After marrying my husband for the third time, I still hadn’t learned my lesson. Seeing his female secretary in our kitchen making breakfast first thing in the morning, I lost my mind, marched right over, and flipped the dining table. Suddenly, floating comments appeared in my field of vision like a live stream chat: [The reincarnated heroine is a genius! With just a few simple tricks, she got the villainess to self-destruct and divorce three times already. Girl boss is absolutely slaying!] [This annoying brat of a wife always treats her billionaire husband like trash and threatens divorce at the drop of a hat. This time, she finally pushed him to his limit.] [After the fourth divorce, the stupid ex-wife will still be waiting around for him to beg her to come back, completely unaware that the real heroine is already pregnant with his heir and taking her crown. The ex-wife ends up dying all alone in some miserable rented room.] I froze. But I still couldn’t hold back. I swung my hand and slapped Austin across the face. 1 A sharp, ringing crack echoed through the room. But my palm didn’t land on Austin’s face. Gemma had thrown herself in front of him, taking the blow. I stared, momentarily stunned. Before I could even say a word, Gemma was already biting her lip, looking up at me with tear-filled eyes. “Ma’am, if you wanted to take your anger out on me, I would have accepted it,” she sobbed, her voice trembling. “But how could you ruin this breakfast? The two hours I spent cooking don’t matter, but Austin has a sensitive stomach. If he skips breakfast, his ulcer will flare up again…” I rolled my eyes so hard they almost got stuck. “I was aiming for your boss. Who told you to dive in and catch the slap?” Gemma choked on her words, tears instantly welling up. At that moment, Austin stood up. He stepped between us, shielding her, and looked down at me. His voice was completely flat. “Don’t feel like wraps this morning?” I sneered, turning my head away to ignore this man who clearly had no concept of personal boundaries. Austin remained silent for a beat before suddenly addressing Gemma. “You should leave first.” I turned to walk away, cold and furious, but Austin grabbed my wrist. Gemma blinked in surprise, then nodded meekly. “Alright, Austin. I’ll do as you say.” Before stepping out the door, she paused and turned back, offering him a sweet, lingering look. “We have that meeting with Mr. Larson from Apex Enterprises at ten. I’ll head over first to prep the documents. Please join me as soon as you’re done here.” Austin finally glanced at her. “Right.” The way these two were making eyes at each other right in front of me was infuriating. Did they think I was dead? Anger surged through my chest. [Look at the CEO’s dark expression! He’s clearly furious that his girl got slapped. He’s totally done with the toxic wife!] [That’s why he told the heroine to leave first. He was terrified his psycho wife would hurt her again. What a protective king, haha!] [Our precious girl is still thinking about work even after getting hurt. She’s a true power player worthy of standing by his side, unlike the useless, pretty-faced ex-wife!] [Don’t worry, the wife is about to demand a divorce and he’s going to agree instantly. The plot is finally getting back on track!] My heart skipped a beat. I actually had been planning to throw a fit and demand a divorce. Were these bizarre floating comments actually real? Had Austin really fallen for Gemma, just waiting for me to step aside? Then why the hell did he keep begging me to remarry him? Before I could wrap my head around it, Austin was already tying on an apron with practiced ease. “What do you want to eat? I don’t have time for anything complicated since I have to run. How about some eggs and toast?” [Why hasn’t she brought up the divorce yet? The CEO is stuck cooking for her just waiting for her to say it. He couldn’t even leave with our sweet girl. Annoying!] [The toxic wife keeps using her father’s mentorship to guilt-trip him. Poor guy has divorced her three times and still can’t shake her off.] [That’s why the heroine couldn’t stand her. Reincarnating was her chance to snatch the CEO away and shower him with the love he actually deserves!] Staring at the aloof man in front of me, a sudden wave of bitterness stung my nose. “I’m not hungry! Just go to work!” I yanked my hand out of his grip and stormed back into my bedroom. Not long after, the sound of an engine revving came from the driveway. Austin had actually left without saying another word. 2 My temples throbbed with rage. Lying on the bed, my chest felt incredibly tight. I didn’t get it. Austin and I were the ones who were married. Why were these bizarre comments cheering on a blatant homewrecker? Just because Gemma was the heroine and I was the villainess? My birth had been a difficult one, resulting in mild oxygen deprivation. Because of that, I had always been a bit slow. When I was a kid, my relatives used to whisper behind my back, joking that if someone kidnapped me and sold me off, I’d probably count the cash for them with a big smile. I was also incredibly lazy. Whenever things got slightly difficult, my immediate reaction was to throw in the towel. Hey, persistence is hard. Giving up is effortless. Fortunately, I had an incredible father. He was the director of the National Academy of Sciences. He had mentored countless brilliant minds, and Austin was his absolute star pupil. Austin was also breathtakingly handsome. Tall, lean, and possessing the kind of presence that commanded any room he walked into. I had fallen for him at first sight. Armed with my dad’s connection, I spent three years chasing this absolute iceberg of a man until I finally melted him. While Austin came from humble beginnings, his talent was undeniable. Even my hard-to-please father had nothing but praise for him. And Austin certainly proved him right. The projects his team developed were wild successes, and within a few short years, his net worth skyrocketed, turning him into the brilliant young billionaire everyone gossiped about. With money and power, the vultures naturally started circling. Back when he was a nobody, I was the only one who wanted him. Now that he was wealthy and gorgeous, things had changed. Still, even though Austin always treated me with a certain cool detachment, he never showed the slightest interest in other women either, so I had never worried. Until Gemma showed up. I noticed Austin treated her differently. After all, she was the reason I had walked away three times already. Gemma’s tactics were cheap but effective. She would leave lipstick marks on his collar, send him late-night texts loaded with double entendres, or show up at galas wearing the exact same designer dress as me. But Austin was hopelessly dense. Whenever he saw me shaking with rage, he would just say, “You’re overthinking it. She’s not like you.” I decided to choose a better moment to address it. One night, in the middle of our private, intimate moments in bed, I brought it up and urged him to fire her. Austin paused his movements, pinning me down. “You’re right. She’s a distraction.” Yet the very next day, she was still right by his side. Furious and exhausted, I decided to set him free. I demanded a divorce. Austin only stared at me, his eyes dark. “Are you sure?” “Yes,” I snapped. “Fine,” he replied. He didn’t beg. But every single time, before a month had even passed, he would show up at my door asking me to come back. And I always agreed. Honestly? I was a sucker for his face and his body. 3 I rolled over in bed. The screen of comments in my mind was in absolute chaos: [What the hell? Why isn’t the toxic wife falling for it this time? In the original timeline, they should be in their fourth cooling-off period by now!] [Out of respect for his mentor, the CEO won’t be the one to ask for a divorce. Does this mean our sweet girl has to keep being his secret lover? This is so frustrating.] [Don’t worry, the wife is stupid and petty. The heroine just needs to provoke her a little more, and she’ll throw another tantrum.] [Forget about the wife, look! The heroine is accompanying the CEO to a client dinner. Someone just asked if she was Mrs. Finch, and he didn’t deny it! Ahhh, silent confirmation!] So Austin really did have feelings for Gemma. I angrily pulled my gaze away from the floating text. But I wasn’t stupid. I knew Austin’s character inside out. When it came to women who weren’t his wife, the man was incredibly stingy. When I was his wife, my credit cards had no limits. I could buy a whole wall of Hermès bags without him batting an eye. But the moment we divorced, he made sure I left with absolutely nothing. Not a single cent. Over the years, I had grown accustomed to living a life of luxury. A single spa session cost thousands. My own savings wouldn’t even last me two weeks. That was the real reason I always agreed to remarry him so quickly. So this time, I wasn’t going to be the one to bring up the divorce. Since Austin was so in love with Gemma, he would have to be the one to make the move to give her a proper title. I just had to wait. Let him ask for the split. That way, I could legally demand a massive payout. But before that happened… I was going to spend his money like there was no tomorrow! With that thought, I bolted upright and called my exclusive spa, booking a series of premium treatments worth a fortune. The next morning, the moment I woke up, I had a text from Austin: [Having dinner out tonight. Don’t wait up.] I stared at the screen for a long moment. Then, I dialed my best friend. Why spend his money alone when I could bring my bestie along for the ride? I threw on a high-end designer dress and rushed out the door. But as we walked out of the spa and passed a luxury jewelry boutique, Phoebe suddenly gasped. “Sienna, isn’t that your man? Who is that girl with him?” I followed her gaze. Through the glass window, I saw Gemma. She was leaning over a velvet counter, focusing intently on a tray of diamond rings. Beside her stood Austin, wearing a remarkably soft, gentle smile. So this was the business he had to attend to. 4 Phoebe finally recognized Gemma’s face and spat, “Isn’t that the homewrecker who caused your last divorce?” “What the hell is Austin playing at? He literally just remarried you, and now he’s out shopping for rings with her?” Phoebe grabbed me as I instinctively tried to turn away, pulling up her sleeves. “Sienna, why are you running? That’s not like you! You are the legal Mrs. Finch! Come on, let’s go in there and give them hell!” My best friend’s words made me pause. I suddenly realized how much those stupid floating comments were affecting me. I was acting like a doomed supporting character who was bound to be abandoned, choosing to retreat without a fight. But why should I back down? Even if I was destined to lose, I was going to make this cheating duo pay a heavy price first! Taking a deep breath, I balled my hands into fists, ready to catch them red-handed. Inside the shop, Austin seemed to sense something. He abruptly turned his head toward the window. Seeing my furious face, his brow instantly furrowed. [Look at how annoying the wife is. The CEO was smiling so sweetly at our girl, but the second he saw his wife, his face fell!] [Omg, is he helping her pick out an engagement ring? Is he planning a proposal?] [It breaks my heart knowing the toxic wife is going to use her dad’s influence to bully the heroine again. But her time is coming. Her father’s downfall is happening soon, and without him, let’s see how she throws her weight around!] What?! Is something terrible going to happen to my dad? The fury on my face instantly vanished, replaced by sheer panic. I couldn’t care less about confronting them anymore. I grabbed Phoebe’s hand, shoving my black card into her palm. “Max out this card. Buy whatever you want. I have an emergency.” Without waiting for her reply, I sprinted to my car and sped toward my father’s house. According to the comments, my dad was already feeling unwell but was brushing it off as typical old-age aches and pains. By the time he realized something was seriously wrong, it would be too late. He would pass away in less than three days. The mere thought of losing the father who had cherished me my entire life sent a sharp, agonizing pain through my chest. As I burst through the front gate, I saw my dad in the garden, watering his flowers. Since retiring, this had become his favorite hobby. “Well, look who it is! My little princess is home!” Seeing his cheerful, smiling face, my eyes welled with tears. When my mother died from complications during my birth, my father’s hair had turned white overnight. For years, people urged him to remarry. My grandmother had even threatened him, arguing that I was slow and practically a simpleton, and that he needed to have another child so the family line wouldn’t end. But he refused. He dedicated his life entirely to me, giving me all the love and indulgence in the world. Recalling the comments, I rushed over. “Dad, when was the last time you had a full physical exam?” “Uh, not too long ago. Maybe six months?” His eyes darted away, his voice lacking confidence. “Your old man is as strong as an ox. Aside from this stubborn cough, I’m perfectly fine. Don’t worry, I’ll be around to help you raise your kids!” Hearing that, everything clicked. For some reason, as people got older, they developed an irrational fear of doctors. My dad was no exception. “We are going to the hospital. Right now.” Seeing my stern face and realizing I was truly angry, my dad didn’t dare argue. He meekly followed me to the hospital. To my utter surprise, halfway through the checkups, Austin showed up. 5 Wasn’t he supposed to be with Gemma? Why was he here? But I was in no mood to figure it out. Listening to the veteran specialist’s diagnosis, my tears began to flow freely. Austin stepped forward to pull me into his arms, but I pushed him away with all my might. “This is all your fault! If you and Gemma hadn’t kept stressing me out every single day, I wouldn’t have been too distracted to notice my dad’s health! I would have caught this sooner!” Instead of letting go, he held me even tighter. Unable to break free, I ended up wiping my tears and nose right onto his expensive jacket. Austin sighed, gently stroking my back. “Shh, okay, it’s my fault. But your dad’s condition is in its absolute earliest stage. It’s completely curable with medication. Why are you crying like it’s the end of the world?” I froze. Looking up, I met the amused, knowing gazes of both the doctor and my father. Embarrassed, I let out a wet hiccup. While Austin went to get the prescription, my dad pulled me aside, speaking in a warm, earnest tone. “My sweet girl, Austin isn’t a man of many words, but I can tell his feelings for you are genuine. You throw the word ‘divorce’ around daily, yet he still accommodates your every whim.” “With his current status, there’s no shortage of women trying to climb into his bed. But have you ever actually seen him cross the line?” I opened my mouth to protest, wanting to warn him not to be fooled by Austin’s quiet exterior. I wanted to tell him about what I saw at the jewelry store, and the bizarre floating comments. But looking at the silver hair at his temples, I swallowed my words. I didn’t want to stress him and make his condition worse. I could wait until he was fully recovered. After driving my dad back to his estate and giving the housekeeper strict instructions, I turned around to find Austin still standing there. He was surprisingly free today. I didn’t ask questions, silently sliding into the passenger seat. The drive back to our place was quiet. Once home, I took a long shower, got changed, and crawled into bed to review the shopping list Phoebe had sent over. Just as I was admiring the ridiculous total, a pair of large, warm hands slid under the covers. I looked up into Austin’s deep brown eyes. He was wearing a loosely tied robe, his dark hair still damp from his own shower. I frowned, about to ask what he thought he was doing, when a cold sensation slipped onto my ring finger. I gasped softly, looking down at my hand. It was a massive diamond ring. And the design looked exactly like the one I had seen at the boutique earlier today. “Didn’t you always complain that your ring wasn’t big enough?” Austin murmured, his voice husky against my ear. Before I could say a word, his hot lips pressed against mine. The comments in my mind exploded: [Oh my god! The villainess actually used her sick dad to manipulate him! Poor CEO had to take the ring meant for our heroine just to placate his crazy wife!] [It breaks my heart seeing him forced to perform in bed like this. What’s worse is that the heroine hasn’t even touched him yet, but this toxic b*tch gets to enjoy him whenever she wants!] [It’s fine, it’s just physical for him. His heart belongs entirely to our girl!] To be fair, we hadn’t been intimate in a while. And according to the comments, Austin and Gemma were still strictly platonic? Meaning, my husband was still clean. With that reassuring thought, I stopped overthinking and pulled him closer, matching his intensity. But right at that moment, Austin’s phone began to vibrate on the nightstand.

