1 The day my husband, Brian, brought his depressed first love, Kelly, into our home to take care of her, I let out a long, quiet sigh of relief. He looked at my perfectly calm face and spoke in a freezing tone. “Kelly’s health is fragile. She needs the master bedroom. It gets the most natural sunlight.” I nodded immediately and hauled all my belongings into the guest room. Seeing my compliance, he added, “Her stomach is extremely sensitive. She can only stomach bland, home-cooked meals.” I immediately fired our private chef, who specialized in spicy Cajun cuisine, and personally went to the kitchen to cook a table full of plain porridge and light, organic vegetables. When Kelly clutched her chest in pain, I ran out to buy her medication faster than Brian ever could. I was not doing this because I was a desperate pushover trying to win my husband back. I was doing this because, just yesterday, I had secretly moved a completely blind Aaron Harrington into our house. Aaron was the untouchable fantasy of my youth, the secret crush I had buried deep in my heart for a decade. But the moment Brian laid eyes on him, my normally cold and composed husband completely lost his mind. With bloodshot eyes, he practically begged me, “Harper, I am the one you love the most. I forbid you from looking at him!” … On the day of our belated wedding ceremony, Kelly staged a highly publicized medical emergency, intentionally overdosing on a dangerous cocktail of prescription pills. Without a second thought, Brian abandoned me at the altar, sprinting to Kelly’s apartment and carrying her to the hospital. I was left completely alone at the venue. I had to swallow my absolute humiliation, entertain our friends and family, deal with the aggressive media, and finish the reception by myself. After finally sending the last guest home, I received a phone call from Brian. “Kelly needs to be admitted. I cannot leave her side right now. Come to the hospital and pay the bill.” I couldn’t even describe what I was feeling. I felt like I should be furious, screaming, entirely hysterical. But in reality, I just calmly replied, “Okay.” Because this exact scenario had played out far too many times. Kelly came back into the picture the exact day after Brian and I signed our marriage certificate. The moment she saw our bright red legal documents, she had a total psychological breakdown and collapsed in her bathroom. Brian rushed her to the ER and stayed by her bedside all night. The next morning, with dark, exhausted circles under his eyes, he looked at me and said, “Harper, we are canceling the wedding ceremony. Kelly cannot handle the stimulation right now.” “But…” Before the words could even leave my mouth, Brian cut me off. “Harper, this is a human life we are talking about. Stop being so selfish.” His voice was terrifyingly heavy, instantly suffocating every single ounce of anticipation I had for our wedding. We had picked out the dress together. We toured the venues. We chose the rings. We had everything ready. And because of one woman, it all evaporated into thin air. I wasn’t even allowed to argue. I wasn’t allowed to feel wronged. I could only give a dry, hollow response. “Okay.” Because nothing was more important than a human life, right? From that day forward, our marriage became a crowded room of three. She was there on our honeymoon. She was there on Valentine’s Day. She was there on our anniversary. And by now, I was completely numb to it. I took off my wedding dress, drove to the hospital in complete silence, and paid her medical bills. As I was walking out of the hospital entrance, a white mobility cane suddenly struck the back of my calf. “I am so sorry,” a panicked, entirely lost voice stammered. I turned around in surprise. “Aaron? What are you doing here?” 2 Hearing my voice, Aaron froze entirely. His first instinct was to hide, but he completely forgot he could not see. His foot missed the edge of the step, and he tumbled violently down the concrete stairs. My heart leaped into my throat. I sprinted down the steps. “Aaron! Are you okay?” I tried to help him up, but he thrashed against my grip desperately. I couldn’t help but lose my temper. “Aaron Harrington, why are you throwing a billionaire temper tantrum right now? Do you have any idea that you are bleeding?” I don’t know which word triggered him, but Aaron suddenly went rigid, his broad shoulders trembling violently. I leaned in to check his injuries. But the second I got close, his hoarse, tear-choked voice cracked through the air. “Don’t look at me!” It was only then that I realized how drastically different this Aaron was from the boy I remembered. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, groomed from birth to inherit the massive Harrington Industries empire. Whatever he wanted, he got the absolute best. Every move he made used to radiate the effortless arrogance of the ultra-wealthy. Now, he was wearing a cheap, faded t-shirt, clutching a dented white cane, his clothes covered in dirt and his flawlessly sculpted face smeared with grime. I pressed my lips together and swallowed my questions. I practically carried him to a doctor, got his cuts bandaged, picked up his eye medication, and shoved him into the passenger seat of my car. “Where do you live now?” I asked. Aaron did not answer. After an agonizing silence, he finally muttered, “The Southside Projects.” The Southside Projects was the most dangerous, run-down slum in the city. It was a place the old Aaron Harrington wouldn’t have even glanced at from a helicopter. I paused for a second before slowly putting the car in drive. When I finally stepped into the place he called home, I couldn’t believe my eyes. A rotting wooden door, walls stained black with cooking grease, and a bathroom that smelled violently of raw sewage. There was almost zero furniture in the entire unit. Just a brutal wooden slab for a bed, covered by a paper-thin sheet. Aaron tapped his way inside with his cane. He was being incredibly careful, yet his shin still slammed brutally into the corner of the bed frame. He let out a muffled groan. I couldn’t take it a second longer. I stepped forward, grabbed his wrist, and dragged him toward the door. “Aaron, you are not staying in this dump. You are coming home with me.” Taking Aaron home was an act of pure impulse. I didn’t regret it, but it definitely created a massive logistical nightmare. I had no idea how I was going to explain him to Brian. Maybe my moral compass was just a bit too rigid, but I firmly believed that while I was still legally married, I shouldn’t be moving another man into the house I shared with my husband. But throwing Aaron back into that slum was absolutely out of the question. After racking my brain, I decided to hide Aaron in our spacious attic. He sat on the freshly made bed, clutching his white cane tightly. His jaw was set in a stubborn line, but the corners of his eyes were flushed red. He turned his sightless eyes toward me and whispered, “Harper, am I completely pathetic to look at right now?” I had no idea how to comfort a fallen billionaire. I just abruptly changed the subject. “I am going to grab you some food!” Aaron did not say a word. He just sat in silence, listening to my fading footsteps. I did not sleep a single wink that night. The next morning, when Brian finally returned, I was ready to lay all my cards on the table. But before I could even open my mouth, I saw Kelly standing right behind him. 3 “Harper, Kelly is moving in with us starting today.” Brian offered zero explanation. It was a cold, emotionless command. Instead of fighting, I let out a massive sigh of relief. A genuine smile even touched my lips as I nodded. “Okay.” Seeing my total lack of resistance, Brian furrowed his brows. After all, just last month, I had torn the house apart screaming at him over Kelly. Before that fight, I hadn’t stayed quiet out of the goodness of my heart. I stayed quiet because Brian constantly gaslit me, swearing up and down that Kelly was just like a little sister to him and he couldn’t just abandon her. That was until last month, when I went to help his mother pack for a move and accidentally stumbled across his old high school diary. That was when I learned the truth. Kelly was his untouchable fantasy, his perfect white moonlight. When her family went bankrupt and she came crawling back from overseas, his fantasy suddenly became attainable. The only thing standing in their way was me. Three years of suffocating resentment violently erupted. I took the diary and confronted Brian, demanding answers. But he just looked at me with cold, absolute disgust. “Harper, why do you get such a sick thrill out of invading other people’s privacy?” All the blood drained from my face. I don’t remember what happened after that. When I finally woke up, I was lying in a sterile hospital bed, the sharp stench of bleach burning my nose. A nurse noticed my blank stare and offered a pitying smile. “You are still young. You can always have another baby. Please try not to grieve too hard.” That was the exact moment I realized a tiny, quiet life inside of me had slipped away. And my husband was nowhere to be found. By the time he finally finished consoling Kelly and returned to the hospital, I had already checked myself out and gone home alone. Brian stormed into our bedroom, looking at my packed suitcase with intense irritation. “Harper, what kind of tantrum is this? Checking out of the hospital when you haven’t even recovered? Do you think you’re invincible just because you’re young?” He didn’t even get to finish his sentence before I cut him off. “Brian, I want a divorce.” Brian’s face went totally blank for a second. Then a flash of sheer panic crossed his eyes, before twisting into an ugly sneer. “Harper, Kelly was having a mental crisis. I was just following the doctor’s orders to stay by her side. Can you stop being so insanely petty? Look at the bigger picture. You look like a bitter, hysterical housewife right now!” I was far too exhausted to argue with him. I dropped the signed divorce papers onto the coffee table, grabbed my suitcase, and walked out the front door without granting him a single backward glance. That was when Brian truly panicked. For the next entire month, he completely abandoned Kelly. He chased me relentlessly, doing everything in his power to drag me back. He treated me like a queen during those weeks. It was exactly like how he treated me when we first started dating. But I truly, deeply wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Three nights ago, he knocked on my hotel room door again. I was fully prepared to say the most ruthless things imaginable to get him out of my life forever. But when I yanked the door open, I found Brian down on one knee. He was holding a massive bouquet of flowers and the exact diamond ring I had begged for three years ago. With red, tear-filled eyes, he pleaded, “Harper, let me give you the wedding you deserve.” My mind instantly flashed back to the very first time he proposed. He was on one knee back then too, his eyes overflowing with total devotion, swearing to protect my happiness forever. I figured I could give him one last chance. I let him slide the ring onto my finger, and he held me, crying tears of actual joy. He promised me, “Harper, I am going to throw you the most romantic wedding this city has ever seen.” Brian did not lie. He dropped over a million dollars transforming a luxury hotel ballroom into a breathtaking sea of lavender. The entire venue looked like a dream. But my heart felt absolutely nothing. I hated lavender. I loved the most cliché, blood-red roses. The person who loved lavender was Kelly. So when Brian sprinted out of the venue because Kelly had a “crisis,” my expression didn’t even flinch. It made perfect sense. If he had actually ignored Kelly to marry me, that would have been out of character. So now, moving Kelly into our house was entirely expected. Seeing how happily I agreed, a bizarre, suffocating frustration twisted in Brian’s chest. His expression turned icy, and he snapped like he was trying to provoke me. “Her health is fragile. She needs the master bedroom with the natural sunlight.” 4 A flash of absolute triumph crossed the face of the woman standing behind him, but Kelly expertly masked it a second later, replacing it with a fragile, weeping expression. “Brian, we can’t do that. I could never take Harper’s room. A tiny maid’s quarters or the basement is more than enough for me…” As she spoke, she peeked at Brian through her eyelashes, waiting for his reaction. Normally, whenever she pulled this routine, Brian would viciously scold me for being unaccommodating and literally force my belongings into her hands. But this time, she didn’t get to hear Brian’s defense. I beat him to the punch and nodded brightly. “Okay.” Without missing a beat, I marched into the master bedroom and hauled every last piece of my existence into the guest room down the hall. Brian’s face looked like a brewing thunderstorm. Once I finished moving, I needed to talk to Brian about Aaron. I politely knocked on the master bedroom door. “Can I come in?” I waited in silence for a long time. No answer. Just as I turned to leave, the door violently swung open. Brian stood there, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with fury. Normally, seeing him this angry would make me drop everything to coddle his ego. But this time, I just hesitated and said, “Brian, there is something I need to tell you…” I didn’t get to finish. “Harper, Kelly is starving. Her stomach is sensitive, so she can only eat bland, organic home-cooked meals.” He slammed the door right in my face. I rubbed my nose, sighed, and went downstairs to find our live-in chef. I wired her a massive bonus and told her to take a paid month off. Brian was the one who hired her because he loved her spicy Southern cooking, but now the house had Kelly and Aaron, two patients who couldn’t handle a single drop of hot sauce. After sending the chef away, I tied on an apron and cooked an entire spread of food myself. When we finally sat down at the dining table, Brian’s face was still pitch black. He didn’t say a word and barely touched his food. Clearly, it wasn’t up to his standard. I didn’t want to trigger another fight, but the Aaron situation could not stay hidden forever. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Brian, I have a friend who recently ran into some serious trouble, and right now…” Denied again. Kelly suddenly began gasping for air, her face turning a sickly white as she collapsed against Brian’s chest. “Brian, my heart hurts so much… I think I’m having a severe allergic reaction…” Before Kelly even finished her performance, I shot out of my chair and sprinted out the front door. A torrential downpour was raging outside. I didn’t even grab an umbrella. I ran full speed to the pharmacy outside our gated community and bought every anti-allergy and emergency heart medication they had. I used to think Kelly was just faking it, but yesterday the doctor told me Aaron’s blindness was entirely induced by severe psychological trauma. Mental illness could manifest in terrifying physical ways. They really were that sick! By the time I ran back into the house, I was drenched to the bone, shivering violently. Brian looked at my pathetic, soaking wet state, and his rage finally boiled over. “Harper, what the hell is wrong with you?!” “How many times do I have to explain this?! Kelly and I are completely innocent! There is nothing going on between us!” “She is sick! I can’t just leave her to die!” I opened my mouth, desperate to explain why I actually ran out, but the words caught in my throat. I just stood there in silence. Brian grew even more furious. He gripped Kelly’s hand tightly, his voice dropping to absolute zero. “Harper, pack your things and get out of this house.” The second those words left his mouth, a rhythmic tapping echoed from the top of the stairs. Tap. Tap. Tap. A white cane hitting the hardwood floors. Slow. Hesitant. Then, Aaron’s voice drifted down. “Harper… you haven’t come up to the attic all day. Did you decide to throw me away too?” Brian whipped his head up. The moment he recognized Aaron, his pupils shrank to the size of pinpricks.

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I had detested Steven Wilder since the moment I first laid eyes on him. I hated the way he had suddenly moved into my home, and I hated the way he stole my father’s attention. Most of all, I hated how he always acted completely unfazed, no matter how much I tried to torment him. But then, I accidentally caught him in the bathroom, holding a photograph of a girl while doing something incredibly private. Seizing the opportunity, I snapped a picture of him on my phone and threatened him with a smug grin. “If you don’t want anyone to find out about this, pack your bags and get out of my house.” Yet, there wasn’t a single trace of panic in his eyes. Instead, he looked at me and asked, “What do you want me to do to make you stop hating me?” I smiled slyly, deliberately trying to humiliate him. “How about you strip down and let me take a couple more photos?” Just when I thought I had him cornered, he looked down with a low, quiet chuckle. “Sure.” 1 I never expected him to agree so easily. The sudden shift caught me off guard, and a wave of panic washed over me. I took two hasty steps backward, staring at him with deep suspicion. “You… you’re shameless!” He didn’t bother to reply. Instead, he took two slow, deliberate steps forward with a quiet smile. Before I could react, he had trapped me in the corner of the hallway. He leaned down slightly, resting his hands on his knees, forcing me to meet his gaze. A playful, teasing glint danced in his dark eyes. “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted to see?” The words died in my throat. My fingers gripped my phone so tightly that my knuckles turned white. I instinctively glanced toward his half-open bedroom door, desperate for an escape. Following my gaze, he reached out and casually shut the door with a soft click. Then, he raised his hand and lightly tapped his index finger against my forehead. “Ow!” I glared at him, my bravado returning as I tried to push him away. But he didn’t budge, standing before me like a solid wall. Steven was tall, with broad shoulders and a lean, athletic frame that was far stronger than it looked. Standing this close, his sheer presence was completely overwhelming, making me swallow hard in nervousness. Refusing to lose my edge, I took the silver necklace I was clutching and threw it right at his chest. “Take your stupid gift back!” Today was my twentieth birthday. After the party ended, I had gone upstairs to happily unwrap the gifts from my friends and relatives. My mood instantly soured when I came across Steven’s present. Initially, I wanted to toss it straight into the trash. But then I thought, no, that’s too quiet. It would be much more satisfying to march into his room, throw it at him, and sneer, Who would ever want anything from you? So, I went to find him. Seeing his door slightly ajar, I pushed it open without knocking. The moment I stepped inside, the sound of heavy, ragged breathing reached my ears, followed by a low, muffled groan. I followed the sound and froze. Steven was standing in front of the bathroom vanity. He was biting down on the hem of his t-shirt, exposing his lean, sculpted stomach. My eyes instinctively traveled downward, catching his long fingers wrapped around… himself. On the marble counter lay a small, plastic-sealed photograph. I could tell it was a girl, though I couldn’t make out her face. My face flushed crimson in an instant. “Steven, you’re disgusting!” I shrieked. Hearing my voice, he slowly turned his head. Even with me standing right outside the door, he didn’t try to cover himself. He simply knit his brows slightly. “Turn around, Lynn.” I instinctively spun around, but then my stubborn pride flared up. Why should I listen to him? I turned right back around, whipped out my phone, and snapped a photo of him. He flinched slightly at the camera’s shutter sound, looking at the lens with a calm, unbothered expression. Without a word, he turned back to the mirror and finished what he was doing. I waited outside, my heart hammering. After what felt like an eternity, he slowly cleaned up the vanity, adjusted his clothes, and walked out. Aside from a lingering flush on his neck, there wasn’t a single trace of embarrassment on his face. “What do you want?” he asked quietly. I was used to his unflappable demeanor, so I didn’t let it deter me. I raised my phone, letting a smug smile spread across my face. “I assume you don’t want anyone to see this?” He raised an eyebrow. “It’s not disgusting. Every guy does it.” I tilted my head, my eyes gleaming with mischief. “I know who’s in that photo on your counter. You wouldn’t want her to find out what you do while looking at her, would you?” He went still for a moment, then let out a soft sigh. “No, I wouldn’t. So, what’s your price?” Seeing him finally yield, my triumph was complete. “Delete the photo, pack your bags, and get out of our house.” He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze fell, a flicker of loneliness crossing his eyes. “What will it take for you to stop hating me?” he asked softly. Stop hating him? Never. But to make things as difficult as possible for him, I offered a wicked alternative. “It’s hard to stop hating you. But if you strip down and let me take a couple more photos, I might consider it.” I thought I had him backed into a corner. But he simply paused, looked down, and let out a low, quiet chuckle. “Sure.” 2 After tossing the necklace at him, my courage evaporated, and I fled back to my room. On my way down the hall, I ran into Greta, our housekeeper, who was carrying a mug of warm milk up the stairs. Seeing my flushed face and frantic breathing, she stopped in concern. “Lynn, sweetie, are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” “I’m fine,” I mumbled, shaking my head. Sensing Steven stepping out of his room behind me, I bolted into my bedroom without looking back. “Lynn, you forgot your milk!” Greta called out. I slammed my door shut and locked it. Leaning against the heavy oak wood, I drew in long, ragged breaths. My mind was a chaotic blur of Steven’s calm face, the quiet intensity of his movements, and the sudden, breathless finish over the sink. My heart was beating so fast it felt like it would burst. I cupped my burning cheeks, feeling like I was about to melt. A sudden knock on the door made me jump. Assuming it was Greta, I patted my cheeks, tried to smooth down my hair, and unlocked the door. But the moment the door cracked open, Steven’s face appeared. I instantly tried to slam the door shut, but he reacted quickly, shoving his hand into the frame to block it. The heavy wood clamped down on his knuckles, and he let out a sharp grunt of pain. I panicked and immediately pulled back. “Are you crazy?!” Without a word, he slipped into my room, closing the door behind him. I looked at the angry red marks forming across the back of his hand, biting my lip. “What do you want?” He ignored the question, walking over to my vanity to set down the mug of milk. He let his eyes wander around my room, finally resting on a lace bra I had left tossed on the unmade bed. My face burned hotter. I lunged across the room, shoving the underwear beneath my duvet. “Keep your eyes to yourself!” He tapped his knuckles lightly against the wooden vanity. “Drink your milk.” I picked up the mug, taking small, nervous sips, while he casually sat down on the edge of my bed. He looked up at me. “Let’s make a deal. Delete the photo.” Hearing him ask for a favor brought back my confidence. I sat down in my vanity chair, holding my mug like a queen on her throne, looking down at him. “I already told you my terms. Pack your bags.” I had just taken a shower before this, and I was only wearing a thin, white silk slip. As I sat down, the hem rode up, exposing a pale stretch of my thighs. Steven’s gaze flicked down. His throat cleared, and he quickly looked away, reaching for a decorative throw pillow on my bed and tossing it over my lap. “Your dress is too short,” he muttered, his voice slightly rough. I stiffened, quickly pulling the pillow tight against myself. He looked back up, his eyes serious. “Choose another condition.” “Fine,” I said, thinking. “Whenever you see me, stay at least ten feet away.” “No. Try again.” “This isn’t how negotiations work!” I snapped, slamming my mug down. “You’re the one asking me for a favor, Steven!” A slow, frustrating smile touched his lips. “But taking non-consensual photos of someone for blackmail is a felony, Lynn.” My eyes widened in panic. “Fine! I’ll just delete it.” “No, you won’t.” “Then what do you want?” I cried. Wait, why was I asking for his permission? I could just delete it right now and he wouldn’t have any leverage to threaten me with. I grabbed my phone, intending to do just that. But then I hesitated. If he really decided to play dirty and call the police, my father would hate him forever. Steven respected my father too much to ever let that happen. Slowly, I lowered my phone. When people get nervous, they tend to drink water. I reached for the warm milk, but as I looked at the creamy, white liquid, my mind instantly flashed back to what I had witnessed in the bathroom. I shuddered, slamming the mug back down with a dull thud. “Just promise me one thing,” his voice drifted over, soft and quiet. “Why should I?” I scoffed. He looked at me, a lazy, dangerous glint in his eyes. “What do you think Thomas would say if he found out you snuck into my room and watched me do… that?” I stood up, clenching my teeth. “You are completely shameless!” “Yes,” he replied softly. “I am.” In the end, I kicked him out of my room. As I slammed the door on his face, I threw out one last desperate threat. “If you tell my dad a single word, I’ll tell him I’m madly in love with you! I’ll force him to make you marry into our family as a charity-case husband, and I’ll keep you under my thumb and torture you for the rest of your life!” Steven only let out a low, amused laugh at my childish outburst. 