A scrawny, dirt-smudged girl—maybe twelve, maybe thirteen—wandered into my scrap metal yard one afternoon. She held up a heavy chunk of iron sloppily coated in yellow spray paint. “Mister,” she said, her voice a thin reed. “Selling copper.” I just stared at it. The paint was literally still wet. She knew it wasn’t copper. I knew she knew. Her face was paper-white, terrified to the point of tears, but she kept her skinny arms locked, holding that heavy block of iron up toward me like an offering. I didn’t say a word. I just took it from her and dropped it on the industrial scale. “Five pounds,” I grunted. “Four bucks a pound for the good stuff. Let’s call it twenty.” I pulled a crumpled twenty-dollar bill from my pocket and held it out. She snatched it with trembling fingers and took off running, fast as a startled deer. After that, she came back every single week, regular as clockwork, to sell me another piece of “copper.” Right up until the cops showed up at my door. They were looking for a missing girl. 1 I have a record. Manslaughter. Add that to the fact that I’m built like a brick outhouse, with a rough beard and a permanent scowl, and it’s no surprise most folks in this rust-belt town give me a wide berth. Because of that, the scrap yard barely broke even. It wasn’t making me rich, but it kept me from starving. It was just existing, pure and simple. My only real moments of quiet joy came from the occasional treasures I’d sift out of the junk—a forgotten silver ring, a tarnished locket. I’d clean them up and line them neatly on the battered steel filing cabinet in my bedroom. That was my routine. Until two years ago, when I met the girl selling “copper.” The copper was a joke. A blind man could see it was just painted iron. But her hunger? That was real. It was that deep, hollow kind of malnutrition. When the wind blew against her oversized, threadbare middle-school hoodie, it caved in, revealing the sharp architecture of her ribs. Her hair was a brittle, dishwater blonde, like dead winter grass. So, it was copper. Fine. If I refused to buy it, or if I called her out on the hustle, she’d definitely cry. And I didn’t have the patience to deal with a crying kid. Besides, it was just twenty bucks. Twenty bucks wasn’t going to buy me a ticket out of this life, and losing it wasn’t going to drag me any further down. When I handed her the cash that first time, I noticed her hands shaking. There was bright, tacky yellow paint smeared across her knuckles. She grabbed the bill, spun around, and bolted. Not a single “thank you.” It didn’t matter. For some reason, I slept straight through the night that evening, didn’t touch a drop of whiskey, and woke up with a strange tightness in my face. I was smiling. Roxy, who drove for the local cab company, stopped by later that week with a six-pack. Her eyes went wide when she saw me. “What the hell is wrong with you? You look like you found a gold mine in the trash.” I didn’t even think before I answered. “Found some copper.” I took the jewelry off my steel cabinet and replaced it with that chunk of yellow-painted iron. Over the course of seven hundred days, I collected over a hundred of those painted blocks. They sat stacked on the cabinet, heavy enough to make the metal groan and bow. I actually started thinking I’d need to weld a new shelving unit if she kept coming. I finished welding the new shelf. But she never showed up. At first, I told myself it was the weather. We’d had brutal rainstorms; maybe she couldn’t make the trek. When the rain cleared, I told myself she was probably just home sick with the flu. She’d be back when her fever broke. Before I knew it, a month had bled by. Then the cruiser crunched up my gravel driveway. The detective told me they needed my cooperation regarding a missing person. The moment I stepped into the precinct, the sterile smell of floor wax and stale coffee hit me. The ghost of my years in prison rattled in my bones. My knees felt weak. But then I thought of the heavy, silent weight of those iron blocks on my cabinet. I straightened my spine. “Mack,” the detective said, leaning across the table. “Do you know a thirteen-year-old girl named Sadie?” “I know a kid who’s around that age,” I said. “Never got her name.” He slid a sketch across the table. “This her?” I recognized those hollow cheeks instantly. I nodded. It was the first time I’d ever heard her name. And in the same breath, I learned she was gone. In that moment, it felt like a cold hand had reached into my chest and squeezed my heart until it stopped. The detective told me her only family was an elderly grandmother whose health was already failing. The old woman had practically cried herself blind, swearing up and down that her Sadie was a good girl. No matter what happened, she would never just run away. I knew, with a dark, heavy certainty, that someone had taken her. Our town was isolated, economically depressed. Every few years, someone vanished. We caught predators when we could, but there was always another monster waiting in the dark. When the cops found out Sadie had been visiting my yard every week, passing off painted iron as copper for cash, the detective slammed his fist on the table. The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot. “You expect me to believe you don’t know the difference between iron and copper, Mack?” his voice was pure ice. “Why were you paying top dollar for garbage? What the hell was your endgame with this little girl?” I looked at him, letting the silence stretch. “I didn’t have an endgame,” I said quietly. “I just wanted to help the kid out.” He didn’t buy a word of it. But I had served my time. I paid my debt. I wasn’t a killer anymore. 2 They held me in lockup for forty-eight hours. They tore my scrap yard apart, searching for a body, a trace, anything. I wasn’t just a suspect because of my record. I was a suspect because on the day Sadie vanished, she had come to my yard, sold me a piece of “copper,” and hung around for over fifteen minutes. The detective hammered me on those fifteen minutes. What happened? What did you do to her? I told him the exact truth. After I gave her the money, she didn’t run off like usual. She curled up on a busted vinyl sofa I kept near the office and just soaked in the sun, like a stray cat catching a warm ray. I was eating my lunch—beef stew out of a thermos. I poured half of it into a clean mug and handed it to her. We didn’t talk. We didn’t exchange a single word. It was just a quiet, peaceful stretch of time, so still it felt like a painting rather than a memory. The cops definitely didn’t believe me. But they didn’t have a shred of physical evidence, and once the clock ran out, they had to cut me loose. That night, I bought Roxy dinner. Afterward, I asked her to drive me to Sadie’s place. It was a decaying farmhouse on the edge of the county line. The wood siding was rotting, and the front door didn’t even have a deadbolt. It swung open with a pathetic creak when I pushed it. Sadie’s grandmother was still in the hospital. The house was a hollow shell. The only things left were an empty clothesline swaying in the night breeze, and the faint, unmistakable chemical sting of yellow spray paint. “Roxy,” I asked, staring into the dark yard. “Who sells paint around here?” Roxy sighed, leaning against her cab. “What, you wanna play detective now, Mack?” She launched into a lecture. This was cop work. My job, according to her, was to figure out a way to settle down, find a woman while my parts still worked, and have a kid. Build a life. Because if I waited much longer, I’d die alone in that scrap yard. She could talk the ears off a brass monkey, and when she got going, it gave me a headache. Roxy was a good woman, but she didn’t know how to embrace the quiet. Still, even as she chewed me out, she put the cab in gear and drove me to every hardware store and supply shop in a twenty-mile radius. The next morning, I zeroed in on an independent hardware spot on the edge of town. They sold the exact brand of metallic yellow-gold paint. More importantly, in the alley behind the shop, there was a heap of scrap metal—irregularly cut iron blocks, identical to the ones on my cabinet. The owner, Walt, was an older guy. When the store was empty, he liked to kick back in a recliner behind the register and read the local paper. He didn’t hear me come in. I walked straight past him to the back door, picked up a heavy chunk of iron from the scrap pile, and weighed it in my hand. Still didn’t notice me. I dropped the iron back onto the pile with a loud, metallic CLANG. He jumped, nearly spilling his coffee as he scrambled out of the chair. “Can I help you?” I offered a slow, easy smile. “Just looking to buy some paint.” It’s a small town. As I walked toward the counter, his eyes adjusted to the light, and I saw the recognition hit. He knew exactly who I was. He hurriedly pulled out a few cans of paint, nervously pitching the benefits of each. I kept my tone conversational, light. I casually steered the topic to the time I went to prison. The murder. It was the darkest, most whispered-about piece of gossip in the county. Walt couldn’t help himself. He was completely captivated, morbidly fascinated by the details, leaning over the counter as I talked. He even rang me up with a twenty percent discount. As I grabbed the cans by the plastic handles, I paused, turning back toward him. “You know, Walt, you shouldn’t leave your inventory out back like that. What if someone steals it?” He was still riding the adrenaline of my true-crime story. He waved a dismissive hand. “Ah, it’s just garbage iron and cheap paint. Not worth a damn thing.” My grip on the plastic handles tightened. I gave him a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Still. Better safe than sorry. Things are getting bad around here again. You hear about that kid, Sadie?” “Missing,” he said quickly. “Vanished into thin air,” I pressed. Walt just offered a stiff “Oh,” and practically shoved the door open to help me carry the paint out to the cab. He didn’t ask how my prison story ended. He practically ran back inside and hid behind his newspaper. Only, he was holding the newspaper upside down. I got into Roxy’s cab. “Take me to the precinct. Right now.” “Walt’s hiding something.” 3 I was absolutely certain Sadie had been stealing the iron and paint from Walt’s place. When I warned him about leaving his paint out, he immediately lumped the iron in with it. That meant he already knew someone had been skimming both. And who else in this town was going to steal paint and chunks of heavy, useless iron together? Only Sadie. The moment I dropped her name, the blood had drained from his face. Panic. But when I took this to the detective, he shut me down. Walt was clean. The cops weren’t stupid; when they found the fake copper at my yard, they tracked the source of the materials. They had already looked into Walt. They pulled CCTV from the businesses next to his shop. On the day Sadie went missing, and the days immediately before and after, Walt never left his store. He had a rock-solid alibi. If anything, my little vigilante investigation only made the cops look closer at me. “Mack,” the detective sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “The girl isn’t your blood. She isn’t your kid. Why the hell are you so obsessed with her?” Roxy, standing right behind me, didn’t let me answer. “What kind of question is that?” she snapped, stepping up to the desk. “Yeah, Mack killed a man. But he killed the monster who deserved it! He did his time. He paid for it. Are you telling me a man can’t try to do a good deed once his slate is clean?” She pointed a finger at the detective. “He saw a starving kid and he gave her hundreds of bucks out of his own pocket over the last two years. He doesn’t even spend that kind of money on himself!” We walked out of the precinct, but the reality weighed on me like an anvil. Sadie was still out there. No body. No ransom demand. Just gone. And the terrible truth of this world is that if a girl is taken by traffickers, the longer the clock ticks, the colder the trail gets. Every hour drops her survival rate. That night, I took Roxy to the local diner. I ordered two expensive steaks and bought a good bottle of bourbon. By midnight, we were back at my place. Roxy was hammered. She stumbled, falling against my chest, her hands gripping my flannel shirt. “What are you doing, Mack?” she cried, her voice cracking. “Just tell me what we’re doing here. Please.” Tears streaked through her makeup. “I’m in my forties. Driving that cab twelve hours a day is destroying my body. In a few years, even if you begged me to have a baby with you, I wouldn’t be able to give you one!” She buried her face in my chest. “If you don’t find a way to have a family again… you are never gonna survive what happened to you.” The smell of her drugstore perfume was sharp, cutting through the alcohol. I wrapped my arms around her and just held her. I kept drinking, pouring shot after shot, staring at the wall. When I first got out of lockup, Roxy was the one who co-signed the lease for the scrap yard. I had paid her back every dime, but a debt like that—someone believing in you when the world tells them not to—you can never truly repay it. Eventually, her crying faded into the soft, rhythmic breathing of sleep. I gently laid her down on the sofa and covered her with a blanket. I walked into my bedroom, opened the bottom drawer of my desk, and pulled out thick stacks of cash. Every dollar I had to my name. The money I’d made from selling the jewelry I found in the scrap was in there, too. I had originally planned to keep those rings and necklaces. I was going to polish the best one until it shined like new, and I was going to put it on Roxy’s finger. That was the only thing keeping me anchored to the earth. My only plan for a future. But something shifted. I didn’t even fully understand why Sadie mattered so much. She stole from Walt. That made her a thief. She passed off iron as copper. That made her a con artist. She had never once thanked me. She didn’t even have basic manners. But there was a voice roaring in my blood, a primal, deafening command that drowned out everything else: I have to save her. And my gut was screaming that Walt was the key. 4 My gut has always been right. It was right years ago, when I tracked down the trafficker who took my daughter. The cops told me they didn’t have enough evidence. I found him myself. I dragged the confession out of his throat, and then I put a knife through it. But I was too late that time. I couldn’t save my little girl. This time, I was going to save Sadie. I grabbed a pen and wrote a note on the back of an envelope. Roxy, the cash is all yours. Do whatever you need to do with it. If I make it back, we’ll do whatever you want. We’ll build a life. If I don’t, please… stop drinking so much. Take care of yourself. I weighed the note down with the stacks of bills. Then, I went to the shed, grabbed a solid, heavy steel crowbar, and walked out into the night. It was pitch black by the time I reached Walt’s property. He lived alone in a nice, two-story colonial on the good side of town. His wife had died of cancer a couple of years back. His only kid, a son, worked a corporate job in the city and had his own place. The cops had already searched this house from top to bottom. They didn’t find a single hair belonging to Sadie. So I didn’t bother searching the house. I went straight for the bedroom. I slipped through a window, moved silently through the dark, and stood over his bed. I pressed the cold, angled tip of the crowbar directly against his windpipe. “Ah!” He jerked awake, letting out a choked, terrified gasp. The sudden movement caused the jagged edge of the steel to break the skin on his neck. A bead of warm blood swelled against the metal. “Mack?” he wheezed, his eyes adjusting to the shadows, wide with absolute horror. “What the hell are you doing? Are you insane?” he stammered. “You already went to prison! You do this, you’re never seeing daylight again!” I let out a low, dry chuckle. “Doesn’t matter.” “My life is already over, Walt. You think I care if I rot in a cell?” The dead, hollow tone of my voice terrified him more than the weapon. He started trembling so violently the mattress shook. A sharp, ammonia smell filled the air as he lost control of his bladder. “I have money! I’ll give it all to you!” he begged, his voice cracking. “It’s in the safe downstairs. I’ll open it.” “Mack, please. Take the money, knock me out, run. Just don’t kill me!” I kept smiling. I pressed my weight down, digging the steel a fraction of an inch deeper into his throat. Just a little more pressure, and I’d crush his windpipe. “I don’t want your money, Walt.” “I want something else—” Instantly, his entire body went rigid. It was like a switch had been flipped. He realized what I was there for, and a new kind of terror—something much deeper than the fear of a crowbar—flooded his eyes. His voice dropped to a frantic, rattling whisper. “I had nothing to do with Sadie! The cops checked! I’m innocent, I swear to God!” My heart slammed against my ribs. Got him. I hadn’t said a single word about Sadie. I had no connection to her. Yet the moment I said I wanted “something else,” his mind went straight to the missing girl. If that wasn’t the guilt of a man hiding a monster, I didn’t know what was. I ground my teeth together, bearing down on the iron. “Walt, I don’t think I ever told you the exact details of how I killed that man,” I whispered, my face inches from his. “I drove a hunting knife right into his carotid. When I pulled it out, the blood hit the ceiling. But the blade was surgically sharp. He bled out in seconds. It was quick. Almost painless.” I dragged the crowbar slightly, letting the friction pull at his skin. “But this? This is blunt. It’s heavy. It’s slow. And it hurts like hell. If I use this, you are going to feel every single second of your own death.” The sheer primal terror of it made his eyes bulge. He made a wet, gasping sound, like an old bellows trying to pull air. I knew what it looked like when a man realized he was going to die. I knew the desperate, clawing instinct to survive. Usually, a man will sell his own soul to buy another minute of breathing. He’ll spill any secret. But… Walt just closed his eyes. Tears leaked into his gray hair. He just kept repeating the same two broken sentences, over and over. “Don’t kill me.” “I’m innocent.” Two hours passed. The sweat was stinging my eyes. My patience was completely shattered, but he hadn’t given me a single name. He hadn’t broken. I was losing my mind. “Are you not afraid to die?!” I roared, pulling him up by the collar of his pajama shirt. “Tell me! Where the hell is she?!” The only answer I got was the wail of police sirens approaching fast. Walt passed out, his head lolling to the side. Before I could slap him awake, the bedroom door burst open. Roxy was screaming, and three uniforms swarmed me. They tackled me to the hardwood floor, wrenching my arms behind my back and snapping the cuffs shut. Roxy fell to her knees, sobbing so hard she was choking on the air. “Why, Mack? Why did you have to throw it all away for someone else’s problem?”