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Five years later, in a chaotic emergency room, I crossed paths with my ex-husband, Tristan Sinclair. His new wife was on the brink of death from a stray bullet, yet he stood there, demanding to know why I refused to perform the surgery myself. “Are you still holding a grudge against me?” Facing his interrogation, I looked down at my trembling hands. His words echoed the exact tone he had used five years ago when he handed me the divorce papers. “Nora, I don’t love you anymore. I don’t even have a shred of pity left for you.” I whispered those words back to myself, turned on my heel, and walked out of the consultation room. He would never know that the woman once hailed as a surgical prodigy could no longer even hold a scalpel. 1 I stood silently in the sterile chill of the operating room, watching the lead surgeon apply the final, precise sutures. The steady beep of the heart monitor was the only sound bridging the gap between life and death. When the last knot was tied, I quietly slipped out, shedding my bloody scrubs. Pushing through the double doors of the surgical ward, the first thing I saw was Tristan Sinclair. He was sitting on the hard plastic bench in the hallway, his head buried in his hands. At the sound of the doors swinging shut, he looked up. His bloodshot eyes locked onto me instantly. I pulled down my surgical mask, keeping my voice flat and professional. “The surgery was a success. She is out of danger.” I took a step to walk past him, but his voice stopped me. “Nora,” he rasped, his voice rough and dry. I halted, but I did not turn around to face him. “Amman is practically a war zone right now,” he said, his footsteps echoing slightly as he took a step closer. “What on earth are you doing here?” Why was I here? I looked down the long, dim hallway. This was a place where the rattle of gunfire was more common than fireworks, where human life was treated as cheaply as dust. When I didn’t answer, he closed the distance between us. The familiar scent of woodsmoke and expensive cologne washed over me, a ghost from a past life. “Does your family even know you’re in Jordan?” My entire body went rigid. I turned slowly, staring at him in utter disbelief. A wave of cold, dark absurdity washed over me. He didn’t know. He actually had no idea that my parents were gone. But then, why would he? I took two steps back, deliberately re-establishing the boundary between us. “I like it here,” I said, my voice steady. “Saving lives doesn’t require a passport. I think my parents would be proud of the life I’m living now.” Tristan’s dark brows drew together, his eyes darkening to a stormy gray. I knew that look all too well. It was the warning sign before his temper flared. But what was he even angry about? Was he mad because of my lack of deference, or was he simply furious that I was no longer under his control? Either way, it didn’t matter. I had no desire to entangle myself in his web again. Before he could speak, I walked away. The moment I stepped back into my clinic, my colleague Jane followed me in. A mischievous grin played on her lips. “Well, well. Who is the handsome stranger, Dr. Prescott? He looked like he wanted to swallow you whole.” The air in the room grew heavy. I sat down at my desk, trying to ignore her. “He was just asking about his wife’s condition. Nothing more.” “Really?” Jane leaned against the doorframe, clearly not buying it. Before she could pry further, the muffled vibration of Tristan’s phone echoed from the hallway. We heard him answer in a low, clipped tone as his footsteps faded down the corridor. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. When I looked up, Jane was sitting across from me, her chin resting in her hands. “Nora, spill it,” she demanded, her eyes bright with curiosity. “What’s the real story between you two?” I buried my face in a stack of patient charts, keeping my tone indifferent. “If you have this much free time, you should go monitor the aortic dissection patient in ward four.” Jane laughed, waving her phone in front of my face. “Oh, come on. If you don’t tell me, I’ll just go ask him myself. I already looked him up. Tristan Sinclair, the king of New York’s financial district. Ruthless in business, a daredevil in his private life. A total mystery, though. There isn’t a single photo of his wife online. He keeps her completely hidden from the press.” My fingers tightened around the edge of the chart, crumpling the paper. He had protected her so well. He had spared no expense to keep Vivian Mercer safe from the prying eyes of the world. I let out a soft, humorless laugh. Jane was stubborn enough to actually go confront him. After a long silence, I finally spoke. “He’s my ex-husband.” Jane’s jaw dropped. “What?!” 2 My mind drifted back to the first time I saw Tristan. He was the star alumnus invited to speak at my medical school graduation. On that stage, he was magnetic, brilliant, and completely out of reach. He moved with a quiet confidence that made it seem like the spotlight had been invented just for him. I fell for him instantly, a silent, hopeless crush. I knew a girl like me stood no chance with a man destined for the stratosphere. So when my father came home one evening and told me that the Sinclair family had selected me for an arranged marriage, I locked myself in my room and cried tears of pure joy. I thought I was the luckiest woman in the world. And in the beginning, our marriage felt like a dream. Tristan remembered every anniversary. He showered me with thoughtful gifts and brought home the random things I mentioned liking. For a couple of years, I was the envied Mrs. Sinclair, blessed with a loving husband and a thriving career as a rising star in cardiothoracic surgery. I pulled my lips into a bitter smile. But then, Vivian Mercer returned. She was loud, vibrant, and lived life on the edge. She chased adrenaline and radiated a wild, infectious energy. Tristan, the stoic man I had always thought of as an unshakeable pillar, was instantly drawn into her orbit. The first time, he missed my birthday dinner because he was skydiving with Vivian. The second time, he forgot our wedding anniversary entirely to help her photograph a sandstorm in the desert. It happened again and again, until it became a routine. By the time I reached this part of the story, Jane’s face was red with anger. “What an absolute, cold-blooded bastard,” she spat. I took a slow breath and continued. Eventually, I had reached my breaking point. I found Vivian and slid a check for five million dollars across the table. Leave him, I had told her. I am his wife. She had smiled and accepted the money. But that very night, Tristan stormed into our house and threw the check in my face. The sharp paper cut my cheek, but the look in his eyes hurt far worse. It was a cold, vicious fury I had never seen before. “Nora, don’t you dare use your dirty family money to insult Vivian,” he snarled. “As long as you stay quiet and behave, you will remain the respected Mrs. Sinclair. Don’t ruin it.” Jane was practically shaking. “Respected? Was he blind?” Apparently, he was. And back then, so was I. After that night, Tristan stopped hiding. He flaunted Vivian at social events and joined her in every dangerous stunt he had once called foolish. Skydiving, wingsuit flying, deep-sea diving. Until the night they went street racing, and their sports car wrapped around a concrete barrier. Vivian was rushed to my hospital. Her uterus was ruptured, her abdomen was filled with blood, and her vitals were flatlining. I was the chief surgeon on call that night. Jane held her breath, waiting. I hated Vivian, but my oath as a doctor was sacred. I blocked out my personal feelings and fought for hours to save her. In the end, to stop the catastrophic bleeding and keep her alive, I had no choice but to perform a hysterectomy. But when she woke up, they blamed me. “You did this on purpose!” Vivian screamed from her recovery bed, her face contorted with rage. “You wanted to make sure I could never have Tristan’s children!” I tried to explain the medical necessity, but she wouldn’t listen. In a fit of rage, she grabbed her heavy metal water flask and hurled it at my face. It struck my forehead. Blood poured into my eyes, hot and blinding. Exhausted and hurt, I walked out of her room. But there was no apology waiting for me. Instead, the hospital administration suspended me pending an investigation. A week later, I was quietly fired. And the day after Vivian was discharged, Tristan handed me the divorce papers. I begged. I cried. I made a fool of myself trying to claw back any shred of the man who had once held me gently. But he was hollow. “Nora, I don’t love you,” he said, his voice completely devoid of warmth. “I don’t even pity you anymore. Just sign it.” 3 Looking at Jane’s tear-stained face, a strange calmness settled over me. I reached out and patted her hand. “So you signed them and came straight to Jordan?” she asked, wiping her eyes. “No,” I whispered. “I didn’t.” Back then, the rejection had driven me mad. I grabbed the papers and tore them to shreds right in front of him. “I will never sign these, Tristan! Not unless I’m dead!” From that day on, Tristan never set foot in our home again. Instead, he used his massive financial influence to systematically dismantle my family’s business, trying to starve me into submission. In my desperation, I did the stupidest thing of my life. I leaked intimate photos of him and Vivian to the press. Overnight, Vivian was branded a homewrecker. The public backlash was vicious. But that act of retaliation triggered my absolute ruin. Within twelve hours, the internet was flooded with highly realistic, AI-generated nude photos and explicit videos with my face on them. No matter how much I screamed that they were fake, nobody believed me. Furious, I drove to the Sinclair headquarters. Every employee I passed whispered and pointed, their eyes filled with disgust. Tristan’s assistant tried to block me, but I shoved past him and threw open the office door. Tristan and Vivian were wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing passionately. The sight made my stomach turn. I lost control. I ran forward and slapped Vivian across the face. The next second, a heavy blow struck my own cheek, sending me crashing to the floor. My face went numb. Tristan stood over me, his eyes icy. “Nora, I’ve tolerated your tantrums for too long. It seems your family has no reason to exist in this city anymore.” As I lay on the floor, cradling my bruising face, my phone rang. It was my father. His voice sounded incredibly fragile. He told me that my mother’s heart had failed after seeing the horrific things written about me online. She was in the ICU. A week later, my family went completely bankrupt. My parents had to sell everything, including their home, just to settle the debts. They aged ten years in a matter of days. On the day they prepared to leave New York, my father hugged me tightly. His shoulders were stooped, his spirit broken. “Let him go, Nora,” he wept into my hair. “Tristan is not a good man. Come home with us.” Looking at my broken parents, the fog of my obsession finally cleared. I realized my stubbornness had destroyed the only people who truly loved me. “I will, Dad,” I sobbed. “Let me just finalize the paperwork, and I’ll join you.” I went back to my empty apartment to pack my things, waiting for Tristan’s lawyers to bring the new papers. But as I was wrapping up a box, the world spun, and I collapsed. I woke up in a hospital bed. The doctor delivered the news with a gentle smile. I was two months pregnant. That tiny heartbeat threw everything into chaos. I wanted to divorce him and raise the child alone, but the Sinclair family refused to let their bloodline be raised outside their household. For a brief moment, Tristan and I reached a tense, fragile truce. Until the afternoon I was kidnapped. I woke up tied to a chair in a damp, abandoned warehouse. Vivian stood over me, looking down at my bound hands with a smug grin. “Nora, let’s play a game. Who do you think Tristan will choose? You, or me?” I closed my eyes, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing my fear. When Tristan finally burst through the door, my heart leaped. “Tristan, please,” I begged, tears streaming down my face. “Save the baby! Vivian set this whole thing up!” But my pleas only made his face harden with disgust. He looked at me as if I were a monster, a crazy woman who would stage her own kidnapping just to win him back. Without a second thought, he untied Vivian, scooped her into his arms, and walked out. He left me behind, bound and pregnant, in the dark. Once Tristan was gone, the men Vivian hired stepped out of the shadows. Under her parting instructions, they beat me until the floor was slick with my blood. They left me there to rot. But I couldn’t die. I had to get back to my parents. I dragged my broken body across the concrete floor, inch by inch, crawling toward the light. I crawled for an entire day and night before someone finally found me. By the time I woke up in the hospital, the baby was gone. And my heart died that day, buried alongside my unborn child.

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1 On the night I secured a fifty-million-dollar profit margin for the company, my year-end bonus finally cleared: $250. In the memo line, there were only two words: Dog food. At that exact moment, Scarlett, the HR director who barely knew how to open an Excel sheet, posted a photo of a Porsche key fob on her social media feed. Her caption read: “My favorite cousin spoils me the most! Seven-figure year-end bonus!” The entire office waited for me to lose my mind or quit on the spot. Instead, I smiled and sent a polite text to my boss: “Thank you, sir.” Then I turned around and knocked on the door of his wife’s penthouse. I laid a thick stack of hotel check-in records and falsified accounting ledgers on the glass table in front of her. Elizabeth Croft looked at me, a dangerous smile touching her lips. “How do you want to play this, Nate?” I loosened my tie, taking a slow step toward her. “I want to be the man sitting right beside you,” I said, my voice low. “In the boardroom, and in your life.” … I stared at the three-digit deposit notification on my screen, momentarily stunned by the sheer audacity of it. “Oh, look. Nate, did your bonus finally hit?” Scarlett stepped up to my desk, her ten-inch stiletto heels clicking sharply against the linoleum. She lazily twirled her new Porsche key ring around a finger adorned with glittering, diamond-encrusted acrylic nails. I locked my phone and looked up. “Is there something you need, Scarlett?” She giggled, covering her mouth in mock innocence. “Not really. It’s just that my cousin, I mean, Richard, wanted me to ask if you were satisfied with your reward.” She bent down, leaning close enough for her heavy perfume to clog my senses. “I was the one who told payroll to send you that two-fifty, Nate. A stray like you doesn’t deserve a penny more.” “The company had a tough year. We all have to make sacrifices,” I replied, my voice dry and empty of emotion. My lack of reaction seemed to bore her. “Ugh, look at you. No spine at all,” she sneered. She stood up straight and raised her voice so the entire open-plan office could hear. “Listen up, everyone! Richard is treating the whole team to dinner tonight to celebrate our record-breaking year. Make sure you all show up!” The room erupted into cheers and sycophantic applause. Just then, my desk phone buzzed. It was Richard Cross, the CEO. “Get in here,” his voice grunted through the receiver. I grabbed my notebook and walked into his corner office. Richard was reclined in his high-back leather chair, his feet propped up on the mahogany desk. “Have a seat.” He jerked his chin toward the stiff wooden chair across from him. “I assume you got the text?” He exhaled a thick cloud of cigar smoke, looking at me like I was a joke he had already heard. “I did. Thank you, Richard.” He let out a sharp chuckle, flicking his cigar ash onto the plush carpet. “Don’t go thinking it’s too little. You know what the market is like right now. It’s a miracle the company is even afloat. Sure, your project brought in fifty million, but our overhead is astronomical. That two-fifty might seem like pocket change, but money is money. Go buy yourself a nice dinner.” Our net profit had tripled this year, yet here he was, crying poverty. I simply nodded. “I understand, Richard. Thank you for the perspective.” He blinked, clearly surprised by my submissiveness. The contempt in his eyes deepened. “Good. Since you’re being so reasonable, there’s one more thing.” He slid a manila folder across the desk. “The Apex Group account. You don’t need to worry about the follow-up. Hand all the files over to Scarlett.” My eyes snapped up. The Apex account was a massive deal I had nurtured for three long years. It was set to be our primary revenue stream for the next five years. Now that the hard part was done and the harvest was here, he was giving it to his mistress on a silver platter. “Richard, Scarlett doesn’t know the technical specifications, nor does she have any experience in high-level negotiations. The team at Apex—” “Enough!” Richard slammed his palm on the desk, cutting me off. “What is that tone, Nate? Do you own this company? I put whoever I want on my accounts!” He leaned forward, his face red. “Scarlett is young talent. She needs to be tested. As a senior executive, you need to show some leadership. Unless, of course, you’ve been hoarding these client relationships to start your own little agency?” He was setting the stage to freeze me out entirely. I didn’t argue. I stood up, pulled out my pen, and signed the transfer agreement with a smooth, unbroken stroke. Richard stared at my signature, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Now that’s what I call a team player. Make sure you come to the party tonight. Buy Scarlett a drink; she’s your boss now.” I walked back to my desk. Scarlett was already ordering a couple of interns to clear out my files. “Oh, Nate, this archive box is so heavy,” she said, pointing a manicured finger at a plastic tub on the floor. “Be a dear and carry it into my new office, will you?” Without a word, I bent down, picked up the heavy box, and carried it in. “My pleasure, Scarlett.” The rest of the office watched the humiliation unfold like vultures waiting for a carcass. I ignored them all. Back at my computer, I opened the main directory for the Apex project and ran a hidden script I had embedded months ago. On the surface, the data looked perfectly intact. But I had set a twenty-four-hour timer. If I didn’t log into the secure server from my personal gateway within that window, the entire database would corrupt into useless code. I shut my laptop, took out my burner phone, and sent a message to a contact saved only as S. “The fish took the bait. See you tonight.” The reply came instantly. “Perfect.” 2 Seven PM, the grand ballroom of the Hilton. Richard had rented out the entire top floor to celebrate the company’s record year. I stood at the entrance wearing the same gray suit I had worn for three years. The hostess checked my badge, her polite smile instantly freezing. “Mr. Harrison, your table is… over there.” She pointed toward a dim corner of the ballroom, right next to the service corridor and the restrooms. The table didn’t even have a tablecloth. Just a couple of chipped plates and a plastic pitcher of water. “It’s an overflow table,” she added dismissively. “I’m sure you don’t mind.” “Not at all,” I said, walking over. At the center table, Richard and Scarlett were surrounded by a crowd of adoring managers. Scarlett was wearing a backless crimson designer gown, her neck draped in a diamond necklace. I knew the price of that necklace. It was exactly the amount of the commission Richard had cut from my bonus. “Quiet down, everyone!” Richard shouted into a wireless microphone, his face flush with alcohol. “This year’s success belongs to all of us! But we owe a special round of applause to our new director, Scarlett! She’s young, she’s ambitious, and she just secured the Apex Group account! To celebrate, I’m personally awarding her a two-million-dollar cash bonus!” The room erupted into thunderous applause. “To Scarlett!” someone yelled. “Brilliant leadership!” another chimed in. Scarlett leaned into Richard’s side, her eyes finding me in the dark corner. “Oh, I didn’t do much,” she purred into the microphone, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “I just had a great mentor. I’m not like some people who spend years dragging their feet only to end up worth two hundred and fifty bucks.” A wave of cruel laughter rippled through the room. “Man, Nate really took a beating today.” “He always acted like he was indispensable. Turns out he’s just a placeholder.” “Can’t even compare to Scarlett.” I sat quietly, raising my teacup to my lips, blowing gently on the steam. The heavy double doors of the ballroom swung open again, and the laughter died down. A woman in a simple, elegant slate-gray dress walked in. Her dark hair was pinned up loosely, and she carried herself with a quiet, undeniable authority that made the room feel suddenly small. Elizabeth Croft. She was Richard’s wife on paper, the co-founder of the firm, and the person whose family trust actually funded the entire operation. But over the last few years, Richard had systematically pushed her out of the day-to-day operations, keeping her isolated at home. Richard’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered his mask. “Elizabeth! Darling, what are you doing here? You should be resting at home.” Scarlett quickly let go of Richard’s arm, taking a cautious step back. Elizabeth ignored her husband entirely, walking toward the head table. As she passed my dark corner, her gaze flicked to me for a brief instant. I gave her a subtle, polite nod. She kept walking, but that split-second exchange hadn’t escaped Scarlett’s sharp eyes. Scarlett’s expression darkened. She grabbed a full glass of Cabernet from a passing waiter and marched over to my table. “Nate, what are you doing sitting all the way back here?” she asked loudly, drawing the attention of the surrounding tables. “Richard is so forgetful. How could he put our star employee next to the toilets?” She offered a sweet, patronizing smile, but as she reached out to set the glass down, her wrist gave a sudden, deliberate jerk. The dark red wine splashed squarely across my face and down the front of my white shirt. “Oh my gosh! I am so, so sorry!” Scarlett shrieked, grabbing a single napkin and frantically dabbing at my chest, smearing the stain further. “My hand slipped! You aren’t mad at me, are you, Nate?” Nobody offered me a napkin. They just grinned, enjoying the free entertainment. Richard called out from the stage, his tone annoyed. “Nate! What is wrong with you? You can’t even hold a drink? Go clean yourself up in the restroom. Stop embarrassing us.” I pushed Scarlett’s hand away. The cold wine dripped from my chin onto my tie. “No need,” I said calmly. I stood up, unclipped my security badge, and let it drop directly into Scarlett’s half-empty wine glass. “Richard, this wine is too expensive for a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar employee,” I said, my voice carrying clearly through the quiet room. “You’ll have my resignation in your inbox tomorrow morning.” I turned and walked out. Richard’s furious roar followed me down the hall. “Nate! You walk out that door, and you’re finished in this town! I will blacklist you from every firm in New York!” I didn’t slow my pace. As I reached the elevator, I looked back. Elizabeth was still sitting at the main table, swirling her wine. She caught my eye, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips. Then she set her glass down and stood up. “I’m tired,” she told her husband. “I’m going home.” 3 Eleven PM. The rain was coming down in sheets outside Elizabeth’s luxury townhouse overlooking the East River. The heavy oak door swung open, revealing Elizabeth in a flowing silk emerald robe, a thin cigarette smoldering between her fingers. She stepped aside. “Come in.” I took off my wet coat and walked into the living room, placing my leather briefcase on the marble coffee table. “Here is the paper trail showing Richard and Scarlett shifting twenty-three million dollars into offshore accounts over the last eighteen months,” I said, opening the case. “Here are the hotel records from their weekend trips. And these are copies of the fake invoices Scarlett approved.” Elizabeth sat on the velvet sofa opposite me. She didn’t look at the files. She just watched me through the rising curls of smoke. “How long have you been gathering this?” she asked. “Since the day he told me to write Scarlett’s proposals for her because she didn’t know how to use PowerPoint,” I replied. “That was two years ago.” Elizabeth laughed, though her eyes remained ice cold. “You’re a dangerous man, Nate. You could easily use this to blackmail Richard for enough money to retire comfortably.” She leaned forward, her silk robe parting slightly at the collar. “Why bring it to me?” I met her gaze. “Because I don’t like being treated like garbage. And I hate seeing thieves live in luxury while the people who built the foundation get discarded.” I unbuttoned my cuffs, revealing a small, faint scar on my wrist. “I nearly died of a stomach ulcer trying to keep his clients happy while he was taking vacations with his mistress. I want what’s mine. And I think you deserve a better partner than a man who is robbing you blind.” Elizabeth’s eyes softened as she looked at the scar. She reached out, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of the files. “I want him gone with nothing,” she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “I want Scarlett to pay back every single cent she took. And I want sole control of the firm.” “Done.” I pulled one final document from my briefcase. “This is a restructuring agreement. Once Richard signs his shares over to you, the company is yours.” Elizabeth’s fingers trembled slightly as she looked at the paper. She stood up and walked over to me, stopping only inches away. I could smell the faint scent of jasmine and rain on her skin. She reached up, her fingernail gently brushing the dry wine stain on my collar. “You’re messy,” she murmured. “I don’t mind getting dirty if it gets the job done,” I said. Just then, my phone began to vibrate violently on the coffee table. The caller ID showed Arthur, our IT director. A second later, another call came in from Richard. I didn’t answer. I just let them ring. Elizabeth smiled, taking a sip of her wine. “It seems your little present just went off.” I picked up the phone and pressed the speaker button. Richard’s voice screamed through the speaker so loudly the audio distorted. “Nate! You son of a bitch! What did you do to the Apex servers? Everything is scrambled! The client is threatening to sue us! Get back here and fix this right now, or I swear to God I’ll have you arrested!” I listened to him panting on the other end before I spoke. “I don’t work for you anymore, Richard. And as far as I know, the Apex project belongs to Scarlett now. Let her handle it.” “Nate—” I hung up and tossed the phone back on the table. “Tomorrow is going to be a very long day,” I said. Elizabeth raised her glass to mine. “Let’s make sure we enjoy the show.”

