On Mother’s Day, a woman who claimed to be my mother from three years in the future pushed open my front door. I looked at her, a faint, desperate hope fluttering in my chest, and whispered, “Mom… Wright and I… are we happy after the wedding?” Her face was deathly pale. She grabbed my arm, her grip bruising and desperate. “Ruth, you have to break up with Wright. Right now.” “He’s using you, sweetheart. You’re nothing but a placeholder to him. The only woman he’s ever loved is your stepsister, Hailey.” “He tricks you into a fake marriage. You end up severely depressed, and Hailey spends years rubbing it in your face, mocking you at every turn.” The words hit me like a physical blow. I froze, the breath trapped in my throat. With trembling hands, my mother pulled out her phone and played an audio recording. Wright’s voice came through the speaker. It was that lazy, slow drawl of his—casual, effortless, and utterly devastating. “She’s just a stand-in,” he said, his tone dripping with indifference. “Being with her is just something to pass the time when I’m bored. So what if the marriage license is fake? She doesn’t need to know, and she’s more than willing anyway. Sure, there’s someone else in my heart, but I’ve given Ruth respect, money, everything she could want. It’s not like I’m cheating her out of anything.” That voice. The familiar cadence that used to make me feel safe now made my knees buckle. I had to lean against the wall to keep from collapsing. “Don’t hesitate, Ruth,” my mother whispered, her voice shaking. “He’s going to propose to you on May eleventh. If you wait until then, it will be too late to escape.” I glanced at the calendar on the wall. A bitter, cold ache spread through my chest. Today was May eleventh. 1 A knock rattled the door. My mother slipped quickly into the shadows of the hallway, her voice a hushed, urgent warning. “That recording… you’re the one who sent it to me, three years from now. But by then, you were already pregnant. It was too late to untangle yourself. Remember, Ruth—do not say yes to him!” A profound sense of absurdity washed over me, tight and suffocating. Wright and I had been together for five years. Five years of what I thought was pure devotion. He catered to my every whim. He called me whenever he went out, wired me money without a second thought, and had even declared publicly that I was the only woman he ever wanted to marry. But now, hearing those words from his own mouth… I was just a surrogate. I wanted so badly for this to be a nightmare. The doorbell rang again, more insistent this time. I opened the door. A delivery courier stood there, holding a massive arrangement of nine hundred and ninety-nine red roses. Perched precariously on top was a velvet ring box. My body felt entirely numb as I took the flowers and brought them inside. A second later, my phone buzzed in my hand. It was Wright. His voice was flat, practical. “Ruth, things are crazy at the office right now, and I can’t slip away. Just put the ring on yourself, okay?” The words washed over me like a bucket of ice water. I went cold all over. A proposal—a once-in-a-lifetime moment—and he couldn’t even bother to show up? He sent it via courier? “No,” I said, my voice tight. “You need to come here. Otherwise, I’m not saying yes.” A heavy, impatient sigh came through the receiver. “Stop being difficult, Ruth. I told you, I’m busy. I got you the ring and the flowers. You’ve always been the sensible one. Don’t start disappointing me now.” The call was on speaker. My mother rushed out of the shadows and violently tapped the screen, cutting off the call. “Do you see it now?” she cried, her eyes wide with pain. “Do you see him for what he really is?” My heart shattered. Suddenly, a flood of memories rushed back, but they were different now—stripped of the romantic veneer I had painted over them. I remembered waking up early to brew his favorite coffee, only for him to sip it and frown, saying it was too weak, that Hailey made it better. I remembered trying to learn how to ride a bicycle, falling repeatedly until my knees were black and blue. He had laughed at me, calling me clumsy and uncoordinated, pointing out how graceful Hailey had always been. I remembered spending half the night baking a birthday cake from scratch, only for him to take one bite, call it too sweet, and complain that I didn’t even know his basic preferences. In five years of being together, he had done nothing but criticize and chip away at my self-esteem. The only praise he ever offered me—the only label he deemed fit to give me—was “sensible.” My mother saw the raw, quiet grief in my eyes. She grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the door. “Don’t waste another tear on him. Come on, I’m taking you out.” She tried to give me a watery, encouraging smile. “What is it you kids say these days? Out with the old, in with the new? No room for sad, only room for bad. I’m paying. Today, we leave all this misery behind and let you actually have some fun.” As we reached the door, she whispered, “I’ll follow you, but I can’t let him see me. Wright is paranoid. If he catches on to me, the timeline might forcibly drag me back.” We went to a high-end lounge downtown. The lighting was low and hazy, the bass humming through the floorboards. As soon as we sat down in our private booth, a line of handsome young men filed in. One gently massaged my shoulders; another poured me a drink with practiced grace. I sat there like a statue, stiff and painfully out of place. It was awkward, overwhelming, and utterly bizarre. The young man beside me stood up to hand me a glass of champagne, but his foot caught on the edge of the rug. He stumbled, losing his balance. My instincts kicked in, and I reached out to steady him. But the moment my fingers brushed his arm, the heavy oak door of the VIP suite was slammed open with a deafening crash. 2 Wright stood in the doorway, his face twisted in a dark, terrifying scowl. Without a word, he marched over, grabbed my wrist in a crushing grip, and dragged me out of the room. He slammed me against the corridor wall, his chest heaving with a volatile mix of fury and wounded pride. “Ruth Collins, I really underestimated you.” “You hang up on me, and then you come to a place like this? What is this, some kind of hard-to-get game? You think you’re being clever?” My eyes burned, hot tears threatening to spill. “Let go of me!” I spat. “How did you even know I was here? Have you been tracking me?” A flicker of guilt crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by a harsh glare. “Yeah, I was! You’re my fiancée, Ruth. I have every right to know where you are.” I let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “Fiancée? What kind of man proposes through a delivery guy?” Wright’s eyes filled with dismissive arrogance. “Give it a rest. I’m offering to marry you. Isn’t that enough?” That sentence punctured the very last of my illusions. How had the man I once shared everything with become this stranger? Back in college, we used to sneak out past curfew, sitting on the curb of some quiet street all night. We talked about everything—the stars, the future, our smallest fears, our grandest dreams. It felt like we had a lifetime of words to share. But now, even with him standing inches away, it felt like we were separated by a thick, bulletproof glass wall. The warmth of our relationship had died a long time ago, washed away by the exhaustion of his work and the daily grind of his dismissive apathy. People were staring at us in the busy hallway, whispering. I struggled against his grip, but he only tightened his fingers, refusing to let go. Five years of swallowed pride and quiet humiliation boiled over. I raised my free hand and slapped him, hard, across the face. The slap echoed. His head snapped to the side. He stayed like that for a few seconds, silent, before turning back to me. This time, there was a patronizing, indulgent look in his eyes. “Fine,” he muttered, adjusting his collar. “That slap is your free pass for tonight. Are we even now? If you’ve got it out of your system, come home with me. I’ll make it up to you.” I turned to walk away, but out of the corner of my eye, I spotted my mother ducking behind a pillar at the end of the hall. I knew Wright. If I pushed him too hard right now, he would make a scene, cause a public spectacle, and refuse to let me go. But my mother’s presence was too risky. If he noticed her, or if anyone realized what she was, the consequences could be disastrous. I clenched my jaw, swallowing my rage. I stopped running and quietly followed him to his car. During the silent drive, I surreptitiously texted my mother. Mom, are you okay? Where are you? She replied almost instantly. I’m fine, sweetie. Play along for now. Don’t escalate things with him. Don’t worry about me—I have a safe place to stay. A second later, she sent a photo. In the image, my future mother and my present mother stood side-by-side, smiling warmly at the camera. Two identical versions of the woman who loved me, both fighting with everything they had to save me. A lump formed in my throat, and a soft, bittersweet smile touched my lips. Wright leaned over, trying to peer at my screen. “What’s so funny? What are you looking at?” I clicked the power button, locking the screen instantly, and turned my face to the dark window. “Nothing.” 3 The moment we got back to the penthouse, Wright went into the master bathroom to take a shower. I waited until the water started running, then quietly began searching through the drawers in the study. My fingers shook as I pulled open the very bottom drawer. Tucked deep beneath a stack of documents was a small, red booklet. A marriage certificate. I opened it. There was a photo of Wright and me against a red background, stamped with an official-looking seal. But when I touched the paper, I realized it was a cheap, fabricated replica. Just as my future mother had said. He had prepared this long ago. He never had any intention of giving me a real, legal marriage. I took a deep breath, slipped the fake certificate back exactly where I found it, and closed the drawer. Next, I picked up Wright’s phone from the nightstand. He hadn’t changed his passcode. I unlocked it and opened his social media feed. My heart plummeted into a cold, dark abyss. It was a post from Hailey, my stepsister. She had posted a photo just over an hour before my flowers arrived. It showed a stunning diamond ring nestled in a luxurious velvet box, surrounded by a sea of fresh roses. Her caption read: Someone popped the question today! I told him the flowers and the ring weren’t quite my style, and guess what? He immediately ran out to buy me the latest designer diamond ring just to show his commitment. Should I say yes? I stared at the photo. The wrapping of the bouquet, the velvet box… they were identical to the ones the courier had dropped off at my door. Except mine was the rejected draft. He had spent his afternoon running from mall to mall, desperately trying to find the perfect ring for Hailey. And the one he sent me? Just an afterthought. A leftover from his failed attempt to please her. A wave of profound nausea washed over me. I remembered when I first met Wright. Hailey had just secured a scholarship to study abroad and had left the country. Back then, he used to stare at me for hours, lost in thought. When I asked him why, he would smile and say, “Because you’re beautiful.” Now, the sickening truth was clear. He wasn’t looking at me. He was looking through me, searching for the ghost of Hailey. I was a substitute. A warm body to keep his bed comfortable until the girl he actually wanted came back. The night was pitch black outside, but my mind had never been clearer. The last lingering ember of my love for him died right then. I wanted nothing more than to pack my things and disappear. The bathroom door opened, and Wright stepped out, towel-drying his damp hair. Seeing me standing in the middle of the room, he smiled and walked over, reaching out to wrap his arms around my waist. I took a deliberate step backward, out of his reach. My voice was quiet, steady, and entirely devoid of emotion. “Wright, we’re done. I’m leaving you.” The smile on his face faltered for a fraction of a second, but then he chuckled, stepping closer again. He rested his chin on my shoulder, his voice dropping into that soft, coaxing tone he always used when he wanted to smooth things over. “Still mad, babe? Look, I’m sorry. I messed up today.” “I promise I’ll make it up to you this weekend. Just you and me, okay?” I closed my eyes, a heavy numbness settling over my chest. It was always the same. Every time he crossed a line, his apologies were swift and effortless. He knew exactly how to play the sweet, regretful boyfriend—soft words, sweet promises, endless charm. But he never actually changed. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he didn’t care. Because he was absolutely certain that I would never leave him. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a flurry of urgent texts from my mother. Ruth, please don’t let him sweet-talk you! If you stay, you’ll end up broken. The depression will consume you. I’ve already booked our train tickets. We leave in two days. We’re going to get out of this city and never look back. I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I typed a single word: Okay. 4 Wright didn’t take my breakup seriously. To him, it was just another tantrum. The very next morning, he announced that we were going to a luxury furniture outlet to pick out pieces for our new house. I was exhausted, drained of any desire to play along, and wanted nothing more than to stay in bed and count down the hours until my departure. But he practically dragged me out of the apartment and into his car. When I opened the passenger door, my stomach dropped. Hailey was already sitting in the front seat. She was perfectly made up, offering me a sweet, victorious smile. “Hey, Ruth. I wanted to look at some furniture for my new place too. You don’t mind if I tag along, do you?” Wright immediately shot me a tense, warning look, silently pleading with me not to make a scene and ruin the mood. When I climbed into the back seat without a word, I saw him visibly relax. “See? I knew my Ruth would be cool with it,” he said smoothly, starting the engine. “That’s my sensible girl. Exactly the kind of grace a future Mrs. Campbell should have.” He offered a casual explanation as he drove. “Hailey is family, Ruth. She’s going to be visiting our place a lot, so I figured we should get her input.” Family. The daughter of the woman my father had cheated on my mother with. I had to admire their acting skills. If I hadn’t heard that recording, I would still be the blind fool playing my part in their little drama. I kept my mouth shut and stared out the window. At the massive showroom, Wright was bursting with enthusiasm, painting a picture of our future home. He ran his fingers over a plush velvet sofa, his voice dropping into that gentle cadence. “We should get a soft couch like this. You love curling up to watch your shows. This will keep your back from aching.” “And we’ll do solid oak flooring in the study. It feels much warmer underfoot.” “We’ll install heated floors throughout the whole house, too. You hate the cold.” He spoke with such apparent tenderness, as if he had spent nights thinking about my comfort. But I noticed where his eyes went. Every single thing he described—the binge-watching, the preference for oak flooring, the poor circulation and hatred of winter—belonged to Hailey. When we reached the mattress section, his bias became impossible to hide. He turned directly to Hailey, ignoring me entirely. “What do you think of this one? Is it soft enough? Could you sleep comfortably on this?” The sales associate smiled, her eyes darting between Wright and Hailey. “You two make such a gorgeous couple, and your taste is impeccable. This mattress is top-tier; it won’t sag even after years of use.” Wright stiffened slightly, casting a brief, guilty glance in my direction, but he didn’t offer a single word of correction. A cold, mocking smile touched my lips. My heart was a frozen wasteland. Suddenly, a massive wooden display shelf nearby groaned. The heavy brackets holding it together snapped, and the entire structure began to tilt, collapsing directly toward Hailey and me. We both screamed, pinned by the shadow of the falling timber. Without a single second of hesitation, Wright lunged forward. He threw his entire body over Hailey, pulling her into his chest and shielding her with his back as the heavy shelves came crashing down. He didn’t look at me. Not even once. The sharp edge of a wooden plank scraped violently down my forearm, leaving a raw, stinging red gash. The sales staff rushed over, frantically lifting the debris. Only then did Wright let go of Hailey, his hands shaking as he checked her face and shoulders for injuries. “Are you okay? Did it hit you?” he gasped. He never looked at my arm. Not once did he check to see if I was bleeding. And Hailey, tucked safely under his arm, looked over his shoulder and flashed me a cold, triumphant smirk. On the drive back, the silence inside the car was suffocating. I quietly pulled out my phone and sent a text to my future mother. Everything is packed. We leave tomorrow. Back at the penthouse, I began quietly putting my clothes into a suitcase. Wright leaned against the doorframe of the bedroom, watching me. It was only then that his eyes fell on the red scrape on my arm. “Ruth… about today. I didn’t mean to ignore you.” “It was just reflex. Hailey was in a worse spot, and she’s always been fragile. She can’t handle getting hurt.” I zipped the suitcase shut, my voice completely flat. “You don’t need to explain.” I stood the suitcase up and pushed it into the corner of the closet. Wright frowned slightly. “Maybe a trip is a good idea. Go clear your head for a few days. I’ll wire you some money so you can treat yourself.” I didn’t answer. I suppose in his mind, I was still the sensible, easily mollified Ruth who would always come crawling back. He was so utterly confident in my devotion that he didn’t even bother to ask where I was going. He assumed this was just another short vacation to cool my temper. He would never know. This time, there was no coming back.