3 Steven was sixteen when he first arrived at our house, only two years older than me. At the time, my parents had just gone through a bitter divorce. I immediately assumed he was my father’s secret love child from an affair, and that he was the reason my family had fallen apart. I had a screaming match with my father, demanding that Steven be kicked out. When my dad refused, telling me to grow up, I ran away from home in a fit of rage. The security guards, the housekeeper, and the local police searched for me all night. In the end, it was Steven who found me curled up in the old doghouse in the far corner of our backyard. He sat on the grass outside the kennel and said quietly, “I’m not Thomas’s son, Lynn. My mother passed away, and I have no one else left in the world. Your father was just kind enough to take me in.” Later, I found out he was telling the truth. But his mother had been my father’s high school sweetheart. Even knowing he wasn’t my half-brother, I couldn’t stop myself from detesting him, wishing every single day that he would leave. During his first few months, I did everything I could to make his life miserable. I poured milk all over his mattress, waiting gleefully for him to lose his temper. But he merely stripped the sheets in silence and washed them himself. Sometimes, after school, I would tell the driver to pull away quickly, leaving him stranded. I hoped he would complain to my dad, giving me an excuse to start another fight. But he never said a word. He just rode his bicycle on sunny days and took the bus when it rained, acting as if my petty cruelties were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Eventually, I grew tired of the games and stopped bothering him. But the resentment lingered. Yet, despite how awful I was, he was the one who carried me to the nurse’s office when I scraped my knee during track and field. He was the one who draped his school blazer around my waist when my period stained my skirt, getting himself a week of detention for violating the dress code. He was the one who secretly left a small mango cupcake on my desk when my father was too busy with work to celebrate my birthday. And during the stressful months of senior year, he was the one who quietly wrote out step-by-step calculus solutions on the margins of my scratch paper. He wasn’t a bad person. I couldn’t even force myself to believe he was. For a long time, I felt incredibly conflicted, unable to find a logical reason to keep hating him. I rolled around in my bed, hugging my pillow tight. “Curse you, Steven!” I groaned into the fabric. Across the hall, Steven was having an equally restless night. He lay staring at the ceiling, the air conditioning running at a cool sixty-eight degrees, yet he felt entirely too hot. His mind kept drifting back to a dream he had woken up from. In the dream, Lynn was wearing that thin white slip. One of the straps had fallen down, resting against her pale shoulder. Her lips were red and slightly swollen from his kisses, and her eyes were bright with tears as she lunged forward to bite his shoulder. Steven couldn’t quite remember when his thoughts about her had turned so dark. Perhaps it was during their junior year, right after they moved to the private academy in the city. Because of his striking looks and perfect grades, he was popular with the girls, but the boys from old-money families resented the middle-class transfer student. They whispered rumors behind his back, calling him the Mercer family’s charity case. He didn’t know how to defend himself, but Lynn had overheard them. She had marched straight up to the group, pointing a finger at their chests. “We don’t keep charity cases in our house. Steven’s mother was my dad’s dearest friend. Keep your filthy mouths shut, or I’ll make sure you regret it.” After lecturing them, she had dragged him away, her nose in the air. “You’re embarrassing me,” she had complained. “Don’t let them walk over you like that.” She wasn’t cruel; she was just a spoiled, fiercely loyal girl who wore her heart on her sleeve. He loved watching her twirl around the living room in a new dress, asking the golden retriever if she was the most beautiful princess in the world. He loved the way she would look up at him on the stairs, offering a haughty huff before marching past. He was entirely, utterly captivated by her. Sighing, Steven sat up and opened his desk drawer, pulling out the plastic-sealed Polaroid he had hidden away. It was a photo from her eighteenth birthday. She was wearing a soft yellow gown with a massive bow on the back, exposing a beautiful stretch of her spine. She had dropped it on the coffee table, and he had quietly pocketed it, keeping it close for two long years. 4 The next morning, I waited until I saw Steven leave for his morning run before sneaking back into his room. I had spent the entire night staring at the photo on my phone, trying to figure out who the girl in his photograph was. I needed to find that physical print. I had lost the upper hand last night, and I was determined to win it back. His curtains were drawn, letting in only a thin sliver of morning light. The room smelled faintly of cedarwood and laundry detergent. I began searching through his drawers, eventually sliding my hand beneath his pillow. My fingers brushed against the smooth edge of a plastic sleeve. Gleefully pulling the Polaroid out, I turned around to slip out of the room, only to crash straight into a broad, solid chest. Steven reached over and flicked on the light. He looked down at me, his eyes dark, his expression completely unreadable. Caught red-handed, a cold sweat broke out across my back. I quickly hid my hands behind my back, trying to act natural. But he had already seen it. Steven closed the door behind him. He took a slow step forward, trapping me against his computer desk. He reached out his hand. “Give it back, Lynn.” “No,” I stubborned, shaking my head. He let out a quiet sigh. He was much taller than me, his arms long and powerful. He reached behind my back, his fingers wrapping firmly around my wrist. With a gentle but unyielding tug, he retrieved the photo. A playful, dangerous smile touched his lips as he looked down at me. “Do you really want to know who she is?” I tilted my chin up, trying to look indifferent. “I don’t care.” Suddenly, his fingers turned the plastic-sealed print around, holding it right in front of my eyes. “The girl in this picture,” he whispered, his voice dangerously low, “is you.”

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It was pouring outside when I texted my notoriously cold boss on his business trip. “It’s pouring so hard over here.” “Is it huge over there?” I didn’t realize until it was too late that bad reception caused the first message to fail. My boss hesitated for a long moment before replying. “Do you want to see?” 1 I was lounging on the sofa with my legs crossed, mindlessly watching TV when my phone buzzed. A text from my boss, Shaun, lit up the screen. “Deliver the contract to the Grandmont Hotel in Boston before three this afternoon.” I turned my head with a deadpan expression, staring at the torrential rain lashing against the window, and aggressively tossed my phone onto the coffee table. Are you kidding me? It is the weekend. It is a literal monsoon outside. And he wants me to drive to another city to drop off some paperwork? Corporate slaves really have no human rights. I scrubbed a hand through my hair in frustration, picked the phone back up, and tried to appeal to whatever tiny shred of humanity this capitalist might possess. “Mr. Boss man…” “It’s pouring so hard over here.” “Is it huge over there?” With rain this heavy, I was going to get drenched the second I stepped outside. Cut me some slack, can’t this wait until Monday? After hitting send, I stared nervously at the screen. Shaun was famously ruthless and strictly professional at the office. I had no idea if he would catch my drift. Should I have been more direct? On second thought, never mind. I didn’t want to get chewed out. I stared at my phone for a solid twenty minutes before the screen finally lit up again. “Do you want to see?” My head filled with question marks. What was that supposed to mean? Was he going to send me a picture of the storm? Was that really necessary? What a sarcastic jerk. My temper flared, and with zero regard for my job security, I shot him down. “No thanks.” “Boss, if it’s really huge, I’m not coming. I’m a terrible driver.” Shaun replied almost instantly this time. “You prefer it small?” Is this guy insane? Who prefers driving in a massive storm? Shaun was unbelievable. The wind slammed against the window, the heavy raindrops hitting the glass like a volley of arrows. Furious, I aggressively tapped on my keyboard. “Too huge is a bad idea. With my lack of experience, I’ll literally die!” Shaun: “It’s not that exaggerated. Don’t be scared.” “I’ll be very gentle.” I actually laughed out loud out of pure anger. I am the one driving the car on the highway. What good does it do if you are gentle? Is his brain broken? This evil capitalist was rotten to the core. To think I actually used to have a crush on him. 2 Hardly anyone at the firm knew that Shaun and I went to the same high school. He was the golden boy back then. Top grades, wealthy family, and devastatingly handsome. Every time he stepped onto the basketball court, a massive crowd of girls would gather just to watch him breathe. He wore a red jersey that highlighted the lean, defined lines of his arms. Whenever he flexed to shoot, you could see the faint trace of veins under his skin. The ball swished effortlessly through the net. Shaun smirked, raising a hand to high-five his teammate. The sharp smack of their hands echoed across the court. My heart did a stupid little flutter. A girl next to me squealed. “Oh my god, he looks exactly like a romance novel cover model!” I loved romance novels. So, I wrote Shaun a love letter. I picked out the most expensive pastel pink stationery and even sprayed a tiny bit of my favorite vanilla perfume on it. The next day, I intentionally took the long route past his homeroom. There, sitting in the trash can at the back of the classroom, was a massive pile of pink envelopes, overflowing the brim. All the color drained from my face. My childhood neighbor, Noah, happened to be sitting in the back row munching on an apple. Seeing me staring at the trash can, he leaned over. “Hey Sophie, what are you looking at?” “Are those…” “Oh, the letters Shaun tossed out? Yeah. Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Noah wiggled his eyebrows with an obnoxious frat boy grin. “Wait a minute. I get it. Your letter is in there too? Damn, didn’t know the little goody-two-shoes had it in her!” Noah was practically shouting. Half the classroom turned their heads to stare at me. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. I snapped at him. “Are you out of your mind? Who the hell likes Shaun? I don’t give a single crap about him!” I spun around to run away and immediately slammed face-first into a solid chest. The muscle was rock-hard, bruising the bridge of my nose. I clamped a hand over my face and looked up. A sharp jawline, thin lips, and dark, intense eyes staring down at me with an untamable arrogance. It was Shaun. My mortification peaked. I dodged around him and sprinted down the hallway as fast as my legs could carry me. 3 Shaun probably never even opened my letter before throwing it away. I was heartbroken over it for a long time, but looking back now, it was a blessing in disguise. Distance really does create the illusion of beauty. His cold, aloof vibe seemed so cool in high school, but now that he was my boss, I realized he was just completely devoid of human empathy. He did everything with a resting ice face. The king of sarcasm. When I first joined the company, the very first proposal my team handled fell short of expectations. My coworkers and I kept passing the buck. No one had the guts to hand the report to Shaun. My coworker Cici nudged me. “Sophie, you do it. Didn’t you say you guys went to the same high school?” Jenna kicked off her desk, rolling her ergonomic chair right between us. She lowered her voice to a dramatic whisper. “Friendly warning. The boss hates it when people try to play the connection card.” “When the last department head got fired, he was literally sobbing, clinging to the office door, begging for mercy because he and the boss lived in the same dorm building in college. Do you know what Mr. Boss man said?” Cici’s eyes went wide. “What did he say?” Jenna straightened her posture, mimicking Shaun’s icy glare, looking us up and down before giving a dismissive scoff. “I don’t know him.” “Furthermore, this is a corporation, not an alumni mixer.” “Security, escort him out.” Cici winced. “Yikes. That is so humiliating. Better to just keep your mouth shut.” In the end, I was the sacrificial lamb chosen to deliver the report. I braced myself, placed the folder on his massive mahogany desk, and stared intensely at the tips of my shoes, completely unwilling to make eye contact. After what felt like a literal century, Shaun’s cool baritone drifted from above. “Sophie.” I jerked my head up and forced the brightest, most painfully fake customer service smile I could muster. “Boss. About this report, I promise we really did our best…” Shaun raised a single brow. “Do you not know who I am?” Oh boy. Here we go. The legendary sarcasm had arrived! I had heard him say this exact line to the previous manager. Do you not know who I am? The manager had stammered. Boss, you are the CEO, of course I know who you are. Shaun had given him a lethal glare. If you know who I am, why would you bring me this absolute garbage? I absolutely refused to stand there and listen to Shaun call my hard work garbage. I lunged forward and snatched the folder right back off his desk. “I know! I know you have high standards and strict requirements! I will take this back and fix it right now!” 4 (Shaun’s POV) Sophie didn’t recognize me. How could she not recognize me? How was it even possible? Watching her grab the report and flee my office like she was running for her life, I let out a long sigh. The light in my eyes dimmed as a bitter taste spread through my mouth. Would a girl really fail to recognize the guy she used to be in love with? So, that love letter back in high school really was just a misunderstanding. I pulled open my bottom drawer and took out a pastel pink envelope. It was old now. The color had faded, much like those dust-covered memories. Hey Shaun, look, it’s Sophie from the other class. She’s here to watch you play again. Do you think she’s into you? I had followed my teammate’s gaze and spotted Sophie standing in the crowd, holding a bottle of water. Her skin looked porcelain in the sunlight, her eyes clear and bright like morning mist over a lake. Our eyes met. It felt like a tiny needle had pricked my heart, leaving behind an indescribable, fluttering ache. The basketball carved a perfect arc through the bright blue sky and swished through the net. I high-fived my teammate, totally unable to stop the grin spreading across my face. Does Sophie like me? What a beautiful day. 5 In this god-awful weather, I should have been curled up on my couch watching Netflix. Instead, I was white-knuckling the steering wheel, cruising down the highway in a blind panic. The rain hammered against the windshield. The wipers were thrashing back and forth at maximum speed. My phone buzzed in the cup holder. I put it on speaker, and Cici’s desperate wail immediately filled the small car. “Sophie, I have terrible news. Brace yourself.” “Spit it out.” Cici swallowed hard, her voice trembling. “That contract…” “There are a few critical data points in that contract. They are all wrong.” “What!” I screamed so loud my throat hurt. Cici panicked. “We still have time! We can fix the numbers right now. The client doesn’t need it until Monday. Please don’t yell at me!” “We don’t have time! Are you trying to get me killed? Shaun ordered me to deliver it to Boston right now. I am literally pulling up to his hotel as we speak!” I was on the verge of tears. “What am I supposed to do?” Cici gasped. “What!” “Okay, okay. Tell him you got into a car crash!” “Are you insane? Knowing Shaun, he would just order you to print a new one and drive it down here yourself. What good would that do? Plus, what if he comes to the hospital to check on me? If I get caught in a lie like that, my career is over.” Shaun was a tyrant at work, but his employee benefits were undeniably top-tier. When a manager caught a fever after working three days straight, Shaun personally visited him in the hospital and supposedly left a massive bonus check. Cici stuttered. “Oh, right, right. Then distract him! Do something to get his attention away from the contract!” “How am I supposed to do that?” “Hello? My signal is dropping. Hello? Beep. Beep. Beep.” The call went dead. I pulled into the underground parking garage, my mind going completely blank. What was I going to do? How was I going to face him? 6 (Shaun’s POV) I stared at my phone screen, my mind completely blank. I understood every single word Sophie sent me, but strung together, they made absolutely zero sense. “Is it huge over there?” What is huge? Why would she suddenly ask me a question like that? Was she messing with me? Just like back in high school. I had received her love letter and practically sprinted to her classroom in a state of pure euphoria. But when I got there, I heard her screaming at Noah. I don’t give a single crap about him! Sophie shoved past me and ran away. I felt like I had taken a bullet to the chest. I stood frozen in the hallway, the color draining from my face. Noah threw an arm around my shoulder and clicked his tongue. “Why was she trying so hard to prove she doesn’t care about you?” “She was probably terrified I would get the wrong idea.” “Man, I get it now. Sophie is into me. No wonder she’s always at our games. And here I thought she was checking you out. Looks like I was underestimating my own charm!” Noah didn’t bother keeping his voice down. A few guys in the class heard him and burst out laughing. “Let’s go, Noah! Snagging the prettiest girl in the junior class!” “Hey, they grew up together. They have that childhood sweetheart advantage.” Childhood sweethearts. I had never hated a phrase so much in my entire life. Noah and Sophie lived in the same neighborhood. They had known each other since kindergarten. Noah was my desk mate, and the name I heard come out of his mouth the most was Sophie. Sophie is such a nerd. Sophie is such a kiss-up. All the moms in the neighborhood think she’s an angel. Do you know how many kids got grounded just because their moms compared them to her? Don’t let her fool you, man. It’s all an act. Sophie is vicious. When she hits you, she goes for the kill. 7 Amidst the boys’ laughter, Noah’s face turned bright red. When the bell rang and we went back to our seats, Noah nudged my elbow and whispered. “Hey, do you think I should say yes to her? She’s gorgeous, but she’s got a crazy temper. I’m kind of scared of her.” How crazy could she be? Sophie had pale skin and the sweetest smile. I couldn’t even imagine her throwing a tantrum or acting vicious. Or maybe, that was a side of her she only showed to the person she liked? Noah opened his desk and cursed. “Damn it, more letters. Shaun, can you tape your name to your desk or something? People keep mixing ours up.” A sharp pain twisted in my chest. I grabbed my water bottle and took a massive gulp. The bitter, acidic taste spread through my mouth, and no matter how hard I swallowed, I couldn’t wash it away. Sophie’s love letter had been meant for Noah all along. I should have given it to him. But I didn’t. I was a despicable thief. I stole a piece of beautiful affection that never belonged to me, locked it away, and treated it like treasure, taking it out to savor in secret. For the thousand and first time, I pulled that letter out of my bag. Unfolding the paper, the spot where she had written the recipient’s name was stained by a drop of water. The ink had bled into a dark, illegible blur. To [Blurred], I love watching the basketball games. But whenever you are on the court, I can never focus. I never know whether to watch the ball, or watch you. The day Sophie delivered this letter, there had been a massive rainstorm. I loved the rain. I loved that the rainwater had washed away Noah’s name. It let me live in the fantasy that the dark ink smudge actually spelled Shaun. 8 “Shaun! Earth to Shaun! Why aren’t you answering me?” Noah’s obnoxious voice blasted through the phone speaker. I pulled the device away from my ear. “What is it?” “Guess?” “Just say it. I’m busy.” Noah clicked his tongue. “You are so boring, dude! Just calling to let my boy know, I’m getting married! The eighth of next month. Make sure you tell Sophie too. You guys are both in New York, right? You can carpool down here. I’ll take care of you guys, VIP treatment. Drinks on me all night!” A wave of discomfort washed over me. “You’re inviting your ex to watch you tie the knot? That’s messy.” Noah sounded genuinely confused. “What ex? Who are you talking about?” “Sophie. Didn’t you guys date in college?” I spent my four years of college overseas and rarely kept in touch with anyone back home. But one random day, I was scrolling through social media and saw Noah post a photo. It was from the back, showing him with his arm around a girl. The girl had long, flowing hair and was wearing a forest green cardigan over a white sundress. The sliver of ankle showing was strikingly pale. I had seen that exact cardigan on Sophie’s page. I had clicked on Sophie’s profile, only to see her latest status update: “Had the best weekend ever!” I stared at that sentence for a very long time. Then I closed the app and muted both her and Noah from my feed. “Who the hell dated Sophie? Man, don’t even bring that up, it still pisses me off. Did you know she completely humiliated me back in college?” “Remember when I posted that picture with my girlfriend? Sophie commented something super sarcastic, like ‘Oh look, the caveman finally figured out how to date.’ So I messaged her, trying to let her down easy. I said, ‘Look, I know you’ve always had a crush on me, but don’t be too sad. Plenty of fish in the sea.’ Dude. She ripped me a new one.” “That psycho yelled at me for ten straight minutes. Just absolutely foul language. So I fought back. I told her she was just bitter and jealous.” “And do you know what she said?” 9 My heart leaped into my throat. “What did she say?” Noah scoffed. “She said she never liked me. She said she was always into you. And that you were a thousand times hotter than me. Man, I have never been so insulted.” “Shaun, be honest with me. Am I really that much of a downgrade?” Noah kept rambling on the other end of the line, but a loud ringing filled my ears, drowning out everything else. My heart was hammering against my ribs. With trembling hands, I hung up the phone. For the first time in years, I finally gathered the courage to check Noah’s social media. I scrolled through photos of a stranger. Big eyes, thick eyebrows. Absolutely nothing like Sophie. I scrolled down frantically, jumping back to our sophomore year of college. Yes. It was the same girl. This was Noah’s girlfriend. Then what about Sophie? I unmuted Sophie and clicked on her profile. “Corporate slave life. Grind never stops.” “Why am I working so much overtime? My mom says it’s because I’m single and have no life anyway. Lol, she really hit the nail on the head.” “Another lonely, sleepless night. Good thing I have my spreadsheets to keep me company. Hehe.” The attached photo was a massive stack of files and a glowing laptop screen. Lonely? Sleepless? Is that why she asked me if it was huge? Was she trying to— I didn’t dare finish the thought. My face burned burning hot. With shaking fingers, I typed out my reply. 10 I groaned, shoving my phone into my pocket, and grabbed my umbrella before stepping out of the car. Whatever. If I die, I die. Better to just get it over with. Worst case scenario, I get fired. A four-thousand-dollar monthly paycheck isn’t the end of the world anyway. I don’t even spend that much. I’m a homebody, what do I need that much money for? Money means nothing to me. Oh god, Sophie, stop lying to yourself. That is four grand! If I drop to my knees and beg Shaun, will he forgive me? My heart was in my throat, my legs felt like jelly. Shaking, I knocked on the hotel room door. “Boss…” Three blank lines inserted here for paywall placement: The door swung inward at the speed of light. It opened so fast I genuinely wondered if Shaun had been standing directly behind it, waiting for me. I blinked. Shaun was wearing a plush white hotel bathrobe. His dark hair was dripping wet, the water trailing down his neck, making his sharp features look even more striking. He radiated the icy, unapproachable aura of a glacier. That jerk. He definitely already knew about the contract error. He was waiting by the door just to watch me suffer. My face turned the color of ash. Clinging to the document folder like a lifeline, I looked up at him. “Boss. Before you say anything, can you please show some mercy?” Shaun just stared at me. His dark eyes were swimming with intense, unreadable emotions. If I didn’t know any better, I would have sworn I saw raw desire and anticipation in his gaze. Desire? Anticipation? Shaun is a total psychopath. Was he really this excited to scream at me and fire me on the spot?