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1 During our worst arguments, my hearing-impaired husband had a habit of ripping out his hearing aid. He would stand there in absolute silence, leaving me to scream and cry like a hysterical lunatic, entirely ignored. But this time, I froze. I had finally realized that he never treated his childhood sweetheart this way. I remembered a time when he had upset Lydia. In a fit of temper, she had accidentally slapped his hearing aid off, sending it shattering onto the pavement. Instead of getting angry, he had dropped to his knees, frantically searching the ground. “Lydia, please don’t be mad,” he had pleaded, his voice trembling as he groped in the dark. “Please don’t shut me out.” His first instinct wasn’t anger; it was sheer, suffocating anxiety. He was terrified of being locked out of her world. He was desperate to hear her voice, her sighs, her anger. He couldn’t bear to miss a single second of her response. The moment the device was repaired, he had rushed straight back to her, just so she could repeat the harsh words she had yelled at him. Seven years of built-up grief suddenly crashed over me. Looking at Oliver, I finally understood that I had never truly been allowed inside his world. Seeing that I had quieted down, Oliver calmly slid his hearing aid back into place. His expression was completely detached. “Since you’ve calmed down, go make dinner. Cook some sweet and sour ribs. Lydia is coming over later, and they’re her favorite.” My voice was flat when I spoke. “Oliver, let’s get a divorce.” He froze for a fraction of a second, his hand hovering over his ear. “What did you say? My hearing aid static was acting up.” “I said,” I began, but the doorbell cut me off. At the same time, his phone chimed with a custom ringtone. He glanced at the screen, a genuine smile instantly softening his features. “Lydia is off her shift. I’m going to pick her up,” he said, turning toward the door. “Don’t forget about dinner. And remember, no green onions. Lydia hates them.” With that, he hurried out. In our seven years of marriage, he had memorized every single one of Lydia’s preferences. For me, he only ever had one excuse: If you don’t tell me what you want, how am I supposed to know? Yet Lydia never had to say a word. A single crease of her brow was enough to send him into hours of anxious worry. I didn’t make the ribs. Instead, I cooked a table full of spicy, heavy dishes that I loved. Both Oliver and Lydia preferred bland, mild food. To accommodate them, I hadn’t eaten a proper, sweat-inducing spicy meal in years. Just as I plated the last dish, the front lock clicked. Oliver walked in, his arm gently guiding Lydia through the doorway. They were carrying several shopping bags. Oliver set them down and handed me a small, elegant box of red bean pastries from the Crescent Bakery. It was a famous, expensive shop. And those pastries were the one sweet I genuinely loved. Whenever Oliver upset me, he would bring a box home, and my anger would immediately dissolve at the sight of it. But this time, I didn’t reach for it. I simply pointed toward the coffee table. “Put it there.” When Oliver saw the bright red, chili-laden dishes on the dining table, his face darkened. “Bridget, did you do this on purpose? Lydia can’t handle spicy food. What is she supposed to eat?” Lydia quickly grabbed his sleeve, her voice soft and sweet. “Oliver, it’s fine. I can manage. Today is Bridget’s special day, after all.” The anger in Oliver’s eyes melted instantly. He looked at her like a protective dog being patted on the head. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered, leaning down. Lydia nodded, a sweet smile on her face. They were standing so close. It was only then that I noticed the matching cartoon rabbit stickers pasted onto their identical hearing aids. I remembered our seventh anniversary. I had begged Oliver to use matching cartoon profile pictures with me on social media, wanting some small, public acknowledgment of our marriage. Don’t be so childish, he had said. Yet, the matching rabbits on his hearing aid apparently weren’t childish at all. I lowered my head, blinking back the hot tears stinging my eyes. Across the table, Oliver set a glass of plain water next to his plate. Every time he picked up a piece of food, he would carefully rinse it in the water before placing it gently into Lydia’s bowl. The lump in my throat grew tighter. I bit my lower lip, fighting to keep my composure as I sat across from them. Suddenly, Oliver placed a piece of rinsed beef into my bowl. I stared at it, caught off guard. This was the first time in our marriage he had ever served me. “I can get it myself,” I muttered. He didn’t look up. “Lydia is still recovering from her ear surgery. She can’t have beef right now. She’s eating this spicy food just to make you happy, so you should thank her.” My chest felt like it was being crushed by a boulder. I had accommodated them for seven years, and not once had anyone thanked me. Why did I have to thank Lydia for tolerating one meal? I slammed my chopsticks onto the table. “If you don’t like it, cook your own damn food.” 2 I had always been mild-tempered, rarely raising my voice, so my sudden outburst shocked them. Lydia scrambled to her feet, looking terrified. In her haste, she choked on a piece of chili, her face turning bright red as she began to cough violently. Oliver reacted as if a bomb had gone off. He slammed his fist on the table and stood up. “Bridget, Lydia came all this way to celebrate your birthday! You made this spicy food specifically to exclude her, and now you’re throwing a tantrum?” A cold, sharp pain pierced my heart. So he did know. He knew today was my birthday. Lydia shook her head frantically, her hands moving in rapid, fluid sign language that I couldn’t understand. Oliver replied to her in the same silent language. I stood there like an intruder, completely shut out of their conversation. Finally, Oliver let out a frustrated growl. “Why should you be the one suffering? Come on, I’m taking you out to eat.” He grabbed Lydia’s hand and marched out of the apartment, slamming the door behind them. The tears I had held back for so long finally spilled over. I sat down alone and began stuffing the spicy food into my mouth, chewing through my sobs. The spice burned my throat until I had to run to the bathroom to throw up, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t understand how the food I used to love so much had turned into pure poison. By the time the plates were empty, my lips were swollen and my eyes were red. I wiped my face and pulled a black bank card from my wallet. It held the savings I had scraped together over the last seven years. Seven years ago, Oliver had a chance to undergo a surgery that could have restored his hearing. But he had jumped in to save me from a group of thugs, and his ear bones were shattered in the fight, permanently destroying any chance of recovery. That guilt had been a phantom ache in my heart for years. I felt like I had ruined his life. To repay him, I spent three months nursing him day and night, eventually marrying him and spending seven years acting as his servant. A dull pain throbbed in my left leg. A year ago, when Lydia had broken his hearing aid, Oliver had wandered into the street without it and was nearly hit by a speeding truck. I had thrown myself in front of the vehicle to push him out of the way, shattering my leg. Even now, I walked with a permanent, slight limp. I had paid my debt. I owed him nothing more. I opened my phone, booked a consultation at a rehabilitation clinic in my hometown, and bought a one-way train ticket for the next morning. Whether Oliver agreed to the divorce or not, I was leaving. As I closed the travel app, my phone rang. It was the Crescent Bakery. Because I loved their pastries, Oliver had signed up for a VIP membership under my phone number. “Hello, is this Mrs. Cross?” the clerk asked politely. “Yes, speaking.” “Your husband ordered our exclusive ‘Four Seasons’ gift set, and it has just arrived. We tried calling his number, but he isn’t answering. Would you be able to pick it up?” “Of course,” I said, my heart fluttering with a tiny, fragile hope. The Four Seasons gift set was incredibly expensive and required booking months in advance. Perhaps, in some hidden corner of his heart, Oliver still cared about me. When I arrived at the bakery, the clerk handed over the beautifully wrapped box. I signed the receipt, my fingers trembling. But as I reached for the handle, the clerk stopped. “Wait, let me double-check. I think the greeting card in the system was addressed to a Ms. Mercer… Let me verify the name.” I froze, the warmth draining from my body. It wasn’t for me. After a few agonizing minutes, the clerk returned with an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Cross. The name on the order doesn’t match. I can’t let you take this package.” My hands clenched into tight fists. I forced a polite, empty smile onto my face. “Oh, I see. No worries. I’ll have him pick it up himself.” I practically fled the shop, only to run straight into Oliver at the entrance. 3 I stumbled and fell onto the concrete, a sharp pain shooting through my bad leg. Oliver didn’t even look down at me. He muttered a quick, distracted apology to the air and pushed past me into the bakery. “Hi, is my gift set ready? I saw a missed call.” The clerk smiled and handed the elegant box to him. The transaction went smoothly, without a single hitch. As he turned to leave, the clerk called out, “Mr. Cross, would you like to add a small box of red bean pastries today? I noticed you always buy one whenever you pick up a gift for Ms. Mercer.” Oliver paused, then nodded. “Yes, the usual small box is fine.” I sat on the cold pavement, laughing until tears slipped down my face. I had always thought Oliver, who was usually so careless, bought those pastries because he kept my favorite treat close to his heart. It turned out I was nothing more than a afterthought, a cheap buy-one-get-one-free bonus to soothe his guilt while he spoiled Lydia. I watched his hurried figure disappear down the street. I didn’t call after him. I dragged myself to a bench in a nearby park, staring up at the gray sky. There had been a time, very early on, when we were happy. He would fill a basin with warm water to massage my feet after a long shift, and he would surprise me with small gifts. When did it all change? It was when Lydia returned from her studies abroad. They shared a childhood, and they shared a silent world of hearing loss. They had an endless supply of secrets and a language I could never speak. Sometimes, I couldn’t help but think that if Lydia hadn’t left for her treatment years ago, she would have been the one standing beside him at the altar. The sky grew dark. My phone remained silent. I scolded myself for still hoping he would call, for still wishing he would care. Suddenly, the phone vibrated in my palm. The screen flashed with the contact name: Husband. My heart leaped against my ribs, and I answered quickly. “Oliver, I’m—” “Bridget, did you put that trash on the internet?” his voice cut in, cold and accusatory. I went numb. “What trash?” Oliver let out a disgusted sneer. “Stop acting innocent. You make me sick.” I hung up and quickly opened my social media apps. At the very top of the trending list was a headline in bold letters: Lydia Mercer, prominent jewelry designer, exposed as a homewrecker. Clicking on the tag, the first image was a candid photo of Lydia and Oliver dining at a candlelit restaurant, sitting close enough that their lips seemed to touch. The captions were vicious, pointing out that Oliver was married and that they were out celebrating on his wife’s birthday. Lydia’s tearful voice echoed from the background of the call. “Bridget, I know you hate me, but how could you destroy my career? No one else knew about our dinner except the three of us. If it wasn’t you, who else would buy these rumors to ruin me?” My throat felt tight. I couldn’t find the words to defend myself, even though I was entirely innocent. Oliver snatched the phone back. “Don’t worry, Lydia. I’ll handle this.” He hung up. Within minutes, the trending tag about Lydia began to drop rapidly. But my relief was short-lived. My best friend sent me a frantic text: Bridget, why would you post about what happened seven years ago? Didn’t you swear to carry that secret to your grave? My hands began to shake violently. I clicked back to the trending page. When I saw the new headline at the very top of the list, my knees buckled, and I sank to the ground.