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Eighteen years ago, my mother was scheduled for the emergency surgery that was supposed to save her life. But on the morning of the procedure, someone else took her place. I fell to my knees in front of the surgeon, begging, weeping. My desperation bought me nothing but cold, unblinking rejection. Another patient’s relative pulled me up from the linoleum floor. “Stop begging,” she whispered, her voice heavy with pity. “The person who just went in has status. The doctor is always going to prioritize someone like that.” I could only watch in a daze as the double doors swung shut and the surgeon went to work on someone else. I watched, helpless, as my mother’s life slipped away in a sterile hallway. Years later, I fought my way into medical school. After graduating, I stayed on as faculty, eventually joining the admissions committee to help select the next generation of doctors. Three months before the high school seniors were set to graduate, I represented our school, the prestigious St. Jude’s School of Medicine, at Oakridge Academy. We were there for early admissions—handpicking the brightest minds before the spring rush. A young girl named Daisy Wilbert sat across from me, radiating quiet confidence. “I come from a family of doctors,” she said, her smile polished. “Both of my parents are senior attending physicians at Ridgeview Memorial. I’ve grown up around medicine, and I’ve already published five research papers.” I looked down at her resume. My eyes locked onto her father’s name. My fingernail dug into the paper, tearing a jagged line through the thick stock. I took a slow, deep breath, burying the ghost of my grief, and looked up at her. “I’m sorry,” I said, keeping my voice entirely flat. “You have not been accepted for early admission.” The other admissions officers at the table turned to me, their eyes wide with shock. Daisy’s eyes instantly welled with tears. “Why?” she gasped. I didn’t answer her. “Next, please,” I said, calling out to the hallway. One of my colleagues quickly tried to soften the blow. “It’s alright, dear. This is only early admission. If your final grades are exceptional, you’ll still have a chance in the general pool.” Daisy stood up, her shoulders slumped. But before she could reach the door, I called out to her. “Wait.” She spun around, a sudden spark of hope in her eyes. I looked her dead in the eye and shattered it. “Don’t bother applying during the regular cycle either,” I said. “Even if you get a perfect score, St. Jude’s will not admit you.” 1 At my words, Daisy’s eyes stretched wide in sheer disbelief. She fiercely wiped away a tear with the back of her hand. “Professor Bishop,” she demanded, her voice trembling but defiant. “Did I do something to offend you?” I shook my head. “No. You haven’t offended me.” “But you are not fit for this profession.” She refused to back down, her indignation rising. “I rank in the top ten of my class. I’ve published five academic papers at eighteen. If I may ask, when you were eighteen—” I cut her off. “I look at more than just test scores and publications.” “Next.” The proctor gently but firmly escorted Daisy out of the room. As soon as the door closed, my colleagues turned on me, their frustration palpable. “Lena, what was that?” one of them asked. “That girl is clearly an exceptional candidate. Why on earth would you reject her so harshly?” I quietly wrote a few notes on Daisy’s file. “Not only are we rejecting her, but I’m also going to recommend that every other major medical program in the country do the same.” “Why?” Why… Because eighteen years ago, my mother suffered a massive cerebral hemorrhage. She needed immediate surgery to survive. Yet, she was left to die outside the operating room. I remember kneeling at the feet of Dr. Rodney Wilbert, the chief neurosurgeon, clutching the hem of his white coat, begging for mercy. “Dr. Wilbert, please. My mother’s name was on the board. She was scheduled for this slot. Why are they taking someone else in?” “I beg you, save her. She doesn’t have time!” But Rodney merely pushed me aside, his face devoid of warmth, and walked through the sterile doors. It was then that a kind bystander pulled me away. “Stop begging, sweetie. It’s useless,” she whispered. “The woman they just wheeled in is some big shot on the state medical board. She’s the one who can greenlight his promotion to Chief of Medicine.” “I heard them talking right outside his office. She slipped him a massive envelope, too.” I remember trembling, my voice barely a whisper. “Is… is her condition critical, too?” The woman let out a bitter scoff. “Critical? She’s got some tiny lipoma on her scalp. Wants it cut out because she says it looks ugly. It’s basically a glorified pimple. It’s completely harmless.” “Any resident could have done it next week, but she insisted on cutting the line and having Dr. Wilbert do it today.” 2 To cut out a “pimple” for cosmetic reasons, a surgeon was willing to let a hemorrhaging patient die. My hands shook violently as I fumbled with my phone, desperately trying to call other hospitals to see if anyone could take my mother immediately. But it was too late. Before I could even get an operator on the line, my mother stopped breathing in that cold waiting room. A few days later, that same kind patient tracked me down and secretly handed me a flash drive. “I recorded this on my phone,” she whispered. The video was clear, undeniable proof of Rodney Wilbert accepting a bribe and manually overriding the surgery schedule. After my mother’s funeral, I took that drive to Ridgeview Memorial, determined to show it to the board of directors. But when I arrived, I learned that Rodney had already been promoted to Chief of Medicine. I went to the state licensing board to file a formal complaint. But when the official watched the footage, his face hardened. “You’re a kid,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “Instead of studying, you’re running around using fabricated videos to slander the President of our Medical Association, Dr. Evelyn Ward?” He deleted the file from my USB drive right in front of me and threatened to have me arrested for harassment and medical obstruction if I didn’t drop it. With nowhere left to turn, I went back to school. I buried my grief in textbooks, studying until my eyes bled. Eventually, I was accepted into St. Jude’s, the top medical program in the nation. After graduating, I stayed on as an admissions officer. Year by year, I climbed the ranks until I became the Director of Admissions, holding the power of a unilateral veto. I made a silent vow: any student I interviewed had to possess more than just intellect. They had to have integrity. They had to understand the weight of the oath they would take. And as for Daisy Wilbert, my rejection of her wasn’t just a personal vendetta against her father. I had read all five of her published papers. An eighteen-year-old with zero clinical experience could never have written them. The depth of the surgical observations was too advanced. Unless… Once the interviews wrapped up, I returned to my office and locked the door. I pulled open the bottom drawer of my desk. Hidden beneath a false bottom was a backup copy of the bribery video from eighteen years ago. Over the years, Rodney Wilbert’s influence had only grown. Every anonymous tip and formal complaint I had submitted had vanished into a black hole of bureaucracy. But now, the perfect opportunity had finally presented itself. A sharp knock sounded at my door. Rodney Wilbert walked in, with Daisy trailing closely behind him. He looked almost exactly the same, save for a few deeper creases around his eyes and a silver dusting at his temples. In the years since we last met, he had performed thousands of surgeries. He had long since forgotten the terrified teenage girl who had knelt at his feet, begging for her mother’s life. He wore a polite, practiced smile, though his voice carried the heavy authority of a man accustomed to getting his way. “Director Bishop,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m Dr. Rodney Wilbert, Chief of Medicine at Ridgeview. My daughter, Daisy, has her heart set on St. Jude’s. I hear there was a bit of a misunderstanding during her interview today?” He set a thick, heavy envelope onto my desk. “Just a token of my appreciation. I’m hoping we can work this out. Daisy is truly passionate about medicine.” I calmly pushed the envelope back toward him. “Dr. Wilbert, this isn’t a matter of money. Daisy does not meet the standards of our program.” Rodney’s smile vanished. “Is it not enough? Name your price, Director.” I looked him squarely in the eye. “Dr. Wilbert, you are a medical professional. Don’t you think buying a spot in a medical school is incredibly dangerous for future patients? If students learn today that an envelope of cash can solve any problem, what happens when they start practicing? Will they accept bribes from patients, too?” “For example… taking a bribe to let a non-urgent patient cut the line for surgery?” “Tell me, Dr. Wilbert, have you ever encountered a situation like that?” 3 Rodney stiffened. The corner of his mouth twitched into a cold, hard sneer. “Director Bishop, I came here today to give you a respectful way out of this.” “St. Jude’s is a prestigious school, yes. But do not forget that Ridgeview Memorial is the primary residency teaching hospital in this state. I control how many of your graduates get matched for residencies at my institution.” “All it takes is one phone call from me to your President, and you’ll be out of a job by tomorrow morning.” “Process Daisy’s admission. Now.” He tapped his finger sharply against the heavy envelope on my desk. Daisy’s tearful, victimized facade from earlier was entirely gone. She stood beside him, chin tilted high, her expression dripping with arrogance. “Oh, come on, Professor Bishop,” she scoffed. “Stop acting so self-righteous. My parents are in the industry. We know how this game is played. You’re just holding out for a bigger payout. Even I can see right through your little act.” I stood up and gestured toward the door. “Dr. Wilbert, please show yourself out.” Rodney’s face darkened to a deep purple. Without another word, he snatched the envelope and stormed out, Daisy close on his heels. Ten minutes later, my phone rang. It was an international call from President Charles Mercer, who was currently attending an academic conference in Europe. “Lena, what the hell are you doing?” Mercer’s voice crackled through the line, sharp and furious. “St. Jude’s has a major partnership with Ridgeview. Why did you reject Dr. Wilbert’s daughter?” “Approve her admission immediately, or—” I spoke calmly, cutting him off. “President Mercer, Daisy Wilbert did not pass her interview.” “I don’t care about the interview! Even if she got a zero on her entrance exams, we are admitting her!” “Admitting a failing student violates the university’s charter, Mr. President.” Mercer practically screamed through the phone. “Lena! Do you run this school, or do I?!” I kept my voice perfectly level. “As long as I am the Director of Admissions, Daisy Wilbert’s application will remain rejected.” “Fine! Lena, you’re fired!” I smiled quietly. “President Mercer, terminating my contract requires your physical signature and the university seal. Your conference in Europe doesn’t end for another four months, does it? By the time you return, the admissions cycle will be officially closed.” I hung up before he could respond. The next afternoon, just as I was getting ready to pack up my desk, Mercer stormed into my office. He had flown back from Europe overnight. He threw a formal termination letter onto my desk, his face red with rage. “Pack your things and get out. Now!” I nodded, calmly packing my personal items into a cardboard box. He didn’t know that thirty minutes before his plane landed, I had already published the official early admissions list on the university portal. If he wanted to force Daisy’s name onto that list, he would have to manually retract the official announcement and republish it. In the digital age, doing so would inevitably trigger a massive public backlash. I went home and kept refreshing the university’s official page. Sure enough, within hours, the admissions list I had posted was deleted. A new list appeared. Daisy’s name was now prominently featured, while another girl’s name had vanished. The girl who had been replaced didn’t stay quiet. Within an hour, she posted on her social media: [I was officially accepted through early admissions today. My name was on the published list. But just an hour ago, I received an email saying my spot has been revoked without any explanation! What is going on?] It didn’t take long for internet sleuths to compare the two lists and identify the new addition: Daisy Wilbert. [What is this? Is she some legacy hire’s kid?] [Stealing someone’s spot in broad daylight? Bold move.] [Just looked her up. Her dad is Dr. Rodney Wilbert, Chief of Medicine at Ridgeview Memorial.] [Wow. So rich kids can just steal futures from regular students now?] The public outrage spread like wildfire. Within hours, Ridgeview Memorial’s social media pages were flooded with thousands of angry comments demanding answers. Sensing the brewing storm, Rodney Wilbert quickly released a public statement. 4 He posted a short video clip from his visit to my office. However, the footage had been heavily and cleverly edited. In his version, it appeared as though I was subtly hinting at a bribe, and when he refused to comply, I rejected his daughter out of spite. At the end of the video, Rodney addressed the camera, his face a mask of righteous indignation. “My daughter, Daisy, has published five medical papers at just eighteen years old. Her academic brilliance is undeniable. Lena Bishop, the Admissions Director at St. Jude’s, knew our family’s background and tried to extort a massive bribe from us. When I refused, she threatened to ruin my daughter’s future.” “Thankfully, President Mercer stepped in to ensure justice was served.” “My daughter did not steal anyone’s spot. She simply reclaimed the admission that she earned through her own hard work.” “Lena Bishop’s behavior is a disgrace to the medical community. She prioritizes greed over merit. I urge all medical schools and hospitals to blacklist her permanently. Someone like her does not deserve to shape the future of medicine, let alone treat patients.” Immediately after, President Mercer released a statement of his own: “We have confirmed the allegations of extortion against Lena Bishop, and she has been officially terminated. We offer our deepest apologies to the student who was temporarily affected by Bishop’s corrupt actions.” Under immense pressure, the girl who had been replaced quietly deleted her original post. My phone began to vibrate incessantly, inundated with thousands of hateful texts and death threats from strangers. [You rejected an eighteen-year-old prodigy with five papers just because her dad wouldn’t pay you off? You have no soul.] [People like you shouldn’t be allowed near medicine. Thank god you’re just an administrator. If you were a practicing doctor, you’d probably turn off life support if the check didn’t clear!] Even students who had been rejected during previous admissions cycles began chiming in, demanding investigations. [Did I get rejected because my parents didn’t slip you an envelope?] [Lena Bishop needs to apologize. I gave up on my dream of becoming a doctor because you rejected me. I thought I wasn’t good enough!] [You ruined my life for money, you greedy bitch!] Amidst the chaos, my phone rang. It was Rodney. His voice was dripping with the smug arrogance of a man who had won. “I warned you,” he purred. “You’re finished in this industry. Good luck finding a job cleaning toilets.” I hung up without saying a word. I sat in the quiet of my living room, watching the numbers climb on my screen. On Twitter, the hashtag #AdmissionsCorruption was trending number one in the country. On TikTok, videos dissecting the scandal had amassed over a hundred million views. I let out a slow breath, a cold smile touching my lips. It was perfect. Rodney, you wanted the spotlight. Now that you have the eyes of the entire country on you, let’s see how you use your precious connections to bury what comes next. I picked up my phone and dialed the contact numbers for the five largest news networks in the country. “This is Lena Bishop,” I said. “I have a statement regarding the St. Jude’s admissions scandal.” “I’ll be at the conference room on the second floor of the Grand Plaza Hotel tomorrow at 2:00 PM. I suggest you bring your cameras.” The following afternoon, I sat at a long mahogany table in the empty conference room. Five professional cameras were pointed directly at me, broadcasting live to millions of viewers across multiple platforms. Within seconds of the broadcast starting, over ten thousand people flooded into the livestream. The live chat scroll was an instantaneous blur of venom. [Look at her. How does a corrupt extortionist sleep at night?] [Trying to do a PR campaign to save herself? Pathetic. We aren’t buying it.] [We only want to hear about the bribe. Save your excuses!] I looked directly into the camera lens and spoke clearly, my voice steady. “My decision to reject Daisy Wilbert was, in fact, entirely related to a bribe.” “But not because her father refused to pay me.” “It was because eighteen years ago, I didn’t have the money to pay her father, Dr. Rodney Wilbert. And because of that, my mother died on a gurney outside his operating room.” The live chat froze for a fraction of a second, then exploded with a chaotic frenzy of messages. [What is she talking about? What does this have to do with eighteen years ago?] [Is she seriously trying to shift the blame to Dr. Wilbert? How desperate can you get?] I ignored the screen. I picked up a remote control and turned on the massive projector behind me. The screen flickered to life. The video from eighteen years ago—showing Rodney Wilbert and the former President of the Medical Association, Dr. Evelyn Ward—began to play.