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1 At 2:00 AM, the rustling beside me woke me. I saw Marcus’s brow tightly furrowed. I couldn’t help but ask, “Why are you back? Did you have a fight with her?” He remained silent for a moment, then gave a slow nod. I sat up and offered a quiet word of comfort. “She’s young and spoiled. Just throwing a little tantrum. Buy her that bag or necklace she’s been eyeing tomorrow, and she’ll be fine.” He stared at me, a deep, unreadable look in his eyes, but ultimately didn’t say a word. I lay back down and fell asleep as peacefully as ever. Four years. It had taken four years to transform me from a hysterical, suicidal, jealous wreck into his most understanding confidante. … At 7:00 AM, Marcus walked out of the bedroom. He glanced at me. “What’s your schedule for today?” “I have plans for coffee,” I replied, sliding the bowl of oatmeal toward him. “Want some?” He didn’t sit. Instead, he pulled an envelope from his briefcase and slid it across the table. “See if you like these.” Inside were two VIP tickets to an art exhibition. I tucked them into my bag. “Thanks. What brought this on?” “Tessa likes the artist,” he paused, his voice dropping slightly. “These were extras.” I nodded. If this had been years ago, that bowl of oatmeal would have been dripping from his face by now. But now, I had learned not to waste food. I took a quiet sip. He lingered, waiting for a reaction. When none came, he turned and left. It wasn’t long before my phone rang with an unfamiliar number. I used to ignore calls like this to avoid hearing her voice, but I had outgrown that habit. I picked up and put it on speaker. “Hey, Vivienne. It’s Tessa. Marcus left some important documents at my place. Do you mind swinging by to pick them up?” I scooped up another bite of oatmeal. “He has keys. He can get them himself.” “Actually, I wanted to talk to you. There are things I’ve been keeping inside…” My expression didn’t change. “I’m busy this afternoon. Maybe another time.” I hung up. I was never actually a generous woman. Tessa had been provoking me for exactly four years and eight days. I kept count. At first, I was a tinderbox, blowing up at the slightest spark and making a fool of myself. Later, friends advised me to focus on myself and ignore her. So Tessa shifted her strategy. She stopped hiding and started pushing herself into my life. One day she’d post the designer bag Marcus bought her; the next, she’d send screenshots of their late-night texts. In the end, I couldn’t take it and went to confront her. But Marcus always believed her over me. The more I fought, the uglier it got, trapping me in a vicious, suffocating cycle. But now, no matter what cards she played, they had lost their power over me. At 3:00 PM, I had barely been at the café for half an hour when Marcus suddenly showed up. He rarely crashed my plans. This was a surprise. “I was in the neighborhood,” he said, pulling out a chair and casually flipping through the menu. My friend, taking the hint, politely excused herself. I looked at him. “Is something wrong?” “Did Tessa call you this morning?” “Yes.” “What did she say?” I looked up at him. What could she say? Nothing but her usual boasts about how he was a beast in her bed but a corpse in mine. I still remembered the first time she called me. It was our second anniversary. I had hosted a small dinner party, inviting our closest friends to celebrate our marriage. We waited for him until the party was nearly over. Then, an unknown number called, filling the line with heavy, breathless gasps. Just as I was about to apologize for a wrong number, a familiar male voice came through the speaker, breathless and feral: “Tessa, don’t bite.” Our friends froze, glasses suspended in mid-air. Before leaving, every single one of them offered the same well-meaning advice: “Vivienne, Marcus is a powerful man now. The temptations are endless. Talk to him when he gets back, but don’t do anything rash.” And I listened. That night, we sat in the living room until 3:00 AM. I didn’t scream. And he confessed. He claimed it was a momentary lapse, that he’d had too much to drink and mistook Tessa for me. Then he dropped to his knees, begging for forgiveness, swearing he would never do it again, swearing I was his only love. I believed him. I thought that by exposing Tessa’s cheap trick, Marcus would see her for what she was and keep his distance. After all, what self-respecting man wouldn’t learn his lesson after being manipulated like that? But he didn’t. Instead of backing away, he decided Tessa was “brave enough to risk everything for him,” and his heart bled for her. Behind my back, he bought her a luxury apartment downtown, nurturing her with his wealth and affection. That was when I finally understood. There was no mistaken identity. He knew exactly what he was doing. Tessa wasn’t an accident. She was his choice. And I was the one left behind, biting my tongue and pretending to be the bigger person. 2 Pulling myself out of the memory, I looked up at him and shook my head. “Nothing.” But I knew him well enough to know this question wasn’t innocent. I must have done something to hurt Tessa again. I set my cup down. “Did she tell you something?” “Did she say I hired someone to ruin her? Or that I put up banners at her apartment complex to trash her reputation?” “You can just say it, Marcus. No need to test me. I can explain.” I used to do countless stupid things when she pushed my buttons. And by some cruel stroke of luck, Marcus would always catch me in the act. The villain was cast, and I was banished to the cold. But I had learned my lesson. No more desperate explanations. No more frantic counterattacks. I lifted my cup, took a slow, deliberate sip, and waited for him to show his hand. He blinked, his face darkening slightly. “She didn’t say anything.” I nodded. “How rare.” His lips parted, and he turned his cup in a slow circle. “I came back last night because we had a fight. But that wasn’t the only reason.” “Mainly because of the fight, then. What else?” I waved the waiter over to refill my hot water. “Can you stop doing this?” He rubbed his temples, looking exhausted. “If you’re angry, just say it.” “I’m perfectly fine, Marcus. You’re overthinking things.” 3 He didn’t speak, just kept staring at me. I didn’t know how to make him believe me. Because honestly, even I found it hard to believe. I had lost everything in this marriage. How could I possibly be fine? But I couldn’t explain it to him. Suddenly, his favorite phrase felt incredibly useful: “If that’s what you want to think, I can’t stop you.” He let those words sink in, paused, then got up and walked out. I watched his retreating back, then picked up my book again. Over the past four years, countless nights of him not coming home had eroded my boundaries to dust. I had screamed, I had threatened to end it all, only to end up more broken than before. Now that I truly didn’t care, he suddenly wanted me to express my feelings. I was never meant to be a bitter wife. Before Marcus, I was always poised, logical, and entirely in control. Back when I was making waves on Wall Street, I never imagined I would lose myself to a relationship. I had become the very kind of woman I used to despise. Love makes you selfish, demanding exclusivity. And when you can’t have it, you unravel. But once the love is gone, you find your way back to who you were. … At 8:00 PM, as I was getting ready to head home, Tessa sent a voice note. I tapped it. “Hey, Viv. Marcus had too much to drink, and he’s insisting I pick him up. But I’m not his wife, am I? Maybe you should come instead?” A location pin followed. It was a bar downtown. I didn’t go. Instead, I called Albert. “Marcus is drunk. I’ll text you the address. Go pick him up.” At 11:00 PM, Albert lugged Marcus back, reeking of alcohol. When I opened the door, Marcus nearly collapsed on top of me. “Where’s Tessa?” I asked Albert. “The bartender said… Miss Tessa expected you to show up. She wanted Mr. Marcus to choose between the two of you tonight. She didn’t expect me.” “She tried to drag him away in a huff, but he wanted to keep drinking. I couldn’t watch any longer, so I just put him in the car.” I helped him onto the bed and loosened his tie. He suddenly grabbed my hand. “Do you… do you not love me anymore?” “You’re drunk.” “I’m not drunk.” His eyes were bloodshot. “You used to cry. You used to scream and throw things. Now, even when Tessa baits you, you don’t care. What is going on in your head?” I pulled my hand free. “Go to sleep.” He rolled over, muttering under his breath, “You didn’t come to get me…” I found it almost laughable. Get him? Every time I tried to rescue him in the past, I was met with a locked door. Even on his father’s memorial day, I went to his office to pick him up. But Tessa called complaining of a headache, and he rushed to her side. “Viv, it’s a matter of life and death. I have to get her to the clinic first.” The rest of us became invisible props in his life. That day, I stood there holding the memorial offerings for half an hour before heading to the cemetery alone. In their game of “choose one,” I was never the choice. They might not be tired of playing, but I was done. The next morning, before he even woke up, I went to the bank. The teller asked, “Mrs. Marcus, are you sure you want to transfer this fixed deposit to a checking account? Is there an emergency?” “I’m planning to go abroad soon. Just preparing in advance.” As I walked out, I ran into Tessa. She was standing near the entrance, a smirk playing on her lips. “What a coincidence, Viv.” After four years of dealing with her, I knew every trick in her book. I used to take the bait, shaking with rage while she watched the show. Now, I couldn’t be bothered. “Indeed.” I didn’t break my stride. She called out behind me, “Don’t you want to know what happened at the bar last night?” I didn’t turn around. She raised her voice. “You don’t love him anymore, do you?” I paused. This was one question I couldn’t ignore. “A wife naturally loves her husband. Why does an outsider care so much?” “You…” She was left speechless, her face flushed with irritation. When I got home, Marcus was awake, sitting in the living room and smoking. For all his flaws, he rarely smoked inside the house. I frowned and opened the windows to let the smoke out. “Have you been neglecting your girl lately? She’s been following me around.” I approached him, pulling a box I had prepared long ago from the cabinet under the coffee table. I slid it toward him. “This is a limited-edition bracelet. Use it to patch things up with her.” His fingers, holding the cigarette, stiffened. “By the way,” I continued, ignoring his reaction, “the peace-offering fund you kept with me has been draining fast these past two months.” “Budget wisely. Try not to upset her so often.” This was the arrangement we agreed on during our truce. Every penny he spent on Tessa had to go through my accounts. I wanted to see every transaction. I couldn’t stop him from spending money on his mistress. But instead of driving myself mad with speculation, I preferred to see the cold, hard numbers. His face darkened, and he muttered a brief response before stubbing out his cigarette. “The bank called. They said you made a major transfer.” His voice quieted. “Are you leaving the country?” 4 I hadn’t expected a man who normally ignored me to suddenly care about my finances. Our marriage had crumbled because of secrecy. And the cracks had only widened when the truth came out. So, I had no intention of lying. “Yes. I’m planning to study abroad for a while.” He was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy. “Are you getting ready for a divorce?” Divorce? This marriage gave me wealth and status. As long as I didn’t crave his affection, it was a comfortable arrangement. I had no plans to divorce him. “I just want to get away for a bit,” I answered honestly. “And what about me?” I looked at him, genuinely puzzled. “Marcus, these past four years have taught me one thing: a person must prioritize their own peace of mind. The same goes for you. Stop worrying about whether I’ll be angry, and just do what you want to do.” He stood up, his voice raspy. “I’ve told you a thousand times, Tessa is just… never mind. What if I told you I’m ready to cut things off with her?” “That’s your business. You don’t need to consult me.” If he cut off Tessa, there would only be another Tessa. A man who strays once will stray again. I understood that much. Before he could say more, the doorbell rang. Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose and went to open it. It was Tessa. It seemed she had followed me all the way home. Honestly, she didn’t need to try so hard. If anyone else had been in my position, Tessa wouldn’t have lasted four years. And the person keeping her from becoming the official wife was never me. She marched in, her stilettos clicking sharply on the floor. “Is Vivienne home? I need to speak with her.” I watched her peer into the hallway. Suddenly, I recalled the first time I met her four years ago. She had just graduated, fresh and full of life. Her youth, her vitality, and Marcus’s shameless favoritism had driven me mad back then. I had tried to compete with her in every way. Because she was young, I frequented skin clinics, getting botox, lifts, and every treatment available. Because she was active, I took up dance, yoga, and skydiving. But I could never win against his bias. During that phase, the tabloids were filled with my humiliation: “Mrs. Marcus assaults mistress on the street…” “Wealthy heir’s wife causes drunken scene late at night…” Every photo showed me looking unhinged. I turned myself into a laughingstock, and still, the man I loved never looked back at me. Those four years of fighting had drained me of everything. They made me forget that marriage and love are merely seasonings in life, not the main course. Marcus blocked her path. “Go home.” “No!” For the first time, she screamed at me right in front of him. “Vivienne, stop putting on an act!” “You don’t love him anymore! Why won’t you just divorce him? What is the point of holding onto this empty title?” 5 I stood up from the sofa. Walking over to the door, I greeted her calmly. “Hello, Tessa.” Then I looked at Marcus. “My friends just asked me to play bridge. I’ll head out.” I stepped aside to leave, as if making room for the two of them. But he grabbed my wrist, pulling me back. “You just got home. Don’t go out again.” Then he looked at Tessa, his voice flat. “Whether we get a divorce is between Vivienne and me. Stop making a scene.” I stood quietly to the side, staying out of it. Marcus used to tell me that Tessa was sweet and sensible, that she never cared about a marriage license, and that I should be more accommodating. I didn’t believe him then. I spent all my energy trying to prove she would eventually show her true colors. I still didn’t believe him, but the difference was, I no longer cared to prove anything. She could fight with Marcus all she wanted, demand a ring, demand whatever. As long as she left me out of it. Seeing my silence, Tessa pressed on. “Vivienne, what kind of game are you playing?!” I looked at her, my voice mild. “You’ve been with him for four years, and you still haven’t convinced him to marry you. What’s the point of asking me?” It was the simple truth. If Marcus truly wanted to marry her, I couldn’t have stopped him. He simply valued his own status and reputation more. When he married me, it was a grand, city-wide affair. The vows were too heavy for him to publicly tear down. Tessa’s eyes welled with tears, and she looked at Marcus. Surprisingly, Marcus didn’t comfort her this time. He just kept his eyes locked on me. I felt as if he was trying to drill a hole through me with his gaze. But even if he did, what did it matter? If I didn’t say anything, it would only be twisted into me disrespecting her again. I had learned the hard way to state my piece clearly and keep the high ground. Tessa covered her face and ran out. Marcus didn’t chase after her. He walked to the balcony to smoke a cigarette alone. I went back to the bedroom. I counted the days on my fingers, then pulled out my suitcase and began packing. I didn’t hear him come in, but he was suddenly leaning against the doorframe. “Your visa is approved?” I nodded. “Yes. I leave next Wednesday.” “When did you decide this?” “Three months ago.” He fell silent. Three months ago, our first child had slipped away from my womb. That was the day Tessa poisoned my golden retriever. In a fit of rage, I drove to her place and killed her two pet rabbits. She had called Marcus, sobbing. He rushed over and, in our frantic struggle, pushed me. The pregnancy, which had come as a surprise, ended just as quickly. Any decision made during that dark month felt entirely justified. Yet, even then, I hadn’t asked for a divorce. But ever since that day, he made sure to come home every night. He cancelled dinners and business meetings. It was as if he had finally remembered how to be a husband. Unfortunately, I no longer needed him to be. “Get some rest,” he muttered before turning and heading to his study. 6 On Wednesday morning, I carried my suitcase downstairs. Marcus was sitting in the living room, looking as though he hadn’t slept all night. Two identical sets of documents lay on the coffee table. His signature was already on them. I stared at him, confused. He pushed the divorce papers toward me. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Sign it, and you’re entirely free.” Without so much as glancing at the papers, I took hold of my suitcase and walked past him. “Stop right there.” He caught up with me at the door, his face grim. “What do you actually want?” I turned around. “I’m not signing. And I’m not divorcing you.” A flicker of hope ignited in his eyes. He assumed I was still the woman who loved him desperately, unable to let him go. “Viv, if you still love me, then we can…” “Love?” I laughed, cutting him off. “That doesn’t matter anymore. Didn’t you say it yourself? We’re adults. We don’t talk about feelings; we talk about practicality. This marriage is still useful to me.” His expression stiffened. In the past, because of Tessa, I had threatened divorce countless times. And every single time, he would say: “You rely on me for everything. If you leave me, you won’t even have a roof over your head. Think carefully before you throw a tantrum.” He couldn’t bear to let Tessa suffer the slightest slight. No matter what she did, he always blamed me for not being magnanimous enough. Whenever things escalated toward divorce, he held all the cards. Back then, it was because of love, because of resentment. So it was all empty threats. He knew better than anyone how much I adored him. But now, that cheap affection had exited the stage. All that remained was a calculated game of chess. I spelled it out for him: “Three months ago, I was negotiating an overseas venture. Do you know why that project was approved? Because of my status as your wife.” His face went pale. “Do you have any idea how many major clients my studio has landed over the past four years? They came to me because of your name, Marcus.” I offered a faint smile. “So my decision has nothing to do with love or hate. It’s simply…” “Good business.” He stood there, looking as though he had been struck. “You can do whatever you want with Tessa. I’m going to England, and I won’t be back for six months.” I opened the door. “Divorce is too much of a hassle right now. Let’s keep things convenient for both of us.” Before shutting the door, I added one last thing: “By the way, try not to make any babies. An illegitimate child is never a good look.” I dragged my suitcase behind me and walked away without looking back. In the elevator, I caught my reflection in the mirror. There were no tears, no smiles. Just absolute stillness. I had lied to him. If things went well abroad, I had no intention of ever coming back. … At the boarding gate, I had just pulled out my passport when two uniformed officers approached me. They blocked my path. “Miss Vivienne, you are a suspect in a murder investigation. Please come with us to the station.” I didn’t move. I simply let out a dry laugh. Another game. Tessa had played this trick to disrupt my life so many times that I was entirely numb to it. I tried to step around them. One of them held up a photograph of a crime scene. I took one look, and my eyes widened.