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1 On the third day of our silent treatment, a photo of my boyfriend, Gavin, holding his team’s cute new support player, Piper, hit the trending pages. To damage-control the rumors, Gavin publicly announced that he was single. I didn’t throw a tantrum. I simply rode the wave and let the breakup become official. But later, when I stood on a massive stage and calmly told the interviewer that I was single… Gavin’s eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. … I had been waiting in the private dining booth for six hours. Gavin’s team had just won the national championship, and he had secured the MVP title. He had texted me, saying he wanted to celebrate with just the two of us. But the moment he reached the door of the restaurant, his phone rang. It was Piper. “Gavin, I burned my hand on the kettle… I’m so scared…” Her voice was thick with tears over the speaker. Panic washed over Gavin’s face, and without even saying goodbye to me, he turned on his heel and rushed out. After that, his phone went dead. I checked the time. It was five minutes to midnight. The table of gourmet food had long since turned cold, the grease on the lamb chops hardening into a thick, unappetizing white layer. I stared at the plate, my appetite completely gone. My hand hovered over the table, my mind drifting back to the trending photos that had kept a lump in my throat all night. It was the championship finals, a night that should have been defined by match statistics. Instead, the top three trending topics were filled with photos of Gavin and Piper. The images were crystal clear, accompanied by viral video clips. The video showed Piper leaping into Gavin’s arms in a burst of excitement, her hands locked around his neck and her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Golden confetti rained down on them. Gavin held the trophy in one hand and kept his other arm wrapped securely around her waist, looking victorious and proud. In front of tens of thousands of fans, at the pinnacle of his career… Their interaction looked innocent to the casual observer, but the underlying intimacy was undeniable. Many comments were already romanticizing their bond, while others questioned the nature of their relationship. After all, my secret relationship with Gavin was an open secret in the pro scene. Gavin had promised to explain everything to me tonight. What he failed to realize was that he had already made too many excuses because of Piper. When you hear the same justification repeatedly, it eventually just makes you numb. I picked up my phone, mindlessly scrolling through my feed, only to freeze when I saw Piper’s latest social media update. “Lied to Gavin about hurting my hand, and he actually rushed all the way back! So, are you happy with the surprise party we threw for you, my MVP?” They had thrown him a private victory party. My finger trembled as I zoomed in on the attached photo. Balloons and banners filled the background. Surrounded by their teammates, Gavin stood at the center with his arm around Piper’s shoulders, his laugh loud and carefree. The photographer had captured the perfect moment. Piper was tilting her head, looking up at Gavin with an expression of pure, unadulterated adoration. I laid my chopsticks down, my stomach turning. Just then, the heavy door of the booth was pushed open, and Gavin rushed in, looking flushed. When he saw the half-eaten, cold dishes on the table, his jaw tightened. “Why didn’t you wait for me?” he asked, his tone laced with a strange hint of grievance. I let out a soft laugh, too exhausted to argue with his absurd question. “If you haven’t eaten, go ahead. I need to get back to the base.” Gavin reached out, grabbing my wrist. “Aren’t you going to stay with me?” “I have scheduled scrims.” Unlike Gavin, my team, Scythe Gaming, hadn’t even qualified for the playoffs. My schedule for the off-season was packed with mandatory training. I had to pull several favors just to get tonight off. If I didn’t return soon, the manager would gladly use it as an excuse to fine me. But my cold tone seemed to prick Gavin’s pride. He let go of my wrist, his face hardening. “Are you seriously letting those online rumors get to you? Do you really think Piper and I have something going on?” I paused, the words of defense dying in my throat. What was I supposed to say? Should I mention how our weekly date night was constantly cut short because he had to help Piper level up her rank? Should I talk about how his phone was always busy, and on the rare occasions he picked up, a girl’s soft giggles always echoed in the background? Or should I remind him of the time an angry anti-fan pushed me into a barrier, bruising my wrist, while he was busy comforting Piper over a lost match, ignoring my messages for three days? The silence stretched between us, heavy and stifling. Gavin lowered his gaze, his voice filled with deep disappointment. “I can’t believe you actually think so little of me.” 2 Gavin was notorious for his hot temper. He regularly laid into his teammates when a match went south, and he had only started showing a bit of restraint after Piper joined the starting roster. When he was angry, he was usually loud, defensive, and sharp-tongued. But right now, he just looked deflated. “She’s a young girl, and it’s not easy for her to survive in this industry,” he said softly. “I’m the team captain. It’s my job to look after my players.” “You know how important a player’s hands are to their career.” “I admit I pay a little more attention to her, but it’s only because she reminds me of how you used to be. Alone, struggling in a strange team. I kept thinking that if I helped her, maybe someone out there would show you the same kindness.” He placed a beautifully wrapped cake box on the table. “If you’re still upset, I can apologize. Is this explanation enough for you?” My heart gave a faint, painful flutter. I stared at the logo on the cake box. It was from my favorite patisserie in the city. Looking at the familiar box, my mind drifted back to our days in the academy. I had been the only female player in the entire program, naturally looked down upon by the coaches and players alike. I was blamed for losses, mocked during practice, and stressed to the point of severe insomnia and loss of appetite. Gavin was with a different club back then and couldn’t protect me directly. But despite his brutal training schedule, he would sneak out of his base at midnight, scale the high wall of my academy, and bring me small cakes, gently coaxing me to eat them bite by bite. In those quiet nights, huddled in his arms, I would let all my armor down and cry, absorbing his warmth to face another day. The lofty dreams I started with had been chipped away by the harsh reality of the pro scene. I had followed Gavin blindly into this chaotic world, only to end up on different teams. There was no one to help me. The pressure of evaluations, the isolation from my teammates—it all accumulated until I felt completely suffocated. I had wanted to scream, to let all the venom out, but when I finally looked at him, all my misery had condensed into a soft whisper. “It’s so hard, Gavin.” Gavin had pressed his forehead against mine, his voice a steady murmur. “Once I secure my place, I’ll have the team buy out your contract. We’ll play together, and we’ll never be apart.” I took a deep breath, pushing the memory away. Forget it, I thought. Maybe I’m just overthinking. I’ll trust him one last time. I stood up to go to the restroom to wash my face. But as I approached the door of the booth on my way back, I heard Gavin’s voice. He was on the phone. A girl’s playful whine filtered through the receiver. “Gavin, aren’t you back yet? I’ve been waiting for my strawberry cake for thirty minutes!” My steps halted, and my body went entirely rigid. By the time I managed to compose myself and push the door open, Gavin was already slipping his phone into his pocket. He looked up at me. “Great, you’re back. I need you to help Piper draft a statement to clear her name. It’s not fair that she’s being dragged online as a homewrecker.” So this was his real motive for bringing the cake tonight. “Why should I do that?” I asked, a bitter smile touching my lips. Gavin stared at me. “If you have a problem with me, take it out on me. Don’t ruin a young girl’s career over some jealousy.” “Did I force her to climb onto your shoulders at the arena? If you want to protect her, that’s your business. Keep me out of it.” “Nadia!” Gavin snapped, his temper finally exploding. “Are you really going to make a scene over this?” “I’ve spent the whole night trying to soothe your temper. How much longer are you going to act like a spoiled child?” “Piper is my teammate. You are my girlfriend. Can’t you see the difference? Do you have to throw a tantrum over some harmless jealousy?” I let out a harsh laugh. “Your idea of ‘girlfriend’ is making me wait alone for six hours without a single word?” “And your idea of ‘teammate’ is rushing back the second she whines about waiting thirty minutes for a cake?” Gavin froze, a flicker of panic crossing his eyes. “No, Nadia, that’s not—” But I had run out of patience for his excuses. “Gavin, I don’t think I can handle being your girlfriend anymore. Let’s break up.” Gavin’s face went completely cold. “I’m going to give you one chance to take that back. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear it.” “If there are things you’re unhappy with, I can change. We can both take a step back. You write the statement, I’ll keep my distance from Piper, and we can go back to how we were.” My only response was the loud, solid slam of the heavy wooden door. “Nadia! You’re going to regret this!” Through the thick wood, I could hear the faint, sharp sound of glass shattering against the floor. 3 It was past midnight when I returned to the Scythe Gaming base. As I walked up the stairs to my dorm, a tall figure stepped out of the shadows. Marcus, our manager, checked his watch. “Curfew was at midnight.” “I took official leave, Marcus,” I said, my voice tight. He ignored me, adjusting his glasses. “Starting tomorrow, your daily training schedule is increased by an hour.” Knowing there was no point in arguing, I reached for my doorknob. But Marcus’s oily voice stopped me. “Also, there’s a dinner with our primary sponsor in a few days. You’re coming with me.” I paused, my fingers tightening on the handle, before slipping into my room and locking the door. When I opened my phone, Gavin and Piper were trending once again. This time, it was because of a simple, public statement Gavin had posted: “I am currently single.” It was a clean, powerful defense that immediately cleared Piper of any homewrecking accusations, but it threw all the mud straight at me. “If Gavin was single, what were all those rumors about him and Nadia? I thought they were practically married.” “Nadia was obviously just clout-chasing. Gavin didn’t care enough to address it before, but now that he has someone he actually wants to protect, he had to set the record straight. Talk about an embarrassing reality check.” “Honestly, I feel bad for Gavin. He let that benchwarmer use his name for years.” “Wishing our favorite bot-lane duo all the best!” Gavin, who had always hated public events, suddenly began appearing at every brand exhibition and promotional stream, always with Piper by his side. And around his wrist, he always wore a different colored hair scrunchie. He was doing everything in his power to build her up. Since I had refused to write the statement, he had taken matters into his own hands. Two years of devotion, erased in a single sentence. But maybe it was for the best. Relationships that had never been allowed to see the light of day were better off dissolving in the shadows. On the night of the sponsor dinner, Marcus looked at my worn Scythe Gaming jersey with clear disgust. “You look ridiculous. Go put on something decent.” I shoved my hands into my pockets, keeping my voice firm. “I’m a pro player. This is my uniform. Why do I need a dress to have dinner?” Marcus sneered but didn’t push it further, leading me into the private dining club with a sour face. Earlier this year, our parent company had appointed a new executive director, Mr. Davenport. During his first inspection of the facility, his eyes had lingered on me a bit too long, and he had been trying to corner me ever since. I had managed to dodge his invitations, but he had recently ordered all the locks on our dorm doors to be replaced with electronic locks that could be bypassed from the master console, claiming it was a “safety measure.” Several times, I had walked into my room after a long training session only to find Mr. Davenport sitting on my bed, offering a sickeningly warm smile. “Tired? You’ve been working so hard. Come sit down and let’s have a chat.” I had used the excuse of needing to call my boyfriend to escape. But Davenport, skeptical, had insisted I call him right then and there. With a racing heart, I had dialed Gavin’s number. It was the only time the call went through, but the voice that answered was Piper’s. “Nadia? Gavin is sleeping right now. Is there something you need?” That single sentence had shattered my safety net. It proved that Gavin was comfortable letting another woman handle his personal phone, and it exposed my lie to the predatory man sitting in my room. I still remembered the slow, knowing smile that had spread across Davenport’s face. “It seems our little Nadia isn’t being entirely honest.” I knew he wouldn’t let me go easily. But when his hand slid onto my thigh under the dining table, my body reacted before my brain could. I bolted upright, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Excuse me. I have to get back to training.” Davenport didn’t get angry. He simply smiled, swirling his wine. “Leaving so soon, Nadia? We were just getting to the good part.” “I have to train,” I repeated, my body trembling as I walked out. His easy compliance only made me more uneasy. 4 Two weeks later, the transfer window opened. Every player on Scythe Gaming signed their contract renewals—except me. I was listed on the transfer market, but the buyout fee Scythe had attached to my name was astronomically high, a price no mid-tier team could ever afford for a support player. I tried contacting several managers myself. They were always impressed with my mechanical skills during tryouts, but the moment they saw the buyout clause, they would shake their heads with regret. One sympathetic coach pulled me aside. “Nadia, your management is intentionally blocking you. You need to resolve whatever personal dispute you have with your owner, or you’re going to be benched indefinitely.” I could only offer a bitter smile. This was a dispute that could never be resolved. Just when I felt like I had hit a dead end, a message from Gavin popped up on my screen. “I can have Vanguard buy out your contract.” Vanguard Gaming was one of the few legacy clubs that could easily afford the fee. Gavin was their star ADC, and the support was his lane partner. His opinion carried immense weight in their roster decisions. Their starting support had just retired due to a chronic wrist injury, and Piper was only a temporary substitute from the academy team. They desperately needed a proven, high-tier support. With Gavin’s approval, my career could be saved. I wrestled with the decision for days. But when Marcus tried to push me into Davenport’s private car after a promotional event, the sheer terror drove me straight to Gavin. When I showed up at his training facility, a smug, victorious grin spread across his face. “Done throwing your little tantrums?” I swallowed my pride and lowered my head. “Yes.” Gavin reached out, patting my head with a gentle, patronizing hand. “I told you I’d bring you to my team to protect you. What were you so scared of, Nadia?” And just like that, we fell into a quiet, tentative reconciliation. He didn’t hide me as strictly as before. During a dinner with some of his childhood friends who weren’t in the esports scene, one of them noticed the colorful band around Gavin’s wrist. “Man, you guys are adorable,” the friend laughed. “Gavin, you’re still wearing your girl’s hair tie?” Gavin froze, his brow furrowing. “It’s just a hair tie. What’s the big deal?” The friend looked surprised. “You don’t know? A guy wearing a girl’s hair tie on his wrist is a universal sign that he’s taken.” Before Gavin could reply, his phone buzzed on the table. He slid the key to answer, and Piper’s playful voice echoed clearly through the quiet room. “Babe, where did my blue hair tie go? Did you happen to—” Gavin slammed the phone face down, cutting the call off instantly. The color drained from his face. He let out a dry, awkward cough, quickly placing some food into my bowl. “Eat. The food is getting cold.” The atmosphere at the table turned suffocatingly awkward. Everyone at that table knew the hair tie around his wrist didn’t belong to me. By the end of the night, his friends had made quick excuses to leave. Gavin sat quietly, twirling the silver band on his finger—a matching ring we had bought when we first started dating, which he had recently started wearing again. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked, pointing to the hair tie. “If you had told me, I would have taken it off.” I let out a soft sigh. “If I had said something, you would have just told me I was overthinking things.” Gavin looked like he wanted to argue, but he restrained himself, keeping his voice gentle. “Piper is just careless. She’s always losing her things, and she asked me to keep a spare for her.” Why did she have to leave her spare with Gavin, of all people? But thinking of the transfer contract that was still entirely in his hands, I swallowed my resentment. “I see.” My quiet acceptance seemed to frustrate him. “Aren’t you even going to be a little jealous?” “You explained it, didn’t you?” I replied, placing my chopsticks down. I honestly didn’t understand what he wanted from me anymore. In the past, whenever he gave me an explanation, the conversation was over. I was expected to either swallow my feelings and move on, or deal with his annoyance if I pressed further. In his mind, an explanation was a resolution. If I refused to let it go, I was the one being difficult. But now that I was playing by his rules, he seemed miserable. Ultimately, Gavin left the restaurant in a quiet, dark mood, without saying another word. And after that night, he stopped answering my calls. As the days of the transfer window bled away, a deep, cold dread settled in my chest. Why hadn’t Vanguard sent over the contract? I tried reaching out to Gavin, but my messages went completely unanswered. On the final day of the transfer window, Vanguard Gaming released their official roster for the upcoming season. VGD-Piper was listed at the very top of the starting lineup. The letters burned into my eyes, and my mind went entirely blank. How could he do this to me?