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At 2:00 PM, my stepmother texted me asking for my laptop password. I was in a meeting and didn’t reply. At 3:00 PM, another message popped up: “I found someone to factory reset it since you didn’t answer. Everything’s gone now, just so you know.” I dropped my phone, grabbed my keys, and blew through three red lights to get home. When I burst into the living room, my laptop was sitting on the coffee table. The screen was glowing. I lunged for it, my fingers trembling as I clicked through the folders. Empty. Every single one of them. A white-hot rage flared in my chest. “This is my computer! Who gave you the right to wipe it?” Pamela was lounging on the sofa, scrolling through her phone. She didn’t even bother to look up. “I needed to use it for something. You didn’t answer, so I had it cleared. It’s not a big deal.” “Not a big deal? Do you have any idea what was on here? All the photos of my mother, and—” Slap! The force of the blow jerked my head to the side. My vision blurred for a second. My father stood over me, his eyes wide with fury. “Your mother has been dead for twenty years! Why do you keep bringing her up to spite Pamela? Show some respect and stop being so dramatic!” I held my burning cheek, staring at them. Pamela looked bored; my father looked disgusted. Then, I started to laugh. It was a cold, jagged sound. This laptop didn’t just hold the only digital copies of my mother’s life. It held the entire architecture for my father’s latest venture. A two-hundred-million-dollar acquisition. No backups. … 1 I turned to leave. “Stay right there,” my father’s voice barked from behind me. I didn’t stop. “I said get back here! What is wrong with your attitude?” I halted, taking a slow, shaky breath. He pointed a finger at Pamela. “Your mother just wanted to borrow your laptop. Who do you think you’re looking down on?” Pamela leaned back into the cushions, her eyes suddenly brimming with well-practiced tears. Her voice went soft and fragile. “Robert, forget it. It’s my fault. I just wanted to handle a few files, and I got impatient when she didn’t reply… I shouldn’t have had it wiped.” She let a single tear fall. My father’s face hardened. He marched over and stood inches from me. “Your mother is talking to you. Are you deaf?” “She isn’t my mother,” I said, my voice steady. Slap! The second one hit the same cheek. I let my head hang. “Listen to me,” he hissed, his finger nearly touching my nose. “Pamela didn’t do anything wrong. You did. Now, apologize to her. If you don’t, don’t bother coming back to this house ever again.” I looked up at him. I had called this man “Dad” for twenty-seven years. When my mother died when I was five, I knelt at her casket and cried until I was sick. Less than three months later, he brought this woman home. She was already pregnant with Tyler. As soon as my mother was gone, my grandfather—overcome with grief—followed her six months later. My father wasted no time. He rebranded the Miller Group into Wainwright & Co. The man who had married into the family, who had started with nothing but my mother’s grace, had suddenly become the king of the castle. For twenty-seven years, I asked for nothing. When I graduated, he told me to start at the bottom. I did. Tyler was made Executive Vice President immediately. I said nothing. Pamela squeezed me out of every family event, every holiday. I endured it. I lived in a cramped apartment across town just to breathe clean air. But the things on that laptop… “Dad,” I said, looking him in the eye. “My mother might be dead, but she was the woman who built you. She gave you everything. All I had left of her were those photos. Does that mean nothing to you?” He hesitated for a fraction of a second. Pamela chimed in from the sofa. “They’re just pictures, honey. They can’t be that important.” “Everything is gone,” I said to her. “Did you even think to ask before you killed the drive?” Pamela looked away, playing the victim again. My father’s face went through a range of emotions before settling back on anger. “It’s a few photos! Get over yourself and apologize!” I smiled at him, savoring the words I was about to say. “Dad, that laptop also held every contract for the acquisition. The two-hundred-million-dollar deal? It was all in there.” He froze. Then, he let out a mocking laugh. “The contracts were on your laptop? You think I’m an idiot?” He pointed to a framed photo of the three of them—him, Pamela, and Tyler. “I gave that project to Tyler. He’s the lead. He has the contracts. Why are you lying?” Pamela sniffled. “Robert, don’t listen to her…” “Why don’t you call him and ask if he has them?” I challenged. “Fine! I’ll show you just how pathetic your lies are.” My father pulled out his phone and dialed Tyler. Twice, it went to voicemail. “He’s probably busy with the closing,” Pamela whispered. Just then, the front door swung open. Tyler walked in, swinging his Porsche keys, looking annoyed. “Dad, why have you been blowing up my phone? I just parked.” 2 Tyler stopped short when he saw me standing in the middle of the room. “What’s going on?” My father pointed at him. “The contracts for the deal. You have them, right?” Tyler blinked, then grinned. “The contracts? Yeah, of course. They’re under control.” My father’s shoulders relaxed, and the look he gave me turned icy. Tyler walked over and clapped our father on the back. “Don’t worry about it, Dad. I hired the best in the business to draft the final terms. You’ve heard of Vesper, right? She’s a legend in corporate law. The contracts are perfect. We sign tomorrow.” “Tyler,” I said, my voice cutting through his bravado. “I am Vesper.” The room went silent. “The contracts you begged me to help you with? Every detail, every core data point, every legal safeguard—they were on my laptop. The laptop your mother just had wiped.” Silence stretched for two long seconds. Then Tyler burst into a loud, mocking laugh. “Sis, are you feeling okay?” He tapped his temple. “Vesper is based in London and New York. Everyone in the industry knows that. You think because you take a few business trips to the states you can just claim her identity? Vesper is a world-class consultant. You’re a mid-level manager at a firm your dad owns. That’s a hell of a hallucination.” Pamela stopped dabbing her eyes and let a smirk slip. “Oh, Cassie. I know you’re jealous of Tyler, but this is sad. You’re making things up just to tear your brother down.” My father stepped toward me, his face darkening. “Enough,” he growled. “First you blame Pamela for deleting ‘photos,’ then you claim you have the contracts, and now you’re claiming to be some international expert. What is your endgame here?” I looked at them. It was always like this. I was eight when Pamela smashed my mother’s heirloom vase right in front of me. When I told my father, she told him I’d done it myself to frame her. He didn’t ask a single question; he whipped me with his belt until I couldn’t stand. Pamela had stood by, “pleading” for him to stop because I was “just a child,” while her eyes danced with triumph. My father had spent the rest of the night comforting her, telling me, “Don’t you ever upset your mother again.” Tyler sighed, putting on a show of sibling concern. “Cassie, I know you hate us. But do you realize the state the company is in? If this deal falls through, we’re done. Can you stop the drama for one night?” Pamela started crying again. “Robert, I’ve been in this family for twenty years and she still treats us like enemies…” My father’s patience snapped. “Last chance,” he said, his finger back in my face. “Apologize.” I said nothing. “Fine!” He turned to Tyler. “Call this expert. Right now. Put her on speaker. Let’s hear what ‘Vesper’ has to say about being in this room.” Tyler pulled out his phone, found the number, and hit speaker. “Hello, this is Vesper’s office,” a woman’s voice answered. Tyler shot me a smug look. “Hi, I’m looking for Vesper. I wanted to check in on the status of the Wainwright contracts.” “Vesper is currently in meetings,” the assistant said. “But I can confirm the contracts are finalized and ready for tomorrow’s signing.” The living room went quiet. 3 “However,” the assistant continued, “Vesper actually traveled back to the States yesterday. She told me she would email the final execution copies to you by tonight.” “I’ll try to reach her and have her call you. Goodbye.” The line went dead. Tyler gripped his phone, his head turning slowly toward me. Pamela was the first to break the silence. “Ha!” She pointed a manicured nail at me. “Robert, did you hear that? She’s a liar! She’s not Vesper. She’s just trying to sabotage Tyler’s big moment!” My father’s expression shifted from confusion to pure, unadulterated rage. Tyler stepped forward, looming over me. “Cassie, you were so sure of yourself. You knew about the project details… wait. Did you sneak into my office? Did you read my files on my computer?” The more he talked, the more he convinced himself. “That has to be it! I didn’t tell anyone the specifics, but you knew them! You were trying to steal corporate secrets, weren’t you?” Pamela shrieked, “Robert! She was going to steal the company and sell it out from under us!” It was a well-rehearsed play. I felt nothing but a weary sense of the absurd. My father’s face turned a violent shade of purple. “You ungrateful brat!” He kicked me squarely in the stomach. I collapsed, my back hitting the sharp edge of the coffee table. The world went black for a second. “You want to steal from me?” Another kick caught me in the ribs. I curled into a ball, shielding my head. He didn’t stop. He kicked my back, my legs, my arms. Tyler watched from the sidelines, a faint smile on his lips. Pamela dabs her eyes, whispering, “Robert, stop… she’s learned her lesson… even if she is a thief…” Her eyes were bright with joy. My father finally stopped, panting, his chest heaving. “You’re pathetic!” he spat. “You’re a woman—what do you want? To inherit the company? You’re not fit for it! I’ve raised you for twenty-seven years, and this is how you repay me?” I tasted copper in my mouth. I looked up at him, wiping the blood from my lip. “Dad,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Is this even your company to give?” “This company belonged to the Millers. It was my mother’s and my grandfather’s. You were just the man who married in.” His face contorted. He grabbed a heavy ceramic vase from the table and hurled it at me. I couldn’t move fast enough. It shattered against the wall behind me, a shard slicing across my cheek. “The company is Wainwright now!” he roared. “I changed the name! Your mother is dead, your grandfather is dead, and this company belongs to the Wainwright men!” I lay on the floor, the metallic scent of blood filling my nose. I saw Pamela looking down at me from her height on the sofa. “Cassie, I know you hate me. But stealing? If word gets out, you’ll never work in this town again.” She sighed and stood up. “Robert, lock her away. She needs to think about what she’s done.” “One last warning,” I croaked. “If you want to save this deal, if you want to save this company, take that laptop to a data recovery specialist right now. If you wait, it’s over.” My father glanced at Pamela. Her face turned red with fury. “You’re still lying!” She lunged for the broken laptop on the table. She picked it up and slammed it onto the hardwood floor with all her might. CRACK. The casing split. She didn’t stop. she stomped on it until the screen was a spiderweb of glass and the internal components were crushed. I watched the debris scatter. The last bit of loyalty I held for that house finally snapped. 4 Tyler walked over to the wreckage and ground his heel into the motherboard. “That’s for trying to frame my mother,” he hissed. I looked at the three of them. My stomach was throbbing, the blood on my face was starting to itch as it dried. “You can’t save a ghost that wants to die,” I whispered. Tyler kicked me one more time. “Who are you calling a ghost?” He grabbed me by the hair, hauling me up, and began slapping me—one, two, three times. My father sat back on the sofa and took a sip of tea, staring at the wall. “Tyler, honey, don’t hit her too hard,” Pamela said softly. “She has to be presentable for whatever happens tomorrow.” Tyler threw me back onto the floor. “Lock her in the basement. I’ll deal with her after I sign the contracts tomorrow.” I was dragged down the stairs. The heavy wooden door slammed shut, and the bolt clicked. Pitch black. I knew this room. It was the “timeout” room of my childhood. Whenever Pamela was bored, whenever Tyler cried, my father would toss me in here. No light, no sound, no one. I leaned against the cold stone wall. My body ached, my lips were parched. But I didn’t cry. The next morning, the door opened. Tyler stood there, silhouetted by the light from above. “How was your night, Sis?” I didn’t answer. I was starving, bruised, and my throat felt like it was filled with sand. Seeing he couldn’t get a rise out of me, he grabbed my arm and hauled me up. “Get up. You’re coming to the office. I want you to watch. I want you to see the moment my name goes on that contract and your grandfather’s legacy officially becomes mine.” I was shoved into the car. Pamela sat in the front, humming to herself. My father sat in the back with me, but he didn’t look at me once. When we reached the office, my father finally spoke. “After the signing, I’m calling an emergency board meeting. I’m transferring all my shares to Tyler.” He looked at me then, his eyes like flint. “And you? You’re fired. Effective immediately.” Tyler pushed me into a glass-walled observation room adjacent to the main conference hall. I could see them, but they couldn’t see me through the tint. Tyler took the head of the table. My father sat to his right, Pamela in the corner. The clients arrived. Handshakes, small talk, the usual corporate theater. The secretary opened her laptop to pull up the final documents from the email. Her face went pale. “Mr. Wainwright… the final contracts… they haven’t arrived.” Tyler froze. “What?” My father frowned. “What do you mean?” Tyler scrambled for his phone. “I’ll call the assistant.” the lead investor, a man named Mr. Lewis, checked his watch. He looked unimpressed. “Tyler, we’re here to sign. Where is the paperwork?” Tyler’s voice was shaky as he got the assistant on the line. “Where are the contracts? We’re in the meeting!” “I’m trying to reach Vesper, sir! But her phone is off. She’s completely unreachable.” “What do you mean unreachable? We need to sign now!” Mr. Lewis stood up. “Is this a joke, Robert? You brought us here to waste our time?” My father scrambled to apologize. “Mr. Lewis, please, a small technical glitch. One moment.” Tyler’s hands were shaking so hard he almost dropped his phone. The assistant spoke again over the speaker: “Sir, I have a secondary emergency number for Vesper. I’ll send it to you now.” “Hurry!” A text came through. Tyler dialed it immediately. The conference room went silent. Everyone watched Tyler’s phone. Ring… ring… ring… Then, a muffled buzzing sound began to vibrate inside the glass observation room. From my pocket. Tyler’s screen displayed the contact name: Cassie. Tyler turned slowly, his face a mask of pure, horrified disbelief. 5 Tyler stared at his screen, his face turning a sickly shade of grey. Mr. Lewis narrowed his eyes. “Tyler? Are you going to answer the phone or talk to your expert?” Tyler fumbled with the buttons, hanging up in a panic. He forced a jagged laugh. “Wrong number. Sorry, just a… technical error.” Pamela stood up suddenly, pointing at me through the glass. “Robert, look at her! She’s doing this on purpose! She’s sabotaging us!” My father slammed his hands on the table, pushed back his chair, and stormed into the observation room. “What kind of game are you playing?!” he bellowed. I leaned back in the chair, meeting his eyes. “I told you. I am Vesper.” Tyler followed him in, his face flushed. “Liar! Vesper wouldn’t spend years working as a low-level manager in a mid-sized firm! You just stole her number somehow. You’re a fraud!” Pamela crowded in behind them, her voice venomous. “Robert, she’s obsessed. She’s trying to trick you into thinking she’s someone important so she can steal Tyler’s inheritance!” My father seemed to latch onto that. “You’ve always been a performer, haven’t you? Ever since you were a kid, trying to get attention.” I couldn’t help but laugh. It was so pathetic. “The contracts were on my laptop. You smashed it. You don’t believe I’m Vesper. So, what now?” Pamela’s tone shifted, becoming sickly sweet. “Cassie, honey, I know you’re hurt. But this company is your father’s life. Do you really want to see it go bankrupt over a grudge?” Tyler’s eyes darted around, a new plan forming. “Wait. If you are Vesper, then fine. Prove it. The contracts are gone, but if you’re the expert, you can just draft them again, right? Right now.” He turned to our father. “Dad, if she really cares about this family, she’ll fix this. It was her grandfather’s company too, right? She wouldn’t let it fail.” My father nodded eagerly. “Yes! If you’re Vesper, prove it. Fix the contracts now!” I looked at them, marveling at the audacity. “I can rewrite them,” I said. “But I have one condition.” Pamela bristled. “What condition?” I looked straight at my father. “Admit it in front of the board and the investors. Admit that this company belongs to the Millers. Admit that you were just the man who married in and took over.” My father’s face turned a deep, bruised purple. “You—!” “Robert, look at her!” Pamela screamed. “She’s trying to humiliate you!” “Dad, don’t listen to her!” Tyler yelled. “She’s bluffing! She can’t do it! She’s just trying to tear you down!” My father pointed a shaking finger at me. “Listen to me very clearly. This is Wainwright & Co. You either fix those contracts right now, or you are dead to me. Get out of my sight and never come back!” I stood up, smoothing my skirt. Pamela had a smirk hidden behind her “concerned” expression. Tyler looked triumphant. My father was shaking with rage. “Fine,” I said. “I’m leaving.” “And don’t you dare come back!” Pamela shouted as I walked away. At the door, I paused. “Just remember. Without me, this deal is dead.”

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The help’s daughter stole my mother’s vintage jewelry to pass out to her classmates, calling it “restorative justice.” In my first life, I called the police. She fainted from the sheer drama of it. The school heartthrob and a mob of students formed a human shield around her, claiming I’d promised the pieces as a donation. They turned on me, calling me a liar, a materialistic snob, a girl who cared more about diamonds than human struggle. They shoved me, screaming, until I was pushed past the school gates and directly into the path of an out-of-control semi-truck. The last thing I felt was the pavement. The last thing I heard was the sound of my own bones snapping. Then, I blinked. I was back. I was standing in the back of the lecture hall on the very day she decided to play Robin Hood. Cassidy was on the podium, her eyes shimmering with performative tears. She upended a backpack, and a waterfall of gold and gemstones cascaded onto the wood. “Don’t you see?” Cassidy’s voice cracked with emotion. “Madeline spends more on a single dinner than most of you live on for a year! I couldn’t just watch it anymore. I wanted everyone to have a taste of the life she takes for granted…” The room erupted in thunderous applause. Taking my inheritance to buy a reputation? How touching. The ghost of the truck’s impact throbbed in my chest. I didn’t hesitate. I lunged onto the stage, the heels of my boots clicking like a countdown. Before she could finish her “saintly” smile, I delivered two sharp, stinging slaps to her face. She spun, her eyes widening in shock before she collapsed into a wail. I turned to the stunned crowd, my voice dripping with honeyed poison. “Please, everyone, take whatever you want! I had no idea you were all so desperate. If my life is this good, the least I can do is share. Don’t be shy.” I watched Cassidy’s face turn a sickly shade of grey. This was the moment she had planned—her grand debut as the beneficent princess of Briarwood Prep. The students didn’t need a second invitation. They surged forward like a pack of starving wolves, grabbing at the necklaces and rings, stuffing them into their pockets while shouting their thanks to Cassidy. One girl even dropped to her knees, clutching a diamond brooch. “Cassidy, you’re an angel! My mom’s surgery… we can finally afford it now!” Cassidy, surrounded by her new disciples, shot me a triumphant, vicious little smirk from behind her tears. She thought she had won. She didn’t realize that in this life, I wasn’t playing by the rules of “polite society.” 1 It had started last night. I was going through the last of my mother’s estate—pieces I’d kept locked away since she passed. Cassidy had barged in without knocking, as she always did, and her eyes had gone wide. She’d actually had the nerve to demand half of it, crying about how “unfair” it was that I had so much and she had so little. When I refused, she didn’t listen to my reasons. She just screamed that our friendship was over. I hadn’t chased after her to apologize, which was her usual script. So, she’d waited until I left the house, snuck into my room, and emptied the safe. If she couldn’t have the status, she would destroy the source of it. Watching these strangers’ sweaty palms smudge my mother’s legacy made my skin crawl. The memory of the truck’s tires crushing my ribs flared up again—a phantom pain that burned like fire. I reached the limit of my patience. I stepped back to the mic, my voice cold enough to frost the windows. “I’m happy to help anyone in genuine need. But those pieces are my mother’s heirlooms. Return them. Now.” Cassidy stumbled back, her face contorting. “Madeline, what is wrong with you?! I already told them they could have it. Are you really this greedy? You want to snatch back a gift you already gave just so you can hoard it?” I ignored her. I began plucking pieces back from the podium, my eyes fixed on the students who were hovering like vultures. Cassidy tried to grab my arm, but I caught her wrist, leaning in so only she could hear. “You’re the housekeeper’s daughter, Cassidy. Did you start believing the lies you tell? One phone call to the DA and the dollar amount in those bags is enough to put you away for twenty years. Get. Back.” When I was three, my mother died. My father told me I stopped eating, stopped speaking, just sat in the nursery and faded. He brought in our housekeeper’s daughter, who was my age, to be my companion. He always said that the moment Cassidy arrived, I started living again. 2 My father was so “grateful” that he basically adopted her. He treated her mother, Mrs. Bennett, more like a wife than a servant, and gave Cassidy a life of luxury. I grew up thinking of her as my sister. I gave her everything she asked for. But the moment I said “no” to my mother’s jewelry, the mask slipped. In my last life, the police came, and Cassidy lied through her teeth. She’d spent years building a “rich girl” persona at school while I stayed low-key. The students, many of whom had already pocketed the jewelry, became her star witnesses. They filmed me being “the villain.” The media picked it up. Wealthy Socialite Accuses Charity-Minded Sister of Theft. By the time they pushed me into the street, I was the most hated girl in the city. Cassidy stared at me now, her breath hitching. She couldn’t believe I was outing her status in public. She gritted her teeth, her voice a low hiss. “You think they’ll believe you? Look at me, Madeline. Look at how they love me. You’re just a bitter girl barking like a dog. Give the jewelry back to the people who actually need it!” She leaned closer, her eyes glittering with malice. “Don’t forget, I’m the reason you’re even alive. Consider today a lesson in humility.” She turned back to the crowd, throwing her arms out. “Go ahead, guys! Take what’s yours!” I stood alone against the mob. I couldn’t protect it all physically. “Fine,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Let’s call the police.” Cassidy’s bravado flickered. “What did you say?” “If you’re so sure this jewelry is yours to give, let’s let the authorities sort it out. I’m sure the detectives would love to see the receipts.” “Oh, shut up!” a voice barked from the crowd. It was Jordan, the varsity captain and the school’s golden boy. He stepped forward, looking at me with pure, unadulterated disgust. “I have never seen anyone so pathetic, Madeline. Are you that desperate for attention? You’re literally trying to rob your own sister in broad daylight.” The room hummed with agreement. “Seriously, Maddy is such a psycho.” “Cassidy brings us gifts and this is how she acts?” Jordan reached Cassidy’s side, putting a protective arm around her. He pointed a finger at me. “Give it back, Madeline. Kneel down, apologize to Cassidy for the lies, and maybe—just maybe—I won’t let the school board hear about this.” I used to have a crush on Jordan. I used to wonder why he hated me so much when I had never been anything but kind to him. I didn’t understand until the day I died. He had been the first one to reach my broken body on the asphalt. He’d leaned down, pretending to check my pulse, but instead, he’d pressed his thumb into my open wound, making sure the blood flowed faster. 3 He’d whispered in my ear while I was dying: “You know, Maddy? Freshman year, I was starving. I was hiding in the locker room eating bread scraps. Cassidy found me. She put my name on the scholarship fund. She saved me. She’s my princess, and you… you’re just the bitch who keeps hurting her. You deserve this.” Now, looking at him, he looked so small. So easily manipulated. “Scared?” Jordan sneered, seeing my silence. “This is just the beginning. You’re going to pay for being such a selfish brat.” He had no idea I’d already paid the ultimate price. I reached out and snatched a diamond tennis necklace sticking out of his pocket. One of my mother’s favorites. “My things!” he yelled, his face flushing a deep, angry red. He lunged for me. “That’s my necklace! Everyone saw her! She’s stealing it back!” I stepped back, the love I once felt for him completely withered. “Jordan, make sure you stay a good little dog for Cassidy. Because you aren’t getting another cent from me.” “I never took anything from you, you lunatic!” he spat. “Wait until the cops get here. You’re done.” I shrugged, waiting for him to dial. But Cassidy suddenly slapped his phone out of his hand. “Jordan, no!” she cried, her voice trembling. “We’re classmates. I don’t want to ruin her life over a few trinkets.” She turned to me, her eyes pleading. “Maddy, please. Haven’t I been good to you? I saved your life. Just give the jewelry back and let’s go home.” “No.” I pulled out my phone and dialed our estate manager. “Arthur? Someone broke into my room last night. I need the security footage from the hallway sent to my phone immediately. Yes, the 4K feed.” Cassidy lunged for my phone. “Are you insane? You’re going to send me to jail for some jewelry? You’re going to ruin my life? Just tell them you were confused! Tell them you’re greedy! If you don’t do this, I will never forgive you!” She still thought I was the same girl she could bully into submission. She thought her “debt of life” was an infinite credit card. “It’s not just jewelry,” I said, shaking her hand off. “It’s my mother. And you’re about to find out exactly what happens when you touch what’s mine.” Cassidy collapsed onto the floor, sobbing. Jordan looked like he wanted to murder me. The class was a chorus of “How could you?” and “Cassidy is too good for this world.” 4 “Seriously, Maddy, have some shame!” “Call the cops on her, she’s the one who’s crazy!” My phone buzzed. A notification from Arthur: Video sent, Miss Madeline. The thief is indeed Cassidy Bennett. Before Cassidy could stop me, I hit “Select All” in the class group chat and hit send. One by one, phones began to ping. The room went silent. The video was crystal clear. It showed Cassidy sneaking into my wing of the house with a heavy-duty trash bag. She looked over her shoulder, her face twisted in a sneer, and muttered, “If she won’t give them to me, I’ll make sure she never sees them again. High and mighty bitch.” She was seen stuffing the very jewelry they were holding into the bag like common trash. The silence in the room was deafening. The only sound was the video looping on twenty different screens—Cassidy’s voice, sharp and ugly, echoing through the hall. “NO!” Cassidy screamed, a primal, ugly sound. “Don’t look at it! Turn it off! I’m not a thief! I’m her savior! Half of that house belongs to me anyway! It’s my money! It’s all mine!” “So… Cassidy… you’re the housekeeper’s daughter?” a girl in the front row asked, her voice trembling. The atmosphere shifted instantly. The “princess” was gone. In her place was a girl caught in a lie. People started looking at the gold in their hands with a sudden, sharp fear of being accomplices. “Cassidy, you poser,” the class president muttered, stepping forward and dropping a bracelet onto my desk. “You made us look like idiots.” Slowly, other students began to follow suit, avoidant and embarrassed. Cassidy felt the tide turning. She stood up, her hair disheveled, her eyes wild. “I am NOT the help! I saved her life! I’m the adopted daughter! I’m her older sister! I gave you those things because I cared about you! You ungrateful snakes!” Jordan, who had been standing there with his fists clenched, finally exhaled. He stepped toward her, his face a mask of grim determination. “Madeline, is this how you treat the person who saved you? Are you happy now? Do you feel powerful making her cry?” Cassidy, seeing her last ally, turned on the waterworks again. “Maddy, how could you be so cruel? You eat ten-thousand-dollar meals while these people struggle. I just wanted to help them. I was afraid your greed would curse you, that you’d end up in hell, so I tried to buy you some grace. Is that such a sin?” I actually started clapping. “Bravo. Truly. An Oscar-worthy performance.” “You!” Cassidy pointed a shaking finger at me. “Do you want me to die? Is that it?” Her voice rose to a shriek. “What have I ever done to you? I shared everything with you! Every gift our father brought back—you always got the first pick. You got the master suite while my mother and I were cramped in the servant’s quarters for years! I never complained! Did you forget you said I could have anything of yours? Is this your gratitude?” 5 I couldn’t help but laugh. “Cassidy, you’re delusional. Your ‘life-saving’ act was being a paid playmate for a lonely toddler. For that, my father took you in. You’ve worn ten-thousand-dollar Chanel suits, eaten Wagyu flown in from Japan, and spent a monthly allowance that exceeds most people’s annual salaries. I gave you that. Without me, you are a ghost. You have no right to ‘complain’ about a life you didn’t earn.” “And as for your ‘cramped’ quarters? It’s a two-thousand-square-foot guest wing. You had it gutted and renovated for five million because you didn’t like the wallpaper. Who’s the extravagant one again? You didn’t steal this for ‘charity.’ You stole it because I finally said no to you, and you couldn’t handle it. If there’s so much as a scratch on my mother’s pearls, I’m pressing charges.” The students, terrified of being dragged into a felony, practically threw the jewelry back at me. I was busy sorting through the pile when Cassidy suddenly dropped to her knees in front of me. She grabbed the hem of my jeans, tears streaming down her face. “Madeline! These people are starving! They don’t have billionaire fathers! Living is a struggle for them! I apologize for them, okay? Just let them keep the jewelry. It could change their lives. Please, have a heart!” She was facing away from the class, sobbing into my knees. But from my angle, I could see it—the sharp, triumphant glint in her eyes. She was playing the “Class War” card. It worked. A few of the more aggressive boys stepped forward, pointing at me. “She’s right! You’re not even human, Madeline! You’re gonna let us starve over some rocks? If I fail out because I can’t afford tuition, your hands are stained with my blood!” “We shouldn’t even let her stay in this school! Drive her out!” “Yeah! Get her out of here!” They started closing in, rolling up their sleeves. Jordan stepped forward to haul Cassidy up, mouthing two words at me: You’re dead. I looked at their angry faces and remembered the truck. The cold metal, the smell of gasoline. I grabbed a heavy wooden chair and slammed it against a desk with a deafening CRACK. The mob froze. I held up my phone, my voice steady. “The video is already in the cloud. If you touch me, or if you keep a single piece of that jewelry, I will make sure your futures are erased before the sun sets. Cassidy is a thief. Do you want to be her cellmates?” Cassidy curled into a ball, weeping. The “revolution” died as quickly as it started. “Keep your trash then,” one girl hissed, dropping a ring. “Always causing trouble.” I didn’t care what they said. I just needed my mother back. As they filed out, muttering insults, Cassidy stayed on the floor. She looked up at me, her face twisted with pure venom. “Madeline, you’re going to regret this. Robert is going to kill you for this. Just you wait.” She ran out, clutching her phone. I knew exactly who she was calling. My father. Her greatest protector. It was time to prune the family tree. I had just finished packing the jewelry when my father appeared at the classroom door. But he wasn’t alone. Mrs. Bennett was at his side, dressed in a designer silk suit, looking every bit the “lady of the manor.” She was clinging to his arm, and for a second, I saw something I’d missed for years. They weren’t just employer and employee.

