time, she tricked me into a chaotic Rogue camp, calling it “adapting to the real living environment of werewolves.” I lasted less than half an hour before having a complete breakdown, throwing up until I passed out. The second time, Chloe took me to a dungeon and forced me to watch two werewolf slaves fight to the death up close. The bloody scene dragged up my worst memories. I went into shock right there. The third time… this last time, Chloe hung my parents’ urns outside a 28th-floor window and forced me to climb an unsecured rope ladder to get them. She framed it as: maybe under extreme conditions, I could finally overcome my fear and shift. I finally snapped. I slapped Chloe hard across the face and stormed straight to Alexander, demanding he fire that crazy woman. “Alexander, where the hell did you find this lunatic?” I pointed at him, my voice shaking. “I have a psychological trauma. I’m not just being weak! Why would you bring in some human who barely understands werewolves to torture me? She used my parents’ ashes to threaten me. Is that something a doctor should ever do?” Alexander completely ignored my anger. His eyes went straight past me to Chloe. Five clear finger marks were swelling up on her pale cheek. She bit her red lip and stared at Alexander stubbornly, eyes full of hurt but somehow still strong. “I know this kind of shock therapy is painful,” she said, voice catching slightly. “But I’m experienced. This will help Seraphina overcome her psychological barriers. As long as she cooperates, I’m sure she’ll soon be able to face the real werewolf world. She might even shift.” I watched the ice in Alexander’s eyes melt away, replaced by tenderness and concern. “I’m sorry, Chloe. Seraphina wasn’t always like this. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” Chloe gave him a small, understanding smile. “It’s fine. As a doctor, getting misunderstood by patients comes with the territory. But I’ll never give up on any patient of mine.” The admiration in Alexander’s eyes only deepened. Then he turned to me, his expression instantly turning cold and disappointed. “Seraphina, what’s happened to you? Chloe is doing all this for your own good. How could you raise your hand against her? Where’s the dignity an Alpha’s daughter should have?” My eyes were red. I screamed back hysterically, “She used Mom and Dad’s ashes to threaten me! Don’t I have the right to slap her? Alexander, can you really stand there and let someone desecrate our parents’ ashes? Should they not get any peace even after death?” “Enough!” Alexander’s voice cut me off sharply. “Seraphina, your parents protected you too much when they were alive. That’s why you turned out so fragile! And whose fault is it they can’t rest in peace? If you’d just gotten over this barrier earlier and learned to face the world, would they still be worrying about you?” His words hit me like a thunderclap. Tears rolled down my cheeks, one after another. “So… you’re blaming me?” My voice trembled. “You won’t blame Chloe for abusing me, but you’ll blame me?” For a split second, something flickered in Alexander’s eyes—maybe guilt. But it vanished, replaced by hard resolve. “Seraphina, just listen. Chloe is helping you. Cooperate with her and overcome this. Then you can become my Luna and rule the Pack with me.” Chloe chimed in from the sidelines, looking like a victor. “Yes, Seraphina. My methods may be a bit intense, but they work. After the first two sessions, your tolerance to a ‘werewolf environment’ has improved slightly. That’s huge progress. If we just keep going, you’ll succeed.” Alexander’s hardness, his absolute refusal to listen, made my chest hurt so badly I couldn’t breathe. Before, Alexander never forced me to do anything I didn’t want to do. When had he ever yelled at me like this? I wiped my tears and stopped fighting. No matter what, I couldn’t let anything happen to my parents’ ashes. I obediently climbed the ladder. Chloe stood below, smiling encouragingly. “You can do it, Seraphina.” Her grace only made me look more “irrational” and “unreasonable.” But I was the one being hurt. I’d always been the one being hurt. The wind was strong up there. It chilled me to the bone. Chloe wouldn’t allow me any protective gear or comfort items. Said it would ruin the “extreme stimulation.” So I climbed in nothing but thin clothing. I forced myself past my fear of heights, climbing one rung at a time. The higher I went, the stronger the wind got, and the closer I came to those dangling urns. Then Chloe’s voice came from below: “Hurry, Seraphina. To control the time and reduce your anxiety, I’ve set a countdown. One