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1 On Valentine’s Day, I happened to run into a live street interview for a popular online reality show. The topic of the day was romance stories, and my random prompt was “First Love.” After a brief pause, I regained my composure and looked at the camera, my expression entirely calm. “I’ve almost forgotten him,” I said. “After all, the grass on his grave is probably six feet high by now.” The very next second, the massive screen next to the camera feed cut to the celebrity guests sitting in the observation studio. Staring back at me was the very man I had just so warmly blessed with a premature death. He was my ex-husband, and we had been divorced for seven years. He didn’t seem to care about the curse I had just uttered. He simply stared at the screen, his eyes rimmed with red. “Anna,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It’s been a long time.” I nodded politely, showing none of the embarrassment one might expect after getting caught trash-talking someone behind their back. Given how disastrously our marriage had ended, my comment was actually quite mild. The live chat on the screen began to scroll at lightning speed. What’s going on? Christopher, the superstar, knows this random girl? Oh, come on, look at the way he called her name. There’s definitely history there, and he’s clearly not over her. Can we please block these trolls? Christopher and Hailey are the industry’s ultimate power couple. Who is this nobody trying to clout-chase? Seeing the words “power couple” made me smile bitterly. Maybe they really were a match made in heaven. Because of that, Christopher’s love had belonged to me first, and for that, I had to be punished. My career, my love, my family, even half of my own life, I had lost almost everything to pay for that love. Christopher quickly realized he had lost his composure. He cleared his throat and offered a hurried explanation to the hosts. “We were high school classmates.” The host looked apologetic, turning to me. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know your first love had…” My initial answer had been a lie to get out of the interview, but Christopher’s sudden appearance made me freeze. I didn’t want to run anymore. “It’s fine,” I comforted the host, keeping my voice steady. “Go ahead and ask your next question.” Encouraged by my calm gaze, the host took a deep breath. “How did you and your first love meet?” Christopher stiffened. His shoulders tensed, and he sat up straight, his eyes locked onto me through the monitor. He always pursed his lips like that when he was nervous. After all these years, some habits never changed. Our first meeting was anything but romantic. I had just come home from high school. The moment I stepped into the kitchen, I caught a boy shoving the leftover dinner rolls my grandmother had made for me into his mouth. He didn’t even try to run. He just stood there against the wall, chin held high like a soldier facing execution. “Guess it’s my bad luck getting caught,” he muttered. “Scream, hit me, do whatever you want.” I stared at him for a few seconds. Then, I reached into my bag and pressed my entire week’s lunch money into his dirty palm. “Don’t steal food anymore,” I said softly. “It’s bad for you.” His face flushed a deep crimson, the heat spreading all the way to his ears. “I owe you one,” he stammered, gripping the crumpled bills. “I’ll pay you back. I promise.” Then, he turned and fled. The “later” Christopher promised came much faster than I expected. A few weeks later, some older boys at school cornered me and snatched my hearing aid. My parents had died in a car crash years ago, and the accident had left me completely deaf in my left ear. The ringleader dragged me by my hair, sneering insults like “freak” and “deaf girl” into my good ear. That was when Christopher appeared out of nowhere. He fought them like a feral dog, throwing himself into the fray with no regard for his own safety. The older boys had metal pipes, but he had nothing but his bare fists, and he spent half the fight shielding me from their blows. Later, as I tended to his wounds, the sight of his torn skin made me burst into tears. But he just smiled, casual as could be, looking at me with absolute warmth. “You know, your tears hitting my skin… it actually hurts more than their pipes,” he teased. I tried to choke back my sobs, wiping my eyes. “You saved me. We’re even now. Just promise me you won’t fight anymore.” For someone who fought so brutally, the hand he used to wipe away my tears was incredibly gentle. “That’s not up to you to decide,” he whispered. “We’ve got a long time ahead of us. I’m going to take my sweet time paying you back.” The live chat went wild. Oh my god, childhood sweethearts are the best trope ever! How could such a sweet guy pass away so young? If I were her, I’d never be able to love anyone else for the rest of my life. For the rest of my life. I stared at the screen, momentarily lost in thought. We were so young back then, and the boy I met was so breathtakingly brilliant. Our textbooks never taught us about the impermanence of the world, or how easily a human heart could rot. I had found love, and I truly believed it would last forever. The host sighed, a dreamy look in her eyes. “Love at first sight. He must have fallen for you right then and there.” Unlike the host’s excitement, my response was entirely flat. “Yes. And I slowly fell for him, too. Back then, he was the absolute protector of my universe.” I smiled faintly. “But later, he hurt me worse than everyone else combined. If I count the years, I think I’ve spent much longer hating him than I ever spent loving him.” In the studio, Christopher’s posture shattered. He flinched so violently that he knocked over the small table beside his chair. 2 Neither Christopher nor I had parents, so as we grew closer, my grandmother became his family, too. His grades were terrible, but Grandma saw his talent for music. During our senior year of high school, she used her meager savings to sign him up for classical vocal training. Christopher stared at the expensive receipt for a long time. Suddenly, he fell to his knees and bowed his head to the floor before Grandma. “Grandma, I’ll work harder than anyone,” he swore, his voice thick with tears. “I won’t let you down. And I won’t let Anna down.” Christopher kept his word. He passed his auditions and got into a top-tier music conservatory. We moved to the same city for college, just as we had planned. On our first day of university, the breeze was gentle and the sky was a perfect, clear blue. The future we had promised each other was finally within reach, and everything felt full of hope. But life has a way of tearing down beautiful things. The insurance payout from my parents’ accident had already been drained by our tuition and living expenses. Grandma, who had worked herself to the bone to support us, suddenly collapsed. Lying in her hospital bed, she wept silently. She wasn’t crying because of the agonizing pain of her illness, but because the tuition money we had saved for the next semester had to be spent on her medical bills. I didn’t tell Christopher any of this. He had started his musical training late, and the conservatory was packed with prodigies. He spent day and night practicing in the studios, barely having time to sleep, let alone worry about money. So, I skipped every class I could. I ran myself ragged working multiple part-time jobs to pay for Grandma’s treatments and our daily expenses. Under the weight of it all, I was sleeping barely four hours a night, yet the tuition deadline was fast approaching, and my bank account was still nearly empty. That was when an agency offered me a high-paying job as a waitress at an exclusive, private members-only lounge. They promised I could make enough money in just three days. Despite the bad feeling in my gut, I looked at my bank balance and took the job. I was assigned to a VIP room. The guests were heavily intoxicated, and as I bent down to clear the table, one of them slid his hand up my thigh. Panicking, I reacted on instinct and slapped him across the face. The guest flew into a rage and summoned the manager. The manager bowed, apologized profusely, and dragged me out into the hallway. The moment the door closed, the manager slapped me back, twice as hard. “What, a little touch is going to kill you?” he hissed. “You’re supposed to be a college student, and you don’t even know how the world works!” The promised wages were gone. I sat in a twenty-four-hour convenience store all night, staring blankly at the streetlights. When I finally turned my phone back on, a barrage of missed calls and messages flooded the screen. Most were from Christopher, but some were from classmates. A dark dread settled in my chest. I tapped open a link sent by a classmate. It was a post on our university’s anonymous forum: Is the department sweetheart selling her body for quick cash? Attached was a photo of me standing in the hallway outside the VIP lounge, my cheek bruised, being humiliated by the manager. The comments below were ruthless. No wonder she’s always skipping class. I guess this is what she’s actually doing. Isn’t she deaf in one ear? Rich guys really aren’t picky these days. With a face like that, who cares? I bet she’s got some great skills in bed. Her boyfriend is so handsome, yet he’s getting cheated on by a gold-digger. Sucks to be him. The malice suffocated me. Christopher called again, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer. I didn’t have the courage to face his questions, his suspicion, or his disappointment. But he found me anyway. He ran to the convenience store, threw his arms around me, and held me tightly against his chest. “I believe you,” he whispered over and over. He gently touched the faint red mark on my cheek, his eyes filled with pure anguish. “Does it hurt?” The dam broke. All the exhaustion, humiliation, and terror I had bottled up over the past weeks poured out of me, and I sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder. I told him everything. That night, Christopher tracked down the lounge manager in a dark alley with no security cameras and beat him to a pulp. Then, he wrote a detailed post explaining the truth and uploaded it to the school forum. But the post was deleted within five minutes. An ant cannot bring down a mountain. There were powerful people involved, people we couldn’t afford to anger. So, Christopher posted a new thread. It contained only one sentence. I knew her long before the whispers started. He held my hand tightly. The poverty and violence of our youth had never managed to break his spirit, but in that moment, he cried. His warm tears fell onto my hand, burning straight through to my heart. “Anna,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “I will build a world for you where no one will ever dare to hurt you again.” By this point, the host’s eyes were glistening with tears, and the live chat was overflowing with sympathy. Oh my god, this is heartbreaking. Please, let them have a happy ending. Why is fate so cruel to them? 3 “But you said you ended up hating him,” the host said, her voice cracking slightly. “Was it because he left this world and abandoned you?” I couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. I hadn’t expected my casual curse about his grave to be taken so literally. “No,” I replied. The wounds that had once torn me apart had long since healed into numb scars. I looked directly into the camera. “He cheated on me.” Christopher’s luck had turned around during our sophomore year when a talent scout discovered him. From then on, his career skyrocketed. By the time he graduated, his agency pressured him to break up with me before signing a long-term contract. He refused, fighting the executives until they finally agreed to let me join his team as his personal manager. The first major award he won was for Best Single. The song was called Anna, named after me. There were no flowers, no diamond rings, and no family members to witness it. In a dusty, empty dressing room backstage, he held up his trophy and asked me to marry him. “Anna, wait for me,” he had pleaded. “Once I secure my place in this industry, I’ll give you the grandest wedding. I want to show my wife off to the entire world.” Christopher did keep that promise. It was just that the wife beside him wasn’t me. By our fifth year in the industry, Christopher was an A-list star. We had parted ways with our old agency and established his own independent studio. During our first round of auditions for new talent, a young girl had stood before Christopher, her eyes shining with admiration. “Christopher, I’ve looked up to you for so long,” she stammered, tears spilling over her lashes. “Ever since I first saw you on TV when I was a teenager, you’ve been my inspiration. When my family turned their backs on me, when I was bullied at school, your music kept me alive. Today, I want to perform your award-winning song, Anna.” Hearing her shaky, unpolished voice, I frowned. It wasn’t because of her obvious infatuation with Christopher, but because using a sob story during a professional audition felt incredibly manipulative. There were dozens of candidates who were far more talented and beautiful than her. In the end, she was rejected. Yet, a month later, Christopher brought her right into my office. “Anna, Hailey might not be the most talented girl out there, but she’s definitely going to work the hardest.” Hailey stood there, looking at me with wide, innocent, and completely sincere eyes. Seeing my hesitation, Christopher stepped up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. His hand slid down to rest gently on my belly. “Looking at her just reminds me of how hard we had it when we were young. Let’s help her out. Think of it as a good deed to bring blessings for our baby.” I was only a month pregnant at the time. My heart softened, and I agreed. I took Hailey under my wing personally, giving her the best resources we had. With Christopher actively mentoring her, she quickly stood out among the rookies. But then, I accidentally stumbled upon Hailey’s private, burner account on social media. The best birthday present ever! He said this represents our very first meeting. He actually gave it to me! Attached was a photo of the trophy Christopher had used to propose to me. My hands shook as I reached for the trophy that had sat on my office desk for years. When I picked it up, it felt incredibly light. It was a cheap, plastic replica. That night, I threw the fake trophy and the screenshots of Hailey’s posts onto the desk in front of Christopher. He glanced at them and gave a dismissive laugh. “She’s just a young girl who liked it. I gave it to her to keep her happy.” He reached out to pat my shoulder. “You’re pregnant, Anna. Don’t be so dramatic. It’s not good for the baby.” He tried to hug me, but I shoved him away with all my strength. His face darkened, and he slammed the door as he walked out of the house. Our cold war began that night. He didn’t come home again. My pregnancy symptoms hit me with brutal force. Morning sickness, severe swelling, and bone-deep exhaustion plagued me daily. Every single time I needed someone to hold my hand, he was gone. My monthly prenatal checkups became lonely solo trips. 4 One afternoon, on my way to the clinic, my phone buzzed with a message from Hailey. Anna, Christopher told me about your fight. I’m so sorry for causing trouble between you two, but he really only sees me as a little sister. He’s completely drunk at the studio right now, sobbing and calling out your name. Can you please come and pick him up? I believed her. But when I arrived at the studio and pushed open the door, I saw Hailey draped over Christopher, their bodies moving together in a desperate, tangled rhythm. While I had been agonizing in a cold bed with pregnancy pains, they had been losing themselves in pleasure. My mind went entirely blank. I stood frozen at the doorway, unable to move a single muscle. Christopher was murmuring “baby” into Hailey’s ear. Hailey tilted her head and caught sight of me. A slow, mocking smirk spread across her face. Then, she pouted, her voice dripping with cheap sweet talk. “You’re so bad. Do you always treat girls like this? I bet you were the exact same way with Anna.” Christopher laughed, his voice raspy. “How could I? She’s deaf in one ear. Whispering sweet nothings to her would just be a waste of breath.” The very boy who had once fought so fiercely to protect my dignity had turned his words into a razor-sharp blade, slashing straight through my heart. My disability had become a joke for their bedroom play. Tears poured down my face. Unable to bear it for another second, I screamed and flung my heavy leather bag straight at them. After a fleeting moment of panic, my husband chose to protect his mistress. He shielded Hailey with his body and shoved me back with such force that I crashed onto the hard floor. A sharp, stabbing pain bloomed in my abdomen. Slowly, warm blood began to seep down my thighs. Before I lost consciousness, the last thing I saw was Christopher tenderly wiping away a tiny, barely visible scratch on Hailey’s forehead. When I woke up in the hospital, Christopher was standing over my bed, his face twisted in frustration. “Anna, you’re a grown woman! When are you going to stop acting so hysterical?” he snapped. “Do you have any idea how close we came to losing the baby?” The monitors beside my bed beeped steadily, showing that my vitals were weak but stable. But inside, I knew my heart had stopped beating entirely. “Let’s get a divorce,” I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion. Christopher froze, then let out a cold, mocking laugh. “A divorce? How? Our finances, the studio, the child, our families… we are tied together for life.” In all the things he listed, there was not a single mention of love. Yet, love was the only reason we had ever walked down the aisle. Christopher bent down, his voice dropping to a whisper that sounded terrifyingly gentle. “We are never breaking up. Not in this lifetime.” The vows we had once spoken so happily had finally become the chains that imprisoned me. In that quiet hospital room, I realized with absolute clarity that the boy I had loved had died a long, long time ago. The studio fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. The host was sobbing so hard her shoulders shook, trying and failing multiple times to raise the microphone to her lips. Meanwhile, the viewership of the live stream had skyrocketed to millions. Oh my god, can these two pieces of trash just burn in hell? The entertainment industry is disgusting. I’m never believing another celebrity romance again. I’m so disappointed in the internet detectives. It’s been twenty minutes and no one has figured out who this bastard is yet? The host choked back a sob. “Are… are you doing okay now?” I forced a dramatic, exaggerated smile, trying to comfort the poor girl who had cried her makeup off. “I got my divorce, and without him, my life is absolutely wonderful.” “If you could say one thing to him right now through our program, what would it be?” I shook my head, ignoring the desperate gaze of the man on the screen. “There’s nothing to say. After all these years, I don’t love him, and I don’t even hate him anymore. When you finally rid yourself of the wrong person, you should only thank God for the escape.” “That’s enough!” A harsh, desperate cry cut me off. Through the live feed, the mask of calm that Christopher had tried so hard to maintain shattered completely. His voice was hoarse, raw with pain. “Everything back then… it was all my fault,” he wept, begging the screen. “But I’m begging you, Anna… please, don’t throw me away.” The live chat exploded.