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The rescue scene at the edge of the cliff was a circus of sirens and blinding floodlights. A reporter shoved a microphone toward me the second I was pulled up, her eyes gleaming with the hunger for a viral headline. “Mrs. Steven, your husband just chose to save Miss Vance first, claiming that as a police captain’s daughter, you’re ‘built tougher.’ How do you feel about that?” I clutched the scratchy wool of the rescue blanket around my shoulders, trying to hide the blood soaking through my leggings. My gaze drifted to Hudson, who was across the perimeter, cradling his childhood sweetheart in his arms as if she were made of spun glass. I forced a jagged smile for the camera. “He’s right. I guess I’m tough enough to survive a cliffside fall with a baby in my womb.” The reporter gasped, the air whistling through her teeth. She froze for a beat before her voice trembled. “So… Mr. Steven knew you were pregnant?” 1 Hudson finally tore his eyes away from Melody and looked at me. I was shivering, huddled under the emergency blanket, a stark contrast to the girl he was protecting. He walked over, his brow furrowed in a sharp line of irritation. “Jade, I know you’re upset, but this isn’t the time for a tantrum,” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “The cameras are everywhere. Don’t drag Melody into a scandal.” The reporter was still hovering, waiting for a comment. Hudson turned to the lens, instantly regaining that effortless, commanding composure that made him the darling of the business world. “My wife is just shaken up and talking nonsense. Please, don’t take it seriously.” He looked back at his security detail, his voice turning to ice. “Take my wife to the hospital. Make sure she doesn’t say anything else to the press.” Without another word, he turned back, scooped Melody into his arms, and headed for the lead ambulance. Melody clung to his neck, her voice thin and wavering. “Hudson… is Jade mad? Maybe you should go with her. I’ll be fine, really…” Hudson leaned down, his voice softening into a murmur I hadn’t heard in months. “Shh, don’t think like that. She’s fine. She used to pop her own shoulder back into place when we were kids—this is nothing to her. But your heart condition… we need to get you to the ER now.” The ambulance doors slammed shut, cutting off the world. I sat there on the frozen dirt, clutching my lower abdomen as a dull, rhythmic throb began to pulse through my gut. My world was turning cold, inch by agonizing inch. A paramedic looked at me with a pained, awkward expression. “Mrs. Steven, the ambulances are at capacity. We’re waiting on another unit, or…” I swallowed hard, fighting the black spots dancing in my vision. “It’s fine. I’ll find my own way.” At the hospital, I navigated the fluorescent-lit hallways alone. I stood in line, filled out the forms, and waited. When the ultrasound tech finally handed me the results, the words felt like lead on the paper: Threatened miscarriage. Immediate bed rest recommended. My heart twisted into a knot. As I rounded the corner toward the pharmacy, I saw them. Hudson was half-kneeling in front of Melody in a private waiting area, holding a cup of lukewarm water with focused intensity. “Slowly,” he whispered. “It’s still hot.” Melody looked at him, her eyes wide and watery. “You’re so good to me, Hudson. If Jade saw this, she’d just misunderstand again, wouldn’t she?” Hudson offered a faint, tired smile. “She’s not that petty. Besides, we grew up together. She knows how things are. She should understand.” I stood there, a wave of nausea rolling over me that had nothing to do with the pregnancy. I looked down at the ultrasound printout in my hand. Without thinking, I crumpled it into a ball. I turned to leave, but my hip caught a metal trash can, sending it clattering across the linoleum. Both of them looked up. The moment Hudson saw it was me, the tenderness vanished from his face. He stood up and walked toward me. Seeing that I was standing upright and looking “fine,” his expression relaxed into a mask of professional annoyance. “Since you’re okay, I’ll have PR draft a statement.” He reached out to brush a stray hair from my face, but I flinched away. He didn’t look angry, just sighed with the weary patience of a man dealing with a difficult child. “The online narrative is already turning ugly, Jade. People are saying I abandoned my pregnant wife for another woman. I need you to go on record. Tell them the pregnancy thing was just something you said in the heat of the moment to get attention.” He adjusted his cufflink. “You’re the wife of the CEO. Be the bigger person here. It helps her, and it protects the company’s image.” I looked at this man—the man I had loved for five years—and he felt like a stranger speaking a dead language. “Hudson,” I said, my voice sounding like it was coming from underwater. “What if I told you the baby isn’t going to make it?” Hudson’s jaw tightened. “Jade, enough. Melody has a heart condition; she can’t handle this kind of stress. Do you want her to live with that guilt forever? You were a damn war correspondent—you’ve stared down mortars without blinking. Now you’re acting like a spoiled brat because of a pregnancy scare?” A spoiled brat. Because I was strong, I deserved to be abandoned. Because she was fragile, I had to bleed in silence. I looked at him and felt a laugh bubbling up—a sharp, jagged thing. “Understood. If you’re so worried about Miss Vance’s conscience, maybe you should just give her my title. It would be cleaner.” Hudson’s face darkened. “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s like a sister to me. I thought you were better than this, Jade. I didn’t think you’d stoop to being this manipulative.” Manipulative. I took a shaky breath and, without a word, tossed the crumpled ultrasound report into the trash can beside us. “Right. I’m the difficult one. Go back to her, Hudson. Don’t waste your precious time here.” I turned and walked toward the elevator. “Jade!” he called out, his voice vibrating with suppressed rage. “You want to go cool off? Fine. But remember this: if you walk out that door, don’t expect to come crawling back until you’ve learned to drop the attitude and lose the thorns!” As the elevator doors slid shut, I saw Melody slip her hand into his. He looked down at her, his expression melting back into that soft, protective glow. I leaned against the cold metal wall, and the tears finally came. He was right about one thing. I did need to reflect. I needed to reflect on how I could have been so blind to love a man who would watch me drown just to keep someone else’s feet dry. 2 The doctor’s warning echoed in my head: Stay in bed, or you lose the baby. I dragged my exhausted body back to our penthouse, only to stop dead at the foyer. There was a pair of designer stilettos by the door. I’d been wearing nothing but flats lately because of the swelling. Those weren’t mine. My heart hammered against my ribs. I pushed the door open. In the living room, the TV was humming. Melody was curled up on our sofa, wearing one of Hudson’s oversized white dress shirts, her pale legs tucked under her as she ate fruit from a bowl. Hudson was sitting right beside her, a laptop balanced on his knees. At the sound of the door, Melody turned, a sweet, practiced smile on her lips. “Jade! You’re back. Hudson was so worried about me after everything today, he insisted I stay the night. You don’t mind, do you?” Hudson set his laptop aside and stood up, reaching for my bag. “How was the doctor? Everything okay?” I stood frozen. My eyes weren’t on him. They were locked onto the silver whistle hanging around Melody’s neck. It was an old, tarnished police whistle. My father’s whistle. Before he died in the line of duty, he had placed that whistle in Hudson’s hand. He told Hudson it was a symbol—that Hudson was taking over the watch. That he was responsible for my safety now. Hudson had sworn back then: As long as I have this, I will protect her with my life. I lunged forward, grabbing the cold metal. “Why are you touching this?” I choked out. Melody let out a startled cry, and the tears were instant. “I—I’ve been having nightmares since the cliff. Hudson said this was a lucky charm… that it was meant to keep people safe. I just wanted to feel safe for one night…” Hudson immediately stepped between us, shoving me back and pulling Melody behind him. He checked the biometric monitor on her wrist, and seeing no alert, he turned on me with a face full of loathing. “Jade! What the hell is wrong with you? It’s an old trinket. If it gives her peace of mind, let her have it for a few days. You’re a cop’s daughter, for god’s sake. You’re the strongest woman I know. Do you really need a piece of silver to feel secure?” It wasn’t about security. It was the only piece of my father I had left. The light inside me, the last flickering ember of my love for him, went out. “Hudson,” I said, my voice dead. “Do you even remember what that whistle represents?” Hudson groaned, his impatience flared. “I know your dad gave it to me. But a dead object isn’t more important than a living person. Melody needs it right now. Can’t you just be the bigger person for once?” I looked at the whistle clutched in Melody’s hand. Suddenly, both the object and the man felt tainted. Filthy. I turned and walked into the study. I sat at the desk, opened a new document, and typed out a divorce settlement. I hit print. Hudson, if this baby doesn’t survive, we are done. I went into the bedroom, tucked the papers into the hidden lining of my suitcase, and started throwing clothes inside. Hudson walked in a moment later, his bravado wavering when he saw the suitcase. “It’s the middle of the night. Where are you going?” “This house feels dirty,” I said, not looking at him as I zipped the bag. “I’m going to the hospital to save my child.” Hudson froze, then his face turned a deep, ugly red. “Save the child? You can do that here. You’re just using this pregnancy to hold me hostage, aren’t you?” “Because I chose her over you at the cliff? It was an emergency, Jade! She has a condition!” I slammed the suitcase shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot. “Hudson, do you remember what you told my father at his funeral?” “You said you’d spend the rest of your life being my shield.” “Now, you’ve given my shield to someone else. It’s poetic, really.” I brushed past him, dragging my suitcase through the living room without a single glance at Melody. Hudson chased me to the door, grabbing my wrist. “Jade! If you walk out this door over a stupid piece of jewelry, don’t you dare think about coming back! I mean it!” I looked back at him, my eyes as calm as a graveyard. “That’s the plan.” I wrenched my arm free, opened the door, and stepped out into the black, rain-slicked night. Behind me, I heard Hudson’s muffled roar of frustration and the sound of something expensive shattering against a wall. I touched my stomach and whispered, “Don’t be scared, little one. It’s just us now.” 3 I spent three days in a hospital bed. Hudson didn’t call once. Instead, my mother-in-law called. Her tone was, as always, brittle and condescending. “Jade, you are expected at the charity gala tonight.” “The press is having a field day with Hudson’s ‘choice’ at the cliff. The Steven Group’s stock is dipping. As Hudson’s wife, you will show up, you will smile, and you will put these rumors to bed.” I stared out the window at the gray Seattle sky. “I’m in the hospital, Beatrice. I’m at risk of a miscarriage.” “Miscarriage?” she scoffed. “Please. You’re a cop’s daughter; you’re not that fragile. Don’t use a phantom pregnancy to play for sympathy. If you aren’t at that gala, don’t bother ever showing your face at a family function again.” The line went dead. That afternoon, an assistant delivered a garment bag. It was a loose-fitting black silk gown and a pair of designer flats. The note from Hudson read: I told them you weren’t feeling well. Wear this. It’s comfortable. Touching the soft fabric, a pathetic, tiny part of me wondered… Does he care? A little? I put on the dress. I did my makeup to hide the ghostly pallor of my skin. The gala was a sea of glittering diamonds and forced laughter. Hudson was there, looking dashing in a custom tuxedo, with Melody on his arm. Melody was also in black, but her dress was a shimmering, tight-fitting mermaid gown encrusted with crystals. She looked like a star. I, in my loose silk and flats, looked like a bloated shadow beside them. The whispers started the moment I walked in. “Is that the wife? Why is she dressed like that?” “Well, she’s a cop’s daughter. I guess she doesn’t understand high fashion.” “Look at how Hudson looks at Miss Vance. He just peeled a shrimp for her. The marriage is clearly a sham.” Hudson gave me a cursory glance. “You made it. If you’re tired, go sit in the corner. Don’t make a scene.” Then he turned to Melody, his voice dropping into that tender register. “Mel, are you hungry? I’ll go get you some of those crab cakes you like.” I stood alone in the center of the room, my fingers digging into my palms. The climax of the night was the silent auction. The showpiece was a ruby necklace called “The Eternal Heart.” Starting bid: five million. Melody’s eyes lit up when she saw it. Hudson smiled, that indulgent, protective smile, and raised his paddle. “Ten million.” The room erupted in murmurs. “Twelve million,” someone countered. Hudson didn’t blink. “Fifteen million.” People began to whisper, “It must be an anniversary gift for his wife. How romantic.” I sat in my corner, hearing the compliments, feeling like I was made of ice. Our anniversary. He actually remembered. “Twenty million!” Hudson shouted. The room went silent. Hudson stood up, took the velvet box from the presenter, and turned. But he didn’t turn toward me. He turned toward Melody. “Stop crying,” he whispered. He lifted the breathtaking rubies and, in front of everyone, fastened them around Melody’s neck. “Rubies are supposed to be good for the heart,” he said loud enough for the front rows to hear. “They suit you much better than a tattered silver whistle.” Melody beamed, touching the gems with trembling fingers. “Oh, Hudson… it’s beautiful. So much better than that old thing. Thank you!” Every eye in the room pivoted to me. Pity. Scorn. Schaudenfreude. The stares felt like slaps across my face, stinging and hot. And then, a white-hot spike of pain lanced through my abdomen. I felt a sudden, warm rush of fluid down my legs. My face went translucent. Cold sweat broke out across my brow. I reached for my bag to find my medication, but my hand shook so violently I knocked over a glass of red wine. Hudson looked over, his eyes snapping with irritation. My phone buzzed. A text from him: I just spent twenty million to get that whistle back for you. Are you satisfied? I know you’re still throwing a fit, but stop acting like someone died. Put a smile on your face and stop embarrassing the family. I looked at the screen until the words blurred into a gray smear. I didn’t have the strength to reply. I braced myself against the table and stood up, inching toward the restroom. Hudson… is this your anniversary gift to me? 4 The restroom mirror showed a woman who looked like a corpse. I gripped the sink, gasping for air. The black silk of my dress was soaked, blood trailing down my legs and onto the white marble floor. “Oh my god! Are you okay? Someone help! She’s bleeding!” A passing waitress screamed. “Ambulance…” I managed to choke out. “Call an ambulance…” Darkness rushed in to meet me, and I collapsed. When I woke, I was on a gurney. The lights above were blinding. A doctor, his gown stained with red, leaned over me. “We have massive hemorrhaging! We need to get her into surgery now! Where is the family? I need a signature!” Family? I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t move my lips. “I… I’ll sign…” “No! We need a next of kin! This is critical—you might not make it off the table!” the doctor roared. A nurse handed me my phone. “Call your husband! Now!” With trembling fingers, I dialed the number I knew by heart. Ring… ring… ring… Each tone was a serrated blade. On the third call, he picked up. “Jade? What kind of stunt are you pulling now? Why did you leave the gala? Do you have any idea how that looks to my mother? To the board?” “Melody was just asking for you. She wants to give the whistle back. Where the hell are you?” His voice was a barrage of accusations. “Hudson,” I whispered, my voice a thread of silk. “I’m at the hospital… the baby…” CRACK! A massive thunderclap shook the hospital windows as a storm broke over the city. Hudson’s voice immediately shifted—soft, protective. “It’s okay, Mel. I’ve got you.” Then, over the line, I heard him begin to hum. It was Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. On every stormy night for five years, he had held me and hummed that song until I fell asleep. He called it “our song for the dark.” Now, he was singing it to her. “Jade, I have to go. Melody has always been terrified of thunder. I’ll call you later.” Click. I let the phone slip from my fingers. I looked at the blood on my hands and felt my soul turn to ash. “Doctor,” I said, my voice suddenly steady. “Give me the pen.” I gripped his hand. “I’m signing for myself. Save me. Forget the baby… it’s already gone.” The pen scratched across the paper. Jade Steven. Two words. Shaky, but final. A goodbye to the woman I used to be. Under the cold surgical lights, the instruments moved inside me, scraping away the last remnants of our life together. I refused the general anesthesia. I wanted to feel the pain. I wanted to remember the exact moment I killed my own heart. And the moment Hudson killed the woman who loved him. As the pain peaked and my consciousness frayed, I remembered the day we found out I was pregnant. Hudson had rubbed my belly and laughed like a boy. “Jade, I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure you’re the happiest woman on earth.” Hudson, you’re a liar. When they wheeled me out of surgery, I heard frantic footsteps at the end of the hall. Hudson was there, drenched from the rain, hair disheveled, clutching that silver whistle in his hand. He saw me and stopped dead. “Jade…” his voice cracked. “What happened?” His eyes fell on the blood-stained consent form on the clipboard at the foot of my bed. His pupils dilated. “Miscarriage? …The baby?” He lunged forward, but the nurse shoved him back with a glare. “The patient just had an emergency D&C. She’s extremely weak. Keep your voice down.” Hudson staggered back as if he’d been punched. “D&C? No… that can’t be…” The pain was a dull roar now. I lay there, drenched in sweat. Looking at his shattered expression, I felt… nothing. Not even hate. “Jade,” he whispered, his eyes red. “This isn’t funny. If you’re doing this to punish me for the cliff… you win. Okay? You win. Just tell me the baby is okay.” He pressed the silver whistle into my hand, his voice a pathetic plea. “Look! I got it back! I took it back from her! Please, don’t scare me like this. Tell me he’s okay.” The silver was cold against my palm. It would never be warm again. I forced my eyes open and looked at him. I gave him a small, tired smile. “The baby is dead, Hudson.” “And I want a divorce.”