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When the horror game descended upon our world, my boyfriend awakened as the ultimate Boss. But me? I was stuck as the lowest-tier NPC. It happened again while I was complaining and demanding he spend his hard-earned points on expensive fresh fruit. That was when I saw the chat feed. 【He is so dramatic and annoying. Literally does nothing all day but stuff his face.】 【The Boss is fighting for his life out there against those psycho players. He is exhausted, and yet every single point he makes goes straight into this useless NPC’s mouth. Have some shame.】 【Exactly. The top healer on the leaderboard is coming to this instance soon. He and the Boss are the ones meant to end this world together. Useless NPC, just drop dead.】 I stared at the ridiculously priced fruit on the screen, my heart hammering against my ribs. Beside me, Ross turned to look at me while washing blood off his hands. “What’s wrong? Pick whatever you want, babe. We have plenty of points.” Terrified, I slapped the interface shut, my voice trembling. “I don’t… I don’t want to eat anything anymore.” 1 Ross straightened up, shaking the bloody water from his hands. It had been three years since the apocalypse, three years since the horror game descended upon our reality. He had become the ultimate Boss of this sector. In the entire Northern Sector, there wasn’t a single player who didn’t fear him. Yet, right now, he tilted his head at me, his dark eyes filled with nothing but confusion. “What’s wrong, babe? Weren’t you begging for strawberries last night?” He walked over, pressing the back of his hand to my forehead. “You don’t have a fever.” I instinctively flinched away. The cuts on his hands were still seeping blood. I had slowly grown accustomed to him returning from every instance covered in wounds. But now, the chat feed told me the truth. Those points were bought with his life, and I was using them to buy fresh fruit. How shameless of me. “I really don’t want to eat anything,” I murmured, keeping my head down. Ross narrowed his eyes, his crimson-tinted gaze locking onto me for several tense seconds. “Fine. If you don’t want it, you don’t want it.” He didn’t press further, turning his attention back to wrapping his wounds. “So, what do you want to do instead? Want to go for a walk? I’ll go with you.” I shook my head. “I want to be alone for a bit.” Ross’s movements faltered. Then, he sat on the edge of the bed and patted the space beside him. “Come here. Sit.” I didn’t move. He just watched me, patient, never rushing. After a long silence, I dragged my feet and slowly shuffled over. He reached out, pulling my shoulder into his chest. “What’s the fun in sitting alone? I’m here. But Jesse, you’re acting weird today.” I buried my face in his chest, staying quiet. Ross let the matter drop. He just held me close, resting his chin on my head, one hand gently tracing slow, rhythmic circles on my back, like he was soothing a frightened child. The chat feed drifted past again. 【Why did the little NPC stop whining? Did he suddenly find a conscience?】 【Please, him? Conscience? Pigs will fly first.】 【But seriously, Ross is so good to him. It actually hurts to watch.】 【What’s the point of being good to him? He’s not the main character. He’s bound to get written out sooner or later.】 I closed my eyes, refusing to look at the words. 2 Three years ago, the horror game merged with our reality. Back then, Ross and I were eating popsicles on Main Street. It was November in Duluth, twenty below zero. The two of us were freezing like idiots, yet we stubbornly insisted on eating them. Ross took a bite, shivering and hissing through his teeth. “Why do we even like this? I’m freezing to death.” I laughed, calling him a wimp. He glared at me playfully, shoving his popsicle toward my mouth. “Fine, tough guy. You eat it. Let’s see if you can swallow it in one bite!” Just as I opened my mouth, the sky went black. Everyone looked up. A colossal screen materialized in the heavens, towering crimson letters rolling down line by line. 【Game loading…】 【Instance generating…】 【Players logging in…】 I stood frozen, completely numb. Ross’s first instinct was to drop his popsicle and grab my hand. “What the hell is that? We need to run!” But the anomaly seemed to shroud the entire planet. The whole street erupted into chaos. People screamed, while others wailed. Once the text finished rolling, the screen began broadcasting the rules. The gist of it was simple: the real world had been retrofitted into a horror game. Everyone was automatically designated as either a player or an in-game character. Completing quests and slaying monsters yielded points, which could be exchanged for survival resources. Instances would refresh continuously, each one harder than the last. And the monsters inside those instances were once human. Those who failed to awaken as players in the first wave turned into beasts. The weaker ones became NPCs. And I was one of the weaker ones. I wasn’t even a high-tier NPC. I was a background prop, a scenario NPC. I was the kind of background character that merely triggers a single line of dialogue when a player walks past: “Lovely weather today, isn’t it?” My entire existence was meant to stand there, spout a useless line, and then be ignored by players or devoured by monsters. But Ross was different. He awakened as the ultimate Boss of this sector. In the Northern Sector, he was the apex predator. The day he carved his way through a sea of monsters to find me, he was drenched in blood. His crimson eyes had stared at me for what felt like an eternity. I had thought my lover, now turned into a monstrous Boss, had forgotten me entirely. Instead, he pulled me violently into his arms, weeping like a child. “I was so scared… Thank God you’re okay!” He brought me back to his safehouse. He used his hard-earned points to buy me the finest food, the warmest clothes. Whenever I pouted and said I wanted fresh fruit, he didn’t hesitate to spend half a month’s savings to get it. Under his protection, I lived a life more comfortable than before the world ended. But now that I thought about it, the chat feed was right. Over these past three years, Ross’s spoiling had turned me into a useless, demanding parasite. I truly didn’t deserve him. 3 From the day I saw the chat feed, I stopped throwing tantrums. Before Ross left to clear instances, I proactively organized his gear. When he returned, I made sure hot water was ready for him. Before, when he tried to teach me how to cook, I had stubbornly refused. Now, I began studying the system recipes. Though the meals I prepared tasted awful, Ross finished every single bite. He would hold his bowl, his expression a mix of bewilderment and amusement. “Babe… did you have some sort of epiphany?” I ladled some soup for him without answering. “Or did you mess up and break something?” he teased. “No.” “Then why the sudden change of heart?” I pushed the bowl in front of him. “Just drink your soup.” He chuckled, taking a sip. His brow furrowed. He took another sip, his grimace deepening. “…It’s incredibly salty.” I snatched the bowl back and tasted it myself. I nearly gagged. But Ross snatched it right back. “Salty is good. Goes well with rice.” He tipped the bowl back, gulping it down in seconds, then showed me the empty bottom. “See? All gone.” My nose stung with unshed tears. But the chat feed flared up again. 【Why are you crying? The Boss is about to meet his real partner.】 【Our precious healer entered the instance today! Get ready, girls!】 【Oh my god, really? The top-tier support on the leaderboard is coming to the Northern Sector?】 【Yeah, heard his previous team’s DPS was trash, so he wanted a change of scenery to farm some points.】 【He’s here! The true canon ship is finally sailing!】 My hand holding the bowl trembled. Ross noticed immediately. “What is it?” “Nothing.” I placed the bowl in the sink. He didn’t suspect anything. He simply walked over, wrapping his arms around me from behind and resting his chin on my shoulder. “Jesse, if there’s something on your mind, talk to me. Don’t carry it alone.” “There really isn’t.” “Then why have you been staring into space so much lately?” I turned around, looking into his crimson eyes. “Ross.” “Yeah?” “What if…” I paused, carefully choosing my words. “What if one day you meet someone, and together, you two can end this horror game? What if you could bring everyone back to their normal lives?” Before I could finish, he cut me off. “What does that have to do with me?” “How does it not? You’re the Boss. Ending the game would mean…” “It would mean they have to kill me.” I fell silent. He squeezed my arm gently. “Listen to me, Jesse. I don’t give a damn about who ends this game. I don’t care about world peace or the fate of humanity. I only care about you.” “But…” “No buts. You’re mine. I don’t care who comes knocking; no one is taking you away.” The chat feed erupted. 【Ahhhh, he’s so smooth!】 【No, I can’t be swayed! I am a die-hard canon shipper!】 【Ugh, but he’s so good to the little NPC. It’s making me soft.】 【So what? An NPC is just an NPC. He’s destined to die anyway.】 【Our healer is almost here. The canon ship is supreme!】 I closed my eyes, burying my face in his chest. I memorized every word Ross said, but I also remembered every word of the chat feed. The healer was coming. My time was running out. 4 The next day, Ross went out to clear an instance. I was alone in the safehouse, tidying up, when I heard a commotion outside. Instinctively, I shrank behind the window and peered out. Someone was limping toward our perimeter from the direction of the instance portal. He wore a blood-soaked white mage robe. He moved slowly, dragging one leg, carrying another person on his back. As he drew closer, I saw that it was an injured teammate. He carefully laid the teammate down at the edge of the safe zone, then collapsed against a nearby wall, panting heavily. His face was deathly pale. His robe was shredded at the waist, blood seeping through the fabric. Yet, ignoring his own wounds, he immediately began channeling a healing spell on his teammate. A soft white light emanated from his palms, washing over the injured player. The wounds healed at a visible rate. Meanwhile, the gash on his own side kept bleeding. The chat went wild. 【He’s here, he’s here! Henry! The number one healer on the leaderboard!】 【Why is he so hurt? Who did this to him? I’ll kill them!】 【Apparently, he had a falling out with his trash team, so he came to the Northern Sector alone.】 【Oh, it hurts to see him like this. Our poor baby traveled so far alone.】 【It’s fine. Once the Boss takes him under his wing, no one will dare touch him.】 I stood frozen. So this was Henry, the legendary support. He finished healing his teammate, but his own strength gave out. His body swayed, and he slid down the wall onto the cold ground. From behind the glass, I watched his blood drip onto the dirt, stain by stain. A dark voice whispered in my mind: Leave him. If he dies, no one will take Ross from you. But a louder, more desperate voice countered: He’s the key to ending this godforsaken game! If he dies, this world will never go back to normal! Gnashing my teeth, I pushed the door open and stepped outside. Hearing the noise, Henry snapped his head up. His palms flared with a defensive white light, ready to strike. But when his eyes fell on me, he blinked in confusion. “An NPC?” I nodded slowly. He kept his guard up, eyes tracking my every movement. “What do you want?” I pointed at his bleeding waist. “Do you need help?” He looked down at his wound, then back up at me. “Wait here.” I dashed back inside, grabbed the medical kit Ross had left behind, and ran back out to offer it to him. Henry stared at the kit, making no move to take it. His eyes remained highly suspicious. “You’re an NPC. Why are you helping me?” I thought about it. “I don’t know.” And that was the truth. I had no idea why I was doing this. Players and NPCs were natural enemies, yet, watching him bleed out alone, I couldn’t bring myself to walk away. Henry studied me for several seconds before finally taking the kit. “Thank you.” He bowed his head and began treating his wounds. His movements were practiced and efficient, the mark of someone intimately familiar with pain. I squatted beside him, watching. After a moment of hesitation, I reached out. “Let me.” Without waiting for his permission, I took the gauze and began wrapping his side. I wasn’t a professional. My hands were clumsy, and the bandage ended up a messy, tangled lump. But Henry didn’t complain. He sat there quietly, letting me fuss over him. The chat feed went quiet for a few seconds before shifting. 【Wait… this little NPC… isn’t actually that annoying?】 【He’s bandaging Henry.】 【It looks terrible, but why is this kind of sweet?】 【No, stay strong! He’s just cannon fodder, don’t go soft on him!】 I ignored the floating words. I kept my head down, wrapping the gauze round and round. Suddenly, Henry spoke. “What’s your name?” “Jesse.” “Jesse. I’m Henry.” “I know.” He paused, startled. “How do you know?” My heart skipped a beat. “The number one healer on the leaderboard. Your reputation precedes you.” Henry didn’t press further. 5 By the time Ross returned, I had already settled Henry and his teammate into an empty room. His first words upon stepping through the door were, “Someone was here.” I was heating up dinner, and my hand froze over the stove. “Yes. Two players.” “Players?” Ross’s brow furrowed. “They were hurt. One of them was in really bad shape.” Ross said nothing. He shed his blood-stained coat, walked over to the window, and peered outside. Then he turned to look at me. “Guys or girls?” “Guys.” “Both of them?” “Yes.” Ross’s frown deepened. He walked over, towering over me. “Jesse, did you forget what I am?” “No.” “I’m a Boss. They are players. Between players and Bosses, it’s kill or be killed.” “But they were dying,” I whispered. “And what does that have to do with us?” “I…” I wanted to say, He’s your destined partner. But the words died in my throat. He couldn’t see the chat feed. He would think I was losing my mind. Seeing my silence, Ross sighed. He reached out, ruffling my hair. “Fine. They can stay. But on one condition.” “What?” “You are not allowed to be alone with them. Understood?” I nodded. But as I turned away, the chat feed drifted past again. 【The little NPC has been acting so strange lately. He’s gotten so quiet.】 【The official lore says the Boss and the Healer have to be together to end the game. It’s better if he steps aside willingly.】 【Exactly. Only the combination of the top healer’s power and the ultimate Boss’s strength can break the system.】 【Hurry up and write the NPC out. Stop delaying the plot.】 My mind became a chaotic storm.