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1 Pre-holiday rush, I prepped for a trip when Supervisor Victoria told me to cancel my flight—we’d drive her car instead. She said it’d save the department budget and give her time to mentor me, a “golden opportunity” others would beg for. I believed her, spent six grueling hours as her unpaid chauffeur. At a highway rest stop, before I could breathe, she kicked a grimy mop at my feet. “Restroom stall’s filthy—go mop it,” she sniffed. “No custodian around, and I’m not stepping in dirty water. Young people lack initiative! I brought you here to groom you for promotion—can’t handle this, how will you lead?” I almost laughed. The company would’ve reimbursed my one-hour flight; instead, I drove, saved her gas, and now I’m her restroom janitor? She tapped her foot, urging me to hurry for the client. Swallowing disgust, I grabbed the mop—then snapped a clear photo of the mess, opened Slack, and tagged the CEO: “@Chairman Harrison. Victoria says I can’t attend the client meeting unless I mop this rest stop restroom.” My phone began to vibrate violently within three seconds of hitting send. Outside the stall door, Victoria was still lecturing me, her high heels clicking sharply against the tile floor. “Brooke, what is taking you so long?” “Clients despise tardiness. Do I really have to teach you the absolute basics of business etiquette?” On my screen, notifications were cascading down. Chairman Harrison had instantly replied to my message with a single, ominous question mark. The massive company Slack channel, usually filled with hundreds of sycophantic “understands” and “received” messages, was dead silent. I locked my phone and slid it into my pocket, leaving the black, greasy mop untouched in the corner. I turned on the faucet and slowly, deliberately washed my hands. “Brooke! Are you deaf? Did you hear me?” Receiving no response, Victoria began to pound on the heavy wooden door, making it rattle on its hinges. “Do you want to lose your job? Believe me, I can have you packed and gone by tomorrow morning!” I pulled two paper towels from the dispenser, carefully drying my fingers. Then, I threw the door open. Victoria’s hand was still raised to strike the door again, almost hitting my nose. She pointed a manicured finger at the wet spots on the floor, her voice rising to a shriek. “Are you deaf? I told you to mop the floor!” “I’ve spent the last six hours teaching you the ropes. Is a little manual labor really beneath you?” “I’m not mopping the floor, Victoria.” I tossed the crumpled paper towels into the trash, my voice entirely flat. “I was hired as a legal assistant, not a janitor.” Victoria gasped, taking a step back before crossing her arms with a cold sneer. “Well, look at you, growing a spine. Legal assistant? Let me remind you, you’re still on probation. Don’t think for a second that this company can’t function without you. I could post your job today and have a hundred hungry graduates begging for it by dinner.” She pointed dramatically toward the highway exit. “If you don’t want to do the work, fine. Get your things and get out of my car. I don’t carry freeloaders.” “Are you absolutely sure you want me to leave, Victoria?” I fished my phone out of my pocket, unlocked the screen, and held it up right in front of her face. “Maybe you should check Slack first.” Victoria frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion as she reached for her own phone. In an instant, the flush of anger on her face drained away, leaving her skin a sickly, pale white. On the screen, right below the CEO’s question mark, was a fifteen-second voice note from Chairman Harrison. “What… what did you do?” She stared at me, her voice cracking as she lunged forward, trying to grab my phone out of my hand. “You lunatic! How dare you post that in the main channel?” “Delete it! Delete it right now!” I stepped back easily, letting her swipe at empty air. “It’s been past the two-minute mark, Victoria. I can’t delete it.” My voice remained perfectly level. “Besides, Mr. Harrison just messaged me privately. He told me to wait right here at the rest stop. He’s currently visiting a nearby subsidiary, and he’s sending his personal driver to pick me up.” 2 Victoria’s hand remained frozen in the air, her eyes wide with sudden terror. The bravado vanished, replaced by a desperate, pleading tone. “Brooke… how could you be so sensitive?” “I was only joking with you. I wanted to see how you handle high-pressure situations.” “Did you honestly think I’d make you clean a public restroom?” “Come on, just message Mr. Harrison back. Tell him it was a mistake, or… tell him we were playing truth or dare and you lost!” “That wasn’t funny, Victoria.” I grabbed the handle of my suitcase, bypassed her completely, and walked toward the exit without sparing her another glance. “By the way, you still owe me the fifteen hundred dollars for my canceled plane ticket.” “That’s company money, after all. Right?” Behind me, I could hear Victoria stamping her high heels in frustration, muttering a string of hushed, venomous curses under her breath. “Unbelievable… that little brat!” Two hours later, I was sitting comfortably on a plush leather sofa in the lobby of the Grand Hyatt. The Chairman’s personal assistant handed me a cup of hot tea, his manner incredibly polite. “Miss Brooke, Mr. Harrison is currently upstairs. He wants you to rest here for a bit. The dinner with the client tonight will proceed as planned.” Audrey, the secretary, added, “Mr. Harrison also wanted me to tell you that this company does not tolerate its employees being mistreated.” Suddenly, the heavy revolving doors of the lobby spun violently. Victoria burst into the room, panting heavily. Her hair was a wild mess, her makeup was smeared, and she was clutching the heavy gift bags intended for the client. The moment she spotted me sipping my tea, the fury in her eyes flared up. She marched over, stopping inches from my face. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you, Brooke?” She hissed the words, her teeth clenched so tightly her jaw trembled. “Running to the CEO to whine like a child! Do you honestly think Mr. Harrison is going to take your side?” “I’ve been with this firm for eight years. You think a little nobody like you can bring me down?” I slowly set my teacup back on the glass table, looking up at her. “I simply stated the facts. If you consider that backstabbing, then what do you call what you did to me?” “You don’t know a damn thing!” Victoria glared at me, checking her surroundings. Seeing that the CEO was nowhere in sight, her voice rose another octave. “When your superior gives you an order, you follow it! Having you mop that floor was a lesson in humility, a way to build character!” “What did you think you’d gain by dragging the Chairman into this?” “The satisfaction of not having to clean toilets,” I replied smoothly. Victoria’s chest heaved with rage, her finger practically touching the tip of my nose. “Fine! Just great! Let’s see how you handle yourself when Mr. Harrison gets down here. Without me to guide you, you won’t last five minutes in that meeting!” Just then, a quiet chime echoed from the elevator bank. The doors slid open, and Chairman Harrison stepped out. He wore a sharp, tailored charcoal suit, his posture straight and commanding, flanked by several senior executives. The venom on Victoria’s face vanished instantly, replaced by a subservient, almost sorrowful smile. “Mr. Harrison! I didn’t expect you to come down yourself!” She rushed forward, bowing so low she was practically folded in half as she presented the gift bags. “The traffic on the highway was dreadful, which is why we arrived so late. I apologize sincerely.” Mr. Harrison stopped in his tracks. His gaze bypassed her completely, landing on me. He gave me a brief, reassuring nod before turning his attention back to Victoria. “Is everyone here?” His voice was calm, completely unreadable. Victoria nodded eagerly. “Yes, everyone is here. Brooke arrived safely as well.” “The poor girl had a little temper tantrum on the road and insisted on taking her own transport. I was worried sick about her the entire way…” As she spoke, she shot a warning glare at me from the corner of her eye, silently demanding that I play along. I stood up, completely ignoring her unspoken threat, and walked over to the Chairman. “Good evening, Mr. Harrison,” I said warmly. I didn’t say a single word about a “temper tantrum.” Mr. Harrison studied my expression for a second before turning back to Victoria. “A temper tantrum?” “Victoria, why don’t you tell me exactly what she was throwing a tantrum about?” Victoria blinked, caught off guard by the direct question. She scrambled for a recovery, offering a sheepish laugh. “Oh, you know how delicate the younger generation can be.” “I was simply offering some constructive criticism regarding her attention to detail, and she took it personally. I only have her best interests at heart. I want to see her grow…” “Is that so?” Mr. Harrison cut her off, his tone flat. “Was it for her own good, or was it to clean a toilet for you?” The lobby fell into an instant, freezing silence. The accompanying executives suddenly found their phones incredibly fascinating, staring down to avoid the tension. The smile on Victoria’s face shattered. She stood there, her mouth hanging open, unable to utter a single syllable. “Mr. Harrison… that was… because…” “Enough. Let’s eat first.” Mr. Harrison raised a hand, cutting off her stammering explanations as he led the way toward the restaurant. “The client is waiting, and we aren’t going to make a scene in public. We will handle this after dinner.” Victoria remained frozen in place, her face shifting between a furious red and a ghostly white. The paper handles of the gift bags in her hands were nearly shredded from her grip. She turned her head and threw a look of pure, unadulterated hatred at me. You’re going to pay for this, her eyes screamed. I held my head high, smoothed down my blazer, and followed the Chairman. 3 The dinner was held in the Grand Hyatt’s exclusive private dining room. Our client, Mr. Jenkins, raised his glass toward Victoria. “Victoria, you really are a powerhouse. Your stamina, your presentation… I’m incredibly impressed.” Victoria let out a soft, melodious laugh, raising her glass in return. “You’re far too kind, Mr. Jenkins.” “For a project as important as this one, I drove through the night instead of taking a flight just to ensure everything was perfect.” She cast a fleeting glance at Mr. Harrison, clearly fishing for approval. Mr. Harrison set his silverware down, looking at her. “Oh? You drove all night?” “That sounds exhausting. Though, if I remember correctly, the finance department approved two plane tickets for this trip.” Victoria’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but she recovered quickly. “Mr. Harrison, with the end-of-year crunch, department budgets are tight. I wanted to save company funds wherever possible.” “Besides, the long drive gave me the perfect opportunity to mentor Brooke here. It was a win-win.” She turned her gaze to me, her eyes flashing with a silent warning. “Isn’t that right, Brooke?” “I shared some of my most valuable industry secrets with you on the road.” My hand, which was currently peeling a shrimp, stopped. Mentoring me? The only “instruction” I had received during the entire six-hour drive was how to hold a dirty mop at a rest stop. I set the shrimp down, pulled a wet wipe from the dispenser, and thoroughly cleaned my fingers. Then, I looked up, meeting her gaze head-on. “Victoria was indeed incredibly dedicated on the road,” I said, my voice sweet and even. “After all, sleeping in the passenger seat for six hours while making sure I kept my eyes on the road couldn’t have been easy for her.” The dining room went dead silent. Mr. Jenkins’ glass remained suspended in midair, his eyes darting between us, suddenly highly amused. The polite mask on Victoria’s face began to crack. She let out a strained, dry laugh. “Brooke, that is no way to speak to your manager.” “I was… resting my eyes while mentally reviewing the proposal!” “Ah, of course.” I nodded understandingly. I reached into my bag, pulled out a neat folder of printed receipts, and placed them on the lazy Susan, spinning it slowly until it stopped right in front of Mr. Harrison. “Since we’re on the subject of budgets, and since Mr. Harrison is here, I’d like to bring this up.” “Victoria instructed me to cancel my plane ticket, promising she would reimburse me immediately. It’s been twenty-four hours, and I have yet to see those funds.” “Furthermore, I paid for all the highway tolls and gas out of pocket during the drive.” “If Victoria was trying to save the department’s budget, surely these expenses should be processed through the company’s official accounts, right?” “Oh, and here is the screenshot of the flight cancellation.” I pointed to the top document in the folder. “According to the confirmation email, the fifteen-hundred-dollar refund went directly back to Victoria’s personal bank account.” “Did that slip your mind, Victoria?” Mr. Harrison picked up the papers, skimming through them as his face grew dark. Victoria slammed her hands on the table, standing up abruptly. “Brooke! What is the meaning of this?” “Bringing up petty personal expenses in front of a client? Do you honestly think I’d steal your money? I’ve simply been too busy to transfer it!” “Too busy?” I stared her down. “And what about the custodian fees we saved the company when you forced me to clean the rest stop bathroom? Does that count toward the department’s end-of-year savings too?” “You—!” Victoria pointed a trembling finger at me, her mouth twisting as she prepared to scream. “Victoria!” Thud! Mr. Harrison slammed the documents onto the table, causing the crystal glassware to rattle violently. “Is this your idea of saving the department’s budget? Is this how you mentor our new hires?” Mr. Harrison’s voice wasn’t loud, but every syllable carried the weight of a hammer. “Treating our expense policies like a game, and using your subordinates as personal maids and drivers! You’ve grown far too comfortable in your position, Victoria!” Victoria began to tremble, any trace of alcohol instantly draining from her system. “Mr. Harrison, please, that’s not… let me explain…” She waved her hands in a panic, beads of sweat forming on her forehead. “Explain what? Explain why the ticket refund went straight into your personal account?” “Or explain why you forced an associate to clean a public restroom because you found it dirty?” “We have a client present, so I will afford you some dignity.” Mr. Harrison pointed toward the exit. “Now, transfer the money to Brooke immediately. Every single cent. Then, get out of my sight and reflect on your actions.” Victoria’s face turned a deathly pale. She looked at Mr. Jenkins, pleading for help. But Mr. Jenkins was suddenly very interested in his plate, ignoring her completely. Under Mr. Harrison’s icy glare, Victoria’s hands shook violently as she pulled out her phone. Chime. My phone lit up with a notification of a bank transfer. After completing the transaction, Victoria glared at me with a look so venomous I thought she might lung at me. She snatched her purse off the chair and fled the room, leaving a trail of heavy perfume behind her. 4 Once Victoria left, the suffocating tension in the room dissipated. Mr. Harrison raised his glass toward Mr. Jenkins, offering a sincere apology. “I must apologize for that display, Mr. Jenkins. It seems I have been too lenient with my staff.” Mr. Jenkins laughed, waving it off. “Not at all, Mr. Harrison. A great leader knows when to cut out the rot. That is the hallmark of a truly professional firm.” He turned his gaze toward me, his eyes filled with genuine appreciation. “Young Brooke here handled herself with incredible grace. Rational, poised, and firm. She’s got a bright future ahead of her.” I quickly stood up, raising my glass. “Thank you, Mr. Jenkins. That means a lot to me.” For the first time on this trip, I was able to enjoy my dinner. After the dinner concluded, Mr. Harrison called me over to the side. “Brooke, you’ve had a difficult couple of days,” Mr. Harrison said, his tone incredibly warm. “The board has had suspicions about Victoria’s conduct for a while, but we never had concrete proof.” “You did the right thing. In this industry, when faced with such behavior, you must bring the evidence to light.” I nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Harrison. I believe we go to work to create value, not to compromise our dignity.” Mr. Harrison smiled, patting my shoulder. “Well said.” “For the remainder of this trip, you will assist Audrey. Shadow her and learn as much as you can.” “As for Victoria, there will be an official investigation waiting for her when we return.” Back in my hotel room, the exhaustion of the trip finally washed over me. I took a hot shower, feeling the tension drain from my muscles. Suddenly, my phone screen flashed, and a series of sharp, aggressive notification sounds echoed through the room. I unlocked it. Every single message was from Victoria. You think you’re so smart, Brooke! You really think you’ve won? Don’t think for a second that Harrison can protect you forever. As long as I am still at this company, I will make your life a living hell! Just you wait! Then, a sixty-second voice note popped up, the icon blinking mockingly. I didn’t bother listening to it. I held down her contact info, hit block, and deleted her from my phone entirely. The next morning, I walked down to the hotel restaurant for breakfast. The moment I sat down, I noticed several colleagues from other departments huddling together, whispering and casting frequent sidelong glances in my direction. “Is that her? The one who publicly humiliated her manager at dinner last night?” “Unbelievable. She actually managed to drive Victoria out. You really can’t mess with these new hires.” “I heard Victoria say she was just lazy and tried to submit fraudulent expenses, and when Victoria called her out on it, she turned the tables…” My grip on my spoon tightened, my knuckles turning white. Even though Victoria wasn’t here, the lies she had spun were already spreading like wildfire through the traveling team. I took a deep, steadying breath, forcing myself to relax my hands. I ignored the whispers and focused on my breakfast. Trying to explain myself would only make me look defensive. In the corporate world, rumors always travel faster than the truth. To truly clear my name, words alone wouldn’t cut it. After breakfast, I joined Audrey to prepare for the day’s negotiations. Audrey was an incredibly efficient professional. She showed no bias toward me, remaining completely focused on the work. During a brief break in the meeting, she kept her eyes on her tablet as she spoke. “Brooke, keep your focus on the task at hand.” “In this office, if you let rumors get to you, they become weapons. If you ignore them, they’re nothing but white noise.” “Results are the only language the corporate world truly respects. Let your work do the talking.” I nodded firmly. “Thank you, Audrey. I understand.” Over the next few days, I threw myself entirely into the work. I organized case files, drafted detailed meeting minutes, and analyzed client data, working with twice the effort I usually put in. Victoria seemed to have vanished entirely, never showing her face for the rest of the trip. On the first Monday back at the main office, the atmosphere was incredibly tense. The moment I stepped onto our floor, the chatter among my colleagues died down instantly. Dozens of eyes turned to look at me, their expressions a mix of pity, amusement, and cold avoidance. I walked straight to my desk. The door to Victoria’s private office was shut tight. I had heard she had been suspended for a week, and today was her first day back. I sat down and booted up my computer, preparing to start the day. Suddenly, my desk phone rang. I picked up the receiver. “Brooke, please step into the main conference room immediately.” It was the HR Director’s voice, cold and entirely devoid of emotion.