minute until the mechanical claw releases automatically.” My heart slammed in my chest. How dare Chloe? Forgetting my fear, I scrambled up the ladder as fast as I could. But I couldn’t even shift. I’d spent my entire life inside a safe mansion. How could I have a normal werewolf’s reflexes or strength? One minute wasn’t nearly enough to cover the remaining distance. Just as my fingertips finally brushed the urns with everything I had— The mechanical claw released. I reached out, desperately trying to grab them, and watched helplessly as my parents’ urns slipped through my fingers. They fell from twenty-eight floors up and smashed onto the concrete below, shattering into pieces. “NO—!” I screamed until my throat tore. In total despair, I leapt off the ladder. Thankfully, I still had a safety harness on. When I touched down, ghostly pale and trembling, Alexander didn’t check on me first. He charged up and slapped me across the face. “Seraphina! Have I been too soft on you?” He roared, “You’ve got such a temper now you’d throw your own life away to spite us? How can you face your dead parents like this? Chloe already told you—those were just prop urns. They were filled with flour. You really think she’d be insane enough to actually use your parents’ ashes?” I froze, my cheek burning. Chloe rushed over, throwing herself between us, all virtue and sainthood. “Alexander, don’t blame Seraphina. This is my fault. Maybe this aggressive therapy is too soon for someone in her current state.” Before she could finish, I shoved her hard from behind. “I don’t want your fake kindness!” Chloe fell forward, hitting her forehead on the steps. A trickle of blood appeared. “Seraphina, that’s enough!” Alexander scooped Chloe up in his arms, shooting me an icy glare. Then, without sparing me another glance, he turned and walked away. I knelt on the ground, tears falling onto cold concrete, one after another. In that moment, a thought floated through my mind: Alexander doesn’t belong to me anymore. I cried as I tried to gather the shattered pieces, scooping up the gray-white powder. Did anyone really think a daughter wouldn’t recognize her own parents’ urns? I had even carved special marks on them to tell which was which. Flour, my ass. It was all lies. Before I could finish, a gust of wind swept the ashes into the air, and they were gone forever. The image of my parents’ deaths replayed in my head—the blood, the screaming, all of it pressing in around me. I dry-heaved twice. Then everything went black, and I passed out. When I woke up, I was lying in the Pack’s hospital. Special aromatherapy filled the room with mild herbal scents, calming my nerves. There were no other werewolf scents in the room, which made things much easier. I struggled to sit up to get some water and faintly heard Alexander on the balcony outside, talking on the phone. “I know Chloe’s methods are extreme, but if we don’t do this, Seraphina will never live like a real werewolf.” His voice sounded exhausted. “Always being so careful with her, protecting her. Ten years of this. I’m exhausted.” “I know what my adoptive parents wanted, but Seraphina can’t even shift.” “I can’t be tied down for life by a defective mate who can never shift, who has to stay locked behind glass. As an Alpha, I need a strong mate who can stand beside me. The Pack needs a strong Luna. Is that wrong?” A huge hole tore open in my chest, and a freezing wind blew straight through it. Alexander was the adopted son of my parents—the late Alpha and Luna of Dusklight Pack. He was technically my brother, but everyone in our circles knew exactly what my parents had in mind when they took him in. He’d been chosen to be my mate and protector. They figured a werewolf raised from childhood would be more loyal than a fated mate. I’d always known this. I’d given my heart to that strong, gentle man a long time ago. I’d thought we’d naturally end up spending our lives together. Now I knew Alexander didn’t see it that way at all. To him, I was just a burden he couldn’t shake off—a stain on his perfect record. I laughed bitterly, tears sliding silently down my face. If he’d never planned to spend his life with me, he didn’t have to come up with such noble excuses. He didn’t have to bring in a maniac to torture me. I didn’t blame him for wanting a strong, normal life. I just hated the way he was crushing my dignity, denying that I had any worth at all. I pulled out my phone and opened the encrypted email that had been sitting in my drafts for so long. I thought for a moment, then hit reply: “Alpha William, your offer for me to join Frostmark Pack? I accept.”