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It was the fifth year of my silent, unrequited love for Wesley Sinclair. Phoebe Heinberg, his impoverished first love, had finally chosen money over romance. She had sent me a message, asking me to pass it along: [Jas, Wesley’s family won’t let us see each other, and they are forcing me to go abroad. Can you tell him something for me? Tell him I will definitely come back for him after graduation.] I stared down at those two lines on my screen. With a calm face, I pressed delete. That same day, Wesley was involved in a terrible car accident while racing to the airport to catch her flight. When he woke, he had forgotten everyone, except for me. In his mind, I was his only fiancée. The once distant, cold young heir transformed into my devoted, clingy shadow, obeying my every whim. But at our wedding… His first love returned. “Wesley, she is a liar!” Phoebe burst into the chapel, tears streaming down her face. “She stole my identity and lied to you! The one you actually love is me!” As her voice echoed through the hall, Wesley’s hand froze, right as he was about to slip the ring onto my finger. 1 Wesley and the doctor stepped out of the examination room. Seeing me waiting outside, he naturally reached out and took my hand, his tone as casual as ever. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Were you about to fall asleep?” He gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, offering a soft smile to reassure me. “Don’t worry your pretty head over it. The doctor says I’m recovering well. We just need a trigger now.” The specialist beside him quickly chimed in. “Mr. Sinclair’s memory is returning steadily. He is already recalling scattered fragments. However, to fully restore his memory, he needs a significant emotional stimulus. Perhaps take him to places you two used to visit, or surround him with familiar personal items from your past. It will help stimulate his recall.” I swallowed the dryness in my throat, offering a polite smile. “I understand. Thank you, doctor.” Wesley had been in a severe car accident two years ago. He had forgotten almost everything, but he remembered me as his childhood sweetheart and his designated fiancée. All day, my mind drifted. Even during our wedding dress fitting, I could barely focus. The boutique director and the designers presented the custom, high-end gowns flown in from Paris for my selection. “Is the wedding scheduled for next month, Miss Croft? I’m so envious. I heard you two have known each other for over a decade?” Before I could answer, a familiar voice cut in. “Yes, we have.” Wesley walked over, bending down to help adjust the train of my gown. He carefully smoothed out every fold before looking up at me. “Jas and I grew up together. We were childhood sweethearts.” He stood up, leaning in close to brush his fingers against my cheek, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me. “Jas… you look breathtaking today.” As the words left his mouth, his ears flushed crimson. My eyelashes fluttered, and I looked away. “Every girl looks beautiful in a wedding dress.” Wesley arched an eyebrow, clearing his throat with a playful, dismissive scoff. “None of them can compare to my wife. I only care about how my wife looks in a wedding dress.” The more certain he was, the heavier my chest felt. I turned toward the changing room. “I’m a bit tired today. Let’s just go with the simple satin gown.” Wesley quickly caught up to me. “What about the French lace mermaid gown with the intricate beading? Didn’t you say that was your absolute favorite?” He softened his tone, sounding slightly disappointed. “Jas, you don’t need to worry about the cost. Just pick the one you love the most.” My back was turned to him, and I bit my lower lip. The doctor’s words from this morning echoed in my head: Surround him with familiar personal items from your past… The French lace mermaid gown. It was indeed my favorite, but it was also Phoebe’s favorite. I could not, under any circumstances, let him recover his memories on the eve of our wedding. “It’s nothing,” I lied, forcing a smile as I turned around. “I just don’t like it anymore.” 2 After dinner, Wesley accompanied me for a walk along the lake near his family’s estate. When we were kids, I used to sneak out during the hot summer nights to catch tadpoles with him by this very water. Once, I stepped on some slippery moss and tumbled into the deep end. I couldn’t swim and began thrashing wildly. It was Wesley who dove in without hesitation and dragged me back to the shore. I quietly locked my phone. I had just texted my housekeeper, instructing them to sweep our home once more and remove any trace of Phoebe. “Jas, do you have any photos of us from when we were kids on your phone?” Wesley asked, his tone slightly self-conscious. “I want to see what you looked like back then.” I hesitated for a second before opening my gallery. “Sure.” Growing up, the heir of the Sinclair family was notorious for his arrogance. He bullied almost every other wealthy kid in our social circle, but he never crossed me. Perhaps it was because I was quiet, or perhaps because I was easily frightened. Ultimately, I became his little shadow. Wesley was a massive clean-freak, yet he would share his snacks with me while grumbling about my messy habits. He claimed to detest my lazy attitude, but his bedroom was the only place he ever permitted me to take my afternoon naps. His favorite thing to do was press his index finger against my forehead, lecturing me with mock exasperation. “Jasmine Croft, if anyone ever picks on you, you tell me. You hear me?” I held onto those words for years. But eventually, the person who hurt me the most was him. The day my family arranged our alliance, I had just returned to the country. Before even unloading my luggage from the car, I ran eagerly into the Sinclair mansion, only to overhear Wesley talking to another girl. Phoebe was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed, looking at him with a provocative smirk. “It seems the young master of the Sinclair family is just another puppet on a string, unable to even choose who he dates.” Wesley’s lips thinned into a tight line. He frowned, his voice dropping. “Who says I can’t choose?” That very afternoon, I learned that the Sinclairs wanted to call off the engagement. Feeling guilty, his parents paid a formal visit to my family to apologize. Wesley stood at the back of the room. After high school, we had rarely crossed paths. He went abroad for university, and since I preferred quiet spaces, I often made excuses to skip the social gatherings he attended. The day we called off the engagement was my first day back in the country, and the day I prepared to let him go. Wesley looked at me across the crowded room. We stared at each other for a long moment, as if we had truly loved each other once. His lips parted, but in the end, he only uttered two words. “I’m sorry.” I smiled and remained silent, offering a quiet, obedient nod. Love was never something that could be forced. I had learned that lesson long ago. I scrolled to an old childhood photo and held the phone out to him. He took it, freezing for a moment before a soft laugh escaped him. “You were so adorable back then.” Wesley pinched my cheek gently. “In this photo, you ruined my birthday cake, but you were still standing there, smiling like an innocent angel.” This time, my face flushed warm. “I bought you another cake to make up for it,” I mumbled in defense. Wesley chuckled but didn’t say anything. He kept scrolling through the album, tracking our journey from kindergarten to middle school. “You had blunt bangs in middle school. You looked so sweet. Did anyone try to bully you back then? Look at this photo, you’re hiding behind me like a shy little bird.” Then, he swiped to the next slide. It was a candid shot taken by my best friend. I was flashing a peace sign at the camera, while behind me, Wesley was on his phone, completely oblivious. He was wearing a crisp white dress shirt; it was taken during our high school graduation ceremony. Wesley’s brow furrowed, his immediate reaction catching me off guard. “What kind of dress is that? The back is cut way too low.” He zoomed in on the photo, his tone dripping with jealousy. “Look at those two guys behind you, they’re practically drooling. Are you still in touch with them? Block them immediately.” He kept scrolling, and the screen flashed with the face of a girl he didn’t recognize. Before he could get a proper look, I snatched the phone away. “Alright, that’s enough!” I forced a cheerful laugh. “I was so awkward back then. There’s nothing interesting to see.” Wesley frowned, pressing his finger against my forehead. “Why are you acting like this? Who was that girl? I barely saw her. Are you worried I’ll look at someone else?” He took my hand, intertwining our fingers. His palm was warm and reassuring. “My wife is the most beautiful woman in the world. I’ve never thought you were awkward. If I did, how could I have loved you for all these years?” Is that so? I thought. Would you say the same things if Phoebe were standing here? 3 Phoebe was a scholarship student sponsored by the Sinclair family. Two months before the college entrance exams, she was brought to the city for intensive training. She was a few years younger than Wesley and me. While I was studying abroad, I frequently heard rumors about her from our mutual friends. “You know Wesley’s temper, right? He actually let that girl into his private study.” “I heard he drove her to her university dorms himself last week.” “Felix and I teased her a bit when we saw them together, and Wesley looked like he wanted to murder us on the spot.” “She talks back to him constantly at his house, and he never even gets mad.” “Are you serious? If I spoke to him like that, he’d throw me out the window.” The rumors were vivid. Through their descriptions, I painted a picture of Phoebe in my mind: bright, outspoken, and entirely unbothered by Wesley’s intimidating reputation. She was like a wild blossom, full of vibrant energy. Wesley had never had anyone like that in his life. At least, I was nothing like that. I could understand the appeal she held for him. It was the same way Wesley had once brought color into my quiet life. I had once asked Wesley about her over a text message. He had replied briefly: [She’s nobody. My parents are sponsoring her education, and she stays at the estate occasionally. I have to go, I’m busy.] He didn’t care to waste words on her. But her special status required no explanation; his silent indulgence had already made their relationship an open secret in our social circle. After returning to the country, I ran into Phoebe. Seeing me for the first time, she showed no nervousness. Instead, she walked up to me with a bright, easy smile. “You must be Jas,” she said, her voice light and cheerful. “Wesley talks about you sometimes. He says you’re very sweet and gentle.” She paused, offering a casual giggle. “But he also mentioned that you can be a bit boring sometimes.” She wasn’t wrong. I was indeed the designated “good girl” of our circle. Under my family’s careful guidance, I had lived a predictable life, studying, traveling, and painting. Wesley loved racing, hiking, skiing, and all kinds of extreme sports. I preferred painting, reading, and flower arrangement. Our lives had no natural overlap. If we hadn’t grown up together, he probably wouldn’t have spared me a second glance. I offered a gentle smile. “Boring is a fair description. He’s not the first to say so.” Phoebe blinked, clearly caught off guard by my easy admission. During my visit to the Sinclair estate, the living room was filled with their playful bickering. Mostly, it was Phoebe’s voice. “Wesley, you can’t even tell the difference between scallions and chives?!” Wesley sighed in annoyance. “Does it look like I care?” Phoebe stepped closer, looking up at him with a grin. “Of course you should care! If you can’t even recognize basic ingredients, how are you going to feed yourself in the future?” “I have a chef for that.” Phoebe smirked. “Don’t you ever want to move out and live on your own? To cook your own meals and have some real freedom? Or do you plan on being a pampered prince forever?” Wesley was rebellious at heart, craving freedom more than anything. Everyone knew it, but Phoebe was the only one brave enough to say it to his face. Sure enough, Wesley’s expression darkened, a clear sign of his rising temper. But before I could intervene, Phoebe spoke up again. “Tell you what, you can always come crash at my place in the future.” She laughed, her eyes crinkling. “Since your family pays for my tuition, the least I can do is cook for you. Feeding one extra mouth won’t ruin me.” Wesley fell silent, momentarily speechless. She knew exactly how to push his buttons and then pull him back. Later that day, on our drive back to her school, we passed a bridal boutique. Phoebe peered out the window, sighing wistfully. “So beautiful… especially that mermaid gown.” Wesley leaned his head back, his voice careless. “It’s average. Off-the-rack stuff can’t compare to high fashion.” Phoebe looked down, disappointed. “I still want to wear a beautiful mermaid gown one day.” Wesley frowned, glancing at me briefly in the rearview mirror. He didn’t say anything, but from that day on, a subtle shift occurred at the Sinclair estate. Whenever Wesley was scolded by his father, Phoebe was always there to comfort him. Sometimes she brought him fruit; other times she sat on the floor outside his study to keep him company during his grounding. During the winter break, when Wesley returned from university, Phoebe begged him to take her skiing, claiming she had never seen snow before. Although a whole group of us ended up going, I sat inside the lodge clutching a warm cup of tea, watching them slide down the slopes. A quiet voice echoed in my head: Jasmine, do you really think there’s still a place for you in his heart? The day he called off our engagement, he drove me to my villa. When we were alone in the car, I finally gathered the courage to ask the question that had been haunting me. “Are you calling this off because of someone else?” Wesley stiffened. He looked down, his brow furrowing. “Jas.” It had been a long time since he had called me by my nickname. “I don’t want to hurt you.” I don’t want to hurt you. That was his answer. That was the conclusion to my five years of silent adoration. 4 On the day of the wedding, I only managed two hours of sleep. I was terrified that this was all a beautiful dream, and that when I woke up, I would find nothing but a pillow soaked with my own tears. “Jas, did you not sleep well?” Wesley’s mother held my hand, her eyes filled with concern. She glanced over at Wesley, who was busy chatting with his groomsmen, and lowered her voice. “Jas, I need to tell you something. Don’t panic.” I kept my expression serene, offering a soft smile. “Go ahead, Aunt Eleanor.” She sighed, her face tight with anxiety. “Felix’s family contacted me yesterday. They saw Phoebe at the airport.” “I verified the flight logs. It’s her. She’s back in the country.” The air around me seemed to turn to ice. My mind went blank, and the words caught in my throat. Seeing my silence, Eleanor quickly squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry, Jas. Wesley doesn’t remember anything right now. You are the only one he recognizes. And you are the only daughter-in-law the Sinclairs will ever accept.” My throat felt dry as bone. I looked over at Wesley. He was laughing with Felix and Zach, his ears flushing red at whatever joke they were sharing. “Felix and Zach are keeping it from him too,” Eleanor whispered. “None of them will mention her name in front of Wesley.” Her expression turned sour as she continued. “I gave her four million dollars back then, and she signed the agreement. Why on earth is she coming back now, right when you two are getting married? What is she trying to pull?” The truth about Phoebe was something we all knew. Except for Wesley. When Eleanor first noticed Phoebe’s intentions, she had confronted her. To her surprise, Phoebe didn’t even try to deny it. She brazenly admitted that she liked Wesley and believed that, given his indulgence, winning him over completely would be easy. Her arrogance had caused a massive stir in the Sinclair household. Eleanor was so furious she nearly had a heart attack, and Wesley’s father immediately arranged for Phoebe’s transfer out of her school. But Phoebe had threatened them. “I already have a place in Wesley’s heart. He defends me, drives me around, and fights his friends for me. Have you ever seen him do that for anyone else? If I suddenly disappear, what do you think he will do? He’s your son, you know his temper best.” Eleanor had swallowed her anger and negotiated a price. At the time, my family’s relationship with the Sinclairs was strained due to the canceled engagement, and my father was preparing to pull his investments from their joint projects. To resolve the issue quickly, Eleanor had offered six million dollars to make Phoebe disappear. Phoebe took the money and left, sending Wesley a single farewell text claiming she was going abroad to study with her boyfriend. She then blocked all his contact information right in front of them. Of course, I only found out about all of this later. At the time, Phoebe had reached out to me, crying over a voice message, sounding incredibly weak and victimized. She claimed the Sinclairs had ruthlessly thrown her out because of their greed and obsession with social status. She said she had nowhere to go and was forced to cut ties with Wesley. “Jas, I know you’re the sweetest person. I don’t have parents like you do, I only have my grandmother, and she’s too old to help me. Can you please do me a favor and pass a message to Wesley? Tell him I’ll be back in two years. Tell him not to worry, and ask him to wait for me.” I realized later that she only came to me because Eleanor had cut the agreed amount from six million to four million at the last second. To everyone, I was the gentle, obedient girl who could never say no. Phoebe believed that even when it came to her rival, I would be kind enough to help. I stared at the message she wanted me to deliver. Tell him I will definitely come back for him after graduation. I pressed down on the text, and after two seconds, the option appeared. Without a shred of hesitation, I hit delete. That was the very first time in my life that I did something against my conscience. But I never expected Wesley to have a car accident that very night. He was carried into the emergency room drenched in blood, slipping into a deep coma. Perhaps he had caught wind of her departure and was racing to the airport to stop her. Or perhaps he just wanted to see her one last time. Either way, on the night of my birthday, Wesley lost his memory. When he opened his eyes three days later, the first name he called out wasn’t his parents’. He asked, “Where is Jasmine?” He had forgotten everything. He forgot the scholarship student who had lived in his house, forgot her name, forgot how he had protected her, and forgot that he had wanted to call off our engagement. In his mind, I was his childhood sweetheart, his only love, and his destined wife. Under the collective silent agreement of our families, our entire social circle chose to keep the secret. Phoebe was completely erased from Wesley’s world. Felix and Zach had sat down with me to make sure we were all on the same page. “From now on, Jasmine Croft is the only girl Wesley has ever loved.” I didn’t reject the lie. That was my second mistake. With everyone reinforcing the narrative, Wesley believed it completely. He was convinced of his deep devotion to me, insisting on moving our wedding forward. And I agreed. That was my third mistake. “Jasmine Croft, do you take Wesley Sinclair to be your wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?” The officiant’s voice pulled me back to reality. Beneath the gaze of our families and guests, I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and nodded. “I do.” Applause erupted in the chapel. Wesley noticed my tension and gently squeezed my hand under the folds of my gown, silently mouthing the words: Don’t be scared. My eyelashes fluttered, and I forced a small smile. The officiant turned his gaze to Wesley. “Wesley Sinclair, do you take Jasmine Croft to be your wedded wife…” Wesley smiled, answering almost before the officiant could finish. “I do.” More applause swept through the hall. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Wesley’s parents smiling with relief, while my own parents had tears glistening in their eyes. The officiant offered a warm smile, gesturing to Wesley. “You may exchange the rings.” Wesley carefully lifted the ring from its velvet box. It was a custom three-stone pink diamond ring, with our birthstones delicately integrated into the band. It held the promise of our future, along with the weight of my five years of silent longing. But just as the metal was about to slip over my ring finger, the heavy doors of the chapel were flung open. Someone rushed inside, breathless and frantic. “Wesley! She’s a liar!” Phoebe stumbled down the aisle, her eyes red, tears streaming down her pale face. “They all lied to you while you lost your memory! Jasmine stole my place! The one you actually love… is me!” A collective gasp echoed through the room. Wesley stared at the crying girl, then looked at his parents, who had turned pale but were trying to maintain their composure. He looked at his friends, whose faces were filled with awkward guilt. Even without his memories, he could tell that everyone had been keeping a massive secret from him. Finally, Wesley’s gaze landed on me. He frowned, his lips parting as he spoke in a low, tight voice. “Jas.” “What is going on?”

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Sally and I had been married for two years. I was desperately obsessed with her. She despised me. Just how deep did that hatred run? When I got into a car crash and shattered multiple bones in my body, I spent six months recovering in the exact hospital where she worked as an orthopedic surgeon. She did not visit me a single time. Nobody liked me anyway. Everyone said I was the toxic snake who chased away Nolan, the guy she actually loved. When I first had the accident and lost all my mobility, the people around me were secretly happy for her. They whispered, “Sally finally gets a break from him.” When it was time for me to be discharged, her friends were all holding their breath for her. “Asher is getting out. He is going to ruin Sally’s life again.” They were partly right. The very first thing I did after getting discharged was find Sally. Except, I was not there to cling to her anymore. I was there to hand her a document. “Sally, this is what you wanted.” “What is this?” I gave her a faint, empty smile. “Open it and see for yourself. Sally, I do not want the house. I do not want the car. I wish you nothing but success. Let us never see each other again.” After handing over the divorce papers, I stepped back and melted into the crowd. 1 “Nurse, what is the deal with the guy in the next bed? Why does he never get any visitors?” “Hmph. Probably karma. He did too many messed up things, so everyone abandoned him.” Trapped in a coma, I could hear the outside world perfectly. In that pitch black void, I fought with every ounce of my strength to wake up, but my body refused to obey. Finally, after a million failed attempts, the loud crash of a glass shattering in the next cubicle shocked my eyes open. “Oh man! Buddy, you are awake!” The older guy in the next bed gasped in shock. I stared at the white ceiling tiles, unable to move a single muscle. “Sorry about that, kid. I dropped my cup. Did I scare you awake?” No. I should have been thanking him. If it was not for the shock of that crashing sound, I might have never woken up. No one knew the sheer, suffocating terror I endured in that dark, silent world. 2 The news of my awakening reached the doctors quickly. They rushed in, ran a battery of tests, and declared it a miracle. But among that sea of white coats, Sally was nowhere to be found. I had not heard her voice while I was under. And now that I was awake, she was still absent. “Where is Sally?” I rasped. A few of the doctors exchanged uncomfortable glances. “Dr. Evans… she is in surgery right now. She cannot get away.” “Oh.” “How is my condition?” I asked. “When the crash happened, the back of your head took the brunt of the impact. You had significant blood pooling in your brain, which caused the coma. Your right arm is fractured, your left femur is severely broken, and you have multiple other minor fractures and soft tissue contusions. Long story short, you took a massive hit. You have been asleep for forty days. Thankfully, you were brought in fast enough. The blood in your brain is slowly absorbing, and we already operated on your fractures. You are in casts and on the mend.” 3 When dinnertime rolled around, the older guy next to me, Arthur, turned his head while feeding his wife. “Hey kid, who is this Dr. Evans you keep asking about? Someone important to you?” She is my wife. What kind of surgery takes eight hours? Your spouse wakes up from a coma, and you cannot spare a single minute to check on them? I shook my head slowly. “We just know each other.” “Ah, got it.” Arthur nodded. “What about your family then?” The only person taking care of me was a hired orderly. During my coma, it was this stranger who sponged me down and emptied my catheter. I was probably the most pathetic patient in the entire hospital. I spun a quick lie. “They live out of state. Health issues. They cannot travel.” My parents divorced when I was in middle school after my mom had an affair. I was given to my mom. My dad was devastated and moved overseas. My mom was a ruthless businesswoman, constantly flying from city to city. Aside from keeping my bank account maxed out, she had zero time for me. Oh, right. Three years ago, she had a new baby girl with her new husband. 4 I was the one who chased Sally. Actually, “chased” implies she eventually liked me back. But even after we got married, she treated me like ice. She never gave me even a fraction of the warmth she used to give Nolan. If I had not forced Nolan out of the picture, she probably would have married him. “Oh my god, your blood is backing up!” the orderly yelled, dropping my dinner tray. I looked down. The IV tube plugged into the back of my hand was completely filled with my own dark blood. The orderly slammed the call button. The nurse who walked in was Blake, a guy I went to high school with. Impatience was practically tattooed on his forehead. He aggressively ripped the medical tape off my skin and yanked the needle out without a shred of care. It made sense. Back in school, almost everyone talked behind my back. They called me a pretty boy, a toxic snake, a guy who rode his wealthy family’s coattails. He swapped the tube and walked out without a word. Even Arthur and the orderly were appalled. The orderly picked up my bowl, preparing to feed me. “Maybe he is just having a bad day.” Arthur frowned. “No, I noticed it too. He only acts like a jerk to the kid here. When my wife needs her bandages changed, he is perfectly polite.” I did not defend myself. I just looked at the orderly. “Could you buy me one of those overbed tables? Just put the food on there. I will feed myself.” My right arm was in a heavy cast. Only my left hand worked. If this were the old me, I would have made Blake’s life a living hell for treating me like that. But now, I felt completely hollow. I had no energy left to fight. 5 Sally finally walked in. I was wrapped up like a mummy, clumsily trying to feed myself with my non dominant hand. When she walked through the door, my spoon froze midair. I must have looked incredibly pathetic in that moment. She glanced at me for a split second, then immediately turned her attention to Arthur’s wife in the next bed. “How are we doing here?” She was here to do rounds. On the patient next to me. I lowered my head and mechanically shoveled food into my mouth. My entire body felt numb. Arthur spoke up. “Doctor, thank god you are here. My wife said her elbow has been killing her.” Sally gently loosened the cast on the woman’s arm. “Is that better?” “Oh, much better. The pressure is gone.” Arthur looked confused. “Did they switch our doctor? We usually have Dr. Bennett.” “She had a family emergency. I am covering her rounds for the next two days.” “I see. You are so young to be a surgeon here at Mercy. Good for you. Got a boyfriend yet?” Sally completely ignored the question. “The cast was too tight and compressing the joint. If it happens again, page a nurse immediately.” After finishing with Arthur’s wife, she lingered. She did not leave. I kept my head down, staring blankly at my hospital food. A pair of pristine white sneakers appeared right next to my bed. Before she could speak, a nurse came running down the hall. “Dr. Evans! Emergency in the ER!” The white sneakers spun around and vanished from my line of sight. I looked out the window into the dark night, swallowing the lump in my throat. 6 After that, Sally never came back. Dr. Bennett returned, so Sally did not need to cover our ward anymore. I heard there was a massive multi car pileup on the highway that night, resulting in endless casualties. Then I heard Sally went out of state for a medical exchange program. When she came back, a severe apartment fire flooded the hospital with burn victims. Later, rumor had it she was sent overseas for advanced training. Long story short, she was busy. The patients in the beds next to me changed time and time again. The moment I was cleared to bear weight, I threw myself into physical therapy. I had to stand on my own two feet again. I had to become a normal person. No matter how agonizing the rehab was, I gritted my teeth and pushed through the pain in that sweat smelling gym. Of course, during that time, I became a total joke among my old college circle. The arrogant ice prince, bedridden, unable to wipe his own mouth, needing someone to serve him hand and foot. We were all med students at Boston U once upon a time. But during my internship year, I severely injured my hand. I could never hold a scalpel again, so I gave up the profession. A lot of my former classmates ended up working here at Mercy. None of them pitied me. They all thought this was my karma. After all, everyone believed I was the monster who bullied Nolan into leaving the country. 7 “Your gait is completely normal now. Outstanding work.” Four months later, when I walked a full lap without parallel bars, my physical therapist clapped loudly. “Thank you for everything.” “Do not thank me. Your willpower is insane. Honestly, your femur was shattered. You had one of the worst breaks I have seen in years, and yet, throughout this entire grueling process, you never cried out in pain once.” I smiled faintly and did not say a word. I was officially discharged. I signed my own paperwork, hailed a cab, and left the hospital behind. It had been nearly six months since I last stepped foot in my own home. I stood in the hallway, staring at the door in silence, before pressing my thumb to the biometric lock. The door clicked open. The air inside smelled like dust. Just as I suspected, Sally rarely came home either. I cleared off the sofa and opened the takeout container of lean pork porridge I bought downstairs. After two bites, my phone buzzed on the coffee table. I stared at the messages popping up in the college group chat. I went dead silent. “Asher got discharged.” “Damn, already? I thought he was practically crippled.” “He is going to start harassing Sally again. She must owe him a massive debt from a past life to be cursed with him.” “Hey, shut up, he is still in this chat. If he sees this, he will ruin your career too.” “Oh crap, wrong chat.” Instantly, the messages were unsent. I locked my phone screen, picked up my spoon, and finished my cold porridge. I slept alone that night. Sally did not come home. When dawn broke, I rubbed my stiff eyes, taking a long moment to gather my bearings. I got up, showered, and got dressed. I grabbed the manila envelope sitting on the coffee table and walked to the door. Before pulling it shut, I paused, taking one last look at the beautiful three bedroom apartment I had meticulously designed. With a heavy thud, the door closed. 8 I found Sally in the hallway outside the orthopedics department. They had just finished their morning briefing. A crowd of doctors in white coats was streaming out of the conference room. When she saw me, her fingers froze on the clipboard she was holding. The doctor walking next to her gave us a knowing look and quickly hurried away. I do not know how I managed to smile as I walked up to her. Maybe it was the sheer relief of not being paralyzed. Or maybe I had just finally let it all go. Her skin was flawless, though faint dark circles shadowed her eyes. Still, nothing could hide how effortlessly breathtaking she was. She spoke first, her tone defensive. “Sorry. Yesterday, I was booked for three back to back surgeries. By the time I finished, the nurses said you had already signed your papers and left.” I nodded calmly and handed her the manila envelope. “This is for you.” “What is this?” A flash of confusion crossed her eyes. I shrugged, offering her a smile completely free of burden. “Open it and see for yourself. It is what you always wanted. Sally, I do not want the house, and I do not want the car. I wish you nothing but success. Let us never see each other again.” After handing over the divorce papers, I stepped back and melted into the crowd.