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On Christmas Day, my boyfriend agreed to take me to see the giant Christmas tree downtown at the Plaza. But before I could even find my angle, Luke was already aggressively clicking the shutter. He tossed the camera back to me, his impatience radiating off him. I scrolled through the photos in disbelief. Not a single one was usable. They were all blurry, off-center, or caught me mid-blink. Luke let out a dry, mocking laugh. “You know what they say about photography, right? It’s all about the model, the model, and the model.” “Take a look in the mirror, Tara. You’re not some fresh-faced college girl anymore.” “Honestly, get over it. Dragging me out here just to post on Instagram. It’s exhausting.” And yet, when it came to his female manager, he had taken the exact same photos at the exact same spot. Those shots were masterfully framed, beautifully lit, and perfectly angled. Cheryl had posted them in a massive photo dump on Instagram. And Luke was the very first to like and comment on every single post. Later, Cheryl sent me a direct message: Hey Tara, your performance at work might be lacking, but I have to say, your man is incredibly useful. I took a deep breath and typed back: If you like him that much, he’s yours. She probably thought I was joking. But I was entirely serious. 1 It was 1:30 AM. My boyfriend lay with his back to me, the blanket pulled over his shoulders, furiously typing on his phone. I stared blankly at the ceiling, my eyes wide open in the dark. He remained completely oblivious. Finally, I broke the silence. “Luke, who are you texting at this hour?” He flinched, his voice laced with a sudden, poorly concealed guilt. “Just working things out with my manager.” A cold laugh bubbled up in my chest. I rolled over, turning my back to him. “Then go text in the living room. The glare of your screen is keeping me awake.” “Oh, come on. Stop being so dramatic.” The harsh clatter of his phone hitting the nightstand spoke volumes of his irritation. There was a time when my work-induced anxiety caused me severe insomnia. Back then, Luke had personally installed the highest-quality blackout curtains and soundproofing foam in our bedroom. Now, my sleeplessness was just me being “dramatic” and high-maintenance. “Look, are you seriously still throwing a tantrum over those photos? Let it go.” I didn’t bother replying. He opened the nightstand drawer, pulled out a small jewelry box, and tossed a cheap necklace onto my side of the bed. “Can we just stick to gifts and dinner for holidays from now on? Honestly, dragging me around to take photos is exhausting. I can’t handle it.” I didn’t even open the box. I threw it right back at him. “What is your problem?” He sat up straight, his tone sharp with frustration. I replied, my voice completely flat. “I’m allergic to cheap alloy, Luke. Did you forget?” From college to our professional lives, Luke’s jewelry gifts to me had always ranged from ten to thirty dollars. I never wanted to hurt his pride, so I always wore them anyway. Without fail, they would trigger painful rashes and hives. “Fine, whatever. Just don’t say I didn’t get you a Christmas present.” With a dismissive sweep of his hand, he knocked the necklace into the trash can. I felt a bitter smile pull at my lips. Earlier that day, I had glimpsed two receipt notifications on his phone. One was for $29.99. The other was for $8,999. And that $8,999 designer necklace was currently sitting around Cheryl’s neck in her latest Instagram post. Seeing that photo had frozen the remaining warmth in my blood. A moment later, his phone buzzed. He checked the screen, typed a quick reply, and immediately threw off the covers to get dressed. “Cheryl’s water heater just broke down in the middle of her shower. She’s stranded over there. I’m going to run over and take a look.” When I didn’t say anything, he added defensively, “Don’t start overthinking things, alright?” As the front door clicked shut, I sat in the darkness, feeling strangely detached. When, exactly, had Luke and Cheryl become so close? Was it when I took sick leave and Luke drove her to the office instead? Was it when I went on a business trip and Cheryl slept over at our place because her apartment had a power outage? Or was it even earlier, during the annual office gala, when Cheryl did a flashy dance, twisted her ankle, and fell right into Luke’s arms? I couldn’t pinpoint the moment. I only remembered when Cheryl first joined the company. She was quiet, dressed in dated, ill-fitting clothes, and was nearly a decade older than the rest of us. Nobody in the department wanted to talk to her. I had felt sorry for her. I took her under my wing, inviting her into our conversations, discussing skincare, and taking her to trendy new lunch spots. I even invited her to our private dinners. When I learned she lived nearby, I offered to let her carpool with us to work. At first, Luke had complained about the arrangement. But later… when did he start looking forward to it? By sunrise, Luke still hadn’t returned. A single text message from him sat on my lock screen: It’s pouring outside. Make sure you leave early. Morning rush hour in the rain was always a nightmare—cabs were impossible to catch, and the traffic was gridlocked. To make things sweeter, Cheryl had just posted a new update on her social media: Nothing beats the feeling of having a personal chauffeur on a rainy morning… By the time I slid into the office right on the dot, my pant legs and shoes were completely soaked. Meanwhile, Cheryl was elegantly holding a cup of artisanal coffee, her hair and makeup flawless, leaning casually against the back of Luke’s office chair. There was no trace of the awkward, frumpy woman who had joined the firm a year ago. As I walked past her desk, she pulled her feet back with a look of mild disgust, as if worried the rainwater dripping from my hem would ruin her Italian leather ankle boots. “It’s pouring. Couldn’t you have just ordered an Uber?” Luke asked, his tone irritated. It was as if my bedraggled appearance was an embarrassment to him. Yet, years ago, when a taxi driver had harassed me late at night, Luke had taken out a heavy car loan just so he could drive me himself. He had sworn back then that he would never let me be stranded in the rain again. I kept my expression blank, ignoring the tissue he held out to me. As I wiped down my damp phone screen, a new notification popped up. 2 I was staring at my phone when Cheryl tapped hard on my desk. “I need the campaign proposal on my desk before lunch,” she said. Having been promoted to department manager just a month ago, she had already mastered the art of talking down to people. I caught the sympathetic glance of a coworker nearby and managed a tight, weary smile. I locked my phone and immediately set to work. When lunch break ended, Luke and Cheryl stepped out of the elevator together. Passing my cubicle, Luke set down a bag of warm, roasted chestnuts. “Eat some of these to tide you over. I’ll take you somewhere nice for dinner tonight.” I didn’t look up, offering only a vague murmur in response. After double-checking the proposal, I printed the pages and walked toward the manager’s office. As I reached the door, Cheryl’s giggles drifted through the thin wood. “Oh my god, Luke! Just because I said I liked them doesn’t mean you have to buy me a million bags. You’re ridiculous.” “Hey, stop feeding me like that. You got crumbs all over my chest, you idiot!” I stood frozen, a wave of nausea washing over me at the mental image. Taking a deep, stabilizing breath, I knocked and pushed the door open. The moment I did, a ceramic mug came flying straight at me. I didn’t react fast enough. The mug slammed hard against my hand, and scalding water splashed over the back of my wrist. Cheryl shrieked, “Do you even know how to knock? Where are your office manners!” Luke’s hand, which had been lingering near her collarbone, snapped back as if he’d been electrocuted. Panic flashed in his eyes. I clutched my hand, ignoring the searing pain as red blisters began to form, and placed the proposal on the desk. This was the eighth draft. Cheryl had rejected every single one for arbitrary reasons, and this time, she didn’t even bother to flip through the pages. “Do it over.” She swept the entire document off the desk. It landed near my feet, the pages absorbing the puddle of spilled tea. A quiet, cold anger flared inside me. “Cheryl, if you could tell me exactly what needs adjusting, I can edit it right here.” “Is that your attitude toward your work?” Cheryl slammed her palm onto the desk, her eyes blazing. “Look at this garbage. Where is the innovation? Where is the professionalism? If we send this to the client, we’ll lose the entire account!” I almost wanted to laugh. I was the one who had trained Cheryl from the ground up when she first arrived. Now, she was lecturing me on professionalism. “You know what? Forget it. You’re off this account. I’ll reassign it to someone else.” Cheryl leaned back, admiring her freshly manicured nails. With a single, dismissive sentence, she had thrown away two months of my sleepless nights and hard work. When I stepped out of her office, Luke immediately dragged me into the breakroom. The guilt and worry in his eyes were painfully obvious. “Let me see your hand…” “Don’t touch me,” I said, recoiling from him. “Your hands are dirty.” The naked disgust in my voice made his face stiffen. “Tara, can you stop being so childish? This is a corporate office, not some fairy-tale ivory tower.” “I know you’re bitter. You think I play dirty, and you think Cheryl doesn’t deserve this promotion.” “But the decision has been made. You lost, Tara. You need to accept that.” The scene was painfully familiar. Just a month ago, we had stood in this exact breakroom, having the same argument. That was the day I missed the promotion. I had confronted him about why he had secretly swapped my almond milk for whole milk that morning. He knew I was severely lactose intolerant. The resulting stomach spasms had sent me straight to the ER, forcing me to miss my presentation. Everyone in the department had assumed the promotion was mine. The interview was supposed to be a mere formality. But when I was discharged from the hospital, Cheryl’s name was already on the announcement board. When I had demanded answers, Cheryl had looked at me with crocodile tears. “I’m so sorry, Tara. I didn’t mean to. I just thought… it would be such a waste if the proposal you worked on for months didn’t get presented…” I had nearly lost my mind with rage. “So that gave you the right to steal my pitch and present it as your own? Cheryl, I treated you like a sister, and you stabbed me in the back. How can you be so utterly shameless!” Looking at her feigned tears, my heart had turned to stone. It was the classic fable of the snake and the savior. But Luke had insisted I was the one being unreasonable. “Tara, I told you before, there’s no point in being so career-driven. Even if you become manager, what’s the point? Once we get married and have kids, you’re going to quit and stay home anyway.” “Cheryl is in her late thirties, and she’s had a brutal time building a life here from scratch. You grew up in a small town too, you should understand how hard it is.” “Aren’t you two supposed to be best friends? What’s wrong with letting her have this one victory?” We had screamed at each other until we were blue in the face. But looking at him now, I realized how pointless it all was. “You’re right,” I said quietly. “I was being childish.” “Don’t worry. I won’t fight you two anymore.” My sudden compliance made Luke let out a breath of relief. He reached out again to inspect my burned hand, but his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at it, turned on his heel, and walked straight back into Cheryl’s office. I pulled out my phone and quickly drafted a reply to the message I had received earlier that morning. Hey Ian, I’m ready. I can start right after New Year’s. I walked back to my desk and threw the bag of roasted chestnuts directly into the trash. My screen lit up with a reply from Ian: It’s an honor, Tara. I can’t wait to have my favorite partner back. 3 That night, I sat on the couch drafting my resignation letter on my phone. The Word document interface was too obvious, and Luke leaned in, curious. “What are you working on?” “Just my weekly report,” I lied smoothly. He offered a vague “Oh,” then reached out to gently take my bandaged hand, inspecting the ointment I had applied. “My parents want us to come over for dinner on New Year’s. I think they want to talk about the wedding.” “They’re hoping we can set a date right after the holidays. They mentioned that since you’re still young, we should start trying for a baby soon.” I couldn’t help but let out a sarcastic dry laugh. “Oh? Did your mother change her mind about only letting me marry into the family if I guarantee her a grandson?” When Luke and I first started dating, his parents had been incredibly sweet to me. But everything changed during a family dinner when they casually asked how many children I planned to have. When I told them I wanted to focus on my career for a few more years, his father’s face instantly hardened, and his mother threw her silverware onto the table. Determined to speed up my pregnancy, his mother had eventually started bringing over bizarre, traditional folk remedies—pots of foul-smelling stews made of animal parts that gave me nightmares for weeks. When Luke finally snapped and threw one of the pots into the trash, his mother had screamed at us: “You will only walk down the aisle when you’re carrying a boy! If she can’t produce a grandson, you two might as well break up right now!” I had kept my head down and endured it back then, but tonight, I was done keeping the peace. Luke frowned, immediately leaping to his mother’s defense. “She was just talking out of anger, Tara. I can’t believe you’re still holding a grudge over that. You’re being incredibly petty.” “Whatever my mom said, she only wants what’s best for us.” “Just bring a nice gift, apologize when we go over, and let it go. Got it?” His fingers tightened around my wrist. I winced and forcefully pulled my arm away. “Don’t worry,” I said, a cold smile touching my lips. “Your family is going to get exactly the kind of daughter-in-law they want.” Just not me. Luke took my words as submission, raising an eyebrow in mild surprise. He tried to lean in to kiss me, but I turned my head away. “What is it now?” he grumbled. “I think I’m coming down with something. I’m sleeping in the guest room tonight.” Ignoring his exasperated sigh, I went into the room and turned the lock. The next morning, the moment I walked out of the bathroom, Luke glared at me from the kitchen. “Why didn’t you make breakfast?” I raised my bandaged right hand, offering him a blank look. “Because my hand is burned.” He let out a stiff, awkward cough to mask his embarrassment. “Right. Well, get ready quickly. Cheryl is waiting for us.” I walked toward the door, checking my phone. Ian had sent over the official employment contract first thing in the morning. When we reached the car, I bypassed the passenger door Luke had opened for me and slid directly into the backseat. “Tara, what are you doing?” Luke stared at me, visibly annoyed. “What is wrong with you lately?” As he tried to peer over my shoulder to see my screen, I locked my phone. “Let Cheryl sit in the front,” I said flatly. “Consider it a chance to show off your driving skills.” He choked on his words, unable to find a comeback. Throughout the drive, he kept glancing at me through the rearview mirror, trying to read my expression. I ignored him, focused on my phone, and digitally signed the contract. We picked Cheryl up halfway through the commute. She immediately announced she wanted breakfast from a trendy, high-end bakery downtown. Luke, who had always scoffed at trendy spots and hated waiting in lines, didn’t hesitate to drive five miles out of our way. He spent forty minutes standing in the freezing morning air just to get her order. “Luke really is the perfect boyfriend, isn’t he?” Cheryl said from the front passenger seat, looking back at me while her fingers lightly traced the designer necklace resting against her collarbone. “Tara, I have to admit, I’m incredibly jealous of you.” I let my lips curve into a faint smile as I watched Luke jogging back to the car through the winter mist. “If you like him that much, feel free to take him. He seems more than willing.” Luke got back in, carefully wrapping the warm pastries in insulated paper before handing them to Cheryl. Cheryl gasped softly. “Oh, Luke, you’re so forgetful! Did you forget to get Tara’s share?” Luke froze, his hand suspended in mid-air. He opened his mouth to say he would run back and buy another, but he caught my calm, indifferent gaze. “It’s fine,” I said. “I’m watching my weight.” The rest of the drive was suffocatingly quiet. Cheryl kept trying to show Luke funny videos on her phone to break the ice, but Luke’s responses were distracted, his eyes constantly darting back to me in the mirror. The moment I walked into the office, I submitted my official resignation. Cheryl signed off on it immediately, without asking a single question. When Luke found out, he looked as though he had been hit by a truck. He marched over to my desk, his eyes searching mine, but I simply took a slow, calm sip of my coffee. “Have you completely lost your mind?” He lowered his voice, his brow furrowed in utter confusion. “The Zephyr Motors account—you’ve been working your tail off for that pitch for months. You could at least finish the bid before you walk out.” I threw my paper cup into the recycling bin, rubbing my aching temple. “There’s no point. I’m not waiting around anymore.” I had originally planned to wait until the year-end bonuses were distributed, but now, I didn’t want to spend another single day in this place. As for the Zephyr Motors account? I would just win it back later. 4 New Year’s Day arrived quickly. I brought along some organic, homemade preserves and local treats my parents had sent from our hometown to Luke’s parents’ house. His father greeted me with a polite, albeit hollow, smile. “Tara, we appreciate the gesture from your parents. But tell them not to go through the trouble next time. We have everything we need here in the city.” His mother peeked inside the bag, her face pinched with hesitation. “Oh dear, I wonder if these home-packaged goods meet proper sanitation standards. There are so many bugs going around these days, and my stomach is far too sensitive. I wouldn’t dare risk it.” Luke shot me a reassuring look and laughed weakly. “Mom, don’t be so dramatic. If you guys don’t want them, we’ll just take them back home with us.” His mother took my hand, adopting a patronizingly warm tone. “Tara, sweetie, once you officially join our family, you’ll need to start aligning your tastes and habits with ours.” I pulled my hand back, slowly but deliberately. “Mrs. Peterson, we shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves. Nothing is set in stone.” “Oh, don’t be silly, dear. That’s exactly why we’re gathered here today—to talk about the future,” she beamed. “Luke told us you quit your job. That’s wonderful. Now you can focus entirely on taking care of the home.” Luke poured me a cup of tea, looking pleased with himself. “See, Mom, Dad? You two don’t have to worry anymore.” I gently pushed his hand away, my voice flat. “I think you’ve all misunderstood.” “I only resigned from my current position. I have no intention of giving up my career.” His mother’s smile instantly vanished. She shot a sharp, accusing look at Luke before turning back to me. “You still want to pursue a career? Tara, we are a very traditional family. We simply cannot accept these modern, independent ideas of yours.” His father’s face darkened as well. “The Peterson family door is open for a supportive, nurturing wife. We have no room for a career-obsessed woman.” Luke turned to me, his brow heavily furrowed. “Tara, you promised me you’d try to get along with my parents. What is this?” Faced with their collective hostility, my expression remained completely unchanged. I was just about to use this perfect opportunity to end our relationship when the doorbell rang. Standing on the threshold was Cheryl. “Cheryl? What are you doing here?” Luke asked, completely blindsided. Upon learning she was Luke’s department head, his parents instantly broke into obsequious smiles, their cold attitudes toward me vanishing in a second. Then his mother glared at me. “What are you standing there for? Go make some tea for our guest.” Cheryl sat down, looking appropriately modest, a delicate, shy smile playing on her lips. “Luke, there’s something I need to tell you.” She looked around the room. “And since your family is here, I think it’s best to be completely open.” She reached into her designer bag, pulled out a folded piece of medical paperwork, and laid it flat on the coffee table. The moment Luke saw what was written on the sheet, he bolted upright, knocking over his teacup. He looked at me, the color completely draining from his face. He was trembling, caught in a state of absolute shock. His mother picked up the paper, scanning it quickly, her eyes widening with pure ecstasy. “Oh my goodness… you’re carrying Luke’s child?” Cheryl rested a hand gently over her stomach, looking soft and vulnerable. “I’m twelve weeks along. The doctor said… it’s a boy.” “Oh, this is a miracle! Look at this, honey! We’re finally getting a grandson!” His parents were practically weeping with joy. But my world had gone completely cold. A wave of violent, suffocating nausea hit me. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms, the sharp bite of pain the only thing keeping me from throwing up right then and there. I swallowed the bitter, acidic taste in my throat, forcing myself to stand up. “Mr. and Mrs. Peterson, I’ll be leaving now.” They were far too busy fussing over Cheryl to even look up. They ignored me entirely. “Tara— wait!” Luke took a step toward me, but Cheryl reached out, her fingers catching his sleeve with desperate longing. “Luke, aren’t you happy we’re having a baby boy?” I closed the door behind me, shutting out the rest of his answer. On the drive back, I pulled over and sent a simple text: We are completely done. Don’t contact me again. After sending it, I blocked his number, along with his parents’ and Cheryl’s. Back at the apartment, as I was packing my bags, I found two velvet jewelry boxes tucked deep inside the dresser drawer. Inside was a pair of matching Mobius-strip promise rings, engraved with our initials on the inner bands. I had no doubt that once, Luke had truly wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. But the future I wanted no longer had any room for him. Without a trace of emotion, I shut the drawer. I left my house keys on the dining table and walked out, never looking back.