Seraphina’s POV An international call came through almost immediately. William’s steady, concerned voice was on the other end. “Seraphina, my dear girl, you’ve finally come to your senses!” “Your situation isn’t suited to staying in Dusklight Pack at all. That environment will only keep traumatizing you. Things are peaceful here, and being far away from everything might help you heal.” “I suggested you come years ago, but you couldn’t bear to leave. I’m so glad you’ve changed your mind.” I forced out a pale smile. “Then… could I trouble you with the international flight arrangements and passport?” William’s voice was grounding and reassuring. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ve handed it all to Julian. He says he’ll use every resource available to handle the documents as fast as possible.” “In the meantime, just wrap things up over there. Julian will come pick you up himself.” “Okay,” I answered softly. I’d just hung up when Alexander pushed open the door. “Seraphina, you’re awake? Who were you calling?” I shook my head, said nothing, and quietly flipped my phone face-down on the bed. Alexander assumed I was still angry. Out of habit, he reached out to ruffle my hair, but I dodged. His hand stopped awkwardly in midair. He paused, then withdrew his hand. His voice softened. “Seraphina, are you still mad at me?” “I’m doing this for you. Once you overcome this, you can live like a normal werewolf instead of being mocked behind your back.” For me? I laughed bitterly inside. Before, I really had believed he was doing it for my sake. I’d just been too naïve. Now I knew—he wasn’t doing it for me. He was doing it to get rid of me. Ten years of accommodating his “defective” sister had been more than enough for him. He was desperate to shake off the burden who lived in a glass bubble and embarrassed the Pack. When I still didn’t speak, his patience ran out. “Seraphina, Chloe worked hard putting together a treatment plan for you. You don’t appreciate it, fine—but you pushed her and hurt her. Once you’re feeling a little better, I want you to apologize to her.” I forced down the bitter ache in my chest. My voice came out cold. “Apologize? Not happening. She destroyed my parents’ urns, and I’m supposed to apologize to her? Alexander, you must be dreaming.” His face darkened instantly. His voice came out cold as ice. “You’ll apologize, or I no longer have a sister.” I turned and stared at him in disbelief. “Alexander, are you actually threatening to disown me?” I steeled myself. Each word was sharp and clear. “I will never apologize to that woman. Not as long as I live.” He laughed, furious, and nodded. “Fine. Great. If you refuse to see reason, then from this day on, you don’t set foot inside the Alpha’s mansion. Not until you apologize.” My eyes burned red as I stared him down. “Why? That’s my home! That’s what my parents left me! If anyone’s leaving, it should be you—the outsider! I don’t need a brother like you!” The word “outsider” clearly cut him deep. Alexander’s face went terrifyingly dark. The one thing he hated most was being reminded of his adoptive status. He shot me a venomous glare without saying a word, then slammed the door on his way out. I stared at the closed door, all color drained from my face. I’d never expected things to end between us over some human woman we’d just met. For the next several days, Alexander didn’t come to the hospital once. No calls. No messages. I told myself I didn’t care. I went home alone to that empty mansion. I didn’t have much time left. Maybe a clean break was better. I could leave without looking back. No more lingering attachments. Back home, sitting in the dark living room, I happened to scroll past a new SnapChat post from Chloe. In the photo, sunlight bathed a green lawn. Chloe wore a pure white wedding gown, her arm hooked through Alexander’s, who was in a sharp tailored suit. Both of them were beaming under the sun, looking like the perfect couple. The caption read: “Some people have nowhere else to go, so they end up being my free model.” “Shoot in progress. Just the test photos, but weddings are exhausting!” The comments were full of congratulations and likes from mutual acquaintances. Chloe didn’t bother explaining whether it was for work or anything else. She just replied with a tongue-out emoji. My phone slipped from my hand and dropped onto the carpet with a soft thud.

Seraphina’s POV I hesitated for a long time, but in the end, I couldn’t shake the feeling gnawing at me. I bundled myself up tight, put on my special mask, and tracked down the location Chloe had tagged. It was a wedding photography studio in the small town nearby. The weather was clear and warm. I searched for a while before finally spotting them by a European-style flower garden. It was a break in shooting. I hid in the shade of a tree and watched as Alexander gently pulled out a tissue to wipe sweat from Chloe’s brow. He even unscrewed a water bottle and held it to her lips. The deep affection in his eyes was impossible to hide. Chloe had changed into a long, flame-red dress, looking like a fresh bloom. She leaned against him bashfully. Both of them were stunning. Just standing there, they were a sight, and everyone around—staff, other couples shooting their wedding photos—kept stealing glances. I looked down at myself. In my drab clothes, I was like a ghost who couldn’t bear sunlight, like a rat hiding in a gutter, only able to peek at someone else’s happiness from the shadows. My heart felt like someone was crushing it. The pain made it hard to breathe. In that moment, I felt it for real—Alexander had only ever seen me as a sister. No, less than that. As a burden he had to shake off. The tenderness from