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1 After our third reconciliation, Garrison became unusually generous. He replaced my wardrobe with custom designer pieces, set my monthly allowance at twenty thousand dollars, and opened a flower shop in my name. He said he wanted me to have a career of my own. I accepted everything with a polite smile, a stark contrast to our past fights. He put an arm around me, clearly pleased. This is how it should be, he said. Let us focus on building a good life together. Three days before, I had seen his messages to his first love, Summer. The shop was registered under her name so it would count as her asset in the divorce. The expensive clothes and large allowance were meant to inflate my lifestyle. In court, I would look greedy and materialistic when demanding alimony. Six months at most, he wrote. Wait for me. I closed his phone and got to work. I ran the flower shop well, deposited every cent of the allowance into a hidden account, and never wore the designer clothes. Their tags stayed intact. Six months later, when Garrison finally asked for a divorce, I handed him a far more detailed agreement. He froze in shock. I smiled calmly. You spent six months planning this, Garrison. Did you really think I did not spend six months preparing too? … “Are you trying to threaten me with this?” Garrison threw the thick stack of divorce papers onto the marble coffee table, a patronizing smile playing on his lips. “The signature is lovely,” he said, picking up his cup of hot tea and gently blowing on the leaves. “But there’s a limit to how long you can throw a tantrum.” I sat across from him, watching him slowly sip his tea. “I’m not throwing a tantrum,” I replied, pushing the papers back toward him. “The terms are perfectly clear. The flower shop remains mine, the properties under your name stay yours, and our liquid assets will be split proportionally.” Garrison set his cup down, the porcelain clinking sharply against the glass table. He leaned back into the sofa, resting his hands on his knees. “Naomi, do you honestly believe that saving twenty thousand dollars a month for half a year makes you independent?” “I’ve spent the last six months pampering you, buying you designer clothes, and giving you a flower shop so you could play the successful business owner.” “Do you seriously think you can survive out there without my support?” I looked at his arrogant posture, choosing to remain silent. Three months ago, in this very office, he had wrapped his arm around my shoulder in front of his wealthy friends, boasting that the shop was a gift to help me find my own passion. Suddenly, his phone on the table began to vibrate. The name Summer flashed across the screen. Garrison glanced at me, making no effort to hide the call as he pressed answer. “Garrison, the bridal boutique just called to confirm,” Summer’s sweet, delicate voice echoed through the quiet office. “When are you coming over?” Garrison’s voice softened instantly, filled with a tenderness he had never shown me. “Hey, sweetheart. I have a minor issue to handle here. I’ll pick you up shortly to try on that reception dress you liked.” “Is she throwing another tantrum?” Summer sighed on the other end. “Don’t be too hard on her. Since you two are parting ways anyway, at least let her keep some dignity.” “Don’t worry, I know how to handle it.” Garrison hung up and turned his cold gaze back to me. “You heard that? Summer is still trying to protect your feelings.” He reached into his leather briefcase, pulling out a document and sliding it across the table. “Since you insist on counting every penny, let’s look at the math.” I looked down at the paper. It was a loan agreement. “The flower shop’s legal representative is you,” Garrison said, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. “Last month, the shop took out a loan of five million dollars from one of my construction subsidiaries, supposedly for renovations and inventory.” “It’s not a massive sum, just five million.” He tapped his finger against the signature line at the bottom. “Black and white. Your personal signature and seal are right there.” I stared at the familiar signature stamp. It was a custom-made piece he had gifted me on the shop’s grand opening, telling me it would symbolize my independent career. It didn’t symbolize independence. It was a trap designed to drown me in debt. “And?” I looked up, meeting his eyes. “So, if you sign this clean-break agreement,” Garrison said, sliding his version of the divorce papers back to me, “I will personally clear this five-million-dollar debt for you. You can keep the monthly allowance as your severance package.” He adjusted his cuffs and stood up, looking down at me. “But if you insist on taking this to court, that five million will remain your personal liability. You won’t get a single dime from me, and you’ll spend the rest of your life working to pay off that debt.” He stood tall, entirely confident that I would break down, cry, and beg for his mercy just as I had done so many times before. I took a slow sip of my cold tea. “Garrison, your planning over the last six months was truly brilliant.” I opened my bag and pulled out a thick manila envelope, sliding a set of stamped documents onto the table, placing them right where his loan agreement sat. They were official audit reports from the tax bureau, accompanied by a copy of a criminal case filing from the financial fraud division. “The flower shop did indeed process a transaction of five million dollars,” I said, locking my eyes onto his. “But the recipient account belongs to the shell company you’ve been using to launder your personal assets.” Garrison’s eyes locked onto the red official stamps on the documents. The smug confidence on his face slowly, painfully began to fracture. 2 Garrison stared at the documents, the silence in the office turning heavy and suffocating. He didn’t scream, and he didn’t throw a fit. But the vein on his temple throbbed violently. “Where did you get these?” his voice dropped, laced with a freezing edge. “That doesn’t matter,” I said, leaning back comfortably. “What matters is that the tax authorities have already accepted the case. All those hidden accounts you kept in the dark are now exposed to the light.” Garrison suddenly let out a sharp laugh. He grabbed the photocopies, ripping them to shreds right in front of me, scattering the white pieces across the dark carpet. “Naomi, do you honestly believe some forged documents can put me behind bars?” He took a slow step toward me, leaning over the table to bring his face inches from mine. “For the past six months, you’ve eaten my food, worn the clothes I bought, and even the rent for this shop was paid out of my pocket.” “And you used my money to investigate me?” His voice was steady, but the naked malice in his eyes was no longer concealed. “Exactly,” I replied, holding his gaze. “Didn’t you say you wanted me to have a career? I’ve learned a lot, including how to run an audit.” Garrison straightened up, scanning the room. On the walls hung expensive paintings he had gifted me, and in the corner sat a rare, prized white orchid I had tended to for months. He walked over to the wooden plant stand, idly stroking the delicate leaves of the orchid. “This orchid was quite expensive, wasn’t it?” he asked. “You had it imported. It cost sixty thousand dollars,” I answered calmly. Garrison nodded. Then, with a sudden, violent sweep of his arm, he knocked the heavy ceramic pot off the stand. The sound of shattering clay echoed through the room. Soil and the rare, delicate roots of the orchid scattered across the floor. He stepped over the debris, walked to the wall, ripped down the expensive painting, and tossed it into the trash can. “I gave you all of this, and I can take it all back in an instant.” He turned around to face me. “Do you really think a little leverage is enough to negotiate with me?” “Naomi, you are incredibly naive. The game of high finance is not something a housewife who spent three years doing laundry can understand.” He walked back, his fingers gripping my chin tightly. “Yes, I set you up so Summer could take your place. I have no problem admitting that.” He showed no trace of remorse. “What else is a useless woman like you good for, if not to be a stepping stone?” “I offered you money and a graceful exit. If you had just taken the fall quietly, we could have parted ways like adults. Why must you make this so ugly?” Forced to look up at him, I stared at the face I had loved for five years. I used to think he was a gentleman. Now, he simply made my skin crawl. “Do you really think you’ve won?” I asked softly. Garrison released his grip, pulling a silk handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his fingers. “Tomorrow morning, my lawyers will take legal control of this shop. As for your so-called evidence…” He tossed the handkerchief onto the desk. “Feel free to try your luck. Let’s see if the authorities believe a heavily indebted business owner, or my elite legal team.” He adjusted his tie and turned toward the door. “Pack your things tonight and get out of my house.” As his hand touched the doorknob, he paused. “And don’t even think about taking those designer clothes with you. You didn’t even dare to remove the tags. You’re cheap to the bone, Naomi. A servant girl in a silk dress is still a servant.” The door slammed shut behind him. I stared at the ruins of my shop. I didn’t cry. Instead, I reached under a large piece of the shattered ceramic pot and retrieved a tiny, black voice recorder. I pressed the button to save the file. Garrison, the audit files were only the beginning. Tomorrow morning, you are going to receive a much larger surprise. 3 The next morning. I woke up on the thin mattress of a cheap motel, my phone buzzing with a dozen text notifications. Every single one was a notice that my credit cards had been deactivated. Moments later, the flower shop’s main supplier called. “Naomi, I am incredibly sorry, but Garrison’s representatives called us. We can no longer supply flowers to your shop.” “Please don’t make this difficult for us. We’re just trying to run a business.” “I understand,” I replied calmly, and hung up. Garrison’s methods were always so predictable. Cut off my finances, ruin my business, and leave me with nothing. He truly believed this would force me to crawl back, begging for his forgiveness. I opened social media, and the very first post on my feed was an update from Summer. The location tag was the sales office of the city’s most luxurious waterfront penthouse development. The photo showed a property purchase contract, with a man’s hand resting on the corner, a classic Cartier wedding band visible on his ring finger. I knew that hand all too well. The caption read: Finally, a home of our own. Thank you for always choosing me, my love. I zoomed in on the image. Under the guarantor section of the purchase contract, the business license number of my flower shop was clearly written. No wonder he was so desperate to force me out yesterday. He needed to use my business as leverage to pay the multi-million-dollar down payment on his mistress’s dream home. I leaned against the headboard, staring at the photo. I remembered how he had looked every time he transferred that twenty-thousand-dollar allowance to my account over the last six months, his expression full of condescending charity. “Spend it. Don’t be stingy with your wardrobe. The wife of Garrison needs to look presentable.” He had counted every penny when it came to me, terrified I would take a single dollar of his assets in a divorce. Yet, he threw millions at Summer without a second thought. I felt no pain, only a deep sense of irony. I exited the app, opened a contact with no name saved, and sent a quick text. “Is the joint lawsuit filed?” The reply came instantly. “Submitted to the court. Every minority shareholder signed off on it. The financial crimes division has also received the complete asset flow chart.” “Where is Garrison right now?” “At the penthouse sales office, preparing to make the payment.” I put my phone down, walked over to the window, and pulled back the curtains. Garrison, you truly believed you were outsmarting a simple housewife. You had no idea that the wealthy women I hosted at my shop over the last six months were the wives of your company’s minority shareholders. And you had no idea that I used that twenty-thousand-dollar monthly allowance to hire the best private investigators to map out every single one of your hidden accounts. My phone vibrated again. It was a video file from the same unsaved number. In the video, Garrison was sitting in the VIP lounge of the sales office. Summer was leaning against his shoulder, looking over the floor plans. Garrison handed a sleek black card to the sales manager. The manager took it respectfully and swiped it through the terminal. The machine let out a series of sharp, error beeps. The manager blinked, trying again. Another failure. “Mr. Garrison… your card appears to have been frozen,” the manager said awkwardly, handing it back. The smile on Garrison’s face vanished. He stood up abruptly, pulling out his phone to make a call. But before he could dial, the glass doors of the VIP lounge were pushed open. Several federal agents in windbreakers walked in. “Garrison? You are under investigation for embezzlement and money laundering. All accounts under your name have been frozen by federal order.” “Please come with us.” The video cut off. Staring at the screen, I watched the look of sheer, helpless disbelief on Garrison’s face. I tossed the phone onto the bed and went to get ready. At the exact moment he tried to buy his mistress a luxury penthouse, his empire collapsed. 4 By the time Garrison was released on bail, it was already late afternoon. I was standing outside the ruins of my flower shop, sorting through the remaining inventory. Yes, ruins. Two hours prior, a bulldozer had driven onto the commercial street. The driver claimed he was acting on orders from Garrison’s estate management company. The lease had supposedly expired, and the premises had to be cleared immediately. I hadn’t stopped them. I had only secured the physical ledgers. A sleek black Maybach pulled up to the curb. Garrison stepped out, his suit wrinkled, dark circles framing his bloodshot eyes. The elegant composure he usually wore was entirely gone. He marched over to me, his voice low and dangerous. “You did this?” he asked, pointing a finger at the pile of brick and splintered wood. “You’re the one who ran the fake accounts, Garrison. How is that my fault?” I replied, dusting off my hands. Garrison took a deep breath, loosening his tie. “Naomi, you really are something else. Banding together with those old shareholders to ruin me?” He stared at me as if looking at a monster. “Do you have any idea what a frozen account and a broken supply chain mean for me?” “Bankruptcy. Or prison,” I supplied calmly. That was the breaking point. He lunged forward, grabbing my arm with a crushing grip, dragging me toward the dark alley behind the shop. “What are you doing? Let go of me!” I struggled, but his grip was like iron, and I couldn’t break free. At the end of the alley lay the heavy metal door of the cold storage unit we used to preserve imported flowers. Because of the demolition, the power to the block had been cut, but the thick insulation kept the interior freezing. Garrison shoved me inside. I stumbled, falling hard onto the icy concrete floor, a sharp pain shooting through my knees. “You like auditing accounts so much? You like acting so pure and righteous?” Garrison stood in the doorway, looking down at me in the dim light. His voice had returned to that terrifyingly polite, cruel tone. “The moment you sign the papers to drop the lawsuit, and the moment you change your statement to the fraud division, I’ll let you out.” “Garrison, you’re insane! This is kidnapping!” I yelled, pulling myself up by the cold wall. “Go ahead and sue me,” he sneered. “Let’s see if any lawyer in this city dares to take your case.” He slammed the heavy insulated door shut. The lock clicked into place from the outside. I was plunged into absolute, freezing darkness. The biting cold wrapped around me instantly. I pulled out my phone. No service. The temperature in the unit was well below freezing, and I was only wearing a light trench coat. Even worse, the sudden physical struggle and the freezing air began to constrict my chest. My throat felt tight, and my breath came in ragged, wheezing gasps. My asthma was flaring up. I threw my weight against the heavy iron door, pounding on it with all my strength. “Garrison… open the door…” “My inhaler… it’s in my bag… outside…” Garrison’s voice came through the thick metal, muffled and completely uncaring. “Stop acting, Naomi. You’ve used that trick a thousand times.” “Do you really think throwing a tantrum will make me soft?” “Even if you die in there, I don’t care.” His voice was dripping with arrogance and absolute certainty. I slid down the cold iron door, collapsing onto the frozen floor. Breathing became an agonizing struggle, each gasp feeling like I was inhaling crushed glass. The freezing air crept up my fingers, numbing my joints. I tried to reach into my pockets, but my hands were stiff, covered in a thin layer of frost, completely devoid of sensation. In the silent, freezing dark, my grip on consciousness slipped away, and I finally closed my eyes.