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I was the finest falconer the high plains had ever seen. Out there, the wind howled like a hungry wolf, and I rode through it, my crimson silks snapping against the sky like a wildfire. It was that raw, untamed spirit that made Camilla Beaumont—Manhattan’s golden princess—fall for me with a desperation that bordered on insanity. To win my hand, she leveled half a mountainside just to capture a pure white Gyrfalcon as a betrothal gift. She knelt before me in the dust for three days and three nights, defying her billionaire father to write my name into the Beaumont family registry. I fell for it. I believed in the heart she offered, backed by all that terrifying power. I tucked away my hunting knife, folded my wings, and walked willingly into her gilded cage. We hadn’t been married a year before he showed up: Sebastian Montgomery. He was “old money,” refined, a scholar from a lineage that matched hers perfectly. He came to our penthouse one afternoon, smelling of sandalwood and arrogance, his voice a soft, cultured purr. “A Beaumont husband shouldn’t just know how to whistle at birds, Kaelen,” he said, smoothing his perfectly tailored suit. “Camilla asked me to teach you how to behave in high society.” He looked at me with a thin, condescending smile. “Since you’re essentially a trophy, you’ll learn the protocols of the house. From now on, you’ll greet me on your knees when I arrive. If your posture is lacking, I’ve been authorized to use a switch to correct you.” I didn’t argue. I simply nodded. Then, I lunged forward, grabbing a fistful of his meticulously styled hair, and let out a sharp, piercing whistle. My falcon plummeted from her perch, a streak of white lightning. She struck with surgical precision, her talons tearing into his eyes. “Teaching me the rules, are you?” I laughed as the blood sprayed, bright and hot against the marble floor. “Let me teach you the only rule we have on the plains. You insult the master of a hawk, you pay in blood.” 1 The screams hadn’t even stopped before the butler was on the phone with Camilla. Thirty minutes later, she slammed through the front door. Her voice cut through the foyer before I even saw her face. “Kaelen! He’s a Montgomery! How could you be so reckless?” “So what?” I stood my ground, the falcon back on my leather-clad shoulder. “He insulted me. He earned his scars.” Camilla’s striking eyes narrowed, her jaw tight as she stared me down. I didn’t flinch. The Gyrfalcon shifted, her golden eyes locked onto Camilla, waiting for my signal to strike again. In the background, Sebastian’s wails were pathetic. “He’s a savage! An animal! Camilla, look what he did to me! My family will ruin you for this!” Camilla knelt to inspect his wound. When she saw the jagged, deep tear near his right eye, the temperature in the room plummeted to sub-zero. “You went too far, Kaelen.” She stood up, her gaze sweeping coldly over the white predator on my shoulder. “He is the heir to a dynasty. He’s never even had a bruise, and you’ve marked him for life. You owe the Montgomerys a debt. Either I give them one of your eyes…” She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “…or I give them the life of that beast.” My fingers trembled slightly as I stroked the falcon’s thick, soft feathers. A pure white Gyrfalcon. The King of Birds. This was the creature she had nearly died for, the one she presented to me while bleeding from her own climb up a frozen cliff. She had knelt in the dirt and sworn she would be like this bird—loyal to me and me alone, until the end of time. It had been five years. Now, she wanted its life. The betrayal felt like an ice pick through the heart, cold and sharp, but the pain was quickly drowned by a rising tide of fury. I looked her in the eyes—eyes that were now a scorched, angry red. “I don’t like multiple-choice questions, Camilla. And I’m not picking either of those.” Her face turned to stone. She stepped toward me, closing the distance. “This is New York, Kaelen. You don’t get to make the rules here.” The moment she moved, I reached for the decorative recurve bow hanging on the wall display behind me. In one fluid motion, I notched an arrow and drew the string taut, the broadhead pointed directly at her heart. “You know my aim,” I said, my voice steady. “One more step, and this goes through your shoulder.” The security detail huddled outside the lounge surged inward, a dozen black muzzles of handguns aiming at my chest. In the suffocating tension, Camilla suddenly raised her hand, signaling them to stand down. A flicker of something—an obsessed, sickly fascination—danced in her eyes. “That’s it,” she whispered. “That wild, untamable streak. It’s why I can’t let you go.” Then, her tone turned glacial. “But the plains are a long way away. Put the bow down, apologize, and maybe we can find a way out of this.” My heart gave a dull, numb thud. Five years ago, on the windswept grasslands of the North, she had chased the horizon on horseback just to catch me. She had grabbed my hand—the hand that held the hawk—and pleaded. “Come to the city with me,” she had whispered. “I swear on my life, Kaelen, you will always be a hawk soaring in the sky. I will never make you a bird in a cage.” The words were still echoing in my mind, yet here she was, demanding I learn to be “tame.” It was pathetic. “What? Now Miss Beaumont wants to talk about rules?” I let out a jagged laugh. “Five years, and you’ve already forgotten how you begged like a dog to marry me?” Before Camilla could react, Sebastian shrieked from the sofa, “What are you talking about? Camilla is a princess! She would never beg for a savage like you! You probably drugged her—you’re just a parasite who won’t let go!” Camilla didn’t say a word. She stared at me for a long, heavy minute, then turned on her heel and led her people out. “Kaelen,” she said over her shoulder, “this isn’t over.” The Montgomerys’ retaliation came faster than I expected. 2 That night, a harrowing, guttural shriek echoed from the terrace garden. My heart dropped into my stomach. I ran out, barefoot, my lungs burning. The moonlight was a sickly pale. My falcon lay in a pool of dark, spreading red. Her white feathers were matted and stained crimson, a jagged hole in her chest still pulsing with the last of her life’s blood. She was twitching, her golden eyes finding mine, slowly losing their spark until they went dull. Camilla stood nearby, her back to me, her silhouette cold and unyielding. “You killed her?” I whispered. She turned around, her face a mask of indifference. “Sebastian’s eye couldn’t be saved. His family wanted one of yours. This was the only way to settle the score.” I began to shake, a violent, soul-deep tremor. I turned to go back inside to get my knife, but she caught my wrist in a grip of iron. “It was just an animal, Kaelen. Stop being so dramatic.” “An animal?” My eyes were burning, my voice cracking. “Is that all she was? What did you call her when you brought her to me, covered in your own blood? What did you say she represented?” Her throat bobbed. For a split second, her eyes flickered with guilt. But then, Sebastian stepped out from the shadows. His right eye was bandaged, but his white shirt was pristine. He kicked the falcon’s cooling body with the tip of his Italian leather shoe. “I’ve never had hawk meat,” he sneered. “Maybe it’ll make a decent stew.” The blood rushed to my head, a deafening roar. “Sebastian,” I said, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous vibration. “I took one eye. I can easily take the second.” Before the sentence was finished, I whipped the hunting knife from the sheath at the small of my back. A flash of steel. I didn’t go for his eye—I went for the hand Camilla was using to hold me back. I sliced clean through her pinky finger. Camilla let out a muffled grunt of pain and released me. The severed finger hit the floor, wet and limp. I didn’t stop. The tip of my blade lunged for Sebastian’s remaining eye. “No!” He froze, his scream breaking into a high-pitched sob. Camilla reacted with the speed of a viper. Ignoring the agony in her hand, she kicked my wrist with her heel, sending the knife flying across the marble. “Security! Lock him down!” The guards swarmed me, pinning my arms behind my back with brutal force. I was dragged down to the basement, into the cold, dark confines of the wine cellar. In the darkness, I sat on the floor, cradling the ghost of my bird. My love had burned to ash, leaving nothing but a furnace of hatred. Camilla. You swore on your life you wouldn’t cage me. You broke the vow. Now, you pay with your life. The next day, I was “released,” though it was house arrest in all but name. Every sharp object in the penthouse had been removed. Even the decorative bows were gone. Four guards followed my every shadow, and more patrolled the perimeter outside. Sebastian couldn’t help himself. He came to gloat. He wore an expensive silk eye patch, his remaining eye gleaming with triumph. “Thought you should know the good news. Camilla and I are getting married.” He chuckled, a dry, irritating sound. “I should actually thank that bird. If it hadn’t blinded me, this merger between our families wouldn’t have been fast-tracked.” I looked up, stunned. “We aren’t even divorced. How could the Montgomerys allow a Beaumont husband to take a ‘consort’?” Sebastian laughed, covering his mouth daintily. “Oh, you poor, deluded fool. Did you really think that piece of paper you signed five years ago was real?” “The whole city knows Camilla gave you a fake certificate. You were a phase, Kaelen. A wild little toy she picked up on vacation. You don’t actually think a woman of her stature would legally marry a nomad, do you?” My mind went blank. The “marriage.” The “defiance” against her family. The nights she spent “kneeling” in the ancestral hall to earn their approval… it was all a scripted play. A meticulously designed lie. She never intended to give me a name. She lured me into this cage, clipped my wings, and watched with amusement as I tried to maintain my dignity and my love. Camilla Beaumont. You’re already dead. You just don’t know it yet. 3 Camilla returned late that night, smelling of expensive gin and the cold city air. The living room was cast in shadows, lit only by a single amber wall sconce. I hadn’t moved from the sofa for hours. She sat across from me, studying me in the gloom. Half her face was lost to the dark. “Kaelen,” she finally said, her voice carrying a trace of hesitation. “You know, don’t you?” I didn’t answer. I kept my eyes fixed on a point in the distance. Suddenly, she leaned forward and tossed my hunting knife and my bow onto the coffee table. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you… at least not at first. Eventually, I just didn’t know how to explain.” She reached out, her voice softening into that manipulative purr. “I know you’re hurting. Here. Do whatever you want to me.” She grabbed my hand, forcing my fingers around the hilt of the knife. Then, she pressed the blade firmly against her chest, right over her heart. I could feel the frantic, rhythmic thrum of her heartbeat through the silk of her blouse. “You think I won’t?” I asked. She let out a soft, melodic laugh. And then, she pushed. She forced my hand forward, driving the blade into her own chest. Warm blood splashed across my face instantly. Camilla kept smiling, even as her breath hitched. “Kaelen… I lied to you. But I do love you. I told you once… if my life could make you happy, I’d give it. I meant that.” The metallic tang of blood filled the room, dragging me back to that rain-slicked cliff in Montana. The smell was the same. She had been soaked to the bone then, her designer gear shredded by rocks and talons, holding that struggling white falcon out to me like a holy relic. “I did it, Kaelen!” she had shouted over the thunder, her eyes bright with a terrifying fever. “Am I a real mountain woman now? Am I yours?” The memory was a dull blade sawing through my soul. We had ridden across the plains until the wind felt like it belonged to us. We had huddled under overhangs during storms, kissing until the world vanished. My tribe had said the strongest eagle on the plains had been tamed by a city woman. But it was because I had loved her so truly that this betrayal felt so grotesque. My grip tightened on the hilt. Rage, hot as molten lead, flooded my veins. Kill her. End it now. I pushed the blade deeper. Camilla gasped, breaking into a cold sweat, but her eyes remained locked on mine with a sickening, pathological devotion. No. Death was too easy for her. I wrenched the knife out, a fresh spray of red hitting the floor. I stumbled back and bolted from the room. Camilla was rushed to the hospital for emergency surgery. The next afternoon, Sebastian showed up again. He stood in the doorway, afraid to come closer, his voice shrill with cowardice. “You lunatic! You tried to murder her! If anything happens to Camilla, the Beaumonts and the Montgomerys will have you hunted down like the animal you are!” I stared out the window, deaf to his threats. Finding me unresponsive, he eventually grew bored and led his men to the rooftop conservatory. That conservatory was Camilla’s masterpiece—a simulated prairie landscape she had built for me, planted with thousands of wild cosmos flowers shipped from my homeland. She used to say, “I took the hawk from the plains, so I brought the plains to him.” She tended those flowers herself. Only she and I had the key. But now, I watched as Sebastian took a key from his pocket and opened the glass doors. I watched as he ordered the men to rip the flowers out by the roots. I watched as the symbols of my “beautiful cage” were trampled into the dirt. I felt nothing. Not a spark. Not a tear. When the heart dies, even grief becomes a luxury you can no longer afford. 4 The days became a stagnant pool. I was a ghost in the penthouse, shadowed by guards. Meanwhile, the news of the “Wedding of the Century” between Camilla and Sebastian saturated every screen in the city. The headlines were relentless: the multi-million dollar dowry, the custom Vera Wang gown, the private island rented for the pre-wedding gala. Every detail was exactly what Camilla had once whispered to me in the dark, describing her dream wedding. The only thing that had changed was the groom. Sebastian, emboldened by my silence, began sending me taunting texts. [Camilla bought me ten limited-edition watches today. Which one should I wear for the ceremony?] [Look at our menu. One course costs more than your entire village makes in a year.] [Camilla says you’re crude. A gutter rat compared to me. Did you really think a nomad could marry into a dynasty?] I never replied. Instead, I took screenshots of every single message. I packaged them with the photos of Camilla’s “private” moments in the basement and sent them to every high-society gossip rag and investigative journalist in the city. The headline I suggested was simple: “MONTGOMERY HEIR EXPOSED: THE PREMEDITATED SABOTAGE OF THE BEAUMONT PRINCESS’S MARRIAGE.” I knew how deep the waters ran in this city. I knew the Beaumonts could squash a scandal before it even broke. And indeed, within hours, the articles vanished. The social media threads were scrubbed. But the seeds were sown. Beaumont stock began to dip. The whispers began. A call came into the penthouse from Sebastian’s father. Even through the closed door, I could hear his muffled, vibrating roar of fury. He was warning Camilla to keep her “pet” on a shorter leash. The guards took my phone immediately after. I was officially cut off from the world. The penthouse was silent, save for Mrs. Gable, the housekeeper who had always been kind to me. “Sir,” she whispered, leaning in as she set down my tea. “She didn’t even give you a real wedding. Now she’s throwing this circus for him. It’s a knife to the heart.” She glanced at the guards. “If I were you, I’d run. Go back to the mountains. Somewhere she can’t find you. Let her taste the regret of what she threw away.” “Mrs. Gable,” I said with a faint, sharp smile. “Don’t believe everything you read in romance novels.” I stood and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. In the distance, the silhouette of the Beaumont Grand Hotel loomed through the smog—the site of the wedding. “I’m not a bird waiting for a woman to regret her choices.” A hawk circled high above the skyscrapers. My eyes sharpened, locking onto the horizon. “I am a hunter. And a hunter doesn’t wait for an apology. He waits for the kill.” … The day of the wedding arrived. The ballroom was a sea of silk and diamonds, the air thick with the scent of a thousand lilies. But the “Golden Hour” passed, and the groom was nowhere to be found. Camilla’s patience was fraying. Her eyes were dark with a burgeoning rage. Just as she was about to snap at her coordinator, the massive oak doors swung open. Every head turned. It wasn’t the groom. It was a courier in a simple uniform, carrying a large, white gift box. “A gift for Miss Camilla Beaumont,” he announced. Camilla waved him off. “I don’t have time for this!” The courier held his ground. “The sender said it was vital you open it yourself. He said you would regret it for the rest of your life if you didn’t.” Camilla froze. Just as I had planned, she stepped forward and tore the lid off the box. As she saw what was inside, the color drained from her face, leaving her as pale as the lilies surrounding her.