these past ten years had been about duty. About my parents’ last wishes. It was never love. Never had been. I’d just been deluding myself. I wanted to leave, but my feet felt like lead. Like a masochist, I kept watching them shift through pose after pose. My goggles fogged up with tears. Chloe seemed to glance my way casually. The corner of her mouth quirked up. Then she suddenly cried out in fake panic. “Oh no! My bracelet! My diamond bracelet—it’s gone!” “That was… that was the last thing my mother left me! What am I going to do?” Her eyes welled up, like she was about to cry. The staff around them immediately dropped what they were doing and started searching. Alexander gripped her shoulders, comforting her over and over. “Don’t panic, Chloe. It has to be nearby. Security here is good. We’ll find it.” Chloe suddenly raised her hand and pointed at my hiding spot. Her voice turned shrill. “That person! That person has been acting really suspicious. I just saw them lurking around. Did they steal my bracelet?” I was bundled up head to toe, hiding in an inconspicuous corner. I really did look suspicious. A few security guards and staff immediately closed in on me. Panic surged through me. I instinctively wanted to explain, but the menacing crowd terrified me. I turned and ran. But the more I ran, the more guilty I looked. “Stop! Catch the thief!” The shouts came from every direction. Disoriented, I slammed into a trash can and went down. Then security caught up and pinned me to the ground. I struggled wildly. “Let go of me! It wasn’t me! I’m not a thief! I was just walking by!” But nobody believed me. “Not a thief? Then why were you sneaking around?” “You won’t even show your face! Guilty conscience for sure!” I begged through tears. “Please… I was just passing by…” They didn’t listen. Someone suggested, “Pull off her mask! Let’s see what this thief looks like!” A wave of despair crashed over me. Being treated like this—the hostility, the pressure—my deep, instinctive fear started spreading. Several rough hands grabbed my head. Despite my screams and struggles, they yanked off my mask and hat. Exposed to so many strangers’ eyes and scents, my face went white in seconds. My body started shaking uncontrollably. Cold sweat broke out everywhere. To them, it must have looked bizarre. Someone muttered, “What the hell? Why’s she freaking out like this?” “Weird. Probably mentally ill. Stay back!” People backed away like I was contagious. I struggled to push myself up, raising my arm to shield my face from those piercing stares. “No… please… I just…” I tried to explain my PTSD, but the words stuck in my throat. A passerby with an iced coffee in hand walked over, his face twisted in disgust. “Oh, please. She’s just one of those psychos who fakes a fit when they get caught stealing. Stop scaring the kids around here!” With that, he dumped the entire iced coffee, ice and all, over my head. Cold brown liquid and ice cubes hit me. The cold and humiliation made me shake harder. Around me, scattered laughter and cheers broke out. “Yeah, teach this freak a lesson!” Some people even started picking up small stones from the ground and throwing them at me. I curled up on the ground, covering my head. My mind went blank. The horror of past memories blurred with the present, and I could barely breathe. Through the gaps in the crowd, I looked desperately into the distance. Alexander and Chloe were standing right there, watching this circus play out with cold detachment. A final, weak hope flickered in my chest. I called out in a tiny voice, “Alexander… Alexander, help me…” If he didn’t help me, I didn’t know what would happen to me. Alexander’s expression seemed to falter. He took a half-step forward. But Chloe immediately grabbed his arm. “Alexander, did I just hear Seraphina’s voice?” Chloe said, pretending to be confused. He stopped, frowning. “How is that possible? Seraphina should be at home reflecting on what she did. And in her condition, why would she be in a crowded place like this?” “True.” Chloe linked her arm tighter through his and smiled. “Must have been my imagination. Looks like some psycho is causing a scene over there. Let’s not get involved, it’s bad luck. We’ve still got a few more shots to take. After we wrap, I’ll buy you a fancy dinner to thank you for stepping in today.” Alexander’s face relaxed. He nodded. “Sure. Whatever you want. We don’t need to get involved.” The two of them turned and walked away. Neither of them looked back. In that instant, the last bit of light inside me went out. I stopped struggling. I let the cold and shame swallow me. I let those stones strike my body. Consciousness faded. Right before the darkness took me, I thought: Maybe it’s better this way. I’m finally not anyone’s burden anymore.

Seraphina’s POV When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in my own familiar bed. My whole body felt cold. My head was splitting. I turned my head and saw Alexander sitting on the couch by the bed, eyes closed. A bowl of steaming cream of mushroom soup sat next to him. He sensed me moving and turned. A familiar tenderness softened his eyes. “You’re awake. Hungry? I had the kitchen make your favorite soup.” His tone was casual, intimate—like we hadn’t fallen out at all just days ago. Like I hadn’t almost broken down in public. I turned my head away, not wanting to look at him. But my chest ached. Every time we fought, the next day he’d act exactly like this—warm and easy, like nothing had happened. “Why are you here?” My voice was hoarse. “Didn’t you say I wasn’t allowed back here?” His face stiffened. His tone turned colder. “Are you really still trying to fight me about that? You knew that was just me being angry.” “If