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Fred Harrington was the quiet light I had spent four years secretly loving. If we had not ended up tangled together in that bed, perhaps we would have remained best friends for a lifetime. Five years after we parted, we met again at my younger brother Jude’s wedding. While everyone else was offering their blessings to the newlyweds, Fred leaned in close, his breath brushing against my ear. His voice was low, heavy with mockery. “I heard you spent three years pining after me, Silas. Doesn’t that make you sick?” 1 “Hey, what took you so long?” Jude stood in his sharp, white tuxedo, the bright, familiar smile still lighting up his face. The kid I used to look after was finally getting married. Time really did fly. “Flight was delayed,” I said, offering a quiet apology. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” “You’re not late. The ceremony hasn’t even started yet.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a little girl walking over, having finally finished staring at the goldfish in the lobby fountain. I waved her over and introduced her to Jude with a smile. “This is my daughter, Elia.” “I know, I know! We’re already best friends,” Jude said, dropping to one knee to perform their secret handshake. Watching them mimic each other’s goofy gestures, I couldn’t help but laugh. They had video called a few times before we flew in. Elia was a social butterfly who could strike up a conversation with absolutely anyone. “I’ll take her to see Dad,” Jude said, taking her hand. I nodded and watched them walk hand-in-hand toward the reception room. Finding a quiet corner, I sat down and opened my laptop to reply to some work emails. After moving to London, I had taken up photography, finding a job there right after graduation. My inbox was flooded with inquiries and booking requests. Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I drafted polite rejections one by one. Elia had never been to the States before, and I wanted to spend some quality time with her during this trip. The freelance gigs would have to wait until we returned to the UK. As my fingers flew across the keyboard, a familiar, rich scent of cedarwood and amber suddenly drifted into my space. My hands froze over the keys. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood up as if a warm breath had just brushed past them. In my peripheral vision, a hand appeared. It moved closer, slowly, until a set of pale, perfect knuckles rested firmly on the table. The woody fragrance deepened, wrapping around me. Two soft taps echoed against the wood. It felt as if those taps landed directly on my ribcage, sending a sharp tremor straight to my heart. “Long time no see, Silas.” Hearing that familiar voice after five long years made my chest tighten instantly. 2 Fred Harrington. The boy who used to be my best friend. And the one I had loved in silence for as long as I could remember. The chair beside me was pulled back, and a pair of long legs entered my field of vision. He crossed them with a quiet, effortless elegance. The high-end fabric of his tailored suit didn’t even crease. A flash of the signature red soles of his designer shoes caught the light, disappearing into the shadow of the desk like a passing spark. My throat went dry. Forcing my eyes back to the glowing laptop screen, I tried to resume typing. But within seconds, his voice stopped me again. “Five years in London, Silas, and you’ve already forgotten how to speak to me?” The tone was lazy, almost casual, yet it carried that familiar, demanding edge. “No,” I murmured, my voice barely audible. I let my shoulders slump slightly, feeling a quiet wave of defeat. I hadn’t expected to run into him here. Fred was never the type to attend family gatherings like this. “Then answer me.” “Long time no see,” I whispered. But it wasn’t true. For me, there had been no long separation. I had fallen asleep almost every night looking at his pictures, and his face was still the lock screen on every device I owned. Fred let out a short, quiet scoff, though his voice softened when he spoke next. “Finally decided to come back?” The lack of anger in his voice caught me off guard. I stared at the screen, stunned. It was as if the painful event that tore us apart had left no mark on him at all. Then again, why would it? I was the only one who had been drowning in the aftermath. Taking a slow, quiet breath to suppress the ache in my chest, I tried to stay calm. After all, I was the one who had cut off all contact. I was the one who had slept with the sole heir of the Harrington family, got caught by his powerful grandfather, and ended up banished across the Atlantic. Honestly, being sent away was the gentlest punishment they could have given me. I cursed myself silently. How could I have been so reckless back then? Fred was different from me. He was normal, destined for a bright, conventional future. He shouldn’t have been dragged into the dark, complicated mess of my life. I pressed my fingernails into my palms, letting the sharp pain anchor me. “Just here for Jude’s wedding,” I replied, keeping my voice as flat and emotionless as possible. “We’ll be heading back right after.” It was a lie, but it didn’t matter. As long as I didn’t actively seek him out, the chances of us crossing paths in a city this size were practically zero. He would never know when I left, and he likely wouldn’t care. Five years was a long time. It was more than enough to rewrite the history between two people. “You’re cold, Silas,” Fred said, a trace of bitter humor in his voice. “First you vanish without a single word, and now you can’t wait to draw a line between us. Tell me, do you really despise me that much?” It sounded like a joke, but I knew him too well. Having spent three years as his shadow, I could read the subtle shifts in his voice like a familiar book. My wrists felt stiff, hovering over the keyboard. When I finally let my arms drop to the table, they made a dull thud. I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. When it came to Fred, I had never possessed an ounce of strength. “I don’t despise you,” I said softly, the weight of the confession heavy in my throat. The only person I despised was myself. “Then why did you…” Fred’s voice grew thick with sudden emotion, and his hand shot out, gripping my forearm tightly. The heat of his palm burned right through the thin sleeve of my shirt, making me shiver. “Daddy!” 3 I turned quickly. Jude was walking back toward us, holding Elia’s hand. The little girl broke free and ran, throwing herself into my arms. I spun around to catch her, shielding her as the heavy warmth on my arm vanished. Pulling a small comb from my bag, I knelt down to smooth the wild curls around her face. “Daddy, Grandpa gave me so many chocolates! I don’t want to eat them now. Can we put them in your bag?” “No sweets before dinner, okay?” I reminded her, opening my satchel so she could drop the colorful foil-wrapped candies inside. Like a little hurricane, Elia was gone as fast as she had arrived, dragging Jude toward the dessert table. “Is she… your daughter?” Fred’s voice drifted down from behind me, much lower and rougher than before. My hands froze as I sat back down. A sudden, cold panic gripped my chest. I silently prayed he hadn’t looked closely enough to see the familiar shape of her eyes, the familiar curve of her jaw. Feeling his heavy, searching gaze on me, I forced myself to nod. “You’re married?” he asked, his voice strained. I nodded again, my fingers returning to the keyboard, though I couldn’t see the screen through the haze of my anxiety. Elia had to remain my daughter alone. She had nothing to do with the Harrington family. “Does your wife know you’re gay?” The raw malice and mockery in his voice made me flinch. It was a tone I had never heard from him before. My fingers began to tremble. “I heard you spent three years pining after me, Silas,” Fred sneered, leaning closer. “Doesn’t that make you sick?” It felt as if a physical blow had landed on my chest, leaving a hollow, aching void. I hid my shaking hands beneath the long tablecloth, forcing myself to look up and meet his gaze. I managed to pull my lips into a fragile, hollow smile. “I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I don’t feel that way anymore. And I won’t bother you again.” He looked thinner than he used to, his cheekbones sharper, his dark eyes like endless wells of shadow. But right now, his face held nothing but deep, burning resentment. It was a look that shattered the last of my resolve. I could barely draw breath under the weight of it. This was truly the end. We would never see each other again. A sudden rush of air brushed past me as he turned and walked away. 4 The wedding ceremony began, but as I glanced around the beautifully decorated hall, Fred was nowhere to be seen. He had left. I leaned back against my chair, staring down at the deep, red crescent marks my nails had carved into my palm. I had driven him away. No one wanted to share a room, let alone a meal, with the guy who had harbored a pathetic, secret obsession with them for years. It was bound to leave a bad taste in his mouth. The reception was flawless, like something out of a classic movie. “Silas, you should stay at the house while you’re in town,” Jude said afterward, his eyes slightly red from the emotional day. “I had your old room cleaned up and everything.” “It’s alright,” I said, offering a small smile as I squeezed Elia’s hand. “We’d only be in the way. The hotel is closer to the venues anyway. It’s easier.” “Are you still angry with Dad?” Jude asked softly. “The past is the past, Jude,” I murmured, reaching up to ruffle his hair gently. “Look at me. I’m doing just fine.” We were a blended family. My mother had passed away from complications during my birth, and due to my frail health, I spent my childhood living with my grandparents in a quiet coastal town. I was only brought back to the Kingsley estate when I started high school. Someone called Jude’s name from the crowd. I patted his shoulder, urging him to go tend to his guests. Using a ride-sharing app, I booked a car and took Elia to the lobby to wait. “Daddy, a nice mister gave me two candies earlier. One for you, one for me!” “A mister?” I asked, adjusting the hem of her lace dress. “Who was he?” It was probably one of Jude’s friends. “Remember, too much sugar will ruin your teeth. A princess can’t have a ruined smile.” “But these are really good! Better than the chocolates Grandpa gave me.” She opened her small hand, revealing a round candy wrapped in pale blue foil. A sea salt mint. My heart skipped a beat. The first time I had ever tasted that exact flavor, Fred had shoved it into my mouth after a grueling basketball practice. “Do you like them?” I whispered. “I love them!” she beamed. Children usually disliked the sharp, bracing taste of mint, but Elia’s tastes had always been uniquely her own. I took the candy from her hand, slowly peeling back the foil, and let the cool, sharp sweetness melt on my tongue. 5 The sharp ring of my phone woke me the next morning. I quickly hit the mute button, checking on Elia, who was still fast asleep under the heavy hotel comforter. Slipping out of bed, I walked barefoot out onto the balcony, closing the glass door behind me before answering. It was Lance, my mentor and closest friend in London. I pulled the phone away from my ear for a moment, waiting for his usual burst of high-energy chatter to quiet down before speaking. “Silas! Tell me you didn’t just ignore my brilliant greeting,” Lance’s accented English filled the line. A genuine smile touched my lips. “Of course not.” “How long are you staying in the States?” Lance asked. “I need a massive favor. The local agency I’m partnering with for a campaign needs a temporary photographer. One of their lead shooters went down with the flu.” “I’ll be here for about two months,” I replied. “If the schedule isn’t too crazy, I can help out.” I owed Lance a lot. He had taken me under his wing when I arrived in London with nothing but a camera and a broken heart. “You’re a lifesaver! Are you free tomorrow afternoon?” “Sure. Send me the details.” After hanging up, I went back inside. Elia was awake, sitting cross-legged on the bed and quietly flipping through her picture book. She never woke up grumpy, which was a blessing since I was useless before my morning coffee.

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Three years ago, at our engagement party, his childhood bestie threw down a ridiculous bet. She dared Jeffrey to walk out on our wedding. To let her win, Jeffrey abandoned me at the altar. He tossed a careless smirk at his groomsmen. “She caves easily. Give her the cold shoulder for a few days and she’ll come crawling back.” His boys cheered, calling me a desperate gold digger, absolutely certain I could never survive without him. His bestie, June, even had the nerve to snatch the veil right off my head, giggling and shoving Jeffrey playfully. With hundreds of eyes burning into my skin, I stood there, my expression completely blank. Jeffrey looked back at me with a proud, approving nod. “Now that is the grace a Goodwin wife should have. Be a good girl and wait for me at home.” Hearing those words, I only felt a bitter urge to laugh. Grace? It was nothing but the absolute death of my love for him. Three years later, Jeffrey blocked the main entrance of my office building with a fleet of luxury cars and a massive diamond ring. “Madness over? I’m here to keep my promise.” I did not even spare him a second glance. I just protectively cradled my heavily pregnant belly. “Excuse me. My husband is picking me up for my ultrasound.” 1 “Is playing dress up with a silicone belly really that fun?” Jeffrey stood with one hand shoved casually into his tailored slacks. His eyes lazily swept over my rounded stomach. His tone was drenched in that same arrogant certainty he always carried. I met his gaze without flinching. “Mr. Goodwin, move.” The front doors of my firm were completely blocked by nine black Maybachs. Drones buzzed in the crisp afternoon air, dragging a massive banner with my name printed in bold letters. A crowd of my coworkers had already formed on the sidewalk, their breathless whispers drifting into my ears. Jeffrey did not look embarrassed in the slightest. Instead, he took a confident step forward and offered me a massive bouquet of red roses. “It has been three years. You have thrown your little tantrum. It is time to come home.” He looked at me with what he probably thought was indulgent affection. “You know how much I hate it when women act hysterical. But for you, I made an exception. I gave you three whole years.” I stared at those blood red petals. Three years ago, when I was in the ER hooked up to an IV because of a severe pollen allergy, he had his assistant send me the exact same type of flowers. He told me June had picked them out and warned me not to be ungrateful. I kept my hands firmly on my belly and took a half step back. “Jeffrey, I am not throwing a tantrum.” I looked directly into his eyes, my voice quiet but steady. “I am married. And I am five months pregnant.” Jeffrey let out a low chuckle. He casually tossed the expensive bouquet onto the lid of a nearby trash can. “You are spinning lies like this just to get a reaction out of me?” He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a velvet box. It popped open with a soft click, revealing a massive pink diamond that caught the sunlight. “I owed you a ceremony three years ago. I am making up for it today.” He did not even bother to drop to one knee. He just held the box out to me, looking like a king bestowing a rare favor upon a peasant. “Put it on. We will pick out a wedding dress tomorrow. I promise I won’t walk out this time.” He said it with such casual entitlement. I looked at the glittering stone, feeling absolutely nothing. At our engagement party, he turned his back on me and walked out in front of my entire family, all because June wanted to test her power over him. Her sharp stiletto had stomped right onto the hem of my gown, leaving an ugly smear of black mud on the pristine white silk. She ripped my veil away to humiliate me. And what did he say? He praised my grace. He told me to wait at home. That night, I peeled off the ruined dress all by myself. I took a pair of scissors, cut out the muddy footprint, and threw it into the trash along with my engagement ring. From that exact second, the man named Jeffrey Goodwin died in my heart. “I don’t need it.” I sidestepped him and headed straight for the curb. Jeffrey finally frowned. He reached out to grab my wrist. I twisted away, letting his hand grasp empty air. “Monica, enough.” His voice dropped an octave, laced with a heavy warning. “My patience has limits. Who exactly is this little performance for?” Right on cue, his phone chimed. It was a custom text tone. June’s sickly sweet voice spilled from the speaker. “Tristy, did you pick Monica up? I feel a little sick. My head is spinning.” Jeffrey’s icy expression melted instantly. He pressed the audio button to reply. “Be a good girl and take your meds. I will bring her back to see you soon.” He slipped the phone away and looked back at me. “June is sick, and she is still worrying about you. Stop being so hostile toward her.” A note of sharp reprimand entered his voice. “What happened three years ago was just a joke. She is young and does not know any better. You were practically supposed to be her family. Why are you holding such a petty grudge?” Watching his righteous indignation, a wave of intense nausea hit me. Morning sickness was normal, but standing in front of this man made my stomach violently churn. I took a deep breath, forcing the bile down. “Jeffrey, do you lack basic comprehension skills?” I pointed toward the taxi stand. “My husband is waiting for me at the hospital. Get out of my way.” His face turned ice cold. He stared intensely at my stomach. “You really won’t drop this, will you? You are actually using these cheap tricks to force an apology out of me?” “Cheap tricks?” I chewed on the words, finding them hilarious. “Think whatever helps you sleep at night.” I was done wasting oxygen on him. I walked straight to a yellow cab that had just pulled up, opened the door, and slid into the back seat, shielding my bump. Jeffrey moved with lightning speed, slamming his hand against the door frame before I could close it. “Which hospital? I will take you.” He looked down at me, a dark sneer twisting his lips. “I really want to see which random loser you hired to play this little game with you.” I glared at his hand gripping the metal frame. “Let go.” “Don’t push your luck, Monica.” His patience seemed to completely evaporate. He yanked the front passenger door open and threw himself into the seat. Defeated by his stubbornness, I told the driver the name of the private maternity hospital downtown. The driver glanced nervously between us. Jeffrey pulled out a thick stack of hundred dollar bills and threw them onto the dashboard. “Drive.” The cab merged into the bustling city traffic. The silence inside the car was suffocating. Jeffrey leaned back, turning his head to study me. “You used to cry over a simple blood draw. Now you are strapping a fake belly to yourself just to make me mad?” His gaze lingered on my midsection, highly critical. “Take it off. Aren’t you sweating under there?” I pulled the zipper of my coat all the way up to my chin, closed my eyes, and ignored him. Half an hour later, the car pulled up to the hospital entrance. I got out. Jeffrey followed like a dark shadow. The lobby of the private clinic was quiet, smelling of expensive sanitizer and fresh linen. I walked to the kiosk to print my appointment ticket. Jeffrey stood right behind me, reading the screen that clearly displayed ‘Obstetrics Follow Up’. His eye twitched, but he recovered his smug composure a second later. “You are really committed to the bit.” He let out a dry laugh. I took my ticket and headed for the elevator. He stayed glued to my side. When we reached the third floor waiting area, I found an empty seat. The moment I sat down, the elevator doors chimed open again. June stepped out, teetering on designer heels and clutching a massive bundle of white roses. She spotted us instantly and trotted over. “Tristy! Monica!” She shoved the white roses right into my face, wearing a mask of flawless, innocent joy. “I heard you were pregnant! I just had to come say congratulations!” The heavy, powdery scent of pollen flooded my lungs. I violently turned my head and sneezed. Jeffrey immediately frowned at June. “She is allergic to pollen. Move them away.” June bit her bottom lip, her eyes shining with instant, manufactured tears. “Oh no, I am so sorry Monica. I completely forgot. I was just so excited for you.” She dropped the flowers onto the empty chair next to her and naturally slid into the seat right beside Jeffrey. “But Monica, didn’t you get married a little too fast?” June’s gaze dragged over my belly, a malicious glint hidden in her smile. “The baby is already so big. Did you just grab the first guy you saw to get back at Tristy?” She covered her mouth, giggling softly. “It is such an important checkup today. Where is this mysterious husband of yours?” “Did he ditch you here all by yourself? Sounds like a deadbeat to me.” Jeffrey listened to every venomous word and did absolutely nothing to stop her. Instead, he watched me closely, waiting to see me crack. “Her husband is too busy to care about her,” Jeffrey answered for me, his voice dripping with mockery. “How dedicated can a hired actor really be?” I watched them bounce off each other, feeling an eerie sense of total peace. This was the man I had loved for seven years. He was sitting here, watching another woman insult me, and deciding to join in. “Is Monica here?” A nurse stepped out of the examination room, holding a medical chart. “Here,” I said, standing up. The nurse looked at me, then glanced at Jeffrey and June. “The doctor needs a family member to sign the ultrasound consent forms. Which one of you is the spouse?” Jeffrey instinctively took a step forward. “I am.” I turned around, cutting him off with a voice made of ice. “No, he isn’t.” The nurse froze, her eyes darting between Jeffrey and me. Jeffrey’s outstretched hand hung awkwardly in the air. His face darkened dangerously. “Monica, stop acting like a child.” He lowered his voice, packing it with a fierce warning. “This is a hospital. Not a stage for your temper tantrums.” I did not even look at him. I turned back to the nurse. “I do not know them. They are just strangers who followed me here. My husband is parking the car. He will be right up.” The nurse nodded slowly and pulled the clipboard back to her chest. “Understood. Please wait for him out here. We need the actual spouse on record for these documents.” She turned and disappeared back into the room. Jeffrey slowly pulled his hand back and shoved it into his pocket. His eyes narrowed, glowing with a dangerous, volatile heat. “Strangers?” He let out a sharp, breathless laugh. “You have grown some spine in three years. Denying I am family now?” Seeing his anger, June immediately stood up and wrapped her hands around Jeffrey’s arm. “Tristy, don’t be mad.” She looked at me, her eyes brimming with fresh, practiced tears. “Monica, are you seriously still mad about that little joke we played three years ago?” She sniffled, sounding like the ultimate victim. “I just made a tiny bet with Tristy to lighten the mood at the party.” “How was I supposed to know you couldn’t take a joke? You literally ran away from home over nothing.” She framed my ruined wedding as a joke, and my shattered heart as being overly sensitive. Staring at her pathetic, trembling face, I felt a wave of pure disgust. “Turning my wedding into a betting pool was a joke?” I shifted my gaze to Jeffrey.

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