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The internal auditors were doing a routine sweep when the lead investigator looked up from his clipboard, his eyes narrowing as he pinned me with a cold stare. “Naomi, we need to ask as a matter of protocol: have you ever received any personal favors, financial or otherwise, from your CEO?” I opened my mouth to give the standard, honest “No,” but the words were cut off by a sharp, mocking laugh from the desk next to mine. Tyler, a senior accountant who had been a thorn in my side since I started, leaned back in his chair with a smirk that set my teeth on edge. “Define ‘favors,’” Tyler drawled, loud enough for the entire open-plan office to hear. “Does it count if they regularly share a bed? Or if he leaves a stack of cash on the nightstand when they’re finished?” The air in the room didn’t just cool; it turned to ice. The auditors went from bored to predatory in a heartbeat. The lead investigator stood up, his expression hardening. “Ma’am, I’m going to need to see your ID and your full personnel file immediately.” My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. “I… I was hired through the standard HR process!” I stammered, frantically digging through my desk for my badge. “I don’t know what he’s talking about!” “Oh, sure,” Tyler chimed in, his voice dripping with faux-sympathy. “Standard ‘sleeping-your-way-to-the-top’ process. Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t charged the company for the luxury bags you’ve been stashing away. Tell me, Naomi, do those go under ‘office supplies’ or ‘consulting fees’?” He looked at the auditors, playing the role of the concerned whistleblower. “Is that legal, guys? Embezzling for Chanel?” The auditors moved in, effectively boxing me in at my cubicle. “Ma’am, please step away from the computer. We are initiating an immediate suspension of duties pending a full investigation into corporate fraud and misconduct.” I felt a wave of dizziness wash over me. I wasn’t just losing my job; Tyler’s malicious mouth was about to sink the entire operation. We had a fifty-million-dollar contract set for delivery tonight. If I was pulled out now, the logistics would fail, the contract would be voided, and the factory would be shuttered by morning. … “That’s not true!” My voice came out thin and trembling. “He’s lying! Everything he’s saying is a total fabrication!” I slammed my ID card and my original offer letter onto the desk. “I am a senior accountant. I have a professional relationship with the CEO, nothing more!” The lead auditor didn’t even look at the documents. He leaned over my desk, his shadow looming over me. “Do you understand the gravity of these allegations? This man just accused you of a quid pro quo relationship involving company funds. Your ID doesn’t disprove that.” He jerked his chin toward the hallway. “Maybe we should continue this conversation in a more private setting. Somewhere more… secure.” Sweat beaded on my forehead. Tyler was still there, leaning against a filing cabinet with his arms crossed, watching my world crumble like it was a Saturday morning cartoon. The anger hit me then, hot and sudden. I lunged forward, grabbing him by the collar of his cheap polyester shirt. “Tyler, what the hell is wrong with you?” I hissed. “Why would you say that? I have never—not once—been involved with Arthur like that!” Tyler shoved me off with an air of boredom. “Hey, don’t blame the messenger for the message. If you didn’t want people to know about your little side-hustle, you shouldn’t have been so obvious about it.” He turned to the auditor with a wink. “You should check her bank statements. I’m sure they’re… illuminating.” He was pouring gasoline on the fire. The auditors were looking at me now with a mix of suspicion and pure disgust. “Do you have any idea what happens if I’m taken out of here?” I whispered, my voice breaking. “The factory will stop. The workers will lose their shifts. The losses will be—” “Not my problem,” Tyler interrupted, his eyes crinkling with a cruel mirth. “If the company loses money, it’s because they hired a liability like you. I’m just a citizen doing his duty, right, officer?” He clapped the auditor on the shoulder. “Ms. Rossi,” the auditor said, his tone final. “Come with us. If this is a misunderstanding, we’ll clear it up. If not, the authorities will be involved.” Tyler started humming a jaunty tune. “Better move it, Naomi. Cooperation is part of the job description, isn’t it?” I forced myself to breathe. I looked Tyler dead in the eye. “You are slandering me. I am giving you one chance, right now, to tell these men you made it up. Admit you were joking, or I am calling the police and filing a lawsuit for defamation so fast your head will spin.” I pulled out my phone, my thumb hovering over the emergency dial. Tyler’s smirk faltered. He saw the cold, hard intent in my eyes and his bravado slipped just an inch. He grabbed my wrist, blocking the screen. “Whoa, Naomi, take it easy! Don’t be so dramatic.” “Admit it,” I growled. “Tell them you’re a liar.” Tyler huffed, looking at the auditors with a forced eye-roll. “Fine, jeez. You guys can’t take a joke? Seriously, what happened to a little office banter? You guys must be real fun at parties.” The lead auditor’s face darkened. “So, you’re saying your previous statements were false?” Tyler scratched the back of his neck, looking annoyed. “I was just messing around, okay? Lighten up.” “I am asking you one last time,” the auditor said, his voice dropping an octave. “Is Naomi Rossi the CEO’s mistress?” Behind him, another staffer was frantically taking notes. “Answer the question.” I held my breath, praying that Tyler’s cowardice would finally lead him to the truth. He shook his head slowly. “No,” he muttered. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. But it was short-lived. “She’s not his mistress,” Tyler said, a slow, toxic grin spreading across his face. “Because she’s his future baby mama. She’s pregnant with his kid.” The silence that followed was deafening. The auditor’s eyes snapped back to me, filled with a new, deeper level of revulsion. The adrenaline hit me like a physical blow. Before I could think, I was in Tyler’s face, my hand raised to slap the smug look off his face. But he caught my wrist, his grip tightening. “What’s the matter, Naomi?” he whispered, his eyes gleaming. “Can’t handle the truth? You told me not to lie, so I’m giving them the whole story!” “You’re insane!” I screamed, tears of pure frustration stinging my eyes. “He’s lying! I’m calling the police! I’m calling them right now!” I tried to break his grip to get to my phone, but Tyler shoved me back, shouting to the auditors, “Don’t let her! She’s not calling the cops, she’s calling Arthur! She’s calling for her knight in shining armor to come hide the evidence!” I shook my head, desperate. “Don’t believe him! Please!” But the damage was done. “Where there’s smoke, Naomi…” the auditor muttered. “Exactly!” Tyler shouted. “Of all the people in this office, why would I pick her? It’s because it’s true! Everyone knows it!” “Take the ledgers,” the auditor commanded his team. “And Ms. Rossi, you’re coming with us. Now.” I stared at Tyler, my heart breaking for the dozens of people on the factory floor whose livelihoods were currently being gambled away by a petty man’s ego. “Tyler, I never did anything to you. Why are you doing this?” “You didn’t do anything?” He stepped closer, his voice a low hiss. “A week ago, I brought you my expense reports. Five thousand dollars for my ‘business trip’ to Miami. You rejected every single one. You told me my hotel and my dinners didn’t count as company business.” “Because they weren’t!” I snapped. “You went on vacation on the company’s dime!” “And ever since then, you’ve been acting like you own the place,” he sneered. “I’ve seen the way you walk, Naomi. I’ve seen the designer shoes you try to hide under your desk. I know how girls like you get ahead.” He leaned in closer. “And don’t bother with the police. Didn’t you know? My cousin is Arthur’s wife. One call from me, and you’re not just fired—you’re blacklisted. I’ll make sure you never work in this town again.” I swallowed hard. “This is all because of an expense report?” I looked at him, truly seeing him for the first time. The comments he’d made over the last week—the remarks about the “curve of my legs” or the “way I used my mouth”—they weren’t just jokes. They were a targeted campaign. I knew I should go with the auditors. I knew the truth would come out eventually. But “eventually” meant the factory would close today. It meant eighty million dollars in breach-of-contract penalties. It meant families going hungry. I did the only thing I could think of. I doubled over and slammed my own fist into my stomach. “Look!” I screamed, jumping up and down frantically in front of the auditors. “Look at me! I’m not pregnant! If I were, I’d be in the hospital right now! I’m doing this because there is no baby! There is no affair!” It was a bizarre, desperate display, but it worked. The auditors froze, staring at me in shock. “Okay, okay,” the lead auditor said, his voice softening with pity. “Sit down. We… we believe you.” “Oh, you guys are pathetic,” Tyler’s voice sliced through the room. “You’re really going to fall for that? Naomi, you really think you can hide it? Fine. You don’t believe me? Maybe you’ll believe the CEO’s wife.” I looked at him, confused. “Tyler, stop it.” “Beatrice!” Tyler yelled toward the lobby. “She’s right here!” I didn’t even have time to turn around before I felt a searing pain in my scalp. Someone had grabbed my hair from behind and yanked, hard. “You little tramp!” a woman’s voice shrieked in my ear. “You think you can use your position to sleep with my husband? I’ll kill you!” Before I could see her face, a palm collided with my cheek. The world spun, and I hit the floor hard. “You have the wrong person!” I cried out, shielding my face. “I didn’t do anything!” “That’s her, Beatrice!” Tyler’s voice was triumphant. “Naomi Rossi. The accountant. I see her sneaking out of Arthur’s office half-dressed all the time. And she’s carrying his bastard!” That was the trigger. Beatrice—a woman I had only seen in company newsletters—flung herself on top of me with the strength of a woman possessed. “Pregnant, are you?” she screamed, her face contorted. “Let’s see how that ‘accident’ handles this!” She sat on my stomach, using her full weight to bounce and crush me against the hard office floor. I felt the air leave my lungs, a sharp, stabbing pain radiating through my abdomen. I curled into a ball, trying to protect myself, but she was relentless. The auditors tried to pull her off, but she swung at them, screaming about her marriage and her rights. The pain was blinding now. Through the red haze, I reached out and grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her head down until it slammed into the floor. The room went silent. For half a second, the only sound was the heavy breathing of twenty terrified employees. Then, Beatrice started to wail. The auditors finally managed to drag us apart. I slumped against a desk, my face deathly pale, clutching my stomach. “Call the police,” I rasped. “Please… just call them.” One of the auditors reached for his phone, but Tyler was there in an instant, blocking him. “You’re going to help a homewrecker? My cousin is the legal wife! This girl destroyed a family! She deserved what she got! In the old days, we’d have dragged her through the streets!” “My stomach…” I gasped, the pain reaching a fever pitch. “Please… an ambulance…” The auditor didn’t hesitate this time. He dialed 911. As I lay there, I felt a sudden, warm rush of fluid. I looked down. My white slacks were rapidly staining crimson. My mind went blank. It’s just my period, I tried to tell myself. The stress, the physical trauma… it’s just my cycle starting early. But Beatrice saw the blood and pointed a trembling finger. “See! She was pregnant! The little slut is losing the bastard right now!” “I told you!” Tyler shouted, his face lit up with a sick excitement. “I told you I wasn’t lying!” Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my hand. A text from the floor manager: Naomi, the factory is dark. The lines have stopped. The world tilted. “Why?” I whispered. “I’m still here… why did they stop?” I scrolled through the company-wide alerts. By order of Beatrice Whitlock, all production is ceased. Investigation into CEO’s personal conduct ongoing. “She found out he was cheating and shut it down,” someone whispered nearby. “She said the factory was a ‘gift’ he gave his mistress to manage, so she’s taking it back.” “Naomi, what do we do?” the floor manager’s voice came through a frantic phone call. “We have twenty-five tons of product due by 6 PM. If we don’t ship, the penalty is eighty million dollars!” I tried to speak, but the tears finally came, hot and thick. The pain in my gut was so sharp I couldn’t form a sentence. The paramedics burst into the room. As they lifted me onto the gurney, Tyler and Beatrice blocked the elevator. “No!” Beatrice screamed. “She doesn’t get to leave! Not until she signs a confession!” “Ma’am, step aside,” the lead paramedic said firmly. “This woman is hemorrhaging.” “I don’t care!” Beatrice yelled. “That’s my husband’s blood she’s spilling! I have a right to decide what happens to it!” Tyler was busy filming the whole thing on his phone, shouting to the gathered crowd, “Look at her! Look at the homewrecker! This is Naomi Rossi, the girl who stole a marriage!” Finally, the police arrived and cleared a path. As they wheeled me into the ambulance, I could still hear Beatrice screaming about “justice” and “tramps.” Suddenly, a loud, sharp crack echoed through the parking lot. A familiar, booming voice cut through the chaos. “You stupid woman! Who gave you the right to shut down my factory?” It was Arthur. He had arrived. “Do you have any idea how much money I just lost?” Slap. Another crack. “I’ve had enough of your psychotic episodes! I married a monster!” “Arthur! She’s your mistress! Tyler told me—” “Tyler is a pathetic liar who can’t even file an expense report!” Arthur roared. “Naomi Rossi is my best accountant! She’s the only reason this company hasn’t folded!” Arthur’s voice lowered, sounding almost terrified. “Do you have any idea who Naomi Rossi actually is?”

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Every April Fool’s Day, my boyfriend would stage an elaborate, fake proposal as part of a “prank” coordinated with his best friend, Lexi. Last year, I was so caught up in the moment, heart hammering against my ribs as I reached for the ring, that I didn’t notice the mechanical trap hidden in the velvet box. It snapped shut on my finger. I screamed in genuine pain. Jackson and Lexi just roared with laughter, completely oblivious to the fact that my finger was turning a bruised, sickly purple. To make it up to me, Jackson had spent months swearing that this year would be different. He promised he would finally ask for real. So, when he sent me a “top priority” text telling me to meet him at the bistro where we had our very first date, I believed him. I spent three hours getting ready. I got a blowout, had my nails done, and applied a full face of makeup with surgical precision. I even wore a brand-new silk slip dress. I had the “announcement” post drafted in my notes, waiting for the photo of the ring. But the moment I pushed through the door, a heavy, cold mass of buttercream slammed into my face. A girl’s sharp, bright laughter erupted from the center of the room. “I told you she’d show up! Pay up, Jax, you lost!” Jackson walked over, his expression as smooth and gentle as it had been for the last six years. He used a napkin to wipe a glob of frosting from my cheek. “You look beautiful, Cass,” he said, though his eyes were dancing. “Shame about the dress, though.” “What is this, Jackson?” My voice was trembling. “I made a bet with the guys on whether I could actually get you to come out tonight. I bet that you wouldn’t. My stake was simple: if I won, I’d propose tomorrow. If I lost, I’d wait another year.” He shrugged, offering a half-hearted grin. “Sorry, babe. Since you actually showed up, I guess we’re not getting married this year either.” I stood there, the weight of the frosting pulling at my skin, and looked him dead in the eye. “So, you know what tomorrow is?” He laughed, dismissive. “Of course I do. Our six-year anniversary. How could I forget?” The sticky sweetness on my face felt suffocating. In that moment, the realization hit me with the force of a physical blow: our anniversary would always play second fiddle to a prank. And I would always play second fiddle to Lexi. I reached down and slid off the simple silver band we’d worn as a “promise” set since college. “Then we’re done. We’re breaking up.” 1. The sharp clink of the ring hitting the hardwood floor silenced the entire room. Jackson’s brow furrowed. “Don’t do this, Cassie. It’s just a little cake. I’ll help you clean it up when we get home. You know Lexi—she used to play way rougher than this. She’s actually being restrained tonight for your sake.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, warning hum. “I went to a lot of trouble to get everyone here. Don’t make me look like the guy who’s dating someone who can’t handle a joke.” Lexi slumped onto the velvet sofa, her face a mask of exaggerated poutiness. “Seriously, Cassie, it was just a laugh. If you’re going to be like that, we won’t play anymore, okay? But ‘breaking up’? That’s a bit dramatic.” She looked at the guys, her eyes wide. “I told you she couldn’t handle it. Jax, you shouldn’t have invited her. Now the whole vibe is ruined.” She sat there, the undisputed “mascot” of their little tribe. In this circle, if Lexi wasn’t happy, no one was allowed to be. Jackson was no exception. I remembered the first time I met her. She’d organized a game of Truth or Dare. Usually, dares involve something embarrassing in public. Her dare for me was to “perform” an intimate sound right there in front of the group. When I told her I didn’t appreciate that kind of humor, Lexi’s eyes instantly welled up. She’d bolted out of the room. The entire group—Jackson included—had chased after her to comfort her. The party that was supposed to be my “welcome” ended with me sitting alone in a dark apartment. Jackson never brought me to another hangout unless Lexi gave the green light first. Jackson looked at me now, his jaw set. “Cassie, apologize to Lexi.” In the past, I would have swallowed my pride. I would have apologized just to keep the peace, to make sure Jackson didn’t lose face in front of his friends. But watching him prioritize Lexi’s “hurt feelings” over the fact that he’d just humiliated me on the eve of our anniversary… I finally saw the truth. This wasn’t a relationship. I was just an accessory to his life with his friends. I picked up my coat and the designer bag I’d bought specifically to impress his parents later this month. “Jackson,” I said, my voice steady for the first time in years. “It’s over. I mean it.” I turned and walked out, my heels clicking unevenly on the pavement. As the door swung shut, I heard Lexi’s teasing voice drift out. “Is your ‘ball and chain’ actually leaving? You’re not going to go full ‘simp’ and chase her, are you?” Jackson let out a cold snort. “She’s just throwing a tantrum. If I chase her now, she’ll think she’s won. Besides, she has no one else but me. She’s easier to win back than you are.” His words felt like a serrated blade across my chest. 2. Six years ago, Jackson had stood in this very spot and told me he couldn’t live without me. He had worked hard to get me. When I was fifteen, my parents both remarried and started new families. I became the “legacy baggage”—the kid who was shuttled between houses but belonged in neither. I grew up terrified of intimacy, terrified of building a home only to have it dismantled. I turned Jackson down five times. The sixth time, a man had followed me home to my apartment. Jackson had appeared out of nowhere, tackling the guy and holding him until the police arrived. He ended up in the ER with a fractured wrist. As the nurse wrapped his arm, his eyes had turned red. “Cassie, why are you so stubborn?” he’d whispered. “Why won’t you just let me protect you?” My heart had disintegrated right then. I thought that if I could be with someone so reliable, so protective, maybe I’d finally be safe. That night, he’d taken me to this bistro to ask me out. When I said yes, he’d picked me up and spun me around like a kid until we were both dizzy, eventually collapsing onto the grass. He’d held me tight and sworn to the moon that as long as he was around, I would never be lonely again. But now, he was the one reopening the wounds I’d spent years trying to heal. I let out a bitter laugh and pulled out my phone. I opened an email from five days ago—a transfer offer to our corporate headquarters in Chicago that was set to expire. I accept the transfer. It was surprisingly easy to type. I looked up at the moon, partially obscured by a thin veil of clouds. Jackson, I’m not as easy to win back as you think. And I don’t need you to protect me anymore. The move was scheduled for the 2nd. I didn’t have much time. I went back to our apartment, scrubbed the sticky frosting off my skin until it was raw, and started packing. I didn’t own much; two suitcases were enough to hold my entire life. At 3:00 AM, I was heading for the door to check into a hotel when Jackson walked in, smelling of bourbon and smoke. He was carrying Lexi, who was passed out cold, and dumped her on the sofa. He tossed a bag of fruit onto the counter. “Glad you’re still up. She’s wasted. Make her some of that ginger tea you make, or she’s going to be a nightmare in the morning.” I didn’t move. When we first moved in together, Jackson had come home sick from a bachelor party. I’d stayed up all night making him soup. The ceramic pot had cracked from the heat and exploded, splashing scalding broth and shards all over my arms. He’d been terrified. He’d stayed awake for twenty-four hours, tending to my burns, crying from guilt. He’d banned me from the kitchen after that, insisting he’d rather order takeout for the rest of his life than risk me getting hurt again. He’d even made a little wooden sign and hung it on the pantry: CAUTION: CASSIE-FREE ZONE. I looked at that sign now, walked over, and tossed it into the trash. “I’m not your maid, Jackson. If she wants tea, she can wait until she’s sober enough to boil water.” I grabbed the handle of my suitcase. He lunged forward, grabbing my wrist and pinning me against the door. “Enough, Cassie. You made your point with the packing. It was an April Fool’s joke. Quit being a brat. I know you want the ring. I want to give it to you. Next year. I promise, next year we’ll do it for real.” His breath, laced with alcohol, brushed against my neck. I felt nothing but a dull, aching revulsion. I pushed him back with everything I had and slapped him hard across the face. “I said we’re done, Jackson. There is no ‘next year.’” 3. The slap didn’t just wake him up; it seemed to startle Lexi into consciousness. She stumbled off the sofa, swaying, and lunged at me, her hand connecting with my cheek in a stinging blow. “Who the hell do you think you are?” she shrieked. “You don’t touch him!” My face burned. I raised my hand to hit back, but Jackson caught my wrists, twisting them painfully as he shoved me away. My lower back slammed into the door handle. He stepped in front of Lexi, his eyes flashing with irritation. “She’s drunk, Cassie! Are you really going to pick a fight with a drunk girl? Just go. Get out and clear your head. We’ll talk tomorrow.” I stared at him, stunned by his indifference. It was like I was a stranger to him, a nuisance he had to manage. He didn’t even look at me; he just turned around to murmur soft, soothing words to Lexi, giving her all the tenderness I had craved for years. I gripped the handle of my suitcase and walked out. I checked into a budget hotel near the station and didn’t close my eyes until dawn. When I woke up, my phone was a graveyard of notifications. Aside from the usual “Happy April Fool’s” group texts, there were dozens of messages from coworkers and friends asking why I wasn’t at the office or if there was “big news” to share. I typed out a short, blunt response: Jackson and I broke up. The replies were instantaneous. Is this a joke? Stop it, Cassie, don’t prank us like that. You guys are the ‘forever’ couple. They didn’t know. They only saw the version of Jackson he allowed the world to see—the steady, reliable man who always had a plan. They didn’t know that on our fourth anniversary, he’d set up a “romantic” dinner only to have Lexi jump out with a live snake because he knew I had a phobia. They didn’t know that on our fifth, he’d used a trick ring that nearly cost me my finger. He was reliable, sure. But his loyalty wasn’t for me. I scrolled through social media and saw Lexi’s latest post—a gallery of photos from last night. Jackson at the movies with her, Jackson winning her a stuffed animal at an arcade, Jackson laughing. He’d always told me those things were “childish” and a “waste of time.” He said he preferred staying in, watching documentaries, being “mature.” Looking at his genuine, wide smile in her photos, I realized those things weren’t boring to him. Doing them with me was boring to him. The comments were full of people saying how “perfect” they looked together. I was about to delete the app when a message from Jackson popped up. Don’t overthink the photos. I’m just helping her blow off steam. Come back to the apartment when you can. She says she wants to apologize. I scoffed. As if on cue, a notification from a delivery app pinged. My anniversary gift to him—a high-end watch I’d saved for months to buy—had just been delivered to the apartment. I needed to get it back. And I needed to drop off my keys. A clean break. I threw on some clothes and took a cab over. But the moment I stepped through the door, a bucket of liquid with a sharp, chemical sting was doused over my head. “Surprise! April Fool’s, bitch!” 4. The liquid burned instantly. Before I could even blink, Lexi was on me, rubbing a coarse makeup remover wipe across my face with frantic, mocking energy. The burning intensified, turning into a searing, crawling itch that felt like my skin was being peeled back from the bone. I shoved her away, gasping. I tried to touch my face, but the slightest contact was agony. “My face… it burns… what was in that?” Jackson rushed over, grabbing my hands to stop me from scratching. His voice was a mix of shock and anger. “Lexi, you said it was just micellar water! Why is her skin breaking out like this?” Lexi’s face went red. “I… I don’t know! I just grabbed a bottle from the garage. Besides, she always wears that ‘natural’ makeup look just to make me look like a mess in comparison. I hate it! You even said it made her look washed out, Jax! You said I could do it!” I was shaking, my breath hitching in my chest. “And I thought… I thought you were actually going to apologize. You don’t deserve a ‘goodbye,’ Jackson. You’re a monster.” I tried to stumble toward the bathroom to wash my face, but the room began to spin. My throat felt like it was closing. “Cassie? Cassie, talk to me!” When I woke up, the sun was setting. My face was throbbing. Through a haze of painkillers, I heard a nurse mention something about stitches on my chin and right cheek. Jackson, who had been dozing in the chair next to the bed, jolted awake. “Thank God, you’re awake. You gave us a heart attack. The doctor said you had an anaphylactic reaction to some industrial disinfectant that was in the bottle. You went into shock.” He leaned forward, his voice urgent. “Lexi really did want to apologize, Cassie. She’s just… she’s impulsive. She didn’t mean for this to happen. Don’t be mad, okay?” I looked at him—at the man I had loved for nearly a decade—and he felt like a stranger. There was no concern in his eyes for the permanent scars I might have. Only the desperate need to excuse her. I felt a single, hot tear roll down my cheek. It stung. “I’m not mad, Jackson,” I whispered. “I’m just filled with regret. I regret every second I spent with you.” His face paled. He opened his mouth to speak, but his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen—the caller ID said “LEXI”—and he immediately stood up. “I have to take this. Rest. I’ll be right back.” He hurried out. Moved by some ghost of a feeling, I forced myself out of bed and followed him. I stood by the heavy fire door of the stairwell, listening through the crack. He was sitting on the steps with Lexi. “Hey, hey, stop crying. She’s not going to be mad. We’ve been through worse than this.” Lexi sniffled. “If she’s this upset over a little rash, imagine if she found out the truth. Imagine if she knew you only asked her out because of that $500 bet we made in college. Or that we chose the anniversary date specifically because it was April Fool’s weekend.” The world seemed to explode in a deafening white noise. Jackson hissed, “Shh! That was years ago. Keep your mouth shut!” My knees gave out. I slid down the wall, clutching my chest. Every doubt I’d ever had, every time I’d wondered why I was always the punchline—it all made sense now. I wasn’t his girlfriend. I was a six-year-long prank. The “hero” who saved me from the stalker? Was that a setup too? It didn’t matter. The foundation was rot. I covered my mouth to stifle a sob. I had to leave. Now. I managed to get back to my room, grab my things, and call a car. I went straight to the hotel, grabbed my suitcases, and headed for the station. I changed my ticket to the earliest train to Chicago. As I boarded, a text from Jackson arrived: The doctor says you need observation. Don’t run off. Where are you? I’m coming to get you. I looked at the screen and started laughing until I cried. I didn’t reply. I blocked him. I blocked Lexi. I blocked every single person who had ever laughed at my expense. The joke is over, Jackson. And I’m not sticking around for the encore.