someone hadn’t called me, I never would have known you’d gone outside alone, that you’d been treated like a thief and bullied!” “Seraphina, if something had happened to you, how could I face Mom and Dad?” At the mention of my parents, my eyes welled up again. “Dying would have been better. At least I could be with them. Then I wouldn’t be a burden anymore. Without me dragging you down, you can finally have the strong Alpha life you’ve always wanted.” I’d torn open my deepest, ugliest thought, and his face went iron-gray. “Seraphina! What did you say? After ten years, that’s how you see me?” he growled. I trembled, but threw it back at him. “How else am I supposed to see you? You brought in Chloe to torment me, didn’t you? Just to get rid of me?” He shot up and started pacing the room, agitated. “Seraphina, I really have spoiled you these past few years. I should have cured you sooner. Otherwise, how could your thinking get so dark and twisted?” The air in the room froze. Alexander rarely talked to me like this. But ever since Chloe showed up, his exceptions had become the rule. Just then, the door opened. Chloe walked in with a tray, her voice gentle and pleading. “Seraphina, you really have Alexander all wrong. He cares about you with his whole heart. He literally dreams about you overcoming your barriers, about you being a normal werewolf again. Saying things like this hurts him so deeply.”Alexander looked at her, his eyes softening, and shot her a grateful glance. Their eyes met in the air, sharing some kind of intimate understanding that left no room for outsiders. Watching them, my heart felt like it was being pricked by needles. I let out a cold laugh. “Who do you think you are? This is my home. Since when do you get a say?” The smile froze on Chloe’s lips. Her face went pale in an instant, like she’d been wronged in the worst possible way. Alexander immediately stepped forward, putting her behind him, glaring at me. “Seraphina! When did you become so cruel and unreasonable? Chloe poured her heart into making this plan for you, and this is how you treat her? Looks like Chloe was right—you don’t know how to be grateful!” “Treatment needs to speed up. Starting today, Chloe will move into the estate until you’re fully recovered!” With that, ignoring my shock and protests, he grabbed Chloe’s hand and led her out. Just as the door was about to close, Chloe turned her head. Those eyes, hidden from Alexander, held no trace of victimhood. They were full of triumph and provocation. She mouthed the words silently to me: “Seraphina, I won’t ‘disappoint’ you.”

Seraphina’s POV The day after Chloe moved in, my life turned into hell. She took complete control over my food, clothing, and living arrangements. Because of my psychological condition, I was extremely sensitive to anything that carried a strong werewolf scent. But to Chloe, all of that was just “spoiled behavior” and “psychosomatic.” With one wave of her hand, she dismissed every human maid in the mansion and replaced them with werewolves. And items started appearing in my room with intense, unfamiliar adult werewolf scents—bloodstained blades, silver daggers. Even during meals, she’d play loud, frantic music. I took a deep breath and forced down the urge to smash everything. Just a few more days. I didn’t want to fight with this lunatic anymore. I’d consider it my final exercise in patience. Seeing that I had barely touched dinner, Chloe curled her lips and asked with fake concern, “Seraphina, is the food not to your taste? I noticed you’ve barely eaten.” I kept my expression cold. “Not hungry.” Chloe’s eyes welled up immediately. She turned to Alexander. “Alexander, is there a problem with the meal I arranged? I know Seraphina has issues with me, but she shouldn’t take it out on her health. If my presence is bothering her, I can eat elsewhere from now on.” She made a show of standing up. Alexander grabbed her hand. “What are you doing? You’re an honored guest. You’re our therapist. You’re not eating anywhere else. Sit down!” Chloe gave me a troubled look. “But…” Alexander’s eyes turned cold as they landed on me. “Seraphina, there’s a limit to your tantrums. Chloe has stayed up nights perfecting your treatment plan. All of this was designed with care. If you can’t appreciate it, fine—but who are you putting on this attitude for?” I didn’t answer. I set down my napkin and dabbed at my mouth. “I’m full. Enjoy your meal.” I stood and started to leave. As I passed Alexander, he grabbed my wrist with shocking force. “Seraphina! I’m talking to you! Where are your manners?” Sharp pain shot through my wrist. I winced and yanked my hand free, staring at the red mark blooming on my skin. “You call this dinner?” I gestured at the unsettling background and music. “Look around. Listen. Is this something I can handle? Did you forget what these things do to me?” Alexander froze. His eyes softened, and a flicker of guilt passed through them. But Chloe immediately spoke up softly. “Alexander, this is part of exposure therapy. Tolerance training is important too. A lot of Seraphina’s discomfort is actually psychosomatic. We need to break those false associations.” The guilt vanished from Alexander’s eyes. He hardened again. “Seraphina, Chloe is right. This is psychological. As long as you slowly accept it, your body and mind will adapt.” “If you don’t want to accept it, you can go hungry.” He turned coldly to his Beta, Joseph. “No special meals for her without my permission. All her arrangements need to go through Chloe. Let her starve a few days. Once she’s calm, she’ll learn to listen.” Tears welled up in my eyes. I didn’t say anything. I just turned and walked away, not wanting them to see me cry.