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At three in the morning, my sister boarded her flight. The baby was shoved into my arms, still smelling faintly of copper and fresh birth. Mom dragged me by the arm, sobbing, “Just raise him as yours. You can’t let your sister’s life be ruined.” I opened my mouth to scream at her. Then my phone buzzed with a text from my sister. “The father is Alfredo Davenport. Don’t look for him. He is too dangerous to cross.” I unlocked my phone and searched his name. Davenport Holdings. A multi-billion-dollar empire. I shut off my phone and pulled the tiny bundle closer. Dangerous? We would see about that. The next morning, I stood in Alfredo Davenport’s penthouse office, holding the baby. He spared me a cold glance. “Who are you?” I placed the baby directly on his mahogany desk. “Special delivery. Sign here.” 01 The phone rang just as I finally closed my eyes. After working forty-eight hours of overtime, my eyelids felt like lead. I fumbled in the dark for my phone and squinted at the screen. It was Mom. A call at three in the morning made my stomach drop. I picked up. Her hysterical sobbing flooded the receiver before I could even say hello. “Get to the hospital right now! Your sister… she had the baby!” My sleep-deprived brain refused to process the words. “A baby? What baby?” Mom’s voice hitched, her breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. “Fiona had a baby! Hurry! Mercy Hospital, maternity ward!” Fiona had a baby. My sister, Fiona, was twenty-eight. She was single, had no partner, at least as far as I knew. I threw a coat over my shoulders and bolted out the door. By the time my cab pulled up to the hospital, the clinical white lights of the maternity ward were blinding. Mom was huddled at the far end of the corridor, clutching a tiny bundle wrapped in a cheap hospital blanket. The infant was minuscule and wrinkled. Fiona was nowhere to be seen. “Where is she?” I demanded. Mom didn’t answer. She just wept. I scanned the quiet hallway. The delivery room doors were shut, and the nearby recovery rooms were completely empty. “Mom, where is Fiona?” Mom raised her head, her eyes swollen to the size of walnuts. “She left.” “What do you mean, she left? Where did she go?” “She boarded her flight.” Mom shoved the baby into my arms. “She bought a ticket to London. The flight departed at one-thirty. The moment the baby was out, she walked out of the hospital.” I looked down at the newborn in my arms. The clamp on his umbilical cord was still fresh, and he carried that distinct, metallic smell of birth mixed with formula. The baby’s eyes were squeezed shut, his tiny mouth twitching open and close. My head spun. “Call her,” I said, my voice trembling. “I tried. The number is disconnected.” I pulled out my own phone and opened my chat history with Fiona. Her profile picture was still there, but when I tapped into it, a red exclamation point appeared next to my message. You are no longer connected with this user. I dialed her number. “The number you have dialed is no longer in service.” Standing in that sterile hallway with a hours-old infant in my arms, I listened to that automated recording repeat three times. Mom grabbed my sleeve, her grip tight and desperate. “Just raise him as yours, Gemma. You cannot let your sister’s life be ruined over this.” “She dumps a newborn on me to save her own life, but what about mine?” “You are different. You are still young, you haven’t…” “I’m twenty-four, Mom. I can barely afford my own rent.” Mom ignored my words, her tears flowing freely. “Fiona said we cannot let anyone find out about this. The father… he is too dangerous to cross.” Before I could reply, my phone vibrated. It was a text from an unknown number. It read: “The father is Alfredo Davenport. Don’t look for him. He is too dangerous to cross.” I tried calling the number back immediately, but it was already disconnected. I stared at the name Alfredo Davenport. I opened my browser and typed it into the search bar. Davenport Holdings. Real estate, venture capital, healthcare. A conglomerate worth hundreds of billions. Alfredo Davenport, the current CEO, thirty years old. The man in the official photos wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. His jawline was razor-sharp, his gaze detached and piercing. I closed my phone. The baby in my arms whimpered, a tiny fist escaping the blanket to clutch at my collar. I looked down at him. Dangerous? We would see. I held him tighter. The next morning, I called in sick to work. I walked to the corner store and bought a small tin of formula, a pack of newborn diapers, and a single bottle. Back in my cramped apartment, I fed the baby and changed his diaper. Once full, he drifted off to sleep, quieter than I expected a newborn to be. I searched through the belongings Fiona had left behind at the hospital. The nurse had handed me a manila folder before I checked the baby out. Inside was the hospital birth record. The mother’s name was listed as Fiona. The father’s line was blank. There was also a handwritten note. The handwriting was unmistakably Fiona’s, sharp and hurried. “Gemma, I’m sorry. I can’t keep this baby, and I can’t face Alfredo. You have always been tougher than me, so I know he’ll be safe with you. I’ve already talked to Mom. Don’t hate me.” I folded the note and shoved it back into the folder. Don’t hate her. She had booked her flight a month in advance, deactivated her phone, deleted her social media, and fled the delivery room within an hour of giving birth. That wasn’t a desperate mistake. That was a calculated escape. I scooped up the baby and walked out the door to hail a cab. “Take me to Davenport Holdings headquarters.” 02 The Davenport Holdings tower dominated the financial district, a sixty-eight-story monolith of steel and reflective glass. I stood in the sweeping marble lobby, surrounded by sharp suits and clicking heels. I was wearing a faded hoodie, my hair was unwashed, and my sneakers were scuffed with dirt. The baby was wrapped in a twenty-dollar blanket I had grabbed in a rush. The two receptionists behind the polished desk looked at me like I was a delivery courier who had wandered onto the wrong floor. “Good morning. How can I help you?” “I’m here to see Alfredo Davenport.” The two women exchanged a brief, telling look. “Do you have an appointment?” “No.” “I’m sorry, Mr. Davenport doesn’t accept unscheduled visitors. You can leave your—” “Tell him someone is here to deliver his baby.” The receptionist’s polite smile froze. “Ma’am, we don’t appreciate jokes—” “Just pass the message along. Tell him his son has arrived.” Without waiting for their reaction, I walked over to the lobby’s leather sofas and sat down. The baby began to fuss. I cradled him with one arm while reaching into my bag for the bottle. The receptionists whispered urgently to each other before one of them picked up the phone. Five minutes later, the elevator doors slid open. A woman in a sharp grey pantsuit stepped out. She was in her early thirties, wore gold-rimmed glasses, and walked with brisk authority. “Hello, I’m Ms. Ward, Mr. Davenport’s executive assistant. And you are?” “Gemma.” “Gemma, regarding this… baby situation. Could you explain?” “No. I will only explain to Alfredo.” Ms. Ward frowned. “Mr. Davenport is currently in a board meeting—” “I can wait.” I leaned down to feed the baby. He drank too quickly, coughing slightly on the formula. I gently patted his back until his breathing evened out. Ms. Ward stood there, watching us for a moment, before stepping aside to make another call. When she walked back, her professional composure had returned, though her eyes were guarded. “Follow me.” The private elevator took us directly to the sixty-second floor. The doors opened to a carpeted hallway so quiet you could hear the faint hum of the climate control. Ms. Ward led me to a heavy double door at the end of the hall and motioned for me to enter. The office was massive, flanked by floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city skyline. Alfredo Davenport sat behind a sprawling mahogany desk. He looked exactly like his photos, but the reality was colder, sharper. His dark eyes locked onto me, completely unreadable, as if he were reviewing a minor legal dispute. He looked at me, then down at the bundle. “Who are you?” I walked straight to his desk and placed the baby gently on the dark wood, right over a stack of financial reports. The infant lay there, his tiny face wrinkled, a smear of white formula at the corner of his mouth. “Special delivery. Sign here.” Alfredo didn’t move. He looked at the baby, then back up at me. “Explain.” “Do you know Fiona?” His brow twitched. It was barely perceptible, but I caught it. “Who are you to her?” “Her sister.” “Where is she?” “London. She boarded a flight yesterday at midnight. Left right after giving birth, cut her phone, deleted her accounts, and vanished.” I tossed the manila folder onto his desk. “The birth certificate is in there. Mother is Fiona. The father’s name is blank, but she told me it’s yours. If you don’t believe me, we can run a paternity test.” Alfredo didn’t touch the folder. He leaned back in his leather chair, staring at the infant. The baby stirred, his tiny hand flitting outward until his fingers brushed Alfredo’s silver pen. “What is it you want, Gemma?” “Nothing. The baby is yours, so he’s your responsibility. I have no obligation to raise my sister’s child.” “And if I say this child has nothing to do with me?” “Then we do the DNA test. It takes three days. When the results are in, call me.” I pulled a slip of paper from my pocket with my phone number and apartment address, slapping it onto his desk. “Three days.” I turned on my heel and walked toward the exit. Just as my hand touched the brass handle, a sound echoed through the vast office. The baby started to cry. It was a thin, high-pitched wail that bounced off the glass walls. My footsteps faltered for a fraction of a second. But I didn’t turn around. I pushed the door open and let it click shut behind me. 03 I had barely reached the elevators when Ms. Ward caught up with me. “Gemma, you can’t just leave a newborn on—” “On Alfredo’s desk? Yes, I can.” “You can’t—” “I just did. Davenport Holdings is a multi-billion-dollar company. I think you can afford a nanny.” The elevator doors slid open. I stepped in and pressed the button for the lobby. Ms. Ward stood in the hallway, her expression a mix of shock and utter disbelief. Before the doors fully closed, I could still hear the distant, rising wail of the baby from the end of the hall. When I stepped out of the tower, the midday sun was blinding. I stood on the sidewalk, feeling dazed. My hands felt incredibly light. For the past thirty hours, those hands had been constantly holding that baby. Now that they were empty, a strange, hollow sensation settled over me. My phone rang. It was Mom. “Gemma! Where did you take the baby?!” “To his father.” The line went dead quiet for several seconds. “Are you insane?! Fiona told you not to look for Alfredo Davenport! You—” “Mom, you believe everything Fiona says. You believed her when she said she had no choice, and you believed her when she said he was too dangerous. She abandoned her own child. Why do you still trust a word out of her mouth?” “Your sister did what she had to—” “To save herself. Mom, I have to go. I’m late for work.” I hung up. When I got back to the office, my manager was cold about my half-day absence. I sat at my cubicle, staring at the monitor, but the spreadsheets blurred together. All I could see was the baby’s tiny, wrinkled face. And the sound of his cry. He had started crying the second I walked away. I rubbed my temples hard, forcing myself to focus on my emails. I dragged myself through the day until six-thirty. The moment I stepped out of the building, my phone buzzed. It wasn’t Mom. It was an unknown number. “Gemma?” The voice was deep, smooth, and entirely devoid of warmth. I recognized it instantly. It was the same voice that had asked Who are you? this morning. “Alfredo.” “Come get the baby.” “He’s not my baby.” “He isn’t mine either until the DNA results are back. Until then, you will take care of him.” “I don’t have the space or the money to raise him.” “That is your problem.” “Actually, he’s your problem too. You know exactly what kind of relationship you had with Fiona.” Silence stretched over the line. “I will have my driver deliver him to your address.” “Send him, and I won’t open the door.” “Gemma,” Alfredo’s voice dropped, laced with a quiet, dangerous edge. “You barged into my office and dumped an infant on my desk in front of my staff. Do you have any idea what that means?” “It means you have to face reality.” He didn’t reply. I continued, “Do the DNA test. In three days, when the results come back, if he’s yours, he’s your responsibility. If he isn’t, I will apologize and take him back. But until those three days are up, do not call me.” I hung up the phone. Standing on the bustling street corner as the evening wind picked up, I realized my hands were shaking. It wasn’t from fear. It was sheer exhaustion. I hadn’t slept a single minute since Fiona went into labor. When I finally reached my apartment building, someone was crouching by my door. It was Mom. She was holding a insulated food container, her eyes red and puffy. The moment she saw me, she scrambled to her feet. “Gemma, I brought you some soup—” “Mom, how do you know my address?” She hesitated. “Your sister told me.” Fiona had blocked my number and deleted me from her life, but she had made sure to give Mom my address. She had planned every single detail. “Mom, go home.” “Just listen to me—” “No,” I said, sliding the key into the lock. “I know exactly what you’re going to say. You want me to take the baby, stay away from Alfredo, and keep Fiona’s name out of it. I’m not doing it.” “Gemma!” She grabbed my arm. “Your sister worked so hard to get where she is. Her education, her career, her entire future cannot be ruined by a child!” “And what about my future?” “You’re different…” “How? Because my grades weren’t as perfect? Because my job isn’t as prestigious? So my life is just a safety net for her mistakes?” Mom’s mouth opened, but no words came out. I gently but firmly pulled her hand off my arm. “Go home, Mom. I’m handling this. But I’m doing it my way, not yours.” I stepped inside and shut the door, leaning my back against the wood. Outside, I could hear Mom starting to cry again. She cried for a long time. I didn’t open the door. My phone vibrated. A text message from Alfredo. “DNA swab collected. Results in three days. He stays with me tonight.” I stared at the screen for a long time. He hadn’t sent the baby back. He had kept him. I wasn’t sure if that was a victory or not, but at least for tonight, I could finally sleep. 04 Saturday morning. I slept until noon, the first real rest I had gotten in days. I washed my face and put the kettle on to boil, but before the water could heat up, the buzzer rang. I assumed it was Mom again. But when I opened the door, four people were standing in the narrow hallway. Aunt Jane, Uncle Thomas, Aunt Martha, and my cousin Lily. Aunt Jane led the charge, pushing her way forward before I could even greet them. “Gemma, your mother cried the entire night. Do you have any heart at all?” I blocked the doorway, refusing to let them step inside. “Aunt Jane, what are you all doing here?” “Your mother called us. She said you—” “She said what?” Uncle Thomas shoved his way to the front. “She said you dumped your sister’s baby with some random man! Gemma, are you out of your mind? That is your own nephew!” “He is Fiona’s child, and she abandoned him.” “Your sister had her reasons—” “What reasons? Do any of you actually know? Did she tell you?” They exchanged quick, uncomfortable glances. No one answered. Aunt Martha peered past my shoulder into the apartment. “You live here alone? This place is tiny. There’s barely enough room for a crib, let alone—” “Exactly. Which is why I can’t raise him.” Aunt Jane sighed, softening her tone as she reached out to grab my hand. “Gemma, we know you feel slighted. But think about how hard Fiona worked. Your mother took out so many loans to put her through school. She finally has a life—” “Aunt Jane,” I said, pulling my hand back. “Do you know when Fiona bought her plane ticket?” “What?” “A month ago. While the baby was still in her womb, she had already booked her flight to London. She deactivated her phone, cleared her bank accounts, and deleted her social media weeks in advance. She planned this entire thing.” The hallway fell dead silent. “She wasn’t forced into anything. She planned to give birth, dump the baby on me, and have Mom guilt-trip me into keeping quiet so she could run away scot-free.” Aunt Jane’s expression hardened, but Uncle Thomas snapped first. “She is still your sister! Blood is thicker than—” “Uncle Thomas, my blood is fine, but Fiona is the one who bled me dry.” Uncle Thomas’s face turned red. “How dare you speak to your family like that!” “I’m speaking the truth. If you all care so much about this baby, which one of you is going to take him home? Any takers?” No one spoke. Cousin Lily, who had remained silent the entire time, pulled on Aunt Jane’s sleeve. “Let’s go, Mom. Stop it.” Aunt Jane wanted to say more, but Lily tugged her again, harder this time. Finally, they turned and walked toward the stairs. Uncle Thomas glared back at me before leaving. “You haven’t heard the end of this. Your mother isn’t letting this go.” I shut the door and locked it. The kettle on the stove was whistling furiously. I poured myself a cup of tea and sat on the edge of my bed, staring into the steam. My phone rang. It was Ms. Ward. “Gemma, the DNA results came back early. Mr. Davenport wants you to come to the office this afternoon if you’re available.” “What are the results?” There was a pause on the other end. “It’s better if Mr. Davenport discusses this with you in person. Can you make it?” I checked the time. It was one in the afternoon. “I’ll be there at two.” I hung up, changed into clean clothes, and caught a glance of myself in the mirror. Dark circles under my eyes, dry lips, pale face. It didn’t matter. I walked out the door. 05 When I arrived at Davenport Holdings, the receptionists didn’t stop me this time. Ms. Ward was waiting for me in the lobby, using her keycard to take me straight up to the sixty-second floor. The moment the elevator doors opened, I heard it. The sound of a baby crying. It was coming from the executive office. Ms. Ward’s professional facade was cracking slightly. “The baby has been crying on and off since last night. We brought in a professional nanny, but… it hasn’t been easy.” She pushed open the office door, and I saw Alfredo. He looked entirely different from our first meeting. His charcoal jacket was draped over the back of his chair, his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his silk tie was loosened. The neat piles of documents on his desk had been pushed aside to make room for a baby carrier. The infant was inside, wailing until his little face was purple, his voice already hoarse. A middle-aged nanny in a neat uniform stood nearby, looking completely helpless as she held a bottle. “I tried feeding him, but he won’t take it. His diaper is clean, and I’ve tried burping him—” I walked past them without saying a word and lifted the baby out of the carrier. He was tiny, barely four days old, but his little body was stiff with distress. I cradled his head with one hand and pressed my other palm flat against his back, patting him gently. It wasn’t the rigid, textbook patting the nanny had been doing. It was a slow, rhythmic movement I had figured out during our first night together, my palm warm against his spine. The crying immediately softened to a whimper. After a few more pats, he let out a tiny, wet burp, then buried his face into my shoulder and fell silent. The massive office became perfectly quiet. The nanny stared at me, dumbfounded. Alfredo watched me, his dark eyes fixed on the baby. I ignored them both and looked down at the infant. His nose was red, his eyes closed, his mouth twitching as he drifted off to sleep from sheer exhaustion. “He’s not refusing the bottle,” I said quietly. “He has gas. A four-day-old baby’s stomach is the size of a walnut. If your nipple flow is too fast, he swallows air. What size nipple are you using?” The nanny stammered, “An extra-slow flow—” “Switch to the slowest round-hole nipple, and make sure to hold the bottle upright to clear any air bubbles before feeding him.” The nanny nodded quickly and began sorting through the baby bags. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, rocking the baby until he was deeply asleep. Alfredo hadn’t said a word. Once the nanny left the room, he spoke. “Sit down.” I sat on the leather sofa, still holding the baby close. Alfredo picked up a thick manila folder from his desk, walked over, and sat on the opposite sofa. “The DNA results.” He slid the folder across the marble coffee table. “Paternity is confirmed.” I didn’t open it. “And?” “And I acknowledge that this child is biologically mine.” “What happens next?” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a slip of paper, and placed it on the table. A cashier’s check. I glanced down at the number. Two million dollars. “This is for you,” Alfredo said. “A gesture of appreciation for looking after him these past few days. I will handle the baby’s future arrangements.” “What kind of arrangements?” “I will find a reputable private care facility or a suitable adoptive family.” “You want to give him away?” “I do not have the lifestyle or the environment to raise a child.” “You have billions of dollars, and you’re telling me you don’t have the means?” “I do not have the desire.” I stared into his cold, unblinking eyes. His expression remained entirely flat, as if he were discussing quarterly earnings rather than the fate of his own son. I looked down at the baby. He was sleeping soundly, his tiny fingers still clutching my collar with surprising strength. I reached out, picked up the check, and ripped it down the middle. I tore the pieces again, letting the four scraps of paper flutter onto the table. For the first time, Alfredo’s icy composure cracked. “You can walk away from your son, but I don’t take hush money.” “Then what do you want?” “I want you to tell me, straight to my face. Are you going to be his father, or are you washing your hands of him?” He didn’t answer. I stood up, adjusting my grip on the sleeping baby. “Think about it. When you have an answer, call me.” I walked toward the door. “Leave the baby,” Alfredo called out behind me. “You just said you had no desire to raise him.” “I said I need to think.” “Then think fast. When you’re ready to be a father, come get him.” I didn’t stop. I pushed the door open and walked out. Ms. Ward was waiting in the hallway. Seeing me with the baby, her mouth opened slightly, but she glanced toward the office and decided not to stop me. In the elevator, the baby opened his dark, clear eyes and stared up at me without crying. “Let’s go,” I whispered to him. “You’re coming back with me for now.” 06 By the time we got back to my apartment, dusk had fallen. I laid him in the middle of my bed, propping pillows on either side to keep him secure, then warmed some formula and changed his diaper. Just as I finished, the buzzer rang. I braced myself for Mom again. I opened the door. It was Alfredo. He stood in the dim hallway, still wearing his tailored shirt, though his tie was completely gone. No assistant, no driver. Just him. He glanced at the peeling paint on my door frame, then at the cluttered hallway filled with my neighbors’ storage boxes. “Let’s talk inside,” I said, stepping aside. As he walked in, I saw his eyes take in the entire space. A forty-square-meter studio. A single bed, a wardrobe, a folding table cluttered with my laptop and work documents. The kitchen was a makeshift setup on the enclosed balcony, the range hood yellowed with age. The baby lay in the center of the bed, kicking his tiny legs in contentment after his feed. Alfredo stood in the middle of the room, looking absurdly tall and entirely out of place. “You live here?” “Yes.” “And you’ve been taking care of him alone?” “From the moment he was born until now, yes.” He didn’t respond. He walked over to the bed and looked down at the infant. The baby looked up, their gazes locking. A newborn doesn’t know strangers yet. He simply stared back with wide, unblinking dark eyes. Alfredo reached out a hand, hesitated for a second, then let his fingers hover near the baby. “He looks like Fiona,” he murmured. “He has your nose.” He glanced at me. I didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Have you made up your mind?” He pulled out the plastic folding chair by my desk and sat down. The cheap plastic groaned under his weight. “I had my security team look into Fiona’s travel records,” he said. I waited. “She booked her ticket a month ago. One-way. She traveled on a tourist visa, but she went straight to a friend’s apartment in London. The lease was signed weeks in advance.” “And?” “This wasn’t a sudden panic. She planned to abandon him from the very beginning.” “I know.” “You knew, and yet you…” He paused, searching for the words. “You’re cleaning up her mess.” “I’m not doing it for her. I’m doing it for him. He didn’t ask to be born into this.” On the bed, the baby let out a tiny yawn. Alfredo watched him, silent for a long moment. “I only knew Fiona for six months,” he said quietly. “Four months ago, she told me she was pregnant. I told her to keep the baby, that I would take full responsibility. She agreed. Then she changed her number, moved out of her apartment, and vanished.” I stared at him. This was not the story Fiona had painted. “You looked for her?” “For two months. When I finally reached her through an old acquaintance, she told me she had terminated the pregnancy.” “She lied to you.” “I see that now.” His hands tightened slightly over his knees. “She didn’t want me to know about the child,” he said, “yet she kept him anyway, just to dump him on you.” “Because she knew I wouldn’t leave him to die.” “You could have. You have no legal obligation to this child.” “And where would he go? He’s four days old. His umbilical cord hasn’t even fallen off.” Alfredo raised his eyes to meet mine. It was the first time he truly looked at me. Not with the cold, assessing gaze of a CEO, but with genuine curiosity. “What is it you want from me, Gemma?” That was the third time he had asked. First in his office, then on the phone, and now in my cramped room. “I want you to take responsibility.” “How?” “Not to me. To him.” I pointed at the baby on the bed. “He needs a father. Not a check, not an agency. A real, present father.” “I don’t know how to raise a child.” “Neither do I. I’ve been learning on the fly for the last four days.” He fell silent. The baby began to squirm and whimper. I walked over and checked his diaper. Wet. I grabbed a clean diaper from the nightstand, slid my hand under his lower back to lift him, and quickly swapped it out. My movements weren’t perfect, but they were twice as fast as they had been on day one. I turned back to Alfredo. “You can start by learning how to change a diaper.” He stared at the soiled diaper in my hand, his expression a mix of amusement and mild horror. “I will send some people tomorrow,” he said, rising to his feet. “What kind of people?” “A night nanny and a housekeeper. This place is too small. I’ll arrange a proper apartment for you.” “I’m not moving.” “You don’t even have room for a crib.” “Then buy a crib and send it here.” We stared at each other, neither of us backing down. Finally, he stepped toward the bed and looked down at the baby one last time. The baby, comfortable in his dry diaper, was kicking his legs and making soft, cooing noises. Alfredo reached down. This time, he didn’t hesitate. He touched his index finger to the baby’s tiny palm. The baby’s reflex kicked in instantly, his tiny fingers curling around Alfredo’s finger, holding on tight. Alfredo didn’t pull away. He stood there, bent over the bed, anchored by a four-day-old infant, completely still. After a long silence, he said, “I’ll have a crib delivered tomorrow morning.” “Good.” “And a nanny.” “Fine.” He straightened up and looked at me. “He needs a name.” “You name him. You’re his father.” He thought for a moment. “Let me think about it.” He walked to the door, opened it, and paused. He didn’t look at me. His gaze lingered on the baby in the middle of the bed. Then, the door clicked shut. I sat on the edge of the mattress. My phone vibrated with a contact request. The name read: Alfredo Davenport. I accepted it. A message popped up immediately: Let me know if he needs anything. I typed back: We’re almost out of formula. Newborn diapers. Baby wipes. They will be there tomorrow morning, he replied. I put the phone down and looked at the baby, who had drifted back to sleep. His tiny hand was still curled into a fist, as if he were still holding onto his father’s finger. I tucked the blanket around him. My phone vibrated again. I looked at the screen. It wasn’t Alfredo. It was an international number. There was no text, only a single image: a screenshot of a flight confirmation from London to Chicago for next Wednesday. The passenger name: Fiona Davenport. My sister was coming back.

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01 After exposing Debbie’s emotional affair online, the court ordered me to post a video apology every day for fifteen consecutive days. “I should not have publicized your explicit chat logs with Mr. Gary without blurring his name.” “I should not have secretly recorded your suggestive voice notes with Mr. Gary and shared them publicly.” To show my utter sincerity, I included their uncensored photos and full legal names in every post. Furious and humiliated by the public exposure, Debbie picked a massive fight with me after every single upload. By the time the thirteenth video went live, I tagged her assistant, Gary, to offer a solemn, targeted apology. Although she stormed out of the house in a rage, she surprisingly did not throw her usual tantrum afterward. I was naive enough to think she had finally recognized her wrongs and decided to save our marriage. The next day, I spent hours cooking her favorite meal and drove to her office to surprise her. The moment I pushed the heavy office door open, a suffocating wave of heavy breathing and whispered moans hit me. Debbie was pinning her flustered assistant to the couch, a cruel, mocking smile playing on her lips as he tried to pull away. “Since he already thinks we are doing it, we might as well go all the way, otherwise we are losing out, aren’t we?” She caught sight of my bloodshot, tear-filled eyes and let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Who else can you blame, Tristan? You forced my hand.” I stood frozen, paralyzed by the sheer betrayal. Debbie was defiled, and with her, our seven-year marriage lay in ruins. The glass container slipped from my numb fingers, shattering on the hardwood floor. The hot soup I had spent all night simmering splashed over my bare ankles, the searing pain making me break into a cold sweat. “Why did you make me watch this?” My voice shook so violently I could barely form the words. She had specifically demanded that I bring her lunch today, all just to orchestrate this cruel spectacle. Debbie only smirked at my accusation, refusing to shift from her suggestive position over Gary. “You already dragged our names through the mud online. If we do not make it real, Gary here would have suffered all that slander for nothing.” He was the one suffering? In our seven years of marriage, her text replies to me never exceeded a single word. Yet, she could send endless, soft-voiced audio recordings to Gary, reading him bedtime stories. When I was burning with a hundred-and-four-degree fever, she was on the phone giggling, telling Gary how adorable his new silk pajamas looked. When I was bleeding out after a car accident, she claimed she was too busy to sign my emergency consent form, only for me to find out she had rushed across town to tend to Gary’s sick puppy, a delay that nearly cost me my right leg. The tension in the office grew suffocatingly thick. Debbie finally, reluctantly, let Gary stand up. She reached over to adjust his belt before tossing a used wrapper into the wastebasket. “Yesterday, you tagged his name under the company’s official public page and called him all those disgusting things. Did you really think I would let that slide?” I stared at the dark red mark on her collarbone, my heart hammering in my chest. “What do you want from me?” Debbie casually picked up a pair of discarded underwear from the sofa and threw them directly at my chest. “I want you to wash his clothes right here, and apologize to Gary while you do it.” With a quick flick of her wrist, she opened the blinds facing the main office floor. Dozens of employees immediately gathered outside the glass wall, whispering and pointing at the drama unfolding inside. The fabric brushed against my bare arm, and a wave of intense nausea hit me, making my stomach churn. Debbie scoffed, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “You think this is dirty? When those thugs took ninety-nine private photos of you, you were a hundred times filthier than this.” I clamped a hand over my mouth, looking up at her in absolute shock. Years ago, when kidnappers took those compromising photos of me, Debbie had nearly lost her life trying to hunt them down and retrieve the film. She had held my shivering, suicidal body back then, whispering over and over, “You are not dirty, Tristan. My sweet Tristan is not dirty at all.” The exact same person, using the exact same mouth, was now ripping my old wounds open with words that made it hard to breathe. Staring at the bucket of soapy water she had her assistant bring in, I swallowed my remaining pride and knelt on the floor, rubbing the fabric together. Outside the glass, the spectators watched with looks of morbid curiosity and disgust. Driven to the edge by Debbie’s relentless mocking, I pulled out my phone and aimed the camera straight at her and Gary. “I formally apologize to Mr. Gary. I should not have barged in while he was sleeping with my wife in her office, ruining their fun.” With a sharp bang, Debbie kicked the bucket over, sending soapy water splashing across the floor, before grabbing my phone and throwing it against the wall. “Tristan, are you ever going to stop!” Soaked from head to toe, I sat on the wet floor as Debbie’s fury flared. “Is this your idea of an apology? Fine. You brought this on yourself!” She marched over to her desk, yanked open a bottom drawer, and threw a massive stack of glossy papers into the air. A single photo fluttered down, landing right beside my knee. My heart stopped. It was one of the intimate photos from my kidnapping, the very ones she had sworn to me she had burned years ago. Outside the office, the employees scrambled to pick them up, their eyes scanning the explicit images with greedy, mocking curiosity. I lunged forward, tearing the photos on the floor to shreds, screaming at the top of my lungs, “Debbie, you are an absolute monster!” For a split second, guilt flickered in her eyes, but she quickly masked it, turning to her security guards. “Take him home. He clearly needs to calm down.” They dragged me away and locked me in the dark basement of our house, plunging me into a panic. Years ago, on my way to the International Steinway Competition, I had been intercepted and locked away in a dark room. It was in that windowless room that those monsters took those ninety-nine humiliating photos, triggering the severe claustrophobia that had plagued me ever since. I clawed desperately at the heavy basement door, my nails tearing and bleeding as I screamed until my voice turned to gravel. Finally, the door swung open, and Debbie stood there, her face dark with anger. “I thought you would have learned your lesson by now, but you still posted that video!” On her phone screen, the final apology video was trending online, the very clip of me exposing their office tryst. I opened my mouth to explain that I hadn’t posted it, that I hadn’t even had the chance to press upload before the phone was snatched away. But before I could speak, she slammed the door shut again, letting out a cold sneer. “I am going to make you pay for this.” Minutes later, muffled groans and the creaking of weight filtered through the door, accompanied by the chaotic, jarring sounds of piano keys being struck in rhythmic succession. That piano was the last remaining heirloom of my parents, left to me before their tragic accident. On the eve of the grand competition, they had flown in from Europe just to watch me perform. But that very night, they received copies of those horrific photos from an anonymous sender, and in their panic-stricken rush to find me, their car spun out of control. I missed the competition I had trained my whole life for, and lost the two most important people in the world. And now, their sacred legacy was being used as a crude prop for Debbie and Gary’s twisted games. Gary’s breathy voice carried through the thin walls. “He is right in the basement, Debbie. What if he posts another video about this? It would be so embarrassing.” “Let him,” Debbie gasped. “Doesn’t knowing he is listening make it so much more thrilling?” The discordant, pounding notes of the piano battered my eardrums. I curled into a tight ball on the cold floor, the intense psychological trauma causing my stomach to heave as I dry-heaved repeatedly in the dark. The noise outside went on for hours. Finally, a notification buzzed on my phone, containing an old video link. It was the broadcast of that fateful piano competition years ago. On the screen, Gary stood on the grand stage, tears shining in his eyes as he held the golden trophy. “If my main competitor had not suffered an unfortunate incident right before the finals, I doubt I would be standing here today.” He blew a kiss to the camera. “I owe everything to my wonderful sponsor. She promised me she would secure the first-place spot for me, and she kept her word!” Every drop of blood in my veins ran cold. My sole rival in that competition had been Gary. When the kidnappers threatened me, they had warned, “If you dare step onto that stage, these photos go viral.” They were working for him. And the sponsor he spoke of was none other than Debbie. Before I could convince myself it was a coincidence, the camera panned to the VIP seats, revealing Debbie’s adoring, proud face. The phone felt like a hot coal in my palm, and I dropped it, shaking uncontrollably. When I was taken, Debbie had arrived with the police seemingly out of nowhere, saving me from those thugs in a flurry of violence and blood. I had spent years worshiping her as my guardian angel, believing our deep bond was the only reason she had found me so quickly. Now, the pieces fell into place. That was why she had those photos. That was why they were never destroyed. The savior who had pulled me from the abyss was the very person who had pushed me into it. Unable to bear the crushing weight of the truth, my vision faded, and I collapsed into unconsciousness. When I finally opened my eyes, the harsh white light of a hospital room greeted me. Debbie was sitting by my bedside, dark circles underscoring her tired eyes. Seeing that I lay quiet, without screaming or crying, she assumed I had finally been tamed. But she was in for a bitter disappointment. “The kidnapping, the photos, the threats… it was all you, wasn’t it?” I asked, my voice flat, every word carved from ice. Debbie’s eyes flickered, but there was no trace of remorse on her face. Instead, her expression hardened. “Have you been digging into my past?” “So you really used that old story to threaten Gary and drive him to a breakdown?” Gary suddenly burst into the room, tears streaming down his face as he sobbed dramatically. “Everyone online is saying my trophy was bought, and that I am responsible for your parents’ deaths! I didn’t know anything about the kidnapping, Tristan, I swear I didn’t!” He shrank back, looking at me with theatrical terror. Seeing her lover in distress, Debbie panicked. When she turned to me, her voice was soft, but her words were lethal. “Tristan, just release a statement. Tell the public you traded your body to the competition judges, got cold feet, and missed the finals, which led to your parents’ fatal accident. Today is the anniversary of their passing anyway. It is the perfect time to go to their graves and beg for their forgiveness.” I stared at her, my mind reeling. When my parents died and I had stood on the ledge of our apartment building ready to jump, she was the one who had pulled me back. “Your parents would want you to live, Tristan. I promise I will take care of you for the rest of my life.” It turned out her definition of a lifetime was incredibly short. A cold, hysterical laugh escaped my throat. “Never. Debbie, let’s get a divorce.” Her chest rose and fell as she struggled for breath, her jaw tightening. “Is our seven-year marriage so worthless to you that you would throw it away over a minor dispute?” Gary rushed forward, his eyes red and theatrical. “Please, Tristan, do not divorce her because of me. If you do not care about her feelings, I do! If it makes you happy, I will take the blame for your parents’ deaths, even if the public tears me to pieces!” He played the martyr perfectly, making me look like the heartless villain. Debbie immediately began to soothe him, then pulled up a live camera feed on her phone, showing a group of burly men holding shovels, standing directly in front of my parents’ graves. “You do not want a divorce, Tristan. You are just trying to destroy Gary’s life,” she said coldly. “If you do not post the statement, your parents’ resting place will be razed to the ground.” My pupils dilated in sheer terror. On screen, a heavy metal shovel slammed into the marble headstone, shattering my parents’ porcelain portraits into a web of cracks. My mind fractured. Forgetting all remaining dignity, I threw myself from the bed onto the floor, screaming in despair. “Stop! Tell them to stop! I will do whatever you want!” The tension left Debbie’s brow, and she smiled with her usual artificial warmth. “I knew you would make the right choice, Tristan.” She helped me off the floor and into her car, a convoy of reporters trailing closely behind us as we drove to the cemetery. At the cemetery, a barrage of flashing cameras blinded me, dragging me back into the nightmare of my past humiliation. I curled into myself, unable to look at my parents’ ruined headstone, biting my lip until the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. Like a hollow puppet, I read the script they had prepared for me. “I willingly took those intimate photos to generate publicity for the competition. My own greed and foolishness led to the distraction that caused my parents’ fatal accident…” Debbie stood slightly off to the side, her arms crossed, while Gary stood nearby, his winner’s medal catching the light as a smirk played at the edge of his lips. The moment I finished reading, the gathered crowd surged forward, shouting insults. “Disgusting pig, trying to frame others for your own filth!” “The photos are already circulating online anyway, he got exactly what he wanted!” “Who knew the CEO’s husband was such a cheap tramp? Did you see the photos? He actually has a six-pack!” They began taping copies of my private photos onto my parents’ shattered tombstone, spitting on the ground in disgust. I lunged forward to tear them down, but Debbie’s security guards pinned my arms behind my back. Debbie hesitated for a brief second, but chose to stand her ground. “It is just a few promotional videos for the media, Tristan. We can clean the headstone once they leave. I have already tolerated enough of your outbursts. As my husband, you should try to maintain some basic dignity.” With that, she stepped away to answer a ringing phone. The second she was out of earshot, Gary’s mask slipped, exposing his true, sinister nature. He leaned in, whispering in my ear, “I have seen every single one of those photos, Tristan. Debbie and I actually use them to get in the mood. It is a shame your parents didn’t appreciate the art. When they were driving to your venue, I kindly texted them the images to enjoy. I guess they panicked, lost control, and slammed right into that semi-truck.” His mocking face twisted in front of me. I summoned every ounce of my remaining strength, I raised my hand to strike his face, but before my palm could connect, Debbie rushed back and shoved me hard to the ground. “Tristan, how dare you! Gary has done nothing but try to keep the peace, and you are acting like a lunatic!” I lay in the dirt, gasping for air. “He killed my parents! He sent them the photos!” Debbie froze, but before she could process my words, Gary let out a theatrical gasp of pain. “My chest… Tristan hit me so hard…” Without another glance in my direction, she wrapped her arm around him and helped him walk away. The moment their luxury sedan cleared the cemetery gates, the hired thugs returned with their shovels, systematically pulverizing my parents’ headstone into gravel. I dragged myself forward, throwing my body over the ruins to shield them from the heavy iron tools. “Please, stop! I beg you!” A heavy boot slammed into my ribs, knocking me back into the dirt, the impact leaving me gasping for air. The more I struggled, the harder they pinned me down, forcing me to watch as my parents’ graves were reduced to dust, their portraits scattered and trampled. And today was the anniversary of their deaths. They pried open the concrete vault, dragging my parents’ urns out of the earth and pouring the gray ashes onto the ground. One of them grabbed a handful and shoved it toward my mouth. “Gary’s orders. You eat this, or you don’t leave here alive.” The dry dust filled my nostrils and mouth, choking me as I thrashed wildly against their grip, tears of blood leaking from my eyes. “No! Stop! Give them back to me!” A heavy stone collided with the back of my skull. A cold trickle of blood ran down my neck, and the world faded to black. Back in the city, after confirming Gary didn’t have a single scratch on his body, a strange, suffocating anxiety began to gnaw at Debbie. Ignoring his complaints, she grabbed her car keys and drove back to the cemetery as fast as her vehicle could go. But the moment she stepped through the iron gates, the scene before her drained every drop of color from her face.