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I only glanced once at the special pinned contact in Ethan’s phone. Then I learned one thing: not to care. He worked a thirty-hour night shift without replying to messages. I stopped waiting. He forgot my birthday. I didn’t mention it. My ankle was badly sprained. I gritted my teeth and wrapped it myself, then went onstage in heels the next day. Loving someone is hard, but letting go is simple. Joanna’s POV Today was Swan Lake’s quarterly performance. In the third act, during the Black Swan’s 32 fouetté turns, I heard a crack from my ankle on the 29th landing. Backstage, a crowd swarmed around me. “Joanna! Should we stop the show?” My forehead was covered in cold sweat. I waved them off. “It’s the last act.” Eight minutes of solo dance. I don’t remember how I finished it. I only remember the applause was loud during curtain call, the spotlight was warm, and beneath my skirt, my ankle had swollen until it shone. I smiled and took three curtain calls. No one saw that when I stepped into the wings, my entire body was trembling from pain. 1 AM. Sacred Heart Hospital emergency room. I sat alone in the observation room on a plastic chair, an ice pack pressed against my ankle bone. The nurse on duty frowned after reviewing the X-rays. “Ligament strain. Good thing the bone’s not damaged. Why didn’t you come earlier? Delaying makes the recovery period even longer.” “Just finished a performance.” While recording my information, the nurse asked casually, “You’re Ethan’s girlfriend, right? He posted a photo of you two on social media, that five year anniversary one.” My eyelashes flickered. He did post something on our fifth anniversary. The caption read: “Survived 3 trauma emergency courses.” I’d waited five hours at the restaurant we’d reserved, only to receive one message. “Something came up. We’ll make it up another day.” That “another day” still hasn’t come. “He’s on shift tonight. Want me to call him for you?” the nurse offered kindly. “No need,” I said. “Don’t disturb his work.” The moment I finished speaking, footsteps echoed from the end of the emergency corridor. Ethan came down from upstairs. He paused when he passed the observation room. He turned and walked in, his gaze falling on my swollen ankle, his brow furrowing. “You’re injured? Why didn’t you tell me?” He crouched down to examine it. I pulled my foot back slightly, the movement gentle, as if afraid of making noise. “It’s just a minor injury.” Ethan’s hand froze in midair. He looked at me with surprise. In the past, if I got even a blister from dance practice, I’d photograph it and send it to him, acting spoiled. “The wound hurts so much, I miss you.” Before every performance, I’d curl up nervously in his arms, asking repeatedly, “You’ll come watch, won’t you?” Now my foot was this swollen, yet there wasn’t a trace of grievance on my face. I wouldn’t even let him touch it. Before he could ask, the sound of high heels echoed from the end of the corridor. “Ethan!” The voice was light and soft, carrying a smile. Grace wore a sharply tailored dress under her white coat, carrying two cups of coffee. She walked over and naturally positioned herself beside Ethan. “Your favorite mocha, less sugar.” She handed him the cup, her gaze turning to me, pausing for a beat. “This is… your friend?” Ethan took the coffee, his voice unconsciously softening by half a degree. “My girlfriend, Joanna. She hurt her foot.” “Oh my god, is it serious?” Grace immediately crouched down to look at my ankle. “Hi, I’m Grace. You really can’t dance on this injury anymore-you need to let it heal properly.” Her tone was sincere. The flash of condescension in her expression was equally sincere. “Thanks,” I said. “The nurse already treated it.” When Grace stood up, her shoulder brushed against Ethan’s arm, seemingly by accident. “Ethan, we’re paired for tonight’s shift. I’m still not familiar with a lot of procedures-help me out more.” “Sure.” Ethan seemed oblivious to her intimacy. He looked at me. “Let me take you-” “No need.” I braced myself against the armrest and stood up, taking the crutch. “You two are busy. I called a car.” Ethan frowned. “In your condition, how can you-” But I’d already left. The crutch tapped against the floor. One tap, then another. The rhythm was steady. Behind me came Grace’s voice, clear even across the entire corridor. “Ethan, did Miss Joanna misunderstand something? Should I go explain to her?” “She’s not like that.” There was a hint of helplessness in Ethan’s voice. I didn’t look back. Five years. I’d never made a fuss, never demanded answers. I thought I was being understanding and accommodating, but in his eyes, I was simply “not like that.” Actually, on my way to the hospital, I’d thought about messaging him. But when I opened my phone, I saw the message I’d sent three days ago. “It’s opening night today. Will you come?” He hadn’t replied. I knew that he hadn’t forgotten. He just didn’t want to respond. In his life’s hierarchy, I ranked behind surgery, behind his shifts, behind that less-sugar, less-milk mocha. And especially behind Grace. Always had been. Back home, I opened my laptop. The email from the French Arts Dance Company sat quietly in my inbox. I’d read it many times. “We cordially invite you to serve as principal dancer with our company, three-year term. We look forward to your reply.” My fingers hovered above the keyboard. I thought of Grace handing him coffee in the ER and how naturally he’d accepted it. I thought of how his tone unconsciously softened when he spoke to her. I thought of my ankle swollen until it shone, and how he hadn’t even asked once if it hurt. Five years. I’d waited through countless “another days,” countless “something came ups.” I didn’t want to wait anymore. I typed my reply: “Thank you for the invitation. I accept. I’ll complete domestic handover within seven days and report on time. ”

Joanna’s POV I took two painkillers. They didn’t help much. My ankle throbbed with a dull ache, like something was drumming beneath my skin. I didn’t sleep all night. Ethan didn’t come home all night. At seven in the morning, I hobbled into the kitchen on my crutch. The moment the cooking smoke rose, I suddenly thought of my mom. I could never see her either. She was an ER nurse at the hospital. Her schedule was always packed solid. Even on her rare days off, she’d often get called back. From childhood, I was used to eating alone, sleeping alone, hanging the key around my neck and going to school alone. But every time Mom came home, she’d busy herself in the kitchen for hours, preparing meals for the next few days. She’d pack them into containers one by one, stacking them in the fridge with sticky notes on the lids. “Eat this on Tuesday,” “Remember to heat this one for two minutes.” Later, she had an accident during an emergency rescue. She contracted an acute infectious disease. From diagnosis to death, only eleven days. When the operating room lights went out, nineteen-year-old me stood in the corridor, my mind completely blank. I don’t remember my reaction. I only remember my knees hitting the tile floor-it hurt so much. I cried until I couldn’t breathe, like all the strength had been drained from my body. People came and went in the corridor, but not one of them was my family. Suddenly, someone crouched down in front of me. A warm bottle of coffee appeared before my eyes, still carrying the warmth of being held in someone’s palm. I looked up and saw a young face with gentle eyes. “Don’t cry anymore.” His voice was soft. “Your mother was a great nurse. She saved many lives. Even though she’s gone, we’ll all remember her.” Through a veil of tears, I saw his name tag: Ethan. I never drank that bottle of coffee, but I held it in my palm until it went completely cold. From that day on, I remembered that name and those gentle eyes. The second time I saw him was two years later. I was dancing Giselle as the lead for the first time. During curtain call, the lights were too bright to see the audience clearly, but as I exited, I casually glanced at the seats and spotted a familiar figure in the corner. He sat there quietly, wearing a dark blue shirt. His applause wasn’t enthusiastic, but it was sincere. After the performance, I didn’t change clothes. Clutching a bouquet of pink roses, I ran from backstage and caught him on the theater steps. “Ethan, can I pursue you?” He looked at me, clearly startled. Then he smiled. Warm, but with a weariness I couldn’t read at the time. “I just broke up recently. Someone very important to me went abroad. Right now… I haven’t moved on yet.” I knew he was rejecting me. But the warmth of that coffee bottle still lingered in my heart. Those ten minutes of companionship still lived in my memory. I desperately wanted that kind of gentle love, unique, a favoritism that belonged only to me. All my life, with an absent father and a deceased mother, I’d never been watched so attentively by anyone. He appeared in my most helpless moment. Even if it was just a bottle of coffee, just one word of comfort. To me, it was already light. “That’s okay,” I heard myself say. “I can help you move on slowly.” I thought if I was patient enough, sincere enough, he’d eventually turn around and see me. During these five years together, Ethan really was good to me. He’d remember my performance dates, occasionally pick me up after work, remind me to take medicine when I caught a cold. But this kindness always felt like it was separated by a layer of gauze. Gentle, yes. Just not burning. He smiled at me, but also at nurses, also at coffee shop cashiers. I couldn’t tell whether I was special to him or just one among many. I convinced myself it was enough. Being loved by a gentle person was enough. On my birthday, I thought our relationship should move to the next stage. I’d reserved his favorite restaurant, prepared a ring, even secretly practiced a solo dance to perform just for him. That evening, as I was doing one final rehearsal in front of the mirror, my phone rang. Ethan’s voice was urgent. “Grace is back. She’s injured. I need to go to the hospital first. Wait for me at the restaurant.” He hung up. The ring in my pocket, I waited at the restaurant for five hours. He never came. Never called either. From that day on, everything changed. During the time after Grace returned, whenever she called, Ethan would immediately rush over, no matter what he was doing. He started coming home late frequently, becoming absent-minded frequently. When he mentioned Grace, there was something in his eyes I’d never seen before. I told myself that once Grace was better, maybe everything would return to normal. Until that late night. I got up to get something from the study and accidentally knocked over an old photo album from the corner of the bookshelf. The album fell to the floor and scattered open. Every page was Grace. Some were candid shots, some were photos together. The backgrounds ranged from campus to hospital, from summer to winter. And on the back of each photo was Ethan’s handwriting. “Day 47.” “Missing you.” “A patient today had the same birthday as you.” I crouched on the floor, flipping through them one by one. My fingers didn’t tremble. The date on the last photo was the week before our fifth anniversary, late at night. On the back, it read: “If you hadn’t left back then, I definitely wouldn’t have let go.” I closed the album and returned it to the corner of the bookshelf, arranging it exactly as it had been before I took it down.

Joanna’s POV I went to the rehearsal hall with my injury. My ankle wrapped in thick bandages, I didn’t go onstage. I just spent the day supervising the group dance formations from the side. Someone asked if I wanted to take leave. I said no need. Sitting was still work. At eight in the evening, I returned home. The entryway light was off. Only my shoes sat by the shoe cabinet. No messages from him on my phone. Another day and night without him coming home. My phone rang while I was pouring water. “Hello, your online visa review has been approved. Now you just need to mail the paper materials. We can issue the visa within three business days.” “Okay, I’ll organize everything tonight and mail it first thing tomorrow.” “Wishing you all the best.” After hanging up, I walked into the bedroom. I opened the nightstand drawer. Passport, ID documents, bank statements, employment verification. I placed the documents into a folder one by one. Halfway through packing, I suddenly stopped and glanced around the room. Ethan had mild OCD. He didn’t like the house cluttered with too many things. When I first moved in, I’d bought a floor lamp. He said it didn’t match, so I returned it. Later I wanted to grow flowers on the balcony. He said they’d attract bugs, so I didn’t. Over five years, I’d learned to minimize my presence in this home. Only now, while packing, did I realize I owned so little it wouldn’t even fill a suitcase. A few seasonal clothes, one pair of backup dance shoes, a jewelry box, my passport, and some contract copies. That was it. Five years, condensed into half a suitcase. The bedroom door suddenly pushed open. Ethan walked in. He paused when he saw the documents spread across the bed. “What are you working on?” “Organizing visa materials,” I replied without looking up. “I was thinking we could travel abroad for Christmas. Preparing in advance.” “Christmas?” Ethan glanced at me. “It’s only July-” Before he finished, his phone rang. Grace’s name lit up the screen. “Ethan, the ER transferred a patient. I can’t handle it alone. Can you come help?” The voice on the other end wasn’t loud, but in the quiet room, it was crystal clear. Ethan hung up and looked at me. His lips moved. He looked guilty, yet couldn’t let it go. “Go ahead,” I said, folding a document and tucking it into the bag. “Work is important.” Ethan stood there, frowning. Something probably felt off to him. If this were the old me, I definitely would have frowned and said, “She’s also a doctor. She even worked abroad. Can’t she handle something this small?” “There are so many doctors at the hospital. Why does she always call you?” But this time I said nothing. I didn’t even lift my eyes from the documents. “I probably won’t be back tonight,” he said. “Breakfast together tomorrow?” “Okay.” Ethan left, reassured. The sound of the door closing was soft. The car engine started about two minutes later. I listened to the engine fade away, then packed the remaining materials into the folder and sealed it.