Seraphina’s POV This time, Alexander was dead set on forcing me to be “normal.” For days, my surroundings were full of deliberate, unbearable stimulation. Before, even when we fought, he’d leave me some breathing room. Now even that last bit of peace was gone. I didn’t know when my relationship with Alexander had become this. But it wouldn’t be much longer. I looked at the encrypted message I’d just received on my phone. From Julian: “Everything is arranged. In five days, the plane will be waiting at the agreed location. Seraphina, I look forward to meeting you.” I rubbed my burning eyes. Five days. After days of constant emotional stress, I’d visibly deteriorated. My face was paper-white, dark circles under my eyes. When Alexander came to check on me, something complicated flickered across his face at the sight of me—but it was quickly replaced with cold detachment. Chloe came too. She stood at my doorway and whispered in his ear: “Alexander, hold steady. This is the darkness before dawn. Once we get through this, she’ll be reborn, and you’ll finally be free.” Alexander’s jaw tightened. He nodded. By the morning of the fourth day, while going down the stairs, I collapsed from exhaustion and malnutrition. Everything went black. When I woke up, Alexander was sitting by my bed holding a bowl of plain oatmeal porridge. His tone was unusually conciliatory. “Seraphina, you win.” He sighed, his voice hoarse. “I just want you to live like a real werewolf. Is that wrong? Why can’t you understand my intentions?” Looking at this Alpha—famous in the werewolf world for his ferocity and brutality—now looking helpless and frustrated with me… There was nothing left in my heart but a cold exhaustion. I turned my head, avoiding his gaze. “I’ll try to cooperate with Chloe,” I rasped. But all I was thinking about was getting out of here as fast as possible. His eyes seemed to brighten. He reached out, wanting to pat my head like he used to. But his hand stopped mid-air. In the end, he just said stiffly, “Get some rest. No more foolish stunts.” I forced out a weak smile. Right. No more foolish stunts. Because in five days, I’d disappear from his world for good. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Chloe standing in the doorway. Her eyes were dark and cold. Her fists were clenched. She turned and left. Something about that look sent a chill down my spine.

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When Adrian and Isla had another screaming match, both of them grabbed their suitcases, ready to walk out on me. He gripped my arm, his face dark. “Are you really going to stay with a girl like her? She’s reckless. Come with me.” Isla’s explosive temper flared, and she spat out the words without thinking: “Cut the righteous act, Adrian! Whose lace panties are those in your pocket? You think just because Maeve can’t speak, you can play her for a fool?” Panic seized me. I made desperate, choked sounds, my hands flying in a flurry of frantic signs, begging them both to stay. There’s a mistake, Isla. He’s not like that. Please, don’t go. But the screaming only escalated. By the end of the night, one had headed North, the other South. I was torn, caught in the wreckage of their anger, but in the end, I chose to follow Isla. She had always been the one to bend, to tolerate Adrian’s coldness just to keep the three of us together. I reached her apartment and turned the doorknob. The door wasn’t locked. From inside the bedroom, the unmistakable, breathless sounds of my best friend drifted down the hall. “If you’d just told me you bought them for me, we wouldn’t have fought so hard…” And then, Adrian’s voice. The cold, untouchable Adrian Locke, now thick with a raw, restrained lust. “As if you don’t scream loud enough already. Keep it down. What if she…” Isla let out a low, knowing laugh. “You know Maeve. She’s too busy trying to keep the peace. She’s so terrified of choosing between us that she won’t follow either of us.” She paused, her voice turning sharp and teasing. “Besides, when it comes to this, do you really prefer that quiet little mute girl?” Adrian didn’t answer. But the sudden, violent creak of the mattress was answer enough. My feet felt nailed to the floor. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears. Slowly, I raised my hand and knocked on the door. … Both of them turned toward me, their eyes wide with shock and guilt. “M-Maeve… how did you get in here?” Adrian scrambled to shove Isla away, hurriedly pulling up his pants. He sat on the edge of the mattress, staring at the floor, completely unable to meet my eyes. I stood in the doorway. The mango cream cake I had bought in the city to cheer Isla up slipped from my fingers, splatting onto the hardwood floor. Isla’s tears fell first. She rushed over, grabbing my wrists. “Maeve, please, let me explain. It’s not what it looks like…” Her bare shoulders were covered in fresh, dark hickeys. I pulled my hands back. Slowly, deliberately, I signed: Don’t touch me. You both disgust me. Adrian pushed past her, barking, “Get some clothes on! Let me talk to Maeve!” He grabbed my hands, his palms burning and wet with sweat. “Maeve, listen to me. It was just physical. A release. If you’re angry, take it out on me. Isla saved your life once—please, don’t blame her.” It was sick. Even now, his first instinct was to shield her. I remembered the night Isla saved me from those thugs in the alley. She was a singer