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On our fifth wedding anniversary, my acute cholecystitis flared up. I was curled in agony on a cold hospital bench, sending a dozen texts to Helena. None of them went through—or rather, none were answered. Just as I was about to sign my own surgical consent form, my screen lit up. It was a video from Cody. In the video, Helena was holding a heavy blue moving box for him. Her voice, usually so clipped with me, was incredibly tender: “Let me grab that, don’t strain yourself.” Then came Cody’s cheerful voice note: “Hey Lucas, Helena’s helping me unpack and hasn’t checked her phone. Everything okay?” Gritting my teeth, I declined the call and signed the consent form myself. Five years of marriage, and every milestone, every crisis, saw her standing by someone else’s side. When my father underwent surgery for stomach cancer, she was at the clinic holding Cody’s hand through a bout of food poisoning. When my mother was on her deathbed, Helena was in a gaming lounge, keeping Cody company because he was “heartbroken.” When the anesthesia wore off, the wife in the next bed was gently peeling an apple for her husband. I closed my eyes, swallowing the bitter lump in my throat. The divorce papers were already drawn up; I had already found a new apartment. This would be the very last time I waited for her to come home. 1 “Lucas, running late? Helena got back about an hour ago,” the doorman said, helping me push open the heavy glass door of our building. I gave a tight nod, the fresh incision in my abdomen throbbing with every step. Elevator to the ninth floor. When I opened the apartment door, Helena was curled on the sofa, mindlessly scrolling through her phone. On the coffee table sat two opened boxes of antacids. “You’re home?” she asked without looking up. “Why weren’t you answering your phone?” “I was busy.” “Busy enough to turn your phone off?” Her brow furrowed, and she finally spared me a glance. “Cody moved into his new place today. He wanted to buy us dinner, but you didn’t show. He was really hurt.” I didn’t reply. I slipped off my shoes, quietly tucking the hospital billing receipt deeper into my coat pocket. “I sent you a message. I told you I wasn’t feeling well and was going to the hospital.” “Oh?” She swiped her screen carelessly. “I didn’t notice. It was chaos at Cody’s place. I guess I missed it.” “So busy you couldn’t spare two seconds to check your phone?” “Lucas, here we go again.” She snapped her phone face down on the table, her impatience flaring. “Cody is completely alone in this city. He has no family here. If I don’t help him with the heavy lifting, who will? You’ve always been so independent. Why do you have to make a fuss over something so small?” I stared at the woman standing before me, feeling a sudden, chilling distance. She felt like a complete stranger. Independent. That was her favorite shield. Because I was independent, she could hold Cody’s hand during an IV drip while my dad was in the operating room. Because I was independent, I had to arrange my mother’s funeral alone while she took Cody on a road trip to “clear his head.” My independence was my punishment; it meant I was always relegated to the very end of her list. “I brought back some leftovers Cody made. They’re in the kitchen. Go heat them up.” She stood and walked toward the study. I walked into the kitchen. In the trash can lay a few takeout boxes—the delivery address was Cody’s new apartment complex on the South Side. On the counter sat a sturdy, matte-black folding umbrella with a deep navy trim. It was Cody’s style through and through. “Helena, whose umbrella is this?” “Cody’s,” she called out. “It was pouring when I left, so he lent it to me. I’ll give it back next time I see him.” “Next time?” I traced the handle of the umbrella. “He lives on the South Side, we’re on the North Side. How is that on your way?” “Lucas, are you seriously tracking my mileage now?” She pushed open the study door, her voice hardening. “I helped him move, we grabbed a bite, and I got home a little late. That’s it. Do you have to make everything so ugly?” She called it “making a scene.” I said nothing, silently opening the refrigerator. The shelves, which I had meticulously stocked with gourmet ingredients for our anniversary dinner, had been shoved to the back. In their place were several six-packs of blue-labeled energy drinks and a vacuum-sealed package of spiced beef—Cody’s favorites. “Is he going to be coming over often?” “His new place is close to my office,” she said, handing me a shiny set of keys. “He doesn’t have a place to rest during his lunch breaks, so I told him he could crash here. This is our spare set. I gave him a copy. In case you’re ever out of town on a business trip, he can help out around the house.” She hadn’t even bothered to ask me. She had simply carved out a piece of our private, sacred space and handed it to Cody on a silver platter. “Helena, what is Cody’s contact name in your phone?” She blinked, caught off guard, then tapped her screen. “Just ‘Cody.’ Why?” “And what’s mine?” Silence stretched for three seconds before she turned the screen toward me. There, in cold, clinical letters, was my full name: Lucas Wright. First and last name. As cold as a business contact. “It’s just a contact name. Do you really have to be this dramatic?” “No,” I said quietly. “I suppose not.” I turned and walked into the bedroom. Reaching into the bottom drawer of my nightstand, I pulled out the signed divorce agreement. My phone buzzed. It was the leasing agent for my new apartment: “Hi Lucas, the apartment is clean and ready for move-in. When should we schedule the movers?” I stared out at the pitch-black night and typed back two words: “Tomorrow morning.” 2 “I have a follow-up appointment today,” I said at seven the next morning. Helena was at the vanity, carefully applying lipstick. “Can you drive me?” “A follow-up? What’s actually wrong with you?” “Gallbladder surgery. The surgeon said the incision was in a tricky spot and needs to be checked.” She paused, her lipstick hovering. “Why didn’t you mention this?” “I sent you a text. I called. You were busy assembling Cody’s gaming desk.” A flicker of embarrassment crossed her face, but it vanished instantly. “Fine, I’ll drive you. What time?” “Nine.” “We have time, then. I just need to run by Cody’s first. His water heater burst, and his floors are flooding. He can’t handle it alone. I’ll be back to pick you up at eight-thirty.” “He can call maintenance,” I said softly. “Or a plumber.” “It’s Sunday, maintenance is off. And emergency plumbers cost a fortune. Cody just put down a deposit on the apartment; he’s tight on cash. He needs to save where he can.” She grabbed her car keys. “It’ll take thirty minutes. Wait for me.” I sat on the bench in the entryway. Eight-thirty came and went. No Helena. At nine, a voice note arrived. In the background, I could hear the roar of rushing water and Cody’s panicked shouting. “Lucas, it’s bad. The hardwood floors are warping. I have to help him move his furniture. Just take an Uber. It’s just a routine follow-up anyway; it’s not like the doctor’s going to keep you there.” My fingers tightened around the phone. A sharp, throbbing pain bloomed across my lower abdomen. “Helena, the doctor said if the healing isn’t looking good, they might have to re-suture it.” “Oh, come on, stop trying to scare me. You’ve always been strong as an ox. Don’t start being fragile now. I’ll come pick you up from the clinic when I’m done here, okay?” The line went dead. I took an Uber to the hospital alone. Lines, exams, blood draws. The doctor looked at my charts, his face darkening. “The incision is severely inflamed. What happened? I told you absolute bed rest.” “…I had to move some things around the house.” “It hasn’t even begun to fuse properly. Any more strain and you’re looking at a serious infection.” He scribbled a prescription. “Five days of IV antibiotics. You have to come in every single day. Where’s your emergency contact? Why are you alone again?” “She’s busy.” Walking out of the clinic, my phone rang. It was my mother. “Lucas, happy anniversary, sweetheart! What did Helena get you?” I leaned against the cold corridor wall, taking a shallow breath. “She got me… a watch. It’s beautiful, Mom.” “That’s wonderful. Helena is quiet, but she has a good heart. Remember when I broke my leg and she was away on that business trip? She still sent money for those supplements.” I closed my eyes. She hadn’t been on a business trip. She had been in Austin, attending an esports tournament with Cody. The two hundred dollars she had sent me didn’t even cover the cost of the seafood dinner she bought him that night. And during the seven days my mother was hospitalized, Helena was in the same city but never set foot in the ward. Her excuse? “Cody says he’s feeling suicidal after his breakup. I need to watch him. He’s genuinely volatile. Your mom has a chronic condition; she’s going to be fine.” “Mom,” I said, “I’m thinking of relocating. A position opened up at the branch in Austin.” “What about Helena?” “She… supports it.” By the time I hung up, it was 2:00 PM. A text from Helena finally popped up: “Water heater is fixed. Cody insisted on buying me barbecue to thank me. You’re probably done, right? I figured you’d be home by now, so I won’t head over to the clinic.” After fixing his pipes and eating barbecue, she had finally remembered me. “I’m done,” I replied. “Great. I want pickled fish for dinner. Pick up a fresh trout on your way back. Cody’s coming over; it’s his absolute favorite.” Staring at the words Cody’s absolute favorite, my stomach churned. I opened my contacts and called the moving company. “Can we move the pick-up to 3:00 PM today? I want to get this done.” “Today? Mr. Wright, you scheduled for tomorrow.” “I can’t wait.” I couldn’t risk waiting. If I stayed another night, I knew I would end up throwing that fish in her face. 3 “Thanks for the trouble, Lucas!” Cody said as he stepped through the door, carrying two cheap plastic containers of fruit, a bright grin on his face. Helena followed behind him, still holding Cody’s deep navy folding umbrella. “Cody said no one makes pickled fish like you do,” Helena said, kicking off her shoes and casually hanging the umbrella on the coat rack—the exact hook where I always hung my jacket. I sat at the dining table, watching Cody confidently pull his favorite black mug from our cabinet. “Hey Lucas, did you get a new apron? I liked the camouflage one better.” “It got dirty. I threw it out,” I said evenly. “Oh, Helena, can you tie this apron for me? My hands are wet,” Cody called out, turning his back to her. Without a second thought, Helena dropped her coat and stepped up to him. In the cramped kitchen, they stood incredibly close. Her hands moved with a practiced ease, a routine they had clearly performed a thousand times before. I sat in the living room, staring at the massive wedding portrait on the wall. In that photo, Helena had held my arm with the exact same familiarity, promising that I was the only man she would ever share a kitchen with. “Lucas, why aren’t you helping?” Cody poked his head out, his eyes drifting to my midsection. “Helena said you’ve been under the weather? You look perfectly fine to me. Just trying to get out of kitchen duty?” “He’s fine. It was just a minor gallbladder thing,” Helena called out from the stove. “Don’t copy him, Cody. Lucas is the type of guy who can carry two fifty-pound bags of concrete up five flights of stairs without breaking a sweat. He doesn’t need looking after.” It wasn’t that I didn’t need looking after. It was that no one cared to look. I watched Helena meticulously slice the spiced beef Cody loved, arranging it perfectly on a platter, completely forgetting that because of my surgery, I couldn’t touch anything spicy or greasy. The red-hot, chili-laden fish was prepared entirely for him. During dinner, Cody suddenly pulled a bottle of cologne from his bag and sprayed it right in front of Helena. “Helena, do you like this scent? The last bottle broke in your car. This is my new one.” Helena studied it for a moment, then nodded. “It’s nice. Suits you.” My grip on my chopsticks tightened. Last year for my birthday, I had practically begged her to help me pick out a cologne. She had dismissed it, calling it a “commercial trap” and a waste of money. “Look, Lucas, Helena and I share our locations now,” Cody said, shoving his phone screen in my face. “One night I was stuck at the office and couldn’t get a cab. She saw my dot hadn’t moved for thirty minutes and drove straight down to pick me up. She’s so attentive.” On the screen, their two icons were practically touching. Meanwhile, the night I was sitting in the emergency room waiting for a signature, she hadn’t even bothered to open the map I sent her. “You want to join the sharing circle?” Cody asked. “No, thanks.” “He doesn’t need it,” Helena answered for me. “Lucas has a great sense of direction, and he’s too independent anyway. He’d find it annoying.” Cody set his phone down, his eyes landing on my wrist. I was wearing a platinum chain bracelet with a tiny silver pine needle charm. “Wow, that bracelet is stunning. It looks so high-end.” He reached over to touch it. “Helena, is this the one you said you wanted to give away?” Helena glanced at it. “Yeah. I gave it to Lucas years ago. He doesn’t really wear jewelry anymore. It just gets in his way when he’s working.” She stood up and walked over to me. “Lucas, you’ve had that for years. The style is getting a bit dated anyway. Cody just moved into his new place and doesn’t have any nice accessories to wear out. Why don’t you let him borrow it for a while?” I stared at the pine needle charm. It was a limited-edition piece she had spent weeks searching the city for on our first anniversary. She had told me then that I was as resilient as a pine tree. Now, she wanted me to hand that resilience over to her fragile little project. “Lucas, I’m talking to you. You’re always working with your hands anyway. It’s just a distraction.” Slowly, I unclasped the bracelet. The cool metal dragged against my skin, leaving a cold trail. “Take it.” Cody gasped, snatching it up and fastening it around his wrist. “Thanks, Lucas! I’ll take great care of it.” I watched the charm bounce against Cody’s wrist. In that silent apartment, I heard the faint, distinct sound of my own heart shattering into dust. 4 At six on Sunday morning, I got up and made some plain white rice porridge. No oil, no salt. Helena walked out, yawning, and cast a disapproving look at the pot. “Why so bland? Cody said last night he wanted beef and egg congee.” “I wanted plain porridge.” “Suit yourself. I’ll grab something out.” She sat down, scrolling through her phone. “The invitations for Cody’s housewarming dinner went out. It’s next Friday. Make sure you request the day off.” Last year, when I got my promotion, we had planned a quiet dinner at home. But Cody’s apartment had a power outage, and she rushed over to play video games with him in the dark. The expensive dinner I had prepared ended up rotting in the trash. “I might not be free.” “What else could you possibly have going on?” she asked, her voice sharp with irritation. “Cody treats you like an older brother. Stop being so stuck-up. Don’t you think you’re taking this too far?” I swallowed a spoonful of the bland porridge. It tasted like ash. “Helena.” “What now?” “If I packed up and left one day without a word, would you even look for me?” Her fork paused for a fraction of a second, then she let out a dry laugh. “Lucas, you’re too old for these childish mind games. Where would you go? Your job is here, your life is here. Honestly, who else but me would put up with your rigid attitude?” To her, my presence was an absolute certainty. I had no other choice. She put on her coat and picked up Cody’s navy blue umbrella. “Cody needs help picking out a rug at the furniture market today. He wants my eye. I’ll probably help him set up his gaming console afterward, so don’t wait up for dinner.” She slipped on her shoes and reached for the doorknob. “Helena,” I called out, one last time. “Don’t go today. Stay and drive me to the clinic to finish my IV. I’m really not feeling well.” Her frown deepened. “You said it wasn’t a big deal. Cody already made an appointment with the vendor. It’s rude to cancel last minute. Just call an Uber. Treat yourself to a nice lunch after you’re done, my treat.” “Do you really have to go?” “Lucas, why are you being so incredibly unreasonable today? He’s shopping for rugs alone. What if he gets ripped off? Can’t you be a little more generous?” The door slammed shut. Once the hum of the elevator faded, the apartment became as quiet as a tomb. I stood up and began to pack. I didn’t own much. My side of the closet was cleared out in minutes. On the bathroom counter, my toiletries boiled down to a single, half-empty bottle of aftershave. I took our wedding portrait off the bookshelf. Looking at my younger self, smiling so radiantly, I felt a wave of pity. I turned it face down on the table, leaving it behind. The sofa cushions, which Cody had complained were too light, had already been replaced by Helena with dark grey gaming cushions. There was no space left for me here. I placed the signed divorce papers directly in the center of the coffee table. I weighed them down with the expensive fountain pen Cody had gifted her. Beside it, I left a sticky note: “My transfer to the Austin branch went through. I’m gone.” “Once you sign, mail them to my company’s legal department.” “Consider the pine bracelet his housewarming gift.”

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My son’s girlfriend said their dog was in a bad mood. So my son canceled his trip home to see me. “Mom, I’m not coming back for the sixth either. If Snowball gets depressed, that’s serious.” I listened to the cheerful barking on the other end of the line. He had probably forgotten — this was the third year in a row he hadn’t come to see me. Including Chinese New Year. He had also forgotten that my doctor had just handed me a terminal cancer diagnosis. “Mom, why aren’t you saying anything? Never mind, I’m hanging up. I still need to take Snowball out to cheer her up.” In the dead silence after the call ended, I pulled the IV tube out of my arm. — **1** The nurse came rushing in, panicked, trying to put the needle back in. “Ms. Shen! You can’t do this! Your condition—” I pushed her hand away, my face cold. “Discharge me. Now.” The cancer had spread through my body. Every movement sent sharp pain shooting through me, but I stood up straight. I dialed my lawyer’s number. My voice was completely steady. “Have a car ready. Take me back to the estate.” The car moved smoothly along the road. Then Hayden’s call came through. I picked up. Through the speaker came the sound of Crystal putting on her baby voice. “Snowball, sweetie, just one bite — this is wagyu beef, flown in specially for you.” Then came Hayden’s impatient voice. “Mom, what is wrong with you? It’s the holidays and you’re deliberately making my life difficult? Ever since you got sick, Snowball’s been depressed because of you.” “Transfer fifty thousand dollars right now. I need to take Snowball to a pet therapist. If we wait any longer it’s going to get worse.” I said nothing. My stomach clenched in waves. This time last year, I had just finished a round of chemo. I had a fever that wouldn’t break. I had nearly lost half my life. And my wonderful son had been out skiing in Hokkaido with Crystal, posting a grid of smiling vacation photos on Instagram. He had sent me a two-hundred-dollar Venmo with the message: *Happy New Year, Mom. Stay warm, drink plenty of water.* I cut off the memory. I didn’t open my banking app the way I normally would have. I simply asked, calmly, “Hayden, do you know what today is?” There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then came an enraged outburst. “There you go again with the guilt trip! Is this fun for you? Let me tell you something — you better stay alive a good long time, because if you die, all that money is useless to you!” The call slammed dead. I looked out the window at the business empire I had built with my own hands. I thought of all those years, drinking at client dinners until my stomach bled just to close a deal. The only love that had kept me fighting — my love for my son — dissolved completely in that moment. I returned to the cold, empty estate. The living room was stacked with New Year gifts I had prepared for Hayden: the latest gaming console, limited-edition sneakers. Every one of them felt like it was mocking me. My chest tightened. The pain took my breath away. “Mr. Zhao.” I spoke. My voice came out rough. “Ms. Shen, shall we finalize the will now?” “No.” I shook my head. “Draft the first document. Notify all banks to freeze every supplementary credit card under Hayden’s name. Effective immediately.” The moment the words left my mouth, my phone began buzzing nonstop. A flood of voice messages from Hayden came through. *”Mom, have you lost it? Why won’t my card work?!”* *”Crystal and I are out right now! Do you know how embarrassing this is?!”* *”Are you insane?!”* I turned off my phone, walked to the study, and picked up the framed photo of my late husband. I traced his gentle smile with my fingertips and said quietly, “Gerald, it’s time to clean house.” I turned to my lawyer. “Put out word that my condition has improved, and that I plan to name a successor for the company this holiday season.” It was bait. I wanted to see with my own eyes exactly what kind of creature I had raised. Less than thirty minutes after the news broke, Hayden messaged me on Snapchat. A complete one-eighty. *”Mom, are you feeling better? Crystal and I are getting in the car right now! Please take care of yourself!”* *”Mom, what do you want to eat? I’ll bring it back for you.”* *”Mom, I know I’ve been a bad son. Don’t hold it against me.”* Reading those copy-pasted pleasantries, my stomach turned. Mr. Zhao and I sat in the living room. I was wrapped in a heavy blanket, sunk into my wheelchair, waiting quietly. Late that night, the door was thrown open. Crystal came in first, carrying Snowball. The moment she crossed the threshold, she started fanning the air in front of her face dramatically. “God, what is that smell? It reeks of old people and medicine in here.” Snowball leapt out of her arms and tore across the expensive rug, claws raking across the leather sofa. Hayden came in behind her. Not only did he not stop the dog, he laughed. “Mom, look — Snowball’s just bringing some energy into the place.” From the moment he walked in, he hadn’t once looked directly at my face — a face that had wasted away almost beyond recognition. Hayden dropped onto the sofa across from me and got straight to the point. “Mom, Mr. Zhao said the succession process has started. Has it actually been filed?” I gave a vague smile. “That depends on how you behave.” Hayden immediately slipped into a fawning expression and reached for the kettle on the coffee table. “Mom, you must be thirsty. Let me pour you some water.” He handed me a cup of scalding water. My body was weak, my hands were shaking. I couldn’t hold it. The cup hit the floor. The boiling water splashed across my hand — and a few drops landed on Snowball’s fur nearby. “Ah!” Crystal let out a piercing scream. Not for me. For her dog. She lunged forward, pulled out tissues, and dabbed frantically at the few drops of water on Snowball’s coat. “My baby! Are you burned? Does it hurt?” She didn’t look at me once. Even as my hand began to swell and redden. — **2** I stared down at my burned hand, and suddenly thought of the time Hayden had a high fever as a little boy. I had held him all night, wiping down his body with rubbing alcohol, not sleeping for a single moment. Crystal finished comforting her dog and turned to me with a performance of concern. “Aunt Helen, honestly, with your health being what it is, maybe you should consider a care facility. They have professionals there. It would be better for you.” She paused, then added pointedly, “And it would be a shame to leave this estate sitting empty. I think it would make a lovely place for a wedding.” Hayden jumped in right on cue. “Exactly, Mom! The energy here is great, it’s perfect for us young people. You’d be much better off at a nice facility, and we’d feel so much more at peace.” I nodded. “Alright. I’ll think about it.” Right in front of them, I pulled out my phone and texted Mr. Zhao. *Inventory all antiques and artwork in the estate. Prepare for transfer.* At dinner, the table was full of Hayden’s favorites — braised pork ribs, sweet-and-sour fish. The chemo had destroyed my appetite. All I could manage was a bowl of plain congee. Between bites, Hayden complained, “Mom, VP Reynolds at the company is getting completely out of line with me. You need to hand over full authority soon.” The next morning, I was woken by the clattering and banging from downstairs. I pushed myself out of bed and made my way to the top of the staircase. Below, Crystal was standing with her hands on her hips, directing a team of movers to rearrange the furniture. She was pointing at my most treasured piece — the rosewood bookcase. The one my husband had loved most. “This thing — it’s old, it’s ugly, throw it out. Just looking at it brings bad luck.” “Stop.” My voice came out sharp. “Don’t touch that.” Crystal looked up at me. Not a trace of guilt on her face. She smiled, sarcastic and sweet. “Oh, Aunt Helen, you’re up! I figured out with the old, in with the new — I’m refreshing the place a little, for good luck.” “And this space would be perfect for a luxury play area for our Snowball.” Hayden stood to the side and didn’t say a word against it. In fact, he played along. “Mom, that bookcase is so dark, it gives off bad energy. It’s affecting our luck.” I was shaking with fury. I gripped the banister and made my way down the stairs, one step at a time. I spread my arms wide and stood in front of the bookcase. Snowball suddenly charged at me, barking furiously, snapping at the hem of my trousers. Crystal stood off to the side with her arms crossed, watching, amused. “Look how smart Snowball is — she knows quality when she sees it. She’s just not a fan of these old things.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I swatted at the dog hard. “Get away from me!” Snowball startled, yelped, and scrambled backward — straight into the display cabinet behind her. *Crash—* The sound of something shattering cut through the entire room. The blue-and-white porcelain urn that had been sitting on the top shelf of the cabinet tumbled to the floor and broke into pieces. It had contained my husband’s ashes. The only urn. A roar went through my head. My body went rigid. Hayden’s first reaction was to point his finger in my face and scream at me. “What is wrong with you! Why did you have to yell that loud? If something happened to Snowball, you’re paying for it!” He was worried about the dog. Not his father’s ashes. Crystal rushed over too, scooping up the dog, checking her over from head to toe for scratches. She kept muttering under her breath, “God, this is so morbid, dead people’s things should’ve been thrown out a long time ago, keeping them in the house is terrible luck.” My legs gave out beneath me. I sank to the floor. My hands shaking, I reached out to gather the broken pieces. A shard sliced into my finger. Blood fell, drop by drop, onto the pale gray dust. Hayden looked at me on the floor and grew even more impatient. He grabbed my arm roughly. “Alright, enough of the pity show! Get up and sign the will, don’t make us late for Snowball’s grooming appointment!” I wrenched my arm away from him. I raised my head. Whatever emotion had been in my eyes was gone. Only ice remained. I pulled myself up off the floor. Hayden took a step back. Something in my gaze had shaken him. But the thought of the money steadied his nerve. He reached for the coffee table, picked up a document he had obviously prepared in advance, and slammed it down. His voice was thick with greed and urgency. “This is an unconditional power of attorney over the company’s shares. For the sake of stability, you need to sign this right now.” Crystal hugged Snowball and chimed in from behind him. “That’s right, Aunt Helen. You’re not thinking clearly anymore. Hayden is the only one who can protect this family’s legacy.” I looked at the document — it was practically a mugging dressed up in legal language — and the corner of my mouth moved slightly.