Joanna’s POV The next morning when I woke up, the pillow beside me was cold. I picked up my phone. A message hung on the screen, sent at 3 AM. “Emergency situation last night. Can’t make it back for morning. Sorry.” I stared for two seconds, then locked the screen. The apology was real. Not making it back was also real. The things ranking ahead of me were always so numerous that “sorry” had become a standard phrase. After rehearsal that evening, I carried my bag home. While changing shoes in the entryway, I heard voices in the living room. I walked in to see Grace sitting on the sofa wearing loose loungewear, a suitcase by her feet. Ethan stood nearby. When he saw me, his expression visibly tightened. “Grace… just got back and isn’t adjusting well. Living alone, she keeps having insomnia,” he kept revising his wording. “She lost touch with her friends while abroad. The person she’s most familiar with now is me. I was thinking of letting her stay in the guest room for a few days until she adjusts, then-” “Sure.” I set down my bag. Ethan’s whole body tensed. His lips parted slightly, looking like he was frantically searching his mind for excuses. But I’d agreed too quickly. So quickly that the expression on his face froze instantly, like a gulp of cold air choking in his throat, unable to produce a single word. Grace stood up from the sofa, her voice soft. “Ethan, can I invite a few friends over for dinner? A welcome-back party. I’d feel more at ease if you arranged it.” Before Ethan could answer, I already had. “Sure. I’ll prepare everything.” Grace smiled. A flash of triumph passed through her gaze. That evening, the friends Grace invited arrived one after another. They were all Ethan’s old friends, some former colleagues. The living room quickly grew lively, everyone surrounding Grace. Talking about her experiences, saying she’d gotten thinner, saying she was just as beautiful as before. I stayed in the kitchen cutting fruit, pouring drinks, changing plates. I went in and out of the living room many times. No one asked if I wanted to sit down and chat with them. After several rounds of drinks, someone drunk threw an arm around Ethan’s shoulder. “I’m saying, Ethan, if you and Grace hadn’t broken up back then, your kid would be in kindergarten by now, wouldn’t they?” The living room instantly went quiet. Ethan’s expression changed. He looked sharply at me. I was just coming out of the kitchen carrying a plate of cut watermelon. I set the plate on the coffee table and smiled. “Yeah, pretty unfortunate.” My tone was casual, like commenting on a movie. But no one dared to continue the conversation. The drunk person awkwardly took a drink. The atmosphere took a while to recover. Ethan stared at my profile for a long time. I was smiling. But that smile contained nothing. No jealousy, no grievance, not even concern. Like an outsider entertaining guests. After the dinner party ended, I was washing dishes in the kitchen. Grace leaned against the doorframe. “Joanna, do you know Ethan and I almost got married?” The faucet rushed loudly. My hands didn’t stop. “We’d already bought the ring,” Grace’s voice was loud. “I was the one who initiated the breakup. I was going abroad. He begged me to stay. I didn’t agree.” I turned off the faucet and set down the last plate. I turned around, drying my hands while looking at Grace. “So?” Grace met my gaze, her smile confident, even carrying a trace of pity. “So I’m back now.” She took a step forward. “My place in this home is mine. You, the substitute, should take your curtain call.” The kitchen was quiet for a few seconds. I folded the dish towel neatly and hung it back on the hook. “You’re right,” I said. “I really should take my curtain call.” Grace’s smile froze. “Joanna, you’d better understand your position. You’re nothing but an orphan without family, you-”

Joanna’s POV I interrupted her. “Grace, we’re all adults. If you can’t bear to lose Ethan, you can pursue him, but there’s no need to put me down.” Grace looked angry. I didn’t look at her again. I walked out. In the living room, Ethan had just returned from seeing off friends. He ran right into me. He glanced at the kitchen, then at my face. “They drank too much just now. What they said… don’t take it to heart.” I looked at him, silent for a few seconds. “Ethan, I saw the photo album on your bookshelf.” The air in the living room seemed to freeze. “Every single photo is of Grace. Every one has something you wrote on the back.” My voice was steady. “‘Day 47, missing you.’ ‘If you come back, I definitely won’t let go again.’” Ethan looked flustered. He tried to grab my wrist, but I dodged. “Joanna, let me explain. That was just-” “No need to explain.” I cut him off. Ethan stubbornly grabbed my hand. “Joanna,” his voice was tight, “let’s talk.” “Ethan!” Grace came out of the kitchen holding up her hand, her voice urgent. “I just accidentally cut my finger. It’s bleeding a lot. Quick, look at it for me. Will the injury affect my ability to do surgery later?” Blood was seeping between her fingers. Ethan immediately released my wrist and strode toward Grace. I stood there, looking down at my released wrist. Red marks still remained, but they’d fade quickly. Just like all my traces of him. I glanced at the two of them, then turned and went upstairs. The injury on my ankle still hadn’t healed. The bandage was wrapped tightly. Going up the stairs, I had to grip the railing hard. With Ethan comforting Grace as background noise, when I reached the fourth step, the bandage accidentally caught on a metal strip. I didn’t have time to react. My foot slipped, and I fell heavily backward. That already-swollen foot twisted violently. Sharp pain shot through me. I bit my lip. I didn’t make a sound. Ethan’s voice came from the living room. “What happened?” He walked two steps in this direction, then was called back. “Ethan, I’m still bleeding. Help me first.” The footsteps stopped. I bit my lip, slowly standing up while supporting myself against the wall. My left foot couldn’t bear any weight at all. The ankle had swollen so much it was about to burst through the bandage. I pulled out my phone and dialed emergency services. “Hello, my ankle is injured. I need an ambulance.” Ethan finally came over, his expression terrible. “I’ll take you.” “No need.” As soon as I finished speaking, a siren sounded outside. The paramedics came in and helped me onto the stretcher. From beginning to end, I didn’t let him touch me once. Forty minutes later, I finished treatment and hobbled out of the clinic on crutches. Ethan stood waiting for me in the corridor. “Joanna.” He blocked my path. “What’s wrong with you tonight? Why are you being so cold? If you’re angry, just say so. I can change, can’t I?” I stopped and looked at him. The corridor light was very white. Anxiety and confusion showed in his eyes. “Ethan,” I said, “haven’t you always hated it when I lose my temper?” Ethan froze. “Every time I came to you about Grace, you said I was too sensitive. You said I should be more mature, stop being unreasonable.” He opened his mouth but couldn’t speak. “Now I’m mature.” I looked at him, my voice very soft. “I’m not losing my temper anymore. I can solve my own problems without troubling you.” I paused. “Isn’t this what you always wanted?”

Joanna’s POV Ethan looked panicked. My eyes held genuine confusion. Ethan didn’t dare meet my gaze. I hobbled toward the exit on my crutch. The cold morning light fell on my back. I still kept my spine straight. He seemed very uncomfortable. “Joanna.” He caught up and bent down to pick me up. I didn’t struggle, but I didn’t lean against him either. I just let myself be carried quietly, like a piece of luggage. In the car, he fastened my seatbelt. When his fingers touched me, I pulled away. Ethan gripped the steering wheel in silence for a long time, then spoke. “Joanna, let’s get married.” His tone became firm. “Let’s get married.” The car was instantly very quiet. I turned my head to look at him. “Didn’t you always say marriage was too early?” I said softly. “You said you really liked our current situation.” Ethan’s voice was hoarse. “We’ve been together five years. We’ll get married sooner or later. Why not… right now.” I looked at the barely concealed tension in his eyes and suddenly found it amusing. This expression had appeared on my face constantly over five years. I’d tested him countless times. He always had reasons to refuse: too busy, evaluation period, let’s wait a bit longer. Now that I didn’t care anymore, he was suddenly anxious. That desperate look was almost like he was trying to forcibly lock me up with a marriage certificate. I didn’t answer. We rode in silence all the way home. I went upstairs. Ethan sat motionless on the sofa. My ankle throbbed with dull pain. I lay on the bed and closed my eyes. Before long, the sound of the door closing and an engine starting came from downstairs. He went to find Grace. An expected development. Not worth losing sleep over. The next day, I called the dance company to request leave. I’d already submitted my resignation anyway. Only three days left before I left. After sleeping, I went downstairs. Grace was sitting there eating pasta Ethan had cooked. “Morning.” Grace smiled at me, her manner like the master of this house. Ethan came out of the kitchen, his tone ingratiating. “Nice weather today. Why don’t the three of us go out for some fresh air?” I thought about it. “Okay.” In the park. Grace held Ethan’s arm, chatting about their experiences abroad, laughing and patting his shoulder. I walked behind on my crutch, looking at the roadside flowers, looking at the clouds in the sky. No one turned around to tell me to catch up. I didn’t need them to. When we reached the lake, Grace sat on a bench. I stood at the lakeshore, watching fallen leaves on the water’s surface. Grace walked over, her voice very soft. “Joanna, if there was danger, who do you think Ethan would save first?” Before I could respond, the sharp sound of an out-of-control bicycle came from behind. The bike headed straight toward the two people by the lake. Grace screamed. With my foot injury, I had no time to dodge at all. The bike grazed past me. I lost my balance and fell backward. In that second of falling, I saw Ethan rush over. His arms caught Grace securely. Grace curled up in his embrace. Then I fell into the icy lake water. Through the rippling water, I saw two people embracing tightly on the shore. Grace was buried in Ethan’s arms. He held her shoulders tightly. I kept my eyes open underwater. The cast became heavy with water. My ankle throbbed with a dull ache. I thought to myself, I won’t have any more expectations of Ethan.

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I was chatting enthusiastically with my classmate from Germany when Mom suddenly chimed in: “What are you talking about?” I froze. Mom was indeed a housewife. But in her youth, she had spent five years in Germany. Her German was even more fluent than mine. Yet she couldn’t recognize that I had just called her name. Was she really my mother? No one knew that Mom had lived in Germany—no one except me. When I decided to study abroad in Germany, I started learning German in advance. There was one word I kept mispronouncing no matter how many times I tried. While trimming vegetables, Mom corrected my pronunciation with perfect, fluent German. I asked her how she knew German. She said she’d spent a few years in Germany and even had a name there—”Elara.” I wanted to ask more, but she seemed reluctant to discuss it. I didn’t think much of it at the time and gradually forgot about it. Until today, when my German classmate called. Halfway through our conversation, I went to get some water. Passing through the living room, I suddenly felt playful and called out “Elara.” She didn’t react at all. I called again, a bit louder this time. She looked up at me: “What are you saying? Finished chatting with your friend?” I stood frozen. Her German was so good—how could she not understand my conversation with my classmate? And even if her German had gotten rusty over time, how could she forget her own name? I stared at her for a few seconds. She lowered her head to peel an apple, her knife technique skilled, the peel coming off in one long, continuous strip. That was her habit. Nothing wrong there. On her middle finger was a faint scar, left there when I was six years old. The finger matched too, but something felt off. I just couldn’t put my finger on what. She noticed my gaze and looked up: “Hurry and eat. I made your favorite chocolate nut cake.” I sat at the dining table, my heart pounding. “Mom, did you put peanuts in it? I’m allergic to peanuts.” She glanced up at me, her tone calm: “Didn’t your allergy clear up? Peanuts add texture to nut cake.” I exhaled in relief. If she weren’t my mom, hearing me mention a peanut allergy would have made her say something like “Oh shoot, I forgot you can’t eat peanuts.” But she remembered that my allergy had cleared up two years ago. I silently laughed at myself for being paranoid. Dad emerged from his room, and his eyes lit up when he saw the chocolate nut cake. “Chocolate nut cake again! Millia’s favorite.” He cut me a large slice. I smiled and took a bite. The cake was delicious, but my smile froze on my face. Something was wrong! Completely wrong! She wasn’t my mother!

Dad noticed me spacing out and asked: “What’s wrong? Your mom’s cake not good?” I forced a smile and swallowed the cake: “It’s good. Tastes just like always.” It really was delicious—rich chocolate, plenty of crushed nuts, no problems there. But the almond slices hadn’t been removed. Mom liked almond slices, but because I didn’t, she never included them when making nut cake. She’d done this for over twenty years without a single mistake. But today, I tasted the bitter almond slices. Mom sat across from me, nagging Dad about smoking less and reminding me not to stay up late in Germany, just like always. She even gossiped about the neighbor Mary’s daughter. I smiled and responded, but inside I was growing cold. She showed no signs of being different. Even certain small habits and her tone of voice were identical to Mom’s. But I clearly sensed she wasn’t Mom at all. I stole a glance at Dad. He kept his head down, eating, occasionally looking up to respond. If Mom had been replaced, he should be the first to notice. Yet he sat there peacefully, completely oblivious. After dinner, I made an excuse to return to my room. I opened my phone and pulled up Mom’s social media account. Her last post was three days ago—the day I returned home. She’d posted a photo of an airplane with a caption: “My little bird is finally coming home.” Very ordinary, very normal, in Mom’s usual tone. But the photo was wrong. It was too casual—the plane was crooked in the frame, the horizon tilted. I zoomed in. The composition was completely haphazard. It looked like someone had randomly raised their phone and pressed the shutter. But Mom wasn’t like that. She was meticulous about everything, with high standards for all tasks. Even photographing a tree required her to adjust the angle for ages, ensuring every line in the frame was perfectly straight. This photo wasn’t taken by her. It looked more like something deliberately taken to show me, to prove she was my mother. My heart went cold. I kept scrolling. On April 1st, Mom had posted a photo. It was of roses in the garden. The edges of the petals were outlined in golden sunlight, the background perfectly blurred, the horizon perfectly level. This one was right. I enlarged the photo, searching for differences bit by bit. Suddenly I noticed something in the shadow of the rose stems in the lower left corner—a note, pressed under the flowerpot. I zoomed in further. The note had a line of small text, in German. Jeder Mensch ist geheimnisvoll. Every person is mysterious. Was this sentence a clue Mom deliberately left, or just coincidence? I sent the sentence to my German classmate, who quickly replied. Jeder Mensch ist geheimnisvoll. Du hast gar keine Ahnung, wie gut oder schlecht er ist, bis du ihn wirklich kennst und die Wahrheit siehst. Every person is mysterious. You have no idea how good or bad they are until you truly know them and see the truth. Why would Mom leave this sentence? I suddenly remembered something from two years ago when Mom and I watched a TV show at home. In the show, the female lead wanted a divorce, but the male lead coveted her family’s wealth. He not only killed her but pushed her parents off a cliff. When Mom saw that scene, she said this exact sentence. And coincidentally, Dad really was a poor boy who married a rich girl. Could it be that Mom had a conflict with Dad and wanted a divorce, which was why she wrote this? If Mom wanted a divorce, what would she do first? I sat bolt upright. If I were Mom and wanted to leave a dangerous person, I’d transfer my assets first. Then find a safe place. Germany? I immediately called the airline’s customer service. “Hello, can you check if Chloe booked a flight to Germany in April?” “Yes, Ms. Chloe booked a one-way ticket to Berlin on the evening of April 2nd.” My heart raced faster: “Did she board the flight?” “This ticket shows as unused.” I hung up. The rose photo was posted April 1st. The ticket was for April 2nd. But Mom never boarded. Perhaps she never even left the house!

I didn’t dare think further. This mom in the house was definitely fake. So where was my real mother? Had they hidden her, or had she already been killed? Mom was so smart. She couldn’t have left nothing behind. I closed my eyes, desperately trying to remember. Growing up, Mom and I had shared many things no one else knew about. Some moments only she and I knew. If she really wanted to leave a clue, she would put it somewhere only I could find. My eyes shot open. As a child, I had a tin box where I kept my collection of stickers and marbles. Once, Mom joked that if she ever needed to leave me a secret, she’d put it in that box. Because Dad would never bother going through my junk. I quietly went up to the attic and pulled the tin box from the back of the storage shelf. Inside were the marbles I’d played with as a child, along with an additional note. It contained only a string of numbers—an unfamiliar phone number. I dialed the number. “Hello, I’m Millia. Do you know Chloe?” Silence on the other end for a second. “I’m Attorney Lehman. Ms. Chloe previously commissioned me to draft a will. She planned to leave all her assets to you.” “However… she didn’t show up on the appointed day.” “When was the appointment?” “April 2nd in the afternoon. Ms. Chloe said she needed to go to the hospital in the morning, so she could only schedule the afternoon.” Hospital. My head buzzed. “Was she sick?” “Ms. Chloe didn’t specify the reason. She only mentioned needing to get a checkup.” “Which hospital?” “I’m sorry, that’s Ms. Chloe’s private matter. I don’t know.” He hung up. I gripped my phone, blood rushing backward through my body. I opened my phone and quickly searched for “hospital.” There were three hospitals near our house: First Hospital, Howard Hospital, and the Maternal and Child Health Center. I called all three hospitals. But only one responded—that Ms. Chloe had not visited the hospital on April 2nd. I sat on the floor, my mind racing. April 1st: photographed roses, sent a distress signal. Then scheduled an appointment with a lawyer to draft a will. April 2nd morning: planned to go to the hospital for a checkup but didn’t go—or perhaps Mom never intended to go to the hospital and it was just an excuse. April 2nd afternoon: planned to go to the law office for asset certification, but didn’t go. April 2nd evening: planned to fly to Germany to find me, also didn’t go. But the ticket was booked, meaning Mom definitely intended to go. So something must have happened between the afternoon of April 1st and the morning of April 2nd! What happened in those less than twenty-four hours? As I pondered this, I caught sight of a figure at the attic entrance. I whipped my head around. Dad stood there, leaning against the doorframe, watching me quietly. His eyes were calm, as if he’d been watching me for a long time. “Who were you calling?” He smiled faintly at me, like a leopard that had locked onto its prey. My back was already drenched in cold sweat.

I clenched the note tightly in my palm. Suppressing my panic, I kept my voice as steady as possible: “Nothing. Just chatting with a classmate. Need to write a paper.” Dad nodded without saying more, his thumb gently rubbing the corner of his shirt. That was something he only did when nervous. I decided to test him. “Dad, don’t you think Mom’s been a bit different lately?” A flicker of panic flashed through his eyes. “Not at all. Your mom’s been looking forward to you coming home. Maybe she just missed you too much.” I smiled: “Maybe I’m overthinking it. I missed you guys too.” Then I faked a yawn and rubbed my eyes: “I’m so tired. I’m going to bed.” I walked past him calmly, my steps measured. Down from the attic, through the hallway, into my room. The moment I closed the door, my whole body trembled. I immediately pulled out my phone: “Hello, I need to report something to the police.” “My mother is missing. I suspect she’s been kidnapped or killed, and the perpetrator is in the house right now.” I gave them my address. The police said they’d dispatch officers immediately. I breathed a slight sigh of relief. Just then, I heard rustling outside the door. I pressed my ear against the door. “She’s too smart, just like her mother. She must have discovered something.” “Hide the medicine first. Don’t let her see it.” “Give this to her. Only when she’s completely silenced will we be safe.” My heart went cold. They were going to drug me. In that instant, countless thoughts raced through my mind. They must know I’m suspicious, so they want to silence me permanently. As I considered how to escape, the door was suddenly knocked. “Millia, I’ve warmed up some milk for you. Come out.” The doorknob moved but didn’t turn. “Millia, why did you lock the door? Open up!”

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I married Sebastian White in my sister Isabelle’s place seven years ago. The day Isabelle returned to the country, she smiled at me and said, “Give me back my position as Mrs. White.” My parents knelt and begged me to step aside. I thought the most painful thing was being discarded like trash by my own parents. Then Sebastian coldly said to me, “She’s your sister. What’s wrong with making a sacrifice for her?” It turned out that after seven years of marriage, the woman in his heart had always been my sister. So I chose to let him go. But when the divorce papers were signed, Sebastian knelt on broken glass, his eyes red, begging, “Do you really not love me anymore?” Claire’s POV “Claire, I’ve had my fun abroad. Thank you for taking care of Sebastian these seven years. Now that I’m back, you can give me back my position as Mrs. White.” This was the first thing Isabelle said to me after disappearing for seven years. I stood in the foyer, still holding the supplements I’d just bought for my mother, Margaret. “Had your fun and now you want to come home?” I asked with a cold laugh, my gaze sweeping over my parents standing nearby. My father, Victor, kept his head down, smoking, playing deaf and dumb. My mother, Margaret, had red-rimmed eyes but didn’t dare look at me. Isabelle stood up, walked over to me, and reached out to take my hand. I dodged to the side. She didn’t get angry. She withdrew her hand, smoothed her skirt, and smiled with innocent cruelty. “Yes, abroad wasn’t all that great after all.” “Connor is my biological son, and Sebastian loves me. Claire, you’ve occupied the position of Mrs. White long enough. It’s time to let our family of three reunite.” I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “Isabelle, are you still asleep?” “Sebastian and I are legally married. You think one sentence from you can make me step aside? You think this is a game?” “Claire!” Victor, who had been silent, suddenly slammed the table. The cups rattled loudly. His face was full of displeasure. “Is that how you talk to your sister? You can’t be too greedy! If Isabelle hadn’t left back then, would this wealth have been yours?” My mother Margaret burst into tears and rushed over to grab my hand. “Claire, just do it for the family. Your sister suffered abroad. Now it’s time to give her man back.” Seven years ago, Isabelle got pregnant by some random man and fled the country overnight with the family’s cash. The White family was furious, and the family business faced a broken capital chain. They knelt before me, begging me to marry in her place. Victor held a shard of porcelain to his throat to force me. Margaret knelt on the ground crying. Back then, they said, “Claire, you’re this family’s savior.” Now that their beloved eldest daughter Isabelle was back, I had become an unimportant villain. I shook off Margaret’s hand. “Mom, don’t go too far.” “These seven years, I’ve been in the White family, helping the family secure how many projects, filling how many holes. Don’t you know that in your hearts?” “Now you want me to step aside? Fine.” I looked around at these bloodsuckers. “Have Sebastian come talk to me himself. Besides the law and him personally, no one can make me leave.” With that, I turned and walked away. Behind me came Isabelle’s aggrieved crying and Victor’s furious cursing. “Bitch! Ungrateful bitch!” Walking out of the villa, I realized my whole body was trembling. I took a deep breath of cold air to suppress the nausea rising in my chest. I wasn’t afraid of the family making trouble. Their current wealth and glory all came from me. Cut off the supply and they’d naturally quiet down. What I really couldn’t predict was Sebastian White. What if he also thought that now the original had returned, I, the substitute, should exit? When I drove back to the White family estate, the villa’s lights were blazing. I’d just pushed open the front door when a small figure rushed out from the living room and dove into my arms. “Mom! Why are you only coming back now?” The seven-year-old boy had already grown quite tall, but in front of me he was still like a clingy kitten. He hugged my waist, his tone full of grievance. “I finished all my math problems and wanted you to check them, but I’ve been waiting until now.” Looking at this face that vaguely resembled Isabelle in some features, my heart ached, yet instantly softened. To run away with her lover, Isabelle gave birth and abandoned the baby at the hospital without even nursing him once. I was the one who brought his wrinkled little body home, fed him his first bottle, watched him learn to walk, stayed up with him through his first fever, attended his first parent-teacher conference. These seven years, all his joys and sorrows were connected to me. Now Isabelle wanted to erase all of this with one sentence about being his biological mother? Dream on. I crouched down and smoothed his messy hair, speaking gently. “Sorry, I had something that delayed me. Go to sleep now, and tomorrow morning I will make you something delicious.” “Really?” Connor’s eyes lit up. He leaned over and planted a loud kiss on my cheek. “Mom’s the best! Then I’ll go to sleep first. Good night, Mom!” Watching the child’s happy figure run upstairs, I took a deep breath. This was my son. Regardless of blood relation, no one could take away the child I raised.