at a local dive bar back then. When Adrian finally arrived, he didn’t even thank her. Instead, he spat venom at her: “If Maeve didn’t hang around trash like you, she would never have been in danger!” He had even called her a whore. Because those thugs had strangled me so hard they ruined my vocal cords, leaving me unable to speak, the hatred between Adrian and Isla seemed written in stone. Adrian looked down on her, constantly warning me to cut ties. “You’re too naive, Maeve. She’s the neighborhood bicycle. I’m just looking out for you.” And Isla would sneer back: “He acts so clean, but he’s a closet freak. Watch your back, or he’ll leave you looking like a fool.” I had spent years playing peacemaker, secretly feeling blessed that the two people who loved me most were simply overprotective. But they were fucking. Looking at the red scratches on Adrian’s chest, my stomach churned. I raised my hands to sign: Adrian, let’s get a div— Before I could finish the sign for divorce, a sharp shriek echoed from the bedroom. Adrian bolted inside. I followed. Isla was slumped on the floor, her wrist slashed open, blood pooling around her feet. My instinct was to help, but Adrian shoved me away so hard my shoulder hit the wall. “Isla! Isla!” He scooped her pale body into his arms, throwing a look of pure, unadulterated disgust at me before running out. I followed them to the hospital in a daze. When the doctor said she’s out of danger, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I turned to leave, but the doctor’s next words froze me. “Her previous miscarriage already took a heavy toll on her body. As her boyfriend, how could you let her slit her wrists?” My chest tightened. A miscarriage? They had a child. Adrian didn’t deny it. “Doctor, will this affect her ability to get pregnant again?” When the doctor reassured him, the tension in Adrian’s shoulders melted away. Behind the door, tears streamed silently down my face. Isla caught my reflection in the glass. Panicking, she tried to sit up. “Maeve, don’t look at me like that! The baby… it was an accident…” Adrian’s first move isn’t to look at me; it’s to hold Isla steady. He looked up at me, his eyes dark with a suppressed, simmering irritation. “Maeve, she’s highly unstable right now. Can we talk about this later?” A choked, broken sound escaped my throat. I signed rapidly: Is this why you refused to have a baby with me? Adrian looked up at the ceiling, swallowing hard before he spoke. “You got pregnant once too, Maeve.” “But when you and Isla were pregnant at the same time, I had to choose. Be honest with yourself—you’re mute. How could you possibly take care of a baby?” My hands trembled as I sign: So you aborted my child behind my back? Adrian looked down, silent. The last fragile thread of hope inside me snapped. In their sick, twisted game, I had already lost before I even knew I was playing. I left them there, looking like a perfect, worried little family. I walked home in the pouring rain. My mind flashed back to when Adrian first tried to learn sign language for me. He was so clumsy, tracing the gestures with a fierce, earnest devotion. I don’t want to miss a single word you say, he had signed. I want to be the one you turn to when it hurts. Now, that patience was gone. In the middle of the night, a clap of thunder woke me. My phone buzzed with an anonymous video message. I clicked it. It’s Isla, her heavy makeup smeared with tears, screaming at Adrian. “Call me a whore! Call me a cheap slut! But don’t you dare pretend you don’t feel anything for me!” “I paid those guys to rough up Maeve. I wanted her voice gone so you’d see how much better life is with me!” The world stopped spinning. The room went cold. On the screen, Isla’s crazed voice continued: “Go on! Tell her! Tell your precious little angel that her best friend is the reason she can’t speak! Let’s see if she still looks at you the same way!” She beat her fists against Adrian’s chest, sobbing hysterically. Then, Adrian’s voice cut through the noise, chillingly calm. “Fine. We bury this. We bury it forever. She never finds out.” My brain exploded into white noise. That night. The dark alleyway. The hands ripping my clothes. My screams cut short as a rough cloth was tied around my neck, choking me until my throat filled with the metallic taste of blood. Just as the darkness was closing in, Isla had appeared, shattering a beer bottle over their heads. She was my savior. I had defended her against Adrian’s insults. I had even slapped him once when he spoke ill of her. And all along, the people who claimed to love me most were the ones who dragged me into the dark. I ran to the hospital, bare feet hitting the wet pavement. I slammed open Isla’s door, my hands moving so fast they were a blur: Adrian was right. You are a disgusting, pathetic whore. But signing those words felt like driving a knife into my own chest. Isla shrank back, her eyes wide with terror. I remembered when we were young, and she worked at that sketchy bar to feed her family. When men harassed her, I broke a glass bottle and stood in front of her, almost getting my face slashed. When I caught a high fever, she stayed by my bedside for three days and nights. I don’t care what they say, Maeve. As long as you believe in me. Suddenly, Adrian burst into the room. “Maeve! How dare you scream at her!” “You were pinned down by those thugs too! You’re no saint, Maeve. Stop acting so pure!” His