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On the day of the wedding, I swapped souls with Vivienne’s sworn enemy. When I opened my eyes, Vivienne’s body was covered in hickeys. “Don’t leave so many marks next time. My husband finds out, he’ll kill you.” My heart shattered. I told her who I really was, my voice trembling. Vivienne froze. Then she leaned in and kissed me with a smile. “Right. You’re my husband. A little husband is still a husband.” “Be a good boy and rest up. I’ve got a wedding to get to. I’ll come back tonight and take care of you.” At the million-dollar wedding that had been planned for me, she declared her love for someone else in front of everyone. Then she covered the microphone and whispered, “Ethan, for these seven days, you are my husband in the eyes of the world.” Rage burned through me. I stormed the stage wearing Marcus’s face. “I, Marcus Cole, am Vivienne’s side piece!” — **1** The entire hall erupted. A flash of panic crossed Vivienne’s eyes. She composed herself quickly, her brow furrowing. “You’ve always loved picking fights with me. Spreading lies, hurting people — you’ll do whatever it takes.” “I’ve let it go before, but today is my wedding day. Don’t push me.” Everyone in the city knew Marcus Cole and Vivienne were enemies. Born rivals. If I hadn’t lived it myself, I never would have known these two had already been sleeping together. Malicious whispers cut into my ears. I let out a cold laugh. “You have three hickeys on your left chest. Fresh ones.” I dropped the bombshell and dared her to take off her dress and prove me wrong. Vivienne knew my personality better than anyone. This wasn’t going to end quietly. She grabbed my wrist and warned me not to make it worse — she’d explain everything later. But I didn’t want her explanation. I reached out and tore at her wedding dress. The gown, the lining — all of it ripped open. Three fresh hickeys on her left chest, plain as day. The room exploded. “Did Vivienne really cheat? And with Marcus Cole — the man responsible for her family’s deaths?” “Impossible! When Dylan was kidnapped, Vivienne threw everything she had into saving him. She said she’d give her life for his.” “Nobody in this city would believe she stopped loving Dylan!” Vivienne’s eyes went red. She stared at me, silently begging me to back down. I shook her off and opened my mouth to keep going. But Marcus — wearing my face — cut me off with a sharp cry. “Enough! I left those marks. How would you even know that?” “Did you put cameras in our bedroom? What are you after?!” He twisted the whole thing around, making it look like I was the one targeting Vivienne. I was furious. I almost blurted out the whole soul-swap situation right then. But Vivienne shot me a look. Her friend group immediately swarmed me and dragged me into a corner of the venue. They took turns trying to talk me down. “Ethan, didn’t you promise Vivienne you’d behave today? She even promised you three months alone with her.” “You two have been tangled up for ten years. You’re definitely the only husband she has in her heart.” I stood there frozen. I couldn’t even breathe. “Ten years? She and I — Ethan Walsh — have only been together seven years.” The heartbreak curdled into rage. Vivienne’s friends started talking over each other, piecing together the history. It started with Vivienne and Marcus running away together on New Year’s Eve when they were teenagers. Then their vow at the top of the Pinnacle Tower. Then the expedition they’d survived together on a mountain climb — clinging to life, clinging to each other. The whole wedding became a backdrop. No — the wedding belonged to them too. Before they ran out of things to say, they told me about the day before Vivienne met me. Her parents had been invited on a trip by Marcus’s family. A landslide. No survivors. “If that hadn’t happened, Ethan, you and Vivienne would’ve gotten married with your families’ blessings a long time ago.” “And… Vivienne doesn’t hate you. She just… loves you in a way that hurts her.” — **2** I sat there and listened to the whole epic love story between my wife and her affair partner. Then I let out a quiet, hollow laugh. I pressed my palm until the pain cut through, forcing myself to stay sharp. I hit record. “Start over from the beginning. Tell me exactly how much Vivienne loves Marcus.” Her friends didn’t notice anything was off. They just figured their boy Ethan had snapped. They talked until the sky went dark. Walking out of the venue, I had one thought left in my head: I’m done with her. But I’m getting my body back. I tucked the recorder into my pocket and kicked open the door to the bridal suite. Vivienne was waiting. Exhaustion was written all over her face. “I figured out what happened. Marcus used your family heirloom — the bloodstone — to swap your souls without telling anyone.” That bloodstone. I’d retrieved it from the family vault myself to keep her safe. The only person I’d ever told about its power was her. Vivienne paused, then continued. “I’ve already talked to him. Don’t be angry. You’ll swap back in seven days.” As for the affair — she never offered a single word of explanation. I looked at her in silence and pressed play. The color drained from Vivienne’s face as the recording played. Her knuckles turned white. Her eyes went red. When she spoke, the words came out unsteady. “Ethan, that was the past. I only love you now.” “If I didn’t love you, why would I have chosen to marry you instead of Marcus?” I found it funny. I actually laughed. Vivienne took that as a good sign and let out a breath of relief. She even lightened up, pushing her luck. “Because of what happened to my parents, I blamed Marcus for years. He went through a lot because of me. This feels like a chance to make it right.” “Think of the wedding night as something I owe him. It’s still your body, so just pretend it didn’t happen. Don’t let it bother you.” She kept talking like I wasn’t even there. I looked at her, flat and cold, and said exactly one thing. “Why should my dignity pay for your mistakes?” Vivienne looked annoyed. She pulled out the old line about being one unit, husband and wife. Then she gave me a disappointed look and said I was being unsympathetic. I didn’t bother arguing. “Give me back the bloodstone and my body. And sign the divorce papers while you’re at it.” “You’re the one at fault. Walk away with nothing.” Lucky that Marcus hadn’t gone public with the soul-swap. Otherwise I never could’ve gotten Vivienne’s friends to hand me evidence of her affair on a silver platter. Vivienne’s eyes narrowed. She snapped at me for being reckless. “Forcing the swap back early will hurt both bodies. You can’t give Marcus even seven days?” “And Ethan — don’t joke about divorce. That would really hurt me.” I wouldn’t budge. That pushed Vivienne to her limit. She held herself back from lashing out at me. Marcus, though, couldn’t stand it anymore. He burst out of the room and came at me. “You’ve always used the fact that Vivienne loves you as a weapon. You hurt her whenever you want. You don’t deserve her. There are plenty of people who would.” Vivienne looked genuinely moved. She turned away from me. She was upset now. The whole thing was absurd. I crossed my arms and looked Marcus up and down. “You two deserve each other. She’s a liar, you’re worse — no wonder you found each other.” I don’t hold back with words. Never have. Even if Marcus wanted to take a swing at me, I wasn’t afraid. But the hand he raised never came down on my face. Vivienne caught his wrist and pulled him into her arms. “Marcus, I know you’re angry for me. And you’re right — Ethan has always taken me for granted.” — **3** Her eyes, sharp and clear, found mine. There was a cruelty in them that left no room for argument. “Actually, I don’t need your permission to do anything.” “Ethan, you married me. You need to learn what it means to be my husband. You can’t keep acting like a child.” A chill ran through me. I stepped back and grabbed the door handle. But she yanked me by the arm and dragged me into the darkened bridal suite. Vivienne locked the door. No light. Just her voice. “When Marcus and I are done, I’ll let you out.” The bridal suite was Vivienne’s design. That room had always been locked. Her ultimate secret. I hit the floor hard. Scraped my palm. I pushed myself up through the pain. Moonlight fell across the walls, and the color drained from my face. Every wall was covered in photos of Marcus. Portraits. Couple shots. Intimate photos. Every single one had a date written underneath. My birthday. Our anniversary. The night we got engaged. Even the day I first visited her parents’ graves as her husband. Blinding fury and disgust crashed over me. I started tearing the photos off the walls. And the whole time, Marcus’s breathless voice drifted through the walls. “Vivienne, I’m yours. I’ll always be yours.” Vivienne moaned his name back. Then mine. Back and forth. The moment I remembered that was my body, I bent over and dry-heaved. When I straightened up, my face was blank. I flicked the lighter. The room caught fast. Everything was flammable. The fire spread before I could think. Thick smoke tore through my lungs. I coughed until my chest felt like it was splitting. I smashed the window. I was halfway out when Vivienne crashed through the flames. “Ethan!” She smothered the fire, then wrapped her arms around me in the charred room and held on tight. “Are you out of your mind?! You nearly gave me a heart attack!” She must have smelled the smoke and come running. Her clothes were still half-undone. Not even the smoke covered the smell on her. I shoved her away. Before I could say anything, she grabbed my arm. “You burned yourself? Do you know how much Marcus cares about his skin?” “Just because it’s not your body, you think you can trash it? That’s a twisted way to get back at someone.” Vivienne’s expression went cold. She forced me to the hospital to get skin grafts done on Marcus’s body. I fought her the whole way. It didn’t matter. I stood there helpless while Marcus used my body to sign the consent forms. Eyes shining with tears, he clutched Vivienne’s sleeve. “Vivienne, I’m worried there are other injuries he’s hiding.” Vivienne understood immediately and ordered a full examination — the works. I told them through gritted teeth that nothing was wrong. They pushed me into the exam room anyway. The doctor came back with results. “The patient’s eyes were exposed to intense smoke and heat. The corneas have been damaged. Vision has significantly deteriorated.” Marcus sobbed into Vivienne’s arms. “I knew he was hiding something. Is he trying to make me go blind for the rest of my life once we swap back?” Vivienne shot me a withering glare. Then she turned back to Marcus and spoke gently. “Don’t worry. We’ll have him sign a cornea donation form. After the swap, we’ll do the surgery — same time as the skin grafts.” My eyes went wide. “There’s nothing wrong with my eyes right now!” Marcus had bribed the doctor. He wanted my eyes. I needed to prove I could see. I read out every word in sight, one after another. Vivienne hesitated. Marcus’s expression flickered. Then he put on a wounded look and started whimpering. “You could see when you came in. You probably just memorized everything then.” Fury surged through me. I laughed, ice cold. “So you want to be blind that badly. Fine. I’ll make it happen.” I raised my hand and drove it straight toward my own eyes. — **4** Marcus stared at me in disbelief, stunned that I’d actually snapped. Vivienne’s pupils contracted. She lunged and grabbed my wrist. Her face had gone pale. She growled at me under her breath. “What are you doing? Do you have any idea how much it hurts to poke your own eye? Is it really worth destroying yourself like this?” I looked at her, genuinely confused. It’s just pain. What’s the big deal? They thought the swap wouldn’t happen for seven days. But that was outdated information. The bloodstone could only hold the connection for three days. In three days, I’d be back in my own body — and I’d catch them completely off guard and leave. Nobody would be able to force skin grafts or cornea donations on me after that. Vivienne didn’t know any of this. She swallowed her anger. “Stop making a scene. You cause the damage, you deal with the consequences.” She called the doctor over and had the cornea donation form brought in, all business. Marcus signed two names on it and shot me a satisfied look. I said nothing. Let him sign. If he signed and I wasn’t around to collect, what was the point? Vivienne softened her voice. “Ethan, don’t be scared. Even if you can’t see, I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life. You don’t have to be afraid.” “Just rest for these seven days. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.” Guilt had made her generous. Vivienne offered me three requests. On the first day, I asked for the bloodstone back. Marcus hemmed and hawed and refused to hand it over. After I pushed him hard enough, he admitted he’d sold it. That same day I ransacked his place and listed everything he owned for sale online — including his used clothes. On the second day, I asked for a divorce. “Transfer the bridal suite to my name. I’m selling it.” I wasn’t in my own body yet, so pushing a clean split was difficult — I just needed her signature on the divorce papers first. Vivienne’s face went cold. She pressed her lips together. Under pressure from Marcus, she nodded. On the third day, I asked for seven years’ worth of dividends back. A divorce fund. Something to fall back on. Vivienne had no objections. Marcus did. He shot me a resentful glare. “Finance only recognizes Ethan’s face. Come with me.” The window for the swap was closing. I couldn’t tip my hand early. I figured he wouldn’t try anything, so I got in the car. I was wrong. Halfway there, everything went sideways. Several black SUVs came out of nowhere and rammed us. Marcus screamed in terror. I clenched my jaw and hit the emergency contact button on the phone. The next second, the phone was ripped away. My hands were tied. By the time Vivienne arrived, Marcus and I were both barely conscious on the concrete floor. “Ethan! Marcus!” I forced my eyes open. Fury simmered in my chest. Marcus, you idiot. Your emergency contact wasn’t 911. It was Vivienne. The kidnappers grabbed us both by the hair and grinned. “Ms. Vivienne, Mr. Reid needs a transplant. Both of your men are a match.” “Out of respect for you, he only needs one. Your choice. Who lives?” My mind was running fast, calculating every angle. Marcus was sobbing. “Vivienne, save me. Please save me.” Vivienne’s face was a wreck. Her fists were clenched so tight the veins stood out. She tried to speak several times. “I — I choose—” The kidnappers ran out of patience. They raised a solid steel pipe, aiming at both of our heads. Right before it came down — Vivienne raised her hand and pointed. “Him. I choose him.” Ethan Walsh’s body. Marcus Cole’s soul. I was about to die. I was smiling. Three. Two. One.

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The brother who had been so disgusted by my confession that he fled the country was finally back. His fiancée threw a welcome-home party behind my back. I showed up uninvited. Before I even walked through the door, I heard his best friend say: “Aren’t you worried she’ll latch onto you again now that you’re back?” Ethan draped an arm around his fiancée’s waist. “The beating I gave her before I left should have knocked some sense into her.” “Of course,” he added, “if she starts up again—” He laughed softly. “Then I’ll just have to ship her off somewhere so remote she’ll never forget her place.” Laughter erupted inside. I pushed the door open and walked in. The room went instantly quiet. Everyone stared at me with contempt. His fiancée sneered. “Shameless. Nobody invited you.” Ethan gave me a knowing look and said lightly, “My fiancée speaks her mind. Don’t take it personally.” “But honestly, you shouldn’t be here.” I swept my gaze over the crowd drinking in the spectacle. Then I let out a sudden, broken sob. And grabbed Ethan’s best friend by the arm. “Babe,” I cried, “why didn’t you tell my brother I’m pregnant?” — **1.** Ryan yanked his arm away in shock, staring at me like I was something he’d stepped in. “Stella, are you out of your mind? Why the hell would I ever touch you?” The room exploded with laughter. Ethan frowned and pulled his fiancée, Violet, closer as they stepped toward me. “Stella, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to make a scene like this.” I met his disgusted gaze. I pressed a hand to my stomach, going for pitifully helpless. “Ethan, I really am carrying Ryan’s baby.” “That’s impossible.” Violet hurled her wine glass at me. The liquid splashed across my face and soaked into my clothes. “Still delusional? My brother can’t stand you. What, you couldn’t climb your way into Ethan’s bed so now you’re going after the next rich heir?” The wine stung my eyes like needles. I reached up to wipe them. Ryan grabbed my wrist and wrenched my hand away. “You say it’s my kid — when exactly did we sleep together?” The wine blurred my vision until tears streamed down my face, but no one cared. My voice shook. I had no choice but to say it. “About six weeks ago. At the Nightfall Club. Someone slipped something into your drink, Ryan. That night — it was me.” “That’s insane! How could it have been you!” Ryan’s grip loosened in shock. Ethan’s expression darkened. “Is that true?” Ryan said blankly, “I was drugged that night. I knew someone was there, but I had no idea who…” He cycled through women like he was flipping channels — his schedule was booked out years in advance. There was no chance he remembered who he’d been with. Ethan exhaled roughly and closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were burning with fury. The next second, he backhanded me across the face. The force of it sent me stumbling backward into the champagne tower. The room gasped. The entire tower crashed down on top of me. I pressed my palm to the floor and cut it on the shards. The pain was sharp enough to make me tremble. I forced my eyes open and saw Violet coming at me, her face twisted with rage. She raised her hand and slapped me twice across the face. “Say it! You seduced my brother, didn’t you!” Ryan watched me with open irritation. “Yeah — did you crawl into my bed on your own? Because the idea that I’d actually want you makes me sick.” My head was spinning from the blows. Through the daze, I caught Ethan staring at me with an intensity I couldn’t read. For just a moment, I thought I saw something in his eyes. Like he actually cared. I denied it instinctively. “No. He forced me.” Violet screamed again. “Liar! You threw yourself at my brother! Ethan, don’t believe her!” She grabbed Ethan’s arm and clung to it. Ethan stroked her hair gently. “It’s okay, Violet. I know.” Then he looked at me, and his eyes went cold. My chest tightened with dread. Sure enough — the next second, Ethan patted Ryan on the shoulder. “I didn’t raise Stella right. That’s on me. I’ll give up a percentage of the West District deal next month as an apology.” He then turned to address the room. “Stella seduced Mr. Ryan of her own doing, without any shame. I will handle her personally. Are we clear?” The guests exchanged glances, then fell over themselves to agree. “Grew up outside a proper home — what do you expect? No class, no limits.” “She went after Ethan first, now Ryan. Absolutely shameless.” I dug my nails into my palm. A shard of glass drove deeper into my flesh. The pain kept my head clear. Ethan was still Ethan. He would never pick a fight with the Ryan family over me. Why would he? — **2.** Ethan grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the car. I shook him off. “Why does my brother suddenly care what I do?” I said flatly. “Shouldn’t you be managing Violet’s feelings right now?” Ethan smiled at me. “A few years apart and you’ve picked up some new tricks.” I didn’t respond. He stepped in front of me and blocked my path until I got in the car. I swallowed my irritation. Now wasn’t the time. I climbed in and spent the whole ride staring out the window. When the car passed through the gates of the Foster estate, I went still. Three years ago, Ethan had whipped me with his own hand — ten lashes — and then thrown me out himself. I hadn’t expected him to bring me back. I was fifteen when the Foster family found me. My birth parents were already gone by then. The only one who welcomed me was Ethan — the Fosters’ adopted son. The estate was vast and hollow. I was too scared to sleep. Ethan flew back from out of state that same night, still carrying a warm box of date pastries. He pushed open my bedroom door and said: “If the dark scares you, leave the light on. I’ll stay with you.” For three years after that, he walked beside me through everything. Introduced me to people. Helped me find my footing. When a business associate mocked me in private, Ethan walked away from an eighty-thousand-dollar contract on the spot. The day I turned eighteen, he took me to the rooftop observatory. The wind was fierce up there. He draped his jacket over my shoulders and asked what I wished for. I said quietly, “Can you be my boyfriend?” I remember the hope I felt in that moment. What I got instead was him stepping back, revulsion written across his face. “How could you have feelings for your own brother?” Ethan left me alone on that cold, dark rooftop. I walked through the snow for hours before I finally made it home. Then I found Ethan holding Violet in his arms, repeating over and over how disgusted he was. And Violet — the moment she saw me — smiled and held him tighter. After that, Ethan whipped me again. Ten more lashes. Family discipline, he called it. Each stroke came with a demand: say it. *I will never have feelings for Ethan Foster again.* By the time it was over, I was barely conscious, lying on the floor. Violet pressed her stiletto heel into the wounds on my back. “This is what you get for being shameless.” The next morning, Ethan threw me out of the house and had me sent abroad. And everyone laughed at me for being unable to keep my place. That was the moment I understood. If I couldn’t have Ethan, then I would take what was rightfully mine: the Foster family itself. — Back at the estate, Ethan shoved me down into a chair. The Foster family’s medical team surrounded me immediately. Ethan stood over me, staring down. “Stella, if I find out you’re not actually pregnant, you know what happens.” He didn’t believe me. But I was prepared. “And if I really am?” I asked calmly. Ethan slammed his fist down beside me and forced out two words: “Disgusting. Mistake.” I smiled faintly and rolled up my sleeve, letting the doctor draw blood without resistance. “Ethan, if I’m really carrying his child, it’s good for both families. Why are you so against it?” He laughed coldly. “Don’t flatter yourself. First of all, we don’t know if you’re even pregnant. Second — how are you so sure it’s Ryan’s? Has Ryan even admitted to anything?” He leaned closer. “Stop selling yourself so cheap, Stella. Did your parents auction you off so many times it started to feel normal?” My face went white. There was a time when Ethan had pitied me — when my gambling-addicted foster parents kept selling me off to cover their debts. He’d been furious on my behalf. Now he was using it as a weapon. Ethan watched the shame cross my face. Then, suddenly, his voice softened. “What I said at the party tonight — that was because the deal with the Ryans closes next month. I can’t afford complications right now.” He crouched in front of me and used tweezers to carefully pick the glass fragments from my wounds himself. I watched him do it. I felt nothing. The stick-and-carrot routine. Ethan had worn that one out years ago. Back in school, Violet had never been able to stand me. She bullied me relentlessly. Ethan never said a word against her. Instead, after every time Violet hurt me, he’d take me to an amusement park to smooth things over. I used to tell myself he was stuck in the middle and doing his best. Later I figured it out. I was easy to manage — a little comfort was all it took. But Violet was different. She was the Ryan family’s princess. She wasn’t someone he could afford to upset. Ethan finished dressing my wounds. His fingertips brushed lightly over the bandage. His voice carried a trace of amusement. “Going through all this just to get a rise out of me — making yourself a mess and cooking up some baby that may or may not exist. Was it worth it?” I met his eyes. He looked like he could see right through me. I smiled. “Ethan, I genuinely like Ryan.” His expression darkened instantly. He scoffed. “Impossible. You like someone else? And Ryan, of all people?” Before he could say another word, the test results came back. “Miss Foster is indeed pregnant.” Ethan spun around to face the doctor. The doctor held his ground under the pressure. “The father is confirmed to be Ryan.” A crash — Ethan swept the medical kit off the table, his hands trembling. I calmly placed a hand over my stomach. Then I found the female doctor standing just behind the others and met her eyes. She gave me a firm, steady nod. — **3.** When Ethan looked at my stomach again, he couldn’t hide the hatred. “Get back to your room.” He was scowling hard. I didn’t move. “Which room is mine?” Ethan paused. He clearly remembered that three years ago, he’d thrown me out along with everything I owned. “Didn’t you give this estate to Violet?” I said. “Because she said it was a waste to leave it empty — might as well use it for her wardrobe.” Ethan had pressed my hand down and made me sign the transfer papers himself. The only thing my birth parents had ever left me had become Violet’s walk-in closet. Ethan was silent for a few seconds. He avoided my eyes and called Ryan. Ten minutes later, Ryan arrived with Violet in tow. The moment he saw me, Ryan’s cruelty kicked in automatically. “So you really are knocked up. Think that gives you leverage over me? You wish.” Violet looked up at Ethan with wounded eyes. “Ethan, what do we do?” Ethan turned to Ryan. “If we terminate the pregnancy, do you have any objection?” Ryan glanced at me with contempt. “Obviously not. Someone like her doesn’t deserve to carry my child.” The two of them went back and forth like I wasn’t there. I slammed my hand on the table. “I don’t agree. I’m keeping this baby.” This child was my leverage. My entire plan depended on it. But apparently Ryan misread something in my expression, because he stared at me with a complicated look. Ethan narrowed his eyes and stepped between us. “You don’t get a say in this. Someone take her and lock her up.” I shot to my feet and dodged the hands reaching for me. “On what grounds? I don’t get a say in my own child?” Ethan grabbed me and twisted my arm behind my back, then shoved me into the nearest storage room. He tossed my phone in after me. The door locked. His voice came through the crack. “I’ll arrange the procedure for tomorrow.” The storage room was pitch black. Before I even realized it, cold sweat had soaked through my shirt. My breathing came fast and shallow. I threw myself at the door, pounding it like a madwoman. “Ethan! Let me out — I have claustrophobia!” Violet had locked me in small spaces enough times to give it to me. Ethan’s footsteps paused. Then they came closer. I forced myself to breathe slowly. I waited for him to open the door. But he stopped just outside it. “If I don’t give you consequences, you’ll never learn.” “Use the time in there. Think about what you should and shouldn’t do.” Then his footsteps faded away completely. I couldn’t believe Ethan would actually leave me. The darkness pressed in from every side, like something was about to swallow me whole. My heart leapt into my throat. Then everything went black. When light finally hit my face again, I opened my eyes — weak, disoriented. And found Violet standing over me. With a man I didn’t recognize. Violet drove her heel down onto my face. Her voice reached me like something out of a nightmare. “How dare you taint my brother.” Then she picked up a camera. “Ethan went and scheduled a whole procedure. So much trouble,” she said lightly. “Once you’ve been used up, who’s going to believe that baby is Ryan’s?” The stranger’s eyes crawled over me as he stepped forward. Violet turned and walked out, pulling the door shut behind her. Her parting words: “Make it quick. Bring the video to the main hall when you’re done.” The man’s hands moved to my legs. I kicked him away with everything I had. He yelped in pain and slapped me hard across the face. “Stop fighting. Do you know who you’ve made an enemy of?” I screamed: “I’m Stella Foster! You touch me and my brother will destroy you!” It was the only name that still carried weight. Ethan’s. But the man just laughed. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and spat in my face. “Who do you think sent me?” The words turned into a ringing in my ears. His greasy hands tore at my collar. Desperate, I reached to my waist and found the small self-defense knife I kept hidden there. I drove it into the back of his skull. He dropped like dead weight. I crawled to my feet. Wiped the blood from my face. Walked to the camera with its blinking red light. Saved everything. — **4.** I pushed open the storage room door and picked up my phone from the floor. The screen was cracked. When I turned it on, I found a message from Dr. Helen. *Stella — reporters are camped outside the Foster estate asking about the baby. Ethan said he’s giving a statement at 2 p.m. today.* It was 1 p.m. A bad feeling hit me. I sent a quick message and headed downstairs. The moment I stepped outside, cameras swung toward me from every direction. Violet spotted me and went pale, like she’d seen a ghost. “What are you doing out here?” She lunged at me. I stepped aside. I raised the camera. “Your little plan didn’t work, Violet. Disappointed?” She flinched but forced herself to hold her ground. “What are you doing?” I smiled coldly and backhanded her across the face. Violet clutched her cheek and screamed. The sound brought Ethan and Ryan running out at the same time. Ethan crossed the distance in a few long strides and clamped his hand around my wrist hard enough to fracture it. His eyes swept over me. I was covered in dust. There was blood on me. My clothes were torn. Ethan barely registered any of it. “What is wrong with you? You’re an embarrassment.” I wrenched my arm away from him and raised my voice. “Violet hired someone to rape me! To make sure I couldn’t affect Ryan’s reputation!” Ethan’s hand froze in midair. Every camera lens in the crowd swung toward me. I held up the camera. “I have it all on here. Everything she said. Evidence of attempted assault on Violet’s orders.” The color drained from Violet’s face. She shook her head frantically. “That’s not true! I didn’t do anything!” But the cameras kept rolling. Violet let out a scream and threw herself into Ethan’s arms. “Ethan, I swear it wasn’t me! Please, you have to help me!” Ethan wrapped his arm around her protectively. When his eyes found mine, I saw a flicker of something — guilt, maybe. But Violet’s tear-streaked face turned up toward him. “Ethan…” He hesitated. Then he looked away from me. “Let it go, Stella.” His voice came out rough and low. “Violet’s young, she doesn’t think. Don’t make it into more than it is — I’ll have her apologize to you later.” His words turned my stomach. I was younger than Violet. But because Violet was his fiancée, she would always get his defense. I looked to Ryan. He wouldn’t meet my eyes either. “On what grounds?” I held the camera tighter. “Nothing actually happened, did it?” Ethan’s expression carried a trace of tiredness. “Why make this bigger than it needs to be?” In his mind, this was nothing. The numbness in my chest spread. I stopped speaking. I turned to face the press, and I raised the camera. It was ripped out of my hands. Ethan took my only piece of evidence and without a moment’s hesitation, popped out the memory card and smashed the camera against the ground. I stared at him. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. “Apologize to Violet,” he said. “What?” I thought I’d heard wrong. Ethan repeated himself. “Apologize to Violet. Tell everyone you made it up.” “It’s better for everyone this way.” He meant trade my dignity for Violet’s reputation. I understood him perfectly. Even though I had long since stopped expecting anything from Ethan, my eyes still stung. My chest felt like something was grinding it apart, over and over. The pain never quite stopped. Ethan kept his cold eyes on me, waiting for me to say the words. “It was me who—” I opened my mouth slowly, drawing it out, my eyes drifting toward the gate. At that moment, the front doors of the estate swung open. “What exactly is going on here?” A middle-aged man in a jacket bearing the Foster family crest walked in. Ethan straightened slightly at the sight of him. “Uncle Richard.” This was the man who actually ran the Foster family: Richard Foster. When I saw him, I wiped the corner of my eye. Richard glanced briefly at my stomach, like he already knew everything. I covered my abdomen with my hand and stepped back. Richard looked away and spoke. “Ethan — didn’t the Foster and Ryan families arrange a marriage alliance?” Ethan hesitated. “Yes.” “I’m the one who decides who the parties are.” Richard looked at me. “Since Stella is carrying a Ryan child, she’ll be the one to marry Ryan.”

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I’ve always been the delicate one — soft curves, a tiny waist, and zero tolerance for discomfort. After getting pulled into this beast world, my beast husband spoiled me just the same. But then a new female showed up in the territory. She was nothing like me. She hunted alongside the males, tough and tireless, never once complaining. Cang Su’s eyes lit up the moment he saw her. After that, he couldn’t stop finding fault with me — my chest was too full, my waist too small, I was too fragile. He said I was too high-maintenance. Everything had to be just right — hot water to drink, fully cooked meat to eat, soft fur wrapped around my body at all times. He brought that female in to train me. For three years, every time I pushed back, she beat me for it. And Cang Su would threaten me. “If you don’t shape up, I’ll send you to the Snake Clan’s territory!” He knew perfectly well that snakes were my biggest fear. Until one day, he pulled that threat out again. I couldn’t take it anymore. I shoved him away, tears streaming down my face. “I’m done with you. I want a different beast husband!”

The only response I got was Luo Yao’s vine whip cracking across my chest. A searing line of pain spread from the point of impact. I looked down, eyes blurring with tears. The fur wrap I wore had split open, the pale skin of my chest showing through the gap. A red welt blazed across my skin where the whip had landed. My skin had always been sensitive. A small scratch was enough to make me cry. There was no way I could just endure this. “Luo Yao, you’ve gone too far!” But Luo Yao only looked at me with self-righteous certainty. “You’re the one who’s gone too far. You’re Cang Su’s female — how dare you speak to him like that?” My eyes burned red. The pain made my breath hitch in sharp little gasps. I stared at her in disbelief. Cang Su heard her words, and something flickered across his face — just for a moment. Then he turned on me with a sneer. “Look at yourself. Useless. In this entire territory, who else would ever take you as their female besides me?” “Luo Yao’s right. Don’t be so ungrateful.” He studied me with cold, impatient eyes, his gaze pausing on the curve of my waist with undisguised contempt. I knew exactly what had changed. The moment Luo Yao arrived, he started resenting how fragile I was. I couldn’t go out hunting with him the way she could. He resented every little thing I needed. Heated water. Cooked meat. Soft furs to keep my skin from chapping. Nothing like Luo Yao, who wore nothing but a grass skirt and walked into any situation without a second thought. But I had tried, once. I’d actually tried to be more like her. The fever that followed nearly killed me, and only then did he see that I was different — and decide to accommodate me. I thought about that, and something hardened in my chest. I clenched my fists. “There are plenty of males in this world. I don’t need you specifically. You clearly don’t even like me anymore — so let’s just end this.” Cang Su’s expression didn’t change. If anything, he looked more irritated. “Enough. I only wanted you to learn half of what Yao knows before letting you go. But if you keep this up, don’t blame me for what comes next.” He was completely sure my words were just an outburst. Sure that I couldn’t leave him. After all these years, I’d been difficult — but always obedient in front of him. So he’d always believed I couldn’t survive without him. What he didn’t understand was that when I’d first arrived in this strange world, I was utterly alone. No one. Nothing. Just fear. He was the one who walked up to me and held out a handful of small sweet berries. He was the one who offered to be my beast husband. That’s why I’d held on to him so tightly. He was the only anchor I had in a world I didn’t know. But now he didn’t want me. All he’d given me for a long time was pain and humiliation. So fine. We could be done. The coldness in his voice only made me more certain. I wiped my face and said it again. “No. I told you — I don’t want you anymore. I’m going to find someone new.” I pressed my hand over my torn top and turned to go. Cang Su grabbed my arm. The grip was immediate and brutal. My wrist went red in seconds, a deep ache radiating up through the bone. He didn’t seem to notice. He just glared at me. “I’ve clearly spoiled you rotten.” “I had Yao train you for three years. Three years, so you could become a female worth having. I did that for you — and this is how you repay me?” Luo Yao, who had been quiet up until now, stepped in right on cue. “Cang Su, this is my fault. I just couldn’t stand watching her disrespect you like that. Maybe I should leave.” She paused, then sighed with practiced exhaustion. “I just didn’t realize she was this fragile. When we go out hunting, we take hits far worse than this. Most of us don’t even flinch. She just… she’s never going to make it as a proper female at this rate.” Cang Su let out a cold sound of agreement. “She’s been pampered too long. No ability, no spine, and now she wants to speak to me like that. She needs to be corrected.” Before I could react, he shoved me down onto the stone bed beside us. I panicked, twisting and fighting against his hold. “Cang Su — what are you doing? Let go of me, please—” It was useless. His grip locked my arms down without even straining. When I stopped being able to move, Luo Yao smiled and stepped forward. The vine in her hand this time was aimed between my legs. “Exactly. Ruan Tang, the way you’ve been acting is a disgrace to every female in this territory.” “I’m going to teach you some manners.” —

The crack of the whip came down hard. “This one is for showing disrespect to your beast husband.” My vision went dark at the edges. The pain and numbness hit at the same time, and I couldn’t hold back the cry that tore out of me. Cang Su didn’t stop her. Instead, he moved to bind my wrists and ankles to the stone bed. Then he stood over me, looking down at my tear-streaked face with something like detachment. He said two words. “Keep going.” I hadn’t even recovered from the first blow when a sharp burst of pain exploded across my mouth. Luo Yao had hit me across the lips. She was smiling as she looked at me. “Just hold on a little longer, Ruan Tang.” “Cang Su is your beast husband. He asked me personally — I can’t let him down.” “This one is for insulting your beast husband with your words.” The vine came down again. It landed across my chest. I screamed. The place where she struck me went completely numb. “This one is for being so delicate you burden your beast husband into finding soft furs to keep you covered.” Then the second blow. Then the third. Across my waist. Across the back of my thighs. Each one came with its own justification. My whole body was shaking. I turned toward Cang Su through the pain and the tears. “It hurts. Cang Su — it hurts, please let me go—” His expression was glacial. Unmoved. My heart went cold and quiet. It felt like something heavy had settled into my chest and was pulling me down into the dark. Luo Yao lifted her arm again. The vine aimed for my bare thigh. “This one is for—” A low, flat voice cut through the room. “Enough.” I was drenched in cold sweat. I forced my eyes open. It was Cang Su who had spoken. He stared down at me and released the restraints. His voice was hard. “Ruan Tang. Do you understand what you did wrong?” I said nothing. I pushed through the pain and got myself upright, then walked toward the door in silence. As I passed him, his voice came again, tightly controlled. “Still nothing to say? Want to go through this again?” I stopped. Then I turned and slapped him across the face as hard as I could. My voice was wrecked from all the crying and struggling. “You clearly want to be with Luo Yao, Cang Su. Go ahead. Be her beast husband.” “I hate you.” The slap didn’t seem to leave a mark on him. But my palm immediately burned hot and red, like I’d hit stone. Still, he went still for a moment. I’d never done anything like that before. He was too surprised to stop me — he just let his expression go cold and came back with another threat. “Don’t push your luck.” Something iced over in my chest. I shoved him aside and stumbled out, making it back to my own room. I hadn’t set foot in this place since Cang Su brought Luo Yao here to train me. But thankfully, my things were still here. I dug through a corner of the room until I found a small wooden carving in the shape of a snake. A snake-clan boy had given it to me not long after I first arrived in this world. Back then, he’d followed me around for days. Wherever I went, he went. He didn’t care about the cold looks Cang Su kept throwing his way. But I was terrified of snakes. One look at those gold slit-pupils — the ones that marked him as a snake-clan male — and I was almost shaking too hard to function. I could never bring myself to go near him. He must have seen the fear on my face, because it wasn’t an act. Something in his expression dimmed a little. After that, he stopped following me. But before he left, he put the wooden snake carving in my hands. He told me that if I ever needed him, all I had to do was break it. He’d find me within three days. I took it without fully understanding why. I hid it from Cang Su and kept it. I never thought I’d actually use it. But now, compared to how I used to feel about snakes, the thought of Cang Su scared me more. I turned the carving over in my fingers, then snapped it in two without hesitating. Looking at the two broken pieces, something in me unclenched. I felt lighter. I started gathering the few things I could take with me. There wasn’t much. A few worn pieces of clothing, some small trinkets. That was it. Ever since Luo Yao had come to the territory, Cang Su had stopped giving me anything. The hunted meat, the small red berries I loved most — all of it went to her now. These days, he was more her beast husband than mine. But it was fine. Three more days, and I’d be out of here. Goodbye, Cang Su. No. Not goodbye. More like: never again. I was still turning that thought over when Luo Yao walked in, easy and unhurried. She looked at the state I was in and let a smirk settle across her face. Then she said something I hadn’t seen coming at all. “For a fellow transmigrator, you really are a disappointment.”

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Ricardo said he had severe cardiac asthma. He couldn’t handle stress, and strenuous physical activity was out of the question. That was his excuse for not touching me. Three years running. I felt sorry for him. I took over every household chore, spent a fortune on specialty medications, and never once asked him to fulfill his duties as a husband. Then came the fire at the mountain resort. A burning beam collapsed and pinned my leg. I was trapped in thick smoke, screaming for him. He stood at the emergency exit with his hand pressed to his chest, his face twisted with helplessness. “Hathaway, the smoke in there is too thick. If I go in, I won’t make it out…” Then his new assistant cried out from the second floor. Ricardo didn’t hesitate for a single second. He charged straight into the flames and carried that young woman out at a full sprint. So it wasn’t that he couldn’t push himself physically. He just didn’t think I was worth dying for. “Ricardo! Help me!” Thick smoke churned through the corridors of the mountain resort. Flames raced along the carpet in every direction. A burning wooden beam had my right leg pinned flat to the ground. The heat was intense enough to sear my skin. The oxygen was being sucked out of my lungs breath by breath. Every inhale felt like swallowing broken glass. I stretched my arm toward the emergency exit a dozen feet away, desperate. Ricardo was standing there, completely unharmed, a wet cloth pressed over his mouth and nose. “Hathaway! Hold on! I’ll get someone!” He shouted it loud, but his eyes were already pulling back. He was scared, and he was looking for a way out. “I can’t move that beam, and the smoke — my asthma…” He coughed twice, sharp and theatrical, pressing a hand to his chest, doing his best impression of a man who couldn’t breathe. “If I go in there, I’ll have an attack. We’ll both be trapped.” I stared at him, unable to process what I was seeing. That was my husband. We’d been together for eight years. Married for three. For the sake of his so-called cardiac asthma, I had turned down a promotion. Every single day I managed his diet and his medications on schedule. For three years he hadn’t lifted anything heavier than a coffee cup, let alone touched me as a husband. I thought that was love. I thought it was devotion. But now, with my life on the line, he wouldn’t even try. He had already written me off. “Ricardo… please…” The fire was spreading fast. My vision was beginning to blur. Then, from the staircase at the top of the second floor, a sharp scream cut through the roar of the flames. “Ricardo! Help! I can’t get down!” Katherine. The personal assistant Ricardo had hired just last month. Fresh out of college, young, pretty, the kind of girl who found a reason to hover near him in a short skirt every single day. The moment he heard her voice, every trace of hesitation vanished from his face. He threw the wet cloth to the ground, and moved like a man possessed — sprinting straight into the black smoke, which was far thicker on her side than mine. “Katherine! It’s okay! I’m coming!” Not one second of doubt. I watched him take the stairs two at a time through the burning wreckage, the whole structure groaning under his feet. A few minutes later, Ricardo burst back through the smoke with Katherine in his arms. He had wrapped his suit jacket tightly around her, one hand shielding the back of her head. When he passed me, he didn’t glance down. Not even once. His eyes held only the trembling girl pressed against his chest. “You’re safe, Katherine. I’ve got you. Don’t be scared.” His voice was rough from the smoke, but underneath it was a tenderness I had never once heard him use with me. I watched them disappear into the emergency exit. Then I heard the crack of another beam giving way above me. Something inside me collapsed right along with it. So he wasn’t physically incapable after all. He wasn’t afraid of smoke, or death, or an asthma attack. He simply didn’t care enough about me to find out. By the time the firefighters broke through the window to reach me, I had already slipped into semi-consciousness. “Miss! Stay with us! Don’t close your eyes!” Cold water from the hose killed the flames around me. Several firefighters worked together to lift the beam and drag me free. Outside the ambulance, the night air hit me and I doubled over, coughing up a dark mass from deep in my lungs. My right leg was beyond pain. It had gone completely numb. They settled me onto a stretcher. Through the crowd, my gaze drifted to the lawn nearby. Ricardo was down on one knee. His face was frantic. Both his hands were wrapped around Katherine’s, and he was leaning over her, performing rescue breathing with everything he had. Katherine was in a thin silk nightgown, her body half-collapsed against his chest. “Katherine, come on, wake up. Don’t scare me like this…” His voice broke. He was nearly crying. I bit down on my lip until I tasted blood. One of the firefighters standing beside me followed my gaze. His brow furrowed slowly. “Is that someone you know? The way that guy ran into a burning building for her, I figured she had to be his wife.” “Where’s your husband? I don’t see him with you.” I closed my eyes. Tears cut through the ash and soot on my face. “I don’t have a husband,” I said quietly. The firefighter paused, let out a low breath, and wheeled my stretcher toward the ambulance. Just as the doors were about to close, Ricardo seemed to finally remember something. He spun around. He saw me on the stretcher — blackened, burned, barely recognizable. His eyes flickered. Almost on reflex, he loosened his grip on Katherine’s hand and took a step toward me. Then Katherine “happened” to wake up at exactly that moment. She threw her arms around his waist and burst into tears. “Ricardo… I thought I’d never see you again…” His feet stopped. He sank back down, pulled her close, and gently patted her back. The ambulance doors swung shut. They cut off that perfect picture of two people who had “found each other through crisis.” And they cut off the last three years of my stupidity and grief.

By the time the hospital finished treating my burns and smoke inhalation, it was the following morning. The doctors wanted me to stay for observation. I said no. I dragged my casted right leg out of there on crutches and took a cab back to the home I had spent three years building into something beautiful. The moment I pushed open the front door, a wave of perfume hit me. My slippers had been kicked aside in the entryway. In their place sat a pair of pink stilettos. I swapped my shoes without expression and limped into the living room. What I found turned my stomach. Katherine was sprawled across the living room’s imported massage chair, completely at ease. The one I had bought last month with my entire year-end bonus — spent on relieving Ricardo’s supposed “chronic back tension.” She was wearing my limited-edition silk robe. The one I had never once allowed myself to wear. Ricardo walked out of the kitchen carrying a steaming bowl of soup. He saw me. His step faltered for just a moment. Guilt flickered across his face, then disappeared behind a wall of indignation. “You’re back? Why didn’t you stay at the hospital a few more days?” He set the soup on the coffee table. His tone was the same flat indifference you’d use with a stranger who’d wandered into the wrong room. I kept my eyes on the robe draped over Katherine’s body. “Why is she here?” Katherine startled like a spooked deer and scrambled out of the chair, tugging self-consciously at the hem. “Hathaway, it’s not what you think. The fire took everything I had with me. Mr. Ricardo felt bad for me and offered the guest room for a few days.” “This robe — I found it in the closet with the tags still on, so I assumed no one wanted it. I just borrowed it for now. If it bothers you, I’ll take it off right now and wash it.” Her eyes were already going red as she said it. She turned toward Ricardo with the look of someone who needed rescuing. Ricardo stepped forward immediately, positioning himself between Katherine and me. “Hathaway, what kind of face is that to come home with?” “Katherine went through a traumatic experience last night. She had nowhere to go. What’s wrong with me bringing her back here?” “It’s just a robe. Are you seriously this petty over a piece of clothing?” I looked at him standing there, all righteous indignation, shielding her like she was something fragile and precious. “Traumatic experience?” I pointed at the cast on my leg. My voice came out hoarse and scraped — damage from the smoke. “Ricardo, last night when I was pinned inside that fire, you told me your asthma was too bad to come in.” “But then you sprinted into thicker smoke to save her. So what happened to the asthma? Did the fire burn it away?” The color flooded into his face. His eyes shifted sideways. He raised his voice to bury the guilt. “The firefighters were already coming for you. Katherine was on the second floor — with that much fire, she would have died if I hadn’t moved. It’s not the same.” “Besides, you’re strong. You’ve always been strong. Getting pinned wasn’t going to kill you.” “Katherine’s health has always been fragile. She can’t take what you can.” Strong. Fragile. Convenient. Because I never complained, never clung to him, kept the household running without asking for anything — I apparently forfeited the right to be saved. I was shaking. I gripped my crutch and stepped forward, reached out and grabbed the collar of Katherine’s robe. “Take it off,” I said. Each word slow and flat. Katherine shrieked and clutched the fabric to her chest. “Ricardo, help me!” “Hathaway! What is wrong with you!” He shoved me. I was already unsteady on one leg. The push sent me stumbling backward, and my casted leg slammed hard against the edge of the coffee table. The pain exploded through my whole body. I hit the floor and sat there, cold sweat breaking out instantly. Ricardo didn’t look at me. He went straight to Katherine, running his hands up her arms, checking her over. “Are you okay? Did she scare you?” Once he was satisfied she was unharmed, he turned and looked down at me. His expression was pure contempt. “Hathaway, when did you become like this?” “Do you have any idea what you looked like just now? You were acting like a lunatic.” “I’m telling you right now — Katherine is staying here. If you can’t handle that, you can get out.” I sat on the cold floor and looked up at the two of them. Three years of everything I’d given. And I got “lunatic” and “get out.” I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just pressed a hand against the coffee table and slowly pushed myself to my feet. “Fine,” I said. I looked at Ricardo. My voice was steady and cold. “I bought this house outright before we were married. It’s in my name.” “The one who needs to leave is you.” Ricardo went still. He clearly hadn’t expected that. Not from me — the woman who had bent and folded herself for three straight years without breaking. “Don’t push your luck, Hathaway.” His jaw tightened. “Keep this up and we’re sleeping in separate rooms. You know my heart can’t take this kind of stress. Are you trying to put me in the hospital?” The same script. Three years of the same script. Any time I held my ground, out came the heart condition, and I’d crumble under the weight of my own guilt. Not this time. “Do whatever you want,” I said. I turned and walked toward the master bedroom. “You have thirty minutes. Take your mistress and get out of my house.” “If you’re still here after that, I’m calling the police for unlawful trespass.” I shut the bedroom door behind me and turned the lock. From the other side came the sound of Ricardo slamming his fists against the door and screaming. I didn’t hear a word of it. I slid down against the door until I was sitting on the floor, and the tears came — quiet and absolute, like a dam giving way. Three years. I gave three years of my life to someone who had never once intended to give anything back.