Claire’s POV I adjusted my expression and pushed open the master bedroom door. Only a floor lamp was lit in the room, the lighting dim. Sebastian was sitting on the sofa, holding a report in his hand. Hearing the door open, he unhurriedly turned a page. This excessive quietness made my scalp tingle instead. “You’re back?” He finally spoke, his voice low and unreadable. I changed out of my coat, trying to keep my voice steady. “Yes, I went back to the family.” The sound of turning pages stopped abruptly. Sebastian closed the file and casually tossed it onto the side table. He looked up, his deep eyes landing on me. In that instant, I had the illusion of being trapped. “Come here.” He leaned back in his chair and extended his hand toward me. I stiffly walked over and stood before him. Sebastian grabbed my wrist and pulled. I lost my balance and fell onto the armrest of the sofa, forced into close proximity with him. “Your hands are so cold?” My heartbeat skipped. “It’s a bit cold outside.” I lied, turning my head away, not daring to look into his eyes. Sebastian let out a soft laugh, though the amusement didn’t reach his eyes. He forced me to turn my head and face him. “Claire, you’re very distracted today.” His fingers slid down my cheek and pinched gently. “Did something happen?” I bit my lip lightly and swallowed back the words that had reached my mouth. I wasn’t sure if he knew Isabelle had returned, much less how to bring up this matter. “No.” I met his gaze, forcing a smile. “Maybe I’m just tired.” Sebastian stared at me for a long time, then released his hand. “If you’re tired, rest early.” In the morning when I left for work, just as I drove out of the residential complex’s underground parking garage, a figure suddenly rushed out. I braked in shock, looking up to see Isabelle’s twisted face pressed against the windshield. She pounded on the hood violently, looking exactly like a madwoman. “Claire! Get out here!” “You shameless woman! Stealing your sister’s husband, stealing your sister’s son. Give them back to me!” It was rush hour, and people were coming and going at the complex entrance. Passing pedestrians and security guards all stopped, pointing and whispering. Isabelle’s hair was disheveled, making her look pitiful. “I’m the child’s mother! She stole my husband, stole my child!” Public opinion exploded instantly. “Oh my God, is this the wife coming to collect a debt?” “So the current Mrs. White was a mistress who seized the position?” I sat in the car, coldly watching her performance. I locked the doors and lowered the window just a crack. “Make any more trouble and I’ll call the police.” My voice wasn’t loud, but in the noisy environment it was exceptionally clear. Isabelle’s movements paused. She pressed against the window, revealing a strange smile. Through the glass, she mouthed the words to me. “The son is mine by birth. You can’t steal blood ties.” Those words were like a needle, precisely stabbing into the most painful place in my heart. My fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly. Security finally reacted and rushed forward to pull her away. “Move!” I hit the gas, and the car shot forward, its body brushing past Isabelle’s skirt hem. In the rearview mirror, Isabelle was still smiling, triumphant. When I got to the company, I sat in my office holding cold coffee, my heartbeat still not settled. Images from childhood flashed through my mind. Isabelle was the family jewel, I was the pedestal. When she got in trouble, I took the blame. When she didn’t want to do her homework, I did it for her. Seven years ago, she got pregnant out of wedlock and eloped. The family collapsed. To preserve their wealth and glory, my parents pushed me out to fill the hole. I knelt on the ground begging them, saying I’d just graduated, I had my own life. Father slapped me awake. “Isabelle is gone, you have to take her place! The family didn’t raise you all these years to be a freeloader!” Mother just cried. “Claire, the family can’t fall. Just think of it as saving your mother.” I thought about dying. It was Sebastian who added terms to the prenuptial agreement. He would help the family pay off debts, give me the dignity and power of Mrs. White, on the condition that I must be a perfect wife and treat Connor as my own. This was a transaction where I traded my dignity and seven years of youth. Now Isabelle wanted to come back and pick the fruit? Dream on. Since they forced me to sacrifice to create this situation, don’t think I’ll give it up easily now. I don’t owe the family anything. The family owes me. Just as I was thinking, the office door was pushed open. Besides Sebastian, no one dared enter my office without knocking. I quickly adjusted my expression. “Sebastian? What brings you here?” Sebastian wore a dark gray custom suit, carrying the cold air from outside. He didn’t answer, walking straight behind me. A pair of large hands encircled my waist. My body stiffened for a moment, then I forced myself to relax. This was his territory, and I was his possession. “Passing by, came to check on you.” His chin rested in the hollow of my neck, warm breath spraying at my ear. “That recent acquisition case was well done.” “As it should be.” “Connor keeps asking to see you.” He suddenly mentioned the child. My heart tightened. Did he know Isabelle had gone to see the child? Or was he hinting at something? “I’ll go home to spend time with him tonight.” I turned around and straightened his tie, my movements practiced and natural. Sebastian looked down at me, his eyes deep. “As long as you’re obedient.” He patted my face, his tone meaningful. “No one can take your place as Mrs. White.” With that, he released me and turned to leave. It wasn’t until the door closed that I felt a cold sweat on my back. He knew everything, as expected. As long as I behaved and didn’t let Isabelle make things blow up, I would still be Mrs. White. I looked at the city beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, my gaze gradually turning cold. Relying on a man was indeed not as good as relying on myself.

Claire’s POV The winds in the social circle had changed. People began spreading rumors about the real and fake heiresses. Some hinted that I was a substitute who stole my sister’s man, saying now that she was back, I, the impostor, should leave. Isabelle was clever. She befriended some wealthy heirs and heiresses, crying to them about her tragic experience, fabricating herself as someone who sacrificed for love. The annual White Corporation charity gala was about to be held. I went to a top beauty salon for treatments, preparing for the gala. I’d just laid down when a sarcastic voice came from the next bed. “I heard Sebastian White’s legitimate wife is back? Some bitch occupied the position for seven years. It’s time to give it back, right?” The speaker was Mrs. Walsh, whose family made their fortune in coal mining. She’d always wanted to break into the core social circle and disliked me. So recently she’d been getting close to Isabelle. Several other society ladies stopped their treatments, waiting to watch the show. I didn’t even lift an eyelid, keeping my eyes closed while enjoying the technician’s massage. “Use more pressure.” I instructed coolly. Seeing me ignore her, Mrs. Walsh’s voice rose eight octaves in anger. “Stop pretending! Everyone knows you just picked up the leftovers! Once the real wife takes her position, let’s see how arrogant you’ll be then!” The noise was too loud, affecting my mood. I opened my eyes and sat up. Without even glancing at Mrs. Walsh, I beckoned the manager over. “Miss Hart, how may I help you?” The manager rushed over at a trot, bowing ninety degrees. “Don’t let these kinds of riffraff into the VIP area anymore.” I adjusted my robe. “Too noisy. Lowers the class of the place.” The manager’s face changed instantly, immediately turning to Mrs. Walsh. “Mrs. Walsh, I’m sorry, but please move to the regular area, or…” “You dare kick me out?” Mrs. Walsh’s face instantly darkened. “I have a membership card!” “Your card level isn’t sufficient.” The manager’s tone was firm. “Please don’t disturb Miss Hart’s rest.” Under the security guards’ watchful eyes, Mrs. Walsh was driven out cursing like she’d swallowed a fly. The surroundings instantly quieted. Those ladies who’d been waiting to watch me make a fool of myself immediately put on fawning smiles without shame. “Miss Hart is so formidable.” “Exactly, how dare someone like Mrs. Walsh try to cause trouble.” I lay back down. In this circle, you don’t rely on talk. You rely on real financial power and influence. Gossip couldn’t hurt me in the slightest. As long as I still sat in the position of Mrs. White, they had to butter me up. Back in the car, I opened my tablet. The private investigator had sent an encrypted folder. All photos. Isabelle’s seven years abroad were hardly spent suffering. In the photos, she wore heavy makeup, mixing in various underground casinos and nightclubs, with different men by her side. There were also several abortion medical records. The time span was large, with the most recent one from just six months ago. Looking at this evidence, I found it utterly ironic. This was her so-called sacrifice for true love? This was what my parents called suffering hardship? She’d turned her life into mud, and now she wanted to come back and play the victim. Isabelle, if you insist on coming to the gala to seek death, then I’ll grant your wish. When I got home, I heard the sound of a paper shredder as soon as I entered. Connor was sitting on the carpet, feeding a photo into the machine. “Connor, what are you doing?” Connor looked up, his face full of disgust. “Mom, after school today a weird lady stopped me and insisted on giving me a gift. She even said she was my mom.” My heart sank. “What gift?” “A bottle of perfume. It smelled terrible.”

Claire’s POV Connor pointed to the empty box on the table. “And this photo.” I picked up the box. Inside was a photo of Isabelle holding infant Connor, with four twisted words written on the back. “Mommy loves you.” “That lady was so scary. I didn’t want it.” Connor buried himself in my arms, his small hands gripping my clothes tightly. “Mom, I don’t know her. I only have you as my mom.” I held my son tightly, my eyes stinging. Isabelle wanted to play the family card, not knowing that seven years of companionship had long surpassed blood ties. The child wasn’t stupid. He knew in his heart who treated him well. “It’s okay. Stay away from that lady from now on.” I watched the shredder swallow that photo, clenching my fists. Isabelle, you shouldn’t have, you absolutely shouldn’t have reached your hand toward the child. When Sebastian came home, he glanced at the shredded paper in the trash can, seeming to guess what had happened. But he said nothing, just took an invitation from his briefcase and handed it to me. “You’re the hostess for tomorrow night’s gala.” He looked at me steadily. “Don’t disappoint me.” I took the invitation, my fingertips tracing over the words “Mrs. White.” “Don’t worry.” I smiled at him. The charity gala venue. A giant backdrop board was being hoisted up by workers, printed with some real estate company’s huge logo. “Who authorized this to be hung?” I asked. The project director rushed over, sweating profusely. “This was just forcibly requested by the sponsor’s representative. They said Mr. Lee specially approved it…” I didn’t even lift an eyelid, pointing at the board. “Take it down.” “But…” “No buts.” A middle-aged man emerged from behind the scaffolding, an oily smile on his face. “This is a promotional spot specially approved by Mr. Lee. If you take it down, I’m afraid next year’s sponsorship funding won’t be easy to negotiate.” The man deliberately emphasized the words “sponsorship funding,” his eyes showing some contempt for me. One minute later. The man’s phone rang. He answered, and his face instantly turned deathly pale. “What? Bought out? Refund?” I put away my phone. “Now this advertising spot belongs to me.” I stepped forward, my high heels clicking crisply on the marble floor. “Take your garbage and get out of my venue.” The man opened his mouth, looked at the security gathering behind me, and finally slunk away. After dealing with the sponsor, I walked toward the back corridor. The security chief was already waiting with a team of men in black. I handed him a photo. The photo showed Isabelle, an old photo from seven years ago, her expression frivolous. “Burn this face into your memory.” “No matter who brings her in, if this person appears in the banquet hall, your entire security team is fired.” The chief took the photo, breaking into a cold sweat. “Yes, Miss Hart.” VIP lounge. During rehearsal breaks, I sat on the sofa massaging my aching ankles. Several society ladies who’d just received entry tickets were gathered together touching up their makeup. A woman from a wealthy mining family approached with champagne. “Miss Hart, I heard your sister returned to the country? She used to be our trendsetter. Why isn’t she here?” Her voice was loud, and the surroundings instantly quieted. Everyone pricked up their ears. I was looking at the event schedule. Hearing this, I only glanced up briefly without responding. The air froze for three seconds. She realized she might have stepped on a landmine and awkwardly tried to cover. “Oh, I mean, you have much more of the Mrs. White presence now…” I closed the folder and smiled at my assistant beside me. “Re-evaluate Mr. Smith’s membership eligibility for next year.” Mrs. Smith’s face turned deathly pale. Those around who’d wanted to watch the excitement immediately scattered, afraid of being implicated. The main hall doors were pushed open. Sebastian entered with his executive team. He wore an impeccably tailored custom suit, like a star surrounded by admirers. I immediately shoved my feet back into my high heels, enduring the severe pain as I stood up. Sebastian walked straight to the main stage, looking up to check the lighting. From beginning to end, he didn’t look at me once. “Well done.”

Isabelle’s POV Late at night, the TV was playing preview news of the gala, with glamorous images of Claire on screen. A vase smashed into the screen, glass shattering everywhere. I rushed into the kitchen and grabbed a fruit knife. “I don’t want to live anymore!” I pressed the knife against my carotid artery. “If you can’t get me in, I’ll die right here at home! When the police come, I’ll say you forced your biological daughter to death to make way for that substitute!” Mom collapsed on the floor in fright, crying and trying to grab the knife. “Isabelle, don’t do anything foolish! I’ll find a way, I’ll definitely find a way!” The knife in my hand broke the skin slightly, blood beading up. Dad looked at my crazed state, his face iron-gray. After weighing the pros and cons, he gritted his teeth and went to rummage through a drawer. “Put the knife down! I still have a supplier’s debt contract. This is the only opening left.” Only then was I satisfied. This was a desperate gambler’s bet. I had no way back. Mr. Walsh, the supplier, sounded reluctant on the phone. “Mr. Hart, there’s definitely no way through the main entrance. You can only go through the cargo passage.” I looked at my well-maintained fingers, instinctively wanting to scream in refusal. That was a path for lower-class people. But turning to see Claire’s superior attitude on TV, jealousy conquered my pretentiousness. As long as I could get in. Even if I had to crawl through the sewers, I would smash that stage. “I’ll go.” I said through gritted teeth, the words squeezing out from between my teeth. Mom took out a newly purchased haute couture gown from the current season. “Isabelle, wear this. You’ll definitely outshine everyone.” I pushed the new clothes away. I rummaged through boxes and drawers, dragging out a slightly yellowed dress from the very bottom. “This was the first gift Sebastian gave me seven years ago.” I obsessively caressed the hem of the dress. “He wasn’t that rich back then, but this represents that I was his first love.” Mom frowned. “But this one is a bit old…” “What do you know!” I shouted, forcibly squeezing my body into the dress that was already too small. “That substitute can wear expensive clothes but she’s still a fake. As long as I appear in this, Sebastian will remember how much he loved me.” I looked at myself in the mirror and smiled. The next evening, a cargo truck stopped at the back door of the Hart family villa. I wore an oversized work coat, hiding that white gown underneath. I wore a mask and baseball cap, climbing into the cargo hold that reeked of lily fragrance and earth. Dad handed me an envelope. “This contains what you need. You can only succeed. Whether the Hart family can turn things around depends on tonight.” The cargo truck drove on the highway, jolting badly. I huddled between flower buckets, enduring the fishy smell of earth. I took out my phone and clicked on the gala’s red carpet live stream. On screen, flashbulbs fell like a waterfall. Claire walked the red carpet on Sebastian’s arm. The sapphire necklace around her neck sparkled brilliantly under the lights. That was a White family heirloom-level unique piece. I stared fixedly at the screen, my nails digging into my palms. I was hiding in a cargo hold like a rat. While that sister who once served me stood on a cloud receiving worship. All of this should have been mine! The necklace was mine, the position was mine, the glory was mine too! Since I couldn’t have it, then I’d destroy it in front of the whole world.

Claire’s POV I appeared in the banquet hall on Sebastian’s arm. Reporters’ cameras focused on us. Someone boldly asked a question. “Mr. White, recent rumors say Isabelle has returned to the country. Will this affect the relationship between the White and Hart families?” Sebastian’s hand at my waist suddenly tightened. He faced the cameras with a smile. “The relationship between the White and Hart families depends entirely on my wife. Without her, there would be no current cooperation.” I cooperatively turned my head to gaze lovingly at Sebastian. “This is my duty as Mrs. White.” We completed a perfect display of affection before the cameras. Directly blocking rumors about divorce. Flashbulbs went crazy. At an angle no one could see, Sebastian’s fingers lightly caressed my waist. That was some kind of reward signal. Connor tugged at my dress hem, muttering quietly. “Mom, I’m hungry.” I looked down at my son, my heart softening. “Be good, go to the back lounge.” I called over the nanny and crouched down to straighten Connor’s bow tie. “When it’s over, I will take you for late-night snacks. We’ll get your favorite strawberry cake.” Connor’s eyes brightened. He obediently followed the nanny. Watching my son’s small figure disappear through the side door, I was about to stand when I caught something unusual in my peripheral vision. The side door was originally assigned two security personnel. Now, it was empty. White family security never made such basic mistakes. Unless someone deliberately drew them away. “What’s wrong?” Sebastian noticed my stiffness and looked at me. “Nothing.” I suppressed the unease in my heart, though my fingers unconsciously gripped my clutch tighter. On stage, the host was passionately introducing. “Next, please welcome Mr. Sebastian White and Mrs. White to the stage for remarks!” Spotlights instantly hit us. Thunderous applause. Sebastian gallantly extended his hand. I took a deep breath and placed my hand in his palm. Just as we stepped onto the stairs. Sudden chaos erupted. A white figure rapidly broke through the security line. Isabelle wore an old-fashioned white gown, the hem yellowed, looking shabby and pathetic. She stumbled and fell heavily at the edge of the stage. Thump. Through the microphone, this dull sound was amplified countless times. Hundreds of eyes, dozens of cameras, instantly moved from us to focus on this intruder. Isabelle lay on the ground, shoulders trembling, looking as fragile as wet paper. She slowly lifted her head, that face pale as a ghost, but tears hung perfectly on her lashes. She looked at Sebastian, her gaze mournful. “Sebastian…” Her voice carried through the microphone across the entire venue, trembling but crystal clear. “Have you forgotten our anniversary?” My hand instantly tightened, nails digging into my palm. Sebastian stood beside me, motionless. Media surged crazily toward the stage edge. Flashbulbs merged into one blinding mass. Isabelle knelt on the ground, ignoring my existence, staring straight at the cameras. “I’m Connor’s biological mother.” She cried with tears streaming down her face, but her voice carried a vicious edge. “These seven years, someone stole my life.” The crowd below exploded. Those who’d just smiled warmly at me were now whispering, their eyes full of excitement at the drama. “No wonder Mr. White used to be so promiscuous. Turns out the one at home is a thief.” “The son’s real mother came back. The stepmother really should step aside.” “Now there’s a good show. She stole someone’s things for so many years. It’s time to pay the debt.” Isabelle crawled two steps forward, reaching out to grab Sebastian’s pant leg, her fingers deathly pale. “Sebastian, look at me. I’m your Isabelle.” Flashbulbs flashed wildly, casting Sebastian’s cold face in a harsh white glare. I turned to look at him. He was frowning, his gaze passing over Isabelle to look at the PR director in the distance. In that instant, something inside me froze. How could I forget? To him, the White family’s reputation always mattered more than my dignity. I took out my phone. Before I could do anything, the crowd erupted again. “Let us through! Everyone move!”

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