words rang in my ears, deafening me. When it happened, he had hunted those men down. He had blamed Isla for dragging me into her world. Now, he was tearing open my deepest wound, using it to stab me. With tears streaming down my face, I signed one last question: You knew what Isla did to me. You knew the whole time, didn’t you? Adrian froze for three long seconds. There was shock in his eyes, but no remorse. “It’s in the past, Maeve. Let it go. Isla lost a child—isn’t that punishment enough?” Three years. Three years of silence. Three years of being looked down upon at job interviews, of having no one but her. I had wanted to end my life so many times, but the thought of leaving them behind kept me alive. And now, he wanted to sweep it under the rug. I clenched my fists, my chest heavy as lead. I pulled out the divorce papers and signed: Adrian, let’s divorce. Adrian blinked, his chest stalling. Then, a flicker of relief washed over his face. “Maeve… you’re doing this so I can take care of Isla, right?” I looked at his smug, confident eyes, and slowly nodded. He sighed with relief, quickly signing his name on the dotted line. “She’s your best friend. She’s lost so much blood and has no one. I’m glad you’re being sensible about this. Once she’s out of the hospital, we’ll get remarried.” They both relaxed, the tension in the room evaporating. Neither of them noticed the utter hollow deadness in my eyes. Even my consent to a divorce is just another convenience for them to play house. I took the signed papers and went home to pack. At 3:00 AM, the front door flew open. Adrian stood there, his face contorted in a dark rage. Before I could react, his hand flew out, striking my cheek. The force of the blow sent me stumbling, my vision spinning. I looked at him, bewildered, signing: What are you doing? What’s wrong? Adrian was shaking, his eyes wild. “Stop playing dumb, Maeve! You proposed the divorce just to clear your name, didn’t you? You knew I wouldn’t suspect you!” “She took your voice, so now you’re taking her life!” I shook my head frantically, signing over and over: It wasn’t me! I don’t know what you’re talking about! But he had no patience left. He dragged me out of the apartment, throwing me into his car, and drove to an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town. “Since you hired them, you go in and get her out. If we’re too late, she’s going to die!” Looking at the dark, menacing structure, I shook my head in terror, signing: It wasn’t me. If I go in there, they’ll kill me. Adrian hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then, a curdling shriek echoed from the top floor of the warehouse. “Adrian! Help me! I’m so scared!” Hearing Isla’s voice, Adrian lost his mind. He dragged me up the stairs. Isla was tied to a chair, gagged, tears streaming down her face. “Take her instead!” Adrian yelled at the masked kidnappers. “Let Isla go!” Without a word, the leader unties Isla and shoves me against a concrete pillar, binding my hands tightly. With my mouth free but my voice gone, I could only make desperate, muffled whimpers. Adrian didn’t look at me. He was too busy checking Isla for injuries, whispering sweet comfort, inspecting her wrists. Only when he was about to carry her out did he cast a brief glance back. “You deal with your own mess, Maeve. Once Isla is safe at the hospital, I’ll come back for you. We’ll talk.” He turned and walked away. No matter how hard I thrashed against the ropes, he didn’t look back. As his shadow disappeared, I stopped struggling. The leader of the kidnappers pulled down his mask, revealing a scarred face. My heart dropped. Shane. He was one of Isla’s frequent drinking buddies at the bar. He had openly chased her for years. He drew a switchblade, tracing the cold metal against my cheek. “Isla told me to just ruin your face, but you made her slit her wrists. How can I let you off that easy?” He pressed the tip of the blade against my chest, right over my heart. I closed my eyes. I welcomed the silence. Suddenly, the metal doors burst open. “Get away from my daughter! Take me instead!” My breath caught. My mother. I shook my head frantically, begging her to run, but no sound came out. As I struggled violently against the ropes, a sickening squelch cut through the air. She had thrown herself in front of me, taking the blade meant for my heart. Hot, thick blood splattered across my face. The world lost all sound. The air froze. She collapsed to the ground, her body heavy and still. Her phone slid across the dusty floor, landing near my feet. The screen was lit up. A single name flashed on the caller ID: Isla. It was Isla who had called my mother. She had sent her to “save” me. I fell to my knees, my bound hands desperately hovering over my mother’s cooling body. “Let’s go! She’s dead! Run!” the men panicked, dropping the knife and fleeing into the night. In the empty, rotting warehouse, a ragged, guttural howl finally broke from my ruined throat. At dawn, with my mother’s ashes sealed in a heavy urn and my body covered in bruises, I boarded the earliest flight out of the city. As soon as the plane touched down, my phone exploded with hundreds of messages from Adrian and Isla. I didn’t read a single one. I blocked them both, deleted their numbers, and disappeared into the crowded streets. Keep playing your tragic, twisted love story, Adrian. I’m done.

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