The next day, I pushed through the pain in my leg, got up on my crutches, and showed up to work on time. Today was the presentation for Grandview Group. I had been the lead on this project for six solid months. If we won this contract, I’d get a substantial bonus and lock in a promotion to Design Director. It was the position I’d been working toward. I had pulled countless all-nighters for this. I had revised the designs more times than I could count. I walked into the office, plugged my USB drive into the computer, and started pulling up the 3D model for one final check. Katherine walked over carrying a cup of coffee. She was wearing a fitted blazer and a skirt short enough to be a statement. She spotted me, and the corner of her mouth curved up. “Morning, Hathaway. How’s the leg?” She said it loudly. Heads turned all around the office. Then her ankle rolled. “Oh!” The entire cup of scalding coffee came down directly onto my laptop keyboard. The screen flickered twice, then went black. A faint burning smell drifted up from the machine. The motherboard was gone. Everything in my head went white. “Katherine!” I shoved myself to my feet and grabbed her by the collar. “That was deliberate.” “Hathaway — what are you doing! I didn’t mean it!” Katherine’s eyes went red immediately. The tears were right there, ready. “I lost my footing in the heels — if it’s such a big deal, I’ll pay for the laptop. Why are you being so aggressive?” She played the wounded victim perfectly. The whole office was watching. “Come on, is she seriously going after the new girl over a coffee spill?” “It was an accident. Does she have to grab her like that?” I laughed, but there was nothing funny about it. I let go. “Pay for the laptop? The only copy of the 3D model I’m presenting to Grandview Group in thirty minutes was on that drive.” “The client walks through the door in half an hour. What exactly am I supposed to show them?” I pointed at the security camera mounted above us. “Let’s go. Security office. We pull the footage and settle this right now.” I grabbed her wrist and started moving toward the door. Katherine struggled and twisted, then suddenly called out toward the end of the hall. “Mr. Ricardo! Help!” Ricardo came down the hallway in a sharp suit, jaw set, moving fast. He was VP of the company. He ran things here, and he knew it. “What is going on out here? Does anyone actually work in this office?” The room went quiet. Katherine grabbed his arm like he was a life raft. “Mr. Ricardo, I swear it was an accident — I spilled coffee on Hathaway’s computer by mistake, and now she’s accusing me of doing it on purpose. She almost hit me…” Ricardo looked at the smoke still curling up from my laptop. Then he looked at me. His eyes were hard. “Hathaway. You’re a manager. Act like one.” “Making a scene over something like this is completely unprofessional.” I kept my breathing steady. “Ricardo, that laptop had the final model for the Grandview project.” “She destroyed six months of the company’s work. I’m pulling the security footage to find out what actually happened. Is that a problem?” Ricardo’s expression didn’t change. “The cameras are down. Maintenance reported it this morning.” He said it without blinking. “And even if she did it on purpose — you’re the project lead. Not backing up critical files is on you.” I stared at him. “Are you serious right now?” “The model file was too large for the company cloud. I finished the final render last night. When exactly was I supposed to back it up? And that’s somehow my fault?” Ricardo cut me off. “Enough. Stop making excuses.” He raised his voice so the whole floor could hear. “Due to this critical oversight — causing irreparable loss to the company — Hathaway’s performance bonus for the next six months is suspended, effective immediately.” “Furthermore, her candidacy for the Design Director promotion is revoked.” “Katherine will take her place at the Grandview presentation. She prepared a backup proposal. It’s rough, but it’s something. Better than showing up empty-handed.” The office went completely silent. Even Katherine looked stunned for a moment. Then her eyes lit up with something she couldn’t quite contain. I stared at Ricardo. He had let Katherine destroy my work, taken my promotion, handed my presentation slot to the woman who had destroyed it. All in one move. All in public. “On what authority?” I said through my teeth. “On the authority of being VP of this company.” He looked down at me with warning in his eyes and satisfaction barely concealed beneath it. “And you’re going to apologize to Katherine right now, in front of everyone. Your behavior this morning was a serious breach of professional conduct.” “If you don’t, don’t bother coming in tomorrow. I’ll make sure you don’t work in this industry again.” He thought that would break me. Just like every fight over the past three years — he’d go cold, and I’d cave. Every single time. I looked at his face. Then I looked at Katherine standing behind him, trying to hide her smile. I didn’t rage. I didn’t cry. I reached over, pulled the ruined USB drive from the port, and dropped it in the trash. “No need to wait until tomorrow.” “I quit.”

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The moment my blind date sat down, she demanded I buy a luxury penthouse in the city center — in cash — and put her name on the deed. She picked her teeth and looked me up and down like I was something she’d scraped off her shoe. I glanced past her at the part-time matchmaker standing behind her — eyes red, nearly in tears, desperate to close a deal. I pulled out my bank card, handed it to the matchmaker, and said with a smile, “I’ll marry you instead.” “City center. Top-floor penthouse. Full cash payment. My name on the deed.” The woman across from me — Chris — dug a fingernail between her teeth, picking at the remnants of the chicken wings she’d just demolished, and gave me a lazy sideways glance. The cheap perfume clinging to her skin mixed with the greasy smell of sauce, and I felt my temples start to throb. “Oh, and you need to buy me a house first. I’m not picky about the car — a Porsche 718 will do. Pink.” I leaned back in the booth. The faded shirt I was wearing was the same one I’d had on when I crawled out from a pile of bodies. It was older than Chris herself. “You should count yourself lucky I’d even consider a military guy like you. You understand that, right?” She spat a clean-picked bone onto the table. A few drops of grease splattered across the surface. I didn’t say anything. I just reached for the complimentary lemon water and took a sip. Sour. Fitting. My eyes drifted past her heavily made-up face and landed on the girl standing behind her. She was wearing an ill-fitting uniform from the matchmaking agency, with a name tag pined to her chest that read: Trainee Matchmaker — Samantha. She was young — probably still in college — no makeup, eyes red-rimmed. She was staring at me, lips moving silently, mouthing something. Run. Get out of here. I narrowed my eyes slightly. Interesting. Chris tapped the table impatiently when I didn’t respond. “With your situation, the second you walk out that door you won’t even be qualified to carry my bags. I’m doing you a favor.” “Oh?” I finally spoke. My voice came out a little rough. “Three minutes to decide. Either transfer the deposit right now, or get lost. Don’t waste my time.” She crossed her legs, pulled out her phone, and started scrolling TikTok on full volume — loud and grating. That’s when I felt something gently tap my knee from under the table. I looked down and saw a crumpled napkin being pushed across from the other side. Samantha had her head down, pretending to tidy the table, but her hands were trembling slightly. I hoked the little paper ball with my foot, slid it to my side without drawing attention, and picked it up. I smoothed it open. The handwriting was small and neat but huried. Run. She’s a scammer. They’re a whole gang. Don’t give them any money — they’ll take everything you have. The last stroke had pressed so hard it nearly tore through the napkin. I looked up just as Samantha lifted her eyes to meet mine. They were full of terror and pleading. Chris was still going on behind her, full of herself. “Made up your mind yet? I’m telling you — Heavenly Match is the most elite agency in the city. You’d have to be out of your mind not to jump at this chance.” “Manager Stockton told me your profile says you have two hundred thousand saved up. That’s just enough for the down payment.” I smiled. So they’d already figured out exactly what I had. I closed my fist around the note and stood up. Chris thought I was leaving. Her expression flipped instantly and she shrieked, “Where do you think you’re going? I’m not done talking!” The agency manager — a plump, overly friendly woman — immediately appeared with two security guards, cutting off my path. “Mr. Johnson, Chris is one of our top-tier members. You’re a lucky man that she’d consider you. Is there a problem?” Manager Stockton’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. The threat in them was obvious. Samantha went pale. She shrank behind Stockton, shaking. I looked at her, then turned to Stockton. “No problem at all,” I said calmly, sitting back down. “But I have one condition.” Chris and Stockton exchanged a look. Both of them smiled — gredy. “Name it.” “I don’t want installments,” I said, measured and unhurried. “I want to pay for the house in full, the car in full, and the wedding fund all at once.” The room went dead quiet. Chris’s eyes went wide. She was barely breathing. Stockton’s cheks quivered as she tried to contain her smile. Only Samantha stared at me in disbelief, shaking her head over and over. I gave her a small reassuring look, then turned back to Stockton. “But I’ll need your agency to provide a written guarantee — confirming that Chris has a clean background and that the marriage will be stable and harmonious. If anything goes wrong, your agency bears full responsibility.” “Absolutely, of course!” Stockton agreed without a second’s hesitation. In her eyes, I was already fish on the hook. “There’s just one more small thing.” I paused, and my gaze settled on Samantha. “For our next meeting, I’d like Samantha to be our dedicated matchmaker.”

Stockton’s smile stiffened for just a moment before bloming back into full warmth. “Of course! Samantha, did you hear that? Go ahead and thank Mr. Johnson!” Samantha looked at me, hesitant, and said quietly, “Thank you, Mr. Johnson.” Chris curled her lip. “What’s a trainee going to do? Whatever, as long as the money shows up I don’t care who’s there.” I left them with my new phone number. Under their gredy, contemptuous stares, I walked out of that upscale matchmaking agency. The sunlight outside was sharp. I took out my phone and made a call. “Wesley.” “Sir.” My personal assistant Wesley picked up immediately. “I need you to look into a matchmaking agency called Heavenly Match. Also two people — one named Chris, one named Samantha.” “And prepare two documents for me. One standard contract, and one deed of gift.” I hung up and turned the crumpled napkin over in my pocket. The girl’s handwriting still held a trace of warmth. In a city this cold, that tiny act of kindness felt like something rare. I didn’t know why she’d tried to help me. But I knew I wasn’t going to let her get swallowed up by these wolves. The next morning, Wesley’s report landed in my inbox. Efficient as always. Heavenly Match was a front — a full-scale fraud operation. They specifically targeted men with limited social circles but some savings, whose finances weren’t easily tracked. Veterans. Programmers who’d spent years working away from home. They fabricated the persona of a wealthy, beautiful woman and used every trick available to earn the target’s trust, then bled them dry under the guise of marriage. Chris was their star performer. Multiple prior offenses. Several victims had already lost everything. But the section of the report about Samantha stopped me cold. Samantha was a finance major and a top student — she’d held the national first-class scholarship for three consecutive years. She was an orphan, raised at Sunshine Home, a children’s care facility on the edge of the city. She’d taken this part-time job to raise money for surgery for a younger boy at the orphanage who’d been born with a congenital heart defect. She’d been tricked into working there. Stockton had lured her in with promises of high pay, had her sign a contract, then confiscated her ID and student card to keep her trapped. Worse — the photos gang used in their online profiles were all taken from Samantha’s personal accounts. They used her fresh, wholesome image to reel in targets, then swapped her out for Chris once the hook was set. The last page of the report included a photo: Samantha at the orphanage, holding a thin little boy, smiling the softest smile. Sunlight fell across her. Clean. Untouched. I closed the email. Something sat heavy in my chest. She was already stuck in the mud herself, and she was still reaching out to pull someone else free. My phone buzzed. A text from Samantha. Mr. Johnson, please don’t trust them. They’re all scammers. Just go to the police — please don’t have any more contact with them. There was a crying emoji at the end. I could imagine exactly how frightened she’d been when she sent that. I replied: I know. Then I called Wesley. “Sir?” “Get ready. Tomorrow, we close the net.”

The next day I showed up at the coffee shop at the agreed time. The scene was bigger than before. Chris hadn’t just come herself — she’d brought a whole crew of so-called relatives who filled two large tables. They were decked out in gold and jewelry, thick-necked, eyeing me like I was a meal. Samantha was standing in the corner. She looked even paler than the day before, like she didn’t know what to do with her hands. Chris spotted me and lifted her chin. “Bold of you to actually show up. You got the money ready?” Stockton stepped forward with a warm smile and held out a document. “Mr. Johnson, this is the prenuptial agreement we’ve prepared. Take a look — once everything looks good, we’ll sign and head to the bank.” I took it and skimmed through. The terms were absurd. The groom voluntarily transfers all assets under his name to the bride. All monthly income after marriage must be surrendered to the bride for her exclusive management. The groom may not interfere with the bride’s social activities in any capacity. In the event of divorce, the groom shall vacate with nothing and pay the bride ten million dollars in emotional damages. This wasn’t a prenuptial agreement. It was a bill of sale. “Everything look okay?” Chris asked, smug. The relatives behind her started chiming in. “Chris is one in a million — you’re lucky to have her!” “Stop stalling and just sign it, we’re waiting to celebrate!” “A military boy landing Chris? You’ve hit the jackpot, friend!” The jering and laughter filled the coffee shop. The other patrons were staring. In the corner, Samantha looked like she was about to cry, her lip white where she’d been biting it. I decided the curtain had gone on long enough. I picked up the agreement and tore it apart, page by page, in front of all of them. The pieces drifted down through the air. The entire coffee shop went silent. The smile froze on Chris’s face. Then she exploded. “What the hell are you doing?! Are you out of your mind?!” Stockton charged toward me, jabing a finger in my face. “You’re playing us?!” “Security Security! Throw this broke loser out!” The relatives swarmed in, shoving me, screaming. “He doesn’t know what’s good for him!” “A nobody like you trying to marry Chris — dream on!” “Hit him! Show him what happens when you mess with us!” They shoved me back hard. I stumbled and caught myself against the wall. The old shirt tore at the shoulder. I didn’t pay attention to any of it. My eyes moved through the chaos and found Samantha — huddled in the corner, arms over her head, crouched on the floor, her thin shoulders shaking. I pushed through the crowd and walked toward her, one step at a time. Everyone froze, unsure what I was doing. I stopped in front of her. And then, in front of everyone, I got down on one knee. I reached into my pocket and took out a velvet box. I opened it. A pink diamond ring caught the light and threw color across the room. It had been my mother’s. Worth more than anything in this room. I held it out to Samantha, and though I didn’t raise my voice, every word carried clearly across the coffee shop. “Samantha, I don’t have a luxury penthouse. I don’t have a Porsche.” “All I have is a past that involved a uniform, and future that might be worth something.” “Will you marry me — a broke soldier?”

Time seemed to stop. The coffee shop was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Everyone stared at us, frozen. Samantha lifted her head. Her eyes were wet with tears, and they were filled with shock and total disbelief. She looked at me. She looked at the ring. Her lips trembled. She couldn’t get a single word out. Chris was the first one to snap out of it. She doubled over laughing. “He’s lost it — he has absolutely lost it!” “Some broke guy pulls out a glass marble and thinks he’s doing a proposal? I’m dying!” Stockton joined in. “Mr. Johnson, isn’t this a bit dramatic? If you don’t have the money, just say so. Isn’t this embarrassing for you?” The relatives fell over each other laughing. “Did the army knock something loose in his head?” “That’s a pink diamond? I’d bet that’s from a dollar machine!” “Samantha, don’t fall for this guy — he can barely feed himself, let alone you!” Samantha’s face shifted between red and white. She looked at me with a complicated mix of emotions — moved, uncertain — but above all, worried. “Mr. Johnson, please stand up,” she whispered. “Don’t do this.” She thought I was staging this to give her a way out. She thought I was sacrificing whatever dignity I had left to fight these people off for her. She was afraid they’d humiliate me even more. I didn’t stand. I just looked at her and waited. I knew what she was afraid of. Chris’s laughter turned sharper. “Samantha, what are you just standing there for? Tell this lunatic to get out.” “If you dare say yes, I’ll make sure you never graduate. I will make your life in this city impossible.” Stockton followed up with her own threat. “Samantha, remember your contract. I still have your documents. Think carefully about the consequences.” Samantha was shaking harder now. She looked at Stockton and Chris — hard-faced and threatening — then back down at me, still kneeling. The tears finally broke loose, rolling down one after another. She didn’t say yes. She didn’t say no. She just cried, and kept saying, over and over, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I knew she was apologizing to me. For not being able to help herself. For not being able to accept what I was offering. Just as Chris was moving to drag me away, the coffee shop door swung open. The sound of synchronized footsteps came from outside. Ten black Rolls-Royce Phantoms pulled silently to a stop in front of the shop. The doors opened. A line of men in black suits and white gloves filed in and took positions along both sides of the room, cutting the noise in half like a wall. At the front was my assistant, Wesley. He was wearing a perfectly tailored Armani suit, gold-rimed glasses, and an expression cold enough to drop the temperature in the room. He walked straight through the crowd, stopped in front of me, and bowed slightly. “Mr. Johnson. Everything you requested is ready.” He held out a black folder. I didn’t take it. I stayed one knee, eyes on Samantha. Wesley understood. He opened the folder himself. He removed a card first — matte black, a fish design engraved in solid gold. “This is the Global Elite Black Card. No spending limit. Redeemable for cash at any bank in the world.” Chris stopped laughing. Stockton’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. They might not have recognized the card, but they couldn’t miss the weight it carried. Wesley didn’t acknowledge their reactions. He continued “These are the property deds for the entire Tower A of Riverside Crown — all forty-eight penthouse units, transferred into your name.” “These are the purchase contracts for ten pink Porsche 718s.” “This is a certified check for eight hundred and eighty thousand dollars, redeemable immediately.” “And additionally—” With every item Wesley named, the color drained further from Chris’s and Stockton’s faces. By the time a thick stack of deds and car contracts sat on the table, their legs had started to give. A collective intake of breath swept through the coffee shop. Everyone was staring at me — at this man in a worn-out shirt, kneeling on the floor of a coffee shop, proposing to a matchmaker — like they were seeing something they couldn’t explain. Chris’s mouth worked soundlessly. She pointed at me, voice cracking. “You — you—” She couldn’t finish a sentence. Stockton lost it entirely. She collapsed straight to the floor with a thud, and a moment later the acrid smell of urine spread from where she sat. She had wet herself. I didn’t look at either of them. From the beginning to the end, there had only been one person in my sight. I raised the ring again and asked quietly, “So — will you marry me now?”

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