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1 After three miscarriages, I finally had a baby girl. My husband celebrated by setting off city-wide fireworks. Then, an unknown caller cried, “Mom.” Holding my newborn, I was bewildered. “Wrong number.” The teen on the line pleaded, “Please, I’m your daughter, calling from eighteen years in the future. I know it sounds insane, but you must listen. Dad is cheating on you with Gemma. She caused your miscarriages to clear the way for her own son. When you find out, you’ll fall into depression and jump off a building. Please, leave him now, or you will die.” The line went dead. Staring at my phone, a sharp pain pierced my chest. I looked toward the adjoining suite where my husband and sister had just slipped in, claiming they were planning my anniversary surprise. The moment the call ended, a dull, throbbing pain flared through my lower body, a lingering ache from giving birth. But before I even realized what I was doing, I had already dragged myself out of bed and stood trembling outside their door. Low, intimate sounds drifted through the thin wood. “Careful, James. My sister is right next door.” “Why so shy now? Isn’t this exactly what you wanted, babe? You chose this room just to drive me crazy, didn’t you?” My mind went entirely blank, a deafening roar filling my ears. My breath caught in my throat, shallow and shaking. Just hours ago, when James saw me screaming in the delivery room, his eyes had brimmed with tears. He had held my hand so tightly, whispering, “Nora, sweetheart, after this baby, no more. I can’t bear to see you in pain.” His tenderness had felt so pure, so incredibly real. But now, his low, satisfied groans were equally real, slicing through my heart like a dull blade. “How is the soup? Sweet enough? Want me to feed you some more?” “What about my sister? She must be thirsty too,” Gemma giggled, her voice dripping with mock concern. “She just went through hell to give you a daughter. Shouldn’t you save some for the big hero?” “Jealous again, you little wildcat?” James chucked, his tone dripping with affection as he comforted her. “Everything I did with those babies was for you. When you told me you didn’t want them, didn’t I get rid of them exactly like you wanted?” Every drop of blood in my veins turned to liquid fire, then to ice. When I lost those three babies, I had wanted to die. I blamed myself constantly, weeping over my supposedly broken body. I had endured countless hormone injections, taking pills until I threw up, my skin mapped with painful bruises from the needles. James had played the doting husband so perfectly. He even got matching tattoos and claimed that we were one flesh, that he felt every ounce of my pain. But he was the executioner all along. I bit my lip until the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I slammed the door open. The two of them were tangled together on the hospital bed. Gemma shrieked, scrambling backward. James’s instinct was to shield her, pulling the blanket over her bare shoulders. He looked up at me, his expression a chaotic mix of surprise, annoyance, and guilt. “Nora, don’t blame Gemma,” he said. He got out of bed, casually pulling on his robe as he walked toward me. “It was my fault. I had too much to drink one night and mistook her for you. Besides, Gemma is different from you. She is wild, uninhibited. I became addicted, and I just can’t quit her. But don’t worry, you will always be my wife.” He used the same soothing tone he always used to calm me down, but the words were pure venom. I shook so hard I could barely stand. Gemma crawled off the bed, kneeling at my feet with a look of utter innocence. “Nora, it’s my fault. I was just worried about James. He was so lonely, and I wanted to help you keep him happy. Please don’t fight because of me.” Her eyes brimmed with tears, but her fingers dug painfully into my wrist, gripping me like a vice. Furious, I wrenched my hand away. The moment I did, James shoved me hard. “Nora! Gemma is your sister. How can you be so heartless?” I stumbled back, crashing heavily against the doorframe. The impact sent a sharp jolt through my abdomen, and I felt a sudden, warm rush of postpartum blood soak through my gown. A flash of panic crossed James’s face, and he reached out to steady me, but I violently smacked his hand away. “I’m going to expose you both,” I rasped, choking on the pain. Gemma burst into fresh tears. “It’s all my fault. I’ll leave right now. Nora, please don’t take your anger out on James.” Looking at her run past me, James glared at me, his eyes dark with rage. “Nora, is this what a good sister does? Are you trying to drive her to suicide? Let me warn you, before you open your mouth to anyone, you better think about your daughter.” Without waiting for a response, he chased after Gemma. Not even an hour later, my phone lit up with a text from Gemma. It was a picture of her and James, their fingers tightly intertwined, with a messy hotel bed in the background. James was so worried I’d run away that he promised to exhaust me tonight. You don’t mind, do you, big sister? A crushing weight settled on my chest. I stared at the screen, swallowed down the bitter bile rising in my throat, and redialed the mysterious number. “What happens next?” my voice trembled. “Between me and James? And… you? Are you okay?” “You divorced him,” the girl on the other end paused, her voice cracking. “But on paper, Gemma became my mother. She… she was never kind to me.” I stopped breathing. “That’s impossible. You’re my daughter, Daisy. How could Gemma be your mother?” By now, there was no doubt in my mind. This girl was indeed my daughter. “Mom, think back,” Daisy said urgently. “Right before you gave birth to me, did Dad make you sign any documents?” My heart dropped. Yes, he did. While I was screaming through active contractions, James had suddenly pulled out a set of papers. Nora, honey, we fought so hard for this baby. We need to secure her future. Sign this for her. In my agony, I had trusted him blindly. I signed my name without reading a single word. “That was a divorce agreement,” Daisy said, her voice shaking with quiet anger. “On your anniversary last year, Dad didn’t go on a business trip. He was with Gemma. Things got wild, and she had an accident that resulted in an emergency hysterectomy. She can never have children of her own. To make it up to her, Dad planned to have you get pregnant one last time. Once you gave birth to me, he would use the signed divorce papers to take me away and legally hand me over to Gemma.” The room spun violently. I collapsed onto the edge of the bed, my remaining strength instantly evaporating. No wonder. No wonder James had been so unusually affectionate when he returned from his “trip” last year. He had clung to me every night, refusing to let me go. When I playfully asked why he was being so clingy, he had wrapped his arms around me and whispered that he was making up for missing our anniversary. At the time, my heart had soared with love. But it was all a lie. I was nothing but a breeding machine for his mistress. The betrayal cut so deep it felt physical. Choking back my tears, I asked Daisy when I finally discovered the truth in her timeline. She went quiet for a long moment. “When I was five years old.” She explained that when I finally uncovered the affair, I tried to expose them to the public. But James was steps ahead. He painted me as a mentally unstable woman driven mad by multiple miscarriages, even fabricating evidence that I had abused my own baby. In the end, everyone believed him. I was labeled a lunatic, locked away in a psychiatric facility, and left to rot. My skin crawled with dread. “But Mom, we can change it,” Daisy pleaded, her voice cracking with a vulnerability that broke my heart. “It’s not too late. You need to start gathering evidence now. Wait for the right moment, divorce him, and take me with you. Mom… I don’t want to grow up without you.” The raw loneliness in her voice made me weep. I gripped the phone, tears streaming down my cheeks as I looked over at the bassinet. Seeing my tiny, helpless daughter sleeping so peacefully, a fierce resolve took root in my chest. I would not let history repeat itself. Over the next few days, I remained quiet and focused on recovering. When James came to take me home, he noticed I didn’t bring up Gemma. He assumed I had swallowed my pride and accepted the situation. “I’m glad you’re being reasonable, Nora,” he said, adjusting the baby’s blanket with a gentle smile. “Our daughter needs a complete family. No matter what is going on between me and Gemma, we have years of history together. You should trust me.” I forced myself to look away, a dull ache throbbing in my chest. We had been together since college. I used to think our love was unbreakable. When I was drowning in self-doubt and darkness, he had been my guiding light. When my life was threatened by a mugger years ago, he had thrown himself in front of me, taking a blow that nearly killed him. He was the love of my life. I never could have imagined that the man who saved my life would eventually hold the blade that destroyed it. The moment we stepped into our house, Gemma strolled out of our master bedroom wearing one of my silk nightgowns. It was obvious she had made herself entirely at home while I was in the hospital. James quickly stepped in. “Gemma’s lease ended. Since you two are sisters, I figured she could stay here for a few days.” Gemma bit her lip, looking at me with faux-timidity. “Nora, please don’t get the wrong idea. I was just so exhausted last night…” The dark, purplish bruises on her neck were impossible to miss. I looked away, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry. “I don’t care,” I said coldly, walking past them into my bedroom. In the middle of the night, Daisy’s sharp, panicked crying woke me up. Dragging my aching body down the hall to the nursery, I pushed the door open, only for my blood to run cold at the sight before me. “What the hell are you doing?” I lunged forward, throwing Gemma away from the crib. Daisy’s tiny arms and legs were covered in fresh, red pinch marks. “Calm down,” Gemma sneered, her delicate facade vanishing instantly, replaced by a cruel, venomous grin. “If I wanted this little brat dead, she wouldn’t have survived the delivery room.” I stared at her, horrified. “Why? When our parents finally found me and brought me back, you were so kind to me. Why are you doing this?” Gemma let out a mockery of a laugh. “If I wasn’t nice to you, how else would I get you to trust me? How else could I get you to push our parents away?” She stepped closer, her eyes flashing with pure hatred. “I may be adopted, but before you showed up, I was the only princess in that house. I finally had a life where I was loved and pampered. Why did you have to be found? Why did you have to come back and steal everything from me?” So that was it. All these years, this was how she saw me. “I never wanted to compete with you…” “Stop acting so innocent!” Gemma snapped, her face twisting into a hideous snarl. “Even James was part of the plan. At first, we just wanted to make a fool out of you. James was supposed to play the hero, rescue you from some hired thugs, make you fall madly in love with him, and then dump you. But the idiot actually fell for you. He married you instead!” A violent shudder ran through my body. The mugging… the life-saving rescue… it had all been a staged performance. My heart shattered into a million jagged pieces. The pain was so intense I could barely draw breath. Suddenly, Gemma wiped the smirk off her face. She snatched Daisy from the crib and sprinted toward the door, her face twisting into a mask of pure terror. “James, help! Nora has gone crazy! She’s hurting the baby!” James’s heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway, his face instantly darkening as he stepped into the light. “That’s a lie!” I screamed, shaking. “She did this!” “Nora, I know you hate me because of James,” Gemma sobbed, clutching Daisy to her chest as if protecting her. “But our baby is innocent! How could you take your anger out on her?” “I didn’t touch her! Gemma was the one pinching her!” “Enough!” James roared, cutting me off. “How can you be so sick, Nora? You’re so desperate to hurt me that you’d abuse your own child?” He didn’t believe a single word I said. Instead, he grabbed my arm, dragging me down to the cold, damp basement and throwing me inside. “Stay down here until you’ve cleared your head,” he snapped, locking the heavy door. He knew about my severe nyctophobia. He knew that staged attack had left me terrified of the dark. He had once held me during a blackout, promising that he would never let the darkness touch me again. “James, please, open the door! You can’t do this to me!” My voice trembled, raw with mounting panic. I could hear his footsteps lingering right outside the door. He hesitated. But then, Gemma’s soft, patronizing voice chimed in. “Nora is acting like a spoiled child. She does something terrible to the baby, and then throws a tantrum. It’s Daisy I feel sorry for…” Hearing her words, James’s hesitation vanished. “You brought this on yourself, Nora.” The sound of shifting fabric and a low grunt came from the other side of the thin wooden door. “James, stop… your wife is right in there,” Gemma whispered, her voice laced with breathless excitement. “That’s what makes it fun. She can’t see us, but she can hear everything…” Before long, the sickening, rhythmic sounds of their passion echoed through the basement door. I curled into a ball on the cold concrete floor, my fingernails digging into my palms until they bled. Every gasp, every groan from the other side of the wood was a physical blow, carving away whatever love I had left for him until there was only a hollow, aching numbness. When the sounds finally faded and they moved upstairs, I pulled out my phone and dialed the future number again. “What about my parents?” I whispered into the dark. “What happened to them in your timeline?” “Shortly after you were put away, they died in a tragic car accident,” Daisy’s voice sounded incredibly small and hollow. “They loved you so much, Mom. But Gemma kept telling them that you hated them, that you blamed them for losing you when you were little. Grandma used to hold your old photos and cry herself to sleep every night, whispering how sorry she was.” A tear slipped down my cheek. They did love me. Thank god. There was still time to fix this. The next morning, James unlocked the basement door. Dehydrated and pale, I dragged myself out. “Stop making a scene, Nora,” he said coldly. “Daisy’s one-month celebration is coming up, and the invitations are already out. You wouldn’t want to miss your own daughter’s party, would you?” So, I played along. I behaved perfectly. When the day of the celebration arrived, my parents were among the first to show up. Watching my mother cradle Daisy, cooing softly as my father smiled beside her, a wave of warmth rushed through me. There was so much I wanted to say to them. Right then, Gemma walked in, dressed in a stunning gown and clinging to James’s arm. “These heels are just too high to walk in, so I had James help me,” she giggled, looking at our parents with her usual bubbly, innocent demeanor. “You don’t mind, do you, Nora?” James stepped away from her, wrapping an arm around my waist instead. “You’ve worked hard today, Nora. Once this is over, we’ll go home and get some rest.” I fought down the sudden urge to vomit, remaining silent. When the ballroom was packed and the champagne was flowing, I quietly slipped away and pressed the button on the control panel. The massive projector screen, which had been displaying sweet photos of Daisy’s first month, suddenly flickered. In an instant, the screen filled with crystal-clear footage of James and Gemma wrapped in each other’s arms, whispering vulgar promises. The entire room fell into a dead, shocked silence, followed by gasps of horror. Gemma’s face drained of all color. My parents froze, staring at the screen in absolute disbelief. James panicked for a split second, but he quickly recovered. He strode onto the stage, shut off the projector, and looked down at me with an expression of deep, tragic resignation. “Nora, please… you’ve had another episode.” A murmur ran through the crowd. But James had prepared for this very moment. He pulled out his iPad and cast a document onto the screen—a psychological report claiming I had been suffering from severe prenatal and postpartum psychosis. Alongside it was a list of heavy anti-depressants under my name. “After her multiple miscarriages, my wife’s mental state became unstable,” James announced to the crowd, his voice filled with fake sympathy. “I apologize to everyone for the disturbance.” Gemma quickly stepped forward, wiping away fake tears. “The doctor said Nora’s depression makes her paranoid. I don’t blame her for fabricating these deep-fake videos to hurt me. I just want my sister to get the professional help she needs.” “This is ridiculous!” my father barked, his face turning red with embarrassment. “If you are sick, Nora, go get treated! Why would you drag your sister into the mud like this?” My mother looked at me with a mixture of pity and disappointment. “Nora, I know you still resent us for what happened in the past, but Gemma has done nothing but try to help you. How could you do something so malicious to her?” “No, that’s not…” I tried to explain, but my voice was drowned out as a glass of red wine was splashed directly into my face. Cold, sticky liquid dripped down my cheeks, ruining my dress. “If she can fake a video like that, who knows what else she’s lying about!” someone in the crowd sneered. “If she really is that crazy, she shouldn’t be allowed around normal people. Lock her up!” The crowd’s murmurs grew louder, hostile eyes glaring at me from every direction. Pretending to protect me from the hostile crowd, James grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the ballroom. The moment we stepped into the quiet alley outside, I gathered every ounce of strength I had and slapped him across the face. “You monster! I am not sick, and you know it!” James touched his bruised cheek, his sympathetic husband facade vanishing instantly into a cold, menacing sneer. “I warned you to think about the consequences, Nora. Since you were so eager to destroy Gemma, don’t blame me for being ruthless.” He pulled out his phone and called a private medical transport. “You’re going to a psychiatric facility, Nora. I’ll let you out once you’ve learned to behave.” Gemma suddenly slipped out of the venue, running up to us. “James, let me go with her in the car. I want to talk some sense into her before she does something stupid.” James nodded, trusting her completely. But as soon as the car drove off and reached a secluded, abandoned stretch of road, the driver pulled over. Gemma dragged me out of the backseat, throwing me onto the gravel at the feet of three burly, rough-looking men waiting there. “She’s all yours, boys,” Gemma sneered, tossing a thick envelope of cash to their leader. “Do whatever you want with her. Just keep her breathing long enough to sell her across the border.” She stepped closer, raising her designer stiletto heel and slamming it hard onto my chest. Her heel caught on the heavy silver locket resting against my collarbone. “Nora, with you gone, James and I can finally be together legally.” Despite the searing pain in my ribs, I looked up at her and let out a soft laugh. “Do you really think you’ve won, Gemma?” I gasped, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “Why don’t you check your phone?” Gemma froze. She pulled out her phone, and within seconds, every drop of color drained from her face. Back at the venue, James stood in the corridor, exhaling a long breath. My defiance had annoyed him. He couldn’t understand why I couldn’t just accept my role as a quiet, compliant mother. “Well, this stay in the facility will teach her a lesson. She’ll fall back in line,” he muttered, smoothing down his tuxedo jacket. The celebration was still going on, so he put on his charming smile and pushed open the heavy double doors to the ballroom. But as he stepped inside, he found the room in absolute, suffocating silence. The massive projector screen had flickered back on. It was broadcasting a live feed. The moment James’s eyes adjusted to the screen, his entire body froze.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “452525”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel